”Have I been abducted?”

That realization is finally dawning on Midge, several hours after waking up in what had seemed like a very bland hospital. At first, everything was overstimulating - the frames on the walls, like small movie screens showing images, the robots, the blackness outside the window. She honestly hadn’t heard much that the robot had said to her, though she remembers that it had a really weird name. Midge explores the ship in a daze, in awe of everything around her. Maybe this is a dream. Maybe she’s high as hell. Or maybe…

“And I thought those people in the papers were all nuts.”

A girl’s gotta eat, and Midge is admittedly curious what the kitchen looks like aboard this thing. She’s not expecting Central Park with a bunch of hot dog stands. Bending down, she touches the grass, confirming that it is indeed real.

“Is this Kosher?” The robot serving Midge just looks at her. Apparently it’s buffalo? If it’s really buffalo, then technically it should be Kosher. Ah well. It smells really good and it’s not like she’s never eaten non-Kosher food before. She digs in. Any person sitting near her will see a vision of her on stage, telling jokes to a laughing audience.

Alcohol is of utmost importance and thank God, Midge finds some. Plum Spark-Wine is not her first choice, but any port in a storm. Midge takes a long swig, not expecting it to burn on the way down. “Woah,” she says with a cough. “What’s in this stuff? Acetone?”

There’s a sound from the person sitting across from her and Midge looks up at them. “I’m sorry, did you say something?” Funny, she doesn’t think she saw their lips move.

Maybe the longer that Midge is here, the less that everything will seem so overwhelming. It’s simply so different from what she’s used to, like she’s stepped into a sci-fi movie. She’s able to pay better attention to Starling’s Lament this time since she isn’t in complete shock.

Right. Now she has to pick a job. Midge has a feeling that comedian, housewife, or makeup counter clerk won’t be options. She has officially exhausted her list of prior jobs.

Ultimately, she picks it by process of elimination. Security is laughable. Medical is nearly as laughable as Security. Science was never her best subject. Research is an option. Maybe. But it sounds boring. So that leaves her with Support.

“Officially a member of the vaguest group,” Midge says, picking up her multi-tool. “Is this a fancy Swiss Army knife?” After pushing a button, a nail file pops out. “Oh, this is perfect.”

[ Feel free to plot something else with me at sparks_fly. Will match prose or brackets in responses. ]