A/N: Takes place between Back and Back and Back to the Future and Thank God It's Friday, Again.
"What are you doing, Aeryn?"
He hadn't startled her, because Sun had caught the flash of beige emerging from the far corridor even before she heard his footfalls approaching. She had just hoped her obvious concentration would protect her from interruptions. No one on board Moya had been feeling social after their near death from the Ilanic gravity weapon.
But Crichton came up to her elbow, drawn perhaps, by the sight of her working on something other than a weapon. She'd been forced to spend more time fumbling with scanners and toolkits, as they accumulated incidents, and their equipment and Moya herself accumulated damage. The DRDs were falling behind. Teaching herself simple tasks and basic triage saved their work units for more complex and critical repairs.
"Just cleaning, Crichton." With a fine tool she was prying up and brushing away flakes of dried black blood from the crevices of the portable scientific array. The Ilanic scientist had used it to release the weapon's containment field even as he died, messily, betrayed by his Scorvian assistant. Sun was hoping he hadn't destroyed the array in the process. These were expensive and-outside Peacekeeper space-hard to replace.
Perhaps out of respect for the dead, the human didn't pry farther, but he also didn't move off, standing first near her shoulder, then shifting to a seat next to her. At least he busied himself straightening away the spare parts and equipment that had been lying about the bench. Sun had noticed that while not particularly neat in personal appearance, Crichton had a useful tendency to put away and secure loose items within his reach. His quarters were messy, but he always stowed tools and cleared dishes when he was done. The others were not as considerate, Rigel in particular strewed crumbs and detritus as freely as he exuded noxious gasses.
"How long-"
"Isn't that a-"
They broke the silence together. Aeryn stopped, feeling awkward, but Crichton just laughed, motioning her to go on. It was the first true humor she'd seen on his face in days, so she reworded her question to be less confrontational. "Do Earth ships lack gravity?" She was careful with her enunciation.
"Uhhhh. Ye-yah." Clearly the question startled him, and he took a few microts to figure out what to tell her. "I mean we barely have space ships, nothing interplanetary yet, much less interstellar. And none of them have this kind of gravity," waving around at Moya, "not even our space station." Sun noted the singular, and revised her opinion of Earthling technical advancement even lower. "How did-um, why do you ask?"
She pointed at his end of the table, now neatened with all small items secured in containers. "You act like someone used to working long arns in the vacuum. You don't expect things to stay where they are laid." She smiles a little, not wanting the touchy man to think she is being critical. "Or like a tech who has seen a lot of battles. Artificial gravity can go down at the worst time."
"Oh, right. Well, not long hours-arns in vacuum, I only have 17 hours of ee vee ay 's going outside the space vehicle," he explained. "And twenty-three solar days in space, well, until… " he makes a vague gesture. "But astronots train for years, and stowing gear promptly, and properly, is drilled into us. Our ships are fragile, compared to Moya. A loose tool hitting the wrong button, or liquid getting into the wrong circuit board, and people could die."
Sun considered this as she finished up, and pressed the combination of controls that should put the array into self-diagnostics. To her relief, the panels activated, and she could return her attention to Crichton while the machine worked. "Cycles of training for less than a monen of service? How does your society sustain itself?"
"It's not just about time in space, Aeryn. I spent a lot of years working with engineers to design and build that." He pointed at his primitive white shuttle craft. "Most shuttle missions are about furthering science. It takes time. Plus, my world doesn't revolve around space, not yet. We're still trying to figure out how not to blow ourselves up or poison our planet. There are six billion people on Earth, and less than 700 of them have ever even been in space."
Aeryn shook her head, certain her translator microbes malfunctioned. "Six million? Seven hundred thousand?"
"6 Billion, Aeryn. And seven hundred." He pulled a marker from a pocket and wrote the two numbers across the table, slowly, but in decipherable Sebacean numbers. Her microbes had translated correctly.
She was still trying to wrap her mind around the concept of six billion Crichtons, many more than she had previously imagined, when Pilot thankfully rescued her from having to continue the conversation.
"Officer Sun?"
"Yes, Pilot! I'm in the lower maintenance bay with Crichton. What do you need?"
"Moya has detected yet another disabled ship. We aren't close enough for life scans, but it is a small vessel, and from the way it is spinning, it does not appear to have an active crew. We are not receiving any distress signals, either."
This was the third wreck they had encountered in this sector of space. The other two had been long dead, and they recovered little for their expeditions aside from a few systems components, random food, and other simple supplies overlooked by previous scavengers. This was likely to be the same.
"Can you provide a visual, Pilot?" A nearby projection table flickered to life, showing a fuzzy shape, spinning diagonal to its axis. It took her some time to identify it, but when she did, Sun couldn't suppress the surge of excitement. "That's a scrub runner. Several shipyards make them. The basic model hasn't changed in a hundred cycles."
Crichton crowded close as she manipulated the display, trying to tease out more details from the poor data visualization. "How big is it? Do they have weapons?" The human was starting to ask the right questions. A monen ago he would have asked how long it would take to get there and whether Pilot thought there were survivors to be rescued.
"It's barely larger than a transport. Weapons package is usually minimal, but it can support pulse cannons." Sun shrugged, not worried. "It wouldn't have more than a three person crew, and cargo would be trade items, not raw materials. It might not even have cargo, this type of craft can reach Hetch 4 with enough fuel to system-hop. Peacekeeper planets use a similar model for courier runs."
"Is it Peacekeeper?"
She frowned at the note of panic in his voice. "Pilot, can you enhance this at all?" The display flickered and improved slightly. She froze the image to study closer. "It's not marked as one, and we're nowhere near any Peacekeeper systems."
She released the display, watching the rapid movement. "The way it's spinning, I don't think we should try docking a pod. Pilot, prep my Prowler." She straightened and started on a mental pre-flight checklist.
