Episode 10 - An Offer You Can't Refuse, part 1
"Trust them to send me back-up and not tell me.... " -- Jenavian Chatto
Aeryn could hear Senior Officer Aqida somewhere in the background, requesting permission to dock and calling for med techs to meet them. Carefully guiding the Marauder through the traffic around the command carrier, following the landing beacons, she slipped them into the main hangar bay. Once inside, she compensated as well as she could for the damaged treblin-side thruster and set the ship on the deck gently, with just a slight wobble before all three points touched down. Aeryn heaved a silent sigh of relief and immediately started procedures for a full shutdown.
"Good work, Sun." Aqida's brisk words rose over the engine sounds dying away to silence.
"Sir," she acknowledged noncommittally.
"When you finish here, go have the med techs take a look at your arm."
Aeryn turned to protest, but her superior silenced her with a raised finger. "That's an order, Officer," he instructed. "I need my crew in top condition; foolish pride wins us no battles."
"Aye, sir," she consented reluctantly. There was really no need, as far as she was concerned. It was barely a scratch.
By the time she'd finished powering all of the ship's systems down and let her gear bag fall from the drop hatch, Aqida and Sub-officer Leyn, her two remaining uninjured team members, had long since departed for their quarters.
She jumped down to the deck and grabbed her bag. Ducking under the bow of the ship, she straightened up and nearly flinched, finding herself suddenly nose to nose with a familiar face.
"Tau-- I mean Lt. Crais," she greeted, modifying her address in mid-sentence due to the public setting. "What are you doing here?"
Crais allowed himself a small smile. "We picked up your approach on our scans just as I was getting off-duty, Officer Sun. I decided to come down and welcome you back aboard. I take it the mission was a success?"
"Yes, sir," she replied proudly. This had been her first 'real' assignment since joining the Marauder squadrons, her past cycle having been spent primarily in intensive training and simple transport errands that went horribly awry. Her tales of those frelled-up missions--heavily edited, of course--had amused her compatriots to no end during the journey they'd just completed. They'd all bemoaned that their probationary assignments hadn't been half as interesting.
She and Crais started walking slowly, circling the Marauder as Aeryn completed her final exterior inspection of the craft. "Anything interesting happen while we were away?" she asked, craning her neck to view the damaged thruster. Careless flying there, Sun, she berated herself, noting how close the enemy fighter's shot had come to rupturing the cesium lines.
"No," Crais responded petulantly. "Nothing interesting ever happens out here in the far reaches. I hope we get a rotation to a patrol with some action soon; everyone is getting tired of nothing but training and drills."
Aeryn finished her circuit, noting a few more minor damages, then turned to Crais. "And...how is Crichton?" Tauvo had agreed to keep an eye on the human for her; he had them both concerned.
"No better," Tauvo sighed, shaking his head.
Aeryn nodded.
Tauvo shrugged helplessly. "I assume the Aurora chair did some lasting damage, but he refuses to submit to a medical scan without a direct order. And so far he's done nothing to warrant that. In any other soldier, his behavior wouldn't even be noteworthy, but for Crichton...."
"Silence and solitude just aren't normal," Aeryn finished the thought with a nod. She suspected the chair actually had relatively little to do with it; John's wounds were more emotional than physical.
It had been almost a quarter cycle now since they'd returned from the gammak base. She had seen some improvement since those first days, at least; he'd stopped getting into drunken brawls, for one thing, and now spent most of his time working, alone in his tiny lab.
Aeryn was pretty sure she was the only one who had learned the full extent of Crichton's prior relationship with Gilina Renaez, especially the part about the child. As far as she knew, John had told no one else that secret--not even Tauvo, with whom he otherwise seemed to share almost everything. Aeryn wasn't even entirely sure John remembered telling her.
Vaguely, distantly, Aeryn thought she understood a little of what Crichton was going through. She'd had a mother once, after all, for an arn or so one night in the cadet barracks. She'd spent her whole life since feeling slightly incomplete, always half-searching for something that was missing, looking for that one face in every crowd. She remembered the pain and fear in Xhalax Sun's eyes that night, and understood that this was what it meant to be a Peacekeeper and a mother--to have a child one would never see, never know. It was part of the reason she'd vowed so long ago not to have a child herself. Crichton's pain at the loss of his own child and lover only further reinforced that determination. Better to concentrate on her career and avoid the pain.
As she and Tauvo walked across the crowded deck in companionable silence, Aeryn tried to think of something that might help break the human out of his cycle of depression. Short of conjuring up a wormhole and sending him home, though, nothing immediately came to mind.
The roar of an engine overhead drew her eyes upwards, along with the attention of every soldier and tech nearby. A flag courier, compact and streamlined, glided effortlessly into the hangar and settled into a parking space close to the interior access ports. It was an unusual sight. The couriers were some of the fastest vessels in the Peacekeeper fleet, used primarily to communicate extremely sensitive orders or to convey flag officers rapidly across the expanse of Peacekeeper space. There were none in their convoy, and Aeryn hadn't laid eyes on one in cycles.
She turned a questioning glance at Tauvo, expecting him to know something of this new arrival. His brother was the captain, after all, and often told Tauvo secrets he wouldn't even reveal to Lt. Teeg.
The younger Crais, however, met her look with a helpless shrug. "Bialar didn't mention anything about expecting guests."
They stood together, watching, as the new arrivals disembarked. All through the hangar area, workers and soldiers had paused to observe and wonder, the entire area holding its collective breath in anticipation.
Once the courier's loading ramp descended to the deck, four guards marched out in tandem and took up positions to either side, standing at full attention. Then, microts later, an older man strode down the walkway, exuding dignity with every step. Resplendent in the bars and badges of an admiral, he was heavyset with age and the sedentary life high rank bestowed.
The guard detail fell into step behind the admiral as he walked casually to the doors and into the carrier proper. Once the doors rolled shut behind the procession, the personnel on the deck slowly started moving again. Aeryn and Tauvo looked at each other. An admiral, out here? This was the back of beyond, an unimportant, disregarded border patrol. Aeryn couldn't help but wonder if this new arrival presaged the excitement Lt. Crais professed to crave.
"So what do you think it means?" she asked.
"Not sure," the lieutenant admitted. "Probably either something very good or very bad." He paused, glancing at her, seeming almost nervous. "Do you... have plans before your sleep cycle?"
"No, sir..."
He glanced down at his feet, then seemed to gather his courage and looked into her eyes again. "Would you care to--"
"Actually, Officer Aqida ordered me to report to medical," she interrupted. "It shouldn't take long. After that...perhaps we could meet in the officers' lounge? I could use a drink to wash the stench of battle out of my throat."
An odd look flashed across Tauvo's face for a microt, then vanished into a careful, neutral expression before Aeryn could identify it. "I will go see what I can find out about this new arrival. I'll meet you at the hammond twelve lounge in, what, two arns?"
Aeryn nodded. "I'll see if I can pry Crichton out of that lab of his and bring him along."
Tall, narrow glass. Lights, refracting and multiplying through the pale, blue liquid as he turned it. Blue...like the mouth of a wormhole. Mesmerizing.
"Crichton? John?" A hand touched his arm, and he blinked, emerging from the trance-like state he'd fallen into. He glanced up to see both Aeryn and Tauvo's faces looking at him, concern etched deeply into both.
He chuckled dismissively. "Sorry guys, drifted off there for a microt." Truth was, he'd been ignoring them. Hadn't even wanted to come in the first place, but Aeryn had insisted on celebrating her successful mission. Then she and Tauvo had gotten embroiled in a flurry of speculation about some ship they'd seen arrive, some bigwig that even Tauvo hadn't been able to discover the identity of. John, quite frankly, couldn't care less.
