PART 3: ACCIDENTAL TOURISTS
Ch7 Pilot has to cope with bickering crew mates, a rogue builder and, the icing on his warmelon cake, some very complicated science! Moya makes a decision and Crichton makes an acquaintance. Ch8 is all about D'Argo, Macton Tal and Oricans. Some of it may even count as D'Argo angst! And in Ch9 Chiana and Rygel finally enter our story…
I apologize for any pain or suffering the next bit causes Pilot & Moya lovers but I promise no leviathans, pilots or DRDs were hurt in the making of this chapter…HONEST! I also apologise for the overlong wait for this next chunk. I did something unpleasant to my elbow which curtailed typing for a while.
NB As a long-suffering and S4 starved Brit; I don't yet know the old woman's name (if she has one…) so I've made one up.
Ch7 Wormhole Challenge
Ch8 Bloodquest
Ch9 Another fine mess (?)
Ch7: Wormhole Challenge
The short flight to G'Amba 9 from the orbiting leviathan had left Crichton dizzy and exhausted. Slowly lowering himself to the ground to give his wobbly legs a moment to recover, he leant against FS1 and admired the imposing cliffs surrounding him. The air felt cold and damp but he didn't mind that. It wasn't raining and it felt good be on terra firma again. In the early morning light the town was just visible in the distance.
Taking a deep breath, he set off but he was so weak that he could only walk a few yards before he had to sit down. His progress was slow and it took him several arns to arrive, hot, sweaty and cross, at the main gates. Paying scant regard to his surroundings, Crichton joined the flow of people heading inside and was bustled and jostled through the narrow streets. He finally spilled out into the main square and slumped against a wall while he got his breath back. Spotting a bar, he didn't stop to think, he staggered inside and collapsed with a grunt onto a flimsy metal chair. Crichton closed his eyes and tilted his head back, lifting his nose into the air. He could smell food. He gave a long, deep sniff and licked his lips.
A waiter came over and handed him a menu. Crichton couldn't read the symbols written on it. He had no idea what language they might be written in so he simply pointed at the top item. He hoped it wasn't marjoules. In fact, he had ordered the chef's special, lobscouse and a herbal infusion called Cheta. Lobscouse turned out to be a vegetable and biscuit stew and Cheta was indistinguishable from warm minty mouthwash. Crichton didn't care what they tasted like. After 12 solar days on nothing but condensation drips, anything tasted wonderful. He ate slowly not wanting to overload his digestive system with too much all at once but Crichton found it hard to stop eating, even if he felt bloated after only a few mouthfuls. He set down his fork and took a sip of mouthwash. "Mmmm, fantastic," he said smacking his lips together. He was only half lying.
Crichton sat back in his chair and allowed himself a moment of happy reflection. He wasn't going to die from starvation and it felt good not to be running. He felt an enormous sense of satisfaction from being the master of his own destiny again. "Next stop Aeryn," he muttered to himself. He sighed and wondered if he really wanted to put himself through hell again? The thought of catching up with Aeryn had been the only thing keeping him alive. Now, with food inside him and hope on the horizon he realised he hadn't even begun to think it through. Aeryn had made her feelings quite clear back on Moya. He was an unacceptable substitute, yesterday's kiss. His eyes still stung at the memory of those words. What if she wouldn't accept his help? Why should she accept it now when she clearly hadn't wanted it then? He picked up his fork and stabbed angrily at his stew. She needed him and he was damn well going to be there for her, whether she liked it or not. If he had to track her right across the Uncharted Territories then that's what he'd do. And when he found her, well, he'd give her a piece of his mind.
He slumped back in his chair. Who am I kidding? He thought. The chances of finding her were slim and the chances of changing her mind...He shook his head. "Well, I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. And if I don't find her? Well, I get to travel and meet interesting new people." The grin on his face disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. He knew he wasn't master of his own destiny. He was compelled to chase a woman who couldn't bear the sight of him.
Crichton returned to his stew, chased a soggy bit of sponge around the bowl and gave up. He dropped his fork into the soup and pushed the bowl away from him. He realised he was going to have to deal with the possibility that he'd lost, that Aeryn was the one thing in the Uncharted Territories that had beaten him. What was it she'd said, "don't make me say goodbye and don't make me stay." She was hardly going to welcome him with open arms now.
"John, look on the bright side. You can do what you want. You're a free agent. You can study wormholes wherever you like." Harvey interjected into his thoughts.
