Episode 9 - Valediction
"I keep seeing you die." -- Pa'u Zotoh Zhaan
"What planet is that?"
The quiet voice from behind her nearly startled Aeryn out of her skin. She'd been deeply engrossed in the dual tasks of piloting a stealth trajectory towards the planet and monitoring comms traffic. She hadn't heard the human approach.
Turning her head, she met the bleary, bloodshot eyes, dark circles underneath marring an unshaven face. Hard as it was to believe, she thought he might look worse now than when she'd found him in that cell on the Gammak base.
"There's no name in the files," she replied, turning back to her piloting. "We're still well outside Peacekeeper jurisdictional boundaries. All I could find was a notation indicating the availability of resources."
"So how come we're here?"
As irritating as it was to have him asking questions while she was trying to fly a delicate and precise course, Aeryn took it as a good sign. It was the first indication of interest Crichton had shown in anything since waking aboard the Marauder three solar days before.
"We're here because someone failed to mention that the ship we were stealing was charged to less than one percent of capacity," Aeryn said, "and stocked with just a few solar days' supply of rations." She kept her tone light, having long since recovered from her initial irritation at the oversight. "We didn't have enough fuel to make it back to the carrier. This is one of the few destinations within range where we can acquire more."
"Sorry about that," Crichton replied blandly, still staring at the view screen. "Couldn't siphon too much from the PK gas tanks without getting caught. Took us days to get what we did."
"It's all right," she assured the distracted man. "Heading directly back to the carrier would have been a bad idea anyhow; once Scorpius accessed the logs in my Marauder, he'd have known that Crais sent me. Most of the pursuit will be in that direction."
"Yeah."
The vague, monosyllabic response was far more typical of Crichton's recent behavior. The silence that followed dragged on until Aeryn once again nearly forgot he was there, her attention subsumed by the intricacies of piloting.
Peacekeeper standard stealth trajectory called for an approach to a target along a direct vector from the system's primary star, so the saturation of energy from the sun would mask the ship's signature. It required delicate calculations of planetary movements relative to the star and the necessities of a safe landing approach. Normally, Aeryn wouldn't have bothered, but having someone report a lone Marauder so near to the Gammak Base would be to Scorpius like a trail of blood to a Vorcarian. It was best to keep a zero presence profile.
After a hundred microts or so, a soft murmuring voice once again brought Officer Sun to awareness of her surroundings. Glancing behind her, she could see Crichton still standing in the doorway, arms crossed and leaning against the wall. He was staring at the planet as it grew ever larger on the screen, the sprawling metropolises visible even from space through the few scattered clouds.
"What did you say?" she asked.
"It's as good a place as any," he repeated, only slightly louder than before. Before she could ask for an explanation, Crichton turned and limped away down the corridor.
Unlike the other two alien worlds John had set foot on in the past year, this one was bright and shiny and clean. Everything he'd once thought an alien civilization should be. The people, however.... Hell, even when they'd been tying him up and sticking a worm in his gut, the Sykarans had been more personable than these bastards.
Lawyers. Everywhere he looked, there were lawyers. And not just that, but sleazeball lawyers, every last one, dressed up in the same cookie-cutter outfits, with black hoods and leather skull caps hiding everything but their smug faces. This place made him think longingly of Shakespeare; killing all the lawyers on this planet would be tantamount to genocide, but it might be worth it.
John sat alone at the farthest end of the bar, drinking something he couldn't pronounce. This was the closest refreshment house to the park where Aeryn had concealed the Marauder; he hadn't felt like wandering too far. Stark was here, too, but he respected John's desire for solitude--perhaps even shared it--and sat a few seats away.
"Crichton, what the frell are you doing?"
He glanced up from his glass as Officer Sun barged through the door, obviously angry. His eyes clouded at the familiar sight, recalling many pleasant evenings he'd spent in the carrier's lounge with her, and Tauvo, and....
John shook his head to dislodge the image, reminding himself firmly that he didn't care anymore. "Wha's th' matter, Ms. Sun?" he slurred.
"Do you recall me saying that I wanted to be off this frelling planet by nightfall?"
"Yep."
"Well?"
