Equus

[flykiller]

They're staring at you.

It's not normal. There's supposed to be one doctor who brings you up slowly, moving from lowberth to lowberth. But there's four of them, staring at you. Three are wearing uniforms - civilians, a captain, someone else, one's a medic. The medic's bringing you up, hard. Your door's up and your bin open, you can see the emergency button, did you push it?

He's carrying it away. Guess you needed it. You try to say ... "Can you hear me? Do you want a bucket?" It's full of vomit. ... no, that you're fine, you don't need anything. Something like that.

"Which one is the pilot?"

"That one, sir."

"Pull him up first."

"They're all coming up," the medic replies hurridly, dumping his bag on the deck and grabbing an injector gun. He grins apologetically and medicates you, "Captain's orders," your head is clearing fast, oh this this is going to hurt later but right now you feel ... something. Artificial. You hear others grunting and huffing, it's not just you they're waking up, you're grunting and huffing too, good sign.

"How long?" the captain asks.

"Fifty-eight minutes to atmo," the man next to him responds, looking at a data pad. "Still no-one in range."

"Get their clothes, line it all up. Bridge, Captain, status."

You can't hear the answer.

The medic looks into your face. "Say something."