Log:Some Things are Best Left Alone

Some Things are Best Left Alone

OOC Date: March 14 2021 (Optional)
Location: Space
Participants: Saturi, Netep Muri

Asteroid fields are home to all sorts of surprises. Uninhabited systems are often explored and exploited for their resources, but the lower density of traffic makes them a prime candidate for hiding secrets. Less than a couple of light years away from Roche, a remote brown dwarf lingers. Many rings of broken rocks orbit the rogue system. It's rare to see a visitor out here and it's no wonder that Saturi stumbled across a vacated asteroid base. Relatively untouched and in solid condition.

<"I thought you would get a kick out of it."> The Pantoran says to Netep as she crosses through the threshold of the airlock, stepping into the abandoned base. She flicks her helmet light on. The radiance cascades down the darked corridor. An overgrowth of dead greenery spills through busted glass, covering the floor of the hallway. <"We ran some scans after finding it. Opened the airlock, saw what was inside, and decided to head back and look for you.">

"Because of the plants?" Netep follows her Pantoran tour guide through the airlock and into the eerie stillness of this empty corridor. Her softly illuminated face is turned thusly to gaze upon the ruin that once was life and life support. Eyes are glittering blue, polar ice, fixing upon the shattered atrium. Her hair, what wisps are visible in the confines of helmet, is still a deep, dark purple.

"Begs the question.." she stoops to examine a slip of stalk between her gloved fingers. "What is it that caused the glass to break? Surely not the pressure of an overgrown garden. If so, they'd designed it poorly. When is it you expired, my composting friends? Mm?" Another pinch of leaf taken up and flattened gently across her palm to see its shape. "Was it vacuum that stole your air? Or was it slow suffocation, long after your respiring cohabitants vacated this place?"

"Yes." Purple reflections from her armour reflect onto the stale grey walls. "It was because of the plants." She says it bluntly, turning to face Netep. "I didn't disturb anything. I really don't have any answers for you." The woman looks over the busted glass, wondering the same thing that Muri was asking about. "I don't know why anyone would want to commit to a hydroponics station all the way out here. Even if they were selling plants, it wouldn't make much economic sense."

The mint green suit that is Netep stands back up and treads carefully through the broken greenhouse wall. "Fresh food, research, backup O2 supply..." a few reasons that come to mind immediately as she goes about knocking over this and that, rifling through some miscellaneous items on a workbench. Nothing seems to capture her interst and she mosies around to the overhead stuffs, fingering the ropes of UV lighting in search of a serial number, brand, anything.

it's a decent setup, might be she's just curious about who supplied their gear.

"Any idea what this station was built /for/?" A glance over shoulder neccessitates a quarter turn for what little bulk the suit and armor plating adds to her figure. "Ya see asteroids, thought goes immediately to mining, but...sometimes the fields'r just a convenient place t'hide, yeah?"

"It's not a mining station." Saturi responds with her digitized voice. She creeps around near Muri, running her eyes over everything. The Pantoran shows an interest in the decaying plants, running her black gloves across them. "At least, it's not like any mining station that I have ever seen." Her attention shifts down the corridor, helmet light doing a poor job at illuminating the farthest reaches. "What type of plants are they?"

"Maybe it's an illegal operation?" She takes deep breath. "Eriu told me about her family vault. That people from Hapes will find secluded spots to lock up all of their valuables." Her gaze is cast back at Netep, washing the other woman with light. "Maybe it's like that? Or a research station?"

"Mm..edible, maybe." Netep pulls one tangle of dead leaves from its slot to look at the root structure. "Don't see much in the way of flowering body in this one, but..." the botanically-inclined spacer trails off, attention drifting to another heap of taller stalks and broader leaves. Nestled in the middle of it all are a few crumpled petals, Purple, or somewhere on the blue-red spectrum before death. Muri's helmet tips curiously aside.

A slow, crooked grin is growing behind her sealed visor.

"I believe we may have our answer." She upholds one of the leaves. "Plausible theory, at least. This is bachani. Are you familiar with the name?"

"I've never heard of Bachani." The Pantoran admits. She maneuvers around everything to encroach on Muri's personal bubble. Her head is brought forward, closer to the plant for a visual inspection. "It's rather ugly." Saturi's insult is directed at the plant. Even through the robotic tone of her voice, it's clear that she doesn't respond well to how it looks. "Keep it away from me." She adds, stepping back from both Netep and the plant.