"So wha's stoppin' you?"
"I seem to be short one crew member," she explained sarcastically.
"Not goin' with you."
The irate soldier slapped one hand down on the bar and spun him around on the bar stool with the other. Heads turned all through the refreshment house, disdainful eyes glaring at the disturbance, hungry eyes watching anxiously for some violation of the law.
"You're not--? What the frell are you talking about, Crichton? Where the frell else would you go? You certainly can't mean to stay here!"
"I'll find someplace. I can't go back there, Aeryn."
The Sebacean woman seemed to sense at last that this wasn't simply drunken stubbornness arguing with her. "Crichton," she tried to argue, "You're a Peacekeeper officer. You took the oath."
"To hell with your 'oath'," he replied bitterly.
"So your word means nothing to you? And what am I supposed to do? I've been ordered to retrieve you. What am I supposed to tell Captain Crais?"
He sighed. "Do whatever you want, Aeryn. Stay here, go back, tell them I'm dead, tell them I ran away with the circus--I really don't give a shit."
"And if I decide to place you under arrest for attempted desertion and haul you back anyway?"
John's head snapped up, a shot of fight-or-flight adrenaline bringing with it a semblance of sobriety. He set his feet on the ground and tensed, ready to jump up if she made a move. "I don't want to fight you, Aeryn."
The woman had the temerity to laugh in his face, a harsh, bitter sound with no humor in it. "If I truly intended to capture you, Crichton, you're drunker than you look if you really think you could prevent me."
John relaxed a little at the word 'if', letting the insult float past without note. "You saying you don't intend to?"
Aeryn's eyes raked over his figure with contempt, and John was keenly aware of what she was seeing. The accommodations on the Gammak base cell levels had been a bit light on the amenities, and the stolen Marauder hadn't been much better. There'd been no spare clothing, and with three people subsisting on a ship stocked for two, there'd been no water to spare for personal hygiene. He still wore the clothes he'd been captured in, and they were wrinkled and sweat-stained from days of imprisonment, torture and the aftermath. His face bore at least a week's growth of stubble. And while the alcohol in his system was numbing his nose, he knew he probably reeked of stale sweat, booze and fear like a skid row wino.
"You're a disgrace to that uniform," she sneered. "Pathetic and useless like all lesser species. Stay here and rot for all I care!" She stormed away without another word, sending the doors crashing into the outer walls in her rush to be elsewhere. John watched them swing shut behind her, then turned back to order a fresh drink.
That frelling...frellnik! Aeryn seethed with fury as she stormed down the busy evening streets, her stomach roiling with a hundred new and conflicting emotions. After everything I did for him, everything I've risked, he throws it in my face.
Aeryn balled her hands into fists, glaring around at the self-absorbed citizens rushing past her. She wanted to hit something, pound some hapless victim into the ground. A cycle ago, she might even have done it.
No one in her entire life--no enemy on the battlefield, nor cruel superior officer nor any of the older cadets who had tormented her as an adolescent for being small--had ever provoked her to this degree. What was it about this alien man that could inspire such protective impulses one microt and drive her to dangerous levels of rage the next? Everything she'd done in the past weeken--Hezmana, many of her thoughts and activities for the past half cycle, ever since their fateful visit to the Zelbinion--went completely against her Peacekeeper indoctrination.
And the truly strange thing? Even in the heat of her anger, she didn't regret any of it.
She arrived at an intersection where a mechanical voice prattled on, instructing pedestrians to wait. There was no traffic at present, and Aeryn was too angry to want to take orders from a mere machine. She stepped into the road, ignoring the flashing blue light and the stern instructions from the traffic control computer.
After that, everything happened too quickly. Alarms sounded, and voices from behind her shouted, "Halt! Don't move!" A large hand grabbed Aeryn by the arm. Instinct took over, and she twisted around and slammed a fist into her assailant. The man fell to the ground. Other figures surrounded her, reaching to subdue her, and she let loose with every henta of her pent-up aggression, sending bodies flying on every side. With every blow, she pictured the human's face, taking out her anger and frustration on these strangers who had ambushed her.
