Chapter Twelve

 

Andrew began to dream. 

 

He was lying in a comfortable bed, and it was warm.  It was dry.  Soft blankets covered him, and his head rested on a pillow. 

 

The fog in his brain dissipated slightly.  "What's his condition?" a woman whispered from across the universe. 

 

"Overall, he's okay," came a man's answer, roaring like a mosquito, "but he'll be really disoriented when he wakes up.  And for a while, he'll be mostly blind."  

 

"Why isn't he awake yet?" sighed the first voice.  "He's been out of the pod for almost three hours now." 

 

"We're not sure.  He may be suffering from poor stasis entry, or maybe he's just exhausted."  The alternately faint and overwhelming voices were familiar, but Howe couldn't place them yet.  "But his vitals are strong and improving.  He could regain consciousness at any moment."   

 

I haven't felt this good in weeks, thought Howe, and they're talking about me being exhausted?  "I feel fine," he said.  His ears heard "Awful whine."

 

"Did you hear something?" said the first voice.

 

"Yeah, I think our patient's waking up." 

 

"Dead makeup?" said Howe, dammit, he thought, I meant, did I make it?

 

"Well, you're not dead, Lieutenant Commander," said the second voice. 

 

"Youn, eyem," you know who I am?  "Worm eye?"  Where am I? 

 

"Of course we know who you are.  You're in the California.  We've been looking for you for almost three months.  And your traveling companions are all doing okay, too." 

 

"Trabble onions?" Traveling companions?     

 

"We found you in a lifeboat with five other people.  You all made it." 

 

"They made it?  I wasn't sure..." Howe paused, proud of his speech improvements.  His mouth still felt numb.  "After all this time..."

 

"What do you mean?" asked the woman. 

 

"They're really old," responded Howe.  "Early Warp-Era.  They're survivors of the Icarus." 

 

"Well, they made it, too," said the woman. 

 

Howe felt stronger, now, but his eyes were staring at blankness; "and why can't I see you?" he said. 

 

"Your eyes are still feeling the effects of cryofreeze.  That gray fog'll lift in an hour or two and you'll be fine." 

 

"But right now you need to rest some more."  Howe felt a twitch at his shoulder and a sudden leaden numbness fell on his brain. 

 

"Wait, who are you?" Howe croaked out before the fog engulfed him again. 

 

"People who care about you," answered Karyn.  But it was too late.  Lieutenant Commander Andrew Howe was once again unconscious.  

 

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The light was bright.  At first, Chang was afraid to open his eyes.  He had read about near-death experiences and expected the worst.  Or was it the best?  In the end, he had to know.  He forced the blast doors over his eyes to open, exposing fragile retinas to the light.  Above him shone three large, round  lights.  His eyes, overwhelmed by the glare, immediately shut again. 

 

After an eternal moment, Chang tried again. 

 

The lights were still there.  Chang hadn't seen an artificial light larger than a hand torch in three months prior to going into hibernation.  For just a moment he thought he was dead.  But then the questions flooded his mind almost before the realization hit him.  How long had he been buried alive in the cryogenic pod beneath the soil of an alien world?  Who had found him?  Were the others alright?  Relief flooded through the body that had been saturated with stress for months before the freeze.  He tried to look around himself, but his eyes once again slammed shut.  The unacustomed light burned at his face like acid; but he welcomed the pain with a soul open to a purgatory long deserved. 

 

His consciousness expanded beyond his eyes.  Tubes protruded from nostrils long unused, an I.V. dripped into his left arm from a bag over his head.  His body was draped in clean, warm sheets; his feet tingled icily at the ends of weak legs.  The sensations of pain and warmth and the smell of scrubbed air and antiseptic thrust upon him the reality of rescue.  He cracked his eyelids again, trying to peer out without blinding himself again. 

 

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The California began a slow starboard turn in preparation for acceleration away from the wormhole and the eventual Jump homeward.