Voices Of Reason (PG-13)

[KernilCrash]

VOICES OF REASON

Word 6.0 Printable Version

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First posted:  January 25, 2002.

Rating:  PG-13 - Just a bit of profanity.
Disclaimer: Farscape and all related characters are the creation of, and are owned by, the Jim Henson Company.  Thank you all for your extraordinary vision.  We haven’t given up. 
Spoilers:  Up to and including “Different Destinations”.  This definitely takes place before “Eat Me” … one Crichton is all I could handle.

Acknowledgements:  I need to recognize some people who were instrumental in encouraging me to write this story.  ChianaWannabe, ScapeArtist, Still_Waters, PKAmmoTroop, and JohnsKeedvaBBQ were the ones who encouraged me (in a single post) to begin writing fanfic, so the five of you are responsible for creating a monster.  Thank you so much.  My two beta-readers on this project were ScapeArtist and imloco2.
 
DEDICATION:  When I first posted this story, I dedicated to all of YOU.  I wrote:  “The generous, intelligent, cheerful, articulate, and devoted fans without whom Farscape would be a forgotten one-season flop.  You’re the best.”  That sentiment goes one-hundred-fold this time.  You’re out there putting your time, money and effort into saving the show now.  So every time I write a story … I write it for you.  You are, truly, the best people on the planet.   

Author's Note:  For those of you who weren’t around for the first airing of this story -- the idea of a dormant black hole is NOT the product of my warped imagination.  Theoretical physics have begun to suggest that some black holes may go through dormant stages where their gravity well simply ceases to exert force.  The finer intricacies are completely beyond me, so I hallucinated the rest of the details.

* * * * *

PROLOGUE

Somewhere deep in space a killer slept.  The black hole had been dormant for many millennia, it’s killing gravity temporarily suspended.  For much of its life the singularity had exercised its massive  power without hindrance, ripping stars apart, turning planets into just so much dust and debris, and distorting one solar system after another until each one lost its perfect, precarious balance and tumbled its components down into the oblivion. 

Civilizations rose and fell; planets slowly cooled, lost their atmosphere and turned to barren rock; species evolved, achieved sentience, found their way to the stars and traveled far beyond the region where the destroyer dwelled; and throughout it all the great force continued to consume entire constellations. 

It was an unusual killer, spinning like a voracious tornado as it reached out for whatever it could consume, and that circling momentum gave it a power over space and time that most of its brethren did not exercise.  It wrapped itself in the surrounding magnetic fields, twisting and tightening the energies into cables of spatial and temporal distortions that spun out from the hub for thousands of metras. 

The spinning was a miniscule tax on the beast’s strength, however, and eventually the black hole overreached itself, consuming all the mass within its vast reach.  With each passing century less and less space detritus edged towards it, and the ring of debris and trapped light circling at the event horizon slowed imperceptibly as the gravity well lost an infinitesimal amount of its grasp on mass and energy. 

The moment finally came when the energy stored there overpowered the grasp of the black hole, and in a nano-microt the light, mass and energy trapped at the point of no return finally escaped.  An explosive flash of light and heat smashed out through the surrounding area of space, waves of gravity distortion carried much of the rock and ice away from its prison and the black hole slept. 

But it wasn’t dead.  It waited, holding a tenuous grasp on almost enough mass and energy to resume its destructive habits.  It slumbered while it waited for the one piece of debris soaring aimlessly through the galaxies that would chance to fall upon the sleeper and give it the last bit of mass to awaken it once again.

* * * * *   

CHAPTER 1

Moya was enjoying a rare opportunity for free flight.  All Leviathans enjoyed undirected flight through space, but rarely took the time to delight in its freedom.  They preferred to serve those who lived within them and found greater satisfaction in carrying them where they bid.  But the past eighteen solar days had been quiet ones, a rarity for Moya and everyone aboard her.  Her crew had found a brief period of peace and they were allowing Moya to chose the route from one star system to the next as they assisted with her repairs, replenished supplies and resumed what they considered a normal pace and rhythm of life.   

The past two cycles since she had escaped from the Peacekeepers had been a nightmarish period of one violent encounter after another.  Her burned tiers were almost healed now, scars thickening into what might become permanent gnarled cicatrices within her corridors.  Not even Moya or her Pilot knew whether those corridors and chambers would ever fully heal, returning to their lustrous golden glow, nutrients moving beneath a shimmering surface. 

Moya sometimes felt that if she were given enough time and rest she might be able to fully heal, but she tried to shield those feelings from Pilot.  She was reluctant to place her own desire for her hull to return to its original beauty ahead of the needs and desires of her crew, and she didn’t want Pilot to have to carry the burden of her wishes as well.  But in this moment as she dove and swooped through space, choosing the longest route to the next solar system instead of the shortest, she felt as young and full of life as she had the first day she had joined with a Pilot and taken her place as a Leviathan transport. 

Moya detected a small nebula a short distance out of their way.  Her sensors detected that the nebula was full of energy currents and random gravity patterns, swirling pockets of ions and plasma.  In greater amounts, these would represent a threat to Moya, but in small amounts such as this nebula it would be like a human diving into a cool pond of water. 

The diversion would add almost an entire solar day to their journey, and Moya became unsure whether she was justified in the additional delay just to take a swim, so she sent the sensor data and an enquiry to her pilot.  In the cycles since Pilot had been neurologically joined with Moya, they had never had the chance to dive into a benign nebula, and his excitement at the opportunity was obvious as he relayed Moya’s request to the crew.  The answers came back universally in the affirmative, and they altered course toward a quick Leviathan splash. 

* * * * *

John Crichton was lying on the floor of the maintenance bay working on his module.  He was trying to repair a hydraulic fluid leak in the main strut of one of the landing gear, and it wasn’t going particularly well because he didn’t have the right material to replace the seals.  Both arms were almost completely inside the craft, and leaking hydraulic fluid streaked down both arms and was soaking into an already filthy T-shirt. 

As he struggled to stop the leak long enough to get the strut cylinder out of the craft he reflected that the landing gear had seen a lot of hard use over the last quarter cycle, and even harder abuse before that.  No, he thought severely, he had promised himself he wouldn’t let his thoughts stray back to what had happened then.   

He began to sing in order to give himself something else to fix his thoughts on, quietly and just slightly off key at first, but finding the pitch and falling into a steady baritone.

   “In Amsterdam there lived a maid, mark well what I do say,       
   In Amsterdam there lived a maid, and she was never seen afraid,
   I’ll go no more a ro-oavin’ with you fair maid.
   A roavin’, a roavin’, since roavins been my roo-eye-in,
   I’ll go no more a ro-oavin with you fair maid.”

John was aware that most of the songs he had been singing lately were missing some of the original lyrics, but he had begun to reconcile himself to that fact that he was never going to remember them, and just filled in the rhyme as best he could whenever a piece was lost to time and human memory.  Okay, some of his variations weren’t spectacular but creating lyrics was not the usual occupation of an astronaut.     

   “Her eyes are like two stars so bright, mark well what I do say,
   Her eyes are like two stars so bright, her smile is great, her step is light …”

He couldn’t remember when he had begun singing this particular song, but he found it somehow reassuring lately.  It was the one he usually chose when he was feeling relaxed and content.  Come to think of it, he reflected as he continued to work, he couldn’t even remember when he had first learned this song.  It might have been the High School dance when … no, he remembered that night like it had happened yesterday. 

He continued to sing and struggle with the module as he ran through memories of his college and post-graduate days, trying to remember when he had learned the lyrics to this old tune and why it seemed to have so much significance to him.   “ … Her cheeks are like the rosebuds red, there’s gorgeous hair upon her head, I’ll go no more a ro-oavin’ with you fair maid…” 

The recent lull in the usual frantic - or was that frenetic? - pace aboard Moya had given everyone on board, including Pilot and Moya, some greatly needed rest.  ‘Rest and revitalize,’ John mused as one end of the strut finally came loose and the module settled slightly as its weight came down onto the shipping cases John had carefully placed under its fuselage before starting his repairs.  He glanced above his head from his place on the floor to make sure the module was resting securely before he resumed his struggle to detach the other end of the strut. 

‘Rest, revitalize, shop, do laundry, clean my bedroom, take out the trash, and change the shocks in the car,’ he smiled.  Sometimes life on Moya wasn’t really all that different from the life he had on Earth.   

“…since roavins been my roo-eye-in, I’ll go no more a ro-oavin with you fair maid.”  The entire strut came loose in a shower of hydraulic fluid, soaking the once gray T-shirt and dumping most of the liquid in the crotch of his decrepit black fatigues.  He sat up and looked at the mess with a combined expression of humor and disgust.  It was then that he saw the pair of boots standing only inches away from his own feet and looked up at the not quite glowering face of Aeryn Sun. 

“Crichton, you seem to delight in getting absolutely, impossibly filthy … and this time you have out done yourself,” she said, but there seemed to be something in her expression that did not agree with the severity of her tone. 

John got to his feet, carefully keeping the strut upright in order to preserve what little hydraulic fluid remained inside.  He crab walked sideways toward her, hoping he was doing a brilliant Igor imitation, which Aeryn wouldn‘t understand anyway, but felt good.  “Give us a hug?” 

Aeryn clicked her tongue, managing a derogatory noise, and backed away.  “We gave up trying to call you for Midday Meal,” she refused to call it by his term of ‘lunch’.  Looking him over, she did not see what she was looking for, “Of course, Rygel gave up sooner than the rest of us.  Why aren’t you wearing your comms?” 

As an answer Crichton just continued to hold his arms open and advanced toward her.  “Give us a hug? A nice warm slippery messy hug?  I left my comms over on the work bench for OBVIOUS reasons, but I forgot, you‘re not a tech worker!  You couldn‘t see that this was a Don’t-Wear-Your-Comms kind of a job.”

Aeryn continued to back across the hangar bay, filled with a familiar sense of being unarmed against John‘s sillier behaviors.  Frowning, she searched for a humorous response to what was obviously an  attempt at teasing her.  She finally tried, “Don’t make me shoot you John!“ and made a show of reaching for her pulse pistol. 

John did laugh and stopped his advance, walking over to a workbench instead where he carefully tipped the remaining fluid out of the cylinder in his hand and into a container.  He looked back at his module and realized that there was a slick of hydraulic fluid starting to spread outwards from where he had been working.  He found his comms where he had left it on the workbench. 

“Pilot?” 

“Yes John,” came the calm voice.

“I made a rather large …”, he paused as Aeryn made a snorting noise, “ … OK, I made a, umm, Crichtonesquely large mess in the maintenance bay.”  He looked to see if she approved of his term.  “Could you send a couple of DRDs down to clean this up, please.” 

Yes, Commander,”  the response was slower and had Pilot’s ‘oppressed’ drawl wrapped around it.  “I’ll have two DRDs report to clean up after you immediately.”

“Thank you Pilot.  Oh, and can you have them …”

“I’ll have them save as much of your module’s fluids as is possible.”

“Aeryn, I’ll get cleaned up and then come scrounge for some leftovers.  What did you have to eat?” 

“Actually,” she paused as they walked out of the hangar, “I was waiting to eat with you.  But you have to go take a shower first,” she added hastily before he could turn back from the corridor that led to Quarters. 

“Come up and chat while I get changed?” 

Aeryn nodded her assent and they began to walk through Moya’s golden corridors, not needing to talk for a bit, but being satisfied to be together and just listening to the rhythmic sounds of Moya’s systems.  The steady beat of the bio-mechanoid life form’s various rumbles were reassuring to those who lived within her now.

Finally Aeryn asked, “What was that song you were singing?  It sounded familiar, almost as if it were a song I heard when I was growing up.” 

“Peacekeeper Glee Club?  I never suspected!”  He changed his tone quickly when she glared at him with the expression she normally saved for when she couldn’t understand his human terms.  “I don’t really remember where I learned that song myself, it just popped into my head on its own a quarter cycle or more ago.  I … like it.”  He shrugged, not knowing what else to say. 

“So do I … but what is “roo-eye-in?”

“Ruin, Aeryn, it’s just ‘ruin’ stretched out to give the song some extra bounce.”

“Oh really, I supposed that’s another Earth thing?  Just changing words because you can’t find the right one in order to rhyme?”

John didn’t rise to the taunt and remained careful about keeping the tone of the conversation light as they moved up through Moya’s tiers to where their personal chambers were located.  Aeryn had been in an especially volatile mood ever since they returned from the commerce planet the day before, and he was relieved that she had made the gesture of waiting to eat until they were together.  He knew from experience how long it took Aeryn to work through being angry with him, and this time it looked like they were running well ahead of schedule. 

“How have you been feeling today?  Do you still have a headache?” she asked after several more microts of silence between them. 

“Not nearly as bad as it was this morning,” Crichton answered, and held the heels of both hands to his temples, testing to see if any portion of the headache remained.  “That zucchini plant that I got from you to chew on …”

“The Zeccan plant that Zhaan gave me to chew,” Aeryn interjected, seeming again to be on the verge of anger. 

‘What the frell did I just say?’ Crichton thought, baffled by Aeryn’s sudden change in mood.   Maybe they weren’t that far ahead of schedule after all.  “Yes, the Zeccan that Zhaan gave to you and you let me have is helping.”  They had reached Crichton’s quarters and he led the way into the converted prison cell, pulling his shirt off as he entered.  He held the filthy shirt out in front of him and tried to decide if it was worth trying to save it.  It was just a gray T-shirt, but it had come from Earth and it was a tie to home.  Before he could make up his mind, Aeryn stepped from behind him, grabbed the shirt and tossed it accurately into the waste chute . 

“Aeryn!” Crichton’s cry of criticism and protest was cut short when she continued her aggressive stride right out the door and disappeared down the corridor. 

“Now what the heck set that off?“   He stood motionless for several microts, baffled by what had just occurred.  As he mentally reviewed everything that had transpired since he noticed Aeryn in the maintenance bay, he gently touched both his ears.  “I don’t have the fish!“ he spoke to himself, and still had no idea why Aeryn had been so obviously upset.  He considered running after her for only a moment, but recognized that Aeryn was not in the kind of mood to be convinced to talk to him. 

The sudden return of the throbbing headache that had been plaguing him since yesterday didn’t help his musings, and he finally gave up in resignation.  ‘I am NEVER going to understand these people,’ ran through his mind for perhaps the hundredth time this cycle.  The headache was upsetting his stomach now, and he had begun to ache all over so he opted to take a shower and just try and relax for the rest of the day.  He suddenly didn’t feel hungry at all.  It just wasn’t turning out to be a particularly good day … again. 

As Aeryn hurried away from Crichton’s quarters she was not angry, she was ashamed, and she struggled to control an emotion with which she still had very little experience.  When John had pressed his hands to the sides of his head she had seen that both arms were heavily bruised from wrist to shoulder and she had felt the first lurch of guilt. 

‘I should have been there to prevent those bruises,’ rang again and again in her mind.  Then he had taken off his shirt, something he had done dozens of times since they had both come on board.  Only this time his torso was mottled with the same deep bruises as his arms, wide crimson patches already deepening to heavy purple and black and spreading as the bleeding beneath the skin finally came to a stop. 

Aeryn’s sense of responsibility went deeper than John’s injuries, and as she struggled to control her emotions, they twisted and mutated into anger at John for being part of the reason she felt this way.  ‘Everything was fine until we went down to that wretched commerce planet yesterday,’ she thought vehemently.  ‘If we had just stayed on board and done our bartering by transmissions instead of going down to that frelling rock, nothing would have happened!’

* * * * *

Captain Zaisar Hasman stood behind Pilot Officer Dai Ekron as the Marauder he commanded swept through another vector in the search pattern they were flying.  He watched the tactical schematic console that displayed the movements of the small squadron that had been tracing a methodical search pattern through this portion of the galaxy for nine solar days. 

The group of ships consisted of Hasman’s Marauder, four Prowlers and a Vigilante light cruiser acting in the capacity of Command Vessel, and after nine days it wasn‘t unreasonable to expect that the crews might be fatigued and starting to lose focus by now.  But Captain Hasman had drilled his crew relentlessly when he took command, and there was no diminished performance on board his ship.  He did not feel pleasure as he observed the flawless performance of his men.  It was simply the minimum standard that he always expected of himself and his crew.

High Command had dispatched the minimum task force to follow up on reports concerning an escaped Leviathan prison transport and its offspring.  The group had quickly verified that the Leviathan had been in orbit around two of the planets in this sector at some time during the last quarter cycle, and began their painstaking search, hoping that when they located it, they would also locate the hybrid gunship offspring as well. 

Hasman hadn’t been given much more information when he received his orders, but he had heard a rumor that both ships carried Peacekeeper traitors.  ‘Traitors,’ he thought, ‘how is it that anyone reaching officer rank in the Peacekeepers would ever consider turning their backs on us.  I will not allow these abominations to continue to run free, spreading their abhorrent disorder wherever they go.’     

High Command’s orders concerning the two ships had been unequivocal and more detailed.    They were to capture the gunship offspring and bring it back no matter what the cost.  Even the destruction of the female Leviathan that had given birth to it was considered an acceptable  price to pay, provided that its destruction led directly to the capture of the young ship.  Female Leviathans capable of reproducing they had plenty of, but the genetic research that had successfully produced that hybrid were irreplaceable.  Personnel aboard the two fugitive ships were expendable without exception.  Hasman shifted his stance as he reflected on their task, but otherwise remained quiet and still, allowing his crew to carry out their duties without interruption. 

* * * * *

[KernilCrash]

CHAPTER 2   

The solar day they had spent on the commerce planet had seemed like a three day weekend away from the office to John Crichton, at least until the last arn of their visit.  Most of Moya’s inhabitants had eagerly accepted the opportunity to go down to another small blue-green planet.  With the exception of Aeryn, they had all grown up under open skies and enjoyed every infrequent chance they got to ‘hit dirt’, a phrase they had adopted from Crichton’s peculiar vocabulary. 

Even Aeryn, who preferred the familiar surroundings of a spacecraft, had begun to find some pleasure in visiting planets.  She continued to mock John’s fascination with each of the planets they visited, but now it had become just a humorous game that he didn’t seem to mind, as long as she went with him. 

Their need for supplies this time was great enough that they chose to take two vessels down to the planet.  Aeryn rode with John in his module, while D’Argo, Chiana, Jool and Rygel flew in the transport pod.  They expected the pod to be full enough on the return trip that they would not have room for all six of them.  Only Stark chose to stay on board Moya, but he had been spending most of his time wandering around the ship dejectedly, still intensely grieving for Zhaan.  Everyone had tried to draw Stark into their company, tried to ease his grief with companionship, but each attempt seemed only to drive him further into his own strange world.     

The little group had split up into pairs, working their way first purposefully, and then more leisurely through the shops and pavilions to barter for practical supplies, as well as for personal needs.  Chiana and D’Argo had disappeared toward the Mercantile Sector, and Jool and Rygel had grudgingly agreed to start at the Agricultural Sector, using Jool’s extensive knowledge of everyone’s nutritional needs and Rygel’s tenacious bargaining skills to refill Moya’s stocks of food.  John and Aeryn had started by heading for the Tech Sector where they hoped to pick up parts both for his module and for some maintenance needed on the transport pod.

“Walk, run, or ride?” John asked.  Aeryn had insisted on setting down near one of the less metropolitan areas of the planet for a change.  Although the larger cities had a vastly greater variety of technological goods to offer and had more centralized shopping areas, Aeryn found the constant crush of bodies and chaos bothersome.  She still found herself scanning for threats or potential attacks whenever she was in a strange place, and the cramped confines and bustling streets of the large cities made that a futile effort. 

“How far is it to the Tech Sector, have you seen a schematic or display?” she asked.

“Over there,” he pointed.  “Looks like we could walk out and back, but it’ll take long enough that we probably won’t have time to look for anything other than components.”  He knew that Aeryn first began to appreciate planetary landings when she found she that walking from place to place gave her added exercise.  In the cycles since they had met, she had diligently maintained her soldier’s hard, lean physique. 

“No, I’d like to at least get back to the Armaments Sector before we break orbit.  Let’s see what they have for ground transport.” 

The ground transport system consisted of ground effect trains that were free to all persons, funded entirely by the retailers and wholesalers in the area.  Moving customers from one sector to another free of charge was considered good business on this planet, and the trains were clean and quiet, three car units moving on cushions of air above what looked to John like crushed stone roads.  They waited barely microts at the nearest loading area before the next one rushed in with a buffet of air and stopped.  John spotted a few seats at the rear of the last car, outside in the fresh air.  He gestured to Aeryn, stepping aside to allow her to lead the way.  Admiring her lithe form as she pulled herself up the two steps onto the seating platform in one bound, he quickly followed her example.  They both adjusted the position of their pulse pistols with an unconscious tug as they sat down, relaxing and enjoying their view as the landscape began to stream away behind the train.

A quiet chuckle came from John, and Aeryn just waited, knowing that if he found something amusing he was going to eventually feel that he had to share it with her.  But this time he quieted down and said nothing. 

“What is so funny?” she finally broke down and asked. 

“Having to argue with Rygel to convince him to go buy food for Moya.  Having to argue with any Hynerian to go after food at all!”  He continued to smile at the memory and watched as his favorite expression blossomed on Aeryn’s face.  “I am Dominar of over six hundred billion loyal subjects,” John stabbed a finger into the air as he did a credible imitation of  Rygel’s voice, “and I do not BUY food, I consume food that is brought to me on the finest Alsolian platters being born by dozens of beautiful, adoring women.”  Another of Aeryn’s shining smiles was his reward for the impersonation, and they sat silently but in harmony for the remainder of the short trip.
 
The Tech Sector consisted of wide, open-fronted structures that looked like warehouses without their front walls or doors.  The wares within each alcove were hidden in the gloom until a customer stepped inside out of the sunlight.  Each owner had dragged displays of material into the open air as a form of advertising. 

John pointed to one shop, and then a second, only to be answered with a curt shake of the head each time.  Aeryn always seemed to know exactly which shop had the components and quality they wanted before they ever entered the building.  John tried to see what it was about the displays of used and refurbished parts that alerted her that a vendor was the one she wanted, but too much of the material still looked the same to him. 

“Not this place?“  he tested, gesturing toward one shop that patently offered what they were looking for. 

“No, look at these control circuit tabs,” she flipped several of the small units over and pointed out  pitting in the substrate.  John had long since learned that this indicated that wherever the units had been taken from, they had been subjected to extreme heat before being scavenged, enough to ensure that the tab wouldn’t be reliable. 

‘But how the hezmana can she tell from six feet away when the tab was bad side down?’ he questioned silently to himself.  He gave up and just let her lead, watching the slender form in black leather wind her way through the junk and past other buyers, occasionally kicking some piece of debris or merchandise out of their way, until she finally paused and walked into a stall. 

John followed Aeryn in, pausing for only the briefest moment when he saw the merchant standing in front of a counter.  ‘It’s great-Grandpa Crichton’s ice cream maker,’ he thought with a jolt.  The being was about two feet tall, just inches shorter than Rygel, and did have a resemblance to an old fashioned ice cream maker, except with two cranks.  It had the squat, round body covered with brown slick hair, and a flat breathing opening on top of its head. 

He glanced at Aeryn and jerked his head at the critter, raising his eyebrows in silent enquiry.  “Wilket,” was her one word explanation.  John couldn’t see any feet and its arms jutted out at awkward angles. There must have been feet somewhere though, because when Aeryn moved off to the left, starting to search through racks and bins, the wilket went after her, talking in a screeching dialect that made no sense at all to John’s translator microbes.  He watched the two disappear down an aisle, fought to take it all in stride and turned to the right, working through one collection of bins after another while Aeryn searched the other side of the building.

Aeryn found the wiring they needed for the upgrades to the transport pod and took it back to the counter for purchase.  The screeching of the wilket never stopped and finally began to wear on her patience.  “Go get your master!”  The screeching only paused and then resumed at a louder volume.  “Go on!” she cried over the noise.  “Get out of here and fetch your master.  Let him know we wish to purchase.”  She moved toward it, waving her hands in dismissal.  The noise didn’t stop, but the creature scuttled off toward the back of the warehouse. 

John had found some of the tabs, circuitry and even some of the mechanoid circuits they required, but was still searching the far end of the aisles.  He had watched Aeryn get rid of the little beast, and now he whistled sharply to get her attention.  As soon as she saw him, he began lobbing each unit across the shop, Aeryn deftly catching them and adding them to the merchandise on the counter.  “Your microbes could understand that thing?” he raised his voice marginally but enough that she could hear him. 

“No, of course not,” the curt tone faded after her initial reaction.  “Wilkets aren’t really quite sentient.  They have a few minor reasoning skills, but mostly they are just used in a small business like this to let the servicer personnel know when someone has come in.” 

“A doorbell!  That thing was a doorbell?”  If Aeryn had trouble with that term she didn’t show it as John arrived at the counter with another double handful of items.  “That ought to do it for the transport and for those modifications we wanted to try on that clapped out defense screen.” 

“What about parts for your ship, John?  Anything here that might work?” 

“No, and even if I found parts to replace the original seals in the hydraulic cylinders, I still haven’t found anything that will replace the fluid.”  The frustration in his voice was well hidden, but Aeryn recognized the tone anyway.  John was facing the reality that the module’s days might be numbered if he couldn’t find a source of parts for the craft.  If it weren’t for its freakish capability to create wormholes, the white pod simply would have no value at all on this side of the universe. 
 
“Perhaps one of those junk shops we came by earlier …” she said, raising her eyebrows over eyes that held devious humor.  John’s search for a devastatingly scathing remark was interrupted when the owner of the business finally appeared, the wilket at his heels. 

John stayed close to Aeryn, just listening, as she haggled prices and delivery to the transport pod with the merchant, who turned out to be an enormous bipedal anthropoid looking vaguely human if one could overlook the bright yellow skin, ears that could swivel independently all the way around to face behind the creature’s head, and the fact that he was almost eight feet tall.  The vendor coughed and sneezed his way through the bartering, something that didn’t seem to bother Aeryn, so John assumed it was peculiar to the species rather than a disease.

It wasn’t until they were walking back the way they had come and were more than two hundred feet from the shop that Crichton finally put his hands to his ears, and twisting his hands back and forth, asked, “Sonar?  Echo-location?” 

Aeryn had to think about his meaning for a minute, then answered, “Yes, Saltaurians can locate objects up to almost a metra away by sound alone.” 

‘Solariums.’ He used one of his twisted mnemonic devices to file the name of the species.  “Nice color yellow, it would brighten up any party.” 

“Oh, Saltaurians aren’t usually yellow.  Normally they’re a pale orange color, they only turn that color when they’ve contracted Saltauri-Sebacean flu.” 

“Flu?  Sebacean flu, Aeryn?  That thing was sneezing all over us! Maybe the Peacekeepers inoculated you, maybe not, but what about …”

“…you?  Relax John, that flu strain has mutated so many times it only affects Saltaurians now.  Your human physiology is so close to Sebaceans it would be practically impossible for you to catch it.”

John didn’t argue, but he felt an uneasy feeling crawl over him as he listened to the certainty in Aeryn’s voice. 

* * * * *

D’Argo and Chiana approached the transport pod, carrying goods that they had purchased in the Mercantile Sector.  D’Argo wore an expression of barely contained annoyance, but he had stopped grumbling, so Chiana decided she could convince him to make one more excursion before they left the planet.  She went ahead of D’Argo to open the hatch because he was carrying most of their purchases, which was the source of his displeasure. 

Although most of the packages were in containers or wrapped up, too many of Chiana’s choices were hanging out of his arms for everyone to see.  Argilavian silks to decorate the walls of her chamber, rough Meltac hide to throw over his bed, some new leather pants to replace Crichton’s, which were about to wear through, and some Raltarian furs for Rygel, all hung out of his arms.  “I look like some sort of apparelist’s rack, or a hide dryer’s tree,”  he renewed his grumbling. 

“D’Argo, we did great.”  Chiana’s angular form darted between him and the rows of food containers that were already stacked in the back of the pod, taking his burdens from him and laying them almost carefully among the other items.  “We got everything we wanted, we found some new garments for John, Rygel will be happy, and we even found a new outfit to replace that horrible armor that Jool wears!“  She laughed.  “And we have time to go back to the Leisure Sector for a raslak,” drawing out the last word in a melodic invitation. 

“And what about paying for the raslak?  How do you propose to do that?” 

“Aeryn was right about using the smaller towns on this planet.  These wellnitz’s couldn’t barter their way out of the sack.  We have plenty of credits left still.” 

D’Argo looked at her in puzzlement for a moment.  “Isn’t Crichton’s saying ‘out of a paper bag’?”  He was still pondering the choice of words. 

“Bag, sack, what’s the difference?  Doesn’t sound like any difference to me.”  She approached D’Argo and placed a hand on his chest, but was cautious not to impart any sensuality into the gesture.  He had been badly hurt by her behavior too recently for her to use her wiles to talk him
into doing what she wanted.  “Please D’Argo, just one raslak.  You know it’ll do you good.” She cocked her head, eyes imploring him to agree to her suggestion.

D’Argo’s tentacles swung about his shoulders as he shook his head.  Chiana’s face began to fall, but then he said “Just one.  Then we come back and wait for the others.”   Chiana laughed and bounced toward the hatch of the transport pod.

* * * * *   

The late afternoon sun was lengthening the shadows in the market place and Crichton was feeling tired, thirsty and annoyed at both Aeryn and himself.  When they had completed their transactions in the Tech Sector, he had proposed taking the trains back to either the Mercantile Sector or to the landing area where they had left the transport.  He needed certain personal clothing items and he didn’t entirely trust D’Argo and Chiana to get him exactly the items he wanted.  ‘No one in the Uncharted Territories offers what I really want, but mail order takes forever.’  He kept the obscure comment to himself, feeling marginally depressed that no one would understand the reference.   

When Aeryn balked and said she wanted to walk back by way of the Armaments Sector, John had given in easily.  He had not lost his fascination for the variety of life forms, noises, and conversations to be found in the marketplaces of commerce planets.  And if he could spend relaxed time with Aeryn it was even more worthwhile.  But the excursion had somehow turned into a marathon of examining weapons and his patience was wearing thin.

“Aeryn, let’s skip the last couple of shops and go get something to eat and drink.“ 

“You go ahead if you want John, I just want to look at what this shop over here has for sale.“   

Aeryn stalked into one more small shop that stood at the edge of the Armaments Sector.  This last row of buildings offering weaponry shared an open plaza with the Leisure Sector, which contained refreshment houses, bars, and restaurants.  John watched her as she disappeared into the building, her thick black braid bouncing lightly between her shoulder blades in time with her athletic stride. 

He looked across the tree shaded plaza at what was obviously a bar of some sort, which had a regular stream of customers entering and leaving.  The departing patrons frequently carried metal beverage containers, and despite not knowing what was in them, John felt his thirst ratchet up a few notches. 

As he paused to consider his choices, he noticed D’Argo and Chiana entering the bar.  ‘At last,’ he thought, ‘they are finally doing things together again.  It’s about time.’  He was pleased that they had mended their friendship.  He considered the pair for a microt, but then turned and followed Aeryn after all, who had stopped just inside the shadow being cast by the open front building. 

“Oh baby, you’d look so good with one of these,” he lowered his voice into a deep whisper, “I know you just love to accessorize with black.  You’re an accessory kind of a girl.”  Moving close behind her, and placing one hand on her shoulder, he leaned forward around her and pointed to some sort of large hand weapon.  Aeryn responded by giving him a gentle elbow in the solar plexus, and then leaned back against him as she looked over their heads at weapons hung in the rafters.  Her body suddenly tightened.   

“How about that?” Aeryn pointed at a strange weapon directly over their heads, speaking in a quiet tone, but transmitting a frisson of excited interest to John through their body contact. 

“What -- ?”

“-- whichss one?”

Crichton and the shop owner spoke at the same time, unsure who she was addressing.  John steadied himself with one hand on a display case, and leaving the other on Aeryn’s shoulder to steady her in turn, looked straight up.  “Which one?” 

“The third one from the left in the front.”  She looked at the owner inquisitively. 

“I hafss only one ofss thoss available,” he spoke through intimidating fangs, but seemed a gentle individual despite the length of his incisors.  “Verry rarre itemsss.  Verry expensifess.”

Crichton’s attention was divided between observing the movements of the alien merchant and the warm, full body contact of Aeryn as she continued to lean against him, looking upwards as the weapon was retrieved.  As a result, he almost missed her next statement, and realizing belatedly what she had said, he overreacted. 

“You’ll TAKE it?  Just like that, without haggling?” 

Aeryn pushed herself away from John and spun to face him.  “Yes!  Shut up Crichton.” 

“Aeryn, we don’t need another god-damned weapon!  We are wading through piles of death dealing doodads on board Moya as it is.  Whatever this is, we don’t need it.”  He had lowered his voice, but the interest on the face of the merchant showed that he was still able to hear their discussion. 

“Crichton, you don’t know what you are talking about,” she ground through clenched teeth and a hair thin smile as she glanced back at the shop owner.  “Now be a good little man and go away and let me finish the purchase of this ‘gotdamt’ weapon.” 

Perhaps it was the ‘good little man’, perhaps it was the clenched teeth that reminded him of a patronizing teacher he had been forced to endure throughout the fifth grade, John wasn’t sure, but he didn’t just go away.  He turned toward the street and lowered his head to speak directly to Aeryn, but they were still overheard.

“You don’t have to buy every stupid weapon you come across.  Stop being a frelling Peacekeeper for just one minute, would you?  Weapons are part of what got us in such a world of hurt on Jocacea.”

The shopkeeper’s eyes widened at the word ‘peacekeeper’ and Aeryn felt her purchase slipping away from her, but she also felt censure in the way John mentioned her breeding and what had happened on Jocacea, both being part of her heritage.  Aeryn suddenly grabbed him by the front of his leather vest and dragged him out of the shop.  John went abruptly silent because she had never treated him in such a manner in public, not since the very first time they had met.  There had been the occasional altercation between them, but always in the relative privacy of Moya. 

“THAT is a Tarak Silencer, big brother to the Tarak Deployer I was able to trade for on the space station.  No one can get their hands on those anymore … no one but me ... right ... now.”  She spaced her last words out for emphasis.  “A Tarak Silencer will give us the greatest amount of firepower possible in a hand held weapon.  Moya does not have any weapons, so we need that firepower.” 

John started to open his mouth, but she launched back in again.  “If you told me what you were going to do with General Grynes, and had listened to me and let me use weapons, maybe things would have turned out differently on Jocacea.  Now let me go back in there and buy that Silencer.”     

“That’s a cheap shot Aeryn, we all screwed up.  We’ve talked about this since then and … ” 

“Yes, but you screwed up without even discussing it with any of the rest of us.”  As angry as Crichton was, Aeryn was angrier and her voice ran over his, drowning out his arguments.  “This is getting to be a very old discussion, John.  You don’t have all the answers, but you think you know how to handle things better than anyone else on Moya.  You make decisions for the rest of us that you shouldn’t be making at all.” 

Aeryn was still filled with guilt and pain resulting from their lack of foresight when they left Jocacea, which had resulted in the slaughter of innocents, and she couldn’t stop the tumble of accusations that flowed out of her now.  She felt a small pang of surprise at some of her words though, because she didn’t really blame John, it just came out sounding that way.

John stood without answering her, his body crying out with the signs of anger and hurt, but she couldn’t find a way to back down.  She released the grip she still held on his vest and shoved him away.  She walked back to the vendor and repeated, “How much is it?”

John was humiliated by her treatment, by his own behavior, and by the truth of what she had said about their experience with the Venek Horde.  ‘What’s worse,’ he mused, ‘is that if I had stayed, my presence alone probably could have stopped the slaughter.’  But it would have also meant sacrificing his life in the place of the slaughtered nurses. 

He meandered slowly across the plaza, idly watching the foot traffic while he struggled to get at least his temper under control, even if his emotions were still inflamed.  ‘That conversation was a fiasco from start to finish,’ he realized.  ‘I screwed up the beginning, but Aeryn sure took her pound of flesh out of me.’  He remembered then that D’Argo and Chiana were probably still in the bar just across the street, and quickened his pace, hoping to find a sympathetic ear.

* * * * * 

D’Argo had initially refrained from any of the drinks offered at the bar, and had stood looking out of one of the glassless windows in the front of the bar while Chiana ordered a raslak for herself.  He had seen John and Aeryn across the plaza, but hadn’t wanted to interrupt their time together.  He enjoyed watching them at moments like this.  When the two of them were together, they moved in a strange choreography, seldom touching and often a short distance apart, but always linked and in tune.  Even when they argued on Moya, there was a connectivity that their anger never seemed to break.  He could see them now, just inside the shop, John’s hand resting lightly on her shoulder. 

‘I had that for a short time,’ he knew, ‘with Lo-Lann.’  His time with his Sebacean wife had been short, however, and had ended in death and imprisonment.  He glanced across at Chiana who was flirting with some males who were dressed in the local fashion.  ‘My time with Chiana was wonderful, but it wasn’t the same.’ 

He decided to have a drink to dull the treble sense of loss.  He had lost his wife, he had lost his tumultuous affair with Chiana, and he had lost the richness of the intimate but non-sexual bond Crichton and Aeryn shared for the moment.  ‘Well, three times the loss, three times the drink.’ 

“Give me two more of these!” he called to the servicer.  Pretty soon he was feeling pretty good, and ordered two more raslaks.  As the additional drinks arrived, he looked again across the room at Chiana, about to motion her to join him, only to spot her sitting in the lap of one of the locals, her hand high up on his thigh.  D’Argo felt something start to build within him, a deep overwhelming fury rising from the most primeval part of his psyche moved out of its hiding place and took him over.  The drink, the loss, and the sight of Chiana all combined to feed the rage.

* * * * *     

As John’s eyes adjusted to the half-light inside the bar, he spotted D’Argo striding quickly toward him and began to smile a welcome.  Suddenly he recognized the aggression in the figure, and his brain took in the bellows of fury.  ‘Oh hell, he’s on the verge of hyper-rage!’

* * * * *

[KernilCrash]

CHAPTER 3

“Incoming transmission from the Vigilante, sir.”  The sergeant standing at the communications position looked to where Captain Hasman maintained his unwavering watch over the operation of his ship.  A Marauder wasn’t as plush and prestigious as a Command Carrier or a Vigilante Cruiser, but Hasman understood that if he took good care of this crew and ship it would lead to a promotion.  That meant unwavering attention to its operation.   

“What is it?” 

“We’ve been ordered to take up a new directional vector, sir.  Primna six, lerg four, and execute search pattern Decka Eight, four thousand metras beyond the quadrant covered by the Prowlers, sir.”   

“What’s over there?  What are we looking for in that area?” 

The entire crew knew that when a ship was taken out of a search pattern before it was completed, it meant that there was something of extreme importance which needed to be examined.  Three pairs of eyes were on Hasman as he reached to adjust the navigation console to review the new area of space.  Pilot Officer Ekron was again at the flight controls and did not take his eyes from his display for even a split-microt.   Hasman noticed, and felt a sense of satisfaction that his drilling of this crew had paid off.   

The sergeant at communications continued listening to the transmissions in his earpiece and then relayed to his captain.  “A Leviathan with a number of different species on board was reported in that system within the last solar day.  There’s a Class Eight nebula in the new search grid area which might cloak an object the size of the Leviathan.  We are the only ship with the new multi-photonic sensors which can cope with the plasma in the nebula, sir.”

Hasman was doubtful.  A Class Eight nebula was quite small.  It would certainly hold a Leviathan, but unless the creature was careful about moving around within the swirling formation, it would be detectable by standard sensors anytime it moved near the edges of the disturbance.  But Hasman didn’t question his orders at any moment.  He nodded to his subordinate at Navigation, who fed the new coordinates to Officer Ekron.  The Marauder swung away from the rest of the searching ships and headed toward the nebula. 

* * * * *

John was aware of Chiana standing off to one side, calling to him, but he couldn’t hear her words.  He stood absolutely still, his mind running at top speed as D’Argo continued to advance toward him, flinging chairs and tables aside as if they were balsawood stage replicas.  He felt like a rabbit trying to hide in plain view by not moving, his body freezing like a statute while his mind desperately sought a way to get out of this alive and uninjured.  Crockery and glass exploded around the room as the bar’s patrons began scrambling toward the door.     

“John, I suggest you run.  I am aware that you are contemplating trying to talk Ka D’Argo out of his current state, but it is not a wise idea.”  Scorpius’ voice rang in his psyche.

The portion of his mind which dealt with the neural clone suddenly found itself inside a smoky boxing gym.  Scorpius was in the ring shadow boxing, incongruous white satin boxing trunks and high white boxing shoes worn over his usual black leather.  “I could hear you considering talking him ’down’ from his present state,“ Scorpius threw a flurry of jabs and shuffled around the ring, “but Luxans have a reputation of never recovering from hyper-rage without some form of physical release.”

“Scorpy, this really isn’t a good time for a chat.”  John walked to the ring, grabbed the lowest rope, leaned back and bounced against its elasticity. 

“If you try and reason with him John, any other time may be too late -- for both of us.” 

The major portion of his mind registered that D’Argo had stopped eight feet from him and was bellowing in Luxan.  Since his translator microbes weren’t providing an English context to the words, it was a fair bet that it was all profanity.  John inched to one side of the insane figure, neither advancing nor retreating, but trying to reach an uncluttered portion of the floor. 

“I didn’t call for you Scorpy, and I don’t think you’re right.  This time I’m going to help D’Argo work his way out of hyper-rage instead of letting him sink into violence.  He doesn‘t want to hurt anyone, he just can‘t always control what his genetics made him.“  John could feel the barely contained anger left over from his confrontation with Aeryn welling up inside him and turning itself into a stubborn refusal to listen to anyone’s advice, least of all the Scorpius-clone’s.

“I hope I can come back later to tell you ‘I told you so’, John.  But if you really are going to try this …“ Scorpius stopped talking and began climbing out of the boxing ring through the ropes. 

“What?  Where you going Scorpy?“  John danced toward him in a series of boxing shuffles, throwing punches into the air. 

“Well, let’s just say that I don’t want to share your experiences during the outcome.  Goodbye for a while John.” 

Back in the bar, D’Argo still hadn’t advanced any further, and John decided that he still had a chance to reason with the huge berserker.  Looking up at his friend, who towered six inches taller than him, Crichton made a start. 

“Hey, D’Argo, hang on a microt man …”  and that’s all it took to push D’Argo over the edge. 

He bellowed “Crich-ton!” and charged forward.  John scrambled back toward the door, knocking over chairs as he tried to retreat while still keeping an eye on D’Argo.  He had seen him in full hyper-rage like this only once before, almost three cycles ago, and that time he had been afforded plenty of time and a head start in order to run away and hide.  This time D’Argo had just reached the pinnacle of hyper-rage, and for a reason he still didn’t understand, it was once again aimed at him. 