In the end, however, there were too many of them, and they were armed with shock sticks. She emerged from the haze of pain and rage wondering what the frell had happened. Her body was pinned to the ground while her assailants roughly snapped restraints around her wrists. It took a microt to realize that her captors were police officers; apparently they'd been trying to arrest her for something minor, and she'd just pounded her way into much deeper trouble.
As they dragged her away, she glanced back at the unconscious bodies still littering the battleground. A small part of her, one that wasn't preoccupied with worry about her situation, viewed the scene with satisfaction.
She might be in serious dren but, for the love of Chilnak, that had felt good.
It was the music, if you could call it that; that was what was driving him nuts. It was too bouncy, too syncopated, like a jazz pianist on a caffeine high playing a poorly tuned instrument. It was getting on his nerves. If he'd been a little less drunk, he might have walked out and found a quieter place; a little less sober, and he might have pulled out the pulse pistol he'd strapped to his thigh and filled the jukebox full of little yellow bolts of light. That is, if he could figure out what a jukebox looked like on this planet, or if there even was one.
John sat nearly motionless, gazing into the half-empty glass on the bar in front of him. He hadn't slept well in what felt like weeks. Images of blood and death haunted him both waking and sleeping, vying with memories of torture and pain for air time in his nightmares.
He rubbed a hand across his face, wiping away the tears he wanted no one else to see. Showing weakness was dangerous.
A shadow fell across the bar in front of him, and he turned warily to look.
"Would you like...company?" Stark asked, his voice as tentative as his half-hunched posture.
John thought about refusing, but he owed his fellow prisoner a bit of courtesy. "Sure," he said with false cheer. "Pull up a barstool."
"I sense that you are...troubled," Stark began as he perched on the nearest seat.
John had to chortle a bit at that major understatement. "Gee, ya think?" he muttered. Gesturing to the barkeep, he ordered a fresh drink for himself and one for Stark.
"I overheard you talking to the Peacekeeper woman," Stark admitted after the drinks were served. "You're not going back with her?"
"Nope." John's answer was soft, and carefully noncommittal. He took a small sip from his glass.
Instead of questioning further, Stark waited, his silence more eloquent and persuasive than any words.
"I can't go back," John finally said, as if that clarified matters.
"Why not?"
John paused, letting the silence drag on. It was a question he'd not really asked himself; he just knew he couldn't face being back on that monster ship. Alone. "Well," he said, looking for an excuse to avoid too much introspection, "like Aeryn said, Scorpy's gonna be looking for me and the carrier's the first place he'll look."
"You think you'll be safer out here?"
He shrugged. "Sure. Space is a big place; how's he gonna find me?"
"He won't have to find you, Crichton," Stark informed him, bleak eyes shifting back and forth as if looking for danger. "He'll post wanted beacons, offering a reward for your capture; bounty hunters will find you for him."
John slashed his hand through the air in a drunken wave, feigning unconcern. "So I'll keep moving, stay hidden. At least I won't have to put up with all those Peacekeeper superior attitudes anymore, having folks look at me like I'm a bug or something just because I'm not Sebacean."
Stark nodded sagely. "This is true. You will now be feared and despised because people assume you are Sebacean. The Peacekeepers do not have a monopoly on prejudice, Crichton, and they are hated on many worlds."
"What's with you, Stark? Don't you hate them for what they did to you? It sounds like you're trying to talk me into going back to them."
The Bannik shook his head, and his voice acquired a depth and gravity not previously present. "I do not hate the Peacekeepers, Crichton. They're no worse than many other powers in the universe, and better than some. You have lived among them. You have seen that they are not all alike."
John thought of Aeryn, of Tauvo. Of Gilina.
"It was not the Peacekeepers who tortured me," Stark explained. "It was Scorpius. He is half Sebacean, half Scarran, and he inherited the worst traits of both races."
John thought about that, and decided Stark had a point. Most of the Peacekeepers he'd encountered in the past year--cycle--had been callous and contemptuous, even hostile towards the inferior alien in their midst. But there were a few who had been willing to look past his heritage and see him as a person, people he had learned to respect and who had in turn learned to respect him. As angry and traumatized as he was by what Scorpius had done, he knew he couldn't in good conscience blame the entire Peacekeeper organization for the obsession and cruelty of one mad scientist.
