Episode 16 - The Devil You Know
"I've already lost people I care about because of you." - John Crichton
Aeryn watched Tech Shekar slip out the narrow doorway and into the dark corridor outside the starburst chamber, heading back for the Leviathan team before he was missed. Her mind raced, forming and discarding plan after plan for their escape. It had been so long without any hint of suspicion or action in their direction that she feared she had grown complacent, assuming they had all the time in the universe to plan their next actions.
And now, all that time had vanished. Scorpius would soon conclude, if he had not already, that she and John were neither dead nor aboard the carrier. Given Scorpius' position and reputation for cruelty, he would then discover their location through either intimidation or torture not long thereafter. She and Crichton had days, at best -- possibly only arns -- to make their escape.
She glanced over at John, who had returned to his seat in one of the alcoves at some point during the conversation, then did a double take. She'd expected to see panic in the human's eyes, or fear--the principal emotions that had lurked under the surface for so many monens due to that Scarran half-breed, and which had ruled him completely in those last few solar days before Scorpius finally captured him with her unwitting assistance.
Instead, John was sitting calmly, making small adjustments to his DRD voice synthesizer. She watched him for several hundred microts, but saw no hint of apprehension or nervousness. "John?" she queried at last.
"Hmm?" he replied absently, not looking up. Aside from the single coherent expletive he'd managed earlier, John's speech had not really progressed far; simple sounds such as this, with inflections implying positive, negative or interrogative responses, were all he could consistently produce without the DRD's assistance.
"We need to come up with a plan to escape; Scorpius will be looking for us." The human's composure baffled her; had he forgotten that part of the tech's report?
John finally looked up at Aeryn, raising an eyebrow in an expression that seemed to doubt her intelligence. He spent a few microts typing a response into the synthesizer. ::Let me know if you come up with something. I cannot think of a single thing that will work.::
Aeryn opened and closed her mouth a few times without a sound emerging. This was just too strange. She was the experienced Peacekeeper here; she should be the calm and rational one, not the neophyte sitting across from her who had lost his voice and nearly his sanity to the monster pursuing them. "How can you be so calm?" she finally asked.
John shrugged as he typed. ::He doesn't scare me anymore.::
"Well, he sure as frell scares me," Aeryn muttered under her breath. Thanks to the utter silence of the starburst chamber, even John's inferior hearing managed to pick up her words.
Before he could start typing a response, however, the door to the corridor slid open again, admitting their Delvian ship-mate. "Pilot asked me to relay to you that the Peacekeeper contingent has departed for the carrier; you can come out again."
Crichton nodded, gathered up his DRD companion and left without a word or a glance to either woman.
Aeryn watched him go, and Zhaan watched Aeryn. "Is there a problem, Officer Sun?" she finally asked.
Aeryn sighed, crossing her arms and glaring down at the toes of her boots. "I wish I knew. A tech came down and told us that Scorpius may be close to discovering that John is alive. It is only a short trip from there to him finding us. Half a cycle ago, that news would have had John in a panic. Now...well, you saw him. He doesn't seem to care."
The Delvian gazed thoughtfully out the door at the now-empty corridor. "John was gravely wounded by his experiences. Not only physically, but emotionally, psychologically. He is healing, slowly, but you cannot expect that he will ever be the same as he was. There still resides within him the man we found on the floor of my apothecary, with a crystal shard held ready to spill his own lifeblood."
Aeryn's eyes shot up to meet Zhaan's. "Are you saying he's still suicidal?"
The Delvian shook her head, reaching out to calm the former Peacekeeper. "No, and that is largely thanks to you, my dear. Your love for him, and his for you, is what pulled him back from that brink. No, John no longer seeks death, or wishes for it. But he has seen it, faced it, accepted it. Death no longer holds any terror for John Crichton."
In the dark hours of the late ship's night, John Crichton leaned against the edge of the doorway to his quarters, watching Aeryn sleep. He'd spent most of the day after hearing the tech's news wandering through Moya's corridors, deep in thought. Aeryn had made a half-hearted effort to get him to talk when he finally returned for last meal, but she didn't really know how to ask the right questions.
In the pale light from the hallway, Aeryn's hair glistened against the pillow like black satin, and the stirring in John's chest intensified. Two and a half cycles had passed since that day he'd dropped through the wormhole and into this frelled-up side of the universe, and nothing had gone right since. Every time he found something good, started to be happy, fate would come along and kick him in the teeth. The first time, it had cost him Gilina, and the baby. And now, after he'd finally gotten past the grief and started to love someone again, fate seemed determined to rip her away from him as well.
Well, he wouldn't allow it. If Scorpius showed up, John Crichton was screwed, no way around that. But there was still a small chance that the bastard might not know about Aeryn. She had been just one Peacekeeper soldier amongst thousands to the Scarran half-breed, and he'd seen her declared dead before his own eyes; there was no reason for him to be interested in her. If John could keep her away, keep her existence hidden until it was over, Aeryn Sun might just be able to get away and make a life for herself. Might as well make it count for something.
"Officer Crichton?" Pilot's voice spoke through his comms at that moment. John glanced at the sleeping form inside, noting that the sound had not woken her, then stepped away down the corridor. Once out of easy ear-shot, he double-tapped his comms to let Pilot to know he was listening.
"A Peacekeeper Marauder just entered scanning range. It will pass quite near Moya, but is not approaching directly. I thought you might want to know, however."
Crichton grabbed up the DRD that always followed at his heels and broke into a run for the den. It could just be a coincidence -- Marauders had been seen departing or returning to the carrier on occasion in the past several monens -- but given the news from earlier, John wasn't counting on it.
When he reached Pilot's chamber the door was open; he was expected. John flew across the narrow bridge without breaking stride, set the DRD on the console and vaulted over it to land next to the giant symbiot. Pilot knew him well, it seemed, and already had the display primed to show the approaching ship, now less than a metra away. John looked at the bug-like vessel, judged its course and speed...and suddenly, like a premonition of disaster, he knew. ::Pilot,:: he typed quickly, ::is Aeryn still in our quarters?::
"She appears to still be asleep, yes. Why do you ask?"
::I need to ask you a favor. Please close the door to those quarters and lock it. Scorpius is coming, and I do not want her involved.::
"You believe that ship is coming here? That Scorpius is aboard?"
John nodded. ::It's like I can sense the bastard. He's here for me, though, not for Aeryn. He doesn't even have to know she's here.::
Pilot paused, perhaps hesitant to take such action against a member of his own crew, even at the request of another. Then his head jerked up and one of his large claws reached out to toggle a control. The comms speakers flared to life, and a hated voice echoed through the cavernous chamber. "Attention Leviathan, this is Scorpius. I know that John Crichton is aboard. Do not attempt to escape; we are coming aboard to take custody of the human."
John felt his innards freeze and twist. Knowing it was Scorpius was one thing, but actually hearing that voice for the first time in half a cycle was something quite different. ::Please, Pilot,:: he begged. ::Help me keep Aeryn safe. You heard him; he's here for me, not her.::
Pilot's eyes met his for a long moment, and then he nodded. "Very well, John." Another claw reached over to tap a series of buttons. "Officer Sun is confined to your quarters. Will you be meeting the Marauder in the hangar bay?"
John nodded, reaching forward to lever himself up and out of Pilot's work space. Before he could jump, though, he was nearly knocked off his feet. Moya shuddered, the dull, distant sounds of explosions ringing through the chamber. His DRD slid off and clattered to the deck, dragging the keyboard with it, and Pilot screamed in anger and pain.
As John reached out to comfort the suffering creature, desperation once again overcame his disability. "Wha' happen?" he blurted out in slurred but understandable English.
Pilot panted for a moment, fighting the pain coursing through the ship he was so intimately linked to. "They fired on Moya! She did nothing!"
Crichton growled incoherently, his speech abandoning him once again, and vaulted over the console in one determined leap. He reached for the pistol that rode on his leg -- he had only recently convinced everyone that he could be trusted to carry it again -- and tested the chakan oil charge with his tongue. Eyes blazing with rage, he slammed the cartridge back into the butt of the gun and reholstered it. It didn't take Pilot's keen ability to read nonverbal cues to know that Scorpius was going to pay for this. Nodding once to the symbiot, John marched out toward the corridor, not really caring if his DRD translator followed. He heard Aeryn calling to him through the comms; impatiently, he tore the small badge off of his shirt and tossed it down into the depths of the central nexus.
