[center][h2]Barely Time To Breathe…[/h2][/center] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/v47tHWB.png[/img] [/center] JP from [@Xandrya] and [@sail3695] “Yessir,” was all Abby could think to chime in. She weren’t no tactical genius, but one thing she conjured right quick was that to the likes ‘o’ Reavers, three folk stranded on a rock in the black was ‘bout as near as yah got to the proverbial ‘bird in the hand.’ Didn’t hurt to add that the less she ran ‘er mouth, the less she’d give away a quiver in her voice, to boot. Havin’ a hidin’ place…even if it’s halfway down a crevasse in a broke down old container…was scads better’n just standin’ around up here waitin’ for them Reavers to come back. “One thing’s true,” the girl said into her comm as she grabbed one side of the headpiece, “low grav sure made this big bastard a lot easier to move about.” Imani made her way around to the other side of the snuffler to work in unison with Abby. She grabbed the opposite end of the headpiece, finding humor in the crewmate's statement despite the peril they found themselves in. "You right for that, the job's not awful hard to pull off when the weight's scaled down." As they trudged forward, Imani matched her steps to Abby's, favoring the improved rhythm. Eventually arriving at the edge of the crevasse, Imani peered into the depth below. She placed the snuffler gently on the ground and eased her way down to a kneeling position on the ground with her legs tucked underneath her. Better leverage and all that. "I can guide it down as you feed it foot by foot, shiny?" “Sounds good,” Abby give a nod inside ‘er helmet. Truth was, it really did sound good. Work she done recently with Imani, learnin’ fightin’ moves an’ how tah defend ‘erself, offered a gander into how the doc could take hold ‘o’ her emotions an’ get down to business. Seein’s how the deckhand’s still fit to get all jittery over sight ‘o’ Reavers, havin’ Imani to hand was a fit prop to steady her own self, and she found gratitude for the example. “Here it comes,” she said, confidence on the rise as she let the twelve inch thick tubing of the snuffler play through ‘er hands. It hadn’t taken more than a few seconds’ sputter and fizzle for China Doll’s comms to erode into the background static. Yuri moved off into the darkness, his strides exaggerated by the paltry gravity. As he strode forward, the beam of his torch swept the surface, left, right, left, in search of the gleaming O2 tanks or the white canvas cloth of the tool bag. He could only hope that his shipmates might’ve heard the warning from their people below. He found the bag first, neatly arranged where Imani had left it. The First Mate snapped a glow stick to mark the location before resuming his search. The voices of the two women sounded in his helmet, working things out to repurpose their extraction tool into an escape ladder. Not for the first time, he found himself wondering what the Captain might’ve chosen in this moment. [i]Forty-three percent,[/i] Yuri mouthed the words in silence as he checked his O2 capacity. Statistically, both Imani and Abby should have higher counts in their tanks at the moment. He could only hope that the exertions they’d undertaken at his order were actually meaningful. A dull glimmer at two o’clock caught his eye. As Yuri approached the tank, his spirits fell, [i]”La shi”,[/i] he muttered to himself. The tank lay on its’ side, exposing a dent and crease through which escaping oxygen was now stirring up eddies in the surrounding dust. He probed, gloved fingers pressing along the damage, until finally his thumb disrupted the flow. Carefully, he lifted the cylinder, turning the regulator with its’ meter up for his eye. [b]36%[/b] “Gorram it.” He reached into a pocket on the leg of his suit, producing a package of quick patches. The one handed work was awkward and slow, but after a few frustrating moments, Yuri had managed to slip one of the smaller suit patches over the tank’s wound. The contact of oxygen to the adhesive was instantaneous, and with a small wisp of smoke, the damaged O2 tank and its’ remaining contents were safe. A minute later, he laid eyes on the second tank. “Everybody check your O’s,” Yuri said as he approached the life giving oxygen. They was just about done when Yuri's voice rang in through the comms. A smidge alarming message in context. She placed a hand on the snuffler, palm down, as she looked back at Abby. "Wait a moment." Imani then took a moment to read her oxygen level. "It's 77% for me." Abby took hold ‘o’ one of the firm wire rings inside the snuffler tube, stopping it’s downward slide as she followed Yuri’s order. “Seventy-four,” she reported as the last of the bulky contraption played out twixt her gloves. The deckhand leaned over, gazing into the crevasse. When she couldn’t get her helmet lights to train right, she went for the hand torch instead. “Well, hell,” the girl muttered. “What’s up?” Yuri asked. The torch’s beam played over the snuffler’s dangling end, the top edge of the trapped container below, and the unhappy distance between them. “We got us a powerful gap ‘tween our snuffler an’ the container,” Abby replied. “Nigh on five-six meters is my guess.” For a tick, all that could be heard in response was Yuri’s breathing over the helmet comm. Eventually, he spoke. “Copy. I’m on the way back with more O2. Heading for the toolkit now. We’ll see what we can…shit. They’re back.” Both women turned from their work. Yuri could be seen, roughly a hundred meters distant, his suited figure silhouetted in the unforgiving glare of an approaching searchlight.