He slumped as much as the chains connecting his wrists and ankles to a belt at his waist would allow. Leaning his head on the cool glass of the pod's window, Jonas stared out at the countryside passing by at speed. His concentration wavered yet again as nausea threatened to overtake him.
Clamping down hard to control his roiling stomach, he glanced over at his captors. Both men were large, with hard muscle bulging out of their blue uniforms. Jonas thought it was overkill. As long as they had the electric prods in their possession, he was unlikely to risk another painfully searing shock.
He couldn't remember how he came to be in this state. Any real attempt at marshalling his thoughts brought splintering pain to his head. He had a vague memory of being on the Prometheus and something going wrong, but nothing after that was clear.
He knew he wasn't on Earth. The colors were wrong, and the smells, but just where he'd ended up was a mystery. Shifting his aching hands a bit, he looked down at the bright yellow jumpsuit he was clad in, but immediately looked away, the color pressing against his eyes like a knife.
Sighing he directed his gaze out the window again, trying to ease the pain in his hands by touch only. The metal handcuffs were tight enough to cause his hands to swell, and the electric shock he had received when he'd had the temerity to ask what was happening had burned his wrists.
The throbbing in his hands reverberated in time to the pounding in his head. The choking dryness in his throat compounded the misery. The pod traveled on through fields of grain. Jonas fought his despair. How would his team ever find him? And would they even look?