"Hey, wait, what?" Crichton sputtered. "What do the others think we should do? Are you just going to go do a fly-by, see if you get shot at?"
Sun pushed down her immediate irritation at the idea she needed anyone's permission, and explained again, more slowly. "We can't use a transport. We would need to slow the rotation before using the docking web, even if we knew there was no one left alive to fight it. So no reason to put Moya in danger, either. I'll go take a look, see if we can establish short range comms, and if not, I'll try to get on board. We can decide what to do then."
"Get on board?" Crichton stared again at the dizzily pivoting image. "Don't you think you should take backup?"
It was the wiser tactic. Especially if there was cargo to handle. But Sun knew she didn't want to stuff the even-more-than-usually volatile Luxan in her Prowler. She tipped her head, appraising the human. "How do you feel about more eeveeyay?"
Crichton was still holding the decompression suit she'd handed him, gingerly, as though it might cause an injury. It had taken her some time to find one in her preferred size, so it was aggravating to see him just standing there. "What's the problem, Crichton?" She dropped to the hangar floor to start unbuckling her boots. The suits were meant to go over uniforms, footwear included, in an emergency, but would be more comfortable without them.
"This is really flimsy. You go out into hard vacuum in this?" His hands were wrinkling the fabric, looking for something. He was nervous. Sun started to rethink this whole idea.
"External repair techs use a different suit, more radiation protection, slightly thicker. This version is general purpose in case of hull rupture, gas attacks, or hostile atmosphere. But it's perfectly adequate for vacuum transits." She eased the suit up over her legs, laying prone to make it easier to tug the material up to her hips. The human was still just standing there. "You don't have to come, Crichton."
"What about what you were wearing when you were brought aboard Moya? That looked stronger."
"Crash suit? It's a combat flight suit, so It is. Additional somatic support for extreme maneuvers, integrated medical, resistant to higher gravity and corrosive atmosphere. And armored, of course. But it's not meant for crawling around holds, looking for spare food cartons." She stood up, putting her arms into the sleeves. "And it wouldn't fit you. They're custom."
Out of her boots, Crichton's greater height was more noticeable. She hated feeling small. Stepping up she yanked the other suit away. "If you're scared, you'll be a danger to me. I can do this myself."
"Hay! HAY!" His stupid face had immediately flushed red. "No!" He waggled a finger in her face. It never failed to baffle her how he was so oblivious to her greater strength and training when he was wantonly provoking her. She just stared until he dropped his hand, and he took a breath before going on, more quietly, but with that low rumble of anger in his tone.
"You don't like me, Aeryn, fine. Go ahead and think I'm an idiot, but I do not deserve this attitude. I know exactly how dangerous space can be, and you are not going to shame me for asking questions." He reached out slowly, and tried to tug the suit back. There was something disquieting in the way he met her gaze so firmly, his eyes losing their color through some trick of light and complexion.
Sun let him have it. "Fine. Ask your questions." She focused on doing up her fastenings so she didn't have to look at him.
"Ohkay. First, how much air do these hold, and is it pure oxygen or a mixture? Uh... oyxgen, did that translate? We breathe it, on Earth , at around 21%. Too much above or below that and it does things to our brains."
Aeryn nodded, indicating that this did translate. "That's high. But air in the suits is mixed with inert gas at twenty parts per hundred, to allow for exertion. Is that sufficient?"
"High? Wait, how much oxygen is in Moya's atmosphere?"
How would she know? "You'd have to ask Pilot. Somewhere in that vicinity, high but within tolerance for Sebaceans. Luxans require additional oxygen. Is that your problem, Crichton?" Chronic oxygen deprivation would explain a lot of the human's deficiencies.
"I don't think so, it's just like being in dehnvur. OK, and how long does the tank last? Actually, where's the tank ?"
"I don't know what you're referring to, but in normal conditions you should have an arn before the reclaimers start losing their ability to keep up."
"I suppose there's no point asking you how reclaimers work?" He had started examining the seams of the suit trying to identify them, and Sun didn't feel obliged to answer him. "Next question. Do I have to worry about tearing this? If I catch it on something, and rip a hole, will I die?"
"No." What sort of worthless materials did they make things from on Earth? "It is self-healing to reasonable limits."
"That's good. I would love to know how that works, too, but I will take it on faith. Last question, for now. How do I maneuver in this? Is there a separate air-powered propellant control or something?"
That was actually a reasonable question. "There are external frames for that, and combat and repair suits have them integrated. But we don't have any. Decompression suits just have minimal controls for orientation. I will show you if you decide to actually put the suit on."
The human was still hesitating.
She grabbed control of her patience again. "If you end up in dead space, just stay calm, and I will retrieve you. I have considerably more than seventeen arns of experience in weightless maneuvers."
"Do you promise?" Those pale eyes caught her again. It was a child's request, but then, he did have less experience than a cycle ten cadet.
If he needed this, she could give it. If it was a lie, that would be on her conscience. But she would try. "Yes."
He shucked his shoes off, and started pulling on the suit.
It was freeing to be in the wideness of space. Aeryn had set their flight plan to conserve fuel, intersecting their target with a minimum of burn and brake. The docking maneuver would be expensive, and there was no reason to hurry. Even Crichton was quiet, staring out at the stars that were not yet commonplace.
It was an unlucky thought, because he stirred, putting a gloved hand on her for some reason. It was warm even through her suit. "Sometimes I forget how frelling amazing this is."
She shrugged that shoulder and the hand lifted away. "This is a low velocity supply run through interstellar medium. There's nothing out here but space dust. It couldn't be less exciting."
