The man she's talking to hands her a bottle of water, condensation beading on its chilled exterior. "Well. You don't have to die to end up here. Some of us are taken directly from our daily lives. I can promise you, however, that it will be much better when Mandatory Training Hell Week is over and all you need to do is make sure you keep up with your quota."

The man himself is about six foot tall and brick-shaped, although he holds himself to downplay his size. He's recognizably Latino, with a light beard, wire-rim glasses, and classically handsome features.

"I'm Steven, by the way," he adds. "If you're from another world, which it sounds like you are, then we're likely to be working together--most of us that aren't from around here tend to work together when we can, rather than with the native Rockets. We even have a sort of ad hoc crew."