Episode 8 - A Cavalry Of One
"That...is the radiant Aeryn Sun..." -- John Crichton
Officer Aeryn Sun, special Peacekeeper commando and Marauder pilot, was bored out of her mind. All alone on a ship that usually held anywhere from five to seven people, she had no one to talk to and few duties to keep her occupied. This morning, she'd found herself doing maintenance on the hetch drive, just because she knew how. Tech work might be officially beneath the dignity of a Peacekeeper officer, but it did keep the mind occupied. She'd have to remember to thank Renaez when the techs got back to the carrier.
Five days. Five frelling solar days of this, and she still had four more to go before she reached the convoy. She'd have welcomed even Crichton's stupid 'foot ball' game at this point.
A quiet beeping roused her from her stupor, and she nearly pounced on the communications station, grateful beyond reason for something--anything--that would alleviate the solitude and silence.
Glancing at the indicators, she paused for a microt in confusion. A secure channel? From the gammak base? Why would the base be contacting her?
Taking a seat, she activated the descrambling subroutines and opened the channel. There was no visual, which was odd, and even the voice signal was weak.
"Officer Sun? This is Gilina...do you read me? Oh, please answer--"
"Gilina?" Aeryn replied. "What the frell are you doing using secured communications? Do you have approval for this transmission?"
"No, I don't, and I don't care. Just be quiet and listen, please."
Aeryn sat back, shocked at the tech's intensity. She had never, even in the casual informality of their monens in the crippled Marauder, spoken to Aeryn in such a tone.
"John's been arrested," Gilina continued, sounding like she was fighting back tears. "The techs who were there said the chief scientist, Scorpius, accused him of being an imposter. I don't know if John saw or did something he shouldn't have, or if this Scorpius somehow figured out he wasn't Sebacean. He may think John's a spy. Please, we have to get him out of there!"
"When did this happen?" Aeryn asked, all thought of reprimands gone.
"Just a few arns ago. We were...he was going to meet me in my quarters after his shift, and he never showed up, so I went looking."
"Why call me? This is something you should have reported directly to Captain Crais."
"I can't. I've tapped into the communications system, but I can't use the main transmitter without them detecting my signal. The auxiliary system doesn't have the range to reach the captain; I could barely reach you."
"All right, I'll do what I can. Get off this channel, Gilina, before they detect the signal and drag you off to a cell, too. I'll contact the captain; maybe he'll be able to negotiate with this Scorpius for Crichton's release."
"Thank you, Aeryn," came the breathy reply. "Please hurry. I've heard some disturbing things about this Scorpius."
Aeryn wasted no time. The microt the comms channel closed, she opened another to the carrier.
"Control, this is Officer Aeryn Sun, aboard inbound Marauder transport Dekka Ten. I have an urgent message for Captain Crais."
There was no acknowledgement, just a beep. Standard procedure, to minimize unnecessary comms traffic and reduce the risk of interception. After about thirty microts, the holo-projector on her station flared to life. The face that greeted her, however, was not the captain's.
"Officer Sun," Lt. Braca greeted brusquely. He was Crais' third-in-command, and apparently it was his turn to command the nightwatch. "Captain Crais asked not to be disturbed; I will take your message and relay it to him when he arrives."
"With all due respect, Lt. Braca," Aeryn replied, "I believe the captain would want to hear my news immediately. It concerns Crewman Crichton's intelligence mission."
"I'm sorry, Sun, but the captain left strict instructions. Given the...circumstances, I would not care to violate that directive for anything less urgent than a Priority Red One communiqué from High Command."
Ah, Aeryn thought, hearing Braca's insinuation, Lt. Larell must be back from her latest mission aboard Moya. The leviathan specialist's involvement with her commanding officer was widely rumored, though never officially acknowledged.
If that was the case, then disturbing the captain right now, even with news of this importance, would only get her reassigned to waste extraction cleanup. Her news would have to wait until the daywatch.
She summarized the information she had received regarding Crichton's arrest for Braca, without specifying her source, and received his reassurances that he would pass along the message. They signed off, and Aeryn yawned.
Dealing with the carrier's nightwatch duty officer had reminded her that the hour was very late. Setting the proximity sensors to alert her if any objects approached too close to the Marauder, she headed for her bunk.
This was ridiculous.
Efficiency was one of the first principles of Peacekeeper life, in everything from battle and training to recreation and rest. Wasted time was dereliction of duty. Sleep was an unproductive but necessary activity, a need no geneticist had managed to breed out yet. As such, soldiers were trained to fall asleep quickly and awaken punctually, with as little time as possible wasted in restless contemplation.
So why, an arn after lying down on her bunk, was she still staring at the ceiling?
What of Crichton? whispered a silent, treacherous voice.
Well, what of him? There was nothing she could do for him, except what she'd already done in reporting his situation.
"I've heard some disturbing things about this Scorpius."
Gilina had said that. The real problem was, Aeryn had heard things, too. The induction of a hated Scarran, even a half-breed, into the Peacekeeper ranks had caused a lot of talk back when she was a young cadet, and rumors had continued to fly across space in hushed whispers ever since.
To think of Crichton--John--in that creature's hands....
Aeryn sat up suddenly and clambered to her feet with a frustrated growl. She stomped onto the command deck and looked around, but the silence that greeted her there was no more enlightening than the ceiling over her bunk had been.
Action. What she wanted--no, what she needed--was to do something. But without orders....
"To hell with your fucking orders...."
The voice was Crichton's, resonating in her memory. Monens ago, in a Marauder's command chamber much like this one.
If their positions were reversed, if Crichton were here and she were the one in trouble...oh, she knew what he'd be doing. He'd done as much before. For her. For others.
Could she do any less for him?
Swift and sure, Aeryn's hands flew across the navigation console. She'd been cruising back to the carrier at a judicious hetch 4 for the past five days. With the flick of a few switches and a new set of coordinates input, she set a return course to the gammak base. At hetch 7, the top speed this vessel was capable of, it would still take her nearly three days to get back.
If Captain Crais were to order her back to the gammak base tomorrow to retrieve Crichton, this course change would give her several arns head start. If he ordered her back to the carrier, she could make up the lost time easily at this speed.
That is, if she chose to obey such an order.
Her hand paused in the air, hesitating over the final control. The actions she was contemplating, even this simple course change, verged on dangerous disobedience. A simple soldier such as herself was not supposed to be taking such initiative.
A brief flash of a mental picture--Crichton chained to a wall, the Scarran's hot breath searing across his neck. She shook off the image, took a deep breath to quell her anxiety, and slapped her hand decisively down on the panel. The Marauder swung about on its new course.
When she lay back down on her bunk a few microts later, she fell asleep instantly.
Crais called the Marauder within a quarter arn of the start of the daywatch, to reconfirm and get more details than Braca had been able to pass along. Unlike the lieutenant, Crais asked about her source for this information.
