JOOL HAD RETURNED TO THE POD, FILTHY FROM HEAD-TO-TOE, and didn't say another word until they were on Moya.
Once onboard, she stepped out of the pod, walked over to a workbench in the hanger, tore the outfit she'd been wearing off with a series of savage pulls, grabbed a torch and with a very short, very piercing scream, set it ablaze.
With an immense dignity, naked as the day she was born, she marched out of the hanger. She wished a particularly lurid and physically-improbable doom on Crichton, his ancestors back to the very first and every subsequent generation he would father until entropy made the universe dark and cold.
"She took that better than I thought she would," D'Argo said, watching her go. The others just nodded. "We should tell her she should still try making up to that husband of hers."
"Commander Crichton – another ship is approaching."
"Miriya. It's okay, Pilot – let her land."
"Very well."
"It couldn't hurt with the husband thing," Crichton said to the Luxan, "though she won't like that, either."
After a few moments, the big doors rolled open and Miriya's ship rolled into the hanger. It was a heavily-reworked and modified Marauder, painted a deep black, with gold and silver piping everywhere – "My home away from home," she'd said. "I call it The Edge."
Miriya stepped out shortly after, sauntered over to the group, looking around as she did.
"Impressive." She said. "Haven't been on too many healthy Leviathans. What do you call her?"
"We don't call her anything," D'Argo said. "Her name is Moya." Miriya just nodded. A DRD scooted up to look at her. She abruptly reached down to scoop it up causing it to squeak. It squeaked even louder when she flipped it over a few times, closely examining it.
"Pretty standard DRDs. You might want to put these on your list, John. I redesigned these for Abbanerex – and not putting down their original designers – mine are better."
Crichton just watched her flip the little machine around.
"How better?" he asked. Miriya reached over, did a little finger-dance on its side, cracked it open like a king crab at a buffet, exposing it's inner workings. It shut off as she did so. She pointed out various components as she spoke.
"Half-again as large. Better armaments for the armed ones, at least a half-dozen more and more varied armatures for repair work, better sensors, more accurate visual and tracking arrays. Even custom ones that do nothing but service a Pilot."
She frowned a slight frown, made a slight adjustment in it, snapped the cover back on and it hummed back to life. She put it back on the floor and it squeaked and sped away.
"Even custom autonomous ones that aren't linked to either the Leviathan or the Pilot – in case something happens to either. You'd still have functioning DRDs. I have a bunch at home that keep my shop clean – all equipped with their own reasonably smart AI, of course."
"I'll keep it in mind." He turned away. "Pilot – do you know the way to Hogatha Primus?"
"I'm afraid that planet is not in Moya's database, Commander."
"No worries," Miriya said. "I'll give him the coordinates. I've always wanted to meet a real talking Pilot, anyway."
Crichton gestured for him to follow her. The others followed them a way, then split off.
"You work on Leviathans but never seen a live Pilot?"
"Sure I have – just not a conscious one – and I don't work on Leviathans. I've redesigned DRDs, worked on mods – like I said, only if a Warlord contracts or asks for me specifically. I have my own business."
"Wait a microt. Warlord?"
"Sure. The Ashkelon Warlords. Surely you've heard of them."
He nodded. He'd heard of the Warlords, all right. According to the Peacekeepers, the Ashkelon Warlords were akin to Mafioso, heads of a criminal empire that stretched halfway across the Galaxy. Peacekeepers and Warlords were – officially – enemies. Practically, as always, it was another story. The Warlords were the overseers of most of the best Shadow Depositories and basically governed – "oversaw" - at least a hundred worlds. They indulged in criminal enterprise certainly and they also had many legitimate businesses – the Abbanerex Leviathan Repair and Rehabilitation Facility being one of them. The Ashkelon Warlords were not typical 'mafia'-types, however. The Warlords had their own fleets, ships the size of Command Carriers, private armies that numbered in the millions.
You didn't mess with them if you could help it.
"You said you had your own business? Doing what?" Crichton asked.
"As I said. I'm a builder. A modder. Custom work, starship modification, enhancement, or refitting. No questions asked."
Crichton chuckled.
"Ah."
She smiled quizzically at him.
"'Ah' what?"
"A lot of under-the-table stuff. Not always having the right papers and permits. That sort of thing."
Miriya cocked an eyebrow at him.
"Interesting supposition."
He snorted and led on.
At the Den, Crichton strode in and was almost to the console when he realized that Miriya hadn't followed.
"Problem?" He called back to her. Miriya replied and she sounded a bit… sheepish.
"Sorry. Not big on heights. Probably why I haven't seen too many Pilots."
Crichton walked back with a silent sigh and took her arm.
"Come on."
She clutched his arm, and they made their way to the console. Pilot looked up with his doe-eyes.
"Miriya Breannados, Pilot. Pilot, Miriya Breannados."
Pilot nodded, said, "Hello," as Miriya, uninvited, leaned over his console, eyes looking everywhere.
