Blue Eyes - Chapter 26 A
Oct. 22nd, 2003 05:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
itsallovernowI know it seems like slow going ( on the writing end - but the real life thing. So pesky. And those damned plot points!!). But I'm trying to plow through. Many thanks to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fbf for plot musings - even though I haven't incorporated her suggestions yet - and to crankygrrl for support, even though she is still out of the LJ loop due to big brother! That I've gotten this far - even in the first draft version is due entirely to the supportive feedback I've recieved. So thank you to everyone!
Chapter 26
She’d been shot on Wisterna Prime, randomly caught in the crossfire between her soldiers and a small group of trapped Nebari and the pain had been blooming, a hazy red shock of agony. She’d had to fight through it, stay conscious as Teyvn pushed her back behind himself and interpreted her slurred orders as they moved out. Everything had been red and starry and searing, her concentration pinpointed on staying upright, surviving. Now her whole body felt like it was trapped in that moment.
Innovations in technology had made the Chair faster and sharper, narrowing in more quickly on the memories it sought. But will and training were serving her well, and as her body glowed with pain and her mind wept for release, the chair elicited only fragments and possibilities to dance before her on the screen. She could only hope that they were temptation enough.
When the Chair came to a stop, tears and mucus and sweat covering her face, the wide-eyed tech gave her a sip of water.
“How,” he started to ask, but then turned away, uncertain of what was happening, and she tried to pull herself together, tried to harness the last remaining bit of energy she had to maintain this façade.
Scorpius leaned against the control panel, “Officer Sun,” he began slowly. “I believe you’re keeping things from me, however,” he looked at his assistant, who shrugged.
“The images and memories appear genuine,” she said. “But fragmented.” Scorpius looked at Aeryn, who closed her eyes against his assessing gaze.
“Send her back to the planet,” she whispered. “Please.”
“Not quite yet,” Scorpius replied, and signaled to his assistant to start the Chair up again.
She felt the scream tear from her throat, and didn’t care, couldn’t care about the fear or the pain, all she could do was concentrate, try not to let go of her memories and her knowledge, at least not yet.
***
“Find him.” It was a mantra that D’Argo kept repeating to himself, making it into a pledge and a promise for Katralla, Tyno and the Empress. It was a fool’s errand though. He knew where John had gone, finally realizing what that blank, slack-jawed look had meant microts before he hit the floor. They’d been right. There was neural tech in John’s head and its drive had just become its host’s imperative – taking John back to the creature responsible for stranding him on this planet in the first place. The shouted orders to his soldiers to search high and low until they found Crichton were placations – to the Royal Family, to his soldiers and to himself, answering his guilt that he’d failed Aeryn already. And he’d rescinded the orders immediately, unwilling to pull them away from the rigors of disengaging themselves from this planet.
And for the love of Chilnack, Anix should have been returned by now if Scorpius had chosen to accept Aeryn’s trade. Her life was forfeit regardless, but D’Argo had hoped that Anix could be saved. He searched for Crichton himself, despite the surety behind his knowledge because it had to be done. His head throbbed, reminding him that he’d been careless, on several fronts, too willing to have faith in his memory of John Crichton.
The tech in the hangar bay, looking as ill and concussed as D’Argo himself, confirmed a missing ship. A Skimmer, used primarily for transport to and from the Vigilante. It was the last vestige of proof that D’Argo needed that John was no longer in control of himself. The Skimmer had a similar console tot he Prowler, coordinates were programmed in the same way. Skimmer’s were old ships, old techs. But as far as D’Argo knew, John had never flown them and they were just different enough from a Prowler that there was a real possibility of slamming the ship into another object.
D’Argo looked at the equally unhappy tech and swore loudly. At this point, he could only hope that John ended up making things better for everyone instead of worse.
“Make sure that no one else leaves from this bay,” he snapped, and the tech winced, but said, “Yes, Sir.”
***
Anix was cold. She held her arms close to her chest, her hands tucked into her armpits. She didn’t want to ask for another blanket, though, and have the guard look through her like she was something lesser. She was chilled, but she was also scared and lonely and none of that was proving to be effective against the unexpected boredom or the overwhelming need to ask someone about her mother.
Every five or ten microts, she’d get up, pace around the tiny cell, trying to fuel her anger and hold onto it. She’d work up a strong head of steam over the indignity of the forced confinement, and the cold, and the supercilious attitude, and then it would seep away as her stomach growled, or footsteps clinked outside her cell, and finally, the boredom replaced the rest of her emotions and she sat on the hard cot, clutching her arms.