"One of the techs we sent," Aeryn dissembled, "sent a secure voice comms to me from the base's auxiliary transmitter, reporting the arrest." Crais did not inquire further into the tech's identity; it was quite believable that a soldier would not bother to learn the names of mere techs, nor be able to identify them by voice.
Immediately after severing his communication with her, Crais opened another tight-beam transmission, this time to the gammak base. The reason Aeryn knew this was that she and her Marauder were sitting on a direct line between the carrier and the base, and thus in a perfect position to 'accidentally' intercept the message.
It didn't take long for a very annoyed Scorpius to arrive on the channel.
"What is the meaning of this, Captain?" the Scarran's voice growled indignantly. "You risk exposing my entire operation with this foolhardy transmission!"
Crais ignored the complaint, replying in an equally forceful tone. "I am informed," he said, "that you have arrested one of the techs I recently transferred to your gammak base."
Crais paused there, and there was nothing but the crackle of static from the other end. Scorpius was probably trying to figure out how Crais could have known about that so soon. Aeryn hoped Gilina had hidden her tracks well.
"My compliments on the efficiency of your spies," Scorpius finally said in a mild tone. "I did indeed detain an alien who was apparently masquerading as a tech."
"I am aware that the man in question is not Sebacean," Crais said. "He was granted a commission through a special dispensation from High Command. Much as you were, if I recall correctly. Release him at once."
This time, the Scarran's tone was almost amused. "I have become aware of that, as well, Captain, during the course of my interrogation of the prisoner. He presents an interesting challenge for the Aurora chair design."
"Release. Him. Now."
"If it were only the initial subterfuge at issue here, Captain, then I would be happy to release your little spy. But he has been refusing to reveal information, vital information that he possesses regarding this base's primary field of research. My mandate for this project allows me wide latitude in acquiring the necessary data; I am well within my authority to detain him."
Oh frell, Aeryn cursed internally. What have you gotten mixed up in this time, Crichton?
"The tech is still officially under my command, Scorpius; the reassignment was temporary. Return him to my custody and I will get the information you say he is concealing. It is possible he simply does not trust you due to your heritage. All the information he possesses will then be shared freely with your project."
"Really, Captain," Scorpius scoffed. "All this fuss over a mere tech. So undignified. It isn't as if you don't have others. This tech will be returned when I am finished extracting the information I need, and not before."
Aeryn waited for Crais to reveal Crichton's true rank and status, but he didn't. The two senior officers continued to bluster, posture, and threaten each other with vague and improbable consequences, pretending to connections and powers that she doubted either of them truly possessed. When they finally cut the transmission, nothing had changed.
Almost immediately, the comms station signaled an incoming transmission from the carrier, directed at her ship. Aeryn counted a slow ten microts before responding, so as not to give the impression that she'd been sitting there listening.
"Officer Sun, stand by to receive new orders," Crais barked, the annoyance in his voice barely lessened from his argument with Scorpius.
"Acknowledged," she replied crisply, automatically setting the comms station to record -- standard procedure to retain a record of received orders.
"Reverse your current course and return to the gammak base. Maximum velocity."
"Aye, sir," she replied. This was the reason she'd taken the risk of eavesdropping -- Captain Crais rarely, if ever, provided even the barest of explanations for his instructions. In this, he was not unusual among Peacekeeper captains, and asking questions was actively discouraged.
"My orders when I arrive, sir?" This was an allowable query.
"You will receive specific instructions prior to arrival. That will be all for now."
Which meant, Aeryn suspected, that the captain hadn't decided what to do yet. "Yes, sir."
Perhaps he still thought he could intimidate Crichton's captor into releasing him, or convince High Command to step in on his behalf. If that were the case, then her presence on the scene would allow for the most immediate retrieval.
But what if he couldn't? Based on the conversation she'd overheard, Scorpius didn't seem easily intimidated. And as for High Command, the chances of them interceding for someone of such low rank and status--and an alien at that--were beyond remote.
Would Crais order her to take preemptive action if his efforts at going through channels were unsuccessful? How badly did he want Crichton back?
With those questions still floating through her mind, Aeryn headed aft to check on the ship's armory and supplies. If she was going to plan a rescue, she needed to know her assets.
Gilina called that night, once again in the deepest arns of the nightwatch. She was calmer this time, her panic and fear having given way to simple determination.
Aeryn summarized the events of the day, including her course change and anticipated return to the base. The woman on the other end of the comms was silent for a moment, then said, "Will you be wanting to approach undetected?"
"It's possible. Depends on what the captain can arrange. Why?"
"There's a blind spot in the targeting sensors that I programmed in. If you approach on that vector, they'll never see you."
Something about Gilina's phrasing and hesitation triggered a faint suspicion in Aeryn's mind. When she received the vector coordinates, the suspicion blossomed into near certainty. Gilina's 'blind spot' was almost directly opposite her Marauder's current approach, pointing deeper into the Uncharted Territories. She would have to circle around the gas giant the moon was orbiting and approach from behind to make use of it.
She wasn't particularly surprised. Crichton and Gilina's plans to abscond to the Territories dated back to their monens in the damaged Marauder, and only the uprising on Sykar had prevented them from going back then. Commission or no, she knew Crichton was unlikely to be satisfied with a life among her people and was still determined to return to his own. And she knew, as she suspected Crichton knew, that should he one day manage to perfect the wormhole technology while working for Crais, or any Peacekeeper commander, he would instantly become a security risk and would never be allowed to leave.
Gilina's motives were harder for Aeryn to comprehend. She had a life among the Peacekeepers. Aeryn had had her life stolen from her once when she was injured, knew the pain of its loss and the joy she'd felt at being able to return to it whole and healthy. It wasn't a perfect life, but then what in the universe was? She couldn't imagine being willing to simply throw it all away, take her chances out among the lesser races, because of feelings for a single person. No matter how intriguing that person happened to be.
Apparently Crichton's arrest by Scorpius had interrupted another defection attempt by the two of them. Even with what little she knew of their plans, she thought they might have had a good chance of succeeding. But those plans could complicate any retrieval; once she had them safe, she couldn't just let them go. Hopefully she could convince them to wait and hope for another opportunity.
She arrived back at the gammak base on the morning of the third solar day after Gilina's first frantic signal for help. The blind spot worked perfectly, as she approached unchallenged, and she landed on the roof of the ruined structures that housed the base. The camouflage required to keep the base hidden dictated that no sensors would be located there to detect her.
She tried to ignore the part of her mind that was trying to ask what she thought she was doing acting without orders. She'd informed Crais of her imminent arrival at the base, only to be told to hold position and wait. She'd thought about it, argued with herself, but finally decided to act anyway. She owed Crichton that much, at least. If she succeeded, she figured Crais would probably ignore the insubordination, and if she failed, she'd probably be dead and it wouldn't be an issue.
