Title: Written On a Thumbnail
Author: cofax
Email: cofax@mindspring.com
See Part 1 for complete header information.
***
*Part 2: Stranger in my Driver's Seat*
The lights in the galley are dim; hardly anyone is awake right now, but I'm hungry. I left Aeryn sprawled in our bunk, her hair catching glints of starlight from the window, and came to find something to eat.
Sparky ate nearly everything we had while Talyn was playing chicken with a star, but there are a few crackers in one of the cabinets. Kinda stale, and a little dusty, but not too bad with some hot sauce on them. I've got an assembly-line of crackers and hot sauce going, interrupted with regular hits of Crais' lipnot juice (which survived the binge only because it gives Rygel indigestion), when his Imperial Majesty comes floating through the door.
"Oh!" he says, and jerks a little, so his thronesled bobs. "I -- I didn't realize anyone would be up at this hour."
"Relax, Buckwheat. I'm just having a midnight snack. But you better not be telling me you're hungry."
If a frog could blush, I think he would. "No, no -- I'm just -- that is, Stark snores like a gelded zamnok. And I was thirsty."
I wave a hand at the refrigeration unit. "Well, we got water, and some flat fellip nectar, and lipnot juice. What'll you have, it's on the house." Sex makes me expansive; *good* sex makes me downright generous.
"Water, then," he says, with a bit more of his old spunk. I don't think I've seen Rygel as, well, humble, as he's been since the business with Mookie the leviathan-slayer. Been a nice change of pace, but it gives me the willies. It's unnatural.
I pour him a cup, and we sit for a bit, me chomping on my crackers and downing the last bottle of lipnot juice; him sipping occasionally and not looking at me.
"Crichton," he says eventually, "do you ever think about the other you? The one we left on Moya?"
"Not if I can avoid it." Just the thought of that guy makes me twitchy in all the wrong places. Jool has to be wrong. Because if she's right, what happens when we're back in the same room? "You don't know, Sparky, what it's like -- to have the guy in the mirror suddenly talking back to you. It's freaky."
He nods, and his earbrows drop level suddenly. "I'm sure it is. But there's something that occurred to me the other day, and I wanted to --"
But I never do find out what Rygel wanted to do, or say. Because there's a step at the door, and Aeryn walks into the galley wearing nothing but a blanket. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, her eyes blurry with sleep. But there's half a smile on her face, and when she sees Rygel she doesn't blush, or pull the blanket higher.
"I got cold," she says, and her eyes lock on mine. She grins wickedly and my blood shocks through me, every nerve crackling. It's been weeks now, and every day it gets better.
I leave the crackers on the table for Sparky to finish.
***
This cell is a lot more comfortable than the last one I was in. I don't remember anything between passing out in a hail of vomit, and waking. My head aches but I've had worse hangovers after tequila night at Jay's. The cell isn't large but it has a toilet in one corner behind a translucent screen, a seat in another corner, and hard mat about four inches off the floor. Light is provided by square sconces set deep into the high ceiling. There's nothing movable in the room other than the single soft blanket on the bed; nothing I could use as a weapon on myself or anyone else. Everything is a dull dark green but the cream bed-covering. There's no sign of D'Argo.
Of course, they've taken my weapons and my clothes. I'm wearing soft grey pajamas but my feet are cold without socks; I curl them up onto the bed and stay there for a long time. Eventually a door I didn't know was there opens and a pair of linebackers in Peacekeeper colors pull me out into the hallway. One of them holds a gun on me while the other cuffs me; then they shove me down the hall. Someday I'll get captured by an alien I outweigh.
The two linebackers muscle me into a small, sparsely-decorated room and wedge me into a vee-shaped chair. As I sink into it, a metallic bar clamps me in place. It's not uncomfortable, and I can still move my arms, hands, and head. But I can't get out of the chair.
The linebackers move to the rear wall and stand at parade-rest, their faces fixed. They haven't said a word since they pulled me out of my cell. It's hard to think of Aeryn as one of them -- but the one on the left is a woman, dark-haired and young.
This room's a lot nicer than mine: there's a soft grey carpet on the floor, and a framed piece of art on the rear wall behind a black desk the size of Delaware. Rygel once told me that Crais had Hynerian heads on display in his quarters; whoever this is has more cultured tastes. The painting looks like a landscape, but not of any planet I recognize.
I hear a click and the door behind me opens. Here we go. *Harv, shake a leg, we're on!*
I play it cool as a woman walks past me and sits down in a comfortable chair behind the desk.
"You the concierge? I'd like to request some more towels in my room -- the maid service keeps swiping them."
She touches a few controls on the desk before looking up at me. Not young; I still haven't figured out how Sebaceans age, but if she were human she'd be in her mid-50s, maybe. Older than Crais, at least. Short spiky blond hair, a heavy tan, light eyes. Her standard red and black uniform is cut more casually than Crais', but I saw a pulse-pistol as she walked in. I don't recognize any of her insignia, and Harvey doesn't enlighten me.