"That's all there is for you isn't it? Wormholes, wormholes, wormholes.' Crichton spat the words out. "I'm not interested in them anymore, not without Aeryn."
"Oh, for goodness sake John. You missed your chance. You blew it. Forget that girl. She left you. It's over. I suggest you stay away from her, my friend."
"I'm not your friend."
Crichton felt sick. The idea of Aeryn being pregnant worried and inexplicably delighted him in equal measure. "I don't want to deal with this right now," he decided aloud and cast around for something else to occupy his mind. He wondered if Kahaynu had found Moya yet and if they were okay? The young leviathan hadn't appeared to suffer any after-effects of wormhole travel and he hoped the same might be true of Moya, although he suspected otherwise. It meant, however, that if Moya agreed, he could send the little leviathan through to join Moya and Pilot with reasonable hope. He felt extremely uncomfortable that, because of his need to search for Aeryn, the leviathan would have to make the trip without him. Now he wondered if he should re-consider and take the plunge with Alice down the rabbit hole. He was painfully aware that if his calculations were wrong there'd be no wormhole or the trip along it might be a fatally short one. He felt that as it was his theory, he should be the test pilot and put his own butt on the line. "If I survive," he mused, "then maybe I'll head for Kansas."
He stood up, paid his check and headed out in search of supplies.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Moya travelled through the wormhole accompanied by the sound of ten decibel screaming. Jools, hair scarlet, proved herself Uncharted Territories champion at the art of noise, maintaining maximum volume and pitch for the entire 200-microt journey.
When they emerged back into normal space, Jools continued screaming until she realised she was still alive. She then fainted.
Neither Pilot nor the old woman spoke. They stood motionless in the darkness, the acrid smell of smoke slowly seeping into their noses.
"Is everyone alright?" Pilot asked quietly.
"I think so. You?" answered Dee-leigha
"I'm okay." It was a lie. Due to his link with Moya, Pilot was in a great deal of pain but it wasn't in his nature to complain. "Jools? JOOLS? He repeated, raising his voice slightly.
"I think she's on the floor," said the old woman. " The poor thing must have passed out from exhaustion after all her screaming. I'll fetch her a nice reviving brew."
Pilot didn't feel this should be their top priority right now but he was too polite to say so.
"Why isn't there any light?" Dee-leigha enquired.
"Slight technical difficulty. I'm working on it," responded Pilot, his claws flying across the console as he desperately sought to assess the damage to Moya.
Moya floated in space in a great deal of pain, her normally gleaming golden brown skin now marbled red. Her outer hull had withstood the journey but the veins and tissue that interlaced it had been badly burned. Her condition was serious but not life threatening. As long as Hull integrity was maintained they were safe. Inside, a considerable number of organic power conduits and circuit boards had been damaged but everything was relatively straightforward to repair. It would just take time and a lot of patience. There was also some superficial damage to main life support functions. Pilot dispatched a squad of DRDs to start the repairs while also trying to bring back-up power on line.
"Ah," said Pilot with a certain amount of satisfaction as dim yellow lights lit up on the walls of the chamber.
"That's better," the old woman said, bending down to examine the prostrate Jools. "Yes, she's fine. I'll be back in a microt."
Pilot looked round the chamber. There was little visible damage. A small fire burnt at the door controls and a few cables hung down but that was all. He assigned a DRD to extinguish the fire and then began a more detailed examination of the extent of Moya's injuries.
Dee-leigha reappeared carrying a small phial filled with a sludge-brown liquid. She knelt down and pulled the Interon's head onto her lap. She pulled off the lid of the small phial and waved the bottle under the Jools' nose and then poured a few drops into her mouth. It worked immediately.
Waking with a start, the Interon's eyes shot open. Finding the old woman bent over her, pouring an unknown substance into her, she sat bolt upright and screamed.
"Hush dear. This will help you."
"I don't need your help. Get away from me. How do I know you're not trying to poison me?" Jools pulled a face. "Yeuk! What was in that, no, on second thoughts, don't tell me. I don't want to know."
Pilot looked up from the console and sighed.
Jools stood up and gave herself a careful examination. She pinched herself in several places before turning her attention to Pilot and Dee-leigha. After staring at them for a couple of microts she said, "Well, none of us seems to be oozing. Let's hope it stays that way." She turned to Pilot. "So where are we?"
