Episode 6 - Reversible Contamination
"I've always thought of myself in terms of survival -- life and death, keeping the body alive." -- Aeryn Sun
"Hey, Lieutenant, what's cookin'?"
Tauvo Crais looked up from the report on his desk with a baleful glare. "Cooking? Do I look like a food preparer?"
John couldn't resist teasing him a little. "I dunno, you might pass for a skinny Emeril...." He trailed off as Tauvo's pointed look got sharp enough to draw blood. "Sorry," he said, though he wasn't. "I was just wondering how plans were progressing. Have you spoken to Captain Crais?"
Tauvo relaxed and almost smiled. "Yes, I commed him several arns ago and explained our plan for addressing the Sykaran situation. He thinks I'm mad, of course."
John laughed at that. "You're his little brother; I'm sure he's thought so for years...cycles."
"Oh, very likely. But rarely with so much justification; the plan is insane. Nevertheless, he'll support it."
"Because he's your brother," John guessed.
Tauvo grimaced uncomfortably. "Probably. I attempted to explain the situation. I even used some of the arguments you used on me, though of course I couldn't throw dirt on him."
John snickered at the memory. He had to admit, that had been pretty rude. Which was why, after the negotiations, when Tauvo had thrown a sudden roundhouse punch that laid him out on the ground, John had acknowledged that he'd deserved it.
"The captain certainly wasn't happy with the five cycle interruption in tannot shipments that we agreed to, but he admits that if we'd gone ahead and destroyed the operation here, it would have taken at least that long to locate and develop a new source."
"So, when do we head back to the convoy?" John asked, almost dreading the answer.
Tauvo sat back and steepled his fingers thoughtfully. John had a sudden flash of an alternate-universe Mr. Spock; Crais had the look, right down to the beard and the faint air of diabolical calculation. "We're finished here; the Sykarans have been supplied with food and fertilizer, enough to last approximately half a cycle. Those supplies we could not provide from the ship's stores were acquired at a commerce station nearby; the last transport returned and unloaded its cargo half an arn ago. Before we return to the carrier, however, there is a small diversion we need to make."
"Where to?"
"The transports we sent to the station reported something unusual there." With the touch of a button, Tauvo brought the holo-projector on his desktop to life. A smooth, golden shape coalesced in the air, causing John to inhale sharply.
"A Leviathan," he breathed. He'd not seen many, but this one looked strangely familiar. "Isn't that the one...?"
"Yes," Crais confirmed. "The energy signature matches the Leviathan which escaped from our custody the day you arrived."
"Moya," John recalled. The name stuck in his memory, in spite of his brief acquaintance. "What's she doing there?"
Tauvo shook his head. "We don't know. As far as the transport crews could determine, the ship is abandoned, derelict. Still alive, but perhaps injured. It's just drifting in space near the station."
"So we're going?"
"Yes. These prisoners escaped from me once. If there is any chance of recapturing them, or at the very least retrieving the ship, it's my duty to pursue it."
The first evening after Gilina was released from the infirmary, John met her in the ship's small Officer's Lounge for drinks. That seemed innocuous enough not to provoke suspicions.
They drank in uncomfortable silence for long moments before either one found the strength to speak. "Are you okay with this?" John finally asked. "Being back, I mean." They were far enough from the noisy crowds in the room to not be overheard.
She sighed. "I don't know. It was hard, deciding to leave. But once I'd made the choice, I started looking forward to it. I'd never given much thought to my future before. And now I have to give that all up again."
"Not 'give up,' Gilina. Never that. All we have to do is postpone for a while." He started to reach for her hand, then pulled back. "This, though--not being able to touch you--may just kill me," he grouched, only half in jest.
"Don't joke about that, John," Gilina pleaded. "If we aren't careful, that's exactly what could happen."
John took a deep breath and nodded. C'mon, John, he thought sternly, you're a well-bred Southern gentleman. Mind over libido, that's the ticket.... "Damn, this is gonna be hard," he muttered, gazing forlornly at Gilina's now-untouchable face. He reached for his glass instead, to give his hand something useful to do.
Gilina got a very mischievous glint in her eye, though her expression remained studiously neutral. "I'm sure it already is," she said, so low that he could barely hear.
John choked on his drink, sputtering and coughing, trying not to laugh aloud. "Damn. And to think," he murmured, once he got his breath back, "when I first met you, I thought you were shy."
"When did you realize how wrong you were?" she asked.
"Oh, I think in the frag cannon bay on the Zelbinion. Either that, or maybe the night you--"
"John." Hushed whisper of warning, as a group of Prowler pilots walked past their table.
Growling in frustration once they were out of earshot, John scrubbed his hands across his face and up through his hair. "Frell. I'm sorry, 'Lina."
"For what?"
"Getting us dragged back here. If only I'd found a way to get us off that planet before the Peacekeepers arrived--"
"If you had, everyone down there would be dead now, John."
"Maybe," he admitted quietly. Sadly.
"Would you be happier if that had happened?" she asked.
"I guess not. It's just...." He trailed off.
"We'll manage, John. We'll think of something." The look in her eyes told him he'd just been kissed, if only in spirit. That would have to do, for the moment.
The commando squad moved through the darkened corridors in near-silence, allowing Aeryn to hear just how unusually quiet the Leviathan herself was. The air was stale and very cold, with a faint odor of decay lingering. The low, groaning rumbles of the ship's biomechanoid circulation were slow and regular, proving the ship still lived at least, but no other sounds reached her ears. There was no sign of DRDs anywhere, and they were usually a ubiquitous presence aboard these vessels. All in all, the ship felt much changed from the last time Aeryn had traversed these hallways, in search of the hangar bay and escape.
Normally, she would not have been sent on a field assignment such as this so soon after leaving the med bay, not without time for reconditioning. Lt. Crais, however, had felt her prior contact with this vessel and its inhabitants of sufficient value to waive those considerations.
Aeryn wasn't so sure. She'd been aboard this Leviathan for all of six arns, over three-quarters of a cycle ago, and had spent most of that time locked in a cell. But she didn't object, because part of her had wanted to come.
The door to the Pilot's den stood half-open when they arrived. Once inside, Lt. Crais approached the center console, while Aeryn and the rest of the squad hung back and watched for ambushes.
"Pilot?" Crais called out. There was no response. Even from this distance, Aeryn could see that the creature was either unconscious or sleeping. He was also missing one of his four arms. The amputated limb was only just starting to regenerate, still too tiny and weak to be useful.
Reaching over the control panels, Crais nudged the Pilot with the barrel of his pulse rifle and called out again. This time, the large protruding eyes flickered open.
"Wha'?" he mumbled. "Who's there?"
"Lieutenant Crais, Verstar Regiment," Tauvo stated mechanically.
The huge creature finally managed to focus on the figures before him, and drew back in alarm. "Peacekeepers."
"Yes, Pilot," Crais said patiently. "Tell us what happened here. Where are the prisoners?"
"I should tell you nothing," Pilot insisted, still groggy. "But it does not matter now. They are gone."
"What has happened to this ship? Why is it adrift?"
The Pilot's eyes closed in pain. "The crew came to this station in search of maps to their home worlds. There is a scientist here with vast cartographic information." A shudder rippled through the Pilot's body. "They traded one of my arms for a data crystal with their maps. When it arrived, however, there was too much information on it for Moya to process. She could access one map, but only by deleting the other two."
Crais almost stepped back at the barely-hidden venom in the Pilot's voice. Aeryn could see him stiffen even at a distance. He turned his head and looked again at the tiny regenerated arm dangling from its socket.
