I watched the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness. . .
With the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered out of their own bodies
good to eat a thousand years.
~ Allen Ginsberg "Howl"
He watches the marauder gently set down in the docking bay. Behind him, the squad of commandos snap to attention, smartly bringing their rifles to bear on the marauder's unopened hatch.
"Steady," Sub-Admiral Lorven says, his low voice unflinching.
Scorpius wonders if the order is for the squad or for him. Incompetent fool - he's the icon of High Command stupidity. Unwilling to listen to reason, unable to comprehend the totality of the situation. . . Why does High Command fill its upper echelons with braggarts and cowards?
The marauder hatch slides open. Braca emerges first - he'd expected her, and is mildly surprised. Captain Braca sees the armed squad behind him, and his face becomes still and motionless. Scorpius knows he's concerned, afraid even, but the halfbreed doesn't care. He's only concerned with her.
She follows Braca. Her eyes are fixed ahead of her. Her shoulders are squared, and she almost marches out of the ship. Her face is so still, it might as well be carved from stone - but unlike Braca's mask, hers is not caused by fear or disconcert. It isn't caused by emotion at all.
Braca leads the way to him; she and four of the marauder's commandos follow. Scorpius steps forward, but the Sub-Admiral steps ahead of him.
"Captain Braca," Lorven acknowledges coolly. "Commendations on returning the fugitive." Then he moves around Braca, too, until he faces her.
She looks at him briefly, dismisses him instantly. The Sub-Admiral sees her instinctive disregard and is angered. Tension stiffens his shoulders, rolls in his voice when he addresses her.
"Officer Aeryn Sun," Lorven says, "you are hereby charged with treason and murder of a superior officer. Any aggressive motions will be interpreted as a confession of guilt, and you will be summarily terminated. Is that understood, Officer Sun." Not making it a question.
"I understand," she answers flatly.
***
The officer's lounge is unusually quiet. Or perhaps it was always quiet - it wasn't as if he'd spent much time in PK clubs. He was only here now at the request of a - well, what was Sikozu to him, anyway? Less than a friend, but more than an acquaintance.
Crichton drank his raslak and gazed out at the stars.
Riddle me this, Harvey: why do the toughest soldiers in the galaxy have the worst alcohol?
In his mind's eye, Harvey appeared in a tall corn field, dressed like a country bumpkin just in from the farm: oversized straw hat, long flannel shirt, worn-out jeans two sizes too big cinched in place by a broad leather belt.
"Well, you see, John boy, the creation of raslak is a long, com-pli-cated process," the neuro-clone began. Actually, Peacekeeper raslak is the best in the universe, made from clear mountain spring water and the finest ingredients." He sounded like a West-Texan doing a Budweiser commercial.
Back in the real world, a woman sat down beside him at the bar, signaled to the server and was quickly brought a drink.
"Another for me, too," Crichton told the server. The PK grunt rolled his eyes and turned away. "Great service here," he muttered to the woman in red.
Sikozu snorted. "You have no idea. After almost two cycles here, I can assure you that they are not the most intelligent species in the galaxy."
"Still better than Scarrens, though, right?" Crichton said, half turning to face her. "I'm guessing that's why you've stayed."
"Among other reasons," she answered. She turned her glass, sending its contents swirling. "I'm sorry about your child."
He didn't want to talk about that - not here, not with her. "Yeah. Me too."
The silence stretched awkwardly between them.
"Listen, Crichton, I know you've already made your decision," Sikozu said finally. "I know you intend to return to Moya and head back to wherever you were before. But before you go, I think you should know that the Scarrens have begun raids on Peacekeeper territories. They're testing the borders. Open warfare is imminent." She paused. "If you would just consider -"
Crichton dropped his head onto the arm he had resting against the bar. "Please, goldilocks, not again. Have a little mercy on me, okay? I've just lost a child, my wife is hardly functioning - if one more thing gets dumped on my plate, I'm gonna crack." The words were light; the emotion behind them was not.
Sizoku shook her head angrily. "Why do you deserve mercy, human? Do you think you're the only one in the galaxy with problems? War is about to begin. Millions and billions will die because of your inability to trust Scorpius. He would have saved your child if you'd only trusted him - but no! You couldn't get beyond your own selfish fear." She shoved her glass across the bar and stood up. "No wonder Aeryn is grieving - you could have saved her child, but you wouldn't. All because you fear the person who has always been your greatest ally. Weak species," she spat.
Crichton caught her arm as she began to move away. "What do you mean, I could have saved the baby?" he asked softly.
*
Chiana brought an assortment of foods to the table, but Aeryn wouldn't eat any of them. The pale Sebacean only smiled a little and shook her head when offered any form of sustenance. She looked out the Center Chamber's main portal, the starlight reflecting off her face, and ignored the food that would keep her alive.
"You-you have to eat something," Chiana insisted, plunking onto the bench beside her. She reached out to brush back a stray hair from Aeryn's face. "You'll be sick if you don't. Hey, how about I fix you some Sebacean stew? You love stew."
"Maybe later," Aeryn answered. "Don't worry, I'll be fine. Remember when we ran out of crackers and went for over two weekens without food? Crichton -"
"-Cooked the dentics," Chiana finished with her. She laughed. "Even Rygel wouldn't eat them, so you know they had to taste like dren." Shaking her head, she added, "You know, it wasn't fun at the time, but when I think about it now - I don't know. It wasn't so bad, I guess. I mean, yeah, we were about to starve to death, but -"
"But we were together," Aeryn said. She ran a hand over her face. "That seems like a long time ago."
Chiana nodded. "I miss Zhaan," she said without thinking. Instantly she was sorry.
But Aeryn only smiled. "Me, too. She was a very wise person. I could've used her advice a thousand times over the cycles."
"Aeryn."
Chiana turned her head, saw Crichton standing just inside the chamber. She started to greet him, then noticed the odd expression on his face, a mixture of sadness and hurt and anger and a hundred other things. "What-what's going on?"
*
He'd pictured the scene a hundred different ways, and every time he'd come up with the same result. She'd tell him Sikozu was wrong, lying, mistaken. In his mind, there just wasn't room for any other variation.
Real life was different. Standing before her, watching the slant of starlight and shadow across her face, everything changed. The answers were streaked across her eyes, there to read even before the questions were asked.
He didn't know if he was going to scream, vomit, or cry. Maybe he'd do all three, see which one worked best for him.
Chiana was there, too. She stood up when she saw him. "What-what's going on?"
Go away, he wanted to tell his pseudo-sister, but instead his eyes remained on Aeryn, and he asked simply, "Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you trust me?"
Then Aeryn stood up as well. She caught Chiana by the arm and gave her a small shove. "Give us a microt, will you, Chi." Not a request, but a warning: get out while you can.
The Nebari glanced from one to the other, quickly bolted for the door.
He was alone with her, three feet and five hundred metras between them.
"Who told you?" she asked finally.
He laughed a little, from agony rather than amusement. "Doesn't matter," he dismissed. "Were you ever going to tell me?"
"I won't lie to you," she said neutrally.
"Hell of a time to be honest," he returned. "You know, if you'd told me, I would have done it. You should have trusted me."
She turned away from him.
Anger made him add, "I know she wasn't a pureblood, but that didn't mean she had to die."
Aeryn spun to face him, fury in her eyes. "Frell you. You know it wasn't like that. I loved her more than I've ever loved anyone. You know that."
He threw up his hands. "I don't know anything, Aeryn. Apparently I'm just a dumb human who can't even be trusted to save his daughter."
"And what good would her life have been, John?" Aeryn demanded. "She would have seen the universe ripped apart during her lifetime, knowing her father was the cause and she the reason. What kind of life would that have been?"
"So you decided to just let her die?" he shouted. "What kind of decision is that?"
"Don't try to blame me for this," Aeryn returned sharply. "It isn't my fault she died."
"Well, it certainly wasn't my fault," he said, his voice suddenly falling to a normal level. "I would have saved her - could have saved her - but I didn't know. You didn't tell me, and now it's too late."
They stared at each other, speaking without words.
"I can't do this," Crichton said, abruptly turning away. "I can't keep having this same fight with you. I just can't." His footfalls were heavy on the deck as he stormed from the chamber.