A hundred microts ago, he'd been prepared to give himself up to Scorpius, to trade his freedom in order to save Aeryn. That plan had changed, now. As he passed through the open door, he could hear her calling to Pilot, asking what was happening and why her door was locked. Striding toward the hangar bays, John pulled his pistol from its holster once again and started fiddling with the power selector.
A violent jolt and groan startled Aeryn out of a sound sleep, and she just managed to catch herself before she was thrown from the bunk. She staggered to her feet, battle reflexes kicking in almost instantly, and reached for her weapon belt.
"John?" she called out, looking around the darkened room. There was no response. Had he been in the 'fresher and been knocked out when Moya shook? Hezmana, like the human's head needs more abuse...
A brief search, however, found no sign of him. Tapping her comms, she tried once again to reach him but received no reply, not even his double-tap shorthand. Part of her surged with worry, but her training won out in this instance. There was an emergency, the ship was under attack, and it appeared that it was up to Aeryn to deal with it. John would have to wait.
Long strides brought her to the cell door. She waved her hand over the controls.
Nothing. She tried again, with the same result.
She tapped the comms again, frustrated. "Pilot, the door to my quarters is jammed. What is the situation?"
There was a long silence. Aeryn wondered if the comms were completely out, but then Pilot's hesitant voice emerged. "My...apologies, Officer Sun. I will...send a DRD to investigate the problem as soon as possible."
Aeryn blinked. That had been uncharacteristically evasive, and Pilot's voice sounded far more worried than his words would suggest. "What's going on, Pilot? It felt like Moya was fired on!"
"The situation is...under control."
"Under control? Pilot, Scorpius is probably boarding as we speak! John may be injured; he's not responding to the comms. How can you say things are 'under control'?"
"Officer Crichton is unharmed. He is dealing with the situation."
Aeryn blinked. When the bland statement finally registered, she wanted to reach through the comms and strangle the infuriating Pilot. For an instant she imagined that she'd liked these creatures better when she'd still been under the delusion that they were nothing but mindless servicers. She took a deep breath, attempting to calm herself. This wasn't helping.
"Pilot," she said calmly, her voice steady and hard, "tell me what the frell is going on or I will blast this door open and come up there to ask you again at gunpoint."
The silence this time was, if anything, even longer than the first. Finally, Pilot's conflicted resolve crumbled. "Scorpius sent a message. He is coming aboard to retrieve Officer Crichton. However, the message made no mention of you, Officer Sun, so Crichton hopes Scorpius is ignorant of your presence. He asked me to help him maintain that ignorance by keeping you away from the confrontation."
"He's going to give himself up, isn't he? Frelling stubborn idiot...."
"I believe that was his original intent, Officer Sun, but then the Peacekeeper ship fired on Moya. I do not believe surrender is on his mind anymore."
Emotion surged, a potent blend of anger, fear, love, and sheer unadulterated rage. "Pilot, let me out of here this instant!"
There was no answer.
If the Peacekeepers had taught Aeryn only one useful thing, it was to recognize a hopeless battle. Pilot's attachment to John was far greater than it was to her, and it would take far more persuasive ability than she possessed to convince him to violate John's wishes. Time to plot a new course.
If a mere Hynerian could escape from one of these cells, so could she.
John sat casually on top of a cargo container near the wall opposite the bay doors, his keyboard beside him. His pose was one of artful nonchalance as he waited for the doors to open, the illusion marred only by the constant tapping of his fingers against his leg. He held the pistol cradled carefully in his other hand, its light blinking ominously.
In what passed for quiet inside a living ship, John could hear the muffled sounds of the Marauder touching down on Moya's deck, and of atmosphere being pumped back into the huge landing bay. Then there was a long space of dead silence.
That would be the Marauder team's influence, John decided. If they weren't with him, John imagined Scorpius would simply stride brazenly through the doors, all arrogance and hubris. The commandos, he knew, were better trained than that, and would be prepared for resistance even here. What he was counting on, however, was that Scorpius wanted to take him alive. That would give John a small advantage. Very small, though; he had few illusions about the skills of these soldiers. Aeryn had been one of them, after all, and even after months of training with her, she could still whip his ass without breaking a sweat.
Finally, after nearly a hundred microts, the bay doors ground their way open. The large three-legged ship could be seen crouching a dozen motras beyond, but at first there was no sign of anyone on the ground. John wasn't fooled.
At some unseen signal, two commandos slid quickly and silently around each side of the doorway, their weapons scanning the room. They both saw him at the same instant and brought their rifles to bear on him; it was like watching two mirror images, their movements were so precise and synchronized.
The one on the left gave a hand signal to someone out of sight behind him; John knew the code, thanks to Aeryn, and knew the soldier was simply reporting the presence of one armed hostile. There was a whispered command, too low to be understandable, but the meaning was soon apparent as the soldier started to raise his rifle. John realized they were probably going to try to wound him, to disable any resistance.
"Ah-ah," he called out warningly, waving his pistol so that the soldier could see the indicators. To the untrained eye, the only thing to see was a blinking light, but these eyes were anything but untrained.
The standard Peacekeeper pulse weapon was a simple device, with only three basic controls. Like any modern Earth weapon, it had both a safety and a trigger; the third control was a power selector. The lowest setting conserved the chakan oil, and even that minimal power was enough to put down an unarmored opponent of a race similar to Sebacean. It allowed for single shots, with a pause of about half a microt to recharge before the next shot. The pulse rifles had a middle power setting for targets with battle armor, with a similar shot rate.
The highest power setting on a pulse weapon was the dangerous one, for both the owner and the target. Chakan oil was fed constantly into the pulse chamber, which allowed for rapid fire as fast as the trigger could be depressed, or slower fire at very high power. But the constant feed of oil also meant that if the weapon were not fired, the pressure would build into an overload in the pulse chamber and cause the weapon to explode.
John had used this feature to his own benefit once before, against the Scarran agent who captured him back on the commerce planet nearly a cycle before. What he was showing the Peacekeeper commando now was that he was holding this pistol just shy of an overload, maintaining a slight pressure on the trigger to bleed off the excess. As John expected, the Peacekeeper could see all this at a glance, and knew that John had jerry-rigged the equivalent of a dead-man switch. If he lost his grip on the pistol, it would explode almost immediately.
Under most circumstances, the Peacekeepers would not care a whit if their target chose to blow himself up. But Scorpius, John was sure, would have something to say about it.
Sure enough, the soldier subsided, and for a few microts he made no further movements. Probably trying to figure out how to say "the target is insane; requesting instructions" in Peacekeeper battle sign. John smiled. He turned and started tapping keys on his trusty DRD speak 'n spell, giving the commandos a quelling look when they started to raise their weapons in alarm.
::Hey, Scorpius, come out and say hello.:: The mechanical voice made both commandos blink in surprise, but it did its job. The figure of his nightmares, still clad head to toe in shiny black leather, stepped into view. The soldier nearest him whispered something, gesturing toward John's blinking pistol, and the Scarran half-breed frowned.
"Crichton," he growled. "Stop this foolishness. Do you truly believe you can escape?"
John typed some more, which was harder than usual since he could only use one hand and had to keep half an eye on the opposition at the same time. ::Good to see you too, Scorpy. Miss me?:: He deliberately ignored the question.
There was a low rumble, very Scarran in timbre, as Scorpius fought his temper. He tried a more conciliatory approach, though the anger still lurked in his voice. "Crichton, be reasonable. Put the weapon down and come with us."
Now it was John's turn to growl, and his typing grew a bit more violent. ::Give me one good reason, you bastard. You've taken everything from me already, my place, my voice, the woman I loved.:: John knew he was referring to Gilina, but hoped Scorpius would think it was Aeryn he was talking about. ::Seems only right that I should take something from you, and the crap in my head seems to be the only thing you care about. It might be worth it just to see the look on your face. I certainly have nothing left to lose, and I'm not going back to your damn chair.::
"John." The voice now turned almost condescending, as if Scorpius were talking to a brain-damaged child. "I have no plans to use the Aurora chair again. It has already proved itself unequal to the task of retrieving the information I require. The neural chip was more successful, but there are still gaps in the knowledge which I believe you can help us bridge."