The worn voice continued. "They argued amongst themselves about whose map would be salvaged. In the end, Dominar Rygel tricked the others into a cell and deleted the maps to the Luxan and Delvian home worlds from the crystal. But when the remaining data was fed into Moya's data stores, it contained a worm program that erased her entire memory."
Crais paused; Aeryn felt a surge of pity for the Leviathan, who had lost everything she knew and then apparently been abandoned by her tiny crew.
"And the fugitives?" Crais asked, echoing her thoughts.
"I am not sure what happened to them. The shock to Moya's systems was so great that I lost consciousness for some time. When I awoke, I was unable to contact any of the DRDs, and the internal comms were down. All of Moya's systems were affected. Even my own connection with her has been compromised; nutrient flow has decreased to minimal levels, and my attempts to help her with this trauma have been ineffectual."
"So the prisoners are no longer aboard?" Crais persisted.
"I presume not," Pilot reported in a supercilious tone. "Given their usual temperaments, I am sure one or all of them would have come to complain about the failing environmentals by now."
"And how long ago did this happen?"
"I do not know," Pilot admitted. "With Moya's functions so crippled, I have no reliable way of measuring time. It has certainly been many solar days."
Crais turned away from the console abruptly, dismissing the Pilot without another word now that he was finished questioning him.
"Officer Sun, it seems your presence here was not required after all. I will take the team down to the station and search for the fugitives there. Due to your fitness status, you will remain aboard the Leviathan. Conduct a thorough search. If you locate any clues as to the whereabouts of the fugitives, you will contact me immediately."
"Yes, sir." Alone on a cold, deserted ship--not an assignment she relished.
"I will contact the Intruder and have a crew of techs sent over. You will see to it that they assess the condition of this vessel and determine its prospects for rehabilitation."
"Easily done, Lieutenant," she agreed more cheerfully. "I've become accustomed to herding techs around."
"Very good."
Within microts, the squad had disappeared through the door and down the corridor at a fast march. Their heavy boot steps echoed hollowly in the emptiness. Aeryn stood for a moment, listening to the sounds fade, and then turned to the Pilot.
"Is there anything I can do to help you or Moya before I begin my search?" she asked.
Pilot's eyes met hers, protruding forward in surprise. The huge head cocked to one side, considering. "I do not believe I have ever heard a Peacekeeper ask me such a thing."
Aeryn thought she ought to explain. "I was aboard Moya briefly, Pilot, just after she escaped. I was the Prowler pilot you dragged through starburst."
"I recall the incident, though I do not believe we were ever introduced."
"Any one of you--the prisoners, you, or even Moya herself--could have argued for killing me. I truly expected someone to try, out of revenge for their captivity. And yet I was not mistreated in any way. You treated me with honor, and so the least I can do is show some compassion in return."
"I thought Peacekeepers abhorred compassion. A sign of weakness."
"They do. I did. But I am learning to appreciate the hidden values of some things."
Pilot nodded. "I see," he said, though his tone indicated he was still puzzled. "Well, I thank you, Officer Sun, but there is little you alone can do. Once the techs arrive, however, their assistance would be appreciated."
Aeryn nodded and walked out of the den. As she began her assigned survey, she took a microt to contact the Intruder and request the addition of Gilina Renaez and John Crichton to the crew coming over. Neither one had much experience with biomechanoid technology, but she knew they could learn quickly. And they both had one advantage over the other techs: neither one would have any objections to taking their instructions from a Pilot.
By the time the techs arrived at the pressure hatchway, Aeryn had finished searching the cell levels, and had located the chambers used by the three fugitives. There were no clues as to their destinations; the departures appeared to have been abrupt and without planning. Most if not all of their possessions were still here, and from what she remembered of them, the Hynerian especially would not have abandoned his jewels except under extreme duress.
After setting the rest of the techs to work on the analysis Crais had requested, Aeryn introduced John and Gilina to Pilot. John seemed fascinated, as this was the most alien being he had so far encountered. He asked what had happened to the Pilot's arm. When Pilot explained the trade the fugitives had made for the maps, John's jaw dropped in shock.
Pilot waved his anger and concern away calmly. Moya was his priority; everything else was incidental. He asked them to go to Command and attempt to re-initialize some of her more basic functions from there, since Pilot's own controls were not working.
As they approached Command through what felt like metras of dark and silent corridors, the faint odor Aeryn had noted earlier grew stronger. Then the door swung open, and one of the mysteries of this abandoned ship was solved.
"Augh!" John cried in disgust as the foul stench assaulted his nose. But worse than the smell was what they could see as the door opened before them.
The last time he'd been here, herded from his module by a pissed-off yellow robot, he'd watched one of the aliens tear a console apart with his bare hands. From the looks of things, it appeared something similar had happened to the room's last occupant.
The Hynerian's throne sled had been smashed against a wall and now lay on the floor, broken in half. The shattered machine provided the best identification of the victim; the Hynerian himself had been torn to pieces. Green gore and dried blood marred every surface.
John swallowed convulsively against his sudden attack of nausea. "Wh-what happened here?" he asked.
Aeryn was surveying the scene dispassionately, noting details that John was doing his best not to look at too closely. "Luxan hyper-rage," she finally deduced with confidence. "The Hynerian must have provoked it, either when he erased the other two maps or when he crippled their only source of transportation. Perhaps the two incidents combined pushed the Luxan over the edge."
"Hyper-rage? Now that sounds ugly...."
"Even at their best, Luxans are prone to violent fits of temper," Aeryn explained. John recalled hanging by the throat from the tentacled alien's hand, and couldn't argue with that assessment. Aeryn continued, "It actually amazes me that he did not kill the Hynerian sooner; the relationship seemed strained even when we were aboard. When sufficiently provoked, however, a Luxan loses all self-control and enters a state of mindless violence. Only in such a state would he have done this much damage to his victim."
"Shit," John breathed. "I'm sure glad I didn't end up stuck on this boat with that kind of creature. I wouldn't have lasted a week. Living among Peacekeepers is no picnic, but at least they usually just knock me out when they get pissed at me."
"The Luxans are formidable warriors," Aeryn pointed out, as if defending the species' violent tendencies.
"Oh, I'm sure. So were the Berserkers. Not my idea of a pleasant next-door neighbor, though."
It was late in the shift by the time the techs reported to Aeryn that they were finished with their analyses, but needed to consult with Lt. Larell, the command carrier's Leviathan specialist, for a more complete assessment. She escorted them back to the Intruder, assuring them she would deliver their report, and their request, to Lt. Crais.
John and Gilina still hadn't finished with all of Pilot's requested tasks, so Aeryn left them behind to keep working. And if, in the course of their work, the two of them managed to find time to take advantage of their isolation and freedom from prying eyes, well....
Aeryn had to repress a smile. There would be few such chances once they returned to the carrier.
A query to the ship's computer showed that Crais' Marauder was just now returning, on fast approach to the docking bay. Wanting to get her report out of the way quickly, Aeryn went to meet him there.
She stood at parade rest near the treblin side bulkhead and watched as the returning Marauder swooped into the hangar bay and touched down. Nothing happened for nearly a hundred microts, which was odd. Typically, the crew would have disembarked almost immediately.
Then a team of med techs hurried into the hangar and boarded the Marauder, looking serious.
Injuries? Aeryn hadn't expected Crais to find anything down on the station, and truth to tell, she didn't think he had expected anything either. It was simply a duty he had to fulfill so he could say he'd done his best.
