Your irrelevance is mind-numbing, eye-widening, and epiphany-inducing in even the most cynical of subjects.

Alas, there are no subjects to experience this peculiar form of apotheosis, and it fades as quickly as it had come into being - an experience forever lost, never to be repeated.





Hatches on the ceiling suggest an automated reloading system of some description. This ship is quite a fancy piece of work for all its spartan appearance, all things considered.

It's also remarkably tidy. Apart from a few bits of clutter floating around in zero gravity, the tools and equipment that can be found all seem(s) to be properly stored.



You all still have until next Thursday to plan and interact.

"There appears to be little external damage, unlike the majority of other craft in the field. I cannot detect any hull features that might be escape pods, so it is most probable that they were either unused and are concealed under hull panels so as not to present an armour vulnerability, or the vessel was not designed with crew escape in mind."

"Either the ship was completely abandoned, or it was scoured with neutron radiation weaponry, its attackers intending to take it as a prize or simply to efficiently neutralize the vessel. In either case, there should be no lingering danger."



Away Team
The journey to the reactor is arduous, but at least by sticking together you're able to pry open a couple of doors that might've been impossible to do with only one or two people. There is no sign of any life - present or previous - on the way to the core. It's all too tidy for a ship on the edge of a debris field.

The reactor chamber itself is cylindrical, perhaps two and a half floors high. There's an observation booth overlooking the reactor itself, which is currently offline. The reactor is a large sphere, suspended in the center of the room by sturdy supports that link it to the floor and ceiling.

There are a number of sockets placed evenly around the perimeter of the sphere, and thick, fluid-filled cylinders stored about the chamber; evidently hastily removed from the 'core'.

With Hierophant in the core room itself, Ralph, Nixie, and Jones all manage to get into the observation/monitoring booth, a small room that overlooks the core. A bank of computers faces the reactor itself, along with some levers and buttons. What looks like a large battery lies discarded on the floor. An equally large slot is set into the floor just in front of the computers.

> ATTEMPT TO RESTART REACTOR Y/N? DESCRIBE PLANNED STARTUP PROCEDURE IF Y.

Puzzle time!

*grinding static*

OOC: you guys aren't even doing anything with the main computer core, besides Cavecricket, who i suppose could get to work on magically disconnecting those alarms
how is the computer core supposed to function without power anyway

Why are you taking the battery to the computer core? We don't even know if the computer core uses batteries.

I'm assuming the computer core doesn't have its own magic power source. This battery is plan B; we'd need it somewhere (if not the computers, then later restarting the reactor), so I plan to lug it around for a while.

I can't do computer fiddly things without the battery. Also, if we can get these computers that manage the reactors on, then we can power on the reactor and make sure it only routes power to where we want it. Chances are the computer core takes a lot more power than these computers (because it's you know, the core. It's important and stuff.), and is powered by the reactor. First, we get this bank of computers on, check out the ship's power grid, and then make our move from there.