Sitting outside while the pod auto-cleaned felt like hell to Jinca. She shivered in her robe and drug her fingers through her black hair, demanding it lay flat against her head. Her eyes, sallow and veiny, unused to seeing true depth, watched the blinking numbers on the timer.
Spending four hours dry left her helpless. If she wasn’t inside, wasn’t part of the team, then who was she? Jinca thought that “dry time” was really for drying out your head, not your skin. She didn’t care. An alarm sounded and the pod slid open. She leapt back into her life.