Something caught his eye just then, something he hadn't noticed earlier. Aeryn had a bandage wound around her upper arm. "What happened there?" he asked, pointing.
"What, this? Just some fekkik with a knife, caught me off guard." She shrugged, like it was nothing. Just another day at the office.
A cold chill raced through John's body, settling into a lump in his stomach. He forgot, sometimes, how very dangerous were the lives his friends here led. They were soldiers, risking themselves daily, without question. Fighting. Killing. Dying.
Death was so common here, so accepted, so completely disregarded. John sometimes felt like he was the only one who knew or cared that Gilina was gone. There'd been no memorial, no burial, no acknowledgement of her loss. Only Aeryn seemed to share with him any sense of regret for her absence, and she hadn't been around to talk to for a while now.
Compared to Aeryn and Tauvo, Gilina should have been the safest one of all. A tech, a non-combatant. She should have outlived John by a century or more and survived to see her five-times-great-grandchildren born. Any of these others--Aeryn, Tauvo, the young soldiers he trained with twice a weeken in hand-to-hand or weapons techniques--could disappear from his life in an instant, with no warning.
Aeryn's hand touched his arm, and John realized he'd zoned out on them again. He gave a self-deprecating half-smile and sipped some fellip nectar.
"How goes your project, Crichton?" Tauvo asked. "You've certainly been working hard on it."
He almost laughed. "Yeah, working hard. Sure." He shook his head. "Running around in circles is more like it. 'Goin' nowhere verra fast.'" He mimicked the proper Scottish accent for that last quote, but the joke was completely lost on this audience.
"Patience, Crichton," Tauvo reassured him. "If it was easy, everybody would be flying through wormholes."
"How long did it take," Aeryn piped in, "to perfect your sling-shot theory?"
"Years," John groaned. "Cycles." With a massive sigh, he nodded. "Point taken, though."
From that point on things flowed much better. In an attempt to draw John into the conversation, they discussed the various training classes he had been attending, for two hours after every work shift since his return. He was learning basic Peacekeeper skills in hand-to-hand and weapons combat, to establish and maintain his qualification for the rank he'd been granted. He could fly Prowlers and various types of transports now, in addition to the Marauders.
Much to his surprise, John had actually found himself enjoying the classes, especially the weapons training. Though his vision was inferior to that of Sebaceans, he still managed to achieve decent marksmanship by picturing Scorpius' face on every target.
Eventually, after a couple of entertaining arns, Aeryn took her leave of them, citing fatigue from the mission she'd so recently completed. Not long thereafter, Tauvo too bid Crichton a good night and headed for his quarters.
After his friends left, John sat for a while just enjoying his drink and relishing the memory of the first enjoyable evening he'd had in a very long time. This was why he'd agreed to come back, why he endured the uniform and the rules and the disdainful looks.
The looks, at least, had diminished since his return, though not due to any change in Peacekeeper prejudices. This new uniform he wore, as uncomfortable as it made him, was the perfect camouflage, allowing him to blend into the crowds. Just another Peacekeeper in a cast of thousands, too low ranking to be worthy of notice. Most didn't look past the uniform, and only a few of the harder cases among the crew actually remembered his face. These days he could wander the hallways and linger in the habitat recreations in relative safety. He'd spent many a sleepless night since the Chair doing just that.
Just as he was about to get up and get himself one last drink, John saw a familiar figure approaching with two glasses in her hands.
"Hello, Crichton," she greeted, holding one of them out. "Have a drink with me?"
John hesitated, then took the proffered glass. This was a first. "Sure, Betal," he said tentatively. "If you're sure you want to be seen socializing with an inferior species."
The dark-haired tech sat down, waving away that concern with forced nonchalance. "You're a Peacekeeper now, Crichton. One of us. If you're good enough for High Command, you ought to be good enough for everyone."
It wasn't the highest praise John had ever received from a woman, but it was better than what he usually got around here. When she'd first been assigned to his wormhole team over a cycle ago, Betal had barely been able to work in the same room with him without squirming. That she now sat willingly within just a few feet of him sharing a drink was something of a miracle.
They weren't even working together anymore, which made this even stranger. The entire wormhole research team had been reassigned to other duties when he and Gilina had left for the gammak base, and at John's request hadn't been returned to the project when he got back. He hadn't wanted to face them, hadn't thought he could handle working with them again day in and day out. It wasn't that he hadn't liked them--their barely civil forced tolerance from the first few monens had eventually given way to grudging respect--he just hadn't wanted to face the memories. It was easier to work alone than to be surrounded by five familiar faces, constantly looking for the missing sixth.
He hadn't seen any of them since getting back. This was the first time one of them had sought him out, and John wasn't sure he wanted to have this conversation. One thing, however, kept him seated, kept him from making his excuses and fleeing: Gilina had once mentioned Betal as the closest thing she'd ever had to a friend. It was a connection, however faint, that he couldn't ignore.
Nervously, John took a large gulp of his new drink, downing half of it in one shot. "So, what's on your mind?" he asked. She probably wanted to know about the wormhole project, wondering why she and her fellow techs had been excluded. John hoped he could come up with some believable explanation that wouldn't bruise her pride, without actually having to tell her the truth.
The tech seemed at least as nervous as he was, gripping her glass with two hands and staring into its depths as if for inspiration. "I've wanted to talk to you, Crichton. I wanted to ask you...about Gilina. About what happened."
Oh God. John's mouth went instantly dry. This was every one of his fears realized, a subject he'd been avoiding even thinking about, much less discussing. Every instinct screamed at him to run, hide, avoid, but he was frozen to his chair like a deer caught in the headlights of a speeding semi.
"I don't know if she ever mentioned it," Betal continued, oblivious to John's distress, "but Gilina and I had known each other since I was recruited at four cycles. We were crèche mates. I know she died, but no one wants to talk about her, tell me how or why. I know...I mean, I could tell...you two were close. She was different around you. Will you tell me?"
John swallowed the rest of his drink and sighed, feeling emotions he'd kept locked away starting to rise to the surface. He couldn't talk about this, not here, not with people around watching. But Betal deserved an answer. She deserved to know what her friend had died for, and at whose hands.
Gesturing wordlessly, John got up from the table and the young tech followed. He procured a few bottles of the fellip nectar from the bar--he'd need them to get through this--then led Betal out into the corridors.
As consciousness wormed its way into John's brain the next morning, he tried to turn over and groaned. Sitting up was a trial he never wanted to endure again, and he adamantly refused to turn up the lights, knowing what it would do to his hangover.
He was worn out, limp like a wet towel, wrung out and left to mildew on the bathroom floor. Consequent of a late night, emotional turmoil, alcohol and...well, other things.
He and Betal had talked for arns, safe from prying eyes in the privacy of John's quarters. (Mere crewmen didn't rate private rooms, but an exception had been made in his case, mostly because no one was willing to bunk with the alien.)
Their conversation had been tentative at first, as each one hesitated to broach the painful topics, but eventually they got to the heart of the issue. He'd told her almost everything: his relationship with Gilina, his capture and torture, and her death as Scorpius tried to force him to reveal something he didn't know. The only points he held back were the plans he and Gilina had made to defect, and the baby.
He'd cried, and Betal hadn't, which threw a monkey wrench into John's whole sense of gender propriety but was absolutely typical of a Peacekeeper. He had yet to see a single one of them, even Gilina, so much as shed a tear for anything or anyone.
John closed his eyes and sighed, disgusted with himself for what had followed.
He could make excuses--they were both drunk, both grieving, and sex was a common response to loss. Life, as it were, surmounting death. And it wasn't like she'd been unwilling. But none of that changed the fact that he'd slept with Gilina's best friend. It felt like a betrayal of her memory.
