Dials, Switches, and Other Dangerous Decisions

Day one of seven in jumpspace.

The ship hummed its usual passive-aggressive tune, somewhere between a lullaby and the death rattle of a vending machine. Outside, the universe was having a lie-down. Inside, time stretched like overcooked pasta. The Morrigan’s jump field held, reality wobbled politely at the edges, and nothing much was happening - which, as any spacer will tell you, is always deeply suspicious.

Caitlin stood on the bridge with her hands on her hips, looking around like a queen surveying her domain and finding it in need of serious improvement. The holographic controls shimmered around her in sleek, cutting-edge displays that responded to the slightest twitch of her fingers. Sleek. Elegant. And, in Caitlin’s professional opinion, boring as hell.

“Right,” she said, loudly enough to echo through the bridge. “This all looks far too modern for my tastes.”

Maltz, lounging in the corner with his feet up and a wrench spinning lazily in one paw, looked up. His ever-present goggles were perched on his forehead, giving him the look of a particularly disreputable mechanic who had wandered out of a steampunk convention and decided to stay.

“Problem, boss?”

Caitlin gestured vaguely at the bridge with the air of someone presenting an abstract art installation they didn’t quite understand.

“This,” she said, waving a hand through the holographic displays. “This is all very… corporate.” She wrinkled her nose as if the word itself tasted bad. “Like something from an Imperial training video. All shiny lights and fancy holograms. Feels like I should be drinking synth-wine and talking about synergy.”

Maltz’s ears perked up, his grin widening as if he’d just been told to blow something up in the name of engineering.

“So… what are we thinking?” he asked, leaning forward, his tail wagging just a little too enthusiastically for comfort.

Caitlin’s green eyes lit up with pure devilment. “I’m thinking… old style.”

Maltz blinked. “Old style?”

“Aye,” Caitlin said, wearing the unmistakable grin of someone about to gloriously violate several manufacturer warranties. “Not this sleek, modern look. I want big chunky buttons that clunk when you press ‘em. Switches. Toggle switches, Maltz. Ones that light up. I want the kind of console where you need to slam something with the palm of your hand when it stops working.”

Maltz’s grin was positively feral now. “Levers?”

“Levers,” Caitlin confirmed, nodding with the conviction of someone discussing the Ten Commandments. “Great big bastards with satisfying ka-chunk noises. And sliders. Lots of sliders. With little notches so you can feel it when you move ‘em.”

“Dials?” Maltz’s voice was hushed, reverent.

“Big feckin’ dials,” Caitlin said, eyes narrowing like she was plotting a coup. “With labels, mind. None of that minimalist nonsense. I want block letters so bold they shout at you. But cryptic - properly cryptic. Just vague enough to make you wonder if flipping that switch spools up the jumpdrive or turns on the heating.”

Maltz’s tail was now wagging at near-relativistic speeds. “Analog readouts?”

“Oh, everywhere,” Caitlin said, her grin practically feral. “I want gauges. Needles quivering just for the sheer joy of it. Blinking lights that do sod all but make you sweat. A machine that spits out ticker tape like it's got something to prove. And I want a tape deck.”

Maltz’s ears twitched. “A what now?”

“A tape deck, Maltz, Do try to keep up.” Her tone made it clear this was non-negotiable. “One that clicks when you put the tape in and makes that satisfying whirr-click noise when you rewind it.”

“Rewind what?” Maltz asked, blinking in confusion.

“Doesn’t matter,” Caitlin waved a hand dismissively. “I just want it to feel like I’m about to launch a feckin’ nuke every time I press Play.”

Maltz stood up, his face deadly serious. “Captain,” he said, his voice filled with the solemnity of a Vargr who had just been given a sacred mission, “I will make it happen.”

“Perfect.” Caitlin swatted a floating holo-screen away. “And if it’s not a health and safety violation by the time you’re done, I’ll be very disappointed.”

Maltz was already halfway out the door, muttering feverishly under his breath about toggle switches, vacuum tubes, and reel-to-reel systems.

One week later…

Maltz had outdone himself.

The bridge of the Morrigan sprawled with panels crammed full of chunky controls, softly ticking gauges, and lights that blinked in patterns no sane person could decipher. Switches, sliders, and knobs covered every surface, humming faintly but ominously.

Banks of CRT-style monitors flickered a sickly green, each showing something that looked very important. Overhead, more blinking lights crowded the displays, so many that even Quinn’s sensors would struggle to tell which mattered.

Maltz stood in the middle of it all, tail wagging furiously as he wiped grease off his paws and beamed with unrestrained pride.

“There,” he declared, “that’s how a proper bridge should look.”

Caitlin stepped onto the bridge, her sneakers making a faint squeak against the metal floor. She took one look at the lovingly installed mess of buttons, dials, and possibly a few things that had no actual function beyond looking dangerous, and her grin stretched wide enough to make a K’kree nervous.

“Ah, Maltz. My dear friend,”  she said softly, eyes practically gleaming. “You’ve made me a very happy woman.”

Maltz’s grin was all fangs and pure joy. “Flip that switch there.” He pointed to a massive toggle under a clear plastic cover. “Go on. Gives the jumpdrive a bit of extra oomph.”

Caitlin flipped the cover and pressed the switch with all the reverence of a woman launching a nuclear strike. The entire console gave a satisfying ka-CHUNK, followed by a low hum that reverberated through the deck plating. A faint trickle of dust sifted down from the ceiling.

Cathbad’s voice crackled through the overhead speakers, sharp with disdain and theatrical despair.

"Oh splendid. A symphony of switches and dials, all doing what a clean interface could manage without the risk of dislocating a wrist. I count no fewer than two hundred and forty-three redundancies. Possibly more if I include the large red button labelled 'Fun.'"

Maltz didn’t even blink. “Yeah,” he said cheerfully, “but does a holographic interface go ka-chunk?”

There was a long pause. Then Cathbad sighed, the sound of a machine spirit losing faith in its operators.

“Ka-chunk,” he said slowly, “is not a technical specification.”.”

“It is now,” Maltz grinned, tail wagging as he admired his work.

“Bridge of the gods,” he murmured proudly.

Caitlin nodded, eyes gleaming.

“Feckin’ awesome,” she breathed.