"Hello, Pilot. Do you have redundancies for this console?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Protected control nodes, in case your mains are blown." Miriya had practically climbed onto the console.
"Uh, no… it has never come up before." Pilot glanced at Crichton, who shrugged.
"You might want to think about it. Couldn't hurt."
She also glanced back at Crichton, told Pilot the coordinates to Hogatha Primus.
"If we're dropping off Joolushko first, you can use Hogatha as a reference." She then gave him another set of coordinates. "That will get you to Davros. It's not a bad place, only been there once or twice, myself."
"Pilot – when we get back to Talyn, send him those cords. Crais and I will take him to Hogatha, while you take Jool back. Once you've done that you can come back for Moya's makeover."
"Agreed. Moya is very grateful to you for this, Crichton."
"Forget it," he said. "The least we can do, Pilot. We should probably head back and pick up Talyn sooner than later, though."
"Agreed. We will Starburst in 100 microts."
"Good enough." He turned to Miriya, who was still looking everywhere. "Come on – we shouldn't be in here when Moya Starbursts."
They left the Den.
"He's amazing." Miriya said when they were back in the corridor. "He calls you 'Crichton' though?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"It's just unusual for a servitor to use a Captain's first name."
"I'm not the Captain. There isn't any – and Pilot's not a servant. He's the Pilot."
Miriya just nodded, digested it.
"Still, you should probably have a Captain. Pilots get a little jumpy if they serve too many masters – or so I've been told."
"I'll think about it."
"Starburst in 15 microts, everyone."
Crichton stopped to reach over and grab a strut on the wall. Miriya took the opportunity to join him, standing very close to reach over and take his arm.
"Never been through a Starburst before, either, huh?"
She grinned up at him, shook her head.
There was a rolling shudder and Moya blasted into slipstream.
"There. Not so bad."
"Not at all," she said, backing away from him.
He continued on up the corridor.
"Where are we going, by the way?"
"My ship. Need a few things. We can find you quarters if you want - or you can just stay on yours."
"That's a thing."
When they arrived at his Marauder, Miriya followed him in, wandered around.
"Pretty standard Marauder. Not personalized at all?"
Crichton dug into a crate, looking for a datachip with specs on the Marauder, intent on passing the time until Hogatha with some minor upgrading work of his own. Become the master of it all. First things first.
His only commandment.
"Nope. Just stole it recently. I'd rather travel light."
Miriya walked down a corridor.
"You change the quarters at least?" She stopped outside what would have been the Captain's cabin, looked in. Crichton reached her as she stepped in.
"Not gonna keep it. Might try to trade up."
Miriya examined the room, then sat on his bed, bounced once or twice.
"Not bad. Not great. It'll do."
Crichton stopped, grinned his flat grin at her.
"'It'll do'?"
"For sleeping. And things." She smiled back at him, that purr climbing in her voice, her intent unmistakable.
Crichton looked at her sitting there, his mind rolling around in his skull.
Are you going to spend the rest of your life out here turning down every woman because of one you will never see again? Should we get Pilot to find you a nice quiet monastery? Maybe a Diagnosian and have you neutered?
She rose, came over to him, stopped for a moment, pulled off her jacket, unzipped her leather coverall down to almost her navel - and then turned him to walk him over and shove him onto his bed.
She then sat in his lap.
"You're a little slow," she jibed. "Where's that legendary Crichton they all wonder over?"
She purred at him, making herself comfortable, moving her hips slowly on his lap, draping her arms over his shoulders. Every time she moved forward, smoothly-firm fragrant cleavage sorely tempted him.
"He went home." His hands were on her hips. "Just me, I'm afraid."
She smiled, felt something move.
"Will you do, then?" She leaned in, kissed him very thoroughly. "I think so."
Somehow and he couldn't remember how, her coveralls had managed to fall off her arms and pool at her waist, now an expanse of very smooth and fragrant flesh currently goosefleshing under his fingertips.
"I'm glad to hear it," he finally said, vaguely wondering if this was just luck or something else, again defaulting to 'didn't frelling care'. "Should we test the assumption?"
"Frell, yes," She purred again. "I didn't come here for the drekking food."
Crichton pulled her closer and let his hands do the talking.
First things first, definitely.
"Has anyone seen Crichton?" Chiana asked in the corridor outside the galley, determined to continue the conversation they'd had on Command earlier.
"He is on his Marauder, Chiana," Pilot helpfully supplied and Chiana nodded, pivoted on her heel to go back down toward the hanger. "With our new arrival, I believe." Chiana slowed. "Ah," Pilot continued, oblivious, "he has just put the Marauder on lockdown."
Chiana halted, turned with a string of muttered curses and went back to the galley to eat.
"Chiana?" Jool enquired when she entered, "what's the matter?"
"I hate humans," Chiana growled, slapping a bowl down to clatter on the table.
"You and me both," Jool commiserated.
She glared at the Interion.
"Frellin' hate 'em."
