 Why couldn’t David move after he first opened his eyes?
The mesh-covered hole and the two lights looked like a caricature of a face, set in a panel of dials. There was no sensation of place, no feeling of up or down, no direction. After the first shock of looking out, I accepted the fact that I was in a space ship, yet I couldn't read the maps that were fastened to a table, nor understand the function or design of the compact machinery. It was the only thing I saw that could help me, guard me against another shock like seeing outside of the clear portholes. He was as still as death, motionless without warmth or breath as I hovered over him. The eyelid remained open until I closed it and went on. Everything lay in readiness, fastened down star charts, instruments, glittering equipment. It waited for human hands to make it operate. I sat in the deep chair facing the panel of dials and instruments, in easy reach. The ports on the side were shielded and I stared out at static energy, hung motionless in a world of searing light. I went from the nose to the last bulkhead in a frenzy of floating motion, looking behind each door until I went as far as I could. It meant the engine or engines took up half the ship, cut off from the forward half by the instrument studded shield. I had literally been reborn in this room, equipped with half ideas, and no point to start from, no premise to seek.
 He had a wide seatbelt on.
 He was in suspension.  He was in a tight space.  He had a wide seatbelt on.  He was weightless.