[h3][b]Virginia Sokolova[/b][/h3][hr]Ginny’s head was still ringing when she got picked up, her vision swirling and the sound of blood flowing in her ears was overwhelming. She was concussed, but not unconscious as she listened passively. Once the shuttle had landed, she shuffled wordlessly out of it, nowhere near coherent enough to try and help in the landing bay. She lingered for a moment, trying and failing to recollect herself before she follows John. The layout of the ship was already more familiar to her than the shuttle pilot, but her pace was nowhere near enough to match. 

Passing along the sleek walls, thankful that she could follow the power lines and piping. It was also nice that there wasn’t a need to use a ladder or lift to get to the bridge from the shuttle bay, a welcome piece of smart design work. It helped her refocus, her mind following the markings for panels. Her deactivated mag-boots still clacked on the grated floors, the rhythm of her pace bringing her back into the present instead of… wherever else her mind was wandering.

She would go into the maintenance cabinet she had stashed her duffel, and unzip it. While she was rummaging through it, the ship would hum to life, taking off. Even in her haze, her heart sank. There was no way that everyone had made it aboard, let alone much of the supplies to sustain them. She cursed to herself as she considered the situation, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. They were supposed to load up everyone and everything left, and…

And What? She had a plan, she may even have some credence after risking her life to buy time, but she was no leader, she was a hunting dog who got pointed in directions.

But now the direction is clear. She took the holoprojector from her pack, tapping it open in her hand, projecting a stellar map before her. It was the best lead anyone had ever gotten. The Eden colonists were the most direct Terran offshoots she had ever heard of, and old nav-charts in their archives gave her the best possible line. She had left a couple beacons, one on the planet which hopefully would last long enough for a rescue team to find it, and one on the now-dead station behind her.

But now, what was before her was more important, and the map was the best hope for this crew. She would take it with her, leaving the bag safe in the cabinet. That was when she looked down: she was still wearing her taped-up spacesuit, only the helmet bowl being removed. Her bottle of Vodka remained attached to her side, miraculously not shattered by the concussive force of the missile strike.

She made it up onto the bridge, catching the end of Velia bemoaning their lack of charts. Her eyes looked down for a moment, then across the other faces on the bridge. She locked eyes with the older Kiellar. She had a couple hours to come up with how she was going to pitch the idea.

“I’m a bit out of commission ‘ta be doing sweeps.” Her drawl was a little slurred still “Mark might be able to get some of those drones searching the place.” She offered uncertainly, unhelpfully. “I got some pathfinding experience, but these aren’t my usual parts.” She says “I can look at the maps you got, and give you all at least some directions.”