Two commandos finally stumbled from the Marauder, the usual swagger of the Marauder crews totally absent. Both were liberally splattered with dried blood, though neither seemed injured. They staggered a few steps, then one sank to the floor and just sat with a look of shock and horror on his face. The other, probably the pilot officer, knelt down at his side. Her movements were more controlled but her expression no less haunted.
Heavy steps behind her caused Aeryn to turn, just in time to see Lt. Reljik, Crais' second-in-command for this mission, march through the hatchway.
"What the frell is going on?" he shouted to no one in particular. Receiving no response, he strode over to the two commandos and snapped, "On your feet, soldiers! Review stance!"
The female officer gazed vaguely up at Reljik, as if only partially aware of his voice, but then the sharp commands seemed to penetrate her confusion. She staggered to her feet, dragging her companion up with her, and managed to get them both into a rough approximation of the proper stance.
Aeryn hadn't encountered Reljik often in her cycles aboard the carrier, but knew his reputation quite well. As such, she expected him to berate the two further for the sloppy discipline, but he simply barked, "Report, soldier!"
The officer swallowed once, cleared her throat, then spoke in a voice still trembling with exhaustion and stress. "Sir. Our squad landed on the station with no resistance and began a standard pairs search pattern."
She recounted the details of a fruitless search, culminating in a distress call from Lt. Crais. Rushing to his aid, they arrived to find Crais' partner, Officer Hedron, severely wounded, and Crais himself gone. They determined through interrogation of Hedron and other witnesses that Lt. Crais had been captured by a local scientist named NamTar. Hedron claimed the creature had thrown him across the room without ever touching him.
"Sounds like his wits were addled by his injuries," Reljik scoffed.
"Yes sir, that's what we thought as well." The pilot looked more alert now as she continued. "It took us some time to track this NamTar to his laboratory. We broke in and found Lt. Crais unconscious, strapped into some kind of device. When we attempted to retrieve him, the creature NamTar appeared and simply waved its arm. Crewman Tivell flew into a wall. The impact broke her neck."
Reljik gestured for the woman to go on.
"Pulse fire was only marginally effective; the creature took a number of direct hits without falling, and seemed to regenerate almost instantly. All it did was make him angry; he waved his arm again, this time at Crewman Arna." The officer stopped speaking, as if the memory was not one she wished to revisit. Her fellow commando made a gagging sound.
Reljik was relentless, however. "Crewman Arna?" he prompted.
She swallowed, looking nauseated. "He was torn apart, sir. The creature never laid a hand on him, and he shredded into bits in front of our eyes."
Aeryn drew back half a step. They were Peacekeepers, both she and this traumatized officer, trained from birth to face violence and death without flinching. But the sheer brutal power of the creature she described was beyond anything Aeryn had ever come up against.
Reljik was older, and the veteran of a dozen horrific battles. He had the scars to prove it. He didn't lighten up on the officer one whit. "And then?"
"Sub-officer Norest managed to shoot the creature in the head while it was distracted, and that seemed to disable him for a time. Objects still flew around the room, but the power seemed unfocused. We pulled Lt. Crais out of the chair and retreated back to the Marauder."
"And Crais? You summoned a med team, so I assume he was injured."
The officer looked extremely uncomfortable. "Sir, he regained consciousness soon after reaching the Marauder, but he was acting...oddly. And we started to see signs of..." She trailed off.
"Of what?" Reljik asked impatiently.
"Of...contamination, sir."
At those words, Reljik did blanch. The med team appeared a moment later, carrying Lt. Crais, who was once again unconscious. His entire body, save his head, had been draped discretely in a thermal sheet.
Reljik moved to intercept them, heading directly for the still form on the gurney. One of the techs made a gesture as if to impede him, but Reljik simply shoved the man aside and yanked the covering from Lt. Crais' body.
A collective gasp went up all around as people caught sight of what the sheet had hidden. Heads turned and eyes were averted by the more squeamish.
Aeryn felt a shiver of disgust crawl up her own spine, but fought the impulse to look away. One entire side of Crais' torso was...changed. The skin had grown smooth and slick, turning a sickly purplish hue. His arm, too, was changing, the fingers fusing together with the same purplish growth. And just below the rib cage, his body had sprouted...something. Small and jointed, it almost looked like....
Aeryn bit her lip as she recognized what she was seeing. The tiny appendage on Crais' side was a perfect match for the regenerating arm of the Leviathan's Pilot. The limb that had been severed as payment for a scientist on the station, who had then double-crossed his customers with a worthless and treacherous data crystal.
Chances were good that this NamTar the officer spoke of was the same scientist. He'd done something with that Pilot's DNA, and he'd infected Crais with the results.
A sudden movement pulled her eyes away from her commanding officer, just in time to see Lt. Reljik grab a pulse rifle from one of the commandos and advance on Crais.
Oh frell. Realizing what he was about to do, Aeryn broke away from the motionless stance that had kept her all but invisible to this point. "Lieutenant, wait!" she called out.
Reljik turned towards her, eyes narrowed and angry. "Are you questioning the actions of a superior officer, soldier?"
Aeryn couldn't help noticing that the rifle had turned with him and was now pointed unerringly at her midsection. "No sir," she said carefully. "I simply wished to remind the lieutenant of the possible consequences of this action."
The barrel of the rifle lowered a fraction. "What 'consequences'? He's been irreversibly contaminated. Immediate retirement is standard procedure."
"While I admire your unfailing grasp of procedure, sir," Aeryn said with a trace of sarcasm, "what you have perhaps not considered is the identity of the officer you were about to exercise it on."
"It's Lt. Crais. What the frell does that have to do with anything?"
"He is Captain Crais' brother. That relationship may mean nothing to you, Lt. Reljik, but trust me, it means a great deal to him. Do you truly wish to explain to the captain that you executed his brother without even attempting to discover if the contamination was reversible?"
Aeryn watched as the conundrum worked its way through Reljik's brain. He had been a lieutenant for most of his career, and would never rise any higher; one of those adequate, undistinguished officers who could quote you a regulation to support any action he wanted to take, but lacked the capacity for original thinking. The disgust he felt at Lt. Crais' condition was nearly palpable; he desperately wanted to kill him, to wipe away the stain in a manner that was both thorough and violent. In a situation like this, however, where the desired and 'proper' action would get him in trouble, he had trouble seeing alternatives.
"Don't you at least think it would be wise to consult with Captain Crais first?" she suggested, holding out an easy escape.
"Yes. Yes, of course. Take Lt. Crais to the med bay and put him in isolation. I will contact the captain. And there is to be no discussion of this outside this room, is that clear?"
Everyone nodded, murmuring, "Yes sir." Aeryn knew, as they all did--as probably even Reljik did--that orders or no, the story would make its way to every member of the crew before the next shift started.
John poked his head inside the dank and depressing cell that passed for a medical isolation ward. Tauvo lay on a cot, one leg hanging off at an awkward angle as if he'd been dumped in a hurry.
Glancing back down the hall, John could see the med techs flitting nervously about their work, staying as far from this room as they could. None of them would even look this direction if they could help it. Dropping Crais like a hot potato was probably exactly what they'd done. The looks on the faces, the whispers in the corridors--everyone was treating their commander like a leper.
John ducked into the room, shaking his head. Gently, carefully, he rearranged the unconscious patient into a more comfortable position. Tauvo was shivering violently. John got a blanket, and as he began pulling it over Tauvo's shoulders, he glanced up to see the man's bleary eyes staring back at him.
