BY DARKEST DAY (PG-13)
Author: oblivion7
Setting: *That Old Black Magic*, After Maldis returns Crais to the command carrier.
Disclaimer: All characters and quotes are the property of Farscape and the Henson Company. Anything similar to any other fics are not intentional.
Summary: Quiet disposal of a body is truly a problem aboard a command carrier.
Crais turned from the comm and gave a passing glance at the body, admiring how her beauty in death seemed to outshine her usefulness in life. It had been unfortunate, but she knew too much and he refused to trust that her affection for him would be sufficient to insure her silence.
Which now, of course, was absolute.
Stepping over the body, he washed his hands and face, shaking his hair free while he collected his thoughts. Death may be commonplace on a command carrier, accidents among crew might be acceptable, but the sudden disappearance of a command staff member would quickly breed suspicion amid his already edgy ranks. There was little worse aboard a carrier than mistrust of commanders; if the crew, especially the pilots, felt threatened, Crais knew his own position would be in jeopardy.
He'd need to deal with this new problem quickly and cleanly, leaving him free to pursue his enemy without interference.
Crais gazed at himself in the mirror, wiping away water and smoothing his hair into place. He forced away the feeling that he was wrong to seek revenge against a man for what was clearly an untimely accident. No matter. The fact remained that his brother was dead, Crichton was the cause, and he'd have to pay.
Crichton, that is. Yes, Crichton would pay for his mistake. Intentional or not…
The comm sounded again; this time it Braca. Not so easily fooled, this one, he reminded himself. Pulling himself together, Crais kept his end of the vid off and forced calm into his voice.
"What is it now?" Crais replied carefully. As he stared into the dead-eyed impassive face, Crais knew that if he could keep his composure around Braca, the rest of the crew would be easily managed.
"We have a transport pod requesting to board us, sir," came the droning voice. "They have a classified rating of..."
"No," Crais snapped. "We have a mission to complete and no time for visitors."
"Understood sir," Braca tone was unchanged. "But this is...an ambassadorial transport. In need of repairs, according to the transmission. The pilot says he just needs a few arns, then he'll be on his way."
Crais paled, feeling panic grip his throat. Could High Command already know that he'd disobeyed orders? Chronometric readings showed that he hadn't been off the ship more than a few microts, though it felt like half a lifetime. Could Teeg have contacted them in his absence? Or maybe the medic who treated him? No. It had to be another rotten, stupid coincidence. But Crais was well aware that any refusal to aid an ambassador-class transport would raise more than a little suspicion, to say nothing of giving its pilot a reason to report the affair immediately.
"Shall I permit him to board, sir?" Braca's voice snapped him out of his darkness. Crais clenched his fists but managed to keep his voice controlled.
"Quite so," he replied tightly. "Have the pilot meet me in the command officers' briefing room. I'll attend to him personally."
Crais snapped off the comm and engaged security mode. He stepped to his private rack and poured himself the strongest drink he could find, disappointed that it only irritated him further. An official pod in the middle of nowhere? Assuming the very worst, the transport would hold a Peacekeeper Special Ops agent—likely a trainee, in a pod this far into the Uncharted Territory—and they were even more dangerous than a Scarran. He sighed. If that proved to be the case, it would take every bit of tact and guile he possessed to keep the pKop at bay, and they were known for their ability to see through disguises. If he could get rid of this one without incident, it would buy him enough time to find Crichton and kill him.
Quickly re-plaiting his hair, smoothing his uniform and checking to insure that nothing would give him away, he gave a final glance at the body. It should keep until he got back, he told himself. Initial introductions were blessedly short, and once he got the pKop settled with whatever was needed, he could deal with the corpse.
One problem at a time.
Crais straightened his jacket yet again before entering the briefing room. He hadn't been this nervous since his final interview for headship of his carrier; nor did he have a better reason for apprehension. Little was known about special ops except that they were the most elite of spies, well compensated for missions from which they were unlikely to return. Only a few knew their exact number, but rumor was that it was less than fifty. Each pKop answered to a particular council member, and while any of the assembly could assign them, they had the right to accept or refuse assignments as they saw fit.
