Resurrection (PG)

[aeryncrichton]

Originally posted 7/5/06

Well, this was a long time coming, and even ended up encompassing several story ideas that were floating around in my mind....  Too much talking (hey, it's me!), but there's actually some action, too!   

Rating: PG (probably closer to G)
Setting: 2 cycles past PKW, AU
Spoilers: Through PKW
Disclaimer: Not my characters, not my universe, no money being made, and disrespect intended!

Many thanks to the Bunnies for thoughts when I was kicking this around in my head, especially to Crash for an idea I snurched pretty much whole!

Many, many thanks to the beta crew, imloco2, shipsister, and MadScientist -- you guys are the best!   

Thanks also to sarahjane and HezmanaGirl for drivebys!    It's tweaked some since you jirls saw it, especially in the last quarter.

And, once again, super-duper thanks to Loco for the pretty pictures!   

So, suppose Crais and Talyn survived Into the Lion's Den....  (Posted in this thread in four parts.)

Resurrection

Prologue:

The Scarran-Peacekeeper War had accomplished what no previous event, no matter how traumatic, had actually done: It had scattered the members of Moya's unintended family across the galaxy.

Ka D'Argo, to the sorrow of all, had perished in the conflict, and even now, two cycles later, his friends still mourned him, each in their own way.

Stark the Banik, transformed by his part in reawakening the Eidelons' lost ability to influence peace, had left Moya even before Crichton awoke after the last battle, following his own internal vision.

Late-comer Noranti had chosen to remain with the surviving Eidelons and help in their quest for any knowledge that had survived the destruction of the ancient temple on Arnessk.

Rygel, as it turned out, had had a much easier time regaining his throne than anyone could have imagined. Already in disfavor among his people, the (now) late Dominar Bishan had committed the unforgivable sin of not protecting the empire from the Scarrans. Rygel had had Bishan by the mivonks, and he hadn't had to raise even a token army to be welcomed home joyfully and handed back his crown.

Chiana, well, she certainly wasn't cut out to be a farmer, but she'd made a promise to D'Argo to go to Hyneria with him, and Rygel's good fortune was hers as well, for however long she felt the need to be there.

Pilot and Moya, joined together symbiotically, just wanted the chance to get away from it all. No passengers, no crew, no captains, no one to chase them, no one to talk them into building doomsday weapons.... The chance to seek out the wonders of the universe, for which Moya had been created, for which Pilot had left his home without the blessings of his elders – without someone else diverting them from their exploration.

And what of Crichton and Aeryn, and their infant son?

A sabbatical. That's what Crichton wanted. A chance to wallow in his wife, and his baby boy, and his guilt. No one else around. No demands. No weapons. Yup. The life of a hermit sounded really good to him.

As for Aeryn – well, she could handle that, minus the guilt, anyway. John had done what he had to do, and she hoped he'd see that sooner rather than later. But the chance to get away from the world, to learn how to deal with a relationship she'd never expected to have, to learn to be a mother as well as a wife...that sounded really good to her. She could do that –for at least as long as Chiana was going to manage to be a farmer!

And in the end, after much talk and soul searching and many, many promises, it was decided that Crichton, Aeryn and baby D'Argo would stay aboard Moya. Pilot and Moya would be cruise directors, choosing their meandering path among the distant stars. Their human/sebacean friends would go along for the ride....

* * * * * * * *

D'Argo squealed with glee when Aeryn extricated the toddler from his pushcart and set him on the ground in the sparsely-populated commerce center. He made a dash for a splashy fountain a few motras away.

"Stay here!" John called, and when his offspring paid him no attention whatsoever, he glared at his wife. Nodding at the stroller hovering at their feet, he snapped, "Why do you even bring that thing if you're not going to make him stay in it?"

Aeryn stiffened. She shook her long black hair out behind her, and lifted her chin. "It's good for him to use his muscles! It's good for his development and his coordination!"

For the love of— "I think you're just a soft touch. As soon as he whimpers, you let him do anything he wants. You're spoiling him rotten, Aeryn!" That wasn't true, and he knew it, but they'd been going just a little stir crazy lately, and John was in an argumentative mood.

"I am?" his better half seethed. "Who took a DRD apart for him? Hmm? Just so he could see how it goes together! Who feeds him flavored ice whenever I'm occupied and can't object? Who—" She broke off as Dar heaved himself up onto the outer rim of the fountain and stretched his arms out as far as he could, obviously aiming for the sparkly liquid that was splashing so temptingly. "D'Argo! D'Argo Sun Crichton, you stop right now!"

John couldn't help but wince at the sharpness of her voice, and D stopped right then and there, arm still outstretched, but no longer reaching. When Mom's voice took on that edge, even a two-year-old knew not to mess with her....

Tossing a "This is your fault!" scowl at John, Aeryn went over and scooped the boy up off of the edge of the fountain. She gave him a hug, and said firmly, "You can't touch the fountain. We don't know if it's safe!"

"Wad-der, Mama!" the boy replied emphatically. "Piddy wadder!"

This time Aeryn cast a plea for help John's way, and he walked over to his family, dragging the stroller with him. "It looks like water, D," John said, "but you can't always tell just by looking. It could be something that's ouchy." Logically, of course, it wouldn't be out here in the open if it were dangerous, but this wasn't Earth, and the natives of this planet looked like they could give a Scarran a run for his money in toughness of hide, so who knew what they would actually consider harmful to passersby. "First rule of travel in the UTs, son: Don't touch if you don't know what it is!"

D'Argo stuck his lower lip out, but he nodded. "Good boy," John said. He figured it was going to be at least another cycle or so before the boy really learned that lesson, but he was old enough to be hearing it, even so. Neither of his parents wanted him scared of the universe, but they were agreed that they needed to instill a healthy sense of caution nevertheless. Just like John had said, it was the first rule of survival in the UTs, especially when they were this far off the beaten track....

Argument derailed, the senior Crichtons locked eyes and ended up smirking at one another. That sexy expression on his wife's face always made John's heart skip a beat, even on a run-down trading planet like this one, even with a squirming toddler in her arms. Damn, he was a lucky SOB!

Still, they had come down here for a reason, besides just getting a change of scenery. "We should go if we're going to get any shopping done before it's time to E-A-T," he spelled, hoping not to trigger demands for food. D'Argo's stomach was pretty much a bottomless pit these days, and he insisted on feeding himself, so mealtimes seemed interminable. Aeryn nodded, and they started to move along.

They hadn't gotten very far when Pilot called them on the comms. "Crichton, Aeryn, are you there?"

There was something just a little odd about Pilot's voice, and they exchanged a look before Aeryn replied. "Yes, Pilot, we're here. What is it?"

There was a long pause, and then the sound of Pilot clearing his throat. "Moya has received a long-range communication from a leviathan." He paused again, leaving them all the more puzzled.

"And?" John encouraged.

"And, she...believes this communication came from Talyn!"

"Talyn? But Pilot—" The tone of Aeryn's voice, skeptical but not wanting to disbelieve Moya, matched Pilot's own.

"She is quite adamant that the communication is from her offspring. She wishes to leave here before the signal is too weak to follow!"

John looked at Aeryn, and she looked back, both of them gauging whether it was preferable to be stranded here in the hind end of space with only a transport pod and the clothes on their backs, or to rush back to a leviathan who was hearing messages from a son three cycles dead. Aeryn nodded sharply. Right! "Pilot," he called into the comms, "tell Moya we're coming as fast as we can!"

They were already moving with long strides, D'Argo still in Aeryn's arms and John pushing the stroller ahead of them, by the time Pilot replied. "Moya believes...Talyn...is in trouble. She is anxious to go to his aid."

Aeryn took a sharp breath and replied, "Pilot, remind Moya that if...the leviathan...is in need of military assistance, the only weapons available are on my prowler, and she needs us to fly it."

"I shall endeavor to persuade her to wait, Aeryn."

"Thank you, Pilot. We will be there as quickly as we can."

They picked up their already brisk pace, wondering if they were rushing in the wrong direction....

* * * * * * * *

Much to Aeryn's annoyance, Moya took off the moment their transport pod was close enough to be snared with the docking web. The maneuver had shaved only microts off their time, not enough to matter, and she was quite capable of making a hot landing. She saw John take one look at her scowl as they settled into the docking bay, and decide not to even try to jolly her out of her mood. He removed D'Argo from his restraints and, planting a quick kiss on her cheek, headed for Command to see if he could cajole some more information out of Pilot.

Aeryn pulled on a space suit and readied her prowler for combat, should that be necessary. The methodical preflight routine soothed her nerves, but in the back of her mind she kept thinking, If Moya is hallucinating, we're well and truly frelled! Talyn was dead, along with Bialar Crais. She remembered all too well the devastation wrought by Talyn's starburst in the confined space of Scorpius' command carrier, the panic as 50,000 men, women and children had run for their lives. Flipping the last switch, she sighed with a hint of three-cycle-old regrets. At least there had been relatively few casualties in their effort to destroy the Peacekeeper Wormhole Project. She tried not to think how many "relatively few" really was in actual numbers.

She opened a comms channel. "Pilot? Does Moya still have a fix on the signal?"

"Yes," Pilot returned promptly. "We are closing rapidly on the source of the transmission. We will reach it in approximately a quarter of an arn."

"Pilot," John interrupted from Command, "are we near enough to get a visual?"

"I'm putting the best available image on the viewscreen now."

After a pause, John called, "Aeryn? Doesn't look like much yet. Asteroid field, and some ships, moving fast. I'm just seeing some exhaust flares. Can't tell how many, or if any of them are, um, you know, Talyn."

Aeryn digested that. "Pilot," she asked, "does Moya still think this is Talyn we're heading towards?"

There was a brief pause, and then their guardian and D'Argo's favorite playmate replied, "Yes."

"Has she had any direct conversation with...him?"

There was a slightly longer pause. "No. She has had no replies as yet to her inquiries."

"All right. I'm heading out now to do a recon. I'll let you know what I find."

She eased the ship out of the docking bay and turned on the scanners. Despite two cycles of both peace and motherhood, she still found herself completely at ease in the prowler's cockpit. She powered up her weapons and pulled ahead of Moya to assess the situation.

It didn't take her long to reach the asteroid field that John had described. Space beyond was swirled in a bright pink and white nebula, making it somewhat difficult to see what was going on. One, two, three....hmmm. There seemed to be at least six well-armed ships running a search pattern. "Frell," she muttered, trying to catch sight of whatever they were looking for. One prowler wasn't near enough firepower to take them on, whether she wanted to or not. She shook her head and kept scanning for their prey, knowing Moya, closing fast behind her, might become a target as well. Her only real concern was to protect their home. When she finally saw the strange leviathan, though, she gasped. "For the love of Cholak!"

She'd been certain that Moya was wrong. But the ship there in front of her certainly looked like Talyn....though it appeared not to have Talyn's fearsome weaponry. It wasn't much bigger than the young gunship had been three cycles ago, either, which seemed odd, but.... Impulsively, heart pounding, she hit the ship-to-ship comms and called, "Crais?" If this was Talyn, perhaps his sebacean captain had survived as well.

Evidently Talyn hadn't told him Moya was coming. Even through the comms she could hear the surprise in Crais' distinctive voice. "Who is this? How do you know my name?"

John cut in just as one of the fighters let loose a plasma blast in Talyn's direction. "Quit wastin' time, Bialar. Looks to me like you're outnumbered here. Can you starburst?"

There was a slight hesitation before Crais responded, "No."

"Then tuck in close to Moya," John ordered. "You too, Aeryn, now! Before these sledgnots figure out what's up!"

