Chapter Text
“I’ll get in touch with you once you land.”
And with that, he stepped back, pressed the button she assumed would launch her escape pod, and twitched an eyebrow in annoyance when nothing happened. Instead of using that opportunity to ask a question (because there were a million of them all fighting for dominance in her still-foggy brain), she just watched, slack-jawed as he began punching the button until the pod began to descend for real.
The descent gave her a little room to think at least as asteroids, clouds, and the flames of atmospheric reentry flashed before her window. There was enough to process since she had woken up in said escape pod; the man preparing the pod had chattered constantly even though his audience was only semi-conscious. One fact in particular stood out: he had mentioned something about her being found aboard The Hope, a ship from Earth which had apparently malfunctioned and traveled at less than light-speed, arriving to its destination a full sixty years later than scheduled. For all that she could not remember, this casual comment triggered a few memories at least. Yes, she remembered getting on that ship, getting into the cryogenic chamber, ready to start over in the Halcyon galaxy. Her singular memory of The Hope crystalized in her mind like the patterns of the frost forming on the viewing glass of the chamber.
When she’d thought about starting over, however, she hadn’t meant literally wiping the memories of her past life clean! She felt a burning frustration that she couldn’t recall why she had wanted to come to Halcyon, whether or not she had come with anyone else, or, hell, what her name even was! Was this a byproduct of the “treatment” the man had given her to prevent liquefaction? Or maybe, despite his efforts, her brain WAS actually turning to mush after being thawed out, like some freezer-burned peas? Thinking harder only made her head hurt worse, unfortunately. Perhaps this was one of those things where trying too hard would be counterproductive.
She was touching down before she knew it, having been unable to arrive at any real conclusion about what was happening to her. It involved an unusual amount of roughness, as if the terrain was uneven, and the force of it bouncing her around like a ragdoll did little to help her aching head. She was also startled when the man from before popped up on a screen within the escape pod, resuming his prattle about finding some dashing mercenary to aid with her further transportation. Transportation to where? He had probably mentioned, though she hadn’t been entirely cognizant. Even now, she was more interested in getting out of that tiny space and taking a survey of her surroundings. Miraculously, her hands moved of their own accord, tapping a few unlabeled buttons that did in fact pop open the hatch and release her harness. What training did she have that she subconsciously knew about the workings of escape pods? She wracked her brain for an answer she knew had to be in there somewhere, but…
Suddenly, the world got fuzzy. His voice was little more than a low drone as the world just revealed to her seemed to move in slow motion. How long this lasted, it was impossible to say. As abruptly as it had begun, it ended, and she was aware of the man directly addressing her, clamoring for her attention.
“Hey, are you all right? Your brainwaves went haywire for a second!”
For the first time, she spoke. “Just…I feel lightheaded. And time seemed to stop, if that makes any sense.” Her voice came out creaky, like a hinge that needed oiling after so many decades of disuse.
“Hmm, interesting…” Though she could no longer see him, she could hear him typing at a keyboard, as if jotting down notes. “There may be unforeseen side-effects to this whole ordeal, and admittedly, you are a bit of a lab sprat.”
“Wonderful.” She paused, reviewing his words for a moment. “Hold on. How did you know my brainwaves went haywire?”
“See the apparatus on your left hand?” She looked down, realizing for the first time that some device was wrapped around her middle finger, with a cord running up the length of her arm to a patch on her outer shoulder. It went through her hibernation suit to make direct contact against her skin. “It’s reading your biochemical and bioelectrical information to help me fine-tune this long-term cryogenic revival treatment. Very cutting edge if I do say so myself. Say, can you tell me if there was some kind of trigger to this episode you just experienced? You know, in the name of science?”
“I wasn’t doing anything! I mean, besides thinking too hard trying to remember my past, I guess.”
“Remember your past? Do you mean to say you are suffering from amnesia?”
“Yes,” she frowned, “though try not to sound so excited about it!”
“Right, right, of course.” There was more feverish clicking, and a muttered “That really needs to be fixed for the other revivals…” before he cleared his throat. “How bad is the amnesia?”
“I remember getting on the ship. Apparently part of me also remembered how to open an escape pod, though I couldn’t tell you how.” She shrugged helplessly. “That’s about it, as far as I’m aware.”
“Oh dear, that’s not good.” More clicking. “Retains subconscious processes learned by rote memory…verbal cues trigger bare-bones recollection of events… How unexpected. I was so certain I had the formula down, but it seems there are still some areas to tweak. Thankfully, the data I gather from you will aid me in refining the process for the others still frozen aboard The Hope.”
“Gee, thanks, I guess.”
“Ah, sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. I am accustomed to speaking to you while you were still asleep and may have developed a propensity for brusqueness. Don’t mind me.”
“Understood. But hey, could you at least tell me my name?”
On his end of the line, the man gave a nervous hum. “Well, truth be told, I don’t remember off the top of my head. I’ve been so busy getting right to the treatment, you see. I’d have to go pull up your file which I appropriated from The Hope before being chased off. If it doesn’t come back to you by the next time we communicate, I can retrieve your records and fill in a few of the blanks. For now, though, you need to find Alex Hawthorne. He’s probably out there wondering why you are dallying.”
Her heart sank at his admission. If he couldn’t remember her name, then he hadn’t deliberately chosen her out of all the others on the ship. She was simply a random, and likely rushed, selection with no notable qualities. “I suppose.”
She began to disembark. It was no easy task to coordinate limbs which hadn’t moved in countless years, and as if that weren’t enough of a challenge, she nearly slipped on rocks stained red with blood.
“Say, I think I found Alex Hawthorne…”