"Is this because of the woman who died?" Stark asked suddenly.
John gave him a sharp look. "Aeryn told you about her?"
"No, no, no, she said nothing to me," Stark said, his manner veering towards the manic babble John had grown familiar with.
"Then how the hell did you know? You never saw her; you weren't even in the cell either of the times she contacted me."
Stark's hands fluttered nervously on the bar. "I am Stykera."
"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"
"Among my people, the Stykera are gifted with special sensitivity. We are attuned to the dying; we ease their suffering, help them make the journey."
"So, what, you felt her...felt her die? Is that it?"
"Somewhat. But when you were brought back to the cell, after, I sensed her spirit. She was caught between, clinging to you as you were to her. This is common when a loved one dies; at first, neither one wants to let go. Eventually, though, one or the other accepts the loss and the spirit is freed." Stark wet his lips and glanced around the bar, as if fearful of being overheard.
"This woman, her spirit was being drawn towards the other side, while your body lived and anchored you here. But you were so weakened from the chair and the shock, your tie to this life was weak. She was pulling you with her; left alone, you might have remained lost between until your body gave up the struggle to hold you. Officer Sun asked me to help rouse you for the escape, so I intervened."
"'Intervened'? How?"
"I severed the bond, and helped the woman cross over. Once freed, your spirit returned to this world."
John didn't know whether to thank the man for helping Gilina, or curse him for his interference. Hell, he didn't know if he even believed in this crap.
"So is it because of her that you are staying behind?" Stark asked again.
"What? No, of course not," John insisted lamely, knowing it was a lie. If only he hadn't been so stubborn, hadn't begged for just one more day to look at the wormhole equations, he and Gilina would have gotten away and might be sitting here together now. This was all his fault. He'd killed her, killed their child, and for what? A chance to look at some stupid formulas that turned out to be completely wrong.
Stark's voice found that deep and persuasive register again as he looked John straight in the eye. "This is a decision that will shape your future, Crichton. In such cases, the easy path very rarely leads you where you want to go. Be sure you are acting from a true desire, and not out of fear of the alternative." With that, Stark rose from his seat and vanished out the door into the darkness.
It took a moment for the departure to register through the alcoholic haze surrounding John's senses. "See ya," he called quietly to the empty doorway, then turned and laid his head down, cushioned by his folded arms on the bar. He was so tired; all he needed was a moment to rest his eyes.
Under the influence of both the alcohol and the hum of conversation around him, Crichton drifted into a state of semi-consciousness, the rise and fall of sound lulling him like ocean waves.
An electronic beeping roused him partially, and John realized that at some point while he'd been out of it another patron had taken Stark's seat. Still lethargic, he didn't move or even open his eyes.
"Have you found anyone?" came a deep, tinny voice, probably from a comms. That must have been the beeping, like a ringing phone.
"Nothing yet," replied the woman seated next to him. "I warned you that it might take many days to find the right candidate. So far, the only off-worlder I've found is passed out at the bar; he's of no use."
John realized she was talking about him, and resolved to stay still. The last thing he needed was some strange lawyer deciding he could be 'useful'.
The man on the comms replied. "We may be in luck; an off-worlder was arrested tonight, on a traffic violation. She attacked the enforcers and injured several before she was subdued."
The woman sounded put out. "Very well, Rhumann. I will investigate this off-worlder. Perhaps she will be the one we seek."
Another electronic chirp ended the conversation, and John heard a rustle as the woman rose to her feet and departed.
Off-worlder...attacked the enforcers...she....
Was Officer Sun the alien they had arrested?
It was nearly midnight before John managed to drag himself and his hangover out to the park where they'd stashed the Marauder. He was dismayed to see it still crouched among the trees, just as they'd left it. That alone told him it had been Aeryn who'd been arrested. She and it should have been long gone by now.
He stood there for a little while, gazing at the silent ship. The design had always reminded him of a huge bug, but tonight it looked almost alive in the strange shadows cast by the two gibbous moons. It whispered to him, of freedom and safety. They were light years from the Gammak base, but John could still feel Scorpius' breath on his neck. He needed to get far away, someplace the half-breed would never find him, and this ship could take him there.
