Mosaic - Jeri Taylor [78]
How could she prepare for this ordeal? were there any mental exercises that might help her endure it? Was quick capitulation the answer? She thought not-it would be distrusted. Gradually she realized that nothing could help her escape nightmarish cruelty, and with this inevitability, she felt her stomach clench with fear.
Now the screaming subsided, evolving into a series of low moans which weren't comforting, but which perhaps indicated that whoever was torturing the admiral had, for the moment, stopped. Did that mean they were coming for her'? She drew great tortured gulps of air. Suddenly she was aware of a tiny sound behind her. She shifted awkwardly in the cramped space and turned to see a small glowing dot appear in what was the back wall of the pen-a dot that traveled swiftly down from ceiling to floor.
Was this the beginning of some form of torture? were they going to bake her in this metal box? She drew more deep breaths, striving for calm, fighting fear, yet feeling utterly vulnerable in this dark, cramped space.
And then there was a ripping noise and she felt arms reach in and grab her, hauling her roughly through the back wall, now bent outward. She gasped and started to cry out involuntarily, but a gloved hand was clamped firmly over her mouth. She felt herself dragged along over rough terrain, the sudden intake of fresh cold air telling her she was now outside. She tried to get her footing, but it was impossible; whoever had her in his firm grip was too strong, and too fast. Afraid of twisting an ankle if she kept trying, she finally relaxed and allowed herself to be dragged. Then she was hauled upright and jammed up against what felt like a large tree. A faint glow of starlight provided some illumination, and Kathryn realized she was indeed outside, held in the grasp of a man dressed entirely in black, hand still pressing on her mouth. Then his mouth came close to her ear, and a voice whispered to her-a voice that sounded strangely familiar: "Be quiet. Understand?" She nodded, and the gloved hand came away from her mouth. She was aware of a lean, hard body pressed against hers, the mouth still near her ear. "Wait here. Don't make any noise. Be ready to run when I get back." And then she realized it was Justin Tighe. She nodded and he released her; she felt him moving away from her, was vaguely aware of other dark shapes moving with him, back in the direction from which they'd come. And then she understood: these were the Rangers, the elite commando corps Admiral Paris had spoken of. Her partner, the intimidating Lieutenant Tighe, was one of them!
They had rescued her, and now they must be going back for the admiral. That would be a far more dangerous feat, she realized, involving combat with the Cardassians, who would then be alerted to their escape and would marshal all their forces to capture them all. She began looking around her, trying to divine the plan, wanting to be ready for anything. She seemed to be in a dense woods that was damp and uncomfortably cold. Somewhere nearby she could hear water, a sound between a drip and a gurgle; she couldn't identify it.
Her eyes were adjusting to the darkness, and she could distinguish individual trees. She knew she could see well enough to run through these woods. And the sounds she now heard indicated she'd have to do just that. Voices, calling out, yelling, the sound of phaser fire-the Rangers had engaged the Cardassians. Did that mean they had Admiral Paris? Or had they been attacked before they ever reached him?
She was disconcerted to realize that the sounds of the skirmish were moving away from her. What did that mean? Was she being abandoned? Did the Rangers have a transport site somewhere? Could she find it if she were left alone? She struggled against panic. This was at least a situation in which she could function: she could take action, she could make choices, she could do something. As the sounds of the voices receded yet farther from her, she stepped away from the tree.
And