Apr 08, 2009 18:50
It’s difficult to keep track of days anymore. There’s no daytime in space, no sunlight. And the Wraith do not keep up the artifice as they do on the Daedelus and other Earth ships. It is always the same dim half-light that greets her when she wakes.
She has tried to keep up her meditation, but that is difficult too. She can always sense Michael nearby, and his presence disrupts her concentration. Every day (or twice a day, or every other day, or every few hours) she is brought to a lab, either on the ship or on a planet Michael has appropriated for his experiments.
Sometimes she is left alone, strapped to the table, while Michael takes care of other business. Sometimes Kanaan comes to see her, but since the first attempt, he is too skittish of Michael to try to help her escape again.
Sometimes he looks apologetic for this. Sometimes not.
Teyla sometimes thinks she can sense his fear, and sometimes his cruelty. She is almost certain this awareness comes more from the child than from her.
Michael was right. Her son is unique.
She knows once the child is born Michael will have no further use for her, and that when she continues to resist him, he will try to change her as he has changed the others.
She also knows she will die before letting that happen.
Her only concern is that this will mean leaving her child with Michael, and she can only hope Kanaan will overcome his fear long enough to protect him.
She still hopes, if only vaguely, that her team will someday find her, hopefully before she gives birth.
Every time Michael approaches her with that needle, stabbing it deep into her belly, into her child, that hope becomes a little harder to hold onto.
the kindred,
oom