She understood immediately, and moved near enough to be captured in the slipstream. Talyn, whether through Crais' direction, or his mother's, followed quickly behind her as the sparkling blue energy began to build.

D'Argo's excited exclamation came clearly through the comms when the energy reached its peak. "Staw-bust!" Aeryn could hear her son clapping with delight, and she smiled to herself, in spite of the situation. She wondered what Crais would make of that....

* * * * * * * *

John was not very happy with her, but Aeryn didn't see what else she could do. Crais – assuming he was telling the truth – didn't have any way off of Talyn, and Talyn was far too big for Moya's docking bay. She suspected Crais wasn't entirely sure they were who they said they were, either, and could do with some reassurance. So, once Moya and Pilot were certain they'd outrun Talyn's pursuers, Aeryn crossed the distance between the two ships and landed in the docking bay of a ghost. She was checking the charge on her pulse pistol, just to be sure, when Crais hailed her over the comms.

"Aeryn."

"Yes, Crais?"

"Remain suited up when you come to the bridge. Don't remove your helmet until you've passed the hamman side supply room."

"Fine," she agreed, without asking why, and climbed out of the prowler. Debating whether not to carry her weapon, she hesitated for a moment in the docking bay. With a twinge that said she might be making a mistake, she settled for having it holstered, but at the ready, and made her way cautiously towards the center of the gunship. It gave her the oddest feeling to be walking these red and black corridors again. Her memories of laying Talyn's remains to rest in the Leviathan Sacred Space were still painful, three cycles later. She examined the ship as she traveled. How had he survived?

She shook her head, resolving to wait until later to ask those questions.

Once she passed the designated supply room, she removed her helmet and tucked it under her arm. That was another question, perhaps one of more immediate interest. She would have to ask Crais.

But when she reached the bridge, she found herself struck dumb. She stood in the doorway, Crais stood in the center of the room, and they simply stared at each other. He looked...older. He'd aged far more than three cycles. She could see it in his eyes, in the lines on his face. There was gray in his black hair, now cut short – almost as short as John's, she thought, irrelevantly, though it was curly where John's was straight. The tidy goatee didn't seem to have changed, though, and the former captain still favored black clothing.

What did he see when he looked at her? His eyes narrowed in appraisal. Had she changed that much? She shrugged mentally. Her hair was still long and dark, she hadn't gained or lost any weight.... It had only been three cycles, after all. Still, these days she was happy, a difference that might account for the quizzical look on his face.

She took a deep breath and set her helmet down on the nearest console. "What was that all about," she asked, nodding at the helmet and breaking the silence.

Crais cleared his throat. "Talyn occasionally vents the area near the hamman side supply room to space."

Aeryn raised an eyebrow.

He shrugged. "Call it a nervous tic."

They stared at each other for a bit longer, and then Aeryn pulled her eyes away from Crais. She walked a few steps forward, reaching up a hand to caress the raised ring on the ceiling that indicated the young ship's neural center. The textured surface was, as she remembered, just a bit cool to the touch. "Hello, Talyn," she breathed. "It's Aeryn. Do you remember me?"

The lights pulsed, and she could hear signals from the gunship she'd loved almost as much as Moya had, but she couldn't interpret what he was saying.

Crais scratched his chin and told her, "He remembers you, and I believe he is pleased to see you. But he is communicating with his mother now." He paused as if debating whether to say anything more. Finally he cleared his throat and said, "And...he is...much changed."

Aeryn nodded, trying not to let her mind wander off into what Crais and Talyn must have suffered, not yet, anyway. "I take it that he can't starburst any longer."

The former Peacekeeper captain blushed red. "Actually, he can starburst. But he doesn't like to. He will only starburst when it is absolutely necessary."

"He didn't think that was absolutely necessary?"

"Obviously not."

They eyed each other for a microt, and then without warning, all the emotion Aeryn had been suppressing burst out of her in laughter. Crais continued to stare another microt, as if she'd gone mad, and then he, too, laughed. Still laughing, Aeryn crossed the distance between them and pulled Bialar Crais – her former superior, her former enemy, almost a long-lost friend – into a hug. He wrapped his arms around her as well, and patted her awkwardly on the back.

Her comms crackled to life. "Aeryn? Baby? Everything all right over there?"

Frell! She pulled away from Crais, and he from her, even though they'd been doing absolutely nothing that they had any reason to feel guilty about – and then she felt guilty for feeling angry for feeling guilty. The absurdity of her emotions struck her, and she snorted.

John's voice over the comms took on a slightly worried edge. "Aeryn?"

"Yes, everything's fine, John, just a microt." She looked at Crais and said quietly, "Are you coming back to Moya with me then?"

Crais communed with Talyn briefly and then nodded.

She let John know they were coming, and picked up her helmet. She followed Crais along a narrow passageway that hadn't existed the last time she was on Talyn, one which followed the treblin side and thereby presumably avoided the danger of "nervous tics."

In the docking bay, Crais stopped for a moment and quirked one corner of his mouth into a smile that might almost have been apologetic. "Obviously, Crichton is on board Moya, and Talyn has conveyed Pilot's regards as well. Are there...others...aboard Moya these days?"

She couldn't decide whether he was apprehensive, or merely curious. She shook her head. "Just John and me." She paused for dramatic effect. "And our son D'Argo. He's two cycles old."

She regretted saying D'Argo's name as soon as it was out of her mouth, because she saw Crais guess that their Luxan friend was dead. A hint of sorrow chased the surprise from his face, but he didn't pursue the subject.

That suited Aeryn just fine. There would be time enough for catching up back on Moya, with John to help tell their side of the story, and for both of them to hear what had happened to Crais and Talyn.

"Come on," she said, jerking her head towards the prowler. "It's time to go."

* * * * * * * *

Crais sat in the back seat of the prowler and forced his thoughts to stay on something as trivial as Aeryn's piloting skills. They were still excellent. She landed the fighter as smoothly as he had anticipated, and flashed him a warm smile.

They'd barely exited the prowler when the youngster came running across Moya's docking bay, squealing, "Mama!" Crichton followed at a considerably more leisurely pace, allowing his son to arrive well ahead of him.

The human was so transparent, Crais thought with amusement, using the child to lay emphasis on his claim to Aeryn Sun. Odd. He hadn't expected ever to see these people again. He hadn't even known for certain that they were still alive. And here they were, falling immediately back into old patterns of interaction.

Aeryn scooped the boy up and kissed him, her face glowing with love and pride. She settled the child on her hip and after a quick smile in Crichton's direction, turned to Crais. "This," she said, "is our son."

Crais smiled gravely at the child, who bore a striking resemblance to his father, even at this young age. Tauvo had been like that, a miniature version of their sire, while Crais himself favored more distant genetic connections. He shook his head slightly to stop his thoughts meandering, and smiled at the boy. "Hello, D'Argo."

The boy buried his face in Aeryn's shoulder, and she smoothed his hair and murmured, "It's all right, this is Crais. He's a friend."

Crichton strolled up at last. "Hey there, Mrs. Crichton," he said, slipping his arm possessively around Aeryn's waist. She rolled her eyes at him, but her exasperation seemed to be affectionate.

Interesting. It would appear that Crichton still considered him a rival. Not a genuine threat to the man's relationship with Aeryn, perhaps, but a rival nevertheless. Crais filed that away for future reference.

Apparently satisfied that his territory was well marked, Crichton spoke to Crais directly. "Not that I'm not glad to see you and Talyn, Crais, but...what the frell are you doing way out here in the middle of nowhere?" As an afterthought, it seemed, he added, "And why aren't you dead?"

"That is rather a long story."

"We're all ears."

Crais snorted, but followed his hosts to the center chamber for refreshments and catching up.

* * * * * * * *

Actually, John thought Crais had boiled his "long" story down to a fairly short one: The confined starburst energies had severely damaged Talyn, but the energy had also thrown the young leviathan hybrid an extremely long distance away at the moment of the explosion, even further from Peacekeeper space than they were now. Crais' consciousness had been overwhelmed through his neural connection with Talyn. Gunship and captain had ended up floating in a nebula whose thick gas clouds served to take away Talyn's pain and help him begin to regenerate. As Talyn's condition improved, so had Crais'.

Looking from Aeryn to John, Crais finished up. "When Talyn was finally able to create new sensors and DRDs, I became aware of the magnitude of what had happened to him. I could see it was a miracle that he had survived at all. There was very little left besides the core. He has almost completely regrown himself over the past few cycles, based on his original genetic pattern. Well, minus the armaments."

Aeryn nodded as if a question had been answered. "That's why he's still so small."

"Yes."

John shook his head. "That's an amazing story, Crais." He must have sounded like he didn't believe a word of it, because Crais looked mortally offended. "No, I really meant that. Like you said, it's amazing that you survived at all." He looked at Aeryn wistfully for a moment, and added, "If it means anything, you did what we planned, you totally took out the command carrier. One wormhole project, dead and gone."

Crais widened his eyes, and then said, "Ah. That's good to know. We hadn't even heard rumors out here."

John shrugged. "I don't think the Peacekeepers advertised it too widely."

"And Moya's crew?" Crais hesitated, and then elaborated, "Did they all escape?"

John looked at Aeryn again, trying to figure out what to say. They had, of course, but D'Argo and Jool hadn't made it through the Scarran war a cycle later....

While he was dithering, Aeryn cut to the chase. "Yes, everyone from Moya survived."

Crais almost certainly guessed that wasn't the whole story, but he didn't pursue it. "Scorpius?"

Aeryn grabbed that one, too. "Scorpius as well. And Braca."

Crais scowled. "I wonder what the old bastard's up to these days."

John had no doubt that Crais was referring to Scorpius, not his former lieutenant. "Happy as a clam, no doubt. I'm sure he loves being in charge of the Peace. Gets to order both the Peacekeepers and the Scarrans around!"

"What?"

Aeryn, God bless her, leaped in one more time, knowing that was still a touchy subject for him. "You haven't heard that the Scarrans and the Peacekeepers went to war two cycles ago?"

Crais looked as if he'd been punched in the gut. "War? An actual declared war? What happened?"

"It doesn't matter how it started," Aeryn sighed. "It ended in a peace treaty brokered by the Eidelons that named Scorpius Arbitrator of the Peace."

Crais shook his head in wonder. "It was only a quarter cycle ago that we began moving back towards Peacekeeper space. I can see there's a great deal I need to catch up on." After a pause during which he looked up at the ceiling, he cleared his throat and asked, "Do you know what happened to Lt. Larell?"

John looked at Aeryn, and Aeryn looked back. The change of subject startled them, and neither of them recognized the name.

Looking like he wished he hadn't brought it up, Crais explained. "Lt. Larell? Darinta Larell? She was a leviathan specialist on the command carrier."

Ah, hell, was this like Henta? John caught Aeryn's eye once again, wondering if she knew who he was talking about. He'd been so absorbed in trying to destroy Scorpius' wormhole project, he'd been oblivious to the fact that Crais and Aeryn had essentially been coming home – to a place they ended up destroying. It had taken him completely by surprise when Aeryn had finally told him about losing her friend. From the faraway expression on her face right now, she was thinking about that, too....

She blinked and looked at him with a tiny smile, and then looked back at Crais. "I'm sorry, I don't know. But most on board were able to evacuate. It's likely she made it."

Crais didn't look comforted, but he said thanks anyway.

