Log 0015 - [Voice]

[keeps_a_cool_head]

It is with considerable disappointment that I report the departure of Hiziki Gard.

A word to the Admiral: make certain the next warden you assign me is sustainable. Inconsistencies and lapses are a sign of disorganization within your operations.

[Private to Catra]

I trust you've recovered from your ordeal.

[Private to the Boy, Mira]

The Chair is ready for its initial testing.

[Spam for Crichton]

[Now unpaired, Scorpius feels at liberty to test a few less-than-savory parts of his growing arsenal in the battle for John's mind. He waits patiently in the hallway towards Crichton's room, working diligently on Francis' crossword puzzle. Most of the human references escape him, but he's been doing research. Slowly but surely he'll understand this perplexing species that overwhelms the Barge in sheer number]

Comments

[keeps_a_cool_head]

[Tellingly, there's no one in the vast span of memories that resembles anything like what Scorpius is. He bucks abruptly in the chair, snarling out an indistinguishable slew of words as the Chair digs and digs at what's hidden. Without the necessary tools to properly direct the flow of memory, the Chair makes random, indistinct jumps through time, attempting to navigate vast recesses of data without rhyme or reason.

A dark, windowless chamber, listening to his own thoughts for the first time; the beginnings of learning to meditate - his death by heat exhaustion, lying on the ground of a Shadow Depository watching Crichton's retreating back - commanding his first medium-sized crew, some of whom can just barely hide their disdain - a single, grey cell with a deformed, badly dehydrated child locked inside, a lizard-like creature standing over and berating it for perceived genetic faults as it cries for water.

Wormholes.

He's alone when he spots his first one, barely an adolescent fleeing in a stolen ship with pursuers right behind. The ship is tiny and can't manage the speed his enemies have; around him, consoles blare warningly, echoing the noises the machine under the Boy's fingers begins to make.

This is the end. A last stand is traditional, isn't it? He pulls a pulse pistol out from under the pilot chair, reaching out with his other hand to stall the engines and conserve power. There are five right behind him: assuming they don't blast him out of the sky, he's got a slim chance to shoot the boarding party and take off again in the confusion. If they're Scarrans - the lizard-like creatures he knows intimately well - then his gun won't do much good in harming them. But he can't think of anything else; there hadn't been time to create back-up plans. All he knows is that he would rather face death than recapture.

And then his viewscreen floods with blue light.

Temporarily blinded, he drops back into his chair, squinting with his arm raised as he twists the ship around, attempting to find the source of the blast. A new weapon, perhaps?

But no; he manages to turn the ship around just in time to see enemy vessels #4 and #5 get sucked in after their companions, disappearing down a long, thin corridor to nowhere.

And just as quickly, the tunnel closes up again.

In the Chair, Scorpius begins to make audible noises of complaint; an alarming sound by anyone that naturally stoic. He swallows hard, repeatedly, struggling to keep himself in the moment. It only half works: now, each memory brought forth causes new and exponential pain that leaves him sweating and shaking with each successive breath]

[velocette]

[The Boy is renowned at home for his indifference to pain. He's no sadist, he doesn't enjoy others' suffering; but he has never been swayed by it or sympathetic to it, either. That's probably something that should have been shared beforehand, because he waits maybe a beat longer than another person would have, before he pulls the Chair's orders away from Scorpius's mind.

He watches Scorpius carefully, and all the while he can't stop wondering what colors were there in space. Surely they weren't all black and white the way he remembers stars seeming as a child. Surely the light Scorpius saw had to have some hue besides 'snow'? He had always thought that space must be beautiful. He remembers being a very small child and hearing man's first steps on the moon. It seems like child's play next to the things he just saw.]

Are you still with me?

[keeps_a_cool_head]

[Surprisingly, Scorpius is strangely all right with the Boy's commitment to seeing a project through. Pain will fade, but knowledge lasts forever: he finds himself grateful. That is, once he can think straight again.

The Chair slows down and eventually comes to a full stop, but Scorpius doesn't yet stir. His eyes remain closed until the Boy asks his question, at which point they open and take a brief second to find and focus on him.

He opens his mouth to speak, and finds he can't; not yet. So instead he nods, and begins to step out, steadying his gait with care.

Finally, he manages to speak after climbing to his feet]

...My thanks to you for a successful first test run.

[velocette]

[The Boy had moved to catch him if he fell, but he's glad when that's not necessary. He decides when Scorpius doesn't appear to be disoriented for long, that he can do this.]

Yeah. It was my pleasure, thanks for inviting me.

[Which is a polite way of expressing how utterly, entirely excited he is.]

I won't tell anyone what I saw, of course.

[keeps_a_cool_head]

[Once out of the chair, Scorpius recovers remarkably quickly. He's slightly subdued from the experience, but this could be owed to what's been seen instead of the physical pain brought with it. He turns back to the Boy, giving a small but satisfied grin.]

I know.

I should warn you: prolonged exposure is still risky. If we are to try it against you, we need to do it in ten to fifteen microt bursts: no more.

[velocette]

[He's hopeful that his own recovery will be as smooth, but it's a vague hope. Scorpius may not belong to any species, but he's very clearly a few steps ahead of a wiry, underfed street punk like the Boy, physically speaking.]

You've done micro bursts before? ...Though I guess if you haven't, it's not like you can practice on someone else first. It'll be all right.

[keeps_a_cool_head]

[Scorpius has found that in his experience, different people react to the chair differently. It's certainly far more painful when the machine suspects there is something to hide, but luckily this was not the case here.]

Minutes. More or less the same as microts.

I feel we have accomplished a great deal for today, if you should like to retire.

[velocette]

[He nods, and decides to see if he can find more on microts; he likes math, and he sleeps rarely.]

Contact me when you feel like putting me in the Chair.

[It's a cheerful enough good bye, he even smiles, and then he walks out.]