You peel the sticker with your thumb and actually read it. LIFE SUPPORT BUS. Then COMMAND / KILO. Then ATTITUDE. Then ARRAYS. A second line, smaller: DO NOT MOTOR RCS UNTIL YOU HAVE A REFERENCE.

Jax exhales. “Inrush is the gulp. Every box wants a rush of current when it wakes. Together they trip the breaker like too many kids on one trampoline.”

You reset the main bus the slow way. One click. Wait. Two clicks. Lights return without a white snap. Batteries read lower than they did before the storm. Safe mode is not free.

Mira, handheld, clipped: “We still do not have a brain or a pointing system. We do have spin. I want air that is not a rumor, then KILO. I do not want thrusters until something smarter than your inner ear is in the loop.”

The reaction-control hand controller floats on its cord, a video-game grip for people who should not be thinking about video games. The ship’s slow tumble knocks a spare bolt in a tidy circle against a bulkhead.

Jax glances at the grip, then at you. “Checklist… or we kill the spin first because the spin is the loudest monster.”