They lapsed into silence, and John went and fetched three more bottles of fellip nectar. D, who'd been wandering around the room playing with this and that, came back to the table to see what was going on. He climbed into Aeryn's lap, and stared intently at Crais. Then he leaned his head back so he could see his mother's face and asked, "Pi-wot case Mama?"

Say what? John looked to see if Aeryn had a clue, but obviously she didn't understand that one, either. "What?" she asked D'Argo.

D repeated, "Pi-wot case Mama?"

Okay, "Pi-wot" he got, and "Mama" was obvious, but what or who was "case," and what did those words mean when D put them together like that? Translator microbes didn't help as much as you might think when the person doing the talking was still winging it a lot of the time...

Aeryn deciphered the kidspeak first, and cracked up. "No, D'Argo, Pilot isn't Crais' mother. They're not related." She cast an apologetic look at Crais, whether for D's comment or for her own laughter, John wasn't sure. Then she turned to him and asked, "What have you been telling him?"

"Only that Moya is Talyn's mama, and Crais is Talyn's captain, honest!" Besides, Crais seemed amused....

John must have been right about that, because Crais chuckled. "Your son has an analytical mind."

Yeah, well, apparently the kid equated "pilot" with "captain." They'd have to straighten him out on that one when he was old enough to understand. Still, John had to grin. Only two years old and Dar was already thinking in analogies: Moya is to Talyn as Pilot is to Crais. This kid was going to ace his SATs – at least, if he learned to tell his species apart!

Abruptly, Crais closed his eyes and put his hand on the neural interface on the back of his neck. When he opened them again, he said, "I should go back to Talyn soon. He's not used to me not being aboard, and this is stressful for him."

"No problem," John said without so much as a glance at Aeryn to see what she was thinking. "You can take a transport pod if you like, make it easier to come and go while you're in the neighborhood." Crais looked at him in surprise, and this time it was John's turn to chuckle. "You don't think Moya's going to let Talyn run off to parts unknown any time soon, do you? She just got her son back from the dead!"

"Yes, of course, I see your point. And, truthfully, I don't think Talyn wants to leave, either."

Aeryn cleared her throat, getting both John and Crais to turn her way. She looked pointedly at Crais and said, "Before you leave, I have a question." Crais nodded deeply, chin to his chest, and she continued. "When Moya found you, you and Talyn were being chased by a squadron of fighters. Why?"

"They....took something from us. We were attempting to retrieve it."

"You mean steal it back."

"Retrieve it...covertly.... Yes."

Aeryn nodded, but all John could think was, Aw, frell. That meant they were probably going to get dragged into fetching it, whatever it was. He gave Crais a look that said they'd discuss this later, and walked the sumbitch to the docking bay to make sure he took the spare transport pod, not the one that was rigged up for family travel....

* * * * * * * *

[aeryncrichton]

All the tension and excitement of the day had communicated itself to D'Argo, and it had taken all of John's tricks to get the boy to sleep. But finally he had succumbed, and now Aeryn and John were next door in their own quarters, getting ready for bed.

Standing near the bed and lost in thought, Aeryn pulled a brush through her hair.

"Give me that," John said, startling her from thoughts of Crais and Talyn.

As expected from his words, he was reaching for the hairbrush. Why he found brushing her hair so appealing, she had no idea, but having him do it for her was an indulgence she thoroughly enjoyed. She handed him the brush and closed her eyes, enjoying the sensations as the bristles separated and smoothed her hair. "It is absolutely amazing," she murmured, "that Talyn survived."

"Yeah, Moya's sure deliriously happy."

Something in his tone struck her as odd. She turned around, forcing him to halt in his ministrations. "Aren't you happy about it?"

"Course I am! It's great to know that Talyn caught a break for once." She continued to search his eyes, and he took a deep breath and admitted, "I could do without Crais easy enough, though."

Aeryn couldn't help herself. She scowled, and then let him know exactly what she thought. "You owe him. We could never have destroyed the command carrier without his sacrifice. Just because he survived, doesn't negate that he shouldn't have!"

John scowled right back. "I know, I know, you're right. But something still seems off about him."

Aeryn stared at him. What dren. "You're just jealous."

"Moi?"

She shook her head. John had always been jealous of Crais, though even the threat of three or four hungry vaskez beasts wouldn't have gotten him to admit it. His behavior when she and Crais had arrived on Moya earlier today had confirmed that was still true. But what would be the point in arguing about it? Emotions weren't rational, as she had learned from bitter experience. Sighing, she turned away from him, indicating that he should resume brushing her hair. Changing the subject to something of more immediate importance, she offered, "There were at least six ships searching that asteroid field for Talyn. All armed."

Accepting the diversion, he thought for a few microts as he began again to slowly draw the brush through her hair. "Maybe about the size of a prowler? They look like a matched set to you, part of a military fleet?"

She thought back on the glimpses she'd gotten before Talyn had appeared on her screens and driven the thought of everything else from her mind. "About that size, I think. Slightly different models."

"Buying a few at a time, maybe, as they can afford 'em?"

"That seems likely. Criminals, or maybe a petty warlord."

John shook his head. "I wonder what Crais was up to. What's all that dren about trying to get something back from these guys?"

"We won't know until he chooses to confide in us, if he does." He'd stopped running the brush through her hair, and she turned around to face him. She asked the question she could see was running through John's mind, also: "What do we do if he asks us to help him retrieve it?

He shrugged. "Depends on what it is and why they took it." He considered for a microt and then opined, "It has been pretty dull around here lately."

"I should go with him."

That seemed self-evident to her, but John bristled. "No way. I admit I owe him, Aeryn, but that doesn't mean taking the chance of leaving my son motherless."

She felt her eyes narrowing, and her voice, when she spoke, was deceptively mild. "Oh, better he should be fatherless?"

"I did not say that, Aeryn, and you know it!"

"No, but you were thinking it!" she accused. The guilty look in his eyes said she'd hit pretty close to the mark.

Guilt morphed into anger, and he snapped, "Not open for discussion. D needs his mother." He punctuated the sentence by pitching the hairbrush he'd still been holding onto the bed, where it landed with a thump.

The absurdity of the argument struck her, considering they had no idea what Crais was even up to, and she let out a deep breath, willing her own anger to subside. She shook her head ruefully. "Look at us! We really do need to get off this ship for a while! We're getting space madness!"

John took a few deep breaths of his own. "Cabin fever." Aeryn shrugged over the semantics, and he smiled. "Well, maybe when Crais comes clean, it'll be something we can get behind. Give us a distraction." He took a step towards her, blue eyes boring into her gray ones, and reached a hand out for her cheek.

"That would be nice...." She leaned her face into his palm, enjoying the smooth warmth of his skin.

Slowly, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.

Mmm, this was a nice distraction....

Crais and Talyn and mysterious quests shoved firmly to the back of her mind, Aeryn wrapped her arms around John's neck and pulled him close, reveling in the feel of his body pressed up against hers. He nibbled playfully at her lips, and she trembled, suddenly eager to have his mouth on other parts of her body. She broke off the kiss and stepped back, just far enough for John to take the hint and pull her shirt over her head. He inhaled admiringly, and pulled his shirt off as well.

It didn't take long for the rest of their clothing to end up on the floor....

* * * * * * * *

Crais rested on his bunk, hands behind his head, trying to decide whether Aeryn might be of any help in retrieving the filter that Kristafen's men had stolen. No doubt she still retained her training, but she was a mother now, and had personal responsibilities she would not shirk. And of course, Crichton would be loathe to allow her to go with him, though Aeryn was unlikely to let her mate make her decisions for her.... Talyn was quite agitated, however, and Crais abandoned the unproductive line of thought and turned his attention to the ship who had been his only real companion for nearly five cycles.

"What's wrong, Talyn? Have the Flents followed us?"

Talyn's distress made him nearly incomprehensible.

"What? Slow down, Talyn, slow down. Crichton did what?"

In fits and starts, Talyn related a tale, apparently told to him by his mother, of the human creating a wormhole weapon even more devastating than the one he had fashioned over the planet Dam-Ba-Da.

"Are you certain of this? Why would he do such a thing?"

As best Crais could deduce from Talyn's impassioned communication, the weapon had something to do with the ending of the conflict between the Peacekeepers and the Scarrans Aeryn had referred to earlier, and that this time, Crichton had not only destroyed enemy ships with his hellish weapon, but he had destroyed an entire planet!

"Aeryn allowed this? Moya did as well?" His heart pounded and his thoughts raced. He understood Talyn's fury, shared it on an instinctive level. He and Talyn had sacrificed themselves in order to destroy the Peacekeepers' ability to create such a horrific weapon, only to find out that Crichton himself—

Feeling Talyn's anger grow, Crais reined his own in. It was clear that Talyn had been too distressed to truly understand all that Moya had told him. He was quite likely to do something totally irrational. "Talyn! Calm down, Talyn!" Crais sent his most soothing emotions towards the ship to whom he was joined. "You may have misunderstood, or there may be extenuating circumstances.... Yes, I understand how you feel. Such a weapon is monstrous!" As Crais had hoped, agreeing with Talyn's sense of outrage helped the ship begin to regain some self-control. "I promise you, we will get to the bottom of this! I am returning to Moya tomorrow. I will question Crichton...yes, Aeryn, too...and find out the truth of it."

He took a deep breath, hoping he wasn't about to go too far with his unstable companion. "But Talyn, remember, we are both aware that you are subject to...fits of irrationality. That is why we created the neural regulator. You need to calm down now. It is possible that Crichton may be of some use to us in getting the filter back from the Flents."

Crais could feel Talyn examine that possibility, and reluctantly back down just enough to preclude immediate action. He was left with two certainties: He needed to find out the truth about Crichton's supposed wormhole weapon, and he really needed to get that neural regulator back!

* * * * * * * *

"According to Talyn, you destroyed a planet!"

Crichton closed his eyes and wished he were somewhere else, though he'd known he'd have to tell Crais about that sooner or later. They'd just been takin' things one step at a time, till Crais ambushed him in Moya's docking bay. "I ended a war," he said, plain and simple.

"With a wormhole weapon, the very thing we worked so hard to prevent? The ends justify any means, is that it?"

"You had to be there," John said, shaking his head. "Everyone was after me, Scarrans, Peacekeepers. Scorpius. They started the war, not me. They wanted the wormhole weapon, not me." He wondered if he sounded as pitiful to Crais as he did to himself.

Crais' nostrils flared. "So, this planet was full of combatants, was it?"

Aeryn's angry voice came from behind him, rising to his defense as she joined them in the docking bay. "Scarrans, yes – and very little else, because the Scarrans had exterminated nearly all of the inhabitants before we even got there!"

John flashed a look in her direction. "Aeryn. Don't," he said, seeing D in her arms. This was so not a topic they wanted to discuss in front of the boy.

Ignoring his warning – and his wishes – she let Crais have it with both barrels. "We tried to broker peace. The Scarrans killed our envoy. We tried to rescue the surviving Eidelons and leave, and we couldn't do that, either. Both sides were as determined to kill us as each other. So the only choice we had was to be killed – knowing that the war would go on and kill millions more – or do something drastic that might lead to peace!"

Crais stared at her, the scowl on his face giving no indication of what he thought.

Ignoring Crais for now, John turned and touched his wife's shoulder, trying to settle her down. "It's all right, babe, he's right. Even if it's the pot calling the kettle black, it was an awful thing I did. And there's no way to justify it – except that the war ended, and the peace is holding."