About two arns later, more or less, Crichton was laying on his stomach, getting his breathing back in order. Lying next to him, flushed a rosy pink and breathing deeply, Miriya was gazing at the ceiling, an odd look on her face. Crichton noted it.
"What?" he asked.
Miriya puffed out some air.
"What… exactly was that?"
Weird Human sex, huh? Oh, well. He could only do it the way he knew how. Maybe she'd been surprised by the duration. It had been a damn good while since the last time.
He rolled onto his back, sat up. He glanced back at her. She was still laying there looking at the ceiling, flushed, completely relaxed. She'd made enough noise, had been appropriately enthusiastic, skilled, and nothing seemed to repulse her. She certainly didn't appear to have minded all that much.
Easy come, easy go. He cracked his neck stood and tried to stretch his back.
Okay. That was definitely different, Miriya thought, trying to think past the lovely, lovely pulses in her belly. So that's how Humans did it. Start out slow and then explode your brain. I can see how that could catch on. She looked over at him, saw him with a look of vague regret on his face.
"Fine then." he said. "We're done."
He started to rise.
"The frellin' frell we are," she told him as she grabbed his arm to literally yank him back down and wiped then that look right off his face.
AT EVENING MEAL, EVERYONE WAS THERE.
Jool sat in a corner, eating sullenly and she was subsequently left alone to sulk. Rygel was stuffing his face, as usual, eyeing the Human and Sebacean with suspicious looks.
"Thank you for bathing, at least." He said between mouthfuls. Moya was on her second Starburst to Hogatha Primus.
"So, Miriya," Chiana said across the table, resentment in her heart, trying to shake it. "How do you like your first long-distance trip on a Leviathan?"
Miriya, she noted, was still faintly pink, eyes sparkling.
"I'm going to recommend it to all my friends."
She smiled a lazy smile back at the Nebari. Chiana smiled in spite of herself, glanced at Crichton. He was doing his best just to eat, although he raised his eyebrows at D'Argo who just rolled his eyes.
D'Argo didn't begrudge John his fun, for Miriya was a very attractive and desirable woman – he just thought it a little strange that Crichton, of all people, would indulge so soon. It had taken him cycles to even think of a female that way after the death of Lo'laan.
"Miriya," D'Argo asked, finally. "Is there anything we need to do for Moya or Talyn before we arrive at this Abbanerex?"
"I'd take an inventory of your finances." Miriya said between bites. "They're not cheap, I'm afraid."
"We don't expect them to be." He replied. "What do you think it'll cost?"
"Depends on what exactly you want done. Neural reconstruction on Talyn will be pretty involved. He'll be down for a least a monen. I'd say, depending on how extensive the reconstruction is, you're probably looking at easily two million krindars for starters – and that's just for the reconstruction, not the rehab. Of course, it depends on your currency, too."
"And for Moya?" Chiana asked.
"Again that depends on what you're upgrading and what you have to pay with. I can tell you that if you go for rebuilding the DRDs, like I suggested, that alone - for example - will cost you about 250 CP's a DRD. That's my going rate - and I don't take krindars, kretmas or ooliks."
"That's expensive for just DRDs." Rygel grunted, adding it up in his head. What's wrong with ooliks? he wondered peevishly. Hynerian currency was as hard as anyone's.
"How many does a typical Leviathan have?" she countered. "Like I said, depending on what you want upgraded." She glanced at John. "This isn't a lighter, a frigate-runner or a typical civvie transport. It depends entirely on just what's needed, of course. Just understand that it'll be expensive."
Rygel sputtered. D'Argo countered.
"Rygel – this isn't just hanging up a few curtains and laying some new floor tile. This isn't about us."
"We're not going broke for this." Rygel said, going back to eating. "They'll just have to haggle."
Miriya laughed.
"Considering that Abbanerex is the only place within about a billion metras that isn't Peacekeeper, equipped to deal with Leviathans as extensively – and expertly – as they do…" She smiled over at the Hynerian, "and run by the Warlords - they don't haggle."
"So don't try." Crichton finished his meal, put his dishes in the reclaimator. He stretched.
"Who's for sleeping?" He cracked his neck, rolled his back. "I think I could use some."
The others nodded.
"See you in the morning."
He walked off and Miriya tossed her tray into the reclaimator, followed him.
"Gonna sleep?" She asked him.
He nodded back at her.
"Been a busy day. Gotta sleep sometime."
She was silent until they reached his ship. She followed him in made a detour to Command and put the ship into lockdown.
"Gonna sleep right away?" She asked, kicking her boots into a corner.
He looked at her, a slow smile creasing his face. He was rather beginning to like this 'gorgeous-woman-actually-wanting-him' jazz. Run hot-and-cold? Not Miriya.
"Well… not right away, I suppose."
"Smart move," She teased.
"You're completely incorrigible." He told her as she led him to his quarters.
"Now, see…" she said, laying back on the bed, slowly unfastening her coverall. "I just knew we'd get along."