"Hey, bro!" John greeted jovially. Seeing Tauvo wince at the sound, he continued in a much softer voice. "How're you feelin'?"
"H-how does it look like I'm f-feeling, human?" Tauvo replied petulantly through chattering teeth.
John cocked his head, thinking about how to respond, and opted for brutal honesty. "Frankly, sir, you look like crap."
Tauvo almost smiled. "That sounds...accurate. What the frell happened?"
John explained the events down on the station that Aeryn had relayed to him, including her speculations about the Pilot's missing arm and the alien scientist.
Tauvo listened to John's synopsis quietly, then pulled the blanket down off his body and looked at himself for the first time. His face remained impassive, but John could see the faint lines of stress around his eyes as the struggle to maintain that outer calm grew more difficult.
"Why...am I still alive?" he finally asked with forced calm.
"Because Aeryn put the fear of God into your XO; he's gone off to comm your brother for instructions."
Tauvo closed his eyes, wincing. Whether the pain was physical or emotional, John couldn't tell. "Bialar...will try to protect me, but...he can do nothing. Peacekeepers won't tolerate such contamination.... Can barely stand to look...at myself."
Tauvo curled up then, overcome by a spasm of pain, and John placed a hand on his shoulder. He could have chided Tauvo for his Sebacean chauvinism, but didn't have the heart. Having his body slowly mutate into another species would freak John out, too. "We'll fix it," he assured Crais. "The captain will come up with something--"
"Crichton," called a voice suddenly through his comms.
"Yeah, Aeryn?" he replied without thinking, then winced. "I mean, yes Officer Sun?" They'd been back among the Peacekeepers for over a week, but he still hadn't managed to break the overly-familiar habit of addressing her by name.
"Where are you?"
"Med bay, isolation ward. Visiting Crais. Why?"
"Good. Get him up and out of there."
"What? Why? He's not really in any condition to be wandering around right now."
"I don't like the sound of some of the talk I'm hearing. The tension on this ship is rising as the stories spread and get more insane. It could break into full blown paranoia at any microt."
"Can't you get security to put a guard on him or something, protect him? He's their commanding officer!"
"Security isn't responding, and neither is Lt. Reljik. I think he knows, and is planning to let it happen. It would solve his dilemma nicely, and he wouldn't get blamed for it. He probably hasn't even called the captain, hoping his 'problem' will simply disappear."
John had Tauvo's arm over his shoulder and was wrestling the man to his feet before Aeryn finished speaking. Mob mentality, Peacekeeper style. Nothing more dangerous than a bunch of frightened people crowded into a confined space. Aeryn was right; they needed to get Tauvo away before he got lynched.
He looked down and frowned. The lightweight clothes the med techs provided their patients were orders of magnitude better than the standard Earth-issue hospital gowns John remembered with loathing, but they still did little to conceal the changes overtaking Tauvo's body.
"You want me to march him through the corridors looking like this?" he asked.
There was a pause. Hadn't thought of that, had you, Ms. Sun?
"Lt. Crais?" Aeryn called.
"I was wondering...when you were going to get around to...asking for my input...Officer Sun," he gasped out. The tone was stern, but John could see the faint glimmer of amusement through the pain.
"I apologize for my abruptness, sir, but I felt we were pressed for time. Are you able?"
"With Crichton's assistance...yes. Your recommendation?" Tauvo was focusing all his attention on the external situation, John saw, probably in a desperate effort to not think about his own condition.
"I suggest you direct him to the maintenance tunnels, sir. They are less populated, and you'll likely only encounter techs. I judge them a lesser risk. I will meet you at the docking port to the Leviathan."
"You're planning to hide him on Moya?" John asked.
"It's probably the last place they'd think to look, and she's an independent vessel, outside their control. Besides--"
There was a muffled sound of angry shouting, from outside the med bay. John cut off Aeryn's explanation, saying, "We've got trouble, Aeryn, gotta run. Which way, Crais?"
"No."
"Dammit, Aeryn, we've got to do something. He's getting worse, and no one else is lifting a finger to help. His own crew has given up on him, but I won't."
"And what do you think you can do, Crichton? You're a tech--no, not even that--and you've never even fired a weapon!"
"Fine, I'm an inferior being with no redeeming qualities. But I have two hands and a brain, and I can not just sit around and watch a man suffer like this." He clenched his hands and looked down at the sleeping Sebacean. The massive physical changes Tauvo was going through were putting incredible stress on his system, and from what little he'd said during his lucid periods, the mental and psychological changes were becoming equally traumatic as his thought processes blazed out of control.
Two Pilot arms sprouted from Tauvo's chest, each now half the length of his original limbs. His own arms were taking on the same appearance, with his hands now fully converted into three-fingered claws.
"What is he to you that you're so determined to risk getting injured or killed in this insane quest?" Aeryn asked.
John sighed. For all the changes he'd seen in her lately, Aeryn was still very much a product of her upbringing. Instead of answering directly, he threw questions back at her. "What were you to me, Aeryn, when I pulled you out of that fire on the Zelbinion? What were you when you were paralyzed and I goaded you into fighting back? What were you when that wormhole appeared and I took you to my home world rather than abandon you?"
Aeryn just shook her head, but he could see her mind working, analyzing.
"You were a shipmate, Aeryn, a comrade. You were someone I had come to respect. Someone I had even started to consider a friend. Well, the same is true of Lt. Crais here. I hope I'd try to help anyone who was suffering like he is, but Tauvo is someone I'd like to call friend someday. I have to help him."
"Fine. Have you given any thought to how we're going to convince a being as powerful as this NamTar to give us a cure for whatever he's done?"
"I'm hoping to avoid him, actually. Tauvo said there was someone else in the lab while he was there, a woman who seemed to be NamTar's assistant. I want to find her. With a bit of persuasion, maybe we can convince her to help us. Just let me do the talking."
"And when that doesn't work?" she asked doubtfully.
"O ye of little faith," John scoffed. "Then we go to Plan B."
"Which is?"
"We improvise."
Aeryn could feel John's eyes tracking her every movement as she piloted the transport pod down to the station. It made her teeth itch. To distract him, she pulled out the extra pulse pistol she'd packed in her bag and tossed it to him.
"What's this?" he asked, surprised.
"It's a gun."
Crichton snorted. "I know that, Aeryn. But why? I'm not a soldier; I didn't think you'd trust me with a weapon."
"I don't. It's a bad idea. Not to mention completely against regulations. But going into a situation like this, you may need it."
"Aeryn, as you so tactfully pointed out, I've never fired one of these before. Can you give me the fifteen-microt tutorial?"
"You point it at someone and pull the trigger, Crichton. How hard is that to comprehend?"
"Give me a break, Officer Sun, this is my first ray-gun. I just don't want to accidentally blow my hand off or something. And it might be a good idea if I knew how to reload it."
"It's not a 'rae-jun', Crichton, it's a standard-issue pulse pistol. I suppose you might accidentally overload the pulse chamber, but that's a rare mistake, even for a first-year cadet. Just don't keep pressure on the trigger for more than three microts without firing. As for reloading, I doubt that will be necessary. The chakan oil cartridge is full, and the weapon gets approximately six hundred shots on a cartridge."
"Wow. And I thought the six shooters in old westerns went a long time without reloading."
Aeryn ignored that nonsensical statement with the ease of long practice. One of these days, she thought, I'll sit this alien down and make him explain everything he's ever said that made no sense.
