Like Scorpions for Chocolate
by feldman
feldman@voyager.net
SPOILERS: Little moments amidst
the "Liars, Guns, and Money"
Blowout.
SUMMARY: "You lock the door /
Throw away the key /
There's someone in my head / and it's not me."
--Pink Floyd, "Dark Side of the Moon"
"But I don't have a cat,
John." An orange tabby kitten climbs up
DK's pant leg, yowling for breakfast. He tries to look stubborn
but looks besieged instead, bleary-eyed in the morning sun.
I take a seat on his kitchen counter and
kick at the lower cabinets.
"So what are you doing with the tuna, then?"
"I'm being kind to a stray
animal." The cat plants a paw above his
waistband. "Ouch--Felicia, bad kitty!"
I laugh through my yawn.
"She's not a stray if she spends every
night in your apartment and has a name."
"I'm just not a cat person."
He pulls Felicia off his jeans and puts
her down with the food. She bathes his sleek black finger before
climbing onto the large plate to eat.
"But see, she loves you.
Besides, you spend so much time at the
lab it's the only pussy you're likely to get."
He stands, fully Scorpius now, tight
suit squeaking in the quiet.
"That's funny flyboy, I don't see any girls lining up to get their
hands down your flight suit."
"Damn it." I shake my
head and the sunlight dims. I'm back in
the maintenance bay where I was all along. You know I hate
PK-DK. He can hear me when I think to him. Can he also feel
my hate?
I flinch when Chiana tilts her face up
into mine. She breathes her
milk breath up my nose, eyes wide and concerned. "Crichton?"
She nuzzles just like DK's kitten.
Scorpy's right behind her,
dragging a finger along her collarbone. Sensual and mercenary.
"Crichton...what's
wrong...?" Unsuspecting, she tosses her
dandelion hair against his cheekbone.
There's nothing wrong with a little bestiality.
She's not a beast. She's
a huma-, a sentient being of a
different species.
He smiles with too many teeth, gums
black like a Doberman.
I think we've made a breakthrough.
My scalp itches something fierce.
"It's the chip...isn't
it?" His spidery hand cups her throat. He
moves with her as she leans closer to me.
What--what are you doing?
Accessing your language
area. I didn't see it before, but you
seem to need words to form your thoughts clearly. Hence, you
are bound by your vocabulary. It's time I expanded it, so we
can think bigger thoughts. I will give in order to receive.
I find myself scratching my head with the tool in my hand.
Chiana leans in like she's trying to
count my fillings. "Do you want
me to get Zhaan...?"
"If I knew exactly where he was in my brain,
Chiana..." Every
place I scratch makes three more places itch. "I'd dig him out
myself."
She takes the tool from me, sockets it
into a DRD and shoos it
out of the bay.
}-{ }-{ }-{ }-{ }-{
Sundown, I think it's a
shame, when I get feeling better when
I'm feeling no pain. Sundown, I think it's a sin, when I feel
like I'm winning when I'm losing again.
I keep it running through my head like
a radio left on in another
room. Mom was a big Gordon Lightfoot fan. I'm pleasantly
surprised by how much of the lyrics I remember once I start
humming it. Reminds me of her.
"John, are you chanting?"
Zhaan has a way of falling in step
next to me. I never see her
coming, but she never startles me. She's nervous, though, a little
sweaty at the temples. There's a lot at stake and John-boy's
humming to himself like Stark.
Her fear scent is reminiscent of
fresh-mown grass. You could
tell her, but she wouldn't take it for a compliment. She
wouldn't understand, but I do. I can see the blue sky that
she brings to mind. I can feel the sun on our back.
"Just a song stuck in my head.
I don't know why, but singing
seems to block him out for a while. I don't remember much from
the one biology course I had to take, so I couldn't tell you how it
works." I was going to be an astronaut, what would I need
neuroanatomy for?
"The Delvian Seek uses chanting to
access alternate states of
consciousness. Perhaps song creates a similar peaceful state in
your species?"
Scorpy's only half right. Zhaan
smells like a woman who's just
mowed a lawn, dusty sharp mix of chlorophyll and girl sweat. "Well
I don't know about peaceful--ask anyone who's ever been in a
mosh pit--maybe more of a distraction."
