Title: Written on a Thumbnail
Author: cofax
Rating: R
See Part 1 for complete headers
***
Part 3b
The mat is cold -- they took away the blanket after I tried to strangle Braca with it. I hope they leave me alone for an hour or so. I've lost track of how many sessions there have been with Scorpy, or with the blonde bitch and her star interrogation team. I don't know how long it's been since we were captured. I think I remember eating a few times: food cubes, of course. Two days, maybe.
*Four, John. It's been four days.* I ignore him. If I can hold out just a little longer, then --
But what, then? Another round in the Chair. It's been back and forth between Scorpius with the Chair and the blonde with the hard-on for Crais. When the drugs don't work, she tries torture. Now I try to keep my weight off my left side; I think they cracked some ribs last time. They're pretty stingy on the medical care, too, which is not a good sign.
She keeps asking about Crais. "Where is Captain Crais? What does he mean to do with the Leviathan gunship? When did you see him last?" I keep answering that I don't know, because I don't. But I wonder. We've had no word from them since we left Kanvia, and that was nearly three months ago. In three months' time they could all have died.
Maybe the retrieval squad killed them but was too damaged to report back. Maybe they ran afoul of pirates, or caught that Nebari illness, or got sucked into a wormhole. Maybe Talyn was killed and they're starving on some planet somewhere. Talyn would have come for Moya, even if Crais couldn't be bothered. And there's been nothing. I'd like to think Aeryn would come for me, but --
D'Argo must be dead by now. Unless they're torturing him too, trying to find Crais and Talyn. D'Argo and the Peacekeepers go way back; I don't know if that means they'd kill him on sight or keep him around as an example. I want to worry about D'Argo on the Chair. But I can't.
I lie here on my mat, and I shiver. I try to think, because it's better than feeling my body, even though I can't think very well anyway. It's hard to track, and I keep spacing out . . . My brain feels like roadkill, but my body feels worse. I'm shuddering with cold or fever, and I think some of the untreated sores on my back are infected. Every once in a while I zone out, and come to with my muscles spasming. I'm trying not to think about brain damage.
The Sebacean homeworld must be larger than Earth, or have more heavy metals. I feel heavier here. I hadn't noticed it on Moya; I wonder if maybe they adjust the gravity upwards for the detention level. One more way to grind me down.
Neither of them have figured out the two secrets I have. About the other guy, and about Harvey. Why would they think to ask?
You'd think Scorpius would have caught on by now, but he's only looking for wormhole data. We've been over and over the same parts of my brain so often I can feel my synapses frying. He's missing something -- the same something Linfer was missing. All of his test pilots come back liquefied. What's black and white and red all over? A skunk in a blender.
He knows about Linfer, of course; that was the first thing that came up. And he knows she gave us her data before she left. But I didn't have time to translate most of it yet into English and Arabic numerals, much less analyze it. All I could tell him was that Linfer ended up just like all his other test subjects.
And the bitch -- well, she's looking for Crais. And Talyn. Also Rygel, weirdly enough. And every once in a while I get the sense she's got it in for Scorpius himself. I could be wrong.
*You're not wrong, John.* Harvey's perched on top of the screen next to the toilet. No costume today, just his standard black leather. I look away; better the blank wall than Scorpius. I thought once that Harvey had desensitized me to Scorpius; I was wrong. Jesus, it's cold in here. I curl in on myself and rub my arms with my hands. It doesn't help much. The shudders don't stop, and my eyes keep tearing up.
"What's she want?" My voice is scratchy, my throat raw. I swallow painfully, and remember the cell must be bugged.
*Scorpius has been working on the wormhole project for over five years now. This research has cost High Command hundreds of lives, untold amounts of money, and a great deal of embarrassment. It's possible she has been sent to shut him down.*
I scratch my head and a clump of hair lands on the mat next to me. It's a good thing there isn't a mirror in the cell: some of the drugs are having unexpected side-effects.
If it's true that she is out to get Scorpius, there ought to be a way to help her with that. But it's so hard to focus. Everything hurts. I put my head down on the mat. They haven't let me sleep more than an hour or two at a time since I was captured.