::Why the hell would I help you? You've done nothing but torture and mind-rape me since we met. But that wasn't enough, was it? No, you had to add another crime to your list by attacking an innocent creature and seriously wounding her. Moya did nothing to you!::
Scorpius just looked blank, as if he had no idea what John was talking about.
::The Leviathan, you moron!:: John truly regretted the DRD's inability to provide the proper derisive inflection to that statement. ::She has no weapons, nothing to threaten you. She can't even starburst! So why the hell did you feel the need to fire on her?::
The half-breed finally seemed to understand what John was referring to. "This vessel has no control collar; I was merely ensuring that it did not attempt to escape." He said it casually, like it should have been obvious to anyone.
::What, you think if Moya had any desire to leave that she'd still be here? You think I haven't tried to get her to leave? She's been without a collar for over two cycles. She likes it here, God knows why, though you may have changed her mind about that now.::
Scorpius looked torn between burning anger and complete bafflement, which made John wonder how long it had been since anyone had told the half-breed 'no'. The fact that this half-alien interloper was now in command of one of the Peacekeepers' largest ships said a great deal about his influence and talent for intimidation. If even Peacekeeper First Command feared to tell Scorpius he couldn't do something, then what chance did the poor soldiers who served under him have?
After a few moments of contemplation, Scorpius finally took a slow step toward John. "Crichton, let us talk about this."
John almost smiled. That's right, Scorpy, he thought, come a little closer. Let's find out if I can stuff this pistol as far down your throat as I did that other Scarran who thought he could torture information out of me. Rather than say this aloud, however, he simply raised an ironic eyebrow and gave a verbal demonstration of why he was using the DRD. After monens of practice, he could sometimes get maybe one word in ten to sound vaguely like what he wanted to say, but his version of "Bring it on, Lizard Breath!" still sounded like gibberish.
Scorpius attempted something that might have been a sympathetic expression, but in reality looked more like a sad scowl. "I do recall the med techs saying that the chip was near your brain's speech center; I see they were correct. If you come with us, I know of a place where we might be able to repair that damage; after all, I need you fully capable if you are to assist with the wormhole research."
An arn ago, that offer might have been tempting: to get both his voice back and a chance to finally unravel the mysteries of wormholes, at the price of having to work with this creature he despised. It might have been worth it. But right at this moment, John's anger was still running high at Scorpius' deliberate cruelty to the gentle creature who had taken him in, and he was in no mood to make any deals.
Scorpius continued to tempt and cajole, all the while taking step after unobtrusive step closer to his quarry. John saw what he was trying to do, and let him; after all, he was more than happy for the chance to take out his nemesis. The universe would be a better place without Scorpius' machinations.
Suddenly, in the midst of this quiet cat-and-mouse game, there was the sound of weapons fire, and a bright red pulse shot flew down from near the ceiling and crossed in front of John's face, nearly grazing his shoulder as it passed. After that, things happened quickly.
John heard a grunt of pain, and turned to see that the shot hadn't been aimed at him at all; one of the commandos had somehow managed to sneak around the bay and had been coming up behind him. He turned back just in time to see a dark-haired figure drop to the deck from one of the upper ventilation ducts, roll with the impact, and come up firing, sending the other commandos scrambling for cover. How the hell did she get out of our quarters?
That tiny instant of distraction, however, was all Scorpius needed. In a blur, he crossed the remaining space between himself and the human; a sharp blow sent the overloading pulse pistol flying out of John's hands. The weapon exploded before it ever hit the floor, and the concussion sent both John and Scorpius sprawling. John felt something strike the side of his head. Reaching up, he found a shard of burning shrapnel buried in the side of his face, having missed his left eye by less than an inch; he could hear the sizzle as his blood ran across the hot metal. Then the pain hit, and he couldn't help but cry out as the world went gray.
When light and color rushed back into John's awareness, it seemed no more than a few microts had passed. Aeryn was still exchanging fire with the commandos from behind one of the storage containers, and John himself was now pinned to the wall by a leather-bound hand at his throat. Hot, fetid breath hit his face as Scorpius hissed, "Not so confident now, are you Crichton?"
John didn't have enough air available to even attempt to speak, and so had to watch helplessly as the commandos, by dint of sheer numbers, finally overwhelmed and captured Aeryn. When they dragged her over and threw her at Scorpius' feet, John could see that she had minor pulse burns on her shoulder and hip, but was not seriously injured. The commandos, lacking any other instructions, seemed to have applied the same rules of live capture to Aeryn as they had for John.
Slowly, painfully, the former Officer Sun managed to struggle to her knees and look up at Scorpius with a defiant expression. The Scarran half-breed, for his own part, simply studied her for a long dozen microts, probably trying to remember where he'd seen her before. Finally he nodded. "Officer Aeryn Sun, I presume? I seem to recall you being reported dead."
Aeryn just raised an ironic eyebrow, declining to speak.
"No matter," Scorpius continued dismissively. "A small oversight, but the report will be accurate again soon enough."
John Crichton gasped, his shock at the casual pronouncement nearly dislodging his precarious hold on consciousness. "N-n-no!" he managed to exclaim in a strangled voice, struggling desperately against the iron grip.
His captor turned back to him, tilting his head to one side in frank curiosity. "So, Crichton, you can speak, after all. You have something to say regarding this traitor?"
Not once in the past six monens of effort had John managed to string together more than two coherent words. But the need had never before been so great, either.
"L-l-l-leave...al-al-alone. I...I...w-w-work. Hu...hu...hurt...her, g-g-g-get nu...na...noth...nothing!" John gasped for breath, the effort to speak just those eight words having winded him more than running the length of Moya.
Scorpius seemed honestly puzzled at first, looking back and forth between John and Aeryn. "Are you..." he finally asked disbelievingly. "Are you offering your services in exchange for this...this renegade?"
John nodded, unable to form any more words.
Scorpius stared at him, looking disgusted, then dragged him over to the cargo container where his DRD still perched, still gripping John tightly around the neck. "Clarify," he ordered, indicating the keyboard.
John pulled the device closer and started to type desperately. ::Leave Aeryn alone -- either let her go, or reinstate her commission at her previous rank, whichever she chooses -- and I will work on your damn project. If you hurt her, you get nothing from me.:: His earlier anger was gone, washed away in the fear for Aeryn's life. He would make any deal he had to, with the devil himself if necessary.
"You want me to let this deserter escape without penalty? Or worse, allow her back into the Peacekeeper ranks to spread her heresy?" Scorpius' grip on John's neck loosened slightly.
John turned to Aeryn and got her attention. "Wh-wh-which?" he managed to ask without any mechanical assistance.
Aeryn was looking at him like he was nuts, but simply replied, "I go where you go."
John nodded. ::Reinstate her, then. No mark on her record, rank and assignment unchanged. Make up a story,:: John suggested. ::Tell them she's been on a top secret assignment, or something. That would work for both of us, actually; you will need to explain my return to the crew, too. Last they heard of me, I was arrested for attempted desertion.::
The half-breed officer seemed to pause and actually think about what John was telling him. Crichton could almost see the gears turning behind the cold, blue eyes. Then Scorpius seemed to shake himself and frowned. "No, Crichton. You are in no position to bargain. Officer Sun will suffer the punishment she deserves, and you will assist with the wormhole project or suffer the consequences."
John's reply was swift and eloquent. He spit in Scorpius' face.
The commandos, to a man, moved toward Crichton, no doubt ready to exact proper retribution for the disrespect. Scorpius raised a single hand in a quelling gesture and they subsided. John almost thought he could see a ghost of a smile on one or two of their faces, as if they found something amusing in the situation.
There was a deep rumble of a Scarran growl, but then Scorpius simply asked, "What was that for, Crichton?" The grip on his throat tightened just slightly.
