The Lost Ones

by ThetaWolfe

Moya gives birth to another son, but circumstances beyond their control force them to separate. Alone but for the baby and 1812, John Crichton sets off on a journey to find Moya and his family, forcing him to go places he never wanted to be and turning him into something he never wanted to become. (Part 1 of the Lost and Forgotten series)

2. Chapter 2

*Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and ideas….and the plot bunnies in the corner. Please don't sue, I'm a poor college student that has no life and way too many video games.*

"Do you know what the rutten chain of command is, it's the chain I go and beat you with until you understand who is in rutten command."

-Jayne Cobb

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All in All

Chapter Summary: Day negative four - The crew begin to question my sanity. Chiana worries needlessly. Honestly there's nothing wrong with me. Now only if I can get the crew to understand it. 1812 is somehow convinced I'm his dad or something. And according to Pilot, I'm the Chosen One.

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Solar Day -4

Uncharted Territories

Location Unknown

When John awoke, the blue shattered from his mind like broken glass, gauging deep scars of remembrance in his synapses. The pain was present, but he could no longer see the blue. He felt that today would be a good day. With the imbedded knowledge out of sight, he felt he could function properly for the first time in weekens. The bed was empty beside him and D'Argo's crib was vacant; even though he felt more alone then he had in a very long time, he also felt a little free. Without the knowledge of the Ancients weighing down his thoughts he found himself with a sense of lightness.

The soft sheets pooled around his bare waist as he sat alone in the bed, the other side untouched and still made. Aeryn had not returned to their room last night, but if Crichton was being honest with himself he had already known she was not going to. The past few monens found her and little D in Chiana's bed more than their own and he understood, he truly did. But that did not stop the aching in his heart as he pulled himself from the room and made his way down to the communal showers.

1812 beeped at him questioningly as John set his clothing aside and pulled himself into a stall. The cleaning mist that came out was marvelously hot and Crichton found his muscles relaxing as the heat sunk into his skin. He missed honest to god showers (and bathtubs) but John quietly admitted that Moya's sauna like bathing stalls had to be the next best thing.

Scrubbing his body with a cleaning agent he heard his little DRD whirl and beep in greeting as the stall next to his turned on. If John did not have plans to implement he knew he would luxuriate at least another few microns in the mist, but he knew that he had no such time for it. Forlornly, he reached over and turned the mist off and the sonic pressure on. The moisture was expelled from his skin by the vibrating force and John left the cubicle mostly dry but for his hair that he immediately started to scrub with worn towel.

1812 beeped and twittered as it dragged over John's pants, the moisture on the floor sticking to the leather. Thankfully they were water proof so John decided not to make a fuss. Grabbing the clothing, he pulled them on quickly as the little drone darted back for his shirt. Huffing in amusement John sat at one of the benches lining the wall and pulled on his boots as 1812 presented him with the damp top. The little drone twirled happily as Crichton finished dressing and he got the impression that if it had been a dog its tail would have been wagging.

"Seriously, Crichton," Chiana's voice was ruff with sleep as she wandered out of her own cubicle naked. He turned to her but tactfully kept his eyes above her chin. It was hardly the first time he had seen her naked. Living in close quarters soon got rid of any of his bashfulness about nudity. But like Zhaan, Chiana seemed to hold no concept of modesty. It was something he had gotten used to.

"What, Pip?"

"Your pet," she spit the word as if it was something distasteful before she grabbed his towel that he was still using and vigorously scrubbed it through her hair. Tossing it back to him, she continued, "that kind of behavior isn't normal for drones. Did you reprogram it or something?"

John shifted, turning his gaze down to the painted DRD who blinked its antennae up at him. "No, he's always been this way."

"Sure it has," she snorted in amusement as she pulled her own clothes on. "Leave it to you to find the one fahrbot DRD out there."

"He isn't fahrbot," Crichton argued as he made his way over to the sink and grabbed the cream, lathering onto his face. "He's just…"

"Mega fahrbot," Chiana interjected when Crichton failed to finish. "Everyone agrees, even Pilot. I mean, who's ever heard of a DRD within a Leviathan that functioned separately from it. You know that it refuses to take on the commands assigned to it by either Pilot or Moya? It ain't normal." She refused to refer to it as anything other than an object, unlike Crichton who insisted that it was male. DRD's did not have genders, but the human declined to acknowledge that fact.

