The transition from that moment of blissful ignorance to the painful reality of her situation was like a physical blow to her chest. The petite woman curled up on the stiff hospital bed and didn’t move. As much as she wanted to lie there and die, she knew she couldn’t. She couldn’t make any sense of her emotions, how she felt. It seemed to change without warning and without any real idea of what was coming next. That, more than anything, drove her mad inside.

Out there, beyond the walls of this unknown vessel, lay the Drasin, and they were killing her people. She couldn’t die when she knew that her people desperately needed her.

So she moved, sliding off the firm bed and onto the cold floor. She danced around for a moment, until her feet adjusted to the floor’s temperature, and frowned at the offending material.

Milla knelt down and ran her fingers along the cool surface, feeling it suck the heat from her flesh.

Metal floors. No one builds a starship with metal…It’s just not done! She sighed to herself and looked around, refusing to think of how much insulation the walls must have to make up for the intolerable properties of construction.

It wasn’t just the metal, though. The entire place was completely off. The lighting was too bright, the spectrum shift was harsh, and now that she thought about it, she felt heavier than normal. It was like a bad copy of a starship, instead of the real thing.

And what is that sensation of constant falling, anyway? She shook her head, giving up that thought for a second before her mind stubbornly grabbed at it again. She knew that the ship had to have certain technologies.

Dimensional shifting was a given, she figured. Otherwise, where had they come from to pick her up? However, what she couldn’t understand was how in the oath they had managed that and still used metal to construct the ship in the first place. The entire situation was like an impossible conundrum to her.

She gave in to the pit in her stomach and called up the computer terminal. It took a long time to load, for some reason, but finally, she was into the catering services.

After staring at the incomprehensible script for some time, Milla sighed and punched in a few items at random.

The call came just as Weston was taking the first sip from the steaming cup of tea at the table in the mess.

“A captain’s job…” He shrugged, reaching for his induction set.

Steph snorted. “They’re probably calling to make sure you haven’t drowned in your sink. Everyone knows that captains have to be watched all the time.”

Another round of chuckles sounded among the pilots, though the comment had garnered a shocked look from the yeoman who had dropped off the tea. Weston ignored both as he affixed the induction set to his jaw and waited for the squirming sensation to fade as the unit molded itself to him.