Not sure which of us it's distracting,
though. I wonder where my
language areas are, exactly? Professor Stander would laugh her
ass off if she saw me now. Haven't thought of that class in years.
Paging Dr. Broca...Dr. Broca...Paging Dr. Wernicke...
That's the problem. Whether I talk to him or not, he's always digging.
}-{ }-{ }-{ }-{ }-{
If I'd had to sift through, say, Ka
D'Argo's brain, this might
have been over sooner. To think how tedious it would have
been, though...
So you're saying you prefer the long slow mind-fuck instead.
Be honest. You finally have an
audience that understands your
imagery; someone to laugh at your jokes beside yourself.
I don't care if I have to be
strapped down and sedated, I want
to see you in agony.
Yes. I've noticed your
capacity for animal violence is larger
than that of most Sebaceans. They're a dispassionate species.
They use violence as a technician uses a tool. You, John, could
be as bloodthirsty as a Scarran.
Blood-thirsty.
Sebaceans don't have this concept. It's quite delicious.
}-{ }-{ }-{ }-{ }-{
Aeryn brushes the back of her hand against mine, quick and
accidental
as we head toward the hangar bay.
She does it again, knuckles and soft skin, slower this time.
Usually
her public displays of affection are lewd and lightening fast. The PK
Kama Sutra probably illustrates a thousand and one ways to screw
while standing up and aiming over your partner's shoulder. But she's
been trying out this 'tenderness' thing, recently. Maybe D'Argo's
demonstrated that you can be a lover *and* a fighter. Or maybe she's
pegged me for a sap.
Then again, maybe she suspects plan B.
What is this flavor? I get a taste of it when you look at
her hair.
It's bittersweet and complex, like blood or fine raslac.
The taste is no less real for being phantom. "Dark chocolate."
"What did you say?"
I shake my head. "Get the five-alarm Sheyang, Aeryn,
hottest you
can find."
She nods and starts the pre-flight routine on her prowler.
She trusts me.
I owe it to her to be sane.
Whatever it takes?
}-{ }-{ }-{ }-{ }-{
I know you, John, like no one else ever will.
Yeah well, you know what they
say, 'keep your friends close
and your enemies closer'.
I remember the years you spent
studying, text on your left knee,
notebook on your right. Writing and diagramming through
all-nighters, hangovers, and petty romantic disputes. Falling
asleep in the library. In some respects, your mind is well-trained.
I've completed the vocabulary upload much sooner than I had
expected. We'll be reaping the benefit of it in no time at all.
I try to block out the remembering this time, but it intrudes.
I'm back in the lab at IASA. DK
and I busted our balls to get our
first project on the shuttle, and since neither of us would stop on our
own, we took turns sending each other out for food. He rolls his
chair into mine, intent on the code flying from his fingers. "John.
Coffee. Food."
I stretch until my back cracks and my
shoulder twinges. "Okay,
but it's still too early for the good bagel shop to be open."
"Yeah yeah, John." He
stops, pushes his glasses up. They slip back
down the leatherette nosepiece of the mask that contorts his face.
"I'm real close."
A DRD squeals and escapes my foot.
What did I say about PK-DK?
Huh?
But we are a team, are we
not? You and I will be more successful
than you and DK were. I assure you.
}-{ }-{ }-{ }-{ }-{
I was raised to believe that money
doesn't buy you happiness. I've
learned since then that money does buy you options. The only thing
of value that we have left is nestled inside my cranium. One last option.
There is only one way for this to
end. Why not choose your own
time, and do your friends one last good turn to remember you by?
Because I want to go home.
Do you really? Could you stay there?
No. I don't know. But I need to see it all again, for real.
How are you sure it's still there?
This would be so much easier
if you weren't Captain of the
frelling Debate Team.
Well?
No. I don't know if it's
still there. It's actually pretty unlikely
that the wormhole didn't distort time as well. I could get there
and find it all gone. Or find a few scattered troops of homo
habilis walking around scratching their asses.
You feel lonesome.
I feel like Arthur fucking Dent.
Perhaps a cup of tea will make you feel better?
Can it, Moff Tarkin, I'm the
funny one. I've got work to do, just...
just leave me alone.
We both have work to do. The difference is, I'm almost done with mine.
"You raise the blade,
you make the change,
you re-arrange me 'til I'm sane"
-Pink Floyd, 'Dark Side of the Moon'