Waldoes

The engineer pressed his tired eyes against the lenses once more. Inserting his hands into the waldoes' grips he recommenced the rhythmic click-clacking of the cubes of metal in the fuel service area. Their soft, bluish glow reminded him every second of just how dangerous these kinds of operations could be, and he was glad of the layers of indirection the chamber provided.

He had been trying different assembly methods and patterns. Keeping an interstellar drive running was usually uneventful--once cruising speed was reached, just replace a fuel rod now and again and the design took care of itself.

This time was different. The engine had been assembled with one particular pattern of nuclear resonance in mind, with a dozen of the best engineers and a colossal computer working out the simulations, yet a shift in the local values of a few of the universal constants had left it working at less than peak efficiency. They had even planned for this, and only a small change was required to retune the old resonance, but after months in space its vast emptiness was gnawing at him, even with the FTL newscasts. So, without the resources of a shipyard, he was left to mere experimentation, and as he shifted the blocks around he wondered. With this tamper there, this fuel pellet there, a neutron reflector there--almost, but not quite.

Every once in a while his mind would wander and he would visualize his handiwork going critical and taking the ship with it...not pleasant. That was why he hadn't slept well in days--he would wake up in the middle of the night worrying about how he had left the core elements, or wondering if a certain pattern of construction could work.

Ultimately it would either work or it wouldn't, sure, but it was such a complex system...