"You certainly look Sebacean," she says, and of course it's the woman I'd heard over the comms. I'm beginning to wonder if Scorpy's actually here at all. "But these medical reports indicate otherwise."
I don't say anything. *Everyone* knows I'm not Sebacean.
She goes on after a moment, glancing up only occasionally from the datapad in her hands. "Do you know why you're here?"
"Because you wanted my grandma's recipe for southern pecan pie?" I'm really too tired and sore to get creative.
She leans back in her chair and scratches her ear, a thoughtful expression on her face. "They say you have an unusual attitude. But I'm not very interested in you. You're just a minor annoyance, albeit one that's plagued us for close to three cycles."
Ouch, a step down from 'John Crichton, terror of the Spacelanes' to 'minor annoyance'. I shrug anyway. "Bout time my reputation caused problems for somebody else."
"You and your fellow renegades have embarrassed us at a time when we can least afford it. The Uncharted Territories are in flux; the Scarrans and the Nebari have plans which do not promise health or long life to the region. Peacekeepers bring order, not death. But your escapades, and those of Captain Crais --" here her voice took on a layer of disdain over the mission-briefing tone, "-- have cost us lives, equipment, and political capital."
"And what, you want an apology? Not gonna happen, babe."
"Indeed. Now ordinarily we would simply kill you out of hand," she states. "However Scorpius has been most insistent you be taken alive. I'd like to find out why."
She pauses, and takes a drink from a matte black cup sitting in the center of the desk. "It is intriguing that for all his loyalty, and your apparent antipathy to Peacekeepers, both of you have survived your many encounters." She looks up at me sharply, her expression intent.
I can't help but laugh at the implication. "You think we're a *team*? That we're in on something together? Jesus, lady, if you believe that, you're even more ignorant than I am! I wish that freak had never been born!"
"Whereas he is quite concerned for your well-being. I expect that appealing to your altruism will not gain me the information I need to resolve this situation. Very well. I need you to tell me where the Leviathan hybrid Talyn is, and Captain Bialar Crais."
So she's after Talyn after all. I wonder what happened to the retrieval squad. I shrug; as usual, I don't know anything useful, but nobody ever believes me.
Her face hardens a little more. "As I expected. But do you think there is anything you know that our interrogation techniques cannot reveal? I do not need an Aurora Chair to strip your mind."
She's really kinda pretty, in a tough way. Looks like a ski-patroller I met once in Colorado. All bone, muscle, and experience. But not kind -- there's no compassion in that face. I look away; I don't want to be tortured but I can't give up Talyn. I don't think I know anything that would help find him anyway. And Aeryn would never forgive me.
There's a pause of a few moments, and then she nods to someone behind me. One of the linebackers comes up behind me. I crane away, but I'm bound to the chair and I feel something touch my neck. An injector, I realize, as I feel the sting of whatever it is entering my bloodstream.
This is not good. I don't react the same as Sebaceans do to a lot of their drugs: fellip nectar just gives me gas, but Tarsian weed ramped me up so much I nearly had a coronary before Zhaan figured out how to neutralize it. Hope this bitch knows what she's doing -- I really don't feel like choking to death on my own vomit because some over-enthusiastic interrogator got the keys to the drug cabinet.
Seems okay, though. No pain, all my organs seem to be in the same place -- "place--" Woah. What's that -- "that--"
"Fuckin' A. It's like, I can think out loud!"
*John! Shut UP!*
"No can do, Harv." The world's gone happy shades of greens and blues. The woman moves closer, sits on the top of the desk. This stuff's good. And fast.
"What are you?"
Stupid question. "Scientist! Strings, slingshots -- been up in the shuttle three times--" I shake three fingers toward her -- "scientist! Astronaut!" Then I remember, I have to answer the question.
"But now I'm a trouble-maker. Refugee, renegade, runaway. Killer." It's so sad.
"Killer?" she prompts.
I nod, keep on nodding. "Killed a lot of people since I got here. Killed those people on the Gammak base, killed Gilina, killed Hassan, killed Aeryn, killed Zhaan."
"Zhaan? The murderer Pau Zotah Zhaan is dead?"
Snicker. "Extra, Extra! Old news! Zhaan's been dead for months! Where you been?" She taps on a data pad in her hand, updating the files, I guess. Well, that news won't hurt Zhaan any.
"Where is the Leviathan gunship called Talyn?" The world is beginning to spin counter-clockwise, as if there's a drain under my chair.
*Careful, John!*
"Dunno." It's hard, but I manage not to say anything more.
"Where is Captain Bialar Crais?"
"Dunno." This stuff is hitting me hard; if it weren't for the bar across my lap I'd be sliding under the chair. It's getting harder to think or speak.
Now she frowns, and taps something else on the data pad. "When was the last time you encountered the Scarran half-breed Scorpius?"
A thought is twitching madly on the edge of my brain but somehow I manage not to think it. Scorpius, not Harvey. Not asking about Harvey. "Ummm, ice planet. Where Aeryn died."
"When was this?" Her face is just a blur now. I sag sideways. One of the linebackers boffs me hard across the back of my head but I just bob a bit. Doesn't hurt at all.
