Chapter 8
Jack snapped the fastens of his vacuum suit, fingers hastening over the pressure locks. The rustling din of hurried dressing swished throughout the cabin of the transport pod, others around him rushing to get their suits on.
"We're at fifty macrots exposure!" Velorek said, scrambling to secure his own suit. "He's got another thirty at best!"
"We're approaching the chamber debris now!" the pilot announced from the cockpit. "I'm firing the runner cables!"
Jack looked to the rear of the cabin. Three people were on their hands and knees spreading a large plastic sheet over the floor. A woman followed behind them, coating it with a pink, oily liquid
Jack paused, the fastens of his suit clasped in his fingers. He watched the woman flatten the sheet beneath her wetted brush, smearing the oily sheen over the crinkled material. Suddenly, the image of Moya's tumbling pieces flashed in his mind, issuing another demand for acceptance.
Just then, the weight of a corded bundle of cables whipped into Jack's shoulder, Velorek holding the other end, his dark eyes electrified and severe.
"When I cut his visceral motor nerves, you'll have less than a macrot to splice the ends into the pacer unit. You have to get at least three for every organ. Can you do it without a chart?"
Jack nodded, taking the bundle of cables. It was a complicated system, but shadowing Velorek through the cycles left him with a decent grasp of Pilot physiology, particularly at the Leviathan interface. But there was little time for the operation, and he was near panic at the notion of the odds. No team had ever extracted a Pilot in less than three arns. They would have ten macrots, at best.
"Check your suits!" the pilot said from the cockpit.
Jack fastened his helmet and activated the vacuum system, his ears popping with the pressure differential. When everyone was dressed, the oiled sheet was clamped down and the cabin evacuated by those not wearing suits. Then, the pilot expressed the air from the cabin and opened the loading doors to outer space.
A giant chunk of Moya's hulk hovered in the space before them, fluids spewing from the ragged edges of the debris, the spray crystallizing in the void. Jack looked away, wincing. In that brief glance he saw the underside of Pilot's console, a few of the nerves wisping loosely in the space beneath the platform. Slowly, he looked back, squinting at the ghastly scene.
In the corner of his sights the silver glint of a Corsair streaked by, followed by a few others in loose formation. In the distance, Battle Globes fanned out through the area, forming a defensive net around the perimeter of the rescue. A few of Terra-3's maintenance craft moved in, casting wide beams of light over the scene.
Velorek moved to the open door, his magnetic boots stepping high with each pull from the floor. He tested the fasten of a large tool pack at his back, then attached a hand-held cable-runner to the taut wire strung between the transport pod and the debris. With a quick nod, he zipped away on the line, feet held forward as he advanced.
Jack followed immediately, latching his cable-runner to the line and holding fast as it ushered him across the divide. He tried not to look at the faces of Moya's crewmembers floating by, but the red hair of one longtime friend was unmistakable. Then there was the bald, spotted scalp of old Neblin, the reliable mechanic, waiting for him just within the walls of the debris as he zipped into the hulk. The old man's body twisted to face him, his blackened eyes bursting from the sockets and the flesh within his mouth swelling out beyond his lips. Jack nearly retched at the sight of his distorted features, the horror of it worsened by the trace resemblance that remained of the living man.
He must have uttered something in fright, bringing Velorek's attention.
"Jack. Keep your eyes ahead, son. Don't look at them."
"Yeah...okay."
When they reached the platform, Jack moved quickly to the nerve base beneath the console. Another two crewmembers joined him underneath, readying themselves for the task, the remainder joining Velorek up top.
"He's alive," Velorek commed. "There's a DRD here. It's...putting pressure on a wound, looks like. Feris, quick – give me that med kit."
Jack ran his fingers through the nerve bundle, separating the strands according to target organ. Many were still connected to Moya's loosely-attached interface, itself a dead component serving only to anchor the bundle. The wetted strands slipped clumsily between his gloved fingertips, complicating the process, but Jack adapted quickly, forming a latticework with his fingers to separate the strands and maintain the grouping.
"Velorek," he said. "I'm almost finished here."
"All right, I'm coming."
