Home :: The Stacks
John Crichton lay quietly on the floor of his cell. Across from him, Stark fiddled around with something Crichton could not see, all the while raving on and on about the Aurora chair. He was welcome to have it all to himself as far as Crichton was concerned.
He turned onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. Completely uninspiring, Crichton decided, maybe a tin ceiling or a mural would help. He laughed to himself recalling how he��d told Aeryn that the famed Zelbinian needed carpet to make it look homey to him.
Aeryn.
Chiana should have made it back to Moya by now. If she��d been killed or captured John had an idea that Scorpius or Crais would have used that in their co-ordinated campaign to wear down his resistance to the chair. Besides, he had heard an officer report to Scorpius on an unauthorized prowler launch. Chiana was safe, he just hoped she had returned to Moya in time to save Aeryn��s life.
He could not help but laugh quietly as he thought of what he was really hiding from the chair. Stark looked over at him with an unfathomable expression on his face before returning to pacing the cell muttered. Crichton thought he heard a metallic clicking as Stark lingered by the door, but he must have imagined it. Easily done, he supposed, when your memories were being hacked into by such charming folks. Well, some of them were charming, John amended. Aeryn had her own brand of charm, as did Gilina. He grinned momentarily as memories of their meeting on the Zelbinian rushed toward him from the place where he had somehow hidden them from Scorpius, PK Barbie and that awful piece of furniture. He��d take a seat in an electric chair rather than Scorpius�� memory peeler any day of the week.
John must have fallen asleep because the next thing he was aware of was being pulled up by two burley Peacekeepers and half dragged out of the cell. Scorpius offered his now familiar entreaty to stop resisting the chair. Crichton responded with his equally familiar denial of holding anything back concerning wormholes. It came as no great shock that Scorpius was somewhat less than convinced and signaled the guards to put him in the chair. Despite his dread of what was coming, Crichton did not bother to struggle. It was pretty much useless except from acquiring new bruises on his limbs. Once he was firmly strapped in the guards stepped back.
PK Barbie flipped some switches at Scorpius�� command and the wrenching and painful sensation of having his memories pried from him began. The restraints cut into his wrists and ankles as he began his forced deja vu once more. He was on Earth talking to his father for what would turn out to be the final time, he gave Furlough his data on wormholes, D��Argo forced a dentic into his mouth, he and Aeryn were on the false Earth, and he relived again his trip through the wormhole.
The faces seemed distorted to him, like when he was a child and he opened up a kaleidoscope and saw all the plastic beads and bits inside before bothering to look through the viewer. Breathing hard, he became aware that the nasty little trip down wormhole memory lane had ceased for now. Scorpius still seemed irritated that the stalemate progressed and ordered the Gamorean guards to return him to his cell. They dumped him unceremoniously in pretty much the same spot as they had picked him up from. Crichton curled into a ball and slept, his dreams filled with Scorpius, Crais, and the chair.