[h2][color=red][i][u]Romanova[/u][/i][/color][/h2]

[color=red][u]Captain Venera Romanova:[/u][/color]

Venera doublechecked the spacesuit's glove. It was sealed, just like it was two minutes ago. Dr. Zelinsky was attacking the airlock control panel down the passageway with a crescent wrench, muttering something about the fine Soviet engineers that made the thing. To her left, Utkin stood placidly in his own suit, watching Zelinsky's efforts. She wasn't certain, but Utkin didn't even appear to be breathing. It was unnatural. 

"Got it!" Zelinsky said, a tangle of wires drooping from his ungloved fist. The clanks of the outer airlock cycling reverberated in the narrow passageway.

[i]"This is Volkov. I confirm the exit of my comrades-in-arms,"[/i] Volkov said via radio. The trapped cosmonauts were finally released, and assumed a defensive formation around the ship. The airlock cycled back, and the inner door opened with a hiss of slightly-unequal pressure. Zelinsky was talking to his engineering teams on a different channel while he put his glove back on, brow furrowed as he tried to remember all the things that needed to get done with him off the ship. Every once in a while, he'd send an annoyed glance Venera's way. 

And then they were in space. 

The [i]Romanova[/i] towered above them gloriously, a monument to all of Soviet might and technological prowess. Ambient noise faded to nothing but her suit's air supply and her own breathing. Her world was very small, and the universe was very, very large. In the distance, alien ships hung like flies on flypaper. The [i]Romanova[/i] was in a small cloud of engineered living space among an enormous amount of nothing. She inhaled deeply and let the breath out slowly.

[i]"Utkin, Stanislovsky, to the [/i]Paramount[/i]. Zelinsky, Kozlov, with me to the [/i]Helios[i]."[/i] The two small teams and their cosmonaut escorts set off. Her training kicked in. Space-walking was her least favorite part of her career. Too much nothingness, seeping in all around her. She missed the comfortable, solid bulkheads of the [i]Romanova[/i]. She hated to rely on fabric and rubber to keep the nothing out.

Mostly, she subtly relied on their cosmonaut, Kozlov, to point the way to the [i]Helios[/i]. At this distance, the [i]Helios[/i] was a small grayish rectangle, barely bigger than her pinky nail. The cosmonaut cut his maneuvering thruster. Now they were relying on kinetics and time. Perspective shifted, and suddenly she was staying still, watching this smallish rectangle slowly stretch itself out. She could make out hangar bays and antennae. There were even large portholes. Eventually the ship assumed a velocity, coming straight toward her. Still, the cosmonaut hadn't flipped around for the braking burn.

Their small flak adjusted right, partly through calculations done in their head, partly through experience, and partly through pure guesswork.

[quote=Venera to Helios][color=red]This is Commander Venera Romanova on approach to the [i]Helios[/i] in a flak of three, requesting guidance to an airlock.[/color][/quote]

~o~0~o~

[color=red][u]XO Yevgeniy Utkin[/u][/color]

Every time he came out here, he had to second-guess his choice to go into command. It was so freeing, knowing that if he wanted to, Utkin could go anywhere. No papers in space. He loved the challenges. Nothing between you and death but your mind and a maneuver pack. Approach too fast, and you'd smash your innards out like a swatted fly.

He lead Stanislovsky, his cosmonaut escort, in a daring competition. Without saying a word, he'd continued accelerating far past the necessary or recommended speed. It was a "burn and flip" maneuver - continuously burn until the midway point, flip, and then continuously decelerate to the destination. It was extremely risky to do in a personal spacesuit, without a computer or reliable rangefinder. Not to mention the lack of visibility as you approached your destination backwards. The spacesuit's wrist-mounted mirror was very small. Every so often, Stanislovsky and Utkin would share a silent look. Neither backed off until what Utkin reckoned was the last second.

The [i]Paramount[/i] rushed up toward their backs. Shaky details grew larger at an alarming rate in his wrist-mirror. The hangar that they were aiming for grew from a line to a rectangle to two open doors. Suddenly he could make out lights in the ceiling.

The two space-suited Soviet officers shot up through the bottom of the hangar, passing startled marines as they stopped, barely, a few feet shy of the ceiling. As they landed on the hangar floor, Utkin shared a last look of respect with Stanislovsky. 

"Greetings from the glorious Soviet Union!" Utkin said to the nearest person who seemed to be in charge.