The lack of comprehension on Arthur's face when Crichton mentions implanting chips will probably answer that question. Arthur himself won't be answering it, because it's not even close to the most important part of that sentence.

The words "Jesus christ" come out of him as a punched-out breath. His hands cling to each other like they're throats, and separate quickly.

"Jesus christ," he says again, because just once didn't seem to cut it. Not for having your body seized, and controlled, and used to commit horrible acts by some cold and alien intelligence. They say that a problem shared is a problem halved, but on the contrary: knowing that he, Arthur, isn't the only sorry bastard to whom this has happened makes it feel so many times worse.

(He's definitely projecting a bit, though on this occasion the projection is entirely warranted.)

"I'm sorry." His voice is nearly toneless. "I, I-- I wouldn't wish that on anyone."