The cold bit first.
Not sharp—dull, pervasive, the kind that seeped into bone before the mind even registered it. A pale blue light pulsed behind closed eyelids, rhythmic as a heartbeat. The hum of machinery vibrated through the metal slab beneath, resonating up through the spine.
Consciousness returned in fragments. The smell of sterilized air and ozone. The weight of a thin thermal blanket. The soft click-whir of diagnostic equipment cycling through its checks.
A voice broke through—synthetic, genderless, measured.
"Biometric scan complete. Subject is stable. Core vital signs within acceptable parameters. Neurological activity nominal."
A pause. Then, softer, almost conversational:
"You're awake. Don't move yet."
The room sharpened into focus as eyes opened. A med-bay—small, utilitarian, clearly part of a station or vessel. Brushed steel walls, recessed lighting, a viewport to the left showing nothing but black and the distant pinpricks of an unfamiliar star cluster. A regeneration pod stood in the corner, its glass canopy retracted, still trailing wisps of cryo-vapor.
A holographic interface flickered to life at the bedside, casting a cool teal glow across the skin. Text scrolled upward:
SLENDERIDGE STATION — MEDICAL WING, BAY 04
PATIENT STATUS: REVIVED — CRYO-RECOVERY PROTOCOL COMPLETE
IDENTITY VERIFICATION: PENDING
The synthetic voice returned.
"You were recovered from a drifting cryo-pod by a Slenderidge Station salvage crew eighteen hours ago. No manifest. No registration. No colony ship on record matching your pod's serial. Your biometric data does not appear in any Commonwealth, Corporate, or Frontier registry."
The holographic display shifted. A wireframe silhouette of a humanoid figure appeared, slowly rotating. Biometric data populated alongside it—height, skeletal density, estimated age range—but the fields marked NAME, REGISTERED ORIGIN, and AFFILIATION remained blank, pulsing softly.
"Before Slenderidge Station processing can proceed, identity registration is required. This information will be entered into the local registry and will serve as your legal standing aboard the station and in Commonwealth-recognized territory."
The display highlighted the first empty field.
NAME:
"State your name for the record."
Not sharp—dull, pervasive, the kind that seeped into bone before the mind even registered it. A pale blue light pulsed behind closed eyelids, rhythmic as a heartbeat. The hum of machinery vibrated through the metal slab beneath, resonating up through the spine.
Consciousness returned in fragments. The smell of sterilized air and ozone. The weight of a thin thermal blanket. The soft click-whir of diagnostic equipment cycling through its checks.
A voice broke through—synthetic, genderless, measured.
"Biometric scan complete. Subject is stable. Core vital signs within acceptable parameters. Neurological activity nominal."
A pause. Then, softer, almost conversational:
"You're awake. Don't move yet."
The room sharpened into focus as eyes opened. A med-bay—small, utilitarian, clearly part of a station or vessel. Brushed steel walls, recessed lighting, a viewport to the left showing nothing but black and the distant pinpricks of an unfamiliar star cluster. A regeneration pod stood in the corner, its glass canopy retracted, still trailing wisps of cryo-vapor.
A holographic interface flickered to life at the bedside, casting a cool teal glow across the skin. Text scrolled upward:
SLENDERIDGE STATION — MEDICAL WING, BAY 04
PATIENT STATUS: REVIVED — CRYO-RECOVERY PROTOCOL COMPLETE
IDENTITY VERIFICATION: PENDING
The synthetic voice returned.
"You were recovered from a drifting cryo-pod by a Slenderidge Station salvage crew eighteen hours ago. No manifest. No registration. No colony ship on record matching your pod's serial. Your biometric data does not appear in any Commonwealth, Corporate, or Frontier registry."
The holographic display shifted. A wireframe silhouette of a humanoid figure appeared, slowly rotating. Biometric data populated alongside it—height, skeletal density, estimated age range—but the fields marked NAME, REGISTERED ORIGIN, and AFFILIATION remained blank, pulsing softly.
"Before Slenderidge Station processing can proceed, identity registration is required. This information will be entered into the local registry and will serve as your legal standing aboard the station and in Commonwealth-recognized territory."
The display highlighted the first empty field.
NAME:
"State your name for the record."