" 'Fore Zhaan died. 'Bout a cycle ago. Took the chip and left my brain cracked open like a clamshell!"
"What was on this chip?"
"Wormhole data. Mother-frelling bastard. Needs a new dentist -- "
The back of the chair is so soft, and my head is so heavy. And away we go. I can hear her voice again, but the words don't mean anything.
"Give him to Lieutenant Teefal. When he's done, let the half-breed have him. Brute force may succeed where subtler methods fail."
I'm so sleepy.
***
Purple fruit, green-and-purple fruit, that yellow rice Aeryn likes but that gives Rygel gas, and yeah, there it is, the green grain everyone eats and nobody particularly enjoys, but that keeps forever. The pastel suns reflect off the ceramic counter of the produce booth as I fish in my pocket for a handful of currency.
"Commander Crichton." Crais on the comms. Lovely. Probably wants -- well, hell, I don't even *know* what he wants.
"Yuh-huh?" Just another visit to the mall of the Uncharted Territories: in this case a half-assed excuse for a commerce planet, off the major shipping lanes and a good eighteen light-cycles from the last place we saw any Peacekeepers. Obscurity is good, but these guys have squat for supplies. I point to a big bag of grain, hold up two fingers to the shopkeeper. He turns his furry green head sideways, and four tentacles wave gently from the star-shaped bundle in the center of his face. I toss three of the local coins on the table and sling the bag over my shoulder. Rygel is four booths down, negotiating for fresh vegetables, although he's supposed to be getting threekay wire.
"You and Dominar Rygel must return to Talyn at once."
"What's up? We still got a few more stops, but we can be done in an arn--" Despite this, I head over to Rygel.
Aeryn breaks in, her voice strained. "No, John, we have to leave now. We've received a signal and Talyn will break orbit with or without you --"
Shit. Moya. "Got it -- we'll be there as soon as we can get off the ground. C'mon, Buckwheat, the bus is leaving--" I grab the sled and yank him towards the port entranceway.
"Yotza! I wasn't done, Crichton! He -- she -- they had grelnik roots there!" The thronesled is piled with packages like a doug fir on Christmas morning; I hope there's something in there the rest of us can eat.
"You can get all Julia Child later, Sparky. Moya's in trouble, and we gotta hit the road."
"Oh," he says, faintly, and wraps his arms around the packages to keep them from toppling off the sled. He's mostly silent for the rest of the trip through the port back to our docking pad. He's groused about conditions on Talyn since we left Kanvia, but I never realized he might be missing Moya for more than just his space and his stuff. Every once in a while I misjudge the little cold-hearted bastard.
I take the pod up to Talyn fast enough to make Rygel complain, but the bay doors close behind us before we even touch down, and Talyn goes into Starburst as the chamber pressurizes. We're lucky he waited as long as he did, and I know damned well it was only because Aeryn insisted; Crais doesn't like me or Rygel enough to risk Talyn's temper for us.
Talyn's still a lot smaller than Moya and it only takes a few minutes to get up to the bridge. Aeryn's in the center of the room, in "talk Talyn down" mode, while Crais is messing around at the navigation console. Neither of them look at me. Stark is nowhere to be seen, and I hope he stays that way. Tense situations and Stark mix about as well as my dog Hubble and the Jeffreys' cat did.
"No, Talyn, we must be cautious!" Crais pleads with the air. I'd give a lot for Talyn to have a face -- okay, mostly so I could pop him one once in a while, but also because it's just easier to talk to someone if you know they're paying attention to you. For all I can tell, Talyn is analyzing the cost of Hummel figurines on Delvia, rather than listening to Crais.
Aeryn chimes in. "Talyn, listen to Crais. If this information is correct, you have to be very careful." I've always thought it was kinda weird the way Aeryn likes to stand in the center of the bridge to talk to Talyn -- like he's gonna hear her better from there? But, hey, I named my gun. I'm in no position to talk.
"Yo, Crais, Aeryn, what's the deal?" I swing past Aeryn, running a hand down her arm; a smile pulls at the corners of her mouth but she twitches out of the way. She hates it when I do that in front of Crais. Of course, that's why I like to do it -- I know it drives him nuts. On the other hand, it also pisses Talyn off, which may not be the smartest thing to do.
Crais doesn't respond but Aeryn does. "We think Moya is being hunted by Peacekeepers, John. She's been running for days but she can't seem to shake them, even in Starburst."
"Well, shit. Is this another retrieval squad?"
Crais turns away from the console; the image of the immediate stellar neighborhood hangs glowing behind him. It's just like an episode of Star Trek. Except without the nice clean uniforms and the replicators and the transporters and the unlimited resources. Oh, wait, no, we got all those out here -- they just belong to the bad guys.
Crais shakes his head and his braid cuts through the hologram. "It's possible it's another retrieval squad. But we're not sure, the message is very -- cryptic."
"What'd Pilot say?"
"I'll call it up." Aeryn accesses the message from the communications console. A familiar face appears over the rippling starfield effect of Starburst.