John fought down his growing fear as he typed. ::Get used to it. You hurt Aeryn and that's all you'll ever get from me. I will destroy you, or force you to destroy me. Either way, you lose; no wormholes for Scorpy.::
"I can be most persuasive, Crichton--"
John barked a derisive laugh at that. ::I've survived your 'persuasion' twice before, Scorpy. Push me too far, and you might just scramble my brain so that even your fancy doctors can't put me back together. I'm damaged goods already, aren't I? Much more, and you won't have anything left to interrogate. You need my willing cooperation, and you can have it. All you have to do is let Aeryn Sun resume her post and leave her alone.::
Scorpius grimaced in disgust at the concept, giving the dark-haired pilot an appraising glare. Aeryn, for her part, simply stared right back at him as she rose to her feet. She came to attention and settled into a formal parade rest stance, the mantle of her former life settling back onto her shoulders with ease. Her eyes held neither challenge nor submission.
It was the right thing to do. Scorpius looked her up and down once more, then nodded, finally releasing John to stand on his own. "Agreed. Officer Sun's record will be modified to indicate a high-security assignment for the past six monens. The repairs to the Command Carrier will be complete in ten solar days, at which point we will depart for the Uncharted Territories, where I will arrange for your speech to be restored, Crichton. After that, we will set to work perfecting the science of wormholes." Scorpius' eyes met John's, boring into his skull like a laser with his manic intensity.
John swallowed convulsively, the cold horror of his Faustian bargain settling into his gut like lead. He managed a curt nod to signal his agreement, and seal his fate.
It took another half an arn to work out the details of the deal John had struck to save them both, before Scorpius finally allowed the Marauder's medic to treat their wounds. Aeryn stood by, biting her tongue the entire time. She didn't want this any more than the human did; she wasn't a Peacekeeper anymore, not deep down, and it would be a struggle to pretend. Not to mention that, based on the looks of contempt and disgust she'd received from some of the commandos, the transition was not going to be an easy one no matter what story Scorpius told the crew.
Finally, Scorpius seemed satisfied. He turned to the commandos. "Officer Kobrin, Officer Velika, you will remain aboard the Leviathan. Please ensure that my prodigal soldiers here do not attempt to violate our agreement. I will send the Marauder to retrieve you and your charges when the carrier is ready."
"Aye, sir," the two commandos replied, although the male, Kobrin, looked disgruntled at the order.
Without another word to any of them, Scorpius swept away, the three remaining commandos following at his heels. Within microts, the landing bay doors were closed and they were alone again.
Well, almost.
"Frelling traitors," Kobrin muttered, loud enough to be heard by all. "Velika, stay with them. I'll lock down Command and then take charge of the Pilot." He stalked away without waiting for an acknowledgement.
The three left behind were silent for several long microts, until John finally broke the tension by typing in a jaunty, ::So, what's for breakfast?::
Aeryn just rolled her eyes, while Velika looked puzzled. Mindful of her current shaky status, Aeryn looked at the young commando and spoke deferentially. "Center chamber?"
Velika nodded agreement, and the three of them marched out with Crichton leading the way. When they arrived, Velika set herself into a guarding stance outside the door. John looked like he wanted to say something, but Aeryn just shook her head and pulled him into the chamber. Velika was taking her duty seriously, and would not be moved from her position until they either left the chamber or Kobrin arrived to relieve her.
John collapsed onto one of the benches with a loud exhalation of exhaustion. He set the DRD he'd carried up from the hangar onto the table and leaned back on his elbows. Aeryn, not yet ready for the argument she needed to incite, moved over to the refrigeration unit and started putting together a First Meal for them both. By ship's time, there were still several arns left in the sleep cycle, but she knew that neither of them would be sleeping anytime soon.
As she walked over to the table with two clear plates of food, she saw John typing something. ::Just when I thought that I was out, they pull me back in.:: He chuckled darkly at his own words, then leaned over and pounded his forehead lightly against the table.
She set the plate in front of him as she took her own seat on the opposite side of the table. When the constant thumping of head against table didn't stop, she finally reached out and grabbed John by the hair on the upswing. "Try not to damage your only bargaining tool," she quipped.
Rather than replying, John just buried his head in his hands.
Aeryn ate her food cubes while the human sulked, long since accustomed to the mood swings. After a few hundred microts, John finally pulled his hands away from his face and started typing a message. ::Are you okay with this?::
She thought for a moment. "No."
John's face fell, becoming, if that were possible, even more miserable than before.
"I am not okay with returning to that life. I'm not a Peacekeeper anymore." Crichton looked ready to bolt out of the room, so Aeryn put her hand on his arm and smiled at him for the first time that morning. "However, I would be less 'okay' with the alternatives of being imprisoned or executed. You did the best you could with the situation we were in."
John smiled back weakly, clearly relieved.
Aeryn wiped the smile off her face and pointed a finger at him. "That does not mean, however, that things would not have gone better had I been part of the plan from the beginning. With two of us, we could have had the commando squad in a crossfire and bargained from a position of strength." She stood and braced her hands on the table, leaning over so that her face was less than half a motra from John's. "So why the frell did you lock me in our quarters?"
John cringed under the verbal assault, but reached out and hastily typed a reply. ::Two reasons, really. One for myself and one for you.::
"What was the reason for you?"
::Run, fight, surrender. Those were the only choices I could see. If we ran, he'd catch us. If we surrendered, then we were both dead, or worse. If we fought, we would lose. Best option I could see was to face Scorpy alone, and either take him out with me or at least ensure he wouldn't get what he wanted.::
"The pulse pistol wasn't a bluff? You were really going to blow yourself up?" Grief now fought with her anger...she'd come so close to losing him.
::I'd rather die than give Scorpius what he wants. I don't trust him with the power he is looking for.::
Now she was even more confused. "Then why--" She stopped when John started typing again.
::I would give him anything rather than lose you.::
There was a long silence as Aeryn digested that. "So--" She cleared her throat, trying to relieve the sudden tightness there. "So how was your little plan supposed to help me?"
John typed slower this time, as if reluctant to say the words. ::I figured Scorpy thought you were dead. With me gone, or at worst captured, he'd have no reason to hunt for you. You'd have been free.::
"Free to do what? Live here, alone? Take up the Delvian Seek?" Aeryn jumped to her feet and turned to look out the window, as much to hide the dampness in her eyes as to bring her temper under control. "And what if you had been captured? I would probably have gotten myself--or both of us--killed trying to rescue you again. Do you think I'd just let you go so easily?"
John just gaped at her, speechless.
"Not to mention," Aeryn continued harshly, turning back to face him, "what would have happened if I'd been locked in a cell and Scorpius had decided to search the ship. Caged, with only my pulse pistol, I wouldn't have had a chance. Is that the fate you wished for me?"
Shock and shame rose in the human's pale eyes. The misery she'd briefly banished returned three-fold. John's hands started shaking and he blinked his eyes rapidly, refusing to meet her gaze as he seemed to collapse into himself.
"John," she said, grasping his arm entreatingly, "look at me." She had to repeat the request three times before he obeyed. "We're a team, remember? We face trouble together. If we run, we go together. If we fight, we fight together." She smiled, conveying her forgiveness wordlessly.
John nodded, his eyes clearing as he understood her. After a few microts, he smiled mischievously and typed, ::Also sleep together, shower together...::
Aeryn chuckled. "Yes, well, that is something else that will be difficult with this arrangement. Close relationships are discouraged among Peacekeepers. We'll have to be...discreet."
The human frowned, obviously not having considered that particular problem. He picked up a food cube, finally, and gnawed on it absently. They ate together in silence for a time, each coming to terms with the aftermath of the morning's crisis.
Finally, when all the food was consumed, John typed another question to her, one she'd been waiting for him to ask. ::How did you get out of our quarters?::
Officer Aeryn Sun smiled enigmatically and leaned back against the wall. Reaching into her sleeve, she pulled out a small utensil--a fork--and tapped it tauntingly against her nose.
The gales of laughter emanating from the center chamber eventually piqued Officer Velika's curiosity; Aeryn saw her glance into the room and watch, bemused, as the human laughed his frelling ass off.
