Title: Written on a Thumbnail
Author: cofax
Email: cofax@mindspring.com
See Part 1 for complete headers.
***
*Part 5: Prom Night in Pigtown*
Well, fuck me sideways with a chainsaw: not only did the bastard survive, he actually escaped! And just when I thought the Peacekeepers might have made my life simpler for me.
I'm *so* tempted to play this for laughs, but Aeryn flips up her faceplate immediately.
His face . . . wow. Now I know what I looked like when she came through that cell door two cycles ago. "You're alive." He sounds surprised. That shocked hope is there for just a moment, and then his eyes narrow and he looks at me. "Crais?"
I flip my faceplate up. "Crais is watching the hall. How'd you get out?"
Aeryn gives D'Argo a hand up, but the two of us, me and -- hell, his name's John -- John, we're just staring at each other. He looks like he's been run over by a UPS truck. The whites of his eyes aren't: they're red with burst capillaries, and he's got the shakes. He's not wearing the green shirt anymore; instead it's grey pajamas, and he's barefoot. Took me a while to find boots that fit; he's gotta be pissed about losing them. His face hardens after a moment, and he looks away.
"D'Argo got lucky --"
"It was *not* luck. It was skill. And I was not the one who . . ." The big guy frowns at John, who cuts him off.
"That's irrelevant. Listen, do any of you know how to hack this system? I need --"
"-- to see what Scorpy's up to," I finish for him. John nods, fast and unhappy, his face the same color as his shirt, and Aeryn blinks at me. This is too weird. Then he shakes his head and starts messing with the controls on the console in front of him.
"No, I mean, I do, but I need to check the data against what we got from Linfer --" Huh? Who's Linfer? He's got wormhole data?
D'Argo growls, and strides over to the console to grab his arm. "John, we do not have time! Let's go!"
"NO!" John snarls, and tries to wrench away from D'Argo. But as he turns his knee gives way and he collapses to the floor, D'Argo just barely stopping his head from hitting the edge of the console.
"Well, frell you, Crichton! I am *not* getting recaptured for your wormhole obsession!" D'Argo drops him roughly into the chair and stalks away.
I look at Aeryn; she's unsettled, her lips thin. But she approaches John, peers into his face. "Crichton, we don't have time. We have to go before they figure out the Scarrans aren't real -- " She puts up a hand to touch his face where a livid bruise is rising, and he yanks his head away. He's shuddering, his hands clenched on the console in front of him.
"Aeryn," he says, facing away from her. " Don't. Just . . . don't. "
She shakes her head and looks back at me. What's going on here? But we don't have the time to give John post-torture counseling. We have to get out of here before we're discovered. I cock my head at the corridor. "Send in Crais, give us 200 microts. 'Kay?"
She nods, puts a hand towards his shoulder, then draws it back, and slips out the door. The overhead lights are dim; why is the lab empty? This is Scorpy's headquarters. He should have people here round the clock.
Crais comes in with the same question. "Where are all the techs?" He blinks at the sight of John in the chair and me in the doorway. I don't think he ever saw the two of us in the same place before we split up. Quite the trip, Bialar, ain't it? Two annoying humans who don't trust you as far as we can throw you. Two, two, two, for the price of one.
"There's a sub-auditor here from High Command," says John. He raises a shaky hand, taps at something on the console and gets a constipated beep. "Supay is shutting Scorpius down for wasting resources."
"Supay?" Crais raises a brow. "Kethna Supay?"
John nods. "Cold, but smart as hell. Hard to stall. You know her?"
"Great," groans D'Argo. "More old friends."
Crais shakes his head. "Not a friend, no. I knew of her; she's extremely competent. If she's here, our chances of escape have decreased markedly."
Oh, that's just *fine*. I am in no mood to hang around. I wave Crais over to the console. "Can you get us into this using the codes Talyn gave us? Even just enough to get some quick and dirty downloads?"
"I believe so," he says, and moves up to the console. John shifts aside with a grimace. Still no love lost there. I've gotten used to Crais; I don't trust him, but I can usually tell which way he'll jump. But I've had three months to adjust.
Within moments Crais is downloading data. With a physical connection, Talyn's hacked every code on the frelling ship. Good thing he uses his powers for good. John grabs each chip as they come out, but drops one when he can't close his swollen fingers on it.
Jesus. I nudge John on the shoulder, distracting him from the console. D'Argo is at the doorway again, although Aeryn is keeping watch from the hallway. John looks up irritably. "Did he put you in the Chair?"
"Oh, yeah. A brand new one, a compact model. But I beat him anyway." He snickers, and I go cold. Is this what I was like? Then he drops his eyes to my holster. His eyes narrow, and I know he's seen Winona. Too bad. Live with it, dude. Lots has changed since we left, and you ain't gonna like most of it.
There isn't much choice about our exit strategy. Aeryn, Crais, and I are in uniform, while John and D'Argo are dressed as prisoners. I toss a set of restraints to John, half expecting him to ask me if I'm kind of short for a Stormtrooper. But he doesn't.
It would be nice to have *someone* around who gets my jokes.
Before we leave Aeryn pulls a tiny medical kit from her pack and turns to John. "We don't have time to treat you properly, so I'm just going to give you some painkillers and a stimulant. Will that be enough to keep you going?"
John's still in the chair, turning the cuffs over and over in his lap. "Absolutely, Officer Sun. All I need in the world is a painkiller and some stimulants." But he says it to his hands.