Aeryn watched him leave, her eyes boring into his back. He was long gone by the time she was able to talk around the solid lump in her throat. And even when she could speak, her voice came out low and rough, not nearly loud enough to carry down the corridor.
"I'm sorry."
He held her responsible for Zhaana's death. Rygel was wrong - it was her fault. Crichton said so.
She sat back down at the long table, folded her arms and laid down her head, and wept.
*
Aeryn went to bed alone when the sleep cycle came. She didn't know where John was, didn't dare to ask Pilot. The others had avoided her all evening, careful not to cross her path. They all knew, she was certain. They all knew she had killed the child.
She thought about sleeping somewhere else, but didn't know where to go. Instead she laid down on the bed (her bed, John's bed), still fully clothed. She was exhausted, but sleep was hard to find. She kept thinking of his words, the hundred accusations she hadn't denied, the hundred explanations she hadn't made. At last she fell into a blackness that was neither restful nor restorative, only a lack of consciousness.
When she opened her eyes, Crichton was sitting in a chair beside the bed, watching her. There were tear tracks on his cheeks, stubble on his chin, dark circles under his eyes.
"I love you," she said without thinking.
Crichton ducked his head. "I know. I love you, too. But I've been thinking. . ." He sighed. "I think we need some time apart."
That hurt. She sat up slowly, swung her feet to the deck, turned her back to him. "Alright. I'll go up a few tiers. I'll move my prowler out of the bay where your module is. When you're ready to talk, you can come and find me." He didn't know the strength it took to keep her voice steady, to keep her words logical.
"No," he disagreed softly, firmly. "We both need time and space to think. I'm going to leave Moya for a while."
When she'd been a child, she'd once slammed her hand between a rotating pulse rifle rack and a bulkhead, breaking nearly all the bones. She hadn't screamed, but the pain had been so intense that her vision had darkened and blood had roared in her ears, devastatingly loud.
She didn't scream now, either, although she felt much the same as she had then. But she was an adult now, and Peacekeeper trained, and hardened by watching everything she touched turn to ash time and time again. Steadily she said, "There's no need for that. I was planning to leave for a while, anyway. No need for us both to go."
He would be safe on Moya. D'Argo and Chiana would watch over him. The Scarrens couldn't reach him as long as he remained in Peacekeeper territory. He could stay safe if she went away, so she lied as convincingly as possible.
"I guess you weren't planning to tell me that, either," he said, his voice hardening for a moment. "Were you planning on ever coming back? Maybe you'll bring Grayza with you this time."
Anger flushed in her, lending its cold strength. She stood up, went to the dresser they both shared. She opened a drawer, pulled out her spare pulse pistol and chakkan oil cartridges. She didn't touch his things.
"Take extras," he advised, the heat suddenly gone from his voice. "Take the charger, too. D'Argo has one I can borrow."
Divorce. That's what this was - a divorce. You take that, leave me this. Bitterness sat heavily on her tongue. "I'm not giving back the ring," she informed him.
"I didn't ask for it," he returned. In the next instant he said, "Make sure you take enough currency. Actually, take it all - you don't know what might happen."
She kept her back to him as she pulled things out to pack. She brought out her old leather bag, began to put things inside. Socks, pants, shirts. . .she had one of his black shirts mixed among hers - no, two: one she slept in, one left over from her pregnancy. Should she leave them, give them back? Uncertainty led to anger. How the frell was she supposed to know how this worked? She didn't know how to work a divorce.
But then, she didn't know how to work a marriage, either.
I tried, she thought angrily. Aloud she said, "I don't need you to punish me, Crichton. I think my daughter's death is punishment enough."
"I'm not," he responded neutrally.
"At least you can have more children," she bitterly added.
"Not without you, I can't."
Hope flared brighter than anger. She turned to look at him, slumped in the chair, a hand half over his face. "This isn't permanent, then," she said, only half a question.
"I don't know," he admitted, moving his hand to look at her. "You don't just stop loving someone, Aeryn, not even when something horrible happens. At least, I don't. But I don't know if I can spend the rest of my life with someone who doesn't trust me. I just need some time to think about things."
She could almost understand that. Silently she packed away the last of her things. Her entire life, packed away into one bag. There was even room left in it, an empty corner. Zhaana would have easily fit; Crichton would not.
"When I get to where I'm going, I'll send a message to Pilot," she said, sealing the bag. "If you ever want to talk - if you ever work things out - he'll know how to find me."
"Where will you go?" he asked, sounding half afraid to know.
She shook her head. "No," she said. "When you really want to know, ask Pilot." She slung the strap over her shoulder; the bag was heavier than it looked, and she was half tempted to simply leave it, along with all the other things she wouldn't be taking.
If only she could leave the memories behind.
She took a step towards the door, halted one last time and turned to face him. "But I'll tell you this, John," she added quietly. "This is a mistake. You need time, and that's fine, but if you wait too long -" She shook her head, not completely certain what she was trying to say.
"Is that a threat?" he asked, his voice hard.
He wasn't even listening to her. She smiled at him, smiled at the good times they'd had, the adventures they'd shared, the things they'd both learned. He wasn't the same person he once was, and neither was she. "Goodbye, John Crichton," she said softly.
*
She could hear their voices, but not what they said. She knew the subject, though. Aeryn hadn't told John about some kind of deal Scorpius offered to save the child. Wormhole knowledge for a cure to the biotoxin. Seemed simple enough, except that nothing was ever simple with Scorpius.
There'd been shouting yesterday in the Center Chamber, accusations and rebuttals and probably blows, too, knowing Aeryn. But now they were calmer, reasonable. They were working things out.
Then she saw Aeryn leave their quarters, her bag slung over her shoulder.
Frell.
She skipped out of the shadows to block the taller woman's path. "Hey, where you going?"
Aeryn's chin lifted and she smiled a little. "I'm going on a short run. Nothing to worry about." She moved around the girl.
Chiana caught her arm. "Oh no. You-you're leaving, aren't you? Is Crichton going, too? You guys can't - can't just leave us."
"John's not going with me, Chiana," Aeryn said gently. "He's staying here."
Understanding hit harder than a pulse blast, sent her stumbling back a few steps. She shook her head. "No. No, you can't -"
"It's going to be fine, Chiana," the ex-Peacekeeper comforted. "Really, it won't be for long. You stay safe while I'm gone, do you understand? No running around giving D'Argo a hard time. Take care of Pilot and Moya for me." She held the Nebari's eyes. "I'm counting on you, Chiana. Don't disappoint me."
Chiana watched her walk down the corridor. She stood frozen until Aeryn was out of sight; then she sprinted towards the Center Chamber, where she knew D'Argo, Rygel and Wrinkles were eating first meal.
"D'Argo, Ryge - we've got a problem."
*
She left her bag in the corridor outside Pilot's den.
Pilot was waiting for her.
"Officer Sun," he said quietly. "Chiana says you're leaving us. Is that true?"
Of course the Nebari wouldn't keep quiet. She walked up to the giant console before answering, slowly tracing the path she'd walked a hundred times before, and might never walk again. "It won't be for long, Pilot," she said, belying her own thoughts.
He watched her with his wide, innocent eyes. "Is this because of Suzhaana's death?"
She only nodded.
"We grieved a long time for Talyn," Pilot offered. "It helped ease our pain when everyone returned. When you returned."
"Even though I brought Scorpius with me?" An insecurity long unvoiced, now was her last and best chance for an honest answer.
Pilot sighed. "We accepted your word that it was necessary. And. . .it was the price of your return."
Even Pilot and Moya understood the necessity of making deals.
"I'm sorry," she said, though she didn't know for what, exactly. Hundreds of mistakes made over the cycles, probably. "You and Moya have given me a wonderful home over the cycles, Pilot. You gave my daughter a beautiful home. I will never forget that kindness."
He laid a giant claw on her shoulder. "Both Moya and I are grieved at your leaving, Aeryn. Perhaps as much as we grieved for Talyn."
Aeryn forced herself to smile and laugh a little. "I'm not dead yet, Pilot. When I get settled, I'll send a message to tell you where I am. Someday John will come to you asking where I am, and then I'll come back." She patted his claw. "It won't be for long, Pilot. I promise."
