I don't know was an honest answer, at least, but it wasn't a particularly reassuring one. Alfred leaned forward to rest his chin in his hands as she explained, staring dejectedly forward at the Voyager. She wasn't the biggest or the best ship in the world, nor the fastest, and she couldn't fly like the Sycorax had, but she was his. Alfred genuinely didn't know what he would do if she couldn't be salvaged. He would survive, he supposed, because a few years ago he had been in England without a sickle to his name and no ship and no occupation, and he'd managed to bounce back from that. He could do it again, if he had to. He would not be left with nothing if he lost the Voyager, but it was a daunting prospect all the same.

He glanced over at her briefly when she started to call him by name, then looked back towards the ship. "I suppose I'm glad it's you," he reflected miserably. Not that he'd been particularly thrilled to see her when he'd shown up onboard that day, but of everyone who worked at the Ministry, Zelda was at least competent. And she cared.