Some would even consider them independent.
The figure at the table was relaxed, dressed in a dull brown outfit bearing only a tiny red and gold insignia to betray his status. Crais barely contained his surprise on the face to face meeting. The ops agent looked barely out of his teens, with scattered sunshine for hair and bright sky eyes. He radiated a trusting innocence, and had a sheepish grin that would no doubt put anyone at ease. He nodded a greeting as Crais stood before him, his youth forcing the captain to keep his face dispassionate and unaffected by someone whose manner distantly reminded him of his brother.
"Sorry to intrude, Captain," the young man shrugged, his eyes dancing about the room. "I'm Tannis Eryl, by the way. I don't mean to bother you, but my pod's been having problems with…well, the eclipsis net."
Crais let his eyebrows rise briefly. The net was still considered classified, yet this so-called pKop was tossing out its usage far more openly than good sense would withstand. He decided to keep this to himself, however; the very unexpected presence of the agent made the need to aid—and get rid of—him that much more necessary.
" I'd normally try to get legitimate repairs," the young man blathered on, "but I'm not familiar with this sector, and since you happened along..."
"Not a problem," Crais replied tersely. "Glad to be of service. What kind of assistance do you think you'll need?"
Tannis kept his face easy, but felt his neck hair stand on end. Something was definitely out of place here, and not just Crais' lack of protocol and good manners. More visible to Tannis was the trepidation lurking behind the captain's dark scowl. Crais' fear was as visible as the disorganized hanger bay that greeted Tannis as he'd stepped off the pod. He'd seen the effects of poor leadership often enough, but never on a command carrier. The bitter taste of discord among the staff, the unkempt passages lending an air of helpless frustration to an obviously over-flown and overworked crew of pilots and techs, were all more uncomfortably tangible to him than to others who might come aboard.
After all, fear and discord were his old allies, his stock and trade. He'd seen it in forms than would only occur in the nightmares of the insane, all of which he kept well hidden behind a disarming grin and breezy attitude. His job, and usually his life, depended on it.
"I'm not sure," Tannis said, slightly embarassed. "I'm not very well versed in ship repairs ...I'm still working on that one. For now, I'll be happy to manage to keep the eclipsis net working right."
"So…is that what you're doing all the way out here in a transport? Learning how to use the net?"
Tannis nodded sheepishly. "Yeah, well, I've got the hang of it, sort of, but pod's aren't meant to take the strain, so I guess I overloaded a few circuits. That's why we train out here, y'know—keeps prying eyes from finding out what we pKops are doing." Tannis winked. "Not bad for rookie, eh?"
Crais rolled his eyes at the lad's openness. How this one made it past the initial screening was beyond logic; he seemed almost as inept as Crichton. It would be interesting to see just how long this one lasts in the field—assuming he made it out of training.
Tannis watched as Crais paced the room, occasionally giving him a glance of distain. Tannis again noted the captain's disheveled appearance despite the obvious attempt to present himself properly. Swills of hair drifted delicately out of place, there were thin dust tracks traceable near the greatcoat buckles, and even the boots were cracked from inattention.
Clearly, something was amiss here.
Though it had sidetracked him from his original destination. Tannis was never one to pass up a mystery--and pKops were, after all, obligated to investigate anything that seemed out of place, especially a command carrier so far out of the usual assigned lanes.
"I'll have my techs on it at once," Crais snapped suddenly, swallowing his discomfort. "We should have you ready to go in short order."
"I'd appreciate it," Tannis nodded, taking the hint for him not to ask for quarters. He'd dreamed of getting a real shower, but the look in the captain's eyes warned him against it. Standing with a feline stretch, he headed for the door. "I'll go make sure to show them the problem," he called over his shoulder. "It should save time."
Crais nodded and waved him away without a look. When the door closed, Crais sank into a chair and savored the silence. But looking down at his gloved hands, he noted that they were shaking.
Tannis stood for several moments outside the briefing room, musing about what he'd seen. The palpable tension caused the ship itself to bleed pain and confusion. As usual, the captain thought of him as a neo, fresh from the academy and still wet behind the ears. A useful advantage he intended to play with while he was here.
