Title: Written on a Thumbnail
Author: cofax
Rating: R
See part 1 for complete headers.
*Part 4: Jailbirds in the Big House*
***
We're a long way from the primary of this system, and it's an old, dim lady. If I were a better astronomer I could say what stage it's in; but all I know is that it doesn't cast a lot of light through the hammond-side windows.
Aeryn's warm in the blanket next to me; she's always been good at taking her rest where she can get it. And we need some rest: we've been running flat out for about 40 arns straight, and there won't be any timeouts once we hit the carrier. So we're resting while Rygel and Stark make some repairs to the Marauder and clue the girls in on the plan. Things have to happen fast -- Moya is running out of time.
We're taking the Marauder to the carrier in a few arns.
The Marauder.
It was Aeryn's idea, start to finish. I'd tried to come up with another way, but we ran out of options. Crais didn't really believe we could do the job, but he wasn't at the monastery, or at the Depository. He'd seen the wreckage afterwards, but not the team in action. Even if the team is down to just me and Aeryn. He had good reason to doubt; he knows I'm no soldier, and Aeryn's a long way from the Peacekeepers now.
He thinks differently now. There's a startled respect in his eyes -- not something I ever wanted to see. Respect from Crais was never high on the wish list.
It went down fast and ugly. Talyn lured the scout in with a leviathan distress call and then let them have it with the cannon, jamming their transmissions all the while. Then the three of us went in. We were already committed by the time I realized there was no preventing a bloodbath. The only question was whose blood it would be. There were six people on that ship.
I keep telling myself I'm a scientist; but I stopped listening a long time ago. I do what I have to, same as she does; and if it doesn't keep her awake -- well, who's to say I'm better off?
I roll over to look at her, and run my hand down the side of her face. She smiles, but doesn't wake. The window above the bunk shows a thin starfield and the edge of the planetoid we're hiding behind.
I should be sleeping, while Stark cleans the carnage out of the Marauder; I need to be fresh for this.
But I'm just staring at the stars and even with Aeryn beside me, I'm cold.
***
*John. Can you hear me?*
*Yeah. Where are we? It's dark.*
*We're in your memory. A camping trip in Maine.*
*Hope it's not raining. I hate sleeping in a wet tent.*
*We don't have much time, John.*
*Time for what?*
*Time before you die. Your psyche is collapsing under the strain of the interrogation. Between the drugs and the torture and the Chair, you were on -- what's your phrase? -- thin ice already. Now Scorpius has no concern for preserving you for future research. He wants the data, and he's killing you to get it.*
*So I'm dying? Right now?*
*Yes. I fear your brain is turning to jello.*
*Well, fuck.*
*She's not coming, John. No one is coming.*
. . .
*John.*
*Yeah, I heard you the first time, Harv.*
*Take my hand, John.*
There's a light, and we're not in Maine anymore. I remember this. When I was about nineteen I passed a wreck in the mountains. The cops had only just arrived, and they were working to get the guy out of the car. But his pickup was crumpled like paper, the rear end hanging off the railing over a drop of hundreds of feet to the river below. Glass was shattered all across the road. As I drove by I could see his head leaning against the one unbroken window, blood streaming down his face.
Harvey's getting pretty creative with his scenarios. I'm trapped in the pickup, and I know that if I stay there I'm going to die. I can feel the truck sway; it's going to slide backwards off the cliff any moment. But I can't get out without help. I need someone to pull me free.
At my side is an EMT -- then he looks up, and it's Harvey, white latex gloves covering his black leather, goggles on his eyes. His gloves are bloody, and he holds one hand out to me.
*John. It's time.*
If I stay I'll die. If I take his hand I admit she's not coming for me.
I'm not stupid; I know how dangerous the Uncharted Territories are. I want to hope, but Harvey's right -- Aeryn is probably dead. And that hurts -- it hurts more than the Chair.
But I still want -- oh god -- I want to go home. I need to go home. I need a sky that's the right color, and girls in bikinis, and music that doesn't sound like a dying llama, and sweet christ I want to see my Dad again before I die.
Is it too much to ask, to go home? To want to live?
I take his hand.
***
"Marauder KT22, you are cleared for docking."
