Aren’t You All Aglow In Your Thousand Yard Stare
From the expanse of the bleach whiteness of the ceiling, a small blue white light encircled overhead from where Rand sat. It was like a comet, its illuminating tail leaving a pathway behind it, as it encroached itself towards her, its humming sound getting louder with each passing descent. It made a sudden stop, and Rand was able to see reflections of light elongated on either side of the circle. It was a tube, clear and long as it moved closer to her. Rand could feel the blood drain from her face and neck. These officers were not going to stop at the electroshock torture, but were going to bring down a new brand of hell-on-earth for her-this she could be sure of.
The tube finally stopped and hovered about 12 inches from her head. Rand was transfixed by this new and deadly unknown, the crystalline instrument glinting against the whiteness of the interrogation room.
“Perhaps you might be able to answer the question now, prisoner?”
Rand’s attention was forced back to the cool, measured voice of her Vulcan inquisitor, his upper body leaning forward over the table as he looked at her levelly from his slit-like alien eyes.
“I told you I can’t answer that question! Ask me something else, damn it!!”
Rand and Glok glared at each other for awhile until Rand felt something cold and hard snap around her ankles and wrists clamping her onto the arms and legs of the chair. She looks down and panics, struggling fruitlessly against the restraints which were as black as the chair and tables themselves. The tube, which had been hovering above ominously, lowered itself smoothly to the floor, effectively encasing her in its walls. When Rand heard the rim seal itself around her, the restraints suddenly popped open.
“What the hell?!” Confused, Rand raised her arms towards her and rubbed her wrists. She saw Glok and the male guard looking at her. She couldn’t see the female guard, so she turned behind her sharply, and saw that she was next to the entrance where she and Rand had entered this room earlier.
“Cadet, please answer the question.”
Rand’s attention returned to Glok. “I guess this means we’re going to run around this tree all night?!”
“If you like. If you want me to wait, prisoner, I can be a most patient individual.”
“Patience is a virtue, so they say,” said Rand, her nerve rearing itself upfront.
The silence lengthened between them, so much so that Rand became a little fidgety. She yarned, she bent over in her chair, she rubbed her nose, stretched her legs. All the while Glok sat there, watching her. There was no sign of irritation, impatience, nothing. Rand sat back in her chair and crossed her arms in defiance, and Glok crossed his arms as well, easing back into his own chair. When Rand saw this copycat gesture the sheer absurdity made her break out in sudden laughter. It started out as a giggle, low and soft as its echo bounced off the walls of the tubing and floated around the silence of the room. Her laughter build and grew, morphing from giggling, to cackling, then to bursting guffaws-loud and crude. Tears ran from her eyes as Rand heaved and gulped in the waning air between fits and mirth. As her laughter continued, her ears began to plug up and Rand found herself swallowing in order to unplug them to ease the discomfort. She went on like this for some time, almost like autopilot--laughing, swallowing, heaving, gulping. Her breathing became more shallow, her throat became more dry. Again, Rand began to panic.
“Can you answer the question at this time, Cadet Rand?”
Glok’s voice was condescending, slithery, eerily calm like still water. Rand grips onto the arms of either side of the chair and leans forward in her chair.
“For someone’s who’s a Vulcan you don’t hear well, do you?!”
Her voice came out high, strained. The dryness that was forming inside of her throat was now spreading to her mouth and nose. Rand stumbled blindly off of the chair and banged on the surrounding tube with both fists, like a madwoman. Glok pushed himself away from the table and got up from his chair. He walked towards Rand until he was face to face with her. Standing poker-faced, he asked the question again while he watched her struggle against the thinning oxygen in her torture chamber.
Rand opened her mouth and tried to speak, but it was as if a thick arid wad was stuffed down her passage, blocking all means of breathing, all means of life.
Rand’s eyes started to blur, the images smeared across her vision like glittery apparitions, her knees starting to give way. As she collapsed, the last thing Rand heard before blacking out was Glok asking her that same goddamn question spoken in his native tongue.