Tannis wandered through the corridors, occasionally pausing to overhear snatches of conversation as well as gain his bearings. He'd been aboard enough carriers to find his way easily, but enjoyed looking lost since it caused most crew to ignore him in contempt. Having turned down his insignia collar, he looked more like a diplomat's offspring than a special operations officer—and got just the reactions he needed.
What he heard from them was disturbing.
Not a single member of the crew was unaware of the change in the captain's behavior since the death of his brother. He heard about Moya, a creature known as a kriton, death, revenge and how often the captain deliberately overlooked communication directives. Tannis couldn't recall ever experiencing this level of demoralization. Even the command staff behaved like a leaderless pack, showing open resentment to their superiors, all watching each other as if every word and action were a pulse weapon on overload.
He knew he needed reliable answers, and quickly. Preferring the stairs to the lift, he made his way to one of the few persons on board who would know exactly what was going on.
Tannis cleared his throat as he approached the supply officer, who was busily cursing a tenacious cabinet that refused to respond to his repeated key commands.
"Hi," he offered lightly. "I'm…'
"The pilot of that ship what just docked," the man finished for him, irritated at the interruption. "What exactly do you want here?'
Still relaxed, Tannis held out a charred, twisted fold of metal. "Wondered if you'd have one of these handy?"
The man gave it a cursory glance, stood erect and leveled his gaze at Tannis. "What do you need that for?" he demanded.
Tannis felt his neck hair stand erect; this one wasn't fooled. "My transport…"
"Ain't no transport," the man snickered. "Least not one made by any PK tech that I know of."
"What…do you mean?" Tannis kept his manner calm, but his fingers slid toward the slim scian blade beneath a fold of skin on his wrist.
The man leaned over the counter giving Tannis a full inspection. "That's a diverter in your rather official hand, mister. Take that little baby out for a few microts, then make a couple of adjustments to one of those illegal signature changers I'll wager you've got, and your…ship will look for all the world like it's gonna blow apart. Especially if it really was a transport. Which it ain't. Besides…transports don't sound like that. Their chamber song is too coarse. Good trick, though, fooling the sensors into thinking your Wraith is a practice vessel. Must work nearly all the time for you pKops, eh?"
Tannis remained still. They were alone, and if he had to, he could make short work of the officer…
"Anyway," the man went on, turning back to his task, "I'm hoping you're here to, maybe, replace the captain?"
Tannis looked honestly confused. "Why would I do that?"
The man sighed. "Guess council's not heard, then, or just hasn't dispatched a replacement yet." He shook his head wearily. "In case you hadn't noticed, we're not exactly running a right ship here."
Deciding to let the talkative officer go on, Tannis eased his stance.
"Protocol would dictate that a message be sent to Crais to come in on his own," Tannis said, leaning against the counter. "They'll give him at least ten solar days before they send out to arrest him. Even then, you're looking at nearly twenty to thirty before they catch up to him."
"Humph," came the dull reply. "Pilots may not last that long." He became quiet for several moments; in that time, Tannis made note that the remains of his sweat-stained uniform carried the insignia of a chief engineer. That explained why a usually pristine supply room was in such a disarray, since engineers usually had others to clean up for them.
"You're serving double duty?" Tannis elected to change the subject as far from his ship as possible. "Is it related to the captain's hunt for this 'kriten' creature?"
The engineer eyed him balefully. "Is this official, or what?"
Tannis paused. "Not really," he replied slowly. "Truth to tell, I just happened along and found it odd that a command carrier would be so deep in this territory."
The man nodded. "One thing in life's sure: pKops are honest. Stone killers, even hired assassins, saboteurs and the like, but honest. Always know where you stand with 'em."
"Even if it's not for long?" Tannis grinned; he was beginning to like the man for his bluntness.
A hesitant smile crossed the tired face. "Crichton's a person, not a creature," he began, sorting through a bin of discarded pieces that should have long ago been destroyed. "Happened along with a ship so helpless it doesn't even have weapons or a primitive fusion drive. But he popped Tauvo's Prowler right enough to have him kiss the near side of an asteroid."