It goes off without a hitch. Which scares the shit out of me. Talyn fast-talked the carrier's automated docking system into clearing us, and only after we were within its defenses did he upload the data about the "Scarran presence" in the system. The carrier's comms traffic goes through the roof by the time the Marauder clears the airlock.
Here we go. I glance over at Aeryn, but she already has her helmet down. I know what she'd look like anyway: closed and intent. I hope to hell she's right about faceplates during battle stations, otherwise we are so screwed. No way Crais or I could walk onto a command carrier, especially this one, and not be recognized.
Crais brings us in, not too neatly, since we're supposed to be badly damaged, and lands us at the end of a row of Marauders. There's a lot of activity in the docking bay, and the only person who seems to notice us is a tech at a console. Aeryn pops the hatch and drops out onto the deck, her pulse rifle across her back. I take a deep breath, close my helmet, and follow her.
I've never been on a carrier before, and it's hard to get a sense of the scale of the thing. It's a lot bigger than Moya: I think she could fit inside the docking bay itself. Dozens of ships -- Marauders, Prowlers, Vigilantes, as well as other classes I don't recognize -- line the bay. Dollies and little golf carts move up and down the rows, carrying staff and equipment. The walls and floors are all dull grey, pierced with gratings, and the noise is oddly stifled.
Suddenly I see six commandos, helmets closed, weapons in hand, heading right for us. My hand goes for Winona but then they're trotting past us to load into a Marauder two slots down. Three Prowlers lift off, and two Marauders follow in quick succession. They're taking the Scarran threat seriously. Good, keep 'em occupied.
Crais drops onto the deck and closes the hatch. "Let's go," he says. I hope the encryption on Talyn's comms holds. But there are no guarantees they won't pick up the signals, so our only protection is to use them seldom.
I follow Aeryn as she leads us out of the bay, weaving between cables and dollies full of equipment, and guides us into a small and utilitarian corridor running towards the bow of the ship. If the information Talyn got was accurate, and they haven't been moved, D'Argo and the other guy are stashed about two levels below the bridge, in a medium-security area. I hope they can still walk; according to Talyn, they're still alive, but there's no information on their medical conditions.
We don't have a lot of time, maybe an arn before the carrier's command staff figures out that there aren't any Scarrans in the area. We have to get in, find them, and get out fast.
Aeryn walks smoothly, without hesitation -- and she should have none. She grew up on a ship like this. With these people. No carpets, no pictures, no laughter that I can hear. It's a military installation, not a home. I can't imagine children here. I keep my hand off Winona with an effort. In their glossy helmets Aeryn and Crais could be any of the thousands of commandos on this ship. It'd be easy to lose them in a crowd.
I feel like we're crawling to the top of a roller-coaster; once we crest the rise, gravity will take over and it'll be a hell of a ride to the bottom. When I was a kid I loved roller-coasters. Now life is too frelling exciting for a manufactured adrenaline-rush.
We move fast and silent, and I'm whispering prayers inside, because even the poor asshole who thinks he's me doesn't deserve to die in this place, alone but for Scorpius. And if there's no way to save him, well, I know what I would want, and at least I can make sure he won't die alone.
***
"Sir, his life-signs are stabilizing!"
Amazing, I survived. I hurt, but that's to be expected. I'm on my back, and the floor is hard and cold beneath me. Opening my eyes, I try to focus on the dark figures dancing and swooping around the room. One of them must be Scorpius, but I can't locate him.
"Are they. It's of no importance. As he claimed, there was little of any value in his ramshackle mind. Give the body to the sub-auditor, Braca. I doubt there is anything more to be learned from Crichton, but she's welcome to try." His voice is spiteful.
I'm not prepared for the wave of rage that washes over me at the sound of his voice. I'm too weak to move but my breath catches and my fists clench against the slick floor. I would claw his ugly eyes out of their sockets barehanded if I could reach him.
After a moment the killing rage eases but the fury remains, a constant warmth in the back of my mind. Where did that come from? Even when Crais stole Talyn I don't remember feeling like that.
I ignore the voices around me and let my eyes drift closed. It's quiet now inside -- I can't hear Harvey anymore. And that's because I *am* Harvey. I remember -- god! -- I *remember* killing Aeryn, the first time Crichton/I was on the Chair, the horror at realizing the chip had been removed but I was still trapped in this frelled-up disorganized brain. But I also remember loving Aeryn, designing the Farscape module, growing up in North Carolina.