But it's not Pilot, it's me. Not me. The other guy, the one who stayed on Moya. The one who lost the toss.
He looks pretty tired, and he's wearing the green shirt Aeryn gave him. Well, okay, that's fair -- since I took all three black shirts with me when I left. Probably should have left him a couple.
"Yo, Talyn. How you doin', guys? Listen, we got some issues here. Some old friends are in the neighborhood, and it's like they got a pack of psychic bloodhounds. And, uh, they fielded a full team -- fullbacks, linebackers, the whole nine yards. It's been nearly two weeks and we're out of options. Pilot's got a fix on where we're heading, but we're gonna need the varsity on the field soon. And oh, yeah -- I think Harvey's boss is the QB."
That was allusive enough to baffle anyone in the UTs, I guess -- except maybe for Aeryn, who knows me too well, and Harvey himself.
*Speak of the devil, John --*
*Stuff it, Harvey. We'll talk later.*
"Where'd this come from? And where's Pilot's data?"
"Pilot's data was coded in the signal itself. The message was held in stasis by the offworld messenging system at the commerce planet we just left; it had been there for six solar days." Crais manipulates the hologram and the image enlarges to reveal a single system. He points to a spot on the outskirts of the system, barely within the star's gravitational pull. "This is where Pilot believes they are headed."
Six days. Those guys are screwed.
"OK, so they've got a team tracking them somehow -- multiple ships, some of them heavy duty. Maybe a command carrier. And they think Scorpy's involved." I nibble on a hangnail on my thumb. How the *hell* are we going to deal with this?
"A command carrier?" Aeryn's eyes widen and she shakes her head. I know what she's thinking. Talyn's a lot stronger than he used to be, and he's almost fully recovered from the immobilizer pulse, but a command carrier is far more than he can take on. We can't ask him to, even for Mamma Moya. On the other hand, sometimes Talyn gets his own ideas; I wouldn't put it past him to risk us all to save Moya. Boy loves his mother.
Crap. I move past Aeryn and take a look at Crais' hologram. We'll come out of Starburst about .25 light-cycles from Moya's position, far enough away to give us a chance to look around. Smart -- that must have been Aeryn's idea. We're well outside Peacekeeper space, but not all that far from the Scarran border. Which could make life a little too interesting.
Scarrans. Peacekeepers. And Talyn, a boy with no judgment at all.
Clusterfuck is too mild a word for this.
***
Jesus frelling Christ on a skateboard! Ow my head! Ow, my body too. I peel my shirt away from my chest and peer down. Looks like a drag-queen in spiked heels went tap-dancing on my abs. I don't remember much of it, though. Something about a gorilla-sized lieutenant in a room full of very sharp things. Ouch. I don't think I said anything that made any sense: small mercies.
*Finally.* Harvey lounges on the chair across the cell. This time he's dressed in a leather bomber jacket and green khaki pants, with a pilot's cap on his head.
*Harv, not "Hogan's Heroes" again.* He loves Nazis but recognizes that Hogan is the hero. It's a paradox he hasn't managed to resolve yet, although I hear him thinking about it sometimes when I'm trying to sleep.
*We don't have a lot of time, John. They'll interrogate you again and you must be prepared.*
I drop my head back on the mat. I haven't had a hangover this bad since Spring Break my junior year. I spent a full day sleeping and barfing in the bathroom of the Motel 6 on Route 1, while DK hung out on the beach. I look longingly at the water spigot across the room, but it's too far to move.
*So they'll interrogate me. Big deal.* It's not like I have much to hide. So many people have been into my head, there's a six-lane highway into my cerebellum. I ought to start charging fees --so far I've been the only one paying the toll.
*John! Pay Attention!* --Crack!-- a swizzle-stick slaps down on the floor next to the bed, and I look up to see Harvey's changed into an SS uniform. Lovely.
*Fine. What exactly is the problem, Harv? Other than we're stuck on a Command Carrier with a very tough woman who's determined to pick my brains? That D'Argo is probably dead and Moya back in a control collar? That the girls are -- hell, I don't even want to know.* I'm not going to think about Talyn, Crais, Aeryn -- and the other guy.
Harvey crouches down next to me, shoves his face close to mine. His eyes glitter; I think he's just a little over the edge now, since Scorpy abandoned him and he realized he was never getting out. Takes one to know one. We've both been screwed over by our alter-egos.
*She's after him, John. You can use this!*
Huh?
But there's no time to ask -- Harvey evaporates as the door slides open. Two grunts, different ones this time, enter the room and stand on either side of the door. Damn. If I weren't flat on my back with Paul Bunyan's own migraine, I could have tried to make a break for it. One more session with that stuff, whatever it was, and my brains'll be baba ghanoush.
It's not another interrogation session, though. Instead someone else comes through the door, and it's two years of nightmares come to life.
Because it's dear old Braca. And if Braca's here, then the devil himself can't be far away.
***
END Part 2
I am the darkness in your daughter
I'm the spot beneath the skin
I'm the shadow on the pavement
I'm the broken heart within
-- Yes Virginia I Am --
http://cofax.freeservers.com
Author: cofax
Email: cofax@mindspring.com
See Part 1 for complete header information.