Velorek crawled over the edge of the console's platform, pulling himself along the metallic surface with magnetic cups. Once at the base, he drew a pair of large forceps and a scalpel from his bag and snagged a single nerve at the point of Moya's interface.
"You know the order," Velorek said. "Splice each nerve as I free it."
Jack turned the pacer on, checking each well on the interface's surface for activity. If they were successful, dozens of nerve ends would be spliced into the portable machine within macrots.
"Ready," Jack said.
Velorek made quick but careful cuts, freeing all of the nerves in that particular bundle. Once finished, he quickly drew the bundle from the other groups and handed it to Jack. Many of the nerve-ends were too damaged to function in the pacer. Jack rifled through the ends, searching for the strongest three in the cord. They all looked bad.
"These need to be cut higher," Jack said.
"They have to be clipped near the terminals. Any higher and the splice won't take. Just pick the best – and hurry! I'm almost through with this next bundle."
It had to be intuition, then – one degree from guesswork, maybe less. Jack took the three best candidates from a cursory look and inserted each into a well, locking them in place. The strands looked withered and useless.
Velorek thrust another bundle his way. These weren't much better, but at least one of the inserts appeared healthy.
They continued in haste, Velorek releasing the nerves and Jack splicing them into the pacer. When they finished, Jack looked at his timer. They were three macrots over the allotted time.
"We've lost his metabolic signal," someone commed from above.
"Frell!" Velorek yelled, clamoring towards the top of the platform. "Hook him into the pump! We have to cycle his fluids."
It was a foolish expectation. No Pilot could survive having these many systems transferred at once, especially one in this condition. The prospect of giving up hurt, but this was only putting off the inevitable.
Velorek's orders boomed through the com, determination and desperation both apparent in his tone as he summoned more equipment.
"Velorek," Jack said, shaking his head. "It's not gonna happen."
"No!" Velorek's helmet darted out from the platform's edge. "We're finishing this. Now pick up that pacer and follow while we lift him out."
The nerves hanging beneath the platform straightened tautly as the team lifted Pilot from the console. Jack cut the power to his boots and pushed up from the floor, floating up to the platform with the pacer in hand. Once at the top, he got his first glimpse of Pilot, wrapped tightly in insulation blankets. His eyes were clouded over, the chalky grayness barely visible within the narrow slits of his eyelids. He breathed through a mask, the blankets moving with the rise and fall of his chest.
"Let's get him on the line," Velorek said.
The team lifted Pilot's shrouded body to the cable and attached him to three joined cable-runners, sending him off to the transport pod. Others followed.
Jack turned back to the center of the chamber one last time. There, where the floor met the console, his mother and father used to sit and talk, stealing away to explore their fascination with one another in the absence of prying eyes. And in that same place, Jack nursed and slept in Aeryn's arms day after day as she came to embrace her new role as a mother. Then, as a child, he often walked across the console's top, arms spread for balance, talking to Pilot for arns about everything that crossed his young mind. And just days ago, it was here that he met his father and sister for the first time. Through all the cycles of his life and the few before, Pilot's chamber had been a place of living, loving and learning.
Now, this scene would only be known in memory.
"Good-bye, Moya," he whispered.
A lone DRD rolled out from behind the console, a bloodied rag clamped in its little claw. It stopped at Jack's feet, looking up with one good eye-stalk. Jack knelt down and swept One-eye up, tucking the little robot beneath his arm.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Darkness. That was all John saw beyond the caravan in the bridge's forward visual. But out there, far past the eye's sight, the Dreadnaught waited, uncloaked and broadcasting its position on every transponder channel. It bristled in the distance, daring him to come forth.
"Captain," said the coms officer. "They've arrived with Moya's Pilot."
"Is the aquarium ready?"
"The mineral concentrations are still a little off, but they say it'll be fixed by the time he gets to the habitat deck." The com officer paused for a moment, fingers pressed to his earpiece. "The leviathan scientist is requesting aid with the Pilot's ambulation."
"Then get people down there. Consider any request he makes a direct order from me."
Only an arn ago, the man offered a dash of hope just when all seemed lost. 'I may be able to extract the Pilot,' he'd said. John received the message, standing outside the door of the shower room where Aeryn had locked herself in. He offered the breadth of Terra-3's resources to the effort, and executed every security measure available when learning Jack was participating in the extraction. Once it was in motion, he tried again to beckon Aeryn's attention through the door, but she didn't acknowledge him. He spared her the chance of further disappointment, giving her time to grieve alone, left unaware of the plan to save Pilot.
