The doors to the crew’s private suites remain open, a function of the ship running on emergency power. He gazes up at the nearest opening. Somehow he realizes he is inside a dwelling, most likely a ship; yet he still cannot grasp what ship he’s in or how he came to be here.

He doesn’t search for answers. The priority is to shelter himself from the cold.

It takes him several exhausting leaps before he succeeds in grabbing the edge of the door frame angled eight feet above his head. Using his bare feet, he manages to crawl inside the abode marked STATEROOM 9.

A stack of debris covers the interior wall. Curtains dangle from the curved exterior panel, obscuring the view. A sofa and kitchen table remain anchored to the tilting deck. The room packs an overpowering stench.

Using the back of the anchored down sofa as a rail, he crosses the living room and enters the bedroom.

The bed and a chest of drawers are piled against the interior wall. He climbs over the debris and searches a closet, finding a large orange jumpsuit. Stares at the strangely familiar article of clothing, the name YONI stitched over the left chest.

Pulling his legs into the limbs of the warm fabric, struggling as he guides his paralyzed right arm through the sleeve, he zips the jumpsuit up to his neck. From the size of the fit he realizes its owner was a bigger man. He locates a matching pair of sneakers and slips them over his bare feet, unable to tie the laces using only his left hand. Knotting the ends as best he can, he returns to the bedroom, repositions the stripped mattress so it lies flat atop the angled pile of furniture, then wraps himself in a blanket and curls up on the bed to think.

Kernels of memory remain elusive, the effort to remember firing synapses across the surface of his brain—each electrical discharge registering as an annoying tiny jolt. He stares at the wall above his head, its strangely curved surface painted a drab olive green.

This appears to be some kind of vessel. Something terrible has happened. What was that strange device you were in? How long were you in there? Are there others onboard?

Who am I?

Shadows catch his eye. He focuses again on the curved wall, detecting faint movements.

Unable to scale the slanted deck in the bedroom, he returns to the living room, using the sofa to reach the dangling drapes, the drapes, in turn, serving as a guide rope. He touches the cool interior of the curved wall. Analyzes the green coating.

Algae? I’m underwater!

He presses his face to the cold glasslike surface, but is unable to see beyond the thick growth.

Backing away, he sees his reflection.

The greasy dark brown hair flows down his back, the matching beard falling off his gaunt face—a face he recognizes.

Roy … Rick … Rikenbrawn.

Ike?