A small access hatch led to a long stairway that descended into the base levels. It was an arduous climb, but less conspicuous than the level risers.
Trusting Gilina's assurances, she made no attempt to hide, but rather walked openly through the corridors as if she belonged there. As promised, the ident chip and DNA verification systems accepted her presence without a hiccup. The tech had not been idle these past three days.
Moments later, Aeryn stood outside a nondescript door and pressed the signal. She was admitted instantly, with no query or challenge.
The blonde tech was sitting cross-legged on her bunk, staring intently at the holographic display of a portable maintenance diagnostic unit. Thanks to Gilina's past lessons in tech matters, Aeryn knew enough to recognize that the unit was tapped into main control--something that, technically, neither she nor it should have been capable of from these quarters.
"Should you be doing that when anyone could have walked through that door?" Aeryn asked.
Gilina still didn't look up, completely mesmerized by the symbols dancing in the air. "I knew it was you," she replied. "I had the system notify me when you passed through security."
That gave Aeryn a moment's pause. Techs had been in the background of her entire life, largely ignored until these last few monens, but she'd thought she knew what they could and couldn't do. Gilina's casual mastery of everything mechanical was far beyond what she'd considered the norm.
"Have you always been able to do...this sort of thing?" she asked, sitting down on the edge of the bunk.
Now the tech did look up, a conspiratorial smile teasing the corner of her mouth. "As far as anyone else knows, I've never been able to do any of this. I've been careful to hide it. Let's just say that the standard duties and training regimen assigned to the techs were never enough of a challenge. I learned to challenge myself, instead."
"But why keep it secret?"
Gilina just shook her head. "Most techs aren't chosen for their technical aptitude, but rather because they fail to qualify, either physically or psychologically, for training as a soldier. So the vast majority simply don't have the ability or desire to excel. Those of us who do have technical aptitude learn early on that it doesn't pay to stand out from the crowd, and there's really no incentive to be more than adequate.
"We don't get promotions or greater respect for excellence, not like soldiers." There was a touch of bitterness in her voice. At Aeryn's sharp glance, Gilina shrugged. "If we do get noticed, we get assigned to more dangerous or even frelling impossible duties. The price for failure grows higher, too. So most techs just want to stay out of sight. It's safer to be a mediocre nobody than to do too well and get noticed."
Aeryn was silent, absorbing this new insight. The world of the techs, even as intertwined in Peacekeeper culture as they were, was almost as alien to her as Crichton's primitive home world.
Which reminded her.... "How is Crichton doing?"
Gilina's face fell, filling with worry in an instant. "I don't know. They've had him in the chair every day, for arns at a time. The last time I tapped into his cell, he could barely speak. He wouldn't let me tell him anything I was doing, so he wouldn't have to hide it from the chair. He's having a hard enough time blocking me and the...our relationship. We need to get him out of there, Aeryn, before Scorpius loses patience and kills him."
"We need a plan. I have a couple of ideas, but I'll need your help," Aeryn replied.
Gilina looked faintly surprised, but set it aside quickly. There was nothing they could do immediately; Crichton had been taken for another session in the chair before Aeryn landed and even Gilina, impatient for action after three helpless days of waiting, agreed that it would be too risky to attempt a rescue from there. Better to wait until he was returned to his cell.
It would be Aeryn's task to gain access to the cell somehow; for all her skill, even Gilina couldn't subvert that level of security. Once they were out of the cell, Gilina would create a false reactor overload alarm as a diversion, and all three of them could escape in the confusion.
When the two conspirators were finally satisfied with their plans, over an arn had passed and both were hungry. Control showed that Crichton's cell still contained only his Bannik cell mate, so Gilina offered to go get them food for a late mid-meal. It might be their last chance to eat before they needed to act and such opportunities were not to be squandered.
Left alone in the empty tech quarters, Aeryn found herself pacing back and forth like a Setlisk warding cat on a short leash. But even that wasn't helping, so she finally sat down on the bunk and began to field strip and clean her pulse rifle. The rifle didn't really need the attention--she'd performed a full overhaul on all of her weapons just last night--but it kept her hands busy and distracted her from her nerves.
She could perform this task in the dark, in her sleep--hezmana, she could probably do it while recreating if she had to. The mental image that thought triggered brought a brief smile to her face. Each movement, each piece removed and set aside in proper order, had become instinctive by now, after so many cycles of practice. The dance was soothing in its simplicity, quieting to the mind. It was as close as a Peacekeeper ever got to meditation.
The rescue was not what was causing her unease, she knew. From a strictly military, goal-oriented perspective, the plan was amazingly simple and their chances of success were high. After all, the easiest enemy to defeat is one whose weaknesses you know well enough to exploit, and she knew the procedures of the Peacekeepers here at the base as well as they did. What had Aeryn so tense were the potential consequences of this action. If they failed, her fate was certain: death. If they succeeded, however, her career--and her life--could still be forfeit.
It would all depend on Captain Crais, and perhaps a bit on Scorpius himself. If Crais were sufficiently pleased at the safe return of his foundling specialist, he might overlook one of his subordinates acting without orders. But if he took exception to her actions, or if Scorpius chose to make an official protest, Crais might make an example of her instead.
As the last component of the rifle clicked back into place, Aeryn glanced up and realized that Gilina had been gone quite a long time. Too long.
There might be any number of innocuous explanations for the delay, but Aeryn felt a strange shiver of foreboding. Slinging the rifle over her shoulder and casting caution aside, she marched out into the corridors to search.
Upon reaching the rec area that had been Gilina's destination, she saw no sign of her. Aeryn grabbed the first tech to cross her path and snapped, "I'm looking for Tech Renaez. She's been ordered detained for questioning." It was the most plausible excuse Aeryn could come up with on the fly; soldiers did not typically seek out techs for social reasons.
Eyes downcast and posture submissive, the tech stammered, "I'm sorry, Officer, you're too late. The other guards found her here almost a quarter arn ago."
"They took her to Scorpius?" she asked, her mask of stern professionalism slipping in her shock. This was most definitely not the answer she'd been expecting.
"That's what they said, ma'am. They had a bunch of other techs they'd rounded up, too."
As quickly as it had faltered, Aeryn's battle focus returned and redoubled. Her mission was the same, but she now had two targets instead of one, and no one to provide the diversion they'd planned on.
For just a microt, it occurred to her that she could slip away right now, go back to her ship and no one would ever know how she had exceeded her orders. But it was an unworthy thought, ill-befitting her own inner sense of honor, so she cast it aside immediately. She was here and had given her word; she'd see it through and frell the consequences. Given the new situation, it was quite likely she'd die in the attempt, so at least now she wouldn't have to worry so much about her future court-martial and execution.