Luckily for Saturi, Muri has no personal bubble! She tilts aside, making room for closer inspection though and offers up the leaf accordingly. "The Ithorians were known to grow this in massive quantity for its medicinal properties. Was uh...an extract, I believe. Mighty powers that be didn't like the idea of unrestricted imports, exports of such a thing, some decades ago, so slapped independent sales with a ban." She tips back a few inches to sit on her bum and pluck the withered flower. Into belt pouch it goes. "Naturally, that gave rise to /illegal/ production and distribution. No better way to make a fruit more tempting and lucrative than to label it forbidden, hey?"

Tsk tsk tsk.

"So maybe that's what this was. In part, anyway." A vague gesture around motions to the many other plant varieties that are NOT bachani.

"Why would they want to stifle medicine production?" Saturi asks with an irritated surprise. The answer is easy. Credits. It doesn't take her long to come to the conclusion. You would think for someone that has ties to criminal organizations wouldn't have such an uptight high moral reaction at first. The denial runs heavy. "Are the rest of the plants also illegal?" Saturi glances about the variety of foliage, all dead. "It would explain the seclusion."

"I dunno why. Patents? Quality control?" Muri shrugs, not having a total grasp of it herself. A few more snips of this and that (whatever she can reach within a short hip-scoot aside) are tucked away for safekeeping with the bachani blossom. "As for the rest of what's here...some, maybe, yes. Could be an illicit horticulture lab...or a more honest, pharmaceutical research endeavor, who knows. Would need to find some documentation or--"

Space gypsy falls abruptly silent, like she's listening for phantom sounds. Her halted expression endures for four long seconds.

Netep climbs her way off the floor then, trusting the hydroponic rack to bear her weight long enough for a quicky 'umpf' to feet. "Did you feel that?" A vibration in her rump, down there, like the station was attempting to get fresh with her. "Was uh, ehm...a tremor, almost. Not really. A tangible hum?" Her left boot stomps the deckplating for emphasis and immediately her gaze wanders in search of a source. "Are we...how recently did you scan for signs of life?"

"No. I didn't feel it." She spins about. The woman moves towards the corridor, shining her helmet light down it. Nothing. "We scanned for life when we found the station. Nothing on-board. The dead plants were the only organic material." Saturi keeps her helmet light towards the core of the small station. "We could go check out the central corridor. Maybe the command center." The station creaks, soft vibrations traveling through the deck plating. It's enough to tickle their feet if they were paying any attention. Unfortunately, the Pantoran isn't. She just thinks Muri is being paranoid.

A flood of terrible memories is threatening to burst open the dam of Muri's weirdly sober mind. Derelict ship, piloted by the dead...

No, Muri. Don't even go there.

Seemingly of its own accord, her sidearm is suddenly in hand. "Yeah, let's...let's check the center. Maybe it was sitting dormant to conserve power and our boarding woke it up? Some intelligent LS system AI?" It's a happier thought than her initially imagined scenario. "Maybe it's getting bumped 'round a bit by debris or a solar, er, event?"

The little hairs on her neck are not convinced and so remain on guard beneath the confines of suit as she takes a few tentative steps toward the corridor. Her own helmet lamp starts casting a slow, sweeping ray along either length of corridor.

"It's a possibility." Saturi responds. She isn't going to jump to drawing out a weapon just yet. Her feet aren't responsive enough to feel the occasional vibration of the ground. The Pantoran keeps to the right side of the hallway as they progress towards the central section. The promenade for the station is shaped like a triangle. The outpost is three stories tall, with the first, second, and third floors visible. It's an open concept atrium. Much like before, overgrowth and dead vines have woven themselves around the walkways, giving the facility a spider web-like appearance.

"How old do you think this is?" She pauses, her helmet light flicking around, clearly showing what she is looking at. "If you've been to the station in orbit of Ealor, it looks similar...but this may be older."

Muri snorts, the fog of which lingers like a little ghost cloud for a few seconds upon the face shield. "What, you mean Spice Terminus?" She turns in slow circles as they move through the promenade, pausing just once to touch one of the vines. "Whoever was manning this outpost didn't mind an unkempt garden, that's a fact." She brushes some of the dead, brittled hairs off the vine and watches them disperse. "This growth is many years, months in the making. While there was still enough atmosphere to support it. Can't say I've seen anything in particular that'd date the station itself. But if they /were/ conducting secretive botanical business away from the disapproving glare of the Galactic Republic then that'd make it more'n a few decades old, at minimum."

