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Rocky presses his hands together impatiently. "Grace need Rocky help to fix human technology, Rocky fix. Rocky say Grace tell truth to Grace friend, Grace tell truth to Grace friend."

Oh, come on. Is he pulling an IOU?

I press my lips together and put my hands on my hips. "That's not fair."

Rocky gives me his version of a thumbs up, as if to convince me or to sweeten the deal.

I point at him. "That does not make it better."

He just keeps the thumbs up—really, it's thumbs down, but hey—there. I sigh, then wave a hand and turn away.

"Just... stay out of sight for a minute, okay? Please. Let me... ease into it."

I don't wait for an answer because I already know I'm not going to like it. Rocky doesn't have a lot of patience when he's excited.

I head back down toward the hatch, already bracing myself for whatever fresh disaster is about to happen. When I open it, she's halfway up the ladder.

Oh. Okay. So we're doing this now.

I don't know what I expected. Was I like this when I woke up? No, I was definitely more pathetic.

She doesn't take my hand when I offer it. Doesn't even acknowledge it, actually. Just climbs right past me.

Cool. Great. Strong start.

I pull my hand back and step aside to give her space. Lots of space. I am now a non-threatening wall fixture.

She moves into the corridor and takes a look around. It's dim here, intentionally dim, because the last thing I need right now is her noticing the xenonite structures and asking questions I absolutely cannot answer without making things worse. We're still quite close to the lab, in the corridor that connects the dormitory and the lab together. There's a window looking out to space right behind her, but it's currently swathed in darkness, so I don't blame her for catching it. I certainly didn't notice it, not until—

"So this is a ship?"

I blink. Maybe I won't have to explain it to her after all.

"Yes," I reply. "How did you know?"

"You said the Hail Mary. I figure we're in the navy on a ship of some kind. Right?"

I hesitate. She's... half right. I don't trust myself to explain this. Instead, I just nod very slowly, then I gesture behind her to the window.

"You might want to, uh, take a look at that," I reply.

She turns.

Right on cue, Taulight flashes through the window. The stars snap into view for just a second and Finch freezes.

Eventually, she steps closer, grabbing onto a bar near the window and leaning in like that'll somehow make all of this make more sense. It won't. I remember that feeling: the moment it clicks. The 'oh no, this is real' moment.

I stay where I am. Her shoulders tense and she breathes a little faster.

Yeah. That tracks.

I inch a little closer, but not too close. Close enough to be present, not close enough to be intrusive. I think. I don't actually know. I am guessing my way through this entire interaction.

"Definitely not in Kansas anymore," I mumble.

She turns to look at me with a pointed glare.

"Yeah," I add quickly. "No, that was—bad timing. Sorry. I regret that immediately."

She draws her gaze away from me and to the window, the steady rise and fall of her breath slightly panicked but not enough to reach levels of hyperventilation.

"Why am I in space?" She demands.

Yeah. Okay. Now might be a good time to explain properly.

"Okay, big picture? The sun's dying. Actually, many suns. We're the solution." I gesture to the two of us with a hand. "So, get this. The people back home thought it'd be a good idea to put us in medically induced comas until we got to our destination."

I choose to push ahead before she can react too hard.

"There's a microorganism—Astrophage—that's been causing the sun to lose energy. And, uh, for reasons we don't fully understand yet, Tau Ceti isn't affected. So we came here to figure out why."

I can see her trying to register all of this in her brain when her eyes drift away to a panel in the wall. Then, after a few seconds, she looks back at me.

"Astrophage. I remember," she says.

"Oh! Okay, good! That's—great, actually. That's a solid starting point. Memory's coming back. That's good." I nod, mostly to myself. "Yeah. Mine did that too. Still does, actually. It comes in pieces."

She frowns. "It's just the two of us?"

I pause, then I shake my head. "No. There was a commander with us. He didn't make it." She looks over me suspiciously, then I feel the sudden need to clarify. "The coma. He didn't wake up from the... coma."

She studies me for a second, then gives a small nod.

Okay. She believes me. Or at least doesn't have enough information not to. That's something.

"I don't remember who I am," she says quietly, her gaze shifting back out the window.

"Yeah," I say slowly. "Yeah, that part sucks. I'm not gonna sugar-coat that. But it should come back. It'll be bits and pieces at first."

She stays quiet. Taulight flickers again, briefly illuminating her face. She's processing. Not panicking, not yet, which is honestly better than I expected. I latch onto that.