And then the signals started pouring in. Hails on the com, automated transmissions and an array of beacon pulses. The Dreadnaught hit them with every conceivable signal, roaring its challenge from across the void. It was a wish John itched to grant, but that meant leaving the Leviathans unguarded.
Nevertheless, vanquishing this ship would hardly sate his need for revenge. No. They would have to pay the lion's share before he felt vindicated. These invaders of worlds and killers of the innocent. John closed his eyes and pictured a perfect sphere of swirling reddish-green, splotched by yellow clouds. He imagined a single execution, an action aimed at the core of the sphere. Suddenly, the damned on the planet's surface threw their hands to the air, screaming their pleas for mercy as the ground shook – gases spewing from the body's inner workings, clouding the surface in a poisoned shroud. The planetary foundations rocked with a violence that shook the mountains, crumbling them to their bases. When the scourge was vanquished, the molten surface washed away the remains of their civilization, flushing it into the wormhole at the planet's center.
These were the weapons of the coming war, and such would be the fate of the defeated. What wrong was there in a single demonstration against this harassment? It was only a matter of time before the Scarrans fell to this power anyway. What difference did it make who delivered it?
John curled his lip, ground his teeth and clenched his fists until the knuckles were white.
"Fire on that vessel!"
"Yes, sir!"
Red blasts shot forth into the nighted distance.
"They've cloaked again, sir."
"Cowards," the first officer grumbled.
The blip appeared on the transponder screen again, this time in a different position. The communications board lit up, the empty Scarran hails returning on dozens of frequencies.
Behind him, the doors to the bridge slid open. Liz walked in.
"Captain," she said. "There's something you should see in the med bay."
"Now's not a good time."
"It's one of the Kalish prisoners," she said, handing him an X-ray film. "Dr. Sturgeon found this in his scans."
There was a long, rectangular object embedded in the prisoner's upper leg bone, comparable to the femur.
"What if it's a trap?"
"It's not a bomb or anything like that."
"Is it broadcasting anything?"
She shook her head. "We haven't detected a signal."
John held the scan to the lights above, squinting at the picture. The component appeared cylindrical along its length, pieced from two halves, one end slightly larger and sliding over the other at the center.
"Looks like some kind of casing," he said. "Is the prisoner conscious?"
"Yes, and he's asking to speak to you."
"We'll see what he has to say after we crack that leg open." He turned towards the door, casting a quick glance at the first officer on the way out. "You have the bridge, number one."
The bridge crew traded a few knowing looks and snickers.
When they entered the med bay, a ring of guards had the hospital bed surrounded, occluding John's view of the prisoner. A gray, wiry-haired man emerged from the group, a capped syringe tucked behind his ear and another one hanging loosely from the side pocket of his lab coat.
"You're about to lose one, Tom," John said, pointing to the pocketed syringe.
"Oh, yes," he replied, snatching it from his coat and tucking it behind his ear, dislodging the other one. He looked at Liz. "He's up to speed, then?"
"I told him everything I know."
"Good, because there's more now."
Tom Sturgeon led them to an image screen in an adjacent room. He scrolled through some pictures and stopped on a shot of the backside of the Kalish man's leg. It was marked by a long cut running the length of the hamstring, clasped together by stitches.
"The device was recently implanted," Tom said. "The man can barely stand."
"Has he told you what it contains?" John asked.
"Information."
"What, like phone numbers? Directions to the party?"
"No, more like schematics for that Dreadnaught. And a little more, maybe."
John shook his head. "No. I don't like it."
"What's not to like?"
"Lots. For starters, one of these bastards that killed Moya is laying comfortably in my hospital bed. Second, it seems a little...I don't know...weird?...that he would just waltz in after the kill and deliver the Achilles tendon for that ship."
"He didn't participate in the attack."
"Say again?"
"He never fired a shot. His ship experienced 'technical difficulties'. The corsairs found him drifting outside the area, broadcasting a faint distress signal. And get this – it was a Peacekeeper code."
