Part 4: The Captain's chair

In their entire acquaintance, Bialar Crais did not remember ever having seen Crichton quite so professional. So Peacekeeperish in fact. No jokes, no insults, not one incomprehensible remark. He was utterly unlike himself. Which could only mean one thing, his meeting with Aeryn had not gone as he'd hoped.

Crais made a half-hearted attempt not to act too pleased.

Not that he still sought Aeryn himself, more that he resisted to their relationship on principal. Although since he had now broken Peacekeeper codes and recreated with a non-Sebacean - and one far more alien-looking than Crichton at that - he wasn't quite sure what principal that was.

He watched Crichton out of the corner of his eye, methodically performing scans that Crais had not even ordered. He could of course insist that Crichton desist and spend the entire journey with only his own thoughts to occupy him, but perhaps that would be beneath him.

Three other officers milled in the background, making up the full compliment of the marauder, none of them known to Crais. He derived a certain amount of satisfaction, however, from knowing that they were under his command. Second to Marvio he could stand. For now.

"ETA, two arns," Crichton said mechanically. Then, after a pause. "Estimated time of arrival, two arns."

It was the first time, that Crais could recall, that Crichton had ever translated himself for Crais. Perhaps it was a sign that this had gone on long enough.

"You may leave your post and make preparations for our assignment," Crais said, moving his gaze to the view screen. He felt rather than saw Crichton glance over at him.

"Thanks," Crichton said wearily, sliding out of his chair. "I mean yes…sir."

Less grudging than Crais had expected.

He waited until the door to command had slid shut, muffling Crichton's plodding footsteps, noting that one of the nameless officers took over his tasks without Crais having to trouble himself to give a command. He carefully controlled a smile. He had new appreciation for the chain of command. Or, rather, for being at the top of it.

"Lt.," he said, not troubling himself over what her name might be. "Inform me the microt we are within communications range of the planet. And be alert for contact by our reconnaissance officer."

"Yes, sir."

He would never, ever, get tired of hearing that.

***

Crais had gone to make his own last-minute preparations by the time their contact commed in. Lt. Nameless, on reporting the incident, was forced to tell her Captain that the contact's instructions on identification were the rather cryptic 'Trust me, they'll know'. Crais had to admit to feeling a certain amount of apprehension as a result.

He would have felt more apprehension had Marvio not failed to mention one tiny detail about their destination. Namely that, in the interests of secrecy, it was a pleasure planet. One famous, or perhaps notorious would be a better word, for dealing in the exotic. Weird and wonderful races, each with something extra special to recommend them. Naturally, it was absolutely out of bounds for Peacekeepers (although that wasn't to say that some of high enough rank didn't find their way there anyway) which meant that it was ideal for their purposes. The staff were very discreet.

And their contact was quite right that they wouldn't have any trouble recognising her. She was, after all, the only Sebacean in permanent residence.

Oh yes, and one other miniscule reason…

***

Crichton's mouth dropped open. "Cymma?!" he said.

No, Crais thought to himself, the moment after his mind had produced the same thought, it was not Cymma. This woman was Sebacean. Her eyes were emerald green, but her hair was golden blond and there were no traces of feathers in it. Her face, however, was identical to Cymma's in every detail. Such a resemblance could not be coincidental.

And at this moment she had a very suspicious expression on her face.

"Cymma?" she asked, her forehead wrinkling exactly the same way that Cymma's had done. "Who is that?"

Crais shook his head at Crichton. "No one," he said. "You are?"

She looked from one man to the other warily. "My name is Eowyn Loth'Lorian, once of the Red Star regiment, now…freelance."

"Red star?" Crichton mouthed to Crais.

"Long range reconnaissance," Crais answered. Eowyn didn't look surprised at his apparently un-provoked response. He studied her closely. "The only Peacekeepers considered exempt from the laws of irreversible contamination. Specialists in undercover work." His eyes narrowed. "Spies."

Eowyn stared right back, maintaining eye contact without blinking. "Your point?" she asked. She kept her hands clasped behind her back, not looking even slightly intimidated.

"I doubt your loyalties," Crais said bluntly, taking a step towards her, instinctively squaring up for a fight.