When the door swung open, though revealing a scowling Braca in the doorway, the fear zoomed back up to the forefront.
“Come with me,” he said, disgust heavy in his voice. The two guards behind him moved to help her obey his orders, eradicating any intention she had at refusal.
They lead her to a small medical facility and her stomach compressed into a hard knot.
“Scorpius wants to make certain that the chair won’t kill her,” Braca said to the waiting med tech. “She’s younger than any of the previous test subjects.”
Anix looked at the med tech, eyes wide and wary, but the tech just motioned her to sit on the table and performed a routine exam. Reflexes, eyesight, brainwaves, heat signature, and blood chemistry. Painless and non-threatening, but the silence accompanying the examination was eerie.
She’d been examined by former Peacekeepers before, received black market inoculations and vaccinations from them in fact, many of which had proved to be far more painful than this simple once over. But she’d never felt anything like the loathing distaste and disinterest she was getting from this tech.
Braca looked as bored as she did while they waited for the tech to go over the results of the tests, and finally, when she was ready to start talking to any of them to relieve some of the silence, the tech spoke up.
“I don’t think the chair will kill her, although she’s young. Her brain is still developing. Scorpius needs to be careful to keep to short sessions.”
Braca nodded and signaled to the guards to take hold of Anix again, but they stopped as the tech frowned and spoke.
“There’s something off, though,” he finally said.
Braca huffed impatiently. “It’s probably nothing,” the tech backpeddled rapidly. “It shouldn’t effect how she reacts to the chair.”
“But,” Braca bit the word off.
“But,” the tech swallowed heavily. “Her heat signature is off, not fully compatible with a Sebacean of her age. And her blood chemistry is strange.” Braca eyed her dubiously.
“It’s probably nothing,” the tech repeated, this time with more assurance, and a glint of curiosity in his eye. “But I’d like to follow up, do some other tests after she’s finished in the Aurora Chair.”
Braca gave a sharp nod, and the guards grabbed Anix, hauling her off the table.
She looked at them sourly while Braca said to the tech, “You may submit your request to Scorpius. He might be interested in the further results of these tests.”
“Thank you sir,” the tech answered, and Anix was marched out.
***
It was like flying in a dream, his hands on the controls, Harvey’s instructions guiding his motions. It made him feel slightly naseaus, but he couldn’t beat Harvey back for longer than a few minutes, and when he let go, the equations danced and tangled, coming together to offer him glimpses of comprehension, so beautiful and seductive that at one point he drifted back into the warm, dusty classroom to write them down, and was only pulled from this happy place by a shrill scream of fear and outrage.
“Keep your mind a bit more focused Crichton, unless you want to end our journey by slamming us into space debris or Scorpius command carrier.” John could feel Harvey’s breath, sweet and slightly putrid on his cheek, and he wrested back control, taking the small ship into a rolling dip, eliciting another shriek and a growled threat.
“I’ll focus,” he said, “If you keep your opinions to yourself.”
He rolled the ship back out into a horizontal position, and Harvey sat back, giving him some distance – physical and mental, and muttered, “Fine.”
The distance was enough for John to look at his hands, tight around the controls of an unfamiliar ship, at his body, flying himself to his old enemy, but there was no real room for regret. Whether this was truly his decision, or Harvey’s manipulation, he was going to Scorpius, and Anix and Aeryn were going to be safe. He was willing to trade just about anything to guarantee that.
***
She didn’t remember vomiting last time, but she also hadn’t had cycles of training to withstand the assault of the chair on her senses either. And apparently, the side effect of being able to hold certain things back was vomiting. Which gave her a vicious pleasure, fed by the disgust on the faces of the techs who had to clean up after her. Of course it could have been the images of her child, overlaid with assassinations, the destruction of worlds, losses sustained in battles, and the lean, naked body of John Crichton, at which Scorpius had merely raised an eyebrow.
Her stomach ached, her eyes burned from the stream of tears. Her throat was raw, and she smelled like sweat and fear and bile. But so far, she hadn’t given anything away that was vital, had maintained the hints of promise, and in one sacrificial burst, the chair had torn from her the image of the star opening up and swallowing the Dreadnought, and the face of John Crichton, building the weapon that lead to the destruction, followed by his death.
It still caught at her, but she didn’t have any energy left to mourn Jack, or Crais or Talyn for that matter, she barely had the energy to sustain herself.
“Please,” she whispered, after the chair had stopped for what she prayed would be the final time. “Send Anix back to the planet. Take me with you to High Command, or kill me and show them the body.”
