Your hands fly across the damaged control panel, wiping away a thin layer of soot to reveal the diagnostic readouts beneath. The brass gauges tremble as they settle into their readings - oxygen levels stable, temporal core integrity at 68%, but the external damage indicators glow an angry crimson. A schematic of the time machine flickers on the cracked display, showing multiple breaches in the outer hull plating.

You unlatch your restraints with a metallic click and move carefully toward the rear compartment. The floor groans alarmingly beneath your boots, tilting at a slight angle where the ship has sunk into the soft earth. Pulling open the maintenance hatch reveals a tangle of broken vacuum tubes and leaking coolant lines, their precious fluids dripping onto the packed dirt below.

The peasant woman takes a hesitant step forward, her bare feet crushing grapes beneath her. 'Are you... an angel?' she whispers in heavily accented Italian. Before you can respond, a distant horn sounds from beyond the vineyard's stone walls. The woman's face pales. 'The Duke's men,' she breathes, suddenly grabbing your arm with surprising strength. 'You must hide - they take anything unusual for their collections.'

Through the broken viewport, you spot armored riders approaching down the vine rows, their polished breastplates glinting in the afternoon sun. The time machine's damage assessment completes with a final, ominous beep - REPAIR ESTIMATE: 72 HOURS MINIMUM. The display flashes another warning: TEMPORAL DRIFT DETECTED - LOCAL TIMELINE INTEGRITY COMPROMISED.