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ratherastory) wrote2011-07-11 02:27 pm
ratherastory) wrote2011-07-11 02:27 pm
Entry tags:
Prologue —Arrival
[Master Post]
Prologue –Arrival
Jensen doesn't remember when the dreams started, but he knows it was shortly after he landed in the VA hospital, with the gaping hole in his spine a nice, visceral, physical representation of the hole that just got blown in the middle of his life. The hole in his plans. The hole in his boat, scuttling everything he'd ever pinned his hopes on. The first dream caught him by surprise, because he'd never in his life dreamed of flying before. He was soaring high above the most beautiful rainforest he'd ever seen, not that he was in the habit of comparing the relative beauty of the rainforests where he'd had the misfortune of being stationed. When you're a foot soldier, the only thing you can look forward to in a rainforest is being wet and covered in bug bites. But this? This was different. He was light, and free; transcendent, even. He could feel his heart leap in his chest, blood thrumming in his veins, and with every rush of hot air he climbed higher and higher, until it seemed that he might just be able to reach out and brush his fingers against the lowest-hanging sun in the sky.
His appointed therapist told him it was completely normal for him to have dreams of that sort. That patients who survived life-altering accidents often subconsciously expressed their desire for their old freedom in dreams of running or swimming or flying. Dreams in which their movements weren't impeded by disability or missing pieces of spine. What the therapist hadn't ever been able to explain was the alien terrain, but then, Jensen is pretty sure the man was entirely full of shit and probably kept a couple of extra empty bins around for whenever his bullshit levels got out of hand. He didn't need someone to tell him that he was angry and frustrated for being shoved into a wheelchair after spending a lifetime on his feet and over ten years running to follow other men's orders.
You're not meant to dream when in cryo-stasis. The way it was explained to him, they plunge you into a state not unlike a light coma and the whole process is designed to keep you from ageing the entire five years that it takes for you to travel the whole way to your destination. Sometimes it's longer than five years, even, but Jensen doesn't bother thinking about that, since it doesn't affect him in the slightest. A grinning tech tells him it's like going on the world's longest plane ride, without the jet-lag and with the added benefit of being able to lie completely flat.
"You'll wake up, and it'll be like you just went to bed the day before. Open up, princess, and take your pill."
Instead of the pitch-darkness he expects, though, Jensen finds himself back in the sky, racing as fast as he can toward the mist-covered peaks of mountains he's never seen before, his whole body alive and singing with pure joy. He banks hard to the left, cutting through the clouds, and droplets of water cling to his hair and eyelashes. He lets out a triumphant whoop, catches a rising current of hot air and lets himself drift, higher and higher until the whole world drops away below his feet, leaving him stretching up toward the infinite heavens.
A moment later, he's blinking hard into a harsh, unforgiving light, and another med tech is smiling down at him. "Up and at 'em!"
He swallows thickly, an unpleasant taste coating his mouth. "Are we there?"
"We're there, sunshine."
The tech pulls open the compartment the rest of the way, then pushes off, floating away easily in the zero-gravity environment. After a moment, Jensen grabs the bars to either side and carefully pulls himself up and out, taking a moment to get his bearings in the pristine white cryo compartment. A voice comes over the loudspeakers, very obviously a recording—Jensen can tell by the emotionless intonations, which sound like the result of someone who has had to repeat the same thing so many times that they are now thoroughly sick of it and never want to see those words every again in all their living days.
Attention all personnel: you have been in cryo for five years, nine months and twenty two days. You will be hungry, you will be weak. If you feel nausea, please use the sacks provided for your convenience. The staff thanks you in advance.
The voice keeps going after that, instructing them on the proper procedure to recover their belongings, and informing them of the depressing fact that they're not going to get fed anything like proper food until they get to the surface of Pandora, but that there are protein bars and nutrient shakes available in the meantime. Jensen has never been a fan of recordings, and this one is more annoying than he remembers. Maybe sleeping for nearly six years has just made him crabby. He never was a morning person, even when he was deployed. There's a difference between being up and ready at ass o'clock in the morning, and enjoying the fact that you're up and ready at said ass o'clock.
The only upside right now is that he apparently has fewer problems navigating around the transport ship than his fellow passengers. They keep trying to use their legs to kick off the nearest available surfaces, as if they've forgotten all of their zero-G training. Maybe it's because Jensen has no choice, or maybe it's because he's used to pulling himself along by his hands using bars thanks to all the physical therapy he had to endure, but he finds it pretty easy all told to use the bars provided for him to move around.
Jensen pauses by one of the vid screens showing a tiny fragment of the huge planet that they are orbiting, and traces a finger wonderingly over the image, leaving behind a small smear.