She was angry at him, he could see from the set of her jaw and the fire in her eyes, for still beating himself up over doing the only thing they could think of to do. And really, most of the time, he was learning to live with it. The only other choice had been to lie down and die. But what still got to him wasn't all the deaths, or the destruction of an entire world – it was what could have happened, would have happened, if Staleek and Grayza hadn't been willing to back down, or if he hadn't been able to shut down his creation. Thinking about the enormous appetite of that swirling black hole, of how much of the galaxy his doomsday weapon might have consumed if things had gone wrong, turned his gut to ice and made spots swim in front of his eyes, even now. Even knowing that things hadn't gone wrong didn't do much to appease that particular guilt....

He blinked suddenly, and Aeryn's eyes went all soft and sympathetic, and one corner of her mouth quirked in a tiny smile. Damn!

Without a word, she put D'Argo on the floor and turned away from John and back to Crais.

Lord knows what Crais had made of their exchange, but before either of them could say anything, their visitor cleared his throat and said, "You understand, Talyn has suffered greatly as a result of our efforts to deny the wormhole technology to those who would use it to wage war. He was...understandably...most distressed to hear from Moya that you had used that very weapon."

John chewed on his lower lip briefly, and then took a deep breath. It appeared they had reached some sort of accord. "Understandably."

Crais flicked his eyes to Aeryn. Oddly enough, John thought he saw apology of sorts in his expression.

She shrugged and said softly, "It was a bitter conflict. The losses were great."

There wasn't much to be said to that.... In the silence, Crais looked across the docking bay at D'Argo. The little guy was climbing up and down the steps of the transport pod Crais had exited just before he'd launched his assault on the wormhole weapon issue.

Little D saw that they were all watching him, and he piped up, "Fwy, Mama! Wanna go fwy! Outside!" He pointed towards the exterior doors of the bay.

Well, Mama was normally the right choice for that request, but it wasn't going to avail him anything today. Aeryn shook her head. "Not now, D'Argo. We have things to do here on Moya." Not to mention they hadn't even had breakfast yet – the kid had definitely inherited the flying gene from his mom, with some added oomph from the Crichton side!

D stuck out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout, and the adults tried not to laugh.

After a few microts, Crais cleared his throat and looked back and forth between John and Aeryn. "Am I correct in assuming that Ka D'Argo was one of the casualties of the war?"

"Yes," John said, just barely ahead of his wife. They looked at each other, and she let him elaborate. "We were trying to get off of Qujaga with all the Eidelons we could—"

Crais interrupted. "Who? You've mentioned these I-da-lons several times now, but I've never heard of them."

"The Eidelons are descendents of ancient peacemakers," Aeryn explained. "They have the ability to actually influence warring parties to negotiate a true peace." Crais widened his eyes in disbelief, and Aeryn shrugged. "I know it sounds like a fantasy, but they do have the ability. I've seen it work. I can tell you more about them later."

When Crais nodded his agreement, John went back to the story of Big D's sacrifice.

"Anyway, there's not a lot to tell. Qujaga was one big war zone. There were Scarran Shock Teams everywhere, and D took a fatal hit. He stayed behind to buy the rest of us enough time to get off the planet." It sounded so logical, put that way...but John didn't think Chiana had ever truly forgiven D'Argo for insisting on staying, or the rest of them for leaving him to die, even though there was nothing they could have done to save him if they'd stayed. Emotions were a crazy thing, Aeryn was right about that.

Crais said solemnly, "A warrior's death. He could not have wished for better."

John managed a small smile, because that was a truth about his dead friend. D'Argo hadn't sought death, he'd hoped to begin a new life with Chiana on Hyneria, but when death found him in battle, he had accepted it. His life really had bought theirs, including baby D's. John's throat closed up, thinking how close he and Aeryn had come to losing their newborn son. He abruptly headed over to the transport pod to scoop D into his arms for a cuddle, leaving Aeryn to deal with Crais.

Behind him, he could hear her telling their back-from-the-dead caller about what had happened to Jool on Arnessk. Their voices were low and awkward. Frell and damn, he'd forgotten there'd been a little spark between Crais and Jool. This was getting completely maudlin. He blew bubbles on his son's tummy, and then set the giggling boy on his shoulders and crossed back to Aeryn and Crais. "Hey," he said. "Why are we standing in the docking bay?"

"Why indeed?" Crais said. "I believe I was invited to first meal."

"Race you to the center chamber," John said, for D'Argo's amusement. Crais looked confused, and Aeryn rolled her eyes, but they gladly followed him through the inner doors and into Moya proper.

* * * * * * * *

While they were eating, Crais encouraged his hosts to bring him up to date on the political situation back in the civilized portion of the galaxy. It was useful information, and he passed it on to Talyn as well as taking personal note of it; what really interested him just then, however, was Crichton and Aeryn, and the relationship they had developed since he'd seen them last. Neither of them was likely to confide any particulars of their personal association to him, of course, so he had to make do with observation.

He was surprised to feel his heart tighten as he realized that they were, in fact, as fully bonded as Aeryn had been with the other Crichton – no, even more so than that giddy union. And it wasn't just the passage of cycles, or because they had a child together, though they obviously both adored their offspring. No, judging by even the incomplete history they'd related thus far, they had been to hezmana and back together, and had emerged with their partnership that much stronger. The way Aeryn leaped into the conversation every time wormhole weapons came up – and the way Crichton let her do it, without the slightest posturing on his part – only confirmed it. Quite apart from his inconvenient personal envy, would that make them more, or less likely to help him?

He was distracted from his musings by young D'Argo, who, it seemed, had boundless energy. When the boy finished with his meal, he began to beg his father to play ball with him. Crais was pleased to see that a certain level of discipline was maintained, and the child was required to wait until the adults had finished their meal as well before his request was indulged. He was not required to sit at the table after his food was consumed, however, and he amused himself by rushing between several baskets of toys that were kept in the room, pulling out and evaluating everything that could possibly be considered a throwing object. Crais could only assume he was looking for something in particular. He was actually quite an admirable child, from what little Crais had seen of him.

At last Crichton turned to the child and declared that it was time to go to the gym to play. Young D'Argo squealed happily and, clutching a ball approximately the size of his head to his chest with both arms, made a dash for the corridor. Crichton gave Aeryn a smile that clearly said something that she understood, then nodded to Crais, and headed out after his son.

Left alone, Crais and Aeryn stared at each other in silence, until Aeryn quirked a corner of her mouth into a grin, and explained, "After first meal, John and D'Argo do athletics. It's our regular schedule. John usually lets D'Argo choose the activity, but they always do something that develops physical skills." Perhaps feeling she'd said something she shouldn't have, she stopped talking and began to put away the leftover food from their meal.

"A child of two would never be allowed such choices in the Peacekeepers," Crais observed, following Aeryn's example and gathering an armful of dirty dishes. In case she should take it as a criticism, he added, "However, your son seems to be flourishing."

Aeryn grinned, and turned quickly away. Had he embarrassed her? It had been his experience that most parents enjoyed compliments to their offspring. Even Moya.... That brought his thoughts back to Talyn, and to the theft which had fortuitously reunited the hybrid ship with his mother. Well, best to tell Aeryn the tale and see what she thought. He had no illusions that she would keep anything secret from Crichton, unless she deemed it best for him, but he would accept her judgment on the matter.

He cleared his throat and began. "You asked yesterday why Talyn was being pursued by those fighters."

Aeryn gave him a quick look of encouragement, and then began to clean the dishes while he talked.

"You remember how Talyn was, just before we went to the command carrier. Unpredictable. Irrational. A danger to everyone around him."

"Yes." Somehow Aeryn managed to pack a world of regret into that one word.

"If things had gone differently, we had planned to remove his weapons, and give him a full cognitive system replacement. He would not have been Talyn, exactly, but...he would have been at peace."

"But that didn't happen."

Aeryn clearly didn't expect a response, and, drying the dishes as she washed, he resumed his story. "The need to use Talyn to destroy the command carrier invalidated those plans. I didn't expect it to matter." He slid his gaze sideways to see if Aeryn caught his meaning. From her grimace, he assumed she had. He cleared his throat and moved on. "As I told you yesterday, there was very little of Talyn left. I still don't understand how he survived, except that the nebula we ended up in was exceedingly rich in nutrients. It preserved Talyn's life until he was strong enough to begin to repair himself."

"And emotionally?"

"Initially, he was in shock, barely functioning on a conscious level. Since then...his attention has been on survival. I could see that he was still...neurotic...and I was able to convince him it was in his best interests not to recreate his main weapons. It has only been recently that I have been able to ascertain his true emotional state."

"As bad as before?"

He put a stack of plates away, thinking before he answered. "I don't think so," he said in the end. "Impulsive, yes, and easily angered. And his anger escalates quickly, beyond all proportion. He is somewhat more amenable to reason, though I have no more actual control over him than I did three cycles ago, and his reaction tends to be to strike out when enraged. But without the large weaponry, he is less able to cause true damage to others."

"And?"

Speaking of impatience. He smiled wryly at her and got to the heart of the matter. "Together, Talyn and I created a device, a neural regulator, to filter out his more violent impulses. It works very well, allowing Talyn to function more nearly as a normal leviathan."

"And this is what they stole from you?"

He sighed. "Yes."

"How?"

Curiosity only gets you into trouble, don't you remember that from your training, Officer Sun? he thought with irritation. But it was a valid question. "A quarter of a cycle ago, after Talyn felt strong enough, and we were certain the filter was working properly, we left the far reaches of the Uncharted Territories and began heading back towards Peacekeeper territory, ironically in hopes of finding Moya. In our travels, we stopped at a space station operated by a group of ruffians who call themselves the Flents. Their leader is a man called Kristafen, but I am getting ahead of myself." He was still mortified by the fact that he'd allowed several of the Flents on board Talyn in the first place, not to mention that he'd bragged about the filter to them, but he'd been very, very drunk, and very much enjoying having someone other than Talyn to talk to. He hadn't noticed a thing when they drugged him. Tersely, he told Aeryn of waking up not merely hung over, but with the distinctive taste of zernak in his mouth – and the neural regulator missing.

"But why would they want it? Surely it only benefits Talyn?"

Crais grimaced once again. "The filter shuts down aggressive neural flow. Kristafen is a petty warlord who fancies himself an empire builder. I believe the men who took the filter intend to use it as the basis of a broadcast weapon which would cause enemy troops to simply stop fighting and surrender."

Aeryn frowned. "Is that possible?"

"Perhaps. A clever person can create many things. Crichton—"

"Yes, all right." Her frown deepened into a scowl. "So you were trying to retrieve the filter from the thieves. How long have they had it?"

"Not long. Just a few solar days."

"Long enough to analyze it?"

Ah, good, she was trying to understand the problem. "No."

"Can you build a new one? For Talyn?"

He hesitated for a microt. "Yes. It is being attended to."

"But?"

"But, neither Talyn nor I wish to leave the original in the hands of a thug who will misuse it."

He caught surprise in Aeryn's eyes. Crichton, he suspected, still thought of Crais himself as a "thug;" had his attitude infected Aeryn, now that they were mated? But she merely shook her head. "Well, you obviously weren't doing a very good job of retrieving it." She was silent for a few microts, and then gestured to the table they'd so recently cleared and said, "I'm not promising anything, Crais, let me be clear on that. But, tell me the details, and what kind of help you need. I'll talk to John, and Pilot. Perhaps we can do something."

Grateful for her willingness to consider the problem at all, he sat down as requested and began to share the intelligence he and Talyn had gathered since the neural regulator had gone missing....