By the time John forced himself out of bed, through a cold shower, and into his uniform, he was nearly late. No time for first meal, but his stomach wasn't ready to discuss food just yet anyway. He staggered down the corridor to the nearest level riser, off to the lab for another pointless day of banging his head against impossible equations. So far, the Ancients' "unconscious knowledge" wasn't guiding him anywhere.
Two soldiers, anonymous behind the reflective visors of their duty helmets, were standing in the level riser when he got on. John knew from experience that wishing them a good morning would get him nothing more than an annoyed glare, if he got any response at all. He decided not to bother today; the silence was kinder to his pounding head.
It took several microts for John to notice when the riser didn't stop at his deck. He looked quizzically at the controls but could see nothing obvious wrong with them. Perhaps a glitch in the system? Before he could do more than wonder, however, the doors opened onto a different level, one of the lower ones that John had never explored.
Without warning, one of the soldiers behind him grabbed his arms, pinning them behind his back. John had a sudden, horrifying flashback to his arrest on the gammak base and started to struggle, but the second man stepped in front of him and delivered a perfect Pantak jab that sent him spinning into darkness.
Returning to consciousness was painful, as always, and more so due to the hangover. Saro Abljak, his first self-defense instructor here on the carrier, had used Pantak jabs on him a number of times, always smirking afterwards about how susceptible humans were to them. John had eventually learned to block the strike nine times out of ten, but this time he'd had no chance to fight back.
He was sprawled on the floor, and the first impression he had upon opening his eyes was darkness. Like the cell.... A cold sweat broke out along his spine as he struggled to get up. As his eyes adjusted, he found he could distinguish bare metal walls, randomly discolored in ways he didn't want to think too closely about.
There was a sound behind him, someone clearing their throat. John turned slowly, fully expecting to see Scorpius lurking in the shadows, his nightmares come to life. Instead he saw two men, both Sebacean, waiting calmly at the far end of the room. One of them, an older man with thinning white hair, sat behind a simple table, while the younger man stood at parade rest behind his right shoulder, eyes fixed forward like a statue.
"What the...?" In the absence of Scorpius, John felt his fear transform into anger and indignation. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded, stomping towards the table. "And what was with the goon squad?"
The statue man broke his stance and speared Crichton with a deadly glare. "I would suggest, Crewman Crichton, that you moderate your tone when addressing the Admiral."
Admiral? Oh shit.... The adrenaline-charged aggression faded quickly, and John fumbled into a more respectful stance. This must be the guy Aeryn and Tauvo were talking about last night. "My apologies, sir," he said quickly. Now that he was closer and his eyes were adjusting to the gloom, he could see that the older man's pristine scarlet and black uniform carried a great deal more decoration than he was used to seeing here on the carrier.
The admiral, for his part, frowned and harrumphed. "As to who I am..." he rumbled.
"The Admiral's identity is classified, for his own security," the lackey interjected. He spoke the title with audible capitalization.
"My position as head of Special Directorate," the older man clarified, glancing at his toady in annoyance, "would make me prime target for abduction or assassination if my identity were known. You will address me by title only."
"Special Directorate, sir?" John asked, unfamiliar with that branch.
"You have heard stories, perhaps, of disruptors?"
"Yes, Admiral, a little." Aeryn and Tauvo had occasionally talked about them. "Deep cover agents. Spies."
"Among other things," the man said cryptically. "All Peacekeeper disruptors operate under the auspices of Special Directorate."
Frell. John realized with a shudder he was speaking to the director of the Peacekeeper CIA. Or maybe the KGB was a closer parallel.
The admiral leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers together thoughtfully. "I had you brought here because I wished to speak to you privately, in a secure location."
"Me, sir?"
"For an unclassified alien, so newly inducted into service, you are quite popular, Crewman. High Command has received no fewer than a dozen applications for your transfer to a gammak base as a research assistant in the past quarter cycle."
John swallowed, fear rising again. "Over my dead body," he muttered under his breath, knowing who had made those requests.
If the admiral heard that, he ignored it. "So far, your Captain Crais has declined these applications, insisting that your work here on the carrier is indispensable; High Command has been honoring his refusals as a matter of course."
Thank you, Captain.
"Recently, however, another request for your services was made to High Command. Due to the importance of this petition, Command has now chosen to provisionally suspend Captain Crais' objections."
Oh, hell. "If I may ask, sir, who asked for me this time?"
"I did. One of our disruptors recently reported a possible crisis brewing, one which you are uniquely suited to solve. I'm here to encourage you to volunteer for a very special mission."
"Me, sir? I'm not a disruptor. Hell, I'm barely a Peacekeeper!"
"That will be to your advantage, actually. If we tried to give you disruptor training at this late date, it would be obvious. It takes cycles of intensive education and practice for a disruptor to know his or her job so well that the training doesn't show. It is a disruptor's job to blend in, to be something he's not. You, on the other hand, can simply be what you are: a Sebacean-like alien that no one could possibly suspect of being a Peacekeeper. That is why I chose you for this assignment."
"So what is it you expect me to do?"
The younger man spoke just as the admiral was opening his mouth to reply. "That's classified, Crewman."
The admiral glared at his flunky once again. "Shut up, Tebers." He turned to face John again. "Crichton, you will be told what you need to know when it becomes necessary. Until that time, recall that it is not a soldier's place to question orders."
John glanced back and forth between Tebers and the Admiral, but neither was forthcoming with any more information. "Okay, so let me get this straight...you have a situation out on some unnamed planet, your best bet for a solution is a half-trained human Peacekeeper, and you won't tell me what the mission is. I heard you use the word 'volunteer'; I assume that means I can say no?"
"You can."
"Well then, sorry Charlie, but I'm not buying any today. Get yourself another sucker."
The admiral gave a dramatic sigh and sat back, shaking his head. "Well, I'm sorry to hear that, Crichton, but I'm sure Scorpius will be very pleased."
John felt his stomach clench. "Scorpius? What the hell are you saying?"
The smile this time did have humor in it, and was far more frightening. "As I told you, High Command has suspended Captain Crais' objections to your transfer. Since you have chosen to decline my offer, Scorpius' transfer request will be approved as a matter of course."
"That's blackmail!"
Now the admiral frowned. "I am unfamiliar with the term, Crewman, but rest assured, I am quite accustomed to getting what I want. One way or the other."
John stared down at the floor, trying to squash down the rage and terror that threatened to overwhelm him. Hell of a choice: get sent back to Scorpius, or accept the mystery prize behind door number one. It couldn't be good. But the question was, could it possibly be worse than Scorpius?
That night in the officers' lounge, Aeryn watched Crichton sit and play with his glass while they waited for Lt. Crais. He was looking even more dejected than usual. Frell, she groused to herself. I thought he was starting to snap out of it last night.
"What's the matter, Crichton?"
The human rubbed his fingers across his forehead, refusing to meet her gaze. "Nothing. I don't want to talk about it," he replied.
"Which is it? Nothing, or something you don't want to discuss?" She got no reply, but Crichton slouched further, planting his elbows on the table and burying his face in his hands.
Crais arrived moments later, looking preoccupied and examining the slumped form of the human with a bemused expression. "Crichton!" he greeted brightly, slapping him on the shoulder hard enough to nearly slam his face into the table. "All your appendages still attached?"
"Wha'?" The response was distracted, confused, as Crichton recovered from the blow.
"You met with an admiral, I hear, and first yelled at him to his face, then told him to frell off when he offered you an important assignment. You're lucky he didn't stuff your mivonks down your throat!" Tauvo seemed to find this endlessly amusing, but headed off for the bar to get a drink before Crichton could reply.
Aeryn, for her part, was shocked. The admiral we saw? What did he want with John? "Is that what's got you in such a blue flunk, Crichton?"
Crichton's eyebrows drew together at that, followed by a real laugh this time. Aeryn felt some of the tension fade out of him. "It's 'funk', Aeryn. A blue funk. And no, I'm not upset because I told the Admiral where to stick it."