"I came across an old Republic outpost once. It was barren, devoid of anything useful." The Pantoran moves towards her right, looking up at the catwalks that span to the various corridors above. "Scavengers had hit it. We moved on pretty quickly." She approaches the wall with a curious look. Her eyes run over the decayed plants. "How far do you think we've come from the airlock? Are we still under the influence of the yacht's gravity generator?" They're still connected to the floor. "If not, the station still might have power." A gloved hand motions to the vines. "Do you think we could climb this?"

"I dunno...feels like we've wandered far enough away that I oughta be able to take a giant leap of faith up that'a'way." She cranes her neck back, following the direction of Saturi's point. "Maglock boots," she gives another clickity-clack heel stomp for emphasis, "space walker's best friend." Second only to their air supply, of course. "If these vines are as dead as they look, they could be brittle. Depends on just how woody they are, yeah? Might support ya. But with these," she click clacks around some more and takes another long gander upward. "Don't much matter. I'll walk up the damn scaffolding if y'want me to."

Except there's /that/. Her eyes bug to spy a familiar shape float through her field of vision up yonder.

"Hey Rockhopper, your ship's scan most likely was accurate, so that's a comfort. We might be the only lifeforms on board alive. However...how's it at pickin up on /droids/?" A point, with her pistol, taclight tactfully turned /off/ for a moment. "S'got a probe on patrol, n'less my eyes deceive me." A glance goes to the little life support display in the upper right quadrant of helmet. "Oxygen level hasn't tanked yet so odds are I'm not /that delirious."

The beam of light off Saturi's helmet is cast out onto the third floor catwalk. She is following where Netep had pointed. "I think Dann, my pilot, scanned for power signatures. He didn't report anything." The woman sounds concerned, trusting Muri's eyesight. "Well. Here's the question..." With droids hovering about, the Pantoran gunshy about exploring further. "Do you think that the station is worth searching? With the dead plants...it was clearly abandoned. If I was the owner, I'd have stripped it out for resources before leaving it here to rot."

"If you had the luxury of doing so...Maybe there was an emergency. Or worse." Muri seems keen to investigate further, it would seem, as she keeps pacing along the angular perimeter, eyeballing the levels above. "Mightn't be much of monetary worth, but I reckon there's useful bits to add to my own hobby heap." Netep flashes a grin her way then tests a vine's structural integrity with a little tug. Her left foot hikes high and awkwardly up to try and lock a portion of boot to the seemingly metallic beam that the vine has wound around. "What d'ya think?" Asked as she gingerly disengages her right boot from floor. The end result has Muri looking like a drunken spider, hanging there at an uncomfortable 70 degrees backward, almost parallel to floor.

<"You look hilarious."> The Pantoran responds with a laugh. She tugs at the corpse-y vining plant. Muri is likely right, there isn't enough to support her weight. Her hand dips down to her boots. At the last second, she decides that she doesn't want to look like a drunken spider. Saturi reaches back to ignite her jet pack. <"Race you to the top."> She jokes, slowly ascending towards the third floor of the atrium. <"What direction did that droid go?"?

"Funny," Netep grunts and takes a moment to point pretty damn vaguely in the direction the droid floated off to before attempting to walk herself upward and around with her hands before repositioning a foot. So far so goooo-aw, nah. Whether it's the vine or her gloves slipping, Muri's upper half gets dislodged and 'clunks' back to ground floor while her feet remain delightfully attached to their anchor points.

Thank goodness for helmets.

"Safe to say, gravity's got a tug, still," Muri mumbles and struggles her way into a situp before all the blood rushes to head. The third try has GOT to be the charm, no?

Saturi lingers about the catwalk on the third floor. She flashes her head lamp down the corridor towards where Netep gestured...or at least where the Pantoran thinks that she gestured. <"Gravity is my least favourite friend."> Her glance is cast back down at the struggling woman. <"Well, as soon as you get up here, we can deal with that droid."> The woman doesn't want to go at it alone, especially considering she didn't catch a look at it earlier. <"After we're done with that, I want to take a long look around. You might be right, they may have abandoned in a rush.">

<"It has its merits"> Netep dare not speak foul of the temperamental force of nature now when she's depending on its mercy. It takes a good long while, but that green Void suit is soon clambering over onto the catwalk, unable to be very stealthy with the intermittent clackity of her boots engaging with the structural metals. This far up tough, the hauling of self over rail seems effortless compared to how she began the ascent. Gravity must be weaker...if existing at all. Both boots lock onto the deck plating and she beams a look down the length of corridor in parallel to Saturi's.

