Chapter 1
'Just make a frelling wormhole and go home.'
"If only," John Crichton mouthed against the frosted glass of the module's cockpit, his cheek pressed against the pane as he teetered on the edge of consciousness. Everyone had left. Aeryn to escape him, and the rest of the crew to pick up the pieces of the lives from which they had long been estranged. And Moya, over twenty hours passed, had disappeared unwillingly into a wormhole. Now, alone, he would die here in his module amongst a field of debris, drifting forever in a sacred Leviathan 'burial ground'.
Funny how the debris stayed together. Magnetism maybe? Or some property of the luminescent gas enveloping the field? Hell, they'd dropped Talyn's remains on the fly and his bits and pieces just stuck there like crumbs in molasses, despite their momentum. Damn. He would miss physics – and home. And he would miss her.
The woman that left him here to die.
'Make a frelling wormhole and go home.'
He choked suddenly on the dryness in his throat. When he recovered, his labored breathing rasped louder than ever. No more air. It's over. He couldn't even close his mouth.
God damn you, Aeryn.
And then the lights came, unseen by his unconscious eyes.
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The only light in the room came from a utility lamp positioned over a crude, wooden table. Aeryn Sun sat with her back straight, laying out the various pieces of her stripped pulse pistol in the order of disassembly. Across from her, she watched as a young man filed the ragged metal edge of a torn laser sight's mount. His hands were strong but nimble, working carefully to reshape the twisted alloy with pliers and a focal heat-press. From beneath his shaggy black hair, he snatched a quick glance at her, his blue eyes and pale, chiseled features giving his countenance a certain severity.
"You need the oil?" he asked.
"If you're not using it."
The young man grabbed a canister from the floor and slid it across the table. As the tip of his sleeve traveled up past his wrist, Aeryn caught a quick glance at the pink, variegated burn scars covering his forearm. She frowned at the remembrance of his torture.
"You should wash your face first," he said.
"Why?"
The young man pulled a thin sheet of reflective aluminum from a pack on the back of his chair and held it up before her. A dark smudge covered her forehead and cheek, blending into her raven hair, streaked sparsely with strands of gray. Whether from a distortion in the reflection or a truth of form, the gaunt woman looking back seemed drained of all vibrancy.
"A simple 'because you're dirty' would've been enough, son," she said with a twisted grin.
He shrugged, dropping the aluminum sheet in front of her. "You'll need it to bridge the battery coil anyway."
She ripped a strip from the sheet's edge, looking over the worn pieces of her pistol. Fragments and antiquated materials. That's all they had left to fight the Scarrans. What she wouldn't give for a good repeater cannon and a crate of ammo.
A quick knock at the door had them both on their feet. Immediately, they draped themselves in their dingy gray cloaks; hoods pulled forward over their faces.
"Water delivery," came a gruff voice from the other side.
"Leave it at the door," Aeryn answered in perfect Nebari.
She moved to the door and listened to the footsteps of the deliverer as he walked away, mumbling something about Nebari paranoia. Once assured of his departure, she opened the door and dragged a crude, dented metal drum into the room. The sound of sloshing water rang from within the container.
"Jack, help me lift this to the table," she said.
Once the drum was hefted to the tabletop, they filled various containers from the drum's spigot, drinking greedily from their canteens throughout the task. Almost a full day had passed without water, the price of being at the mercy of a black market exchange.
"We've gotta get off this planet," Jack said, wiping a sleeve across his mouth.
"There's nothing we can do as long as that Dreadnaught's in orbit. I'm not even sure we should make our way back to the Prowler once they're gone."
Jack shook his head. "It's safe. I covered it completely in the junkyard, and there's no way they'll detect the jamming beacon."
Another one of his amazing improvisations. Had her son been reared as a Peacekeeper, he would have been chief among the techs in no time. But in that culture, his brilliance would not have been appreciated. Amongst his father's people, however, he would have been glorious.