While Aeryn's messing with John, I have Crais download and dump all of Scorpius's files he can find. We may not be able to stop the wormhole project, but we might be able to throw a wrench in the works for a while. They've probably got off-site backups of all the data, though; that's what I would do. Still, every little bit helps.
Aeryn's commando meds seems to be enough; within a few dozen microts John's up on his feet. He can't stay upright very well, but as long as we're moving he seems to be able to keep up.
The sirens come back on as we move out of the lab, Crais in front, the two "prisoners" in the middle, and Aeryn and I bringing up the rear. The sounds fill the hallways, beating at the base of my skull through the helmet -- then I realize it's not the siren but footfalls behind me. I spin, but the squad of commandos sprints by with hardly a glance in our direction.
I trigger my comms. "What is it?"
Crais doesn't turn. "Scarrans."
Scarrans? But Talyn's faked Scarran alert went out over an arn ago, before we landed. Why are they freaking now? I switch my comms over to the command channel, and it's clear they think something big is going down. Talyn must have really pulled out the stops. Commands, counter-commands, Marauders and Prowlers being called out, Frag cannon firing --
And then the hallway heels over sideways, like Mr. Farley's sailboat on the Chesapeake the summer I was twelve, and we all go skidding off to the side -- treblin-side, my brain reminds me -- and slam up against the wall. More shouting over the Peacekeeper comms.
Aeryn pulls me up, and I touch my helmet to hers for a microt. I can't see her face through the faceplate but it doesn't matter. "I love you."
"I love you too," she says back, a hint of humor-the-human in her voice.
Before she pulls away, I add, "But I'd love you a lot more if you could get us off this frelling boat in one piece," and she snorts. When she straightens, her hand keeps hold of mine for a long moment. I settle Winona and turn to see John staring at us. He can't have heard us. He doesn't say anything, and I wave my hand for him to step out next to D'Argo.
Walking is harder now; I think the gravity's gone wonky. I switch back to our encrypted channel.
"-- going. We have to get out now. Talyn will be there to meet us."
"Aeryn, what is it?"
But John answers me, twisting his head awkwardly over his shoulder while his hands are bound in front. "That's the alarm for boarding parties. Must be a dreadnought out there." He laughs again, his voice harsh, tearing. "You're going to die here, Crichton." I can't tell whether he's talking to me or to himself.
That's right, John doesn't know about Talyn's little distracto-rama. Except now this place is going nuts, and it's going to be really difficult to slip out unobserved. And how does John know what a boarding alarm sounds like, anyway?
Crais and Aeryn lead us through another doorway and down a poorly-lit secondary hallway. Eventually we find a doorway; after a long moment while Crais checks the hallway, we re-emerge into one of the main corridors of the carrier. The carrier is just like the Gammak base -- the corridors are square, metallic, and pragmatic. Doors are set at irregular intervals into the walls, most with small signs marked with angular Sebacean text.
John whispers, "We're in crew quarters."
Aeryn waves us forward and it's so hard not to run for the docking bay now, but there are occasional parties of Peacekeepers going by and all we need is for someone to stop us here, demand authorizations. I keep a hand close to Winona.
John's not doing well; he moves stiffly, and when there isn't anyone else around, D'Argo gives him an arm for support. There are dull brown patches of dried blood on his clothes, and deep sores on his wrists around the loose restraints. I recognize the pattern. But he keeps moving.
There's a lot of noise up ahead; we're coming up to a major junction. I think I recognize the layout from the plans we saw on Talyn. If I'm right, we're not too far from the docking bay. We may get out of this after all.
We step around the corner, moving smooth and calm, just some guards escorting some prisoners -- and a volley of pulses sears the air in front of us. There's fire coming from both sides, and we just miss walking into the middle of it.
"Back!" Aeryn snaps, swinging down the pulse rifle, and we all dodge backwards into the pitiful shelter of the hall we just left, Aeryn and Crais firing all the way.
I crane over D'Argo's shoulder as we pull back, trying to see who is firing from the left. Whoever they are, they're absorbing a lot of fire from a squad of Peacekeeper commandos on the right. And they're using something I don't recognize: their returning shots have a meatier, deeper sound than the chakan-fueled pistols Peacekeepers use.
D'Argo dodges around me, and I stick my head around the corner for one last glimpse before Aeryn yanks me back. Holy *shit*. Those are *Scarrans* clustered in the doorway of the docking bay!
Scarrans! Not nice faked Scarrans provided by Talyn sweet-talking the carrier's sensors, but bigass real Scarrans with bigass real guns. Where the hell did they come from?
Aeryn lets off a few more shots to cover us. We pull back a little farther, but we can't stay in this corridor: there's no cover if the Scarrans advance even a few yards from their position. I look around quickly, but John is there before me.
"Here," John says, and yanks open an access panel I hadn't even seen was there. The entrance is barely large enough for me, much less D'Argo.
"I cannot fit through that," D points out, but then a pistol bolt ricochets down the hall. He fits, somehow. The rest of us squeeze in after him, Crais pulling the panel door closed behind us.
The passageway is dark and cramped, and smells vaguely of sewage. What a wonderful smell he's discovered. There's almost no light or room: I'm pressed close between D'Argo and Crais.
"Crais," Aeryn grits from behind me. "What the frell is going on out there?" Question of the hour.