"No time like the present?"

Netep Muri slides her Modified DL-18 - 5263 out of its holster, bringing the weapon to bear.

<"Welcome to the...third floor?"> It's said as a question, not entirely certain what to call this level. <"And, yes. No time like the present."> The Pantoran decides to take the lead down the corridor. She, unlike Netep, chooses to remain free and unbolted to the ground. Her movements are coordinated in such a fashion that she is always in contact with a wall, able to bounce off it if required. Saturi reaches down to her side, drawing out her silver-plated defender pistol. <"I've not had to deal with something like this in a long time. These abandoned outposts normally don't have functional security...if that's what we're dealing with.">

<"Might just be a remnant piece of--"> hush, Muri. <"There!"> said with emphatic point of finger, not blaster. The pistol remains held down at her side in her left hand. A black shape moves in the darkness ahead, flitting in and out of their light.

A lightening bolt of energy flashes through Saturi's spine as she spots the droid. She holds her weapon at her side, not wanting to provoke the old droid if she doesn't have to. The beaming light from her helmet flashes over the black mass, bulbous head snapping onto both of them. <"I should have killed my light."> Her voice is transmitted with tinges of regret.

The old Imperial probe droid flicks up its arms, aiming an aging blaster down the hallway. Although the sound isn't transmitted, the antiquated being would have plenty of chatter for its visitors. It screeches down the hallway, slamming into a wall before floating off down a corridor to the left. The tremors from before shake the ground.

<"Did you see that?">

<"Did you /feel/ that?"> Netep answers Saturi's question with a question. <"Don't think it's the droid."> But she's pursuing the fleeing probe droid anyway with slow, methodical steps. Her blaster pistol comes back up, trigger finger nervously crooked into place. After a few awkward, ambling steps, she twists her waist to the side to prevent a narrower profile. <"I hadn't seen any debris showers on the scan while we were docking. But something's rocking this rock.">

Saturi waits for another tremor, waiting to see if she can feel it. The ground rubbles softly. <"I feel it now."> She responds with a glance to Muri. <"It's very subtle. Even light explosives would cause more of a shock."> Whatever is causing the shaking is large enough to disrupt the stillness, but not large enough to tear the station apart. At least by the Pantoran's estimate. <"It could be the station's power generator trying to kick back on. If it was on idle and our arrival woke the droid, it may have turned on other systems.">

<"Could be..."> Muri mumbles, not willing to discredit this perfectly plausible scenario just because her gut's gotten itself into a paranoid twist. She casts a wary eye over the side of the catwalk as they go, activating the pistol's taclight so that whatever it's aiming at will be PLENTY visible! This includes the peeper peek around corner into lefthand hallway when that intersection is reached.

And it's there. Caught in the light like a womprat in crosshairs. Except unlike a womprat, this geriatric piece of tech has the means to shoot back. So. Should she shoot first? <"Really wish I'd brought some ions along for the party,"> she quietly laments the lack of grenade before popping off one-two round of red death.

The droid is struck by two blaster bolts. Both charges land right next to its central eye. Although a noise can't be heard, the droid activates its self destruction mechanism. It explodes into a thousand little pieces, the shock wave traveling down the hallway at a violent speed.

<"What happened?!"> Saturi shouts over her communicator as she quickly glides over to Muri's position. Golden eyes look down the corridor, a fine dust is all that is left of the droid. <"You must have hit something important. I didn't know that droids would explode like that."> She's never seen anything quite like it. Her headlamp lights the bulkhead, exposing the decaying grime that lines the walls.

Netep reflexively throws up both hands and pulls herself down into a crouch, working those knees while feet remain locked in place. She can't simply go limp and drop - gravity wouldn't lend her the assist, up here. The shockwave buffets with minute pieces of debris for the fraction of a second she's exposed, but the void armor seems up to the task. It takes a few spine-steeling breaths to recover from the *EEGADS* moment but a quick systems check of her suit reveals that no loss in pressure has occured. Seals are sealed.

