“Hull stress is… way above safe limits. We’re looking at an imminent hull rupture and violent depressurisation.”
Harrigan’s mouth was a grim slash.
“Get everybody on oxygen, lower air pressure by 60%.”
Warning klaxons engaged and several bridge crew hurried off to damage-control stations, but we stayed where we were. Pressure doors lowered and sealed off the bridge to prevent any loss of pressure affecting us.

My part mostly done, I idly attempted to coax some thrust (pseudo- or otherwise) out of the overseer from the jump drives. It had never worked before and I did not expect it to, but I had a sudden thought.

“Harrigan, those co-ordinates weren’t likely to be off by any amount at all.”
The captain was tapping away his tablet, but looked up all the same.
“I’ve no time for nonsense, carto. Get to the point.”
“So… when we were given these coords, we were meant to be here. Right here. Even if here is in the gravity well-”
I was cut off by a yell from the first pilot.
“Explosive decomp in port lower C!”