[She has adopted a particular approach to the Hatch when time allows it.
When afforded the luxury, the most preferable route is to continue about her business - to sit and wait, as it were, for the young fresh Hosts to find her by their own volition. It makes things considerably easier. By then their minds have generally opened to the possibilities of the Station and to the answers she might provide for for their questions. Every young host is like a bomb to be diffused. It's always best to wait for ideal conditions.

Wouldn't it be nice if that's how it always worked? Today is not a day for waiting. Instead, Cathaway is remarkably easy to find in the labyrinthine Station as she makes her way to the Nesting Deck trailed by a macabre pair of slabs floating waist high, an inert sleeping form on each. She's walking slowly, a hand on the nearest slab to steady herself. There's an undeniable sense of frazzled nerves about her - sweat at the back of her neck under the pin straight sheet of her greying hair, a stiffness to her gait as she leads the slabs bearing The Darkling and Chuuya Nakahara down through Life Support. They will need to be placed into their chambers on the Nesting Deck, given to the Nest to stabilize for as long as is possible.

Welcome to Station 72, where exhausted old women float comatose bodies down hallways.]

[A low, residual pain pulses from the circular gardens. It's a minor thrumming tension - a headache pinching at the base of the skull, a weight carried on a shoulder for the length of a day, the lower back grind of a mother who has carried a baby at the hip for too long. It winds like a thread to the center of the circular gardens where Cathaway sits among alien trees dripping with ancient moss and bright blooming starburst flowers. She has a cool glass of water in her hand, but seems to have forgotten about it in favor of sitting with her eyes closed in the Station's strange light shifting through the trees.

She could do with a nice, stiff drink.]