"Do you now?" Eowyn said sweetly, one perfectly shaped eyebrow raised. "Well then, it's a shame that the decision to trust me isn't yours. Your commanding officer says I work for your side and all you can say is 'yes, sir'." She grinned at Crais. "Maddening, isn't it?"

Crais bristled visibly.

"I think she's psychic," Crichton remarked, the banter evidently raising his spirits enough to contribute to it. He grinned conspiratorially at Eowyn. "He hates taking orders," he said in a stage whisper.

"Crichton!" Crais snapped, out of habit. Then, trying to recover command of the situation, "Commander Crichton, may I remind you who is in charge of this assignment?"

Eowyn and Crichton exchanged a pair of positively maddening looks. If there was one thing above all that he could not stand, it was having people laugh at him.

Eowyn evidently realised that if Crais' glare grew any more smouldering, he'd set fire to her rather fetching ensemble of blue gauze. "I'll locate Captain Braca for you," she said, her green eyes dancing merrily in amusement. "I believe he's still in the restorative chambers. In fact, I will take you there directly." Her face took on a distinctly evil grin. "I doubt he has had time to recover as yet."

"Recover?" Crichton asked, looking as curious as Crais felt.

Eowyn grinned still more wickedly. "There was a small…misunderstanding, over his purpose here," she said, her tone giving Crais the distinct impression that it had been anything but a mistake. "And he found himself offered the services of a Barytrate. Are you at all acquainted with the species?"

Crichton looked blank. Crais suddenly found controlling laughter all but impossible as images flashed through his mind. He reined himself in with difficultly, clasping his hands behind his back. "To some degree," he said. "Although, I imagine…not as intimately as Captain Braca."

"It seems he suffered quite a shock," Eowyn said. Crais strongly suspected that that was a considerable understatement. "So innocent," she added. "Well put together though. Once he's recovered…anyway, follow me and I will take you to him.

***

Crichton just looked at Crais. He had his arms crossed over his bare chest, his legs apart, trying to look as macho as is possible when one is only wearing a towel.

"I hate whoever's idea this was," he said.

Crais' strategic mind had already thrown up several dozen possibilities for disposing of the person in question, all of which he'd rejected as too quick and not sufficiently painful.

He adjusted his own towel self-consciously. How was he expected to conduct official business in this attire? He didn't feel like a Captain without his uniform, at least not in this setting. His only comfort was that Crichton and Braca had to endure it too.

"It was Kinsella, wasn't it?" Crichton demanded.

"She believed it was the safest location."

"Crap," Crichton said. "She just wants to torture me."

Crais grunted. "Perhaps she should have accompanied us. They might have been able to improve her mood."

Crichton laughed. With him, not at him. Had that ever happened before?

Eowyn reappeared before Crais could decide the question. She gave each of them a slow, appraising look. Then she smiled. "Nice," she said. "I'm spoilt for choice. Unless you'd be interested in an group effort?"

"No way in hell," Crichton said immediately. "Absolutely not," Crais stated, at the same time.

"Shame. But I can live with one at a time."

"I am not here for your amusement," Crais said darkly. "I am not interested."

"And I'm engaged," Crichton said, as Eowyn's gaze shifted to him. Crais looked at him in surprise and Crichton caught the look. "Well…not exactly. I'm in a holding pattern. But hell, she moved in with me and we're having a baby. She's gotta say yes eventually."

Eowyn turned raised eyebrows to Crais. "Are you also in a…holding pattern?" she enquired.

For some unknown reason, a picture of Laynie Taan flashed up in front of Crais' eyes.

"No," he said, shaking it away. "But I am here solely to complete this assignment."

Eowyn regarded them impassively for a few microts. "You two are quite the dullest visitors I've ever had," she said. "But since I'm not convinced that it would be worth my while to help you relax, I'll take you to your meeting. Assuming that the good Captain has recovered his power of speech."

She turned sharply, her long hair swishing across her back. Crais and Crichton, both quickly discovering that one cannot march in a towel without holding onto it firmly, unless one wishes said towel to succumb to gravity, followed her as she flounced out of the room.