"Killed him, I take it?"
"No deader. Captain hasn't been the same since. He's also lost his precious Leviathan in the process too, so he's got double reason to find him."
Tannis had heard about the experiment to breed Leviathan gunships. It could double the effectiveness of the fleet, all the more important with war brewing. Of course, it could never match his Wraith, which was his and his alone.
"So this is about revenge? He's risking his career just to get even?"
"Captain's lost his good sense. Guess Tauvo was his better half. Crais was always tolerable so long as his brother was around to act as go-between. Crais was a decent enough leader once, but what with him doubling the patrols and not going in for supplies, crew's about had it. My techs are at their limit trying to keep the Prowlers and Marauders flying; next thing, he'll have the transport pods doing sweeps!"
Tannis digested this carefully. He was startled from his thoughts by a small device placed in front of him.
"There's your part," came the end of the conversation. "The techs probably won't want to get close to that…pod of yours, what with it leaking as bad as you let on. Be sure to have them give you details of how to insert it—yeah, I know you could do it blind, but they don't know that. Doing it over com would be even better. And remember, Crais likely hears what you don't think he does. He may be crazy, but he's not stupid."
"Don't you worry about that down here?" Tannis pocketed the part.
The man shrugged. "As an old engineer, I have access to certain…devices of my own."
Tannis smiled. Taking the hint, he quietly ducked out of the supply room and made his way up to his ship. The Wraith wouldn't enjoy being cloaked as a transport pod for much longer; here soon she'd want to shake off the irritation of the deception shroud.
Just one more stop, though, after the repair and he could be on his way.
Crais was exhausted, and would have given anything to fall into his beckoning bed and forget the day's events. But the twisted cooling body greeted him with accusing eyes, reminding him that his work was as yet unfinished. Sitting cross-legged on the floor next to it, he found himself idly playing with her hair as he wondered again how he would dispose of her. Soon there would be questions, and while no one would dare confront him, he knew the danger of further fueling the discontent already ablaze onboard his ship.
How had it gotten so far out of hand so quickly? If only he could have killed Crichton when he had the chance! But even then, something had stopped him, some deep inner voice trying to scream logic into his agonized mind, telling him that just as even Maldis had admitted, Tauvo's death was indeed a freak accident. Caused by a freak. An alien. A race that by all accounts didn't exist. And once he destroyed Crichton, things would be just as they were before. Life would go on, picking up where it left off.
Except that his brother would still be dead.
Crais sighed, shutting his eyes and his mind against the thought. He would have to find a way to explain his deliberate disobedience of orders, but he could probably get out of that one once he had the Leviathan in his hands again. Yes, he might use it as leverage and maybe even get a promotion in the offing. Just a little more time and everything would be right again.
But there was still the body.
Crais was snapped from his thoughts by the sound like the crackle of a moist tree limb. He gazed down, his hands gripping the arm with a force he'd forgotten he possessed. A long buried image crossed his mind, and with a wry smile he removed his gloves. Again, the old ways came to his aid as they had in times past. Peacekeeper training to the contrary, being born free had advantages he would never have known as a carrier-born child. Not only had his father taught him, but his mother and uncles as well.
Scatching, normally reserved for unruly animals or ones about to be eaten, would result in a quivering mound of breathing, weeping flesh when taken to the extreme. Since there were many animals best eaten raw with the flesh still warm, the spine was usually snapped first to insure they felt no pain. Then each long bone was ritually broken, the jagged ends used to tear the ligaments and tendons apart so that even the largest animal could be easily transported alive without spilling a drop of blood.
Assassins also used the skill when it was necessary to get their point across to more than one person. The meaning was rarely lost.
Wasting no time, he set to work. Soon he was in a rhythmic motion that made the bloodless job go quickly. Crais paused as he became more adept, remembering that someone might begin to look for his lieutenant, who by this time would have been missing for several arns. After re-securing the door, he contacted the duty officer, again careful to keep visual off.
"Update on Maurader patrols," Crais growled, feeling more pleased with himself than he had in quite some time.
"Nothing new, sir," came the stiff reply. "No new signs of the Leviathan or any other ship. One other item, however."