Jack sat back in his chair with a satisfied sigh, tall and lean, his thirst sated and immediate needs met. Throughout her twenty-plus cycles of motherhood, Aeryn, often to her continued surprise, found this to be life's ultimate satisfaction – providing for the needs of her child, even if it was a rusty can of water. And even though the man before her did just as much to watch [iher[/i back now, she still felt a mother's need to see him content.
But it wasn't always simple. Sometimes, he would look at her with that easy smile and blue-eyed gaze, the way he was doing now, and she would see someone else. Then an old pain would whisper in her heart, and in her mind she would repeat a phrase of comfort to move on.
The best of both of us.
She took a deep breath and drank again.
Jack folded his arms. "I'll wager there's not a single shower on this dust ball."
"Hygiene doesn't appear to be a priority here."
Jack snatched the material of his shirt and lifted it to his wrinkled nose. "Well, we're fitting right in then."
Grinning, Aeryn nodded her agreement just as a beeping sound came from Jack's pack.
"The chatter's picking up," Jack said, reaching for a small, rectangular device. He placed it on the table and tweaked several tiny knobs until a clear voice came through. It was a Scarran dialect, presumably an incoming transmission to the orbiting Dreadnaught.
'The anomaly is stable. Rendezvous at sector Zamga, layer 42, cross 60 by 89.'
The voice was cold and grating, accented by those characteristic hisses that chilled her spine. An unsettling feeling passed through her – a sense that, just by listening to the transmission, she was inviting a predator's attention from a darkened perimeter.
Jack looked over with a quizzical expression, remaining silent through the transmission.
"At least they're leaving," Aeryn said.
"Where could those coordinates be?"
"Far away, I hope." She stood from the table and quickly snapped her pistol back together. "They're changing their sector designations constantly now. I'm sure it has something to do with this 'anomaly' they've been chasing."
"It's gotta be a wormhole," Jack said, holding her eyes for a moment.
It was a loaded statement. She had kept nothing from him regarding his parentage and related history. But wormholes were not a topic of light discussion. Yet, in this case, she felt the same inclination.
"It could be anything, son," she said. "Start scanning to confirm their departure. I'll get everything packed."
Assured that the Dreadnaught had left the system, Aeryn and Jack moved through the dusty streets of the wind-eroded town under the cover of a light sandstorm. Each wore their hooded cloaks with their faces covered up to the eyes by a dark, gauzy material. The surface temperatures were nearly intolerable for Sebaceans, and it wasn't long before Jack took Aeryn's pack and threw it over his back, encouraging her to move faster with a gentle hand.
"Do you need to cool off?" he yelled over the wind.
"No," she answered, feeling an acute dizziness setting in. "Well, maybe."
They ducked into an alley, and she downed an entire canteen of water. Beneath his hood, Aeryn saw the sweat beading profusely above his brow, but his eyes were steady, alert. Another blessing from his father.
"As soon as we pass this next gate, we can drop these cloaks," he said, turning back to scan the alley's entrance. "That should help with the heat."
"No," Aeryn answered. "If anyone notices we're Sebacean..."
"It's only half-a-metra to the junk heap. By the time word finds the authorities..."
Aeryn shook her head. "There may be bounty hunters, and the last thing we need is a shadow. We stay covered. Let's go."
They dashed off again, finally reaching the junkyard. Within a quarter-arn, they had the Prowler uncovered and were inside the cockpit. The environmental cooling system was an instant relief, blowing crisp air over her flushed face. Behind her, Jack programmed the navigation system for their rendezvous with the Leviathan fleet.
"Three candidate locations for this time frame," Jack said.
"Let's hope they're at the first one," she replied as she flew them through the dingy stratosphere and into the welcome sterility of cold, dark space.
