Beep. Beep. Beep. The sound of Ambrosia's heart-monitor sets out a steady, if sterile beat over the low dampened hum of shipboard life. Beep. Beep. Beep. The small room is easily twice as large as her cell, though the presence of medical equipment consumes much of the space. The styling could not be more spartan. Where the cell's hard, sloping lines and dark colours created a claustraphobic feel, the medical isolation pod is pristine surgical-white, ambient light seeks to replicate true day-light a luxury anyone accustomed to life aboard a starship is not quick to dismiss. Beep. Beep. Beep.