***

Braca did indeed look a little shocked. Not to mention a little pale. Perhaps even a little sick. All in all, Crais was more than a little glad that he wasn't the one who had been the victim of the 'misunderstanding'.

"Captain Braca," Crais greeted him, in his most authoritative manner, rather spoiling the effect by tugging at his towel again.

"Captain Crais, Commander Crichton," Braca said. His voice was a little on the weak side and he didn't attempt to get up from the wooden bench he was sitting on. Crais and Crichton sat down opposite him on a similar bench, both looking - and feeling - rather less than comfortable.

Braca eyed Crais with a sort of half-hearted curiosity. "I thought you were dead," he said, his tone suggesting that only half his brain recognised resurrection as being unusual.

"Evidently not," Crais replied.

Braca nodded slowly. "That's nice," he said. "Will you be dead again soon?"

Crais blinked several times before he could find an answer to that one. "It is not my intention," he finally offered, wondering if Braca had sustained permanent damage.

"That's nice," Braca said again, smiling wanly at Crais.

Crais cleared his throat. "Captain…do you have information for us?" he prompted.

"Information?" Braca said, his forehead furrowing in concentration. He appeared to be searching through his entire memory banks. "Oh yes," he said, after looking black for several microts. "I have an info-chip." He felt himself, as if searching for a pocket. A confused expression took over his features. "Where is my uniform?" he asked. "Where am I?"

Crais raised his eyes to the ceiling. This was getting worse by the minute. Beside him, Crichton leaned forward. "Braca," he said, "what's your first name?"

Braca looked still more confused, rather as if his translator microbes had stopped working. "I thought it was Captain," he said.

Crais and Crichton turned to each other. "This is a waste of time," Crichton said. "Captain Concussion here," he jerked his head in Braca's direction, "isn't exactly a lot of help. I say we just get Eowyn to bring us his uniform. He must have an info-chip in one of his inside pockets."

Crais barely had time to nod his agreement before the door opened and Braca's uniform came flying across the room, hitting Crais in the face.

"How did she…?" Crichton began, staring at the door which had already closed again.

Crais' expression had already darkened. "Red Stars," he cursed, his mouth tight with tension. "They hear everything."

Crichton went to pull at his collar, forgetting that he didn't have one. "Maybe we shouldn't stick around too long," he said. "I don't want to end up like him anyway." He pointed to Braca, who was now humming quietly, a vacant smile on his face. "Are you sure he'll snap out of it? I think he's got post traumatic stress disorder."

Crais was hunting through Braca's pockets. He had an astonishing number of them. "Ever the lieutenant," Crais muttered to himself. He finally located two small info-chips, which he held in his hand for want of somewhere else to put them. "We have what we came for," he said, standing up, hastily grabbing his towel as it attempted to part company from his person. "Or, even if we do not, we will do no better."

Crichton stood also, folding his arms across his chest again. "How much d'you wanna bet that Cymma's voyeuristic doppelganger has already seen what's on those chips?"

Crais sighed. "A great deal."

"But there's not much we can do about that?"

"No."

"Except kill her."

Crais grunted. "She is Red Star. They are all but indestructible."

"We could take her with us."

"And expose the entire resistance to her scrutiny?"

"Good point."

Crais shot another look at Braca. "At least we can be certain that he will not follow us," he said. "We will have to trust that Captain Kinsella and Captain Marvio are correct in their assessment of her."

Crichton laughed. "I can't believe you're telling me to be more trusting," he said.

Crais paused, frowning. "Indeed," he said. "It is most unusual."

"The beginning of a beautiful friendship?"

"I doubt that very much."

"Yeah. Me too."

***

Crais sat in command on the marauder, trying to block out Crichton's humming. After switching several times, he'd settled on a tune and had hummed, whistled and beat it out on his console for the last four arns. He hadn't even had the courtesy to do it consistently so that Crais could accustom himself to it. Crais was about a hundred microts away from demoting him. Or possibly introducing him to the vacuum of space.

