"Call me Reeve," the suit said, and the woman in it hazarded a smile. He'd given her a very proper greeting, considering the circumstances. She liked a man with manners. Most of the men she'd dealt with in her short life couldn't spell manners, let alone exhibit them, so it was a pleasant chance. Turning from Charles, Nyula stomped over to the corpses and started chucking them out the door with little ceremony. The hydraulics in her arms hummed. "You're right about the animals. Anything could be living out here, and I prefer not having to punch local wildlife. Can't believe all of these dead ones... Think the life support system failed? Their faces are all uncovered-- you and I have isolated respirators, so if the oxygen scrubbers in the ship got pinged we wouldn't know." She glanced over her shoulder at him as she hefted a skinny female engineer out the wrenched door. 

After pitching the last of the hapless passengers out, Nyula ran an infared scan of the immediate area. Nothing interesting. She clicked back to her regular optics. "So, where were you going when the good ship Fuckbolt tanked?" Her scalp itched, so she dragged a hand over it, only to remember she was inside the suit. She couldn't actually touch anything; all she could do was feel it second-hand through the sensors. She wondered if Charles could take his suit off. 

Ever since she'd been put into it, Nyula had been trapped. The suit was welded shut around her. The system had a tube through which she was fed every six hours and another to keep her watered. Everything else was just as automated. Nyula preferred not to think about it. [i]Better than being dead[/i], she muttered to herself as she straightened up.