*
Chiana snatched away Rygel's plate of food and threw it across the galley. "Aren't you listening? Aeryn's leaving!"
"What do you want me to do?" D'Argo countered. "I understand how John feels. He could have saved his child and didn't even know. She took that decision away from him."
"And what would you have done, captain?" the Nebari demanded. "If you had to choose between Jothee and Lo'Lan, who'd you pick?"
D'Argo growled, "I would have saved the one in danger."
Chiana laughed bitterly. "Like you saved Zhaana, or Zhaan before that?"
That silenced the Luxan.
"Look, Chiana, perhaps some time apart is called for," Rygel offered. "Not just for Crichton, but for Aeryn, too."
"N-no, no, no," Chiana denied, shaking her head. "Safety in numbers. We all stick together and we're all okay." She shifted from foot to foot. "I have a really bad feeling about this. If Aeryn goes, she's not coming back. We have to stay together."
"We can't make her stay," Rygel pointed out.
"Crichton can," she replied. "He can get her to do anything. D'Argo, just go talk to him! Aeryn could be on her way to her prowler right now."
"Then I should say goodbye to her," the Luxan said quietly.
Chiana put a hand to her head. "It's not Aeryn's fault," she said tightly. If anyone should have to leave because of Zhaana's death, it should be her. Aeryn and the baby would have escaped if she hadn't been shot. Zhaana died so Chiana could live.
No wonder Aeryn hadn't told Crichton about the offer. What would the baby have grown to become, knowing her life had been exchanged for thousands of deaths?
It was nearly impossible to live with the burden of one innocent death.
*
Crichton wasn't in the cargo bay.
She shouldn't have been surprised, but she was. She'd thought he'd at least -
But that was foolish.
She'd hoped he'd -
But that was foolish, too.
The DRDs had attempted to put the cargo bay back in order, with little success. Had it really only been three days since Scorpius' offer? Had her daughter really been dead three days? Time would be like that now, she supposed. Solar day would turn into solar day, blurring together, until one day her daughter would be dead longer than she'd been alive.
I killed your father for love, Xhalax had boasted.
Had she killed her child out of love or fear?
Done is done, I can't change that, she'd once told Crichton. It was still true.
In this same bay, Crichton had once asked her what she'd envisioned for her life when she was a Peacekeeper. Service, promotion, retirement, death. Nearly six cycles later, the vision had changed: security, family, old age, death. Now she looked into the future and saw -
Nothing.
She settled her bag in the prowler and began the preflight check.
Funny, she'd done this before. If she waited long enough, would Crichton appear, carrying his bags in one hand and a silver coin in the other?
She heard heavy footfalls approaching, and the low thrum of a thonesled, and the quick steps of a shadow dancer. Turning, she found D'Argo, Rygel, and Chiana standing not far from the prowler.
She'd lived through this scene before, too, only Zhaan had been there instead of Chiana, and Crichton had been the one leaving. Was he in the shadows now, watching her as she'd watched him?
Somehow, she didn't think so.
They looked. . . different. She stared at each one of them, trying to memorize something she couldn't define. Chiana, who was no longer a girl. D'Argo, who was no longer a reckless warrior. Rygel, who was still just as short and annoying as ever. Her friends, her family, the people who played all the roles in her life except those chosen few belonging to Crichton. Once she never would have imagined. . .
"This is really for the best," she assured them. "It's only temporary."
Rygel floated over to her. "You don't have to leave, Aeryn - but since you are, may I have your share of food at mealtimes?"
She moved as if to smack him; he dodged aside. "No, I'm leaving that to Chiana, you fat frog," she said with mock severity. "The only thing you get is my gratitude for all the absolutely useless things you brought Zhaana."
The Hynerian chuckled weakly. "Yes, well, a dominar must always invest in his future subjects." He paused, then added, "I think you made the right choice, if it's any consolation. Crichton will get over this. He loves you, Aeryn, no matter what he thinks or says or does. Give him a few days and he'll be begging for your return. Until then. . .be safe."
"I will," she agreed. "Good fortune to you, Dominar Rygel."
His earbrows folded down, Rygel floated out of the bay.
"Well, I think you made the wrong decision," D'Argo said honestly. "But I don't think you should go."
"Are you speaking as the captain or as a friend?" Aeryn asked.
"Both," he answered, coming forward to put his hands on her shoulders. "Travel safely, Aeryn Sun. I know we'll meet again soon."
"Take care of Moya and Pilot, D'Argo," she said. "And John, too. You're the only soldier here now. You have to keep them safe."
"I will," he promised, and stepped back.
Aeryn looked to Chiana.
"This isn't right," the Nebasi declared. "This is very, very wrong. You shouldn't go, but you really shouldn't go alone. Let me go pack a bag, and I'll go with you."
"Chiana!" D'Argo barked, surprised.
"No," Chiana told him sharply. "You might be helpless, but I'm not. We can go together, Aeryn. Just you and me, two nixas in crime." She was crying.
Aeryn caught her chin, made the Nebari meet her eyes. "You've got a good heart, Chiana. If your brother's is half as good, then there's hope for the Nebari." She patted her cheek. "Go on now."
Hope sparkled in Chiana's eyes. "You'll wait for me?"
Aeryn smiled. "Go on."
Chiana managed a small laugh, then spun and darted from the chamber.
Aeryn's smile faded. "Take care of her, too, D'Argo. She needs you, no matter what she says." She turned, set her foot on the first wrung of the prowler's ladder.
The first step up was the hardest.
"Fly safe, my friend," D'Argo said.
*
Black stone and red flame watched on the monitor as a lone prowler emerged from the giant Leviathan and disappeared among the stars.
Sikozu tapped into a data console, read the information, then nodded. "Scan confirms. One Sebacean was in the prowler."
Scorpius growled, turned away to begin pacing around the office. "I did not anticipate this," he admitted.
Sikozu watched him walk across the black and red carpet. "Do you think she left by choice, or do you think she was forced out?"
"Immaterial," Scorpius dismissed. "We must focus on the new situation. Crichton is still aboard the Leviathan. I would hypothesize that his mental state is less than optimal - that can be used to our advantage."
"Of course his mental state is less than optimal," Sikozu said. "He's dealing with the fact that he could have saved his dead child, if his mate had told him. With his loyalties divided, now is the perfect time to exploit his guilt. You know how emotional he is; we can ply him with statistics of children dying in the Scarren raids -"
"He has no knowledge of the offer extended to Officer Sun," Scorpius said, waving a hand dismissively. Then he halted, slid her a sidelong glance. "Unless someone told him."
"You didn't," Sikozu said bluntly, "but you should have. Why did you tell Aeryn, but not him? He would have instantly agreed."
"And instantly vanished the microt his child was cured," the halfbreed retorted. "His lack of information was part of the plan. If Aeryn had secured his cooperation, he would have been ours. His word is worth little, but hers is stronger than weapons-grade steel."
Sikozu shook her head. "Don't try to lie to me; I know you too well. You knew she wouldn't tell Crichton about the offer. You had to know." Or else you're not as smart as you think you are, her tone implied.
He turned away from her. "Guilt would have eaten away at her until she eventually confessed or went mad. Either way, Crichton would have sought me out, demanding to know the truth, and then I would have convinced him of the benefit of sharing wormhole technology."
"A weak plan," she judged.
"One that would have succeeded, had you not interfered," he countered. "Captain Braca," he said, activating the comms system.
"Yes, sir." Always the same answer. Sikozu detested the Peacekeeper's fawning over Scorpius.
"Prepare my marauder for departure," Scorpius ordered. "Plot the trajectory of the prowler that just left Moya, and set an identical course. Minimum accompaniment of commandos." He glanced at Sikozu, then added, "You will accompany me."
Sikozu never went with him on assignments when Braca was in attendance. She couldn't stand the sight of the incompetent toady, and Scorpius knew it.
"Yes, sir. Right away." There was no mistaking the smugness in Braca's voice.
"You can't manipulate Aeryn like you can Crichton," she told him when the comms link was broken. "She'll only play your games until she's in a position to destroy you. You'll never even see the blow coming."