Crichton pulled the razor away to look at her. "1812 isn't crazy, Pip."

Her reflection grinned at him when he turned back to the mirror and continued to shave. "You only say that because you're more fahrbot then it is." Crichton made a huffing noise in amusement, but he did not bother with a response. "You goin' over to the narl in a bit, yeah?"

Drawing the razor down slowly, he caught her eyes in the reflection. "Yeah," when she only shifted uncertainly, Crichton put the razor down and turned to her fully. "Something the matter."

She twitched, her fingers coming up and playing with the end of her sleeve. "Pilot says his weaponry is active, even his internal protection."

Crichton sighed softly before he reached out and stilled her fingers. Her snake like pupils flicked up from the floor and locked onto his eyes. "We already knew that, Pip. But someone has to go over there and both Pilot and Moya think it should be me. What's really eating at you?"

Her gaze darted around rapidly before she finally stilled. Turning her hand around, she gripped the human's fingers between hers and stepped closer. "Aeryn said, well…we noticed-the crew I mean. Everyone's…"

"Deep breaths, Chi," Crichton interrupted as the Nebari stumbled through her words. "Just say it."

She did as he told and took a deep breath, her chest expanding and shoulders slumping after she let it out. "You're seeing them again, right? I mean…the things those Ancient fekkiks put in your head?"

Crichton released the breath he had not realized he had been holding. It whistled past his teeth as he groaned in frustration and dropped his gaze to the floor. "You mean everyone knows?" When Chiana only nodded her head he sighed louder.

"Don't worry, Crichton," Chiana reassured softly, patting his shoulder awkwardly as he just stood there. "We'll figure this out. You'll take care of Moya's narl and then we'll figure it out. You'll be okay, 'cause your always okay…right?"

"Yeah," John huffed softly as he turned back to the mirror and picked the razor up again. Blue eyes in the mirror, and blue on it. "I'm always okay."

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Breakfast was an awkward affair. They sat around the table discussing tentative back up plans incase disabling the baby Leviathan's weaponry did not work. And even though he participated the bare minimum, John began to notice the looks that everyone had been giving him. The looks that he had been receiving for the past few monens when he thought about it. They gazed at him with worry and pity. He was unsure which one was worse.

John could not understand how he had not noticed that everyone had been giving him those looks, but even now he could feel the blue creeping up on him. It started as it usually did, just out of his peripheral, teasing little bright blue streaks dancing in the air. John learned to ignore it -he had to pretend not to see- because he knew the second he acknowledged the existence it, it would flood his vision and then it was all he could see.

Don't look. If you don't look it's not there.

"John?" Aeryn's stilted accent cut into his attention and he turned from the alluring blue that was taunting him. He hummed a questioning tune as he saw all eyes on him. "John, are you alright?"

"Yeah," he replied slowly as he picked up his utensil and resumed eating. The food was cold and the others plates were all bare. How long had he been distracted?

Further down the rabbit hole, Alice.

Aeryn shifted uncomfortably next to him, tucking a stray hair back behind her ear. Across the table Chiana was bouncing D'Argo as she diverted his attention, but even so he could tell her focus was mostly on him. It was Noranti who finally broke the uncomfortable silence that had settled over the group. "Perhaps Aeryn should tend to Moya's child instead."

"No," John replied immediately.

"John-"

"I said no, Aeryn," he cut her off and she flinched back as he dropped his utensil in annoyance. It clattered loudly off the metal tray and a deafening silence fell over them. "I'm fine, I am going to be fine."

His eyes caught hers and Aeryn spent several microts staring at him, her gaze drifting about his face as if searching for something. Eventually she sighed in defeat and turned away from him. "Very well then," her gaze remained fixed upon the table even as he stood to leave.

He pressed his palm onto her bare shoulder, sweeping her hair aside as his fingers brushed her neck. "I'm fine, Aeryn…really."

The sound of his boots against metal proceeded him as he left the mess and made his way to the treblin side hanger. "No," Aeryn replied softly as he crossed the threshold into the hall. "You're not."

