Cold fear speared into Sherwood. He rose swiftly to his feet, turning like a man at bay. He stood in a bare cubicle. With both the bunk and chair retracted, he stood within four bare walls.
He sprang toward the door and there wasn't any door. There was only wall.
He staggered back into the center of the cubicle and spun around to view each wall in turn. There was no door in any of the walls. The metal went up from floor to ceiling without a single break.
The walls began to move, closing in on him, sliding in, retracting.
He watched, incredulous, frozen, thinking that perhaps he'd imagined the moving of the walls.
But it was not imagination. Slowly, inexorably, the walls were closing in. Had he put out his arms, he could have touched them on either side of him.
"Ship!" he said, fighting to keep his voice calm.
"Yes, Mr. Sherwood."
"You are malfunctioning. The walls are closing in."