"Then what is the problem?"
"Problem is the fat bastard turned around and made me an offer I couldn't refuse, so I caved."
Aeryn frowned, impatient with yet another incomprehensible human metaphor. "What the frell does that mean?"
Crichton looked down at the table, absently tracing a small crack in the surface with one finger. "He just made it very, very difficult for me to turn him down."
"What does he want you to do?"
Crichton shrugged helplessly. "Hell if I know. All he did was spin me some 'need to know' crap; didn't tell me a freakin' thing."
Tauvo arrived back at the table at that point. He threw a leg over the back of a chair across the table from Aeryn and sat down, setting his drink in front of him. "I just got out of a meeting with the senior staff. The admiral was a bit irritated at your attitude, Crichton, but I spoke up in your defense, told him I had worked with you before and had had no problems with your attitude or ideas in the past."
"And what did the high-and-mighty admiral have to say about that?"
"He decided to put me in command of the transport for the mission." Crais smiled and took a swig of his raslak.
Crichton perked up a bit. "Hey, cool. It'll be nice to have someone to talk to. We taking a Marauder, or does Admiral 'M' rate something bigger, like a Vigilante or the Intruder?"
"Actually, Crichton, it won't be any of those. According to the admiral, we're heading out to the Breakaway Colonies, and they are notoriously hostile to Peacekeepers. We'd be stopped at the border, and if we tried to cross in anything less than a command carrier, they'd very likely blast us to Hezmana. So we're going to be flying something a bit less conspicuous."
John blinked. "Wow, you got more information out of him than I did. Breakaway Colonies, huh? I've never heard of them."
"They're a small but powerful group of Sebacean worlds, well outside Peacekeeper space in the Uncharteds. They're descended from a group that defected nearly two thousand cycles ago, due to philosophical differences."
John's forehead furrowed as he seemed to reconstruct a memory. "Wait... there was a revolution, right? I remember... somebody... telling me about that. It was all because they objected to the Peacekeeper conscription of children, back when the population was declining because of some genetic tinkering."
"I suppose," Tauvo said, waving away the insignificant historical details. "We'll be traveling undercover, as a trading vessel. Out of uniform, little or no weaponry. I wasn't told why we are going, just that we are going."
Aeryn was sorry to hear that both men would be leaving on this mysterious mission. It would be very quiet around here without them. "When do you leave?" she asked.
Tauvo counted off points on his fingers. "It'll take a few days to ready the ship for the journey, stock it with provisions and cargo appropriate for our cover. The admiral also wanted me to put together a small crew of commandos, just in case something goes wrong. But once that's done, we need to leave as soon as possible. The admiral indicated that speed was essential."
Aeryn nodded, then had a sudden thought. "My squad is down to half strength; the two who were injured will be off the duty roster for weekens. Would three be sufficient for your crew, Lieutenant? It would give Aqida, Leyn and I something useful to do in the interim."
Tauvo's face brightened at the idea, as did Crichton's. "Three would be perfect; great idea, Aeryn. I'd been worried about having to break up an established team."
Crichton spoke up then, too. "God, that would be great. With both of you along, I might just survive this whole fiasco."
"I will draft orders for all of you in the morning," Tauvo assured Aeryn.
"Tauvo," John wondered, "did you learn anything else about this stupid mission? All I got out of the admiral and his flunky was a bunch of 'classified' bullshit."
"It was much the same in the meeting I attended, Crichton, but it's not unusual. I cannot fathom what this admiral would possibly want with you, though. He came a very long way just to speak to you, and he said he'd be traveling with us when we go, so whatever it is must be important. Has High Command taken an interest in your wormholes or something?"
John shook his head. "Not that I know of."
Aeryn shrugged philosophically. "Senior officers are not known for explaining themselves to mere soldiers. We follow orders. We don't ask questions."
"Well, I'd hate to screw up a perfectly good secret mission with something silly like knowing what the hell is going on," John growled sarcastically.
Tauvo frowned. "Crichton--"
John waved him off. "Look, let's just drop it, okay? I'm tired of thinking about it." He pulled a small tactical simulator out from under his chair and placed it on the table. "How about a game, Tauvo? Whupping you into the astroturf would really help cheer me up."
John stood on the command deck of the transport, watching the screen for some sign of the ship they'd be taking to the Colonies. Tauvo had been close-mouthed and somewhat smug in keeping the details secret, saying only that John would understand when they arrived.
Aeryn and her diminished Marauder crew were seated in the rear compartment, looking completely uncomfortable in the semi-civilian clothing the Admiral had ordered them all to wear. They weren't happy to be going on a mission without their Marauder, either.
John, for his part, was feeling more comfortable than he had in a very long time, dressed in the IASA clothing he'd worn on his trip through the wormhole in the Farscape. The khaki and white set him apart from the rest, who still mostly stuck with a color scheme of black on black despite their lack of uniforms.
The transport swung out, away from the carrier, and swooped down towards the small cluster of captive Leviathans that congregated nearby. John looked closer, expecting to see some smaller ship concealed within the herd, but it soon became apparent that they were approaching one of the gigantic living ships instead. One he recognized.
He turned to the lieutenant, who was watching John's reaction with a smirk on his face. "What was it you said? 'Less conspicuous'? What the hell is inconspicuous about a Leviathan, Tauvo?"
"Who would ever suspect us of being Peacekeepers when we arrive in a ship with no weapons and no control collar?"
John had his finger raised, prepared to give a scathing retort, but the argument died on his lips. "Good point," he finally said.
"That's why I suggested Moya. Lt. Larell has worked hard, helping her recover from NamTar's memory wipe. Larell decided that replacing the control collar would cause more damage to the ship's neural systems right now, but she doesn't remember how to starburst anyway and doesn't seem inclined to run. She's perfect for this mission."
"It's good that you've been taking care of her."
The transport slipped into the Leviathan's hangar, guided by the docking web in an eerie repetition of John's first day over the rainbow. It was nice to see that evidence of Moya's recovery; last time he'd been aboard, almost nothing had been working.
When they disembarked and filed through the massive bay doors, Tauvo found himself confronted by an irate Delvian. "Lieutenant!" she snapped without preamble, marching gracefully up to him. "I strongly object to this! Moya is in no condition to be taken into a dangerous situation. She cannot yet starburst and would have no defense if the ship were threatened."
Tauvo crossed his arms and glared at the blue woman. "You forget your position here, Priest," he growled. "The fact that you are here, and not confined to a cell, is a privilege that could easily be revoked. As for Moya, she is fit to travel according to Lt. Larell and will be in no more danger on this journey than she has been in the company of a Peacekeeper battlegroup. We're going, whether you approve or not. Let us pass."
Zhaan glared daggers, but after a moment she stepped aside. Tauvo led the group past, marching purposefully into the corridors beyond the maintenance bay without a backward glance, the commandos following smartly along. John couldn't help but look back, and he caught a glimpse of the Delvian priestess passing her hands prayerfully over her hairless scalp. He hoped, for the ship's sake, that her fears would prove groundless.
Thirty solar days into their journey and Aeryn was growing ever more frustrated with John. And with herself.
There were times, like this morning, when John seemed almost back to normal, complete with endless chatter and incomprehensible jokes. But then, often in the middle of a conversation, his eyes would lose focus and darken, his attention waver, and his good mood would vanish like water boiling away in a vacuum. She couldn't tell if this was John still grieving for Gilina or if it was something new.
It was happening again now. They'd been sitting together in the Leviathan's center chamber, sharing first meal and enjoying a pleasant conversation. But now, suddenly, John was tense, silent, staring at the window out into space.
She wanted to do...something. Say something. Frell her sideways, this strange man who called her friend was in pain and she wanted to help. But she had no clue how. It wasn't part of her training.