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"Crichton!" Chiana called loudly, jogging into the hanger and running into the work bench in front of the Prowler.

John turned to her, one hand in the fighter's cockpit as he secured 1812. "Hey, Pip. Can you hand me that flashlight?"

The Nebari turned, tripping over an open toolbox with its contents scattered across the floor. Between Crichton's tinkering with the pods and Aeryn's constant tune-ups on the Prowler, it was nearly impossible to keep the hanger organized. "You know, you should let Aeryn go with you," she commented as she ruffled through a box.

"She never asked," Crichton replied distractedly as he climbed into the Prowler.

"Yeah, well," Chiana added as she finally located the flashlight. It was hiding beneath a rag next to the work bench. "She's done this kinda thing before, ya know?"

"No can do, Pip," John began the power up sequence as Chiana jogged up the rolling stairs secured to the side of the ship. "Believe it or not, I already asked Pilot."

"And?" She prompted as she leaned onto the side of the cockpit, handing him the torch as the engines began to rumble.

"Moya says no. Apparently she's uncomfortable with more than one of us being over there at a time. Pilot didn't go into it, but I understand."

"Yeah," Chiana sighed softly. She understood it as well. Maybe things could have been different with Talyn if Crais had not gotten a hold of him. Narl's are too easily impressionable and do not understand the concept of deception or lying. She had been that way once, when she was younger. Chiana had taken nearly everything at face value, and the first time she had been manipulated and deceived it took her cycles to understand why. "You gotta be careful, yeah?"

"Course, Pip," he replied gently, securing the flight headset on his head before he reached over and grabbed one of her hands. "I'm always careful, you know that."

"No you're not," she replied, smiling cheekily.

"Hey," he barked, looking offended. "Like 80% of the time it's not my fault. Dren just happens."

"Yeah, and 80% of the time, it happens to you," she laughed, jumping from the stairs before he could swat at her.

"That ungrateful little-"

"Commander," Pilot interrupted as the cockpit canopy secured. "Moya wishes to know if you are ready. She is quite anxious. She would also like to thank you again for agreeing to this, and to remind you once more that most of his systems are functioning and active, including his interior defense."

Oh this is going to go swimmingly.

"Open the hanger doors, Pilot."

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John steered the Prowler around the baby Leviathan as he waited for permission to dock. The narl was twisting this way and that, forcing John to widen his perimeter more than once to avoid a collision. The little ship was extremely curious, trying to follow Crichton's Prowler around even as the human was trying to board.

"He truly is beautiful, Moya," John commented softly into the flight headset as the narl spun around the Prowler as if they were dancing. The kid was tiny next to his mother, probably the length of twenty to twenty-five Prowlers if they lined up nose to engine.

The overall shape of the narl was very similar to Talyn's. His two side arms came forward, unlike Moya's where they hugged the hull until they reached the tail. Talyn's tail had been bulky, flaring out at the end in a solid pyramid. The narl's tail was more elegant, sleek lines that flowed into a curving flare, the tips tapering downwards into a half crescent.

In Starburst, the two arms would pull close and the ends would tuck underneath the tail fin, streamlining his whole body and initiating the Starburst drive by the energy created as the ends of the arms pulled away from the tail, but keeping the front tucked in safely to the main body. It was an ingenious design, both stunning to watch and completely functional. Aside from the arms and weapons, the rest of his shape was all Moya. Talyn had been more elongated, more circular like a rounded trapezoid, but the narl had Moya's sideways oval shape.

A series of ridges cascaded down the spine column of his back, small at the front and end as they gained size towards the middle. There was a gap between the two largest where John knew the sonic ascendancy cannon lay hidden. The flux net and grappling hook where pulled into the bottom of the arms as well as the two rail guns, capable of firing up to 500 rounds of heated plasma a micron tucked into the sides.

After much conciliation, John got permission to dock as Moya finally had convinced her son to hold still long enough. The hamman side hanger door opened and John swooped the fighter craft in before the narl became impatient and stated to twirl about again. Once he was in the hanger, maneuvering took all of his attention and his skill. Unlike Moya, the baby's hanger was much smaller, and even though he was flying the Prowler and not the larger transport pod, it was still a very tight fit. He would have to back the craft out when he left as there simply was not enough room to turn it around while still inside.