In an attempt to occupy himself, he entered the personnel section of the ship's databank. One of the impressive accomplishments by resistance members was compression technology far beyond what the Peacekeepers had achieved. Even this marauder could store astonishing amounts of information, all so heavily encrypted and booby-trapped that without clearance one had no hope of accessing it. Add to that Captain Kinsella's abilities as Head of Intelligence and you had an extremely powerful combination. The Peacekeepers had no idea how many of their files were copied. And among those that were, was the entire personnel database. Every Peacekeeper - past and present. Crais was still not sure why this had been a priority, but he was glad of it now.

He performed a search for Eowyn Loth'Lorian and was instantly rewarded. Eowyn's face, distinctly grimmer in this picture, looked back at him.

His eyes scrolled down the information beside and below it. Eowyn Loth'Lorian, he read. Red Star - deserted. Location: Maros 1, Halothian Spa. Father's name: Likos Loth'Lorian. Mother's name: not known.

Not known meant not a Peacekeeper, surely. Although family bonds were disregarded, genetic ones were not. High Command did not want in-breeding. A child conceived unknowingly by close relations would be terminated. Even conscripts had their parents' names and genetic samples on file. That her mother was unknown must make her almost unique.

"I'm half-Sebacean. Guess what my mother was ex-communicated for?" Cymma's voice echoed in his head.

Could they be sisters? Or, more accurately, twins? But how had Eowyn altered her appearance? Why had Cymma not done the same? And how had Eowyn escaped scanning as part non-Sebacean?

Crais shook his head and leant back in his chair. He hated unsolved mysteries, but he suspected he might never know the answers to those questions.

***

Crais marched along the corridor, heading for Marvio's office. He passed an intersection, caught a glimpse of blond hair and Laynie Taan appeared at his side, matching his pace and direction.

"Since you're not chained up in Kinsella's dungeon, I take it the mission went well?" she said, eyes straight ahead.

Crais glanced sideways at her, but she didn't look at him. "Indeed," he answered.

"You meet Eowyn?"

He raised an eyebrow. She still didn't alter her focus. "I did."

"Did she proposition you?"

The eyebrow crept further towards his hairline. "Is that usual?" he asked.

"For her, yes. She was notorious for it as a Peacekeeper. She recreated with half the crew."

"Indeed?"

"Did she proposition the others too?"

"She did."

"Group effort?"

"It was mentioned."

Laynie chuckled. "She hasn't changed. I miss her."

"You served with her?" Crais asked, stealing another look at her.

"We were great friends. Compared to her, I always felt like a model of chastity."

Crais' mind raced, trying to decide if she was implying what he thought she was.

"The answers to your questions are; yes, no, no, yes. In that order."

Before Crais could process that, or wonder how she knew what his questions were, they came to another intersection and Laynie vanished.

It took considerable self-control not to turn around and follow her, but Crais forced himself to keep walking. He had decided he would not recreate with her and he would stick to that decision. Somehow.

Nevertheless, his mind went along with her while his body kept going and he arrived at his destination much sooner than he expected. He knocked on the door.

"Enter."

Crais opened the door, stepped in and closed it behind him. Then he faced Marvio and Kinsella at the desk. He barely had time to take one step towards them before there was another knock on the door.

"Enter," Marvio repeated.

Crichton slipped in quietly, looking apologetically at Marvio. "Sorry I'm late," he said. Then he spotted Kinsella and jumped, immediately standing to attention. She regarded him coldly and Marvio looked amused at the Commander's nervousness.

"We have here," Kinsella said. "The info-chips we were provided with." She placed one into the slot in the small projector mounted on the desk. "Observe."

As the images began, both men at first looked confused. Then recognition dawned. Their expressions changed to horror, then morbid fascination. Then, as if someone had activated a switch, both of them slowly tilted their heads to the right, their eyes glued on the projection. Suddenly both recoiled, averting their eyes. "Oh, Jesus," Crichton said. Crais' exclamation was unintelligible.

"Naturally we are not blaming either of you," Marvio said calmly. "This has a style I have learned to identify. I hope the Captain recovers speedily. It is the other information-chip that interests us."

He removed the first one from the projector and entered the second. This displayed a mass of data.

"Grayza's plans, locations and contacts, to the best of Captain Braca's knowledge," Marvio said, meeting Crais and Crichton's eyes in turn. "Assuming this is accurate, the Commandant will be meeting with the Scarran First Minister and Emperor in three solar days on the space station in the Charis system. It is an ideal opportunity."

