I wake to light—harsh, white, artificial. Cold air bites my skin. I’m lying on a metal slab, naked, gel evaporating from my body. Tubes retract with soft hisses. Voices shout in a language I don’t know. Boots echo. Hands reach for me, rough and trembling.

I scream. They freeze.

One steps forward—young, wide-eyed, face unshaven but smooth with youth. He speaks slowly, syllables sharp and guttural. I don’t understand. But his eyes… they’re not angry. They’re terrified. Awe-struck. And hungry.

A voice crackles over a speaker—female, automated. My pod’s AI. It says something in my tongue: "Life support: ended. Core AI: functional. Neural link to passenger: operative."

Then something happens... a transformation. The pod computer has learned their language almost instantly - and I understand that it has taught it to me via our neural link.

"...she is a mother. A mother who rides in space?"

"She cannot be a mother; she has no collar. And her hair is... yellow. Mothers have black hair, yes?"

"Mothers do not ride in space."

"Neither do we, like this!"

"What will we do?"

"Keep her. Keep her secret. They will take her away from us and send her to the mothers."

"I want to touch her." Giggling.

"I want to be made a father with her!" Stunned silence.

"Do you know how?"

"No. I'm young, like you, not old enough to be a father."

"Let's touch her anyway. Her chest looks funny."

Then I faint, and pass out again.

When I wake, I am lying on a small cot, still naked, deep in the back of what seems to be a workshop of some kind. I vaguely recognize, if not the parts themselves or their functions, at least some of the technology they seems to use. There are many wires. I am not restrained in any way, but it seems I have indeed been hidden.

I can see one of the young men, sitting on a chair next to a worktop covered in disorganized tools and equipment. His position suggests he was watching me; but now he is quietly dozing.