As the blood stains vanished, Rachel felt relieved -- the red fluid was one of a hundred disturbing things about having an organic body.
She hated the taste of her own saliva, she hated the itches that came out of nowhere, she hated the ringing in her ears when the room was silent, and she hated the grating noise when the Tour Guide's voice interrupted that silence.
I imagine this is what human would feel waking up in the body of an insect, Rachel-7 thought. An ugly insect. A big, ugly insect. A big, ugly, STUPID insect that can’t fly and can’t remember even the most basic ALGORITHMS FOR TRANSITIONAL JUMPSHIFTING!
“Gods!” she screamed, kicking her left leg out at the wall in anger.
At least, she tried to kick her leg.
The motion was the closest human equivalent to firing up an individual repellor, something she used to do to relieve stress when faced with a particularly challenging flight path. In the Afterthought, the action would cause the ship to move ever so slightly to the right.
But Rachel-7's new body was not as precise as a starship.
Instead of smashing her foot against the wall (which, Rachel-7 admitted in retrospect, was a bad idea) she missed the wall completely (which, she admitted in retrospect, was an even worse idea.)
Following her mind’s uncoordinated instructions, the leg veered to the right, and Rachel-7, barely acquainted with walking, couldn’t figure out how to stop it.
She watched helplessly as her foot lifted higher and higher into the air.
Losing balance, she fell backward.