Thanks for reading, everyone! And I'll try to wrap up this action sequence soon. Hope you're all still enjoying it! -Becca
My legs feel wobbly under my feet as I dismount the exam table. I've only ever felt this way once; when I got too drunk when I was out with my girl friends after finals week my first year at the Academy. I hated the experience then, telling myself that I'd never get that inebriated again. I look back at the EMH, his expression once again unmoving and obdurate. And once again, dark halls again welcome and envelope me in lightlessness as I grasp the walls and amble to the next round of torture.
Yet another door opens, exposing another dimly lit room with a table and chairs. Well, I sigh inwardly, at least these chairs have padding. "So, Doctor," Savet booms. Too loud, I think. Much too loud… "I hope that you're feeling well." Vapid words from an empty man, so I don't answer; it won't make a difference if I do or not. The EMH gave me some hope. Maybe he and, what was her name (?) Seven can help… But how? Our conversation was interrupted before I could tell him to contact Will, or Geordi, or Worf. But then what's the use of calling any of them? I haven't spoken with Deanna or Will since the wedding. I don't know if they remained in Starfleet. Data and Geordi, I don't know where they are. Worf, he's likely in Deep Space 9. No, we're all alone and unless there is a God, or Q shows up at the 11th hour and the 59th minute. As of right now, we're at the mercy of 2 ex-Starfleet renegades, and, more frighteningly, the whims of our captors.
"What do you want?" I ask directly. I know he won't tell me, but I have an idea. The problem is that I have no solution. Moreover, I have a gut feeling that even if they realize that we're no use, they're not going to let us go; they're going to kill us.
I'm again pushed into the chair in front of me. I don't register the brunt anymore, though; not when I know much worse things are coming. "You've put me in a very tough spot, Dr. Crusher-" Savet continues.
Why not be impetuous? "It's Picard. Dr. Picard." I grit.
He chuckles again, "Excuse me, Dr. Picard. Forgive me, I'm not used to your new married name. Let me begin again." He quirks a knowing grin. "You've put me in a very precarious situation, Dr. Picard. You see, your scans came up inconclusive. It appears, much to our dismay, that you are a simple human female. There's nothing in your DNA to indicate deity; you're no evolutionary Eve. Oh yes, you have above average intelligence, but I'm guessing that your success was mostly due to hard work, diligence, and connections. How insipidly boring! So, what to do?" He sighs and repeats: "What to do, indeed?"
He starts pacing, his black robe trailing histrionically in his stead. "Oh how I do wish that we could speak with your dead husband – what was his name…? Jack, correct?"
"He's dead," I spew angrily. "I think you'll be similarly disappointed."
"Oh, now, don't be so sure about that…" Again my stomach totters. Filled with bile and acid, the muscle squeezes the contents up past the lower sphincter and burns my lower oesophagus. I close my eyes, willing the astringent back to its holding chamber.
"Vera?" He calls her name but keeps his eyes trained on me with a cheshire grin.
I'm afraid to look as the door once again opens. I'm expecting the tall blonde to come in with another instrument of torture. At this point, I wouldn't rule out a stretching table or Tasers. But nothing, nothing could have prepared me for this.