Crichton knew that this would be the fight of his life. He wiped his damp palm on his shirt then readjusted his grip on his pulse rifle. He forced himself to concentrate, in spite of his nerves which were screaming a number of unhelpful things at him.
He knew this room, he was in the maintenance bay on-board Moya. The familiar surroundings would have usually been a comfort, but in this situation they were not. He knew that his enemy knew this territory every bit as well as he did. His enemy – no not enemy – his nemesis. His nemesis was stalking him right now. In his mind every shadow contained potential ambush, every alcove and every barrel of cargo was cover for his ruthless opponent. He crept forwards, trying without much success to guess where an attack might come from.
A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye was all that saved him. He threw himself forwards into a desperate dive. He felt the shot that was meant for him pass inches from his head. He slid on his side, his momentum carrying him along the cargo bay floor. Even as he did so, his eyes focused on the shape of his assailant. He rolled, coming up into a crouch, rifle triumphantly raised for the kill.
At least, that was the plan. What actually happened was that he attempted to roll, misjudged completely, and skidded uncontrollably into a stack of barrels. The barrels fell around him with heavy metallic clangs. His rifle spun away and he shielded his head with both hands.
Disoriented and slightly stunned, Crichton looked up into the barrel of a rifle. He looked up further into pitiless blue eyes. For a moment, they locked onto his own and time seemed to stand still.
Crichton screamed as the blast caught him square in the chest. He clutched his chest and screamed again.
"Arggh! Aaarrrggghh! I'm melting! I'm meellltting!"
D'Argo started to giggle uncontrollably. Crichton lunged forwards and caught him around the waist. They collapsed in a heap as Crichton employed the only method he knew by which he was still abe to subdue his son; the time-honoured art of tickling.
"Soldier, report!"
Crichton let go of D'Argo as the boy scrambled hastily to his feet.
"Sir, one enemy soldier captured, sir!" he shouted.
Crichton sat, wringing the water out of his t-shirt. He watched officer Aeryn Sun detract herself from the shadows and approach. Her expressionless gaze flickered between the two of them.
"That's good, soldier." she said, "But you neglected to protect your flank when you attacked. I picked off another one sneaking up on your position. If you had been alone, you would be dead now."
Chiana stomped along after her, grumbling and trailing droplets of water.
"The primary objective of a soldier is not to kill the enemy." Aeryn said sternly, "The primary objective of a soldier is to ensure that the enemy fails to kill you. Do you understand, cadet?"
D'Argo's face filled with disappointment. "But mum, I -"
"Soldier!"
D'Argo rolled his eyes towards Crichton helplessly, "Yes sir!"
"Hey, soldier you know what I think?" Crichton winked to D'Argo, "I think it's time for – a mutiny!"
Crichton snatched his pistol from his belt. Aeryn stood mouth gaping for a fraction of a moment too long. Chiana and D'Argo bought their replica rifles to bear.
The volley of shots even looked quite authentic. Bu when the glowing bolts struck they exploded into bulbous globules of water. Struck from all sides, in the centre of the maelstrom, Aeryn spluttered.
"Hey! Stop that, that's mutiny, that's cheating, that's – that's high treason - " she fired wildly, blinded by the continuing drenching. "All right, I give up!" she collapsed in helpless laughter.
D'Argo shot her again.
Crichton regarded his son. As always, his feelings were tinged with a sense of regret. D'Argo was a little under two and half cycles old. He could have passed for a ten year old. Most of the time he acted older still. Crichton understood that a pure Sebacian child, born to Peacekeeper parents, would have matured faster still. Peacekeepers had little time to wait for children to reach a sufficient level of development to begin their training, so with the help of genetic modifications, they cheated.
What nature dictated should take years, they instead decided to take mere months. Crichton was assured by Aeryn that D'Argo would continue to develop at a normal rate now – after all, Peacekeeper training took years. But Crichton still felt that he had been robbed of something, and his son doubly so.
"I'm hungry." D'Argo declared.
Crichton wasn't in the least surprised. D'Argo made a swarm of locusts seem merely to be slightly peckish. He was worse than Rygel had been, if the two of them had been together on Moya, they would have constituted a natural disaster on many planets.
"Hey, Chiana – could you take the human dustbin down to get some food?" Crichton said.
"Sure." Chiana grabbed D'Argo by the hand, "Come with me little guy." Chiana was towed away by the hungry child.
Crichton sidled closer to his wife. She wiped water from her face and looked at him with a slight smile on her face.
"Looks like I won this round." Crichton said.
Aeryn looked offended, "Only because you cheated."
"Of course."
"Anyway, D'Argo shot you too. I'd call it a draw." Crichton could feel her warmth now, radiating through her wet clothes.
"All part of my fiendish plan."
Aeryn pushed damp hair out of her eyes. She looked at him, her face tilted slightly upwards.
"You had a plan?" she said in mock astonishment, "Did it work?"
Crichton grinned, "Better than I could possibly have imagined."
Aeryn was so close to him now that he could feel her breath on his face. "And what was this brilliant plan, Crichton?"
Crichton leaned closer, "To capture the brilliant and beautiful, yet ruthless Peacekeeper commando." he paused, "And have my way with her."
Aeryn's eyes sparkled. "Oh. In that case," she reached forwards and pulled him closer with a sudden tug. "Consider me your prisoner."
Crichton opened is mouth to speak, then completely changed his mind when he found Aeryn had other, more interesting things in mind for it.
"Wait." Aeryn's voice was a little indistinct, probably because she was trying to speak into Crichton's mouth. She pushed him back.
"What did you call me?"
Crichton drew forwards again instinctively, like a moth to a flame. He saw her slight frown.
"Brilliant and beautiful?" he hazarded.
"No. You called me ruthless. Why would you say that?"
"No I didn't." Crichton tried to close the gap again.
"Yes you did." Aeryn said.
Crichton sighed regretfully, "I just thought you were a bit hard o little Dee back there, that's all."
Aeryn's frown deepened. "He made a mistake. It that had been a real combat situation - "
"It wasn't, Aeryn. He's just a kid, not a soldier."
Aeryn half turned away from him. "I know that John, but he may have to be both. Do you think his enemies will stop o give him a second chance?"
"Enemies? He's only - "
"He's our son, John. That gives him a lifetimes supply of enemies straight away, many of whom are running the galaxy now. Sooner or later he'll have to fight, and we might not be there to protect him."
"We will, Aeryn," Crichton insisted. "D'Argo is going to stay on Moya with Pilot. We'll only be gone a few days and if Pilot thinks there's any danger he'll starburst straight out of dodge."
Aeryn turned back to face him, her eyes brooding. "And then what? We're trying to join the resistance, to fight back against the Nebari. Can you truly guarantee that our son will be safe through all that?"
Crichton stood wordlessly. He tried to find the right words to assure her, but found he couldn't find them. He wanted to say that everything was going to be ok, that D'Argo would never know the life of violence that she had. But the last two cycles said otherwise, as long as the Nebari were in power, no-where was safe for them.
He wanted to say that two cycles ago, the peoples of the galaxy had chosen between safety and their freedom, and hadn't realised that they had made the wrong choice until it was too late. He didn't want to make a similar trade, to sacrifice their sons childhood for the illusion of safety. They had lost too many friends in the last few years for him to ever really believe in that illusion any more. Crichton wanted to promise that they could keep D'Argo safe, he just wasn't sure that he believed it himself.