Apparently the crew's mechanic had been eaten by a giant disembodied hand covered in teeth soon after they first arrived here, as Baldwin told Fiddleford while explaining to him what some of the less familiar tools were and which systems connected to what. He knew a bit about engineering, at least enough to make repairs to his arm if he had to, but not anywhere near enough to fix something like this. Until Fiddleford came along, they had been more than a little stuck on how to get this problem taken care of, so he was extremely grateful to him.
Most of it was technology Fiddleford had only dreamed about ever being able to see in person, decades, if not centuries, ahead of what people were currently capable of in his dimension; other pieces weren't too different from what he and Stanford had been working on with the port-
Nope, nope, not thinkin' about anything related to that right now, focusing on putting together spacecraft. It's spacecraft-shaped technology, nothing else.
Once in a while Baldwin or another of the creatures would pull him away to eat or sleep, but for the most part they left him to work in peace unless he specifically asked for help. They salvaged other items he could disassemble and use to replace parts that were damaged beyond repair, and offered whatever helping hands they could.
Fiddleford lost track of the time he spent at work, recreating this thing of beauty and making copious mental notes for ways that it could be improved; maybe a biomechanical brainwave generator so it could have a sentient autopilot system? Or automatic food dispensers, that'd be awfully handy so they wouldn't have to worry about storing rations...to do that he'd probably have to create something that could analyze taste buds and dietary needs. But, he ruefully admitted to himself, it'd have to wait until he could get ahold of some better materials. For now he'd have to be satisfied with making this beauty flightworthy.
Fiddleford looked up to ask for another look at the blueprints, and realized with surprise that everyone else was asleep around the fire.
Huh. Must've been workin' fer longer'n I thought. If I'm not careful I'm gonna start actin' like Stanford.
The only one he couldn't see was Syl, which probably meant she was out keeping watch for the things-Fiddleford-didn't-wanna-think-about.
Baldwin had the blueprints lying next to his elbow, so Fiddleford made his way over to retrieve them and make sure he was putting together the gonkulator (their word, not his) correctly.
Once he had them he sat back down by the ship's hull, with the blueprints sprawled across his lap, and on absentminded reflex reached into his lab coat pocket for his glasses. He remembered too late that they weren't there, lost to the portal during the first thing-he-wasn't-thinking-about; however, his hand did close around something. Curious, Fiddleford pulled it out-and stared.
Nestled in his hand was a small keychain with a tiny figure attached to the end, shaped like a little wind-up robot that would really start walking if you turned the key in his back a few times.
Tate had given it to him as a going-away present before he left for Gravity Falls. Of course, Emma-May had been the one to buy it, but she said that he'd been the one to pick it out, saying it would help keep his daddy company if he got lonely while he was gone.
He'd almost forgotten that he had it.
And now-
And now he might never-
Syl hoped the nerd (Had he told anyone what his name was yet? She couldn't remember) was gonna finish fixing the ship soon; she didn't want to stay in this forsaken wasteland any longer than she had to.
So far Bill and his pack of flab-drazzit jerks hadn't found them yet, but she knew every minute they stayed here was another minute they risked being found-and the rumors about some of the things these guys liked doing to people were not exaggerated.
Man, what I wouldn't give for some orbal juice right about now. I'd be outta here so fast I'd make Halley's Comet look like a slug.
She rubbed her neck tiredly as she reentered the caverns and began making her way to the group's campsite; hopefully someone else would be awake already so they could take the next shift and she could get some sleep-
Syl stopped short when she heard a noise echoing through the caves towards her. A kind of muffled, but still audible, series of high wheezing hiccups.
...Oh boy, either that's the battle cry of the Miserions of Planet Banshee, or-
She peered around the corner, into the main cave, and saw the nerd lying on the floor next to the ship, staring at something clenched in his hand and sobbing his eyes out.
It had been a long time since Syl had seen someone expressing that level of emotional vulnerability; most of these miner guys had been hardened enough by life to keep it together most of the time, or they didn't it wasn't where anyone could see them. She wasn't sure how to deal with seeing someone like that now, especially since touchy-feely crap had never been her forte.
Ultimately she just sat down against the wall, without disturbing him, and waited until the nerd had cried himself to sleep, before going over to wake Trogdor for his shift. But as she curled up in a ball and started to drift off, she was surprised to find herself hoping that Jheselbraum would be able to help this guy out.