Landing gently, John powered down the fighter and lifted 1812 out as he jumped from the ship. Well he tried to jump at least but he did not land as the narl had forgotten to turn on the gravity inside the hanger after he pressurized it. 1812 seemed to have no problem as he immediately attached himself to the first surface he bumped into.

"Pilot?" Crichton called into his comm as he floated into a wall and bounced off of it before he could grab hold of a handle or beam.

"Yes, Commander?"

"Could you have Moya inform her son," he grunted as his back slammed into a rut. "That after the hanger is pressurized he needs to reengage the gravity."

"Has his gravity not initiated?" Pilot asked him calmly as Crichton drifted above what looked like the beginnings of individual docking bays. At the moment they appeared to be tiny platforms growing out of the walls.

"Pilot, now please!" He did not quite snap.

"Very well, Commander," Pilot replied. "I'll inform Moya at once."

Crichton heard what sounded like a car turning over and a fan coming on before he felt himself become heavy. He only had enough time to mumble a quiet, "Oh frell," before he plummeted two motras and landed harshly on the metal ground, clipping his thigh on the Prowler's wing and winding himself quite thoroughly.

"You may want to hold onto something," Pilot informed him and if Crichton had any air in his lungs he would have replied with either an insult or sarcasm. But he could not breathe as it was so John chose to just lay there and wallow instead…or at least until he got his lungs to function again.

Rolling onto his front, Crichton slowly shifted until he was on all fours and pulled himself underneath the Prowler and to the hanger entrance. Only once he was nearly upon the panel was he able to stand, the nose of the fighter just inches from touching the royal purple door. Golden lines bisected the purple in a similar pattern to Moya's doors and Crichton took a moment to admire it before he pressed the green lit panel on the side. Unlike Moya, the door did not rotate on the vertical axis, but slid into the wall like Talyn's had.

Grunting curiously, Crichton made his way into the hall, 1812 rolling behind him. As the narl was still so young, a lot of the hallways were incomplete, branching off and ending suddenly. Many panels were missing, exposing wires and the organic mesh that held them in place. Very few of the lights were active and those that were blinked sporadically, like a bulb that was not fully installed. Luckily he remembered to bring a torch with him and he used it to make his way to the Command.

The hallway reminded him of another Leviathan, Rovhu: the prison transport. He had looked similar to this when he died, all of him exposed and scattered, panels missing, the ceiling uncovered. There had been chaos and destruction around every corner, but the one huge difference aside from the older one being infected and diseased was that the narl was not shrouded in death but in hope.

1812 beeped at John and wagged its antennae like eyes to gain his attention. The human had stopped near the Command door, hand stroking down a layered royal purple rib, the same bright gold designs twisting in the organic metal. It was warm to the touch, and Crichton could feel a steady pulsing vibration beneath his fingertips. It felt almost like a heartbeat.

Smiling gently, he finally turned back to the DRD. 1812 flashed his eye lights in what Crichton took to be exasperation and scuttled the last few feet to the door. Amused, he followed; pressing his hand to the door control and entering the Command.

The room was poorly lit just like the rest of the ship. A few lights were blinking from consoles and the ceiling but most of the room was illuminated by the nearby sun, casting everything in a blue glow. Sweeping his torch from one end to the other, he noted that the Command was not terribly different from Talyn's. His main control system was directly in the front, although more centered towards the middle of the room, leaving a large open space between the consoles and the main viewing window.

Underneath the window lay a padded bench that curved with the natural bend of the narl's overall shape. It was a part of the wall, the metal flowing into a comfortable seating area. The consoles along the sides were attached to nothing but the floor so when the Leviathan grew, the wall would pull further away from them. Whether it was to make room for more consoles or perhaps to be just a more open space like Moya, John could not tell. Each side had three stools that grew out of the floor, spaced far enough apart that two people could easily stand between them.

The center console was sectioned off not much unlike a Peacekeeper Command Carrier, multiple panels of light shaped in complex patterns two inches beneath the segmented frame more common to Leviathans. The combination was more comforting then John was willing to admit, the panels a mixture of gold and purple instead of Peacekeeper red and white like Talyn's had been.