"Come off it, Aeryn, I know you love this too. You relaxed as soon as we left the hangar. Space is awesome." He only let her enjoy it for a few quiet microts. "'Interstellar medium.' I'm the only human who has ever left our solar system. And even if you don't find that interesting, just think about the fact that tiny microbes in my brain can perfectly translate 'interstellar medium' but yours don't know what to do with 'astronot'."
"That's because the space between systems exists, Crichton, distinct from the space within a system, and any space faring species must know the concept. But Peacekeepers don't have aztronots. It's a military specialist for space?"
"Not exactly. Asstro- from the grik, meaning star and nauteez, meaning saylor. Anyone trained to travel in space is an astronaut. It used to be we were all military or former military, but it hasn't been a requirement for decades. I was never in the armed forces. I was-am an engineer and scientist."
Aeryn dredged her memory for why the words were sounding familiar. "A star scientist. Astro-fizizis."
"Astrofizisist, that's right. Same root word." She thought from his tone that he was smiling, pleased she remembered the term. "Of course most of what I learned in advanced training academy is apparently wrong."
Aeryn considered what it would be like to work for decades-Crichton looked to be her own age at a minimum-and then learn all that training was useless, incorrect. It would be unbearable. "I'm sorry. That must be very hard."
"Easier than not knowing how to work a space suit." He didn't sound as self-pitying as she expected. "Science is fluid. When the theory is wrong, take in new data, and make a new proposed explanation to shape further investigation. I just hope I get a chance to gather that data and figure some of this out."
Sun let the silence wash over them again. Though it was an empty, uninteresting sector, the nearest system appeared to have a plasma cloud that billowed in a variety of colors at the edge of unaugmented sight. Aeryn didn't know what caused the effect, but it was pleasing. It was some microns later when she made the decision and opened comms. "Pilot, can you read me?"
The response had a slight delay, distorted by static. "Officer Sun, is there a problem?"
"No, Pilot. In the maintenance bay there is a portable science array left by the Ilanic. I started a baseline diagnostic that should be completed now. Can you ask Zhaan to look at it? I suspect the pad is encrypted, and she has some experience with that."
"Certainly, Officer Sun." Even across distance she could tell her request surprised him. "I'll ask her now."
"Thank you, Pilot. From the current level of interference, I think we will lose contact before reaching the derelict. If you could adjust Moya's flight path to converge to comms distance, that would be convenient."
"Of course, Officer Sun." After a few microts, another blip of static ended with "...fly safe," and then the connection dropped.
Crichton spoke up immediately. "Verell's equipment looked Sebacean."
"Peacekeeper, yes. And before you ask, no, I don't know why he had it. The Ilanics are not formal allies. And no, I don't know how to operate the array beyond turning it on. Techs use them."
"I wasn't going to ask. I get it, Aeryn, science is mildly repulsive."
The sarcasm in his tone clashed with the translation in her head. Rather than untangle the true meaning of ihkee, she ignored him. He only allowed it briefly.
"You don't mind if I play around with it?"
What's one more betrayal, the technology was already compromised. "It's salvage. That's not my decision alone to make." Sun relinquished control when she cleaned the device rather than destroying it. He was going to keep prodding at this, however, so she instead turned the conversation back to his favorite topic, himself.
"How many cycles have you spent studying stars?" She flicked an unnecessary light on, in the guise of checking their trajectory, using the reflection it threw against the cockpit windows to watch Crichton.
He took the bait, chin tipped up as he observed the swirl of stars and plasma holding static on the horizon. "Depends on what you mean. I got my first telescope for krissmuhs when I was six." He had mentioned this word before, a gifting occasion of some kind.
"I started advanced training academy when I was seventeen. Double specialized in mechanical science and engineering. Four cycles of that, then four more for my dahctrut. I joined Ayahsah a year later, after finishing pilot school-"
Aeryn, tallying the numbers, couldn't help interrupting, "You didn't learn to fly until you were twenty-five cycles?"
"My male sire took me up a few times before that, but I didn't get my license until then. I was a little busy."
"And how old are you now?"
He laughed, and jabbed her in the shoulder, lightly. "That's not a very polite thing to ask, Aeryn." Sun was examining his reflection, trying to decide how badly offended he was, when she realized he'd caught the trick, and was meeting her gaze.
She flicked the light off, and in the dark, he answered. "If I haven't completely lost track of time, I'm about to turn thirty-two. How about you?"
Sun replied without thinking, still absorbing his surprising youth. "I would have reached seventy cycles at my next service anniversary."
"S-seventy? Seven-zero?" He sounded even more shocked by her age, than she by his. "I thought- How long do Peacekeepers live?"
"Almost a quarter of our cadets are killed before reaching thirty cycles. After that, it varies greatly depending on branch and assignment. Only half of Prowler pilots on expected duty rotation reach fifty cycles. Average life expectancy after being promoted to special commando is ten cycles, but active service records of a hundred cycles are still common. It comes down to luck. Sebaceans can live to almost three hundred cycles, but a Peacekeeper would be unfit for duty and retired long before that."
"Three hundred! Most humans don't make it to a century. Wow…." She could feel the buzz of his energy and hear him opening his mouth to keep peppering her with questions. It had been her distraction tactic, but Sun abruptly couldn't take more of this conversation either, with its reminders of loss and accomplishments now forever out of reach. She started turning on navigation controls, and projecting the spinning scrub runner, now in greater detail, for analysis.
"We're getting closer, Crichton. I should concentrate on planning our potential approach." She didn't care if he guessed she was making an excuse. He shut up and let her breathe in the silence, and the stars, watching the dizzying ship, until her unaccountably racing pulse had settled into its expected rhythm.
The derelict had shown no signs of life, no response to their hails, and after a quick consultation with the Moya crew, consensus was to try to board. Aeryn felt the kick of excitement as her focus narrowed on the rapidly rotating craft.