After they touched down, finding NamTar's assistant turned out to be easier than Aeryn expected. They made their way to the refreshment house where Tauvo had been ambushed. Dozens of locals were there, huddled in small groups. One of them matched the description Crais had given.
Aeryn froze in the doorway, still holding the curtain that divided the bar from the corridor outside. Every single being in the room showed signs of...she didn't know what to call it. Mutation? Mutilation? It looked like a Peacekeeper propaganda vid on the evils of genetic contamination, the horrors of mixing species. And yet these were not hybrids, not natural products of recombination, of that she was certain. They looked like...Lt. Crais, only different.
A pall of fear, dulled by weariness but still pervasive, hung over the crowd. NamTar, she thought. Crais is not his first victim. He must have been preying on the residents of this station for a long time.
NamTar's assistant was not the worst looking of the malformed creatures here, but she was close. One hand was grossly enlarged, probably ten times its original size, and her skull was lumpy and asymmetrical.
Crichton approached her, projecting his best friendly, non-threatening attitude. Aeryn stood nearby, watching his back and keeping an eye out for trouble. Both of them were wearing long cloaks to disguise their uniforms, but as two pure-looking Sebaceans (or close enough) in this crowd of twisted modifications, she doubted they were fooling anybody.
"Hey there," she heard Crichton say by way of introduction. "Could we have a few words with you?"
The woman twitched at the contact when the human touched her shoulder. She turned sharply, her reflexes heightened by long-standing paranoia. With one look at Crichton's Sebacean features, then at Aeryn standing not far behind, the malformed woman cringed away. "I can't... Stay away from me... I did nothing to that man," she babbled half-incoherently, backing away towards the far wall.
"Hey," John called, holding out his hand in a quelling gesture. "It's okay. We're not here to harm you, we just want to talk."
"Talk? Peacekeepers don't talk. Just go away, back to your ship, before he finds out you're here. He's angry; I've never seen him so enraged. If he sees you, I don't know what he'll do."
"Thanks for the warning, but we're not leaving just yet. And the best way to prove you weren't a part of what this NamTar did to our friend would be to help us."
"I can't! He'd know, he always knows! Please, you have to leave, before it's too--"
There was a rustle of fabric from the doorway, and a hush fell over the room. Before Aeryn could turn, however, she felt an incredibly strong force pull her backward, and a large, clawed hand close around her throat. Her instincts and training all urged her to fight back, but her body was not responding to her brain's signals. She was paralyzed, and this time, it wasn't just her legs.
John saw the alien woman's eyes widen in shock and turned to follow her gaze, just in time to see a huge, Satanic-looking figure grasp Aeryn around the throat. Her eyes were panicked, but for some reason she wasn't fighting back.
He took a step towards her captor, reaching awkwardly for the pistol, only to find himself flying through the air at a wave of the creature's free hand. The impact of his fall was softened by the crowd of frightened patrons he crashed into. The resulting tangle of limbs and bodies slowed down his attempts to regain his feet.
"Please do not attempt to harm me again, Peacekeeper," the creature said in an oily, patronizing voice. "The consequences to your comrade would be...unfortunate."
John could see small rivulets of blood on Aeryn's neck where NamTar's claws--he assumed this had to be NamTar--had already broken the skin. He got to his feet slowly, keeping his hand well away from the pistol still strapped to his thigh.
"You have caused me some slight inconvenience," NamTar continued, the steel behind the voice belying the implied triviality of the offense. "The one you stole from me showed promise of success, where all my past experiments met only with failure. Return him to me, and I will release the woman unharmed. Refuse, and I will simply repeat the experiment with my newest...volunteer." He nodded at Aeryn's dark head, still firmly in his grip.
"Kornata," he addressed the cowering figure behind John. "See that he retrieves my prize within an arn, and return to the laboratory with it undamaged. The transformation should be nearing completion by then."
John was stunned. The situation had gone from bad to impossible in fourteen seconds flat. For a few heartbeats, his mind just gibbered and whirled in useless circles. Then he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and everything snapped back into focus. The woman, Kornata, was edging towards the door, preparing to make a break for it.
Time for Plan B.
Like a striking viper, John's hand shot out and grabbed Kornata by the arm. "Hell no, lady, you're not goin' anywhere." Turning, he addressed NamTar, spinning a line of his finest B.S. "Fine. Crais is pretty much a loss anyway, scheduled for immediate execution. I'll make the trade. Better make it two arns, though; he's in Peacekeeper custody, and it could take me a bit of time to bust him out."
NamTar nodded. "Very well, two arns, but no longer. Kornata will direct you to my laboratory." With that, the huge creature turned and ducked through the door, still dragging Aeryn by the throat as she stumbled to keep up.
John turned to Kornata, drawing the pistol Aeryn had given him and trying to grip it like he knew what he was doing. Using the memory of every Clint Eastwood film he'd ever seen, he tried to put some menace into his voice. "I was asking nicely before, but not this time. You've got two choices, lady. You either help me help my friends, or I turn you over to the Peacekeepers up there and tell them you were the one who contaminated their commanding officer. I don't even want to think about what they'll do to you."
The woman seemed to deflate, all resistance melting out of her. "I wish I could help, but I don't know what you think I can do. He's just too powerful. If I'm not back in two arns with the Peacekeeper, he'll just use your friend."
"Fine, time's a-wasting, let's go." Dragging her from the refreshment house without releasing her arm or re-holstering the pistol, he started back for the transport pod. "What the hell is the point of this 'experiment', anyway?" he asked as they walked.
"He wants to isolate the Pilot species' multi-tasking abilities. He's been trying, ever since he got his hands on the DNA, but none of the other subjects transformed successfully. He's desperate, which is why he risked taking that Sebacean."
"But why? What the hell is so important that he'd risk pissing off an entire Peacekeeper warship?"
"Because it's an ability he doesn't possess yet. He's grafted the best traits of a thousand different species onto himself, enhancing his size and intelligence and adding telekinetic and regenerative capabilities. No one on this station has escaped him; we've all been used to isolate the traits he wanted."
"And no one's tried to stop him?" John was aghast, unable to believe that one being could hold such power of fear over a population of hundreds.
"At first he just used our laboratory creatures for his work, and we did not see the danger. By the time we realized, he had grown too powerful. Anyone who challenged him died horribly."
"Damn. He's turned himself into a frickin' Superman, and we don't have any kryptonite."
Kornata turned to him and narrowed her eyes in confusion. "Krebdonide? What is that?"
John shook his head. "Sorry, just a story from my home world. A man with awesome powers, essentially invulnerable, but he had a single weakness. If he was exposed to a material called kryptonite, he lost his powers. It could even kill him. What?"
Kornata's expression had brightened at a sudden thought or inspiration while he was talking. It was the same expression he'd seen on his own face in the mirror, years before, when the first equations for the Farscape effect burst into his mind's eye while he was shaving.
"It might work," she whispered to herself, not really even seeing him anymore.
"What? What might work?" He shook her lightly to reclaim her attention.
"NamTar is a composite, just like his experimental subjects, which means his genetic structure is inherently unstable. If I could find the right formula, I could destabilize the construct and revert him to his original form. It would be your 'kryptonite'."
John nodded, hope stirring for the first time since Aeryn had been grabbed. He rushed across the spaceport tarmac to the transport pod, dragging Kornata along behind. "Can you do it in two arns? The Leviathan had a medical lab set up...."
"By the Delvian priest, yes; she's told me about her pharmacopoeia. I'm not certain I could do it so quickly, and certainly not alone. Is the Pilot still able to assist?"
