Her body felt sore, her stomach nauseous. She tried to pull her arms down to rub her eyes, but her hands were bound to something over her head. Her feet were bound at the ankles and tied to a post, so he couldn’t stand up. She opened her eyes and blinked, but the lights were so bright that she couldn’t see anything. Gradually, however, her vision adjusted. She was in the hold of a ship—no, in a bunkroom of some kind. Her ankles were tied to a foothold at the base of the bunk, her wrists to a handhold on the opposite wall. The metal floor beneath her was cold and hard, and the thin fabric of her skirt did nothing to cushion her from it. What happened to me? she wondered, trying to recall the events that had brought her to this place. She had been in the private shuttlecraft listening to music when a strange clanging noise had sounded in the bulkheads, followed by the gut-wrenching sensation of jumpspace. She’d gotten a little nervous and tried to fiddle with the shuttle’s manual controls, but the next she knew the airlock door hissed open and the room filled with a sickly-sweet green mist.