*John. John. JOHN!*
*What NOW, Harv?*
*You're dying, John.* My phantom squats down in front of me, his arms balanced on his knees. His brows are drawn down, his mouth thin; it's an unfamiliar expression.
*Yeah, well, you try being interrogated by the Master and Margarita there and see how you like it.* I turn my head away. Either I'm dizzy or the grav generators have gone out. I'm not dying. I'm not. But there's blood on the mat and I think it's from my ears. I can't stop shaking.
*I don't want to die, John, and I don't think you do either.*
*When I was five I wanted Santa to bring me a little brother. Didn't work then, either.*
*I think, if you let me, I can save you. Us.*
I cock my head and look at him carefully. He's nervous. This isn't something he really wants to do. *What would you do?*
*I would integrate myself into your--*
"--- NO!" I wrench myself upright and away from Harvey. *No frelling way. We've been down that route before, Harv, and I am not going back.*
*This is different. You're weak, John, and getting weaker. And so am I. I can't take control of your body anymore -- the best part of my strength was in the chip. But if we add my will to yours, we could hold out longer. Maybe even escape.*
Escape. I look around the green cell. We're on a command carrier, surrounded by thousands of soldiers who would as soon shoot me as ask my name. I can barely stand up, much less fight my way out of this cell. Moya is dead or dying, Talyn is lost or dead, and D'Argo must be dead by now or transferred to another prison transport. Where is there to escape to?
*You been watchin' too much tv, Harv.* I roll over and bury my head in my arms.
I know what he wants. And I can't think about it because it would mean giving up. Because Aeryn loves me, John Crichton from North Carolina by way of MIT and IASA, not some Creature-Double-Feature mutant -- a spliced together Scarran-Sebacean and human personality. I'd be able to give Spock a run for his money on divided loyalties.
How could I go home with Scorpius inside me?
*But it wouldn't be like that, John. We would be one personality, with your traits much the stronger. I'm just an echo of Scorpius -- you are here physically.* Sly bastard, listening in when I don't want him.
But I roll back over. He's nowhere to be seen. I say it out loud. "And what about Aeryn?"
*John. Do you really think they're still alive? They've been out of touch for months; and surely if they could have come they would have, by now.*
-- or maybe -- I can't complete the thought.
*I'm sure she would have come for you.* But Harvey's lying, I can feel it. If they're alive, she has me anyway. She's a Peacekeeper, she's practical. Why would she would risk everything for a Xerox?
I know it sounds too much like James Bond, but being tortured is really pretty boring after a while. We're not learning anything new here, folks.
Scorpy hasn't given up yet -- even though he should know he can't force comprehension out of me. I have no conscious control over the Ancients' data, and right now I couldn't begin to understand the information Scorpius has. I need a week of sleep, a truckload of aspirin, and about twelve hours of chiropracty before I can even think again.
He doesn't see this, though. He's beginning to panic. Today -- this evening, morning, whatever the hell time of day it is -- he's ranting around the lab, emoting more than I've ever seen him before. I think Harvey's right. Scorpy's on a clock.
*I'm always right, John.* It's harder to ignore him than it used to be. I think it's a byproduct of the Chair.
Braca finishes strapping me in, and tightens the restraints an extra notch with a glare; he still hasn't forgiven me for the bruises on his throat. Little asshole. If I ever get my hands free I might even kill him first.
Scorpius enters the room and Braca leaps to attention. "Sir!" Looks like that dog on the old record label, listening to the record player. "His Master's Voice." Christ, Braca, you're a poor excuse for a man.
But right behind Scorpius is the blonde bitch.
"Slumming?" I snark, but they all ignore me. She looks around with an indifferent expression on her face, and nods at Braca when he salutes her compulsively.
"Sub-Auditor Supay," purrs Scorpius, and nods respectfully to her. Now this *is* interesting.
*Jackpot, as you would say, John. A Sub-Auditor outranks anyone below flag rank. This is most intriguing.*
Supay doesn't seem impressed with Scorpius' suave moves. Instead she stalks around the lab, examines the controls of the Chair in great detail, even tugs at the fastenings holding me in place, before turning back to Scorpius. I might as well not be there at all for all the attention any of them are giving me. If not for the constant pain, I'd consider a nap.