He was losing ground quickly so he abandoned the look-but-run strategy, turned his back on his temporarily psychopathic friend and bolted for the door.  ’What could I have done to deserve this exceptional attention?’  The ridiculous thought  skittered through his mind as he vaulted over a table, scattering dishes and glasses.  ’Last time it was just because I was a male, but I suppose it’s just as well that I still qualify for that criteria.’ 

He felt the edge of futility approaching as he tripped over a chair and scrambled up again.  ‘I hate it when Scorpy’s right,‘ was the last coherent thought that went through his mind as he felt D’Argo’s hand grasp the back of his vest and then he was casually tossed back across the room, smashing into a group of chairs that had been shoved into a tumble when D‘Argo first began his rampage. 

The next few minutes were a maelstrom of images as Crichton just tried to ride out D’Argo’s fury.  He rolled out of the wreckage of chairs and wrapped his arms around his head, trying to at least protect his skull.  He was momentarily aware that customers were yelling and stampeding in an effort to leave the scene of his impending murder, and then he was lost to bludgeoning Luxan ferocity. 

He could feel as he was plucked up effortlessly and knew there was a hurricane of battering which drove him back to the floor, but his mind hid from the ordeal, prevented him from feeling the pain.  The storm continued unabated.  He was again dragged to his feet and this time flung  into the remainder of the crowd which was still trying to exit.  ’Softer landing that time,’ he thought soggily and tried to curl into a protective ball again.  When nothing else happened he cautiously looked up. 

D’Argo was standing only three feet away, the muzzle of Aeryn’s pulse pistol a scant inch away from his face.  He was not in total control of his anger yet, but he had regained enough awareness to know that Aeryn was serious about stopping any further violence against John.  The warrior took one huge breath and stalked out of the building. 

“Are you all right?”  Holstering her weapon, Aeryn looked down where he was still partially curled up on the floor. 

“I’m just peachy,” he started and found he was suddenly breathless.  He rolled over onto his back, but before he could thank her, Aeryn stalked out of the building also.  “Well I’m certainly continuing to win friends and influence people today.  I wonder what evil star soared into my universe this morning?”  He sat up and waited for his head to stop spinning.

“Hey Crichton, why did you say something like that to D’Argo to set him off?”  Chiana crouched down nearby and peered at him. 

“I didn’t say anything, Pip.  He tossed me before I got a chance.”   

“You must have said something,”  she straightened up and offered a hand to pull him to his feet.  “I was trying to tell you to just get the frell out of here.” 

“He never gave me a chance … and why‘s he mad at me this time?”  Crichton didn’t stay on his feet long, but sank back to a sitting position with his back against a wall and cradled his now aching head in his hands.  “Wow, I haven’t had a ride like that since we went to Disneyworld when I was nine.” 

“I haven’t any idea.  Listen, I’m going to go after D’Argo and see if he’s calmed down.  Is that all right Crichton?” she crouched near him again and examined his face carefully.  “You look pretty good considering how badly you fought back,” and gave a quick laugh.  “That was actually pretty amazing to watch, you should have charged everyone credits to watch.”

Then she was gone.  ’Should have sold tickets!  Some things don’t change no matter what galaxy I call home.’  John got an elbow on the seat of a chair and levered himself back on to his feet.  He tested all the moving parts and was pleased to find that everything worked fine.  His head still ached a bit, just a dull throbbing pain now, and his chest was sore inside.  ’I probably held my breath through the entire debacle,’ he guessed, but essentially he was unharmed.  Nodding to several of the cautiously returning patrons he walked carefully to the door and headed back to the landing fields to find Aeryn and get a ride back to Moya.

John’s afternoon did not improve a great deal after leaving the bar.  As he approached the gates to what he termed in his own mind “The Airport”, John saw what was unmistakably Moya’s transport pod taking off.  ‘Well, that’s not all that bad,’ he tried to see the bright side of the situation, ‘since riding in the transport with D’Argo might start the entire fracas again.’  The module was parked about half a metra further down the field though and with his chest still feeling as though he wasn’t getting enough oxygen John didn‘t relish the walk.   He had only covered a quarter of the distance though when he saw the module departing as well.

“Well this is a fine situation you’ve gotten us into, Olly!” John intoned, earning himself a peculiar look from a stranger walking by.  He activated his comms.  “Aeryn?“  No answer.  “D’Argo or Chiana can you hear me?“  No answer again, perhaps they were still in the atmosphere where air friction and turbulence would attenuate the signal too severely to be received.  “Pilot?” 

“Yes John?” 

John had never been able to figure out what Pilot’s ground rules were for determining whether he called him ’John’, ’Crichton’ or ’Commander’, but it seemed that the bigger mess he got himself into, the more informal Pilot’s address became.  He was lucky he wasn’t being called ’John-Boy’ today. 

“The others have left the planet in both the transport and the module, and left me behind.  Is this a hint I should be paying attention to?” 

“Hint?  I’m not familiar with that concept, but I am sure it is just an oversight.  Perhaps each vehicle assumed you were in the other.  I will contact the transport pod and instruct them to return for you.” 

“NO!” John got his voice back under control and continued more calmly.  “Pilot, the transport is full of supplies which will need to be unloaded.  Why don’t you just ask Aeryn to come back for me.” 

“Very well John, I will contact Officer Sun.” 

When the module landed again, John was still standing, leaning against the barricade which ran all the way around the field.  He did his best to saunter nonchalantly over to his own craft, waving for Aeryn to remain in the pilot’s seat when she started to unbuckle and move out of his usual spot.  “You’re already strapped in, go ahead and fly back.“  He managed to slide in behind Aeryn without yelping as his sore muscles complained at the cramped position.  He was just happy that he didn‘t have to handle the flight back. 

Aeryn expertise with any form of space craft was still far beyond John’s, even when she was flying his module, but when she set the small craft down in the hangar bay, it settled with a slight thump which reverberated through the craft.  A quiet grunt of pain was forced out of John despite his best intentions, his already stiffening muscles objecting to the sudden lurch.  He managed to rearrange his expression to his best imitation of normalcy before Aeryn turned around. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” 

“Abso-frelling-lutely.  Takes more than a short waltz with a ragin’ Luxan to take the starch out of an astronaut.”  He could see he had pretty much baffled Aeryn with his answer. 

“I believe D’Argo has finally scattered what few wits Crichton had to begin with.”  Rygel was floating next to the cockpit in his chair, his earbrows at full height, as he enjoyed a rare opportunity to badger John.  “How you can continue to exceed the capability of translator microbes never ceases to amaze me. And how you can continue to provoke your own ship mates into violence never ceases to amuse me.” 

“Rygel, go away.”  Aeryn was already out of the cockpit and striding away, so he now had enough room to hoist himself up with his arms and swing his legs over the side.  He slid down the side of the ship to a fairly graceful landing.  “Just bug off.”  Much to his relief Rygel didn’t argue.  The Hynerian began to open his mouth for a retort, looked piercingly at Crichton, and then simply left. 

John watched, bemused, as the Throne Sled sailed away across the hanger.  He wasn’t going to admit it to anyone but he felt terrible and wanted nothing more than to go take a shower and then to go to bed.  But life was never that easy and D’Argo was heading toward him now.  John waited for him, leaning against the Farscape I, and felt tension crawl back into his body. 

“John …”

“D‘Argo?”

“I don’t know the words for what I need to say,”  D’Argo paused, truly at a loss for words. 

‘This is one humble Bumble,’ John almost grinned at the vision, but kept his face straight for the sake of his friend‘s feelings.  “D’Argo, it’s a Luxan thing, don’t sweat it.  Just tell me one thing … were you mad at ME?” 

“No John.  I don’t even know what I was mad at, I was just angry.” 

“Then it’s OK and there’s a way you can make it up to me.”

“Anything.” 

“Do my share of unloading the supplies, hunh?  I think I’m just going to go get cleaned up.”  He clapped his warrior friend lightly on the shoulder and sauntered out of the hangar bay, heading for his room and a hot shower.

D’Argo watched the human stroll away, seemingly without any concern about what had happened on the planet.  He almost went after him, because he hadn’t been quite honest with John.  When he had tried to prepare an explanation for John inside his own mind, he’d found that he couldn’t begin to put his feelings into words or concepts at all.  How could he explain that it had been pure jealousy, not of Crichton, but of something which Crichton had which he might never again experience?  How could he explain the sense of loss and loneliness to John, of all people?   

Aeryn overheard the exchange, said nothing, and returned to helping unload supplies.  She tried to understand how Crichton continued to forgive everyone so easily.  She wasn’t blind.  She knew there were times when John couldn’t let go of his anger, and would settle into an unyielding stubbornness which could exceed the combined capacity of the entire crew at times.  But in this situation she hadn’t even begun to forgive D’Argo or herself yet, and John had already moved beyond the incident.  Their behavior had been inexcusable -- D’Argo had attacked John without provocation, and she had snapped at him outside the shop for no good reason which drove him right into the arms of D’Argo’s rage -- and John just didn‘t seem to care.

She watched his relaxed figure as he disappeared into Moya’s corridor and gave herself a small shake of the head, still amazed at his attitude.   

She knew now that she hadn’t gotten mad at Crichton when he made his  comment about being a Peacekeeper, or for what he said about Jocacea.  She’d been angry and hurt the microt he had simply disagreed with her.  The whole thing was ridiculous.  He hadn‘t meant anything by what he said, so why did it bother her so much?  She shook her head, trying to dispel the unaccustomed thoughts.  Perhaps she could talk to John about it in the morning.   

John finished his shower and clad in no more than shorts, looked at himself in the mirror.  Not all that bad considering, but the next two or three days might get pretty ugly until his bruises started to fade.   Already his arms and shoulders were stiffening to the point that he couldn’t be bothered taking off two days worth of beard.  He knew it was very likely that he would not be able to do it at all the next morning, and wished he had shaved before heading to the planet, but he wasn’t going to bother at this point. 

All of his joints ached, even his legs, although he didn’t remember getting hit below the waist.  D’Argo’s anger had been blind and John had been pummeled primarily around his arms, shoulders, and mid-body.  ‘Must have been one of those flying Walendas D’Argo treated me to,‘ he surmised.  He slid a T-shirt over his head, covering the worst of the bruises, and then indulged himself by slithering under the covers into his bed on his stomach, as he had when he was young. 

Reaching into a container standing on a cargo case next to the bed, he scooped a dentic out of its liquid habitat and popped it into his mouth.  He lay on his bed for the few minutes it took for the little creature to efficiently remove all the bacteria and microscopic food particles from his entire palate, and while he waited he allowed his thoughts to drift idly through what had happened on the planet today.  He had managed to piss Aeryn off, draw D’Argo’s rage, get dissed by Chiana, and amuse Sparky.  Jool was always annoyed with everyone on board, so he decided he could discount her attitude. 

‘Quite a score for one day, but still doesn‘t explain why everyone was on my case.’  He failed to come to any further conclusions.  When the dentic stopped moving around he knew it had completed its symbiotic job and that his peculiar little pet was fed for the day.  He rolled on his back, spat the little beast into his hand and sent it arcing  toward its container.  It splashed accurately back into its watery home. 

“Yessss!  The kid hits from outside the line … three points!”  He rolled on to his side and was instantly asleep.

* * * * *

Hasman’s Marauder located the nebula without difficulty, the directional vectors having been precise.  They slowed and began the spherical search pattern which would allow them to detect any mechanical or biomechanoid ship within the phenomenon.  Even with the new adaptive sensors it was going to take several cycles to ensure that nothing was hiding within the swirling clutter of interstellar material.   

* * * * *

The next morning John woke to the reality that maybe he wasn’t really fine, and that he absolutely wasn’t able to get out of bed.  He was so stiff he couldn’t sit up.  He finally discovered that he could roll over onto his stomach, then he hunched up like an inch worm until he could flop into a sitting position, and finally crawled out of bed.  He thought about staying in bed the entire day, but decided that moving would be better for him.  To that end, he slowly hitched himself into the shower and stayed  under the hot water until he could move at a pace approaching normal. 

He still had a pounding headache and his chest felt tight.  The slightest bit of exertion left him sweating and short of breath, but he knew that would pass in time.  What he needed now was something to eat … ‘Scratch that idea!’ he thought as the mental vision of food brought on a wave of nausea.  ‘What I need is a little Percodan, maybe some Codeine.’  What did they use in the Uncharted Territories?  Then he remember the plant Zhaan had given Aeryn.  Chewing its leaves provided an analgesic for most discomforts. 

“The cure for what ails you … guaranteed to cure liver spots, take the gray out of your hair, and preserve the wax on your car!” he was going to let himself get on a roll as he strolled through the corridor toward Aeryn’s chamber, but found he was once again short of breath and sweating.  He decided to use his air for breathing instead. 

Stopping outside Aeryn’s chamber he listened for a moment and then called, “Morning, anybody home?”  He was greeted with only silence.  “Aeryn?”  Getting caught rummaging around in her personal effects sounded like another quick trip to the hurt factory, so he headed for the center chamber to see if she was eating First Meal.

When Aeryn looked up from her food to see Crichton strolling in with a smile on his face, the relief was so strong she had to put her utensils down quickly so no one could see her hands shaking.  The feeling gradually began to pass as he sat down across the table from Rygel and pretended to grab at the Hynerian’s food.  It was an old joke but John hadn’t tired of it yet, especially since Rygel fell for it every time, snapping at the hand that snatched at his plate but came away empty every time.  Even as she watched him laugh, she noticed that the lines around his eyes were a little deeper than usual and that he had not removed the night‘s growth of beard, but he seemed otherwise normal.

“Aeryn, do you still have that zucchini plant growing?  The one Zhaan gave you?”

“Soukeenee?” she struggled with the new sounds -- yet another word from Crichton which seemed to have no counterpart in Sebacean.  “Do you mean the Zeccan plant she gave me for head pains?” 

“Zeccan, zucchini, Zhaan-plant, whatever.  Is it still growing?”

“Yes, it’s in my chambers.  Did you want some?” 

“If it’s OK with you.”  He got up before she could rise, “No, don’t get up, I can find it if you don’t mind me going in your quarters.”  He barely waited for her nod of assent before he headed out the door.

Aeryn watched him go with a resurgence of annoyance.  Now he seemed to be deliberately short with her, ’brushing her off’ was his phrase for it.  She decided that her plan of talking things out with John would have to wait until she had a better idea of what was going on.  As he headed back along the corridor toward Chambers, though, John was concentrating only on controlling the nausea which had overtaken him when he had looked at all the food on the table in the central chamber.  He would get some zucchini leaves from Aeryn’s quarters and then take his mind off everything else by working on his module for a while.
 
* * * * *

Officer Ekron had been relieved from the pilot’s station by one of the other men, and had taken up Hasman’s post monitoring all operations while the captain got some sleep.  Ekron had been promoted to the Marauder only a half-cycle ago, but he had learned fast and adapted to Hasman’s stringent operating procedures quickly.  He wasn’t as experienced as Hasman, but he spotted the additional target on the sensor readouts before the Peacekeeper manning the station did, and knew what to do without hesitation. 

He stepped quickly to the Navigation Console and typed in a new trajectory for the Marauder, sending it to the pilot’s console with a firm slap of his palm.  “Speed, full slow.  Ease us into the center of that nebula.”  He pointed to one of the other commandos and ordered, “Get the captain, tell him we may have found one of the Leviathans.”

“Dai, if that ship IS the Leviathan it will see us, we need to get into the shadow of a planet or an asteroid.”  The pilot was already steering the ship where he had been directed despite his objection.   

“Idiot!  We are the only ones in this entire quadrant with sensors that can see through all that energy plasma.  They’re coming straight at us, the nebula is the one place they CAN’T see this ship.”   

“How will we fire upon it from in the nebula?” 

“We won’t FIRE from within the nebula,” Hasman said, walking into the operating quarters as he buckled his uniform jacket.  “If they pass it by, we’ll get behind them in their sensor blind, and if they go through the nebula on their present course … “ 

For once, all four sets of eyes turned and look at him as a smile began to form on his normally stern face.

* * * * *

[KernilCrash]

CHAPTER 4

John wandered around the maintenance bay, slowly picking up the tools he had left lying on the floor when he had gone with Aeryn for the Midday Meal he had never eaten.  He had expected that he would begin to feel better as the day wore on, but he continued to feel even worse.  He was able to block the sensations out at first, but each time he leaned over his head began pounding and he became dizzy. 

When he leaned over to pick up a laser alignment probe and almost fell over, it finally dawned on him that he wasn’t hurt.  He was sick!  He began to shake, shocked by the enormity that after almost three cycles in the Uncharted Territories, his body had finally been invaded by a truly alien germ.  ‘All right, Johnny Boy, calm down.  You knew this was probably going to happen if you stayed here long enough.  It’s probably a little bit overdue, so just relax and don’t freak out.  It’s just another damned critter.’

He walked carefully to the doorway that led out of the bay into Moya’s central corridor for the tier, but instead of leaving, he sat down near the opening with his back against an inner hull member and leaned his head back against Moya’s wall.  He could feel two sets of vibrations – Moya’s steady pulsing beat that echoed in muted tones throughout the ship and reassured him, and his own pulse pounding in his ears and through his chest, which left him feeling a bit scared and lonely. 

“You’re a healthy, studly guy John.  Just relax and let your body do what it does best and you’ll survive.”  Hearing the words out loud reassured him a bit, but he had always been healthy and the idea of being ill here, alone, with no other humans who understood how he felt, added to a rapidly mounting depression. 

He put his head down into his trembling hands and realized he was sweating all over.  Large areas of his shirt were becoming damp, as was the hair on the back of his head.  “Oh great!  In this galaxy the chicken pox probably actually turns you into a chicken.”  Making a joke finally broke the cycle of emotional shock, and he started to laugh as rational thought returned and fear dissipated like fog before a breeze.

* * * * *   

“Officer Sun?”  Pilot’s polite inquiry drew Aeryn’s attention to the holographic image being projected in the clamshell that hung near the ceiling in the Central Chamber.  She hadn’t been hungry after leaving Crichton’s quarters, but her growling stomach had finally driven her into the dining area to find a small substitute for the Midday Meal she had missed. 

“Yes Pilot?”  She always reserved a special smile for Pilot, a response to the emotional link between them.  They shared both DNA and the mutual understanding of what it was like to be able to hear and sense all of Moya in each separate heartbeat for an entire lifetime.   

“I have alerted the rest of the crew that Moya is about to enter the nebula, it should be a rather unusual sight from Command.”

“Thank you Pilot, I’ll join them there immediately.” 

“Actually … Aeryn, I thought you might …” his embarrassed pause was longer than usual, but Aeryn knew to just wait, “ … prefer to join me here.  I am reconfiguring one of my displays so that you may view an enhanced visual representation of what Moya and I experience as we pass through the clouds of energy and charged matter.  We will be entering the outer area in just under one hundred microts.” 

“I’d like that very much, Pilot.  I’m on my way.”  Aeryn hurried out of the chamber, knowing it would take her almost that long to traverse the tiers to get to Pilot’s den. 

D’Argo had enlisted Chiana’s help in finding Stark and bringing him to Command, hoping that the visual spectacle Pilot had promised them would brighten his mood.  Rygel was already waiting there, so he heard the threesome coming down the corridor. 

“Ions?  Ions?  Plasma and energy.  Zhaan is energy now, I was just energy once, floating, floating, molecular diaspora.  Are we going to see Zhaan’s energy, her diaspora coming to surround us?” 

“Yeah Stark, that’s it.  I’m sure Zhaan will be all around us soon.  Why don’t you come watch for her.”  Chiana’s tone wasn’t unkind, it just reflected the absence of understanding that most of them suffered from whenever they were around the Banik slave.  His ramblings were the manifestations of his unusual thought patterns, twisted by torture and a lifetime of experiencing the pain and death of thousands of beings.   

“Where are Aeryn and Crichton?” asked Rygel.  “Don’t they want to see this?” 

“They’re watching from the Den with Pilot.  We passed Aeryn heading that way, and apparently Pilot has arranged a separate viewing for them.”  D’Argo’s opinion concerning the special accommodations was evident from the disgust in his voice. 

“I don’t understand what all the excitement is about,” grumped Rygel.  “I thought Moya wasn’t going to be able to detect anything while she is in this interstellar mud puddle.  Why are we all here to stare at a projection of nothing?  It’s absurd -- and it’s boring.” 

Jool walked into Command and snapped her fingers at one of Rygel’s earbrows, but he saw it coming in time and his Throne Sled dipped towards the floor, taking some of his more sensitive anatomy out of harm’s way.  “Her sensors will be blocked from scanning, but we will be able to watch a direct representational display  of the discharge as the ions and charged plasma interact with the minimal electrical charge of Moya’s living components in her hull.”  Jool fired off the explanation with her normal patronizing tone. 

“There you go, your Frogness!”  Chiana laughed, “what she said!”  She forgot about her standing feud with the newcomer in her enjoyment of the Hynerian’s discomfort. 

“Look, look, beginning, beginning.  Ahhhh, diaspora flowing around us, energy here, energy there, energy everywhere, in, out, all about.”  Stark ran down as they all fell silent in awe.  The coruscating colors shimmered and leapt all around Moya’s hull, ion exchange charges leaping from Moya’s charged hull out to clouds of charged particles, and energy returns running back toward her in streams.  Sheets of elemental particles glowed around her like a corona as she dove through clouds of vaporized materials. 

In the Den, Aeryn sat on the edge of Pilot’s console, hunched over a bit to avoid the spreading reaches of his cranial shell.  He had reconfigured the largest of his informational displays to provide a view of the light show for her.  He watched the reflection of the colors flash across her face, all the time continuing to adjust controls with his four arms, maintaining Moya’s intricate systems as he helped guide her through the thickening debris in the center of the nebula.  But his capacity for multi-tasking allowed him ample time to watch the pleasure in Aeryn’s face and to  note that she watched not only the reconfigured display, but continued to scan and understand the other displays before them. 

“About another fifty microts to transition the center, Pilot?” 

“Yes, Aeryn, and then an additional one hundred and fifty microts to reach the perimeter on the far side of the nebula again.” 

“It really is very beautiful.  Moya has never had a chance to do this before, has she?”

“There are very few nebulas of this type smaller than a Class Four, and transitioning anything much larger than this current formation would be very dangerous for Moya.  The random electrical charges could permanently desensitize her sensors, and perhaps even erase vast portions of her data stores.” 

“But there’s no danger …” Aeryn stopped her alarmed tone midstream as Pilot ponderously shook his head. 

“Moya and I would never have entered this area if we didn’t have complete confidence that it would not do any harm.  Moya is quite enjoying the sensation, actually.” 

“What does it feel like Pilot?  Can you explain it?” 

“I’ve never felt this sensation before, but I believe this is what it is like … to be tickled.”  Pilot’s eyes widened and Aeryn detected what passed for his smile beaming at her.  “We are passing through the center … NOW!” 

“Look at that interaction!  That’s amazing.  Crichton once described something to me called the Northern Lights, charged particles striking the magnetic field of his planet.  I think this is the same.  I hope he’s enjoying it.” 

* * * * *

Ekron was unaware of anything going on around him as the other members of the team prepared for an assault against the Leviathan.  His entire conscious effort was focused on the sensor displays, picking out the huge mass alongside them as they drove together through the center of the nebula that had concealed the Marauder.  He felt as though his psyche had merged with the controls as he brought his ship up to speed, matching the velocity of their target and bringing them recklessly close to the flashing hull.  There was an explosive burst of noise as the side hatch was opened and the interior atmosphere was sucked out.  He wavered for only a split-microt and then maneuvered even closer to the beast of burden. 

Hasman had watched Moya’s approach carefully for a tenth of an arn while his ship was concealed in the densest portion of the clutter, and was finally forced to conclude that the fugitive ship was actually going to fly right through the middle of the plasma cloud.  He had never even heard rumors of biomechanoids deliberately flying through a nebular anomaly of any size, but this creature and its crew had continued to defy expectations ever since it had escaped.  He was finally forced to admit that his secondary plan was going to work.  He ordered the entire team into space suits and had Dai Ekron resume the pilot’s station.  Ekron was the newest member of his squad, but he was by far the best pilot, and his plan required the highest degree of piloting skill.

As Moya passed through the dense center of the swirling mass, the Peacekeeper ship was undetectable by her sensors.  She had no warning at all as they pulled alongside her hamman side hangar door, opened their side hatch, and fired an electromagnetic pulse at the door mechanism, triggering it to open.  Officer Ekron then needed only to negotiate the entrance of Moya’s hangar bay, a highly risky maneuver, and gently landed the Marauder inside the vast cavern.  “We’re in!” gloated Hasman to his subordinates.  “They’re ours.”   

Moya burst out of the dense center of the formation and began to spin along her axis as she headed for the far edge of the amorphous cloud.  Sheets of energized particles were caught by her spreading flanks and then flung away like spray, a rainbow hued halo of electrically charged elements.  Her entranced passengers felt none of the affects of her playful revolutions, and as they continued to watch it only appeared that they were diving into a massive swirling vortex of molecular vapor, following the winding tube down into one gaseous cloud after another. 

* * * * *

Once the initial emotional trauma had worn off, John continued to just sit against the wall in the maintenance bay, listening to Moya’s rhythms, the sounds of life within her.   He was concerned about being ill, but the momentary shattering fear of being sick in a strange place had passed.  He laid his head back against the wall and let the pulses of the ship reverberate through him. 

He knew they were about to enter the nebula and that he was missing the light show, but he wanted to be alone for a few microts to think about what might happen over the next few days.  He felt as much as heard the change in Moya’s propulsion systems when she entered the nebula, the vibration shifting down slightly, which John knew was from Pilot and Moya modifying the ion backwash flow in order to avoid an interaction with the charged particles all around them now.

“Northern Lights on the go!  A moving, glowing extravaganza of pulsing polarized particles.“  There had been a brief time over a cycle ago when he could not have spoken any of those words, let alone the last three, and he had recovered from that injury.  He could recover from this.  “Just a germ, John, you’ll be fine.  Ouch!” 

He looked down and realized that DRD One-Eye had just rammed into his ankle bone in a last-ditch attempt to get his attention.  Its eyestalks were waving madly and a non-stop stream of clicks, chirps and squeals came from its enunciator.  “Either this is love, or you’d like to show me something.”  One-Eye squeaked again and zipped off across the interior of the maintenance bay and disappeared behind a stack of cargo containers.  John got to his feet and went after it.  One-Eye had just led him behind the containers when he heard the inner hangar doors begin to cycle open.

“Everyone is up in Command, so who the frell is this?  The Big Bad Wolf?”  He looked up from One-Eye in time to see the first Marauder commando roll around the edge of the hangar door and take up a covering position, followed immediately by two more.  The pair spread left and right, leapfrogging forward in a classic pattern. 

‘Crap, it IS the Big Bad Wolf.’  Crichton ducked behind cover, noting that One-Eye had disappeared.  ‘Traitor!  Yellow rat deserts the sinking ship.’  He quietly released his pulse pistol from the holster, but didn’t do anything else.  He knew that commando units almost always consisted of five man teams, which meant he was badly outnumbered.  ‘I could call Pilot, but they’d hear me for sure.  Bad idea.  Why the heck hasn’t Pilot figured out that these nasty bastards are on board?’  He took a quick look over his barricade and saw that there were, in fact, five intruders.  He ducked down and tried to think. 

Hasman and his team had encountered no resistance at all as they moved out of the hangar bay and into what appeared to be a maintenance area.  This was better than he expected.  This ship had such a reputation for smash-and-grab tactics, he had anticipated having to fight his way in right from the beginning.  He held his team up for a moment while he considered the corridors beyond the doorway out of the bay.  Hasman had learned his tactics from Peacekeeper manuals, and no-resistance advances hadn’t been heavily covered.  He needed to stop and think about their next move. 

‘Come on John, think of something.  Come up with a plan, blast it!  Think outside the box.’  He was still crouching in the same place, now behind the position taken by the soldiers.  ‘Don’t want to drive them out of the bay into Moya, that would be a bad plan.  Need someone to bottle them up in here.  Where the frell are Pilot and the others!’  His thoughts took him no closer to a solution. 

Others were, in fact, coming down the corridor, but they weren’t the reinforcements he expected.  After running away from John, One-Eye had summoned as many unoccupied DRDs as his signals could reach, and simultaneously alerted Moya about the intruders.  The DRDs were already on their way to his position, but it was going to take time for Moya to relay the information and to get the biological residents to come help.  One-Eye waited in plain sight in the corridor outside the maintenance bay.  His logic circuits correctly derived that the intruders would not think it peculiar to see a DRD aboard a Leviathan. 

Hasman still hesitated.  He could see that the corridor outside the bay branched off in two directions, and neither one seemed to offer any danger or concealment for a resistance force.  He finally decided to treat it as if there was opposition in both branches and gave the orders for his team to split up and advance in both directions.  The team moved up to the door together and burst into the hallways.   

With additional direction now from Moya and Pilot, the squadron of DRDs heading toward One-Eye’s position had split up, one group gathering in each hallway.  They unshipped their tiny laser tools and when the intruders emerged into the corridors, the little tank-like mechanoids rushed forward into battle, filling the entire junction with volleys of red laser pulses.   

John had started to come out of cover to follow the Peacekeepers, but had to scramble back as the sound of firing was followed immediately by the team falling back into the maintenance bay.  “What the frell was that?”  “I’ve been hit!”  “How badly?”  “Just a flesh wound, I’ll be alright.”  “Who lost weapons?”  “Anyone spot who was firing at us?”  “All I saw were frelling DRDs.”  “There have to be soldiers behind them, they’re just using the DRDs for cover fire.”  Ekron offered this last comment, and it sounded like a rational strategy.  The team righted itself and prepared for a second, more careful excursion into the corridor. 

Aeryn was still with Pilot when the signal from One-Eye alerted him to their intruders.  “Officer Sun, there is a Marauder on board in the hamman side hangar bay!  Peacekeeper commandos have penetrated to the maintenance bay and are preparing to advance into the rest of that tier.”
 
“How the frell did they get in there without our knowing about it?”  Aeryn didn’t actually wait for an answer, but vaulted lightly over the consoles and ran out of Pilot’s chamber, switching to her comms so that she could continue talking to Pilot as she ran.  “Notify the others, tell them I’m on my way to pick up a pulse cannon and rifles.  Have them get down there now and I’ll bring the weapons.” 

“D’Argo, Chiana, everyone, may I please have your attention.”  Pilot’s image appeared in Command.

“Go ahead Pilot.”  Chiana’s answer was curt as she recognized the distraught tone of Pilot’s voice. 

“Peacekeeper commandos have managed to get on board.  Officer Sun has gone to get weapons, and wants you to proceed immediately to the vicinity of the maintenance bay for the hamman side hangar,” he repeated the bad news. 

“We’re on our way, Pilot.  How the hezmana did they get on board?”  D’Argo didn’t wait for an answer to this question either, pulling his Qualta blade from its sheath and converting it to its rifle form as he ran from Command, the others behind him.  “And where is Crichton going to be?” 

“I assumed that Crichton was with you in Command.” 

Rygel pulled his Throne Sled to a stop and faced the clamshell image of Pilot.  “We thought he was with you and Aeryn.” 

“Rygel, come on!  We’re going to need everyone’s help, even yours!”  Chiana’s voice faded down the corridor. 

Aeryn was not moving as fast as she would have like for she was weighed down with enough firepower from the weapons locker to arm everyone.  She had taken extra microts to swing by her quarters and pick up the newly purchased Tarak Silencer as well.  She knew beating back a Marauder force was going to take a miracle considering the untrained fighters she had to depend upon.  At least Crichton was becoming somewhat expert at executing the Peacekeeper methods she had been teaching him.  She hoisted the strap of the pulse cannon a little higher on her shoulder and tried to increase her pace. 

As she approached the junction where she expected to meet the others, she could hear pulse weapons firing somewhere further ahead.  She heard another noise firing, but couldn’t identify it.  She slowed to negotiate the turn and almost ran into D’Argo.

“Good, they haven’t had a chance to penetrate very far.  We have a chance.”  She looked the group over as she handed out pulse rifles, keeping the larger cannon for herself.  “Who’s down there preventing them from advancing?  Crichton?”  Her gut tightened as she envisioned him alone, trying to hold his position against a commando team.   

“We don’t know where John is, we thought he was with you in the Den.” 

D‘Argo and Aeryn stared at each other for a microt, recalling simultaneously where Crichton had been headed when they had seen him last.  “Frell.  Let’s go.” 

“Wait, what’s the plan?”  Chiana yelled, but Aeryn continued toward the din of weapons fire. 
D’Argo grimaced at her as he ran past also.  “What has our best plan ALWAYS been?” 

Rygel soared past them, carrying two shock grenades, “Break down the front door and shoot anything that moves, of course.” 

Jool stood motionless as the others hustled away, “Wait, that’s not a plan!  Stark, that’s not a plan.”  He was still standing next to her, weaponless. 

“Plan, plan?  We always have to have a plan.  I had a plan with Zhaan, it was a Zhaan plan.  Would you like me to come up with a plan?”  Jool looked at him in dismay, cradled the pulse rifle with awkward unfamiliarity and went doggedly after the others.

John listened to the conversation between the members of the PK team, and knew that the reinforcements he had expected still had not arrived.  He had seen the red pulses from repair lasers ricochet into the maintenance bay and knew what had prevented the commandos from advancing into the corridors.  ‘Those little guys have got the right stuff.’  The tenacious mechanoids were going to need a advantage though in order to hold out until the others got there, so he began working his way cautiously around the perimeter of the large chamber, looking for a spot behind the Marauder team where he could get the drop on them. 

Leather vest and pants hissing quietly, he squirmed the last twelve feet on his stomach, reaching a spot behind a workbench that provided some cover from the Marauder team.  They were preparing to move out into the corridor again, which helped prevent him from being observed.  He rocked up onto the balls of his feet and popped a rapid glance over the top of the bench.  They were about to advance.  He rose carefully into a firing position and when the first pair made their move, he aimed at the last man in the group and pulled the trigger. 

Wynona misfired. 

“Frell, frell, frell, frell, frell!”  There was no need to remain silent anymore.  The tiny firework had managed to sail the entire distance and bounced off the bulkhead near his target.  The response was a staccato of pulse rifle fire that smashed and rattled against the workbench.  He flipped into a sitting position and worked feverishly to clear the jam, leaning against the bench while tools were thrown off by the impact of the shots and fell rattling onto the floor.  “Come on, baby.  Don’t make me change your name, because you just keep finding a fine time to leave me, Lucille.” 

He dropped the chakan oil cartridge into his lap, pulled the trigger several times to clear the pulse chamber, and blew sharply into the voided weapon.  Aeryn had repeatedly insisted that this had nothing to do with clearing a pulse chamber malfunction, but he continued to rely on both the recommended method plus the little extra human touch.  ‘It can’t hurt,’ he reasoned. 

He slapped the cartridge back into place.  “Don’t fail me now, darlin’.”   The workbench was still being pounded from the same angle, so he knew he wasn’t being flanked by that soldier, yet.  He wormed his way to the far end of the bench, gave the pistol a kiss, and tried again.  The Peacekeeper scrambled for cover as Wynona fired true this time. 

The earsplitting crack of the pulse cannon filled the maintenance bay.  “The cavalry has arrived!  Thank you, John Ford!” he shouted in relief.  An increasing crescendo of pulse fire was matched by ricochets and energy blasts filling the chamber.  John could only hunker down behind the bench and wait now.  He was pinned down by the shots coming from Aeryn and the others, who were on the far side of the Peacekeepers.
 
The tempo of his headache increased abruptly along with the din in the chamber, and a part of his mind acknowledged that his fever was rising.  ‘Just great.  Did Quickdraw McGraw ever get a headache in the middle of a shootout?  I’ll bet Clayton Moore never said, Hey Tonto give me an ibuprofen out of those saddlebags.’  He forcefully put his condition out of his mind and waited for another opportunity to fire. 

“John!”  Aeryn’s voice cut clearly through the din.

“Aeryn?“ 

Aeryn felt like her pounding heart was going to tear loose from its mounts inside her chest.  Her back was against a support column, providing cover against the spray of fire from the besieged Peacekeepers.  Intermixed with the noise of pulse fire she could hear the shuffles and thuds as the five man team maneuvered behind their covering fire.  She knew instinctually that they would be setting up a multi-pronged counter attack, and that if she couldn’t find a way to throw them into disarray now, all might be lost in the next few microts. 

She neatly fielded one of Rygel’s shock grenades, then looked to where Chiana stood by the Dominar, ready for their next move.  She prepared to throw the explosive but hesitated.  If she did this wrong she could wind up injuring John, possibly maiming him permanently.  But John was trapped on the other side of the Peacekeepers, and she knew she had to try something desperate if she was going to get him out of there without getting killed -- or captured -- which would be just the same as dead. 

She stared at the weapon in her hand.  It looked to her like a sphere of despair.  D’Argo was waiting impatiently, shielded from fire by one of Moya’s supporting ribs, the second globe ready in his hand.  She called upon the tattered remnants of her self-control and nodded.

“Cover up John!  Incoming from Rygel.” 

John started to glance over the barricade, but saw the twin arcing silver and black globes as they were launched in his direction.  It all connected in a flash.  ‘Rygel?  Grenade!  No time for the holster, Hickok.’  He dropped Wynona carelessly to the floor and rolled up into a ball, his forearms clamped tightly over his ears.  The entire maintenance bay shook with the concussion, John’s curled body rattling around on the floor like a marble in an earthquake.

* * * * *

[KernilCrash]

CHAPTER 5

“John?  John!  Are you all right?”  Aeryn was on one knee next to him, one hand gripping his, the other holding his pulse pistol.  The cannon was slung out of the way behind her back.  As his vision cleared he saw the relief flood into her face, color replacing pallor.  “Are you all right?” she asked again, more quietly.     

“Yeah.”  He paused, “yeah, I’m fine.”  He grabbed the edge of the workbench and with her pulling on his other hand, staggered to his feet.  He overbalanced and almost went back down, clutching at the bench for support.  “What’s going on?  How long have I been out?”  He took the pistol from Aeryn and after two tries it slid with a click into its holster.  He looked around the maintenance bay, which was a mess of scattered tools, parts, and cargo containers, but was relatively intact.  “Is Moya all right?”   

“You’ve been unconscious for only two hundred microts or so.  Moya is fine so far.  Pilot says this felt like a leviathan-sized case of indigestion, but she’s unharmed.  Two of them got past us and are loose on this tier.  Chiana and Rygel have gone after them, and Stark is helping search.” 

“Stark?” 

She gave him a humorless grin and nodded her head.  “We managed to force two of them back into the hangar bay, but they’ve taken up positions behind the Marauder and we can’t get at them.” 

“That’s four.”  His head was still ringing from the dual concussion of the explosives.  “That was a gutsy move with the stun bombs, Aeryn.  A nice plan.”  He returned to the subject at hand.  “What about number five?” 

“He’d almost reached you, that’s why I had to try the grenades.”  John watched as she went pale again thinking about it, but she turned almost as if to hide her concern, and pointed at the sprawled body only three feet away.  Both of their heads abruptly snapped around in the direction of the hangar bay as a brief exchange of pulse fire sent several ricochets dancing around the upper reaches of the chamber.  “D’Argo and Jool are keeping the other two pinned down in there, but it’s only a matter of time … ”   She looked at him more closely.  “Are you sure you’re all right?” 

“Yes, I’m fine.”  He finished her sentence for her, “ … but it’s only a matter of time till they use their ship’s weapons to start shooting their way out of the hangar bay.”  He had tried shaking his head to clear the buzzing left over from the grenades but it had set off a wave of dizziness and he stumbled, Aeryn’s firm hand under his elbow righting him again.   

“Destroying half of Moya in the process,” she concluded.   Aeryn couldn’t ask him if he was all right a third time, but she could see that he was having difficulty with his balance.  She ached to have the time to take him aside and force him to tell her what was wrong, to trust her, but instead, she forced the concern out of her mind, falling back on her rigid Peacekeeper indoctrination to allow her to focus on the larger problem. 

They picked their way through the debris and scattered containers and walked to where D’Argo and Jool stood sentry over the Marauder ship from just inside the inner hangar doors.  The intruder squatted in the outer chamber like some sort of mutated carnivorous beast, waiting but lethal.

* * * * *

Chiana, Rygel and Stark were still on the trail of one of the Peacekeeper officers, running headlong through Moya’s corridors in pursuit.  They had almost lost his trail when they reached an intersection where four hallways connected, but a DRD had come firing out of the small access hatches, chirping madly and had sailed off down one branch.  They watched transfixed for a split microt as the DRD rushed away.  The motivator circuits that allowed it to move were making a shrill whine as it traveled at maximum velocity, a piercing shriek that summoned them to follow. 

Stark was the quickest to realize what was happening, “Helping, helping, Moya is helping.  We should go -- follow -- go after the little helper.”  Before he finished, Chiana’s slim figure was already flashing after the little mechanoid, shadowed by Rygel’s Throne Sled, also traveling at nearly its speed limit.  The Banik’s single eye widened as he realized that in another microt he would be standing alone and he ran after them.

* * * * *

“What’s the plan, Aeryn?  Have we got a can opener big enough for that thing?”

“I was going to try the Tarak Silencer.  I’m hoping it will blow a significantly large hole in the side of the ship.” 

“Significantly large?”

“Yes.”  She grinned at him. 

D’Argo interjected, “Can we please just do something before those hataak scum decide to blow a significantly large hole in us?  They are not going to wait forever just because two of their crew are on board Moya somewhere.”  He rolled away from the edge of the door as another volley of shots smashed into the walls and through the opening to ricochet around the inner area.  “They are also not going to wait forever until they try and get back in here again either.” 

“Should we warn Pilot first this time?  You know how Moya feels about blowing things up in her hangar bay.”  John took a judicious, fleeting glance into the hangar. 

“I have been maintaining an open comms channel on everybody since I became aware of the intruders, Commander.  Moya is willing to have you try to destroy the Peacekeeper ship.”

“If we need to, can we flush the ship out of here?  Are we still inside the nebula?” 

“We passed out of the nebula some time ago, Commander, while all of you were still firing on the Peacekeepers.  Moya is capable of ejecting the Marauder if you can disable it.” 

“All right, Pilot, here we go.” 

John drew his pistol and checked the chakan oil cartridge.  He shook his head and reholstered Wynona.   Aeryn started to hand him her pistol, but after considering, she lifted the strap from the cannon over her head and handed it to him.  She watched him loop the carrying strap over his head and onto his shoulder as she began loosing the Tarak weapon from its backpack-style holster. 