"To kill three big, ugly birds with one small explosion," Crichton finished.

"Precisely," Marvio said, as Crais raised an eyebrow at Crichton. "And before you ask, I am granting you permission to be part of this mission." A smile tugged at his lips. "I hear you have some experience in blowing things up."

But not always deliberately, Crais thought to himself, biting back a smile.

"Unless Captain Kinsella objects to this?" Marvio said, turning his head to look questioningly at her.

Kinsella glanced at Crichton appraisingly. "On balance, Captain," she said. "I feel the department will not grind to a halt without Commander Crichton's…contribution."

Crais was forced to studiously avoid looking at Crichton's expression.

"Crais," Marvio said, now turning to him. "Do you recall the location I mentioned?"

"I do," Crais replied, meeting Marvio's gaze.

"Good," Marvio said, maintaining eye contact. "Then you have command." He turned back to Crichton. "Commander," he said. "Do you have need of a delay again?"

"No, sir."

Marvio acknowledged that with a single nod. "The rest of your team will meet you on board. Good fortune. Dismissed."

***

The Charis system.

It was a place Crais hadn't thought of in cycles. Had tried not to, in all honesty. Even at the time, forty-three cycles ago, it had thrown up too many questions. Questions are dangerous for a Peacekeeper.

Crais sat up and folded the covers at the end of his bed, then lay back and tried to get to sleep without them smothering him. Half an hour more and he'd give up and get up.

He'd become so much more sensitive to sound over the last few cycles. First Talyn's sounds after the mechanical whirring of his command carrier, cycles and cycles of life-less lodgings. Then his new quarters, too quiet at night, but filled by the twittering of birds in the early morning, a sound that either relaxed or infuriated Crais, depending on his mood on waking. Likely, in time, that sound would become part of the background too. Here, there was whirring again, but the rhythm was wrong.

The ship was compact and innocent-looking, but deadly. A class unique to the resistance and known as an astra. Crichton had made a quip about not knowing that Vauxhall made space-ships, whatever that meant. It impressed Crais, as did the crew. He wondered idly if the Peacekeepers were aware that the best of the best had found their way here.

Looking back, he shouldn't have been surprised that Marvio had been the founder of the resistance. The model of a Peacekeeper on the outside, but there had always been…something. An extra spark, if you will. A flash of an inner spirit that most Peacekeepers didn't have. And Marvio hadn't even had the advantage - as Crais was finally coming to consider it - of experiencing life outside the Peacekeepers. He wasn't a conscript, he'd never known either of his parents, he should have been pulse-fodder. A mind-less instrument of High Command at best. And yet, he hadn't been. What was it that had made the difference?

He shouldn't waste half an arn wondering when he could spend it working. He pulled himself out of bed, pulled his uniform on and briefly toyed with the idea of seeing if there was anyone else awake. If he recreated with someone, he might just be able to get some sleep. The teasing conversations he'd shared with Laynie were certainly not reducing his tension levels. The crew was small though, and he'd seen no one who really appealed. Not that that should matter for fluid-reduction purposes.

He walked to his desk, pulling up the station plan once again. He'd studied it for so long he could have drawn it from memory. The mission was simple. Plant a device codenamed a basket bomb into the main power grid. Shut down the grid and the bomb would explode as soon as it was powered up again. Easy.

Crais had enquired why exactly it was called a basket bomb. The answer had been just as simple. You needed a basket to carry the remains of your target. It would destroy the whole station…and anyone unfortunate enough to be there.

Simple, clean, efficient. All Kinsella's trademarks. Crais was quickly learning that she was, in many ways, the power behind the throne. Marvio was the dreamer, the hub of ideas. He admitted his weaknesses and had everyone on his staff playing to their strengths. Which was why his resistance was quite so successful.

And it was successful. Crais had already discovered that many of the 'accidents' he'd heard about as a Peacekeeper had been nothing of the kind. That too, was a trademark. As Marvio frequently said, the perfect crime is one that no one knows has been committed.

