Intersections in Alternate Times

For the thousandth, futile time, John Sheridan tensed his muscles and pulled for all his worth against the wide steel manacles that trapped his wrists. In vain. The restraints and their counterpart, the steel chair, remained implacable as ever, as the hand of fate. If he kept this up, he would break his wrists, and how would that help him? John slumped back against the straight back, screwing his eyes shut in despair.

The lights went off.

Damn it, he thought, it can't be nighttime yet. It's not nighttime. Stop messing with my biological clock. He feared that if he escaped – when I escape – he would never again be able to time his sleep with his shifts. To sleep, perchance to dream – he didn't mind about the burrs. Perhaps he could catch a rest, now…

"You will co-operate with the State, for the good of the state and your own survival."

The voice boomed all around him, startling him out of the warm haze into which he'd slipped. John groaned. "Oh, come on, not that again…"

"Co-operation will be rewarded. Resistance will be punished. You will co-operate with the State, for the good of the State –"

John caught himself muttering the words along with the inexhaustible player, and mentally shook himself. This is one mantra he should not repeat. Instead, he reverted to one of the games he'd developed.

"Resistance will be punished," the recorded voice droned on. "You will –"

"– not," John interjected quickly –

"– co-operate with the State –"

"– neither," he slipped in –

"– for the good of the State –"

"– nor," he said over the reciter's voice –

"– for your own survival. Co-operation will be –"

"– Re-worded," he shot.

"Resistance will be –"

"– fun-ish."

God, I'm getting worse at this.

"You will co-operate with the State…"

"Agh!" A wordless cry of frustration tore out of his throat. He twisted his hands in the restraints again. He envisioned himself finding the player, tearing it out of the power net, and ripping it apart in a shower of sparks. The idea, at least, was satisfying. It did not stop the voice from starting again.

"You will co-operate with the State…"

John suddenly remembered the old joke about tending to a headache with a toothache. Well, it's worth a shot. He closed his eyes and tried to tune out the recorded message, concentrating on singing instead:

"As far as my eyes can see… There are shadows approaching me…" He stopped abruptly with a shudder. That one struck too close to home. He cast around for another song:

"What a wicked thing to say, ta-da-da-dam this way,

"What a wicked thing to do, ta-da-da-dam with you,

"No, aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaye something fall in love…"

He trailed off, ear-sore and satisfied. The recorded message was much better.

When he opened his eyes again, a circle of faint light welcomed him back. John fought back his irritation. He caught sight of a tray of old food, which inspired in him hunger and nausea in equal measures. Just what he needed: to throw up all over himself, again.

The recorded message screeched to a halt. From past experience, he knew he had five minutes at most before it started again. The urge to do something, anything, to keep it from replaying overwhelmed him. He tried to pierce the gloom with his sleep-depraved stare, but although he knew someone was there, he saw nothing.

Oh, what the hell.

"Alright!" he called into the darkness. "I give up!"

A cloaked and hooded figure emerged into the circle of faint light, and waited. John knew what it wanted. He crushed the remains of his tortured ego, and forced the words out of his mouth.

"Let me go, and I give you my word – I will never try to make dinner again by myself!"

The figure pulled back its hood, revealing Delenn's relieved face. "Never?" she asked softly, reaching for the chair's release mechanism.

"Never," John promised. "We'll order out."

She yanked on a lever, and the chair discharged him with a reluctant creak. John bounded to his feet before Delenn changed her mind, massaging his wrists. His eyes fell upon the old food tray again. Perhaps he really should quit cooking – he'd almost poisoned them both, this time. Which still, in his humble opinion, hardly justified Delenn's reaction.

"Well, I'm glad we got that cleared," Delenn said softly in his ear.

John pulled her into a hug. "Now, about that 'co-operation will be rewarded' part…"