It is bright, without color or shadows.  Bright, unblinking light.  And cold.  Relentless cold permeates my being, deeper than blood or bones.  There are sounds without source or meaning that shatter at the frosty edges of my perception.  Then it is dark and the grip of the cold is less fierce, allowing me to shiver.
In the shadow blessed light that follows, shapes like faces have voices that echo cavernously around me.  Words break apart and flow together and occasionally form patterns I might recognize, but I cannot remember what they mean.  Then it is dark again.
I realize I am warm.

"My name is Radyc, can you understand me?"

The voice has a face that hovers in my vision, smooth and light brown with an expression that seems concerned and friendly.  The words are accented oddly and I must focus my attention to find their meaning.  The croak I make is no word, but I see it is taken for assent.  My skin itches terribly, I lift my hand to scratch and find the muscles do not obey.  I croak again as the itch crawls deeper into my skin, seeking nerves and a direct pathway to my brain.  The face that is Radyc speaks again.

"Do you know who you are?"

There is no way for me to say I do not as the itch finds my nerves and races along them.  I feel myself convulsing and the voice of Radyc is joined by others.  They are not speaking to me, which is good, since I do not understand them.  There is a hiss and darkness and relief.
Next, the light brown face is speaking again.

"My name is Radyc, can you understand me?  Do you know who you are?"

I feel my eyes close and open again and I think.
I do not know who I am.  I am in a room that has no smell and I do not know how I got here.  I cannot remember anything but light and cold.  And the absent itch.  An attempt to use my voice succeeds.
No.  I say.  Where?  I ask.
Radyc seems to understand me.

"You, only, are the survivor.  Support units failed for ninety-seven others.  Two more did not successfully revive.  Nearly, you did not make recovery from the primitive cryogenic process that preserved you.  Four hundred years or more, as you counted them, passed before your freezer unit was discovered drifting in deep space.  The guidance and most memory systems were damaged and it had no fuel."

I close my eyes.  I do not remember.  There is nothing before the cold and light.  I do not know about deep space and I cannot imagine ninety-seven others.  Or two.  I cannot focus past the face before me to the room beyond.  Radyc continues speaking but his words wash over me and drain away, leaving no impression.  I sleep.  And wake to Radyc's face again.  He asks me questions.
A pattern develops.  I am fed and exercised until I am able to feed myself and move with ease.  Radyc visits me daily with lessons of language and customs, insisting I must learn about the new world I am in.  He teaches by rote not by experience and my environment is carefully controlled.  I see only the caretakers and Radyc.
Radyc asks me questions about my past.  I have no answers.  I am told that I was on a prison ship, that I had likely committed a crime.  Radyc tells me the rules and laws of this era so that I will be able to obey them.  With each new one he inquires if there is a reason I cannot follow this regulation.  Mostly they involve safety and consideration for others.  I have no objections to them, except the decision that until I remember what happened to me, I must be confined.

Radyc tells me his dreams.  They are elaborate stories about  enormous mating insects and falling in a burning void.  He thinks his dreams are important and tries to find meanings in images of spilling cups and trees that walk.  He watches me carefully when he inquires about mine, and shakes his head sadly when I answer.
I have no dreams, except ones of being cold.
I complain about the sterile rooms and corridors that contain me.  Radyc takes me to a garden, shows me trees and flowers growing under a dome.  It has lights mounted across the arc, lit in sections during the day, from one side to the other.  There are odors here, deep rich scents that fill my nose and mouth, green smells that bring tears to my eyes and Radyc questions them.  I have no answer but the one I will not give again:  This is not my Home.  There is no way to explain this to Radyc and so I do not try.
At my request I am given a small bed of soil to work in.  I am offered seeds to plant.  When they grow, I remove the ones which do not smell right.  Radyc does not question this, at least, but sits on a bench near by and watches me with his gray eyes.
The work pleases me.  When the plants grow or flower or give fruit, I feel something besides emptiness.  I have no name for it, but Radyc sees it and I think that is why Radyc has come to tell me something of himself.
He is proud of his accomplishments as a linguist and historian.  His period of expertise is somewhat later than the one he says I am from.  When he talks about the First Expansion and the time after humans found a practical means of traveling beyond their native system, he becomes animated.  Detailing the technology and the effects it had on an expanding human experience, he speaks of explorers, colonists and pioneers as heroes, telling tales of bravery and the challenges of the unknown.  His stories are entertaining, but they have little meaning for me.  I ask him about the era I am from and he is reticent, saying that much was lost during the Wars.  Always, the questions are returned but I have no answers.  Radyc is disappointed.

