Sarah's Perspective
The ambulance ride was short, but being alone with my thoughts and a stranger whose face I couldn't see behind his hazmat suit felt isolating.
I was still in my suit. It felt like it weighed 100 pounds, preventing me from moving. The life support pack was taken off, allowing me to lie flat on the gurney. However, gravity was still painfully oppressive on every joint.
And I had an itch on my ear I couldn't get.
As we pulled into the isolation dorms, I watched plastic drape over the back window of the ambulance, sealing me away from the world I had just returned to.
I felt so lonely for some reason.
I just wanted to see Isaac and my kids...
The ambulance came to a gentle stop, the faceless attendant swung the door open, and more people were standing there ready to help. They pulled me out of the back of the ambulance, closed my faceplate again, and attached a air supply.
"We are going to spray decontaminant," one of them said on the radio before spraying me down on all sides. Two of them helped lift me while one of them sprayed the back of the suit.
Thoroughly wet, the liquid streaking on my faceplate, I was wheeled through more plastic drapes. A rush of air swirled all around me. I was grateful for the air supply. After a beep sounded, the far door opened, and my assistants passed me off to the next set of assistants.
They wheeled me into a changing room, where the atmosphere was heavy, almost suffocating. More people in full hazmat gear assisted me out of my flight suit. Their faces were obscured, but I could feel their concern, their fear. It distressed me how weak I had become, unable to even change on my own. I was embarrassed to be seen naked. But there was nothing I could do but follow their instructions.
They helped me into comfy gym clothing and then transferred me to another gurney. My wrist communicator and tablet lay next to me, silent reminders of the life I had left behind.
As they wheeled me into the room with everyone else from the flight, I noticed a large window at the far end. A few people I didn't recognize were milling around, staring at tablets and files of paper. I looked around and saw many people in worse shape than me. I was at least able to lift and move my head now that I was out of the flight suit. With great effort, I finally itched my ear.
I felt lonely and isolated. Somehow, this sterile white room felt more alien than the one on Zenthara's ship.
Miles was wheeled in, looking as if he was asleep. His eyes flickered open for a moment, and he said, "Hey. We're back home."
The word "home" struck a chord deep within me, causing my heart to ache. Miles continued, wincing slightly, "I'm thinking of asking for an office change to the moon. My back hurt less up there."
I couldn't help but laugh at his joke. "Miles, we don't have facilities on the moon."
He sighed, wincing again in pain. "Then I'll offer to supervise the construction of facilities."
I smiled, trying to mask my own discomfort. "You liked it that much on the moon?"
"I just hate gravity that much..." he replied, his voice trailing off.
Miles' breathing slowed, and I realized he must have fallen asleep. With considerable effort, I pushed myself up on the gurney and hugged my knees to my chest. The loneliness was suffocating, even though my colleagues were right there with me—some of them sleeping, others being attended to by medical professionals. All I wanted was to see my kids and husband again. I kept telling myself it would only be a few more days until I could.