Several arns later, Aeryn slowed the Prowler, bringing it to a halt at the rendezvous point. It wasn't long before white and blue sparkles fizzled into the shape of Moya, flanked microts later by two Leviathan gunships; red and black hulks with scarred hulls, each out-massing Moya by a third.
"Veleon's healing nicely," Jack observed.
Aeryn looked at the deep gash etched roughly into the length of the left gunship's belly. It had been several weekens since the Leviathan had sheered off a Dreadnaught cannon, enabling the Leviathan fleet to starburst to safety.
"That's the power of a mother's love," Aeryn said, smiling at the thought of Moya's dedication to her two offspring, always willing to deplete her own resources to ensure their maintenance and healing.
"Officer Sun," Pilot's voice chimed in on over the coms. "We are pleased to find you on our first starburst."
"Feelings mutual, Pilot. Moya is beautiful as always, as are Veleon and Denzil."
A cacophonous series of clicks and tones rang out from the com speakers.
Jack laughed. "One at a time, guys."
"We apologize, Jack," Pilot said. "Veleon and Denzil have been eager to have you on board again. There's some...contention...as to which one will have you stay with them first."
"All things being equal, Pilot, it would be an impossible choice. But Veleon's still healing. I'll be staying with him for a weeken or so to monitor the situation."
Veleon's runner lights burst with a quick flash.
"He's not coming to play tardek, Veleon," Aeryn said, aligning her Prowler with Moya's hangar bay. "You have to let him work."
"Moya will see to it, Officer Sun," Pilot replied. "I trust the mission was successful?"
"Yes, Pilot. We were able to purchase over thirty derillium shards."
"Purity verified," Jack added.
"Thank-you both," Pilot replied, relief apparent in his tone. "We must get this virus under control. Almost all of the young Leviathans are showing symptoms."
"Anything more than the surface lesions?" Aeryn asked.
"No, but the discomfort has become a significant distraction for the entire fleet," Pilot answered. "The young ones are constantly rubbing their hulls against the adults."
Their laughter was immediate, filling the cockpit. As if the playful youngsters weren't pests enough already.
"If there's an itch," Jack replied smartly, "it's gotta be scratched."
"I'm afraid the crews of the abraded ships don't share your humor, Jack," Pilot said. "They've resorted to bolting everything down, particularly during mealtimes."
"I guess soup's out of the question, then," Jack replied.
Aeryn landed the prowler in the hangar bay and powered the ship down.
"We're settled in, Pilot. Starburst at your convenience."
The rattle and hum of starburst was always a bit unsettling. It was a transient feeling of dissociation, as though one's conscious essence were listing slightly from the body's axis. The headaches that often followed were the kind that came from strained vision, not debilitating but a distraction nonetheless.
As Aeryn and Jack climbed down from the cockpit, other Sebaceans were already tending to the post-flight maintenance of the Prowler. With a finite number of fighters and no means of replacing them, every effort was made to keep them in working order. They exited the bay through a corridor as Pilot's voiced announced over the coms, "attention all crew, we have rejoined the fleet."
Aeryn recalled how Pilot's outward demeanor had taken on a certain detached formality once Moya's crew grew from less than a dozen to just over five-hundred. No longer did he know the names of all on board. He hadn't even met each one in person. Pilot's den was now a restricted area open only to a few representative Sebaceans, two of which were herself and Jack. So much had changed since the early cycles.
As they approached Command, two unarmed Sebaceans stood watch outside the door, each nodding curtly as Aeryn and Jack passed.
"Jenna...Hartley," Aeryn said as she passed them, catching their eyes with quick glances.
"Aeryn," each replied.
Once in Command, Aeryn looked over the fleet through the display. Over three-hundred Leviathans were moving forward in a loose file, the caravan wider at the rear and tapering down towards the front. Amongst the adults and adolescents were smaller, golden nuggets, weaving quickly through the caravan, chasing one another and darting in and out of the formation. And flanking the caravan were roughly thirty gunships, a few of them twice the size of Moya, strategically placed along the line. They exhibited little patience with the outward-drifting young ones, often butting into the little ones to force them back into the file.