"We'll see," Scorpius said, turning to leave the chamber.
"Yes, we will," Sikozu told the closed doors.
*
Space, cool and empty.
She sat in her prowler, letting the ship drift among the stars.
Well, Aeryn Sun, what are you going to do now?
She didn't know where she was going. Frell, she didn't even know who she was anymore. One time fugitive, former Peacekeeper, retired assassin. Once a mother, once a wife, currently neither. Alone, that's what she was.
Alone.
She couldn't go back to the assassin squad - there'd only be questions she couldn't answer. Moya was gone, along with the past six cycles of her life. What was left?
We're all already dead, D'Argo had once told her. Some of us just don't know it yet. You have nothing, Aeryn Sun, So what are you going to do?
*
He sat in the corner and watched her. He snarled at the server who came to ask if he wanted anything else, was careful to stay in the shadows so she wouldn't notice him.
Not that she'd notice much of anything at this point.
She sat at the far end of the bar, isolated in her own bubble of despair while the tavern's other patrons flowed around her. She'd been approached by males four times in the last two arns, had told them all to go away without hesitation. Now she'd had at least twelve more fellip nectars, and the next male to approach her would probably have better fortune than his predecessors.
Valdon, insane asylum of the universe. Why had she chosen this planet? She'd passed through more than a few of this city's taverns as if she might have been here before. Had she come here with Crichton?
A Sebacean-like male was working his way towards her. Scorpius abandoned his table to reach her first.
"I'd offer you a drink, but your bottle's not empty yet," he said by way of greeting.
She glanced at him, blinked and looked again, then laughed. It wasn't a sound of amusement. "Why can't I get away from you? Everywhere I go, there you are." She up-ended her bottle of nectar, set it back down with a hollow thump. "There, now it's empty."
Scorpius signaled to the server. "How long do you intend to stay here, Aeryn?"
"What the frell do you care," she snarled, snatching the new bottle from the pale-eyed server. "I like it here with Zhaan. Frell, even Xhalax and I are catching up on old times; she promises to bring Talyn tomorrow. Home sweet home, as the humans say."
He hoped she was only drunk and not insane. "Allow me to make a proposition."
She laughed. "No thanks. I've had far better offers than you for tonight."
Definitely drunk, possibly to the point where she'd have to be carried out. "You once offered me a safehaven when I needed it. Let me now return the favor."
She looked at him silently for a moment. "You want me to go to your command carrier." She shook her head. "That's the craziest thing I've heard all day - which is saying a lot, since we're on Valdon." She drank from the bottle, then asked, "Why?"
He frowned at the server, warning him to keep his distance; she didn't need any more to drink. "Other than Crichton, you're the only pilot who's traversed wormholes and survived the experience. That makes you unique."
"That makes me nothing," she returned. "I don't know anything about wormhole technology, Scorpius. Even if you put me in the Aurora Chair, I still won't know anything." She took another drink, then added, "I already have a plan, anyway."
To drink yourself unconscious? he wanted to ask, and didn't. Patience was required here. "And what would that be?"
She smiled, a full, true smile. "Rygel told me that sometimes bad things happen without a reason. I've given that some thought, and you know what? He was wrong. Every action has a cause. So I've made a list of people who need to be repaid for their acts." She turned the bottle in her hands. "Furlow. Natira. Crais is already dead. Grayza." She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "You."
"I see." Sikozu had warned him. Still, this need not immediately interfere with his plans. "Assassinations can be quite costly."
"Not when you do the grunt work," she countered easily. "As for time - I've got all the time I need until Crichton comes for me."
Here was a new piece of information. "You've made arrangements to meet Crichton?"
But she only drank her nectar, making no reply. Interesting.
"You'll need information to find the ones you seek," he said. "Peacekeeper intelligence -"
"I won't be an assassin for them," she interrupted. "I was a pilot, not an assassin."
Yet she was planning to assassinate a list of people. The alcohol must have made that logical to her. "Of course," he soothed. "Most of your old team members are gone, but there is a branch of Icarian Company on my carrier. How would you like to be Lieutenant Sun?"
"You can keep your rank," she told him. "And it won't get you off my list. I hold you responsible for Zhaan and Talyn's deaths. I will kill you for that."
He dared to take the fellip nectar from her. "My dear Officer Sun, I never thought otherwise." He put the bottle to his own lips and finished the liquid.
*
The grates were closed, the lights out, and not a sound issued from within.
That combination was enough to make even the staunch Luxan warrior pause.
And entire weeken - almost two - and the human still refused to step back into life. Creeping about the tiers, emerging only during the sleep cycles, refusing to answer anyone who appeared at his door. . .
D'Argo could sympathize. His child, dead. His wife, the betrayer. And yet, Chiana's words kept resounding in his head: Lo'Lan or Jothie, Jothee or Lo'Lan? He could almost sympathize with Aeryn, too. Her child, dead - or her mate, betrayed.
He remembered the deal Scorpius had once offered him: Jothee for Crichton. That offer had nearly driven him mad, and Crichton had only been his comrade, his friend. . . how much worse the choice must have been for Aeryn.
He remembered standing in the cargo bay, the body of the dead Interon at his feet, Jothee and Chiana standing before him - and realizing his betrayal. Anger, agony. . .loss.
Lo'Lan or Jothee, Jothee or Lo'Lan?
"John," he said into the darkness.
No response.
"Listen, John, you can't keep doing this," D'Argo said. "I know. . ." he began, then stopped. "Dren, I don't know anything," he sighed. "I can't imagine what you're going through. There is nothing - nothing - like being unable to protect your child. But I can also say that there's nothing like losing your mate." He turned away from the closed grates. "You can't forgive her - I understand that. Maybe you can't live with her - but maybe you can't live without her, either."
No response.
"I don't know anything," he repeated, and meant it.
Jothee or Lo'Lan, Lo'Lan or Jothee?
*
Her quarters on the ship were a fourth the size of her room on Moya. She'd been assigned space usually reserved for tech grunts, not prowler officers; even prison cells offered more room. There was some irony in that, she supposed. At least she didn't have to share the cramped area with anyone. That was probably Scorpius' doing; he probably thought any bunkmate would kill her while she slept.
Which was probably true.
She'd been to the quartermaster, been assigned weapons and armor among other things. The EVA suit had a small tear behind the left knee; she'd have to return it and suffer through a lecture on improperly caring for her gear. The sidearm she'd been given had a warped internal slide, she discovered upon inspection - not enough to make the weapon dangerous, but enough to keep it from firing.
The quartermaster hadn't called her a traitor with words. Others had not been as quiet.
She was going to have to check out her assigned prowler from circuit to conduit. Even the techs despised her right now. She had no doubt one of them would attempt to sabotage her prowler. Examining their work would only lessen her status: a commando doing tech work. But it was check the prowler or have it explode the instant she applied thrusters, and her image couldn't deteriorate that much further, anyway.
When she found the error in the prowler engine, as she knew she would, she'd have to execute the tech assigned to her. It was that, or risk another "glitch" later. The techs would still hate her, but they'd fear her, too.
Around here, fear was the best emotion she could hope to inspire.
Come on, Crichton. Stop pushing me away. Stop punishing yourself.
She thought of Zhaana all the time. Tiny little girl with blue eyes and a shock of hair dark as space. . .How pretty her child had been - and strong, too. Her fist was tiny, but she could grasp things so tightly that each finger had to be gently pried away. She would have been a great warrior.
Aeryn shook her head. Why did she keep doing that to herself? Zhaana was dead, and she would never be anything but a memory.
Brusquely she stood up, grabbed the EVA suit and headed out the door. Lecture or prowler exam? Private or public humiliation? She blindly turned down one corridor, then another.
"Well, look who we have here."
Three men stood blocking the corridor - commandos, like her. Part of Icarion Company. Her teammates. There was a laugh.
She kept her face closed, forced down the momentary spark of fear. Any sign of weakness, and they'd crush her like a drannit. She didn't even pause in her stride. "Get the frell out of my way."
The dark-haired male in the center aimed a blow at her head. She dodged, tossing aside the EVA suit, only to catch his companion's fist on her jaw. She stumbled backwards a few steps, cursing him soundly in multiple languages.
