Elaine stood by herself and wondered what on earth had prompted that outburst.
She knew she'd been a pain over the past few days. More than once, one of the security personnel had politely suggested to her that maybe they were qualified to handle security, and there really wasn't much she could do to help. But she hadn't just let this ship in to win back the confidence of her employees. She'd done it to try and reassure herself. Reassure herself that she wasn't losing her mind, that she could still objectively assess the security threat posed by a decrepit spaceship.
The strain of being the only one to know about the red stone was beginning to tell. If there was someone to confide in, someone she could discuss strategy with, it might be better. But there was nobody she could trust. Certainly, nobody after Chora Luna. She'd even grown so paranoid as to avoid the portal stone together, as if her movements could alert possible enemies to the right location.
Now Elaine wondered if she'd been hasty in letting that ship in.
She knew she shouldn't worry. But she couldn't help it...
Inside Boss Hog, Guybrush was gathering together all the tools he'd need.
"Okay, Wally," he said, "I want you to stay behind while I'm out getting
all the parts. Make sure nobody tries to sell the ship, or pawn off a few
dodgy items, the usual."
Wally, sitting down on the spongy couch, nodded. "Okay, Mr. Brush. I'll keep an eye out."
Guybrush had got together the last of his tools. He piled them all into a small backpack. He pulled the backpack on, then looked confused. "What parts were they again?" he asked.
"The rear flux stabiliser, the lateral phase inducers..." Seeing Guybrush's look he said, "Want me to write them down?" Guybrush nodded. Wally found a slip of paper and jotted down six items. "They're all fairly well related," said Wally. "You should find them all in the same shop."
"Thanks." Guybrush pulled a ladder down from the ceiling and climbed up to a trapdoor hatch, which he pulled open. Warm, scented air flowed into the ship - the gateway acted as an atmospheric force field, keeping all the oxygen in. Guybrush breathed in deeply.
Eventually he climbed up onto the top of the ship. Recessed steps in the side of the ship led down. He carefully picked his way downward, until he was standing on the hangar floor.
There were a few people about, mostly pit crews doing repair work on the ships. Nobody paid him any attention. A PA somewhere nearby was giving instructions in a soft, computer-generated voice.
Guybrush looked down. Coloured arrows set in the floor pointed out the way. They changed direction as he walked, constantly pointing out the right way to go. He was being led to a high, wide gateway on the far side of the hangar.
Guybrush passed through the gateway. He walked along a few silent passages, each wide enough to accommodate a small starship, then came to a stop. A street stretched out before him. It was thronged with people, who walked lazily along, chatting to each other and looking at the shopfronts. Small hovertaxis zoomed above. Coloured lights hung from the ceiling in bright bunches, whirling around slowly. A neon Chinatown.
He walked through the mass of people, alongside people who wore old leather jackets, dusty helmets and had blasters strapped at their hips. They shared the street with suit-wearing businessmen, young mothers with bright dyed hair and confident, world-weary kids. The crowd was interesting enough on its own, but Guybrush was even more interested in the shops he was passing.
Eventually he came to one that looked about perfect. Bremin's Space Auto Parts and Accessories. There were a few customers in Bremin's, which seemed to be doing good business.
Guybrush didn't go in. Instead he walked away, to the very end of the street. Standing in a dim corner, he reached into his backpack and took out an electric screwdriver. He knelt down and began unscrewing the panel at his feet.
Guybrush knew security cameras watched every corner of Pael. This was a calculated risk, because it would take very little time to get out of their gaze. They'd pick him up later, of course, when they went through their tapes - but by then he'd be long gone.
The panel lifted up. Guybrush grasped the edges and lowered himself into the space below.
He knelt down. He was in a dark, cramped world of panels and metal piping. The air smelt of disinfectant, as if everyone dumped their detergent down here. Guybrush put the panel back in place and screwed it in. Then he set off.
Above, he'd memorised the distance from Bremin's. Now he paced and counted, hunched over to avoid banging his head on tubes and transformer boxes. Soon, he stood directly under Bremin's.
The sound of people was muted, but clearly audible. There were still people in there. However, Guybrush knew that on Pael people worked in shifts. In a few hours, all the stores above would close shop as the old staff left and their replacements arrived. The five minute window should be just enough time.
Guybrush waited.