“You hardly ever let me play with the big toys!”  He eagerly swung the oversized pulse rifle into a comfortable position and began the priming process.  “I promise, no pulse chamber accidents.”  She glanced at him with a tolerant smile, forgiving him for his past mishap with a pulse rifle but also leaving him with a fluttering feeling in his stomach.
 
‘How in the midst of all this chaos can a single look from her turn me into a blithering fool?’ he wondered.  He dragged his eyes away from her and tried to focus on their problem.  “Jool, you’ll need to at least stick that thing around the corner and pull the trigger.  You don’t even need to aim, just send some fire in the direction of the Marauder to keep their heads down.” 

She looked as though she were frightened to the point of not being able to move, but she nodded, red hair bouncing in all directions, and gripped the rifle more securely, although no less awkwardly. 

“Go?”  John asked. 

“Go!” said D’Argo and they stepped out into danger’s way, laying down cover fire.  Jool did just as John had suggested, sticking the muzzle of her rifle around the corner, holding the weapon at arm’s length and pulling the trigger without even looking to see what she was hitting.  Aeryn stepped around the two men, aimed her weapon and pulled the trigger.  Nothing happened. 

John was astonished.  Aeryn didn‘t usually make mistakes when it came to buying weapons.  “Well, THAT was magnificent!  I can see you got your money’s worth on that one.” 

But no one was looking at John, they were looking at the ship.  Jool had joined them to watch as the Marauder was enveloped by energy strands of red, blue, green and yellow, which were contracting around the ship and increasing in intensity as they watched.  They could see the two remaining commandos on the floor near the vessel, writhing in agony as they too were encased in the snare.     

“Frell,” John breathed. 

“Big frell,” she agreed. 

“Really big frell,” D’Argo added.

Three figures bolted away from the hangar door, Aeryn yelling, “Pilot! Close the hangar doors!  Have Moya eject the Marauder and move us away from here.”  D’Argo looked back and saw Jool transfixed.  He reversed course, grabbed her roughly and dragged her screaming away from the opening. 

The inner hangar doors began to close even as they were still scrambling away, air whistling through the narrowing gap as Moya simultaneously released the gravity field in the hangar and began opening her outer doors.  The explosive force of the exiting atmosphere in the enormous chamber grabbed the now unsecured Peacekeeper ship and its two crew members and blew them out into space.  Moya engaged her drive system and moved away.

Pilot was the only one who had a chance to observe as the energy strands continued to weave themselves into a solid, tightening matrix around the ship.  As the energy output increased, he was forced to switch from a direct view of the process to sensor data.  A moment later a shock wave rolled through the entire length of the Leviathan. 

Far from the Den, Aeryn and D’Argo managed to grab onto fixtures and maintained their balance.  Jool’s shrieks of indignation came from the floor where D’Argo’s final shove had thrown her.  The tremblor threw John against a table for a moment.  He grabbed for it, missed, and went down hard.  As the vibrations faded, he rolled over on his back and looked up at Aeryn. 

“What the frell was that?”  Chiana’s voice burst over the comms. 

“Aeryn’s new toy.”  He sat up and looked around, “Can I please have one of those for Christmas, Mom?  And why didn’t you tell me that was how that thing worked?” 

“Tarak weapons were always named for how they fired, not for the damage they did.  Everybody knows that.”  Jool brushed herself off while looking at Crichton who still sat on the floor, “Well, almost everybody.” 

D‘Argo glared at Jool, then said, “Pilot, we need to get out of here.  Prepare for immediate starburst.”   

“Wait … “  A thought skittered through John’s head and he sat silently, pursuing it.  He rubbed his forehead trying to encourage the errant idea to come forward.  His hand came away slick with sweat, and he hoped no one else noticed the trickles running down his face and neck.  The image clarified in his mind.  “Pilot, how much wreckage is left from the Marauder?” 

“Quite a lot, actually.  It appears that very little of the actual mass was destroyed.” 

“If we leave that here, other Peacekeepers may find it and know that we were here also.” 

“Excellent thinking, John.”  Aeryn turned to the clamshell where Pilot’s image had finally appeared.  “Pilot, can the docking web capture all the wreckage and pull it aboard before we starburst?” 

“I will do so now, Officer Sun.” 

John was back on his feet, and all four stood surveying the chaos in the maintenance bay.  “We were lucky,” Aeryn summed up. 

“Yes, but there are still two of those Peacekeeper vermin aboard, and we lost track of them when you decided to turn Moya into a Toreilian vibrator.”  Rygel steered his Throne Sled across the chamber to join them, coming to a stop near Jool and surveying the devastation around him.  “And who exactly is going to pick all this up?”

“We’ll worry about that when we find those last two frelling Peacekeepers.”  D’Argo was about to say something else, but was cut off by an enormous, sustained crashing noise in the hangar bay. 

“The remains of the Marauder are aboard.”  Pilot’s purple holo-image reappeared.  The inner doors slid silently apart and they turned to see wreckage strewn the full length of the hangar.  In an area big enough to accommodate a half-dozen Prowlers, the entire floor was covered with components, circuits, wiring, and hull plating.  John, Aeryn and D’Argo walked cautiously through the debris, while Rygel floated easily above it.

“What is all that dren?  You said you were netting the debris from the Marauder.”  Jool hung back at the hangar doors.
     
“That Silencer of Aeryn’s dismantled it.”  John’s voice was slow with the dawning realization as he knelt and picked through components that were obviously still intact, but separated from each other.  “It just knocked apart every joint and seam in the ship!  Did you know that would happened?” 

“If you recall, I was just hoping for a significantly large hole.”  Aeryn held up a double handful of bolts, screws and circuits, showing them to everyone.  “What are we going to do with all these parts?  This is amazing.”

Pilot’s voice emanated once again from their comms.  “I’m … very sorry about the mess.”

John and Aeryn look at each other for a minute, both on the verge of laughing.  John was going to ask her if she thought Pilot was developing a sense of humor, but he didn’t want to offend Pilot who was still listening.  Aeryn also started to open her mouth, but clamped it firmly shut against any laughter and turned away from the clamshell.   

* * * * *

Moya struggled to contain her fear and guilt.  When she became aware of the Peacekeeper ship within her hangar bay, she knew immediately that it was only because she had indulged herself that the ship had managed to get on board.  In that state of distress, she had cried out into the void of space, but there was no one to answer her call except those within her, and only Pilot was aware of her emotional shout.  The lives within her were now at risk, and yet decisions concerning the intrusion were still being based on how their actions would affect her well being.   

Her guilt rose from the knowledge that before she ever touched the outermost fringes of the nebula, she had known that all of her sensors would be disrupted, but the temptation had been more than she could resist and it had all appeared so innocuous.  Pilot tried to reassure her that all would be well, that it was not her fault, and although she calmed down somewhat, a deep core of guilt remained.  Leviathans existed to serve and she had indulged herself instead. 

As soon as the docking web finished pulling the wreckage of the Marauder on board, Pilot sent her the commands to initiate starburst.  They had already scanned the quadrant together, and located an area of space devoid of stars, planets, or other debris that might create a hazard when she exited starburst.  It was not quite half again as far as the longest distance Moya had ever attempted, but galvanized by her emotions she leapt long and hard away from the scene of near disaster. 

Emerging from starburst with polarized materials and energy streaming from her hull like radiant water, Moya immediately scanned the area, as she always did after emerging from the slipway that ran in the emptiness between dimensions.  The entire area was clear of spatial debris and there were no energy signatures of any kind for thousands of metras in every direction.  Relaxing within the returning sense of safety, she returned her attention to her internal workings as well as beginning a further analysis of the area of space around her. 

* * * * *

Captain Zaisan Hasman finally found a point in the access shaft where he could stop and catch his breath and would still be able to see if any of his pursuers were coming though the tunnel after him.  The engagement had turned into a rout so quickly he was forced to acknowledge that the reputation of this group of fugitives was well deserved.  The double percussion of the two shock grenades had left one of his men staggering and deaf, an easy target for the Qualta rifle handled by the Luxan.  He and the other three men had been stunned for only a split microt but it was enough time for the Nebari and what must have been the Peacekeeper traitor to drive between them and split the quartet apart. 

He had taken enough time to note that two of his men had been driven back toward their ship, and he had seen the flash of Pilot Officer Dai Ekron’s figure escaping through a different doorway before he was forced to retreat into the corridors.  He cursed himself for dropping his weapon while still staggering from the concussion of the grenades.  It was unthinkable for an officer of his rank to be disarmed so easily, he had been trained to not let this happen. 

‘Find a weapon, stay ahead of the pursuers, find a tactical advantage in order to stop this ship from escaping,’ he listed in his mind his most basic priorities.   Returning to his uncomfortable crouched position he began to move through the shaft again, looking for an exit point.  He had moved only a short distance when he felt a lurch, identified it as entry into starburst.  ‘Priority number three,’ he modified his list, ‘now just stop this ship any way I can, no matter what, without regard to wherever we wind up.’  His career was finished after this fiasco, he was going to make sure he took this ship and its crew with him.   

* * * * *

Ekron had not escaped from the maintenance bay as cleanly as his captain.  He had found himself without a pulse weapon and constantly shadowed by DRDs.  He was still trying to lose the mechanoid spies completely, wondering how long it would be before they led one of the ship’s crew to his location.  Each time he managed to elude one DRD he seemed to stumble into one or two more who would immediately begin to trail him in turn. 

He knew he had to keep moving no matter what, until he was unwatched.  Stopping at any time now would mean capture or death at the hands of these fugitives.  He followed a sloping corridor that he hoped would lead him to the center of the tier he was on, looking for a vertical shaft where he might be able to out climb the tenacious little tanks. 

* * * * *

D’Argo watched Jool’s departing figure as she left the maintenance bay.  She had refused to partake in any search that might result in another encounter with a Peacekeeper commando, and was headed to her quarters.  She still carried a pulse rifle for self-defense, but no one remaining behind knew whether she would have the courage to kill another being even if it was in self-defense.  D’Argo continued to watch her receding form as he spoke to the others.  “We must find the remaining Peacekeepers.  Do either of you have a plan?” 

“Either?  Either of you?”  Rygel’s voice exuded angry sarcasm.  “I don’t suppose that you would ever assume that I had a plan for this situation.”  The answer from D’Argo was a curt but unequivocal “No.”  Rygel’s earbrows drooped and he turned his Throne Sled away.  He didn’t actually have a suggestion, but he just wished that at least once they would assume that he could be of some help in these situations.  It was the sorry position of a Hynerian to be looked down upon simply because of his stature.   

“The two who escaped had to both be officers,” Aeryn announced firmly.  “They will have the greatest tactical expertise of the team, and therefore will be the most difficult to capture.”  Her mind began to scroll through the variations of Peacekeeper tactics that had been drilled into her from childhood, retaining any that might be used by their quarry.   

“How do you know they were both officers?”  John wondered how much of the skirmish he had been unconscious through if he had missed that information as well. 

“Simply, the two we trapped in the hangar, and the dead man all wore sergeant’s or trooper’s insignia.  There would have to be a captain and a pilot officer of some sort as part of the team.  We’ll need to get Pilot and the DRDs to help us with the search and start sweeping Moya tier by tier.” 

The trio began walking, catching up with Rygel who was moving slowly out of the maintenance bay, still grumbling over his abrupt verbal drubbing.  “This is going to take a lot of time,” John mused, “so maybe we need to get everyone involved.”  He stepped into the corridor, Aeryn and D’Argo on either side of him.

Unnoticed overhead, three DRDs were repairing an inner hull tear, clearing away charred skin from an area that had been hit by pulse weapons fire during the skirmish with the Peacekeepers.  Two units continued their excavation in preparation for rebuilding the thick golden membrane, but the third little drone stopped moving and focused its eyestalks on the three figures below.  Video and audio signals were shunted to Moya’s massive data banks, and from there the information was relayed to both Moya herself and to Pilot, who jointly analyzed the incoming information.  They monitored the conversation as it unfolded beneath the DRD, and together they chose to take a hand in what was occurring. 

“What is that appalling smell?”  D’Argo burst out.  He took a deep breath through his nose, and looked down in disgust at Crichton.  “I’ve been encountering this strange odor most of today, and your usual stench, Crichton, has disappeared completely … to be replaced by this!” 

“What?  I showered this afternoon!  I mean it’s been a few hours and I’ve been just a little busy, but I’m clean.”  He plucked his shirt up from the center of his chest and gave it a small sniff, noting that wide patches were damp with sweat.  It was a sharp reminder of the fever he was harboring, and once aware of it again his attention could no longer be diverted from the headache he had been deliberately ignoring, or the shortness of breath and lightheadedness. 

‘But Aeryn is going to be chasing commandos again,’ he objected to himself.  He had no intention of letting her go without him.  The last time they had been forced to track down special ops commandos on board Moya had been the beginning of an avalanche of disasters.   

“What is wrong with you, Crichton?”  D’Argo stepped closer and took another judicious sniff as John smoothed his shirt back down.   

“I knew there was something wrong in the maintenance bay!”  Aeryn’s concern was a sharp accusation, stinging him for not being completely honest.  “Was it the grenades?  Have you been hit, are you injured, John?”  When she had seen him stagger and lose his balance earlier, a frightening prescient chill had run through her, and she still had not been able to dispel the lingering sense of dread. 

John opened his mouth to deny everything, but shut it again without speaking.  He tried again.  “I think I’m sick,” was all that came out. 

“Your head is all wet!”  Rygel had maneuvered behind him while his attention was focused on the other two and was eyeing John’s short soaked hair.  “Even a Hynerian never gets that moist.  It’s actually rather disgusting, Crichton.”

“Takes one to know one, Buckwheat.”  He looked abashed as he turned back to Aeryn.  “I think I may have caught that uncatchable Saltauri-Sebacean flu.”  Aeryn was starting to shake her head.  “I’m sure I’ll be fine once my body starts to fight it,” he added quickly. 

“That’s not the problem.  You’re of no help to us if you’re sick.  We can’t be looking out for you while we’re trying to capture highly trained Peacekeeper officers.” 

“I am NOT going to let you go crawling around this ship looking for a pair of killers without me.”  John’s voice immediately rose to a shout. 

“I can certainly look out for myself better without you than with you.  You’d only slow me down and become a liability to both of us.  You’re the one who needs someone looking out for him all the time.”  Aeryn was surprised to find herself yelling also, driven by a sense of panic welling up from a place within her that she didn’t recognize.  She tried to get a grip on emotions exploding within her, confused by their appearance when she didn’t know what was setting them off.  She only knew she was afraid for John, she had never seen him ill before.

Her glare silenced D’Argo who had opened his mouth to speak.  She got a tiny grip on her temper.  “John.  There isn’t anything you can do right now that the others can’t do as well.  If anything else goes wrong, we may need you at one hundred percent later.  Go find Jool and see if she can figure out what is making you ill.”

Watching Aeryn struggle to get herself under control forced him to get a grip on his fears as well.  He wanted to argue with her, but knew deep down that she was right.  There was also a scared little voice inside that told him that if she got hurt because he insisted on helping, he would never be able to live with that mistake.  He nodded, thumbed sweat from his eyebrows and stared at his dripping hand, defeated.  “I’ll go to my room and get some sleep.” 

“John, please go find Jool and make sure that you are getting better.”  He just nodded and turned to make his way through the tier.  “Please.“  He turned at the single word plea, and finally saw all the concern that was inexpertly hidden.  He saw the rigid muscles and upright stance that weren’t Peacekeeper training -- they were love and fear tangled into almost unrecognizable strain.   

He wanted to reach out physically to reassure that stiff, frightened figure, but as he stepped toward her he remembered the infection raging inside him.  He hesitated, not knowing what effect his human physiology would have on whatever organism had invaded him.  He looked at her and knew he could never take a chance of a mutated germ infecting her as well.  He nodded and turned away again. 

“All right, I promise.  I’ll go.”  The trio watched as he ran one hand along Moya’s inner hull, tracing a slow, unsteady path away from them. 

“D’Argo …” Aeryn couldn’t take her eyes off John but couldn‘t bring herself to move after him either.  She had other things that had to come first right now, but she also couldn’t stand to watch him walking away all alone. 

The big warrior breathed heavily through his nose, a habit that surfaced whenever he was making a show of doing something reluctantly, when he really wanted to do it very badly anyway.  “You be careful,” he said to her, glancing between her frozen expression and Crichton’s receding figure.  He turned to glare at the Hynerian still hovering beside them.  “And you go with her.”

* * * * *

[KernilCrash]

CHAPTER 6

Jool was already waiting in the maintenance chamber that everyone still thought of as Zhaan’s infirmary when D’Argo strode in carrying a weakly objecting Crichton.  John had traversed less than half the distance from where they had left Aeryn when he had been forced to stop, leaning against one of the thick arches that were spaced regularly through all of Moya’s corridors.  He bent over forward, his back against Moya’s rib but bracing his hands on his thighs, waiting for a bout of dizziness to pass.  He gazed at his friend’s feet through half closed eyes.  “I’ll be all right in a minute.  You don’t really have to stay here with me.  Go help Aeryn.” 

Closing his eyes momentarily against a whirling view of the floor, he only heard D’Argo’s hiss of disagreement.  He wasn’t even aware that he was sliding to the floor until he felt strong hands hauling him upright again.

“No D’Argo,” he objected as he felt the Luxan start to lift him off his feet, “just let me lean on you and I can make it the rest of the way.”  But muscular arms slid behind his shoulders and knees, he was scooped off the floor and they started to move again.  Through nearly closed eyes he was aware of the flash of corridor lights passing at a quickening pace.  The pulsing lights joined the whirling in his head, threatening to spin him into unconsciousness.  He tried to help D’Argo support his frame by hanging on with one arm, but found that he suddenly had no strength remaining whatsoever, and was left with no other choice but to submit to his friend’s assistance.

If the weight of the tall, sturdy human was a burden, D’Argo didn’t show any sign of the strain.  He had carried his small son, Jothee, to bed this way many times, and he now cradled someone who meant nearly as much to him.  He reached the infirmary quickly, maneuvered John’s long legs through the doorway, and carried him to the high couch they used as an examining table.  As D’Argo carefully deposited his burden, Crichton quietly renewed his complaint, “I hate being carried that way, D’Argo.” 

“Very well! Next time I will grab you by one ankle and drag you through Moya’s corridors behind me like the carcass of a Folsatian pit hog.”  Jool started to open her mouth to object to his retort but he cut her off.  “John needs medical treatment.  Can you help him?” 

Jool was already moving quickly from one rack of instruments to the next, grabbing several items.  “If this retrograde laboratory has the necessary equipment,” she rattled through the racks that held what had been Zhaan’s herbal treatments, “I supposed I might be able to make a clinical diagnosis.  Doesn’t your species believe in treating your illnesses before they become advanced?  I’ve studied most of my culture’s theoretical fields covering numerous existent xenobiological microbial and viral infectious agents, so if your species does have any passing similarities to my own, as you’ve suggested, then hypothetically I should be able to formulate an initial diagnosis of what form of -- oh good, sensor pads and a readout panel …“  Her voice ran on as she prepared the  pads and continued her search through the contents of the benches and drawers.

“How did you get here so quickly?” John inquired, struggling to regain some firmness in his tone, “we only commed you a couple of microts ago.” 

“Pilot said Moya wanted me to come down here and wait for you, but he wasn’t specific as to the nature of the problem.  I’ll need to place these sensors, John, in order to derive some primary physiological parameters … ” 

Ignoring the non-stop prattle coming from the corner, D’Argo reached behind John as he managed to sit up, and helped him take his vest off.  John started to just yank his T-shirt up enough for Jool to place the torso sensors, but he discovered that it was thoroughly soaked now, so he struggled to pull the wet garment off over his head.  Again, a firm but gentle hand took hold and helped him pull it free.  John wrapped himself in the thermal sheet that had been draped at the foot of the table, shivering for a moment now that his sweating body was shirtless, and laid down again, waiting for Jool.

D’Argo spared a brief moment to place his hand on John’s shoulder, gave it a gentle squeeze, turned and hurried out of the room.  Crichton could hear the metallic zing as the Luxan pulled his Qualta blade from its sheath, then a click and a snap as he converted it into an energy rifle.  He was left feeling weak and alone, stuck here with an invisible viral foe to battle while the others were searching Moya, risking their lives against the Peacekeeper infiltrators. 

He was consumed by an urge to just leave the lab and go after D’Argo, pushing through the discomfort of his illness in order to help his friends, to be with Aeryn, to make sure she was safe.  His promise echoed in his ears though, and he knew he couldn’t let her down.  He tried to relax.  He forced himself to let the strange Interon examine him, take blood, test his inner workings, and felt a little afraid.     

D’Argo hurried away, fighting against a mounting rage once again, targeted this time against himself.  When he had pulled Crichton’s shirt over his head, he had seen the still darkening bruises of his own handiwork.  Black, purple, green and yellow patches had spread and connected, leaving John’s torso almost completely covered with his artwork of anger.  ‘How could I have turned on him in such savagery?’ he asked himself.  ‘This is the friend who sacrificed himself so that I could be reunited with my son!’  He steeled himself against the  guilt and went in search of a Peacekeeper on whom he could vent his frustration.   

* * * * *

Aeryn crouched outside the opening to the central neural cluster, scanning the interior through the sites of her pulse rifle.  Rygel floated behind her, working hard to be as courageous as one of his valiant predecessors, Rygel IX.  “Are you sure this is the right place to start hunting?”  Aeryn dragged her focus once more back to the matter at hand.

“A Peacekeeper officer who has just lost his entire command, and his ship, has nothing to look forward to except a Tribunal and execution.  Their only hope for avoiding that outcome is to cripple or destroy the ship that led to their defeat.”  She worked her way carefully into the cavern, continuing her methodical scan of the cluster’s numerous openings.  “The entire neural cluster would be their most obvious target, giving them the greatest tactical opportunity.”
 
She eased over to the vertical shaft that ran all the way from Pilot’s neural connections near the top of Moya’s body, down through all the tiers to the bottom of the enormous peaceful beast.  In two brief darts she made her initial survey of the shaft both above and below her.  It appeared empty.  She leaned further into the open column and made a more complete survey. 

Without relaxing her vigilance for a microt, she nonetheless turned to look at Rygel, “Will you search through the tiers above us until you reach the level right below Pilot?”  She half expected Rygel to refuse, his Hynerian instinct for self-preservation normally rose above the interests of everyone else on the ship.  But he moved his Throne Sled into the center of the shaft and peered up and down, then looked pensively at Aeryn.

“Where will you be?”  When she gestured downshaft he nodded.  “What should I do if I find one of those murderers?  I have no pulse weapon.”  A green wrinkled hand emerged from within his robes holding a wickedly serrated Charrid knife, the largest personal weapon the Dominar normally chose to wield while directing his hovering chair.  Aeryn regarded him for a long moment, then reached behind her and pulled a small object off the belt at the rear of her pants and handed it to the diminutive royal Hynerian.  He looked it over carefully and with a malicious smile tucked his knife back out of sight.  “Where did you get a pocket pistol?” 

“I’ve had it ever since the first day I came on board Moya.  Crichton took it off one of Crais’ security officers,” she said.  A quick smile flicked across her face as she recalled that early encounter.  Crichton hadn’t even known how to hold the small weapon and had almost shot himself in the head by firing it backwards, but his daring grab at the weapon had saved all of them that day.  The amusement faded from her expression she remembered where John was now, and the danger they all faced at this moment.  “I’ll work my way down.  Keep your comms open at all times.” 

“Thank you for your insightful suggestion … Princess of The Apparent.”  Rygel was already disappearing out of sight overhead as he sneered at her instruction. 

“Rygel, I want that weapon back when we’re done with this!’ she raised her voice only enough to ensure that he heard her.  A derisive laugh echoed down through the shaft, a clear statement that she had seen the last of that weapon.  Aeryn shook her head.  It was naïve to think she would ever get it back.  She swung a leg over the edge of the low wall around the central nexus and grabbed the ladder.  Keeping her rifle trained on the well below her, she began the long descent, checking the immediate surrounding area on each tier carefully as she worked her way down through Moya.   
 
Ekron could hear small bits and pieces of the conversation above him, echoing down the vertical passage.  He recognized the voice of the Sebacean woman who had thrown their assault into disarray, and heard the Hynerian leaving to search upshaft.  The woman was almost certainly one of the traitors they had been told about.  Her understanding of the tactics that had brought them all to this location demonstrated that she was the former Peacekeeper.  Coming up with a plan to defeat her was going to be a challenge. 

He had come close to despairing of losing the DRDs until the Leviathan had been rocked by an explosive shock wave.  He faced the probability that the Marauder had been destroyed with drilled pragmatism, and knew he needed to somehow join up with his captain and take over this Leviathan.  When the DRDs were temporarily thrown into confusion by the electromagnetic pulses that accompanied the turbulence, he had been able to enter an access tunnel unseen, and slipped away from them. 

He had located the central neural cluster and knew that he was now somewhere near the bottom of the thick, braided nerve fibers that led from points all over the ship to the pilot far above.  Now he crouched in a dark side tunnel and listened to the noises above. 

* * * * *

John dozed off to the sound of ringing in his ears.  He was occasionally aware of Jool working around him, checking his condition, but most of the time there was just the whine in his head, and the need for more air pressing on his chest.  Jool woke him twice to give him something to drink, the chatter about fluids and electrolytes adding to the buzzing noise that circled and circled in his

head.  He jerked fully awake to the sound of metal and glass striking, a furious clatter from the counter that held Zhaan’s few diagnostic instruments.  “Frell!”  The single word expletive held a volume of frustration. 

“Wh--”  He cleared his throat and tried again.  “What’s up?” 

“This is an impossible situation.  I don’t have the instruments I require, and there is something very unusual happening to the virus that has invaded your system.”  She walked over and stood next to him, examining a culture plate that she still held in her hand.  “John …”

Her reticence bothered him more than all of her multi-syllabic ramblings.  Suddenly he found that some of the tightness in his chest wasn’t just the illness.  “Go ahead, spit it out.  What’s the problem?”  He didn’t try to look at her squarely, just laid back and waited for her to work around to whatever was bothering her, watching the indecision on her face out of the corners of his eyes. 

“Does your species use modified microbial antigen generators?”  He stared up at the shadows cast on the arched ceiling, running the phrase through his mind, trying to turn it into something recognizable.  His microbes had translated all of her words, so it had to be the arrangement.  The words ran like an echo through his head, “ … antigen … ” 

“Antibiotics?  You mean antibody therapy!  Of course we do, that‘s our primary method for fighting infections.” 

She threw the culture plate across the chamber where it smashed against a wall, fragments falling wetly to the deck.  “Of course you would.  When are the lesser species going to learn that retroactive treatments to microbial infections only result in an increased susceptibility to unmodifiable infectious organisms in the future?”  John didn’t even ask.  He closed his eyes and allowed the hum of far away music to carry him away from the confusion.   

* * * * *

Hasman ran catfooted along a corridor, moving as fast as he could without making any undue noise.  He had been forced out of the access tunnels by the horde of DRDs that were swarming through the Leviathan’s concealed areas.  He had turned into one tunnel after another, never actually being seen by the DRDs, but herded by them nonetheless.  Finally he was forced to admit that if he remained in the access shafts and conduits, he would be found in a matter of arns, if not microts.  He had cautiously emerged into an empty corridor and paused, surveying his surroundings.  When he heard and saw nothing he forayed cautiously into the hallways, searching for a solution to his predicament.   

Hasman benefited from having served on a Leviathan transport for a quarter cycle, just long enough to learn the basic genetic layout for these beasts.  After several microts of stealthy travel he determined that he was somewhere near the network of workshops and maintenance bays that normally spanned the creature from one rear flank to the other.  He stopped and crouched for a few microts to consider a strategy.  The ship had a former Peacekeeper on board, so he would not be able to use standard tactics.  An attack on the central nervous system of the ship was the first thing even a junior officer would expect, and he did not have a weapon of sufficient size or power to do any significant damage. 

First, he needed to find a weapon of any sort -- pulse rifle, maintenance laser cutter, laser probe, anything that would cut through the Leviathan’s tough outer membranes that surrounded all of its more delicate living matter.  He also needed to know how many crew members he might have to avoid. 

He envisioned the brief battle in the maintenance bay and began counting.  The Hynerian could be discounted, most of that species were cowards and the rest were ineffective fighters.  The Luxan, the Peacekeeper and the Nebari girl had all performed credibly during the fight.  There had been another woman somewhere in the corridor, he had a flashing image of her stunned, unmoving form.  She was an unknown.  Which made five. 

He thought for another microt.  There had been someone who had been able to get behind them unseen, a skilled combat soldier perhaps, who was able to infiltrate behind their unit without being detected.  He searched his memory some more.  He had heard that person’s voice -- male.  It was possible that there was a second Peacekeeper traitor on board.  So six life forms certainly, possibly more. 

He began to move again, glancing into one empty chamber after another.  He was fairly sure he was somewhere in the vicinity of the treblin side transport hangar and its associated maintenance and storage areas, any of which might reveal a weapon of some sort.  It was then that he heard voices up ahead.  He slowed and approached the area cautiously.  A woman’s voice, high pitched and demanding, followed by a slow, quiet male voice.  He was still unarmed and had no way of knowing if there were just two individuals up ahead, or more.  He crouched against the corridor wall, partially concealed by a support rib and considered his options.   

* * * * *

After D’Argo left John in the infirmary he had roamed Moya’s corridors for a quarter arn, mindlessly in search of something … anything … upon which he could vent his anger.  After one hapless DRD just barely managed to avoid being kicked into crumpled uselessness, the hallways became curiously empty of the scuttling yellow machines.  If he had taken the time to scan the areas around him, D’Argo might have noticed motionless eyestalks watching his progress from points of safety along the ceiling and walls. 

He eventually found himself standing motionless in an intersection not far from Command, his anger fading suddenly, evaporating as quickly as it had appeared.  He stood, trying to remember where his fury had been driving him.  He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and knew that he had not actually entered full Luxan hyper-rage this time, falling only just short of it.  If he had crossed the line, only physical release would have allowed him to come out of the mindlessness this soon.  He was relieved that no one had suffered this time from his genetic inability to control his temper.  Carrying that burden like a yoke on his spirit, he turned and hurried to Command.  Entering, he demanded, “Pilot!  What is the current status of the search!”

* * * * *

Chiana raced into the Den, slinging her pulse rifle over her shoulder as she approached the raised bulwarks that surrounded Pilot and all of his controls and displays.  “Pilot!  Any luck with the DRD search?”  Barely slowing as she reached him, she bounded up on the edge of his station and perched there lightly. 

“No, Chiana.  I have instructed the DRDs to suspend all but the most essential of Moya’s maintenance until the Peacekeepers have been located.  I have focused the search on the access tunnels and larger conduits through which they might be able to travel.  There are only a minimum number of DRDs patrolling the corridors since I don’t believe they would chose to travel through Moya in plain sight unless they are forced to.”  His four arms continued to manipulate controls without pause as he spoke. 

“Where are the others?”  Chiana waggled her tired feet, trying to ease the cramps in her legs and toes. 

“Officer Sun and Dominar Rygel are searching the central neural shaft, and Ka D’Argo has just arrived on Command to monitor the DRDs from there.  Stark … ” his tone dropped in concern, “Stark was last observed near Zhaan’s Chamber, on one of Moya’s burned tiers.” 

“Where’s Crichton?  With Aeryn?”  She was stilled concentrating on her fatigued legs, so she didn’t see the concerned look Pilot turned in her direction.  When there was no answer, she turned to look at him, alarm filling her expression.  “Where’s Crichton, Pilot?”

* * * * *   

Chiana didn’t slow down as she tried to turn the corner into the infirmary and her feet slid out from under her.  Jool looked up, startled, as the black and gray figure slid to stop near the bed where Crichton was sitting hunched and wrapped tightly in the thermal sheet. 

“Hey Old Man!”  Their favorite greeting brought no response from him.  “You don’t look as bad as everyone says you’re doing.”  Her attempt at humor fell flat.  Her artfully guileless expression could not completely hide her dismay when John raised his head to look at her.  His eyes were dull and lifeless, and the smile that always lurked behind even his most serious expressions was gone completely.  He laid down wordlessly, curling up on his side under the thermal sheet and closed his eyes. 

Concern made her angular stride even more mechanical as she approached Jool, who continued to work intently.  She searched for words, or for a question, but before she could speak Jool looked up with animosity and frustration in her expression.  “Unless you have something to offer, perhaps a brilliant insight into manipulating recombinant DNA, go away and leave me alone.  I’m trying to help John, and his species’ ridiculous reliance on that archaic fallacy he calls ‘antibiotics’ is making this an impossible task.”  She returned to her work without noticing the effect her words had wrought. 

Chiana stared at her speechlessly for a microt.  She hissed “Grot-less Wonder” just under her breath and advanced toward the workbench, the possibility of physical violence a consideration at that moment.  “I only came down here to see how Crichton was doing, you arrogant … ”

“Pip … ”  The voice behind her was insistent. 

“Hey, Crichton!”  She whirled around, her anger forgotten.  “How you feelin’?”   

“I’m hangin’ in.  Don’t be mad at Jool, okay?  She’s doing her best.”  He felt Chiana’s hand run through his hair, pushing the short, damp strands back off his forehead.  He turned a little on the pillow, and the same reassuring stroking continued against the side of his head, from the temple back over his ear to the base of his skull.  It was relaxing, and the ever-present headache seemed to ease as the massaging continued.  He only heard and felt her, but he was glad she was there, didn’t want her to leave.  Then even that awareness faded into darkness.
 
Chiana saw the laxness enter his body and knew the instant that he had fallen asleep, no matter that it was a feverish restlessness.  She watched for another long moment, and then walked slowly out of the chamber.  She felt frustration’s stinging tears begin to flow and wiped them roughly away, angry at her weakness. 

Crichton had, over the cycles, become something like an older brother to her.  For a short period of time, she had certainly tried to interest him in another type of relationship, but his love was reserved unswervingly for Aeryn.  So she had settled for the level of instinctual trust she had experienced only with her real brother, Neri.  Her inability to be of any help now was a grinding irritation that would not leave her in peace. 

She paused, considering something John had said to her shortly after she had first come on board Moya.  He had told her to pass the caring along, to do something special for someone else.  Her irrepressible smile reappeared as she realized there was something she could do for Crichton after all.  She could do her best to make sure the one thing that was most important to him in this universe remained safe.  “Pilot, is Aeryn still in the central nexus?”  She began to run toward the center of Moya’s bulk even before she received a reply. 

When Chiana bolted from his chamber on her way to the infirmary, Pilot had returned to his multitasking surveillance of Moya, and everything within and around her.  The non-stop signals from hundreds of DRDs barely distracted him from the other myriads of details flowing in through all of Moya’s millions of neural connections.  The thick umbilicals that ran from the ship to the lower portion of his body had taken more than a cycle to fully connect, and were continuing to grow with each passing day.  Every arn brought an infinitesimal increase in the amount of information exchanged between him and Moya.

As he continued to direct the search being conducted by the host of drones, he reviewed the latest data from Moya’s external sensors, noting an anomaly.  A faint energy signature was emanating from an area of space nearby, but neither Pilot nor Moya had ever seen anything like it before, so he began comparing it against the massive data stores imbedded in Moya’s living tissues. 

* * * * *

Ekron crouched at the base of the shaft, hidden from the searcher above by the shadows.  He had decided that there was a small window of opportunity provided by her slow careful descent.  If he could remain unseen until her feet protruded below the ceiling level of this tier, he should be able to yank her off the ladder and kill her.  It was risky.  If there was any struggle, the others might hear and he would be driven before them like a frantic drannit once again, but the chance to reduce their number by one couldn’t be discarded.  He carefully drew his long knife from its sheath and waited. 

* * * * *

“John?”  He heard Jool’s voice speaking to him as if from a long distance away.  He swam toward the surface of consciousness, pulling himself up the long rope that hung from the single word.  “John, I’m going to take another sample of your blood.  I need to know if the last formulation I tried is working.” 

“All right,” he mumbled.  He felt the pressure against his arm, heard the hiss.  He opened his eyes, and watched as she took the sample and placed it in the scanner.  She watched the screen as the machinery ran the analysis, her normally smooth forehead wrinkling in disappointment and dismay.  Obviously whatever she was trying wasn‘t working.  She removed the capsuled sample and in a pique flung it across the chamber where it joined the debris of the earlier culture plate. 

He tried a simple question.  “Not going too well?”  He was shocked by how his voice rasped and quavered.  His mouth was parched and inside his throat it felt as if the two sides had grown together.  He tried to swallow but it didn’t break up the awful sensation. 

She glanced to where he lay, declining to actually answer him.  Instead, she reached for a drink container and brought it to him.  “Since you’re awake, try and drink some of this.  If you can’t, I’m going to have to find another way to rehydrate your body.”  She offered her arm to help him sit up, but when he tried to pull against it she found she couldn’t manage even a fraction of his weight.  Crichton gradually squirmed one elbow under himself and worked his way into a partially raised position. 

He gagged against the strong, bitter taste of the mixture in the flask initially, but his throat was so dry he tried another sip and found it strangely refreshing on the second chance.  He glanced at Jool, comparing the pliable form of this intellectually elite woman to Aeryn’s resilient strength.  He wished she was here.  He tried another sentence.  “You’ll get it, just keep trying.”   The liquid was finally lubricating the tissues in his throat. 

“It’s not that,” her voice took on a familiar tone of complaint.  “It’s this antiquated lab, the lack of proper facilities, Moya’s vibrations destroy emulsions before I can … oh!  It’s just all impossible.”  She took the empty container away from him and began to refill it.  He remained propped up on one arm, watching her frustrated, jerky movements.

“Jool … ” he waited until she looked around at her.  “I do understand how you feel.”  She turned away again and her ringlets bounced as she shook her head, denying that he could know what she was experiencing.  “All my life … hard work always was enough to get me where I wanted to go. … I always knew I was going to be an astronaut … as long as I gave it everything I had, I could achieve … my goals.”  He paused frequently, struggling to marshal his scattered thoughts and catch his breath.  “Top of my class in high school … getting accepted to MIT … uh, that’s the college I wanted … getting into IASA … convincing the brass to let DK and me try the Farscape project.” 

She returned with the flask, but didn’t hand it to him yet.  She just watched him as he caught his breath and continued.  “And then I wound up … here on Moya ... None of the rules here are the same.  No matter what I try … no matter how long I’m here, something … always seems to go wrong.  I say things and everyone misunderstands … I think I understand what they are saying … and I turn out to be wrong.  I think I know how equipment works … ” he paused and gestured at the scanners and analyzers around the chamber, “and then it doesn’t.  I try and find a set of rules that will make this place make sense, and there aren’t any.” 

He took the flask from her and peered into it.  “What is this sludge anyway?” 

She placed one hand on her hip and tilted her head a bit, looking at him with a new humor that he had not seen in her expression before.  “What if I told you it was piss?”  He laughed at her allusion and drank some more anyway. 

“I found some leaves in the storage containers over there.  I have only a rudimentary knowledge of herbal cures, but I believe this particular varietal form makes an efficacious treatment for fevers.  I’ve added some chained amino acids and electrolytes to help your body maintain basic energy levels.”  She took the again empty container and watched as he tried to make himself comfortable. 

“So what do you do about it?” 

He had to think for a moment to remember what he had been talking about.  “I haven’t entirely figured that out yet.  It seems to keep changing with every new situation … maybe just caring enough to keep trying anyway, Jool.”

Jool twitched the thermal sheet back over him and began to walk back toward the equipment, her mind already returning to the problem.  She paused, turned to say something more, but he was already unconscious again, the short speech had used up all of his meager supply of energy.   She stepped quietly back to his side and watched the twitch of his closed eyes for a few microts, reassuring herself that he was only sleeping. 

* * * * * 

It seemed as if she had been working her way through tier after tier for an entire solar day.  Aeryn’s hands ached from hanging onto the ladder one arm at a time.  She had resorted to changing hands, cradling the pulse rifle in her left arm for intervals, but she knew that was dangerous.  She had originally learned to shoot right handed and despite later Peacekeeper policy that all regiments learn to fire ambidextrous, left handed shooting never felt natural to her. 

Her arms and legs ached from the unnatural position she was forced to hold on the ladder.  She was only four tiers from the bottom when she finally admitted to herself that she needed to take a rest.  She swung out of the shaft and onto the floor outside the well.  She stretched her aching back and shook her legs to get the blood flowing again. 

Two more tiers below her, Ekron crouched and waited.  He was patient, she would continue her search and then he would get his chance to strike back. 

Aeryn cradled the rifle in her right arm and reached for the ladder once more, pausing as she heard rapid footfalls in the corridor outside.  She moved away from the well, and crouched, ready to fire when her attacker appeared in the open hatchway.  It took all her of her self-discipline to keep from pulling the trigger when Chiana burst into sight.  She stood up again and pointed the muzzle safely away from her.   

“What are you doing here?”  Aeryn cringed inside at her tone of censure, she wasn’t mad at Chiana, only upset at how close she had come to shooting her.  “Why didn’t you warn me before you came flailing in here like a scalded trelketz?” 

“I didn’t know where you were.  Pilot said the DRDs hadn’t seen you for about a quarter arn, so I guessed how far you might have descended and tried to get ahead of you.”  She sidled to the well and peered down, her Nebari vision cutting through the dark better than a Sebacean’s, scanning the levels below.  It all looked clear.  “Want me to lead for a while?” 

Aeryn was puzzled by her presence.  Chiana had always shown a willful independent streak.  She didn’t question that Chiana would be willing to help in the hunt, only that she wanted to be here, accompanying her instead of being off searching the conduits that only she and Rygel could fit
through.  There had been a deeply hidden element of friction between the two of them all along, just a hint of irritation whose source had never been defined by either one of them.  So why was she choosing to be in this place at this moment? 

Aeryn gave a tiny shake of her head, dispelling thoughts that had no place in their current predicament.  They had to find those commandos before someone on Moya got killed.  She gestured with her weapon, “Go ahead, I’ll cover you.” 

* * * * *

[KernilCrash]

CHAPTER 7

John woke again as Jool set a few instruments down on the couch next to him.  The ringing in his ears had receded to a faint whine and he wasn’t as lightheaded as he had been before.  He sat up, shivering as sweat dried on him, and pulled the sheet closer around him, “How long have I been sleeping?” 

“Only about half an arn this time.”  She looked at the sensor display near the head of the table, “Your fever is down.  Good.  I want to try another formulation, is that all right?”  She seemed subdued, her usual arrogant bravado was missing or severely in check. 

“Sure.  Anything to get rid of this damned bug.”  A deep shudder shook his body as the cool air of the chamber chilled him, his hair drying rapidly.  He clamped his jaws together to keep his teeth from chattering, and watched with a small dose of amazement as Jool stepped, unasked, across the floor, retrieved a heavy fur blanket and helped wrap it around him.     

