Day 2:
More bright lights. More service drones. Some kind of liquid shoved into my mouth. I barely had time to register its mild sweetness before excruciating pain consumed me, and I cried out. Why were they doing this to me? I was still too weak to fight back, too groggy for my brain to comprehend what was going on around me. Suddenly, thankfully, whatever they were doing concluded, and once again, I was taken by deep, all-consuming sleep.
Day 9:
When next I awoke, and I mean really awoke, I was somewhere else. I’d faded in and out of consciousness over the last week, plagued by nightmares of being ripped from suspended animation only to find myself still in the company of the service drones. I was beginning to find my strength, slowly, but was still very weak. Now, at least, I could move my arms and legs, albeit jerkily, and propelling myself of my own accord proved impossible. I began to ask questions of my captors, if that’s what they were, but their incomprehension was infuriating. What had they done with my ship? Why had they taken me prisoner? What the hell were the furry, long-faced aliens that roamed freely among them?
Each of my questions was met with unintelligible noises. I grew frustrated and began to yell, demanding they tell me what I wanted to know, but each time I lost my temper, the service drones would share a confused look and offer me food.
“No,” I said angrily. “I want answers not more food.”
The drones exchanged another dim-witted look before shoving the sustenance receptacle into my face. Just my luck. Not only was I held prisoner, my captors appeared to be the dumbest robots in the entire universe. Well, screw it, I thought. Guess I’ll at least eat something then…
Day 16:
Every day my strength grows. Unfortunately, the point at which I started was abysmal. While it’s truly to be considered improvement, progressing from near total immobility to the uncoordinated, jerky movements I only now seem able to produce is not much to talk about.
The service drones are still here… forcibly pushing thin, milky nutrient ration down my throat and cleaning me when I defecate all over myself. Having to lay around in your own filth for some indeterminant length of time is the most demeaning thing I’ve ever experienced. Usually, I shout for the service drones when this happens, but I never know when they might actually show up. I’ve never felt more alone than I do now… even while in suspended animation.
Later in the day, I was transported to a new location. My captors shoved me unceremoniously into a cramped launch seat that helped support my weakened frame. If I’d known how atrophied my muscles would be after suspended animation, I may have reconsidered my decision to travel in the first place. The things they neglect to tell you…
During transport, I was unable to recognize any familiar landmark. Mostly, I was only aware of the sound of the ship’s engine whine and colors flashing by out of the cockpit window. My eyes are still sore, unable to make out much besides what’s right in front of me. The service drones seem to be operating on some kind of low-power mode. Their movements have become sluggish, the dilation-contraction of their camera lens eyes slow to respond. Perhaps a chance of escape could be possible… No, I remind myself whenever those kinds of thoughts creep their way into my brain. Even given the opportunity to escape, I would be unable to do so in my weakened state. I am beginning to accept that I will need to bide my time.
We arrived at our destination some time later. The cramped launch seat in which I was carried was covered with a dark fabric, blocking my view, as if my captors did not want me to see where we were going. Preventing my escape seems paramount to the service drones. They needn’t have bothered, however, not with how poor my eyesight is at the moment… if I possessed any apprehension about where they were taking me, it was overcome by fatigue. The journey had wearied me, and the darkness in which I lay proved only to usher me into fitful sleep.
H.K. Farrell 