There was visible damage to the treblin-side thrusters, but little else. Sun suspected that hostile fire had taken both propulsion and stabilization offline in a single burst. From the lack of activity, it's possible life support went as well. Efficient. The simultaneous loss of multiple systems appeared to account for the uncontrolled spin. If they were lucky, that eccentric movement had discouraged both the attackers and any later would-be scavengers.
"Put your helmet on, Crichton," Sun said, as she disengaged auto-navigation and took control. "This maneuver will have non-trivial risk." One-handed, she pulled her own helmet on, a practiced twist easing her hair inside before the seal clicked down. She double-checked the shoulder seals and air readings. All was normal. At this distance she was able to calculate the runner's rotation and speed with a comfortable precision. Those numbers were as expected too, so after a slight adjustment she locked the controls again and pivoted to check on the human.
His helmet was on, and latched. He let her reach over to check the indicator at his wrist, and she tapped the trigger on his helmet to activate the integrated occulus. The small lights illuminated his face, and Sun couldn't help smirking as he clearly struggled to adjust the scope. Distances in space were too vast to rely on natural eyesight alone.
Crichton reached a hand up to rub his forehead, and bounced off the viewplate instead, but he chuckled. "It's been a while. Everything look good, Aeryn?" His voice in her ear was steadier than she had feared.
"It does. But I need you to do something for me." His eyes went a little wider, then closed tight as the motion accidentally triggered the occulus.
"Sure, Aeryn, what?" he asked, eyes still closed.
"Don't ask questions. If I misjudge and we impact, Prowler armor should hold, but I would prefer to avoid that, and I'll need concentration."
"Gotcha , no problem. But, um, before we start, can you explain what maneuver you're going to do exactly, and what will happen when it's over?"
Fair enough. "I'll be putting us into tight orbit around the derelict. If I can synchronize our angle and spin with the orientation of the forward hatch, we should be able to make the transit without much effort."
He opened his eyes at that. "You can match that-" his hands came up, gesturing to indicate the Prowler's anticipated circular movement around the scrub runner, "close enough that we won't just fly off into space? How far apart are we going to be?"
Sun turned back to her console, examining the oscillating display and reminding herself that there was no reason to try impressing this human. He would be astonished at anything that didn't result in their deaths.
"Our relative velocity and rotation should zero out, yes. But it would be safest to stay at least ten motras apart." She remembered Crichton still didn't have a solid grasp of common measurements. "That's about the length of the Prowler."
"Holy dren! Oh-ohkay. Shutting up now."
Crichton kept his word, staying silent aside from occasional in drawn breaths, as Sun spun them into an arc around the runner and methodically adjusted their orientation and speed as they spiraled inward, until they were locked in a stable dance with the dead vessel. The targeted hatch felt close enough to touch above their heads, though it was only slightly closer than she had planned.
In the end, while a tricky bit of piloting, the lack of time pressure-or anyone trying to shoot her-had turned it into a fun exercise. It was easier than her last round of advanced simulator training. Sun had done similar orbit-matching assaults numerous times in live-fire situations as well, though generally on much larger crafts, with less eccentric movement.
Using the points of starlight twisting around them as a guide, Sun eased them slightly more perfectly into alignment, and cut controls, watching to be sure the orbit had no drift and auto-pilot could keep things stable for the length of their boarding. "You can breathe now, Crichton."
"Oh I'm breathing." He sounded out of breath to her. "I think you gave me a owh-dee, though," he muttered very quietly, perhaps not aware of how sensitive the headsets were.
Owh-dee, that word again. No, whoodee with that round forward sound that did interesting things to Crichton's lips. Well, with his inexperience, it probably had been a frightening approach. Aeryn was tingling with nerves herself, more pleased than she should be at the opportunity to do something a little dangerous. And now for the assault. "The hard part is done. Ready to check the ship out?"
"Can I ask some questions first?"
Sun was expecting that. "Go ahead, but strap the equipment pack on, while you do." She wanted full mobility for the breeching, just in case.
He started squirming around to do that. "How are we getting across to the airlock, how do we get it open, and what are you expecting inside?"
"When I release the hatch," she patted the window above them, "just go limp. It will be safer for both of us if I take you across myself. As we hit the hull, slap out. Impact with hand, knee, any part of the suit, will engage light magnetics like we talked about, and keep you in place. Don't try to move. I know these ships, I used to fly them. When I get the door open I'll pull you in. If anything goes wrong during the transit, try to make contact with metal and otherwise spread your limbs out wide. But nothing will. This is simple."
"Simple, yeah, easy as pigh." He was sounding sarcastic again, which Sun suspected was his cover for nerves. "And on the other side of the door?"
A little tension before an unsecured vacuum transit was to be expected. Her own blood was thrumming pleasantly. "I think we're going to find old corpses and a lack of atmosphere. If I'm wrong, I have this." She tapped her holster.
"Can we try talking before shooting? If there's anyone to rescue?"
Sun rolled her eyes, "Yes Crichton, we can try." Impatient to get into motion, she flipped on comms. "Pilot, we're going over. I'll contact you when we're inside." Barely waiting for acknowledgement, Sun opened the cockpit, pivoted to grab Crichton by the shoulders, and with a grim smile, gauged the distance, shook him to ensure her grip was secure, and pushed off.
Remarkably, considering their usual luck, boarding went exactly as planned. Crichton let out an excited whoop as they soared through dead space to the other ship, but didn't fight her and remembered to spread wide on impact.
It took a couple microns for Sun to figure out the emergency airlock release. It was slightly different than what she remembered. Then she wrapped herself around the human and rolled them both safely inside.