"Scorpius," she says, finally, tapping her hand on the butt of her pistol. "High Command has given you a great deal of leeway on your two related projects. But it has been five days now, and the gunship has not arrived as you predicted. And we are too close to Scarran territory to linger here."
The desperation is clear on Scorpius' face -- if the idea to catch Talyn by way of Moya was his, then he's in the shit up to his ugly eyeballs. "I'm sure that the gunship will be arriving, Sub-auditor. My interrogations of Crichton indicate a strong attachment between the gunship and its mother--"
She waves a hand and cuts him off. Cool; I didn't think anyone could cut Scorpy off. "This project has failed despite your reassurances. The battle group is being dispersed to other duties. In --" she looks at a chronometer on the wall, "ten arns I will be leaving, to make my report to High Command. I will take both prisoners with me at that time for further interrogation."
*Both* prisoners?
"Ten arns!" Braca blurts, and then pales. No one pays any attention to him.
Scorpy opens his mouth a few times, and finally chokes out, "Ten arns. Yes, Sub-auditor. It will be as you say."
She looks once more around the room, her eyes passing over me as if we hadn't spent hours and hours together, determining exactly the limits of my knowledge, and the location of my pain threshold. Her lips thin, and she catches Scorpius' eye once more at the doorway. "It will be my recommendation that High Command examine very closely the costs and benefits of the wormhole project, Scorpius. There are other avenues, other weapons technologies available to us. If you do not produce working technology soon, it may be decided that these resources would be better used elsewhere."
And with that bombshell she's gone.
"Scorpy, old buddy, she shut you *down*! You are so doomed! You're goin' down, down, down --"
But I'm the only one in the room who feels like having a party. "Lieutenant Braca," Scorpius says. He's regained his composure fast -- behind the leather his face has his usual disdainful expression. "We are running out of time. We must move quickly."
Braca's eyes are wide, his expression horrified. "But sir! That-- you've come so far!"
"Indeed. The sub-auditor does not share your appreciation." He turns away slowly, towards the controls of the Chair. "We have ten arns to learn everything Crichton knows about everything."
Oh, shit.
If Braca were standing any straighter, he'd have a post up his ass. "Sir, you have my complete support. What can I do to assist you?"
"We're going to scrape out every iota of information in Crichton's brain, Braca. The answer must be there." Then his voice breaks into that horrific Scarran growl: "I want it ALL."
Scorpius waves most of the techs out of the room and starts manipulating controls. I grit my teeth in anticipation as I see the dial go higher and higher and then --
--then the Chair begins to turn and I can taste the bile rising in my mouth and I think I'm going to vomit --
-- oh, here we go --
-- jesus mary and joseph it hurts! --
-- the hospital room is all white and she's nearly as pale and she clings to my hand as I leave her and I imagine I can hear her crying all the way down the hallway --
-- oh god not this again not this I can't *do* this again fuck fuck --
-- Scorpy I'm going to kill you and your little dog too --
-- now it's MIT again and that's easier and DK wants pizza and I want wings and we settle on a Mediterranean place in Central Square with live music and we start talking friction again over the hummus and then it's 2 am and we're oblivious to the music and surrounded by empty bottles and we have the germ of a theory --
-- god shit fuck it hurts oh fuck --
-- the fever is raging through her and all she can do is fight it it's all she's ever been able to do and I have to do something to stop it to save her like she's saved us so many times but she can't hear that and I want to *kill* someone and I will, I'll kill anyone to save her --
-- god he's turning the knob and --
-- Oh, god, Aeryn, help me --
There are voices around me, overlapping but loud like a Halloween party at midnight -- "synaptic collapse" -- "synergistic interactions" -- "too deep, too fast, he can't" -- "alien biochemistry" -- "subconscious blockage" -- "not Sebacean, sir!"
I used to go skydiving in college. There's a moment, when you're falling and you haven't pulled the cord, and it's all so quiet, and you think life should be like this all the time, you're so still and the air is rushing past ---
Having your psyche dissolve in the Aurora Chair is nothing like that.
You fall screaming and the ground leaps up to meet you and you're grabbing for the cord and it's not there and you want to say "goodbye" and "I'm sorry" and "I love you" but no one's there except for Harvey and then you hit the ground.
And you stop.