"Have you taken ill, Officer Sun?" someone asked behind her.
Aeryn turned, found four more of Icarion Company behind her, two women and two men. They didn't at all look as if they were interested in her well-being.
"What is this about?" she asked levelly. She had no route of retreat, and they knew it.
You walked right into this, Sun.
"You tell us, traitor," the first man said, smiling lazily. "You never should have come back."
She already knew that. Anywhere in the universe was better than here, right now. Odd, she'd pictured her death a hundred ways, but never in a small corridor on a command carrier, at the hands of Icarian Company commandos.
No D'Argo or Chiana to help you now, Sun. And Crichton isn't coming.
She thought of Zhaana, of her tiny hands and pure blue eyes, and her soft, sweet scent.
She was smiling when they came for her.
*
Crichton was a messy creature, worse than a zager at collection time. He left his possessions scattered everywhere: across the floor, over furniture, alone and in groups, clothing and personal effects. Aeryn had enforced some sort of order on his chaos, but now. . .
He was just glad he didn't have to walk through the mess.
He floated his thronesled over to the bed, where Crichton was stretched out on his back. "Are you awake, Crichton?"
"Go away, Rygel."
Rygel snorted. "I'm not sure I could find the way back to the door through all this yotz."
No response.
"Crichton, it's been over two weekens now," the Hynerian began. "I know the others have come by, offering you sympathy and encouragement. Well, I'm not here for that. I'm here to tell you to get up off your eema and get over it."
That got a reaction, at least - Crichton twitched.
Rygel grunted. "Yes, you heard me. You're laying there thinking that I'm just a stupid slug who hasn't got an inkling what he's talking about. You're wrong. You're not the only one to ever survive the death of an offspring, human. When my yotz of a cousin deposed me, he executed all of my oldest offspring. And a few of their mothers, too, who protested too loudly. Try living with that for a hundred cycles."
Silence.
Then - "I didn't know that."
"It's not something I publicize," Rygel countered. "A dominar who can't protect his own offspring - impressive." He adjusted the controls on his sled, dropping closer to the human. "I never held my wives accountable for their deaths."
Crichton said nothing.
"She was only trying to protect you, Crichton. Would you really have exchanged wormhole technology for Suzhaana's life?"
"Yes." No hesitation, no doubt.
"Then she made the right decision," Rygel said. "She made the decision you couldn't, and you're going to have to learn to accept that." He paused, then added, "The child is dead, Crichton. Nothing you ever do will change that. But Aeryn is still alive. If you wait long enough, that, too, will change, I suppose. Where will you be then?"
The human made no response.
Rygel had expected none. He turned his sled and silently floated from the room, careful not to bump into any of Crichton's possessions.
*
She felt numb.
At least nothing hurt.
Slowly she opened her eyes. The low thrum and hiss of equipment had already alerted her to the fact that she was in the med bay; now her eyes confirmed the fact. Blank grey ceiling, sensors to her right and left. . .
Someone was seated beside her.
Cautiously she turned her head, expecting pain but feeling none. When she spoke, her voice was rough and low.
"Sikozu."
The crimson haired woman turned to face her. "Aeryn," she said, sounding torn between relief and surprise. "I thought you were going to die."
Aeryn remembered the commandos in the corridor. "So did I."
Sikozu stood to check a monitor, frowned but nodded as if satisfied. "You shouldn't have come back here."
She already knew that.
"Scorpius never should have allowed you to come," Sikozu pressed, watching her closely.
"It was his idea," Aeryn replied slowly. The Kalish was considering something; she had that odd, half blank expression on her face. "What?"
Sikozu shrugged. "Nothing." She added, switching into English, "You've been in the med bay for almost a weeken, heavily sedated for most of that time. You talked."
Aeryn felt her jaw clench. "About what?"
"Crichton. Suzhaana." She turned her head, and her vibrant hair half concealed her face. "I'm sorry for your loss."
She couldn't tell if the Kalish was lying or not. It didn't matter.
She brought up a hand to run over her face, discovered that she was missing half of her smallest finger. She held it above her eyes and stared, thinking of the children's song she'd once heard John sing to Suzhaana.
One little, two little, three little Indian, four little, five little, six little Indian, seven little, eight little, nine little Indian, ten little Indian ponies!
And he'd gently tugged on her last finger or toe, whichever he'd been counting, and Zhaana had laughed and laughed.
"You took quite a bit of damage," Sikozu said honestly. "The good news is, you're still alive, and no one who attacked you can say the same. Scorpius ordered executions for the ones you didn't kill."
Aeryn lowered her hand, slowly sat up. Nothing hurt, at least. "It doesn't matter," she said. She didn't know if she meant the wounds didn't matter, or the executions didn't matter. Both, maybe, or neither.
She glanced at the other hand. It looked fine.
"Good," Sikozu said, sounding doubtful. She moved to a side table, brought back a small object and held it out.
Aeryn took the mirror, quickly looked at her reflection before she had time to reconsider.
Nose, broken and healed with only a faint bump to indicate trauma; would probably go unnoticed by all but those who knew her best. Faded double set of lines running from right eye to jaw, probably made by pojakin knife; she was lucky to have kept the eye. Her long braid was gone; now her hair fell just below her ears. Her ears - she was missing a large chunk out of the left one, and an ugly, raised scar ran from the missing area down past the collar of her tunic.
I look like Xhalax, she thought distantly.
"The internal damage was just as severe," Sikozu said. "A rib pierced your lung. Two broken arms, one broken leg. Crushed foot. Fractured pelvis, skull fractures in two places." She paused. "It can be healed, Aeryn. You know that. After reconstruction, you'll look as you did before."
Aeryn didn't care. It didn't matter.
"Did you hear me?" Sikozu asked, not unkindly.
"I'm certain she did." Scorpius stood on the threshold to the chamber. He entered slowly, critically regarding Aeryn. "How do you feel?"
"Fine," Aeryn answered, putting aside the mirror. In truth, she didn't feel anything, inside or out.
"The surgeons did an acceptable job," he said, halting next to her. "But there is always room for improvement. They can finish reconstruction later."
"You should have denied her request to return, Scorpius," Sikozu said, turning to regard a monitor. "It would have been more intelligent, and merciful."
Aeryn studied her missing finer, waiting for the halfbreed's response.
"We cannot deny aid to our allies in their time of need," Scorpius said finally.
Assumption or lie? All three knew Aeryn hadn't asked to return. Was Scorpius attempting to lie to Sikozu? Was she testing him, feeling her way into some information he wouldn't share?
Aeryn shook her head. She didn't care about their little games. Her head felt oddly light without the braid, the short strands soft against the back of her neck. It hadn't been this short since commando training.
"Excuse me," Sikozu said abruptly, and left the chamber.
"She hasn't changed," Aeryn commented, although she had doubts about that.
"No," Scorpius agreed. He shrugged, dismissing the Kalish. "We must discuss your situation. Obviously, returning to Icarian Company as a prowler pilot is no longer an option."
It was fortunate that her mind was numb, or that fact would have hurt. Prowler pilot - the one thing about herself she'd always been able to depend on. Officer Aeryn Sun, Icarian Company, Plysar Regiment, prowler pilot. One more mark of self-identity stripped away. She was still a Sebacean female - it would take a lot to remove those last, most basic descriptors. But anything was possible, she supposed.
"Obviously," she agreed dryly.
"There is another place for you here," Scorpius said, watching her closely. "There are assignments where one individual is sent out to complete a mission without aid from ship or comrades."
Assassinations. He didn't need to say the word. What else was left for a soldier rejected by her compatriots?
Perhaps this had been what Xhalax faced: isolation, alienation from what she'd known all her life, the sudden realization that things were so far gone the situation would never recover. Maybe Xhalax hadn't chosen to become a professional killer - maybe she'd just run out of options.
Aeryn tried to think of alternatives, but her mind kept leading her in circles. Assassin for the Peacekeepers, assassin for the ex-Peacekeepers, what did it matter? She just had to hold out long enough for Crichton to come to his senses. She could go back to Moya, demand that he listen to her -
- And then lose her one last hold on sanity when he said it was over, no more trying again.
