Owen Reece groaned, rolling over and rubbing his head, instantly regretting the movement as his stomach flip-flopped and he barely made it in time to vomit up thin fluid. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking at the light. Waking up from the stasis felt like the worst hangover he had ever had. Vaguely recalling the lecture that had been given to him before he fell asleep he forced himself to sit up, fighting the urge to dry heave. 

[i]Three years,[/i] he recalled suddenly, reaching up to his face, expecting to have a beard to make Rip Van Winkle jealous. To his surprise it was the same, about two inches off his chin. It was true then, the aging process halted in cryostasis, along with hair growth. He grunted as he sat up, swinging his legs over the edge. His legs were still strong, the muscle had not atrophied and he was grateful. 

One of the medical techs stopped by to check on him. He was tapping away at his notebook and handed him a cup of water which he drank greedily to wash the taste of bile out of his mouth. Reece handed it back and took a deep breath, stretching and feeling the tendons pop. 

“Can I get you anything, how do you feel?” the medic asked, preparing to make notes. 

“I feel like I spent a weekend at Mardi Gras without the beads to show for it,” Reece muttered. “And I have to piss like a racehorse, where’s the head?” 

The medic gestured to a white door at the end of the hall and the big West Virginian stood up, gathering the clothes that had been brought out for him. He was given his room number and he shuffled off to the latrine, yawning and rubbing his aching head. 

An hour later he had showered and dressed, combing his shoulder length hair and tying it back neatly. It was nearly time for the orientation and he had better look half way presentable. He studied his reflection, checking the grey in his beard and shaking his head in amazement. It was three years and he looked the same as when he fell asleep. He dressed in jeans and a button down work shirt, Redwing work boots and tucked some toothpicks in the front pocket. Damn, he wanted a cigarette bad but that was another piece of civilization left behind. 

Reece made his way to the auditorium, nodding at a few familiar faces but when he entered the room he paused, looking up. The entire room was filled with trees, sun dappled light and softly drifting leaves, it was unexpected and for a moment he felt disjointed, as if transported miles and years back in time. The green forests near his Appalachian home town, the smell of bracken and creek water and the taste of wild blackberries. Reece blinked and it was gone, replaced with the computer generated woods. 

It was nice, better than cold blank walls that he had expected. He found a seat among other pilots and mining pod crew members, speaking quietly and shaking hands with them. Finally he leaned back and looked around the room, spotting some skinny kid with blue hair which caused him to chuckle and shake his head. He paused when he caught sight of First Sergeant Larson and his greyish eyes moved over her. She cut a fine figure even in the fatigues and he smiled to himself, rolling the toothpick in his mouth before turning his attention toward the front. 

Reece fidgeted with the notebook, playing solitaire on it as he waited for the others to file in and for this shindig to get started. He was itching to see his mining pod and check her out, he would be the pilot of the small space craft for this shift and hoped the previous crew had taken good care of her. The idea he was in space and that he would soon be leaving the relative safety of the large craft into the void thrilled him. It would be a hell of a thing, setting up shop and mining those asteroids. No matter how many practice runs they had done back on Earth, nothing would beat the live performance. 

His thoughts turned to home and he tried to force it away. There was nothing left for him, for any of them, back there on that blue planet. Reece glanced around once again at the growing crowd and wondered how many of them had family sleeping in the cryobeds. He had no one, none but his crew who he had trained with and the other miners and pilots. It simplified things, he reasoned but was unable to completely ignore the empty feeling in his stomach.