[ WP ] In the far future cryogenic awakening is finally achieved , however . The subjects begin experiencing something called `` Depersonalization disorder '' .

`` Sure Hammersmith, I've got a minute. Yes, they're waking up now. Yes. No. Yes, Hammersmith. You can come observe, if you really want to. No, I'd rather you did n't. Hmm. Yes. Well, I'll see you there.'' 
 
 Scarrow dropped the line and felt the tiny vibration behind his ear that indicated that Hammersmith had also hung up. He stood in his glass office for a moment more, hesitating for some inexplicable reason, before turning down the narrow corridor and towards the labs. He was one of the few on board who had continued with an exercise regime and eschewed the segways that the crew had handed out for those who suffered from the worst cases of muscular atrophy. No matter how advanced a society was, no matter how sleek the technology looked, those who rode segways were still categorised as wankers in Scarrow's book. 
 
 Arley greeted him at the door, handing over white latex gloves with a smile that reminded Scarrow of a lion deciding where to rip the flesh off a gazelle first. She came up barely to his chest, hair done in plaits over her head and a nose ring which flaunted all regulations the crew had ever tried to instil. 
 
 `` The first ones are up,'' she said softly. `` Do you want to see?'' 
 
 `` Is Hammersmith here?'' Scarrow replied. 
 
 
 `` In nursery,'' Arley said. `` Listen, do n't you think we should talk?'' 
 
 
 `` Do you think now's the time? I do n't.'' It came out colder than he'd meant it to be 
 
 
 `` Alright,'' she shrugged. `` He brought Farsher though.'' 
 
 
 `` Oh for the love of - I asked him not to.'' 
 
 
 `` You know what he's like,'' they passed through a narrow corridor, iron capsules marking the entrances to the cryochambers. The cold leached out of them, despite the best insulation they'd had back then being plugged into all the cracks. This was the oldest part of the ship; never updated, never refurbished. Iron pipes hung off walls rusting. Where the rest of the ship's cogs had been replaced by smooth titanium casing, here wires worried out of little holes in the metal walls. Something dripped loudly in the darkness and steam was hissing from a piston not fitted tightly enough. 
 
 
 The nursery, tacked onto the rusting laboratories, was almost bright by comparison. It had yellow paint splashed on one wall and a tall bookshelf pushed against the rusting patches of ship-metal. The shelves were filled with children's books and the rug on the floor, decorated like an old Earth-Style town with tarmac roads and red roofs reminded Scarrow a little painfully of his own childhood. There was colourful furniture and buckets of toys and legos scattered over the carpet, and amongst this patterned chaos sat three children, two girls and a little boy in denim dungarees. Hammersmith, traditionally dressed in a three-piece suit, cravat lying open across his neck, squatted next to one of the girls with a toy truck in his hand. 
 
 Farsher, who had been born a man but was now a woman, sat awkwardly at one of the little orange tables, crayons clutched in a large fist. They were both silent. 
 
 
 `` What?'' Scarrow began, but Arley hushed him. 
 
 
 `` Look at them and tell me something's not wrong,'' She said. 
 
 
 The three children sat on the carpet, staring into midair. Their eyes were glazed over, and the little boy was pinching at the skin on his chubby thighs like he was trying to peel a tangerine. 
 
 
 `` What's wrong with them?'' He asked. 
 
 
 `` We do n't know. We ran their vitals two, three times and everything's fine. Brain activity's a little higher than normal, but it's to be expected when there's a rush of new stimulations.'' 
 
 
 `` They do n't look stimulated,'' Scarrow commented. 
 
 
 Arley shrugged. `` We're bringing in nursemaids day after we stop at Onato. You can talk to one if you like.'' 
 
 
 Scarrow entered the room slowly, glowering at Hammersmith, who pretended to not understand why he was doing so. 
 
 
 `` Hey kid,'' he approached one of the little girls. She looked about six years old, fiddling with the pots of pencils on the table where Farsher sat. `` Do you want to draw?'' 
 
 
 The little girl nodded, pulling herself up onto the chair. She grasped a pencil and bent her head over a sheet of recycled paper, tongue stuck out in concentration. 
 
 
 `` What are you drawing, sweetie?'' Scarrow asked. 
 
 
 
 `` I'm drawing me,'' she whispered. `` The real me.'' 
 
 
 `` The real you?'' 
 
 
 `` Yes, look.'' She held up the paper. In her clumsy child's hand, there was a young woman. Her mouth was a scribble of red lipstick, eyes spiky with mascara. She sported a tight trench coat and meticulously drawn high heels. 
 
 
 Then she tossed away the paper, reaching for the scissors in the pot. Farsher made to stop her but Scarrow growled. 
 
 
 `` Let her play,'' he said and she sat back, eyes wide. 
 
 
 `` See, that's the real me. That's me.'' The little girl insisted, pointing at the picture. She brandished the scissors and pointed at herself with the tips of the blades. 
 
 
 `` I do n't know who this is.'' 
 
 
 In the corner Hammersmith had set the little boy off on a crying fit. 
 
 
 `` I was trying to stop him pinching himself!'' The adult said, pointing at the kid. `` He's giving himself bruises!'' 
 
 
 `` They're all trapped,'' Farsher said suddenly, standing up. Scarrow stood up as well, because he did n't like the fact that she was almost taller than him even at eye height. 
 
 
 `` Do n't be stupid,'' he snapped back. `` They're children.'' 
 
 
 Arley sidled away from the doorway. `` Maybe it's better to run the tests again,'' she said. `` See why they are n't interacting properly.'' 
 
 
 `` I can tell you why they're not interacting properly,'' Farsher exploded. 
 
 
 
 `` Get him out of here,'' Scarrow waved his hand as her face went deadly cold. 
 
 
 `` Hammersmith-'' she said. 
 
 
 Arlen gently removed the scissors from the hands of the little girl, who had begun trying to stab herself in the thigh. 
 
 
 `` You're blind,'' Farsher hissed. `` You'll work it out eventually.'' 
 
 
 With that, she swept out.