Scoprius sighed heavily, echoing her own sigh of disappointment when her daughter had done something she wished she didn’t have to acknowledge.
“You are still keeping things from me, Captain,” he said, shaking his head.
“You still have my daughter,” she spit out.
When she said that, the ships klaxon alarms blared out once, red lights flashed, and then stopped just as suddenly.
Things were hazy, blood red and blurred, but she held on, hissing through the pain and the hallucinations and the fear. Held on because she knew she could.
“I want information about what’s going on within the rebellion,” he said pleasantly, “and while you’ve given me hints, I have no way of knowing what more you can give me.” He bared his teeth at her. “I am not someone to bargain with, Captain Sun. I’m surprised that you’re even trying.” She felt tears leaking down her fast, flowing past her lips to blend with the salty tang of her blood in her mouth, but she said nothing.
“Very well,” he said, sighing again.
He looked towards the doorway. “Bring her in lieutenant.”
As soon as she saw Anix bracketed by the guards, she started to struggle again. “ You frelling bastard. Let her go.”
“You had your chance, Aeryn,” he said, not unkindly. “And I doubt this child will fight me.”
The color had drained from Anix’s face as she looked at her mother in the chair, at Scorpius strolling towards her.
“It will hurt,” he said to Anix, “but if you don’t fight it, if you don’t resist, it will be over quickly.”
Summoning everything she had left, Aeryn said calmly and coldly, “Stop this.” Scorpius turned questioningly at her tone.
“Do you have something helpful to add, Captain?”
“Let her go and I’ll give you wormholes.” Scorpius turned all the way around to face her, his eyes a light with interest.
“And, how, may I ask, will you do that?”
She swallowed, and begged John silently to forgive her someday.
“I can give you John Crichton.”
“Really,” he said, stalking closer to her.
“Yes,” she hissed, and he smiled at her, wide and greedy, and was interrupted by a very nervous looking soldier who had appeared in the doorway.
“Sir,” the soldier’s voice quivered, and Scorpius turned, growling. “What is it?”
The soldier hesitated, but forced himself to walk over to Scorpius and deliver his message in a voice to low for Aeryn to hear.
When the soldier was finished, Scorpius smiled again, this time in glee. “It’s a delightful offer, Captain Sun,” he said, “but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.”
She shook her head, desperate for him to reconsider and he had mercy on her.
“John Crichton just docked his ship in our hangar bay,” he said, “I’m afraid you have nothing left to trade.”
fbf for plot musings - even though I haven't incorporated her suggestions yet - and to crankygrrl for support, even though she is still out of the LJ loop due to big brother! That I've gotten this far - even in the first draft version is due entirely to the supportive feedback I've recieved. So thank you to everyone!Chapter 26
She’d been shot on Wisterna Prime, randomly caught in the crossfire between her soldiers and a small group of trapped Nebari and the pain had been blooming, a hazy red shock of agony. She’d had to fight through it, stay conscious as Teyvn pushed her back behind himself and interpreted her slurred orders as they moved out. Everything had been red and starry and searing, her concentration pinpointed on staying upright, surviving. Now her whole body felt like it was trapped in that moment.
Innovations in technology had made the Chair faster and sharper, narrowing in more quickly on the memories it sought. But will and training were serving her well, and as her body glowed with pain and her mind wept for release, the chair elicited only fragments and possibilities to dance before her on the screen. She could only hope that they were temptation enough.
When the Chair came to a stop, tears and mucus and sweat covering her face, the wide-eyed tech gave her a sip of water.
“How,” he started to ask, but then turned away, uncertain of what was happening, and she tried to pull herself together, tried to harness the last remaining bit of energy she had to maintain this façade.
Scorpius leaned against the control panel, “Officer Sun,” he began slowly. “I believe you’re keeping things from me, however,” he looked at his assistant, who shrugged.
“The images and memories appear genuine,” she said. “But fragmented.” Scorpius looked at Aeryn, who closed her eyes against his assessing gaze.
“Send her back to the planet,” she whispered. “Please.”
“Not quite yet,” Scorpius replied, and signaled to his assistant to start the Chair up again.
She felt the scream tear from her throat, and didn’t care, couldn’t care about the fear or the pain, all she could do was concentrate, try not to let go of her memories and her knowledge, at least not yet.
