I wake to the measured ping of the proximity alarm. Groaning and struggling, I sit up, force my scratchy eyelids to flutter. A mug of hot coffee sits beside my coldsleep locker, just where it belongs. I reach for it and take a sip, then swing my legs out of the locker and onto the deck. Gah. I hobble over to the pilot’s chair and punch a stud to change “Crew Status” from “Cold” to “Warm.” The elapsed time display says I’ve been out for two hundred forty-six days and a couple of hours. I swear. Waking up is like