* * * * * * * *

Allowing his multitude of tasks to go on temporarily without overt monitoring, Pilot diverted most of his attention to his ordinary physical senses, and examined Crichton and Aeryn carefully as they entered his den. Their manner might almost have been called furtive, or perhaps guilty, though Pilot was, in fact, quite certain that they hadn't done anything to feel guilty about – not yet, anyway. They were only talking about it. Though he made it a habit not to pry, still, there was little that happened on board Moya that he didn't know about, on some level of consciousness. They walked side by side across the walkway, Crichton with his hand touching Aeryn's back. Pilot recognized this as a gesture of support.

"Hey, Pilot," Crichton called, before they were halfway across his chamber. "Hello, Pilot," Aeryn added.

Pilot greeted them in return, and they made their way up to his console and stopped. They looked at each other for far too long, and then Aeryn turned and cleared her throat. "Pilot, we've come to ask your opinion about something, yours and Moya's."

"I assume this is about helping Crais retrieve Talyn's neural regulator."

Crichton and Aeryn exchanged looks again, and Aeryn continued. "Talyn has told Moya about the problem, then? That while they can build a new regulator for Talyn, Crais believes those who took the original will use it as the basis of a weapon." When Pilot nodded his huge head affirmatively, she continued. "Pilot, we did promise that we would keep out of trouble on this voyage, and not make any requests—"

Crichton interrupted her: "Insane requests, I believe is what you called them, Pilot.... And we know we did promise. So this is going to be up to you and Moya."

"But we think we can help Crais help Talyn."

"We haven't made any promises to Crais, though, honest. We wanted to ask you first, see what you thought. And it wouldn't involve you and Moya, not really." Crichton sounded most sincere.

Pilot could sense Moya's keen interest in the proposition their passengers were trying to make. Truly, in the past two cycles, John and Aeryn had been ideal company, though Pilot had noticed a certain irritability in them both of late. True to their word, they had never tried to involve themselves – or Moya – in any adventures, illegal, immoral, or otherwise. But Talyn's presence changed everything. Moya's normally gentle voice nudged him for more details. Only microts had passed, of course, since Crichton had paused, and Pilot turned his attention back to his visitors. "Go on."

Aeryn took up the tale, explaining that Crais and Talyn had tried to retrieve the filter themselves, but that Talyn's unique shape had been recognized, and they had come under fire. Thus, Crais wanted to borrow one of Moya's transport pods to ferry himself and one other back to D'nell station to retrieve the stolen mechanism.

"If the thieves recognize its value, surely they will have it well-guarded," Pilot objected.

"Now, see, Pilot, that's the beauty of the plan." Crichton apparently felt Aeryn's angry gaze on him, because he paused for a moment and gave her a look of supplication. She scowled and turned away, and he looked back at Pilot and continued. "The people that have it now, they're scientists. Researchers. They're trying to figure the gizmo out before they go making promises to the big boss! There's only a few guards, and we shouldn't have any trouble getting in and out."

There was a note of excitement in Crichton's voice that Pilot hadn't heard in several cycles, perhaps since before Aeryn had left on Talyn with Crichton's now-dead twin. He wondered if it were good, or bad. Additional observation of Aeryn's face and body language revealed that she was more frightened than truly angry. Pilot contemplated this for a few fractions of a microt, and then cleared his throat and addressed John. "I take it you are to accompany Crais on this venture."

"That hasn't been decided, Pilot," Aeryn said, before John could even open his mouth.

"Yes it has," Crichton contradicted. "You're the only one who can fly cover for us in your prowler."

Aeryn set her jaw and glared, but didn't actually argue, which suggested that while she wanted to refute him, she didn't feel she could. Hmph. And they said they'd come for advice! Everything had obviously been resolved already.

Pilot decided to play what he'd learned from Crichton to call a 'trump card.' "What about D'Argo? Where will your son be while you two are out risking your lives?"

Crichton and Aeryn exchanged another long look, from which Pilot deduced that they did not concur on this topic, either. Finally Aeryn looked away, and Crichton said, "He'll be here on Moya with you, Pilot. We'll only be gone a couple of arns."

Pilot forbore to point out that if they did not return, there was no one on Moya to actually look after the child until he could get help. No doubt they had already discussed this issue and come to a reluctant agreement.

He blinked and consulted Moya. Her love for her long-lost son clouded her judgment, Pilot thought, but he would not argue with her. The decision was hers. He cleared his throat and announced, "Moya believes that it is important for Talyn's sense of purpose that the neural regulator not be used for violence. You have her consent."

Aeryn reached out and stroked the edge of Pilot's broad carapace. "Give Moya our thanks," she said. There was a slight quaver in her voice that suggested she'd hoped Moya would say no.

Pretending he could not hear Aeryn's distress, Pilot said softly, "Moya says, 'Come back safely.' That is all the thanks she requires."

Crichton looked at Aeryn again, and she looked at him. And when they'd reached some sort of understanding, Crichton turned to Pilot and said, ducking his head, "We can do that."

Pilot really wasn't so sure about that, but Moya had spoken....

* * * * * * * *

[aeryncrichton]

D'nell Station was pretty much the same sort of sleazy dive that Moya's crew had had to sneak into plenty of times in the old days when they were just about always on the run. It had that basic wagon wheel shape that always made John think of "2001: A Space Odyssey," except that it didn't have the gleaming white exterior of Stanley Kubrik's future, but rather the dark, grimy tones of the Uncharted Territories – inside as well as outside. And it smelled, too....just a hint of stale air, too many intoxicants, and vomit. John shook his head as he and Crais climbed out of the transport pod into the docking berth that had been assigned to them. He hoped that the locals were as clueless as Crais insisted they were....

It gave him the creepy crawlies to think that this might be a trap. As they exited the bay into the station proper, it looked even less promising. "You really think this Kristafen has a research base here?" he asked Crais, dodging an obviously intoxicated sebacean who seemed totally oblivious to their presence. "It looks like they sell two things around here, booze and companionship."

Crais shifted the duffle he was carrying over one shoulder and gave Crichton a look like he was the rawest of raw recruits, which Crichton supposed was only fair; like it or not, this was exactly the sort of dive an aspiring warlord would use as a cover. He and Aeryn had already speculated that these guys had a little cash flow problem, so setting up a big, flashy lab with a state-of-the-art security system in more upscale digs was probably beyond the budget – especially considering it was all on spec at this point. They didn't know for sure that they could make a weapon from the stolen hardware. He continued to cogitate while he matched his stride with Crais' brisk, purposeful steps as they went deeper into the station.

So, where the heck were these...Flents...going to get the funds to develop this new weapon?

Every once in a while John got the feeling that Crais' story just didn't add up. It was part of the reason he'd insisted on leaving Aeryn behind to fly cover while they were getting in and out of the station. Not that he didn't want her watching his back – he did, he truly did. He already felt naked going in here without her. But he also wanted her away from the front lines on this. If Crais screwed them over somehow, or if things just went south like they did so often, he wanted her safe. For the sake of their son, and also for himself.... Just this once, he needed to know she was safe.

"John?" Aeryn's voice came through his comms, checking up as they'd all agreed. "Everything all right?"

"We're down and safe, Aeryn, everything's fine. You can go back to Moya now. We'll call you when we're ready to make our move."

There was a pregnant silence, and then she said, "Crais?"

The two men took each other's measure, and then Crais replied, "I concur, Aeryn. If we need assistance before our return flight, we shall call you promptly."

After a pause in which John could hear her mind working, she said, "All right. I'll be waiting." He thought she'd broken the connection, but it seemed she had one more thing to say, her voice crisp and clear: "And John – don't be a hero."

That stung, especially because he knew that some part of him really was frelling tired of being cooped up safely on Moya, and was really enjoying the potential danger. Strapping on Winona before they left Moya had been a real rush.... But, dammit, she was scolding him like a kid in front of Bialar Crais. He would have snapped back at her, but this time she had cut the comms. Aw, frell! He shook it off and looked around the large chamber into which they'd just emerged.

They must have reached the base of the nearest "spoke" of the wheel, because there was the bank of elevators that gave easy access to the central hub and intermediate levels. Unfortunately, the elevators were also the most likely place for Crais to be seen and recognized by security – not to mention being a great place for an ambush – and they'd already decided not to use them. John turned back to Crais. "Let's get this show on the road. Where are those stairs?"

"This way," Crais said, and headed down a nearby corridor without even looking back to see that Crichton was following.

John trotted along behind him, thinking that it was just the way their luck normally ran that the area they were headed for was 22 levels up....

* * * * * * * *

D'Argo was screaming – in obvious fury, not fear – when Aeryn got back to Moya and activated the comms link to the safe room. She listened to his loud sobs with dismay as she climbed out of her prowler. He hadn't wanted to play "hide" when they'd left, he'd wanted to go flying with her, and he'd been sniffling when she sealed him in. Now, he was clearly in the midst of what John called a "tantrum," and Aeryn's stomach clenched to hear him.

"D'Argo is most unhappy," Pilot ventured over the comms.

"Obviously!" Aeryn snapped, her voice harsher than she'd intended. Pilot retreated into affronted silence. She felt slightly guilty, but John, Crais, and D'Argo were more than enough people to worry about just then, so she was actually relieved not to have to talk to Pilot as well.

Her son's wails continued to assault her ears and her heart as she did a quick survey of her ship to be sure it would be ready to fly again as soon as John commed.

The part of Aeryn that had been raised as part of a military machine told her that D'Argo should stay in the safe room until the mission was completed. She had no idea how quickly she would have to turn around and go out again to cover John and Crais' return, and putting the child back in the room would waste valuable time. But the part of her that was a miserable little boy's mother firmly told that piece of logical advice to get frelled.... She took one last look at her prowler and hurried to the room they'd prepared when D'Argo was a baby to keep him safely hidden, should they ever have to deal with invaders on Moya.

Taking a deep breath, Aeryn unlocked and opened the door, ready to scoop her son up in her arms. The reality of his screaming battered her ears, much louder, as expected, than it had been through the comms. But D'Argo wasn't in front of the door, waiting to be freed – instead, he was standing to one side, beneath the panel that opened the door from the inside, banging his head against the wall. Alarmed, she knelt down next to him and called his name.
 

D'Argo gave no indication that he'd noticed her enter the room, and continued to sob as if his world was ending. Even worse, his forehead continued to thud alarmingly against the wall! Frell! She'd expected a display of temper, but this was far beyond any negative behavior she'd ever seen from him, no matter how upset he'd been.

Terrified that he was doing himself real damage, she grabbed his shoulders and turned his small body towards her. "D'Argo! Stop it! Stop it!" Still screaming, he flung himself at her as if to use her shoulder as a substitute for the wall he'd been banging against. Without thought, she simply grabbed him and pulled him tightly to her body. He sobbed wordless fury into her ear, and struggled against her hold. Miserable herself, Aeryn stood up so she could rock him back and forth, hoping to soothe him.

"Shh, shh, D'Argo, it's all right, you're not alone. You're not alone. Shh...."

Slowly, his struggles lessened, as did the sobs, and he began to relax in her arms.

With a sigh of relief, Aeryn surveyed the room as she continued to whisper softly to her son. It had originally been a small storeroom near the docking bay. They'd chosen it for its location, and the fact that it had a solid door that didn't call attention to itself from the outside. They'd removed the original shelving to make the room as safe as possible for a small child who might be left in it on his own, then added a small bed and some playthings for distraction. Obviously, none of these had done their job. The toys were scattered around the room, as if they'd been thrown, not simply dropped when D'Argo tired of them. Food cubes appeared to have been stomped into powder. Even more telling was the sight of one of Moya's yellow DRD's. The little server was on its back, and from what Aeryn could see while still rocking her son, at least one of the robot's eyestalks was bent at an alarming angle! For the love of Cholak! How had he managed that?