“This may feel … a little odd,” she warned.  She didn’t wait for an answer, but punched the injector into a muscle in his forearm and stood back to watch the display panel again.  She looked at him inquiringly, “Anything?” 

“Nothing.  You must have done something wrong.”  Her head came up with a snap, reacting to a challenge he hadn’t intended to issue.  “Wait!” he cut in before she could respond, “I was kidding.  It seems like every time someone in this universe sticks something into me, it just hurts like holy hell.  I only meant that if it didn’t hurt, it couldn’t be right.”   

She pushed her anger back down where it had come from and tried to respond in the same light tone.  “I’ll do better next time,” she promised with a smile. 

“Lie down and try to relax for a few microts, then I’ll see if this worked any better than the previous attempts.”  She moved back to the bench where the substance analyzer stood, and began picking up the mess of culture plates and samples that were strewn everywhere.  She looked back and saw him staring in her direction, a look of … she didn’t recognize the look on his face. 

“What’s gone wrong?  What’s the matter?”  She began a quick movement back in his direction, but paused as his gaze snapped back from the faraway vagueness, focusing on her again. 

“Nothing’s the matter.  I’m … fine.”  He nodded his head sideways toward his shoulder, silently acknowledging that ‘fine’ was an overstatement.  She turned away and began preparing another plate on which to make up the next blood test. 

His stare returned to the spot where the central support pillar for the chamber rose out of the floor, his memory again jerking him back to when a female Peacekeeper commando had lain there, her skull crushed by a parasitic viciousness that had controlled his actions.   He had been invaded by a different kind of virus then, an intellent virus that could control the thoughts and behaviors of its host.  It was not a pleasant memory, not one he had chosen to draw upon, and he was disturbed that it had risen unbidden at this particular moment. 

* * * * *

Ekron was focused on the exchange between the two women above, reveling in the discovery that he might be able to kill or capture two crew members instead of just one.  He was so intent on the unfolding possibilities that he did not notice when a DRD scuttled into the chamber where he crouched, reversed, and slid silently back out of sight behind a pillar.   Just its eyestalks peered around the corner, and even the light from those dimmed a bit as the unit sought to avoid being detected.  Far above, Pilot received the alert and reviewed the incoming video message from the drone. 

“Officer Sun!”  Despite his attempt to speak quietly, Pilot’s voice blared out over her comms.  Two levels down the DRD could hear the transmission, and sent the data back to Pilot at once, who desperately sought a way to prevent either Aeryn or Chiana from descending any further without alerting the Peacekeeper as well. 

“Yes, Pilot.”  Aeryn’s response was met with silence. 

“Pilot?” she repeated, abruptly concerned.   

“Please wait where you are, D’Argo is coming to meet you.  He has something very important to tell you.”  Pilot called D’Argo in Command and told him what was going on, and advised him of the commando’s current location.  D’Argo smile of wolfish anticipation reflected the frustrated anger that still roiled deep within him, and he barreled out of Command on his way to meet with Aeryn and Chiana.  He was looking forward to finally catching one of the intruders. 

* * * * *

Peacekeeper Captain Hasman backed slowly away from the doorway into the maintenance bay where he could still hear two voices in conversation.  One circumspect glance had revealed that there were only two people in the chamber, the startled woman he had seen and a tall Sebacean, undoubtedly the hidden man during the skirmish.  He had considered trying to kill them both while they were in the room, but decided that crossing the distance from the door to where they were located was going to take too much time.  They were wearing comms and might be able to alert the other criminals on board before he could execute both of them. 

He listened to their discussion and felt a jolt of relief run through him.  The Sebacean was sick, a condition virtually unheard of among Peacekeepers.  If that man was, in fact, another traitor, Hasman could have exposed himself to some new disease and become infected as well.  He felt a cold sweat break out along his spine and his stomach tightened as he realized how close he had just come to such a horrible fate.  He listened as the conversation continued. 

“I don’t understand.  Do you think there is some special atmosphere in your own quarters that is going to help you recover sooner?”  The sarcasm in the woman’s voice could have cut steel.  “You have offered no clinical explanation for your ridiculous desire to return to some emotionally labeled former prison cell that you call your ‘bed room’.  The invading pathogen has NOT been eliminated from your system, and it is going to take several arns at least before your immune system begins to destroy the virus.”

The male voice when it returned was weak.  “But you said I was going to start getting better, right?”   

A long sigh of forced patience preceded her next explanation, “My formulation has only stimulated your immune system to fight what would otherwise be an unidentifiable, rapidly mutating virus capable of overwhelming your physiological defenses.  It is going to take some time before your own immunological peculiarities adapt to the DNA I modified and begin to attack the source of the infection.  Until your sub-evolved excuse for an immune system does that, your physiological reaction will remain the same -- a high fever.  Any symptomatic relief you are currently experiencing is due entirely to the effects of the herbal preparation.”

“Then I want to go back to Quarters while I can still stand up, Jool.”  The voice was still quiet, but insistent. 

Hasman turned and walked quickly away, searching once again for a moment of opportunity.  He was certain he could surprise and kill the man and woman as they left the maintenance bay, but exposing himself to an unknown disease would not achieve his purpose.  He would find a weapon that could kill at longer ranges, and then seek this pair out again. 

* * * * *   

Aeryn tried to wait patiently but Pilot had given her no more information, and her imagination began to fill in the information that was still not forthcoming.  “Why would he want us to wait for D’Argo here?”  Her question to Chiana was rhetorical and she went on considering the possibilities.  “What if something has happened to John?  Perhaps Pilot doesn’t want to tell me over the comms.”  She felt her self-control slipping, she couldn’t stop worrying about Crichton.

“I’m sure that’s not it, Aeryn,” Chiana tried to reassure her.  “Pilot probably just has something to tell you that’s way too complicated over the comms.  And there’s no clamshell down here to display information.  That’s probably all there is to it.”  The voice was positive and optimistic, but when Aeryn looked at her more closely she saw lines of concern in the gray skin that she didn’t remember seeing before.

Aeryn thought about it for several more microts, but began to feel an overwhelming need to take any kind of action.  This waiting around was a grot’s solution.  She needed to do something … anything.  “Jool?” she inquired over the comms. 

“Yes, Aeryn.”  Her voice was strained. 

“What’s going on?” she demanded, puzzled by the tone in Jool voice.  “How is Crichton?” 

“He’s a bit better.  I’ll tell you more in a little while.”  Her voice was shaking from what sounded like intense physical effort.  Chiana’s eyebrows had disappeared upward beneath her bangs, her look of quizzical amazement having opposite the expected effect on Aeryn, who suddenly smiled and began to relax. 

“What is going on up there?” she asked again. 

A distinctly male grunt came over the comms, prompting Chiana’s face to look even more astonished, if that was possible.  Then there was nothing but silence from the personal transmitters.   

“Oh for Eechub’s sake!” Jool petulant tone finally broke through.  “You are the heaviest human I have ever tried to move!”

“Jool!”  Aeryn and Chiana demanded simultaneously. 

“You two have all the patience of a love-deprived tralk!” came the sharp response.  “John wanted to be back in his own quarters and I saw no valid medical reason not to let him sleep in his own chamber,” her tone took on an accusing pitch, “but he rather overestimated his stamina and I am never going to be put in a position of trying to hold up that much staggering physiology ever again!”  The comms went silent with a chirp.

“Aeryn, where are you?”  She jumped as Rygel’s voice came through her comms.  She had momentarily forgotten that he was searching above them. 

“About four tiers from the bottom, Rygel.  Where are you?”  She wouldn’t glance at Chiana, mildly mortified that Rygel’s unexpected transmission had actually prompted a physical start.  She had been trained better than that, but her thoughts had been entirely fixated on John.  If he was back in his own room he must be all right.   

“Right below Pilot.  Where do you recommend I search next?”   

The question gave her a focus around which to gather her scattered thoughts.  Her innate self-control began to reassert itself as she considered the most plausible strategy their hidden opponents might attempt next.  There were too many variables to make even an educated estimation.  Her thoughts worked back to their current status -- waiting for D‘Argo.

“Just wait there and keep watch.  Pilot’s neural connections are one of our most vulnerable locations.  D’Argo is coming down to meet Chiana and me.  Once we’ve checked with him, I’ll get back to you.”  She began to realize that they were never going to get ahead of the two officers, and were going to have to resort to a painstaking tier by tier search. 

“All right … but unless someone brings me something to eat in the next half arn, the only area I’ll be guarding will be the Center Chamber.” 

“Rygel! …” she began, but heard the chirp as he cut off the channel on his end.  She looked at Chiana, “Everyone seemed to be cutting comms off this evening.”  She tried to make a joke of it, but the remark reminded her that she had lost track of time during her search.  “How long have we been at this?” 

“It’s been almost five arns since the Marauder got on board.” 

Aeryn shook her head.  This was taking too much time.  Five arns and they hadn’t had one sighting of either commando since they Starburst.  They had to find some way to locate them faster.   

* * * * *

Ekron heard most of the conversation above him, including the portion about another crew member coming to meet the two women.  He crawled forward until he could peer cautiously up the cylindrical opening, trying to see if either one had resumed their descent.  He couldn’t stay here much longer, he was bound to be spotted by one of the cursed DRDs if he stayed in one place too long.  No one was in the shaft.  He eased back out of sight and considered.  He had lost his small advantage, he could feel it.  There were no empirical facts to demonstrate that he had lost his window of opportunity, but his instincts told him it was time to move off this tier and look for another chance to strike.

He moved stealthily toward an arched opening into a passageway, using the natural pillars as cover in case someone was in the corridor outside.  As he slid around the last one his foot kicked something.  He looked down and spotted the DRD just as it engaged all of its motivator circuits and accelerated out of the chamber.  “Dren!” the word escaped his lips, the first sound he had uttered in several tension filled arns.  How long had that frelling machine been watching him?  He cast away stealth and bolted out of the chamber, watching for the first available access tunnel into which he might be able to disappear.

“D’Argo!  The Peacekeeper has left the neural plexus cavern and is headed outboard, hamman side!”  Pilot relayed the information he had just received from the DRD to the Luxan who was still running at full speed through Moya’s corridors.

“Frell!  He’s going to lose us again.  Pilot, are there enough DRDs in that area to continue tracking him?”  D’Argo skidded around a corner and cut into a chamber where there was a vertical shaft to the next tier below.  He slid his Qualta blade unerringly into its scabbard and vaulted onto the ladder that grew from the floor of the tier below.  He slid down, hands and feet gripping only the outer edges of the vertical support, and hit the floor running.  “Tell Aeryn what is going on and have her meet me.  Can we get him trapped between us?” 

“I don’t believe so.  I have already directed DRDs into the areas ahead of him, but I believe he will be ahead of both you and Officer Sun.  You will be able to meet on the tier directly below you now, and pursue him from there.  I have already informed Officer Sun and she is on her way.” 

D’Argo didn’t waste his breath with any further questions.  He realized that Pilot was already in as much control of the situation as they could hope for, and now he just needed to catch up with this haatak scum. 

When Aeryn received the transmission from Pilot she had simply leapt over the low wall onto the ladder where she had been standing with Chiana, and scrambled down two tiers to begin her pursuit.  “Go stand watch with Rygel,” she yelled to Chiana.  “That area is the most vital on board Moya, see if he needs any help.” 

Chiana started to open her mouth to object, but Aeryn was already gone.  For a short moment she considered disregarding Aeryn’s order, but realized that as much as she wanted to help Aeryn for John’s sake, Moya’s safety was more important.  She glanced up the vertical shaft, shook her head, and left the chamber to take the more normal route upward via corridors and ramps. 

* * * * *

“Officer Sun … turn right at the next junction.”  Pilot had been guiding her unerringly to fall in as closely as possible behind the fugitive.  She followed his instructions and found a DRD waiting in the middle of the corridor.  She heard pounding footsteps ahead coming from another intersection, but before she could even begin to raise her rifle she realized the noise had to be D’Argo.  A second yellow flash crossed the intersection in front of her and D’Argo appeared in hot pursuit. 

“Have you spotted him yet?” he asked.  She only shook her head and went after the yellow machine as it sailed around the next corner, leading them to their quarry. 

* * * * *

Rygel listened to all three of his stomachs as they growled, complaining loudly that that not one of them had been fed recently.  He guided his Throne Sled around and around the central bulk that was Pilot’s lower body, and all the thousands of neural connections that joined him to Moya.  Each time he completed a circuit Rygel looked out of the chamber into the corridor that he knew led to the Central Chamber they all used as a dining area, and each time he did his stomachs made an audible objection concerning their neglect. 

He finally began to steer his chair out into the corridor, but paused and looked back at the unguarded chamber, and looked up at what he could see of Pilot.  “I am not some lower class soldier to be standing guard over a bunch of neural fibers while the rest of the members of this crew run around doing whatever they like!” he objected to no one.  “This is not the correct station for a Dominar of the House of Rygel.” 

He sighed, and thought about the huge creature above for a moment.  Pilot had no choice.  Pilot was bonded to Moya and had given up his mobility freely in order to enter into a symbiotic relationship with this great peaceful ship.  Zhaan had always tried to protect the pair, but Zhaan was gone now. 

The tips of Rygel’s earbrows drooped a bit, and he gazed down at the corridor floor considering the situation.  Then he steered his floating seat back into the chamber to continue standing guard as Aeryn had instructed him.  His stomachs had waited this long to be fed … they could wait another arn or two.   

* * * * *

Ekron was still moving quickly but no longer running headlong through the corridors.  He could hear the Luxan and the traitor still behind him, and knew that his chances of overwhelming both of them together was slim at best.  He still didn’t have any option except retreat.  He had no idea where his captain was, he would have to turn this situation around on his own. 

He had already tried opening several of the doors to the chambers he was passing, but the pilot had locked them all.  He had seen that most of them were just abandoned prisoner’s cells anyway, holding nothing that would provide him with an advantage over his pursuers.  If he were to go into any of the chambers, it would become his prison instead of a criminal’s.  So he continued to move quickly and quietly, looking for his moment of opportunity. 

John lay back on his own bed and felt some of the tension leave his body.  Jool had just left in order to retrieve some medical instruments from the infirmary, swearing dire repercussions if she returned and found him anywhere other than on his bunk getting some rest.  He laughed out loud at the thought.  He had barely been able to make it to his room, and even then had needed a lot of help from Jool.  He wasn’t going anywhere for a while, but finally being in his own space again, and having his few meager possessions around him was emotionally comforting. 

Before leaving the lab, Jool had insisted that he choke down some soup and some more of the tea made from Zhaan’s botanical pharmacy.  He had acknowledged that his body needed the energy in order to continue its fight against this illness and had somehow managed to drink everything she had given him.  Unfortunately, the two liquids he had consumed were now combining in his stomach to create the worst case of nausea he had experienced since the time Moya had become stuck in mid-starburst, wedged between dimensions. 

He tried to just let his thoughts drift, giving his imagination full reign to take his mental focus away from the waves of discomfort emanating from his stomach in an increasing crescendo.  It was with a brief flash of humor that he realized he had finally encountered one enemy in the Uncharted Territories that he had no hope of conquering or fleeing from … his own stomach.  He eyed the distance from his bed to the alcove containing the waste funnel, trying to decide how many microts it would take for him to bolt in there if he lost the battle, or if he could make it in there at all. 

His exhaustion finally carried him to a trance-like state just short of falling asleep where he achieved a standoff with his recalcitrant innards … ‘Fine kids,’ he sent a mental message to his body, ‘you guys chill out and don’t heave, and I won’t eat anything more today -- you leave me alone, and I’ll leave you alone.  No talking to Ralph on the big telephone … no technicolor burp.’

Aeryn and D’Argo moved in harmony through the corridors, covering each other and sweeping each chamber as they hurried after the fugitive Peacekeeper.  They were approaching another intersection where two of Moya’s corridors crossed and individually they were both concerned that they might lose track of their quarry.  Aeryn glanced at D’Argo as she heard a barely audible snarl make it past his lips.  When he glanced at her in return she merely gave a single shake of her head, trying to convey that the situation was not good. 

But when they swept around a bend in Moya’s corridor they found that Pilot still had the situation well in hand, for they found yet another DRD in the intersection.  As soon as they appeared, it bolted down one of the corridors for a short distance, then spun around again.  Facing them without any of the usual chirps or squeals, it waved its eyestalks at them and blinked rapidly.  The two warriors smiled grimly and increased their pace.   

Ekron heard noises ahead, but they weren’t the noises of pursuit.  He flattened himself behind one of the thick ribs along the sides of the corridor and listened as Jool left Crichton’s chamber, moving away from him.  He took the chance of a quick look around the rib as her sounds faded.  She wasn’t really far enough away for him to risk moving again, but he could hear the two behind him catching up.  How the frell did they continue to track him through intersections and branches without even once taking the wrong choice?  It had to be those frelling DRDs again.  He had to move now, they were going to come upon him any microt. 

He chose, finally, to enter the still open chamber, hoping to find something he could use for an attack, or somewhere he could conceal himself.  He scanned quickly, sweeping his gaze methodically around the room.  He drew his long belt knife and started to jump back when he saw the figure on the bed, but the man showed no sign of being aware that he was there.  He saw the sweat-dried and matted hair, the hunched position of the sleeper -- all the signs of illness. 

He began to back away, not wanting to approach a Sebacean who had actually become sick, but then there was no more time.  He heard the noises in the corridor and took the only action he could, despite his initial revulsion.  He leapt to the bed, grabbed the senseless figure by the hair, and wrenching him to an upright position held his knife to the man’s throat. 

Still moving in concert, Aeryn and D’Argo abruptly realized what direction their pursuit was taking them at almost the same moment.  “Frell” escaped from Aeryn lips and she bolted into a headlong, incautious run, D’Argo right behind her.  They did not slow as they skidded around the corner into Crichton’s chamber, but immediately separated, taking up positions in two different corners across from the commando who was now poised with one knee on Crichton’s bed, holding the apparently unconscious figure up by the hair. 

“Let go of him now!”  Aeryn commanded. 

“Not on your life, traitor.  You want him, come get him.”  He dragged Crichton half in front of him and briefly pointed his blade at Aeryn, beckoning.  But the edge was back against John’s throat before either of them could take action.  He changed his grip to Crichton’s arm, holding him swaying in front of him, Crichton’s head lolling against his chest.  Impasse.

John wasn’t unconscious but the floating partial awareness he had achieved during his combat with his nausea was proving difficult to dispel.  He became aware of the commando only when he was dragged painfully up by the hair.  He could hear when Aeryn and D’Argo came racing into the cell, and the quick exchange.  He felt the finely honed blade return to his throat, catching and like a whisper, drawing an incision in his skin.  And he still couldn’t rise close enough to the surface to offer any resistance. 

‘Mexican standoff out there, dude, gotta do something,’ his thoughts finally consolidated, ‘think of something to help Aeryn and the big D take this jerk down.’  Then Crichton realized there was one action he could take, and it was the easiest thing in the world for him.  He allowed his stomach to finally win the battle, and vomited down the front of the Peacekeeper. 

Despite all his training, the years of exercises and battle-hardening, this was one thing no strategist in the Peacekeepers had ever thought to include in a soldier’s training.  The commando officer involuntarily shoved Crichton away and sprang back with an exclamation of disgust, knowing even as he did that he was making a deadly mistake, but unable to stop himself. 

Pulse and Qualta rifles fired at the same time and the intruder crumpled to the floor.  Lowering their weapons, D’Argo and Aeryn looked across at John who was now sitting on the side of his bed, no longer retching but still hunched over.  He had managed to remain unscathed during his ‘assault‘, and grinned wanly at his friends, enjoying his physical release.

“Are you all right?”  Aeryn was concerned, but was not inclined to approach him anyway.  John nodded an affirmative. 

Relief washed over D‘Argo, who gave them both a huge smile and turned back to John.  “Finally, after more than two entire cycles, we get to see an example of your much bragged about human military strategy.”

* * * * *

[KernilCrash]

CHAPTER 8

“Pilot!” D’Argo demanded. 

“Yes, Ka D’Argo,” the calm voice floated from the comms just before his image appeared on the portable clamshell that the DRDs had set up in John’s quarters. 

“We need some DRDs down here NOW to do some cleaning!”  Wrinkling his nose against the acrid smell, the Luxan grabbed the dead Peacekeeper by the nape of the jacket and flipped him over onto his back.  Switching his grip to a flaccid wrist he began dragging the body out of the chamber.  “Aeryn, I’m taking this body down to the hangar bay.  We can jettison it later.” 

Aeryn appeared from inside the waste alcove, her face paler than usual.  She leaned against the wall for a moment and stared at D’Argo.  “I’d be happy to do that, if you’ll stay here with him.”  A nod of her head indicated Crichton, whose second bought of retching could still be heard.  He hadn’t been able to stagger in there on his own, and the task of guiding him had somehow fallen to her. 

“Ahhhh … No!” D’Argo’s tentacles swung as he shook his head emphatically.  “I’ve got my body to take care of, and you have yours.” 

“Thank you so much,” she raised her voice as he moved away.  The dragging sounds faded down the hallway as two DRDs raced in and began cleaning the floor around Crichton’s bed.  She watched dispassionately as they worked, just thankful that the drones were available to take care of this kind of problem.  She reflected that she had never imagined this sort of situation in the cycles she had been on board Moya.  The noises from the alcove finally stopped.   

“Can I get you anything to help … from out here?”  She was relieved when the unintelligible answer was definitely a negative.  She heard water running for several microts, and then suddenly he was standing next to her, swaying and hanging on to the wall, but upright and grinning sheepishly.  He had taken the time to finally get rid of his heavy pants and boots, and stood now in just shorts and a clean T-shirt.  She saw him eyeing the distance to his bed and without hesitation stepped to his side, allowing his arm to fall naturally across her shoulders, comfortable with the sudden heavy weight as he relied on her to guide him across the chamber. 

He sagged on to the bed and rolled on to his back, still grinning widely.  “What is so funny?” she demanded, suspecting the humor was at her expense. 

“Human military strategy,” he broke into laughter, rolling on to his side to ease his now aching stomach muscles. 

“You are insane.”  Her voice was full of warmth and humor, and one other tone that he hadn’t heard very often.  It sounded like pride … in him.  He pulled a pillow down, wadding it up under his head until it was comfortable, and watched her movements as she reached for the heavy fur throw Jool had brought from the infirmary.  She floated the golden sheet over him first, and then spread the heavier layer on top.  “Get some rest.” 

She turned away from his fatuous smile, momentarily disconcerted by his pleased look.  His love for her was a warm security that enfolded her every waking moment, but there were still times, like this, when she wasn’t sure how to meet that whole hearted commitment from John, when she wondered if she could ever match it.
 
“Please don’t …” he began to say something hurriedly, but his voice trailed off almost immediately.     

She turned back, surprised at the degree of urgency in his tone.  She saw the pleading loneliness in his look that he was trying to hide, saw that he was hesitating to ask even more of her.  She took the single step back to his side and perched on the side of the bunk.  “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”                 

* * * * *

Rygel’s head rested on his hand, small snores emanating from his nose slits.  The Throne Sled, untended, hovered in the deep shadows near the top of the chamber, remaining where he had last guided it.  He was dreaming of a long banquet table covered with every form of Hynerian delicacy, and as he drew near to the feast his stomachs grumbled in harmony. 

“Wah?”  His head snapped up as his stomachs did, in fact, grumble.  It was a vigorous complaint, however, rather than a statement of anticipation.  He scanned the chamber in panic, afraid someone might have snuck in while he slept, but there was no one there.  He began to calm down, reassured that his life was not in danger.  He looked across at the tangle of neural connections and felt irritation move within him. 

“How long do they expect me to stay here standing guard over an empty room?” he asked of no one as he began to guide his chair around and around the center of the cavern again.  “I am not a Dominar of waiting … I am a Dominar of decisiveness and action.  I should be leading this search, not sitting up here like an mindless enlisted soldier.”  His grumbling went on as his chair continued to sail in circles. 

He heard quick footsteps approaching the chamber and looked desperately around for a place to conceal himself in case it was one of the fugitive Peacekeepers.  He finally maneuvered his Throne Sled to hover directly above the opening where he expected the intruder to enter the chamber and drew the pocket pistol from within his robes.   

“Rygel, you up here?”  Chiana called as she carefully entered the room directly beneath him.  The Hynerian heaved a sigh of relief and looked down at her. 

“Where else would I be?  Everyone seems to have forgotten about me … and about Pilot.“  He took a few careful sniffs and quickly flew his chair to hover beside to her.  “What is that?  Do I smell pronga sinew?  And krawlak?” 

Chiana gave him a sideways smile and placed the enormous plate of food on top of the low wall around the neural plexus.  “All for you, your Highness.”  For once her voice was empty of the sarcastic inflection that normally accompanied the titles she bestowed upon him.  “I thought you might be hungry by now.” 

“Is someone going to come up here to relieve me?  Or do you expect me to stay up here all night?  Where is everybody and what’s going on?”  The flow of demanding questions was uninterrupted even though he continued to stuff his mouth with food at almost the same rate as his speech.  “Nobody has told me anything,” he complained.  “Have either of those villains been captured yet?” 

“One of them is dead.  I’ll take over up here for a while, Rygel, if you want.  I was about to go see how Crichton is doing, but I suppose you could take a break first.”  Her expression was suddenly serious, concern shouting from every movement of her thin form. 

Rygel continued to eat without slowing, relieved that his first stomach was finally full.  He looked at the remaining food and saw that there was enough there for all three of his stomachs plus a little more left over. “You didn’t bring anything to drink?” he accused. 

“Sorry, Your Gluttoness,” her smiling sarcasm returned, “but between hauling the pulse rifle and that load of food up here, I didn’t have a free hand.  I can go back and get some for you if you’d like.  Some raslak perhaps?”  Her tone clearly stated that she had no intention whatsoever of carrying through on her offer.  She wandered to the doorway and looked into the corridor, her thoughts returning to bear on Crichton’s condition. 

Rygel watched the slim figure pace about, silhouetted in the light from outside the dimly lit chamber.  He thought about Crichton for a moment, still watching Chiana as he continued to stuff food into his mouth.  Words rang in his memory.  ‘I figure doing the right thing starts at the beginning of the day.’   

“Yesss,” he said drawing out the word imperiously.  “I would like something to drink in order to wash this krawlak down, but I suppose,” he paused again, “that if you wanted to go see how Crichton is doing, I could wait a little longer for you to get back.”

Chiana gave him one bright look and ran out the door.       

* * * * *

Hasman was in trouble and he knew it.  He had almost run into a DRD, avoiding it at the last microt only because he heard the whine as it patrolled a hallway.  He had been forced to retreat into an access shaft and he was certain he was headed for a chamber that was part of the ship’s drive system.  It would have internal sensors and if he tried to cross through it, he was sure to be detected by the pilot.  He scrambled through the shaft, his legs and back aching from the hunched position, looking for any branch, any conduit large enough for him to squirm through to get him out of this trap before he was found. 

* * * * *

D’Argo hurried along the corridor, Qualta rifle still at the ready, ever conscious of the remaining threat of the second Peacekeeper loose on the ship.  They had been unbelievably lucky that no one … No, he thought, facing his concern for his friend squarely … they were lucky that Crichton had not been injured in the recent fray.  He allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction that it had all turned out well, and then concentrated on the search still ahead of them.  This remaining officer had managed to remain undetected for almost an entire half-cycle.  He must know something of Leviathan biology to continue avoiding all the areas with internal sensors. 

As he approached Crichton’s chamber he heard an escalating argument approaching from the other end of the corridor.  Although the words were unintelligible, the voices of Chiana and Jool were unmistakable.  He hurried past the open cell door and met them before they brought their screaming any closer.  He raised his hand in admonition, and the argument stopped abruptly before he could say anything.   

“Sorry D‘Argo,” Chiana offered first.  “How’s Crichton?” 

He shrugged, admitting that he had no new information, and looked to Jool for help.  She just glared at both of them and walked haughtily into the hushed chamber.  Aeryn was still perched on the side of the bed, one leg tucked under the other, just watching Crichton, who looked to be sleeping soundly. 

Chiana wandered over to the small clamshell that rested on a shelf across the chamber from John’s bed.  She gestured at the blank screen and gave D’Argo a questioning look, enquiring why the equipment had been installed.  D‘Argo glanced to where Aeryn sat next to John.  “We were concerned that we might need to leave John alone again in order to find that other piece of Peacekeeper dren.  Pilot suggested that he and Moya could monitor his condition if we had to leave.” 

“Pilot thought of that?”  The purplish hologram came to life next to her elbow.  “That was a great idea, Pilot.” 

“Moya and I have a strong desire to make sure everyone on board remains safe, Chiana.  It is our pleasure to offer our assistance.”   

“I still don’t understand one thing though, isn’t he better?  Hasn’t the Medical Maiden cured him?”  Chiana advanced toward Jool, concern for her shipmate making her gait spikier than usual. 

“We haven’t had time to find out, Chiana,” Aeryn spoke quietly, turning away from John’s senseless figure to look at the others.  “What have you done for John?  Is he cured?”  She focused her gaze on Jool alone. 

The Interon surveyed the trio surrounding her, and for once was direct and to the point.  “John’s symptoms and the progress of the disease are consistent with Saltauri-Sebacean flu, but his immunological responses are not what I would term normal.” 

“Because he’s human?”  Chiana asked. 
 
“Not entirely.  His species uses an antibody generator to cure their diseases.  Crichton received a number of treatments as a juvenile.  He also is not Sebacean.  I won’t go into all the details …”

“Thank you!” interjected D’Argo.  Green eyes flashed a laser-intense glare at him before she resumed.

“ … but it means that the virus developed an increased capacity for mutation almost immediately, and will survive any existing compound I could give him that would normally destroy a standard viral pathogen.  I’ve given him a modified Sebacean immune booster instead, to encourage John’s body to kill the infection itself.” 

“Modified how?” 

“Pilot provided access to information stored in Moya’s databanks that allowed me to synthesize an application that has been used extensively in treating non-Peacekeeper Sebaceans.  But Crichton’s human physiology will tolerate an aggravated fever without the widespread systemic breakdown that occurs in Sebaceans … ”

“The Living Death.”  Aeryn’s flat tone almost hid that she was asking a question. 

“ … yes, resulting in the Living Death.”  She cocked her head in momentary introspection.  “What a charming phrase for such a frightful condition.”  She saw the exasperated look on Aeryn’s face and returned to her explanation.  “The combination of his fever and some other physiological peculiarities broke the molecular chains in the formulation almost immediately, I found no trace of it in his system within minutes.  So I used both Sebacean and his own human DNA as a template to restructure the bonding of the chemical chains as well as to manipulate the pathogen response mechanism of the immune booster and this time it held up.” 

“So what do we do now?”  Aeryn placed the backs of her fingers against John’s temple and stroked the hair back.  At first she thought there was no response, that he was truly asleep.  Then she saw that the muscles of his face had relaxed slightly.  She continued the motion and saw his shoulders relax as well.  His body seemed to sink into the bed. 

“He will very likely experience a resurgence of the fever over the next several hours as his body begins to fight the infection, but if everything goes the way I predict,” her arrogance regained its vigor, “and it usually does, I’d say that he would be well on the way to recovery before morning.”  She shook her hair back and flounced out of the room, staccato steps echoing back through the corridor. 

Chiana watched Aeryn for long microts as the Sebacean continued to stare at the still figure, then turned to D’Argo.  “Come on, let’s go check with Pilot and see if there’s been any progress on the search by the DRDs.”  He started to object, but the slight figure grabbed him firmly by the elbow and steered him out of the room. 

Aeryn glanced up as they moved to leave.  “I’ll come with you.  We’re going to need everyone searching to find that last man.”  She began to rise, feeling a tearing deep inside as her sense of duty struggled with her desire to make sure John remained safe.  “We can lock him in this time, just in case, and ask Pilot to begin monitoring his condition right away.”

“No Aeryn, you stay here with Crichton.”  Chiana returned to stand in the doorway, elbows canted behind her, watching Aeryn as she collected her pulse rifle and moved to leave also.  “You said yourself that you didn’t know what tactic the Peacekeeper would take next.  If you could lead us to where he was going to be, then sure, you should come with us.  But you ought to stay here for now.” 

D’Argo had returned to stand beside her.  “We will comm you as soon as we have an idea where to go after him.  Everyone is armed and Moya is a large ship.  The search is going to take time.” 

Aeryn still stood poised to leave.  All her training said she had to go with them, but their arguments made her look down one more time.  The familiar face was suddenly strange to her, all character erased, every expression extinguished by fatigue.  A blow seemed to hit her as she realized that right now he more closely resembled the man she had met her first day on Moya than the person she had recently learned to love.  With the worry and care erased, he had somehow reverted to the innocent, almost bumbling, human who hadn’t even known how to open the doors to Moya’s chambers.

She brushed her hand lightly down his arm, already feeling the heat of the returning fever flowing from his body.  Then she tucked her rifle under her arm, a movement as natural as breathing to her, and walked to join D’Argo and Chiana.  “We are not going to get lucky again.  We have to start a tier by tier search to find that officer before he finds some way to damage or destroy Moya, and everyone is going to have to help.”  She brushed her hand across the door mechanism and watched as the bars swung shut. 

“Pilot.  Please lock Crichton’s cell and ask Moya if she could begin monitoring his condition.  If he seems to get worse, let one of us know.” 

“Of course, Officer Sun.” 

Aeryn refused to let herself look back at the locked doors.  She harshly forced John out of her mind and started formulating a plan for a search grid that would allow their small number to cover as much of Moya as possible in the shortest amount of time.  Every microt they allowed their enemy to remain on the loose represented a risk they could not afford. 

* * * * *

Zeisar Hasman stared into a large conduit, gauging whether he could squirm through the entire length without getting stuck.  It would be a humiliating catastrophe if he got jammed in there, waiting for the DRDs to come and surround him.  He hunkered on his heels and tried to remember where this tunnel might lead, but he had not been assigned to a Leviathan long enough to have learned every single passageway. 

He surveyed the tight fit one more time, and began shrugging out of his heavy fatigue jacket.  He made sure there was nothing left attached to the lash points or in the concealed pockets and tossed the discarded jacket as far down the access shaft as he could, hoping it would not be found soon.  Swinging his long blade out of the way behind him, he lay down on his belly and began to snake his way through. 

* * * * *

Pilot was engrossed in his duties when D'Argo and Chiana entered the Den, to the point of not even noticing that they were there until they had reached his station.  His arms moved without pause over the controls in front of him, his multitasking capabilities allowing him to continue directing the search while also digesting all the other information flowing into him from Moya. 

The bulk of his free attention at that moment was held by the strange energy signature that he had been analyzing ever since they had emerged from Starburst.  Moya had just been resting in one position, waiting while the crew took care of the intruders, until they could make a decision as to where they desired to go next.  But Moya and Pilot had not stopped examining the anomalous readings, curiosity about all things stellar driving them to solve the mystery.

And now there was another reading that drew their attention, something was heading toward them at a steady and high velocity.  Pilot monitored it carefully, not sure yet whether it was a ship of some sort, perhaps even a Peacekeeper ship that might have been able to follow them here.   

“Pilot, any luck at all with the search by the DRDs?”  At D'Argo's question, Pilot's head came up, noticing the pair for the first time.  His eyes retracted a bit as he refocused his attention to include his immediate surroundings. 

“What's the matter, Pilot?”  Chiana recognized his level of distraction. 

“There has been no progress with locating the second Peacekeeper.”  He answered D’Argo’s question.  “You do realize that there are large expanses of Moya that have no sensors.  He could be in any of those areas.  There are also Moya’s burned tiers …” he broke off his explanation, sensing that he did not have to go any further. 

“I do not believe he would take refuge in those areas.  They hold no advantage for him, no weapons, no hostages.”  D’Argo began pacing in frustration.  If only they could get just one sighting on the intruder, then they could move to surround him. 

“Pilot?  Is there something wrong?”  Chiana had not been distracted from her original question, and had been watching the increasing pace of Pilot’s adjustments to his controls.   

“There is something very large moving toward us at a very high rate of speed,” he said, listening all the while to the shifting sounds and colors of Moya’s long range sensors.  He could smell the energy signatures, see the wave distortions of the object as the sensor data poured into his mind.  “It is not close enough for Moya’s sensors to make a determination as to its nature.” 

“So there’s no way of knowing if it’s a ship or not?” D’Argo asked. 

“No, not yet.”  Claws made adjustments to his controls.  “It is moving very fast.  It will be close enough to Moya to make an assessment in less than half an arn.” 

“All right, Pilot, keep us informed.  We’ll be in Command for a while, and then we’ll be starting a tier by tier search.  We’ll need your help when that begins.” 

“Of course, Ka D’Argo.” 

* * * * *

Rygel was the second to last to arrive in Command.  He soared in, still working his way through a pile of food cubes even as he guided his chair.  “What is so important that you had to interrupt my meal?” he groused.  “That crazy man Stark didn’t tell me anything when he came to get me.  Where did he go?  I thought everyone was meeting here?”   

“You ate that entire platter of pronga and krawlak just an arn ago, Rygel,” Chiana accused him.  “You can’t possibly be that hungry again so soon.” 

“I had some catching up to do,” he said.  “Now what’s going on?” 

“We are going to have to search Moya chamber by chamber and tier by tier in order to find this last officer,” Aeryn explained.  “Pilot is going to monitor our progress and either lock off chambers or station DRDs to patrol once we have finished.”  She began calling up schematics of Moya’s layout in order to organize their search pattern, pausing to look up as Stark hurried into the room. 

“Find the man, find the man, find the man,” he was singing quietly as he pulled up beside the Hynerian.  “RYGEL!  I can go with the Dominar!  I can search high, he can search low, we’ll look wherever a Peacekeeper’d go!”   

Rygel was coughing out bits of food cube, inhaled in surprise when Stark had grabbed his chair.  “Get away from me you rhyming raving lunatic,” he commanded, but didn’t move to drive his chair away from the Banik.  He turned back to Aeryn who had resumed her planning.  “Your way will take arns!  There aren’t enough of us to search this ship from top to bottom!”

“What choice do we have, Your Expansionness?” D’Argo reached to scatter food cubes out of Rygel’s lap.  “I supposed you would just have us sit around stuffing ourselves until he appears to kill us one by one?  Or better yet, injures Moya?”

“That’s not what I meant.”  Rygel stared down at his lost meal and his earbrows began to droop.  “I was only trying to suggest that we find another way to locate the Peacekeeper which might be faster.” 

“Do you have any suggestions?”  Aeryn looked up from the console, her voice giving him the benefit of doubt. 

He understood that for once she was allowing that he might have actually come up with a better idea than her own.  But … “No,” he said on a heavy sigh, knowing his chance had been wasted.   

“All right then.  Everyone stays armed, keep your comms open, and don’t take any shortcuts.  Search every chamber no matter what -- whether you think he could have gotten in there or not.  Keep Pilot informed so he can lock off areas as we work.  Stay in pairs for protection.”  She paused, tried to think what else she needed to tell them. 

“Can Rygel and I be a pair?  Can we work together?”   

Stark was still in one of his wilder modes.  She never knew when he was going to revert to more lucid behavior.  She looked at the assembled crew, considering what pairs would be best.  Before she could answer him, the decision was taken out of her hands. 

“All right, Stark,” the Dominar grumbled.  “I’ll work with you.  But remember, you go into every chamber in front of me, understood?”  Stark smiled broadly and nodded his head in eager assent. 

Chiana had come to stand next to Aeryn, surprising her once again.  She had expected her to try and pair off with D’Argo, but she looked around and Jool had moved to his side.  That was new.  This was NOT the sort of thing she should be musing about now, she told herself fiercely.  The interpersonal peculiarities of the crew could wait until there was one more dead body waiting to be jettisoned from the ship.  She just hoped it was the right body.

“Stark and Rygel, take Tier One.  Jool and D’Argo start on Tier Two, and we’ll go to Three.  We’ll work our way down through the ship.  We’re probably going to have to work as a single team when we begin searching through the maintenance areas and drive sections later.”   

* * * * *

Pilot watched the incoming data as the unidentified object approached.  The information was becoming more precise as Moya’s long range sensors were finally able to probe the unknown traveler.  Suddenly all the facts made a pattern and he relaxed.  It was only a large wandering planetoid on its aimless way through the system, but it was going to pass very close to their position. 

He commed D’Argo who was still with the others in Command and explained.  “It will pass very close to Moya‘s present position, so I will have her move out of the way.  Should we leave this area of space as well?”

Pilot listened to the discussion, waiting patiently as Moya’s charges debated the question.  All decisions by this group seemed to take so long.  It was his purpose in life to serve those who coexisted with Moya, but he sometimes wished that they had made their break for freedom at a time when a more agreeable group had been on board.  His patience began to wear thin as the argument on Command continued.  He finally interceded, “Excuse me … it would be advisable for Moya to begin to move away from the trajectory of the planetoid at this time.  Perhaps she could move a short distance until a further course of action has been determined.”  His bored drawl tried to convey that they were taking too long to make up their minds. 

“Go ahead and do it Pilot.  We’ll let you know about our direction of travel later.” 

“Of course, Ka D’Argo.” 

Pilot turned a small portion of his attention to the task of managing Moya’s drive system, noting as he did that the mass of rock was headed for the locus of the odd energy output.  Perhaps the readings when the mass hit the energy signal would give him more information to determine what was there. 

* * * * *

Hasman could see the end of the conduit at last.  He squirmed along a little faster, desperate to get out of what felt like a prison.  He hadn’t seen or heard any DRDs, but wasn’t sure he would have been able to detect one if it had been motionless as he crawled through some of the wider cavities where the drones maintained the ship’s systems.  He was finally close enough to grab the edges of the aperture out of the ship’s duct, and cautiously easing his shoulders and hips through the narrow opening, pulled himself free.  He stood up with relief and looked around him. 

“Frell!”  He was in the ion backwash chamber, which was exactly the type of chamber with internal sensors he had been trying to avoid when he had resorted to crawling through the conduit.  “Wasted effort,” he growled quietly.  His memory had betrayed him, and he needed to get out of here and hide again fast. 

Behind him, the hatch for sealing the conduit snapped shut with a loud clap and Hasman jumped, startled by the first loud noise he had heard in arns.  He started to swing around, looking at the closed tunnel, but stopped himself when he saw the large doors to the chamber sliding shut as well.  He realized that the ship was about to engage its drive system, flooding this chamber with deadly energy.  He scrambled frantically toward the nearest of the rapidly narrowing openings.   
 
* * * * *

“Officer Sun!  The Peacekeeper has just left the ion backwash chamber!”  Pilot’s excited image appeared before anyone could leave Command.  All six figures seemed to head for the door at once, an eager mad-scramble to finally rid themselves of a threat.  Rygel’s sled swerved around the clog and was the first out the door by zooming over their heads. 