***
*Part 2: Stranger in my Driver's Seat*
The lights in the galley are dim; hardly anyone is awake right now, but I'm hungry. I left Aeryn sprawled in our bunk, her hair catching glints of starlight from the window, and came to find something to eat.
Sparky ate nearly everything we had while Talyn was playing chicken with a star, but there are a few crackers in one of the cabinets. Kinda stale, and a little dusty, but not too bad with some hot sauce on them. I've got an assembly-line of crackers and hot sauce going, interrupted with regular hits of Crais' lipnot juice (which survived the binge only because it gives Rygel indigestion), when his Imperial Majesty comes floating through the door.
"Oh!" he says, and jerks a little, so his thronesled bobs. "I -- I didn't realize anyone would be up at this hour."
"Relax, Buckwheat. I'm just having a midnight snack. But you better not be telling me you're hungry."
If a frog could blush, I think he would. "No, no -- I'm just -- that is, Stark snores like a gelded zamnok. And I was thirsty."
I wave a hand at the refrigeration unit. "Well, we got water, and some flat fellip nectar, and lipnot juice. What'll you have, it's on the house." Sex makes me expansive; *good* sex makes me downright generous.
"Water, then," he says, with a bit more of his old spunk. I don't think I've seen Rygel as, well, humble, as he's been since the business with Mookie the leviathan-slayer. Been a nice change of pace, but it gives me the willies. It's unnatural.
I pour him a cup, and we sit for a bit, me chomping on my crackers and downing the last bottle of lipnot juice; him sipping occasionally and not looking at me.
"Crichton," he says eventually, "do you ever think about the other you? The one we left on Moya?"
"Not if I can avoid it." Just the thought of that guy makes me twitchy in all the wrong places. Jool has to be wrong. Because if she's right, what happens when we're back in the same room? "You don't know, Sparky, what it's like -- to have the guy in the mirror suddenly talking back to you. It's freaky."
He nods, and his earbrows drop level suddenly. "I'm sure it is. But there's something that occurred to me the other day, and I wanted to --"
But I never do find out what Rygel wanted to do, or say. Because there's a step at the door, and Aeryn walks into the galley wearing nothing but a blanket. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, her eyes blurry with sleep. But there's half a smile on her face, and when she sees Rygel she doesn't blush, or pull the blanket higher.
"I got cold," she says, and her eyes lock on mine. She grins wickedly and my blood shocks through me, every nerve crackling. It's been weeks now, and every day it gets better.
I leave the crackers on the table for Sparky to finish.
***
This cell is a lot more comfortable than the last one I was in. I don't remember anything between passing out in a hail of vomit, and waking. My head aches but I've had worse hangovers after tequila night at Jay's. The cell isn't large but it has a toilet in one corner behind a translucent screen, a seat in another corner, and hard mat about four inches off the floor. Light is provided by square sconces set deep into the high ceiling. There's nothing movable in the room other than the single soft blanket on the bed; nothing I could use as a weapon on myself or anyone else. Everything is a dull dark green but the cream bed-covering. There's no sign of D'Argo.
Of course, they've taken my weapons and my clothes. I'm wearing soft grey pajamas but my feet are cold without socks; I curl them up onto the bed and stay there for a long time. Eventually a door I didn't know was there opens and a pair of linebackers in Peacekeeper colors pull me out into the hallway. One of them holds a gun on me while the other cuffs me; then they shove me down the hall. Someday I'll get captured by an alien I outweigh.
The two linebackers muscle me into a small, sparsely-decorated room and wedge me into a vee-shaped chair. As I sink into it, a metallic bar clamps me in place. It's not uncomfortable, and I can still move my arms, hands, and head. But I can't get out of the chair.
The linebackers move to the rear wall and stand at parade-rest, their faces fixed. They haven't said a word since they pulled me out of my cell. It's hard to think of Aeryn as one of them -- but the one on the left is a woman, dark-haired and young.
This room's a lot nicer than mine: there's a soft grey carpet on the floor, and a framed piece of art on the rear wall behind a black desk the size of Delaware. Rygel once told me that Crais had Hynerian heads on display in his quarters; whoever this is has more cultured tastes. The painting looks like a landscape, but not of any planet I recognize.
I hear a click and the door behind me opens. Here we go. *Harv, shake a leg, we're on!*
I play it cool as a woman walks past me and sits down in a comfortable chair behind the desk.
"You the concierge? I'd like to request some more towels in my room -- the maid service keeps swiping them."
She touches a few controls on the desk before looking up at me. Not young; I still haven't figured out how Sebaceans age, but if she were human she'd be in her mid-50s, maybe. Older than Crais, at least. Short spiky blond hair, a heavy tan, light eyes. Her standard red and black uniform is cut more casually than Crais', but I saw a pulse-pistol as she walked in. I don't recognize any of her insignia, and Harvey doesn't enlighten me.