***
“Find him.” It was a mantra that D’Argo kept repeating to himself, making it into a pledge and a promise for Katralla, Tyno and the Empress. It was a fool’s errand though. He knew where John had gone, finally realizing what that blank, slack-jawed look had meant microts before he hit the floor. They’d been right. There was neural tech in John’s head and its drive had just become its host’s imperative – taking John back to the creature responsible for stranding him on this planet in the first place. The shouted orders to his soldiers to search high and low until they found Crichton were placations – to the Royal Family, to his soldiers and to himself, answering his guilt that he’d failed Aeryn already. And he’d rescinded the orders immediately, unwilling to pull them away from the rigors of disengaging themselves from this planet.
And for the love of Chilnack, Anix should have been returned by now if Scorpius had chosen to accept Aeryn’s trade. Her life was forfeit regardless, but D’Argo had hoped that Anix could be saved. He searched for Crichton himself, despite the surety behind his knowledge because it had to be done. His head throbbed, reminding him that he’d been careless, on several fronts, too willing to have faith in his memory of John Crichton.
The tech in the hangar bay, looking as ill and concussed as D’Argo himself, confirmed a missing ship. A Skimmer, used primarily for transport to and from the Vigilante. It was the last vestige of proof that D’Argo needed that John was no longer in control of himself. The Skimmer had a similar console tot he Prowler, coordinates were programmed in the same way. Skimmer’s were old ships, old techs. But as far as D’Argo knew, John had never flown them and they were just different enough from a Prowler that there was a real possibility of slamming the ship into another object.
D’Argo looked at the equally unhappy tech and swore loudly. At this point, he could only hope that John ended up making things better for everyone instead of worse.
“Make sure that no one else leaves from this bay,” he snapped, and the tech winced, but said, “Yes, Sir.”
***
Anix was cold. She held her arms close to her chest, her hands tucked into her armpits. She didn’t want to ask for another blanket, though, and have the guard look through her like she was something lesser. She was chilled, but she was also scared and lonely and none of that was proving to be effective against the unexpected boredom or the overwhelming need to ask someone about her mother.
Every five or ten microts, she’d get up, pace around the tiny cell, trying to fuel her anger and hold onto it. She’d work up a strong head of steam over the indignity of the forced confinement, and the cold, and the supercilious attitude, and then it would seep away as her stomach growled, or footsteps clinked outside her cell, and finally, the boredom replaced the rest of her emotions and she sat on the hard cot, clutching her arms.
When the door swung open, though revealing a scowling Braca in the doorway, the fear zoomed back up to the forefront.
“Come with me,” he said, disgust heavy in his voice. The two guards behind him moved to help her obey his orders, eradicating any intention she had at refusal.
They lead her to a small medical facility and her stomach compressed into a hard knot.
“Scorpius wants to make certain that the chair won’t kill her,” Braca said to the waiting med tech. “She’s younger than any of the previous test subjects.”
Anix looked at the med tech, eyes wide and wary, but the tech just motioned her to sit on the table and performed a routine exam. Reflexes, eyesight, brainwaves, heat signature, and blood chemistry. Painless and non-threatening, but the silence accompanying the examination was eerie.
She’d been examined by former Peacekeepers before, received black market inoculations and vaccinations from them in fact, many of which had proved to be far more painful than this simple once over. But she’d never felt anything like the loathing distaste and disinterest she was getting from this tech.
Braca looked as bored as she did while they waited for the tech to go over the results of the tests, and finally, when she was ready to start talking to any of them to relieve some of the silence, the tech spoke up.
“I don’t think the chair will kill her, although she’s young. Her brain is still developing. Scorpius needs to be careful to keep to short sessions.”
Braca nodded and signaled to the guards to take hold of Anix again, but they stopped as the tech frowned and spoke.
“There’s something off, though,” he finally said.
Braca huffed impatiently. “It’s probably nothing,” the tech backpeddled rapidly. “It shouldn’t effect how she reacts to the chair.”
“But,” Braca bit the word off.
“But,” the tech swallowed heavily. “Her heat signature is off, not fully compatible with a Sebacean of her age. And her blood chemistry is strange.” Braca eyed her dubiously.
“It’s probably nothing,” the tech repeated, this time with more assurance, and a glint of curiosity in his eye. “But I’d like to follow up, do some other tests after she’s finished in the Aurora Chair.”
Braca gave a sharp nod, and the guards grabbed Anix, hauling her off the table.
She looked at them sourly while Braca said to the tech, “You may submit your request to Scorpius. He might be interested in the further results of these tests.”
“Thank you sir,” the tech answered, and Anix was marched out.
***
It was like flying in a dream, his hands on the controls, Harvey’s instructions guiding his motions. It made him feel slightly naseaus, but he couldn’t beat Harvey back for longer than a few minutes, and when he let go, the equations danced and tangled, coming together to offer him glimpses of comprehension, so beautiful and seductive that at one point he drifted back into the warm, dusty classroom to write them down, and was only pulled from this happy place by a shrill scream of fear and outrage.