"But hey," I say, pointing at her shirt, "we know you've got good music taste. So that's important."

She looks down at her shirt. Then back at me.

Then back at her shirt.

Then back at me.

Okay, that didn't land. That did not land at all.

"How long until we get to go home?" She asks.

Ah.

Yeah. That question.

"Okay. So." I stall for maybe half a second. "Step one is figure out what's going on here," I say. "Why Tau Ceti isn't affected. Once we solve that..."

"Once we solve that, then what?"

"Then..." I stop. "Then we, uh..."

She just looks at me.

"We've got food," I add quickly. "Enough for while. So we're not in immediate danger from starvation. Specifically. Not yet, at least."

She covers her face with her hands. "Oh my God."

Yep. Yeah. That's the realization that she really is stuck out here, maybe even that she's going to die. I recognise it because I, too, went through it.

"Are you hungry?" I ask.

Wow. That's what I went with?

"I'm tired," she replies. I can hear it in her voice.

Right. That makes sense. Coma. Existential crisis. Space. Yeah.

"Yeah," I say. "You should, uh... There are beds." Good job, Grace, she knows that. "ARMando—that's what I call the robot, by the way—will give you food if you ask."

Finch nods, then she walks past me without another word.

I watch her retreat down the ladder and close the hatch behind her. Having my crewmate awake is a big change from talking to her like she can actually hear me, or speak back to give her own input, while she's stuck in her medically induced coma.

Maybe that's why she's so fed up with me. She already had enough of me talking in her sleep.

"Good talk," I mutter to myself. I let out a sigh.

Tap, tap, tap.

Rocky. When I turn to look at him, he's in the lab, banging his carapace against his movement ball in exasperation. Okay, rude. Was it really that bad?

"Yeah, yeah," I mumble. I sigh as I make my way back into the lab, wanting to make myself busy with something useful. Anything to get my mind off that interaction.

Of course, the thoughts come anyway. What am I going to do about the woman downstairs and the alien on board? Should I have told her the truth about Rocky, or is it wise to wait? Will waiting just make it worse? No. Surely not. She'll realise she's been on a ship with an alien this entire time and he hasn't tried to grow inside her or eat her brains. It will be fine.

I'm not ashamed of having Rocky on board, but I am concerned about sending this crewmate of mine into a detrimental panic when she just woke up from a coma. Worse, with failing life support. Who knows whether seeing Rocky would give her a literal heart attack? I have to be careful. For now, I just have to give her space and time to adjust.

"Grace bad bad bad bad bad at talking to Grace friend," Rocky says.

I raise my hands in surrender as Rocky makes a noise of disgruntlement. He, too, raises his arms to mimic mine, as if to convey that very same level of exasperation.

This sucks, but once the panic starts, I'm able to open my eyes pretty quickly. I guess adrenaline is good for something. I squint against the bright light.

Is someone talking? I think I can hear someone talking. I must be in the hospital. My vision is blurred, but I can make out stark white walls that are... strangely padded with material in some areas. What? My brows furrow. I blink and force my eyes to adjust so I can see better.

"What's two plus two?"

"Wh...?" I wheeze.

"Incorrect. What's two plus two?" The robot arms ask again.

Wait.

Robot arms?

Where the hell am I?

The voice repeats the question again and again until, finally, I get it right.

"Fffr," I wheeze.

A person comes into view. For some reason, I panic, trying to push back as if I can move anywhere, but I can't.

The figure—he—raises a hand. He's also wearing one of those dorky science t-shirts, so the threat level seems...

Eh.

"Hoptal?" I blurt out. I still can't speak. What's wrong with me?

There's a flicker of something like pity across the man's face. Who is he? What the hell is going on? Am I dying? When he smiles, however quick it might be, I think I prefer the pity look. It's kind of terrifying to have a stranger smiling above you while you can barely move.

"Okay—hey. Hi. Uh—good news, you're awake. That's step one." He's either nervous or trying to get this over with fast. "Big fan of that step. Actually, not really. Sorry."

He moves his lopsided glasses from around his neck—who wears glasses like that?—and looks down to clean them with his shirt. I can feel my hands now, so I try to push myself up enough to see more of the room around me.

"Uh, you're not in a hospital," he continues, then winces, putting his glasses back on. "I mean, you're safe. Safer than you were, definitely."

I blink. Safer than I was? So I'm not in a hospital, but I'm safe. Yeah, that sounds like bullshit.

