Awakening

Martin Hughes has short black hair and stubble. Even with his face slackened by sleep, I can see his defined jawline and sharp cheeks. My eyes travel lower. His torso is rather wiry, with corded muscle shooting through his shoulders and arms. Perplexingly, he has a tight fabric covering around his hips and upper thighs. I wince a bit in sympathy. Not that I have any experience wielding a cock, but surely it would be uncomfortable--even painful--to confine it like that!

"Auto, he's still asleep," I say. "What should I do?"

"You don't need to do anything to wake him, Marissa. That should happen naturally. In the meantime, please take the two pod pieces and dispose of them in the recycler to your left."

I drag the remains of the pod to the recently-opened large aperture in the wall and shove them through. When I return to the platform, I see Martin Hughes's fingers twitching slightly.

"Uhhh," he groans deeply in his throat.

"Oy, there," I say, then chide myself internally. Surely I could have come up with something cleverer than that for my first words to this man!

"Whaa--?" His brown eyes are open now, but watery and blinking against the lights overhead. After a few moments, his head turns sideways to look at me. He's still blinking, as if he can't believe what he's seeing. "Who are you?"

I hold out my hands placatingly. "Auto? Perhaps you can handle the introduction here."

"Greetings, Martin Hughes," says Auto smoothly. "Please do not be alarmed. You have recently awoken from an induced deep sleep paralysis, and you may still be suffering from some of the lingering effects. Do not try to move or sit up until you are ready. You are aboard the Apeliotes, and I am the ship AI, also known as Auto. I have a task for you, but that can wait until later."

"And I'm Marissa," I add, rather lamely.

Martin Hughes's eyes remained fixed on me. I begin to find his stare a little disconcerting. "I'm the one who just came out of the sleep pod. So why are you naked?" he finally asks.

"Uh...Auto, what is 'naked'?" I ask.

"It's a word to describe the state of not wearing anything, Marissa."

"Then I'm not naked," I say rather hotly, though I'm not sure why. "I have my utilities right here! And my boots."

The ends of Martin Hughes's mouth quirk upward, showing the ghost of a smile. "So you do. I stand corrected." His speech is intelligible to me, but strange--all of the vowels just slightly wrong. I have to concentrate and play back the words in my head to extract their meaning. I suspect he has to do the same for me...and Auto.

Martin Hughes closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. "And how many years has it been?" he whispers.

"Auto, can you answer Martin Hughes's question? Also, what is a 'year'?"

"Martin Hughes, according to my records, you underwent induction five thousand three hundred and thirty-nine years ago. Marissa, a 'year' is a period of time measuring three hundred and sixty-five point two four two five days."

"Jesus Christ!" says Martin Hughes. "The Apeliotes? I thought it was headed to Epsilon Eridani. That should have only taken a century. What happened?" He stares at me expectantly.

I shrug my shoulders. "I'm sorry, Martin Hughes. I don't know the answer to your question."

"Right, that's why I was asking the AI."

"Auto? You have to address him directly before he can respond."

"Oh...Auto, why didn't you stop at Epsilon Eridani?"

"Upon closer inspection, the candidate planet in the system turned out to be harsher than expected, unsuitable for life. The crew awake at the time voted to remain on this trajectory until another suitable world was discovered."

Martin Hughes makes a choked noise, half-laugh, half-sob. "Five thousand years!"

I'm finding all of this very fascinating, ancient history I'd never thought to ask Auto about before. At the same time, I'm still turning this new word over and over in my head. Year. Year. So funny-sounding.

"This 'year'," I say out loud. "Auto, what was it again? Three hundred and sixty...something...days. It seems so oddly specific."

"It has to do with the Earth's revolution around the--Ah, you know what? It doesn't matter," says Martin Hughes before Auto can answer.

"Auto, since I reached my eighty-ninth hundred sixteen days ago, how many years would I have?" I ask. "And what about Martin Hughes?"

"Marissa, you would be twenty-four years old. Martin Hughes would be twenty-six, nearly twenty-seven."

"Plus five thousand," the man lying on the platform mutters. He appears to come to a decision. Swinging his lower half over the lip of the platform, he attempts to sit up. Initially, he overcompensates and has to swing back. Then when he's upright, his face begins to turn pale. Pitching forward, he vomits through the metal grate.

I hurriedly pull one of the anti-nausea pills from my utilities and hand it to him along with my unused canister of water. He takes both gratefully and swallows the pill. "Oh, God, my head...I feel so light all over!"

"We are very high," I respond, jumping well over an em to demonstrate. Martin Hughes's eyes follow the motion of my bubs.

"So I see," he says. He glances around the bare room. "No clothing at all." He turns back to me, and something unreadable flashes across his face. "Er...I don't suppose everyone on the ship is...like you?" His hand gestures broadly.

"I don't know what you mean by that, Martin Hughes," I say, flabbergasted.

"Never mind. Thanks. I think I have my answer." He pushes himself up from the platform and stands a little unsteadily. The anti-nausea pill must be working because his skin looks much healthier. "I suppose we should be going then?"

"Auto, should I escort Martin Hughes back to the polly?" I ask.

"Yes, Marissa. Please do so."