‘‘He woke to dim red light and the mingled noise of pumps and fans near and far. The air was hot and stank of ozone and disinfectant. He was weightless, zipped naked and cathetered into a cocoon hung in a small cubicle hard against an angled bulkhead painted black and curtained on three sides with stiffly pleated grey cloth. His mouth was dry and his tongue swollen with thirst. His shoulder throbbed steadily but not unpleasantly under a halflife bandage that clung to it like a leech. He’d been rescued... The war was over. His mission was over… Fragments of memory came back.'
The Quiet War – Paul McAuley
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