John turned to Liz. "That would've been good information about an hour ago."
"Sorry," she said. "We're just now piecing this whole mess together."
"Well if this guy's got a plan," John said, "then let's do our part. Cut that thing out of his leg."
"Do you wanna speak to him first? He's eager to tell you something."
"Did you check him for the poisoned tooth?"
Tom laughed. "No, but he's been cleared of the force."
"Guess that'll have to do."
They returned to the room, John gesturing for the guards to move as they approached. The Kalish man looked up from the bed with wide, aqua eyes and an exuberant smile.
"John Crichton. It is an honor."
"Yeah yeah. What's that thing in your leg?"
"A gift to the conquerors of the Scarran empire," he answered, chin raised. "From House Zikaru."
"I think you might have the wrong impression, pal. We're not taking over here."
"Then you're decimating the empire completely. Even better!"
"Tempting, but that's not on the agenda, either. At least not at the moment."
The man's smile withered. "Then you're ridding us of the ship, at least?"
"Now that is definitely on the list of things to do. And I understand you can help?"
"Indeed. The ship's schematics are contained herein," he said, patting his thigh. "Along with detailed descriptions of the cloaking apparatus."
Everyone in the room shifted a little.
"Well...that's very helpful, Mr. uh..."
"Leezin Zikaru, of the House Zikaru." He bowed his head with an oblique look. "This is our gift to the conquerors of..."
"Yeah, I got all that. So let me get this straight -- you're a family of secret rebels?"
The man looked offended. "House Zikaru has many families. The honor should be shared amongst all of them, not just mine."
John raised his hands. "Sure, of course. Everyone gets credit in...houses. If these specs check out, there'll be plenty to go around."
"We seek only to be remembered as free Kalish who partook in the liberation of our people." Leezin raised his finger, puffing his chest out. "Let your archives note that House Zikaru stood against the tyrants at the pitch of battle and struck the blow that tipped the tide of war, bringing our enslavers to their knees!"
John turned to Liz, muttering from the side of his mouth, "you writing this down?"
"And let history not forget that the Kalish were once a proud and noble people with a clear vision for their future, always seeking to better…"
"Yes yes," John said, urging Leezin to lay back. "We'll get you a laptop once this thing's out of your leg."
Leezin clasped John's forearm. "Don't accept this gift lightly, John Crichton. Use it to defeat this machine, then swallow them with your wormholes, all of them, the way you did so many cycles ago. Death is not enough. They must know fear!"
The guards rushed in and shoved Leezin to the bed, pinning him to the mattress.
John yanked his arm free and turned for the door. "You've got the wrong wormhole wizard, pal. Tom, let me know when this is done."
"You have to finish them!" Leezin yelled, straining to raise his head. "They're killing your people, too!"
John stopped at the door. On the other side of the bed, Tom stepped back, capping the needle of an empty syringe.
"The Scarrans...they'll kill them...to the last," Leezan continued, head beginning to wobble. He struggled to keep his eyes open. "Your brothers and sistss..."
John walked towards the bed. "What are you talking about? What brothers?"
"The sebasssuuh...," he murmured, head falling back to the pillow and eyes rolling up. "Ssar yuman. Erstlings."
And then he was unconscious.
"What a nut," one of the guards said, others snickering.
John caught Tom's eye, trading a look of shared puzzlement. He twisted a finger in his ear. "Anybody get a decent translation on that last bit?"
Heads shook and shoulders shrugged.
"No, sir."
"Nothing."
"Just clicks and whistles."
John's com beeped.
"Captain," the first officer said.
"Yes, Commander."
"They're lowering Pilot into the tank now."
"I'm on my way." John walked to the door, Liz following behind. "Tom, get that thing out of his leg and buzz me when he wakes up."
"Will do."
John and Liz took a railcar to the habitat sector in Terra-3's aft. They sat side-by-side in a two-person seat, John stretching his arm along the top of the backrest. He grabbed his com.
"Aeryn?"
He lowered the com a little, eyes cast aside as he listened.
"Baby, you there?"
More silence.
"Damn it. I should go get her."
"I don't know," Liz said. "Maybe Jack should do it."
