Watkins woke from a deep slumber.
He was shivering. Yes, he was cold. Yes, he wore the life-support suit he needed to wear to survive in a shuttle now halfway to Mars — the shuttle which had leaked half its oxygen in the first ten percent of its journey from Earth.
None of that disturbed him, made him shiver, half as much as the sense of disorientation — of utter dislocation: was the view through the helmet looking into something, or out? Down, or up…?