"Welcome back Joolushka. I would answer your question but unfortunately I do not know the answer. We are here. I'm working on our precise position but Moya also needs my urgent attention."
"Pilot!"
"Yes Joolushka?"
What if we're somewhere dangerous, like near the peacekeepers or someone? We need to know."
"I agree but Moya's condition is serious and she will not be able to starburst for some considerable time. If we are discovered, I will do my best but I am afraid that wherever we are, we're staying for a while."
"Oh. I see. Well, can I help? Is there anything I can do?"
"Yes. I would be most grateful if you could assess the damage to my lower quarters, I-"
"Pilot!"
"What is it Joolushka? OH. I mean the caverns beneath me. I have had to allocate all the functioning DRDs to repairing full life support functions and I need someone to check there's no inner hull damage below. You've been down there before so you shouldn't have too many problems."
"Has it been cleaned out since I last went down there?"
"I do not believe so."
Jools looked like she was about to object, but as she looked at Pilot's worried expression, she refrained and settled for pulling a face instead. "Why is it me, who always ends up getting covered in dren?" She muttered as she left.
Pilot gave a brief shrug before his claws resumed their rapid movement across the console.
When Jools eventually returned to the Den she was liberally covered in effluence. She dripped her way to Pilot.
"Hull seems okay." she reported. "But Moya felt very hot to the touch. Is she running a fever? Oh and a few of the doors weren't working and most of the lights were out but that's about it. I fixed what I could but some circuit boards were beyond repair and will have to be replaced. I'll check out the maintenance bay and see what we've got but I have to bathe first. This bat dren stinks."
"Yes, of course. Thank you Joolushka. I too am a little concerned about Moya's temperature. It is causing the heat levels to rise on every tier."
"Can you do anything?"
"I have assigned some DRDs."
"Where's the old hag? Can't she help?"
"Dee-leigha is checking the atmospherics on tier seven at the moment. You will be pleased to know that I have ascertained where we are. We're in the outer reaches of the Escorces System."
Jools went very quiet and then clapped her hands together excitedly. "Escorces! Well, that's only three systems away from Interon territory. I might be able make it home from there."
"What about Commander Crichton?" Pilot reminded her softly.
"Oh!" Jools hands had flown to her face and she'd stopped smiling. "He's stranded isn't he? And I bet his little junk bucket doesn't recycle oxygen so he's-." She stopped and, realising what she was saying, flung her face into his neck.
Pilot wrinkled his nose as the unmistakable odour of bat-dren assaulted his olfactory senses. He listened in silence to her sobs, patting her back with one of his arms. He didn't know what to say to comfort her. His own eyes filled with tears and he could have used a hug himself. After a short while he heard her sniff and he looked down at her.
She had met his gaze and said, "we don't know how to go back Pilot. H-H-He's dead. And I want to go h-h-home."
Pilot was appalled. When he told her quite categorically that once Moya was recovered they fully intended to find a way back to look for their friend, she screamed in frustration and stormed from the room. Pilot shook his head as she left. He had meant every word he had said about wanting to help Commander Crichton, and Moya shared his sentiment, but he knew it was false bravado. He would never ask Moya to go back through a wormhole, even if he knew how to create one. His eyes glistened as, through her pain, Moya urged him not to give up hope. Pilot gave a wan smile.
He had failed to mention what was really worrying him though. He was glad he knew where they were; he just wished he knew 'when' as well. Moya's sensors had been all over the place since the trip through the wormhole and had finally settled on indicating that they were about twenty-two cycles in the past. Pilot hoped that wasn't possible.
A short while later, Jools voice came over the comms system. "There's no water Pilot."
"I know."
"You might've told me."
"I am sorry Joolushka. I did not think. That was remiss of me"
" Well, yes, anyway, call me if anything happens."
"Thank you Joolushka. I hope that will not be necessary."
--------------------------------------------------------
The biggest problem Pilot faced was the fact that, although damaged circuit boards, cables and seals could be repaired or replaced, the living connective tissue could not. Moya's higher functions and major arteries had remained intact but the vast majority of the smaller organic conduits had melted into unrecognisable shapes. The rest all had cracked and were leaking vital fluids at an alarming rate. If Moya lost too much fluid she would die. The amnexus cables were the worst affected. Some would regenerate over time, others would need grafts or bypasses to get them working again. A few were lost forever.