His first night at Val'halla, he'd discovered just how good they were. And how much he owed them. It wasn't chance that had thrown him and Talyn into a wormhole when their starburst had destroyed the command carrier. It wasn't good fortune that had saved both their lives. A resistance agent on the command carrier had made several minor, but all-important, modifications which had ensured their survival, although their destination could not be predicted. That agent was, in part, responsible for everything that Crais would do to serve the resistance.

And that agent, he'd discovered to his utter astonishment, was Lt. Darinta Larell.

***

"I spy with my little eye, one ugly Scarran space-ship," Crichton said triumphantly, as the astra slid neatly into dock. Crais experienced an unfamiliar rush of apprehension. It was, after all, his first real mission as a member of the resistance. He didn't want to think about the possibility of failure.

He took a deep breath, wiped all signs of uncertainty from his face and rose. "You know your assignments," he said, addressing the group of assignment-heads who had gathered in command as they'd arrived. "Assemble your teams and disembark. Remember your instruction."

Instruction. Code name for warning.

"Instruction?" Crichton murmured into Crais' ear, as he stood beside him watching everyone file out. "I didn't get any instruction."

"The rule is simple," Crais said, moving his mouth the minimum possible. "Touch everything."

He could feel Crichton's confusion. "Don't you mean 'touch nothing'?" Crichton asked.

"No," Crais said definitely. "Touch everything. All will become clear."

"Don't you start on the cryptic clues," Crichton muttered mutinously. "I hate cryptic clues."

Crais ignored him and led the way out of command, leaving only their pilot, security officer and one technician there. Protocol demanded that Crais should remain out of harm's way. Crais demanded otherwise.

"You're really not going to tell me what I'm getting into, are you?" Crichton said, at the very least keeping his voice low as they marched along the corridor.

"I have told you everything you need to know," Crais answered, eyes fixed straight ahead.

"You told me nothing. You just said to touch everything."

"Which is everything you need to know," Crais said firmly, his ventriloquism quite impressive.



Crichton rolled his eyes audibly.

Security appeared lax, but Crais knew quite well that that was an illusion. The walls had eyes. Almost literally in fact.

Descending from the ship unaccompanied, Crais strode across the anti-chamber towards the main entrance to the station. At the last moment, Crichton dodged in front of him. "I'm not moving until you explain what we're getting into," he said, folding his arms.

Crais sighed in exasperation. "Crichton, this behaviour is unacceptable and must cease. When your commanding officer tells you that you have sufficient information, you have sufficient information!"

Crichton held up his hands. "Your call," he said. "I'm in no hurry."

He leant back against the airlock door. And fell through it.

"What the f…?!" he exclaimed, as his knee caps scraped painfully on the ridged metal of the floor on the other side.

Crais stepped neatly through the projection and stood, arms crossed, looking down at Crichton smugly. "As I said," he said. "Touch everything. Before you lean on it."

Crichton gave him a look that might have been intimidating, had their positions been reversed. "You didn't mention that last bit," he said, his mouth tight with tension.

"I do apologise," Crais said, the corners of his mouth quirking up. "A slight omission on my part."

"Slight?!" Crichton exclaimed, picking himself up. "That is not slight! That is the most important bit!"

"No, the most important part is the mission we are here to accomplish," Crais replied, leaving his amusement aside for the moment. "Which we must attend to immediately. Follow me."

***

"So let me get this straight," Crichton whispered, as they slowly climbed a very steep staircase that was making his knees start an impassioned campaign for physiotherapy. "This whole place is one giant booby-trap?"

"Correct," Crais said, paying close attention to where he was stepping. "Some of the station is solid and some is holographic. The only way to be sure is to touch it. This is one place where you cannot trust anything."

"Where are all the people?" Crichton said, still whispering, as he carefully followed in Crais' footsteps. If he was going to plunge to his death, he'd prefer it to be whilst doing something more heroic than butt-shaping exercises.

"We may encounter a hologram or two. They are all part of the projection. Shut down the power grid and they will disappear as well."

"And Grayza knows this?" Crichton said, raising his voice to normal volume. "And the Scarrans?"

"Unlikely," Crais replied. "That the station is partially holographic cannot be hidden, that the personnel are, is. Which gives us an advantage."