Crais moves behind me; he must be gripping the transponder to increase the connection. "I'm trying to discern that -- Talyn has been masking his signal, in order to avoid detection. But I think -- " his voice cuts off, and his body stiffens.
There's a few long moments of silence. Then a gasp, and then he speaks again. "Talyn, no! No, that was *not* wise -- why didn't you -- no, no -- We'll have to discuss it later. Yes, that's good, do that -- yes, that's right."
He's quiet for a long moment after that. "Well? What's the word from our boy?"
"Talyn . . . Talyn decided that the semblance of Scarrans in the system would be an insufficient diversion. So he -- he made it real."
He made it *real*?
I turn around as much as I can in these cramped quarters. "He *called the Scarrans*? That tin-plated knowitall jackass! We aren't in enough trouble, he had to make our lives even *more* interesting? So how does he think we're going to get off this boat, if Scarrans are swarming like yellowjackets at a church picnic?"
"John, Crais has little direct control over Talyn." Aeryn's voice moves several feet away in the narrow passageway. She's still so protective of Talyn. I can't believe Crais had no idea Talyn was planning something. He should have known.
"She's right, Crichton. Talyn can hide things from me. He's done it before, as you know." Yeah, sure, but this risks Moya too. But I let it go; first, we get out of here. Then I can find Talyn's mivonks and disconnect them, since he's obviously thinking with them instead of his tiny little brain.
Aeryn is still for a moment, obviously thinking. "There's nothing we can do about it from here. Let's get moving." She pulls a small flashlight from her belt and shines it around. The accessways here are bigger than those on Moya, but not by much. At least most of us can stand upright, although D'Argo's hunched over and already rubbing his head.
Aeryn leads us down the passage in the same general direction we were going before. The hallway runs away into the darkness ahead, punctuated by ducts, vents, and the occasional small opening. We have to do some careful maneuvering; at one point D'Argo gets stuck between two vents and I have to push him from behind. As we step carefully along, dodging loose wiring, we hear the sounds of a running fight in the main passages of the ship. The sound of pulse-fire is sometimes right beside us and then fades away as we keep moving.
After some time, during which the sewage smell never quite dissipates, we come out into a small junction where everyone can gather. One hall cuts sharp left, the other leads on straight ahead.
"Yes, this is correct," John says. "If we follow this one straight ahead, we can circle around and come in to the lower docking bay from the treblin-side maintenance bays instead of the main entrance."
I blink. I don't know that much about command carrier design. How the hell does *he* know that?
Aeryn nods. "Fine. This way".
"Just a sec," I say. "First there's something we have to clear up."
John is standing between me and D'Argo, hunched a little over his left side, as if some ribs are bruised. I don't care. I spin him against the wall in the dark, and put Winona up against his ear, pressing cold into his cheek. His body stiffens, and he gasps a little, but doesn't say anything.
"Would the real John Crichton please stand up?"
***
D'Argo grabs Crichton's arm and yanks Winona down almost immediately, and then holds me up as my knees give out for a moment. The smell of the chakan oil stays with me. It brings back memories: people in orange tunics and D'Argo smiling like Rainman; Tauza slapping me across the room as I fumble the assembly of a pulse-pistol for the second time; standing in the middle of a firefight screaming wordlessly at myself.
"What? What is it?" Crais hisses.
I can't see Aeryn's face: only her hands are lit by her flashlight, but I'm sure she'll follow Crichton's lead. He's got her in his pocket now, after all. They think I haven't noticed how their body language has changed. How they move together now, even more than we used to. How they smell of sex underneath the sweat and fear. Everything's changed now.
Crichton shrugs off D'Argo's hands, and keeps Winona on me. "He's not me anymore. He's different."
"He's been in the Aurora Chair for days. You changed in the Chair." Aeryn's voice is pointed.
"I didn't learn about the design of command carriers while I was screaming in the chair. I didn't learn about Peacekeeper tactics." His eyes are hard: logic be damned, he can smell the differences between us now.
I'm swaying, only upright because I'm propped against the wall, but I'm not about to let him win it all without a fight.
"Doesn't Harvey ever tell *you* anything, Crichton? Or is he just along for the ride, the devil at your shoulder that you ignore until he dangles wormholes in front of you?" Ah, that caught them -- he hisses, and I see the light jerk. So Aeryn still worries about the wormhole obsession. Good to know.
"This isn't Harvey. Harvey doesn't volunteer information. Harvey *wants* us to be captured." The light isn't very good, but I can see the thoughts spinning through his head, pulled from every bad episode of Star Trek I ever saw. Shapechangers, telepathy, another chip... His hand tightens on the gun. I might as well save him the effort.
"Fine," I say. "I'll tell you. But not until you put Winona away." It's hard; I know that I hated Scorpius so much once I'd have happily killed myself to spite him. But now, Scorpius' memories are my own, and I'd rather not be killed for that. It's not the *memories* that are the problem, anyway. Crichton drops his chin, hesitates, and holsters Winona with a click. Then he crosses his arms, gets that look on his face I've worn so many times. Arrogant bastard.
"I was on the Chair, and I was dying." Aeryn moves suddenly; the light catches her face, and I see her eyes, dark and fixed on me, and I have to look away. Too fucking late, Officer Sun. "Scorpius was under a deadline and he didn't care if he killed me to get what he needed. So -- so Harvey had a plan. And it worked."