Pilot had assigned most of the DRDS to the task of stemming the flow. A small number of DRDs, however, seemed incapable of responding to his instructions. They either rushed blindly into bulkhead walls or spun wildly on the spot. They seemed disorientated and confused. Jools and the old woman had proved incapable of identifying the cause of the problem so Pilot was doing it himself. It was a slow, tedious process and as his claws were not designed to hold fiddly instruments, the effort was beginning to exhaust even his enormous reserves of patience. He'd been trying to isolate the fault for over a solar day and he'd got nowhere. The searing pain he felt from his symbiotic bond with Moya, didn't make the task any easier either. He could do nothing to help her other than offer what little comfort and strength he had left.
He had scanned the area but there were no planets within transport pod range. Pilot had held onto a faint hope that once again they might find one with a plentiful supply of chromexin to reduce Moya's suffering while she recovered. Instead, the old woman had offered to see what she could do and was locked in the galley brewing some sort of poultice to sooth Moya's tender skin. Pilot didn't hold out much hope that it would work but he was grateful for her offer.
When the first batch of her brew was ready, she marched into his den and explained what needed to be done with it. Things went quickly down hill. The potion, a white viscous lotion, needed to be spread liberally across Moya's outer hull. Jools, summoned from her quarters, categorically refused to oblige and the old woman insisted that she suffered from agraphobia and couldn't possibly go space walking.
Pilot eventually lost his temper at their bickering, something he usually regretted, but not on this occasion. In pain and frantic with worry for Moya, he completely lost it. He reached forward with two claws and grabbed the women by their throats. Perhaps he applied a little more pressure than he had intended, but it achieved the desired result.
A short while later both women were suited and floating just above Moya's vast hull. Jools held a large vat filled with the potion while Dee-leigha gently rubbed the viscous substance into the worst affected areas. Moya was enormous and the pot was very small. They had hardly covered a three square metra before they ran out.
"This is pointless," Jools moaned. "We're going to be doing this forever."
"Nonsense," said the old woman through gritted teeth. "It'll take a solar day or two at most."
Jools stared at her in disbelief.
As it turned out, they only made five more trips before the ingredients for the cream ran out.
Dee-leigha and Jools returned to Pilot's den. The heat had increased since they were last inside.
"Pilot, we've run out. We need to do something else. It's getting terribly hot in here now," said Dee-leigha.
"I know. I've assigned all the DRDs to mending the conduits and sealing all the leaks but Moya is vast and the DRDs can't be everywhere."
"I know. I'm sorry Pilot." Dee-leigha patted his claw.
Jools slid to the floor and stared across the chamber. After a microt she turned back to Pilot and asked, "couldn't we use the bat dren? You once said it washed through some of Moya's systems helping to repair cracks and fissures. Well maybe if we helped spread it around a bit, it might speed up Moya' healing. It would certainly stop some of the smaller leaks turning into bigger ones."
"Joolushka, that is a marvelous idea. Thank you." Pilot tapped a few buttons on the console. "Ah. It would appear there's a problem."
"What is it Pilot?" Jools asked slowly.
"The pumps aren't working."
"Why did I just know you were going to say that. Come on old woman. Time for your mud-bath."
"My name is Dee-leigha. And I have many cycles ahead of me. Do you?"
"Oh, be quiet," Jools hissed and stalked out. Dee-leigha followed, a smile on her face.
The task was even more unpleasant than Jools had feared it would be. Pilot's instructions on how to make a make-shift pump were easily followed. The problem came with installation. To get it into place Jools and Dee-leigha had to wade through the sewage and, wearing improvised diving seat, duck into the dren and switch their suction tubes for the damaged ones. Each tube took several dives to be detached and as many again to connect the new ones.
Their efforts were rewarded. Once the effluence began to flow around Moya, Pilot was relieved to note a slight easing in her pain and a definite drop in temperature.
----------------------------------------------
Twenty-five solar days later and Moya was once again operational. The lights kept going on and off and the doors seemed to have developed a life of their own but other than that, she had regained considerable control. Her outer hull was still sore and a few patches, where the burns had been worst were beginning to come away, but Moya could now starburst if danger threatened.
An alarm sounded. Pilot reached forward and tapped a small flashing red button on the console in front of him and the wail stopped. He assigned a couple of DRDs to the task of tracking down and fixing the malfunction. Pilot was sometimes unsure whether the ringing sounds he heard were real or the result of damage Jools' wormhole scream had caused his ears.
He sighed as the girl came rushing into Command.