I've become my mother, Aeryn thought. I'm Xhalax.
She met the halfbreed's gaze steadily. "I assume you have something in mind."
*
He was trying to understand.
Groping blindly for something he couldn't see, straining to hear something out of range, fumbling for something his hands couldn't hold.
Start at the beginning, work your way forward.
Dark hair, guarded eyes, a solitary demand. "Identify yourself."
No, no, stop. Start at the end, work your way back.
Dark hair, dead eyes, a solitary departure. "Goodbye, John Crichton."
Wrong, wrong, wrong. Everything - wrong.
He was trying to understand.
The raslak was gone and Noranti's "sleeping herbs" weren't helping anymore. When he closed his eyes, he saw a blue-eyed baby and a dark-haired beauty. Both were now gone.
Why?
In the midst of chaos and loss, blame and guilt, he thought of Chiana.
"I'm sorry, Crichton," she said softly.
He would have told her it wasn't her fault, but her image faded, and his thoughts moved on to other things.
His wife loved him, but she didn't trust him. His child trusted him, but she was dead. Where was his place in the picture?
He was trying to understand.
*
Light - blinding, intense and painful, and a pair of strong, angry hands lifting him up, then casting him to the floor.
"What the frell -"
"You selfish human." D'Argo loomed over him, hands balled into fists at his sides. "She's gone. She took a transport pod and left me because you couldn't be bothered for a few words of reassurance."
Understanding came in a flash. "Aeryn -"
D'Argo turned away from him. "Chiana, John - Chiana. Aeryn's been gone for over a monen, almost two. Driving your love away wasn't enough - you had to send mine away as well. Frell you." He kicked 1812 across the chamber.
Crichton watched the little DRD bounce off a bulkhead. "How - when -?"
The Luxan picked up something from the table next to the door, threw it onto the bed beside his head: an old wanted beacon Aeryn had picked up on some commerce planet. Gingerly he ran a hand across the smooth surface.
A hologram of Chiana appeared, voice cutting in mid-sentence.
"- Fix it," the Nebari said quietly. Her eyes looked tired, even on the recording's flickering image. "I-I know Suzhaana's death is my fault. Aeryn - she was only trying to protect me. Crichton's angry that she couldn't do both. That's what I think. H-he-he just can't understand that you can do everything right, and sometimes things still go wrong. Must be a human thing." The woman in the recording laughed bitterly, sadly. "But we know better, don't we, D'Argo? I'm going to fix this, if I can. From Crichton I learned how to hope. Aeryn showed me how to turn and fight, not just run away. And you -" She laughed again, softer this time. "I don't think I was meant to stay with anyone forever. But of all the men I've ever met - you're the only one I've ever wanted to stay with forever. I'm sorry."
The image blinked out.
Crichton glanced at the Luxan watching the space where the image had been. The warrior was his best friend, and his heart was broken.
"She was wrong," the human said softly. "I don't blame her, and I'm not angry with Aeryn. This - this whole situation - I did it. I'm responsible."
Slowly the Luxan turned his eyes on him. "So what are you going to do about it?"
*
The music was horrendously loud, all shrieking strings and pounding beat, designed to cover the sound of a hundred conversations and working well. The light was dim and fluctuating, slanting down from high overhead, secluding patrons in pockets of shadow. The establishment was crowded, noisy, and one of the most expensive in the Uncharted Territories. Only the wealthy were allowed past the entrance guards, only the elite were seated at tables. The service was impeccable.
On the fourth level, a business deal was being brokered between a white-crested male with three green eyes and a spider-like female with experience in managing shadow depositories.
"Really, Tiront, why do you want me to manage your depository?" Natira insisted. "I'm retired - why should I put my leisure on hold?"
The male's feather-like crest fell forward, concealing two of his eyes. "Because of your lack of currency, my dear," he answered. "My venture will make you rich beyond your dreams."
A server set down a fresh pitcher of the house alcohol and quickly sank back into the shadows.
"How would you know of my dreams?" Natira teased, pouring them both full mugs of the amethyst liquor.
The male grinned. "I know all about you, sweet one," he returned, sipping from his mug. "From your red eyes down to your elevated boots."
The server who'd delivered the alcohol stopped one level down to glance up at the pair. She watched them pour and drink another round before she finally turned and made her way from the establishment.
She was nearly to her prowler when another server approached the pair, only to find them both slumped over the table, dead.
*
Pilot wouldn't answer his call. Moya's counterpart promptly answered D'Argo and Rygel's voices, but wouldn't even acknowledge Crichton's existence.
The great creature was surrounded by DRDs when the human entered his den. Crichton had a sudden flashback of the same scene cycles past, when Pilot had been furious with Aeryn. He was careful to keep his hands loose at his sides, well away from Winnona.
"Hey, Pilot. I tried to comm you -"
"Get out," Pilot ordered bluntly.
Crichton halted, carefully out of range from the gigantic claws. "Talk to me, big guy. What's going on?"
Pilot growled, "Moya and I want you to leave, Commander. You are not the person we once knew. You have brought us sorrow and misery, and we want you to go away."
"Go where?" he asked blankly. So this was what Aeryn had felt all those cycles ago. Where did one go when there was nowhere to go? And if home was that place where, when you went, they had to take you in, what did it mean when that place threw you out?
"Take your module and find a wormhole," Pilot answered. "That's always been enough for you before. You sent Aeryn away, forced Chiana to leave. Now it's your turn. The DRDs have prepared your ship."
Suzhaana. Aeryn. Chiana. Going, going, gone. Crichton closed his eyes. "Tell me where she is, Pilot," he said quietly. "She said she was going to send word to you when she got settled."
"So you can hunt her down and make her even more miserable, human?" Pilot challenged. "If you go away, she'll come back to us. Moya and I will support her as you refused to do."
"Tell me where she is," Crichton repeated.
"I don't think -"
"Just tell me where she is!" Crichton shouted, his eyes snapping open and his hand straying towards his pulse pistol.
"She's with Scorpius!" Pilot returned. "You drove her back to the Peacekeepers, Commander. Are you pleased? Do you know what the Peacekeepers do to traitors, human? The Aurora Chair is only the beginning."
*
The pudge-like tech clung to the corner, her eyes darting nervously from shadow to shadow, then back to the Sebacean on the far side of the room. The hand holding the pulse pistol trained on the Peacekeeper shook. "You're lying," she dared.
The dark haired Peacekeeper calmly seated on the overturned crate shook her head. "No. The Scarrens are on their way here, and so are the Peacekeepers. It's only a matter of who'll arrive first. Either way, I'm glad I'm not you."
"You're not out of the debris field yet, deary," Furlow snarled. "The Scarrens will gut you like an arbet, and the Peacekeepers aren't exactly your best friends, either, last time I checked."
"Things change," the woman said lightly. Smiling, she added, "Who do you think tipped them off about your location? They both know you possess wormhole technology."
The tech's small eyes narrowed, darted around the repair bay. "Old Furlow doesn't give up that easily -"
The Peacekeeper's comms warbled. "Scarren striker entering system," a mechanical alert announced. "Peacekeeper marauder on sense horizon. Estimated time to arrival: one quarter arn."
"How do you feel about Scarren heat probes?" the woman asked. "Ever wondered how long you'd last at the hands of a Peacekeeper interrogator?"
"This is about that boy of yours, the human," Furlow guessed. "Revenge. Well, I'm sorry, deary, but I don't intend to help you out." She put the muzzle of the pistol to her forehead. "I won't give you the satisfaction."
Boom.
The blast echoed off the walls. The obese body slumped to the tool-strewn floor.
The Peacekeeper stood up, went to retrieve the weapon. "Yes, you will," she informed the dead woman.
She thoroughly investigated Furlow's databanks and lab, erasing everything, destroying everything - not because of the imminent Scarren or Peacekeeper arrival, but because she wanted to erase every available portion of the honorless tech's life. She took her time; on this backwater planet, no one would bother her.
There was no Scarren striker in the system, no Peacekeeper marauder on its way. Furlow killed herself from fear of shadows.
When all else was done, the assassin set charges and destroyed all that remained of the tech's facility.