I let out a breath, take another one. D'Argo nods, slowly. He's smarter than you'd think, for a Luxan. "We -- merged. It was enough to keep me alive, and sane. Well, mostly," I add with a snort.
Crichton's not laughing. He takes a step back, as far as the cramped passageway will allow, and just stares at me. He looks nauseated. It occurs to me that Scarrans aren't subject to reverse peristalsis. Poor design, to be unable to purge something poisonous.
"Merged." Crais repeats the word. "So what are you, now?"
I cock my head: time to gloss the truth a little. "I don't really know yet. There hasn't been much time for meditation. I'm still John Crichton, but I remember being Scorpius, and Harvey. I have a lot of their memories, which is useful, if occasionally unpleasant. And Scorpius spent a lot of years on a carrier identical to this one."
"Fine," Aeryn snaps. "Then guide us." Ever the pragmatist, she is. Survival comes first: we'll deal with the wreckage later.
I can barely walk, but if that's how it has to be, I'll manage. I can trust D'Argo to keep me moving. The painkillers keep the worst of it under control but the stimulants are playing hell with my balance.
I straighten up, but Crichton raises a hand, the other resting on Winona. "Woah there, partner. Aeryn, even if this is true, he's part Scorpy now. Why would he help us?"
Was I really this stubborn? "Why wouldn't I? Do you think Scorpius would care one way or another? He'd probably put me back in the Chair to see how I did it." I *can* get us out of here, and what I need to do, I can't do from a prison cell.
Which dodges the question nicely, I think -- until I catch a sideways glance from Crais. I've always underestimated him; when he keeps his lizard-brain under control he's an excellent strategist. But Crichton's always been able to push his buttons, and adding Aeryn into the equation just complicates matters. I wonder if anyone else is blinded by that torch he's carrying. But he says nothing, and Crichton just shrugs, and turns away.
So we begin to move again through the passageways, more of the same, although we've finally left the sewage behind. D'Argo lets out a huff of relief when we pass into a new sector where the air recyclers appear to be working better. That famous Luxan nose isn't always an advantage.
After about an arn of quiet creeping we drop down two levels and come out into an access hall off the treblin-side maintenance bay. There's no movement down the hall, and the door into the bay is shut. I motion for the others to gather around, and keep my voice low.
"We'll have to cross this bay, then we can get into the docking bay from the maintenance access port. We'll be pretty close to the Marauders there. But I don't know how many people will be in the maintenance bay. Maybe none. Maybe dozens."
D'Argo shifts his weight and locks his hands together. He looks awkward and unfamiliar in the grey pajamas the Peacekeepers gave us, his big feet splayed flat on the floor. "I need a weapon. It is no longer a benefit to pretend we are prisoners, and I need a gun."
"And not just him," I add. Crichton's lips twist, but Aeryn nods. The small pack on her back supplies two non-regulation pulse-pistols with full cartridges. I let myself smile a little as I check the charge and sight along it. It feels good to have a gun in my hand. It doesn't shake, well, not too much. I don't look at Crichton, and instead move along the corridor to the door into the maintenance bay.
The door isn't locked; I glance back to see Crais and D'Argo right behind me. But Crichton and Aeryn aren't coming yet. They're just facing each other, their right hands locked together, fingers entwined. After about ten heartbeats he frees his hand, brings it up to trace the line of her jaw with the back of his fingers. She leans into it, then pulls back and drops her rifle to her hip.
He turns to looks right at me as he pulls his gloves back on, and his eyes narrow; I nod carefully. That was a show for me, at least in part. Fine. He can't begin to understand what I feel. If they'd come just four arns sooner -- but it's too late now. Aeryn doesn't look at me, but instead takes up her position next to Crais. Crichton shoulders past Crais to step up to the door next to me.
"We'll take the first Marauder we find," announces Crichton. Aeryn nods, Crais doesn't object, which is interesting, and D'Argo quirks a smile at me before running a careful hand down his braids. I force a smile in response -- I'll miss the big guy -- and breathe in and out a few times. The three in uniform drop their faceplates, becoming once more anonymous commandos.
We can do this.
I slap the door control, and swing through it, aiming right as Crichton comes through next to me and looks to the other side. There's a squawk off to the left and someone in brown steps out from behind a disassembled Prowler. Crichton fires, and a body drops to the floor. There's no other movement. Poor fool probably thought we were his relief.
The maintenance bay is much larger than Moya's, but nearly empty. Two Prowlers are suspended from the ceiling, tools and parts scattered below them as if the repairs had been interrupted. The room smells of oil, exhaust, and blood. I step along the wall towards the entry to the docking bay: the main hatch is closed, but there are three bodies crumpled in front of the smaller entryway. Again, brown -- Techs. I don't cross to check the bodies, we don't have time, and Scarrans are excellent shots anyway.
Crichton waves the rest of the group in. Aeryn looks around fast, but it's Crais who crosses to the bodies to check pulses, then shakes his head. Huh.
We gather in front of the entrance into the docking bay. Again, Crichton and I are in front. I shouldn't be: my reflexes are shot and I'm beginning to see double. The painkillers are wearing off and it's harder to track now. But just because he won the toss doesn't mean he gets everything. Someone is going to pay. And it's too late to punish Harvey for lying to me.
Crichton hits the door control with a gloved fist. And things get very busy very fast.
Because I forgot that Scarrans always, always leave a squad to guard their retreat.
