STRANDED

One: Arrival (Caleb)

"No matter how much you hear, no matter how much you prepare; nothing gets you ready for Wake Up."

This sentence rang through Caleb's brain as he continued hacking up the fluid from the Pod, the mucus-like liquid hanging now in strings as he leaned over the Crew Toilet. Everyone has had their rounds; just Caleb was the last to wake up. So he had to take his turn in the dreadful cases of Wake Up, what everyone called the Cryosleep Awaken Procedure.

That wasn't even the worst part. Being asleep for twenty years affected a range of areas from muscular movements to sight. For two solid hours after waking up, Caleb experienced a pounding headache, product of the strain his astigmatism already put that the classes corrected magnified by the fact he hadn't used his eyes in two decades. It definitely took its toll, and he was suffering through all of it.

Amidst the coughs and gagging Caleb emitted, a head peeked through the door of the restroom and knocked. "Oi, Bennett," The male voiced called out. "Could you hurry it up? I've got to take a shit, mate."

This resulted in a good one-finger-salute response from Caleb, and he stood then slowly from the toilet and flushed, wiping his lips along the back of his hand. He then moved to the sink and washed up before looking at himself in the mirror.

He looked like shit currently. His eyes were glazed and face slightly flushed. Maybe some Dramamine would do the trick for the nausea. He splashed a little water on his face to cool himself off before placing his glasses back upon his face and turning around to exit. His brown bouncy curls were natural from birth, and at one point, Curly Top was his dreaded nickname for about, say, three years? The glasses didn't help either, and he was eventually compared to various comedy-show geeks to add. He wasn't the type to go off about it; hell, usually he laughed with the resemblances. He was in the Crew Jumpsuit which was a requirement of the entire crew for the Cryosleep process. His other clothes sat in a locker in the sleeping quarters.

As Caleb exit the restroom, an eager Guiles blasted in and pushed the sliding door shut behind him. Caleb couldn't help but smirk before making his way through the ship's corridor and into the sleeping quarters. Like most ships, the room contained six to eight bunks, depending on the sized of the Explorer. This one was only a class B, which slept six, and also had about two-thirds of the fuel expenditure of the larger Class A.

The ship, dubbed Ol' Faithful, after a geyser in the western United States, had seen its fair share of exploration; fifteen missions, to be exact. and almost a third of them captained by the current leader, the one and only Phoenix Ayala. It was a Class-B explorer, which wasn't saying much but it still beat out most Explorer class vessels. This ship, bearing two-hundred and seventy-five feet in wingspan, held a Quarters for sleeping (both Cryogenic and normal), A Research Lab, Kitchen, Bridge, Medical Bay, and Navigations. All the necessities for quality space travel. Besides that, it was capable of carrying a low-class, solar efficient Rover for long-distance travel in cargo. Past that the specs were normal; Zeta Propulsion capable of providing thrust to one-fifth the speed of light, which was why a four light-year travel took twenty years. Which was funny, because Caleb sure didn't feel forty-eight years old. Which was rightly so, since Cryogenic Sleep reduced aging to about one thirtieth the normal rate. So, body-wise, everyone on the ship felt maybe a few months older but were actually twenty years older in perspective to their fellow friends on earth. Possibly even younger due to good old Einstein's Theory on Relativity.

Once in the sleeping quarters, Caleb stripped to his undergarments to get out of the skin-tight jumpsuit and into the comfort of his typical work clothing. This consisted of a button-up shirt, lab coat, blue jeans and some hiking shoes for the trip. Typically he'd swap the two for khakis and some loafers but he assumed those wouldn't be the most comfortable decisions. He put on the clothing, and just as he was lacing up his boots, the intercom scratched with the sound of someone clicking on the mic and a voice announced;