John seemed to rouse from his fugue after a few microts to notice where he was. With a terse, barely audible apology, he got to his feet and drifted out into the hallways, his half eaten meal still sitting on the table.
Aeryn sighed as she watched him go.
A flicker of movement caught her eye and Aeryn turned. The Delvian priest was standing in the doorway that Crichton had just passed through, her gaze following the slouched figure as it turned a corner. "He is disturbed by something. I sense a darkness to his spirit that was not there the last time we met."
Aeryn shrugged uncomfortably. "I suppose."
Piercing blue eyes turned to gaze at her, boring deep until Aeryn had to turn away.
"You care for him, don't you my dear?" More than a question, the Delvian's tone conveyed both wonder and outright shock.
"He is a valued comrade. A friend."
The priest just gave her a knowing smile as she glided in and sat down near her. "If you say so, child. Do you know what it is that troubles him so?"
Aeryn sighed and shook her head. "It could be anything, or everything. Or nothing. The past few monens have been...difficult for him. A woman he cared for was killed. I thought he was getting better, but ever since we started out on this mission, he's been acting oddly. More so than usual."
"Perhaps it is the mission itself which disturbs him," Zhaan suggested. "Pilot has told me more about his efforts to help Moya and Lt. Crais at NamTar's station. He is a compassionate being, and--no insult intended--Peacekeepers are not known for that trait."
A cycle ago, Aeryn might indeed have taken offense at that remark. Not because it wasn't true, but at the implication that there was anything wrong with it. But now.... The monens she'd spent in the Territories with John and Gilina--alone in the Marauder, on the false Earth, on Sykar--had given her a unique perspective.
She just shook her head; it wasn't relevant. "I doubt it. None of us has been told yet what the mission is. He's just been...distracted lately. I went to the maintenance bay yesterday and heard him talking to someone. Arguing. But when I went in, there was no one there but Crichton. I don't think he's sleeping well, either."
"I would offer my assistance to him if I could," the priest mused. "But he would not likely accept it; he does not know me, and so would not easily trust me. He might, however, accept it from you."
Aeryn glared at the woman, who was far too perceptive for her comfort. She clamped her mouth shut, unwilling to give away any more than she already, apparently, had.
"There is nothing shameful in wanting to help a friend, my dear," she assured her, perhaps taking her silence for reluctance.
Aeryn leapt to her feet and started to storm out of the room. How dare she? As she reached the door, however, her steps faltered. Leaning one hand against the door frame, she gazed down the empty corridor where John had so recently disappeared.
"I am not ashamed," she insisted. It was true, though all her Peacekeeper training insisted that what she was feeling was wrong. "I just don't know...."
"Of course," the Delvian mused, as if all were suddenly clear. "No one has ever shown you compassion, so how would you know how to offer it?"
Crichton has, Aeryn realized, remembering her injury on the Zelbinion, and Crichton's insistence that she could live and be more in spite of it. His careful silence about her actions on Sykar. His insane insistence on rescuing Tauvo--and then her--from NamTar's sadistic experiments.
"If you would like my advice, child--"
"I am not your child," Aeryn snapped, suddenly disgusted with herself and this whole conversation. "I do not need advice from anyone, and especially not from a religious zealot from an inferior species!"
She stormed out and marched down the corridor without another word. She was being weak, like a four-cycle recruit missing her mommy, and this prisoner was going to lose all respect for Peacekeeper discipline if she didn't get herself under control. She'd find a way to help Crichton, whether the infuriating man wanted it or not, and she'd do it herself.
"So you actually understand what he's doing?" John asked Tauvo in wonder, watching the dizzying spectacle of Pilot's four arms tracking every system on Moya. That the huge creature could monitor the entire ship and all of her functions and still carry on an intelligent conversation at the same time was simply mind-boggling. They'd been in transit now for over three monens, and John still hadn't tired of coming here to talk to Pilot. This was the first time he'd talked Tauvo into joining him, though, and it was proving to be the most interesting trip yet.
Tauvo Crais, standing on the opposite side of the console, nodded slightly. "I don't know why; I've been aboard Leviathans before, but never sensed anything like this. I know the sequences, what each panel does and in what order."
"Maybe it's a remnant of what NamTar did to you. An echo from Pilot's DNA or something."
Tauvo's head jerked up and his eyes narrowed. "Don't ever even suggest that! You know the rules on contamination; I was lucky to escape with my life when it happened."
John swallowed nervously and backed off a step. "Hey, back off Bro, I didn't mean anything by it!"
Pilot looked up, his eyes bulging slightly as he gazed at the Peacekeeper who was standing far too close for comfort. "I, too, find the concept...disturbing, Lieutenant. It was an unpleasant experience for myself, as well as for Moya."
Tauvo simply nodded dismissively, still glaring at Crichton.
Time for a change of subject, John decided. "You're both doing lots better now, though, right, Pilot? I see your arm grew back."
"Very much better, thank you, Commander." John blinked to hear Pilot use his old IASA rank. "Moya's primary systems are nearly all restored to function. She still lacks her memories prior to the data wipe, but most of her general data stores have been restored by transfusion from another Leviathan."
Tauvo took to the change of subject readily. "The damage was quite extensive, I'm told. The original connection between Pilot and Moya was artificial, a forced bonding and a fairly unstable one. NamTar's crystal damaged it, so Lt. Larell had to disconnect him completely and allow a natural bonding to occur instead, so the connections would heal and grow gradually."
"The link is not yet fully complete," Pilot clarified, "but it is a relief to be free of the pain."
John started to say something, but was thwarted by an exhausted yawn. "Damn," he muttered, fatigue washing over him like a wave.
"Sleepless night?" Tauvo asked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
"Don't give me that look, bro. My insomnia is entirely self-inflicted; you know these PK commando chicks won't give the poor alien the time of day."
Tauvo got an odd look on his face. "What about Officer Sun?" There was a tone in his voice that John hadn't heard before.
"Aeryn? She's a friend, man, that's all." There was an almost imperceptible relaxation from Tauvo, and John had a sudden thought. "Wait a second...are you hot for the lovely Aeryn Sun, Lieutenant?" Another subtle shift of facial muscles. "Hah! You are!"
Crais shrugged and nodded. "I find her...attractive, but I don't think...she doesn't seem...."
"She shot you down?"
"Shot me--what an interesting metaphor, Crichton. No, I've never actually invited her to recreate; she just doesn't seem receptive."
John pondered the dilemma for a moment. "Don't know what to tell you, bro...your world's a lot different than what I'm used to. But one thing seems to be the same on both sides of the universe--women are incomprehensible to men." He was about to say something else, but another yawn attacked without warning. "Damn," he muttered, rubbing his face briskly and combing his fingers back through his hair.
"If you'll pardon the presumption, Commander," Pilot interjected, "Moya and I have noted your difficulty sleeping since your arrival on board. Perhaps you should ask Pa'u Zhaan for a remedy."
John tried to dismiss the concern with a wave of his hand. "Nah, it's okay, Pilot."
Tauvo, however, was not fooled, and their brief diversion was forgotten. "Crichton, I've noticed something wrong for a while now. If your sleep cycle is truly disturbed to the point of--"
"It's nothing," John insisted sharply, cutting him off.
Tauvo was silent for a moment, his gaze boring into John with furrowed brows, weighing and judging. John nearly gave in to the urge to squirm.
"Crichton," the lieutenant finally said. "Do not forget that I am your superior officer. You have not been acting like yourself for several monens, but I've not made an issue of it until now because it didn't seem to adversely affect your work. As a superior officer and a fellow Peacekeeper, I have a duty to ensure that you can perform to standard."
John frowned and looked away, but said nothing.
"As your friend, however," Tauvo continued in a gentler tone, "I am worried about you."