John pushed Kornata up the steps and into the pod, clambering up behind her. "I'm not sure. Moya was pretty well brain-wiped by NamTar's crystal, and Pilot's just barely holding it together. I helped out a bit yesterday, restoring the comms and rebooting the DRDs, but he still doesn't have access to much of the ship. We'll ask, though; can't hurt. And maybe I can get Gilina to give you a hand. She's a tech, though biology and genetics aren't her specialty."
Sliding into the driver's seat, John stared at the unfamiliar instruments. He'd watched Aeryn fly it down, but could he remember enough? Tentatively, he reached out to grasp the controls.
Flying back up to Moya had taken twice as long as the trip down. John had grown more and more frustrated with each wrong turn and thruster misfire, begrudging every microt lost to his clumsy flying, and nearly flubbing the landing completely in his impatience. The pod landed hard, gouging a deep scar into the hangar bay's deck plating and coming within inches of impacting the back wall when he tried to come in too fast. Ouch, was all he could think, wincing in sympathy for the sentient ship. Pilot's not going to be happy with me for that one. Wish I'd thought to fix the docking web before we left.
He was right about that, at least; Pilot was in a very bad mood when they arrived in the den, scolding John roundly for causing the ship such pain. When he finally calmed down enough to listen to Kornata's requests for help, Pilot was reluctant to help a Peacekeeper for any reason. But when John pointed out that they were actually trying to destroy the creature who had crippled Moya, suddenly Pilot was all eagerness.
The next two arns were a frenzy of desperate activity. Kornata took over the maintenance bay laboratory, with Gilina and Pilot assisting. When they needed data that Moya's data spools could no longer provide, Gilina volunteered to sneak back aboard the Intruder and tap into the computer grid.
John worried that Lt. Reljik might take some action to thwart them; there was no way the crew on the Intruder could remain unaware that the Leviathan was the source of some activity, with the departure and subsequent limping return of the transport pod, nor that their commanding officer, a soldier, and a tech were missing from the duty roster. But according to Gilina, the crew had descended into a haze of nervous confusion, having received no orders or direction from their new commander. Reljik was probably just sulking in his quarters, John figured, trying to figure out what was going on and how he was going to explain all this to Captain Crais without losing his position. Or his head. But whatever the reasons, John was just grateful that the Great God Murphy had chosen to take a powder, just this once.
The hardest task, from John's perspective at least, was explaining to a suffering and frightened Lt. Crais that he would have to suffer and fear for a while longer. If they showed up at NamTar's lab with Tauvo already cured, the creature would know something was up and they'd never get near him.
Crais, however, didn't want to hear any of it. He pleaded, explained how his mind was running in a thousand directions at once, how he felt himself drowning in the sea of overlapping and conflicting thoughts. He even tried ordering John to give him the serum as soon as Kornata had it ready.
John just snorted humorlessly at that. "Bro, I'm sorry, but I'm not one of your tin soldiers, and even if I were, you're in a poor position to give orders. Aeryn risked herself to get you the help you needed, and I am not going to abandon her, any more than I was willing to abandon you. We'll get you the serum as soon as we can, but not until everyone is safe and NamTar is no longer a threat.
"If this works, you're welcome to charge me with insubordination after we get you back in command of your ship."
Tauvo glared blearily at John from beneath the heavy, purplish brow ridges that had formed over his eyes. "And when it doesn't work?" he asked, his enunciation suffering due to the changed arrangement of teeth and tongue. "NamTar believes you to be a Peacekeeper. He will expect treachery."
John shrugged nonchalantly, projecting his best attitude of fatalistic confidence. "If it doesn't work, we'll probably all be dead, and you can say 'I told you so' on the flip side. But don't worry about it, we'll be fine.
"I've got a plan."
For Aeryn Sun, the two arns of waiting dragged on interminably. Chained to a wall in the dark and fetid alcove where NamTar kept his failed experiments, she couldn't help but look around at the pathetic, distorted creatures and wonder if she was looking at her own fate.
Most of her companions here in the shadows were so grossly deformed that she couldn't even tell what species they had originally belonged to. They whimpered--and occasionally screamed--almost constantly in their pain and misery.
One voice however, from deeper in the alcove, was different. It chanted softly, the words inaudible but the tone serene. It was a calming voice, which seemed to warm the chill and provide comfort.
Aeryn listened, all the while wondering. Would John Crichton accede to NamTar's demand and trade Lt. Crais for her freedom? He'd said so, but those were only words. Once he gave it some thought, would he save the higher-ranked officer and write her off as a loss, as any right-thinking Peacekeeper should?
He wasn't a Peacekeeper, of that she was well aware. The knowledge, however, was not enough to tell her which option he would choose in this situation. If it were Gilina sitting here, she was fairly sure his emotional attachment to the tech would lead him to make the trade. But her own position in the human's strange hierarchy of importance was less clear, as was Lt. Crais'. Which one would he choose to save, at the expense of the other?
She tugged once again to on the manacles that held her, trying to break them, or loosen their moorings. The best thing for everyone would be if she could get free on her own, save Crichton from having to make that decision at all. But the chains held firmly.
The chanting from the corner faded away to silence. Aeryn's eyes had now sufficiently adjusted to the dimness to make out a bipedal figure sitting there, one wrist shackled to the wall. The head was hairless, though it showed some small protrusions spread evenly over the surface. She couldn't see clearly enough to determine the race, nor the extent of NamTar's modification, though this figure at least did not have the multiple arms and greatly enlarged head of the others infected with the Pilot DNA.
The head lifted, and she could sense unseen eyes peering back at her. "Who is there?" asked a feminine voice.
"Officer Aeryn Sun," she replied, by rote, though she chose to skip the recitation of her company and regimental affiliations.
"Peacekeeper," the woman in the corner said, chin lifting in surprise.
"Who are you?" Aeryn asked in return.
"I am Pa'u Zotah Zhaan."
"Ah. The Delvian prisoner. From Moya." The shape looked right, except for the small bumps on her head. In the darkness, she couldn't discern any details.
"You know Moya?"
"I was aboard her less than an arn ago," Aeryn confirmed. "How did you end up here?"
"When NamTar's crystal wiped Moya's memory, we were enraged. D'Argo unleashed his anger on Rygel, but I knew the true source of the evil was here, on this station. I came to seek revenge, but the creature was too powerful. He tried to use me, injected me with Pilot's DNA. Fortunately, or unfortunately, the attempt to meld genetic material from flora and fauna species proved less than successful. He keeps me here, along with all his other surviving failures, to study. I offer them what comfort I can, as is my duty as a priest. But please, child, how are Moya and Pilot?"
Aeryn shook her head. "Not well, from what we were able to determine. Most of the Leviathan's systems were shut down or blown out by the crystal's data wipe. The techs weren't terribly optimistic about the prospects for rehabilitation." She caught herself gazing at the crimson drape over the entrance to the lab. Would Crichton come? Should she even want him to, if it meant the betrayal of her superior?
"I should never have left them," said the Delvian quietly. "My duty was to aid, not avenge them. I realize that now, though at the time my anger overwhelmed me."
"What happened to the Luxan?" Aeryn asked, curious.
"I don't know," Zhaan replied wistfully. "I imagine D'Argo felt some remorse when he woke from his hyper-rage and realized what he'd done. Perhaps he took one of Moya's transport pods and fled; I can only hope he did not run afoul of NamTar like I did."
"We've seen no sign of him," Aeryn assured her. She glanced at the curtain again.
