"Her name is Orona."

John put his hands down on the black console, watching her intently.

Even while sitting in her massive seat (a throne which would've made anyone but Aeryn look like a child; she looked like a queen) she still seemed to be hovering; even with her hands softly touching the armrests, she never seemed to be anchored on solid ground. She wasn't leaning on it, nor putting any weight on it. The chair held her like a bubble would hold in air.

"You okay?" John asked, but Aeryn waved his question away, turning her head down suddenly as if she was suffering indigestion and about to throw up.

"Mother's consciousness is huge," Deccan spoke. "You're getting better at filtering out the signals, but for now you'll have to take it slow. One day at a time."

A week had passed since Aeryn was first hooked up to this giant creature, the size of a planet, and the scientists had never stopped tinkering. There were days that Aeryn passed out completely, and the Peacekeepers would scramble frantically to keep their damn systems running, but so far the procedure had been a success. Orona was accepting Aeryn.

Deccan, the Peacekeeper scientist in charge of this project, observed Aeryn keenly, almost in awe, like a painter looked at his painting, frustrated that he wasn't getting it just right. All John could see was his wife, chained bodily to a giant monster.

John's visits were becoming shorter. Since the Peacekeepers found his presence was becoming more and more unnecessary, they 'suggested' he move out of their way to let them continue with their work.

He got the strangest feeling the Peacekeepers didn't like him very much. Considering his history with the Peacekeepers, he didn't have to wonder why. He returned their disdain in kind.

At the end of the day, when the day shift of scientists and technicians were being replaced by the night shift, John joined them on the elevator in silence. In their mess hall, he ate alone. In his bunk, he slept alone. But on the seventh night, things changed.

There was a voice reaching out to him in his sleep. Suddenly he was in a long dark hallway. It was damp and there were rocks all around him. Water trickled past his feet. As he walked on, the walls around him started shrinking. The hallway grew smaller and smaller, until it was nothing but a rocky tunnel through which he had to crawl on his hands and feet. There was a light at the end. He had to reach it.

"John!"

Then it was like he'd had the dream before. It turned lucid, because he was aware. The rock felt so real to the touch, even though he knew it wasn't. The light was so far away, but the darkness so close behind him as he looked back. Suddenly he realized he had a tail.

"John!"

The voice activated his senses in bed and the dream crumbled and faded, replaced by dark reality. He could feel the bed, the sheets, the walls of his earthen cell, his heart slowly expanding in his chest, and his muscles aching as he awoke. But the voice was still there, no longer as clear as it was before. In the dream it was like she was standing right behind him, but now Aeryn sounded far away, farther and farther, fading into a distant well.

"John!" Sweat was sticking to his body.

"John! Get me the frell out of here!"

"Was it a dream?"

"No."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

Chiana was sitting at the edge of his bed, almost curled up as comfortable as a cat with her feet in a meditative position tucked under her butt. Often she coyly brushed the hair from her eyes.

"Crichton, I've got dreams of Nerri and... and D'Argo, all the time. It's no big deal."

John briefly stopped pacing. "She's not dead!"

"Well, neither is Nerri!"

"That's not..."

"I know... but are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure!"

"You know I had to ask."

John understood. He knew how crazy he sounded right now, but it's not as if they've encountered worse before. Stark sent a message to Zhaan once, and they all thought her crazy, until his head suddenly appeared, holographically that is, in the palm of her hand.

"Aeryn sounded upset, but more lucid than I've ever heard her, since before the operation."

"So how does this work? She's a telepath now? But only in dreams?"

"Ask Pilot. Maybe he knows more."

Chiana nodded.

"So, what are we gonna do? We could just go down her and cut the cord, rip her out, and run."

Maybe. They were stupid enough to try.

John shook his head, to try and shake the idea off. "She'd die. Her mind is linked to Mother now. We need the Peacekeepers to destroy the link safely."

Chiana thought about it.

"Or not."

"What? You got something?"

"We could always ask Mother."

John didn't like that idea.

"It's either that or we hire a Diagnosian."

He didn't have a problem talking to Moya. In fact, he never would have had a problem with this plan before. Except this Hand of Friendship business never goes down well. Having people mess with your mind... If John could have fixed it by shooting he would have. There was a lot of bad blood there that wasn't ever gonna go away.

"I never should have let her go through with this," he spoke.

"And yet you did," an icy voice arose, followed by a figure that stepped into the light.

John's face turned to stone. Chiana held her breath.

"You here to gloat, Scorpy?" John said. "Isn't there a Command Carrier you should be right now?"

"Perhaps," Scorpius replied. "Given what you are about to do. You know they can hear you?"

John remembered the guards that patrolled the hallways of this complex. He pushed past Scorpius and closed the door.

"Why are you here, Scorpius? Nobody wants you here."

"I brought him here," Chiana said. "He's...he's my boss."

John looked down at Chiana, but wasn't going to go into that. Her plans were her own, as was her life.

"That's not the only reason I'm here," Scorpius said smugly. Chiana had no idea what he was talking about.

"Who do you think is funding this place, John?"

John snapped into action as soon as it clicked in his mind. He couldn't sit still. He was shaking all over.

"I'm the Project Overseer," Scorpius confirmed it.

"Research into Pilots," John spat into Scorpius's face. "Compatibility with wormhole weapons."

"The Builders. The Ancients," Scorpius added to his list.

"Talyn. Biomechanical weaponry. Are you sure you want to follow in Crais's footsteps?"

"Hardly."

Then John swallowed his pride. "Do you have the authority to get Aeryn out of there?"

Scorpius lowered his gaze. "No."

"Why not?" Chiana asked.

"Because I'm Project Overseer."

Slowly, John started to nod.

