We all stood silently for a few moments, looking from one person to another. 
No queries seemed to be forthcoming, “well then I shall take my leave.  Laura, if I might have a word?”
Everyone else dispersed into the room, most headed for the kitchen whilst others went to explore the bedrooms.
“How are you feeling?” she asked once the others were out of earshot.
I found myself scrabbling for words, the more that I tried to think of the words to describe what I was thinking, the more the right words eluded me.  I had long since given up on getting frustrated at my anxiety holstering my ability to form coherent sentences and would usually come up with hand gestures and random noises that usually got the point across.
I wiggled my hand in the ‘so-so’ indications and made a “meh” kind of noise.
Such a gesture was clearly lost on the basikor doctor, so I tried again to verbalize my thoughts, “it’s hard to put into words, there is so much going on in my head, it’s gonna take a while to sort it all out.”
“And the energy?” I realized as she spoke that she had probably meant my neural connection in the first place.
“It all feels the same.  Let me just…”  I trailed off as I raised my bag into the air and waggle it about a bit.  Inwardly observing myself for a moment I remained silent.
“Yeah,” I spoke as I could feel the energy replenish itself almost instantly, “it feels the same.”
“Good,” she seemed relieved, her theory proved solid. “I might recommend that you sleep in a room on your own.  On the Screnac, sensors from your room indicated that you are prone to lucid dreaming as well as sleep walking.  Your abilities could activate during the night, so until we know more, it may be safer for others, if you continued to sleep apart from them.”
I nodded.  The thought of sharing a room was never an easy idea for me, the very presence of another person in the same room whilst I tried to sleep, for whatever reason, really freaked me out.  I dare say that it came from being forced to share a room with Marti when we were little, the teeth grinding kept me awake most nights and I usually wound up with the pillow over my head to muffle the noise.  From then on, the slightest noise from a person that I would be sharing a room with, and all notion of sleep simply fluttered out of the window, no matter how tired I was.
“I know the others have had their health seen to, I usually need inhalers and antihistamine.  Will I have access to replacement medicines?”  Up until that point we had been in, what I had assumed to be, completely sterile locations with meticulously filtered air.  Being introduced to a new planet meant an inevitable amount of dust and unknown allergens would be getting to know my lungs.  All I was doing was waiting to see how tight my windpipe got or how good of an impression of a tap my nose would try to accomplish.
“In each of the hygiene rooms there is an easy to use medical station.  The directions are available via your tablets, but they basically diagnose you and administer the appropriate medication.  Most of your companions will be familiar with the devices as portable versions were used on board the Screnac to identify what people needed at that time.  The delivery system is usually in liquid form, however, there will occasionally be pills.”
Owen, who had been pretending to investigate the desktop console stations, stepped over.  “Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear,” his mildly nasally voice rang out clearly enough to catch the attention of a few others who had not gotten far, “and I don’t mean to sound rude or ungrateful or anything, but isn’t it a bit too convenient that this place has medical facilities that are compatible with humans?”
I could not help but feel a wave of embarrassment wash over me.  To be honest, I was curious about the answer, however there was no need to phrase it in such a passive-aggressively rude manner.
There were people who would say, “I don’t mean to be rude/mean/bitchy, but…” and then proceeded to be exactly that, however I had never know Owen to be one of them.  Then again, I could not imagine that anyone could be exempt from the apocalypse and remain the same as they once were.  I believe that a boyfriend that he had been on the verge of proposing to had been amongst his lost ones.  Someone that, according to Julie, I had met on a night out some years back.  I could not recognize that specific night, I rarely went out with them, a couple of times a year, if at all, and they all felt the same whenever I tried to recall which night was which.  He held it against me, how could he not.  The only people that he had left were Julie and his twin brother, Darrell, who was en route to Kenglowe.  However, he was maintaining an exceptional civility when it came to actually speaking to me; whether that was because he was able to place blame elsewhere or because confronting me would be more upsetting and would change nothing, I will never know.  Those bursts of passive-aggressiveness were likely the only way he was able to deal with what had happened.
