Egress I tumbled from the vessel, gasping, coughing, writhing. Everything hurt all over again. This was my seventh exodus in the trip, a measure I barely remember the reason for, preventing cell breakdown or some such. I knew what to expect by now; the vomiting came, though there was nothing to wring from my empty stomach. Burst by burst, barely controlling my awful gurgling howls. This special hell was my choice apparently, though I don't recall the reason. I don't remember anything. This vessel, with its metal paneled halls and its machines, is all I knew now. Curled into a ball, here in this prison with so many others, all quietly awaiting reception by aliens we hardly understood. My mind drifted as my gaze did over the little padded cell I'd spent innumerable years in. Perhaps it was the excitement that drove me to volunteer for this. "Voyagers," some voice echoed in my head, "taking the intrepid journey to the New." Cruel joke. So intrepid to suffer. Insipid, perhaps. My uneasy meditation would be disturbed by a noise, like thunder. Sirens rung, lights flashed. As I unfurled myself, strobe strips illuminated along the corridor I occupied, steady pulses that rolled downward - directions for egress... It was finally happening. --- The New First contact protocol mandated that all occupants of our shared vessel were ambassadors for our culture. As a teenager with no memory of where I came from, I wasn't really much of an ambassador, and didn't have much of a culture to work with. I was a perfect blank slate - a small mercy. I'm thankful I don't miss home. I spent a fair amount of time acclimating to the culture. Once I was confident enough in Universal Basic, I started asking questions; where I was, what I was, who I was. They could answer the first two. We called it the New, but they call it the Microcosm. A vast stretch of space governed by the Syndication, administration on a galactic scale. I still have no idea how it works, and it's nothing I'm used to, but it keeps the lights on and people don't go hungry. If there's anything I remember from home, it's that people went hungry. Far too often. This would be different. As for what I was: I am a Wanderer. A person out of time, out of place. Those who came with me are Wanderers too, I would learn, and there are many others throughout the Microcosm. I took comfort in that, however tragic. I wasn't alone. The last question was one I would need to answer myself. In the coming years, I would. --- The Visit I was two years into the reintegration program when we visited Valtara. I remember thinking little of it. Another excursion, another meet-and-greet with the locals, another return. It's not that I didn't enjoy them - just that I was a depressed, traumatised teenager with memory issues. Enjoying things was hard, and it was exhausting. Valtara would change me. When the excursion shuttle finally arrived at THOR-52, I was staggered. A great wheel in the sky, rolling steadily around its anchoring cord. As we manoeuvred to dock, I watched the glyphs embossed into its outer panelling swing past, demarked in marching position lights: "OLYMPUS". A place fit for old gods to rest, cradled in the stars. Beyond was the planet, a beautiful crimson orb speckled with archipelagos, themselves bearing the gossamer webs of settlements and farmland. The station's support cable stretched downwards to the largest landmass, but it was still so, so small. A wayward thruster could pluck it from the sea. I was glued to my little window in that shuttle, wondering, dreaming. When we docked to the station's central spool, I was so eager to explore that I couldn't hold still, fidgeting with the cuffs of my jumpsuit and writhing in my seat. Whatever disquieted stares I'm sure I earned didn't matter. I was home. --- Olympus Our guide for the day, though I forget their name, was very patient and understanding. A Viri, if I recall. Bugfolk. I had worked with many counsellors in the reintegration program; some were likewise, and each were different from one another. This one had a sort of tut-tut-tut they would produce with their mandibles as they thought to themselves, and a remarkable outfit of assorted cloth drapes that would rise and waver in the zero-g environment, almost ethereal. They would lead us to the elevator, which itself was an interesting ride. We were all expecting to gradually fall to the floor - what we hadn't anticipated is a gradual pull to the side, compacting those of the group who weren't holding a handrail into the wall. It was rather funny at the time, though in retrospect, we were fortunate nobody was injured. After that fiasco, we were happy to depart into the main concourse, a grand structure with a great grid of windows adorning its ceiling. Sunlight cast stark shadows on the deck as it curled impossibly against great bulkheads. We were informed that the top deck was split into four quadrants, whereas the lower decks were split further, into eight. It was an impossible visual. Shafts of light drifting with the sun as people went about their day-to-day business, looking up to see a crowd of newcomers standing at 45-degree angles to them and thinking nothing of it - and the gravity! Attempting a clumsy hop, I managed what must have been a metre above the ground before I drifted back down. Dreamlike. I could be flying and it wouldn't turn a single head. --- Transit Our first day would be spent on Olympus, seeing the sights and visiting its eight module's various decks. We did so via the transit layer, which I had noticed the rumble of long before I knew it existed, a series of trains running in six continuous track loops interconnected by switches. The central loop pair was dedicated to passengers, and was where we would board for each trip. Each train was a three-car consist, electric multiple-units powered by two secondary rails; on either side was a contact skid that would be lifted as the train crossed a switch, preventing the neutral rails from being electrified... Sorry. Now I'm just rambling. I've always had an interest in rail systems, and