"You certainly look Sebacean," she says, and of course it's the woman I'd heard over the comms. I'm beginning to wonder if Scorpy's actually here at all. "But these medical reports indicate otherwise."
I don't say anything. *Everyone* knows I'm not Sebacean.
She goes on after a moment, glancing up only occasionally from the datapad in her hands. "Do you know why you're here?"
"Because you wanted my grandma's recipe for southern pecan pie?" I'm really too tired and sore to get creative.
She leans back in her chair and scratches her ear, a thoughtful expression on her face. "They say you have an unusual attitude. But I'm not very interested in you. You're just a minor annoyance, albeit one that's plagued us for close to three cycles."
Ouch, a step down from 'John Crichton, terror of the Spacelanes' to 'minor annoyance'. I shrug anyway. "Bout time my reputation caused problems for somebody else."
"You and your fellow renegades have embarrassed us at a time when we can least afford it. The Uncharted Territories are in flux; the Scarrans and the Nebari have plans which do not promise health or long life to the region. Peacekeepers bring order, not death. But your escapades, and those of Captain Crais --" here her voice took on a layer of disdain over the mission-briefing tone, "-- have cost us lives, equipment, and political capital."
"And what, you want an apology? Not gonna happen, babe."
"Indeed. Now ordinarily we would simply kill you out of hand," she states. "However Scorpius has been most insistent you be taken alive. I'd like to find out why."
She pauses, and takes a drink from a matte black cup sitting in the center of the desk. "It is intriguing that for all his loyalty, and your apparent antipathy to Peacekeepers, both of you have survived your many encounters." She looks up at me sharply, her expression intent.
I can't help but laugh at the implication. "You think we're a *team*? That we're in on something together? Jesus, lady, if you believe that, you're even more ignorant than I am! I wish that freak had never been born!"
"Whereas he is quite concerned for your well-being. I expect that appealing to your altruism will not gain me the information I need to resolve this situation. Very well. I need you to tell me where the Leviathan hybrid Talyn is, and Captain Bialar Crais."
So she's after Talyn after all. I wonder what happened to the retrieval squad. I shrug; as usual, I don't know anything useful, but nobody ever believes me.
Her face hardens a little more. "As I expected. But do you think there is anything you know that our interrogation techniques cannot reveal? I do not need an Aurora Chair to strip your mind."
She's really kinda pretty, in a tough way. Looks like a ski-patroller I met once in Colorado. All bone, muscle, and experience. But not kind -- there's no compassion in that face. I look away; I don't want to be tortured but I can't give up Talyn. I don't think I know anything that would help find him anyway. And Aeryn would never forgive me.
There's a pause of a few moments, and then she nods to someone behind me. One of the linebackers comes up behind me. I crane away, but I'm bound to the chair and I feel something touch my neck. An injector, I realize, as I feel the sting of whatever it is entering my bloodstream.
This is not good. I don't react the same as Sebaceans do to a lot of their drugs: fellip nectar just gives me gas, but Tarsian weed ramped me up so much I nearly had a coronary before Zhaan figured out how to neutralize it. Hope this bitch knows what she's doing -- I really don't feel like choking to death on my own vomit because some over-enthusiastic interrogator got the keys to the drug cabinet.
Seems okay, though. No pain, all my organs seem to be in the same place -- "place--" Woah. What's that -- "that--"
"Fuckin' A. It's like, I can think out loud!"
*John! Shut UP!*
"No can do, Harv." The world's gone happy shades of greens and blues. The woman moves closer, sits on the top of the desk. This stuff's good. And fast.
"What are you?"
Stupid question. "Scientist! Strings, slingshots -- been up in the shuttle three times--" I shake three fingers toward her -- "scientist! Astronaut!" Then I remember, I have to answer the question.
"But now I'm a trouble-maker. Refugee, renegade, runaway. Killer." It's so sad.
"Killer?" she prompts.
I nod, keep on nodding. "Killed a lot of people since I got here. Killed those people on the Gammak base, killed Gilina, killed Hassan, killed Aeryn, killed Zhaan."
"Zhaan? The murderer Pau Zotah Zhaan is dead?"
Snicker. "Extra, Extra! Old news! Zhaan's been dead for months! Where you been?" She taps on a data pad in her hand, updating the files, I guess. Well, that news won't hurt Zhaan any.
"Where is the Leviathan gunship called Talyn?" The world is beginning to spin counter-clockwise, as if there's a drain under my chair.
*Careful, John!*
"Dunno." It's hard, but I manage not to say anything more.
"Where is Captain Bialar Crais?"
"Dunno." This stuff is hitting me hard; if it weren't for the bar across my lap I'd be sliding under the chair. It's getting harder to think or speak.
Now she frowns, and taps something else on the data pad. "When was the last time you encountered the Scarran half-breed Scorpius?"
A thought is twitching madly on the edge of my brain but somehow I manage not to think it. Scorpius, not Harvey. Not asking about Harvey. "Ummm, ice planet. Where Aeryn died."
"When was this?" Her face is just a blur now. I sag sideways. One of the linebackers boffs me hard across the back of my head but I just bob a bit. Doesn't hurt at all.
