91
Episode 02: Cosmic Imperative / Re: Ch 4: S [Day 1 | 1810 hrs] A Friend Indeed...
Last post by TWilkins -Sorry ‘bout this, mate.
Sylvain wasn’t fully conscious. Since he’d made the request to be taken to sickbay, the words leaving his mouth as easily as the heaving wretches that had wracked his body with spasms, he’d been stuck in a limbo between the conscious and the unconscious; not fully aware, but not entirely unaware either. It was a tumultuous place, ringed with enough consciousness to identify the absolute mortification that he felt, at the knowledge that he had wretched and gagged himself stupid in the Common Area, dripping saliva and bile all over the Savi’s floor. Equally, he could still feel the sting of embarrassment that he’d all but knocked himself out on their bulkhead, and the burning humiliation of having to request a visit to sickbay for actions entirely self-inflicted, whilst their ship hurtled towards a battlefield…
Truthfully, his actions hadn't been all that becoming of his rank or position...
But whilst he did retain some recognition of his emotions, the limbo also served to blind the rest of his senses, to keep him numb enough that he remained mostly imperceptive of the events unfolding around them, his mind processing his thoughts whilst his body became a ragdoll, thrown through an ordeal whilst remaining predominantly unaware of the particulars. Mostly and predominantly, being key words in highlighting his ordeal.
Whilst he hadn't been fully aware of what was going on around him, he’d been conscious enough to identify a vague series of events. At least, he thought he had; semi-conscious awareness was right up there with daydreams, on the list of things that were inconceivably confusing to someone with precognitive capabilities... Still, there were a few things that stood out above the haze that sometimes masked a premonition, a few sensations inflicted upon his body, movements that had happened against his will…
He recalled that something had repeatedly thumped into the sides of his chest, thundering into his ribs and then withdrawing, time-and-time again, until another unseen force had pulled him from their clutches. Then, the sensation of being dragged through some indiscernible distance, a motion that had left him perhaps even more nauseous than the scent that had perturbed his nostrils before; being dragged through an unfamiliar alien Starship, whilst the entire universe was spinning like a centrifuge, was disorienting, to say the least. A lurch had sent him hurtling through space-time, after which he’d fallen from orbit onto a hard surface, before he’d been dragged, once again, across miles of cold floor, his body threatening to tear apart at the seams as he was manhandled in every-which direction, hoisted and heaved with no grace or dignity, as one might treat a slab of meat, rather than a…
“HUARGHKRRRRK!”
The noise that fled his throat was unnatural, but warranted, given the circumstances. His consciousness returned somewhat abruptly, igniting his neurons just at the right moment for Sylvain to get to experience, with perfect clarity, as something disgustingly long, thick, and slimy, was abruptly wrenched out from his windpipe. It felt infinite, pulled from his body like an old-time nautical vessel hoisting an anchor from the depths of the sea, sliding across his lips like an abyssal worm emerging from his mouth. It was wet, slippery, foreign. His body was all too happy to assist with the dispelling of the foreign entity by attempting to vomit once again, atrocious gagging sounds squeaking out from around the sides of the tube as it exited his throat.
“HURAGH-ARGH!” The retching that exited his lips as the final inch of the tubing escaped his mouth, was even louder than before, his entire form lurching forward as Sylvain’s body made an abrupt jolt from a lying position, to sitting upright at almost ninety degrees, involuntarily flexing almost every muscle in his torso and delivering him a cacophony of agony in the process. “ARAGH!” The gasp was voluminous as it escaped his throat, his body slumping back down onto the hard surface below him instantly, his abdomen shrieking with a diabolical ache in response to his involuntary contraction of muscles, the impromptu work-out hitting him like a photon-torpedo to the gut.
“Argh…” Everything hurt.
And Sylvain wasn’t a stranger to a bit of physical pain; he’d been on the Parrises squares team at the Academy for crying out loud, he could handle a bit of pain... But this ,was different. It felt like he’d taken a shuttlecraft to the gut, all while someone had jammed Klingon pain-sticks into his ribs, unleashed a plasma torch down his throat, and kicked him in the head a few times for good measure…
Still, he forced himself to endure the pain for a moment as he attempted to gather his bearings, sucking a hiss of air into his battered body, and counterpointing it with a ragged exhale. The Ensign attempted to occupy his mind with the task at hand, trying not to think about the discomfort surrounding his torso as he forced his tear-stained eyes to open. Sylvain had been optimistic, hoping to see some sort of sickbay-adjacent facility, maybe a couple of Starfleet officers in teal undershirts, some sort of confirmation that he was in a location intended for rest and recovery, as opposed to anything more… Well, anything more Savi…
Unfortunately, the room appeared to be the latter.
The room was once again a drab spectacle of white and chrome, a harsh light burning down upon him from the ceiling, illuminating the somewhat alarming lack of variety in the colours of the room; if it hadn’t been for the black, grey and red uniforms of he and Cora, who lingered at the end of his bed, it would have been a wasteland of white-on-chrome carnage. Centred in the room were several examination tables, whilst the space beyond the tables was packed with dozens of consoles, monitors, pieces of equipment, tools, all of which were objects unfamiliar to Sylvain. As his eyes flicked back above him, his hazel irises swallowed by his widening pupils, he stared up into a disturbingly scientific bouquet of lights, sensors, scanners, and an untold amount of technology foreign to his eyes, though he had no doubt that the array was not something he wanted anything to do with.