***
END Part 5
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 headers.
***
*Part 5: Prom Night in Pigtown*
Well, fuck me sideways with a chainsaw: not only did the bastard survive, he actually escaped! And just when I thought the Peacekeepers might have made my life simpler for me.
I'm *so* tempted to play this for laughs, but Aeryn flips up her faceplate immediately.
His face . . . wow. Now I know what I looked like when she came through that cell door two cycles ago. "You're alive." He sounds surprised. That shocked hope is there for just a moment, and then his eyes narrow and he looks at me. "Crais?"
I flip my faceplate up. "Crais is watching the hall. How'd you get out?"
Aeryn gives D'Argo a hand up, but the two of us, me and -- hell, his name's John -- John, we're just staring at each other. He looks like he's been run over by a UPS truck. The whites of his eyes aren't: they're red with burst capillaries, and he's got the shakes. He's not wearing the green shirt anymore; instead it's grey pajamas, and he's barefoot. Took me a while to find boots that fit; he's gotta be pissed about losing them. His face hardens after a moment, and he looks away.
"D'Argo got lucky --"
"It was *not* luck. It was skill. And I was not the one who . . ." The big guy frowns at John, who cuts him off.
"That's irrelevant. Listen, do any of you know how to hack this system? I need --"
"-- to see what Scorpy's up to," I finish for him. John nods, fast and unhappy, his face the same color as his shirt, and Aeryn blinks at me. This is too weird. Then he shakes his head and starts messing with the controls on the console in front of him.
"No, I mean, I do, but I need to check the data against what we got from Linfer --" Huh? Who's Linfer? He's got wormhole data?
D'Argo growls, and strides over to the console to grab his arm. "John, we do not have time! Let's go!"
"NO!" John snarls, and tries to wrench away from D'Argo. But as he turns his knee gives way and he collapses to the floor, D'Argo just barely stopping his head from hitting the edge of the console.
"Well, frell you, Crichton! I am *not* getting recaptured for your wormhole obsession!" D'Argo drops him roughly into the chair and stalks away.
I look at Aeryn; she's unsettled, her lips thin. But she approaches John, peers into his face. "Crichton, we don't have time. We have to go before they figure out the Scarrans aren't real -- " She puts up a hand to touch his face where a livid bruise is rising, and he yanks his head away. He's shuddering, his hands clenched on the console in front of him.
"Aeryn," he says, facing away from her. " Don't. Just . . . don't. "
She shakes her head and looks back at me. What's going on here? But we don't have the time to give John post-torture counseling. We have to get out of here before we're discovered. I cock my head at the corridor. "Send in Crais, give us 200 microts. 'Kay?"
She nods, puts a hand towards his shoulder, then draws it back, and slips out the door. The overhead lights are dim; why is the lab empty? This is Scorpy's headquarters. He should have people here round the clock.
Crais comes in with the same question. "Where are all the techs?" He blinks at the sight of John in the chair and me in the doorway. I don't think he ever saw the two of us in the same place before we split up. Quite the trip, Bialar, ain't it? Two annoying humans who don't trust you as far as we can throw you. Two, two, two, for the price of one.
"There's a sub-auditor here from High Command," says John. He raises a shaky hand, taps at something on the console and gets a constipated beep. "Supay is shutting Scorpius down for wasting resources."
"Supay?" Crais raises a brow. "Kethna Supay?"
John nods. "Cold, but smart as hell. Hard to stall. You know her?"
"Great," groans D'Argo. "More old friends."
Crais shakes his head. "Not a friend, no. I knew of her; she's extremely competent. If she's here, our chances of escape have decreased markedly."
Oh, that's just *fine*. I am in no mood to hang around. I wave Crais over to the console. "Can you get us into this using the codes Talyn gave us? Even just enough to get some quick and dirty downloads?"
"I believe so," he says, and moves up to the console. John shifts aside with a grimace. Still no love lost there. I've gotten used to Crais; I don't trust him, but I can usually tell which way he'll jump. But I've had three months to adjust.
Within moments Crais is downloading data. With a physical connection, Talyn's hacked every code on the frelling ship. Good thing he uses his powers for good. John grabs each chip as they come out, but drops one when he can't close his swollen fingers on it.
Jesus. I nudge John on the shoulder, distracting him from the console. D'Argo is at the doorway again, although Aeryn is keeping watch from the hallway. John looks up irritably. "Did he put you in the Chair?"
"Oh, yeah. A brand new one, a compact model. But I beat him anyway." He snickers, and I go cold. Is this what I was like? Then he drops his eyes to my holster. His eyes narrow, and I know he's seen Winona. Too bad. Live with it, dude. Lots has changed since we left, and you ain't gonna like most of it.
There isn't much choice about our exit strategy. Aeryn, Crais, and I are in uniform, while John and D'Argo are dressed as prisoners. I toss a set of restraints to John, half expecting him to ask me if I'm kind of short for a Stormtrooper. But he doesn't.
It would be nice to have *someone* around who gets my jokes.
Before we leave Aeryn pulls a tiny medical kit from her pack and turns to John. "We don't have time to treat you properly, so I'm just going to give you some painkillers and a stimulant. Will that be enough to keep you going?"
John's still in the chair, turning the cuffs over and over in his lap. "Absolutely, Officer Sun. All I need in the world is a painkiller and some stimulants." But he says it to his hands.
