Pilot was bored. It was for him an almost unprecedented experience which he intended to fully explore. Most of the time, he had more than enough to occupy his attention. There were dozens of minor tasks to be dealt with at any one moment - there were courses to be plotted, navigation routes to be confirmed. There were maintainable tasks to be completed, a hundred and one little details that kept Moya hospitable for her crew. And sometimes he would just sit and talk to Moya – although talk was precisely the wrong word. They spoke not in words but in images and concepts, in ways that said far more than words ever could. At other times they were both just silent, the two of them simply enjoying the feeling of gliding through space through Moya's skin. It was always an intensely intimate feeling that in Pilots experience was without rival.
If all else failed, he could always read. But the days they had spent in orbit around the gas giant had given Pilot all the time he needed for maintenance. He had checked and rechecked their flight plan, he had reread everything in Moya's data banks so that he was word perfect on most of it. And Moya herself, well... he loved and respected her greatly, of course. But the truth he would never have told anyone was that sometimes she could irritate him beyond his ability to articulate. Moya had a view of the universe that was simple and innocent. Sharing the universe with her could be wonderful, her selflessness and her guileless innocence frequently inspired Pilot when his own patience – which he would freely admit to being less than infinite, waned.
But Moya could also be naïve and unsophisticated. She had no interest in art or literature, and at times she indulged a whimsical sense of humour that could drive Pilot to the edge of his sanity.
In short, after Moya had woken Pilot sixteen times during his sleep cycle to point out interestingly shaped rocks, they were not on speaking terms for the time being. And so Pilot was bored, and he began to idly eavesdrop on the other members of Moya's crew – although he probably would not have thought of it in quite those terms. Moya had a thousand eyes and ears in the forms of her DRD's. Pilot borrowed her eyes.
He watched Bracca and the other one first. Pilot barely knew the former Peacekeeper except by sight, and what he had seen gave him precious little reason to trust the man. Aeryn, when removed from the Peacekeepers had flourished. She had kept the honour and discipline, while deliberately erasing those less favourable traits, such as the callousness and brutality. Even Crais – a man Moya and Pilot had many reasons to hate, had shown a slow but steady change during his final cycles, until he had become a worthy guardian for Moya's child.
But Bracca still displayed all the coldness and arrogance of the Peacekeepers. Pilot focused on Bracca's voice, pulled it to the front of his mind while deliberately pushing back the multitude of other sensations back, like he was listening to one voice in a crowd.
"Stay alert and ready, Tanis." Bracca was saying. Pilot focused on the thread that connected the sound to one DRD, and now he could see what it was seeing. Bracca was pacing restlessly around one of the small cells, while the other Peacekeeper lounged against the wall and watched him.
"The crew of this leviathan cannot be trusted. They are mercenaries, criminals and thieves at best. They care only for their own survival."
"I understand." Tanis said tonelessly.
"Be especially careful of the Nebari." Bracca ordered, "I've seen the way she looks at you."
Tanis' expression did not change. "Chiana? She seems harmless enough."
"She's a dirty little tralk!" Bracca spat. "And never forget that she's Nebari. She may claim to be on our side, but we can't trust her any more than we can any of her kind."
An amused look crossed Tanis' face. "Are you jealous?"
Bracca spun round and glared at him. "Don't be stupid! I know you have no interest in her, just remain vigilant - understand?"
Tanis shrugged. "Yes, sir."
Pilot allowed his attention to wander. Commander Crichton was on command, speaking to his son.
"Hey Dee man, have you been playing in the service conduits again?"
D'Argo regarded his father gravely. "No dad."
Crichton looked annoyed. "What did I say about lying, D'Argo?"
"You said that it is a vital life skill and that it should be practised at every opportunity." D'Argo said promptly.
"Did I say that?" Crichton looked puzzled.
"Yes. That's what you told mum, when you thought I wasn't listening."
In the privacy of his own chamber, Pilot roared with laughter.
"Oh." Crichton said absently. "That's damn good advise. But what did I tell you about lying?"
"That it is very bad and I am not to do it." D'Argo parroted.
"Right. So, were you playing in the service conduits?"
D'Argo squirmed uncomfortably. "Yes, I'm sorry. But it was Rodger's idea!" he blurted.
Crichton sighed and rubbed his forehead. He looked tired, Pilot knew that recently he and Aeryn were not sharing the same quarters, and whatever Crichton was doing did not appear to include sleep. Pilot watched sympathetically. There were of course no other children on Moya, and it was rare that they felt safe to stay in one place long enough for D'Argo to make any real friends. Rodger was the inexplicably named companion D'Argo had invented to fill that gap, the 'other boy'. Inevitably it was Rodger who suggested all the little schemes and plots that sensible young D'Argo would never dare to think about contemplating by himself. If Rodger had any long term goal, it seemed to be to drive Crichton and Aeryn crazy.
Pilot shifted his attention yet again.
Aeryn and Chiana were in the refectory. Chiana was cooking some intricate meal that apparently required every pan on board the ship, and of course in Chiana's culinary experiments washing up was something that happened to other people. Aeryn was sat on a bench, cleaning her pulse pistol with a rag.
"...don't know if I can do it, Aeryn." Chiana said while transferring the contents of one overflowing pot to another. "He's still my brother."
Aeryn looked up. "But he's not, is he? You said it yourself, your brother died the day he was taken by the establishment."
"I know." Chiana said mournfully. Behind her a pan began to bubble over unheeded, "But when I see his face, I – I'm not sure I'll be able to remember."
Aeryn set her pistol down on the bench purposefully. "I don't have a brother." Aeryn noted quietly. "I didn't really have any family. Growing up, I was a Peacekeeper, and that was supposed to be enough. But here on Moya, I have a family. Not just John and D'Argo – but all of you, Jothee, Pilot and you." - Pilot smiled - "Remember that when you face him, remember that we are your family now."