The anger is a stew of disappointment, fear, horror of abandonment. I hadn't realized how much Harvey hated Scorpius for abandoning him.
Someone picks me up, forces me to stand; I stumble but they keep me upright. I ignore them, still occupied with examining the changes inside. It's different but the same. I still feel like me. Well, mostly, I think. Harvey had said things wouldn't change much, but Harvey said lots of things I now know were lies. There's only one voice inside my head now, though, and I can't even begin to say what a relief that is. It's quiet again.
What's changed is that everything has more depth. More layers. I open my eyes and see one of my guards. In one sense it's just a Peacekeeper, a bad guy in black. But it's also a comrade, a relative, maybe an aide. I have to concentrate or my vision, my senses, switch back and forth suddenly and I get dizzy.
It'll take a while to get used to it. But there's no time. They're giving me to Supay, and if I end up at High Command I'll never get away.
My three guards drag me down the hall; it looks like they're taking me back to my cell when an alarm goes off. I can recognize the klaxon now: the pattern is the speedy rata-tat that means Scarrans are in the area. One of my three guards peels off, but the other two don't react, they just keep moving me along at the same brisk pace. Down the hall, around the corner, to the lift back to the detention cells. I try to move my feet; by the time we reach the lift I can walk a little, if not steadily. But the world is still canted off-center.
For all the time I've been on the carrier, the detention level has been completely quiet. It's one of the reasons I decided D'Argo was dead. As we come out of the lift, though, I hear someone howling.
I may not be exactly who I was, but I know that voice. And I know what's coming.
Scarrans out in the system didn't prepare my guards for Luxans inside the ship. D'Argo times it well -- as he comes barreling around the corner I howl myself, and wrench hard to the right, kicking out at the guard on the left. Rage is good fuel, and the guards don't expect any fight from someone who was passed out on the floor a thousand microts ago.
I get lucky. My foot hits his pistol, and knocks it out of his hands. The guard on the right I crush against the wall before she has a chance to bring her gun up. Having my hands cuffed together doesn't make it easy but I smash her head against the floor about half a dozen times before she goes limp. I look up to see D'Argo has broken the neck of the other guard.
Sebaceans think weapons will solve everything. So short-sighted.
***
Well, hell. They're not in their cells. Now what? At least Princess Leia had the decency to stay where she was supposed to for *her* rescue.
We can't linger in the detention center; Crais leads us down the hall and around the corner, into a section with a lower security level. We gather in an alcove; Aeryn and I watch the corridor while Crais tries to access the computer systems. But according to the computer, they should be in their cells. Something's hinky here.
Crais shuts down the terminal. "Where would they be?"
I chew on that. This is Scorpius' carrier. If I were Scorpius . . .
*He'll have him in the Chair, John.*
Harvey's been awful quiet this trip. Just as well. But he's right. If Scorpius has me, then he's picking my brain. Into tiny little pieces.
"We need to find Scorpy's lab -- that's where he'll be."
Crais nods, uncertainly, then frowns. "What about Ka D'Argo?"
"Damned if I know. Would they keep him alive?" I look at Aeryn.
She shakes her head. "I don't know." Meaning, "probably not."
"Well, first we find the one we're pretty sure is still alive."
***
"This is a *stupid* idea, John! We need to find the escape pods, not Scorpius' laboratory!" D'Argo heaves the last body into the access passageway and closes the door as quietly as he can. He's doing pretty well; better than I am, anyway. They'd tortured him in a de facto manner but never really put him to the question. Peacekeeper racism blinds them to the most obvious sources of information sometimes.
I'm leaning against the wall; it's about all I can do to stay in one position, and I'm not entirely sure which way is up. The gravity seems to be changing by the microt, but D'Argo hasn't complained so I don't mention it. We're in a side passage that I don't think gets much traffic. Useful, having the memories of a Peacekeeper, even a freak like Scorpius.
"Scorpius's lab is where the data is, D'Argo. Besides, there aren't any pods on this level." I push off the wall and, leaning on D'Argo, point down the hall towards a little-used hatchway to the upper levels.
So I'm lying; how's he going to know?
