Callisto: Bound to the Alien Commander |18+

Chapter 3

Everything is spinning. My eyelids are so heavy, that I can't open them, but that's probably a good thing. I feel like I've been violently pulled from a deep sleep, shaken, and spun around to the point of sickness.

Taking deep breaths, with tightly closed eyes, I try to talk myself out of nausea.

"You're not nauseous, it's all in your head. Mind over matter, mind over matter, mind over matter." I chant over and over again.

When the piercing stabbing headache starts to fade to more of a dull, thumping pain, I peel my eyes open. The glass door to my pod is still sealed shut. I can't see out of it though, it looks like there is some kind of gray cloth draped over my chamber.

"Hello?"

Reaching up, I pull my helmet and face shield off.

"Hello?"

The heat is sweltering. I can feel myself sweating in my suit, droplets roll down my neck and collect uncomfortably under my body.

Pulling the emergency hatch inside of my pod, the door whooshes open.

"Hello? Is anyone here?"

Why isn't anyone answering me? As I sit up in the dark bunker, I can't wrap my head around what I'm seeing. Through the darkness, I can make out several pods but they look... broken. Is this a dream? Am I having some kind of cryo-sleep nightmare? They told us this wouldn't happen. They said it couldn't happen.

"Hello?" My voice is hoarse as I scream out into the eerily still silence.

My heart starts to race as I sit, listening for anything. Why is it so dark? I can see the dim glow from the pods next to me but beyond that, there's nothing. My chest heaves rapidly. I can't breathe.

Sweat drips down the back of my neck. It's so hot in here.

I'm not sure how long I sit here, listening, waiting, hoping that the lights flicker on and someone comes to check on us. If my pod malfunctioned and I was unfrozen somehow, there are supposed to be systems in place for our protection. LevenCorp told us that we would be closely monitored twenty-four hours a day.

Stumbling out of my pod, my feet hit the ground and my hands slide against the metal, slipping over a slick film coating the outside. It's not cloth outside of the chamber, it's...dust. Rubbing my fingers together the thick grimy coating clumps together in my clammy hand. It looks like no one has been down here in years.

"Hello?" Each time I call out, I sound more frantic. My cracked, dry voice slips unheard into the dark.

My legs wobble as I stagger toward the next pod.

"Dr. Clarisse Schneider - Germany - Epidemiologist" I vaguely remember her from our training and briefings. She was funny and surprisingly carefree for someone who studies diseases for a living.

"Hello?" This time, I don't scream. I barely whisper. My eyes burn as the reality of this starts to become clear. Something is wrong. My brain is still in a fog but I know this is not how the unfreezing process is supposed to happen.

Clearing the thick layer of dust from the glass on Dr. Schneider's pod, I look at her face. She's still frozen. The slightly blue tint her shield casts on her skin and the utter stillness makes her look like she's dead. It's unsettling.

Wracking my brain, I try to remember the very long and very technical explanation of this process. Letting my hand run over the pod, I let the dim glowing light strip guide me to the locked panel at the end.

"Fuck." How am I going to break into this?

Wobbling back to my own pod, I search for something to crack the metal box open.

Feeling around, the only thing I have that would be strong enough to break the lock is my helmet and face shield. Not wanting to damage her pod and harm her in any way, I start hitting the lockbox on my pod.

With each swing, my body feels more and more exhausted. I need fluids and my stabilization medication. Those things should have been given intravenously while I was being brought out of sleep.

The loud clanking of metal echoes as my helmet grows heavier. The box finally dents enough that I can pull the door open. Each bag of solutions was created specifically for us. Taking the two bags of liquid from my broken locker, I hold them carefully. I don't want to lose even a drop.

Each pod is equipped with a medical supply kit if I can remember where it is. My memories are fuzzy. I remember the day of my mother's funeral like it was yesterday, but my father's funeral, which was only forty days later, is blurry.

Crawling on my hands and knees, I run one hand over the paneled sides of my pod, searching for the other doors that I know should be there somewhere. My fingers catch on a small metal latch. When I pull it open, the items inside bring a tear to my eyes. My backpack. The contents make me laugh, even in this bleak moment. I definitely didn't pack for an emergency situation.

Pulling out my miniature blue shoe keychain, I press it to my lips. It's odd how something so completely useless can bring such a huge amount of comfort in this terrifying moment. It feels like my parents are here with me.

Tucking the keychain into my pocket, I continue to run my fingers over the metal until I come to another latch. The medical locker.

Pulling the small red bag into the dim light of my pod, I search for a kit to start my driplines.

When I find a package labeled "PICC Line," I gather the bags of hydrating solution. My fingers tremble as I set everything up. I'm an anatomist. I spent eight years learning about the human body. I know every vein, every tiny bone, every system, and every function, but I have never placed an IV line.

Taking a deep breath, I insert the needle into the vein at the crease of my elbow and tape it down against my skin. Setting the bags of solution on top of my pod for elevation, I slump on the floor.

I don't understand what is happening here. Where is everyone? Why did I wake up?

Leaning my head back, I let my eyes flutter closed. For someone who has been asleep for so long, I'm so tired. My body rests but my mind is in overdrive. Nothing makes any sense. I can't turn off my brain. I have to find answers to my questions. There must be some reasonable explanation for what I'm seeing around me. The fog of cryosleep is leaving me confused and unable to put all of the pieces together.

Once I have regained some strength, I'll wake up Dr. Schneider.