<"I don't think that's a typical result. But I admire the moxy."> A hint of a grin is restored to her face and an icy blue wink goes up to the glare of Saturi's headlamp. <"Felt like an 'up-yours' sort of thing, hey? Tried t'get the final word in.">

Another tremor shakes the floor. It's still light in touch. Enough of them have happened to confirm that they're at regular intervals. <"Another one."> Saturi confirms as her feet vibrate. She kicks off of the ground, bumping into the ceiling with her palms. <"I can't tell where it's coming from though."> Her eyes flick about the walls. <"No markings either. Not a surprise. A potentially illicit facility? They wouldn't mark where things are, right?">

<"Not if they ever anticipated an inspection or visitation from non business partners, no, not likely."> Muri runs a few fingers over the 'yuck' dirtying the bulkhead. Bacterial film? Anaerobic, most likely. But what's it feeding on? <"Droid might've come this way for a reason. If all it wanted to achieve was to blast us to oblivyn, coulda saved time and done the deed back there,"> said with a thumbing over shoulder. <"S'pose we just go hatch to hatch.">

<"Split up?"> Saturi asks with literal flip. She spins about, utilizing the zero-G for her fullest amusement. <"We'd be able to cover more ground."> The woman stabilizes herself before pointing back the direction they came. <"I can take a look back through the atrium. If I were to design a station, I would keep the command center close to the center of the structure."> Her gaze stays fixed on Muri.

<"Knock yerself out, rocketgirl."> Netep'll stick to the floor she's already risked much to reach! <"You meet anymore of those droids, be sure to shoot it from behind somethin' solid."> And so it begins, the blind search and exploration of a creepy, abandoned station off the traveled route. What's the worst that could happen? Netep unfolds from her crouch and takes a few long strides toward the nearest door. Naturally, it's sealed shut in closed position, but is it locked? She tries her luck, hitting a green button alongside the frame.

The self-destruction sequence didn't go without its consequences. A transmission alerted other droids of its destruction. Two security drones appear. One on the first floor of the atrium, the other appears from a hatch near Muri. The drone of the third floor has difficulty maintaining motor control as it attempts to navigate the zero-G environment. It drifts across the corridor, bouncing off the far wall as its glowing red eye looks towards Netep.

Meanwhile, the armoured Pantoran gracefully maneuvers towards the central chamber with a coordinated flow of bumps. <"I found another droid. It's down in the atrium."> Saturi announces her finding whilst looking off the third floor catwalk. <"I think there is a lift down there. It's trying to activate it."> She reaches down to her left thigh, drawing her silver blaster once more. <"It hasn't noticed the artificial gravity.">

<"NOTED"> Netep replies, staring down the red eye of bumbling, eventually impending doom drifting almost her way. <"I uh....there's company up here, too."> Her hands are fast at work, prying the cover of that panel off with a multitool from belt and she makes short work of disabling the lock. Forces the door. She's no doubt that security droid will reach its mark /at some point/, so without further ado, Muri scrambles through the opening hatch before it's even finished opening. Nevermind that she's borked its ability to lock. Also, what did she just roll into?

Netep pops up and performs a quick sweep of the space while heart thuds in her chest.

Saturi doesn't respond to Muri's announcement before she starts firing on the droid below. One of the shots hit. She ducks back behind the catwalk, hiding herself from returning fire. <"How much? I just woke up the one down there."> Her concerned voice is relayed back through the communicator. She takes a deep breath, peeking around the corner just as a bolt of plasma hits the nearby wall. It's angry now.

Netep had stumbled into a storage room. Massive rows of metal crates line the walls. They're labeled with imperial decals, each container announcing what is inside. Mainly engineering components.

The third floor droid receives a transmission from the drone in the atrium. It gives up its attention and proceeds to meander past the storage room. It passes in front of the newly opened door without paying any mind, likely moving to attack the Pantoran from behind.

Crates creak and rattle the shelving as Muri struggles to lift lids and peer at contents. Mental notes are made but she isn't going to linger in here long. <"Just the one, far as I know. Appears to have some trouble getting around up here."> Speaking of...she jerks her head around, fully expecting to see the thing grappling at the storage room's door frame, but there's nothing there! Mmmm...

Maglock boots perform the quietest CLICK CLACK in this sound-swallowing place and bear her out of the room. A hasty sweep of catwalk pinpoints its relocation. Was that intentional? She opts for the shoot first, query later option. Might be the little nerd has been emboldened by her anihilation of the probe droid.

Her glove creaks over the trigger and---

Nothing happens. Aboslutely nothing. Khol-rimmed eyes BUG their disbelief and she tries again. Still nothing. Oh no. Oh no Oh no Oh no. A hasty patting down of belt reveals that there are NO spare powerpacks on her person.