He'd have preferred the Farscape, but she was still sitting in a hangar bay on the command carrier. The Marauder, though, had several advantages. He knew how to fly it, for one, which could not be said for any other type of vessel in this part of the universe. It was armed, which might come in handy. And it was fueled and stocked for a long journey, thanks to Officer Sun's hard work.
And Aeryn? wondered a small voice in the back of his mind.
She'd be fine, he argued back. From what he'd overheard, they'd arrested her for the Litigaran equivalent of jaywalking. She'd get a fine, maybe a day or two in jail tops, then she'd call for help and get picked up by a passing Peacekeeper ship in no time flat. And best of all, she could tell the truth when they questioned her, that the frelling human had stolen her ship while she was incapacitated. She wouldn't have to lie for him.
By the time she reached the police station, Aeryn had broken free of her captors twice, only to be jabbed into submission by the shock sticks each time. According to her public counselor, she'd racked up more than a dozen counts of assault against police officers on her list of charges.
The counselor had refused to speculate on her likely sentence, but she had the distinct impression that, unless she managed to do something soon, she might be trapped on this world for a very long time. Her career would be ruined, assuming she ever made it back to duty at all. She'd be lucky not to be judged irrevocably contaminated.
Pacing back and forth in her cell, Aeryn stared out into the empty midnight shadows of the corridor, hearing nothing but the echoes of her own measured footsteps. She contemplated just how far to Hezmana this day had gone. A brief stopover to purchase supplies--that was all it was supposed to be. But first a man she'd grown to like and respect, a man she'd just taken great risks to liberate, had chosen to abandon her and the security of the Peacekeepers for a life as a hunted fugitive, alone. And now she was a prisoner of a retrograde society made up almost entirely of lawyers.
The translation of that word--lawyer--had been an archaic concept she only recognized from some of the most ancient Sebacean texts that had been part of her training. It was a specialty that had long since fallen out of use among the Peacekeepers, and one, as far as she could see from this world, that they were better off without.
She was exhausted, both mentally and physically, not to mention sore from the repeated applications of the shock sticks. She knew she should sleep; she might need every edge she could get tomorrow. Her feet, however, refused to cease their endless oscillations across the small, high-tech cage. Plans and tactics swirled through her mind, training and doctrine on capture, escape and evasion of pursuit.
The worst of it was not the capture or the confinement. Aeryn had been a prisoner of one sort or another five times now in the past cycle, so this was not a new experience. But this time was different. This time, she was alone.
Alone. It was a frightening word, a terrifying concept, for one who had never truly experienced it before. Even aboard the Marauder on her way back to the carrier, when she'd been the only person aboard, she had still been in the carrier's sphere of influence, her location and situation known through daily status reports. If she'd gotten in trouble then, the response would have been swift and deadly. But no one knew she was here; no one would be coming to her aid. Even John Crichton, her companion or rescuer in all of her previous incarcerations, was likely still getting dren-faced in a refreshment house out in the city. He had no idea Aeryn was in trouble. Nor, she thought bleakly, did it seem that he would care. He'd made his position quite clear on that point earlier.
Someone cleared their throat nearby, startling Aeryn to a stop. She turned to find a woman standing outside the cell, and silently cursed herself for getting so caught up in her own thoughts that this tralk had been able to sneak up on her.
"Rough night?" the woman asked, her voice oily and condescending.
Aeryn said nothing, just glared at her through the heavy metal bars.
The woman held up an object in her hand; in the low light, Aeryn couldn't distinguish what it was. "You want to escape?" the stranger asked. "This is your chance." With that, she pointed the device in her hands at the center bar and the metal gradually melted away, leaving a space more than wide enough for a person to squeeze through.
Aeryn narrowed her eyes suspiciously. She could smell a trap being laid for her; total strangers did not walk into police stations and release prisoners without some ulterior motive.
The woman tucked the device away and pulled out a sheet of flimsy paper. "This will show you how to get out of the building; what you do after that is your affair."