While Aeryn's messing with John, I have Crais download and dump all of Scorpius's files he can find. We may not be able to stop the wormhole project, but we might be able to throw a wrench in the works for a while. They've probably got off-site backups of all the data, though; that's what I would do. Still, every little bit helps.
Aeryn's commando meds seems to be enough; within a few dozen microts John's up on his feet. He can't stay upright very well, but as long as we're moving he seems to be able to keep up.
The sirens come back on as we move out of the lab, Crais in front, the two "prisoners" in the middle, and Aeryn and I bringing up the rear. The sounds fill the hallways, beating at the base of my skull through the helmet -- then I realize it's not the siren but footfalls behind me. I spin, but the squad of commandos sprints by with hardly a glance in our direction.
I trigger my comms. "What is it?"
Crais doesn't turn. "Scarrans."
Scarrans? But Talyn's faked Scarran alert went out over an arn ago, before we landed. Why are they freaking now? I switch my comms over to the command channel, and it's clear they think something big is going down. Talyn must have really pulled out the stops. Commands, counter-commands, Marauders and Prowlers being called out, Frag cannon firing --
And then the hallway heels over sideways, like Mr. Farley's sailboat on the Chesapeake the summer I was twelve, and we all go skidding off to the side -- treblin-side, my brain reminds me -- and slam up against the wall. More shouting over the Peacekeeper comms.
Aeryn pulls me up, and I touch my helmet to hers for a microt. I can't see her face through the faceplate but it doesn't matter. "I love you."
"I love you too," she says back, a hint of humor-the-human in her voice.
Before she pulls away, I add, "But I'd love you a lot more if you could get us off this frelling boat in one piece," and she snorts. When she straightens, her hand keeps hold of mine for a long moment. I settle Winona and turn to see John staring at us. He can't have heard us. He doesn't say anything, and I wave my hand for him to step out next to D'Argo.
Walking is harder now; I think the gravity's gone wonky. I switch back to our encrypted channel.
"-- going. We have to get out now. Talyn will be there to meet us."
"Aeryn, what is it?"
But John answers me, twisting his head awkwardly over his shoulder while his hands are bound in front. "That's the alarm for boarding parties. Must be a dreadnought out there." He laughs again, his voice harsh, tearing. "You're going to die here, Crichton." I can't tell whether he's talking to me or to himself.
That's right, John doesn't know about Talyn's little distracto-rama. Except now this place is going nuts, and it's going to be really difficult to slip out unobserved. And how does John know what a boarding alarm sounds like, anyway?
Crais and Aeryn lead us through another doorway and down a poorly-lit secondary hallway. Eventually we find a doorway; after a long moment while Crais checks the hallway, we re-emerge into one of the main corridors of the carrier. The carrier is just like the Gammak base -- the corridors are square, metallic, and pragmatic. Doors are set at irregular intervals into the walls, most with small signs marked with angular Sebacean text.
John whispers, "We're in crew quarters."
Aeryn waves us forward and it's so hard not to run for the docking bay now, but there are occasional parties of Peacekeepers going by and all we need is for someone to stop us here, demand authorizations. I keep a hand close to Winona.
John's not doing well; he moves stiffly, and when there isn't anyone else around, D'Argo gives him an arm for support. There are dull brown patches of dried blood on his clothes, and deep sores on his wrists around the loose restraints. I recognize the pattern. But he keeps moving.
There's a lot of noise up ahead; we're coming up to a major junction. I think I recognize the layout from the plans we saw on Talyn. If I'm right, we're not too far from the docking bay. We may get out of this after all.
We step around the corner, moving smooth and calm, just some guards escorting some prisoners -- and a volley of pulses sears the air in front of us. There's fire coming from both sides, and we just miss walking into the middle of it.
"Back!" Aeryn snaps, swinging down the pulse rifle, and we all dodge backwards into the pitiful shelter of the hall we just left, Aeryn and Crais firing all the way.
I crane over D'Argo's shoulder as we pull back, trying to see who is firing from the left. Whoever they are, they're absorbing a lot of fire from a squad of Peacekeeper commandos on the right. And they're using something I don't recognize: their returning shots have a meatier, deeper sound than the chakan-fueled pistols Peacekeepers use.
D'Argo dodges around me, and I stick my head around the corner for one last glimpse before Aeryn yanks me back. Holy *shit*. Those are *Scarrans* clustered in the doorway of the docking bay!
Scarrans! Not nice faked Scarrans provided by Talyn sweet-talking the carrier's sensors, but bigass real Scarrans with bigass real guns. Where the hell did they come from?
Aeryn lets off a few more shots to cover us. We pull back a little farther, but we can't stay in this corridor: there's no cover if the Scarrans advance even a few yards from their position. I look around quickly, but John is there before me.
"Here," John says, and yanks open an access panel I hadn't even seen was there. The entrance is barely large enough for me, much less D'Argo.
"I cannot fit through that," D points out, but then a pistol bolt ricochets down the hall. He fits, somehow. The rest of us squeeze in after him, Crais pulling the panel door closed behind us.
The passageway is dark and cramped, and smells vaguely of sewage. What a wonderful smell he's discovered. There's almost no light or room: I'm pressed close between D'Argo and Crais.
"Crais," Aeryn grits from behind me. "What the frell is going on out there?" Question of the hour.
