"It is fortunate, then, that the Gouf has not attempted peaceful action until now." 

Rebekah's comment was more than a little dry, and none-too-gentle in pointing out the Zeon pilot's behavior, but she didn't move to finish the enemy unit. As practical an option as it would have been, it wasn't necessary; they now outnumbered the Gouf three-to-one. She had extended her own offer of ceasefire as well and she wasn't one to go back on her word. There were larger problems to address, too. 

She wasn't facing the risk of death by enemy fire anymore, she was no facing death by asphyxiation. 

For it was air that was the real problem, not food. Between the small quantity of emergency rations in her cockpit and whatever stores of energy her body could burn she could survive for at least a week. Certainly more, but then she would begin to run into the issue of dehydration. A week would be long enough to accelerate the Striker in the direction of the Federation ships and most likely run into a vessel of some kind, provided she permitted inertia to carry her instead of using up the fuel she might need for maneuvering, but there was no guarantee that vessel would be friendly. Her efforts to reach allied ships might simply carry her into the hostile, trigger-happy arms of a Zeon battle group. It was a moot point anyway, given the limited amount of oxygen available. Even factoring in what was contained within her normal suit she would run out of oxygen in a matter of days.

The only solution she could see was to make her way to the colony in the hopes that there were sufficient supplies to ensure her survival, and that of the remaining Federation pilots in the area. Searching for additional survivors would further drain resources, but was a necessity. She would [i]not[/i] leave comrades to suffocate in the void alone. Not if she could help it.

There were more immediate matters to attend to, however.

"I disengaged when it ventured deeper into the asteroid field." She answered the pilot of the Thunderbolt GM, noting movement out of the corner of her eye and turning the Striker's head to get a better look. "Continuing to engage it one-on-one was a risky proposition. It was wiser to regroup."

"It seems, however, that it has decided to return." The Striker's eyes flashed, while its external lights continued to flash a ceasefire signal. A smooth move of her arm brought her rifle to bear on the Zaku hanging at the edge of the field, a precaution against potential hostility.

The ball was in her erstwhile opponent's court, now.

[@Crimmy] [@Plank Sinatra] [@Suku] [@Arclabe]