As she'd expected, artificial gravity was out, and the ship nearly dead, running on minimal backup power. But cycling the airlock worked, and her suit indicated the air was thin but semi-breathable. From the way dust kicked up off the walls, Sun revised her estimate of how long the derelict had been adrift upwards, from monens to cycles. In the absence of gravity, it took time for particles in the air to collect on surfaces instead.
There was likely no need for the caution, but Sun motioned Crichton into the shadow of the door before drawing her pulse pistol and opening it. She noted that he moved well, tapping lightly on wall and ceiling to stay in control, and adopting an inverted position above the doorway without any sign of disorientation. Aeryn sent herself through the opening with an unnecessary defensive tumble, then fetched up against the ceiling to take stock.
Two bodies were sprawled against the walls, the species not immediately discernible. Bipedal with a common set of facial features, but a sickly, mottled, blue-black complexion that might be natural or a result of trauma and decomposition. The ship was cold now, but life support must have failed slowly. Sun holstered her weapon and activated comms.
"Pilot, we're aboard. Two crew, deceased. There's air but no heat. Crichton and I will see what systems we can get online, and then look for salvage. I don't see signs of previous boarding."
Pilot conveyed this to the others and they agreed on a timeline for rendezvous as Crichton made his way into the main chamber. Sun watched him investigate, going first to confirm the status of the dead, and then handing himself around the ship looking at controls and what visible damage there was inside. It was mostly soot spots from blown panels and distorted walls that had bent under the killing strike, but not burst. Again, Sun congratulated the skill of the gunner. If not for the spin, it would have been a perfect disabling shot.
"Crichton, help me with the bodies, then we can recheck air and see about restarting support. We only have three quarters of an arm to work if we can't, and the cold is going to start affecting us."
"Yeah, Aeryn. On it." He didn't say much until they had stowed the dead in the treblin-side airlock. That side had taken the brunt of fire and the door was hard to open, but they pushed them inside and resealed it. "Do you know who they were?" He'd lost the excitement of the boarding as soon as he'd seen the bodies. Crichton's heart was even softer than his head.
"No. We're far outside the operating range of my carrier group. They might be Hinzoids. I've never seen one up close, but they fit the description and that species is known to trade in the Uncharted Territories."
"And they died from," he made a spinning motion with one hand.
"Yes. I think their stabilizer went out a few microts before the gravity and they were thrown into the bulkheads as they spun. It would have been fast."
"Right." She didn't have to prod him. After a pause Crichton found his focus. "So what do we do first?"
"You figure out what their cargo was. I'll try to wake the ship up." He nodded, tossed her the equipment bag, and launched himself back to the rear hatch. Once he got the hold doors open and disappeared inside, Aeryn moved forward to check out the scrub runner's controls.
The readouts were in an unfamiliar script, but the configuration was almost identical to the ships she'd piloted as a cadet. Backup batteries were almost dead. They were solar and the ship had been stranded too far between the stars to keep up, even with minimal drain. There would be enough to cycle the air and heat the crew compartment for a few arms, though, and that should be sufficient. She started that sequence running, adjusting the air mixture a little higher on oxygen and removing the chlorine traces that this species had found comfortable.
The rest of the systems were redline. There had been a top-mounted pulse cannon, but it appeared to be missing now, ripped away by the blast that also removed the treblin-side engine, and left a buckle across the top of the compartment. Comms array had gone with the weaponry. Artificial gravity systems were obviously defunct, and not worth even trying to bring online. Cargo would be easier to move without it.
However, the main reason Sun had been eager to come out on this salvage mission was the blue cesium gauge for the remaining engine, almost at half and enough to fully refuel her Prowler. If she could get the ships connected, there would be enough to keep her flying for solar days if needed. Fuel was an expense she didn't think the others would fund, not when they had Moya's pods which were battery fed and free to recharge. So that blue bar represented freedom.
Releasing a breath she didn't know she was holding, Sun addressed Crichton, who had been mumbling to himself as he worked, but leaving her alone. "What have you found? I restarted heat and air, but we'll want to be underway within three arns or so."
"Well these jurks didn't label anything in Eenglish. There's a lot back here, different things in every box. But I'm not sure if this is food, weapons, or explicit recreation media. Uh… please tell me that last one didn't translate." He gave one of his little chuckles.
"Some concepts appear to be universal, Crichton. I'll head back there."
After looking through a couple cartons, Aeryn found herself wondering what exactly humans found titillating. She couldn't read the languages on all the labels, but some were in a galactic synthagraph used by traders in Peacekeeper jurisdiction as well.
In those already opened were bolts of a fine cloth printed in bright, displeasing patterns, bottled intoxicants if their marking symbols were accurate, and cases of some sort of entertainment gadget with numerous round protuberances and rotating gears. One small container did hold media disks, though not in a format compatible with Peacekeeper data pads. However, it was labeled as historicals, dramatics, and documentaries, nothing obviously lurid. She resealed it to examine later.
The cargo area was chaotic. Even accounting for the disruption of lost gravity, too many boxes crowded the space, drifting at angles, in a variety of shapes and sizes, few matching. "We'll never get through all of these in time."
"Is it worth taking?" Crichton braced himself with a handhold and shook the round container near him, listening to the contents rattle. It was a high pitched sound, like glass beads.
"At least some of this is valuable. The Hynerian would know better. But it's not all going to fit on my ship, and this runner is too damaged. I can't slow the spin enough to dock a transport."
Aeryn's helmet beeped, and she checked her gauge, then popped her helmet. The air was unpleasantly scented of rot, but breathable as indicated, and while her breath frosted in front of her, it was bearable. "It's safe, Crichton. We need the suits to recharge if we're going to do multiple trips to the Prowler."
The human unlatched the helmet cautiously, his nose wrinkling at the acrid smell. He made sure to set it hovering within reach. "Ok, so how are we going to do this, and how dangerous is it going to be?"