That brought him to a standstill. Even Pilot paused briefly in surprise at the revelation before continuing the endless monitoring and adjustments.
John had been in this part of the universe, among the Peacekeepers, for over a year now. He'd been through massive culture shock at first, until he grew accustomed to the very different views these people had on life and relationships. Peacekeeper soldiers were allowed to have 'friends', but their concept of that connection was fairly superficial. They'd share a drink, shoot the breeze, and generally enjoy each other's company. Even sex was casual, nothing more than a release of tension.
To care about someone, though.... That was not just unusual, it was against quite a number of regulations. It happened--Gilina had been proof of that, and John suspected Aeryn had made the leap, to an extent--but Lt. Crais had just crossed a serious line with that last statement.
"Tauvo," John said quietly, matching the implied intimacy. "It's not any one thing, and I'm handling it. Maybe I will talk to the priest lady, see if she's got any Nyquil. That stuff'll knock out a Marine platoon."
Tauvo looked puzzled for a microt, as the odd words flowed past his microbes, but didn't look like he was going to let the subject slide. But before he could speak up again, a voice blared through the comms from Pilot's console. It was Lt. Tebers, the admiral's pet gofer. "Pilot," he demanded brusquely, "locate Crewman Crichton and the Delvian for me."
Pilot looked up at his guest for a microt before replying. John shrugged and nodded. "Commander Crichton is here in the den, Lieutenant. Pa'u Zhaan is in her chambers," Pilot reported.
Without a word of acknowledgement, much less thanks, Tebers' snapped out, "Crichton, collect the Delvian and report to Command immediately. We are about to arrive at the border."
"Yes sir, Lieutenant sir!" John replied, rolling his eyes and affecting such a mocking expression that Tauvo pressed his knuckles against his lips and shook silently until Pilot closed the channel.
Then he burst out laughing. "Crichton, you are incorrigible!"
"Aw, Tauvo, you say the sweetest things," John quipped back, the lightness in his tone disguising the sinking feeling in his gut. They had arrived, and his quarter-cycle idyll was over. Whatever the admiral had in mind for him, he'd be hip-deep in it soon.
Touching the biomechanoid comms badge he'd been issued, he called out, "Hey, Pa'u Zhaan!"
There was a lengthy silence, and John was just about to call again when the Delvian answered with a serene, "Yes, John?"
In spite of his darkening mood, John grinned; he couldn't help it. Three months of exposure to the Delvian priest and her habits gave him a pretty good picture of what she'd been doing to achieve that air of utter calm, and what she was probably wearing while doing it. "Put your clothes on, Blue. Sorry to interrupt the zen thing, but the show must go on."
The silence was just as lengthy this time, and yet somehow managed to carry overtones of exasperation. "Crichton...."
"Sorry, Zhaan. We're just about there; Admiral wants us up on Command." For some reason, which again had not been explained.
"I will meet you there."
When they reached the border, both Zhaan and Pilot just about freaked at the swarm of self-tracking pulse cannons that locked Moya in a cross-targeted helix. A surly planetary security officer commed them almost immediately, demanding to know their identity and reason for trespassing.
John had done a fair bit of research on the Colonies since learning they were his destination, and so he wasn't particularly surprised; Peacekeeper intelligence reports had stated that the government here was in transition, with a new ruler due to be selected and crowned soon. By long tradition, the Colonies closed their borders to traffic during these periods, and got a bit paranoid about their security.
The admiral had only smiled when John brought that little problem to his attention. Did he really expect these hard-line isolationists to make an exception for one lonely cargo vessel?
John did his best to look busy as the admiral--in his assumed role as the representative of a small trading company--patiently talked his way past the low-echelon security and through more than a dozen levels of royal bureaucracy, seeking someone with the power to grant permission to approach.
Watching the man operate, John began to see what he'd meant by the level of training disruptors received. The man became the role he played, and John truly couldn't see a trace of "the admiral" anywhere. Still a commanding presence, which the role called for, he lost all trace of the menacing aura he'd always projected. His manner became easy, friendly, and respectful. He smiled often, the consummate businessman, inspiring trust.
Finally, after three arns of fruitless negotiation, a harried-looking young man in white appeared on the screen, looking annoyed at the summons. "I am Councilor Tyno. What is your purpose here?"
The 'captain' stepped forward to address this new inquiry. "Councilor, my name is Tal Jaran. My crew and I would like permission to approach your world and deliver the coronation gifts we were commissioned to transport."
The conversation from there progressed more or less as John had expected. Government bureaucracies seemed nearly universal, each having an apparently inexhaustible number of ways to say 'no'.
As he spoke earnestly, assuring the councilor that they carried neither large weapons nor illicit cargo and merely desired peaceful trade, the admiral wandered around the bridge, stopping first to look at Zhaan's console and lay a friendly hand on her shoulder, then moving over to John in a seemingly random migration across the deck.
Something changed then, and John couldn't figure out what caused it. Without warning, Tyno suddenly became very agreeable, and soon Moya's crew not only had permission to take up orbit around the Royal Planet but also had invitations to attend a social gathering at the palace that evening.
What the hell?
"No!" Aeryn snapped, perhaps a bit too loudly, as the tenth attractive man approached her with a tiny glass bottle and a hopeful expression. The man's eyes widened and he slunk away, tail between his legs.
"Having a problem, Aeryn?"
She turned, and grimaced when she saw Crais. The lieutenant wore an amused smirk. The two of them had accompanied the admiral and Crichton to the surface, leaving Senior Officer Aqida in charge back on Moya.
"Males," she growled back.
"What's the problem? I'm quite enjoying myself."
"As I said: males. Ruled by your mivonks, the lot of you."
Tauvo's grin widened. He shrugged unrepentantly. "Probably true. Even Crichton seems to be having a good time."
Aeryn glanced over at the human, who was at that moment in the midst of kissing a woman on the far side of the room. She shook her head; men were all alike, no matter what their species.
The kiss broke. John looked puzzled, but the woman smiled ecstatically. Suddenly the whole room was buzzing with murmurs.
"Look...the princess!" "She's smiling!"
Within microts, before Aeryn could react, Crichton was being led away, surrounded by guards.
The admiral appeared at Aeryn's elbow, watching the spectacle. "Excellent," he murmured.
When she reached the door to the room Crichton was sequestered in, Aeryn paused to watch as he stalked back and forth, muttering angrily. After a few moments of this, John swung around with a furious epithet and kicked the low bed frame.
"Good power in the kick," Tauvo quipped from behind her, "but I don't think the furniture was offering a serious threat."
John turned to glare at the both of them and didn't smile, just turned and limped over to the bench and sat down. "Well, since I can't kick that frelling ad--"
"Crichton," Aeryn interrupted, stepping into the room and holding her hand up in warning. Surveillance of some type was a strong possibility here.
"--fine, that frelling asshole who calls himself captain, I have to settle for what's available."
Aeryn frowned. 'Captain Jaran' had managed to get them permission to come up and check on their wayward shipmate, but nothing he or any of the palace staff said had given her a clue about what was going on. "Crichton--" she started to ask.
Hearing Tauvo clear his throat, Aeryn stopped and turned. Crais gave her one warning look, then stepped back from the door, letting the admiral brush past him and enter.
"Well, Crichton!" the old man greeted with an effusive smile. "You seem to have stumbled into an unexpected opportunity."
John, his face contorted in barely controlled rage, leapt to his feet. "Unexpected my ass! You knew this was going to happen, didn't you?"
The old man frowned, then extracted a small instrument from a hidden pocket. He turned a full circle, then gave a quick glance at the indicator. "No listening devices." He nodded and put the object away. "Your arrival may have caught them unprepared, or perhaps your new status precludes any such intrusion. To answer your impertinent question, yes, I did suspect this might be the result of our visit."