“Same basic plan,” Aeryn shouted as they all turned into the corridor.  “Stark and Rygel, take the tier directly above the ion backwash chamber.  D’Argo and Jool get below him.” She watched the two pairs peel off to follow her instructions.  “Pilot?” 

“DRDs are already being directed into the tier, Officer Sun.  No sightings yet.” 

Aeryn burst into a run, Chiana close behind her.  She was desperate not to lose this opportunity to catch what was becoming a torment.  It was like an itch she couldn’t scratch, knowing the danger was always there but being powerless to do anything about it.  She wasn’t going to squander their best chance.   

* * * * *

John woke to the pounding headache of his fever.  He lay quietly for a moment, taking in the darkened, silent chamber and wondered how long he had been sleeping.  He remembered bits and pieces of the conversation that had flowed around him earlier, and realized he was entering the final phase of the disease before recovery broke it’s hold over him.  He looked around his room, noting the closed doors, remembering the dimly heard conversation and knew they were probably locked. 

He sighed and relaxed back, wondering how much longer this was going to last.  If nothing else, he was starting to get bored.  He gazed up at the ceiling and finally saw the DRD that hung there, quiescent, just watching.  “Hi Moya, how’s it shakin’?” he asked.  The drone blinked once.  “How am I doing?”  It blinked once.  “Not much of a conversationalist are you?”  He smiled.  It was kind of nice having one big Mom all around him when he wasn’t feeling well.

He began to wonder how long it had been since the others left.  His cycles of waking and sleeping had begun to merge together and the sense of timelessness was growing each time he woke from another restless nap. 

“Pilot?” 

“Yes, Commander Crichton.”  The image appeared across his chamber, the seemingly imperturbable face gazing at him, although Crichton knew Pilot could already see him through the video feed from the DRD in the room.   

“How long have I been asleep since the others left?” 

“About one arn.  Is there anything you need?”

“No.  Thank you, Pilot.”

His body suddenly flushed with warmth, and it felt like the air was becoming an intolerable burden in his abruptly overheated lungs.  He had been comfortable only a microt earlier, what was this all about?  He began to shove the covers off, dumping them carelessly in a heap on the floor.  When the cool air of the chamber finally began to flow over him again, he slumped back onto his bunk, waiting for some relief from the all encompassing heat of his fever.  Sometime while he was waiting he fell asleep again. 

Pilot closed the transmission to the clamshell but continued to closely monitor the input from the drone in Crichton’s quarters.  He had noticed the rise in the human’s internal body temperature and was watching to ensure that it did not rise above the highest point that would be safe for his health.  With Zhaan and Crichton’s assistance, Pilot had been adding information concerning human physiological parameters to the exobiology information in Moya’s data stores for the past two cycles.  He was pleased that the effort was going to pay off now. 

* * * * *

John walked into the crowded apartment, amazed at the number of people who had shown up for DK’s party.  He recognized friends from high school, college, and from IASA.  He was glad that so many of them had turned out to celebrate his best friend’s birthday.  He managed to squeeze between two gorgeous women to snag a beer from the makeshift bar in the kitchen, levering the cap loose and sailing it accurately into the trash barrel.

“Yes, the kid hits from outside the line.  Three points!”  The line rang familiarly in his mind, like an echo, but he couldn’t remember when he had said it recently.  He shook his head, deciding it wasn’t important and took his first sip of the dark beer.  Icy cold, slightly bitter, he could feel it slide all the way down his throat.  ’God, I haven’t had one like that in …’   

What was he thinking?  He drank beer all the time.  Why had that reaction leapt into his mind?

He eased back between the two women, pausing as one reached up for a kiss.  Now THIS was his kind of party.  Finishing the first embrace he looked at the second woman expectantly and she also stepped forward for a deep passionate kiss.  “I am NEVER leaving this place!” he exclaimed as she released him.  A horrible shiver of foreboding ran through him for no reason.  He shook his head and moved away from the pair, disconcerted. 

He wound his way slowly through the crowd, looking for either DK or Alex, surprised not to find either one of them holding the center of attention.  Usually one or the other somehow managed to become the focus of any party.  He glanced toward the sliding glass doors and saw a reflection of someone standing behind him, looking at him with malevolent hatred.  He spun around, but there was no one there. 

“Wow, gotta lay off the Guinness Stout … wait, only had one sip, maybe I need to HIT the Guinness.”  He took another healthy sized swallow and choked.  The brew had gone ’off’ just since he had opened it.  He looked at the label to check for an expiration date, and staggered when he saw that it now read “Guinness Fellip Nectar”.  He glanced back toward the kitchen and saw cages of strange creatures.  The bartender was taking each one in turn and filling the empty bottles by …

Crichton turned away gagging, afraid he was going to vomit.  Barely getting his stomach back under control, he set the bottle down and continued looking for just Alex this time.  “One at a time, John.  Find Alex and then get DK to explain this new brewing method.”  He saw the reflection again, and instead of turning, he moved closer to the window to get a better look. 

GILINA.  He turned and saw her standing across the room, staring at him, accusing him, blaming him for being alive when she was dead.  He looked away, unable to meet her eyes.  When he glanced back it was suddenly no longer her, never had been her.  It was a tall, arrogant woman wearing strange black leather clothes, her long red hair hanging to her waist.  She stared at him in distain.  NIEM. 

He turned away again and began looking for the door to leave, and noticed for the first time that everyone in the room was wearing red and black leather, all staring at him.  He tried to back away, but the crowd had closed in around him.  He felt hands gripping his arms, turning him around, looked down to see black armored hands grasping him, felt them behind him pushing him forward, more hands adding on, pulling him toward the wall of black leathered figures.

He screamed and thrashed wildly as more hands grabbed on and pushed and pulled him forward, and the wall of bodies separated and Niem and Scorpius stood waiting.

Pilot watched as the figure sweated and cried out, hands twitching as though they were fending something off, and debated whether this was something he should bring to Officer Sun’s attention.  He alternated his attention for a moment between his surveillance of Crichton and the input from DRDs filling the corridors, and found Aeryn Sun approaching the last known position of the Peacekeeper.  He decided that Crichton’s condition could wait.

* * * * * 

[KernilCrash]

CHAPTER 9

The huge mass of rock had been piece of a planet once.  Sentient beings had lived on its surface for over fourteen billion cycles until the star-faring people had fled before the conflagration that was their primary sun going supernova.  They hadn’t been there to observe when the womb of all they had become was first seared and then fragmented by the expanding wave of raging heat and destruction.  The center of their civilization had been smashed into a cloud of asteroid chunks and vaporized plasma, and thrust into cold dispersal.  The wandering detritus tumbled away, projected at random to travel the galaxies, bearing no sign of the glories of intellect it had once hosted. 

This one piece of the once-planet’s core had survived its migration almost unscathed, heavy with elements not normally found in solid state.  The heat of the searing had locked strange atoms in place, the cold of its long journey solidifying the matrix.  Gravity pulled on it stronger than most objects, beckoning to it, bending its path.  The call came to it now, a gentle tugging, easing its trajectory to meet a new fate. 

* * * * *

“Pilot?” 

Aeryn’s voice broke into his thoughts.  He already knew what the request was going to be, and rapidly reviewed the input from all seventy-eight drones he had reassigned to the hunt, looking for any change in data. 

“Nothing yet … Wait!  Treblin side, one tier up, main corridor, moving aft.  I have four more DRDs in the immediate area, I will direct them to maintain surveillance.” 

“D’Argo!  Jool!  He’s above us, get up there!  Rygel, he’s moving aft, watch out for him.”

“Don’t tell me how to imprison someone, Aeryn.  I’ve locked up more of my subjects than you’ve blown to bits with your pulse rifle.” 

She started to say something, but she heard the high pitch of Rygel’s Throne Sled go up a notch further in the background of his transmission, and she knew that his instinct for self-preservation had convinced him that he needed to help locate the threat.  For once Aeryn felt she could count on the Hynerian to be of assistance in a dangerous situation, not a hindrance.   

* * * * *

The rock sailed past Moya, accelerating as the almost dead fingers reached out to summon it.  Pilot directled one small portion of his multi-tasking capability to watching as the mass arrived at the energy locus and then it suddenly disappeared.  He switched a greater portion of his attention to the event, puzzled by the sudden loss of the signal.  There was no reason for Moya’s sensors to suddenly lose track of the traveling projectile.  He went through all his researched data again, he suddenly saw the pattern, the one missing link snapping into place. 

“Everyone!  Prepare for immediate starburst.  Ten microts!” he practically screamed over the comms, claws wildly touching controls. 

“Pilot … Not NOW!!”  Aeryn’s response was almost frantic.  “We’ve almost got him.” 

“Five microts!“ 

The sleeping blackhole gulped, swallowed, and then belched.  Its stomach grumbled and it awakened hungry.  It stretched from its long nap and reached out with ravenous arms. 

Something smashed into Moya, knocking five of the searchers off their feet.  Rygel’s Throne Sled waltzed sideways, banging into one of the thick ribs and number six joined his companions on the deck.    They were all together in a junction, having joined up in their pursuit, and they slid across the floor into a tangled heap as the leviathan was thrown sideways.  The turbulence continued, accompanied by an ear-splitting screeching, a screaming that reverberated through the ship’s metalloid plates. 

“What the frell was that?”  Chiana was the first to find her voice, shouting a little over the grinding noise that had grown out of Moya’s previous sounds.

The group untangled themselves, regaining their feet as the noise quieted down.  It was replaced by a shivering, the entire ship seemed to quiver around them, accompanied by a low moaning as if Moya herself were crying out in pain.  Aeryn leapt up a little and captured the hovering Throne Sled where it drifted near the ceiling.  She dragged it down to where Rygel could remount his conveyance.   

“Pilot, what just happened?”  D’Argo asked. 

“Moya is trapped!”  His voice was frantic, nearing panic. 

“Pilot, calm down.  Trapped by what?  Have we been captured by Peacekeepers?”  The group began drifting as one in the direction of the Den. 

“No, something much worse.  I believe it would be best if you all reported to Command.”  His voice had more reason to it as he had time to calm down. 

Worse than Peacekeepers?  Aeryn tried to imagine what could be worse, but couldn’t come up with any alternative other than Scarrans.  Either one would mean death, but what could be worse than that?  She considered the fugitive who had just gotten away, and realized that if this was something worse than Peacekeepers outside the ship, then it was worse than one inside the ship. 

“Is everyone all right?” she said to the others.  She glanced first at Rygel who still looked shook up from his fall, and then at Jool, who had wound up on the bottom of the heap.  Jool opened her mouth, her face arranging itself into a look of pained self-pity, but she was striding along fine with the rest of the group, so Aeryn cut in, “Right!  Let’s get up to Command.“ 

“What about Crichton?  Do you think he’s all right?” Stark asked.  His calm, rational voice was a surprise, as was the realization that she had forgotten all about John for the moment.  Stark always managed to surprise her by handling the most insane moments coherently, while struggling to maintain balance when life was most peaceful. 

“Frell!  I’m not sure Pilot and Moya are in any condition to check on him right now.”  She looked at the others, saw the concern and agreement in their faces before she asked her question.  “Can I meet you on Command?  I’ll go make sure he’s all right.” 

“Of course, Aeryn.  We’ll comm you if this is something that can’t wait a few microts.” 
 
* * * * *

John Crichton was late getting home for dinner, and he knew his parents were going to be angry at him this time.  He ran as fast as his twelve year old legs would carry him, sneakers pounding down the sidewalk, knowing the look on his mother’s face that was going to greet him.  He decided to stay on the street instead of cutting through backyards.  It was further, but it was faster.  He could see the street light just beginning to glow at the corner ahead.  He was gonna get it this time. 

He tried to run a little faster, pushing himself to his limit.  That was when his feet seemed to get out of cadence and he tripped, hitting the pavement with the dull, sick-making crack of knee and palm against gritty asphalt.  He sat up slowly, seeing the fast spreading stain of red on the torn knees of his jeans, feeling the warm slide against shin.  He looked at the slow drip from his hands, feeling the cold sting of embedded dirt in the cuts.

He pushed himself to his feet and walked unsteadily around the corner and up the walk, the cold shocky sweat drying on his neck and back.  He used the edges of his hands to open the door, careful not to get blood on the paint.  He heard the clink of utensils on plates as he walked quietly toward the bathroom to clean the wounds. 

“John?”  His father’s voice demanded his presence.  He walked deliberately, still shaken by his impact. 

“Yes, Dad.”  He stood in the doorway to the dining room, noticing with dismay that the table was set with the good china, the special linen.  No one had told him that this was a special dinner night, he’d only been worrying about being late.  He froze, hands in front of him, turned palms up in a vain attempt to keep the blood from dripping onto the floor. 

“Come in and introduce yourself to our guests.” 

John Crichton looked at the faces gathered in his home.  Gilina, dead.  Hassan, dead.  Kelsa, dead.  Cyntrina, dead.  Zhaan … She looked up at him with red pupil eyes.  “I’ll share Unity with you, John,” and her smile was full of malice.  Murderous intent.  He heard something strange and looked down at adult feet in heavy leather boots, legs encased in black leather pants, a puddle of blood at his feet and more dripping from his blood smeared hands with every passing second.  The woman sitting at the end of the table with her back to him turned around, hair dripping water on the floor around her chair.  Aeryn … he backed away, raising his hands to shield himself from the vision.

His hands were encased in black gloves, strange shiny black leather that led up his arms.  He was all in black now.
 
“AERYYYYYNNNN!!!!” 

“John!  Wake up, its all right!”  Someone was holding his wrists, forcing his hands down to his sides.  “Come on, wake up, come back to me, wake up.”  The steady voice coaxed him away from whatever it was that was still there chasing him.   

He looked up at her with bloodshot eyes.   “Aeryn?” quietly the second time.   

“Yes, I’m here.  It’s all right.  You were dreaming.” 

“Tha’ WAZN a dream,“ he protested, sliding back into the dark. 

Aeryn watched John as his body went slack again, but could see the remaining tension.  She had felt the heat radiating from him the minute she grabbed his flailing wrists.  She knew this was delirium from the fever, but had never before watched anyone in its grip. 

“Aeryn?”  D’Argo called her.

“Yes.”  She watched the eyes twitching beneath his lids, and knew it was starting again. 

“Pilot is right, this is worse.  You need to get up here fast.” 

“On my way.”  She flipped the thermal sheet back over him, giving him a little protection from the drafts in the cell, and picked up her pulse rifle.  She gave him one last concerned glance as the bars swung shut again and headed to join the others.

“Pilot, lock Crichton’s cell again please.”     

“Hey buddy, we’re back here watching movies!”  DK called to John as he let himself into the house.  “We saved a seat for you, come join us.”  John could hear the voices of DK’s girlfriend and Alex as he grabbed a beer from the fridge and walked toward the den.  He slid the doors open and hopped down the two steps into the room, smiling at the trio sitting together on the couch.  He reached for a piece of pizza from the box in front of them. 

“We saved that one for you,” DK pointed to a spot behind John.  He turned and saw the Aurora Chair, spinning, waiting.

* * * * *

Aeryn stood in Command, leaning back against the edge of the Strategy Table, just watching bits of debris spiral into the singularity.  It was mesmerizing in a horrific kind of a way.  She found herself repeatedly trying to make out the actual blackhole, but vision relied on light striking the eye, and one of the few things she knew was that even light couldn’t escape the gravity source.  The full swirling pattern had formed over the last three arns, as the crew watched helplessly.  They had discussed all the information Pilot had given them, understanding only a fraction of it, and were no closer to an answer than when they had started. 

Their chaotic debate had lasted almost two arns, but the hastily formulated suggestions hadn’t yielded a single productive solution, and they had slowly spun into silence.  Depression hung over the chamber now as they watched what might be their last sight.  Aeryn’s reverie was broken by the sound of D’Argo’s footsteps and she twisted to look at him as he entered.  “Jool’s safely back in the lab and locked in?” 

“Yes, she’ll let us know if she wants to go somewhere else.  She said she wants to run more tests on the blood sample she took from John.” 

“More?  You said on the comms that he was cured,” her accusation was also a question. 

“It is Jool doing the explaining.  Can you understand half of what she says?”  He shook his head, braids swinging.  He didn’t need her to actually answer that question.  “From what I could get, his fever has broken and his body is finally killing the virus that made him sick.  She thinks he’ll wake up in a arn, two at the most, and that will be the end of it.”  He looked at Chiana and Stark, sitting separately, dejectedly, both staring at the spatial anomaly.  “Anything?” 

“No.  Pilot is the only one who really understands this, and he is out of ideas.”  Aeryn felt another vibration pass through the floor and run up her legs, Moya’s only indication of the stress she was under as she fought the intense gravity that was trying to suck her into their doom.  “What do you think we should do about the Peacekeeper?” 

D’Argo sighed, trying to collect his thoughts.  There were just too many problems to think about all at once.  He tried to focus on her question, but he was suddenly very hungry and very tired.   

“Stay armed, be careful, and hope the frelling kjanick fell down a very deep access shaft,” Rygel returned, once again munching food cubes. 

Aeryn had to admit that for once the Hynerian’s assessment was correct, and she turned her thoughts back to the singularity and their predicament.  Another shudder ran through the soles of her feet.  Pilot had warned them of the toll Moya was paying by fighting the unseen battle.  Sooner or later she was going to run out of stamina and slowly lose ground to the forces which ensnared them.     

“There is only one thing I can think of that will help.”  Aeryn drew her feet up and spun around to sit facing them, perched on the table.  “We need Crichton.” 

“I guess we’re worse off than I thought.”  D’Argo said dryly, managing to find some minimal humor.   

* * * * *

Crichton came to slowly, just listening to his surroundings, getting his bearings.  His endless sequence of nightmares had left him feeling disoriented and confused, but the sense of unreality was finally starting to fade.  Part of him still expected the world around him to start mutating, become a parody of reality, but at long last his universe seemed to be settling down.  He sat up gradually, relieved to find that all the signs of his fever had disappeared.  He was shaky and weak, but the headache and ringing were gone. 

He flipped back the covers and swung his legs over the side of his bed, sitting still for a moment while his body adjusted to the new position.  He ran both hands over his skull, trying to convince his whirling brain to settle down for a bit.  He felt his stiff, spiky hair a second time, and became aware of a full-body stickiness, the last residue of his fever.  He stood up slowly, careful in the strangeness of being back on his feet again, soles tingling under his unaccustomed weight.  He wondered if he had been sleeping for more than one day.  He decided a shower was more important than finding out what was going on right now, and carefully negotiated the short distance to the alcove.  He’d check with Pilot afterward and find out then what was happening. 

* * * * *

Jool stood in the lab examining the latest of the samples she had taken from Crichton that morning.  Her confidence in her abilities soared as she noted how well her resolution had worked.  Peering through the microscopic enlarger she could find no trace of the virus in his blood.  “Not bad for something hastily developed with no scientific ingredients whatsoever and put together with archaic equipment,” she said to herself, still pleased with her talents.  She took another sample of the viral RNA and dropped it into the living solution, watching again with pleasure as it was efficiently destroyed. 

She smiled and pulled the slide out of the microscope, starting to clean up the lab.  She paused as she saw that the container she had taken the last additive from was not the one holding the viral sample, she had picked something else up by accident and added it to John’s blood.  She looked at the container in shock, motionless as she saw what she had done.  What his blood had done to the added substance.

She activated her comms.  “Can someone meet me in Crichton’s quarters?” 

“What’s the matter, Jool?  Has something happened?”  Aeryn’s urgent voice was the first to answer. 

“No, I just think …” she tried to think how to phrase her suspicions without alarming anyone.  “He should be awake by now and I think it would be an emotional support if someone he knows … someone he knows better than me, is there to sort of welcome him back.”

There was a brief silence and then Aeryn replied.  “Chiana is on her way down. … And Jool?” 

“Yes.”

“Just as soon as he is able to come to Command, we need Crichton up here.  And I mean just as soon as he is able.  If Crichton is better, but too weak, D‘Argo will come help him.”  Aeryn’s voice wasn’t panicked, but the emphasis in her tone was clear.  They were in trouble and they were hoping Crichton could get them out of it.  But it also sounded like there was relief in her voice.  Well, Aeryn and John were … well, it was just understandable that Aeryn would be relieved. 

Jool looked again at the sample in her hand and was scared that Aeryn’s reprieve from anxiety was going to be all too short.       

* * * * *

John finished toweling his hair, feeling much better for having made the effort to clean up.  He sat on his bed and began lacing his boots, glancing around his quarters to find his belt and his comms.  He had considered calling Pilot, but had eventually decided that until he found out what the status of the search was, he wouldn’t bother their central intelligence agent. 

What he needed now was something to eat, he was starved.  Maybe about twelve buttermilk pancakes and a quart of coffee.  He stretched and felt like he could conquer the world … in another week.  He looked up as Chiana and Jool reached his quarters and the door slid open.  He realized at that point that it had still been locked, which meant the commando remained on the loose.  ‘Oh good,’ he thought, ‘more fun and games on the good ship Lusitania.  Just wandering around looking to take a torpedo amidships.’ 

“Hey Pip!”   

“Hey old man!  How ya doing this morning.  You look great!  Well, not great but a whole lot better than you did last night.”  Chiana was bursting with excitement that Crichton was well again, and skipped toward him, but he was suddenly whirling, vaulting away from her to the other side of the bed.  She slowed and looked at him in dismay, peering at him from under her white bangs.  She looked to Jool but the Interon was unreadable, so she looked back at the suddenly angry figure waiting on the far side of the bunk.  “Crichton, what’s the matter?” 

“Harvey get out here!” John strode raging into the kitchen in his parents’ house.  “Where the hell are you, you sick, twisted, disgusting piece of garbage!  Did you do this?”

Scorpius appeared from where he was rummaging in the refrigerator, holding a thick sandwich.  “No, John I am not responsible for your current condition.  I suggest that you discuss it with that lovely young woman who treated you for your recent illness.  Perhaps it has something to do with that.”

John slapped the sandwich out of the clone’s hands, meat and lettuce flying.  “How do I know you aren’t doing this?  I couldn’t speak a coherent word after the chip was removed, maybe this is just your idea of a riff on that theme.  What did you do, just scramble the incoming message this time?  Is that even the noise they‘re actually making?  It’s all unintelligible goop now!”  He stalked back and forth in front of Scorpius, wanted to hit him, but knowing that it was meaningless.

“John, you know that my fate hinges on your well-being now, this situation would not be in my best interest.  Your ability to communicate with your crewmates is essential to both your survival and mine.  I would not do this.”

“Then prove it, tell me what they are saying.”

Scorpius stared at Crichton for a moment, then shook his head.  “I do not have any ability to understand their language beyond your own, John.  I do not exist, therefore I do not have any capacity aside from what your own mind provides.  If someone has done this to you, I am not aware of it, and I cannot help.”

“Then this IS some sort of trick again.  The Scarrans, the Ancients, the Delvians, some other twisted bunch of fruit loops leading me down another yellow brick road to insanity.  Tell me the truth!”

Crichton didn’t wait for an answer from the clone.  He shoved him forcefully out of his subconscious and turned his entire attention back to what was going on in the chamber.  He could hear Chiana’s high voice babbling, followed by a deep voiced answer emanating from the comms.  He couldn’t understand a word of it, but knew she had called D’Argo … or whatever twisted version of D’Argo someone was going to present to him.   

“I’m not playing this time, folks!  I’ve been through this twice before and I’m not biting again,” he yelled at the walls around him.  “Leave me alone!  Get out of my head and go torture someone else for a change.”  He saw Chiana coming around the bed toward him, reaching out, and shook his head at her. 

“Stay the hell away from me.  You aren’t real, this is all an illusion and I’m not letting anyone suck me any further into this one.  Three time’s the charm, this is a no go!”  Chiana paused for a minute, then continued to advance speaking slowly.  He remembered the last time delusions had been forced on him and the vivid nightmares he had endured so recently.  “This has ALL been just an invoked dream, hasn’t it?  All of the dreams I’ve been having, right?  And now you just want to perform a little test to see if I’ll play along?” 

He scrambled across the bed again, moving away from Chiana.  He was careful not to get too close to Jool, but saw her as less of a threat.  He looked around for his pulse pistol.  He’d show them who was taking stuff laying down this time.  He saw where it had been left under his bed, and dove for it. 

Aeryn and D’Argo could hear Crichton’s angry yelling from down the corridor.  Chiana had explained concisely what was going on but they were not ready for his level of anger and hostility when they rounded the corner through the doorway.  Aeryn’s concern was cut short before she could even consider John’s state when she saw him look rapidly around his quarters and spot his weapon. 

Her instincts took over as he dove for Wynona.  She had no idea what he planned to do with it, but she wasn’t going to take a chance of him getting his hands on a weapon in his obvious state of agitation.  She kicked the pistol out of his reach and as he slid belly down across the floor, she straddled his prone figure and dropped her full weight onto him. 

She forced his arms down by his sides and set her knees carefully but firmly on his elbows.  Then she pinned his head down with both hands, eliminating all possibility of resistance.  He grunted under her weight and went quiet.  She could feel him trying to work loose, but this was her area of expertise and she was confident that he wasn’t going to get up until she let him.
 
She took a deep breath and looked up at the two women, standing speechless and shocked.  “All right, does someone want to explain just what happened down here?”

It was Jool’s voice, slow and dispirited, full of the knowledge of her own participation in what was occurring, that answered.  “His immune system has destroyed his translator microbes.  He can’t understand anything we’re saying to him.” 

* * * * *

“Up until now, John’s physiology has tolerated anything that is Sebacean in origin or that a Sebacean would tolerate.  But when I accidentally added the mixture of Sebacean compounds to the mixture containing his blood sample and saw how quickly it was attacked by the immunological agents, I realized that his system was almost certainly going to be attacking anything within him that was not completely human in origin … including his translator microbes.”  Jool finished explaining how she had known in advance that Crichton night not be able to understand them. 

The explanation had taken only a few microts, and Aeryn was still sitting on top of the subdued astronaut.  He continued to struggle from time to time, but the efforts were not as vigorous and less frequent.  She slowly released her grip on his head, giving him some relief from his cramped position with one cheek ground into the floor. 

“So he hasn’t lost his mind,” she was thinking about his wild behavior as she had come into the cell.  It was too reminiscent of his loss of control when the neurochip had begun taking over, and she had been shaken to her core by what she had seen.   

“There isn’t any reason to believe that any of this has affected his cognitive abilities,” Jool shook her head as she answered.  “I believe this is just emotional, not psychological in nature.”
 
“He was yelling something about illusions, invoked dreams and not playing this time,” Chiana offered. 

Aeryn nodded in understanding.  John had shared more information with her than anyone else after his capture by a Scarran who had tried to drive him insane by creating a hallucinated reality.  “Get ready D’Argo, I’m going to let him up.”  She eased her weight off him cautiously, waiting to see what he was going to do next. 

Crichton lay still for a moment.  The circulation had been cut off in his arms, leaving him powerless to even roll over initially.   He finally worked his way back onto his knees and then got up and sat on his bed.  There were too many of them still to do anything.  Whoever was running the show this time certainly had their facts right.  They looked absolutely convincing this time. 

“What now?”  D’Argo asked. 

“What if we reinject him with new microbes?” Aeryn looked at Jool. 

“I doubt that it will work.  His immune system has been sensitized to anything foreign now, and it has already produced the organisms necessary to kill the microbes.”  She took another deep breath and delivered the rest of the bad news.  “This is a permanent condition.  It’s not going to change.”

“Any chance you’re wrong?” Aeryn asked. 

“I suppose there’s a chance.”  For once she didn’t find it difficult to admit that she might be fallible, in fact she found herself fervently wishing to be proven wrong.  Her entire scholastic career had been founded on her ability to understand the lectures and instructional information from dozens of species’ foremost thinkers.  She couldn’t imagine being stripped of that opportunity, let alone the capability to simply understand one’s own friends.   

“Pilot, please send a DRD prepared with translator microbes to Crichton’s quarters,” Aeryn called. 

“Already on its way, Officer Sun.”  Pilot’s image appeared on the clamshell at that moment.  “I have been monitoring the situation and the DRD should be there in just a few microts.”

“All this is fine, but which one of us is going to be able to get close enough to inject him?”  Chiana asked.  She looked at the others, and then, as if to say she wasn’t going to be the one to try, she turned and left the room. 
 
Crichton continued to sit in sullen stubbornness, refusing to attempt any communication with the figures around him.  D’Argo watched him, distressed that no one had the means to break through his confident assertion that this was all some sort of trick being played on him again.  D'Argo understood why John would not allow himself to be convinced otherwise, but his desire to relieve his friend's distress was beginning to urge him into incautious action. 

“We should do something to convince him that this is truly real,” he finally complained.  He took a step forward and saw John prepare himself to move away. 

“Just leave him alone D’Argo,” Aeryn cautioned.  “With the state he's in now, we're going to have enough trouble just getting the DRD close enough to be able to inject him again.”  She knew how badly D’Argo wanted to touch John, to reassure him, because it was taking almost all of her own will power not to approach the suspicious human, to hold him and explain that this was all going to get better. 

“I still don't believe you understand how futile this attempt is going to be … ” Jool began again. 

“Shut up, Jool!” both voices barked at the same time and she lapsed back into silence.  “We have to try something,” Aeryn explained more calmly. 

They all heard the DRD coming down the corridor just as Pilot’s image reappeared in the clamshell.  “The DRD should be arriving momentarily,” he said.  “Has Commander Crichton calmed down yet?”

“Well,” Aeryn stared at John, considering the question, “at least he’s sitting still now, but I don’t think we’ve gained anything yet, and I definitely don’t think he’s going to let anyone close enough to inject him with microbes, Pilot.  Not even a DRD.  Between what happened to him before and the nightmares he was coping with last night, I don’t think we can expect him to cooperate.”  Aeryn tore her eyes away from his suspicious glare to look at the DRD as it came into the chamber.  It was One-Eye.  She was about to turn to thank Pilot for sending the one object on board that John might just trust, but stopped herself. 

“DON’T say or do anything,” she hissed at D’Argo.  The Luxan froze, a parody of normal behavior.  “D’Argo relax.  Don’t do anything to make John suspicious of the DRD too.  Pilot might have just given us a small edge.”   

John watched each face in turn as they spoke, finally watching only D’Argo, who represented the greatest physical threat.  He remembered the Luxan’s growling, burbling language from his first brief moments on board Moya.  Whoever was running this show had gotten that part right too.  He had been injected almost immediately that day, forever silencing the strange languages that flowed around him.  Now he was inundated in alien sounds that movie producers in their wildest dreams had never imagined.  ‘Boy oh boy, did Kemper EVER have it wrong,’ he thought.  ‘But this is only an induced hallucination, so maybe he was closer than Spielberg after all.’ 

He saw the flash of yellow out of the corner of his eye.  ‘Now what are they going to pull?’  He had seen the blue tape as the DRD soared into the chamber and almost looked, but managed to keep his eyes on D’Argo instead.  “Nice try,” he verbally aimed his frustration at them, “but I’m not falling for the Benji routine.  The cute dog isn’t going to win me over this time.”  If they were trying One-Eye on him, then they were planning something.  He rose from the bed and stood ready to bolt out the second door.  Whatever the Scarrans or the Ancients or Scorpius wanted to do to him this time, they were going to have to work at it, he was tired of being their pawn.   

“John, there is something that I think you need to be aware of right now,” Scorpius interjected.

He yelled out loud to the figure inside his head.  “Get lost, Harvey!  There’s no guarantee you’re not part of this particular House of Horrors.  Get out!”  And such was the degree of his agitation, that Crichton was able to force the clone into silence, gagging its protests.  Then he shoved the presence off to one side of his mind until he had time to deal with it.  He saw Aeryn go pale, and the look of pained concern on her face broke through his stubborn defensiveness for a moment.  He took a step forward and turned toward her, reaching out with one hand reflexively, to apologize for causing the distress. 

“D’Argo!” she yelled as she saw their moment of opportunity in John’s gesture of compassion, and the Luxan took one long step and wrapped his arms around Crichton from behind. 

“Get off me!  Get off me you son-of-a-frelling-bitch!”  Crichton squirmed and struggled, but D’Argo lifted the frantic figure off his feet, denying him any purchase for leverage.  With his arms pinned to his side, Crichton couldn’t even strike back.  D’Argo buried his head against Crichton’s spine to avoid being battered by John’s skull as he tried to lash his head backwards at D’Argo’s face. 

Aeryn scooped One-Eye up and brought the DRD within range of John’s shoulder, dancing out of range of his legs.  The punch of the injector seemed to help bring the human back to his senses.  He quieted down and hung passively in D’Argo’s arms, but still glared furiously at Aeryn. 

“John, can you understand me?” 

“What just happened?”  A glimmer of sanity returned to his eyes.  D’Argo sighed and set him down, looking triumphantly at Jool. 

The Interion shook her head though and kept her gaze on Crichton.  “It won’t last.” 

“What isn’t going to last?”  John stepped away from his three crewmates and walked to the far side of his quarters, still not sure if this was all real.  He found himself driven to get his back to a wall, standing with his arms folded defensively in front of him, a clear sign that he wasn’t accepting this yet. 

“John your translator microbes were killed by your own immune system.  Something happened when Jool gave you … ”  Aeryn broke off her rapid explanation, watching the anger come back over his face again.

“Very frelling funny!” he yelled toward the ceiling.  “No, you know what?  You aren’t going to let me get along with any other language than English?  Well, FINE!!  Very FUCKING funny!”  He switched his attention to The-Aeryn figure, sweeping it with a vicious gaze and continued to rage.  “You want to jerk me around for ten or fifteen seconds thinking everything was real and then yank the carpet out from under me?  Okay, you got me with that one.  But now I’m really not playing.” 

Crichton ran over to his bed and jumped up onto it, standing above the others for a microt.  Then he simply dropped onto the bed in a sitting position and flopped on to his back.  “Go screw yourselves, I quit.” 

Jool was standing with her face hidden in both hands.  Despite everything she had said to Aeryn and D’Argo she had hoped that the new microbes might not be destroyed, at least not immediately.  The speed at which John’s system had killed them meant that she had done her job of modifying his immune system all too well, and that it was going to be just that much harder to find a solution.  She dropped her hands and looked at the two stunned figures beside her. 

“I’ll be in the lab.  I may need blood samples from Crichton at some point in order to find a way to reverse this.” 

“All right, Jool.”  D’Argo’s response was almost inaudible.  He didn’t bother watching her as she left.  “So what do we do now, Aeryn?  We need his help and he won’t even let us near him.” 

Aeryn was silent so long he wasn’t sure she had heard him.  She took a deep breath, and looked at the Luxan.  “Just keep trying to get through to him somehow.  Why don’t you go back to Command and see if Pilot has been able to do anything.  I’ll try here a little longer and then we’ll have to start worrying about our other problems instead.” 

D’Argo looked over at the angry figure for a moment, but then yielded to their preexisting crises.  “All right, Aeryn.  Good luck.”  He walked heavily out of the chamber.  “Do you want to lock the door again?”  He was thinking of the potential for disaster if John got loose in his present state and somehow managed to run into the one person no one else had been able to locate. 

Aeryn understood the source of his question immediately, and had to stop to consider.  “No, I think if we lock him in it will just make him more suspicious.  We’ll take a chance that I can at least keep him from leaving his room.” 

“If anyone can, you can.” 

She started to thank him for his confidence in her ability to reach John, and then heard the laughter in his voice and realized he was referring to her recent aggressive solution to John’s frenzy.  “If you can’t win them over with diplomacy, bowl them over with force!” she yelled after him, laughing.   

John watched with complete disinterest as first The-Jool and then The-D’Argo left the chamber, leaving him alone with the image that was supposed to be Aeryn.  He refused to even think of the room as his quarters.  This was all just another trick on the poor deficient Wyatt Erp.  ‘Just call me Why-Not Erp,’ he thought.  ‘Why Not mess with the Erp man?’   

Whoever was running this little Salvador Dali Show was going to do whatever they wanted one way or another.  He was going to save his strength for when he needed it, then he’d make a break for it … or whatever.  He wasn’t sure what ‘it’ he’d make a break FOR at this point, but he was determined to be ready. 

He watched as The-Aeryn turned and yelled something out the door after The-D’Argo and smiled and laughed.  And in a blinding instant it was Aeryn again.  She turned back to him, the smile lingering on her face and it was still Aeryn, gazing at him steadily, beginning to talk to him in a strange clipped and guttural language. 

“John … ”

“GO AWAY!!!” 

Not even the clang of a dumpster.  The clone was simply banished from his consciousness.  He hadn’t known he was capable of doing that.  Aeryn stood, pale and distressed, in front of him.  She began to turn and leave the room, defeat shrieking from every muscle in her body.  And it was still Aeryn.  This delusion was a skillful one … or not.  Every instinct told him not to trust what he saw, but after watching her rigid, anxious posture, he decided to take a chance anyway. 

“Aeryn … I wasn’t yelling at YOU …”  She turned back. 

 * * * * *

[KernilCrash]

CHAPTER 10

John sank gratefully onto one of the seats in front of the strategy table, leaning heavily on one forearm.  He felt as if he had just run the Boston Marathon … twice.  He glanced back at the portion of the deck that ran from the corridor through the doorway into Command.  Funny, it looked absolutely flat, but it had sure felt like Heartbreak Hill.  Aeryn’s hand lay on his back, following the steady rhythm of his heaving chest and shoulders as he tried to give his weakened body the air it demanded.  Her touch was a warm reminder of safety, but the uncertainty that had invaded him before leaving his quarters was now back and redoubled.

Aeryn had simply sat next to him on his bunk for almost a quarter arn, waiting until he was ready to listen.  His suspicions had gradually faded when nothing else weird had happened.  The only oddity to invade his reality was the unintelligible sound of her voice breaking the stillness.  Aeryn had begun to talk to him in a careful, even voice, the tangled sounds unmistakably reassuring in cadence.  He had listened to her tone and had allowed the events of the past few days to stream through his mind, picking out pieces of clues until he could form a theory about what might have happened. 

Two phrases had returned almost unbidden to circle in his ear.  Aeryn’s voice blurting  “John, your translator microbes were … ”  The phrase remained unfinished in his head, turned back into gibberish midstream.  The other piece he latched on to was a floating fragment, almost missed as he hovered between waking and sleep when the others had been talking in his quarters.  Jool’s voice saying, “…manipulate the pathogen response mechanism of the immune booster…” 

Aeryn’s hand had moved to rest on the back of his head, gripping carefully but firmly at the base of his skull, as she had continued to speak to him.  “That’s it, isn’t it?”  He hadn’t meant to interrupt, but her voice didn’t sound like conversation to him anymore.  He looked over at her.  “Something about how Jool cured me screwed the pooch with my microbes.”  Her eyebrows went all the way up.  “Mine, not yours, babe.  Screwed the pooch … totally and completely, irreversibly frelled.” 

She nodded.  “You tried new ones, that was the DRD.”  Yes. 

“Frell me dead!”  She looked at him with a strange humorous expression.  No.  His laughter at her response seemed to be some sort of signal.  She got up and took his hand, pulling him to his feet.  She handed him Wynona, now latched securely in its holster, and pushed him out of his cell as he buckled the weapon around his hips.   
     
He still had no idea why she had forced him to come to Command, but the confusion of sounds was wearing him down.  He tried to concentrate on the reassurance of Aeryn’s touch, the firm pressure between his shoulder blades trying to tell him it was where he belonged.  He found he was quickly falling prey to the fatigue that accompanied the relief of knowing that it was his translator microbes that had taken the vacation, not his sanity, and felt ill equipped to cope with whatever was going on here. 

Chiana’s voice drew him back to what was happening around him, and he looked up toward where she stood near the forward view screen.  She pointed to what had just been displayed, what lay outside. 

“Holy mother of god,” the phrase spilled out of him.  “Are we stuck in that?”  A vigorous nod confirmed his immediate comprehension of why they had gone to such great lengths to get him out of his room.  The last of his suspicions evaporated before his instant recognition of their desperate situation.  “Does Pilot know how to get us out?”  Head shake.  “Well this sucks … literally.  When did we get stuck here?”
 
Aeryn’s clipped, truncated Sebacean drew his attention.  She did a lot of gesticulating, and with a lot of guess work and a fair amount of imagination he managed to decipher her message.  “While I was blotto?”  Her expression told him he wasn’t the only one having trouble translating right then.  He had to stop doing that until his problem was solved.  “Sorry.  While I was still sick or sleeping?”  Nod.  “How many arns have we been stuck now?”  Five fingers.  “Are we stationary or sliding further in?”  Fist hammered into her palm.  “Stationary.”  Nod.  “How is Moya holding up?  No, don’t try that one.  Umm … Is Moya holding up okay?”  Yes.     

His mind was finally clearing for the first time in almost two days as John forced himself to concentrate on their predicament.  His fatigue vanished.  He needed information -- lots of information about what had happened.  And he needed everything Moya contained in her data stores about blackholes.  “Crap!”  What a time for this to happen to him.  This was going to be nearly impossible. 

D’Argo’s growling voice broke into his thoughts, full of frustration.  Without the microbes, John heard only the noises that he had come to associate with profanity.  He was tempted to laugh.  It sounded like a string of unequalled cursing. 

“This is ridiculous Aeryn!  Crichton can’t understand anything that is going on here, we can’t begin to explain, and Pilot can’t work together with him.  Bringing him here is completely useless!”  His concern for John’s plight was falling prey to frustration over their problems.  He began to pace from one console to the next, angrily looking for new data. 

“I suppose you know about these blackhole things,” Rygel drawled.  “The great Luxan intellect will be working together with Pilot to come up with a way to get us out of here?” 

“Of course not.  I am not a scientist.” 

“Well John IS a scientist.” Aeryn interjected.  “He may know more about that,” a frustrated gesture indicated the vortex of condemned matter “than anyone in this galaxy, and certainly knows more about it than anyone else on the ship.  He knew what he was looking at the microt he saw it, D’Argo.  He is our only hope.  We have to find a way to communicate with him.” 

“She’s right, D’Argo.”  Chiana spoke up at last.  She moved next to him, brushed up against his heavy frame, and placed one hand on his arm.  She could feel the tension there, the explosive power of his frustration just beneath the surface.  She found herself trying to will him into calming down.  He had been teetering on the thin edge of anger ever since they had returned from the Commerce Planet. 

“Pilot.”  John’s voice broke into their discussion. 

“Yes, Commander.”  The purple image appeared in the clamshell.  John looked behind him at Aeryn, started to gesture a request and caught himself, remembering.  ‘They can understand you, John, you’re the only one with scrambled circuits here.’   

