They'd taken Nero somewhere else. Think of him by that name here. He will need that name and its anger.
He was elsewhere. Ayel had to find out where. And that meant finding a way through the field, to get at the lock panel.
Not to escape. No good running through an unfamiliar layout and trying doors at random armed with nothing but a knife. If he could get to the interface, he could talk to the ship--find Nero and warn Narada away from here. These people rattled on about peace, but they were scientists, and scientists lived to dissect things. And they had already proven they could and would promise him anything he wanted to hear.
Like friend.
Gettting loose meant first finding a flaw in the white. And he hadn't yet. It was too bright. Much too bright.
And there was something wrong with their grav system, or Earth was heavier. It kept pulling him off-balance, made him stumble, had him faltering in the single-colored confusion of the room.
Even the bed slat was white, smooth and blinding, so bright it would glow during a power outage. Too thick, too hard to snap properly. All one piece. He hadn't found a seam anywhere, nothing to suggest wiring, the recorders he knew were in the wall, the charges that must be in the floor. He couldn't even pry out the panel protecting the damned lights.
He'd check again. As soon as the spangles cleared from his eyes. They were starting to water in protest. The sheer dazzle of this room was building to a hard, slow throb behind his forehead.
He shut his eyes, sheltered them with the heels of his hands. Hair brushed at his fingertips.
He jerked upright. His head would have bounced on the wall, and did, but he had hair and it was wrong, bizarre, tufted and soft. Freakish. Chilling, after so long without. And his face had been wrong, too, in the floor, distorted and strange.
Oh. Air and Fire and Rain.
They were scientists. Scientists experimented all the time.
What had they done. His heart was trying to take up the rhythm in his head, pounding hard. Didn't want to look, didn't want to look, didn't want to see--
A dead woman glaring back at him, snide and cold, gangboss strength given the lie by long, sharp bones.
Sharra.
It had finally happened. He was mad. This was what going mad felt like.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2010-01-28 04:59 am (UTC)They'd taken Nero somewhere else. Think of him by that name here. He will need that name and its anger.
He was elsewhere. Ayel had to find out where. And that meant finding a way through the field, to get at the lock panel.
Not to escape. No good running through an unfamiliar layout and trying doors at random armed with nothing but a knife. If he could get to the interface, he could talk to the ship--find Nero and warn Narada away from here. These people rattled on about peace, but they were scientists, and scientists lived to dissect things. And they had already proven they could and would promise him anything he wanted to hear.
Like friend.
Gettting loose meant first finding a flaw in the white. And he hadn't yet. It was too bright. Much too bright.
And there was something wrong with their grav system, or Earth was heavier. It kept pulling him off-balance, made him stumble, had him faltering in the single-colored confusion of the room.
Even the bed slat was white, smooth and blinding, so bright it would glow during a power outage. Too thick, too hard to snap properly. All one piece. He hadn't found a seam anywhere, nothing to suggest wiring, the recorders he knew were in the wall, the charges that must be in the floor. He couldn't even pry out the panel protecting the damned lights.
He'd check again. As soon as the spangles cleared from his eyes. They were starting to water in protest. The sheer dazzle of this room was building to a hard, slow throb behind his forehead.
He shut his eyes, sheltered them with the heels of his hands. Hair brushed at his fingertips.
He jerked upright. His head would have bounced on the wall, and did, but he had hair and it was wrong, bizarre, tufted and soft. Freakish. Chilling, after so long without. And his face had been wrong, too, in the floor, distorted and strange.
Oh. Air and Fire and Rain.
They were scientists. Scientists experimented all the time.
What had they done. His heart was trying to take up the rhythm in his head, pounding hard. Didn't want to look, didn't want to look, didn't want to see--
A dead woman glaring back at him, snide and cold, gangboss strength given the lie by long, sharp bones.
Sharra.
It had finally happened. He was mad. This was what going mad felt like.