Matt Fitch began his Army career as an infantry officer fresh out of the military academy at West Point. His career moved quickly, and he'd been posted to various locations all over the world. He'd even seen some combat during those years.

He'd developed a reputation for his organizational skills and been promoted to the position of Operations Officer in his unit. Within weeks of reporting for his new duty, a medium-sized mass had been detected in his right lung. Two-thirds of the lung had to be removed, to ensure the cancer didn't spread. Nowadays, he was minimally aware of the decreased respiratory function, and it was only annoying when he exerted himself. However, the impairment was enough to keep him from ever serving again in a combat unit.

Fortunately, Fitch had made the right connections over the years, and one of those connections got him the assignment he currently held, as a Project Director in Deep Sleep Research.

About an hour later, the massive steel doors started to move again, only the second occurrence in the last five years. Now the technicians and a pair of physicians weren't encumbered by heavy air tanks and containment suits. They brought in medical equipment, including drug kits, portable oxygen tanks, and heart monitors, rolled in on four-wheeled stretchers.

While the medical staff began setting up the equipment, a fifth stretcher was rolled up to the third capsule in the first row. A black, heavy vinyl bag, seven feet in length was unrolled and laid on the stretcher with the zipper facing the capsule.

At the beginning of the first row, a technician began inputting commands into the console. “I can't open it from here. All the automatic systems are down for this capsule.” He stepped over to the side of the capsule and crouched down. He removed two small hatch covers using a flat head screwdriver to pry them off.

Both openings were barely large enough to insert a hand. The technician reached into the first, and after a moment a slight movement of the transparent lid could be detected, followed by an audible hiss as the pressure changed within the capsule. He withdrew his hand and reached into the second opening. After a slightly longer delay, a loud popping sound echoed in the room, and the lid jumped up about an inch.

“Okay, we should be able to lift it now,” the technician announced.

He rose to his feet, and with the help of one of the physicians lifted the lid. The smell of death wasn't as bad as they'd feared, but it was still noticeable. After the face mask was removed and the tubes and wires cut loose, the body of Rhonda Miller was gently lifted from the capsule. The irony of the dead woman being lifted from a coffin-shaped container was not lost on any of them.