Crichton sat in the transport pod with Aeryn. She carried the baby in a little padded backpack that Crichton had bought on Earth a cycle ago. Moya's transport pods weren't exactly fitted out like Mom's minivan and he couldn't figure out a way to secure a car seat in there. This was the next best thing. His only regret was that it wasn't equipped with airbags. And Kevlar. Dar was a quiet little thing most of the time, absorbing his world with big blue eyes.

"Well?" said Crichton.

"The proconsul is still very upset," said Pilot.

"Terrific. That means we have something in common," said Crichton.

"The Empire has empathetically disclaimed the assassination attempt."

"I'm gonna empathetically disclaim somebody's head if I don't get some answers," said Crichton. "Can we go down or not?"

"The proconsul," said Pilot, "begs that you give him the opportunity to evacuate his wives and offspring before destroying his homeworld."

Silence.

"Did he really say that?" said Crichton.

"Yes," said Pilot.

"I'm not gonna do that," said Crichton.

"Yes, Commander," said Pilot. "I understand. How would you like me to respond?"

"Tell 'em…" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Frell. Tell 'em I'm sorry about the surprise wormhole. Aeryn and I are not here to hurt anybody. We just wanna have a face-to-face with their head honcho. Give them our diplomatic codes and, you know, apologize again. Like—a lot. Empathetically."

"A moment," said Pilot.

Crichton sighed and drummed his fingers on the console. He bounced his leg.

"You okay?"said Aeryn.

"Mm." Crichton nodded. "You?"

"Yep," she said.

Another long minute of silence.

"How much ammo did we bring?" said Crichton.

Aeryn opened her mouth to reply—

"Commander," said Pilot, "the Hynerian Empire extends its formal invitation for you and your family to attend the Dominar and his deputies on the ground. You have been extended the usual diplomatic protections and courtesies. I should add that the Empire has… disarmed in advance of your arrival."

"Disarmed?" said Aeryn.

"They have completely powered down all of their surface-to-air weapons and grounded their flight forces," said Pilot.

Aeryn and Crichton exchanged a glance.

"They will not be able to repel an invasion from above for several arns," said Pilot.

"Is there any danger of that, Pilot?" said Aeryn.

"None," said Pilot. "We are many metras from the Scarran border, and it's been demilitarized. It's a show of good faith."

"Nifty," said Crichton. "That's a new one on me. Aeryn?"

She shook her head. "These people are very scared of us."

"You have a landing vector for your pod," said Pilot. "I'm sending it now."

Aeryn powered up the pod.

"Keep the lights on for us," said Crichton.

"Always," Pilot replied.

#

As the ramp lowered toward a red carpet, Crichton had to resist the urge to give two victory signs, though he was about a billion metras from anyone who knew or cared who Nixon was. Premahyneria was supposed to be the seat of government for the entire Hynerian Empire. Six hundred billion subjects and septillions of currency.

Crystal spires, togas, etc., were not in evidence however.

"It's a swamp," said Crichton.

Massive trees reached up to the sky. They had exposed roots like mangroves but were the size of California redwoods—or bigger. The roots plunged down into greenish, still bogwater, fetid marshland, and peat. The bluegreen canopy overhead filtered sunlight, so what made it down was a bit dark and sad, and the humidity was something else. About as bad as high summer in Cape Canaveral. It smelled of rotting wood and mushrooms. There was no one to receive them. The red carpet simply extended about a hundred feet into the woods and stopped.

"Oh, yeah, Rygel, I can see why you missed this place," Crichton muttered. "Six hundred billion subjects, Hynerian majools, and I remember when my ancestor Rygel the Eleventh…"

"Oh, stop," said Aeryn, chuckling.

"Yotz." Crichton winked at her leapt down from the transport pod. Aeryn arched her eyebrow at this demonstration of agility and climbed down at a more sedate pace, ignoring the hand he offered her at the bottom.

They stood shoulder to shoulder for a moment and then took off in opposite directions, staying close to the steaming pod. They had crushed and singed some vegetation upon landing but nothing too bad. Crichton's boots sank into the mud. The silence bothered him so he began to hum the theme song to Gilligan's Island. Around the nose of the transport pod he came across a vine climbing up one of the massive trees. It had interesting, fragrant purple flowers that reminded him of the passion flowers that grew back home, and before Crichton could stop himself he reached out to pick one. Aeryn would think it was cute and he thought she might be persuaded to wear it in her hair.