“Can you come around in front of me, Aeryn?”  She did as he asked, sitting down on the far side of the table to face him.  “Pilot can you put up a presentation of the singularity using the strategy table projector?”  The image appeared, a tiny Leviathan represented in relation to the great gravity well. 

“Is this a correctly scaled representation?”  Aeryn nodded.  “Pilot, we’re still outside the event horizon then.”  His statement was also a question and Aeryn nodded again.  Rygel’s voice came from behind him, a fast exchange with Aeryn, and then she raised her eyebrows and made vague hand movements.  “Not a real clear question there, Aeryn,” he observed.  She looked like she was about to explode so he relented.  “Event horizon?”  Yes.

“Anything reaching the event horizon, even light, is not going to get back out.  That’s our make-or-break point.  We hit that boundary and it’s Happy Trails … sorry, Aeryn,” he jumped back in before she could make another gesture.  “Hit the event horizon and we are dead, dead, dead.  No way out.  But right now we are outside it by … ” he waggled his head, doing some fast calculations of relative size and distance, “ … I don’t know!!  I guess maybe a large enough distance that we might have a prayer.” 

Crichton stared at it the projection a bit longer, considering.  Yes/No answers made the process so damned slow.  He looked up at Aeryn, “What about Jool and all of her book larnin’?  She didn’t have any ideas on how to get out?”  No.  He heard Rygel’s burping, bubbling dialect, unmistakably sarcasm even without the slightest context.  Aeryn fired something back angrily.  “Not an easy discussion earlier?”  She glared at him and gave a series of small emphatic headshakes.   

John wished he could have been here to listen to that. He returned to the bigger problem, chewing on the base of his thumb for a moment.  Then he leaned forward, noticing something about the image.  “Pilot is that thing spinning?”  Nod from Aeryn.  “Oh dren.”  Raised eyebrows from Aeryn.  “A spinning blackhole does things a bit different, and it warps space-time for thousands of metras around it.”  He tried to remember more from his classes at college. 

He stood up and began to pace a short distance.  “Wait.  This could be a good thing.  Sitting on the edge of a strong gravity source like this, time is going to be moving slower for us here.  We could wind up losing decades, maybe more.  But hitting a time distortion getting out might put us back where we belong … or make it worse.” 

Aeryn gesticulated at the image with both hands, made sweeping motions.  “Exactly.  All moot point unless we get out.”  Vigorous nod.  She gestured directly at him with both hands.  “Me.  I get to figure out how to get us out.”  Hands and nod said yes.  He looked down at her expectant look, full of faith in his capability, and wasn’t sure he was going to be able to measure up this time.  He rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger, trying to think, but only coming up with a fervent desire that this was all another fever-induced bad dream.  He opened his eyes.  No change in the view. 

“You know what?”  A single clipped word from Aeryn.  He glanced across Command at D’Argo and Chiana and then looked back at her, “I think this is still all part of a strange Scarran delusional trick, and I‘m going back to bed until it’s over.”  Nope, she wasn’t falling for it. 

* * * * *

Captain Hasman found himself unmolested on the upper tiers of the ship, searching for a vertical shaft that might take him back to the level where the maintenance bays were located.  His pursuers had been on the verge of catching him when the entire vessel had begun shaking.  At first he’d hoped that another Peacekeeper vessel had caught up with them and was attacking, but everything had been quiet for too long.  He didn’t know what had happened to the ship, but it was the only reason he was still free.  Or alive.

He jogged past one abandoned cell after another, sometimes glancing in quickly to see if anything useful had been left behind.  So far he had come up empty.  Some cells were stripped bare, others had been vacated hastily, uniforms and personal items left strewn carelessly about.  When he found a collection of cast off items he would take the time to rifle rapidly through them, hoping that he might find a weapon of some sort.  He knew it was a vain hope, but diligence had paid off in the past, and he was willing to spend the few extra microts searching in case it yielded anything of value. 

* * * * *

John sat slumped at the strategy table, resting his head on his folded arms, near to falling asleep.  It had taken two tedious arns to establish some basic facts about their situation.  Normal Hetch Drive couldn’t be used because the strong gravitational forces were distorting the drive energies in Moya’s ion backwash chamber before they could be focused and used, literally bending the ion flow.  At maximum effort, Moya could produce just enough drive to continue station holding, no more.

Moya was also expending so much energy just holding her position that she was unable to divert any extra to starburst out of their trap.  And that was assuming that the spaces between dimensions used by starburst weren’t warped by the gravity as well.  Probably no one alive knew if those slipways were subject to the physics altering effects of a singularity, and they weren’t going to have the opportunity to find out until they somehow slid in there themselves.   

Moya was weakening slowly but inexorably.  It was only a matter of time before she reached the point of exhaustion and then they would spiral into the center, crushed into nothingness.  The only other thing they had established was that he currently had no idea how to break them loose from its grip. 

John let the chaos of voices wash over him, no longer trying to understand any of the syllables, just letting the tone and the emotions soak into him.  Something in one of the voices struck him like a physical blow and he lifted his head, turning to looked straight at D’Argo.  The Luxan saw him turn his gaze his way and suddenly looked embarrassed.  John’s face was empty of all its normal pleasantness, but he didn’t say anything. 

He stared at D’Argo for another few microts, and then got up, feeling immensely tired, and walked out of Command.  “If you need me, give me a call on the comms, but there’s no guarantee I’ll understand anything.” 

“John,” Aeryn objected to his departure, but with his back already turned he just continued the way he was headed.   

“Well, that was brilliant D’Argo!” Chiana accused.  “Why did you have to go say that about him when he was sitting right here in the room?”

“I thought you said he couldn’t understand what we were saying.”  His voice blamed the others, but D’Argo’s thoughts were focused only on the fact that he had hurt his friend once again.

“He can’t understand the words you’re saying D’Argo, but I keep trying to tell you that you are still underestimating John in small ways.”  Aeryn sighed and looked out of the front view screen at the creature that held them.   “Now what the frell are we going to do?”

Chiana looked at D’Argo in astonishment. “You can’t just let him leave like that.  Go after him!  Apologize and get him back here, D’Argo.”  The Luxan looked at her, his expression impossible to read, and then turned and followed the route taken by Crichton. 

“Do you think he’ll be able to get John to come back?”  Aeryn asked the room at large. 

“I would like either one of you to describe the occasion during which you heard of a Luxan apologizing.  It’s an impossibility, and you are deluded if you think our resident warrior is going to suddenly break with tradition.”  Rygel looked at the two women with disbelief and disgust at their naivety.     

“There are other ways of letting John know he’s sorry,” Chiana said, still staring in the direction where the two men had disappeared.  “Did anything Crichton said give you any new ideas, Aeryn?” 

Aeryn’s only new idea was that she too had been underestimating John in small ways.  She had been absorbed into the process as he had sucked in more information than the rest of the crew combined, and without understanding a single word of the conversation flowing around him.  A single yes or no answer would lead to a barrage of further questions, until he seemed satisfied that he had drained Pilot’s resources.  She dragged herself back to Chiana’s question.  “No, I still don’t have any idea what to do about this.  Pilot?” 

“Yes, Officer Sun.” 

“How long can Moya hold out?”  John had asked technical questions about energy reserves and rate of flow, but they had never discussed a time frame for action. 

“At the current rate of drain, Moya will begin slipping into the gravity well in just under twelve arns.  I cannot estimate how long it will take after that before the stress collapses her hull.” 

* * * * *

John tried to shut his mind to the sense of betrayal he’d left behind after hearing D’Argo’s tone.  He tried to focus on creating a new line of thinking about their invisible prison instead.  His thoughts were revolving around an image of futility, and he was trying to kick himself into a more productive mode.  He knew he had to break free of the belief that this situation was impossible.  Most of his life in the Uncharted Territories could be listed under the heading of “Unbelievable To Humans” -- there had to be an alternative somewhere. 

He drifted back to the first time he had seen something that appeared to defy rational thought.  He’d been seven, and his father had taken him to the airport in Atlanta to watch the planes take off and land.  He’d watched with his mouth hanging open as a Boeing 707 had rumbled down the runway for almost a mile, accelerating straight toward their parking spot just outside the airport perimeter.  Then more than three hundred thousand pounds of metal and humanity had broken loose of gravity, heaving itself into the air.  The roar and the stench of burnt jet fuel had filled his senses, and he’d been Chicken Little for one moment as the sky above was filled with shivering aluminum panels. 

An errant thought buzzed through John’s head.  A quick sting of mental connection and then it was gone.  It wasn’t his habit to chase those tenuous thoughts, finding that they tended to flee ahead of pursuit.  But this one had the scent of solution and he began to carefully stalk it.

“John, wait!”  He stopped walking and turned to face the source of the bass-throated demand, feeling a twinge of frustrated anger because he felt the thread snap.  He had lost the trail of the teaser.

“What’s up, D’Argo?”  He tried to sound pleasant, but he didn’t really want to try to communicate with D’Argo at that moment.  Moya’s safety was waiting, and he needed to think.

“John.”  D’Argo took a huge breath and let it out, but the words he most wanted to say still weren’t there.  “We need your help.  Please come back to Command.  I will not say anything like that again, you have my word of honor.” 

Buried beneath the tattoos, the braids, and the tentacles, Crichton saw the heaviness of spirit.  He could see the effect, but he couldn’t discern its cause.  D’Argo was uncomfortable about something, probably whatever he’d said in Command.  He debated taking the time to play twenty questions to expose the source of the big guy’s discomfort.  Then the shy idea flitted by again, and drew his attention away from the waiting expression. 

“I need to just think for a while, D’Argo.  Tell Aeryn I’ll come back to Command in a little while.”  The last of the reservoir of rage inside D’Argo finally emptied.  He watched as Crichton walked away, head down, staring at the floor.  He felt that he should have tried harder to express his remorse.  A small portion of his aimless anger had remained percolating for two entire days.  The sight of the solitary man walking away, cut off from them all, made him realize that he didn’t have one good reason for feeling sorry for himself. 

Crichton had only wandered a short distance further when a flash of yellow burst through one of the small hatches made specially for the DRDs and ran toward him.  He was trying to tease the thought out of hiding, so he didn’t notice One-Eye as the robot fell in alongside.  He paused in the first intersection he had come to, lost in a haze, not thinking about where he was headed or hearing the chirps and squeaks at his feet. 

“Ow!  Dren that hurts!”  He danced away from One-Eye, one ankle and foot full of pins and needles.  The thought was gone completely.  The DRD had resorted to bashing into his ankle in order to get his attention, somehow managing this time to smash a nerve against bone.  “You have my attention, really you do.  Lead on, oh master of mine.”  He gestured to the DRD and limped after it, occasionally hopping as he waited for the feeling to come back into his foot.

One-Eye led John to Pilot’s Den, scooting off into the shadows as soon as he followed it into the cavernous room.  Crichton approached Pilot, uncertain as to why he had been shepherded here.  “Hi ya, Pilot, what’s shakin’?”  He listened to the symphony of sounds that flowed out of the huge being, astonished that his microbes had turned that incredible melodic mixture into everyday English.  It sounded like an entire group of people were talking simultaneously in cadence and harmony. 

Pilot beckoned to him, and Crichton worked his way over the consoles and stood alongside him, inside his bulwarks.  Pilot began manipulating controls, and one of his displays came alive with a presentation of the blackhole that John hadn’t viewed yet.  It was one that had not been displayed in Command.  “Is this the latest sensor information from Moya?” 

Pilot’s spreading cranial shell fanned his hair as he nodded his head.  John reflected that a moment’s inattention could result in a skull fracture … but only for himself.  He looked at Pilot’s thick plates and considered.  “Pilot, one blink for yes, two blinks for no.  It’s faster than nods.”  Not to mention safer.  One of Pilot’s claws moved, and a single light blinked once on the display he had prepared for John. 

Crichton leaned a hip against the side of the consoles and rested his chin on his hand, elbow on his knee.  He bent closer to watch the presentation, assessing the new information but coming no closer to a solution.  He jumped the tiniest bit when one of Pilot’s arms came to rest gently upon his shoulders.  “Thank you, Pilot.  I appreciate the thought,” he said without looking up.  “Can you turn this image over?  Upside down?”  He watched the new display of forces and gained nothing.  “Try reversing it, let me see what the situation looks like from the singularity’s point of view.”  Nothing revealed itself. 

Escape a singularity.  The idea was still so far outside his frame of reference he was having trouble getting his mind to consider alternatives. 

“Pilot, when the Illonics were on board, did we get any of their data?”  Two blinks, no.  “Dren.” One blink.  He looked at Pilot but there was no trace of a smile there.  He suspected that in addition to reading a lot, the huge creature had been working on developing a very dry sense of humor.  “Matala never got her hands on that processor of Verrell’s.  Did that have any information left on it?”  Two blinks.  The Illonics had been able to capture a piece of a singularity, a staggering accomplishment but ultimately a fatal one. 

If the Illonics could do that, then manipulating the singularity was possible.  He felt the hinges of his mind creak open a hair, unlocking possibilities, but still couldn’t envision a productive avenue.  The ghost of his thought hadn’t returned yet either.  He stood up straight carefully, knowing he hadn’t spent much time there, but frustrated by his lingering sense of futility.  He looked around the station.  “How’s Moya doing?” 

Pilot touched a control and a series of schematics were displayed.  John bent to look at the readouts that he had once described as a cross between a blueprint and a CAT-scan, but which now looked like blessed sanity and organization.  At least his understanding of this hadn’t been taken away. 

“Pilot, she’s leaking energy.  I know none of these breaks are major, but why hasn’t anyone taken care of this? … Never mind.  Why don’t you tell Aeryn and D’Argo about these ruptures, and let them know I’m on the way down to meet them.  They can show me which ones they want me to work on.”  A single light blinked once on the panel.  John tapped him lightly on the top of his shell, slid over the edge of the barrier, and strode out of the Den. 

* * * * *

Hasman tossed discarded clothes in a corner.  He was searching a cell that the previous owner had abandoned without removing any personal possessions.  He rifled quickly through another carrier full of uniform items, and stopped when his hand encountered something coldly familiar.  He pulled the item loose and looked at the breach mechanism of a pulse rifle.  It was just one piece, but it was a beginning.  He dumped the container over and found four more parts.  He had the chakan oil receiver and part of the triggering mechanism.  He finished a fast sweep of the chamber, and began a more thorough search of the rest of the tier. 

* * * * *

It took John longer than he expected to get back to Command, having to stop once to catch his breath.  His body was forcing him to concede how much stamina had been stolen by his illness.  He was repeatedly finding himself breathless or dizzy, drained of energy at a time when he needed it most.  When he walked at last into the large chamber, he found it empty.  “Frell!”  They had started without him, but to be fair, comming him would have been a waste of time. 

“OW! … Dang it all!”  A different DRD, the opposite ankle, but it had used the same method to get his attention.  “Are you enjoying yourself?”  The drone didn’t respond.  “Would you like to take me somewhere to start repairs?”  One blink.  It turned and led the way out of the room, Crichton limping a little again as he followed it. 

* * * * *

[KernilCrash]

CHAPTER 10 (continued)

Aeryn finished sealing the last of the incisions she’d made while repairing Moya’s wiring, and leaned back, stretching cramped muscles.  Why couldn’t leviathans be bred with more worker-friendly access to major systems, she wondered.  She was hit with an annoying flash of appreciation for the work that Techs did on a daily basis, and found herself longing for the days when all she had to do was fight and relax.  No grot work, no brain draining thinking, no emotionally taxing relationships.  She patted Moya’s vertical conduit, and knew that despite the wishful thinking, she would never choose to go back. 

“Pilot, are there any other repairs to be done?” 

“No, Officer Sun, thank you.  Moya’s reserves are dropping at a much slower rate now because she isn’t leaking energy any longer.  But perhaps you could check on Commander Crichton.  He is finishing his last repair.”  Aeryn heard something else in Pilot’s voice, but it was unfamiliar.

“Certainly.  Where is he working?”  There was a brief, puzzling pause, and then he gave her directions. 

When Aeryn approached the large cavity where John was supposed to be working, she couldn’t hear any movement and she felt irritation run through her, suspecting she had misunderstood Pilot’s description of where he was located.  She bent to look inside anyway and saw the soles of his unmoving boots.  There was a nasty lurch as she thought something had happened to him again, but when she stepped inside, she found he had simply fallen asleep on the hard deck.  She looked over the repairs he had made, and was impressed.  It was high quality work, and he had done it in less time than hers had taken. 

She considered letting him sleep a little longer, but remembered the Peacekeeper and knew that even this short nap was hazardous in the extreme.  Pilot must have known that.  It had probably been the source of the strange note in his voice.  Aeryn knew she was indulging herself as she took a moment to watch him sleeping.  The ship’s dilemma was too great to allow her much leeway, though, so she nudged John gently with her foot.  “Let’s go Mr. Humans-Are-Superior,” she started to tease him, and then remembered that it was useless. 

The first nudge hadn’t woken him, so Aeryn crouched down and shook his shoulder, watching in silence how slowly he woke up.  When he finally came to, he appeared to have no problem remembering what was going on, only looking embarrassed for having fallen asleep.  She was relieved that his mind was clear, even if the lines of fatigue were etched more deeply than ever around his eyes. 

“Sorry, Aeryn.  I asked Pilot to have you come down to show me what to fix next, but I guess I kind of zonked out there for a bit.”  She didn’t know what to say or indicate so she simply put her hand down and helped pull him to his feet.  As John turned to pick up the tools he had left in a pile on the floor she saw the dark bruises that still painted his arms.  The emotional turmoil of that day began to bubble up from inside her once more.  She forced it back down, knowing they didn’t have time for such weakness.

John followed Aeryn, finally recognizing that her route was taking them back to Command.  “No more repairs to be done?” he asked.  He watched from behind as she shook her head.  He recognized the stiff carriage, the ramrod straight spine, and knew that something was making her angry.  He couldn’t coax it out of her, he didn’t have the capacity for a hide-and-seek conversation about whatever was bothering her.  He decided to ask her straight out.   

“Aeryn, did I do something to make you mad?”  She stopped and turned to look at him, a mixture of expressions flowing over her face.  John thought he knew Aeryn as well as anyone could, but he discovered he didn’t have a clue what was going on.  He had been able to read her posture in his quarters, understand her intent based on body language alone, but that knack seemed to have deserted him.  She finally shook her head and turned away, still heading for Command. 

“Cut me some slack here, Aeryn.  It takes everything I’ve got just to figure out that you’re ticked off.  I haven’t started learning Sebacean Sign Language yet, so how about just giving in a little bit this time and you tell me what’s going on?”  She didn’t stop.  Her head came up a little higher, and her pace increased, which told him she was even more angry or upset.  He still didn’t have a clue. 

“That’s just great.”  He was having to almost yell after her now.  “I’m going for a walk to give myself time to think.  If you need me, have Pilot send another yellow kamikaze driver after me.”  He knew she might not understand that phrase, and suddenly didn’t care.  He turned out of the corridor at the first intersection he came to and tried futilely to redirect his thoughts back to their problem. 

When Aeryn heard John lapse into another of his untranslatable humanisms it was a sharp reminder of what he was contending with every waking microt.  She turned to relent, but he was gone.  She’d done it again!  She’d driven him away with her uncontrolled behavior.  She considered going after him, but that hadn’t worked for them in the past.  She settled for hoping he’d be careful.  There was still that frelling officer wandering around. 

* * * * * 

The officer leapt clear of the ladder and looked around him in wonder.  The tier had been hideously burned.  Thick scar tissue lined the corridors; the floors were gnarled and uneven beneath his heavy boots.  The passageway was gloomy, lights melted into the walls, slowly being consumed by the creeping scabs of the ship’s healing tissues.  He didn’t waste time searching the section.  Any fire hot enough to sear a leviathan would not have left anything intact in the cells. 

He ran around a corner and came face to face with a Banik.  The slave’s face was half covered with the mask of a Stykera.  Hasman saw the one eye widen and he tried to turn a weapon to bear.  ‘A weapon at last,’ he thought, and didn’t hesitate.  He leapt forward and struck the inferior being across the side of the face with his elbow, grabbed at the pulse rifle and tried to rip it out of his grasp. 

An unholy shriek filled the corridor.  The Banik screamed in fury and his free hand ripped at Hasman’s throat, steely fingers sinking in, diving toward his windpipe.  Hasman dropped his chin, trying to pin the clasping grip before it could do damage.  He beat at the face, pulled at the rifle, but the slave didn’t falter.  He was shouting names now, and Hasman realized his comms must be open.  He was summoning help.  He hit the man harder, driving him to his knees and loosening the grip on his own throat.  He was wrenching at the rifle again when he heard pounding footsteps approaching from the lit area to his right.  Hasman admitted to another defeat, let go of the rifle and ran. 

“Stark!  Are you all right?”  Crichton hovered over him for a moment, and then helped him stumble to his feet.  He had Wynona out, watching the corridor in both directions.  “Was it the Peacekeeper?”  Stark began a string of non-rhythmic sounds.  He was in his more lucid state, John realized, not chanting repetitive babblings.  He could at least tell that difference from Stark’s speech.  “Whoa, yes or no only, Astro!  I can’t get the rest.” 

Stark was bleeding from the nose and a cut lip, but ignoring the fast running streams, he grabbed Crichton by his vest and shoved him in the direction his assailant had gone. 

Crichton accelerated, leaving the somewhat dazed Stark behind.  He ran full speed for the first fifteen motras, knowing the cells there were all fused shut.  There was nowhere for the commando to hide until he reached the first junction.  “Pilot, are there DRDs to track …”  Frell!  Why even bother asking?  His comms squealed twice.  No DRDs ahead.  Yotz, this phantom was lucky.  Why couldn’t they catch a break?  He realized that was a stupid question … when were they ever lucky?  He ran faster, trying to catch up before they lost him again.

* * * * * 

Hasman reached the intersection and spotted a vertical shaft.  There was a neural bundle in the center, but when he reached the well there was no ladder.  Two sets of running feet were approaching from either side and he could hear his original pursuer behind him.  The drop between tiers was more than anyone could hope to traverse without injury, but he didn’t have a choice.  He swung over the parapet and lowered himself to the full extent of his reach and let himself drop. 

* * * * *

“Chiana!  D’Argo!”  Crichton raised his pulse pistol, pointing it at the ceiling once he recognized the two sprinting figures.  “Scare me half to death for the ninth time today.  Did you see anything?”  Two voices responded.  He spread his hands and looked at them with his eyebrows raised as far as he could get them.  “Little help here?”  No they hadn’t seen him, and he already knew that they had approached from separate directions.  He pointed to the fourth passageway and they started down that corridor. 

They all pulled up short, almost colliding, as two DRDs approached from the opposite direction.  He listened to the quick exchange between D’Argo and Pilot, but watched Chiana’s expression.  She was easier to read.  Nothing.  Their poltergeist Peacekeeper had gotten away again.  John followed D’Argo back to the junction and they all looked for the other way out.  John was the first to peer down to the tier below.  He looked over at D’Argo, “What do you think?  Could he have survived that drop?” 

The Luxan considered it, measuring the distance judiciously, and then shook his head for John‘s sake.  “I don’t think so.  Not even I would attempt that height.” 

John looked around again.  “Frell!”  Why couldn’t they get this guy?  He knew the others had been searching or chasing him for arns.     

“Frell!”  D’Argo yelled in frustration at the same time that the word exploded out of Crichton.  Chiana looked from one to the other and broke into laughter.  After two microts D’Argo loosened up and began to smile as well.  John’s head had snapped around at D’Argo’s outburst and he watched the two of them crack up, perplexed.  Chiana finally pointed at both him and D’Argo simultaneously so he could get it.  He shook his head smiling and holstered Wynona. 

“What now?” he asked the pair. 

Hands signals indicated D’Argo and Chiana going to the tier below them, the rest was too vague.  “You’re going to go look anyway?  See if he made the drop?”  Nods. 

‘Might be time for that fictitious sign language course,’ he reflected.  ‘Sign Language for the Uncharted Territories?   Might want to at least reconsider that label, John.’  He shook his head, tossing the thought away, and tried to focus on the matter at hand. 
   
“I’m going to go see if Stark is … ”  Hands told him what he was saying was wrong.  “Stark’s all right or is being taken care of already?”  Yes.  He stood hands on hips and considered.  “In that case, I’m just going to finish my walk.”  Astonished expressions.  “I need to think about getting Moya loose and walking helps.”  He saw his own thumbs up gesture thrown in his direction in duplicate, but it didn‘t offset the deep anxiety he saw in their faces.  He felt the need to find a solution settle more heavily on to his shoulders.   

* * * * *

“Rygel, where are you?”  Aeryn asked into her comms.  She was back on Command, monitoring Pilot’s and Moya’s efforts to resolve their two lethal problems.   

“Getting something to eat.  Is there a pressing decision to be made?  If not I prefer to dine uninterrupted.”  Rygel had overheard the rapid exchange of verbal traffic as the Peacekeeper had been seen, chased and lost. 

“The commando officer has been spotted in the burned tiers near Zhaan’s quarters.  He’s disappeared again.  If you need to be in that portion of the ship, be careful.” 

“Be anywhere in that festering wound?” he deliberately exaggerated the existing damage.  “I can’t imagine any activity that would convince me to go down there.” 

“All right.  As long as you are still armed and know where he was last seen.” 

“Why isn’t anyone chasing him anymore?”  Rygel maneuvered his Throne Sled as he continued to talk. 

“D’Argo and Chiana had to give up.  There was no sign of him again.  He’ll have to wait until we get Moya loose.  We only have eleven arns left before she’s exhausted.”  Aeryn’s voice was filled with bitterness and frustration. 

Rygel reached up and shut off his comms.  He had lied about getting something to eat.  He floated beneath the vertical opening where the others assumed the vermin had escaped.  He looked at his choices of corridors, reviewing where each one led.  “If I were a foul, murdering, mindless automaton … which way would I go?”  He turned his Throne Sled and tried a corridor. 

* * * * *
 
John’s unresolved frustration over not being able to talk with Aeryn goaded him to return to an area of Moya he hadn’t visited since Zhaan’s death.  He stood outside the burned and scarred room, hesitating to enter.  He could see the remains of the bunk, the chanting bell she had used for her Seek, some of her oils and potions in warped, melted glass vials.  His feet seemed glued to the floor.  He couldn’t go forward, but he couldn’t leave either. 

He finally broke the spell of indecision by scanning one more time up and down the gray, poorly lit corridor.  This was where he had been headed when he’d heard Starks yells of alarm.  When he looked back in the door he was able to walk slowly into the chamber.  He eased himself down to sit on the charred bed, sitting where she had lain, her head in Stark’s lap when he had come to confirm she was dying. 

He wanted to talk to her, tell her things, ask for her help.  Now that he was here, he found he couldn‘t do it.  He thought of Unity, the one place where he might have been able to hear a sane voice in the midst of the bedlam of his new realm.  Zhaan had always been able to understand his actions, his motivations.  He felt the need for that kind of insight now to understand his friends.  He finally spoke out loud, but to no one in particular. 

“I can see what they’re feeling, know how they’re saying things, but the sounds are just noise.  There have been so many times over the cycles when I’ve just wanted to put my fingers in my ears and shut them all out, and now that their voices are gone … ” he trailed off and dropped his head into his hands. 

He was just so tired, physically and mentally.  His brain kept struggling against the new restriction, constantly filled with a surreal expectation that the well-known and well-loved voices would suddenly rearrange the mixture of sounds, and words would rise out of the anarchy.  It was like listening to a badly tuned radio, the music and lyrics indistinguishable.  He kept expecting his brain to turn the dial, and for clarity to emerge from the static.

“Time and patience, John.”

He looked up to see Zhaan, standing in the doorway to her quarters, about to leave him to step inside.  He felt the familiar comfort of his long since destroyed IASA flight jacket, the knit collar providing some warmth against the still unfamiliar chill of Moya’s internal airflow.  “Is that your answer for everything?” he asked her.

“Yes, because it’s always the right answer.”  She smiled at him serenely, her world still in balance.  It hadn‘t been disrupted yet by violence and desperate measures.

“Zhaan, my life here was starting to finally make sense.  But I’m back to square one; the others will treat me like some sort of Earth idiot again.”  He voiced his fears, but was careful not to move, not wanting to disrupt the tenuous moment.

“John, there’s so much information that needs to be assimilated, sometimes the smaller things will elude you.  Develop your patience.  You can hear them if you just take the time and patience.”

He just grinned back at her, enveloped in Zhaan’s acceptance, leaning against the wall with his hands in the pockets of his khaki uniform pants.  “Time and patience.”

“Time and patience,” she repeated once more.  “I get the feeling you’re going to be able to handle this soon, John.”

He turned away, starting back down the corridor, but a thought of something more recent stabbed through him.  “Zhaan, I never told you …”  He turned back but she was gone.

John raised his head out of his hands and looked around the room in confusion.  That hadn’t been a dream, he hadn’t dozed off again.  Had he?  He could still feel the peaceful touch of her presence -- it was almost tangible.  But he was wearing the black T-shirt and leather pants that was his daily uniform now, the khaki pants destroyed long ago on Acquara.  The conversation was familiar, but he knew it hadn’t occurred like that, it wasn’t what had actually been said. 

“I never told you … I never said how …” he closed his mouth and sat thinking, still unable to voice his festering pain.  “How sorry I was for what I did.  It was my fault, my blindness that led to your end.”  But there was no answer.  The wound stung still, a brand burned deep into his heart.     

“Crichton, are you all right?”

John jumped as the voice broke him out of his reverie.  He clutched at his chest, trying to convey how badly he had been startled.  “Astro!”  He took another deep breath.  “Stark, make a noise next time.  Don’t sneak up on me like that!  My heart doesn’t come back from molecular dispersion.” 

He turned to look at the Banik, seeing peace and sanity in his one eye, now surrounded by rapidly spreading bruises.  Stark was going to be the most difficult one for him to learn to cope with, his half-face only projecting a portion of what went on in his mind.  He looked for the grief that had been Stark’s constant companion for days, and saw that it was finally absent.  “Are you all right?” he asked, not knowing for sure whether he meant physically or mentally. 

“Zhaan was here, wasn’t she Crichton?  I heard her talking to you as I walked in the hall.  I could hear her telling you things, but I didn’t understand her meaning.  Did she help you?  Could you hear and understand her?” 

Crichton watched as Stark walked to the middle of the chamber and spread his arms, reaching out to his sides, hands spread wide.  His voice was deep and even, one of Stark’s almost divine tones when the special sight of the Stykera controlled his soul.  He listened to the upswings in his voice, the probing tones, and watched the one eye close in concentration. 

Time and patience.  Maybe she had come back to watch out for him one more time.  He still couldn’t understand a single word of what Stark was saying, but somehow it didn’t matter quite as much as it had before.  He felt the muscles in his neck relax just a little. 

“John can we finally talk now?”  John was laying on his bed in his parent’s house, dressed in his favorite broken-in jeans and an MIT T-shirt.  He looked at Scorpy over the toes of his bare feet.

“Just my luck.  First Heaven and now Hell!  Hey, nice shiner.”  The clone was sporting an enormous black eye.  “Who you been pissing off lately, Harvey?”

“You did that John.  I must say I was rather impressed when you forced me out of your mind earlier today.”  He walked over to the bookcase in the corner and began examining the titles, fingering some of the books that John had owned since he was a boy.  “Tom Swift and His Flying Car.  Is this fine literature on your world, John?”

“Sure, Harvey.  Comes in right after the Hardy Boys.  What do you want?”

“You accused me of removing your capacity for understanding what your crewmembers were saying …”

“I know better now, Harvey.”  John rolled off the bed and padded barefoot to where Scorpius was still looking through his books.  He snatched a volume out of his hands and placed it carefully back in the bookcase, wondering if those books would actually still be waiting for him when he got home.  “My body won’t tolerate the foreign microbes anymore, it just kills them … you know that, I know that … get to the point.  Why did you pop up?”
 
Stark’s comms activated and Aeryn called him.  “Stark, have you seen Crichton?  Chiana said he was somewhere down on the tier where you are.” 

“Yes.  Crichton is right here.”   

“Could you bring him up to Command, please?  Pilot says there is some new sensor data that might make a difference.” 

 “John, Officer Sun would like you to return to Command to evaluate some new sensor data.” Scorpius spoke over his shoulder as he continued looking through the bookcase.

“All right, I’ll go.”  John rolled off his bed and started for the door, as … he got up off Zhaan’s charred bunk and headed out of the door and into the corridor. 

John charged back into his bedroom, grabbed Scorpius by his black leather clad arms and slammed him up against the wall.  Model airplanes tumbled off shelves and clattered to the floor.  “What the frell was that all about?  You said you couldn’t be of any help.  You’ve been lying to me again, Scorpy.”  He pulled the clone away from the wall, and smashed him back against it again.  His frustration came bubbling up out of the dark place he had caged it, and it felt good to take it out on the image of Scorpius.

Stark followed Crichton out of Zhaan’s chamber, intending to follow Aeryn’s instructions, and found him standing motionless in the corridor.  He hesitated to approach Crichton, sensing the energy emanation in him that he had come to know was the result of interaction with the neuro-clone.  The signature was even stronger than normal, and he backed slowly away. 

“I told you the truth, John.  I couldn’t understand anyone in the chamber when you first accused me of doing this to you.  I cannot translate on my own.  But Officer Sun was not in your quarters, and Officer Sun is Sebacean … as am I.  I did try to tell you … twice.  But you forced me out before I had time to consider this option.  It’s your own fault, John.”
   
John released him and backed away.  “So you can understand just Aeryn, just Sebacean?”

“Correct, and I believe we can work together to compensate for your unfortunate condition.”

“One thing at a time, Scorpy.  Let me consider this for a while.”  Another thought occurred to him.  “What about the blackhole?  Have you been holding out on me there too?”

“You know Scorpius’ interest was invested entirely in wormholes, John.  Controlling singularities is not something any rational species would try.  I have no information to offer, except that I want to survive as much as you do now.  I will do whatever it takes to help you and your friends out of this situation.”

“All right, Harvey.  Let’s see what happens, no guarantees, and you DON‘T get your money back if you‘re not entirely satisfied.”

John ran down the corridor as he finished the conversation in his head.  He was filled with a conflicting mixture of elation and dread, leaving him feeling almost as queasy as he had felt the day before.  He had a way of communicating now, but it meant relying on Scorpy, something he never would have envisioned in all his worst nightmares.  He didn’t know if he could trust the clone to translate reliably, and he really didn’t know if he wanted to allow it to co-exist as frequently as communication would demand. 

He was still in a turmoil when he entered Command.  He was relieved to see that Aeryn was the only one there.  He didn’t want to have to explain this to anyone else right away, not till he could decide if this was a blessing or the most foul of curses.  He tried to figure out the best way to bring this up without Aeryn trying to take his head off.  He didn’t expect her to like this very much.   

“John, I’m glad you’re here, Moya has collected some new information,” she spoke before she remembered that it wasn’t any use. 

“John, I’m glad you’re here, Moya has collected some new information,” he repeated after a moment’s delay. 

Aeryn whirled around, an eager smile blossoming on her face.  Before she could say anything further, she was frozen into granite stillness, her excitement dying unexpressed.  John’s face was a flowing mixture of emotions, but there wasn’t even the slightest glimmer of a smile.  John always seemed to at least have a grin lurking somewhere, and it was missing completely now.  ‘He should be dancing with joy if his translator microbes were back,’ she thought. 

“How did you do that?” she asked, caution and suspicion roiling inside her.  He approached her slowly, and the feeling in her stomach got worse.   

He dropped his head for a moment, then looked up at her from under his eyebrows, “You’re Sebacean …”

“Of course I’m Sebacean, what does that have to do with it?”  She saw his eyes make their strange  momentary shift, as though he had left the room for a split microt, but was still here.  And she recognized where he had gone.  She had seen it too many times already.  “No!” she involuntarily backed away from him, watched the hurt from her retreat grow in his eyes.  She stopped her feet, held her ground.  “John, you can’t do it this way.  No matter what the problems are, you can not use that thing in your head to solve this.” 

John didn’t have to wait for the echoing translation in his head, he could read Aeryn’s reaction plainly.  Well, at least he had gotten one thing figured out right today … she definitely didn’t like this.

* * * * *

[KernilCrash]

CHAPTER 11

Jool hurried into Command followed closely by D’Argo, who slowly lowered his Qualta rifle as they reached the safety of the chamber.  They both opened their mouths to say something, but stopped as they saw the obvious tension between the couple.  John was wearing his most stubborn expression but D’Argo thought there was an underlying desperation that was pleading with Aeryn.  She looked ready to resort to physical violence, driven as much by anxiety as anger. 

“Aeryn, what choice do we have right now?”  John asked her in a near whisper. 

“What’s going on?”  D’Argo asked also in hushed tones, afraid to set something off. 

“She’s inviting you to explain the situation to the others, John,” came the voice inside his head.  He watched Aeryn flinch as he listened to the internal noise. 

“Either you give it to me absolutely verbatim Hood-Head, or you’re fired.”

A long sigh preceded the second translation.  “Why don’t you go ahead and tell them what you’re proposing to do, John?”  The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as Scorpius’ voice did an uncanny imitation of Aeryn’s inflections.

She was still waiting, nearly irate.  There was a painful block of ice in his chest, frozen in place by her anger and concern.  He knew there was love behind it, amplifying her emotions, but he couldn’t back down.  They had to do something -- anything -- to improve the overall situation.  He looked primarily at D’Argo and said simply, “Scorpius is Sebacean.” 

It took Jool less time to figure it out, and she gasped when she realized what he was already doing.  She hadn’t been there for the full emotional wrenching of the days when the neuro-chip hijacked his brain, but she had heard about the outcome and what it had cost Crichton -- and everyone else on board.  She’d been carefully warned about what he still carried in his mind, words of caution intermixed with the tones of compassion. 

D‘Argo broke in before she could object.  “John, you can’t be serious.  You’d be giving up control again!”  His entire body went rigid at the thought of even the residual Scorpius personality having any influence on Crichton’s behavior.  “How would you even know if he was translating correctly?”  He remembered that John couldn’t understand his objections, and looked in confusion between the two of them, seeking another way to translate his fears.     

John saw D’Argo’s muscles contract, saw him draw himself up in what looked like anger.  He got ready to either speak or run, but Jool was talking to them all emphatically.  He didn’t relax, keeping one eye on D’Argo, but he tried to watch Jool and Aeryn for reactions as well. 

“This may all be unnecessary.  Perhaps we could all act like civilized beings for just a microt.  I called D’Argo and asked him to bring me to see Crichton because I’ve modified some translator microbes and there’s a chance they might work.”  Everyone seemed to be watching everyone else at the same time.  Jool was trying to keep an eye on Aeryn for her reaction, but was trying to stay turned toward John so he might have a chance to infer what she was telling the others.   

Awkward silence reigned when she finished.  The room seemed to hold its breath.  It was John who moved first.  He looked at Aeryn, saw that she knew she would need to repeat whatever had just been said and was simply refusing.  She shook her head at him. 

Ever since John had first encountered Scorpius, it seemed as if his entire life had been filled with torture of various types.  Even when he hadn’t been suffering physically, those around him had been forced to watch his gradual personal destruction.  She didn’t want him relying on any portion of that half-breed’s mentality.  There had already been enough screams in the night from his room without inviting the apparition to visit all day.     

Jool watched the standoff for only microts before her patience wore thin.  She broke the deadlock by stepping next to Crichton and holding up an injector for him to see, hoping he could form the entire bridge to a conclusion without more information. 

“What are the chances that this will work?” Aeryn asked.  Her leaping hopes provided a chink into her armor of uncooperativeness. 

“What will work?” John cued in almost immediately.  Aeryn relented slightly and told him what Jool was offering, and grudgingly repeated the rest. 

Jool -->Aeryn-->Scorpy answered Aeryn’s question.  “I don’t know enough about transgenic manipulation of microbial forms to predict whether this will be successful.  I’ve tried to adjust the microbes with enough of John’s DNA that they won’t set off the immune reaction, but it meant radically altering the microbes themselves.” 

“Do you know anything about this stuff, Harvey?”  Scorpius’ genius couldn’t be denied, only its motivation and its application.

“No, I don’t,” the voice sounded bored and put-out.

“Go ahead and give it a try, Jool.”   She was still standing beside him, so she let her hand drop and punched the injector into the side of his thigh. 

“Nice technique,” he complained, rubbing the muscle, feeling a tingle run up his leg and then disappear.  He waited for one of the expectant faces to utter something, hope springing up unbidden to overfill his chest and banish reason from his mind. 

After several microts of waiting, Jool answered his complaint, “The microbes colonize better if they can draw nutrients from a muscle mass before they move into the brain stem.”  They all watched his face and knew it hadn’t worked. 

“Anything, John?”  D’Argo stepped closer and laid a hand on his shoulder, offering what comfort he could, trying to make a connection. 

“Hey Big D.  Not even a syllable,” his voice shook a little then steadied out.  “Let’s get back to the other problem.”  He shoved the huge mass of disappointment down inside and stepped toward the strategy table, intending to look at the new data.  A huge bolt of starlight exploded in his head, accompanied by what felt like an implosion of his skull, crushing his brain.  He felt his knees and palms hit the deck, and hunched there hanging on to consciousness by a thin strand.  It began to pass and he wheezed, painfully dragging air back into lungs which had emptied explosively when the bolt hit.  It was gone almost as quickly as it had come. 

“Are you all right, John?  What happened?”  The bored voice parodied the high-pitched concern in Aeryn’s voice.

“Help me up, I’m better now.  It’s just that Jool got it right this time.”  D’Argo grabbed him under his arms and hauled him to his feet.  John reflected that his big friend had been doing that a bit too often lately.  He’d have to see about cutting back.  His head still spun and a silly laugh escaped him as he was brought unsteadily to his feet. 

D’Argo didn’t let go until John was propped on a seat, half laying on the table.  He looked up at Aeryn.  “Try it again.”  The same clipped, jumbled consonants as before, with no attempt to hide the concern.  “Sorry kids, still no change.”  He looked down at the slow drip of blood onto his forearm and realized his nose was bleeding, “but those little dudes sure tried real hard.  Man, those were the Pro-Bowl linebackers of all microbes.”  He hiccupped once as his nervous system stopped shivering. 

Jool stood frozen, aghast at what she had done to him.  “See I told you this was how it was done, Jool.  Much better.”  He tried hard to make a joke out of it.  He looked around and Aeryn was gone.  Jool’s shocked answer would have to be inferred.  “Don’t worry about it, keep working.  If you could find another line of research though, I’d appreciate it.”  He grabbed the sleeve of his T-shirt, intending to wipe the blood off, but Aeryn reappeared at a half run carrying some clean cloths and handed one to him. 