Aeryn hurried through the corridors as fast as she thought she could get away with without attracting undue attention. Finding the Aurora chamber hadn't been as difficult as she'd feared. Presuming they'd be near the holding cells for convenience--that was the arrangement they had on the carrier, at least--she simply headed in that direction and then followed the screaming. She could hear Crichton's howls of pain echoing through the hallways even from a great distance. Then, as she approached the last intersection leading to the chamber, the cries faded away and she heard voices.
"...hoped you would be reasonable, Crichton. Perhaps you believe I wasn't serious in my threats, and so you remain obstinate."
The voice was unfamiliar, but the tone was both annoyed and threatening.
"No!" Crichton shouted, hoarse and frantic.
"I think, perhaps, a demonstration of my sincerity might expedite matters."
"Oh, god, please! No!"
Aeryn heard the desperate pleas rise in intensity and tensed, ready to storm the room to prevent whatever was causing such pain. But before she could react, a single shot sounded, followed by a number of panicked, choked-off screams and the muffled thump of a body falling to the floor.
There was a microt of silence, and then...
"'LINA!!!! NO!!!!!!!"
The anguish and pain in Crichton's voice tore through Aeryn's heart. A careful glance around the corner confirmed what she already knew: Gilina was dead, crumpled to the deck in a pool of red blood and blonde hair. A nightmare vision in black was stalking past her body, speaking to someone she couldn't see but knew was Crichton.
"It seems I was correct, then," the Scarran half-breed noted with a hint of sick pleasure. "You do have feelings for these techs. Perhaps now you will be willing to give me what I want?"
He waved a black-gloved hand, and Aeryn heard the Aurora Chair power up. This time there were no screams, not even a whimper. Easing closer to the door, she could finally see Crichton--John--strapped securely into the chair. His face was wet, but his normally animated expression was blank, his eyes dead.
Aeryn felt the rising heat of righteous rage, a nearly irresistible urge to storm that nightmarish chamber and exact revenge. They had killed her...friend? Yes, Gilina had become, in spite of how little they had in common, a good friend. And even more than that; she knew that whatever pain she was experiencing at the loss, Crichton was suffering infinitely more.
Bracing herself against the wall, Aeryn shoved the unwanted emotions aside. There would be time to deal with them later, but now they only served to distract her from the mission. She held her position in the shadows. Gilina was gone, and there was nothing more Aeryn could do for her, except save the man she had cared for. Rushing in there, facing down a room full of armed guards and indulging in a blaze of violent retribution would only get her killed, and it would ill-serve the man who still needed her help.
The Aurora Chair's whine increased in intensity, and she could see the human's body convulse under the assault, but still no sound issued forth, and no emotion touched his face.
"Sir," said a female voice from somewhere behind Crichton, "something is wrong. The blocks were gone, but now the chair cannot even penetrate the most surface levels of his mind."
"Increase to maximum," Scorpius ordered impatiently.
"I am already at maximum power, sir."
"Analysis?"
A pause, as the officer sought an acceptable answer. "Perhaps a fault has occurred in the system, sir. I would need to run a full diagnostic to be sure."
"Very well, see to it. And as for you, Crichton," Scorpius said, turning to his prisoner. It took a moment for Crichton's eyes to even vaguely focus on the person who was speaking to him. "If I were you, I would use this time to consider the consequences of obstinacy. It has already cost you the life of one innocent; how many more are you willing to sacrifice?"
There was no reply from the broken man still strapped into the chair, except for a steady stream of tears rolling down his face.
Scorpius walked out of Aeryn's field of view, saying, "I have just one more item to address, then you can take Crichton back to his cell," she heard him instruct the guards.
Aeryn faded back around the corner and marched towards the cells on level nine, wanting to reach them well ahead of the guards. The original plan, painstakingly worked out with Gilina less than two arns before, was now utterly frelled. But it was all she had to work with, and they were out of time. Crichton wouldn't spend another microt in that chair if she had anything to say about it, so she'd make do with what she had.
The two armored grots arrived about two hundred microts after Aeryn had finished concealing herself, grunting and dragging the semi-conscious human slung between them. As they entered the cell, she moved out of the shadows and approached the open doorway. She arrived just in time to see the guards throw Crichton to the hard floor. Crichton's cell mate, a Bannik Stykera in a metal mask, attempted to catch him and managed to cushion the fall somewhat, much to the annoyance of the guards.
"Dammit, Stark," one of them growled. "We'll teach you to interfere with your betters."
Before they could begin the lesson, though, Aeryn spoke from the doorway in her best 'annoyed senior officer' voice. "I take it you slijnots have nothing better to do than let an inferior alien goad you? For the love of Chilnack, start acting like Peacekeepers! If I'd been an enemy, here to rescue one of these prisoners, you two would both be dead!"
The two grots, who had turned in thoughtless anger at the interruption, sprang to attention at seeing a superior officer, and looked more cowed with every syllable she uttered.
"I am sure you both have duties elsewhere," she continued, voice deepening further into a threatening monotone. "I suggest you go find out what they are and attend to them, before I find out what they are and have them changed to something far more...disagreeable."
The two guards snapped out "Yes, ma'am" simultaneously as they squeezed out of the cell past Aeryn's unmoving form and rushed away.
For several microts Aeryn just stood there and let herself be surprised that that had worked. Neither of the prisoners were looking at her; the Bannik was completely focused on Crichton, and the human, for all that his eyes were open, didn't seem to be seeing anything at all.
"Dead...dead..." mumbled the frenetic alien, his hands hovering over the prone form of his cell mate and moving rapidly across his entire body, never touching him.
Aeryn's heart froze for a moment, fearing the worst, but she could see Crichton breathing and relaxed slightly. Whatever nonsense this madman was spouting, he wasn't referring to the human. Stepping into the cell, she carefully took up a position with her back to the wall camera.
The Bannik looked up suddenly, his single eye boring through her with mad intensity. "Death!" he barked, waving his arms wildly. "All around him, everywhere. You did this! Peacekeepers!" The name was a curse in his mouth, almost spat upon the dirt.
"Stark," Aeryn said cautiously, holding her palms out in a placating gesture. "That's your name, isn't it? Stark? I'm here to help him, to get him out of here."
"Wants out," Stark agreed, his single eye glazing over as he looked at something no one else could see. "Wants to follow, follow the other one. His love, his life...still here, won't let them go...."
Aeryn shook her head, impatient with his babbling. "I can get you both out, but we need to snap him out of this. Can you do that?"
The Bannik seemed to pause, as if his insanity had flicked off like a switch. "You...here to rescue him? You're a Peacekeeper. Why? It's not what you do."
"He's a friend, Stark. The woman who died, the one he cared for, she was a friend, too." She could see that none of these words tracked with his ingrained perception of his captors. "He saved my life once," she clarified. More than once, she thought ruefully. "I'm repaying the debt. I can't leave him to Scorpius."
"Scorpy, Scorpy...put him in the chair, the chair...round and round and...."
"Stark!" The madness faded again, leaving painful clarity gazing back at her across the space of the cell. "Can you wake him up, Stark? We can't carry him the whole way; I need him conscious, or this won't work."