I am unsure as to whether the basikor are a race that are impervious to attitude, or if Deia was simply far more understanding and patient than generally possible, yet she did not bat an eyelid.  “Human physiology is simple enough by our scientific standards and, along with copious amounts of research and study, compatible medication and procedures have been developed and implemented throughout the galaxy, wherever compatible technology is found.”
Owen gave a sharp nod and headed off to where Julie was waiting for him, muttering something about how there was always an answer to everything.
I cast Deia an apologetic smile before attempting to convey my gratitude.
She simply shook her head, smiled and left.

The rest of the evening progressed into a sort of house warming, or more accurately a dorm warming, party.
After a few minutes of exploring someone had found a bottle of the liquid that had appeared during the mourning event on board the Screnac.  It was quickly shared out and we all raised a glass to doing our best for the future of our race and seizing every opportunity that came at us.
The liquid was mildly sweet yet refreshing, like a mango sorbet but with a flavour that I had never experienced before.
A few more glasses down the line and we began to relax.  A few people went out for a wander; as we arrived earlier, there had been a few other beings that had been spotted, and curiosity was gnawing at the high-spirited and inquisitive minds that ventured outside.
Those of us who remained, raided the kitchen, scrolling through various recipes and appliances that needed to be used because they looked fascinating.  Isla Winchester, who I had gone to secondary school with and who had grown up to become an exceptional chef, took the lead.
I genuinely cannot clearly remember the concoctions that we came up with that night, but few stomachs went unsettled that night.
In my past life, I had an entire nighttime routine of taking my tablets, using cleansing wipes to rid my face of the grime and grease of the day, read for about an hour, brushed my teeth, swilled horrendous mouthwash around my gums to avoid the death of another nerve, used the toilet and scrunched myself up in my red, fuzzy, worn-out blanket, tucked meticulously around my duvet.  Then, and only then, would I be able to sleep.  After at least half an hour of tossing and turning and trying to shut my brain of at ay rate.  Which was an improvement on the three hours that teenage me use to take.
I only had fuzzy memories of getting to bed that first night, yet I know that I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

Waking up to darkness was not unusual, what struck me as odd at the time, was the lack of sound.
On board the Screnac, there was always some sort of noise, even in my solitude, I could hear, or maybe feel, the residual hum of the engines that were keeping us alive in the vacuum of space.
I dragged myself out of bed and went to the door.  I only opened it a little, yet the sound of a few people snoring gently around the comfy seating in the round room (as we called it), reached me in an instant.
I closed the door and called up a console so that I could turn on the lights. 
A small icon was flashing in the corner of the screen, unread messages.
A small offering of inquiries into my location and health along with many well wishes lit up the inbox. 
Most of the messages indicated the general boredom that seemed to be filling the mini-Screnacs.  It seemed that there were a few attempts at organized activities; yoga, card tournaments, music jams (comprised purely from percussion and vocals as the only guitar in existence stayed with Jeremy at the site for Rapture), word games, etc. which kept people occupied for brief intervals. 
The message that Phillip sent told me how much he wished that he had been allowed to come with me, that it felt unnatural to be so far apart when we had only just gotten close.  He dutifully asked how I was settling in and told me to look after myself.  The last line read, ‘hurry up and come back, I’m aching to have a proper “conversation” with you.”
I forced myself to ignore the tug that emanated from my nether religions and opened up a response. 
‘I’m good, here’s different, very sterile, there’s interesting food and the units are too long.  We have some sort of orientation in the morning.  I can’t wait to get more in control of this energy, I can’t even share a room with anyone.  I miss you already, the mere thought of all the “talking” we’ll have to get down to is driving me crazy.  How long before work starts on Rapture?  Make sure you save some space (appropriate pun) for me, a room with a view and good acoustics would be appreciated.  I’ll be back before you know it and we’ll need plenty of places to have our conversations… all the sex to ;).’