Aeryn looked back at D'Argo, now sniffling into her shoulder and wiping his no-doubt snot-covered nose on her T-shirt. "Hey," she said softly, encouraging him to sit back in her arms so she could see him. He complied, and she brushed his hair from his face while examining him. His face and eyes were red from crying, and his cheeks were streaked with tears and snot. His forehead was showing signs of developing quite a lump! "Are you all right?"

Acknowledging her presence for the first time, he sniffled, hiccoughed, and nodded.

"I told you I'd be back, you knew that, didn't you?" Trying to reason with a two-cycle-old child who was still very upset was probably stupid, but she just couldn't think of anything else to say. Indeed, D'Argo just glared at her and buried his face in her shoulder again. She patted him on the back for a little longer, just glad he was calming down, and then awareness of time passing asserted itself. The timeline before she was called back to duty would depend on the actual situation John and Crais encountered on the station. It could be half an arn, or most of a solar day. It was best to be prepared to leave here sooner rather than later. She sighed. "Come on, D'Argo," she said. "Let's go get you cleaned up and find something to do for a while."

D'Argo raised his head. "We go fwy?" he chirped.

Cholak give me strength, she thought.....

* * * * * * * *

Crais and Crichton headed steadily up in the direction of the station's hub. Their goal was a secondary ring that circled partway between the main "wheel" and the center of the station. John didn't give it much thought when the stairs gave way to ladders partway through their climb up the shaft. After six cycles on Moya, ladders seemed the natural way to get from tier to tier, level to level. It wasn't until one hand slipped and he only got a grip on the rung above him with a single hand that he realized there was something unusual going on. As he flailed in surprise, his feet swinging out from the rung he'd been standing on, he discovered that he was damn near floating. Not quite truly floating, but....the gravity was definitely lighter up here. What the frell?

"Yo, Crais, hold up!" he called, after he'd managed to wrap both his arms securely around the ladder so he could think in peace.

Above him, Crais paused. "What is it?"

John paused himself, not wanting to get that look from Crais again. He could feel Crais' impatience, and he cleared his throat and spit it out. "The gravity's getting lighter."

"Yes."

"So, they don't have artificial gravity on this station?"

"Obviously not."

"Obviously not." Smartass.... John thought for a moment. "So, they make gravity the old fashioned way? They spin the wheel for centripetal force?" Damn, he didn't think he'd ever seen that trick actually used out here – but he still should have realized it when they matched rotation for docking. His brain was getting rusty on this sabbatical with Moya and Pilot.... He shook his head, annoyed with himself, and then asked, since he had Crais' attention, "How much further?"

"Just two more levels to the ring. Then we will assess the situation."

Huh. Assess the situation. Damn, he wished he didn't find Crais so frelling annoying, because of course that was exactly what they were going to do: see how many guards there really were, whether the doors were reinforced or even locked, all the things that would determine their next move.

Crais apparently took his silence for assent and started upward again. John followed. After maybe 200 microts they emerged into the secondary ring. It was even darker than the primary ring, and far less populated, but there were some businesses, and some foot traffic. Crais fiddled with his tote, making sure it hung straight, and then gave a hand sign indicating they should move forward.

John noted that the curve of the floor was more pronounced in this ring. Combined with the spring in his step from the lighter gravity, he couldn't quite shake the feeling that he was about to trip and fall flat on his face. Grimly, he made sure he paid attention to where he put his feet, and how. It made him feel a little better to realize that Crais, also, seemed to be moving with extra care.

They'd walked about a quarter of a metra along the ring when Crais cleared his throat and nodded to a doorway just a bit ahead of them. Well, if that was it, things were not looking promising, because there were at least a dozen armed guards stationed along the corridor, and a security system with a whole lotta blinkin-lights on the door. Frell!

They continued on till they reached a small café with seating "outside" in the corridor. In silent agreement, they stopped and bought a hot drink, then settled themselves where they could see back towards the lab where, according to Crais' information, the stolen neural regulator was being studied even now. Keeping their voices pitched low, they discussed the situation.

"Crais, I'm thinkin' our odds here aren't very good."

Crais scowled at him. "We went into the command carrier, seven of us against 50,000. I only see twelve guards here."

John gritted his teeth. Leave it to Crais to keep reminding him of his sacrifice. Well, screw that.... "Yeah, and however many more are inside." Part of him was screaming "We can take 'em, we can take 'em!" But dammit, this wasn't the old days, he had a wife and a child who needed him, and this wasn't like the wormhole weapons.... "Look, we didn't have a choice then. But here and now, we do. You're already makin' another filter for Talyn, and there's no guarantee that these people can do anything with the one they stole in the first place. Better to just get the hell out of here before we get caught and they start pointin' guns at us and asking us to help...." It seemed perfectly logical to him to just let it go.

But Crais was shaking his head. "There, um, is some information you do not have."

Crichton snorted. "Well, now, that's a big surprise."

Crais took a deep breath and said, "Talyn must have the filter that was stolen from us."

"You said you were making a new one."

"And so we are. But it is a painstaking process, and very time-consuming. Even with the experience we gained in making the original, it will still take at least half a cycle to create and fine-tune a new one. And...." Crais sighed. "Talyn will be completely out of control long before that is done."

John stared at him, anger bubbling just beneath the surface. "You could'a just said so. You know Moya – and Aeryn – would do anything for Talyn. You didn't have to lie about these Flents using it to make a weapon."

Crais grimaced. He opened his mouth as if to say something, and then changed his mind and shut it again. John continued to stare, and Crais sighed. "They really do want such a weapon, but they'll never get it using the regulator. Talyn and I built fail-safes into the design."

"And if they've triggered one already?"

"Then, as I believe I've heard you say, this whole party will have been for nothing."

John closed his eyes in frustration. He wasn't about to admit it to Crais, or, Heaven forbid, his wife, but he was really enjoying the thrill of sneaking around, and really, the odds weren't all that bad, at least from what they could see. But he hated being lied to, and it seemed Talyn had lied to Moya as well, and he was feeling really backed into a corner here.... But, here they were, already on site. Talyn needed the damn filter. And, Aeryn would probably vote to go ahead, for Talyn's sake. "All right," he growled. "You've gone to a lot of trouble to get me here. What's the plan?"

Half an arn later, he was on the comms, giving Aeryn the heads' up that they were about to go into action.

* * * * * * * *

"Right, I'm on my way." Aeryn barely even heard John's acknowledgement. Something in his voice made her uneasy. It seemed this was likely to be more complicated than they'd hoped....

She looked down at D'Argo and briefly considered her options. She could leave him here, as planned, or she could take him with her. In theory, he was safer here, but given what she'd seen earlier, it was clear he could potentially do himself serious harm while unsupervised – and who knew what would happen to him if they didn't return. But if she took him with her into a firefight.... She contemplated for just a microt longer. Frell it! John was going to be furious, but at least if their son was in her prowler with her, she was in control of what happened to him.

D'Argo apparently understood that she'd made a decision, but not what it was, because he screwed up his face and yelled, "No!"

"You don't want to go flying?" she deadpanned. "All right, let's get you back to the safe room, then."

His eyes opened wide and he did a fast turnaround. "No, no! No go woom! Want to fwy wif you! We go fwy now!"

She grinned then, despite the seriousness of the situation, and teased, "You're sure about that?" When D'Argo nodded vigorously, she scooped him up in her arms. "Come on, then. Let's go get into mommy's prowler."

* * * * * * * *

The smoke bomb did an admirable job as a diversion.

Placed near an air vent that led into the main corridor a hundred motras "upwind" from the lab, it spewed thick black smoke that got the guards' attention immediately. If John hadn't known better, he'd have thought the place was on fire, too.... He watched with satisfaction as nearly all of the guards they'd noted earlier – and most everyone else in the area as well – rushed to try to find the source of the billowing vapors.

John glanced at Crais for a quick confirmation, and then the two of them headed purposefully for the door that was the object of their efforts. One of the two remaining guards was paying enough attention to his actual assignment to notice them. Much to their chagrin, the man tapped his partner – presumably to be sure he had backup – and then growled, "Move along! You don't belong here!"

The two guards looked very young. Hand hovering over Winona, John improvised. "Look, we just want to help! It looks like the trouble might be inside. Maybe if we go in we can knock this thing down before it spreads!"

The two guards eyed each other uncertainly.

Crais shook his head and picked up the riff. "The fire could spread to this lab," he said briskly. "I wouldn't want to be you when Kristafen finds out that you stopped us from protecting his project."

The air circulatory system was pushing the smoke in their direction, and John looked meaningfully at the hubbub. "Look, we can all go in together, me, my friend, and the two of you. We'll be sure to tell Kristafen how helpful you were."

One more nervous visual exchange, and the two young guards nodded. They opened the locked door, and followed the two "volunteers" inside. The door closed behind them. One, two, three.... Pow! Crichton and Crais whirled around and caught the two unfortunate guards with a pair of Pantak jabs. The guards went down promptly without even attempting a defensive move. Crais sneered at them, lying there in a heap on the floor, and John had to admit, there might be a bit of a sneer on his face as well.

Crichton pulled his pulse pistol, and gestured casually towards Crais. "You're up, Bialar. Let's go find this thing and get the frell out of here."

Crais nodded, and they began a search of the lab. It wasn't really very big, just a few rooms, but they couldn't be sure how much time they would have before their ruse was discovered, and John could feel acid churning in his stomach. Yeah, he was still getting a kick out of this, but the personal consequences of failure weighed on his mind, distracting him. Hah! Aeryn could tell him a thing or two about that! He mentally sent her the message that he loved her and D'Argo with all his heart, and then carefully pushed her image from his conscious mind.

"Crichton! Here!"

Crais was gazing through a window into a research lab. There were workbenches along the walls, some electronic equipment scattered across the benches, what might be a large network computer standing in the center of the room – and one lone tech looking intently at an object the size of a forearm which was connected to some kind of analyzer. The guards had been sebacean, but the tech was of some other race, with shiny purple skin and a tuft of white hair sticking up from the center of his head. A light-colored vest hung almost to his knees, covering dark clothing. It was hard to make much else out from this distance, but the species didn't look familiar to John, not that it mattered. "Is that the gizmo he's looking at?" His voice came out in a whisper.

Crais nodded thoughtfully.

"Then let's go get it," John said, and opened the door. The fury rolling off of Crais went a long way as payback for being lied to about this whole thing in the first place. "Hi, there," John said cheerfully as their quarry looked up. "I'll take that." He held his hand out and waited with an air of expectation.

Up close, it was clear the scientist had pretty tough skin, and John hoped he wouldn't have to try shooting him. True, this guy worked for the bad guys here in the hind end of space, but John would still rather not have to shoot him. Two years of peace and quiet had helped him work off that "shoot first, ask questions later" mentality, and he was glad to see he wasn't falling back into the habit.

Crais cleared his throat, and their purple friend – who hadn't said a word since they entered – abruptly reached to free the filter from the equipment it was attached to. He handed it to John, who handed it to Crais. "Well?"

Crais examined it briefly, checking the condition of several brightly colored crystals imbedded in the surface. "It appears to be functional," he said, at the same time as he tucked the device into the tote that was hanging off his shoulder.

John looked back at the tech. "Hey, thanks for being reasonable about this." He started to turn away so they could get the hell out of the lab, when out of the corner of his eye he saw the purple guy draw what appeared to be some kind of weapon out of a pocket in his vest. "Crais!" he screamed, even as he flung himself to the right. Crais took the hint and dived for the floor himself, but not before he took a hit in the arm from some kind of energy weapon.

