Three days in iso, in this muck that keeps your body idle, but not your mind. It's maddening. The neural interface offered you a chance to take training on several ship-board un-school activities, from learning the inner workings of the ion drive to the fine tuning of the boilers. Did you take any of the classes, Tabitha?
This morning (you know it's morning because the neural interface offers a handy shipboard chronometer view.
, something was itching at the back of your brain. Some weird dreams during the fitful sleep and a painful headache this morning.
You hear a voice. Not the vocal sensations of the ship communication detailing inane data in an annoyingly chipper tone. A voice you recognize, but from months ago. "Tabitha? Can you hear me? Please... please tell me you can hear me. I don't even know if you can talk in iso. Maybe I can hear you anyway? I don't know. I don't know anything. I don't know why I can come in here, even, why I'm still here. Am I?
Am I still here?"
What do you do?