When he awoke, he was laying on the floor of a small cubicle, next to an oddly-shaped cot. Even in his weakened, dehydrated condition, he had evidently decided that the floor was more comfortable.

He stood up, leaned against a stone wall for support, and surveyed his surroundings. The cubicle was perhaps eight feet on a side, just enough for the cot, a small, multi-leveled table, and an intercom holoscreen. There was a container of water on the table. He immediately picked it up, spent almost a minute figuring out how to open it, and then took two long swallows. It was warm, and there were small things floating in it, things that he didn't want to think about, but it tasted like heaven.

He wanted to drink more, to drain the container, but he seemed to remember reading or hearing somewhere that he should drink frequently but in moderation until he regained his strength. He took a tentative step, then another, and found that he wasn't as weak as he had anticipated. Obviously the Blue Devils had gotten him out of the sun before any serious damage had been done.

The door to his cubicle was closed. He had no idea if it was locked, and at the moment he didn't particularly care. It would be another hour or so before he could take advantage of being here anyway—if indeed there was any advantage to be taken by being inside the building.

He walked from wall to wall a few more times, getting some of the stiffness out of his body, then sat delicately on the edge of the cot and just luxuriated in being out of Hades’ sunlight. In fact, the room was still quite warm, perhaps 36 degrees Celsius, but it felt cool and comfortable compared to being outside.

He waited another five minutes, then got up and began walking back and forth again, feeling stronger this time. It was as he approached the far wall that he heard the voice.

“I see you're finally awake, Iceman,” said a cold, dispassionate, vaguely familiar voice.

He turned and found himself staring at the image of a slender young woman on the holoscreen. He studied the face: the cheekbones were more prominent, the chin a little sharper, the hair a bit darker, but they were definitely hers. Only the eyes had really changed; they seemed strange, distant, almost alien.

“It's been a long time,” he said at last.

“Fourteen years,” replied Penelope Bailey.