With a roar, Crais climbed to his feet and barreled straight back at his attacker, head down like a battering ram. Just as Crais made contact with the fellow's midsection, John tackled their adversary from behind. The man went down in a heap, and his head made a very solid thunk when it hit the floor. Without waiting to see if he was going to get up again, John and Crais hightailed it out of the lab and back into the main ring corridor.

Their smoke bomb had finally stopped smoking, and the would-be firefighters were milling around in confusion. Several of the guards were drifting back to their original posts, and a shout of alarm went up when the human and sebacean emerged through the doorway, pulse pistols at the ready. One side effect of their diversion was that they couldn't go back the way they had come. There was only one way to go – forward – and John bellowed, "Come on, Bialar!" just as Crais ordered, "This way!"

Adrenaline pumping, they ran flat out for the next shaft that led back down to the docking level. How far? How far? A metra? Half that? John's brain was working in overdrive, trying to calculate all the variables. Running that fast in low gravity was courting disaster, as their bodies kept trying to go faster than their feet, and they very nearly sprawled flat on their faces more than once. Their pursuers were more used to the gravity field, and were slowly but surely gaining on them.

Breathing hard, they reached the door to the next shaft. Crais tried the latch, only to discover it was locked. Frell! "Get out of the way!" John yelled, and pointed Winona at the latch and fired. The door fell open, and they rushed out to the landing. Crais was carrying the neural regulator, and John made the split-second decision that the ex-Peacekeeper was more valuable in this situation. "You go first!" he snapped.

Crais didn't waste time arguing. He holstered his pulse pistol and flipped the strap of the duffle over his head to the opposite shoulder so the bag wouldn't fall off as he climbed. "Give me a short head start."

John nodded sharply. As Crais started down, Crichton kicked the door to the corridor closed and used Winona to heat-seal the edges. He had no illusions that his make-shift welding would hold for long, but if it slowed their pursuers down even a little, that could be enough to get the two of them out of here in one piece. He holstered the pulse pistol. "Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred – Ready or not, here I come," he called to Crais, and dropped over the edge to begin the long climb down to the transport pod that was their only way off of this station....

* * * * * * * *

[aeryncrichton]

Crais could hear the sounds of banging and pulse fire from above, presumably where they'd entered the shaft. Amazingly, Crichton's improvisation seemed to be holding well, and the door was still closed. He could also hear the human not too far above him, panting and cursing as he tried to take advantage of the lower gravity to more precisely slide down the ladder a level at a time, rather than climb. The effort was treacherous for the untutored, but Crais himself was doing much the same. The wound from the pulse blast in the lab was minor, but painful enough to cause him some difficulty in using the arm.

Their arrival at the point where ladders turned back into stairs coincided with a huge clang from above which announced that the defenders had finally managed to batter the door in. He looked to make sure that Crichton was right behind him, and, once again adjusting the bag containing his precious cargo so that it would neither impede him, nor fall and be lost, he began to run down the stairs as quickly as possible, sometimes leaping three, four, five steps at a time. Thank Sh!ven that they were near enough the outer ring now that gravity was approximately standard.

He could sense Talyn asking what was happening, but he just couldn't spare the attention right now. He needed to be off of this miserable station!

Voices echoed, and footsteps, and there was the sound of the occasional ricochet that suggested some of their pursuers were very young indeed to be shooting at quarry in a metal shaft where they themselves were climbing. Frelling amateurs!

His breath was coming very hard as he reached the bottom level. Waiting for Crichton to join him, Crais bent over and rested his hands just above his knees, taking the opportunity to catch his breath. Crichton scrambled down and landed beside him, equally out of breath. The human took several deep breaths, and then pointed at Crais' arm, where blood had soaked through the damaged shirt fabric. "You're hurt."

"It's nothing. We need to keep moving, they aren't that far behind us."

Crichton's expression was sour, but he merely inclined his head towards the door to the main ring.

They opened the accessway just enough to see out into the corridor. Remarkably, there was no commotion. He'd been sure that the men above would simply call down to the docking level and have a force waiting to take them – or kill them – when they appeared. Apparently, despite his reputation, Kristafen did not actually run this outpost, and thus station security did not automatically do their bidding when his men called. That was a heartening thought. They might actually succeed in reaching the transport pod and getting into space, where Aeryn would be able to hold off the inevitable fighter pursuit.

Crichton pushed through the doorway, looked both directions along the corridor, and snapped, "Get a move on, Crais!"

Arrogant bastard.... But he was right, and Crais followed along quickly. They moved at a brisk pace, but, trying not to attract undue attention, they didn't actually break into a run until their pursuers spilled out of the staircase with considerable hue and cry and began to chase them in earnest. Back to standard gravity on the outer rim, they were no longer tripping over their own feet, which was a welcome change.

He could hear Crichton shouting into his comms, "Aeryn! Baby, we're on our way, and we're going to have some uglies on our tails! Keep your eyes open!"

Her reply was lost in the general din, but Crais had no doubt she would be there.

"Crichton!" he shouted. "Over here! Bay 94!"

Crichton followed him up the ramp and into the transport pod.

Crais' fingers itched to be at the controls, but they'd agreed in advance that it would be best for Crichton to pilot the pod during their escape; he had more recent experience, and more importantly, he and Aeryn fully understood each other's piloting styles. That teamwork might well save all their lives, and Talyn's sanity as well.

He stowed the tote and its precious cargo, and strapped himself in as Crichton started the engines and prepared to leave, with or without permission from station control....

* * * * * * * *

While D'Argo chattered away in the rear seat of the prowler, Aeryn searched space along the outer rim of D'nell Station for any sign that John's transport pod had emerged from one of the many docking bays. Moya and Talyn had remained at the outer edge of the solar system to insure that Talyn would go undetected, since it was Talyn's distinctive profile that had given Crais away in his original attempt to retrieve the neural regulator. She hoped that they would be luckier this time around.

The moment she thought it, she scolded herself sharply. Don't tempt Fate! Just because things had gone so smoothly as to be achingly boring for the past two cycles, you could never trust Fate....

She held her breath for a few microts, and then, just as she began to relax, her comms crackled to life, and John dashed all hopes that they might get off the station without pursuit. "I'm at the ready," she assured him, hoping at that point that he and Crais would simply get off the station at all! While she still had a microt or two before combat, she took a quick look back at her son.

He seemed content enough. Though his mood could certainly change from one microt to the next, that generally didn't happen when they were flying. But this might be different, and she thought he might do with a warning "Hey there," she said gently, one eye on the station. "In a little while we're going to fly very fast."

D'Argo's face lit up. "Zoom! Zoom!"

Trust John to have taught him that idiotic sound.... She shook her head ruefully while the boy "flew" his hand around in imitation of a prowler. "We're going to fly fast," she repeated, "and Mommy might have to shoot. It will be loud."

He understood precisely what that meant. A broad grin split his little face, and he clapped his hands in glee. Before Aeryn could respond, movement caught her eye along the outer ring of the station. "All right, quiet now!" she commanded. "I have to fly!" Whether D'Argo followed orders or not, she couldn't have said, as she turned her attention fully to the coming encounter.

"We're on our way!" John called, and Moya's transport pod emerged from the docking bay at a speed much higher than recommended, followed very shortly by two fighters much like those she'd seen when they'd come to Talyn's rescue earlier. They were about the same size as her prowler, and seemed to have approximately the same firepower, though she couldn't be sure, since they were an unfamiliar design.

John's speed and his evasive pattern kept the fighters off his back long enough for her to drop in and cut them off. As they swerved to hamman and treblin to avoid her, the unarmed transport pod shot ahead, racing for Moya's distant docking bay.

The fighters regrouped, and were joined by another pair from the station. Four against one didn't seem the best odds, but they were using a very standard formation, flying in pairs, and she suspected she could take them out with a little "outside the box" thinking. No one had done any shooting yet, however, and she tried for a peaceful solution. "Flents fighters," she called, "if you value your lives, return to your base!"

The nearest pilot let loose a warning shot over her wing. D'Argo squealed, reminding Aeryn that he, too, was at risk here if things went south. Dodging, she tried once more: "I say again, go home! We have stolen nothing, only retrieved our own property. Turn around, and let us go in peace."

A quick glance at her screens indicated that John was well ahead of her, racing towards Moya. She could follow him and hope to outrun the fighters, or she could try and take them out, here and now. Her training said to neutralize them so they couldn't harm her or the pod she was protecting; her experiences since leaving the Peacekeepers urged her to take no lives unnecessarily. But another blast sizzled by, and a third, rocking the prowler this time, and without further thought, she pulled upwards and got a weapons lock on one of the fighters as it swooped in. Wait for it, wait....at just the right moment, she let loose a pulse blast that not only hit the ship she was aiming at, but sent it crashing into the vessel it was paralleling. The explosion, viewed only briefly as she swooped out of the way, was most satisfactory.

"Aer-yn!" John bellowed, as she took off in his wake at full speed, hoping that the two remaining enemy fighters would abandon the chase.

"I'm fine!" she called back, hoping he couldn't hear D'Argo's excited yells through her comms. "Keep going, I'm right behind you!"

"It looks like you've still got two of them on your tail!"

"Keep. Frelling. Going!" she roared, afraid he was going to come back to "help" her even though the pod was unarmed.

After a brief silence, he replied tersely, "Just get a move on, okay?"

She spared a glance at her rear screens. The fighters were still following, but they were falling further and further behind every microt, and every microt she and John were getting closer and closer to Moya. He surely must have seen that on his readouts, but there was still just enough worry in his voice that she repeated, "I'm right behind you."

Aeryn held back long enough to let John fully enter Moya's docking bay. As she began to follow him inside, D'Argo abruptly wailed, "Noooo! Don't wanna go in! Wanna fwy!"

John's voice echoed in her ears. "Aeryn? What the frell was that?"

Pilot chose that moment to call over the comms. "Prepare for starburst, everyone!" Aeryn suspected his timing was deliberate, for which she was very grateful....

* * * * * * * *

Aeryn collected D'Argo from the rear seat and climbed down the ladder, steeling herself for the inevitable confrontation with John. She'd known it was coming from the moment she decided to take the baby with her, so she could hardly claim surprise now. When she reached the deck she closed her eyes briefly, told herself to stay calm, and then opened them again, settled D'Argo on her hip, and turned to face her husband.

"Have you lost your mind?" John's voice was low and sharp, with barely-controlled fury leaking through. He reached to take the child from her. "What the hell kind of a mother takes a two year old into a fire fight?"

The slap at her fitness as a mother hurt too much to ignore, and she lost what control she'd been clinging to. She jerked away from John so that he couldn't take the baby. When he looked at her as if she'd struck him, she snapped, "Look at him! Look at his forehead! He did that while I was gone! Now go look at that room, and then you tell me you would have left him there on his own! You tell me!"

The sight of a purple lump the size of a plomeek egg on the baby's head got through to him, just a little, and the slight softening in his expression helped settle her just a little, too. She blinked, and then handed D'Argo to his father.

John never took his eyes from hers as he took their son from her arms and gave him a hug. The silence stretched, and then he turned abruptly without uttering another word, and carried D'Argo off with him.

Aeryn watched him go, still angry, but knowing there was nothing more either of them could say without some time to calm down. She had no doubt that John would go check on the state of the safe room, though she couldn't be sure he would come to the same conclusion she had. She was still looking after him, chewing on her lower lip, when Crais cleared his throat. She'd forgotten he was even there. With a guilty start, she turned towards him. He didn't actually say anything, but there was disapproval in his eyes. It might have been directed at her, but she thought it was John's anger that had evoked the criticism.