As he stood there, a light above him flickered unsteadily before finally holding; a large circular panel at least five feet across protruded down from the ceiling like an angled donut. The glow was bright, illuminating the whole room as it was the main source of light. It was low enough that he could reach up and touch it, but John knew that the way Leviathans grew that it would not be so for long. Six purple ribs connecting into its sides before flowing down the walls and into the floor. The larger outer ring illuminated a gentle gold interlaced with thin strings of purple that shifted as if in water. The two foot center piece was still dark.

A series of lights began to flicker to life along the floor, purple circles of luminosity lining the side consoles in straight rows. Another set lined the front window while patterns of lights danced along the sides of the consoles in intricate shapes of gold. Between the gold and purple, the room was cast in warm and comforting colors and John felt himself relaxing, even as the several interior guns he could now see tracked his movements.

The weapons console was split into two different areas. It appeared as if the center console was designed to control all of the ships functions including artillery. A smaller pillar just to the left protruded from the floor accessed the short and long distance sensors and another identical pillar to the right for the communications array. If John stepped forward, he would be able to access and control the main console, communications and the sensors without moving. It was a convenient design.

The sonic ascendancy cannon could also be accessed with the smaller console along the left side of the room that also controlled the rail guns. The flux net and grappling hook's secondary access point were located on the console lining the other side along with the short and long distance sensors. The command was designed to be comfortably controlled by either one person or an entire crew.

Several feet in front of the main console was a circular line of gold about a foot across embedded into the black floor where Pilot had told him the manual flight control was located to fly the ship. John blinked curiously at its absence but then assumed that it perhaps retracted like the doors, only coming out when it was needed. Moya's manual flight control was within a side upright standing console that was used as a table otherwise. When accessed, the flat surface rotated 90 degrees to activate the manual controls.

As John stepped closer the interior guns tracked his movements. Painted black like the hull, they blended well with the black walls but contrasted with the royal purple ribs. When they were not moving, John hardly noticed that they were there.

Be vewy, vewy quiet. We're huntin' for wabbits.

1812 beeped at John, the noise sounding like insects scuttling as it gathered the human's wandering attention. John quirked an eyebrow at the drone but stepped forward completely until he was standing directly beneath the ceiling light, still not in reach of any of the consoles. The center circle within the gold ring flashed purple as the Leviathan trilled at him. John could not be sure but he thought that it held a curious note to it.

"Hey there," Crichton started, shuffling awkwardly as he tucked his hands behind his back to stave off the temptation of touching anything. It felt like a loose military position, but John decided that it was safer coming off as more strict then it was to give into his childish urges and started pressing random buttons just to see what they would do. "My name's Commander John Crichton. This is 1812. We live on your mom, Moya."

The center light pulsed as the narl trilled and tweeted. It was another glaring difference from his older brother, one that John found he really liked. While Talyn had beeped in deep bass like tones, this one seemed to chirp. It reminded John of the birds back on Earth that sang during the mating season. The sound was actually quite beautiful and pleasant to listen to.

"You can understand me, right? Pilot, can he understand me?"

"Of course Commander," Pilot's voice broke over the comm. "Leviathans are born with complete banks of data including science, math, ancestral history, and language. Both Moya and her baby start off knowing more languages when they are only a solar day old than most species learn throughout their entire life cycle…" There was a long pause as Pilot took the moment to translate the nonsensical chirrups. "The baby would like to know what you mean by name."

"Name, well that's…uh," how did one define a name. "It's like a designation. Your species is a Leviathan, your mom is a Leviathan, but you are both separate entities. So your mom is Moya, that's her name, so even if I am talking to a Leviathan, by calling Moya by name I have designated that I am speaking to or about her. Does that make sense?"

There was a series of chirps and trills as the purple light above him seemed to pulse with the syllables of each sound. After a moment, Pilot's voice translated through the comm. "Moya and I have corrected any of the confusion behind your explanation."

"Gee, thanks Pilot." John snorted sarcastically. He thought his definition was superb. Apparently others did not.

"He is also asking what his designation is."