"A move star, the Professor and Mary Anne, here on Gilligan's—AAH."

"John!" Aeryn called.

Crichton stuck his burning fingers in his mouth. "Aw wah wagh, Awygn," he said.

"Crichton, sound off. Right now," said Aeryn.

He took his fingers out of his mouth and tapped his coms. "I said I'm all right. Watch out for the flowers. They've got… acid or something in the petals." Tiny red welts appeared on his fingertips and thumb. His eyes watered and he sniffled. Frelling allergies. His lips burned now too.

"How much of the leeth oil did you get on your fingers?"

"Not much," he said. "Man, that stings."

"Tell me you didn't get any on your mouth or mucus membranes."

Crichton sniggered. "Mucus membranes? Where are those, exactly?"

"Effective doses are measured in millidots," said Aeryn. "I think you should sit down."

"Kinda tingly," said Crichton.

"John, I'm coming around the pod at your ten o'clock."

"I'm fine," said Crichton. "Aces. Never better. This is a very pretty planet."

"Uh-huh."

"Reminds me of home," said Crichton.

"They don't have leeth oil on Earth." She was beside him with her hand under his elbow.

"Maybe we've got lakes of it," he replied. "You don't know." He sniffled. "You're very pretty." He reached out to touch her hair. "And you smell good."

"Okay," said Aeryn. "Come here."

Crichton nodded. "'s good advice. I love you."

"You too," she sight, swaying with him.

"They demilitarized the border," said Crichton.

"That's what I heard," she said.

"They sent all the Destroyers away."

"Come on."

"Look," he murmured into the crook of her neck. "Look how close I got." And then her hair turned into ravens and her skin became silk ribbons and his hands turned into light and John Crichton, Master of Stars, Destroyer of Worlds, and Spaceman Without Portfolio fell like a gigantic sack of bricks into the bog.

#

Murmurs. A woman's voice.

Crichton opened one eye, then the other. "Egg." His head was ringing, his arms and legs were buzzing, and he had stinking mud up in places he didn't even have names for.

A young woman squatted next to him, hugging her knees.

"Eggggg," Crichton groaned.

The girl rolled her eyes. "Oh, stop whining. You're fine, you big yenti."

"I feel like I licked an electrical socket."

"Pretty drad, huh?" She grinned. "That's a life experience you won't forget. And check this out." She waved her hands in front of his face. They became pale smears in the air. "You get tracers for, like, six arns."

"Great." He laid back in the soft, warm mud and folded his hands over his stomach. "Just leave me here."

"You need a drink," said Chiana. She hopped onto her feet and extended a hand. He scowled up at her for a moment, then let her help him up. He tried to dust himself off and then gave it up as a bad job. He was still standing in an inch of swamp water.

"Hey, old man," said Chiana, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

"Hey, little girl," he replied, pressing the heels of his palms over his burning eyes.

"I overthrew the government," she said.

"No surprise there," said Crichton. "Can you not… move so much?"

She laughed. She was different. She wore a white silk shift with tiny gray leaves embroidered at the hem and neck. A simple silver circlet was tucked into her hair. She seemed fresh and young and innocent.

"You look incredible," he said.

"And you look like dren," said Chiana.

He nodded and tried to wipe his face. "Where's Aeryn?"

"Handling the Hynerian delegation."

"Yeah? How's that going?"

"So far? No wars, no riots, no guns, no bombs. I feel like I don't know who you are anymore."

"We're growing up," said Crichton.

"The narl got big," said Chiana. "He looks like you."

"Not that big," said Crichton.

"He's gonna be tall," said Chiana. "Come on, she's worried about you."

He followed her down the red carpet. The sun had gotten higher and the air seemed even more still and heavy. Crichton looked over his shoulder at the transport pod. Someday they were going to change their identities and start a new life. The carpet terminated in a curved ramp that corkscrewed down into the ground. Chiana strode down without any hesitation. Crichton followed.