"Try...I'll try...."
Stark gazed down into the human's blank face and lifted his mask slightly to release a soft yellow glow.
"Hiding," the Bannik murmured. "Doesn't want to remember. Doesn't want to come out. Doesn't want them to go."
Knowing she risked attracting the attention of the surveillance watchers, Aeryn fell to her knees at Crichton's side. "Crichton," she called softly, setting her hand against his cheek. The light from Stark's mask was warm on her skin. "Gilina asked me to get you out of here. She'd want you to escape, to be free. You have to help me, Crichton. I can't do this without you."
At first there was no response that Aeryn could see. Stark started chanting quietly, whispering long strings of senseless syllables, and the light from beneath his mask intensified. Crichton's blue eyes continued to stare unblinking at nothing for long moments. But then, as Stark's litany faded to silence, those eyes grew wet and tears spilled out of the corners. A blink, then another, and Crichton's whole body suddenly convulsed in a cathartic sob.
Aeryn felt his arms wrap around her in a sudden, desperate embrace, too quickly for her to move away. She let her own hands rest awkwardly on his back for a few microts, trying to give comfort without really knowing how. In spite of her regimented upbringing and cycles of indoctrination against wild emotion, Aeryn wasn't completely unfamiliar with this reaction. It helped to look past his true calendar age and see him instead as the newly-commissioned Peacekeeper that he was, facing his first loss in battle of a beloved comrade.
Many young soldiers within the Peacekeeper ranks--primarily those recruited from colonies, with memories of family connections, but some among the ship-born, too--failed to heed the official injunctions against close emotional ties. They would make close friends, and sometimes, adrift in a sea of adolescent hormones, they would believe themselves in love. But given the dangers inherent in a soldier's life, especially for the young and inexperienced, such youths rarely finished a single cycle of service without experiencing their first catastrophic loss, assuming they survived it themselves.
An emotional breakdown such as this, as long as it occurred out of the heat of battle and didn't endanger lives, would be officially ignored. The derision and harsh ridicule from the soldier's unit would almost always be enough punishment to prevent a recurrence of the error. It wasn't that any of them ever stopped feeling the loss; they simply learned not to show their feelings openly or let them distract from their duty. And the experience usually showed them the wisdom of not letting friends and lovers too close to their heart.
After less than a dozen microts holding the grieving, stricken human, Aeryn gently pulled away. As much as she might sympathize, they truly did not have the time to waste. She ignored the expression of utter shock from the Bannik and placed a hand on either side of Crichton's face, forcing him to look at her. "Crichton!" she called sharply. "Crichton, I need you to focus!"
She could see him start to fight for control. His ragged, shuddering breaths slowed down and evened out, but when his eyes still wandered, unable to focus, she resorted to a stinging slap across the cheek.
It worked, shocking him out of the vicious cycle of grief for the moment. "A-Aeryn?" he stuttered, his voice rough with pain. "You're here...Crais sent you?"
"Not exactly, Crichton. Gilina called me, told me you were in trouble. I'm here without orders; the captain was still trying to negotiate your release, and we were running out of time."
"How...why...?"
"No time for that now, Crichton. We need to get you out of here quickly; the guards in the surveillance booth are probably already getting suspicious about my presence, and I really don't want to have to shoot fellow Peacekeepers getting you out of here."
Crichton took a deep, shuddering breath--Aeryn could almost see him shoving his emotions aside for later so that he could function in the present. "Right," he muttered, making a brief but fruitless effort to get to his feet. After a microt, he collapsed back again, gasping. "Can't...."
"As I expected, after so many days in the Aurora chair," Aeryn reassured him, drawing a small ampoule out of her equipment belt. "There's an option, if you want it," she said carefully, holding the vial up for him to see.
"Wha's it?"
"Combat stim. Break the bulb and inhale; it acts almost instantly. Every Peacekeeper soldier carries one, for times when she needs to keep going in spite of fatigue or injury."
Crichton looked at her then, more clearly than he'd managed up until this point, and apparently saw her hesitation. "Wha's th' catch?" he asked.
"Catch?" Frell, now was not the time for him to be baffling the translator microbes.
"Gotta be a problem wi' it...y're worried."
"It's designed for Sebaceans," she admitted, "and I don't know how you'll react to it. There's no time to test it, and no way to get you out of here without it. The drug might work exactly the way it should, in which case you'll be able to walk on your own. It might have no effect at all." She paused, ignoring that possibility for the moment. "Or it might be poisonous to your species, and in your condition even a mild toxic reaction would probably kill you."
Crichton didn't hesitate. "Give," he demanded, holding out a quivering hand.
"You're sure?" she asked, holding the bulb just out of his grasp.
"Aeryn, 'f it works, great, we're outta here. If it kills me, then at least I'm out of Scorpy's hands. Either one's a better choice than staying here."
Looking in those haunted eyes, Aeryn wasn't sure which outcome Crichton was actually hoping for; it worried her. "And if nothing happens?"
He looked down at his hands. "Then I ask you two favors. Either kill me yourself before you go or leave me a gun--I'm not going back into that Chair again. And take Stark with you, drop him off someplace where he can be free."
"John..." Aeryn began, then paused. A flash of pain had washed across Crichton's face at her use of his given name--a name that only Gilina had really ever used in the past. Then he blinked away the tears and pretended nothing had happened, still waiting for her to finish the thought. In his eyes, now, Aeryn could see that he hadn't lost hope completely. He wanted the drug to work, wanted to escape. He still wanted to live, in spite of his grief and pain, though perhaps he wasn't even consciously aware of it. The threat of dying, either from the drug or at her hands, was simply a risk he was willing take for that chance.
"I promise," she finally said. Without another word, she put the stim vial in his hand.
"What the frell is going on here?"
The new voice, gruff and suspicious, startled Aeryn into a defensive spin and crouch. Standing in the doorway, arms crossed, was the base's security officer. As she'd feared, the surveillance personnel had noted her extended presence in the cell and reported to their superior. She stuffed down the initial impulse to attack and disable the man, and instead drew herself to attention and saluted. "Sir?" she asked, as if confused by the question.
"I'm Lt. Heskon, Chief of Security. What are you doing here without authorization?"
"My apologies, sir. The guards assigned to return this prisoner to his cell failed to handle him with the care Scorpius requested. I dismissed them with a reprimand and was simply assuring that there was no need to summon a med tech."
"And is there?"
"No, sir. I do not believe that any permanent damage was done." For a microt, Aeryn thought she might actually talk her way out of this situation. But then the lieutenant's eyebrows drew together warily.
"I don't recognize you, soldier. Identify yourself."
"Officer Nela Hardek, Ustar Regiment," Aeryn recited, using the false identity Gilina had given her in the base records. "I was recently assigned to the base, sir."
