Raccoon Shuttle
Navian was on her feet by the time Kyo crossed the cabin, her hand on the pistol at her belt. Even so, when the environment suit was tossed toward her, she caught it, followed by the rifle, balancing it on the top. She tugged at the sleeve of the suit, and grimaced. Not only did the form-fitting garment not have wing slots, it was designed for someone at least a foot shorter.
Tossing it and the rifle onto the seats in the center aisle, she withdrew her service pistol while casting its holster aside, and swept over to the crate containing all her possessions in two swift strides. "Pardon the noise," she suggested, crouching to fire a trio of shots from her
NSP across the crate at a low angle, to shear off the straps holding down her crate, disable the latches, and unhinge the lid. The third shot shot of the pulse barrage, finding nothing to shred itself on, remained intact to bounce across the side wall of the shuttle, and scattered itself against the interior hull in a shower of sparks.
Navian ignored the damage, and knelt to lay her pistol down on the floor, wrapping her left arm firmly around the crate. She twisted the lid, and tore it wide open with her right hand. A flick of the wrist and a muffled clatter of metal later, she swatted her Aspis shield away from the top of the heap in its packaging, and pulled her own
AMES out of the crate from under her duffel bag. Laying the components before her, she began to don the suit with all the speed and surety of the thousand drills that she'd performed, for this emergency.
"I need twenty seconds," Navian intoned. Fifteen had already passed since the first strike hit the shuttle.
By the time Fyodor was ready, at his own pace, Navian would have placed her pistol in her AMES holster, jammed loose items from the shuttle and her kit wherever they could be securely stowed, brought the rifle she'd been given within easy reach, and at last, begun strapping her crate down again, with her Aspis in place of its former lid.
