Orbit: Contact Incident 117

The sleeping trooper stirs,
a slow syrupy flow
through plastic tube,
awake.
Eyes adjust to harsh, cold, blue
light.
Skewed shadows invoke
foggy memories
of imagined fears.
The stark metal slab
beneath,
stiff stirring bones,
reminds,
yet does not comfort.
Lying among a company of companions,
anticipation lingers in stale air
as a rising mummer of quiet
voices
signals the end
of a long journey.
What lays ahead,
looms dauntingly.
On the sickly green orb
below,
ancient intelligence awakes,
and knows.

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