"So this is why you dragged my ass all the way out here to the hind end of nowhere? What the hell is so important about this? The princess has a brother, right? Let him inherit!"
"Prince Clavor is nothing but a Scarran puppet," the admiral informed him. "If he should take the throne, the Colonies would ally themselves with the Scarrans, against us. We believe they are the ones who poisoned the princess."
"Well, pardon my ignorance, but so frelling what? We're a long way from Peacekeeper space here; what's it to you if these folks decide to play nice with the lizard people?"
This time it was Crais who spoke. "Crichton, the Royal Colonies are a keystone to this entire sector of the Uncharted Territories. Their enforced neutrality has kept either side from getting a toehold here for centuries. If they were to make an alliance, many other worlds would fall to Scarran advance, giving our enemy resources we can ill-afford for them to get."
John waved off the explanation. "You know what? I don't care. It's not my problem. I did not sign up to get farmed out for stud fees!"
"You are a Peacekeeper." The old man enunciated each word carefully. "It is your duty to follow orders, to go where you are needed and do what is required, whatever the cost. Bringing you here was our best chance to thwart the Scarrans."
John's face was getting redder by the microt, and Aeryn started to fear that he'd rupture something, or go completely fahrbot and do something stupid.
"I'll tell you what you can do with your 'best alternative', you bastard! Just take a flying fuck at a rolling donut! I won't do it!"
There was no warning. One microt John was standing toe to toe with the admiral, looming over the much shorter and older man, and the next he was moaning and nearly unconscious, sprawled on the floor. Even Aeryn, recently graduated from the advanced training given to the Marauder commandos, had barely been able to follow the admiral's attack, it was so quick and so devastating. She was impressed, despite herself; the admiral might be old, past his prime, but he'd been a disruptor in his youth and obviously still kept up his training.
The old man stood over the floundering human, arms crossed, and waited until the bleary blue eyes focused on him. "You will do as you are told, Crichton. I don't care if you don't like it, or if something offends your delicate alien sensibilities. You are a Peacekeeper now; you took an oath to obey your superior officers."
The old man then turned and marched towards the door. Just before leaving, however, he turned back. "And I would also remind you that, if you choose not to cooperate, your alternate assignment is still waiting for you." The admiral swept out at that, summoning both Crais and Sun to follow him with an imperious gesture. After indulging in one last, lingering look at John, Aeryn hurried to catch up.
John Crichton lay perfectly still on the large, plush bed, fingers laced behind his head, staring at the ceiling. Despite the appearance of repose, there was nothing of peace in his eyes or his mind.
All that time I spent studying this place, he groused internally. All those times I laughed at their odd monarchy and strange customs. Look who's laughing now....
A flicker of motion in his peripheral vision; someone was at the door. He didn't turn to look, but he saw a flash of dark hair, hesitating just outside. "Come on in, Aeryn," he said quietly. "It's safe--I haven't thrown anything at anybody in close to an arn."
She appeared microts later at the foot of the bed, a hint of a smirk teasing the corner of her mouth. She probably knew he was joking; the only loose objects in the room were some small pillows, and those wouldn't be very emotionally satisfying projectiles.
She sat down on the bench at the foot of the bed and gazed at him over the toes of his shoes, saying nothing. John sighed; the woman wasn't much of a talker, but she could wield her silence like weapon, as deadly as her pulse rifle.
He resisted as long as possible--talking would make everything too real--and settled on avoidance. "So, you finally managed to ditch Attila the Hun I see."
Aeryn gave him a glare, one that conveyed as clearly as speech both her confusion and her knowledge that he was evading something. She let him get away with it for the moment, but John knew it wouldn't last.
"Tauvo and I have been escorting 'Captain Jaran' around while he sought out trade opportunities with this system. Otherwise I'd have been back sooner."
"Ah." The admiral was obviously burying himself in the part he'd given himself to play, acting the ambitious entrepreneur to the hilt.
Aeryn went on. "The captain has now retired to his chambers here in the palace for the night. I think Tauvo went back to the party."
"You should join him, enjoy yourself while you've got the chance. After all, you could be stuck back on Moya with the rest of your crew."
"I wanted to talk to you. Crais will find his own entertainment."
John's mouth quirked up at one corner. "Hope he's careful about who he kisses."
Aeryn's face got serious, and she leaned down with her elbows on her knees. "Is that what started all this? That woman you kissed?"
"'Jaran' didn't tell you?"
Aeryn shook her head mutely.
John sighed and rubbed his face with his hands, then sat up on the edge of the bed. He gave her a quick recap of the day's events: the solemn request, the kiss that tasted sweet, and his swift removal and isolation. "I should have known it was gonna be something like this," John groused. "I looked the Colonies up when Tauvo told me where we were going, downloaded everything the carrier's database had. I read the stuff over a dozen times on the trip out here. I knew they were getting close to coronation time, and the records made it sound like something was wonky...."
Aeryn shrugged. "I only recall a little about the Breakaway Colonies, myself. Their defection--and their survival--is one of the few great failures acknowledged in our history. Not a subject my instructors cared to dwell on."
John shook his head, bewildered. "This monarchy has some of the weirdest inheritance laws I have ever heard of; I guess their compatibility problems make them a bit paranoid. The princess has to have a husband, one who can give her heirs, or she can't ascend the throne. That councilor guy, Tyno, said somebody's screwed with her DNA, so she's not compatible with anyone."
"Except you."
Oh, thank you so much for reminding me, he though sarcastically. Then he pounded his fist into the mattress. "Frell!" The outburst made Aeryn jump slightly, but she said nothing as he leapt to his feet and started pacing across the room. "And to top it off, they're gonna turn us into statues for eighty cycles to learn the ropes. I can't...no, I won't...damn it! Rock, me, hard place...what the hell can I do?" He snatched up a pillow and threw it against the wall with all his strength, but he'd been right; it didn't help.
Aeryn got up and grabbed him, arresting his motion. "John," she said to his face, very deliberately, holding him by his shoulders.
It worked. The use of his name was a shock; Gilina had called him that, but most everyone else used his rank or surname. It was a level of familiarity Aeryn didn't often descend to.
With an explosive sigh, he collapsed back to sit on the bed again. Aeryn crouched down, hands on his knees. "You're being too emotional, Crichton. You have to get past that, think about this rationally--"
John gave a harsh laugh. "Rationally? Fuck rationally, Aeryn; I am not a Peacekeeper automaton. I'm mad, and I'm scared, and I can't just turn it off."
Aeryn scowled, and for a second it looked like she might stalk out in disgust. But then she closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again she was gazing deeply into his. "The Peacekeeper way has many flaws --you've helped me to see that--but it also has its occasional advantages. We are trained from birth to set our emotions aside, so they won't impair our efficiency or distract us from duty. You need to think clearly right now. What are your options?"
John just shook his head, his thoughts still whirling without direction. The harder he tried to wrestle them under control, the wilder the swings of emotion became.
Aeryn held up one finger. "You could run. The Barren Lands outside the city are vast and harsh; you might be able to hide there for a long time."
He stared at her in amazement. Aeryn Sun advocating desertion? The shock alone brought his wayward thoughts to heel for a microt and he felt himself gain a small scrap of control. "I can't believe you just suggested that," he said with an amused smirk.
She didn't smile back, just shook her head. "Neither can I. If they caught you, you'd almost certainly be executed. And they probably would catch you eventually. Your other option is to simply tell the admiral 'no'. You said yourself that High Command required you to volunteer for this, and now I understand why. An assignment of this magnitude goes a bit beyond what is typically asked of a soldier, even a disruptor. Disobeying orders would usually earn summary execution, too, but I heard the admiral say there was another assignment for you if you turned this one down."
