Dr. Julian Subatoi Bashir (salutatorian) wrote in mandalus, @ 2013-11-09 01:40:00 |
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Entry tags: | julian bashir |
001 [video]
[The last he checked, solitary confinement didn't involve being in a city and distinctly not solitary. After four days of near-complete sensory deprivation--complete blackness and nothing but muffled bootstamps that he wouldn't have been able to hear if not for his enhancements--it is very nearly overwhelming. He hadn't seen anyone, or anything, in all that time. Not even during the regular rounds the guards made to pass out ration bars and water.
'Since you feel it so unfair that your fellow prisoners have had their rations cut, we will pass yours on to them.'
Julian knew very well how long humans could go without food and water. What he wasn't sure of was how long he could, with all the changes made to his genetics and his ability to exert extreme control over his body. After four days, he certainly felt weak, and had observed signs of dehydration in himself. It was difficult to concentrate, difficult to move--his muscles were stiff from disuse, even for such a limited time. He had no recourse when approached, not even able to communicate without the universal translator in the combadge he’d hadn’t had for weeks now.
Then he’d been injected with something, and that was no longer a problem. Once he’d thoroughly enumerated his problems with injecting people with strange substances without warning and without knowing what the reactions would be, the strange person had explained exactly what had happened here.
Honored guests, other worlds, a war against a god determined to destroy all of it.
Julian would think it ridiculous, if he didn’t already know the universe was such a ridiculous place.
The communicator he’d been given before the man--the C’Meni--had left was heavy in his hand, but the technology was simple, years behind the Federation’s, and easy enough to figure out. He turned it on to display his tired face to the world, already in a mindset to hold to the Prime Directive and give as little information as possible.]
Well, a new world is hardly what I expected to see today.
[He tries on a smile--it’s just as worn as he looks--he would be far worse off, he was sure, if he didn't have certain advantages, but after weeks of mistreatment, malnourishment, and dehydration on top of that--he's certainly not doing well. The marks of rank are removed from his collar, attached to the inside of his sleeve instead--there's nothing to distinguish him as a Starfleet officer, or indeed anything but a scruffy man in strange clothing.]
My name is Julian Bashir. I do hate to be a bother, but I’m in a bit of a bind and could use some help. I've been told I should get off this beach and to cover, but...well, I'm afraid I'm not able to walk that far at the moment.
[He shrugs disarmingly, one hand wide open off to the side.]
I'd appreciate even being pointed to somewhere a touch closer. Thank you.