*
Of all the people to send to greet him -
Straight-backed, smirking, Captain Braca.
"Scorpius is waiting for you in his quarters," Braca said by way of greeting.
"Still running errands for master, I see," Crichton returned. He brushed past the shorter man, heading for the nearest transfer lift. After two unfortunate encounters with command carriers, he'd learned the schematics from Aeryn. He knew where he was going.
He was going to find Aeryn.
Braca scrambled to keep up with him. He remained silent during the trip, but continuously shot Crichton sidelong glances from the corner of his eye.
"Spit it out, captain," the human growled.
The Sebacean laughed scornfully. "And spoil the surprise? I don't think so." Upon arriving at the final destination, he added smugly, "Here's your rematch, Crichton."
Crichton ignored him and entered the halfbreed's den.
Scorpius stood up from his crimson throne, slowly descended the stairs - a king lowering himself to a commoner's level. "Hello, John. How good to see you again."
"Cut the crap, Scorpy," Crichton snapped. "Where is she?"
The halfbreed halted a few steps from him. "Sikozu is unfortunately unavailable, although she sends her warmest regards -"
"Not goldilocks," the human interrupted him, his voice tight. "Aeryn."
Scorpius smiled. "Oh yes. Of course. Officer Sun is not on board the carrier at this time."
"Pilot said she'd sent a message from here." Blunt, no room for argument.
"How old was that message?" Scorpius countered.
Old - almost four monens old. Crichton was sure Scorpius already knew that. "Where is she?" He hated asking, both because it revealed how little he knew, and because he dreaded the answer.
"Away on a mission," Scorpius answered. He turned to pace a few steps. "You see, John, the other commandos regard her not only as a traitor and deserter, but also as corrupted - contaminated, if you will. There was no place for her among them."
Crichton mulled over the information, returning again and again to the same conclusion. "You turned her into an assassin. You make her kill for you."
"Officer Sun is what she has always been, John. It is very difficult to force her to do anything. She came back of her own volition, should you wonder," he added. "She is free to go anytime she pleases."
"Fine, whatever," Crichton said with a shrug. "Just tell me where she's gone."
Scorpius shook his head. "I don't know. She could be on any one of a handful of planets. She is due back within the monen, however. You're welcome to stay on the carrier and wait for her."
He turned towards the door, not bothering to respond.
"It would be a great pity if she were immediately to depart upon her return before you had a chance to speak with her," Scorpius called after him.
He stopped, slowly turned back to face the halfbreed.
"Of course, you'll want to stay busy while you wait," Scorpius continued. "You will be granted full access to all labs and databanks - monitored usage, of course. Even humans have phrases about using the same tactic twice, correct?" He smiled.
"No," Crichton denied angrily. "I won't let you do this. I won't give you wormhole technology - not today, not tomorrow, not ever." His hands itched for Winnona.
Scorpius saw the motion. "If you kill me, you can forget any thought of ever seeing Aeryn again. I'm her sole supporter here, and she's so far out in the Uncharteds that even you won't find her." He deliberately turned his back on the human and began climbing the stairs to his crimson throne.
Crichton did nothing.
"Braca will show you to your quarters," the halfbreed said, dismissing him.
*
The decision to dock at the unfamiliar command carrier was based on need, not choice. Only fortune and fancy flying had let her escape from the Scarren scout ship. The striker had been just as surprised to see her as she'd been to find him; she managed to change course and escape before taking more than a few initial shots. But her prowler was losing fuel by the microt and missing one of its thrusters, and the sudden blip of the carrier on her sensors was like a small miracle. She immediately hailed them and was granted permission to dock, and for a brief moment it was good to be a Peacekeeper.
The reception she received in the enormous maintenance bay was not the one she'd expected. A score of armored, helmeted commandos were waiting there - not so much for her benefit, as at the will of the carrier's superior officer.
"Officer Aeryn Sun. It's been a long time, my dear."
Commandant Mele-on Grayza stood in the center of the bay, the dark soldiers flanking her as an honor guard. Her skin was a few shades greyer than Aeryn remembered, and her dark hair was now shoulder length, but otherwise she seemed unchanged, from open shirt to knee-high boots.
Trapped, nowhere to retreat - Aeryn wondered how often she'd be able to outlast the destruction that seemed destined for her whenever she set foot on a carrier. Best to meet the trouble head-on. "How much of High Command did you have to frell to get out of the court martial, Commandant?"
Grayza's eyes narrowed and turned to stone, but her laughter sounded completely natural. "Officer Sun, your humor will earn you a reprimand one day. Tell me, is Crichton with you?"
"I have no idea where Crichton is," Aeryn answered honestly.
The pale woman closed the distance between them. "How is it that you go without him now? Did the tragic loss of your child divide you?"
Grayza saw the blow coming, had just enough time to dodge so that Aeryn's fist caught her on the cheek rather than the bridge of the nose. Still, bone shattered beneath the force, and the Commandant stumbled backwards and half fell as the commandos rushed forward to seize Aeryn.
Aeryn didn't resist - resistance would have been met with lethal force, and she needed to survive at least a few microts longer.
With assistance, Grayza regained her balance and again approached. "That was very unwise, Officer Sun," she rebuked gently. Her words were slurred. "You should think more carefully before attacking a superior officer." Smiling, she ran a finger down the side of one half-exposed breast, then quickly smeared the oil beneath Aeryn's nose.
Then Aeryn fought - the commandos, herself, without and within.
"Take her to my quarters," Graza instructed.
As they half dragged, half carried her from the bay, Aeryn shouted, "You've made a huge mistake, Mele-on!"
Grayza only laughed.
*
The last time he'd seen Aeryn, she'd been packing her life into a solitary PK-issue bag. He'd thought she'd at least need two, but when she'd picked it up, it had looked half empty.
Much as his was now. He looked around the cell-cum-bedroom, the place he'd spent the last years of his life - the best cycles, he supposed. He hoped to return one day with Aeryn, but that hope was small, and somehow didn't seem quite real. When he shouldered his one bag, filled with all he possessed, he wondered if he shouldn't just leave it behind. He was already carrying the most important things in his heart.
D'Argo was gone. He'd taken Lo'La and gone to find Chiana almost a weeken ago. He'd said he intended to bring her back, both to her senses and to Moya, but his voice had been low, resigned, as if even he didn't quite believe himself.
Rygel was waiting for him in the corridor. "You're making a mistake, Crichton," he said bluntly. "How long do you think it'll take Scorpius to realize you're only feeding him yotz about wormholes?"
"Long enough for Aeryn to come back," Crichton answered staunchly.
"And what if she never comes back?" Rygel demanded. "She'd spit in your face if she knew what you were doing. She sacrificed her own offspring to keep wormhole technology from the Peacekeepers."
"She sacrificed Suzhaana for me, Sparky," countered the human. He began to walk down the corridor. "We all make our choices and leave others to deal with the consequences."
*
At what point she lost consciousness, she didn't know. She blinked, and suddenly the chamber was filled with low, flickering whisps of light, and dark, unfamiliar shadows.
Her head ached - what she wouldn't give for some of Zhaan's special plant now. Her vision was blurred around the edges and grey in the center; she couldn't see color at all. Although she hadn't eaten in more than a few arns, she thought she might vomit at any microt.
Slowly, very slowly she sat up. She'd been stretched out on a long couch draped in firesilk; Chiana would have loved it. Cautiously she set her feet on the floor, only then realizing she wasn't wearing her boots. Or uniform. Or much of anything else.
"Awake, are you?" a woman's voice called. "Why don't you come join me?"
Almost instinctively she stood and followed the voice. With every step her headache increased. "I don't see you."
"Here." Around a corner, into a bathing chamber. Mele-on Grayza reclined in a sunken tub filled with a billion tiny grey bubbles. "You slept a long time." She lifted a hand from the water and beckoned.
Aeryn slowly went forward, up the two steps, and sunk onto the edge of the tub.
Easy, Sun. No sudden moves.
"You know, Aeryn, I'm actually pleased that you're here," Mele-on said, smiling wolfishly. At some point her cheek had been repaired. "We have so much to talk about."
"Yes," Aeryn agreed. Despite herself, she reached out to brush a cluster of bubbles from Grayza's shoulder.
