She pulled back the sheet, unclipped the strap holding her down, and slid off the bed.

The moment her feet hit the deck, her knees buckled and she toppled forward. She would have face-planted if the doctor hadn’t sprung over and caught her. “Not to worry, Ms. I have you. I have you.” He lifted her back onto the bed.

Across the room, the kid pulled a ration bar from his pocket and started to gnaw on it.

Kira raised a hand, and the doctor backed off. “I’m fine. I can do it. Just give me a moment.”

He eyed her, his expression speculative. “How long were you in zero-g, Ms.?”

She didn’t answer but lowered herself to the floor again. This time her legs held, although she kept a hand on the bed to steady herself. She was surprised (and pleased) by how well her muscles worked. They had barely atrophied, if at all. Second by second, she could feel strength returning to her limbs.

“About eleven weeks,” she said.

The doctor’s thick eyebrows climbed upward. “And how long since you last ate?”

Kira did a quick internal check. She was hungry, but not unbearably so. She ought to have been starving. More to the point, she ought to have been starved. She’d expected to arrive at 61 Cygni too weak to stand.

The Soft Blade had to be responsible. Somehow it must have put her into hibernation.

“I don’t remember.… A couple of days.”

“Not fun,” the kid muttered through a mouthful of food. Definitely the same voice she’d heard on the Valkyrie.

The doctor glanced back at him. “You have more of those rations, yes? Give one to our guest here.”

The kid produced another bar from one of his pockets and tossed it to Kira. She caught it, tore open the foil, and took a bite. The rations tasted good: banana-chocolate-something-or-other. Her stomach rumbled audibly as she swallowed.

The doctor opened a drawer and handed her a silvery pouch full of liquid. “Here, when you are finished, drink this. It will replenish your electrolytes and provide you with much-needed nutrients.”

Kira made a grateful sound. She scarfed down the last of the bar and then drank the contents of the pouch. It had an earthy, slightly metallic taste, like iron-tinged syrup.

Then the doctor raised the hypo again. “Now, I really must insist on taking a blood sample, Ms. I need to check—”

“Look, where am I? Who are you?”

Taking another bite, the kid said, “You’re on the SLV Wallfish.”

The doctor looked irritated by the interruption. “Indeed. My name is Vishal, and this is—”

“I’m Trig,” said the kid, and slapped himself on the chest.

“Okay,” said Kira, still confused. SLV, that was a civilian ship designation. “But—”

“What’s your name?” asked Trig, jerking his chin toward her.

Without thinking, Kira said, “Ensign Kaminski.” They’d discover her real name easily enough if they started checking records, but her first instinct was to play things cautiously until she understood the situation better. She could always claim she’d gotten confused from lack of food. “Are we close to Tsiolkovsky?”