Aeryn picked up her pulse pistol and continued to polish it as if nothing had happened.
Chiana stared at Aeryn wordlessly for a moment. "Thanks, Aeryn." she whispered.
"No charge." Aeryn said dryly.
Stark and the girl who resembled Zaan were sat quietly in another chamber. At least, Cailan sat quietly. Stark sat mumbling wordlessly to himself, rocking back and forth.
"He – he can see us." Stark said so suddenly that he caused Cailan to jump. "He's looking out through his mask at us and laughing. A mask under the skin, can't even cut it out. But you can't see him, not until he wants you to." he giggled to himself, "watching, watching, watching. I can feel his eyes crawling over me." Stark put his head in his hands. "I can't – I can't see. I – NO!" he bounded to his feet. "You can't! Leave him alone! You can't take him, he's not yours!" he screamed. His voice suddenly dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "He's so thirsty, but he can't drink you see? He has no mouth."
"Stark," Cailan broke in, her expression agonised.
Stark looked up at her, his eyes slowly focusing. "Thirsty." he repeated finally.
Wordlessly, Cailan crossed the room and returned with a glass of water. Stark took the glass, his eyes flickered when their fingers touched.
"Thank you." he said. He took a unsteady breath and smiled just a little. "I'm sorry."
Cailan's eyes dropped and she looked embarrassed by this acknowledgement of her existence. She shuffled back across the room to her seat.
The glass of water followed. It sailed through the air and shattered against the wall above her head, showering Cailan with droplets of water. She bit back a scream.
"Why can't you see! Why can't anyone see!" Stark yelled, "It's broken! He can't have it! It's not ready." Stark clutched at his head. "He took my chair you know? He took it and he won't give it back."
After a moments hesitation, Cailan crossed the room and gently embraced him. Stark shuddered and closed his eyes.
"You came back to me." he said, "I knew you would never leave me. I love you Zaan."
Cailan's eyes stayed open and she stared blankly at the wall. "It's ok Stark," she whispered, "I'm here."
Pilot looked away hurriedly. He searched idly through the rest of Moya. In his quarters, Jothee slept.. Pilot wondered whether it was the tentacles of just a family trait, but both Jothee and his father had snored. The room trembled like a minor earthquake zone.
"Hey Pilot, how's it going?"
Pilot returned his attention to his own body. It seemed curiously limiting. Crichton had just stepped through the door and was strolling along the gantry towards him. Pilot arranged his features into a greeting smile.
"Good morning commander. I am well, thank you."
Crichton nodded absently, "And how's Moya?"
"Moya is well. She enjoys asteroid fields."
Pilot had conscientiously plotted the safest and most efficient course through the asteroid field, which Moya had duly ignored.
"Some of those big rocks seem to be getting pretty close, Pilot." Crichton observed.
Pilot had refrained from mentioning to anyone quite how close Moya had been flying to some of the asteroids. Moya liked asteroid fields, and sometimes she liked to play. She would skim and swoop so close that sometimes even Pilot felt that they were certain to collide with one. In the end, he had simply stopped watching and tried to forget about it for the sake of his nerves.
But Pilot could not really begrudge Moya taking the chance to enjoy herself. She was still young for a leviathan, barely fully grown. In her short lifetime, Moya had been tortured, enslaved, shot and burned – sometimes all in the same day. She had come within inches of death numerous times, she had lost her first Pilot and then been forcibly impregnated, then forced to look on helplessly as her child had descended into madness and finally killed himself. Moya had endured far more than any of her crew, and Pilot marvelled that she had retained her sanity, much less her sense of innocent fun.
With that thought, the last of Pilots irritation at Moya subsided. He felt a sense of mocking laughter touch him from an external source, Moya's amused response to his forgiveness.
"How's our ETA, Pilot?" Crichton's question broke through Pilots thoughts.
Pilot focussed on the human and considered the question. Crichton looked restless, and Pilot understood why. Once the novelty wore off, a prominent feature of space travel was boredom, waiting idly to cross the vast gulf between worlds – particularly when you were little more than a glorified passenger. It left you with a lot of time for introspection, and Crichton never seemed to handle that well.
"We are in no rush, Commander." Pilot reminded him. "We will return to Vega Delta in approximately three solar days."
"Three days." Crichton sighed and leaned a little unsteadily against Pilots console. He was drinking from a tin cup something which smelled highly corrosive.
"And do you really think this will work?"
Pilot considered the question. He could understand Crichton's doubts. They had been chased from the planet by armed troops intent on their capture or their extermination. Coming back after a few days with freshly forged papers seemed like a plan fit for their worst moments.
"I believe it will." Pilot said.
There was possibly one single advantage to fighting the Nebari, and that was their absolute trust in bureaucracy. It was quite possible – even likely, that the administrators would simply look at their papers and if they were in order, not even bother to glance at their faces.
Crichton gulped from his cup and winced. "Nice of Bracca to provide us with up-to-date papers just when our old ones have run out."
Pilot said nothing.
"Bracca here, and Stark too. I keep expecting Scorpius to come crawling out of the woodwork."
Crichton's tone was light but there was a haunted look in his eyes.
"Scorpius is dead, Commander." Pilot said uncomfortably.
"Yeah." Crichton looked as if he was waking up from a bad dream. I know that Pilot. I know that."
Pilot wondered exactly who Crichton was trying to reassure. Crichton had once said that he wouldn't believe that Scorpius was dead unless he saw a body. Sikosu had told them that she had shot Scorpius in the head, but they had only her word for that and they had heard nothing more form her in two cycles. Pilot personally would not completely trust Scorpius to stay dead even if he did see a body.
And then, with no warning at all – the chapter ended.