This time Radyc brings me a different garment.  Unlike the close fitting, functional gray, one piece suits available for my use, it is a robe that swings and flows, the fabric woven with a pattern of several colors that seem to move.  My eyes are dazzled and I am pleased with the variety.  Radyc wears something similar.  He has gotten permission to take me to an Artifact Repository in hopes that I will remember something of my past.  He is very enthusiastic and tells me that I may recognize things there.
We go down unfamiliar corridors to a vehicle which hums as it moves through more corridors and tunnels.  At intersections I see groups of people in bright swinging robes, always distant and out of reach.  We are alone, Radyc and I, taking two seats of more than twenty.  I know this is because someone in authority feels I must be isolated until I remember my crime.
I feel enclosed and wish to see the sky.  Radyc does not understand, he tells me he feels vulnerable under the open sky and it frightens him.  He asks if I remember seeing the sky, but I remember nothing.  The ride is long and silent between questions.  When we stop there are more corridors until we come to a gate in the wall.  Radyc unlocks it with the same striped card he uses to open my door and operate the machines that provide food.  I do not have a card.  Radyc says I cannot use one because I have no name.
Beyond the gate is a vast place, too large to be a room.  It is larger than the garden dome, holding ancient buildings filled with treasures for me to examine.  I smell the dust of histories and it fills me with delight.  We start with the artifacts that Radyc claims are the oldest and before my time.  There are mirrors in gilt frames, carved wood furniture and carpets with intricate designs woven in.  I know what they are but I do not remember them, or myself in the way Radyc wants me to.  I see portraits of leaders and statues of kings.  I touch tools and toys used through the ages by my ancestors and perhaps my descendants.  The Repository contains relics of many generations.  I am awed.
Radyc takes me to a large room filled with padded chairs where we hear music of all kinds.  Much of it is ponderous, uninteresting, but some of it moves me to dance.  Again Radyc questions me.

"What are you remembering?"

I am not remembering, I am simply doing what feels good.
This is not what Radyc wants to hear and he asks when I heard that music before.

Before has not happened to me; since the cold it has all been now.

I think Radyc is frustrated, but I cannot help him.  Our return to my quarters is iced with Radyc's silence.  I am sorry to leave the scents that live in the Artifact Repository, they speak with voices that Radyc does not hear and they speak of Home.

I am in the garden planting seeds, singing a bit of melody from the music room at the Repository.  Radyc comes with two strangers.  He seems uncomfortable.  I water my plants as the strangers watch me.  They talk to each other while I finish my work.  The strangers tell me about a device they have which will help me recover my memory.
I have no memory to recover.
I tell them, but they insist that this is not so.  Radyc tells me to go with them while he remains behind.  He does not look at me, he is looking at my garden bed.  I do not listen to the strangers telling me their names and I do not speak to them.  I think they do not like me and I worry because Radyc stayed behind.
They take me to a shining white room that echoes.  There is a chair alone in the middle of the floor.  They ask me to sit and I recognize that I have no choice.  One of them leaves and returns with a small floating table that contains a flat viewing screen and a flexible black bowl with a web of silver wires inside.

"This is a MnemonReader."

The other speaks slowly, perhaps from consideration because I do not know his language well.

"We use it to help people remember things they've forgotten.  It allows you to watch your own memories on this screen.  We hoped your amnesia was temporary, but since the Historian has been unable to make any progress with you, we're going to use it on you today.  Even though you are unable or unwilling to tell us, we need to find out what your name is and why you were placed in cryogenic exile by your government.  We haven't used the Reader on you before, because it has occasional side effects and your endurance was limited.  We feel you are now strong enough to tolerate its result.  This hood goes on your head, it scans the brain functions, stimulating and recording the discharge of the mnemonic centers.  Don't be surprised if you experience your memories as well as see them on the screen.  Keep in mind that you are merely observing them and they cannot hurt you this time."

He is finally finished talking and the silent one puts the hood on my head, adjusts it and moves the screen on the table so that they can see it.  I wonder what Radyc knows that the strangers are not telling me.  I am afraid.

"What setting?"

"Take it back to zero.  The Historian wants a complete Life Recording from before the Wars."

"To the Present?  It is not advised; depleting the subject's memory past 50 percent increases the probability of a loss of function or a permanent loop."

"The Historian is prepared to take that risk with this one."

I hear a click and a brief buzz.

It is bright, without color or shadows.  Bright unblinking light.  And cold.  Relentless cold permeates my being, deeper than blood and bones...