I am a lucky man. Well, maybe not; if I were lucky I wouldn't be here at all. I would have my own brain back, and I'd be casting for bonefish off Key West with Dad.
But Scorpius's lab was almost empty of workers; we must be on the swing shift. The two techs who were running models on the main banks are now sleeping the sleep of the overworked and underpaid in a closet. Now if only I can get *something* from the computer to give me a head start on Scorpius. No, screw that -- something to get me *home*. Home is where the heart is, home is where you hang your hat, home is where when you go there, they have to take you in . . .
I try not to think about the slowly growing sense that my reactions are off, that maybe Harvey was stronger than he let on. I'm alive, and D'Argo's alive, and we've escaped; everything else is off-topic.
We can't have much time before our escape is discovered, and we still have to figure out a way off this monster ship. I shouldn't be here. But I hunch over the console, tapping controls like I know what I'm doing. The data's the thing. The thing, the thing --
D'Argo's anxious in the other room, holding that chair-leg like a baseball bat. We've both got guns but the internal sensors would detect a pulse blast. "Aren't you *done* yet?"
"No!" It's no good. Harvey knew more about PK computers than I expected; within minutes I'm deep in the carrier's systems, but all the files and research directories are locked. If I were home I'd find passwords on sticky notes next to the terminals, but here there's a chip scanner built into the console. No chip, no data.
"The techs had chips -- " I start to say, and then the alarms start to hoot. The intercom says something garbled about a security breach. Our escape has been discovered. Between that and the Scarran alert, security is going to be doubled. We were lucky enough to make it to the lab without being spotted.
D'Argo's already at the door. "John! Now! I do *not* want to die here!" Like I do? But I need that data. I swear, slap my hand on the console before struggling to my feet.
But we're too late. We're out of time. Two commandos swing through the doorway fast, one of them slamming D'Argo to the floor with the butt of a rifle. I've got two pulse rifles trained on me before I'm halfway out of my chair.
***
END Part 4
I am the darkness in your daughter
I'm the spot beneath the skin
I'm the shadow on the pavement
I'm the broken heart within
-- Yes Virginia I Am --
http://cofax.freeservers.com
Author: cofax
Rating: R
See part 1 for complete headers.
*Part 4: Jailbirds in the Big House*
***
We're a long way from the primary of this system, and it's an old, dim lady. If I were a better astronomer I could say what stage it's in; but all I know is that it doesn't cast a lot of light through the hammond-side windows.
Aeryn's warm in the blanket next to me; she's always been good at taking her rest where she can get it. And we need some rest: we've been running flat out for about 40 arns straight, and there won't be any timeouts once we hit the carrier. So we're resting while Rygel and Stark make some repairs to the Marauder and clue the girls in on the plan. Things have to happen fast -- Moya is running out of time.
We're taking the Marauder to the carrier in a few arns.
The Marauder.
It was Aeryn's idea, start to finish. I'd tried to come up with another way, but we ran out of options. Crais didn't really believe we could do the job, but he wasn't at the monastery, or at the Depository. He'd seen the wreckage afterwards, but not the team in action. Even if the team is down to just me and Aeryn. He had good reason to doubt; he knows I'm no soldier, and Aeryn's a long way from the Peacekeepers now.
He thinks differently now. There's a startled respect in his eyes -- not something I ever wanted to see. Respect from Crais was never high on the wish list.
It went down fast and ugly. Talyn lured the scout in with a leviathan distress call and then let them have it with the cannon, jamming their transmissions all the while. Then the three of us went in. We were already committed by the time I realized there was no preventing a bloodbath. The only question was whose blood it would be. There were six people on that ship.
I keep telling myself I'm a scientist; but I stopped listening a long time ago. I do what I have to, same as she does; and if it doesn't keep her awake -- well, who's to say I'm better off?
I roll over to look at her, and run my hand down the side of her face. She smiles, but doesn't wake. The window above the bunk shows a thin starfield and the edge of the planetoid we're hiding behind.
I should be sleeping, while Stark cleans the carnage out of the Marauder; I need to be fresh for this.
But I'm just staring at the stars and even with Aeryn beside me, I'm cold.
