His knees hooked around one support strut, Azzy was upside down, up to his elbows in between the scorched armor paneling on the Hornet. Two other technicians were at work replacing the finely machined parts of ruined boosters. But he was uninterested in what they were doing. Most of his attention was on the tiny adjustment screws that were damn hard to even get to, let alone turn. The rest was on the precarious way he dangled above the deck, unconcerned in a way that only he could be. No matter that the Elyandra groaned like a wounded animal while outside men were dying. Or that the hanger bay was always freezing cold.<br/><br/>With a huff, he let himself drop, swinging backward, and now properly upside down. His stomach burned from hanging the way he had, and it felt better for him to be able to relax for just a moment. All the blood ran into his head in an uncomfortable way he thought rather unfitting for a bat.<span style="font-style: italic">â€˜Four and seven are loose Asmodeus.â€™</span>â€œYeah, anâ€™ â€˜is jumpsuit ainâ€™t near warm enough.â€ His breath fogged in front of him now that he wasnâ€™t stuck as far into the warmer under armor of the Hornet. At least Jack had been with him long enough to know to turn the heaters on, even without being asked.<br/><br/>He had readied himself to return to his irritatingly delicate task, set on ignoring the blaring sirens and shuddering hull when he caught something about a baby. Not thinking twice of it, he muttered, â€œNow â€˜atâ€™s a neat trick.â€ The thin, star headed screwdriver he was using in his work went clattering down the inside of the plating and spilled across the deck. Azzy swore while in his head the AI calmly asserted that,<span style="font-style: italic"> â€˜In the not so distant past, the majority of human women were able to carry infants to term.â€™ </span>Sometimes, what with all the snappy insolence, Azzy forgot that Jack was only a machine. Was, in fact, the very machine he was working so diligently to repair.<br/><br/>Jaredâ€™s babyâ€¦ He couldnâ€™t lie to himself, he was a bit envious. No one really looked at him twice. Too short, too funny looking. Couldnâ€™t even work one of those pieces of extra machinery by himself. The Hornetâ€™s cockpit was reconfigured to accommodate him; his short stature and odd feet, and just like anyone else would find the mech impossible to pilot, he found regular ones overly difficult.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">â€˜All crew, ET included, to return. No casualties, possibility of injuries, and one prisoner.â€™ </span>Jack of course constantly monitored both Federation-com and open coms, but always refused to clutter Azzyâ€™s mind with unnecessary information. The second screwdriver, the extra he kept in a pocket almost plummeted to the deck as well, and Jack chided his carelessness.<span style="font-style: italic">â€˜Clip lines, Asmodeus.â€™</span>Growling, he yanked the retractable line on his belt and attached it to the clip loop on the back of the tool.<span style="font-style: italic"> â€˜Number seven is still loose, and youâ€™ve overcompensated on four.â€™ </span>â€œâ€™ow can yous even tell?â€ He was distracted. A prisoner?<span style="font-style: italic">â€˜My sensor array has yet to penetrate beyond the Elyandraâ€™s hull.â€™</span><br/><br/>He felt the light pull of a draft from the open hangar bay door, as well as the deeper chill of the hard vacuum outside. Then his world shattered, the tight focus on the tiny screws between chinks in the armor was torn away. Upside down still, he watched the damaged Orion limping to its place and Angela emerge. Azzy hefted himself upright and started his careful, if quick, descent to the ground. He slipped to the front of the small gathering crowd of techs, who had been previously occupied with their repair jobs, just as heâ€™d been.<br/><br/>But no one really wanted to miss a fight, and he had to shove a few of them back to work, fully unwilling and likely unable to break the two up. All he could really do was get them their space, with a good half of his attention still on whatever it was that alien had brought back.<br/><br/>He stood at a loose attention when the Captain arrived, seeing as she was far more interested in getting Angela and Jared to stop fighting. Which was done effectively. But it made him seethe inside that Dren, a newcomer and an alien, was being put in charge. Asmodeus didnâ€™t entirely agree with even letting him near the mechs, despite the fact that his was more advanced. He hadnâ€™t even been on the ship for an entire day. Shouldnâ€™t someone at least be keeping watch over him? Did the captain really trust him that much? But, Azzy wasnâ€™t the Captain, so it wasnâ€™t his call, no matter how much it grated at his nerves and sort of hurt his pride.<br/><br/>At heart, Azzy was a machinist. His over long fingers, even with their odd webbing, were precise and deft. And he knew every tool in the machinistâ€™s warren intimately. There was nothing he couldnâ€™t make or fix. This should have made him the obvious choice to oversee repairs. He wondered if there was someone he could get to take over mess for him. Heâ€™d be busy for days, non-stop, and didnâ€™t know if heâ€™d have the time to eat himself, let alone stick around the whole time.<br/><br/>He waited, rocking on his toes a bit, hands shoved into his pockets, and trying to keep the cold at bay. And once the final word had been said, shot to Dren, in a dry tone, â€œIâ€™ll needâ€™a listâ€™a parts â€˜at need ta be re-machined, Dren.â€ Like a good soldier, he resigned himself to following his superiors orders anyway.