Waking with a Passenger.

Posted on 25 Oct 2013 @ 2:09pm by Lieutenant Lilou Zaren

494 words; about a 2 minute read

[ON]

She knew it was dark, because she could only see the room in a series of dense green and black surfaces, courtesy of the optical enhancement they'd replaced her left eye with. Running her tongue over her teeth, she kept her breathing steady as she carefully considered the space they'd left her in. Alone. Subconsciously, her features twisted into a small snarl.

Who she was wasn't entirely clear to her. Moment to moment, she heard sounds and saw images in her minds' eye which could not possibly be there, presently, but that was something for another time. It didn't matter what her name was or who she had been or even who she would be. All that mattered was that she got away from this place, somehow. Transporters could be reprogrammed. Chains could be broken.

Ignore the laughter. Ignore the sounds of children paddling in clean lakes. Of phasers blasting down Cardassian corridors. Focus.

The ship spoke a language she knew. She'd always known it. It was a different dialect, sure, but that was because this particular one was an amalgam of many as much as her builders were. That was fine. She'd never met a ship she couldn't figure out in time. Time. Well. She'd just work a little faster.

She flexed her pinkies first. Then her thumbs. Remembered a patchy week of minutes where she'd done just the same thing. Beat by beat. Flex by flex. Assuring herself of her own survival. Again and again. History repeats.

As an elder of the quadrant and of the Galileo, it was her responsibility to care for and protect, to the best of her ability, the young. The otherwise innocent. Manipulations could be reversed. There was always a way. The air was molassesthick as she lurched to sit upright on the table. Catching her tongue between her teeth, she ohsocarefully slipped and slid one foot to the floor and held there, breathing unsteadily, pushing through the fog of pain and residual chemicals. The ground was so much closer than she was used to. Her hands were so small. Focus.

Blood on the table. Hers? Others? She'd have thought that machines might be more hygienic. "Ah!" she hissed as standing stretched the newly healed flesh of her abdomen. Messily mashed together again, her skin stuck and pulled uncomfortably. Aesthetics were sadly lacking here. Aesthetics and comfort. When she got back to her ship, a bubble bath was in order. And candles. And a tub of fudge the size of her head.

With a hard blink, she dragged herself back to the moment. Getting out of this room. Yes. She would get out of this room and she would figure out where their transporters were. And she would get off this rotten hell-hole. Breathe. Focus. She stubbed her toe on the table she'd woken on and bit her tongue to keep from making a sound. Tools. She needed tools...

[OFF]

Lilou Zaren
Prisoner of the Borg

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