***
*John. Can you hear me?*
*Yeah. Where are we? It's dark.*
*We're in your memory. A camping trip in Maine.*
*Hope it's not raining. I hate sleeping in a wet tent.*
*We don't have much time, John.*
*Time for what?*
*Time before you die. Your psyche is collapsing under the strain of the interrogation. Between the drugs and the torture and the Chair, you were on -- what's your phrase? -- thin ice already. Now Scorpius has no concern for preserving you for future research. He wants the data, and he's killing you to get it.*
*So I'm dying? Right now?*
*Yes. I fear your brain is turning to jello.*
*Well, fuck.*
*She's not coming, John. No one is coming.*
. . .
*John.*
*Yeah, I heard you the first time, Harv.*
*Take my hand, John.*
There's a light, and we're not in Maine anymore. I remember this. When I was about nineteen I passed a wreck in the mountains. The cops had only just arrived, and they were working to get the guy out of the car. But his pickup was crumpled like paper, the rear end hanging off the railing over a drop of hundreds of feet to the river below. Glass was shattered all across the road. As I drove by I could see his head leaning against the one unbroken window, blood streaming down his face.
Harvey's getting pretty creative with his scenarios. I'm trapped in the pickup, and I know that if I stay there I'm going to die. I can feel the truck sway; it's going to slide backwards off the cliff any moment. But I can't get out without help. I need someone to pull me free.
At my side is an EMT -- then he looks up, and it's Harvey, white latex gloves covering his black leather, goggles on his eyes. His gloves are bloody, and he holds one hand out to me.
*John. It's time.*
If I stay I'll die. If I take his hand I admit she's not coming for me.
I'm not stupid; I know how dangerous the Uncharted Territories are. I want to hope, but Harvey's right -- Aeryn is probably dead. And that hurts -- it hurts more than the Chair.
But I still want -- oh god -- I want to go home. I need to go home. I need a sky that's the right color, and girls in bikinis, and music that doesn't sound like a dying llama, and sweet christ I want to see my Dad again before I die.
Is it too much to ask, to go home? To want to live?
I take his hand.
***
"Marauder KT22, you are cleared for docking."
It goes off without a hitch. Which scares the shit out of me. Talyn fast-talked the carrier's automated docking system into clearing us, and only after we were within its defenses did he upload the data about the "Scarran presence" in the system. The carrier's comms traffic goes through the roof by the time the Marauder clears the airlock.
Here we go. I glance over at Aeryn, but she already has her helmet down. I know what she'd look like anyway: closed and intent. I hope to hell she's right about faceplates during battle stations, otherwise we are so screwed. No way Crais or I could walk onto a command carrier, especially this one, and not be recognized.
Crais brings us in, not too neatly, since we're supposed to be badly damaged, and lands us at the end of a row of Marauders. There's a lot of activity in the docking bay, and the only person who seems to notice us is a tech at a console. Aeryn pops the hatch and drops out onto the deck, her pulse rifle across her back. I take a deep breath, close my helmet, and follow her.
I've never been on a carrier before, and it's hard to get a sense of the scale of the thing. It's a lot bigger than Moya: I think she could fit inside the docking bay itself. Dozens of ships -- Marauders, Prowlers, Vigilantes, as well as other classes I don't recognize -- line the bay. Dollies and little golf carts move up and down the rows, carrying staff and equipment. The walls and floors are all dull grey, pierced with gratings, and the noise is oddly stifled.
Suddenly I see six commandos, helmets closed, weapons in hand, heading right for us. My hand goes for Winona but then they're trotting past us to load into a Marauder two slots down. Three Prowlers lift off, and two Marauders follow in quick succession. They're taking the Scarran threat seriously. Good, keep 'em occupied.
Crais drops onto the deck and closes the hatch. "Let's go," he says. I hope the encryption on Talyn's comms holds. But there are no guarantees they won't pick up the signals, so our only protection is to use them seldom.
I follow Aeryn as she leads us out of the bay, weaving between cables and dollies full of equipment, and guides us into a small and utilitarian corridor running towards the bow of the ship. If the information Talyn got was accurate, and they haven't been moved, D'Argo and the other guy are stashed about two levels below the bridge, in a medium-security area. I hope they can still walk; according to Talyn, they're still alive, but there's no information on their medical conditions.