After another arn of quiet conversation, Aeryn's anger was finally gone and they had both resigned themselves to the situation. Things had, Aeryn was forced to admit, turned out about as well as could be expected.
On their way out of the Center Chamber, Officer Velika pulled Aeryn quietly aside and, in a low voice, said, "I know what Kobrin said, and he won't be alone. But Lieutenant Dak told me what you told him before you left, about what Scorpius did to Officer Crichton and that tech. I may not agree with what you've done, but you're one of us again and I won't say another word about it."
Aeryn nodded a silent thanks. She wondered if Henta would be as forgiving, or Kranda, or her teammates. Even with the nominal support of people like Velika, this wasn't going to be easy.
It's too damn cold here, John groused mentally as he pulled his uniform jacket tighter. Adorning the uniform was the Officer's rank insignia he'd worn less than a full solar day before fleeing Scorpius and getting captured, almost a cycle ago. It still amused him to see it there again.
Ahead of them, Scorpius strode across the snowy landscape without even a hint of discomfort. Half Scarran, half penguin, that's what he is. He snorted a quiet laugh at the mental image of that leather body suit with two short, webbed feet sticking out the bottom and a big yellow beak poking out of the face.
One of the guards prodded John to walk faster with the barrel of his pulse rifle, so he picked up the pace. John Crichton was cold, his nose was running, his feet were going numb, and he felt naked and helpless without his DRD companion. Or Aeryn. One had been left aboard the carrier for this little snowshoeing trip, and the other was still warm and dry in the pilot seat of their Marauder.
It had been three monens since he had struck that desperate deal with Scorpius on Moya, and most of that time had been spent trekking across vast reaches of space. For all their seeming isolation, the Royal Colonies had been practically next-door to the Peacekeepers compared to this frozen planet, almost to the edge of the Uncharted Territories and into areas too remote to even be named...and way too close to the Scarran Imperium for comfort. But more than just the mere distance, what had John intrigued were the faint traces he'd been sensing for the past few weekens as they traveled, just once in a while. They were faint, and John was sure he'd never felt anything like them before, but just as the faint smell of salt in the air could indicate an ocean nearby, John was sure these strange feelings were somehow connected to wormholes.
Not that he planned to say anything about that to Scorpius. Not unless he had to.
Finally, they reached an ice-encrusted structure, perched on top of a ledge over a deep crevasse. The doors slid open and the group hurried inside. John stamped his feet against the floor, shivering even harder now in the warm air and trying to return some feeling to his toes.
There was a long series of threats and counter-negotiations as Scorpius dealt with one of the most disgusting looking humanoid creatures John had so far encountered, with an unpronounceable, vowel-less name. In the end, it took one of Scorpius' commandos putting the creature in a choke-hold before a deal was struck and John was ushered into a surgical theater.
Tocot, the doctor--or Diagnosian, as this race was called--was both far more alien than his assistant, but also far more pleasant to deal with. Based on a side conversation John overheard, it seemed that Scorpius knew Tocot, as the Diagnosian was apparently the one responsible for the temperature regulation system that allowed the half-Scarran's hybrid physiology to remain functional. It didn't say much for the Tocot's taste in customers, John decided, but it did at least indicate a fair amount of skill.
The next two arns was a tedious, confusing process of scans, questions, testing, and high-pitched tut-tutting as the alien doctor looked over all the damage that had been done. When the alien finally put his mask back on and shut off the green light that protected him from infection, Scorpius stormed up onto the operating platform.
"Why have you done nothing?"
The assistant, being squeamish, had long since left the room. Tocot did his best to convey the problem on his own, in syntax almost as broken as John's.
"Damage...too great. Can't...fix. Need...replace...tissue."
A deep rumble echoed from somewhere inside Scorpius' chest. "You have several thousand donors in your collection to choose from. Pick one, and finish the job, or I will personally see your precious facility burned to the ground."
Crichton, still strapped securely down to the table, could make no move to protest, and the sounds issuing from his mouth were even less coherent than usual. Scorpius didn't even glance in his direction.
Tocot called in and consulted with his aide, in a rapid-fire conversation only half of which the rest of them could understand.
"No-no, Doc," Grunchlk finally protested, after a somewhat impatient exchange. "I'll take care of it, don't you worry. You want all three, or just one?" Tocot raised a single, long finger and the repulsive man left the room.
Half an arn later, John was getting stiff and cold lying on the hard surface, and various portions of his anatomy were going numb. Finally the doctor's assistant came grunting back into the room, wheeling a large, oblong container in front of him. Through the window on the front, John could just make out a mop of curly red hair on a motionless, humanoid figure. When the container was set down near the operating table, he could feel the cold radiating from it.
He wanted to ask who this person was. Was she dead? How did she get here? What was Tocot going to use her for? He'd heard the words 'replace tissue'...were they going to transplant something from this person into his brain? Was she human? He couldn't see her face.
John had to swallow hard to keep the bile from rising out of his throat. He tried once again to shout in protest, but too soon the green light was back on and John was told firmly, "Stay...still."
Helpless tears ran down across his temples and into his hair as John did as he was told. Fortunately, whatever purpose the frozen alien had, it was accomplished outside of John's field of vision.
What followed were arns of strange noises and odd sensations as Tocot messed about with his brain. Halfway through, he heard Scorpius tell the commandos who were still with him to return to the ship and prepare for departure. At least he seemed confident in the outcome. Finally, in utter resignation, John just closed his eyes and let events unfold.
He must have dozed off, because the next thing John knew, Tocot was removing the restraint from across his forehead and gesturing for John to sit up. Slowly, shakily, he did so, raising a hand to the back of his skull where he knew the neural chip had once rested. His fingers found nothing but short hair and smooth skin, no sign of any surgery. He blinked up at Tocot in surprise.
"So, Crichton, what do you have to say for yourself?" Scorpius asked harshly as he approached.
Could he really talk now? Taking a deep breath, John tried to say exactly what was on his mind.
"B-b-buh-bugger off, Scorpy." Yes! After months of silence and stilted, mechanical conversations, he had his voice back. He turned to Tocot. "Th-thanks, Doc."
The alien bowed, then retreated from the room. John couldn't blame him; he didn't like being this close to Scorpius, either.
"You will show proper respect in the future, Crichton, or you will find my previous hospitality inviting by comparison. Officer Sun's life is still in my hands."
John stood, wavering a bit at first as the blood flow returned to areas long denied, then stepped down off the dais to meet the half-breed eye-to-eye. "I w-will f-follow your orders. I will s-s-salute you. I w-will even call you 'sir'. But respect is earned, and you c-can't coerce it with threats. I have what you want, S-Scorpius. Somewhere in this Swiss-cheese brain of mine is the answer to all of your p-perverted dreams. I would say you need to show me some respect. Treat me as you would any other officer whose contributions you value. We need to work together, as much as I hate to think about it." His voice got stronger and more sure with every word he spoke.
Scorpius looked John up and down, his expression doubtful.
"Neither one of us can do this alone, S-Scorpy. Among my people, there is a philosophy known as 'the Golden Rule'. You treat me the way you want me to treat you, and I'll do the same. We don't have to like each other."
The half-breed was still looking at John as if he was a curious but potentially toxic bug, wary and disdainful. Finally he seemed to give up the attempt to comprehend and just shoved John toward the door. "We are leaving."
"Fine, fine, whatever." John caught his balance, grabbed his uniform jacket, and waved a hand in front of the door release
Instead of an empty corridor, however, the doors parted to reveal the hulking form of a Scarran soldier. The creature was startled for a moment and stared right back at John, then growled and started to raise his arm.
Backpedaling quickly, John waved his arm again wildly to close the door just as he slammed back into Scorpius' hard leather body suit. The two of them fell to the floor in a tangle, which fortunately meant that the Scarran's first pulse of heat went high and missed them. Scrambling to his feet, John turned to see the now-closed doors starting to radiate heat and smoke.
"Got a weapon?" he asked, voice pitched half an octave higher by the sudden stress.
"A pistol."
"Only works if you shove it down their throat and overload it. Trust me, I've got experience with these things."
Scorpius pulled out his comms and called for assistance from the marauder, still parked some distance away.