The lieutenant peered at her intensely, his skepticism growing. "I personally check every new arrival through security, Officer Hardek. I don't remember you. You'll have to come with me." He didn't quite draw his pulse pistol, but the threat was strongly implied.
With a mental sigh--she had so hoped to avoid this situation--Aeryn stepped smartly towards the door, saying "Of course, sir," as agreeably as she could manage.
As Heskon stepped back to let her pass, she swiftly drove the butt of her pulse rifle into his gut, followed by a sharp strike to the back of his neck when he bent over in pain and surprise.
After checking the lieutenant's pulse--she was relieved to find she hadn't killed him--she glanced back into the cell. The human and his companion were both staring at her, neither having moved a dench during the drama she'd just played out. Crichton still had the stim dose clutched in his hand.
"Hurry!" she insisted. "Security may sound an alert any microt; we have to move!"
Crichton glanced back down at the vial, likely recalling the three possible effects. The object in his hand might hold either a chance for life or a swift and sudden death. Breathing deeply, he grasped it in two trembling hands and lifted it towards his face. "Remember your promise, Aeryn," he whispered, then broke the vial and inhaled.
Aeryn held her breath, realizing with some surprise that she might actually care more about the outcome of this experiment than Crichton did. She'd come a long distance and run some serious risks to help two people she called 'friend'. Despite her best efforts, she'd lost one of them already, and she hoped she wasn't about to lose the other now.
For a few microts, Crichton showed no reaction whatsoever. Aeryn felt her heart start to sink; the effects of the stims were usually all but instantaneous. Then he convulsed violently, and only the Bannik's quick reflexes saved him from bashing his skull against the stone wall.
"Crap," the human gasped as soon as his body settled down again.
"Crichton?" she asked, worried.
He opened his eyes, and she saw the dilation of his pupils, the characteristic sign of the drug in his system. "I think it worked," he said, his voice sounding stronger already. "Man, that was like getting smashed in the face by a triple espresso wrapped around a gold brick."
Aeryn didn't know what a 'tryp lespraso' was, but she sympathized with his stunned reaction. She hated the stims, with their hyper-stimulation of every nerve and sensory input. They could make you feel invincible, but feelings like that made people careless and got them killed. She'd never actually used one outside of training.
Crichton was already struggling to his feet, though he still had trouble with his balance. Stark helped, supporting him when he staggered.
She reached down and plucked the unconscious lieutenant's pulse pistol out of its holster, then held it out to Crichton. He stared at it for a moment, then looked Aeryn in the eye as if asking if she was sure.
"You're a Peacekeeper now," she pointed out. "It's your right to carry a weapon." Knowing how he'd always felt about weapons and killing in the past, Aeryn expected him to refuse, or show reluctance. But his acceptance of the pistol was swift, and the look in his eye as he examined the weapon almost hungry.
"So, Aeryn," he said as they moved into the corridor. "What's the plan?"
"Plan?" She laughed without humor. "There's no plan. I'm making this up as I go. Come on, we've got to keep moving."
As they raced down the hallway, Crichton was still weaving slightly in spite of the stim. She heard him mutter under his breath, "Great. The Peacekeeper doesn't have a plan. We are so frelling dead."
With the wailing of alarms and the pounding of many booted feet echoing through the maze of corridors behind her, Aeryn finally ducked through the grate in the floor and into the sub-level crawlspace where Crichton and Stark were already hiding. They waited together in tense silence as dozens of their pursuers raced over their heads, oblivious to their quarry.
"We're frelled," Aeryn whispered when all was quiet again. "They've locked down the whole base, sealed all the access shafts. We'd need a senior officer's ident chip to get through the locks--"
"Which we don't have," Crichton pointed out.
"--and even if we got one," she continued, ignoring the interruption, "Scorpius' people will easily beat us to the surface using the level risers."
"Why do we need to get to the surface?" John wondered distractedly.
In the dim light, Aeryn could see his pupils had almost contracted back to normal. The stims were wearing off, far sooner than she'd expected. While his body reacted to the drugs much as a Sebacean's would, his metabolism obviously burned through it much faster. As the effects faded, so did Crichton's mental clarity; he didn't usually need to have things explained more than once. "The Marauder is there, Crichton," she clarified.
"Why not take the one in the hangar?"
"What?"
With obvious effort, Crichton shook himself and mustered his waning faculties. "Sorry, I forgot, you wouldn't know. Gilina and I...we were...." He faltered, emotions getting the better of him at the mention of the dead woman's name. Finally he just shook his head, wiped a hand across his face, and finished, "There's a Marauder in the hangar bay, prepped and ready to go. We could take that instead."
"Do I want to know?" she asked. Pointless question, really--between the sensor blind spot and now a Marauder, the conclusion was an easy one to draw.
"Probably not."
"All right."
Over the course of the next half arn, the three made slow and unsteady progress towards the hangar bay, dodging searchers and racing against Crichton's inevitable collapse when the stim wore off completely. By the time they arrived, he was being supported more by Stark's arm around him than by his own shaky legs. He'd led them through neglected back corridors to a side access door, a route Aeryn presumed he and Gilina had used before to reach this ship.
The hangar appeared quiet when they arrived, with just a single guard patrolling the huge space. The ship they sought was parked in a darkened corner less than a hundred motras away. Close, but still too much open space to cross without getting spotted by the guard.
"We gonna take him out?" Crichton asked, gripping his new pistol more firmly.
She looked at the human and shook her head. "I'm hoping to avoid that, Crichton. That guard is a loyal Peacekeeper. I'm still a Peacekeeper, too, no matter how this looks, and so are you. I'd like to have a chance of still being a Peacekeeper when this is over, and there's only so much Captain Crais will be able to forgive. Killing a fellow soldier would make that very difficult."
Crichton had the grace to look ashamed. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking."
"The advantage of being a Peacekeeper in this situation," she continued, "is that I know how to exploit the system. You wait here; I'm going to go talk to the guard, try to convince him I have orders to take the Marauder up. When you see I have him distracted, head for the ship quietly, keeping in the shadows. Can you do that?"
"Sure, Aeryn," Crichton assured her, but the shakiness of his voice belied his confidence.
Concerned, she looked to Stark, hoping the staunch support the alien had shown for Crichton would carry them through. The Bannik nodded at her unspoken query, all indications of his prior manic behavior subdued by the first taste of freedom he'd likely had in a very long time.
Aeryn approached the single guard from behind, taking advantage of his lax attention as he believed himself unsupervised. She got within three motras and then cleared her throat. The soldier's startled gasp and flustered scramble to attention was amusing, and she had to repress a smile fiercely to maintain her stern mask.
"I trust the escaped prisoners have not slipped past you while you were daydreaming, soldier," she accused harshly, stalking around him so that he had to turn away from the side access door to keep her in sight.
"N-No, ma'am," he stammered. "There's been no one here since the alert sounded."
