She stares at him again, even sharper this time, trying to guess if he's lying -- and trying to turn the different puzzle pieces around in a way that will make them fit.
It does no good. Even if one piece seems to line up to another -- he was on a ship that must have left before, or somehow docked after, the quarantine? -- they form a shape that disqualifies another necessary piece -- but then he'd know the Yu name, and if his memory of one was wiped then his memory of the other would be gone as well.
But she wants to believe he's sincere. Call that a hypothesis to test, just one more on the pile of hypotheses.
"Alex..." You know what, she doesn't want to hear Crichton say he doesn't know who Alex is, true or otherwise. She doesn't know what she'd do. "My brother must have had this built. He doesn't trust me to run around by myself." Something makes her flat tone colder for a moment. Could be sadness, could be bitterness, could be both; could be an unwelcome thought that she wants to freeze out.
"The waking up is easy enough. Memory removal, or just being knocked out and moved while unconscious. The place is more difficult, but we must be on Earth. Not enough unused space on Talos-I. Enough on the moon, but the atmospheric controls required would make it impractical, never mind the amount of looking-glass it would require. And why so big? Maybe he thinks the scale will keep me from breaking out again. He has no idea how to admit when something doesn't work."
But Commander John Crichton is also here, and (probably) confused, and (benefit of the doubt) not acting. And she can come up with, at once, too many and not enough hypotheses for that.
no subject
It does no good. Even if one piece seems to line up to another -- he was on a ship that must have left before, or somehow docked after, the quarantine? -- they form a shape that disqualifies another necessary piece -- but then he'd know the Yu name, and if his memory of one was wiped then his memory of the other would be gone as well.
But she wants to believe he's sincere. Call that a hypothesis to test, just one more on the pile of hypotheses.
"Alex..." You know what, she doesn't want to hear Crichton say he doesn't know who Alex is, true or otherwise. She doesn't know what she'd do. "My brother must have had this built. He doesn't trust me to run around by myself." Something makes her flat tone colder for a moment. Could be sadness, could be bitterness, could be both; could be an unwelcome thought that she wants to freeze out.
"The waking up is easy enough. Memory removal, or just being knocked out and moved while unconscious. The place is more difficult, but we must be on Earth. Not enough unused space on Talos-I. Enough on the moon, but the atmospheric controls required would make it impractical, never mind the amount of looking-glass it would require. And why so big? Maybe he thinks the scale will keep me from breaking out again. He has no idea how to admit when something doesn't work."
But Commander John Crichton is also here, and (probably) confused, and (benefit of the doubt) not acting. And she can come up with, at once, too many and not enough hypotheses for that.