The jolt bounced Clint around on his seat and anything that wasn't tied down in the room clattered to the floor. The safety harness saved him a few bumps and bruises, but from the size of the jolt, something must've gone wrong in the ship. It isn't unusual for a tub this big to kick when you're going cold turkey, but this one was a little worse than usual. Clint summoned up a brief status report on his control panel and Clint got his answer. A red WARNING label popped up over Engine 2. No engineering reports had been submitted yet, it was still too early. The ship was a little more frail than he'd given it credit for, but he'd rather find that out during a drill than an ambush. The ship was state-of-the-art, but Clint had seen plenty of shiny and sleek ships get popped open by big old buckets. Clint has always been a firm believer in function over form. Still, this ship was new; he'd give it some elbow room for now. Hopefully she had more tricks in her sleeve besides breaking down.
Once the captain's orders came, Clint aye-aye'd it and sent the battle station commands out. At the same time, he wondered how may people were going to be either real pissed or real relieved once they found out it was just a drill. Probably both. With that jolt and the orders for battle stations, half the ship probably thought they were under attack or something. Clint remembered that mix of irritation and relief back when he fly smaller craft. He'd fly out of a hanger and into formation, only to be greeted by empty space and a whole lot of nothing. To the pilots, Clint added a little, "Good luck, boys." to their orders.