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The last woman on Earth heard a knock at the door.

Such an old, simple horror story. And it had been on her mind a lot these past decades. As far as [i]anything[/i] had been on her mind in that time, to the extent that she had even [i]had[/i] a mind. There wasn’t a chance of being the last woman on Earth, and certainly not of being the last woman in the solar system. You could scarcely get a few miles from anyone on Armstrong the city was so populated and Earth’s were much the same. Even the solar system, in its own way, was beginning to get crowded.

But in the void between systems it was easy to be the first, last, and [i]only[/i].

A knock at the door would have been frightening for sure.

But in its own way the solitude had been even more frightening, the knowledge that any word she said wouldn’t be heard for years if it ever [i]was[/i]. That even if everything went according to plan there would be eight long years before she heard another voice, then two, then twenty. Twenty two years before a soul came within a lightyear of her. A fear that by the end became crushing even in the deepest subconscious reserved for the hibernating and the near dead that maybe she would never be found at all. That her sleep would never end that her vessel would become her tomb and [i]Voyager[/i] would become her own, personal Flying Dutchman.

Artemie Isra, brave explorer, lost to space.

But her solitude was broken by a hiss, instead, as her pod’s lid slid open. The sound barely registered, but the words from the world beyond did. Just a little, slipping through the fog in her mind to tickle at her synapses. Those were voices, real, human voices. 

“He… llo?” She managed, then grimaced. Even if her tongue hadn’t been thick with chemicals, her voice was so rusty. It came out in fits and starts, forcing its way through vocal cords long disused. The first stab at opening her eyes was a dismal failure, she closed them again immediately. The second a moment longer, then the third, and fourth, and finally she blinked them open unsteadily. 

“Take it easy,” A masked technician said, gently helping her into a seated position. “Taaake it easy. You’ve been out a long time, we had to wake you up slow. Can you understand me?”

Artemie nodded, eyes widening just a fraction as a small, unsteady smile graced her face.

“Good! We’ve been watching your vitals since we started thawing you out, nothing out of the ordinary there. But you’re going to be unsteady. That should wear off within the hour, but don’t be surprised if it takes you a little time, okay?”

She nodded again, not quite trusting her voice, and swung her legs over the side. It had been a while, but she remembered the drill; shower, food, and then ready stations. Just like the Captain was saying over the intercom. The Lunite almost fell when she tried to stand, just barely catching herself with the technician’s help, but her first step was more stable. Then the next, and the next....

“Your gear is in that locker. We moved it off your Orbital after we picked you up. You’ll find your flight suit in there. Holler if you need help, alright?”

“Thank you.” Artemie smiled, ignoring how her voice still sounded. She’d get there. The shower was [i]heavenly[/i]. Both of her prior awakenings had allowed her only a brief, cold spray after she awoke and before she settled in for cryo again. This was warm water sluicing over her and washing away the years of ice and darkness, gently scourging it from her bones with each second. She regretted having to cut it short.

Her suit was exactly where she expected it, familiar and freshly cleaned. To her, at least, it could well have been cleaned nearly a decade ago. She pulled it on and zipped it to just under her collarbone, unwilling to again confine her neck so soon, and resolved to find some casual clothes at her first opportunity. None had taken the trip with her.

The first real problem that she encountered was a [i]total[/i] lack of familiarity with the ship. Its class hadn’t even existed when she went to sleep the first time, and obviously there had been no chance to tour it (or meet the crew) before it set sail. 

Thankfully someone had labeled her way.

MREs, thank God, hadn’t changed in thirty years and neither had mess halls. Uniforms, it seemed, [i]had[/i]. The Lunite flight suits she saw mixed in with the other designs had [i]definitely[/i] been updated while she was gone and it made her feel a little obvious. 

Artemie bit her lip. None of these people were familiar. But [i]that[/i] table had three individuals whose bearing and attire said ‘pilot’, so she gingerly picked her way over and sat down at the table with her first bite of MRE in her mouth.

Might as well rip the bandaid, right?