Neil removed his cap and pressed it against his chest. After a long silence, he whispered, "One bolt."
Dr. Sutter closed her notebook. She removed her glasses and placed them on the console, then looked at Faith with the expression of someone who had spent a career waiting for evidence rather than credentials.
Todd Whitmore stood very still against the wall. His face had lost its color because he knew something nobody else in the room knew yet.
He knew whose name was on the maintenance work order for the last service that involved that bracket.
His.
Dr. Sutter spoke without hesitation. "Fix it."
Two words were all Faith needed.
She started with the bracket bolt. She placed Elton's torque wrench onto the fastener and tightened it slowly and precisely. Three foot-pounds became five, then eight, then twelve, and finally sixteen.
The wrench clicked at specification.
Faith tugged the harness gently. It did not move.
Next came the O-ring. Neil checked inventory and returned with the specified fluoroelastomer seal for the crossfeed butterfly valve. The part cost six dollars and was small enough to hold easily between two fingers.
Faith removed the degraded seal. It came out slightly discolored and warped, with faint cracking visible along the inner surface. She installed the replacement carefully, checked its seating, and inspected the seal more than once.
Elton's voice lived in her memory. Do it right or do it again.
Finally, she addressed the left engine's direct fuel feed line. Weeks of abnormal valve cycling had allowed trace contaminants from the degrading seal to pass downstream. Faith disconnected the line, flushed it thoroughly with clean fuel, reconnected it, checked every fitting, and cleaned each connection point.
The total repair took about three hours. The total parts cost came to twenty-four dollars.
Three hours and twenty-four dollars stood between Preston Caldwell and fifty days of failure.
Faith stepped back from the nacelle, wiped her hands on a shop rag, and rolled up her grandfather's tool kit. Each tool went back into its correct pocket. The canvas folded tightly, and the leather strap wrapped around it twice before being tucked into place.
She looked at Neil. "Start them up."
Hangar Three fell completely still.
Thirty people stood in a semicircle around the CA-90. Preston was in the center, arms finally at his sides. Todd remained near the far wall close to the door, Colleen held her recorder at arm's length, Dr. Sutter stood at the diagnostic console, and Neil initiated the start sequence.