Crichton whistled long and low, slowly running his hand along the handrail beside him, careful not to put any weight on it. His hand slid along smooth metal and then dropped through pure light.

"So the only people here are resistance crew and Grayza's team? There's absolutely no-one else?" he asked.

"There are no food supplies here, no water. No creature would be able to survive here unless they had no need of those things. And such beings are few and far between."

"How does the station run?" Crichton asked, staring upwards, trying to see the top of the staircase.

"Solar energy."

"But who maintains the machines?" Crichton protested. "If they shut down, the whole place would go under."

"The hologramatic personnel are capable of using them. They are solid unless we pass through them, like the rest of the station."

"Hard light holograms," Crichton muttered to himself. "Was it Star Trek, or was it Red Dwarf? It's weird, whoever did it first."

"We are here," Crais said, as they reached a door leading off one of the small platforms on the stairs.

Crichton stared at it. "Where's here, exactly?"

"That information is classified," Crais answered.

Crichton waited until Crais' back was turned and then made a strangling motion behind his back.

***

Crais put a hand out to feel the door before he walked through it. Such things unnerved him intensely. He was accustomed to people conspiring against him, but not inanimate objects.

"At least tell me what we're looking for," Crichton insisted from behind him. "We shouldn't even be here. We have teams to set the bomb and wipe the surveillance records. Why in all hezmana are we sneaking around up here?"

"We have a special assignment," Crais replied, keeping his own voice low, wondering where to go next. Where might she be?

"To do what?!" Crichton repeated, obviously frustrated by the lack of information he was getting. "I don't know what I'm doing here, Crais and I think that I have a right to know."

"We are here to ensure that the plan is a success," Crais answered.

"How?"

Crais sighed in exasperation. "By finding Grayza!"

"Hold the phone. We're not sure if she's even here?"

"It is only wise to verify the fact."

Crichton shook his head. "Don't let Captain Kruger hear you question her long-range recon skills. I know she doesn't hate you as much as she hates me, but even so."

Crais led the way through another door, this one needing to be opened before they could get through it and then closed his eyes, trying to connect the plan he had memorised with the room in front of them.

"Up," he said, indicating a crystalline formation that was doubling as a ladder.

"Wonderful idea," Crichton said sarcastically. "Another chance for us to plunge to our deaths without warning."

Nevertheless, he started climbing after Crais.

"Kinsella does not hate you," Crais remarked, as they climbed slowly up and up.

"Could have fooled me," Crichton muttered.

"She merely hates incompetence," Crais explained.

Crichton stopped climbing momentarily. "That makes me feel so much better," he said, before carrying on.

Crais smiled to himself, glad that Crichton could not see his face. "Prove yourself to her and she will become a formidably ally," he said, unwittingly repeating the words that Marvio had said to him. "Fail to do so and you will find yourself blocked at every turn. Do not attempt to fight this. Stronger than you have tried and failed."

"How comforting," Crichton's voice said from beneath him.

Crais reached the next level and climbed out onto it, immediately striding forward, arms outstretched as if he was blind. He felt foolish, but it was necessary.

He passed through the door as Crichton scrambled up behind him. Just as he'd expected, he found the panel he'd been looking for. He removed a chip from his pocket, inserted it into the slot and punched in the code. The system wirred into life.

Crichton came stumbling through the door.

"Scarran hunting?" he asked.

"Indeed," Crais said. "I am attempting to discover where they are."

The system stopped wirring. Crais looked carefully at the read-outs and closed his eyes. "Or, in fact," he said slowly. "If they are."

Crichton stared at him. "You're telling me that Grayza isn't here?" he asked.

"Yes."

"So we can't kill her?"

"Yes."

"So we really screwed up?"

"Yes."

Crichton whistled. "Oh, man," he said.

Crais pulled the chip from the slot with rather more force than was strictly necessary.

Suddenly, Crichton started to laugh.

"What?!" Crais snapped at him, not in the mood for this.

"I was just realising the upside of not being in command," Crichton said. "This is all your fault, not mine."

Crais didn't answer. He couldn't. Instead he hit his communicator. "Abandon," he said simply. "Repeat. Abandon."

The message would reach everyone on the station. They had to return to the ship.

Failure was no longer a possibility. It was fact.