He recalled Aeryn's outburst and the madness in her eyes. For a moment, while she straddled the kalish pilot's body, he thought she might raise her gun and start shooting at everyone around her. Carefully, he reached with a gentle hand, crooning to her like a child wooing a scared kitten from flight. She lowered her hands and dropped the bloodied weapon, looking across the watching faces. He called to her again, "Aeryn," wagging his outstretched hand. She turned, her lips parting slightly, the whites of her eyes bright against her bloodied visage.
He shuffled in towards her, but she drew back, shaking her head. When he moved in further, she jumped to her feet and ran away into a corridor.
When he followed, John found her locked in a shower room. Beyond the door he heard her hitched breathing and the squeaking of shower knobs. Through the hissing water came the unmistakable thud of a body collapsing to the floor. He knew exactly where she was, huddled under the spray in the corner of the shower, fighting to stifle her sobs. But when she couldn't hold it any longer, her scream echoed throughout the deck.
Aeryn's grieving, the hissing of a shower, and him stuck on the other side of the door.
It was his twin's death all over again.
The railcar came to a halt. John and Liz exited and rushed down to a corridor's end where they entered a vast room. At its center sat a large, clear-walled tank, the outer rim ringed by a walkway accessible by a metal stairway built against its far side.
Pilot floated within the make-shift incubator, suspended in a pinkish, bubbling fluid, hoses swirling all around him. A mixed group of humans and sebaceans turned when John walked in, some of the sebaceans still in their vacuum suits.
"My god," John said, padding towards the tank.
Jack stepped in from the group, fully soaked in incubator fluid. "He's stable. We should know in an arn or two if his systems can function independently."
John leaned into the tank, forearms pressed against the glass above his head. Pilot's eyes were completely clouded over, the membranes cracked, his once yellow-orange irises now a chalky gray.
"His eyes," John muttered.
Footsteps approached from behind.
"They're necrotic. I'll have to remove them in a few arns."
A man with dark, wet hair walked up beside him, looking into the tank as he approached.
"You," John said. "You're the scientist I spoke to earlier?"
"I am."
John turned to face him. "What you did here today – I can't tell you how thankful I am."
"I couldn't have done otherwise. This Pilot wouldn't be in this mess if it weren't for me."
"Yeah, join the club. I'm John, by the way," he said, extending a hand in greeting.
A sebacean tech shouted on the walkway above. "Velorek! We're getting a bio-rhythm!"
The man turned suddenly and ran up the stairs.
John lowered his hand. Velorek. That was the name of Aeryn's dead lover. A tech. No, a specialist working on the gunship project…on Moya. It was a striking similarity – two men with the same name, one a hybrid specialist and the other a leviathan scientist. If the man weren't dead...
"That went well," Jack said, stepping up with his hands clasped behind his back.
"Huh?"
Jack nodded towards Velorek. "The meeting."
"Any reason it shouldn't have?"
Jack looked bemused. "You mean, you don't know about him?"
"I just met the man."
"Oh," Jack said, patting at his pockets. "I had an extra cable here somewhere, I should probably see..." He looked up at the platform. "You guys need help up there?"
"We've got it," Velorek answered, grinning down. "His systems are fully functional. Unbelievable!" He adjusted something on a piece of equipment and ran back down to a monitor set on the floor.
John clutched Jack's arm. "Jack, what're you talking about?"
Just then the door opened and Aeryn walked in, fully cleansed, her damp hair falling over the shoulders of a newly acquired t-shirt.
"I think you're about to find out," Jack murmured.
When she saw Pilot, she rushed to the tank and spread her hands over the glass, her eyes transfixed on the injured creature. She traced her fingers over the form of his face, cooing to him in a warm, motherly tone. John knelt to the ground, awed by her ostensible display of affection. She owned her love and gave it unabashedly -- so unlike the Aeryn he once knew. How much more was there to this wiser, loving woman? Pilot was right. He needed to get to know her again.
He beamed at the prospect, twisting absently at the band on his finger.
Aeryn turned towards Velorek, her back to John. She palmed the corners of her eyes and straightened up, shaking her head slightly. When Velorek took a few steps her way, she closed the distance between them and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him in a fierce embrace.
John understood. He wanted to the hug the guy, too. Probably would after Aeryn was finished.
