Now I remember.
As the ship hull screeched and ruptured under ferocious pressure, I watched in detached wonder as automated cabling tore into my wrist and snaked inside my arm.
Overstressed medical tech must have fought to keep me alive, desperate for raw materials, and did the only thing it could – it fused us together, feeding oxygen into my veins, recycling my blood.
The ship and I were united for the journey through the wormhole, but now someone has crudely separated us. Do they mean to heal me, or finish what they started?
I should be horrified by what has happened to me but I’m strangely calm, and I have hope to cling to.