Crais moves behind me; he must be gripping the transponder to increase the connection. "I'm trying to discern that -- Talyn has been masking his signal, in order to avoid detection. But I think -- " his voice cuts off, and his body stiffens.
There's a few long moments of silence. Then a gasp, and then he speaks again. "Talyn, no! No, that was *not* wise -- why didn't you -- no, no -- We'll have to discuss it later. Yes, that's good, do that -- yes, that's right."
He's quiet for a long moment after that. "Well? What's the word from our boy?"
"Talyn . . . Talyn decided that the semblance of Scarrans in the system would be an insufficient diversion. So he -- he made it real."
He made it *real*?
I turn around as much as I can in these cramped quarters. "He *called the Scarrans*? That tin-plated knowitall jackass! We aren't in enough trouble, he had to make our lives even *more* interesting? So how does he think we're going to get off this boat, if Scarrans are swarming like yellowjackets at a church picnic?"
"John, Crais has little direct control over Talyn." Aeryn's voice moves several feet away in the narrow passageway. She's still so protective of Talyn. I can't believe Crais had no idea Talyn was planning something. He should have known.
"She's right, Crichton. Talyn can hide things from me. He's done it before, as you know." Yeah, sure, but this risks Moya too. But I let it go; first, we get out of here. Then I can find Talyn's mivonks and disconnect them, since he's obviously thinking with them instead of his tiny little brain.
Aeryn is still for a moment, obviously thinking. "There's nothing we can do about it from here. Let's get moving." She pulls a small flashlight from her belt and shines it around. The accessways here are bigger than those on Moya, but not by much. At least most of us can stand upright, although D'Argo's hunched over and already rubbing his head.
Aeryn leads us down the passage in the same general direction we were going before. The hallway runs away into the darkness ahead, punctuated by ducts, vents, and the occasional small opening. We have to do some careful maneuvering; at one point D'Argo gets stuck between two vents and I have to push him from behind. As we step carefully along, dodging loose wiring, we hear the sounds of a running fight in the main passages of the ship. The sound of pulse-fire is sometimes right beside us and then fades away as we keep moving.
After some time, during which the sewage smell never quite dissipates, we come out into a small junction where everyone can gather. One hall cuts sharp left, the other leads on straight ahead.
"Yes, this is correct," John says. "If we follow this one straight ahead, we can circle around and come in to the lower docking bay from the treblin-side maintenance bays instead of the main entrance."
I blink. I don't know that much about command carrier design. How the hell does *he* know that?
Aeryn nods. "Fine. This way".
"Just a sec," I say. "First there's something we have to clear up."
John is standing between me and D'Argo, hunched a little over his left side, as if some ribs are bruised. I don't care. I spin him against the wall in the dark, and put Winona up against his ear, pressing cold into his cheek. His body stiffens, and he gasps a little, but doesn't say anything.
"Would the real John Crichton please stand up?"
***
D'Argo grabs Crichton's arm and yanks Winona down almost immediately, and then holds me up as my knees give out for a moment. The smell of the chakan oil stays with me. It brings back memories: people in orange tunics and D'Argo smiling like Rainman; Tauza slapping me across the room as I fumble the assembly of a pulse-pistol for the second time; standing in the middle of a firefight screaming wordlessly at myself.
"What? What is it?" Crais hisses.
I can't see Aeryn's face: only her hands are lit by her flashlight, but I'm sure she'll follow Crichton's lead. He's got her in his pocket now, after all. They think I haven't noticed how their body language has changed. How they move together now, even more than we used to. How they smell of sex underneath the sweat and fear. Everything's changed now.
Crichton shrugs off D'Argo's hands, and keeps Winona on me. "He's not me anymore. He's different."
"He's been in the Aurora Chair for days. You changed in the Chair." Aeryn's voice is pointed.
"I didn't learn about the design of command carriers while I was screaming in the chair. I didn't learn about Peacekeeper tactics." His eyes are hard: logic be damned, he can smell the differences between us now.
I'm swaying, only upright because I'm propped against the wall, but I'm not about to let him win it all without a fight.
"Doesn't Harvey ever tell *you* anything, Crichton? Or is he just along for the ride, the devil at your shoulder that you ignore until he dangles wormholes in front of you?" Ah, that caught them -- he hisses, and I see the light jerk. So Aeryn still worries about the wormhole obsession. Good to know.
"This isn't Harvey. Harvey doesn't volunteer information. Harvey *wants* us to be captured." The light isn't very good, but I can see the thoughts spinning through his head, pulled from every bad episode of Star Trek I ever saw. Shapechangers, telepathy, another chip... His hand tightens on the gun. I might as well save him the effort.
"Fine," I say. "I'll tell you. But not until you put Winona away." It's hard; I know that I hated Scorpius so much once I'd have happily killed myself to spite him. But now, Scorpius' memories are my own, and I'd rather not be killed for that. It's not the *memories* that are the problem, anyway. Crichton drops his chin, hesitates, and holsters Winona with a click. Then he crosses his arms, gets that look on his face I've worn so many times. Arrogant bastard.
"I was on the Chair, and I was dying." Aeryn moves suddenly; the light catches her face, and I see her eyes, dark and fixed on me, and I have to look away. Too fucking late, Officer Sun. "Scorpius was under a deadline and he didn't care if he killed me to get what he needed. So -- so Harvey had a plan. And it worked."