"They'll never get here in time," John pointed out, noting that the doors were starting to glow red. "Is there another way out of here?"
Scorpius continued snapping orders to the commandos, not moving from his place in the center of the room. John rolled his eyes and moved to the opposite wall where a promising alcove drew his eye. There was a small hatch in the ceiling, and a brief search led him to the controls.
The hatch slid open, letting in a blast of frigid air and stinging snow. John ducked away out of reflex, then glared balefully at the opening. Outside had not been his first choice of escape routes.
He glanced back at the doors, which were now starting to melt and warp. "Scorpy!" he yelled out, finally catching the half-breed's attention. He pointed to the doors, and then to his snowy escape route. "Freeze or fry?"
There was a creak and a snap as one of the doors tilted crazily off its track. The roar of the Scarran was now clearly audible.
It took less than three microts for Scorpius to climb the ladder and lever himself onto the icy surface. He reached back down to assist John just as the doors finally gave way and the Scarran crashed through into the operating theater. John, still somewhat weakened from the surgery, grabbed Scorpius' wrist and climbed the ladder with his assistance; a blast of heat washed over his boots as the half-breed pulled him clear.
The two unconventional Peacekeepers moved quickly away from the opening, but it took only a few microts for the Scarran to squeeze his larger form through the hatch.
"Head for the Marauder," Scorpius ordered, speaking loudly over the wind. "The longer we can evade the Scarran in these conditions, the weaker he will become."
"These 'conditions' ain't doin' me a whole hell of a lot of good, either, pal," John muttered, pulling his jacket tighter around his body.
They moved quickly across the snowy surface; in the distance, four black specks gave evidence that the commandos were on their way to assist, but they were still several hundred microts out.
John glanced back. "Aw, crap. Scorpy, he's gaining on us!"
Lumbering unevenly through the snow in their wake, clearly already suffering the effects of the cold, the Scarran still had enough of an advantage in sheer length of stride to be closing the distance between himself and his prey.
Scorpius grabbed John by the arm and pulled him along faster, heading across the narrow ledge that separated the Diagnosian's facility from the stable rocky plateau where ships like the marauder could land safely.
There was a roar from behind, seemingly right in John's ear, and suddenly he felt a thunderous impact against his back that threw him bodily into the cliff wall. He lay there, bruised and dazed, as the Scarran and the half-Scarran faced off.
Though stronger than a Sebacean, Scorpius' strength was still no match for his full-blooded opponent. Fortunately, what he lacked in sheer strength, Scorpius seemed to make up for with his greater agility and his environmental suit's resistance to the elements. The Scarran was clearly not happy with the temperature, as his movements grew slower and clumsier as time went on. The two went several rounds, with Scorpius apparently doing his best to keep the Scarran away from the human until he recovered.
As the stars faded from his vision, John sat up and struggled to his feet.
The half-breed glanced over, then summarily waved John away. "Go! Get to the ship!"
John shook his head. "Not gonna happen."
The Scarran watched this exchange. "Escape while you can, puny mammal. I am here only to retrieve what is ours, so we can dissect this failed experiment."
"Oh, shut up horse-face," John taunted, moving to the side so that the Scarran had to pivot to watch both of them. "You think you're so superior, but who's the one shivering in their boots here?"
Both Scorpius and the Scarran growled at his irreverence and disobedience, then focused on each other again and circled like a pair of tired boxers in the ring.
Crichton looked up at the overhanging cliff face and had an idea. "Scorpy!" The half-breed looked over, startled at the sudden distraction. "Pistol!" John held out his hand.
After only the briefest of confused delays, Scorpius yanked his pulse pistol from its holster and tossed it across the distance.
"You think to harm me with your pathetic toy, Peacekeeper slug?" the Scarran growled mockingly, turning once again to glare at Crichton.
"Nope," John assured him. He dove and rolled over onto his back against the cliff wall, then pegged three quick shots into the cornices of snow and ice overhanging the ledge.
Scorpius quickly understood John's intent and ducked down as well, sheltering as far from the edge as he could get. The Scarran, on the other hand, mind and reflexes slowed by the hated cold, stayed standing a few motras away, head tilted as far back as his spine would allow, trying to see what the human was shooting at. There was a crack, a rumble, and finally a roar as several tons of ice and snow slid down off the precipice above and fell onto the ledge where the three combatants huddled.
The frustrated, fearful howls of the Scarran were all but drowned out by the crash of the avalanche. The reptilian figure soon disappeared under the mass of snow and ice.
Even the inside wall, where John and Scorpius sheltered themselves, caught the outer edges of the falling debris. Before John could do more than curl in on himself and create an air pocket with his body, he was covered in white, which then rapidly faded into darkness as the pressure built up over him.
Well, that has to go down as one of my better plans, John thought sarcastically as he started to struggle under the snow, trying to dig his way out.
The sudden darkness and silence was eerie. He could hear his own breathing and heartbeat loud in his ears, feel the cold and stinging shards of ice on all sides, tearing at his fingers as he scrabbled for daylight and air.
Time seemed to stretch into infinity and the air quickly grew stale inside the tiny pocket John inhabited. He was gasping, heart racing, fingers torn and bloody, when suddenly there was an explosive impact. A hand shot through the snow and ice and nearly blackened his eye. John blinked and squinted at the sudden light, staring stupidly at the black-gloved hand. The fingers flexed, reached, and then quickly grabbed John by the collar of his jacket and tore him bodily from his tiny tomb.
Bursting into open air, John flew several motras on sheer momentum before landing and sprawling on his back, bruised and gulping in fresh air on top of a nearby snowdrift.
"Are you injured, Crichton?"
He looked over at Scorpius, who appeared little the worse for wear despite clumps of snow clinging to crevices and seams in his cooling suit. "Nah," John managed to gasp out. "Just need to catch my breath. Thanks, by the way."
Scorpius didn't reply to that, but he was looking at John with an odd, startled expression, as if seeing something he had not expected.
John looked around, avoiding the strange, cold gaze. His little avalanche had effectively cut off their escape route in both directions, snow and ice piled up in treacherous, steep-sided drifts that looked more likely to pitch the unwary traveler into the chasm than to allow a safe traverse. Fortunately, there was no sign of the Scarran.
Scorpius had obviously noticed the same thing; within a few microts, he was on the comms. "Report, Lieutenant."
"Unable to reach your position on foot, sir. Recommend you bring in the Marauder for retrieval," replied the tinny voice on the other end.
Scorpius paused thoughtfully, frowning in irritation, but finally replied, "Agreed. Officer Sun?"
"Aye, sir." Hearing Aeryn's voice, even at a distance and over comms, made everything seem better.
"I trust your skills are still equal to this?"
"Of course, sir. I will pick you up in less than forty microts."
Scorpius clicked off the comms without any further comment.
John clambered painfully to his feet, having finally gotten his breath back, and stepped carefully over the uneven and slick surface toward Scorpius. They both stood as close to the edge as they dared, watching the Marauder draw closer.
Standing side by side, the human and the half-Scarran gazed out the view port at the muted glare of the flaring star. John Crichton had his fingers crossed as he counted down the microts. When his count reached four -- he still wasn't as good at accurately counting time in microts as he'd been in seconds -- a flare of searing blue flashed in the distance, making him blink until his eyes adjusted.
John kept his fingers crossed as he watched the wormhole swirl. This was the third one their research had managed to create, but the previous two had been unstable and had collapsed quickly.
"Report!" Scorpius snapped at the tech monitoring the experiment.
"Readings are holding steady, sir. No sign of deterioration."
"Yes," John cheered under his breath, pumping his hand slightly in surreptitious celebration.
Scorpius, clearly ecstatic as well, though far more self-contained, turned to the human. "Congratulations, Officer Crichton. You have exceeded my expectations."
John nodded acknowledgement, his elation fading. Sometimes, in the midst of the sheer, heady joy of discovery, for whole minutes at a time, he could forget who he was working for. He wondered, occasionally, if some of the scientists trying to develop an atomic bomb for Germany back during World War II had ever felt this way -- working to protect a people they loved, yet forced to serve a master they despised.
