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taxonomites2009-10-25 01:27 am
mylifeisjoy.livejournal.com) wrote in taxonomites2009-10-25 01:27 am
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oo1 ↠ [holo | the Sanctuary] when the sun is drown in a deathly sea
The first thing that enters Gaila's mind is that it's too quiet. Silence buzzes in her ears, worsening her headache, and she groans as she curls loosely into the fetal position. Memories rush into her, and Gaila remembers panicked orders and cries of pain — there were flames, and the brightness of the Farragut's destruction blurred her vision; she can't remember the expression on anyone's face. She isn't sure she saw them.
For a moment, she wants to stay curled up and safe and forget the ambush, forget her injuries, forget her dead crew. Gaila knows better, though; that's giving up, that she could still be in danger; that knowledge twists her stomach, and fear chokes her momentarily.
So she raises her head and, slowly, pushes off the floor. She expects to feel pain in her arm, burns on her side, blood in her mouth — but nothing. She assumes she is just too numb and doesn't check her healed injuries; she thinks she knows what's there.
Gaila recognizes the room is not part of the Farragut. It's too dim, too bare, too clinical. She, quickly, takes note of the transporter and a tablet, sitting on a pedestal — just sitting there, as if it's meant for her. It's ridiculous, and she regards it as part of another trap. Still, she examines the tablet, flipping through modes and every window, no matter how unnecessary or pointless.
That's when she finds the map, with dots and names — familiar names. Commander Spock, Jim Kirk, Nyota Uhura. Relief rushes over Gaila; she's safe.
Quickly, Gaila returns to the holo mode and pauses. Her throat feels raw, and she realizes she isn't sure what to say, besides shouting "HELP ME." She knows one look at her screams that loud and clear, though: her usually tight bun is loose, and her unform is obviously battered — singed and bloody. The dark green color of her blood stands out vividly against her uniform.
Gathering herself, she takes a deep breath and finds her words. "This is Cadet Gaila. The distress call from Vulcan — " Gaila swallows, her expression darkening. "It was an ambush. The Farragut is destroyed... I, I think the rest of my crew is dead."
Gaila's lower lip trembles for a few seconds, sadness squashing her relief. She's silent a few moments; the proper dialogue for requesting assistance is on the tip of her tongue, but she can't bring herself to speak anymore. She regrets beginning her message with the ambush.
"I need help. Gaila, out."
For a moment, she wants to stay curled up and safe and forget the ambush, forget her injuries, forget her dead crew. Gaila knows better, though; that's giving up, that she could still be in danger; that knowledge twists her stomach, and fear chokes her momentarily.
So she raises her head and, slowly, pushes off the floor. She expects to feel pain in her arm, burns on her side, blood in her mouth — but nothing. She assumes she is just too numb and doesn't check her healed injuries; she thinks she knows what's there.
Gaila recognizes the room is not part of the Farragut. It's too dim, too bare, too clinical. She, quickly, takes note of the transporter and a tablet, sitting on a pedestal — just sitting there, as if it's meant for her. It's ridiculous, and she regards it as part of another trap. Still, she examines the tablet, flipping through modes and every window, no matter how unnecessary or pointless.
That's when she finds the map, with dots and names — familiar names. Commander Spock, Jim Kirk, Nyota Uhura. Relief rushes over Gaila; she's safe.
Quickly, Gaila returns to the holo mode and pauses. Her throat feels raw, and she realizes she isn't sure what to say, besides shouting "HELP ME." She knows one look at her screams that loud and clear, though: her usually tight bun is loose, and her unform is obviously battered — singed and bloody. The dark green color of her blood stands out vividly against her uniform.
Gathering herself, she takes a deep breath and finds her words. "This is Cadet Gaila. The distress call from Vulcan — " Gaila swallows, her expression darkening. "It was an ambush. The Farragut is destroyed... I, I think the rest of my crew is dead."
Gaila's lower lip trembles for a few seconds, sadness squashing her relief. She's silent a few moments; the proper dialogue for requesting assistance is on the tip of her tongue, but she can't bring herself to speak anymore. She regrets beginning her message with the ambush.
"I need help. Gaila, out."
[ visual ]
[ visual ]
Though, it strikes her as strange to say that. As if she will be staying here long enough for that to happen. But it makes sense, given what she knows from others — but a cadet, she thinks, shouldn't be accepting that defeat... It's a half-hearted self-reprimand, though, and she wonders if Uhura has done the same, if she should feel as okay as she does accepting it, too.
[ visual ]
All the same: she tilts her head, warm. "Then we shall have to see."
[ visual ]
[ visual ]