Signing it with an Lx, I could feel a blush spread across my face.  Referring to impending intimate relations as conversations and talking gave me a certain degree of distance from the actuality of the act.  Actively saying ‘sex’, even in a message, felt as though I was confirming it, whereas before, there was a little wiggle room for the coward in me to make an escape.  I did not want that.
As soon as the message sent, the familiar wave of anxiety rushed over me; “had I been too forward?  Had I ruined our private joke?  Would he be disappointed?  Would I regret giving up that wiggle room?  What if it gets to the time and we’re not each other expected?  What if we’re not compatible?  What if he had been leading me on all this time?  Should I have asked to share space with him?  Did I want my own room?  Did I want to room with him?  Would he want to room with me?
Many other questions trickled through my head, more and more as the seconds went by.
With great effort, I decided to trust my instinct and that the message was exactly what it was meant to be and that it was too late to do anything about it now.
Remembering what I had opened the console for, I turned my attention to figuring out my surroundings.
Scrolling through the options I found one that read ‘open shutters’.
Naturally, curiosity kicked in and I gave it a tap.
A whirring sound came from the opposite end of the room as it appeared that wall was lifting away.
The slim room widened the further away from the door I moved.  It was only twice the length of the beds that lay either side of the wall.  These were similar to the mattresses that we had been given on the Screnac, although at least tree times the height from the floor and with a solid base which housed a draw for storage.  There was also a slim ledge along the wall with both of the beds, it was there that I had found my glasses and necklace.
Two sets of draws concealed the start of the slope down to the hygiene room, my bag had been casually tossed on top of them along with the clothes that I was not wearing.  Having found a simple strappy top and three quarter length bottoms, I had squashed myself into them, somewhat delighted to discover that the top was supportive enough to hold my breasts at an aesthetically acceptable height as well any bra could have.
Stepping past the draws, I naturally missed my footing on the ramp and, had it not been for my energy taking some sort of subconscious initiative, like holding out your hands when you fall, I would have tumbled down and likely sprained an ankle or something just as dramatic.
Pushing myself upright, I approached the window.
Immediately beyond the glass/transparent plastic (or whatever it is made of) was a balcony.  A low wall divided that one from those either side, however, near the edge, they dropped away to allow for walking from one room to another.  In the gradually widening space there were a couple of chairs and a table, the same as the ones in the round room, only on a smaller scale, with a reclining option for the chairs.  They looked (and felt, as I discovered later) like wood, a light ashen colour, yet I am told that they are made from a particular plastic that more or less every item of furniture is made from across the galaxy.
There was also a contraption that looked somewhat similar to a cross-trainer.  My guess was pretty spot on, it does the same job, working out multiple parts of the body.  So much time is spent on this planet in study and relaxation, that every being is given the option to keep themselves fit, should they choose to do so.
The night’s sky was still dark and smattered with stars, such clarity I had never seen from Earth.  Every light on Kenglowe pointed downwards, reducing the planet’s light pollution to next to nothing.
The wall at the end of the balcony had a strip of warm, yellow light shinning along it, highlighting the floor.
Enough light filled the room that I could make out the outlines of everything within it, yet my eyes were beginning to strain.
I tapped on the glass (I am still not sure what material it actually is, but the word glass is accurate enough to describe its transparency) and discovered that I could call the console to its surface.
I turned the lights up to a level that stopped my eyes from straining, yet did not irritate my light-sensitive vision. 
With the light, I noticed a small hatch at the end of the room.  There was button or handle, so I lazily slouched onto the corner of the bed and, using my tablet, discovered that it was essentially mini washing machine.  My thoughts turned to my underwear, more so my socks.  It probably would not hurt to toss them in.
The console instructed me to put in each item, one at a time, so that it could register their delicacy and size.  I closed the door and a timer popped up on its surface, counting down from thirteen lals.
