After a few minutes of inspecting the Skimmer and getting the auxiliary cabin lights back on, Corliss starts digging around in the main engine room. Not a lot of serious damage, but a few couplings were loose. He clicked a couple back into place and frowned at the last one, wiping engine grease off onto a rag and clicking a flashlight to inspect it further. The lights in the engine room were still dim.
"Damn," he murmurs. <Bloody z-space transponder's smashed. Can't fix it, I need another one.>
<Oh, I'll just call Radio Shack, then.>
Corliss looks up and considers. "Maybe that Engineer bloke can fix it?"
<Worth a shot, mate.>
He hops out around the wiring and climbs back out of the ship, going over to the engineer. He smiles at the creature, his face smudged with black. "Hello," he says to the Engineer, holding out the wrecked transponder. "D'you think you can fix this? It's a z-space transponder for my Skimmer." The black metal sphere, heavy and about twice the length of Corliss' palm, is fragmented and cracked, white wires sticking out of the device at odd angles.