It had been just four monens since the ice planet, and the surgery that had restored his speech. Four monens since he and Aeryn had been thrown back into the lives they had thought they'd left behind.
Neither Crichton nor, apparently, Scorpius had expected the project to progress so fast. After cycles of frustrating and fruitless research for both of them, it had seemed impossible. But when John was finally presented with the data Scorpy had ripped from his brain via the neuro-chip, it had been like seeing notes from a long-past college class. He wasn't so much learning as being reminded of what his mind already knew. He'd been able to see where connections and vital pieces of data were missing, and understood almost instinctively how to fill in the gaps.
Success in this one endeavor, however, did not mean all of their problems were solved. The simple act of creating a stable wormhole had taken almost the entire available power resources of the Command Carrier, and holding it open used only slightly less. Using the entire ship's hull as a wave repeater meant that the carrier was highly vulnerable as long as the wormhole was open, reliant on the constant patrols by support vessels if anyone approached.
That was part of the reason they were out here in the middle of nowhere. Not only were they far from the Scarran frontier, they were away from any shipping lanes or populated worlds; a needle in the very large haystack known as the Uncharted Territories.
They might have been safer in Peacekeeper territory, but both John's and Scorpius' research had shown that the fabric of space-time there was far too stable. There were almost no variances to indicate even a potential for wormholes. The Uncharted Territories, however, lay between that area of calm and civilization, and the expanse of utter chaos labeled Tormented Space, where space-time was torn to shreds and swirled with wild energies. Creating wormholes in Tormented Space would be easy, but even Scorpius acknowledged that the strong probability of losing control and destroying themselves was not worth the reward. So they remained here, in between, balancing the two extremes in their attempt to harness a wild, cosmic power and tame it to their needs.
John glanced up as Lt. Braca entered the work area. Scorpius' second-in-command moved past Crichton without a glance in his direction, continuing his unspoken policy that the human was beneath his notice unless a reprimand was to be given.
Scorpius glanced at the message Braca delivered and voiced a low growl. "Braca," he snapped, "we must begin test flights into the wormhole immediately. Draw up a list of pilots."
"Aye, sir," the dark-haired sycophant agreed, then snapped a textbook turn and started to leave.
"Sir?" John addressed Scorpius, stepping forward into Braca's path. The lieutenant scowled in disgust, but paused rather than run him over.
"What is it, Crichton?"
"With all due respect, sir, I would suggest we need to duplicate this success in another location, to prove it wasn't just a fluke that it worked here."
Braca looked completely affronted that this lowly Officer, this alien, would dare contradict his commanding officer, but Scorpius just nodded. "I happen to agree, Crichton, and if circumstances allowed, I would indeed follow your suggestion. However, First Command grows impatient; we may have visitors soon. Therefore we need to show progress, and quickly."
John grimaced. Politics was the same on both sides of the galaxy, he'd discovered. "I withdraw my suggestion, then, sir," he replied, stepping back. Braca tilted his nose back and huffed triumphantly.
"I do value your ideas, Senior Officer Crichton," Scorpius assured him. "More than I expected to."
John blinked at the casual promotion he had just received, speechless as Scorpius and the Lieutenant exited the lab.
Oh, frell, how am I going to tell Aeryn?
Officer Aeryn Sun moved confidently along the corridor, ignoring the glances and glares of those she passed. Reaching a small, dim alcove, she surreptitiously looked back down the way she'd come, to verify that no one was nearby, before slipping into the shadows and vanishing into the back passageways she'd first been shown by John's techs.
John was already waiting for her in the tiny storage cubicle. Not long after their return to the carrier, Crichton had had a few quiet words with the young tech, Pi J'hesta, who had passed the request up through the grapevine. This storage room was listed in the records as unused due to a malfunctioning locking mechanism, and the repair order was filed at the very bottom of the list, at the lowest priority. It was in a low security area and unmonitored, which meant that they could meet here in secret with little chance of getting caught.
Aeryn had a few microts to observe the human before he noticed her arrival. He was crouched in the corner, staring at nothing and twisting his uniform jacket nervously in his hands. She wondered at this oddly subdued behavior; word of Scorpius' successful creation of a wormhole had flown through the carrier arns ago. John should have been ecstatic.
After a moment, Crichton looked up and saw her. Just one look, and he winced. "Again?" he sighed sympathetically, scrambling to his feet. He moved toward her and gently brushed his fingers across her bruised cheek. "Who was it this time?"
She knocked his hand away impatiently. "No one of importance. Just another bunch of 'loyal' Peacekeepers, expressing their opinion of the traitor."
John let his hand drop and turned away, face contorted in remorse and anger. "I wish you didn't have to go through this."
She reached out and grasped his shoulder, spinning him back to face her. "It is not your fault, John. It was my choice to come back with you."
"I still wish you'd let me tell Scorpy. He could do something about this crap."
"Do you really think he would do anything? He only let me come back at all because you forced him to. He thinks me a traitor as much as the others do; why should he care if I am suffering because of my betrayal? Fortunately, not everyone believes that. Lt. Dak caught the ones who cornered me in the act this time and threw all three of them off the flight deck. Told them they'd be flying nothing but transport ships for the next cycle."
"Good for him. I'm glad you've got a few people on your side, at least. Wish Dak could do something about Kobrin; I just know that bastard is the source of all this."
"You know that, and I know that. Lt. Dak knows it, too, but Kobrin hasn't ever actually done anything except look smug when I show up with a new bruise." Aeryn turned and leaned back against the wall with a thump, sliding down to sit on the floor. "Enough about my troubles. Why aren't you more excited? You've made a wormhole."
"Scorpius has made a wormhole," John groused.
"You're upset that you won't get credit? John, this is one step closer to getting you home."
"One step closer to Scorpy laying waste to the galaxy."
"You can't control that, John. You said yourself that he'd probably have figured it out without you, eventually. Focus on what this is getting you, not how it's helping that Scarran half-breed."
Crichton flushed and fidgeted slightly. "Well, what it's gotten me so far is a new decoration for my jacket." He turned the material in his hands to show her his new rank insignia, then winced at the expression that stole over Aeryn's face. "I don't like it any better than you, babe. The last promotion they handed me, after the battle at the Gammak base...I didn't mind that so much. I felt like maybe I'd done something to earn it. But this? This was just Scorpy's whim, a pat on the head for his newest pet."
Aeryn, however, was not annoyed for the reasons John seemed to think. "Did you have a promotion ceremony? Even an informal one like the one Lt. Dak held for you?"
John frowned, distracted. "No, Scorpy just called me "senior officer" and walked out. Braca sent a crewman down a while later with my new insignia."
Aeryn sighed and sat down facing the human. "John, I have wondered for the past few monens why you had not already been promoted. Scorpius has placed you in charge of a major research project, where you are directing resources from all across the convoy. That is a job for a lieutenant, but could be given to a senior officer if he were the only specialist available. A mere officer would never be given that much responsibility.
"Promotions above the rank of Officer require approval from First Command. Scorpius could not have just promoted you on a whim like that. I think he probably got approval to promote you when he first proposed the project, possibly even while we were still en route to the Diagnosian. He just chose not to inform you of it until you succeeded. That kept most of the control of the project in his hands rather than yours."
Crichton said nothing, just looked down at the uniform jacket in his hands, glaring at the polished new insignia with even more loathing than before.
Aeryn placed her hand on top of his, letting her arm obscure the glinting metal for a microt. "He withheld your rightful authority from you for as long as he could. He thinks, now that he has his wormhole, that you cannot do any harm with your true rank. But perhaps he is wrong. There may come a time when Scorpius will regret handing you even this much power."
John's expression softened slightly. "Maybe."
"For the moment, however," Aeryn purred, moving her hand slowly up John's arm, "perhaps I should congratulate you properly."
The human smiled and met her approaching lips with his own.
As Officer Aeryn Sun rounded the final corner of her team's Marauder, performing the exterior post-mission checks, she heard voices approaching and paused. Five monens of constant harassment had made her wary of facing groups of her fellow Peacekeepers without the presence of her team to back her up. They never attacked unless they had her outnumbered by at least three to one; they had at least that much respect for her combat skills.