Down and down they went and the ceiling rose higher and higher until they were in the center of a limestone and quartz cavern. Water dripped from the ceiling and trailed down the walls. The cavern had been cleared but Crichton sensed activity and furtive movement all around them. He found Aeryn Sun at the bottom of the ramp. He put a hand on Dar's soft head—smearing him with a little goop—and then came around her left side.

Aeryn squeezed his wrist and leaned over to speak into his ear. "Twelve Royal Guards concealed around the cavern on the upper walkways, staying low and moving around. We are under intense surveillance and something is very wrong." She wrinkled her nose at him and wiped her hand on her pants.

"We okay?" said Crichton.

"For now," she said.

"Chiana?"

"I don't know."

As they spoke an elderly, portly Hynerian in a throne chair came buzzing toward them. He was wearing thick purple robes and a tall crown. His throat was heavy with jewelry, his fingers decorated with rings. He held a short scepter. "Welcome, welcome my dear friends! It has been far too long."

"Uh, yeah," said Crichton. "Great. Cool."

"It is my pleasure to extend to you the goodwill of the Hynerian Empire."

He came right up close to them, the edge of his throne chair nearly bumping into them. He showed them something in his hand. Two silver balls. He squeezed them together and they cracked. "Smile, frellniks," Rygel hissed. "We have about ninety microts before these distortion pods run out and they can hear us again."

Crichton and Aeryn both plastered on big friendly smiles. Rygel extended a hand.

"No way," Crichton muttered.

"Just do it," said Rygel, and Aeryn stepped on his foot. He grabbed Rygel's hand and bent over it in a low bow. "Hey, congrats, man," Crichton muttered. "Six months later and, tada, you're Grand High Poobah of the Black Lagoon." He narrowed his eyes. "I wonder how that happened."

"Are you on drugs?" Rygel said through his teeth.

"Maybe," said Crichton.

Aeryn bowed over his hand as well. "Are you a prisoner?"

"No," said Rygel. They were all still smiling at each other.

"We can get you out of here," said Crichton. "Moya is here in high orbit."

"Don't you dare interfere," said Rygel.

"We gotta talk to you," said Crichton.

"Later," said Rygel.

"There is no—"

"Twenty microts," said Rygel. "Because of your unexpected and extremely rude intrusion I have not had time to plan for your visit. Your quarters will be under surveillance and I cannot guarantee your safety. Whatever you see, hear, or think, do not to do anything stupid. And please, for the love of the gods and all their mistresses, as difficult as this may be for you two, try, try not to destroy my life."

"Sparky, they came to my house. I have the bodies of four Hynerian assassins on ice the transport pod and—"

Rygel's thin nostrils flared. "Bathe," he ordered. "You can't possibly appear in court like that."

"We're not appearing in any court, Rygel. I just wanna talk to you."

"You'll appear wherever and whenever I tell you it's necessary for you to appear," said Rygel. "You're in my house now, human, and I'll trouble you not to forget it. I'll tell you when we can speak freely. Smile. You're happy. I'm happy. Everybody's happy because we're all such good friends."

Aeryn said, "Is Chiana safe?"

"None of us are safe and it's Crichton's frelling fault," said Rygel, simpering. "Keep your mouths shut. Time." He cleared his throat. "…And it will be my honor to receive you at a state dinner in four arns, after you have had the opportunity to refresh yourself in private and recover from your long journeys." He smiled and there was a glass knife in his eyes. "I hope that is acceptable."

Crichton glared at him.

"We're honored, Your Eminence," said Aeryn. "I hope you know that I share John's… strong feelings on this matter."

"Most gratifying," said Rygel, folding his hands. "Chiana will show you to your rooms."

Rygel nodded at Chiana, who beckoned them.

"Chi," said Aeryn, so softly that only she and Crichton could hear.

Chiana pretended to cough. "Do what he says," she muttered through her hand.

They paced her through the tall spiral chamber and deeper into the damp cave.

"Politics," said Crichton. "That's the one where they force you to build the prison they're gonna lock you in, right?"

"Bright side," said Aeryn. "This time you won't have to marry any princesses."

"They're polygamists," said Crichton. "I'm staying indoors."