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“We’re going to get you comfortable first, then we’ll explain, okay?” Brooks says, reappearing in my field of vision.
I glare at her, or at least, I try to. I’m working on furrowing my brow when the pins and needles start. At first, it’s just a tingling in my extremities - fingers and toes, then up into my feet and hands. Then it’s like waves of hot agony all up my legs and arms.
Brooks’ hand grips my arm. “It will pass soon. First time coming out of cryo is always the worst. I’m sorry.”
I’m groaning, I realise, another involuntary sound escaping my mouth. I grit my teeth - against the pain, against the showof weakness - and my jaw actually responds. Surprise pushes out some of the pain, and I try wiggling my fingers and toes. I wouldn’t call what happens full wiggling, but there’s some definite twitching.
“That’s it,” Brooks says, smiling at me. “Good. Keep trying to move. It will make the discomfort end quicker.”
‘Discomfort’ is not the word I would use to describe this.
But then, just as it started on a rising wave, the pain starts to crest and ease back down. A few tingles remain, but they’re ignorable. I try to move my arm and it flails. Brooks catches it, reflexes as sharp as I would expect from someone in her tier, before my hand connects with her face.
“Easy,” Brooks says, grinning. “You’re going to feel a little like a rag doll at first. Think small movements. Get those fingers wiggling, then start with your wrists.” She pats the side of the metal tube I’m lying in. “Watch yourself on the pod.”
I do as she says, wriggling my fingers and toes again, before rotating my wrists and ankles.
“What… happened…” I try talking again. My tongue is thick and slow, but the sounds are recognisable as words.
Brooks gives me a look of alarming sympathy.
“I’m going to help you sit up now.” She slides a hand under my shoulders. “This will probably make you a little dizzy. Maybe even nauseous. That’s all normal.”
Then I’m being lifted. My head spins, my eyes struggling to focus as the world around me shifts. My gorge rises, but I swallow it down, pinching my eyes shut until my stomach settles, breathing as slowly as I can manage.
Brooks rubs my back. It shouldn’t be comforting, but it is. She has big hands and they’re still a hell of a lot warmer than I am.
“Going to puke?” she asks.
Shaking my head makes the whole room spin, but I push through it. “No.”
“Did you have to go through all this when you woke up?” The pretty blonde sounds horrified.
“The first time, yeah,” Brooks says. “But your body gets used to it after a while. Part of our training was to get used to it.”
The blonde makes a sound that’s half sympathy, half disgust. I can’t imagine ever getting used to this. Whatever this is.
I move my hand, groping for the edge of the pod. When I find it, I grip it, putting some weight through my arm. It holds, the last of the tingles fading away. My legs don’t quite feel awake yet, but I roll my shoulders, rotate my torso a little. Feel my way back into my upper body.
“That’s perfect, small movements,” Brooks says. “You look like you’ve done this before.”
“What exactly is this?” I say, the weight of apprehension that’s lingered from my dream settling on my shoulders once more.
“What’s your name?” Brooks asks.
“Angie,” I say, before it occurs to me that lying might be a good idea.
“Okay, Angie. What’s the last thing you can remember?”
My dream rises up in my mind, the Assessor looming over six-year-old me as he read my chip. But that was a long time ago. When I try to think of something more immediate, things are blurry. Incoherent.
“I…” Fear makes my throat grow tight. Why can’t I remember?
“It’s okay,” Brooks says, her hand finding mine. “I was expecting maybe you’d have some memory problems. It’s a side effect.”
“A side effect of what?”
She hesitates a moment, her expression going gentle. “Look, I don’t know who you are, what level of education you have. I’ll do my best to explain, but ask me questions any time if I’m not making sense, okay?”