"He's frightened for D'Argo's sake," she said, in a tone intended to make it clear that their private life was not open for discussion. Crais nodded curtly and Aeryn took a deep, cleansing breath, turning gratefully to other subjects. "Were you successful then? Did you retrieve the filter for Talyn?"

Crais hefted the duffle bag he was carrying. "Yes. The retrieval did not go as smoothly as one might have hoped, but we succeeded."

There was something in his manner that made her feel he was being evasive, but maybe he was just embarrassed at having witnessed a private argument. She chose to let it go for now. Drying blood on his shirt caught her attention, and she nodded towards his arm. "You're wounded."

"It is painful, but of no consequence."

"There's a medkit in the maintenance bay," she suggested.

"Not necessary. I have the appropriate supplies on Talyn. And...I should get the neural regulator back to him without delay."

Still looking for a distraction, she asked impulsively, "Do you need help to install it?"

Crais looked at her with eyes that sparkled with amusement and snorted. "No, it's a simple job. The difficulty was in creating it." After a pause he added, "And in any case, I believe your mate would not be pleased were you to accompany me to Talyn on your own."

That observation brought far too many emotions to cope with at once, especially given how much had happened over such a short span of time. She gave Crais a brittle smile. "I'll leave you to it, then."

"May I continue to use the transport pod?"

"Of course." She fidgeted with the bottom edge of her T-shirt as Crais took his leave and prepared to return to Talyn. When she was alone again in the docking bay, she turned to her prowler and methodically did her usual post-flight check, taking comfort in the routine.

* * * * * * * *

He hadn't lied to Aeryn; it was indeed a simple task to reinstall the filter in Talyn's neural circuits. No, he'd simply had quite enough of other people, and wanted to be back on Talyn, where he belonged.

It might have been guilt over losing the regulator to begin with that drove him to test and attach the device before looking after his own minor injury. As he worked, he thought about how odd it was that he, a man who had once commanded 50,000 Peacekeepers, now preferred solitude. Nearly dying together had bound him to Talyn more thoroughly than all the covetousness of the early cycles had. True, he'd asked Aeryn and Crichton about some loose ends from his past, but in all honesty, if they'd been able to tell him where Larell might be, he wouldn't have followed the trail. Funny, he hadn't really thought of her in several cycles. He was glad to know there was a good chance she'd survived the havoc he and Talyn had wrought, though.

Within an arn, he had installed the neural regulator and begun a series of tests. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on his connection with Talyn. Much to his satisfaction, he felt the ship's erratic emotional impulses smoothing out. Crais found himself breathing deeply, echoing Talyn's own sensation of relaxation and control.

Satisfied that Talyn was once again in full possession of his faculties, so to speak, Crais briefly considered going back to Moya. But if he did so, he might be subjected to another emotional outburst from Crichton. And there would no doubt be recriminations about untruths – well, half-truths – having been told to mislead those onboard Moya about the necessity of retrieving the stolen neural regulator. No, he wanted no part of that drama, especially since he was still keeping one very big secret from Crichton and his mate....

Rather much to his surprise, neither Crichton nor Aeryn had asked how the Flents had gotten the idea that Talyn's neural regulator could be used as a weapon to begin with. The answer to that question was that the device already had that capability. He and Talyn had agreed that the young ship should not regenerate his offensive weapons – but they had also agreed that there was need of a defensive weapon. The neural regulator served both functions, allowing Talyn to keep his destructive emotions in check – and also allowing him to broadcast a signal that would cause attackers to cease in their aggression. Used as intended, it was passive, and peaceful; but as he'd told Crichton and Aeryn, it could be perverted into a weapon of war. Neither he nor Talyn were comfortable sharing this knowledge with a man who had destroyed a planet, no matter what his reasons had been. 

Talyn interrupted his thoughts with a startling question. Crais considered, and then replied, "Well, Talyn, I don't know how Moya would feel about us traveling alongside her for a time. You've talked with her at significantly more length than I have. Do you even know what she is doing out here so far from civilization?" He listened to Talyn's rapid-fire response, picking out the relevant bits and formulating a reply. "Exploring? Well, that sounds like it might be interesting. You should enquire of your mother and see how she feels about the possibility. There are many things you can learn from her." As an afterthought, he added, "Crichton may object, as he doesn't approve of our deception in order to gain his help, but I am not certain how much weight Moya will give to his opinion."

Talyn withdrew to speak to Moya, leaving Crais to ponder the improbability that fate had placed exactly the correct people in their path to allow recovery from Crais' monumental blunder with the neural regulator. He realized he had not yet thanked Crichton and Aeryn for their help in retrieving it. That would have to be rectified, though he doubted that either of them would be happy to have him as a fellow traveler. The three of them would always be an awkward mix. Perhaps Moya would tell Talyn no....

* * * * * * * *

Aeryn approached the door to D'Argo's room quietly. Pilot had told her that John had put the little one down for a nap, and she wanted to see how he was doing. She stopped short in the doorway. Pilot had neglected to tell her that John was still in the room, standing beside D'Argo's bed, watching him sleep. Well, it was too late now; she knew he sensed her presence, so she continued into the room and stopped at his side. D'Argo was sleeping on his back, his chest raising and lowering reassuringly, though the lump on his forehead seemed even larger in the dim light. John glanced sideways to catch her eye, then nodded at D'Argo. "He did that in the safe room, huh?" When she nodded, he shook his head. "I saw the damage. Musta been some tantrum."

She let out the breath she'd been holding and said softly, "I opened the door, and he was beating his head against the wall. He was screaming so hard, he wasn't even aware I was there." Some of her panic of that time must have come through in her voice, because John put his arm around her and pulled her into a sideways hug.

"Come on," he said softly. "We need to talk."

Yes, she supposed they did.... With a last look at her son, she followed John next door to their own quarters, near enough so they could hear D'Argo when he woke. Without discussion, they climbed onto the bed and settled themselves side by side with their backs against the wall, and their knees bent in front of them. Now that they were here, as so often happened, it was difficult to find the words to begin. Finally Aeryn cleared her throat and made a start. "I'm sorry I upset you. I took him in the prowler even though I knew you wouldn't agree. But, you weren't here John, and I was. I did what I thought was best for him. Safest for him."

John stared at the bed for a few microts, and then turned to face her. "I know. I probably wouldn't'a gone that way myself, but....I do understand why you were scared to leave him behind. And," he added with a sigh, "it was your call. You were the on-site parent...."

She knew how much that had cost him to admit, and she stroked his arm gently in gratitude. He gave her a weary smile, but she could still feel tension radiating from him. It seemed obvious, to her anyway, that something else was still troubling him, and he wasn't ready to talk about it. So, she asked about the mission instead. "Did everything go all right with Crais?"

John grimaced at the question, and then took his time rearranging himself to get comfortable. He stretched his legs out in front of him, dropped his hands in his lap, and finally said, "Yes and no. He lied to us about the Flents being able to make a weapon out of the damn thing. He just needed it for Talyn."

"But Talyn told Moya—"

"Ah, you see the problem. Talyn's lying to his mama, and about something we woulda done anyway."

That didn't quite make sense. "But why did he lie? We would have helped, for Talyn."

John shrugged as if to say, Who knows why Crais does anything? Then he suggested, "It's been three cycles. I think maybe he just wasn't sure he knew us well enough any more to be sure we'd do it unless he added that 'fate of billions hangs in the balance' thing into the mix."

"What do you think Moya is going to do?"

"About the lyin'?" He shook his head. "I don't know. Talyn's her son, and she's got him back from the dead, so there's probably a certain amount of killing the fatted calf going on." She didn't get the reference, and he grinned and explained. "A little forgiving, a little rejoicing, a little barbecue...."

"Ah. Yes, I can see that. It's like a miracle. But he's been the cause of so much heartache for her in the past. He's only been here two solar days, and he's already lying to her. Will she dare trust him again?"

John went quiet. After a few microts he said slowly, "I'm not sure that should be our problem...."

From his manner, Aeryn thought he must be sneaking up on the topic that he'd really wanted to discuss. "And it shouldn't be our problem because?" She trailed off, hoping to encourage him to open up.

He sucked in his lower lip and chewed on it for a while. Finally, he took a deep breath. "Aeryn, I've been sitting here on Moya with my head up my ass for the better part of two cycles." He paused a moment and looked away. "Any shrink on Earth would probably say I had good reason." She waited out another silence, and he turned and quirked the corner of one mouth up in an apologetic smile. "I think it's time to quit cocooning and get back into the real world."

She stared at him, not quite daring to believe him. "Off of Moya, do you mean?"

Reluctantly, it seemed, he said, "Yeah. You, me, and the munchkin, somewhere where we aren't just drifting along and being bored out of our minds."

"That," she said, breaking into a huge smile, "is the best idea I've heard in at least a cycle!"

He gaped at her. "You mean that?"

"Frell, yes!" she blurted, though she hadn't meant to sound quite so enthusiastic.

John laughed, and said, "And here I thought I was going to break your heart talking about leaving."

She shook her head, eyes sparkling, and John snorted and pulled her sideways into his lap. She bent down and kissed him lightly, and then sat back up straight and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. "Why now?" she asked gently.

John rubbed his neck while he considered the question. At last he said, "You've been really good about not complaining, but I guess I've known for a while we were getting pretty stir-crazy here. I just kind of kept my eyes closed about it. But when I was out there with Crais today...." He trailed off and fumbled for words. Finally he shook his head. "I don't know. I guess I felt alive!"

That was somehow vaguely disturbing, though she didn't know why, and she frowned.

"I don't mean I want to take up a life of crime," he chuckled, running his fingers through her hair where it framed her face. "Or superheroing, either....  But you and me, Aeryn, we're doers, not watchers...and we've been sitting out here watching for too long." He examined her intently, looking for a reaction.

Doers, not watchers. How did he manage to put a finger on exactly what she'd been feeling? Her grin brought a hug, and another kiss, and then she asked, "So, where do you want to go?"

"Not a clue.  But how about we start with Hyneria?"

"Hyneria?" she snorted, taken completely off guard.

He laughed, and shrugged. "We've got friends there, we've got a place to crash. It'll give us a chance to figure out where we really want to go. And you know Sparky will be thrilled to see D'Argo again."

Aeryn considered for a few microts. "All right, yes, why not Hyneria." It was as good as anywhere, she supposed, and she would like to see Chiana again, assuming the Nebari hadn't gone stir-crazy herself and moved on. But the prospect of leaving Moya brought something else up, and she said, through a throat suddenly tight, "We'll have to tell Pilot...."

John searched her eyes for long microts, and finally said, "It'll be okay, babe. They'll be glad of the privacy."

She searched his eyes in return, wondering if he believed that. He wanted to, at least, she thought. "Perhaps they will at that," she said, hoping it would be true, and laid her head on his shoulder....

* * * * * * * *

Epilogue:

As it turned out, Moya and Pilot didn't get quite as much privacy as Crichton and Aeryn had anticipated. Talyn and Crais became their new traveling companions. Crichton was leery of the arrangement, though he acknowledged the choice wasn't his, but Aeryn clung to the hope that this time, Moya would be able to help guide her son's renewal.

It was harder to leave their old home than they expected, but the day came when Crichton, Aeryn, and young D'Argo touched down at the Royal Compound on Hyneria. John carried D on his shoulders, Aeryn at his side, and the three of them walked out to meet old friends, and the future....