***
END Part 3
Author: cofax
Rating: R
See Part 1 for complete headers
***
Part 3b
The mat is cold -- they took away the blanket after I tried to strangle Braca with it. I hope they leave me alone for an hour or so. I've lost track of how many sessions there have been with Scorpy, or with the blonde bitch and her star interrogation team. I don't know how long it's been since we were captured. I think I remember eating a few times: food cubes, of course. Two days, maybe.
*Four, John. It's been four days.* I ignore him. If I can hold out just a little longer, then --
But what, then? Another round in the Chair. It's been back and forth between Scorpius with the Chair and the blonde with the hard-on for Crais. When the drugs don't work, she tries torture. Now I try to keep my weight off my left side; I think they cracked some ribs last time. They're pretty stingy on the medical care, too, which is not a good sign.
She keeps asking about Crais. "Where is Captain Crais? What does he mean to do with the Leviathan gunship? When did you see him last?" I keep answering that I don't know, because I don't. But I wonder. We've had no word from them since we left Kanvia, and that was nearly three months ago. In three months' time they could all have died.
Maybe the retrieval squad killed them but was too damaged to report back. Maybe they ran afoul of pirates, or caught that Nebari illness, or got sucked into a wormhole. Maybe Talyn was killed and they're starving on some planet somewhere. Talyn would have come for Moya, even if Crais couldn't be bothered. And there's been nothing. I'd like to think Aeryn would come for me, but --
D'Argo must be dead by now. Unless they're torturing him too, trying to find Crais and Talyn. D'Argo and the Peacekeepers go way back; I don't know if that means they'd kill him on sight or keep him around as an example. I want to worry about D'Argo on the Chair. But I can't.
I lie here on my mat, and I shiver. I try to think, because it's better than feeling my body, even though I can't think very well anyway. It's hard to track, and I keep spacing out . . . My brain feels like roadkill, but my body feels worse. I'm shuddering with cold or fever, and I think some of the untreated sores on my back are infected. Every once in a while I zone out, and come to with my muscles spasming. I'm trying not to think about brain damage.
The Sebacean homeworld must be larger than Earth, or have more heavy metals. I feel heavier here. I hadn't noticed it on Moya; I wonder if maybe they adjust the gravity upwards for the detention level. One more way to grind me down.
Neither of them have figured out the two secrets I have. About the other guy, and about Harvey. Why would they think to ask?
You'd think Scorpius would have caught on by now, but he's only looking for wormhole data. We've been over and over the same parts of my brain so often I can feel my synapses frying. He's missing something -- the same something Linfer was missing. All of his test pilots come back liquefied. What's black and white and red all over? A skunk in a blender.
He knows about Linfer, of course; that was the first thing that came up. And he knows she gave us her data before she left. But I didn't have time to translate most of it yet into English and Arabic numerals, much less analyze it. All I could tell him was that Linfer ended up just like all his other test subjects.
And the bitch -- well, she's looking for Crais. And Talyn. Also Rygel, weirdly enough. And every once in a while I get the sense she's got it in for Scorpius himself. I could be wrong.
*You're not wrong, John.* Harvey's perched on top of the screen next to the toilet. No costume today, just his standard black leather. I look away; better the blank wall than Scorpius. I thought once that Harvey had desensitized me to Scorpius; I was wrong. Jesus, it's cold in here. I curl in on myself and rub my arms with my hands. It doesn't help much. The shudders don't stop, and my eyes keep tearing up.
"What's she want?" My voice is scratchy, my throat raw. I swallow painfully, and remember the cell must be bugged.
*Scorpius has been working on the wormhole project for over five years now. This research has cost High Command hundreds of lives, untold amounts of money, and a great deal of embarrassment. It's possible she has been sent to shut him down.*
I scratch my head and a clump of hair lands on the mat next to me. It's a good thing there isn't a mirror in the cell: some of the drugs are having unexpected side-effects.
If it's true that she is out to get Scorpius, there ought to be a way to help her with that. But it's so hard to focus. Everything hurts. I put my head down on the mat. They haven't let me sleep more than an hour or two at a time since I was captured.