"Oh... kay," I croak. It's not enough to become the next Shakespeare, but hey. I think I just woke up from a coma, or at least something life threatening where I've been asleep for a really long time. Cut me some slack.

At this point, it's taken me a while to sit up, but I've done it. My head spins. The man darts forward when he sees me move and simply hovers, his hands extended as if to catch me if I fall.

I glare at him.

"Right, yeah, that probably didn't sound reassuring," he says. Good to know he's at least slightly self aware. "Sorry. I didn't have to do this part before."

This part? Before?

"Where 'm I?" I ask. I still can't talk that well. My voice is hoarse and it takes me a while to string together more than a few words. When will this stop?

"Okay. Good question." He avoids eye contact. "Excellent question. I also had that question." He nods a little too eagerly. "Do you remember what the Hail Mary is? Because you're on that."

Slowly, as I process his words, I shake my head. He sucks in a slow breath, leaning back just a little. Am I supposed to remember what that is? Actually, wait, what do I remember?

I wait. And I wait.

Nothing.

Not my name, not where I'm from, not even my age. Okay, this is bad.

My panic starts to rise and so does a steady beeping from the foot of my bed. My chest rises and falls fast. The man takes a quick step back, looks at the display, and then back at me.

"Hey, it's okay," he says quickly as the beeping picks up. "That panic? Totally normal. I had about five of what you're experiencing in a row when I woke up. And then about three days straight of vodka some time after that."

I squint at him. As if noting the change in my gaze, he steps back, then gestures to a hatch up above and a ladder leading to it. Oh, I'm in a bunker. This is some scary doomsday dunker and we're all going to die.

He starts talking again, following up his gesture with some sort of rambling explanation, but I don't hear any of it.

"Who you?" I demand. I might not be able to talk that well, but I like to think there's a seriousness in my tone and in my gaze that says I am not messing around.

He points to himself like he's double-checking. "Me? Right. I'm Grace. Dr. Ryland Grace," he says. "Uh, does that ring any bells?"

I shake my head as I look around, already exasperated by him. Okay... Dr. Grace, but I'm not in the hospital. What's the Hail Mary? It takes a ridiculous amount of energy, but eventually, I swing my legs over the side of the bed.

"I wouldn't recommend trying that," he says, watching as I move. "Your muscles are gonna—yep. Okay. There it is. That's exactly what I did."

I'm on the floor. Rather, I collapsed onto the floor.

I let out a disgruntled noise, slamming a palm downward in frustration. Okay, at least I can do that.

After a short pause, Grace inches forward hesitantly. "Do you, uh, remember anything?"

I shake my head quickly.

"Okay. Yep. That's consistent," he says, nodding. "Not good, but consistent."

Consistent? I look over him properly this time, my brows furrowed. My confusion just adds to my panic. I need to get out of here.

I'm not thinking rationally, I know that. This is pure fight or flight, and right now I'm ready to fight. My eyes flicker to the pen tucked behind his ear. None of this is making sense and it's the only relatively sharp object I can see here in case I need to defend myself and break free. How sharp is a pen, really? Could I actually use it as a weapon?

Grace sighs. "Please don't stab me with the pen."

I look at the pen. I look back at him.

Okay, maybe I won't stab him with the pen.

I swallow thickly, then I nod.

The corners of his mouth lift ever so slightly. "Great. So now we're on the right track, I—"

"I don't remember my name."

Grace pauses. I can see the cogs in his mind turning. "Well, that one I can probably help with." He turns and starts rummaging through a duffel bag. "I found some personal effects earlier—" He looks up at me. "Not in a weird way. I was trying to find out who you were. But there were labels—hang on—"

I grip onto the edges of the bed and start to pull myself up. My body feels weirdly heavy. I rise, wobbly, just in time to see Grace pull something orange out of the bag. A... jumpsuit?

He holds it up. It matches the bottom half of his outfit, the sleeves tied around his waist, and then I see it: the patch with my name on it. A second patch with some kind of emblem. It seems familiar and I don't know why. Am I in the navy? Is the Hail Mary a warship? Maybe I'm in the crew compartment. But that doesn't explain why I feel like I've been asleep for so long...

"Finch," Grace continues. "Pretty sure your first name is Iluna, but that's all I've got. I don't know your role, but it's definitely not commander because that role was taken."

I point to the hatch. "What's up there?"