"Very well," she said, nodding slowly as if reluctant to accept his assertion. She glimpsed movement in the shadows behind the guard as her charges moved along the wall. "You are fortunate, Crewman, that the prisoners were last spotted heading for the surface and not for the hangar bays. I can overlook this minor dereliction of duty this time, but see that it doesn't happen again."
"Yes, ma'am." The response was quietly grateful, but she knew he'd learn nothing from this encounter. Had she truly been this man's supervisor, the penalty would have been harsher by far.
The shadowy figures in the distance had almost reached the looming Marauder in the corner. "I have orders to take a Marauder, to intercept the prisoners should they happen to reach their own ship in spite of our efforts."
"I received no such orders, ma'am," the guard said uncertainly.
"The commander and Scorpius are rather too busy at the moment to be bothered with minor details," she dissembled, standing straighter and crossing her arms impatiently.
The young man swallowed nervously, but he'd been well trained, notwithstanding his prior laziness. "I'll need to confirm those orders before I can allow you access to any of the ships, ma'am," he said.
She opened her mouth to argue with him, but at that moment a muffled thud sounded from the darkened recesses of the bay, and the guard turned, suddenly alert. Over his shoulder, she could see Stark tugging desperately at Crichton, who was sprawled on the floor unable to rise. It was his stumble and fall that had alerted the guard.
"Stand fast!" the guard shouted, drawing his pulse pistol in a quick, practiced motion. Before Aeryn could react, he had activated his comms. "Escaped prisoners sighted, ha--"
Trusting a fellow Peacekeeper to back him up, the guard had turned his back on her. It was a reasonable assumption, but ultimately his downfall. The impact of Aeryn's pulse pistol against the back of his neck abruptly silenced the call for assistance.
She left him sprawled on the floor--no time to hide the evidence--and hurried back across the bay to Crichton, who was struggling unsuccessfully to get back to his feet. Stark wasn't helping; his previous composure had disappeared, leaving him frozen in place muttering, "He's coming, coming, coming...Scorpy's coming...love the chair..." over and over. Whether this had been the cause of John's collapse or merely a result of it, Aeryn didn't know. And at the moment, she didn't have the time to care.
Without pausing in her trajectory, Aeryn marched up to the manic Stykera and slapped his single exposed cheek so hard that his mask nearly flew off. The deranged babbling ceased. "Either help us or stay behind," she announced to his shocked expression.
Shoving past the stunned alien, Aeryn reached down to help Crichton, who was still unable to get his feet under him.
He tried to shrug her hand away, insisting, "I can do it, damn it!"
Aeryn grabbed his arm a second time, more firmly, and hauled the human upright in a single motion, bracing him against the back wall. He tried to object again, despite the fact that his bleary, bloodshot eyes could barely focus on her.
"We don't have time for false bravado, Crichton," she said, cutting him off. "Someone could arrive in response to the guard's distress call at any time, and it will take me at least a hundred microts just to get the Marauder ready to fly."
Crichton seemed to absorb that, then nodded. Stark, back in a more rational mode, though he still looked twitchy and worried, had reappeared at Crichton's side and resumed his support of the weakened human. "Go," Crichton said to Aeryn. "Get the ship started; we'll get there as fast as Stark here can drag me."
She hesitated, reluctant to abandon John again to the erratic care of the Bannik.
"Go!" Crichton insisted, shoving her weakly towards the waiting ship. The effort nearly overbalanced him, but Stark caught his arm in a steady grip and kept him upright.
Bowing to the logic of Crichton's demand and the urgency of the situation, she simply nodded and turned away, heading for the Marauder to start the pre-flight process.
John watched as Aeryn Sun disappeared up the Marauder's loading ramp and into the bowels of the ship. Still leaning against the wall, with Stark on one side keeping him from toppling over, he tried to muster whatever wisps of strength he might have left. The energizing effects of the stim were gone, leaving him with only the crushing fatigue and the phantom pain of seared nerve endings left over from three solar days in the Chair, along with a sick, nauseous feeling, apparently withdrawal from the powerful drug. The ramp was only twenty motras away, but to him it looked like the last mile of an uphill marathon.
Stark was starting to mutter again, tugging at his arm with ever-increasing urgency. Glancing up, he could a dark, blurred figure moving around the Marauder's command deck through the shielded viewports, and hear the faint hum of the ship's systems warming up.
"Okay," he muttered to himself. "One foot in front of the other...you can do it." He leaned forward, hanging most of his weight on the arm he'd slung over Stark's shoulder, and swung one foot out. "One step at a time. Tortoise and the hare. Slow and steady wins the race." He and the Bannik were quite a pair, both babbling nonsense that spilled from their half-fried brains.
Breathing heavily, John paused and looked back up at the ship. Fifteen motras. Frell.
The distant sound of pounding feet gave John a burst of adrenaline, possibly the last his body had to offer. Stumbling and lurching, they got within five motras of the ramp before a squad of bubble-helmeted grots filed into the bay and ordered them to halt and surrender.
John pulled Stark around behind him and pointed his stolen pistol right back at them. Surrender was not an option.
"Hold your fire; I want them taken alive," said an oily, all-too-familiar voice. Scorpius sauntered into view behind the crouching guards, wearing a look of feigned disappointment. "John, John, John," he chided. "I cannot allow you to leave, you know that."
"Oh, so sorry, Scorpy," John replied, starting to giggle hysterically. "Don't you know Santa takes away your Christmas presents if you don't take care of them? You don't get to play with my brain anymore, Mr. Scrooge."
Scorpius gestured two guards forward to apprehend his prisoners; John shot each one in the leg in quick succession. Neither wound was fatal, but they wouldn't be getting up anytime soon. The remaining guards tightened their grips on their weapons, but discipline kept them from returning fire without orders.
"You cannot hope to shoot all of them, Crichton," Scorpius said, getting annoyed. "Don't be foolish."
"Maybe I can't," John agreed amiably. "But you can't shoot me, either. I think we've got a good old-fashioned Mexican stand-off here. We're going, Scorpy, one way or the other. You try and stop me, first shot goes through your head." Second shot goes through mine, he thought but didn't say.
Scorpius hesitated, and both parties stood frozen for long microts. As John stared across the hangar bay at the Scarran torturer, his worst nightmare in black leather, the image of Gilina's shocked and terrified face as the pulse shot blasted through her flashed through his mind. Her eyes, once so trusting, had darkened in betrayal in the instant before she fell and bled her life out onto the metal deck. He'd failed her, John knew--her and their unborn child. But Scorpius had pulled the trigger.
The longer they stood there, the more hopeless the situation looked. They weren't going to get out of this; the only options left were surrender or death, and John knew which way he would choose. "Stark," he whispered to the trembling figure behind him, "get to the ship. Tell Aeryn to take off." There was no reply at first, and John held his breath, praying that the Bannik wouldn't decide to get all noble on him. "He stole two cycles from you, Stark," he argued. "You deserve a chance at freedom."