They spent a rather enjoyable quarter arn arguing over how best to deal with the cargo. Crichton actually came up with a clever plan to use industrial sealant to group the smaller boxes into efficiently sized bundles. Secured together with line, they should be able to launch them clear of the ships. D'Argo and Rigel would bring Sun's crash suit, and she could use that to retrieve the bundles and get them on the transport.
"Easy as pagh?" Sun asked, after they finished conveying the plan to Pilot.
"Pigh." Crichton had started stacking and gluing. "And definitely not. It's insane. Throw boxes out of rapidly moving craft, hope they don't hit anything important as they spin free, and then go fetch them in the depths of space, like chunky needles in a dried grass heap. But if you say you can do it, I'll try to believe you."
"Good. You should do that more often." Leaving Crichton to work, Sun climbed up to where the cesium reserves valve could be seen, just below the ceiling. It was time to see about refueling her Prowler.
Refueling cables were stowed in the expected compartments. The distance to the Prowler was too far for one, but joining both together should reach. Another reason she had risked bringing the ships so close together. But when Sun tried to attach the socket, it clinked metal-on-metal in a way that it should not. She tried again, forcing hard enough she almost launched herself into dead air, but it would not connect.
Heart suddenly racing, Aeryn studied the junction, realizing finally that the crease in the ceiling where the energy weapon had deformed, but not quite pierced the crew compartment, extended to the hammond-side fuel pod. The valve was very slightly bent, and it was sheer luck that the joint hadn't ruptured.
She didn't know how long she'd been staring at the broken connector, trying to suppress the urge to swear or even cry, when the human touched her foot, startling her. "Aeryn, what's up there? Is something wrong?"
The very softness of his tone warned Sun that her distress was showing, and she shoved away, not trusting her control as she answered. "Cesium fuel pod. The valve is broken, though."
"Cesium." Crichton floated up to examine it, snaring the fuel line she'd dropped as she pushed away. "Cesium? Wait, isn't that what your Prowler runs on?"
"Yes." Sun returned to flight control, checking readouts. She should pull the nav data. The scrub runner was clearly local, there would be useful information about nearby solar systems. The trip was worth it for that alone. She tried not to think about how thin her own fuel gauge would be when they returned.
"Haay, were you trying to refuel?"
"Yes. But it doesn't matter, the line won't connect."
For some reason, she thought he would drop the matter. Instead after a few microts she heard a repetitive clinking as the human tried to connect the line himself. "I see." The sound of his messing with the valve finally stopped.
There was almost a micron of blessed quiet, before his voice rang out again, taking on that deeper, slow drawl that she already associated with undecipherable idioms and nonsense. "Well, if there's one thing a Southern boy knows how to do, it's siphon fuel out of a tank! We can figure this out, Aeryn. Come back here and bring the repair bag."
The annoying man actually sounded excited about the problem. "Propellant cesium is normally a gas, Crichton, so that fuel pod is pressurized to maintain a liquid state. If we puncture it and flood this compartment, not only is it radioactive, it's also highly explosive when combined with water. Which we've been breathing out into the air for the last arn. One spark and we could blow ourselves up. Leave it alone, it doesn't matter."
The problem with weightlessness was that she didn't hear him coasting up the runner's length, until right before he bumped into the console above her head. "Haay."
The other problem was that she didn't have enough bracing, so when he pulled on her, she spun up and into him, inches from his nose and those eyes with that aggravating softness. "My module is almost out of fuel too. But my closest service station is on the other side of the galaxy, and yours is right here." She shoved off, and he let her go, but not the topic.
"We don't both have to be grounded. We've got time, right? Let's give it a shot." Her face must have registered her confusion. "Let's try. On Earth, cesium is a metal, so there's something not translating. Tell me everything you know about Prowler fuel. Hek, get Pilot on conference call, and we'll all put our heads together."
Wonderful, he had descended into full incomprehensibility. "You're not an actual Tech, Crichton, you don't know anything about this technology-"
He cut her off, tapping on his fingers. "Chemistry, fluid dynamics, material science, mechanical engineering. It's not even rocket science, and if it were, I'm a frelling rocket scientist. This isn't biomechanoid crystal matrix or control panels spitting out scanner reports in Sebacean. Plug A doesn't fit in Socket B anymore. All we need is a new connector, strong enough to handle pressurized flammable gas. It's going to be just like when my sire's brother Dan dropped the helium tank when we had three hundred inflatable bladders to fill for my sires' 25th anniversary party. You'll see, easy as…"
It was her turn to cut him off. "Pigh! Pigh! Whatever the frell that is, and DON'T try to tell me, Crichton!"
"Ohkay. I won't. But why are you fighting me on this? Don't you want your Prowler refueled? Big, tough, Peacekeeper Commando when you're kahmeekahzeeing through vacuum without a safety net, but you're giving up flying over a bent coupler? Why does this stuff scare you so much?"
Aeryn was so angry with him, she had to turn away before he saw it. Her eyes were already burning from the scrub runner's alien air, and he wanted to fill it with cesium fumes too. Fine. At least if he blew them both up, she wouldn't have to see his arrogant, irritating face ever again. "Pilot? Crichton has a bad idea he wants your help with…."
A confusing arn later, Sun was staring out the open airlock hatch, visualizing and revisualizing the next few microns.
Against all expectations, Crichton had cobbled together a fitting from the valve carefully cut from the treblin-side pod, levers and gears from the box of toys, a vacuum patch, and a few other parts she didn't keep track of. There had been conversations with Pilot she hadn't understood or paid attention to; tensile strength of industrial sealant, isotope properties, and the stability of carrier gasses. The end result was a bulbous tumor he was watching over, ready to force the bent valve open, as soon as she had her end secured to the Prowler's fuel tank.
