'Fire control, docking port 3624-F! Put it out, now!'
A gout of frigid chemical-laden gas sprayed over the battered, smoking hull of my Taranis-class interceptor as it entered the thinner atmosphere of the outer docking corridor, and I shivered in reflex. By the time I'd brought the ship to rest in the port, the flames were out and the charred golden hull-plates were frosted with a caked layer of fire-retardant. My minimal crew was evacuated, but they couldn't permit me to leave the ship.
'I'm sorry, Captain, but if you leave that ship, it'll explode and we'll have a lot more to worry about in here than a small fuel leak. What the devil were you doing?'
I sighed. 'Tackling a Drake in a mission, if you must know. His Myrm friend sicced all his drones on me and I got out with 15% structure, then went back to get the Drake once my mates got the Myrm out of the way.'
'Well, you need to get that hull repaired, Captain. Can't let you leave the ship, you're the only thing holding her together.'
Ah, crap. Fortunately, the difference between repairing a hulled battleship and repairing a hulled interceptor is a couple of decimal places. I paid up and watched through my camera drones as the hangar crew got busy replacing damaged components and plating.
This probably wouldn't be the first time tonight, either.