"Well, Tommy," he says under his breath, "here I am."
Part Ia
Prologue –Arrival
Jensen doesn't remember when the dreams started, but he knows it was shortly after he landed in the VA hospital, with the gaping hole in his spine a nice, visceral, physical representation of the hole that just got blown in the middle of his life. The hole in his plans. The hole in his boat, scuttling everything he'd ever pinned his hopes on. The first dream caught him by surprise, because he'd never in his life dreamed of flying before. He was soaring high above the most beautiful rainforest he'd ever seen, not that he was in the habit of comparing the relative beauty of the rainforests where he'd had the misfortune of being stationed. When you're a foot soldier, the only thing you can look forward to in a rainforest is being wet and covered in bug bites. But this? This was different. He was light, and free; transcendent, even. He could feel his heart leap in his chest, blood thrumming in his veins, and with every rush of hot air he climbed higher and higher, until it seemed that he might just be able to reach out and brush his fingers against the lowest-hanging sun in the sky.
His appointed therapist told him it was completely normal for him to have dreams of that sort. That patients who survived life-altering accidents often subconsciously expressed their desire for their old freedom in dreams of running or swimming or flying. Dreams in which their movements weren't impeded by disability or missing pieces of spine. What the therapist hadn't ever been able to explain was the alien terrain, but then, Jensen is pretty sure the man was entirely full of shit and probably kept a couple of extra empty bins around for whenever his bullshit levels got out of hand. He didn't need someone to tell him that he was angry and frustrated for being shoved into a wheelchair after spending a lifetime on his feet and over ten years running to follow other men's orders.
You're not meant to dream when in cryo-stasis. The way it was explained to him, they plunge you into a state not unlike a light coma and the whole process is designed to keep you from ageing the entire five years that it takes for you to travel the whole way to your destination. Sometimes it's longer than five years, even, but Jensen doesn't bother thinking about that, since it doesn't affect him in the slightest. A grinning tech tells him it's like going on the world's longest plane ride, without the jet-lag and with the added benefit of being able to lie completely flat.
"You'll wake up, and it'll be like you just went to bed the day before. Open up, princess, and take your pill."
Instead of the pitch-darkness he expects, though, Jensen finds himself back in the sky, racing as fast as he can toward the mist-covered peaks of mountains he's never seen before, his whole body alive and singing with pure joy. He banks hard to the left, cutting through the clouds, and droplets of water cling to his hair and eyelashes. He lets out a triumphant whoop, catches a rising current of hot air and lets himself drift, higher and higher until the whole world drops away below his feet, leaving him stretching up toward the infinite heavens.
A moment later, he's blinking hard into a harsh, unforgiving light, and another med tech is smiling down at him. "Up and at 'em!"
He swallows thickly, an unpleasant taste coating his mouth. "Are we there?"
"We're there, sunshine."
The tech pulls open the compartment the rest of the way, then pushes off, floating away easily in the zero-gravity environment. After a moment, Jensen grabs the bars to either side and carefully pulls himself up and out, taking a moment to get his bearings in the pristine white cryo compartment. A voice comes over the loudspeakers, very obviously a recording—Jensen can tell by the emotionless intonations, which sound like the result of someone who has had to repeat the same thing so many times that they are now thoroughly sick of it and never want to see those words every again in all their living days.
Attention all personnel: you have been in cryo for five years, nine months and twenty two days. You will be hungry, you will be weak. If you feel nausea, please use the sacks provided for your convenience. The staff thanks you in advance.
The voice keeps going after that, instructing them on the proper procedure to recover their belongings, and informing them of the depressing fact that they're not going to get fed anything like proper food until they get to the surface of Pandora, but that there are protein bars and nutrient shakes available in the meantime. Jensen has never been a fan of recordings, and this one is more annoying than he remembers. Maybe sleeping for nearly six years has just made him crabby. He never was a morning person, even when he was deployed. There's a difference between being up and ready at ass o'clock in the morning, and enjoying the fact that you're up and ready at said ass o'clock.
The only upside right now is that he apparently has fewer problems navigating around the transport ship than his fellow passengers. They keep trying to use their legs to kick off the nearest available surfaces, as if they've forgotten all of their zero-G training. Maybe it's because Jensen has no choice, or maybe it's because he's used to pulling himself along by his hands using bars thanks to all the physical therapy he had to endure, but he finds it pretty easy all told to use the bars provided for him to move around.
Jensen pauses by one of the vid screens showing a tiny fragment of the huge planet that they are orbiting, and traces a finger wonderingly over the image, leaving behind a small smear.
"Well, Tommy," he says under his breath, "here I am."
Part Ia