Garak floated freely in the damaged cockpit of the runabout. He recognized the sensations of zero gravity immediately. All sense of direction had been obliterated and weightlessness had toppled him head over heels. He cracked his eyelids and struggled to place the sight before him through the red hued haze that surrounded him. Smoke was wafting up into his face from the console beneath the navigation station. Waving his hand to clear his vision was a slow and over exaggerated motion. It had little effect. Something wet collided with his palm. He looked down and discovered blood that wasn’t his.
(A/N: The second of two drabbles written for Nausikaa as part of the “Fiction On Demand” post.)