"Uh," John shifted from foot to foot. "What did you and Moya name him?"

"We did not," Pilot replied shortly. "We were hoping that you would name him, Commander."

Crichton stood there in a stunned silence for several microts before he flushed a deep red in embarrassment. "Can I ask why you want me to name him?"

"Of course," Pilot replied in his usual tone of indifference. "It is for the very same reason that we chose you to be the first introduced to Moya's baby."

Shifting about awkwardly, John brought one of his hands up to run it through his short hair. "And why is that exactly? You never explained."

"Because Commander, we trust you," he answered simply. Pilot remembered in the beginning where the crew had the chance to go home and how they had taken the payment from him, cutting his arm off. He remembered how furious Crichton had gotten. Pilot had never before had someone mad for him.

Moya remembered how after she had gotten stuck into separate realities and put back together, Crichton had spent the entire solar day with Pilot to make sure that they were both recovering. And she remember how hard he tried to keep Talyn safe, what he had sacrificed to keep everyone safe. The human had done much for them, and they remembered. They trusted him.

Flushing in embarrassment, John stuttered for a moment before he regained control of his mind and mouth. "You want me to name him? Well…okay then. I'll have to think about it. It's gotta be a good name, the best. So uh, right…" Crichton cleared his throat. "Back to the matter at hand. So…" and this was the hard part. John had to figure out a way to get permission from the narl to override his weaponry, and he had to do it in a way that the child would not be in any pain and fully understood and accepted why and how. And he had to do it without getting shot or killed.

I am so frelled.

"I have a son, a narl like you. His name is D'Argo," John started cautiously as the Leviathan trilled at him curiously. Crichton was proud to be able to catch the questioning tone all on his own without Pilot's translation. "I'm Human and his mom is Sebacean, so D'Argo's a half breed, like you. You're half Leviathan like Moya, and half Peacekeeper." He decided to go with the more neutral word of Peacekeeper then Warship as Talyn had been called. "That's why you and Moya look different."

A series of trills and warbles accompanied the pulsing light and John could almost feel the translator microbes trying to interpret them. He could hear the questioning tone, just not the question itself. Smiling softly, John took comfort that he was getting better at understanding the narl.

"The baby asks for you to define what you mean by different. He knows he is not the same as Moya and it is starting to cause tension between them. Moya is scared that he will react like Talyn."

John knew from what Pilot had told him that Leviathan's were born with their own species history, so the baby should already know about Talyn. After a moment of thought, John decided that it would be best to explain it all anyways. Just because the narl had access to the information did not mean he understood it.

"Leviathans are a peaceful race," he started slowly, sighing as he made his way past the center console and seating himself on the padded bench beneath the window. It was long, spanning the whole length of the window and deep enough that he could lay back on his elbows without touching the glass. "They are born without weapons and their only defensive capabilities are there natural shielding, thick hulls, and Starburst. The bone on the front can be used to ram, but I've only ever seen that done twice.

"When your mom was under Peacekeeper control, they placed a device inside Moya that integrated Leviathan DNA and the organic mapping of a Peacekeeper Warship. That's why you and Talyn were both born with weapons and Moya was not."

There was a long silence as the baby took in the information. After a while there was another questioning chirrup and John could have sworn that his microbes translated the word Talyn. Before he could think more on it, Pilot's voice broke his train of thought. "The baby is asking about Talyn."

"What does he want to know?" Crichton questioned, rubbing his thumb across his bottom lip.

"Everything," Pilot replied after a short pause. "Moya is sending him information, but the baby would like to hear it from you." The way it was said made John frown. Pilot spoke in a tone that was bordering on frustration.

"Is everything okay, Pilot?" John asked carefully.

Pilot grunted before sighing loud enough to be heard over the comms. "The baby is still receiving transmission from Moya, but he is refusing to respond to her quarries."

Crichton could hear the worry in his voice, the fear. Talyn did something similar right before he shot at Moya and fled with Crais. "Pilot, tell Moya not to worry. I'll fix this, he's just scared. Just…just let me talk to him."

