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Somewhere in Scarran space, Sometime
Once again, Stark had sat in his cell for what seemed like forever. It might have been forever, for all he knew. Time wasn't such a fixed constant as people believed; Stark knew that well enough by now. It might have been days that he sat there, staring at the walls. It might have been weekens. Food still didn't come at regular intervals. He wasn't being starved. He was just always hungry. At least, with Scorpy, there had been food and water most of the time. And there had been the Chair. "The Chair the Chair remember the Chair..." Stark's voice trailed off as he realized what he was saying. First he missed food cubes, now he was almost wishing for an Aurora Chair to break up the tedium of endless arns in this cell. Maybe everyone was right and he'd been crazy all along. He felt crazy now.
The door opened then, interrupting thoughts of sanity or a lack thereof. This time it was food, or what passed for food here. And there was food, regularly even, for a few solar days after that. Stark was suspicious, but this was better than no food and so he ate.
The audience with the Scarran was the same old story. Same as with the Scarrans before, cycles ago. Same as with Scorpy in his Chair. Someone claiming to own him was demanding he do something and Stark was trying his best to refuse.
"You know what this is?"
Stark shook his head. "No. A box. Two boxes. Should I know? Never seen it. Them. Whatever it is. They are. What is it?" Stark wasn't even sure he should bother asking, but it seemed like the Scarran expected it. It was easier to go along.
An explanation of the bioloid replicator followed, punctuated by too many smiles showing too many teeth.
Stark knew what was coming after that. He had known the Scarrans wanted him for something, and apparently 'something' was a copy. He hated the idea of two of him. The other him, the backwards him in that horrid man's game had been bad enough.
"You have a choice, Stykera."
At least this one didn't call him slave. At least she pretended he had options here. That maybe his answer mattered, that maybe if he refused he wasn't going to be forcibly shoved into that open box. The box that looked like a coffin and probably felt like a coffin and he didn't know if he'd ever come out of it alive so maybe it was a coffin after all. The expression on the Scarran's face revealed Stark had started speaking aloud. He stopped quickly, biting back the words. One hand reached up to toy with the mask buckle at his neck, the other clenched at his side.
"If the choice is go in myself or be thrown in it isn't really a choice I'll be in your box either way and it doesn't matter. And I don't know what you want another me but you want another me and that's enough because there isn't any good reason anyone would want another me. So it must be a bad reason and if it's bad and it has to be bad then you'll do what you want no matter what I say. Isn't that it? Not a choice, really. The same result, the same thing, just one might have fewer bruises in the end. Not that it will matter. I'll be in your box. No one to see the bruises. Not even me. I'll be in the box. So it doesn't matter and it isn't a choice. Or it is a choice but not a choice that matters so it might as well not be a choice at all. Do you see?"
The Scarran looked briefly pained, but that was simply from trying to follow the babbling of the Banik. And he was babbling so much lately. Being alone tended to do that to him. Being stressed tended to do it to a greater degree and there was nothing not stressful about this base. The pained look was followed by an impatient one and then a sharp cuff to the back of Stark's head. "Stop that!"
As far as Stark understood the replicator, they needed him alive in case there needed to be more copies. Saying no might hurt, and not saying yes immediately had already hurt, but it wasn't going to kill him. At least not yet. So he said no, he wouldn't go into their box. The response was not unexpected and shortly thereafter a slightly battered. slightly overheated, and entirely unconscious ("if nothing else, this will make the cells quieter") Stark was placed into the replicator. The lid was shut.
Had Stark been conscious, he would have been muttering to himself about how he never should have left the island in the first place and how snow monsters and zombies were infinitely superior to Scarrans. But he wasn't conscious and so there was no muttering.
[Emo aliens do not get holiday breaks. Or something like that. At least he got a shiny box for the holiday?]
The door opened then, interrupting thoughts of sanity or a lack thereof. This time it was food, or what passed for food here. And there was food, regularly even, for a few solar days after that. Stark was suspicious, but this was better than no food and so he ate.
The audience with the Scarran was the same old story. Same as with the Scarrans before, cycles ago. Same as with Scorpy in his Chair. Someone claiming to own him was demanding he do something and Stark was trying his best to refuse.
"You know what this is?"
Stark shook his head. "No. A box. Two boxes. Should I know? Never seen it. Them. Whatever it is. They are. What is it?" Stark wasn't even sure he should bother asking, but it seemed like the Scarran expected it. It was easier to go along.
An explanation of the bioloid replicator followed, punctuated by too many smiles showing too many teeth.
Stark knew what was coming after that. He had known the Scarrans wanted him for something, and apparently 'something' was a copy. He hated the idea of two of him. The other him, the backwards him in that horrid man's game had been bad enough.
"You have a choice, Stykera."
At least this one didn't call him slave. At least she pretended he had options here. That maybe his answer mattered, that maybe if he refused he wasn't going to be forcibly shoved into that open box. The box that looked like a coffin and probably felt like a coffin and he didn't know if he'd ever come out of it alive so maybe it was a coffin after all. The expression on the Scarran's face revealed Stark had started speaking aloud. He stopped quickly, biting back the words. One hand reached up to toy with the mask buckle at his neck, the other clenched at his side.
"If the choice is go in myself or be thrown in it isn't really a choice I'll be in your box either way and it doesn't matter. And I don't know what you want another me but you want another me and that's enough because there isn't any good reason anyone would want another me. So it must be a bad reason and if it's bad and it has to be bad then you'll do what you want no matter what I say. Isn't that it? Not a choice, really. The same result, the same thing, just one might have fewer bruises in the end. Not that it will matter. I'll be in your box. No one to see the bruises. Not even me. I'll be in the box. So it doesn't matter and it isn't a choice. Or it is a choice but not a choice that matters so it might as well not be a choice at all. Do you see?"
The Scarran looked briefly pained, but that was simply from trying to follow the babbling of the Banik. And he was babbling so much lately. Being alone tended to do that to him. Being stressed tended to do it to a greater degree and there was nothing not stressful about this base. The pained look was followed by an impatient one and then a sharp cuff to the back of Stark's head. "Stop that!"
As far as Stark understood the replicator, they needed him alive in case there needed to be more copies. Saying no might hurt, and not saying yes immediately had already hurt, but it wasn't going to kill him. At least not yet. So he said no, he wouldn't go into their box. The response was not unexpected and shortly thereafter a slightly battered. slightly overheated, and entirely unconscious ("if nothing else, this will make the cells quieter") Stark was placed into the replicator. The lid was shut.
Had Stark been conscious, he would have been muttering to himself about how he never should have left the island in the first place and how snow monsters and zombies were infinitely superior to Scarrans. But he wasn't conscious and so there was no muttering.
[Emo aliens do not get holiday breaks. Or something like that. At least he got a shiny box for the holiday?]