They had put their helmets back on and evacuated the scrub runner, to reduce the risk of explosion if the patch didn't hold, but Aeryn was still feeling nauseous. She would be safely outside, with armored hull between her and the other ship. Crichton would be standing right next to the blasted fuel pod.
"Aeryn?"
"I'm going, Crichton." She would make the transit to the Prowler and secure the fuel line. Once refueling was underway, she'd return to the scrub runner and do a final check for valuables to add to the stacks tied together and waiting near the airlock. When the Prowler was full, Crichton would shut the valve and use the line to safely pull himself back to her ship. Sun would launch the cargo stacks, then join him, and they'd track the drifting cargo until the transport pod arrived. Simple.
As long as nothing went wrong.
"Officer Sun?"
"I'm going, Crichton." She took a steadying breath, rechecked her position against the spinning stars, and launched herself outward. By her second breath she was slowing her momentum with a hand against the snout of her ship, sliding under and around to find the attachment. It was a few microts work to secure the line and check it twice. "Valve open on my end. Go ahead, Crichton." She held on with both hands, and suppressed the urge to close her eyes.
"Here goes nothing." He sounded irritatingly cheerful. A microt later, the fuel line snapped taut. "Valve is holding on this side. Is it working?"
Sun relaxed her grip slightly, handing herself along to the cockpit, and pulling over the lip to check the gauge. "It's filling, Crichton. Should take ten microns at the current rate." She secured the small bag she'd filled with the data spools and a couple other high value items, then crawled all the way up to reorient to the scrub runner's hatch. "Returning now."
Sun didn't fully relax until the refuel was complete and Crichton shoved the lever to reseal the fuel pod. His triumphant grin was well earned, and impossible not to share. "How muhgaiver was that!"
"Very muhgaiver," she agreed, too relieved to even ask what that was. "Good work, Crichton." She opened comms. "Pilot, we've completed the cesium transfer without incident. How long before D'Argo and Rigel arrive?"
"I am glad you were successful, Officer Sun, Commander. The transport should arrive in less than a quarter arn."
"Perfect, Pilot, we'll be ready."
"What's left to do, Aeryn?"
Sun looked around at the almost empty hold, and an early memory prompted her to scan the floor panels for pressure switches. She found what she was looking for and bracing herself, popped the grating free. "Well, why don't we see what the Hinzoids' real cargo was."
"How did you know that was there?" Crichton reached a hand out to take and secure the panel.
"I told you, I flew ships like this as a cadet. And these compartments made excellent hiding spots during boarding drills. There should be one up there too," she gestured at the ceiling, "on each side. Good for ambushes." Sun pried up two small boxes. Each had an odd feel even weightless, as if wanting to escape the motion of the ship.
"You hid in there?" Crichton looked doubtfully down into the compartment, a motra long and half that wide.
"I was smaller then. Check the other side." Sun examined one of the boxes, curious what contraband it contained, but not expecting anything as obvious as a label. Crichton had just found and yanked open the upper hidden compartment, dropping a third box into the air, when she realized the container she was holding was imprinted with a warning symbol, the synthagraph for radiation. "Crichton, catch that and do not shake or knock on it."
Gratifyingly, he listened to her before he asked, "What is it?"
"Radioactive."
Crichton snatched his hands away, leaving the box to float. "How radioactive? And why were they hiding it?"
"Probably very. High quality material. Used for weapons." She reached out to gather the third box close. "Other things too, but the weapons applications make high yield material illegal in many systems. See if there's another box up there," she directed.
When the human gave her a disbelieving look, she rolled her eyes. "They are contained. And our suits can handle a little radiation. If the shielding wasn't holding, we'd know."
Why the human found handling encased radiation more nerve wracking than explosive fuel was a mystery, but between them they did eventually manage to collect eight identical heavy boxes. "Are we going to throw these out into space too?" Crichton asked.
"Well, we're taking them with us. Do you want me to bring them to the Prowler instead? I think they'll fit."
"Out into space it is." He quickly bound them together with an unnecessary amount of industrial sealant, and floated them gingerly to the airlock with the rest of the cargo. "Right then. Are we done looting?"
"Go ahead and head back to the Prowler, Crichton. I'll shut things down here." It wasn't necessary, but it felt better to set the ship back into its dead state. She didn't start the process however, until she'd watched the human haul himself by the fuel line to her ship, and crawl inside.
Once the scrub runner was on standby, the last task was shoving the cargo free with enough force to clear both ships. "Crichton, sit in front, close the cockpit, and strap in. But do not touch any other controls. If anything goes wrong, just wait. If I can't make it back, pull out of the spin and then drift. Moya can grab you with the docking web."
"Does this mean you give me permission to fly your Prowler?"
"Only if I'm dead, Crichton."
"Well, darn."
"Now stop talking."
"Yes, ma'am."
This wasn't so different from maneuvering a breeching pod, just in reverse. After a few steadying breaths, and a recheck of the floating line of cargo, Sun braced her boots, seized the cluster of contraband, and threw it with all her strength on her chosen trajectory, dropping to the floor as the rest of the cargo was pulled along above her. She watched it soar into space. It was twisting, and would be dangerous to retrieve because of that, but it had cleared the Prowler without incident, and there was nothing else for the boxes to hit out here.
Crichton's howl of relief blasted her ears. "Nice throw! Now can you fly your commando butt over and get us out of here? I warmed your seat up."
The long day should have had her seeking her bed. It had taken further tedious arns to retrieve the cargo, load it onto the transport pod, and unload it again into a spare corner of the lower maintenance bay. Rigel's alternating avarice and complaints hadn't helped her sense of exhaustion.