Assuming it was safe to leave them, I ventured down to the hygiene room in search of something to clean my, oddly unfuzzy, teeth.  As it turns out, all food that we had come into contact with, even now, has some sort of cleaning agent in it that stops the abrasive or staining elements of the food from lingering.  When you swallow after eating, it is the equivalent to swallowing mouth wash.
As such, at the time, I could find no oral hygiene items and promptly started fretting over it.  However, I eventually found the corresponding information on the tablet, and began to relax.
I did quickly discover the medical station.  To have access to the necessary medication, all that was needed was saliva.  I spat into a small receptacle and within a few minutes, the appropriate tablets and liquid were dispensed.
I do not know what it said about me that I required three tablets and two different shots of liquid, however whatever they did, they worked.  I suspected that they contained the equivalent to my inhalers and antihistamine, as well as certain supplements, such as calcium and iron.  The longer that I have been here, the fewer the tablets that have been dispensed and I am down to one shot.  I am sure that the original selection contained antibiotics as certain ailments that I simply thought were just a part of my body being a bitch, have been completely eradicated.
Having taken my medicine and freshened up, I decided to get dressed and find something to stop my stomach from aching.
The draws were filled to almost bursting with items of clothing of almost every size.
To my everlasting relief there were a selection of knickers.  The fear that other races never had a need for underwear was one that consumed a distressingly large portion of my thoughts.  Several different shapes were presented, yet I chose the pair that were the closest to my comfiest fitting .
There were, however, no bras in the collection.  Well, there were a couple of bikini type tops, although nothing designed with any kind of support in mind.  Fortunately, the material that the majority of the tops were tight enough that they held everything in place without stretching or getting loose as the unit went on.
I chose to wear a simple strappy top with a floaty, partially see-through shawl thing, with a pair of full length, thickened dernier trousers that I stretched out enough so they stopped looking like skinny jeans or leggings.
In the drawer under the bed were three pairs of shoes.  Not that they looked like shoes.
I took all of them out and consulted my tablet.
One pair were sandals, straps extended from any point you pulled, like the seat belts on board the Piti.
The other two pairs looked more like socks.
One was soft and fluffy, the other more firm and supportive.
When you put either of those on your feet they would contract or expand to fit, creating hardened soles under the parts of your feet that needed it.
I chose the supportive pair and headed to the rear of the room.  With a few taps on the console, I opened the glass and stepped outside.
I was expecting a drop in temperature, however there was none.  Stepping onto the balcony, it suddenly occurred to me, that the last time that I had felt cold was Earth.  Since then, each ship had a specific thermostat which allowed those in charge to create the perfect environment.  Nothing was too hot or too cold.
It made me sad.  I had never been a particular fan of hot weather, as prone to sunburn, dehydration and heatstroke as I was.  Cold days were what I loved the most, an excuse to snuggle up in big, wooly, baggy clothes and blankets.
Yet, there I stood, not too hot, not too cold, an ever so slight breeze gently caressing my skin and sweeping my hair to and fro across my face.
I walked out to the edge of the balcony and looked down to the area bellow.  There was little point in looking out at the view, there was not one.  The buildings on each side, rose up by at least a floor or two above where I stood.
The walkways below were deserted.
It seemed that everyone on the dark side of the planet was sleeping.
Which is why I almost had a heart attack when I saw a hlorsiené waddle into sight.
It did not seem to notice me at all and made its journey across my field of vision, muttering to itself, too low for me to hear.
Before I could even properly focus my eyes enough to take it any specific details about its appearance, it has disappeared around another corner.
It dawned on me that, come the morning, I would likely come face to face with a variety of new species of varying shapes, sizes and abilities.  I decided that, as soon as I had eaten something, I would do as much research as my tablet would allow on the races that we would be now living alongside.
That last thing I wanted, was to appear rude to our hosts.