Aeryn stood unmoving for a few microts. She could ask why, but if it was a trap, the stranger would only lie to her anyway. So questions were pointless. She stepped cautiously towards the opening and looked both ways down the corridor.
"I would hurry if I were you," the woman said impatiently. "The guards will be back at their posts any microt. There won't be a second chance to escape."
Stepping through the opening, Aeryn reached a hand out for the paper. As the woman handed it over, Aeryn turned and delivered a swift Pantak jab. She quickly examined the very specific route laid out like a map, then dropped the paper onto the floor next to the unconscious body. It was probably poor thanks for someone apparently doing her a favor, but Aeryn wasn't about to leave anyone at her back who could either spring the trap or have a change of heart and notify the authorities.
Like a shadow, silent and swift, Aeryn moved through the corridors. She'd memorized the woman's map with the intention of avoiding the designated route, but every other exit was blocked. Resigned to the risky path, she approached each corner and alcove with the stealth of a Black Ghost behind enemy lines.
It was still dark outside when she finally reached the alley. Somewhere out of sight, the planet's moons still shone, bathing the scene in a dim, diffuse light reflecting off the surrounding buildings. Aeryn, crouched low against the wall, listened and watched for nearly thirty microts; the alley seemed deserted, and beneath the roar of the city traffic, she could hear nothing suspicious. Still, she kept herself alert for any noise that seemed out of place, then moved carefully, staying close to the wall.
A shadow on the ground several motras away made her pause and crouch low. It was shaped like a man, but the stillness spoke of death. Bodies in alleys were common occurrences on some of the worlds she'd experienced over the cycles, but to find one here, now, was pushing the boundaries of coincidence. It smelled like bait, but she still could not see the trap.
She could, however, feel the pressure of time; the longer she waited, the more likely it was her escape would be noted and alarms would sound. Moving forward was a risk, but so was staying still, and at least moving would get her closer to her Marauder and escape with every step.
Cautiously, with her nerves strung tight, watching every corner and shadow for threats, Aeryn moved down the alley, staying as far from the body as she could.
She sensed them a microt before they struck--a rustle of fabric, an indrawn breath, perhaps a flicker of motion out of the corner of her eye. She whirled, putting her back up against the wall.
The first policeman in the group rushed at her, weapon held ready and charged to full. A voice from behind him shouted "Stand where you are!" but she paid it no mind. Knocking the weapon aside and grabbing the man's arm, she used the leverage to place a devastating kick to one knee. As he began to fall, she grabbed his head and slammed it into the wall beside them. He collapsed in a heap of quivering agony, and with a quick twist Aeryn was armed with her very own shock stick.
Two more uniforms were approaching her from either side, while another, slightly slower, came at her head-on. A kick and a pantak jab dispatched the two flankers, then she spun and jammed the shock stick into the third.
There was a crackle and spark as the weapon discharged, but the officer didn't fall. Didn't even twitch.
Frell.
The failure distracted her attention, and a blow to the head was her reward. It sent Aeryn spinning to the ground, but she rolled quickly to her feet and tried to shake off the ringing in her ears. Two pairs of meaty hands grabbed her arms in iron grips. She lifted her legs off the ground and tried to allow her body weight to jerk her arms free, but at that moment a shock stick rammed into her abdomen. As the charge ran through her body, her legs dissolved into twitching spasms and she sagged towards the ground, supported only by the officers holding her.
She should have realized the cops might have some defense against their own weapons, to ensure that they couldn't be used against them. Their uniforms must be insulated against the electric charges, which explained why the two holding her hadn't been affected by the shock that had taken her down. Stupid, stupid oversight.
An older man appeared before her as her vision returned, gazing down at her with a mix of satisfaction and disgust. "You're under arrest, alien," he informed her. "For mur--"
A roar of sound drowned the man out, and then bright, blinding light filled the alley, making everyone wince and blink at the glare. A booming voice followed through a loudspeaker. "Let. Her. Go." The voice was harsh and clipped, unrecognizable.
As her eyes adjusted, Aeryn could just make out the silhouette of a ship hovering just above the ground at the end of the alley. It swayed and dipped every few microts, as if the pilot couldn't quite hold it steady.