Then the others insisted on a triumphant meal, where she had to endure Crichton's embellished descriptions of their salvage run. The addition of a palatable grain liquor made it almost bearable, but Aeryn was more than ready to strip off fetid clothes and seek the refresher as soon as she could get away.
Yet even after private consumption of half another bottle she had claimed as reward for her efforts, the ability to sleep escaped her. In the dim glow of Moya's alter shift, Sun found herself padding on bare feet through the winding tiers, finding nothing moving beyond the always diligent DRDs.
In another life she would have found a more entertaining way to excise the restless energy. Instead she slipped in and out of empty cells, through small chambers of unknown purpose, and down long echoing corridors, feeling more alone than she had in the vacuum of space.
The other half bottle was calling to her, but instead Aeryn wound her way down to the maintenance bay. She should check that the Hynerian hadn't decided to take advantage of the sleep period to ransack the cargo. Finally reaching it, Rigel was nowhere to be seen, but the dark cavern was filled on one end with flickering light and the sound of Sebacean.
Crichton was simple to sneak up on, his damp head bent low over the scanner he had somehow connected to the science array. The result of the scan was projecting above the device, a slowly rotating series of connected balls and pipes that some early training reminded her was a molecule. It was a compound of some kind, because the spheres were different sizes and colors. She remembered that much, though not what the colors meant.
As she watched, Crichton fumbled his way through the controls until the projection started shifting, each ball glowing brighter in turn, as the name of an element was read out by the device.
Aeryn found herself drifting nearer, until the human was close. Close enough to touch, to smell the sweetness of the cleaning fluid Zhaan made for them, and feel the heat that always radiated from him. He went dead still a microt before she reached over his shoulder to take the cup resting near the scanner. He pivoted around to face her, but didn't stop Aeryn from taking a sniff, and then a hearty sip.
Sun enjoyed the look of confusion on his face more than the intoxicant, which was rather sickly. Not what they'd drunk earlier, so he had taken his own bottle as well. "It's fine, Crichton. Wretched, but not poisonous." She offered the cup back.
The human took it, and with the air of someone accepting a challenge, drank, though only a sip, and winced. "You're right. My way of testing is safer, though." He rubbed at his lower lip, as if trying to remove the residue.
Aeryn stole the cup again and found the seat next to him, forcing her attention onto the display rather than the man. Yet she found herself leaning towards that almost perceptible warmth. She was conscious that their positions were an echo of twenty arns before. "Zhaan unlocked the array."
"She did. It's going to take solar days for me to really figure out how it works, but, haayy, science!" He pointed proudly at the spinning display. His pleasure meant more to her than it should.
She only nodded agreement, and gulped more of the cloying liquid. "Science." It was truly awful. She pushed the drink back into his hands. The events of their day together cycled through her thoughts, and she chose something innocuous. "So tell me, John, what is pigh?"
Instead of answering, Crichton stared at her with a strange expression. Sun must have somehow mispronounced the simple word again. "Paigh?"
He took another sip, larger than before. The taste recalled him to her question. "Right, well, uh, Koh is a mathematical constant, the ratio between the circumference of a circle and it's diameter…." Crichton trailed off as she snapped a hand out, silently demanding the cup back.
"I know what Koh means, Crichton, I'm a frelling pilot. We learn manual nav calculations in basic training. What are you babbling about?" Sun took another moderate gulp. This intoxicant tasted like dren, but hit hard. She could already feel a creeping lassitude taking the edge off her irritation.
Crichton just laughed, a rueful chuckle. "That was supposed to be a joke, Koh and pigh, they sound the same in Eenglish. I didn't even think about it being translated." Aeryn took another sip, then set the cup on the workbench between them and waited for the explanation he owed her.
"It's a dizert, usually. A round dizert," Crichton made a circular motion with one hand, "but that's just a coincidence. Pigh doesn't really have anything to do with Koh." This time Aeryn caught that the words he actually used seemed identical. Very confusing. "Usually a pigh has two crusts filled with fruit and shoogar. There's a lot of variations, though, and they're all delicious."
She sorted through this garbled description. "So it's a food substance?" Sun snorted. "You humans talk a lot about eating. Almost as much as the Hynerian."
"It's a Southern thing, Aeryn. Cooking is how we show our love." He downed his largest gulp yet, then shoved the cup, with only a swallow left, back in front of her. He closed up the science array and stowed the scanner, his movements abrupt, as if she'd irritated him. Not knowing how, just Sun silently watched him as she finished off the intoxicant. When he spoke again, the Eenglish had that slow deep drawl he used when he was frustrated. "Tell you what, next nice planet we come across, let's go comestibles shopping. I'll bake you a pigh."
"All right." She tried for a smile. "Apparently it's not that hard."
He didn't return it. "Common mistake. The easy part is in the eating, not the making."
She felt herself responding to his prickling attitude. "Well don't go to any effort. You've done enough." This conversation, like so many others, was going wrong. It was exhaustion and body chemistry returning to equilibrium. She'd seen it a thousand times. Some soldiers recreated after a hard mission, others got into fights. She needed some third way to release this tension.
"No." Sun set her hand on his fever-warm arm, and felt him twitch. She chose her words as carefully as the intoxicant would let her. "What I mean is, thank you, John. You did more than you needed to, today, for me."
"Well, Aeryn, you're welcome." Crichton escaped her touch, his fingers coming up to brush heat along her cheek, tucking a few still-damp tendrils behind her ear. "My pleasure."
His eyes were suddenly too blue, too hot, too close. Too dangerous. She took a step back, out of reach. "The next commerce planet, then," she offered.
"It's a date."
She didn't know what he meant, but everything felt too fuzzy, too fragile, to question. Aeryn just smiled, and left to seek the company of another bottle.
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