Turning his attention back to the narl, the Commander pressed two fingers into the pressure point in his eye socket above his eye. He could feel a headache coming on. "Look, I'll tell you whatever you want to know, and I'll tell you all of it. I will never lie to you, alright? I need you to trust me when I tell you that. But what you're doing is scaring your mom, okay? You can't cut her out like that, she worries for you. I know you're scared, you have data banks full of information that doesn't make sense and you're frightened. So if you want to know about Talyn, I'll tell you about him…okay?"

Silence filled the room, the blue sun shining through the window before the baby banked and Moya filled the view. After a long while of just gazing out into space, Crichton heard the quiet sound of whirring as the interior guns lifted back into the ceiling. Breathing a sigh of relief, Crichton propped one leg up on the bench as he turned to sit sideways, leaning against the window as he kept his eyes on the view.

"So…Talyn. I guess I'll start at the beginning. He was not unlike you, a little smaller sure…his hull was red with black. I much prefer your color, it's more peaceful," John commented softly and the ship chirped at him. John was able to pick up a hint of smugness but no actual words. A smile pulled at his lips, the kid obviously preening under the compliment. "I lived on him for a time…well, the other me. At one point there was two me's, I mean literally two of me…never mind, long story. I'll tell you all about it later. Anyhow, he was stubborn and full of pride and promise. Talyn loved his mother, I know he did…and Moya," he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he tapped his finger to the glass in a rhythm. "Moya loved him so much…"

The purple light pulsed as a series of chirps and tweets filled the room. Once again John heard the word Talyn, but it was lost in the trilling as the baby questioned. He sat there for a moment, microbes and the power of his mind trying to translate as Pilot seemed to be giving them there space. When he tapped his comm there was no reply, meaning that it had been turned off as John attempted to help Moya's son through his distress.

After a while, his mind seemed to wrap around the nonsensical notes and place them somewhat into an understanding. "Are you asking what happened to him?" John asked carefully. In reply he received what could only be interpreted as a series of excited tweets that let him know he was on the right track.

"He died, little one," he replied softly, genuine sorrow filling him. "He died saving the lives of his mother and everyone aboard her. He was a handful and he was dangerous…but he was extremely brave. Talyn was still a baby, only a cycle old…and Moya still misses him…we all still miss him…

"When he was born, Moya and the people on her were being hunted, pursued. She went into labor and gave birth to him near an enemy base and your mom knew that if the Peacekeepers found them, they would kill her baby or enslave him. So they hid. There was a man, a Sebacean named Crais…an ex-Peacekeeper, he wasn't a good man, but he wasn't exactly bad either. He got on board Talyn and convinced him to leave his mother…Crais became his Captain. He was born into a time of violence and bonded to a Captain that would see him used for a weapon," John spat the word as if he could rid himself of it. Fingers drawing random patterns on the glass.

He let the silence continue before 1812 nudged his foot, antennae blinking. Crichton tapped the little drone with the tip of his boot in retaliation. "Talyn's peaceful nature that naturally comes from all Leviathans battled with his fierce instincts of protection and his volatile weapons capabilities. He spent the majority of his life in conflict with himself and he was confused and scared. Talyn should have had a Captain that protected him, guided him, sought not to use him…but he wasn't as lucky."

Not as lucky as you…I won't let you down the same path. Even if it kills me.

"Moya's scared," he continued after another prompted nudge from the DRD. As he spoke he began to gain an understanding of the little Leviathan. "She worries that you'll leave her. Moya feels worried for you, not because you're different, not because of your weapons…there's nothing wrong with you," he hissed the word like it was something vile. Talyn had been convinced there was something wrong with him too.

"She's just scared that others will want to use you. But I-we won't let that happen." John vowed fiercely. Moya's son would grow up safe in a time of peace. He will not know war or fear. He will not be hunted or enslaved. John refused to let that transpire.

"She just wants you safe little one, please don't punish her for that," he begged softly, turning back to the room as the silence dragged on.

The lights on the console pulsed steadily as the narl flew around his mother. It was not often that he got to view Moya from space so he took the time to enjoy it. She truly was an impressive sight, and utterly massive. John placed his hand on the glass, pressing it in to feel the cold. There was a slight chill to it, but the glass still felt warmer than it should have on any other ship. Leviathans had self-regulating environments including temperature. The glass was warm because the baby was alive. The thought made him smile fully, lips pulled over teeth and wrinkles around the corner of his eyes.