"Pilot, I heard a siren," she said.
"Yes, Joolushka. Another false alarm. I can't seem to trace what's causing these problems."
The lights went out.
"Pilot-"
"No Joolushka, the DRDs haven't fixed that yet either."
"Oh. Any idea when they will?"
"I expect everything to be operational when the DRDs have repaired the problem," Pilot answered.
Jools pulled a face. She stood looking at him for a microt and then blurted out, "Pilot, you aren't really going to turn into Crichton and spend you life chasing wormholes are you?"
Pilot didn't answer. He knew his earlier brave talk had been foolish. It was too late to save his friend. He sighed.
"Pilot," continued Jools, "we can't help Crichton anymore. It's just you, me and Wrinkles. We can go anywhere we want and I want to go home. You can drop me off and then you and the old woman can go chasing wormholes all you like."
"I'm sorry Joolushka. You're right. I guess I've just got used to having Commander Crichton and the others around. Moya and I have never been alone before. I find the idea a little," he paused, searching for the right word. He settled for "strange."
The lights came back on. Pilot had no more idea how that had happened than he had why they'd gone out in the first place.
"Oh dear."
"What?"
"We're going to have a visitor," Pilot said with a weary sigh.
"What? Who? Peacekeepers?"
"No, Moya is picking up the call of-"
"-What the hezmana is that?" Jools interrupted, pointing at a grey smoke tendril that puffed from the far wall and began to swirl in the centre of the den. The wisp of smoke transformed itself into a white robe man. She opened her mouth to scream but, for once, thought better of it.
Kahaynu appeared. "Greetings Pilot, I bring you news from John Crichton."
"If this is some kind of sick joke," muttered Jools, edging closer to Pilot.
"Shush Joolushka. You are in the presence of Moya's deity."
"You know this guy?" Jools asked.
Pilot ignored her. "Greetings Kahaynu. Moya also bids you welcome. She thanks you for your succour and glad news."
"So is Commander Crichton really alive?" Jools chipped in.
"Tsk!" Clucked Pilot.
"I come to ask Moya for her help. I have an orphaned leviathan in need of a mother. I am offering Moya the chance to fill that role," Kahaynu intoned in a flat voice.
"The Gods want to entrust a young leviathan to Moya's care?" Pilot asked in a whisper.
"I was tasked with the arrangements. The need is urgent so I must press you for a response. The creature is but a monen old and she can not be left unsupervised for long."
"Moya says she is honoured to be considered, and accepts the request with joy. She thanks you, as do I."
"Good. John Crichton has offered to arrange Alice's transfer here." Kahaynu frowned briefly as he pronounced the nick-name Crichton had given the baby.
"Alice?" Enquired Pilot
"A moniker bestowed on her by Crichton. He suggested Moya might like to name her formally. He said he didn't feel right doing it. "
"Moya feels sure Commander Crichton would choose a good name but she believe the leviathan will already have a name and will ask the child if she remembers it before choosing another."
"Crichton's not coming with her, is he?" Jools asked Kahaynu.
"No. The human has elected to remain where he is. He is currently making arrangements for his own future."
"So how is this leviathan going to come and join us, just hang around until a convenient portal opens?"
"Commander Crichton has been working on a four-dimensional geometrical framework that unites the three dimensions of space and the dimension of time. He hopes to create a wormhole at the point identified by the four coordinates." Kahaynu explained.
Jools furrowed her brow. "I have no idea what you're talking about so let me make sure of one thing. You are not suggesting we go back through a wormhole?"
"No. The young creature will come to you. Pilot will need to provide Moya's precise position. Crichton will then add that data to his calculations. He believes this will give him the correct trajectory for the leviathan to use. I have agreed to help guide it through the wormhole."
"You know about wormholes?" Jools asked. She was beginning to loathe the word 'wormhole'.
"Kahaynu have no need for such knowledge. I shall accompany her as she is in my charge."
After Kahaynu had gone, Jools turned to Pilot and said, "perhaps you can confirm something for me. These wormholes, if I remember rightly are shortcuts, or tunnels, that link the universe to another universe or to another location in the universe. Yes?"
Pilot nodded. By the look on her face and tone of her voice, he had a good idea what was coming next.
"And I'm right in also thinking that they could theoretically do something else too?"
There it was! Pilot sighed. "Yes. If I have understood Commander Crichton correctly, the curved interior of a wormhole may also open out again into another space-time, that is in another universe and in a different time."