The angry voices grew closer as Aeryn shifted back into the shadows.
"--nother pilot tomorrow! Today's mission was the tenth attempt, and none of the pilots have survived. That frelling Scor--"
"Shhh!" The hiss cut the first soldier off. "Not so loud!"
The first voice continued more quietly. "That frelling treznot, Scorpius, keeps sending them, even though the specialist in charge of the project has been arguing against it since the first one came back as a puddle."
"You could be executed for treason if anyone reported you, saying those kinds of things." This was a third voice, female this time.
Aeryn eased back a dench further; if she were seen now, they might kill her if they feared she'd turn them in.
"I'm surprised that specialist has lasted this long, given some of the things I'm told he's called Scorpius."
"You know who he is, don't you?" the female pilot asked as the group continued further down the hangar bay.
"No, who?"
"Kobrin told me it's the same guy Sun was hiding out with for half a cycle. When she was supposedly on that 'secret assignment'."
"Traitor or not, I will admit Sun was right about Scorpius."
The voices faded once again, and Aeryn relaxed.
"You may have less trouble from now on."
Aeryn jumped and whirled, nearly pulling her weapon at the unexpected voice. Less than three motras behind her stood Lt. Dak, though how he'd sneaked up on her without being seen by the pilots was a mystery.
Dak smirked at her reaction. "Your friend Crichton seems to be earning himself more friends than just the techs these days. The increasing losses among the Prowler pilots are starting to be noticed. We pilots may accept that we will likely give our lives in service, but we still don't like seeing them thrown away as if we were nothing. Despite his lack of success, the others have seen Crichton at least trying to stop it."
"I doubt Officer Kobrin will see it that way," Aeryn noted tersely.
"No, but perhaps the others will start seeing his whining for what it is. He's just jealous that you always beat his scores."
Aeryn snorted, trying to hold in her laughter. Despite his many more cycles of experience, Kobrin had been losing the points battle to her since she'd left commando training, taking the lead only during the few monens when she was presumed dead.
Any further conversation, however, was interrupted by the alert sirens and the announcement of an arriving flag officer, requiring all available personnel to report for the honor guard at debarkation. Both commandos headed off, straightening their uniforms as they went.
Senior Officer John Crichton stood at the observation window, seething. In moments, the carrier's auto-retrieval systems would deliver yet another liquefied pilot entombed in his flying coffin. The techs and fellow pilots standing below, awaiting its arrival, were somber and resigned...much as the pilot himself had looked before setting out on his last mission.
John glanced over at the other officers standing nearby. Scorpius was exuding a forced, cheerful confidence, quite different from his typical menacing scowl. The reason for his false bravado was the female flag officer standing next to him. Commandant Mele-on Grayza -- in appearance, no one could be more un-like the admiral John had dealt with nearly two cycles ago, but her attitude and bearing were much the same. She had arrived aboard earlier in the day, her low-cut attire drawing the eye of every male she encountered. She was accompanied by a platoon of blank-faced guards and a number of representatives from various alien races. The Luxan was the only one whose species John recognized.
As the alarms started to sound and lights flashed, announcing the arrival of the unresponsive Prowler, John glanced at the third figure, standing just behind and to one side of Scorpius. Lt. Braca, Scorpy's second-in-command, flunky, and eternal yes-man, looked up at the same moment and met John's eyes. The human was shocked to see the same pain and resignation he was feeling reflected in Braca's face, as well as a hint of something that might have been called...respect?
John blinked. That was...different. Braca, in the past, had never shown Crichton anything but contempt, thought whether that was due to John's non-Sebacean heritage or his lack of respect for Scorpius' authority, John wasn't sure. Why now?
Then he remembered. Lt. Braca was also a Prowler jockey, though exempt from the usual patrol rotations. He had, in fact, led the Prowler squadrons in the battle with the Scarran Dreadnought, back when he was third-in-command to Captain Crais.
Crichton turned away from the lieutenant and returned his gaze to the Prowler, now rolling to a stop outside the window. He swallowed the bile that threatened to rise in anticipation of the scene which was soon to play out for the eleventh time, and closed his eyes so he didn't have to watch the viscous red liquid flow out of the cockpit. He heard the commandant make a breathy exhalation at the sight.
"Clearly, Scorpius," the woman began condescendingly, "this Gammak project of yours gives us no advantage against the Scarrans, either in battle or at the negotiating table. All it serves to do is provoke the Scarrans into ever more belligerent posturings."
The half-Scarran growled. "Negotiating is suicide, Commandant. My project will give us the strength--"
"Senior Officer Crichton," Grayza turned to Crichton, cutting Scorpius off, "you are the chief researcher for this project, yes?"
John nodded respectfully. "I am, Commandant."
"You seemed to expect the outcome we just witnessed from this test. Do you not share Scorpius' confidence in your own project?"
John glanced at Scorpius, who glared threateningly, then back at woman in her strangely revealing outfit. "Permission to speak freely, ma'am?"
"Of course."
"This project, as currently designed, is not practical. Holding the wormhole open requires nearly all the power of this command carrier, leaving the ship vulnerable. I believe that the pilots are being killed by the rantath flux radiation found inside the unstable wormhole. We would normally be able to develop shielding for this, but I believe the materials and shape of the Prowlers' design act to focus the radiation into the cockpit, making even the miniscule dose that leaks through the shielding lethal."
Scorpius stepped forward. "There is no evidence that the ships have anything to do with these unfortunate incidents."
"No evidence you're willing to look at, anyway. I happen to know that the techs have sent you half a dozen reports on their testing."
Scorpius scoffed. "I read the reports. They were far from conclusive."
John felt his temper rising. He had argued and begged and bargained for days on end, trying to make Scorpius slow down his insane rush to find the perfect weapon, urging unmanned testing, robotic probes, anything to halt the rising body count. He had watched eleven men and women step into their fighters and fly out into the wormhole, to return as just so many gallons of organic waste. He had suspected the Prowlers' design for nearly a weeken now, and the techs had been studying his old Farscape module in the next bay over to test his theory. He'd had enough.
"Fine!" he shouted, stepping up into Scorpius' face. "You want evidence? I'll get you your damn evidence!" He stormed out onto the flight deck, ignoring Scorpius' shouted orders to stop. Not even bothering with a flight suit or helmet, he shooed the techs away from his module and climbed in. Scorpius and Grayza caught up to him as he sped through the pre-flight checks.
"Crichton, cease this idiocy!" the Scarran half-breed bellowed.
"Sorry, Leatherface, no can do." John pulled the canopy down and fired the Farscape's engines, just as Scorpius reached the ship and attempted to stop him. With a taunting little wave, John pushed the throttle forward and shot out of the bay, leaving Scorpius sprawling on the deck in a most undignified position.
Without another look back, Crichton pushed the module into the air and out through the bay doors into space. For just a moment, he leaned back and gazed around him; this was his first solo flight in nearly a full cycle, and he wanted to savor the moment. Then, as the radio crackled and exploded with shouting voices, he shook himself and veered the ship into the mouth of the wormhole.
Hopefully, if he survived this trip, it would prove to Scorpius that his project was flawed. Hopefully, it would save lives in the future.
And if he didn't survive...well, all of his notes were in English. Scorpius would have to start over almost from scratch.
The roller-coaster ride of the wormhole was an experience he wasn't likely to forget, though it was different this time as he was in control of the ship. There were odd feelings in his head as he flew down the glowing silver-blue tunnels. For the first time, he noticed that the wormhole had branches and forks, and wasn't just a featureless corridor. He could sense almost magnetic attractions to some of the turnings, but didn't follow any of them for fear of getting lost.
Suddenly, the ship began to spin more wildly, veering off course despite all of his efforts. Faster and faster he spun, until his vision grayed out into blackness.
When he woke, John was lying on his back, outside the module. He rolled to his feet and looked around. He was standing on...ice?
"Hmm. Kansas...in winter."
It was an iceberg floating in an ocean of black. It wasn't cold, nor warm. The silence was absolute. He moved to the edge, peering over into the darkness of infinity. Then, from behind him, came a familiar voice.
"Hello, John."
TBC...