All stations were manned by other Sebaceans, some in uniforms of either Peacekeeper-issue or various other military affiliations associated with the break-away colonies. Others, however, wore civilian clothing of no particular background. Aeryn looked down at the toes of her dusty boots, sticking out from under her ragged cloak. One of the navigators close by looked sidelong in her direction, grimacing slightly with a wrinkled nose.
Aeryn's quick sneer had the woman's eyes back on the panel, focusing on her task.
"Officer Sun," came a man's voice from the Command speakers.
Aeryn turned casually to the clamshell, careful not to show any undo respect to her former title. The man addressing her was neatly kept with close-cropped hair and a little gray at the temples. But the marks of war were evident on his face, the rough scars of a talon swipe traversing the area where an eye once was. The patch did little to cover the disfigurement.
"Braca," she answered. "You must really be anxious to get this antidote out. My engines are still hot."
"Getting these rashes under control would be nice," he answered, the image on the viewer shaking suddenly as he corrected his balance. "But there's a more pressing matter. I think we should meet privately."
Aeryn sighed. "I don't suppose it could wait for a shower first."
Braca shook his head. "I think you'll understand the urgency when you arrive. We'll arrange quarters for you here on Galen. We need to make some decisions before the sleep cycle."
"All right. I'll be there within the arn."
Aeryn turned to Jack. "Take the derillium to the lab, then get to Veleon. I'll join you there for first meal tomorrow."
Jack hesitated for a moment, his eyes going back and forth between her and the clamshell.
"Tomorrow, son."
He nodded, but his eyes still sought answers as he turned for the door.
Aeryn was quick to pack a change of clothes and get on a transport pod. Braca wasn't one to waste words. If he said something was urgent, then it would be so by her estimation as well. Several possibilities ran through her mind. Were the Scarrans somehow tracking the starburst activity of the caravan? Or, had Braca found another pocket of Sebaceans hiding out somewhere? The latter seemed highly unlikely. Three cycles had passed since she had seen any of her own kind outside of the fleet. The Scarran Genocide Directive had seen to that.
Aeryn looked over the fleet during her transit to Galen, sitting alone in the passenger section of the pod. One of the biggest tragedies of the Scarran expansion had been the fate of the Leviathans. Hunted to near extinction for sport, this band represented the only known survivors of the peaceful space-borne species. Many were scarred and disfigured. A young one in particular pained her heart. Blasted in the tail a cycle ago by a frag cannon, she no longer had a trident claw. The only way for her to starburst was to ride within her mother's burst perimeter. This was a temporary fix, however, as she would soon become too large to carry and would have to be abandoned. The fleet would lose two Leviathans on that solar day. No mother would leave her child behind.
The horror of the recent cycles was apparent in the general Leviathan psyche. No longer were the gunship hybrids of Peacekeeper-design shunned. Rather, at the behest of the Leviathans' urgings and with the help of a few surviving Peacekeeper scientists, each of the females in the fleet had attempted to conceive their own gunships. Although success was marginal, they had succeeded in creating a fair number, and their contribution to the survival of the fleet could not be overstated.
So much had changed in a relatively short time. Aeryn remembered a conversation she had long ago about a primitive world and its planet-bound people whom, in roughly one-hundred cycles, went from riding beasts to walking on their moon; an unheard of thing based on her knowledge of other sentient cultures. It seemed improbable at the time, and she had dismissed it as prideful exaggeration. But the possibility of 'accelerating' through history seemed more plausible now. Certainly her people were experiencing a remarkably fast rate of change, albeit in a poor direction.
Aeryn leaned her head against the window, eyeing the weary reflection cast next to her face. It seemed she would never again know anything other than danger at her back and uncertainty ahead. She smiled bleakly to herself.
"We're still on the run, John."