"Aha. I thought so. So not only have we travelled millions of metras in a matter of microts, we may have also gathered a bit of speed and managed to shoot out before we actually went in?"
"Yes. Exactly."
"Pilot, we are here when we should be here, aren't we?" Jools asked quietly.
"Ah, well, there may be a small problem there."
"PILOT!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Crichton was waiting for his supplies to be loaded onto Farscape 1. He had made three trips from G'Amba 9 so far and had at least two more to go. While he waited, he had taken the opportunity to rest up and eat again. He was sat in a diner, a natural cave, with a glass of minty mouthwash and an empty bowl in front of him. Crichton yawned. The place was dark, damp and humid. It was filled with pilots, traders and technicians all jostling and loudly arguing with each other for a space at the bar. Crichton looked across the room towards the door. As he did so, a man step through the door and look directly at him. By the focused look in his eyes, Crichton reckoned the man recognised him. The man entered the diner and Crichton instantly lost sight of him in the crowd.
"Blasted wanted beacons," he cursed softly.
A microt later he felt a tap on his shoulder and pulse pistol shoved between his shoulder blades.
"Step outside with us friend," a low voice whispered in his ear.
Crichton was about to decline with his fist when another voice whispered from the other side. "Don't."
Crichton looked around to see Angor and Rassik stood either side of him, both carried gleaming serrated blades in one hand and pulse pistols in the other.
Angor pocketed his weapons, yanked Crichton from his chair and quickly propelled him outside. He was dragged round the side of the diner before being hauled up the side of the cliff. He cried out as his body bounced against the jagged rock. Finally, he was shoved forwards into an unlit recess in the rock face. There was a small drop and he landed with a muffled thud. Inside, it smelt like it was used as a garbage dump and worse. He was just about to say as much when he was grabbed again and his arms pinned behind him. He tried to resist but he still felt incredibly weak and he gave up almost immediately. He still found the mere act of standing without support a bit of an effort.
He looked around and dimly made out the shape of a man in front of him. As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he saw he was facing the man he had seen earlier in the diner's doorway. He had the strongest feeling he recognized him, but the memory remained just out of reach.
Harvey whispered into his ear. "You do know him. So do I. That is former Lieutenant Velorak of the Science Corps."
"Velorak? Are you sure?"
"Yes. Scorpius reviewed his file when he came across the name in Aeryn Sun's personal records. He didn't die. It would appear that, like you, he was too valuable an asset to loose. He belonged to the Millan Astrey. They rescued him while he was being transferred. Paid a high price in men but I can't say I blame them. He was one of our most gifted scientific researchers. He hadn't been in the Chair and had told us virtually nothing."
Crichton gave an involuntary shudder at the mention of the Aurora Chair. He turned to look again at the man sat across from him. "Who are the Millan Astrey?" He asked aloud.
Before Harvey could answer, Velorak sprung forward and pressed his knife to Crichton's throat. What's the game human?"
"'Scuse me," he answered lightly, "but I was enjoying a quiet meal until your goons showed up." Crichton jerked his head slightly to indicate the two battle-scarred Sebaceans holding his arms in a vice-like grip behind him. "I think I'm owed an explanation for this outrageous behaviour."
"I owe you nothing. You're lucky to still be breathing," Velorak snarled through gritted teeth. "Now, let's try again. Why are you here?"
Crichton felt his arms being pulled further back and his right shoulder felt dangerous close to popping out of its socket. He ignored it. "No! I've had enough. I'm fed up with people pointing guns at me and demanding I do as I'm told. You want information or help. You ask! Nicely." Crichton clamped his mouth shut, willed himself to remain upright and held Velorak's gaze.
Velorak broke the contact. He pulled a small gleaming dagger from his belt and tested its tip against his palm. A small globule of blood appeared. He looked back at Crichton, his eyes taking in every detail of the tall, pale man in front of him. After a moment his shoulders visibly relaxed. When he spoke again his voice was softer. "Look at you, you're pathetic. I could kill you in an instant but I'd rather not. Now, come on, tell us the truth and then we'll let you be on your way."
"Tell your goons to let go of me."
Velorak nodded his head and Crichton was immediately free.
"My name is Angor," he said, "call me a goon, whatever that is, again and I'll break your neck."
"Thank you Angor. Now John Crichton, exactly why are you here?" said Velorak.
