I was still feeling nothing an hour later when Ortega came and found me in the sleeving hall, seated on one of the automated forklifts and staring up into the green glow from the empty decanting chambers. The airlock made a smooth thump and then a sustained humming sound as it opened, but I didn't react. Even when I recognised her footfalls and a short curse as she picked her way between the coiled cabling on the floor, I didn't look round. Like the machine I was seated on, I was powered down.