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Entry tags:
fic:farscape, Sikoza
Crichton talks in code, constantly referring to things only he understands.
He talks in moyacode too, the verbal shortcuts of shared history she has learnt to expect from this group. The sentences, the nouns and verbs, and she can't always tell which is which, always followed by this look like a closed door and something patronising when they look at her. Chiana with her head tilted, smiling like an amused parent at Sikozu's ignorence. Crichton, oblivious or offering explanations that are overly simplicstic, like she was a child that needed every bit of information carefully prepared before she understood it.
The Hynerian enjoys her weaker position, enjoys the feeling of superiority over her.
This is not the way it should be. She knew her future once, could picture her customers buying her services, her attention to their problems. She would sift throught data, evaluate and extrapolate and they would flock around like...
well, the image is embarassing, but like petitioners around a high priestess of some god of wisdom. A childish image, vain, but satisfying as those kind of fantasies often are.
Instead she is stuck on this ship, where she is made to feel ignorant and naive and stupid as a child, and they put all these demands on her, dothis, dothat, whyisthatlike that and nownownow, no time to study, no neat solutions, and none of the rewards she would expect for getting it right.
There are compensations, of course. Scorpius is a marvel, and the other don't understand how much. To have survived the Scarran labs, to have forced his body to work... His mind, his ambition, his endless control over his warring biology, all are things that amaze her.
Wormholes, the bizarre and ugly name Cricton uses for the beautiful rifts in space that are one of the constant mysteries of the universe.
He talks in moyacode too, the verbal shortcuts of shared history she has learnt to expect from this group. The sentences, the nouns and verbs, and she can't always tell which is which, always followed by this look like a closed door and something patronising when they look at her. Chiana with her head tilted, smiling like an amused parent at Sikozu's ignorence. Crichton, oblivious or offering explanations that are overly simplicstic, like she was a child that needed every bit of information carefully prepared before she understood it.
The Hynerian enjoys her weaker position, enjoys the feeling of superiority over her.
This is not the way it should be. She knew her future once, could picture her customers buying her services, her attention to their problems. She would sift throught data, evaluate and extrapolate and they would flock around like...
well, the image is embarassing, but like petitioners around a high priestess of some god of wisdom. A childish image, vain, but satisfying as those kind of fantasies often are.
Instead she is stuck on this ship, where she is made to feel ignorant and naive and stupid as a child, and they put all these demands on her, dothis, dothat, whyisthatlike that and nownownow, no time to study, no neat solutions, and none of the rewards she would expect for getting it right.
There are compensations, of course. Scorpius is a marvel, and the other don't understand how much. To have survived the Scarran labs, to have forced his body to work... His mind, his ambition, his endless control over his warring biology, all are things that amaze her.
Wormholes, the bizarre and ugly name Cricton uses for the beautiful rifts in space that are one of the constant mysteries of the universe.