“Oh, God…” The taste was glorious, a cinnamon plum, exceptionally sweet. The rise in my blood sugar was immediate, a revival that fueled my desire to eat. Spitting out the seeds, I quickly downed the other four fruit in my lap, then drank again.

My bladder was the next organ demanding attention. Unzipping my jumpsuit fly, I leaned sideways in my vine hammock and added my pee to the rain-soaked foliage, pleased to see that blood no longer darkened the urine.

I rolled again onto my back and held my breath as the tangle of vines dropped me two feet before the slack was retrieved. I waited, my muscles tense, until I was confident the hammock had resettled, then I drank again.

My immediate needs met, I reexamined my situation.

Where am I? Am I Omega dreaming in a cryogenic pod in an underwater habitat a mile below the Ross Ice Shelf, or am I actually suspended beneath a forest canopy in a future time period, on an Earth that has evolved from a major cataclysm? Assuming the former, there’s nothing I can do but try to survive the dream without registering any more pain. Assuming the latter … Jesus, how many thousands … how many millions of years was I frozen? What happened to Andie and the rest of the crew? Are they still frozen? Did GOLEM thaw them? Would they really have left me in stasis?

No way. Even that asshole of a captain wouldn’t have the balls. I woke up because the pod malfunctioned when the stairwell collapsed. GOLEM controlled the other twelve pods, which means the computer malfunctioned.

I looked around.

If this really is Antarctica, then the bombardment of lunar debris must have been horrific, wiping out humanity … leading to an Ice Age. But if some humans survived … perhaps a colony, then I need to find them.

If a million years has passed, will I even recognize them?

The rain subsided, returning its gentle cadence.

Go back to sleep, Omega Man. Resolve your existence later.

I closed my eyes, my consciousness fading in the predawn light.

*   *   *

“Huh? Whoa … shit!”

I was falling, dropping in measured plunges, my face lacerated by branches, my right arm useless, my left grabbing at anything within reach. And then the vines twisted tightly, painfully around my ankles and I stopped.

Trees spun, inverted in my vision as I blinked myself into cognizance. The ground was swaying … no, it was me—I was hanging upside-down, suspended eight feet above the crawling forest floor.

Crawling?

Drawn by my urine, the ants—each as black as night and as long as my thumb—swarmed the ground in chaotic waves ten thousand strong, the assembly feeding a column of workers that were even now climbing the surrounding trees, tracking the food source … me!