"Not that it's any of your business but I'm here for food and fuel only. Getting frelled was not on my list."
"Prove it?"
"Why should I?" Crichton felt the grip on his arms tighten at his answer.
"You take a lot of risks with your life human."
"Yeah, it's a bad habit of mine."
"Where's Aeryn?" Velorak asked changing tack.
"Where's Aeryn?" Crichton echoed with a short cold laugh, "ah, if I knew that I'd be a very happy man. I might as well ask you the same question."
"So you admit you knew she was coming to us?"
"What? No! She's here?" Crichton gasped, his mind reeling.
"Not now. I had a man following her. She disappeared about 18 arns ago and didn't show up at our rendezvous point. I've got scouts out looking for her now. I thought she'd frelled me over again. But if you're here? What's the game?"
"Disappeared? She was here?" Crichton spluttered as he finally caught up with the conversation.
"Yes. She said you were dead."
"I am."
Velorak looked puzzled for a microt and then said, "so why are you here? I got the impression she was running away from you."
"I love her."
Velorak gave Crichton a long look and said, "yes, you like you do." He met Crichton's eyes and smiled. "For her sake as well as your own, tell me again, how did you come to be here?"
Crichton didn't know what to say. Three cycles had taught him doubt and he was no longer as trusting of strangers as he had once been. "Do I have a choice?" He asked.
"Of course. You can talk to me or I can have Angor here snap your neck. Which is it to be?"
Crichton sighed. "I got separated from my ship. I was picked up by a leviathan with no supplies on board. I'm here to remedy that and to see about new transport. I had no idea you or Aeryn were here."
"Leviathan? Moya?"
"No. Moya, er Moya, got called away. I'm on another ship but that's only temporary. Don't 'spose you've got a spare transporter I could borrow?" he added with a rye smile.
Velorak looked like he was about to hit Crichton but he relaxed his stance and returned the smile. "I find I believe you Human.
Make yourself comfortable. You're going nowhere until I've had your story checked out."
Crichton's arms and legs were bound and his mouth gagged and then he was left alone. He hopped towards the outline of the exit and poked his head through.
"Going somewhere?" a voice asked.
Crichton looked up and saw Angor sat just above the cave's entrance, pointing a pulse rifle at his head. Crichton withdrew and sat down inside the cave. After several arns he stood up. His arms and legs were growing numb and he tried to wiggle them within the confines of their tight bonds. Then he waited some more. Crichton felt himself drifting asleep. He woke with a start as he heard noises coming from outside his prison.
Velorak scrambled through the entrance, and stood over Crichton . "What are you doing with an unbonded leviathan?" He barked and pulled the gag from Crichton's mouth.
"She rescued me. I told you. I got separated from Moya. This little lady gave me a lift."
"So why is she so damaged? Her outer hull is a mass of dents and fractures."
"Little missy's a bit too inquisitive for her own good. She flew into an asteroid field. Some of the stuff I'm getting is for her.
"Yes. I know. What do you intend to do with the leviathan?"
Crichton suspected Velorak wanted her. "She's going away. She has an appointment with someone. I wouldn't try to interfere if I were you. Could get messy."
"You're in no position to threaten me. Perhaps we can help each other," Velorak said.
"She is not for sale."
"You misjudge me."
"Do I?"
"Human, I should not be here right now. I have business elsewhere and you and your leviathan threaten that business. I need you and her as far away from here as possible. If I tell you what happened to Aeryn Sun will you leave immediately?"
"Aeryn? What have you found out? Where is she?"
"It appears a bounty hunter got her."
"Peacekeeper?"
"Charrid, with the Scarrens picking up the tab."
Crichton shuddered. Bile rose in his throat and for a microt he thought he was going to throw up.
"She's dead Crichton, or as good as."
"So we do nothing?"
"As I said I have other business to attend to. Your presence as I have said jeopardizes that. And I am sure you will want to be swiftly on your way when I tell you a delegation of Peacekeepers are on their way here right now."
"Aren't you afraid Aeryn'll sell you out again."
"Despite previous experience to the contrary I do not believe Aeryn Sun will betray me to the Charrids and even if she tries, the Charrids know I am more use to them alive. They may not be the brightest strategists but they are not without some wits. They know I'm more use to them in my current situation. And if I were to see Aeryn Sun again then I would be obliged to kill her. I made myself plain when she asked to join us."
"You don't care what happens to her?"