That reminder was like a bucket of ice water dumped over John's head. "No, you're right, killing me would be too easy for that bastard. He's got something much worse in mind. Frankly, Aeryn," he said, the coldness seeping into his voice, "I'd rather get executed for desertion."
"Worse? What could possibly be--"
"If I don't play ball, our beloved admiral will ship my ass off to Scorpius. That's how he forced me to agree to this in the first place."
Aeryn quirked her head sideways. "Why didn't you tell us that from the beginning, Crichton? I've been trying to figure out your reasons for monens!"
John looked down at his feet, and felt his fact grow warm. "I was...I guess I figured you'd think I was weak. I didn't want to agree, but Scorpius....he scares me, Aeryn."
He got to his feet again and went back to his frenetic pacing. "God, has it really come down to this? Choose the lesser evil -- spend the rest of my natural life here in this gilded cage, with a woman I don't even know, much less love, or go back to my worst nightmare."
"Scorpius might not be as bad this time, Crichton. You'd be a Peacekeeper officer, with rank and status to give you some protection you didn't have before."
John shuddered, hugging his arms around his body, and shook his head. "You didn't see him like I did, Aeryn. You didn't have to watch him dissect your mind bit by bit. You didn't see how his eyes lit up every time he found something about wormholes.
"He's a monster. He killed Gilina, shot her in cold blood, just because he suspected I might know her. He didn't even blink. He was this close to driving me right over the edge, Aeryn. Hell, I'm starting to think he might have--"
"John," Aeryn cut in, but he didn't let her finish.
"No, damn it! I won't let them send me back so he can finish the job--anything's better than that." He paused and looked around, as if seeing the room for the first time. His voice became resigned, with no inflection. "Hell, even eighty cycles as a statue would be better. It's not like living among the Peacekeepers has been a whole lot of fun, anyway."
"You've wanted to leave for a long time," said Aeryn's voice from behind him. "Perhaps you would be happier here."
He turned around; Aeryn's face was carefully neutral, revealing nothing. "Did you hear what I said about those eighty cycles as a statue? I want to go home, Aeryn, and I can't do that if I'm stuck here as a pigeon perch! Even if I found a way later, and assuming I'd be willing to leave behind a wife and possible children, everyone I know would be long dead by then. At least with the Peacekeepers I stand a chance of figuring things out sooner rather than later."
Aeryn's dark eyebrows drew together; she opened her mouth a few times then closed it without a sound, before she finally spoke. "John, do you really believe that High Command will just let you go after you figure out your wormholes? That technology has the potential to be an incredibly powerful weapon, one they wouldn't want to fall into the wrong hands. Not even the hands of a people as primitive as yours."
It was like a kick in the gut, hearing that. So obvious, now that she'd pointed it out, he should have realized it himself from the beginning. They'd never let him go. Hope was slipping away, doors closing on all sides.
"John," Aeryn said tentatively. "You may have to accept that you'll never find your way back to Earth. I would...miss you, if you stayed here, but you've never truly been comfortable among us. Maybe the life you're being offered here would...fit you better."
John couldn't find the words or the impetus to respond, adrift in a sea of bad choices and worse choices.
"It's late," Aeryn finally said to break the silence. "Get some sleep, and think about what I said."
He looked up at her eyes, seeing newborn compassion lurking there, and managed to nod. He reached up and grasped her hand in wordless thanks, and let go only reluctantly as she finally walked away.
Aeryn Sun's life had once been predictable, with one day following the next in orderly progression. Training, drills, duty assignments and recreation, orders and regulations dictating every action and every breath. Even battle had its rules and procedures, and was often so much like training in some ways that it was hard to remember which was which.
All that had started to change a cycle and half ago, the day she encountered a strange and primitive alien in a Leviathan prison cell.
Suddenly the rules that had defined her life were no longer absolute. Comfortable certainty had given way to questions and doubts; new and strange emotions left her constantly torn between fear and confusion. It was frightening, but she felt more alive now than she ever had in her life. It was as if she'd been trapped in a dark room, and Crichton had opened up a crack to let in a little light. The cracks were widening day after day as she woke from her grey existence.
Every day was a struggle now, to walk the fine line between her life as a loyal Peacekeeper officer, a role she'd always been proud to fill, and the newborn self forming within.
Three solar days ago, the Peacekeeper Aeryn Sun had encouraged John Crichton to follow orders and fulfill the duty he had agreed to undertake, albeit in ignorance. She'd convinced herself that it was what was best for the Peacekeepers, and for John as well.
Three days and four assassination attempts later, Aeryn Sun was seriously questioning that assumption.
The newly wedded royal couple was now safely crystallized in their governance statues for the next eighty cycles. But afterwards? Aeryn didn't think Prince Clavor's plotting would cease just because his sister was now the acknowledged empress-elect. And in eighty cycles, Aeryn wouldn't be here to protect John as she had been doing up until now.
The wedding itself had been surprisingly disturbing for Aeryn to watch. When the empress had asked those assembled if any 'had cause to sway the will of love', Aeryn had had to bite her lip. Love, she knew, had nothing to do with what she was witnessing.
Aeryn wandered into the refreshment house attached to the palace, at loose ends and looking for something to occupy herself while they waited. She and Tauvo would be heading back to Moya in two arns, and back to Peacekeeper space within the solar day.
It would be another long and tedious journey, and all the worse for the loss of one man. Aeryn could fill her days with duty and training with her team, but her off duty arns would be dull and monotonous without John's ready wit and incomprehensible humor.
In other words, life was about to return to normal, to what it had been for all the cycles of her life before the strange human fell into her world and turned everything sideways.
Stability. Order. Routine. A Peacekeeper found comfort in such things; they signified that all was well and right with the world. But Aeryn knew now that she could have more--be more--and she didn't want to go back to the past.
I don't want to lose John.
It wasn't until the couple walking behind her nearly ran her down that Aeryn noticed she'd come to a complete standstill at that revelation.
When had this happened? Transfers and reassignments were an accepted fact of Peacekeeper life; this was nothing she hadn't been through a hundred times before. So why did it feel so different? When had John Crichton stopped being merely an intriguing companion and become such an integral part of her life that she felt diminished by his loss?
Aeryn, seated alone at a table, had worked herself up to contemplating some very unlikely rescue scenarios when her thoughts were derailed by a sudden commotion from the door. A dozen Royal Paladins, the Empress' own security force, marched briskly into the room and spread out around the perimeter. Aeryn stiffened, sitting up straighter. Something was wrong.
One of the soldiers stepped into an open area near the center of the refreshment house and raised his voice to be heard by everyone. "By order of Empress Novia, all public gathering places in the palace are closed until further notice. Residents and employees of the royal household are requested to return to their homes when not on duty. All off-world guests are ordered confined to their quarters immediately, pending an official inquiry. Any off-worlder found wandering without escort will be placed under immediate arrest."
The patrons rose in near unison and began milling towards the exits, their muttered exclamations and queries rising quickly to a roar of excited and fearful voices. Aeryn left quickly and touched her comms once she was out of the worst of the crowd.
"Captain Jaran? This is Aeryn. Please respond." Their cover was still intact, so she was careful to avoid any reference to their true ranks.
The admiral's voice came back through her comm badge with no delay, almost as if he'd been waiting for her call. "Sun, report to my quarters immediately. We have a problem."
Aeryn changed course obediently, heading up another level to the quarters assigned to more important guests. Thinking back to her earlier reflections on Crichton, she muttered to herself, "Frelling right we have a problem."
The channel was still open, however, and the admiral heard the comment. "Ah, then you've already been informed. We will have to work together to locate Crichton's head before this entire situation spirals out of control."
It took three strides for the admiral's words to sink in. Aeryn stumbled to a halt, mouth gaping in disbelief. "Crichton's what?"
TBC...