it hard into the narrow seam between the housing and the warped bulkhead frame.

She squeezed the wedge’s pneumatic trigger. A sharp, violent *crack* echoed through the chamber as compressed

seized in their housings, fused solid by the sheer, blistering thermal feedback bleeding through the bulkhead.

Vane cursed, pulling a heavy pneumatic wedge from her gear harness. She slammed

from the reserve tanks manually, the core would burn through the floorboards before the hour was out.

Vane slammed her gauntleted fist against the manual override panel. The mechanical locking pins were

A thin layer of sweat pooled along the seal of her neck collar, smelling faintly of ozone and fear. Thirty-two percent was a reprieve, not a victory. If she couldn’t route coolant

"Bridge, respond," Vane repeated, tapping the side of her helmet to cycle through the sub-frequencies.

The rhythmic *thump-hiss* remained unchanged.