The officer who had been speaking to Aeryn tried to put on a brave front, but Aeryn could tell it was an effort. He called out towards the ship, "I am an officer of Litigara's enforcement division. It is my duty to hold this alien for trial."
The amplified voice from the ship chuckled, and Aeryn finally identified it. "Goody for you, Roscoe," Crichton said sarcastically. "I'm a Peacekeeper Marauder with a big fricking gun pointed right at your head. I suggest you let the woman go before I get annoyed."
There was a long silence, but Aeryn never found out if the cop would have given in. She took advantage of her guards' preoccupation; with a violent heave, she pulled away from the two still holding her and ran for the Marauder. There were shouts behind her and feet pounding in pursuit, but as Aeryn ducked under the hull, making for the open drop hatch, she heard the ship's weapons fire. Glancing back, she saw that the shots had only struck the ground, harming no one, but had brought the cops to a sudden and paralyzed stop.
Aeryn turned away and leaped into the ship.
John sat quietly, watching the starfield darken from indigo to black on the viewscreen as he pushed the Marauder up out of the atmosphere. His eyes itched and a quiet pounding had begun to reverberate behind his eyes, but he kept his hands as steady as he could on the controls.
The soft tread of a boot out in the corridor betrayed Aeryn's quiet approach, but John didn't turn or speak.
"What's our status?" she asked, coming up to stand just behind his right shoulder.
"We've left the planet's atmosphere, no sign of pursuit. I haven't set a course, since I have no clue where we are or where we're going. And I regret to inform you that your pilot is currently flying under the influence."
He heard a touch of humor in her voice as she replied, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Then perhaps my pilot should remove himself from duty and get cleaned up."
"Aye-aye, sir," he quipped with a jaunty sailor's salute as he stumbled away from the helm. With every step towards the door, however, his jocular mood faded and the former pensiveness returned. His pace slowed, and finally, at the door, he stopped and put a hand against the wall. "Aeryn?" he called back. He didn't turn, didn't look at her, just kept gazing out into the dark, cramped hallway. He didn't know quite what to say, after the harsh words he'd spoken back in the bar.
"By the way, Crichton," she asked, "how did you know I needed rescuing?"
He almost laughed. Trust Officer Aeryn Sun not to frell around with the emotional dren. "I overheard something about an alien under arrest while I was at the bar. Some guy by the name of Roman or something, talking about how this alien might be 'useful' to him. I came to the Marauder to check, and figured it was you when I found it still parked there."
"I'm surprised you didn't take off without me; it would have been the perfect solution for you."
John gazed shamefacedly down at his feet. "Have to admit I thought about it. Even got about halfway through powering this baby up for liftoff."
"What changed your mind?"
"My parents left me with a legacy that can be damned inconvenient at times. Morals and scruples. A conscience. I just couldn't leave you in the lurch.
"I used the surveillance equipment on this bird to scan for news about you, transmissions and such. You guys have some spiffy stuff that the CIA would kill for. With a little work and a lot of luck, I managed to hook into this Roman's personal comm signal, and heard him giving final instructions to set you up. He'd killed some guy and needed you to take the fall for it. I tracked your location through the comms he was transmitting to."
"Good work," was her clipped, professional response. He almost turned and walked away, then remembered the subject he'd been about to broach when she interrupted him.
"Aeryn, I...I'm sorry about what I said, back at the bar. I don't want you to think I'm not grateful to you, for getting me off that base. I guess...the truth is, I was scared. Still am." He glanced over his shoulder at the silence that followed.
Aeryn was half turned towards the door, watching him with a steady gaze and an expression he couldn't quite interpret on her face. It wasn't judgmental, which surprised him; he'd expected that confession to be met with open derision from the Peacekeeper hard-line.
After a pause, Aeryn turned all the way around to face him. "Captain Crais will be able to protect you from Scorpius," she tried to assure him.
The mention of the half-breed's name evoked a shudder, and John felt compelled to ask the question that had been plaguing his mind since he first laid eyes on the creature. "Why the hell is there a Scarran in the Peacekeepers, Aeryn? I thought the Scarrans were public enemy number one."