"And you?" Stark's voice replied in his ear, sounding saner than he ever had before.
"I'll get revenge. For both of us." And for Gilina.
He felt Stark let him go and back away. Locking his knees, John somehow remained standing, holding on to the illusion of strength and the pulse pistol in his hand. He knew he only had microts to spare; already his vision was going gray at the edges, the sound of his heartbeat loud in his ears.
"Let them go, Scorpy," he called out before the guards could move to stop the retreating figure. "I'm the one you really want." There were quick, running steps behind him, clanging up the ramp, and then the mechanical hum as the hatch door folded up and sealed the ship.
"It seems your friends are abandoning you, Crichton," Scorpy gloated.
"At least they're away from you," he croaked back. Behind him, the Marauder's engines roared to life; he felt the blast of air as the thrusters fired, lifting the monstrous vessel into the air. The dozen grots fluttered nervously, backing away slightly. The ship hovered there, like an angel on his shoulder watching over him.
Well, if they wanted to watch the show, he'd gladly oblige. "You took something from me, Scorpius," he called out, though the roar of the engines drowned him out. It wasn't really important that the half-breed hear him, only that he said the words. "The only good thing I had after losing my home. You won't hurt anyone else I love. Not ever again!"
As best he could with blurred eyes and shaking hands, John aimed his pistol at Scorpius and fired.
He missed.
A second shot and a third also went wide, as his hands twitched and trembled beyond his control. He tried two hands on the butt of the pistol, but the shaking only increased. Scorpius was just standing there, making no attempt to retreat or find cover, as if he knew somehow that John could not hit him.
The half-breed made a gesture, and John saw the entire squad move forward en masse to capture him. Scorpy'd been right about one thing--there was now way he could take them all out before they reached and disarmed him. Trying would just be a waste of time, and Scorpy was the only person here he'd wanted to kill today.
He had time for just one thing, now. He would not be taken alive.
Pulling his weapon back, away from the distant target it couldn't seem to find, he turned it back and up, under his chin. This time, he was sure, he wouldn't miss.
There was a loud explosion, pain, and then darkness.
John drifted, floating in a starless void. There were voices, distant but growing clearer. Along with the sounds, an awareness of the physical, absent for so long, started prompting him with faint signals.
When he felt a cool hand touch his face and heard a feminine voice say his name, he smiled. She had waited for him, as he'd hoped. "'Lina," he murmured, "I'm so sorry...."
"Crichton, wake up."
That wasn't Gilina.
The world came crashing back in with a rush, the weight of his body against the hard mattress, the faint hum of engines in his ears. He was wrapped in a pounding, endless ache, with no way to distinguish where one hurt ended and the next began. And his cerebro-spinal fluid had seemingly turned to acid, a searing liquid flame that burned from the center of his brain out to the tips of his fingers.
For some reason, he couldn't remember why, waking up felt... unexpected. There was no memory of how he'd wound up here; his last clear recollection was Gilina, lying on the ground in a pool of red Sebacean blood.
He shoved the memory away, unable to cope with the knowledge just yet.
"Crichton?" the voice called again. It was familiar....
Straining against the fifty pound weights strapped to his eyelids, he pried his eyes open just a fraction. The lights were low, for which he was grateful, and he could just make out the dark-haired figure leaning over him. "Aeryn," he deduced, voice rasping through the sandpaper lining his throat. "Wha' happ'?"
"What do you remember?"
Enough to wish he couldn't. "Chair," he managed to say. "Scorpy. Shot G'lina."
Aeryn nodded. "I gave you a battle stim so we could escape the gammak base; they can often cause temporary memory loss while the drug is still in your system. It should wear off soon."
"Scorpy?"
"Don't worry, John, we're safe. We got away from the base."
The weight of his eyelids was finally too much. Comforted by Aeryn's presence, and her assurances of safety, he slipped back into the darkness.
When John woke the next time, pain had lessened slightly and his mind was working far better. Their insane flight from his cell to the hangar bay...the arrival of Scorpy and his goons...that last stand before the firing squad that wouldn't fire--he remembered it all, now.
He opened his eyes, far more easily this time, and looked around. A glint of light on metal revealed Stark, standing in the corner of the Marauder's small med-bay, watching over him. "Hey," he croaked out by way of greeting.
Stark didn't reply, just slipped silently out of the room. Less than thirty microts later, Aeryn Sun walked in the door. She had stripped out of the full commando uniform and was wearing a simple black tank top. "You're awake again, good," she said gruffly. "How are you feeling?"
"Thirsty."
She brought water, which he swallowed greedily. It took nearly the whole bottle to dissolve the layers of grit that had lined his mouth and throat. "Thank you," he said when the last drop had been sucked up greedily.
"Has your memory returned?"
"Most of it, I think. Just one question."
"Yes?"
"Why am I not dead? The ship was in the air, the guards were coming for me. Last thing I remember was turning my gun around so they wouldn't take me alive. There was an explosion...I thought I'd shot myself."
Aeryn sat down on the edge of the bay's second bunk. "I wasn't about to let you just die when I'd gone to so much trouble to rescue you, Crichton. I promised Gilina I would get you out. When I saw the guards coming, I used the Marauder's strafing cannons to drive them back. You were standing between the cannons when I fired, and the concussion knocked you out before you could pull the trigger."
John paused to absorb that. "Did you manage to avoid killing anyone?" he asked, remembering how important that had been to her. It would be hard enough for her to explain that she'd acted without orders, but having to justify casualties would make things that much worse.
"I'm not sure," she admitted. "I aimed at the deck, but the shrapnel probably caused injuries. Someone might have died. But it was necessary."
"If I was unconscious, how'd you get me aboard?"
"Special retrieval procedure," the soldier in her answered with pride. "I centered the ship's drop hatch over you and lowered us to less than a motra off the deck. Stark hauled you inside, I sealed us up, and we took off."
John just nodded, unable to formulate a properly grateful response for someone who'd possibly just royally screwed her career f
or him.
A two-toned chime from the ship's speakers brought Aeryn's head up sharply. John recognized the signal--incoming transmission. She left the room quickly, heading back up to the command deck.
John was about to drift off to sleep again when Aeryn returned, her expression bemused.
"What was it?" he asked blearily.
"Orders. From Captain Crais."
"And?"
Aeryn glanced down at John, her mouth breaking into a rare smile, eyes dancing with humor. "I've been ordered to retrieve Crewman John Crichton from Scorpius' gammak base, by whatever means I deem necessary."
John felt a hysterical, irrational giggle bubble up from his chest. It hurt, and there was no humor in it, but he couldn't help laughing. "Do you want me to go back so you can start over?" he asked when he could speak.
Aeryn just looked at him, then rolled her eyes in an all-too-familiar gesture of exasperation.
"Humans," she muttered.
TBC...