His eyes returned to Cora, as he began to attempt to slide himself off of the table, manoeuvring himself onto his side, swallowing the pain that rippled through him as he did so. It took him a moment, but Sylvain managed to slip his left leg out from under him and down into open air, booted foot clacking against the floor as his right leg swiftly followed. From there, his torso naturally pursued, hoisting himself onto his feet with a gasp of pain, his body weight braced into his left arm as he managed to set himself into a standing position, the pain forcing a hiss of air from his mouth, like sitting on a very old chair. He was slightly hunched as he glanced at Cora again, forcing a ragged breath into his lungs as he tried to find a way to get his bearings on their situation
“W-whe w-whe aww-aww..?” He began, before he halted his attempts, in realisation that his tongue seemed almost completely unresponsive to his instructions, its numbness becoming even more apparent as he consciously tried to move it within his mouth. “W-whe-ruh, aww-ruh, we…?” He forced, overemphasising his letters as he desperately pushed past the fact that his tongue felt like a foreign visitor in his mouth, and tried not to dwell all too much on the somewhat sweet taste that was lingering around his palette like a ghost... He’d certainly had precognitive tastes before, they were never fun; most of the time he seemed to seemed to change the future by chasing whatever phantom taste had graced his tastebuds in the premonition, leaving him thoroughly unfulfilled… Yes, he'd learned to ignore any precognitive event that manifested itself as taste...
Unless, this wasn’t that?
A whirlwind of alarm overtook him before Cora would have had a chance to speak, immediately glancing down at his hands with abject horror peering through his eyelids as he did so. He stared down at his pale-skinned fingers with such intensity, that he threatened to vaporise the digits, relief bubbling up within his chest as he did so, though nowhere near enough relief to counteract the ascending panic in his soul. He hadn’t changed colour at least, he hadn’t fallen victim to some Savi experiment and turned green; Sylvain knew that he’d make a terrible Orion, all that hedonism would be far too uncomfortable for him…
Still, he couldn’t check his spots without a mirror, of which the room surprisingly had none. Thankfully however, the indecent amount of chrome served that purpose wonderfully, Sylvain taking a ragged pace over to the examination table that Cora had evidently occupied, and almost melting with relief that in place of any unwanted facial ridges or additional orifices, he was greeted by a familiar reflection… Still, his relief was limited. He was in an unknown medical lab on a Savi ship, he had no idea how Cora and himself had arrived there, and after Commander Cross’ briefing on the Savi's proclivities for genetic resequencing, Sylvain didn’t intend on taking any chances…
Perhaps the gas he had smelt had been some biological weapon, a nerve agent designed to incapacitate Cora and himself in order to extract them from the Theurgy crew’s population as efficiently as possible; perhaps his Yattho biology expediated the process? The Ensign had to credit the Savi for their ruthless ingeniousness; they’d certainly chosen their candidates well. Sylvain hadn’t interacted with any of the Theurgy Crew since coming aboard, and he didn’t imagine that Cora would have had much chance to do so either... Since they were both new to the crew, only having arrived that very afternoon, they no doubt wouldn’t immediately be missed by their colleagues, especially with the imminent battle occupying everyone’s attention… Then, even if they survived the conflict, they could easily be mis-recorded as casualties following the battle, left in the Savi’s clutches as the Starfleet crew departed back to the Theurgy, damning them to lives of torment and modification forever…
Not if he had anything to say about it.
“We fould…” Sylvain began, turning back to Cora whilst trying to appear as authoritative as possible, a difficult task considering the aggressive lisp his numb tongue had gifted him; he was the ranking officer of their pair, and thus it was his duty to get them out of their predicament as soon as he could. What exactly he should do however, eluded him for a moment; Sylvain was hardly someone equipped to deal with a hostage situation… And then a brainwave hit him. He might not equipped to deal with such a situation, but the Theurgy had sent over a whole team of tactical officers to the Erudite for the mission, and Sylvain was sure that at least one of them, would know exactly how to handle something like this; he was pretty sure that he overheard someone mention that they also had a diplomat aboard, in case there was room for negotiations with the Savi.
Sylvain felt a triumphant smile blossom onto his face; they needed to alert the chain of Command, just like Starfleet taught them to do. Maybe it was too early to give up on such ideals after all.
“We fhould ale-ruh-t Command-eruh Leavitt.” His sloughing speech was all but humiliating, and he wouldn't have been shocked if Cora hadn't had a clue what he was trying to vocalise at all... Instead, purely on instinct, he reached for his combadge, intending to alert someone to he and Cora’s predicament as soon as possible, somewhat ignoring the possibility that whoever he tried to communicate with would also have to contend with his slurred speech, and instead focusing on his goal of escaping their predicament as soon as possible.
Though on account of the fact that his right arm was suddenly screaming with pain, he hadn’t been able to make the manoeuvre from his hand to his combadge, quite as quickly as he would have liked…