Grace's face falls. Interesting. "Uh. Okay, well, if you let me explain—"

I don't have faith in his explanation. I take in a deep, slow breath, then I grab hold of a nearby handhold and start moving over to the ladder. If he won't tell me without all the nerves, I'll find out myself. This seems to alarm Grace, who steps in front of me with raised hands but keeps backing up towards the ladder the more I walk.

"Wait, wait, wait. Okay. I'll show you, but I just need to—it's kind of messy up there so I'll just tidy up. Just give me one—" He takes one more step backwards and almost trips over the duffel bag on the floor, his voice strained with movement as he tries to act casual while he regains his balance. "One second—"

The strap of the duffel bag wraps around his ankle. He struggles a bit in his attempt to kick it off, then once he's free, he glances back at me and races up the hatch.

So I'm potentially stuck on a ship in the middle of the sea, maybe even as some bioweapon test subject, with at least one crazy person. Or at least an incredibly awkward one. Great.

Shaking my head, I take in a good look around me. Three beds, a bunch of robotic arms hanging above them, and a few duffel bags and laptops littered around on the floor. There's no other occupant on the third bed. Is that for the commander he mentioned? Maybe I am in the navy. Maybe I suffered a bad accident in service and I've been recovering. That would make sense.

I reach the hatch and pause, staring up at it. Is it locked? I don't think I heard it lock. Something like that would probably make a lot of noise if it was. Can I make it up there?

I grab one of the rungs, but then I'm suddenly made very aware of the awkward, almost translucent suit I'm wearing.

"What the fuck?" I mumble, touching the plasticky material at my torso.

I wrinkle my nose. The material sticks to me with static, and I groan in frustration as I try to tear it off. I'm almost naked underneath, but out of everything that's happened to me today, that doesn't surprise me.

My eyes catch the duffel bag Grace was rifling through before and I dart over to it a little too quickly, like a foal fresh from the womb. I stumble, but luckily, my face is cushioned by the bag and my arms take the rest of the fall. That's nice.

Pushing myself up with a sigh, I tear the bag open and toss the jumpsuit aside to search for something familiar. I don't recognise any of it, so I just pick the comfiest looking clothes—a dated band t-shirt, some grey sweatpants—and pull on some fluffy socks I found for good measure. Better yet, they have a grip on the bottom. Good. I'm now prepared to tackle that ladder.

One rung, another rung. Okay, Iluna, you're doing good, I tell myself. My breathing is strained with the effort and it takes everything in me to grip onto the rungs and not fall. I decide I don't like my name halfway up the ladder. I'm going to call myself something else.

One rung, another rung. I can hear Grace talking to someone, and despite the sound being too muffled for me to make out the words, he's being loud about it.

An argument?

Is there another person on this ship?

The commander, maybe?

Why not send them down to see me instead of the mad scientist?

I'm almost at the top of the hatch when it opens. It's dark up there. Grace freezes, likely not expecting to see me there, then he smiles in a way that's just a little too wide to be completely genuine.

"Okay! Yep. All good now," he says a little too fast, offering a hand. "You can come up. It's—uh—presentable."

I don't trust him, but I need to know more. I narrow my eyes at him and he doesn't move his hand away.

I could take it—I could certainly use the help—but I'm stubborn, apparently. Instead, I ignore his hand, pull myself up through the hatch, and make my way into the dim light of the ship.

I lower my hands and look back at the woman in the bed. I don't know why I start talking—maybe I'm trying to fill the silence, or maybe I'm trying to convince myself I'm not alone. Either way, the words come out before I can stop them.

"You're being incredibly uncooperative, you know that?"

I—foolishly—wait for a reply, but the woman in the bed simply continues her running streak of contributing absolutely nothing to the conversation.

I sigh. "Look, I know we've only known each other for..." I glance to my watch automatically before remembering I don't actually know how long it's been. "An uncertain amount of time. Somewhere between a few days and several years. Hard to say. But I really feel like we've reached a point where you could pitch in a little."

I wait a little, and...

Nothing. 

Still nothing.

I'm talking to a coma patient. Am I crazy, or is this just how I usually am? I don't even have that information to hand right now, yet somehow I need to figure out how to fix this person's life support. If I don't, she's going to die. I might even be next if the issue with her life support spreads to the rest of the ship.

I bury my head in my hands and let out a pathetic choked noise as I tug on my hair. I'm trapped on a spaceship with a crewmember that will not wake up and the only other person with us is dead. I have absolutely no recollection of how I got here, and for all I know, I did this. Maybe I broke something. Maybe I made every wrong decision imaginable before I lost my memory. Maybe there's some obvious fix that Past Me would know in five seconds, and Present Me is too stupid to see it.