The Commandant laughed. "Such a simple woman you are, Aeryn. What a shame you haven't had your face repaired. I imagine Crichton's disappointed, too. Where did you say he is now?"
Aeryn traced a finger up the side of Grayza's neck. "I don't know where he is."
"That can't be so," Grayza denied softly. "Tell me the truth."
She wound her fingers through Grayza's dark hair and shoved downwards, pushing her beneath the warm water.
The Commandant struggled more than she expected. In the end, Aeryn was actually forced into the tub with her, but only for a few microts.
When it was over, she set one of the heavy statues beside the tub on the Commandant's back, hiding the body beneath the tiny grey bubbles.
*
Was this hell or purgatory?
Get up, go to the lab, any lab, pretend to do something, eat if you must, go back to your quarters. Think of Aeryn. Think of Suzhaana, and Chiana. Remember that time when Chiana stole a tiny golden necklace for the baby? Think of Zhaan, gentle, wise Zhaan, and crazy Stark. Think of you and Big D swapping stories over a bottle of raslak. Remember when Rygel stole Aeryn's best chakkan oil clip? Think of Aeryn.
Microt after microt, arn after arn, day after day.
He was either going crazy or already there. It really didn't matter, either way.
"Crichton." A small hand caught his arm, yanked him into a side passage. "Crichton - I've been following you for half and arn, trying to get your attention. What is wrong with you?"
He blinked, pulled himself from memory. "Goldilocks - where you been? The only familiar faces I see anymore are Scorpy and Braca's."
Sikozu shook her head. "I've been here, but - busy. I have something you must see." She pulled him farther down the corridor, keyed an access pad on a side wall, and lightly shoved him through the door that opened. Pushing past him, she went to the small table in the center of the chamber and slipped a vid chip into a reader.
"This was taken from a recon unit in the Uncharted Territories," the Kalish said. "Watch carefully."
An image flared to life above the table. Scarren striker - alone, probably a scout ship. Flying slowly, scanning rocks in a debris or asteroid field.
Suddenly a prowler appeared, nearly nose to nose with the striker. The pilot immediately went into evasive maneuvers, dodging both the striker and the rocks.
The striker fired, repeatedly landing blows on the prowler. A flash filled the image. The prowler disappeared.
"Chalk one up for the Scarrens," Crichton said, shaking his head.
"Crichton," Sikozu said gently, "that was Aeryn's prowler."
He only looked at her.
"The Scarrens have dramatically escalated the violence against Sebaceans," the Kalish added quickly. "Peacekeeper forces are amassing at the borders and on numerous other fronts. They're outnumbered badly, Crichton - very badly. Total annihilation is not out of the question. They need something to even the war, just a little -"
"Wormhole weapons," Crichton supplied dully. "That's why Scorpius didn't tell me."
Sikozu nodded. "I think so. He hoped, given enough time -"
Crichton turned away. "I don't care. Scarrens annihilate the Peacekeepers, Peacekeepers annihilate the Scarrens - doesn't mean a frelling thing to me." He glanced at her over his shoulder. "But then, you knew that."
"I trust Scorpius," Sikozu said evenly, "but I also trust you. Right now, I'm trusting you to make the right choice."
What if she doesn't come back? Rygel had demanded.
This wasn't purgatory - in purgatory, there was some hope for redemption.
*
For the second time in a monen, she brought her prowler down in the safety of a command carrier hangar. She wasn't certain what waited for her - had the news of Grayza's death reached them yet? More than possible - likely. She wasn't betting on Scorpius' ability to shield her, either. Fortunately, she didn't need him to, this time.
She only needed him to come within killing range.
Surprisingly, it was Braca who met her at the foot of the prowler ladder. Braca, who risked his own life by catching her upper arm and propelling her towards a marauder primed and ready to leave.
"There's no time to explain," he said tersely. "Sub-Admiral Lorven is here with a full escort of SSDs to arrest you for Grayza's murder. Execution, and justly deserved, I say, and if it'd been done by anyone else. . ." He pulled her around a stack of crates. "But there's something Scorpius wants you to see first."
So she didn't snap Braca's neck as she was tempted to do. Instead she went with him, silent and cooperative. Death was standing beside her, but waited patiently.
Marauder - five man crew, success measured by body count. Some things never changed. Three men, two women, all silent and focused on their tasks. They kept their abhorrence and disgust of her to themselves.
They traveled in silence for arns, heading somewhere she wasn't told and didn't ask. It didn't matter - this was just a delay.
"We've arrived, sir," the commanding officer announced.
Braca stepped up to the forward portal. "There," he said, pointing.
Moya.
Aeryn turned on the captain. "What is this?"
"Watch," Braca instructed, eyeing her nervously. "Crichton's there." To the comms officer, he added, "Open audio taps."
"-Still going home, Buckwheat?"
Crichton. That was Crichton's voice. She hadn't heard it in almost five monens, more than a quarter cycle, but she recognized it instantly.
Rygel's chuckle clearly carried over the comms channel. "No, John, I don't think so. The Scarrens attacked Hyneria, didn't you know? Reports say they put Beshan's head on a stick, along with all of his wives'. My wives." The amusement faded from his voice. "For over a hundred cycles I've clung to the dream of returning home and reclaiming my throne. Now. . .now the dream is gone, and I feel old. Very old, and very tired."
Crichton said quietly, "I hear you, man."
"You don't have to leave, you know, John," Rygel said.
That was when Aeryn noticed the minuscule white fleck floating beside the Leviathan. Crichton's module.
"She's gone, Ryge," Crichton replied. "Everyone's gone but you, me, and Moya. And Pilot. And I can't. . . I just can't."
"Then I hope you find some sort of peace on your homeworld, human," the Hynerian said with a sigh. "Good fortune go with you, John Crichton."
Aeryn sensed it a moment before it burst into life: a womhole, wild and free and blue as Suzhaana's eyes.
"Goodbye, Rygel the Sixteenth, Dominar of the Hynerian Empire," Crichton said formally. In a softer tone he added, "Be safe, little buddy."
In her haste to reach the comms panel, Aeryn unthinkingly broke the commando's neck - not from malice, but because he was in her way. Desperately she palmed the toggle. "Crichton! Cri-"
The other commandos dragged her backwards.
"Don't harm her," Braca ordered frantically. "She belongs to Scorpius!"
Through the forward portal, she watched Crichton's module move away from Moya.
***
She watches the dark haired assassin and wants to laugh. Here is a true warrior, one worthy of the silly honors Peacekeepers bestow on their own - and the Peacekeepers are about to slaughter her. She's survived stabbing, exile, drowning, betrayal, torture - it may be impossible to kill her permanently.
How unfortunate that such a fine soldier is insane.
Sikozu can see it clearly - after all, she spent nearly an entire cycle in the company of Aeryn Sun. Oh, she looks well enough - squared shoulders, stiff spine, neutral expression - but one look at her eyes and it's terribly obvious. Madness is monarch today.
What did the assassin find out there among the stars?
Sub-Admiral Lorven tells Officer Sun that any aggressive moves will result in immediate execution. "Do you understand?"
"I understand," Aeryn says coldly.
She understands, she just doesn't give a frell.
Lorven's squad encircles the assassin, weapons at the ready, as if she might not only resist, but pose a significant threat if she did. Which, at this point, she actually might - if she wanted to.
Scorpius is furious, at the situation in general and Sub-Admiral Lorven in particular. At only half a pace back, Sikozu can feel the heat radiating from him, despite the coolant suit.
"I will advocate your case, Officer Sun," Scorpius promises. He's glaring at Lorven. "This madness will not be tolerated."
An ironic choice of words.
Aeryn nods placidly. "I've accomplished what I needed to do," she says, her voice pitched for his ears alone. "The list is all but filled."
Sikozu is surprised to see Scorpius smile. "All the more reason to keep you alive. I'm the last, I suppose."
Aeryn shakes her head. "After you, the woman in the mirror."
The Sub-Admiral motions for her to be taken away.
Sikozu watches the dark haired assassin be hustled from the bay. She thinks to herself, Perhaps insanity is the only logical defense left in this universe.
*
[end]