Pilot's voice over the intercom drew his attention. "Commander," his voice was loud in the quiet of the ship, echoing over the steady thrum that all Leviathans seemed to have. "You did it, the baby has reestablished communications. Moya and I are grateful."

"Don't mention it, Pilot," John replied softly, pulling his hand from the glass and running his thumb over his fingertips. "Hey Pilot? Can you and Moya give us a moment? I have something I need to ask the kid and I would prefer it if we didn't have an audience."

"Of course, Commander," Pilot replied after a moment of hesitation. "Moya and I will cut communications for a quarter arn. Is that a sufficient length of time?"

"That's perfect…and Pilot? Tell Moya…tell her I said thank you. It means a lot that you both trusted me enough to do this."

"Think nothing of it," Pilot responded gently. "Terminating communications…now."

"I need you to pay careful attention," John started after the baby trilled at him in confusion. He stood slowly, making his way back to the center of the room. This felt like a conversation that needed to be held standing. "I'm going to ask you to do something for me, then tomorrow I'm going to ask you a question."

John waited until he got a confirmation chirp before he continued. "I want you to talk to your mom and Pilot later tonight. Just talk, that's all. And when you do I want you to ask about Talyn. I want you to think about the decisions he made, the actions he took, the people…the innocent people he killed. Then I want you to think about what you would have done differently, I want you to ask Moya what she would have done differently."

He trailed a hand along the center console, fingers dipping into the patterned holes but not far enough to touch the buttons below. "Talyn was scared and he had access to powerful weapons that made him no longer afraid. So he used them…he used them without the knowledge and forethought of someone wiser than himself. He used them without mercy and without compassion. He used them because they made him less scared. And in doing so he hurt a lot of people, your mother and his own Captain included."

Turning, he strode to the center of the Command area, equal distance to all consoles and directly beneath the pulsing light of purple that lit up every time the baby spoke. "And then tomorrow I'm going to ask you yes or no. Tomorrow I will request your permission to place an override on your weapons, accessible only to a person of your choosing. This will allow you to grow and learn peacefully while someone who is knowledgeable and not afraid to make rational decisions on when it is and is not appropriate to activate your weaponry. If you say yes I need you to choose someone who will guide you, teach you, who will protect you.

"I need you to understand that the decision is entirely yours to make. You can say no if you want. And I need you to trust me when I say that no matter what, no matter the answer you give or the reaction you have nothing will ever happen to you. We will not abandon you, we will never do anything without your permission, and we will never harm you. You understand?"

Several long microts passed before the baby trilled in acknowledgement. John reached up, stroking his fingers across the slick glass containing the light. It pulsed purple beneath his fingertips and the ship rumbled in what Crichton was able to translate as contentment. Almost like a cat purring. He could feel the vibrations traveling through his arm into his chest.

"Okay…" John sighed the word, fingers still stoking along the light and the deep gold metal that separated the center from the outer ring. "I'll be back tomorrow, alright? And if you say no, then we will figure something else out…together."

John gave the light one more affectionate pat before he made his way back to the entry doors. 1812 beeped and chittered at him forlornly and Crichton slowed to a halt before he rolled his eyes in exasperation and turned his attention to the DRD. The drone was still by the center console, refusing to move as his antennae drooped pitifully.

"What? Seriously?" John questioned, his whole manner frustrated. "You want to stay?"

1812 wagged his antennae and blinked his eye lights. "Dear God, what has my life turned into…I'm not your dad, 1812. You can stay if the baby says it's okay."

The narl's light flashed as it twittered eagerly. "Well there you go," John replied in fond annoyance as he seemed to roll his head with his eyes and turned back to the door. He waved a hand over his shoulder as he passed the threshold. "You two don't stay up too late," John turned down the hall, reeling backwards and tilting his head back through the door. "And you," he pointed to the drone. "Yes, you. You stay out of his systems. You hear me? I mean it."

His only reply was the random chittering squeaks from the DRD and the narl's soft trills as he made his way back to the Prowler. All in all that could have gone much worse. Today was a good day.