this one was no less fascinating. Once again I was glued to the windows, watching the freight trains thunder by as I shuffled in my little pleather seat. The large spaces were occupied by my fellows, who had boarded sooner than I on account of my persistent distraction, so I was relegated to the booth our guide occupied. We got to talking, them and I, and the topic soon drifted to what we had planned. Though we would be exploring Olympus today, the rest of our excursion - four more days - would be spent planetside, visiting various towns and industries. One of the items on our itinerary was the township of Qu'bo - "a surprise," they explained, "for the end of our outing". Needless to say, I was excited. I remember little but the trains, to be honest. The day is a hazy memory, blurred gradients of emotion and colour, punctuated by the position lights of passing freight trains, the chilly gusts they would leave in their wake. I would go to bed exhausted but content, for the first time in a long time. --- A Place Of Rest The tiny hotel room I was allotted was more than enough, a little single-berth fit for two, rearranged for one. It was as quaint as everything else on the station: a small display for watching entertainment streams from public broadcast channels, a hot beverage maker, a hygiene cubicle. Standard-issue all. It felt comfortably familiar. The wallpaper was cold to the touch. Beneath, I imagined, were sheets of cold-rolled steel fit to bear the atmospheric pressure. Large bumps permeated its surface, the button-heads of rivets; some flattened by the blows of a hammer, others still rounded from the foundry. Even with the modesty of this paper sheet, the engineering was naked in its presentation, brazenly so. I respected it. As I ran my hand along the wall, I thought of the people who had walked here before me, who dreamed and designed and constructed this place of rest. This was once an empty module, a blank slate, and upon it they carved the future. Their future. I thought of my own, my past a sculpture cut in ice. What would I make of it now I was warm? The thought kept me up for longer than I would have liked. I spent a lot of the time watching the local newscast, its host a charming Salance with striking pitch-black eyes. The production wasn't professional, nor was it particularly amateur - a contrast to the inter-system bulletins that I'd regularly watch in the reintegration program. They spoke of planetary matters. The Rushbark province was preparing for the upcoming "Golden Festival" in the wake of the best crop yields they'd seen in years. Development of floating hydroponic farms were proceeding well off the coasts of the Hortfaul island chain. Recent solar flares were disrupting travel - I'd noticed the turbulence on the shuttle in. The steady chatter would melt like waves on my tired senses, lapping at my mind's shores. Then, sleep... --- What We Left Behind "Can you remember anything? From before?" I met Init's gaze with an unsteady squint. The question was unanticipated; a long night spent under the stars and they still surprised me with their curiosity. I pursed my lips, thinking, then answered, "I'm not sure what you mean." I knew what they meant. They hesitated for a time, probably noticing the slight rise in my shoulders, the telltale twitch of an ear. They had an eye for body language; I knew this much. "Before you came here, to the Microcosm," they clarified, laying their hands in their lap. "We've talked about it before, and, well -" they turned their eyes to the sky, lingering a moment, before returning - "I just, y'know, think about it sometimes, too." A diversion, I assumed, from what they actually meant to say: that I think more about the voyage than where I started. I bear its weight on my shoulders, it seems. Even nine years removed from my arrival I still think about the cold, dreamless sleep, the vomiting, the ever-more-confusing reorientations as I grappled with the last vestiges of my memories... "The fur about your neck is raised," they commented. "Is this..?" Another unanticipated observation. My hand raised reflexively to brush them down. "Oh, no, no," I blurted. "It's nothing. Really." Init leaned in closer from their station on the blanket. "No, I can tell it's not. Your skin is warming. Vascular widening indicative of flight preparation response." They shuffled in, sitting beside me as I turned back to the stars. I could continue to deny their pushing, to brush it off like I'd done so many times before, but as I felt their shoulder connect with mine I thought otherwise. I was safe here, the autumn breeze at my back, the chill stifled by my thick-knit sweater. This planet was so kind to my battered soul. I would reply, unsteadily. "I, well..." My lips tightened. "I remember some things." The memories were fragmented. Threads on a gossamer blowing in the wind. They tangled sometimes, as is their way. "Like, what?" they asked. "Like my tenth birthday. I remember that." It was a special day for all of us, really. "I remember the gifts most of all." "They celebrated birthdays where you came from?" Their response elicited a chuckle. I suppose it was a stunning coincidence, that the people of the Microcosm and my home both would celebrate the days we were born. "Yeah," I answered, shrugging my shoulders. "Gifts were a tradition, too, little trinkets to show our love. I got a model combustion engine, an inline four-piston with a transparent case to show the inner workings." Init's eyes seemed alight with intrigue. "Cool! What else?" Their interest was infectious. It made me smile. I don't often smile when I think about home. "A little volcano toy. You poured some stuff in and out came a bunch of fizz," I recalled. "I remember making a mess on the table. My parents were so angry!" "I'm just imagining a smaller version of you in a little labcoat causing chaos," they giggled. "I couldn't have known, you know? It's not how I think. I just do stuff and the result is what it is!" We laughed together, sharing a little moment under the endless stars.