My chest tightens. What if there isn't a fix? What if I'm just watching her die because I don't remember the one thing that could save her? What if I'm supposed to know exactly what to do and that knowledge is gone forever?

I don't even know who I am.

I lean back in my chair and rub my eyes. All the numbers look mostly right. The diagnostics reports are mostly normal. Every test I run tells me the system should be working, and yet every day, she's getting worse.

"You know what would've been helpful?" I say. "Maybe a note. Just one note. Dear Ryland, if you're reading this, your memory got erased. Sorry about that. Here's a handy guide explaining everything."

I wait some more, but silence is the only answer I receive.

"I figure once you wake up, you'll fill in some blanks. Nothing major—just things like who I am. Why we're here in space. Maybe why I apparently agreed to come here, because I feel like that's the kind of decision a person should remember making. I'm not asking for much, I don't think."

If I fool myself hard enough, the woman in the bed almost seems familiar. I must have known her. But how much? I don't know who she is or if we're friends. I don't know how we met or what she means to me, nor why some part of me feels like I should be relieved that she's here. There's just this empty space where something should be and I have no idea what's missing.

"Anyway," I say, forcing some energy back into my voice, "while you're unconscious, I should probably tell you that I've been winning all our arguments." I fold my arms. "Not a single counterpoint. Frankly, it's embarrassing."

The monitor beeps steadily. The woman says nothing. My bottom lip shakes and my eyes blur with tears.

I bury my head in my hands and cry.

"This is the problem I was telling you about."

Rocky comes to a stop at the foot of her bed in his movement ball. "Much issue," he says. "Must fix, statement."

"Yeah, buddy," I sigh, looking back at him. "Must fix." If only I knew how.

"Rocky fix," Rocky says, as if that was obvious all along. He rolls back and forth in his ball like a human rolls on the balls of their feet, and I can't help but think that this alien has got to have some form of Eridian ADHD. "Rocky make device to connect to screen and fix."

I blink at him. "What?" I say. "You're—how is connecting to the screen going to fix the issue? It's all internal, Rock. I've tried everything already."

Rocky stops the movements in his ball and presses two fists together to make a point. "Rocky make device. Device connect to screen. Device let Rocky find source of problem. I fix."

I place my hands on my hips. "I already tried everything I could. You're not going to fix the issue by simply connecting to the screen."

"Grace not understand." Rocky is relentless, apparently. "I fix."

I pause. "You can really do that?"

"Yes, obvious I can do that. Rocky fix Grace friend."

I turn to stare at my sleeping friend as a wave of uncertainty washes over me. If this goes wrong or she reacts badly to waking up in space, what's the worst that could happen? I'm pretty sure the plan on this mission wouldn't have been for the both of us to wake up with no memories, but I don't know. I freaked out when I woke up and she might too, especially given the fact that Rocky apparently lives here now. Heck, she could jettison us all into space via the airlock, or...

Oh, don't think about that. That was a mistake, Ryland.

"Okay," I say uncertainly, glancing between the two of them. "Fine. But don't wake her without me there. She's going to be..." I try to think of the right word. Panicked? Freaked out? Both. Both, probably. "Well, not exactly in the best mood. We need to give her space."

"Space," Rocky says, his robotic voice from the laptop lagging just slightly. It sounds like he's mulling the word over.

I nod, reaffirming Rocky's statement. "Space."

I hope Rocky understands how serious I am, but I definitely have my doubts.

"How long left until she wakes up?" I ask.

To my surprise—I really shouldn't be surprised by Rocky's attitude by now, but hey—Rocky hums a tone that I recognise as frustration.

"Grace quiet," replies Rocky.

I blink, turning to look at him. "Well, someone's extra moody today."

Rocky shakes his carapace in what I've come to understand is a no, then extends a clawed arm to the bed. "Grace Rocky not want to scare Grace friend when awake, statement."

"Oh, yeah. Right."

I feel pretty dumb, but the truth of the matter is that Rocky is right. In the short time I've come to know him, there's rarely a time where he's been wrong.

I remember the amount of distress I was in when I woke from my coma. I didn't even know my own name, nor where I came from or how I got here, and it took me five days to remember who I was and unlock the rest of the ship. As much as I enjoy Rocky's company now, seeing an alien by my bedside when I woke probably wouldn't have helped matters.

"Rocky leave room now, question?"

