| [ PWO Rihen Neyah | Vector 01 Hull | "Helmet" Exterior | USS Theurgy ] Blinking away the salty egesta from her eyes, Rihen Neyah tried to breathe deeper. Nonetheless, the nausea remained.
"I'm... almost done," she said inside the helmet of her EVA suit, chiding herself because she wanted to repair her allotted hull damage and not just quit because she was feeling a bit ill. The skin of her nose was rubescent by the heat, glistening with perspiration, and her eyes were dry like paper no matter how much she blinked. Likely a fever peaking after having felt fine when she began the shift. Her arms, as weak as a newborn's, still moved when she made them, but she felt that her entire body was slick with sweat inside the suit. Of course, she'd heard about Virus 117, but she was in denial. Well, perhaps she wasn't - already suspecting she had contracted it from the Resolve crew. Yet even if she had, she was not about to leave a job half-finished. She was almost done, and even if it seemed like the gloves on the suit were getting stiffer around her fingers, she could still push her thumb down on her plasma torch's trigger, and that was good enough. Just a little more...
Suddenly, the hull became brighter, and Rihen raised her heterochromatic gaze to the nebula. The vertigo or the motion almost made her eyes roll. The crepuscular sky above Vector 01 was filled with cloudy maelstroms - moving on winds unlike she'd ever seen in Suraya Bay or Nimbus III. Desultory, her eyes next discerned the umbrageous surface of the hull before her, whereupon spectres of malign fire danced. An explosion? she thought. How could she not hear any susurrous anlage of fire? She had momentarily forgotten that she was in space, and that there was no sound. Then, she saw the origin. Her mismatched eyes widened to the sight; fiery effluvium expanding, a silently roaring ebullition larger than her, and the sinuous motions of the molten flames.
A pocket of sirillium gas had just detonated, expanding towards the surface of the hull she stood on.
"Oh, no..." she said, but before she managed to contact anyone, there was a voice heard inside her helmet.
[This is Crewman Fok in Work Bee Zero-Nine to all engineers.] The voice sounded brittle, as if on the verge of carefully contained hysteria. Fear barely tethered. [I represent the Devoted, and h-here are our demands. Unless Captain Ives resign, and Sarresh Morali is m-made new Commanding Officer of the Theurgy, I will detonate all the sirillium around the hulls. No more can we fumble blindly, dying because of Ives' ignorance. Let Morai thwart the enemy... and lead the way home.]
Screaming, Rihen had dropped her torch from her hand and started to run away from the firery cloud, but her legs weren't working as they should. Perhaps it wasn't her suit that was stiff, but her limbs swollen. "Neyah to Kalmil!" she panted, reporting to the only Chief outside the ship, "I can't get away!"
[Inform the Captain that h-he has ten minutes, but that's all. We are listening on this channel.]
Rihen cast her brown and blue eyes back once more, realising it was too late, and threw herself down unto the hull. Yet that meant her boots were no longer magnetically sealed to the surface. Still screaming, the shock wave of the conflagration swept her off the hull, leaving the back of her EVA-suit burning - the air trapped inside the suit's layers set alight. |