This time, the awakening was different. Before she opened her eyes, she heard the creaking of the freighter, and a slight hum that might have come from the firing of the jets.
As she tried to sit up, her eyes flashed open, and she saw that she was lying in a bunk, strapped down to keep from being thrown out. Unsteadily, she began to loosen the straps. When they were half off, she stopped to stare at her hands. They were strong hands, well-shaped and supple, with a healthily tanned skin. She flexed them and unflexed them several times. Beautiful hands. The Doctor had done well by her.
She finished undoing the straps, and got to her feet. There was none of the dizziness she had expected, none of the weakness that would have been normal after so long a stay in bed. She felt fine.
She examined herself, staring at her legs, body—staring as she might have done at a stranger's legs and body. She took a few steps forward and then back. Yes, he had done well by her. It was a graceful body, and it felt fine. Better than new.
But her face!
She whirled around to locate a mirror, and heard a voice: "Margaret!"
Fred was getting out of another bunk. Their eyes sought each other's faces, and for a long moment they stared in silence.
Fred said in a choked voice, "There must be a mirror in the captain's cabin. I've got to see myself."
At the mirror, their eyes shifted from one face to the other and back again. And the silence this time was longer, more painful.