" 'Fore Zhaan died. 'Bout a cycle ago. Took the chip and left my brain cracked open like a clamshell!"
"What was on this chip?"
"Wormhole data. Mother-frelling bastard. Needs a new dentist -- "
The back of the chair is so soft, and my head is so heavy. And away we go. I can hear her voice again, but the words don't mean anything.
"Give him to Lieutenant Teefal. When he's done, let the half-breed have him. Brute force may succeed where subtler methods fail."
I'm so sleepy.
***
Purple fruit, green-and-purple fruit, that yellow rice Aeryn likes but that gives Rygel gas, and yeah, there it is, the green grain everyone eats and nobody particularly enjoys, but that keeps forever. The pastel suns reflect off the ceramic counter of the produce booth as I fish in my pocket for a handful of currency.
"Commander Crichton." Crais on the comms. Lovely. Probably wants -- well, hell, I don't even *know* what he wants.
"Yuh-huh?" Just another visit to the mall of the Uncharted Territories: in this case a half-assed excuse for a commerce planet, off the major shipping lanes and a good eighteen light-cycles from the last place we saw any Peacekeepers. Obscurity is good, but these guys have squat for supplies. I point to a big bag of grain, hold up two fingers to the shopkeeper. He turns his furry green head sideways, and four tentacles wave gently from the star-shaped bundle in the center of his face. I toss three of the local coins on the table and sling the bag over my shoulder. Rygel is four booths down, negotiating for fresh vegetables, although he's supposed to be getting threekay wire.
"You and Dominar Rygel must return to Talyn at once."
"What's up? We still got a few more stops, but we can be done in an arn--" Despite this, I head over to Rygel.
Aeryn breaks in, her voice strained. "No, John, we have to leave now. We've received a signal and Talyn will break orbit with or without you --"
Shit. Moya. "Got it -- we'll be there as soon as we can get off the ground. C'mon, Buckwheat, the bus is leaving--" I grab the sled and yank him towards the port entranceway.
"Yotza! I wasn't done, Crichton! He -- she -- they had grelnik roots there!" The thronesled is piled with packages like a doug fir on Christmas morning; I hope there's something in there the rest of us can eat.
"You can get all Julia Child later, Sparky. Moya's in trouble, and we gotta hit the road."
"Oh," he says, faintly, and wraps his arms around the packages to keep them from toppling off the sled. He's mostly silent for the rest of the trip through the port back to our docking pad. He's groused about conditions on Talyn since we left Kanvia, but I never realized he might be missing Moya for more than just his space and his stuff. Every once in a while I misjudge the little cold-hearted bastard.
I take the pod up to Talyn fast enough to make Rygel complain, but the bay doors close behind us before we even touch down, and Talyn goes into Starburst as the chamber pressurizes. We're lucky he waited as long as he did, and I know damned well it was only because Aeryn insisted; Crais doesn't like me or Rygel enough to risk Talyn's temper for us.
Talyn's still a lot smaller than Moya and it only takes a few minutes to get up to the bridge. Aeryn's in the center of the room, in "talk Talyn down" mode, while Crais is messing around at the navigation console. Neither of them look at me. Stark is nowhere to be seen, and I hope he stays that way. Tense situations and Stark mix about as well as my dog Hubble and the Jeffreys' cat did.
"No, Talyn, we must be cautious!" Crais pleads with the air. I'd give a lot for Talyn to have a face -- okay, mostly so I could pop him one once in a while, but also because it's just easier to talk to someone if you know they're paying attention to you. For all I can tell, Talyn is analyzing the cost of Hummel figurines on Delvia, rather than listening to Crais.
Aeryn chimes in. "Talyn, listen to Crais. If this information is correct, you have to be very careful." I've always thought it was kinda weird the way Aeryn likes to stand in the center of the bridge to talk to Talyn -- like he's gonna hear her better from there? But, hey, I named my gun. I'm in no position to talk.
"Yo, Crais, Aeryn, what's the deal?" I swing past Aeryn, running a hand down her arm; a smile pulls at the corners of her mouth but she twitches out of the way. She hates it when I do that in front of Crais. Of course, that's why I like to do it -- I know it drives him nuts. On the other hand, it also pisses Talyn off, which may not be the smartest thing to do.
Crais doesn't respond but Aeryn does. "We think Moya is being hunted by Peacekeepers, John. She's been running for days but she can't seem to shake them, even in Starburst."
"Well, shit. Is this another retrieval squad?"
Crais turns away from the console; the image of the immediate stellar neighborhood hangs glowing behind him. It's just like an episode of Star Trek. Except without the nice clean uniforms and the replicators and the transporters and the unlimited resources. Oh, wait, no, we got all those out here -- they just belong to the bad guys.
Crais shakes his head and his braid cuts through the hologram. "It's possible it's another retrieval squad. But we're not sure, the message is very -- cryptic."
"What'd Pilot say?"
"I'll call it up." Aeryn accesses the message from the communications console. A familiar face appears over the rippling starfield effect of Starburst.