<"So ehm...minor setback..."> Netep's voice manages to comm as 'guilty'. <"It's on the move, possibly to get an angle on YOUR position and my amunition has run out BUT just....hold on. I've an idea.">

Can't be anything good.

Muri ducks back into the store room and starts looking for something, anything that's potentially hand-held with a little heft to it and that's when the idea strikes! The multitool comes out and begins a methodical deconstruction of a mostly empty shelf. The noise would be horrendous, its load crashing to the floor, but instead, the bulky items just float gracefully in place...mostly. Seventy-eight seconds after she holstered her useless blaster, Muri reappears with a 29 inch durasteel rod in hand. It's so much lighter when gravity is not an issue.

Let the awkward charge begin!

The silver defender is fired in return. The red blaster bolt strikes the droid below in the head. The metallic being slumps to the ground, forced there by artificial gravity. <"How much have you been shooting?"> Saturi asks with a nervous laugh. She assumes that she has more time than she actually has. The woman spins around to face her behind as plasma fire glances near her head. The other droid had made good time, flanking her. She panics, slamming her hand into the controls of her jetpack. The unit flares out, not igniting from the haphazard input. <"Help!">

<"ON IT!!"> Muri screams with the best of intentions and thunders along that catwalk with even better. Her swing? It's her best, which is really embarassing, considering that rather than forcefully connect with anything vital, it gets halted mid-swing by one of the droid's skeletal hands.

Let go of the rod, Muri.

She had not considered this outcome. It shows. That fatal hesitation. Or is it beligerence? <"Nnrrnh"> she growlygrunts and, unable to jerk the rod free of its grasp, decides to try an out-of-the-box approach. A not incredibly high high kick (low, by high-kicking standards) strains the limits of her flexibility as she seeks to mate her right maglocking boot with its gun arm.

It deflects feebly, doing no more than giving the droid a nudge which might've been fine, were it not still anchored to her by rod and to catwalk by her. Other boot.

Well. It'll never be said that Netep Muri lived a dull life.

<"Stand back!"> Saturi tries to help out by firing a few shots at the droid, watching as Muri struggles with the security unit. Her blaster fire soars high as she bounces from the floor. She flies towards the nearby wall whilst keeping her blaster trained on the hostile metal being. <"Turn it off!"> That's easier said than done.

The metal guard flicks its arm around to fire a point blank shot at Muri. Before the energy has time to disperse properly, the weapon juts towards the Pantoran. A red bolt is flung across the corridor. The heated energy slams into the blue woman's purple helmet. A bright flash of white jumps around the helmet, part of the lethal energy being cast aside as the headpiece does its work. Unfortunately, the scout gear isn't enough to stop the blast from getting through.

A massive hole forms from where the impact occurs. Not only is the asteroid miner dealing with a burn on her right cheek, but the oxygen from her suit begins to rapidly deplete.

A hiccupped sort of noise transmits between their helmets when point-blank bolt slams into Netep's chest plate and sears right through it. The underlying thermal suit is poor protection at this range and so the still TOO-HOT energy bores into flesh and muscle. Just beneath her right breast, or rather between it at her sternum, she and her suit have become one. Every motion, every stretching of thermalweave fiber is going to be agony but that isn't the worst part.

Ssssssssssssssssssssss

Unable to hear the sound from within her sealed helmet, Muri can imagine it, can see her O2 reserve suddenly change. A depressurization warning beeps chidingly in her ears. 92 percent.

The rod is released and Netep launches herself at the security droid before her logical thought processes can take over. <"Are you okay!?"> Muri can't afford to look, not now, whilst grappling with the death bot in attempts to cling to its back and put her tools to work. A multitool gets knocked into an endless tailspin and Muri shortly thereafter.

She tried.

The rules of zero-G differ from typical rules of free-falling in that spreading her limbs wide is NOT going to stabilize or slow her arc of travel. Flailing about might, however, snag something. Unsure what's worse, making an uncontrolled SLAM in opposing bulkhead or having a leg catch on the rail of a catwalk as she cartwheels around.

There's an uncanny popping sound, but at least her boot engages and so does the other, shortly thereafter. She's upsidedown, standing on the underside of catwalk, adjacent to droid's side.