"Are you waiting for someone, child?" the priest asked.
She shrugged. "I don't know," she admitted.
Time passed and conversation died. Small talk wasn't really appealing when you were being held prisoner by a sadistic alien megalomaniac, waiting for rescue that would likely never come. Hezmana, Crichton probably hadn't even made it off the station; he didn't know how to fly a transport pod.
After what seemed an eternity, but was probably closer to the two arns specified, NamTar's gangling figure ducked gracefully through the curtain and into the alcove. Several of the creatures chained along the walls let out panicked squeals, voicing their terror at his presence.
"It seems, my dear," NamTar said cheerfully, "that your companion has chosen to abandon you."
Aeryn felt her stomach drop as hope faded. Crichton had chosen Crais. Or perhaps the choice had been taken from him by someone else, like Reljik. She would probably never know.
"It is a nuisance to have to repeat the procedure, but you should feel honored. You are going to participate in a grand experiment, aid in the progression of--"
A loud voice rang out in the room behind him. "Hey, Dr. Mengele! Sorry I'm late, traffic was a bitch, but I brought you your lab rat."
Crichton.
NamTar flew through the curtain almost before Crichton finished speaking. Aeryn strained to hear, wishing she could see what was going on.
"You were nearly too late, Peacekeeper," NamTar said without preamble. "Perhaps I should keep both of my prizes, as the requirements were not adhered to."
"I think not," Crichton drawled, imitating a Peacekeeper accent.
"Kornata, the final stage serum is nearly complete. Your assistance is required."
"Where's Officer Sun?" Crichton's voice broke in.
NamTar must have simply pointed, because a moment later Crichton blew into the alcove in a rush, the curtain flying wildly in his wake. The sight of so many captive wretches gave him pause for a few microts, but then he seemed to shake it off and knelt down beside her. "You okay, Aeryn?" he asked.
"Fine, Crichton. You should not have made the trade. Lieutenant Crais is far more valuable--"
"Shh," he hissed, placing a finger on her lips. "Don't worry so much. I've got a plan."
Oh frell. The human had a plan. They were all dead.
John saw the bleak expression cross Aeryn's face and protested. "Hey, do not give me that look!"
"What look?"
"The 'poor deficient human' look, the one that says nothing I thought of could possibly work. Kornata's got a serum that'll revert everyone back to their original forms...including NamTar."
"Human?" said a voice tentatively from the dark corner behind him. "I remember that word. The Sebacean who wasn't."
John turned, peering into the gloom but unable to see anything. "Who's that?"
Aeryn said, "You remember Zhaan, the Delvian prisoner from Moya?"
"The blue lady?"
A soft chuckle wafted out of the darkness. "I am surprised that you remember me."
"It's not a day I'm likely to forget," John pointed out. "I remember you as the one person I met aboard Moya who didn't hit me, spit on me, or knock me unconscious. Thank you."
There was a thoughtful silence, and then, "You say you have a cure for what has been done? You can restore everyone to their former selves?"
John chewed on his lower lip nervously. "We hope so. First we have to get rid of NamTar, though."
"If there is any way I can be of assistance--"
"Nah," John replied. "You just sit tight. We'll get it done." He fumbled at Aeryn's shackles for a moment, before a whispered suggestion led him to the release mechanism.
Grabbing her elbow, he ducked back out into the main lab, to find NamTar circling around Crais like a vulture. Tauvo was standing, as best he could, maintaining the most rigid emotional control. Out of the corner of his eye, John could see Kornata bustling about with the beakers and syringes, staying quiet and inconspicuous. John's job was to see to it that she remain unnoticed.
"If you are planning to disturb my work," NamTar said casually, not looking up from his examination, "I must warn you that I do not have time to waste in pointless bickering. I suggest you take what you have won and go."
John raised his hands in innocent protest. "Hey, I'm not gonna give you any trouble; I've got what I came for, and everybody's happy. Even Lt. Reljik's satisfied: he can truthfully say he made a good effort to reverse his CO's contamination, and now he gets to stay in command and doesn't have to deal with this.
"I'm just kind of curious. As something of a scientist myself, I've been trying to figure out what the point of all this is. What's the point of making a Pilot hybrid? What does it get you?"
"Why, nothing less than the next step of the journey of intelligent life towards perfection," NamTar gloated. "By isolating the Pilot's multitasking capabilities, I will experience a level of mental processing far beyond any other race."
John tilted his head in feigned curiosity; he already knew most of this from talking to Kornata, but didn't want NamTar to know he'd learned so much. When he'd been thinking of how to keep NamTar distracted, his first impulse had been to attack him on moral grounds, keep him on the defensive for his experimentation on sentient beings. But with the visions of the false Earth still fresh in his mind, recalling how the humans constructed from his own memories had treated the first alien to fall into their clutches, he sadly realized he didn't have much of a moral high ground to stand on.
So, he decided, if you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bull.
"'Perfection'? Scientifically speaking, that's a meaningless term," he pointed out in a challenging tone.
"'Meaningless'?" NamTar exclaimed, looking affronted.
Okay, Johnnie-boy, he thought, you got what you were after, his full and undivided attention. Now what are you going to do with it? "Sure," he said, as if it was obvious. "It's a completely subjective concept, the definition depending entirely on the desires of the individual. For example, when you say you're striving for perfection, what exactly are you referring to?"
"Strength. Intelligence. Power."
"That's it? As I said, totally subjective. What about wisdom? Purpose? Compassion? Loyalty? Love?"
NamTar reared back like a shying horse. "You consider such drivel important?" he asked.
"Sure," John said, then dismissed that topic with a wave of his hand. "Those are just examples. Some societies value honor above everything, while others stress inner peace and enlightenment as the ultimate achievement. My point is that 'perfection', like 'infinity', is an unrealistic goal. You can never reach it, because you can always imagine something bigger or better.
"Besides," he continued, pacing around the alien scientist and drawing his eyes along with him, "even if you ultimately manage to reach something you consider 'perfection', what then? What would you do with it once you had it?"
This question seemed to give the alien pause; he did not offer any immediate reply.
Unfortunately, Kornata chose that quiet moment to sneak up behind NamTar with a syringe. Whether it was an unconscious flicker of his eye, or simply NamTar's preternatural hearing that detected the woman's nervous respiration, John would never know. One moment everything was going according to plan, and the next NamTar raised a clawed hand, still looking at John, and Kornata was flying across the lab into a wall. The syringe flew out of her hand and skittered away.
"You sought to trick me, Peacekeeper? You thought, perhaps, that I did not expect this?" The voice was both smooth and deadly cold.
John was stunned; his careful planning had fallen to pieces so quickly. He reached to draw the pulse pistol that still rode on his thigh, but only got as far as touching the release before his muscles stopped responding and he found himself frozen in place.
"Your puny weapon is no threat to me, but you might damage important equipment. This I cannot allow."
Aeryn, though she had no knowledge of the details of John's plan, apparently sensed the importance of Kornata's syringe and dove for it. Unfortunately, she too succumbed to NamTar's psychic paralysis in mid-lunge, and ended up crashing to the floor in a painful-sounding tumble. Her hand struck the syringe and sent it skidding even further across the room until it disappeared under the crimson drapery and into the darkness of the dungeon alcove.
NamTar padded slowly around the room, surveying his four immobile captives. Two lay sprawled on the floor like discarded rag dolls, while the others stood frozen. "Pitiful specimens," he scoffed. "I was willing to let you leave in peace, in return for my prize. But since you have so kindly 'volunteered,' I believe I can find a use for two more Sebaceans in my research."