But it's not Pilot, it's me. Not me. The other guy, the one who stayed on Moya. The one who lost the toss.
He looks pretty tired, and he's wearing the green shirt Aeryn gave him. Well, okay, that's fair -- since I took all three black shirts with me when I left. Probably should have left him a couple.
"Yo, Talyn. How you doin', guys? Listen, we got some issues here. Some old friends are in the neighborhood, and it's like they got a pack of psychic bloodhounds. And, uh, they fielded a full team -- fullbacks, linebackers, the whole nine yards. It's been nearly two weeks and we're out of options. Pilot's got a fix on where we're heading, but we're gonna need the varsity on the field soon. And oh, yeah -- I think Harvey's boss is the QB."
That was allusive enough to baffle anyone in the UTs, I guess -- except maybe for Aeryn, who knows me too well, and Harvey himself.
*Speak of the devil, John --*
*Stuff it, Harvey. We'll talk later.*
"Where'd this come from? And where's Pilot's data?"
"Pilot's data was coded in the signal itself. The message was held in stasis by the offworld messenging system at the commerce planet we just left; it had been there for six solar days." Crais manipulates the hologram and the image enlarges to reveal a single system. He points to a spot on the outskirts of the system, barely within the star's gravitational pull. "This is where Pilot believes they are headed."
Six days. Those guys are screwed.
"OK, so they've got a team tracking them somehow -- multiple ships, some of them heavy duty. Maybe a command carrier. And they think Scorpy's involved." I nibble on a hangnail on my thumb. How the *hell* are we going to deal with this?
"A command carrier?" Aeryn's eyes widen and she shakes her head. I know what she's thinking. Talyn's a lot stronger than he used to be, and he's almost fully recovered from the immobilizer pulse, but a command carrier is far more than he can take on. We can't ask him to, even for Mamma Moya. On the other hand, sometimes Talyn gets his own ideas; I wouldn't put it past him to risk us all to save Moya. Boy loves his mother.
Crap. I move past Aeryn and take a look at Crais' hologram. We'll come out of Starburst about .25 light-cycles from Moya's position, far enough away to give us a chance to look around. Smart -- that must have been Aeryn's idea. We're well outside Peacekeeper space, but not all that far from the Scarran border. Which could make life a little too interesting.
Scarrans. Peacekeepers. And Talyn, a boy with no judgment at all.
Clusterfuck is too mild a word for this.
***
Jesus frelling Christ on a skateboard! Ow my head! Ow, my body too. I peel my shirt away from my chest and peer down. Looks like a drag-queen in spiked heels went tap-dancing on my abs. I don't remember much of it, though. Something about a gorilla-sized lieutenant in a room full of very sharp things. Ouch. I don't think I said anything that made any sense: small mercies.
*Finally.* Harvey lounges on the chair across the cell. This time he's dressed in a leather bomber jacket and green khaki pants, with a pilot's cap on his head.
*Harv, not "Hogan's Heroes" again.* He loves Nazis but recognizes that Hogan is the hero. It's a paradox he hasn't managed to resolve yet, although I hear him thinking about it sometimes when I'm trying to sleep.
*We don't have a lot of time, John. They'll interrogate you again and you must be prepared.*
I drop my head back on the mat. I haven't had a hangover this bad since Spring Break my junior year. I spent a full day sleeping and barfing in the bathroom of the Motel 6 on Route 1, while DK hung out on the beach. I look longingly at the water spigot across the room, but it's too far to move.
*So they'll interrogate me. Big deal.* It's not like I have much to hide. So many people have been into my head, there's a six-lane highway into my cerebellum. I ought to start charging fees --so far I've been the only one paying the toll.
*John! Pay Attention!* --Crack!-- a swizzle-stick slaps down on the floor next to the bed, and I look up to see Harvey's changed into an SS uniform. Lovely.
*Fine. What exactly is the problem, Harv? Other than we're stuck on a Command Carrier with a very tough woman who's determined to pick my brains? That D'Argo is probably dead and Moya back in a control collar? That the girls are -- hell, I don't even want to know.* I'm not going to think about Talyn, Crais, Aeryn -- and the other guy.
Harvey crouches down next to me, shoves his face close to mine. His eyes glitter; I think he's just a little over the edge now, since Scorpy abandoned him and he realized he was never getting out. Takes one to know one. We've both been screwed over by our alter-egos.
*She's after him, John. You can use this!*
Huh?
But there's no time to ask -- Harvey evaporates as the door slides open. Two grunts, different ones this time, enter the room and stand on either side of the door. Damn. If I weren't flat on my back with Paul Bunyan's own migraine, I could have tried to make a break for it. One more session with that stuff, whatever it was, and my brains'll be baba ghanoush.
It's not another interrogation session, though. Instead someone else comes through the door, and it's two years of nightmares come to life.
Because it's dear old Braca. And if Braca's here, then the devil himself can't be far away.
***
END Part 2
I am the darkness in your daughter
I'm the spot beneath the skin
I'm the shadow on the pavement
I'm the broken heart within
-- Yes Virginia I Am --
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