"Well? What is it?"
"Supply Officer Iliyan reports that we're getting dangerously low on parts to keep the patrol ships functioning. It's been...a long time since we've replenished supplies, and he says we can't afford to keep re-tooling the old parts forever...so since there's a small commerce station less than four arns distant, he wondered if we might… "
"Do NOT presume to tell me what can and cannot be done!" Crais snarled. "Inform him that he will continue to keep the ships in working order until we are no longer in search mode! This is to be considered the same as battle conditions, do you understand?"
Crais heard the man draw a breath. "Yes, sir," he replied steadily. "I'll relay your commands at once."
"One more thing," Crais eased his tone. "Lt. Teeg and I will be...reviewing a recent directive received from High Command. We'll be invoking executive privacy until further notice."
He heard a snicker in the background. "Understood, sir. Duty Officer out."
Good, Crais thought. Let them think what they will. It might be just enough to keep their mind off their own problems while they spread rumors. At least it should hold their attention until he finished.
Meanwhile, he continued to work with methodical precision, almost a dance-like cadence, watching the body mass melt smaller and smaller until it fit comfortably into a diplomatic security canister—with room left over for a non-flash detonator.
Tannis burst in to the hangar bay with flushed face and hands full of food items. Crais scowled, but the lad's bright-eyed innocence forced him to soften just a bit. At the rate he was going, Crais thought, pKop training will devour him before the cycle ends.
"You're late," Crais reminded him flatly. "Your transport seems to be repaired, but the fuel intermix chamber is still in critical range. My techs refuse to get close enough to examine it since it appears to be improperly integrated into your engines. You need to get this vessel out of here before it becomes more unstable. We can do nothing further."
Tannis stuffed a food cube into his mouth, savoring it as it melted. "Grateful, Captain," he muffled in reply. "I think I can make it to a base not more than a few solar days from here. I've got to get the hang of this net before then, though, or I won't pass this part of the training." He lowered his voice as he gulped down the mouthful. "You…won't report this, will you? At least not right away?"
Crais did not respond immediately. He turned from Tannis, motioning him to leave. "I will make a log mention, of course. However, it may be some time before we come within range of anyone for whom your…presence will matter."
Tannis grinned with relief. "Thanks, Captain," he said between chewing, clapping Crais on the back with gratitude. "I won't forget this."
As he hopped aboard the transport, Crais and others hastily left the bay and secured the doors, just in case the unstable pod didn't make it out safely. At least if it explodes, Crais thought, we'll only lose two or three Prowlers, and the crew should be safe enough from the radiation. It could take days, though, to purge and scrub down the hangar…
He let out a slow breath as the bulkhead shivered from the pitch of the pod's ticklish departure. One problem solved, one to go, he thought. And he sincerely hoped that Tannis did forget this entire incident…
With stalls, stutters and slipups, Tannis managed to guide the limping pod away from the carrier in one piece. He knew they would monitor his trajectory for several microts before returning to their familiar problems, so he kept his comm frequencies wide open, his path visible enough for the blindest cadet, his ship's attitude uneven. He angled dangerously close to a small bland asteroid, seeming to fall into it. But once on the far side he adjusted his course and smoothed the attitude, all the while keeping the emission trail alive but fading.
As the ship stabilized his eyes fell to the data crystal he'd barely managed to retrieve from the briefing room computer. Having lifted the information from both the official log and the captain's personal recordings, Tannis was able to fill in the missing parts of the command carrier's rather interesting recent history. He wondered how long Crais planned to keep up his mad chase. Surely he realized that there were other means at his disposal than to destroy his entire career for the sake of revenge?
A persistent shrill startled him from his thoughts. He grinned apologetically. "Don't you think we should wait a bit longer?"
The shrill deepened with annoyance. "Wraith, my love, you must learn to be patient. We don't want our good captain to figure out what the supply officer already knows, do we? Okay, got it, you don't care…"
Sliding the helve and letting light fingers dance across the panel overhead, Tannis felt the ship shudder with delight as it shed the net hiding its form. Stretching metallic gossamer limbs, rolling with glee at freedom, the ship sped about for several moments without direction or purpose, a dancer against the backdrop of stars. Tannis let the ship have its way; the net was, after all, uncomfortable even for him, and it did feel good to be flying free once more.