We don't have a lot of time, maybe an arn before the carrier's command staff figures out that there aren't any Scarrans in the area. We have to get in, find them, and get out fast.
Aeryn walks smoothly, without hesitation -- and she should have none. She grew up on a ship like this. With these people. No carpets, no pictures, no laughter that I can hear. It's a military installation, not a home. I can't imagine children here. I keep my hand off Winona with an effort. In their glossy helmets Aeryn and Crais could be any of the thousands of commandos on this ship. It'd be easy to lose them in a crowd.
I feel like we're crawling to the top of a roller-coaster; once we crest the rise, gravity will take over and it'll be a hell of a ride to the bottom. When I was a kid I loved roller-coasters. Now life is too frelling exciting for a manufactured adrenaline-rush.
We move fast and silent, and I'm whispering prayers inside, because even the poor asshole who thinks he's me doesn't deserve to die in this place, alone but for Scorpius. And if there's no way to save him, well, I know what I would want, and at least I can make sure he won't die alone.
***
"Sir, his life-signs are stabilizing!"
Amazing, I survived. I hurt, but that's to be expected. I'm on my back, and the floor is hard and cold beneath me. Opening my eyes, I try to focus on the dark figures dancing and swooping around the room. One of them must be Scorpius, but I can't locate him.
"Are they. It's of no importance. As he claimed, there was little of any value in his ramshackle mind. Give the body to the sub-auditor, Braca. I doubt there is anything more to be learned from Crichton, but she's welcome to try." His voice is spiteful.
I'm not prepared for the wave of rage that washes over me at the sound of his voice. I'm too weak to move but my breath catches and my fists clench against the slick floor. I would claw his ugly eyes out of their sockets barehanded if I could reach him.
After a moment the killing rage eases but the fury remains, a constant warmth in the back of my mind. Where did that come from? Even when Crais stole Talyn I don't remember feeling like that.
I ignore the voices around me and let my eyes drift closed. It's quiet now inside -- I can't hear Harvey anymore. And that's because I *am* Harvey. I remember -- god! -- I *remember* killing Aeryn, the first time Crichton/I was on the Chair, the horror at realizing the chip had been removed but I was still trapped in this frelled-up disorganized brain. But I also remember loving Aeryn, designing the Farscape module, growing up in North Carolina.
The anger is a stew of disappointment, fear, horror of abandonment. I hadn't realized how much Harvey hated Scorpius for abandoning him.
Someone picks me up, forces me to stand; I stumble but they keep me upright. I ignore them, still occupied with examining the changes inside. It's different but the same. I still feel like me. Well, mostly, I think. Harvey had said things wouldn't change much, but Harvey said lots of things I now know were lies. There's only one voice inside my head now, though, and I can't even begin to say what a relief that is. It's quiet again.
What's changed is that everything has more depth. More layers. I open my eyes and see one of my guards. In one sense it's just a Peacekeeper, a bad guy in black. But it's also a comrade, a relative, maybe an aide. I have to concentrate or my vision, my senses, switch back and forth suddenly and I get dizzy.
It'll take a while to get used to it. But there's no time. They're giving me to Supay, and if I end up at High Command I'll never get away.
My three guards drag me down the hall; it looks like they're taking me back to my cell when an alarm goes off. I can recognize the klaxon now: the pattern is the speedy rata-tat that means Scarrans are in the area. One of my three guards peels off, but the other two don't react, they just keep moving me along at the same brisk pace. Down the hall, around the corner, to the lift back to the detention cells. I try to move my feet; by the time we reach the lift I can walk a little, if not steadily. But the world is still canted off-center.
For all the time I've been on the carrier, the detention level has been completely quiet. It's one of the reasons I decided D'Argo was dead. As we come out of the lift, though, I hear someone howling.
I may not be exactly who I was, but I know that voice. And I know what's coming.
Scarrans out in the system didn't prepare my guards for Luxans inside the ship. D'Argo times it well -- as he comes barreling around the corner I howl myself, and wrench hard to the right, kicking out at the guard on the left. Rage is good fuel, and the guards don't expect any fight from someone who was passed out on the floor a thousand microts ago.
