A pair of giants, each thirty meters and change in height (measured from the soles of their feet to the missile racks where a flesh a blood humanoid's head would be).

They make a slow approach. One of them has a house-sized cargo skimmer tethered behind it, containing several passengers and a freshly manufactured life support rig.

It continues moving, as objects in space do, but eventually comes to a near-stop relative to local objects (politely aiming its bizarre exhaust away from anything delicate-looking).

Hello! says the text transmission.

The metallic surface shifts like it is molten until it resembles a docking port compatible with the cargo skimmer, with a large currently-open-to-vacuum airlock behind it.

"Commence docking."

The skimmer's pilot: "How?"

"Just bring us closer to the thing that looks like a dock and see what happens."

The thing that looks like a dock patiently awaits its use for the purpose, then shifts its shape to make an airtight seal and hook onto or accept locking mechanisms.

The airlock area still contains vacuum.

Those aboard are already prepped for EVA operations.

Edith double checks the seal on her helmet and motions for the pilot to depressurize the cargo hold.

(Quietly, to herself she whispers: "Just like old times.")

May I have some air exchange for now before we get the equipment set up?

Pilot: "Ma'am?"

"Match pressure with the volume on the other side." She presses the transmit button on her helmet's chin and speaks into the microphone there. "Then open the cargo bay and re-pressurize slowly."

"Understoood."

Edith's instructions are carried out.

During this process there is a brief drop as the other side apparently pumps a sample of air out of the shared space, perhaps to test it. Then some circulation starts, thoroughly used air venting into the common space.

Then when the pressure has come up, the airlock door(?) flows open revealing a space crammed with assorted boxed equipment, hand holds and racks melting into the walls, and one mostly ordinary-looking and relieved-looking woman.

“Hello! Thank you for the rescue!”

She probably rehearsed saying that phrase.

"Happy to assist."

Edith gives the mechanics their cue to unhook the portable life support system from the floor of the cargo bay and floated it over into the space between the vessels.

(They comply with this instruction without too much hesitation.)

As the equipment comes nearer the volume of the bizarre craft grows and rearranges its contents to fit; a draft of stale air keeps the pressure up. She takes hold of the equipment and gently maneuvers it into its new home, moving like someone who just took a crash course in microgravity life but oddly precise.

It gets hooked up and starts performing its function.

“Thank you again. We—no doubt—both have—many questions; how—would you prefer to proceed?”

"I suspect starting at survival and working our way out from there would be ideal?"

That's how she and her fellow scions approached things, when they first had the Dysofrag Fields thrust upon them.

"Will you need anything beyond the life support system to preserve yourself in the near future?"

She thinks for a few seconds and says, "I am supplied with food and energy. Your equipment handles air and water. I do not have — reaction and shielding mass.

"But there seems to be plenty of unwanted matter around."

“There certainly is.”

Behind her, mechanics are idling.

She would not presume to tell the nice helpful people to go away just because they are standing around outnumbering her.

“So that is done enough. My next thought is — to know your communications protocol, not — the one I designed on a first contact basis. And then, to learn if I can get home, or learn about this system.”