Vladmir Zhukov

The transition between the simplicity of plugging ones brain and being into a starship and the far more difficult process of walking around and talking to others face to face (living, loving, knowing) can damage the psyche, deaden the sense of right and wrong, and turn the hours one spends gliding through empty blackness into a welcome, all-consuming addiction. How long, then, until a capsuleer finds himself or herself simply another part of her ship, humanity stolen by the horror/beauty of no longer needing it?

Beer helps, though.