I get lucky. My foot hits his pistol, and knocks it out of his hands. The guard on the right I crush against the wall before she has a chance to bring her gun up. Having my hands cuffed together doesn't make it easy but I smash her head against the floor about half a dozen times before she goes limp. I look up to see D'Argo has broken the neck of the other guard.
Sebaceans think weapons will solve everything. So short-sighted.
***
Well, hell. They're not in their cells. Now what? At least Princess Leia had the decency to stay where she was supposed to for *her* rescue.
We can't linger in the detention center; Crais leads us down the hall and around the corner, into a section with a lower security level. We gather in an alcove; Aeryn and I watch the corridor while Crais tries to access the computer systems. But according to the computer, they should be in their cells. Something's hinky here.
Crais shuts down the terminal. "Where would they be?"
I chew on that. This is Scorpius' carrier. If I were Scorpius . . .
*He'll have him in the Chair, John.*
Harvey's been awful quiet this trip. Just as well. But he's right. If Scorpius has me, then he's picking my brain. Into tiny little pieces.
"We need to find Scorpy's lab -- that's where he'll be."
Crais nods, uncertainly, then frowns. "What about Ka D'Argo?"
"Damned if I know. Would they keep him alive?" I look at Aeryn.
She shakes her head. "I don't know." Meaning, "probably not."
"Well, first we find the one we're pretty sure is still alive."
***
"This is a *stupid* idea, John! We need to find the escape pods, not Scorpius' laboratory!" D'Argo heaves the last body into the access passageway and closes the door as quietly as he can. He's doing pretty well; better than I am, anyway. They'd tortured him in a de facto manner but never really put him to the question. Peacekeeper racism blinds them to the most obvious sources of information sometimes.
I'm leaning against the wall; it's about all I can do to stay in one position, and I'm not entirely sure which way is up. The gravity seems to be changing by the microt, but D'Argo hasn't complained so I don't mention it. We're in a side passage that I don't think gets much traffic. Useful, having the memories of a Peacekeeper, even a freak like Scorpius.
"Scorpius's lab is where the data is, D'Argo. Besides, there aren't any pods on this level." I push off the wall and, leaning on D'Argo, point down the hall towards a little-used hatchway to the upper levels.
So I'm lying; how's he going to know?
I am a lucky man. Well, maybe not; if I were lucky I wouldn't be here at all. I would have my own brain back, and I'd be casting for bonefish off Key West with Dad.
But Scorpius's lab was almost empty of workers; we must be on the swing shift. The two techs who were running models on the main banks are now sleeping the sleep of the overworked and underpaid in a closet. Now if only I can get *something* from the computer to give me a head start on Scorpius. No, screw that -- something to get me *home*. Home is where the heart is, home is where you hang your hat, home is where when you go there, they have to take you in . . .
I try not to think about the slowly growing sense that my reactions are off, that maybe Harvey was stronger than he let on. I'm alive, and D'Argo's alive, and we've escaped; everything else is off-topic.
We can't have much time before our escape is discovered, and we still have to figure out a way off this monster ship. I shouldn't be here. But I hunch over the console, tapping controls like I know what I'm doing. The data's the thing. The thing, the thing --
D'Argo's anxious in the other room, holding that chair-leg like a baseball bat. We've both got guns but the internal sensors would detect a pulse blast. "Aren't you *done* yet?"
"No!" It's no good. Harvey knew more about PK computers than I expected; within minutes I'm deep in the carrier's systems, but all the files and research directories are locked. If I were home I'd find passwords on sticky notes next to the terminals, but here there's a chip scanner built into the console. No chip, no data.
"The techs had chips -- " I start to say, and then the alarms start to hoot. The intercom says something garbled about a security breach. Our escape has been discovered. Between that and the Scarran alert, security is going to be doubled. We were lucky enough to make it to the lab without being spotted.
D'Argo's already at the door. "John! Now! I do *not* want to die here!" Like I do? But I need that data. I swear, slap my hand on the console before struggling to my feet.
But we're too late. We're out of time. Two commandos swing through the doorway fast, one of them slamming D'Argo to the floor with the butt of a rifle. I've got two pulse rifles trained on me before I'm halfway out of my chair.
***
END Part 4
I am the darkness in your daughter
I'm the spot beneath the skin
I'm the shadow on the pavement
I'm the broken heart within
-- Yes Virginia I Am --
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