Samantha Smith awoke to a stuttered blare and the taste of blood. For a moment, she was certain she'd died inside her mother's old freezer back in Michigan—her body stiff, air sharp with the tang of rust and ammonia, a dull ache spreading from every joint—but slowly, the fog drained from her mind and she realized: she was not cold at all. Her pod hissed open with a pneumatic sigh. Blinding light stabbed into her skull. A flat woman's voice, too cheerful for the circumstances, intoned: "Welcome home, Samantha. Mission parameters will resume in t-minus 42 seconds."