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Captain Reynolds - Red-handed

Sedrin Belasi

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(( Thunderbird ))
::Her wrist was cut to ribbons from her struggles -- but oddly enough, that had proven to be useful. The blood flowing out of the ruined, ragged skin had provided just enough lubrication to enable her to drag her small, narrow hand through the rigid bond, freeing her arm. It wasn't the first time the scent of her own blood filled her nose, and she had the dark, depressing suspicion that it wouldn't be the last.
::But for now, she took it as a blessing, and with that hand loose, it was exponentially easier to free the rest of her limbs.
::So she was free. Now what?
::A glance toward the front of the shuttle told her that Not-Harry was still in the [...]pit, the doors to that section of the vessel closed. So much the better -- as light on her feet as she was, it would be easier with that extra barrier between them.
::She pushed herself up, then grabbed on to the edge of the table, her balance threatened by jelly legs and a rush of nausea and dizziness. She swallowed against a foul, metallic taste in her mouth, and a few, deep lungfuls of air helped clear some of the cobwebs from her head.
::Phaser. Then…
::She had no idea. She'd figure that out once she had some form of personal defence. Right now it was hard enough to stay upright and mobile. What the hell had he doped her with?
::Didn't matter. Forcing her feet into some semblance of cooperation, she shuffled over toward the arms cabinet, closeted away in the wall of the shuttle. Her fingers were clumsy, but she managed to coax it open.
::It was empty.::
REYNOLDS: ::Whispered,:: [...] it!
::She smacked her palm against the panel, a weak, ineffectual slap that barely made any sound at all, and slumped back against the wall. Helm was a no-go, with Not-Harry in the [...]pit.
::Could she lock him in there, and reduce the oxygen to minimal levels? No. He'd notice what was going on long before the oxygen level dropped to a point where he'd fall unconscious, and she'd lay bets that he'd be able to force the door.
::A probe? She could manually launch one, just let it fall out of the shuttle, set a delay on its activation, have it point the way for... whoever came looking, if anyone. Carefully done, the only indication in the [...]pit would be a reduction in the number they were carrying. What were the chances that he'd look at that?
::Stumbling toward the deck plating that the probes hide underneath, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was forgetting something. Something painfully obvious, that was hiding under the cotton wool filling her head.
::It should have been easy. Certainly easy for her -- the kind of thing she could normally do blindfolded, hanging upside down like a bat. Only it wasn't, and she fumbled, made mistakes, paused to swallow down another wave of nausea, corrected those mistakes only to make whole new ones.
::But she managed it. The probe was away, though she wasn't entirely certain if it would do anything except float, silent and alone, in the depths of space.
::The thought brought the weight of her situation crashing down on her shoulders. A whimper escaped her throat as memories of her captivity with the Breen flashed through her mind, the pain, the humiliation, the complete loss of self.
::Not now. Now wasn't the time to be weak, or afraid. She needed--
::Pain ripped through the back of her head, and her gaze was suddenly on the ceiling of the shuttle. Not-Harry loomed into view, his expression glacier, and she realised that the pain was coming from his hand, bunched in her hair.::
ROSS: You really are a little Houdini. I'd be impressed, if it wasn't so annoying.
::Then she noticed his other hand, balled up in a fist, accelerating toward her face. Later, she'd be grateful that unconsciousness came so quickly, and that she didn't have the opportunity to feel or hear her nose breaking.::
Captain Quinn Reynolds
Director of Intelligence
USS Garuda
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