I had another walk down to Cargo Bay 17 today. Part of me thinks it's a little morbid, walking amongst all the frozen people. But it's just so relaxing. The light hum of the tubes. The dim, bluish lighting. It's nice to see another face, even if it is frozen.
Just like coming here to the bridge and entering logs so frequently, the walks help me to keep events in context. Looking into all of those unblinking eyes, it reminds me why I'm here. Reminds me why it's so important to keep the ship maintained day in and day out.
Sometimes it helps to imagine what they were like before the Evac. One of my favourites is Fat Sally. That's the name I gave her. She's short and plump. She's popular. I think she would have been, anyway. "Here comes Fat Sally," they'd say as she waddled down the street. Kids would crowd around her: "Hello, Fat Sally," "good morning, Fat Sally," they'd shout excitedly before scattering as she threw a handful of sweeties at them. Yes. She'd be popular. I'd have been friends with Fat Sally.
I imagine her smile: big and full of teeth. She was likely smiling when the process started. Everyone struck a pose when the process started, but very few made it to the freezepoint. When the door shuts on you, locking you into the tube, the anticipation of what happens next makes it difficult to keep a smile intact. Some people try for a dignified or symbolic pose, but usually end up frozen into contorted yoga positions as the mist descends on them.
I've never experienced it myself, but I can imagine the unmatched cold seeping into my pores, freezing the very blood in my veins. The stiffness as my extremities seize. My eyelids freezing open; my diaphragm refusing to budge as I try in vain to breathe. No one escapes the feeling of terror as your heart stops beating.
The faces I've seen on my walks have been immense. I go out of my way to revisit one particular gentleman, who appears to have lost his balance in the panic and gotten his forehead frozen to the pod door. Always good for a laugh.
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