I hesitate to answer, my eyes lingering on the face in the bed before me. I've spent hours wondering who she is, what she's like, and what sort of person would sign up for a mission as crazy as this. Come on, I think. Any sign of consciousness will do. But the robot arms have asked their question and there's still no sign of life—no fluttering eyelids, no mumbles, no twitching of fingers. Heck, I'd even take a middle finger at this point, but right now I fear the worst.

"No, not yet," I reply quietly. There's no point sending Rocky away when she isn't even awake yet, and I might still need him if something goes wrong with the systems. Besides... I don't hate his company. "I'll tell you when."

"What's two plus two?"

I scowl. The memory of my irritation at the question when I first woke from my own coma rises to the surface. I look down at the screen at the foot of the bed, displaying my crewmate's vital signs beeping steadily with activity. The beeping should reassure me, but it doesn't. I've spent far too many hours at this bedside by now, and at this rate—

"Consciousness detected."

My head whips around to look at... Dr Finch? Miss Finch? Maybe just Finch is best. Regardless, I look at at her face. My breathing stops. The robot arms are right; consciousness has been detected. Her eyes are moving behind her eyelids and occasionally they flutter open before closing again.

"What's two plus two?" The robot arms ask.

"Mmpf," is the only sound that leaves her lips.

I'm certain she's trying to say more, but after not speaking for a couple years, that'll happen!

Finch moves her head back and forth as what seems like half a mumble and half a moan slips from her lips. Her brows are furrowed. Sleep tears at the edges of her vision and her eyelids flutter as if fighting it off. I remember that feeling well.

"Rocky," I breathe, "you're a genius."

Somehow—don't ask me how; no, seriously, don't do it—Rocky managed to not only locate the source of the life support problem but fix the problem with the life support. If I wasn't impressed with his skill before, I certainly am now.

"Yes yes, Rocky know. Rocky leave now while Grace and Grace friend talk."

He skitters out of the room in what I've started to call his enviroball and, once the clanking of its movements fades away down the hall, I'm left with only the steady beeping of vital monitors to accompany me.

With Rocky gone, I move to my crewmate's bedside. My need to comfort makes me want to reach for a hand, but I'm not sure. Would I feel okay with a strange man holding my hand as I wake up with no clue where I am in a very strange place? Probably not. There were plenty of times where I fretted over what this would seem like: a single man on a spaceship waking up his only other companion who happens to be a woman. I'm pretty sure I saw that plot in a screwed up movie back on Earth once. The main character sucked. What if that's where her mind goes?

Ryland, you woke up with no memories, I chide. I don't think being likened to a selfish guy in a movie is your biggest concern right now. It's not even on my top three biggest concerns, actually.

My crewmate stirs, squinting against what I remember to be searing bright light. Yeah, that sucks.

"Eye movement detected," the robot says. "What's two plus two?"

I sigh. "Cut her some slack."

"Incorrect. What is two plus—"

"Okay, that's enough."

I shove the robot arms away with a hand. They make a whirring sound as they move along the track embedded into the length of the room, but I do no damage to the arms. In fact, I almost wish I did, because all they do is bounce back with no issue and resume their work with my... friend? Crewmate? On her bed.

I sigh, slumping into the chair next to the bedside. Thankfully, the robot arms have already removed all the tubes and wires hooked up to her body. Believe me, I know all about the unpleasantries of those and how far they can go.

"What's two plus two?" The robot arms ask again. By the time she gets it right, it's her fifth attempt at answering.

"Fffr," my crewmate croaks.

Okay, coherency. We're getting somewhere. I step into view of the bed.

I look at her. She looks at me.

She backs into the bed as she blinks up at me, clearly confused and slightly alarmed. I raise a hand in greeting to show that I'm not a threat. Was that stupid? It feels stupid, so I lower my hand.

The wave did something, though. Her eyes flicker over me in a way that seems like she's assessing how much of a threat I am. Apparently, by the time her eyes get to the Ah! part on the nerdy shirt I'm wearing, it's not very much.

"Hoptal?" She asks. 

Hospital...

Either the woman in the bed is confused, or she doesn't remember anything either. My heart sinks into my chest as I realise I won't be getting any answers from her after all. I assumed I was in some kind of quarantine when I first woke up, but isn't that the natural assumption? The stark white walls don't really help matters, even if this place doesn't really look like a typical hospital. Nobody's first assumption is that they're in space.

Dang it. This is going to be a tough conversation to have.