He watched portions of the crystal again, shaking his head at the senseless waste, then tucked it away. Time enough to report on this later, he mused. Let the captain play this out. Had Crais not murdered his command second, he might have salvaged his career by returning the Leviathan; now the best Crais could hope for was a quiet trial and a quick death. In any event, he'd like to meet this Crichton. Anyone who could throw a carrier captain this far off course would be worth suffering the annoyance of High Command. Besides, he didn't answer to them anyway. Now he had yet another reason to stay in this backwater region, and this one appeared more interesting and less dangerous than keeping track of the Scarrans.
With Crichton and the Leviathan added to his list of items to deal with, he stretched out, drifting off to sleep as his ship melted into the folds of darkness.
A call for general alert brought loud groans from crew that had just gone off watch. The screaming claxon kept every nerve on edge; they knew there was no enemy, yet they had to respond as if the entire Scarran fleet were just off their forward arm. Techs hastily moved partially prepped torpedo casings, unchecked pulse reloaders and other weapons into their ready positions, pilots wearily dressed and climbed aboard their ships for the familiar pointless scenario, and only a few recalled Crais' order for Teeg to meet him aboard a transport pod to "secure the directive from High Command."
The worn-out crew paid little attention to Crais as he slipped aboard the pod, the canister secured in his tight grip. He spoke in low tones as he closed the hatch, watching as the workers wordlessly scattered aside. Breaking protocol by not informing anyone of his departure, Crais lifted from the landing bay and whisked off far more quickly than safety standards allowed. Had any other pilot flown his trajectory, he would have had the officer court-marshaled for endangering the crew.
Once he was a short distance from the carrier, Crais placed the canister in the hatchway and set it adrift. He waited until his cargo was well out toward the far side of the transfer station before he signaled the ship to stand down the alert. Though he knew he should commend the crew's performance, he hadn't paid attention anyway, being too occupied with keeping them off-balance so they would disregard his own actions.
When Crais came back on board a few arns later, he seemed somewhat refreshed. Many saw this as a return of the man they had come to respect, and hoped that perhaps they could get a brief respite for themselves. But though outwardly sharp, Crais' mind tore at him with vehemence. Standing at the command console, he announced that patrols would continue as before. Leave would not commence until the Leviathan was found, its passengers imprisoned, its pilot subdued.
Whirling suddenly to Braca, he gave him a hard cold glare. Startled, Braca cast his eyes aside, but did not back away. Crais' breath filled his face as the captain leaned into him.
"Since Lt. Teeg has been… reassigned for an indefinite period of time," he snapped sharply. "Braca, you are now command second." Crais leveled his gaze slowly at each officer, looking for the slightest dissention. "Understood?"
"Yes sir," came the unified reply.
"Your promotion will be stated in the general log as of now. If there is anything further, I'll be in my quarters."
After stopping to have the harried medical officer amend his records yet again—with assurance that Lt. Teeg would return as soon as her "personal assignment had been quietly dealt with"—Crais secured his newly cleaned quarters with a heavy sigh. Everything will get back to normal now, he told himself as his eyes were drawn to the floor. Shedding his coat and gloves, he again washed his hands and tried to look at himself in the mirror, thinking firmly that it shouldn't be long before this entire insane event would be ended and he'd be a hero for recovering valuable property. True, he'd have to suffer for ignoring a direct order, but that was a justified infraction and should be forgiven once they had Moya produce the long desired Leviathan gunship…
He paused. He couldn't forget it, couldn't look away. The abomination was still there. He was still seeing those innocent, trusting eyes, hearing her voice added to the voices of his past, pounding, pleading, pressuring. He tried to tell himself that he was right, that since he couldn't protect Tauvo in life he could at least correct the senseless mockery of his death…
Time and circumstance, the voices repeated without mercy. For one bereft of reason, they lead to the darksome road from whence, it is said, no one returns…
Crais sank to the floor, huddled next to his bed, and buried his face in still wet hands.