Jenni and Derbish quickly excused themselves to search for a "runaway child", disappearing into the shady crevices in the valley walls. Jacq watched them go with a frown, standing beside Nick -- the valley echoed with hisses and chitters, and there was even the occasional crack that slapped the air against her ears. The mountainous rock walls that contained them cast creeping shadows across each other in the setting sun, like multitudinous fingers slowly closing around them.
Nick rubbed the side of his face, red and swollen above his right eye. "Let's see if we can get back into the crew quarters -- if anything, the mattresses will come in handy."
They returned to the ship, the tepid embrace of Perseverance's misty interior laying over her from head to toe as she climbed the jagged folds in the wreck's exterior, back into the lopsided cockpit.
Nick and Leru worked together to force the door at their feet open, but gave up after prying it half way to stare longingly at the door above them.
Jacq peered into the gap they'd opened to find the door to the kitchen less than an arms-length away, the drawers on the far wall pressing it out of its frame as they seeped white steam.
Poking her head into the space between the two doors, she found a warping, winding passage disappearing into the darkness. "I could fit through that."
"It's probably more dangerous than it looks."
Jacq jumped, scraping the top of her head on the door frame as Nick spoke over her shoulder. She fought the urge to rub the sore spot on her head. "I can handle it."
Nick's eyes drooped closed as his head lolled backwards. She was about to tell him to continue bending until his head went up his own butt, when he let out a long breath. "Think you can get that door open?" He gestured upwards, toward the cargo bay. "I know heavy lifting isn't your strong suit, but Leru and I can't get enough leverage from down here."
She grinned toothily and jumped into the hole, wriggling arms-first into the space between the warped metal. She barely had room to bend her elbows, but she managed to snaked through on her back until she came to the remains of the maintenance halls, now more of a shaft pointing straight upwards. Sunlight pierced the walls in thin, golden beams that almost seemed solid in the shadows, save for the motes of dust weaving in and out of them like tendrils exploring. The grating that had separated the first and second levels of the hall bent violently as it traveled up the shaft, blocking off one side of the hall where it split open not far from her.
Her fingers fit easily into the now vertical grating, but the flat soles of her shoes slid uselessly against it. She managed to work her way up by wedging her feet against the walls and half walking, half climbing to where the metal split. The grating bowed there just enough for her to rest for a moment with her feet against the wall before reaching the door to the cargo bay
The door lay uneven in its frame, and she peered into the cargo bay through a gap just wide enough to allow her entry. The bay doors -- which now faced the sky -- were gone, letting ample sunlight into the shapeless chamber; what had once been over a hundred cubic meters, was now crumpled into a shapeless ten at most. A couple of those meters were below the door, between her and cockpit wall.
She slipped through the narrow gap headfirst, reaching for the catwalk to her right. Her fingers had just brushed the bent frame of the structure when gravity assumed control of her; she tumbled, barely avoiding landing straight on her head as she placed her chin on her chest and folded her arms.
She coughed as her back collided with a resounding boom, rattling the loosened structure around her. For a moment her lungs refused to inflate, her diaphragm unresponsive, but gradually they relented and she gulped in a pained breath.
She lay there recovering in the sun, unfiltered sunlight beaming down on her at an angle as it began to set, refracting through the tears welling in the corners of her eyes. She wiped them away as she rolled onto her side, and made her way to cockpit door: it looked to still be functional, but the catwalk grating had bent over it with enough force to draw fresh, grey scratches in the yellow-brown metal.
She stood despite her still-aching diaphragm: the catwalk bent away from its frame towards what used to be the ceiling. Kicking it sent rattles down its length, but scraped it a few centimeters farther across the door. She continued kicking, then angled her shoulder for a tackle when kicking no stopped working. It slid another step, sending her stumbling upright as it sprung back -- it still bent across the top of the door frame, but there was more than enough space for a person to fit through. She placed her hands on her hips as she caught her breath.
She kicked the door's latch open, then sat by the side of the portal and attempted the same tried and true method on the door itself. In a matter of minutes, she was dripping sweat through the open doorway down into the cockpit.
"Nice work, kid." Nick called up to her. "We'll head up in a minute."
"I'll meet you up here." Jacq called back between panting before anyone could get ready to catch her again. She stepped over to the door to the crew quarters and opened it the same way as the cockpit had, then began to lower herself into the shady hall using the open doors as a ladder. When she found an unopened door, she kicked at the latch until gravity could slide it out of her way.
She entered one of the rooms at the bottom -- She had to either crawl or lay down inside. The panels on the walls were all covered in crude doodles and the occasional philosophical sentence, all crudely etched into the metal. "Units measure what?" Was scratched atop an image which appeared to be a face directly attached to a pair of legs, vomiting up a phallus larger than itself. The phallus then bent back around, and appeared to be eyeing what might have been the creature's own rectum. The title "Ouroboros?" was etched beneath the image in quotes. The level of effort and maturity in the etchings varied -- moreso in effort than maturity -- as Jacq followed the mural at her feet to a particular panel surrounded in etchings over etchings. These etchings had been so frequently done over each other that the metal practically shone next to the dull, mildly rusty surface in the rest of the ship, though the panel itself was covered exclusively in large, bold text: "EXIT." Jacq worked the latch, placing her hand on the inside of the panel to lift it the rest of the way open.
"Ah, gross!" She wrenched her hand away, the panel slamming closed -- her palm was covered in a thin black liquid that contoured to the texture of her skin, completely obscuring its tone in a sheen that highlighted each crease, wrinkle, and the ridges of her fingerprints. She wiped her hand on the panel, smearing a dark handprint across its etched surface though her palm remained stained.
She blinked a number of times at the stain on her palm as it slowly began to fade.Her gaze drifted across the etchings in the room, then past them to the details of the scraped metal as she slumped onto her butt. She leaned her back against the shower wall next to the protruding knob, legs splayed before her as she ran her fingers over the soft, thick fabric of her skirt. She found a tear, little fibers splaying left and right from the larger threads.
She'd normally have gotten a new one from the trunk at the end of her bed, and left this skirt to be collected by the staff. Even when they weren't damaged, Estermere students would exchange their uniforms for new ones every thirty standards, the old ones being donated to discount used retail outlets. Nick's plain, white t-shirt must have cost a fraction of one of her skirts, but it looked to have lasted far longer. The ship they'd landed in was a worthless antique, but it had saved their lives partly thanks to its outdated technology. But most importantly, her skirt was very, very soft.
She sighed and lounged back against the wall, rubbing the fabric between her fingers.