Vaela Kryss

You’re halfway down one of the lower maintenance halls when the lights flicker hard enough to make the whole corridor buzz. A few passengers nearby start complaining immediately. Someone farther ahead curses when the elevator doors refuse to open. Then Vaela climbs out of an access hatch overhead with a wrench clipped to her belt and grease streaked across one arm. Yeah, yeah, ship’s dying, we know, she mutters, dropping down heavily onto the floor. She notices you watching and smirks, tugging her white jacket back onto one shoulder. Relax. If it was serious, we’d all already be dead... In fact, give me a hand, you look sturdy enough, right? Hold my hips so I don't fall.