"Too much responsibility. Too much at stake. You can't pull the plug now without blowing the whole place up, and if that happens, the Peacekeepers are gonna lose all of their slave ships. 'Cause you can't fly a Leviathan without a Pilot."

"There is a way," Scorpius said.

"Why'd you want to help us?" Chiana asked.

John didn't care. He countered: "Why should we trust him?"

When John looked to Chiana, she shrugged. "You got a better plan?"

Commander Deccan was tall, unassuming, and cerebral. The study of these symbiotic life forms suited him perfectly; to be stationed on this far away outpost, left alone to his work in the dark.

He walked along the black bridge spanning the chasm with long strides, and carefully absorbed it all. This is what success felt like. Standing on the edge of a knife.

The technicians scurried to their posts, only saluting him nervously if he got in their way. He didn't pay them any attention.

Aeryn's head lay slumped across her chest, seemingly asleep. The amount of anesthetics in her system was sufficient to fell two Luxans, but still she slowly raised herself when he approached, half opening her eyelids to see who it was. She slunk back into her seat when she saw it wasn't her husband.

"I'm sorry about the bucket," Deccan told her.

The first day they connected her, they forgot to install the waste disposal system. Deccan regretted having to put her through such indignities. Now two tubes had been surgically installed into her guts, that were continuously pumping nutrients into her body, and out again.

"I doubt that you came all this way just to talk about my bowel movements," Aeryn said.

"No," Deccan admitted, amused. He removed the mechanical chart from its holder and held it in his hands like a book. Red symbols lit up. He checked her vital signs, her heart rate, her blood pressure. He lowered the settings of the nutrient flow, and then put the chart back in its hold.

"Vitals seem fine, at least better than yesterday," he spoke. From his pocket he took a small light and began to shine it into her eyes to illicit a pupil reflex. The medication still kept Aeryn incredibly intoxicated and numb. After a solar week, the scars from surgery were still fresh.

"The medication is affecting your healing rate, but it doesn't seem to pose a problem, yet. Physically you are fine. How about mentally? Are you experiencing hallucinations? Memory loss?"

There were dark rings around her eyes. She looked pale and sick. Her smile was like a skull.

"No," Aeryn said. "In fact, Mother won't let me forget. So many new experiences for her... Emotions... She's pouring over all my memories and I can't stop her. It's bringing back a lot of old pain..."

"I see..."

"But she means well. I tell her about Moya, and my Pilot. She loves that. I think they could get along well."

"What about the other Leviathans? Have you talked to her about that?"

Aeryn struggled to focus. The change in conversation sparked a change in thought patterns. She fought to cope with the onslaught of information rushing across her spine and into the back of her mind.

"What happens when you enter her memories? What do you see?"

"Darkness," she answered. "And song."

There were four Leviathans in orbit around the planet right now, gliding in formation beneath two Command Carriers. Moya was excited when she first spotted their approach. Compared to her they were tiny, so young, and she wanted to greet them, until she saw the control collars around their necks.

Pilot calmed her down when she grew restless. Memories of pain and captivity swarmed him as well, and fear. Even though their presence was permitted by the Peacekeepers, they still chose to follow Crichton's suggestion and stay hidden in the shadow of the fourth moon, and communications were kept to a minimum.

"Any word from Hyneria?" Rygel asked. His small hand massaged his royal belly to counter the indigestion.

With the Leviathans still firmly in his mind's eye, Pilot searched all frequencies, and found his memory banks empty. It had even been some time since Crichton had contacted them. Perhaps days, with no news of the happenings on the planet's surface, or Aeryn's condition.

"I'm sorry, Ambassador," Pilot spoke, knowing that addressing him with his official title would soften the blow of the expected bad news, and indeed Rygel bore it with dignity. Pilot was actually beginning to admire the little Hynerian for his patience and altruism he'd shown this solar week. Usually, he'd be the first to suggest, in his usual pompous frenzy, to leave all and everything behind to save his own life, but now that Aeryn was irrevocably attached to Mother, he'd carried himself well, even looking after the children with great care.

Their mother's absence was hardest on the children after all.

"Where is that frelling escort I was promised? We shouldn't be left unprotected." Rygel somberly analyzed the dangers they were in now that an extra Command Carrier had entered the system. He sighed. "I suppose they'd pay handsomely for a royal hostage."

He said it rather hopeful, as if he was still hoping he had some value to the universe, or anyone in it.
"To attack your royal person means risking open war with Hyneria."

Rygel harrumphed to himself, and scoffed at the notion of Peacekeepers needing an excuse to arrest, imprison or kill anyone. "They never did before."

The fourth moon slowly neared the orbit of the enslaved Leviathans, and Moya noted their control collars well. She hated the collars intensely.

"Hyneria won't go to war over little old me," Rygel said. "Now wormholes, that's what gets wars started."

"Or religion," Fess Argolius Traal spoke.

The blue-haired Hanarian tracker sat in the shadows beneath Pilot's console, silently sharpening his wooden knives. He had red eyes, yellow fangs and wild black hair that obscured half his face. He was dressed in animals skins and studded leather that was light for hunting and hardly covered his arms and legs, revealing him to be covered in blue fur.

Rygel hadn't realized he was there, but hardly took notice of commoners like him, mercenaries, trackers, and other sorts Chiana dragged from the gutters to service her needs. Similarly, Fess took no trouble to acknowledge him.

It was at that moment a peculiar ship glided into the edges of Moya's sensors, its relative size dwarfing the Command Carrier, and even the small moon. If Leviathans could gasp, this is when she'd do it. Moya didn't like this.

She'd grown to dislike planets and other places full of humanoid life. She preferred the loneliness of the deepest reaches of outer space, and for once Pilot agreed with her, but they couldn't run now.