“Keep your mind a bit more focused Crichton, unless you want to end our journey by slamming us into space debris or Scorpius command carrier.” John could feel Harvey’s breath, sweet and slightly putrid on his cheek, and he wrested back control, taking the small ship into a rolling dip, eliciting another shriek and a growled threat.
“I’ll focus,” he said, “If you keep your opinions to yourself.”
He rolled the ship back out into a horizontal position, and Harvey sat back, giving him some distance – physical and mental, and muttered, “Fine.”
The distance was enough for John to look at his hands, tight around the controls of an unfamiliar ship, at his body, flying himself to his old enemy, but there was no real room for regret. Whether this was truly his decision, or Harvey’s manipulation, he was going to Scorpius, and Anix and Aeryn were going to be safe. He was willing to trade just about anything to guarantee that.
***
She didn’t remember vomiting last time, but she also hadn’t had cycles of training to withstand the assault of the chair on her senses either. And apparently, the side effect of being able to hold certain things back was vomiting. Which gave her a vicious pleasure, fed by the disgust on the faces of the techs who had to clean up after her. Of course it could have been the images of her child, overlaid with assassinations, the destruction of worlds, losses sustained in battles, and the lean, naked body of John Crichton, at which Scorpius had merely raised an eyebrow.
Her stomach ached, her eyes burned from the stream of tears. Her throat was raw, and she smelled like sweat and fear and bile. But so far, she hadn’t given anything away that was vital, had maintained the hints of promise, and in one sacrificial burst, the chair had torn from her the image of the star opening up and swallowing the Dreadnought, and the face of John Crichton, building the weapon that lead to the destruction, followed by his death.
It still caught at her, but she didn’t have any energy left to mourn Jack, or Crais or Talyn for that matter, she barely had the energy to sustain herself.
“Please,” she whispered, after the chair had stopped for what she prayed would be the final time. “Send Anix back to the planet. Take me with you to High Command, or kill me and show them the body.”
Scoprius sighed heavily, echoing her own sigh of disappointment when her daughter had done something she wished she didn’t have to acknowledge.
“You are still keeping things from me, Captain,” he said, shaking his head.
“You still have my daughter,” she spit out.
When she said that, the ships klaxon alarms blared out once, red lights flashed, and then stopped just as suddenly.
Things were hazy, blood red and blurred, but she held on, hissing through the pain and the hallucinations and the fear. Held on because she knew she could.
“I want information about what’s going on within the rebellion,” he said pleasantly, “and while you’ve given me hints, I have no way of knowing what more you can give me.” He bared his teeth at her. “I am not someone to bargain with, Captain Sun. I’m surprised that you’re even trying.” She felt tears leaking down her fast, flowing past her lips to blend with the salty tang of her blood in her mouth, but she said nothing.
“Very well,” he said, sighing again.
He looked towards the doorway. “Bring her in lieutenant.”
As soon as she saw Anix bracketed by the guards, she started to struggle again. “ You frelling bastard. Let her go.”
“You had your chance, Aeryn,” he said, not unkindly. “And I doubt this child will fight me.”
The color had drained from Anix’s face as she looked at her mother in the chair, at Scorpius strolling towards her.
“It will hurt,” he said to Anix, “but if you don’t fight it, if you don’t resist, it will be over quickly.”
Summoning everything she had left, Aeryn said calmly and coldly, “Stop this.” Scorpius turned questioningly at her tone.
“Do you have something helpful to add, Captain?”
“Let her go and I’ll give you wormholes.” Scorpius turned all the way around to face her, his eyes a light with interest.
“And, how, may I ask, will you do that?”
She swallowed, and begged John silently to forgive her someday.
“I can give you John Crichton.”
“Really,” he said, stalking closer to her.
“Yes,” she hissed, and he smiled at her, wide and greedy, and was interrupted by a very nervous looking soldier who had appeared in the doorway.
“Sir,” the soldier’s voice quivered, and Scorpius turned, growling. “What is it?”
The soldier hesitated, but forced himself to walk over to Scorpius and deliver his message in a voice to low for Aeryn to hear.
When the soldier was finished, Scorpius smiled again, this time in glee. “It’s a delightful offer, Captain Sun,” he said, “but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.”
She shook her head, desperate for him to reconsider and he had mercy on her.
“John Crichton just docked his ship in our hangar bay,” he said, “I’m afraid you have nothing left to trade.”
