I have been known to be a slow riser. It once took me half an hour every morning to obtain a level of consciousness that would permit me to open my eyes and, very reluctantly, roll out of bed. This is not altogether bad; I have never forgotten my dreams.

As awareness returned, slowly creeping over me in its usual way, I became aware of the hard surface that I had been stretched out upon, the soft pieces of cloth laid over my private parts, and the one tucked under my head. I groaned and attempted to squirm as the most curious prickling sensation became apparent all over my skin, but I barely even the had strength to move my head. I could hear voices from a distance.

"That was a close call. She was half-dead by the time she reached the bottom."

"I know. But that doesn't matter now. Her vitals are getting stronger, and the anabolics will not likely be necessary after another two weeks."

The conversation probably went on, but I didn't hear any more. My eyelids felt so heavy, and all of my energy had been sapped from concentrating on those words. I slipped back into oblivion.

I opened my eyes.

I lay upon a cot, in a cold, metal room that gave off the distinct feelings of age, wear and tear. My head was strangely cold, and I absentmindedly reached up to my head to pat my hair down, but there was no longer any hair remaining to pat. I froze for a moment- then my hand found the plug at the back of my head. I gave a frightened little shriek.

Medea poked her head inside the room. "Ah, you're up. We were starting to worry for a while there. Most people recover in considerably less time."

I stared at her. "Am I dreaming? This all feels so weird, and yet…it just seems so totally unreal! Why am I covered in metal plugs?"

She smiled sympathetically. "Actually, you're closer to the truth that you may think. Interesting. Most only sense that there is something vaguely wrong in their reality." Medea took a step forward, surveying me closely. She seemed to be scrutinizing me closely, and as I stared back, blankly, a small flicker of pain crossed her faced and disappeared. Something was very odd here. That was not the answer that I had wanted, nor expected. Although my expectations were a little fuzzy at the moment, I was well aware that this was not an actual answer. "If I'm right about you…" she continued. "Well, I guess we'll find out soon enough."

"I just have one question, and forgive me if this is a bit much for you right now. Do you remember your dreams, normally? I mean, most, if not all of them?"

Thoroughly confused, I replied. "Well…yes. I always have. I wake up really slowly, so that helps a lot." I paused, remembering my violent disconnection and shuddering. "Sometimes…especially lately, they've been…vivid."

I neglected to mention the nightmares that I had had of late, the ones that were so incredibly brief and yet so poignantly clear. The ones that made me feel- actually feel- bound and gagged, and yet the bonds were metallic, those binds that were so intimately alien in nature. And that feeling of the most terrible loss when the dream faded. I had always woken up sobbing into my pillow, feeling like I had lost my best friend.

Medea had been watching my face closely. "Interesting," she commented, mostly to herself. I shook off my funk, suddenly uncomfortable, and concentrated on removing the IV from the plug on my forearm. When I looked back up, Medea was holding her arm out to me. "Come on," she said, "and meet the crew, Nexus. Welcome to the Peregrine."

(plaque in broadcast room)

THE PEREGRINE: CONSTRUCTED 2269

Medea lead me past the plaque. I glanced towards it, then froze as we moved away. "What the hell…!" I muttered, turning back to get another look at it. Medea saw this and turned me back. "All will become clear very soon. Come." I tried to smile back, but I was paralyzed by a sudden, nagging doubt, so massive that I couldn't bear to let the thought fully form in my mind. Yet the questions came anyhow, breaking crashing down upon my weak and shaky defenses.

Occam's Razor: the most simple explanation, no matter how ludicrous, is usually the correct one.

Did that mean that the date upon that plaque was correct?

Did that mean that my entire world, my LIFE had been a lie, a farce concocted by malevolent forces?

And the worst question of all: How could this happen?

What did people do to cause this to happen?

"Plato," I breathed to my self in horrified realization. "That fucking cave…no fucking way…" Medea glanced back at the sound.

My reality was shattering. I didn't even realize that my knees had buckled until I slammed into the floor, as the shadow of understanding came unbidden, unwanted into my mind. I began to weep quietly, totally overwhelmed. After all, I might have been drugged by Medea, and this entire scene could be a hallucination. I might wake up in my room and realize that this was all a bad dream.

But the dream had persisted too long, far longer that the others. And my heart told me with absolute certainty that this place, with all its dents and signs of careful, loving repair, was the real.

With that thought, I got up on shaky legs, and, guided by a concerned-looking Medea and watched by those who had appeared to see what the fuss was about, went to meet the crew.