New to Other-Terrestrial? Check here! Or if you need to, jump to the beginning of the episode here!

---

Apollonia stumbled down the hall, trying to shake off the effects of blacking out.

She hadn’t been the only one; most people in the room apparently had gone unconscious during the maneuver.

She had come to with the doors open and the speakers blaring out for all Response personnel to report to their action stations.

And that’s where she was going.  But she still felt dizzy, unable to even quite understand what was going on.  A drone had scanned her and told her she had no aneurysms or other health issues, that she was fit to report for duty.  That she’d be okay in a few moments.

She didn’t feel okay.

“Good luck!” the woman, Ann, who had been next to her said as she left.

Only after the door had sealed had she realized she’d left her tablet in there.

“All crew!” Brooks’s voice came through the speakers in the halls.  “Brace for impacts!”

An emergency seat popped out of the wall, and she threw herself into it, the webbing lashing itself around her-

Almost not in time.  The ship shook and she was thrown forward in her webbing.  Everything rattled – then it rattled again.  She lost count of how many impacts there were – though she couldn’t count very well in her present state.

“Hull breaches detected,” the words came.  “All civilians remain in safety bunkers.  All Response personnel, report to assigned stations and await further commands.”

She was going to need full vac gear.

Other alerts played, as the webbing released her.

They phrased things in that official sort of way, but the gist was clear, even to her.

Be prepared for dead or dying people.

Be ready to die.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she knew she had to finish putting on her vac suit.  Even if just for her own safety; if something punched through the ship, it was always better to have yourself covered.

Though maybe getting blasted out alive into the dark was worse than a quick death.

Her knees felt weak.

She slapped the door open panel on a room and ducked inside.  Putting her back to the wall, she slid to the floor and couldn’t make herself stand up.

She couldn’t do it.

---

“All but three accounted for!” the call came.

Across the ship, the Response Volunteers had gone to where they’d been assigned.  There were two reported injuries – nothing seriously, thank the stars – and one no-show.

Vakulinchuk squinted at the list to see who the no-show was, adrenaline making it hard to focus on fine details.

Apollonia Nor.

He flicked the notification away, and looked to the teams assembled before him, his image going out to every Volunteer.

“Your assignments are issued, get those breaches sealed, watch for rooms that may still have pressure and therefore people inside!  Move!”

The teams reacted, moving – if not skillfully, then at least determinedly.  One short that they should be.  But now was not the time to worry about that.  Things happened.  He just hoped she wasn’t hurt out there and no one knew.

He heard a clunking, and saw a hatch open, with the new Abmon officer who had transferred aboard.

“Sir,” he said, through his rocky grumbling.  “My post is not far from a breach, but is intact.  I’m quite strong and naturally resist vacuum.  Permission to help?”

His system came up with the relevant information; even if his last tests had been awhile ago, He That Squats on Yellow Sand was qualified for non-combat duty, without a doubt.

A short-handed team could sure use the strength of an Abmon . . .

“Accepted,” he barked, sending to the Armorer his orders.  “Get down to your assigned team and help them, they’ll be expecting you.”

Squants on Sand saluted, and began to amble away at what was – for an Abmon – rather fast.  “I will not let you down, sir!” he said sincerely.

---

Pirra saw the notification come up.

The fire in front of her demanded more of her attention, but her team were veterans of more than a few burning oxygen leaks.  The flames sputtered, then died.

“That’s the last one!” Kiseleva said through the comm.  Pirra could see her mouth moving, but only hear her through the radio.

To her right was open space, where the missile had torn a breach through the outer hull, leaving a ten-meter gap.  The edges were being closed rapidly by heavy drones, crawling along the inner hull, carrying small plates they fused together.  In a matter of minutes they’d have it fully sealed, even if it wouldn’t stand up to most weapons.

“All team, back to rendezvous,” she ordered.  “And good work.”

She trotted out with the others.  No one wanted to be in an open area if they got hit again, though for at least a few more seconds they were expecting silence.

She looked at her alarm again.

He That Squats on Yellow Sand had joined one of the short-handed Volunteer Response teams.

Annoyance flashed through her that the Abmon had gone around her orders, but at least it was a non-combat unit . . .

He was rated for that, at least.

She sent a priority message, to both he and Vakulinchuk, who had signed off on his joining.

“Once he helps his team with their immediate vital issues, Squats on Sand is to report back to his post without delay,” she said sharply.

She grabbed a handhold and got another warning of a high-G maneuver.  The ship was about to go into a spin.

Her team moved quickly and were strapped in.  The main computer monitored everyone it could, to determine when it could safely begin the maneuver, but it would only wait so long.

She checked the monitoring systems, saw that Alexander and Elliot were safe, in a bunker deep in the ship.  Then Iago; he, too, was reaching safety, somewhere near the equator ring.  He pinged as he strapped in, and she felt as content as she could.

“Hold on,” she said calmly to her unit.  No one looked alarmed, even as the entire ship began to spin.

Then the ‘G-SHOCK IMMINENT’ alarm went off.  The ship’s massive coilguns were warming up . . . about to fire.

Oh, they were in the shit now, she thought.

---

< Ep 6 Part 39 | Ep 6 Part 41 >