"Human, if the Charrids hadn't picked her up, the man I had tailing her had instructions to kill her for desertion. By rights I should kill you too but because I do care I'm going to let you go. But I will not lift a finger to help you find her. Take my advice, it is too late to save her."
"I don't care. I'm going to find her even if it is too late. Can't you forgive her?"
"I will not sacrifice my squad for her."
"She needs our help Velorak."
"The Millan Astrey will not interfere in this. It is not our business."
"Well at least let me know if you hear anything-"
"If I can. I hope you find her. " Velorak turned to go, paused and spun back round to face Crichton. "There's something else you should probably know."
"What's that?"
"Aeryn's pregnant. Your child I assume? Is that why you're looking for her?"
"She told you?"
Velorak hesitated, "No. I found out by other means."
"Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit." Crichton didn't know whether to laugh or cry at having the old woman's words confirmed.
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As soon as his feet hit the leviathan's docking bay floor, Crichton bent over and threw up everything he had so carefully put into it earlier on the planet. He stood for a moment, arms over his head staring vacantly at the ground. The Builders' not-so-white gown and sensible-sandaled feet swung into view.
A finger entered Crichton's vision pointing towards the pavement pizza at his feet. "What is that?" Kahaynu asked.
"Lunch," he replied with a loud sigh as he straightened up. "I have supplies. Do we have DRDs yet?"
"Yes, a few. They are now completing the repairs to the damaged power conduits. We are almost functional."
"And Pilot and Moya? Did you find them? Are they okay?"
"Yes. They are both relieved to know that you are alive. I have the data you requested."
"Good but there's been a change of plan. I need to ask them to do something for me."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Pilot, Jools and the old woman were once again in the presence of Moya's deity.
"Tell Commander Crichton we will oblige."
"I am not going back through a wormhole Pilot. I'm surprised you could even suggest such a thing. And Crichton for that matter! What about Moya? Hasn't she suffered enough? What is wrong with you?" Jools stamped her foot and pouted.
"Is wormhole travel really so dangerous?" Dee-leigha asked. "Perhaps if I made us some–"
"Oh shut up. People who go through wormholes tend to end up liquefied. It's horrible!"
"Joolushka. The decision has been made. Moya wishes to rejoin Commander Crichton. I am worried by her choice but I understand why she wishes to do it," Pilot said.
"But it's ridiculous. Okay, so this time we didn't melt or go back in time, but who knows what might happen next time. We could all die. I don't want to die Pilot."
"You could take a transport pod if you wish," he replied.
"There's nothing in range and you know that."
"I am sorry Joolushka, but Moya is adamant. She feels she should be the one to risk the wormhole again, not the baby. She will not change her mind."
Jools put her hands to her face and shook her head. She knew she was an intelligent Interon but this was beyond her.
"There is also the question of helping Crichton. Moya is worried by the news of Aeryn's capture."
Jools lowered her hands and looked at Pilot. His expression remained unchanged. "Okay, I give up. I leave it to you."
"Thank you Joolushka."
Jools rolled her eyes, turned sharply on her heels and left the Den. "Perhaps a nice long soak," she mused.
After she'd gone, Pilot sat still for a few moments and asked aloud, "are you really sure you want to do this Moya?" Then he bent his head forward, his four arms punching out a long sequence of codes, as he began to access the new data Crichton had requested for his calculations. He was tired. It had already taken him several days to calculate, via the position of the identifiable stars, their precise location. This had at least shown that they hadn't travelled back in time. Or at least if they had, it wasn't the 22 cycles showing on Moya's systems register. This new list of even more complex algorithms and technical data would take twice as long for him to put together.
Pilot could feel Moya's impatience to get going and he had to concentrate very hard not to rush his calculations. He was painfully aware that if he made one mistake he could be responsible for all their deaths. A small bead of sweat appeared on his forehead. A DRD shot out a long metal arm and dabbed it away with a cloth.
He got them finished eventually and Kahaynu took them back to Crichton, returning only a few microts later with a detailed flight trajectory and navigational matrix for Pilot to configure and input. Pilot almost groaned aloud but he completed the task in under six arns. The effort had drained him and his head drooped momentarily. Pilot pushed himself erect and took a deep breath.
"Moya is in position and we're ready to go. Stand by," he called out. A microt later, Moya, encircled by a swirling grey mist, swung sharply into the curve. Pilot hit the final sequence of code and Moya entered the wormhole.
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And next…