My sense of commitment did not last. The weeks became months---far longer than I had expected. The tedium was mind-numbing. There was just nothing to do. I asked for writing supplies and tried to work daily on a chronicle of sorts, a recounting of the events that had brought me to my cell; a task to sharpen and focus my mind. But soon after Father O'Heron's visits stopped, I had brought the chronicle up to date and had little else to write about----rambling, barely coherent thoughts.575Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9NhZIiAbg1
I started exercising vigorously, eating every morsel of tasteless food, trying to pull myself together and clear my mind. I re-read all that I had written. I destroyed much of it (though what I did save serves me well now as a reminder of details surrounding those events), and determined not to write any more.575Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtjTpkkTQFL
I had no visitors in all that time. Father O'Heron would have come if she had been allowed to, of that I was sure. Sulu, of course, could not. When I realized there was no one else who would have wanted to visit me, I was surprisingly depressed.
Then I sensed a change. I didn't know what it was, and I couldn't determine where it was coming from, but I was sure it was there---in the ship somewhere, something.....Something had happened. I could feel it.
The routine did not vary for the next few days----food and monotony remained the same---but the feeling persisted, grew stronger.
One morning I received another pot of coffee. When I poured out a cup, I noticed something flash inside the pot. I pulled out a strip of plastic on which was printed these words: SOMETHING'S BEEN FOUND.575Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡs6ortw5Elg
What did that mean? It was important, or Sulu wouldn't have risked adding the note.
I felt energize, and my hope for release was rekindled.
Something's been found!
But after that, nothing.575Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVTc2vS5E3u
Days passed, then weeks. Could I have been wrong? No, I still sensed a strange tension. Undefined, but palpable. And yet, there were no further messages from Sulu; in fact, even the coffee ceased to arrive. That alone distressed me.
I started to feel out of control. I paced my cell. I fought the urge to pound on the door and demand my release. My left eye twitched uncontrollably much of the time, and even my own skin seemed confining.
Unfulfilled expectations. E ach time I heard a sound, I expected someone to appear at my cell door---Father O'Heron, Jean-Luc, Sulu, anyone. To release or visit me; either one, I didn't care.
I spoke to the masked and shielded guards who brought my food, but they did not respond. Even the one who normally brought the coffee from Sulu would not acknowledge me, refused to look at the handwritten questions I held up before his masked face.
My God, what was happening out there?
I started to dream about Antioch again. Skeletons. Bones and ravaged skulls and stifling jungle. I dreamed repeatedly of the failed mutiny. Each time, the actual events were slightly different, strange and distorted from what had happened, but the dreams always ended with the harvesters rising silently outside the open transport-hold doors, blazing mouths waiting to devour me.575Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3mxckvQTuR
More time passed, the days indeterminable. I came to believe that whatever had happened, whatever had been found, would have no effect on my confinement. My hopes faded, and I readied myself for an indefinite stay.575Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡn6oksgIH3W
