The intercom above the cryo-pod crackled to life. A voice, flat and synthetic, announced: “ETAP 24. Initiate neural priming.”
He thought about the next eleven months. The hydroponic bays. The silent corridors. The hum of the core. The weekly psych evaluations where Dr. Aris would ask him how he felt . etap 24
“Up to a point,” Aris echoed. “What point is that, Kael?” The intercom above the cryo-pod crackled to life
He stood up, brushed the dirt off his knees, and walked back to his pallet to sleep. The hydroponic bays
He worked for ten hours straight, measuring pH, adjusting nitrates, repairing the drip lines. By the end, the plants looked greener. Almost hopeful. He sat down against the bulkhead, exhausted, and pulled out a small, dog-eared book from his jumpsuit pocket. He didn’t know why he carried it. He didn’t remember buying it.
“The memories degrade after stage twelve,” he whispered. “Everything before that is… gone. I know what a dog is. I know what rain feels like. But I don’t remember ever experiencing them.”
Because that was the job.