Becaged, Bothered, and Be-frustrated

[Guest Fiona Weber]

Fiona stared out of her cell long after the bloodied body -- corpse? -- of the crewman had vanished from sight. God. She didn't want to be here. She didn't want to stay here. She was tired of being the captive of an alien power that thought it could just walk all over Starfleet officers. She didn't want to be stuck in a little cell with pasty, white food and a pile of beetle-bugs that were currently scuttling around her room.

 

She sighed, resting her head back against the cool wall and closing her eyes. It might not have been the worst cell she'd ever been in, and in spite of the pain-inducing, alien-controlled chips, they weren't the galaxy's most merciless torturers, but it was damned frustrating. They weren't even a species advanced-enough to use a translator and explain themselves; either they were telepathic or such technology was just beyond them.

 

While it was fairly clear to her that they were test-subjects, the "why" still had yet to make itself clear. Why, at random, abduct a random selection of crew from a Federation starship and start tearing them apart? Unless this was a new enemy that wished to have better material for an offensive bioweapon, it made no sense. Were they some oh-so-advanced species that thought the Republic crew made good lab rats? The thought made Fiona roll her eyes. She hoped it wasn't the case; she had better things to do with her time than run through mazes for some primitive-thinking non-humans.

 

It was one thing to think that now, however, and another when they had their fingers on the buttons to the chip in her head. Her hand went impulsively to touch the spot again -- likely to Kwai's chagrin, if she noticed Fiona's compulsive moment -- and Weber frowned. She resented its presence more than its controlling effects; if it would have any use (and assuming there wasn't a higher setting for the aliens to employ), she could withstand the "punishment" setting indefinitely, or thought that she could, anyway. But as her earlier resistance had indicated, rebellion was pointless for the time being. And unless they could somehow communicate with more of their people, so was any attempt to organize a little prison break.

 

Scratch, scratch, scratch. Her fingernails dug in at the spot, coming away with fresh blood that oozed from the wound. One thing was for certain: she would dig out her chip before she would let their captors turn her into an automaton with it. She was tempted to already, and probably would have pried it free had she not seen the result of such an attempt on the stretcher had had passed by outside their door. But such drastic measures were best saved for more drastic times, and despite the insects that had been presented as food, it was still not yet to that point.