*John. John. JOHN!*
*What NOW, Harv?*
*You're dying, John.* My phantom squats down in front of me, his arms balanced on his knees. His brows are drawn down, his mouth thin; it's an unfamiliar expression.
*Yeah, well, you try being interrogated by the Master and Margarita there and see how you like it.* I turn my head away. Either I'm dizzy or the grav generators have gone out. I'm not dying. I'm not. But there's blood on the mat and I think it's from my ears. I can't stop shaking.
*I don't want to die, John, and I don't think you do either.*
*When I was five I wanted Santa to bring me a little brother. Didn't work then, either.*
*I think, if you let me, I can save you. Us.*
I cock my head and look at him carefully. He's nervous. This isn't something he really wants to do. *What would you do?*
*I would integrate myself into your--*
"--- NO!" I wrench myself upright and away from Harvey. *No frelling way. We've been down that route before, Harv, and I am not going back.*
*This is different. You're weak, John, and getting weaker. And so am I. I can't take control of your body anymore -- the best part of my strength was in the chip. But if we add my will to yours, we could hold out longer. Maybe even escape.*
Escape. I look around the green cell. We're on a command carrier, surrounded by thousands of soldiers who would as soon shoot me as ask my name. I can barely stand up, much less fight my way out of this cell. Moya is dead or dying, Talyn is lost or dead, and D'Argo must be dead by now or transferred to another prison transport. Where is there to escape to?
*You been watchin' too much tv, Harv.* I roll over and bury my head in my arms.
I know what he wants. And I can't think about it because it would mean giving up. Because Aeryn loves me, John Crichton from North Carolina by way of MIT and IASA, not some Creature-Double-Feature mutant -- a spliced together Scarran-Sebacean and human personality. I'd be able to give Spock a run for his money on divided loyalties.
How could I go home with Scorpius inside me?
*But it wouldn't be like that, John. We would be one personality, with your traits much the stronger. I'm just an echo of Scorpius -- you are here physically.* Sly bastard, listening in when I don't want him.
But I roll back over. He's nowhere to be seen. I say it out loud. "And what about Aeryn?"
*John. Do you really think they're still alive? They've been out of touch for months; and surely if they could have come they would have, by now.*
-- or maybe -- I can't complete the thought.
*I'm sure she would have come for you.* But Harvey's lying, I can feel it. If they're alive, she has me anyway. She's a Peacekeeper, she's practical. Why would she would risk everything for a Xerox?
I know it sounds too much like James Bond, but being tortured is really pretty boring after a while. We're not learning anything new here, folks.
Scorpy hasn't given up yet -- even though he should know he can't force comprehension out of me. I have no conscious control over the Ancients' data, and right now I couldn't begin to understand the information Scorpius has. I need a week of sleep, a truckload of aspirin, and about twelve hours of chiropracty before I can even think again.
He doesn't see this, though. He's beginning to panic. Today -- this evening, morning, whatever the hell time of day it is -- he's ranting around the lab, emoting more than I've ever seen him before. I think Harvey's right. Scorpy's on a clock.
*I'm always right, John.* It's harder to ignore him than it used to be. I think it's a byproduct of the Chair.
Braca finishes strapping me in, and tightens the restraints an extra notch with a glare; he still hasn't forgiven me for the bruises on his throat. Little asshole. If I ever get my hands free I might even kill him first.
Scorpius enters the room and Braca leaps to attention. "Sir!" Looks like that dog on the old record label, listening to the record player. "His Master's Voice." Christ, Braca, you're a poor excuse for a man.
But right behind Scorpius is the blonde bitch.
"Slumming?" I snark, but they all ignore me. She looks around with an indifferent expression on her face, and nods at Braca when he salutes her compulsively.
"Sub-Auditor Supay," purrs Scorpius, and nods respectfully to her. Now this *is* interesting.
*Jackpot, as you would say, John. A Sub-Auditor outranks anyone below flag rank. This is most intriguing.*
Supay doesn't seem impressed with Scorpius' suave moves. Instead she stalks around the lab, examines the controls of the Chair in great detail, even tugs at the fastenings holding me in place, before turning back to Scorpius. I might as well not be there at all for all the attention any of them are giving me. If not for the constant pain, I'd consider a nap.
