The only result was that he chafed his skin raw to no advantage.
They had not taken off his parka, and in spite of the chill about him,
he was too warm. Only that part of his body covered by the suit he had
taken from the ship was comfortable; he could almost believe that it
possessed some built-in conditioning device.
With no hope of relief Ross rubbed his hands back and forth against the
wall, scraping the hoops on his wrists. The distant pounding had ceased,
and this time the pause lengthened into so long a period that Ross fell
asleep, his head falling forward on his chest, his raw wrists still
pushed against the surface behind him.
He was hungry when he awoke, and with that hunger his rebellion sparked
into flame. Awkwardly he got to his feet and lurched along to the door
through which he had been thrown, where he proceeded to kick at the
barrier. The cushiony stuff forming the soles of his tights muffled most
of the force of those blows, but some noise was heard outside, for the
door opened and Ross faced one of the guards.
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