D‘Argo-->Aeryn-->Harvey said, “D’Argo is going to take Jool back to the lab and then he’ll come back up here.”  John nodded at them over his fistful of towel.

Chiana entered Command before anyone could leave, spotting the stained towel held by Crichton right away.  “What happened?  Did you hit him again, D’Argo?”  Aeryn raised her voice and aimed a quick volley at the Nebari. 

“Did you want the entire soap opera, John?”

“You know I don’t like ad-libbing, Scorpy.  Either stick to the script or shut up.”  The clone went quiet.   

“Pilot, can we get back to business and take a look at that latest data from Moya?”

The hologram appeared, with Moya in the center this time.  The singularity appeared as a fixed point off to one side.  Multicolored bands represented gravitational flux patterns and shifts in spatial distortions wove an intricate mesh around the Leviathan.  John noticed thin and thick patches in the arrangement, mimicking the spiraling funnel of debris.  Several were quite close to their present location.  He stuck his finger into a holographic rift. 

“Pilot, is that a drop in gravity?”  He didn’t take his eyes of the slowly shifting pattern as he listened to an extended flood of Pilot‘s musical voice, but Aeryn’s voice didn’t chime in after Pilot’s.  He looked up and she looked like she had mental gas pains.  Whatever Pilot had said it had been too much for her. “Pilot, is that a drop in just gravity?”  No.  He didn’t need a translation for that answer.  “But the gravitational force does drop off there?”  Yes.  The tiny green leviathan was almost touching a gap in the swirling display as Moya stayed in one place and the forces spun around her. 

“I think everyone ought to grab on to something quick.” 

* * * * *

Captain Hasman crouched in the open door to a storage area.  His desperate jump had paid off, but he had paid a steep price.  He had tried to relax and roll when he landed, but had heard a sharp crack accompanied by a skewering pain, and knew that he had broken an arm.  He considered himself lucky that it hadn’t been a leg instead.  He was carrying the half-finished rifle in his good hand, the damaged one tucked into his belt.  He had added splint materials to the bottom of his list, but since he didn’t expect to survive his next offensive, he didn’t care as long as his arm didn‘t get in his way. 

He hadn’t found any more weapon parts, but he had located a workshop that appeared to be used for machining mechanoid components.  He had found two more items that could be modified to add to his mutated weapon.  He listened carefully for DRDs as he one-handedly cobbled the strange looking rifle together.  He did a mental inventory.  He needed a triggering device to act as an igniter, a stock or grip of some sort, and the weapon would need a chakan oil cartridge.  Then he could go hunting on more even terms. 

He got up to leave and was thrown back into the shop, crashing down amidst rattling debris. 
Dren, what was that?  It was almost as bad as the first shockwave.  Whatever was going on, this group of bandits seemed to be in trouble, perhaps he could take advantage of that.  He only needed to kill the pilot or mutilate its neural connections and he should be able to destroy this ship and everyone on it. 

* * * * *

“Is Moya all right?”  D’Argo had to shout a little over the din as the last series of metallic shrieking began to die away.  The gravitational shock wave had not been as bad as the first one, but there had been two phases this time.  Moya had seemed to skip for a moment, like a thrown stone across water.  Then she was jerked back again, shackled before she could make a move toward freedom.   

“There have been several ruptures in subsidiary neural connections, but she is otherwise unharmed.”  Pilot’s hologram appeared in the corner, and despite his calm tones they could see that his eyes were bugging out more than normal, and his arms were flying about madly as he worked to restabilize the functions of his massive host.   

“Was there any change in Moya’s proximity to the singularity?” John was looking at the display again, his voice a mixture of hope and conjecture.  He looked at Aeryn but rather than repeat the answer, she held up her hand with her thumb and forefinger barely apart.  “Improvement?”  Nod. 

She wasn’t going to make this easy for him.  She wasn’t going to let him use the clone any more than absolutely necessary.  “We’re not moving around the hole, it’s the distortions in space-time and the gravitational field, which are being pulled and warped by the singularity. They’re like heavy twisted cables of force being dragged by the spin in the middle.  If we can hold out until another one hits … ”  He knew it wasn’t enough to get loose, but it might help. 

The poltergeist thought teased him again.  “Frell!”  He needed time to think, to hunt down whatever his subconscious was trying to tell him.  “Let’s go repair those ruptures.”  He wanted to let his mind focus on something else.  He had to trap that idea, and he hoped when he did it would turn out to be something useful.  “Someone want to come with me?” 

* * * * *

Jool barely remembered to say anything to D’Argo as he made sure she was secure in the lab.  Her attention returned to the matter of helping John.  This was the first opportunity for intellectual challenge she’d had since waking up on board this floating collection of riff-raff.  She had frelled up the first part by not anticipating the reaction of Crichton’s immune system; she was determined to prove she could resolve the current difficulty. 

She had done her best to change the structure of the microbes, but had only managed to render them incapable of doing anything except cause the seizure she had witnessed only microts ago.
 
The sample of modified microbes slipped out of her shaking hands and smashed on the floor as she replayed the scene in her head.  She had assumed he was kidding yesterday when he had said everything around here hurt.  She hadn’t taken it seriously. 

So if changing the microbes hadn’t worked, she would have to change John’s physiology instead … for the second time.  But eliminating the problem would mean completely erasing his immune responses and starting over.  She looked around the infirmary she had somehow inherited and didn’t see the kinds of equipment or sterile safeguards that would make that a realistic approach.         

* * * * *

John eased down out of the cramped shaft where he had been making another repair.  He still couldn’t see where he had left the small pile of tools, but prepared to toss the laser sealer in that general direction to free up his second hand.  It was suddenly removed from his grip, and he looked down to see Aeryn waiting for him. 

“All done with yours?” he asked.  She just nodded.  She still wasn’t giving in.  He wasn’t sure if it was that she didn’t want him using the clone, or whether she herself didn’t want to talk to Scorpy.  Aeryn would only translate when there was no alternative, and the conversation passed beyond the capacity of hand signals.  Her reluctance had still been obvious when she had begun describing what repair was needed at this location.
 
He swung out of the shaft and landed with a thump next to her.  “Anything else?”  Head shake.  He chewed on his lower lip, trying to think of a way to convince her to communicate with him verbally.  He finally shrugged and said, “I still haven’t found my random thought, let’s get back up to the others.”  He had explained to her about his elusive sprite, which was still flitting around the edge of his mind.

John paused to raise both arms over his head and stretched, leaning over backwards, easing cramps in his shoulders and arms.   The access shafts weren’t really built for someone his size.  He didn’t know how big The Builders had been, but it was a good bet they weren’t over six feet.  He couldn’t imagine how D’Argo got into some of them.  He finished stretching and tucked his shirt back in where it had pulled loose.  He picked up the rest of the tools and looked up to find that Aeryn had already left. 

He ran after her, and saw that once again she was angry.  He’d had just about enough of this garbage for one lifetime.  He still didn’t understand what was setting her off.  He tossed the tools into a corner and caught up with her, grabbing her arm to swing her around. 

“Aeryn, I’ve had enough of this bullshit.  Tell me now what the frell is going on.”  Head shake.  She looked like she was ready to hit him … or cry.  He couldn’t tell which.  “Aeryn, I can’t think straight about what’s going on with Moya because I’m worried about what’s going on here.”  He managed to stuff the frustration back down inside, and got his voice back under control.  “Please tell me why you’re angry at me.”   

“I’m not angry at you, John, I’m mad at myself.”  The laconic voice came nowhere near the impassioned outburst from Aeryn.  She turned her head away from him, refusing to watch as he shifted to listen to the clone, but at least she didn’t move to leave. 

“Harvey, take ten.”

“I beg your pardon, John?  Take ten what?”

“Get lost.  Hit the road.  Take a long walk on a short wharf.  Go away.”

The space in his head was empty.  “Aeryn, he’s on a lunch break.  He’s not here, I promise.” 

She still didn’t say anything, just turned back to face him, tears beginning to slide down her cheeks.  She didn’t make any move to wipe them away, and he pulled his shirt loose again and gently wiped her face with the hem.  She ran her fingertips gently across his abdomen and he peered down to see that she was tracing the edges of the huge blackening bruise that covered his entire midsection. 

“THAT?  That’s what you’re upset about?” his voice went up nearly to a squeak in amazement.  “You think you had something to do with that?”  He was stunned.  She took him by the wrists, extended his arms and turned his palms up and then down, exposing all sides of his arms.  He looked down, saw the mottling, and shook his head.  He pulled his hands loose and placed them on her shoulders, giving her a little shake. 

“Aeryn, you did not do anything to cause that.”  She shook her head, disagreeing.  He tried to find the right words.  He had never been good at just admitting he was wrong, not even to Aeryn.  “How many people do you know who would deliberately chose to try to talk a Luxan out of hyper-rage?”  She held up one finger and began to look like she might be able to smile again.  He could practically hear her saying, ‘All you ever do is TALK!’  He still couldn’t bring himself to just say he had fouled up.  “You didn’t do anything to cause this.” 

He gave her a hug.  “Can we finish … “ she looked up with a gleam in her eyes, “… DISCUSSING this later?  When we aren’t about to get flushed down the world’s biggest porta-potty? … never mind that last one.  It doesn’t translate.”  She nodded, still smiling even if a bit weakly, and they continued toward Command.  John mused that he had just had one of his better talks with Aeryn, but maybe that was because he was listening to her so much harder now.

* * * * *

“Pilot, can you estimate how much longer before we get hit by the next gap in the field distortions?”  John had decided to divert to Pilot’s chamber instead of Command.  Although Pilot’s expressions were difficult to read, watching his reactions sometimes eliminated the need for translations. 

Pilot-->Aeryn-->Scorpy replied, An accurate estimate is not possible, Crichton, but the sensors indicate approximately five arns.  Aeryn wasn’t flinching every time he listened to the clone now, but he was increasingly unhappy with how accustomed he was becoming to the voice inside his psyche.  He was beginning to subconsciously merge the tone of the speaker’s voice with Harvey’s translation, forming a more accurate gestalt of the conversation, and he didn’t like how fast he was adapting to the process. 

“And how much longer before Moya runs out of steam?” 

“Seven arns.”

He looked at Aeryn.  “That doesn’t leave us any time for a second try.” 

“Have you found the idea?”  By resolving her own inner dilemma, Aeryn seemed to have found the strength to allow him to use the clone to hear her. 

“No, its still buzzing around at about Hetch A Million.”  He rubbed his head with both hands, feeling the fatigue beating at him from all sides.  “Where are D’Argo and Chiana?” 

He waited while she commed them and listened to the replies.  “They just finished the other repairs and are coming up here.”

“Good.  Let’s see if some collective thinking can turn up something new or kick start my imagination.  Should we get Jool or Stark up here to kick in ideas?”

* * * * *

Hasman crept into the maintenance bay where his career had effectively ended.  The place was a shambles, parts and tools scattered everywhere by the blast of the shock grenades.  He listened carefully but couldn’t hear any DRDs.  He scanned the walls and the ceiling for the yellow limpets but it all looked clear.  He wove his way through the jumble, watching for his last two parts.  He was looking for anything that might let him finish his weapon, no matter how ugly the result. 

He saw a heap of cast off wooden scraps in a corner, swept his foot through them and immediately discovered a block about the right size and shape for a stock and a grip.  He grabbed some cabling off a bench to secure it in place.  He only needed one more part plus the chakan oil cartridge, and he was in business.  A clear thought struck him and he smiled.  He knew where he could get that last component, and it was going to be poetic justice.   

* * * * *

John rolled over the consoles to rejoin his comrades as Jool and Stark entered the Den.  He had been taking another look at the sensor data, examining the thickening strands of gravitational and temporal distortions.  It had gotten worse in the past three arns, as the blackhole continued to reestablish its grip in the sector.  The total pull on Moya was the same, but the ride was only going to get rougher.  She wasn’t going to survive another shockwave if they didn’t make out with the help of the next break.

“Where’s Sparky?” 

“He said he was busy, and not to disturb him again.  I suspect he is cleaning out the food stores in preparation for our destruction,” said Aeryn-->Scorpy.

“Who cares what the slug is doing.  Why are we all here?  Have Pilot or John thought of anything yet?”  D’Argo’s patience was being put to the test, and he had begun to pace from Pilot’s station to the edge of the abyss.   

“Chill out, big guy,” John watched the frustrated figure and its restrained need for physical expression.  “I need some brainstorming from the rest of you.  I’m trying to kick start an idea here, and I figured just bouncing the situation around again might help.” 

Aeryn looked at him closely.  She hadn’t had a chance to repeat D’Argo’s questions before he had answered.  John didn’t appear to have realized what he had just done, and was still deep in thought.  He hadn’t quite answered D’Argo’s question, but he had been frelling close. 

“We need to get out when that gap arrives in five arns.  That’s all the time we have left.  We’re going to have a split-microt break in the pull like the last shockwave.  We need to find some way to get an extra kick in the butt.” 

He listened to the babble around him, the ebb and flow of discussion from his friends.  His brain had finally quit trying to pry sense out of the noises.  It was becoming a little more like the familiar rumble of a tuned engine, or the whine of power tools.  It was a sound that meant something to him without specific details.  They finally turned back and Aeryn shook her head.  She wasn’t refusing to translate -- there just wasn’t any information to provide. 

Power tools.  Woof, woof, woof.  Bigger, stronger, more voltage, more horsepower.  A memory from his life on Earth tackled his brain and he almost got a grip on the elusive thought.  ‘Thank you, Tim Taylor,’ he thought to himself, remembering a turbo-charged lawn tractor smashing through a fence.     

“Pilot … ”  He was torn between the developing image in his mind and the need to form words.  “Is there anyway we could … supercharge Moya’s drive system? Give her a way to generate a momentary extra bit of thrust to break her out through the gravity rift long enough to starburst?” 

John waited while Pilot gave a brief answer and Aeryn relayed it.  Pilot doesn’t understand your question.”

“I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for here either.  Can we give her Geritol-extra, One-A-Day-Plus-Dilithium, install an Oscillation Overthruster … ”   John saw the faces around him change from thoughtful attention to puzzled annoyance.  He tried again, but without sounding like an infomercial.  “Is there some sort of energy charge or chemical or,” his voice rose with the frustration of trying to express something he could now envision clearly but couldn’t explain to the others. “ … something like a Leviathan version of that drug from the gauntlet worn by the Tavloids.”

Several voices barked at him at the same time.  Aeryn turned towards him with a half disguised look of glee, but he cut in before she could give it to him, “Tav-LEKS.  Thank you, I got that one.”  Everyone smiled at once.  It was a nice sight after so many arns of stress and depression. 

D’Argo and Jool were the first to turn to Pilot and begin discussing whether they could implement John’s idea in any way, but soon the others were involved and they all drew closer to Pilot’s consoles.  John allowed himself to be maneuvered away from the heated discussion.  Even with the clone’s help he couldn’t keep up.  Trying to stay involved would only slow them down. 

He ended with his back against one of Moya’s main support ribs, which arced from the invisible height of the chamber’s ceiling down into the gloom of the central neural cluster below.  He slid to the floor as he waited, sitting with one foot tucked under the other leg, trying to remember if he had ever felt more exhausted.  He dumbly watched the discussion, observing the play of emotions, listening to the rise and fall of their voices. 

Yes, come to think of it, there had been a time when he had hoped he would die from exhaustion, but the beating had been almost entirely mental that time. 

“They aren’t a particularly cohesive group, are they John?”  The unprompted interjection startled him.  It was the first time the clone had spoken to him directly, outside of translating, in arns.  It was almost as if his stray thought had summoned him. 

“Harvey, no one’s talking to you or me right now, leave me alone.”

“I am not a translator microbe, John.  I am willing to be of assistance, but I will not simply disappear because you chose not to partake in the discussion or need me to Take Ten.”

“Harvey, I’ve pushed you out once, I can do it again.  If you want another shiner like the first, just stick around and keep bugging me.  I’m more than willing to try and cope with this without you, and if we spin into that black waste hole it’ll just be one more spatial phenomena I get to observe on this sleigh-ride through Wonderland.”

“John, I don’t understand why this situation with the microbes is disturbing you so much –”

“I am not disturbed by this, Harv.”

“ -- after all, you learned to cope without your eyesight for a few days when you were twelve didn’t you?  After that boy Russell Croughts injured you.”

“Russell didn’t injure me, it was an accident and he never meant for it to happen that …”

John’s mental discussion with the clone was left unfinished as he slid back to the incident he had just mentioned.  Deep in his mind the recalcitrant idea beckoned to him, eager to be resolved but not making it easy.  He dove into his memory, searching for the answer.  It had been the summer after he turned twelve, and he’d begun hanging out with a kid who lived a couple of blocks over. 

Russell -- the other kids teased him and called him “Brussel Sprouts” -- was pretty much a nerd, but John had found out that he an uncanny knack for taking any toy or gadget with an engine or motor and boosting its output.  This was fantastic as far as he was concerned, since he wanted every one of his model rockets to go higher, and between them they sent some really sailing.  And Russell hadn’t been all that much of a geek once he had gotten to know him.   

The accident had happened when they had tried putting a new outlet valve on a water bottle rocket.  Their grade school calculations showed that it should have boosted the rocket over four times as high as the original design, but it had gone off at an angle and somehow managed to nail him right between the eyes.  He remembered the desperate scramble to get clear, the impact, the panic.  He’d been lucky they were working with a water pressure design, instead of one of their solid fuel models, but he had still been without vision for almost a week, waiting for the bruising and swelling to ease. 

John had learned the sounds of his family during that interminable week.  Learned to hear who was in each room and what they were doing by aural input alone.  He had lost a week of his summer vacation, but gained an insight into perception instead.  After that he could always tell exactly where his mother was and what she was doing just by listening, which made the silence of that house all the more painful years later. 

It wasn’t the sensory deprivation that had put his mind into high gear, it was the modified nozzle on the rocket.  It was the power boost of the Boeing 707 taking off when he was ten.  It was taking one power output and stuffing it into another form until it multiplied.  The clone continued to talk, made it hard for him to visualize the new image being created in his mind.  Distracted at both ends, he was having trouble silencing the voice. 

“Shut up Harvey, I’ve got a grip on that idea now and I need to think.”

“John, this situation is beyond … ”

“Be quiet.  I can’t think about this with you yammering away at me.”

“ -- and I really think you need to turn your mind toward …”

“Harvey, SHUT UP!”

It was only when everyone else turned to look at him that John realized his last bark at the clone hadn’t been just in his head.  He shook his head for a moment, a silent acknowledgement to the others of what he had just done. 

“Any luck with a solution so far?” he asked as he struggled back to his feet.  Chiana and Stark were the closest to him and they both moved to pull him up.  John focused on the expressions worn by Pilot and D’Argo as he moved back into the group.  ‘The Duo of Doom,’ he thought, ‘the Permanent Pessimists -- sounds like a wrestling tag-team,’ and their expressions did, in fact, reflect that the group had not come up with any ideas. 

“Okay, I’ve got a really and truly bad idea this time, even for me.  Pilot.  Moya can’t starburst right now because she’s using all of her energy just to stay in one place, right?” 

His answer was clear without a translation. 

“What would happen if we deliberately create a blockage in her amnexus system?  She’d be forced to decompensate, but would she be able to create and use starburst energy?” 

Pilot -->Aeryn-->Harvey said, “She would be able to produce the energy and could release it into the starburst chamber, but she still might not be able to coalesce the energy around her hull in order to create the entry into starburst.”

“All right, here is where my idea is going to get a little hairy,” John rubbed his lower lip, continuing to examine the process he saw in his mind.  “What if we block the outlets from the starburst chamber and force that energy into Moya’s energy conduits … ”

“The stress would tear Moya apart, Commander!”  Pilot’s emphatic tone was enough to give John his answer, and he held up his hand towards Aeryn before she could repeat whatever had been said.

“We time it to the next gravity gap, and we give her just enough of a kick to pop us loose.  Look, this is not my area of expertise.  I do wormholes, not blackholes.  I’m just thinking that all we need here is just a little movement away from that big honkin’ storm drain and then Moya will be able to starburst.  So as soon as Pilot tells us we’ve moved just a little bit further away from the event horizon, we use detonated charges to blow the blockages out of the way, and let the starburst energy flow normally.  Hey presto, we blow this pop stand!”  John looked at each person in turn, waiting for their reactions to his plan. 

“This could literally rip Moya apart, we would all be destroyed,” Pilot-->Aeryn-->Harvey still objected. 

“And if we stay here?  Sooner or later Moya is going to get tired and slide into that thing like a gutter ball anyway.”

“The timing would be very critical, and I don’t even know if we have anything which can contain starburst energy to create the blockages.  Moya was designed in a manner that would prevent this from happening.  She cannot do this herself.”

“Okay, first big hurdle to clear … what have we got on board which might do the job?”

“Rygel’s butt is pretty tough”, Chiana offered.

“Funny Pip, but not a lot of help.”  Waiting for punch lines sucked, he thought.  He felt like the idiot at the party who always laughed five seconds after everyone else.  He almost told Aeryn not to bother feeding him the jokes, but knew it wasn’t going to matter if they didn’t solve this problem soon. 

“This is all very fascinating,” Jool interjected, “but I really don’t think I’m going to be much help on this subject.  Even if I understood all this mechanical plockt, you don’t really think I’m going to help you crawl around in Moya’s access shafts welding those things into place do you?” 

“Wouldn’t want you to get your hands dirty, Princess.”  Chiana watched her carefully for the reaction. 

Jool simply turned her back on her and spoke to the others.  “Don’t you really think I’d be of more assistance if I get back to my lab and work on solving John’s translator microbe problem?” 

“All right, Jool, you’re probably right.  But take a pulse rifle with you and keep your comms open.  We still have that frelling commando crawling around here somewhere, and you’ll be of no use to any of us if it’s your throat he slits with a knife next time.” 

“Thank you for that lovely parting thought Ka D’Argo,” Jool hissed, but she took the pulse rifle which he held out to her, and after checking the status of the pulse chamber walked away across one of the bridges, holding the rifle under her arm more like a purse than a deadly weapon.   

“So what about something tough enough to stop Starburst energy?”  John returned to the subject rapidly, since he had been left out of the quick exchange.  Silence fell as they all turned their attention to the question. 

“I have an idea.”  This time it was Aeryn and D’Argo who spoke at the same time. 

* * * * *

[KernilCrash]

CHAPTER 12

D’Argo led the way into the field of debris scattered across the hangar bay, scouting for the large exterior armor plates from the Marauder.  John paused at the edge of the wreckage, just enjoying the view.  A swarm of DRDs had gathered to measure and cut the heavy plates into the correct sizes and shapes to be used to channel the starburst energy into Moya’s conduits.  He could see the little yellow pods weaving through the piles of components, locating the sheets of metal and then waiting for someone to pull them into a clear area so they could begin cutting with their lasers. 

John shifted his gaze to look up at Moya’s high arching ceiling.  He was just barely able to make out the farthest reaches of the massive hangar, and experienced one of his increasingly rare moments of awe.  The leviathan and her droves of biomechanoid servants were a wonder that no other human might ever see, and he was lucky enough to call it home now.  He tore his eyes away from Moya’s softly gleaming bronze inner hull and followed D’Argo, his boots crunching through circuits and kicking hardware aside.   

Aeryn had been watching John in turn.  She had seen him do this many times before, just standing and admiring their gentle host.  She had learned an appreciation for things she had previously taken for granted by being around him.  He had adjusted to his life here in so many ways over the past three cycles, she was pleased to see that at least some of the wonder still remained within him. 

John glanced to make sure Aeryn was still close behind him, and then commed their overseer.  “Pilot, what’s the final verdict?  Is the Marauder plating strong enough to contain the starburst energy?” 

“I believe so, Commander.  But Moya is still very concerned about this plan.  She is not sure whether her conduits will be able to handle the overload from the starburst energy.” John could hear Pilot’s extreme concern coming through the transmission before he received the feedback. 

“I know Pilot, but what options do we have?  If we don’t get Moya loose, she’ll be destroyed anyway.”  John caught up with D’Argo and together they looked at the first huge sheet of hull armor. 

Pilot-->Aeryn-->Scorpy continued his mild complaint.  “Moya is aware of that, and it is the only reason she has agreed to make this attempt.  Even if it does work, it appears that there may be extensive damage throughout her systems.”   

John looked at Aeryn as she finished repeating and shrugged his shoulders.  “Looks like another round of crawling around sealing leaks and ruptures.  Pilot, we’ll fix everything if we get out of this.  Moya must know that.” 

He could hear the fatalism in the reply and shook his head at Aeryn.  He didn’t need her to repeat that one.   He terminated his transmission over the comms and looked at Aeryn and D’Argo.  “This was a great idea.  I don’t think I would have ever considered using this junk.”  The smiles were all he needed for an answer.  He waved for them to work together, and began picking his way toward where Stark was struggling alone. 

Aeryn could hear him start to sing something almost inaudibly as he continued away from where she stood.  “Find and seal up all those leaks, doo dah, doo dah.  Playing repair hide and seek … “ His voice faded out.  Despite the lightness in his tone, she suddenly noticed how heavily he was walking, how high he was carrying his shoulders.  She had only seen him hunch up like that when he was truly exhausted. 

“John.”  He took two more steps before he turned to look at her.  “We can move the hull plate around for the DRDs without you, at least until they get some of the pieces cut up.  Do you want to try and get just a little rest?”  A small internal shudder still went through her every time she watched the lag before he answered.  She was never going to be comfortable with seeing him do that.  Never.   

He shook his head.  “We have less than five arns to get this done.  If it works, we’ll have time to rest later.  If it doesn’t … we can rest in peace.”  He saw that the last part didn’t have any relevance to Aeryn, that it didn’t make entire sense.  “There will be time later one way or another.” 

* * * * *

Hasman crouched in plain sight in the middle of a corridor.  His damaged arm hurt abominably and his search to locate the final part for his weapon had so far been in vain.  He put his makeshift rifle down for a moment, and wiped the sweat of pain and fatigue off his forehead.  It was so absurd as to be almost humorous.  He knew he could find what he needed inside a DRD, and after being chased by the frelling horde for more than a day, he suddenly couldn’t locate one. 

It was as if every drone on the ship had disappeared.  He knew he could find one in the den with the pilot, but until his pulse rifle was completed he couldn’t take a chance of entering that chamber.  He picked up his not-quite weapon again and went looking for a larger corridor, which might yield his latest quarry.

* * * * *

“Pilot, do we need to create the jam in the amnexus system in order to get Moya to decompensate or can Moya do that herself?”  John was holding a piece of plating in place while two DRDs worked their way around the edges, spot welding it in place.  Stark had helped him carry it down here, and had returned to see what else needed to be done in the hangar bay.  Crichton had stayed behind to do the grunt work for the DRDs.
 
He heard Pilot answer, and then Aeryn’s voice cut in, fighting for air and full of strain.  He assumed she was working together with D’Argo to move another sheet of metal.  “Moya can do it herself, John.  She’s already begun modifying the amnexus fluid to create the blockage.”  Aeryn was keeping her comms open, which allowed him to continue using his. 

“How long before she decompensates?”  The DRDs completed their work on the panel he was holding, and their glowing eyes turned in his direction, waiting for their next assignment. 

“About another arn.  How are you doing down there?”  A loud clang reverberated from the comms, echoed by the same noise just down the access tunnel. 

John turned and saw the pair bringing the last piece of plating toward where he stood.  “We’re done with this one, and the one you have should be the last piece.  If Moya needs an arn is that going to work out right with when we get run over by the next gravity distortion?”  Aeryn just nodded her head, waiting to catch her breath.

D’Argo looked at John and asked something.  He had to wait while Aeryn finished sucking in more air.  She straightened up and asked, “What about that time warping thing you were talking about?  How bad could that get?” 

John was going to launch into an explanation of the slowing effects of extreme gravity on the relative passage of time, but the irony hit him that they didn’t actually have the time for a long description.  “We could come out of this hundreds of days or even cycles from when we started.  If we encounter one of those dense areas of space-time distortions, there is just no telling when we could wind up.  It’s a crap shoot.” 

“A crab shoe?”  Scorpius was standing next to John as he translated Aeryn’s question.  He began examining the welding points that the DRDs had completed.  “John, you need to stop confusing your friends like that.  Are these attachments points strong enough to hold when the starburst energy hits this panel?”  The clone’s personal interjection was the first one in arns, and it came as a shock. 

John had become completely accustomed to Scorpius’ ever-present voice in his mind, and temporarily forgotten the personality that lay behind it.  Once again a wave of uneasiness passed over him as he considered how easily he had adapted to having the clone riding in his thoughts all the time. 

“Moya and Pilot say that it’ll hold, and they’re the experts.  We don’t want those panels in there so tight that we can’t blow them loose when we need to starburst.”  John turned to look directly at the clone standing next to him, something he normally avoided.  “And you’re bothering me, Harv.  Why don’t you just get back on the other end of the telephone line and let me get back to what I need to do?”

He knew he had been distracted by the silent discussion longer than usual, and when he looked at Aeryn he could see his own mental trauma reflected in her face.  She had obviously seen his sudden discomfort and his lengthier reaction.  “Crap shoot.  It means it’s entirely up to chance.”  He couldn’t bring himself to answer her unvoiced question.

“What about that time shift thing that happened when the Illonics were on board, John?  Is that going to happened again?”  This was Aeryn’s own question. 

“You mean a temporal dislocation?”  She nodded.  “That shouldn’t happen.  We’re being affected by the extreme gravity right now, not the singularity itself.  Time is being warped but Moya’s sensors can only detect the distortions, not what their effects will be.  We’re going to have to just take our chances and hope we come out somewhere … I guess that would be somewhen close to when we started.” 

John was helping D’Argo stand the chunk of armor on its edge as he spoke, and now they swung it into place, blocking the last of the outlets that normally channeled the starburst energy to Moya’s exterior.  “Can you finish here on your own?” he asked D’Argo.  He received a nod and turned away to join Aeryn.  Four DRDs began to weld the shield into place.

“Now what?” he asked Aeryn.

“I’ll start setting the explosives and we can check with Pilot to see how our time table is running.”  She walked back to the end of the corridor and waited for him at the base of a ladder that would take them back up through the leviathan.

D‘Argo watched as his two friends left and saw again the tight bond between them.  They never tripped over each other when they were working in tight spaces, rarely even bumped into each other.  The careful dance of two bodies was more obvious than usual today, perhaps because he was watching for it.  Or perhaps because John had to rely so heavily on Aeryn right now.  “Remember that frelling Peacekeeper.  Be careful,” he warned. 

“Not to worry, big guy.  We’ll be cautious,” John tossed back as he started up the ladder.  It was a long climb to the upper tiers. 

Aeryn paused at the bottom of the ladder and looked back at D’Argo in surprise, meeting his equally astonished gaze.  She hadn’t forwarded his comment again and this time D‘Argo had been behind John.  She raised her eyebrows and shoulders in a query.  Hands busy holding the patch in place, he simply shook his head, not understanding either.   She looked up at the disappearing boot soles and started to climb after him. 

* * * * *

“What are you going to use for a charge, Aeryn?  Grenades?”  He stood above where she was working on a table in the Central Chamber.  Its surface was covered with several types of grenades and various other ordnance.   This was one of the weakest parts of the plan, because their stock of explosive materials was so small. 

“It will vary depending on what we are trying to blow loose.  Some of the plates are going to burst outwards, and those will need less explosive since they’ll be carried away by the energy flow.  Others will take larger charges because we sealed the opening the other way around.”  Aeryn’s hands never stopped moving, arming some items, and modifying others to meet their needs.  She had resorted to dismantling two spare pulse pistols and intended to use pulse chamber overloads for two of her detonations.

“How will you time the pulse chamber overloads?”  He wanted to help, but Aeryn was working so quickly he knew he should keep out of her way.

“I can rig those to a remote …” she was cut off by Pilot as his image appeared in the clamshell.

“Officer Sun, I have just lost contact with one of the DRDs.  It has been destroyed.”  Aeryn’s head snapped up, looking at the unnaturally calm face that was in contradiction with the alarm in Pilot’s voice. 

“Is there any chance it was an accident, Pilot?”  The DRDs had been heavily involved in the work in the hangar bay and the starburst chamber, and there was always a possibility that one had met with an accident. 

“No.  I dispatched two additional units to its position, and it was deliberate sabotage.  The unit’s laser tool and light focusing emitter have been removed.”  Pilot’s transparent image was staring intently at Aeryn, waiting for her reaction to confirm his suspicions. 

She thought about who would destroy a DRD, and why that individual would take the laser, and turned to John.  “The Peacekeeper has built a pulse weapon of some sort.”  She could hear the tension in her own voice as the alarm build tension between her shoulder blades.   

“Has Pilot warned everyone else yet?”  He knew there was nothing they could do about it at this moment.  They were running out of time and had to solve Moya’s problem first no matter what the risk. 

“I will take care of that immediately,” Pilot said. 

“Aeryn,” John waited till she faced him again.  “Will he have ammunition for whatever he’s got?” 

* * * * *

Hasman finished assembling the rifle, crudely strapping the modified emitter to the outside of the pulse chamber.  It was ugly, he thought, but it was going to work.  He’d had to hold the unit clamped between his knees while he worked one handed, and that had slowed him down.  The knots in the cabling holding things together had been painstakingly formed with one hand and his teeth. 

His injured hand had gone numb as the swelling from the untreated damage gradually blocked the transmission of nerve signals.  If he were in a position to survive this situation, he might be facing the loss of his arm, but he didn’t expect to live through the day.  He desperately wanted to ensure that he was the last one on this ship to die. 

He held the weapon between his knees again, and reached behind him to one of the utility pouches on his belt, and pulled out a spare chakan oil cartridge.  The quiet snick as it locked into place was a reassuring, familiar noise. 

* * * * *

Almost the entire crew was gathered in Pilot’s chamber, fatigue and stress showing in everyone.  Everyone was armed now, the threat of the Peacekeeper making their next half arn even more hazardous than it already had been.   

“Then are we ready to attempt this insanity?”  D’Argo looked at the group around him.  Everyone nodded back.  He realized that they had all begun slipping into visual signals without even being aware of it.  He looked to make sure John was watching him before he spoke, and knew that he was adapting to John’s disability as well.  Perhaps this would all work out after all … if they lived through this Erp-brained idea.   

“John and Stark will position themselves alongside Moya’s amnexus conduits in the event that we need to release pressure to delay the decompensation.   I will help Aeryn place the detonation charges.  Chiana and Jool will stay here to make sure Pilot is guarded.  Is there anything else we need to do?” 

“Where’s Rygel?” John asked. 

“No one knows.  We’ve commed him several times, but there’s been no answer,” Aeryn’s unemotional response was translated.

“So there’s a chance he’s dead.”  John hadn’t thought that the Dominar was a person he would miss that intensely, but the idea that the commando might have killed him filled him with anger.

“We just don’t know, and we certainly don’t have time to look now,” she answered.  John just nodded, understanding.  Once again his response was immediate.  Aeryn decided that he had to be reading their emotional cues.     

“I will need to plot a course for Moya.  In what direction does everyone wish to go if we are successful?”  Pilot asked.  He waited as the group stood silently, considering his question. 

Aeryn was prepared for John’s blank expression this time, and repeated the question for him.  He began to think about the options, voicing his thought process out loud for everyone.  “We have been here long enough that we have certainly experienced some time relativity problems.  Assuming that this singularity is doing some temporal warping, we don’t have any way of controlling our exit to take advantage of that.”  He walked away from the group, staring into the dark cavern below Pilot, watching the glowing energies as they flowed through the intricate tangle of conduits and cables.  He ran through all the possibilities in his mind and still came up empty. 

“My Granddaddy had a saying … Don’t spit into the wind.  But I’ve been on a real lousy run lately whenever I try to do things according to the Crichton Rules of Correct Conduct, so I say we do exactly that.  Let’s turn around and run in the wrong direction.  I say we aim ourselves back where this mess began and see if we can jump out of the fire and back into the frying pan.  It’s exactly the wrong thing to do, so it might work.”

If anyone had a problem understanding him they didn’t show it.  Aeryn spoke to Pilot, who began setting their course. 

“How will we get in contact with Crichton if we need him to do something?  Aeryn’s going to be pretty busy.”  Chiana looked at Crichton in concern.   

Aeryn echoed and then gave John the microt pause he required.  “I’m going to keep my comms open the entire time, and One-Eye can come and be my wake up call if one of you needs me and Aeryn can’t talk to me.  He’ll be the last resort to let me know when it’s time to run.”  He looked down at the faithful drone and nudged it a little with his boot.  The DRD chirped once.  It was ready for action. 

“All right then, let’s go kill ourselves,” Chiana laughed.  “Stupid ideas are our specialty.” 

John watched the others start in different directions and realized that the conversation was over.  He stood for a moment, trying to decide if he needed to double-check any of the information with Aeryn before heading to his assigned station.  He had finally concluded that there wasn’t anything else to be determined when he saw the flash of yellow reverse to get some room, and then it headed for his ankle to get him moving.  He danced out of the way just in time, glaring at the DRD as it came to a stop exactly where he had been standing. 

“Are you having fun?”  A blink and a chirp.  “You’ve just about battered both my ankles to smithereens.  Do you understand smithereens?”  A chirp and then a blink.  John squatted down in front of the drone and tapped it lightly on the end of its undamaged eyestalk.  “Okay, here’s a good one.  For the car, the trip and the sixty five thousand dollar prize … Tell me who keeps bashing me in the ankles just for fun?  If it is just you little DRD, blink once.  Moya, if you are having a little laugh at the expense of my ankles, blink twice.” 

The DRD blinked five times.
 
“Having trouble with your little helper?”  Aeryn was leaning on Pilot’s console, watching his discussion with One-Eye.  He looked up at the sound of her voice.  He shoved Harvey out of his mind, the clone’s words unheard as John concentrated on the look of tolerant amusement on Aeryn’s face.  He looked down at his nemesis and back at her. 

“Yeah, he’s kind of an independent little twerp.  We’ll do fine together though.”

“John?”  He looked up at her, still smiling.  “Do you think this is actually going to work, or are we just going to blow Moya up?”  As he listened to the echo, he glanced behind her at Pilot, the large eyes returned his gaze.  He knew that everyone was placing a staggering amount of trust in his idea, and was tempted for one moment to lie, and tell them it was all going to work out.  He took a long moment to consider, Aeryn’s words from the commerce planet ringing in his mind.  She had made some strong points about his making decisions for the rest of them. 

“Aeryn, I can’t imagine a reason why this would work.”  He paused to get the words right.  “In my universe I shouldn’t even be able to run the module on the power source I’m using now.  There are things that work here that my planet can’t even begin to dream about.  So my answer is that I don’t have a frelling clue.  But Moya has survived worse than this, and Chiana was right.  Idiotic ideas are our specialty.  This is insane enough that it might just work.” 

Aeryn started to correct him.  Chiana had said ‘stupid’ ideas, not ‘idiotic’.  She caught herself.  He was so close that time.  She started to ask him how he was doing it, but John hadn’t waited for a response.  He gave her a bright smile and hurried out of the Den, his yellow sidekick at his heels.   

* * * * *

D’Argo peered into the well where Aeryn was placing the last of the charges.  He watched with admiration as she moved expertly from one perch above their makeshift blockage to another, carefully placing the charges while sometimes hanging on with just an elbow looped around a handhold.  He had a rare insight into the level of instruction that she had been given from the time she was a child.  He knew a lot of Peacekeeper training was mindless drill and indoctrination, but it was moments like these that he was forced to admit they had created a brilliant, if misguided, military force. 

Aeryn finished placing the last of the modified grenades and reached for D’Argo’s offered hand, welcoming a strong contribution to her climb out of the shaft.  She was just pulling herself over the edge of the well when she heard the noise.  She looked up to see the commando officer in the archway to the corridor.  He was filthy and sweating, and seemed unsteady on his feet, but the ugly bundle of pieces he was aiming at them was rock steady and time seemed to slow to a standstill as she watched his finger squeeze the trigger. 

* * * * * 
 
Crichton crawled through the access tunnel and came to a halt at the vent that he had visited once too often during Moya’s pregnancy.  He glanced behind him to make sure that the DRD had followed him, and settled down to wait.  He felt a swirling sensation of apprehension circle through his chest and stomach as he sat there.  He was manning what might turn out to be a useless post, and he was a bit uneasy at being part of the plan when he couldn’t understand most of the chatter coming over the open comms.  He tried to concentrate on other things, setting his uneasiness aside.

The stench of Moya’s gradually clogging amnexus system washed over him, no better smelling than it had been when it was unintentional.  He looked around at the reinforcing struts that gave strength to all of her internal passageways, and wondered how much damage his plan was going to inflict on their gentle host.  They might get out of this predicament, and lose their home all in the same instant.  He fervently hoped that this plan worked better than his last few ideas. 

He could hear the vague chatter of the others as they went about their business making the last preparations.  He began to wonder how much longer it was going to be before the rift hit Moya and was about to ask Aeryn for a relay, when he heard her gasp, an involuntarily intake of alarm. She yelled something but the clone didn’t translate verbatim for once.  ”John, there is some sort of problem where Officer Sun is working.” 

“Aeryn?” he shouted.  I got that, Harvey!”  There was indistinct yelling from both Aeryn and D’Argo and the sound of a pulse weapon firing.  “AERYN??”  “What the frell did she say, Harvey?”  He got up and began to scramble up the shaft, knowing he was too far away to be of any help, but unable to remain where he was anyway.  “Aeryn!! What’s going on?”  He heard another pulse weapon discharge and then the comms went silent. 

* * * * * *

[KernilCrash]

CHAPTER 13

Crichton was approaching the outlet of the access shaft, could see the light streaming in from the corridor, and there was still no sound from the comms.  He grabbed the edges of the hatch and pulled himself out of the tunnel, rolling into the corridor and coming back to his feet.  He tried one more time.  “Aeryn, D’Argo … what’s going on?” 

Aeryn’s voice came back to him, and he stopped running.  “Everything’s all right, John.”  She didn’t sound exactly calm, but it was obvious that things were under control.  He put his hands on his knees and bent over, dropping his head as the waves of relief left him feeling momentarily weak and lightheaded. 

“What happened up there?”  He stood up straight and the loose liquid feeling of fear in his stomach began to recede.  He turned and headed back to the tunnel he had abandoned in such haste. 

“We finally found the Peacekeeper officer.”  D’Argo’s voice rumbled an addition in the background, and Aeryn replayed his comment.  “Or more correctly, he found us, but we’re all fine,” she assured him again. 

“So you killed him?”  He lowered himself into the shaft and sat for a moment just inside the opening of the narrow passageway.  He heard Rygel’s voice over the comms next, an arrogant and prideful statement.  “RYGEL killed him?” he asked in astonishment. 