Her mouth quirked up on one side and she replied, "I imagine for the same reason there's an inferior human in the Peacekeepers."
He winced. "Touché."
"Scorpius must have done or offered something that High Command deemed sufficient to waive the purity regulations. And he is half Sebacean, remember."
"Could've fooled me," John muttered under his breath.
"Scorpius has a lot of power, Crichton, but a captain has absolute authority on his own ship. On the carrier, Crais could keep Scorpius away from you indefinitely. Only High Command could countermand him."
John ducked his head, looking away from her. "I know that. It's not really Scorpius that scares me."
There was a doubtful snort from behind him, and he turned to give the woman a mock glare. "All right, then, it's not just Scorpy."
"Then what is it?"
He clenched his eyes shut and forced himself to speak the name he hadn't uttered aloud more than once or twice since her death. "Gilina."
Aeryn's eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. "John," she said tentatively. "She's dead."
"That's the point."
"I don't understand."
John sighed. "I wouldn't expect you to." He felt tears welling up and turned away, staring back into the corridor as his vision blurred. "I loved her, Aeryn. I loved her and I loved the child she was carrying. Our child." He heard a soft indrawn breath of surprise, but continued on. "They're both gone and it's my fault and I don't want to go back and face her friends...work in that lab...without her there. It hurts so much already. Facing all those memories...that's what scares me."
Aeryn's response, a dozen or more microts later, was quiet and surprising. "If you'd really rather be alone than with friends, I'll find a place to drop you off. Someplace better than that drenhole we just blasted out of."
Rather be alone....
John's mind was whirled back almost five years, recalling a cloudy, blustery day when he'd sat on the dock at Sawyer's Mill with the entire contents of his liquor cabinet lined up next to him, getting drunk in alphabetical order.
He'd run away after the service, unable to look his father or his sisters in the eye, afraid to see the accusations he knew would be lurking there.
The ringing ta-tap, ta-tap of a woman's high-heeled steps on the wooden planks had announced a visitor.
"Go 'way, Livvy," he'd mumbled, somehow knowing it would be her. Though four years his junior, she'd always known him better than anyone else in the family. She ignored his words and sat down on the edge of the dock next to him. They made an odd picture, the two of them: a man in a dark suit and a woman in a black dress, sitting by a lake with their dress shoes dangling inches above the water, bottles and cans scattered around them.
"Will you come home?" she'd asked simply.
John had taken a last swig of the bourbon--he'd long since finished the beer--and moved on to the letter G for gin. "Can't."
"Can you tell me why?"
"Y'know why."
"Explain it to me," she insisted.
"I let her down."
"Who? Mom? This is because of that last night in the hospital? The night she--"
"Yeah."
"You loved her, Johnny. We all understand that. She understood, too. You didn't let her down. Let me take you home."
He just shook his head mutely.
"Is it really easier sitting out here all alone, with no one to talk to, no one who understands what you're feeling? We're a family, John. We need to be together, help each other through this."
She'd been right, of course. Livvy Crichton usually was. His grief had festered in solitude, and the memories he had tried to avoid still plagued him to this day.
Turning around, heedless of the tears on his face, he saw that Aeryn was once again consumed with her piloting, probably trying to find a place to leave him, because she thought that was what he wanted. He looked at her, and remembered the good times they'd had, the four of them together in the lounge, talking combat and science and football, turning the established Peacekeeper social order on its head every time they laughed together. Suddenly, the thought of never seeing any of them again hit him like a blast of cold water.
He'd lost his lover, and his child. Leaving wouldn't change that, but it would cost him the only other friends he had on this side of the universe. Facing his fears, as Stark had tried to tell him, might be the only way to avoid repeating the mistakes of the past.
"Aeryn," he said suddenly, decisively. "Don't. I'd like to come back with you, if that's okay."
She turned around. Seeing his damp cheeks, she showed no reaction. "Why the sudden change?"
"You were right. It seems that women on both sides of the universe are always smarter than me. I can't control what Scorpius will or won't do; either choice is a risk. But all else being equal, I'd rather be with friends than be alone. Thanks for reminding me of that."
With that, he turned and headed aft for a long overdue shower.
TBC...