"Damn it, NamTar," John gritted out through clenched teeth, "do you really thing you can take on an entire Peacekeeper warship? They'll blow you and your precious research into micro meteors!"
"I highly doubt that," the scientist replied, dismissing the possibility with a wave of his clawed hand. He was still circling the room like a hungry vulture. "An attack on an unarmed, civilian commerce station such as this, here in the Uncharted Territories so far from Peacekeeper jurisdiction, would attract all sorts of undue attention to their activities in this region. A few crewmen here and there would probably rank as acceptable losses to maintain their secrecy and access to these areas."
"Maybe you'd be right, Einstein," John replied, more confidently, "if we were just your average bunch of grots. But one of your 'acceptable losses' is the brother of a command carrier captain. Captain Crais finds out you've been messing with his baby brother, and he'll be out here to kick your ass so--"
"RRAAARRRGGHHGRRR!!!"
The saurian roar of pain and surprise rang in the small space like a gunshot, cutting off John's threats. He couldn't see what had caused the outcry, since NamTar was behind him and he couldn't turn his head.
As the roar reached its peak, however, the induced catalepsy holding all of them in place disappeared like a switch being flipped. John stumbled, catching himself on a table as his body leapt forward, and turned around.
The great and terrible creature that had been NamTar was writhing on the floor, flesh melting and morphing faster than the eye could track, his roars of pain and betrayal becoming screams, and then high-pitched animal wails. In less than a dozen microts, the once-towering figure had shrunk into a tiny, rodent-like creature about the size of a groundhog, with long, gangling legs, huddled in the pile of metal and leather that had been the scientist's clothing.
John stumbled across the room to look down at this pathetic beast. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aeryn and Kornata getting slowly to their feet, and even Tauvo was shuffling over for a better look.
"What...? How...?" John fumbled for the right question, then spotted the answer. Sprawled on the floor, her body half-concealed by the crimson drape across the doorway, was the partially transformed figure of the Delvian woman John remembered meeting his first day here. Instead of the gorgeous blue he remembered, her skin was mottled with purple, looking like the worst case of bruising he'd ever seen. He scalp was erupting into a dozen small protrusions that looked like...flower buds? She gazed up at him with preternatural calm and opened her clenched left hand to reveal Kornata's syringe. Her right hand, which had been shackled to the wall inside, was shrunken and withered.
"You got him?" John asked, unnecessarily.
"Yes. You preoccupied him with thoughts of attack from above, and instead his demise came from below. I injected him in the foot as he walked by. May the Goddess forgive me, I even enjoyed it."
John looked at Aeryn, Tauvo, and Kornata, and then broke into relieved laughter.
Gasping for breath, he exclaimed, "I love it when a plan comes together!"
Aeryn and Tauvo glanced at each other, then at him. Then they just shook their heads, identical expressions of resignation on their faces, in spite of Tauvo's half-Pilot features.
"Whaaat?"
Two arns later, Aeryn stood by Tauvo Crais' side as the last hints of his transformation faded away, leaving behind a purely Sebacean, handsome physique once again.
Across the room, Crichton and Kornata were still doling out serum to the last of the station's hundreds of residents who had suffered at the hands of NamTar's scientific ambitions. NamTar himself, or the tiny creature he had now become, was huddled pathetically inside a cage in the corner, ignored and forgotten.
With the grace of age and inner peace, the Delvian woman, blue once again, with her legs restored to function and her self-shriveled hand healing slowly, ducked through the curtain from NamTar's dungeon, now empty of all but the unlucky few. Zhaan had insisted on blessing the final journey for those who did not survive the cure, whose original forms were too delicate or too old to live without their transformations. Crichton had expressed some guilt and regret at the losses, but Zhaan had pointed out that their suffering, at least, was over.
Gathering her tattered blue robes, with her shroud of dignity intact, the Delvian priest approached Lt. Crais. Crichton had found food for the half-starved inmates of the dungeon, and the hunger-induced buds were fading from her scalp. Her blue eyes showed no fear in facing this Peacekeeper before her.
"I presume," she said in her serene voice, "that you will be wanting to take me back into custody."
Crais paused, looking at her with an odd expression. After several microts, he replied, "Without your actions, we would all be prisoners of NamTar, or dead. If you should choose to leave now, I am in no condition to pursue you. I need never even mention that you were here in any of my reports."
The blue woman gave a quintessential Delvian gesture, both open hands skimming across her head and ending up clasped together between her breasts. "Compassion from a Peacekeeper; I would never have expected to see such a thing in my lifetime. Perhaps, indeed, I will not regret my decision after all. Officer Sun here tells me that the Leviathan Moya and her Pilot will be returned to Peacekeeper custody, and that you will attempt to rehabilitate them."
"That is true," Crais acknowledged.
"I offer to stay and become your prisoner once again, to complete my sentence for the crime I committed. In return, however, I would ask that I not be transferred to Terron Raa as previously scheduled. Allow me to remain aboard Moya. I am partly responsible for her current condition, and I wish to make amends by rendering what assistance I may with my skills as a healer. I can ease her pain, if nothing else."
"You would return willingly to Peacekeeper custody?" Crais voiced the question, but it echoed Aeryn's own thoughts. She had few illusions about the treatment of Peacekeeper prisoners; the job of guarding such criminals belonged to the lowest of the grots, those who were unfit for any other task. They tended to unleash their frustrations and cruelty on the aliens they were set to watch over, a practice that, while not officially sanctioned, was not discouraged either. For this woman to abandon her hard-won freedom and choose to return to that was almost incomprehensible.
"If I can help heal the gentle souls of Moya and Pilot, who were our friends and protectors throughout the trials of the past cycle, it will be my honor."
"If that is your wish," Crais nodded, "I will arrange it."
The Delvian nodded and turned away to join Crichton and Kornata. NamTar's erstwhile lab assistant had responded well to her own serum; her right hand was once again a normal size, and her features had evened out into the stocky, white-eyed, nearly Sebacean form of her native race.
Aeryn turned to Crais, looking down at the man curiously. "Sir, may I ask a question?"
He gazed up at her with a slight smile. "Officer Sun, you just helped save my life. I believe we can dispense with some of the formalities, at least in private. What do you wish to know?"
"Why did you offer to let the Delvian escape? Her recapture will ensure a positive reception for you back on the Intruder; without it, Reljik might have succeeded in claiming you were still contaminated."
"Possibly, though I think you rather underestimate my ability to put that drannit Reljik in his place. As for the Delvian...I have my own reasons for offering to release her. Just as I have my reasons for not reporting a conversation I overheard recently, about injuries and attempted desertion not mentioned in a certain officer's mission report."
It took a microt for the import of that statement to sink in. Then she recalled her conversation with Crichton just a few arns before, while they were both standing over a man they had assumed was asleep or unconscious. "You heard that?"
Crais smiled. "Yes. Don't worry, Officer Sun; I try not to make a habit of betraying people who have saved my life. It might discourage others from saving it in the future. From what little I overheard, it sounds as if you, Crichton, and Renaez had a much more interesting adventure these past few monens than your reports indicated. And there is far more to this 'human' than I had originally suspected. I'd like to hear the tale sometime, from all three of you. Off the record, of course."
Aeryn looked over at Crichton, who happened at that moment to be looking in their direction. She smiled. "There certainly is more to Crichton than meets the eye. I'm sure he'd be happy to tell you the story."
TBC...