87 Percent, reads the O2 sensor.

All the Pantoran can see is a bright white light. The shock of being shot in the face is unlike any other. She instinctively reaches for her head. The air draining from her suit prevents her from holding it there for long. The augmented reality is out, her helmet lamp is non-functional, communications down, and everything hurts. No amount of training will totally prepare you for staring directly at a hole in your mask. Luckily, years of working as an asteroid miner gives you an edge over others. Unfortunately, that experience means nothing if you can't draw the connections between the work environment and combat. She forgets to draw out emergency patches to seal the hole.

Saturi uses her jet pack to boost off of the catwalk. Her haphazard and poor control of the pack sends her hurdling towards the ground. Multiple high pitched crunches ring through her ears. The sound primarily comes from her body vibrating. Weird. Is that what bones breaking sounds like in a low pressure environment? Blue lips let out any air left in the lungs, inadvertently saving herself from an expanding effect caused by the vacuum of space.

Black tunnel vision starts to form at the edges of her eyes as she rises and sprints for the airlock.

76 Percent...

She's mad. Netep's so mad. She had plans, dammit! PLANS!! All hope of pillaging this station for themselves is lost though and will have to be revisited another time. With more backup. More firepower. Definitely a spare powerpack.

<"Saturi!"> She can see the other woman jetting much too fast toward floor. Toward gravity's greedy embrace. A little shiver begins to creep around under Netep's skin, in spite of her thermal suit's best efforts to keep all her body heat IN. Her feet are already on the move, trying to jog/leap toward the closest vertical support so she might climb down. 'Up' from her current perspective. On the fourth stride, a searing pain strikes her in the back of the thigh with so much force (or her own, pained recoil) that it bungles her rhythm and her boot crushes vine instead of locking onto target.

A pained gasp is thrown over shoulder to see the red glower of that mechanical menace up above, its weapon still tracking Muri's trajectory. This can't be good.

69 percent...

Muri's right foot does lock onto target, only to then launch off in a leap of faith to the catwalk below, hoping to gain a bit of distance, fast enough, and avoid being shot a third time. Her breaths come ragged now, adrenaline surging and pounding her heart visciously fast toward Oxygen depletion. Panic is setting in.

65 percent - as she tries to tuck into a backward half roll to land foot-first on the rail, but misses her target. Both hands grap hold with desperation and, much to her dismay, her feet begin a slow, downward drift of their own accord. Tiny, charred flecks of something are hovering around her now. Were those lil pieces of her own DNA? Crispy flecks of suit? Or blood...

<"I'm...I'm comin! Can y-you hear...me?"> Netep's haste is her undoing and her next handhold breaks free. The initial free fall is comedically slow and she might have laughed, had she not been helplessly gazing up at the looming shape of trigger-happy droid still targeting their position. But then the distance is quickening.

58 percent.

If you've never tried breaking into a dead sprint after exhaling all of the oxygen from your lungs, you would understand that you're not going to make it very far before you pass out. With the painful embrace of space seeping into her suit, the Pantoran tries her best to get back to the ship's airlock. There is air in there. Air is important for carbon based life. She can't help the blackened edges of her vision from stalling her. Saturi falls short of the mark, passing out mid sprint. Her body slumps forward. She collides with the ground and slides across the vine covered deck.

Her unconscious body is /just/ short of the airlock. If only she could have made it a few extra feet.

"Eh, frink," Muri's groan of anticipation sounds ever so dismayed, those last few heartbeats before impact. She has every right to be. Her weight lands predominantly on an already crippled leg and her cruciate ligament tears with a wretched ripping sensation. Pulpy wounds are jarred, melted flesh wounded further by every shift of the suit.

She crumples like lead.

51 percent...

Netep blinks hard, fighting her own wave of dizziness and nausea, lips a touch more pale than they were a few minutes earlier. At least on the Atrium's lowest level her femoral artery has a chance to clot around its scorched wall. Breaths come in the form of shallow little gasps, lest her ribs expand too far and aggravate the already aggrieved muscle.

48 percent.

She frantically crawls one-leggedly to feet. Foot? The left leg will not bear weight and Netep must resort to hop-hop-hopping over to Saturi's limp form. She doesn't so much sit as /flop/ down and pulls Saturi's helmeted head up and around to see the damage done. Oh no. Ohnonononono...

Gripping the Pantoran under her arms, Muri locks her right boot in place and puuuuushes them both back a whole nine inches, toward airlock. This action repeats eight times before they are both safely inside the airlock and she can stagger over to shut the door. Lock it. Repressurize...