Their foreheads touched. He couldn't quite hear what they were whispering, but the gist seemed to be 'thank-you' and 'don't mention it'. But then he kissed her.
And everything around him seemed to collapse inward, his eyes fixed on Aeryn and the scientist. A sudden pain twisted in his chest.
"I think I get it now."
"Yeah," Jack replied, his brow furrowing. "Wasn't expecting that, though." He walked over to a spread of tools, head shaking, and started cleaning.
"Velorek," John muttered to himself. "Back from the dead."
Suddenly, his com beeped.
"Crichton, it's Tom."
"Yeah. What's up?"
"A lot. We've got beautiful schematics here. I'm forwarding them to Tactical."
"Good," John said, locking eyes with Aeryn when she turned. "I'll head there now."
"Come by here first. You're not gonna believe this. And bring your sebacean woman with you."
"She's kinda occupied," John said, turning towards the door. "I'll see in you in a minute."
"John!" Aeryn called, her voice cut off by the closing doors.
John walked to an elevator and pounded on the button. Don't get mad. Don't get mad. You've been apart for twenty years. What did you expect?
But right in front of me? Come on.
He breathed a sigh of relief when the elevator door opened, but just as he stepped in, the door down the corridor swished and Aeryn ran into the hallway.
"Hold it, Crichton!"
"I'm sorry, babe -- really gotta go -- be back in a few hours." He pressed the door-control button.
The closing doors stalled and drew open again.
"Damn it!" he cursed, switching to the other button.
Aeryn slid between the closing doors, landing deftly at the back wall with crossed arms. Once the elevator was underway, John propped himself in the door jamb with an outstretched arm, facing her squarely from across the small chamber. Above them, a mellow rendition of 'Sweet Child of Mine' piped through the speakers, strings and flutes dancing lightly in the air.
"So there really is music in these things," she said.
"Good memory. I'm impressed."
"I'd prefer silence."
He shrugged. "It makes us feel at home."
They exchanged looks for a moment.
"Look..."
"John..."
They spoke simultaneously, each pausing after the other.
"All right, can I just say something?" he asked.
"Only if you listen to me first."
"No. What I'm gonna say…it's not what you think."
"That's what I was going to say."
"What?"
"Velorek and I, it's not what you think."
He straightened up. "You mean...you two...you're not...?"
"Oh. Yes, we're lovers."
John snorted. "Subtle, Aeryn. See, that's why I wanted to go first."
She shook her head. "You're thinking something different."
"What do you think I'm thinking?"
"That we're in love."
"So you don't love him?"
"Of course I do."
John threw his hands up, turning sidelong. "Aeryn, you're playing tennis with yourself."
"You know what I mean, John. You're the one who always said there's a difference between love and being in love."
She had a point. "So you and Velorek, you're just good friends who are...," he cleared his throat, "you know…buddies? In the bedroom?"
"No. He's more than a recreation partner, but less than a mate."
It wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear but it was better than other possibilities.
"I thought he was dead."
"No. He was imprisoned on an incarceration vessel."
"You couldn't have left him there?"
"John."
"Alright, alright," he said, hands raised. "So, you found him and ya'll just…picked up where you left off?"
"In some ways, yes." She paused for a moment. "He's helped me through some difficult times."
"Hmm. And how's it been?"
She shrugged. "Generally acceptable. We've had our share of disagreements over the arrangement, but we have an understanding."
"Arrangements and understandings. That usually means people don't see eye to eye."
"He wants more than I can give him."
"And now?"
"He'll understand. I've hidden nothing from him when it comes to you."
"But Aeryn…you two. How long have you been…?"
"About twelve cycles."
A bad feeling washed through him. John stopped the elevator.
"Twelve cycles?" He shook his head. "Baby, you sure do leave 'em bobbin' in the wake."
"What are you talking about?"
"I don't know. It just seems a little harsh."
"Is this not what you want?"
"Of course, I think. I mean, I always wanted you. But I was the other guy at one time, too."
She looked away, the muscles in her face twitching. "You think it's easy for me?"
"No," he said, half-shrugging. "Well, maybe a little easy."
"Then you don't know me at all, Crichton."