I let out a breath, take another one. D'Argo nods, slowly. He's smarter than you'd think, for a Luxan. "We -- merged. It was enough to keep me alive, and sane. Well, mostly," I add with a snort.
Crichton's not laughing. He takes a step back, as far as the cramped passageway will allow, and just stares at me. He looks nauseated. It occurs to me that Scarrans aren't subject to reverse peristalsis. Poor design, to be unable to purge something poisonous.
"Merged." Crais repeats the word. "So what are you, now?"
I cock my head: time to gloss the truth a little. "I don't really know yet. There hasn't been much time for meditation. I'm still John Crichton, but I remember being Scorpius, and Harvey. I have a lot of their memories, which is useful, if occasionally unpleasant. And Scorpius spent a lot of years on a carrier identical to this one."
"Fine," Aeryn snaps. "Then guide us." Ever the pragmatist, she is. Survival comes first: we'll deal with the wreckage later.
I can barely walk, but if that's how it has to be, I'll manage. I can trust D'Argo to keep me moving. The painkillers keep the worst of it under control but the stimulants are playing hell with my balance.
I straighten up, but Crichton raises a hand, the other resting on Winona. "Woah there, partner. Aeryn, even if this is true, he's part Scorpy now. Why would he help us?"
Was I really this stubborn? "Why wouldn't I? Do you think Scorpius would care one way or another? He'd probably put me back in the Chair to see how I did it." I *can* get us out of here, and what I need to do, I can't do from a prison cell.
Which dodges the question nicely, I think -- until I catch a sideways glance from Crais. I've always underestimated him; when he keeps his lizard-brain under control he's an excellent strategist. But Crichton's always been able to push his buttons, and adding Aeryn into the equation just complicates matters. I wonder if anyone else is blinded by that torch he's carrying. But he says nothing, and Crichton just shrugs, and turns away.
So we begin to move again through the passageways, more of the same, although we've finally left the sewage behind. D'Argo lets out a huff of relief when we pass into a new sector where the air recyclers appear to be working better. That famous Luxan nose isn't always an advantage.
After about an arn of quiet creeping we drop down two levels and come out into an access hall off the treblin-side maintenance bay. There's no movement down the hall, and the door into the bay is shut. I motion for the others to gather around, and keep my voice low.
"We'll have to cross this bay, then we can get into the docking bay from the maintenance access port. We'll be pretty close to the Marauders there. But I don't know how many people will be in the maintenance bay. Maybe none. Maybe dozens."
D'Argo shifts his weight and locks his hands together. He looks awkward and unfamiliar in the grey pajamas the Peacekeepers gave us, his big feet splayed flat on the floor. "I need a weapon. It is no longer a benefit to pretend we are prisoners, and I need a gun."
"And not just him," I add. Crichton's lips twist, but Aeryn nods. The small pack on her back supplies two non-regulation pulse-pistols with full cartridges. I let myself smile a little as I check the charge and sight along it. It feels good to have a gun in my hand. It doesn't shake, well, not too much. I don't look at Crichton, and instead move along the corridor to the door into the maintenance bay.
The door isn't locked; I glance back to see Crais and D'Argo right behind me. But Crichton and Aeryn aren't coming yet. They're just facing each other, their right hands locked together, fingers entwined. After about ten heartbeats he frees his hand, brings it up to trace the line of her jaw with the back of his fingers. She leans into it, then pulls back and drops her rifle to her hip.
He turns to looks right at me as he pulls his gloves back on, and his eyes narrow; I nod carefully. That was a show for me, at least in part. Fine. He can't begin to understand what I feel. If they'd come just four arns sooner -- but it's too late now. Aeryn doesn't look at me, but instead takes up her position next to Crais. Crichton shoulders past Crais to step up to the door next to me.
"We'll take the first Marauder we find," announces Crichton. Aeryn nods, Crais doesn't object, which is interesting, and D'Argo quirks a smile at me before running a careful hand down his braids. I force a smile in response -- I'll miss the big guy -- and breathe in and out a few times. The three in uniform drop their faceplates, becoming once more anonymous commandos.
We can do this.
I slap the door control, and swing through it, aiming right as Crichton comes through next to me and looks to the other side. There's a squawk off to the left and someone in brown steps out from behind a disassembled Prowler. Crichton fires, and a body drops to the floor. There's no other movement. Poor fool probably thought we were his relief.
The maintenance bay is much larger than Moya's, but nearly empty. Two Prowlers are suspended from the ceiling, tools and parts scattered below them as if the repairs had been interrupted. The room smells of oil, exhaust, and blood. I step along the wall towards the entry to the docking bay: the main hatch is closed, but there are three bodies crumpled in front of the smaller entryway. Again, brown -- Techs. I don't cross to check the bodies, we don't have time, and Scarrans are excellent shots anyway.
Crichton waves the rest of the group in. Aeryn looks around fast, but it's Crais who crosses to the bodies to check pulses, then shakes his head. Huh.
We gather in front of the entrance into the docking bay. Again, Crichton and I are in front. I shouldn't be: my reflexes are shot and I'm beginning to see double. The painkillers are wearing off and it's harder to track now. But just because he won the toss doesn't mean he gets everything. Someone is going to pay. And it's too late to punish Harvey for lying to me.
Crichton hits the door control with a gloved fist. And things get very busy very fast.
Because I forgot that Scarrans always, always leave a squad to guard their retreat.
***
END Part 5
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