Aeryn was standing beside the dead Peacekeeper, looking back at the Hynerian as John’s disbelieving voice tried to verify Rygel’s statement.  She and D’Argo should have been dead right then.  The commando officer had been able to get them exactly where any military expert would want two targets.  When she had yelled at D’Argo, the Peacekeeper hadn’t even flinched, and had taken his first shot at them.  D’Argo had still been helping her out of the shaft, and when the bolt of energy hit his sheathed Qualta blade it had knocked both of them to the floor in a helpless tangle. 

The captain had stepped forward, preparing to shoot them where they lay, and had been hit by a pulse blast from behind.  Aeryn had looked up at his dying face, watching his expression as he turned to see who had ambushed him.  Surprise, disappointment, disgust and finally regret had passed across his features as Rygel had moved into sight from the outer corridor, holding the small pocket pistol firmly in his free hand.  “Peacekeeper vermin,” he intoned and raised the pistol to fire again.  Before he could pull the trigger, Hasman’s eyes rolled up in his head and he fell dead to the floor. 

Aeryn dragged her thoughts back to the present and answered John‘s incredulous question.  “Yes, it was Rygel.”  She reached down and helped a partially stunned D’Argo to his feet.  “Are you all right?”  She looked at the sheath on his back.  It was scorched and blackened, but intact, and there didn’t appear to be any damage to the Qualta blade itself.  D’Argo was still breathless from the impact but nodded his head, silently answering her question.   

Rygel was stowing her pocket pistol inside his robes.  “A fine weapon.  I will enjoy having it in my collection.”   Aeryn started to object but he continued, “I believe it is time for me to get something to eat.  Please let me know if there is going to be any excessive shaking of this vessel so I might avoid dropping any of my food.”  He turned his Throne Sled and whisked out of sight.  Aeryn thought about the weapon he had just appropriated, looked at the dead body, and decided he could keep it.  He’d earned it.

Aeryn and D’Argo stood looking at the body for a moment, and then both seemed to remember their other task at the same time. 

“Pilot, how much longer until we hit that rift?”  D’Argo called. 

“It is almost upon us.  I estimate one hundred microts.”  The voice was full of anxiety, concern for his large partner flooding his short statement.  “It is not moving toward us at a steady rate, and I believe we should be prepared to act as soon as possible.” 

D’Argo had been about to call them, but Aeryn caught his arm to remind him that she had to be the one to talk to John.  “John!  Stark!  Get out of those tunnels.  Only a hundred microts left!”     

Crichton had just gotten back to his position when Aeryn called and told him to get out again.  “Give me a break,” he said to himself and reversed direction again.  He scooped up One-Eye and began climbing the sloping access shaft again, his legs and back burning from the unnatural hunched over position.  “Glad you came along, buddy.  This was really necessary.  We’ll have to visit this garden spot again some time soon.”  He shifted the DRD to one hand and used the other to help pull himself along a little faster. 

“Brace yourselves everyone,” Pilot called.  “Sixty microts.” 

“Pilot, is the rift still big enough to give us a break from the gravity?” John was still scrambling along with the DRD tucked under one arm like a football. 

“It’s accelerating, it’s going to hit sooner.  Twenty microts!  Please prepare for the detonation on my signal, Officer Sun,” Pilot was transmitting his warning to everyone.  John couldn’t understand the words, but he heard the emphasis and the quick words coming from the normally laconic Pilot and knew that their schedule had somehow just changed. 

“John, get out of there quick!”  He didn’t need to be told, but he was glad to hear that she hadn’t forgotten about him in all the confusion. 

“Almost there now!” he called.  He heard Stark’s quick call and knew the Banik was clear.  He was almost out of the tunnel and tried to move even faster.  He didn’t want to be in there when Moya decompensated.  He tossed One-Eye out of the hatch ahead of him, and dove headfirst into the corridor.  “Clear!” he yelled as he flopped onto the corridor floor.  The hatch doorway snapped shut behind him with a dull metallic clang. 

This time Moya didn’t skip like a stone tossed across a still pond.  She seemed to drop like a boulder throne from a cliff.  John found himself prone and airborne for a split second and then the floor came back to smack him in the chest.  He scrambled across the deck, trying to find something to grab onto something, but there was a sizzling roar throughout Moya and she slid sideways and then accelerated. 

He could hear small percussions that he recognized as portions of Moya’s systems exploding from the surge of unaccustomed energy loads.  The hot metallic smell of burned biomechanoid cabling filled the corridor.  John found himself sliding on this stomach down the hallway as the leviathan lurched and clawed her way further from the singularity.  He managed to grab onto the base of one of the heavy ribs just as Pilot yelled a single word over the comms. 

The vibrations from multiple detonations shivered through his stomach, and then his tenuous grip broke loose and he slid back to the other side of the corridor.  The bellow of misdirected energy ceased abruptly and the whine of starburst echoed through the ship.  He managed to get himself jammed into a depression in the wall, finally braced against the erratic movements.  The whine climbed in pitch and he was afraid they had failed.  Then the familiar queasy twist passed over him, and Moya’s gyrations were replaced by the all over trembling of passage into starburst. 

They had made it, and Moya’s usual healthy, internal sounds still rumbled around him, overlaid by the faint vibrating disturbance of starburst resonating throughout the hull. 
 
* * * * * 

John rounded the corner into Pilot’s huge chamber, followed almost immediately by Aeryn and D’Argo, who entered from another direction.  He grinned widely at them, relieved that everyone was all right.  “Pilot, how’s Moya?”  He leaned on the wall of Pilot’s station and watched the speed of the four clawed arms moving over the controls.  They weren’t flailing in desperation, and John relaxed even further. 

Pilot-->Aeryn-->Scorpy said “She’s all right.  There is a great deal of damage to her normal energy conduits and several nexus points will have to be replaced, but she is otherwise unharmed.  Moya is very happy to be free and she has asked me to think you all for your hard work to rescue her.”  John reached over and touched the nearest claw, a quick pat of reassurance and pleasure that both Pilot and Moya were all right. 

“Where are we, Pilot?” Aeryn asked. 

“And WHEN are we?”  As John asked his question he saw that the others had forgotten the second aspect of their desperate flight.  Before Pilot could answer, Chiana and Stark came into the room, chattering and asking all the same questions.  Rygel was trailing behind them, stuffing a final handful of food into his mouth. 

“Rygel!” Crichton greeted him.  “My man Yoda!  There with the warrior spirit just when we needed you most.  I think I’m calling you the Toad Warrior from now on.”  He strode quickly to where the Dominar floated and smothered him in a hug from behind his chair, which he knew Rygel disliked but couldn‘t avoid. 

“Crichton, get away from me.  I could be tempted to kill one other person this afternoon.”  Rygel complained.  As Crichton released him, there seemed to be some sort of look of pride and affection on the Hynerian’s face, but it was quickly replaced by his normal irritable frown.  John started to glance at Aeryn for a repeat, but thought it over and waved a dismissal to her.  He had a good idea what kind of answer Rygel had given, and he was tired of listening to the voice that had occupied so much of his subconscious lately.

“Pilot, do you know when and where we are?”  Aeryn was asking Pilot the question, but it meant John was immediately assaulted by the voice he had just chosen to avoid.  Aeryn was looking at him as she repeated the still unanswered questions.  They had put so much effort into getting themselves out of their trap, now they needed to know where to go from here. 

“We are approximately eighty thousand metras from where we encountered the Marauder,” Aeryn’s shoulders relaxed in relief.  At least they were in known space.  “And I am in the process of doing a comparison of the star positions to determine our chronological placement.  It will take at least two arns before I can make a determination.” 

John watched Aeryn’s physical reaction and saw that at least half of the information was positive, and that the rest was uncertain.  In the instant that he was able to understand Pilot’s reply without any help John made a decision, and deliberately didn’t tell the others before he acted on it.  He didn’t care what they thought this time. 

Aeryn turned to tell John what Pilot had said and discovered that he was looking right at her, but he wasn’t focused on anything nearby.  He stayed that way for a longer period of time than usual, just an extra microt or two.  He’d been using the clone so frequently during their work, she was suddenly afraid that he had given it too much access to his mind.  She was only peripherally aware as her hand crept down to rest on her pulse pistol. 
 
“Harvey!”  John deliberately summoned the clone.

“Yes, John.  I haven’t gone anywhere.”  Scorpy appeared from behind a barricade and walked to stand next to Crichton where he stood looking out of a plate glass window at the airport ramp.  Baggage carts and tugs worked like ants around a jet that was loading up for departure.

John handed Scorpius a folder containing an airline ticket.  “Take a break, Scorpy.  You deserve a vacation.”

“A vacation?  I don’t think this is a sensible time for you to ask me to leave.  I believe it would be more prudent … ”

“Take … a … break.”  John spaced his words out for emphasis.  “I don’t want to get into a pissing contest over this, Harvey.  Just get lost for a while.  If I need you, I’ll send out Search-And-Rescue.  Go visit a tropical island, sit on a beach, and try drinking cocktails out of a coconut.  Watch out for those little paper umbrellas though.”  He walked away, leaving the speechless clone standing at the door to the jetway. 

As his awareness flipped back to his surroundings in Moya, he found Aeryn watching him carefully, like a mouse watches a cat.  Her hand was on her weapon.  He immediately shook his head, “It’s all right.  Just a little argument.”  She asked him something, and he took his first stab in the dark.  “Not to worry, I won.  I told Harvey to take a break.  Just me hangin‘ around for a while now that things are calming down.  Is that okay with you?” he smiled at her, knowing the answer ahead of time. 

Aeryn felt the tight muscles in her diaphram relax.  They could cope with this now that the other problems were solved.  Hand signals would do nicely for a while, she thought as she nodded her approval. 

* * * * *

Aeryn had been looking for John for a quarter arn, and finally located him in one of his favorite spots.  He was sitting on a workbench in one of the maintenance bays, looking out at the stars.  He had left Pilot’s chamber very soon after he had sent the clone away.  The return of his lack of comprehension had been obvious to everyone, and Aeryn hadn’t been surprised when he had chosen to abandon the conversation there.  She started to enter the chamber, but stopped when she heard D’Argo’s voice.  He was standing in the shadows next to John and she hadn’t seen him at first.  She started to back away, giving them time to finish their conversation, but she heard D’Argo’s steps coming toward her out of the dark. 

“Aeryn!” he was startled when he saw her. 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt.  I was just …” she gestured toward the doorway, indicating that she was going to leave again. 

“No, John and I were done talking.  You do whatever you came down here to do.”  He seemed almost flustered to her, unsure of himself for some reason.  She didn’t say anything as he headed out off down the corridor. 

“John,” she waited until he turned to face her.  “Nice chat with D’Argo?”  She gestured toward the door where the Luxan had exited in order to give him an idea what she was talking about. 

“D’Argo?  I think he was apologizing for what happened on the planet the other day.  I wish I could have understood all of it, it might have been a record breaking event.”  John slid to one side, making room for her to sit next to him.  As she hopped up onto the bench where he was sitting, he tucked one foot under his other leg and half turned to face her.  “He’s a little harder to read than some other people around here,” he grimaced.  “There’s always too much going on between the braids and the tentacles and all.  I get mixed up.” 

Aeryn gave a small laugh, finding irony in John’s concern over getting the interpretation correct.  She saw his recorder in his hand and gestured toward it, “Talking to your father?”  She wondered how much he could infer from an unemotional conversation.  He didn’t seem to be making the amazing deductive leaps now that he was working without safety net offered by the backup of the clone.  She suspected that his own emotions were getting in his way of reading everyone else’s. 

“I came down here to talk to my Dad for a little while, but I don’t feel like I have anything to say.  Nothing to hear, nothing to say.”  He turned his head away from her, masking some of what he was feeling, but his shoulders were slumped and his body shrieked of insecurity.  Aeryn’s suspicions turned to certainty.   

“John, we‘ll cope somehow.  Jool is still working, she‘s smart.  I’m sure she’ll come up with something.”  Aeryn found herself in the unaccustomed position of reassuring him.  It seemed like it was usually the other way around.  He still didn’t look at her, and he didn’t respond. 

“John …” she waited until he turned to face her again.  “Can we … talk about the other day?”  She tried to smile at the word, but it faded almost immediately. 

“Aeryn, I don’t think …” he was about to say that this wasn’t the best time for him to have a conversation, but he watched Aeryn stiffen and her back straighten.  It dawned on him that they were back on the subject of why she was so upset about his getting beaten up by D’Argo.  “I don’t think there could be a better time to discuss this.  Just take it slow for me, okay?” 

She nodded and looked down at her hands, uncertain how to start.  “I shouldn’t have …” 

“Officer Sun?”  Pilot’s voice interjected over the comms.

“Yes, Pilot.”  She looked over at John and he was holding the small metal tape recorder near his head, lightly pounding his forehead against it in mock frustration. 

“Could you find Commander Crichton and ask him to come to my chamber, please?  Jool is on her way here and has something to tell him.”  Pilot’s voice sounded tight with hope and expectations. 

“Of course, Pilot.  We’re on our way.  Do you know if it’s good news?”  She jerked her head at John to tell him they were going somewhere and he immediately slid to the floor, ready to follow her. 

“Jool did not indicate the nature of her information.  The others are eager to hear and are on their way also.”  Pilot closed the comms channel and she hopped down to stand next to John in the silence of the otherwise deserted maintenance bay. 

“News?” he asked.  She nodded.  “Good or bad?”  She shook her head and shrugged at the same time.  He looked out at the blackness, seeing only the emptiness between the stars for once.  “Well, no reason to stand around here just thinking about it,” but he didn’t move.  Aeryn waited for several microts and then reached for his hand and give him a small tug.  He let himself be turned and then took the lead.  “Remember folks … no matter where you go, there you are.  Might as well get this over with.”

When they entered the Den everyone except Jool was already waiting, their expressions running the full gamut of emotions.  John came to a stop as soon as they were clear of the bridge span across the deep cavern, Aeryn almost bumping into him as he halted unexpectedly.  She stepped around him at the last microt and continued toward the others.  He remained standing a distance away, as if he didn’t want to get close to anyone just then. 

Aeryn returned to stand beside him, surprised but wanting to give him some support even if it was only by being physically close to him.  He looked at her and tried to smile, “It’s going to be fine Aeryn, no matter what Jool says, we’ll find a way to work this out.”  She didn’t think it sounded like either confidence or hope speaking. 

Jool came through the doorway at that moment, crossing one of the bridges to join them.  John watched her as she entered and knew immediately that he had some language lessons in his future.  Aeryn, standing so close, was aware of a small change in his posture, a strange mixture of some muscles relaxing and other ones tensing.  She looked at him, and understood for the first time what he had been doing since he had stopped relying entirely on the clone to translate. 

‘She couldn’t find a solution, and you can see it somehow.  You just accepted that, which is a relief, but now you have to cope with it, which makes you apprehensive.’  She kept the thoughts to herself, but John was watching her reactions as well, and he managed to give her a small smile and a shrug.  ‘How do you turn everything into something positive?  Your life falls apart, and you still find hope,’ she thought.  She shook her head and finally put something into words, “How do you do that?” 

John took her hand and held it for a moment.  “It’ll be all right, at least when I learn Sebacean my stupid jokes and rhymes will come through right.”  He released her and walked rapidly out of the Den. 

Jool looked at his departing form with indignation.  “Where does he think he’s going?”  Rygel’s earbrows shot up in amazement at the degree of aggravation in her tone.  “I haven’t even told him what I found out yet!”

“He already knows, Jool.”  Aeryn spoke quietly.   

“How can he know?  I spent a lot of time and energy trying to come up with a solution, and I think it would show only the barest minimum of manners if he were to stay here and listen while I tell everyone what I’ve been through …” she stopped abruptly as Aeryn also turned and left the chamber.  “Well!”

“You can tell us.”  D’Argo demanded. 

“Please Joolushko, we would like to hear what you have determined.”  Pilot’s even tone seemed to calm Jool down and she began to explain.   

 “I’ve tried everything I know, but I cannot get the translator microbes altered in any way that will stand up to the antibodies in John’s system without modifying them to the extent that they don‘t serve their purpose anymore.  The combination of his species’ ridiculous reliance on the use of antibiotics, the genetic alterations of the immune booster that I gave him, and the structure of the microbes themselves make it impossible to create an operative differentiated strain that his body will not destroy.”   

“Is there anything you haven’t tried?”  Rygel asked slowly. 

“If there were something I hadn’t tried, then I would have tried it, wouldn’t I?  Troglodyte.” 

Everyone stood silently.  Finally Pilot sighed and began manipulating controls, “Commander Crichton had already asked me about compiling information for language instruction from
Moya’s database.  I have never needed to create an instructional course of this type but Moya and I will do our best.”

“What language are you going to start with Pilot?”  Chiana was the first to ask. 

“Crichton asked me to build vocabularies in Luxan,” D’Argo beamed at the others, “Nebari, Hynerian, and Interion.”  They all looked at each other in astonishment. 

“He can’t possibly learn all four languages at once,” Jool exclaimed.   

“What about your language, Pilot?” Rygel asked, “How is he going to understand you?” 

“Frell that, Rygel!  What about Sebacean?  How is he going to talk to Aeryn?” Chiana practically yelled at the Hynerian.

“Crichton told me that until he can understand basic terms from everyone else, he is prepared to allow the neural clone to continue to translate for Officer Sun.”  Pilot’s voice was slow and deliberate, almost summoning a reaction from the assembled group.

“No, absolutely not!” D’Argo’s tone allowed no room for argument, but no one in the Den had any intention of contradicting him anyway.  “That would mean that John would have to let that frelling monster in his mind share his thoughts every day.  Pilot, build just one vocabulary … Sebacean!  We’ll start there.”  Three heads, even Rygel’s, nodded in agreement.

* * * * *

Crichton had chosen to sit on the floor in a corner of his quarters.  He was listening to some of his earliest recordings to his father, hearing a voice full of uncertainty as that person on the tape had struggled to adapt to his new surroundings.  The words were familiar and it was nice to hear a language he could understand, but the voice seemed to come from someone he had never met.  He knew how that poor guy felt.  He wasn’t sure how long it was going to take him till he could understand everyone on board again. 

He continued to listen to the drone of his own voice, lowering the volume till it was just rhythmic background  noise filled with familiar syllables.  He had no idea how he was going to cope with commerce planets and new species.  It had simply never been a problem, not since the first arn he had been on board.

“Can I come in?”  He jumped at the sound of Aeryn’s voice.  He hadn’t heard her come up the corridor.  He snapped the recorder off, and looked up at her.  He had no context to use in order to figure out what she had said.  He only knew that it had been a question.  He settled for waving her into his room and motioning her to sit with him.  If she wanted something more, she’d tell him. 

He made room for her in front of him and beckoned to her with a small movement of his head.  It wasn’t the first time he’d let himself lapse into using signals instead of talking.  He was finding the sound of his own words a jarring contrast to the mish mash of unassociated syllables he was hearing from the others, and had begun resorting to silent indicators. 

He watched Aeryn’s limber form sink into a seated position in front of him, ending up in the familiar position leaning back against him with his arms wrapped around her.  He leaned his chin gently against the top of her head, giddy with the closeness of her, and the smell of her hair.  He felt her relax slightly, but there was a core of tension residing within her. 

“John, I’d like to try and get through what I started earlier.  I know its going to be a while before you can truly hear what I need to say, but can I just go ahead anyway?”  He gave her a hug, not understanding at all what she was saying, but enjoying the musical rise and fall of her voice. 

“John, I would be happy to intercede.  I really am getting quite bored ’on vacation’.  There isn’t anything to do on this beach is there?”

John squeezed Aeryn a little tighter and said, “Hang on a microt.”  When she spoke a short sentence with the upswing of a question, he said, “Harvey’s back and he’s being a nuisance, let me get rid of him.”

John stood on the beach, the firing cord of a large cannon in his hand, watching with barely contained laughter as Scorpius lowered himself into the muzzle of the cannon.  The clone was wearing a shiny silver plastic crash helmet with plastic wings on the side and a silvery metallic jumpsuit.  John began humming the opening bars of The 1812 Overture.   

“Are you quite sure this is considered “first-class” flight accommodations, John?  It seems a bit cramped in here.  I haven’t found any references of this kind of travel in your mind yet.”

“Trust me Harvey, you are going to love this.  Send me a postcard, let me know when you get back.”  As Scorpius’ head disappeared out of sight into the barrel, John finished humming, said “Boom!” and pulled the cord.  With a scream the figure disappeared over the horizon, the faint sound of a splash coming back a moment later.  “Better than the Puffed Wheat commercial!  Have a nice swim back Scorpy.”

From Aeryn’s perspective John was silent for only a single microt, then he gave her another hug and said, “Go ahead.”  There was laughter in his voice, which she found reassuring.  He had been in almost complete control of the clone for the last few days.  She was happy that he could enjoy the privacy of his own mind from time to time, and was even more elated that he hadn’t resorted to using the clone to continue their conversation.   

She leaned back again into the warmth of his embrace, feeling how thin he had become in such a short time.  His ribs and forearms lay against her back and arms like metal bars, and when she leaned her head back, she could feel his collarbone hard beneath her skull without any cushioning from intervening flesh.  He hadn’t managed to eat any solid food since they had come back from the commerce planet, and he had just kept working despite all his set backs and problems.  She felt a swelling rush of pride, accompanied by the flooding concern that she would never be good enough for him. 

Aeryn took a breath to begin again, and was interrupted by Pilot on the comms.  “Excuse me, Officer Sun?” 

When Aeryn paused and then answered the request from Pilot’s voice, John dropped his head on to her shoulder and shook it in resignation.  They couldn’t even talk to each other and they still couldn’t get time to talk.

* * * * *

D’Argo and Jool had lingered behind when all the others had left Pilot’s Den.  They were still discussing the creation of John’s language lessons.  D’Argo found Jool’s manner as haughty and annoying as always, but he was grudgingly beginning to admire her extensive knowledge concerning educational techniques and learning methods.  She was going to be useful in teaching the human how to communicate, but it was still going to be a long and irritating process. 

Pilot suddenly looked up from where he was manipulating the controls that accessed Moya’s data stores.  “I am receiving a transmission.” 

“For us?  Who is it Pilot?  Peacekeepers again?”  D’Argo was immediately on alert. 

“Don’t we ever get a little peace and quiet on this barge?”  Jool complained, and her hair increased its shade of red.   

“It’s from Talyn!”  Pilot looked up in excitement.   

“Where is he, Pilot?” D’Argo demanded.

“Talyn has just emerged from starburst approximately three hundred metras from our position.  He received Moya’s cry of panic when we were boarded by the Marauder and has been on his way to this area of space ever since.  They have just arrived.” 

“Ever since?” Jool’s eyebrows went up even further, something D’Argo didn’t think possible.  “How long ago did they hear Moya’s transmission?” 

“Six solar days.  Crais says he felt it was too late to be of help, but Talyn insisted on coming to see if there was any trace of Moya.  I have informed Talyn and Crais of everything that has transpired over the last two solar days and assured them that we are all fine.”
“Six solar days!”  Jool’s voice was filled with relief.  “Then we only lost four days while we were stuck.”

“Or lost many more and gained the time back by passing through the distortions as John explained,” D’Argo grumbled.  “I still do not understand this, but it would appear that he was correct.” 

“Captain Crais would like to speak to us.  Shall I summon the others?” 

D’Argo and Jool looked at each other, and then shook their heads.  “If we are going to summon the others, we should call John and Aeryn also, and I think …” D’Argo looked back at Jool for affirmation, and she nodded.  “I think they could stand to be left alone for a while.  Go ahead and put him on the clamshell.” 

The rippling hologram of Crais appeared to one side of Pilot.  “Greeting Pilot, Ka D’Argo, and …”   

“Joolushko Tunai Fenta Hovalis” she recited. 

“Try using ‘Jool’!”  D’Argo offered, and earned himself a glowering look from the Interion. 

Crais nodded a greeting.  “Talyn and I are pleased that everyone is safe.  We do not want to linger in this area for fear that the Vigilante and the Prowlers will return and continue their search.  How long before Moya is capable of starburst?” 

Claws activated displays before him, and Pilot said, “Approximately four more arns.  The DRDs are still repairing systems critical to starburst.” 

“Very well.  Talyn and I are … dismayed at what has happened to Crichton.  Surely not being able to communicate with those are closest to him is a burden that no man should have to carry.  Therefore, Talyn and I would like to offer some information to which we have become privy.”   Crais’ eyes went vague as he communicated through his transponder to the ship around him.  “Talyn and I have been able to gather intelligence not accessible by normal methods.  In addition, I was aware of certain weapons programs being conducted by the Peacekeepers, which involved modifying various types of viruses and microbes.  We have sent all of this information to Moya’s databanks.  Perhaps some of it may be of use to you.” 

“Thank you, Crais.  Moya and I have received the information and will begin an analysis directly.” 

“Talyn insists that we remain here until Moya is prepared to starburst.  However, two ships provide a larger sensor target, and further communications would alert them to our location.  We will be nearby if there is a problem, but you will not hear from us again.  You may, however, contact us if you require anything further.” 

“Crais,” D’Argo struggled with the words, “thank you.”

The hologram of the former Peacekeeper Captain looked at D’Argo for a long moment, then he bowed his head, acknowledging respect for the Luxan.  “Good Fortune.”  His image disappeared.

* * * * *

Aeryn led the way into Jool’s lab, Crichton resignedly tagging along.  He was a bit surprised to find everyone gathered there, watching as Jool manipulated several pieces of equipment.  Their figures were such a mixture of emotional stances that he was completely at a loss as to what was going on.  ‘Maybe I should send Baywatch out after Scorpy.  Looks like I was a bit hasty with the big gun,’ he thought.

Jool spoke, but her back was turned so again John had no idea what had been said.  He looked at Aeryn and she beckoned to him.  He walked over to where she stood by the examining table, and obeyed her gesture to sit on it. 

“All right, I think this might do it!”  Jool’s voice was a mixture of exultation and hesitation. 

“What has happened, what has changed?” Aeryn asked.  “When Pilot called us … me,” she looked at John, “us … he didn’t tell us what had happened.  He just asked me to bring John down here.” 

“Talyn is here.”  D’Argo held his hand up to forestall any protests or comments from Aeryn.  “We’ll tell you about that later, but the point is, he gave Jool some information that we didn’t have access to before, information that we think might help John.” 

“Would somebody please tell the poor idiot Erp-boy what is going on?”  John looked around and still couldn’t decipher an answer.  “Crud.  Shouldn’t have given Harvey his pink slip so soon, downsizing is always a bad idea.” 

“One microt, John.”  Aeryn placed her hand on his shoulder.  Feeling the invisible tremors that ran through her, he finally realized that he couldn’t figure out what they were thinking because everyone in the room was feeling uncertain. 

Aeryn turned to Jool who stood behind John with an injector and demanded, “Explain what has happened and explain what that is.”   

“Crais gave us some information on Peacekeeper weapons development that involves genetic manipulation of viruses and microbes.  They were experimenting with delivery methods.  I took some of that research and finally managed to encase the translator microbes in proteins that I took from the sample of John’s blood.”  She paused, continuing when Aeryn nodded her comprehension, “In the weapons, the protein would eventually dissolve and the virus or microbes, or whatever, would take over the host.  However, I think I’ve stabilized these proteins so that they will be permanent, and John’s immune system will identify the microbes as belonging there.”
 
“But?”  Aeryn took her hand off John’s shoulder, not wanting to transmit the apprehension she felt through the physical contact. 

“But the protein may eventually dissolve or detach,” her voice was heavy with the possibility that all their work might be in vain.   

“What would happen then?” Chiana asked.

“We’d be right back where we are now.  I’ll be able to tell in a matter of arns whether the adjustment is going to hold up.  But there’s also … ”  Jool paused as she looked around at the entire group, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the expressions of both hope and concern.  She still didn’t like Crichton because of the price her cousins had paid for his recovery, but she was beginning to see that there was something about him that commanded enormous loyalty from everyone on the ship.

“What else?” D’Argo demanded. 

“I don’t know what effect the encapsulation will have on the function of the microbes.”  Jool felt as if she were performing her verbal defense of one of her advanced academic ratings, only in front of a very hostile panel of non-experts.   
 
“Why is everyone in this room so FRELLING NERVOUS?”  John couldn’t wait through any more of the rattling conversation and gave voice to his own growing anxiety.

Aeryn put her hand back on his shoulder and squeezed.  “Just another microt, John.”  He shook his head and tried to be patient, forcing himself to focus instead on the clipped, truncated Sebacean words he had just heard.  Some of the syllables were beginning to sound familiar.  He wondered how long it was going to take before he could begin to understand her words again.   

“He has a good question.”  Aeryn turned to Jool again, “Why are you so nervous about this?”

Jool’s arrogance fought a short battle with her intellect.  “I don’t have the equipment I need …”

“Stop with the excuses Queen of Chemicals, and answer the question.”  Chiana walked over to John to lend her support as well.  “Hey old man.” 

“Hey Pip.  What’s happenin’?”  Some statements were easier to deduce than others.   

Jool’s inherent sense of responsibility finally won the battle.  “All right!  I’ve never actually performed this sort of amino manipulation before, although I’ve studied the theoretical and practical applications of polymerase … ”

“JOOL!”  Several voices objected at once.  Looking up in surprise, John felt apprehension take a huge breath and swell to new proportions in his chest. 

Jool cut her last thought short and forged forward.  “The protein casing I’ve been able to develop is crude by any standard and it has made these microbes very large.  I don’t know what affect they are going to have on his circulatory system until they migrate to his brain stem.” 

“Could they kill him?”  D’Argo asked.

“I don’t think so.” 

Aeryn walked around to stand in front of where John sat, looked into his eyes, and slowly explained what was going on.  She struggled to free her emotions just enough that he would be able to tell what was going on.  He watched her carefully, and looked at the others in the room for a moment. 

“Jool has a solution but there’s a problem with it.”  Nods.  “Big frelling problem.  Death-like size problem.”  More nods.  “On a scale of one to ten, what’s the chance this is going to kill me?”  Aeryn looked at Jool, who considered it.  “Two, maybe three.”  Aeryn held up fingers.  John glanced around the chamber as he considered.  Twenty to thirty percent chance was not the figures he wanted to hear. 

Hear. 

He looked again at the anxious faces and thought about the last two days, about being forced to rely on Harvey to communicate with these friends … with this family. 

“Let ’er rip.”  Jool looked puzzled but Aeryn motioned for her to inject John.  He took a firm grip on the edge of the table, remembering what had happened the last time and nodded to Jool.  A quiet hiss was the only sound in the room as the injector punched through his leather pants, the new microbes flowing into the muscles in his thigh.   

Crichton didn’t have to wait for it this time.  The burning pain that streaked up his leg was like an explosion -- a ball of flaming, molten metal flowing through his veins.  He gripped the edge of the table until his forearms ached and just tried to hang on, hoping it would pass as quickly as the last time.  The fire spread through his system, up through his abdomen, through his chest, and burst like a star into his brain. 

He felt himself start to topple forward but couldn’t stop it.  D’Argo’s hands were on his shoulders, steadying him as he fought to keep breathing until it was over.  The incendiary flood suddenly collected into a central point and struck like an arrow into the base of his skull.  It disappeared as if it had never existed, leaving him gasping and sweating, his nervous system vibrating like a plucked wire.   

No one said anything, giving him time to get his reactions back under control.  “Wow, the entire Green Bay Packers of microbes that time.”  His voice was thin and shaky.  D’Argo let go of his shoulders as he managed to open his fingers and release his grip on the bed.  The room remained silent as the Luxan moved away and Jool’s slim hand appeared in front of him holding a damp cloth.  He checked to make sure he wasn’t bleeding this time, and then used it to wipe the sudden sweat off his face, unable to look up at those around him.  He stared at the cloth in his hands and said, “Somebody go ahead and say something.“ 

It was a microt before Aeryn’s voice answered him.  He could feel himself start to shake all over now, and hastily shook his head.  He still couldn’t look at them yet, afraid if he did he would loose control of his emotions completely.  “It didn’t work.”   

The chamber was filled with the now familiar babble, the sounds accusatorial and full of distress.  He finally looked up to see that most of the group was facing Jool, who was obviously fighting a desperate battle to explain the failure. 

“Hey, it’s not her fault.”  He didn’t want anyone to suffer because of him anymore.  “Look, we’ll cope somehow, all right?”  He felt none of the positive emotions that his words indicated.  There was only crushing disappointment and a feeling of hopelessness.  His place on this ship had changed forever. 

“I’m going to …” he fought for control.  “I need some time to think.”  He slid carefully off the med bed, making sure his shaking legs wouldn’t fail him and started for the door.  Aeryn touched his arm to get his attention and spoke to him, a short sentence.  “Thanks, Aeryn.  I’ll be fine.”  He hoped the answer would do, because this time he felt like he wasn’t even in the ballpark.
 
The chatter started up behind him again, raucous and disorganized, six voices all at once.  The noise was adding to a headache and slight dizziness that had suddenly developed.  He reached the door and paused, staring sightlessly into the corridor ahead of him.  The mistuned radio station in his head was changing, the static clearing and the signal growing stronger.  He put his hand on the edge of the door to steady himself.  The music and lyrics rose out of the chaos and the moment his mind had been striving for over the last days finally arrived.  The headache disappeared in a blink, leaving his stomach queasy with excitement. 

“John, are you all right?” Aeryn asked from behind him. 

“Aeryn, he got rid of the clone.  He can’t understand you,” D’Argo said, still sounding enormously disappointed. 

“No, D’Argo … I can.  Both of you.”  One split microt of silent disbelief and then he was surrounded by yelling and hugging forms.  In all the confusion he was aware that he had been hugged and lifted off his feet by D’Argo at least once, and Chiana had laid one heck of a kiss on him in her excitement.  Stark was trying to help Rygel through an attack of the Intons, but the Hynerian’s wheezing was only getting worse.  He saw D’Argo hugging Jool, the accusations from only microts ago completely forgotten.   

D’Argo was back in front of him again, moving in as Chiana stepped out of the way.  Aeryn was next to him, and he knew that her emotions were out of control because she had her arm around his waist and her head on his shoulder, just pulling him tight to her side.  He looped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed her back.  D’Argo grabbed his free shoulder and shook him lightly, barely containing his elation.  “It is good to have you back.” 

“I never went away, but you guys were a little tough to hear for a while.”  He leaned his head against Aeryn’s, and just listened to the wonderful confusion of voices around him.

* * * * *

[KernilCrash]

CHAPTER 14

Chiana was the last to stop by Crichton’s quarters that evening.  She rapped lightly on the wall outside the cell door, but the doors were open so she continued in without waiting for a response.  Aeryn was sitting cross-legged on the edge of the bed, facing the door, stripping and cleaning Wynona.  John was stretched out beside her, back turned, sleeping. 

“How is he?” Chiana whispered. 

“Fine.  He finally ate a good meal, and he fell asleep a couple of arns ago right in the middle of chatting with D’Argo.  Didn’t he stop up and talk with you earlier?”  Aeryn’s low voice wasn’t a whisper; it was just a steady muted hum.  Aeryn already knew the answer to her question.  She found herself making idle talk to give Chiana a reason for staying a little longer.  Everyone else on board had already dropped by to see how Crichton was doing, and she had been wondering when Chiana would appear. 

“Yeah, I just wanted to check one more time for the night.  You know, it’s kind of funny …”  She stopped, looking uncomfortable with whatever she had been about to say. 

Aeryn stopped what she was doing, leaving the dissembled parts of the pistol alone for a moment to look directly at Chiana.  “What was funny?” 

“Well, the whole time I was talking to Crichton this afternoon, I found myself thinking I had to wait before he answered.  Every time he answered right away I was surprised.”  Aeryn’s inquiring look urged her on.  “I didn’t think we had adjusted to Crichton’s not understanding us as much as we did.” 

Aeryn nodded and went back to her task.  “I know what you mean.”  Her words were simple, but she had kept to herself the thought that they had all adjusted to John in more ways than simply adapting to his temporary loss of translator microbes. 

“Did he get a chance to thank Crais?”  Chiana eased a little further into the chamber to watch Crichton for a few microts.  She lowered her voice a little more as she drew closer.

“Yes.  I think it might have been the toughest conversation he’s had to complete in the last few days, but he wanted to thank him before we all starburst out of there.”  Aeryn set aside some of the cleaning tools and looked at the parts arrayed beside her. 

“I wish I could have seen their faces for that conversation,” Chiana laughed quietly. 

“So do I.”  Aeryn’s agile fingers began assembling the weapon even as she glanced up at Chiana.  The practice of years allowed her to work without pause even though she wasn’t looking at the weapon’s components.

“You weren’t there?” Chiana sounded a little incredulous. 

“No, I thought John would prefer to talk to Crais in private for that, so I was up talking to Pilot about where we might head next.”  The quiet clink and snap of pieces continued.  She didn’t like the way a piece slid in and pulled a portion of the weapon apart again.   

“So Talyn is gone and you never got to talk to either of them.”  Chiana found herself slightly mesmerized by Aeryn’s steady manipulation of the components.   

Aeryn nodded, and carefully finished assembling the pulse pistol, checking it over one more time before she inserted the chakan oil cartridge.  John had mentioned that it had jammed in the maintenance bay.  She wanted to make sure that it didn’t do it again.  “Crais was concerned about the other Peacekeeper ships that might be around here, so they starburst just before Moya did.”     

“You look pretty drechted out too Aeryn.  Why don’t you go get some rest?”  Chiana found that the concern for Aeryn she had set loose during Crichton’s illness was still very much alive within her.   

“I will.  I’m going to sit here a little longer and make sure he’s sleeping all right before I go to my quarters.”  She turned and looked at him for a moment, started to touch him, then pulled her hand back to avoid waking him.  Her hand dropped back onto the pulse pistol in her lap, and she continued to watch the slow rise and fall of his chest.   

John had been drifting on the edge of sleep ever since D’Argo and Aeryn had thought he had finally dropped off and was still vaguely aware of the quiet exchange between the two women.  The voices drifted somewhere almost out of reach, within his hearing but untouchable.  Every word was clear in his mind but the dialogue blurred in and out as he hung on to the thin edge of consciousness.  He had listened to the quietly spoken words as Rygel, Stark, Jool and Pilot had all checked in to see if everything was all right, content to let the hushed conversations wash over him.

* * * * *

When the jubilant celebrating had died down in Jool’s lab, he had gone first to see Pilot and had found a gift waiting for him. 

“Hey hey, Pilot.  Good to hear from you again!”  As Pilot answered him, he found himself missing the melodic intricacies of his speech.  A quick pang of remorse tapped his chest.  He found himself wishing he could have it both ways -- hear the music and the meaning.   

“I am very glad that your microbes have been restored, Commander.  I have missed our conversations.”  The fondness was clear in Pilot’s voice and John realized that he could still hear at least a portion of the melody. 

“So have I Pilot, so have I.”  He clambered over Pilot’s console and stood beside the large creature, something that Pilot enjoyed, but which most of the others did seldom.  Officer Sun was the only other person would come close enough to touch him on a regular basis, but they shared common DNA.  Crichton seemed to enjoy being in physical contact with Pilot solely for the bond it created.  Pilot gently placed a huge arm around Crichton and drew him closer. 

“I have a gift, for you.”  Another arm drew a sealed container from where it rested behind him and gave it to Crichton. 

John opened it, carefully sniffed the contents, and then rubbed some of the liquid between his fingers.  “Pilot, this is hydraulic fluid, the same type my module uses.”  When the huge head nodded, he ducked for safety’s sake and continued.  “Where did you find this stuff?” 

“When the DRD’s cleaned up the spill around your module several days ago, I had them retain a small sample and did an analysis of its components.  Moya and I discovered that with very little modification to the fluid production cells in her amnexus system, she can produce this in whatever quantity you need.” 

John laid his head against the arching cranial shell.  “You guys are ace.  Thank you, Pilot, and thank Moya for me also.” 

He had done the rounds next, just sticking his head in on each person aboard Moya, and chatting for a few minutes.  He had saved Aeryn for last, finding her in the Central Chamber, laying out food. 

“Hey good looking!  What ya got cooking?”  He bounded across the chamber and vaulted over the table.  He flopped down onto a seat and rested his chin on his hand, watching her as she took a tray out of the warmer. 

“I’m making myself something for Last Meal.  You need to eat something too, John.  Why don’t you come have some of this?”  She was careful to make it just an invitation, not a demand.  She was surprised he hadn’t given in to hunger yet, but upon reflection she realized that he was still consumed by being able to understand everyone again.     

“Just one more little thing to take care of first.”  When she placed a plate of food in front of him, he began to pick at it slowly.  “We started a conversation that we never got a chance to finish.”  He moved the food around on his plate, not really feeling hungry.  He waited to see if she would pick up wherever she had been forced to leave off.   

“Have you checked with Jool to see if the microbes are going to hold up?”  Aeryn changed the subject to give herself more time to consider what she had been about to say to him earlier. 

“Yes, and the little monsters are doing just fine.  Thank heavens.”  He didn’t want to have to go through being reinjected with the modified versions again any time soon.  He watched her take another tray out of the warmer, her head turned slightly away from him.  She was trying not to look at him, which meant she was avoiding whatever she had brought up earlier. 

Whatever it had been, he thought it was something important enough that Aeryn would have wanted to finish the discussion.  He was confused now.  He hadn’t thought he could misread her that badly after the past few days.

“You don’t want to … ”  She shook her head.  “I thought …” he stopped, puzzled.  Then, instead of trying to get her to talk about it, he looked at her instead, and saw all he needed to know.  He saw the pain that she had inflicted on herself when she had hurt him so very few days ago.  He saw her emotional pain that had been caused by his physical discomfort.  And he saw the outward manifestations of the internal ties that would bind her to him, and him to her for as long as they were both alive, without regard for any temporary hurts they inflicted on each other.     

“Tell you what, just pass me something to drink.”  She looked directly at him then, and her smile reappeared.  He didn’t need to talk about anything with her right then, just being together was enough. 

* * * * *

What had started out as just picking at his food had turned into a small feast.  Aeryn had lingered in the Central Chamber with him, slowly eating her own meal as he began to make up for the calories he had missed over the past days.  His stomach had finally protested the unaccustomed burden, and when he stretched and dropped his utensil, he was surprised to view the litter of so many plates and dishes around him on the table.  Aeryn looked at him, one eyebrow cocked a little higher than the other, just the trace of a know-it-all smirk on her face.  All he could do was grin back at her, silently outmatched and in complete understanding.   

Now he lay, comfortably full, the warmth of Aeryn radiating from where she sat near the small of his back, the steady rhythmic sounds of a healthy Moya around him, and the end of the whispered conversation with Chiana washing over him. 

And he slept.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Thank you for reading.

Kernil Crash

Purveyor of Hallucinations