Gearhead Paradise
Posted on October 10th, 2008 by Persephone Busard and Ian Blackthorne

Persephone Busard and Ian Blackthorne

Ian Blackthorne removed a worn metal panel covering part of the seaplane Boudica’s starboard engine. He had noticed a rough idle and a few kocks above a couple thousand RPMs, so he figured he’d look in to the problem the old fashioned way. An array of tools lay on the plane’s pontoon, along with an oil can and a rag. The technology was archaic, but to a trained engineer’s eye, not difficult to figure out. Reaching into the engine nacelle with a wrench, he began to make an adjustment.

Meanwhile, one Percy Busard had begun to tire of partying about with the locals (as much fun as it was) and had decided to take a stroll along the dockside. This leading her directly past the Boudica and her pilot, the Atlantis’s engineer was struck by the expected curiosity, and decided to put off further dockwalking in favor of investigation.

“Something wrong with the plane, sir?”

“Nothing a little good old-fashioned elbow grease won’t fix,” came the reply from behind the nacelle. Ian poked his head up and added, “She idles a bit rough and knocks at higher RPM, no big deal really.”

Percy looked a bit perplexed. After all, this WAS a hologram, and provided that the programmer was adept enough (which she most certainly was), things like mechanical problems were generally non-existant. Still, there was always the possibility for error.

“Well, if it’s anything wrong with the program…I blame McKnight. Need any help?”

Ian chuckled. “No one’s to blame. Remember, since we’re keeping this program running all the time, the things in it will behave naturally. Engines need maintenance, and I wouldn’t turn down an engineer’s offer to help performing it.”

Percy grinned as she approached the plane. Sure, her dress would be ruined if she went grease monkey, but that was what replicators were for. And also showers.

“Great. So what do you think’s causing the knocking? Something gumming up the works, or maybe the fuel’s not quite the right level of octane?”

“Either of those are possible. I was thinking the mixture might be too lean, though.”

Percy nodded.

“We can certainly try a richer mixture, although I’ll check to make sure the knock resistance is high enough. Might have missed something there.”

“Start in on the port engine then, if you don’t mind. Once one of us figures it out, we’ll fix both.” Ian offered her a wrench.

Taking the wrench, Percy got to work on getting her hands dirty (and, of course, working on the engine) immediately. Glancing back at the still lit up bar over on the shore, she sighed contentedly.

“Been a hell of a week, hasn’t it?”

“That it has. I’m glad for this place to take a load off. Thinking we’d lost Dr. Carre was a bit of a shock.” Of course, he’d lost those under his command before, but it rarely had seemed so random as Carre’s apparent death had. In the grand military ideals of giving one’s life, people were supposed to die for a good cause.

Momentarily, the smile faded from Percy’s face. That had not been a pleasant experience at all, and she was relieved that it was over now. Still, she reminded herself to buy Carre a drink later. Under the circumstances, it was the least she could do.

“It was certainly that, sir. Still, we have determined this time that she’s 100 percent not-shapeshifter, right? That has to be some kind of comfort.”

“Right, that’s her, down to the sarcasm, which is even welcome after this week,” Ian laughed. “How are you holding up? Good work on Milyax’s radiation problem.”

Percy considered the question as she went about cleaning any excess gunk off of the engine.

“Honestly, sir, I’m just glad to be rid of the situation. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for exploration and all that, but I swear if I have to go mucking about in a guano-infested series of caves again…well, I’ll do it, but the point is that it won’t be pleasant.” She took one last look around in the engine. “I can’t find any problems here, sir. What about your side?”

“It looks good. My money’s on the mixture.”

“Well damn. Oh well, at least there’s an easy fix. Thank god for easily-tuned carburetors.”

“I should have known when the mixture control couldn’t get rich enough for sea-level flight, but I don’t get a lot of chances to fly propeller driven aircraft these days.” Ian leaned into the engine nacelle and began to dial up the fuel/air mixture adjustment screws.

“That’s a shame. If I was any good at flying, I’d try to get out as much as I could. But then, I guess that’s something that comes with the job. Still, it’s a pity.”

Grinning as he replaced the panel with a satisfying thunk, he replied, “Yes, but it makes it that much more enjoyable when I do get to fly. You about done there?”

Percy emerged from her side after putting the appropriate bits back, putting down the wrench.

“Just about, yeah.”

After clearing the pontoon of the tools and oil can, Ian untied the mooring line and threw it on the dock. As he opened the door and climbed into the cockpit, he hollered, “Let’s fire her up then. Either get in or get out of the way!”

Percy visibly considered for a moment before making her decision.

“Oh what the hell.”

And with that, she climbed up into the plane. Ian set the mixture selector to full rich and fired up the twin engines, which purred like kittens as they bounced across the bay and into the air.