He raised his hand. "Look, let's not go down this road."
She reached past him, started the elevator again and pressed the button for the next floor, avoiding his eyes.
"Baby, stop it," he said, grasping her arm.
She yanked it loose and pushed past him when the door opened.
"Aeryn…"
Once in the corridor, she spun to face him. "I know this isn't about me leaving Velorek, John."
Something discomfiting stirred within him. "Well…what is it then?"
"It's about us, and what happened a long time ago. You're never going to forgive me, are you?"
"There's nothing to forgive." The words felt hollow.
She looked away, sighing. "John, if you can't even see it, then what hope is there?"
John put his palm over the door's thickness, stalling it in the jamb. He held it there for a moment, looking quietly at the wall beyond her. Deep within, there was a feeling that eluded him, yet it somehow governed his every action with her. Fear, anger, need – the dwelling of his demon lay somewhere in between. He breathed deeply, peeling the layers away, reaching into the vaulted core of his inner conscience.
"You'll do it again," he muttered, eyes staring away.
She didn't speak. When he looked at her again, her eyes were calm and direct in their regard -- never flinching, never blinking. They reached past the pain and anger and touched him in an honest place. She had never looked so boldly into him before.
"This is it, John," she said. Her words were quiet, comforting -- her eyes near-hypnotic. "Everything that I am is right here before you. See it for yourself. It's been yours for the keeping since the day I came back for you."
She was radiant, standing there in her t-shirt and wavy, air-dried hair. John stepped from the elevator, letting the door close behind him. He approached, drawn to her as if in a trance. She reached out and took him in her arms, cupping the back of his neck, glancing down to his chin before looking into his eyes again.
He closed his arms around her waist, marveling at the feel of her tight, lithe body against him. He eased her against the wall, pulling her closer in, his neck tingling from her fingernails' scratching. Her eyes were wine-drunk lazy, her cheeks flushed. Their faces touched, noses rubbing, lips grazing, and then he kissed her, pulling their hips together and bracing her straddled weight with a knee against the wall. The friction between them flowed into a grinding rhythm. It felt so good they had to pull away to breathe.
"Let's go," she whispered into his ear.
"My quarters?"
"Anywhere."
John took her hand and tapped at the elevator button, feeling her lips on the back of his neck.
Suddenly, the emergency sirens blared.
"God, not again!" he growled.
Aeryn looked like she might cry.
He grabbed his com. "Commander, what's going on?"
"The Globes are off-line again, and the Dreadnaught just cloaked."
"I thought we isolated that interference. How are they jamming us now?"
"Don't know, but it's a wide-band jam. We're getting nothing, even when we rotate the frequencies."
"All right. Alert all Corsair squadrons. We're doing this the old fashioned way."
When the doors opened, Aeryn pushed John in and backed him into a corner. They started kissing again just as "The Gambler" was fading out. Then "Rocket Man" came on. Aeryn pulled away and listened.
"Is that…?"
He smiled. "You remember it?"
She nodded, smiling back. "Your vessel song."
"I'm a rocket man," he sang.
She touched his face, her gleaming eyes wandering over his features. Seeing her like this was better than Christmas and post-prom shenanigans and a whole season of NFL combined. He teemed with joy to the point of laughter, hugging her waist so tight she nearly lost her breath.
"Oh baby," he groaned, thrusting his face into her hair. He filled his lungs with her scent and held on to every iota of air. It was just too good.
Then the elevator stopped.
A quick ding gave them the warning they needed to pull apart in time for the elevator's opening. He could sense the nearness of her hand in his fingertips as the door slid open to a hallway full of rushing crewmembers. They exited and moved to a wall in the corridor.
"We'll open another wormhole and relocate," John said.
"As soon as I'm with Pilot, I'll contact Braca and tell him to ready the caravan."
Braca. That bastard. "Yeah, better you than me."
"Be nice."
"Yeah yeah." He gave her a quick peck and turned to leave. "I'll com you from the bridge."
Halfway down the hall, he looked back and grinned, his arms held wide as he back-stepped through the crowded corridor.
"I'm feelin' it, baby – big time!"
She leaned into the wall, arms folded and grinning.
He took one last look at the radiant Aeryn Sun then turned for the train.