Sera stretches her legs as the alarm sounds. She has no idea how long she's been out. She waits for the bed to release its hold on her. She finally rolls over and heads straight to the shower. She waits in line, of course. The entire dorm just came to. Like the other drones ahead of her, she hangs her towel, stretches her arms wide, and waits for the spray. Warm liquid sprays the gray stone. She turns, to make sure not to miss a spot. She steps into the towel waiting for her, and follows her tribe down the dormer hall for her check-up.
"We have to make sure you're in fighting shape," chuckles the doctor. The oldest human on the ship, she makes jokes out of everything. "Today's the big day. Let's get you into make up," she giggles as she leads Sera to the war room. The room is meant to evoke any primative ghosts in the machines, Doc explains. This is what you've been made for. Dozens of worlds depend on your ability to defend this side of the galaxy. Prentice takes her time, shading in reds, coppers, blacks, into images of serpents, bears, tigers, hawks, and other creatures of legend onto her limbs, her torso.
Sera has heard that ancient humans once had a similar procedure, back when humans were flesh and bone. The repetitive whir of the machine is torture enough on her titanium core. How brave her ancestors were.
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