Russell swallowed. He knew how the answer would sound and said it anyway. "Yates Marine Repair. My grandfather's shop in Overtown. Before that, he spent thirty-five years in the Navy."
"What's your grandfather's name?"
"Earl Yates."
Cole repeated the name quietly. "Tell me what you think is happening. Not how you're going to fix it yet. Tell me what you know, and tell me what you don't know."
Russell felt a sudden easing in his chest. The question sounded like Earl.
"I know the start sequence isn't completing. I hear irregular timing feedback, a restriction in the way the engine clears its exhaust, and a cooling auxiliary responding out of order. I think there's a physical problem affecting the timing sensor, another problem in the exhaust flow, and a trapped pocket in a cooling circuit. I can't prove any of that from here. I'd need to inspect the service points and compare the fault history before touching anything."
Webb sat up straight. He had heard the university teams describe several of those clues separately, but no one had connected them with quite that sequence. Russell did not claim to be certain, which impressed the professor more than any attempt at a theatrical prophecy would have done. Webb leaned toward his microphone and told the audience that the young man's proposal was specific, testable, and entirely reasonable.
Thornton folded his arms. "He's repeating things he overheard from the teams."
"Then the teams will be especially well placed to tell us whether he's right," Cole replied. He turned back to Russell. "Do you understand that an engine start alone doesn't mean this vessel is ready for sea?"
"Yes, sir. It means the starting conditions have been restored for a controlled test. Anything with damage or questionable maintenance still needs to be inspected before a voyage."
Cole nodded. "Good answer. You have ten minutes. The independent engineer will clear every step. If the engine cannot be brought up safely, you stop and tell us why."
Russell glanced toward Thornton, whose expression had tightened again. Then he looked at the Sovereign's service hatch and thought of Earl's old chair in the shop, where a man with trembling hands still remembered the feel of every part he could no longer hold. "I don't think I'll need ten minutes," Russell said. "But I'll stop if the machine tells me to."
Cole's smile was small but unmistakable. "Then show us what you're hearing."
Victor lifted the velvet rope. As Russell passed, the guard spoke quietly enough that the microphones missed it. "I hope you know what you're doing, kid."
"Me too," Russell said. It was not the answer Victor expected. It was the answer of someone who understood that knowing enough to be useful and knowing everything were very different things.
The polished teak deck felt strange beneath Russell's worn boots. He passed five tool carts arranged in neat rows, each carrying instruments that would have cost Earl months of shop revenue. Daniel Mercer offered a brief nod; Priya Shah stepped aside to make room. Russell returned both gestures, already concentrating on the engine access point ahead of him.