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Olaf peeled the sticky electrodes from his forehead, detached the tubes from his abdomen, and yanked a further three mucus covered pipes from his throat. The long commute to work was over, and now he could eat and breathe for himself.

Pulling himself out of his chair, Olaf discovered he was sticky with sweat and other bodily fluids, as usual. There was just enough time for a quick shower while the ship auto-docked. Heavy traffic in the Procyon System had made him a few decades late, and he knew that Mr. Honcharenko would want to see him before the end-of-century meeting.

A large part of him wasn't looking forward to it.

A quick look around him confirmed that he was one of the first to wake from cryosleep. He wondered if the coffee he had before the voyage played any part. He swung his legs over the edge of the capsule, and sat up. The air around him was warm, inviting, but he couldn't spare any more minutes in bed even if he wanted to.

He swallowed the gunk stuck in his throat as he gingerly danced his feet atop the cold metallic floor. He willed for the blood circulation in his legs to quicken its pace, his nerves flaring around at random intervals as his body readjusts itself.

Several more wooshes, came from around him, and he spied several more capsules opening up. Olaf looked around. It seemed like the place was coming back to life. He caught himself staring at one of the unopened capsules, however, wondering how much longer that one would have to stay asleep. Once, he'd had overslept for over five whole months past awakening. The doctors had to manually 'wake' him up, with all their needles and equipment. Thus, apart from the extra fee for he had to pay for overstaying, he had to pay extra for the doctors as well.

A door opened and several nurse bots rushed in, as fast as the mechanical stumps they had for legs could propel them, anyway. One approached Olaf, its servo scanners whirring. Olaf ignored it, however, instead steadying his gaze out of the window and onto the planet below.

New Pantiaga. Earth four. A real beaut to behold. Much like the three other earths, it comes in pockets of green breaking up the massive expanses of blue, with white flowing lines of clouds interconnecting across the sky. It's most unusual trait, however, is that at only 14% of Earth's distance to Sol, its is forced to remain tidally locked around its cool red dwarf. As such, there are no countable days in New Pantiaga. Man has still kept the 24 hours system though, to Olaf's comfort and relief.

“Mister Olaf?"

It was a soft, feminine voice. He turned towards the calling of his name, finding himself face to face with a rather petite woman standing about a metre away. She had a light olive complexion, as with almost every other human without genetic augmentation, trimmed wavy black hair that ran down to her shoulders, and delicate features ancient humans would categorize as 'asiatic'. She had a digital clipboard in her thin, lithe arms, and was wearing a rather generic women's office getup, traditional navy blouse paired with a matching traditional knee length-skirt, completed with a pair of traditional looking shoes. Her clothes didn't look expensive, and she wasn't wearing anything flashy. A mere lackey, then?

“Mr Olaf Krahl?" She asked again, her tone a little firmer.

“Mr Honcharenko?" Olaf replied, a smirk plastered on his face.

“Very funny, Mr Krahl." She said, folding her arms. Looks like she wasn't impressed by that little quip. “I would expect someone so painfully late to be a bit more serious." she continued, looking Olaf dead in the eye.

“By how many decades, exactly?" Olaf asked, pushing against the floor with his legs, stimulating his muscles the best he can.

“Two and two fifths."

24 years. Goddamn.

“Looks like I'd still make the meeting." Olaf said, slightly relieved. At least he wasn't all fucked.

“No, Mr Krahl, you won't." the lady replied.

Olaf crunched his brows together in a frown. He gave the lady a blank stare, not quite sure of the implications that would lead such an important meeting to be cancelled.

“You missed the meeting, Mr Krahl," she continued, her mouth forced into a tight line.

“How many days?"

“Two."

Olaf was stupefied. Two days. They couldn't wait for two bloody days for him. Him, a power broker. A person of genuine importance within the company. Just what the hell was Honcharenko thinking, anyway.

“Ma'am, I'd like to clarify; you're with Selvera, right?"

“That would be correct, yes."

“Then can you please get me on the line with Mr Honcharenko?" He snapped, his eyes steeled. Oh, if Honcharenko made cuts, to any one of his assets, a certain someone's gonna pull the rug under the whole goddamn company.

Typical colonist. Always putting himself first.

“I can't do that, sir." The woman replied softly, her tone sullen. Her eyes downcast.

“And why not?" Olaf spat, his voice lead with venom. Just how much money could that greedy bitch have stolen from him? Two nights, a million? Two? Shit, how's he gonna explain this to the others? Fuck, he should never have used the money from the hedge fund.

“He's dead."

“Why, the motherfucker has the gall to-"

“He's dead."

“What?How?"

“Cancer."

“Bloody hell."

Olaf stared out of the window. Mikael Honcharenko. Dead. The man who owed him over 20 million in credits. Gone. Without Mikael, all the deals they had signed together would now be controlled entirely by Selvera. His own loopholes could now be used against him. He could end up knee deep in bankruptcy this time in four months, for all he knows. All the plans to cover up said loopholes in the meeting, gone. Gone. Gone. Gone.

All because of a little traffic over by the Procyon.

Motherfucker.

“So what happens now? You gonna freeze me and send me back to Sol?" Olaf asked. He was feeling light headed, and it wasn't because any side effects from cryosleep.

“Oh no, we've decided in the meetings that you'll be stationed here for the next six decades or so, just like you requested in the reports you arranged with Mr Honcharenko." she replied, tapping into her digital clipboard. “Ah, like so," She exclaimed, showing Olaf the report that he sent 24 years prior.

Mikael read the familiar words behind the clipboard, nodding to confirm that the words were his. As he skimmed through the words, something struck him.

“Wait, you said we. You were present in the meeting?" Olaf questioned, cocking his head slightly. A mere secretary in the meeting of the most powerful men and women involved within Selvera Corp? Could such a thing be possible?

“Of course," The woman replied, smiling now. “It would only be natural, wouldn't it?"

Olaf's mind was blank. Maybe she's the chairperson of one of Selvera's departments? Was he supposed to recognise her? But why would they send a chairperson here though? This just isn't making sense.

“Excuse me ma'am, but what did you say your name was again?"

All he was met with was an even more bemused smile. Then, it was gone. It was as if she realized something. “Oh," she said, “You don't remember me?"

Olaf shook his head.

“No."

Was he supposed to?

“Ah well," she said, chuckling at the awkward moment. She offered her hand to Olaf.

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