"Scorpius," she says, finally, tapping her hand on the butt of her pistol. "High Command has given you a great deal of leeway on your two related projects. But it has been five days now, and the gunship has not arrived as you predicted. And we are too close to Scarran territory to linger here."
The desperation is clear on Scorpius' face -- if the idea to catch Talyn by way of Moya was his, then he's in the shit up to his ugly eyeballs. "I'm sure that the gunship will be arriving, Sub-auditor. My interrogations of Crichton indicate a strong attachment between the gunship and its mother--"
She waves a hand and cuts him off. Cool; I didn't think anyone could cut Scorpy off. "This project has failed despite your reassurances. The battle group is being dispersed to other duties. In --" she looks at a chronometer on the wall, "ten arns I will be leaving, to make my report to High Command. I will take both prisoners with me at that time for further interrogation."
*Both* prisoners?
"Ten arns!" Braca blurts, and then pales. No one pays any attention to him.
Scorpy opens his mouth a few times, and finally chokes out, "Ten arns. Yes, Sub-auditor. It will be as you say."
She looks once more around the room, her eyes passing over me as if we hadn't spent hours and hours together, determining exactly the limits of my knowledge, and the location of my pain threshold. Her lips thin, and she catches Scorpius' eye once more at the doorway. "It will be my recommendation that High Command examine very closely the costs and benefits of the wormhole project, Scorpius. There are other avenues, other weapons technologies available to us. If you do not produce working technology soon, it may be decided that these resources would be better used elsewhere."
And with that bombshell she's gone.
"Scorpy, old buddy, she shut you *down*! You are so doomed! You're goin' down, down, down --"
But I'm the only one in the room who feels like having a party. "Lieutenant Braca," Scorpius says. He's regained his composure fast -- behind the leather his face has his usual disdainful expression. "We are running out of time. We must move quickly."
Braca's eyes are wide, his expression horrified. "But sir! That-- you've come so far!"
"Indeed. The sub-auditor does not share your appreciation." He turns away slowly, towards the controls of the Chair. "We have ten arns to learn everything Crichton knows about everything."
Oh, shit.
If Braca were standing any straighter, he'd have a post up his ass. "Sir, you have my complete support. What can I do to assist you?"
"We're going to scrape out every iota of information in Crichton's brain, Braca. The answer must be there." Then his voice breaks into that horrific Scarran growl: "I want it ALL."
Scorpius waves most of the techs out of the room and starts manipulating controls. I grit my teeth in anticipation as I see the dial go higher and higher and then --
--then the Chair begins to turn and I can taste the bile rising in my mouth and I think I'm going to vomit --
-- oh, here we go --
-- jesus mary and joseph it hurts! --
-- the hospital room is all white and she's nearly as pale and she clings to my hand as I leave her and I imagine I can hear her crying all the way down the hallway --
-- oh god not this again not this I can't *do* this again fuck fuck --
-- Scorpy I'm going to kill you and your little dog too --
-- now it's MIT again and that's easier and DK wants pizza and I want wings and we settle on a Mediterranean place in Central Square with live music and we start talking friction again over the hummus and then it's 2 am and we're oblivious to the music and surrounded by empty bottles and we have the germ of a theory --
-- god shit fuck it hurts oh fuck --
-- the fever is raging through her and all she can do is fight it it's all she's ever been able to do and I have to do something to stop it to save her like she's saved us so many times but she can't hear that and I want to *kill* someone and I will, I'll kill anyone to save her --
-- god he's turning the knob and --
-- Oh, god, Aeryn, help me --
There are voices around me, overlapping but loud like a Halloween party at midnight -- "synaptic collapse" -- "synergistic interactions" -- "too deep, too fast, he can't" -- "alien biochemistry" -- "subconscious blockage" -- "not Sebacean, sir!"
I used to go skydiving in college. There's a moment, when you're falling and you haven't pulled the cord, and it's all so quiet, and you think life should be like this all the time, you're so still and the air is rushing past ---
Having your psyche dissolve in the Aurora Chair is nothing like that.
You fall screaming and the ground leaps up to meet you and you're grabbing for the cord and it's not there and you want to say "goodbye" and "I'm sorry" and "I love you" but no one's there except for Harvey and then you hit the ground.
And you stop.
***
END Part 3