TITLE: No Dominion
AUTHOR: Maayan
EMAIL: maayan42@yahoo.com
SPOILERS: Anything up to and including SoD is fair game. 
RATING: R for violence, language and sexual situations.
ARCHIVING: Do not archive without permission.
SUMMARY: Three weekens after SoD. Moya's crew race against time to save Zhaan, 
and get thrown in the middle of a civil war in the process - with earth-
shattering consequences for John.
NOTES: The plot has been rendered hopelessly AU by what we learned from Jack 
about the wormhole information in Crichton's brain in Infinite Possibilities, 
but I decided to go ahead with the story as planned. 
NOTES bis: *Not* SACCer-friendly.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Henson's and Co. 
THANKS: To my beta readers, Brenda (aka ScribLL) and Tink, who braved a new 
fandom because I asked. 



And death shall have no dominion.
Dead men naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion. 

Dylan Thomas



The twin pulsars spun in tandem, lazy, dying gods of some ancient cosmogony. The 
entire system basked in the glow of the deranged neutron stars, and a large 
golden planet revolved underneath John's feet, precariously balanced on 
the edge of the pulsars gravitational fields. Taunting him. 

To think that Earth was the only inhabited world in the solar system, and here 
they seemed to stumble upon populated planets every other day. What was up with 
that? A capricious Big Bang, not so random after all.

Past the pulsars and light-years away from Moya, still visible to the naked eye, 
John watched the morbid dance of a binary X - the accretion disk of a black 
hole, feeding on the matter of its companion star. 

So much beauty and so much death. 

A little bit like sharing space with Aeryn.

It was hard to tell who drained the other one's energy; they roamed Moya like 
some indivisible cosmic entity, inseparable yet always apart. 

"John. It's time."

He nodded tightly to acknowledge both her entrance and her words, staring at her 
reflection in the glass panel of the terrace. Glass, or whatever the hell this 
material was - he still had to figure it out. 

"I'll be right there, Aeryn."

He had been standing at attention for the last arn. His shoulders were stiff, 
his neck rigid with tension, spine locked, chin up, hands clasped behind his 
back. A basic show of strength and control, totally superfluous aboard Moya. Or 
maybe not. He had forgotten how to be anything but on guard a long time ago. 

He turned to face the ex-Peacekeeper. 

Aeryn's leather-clad silhouette cut a striking figure in the door. He let the 
old shiver of want pass through him unnoticed, coldly taking stock, recording, 
shelving for later. 

Much later. 

He had it all down to a fine art now. 

His gaze strayed to the side. 

"She's toying with you, John. Why do you let her get away with it?"

//Shut up, Harvey. You're not invited to the party.//

The alien consciousness retreated meekly. The clone knew better than to piss him 
off. As to why John let Harvey get away with the deprecating intrusions... 
sometimes the hybrid's voice in his head was a welcome escape from the sound of 
stubborn silence, or the confusing maelstrom of disordered memories. 

//Maxime.// 

John brought his eyes forward. Aeryn was gone. 

He had expected as much. 

He missed their easy partnership already. 

Fuck.

With a sigh, John ran a gloved hand over his short dark hair and set off after 
his reluctant crewmate towards the cargo bay. The rest of the crew would be 
waiting. Some things took precedence over the enigmatic Aeryn Sun, and at the 
moment one of them was Zhaan. 





After Scorpius's death, the successful surgery and Aeryn's resurrection, they 
had left the surgical facility and spent the next weekens going through Moya's 
datacores, looking for a planet which would offer Zhaan some respite, if not a 
cure. Stark had sought out Crichton, unknown to his dying lover. Zhaan was 
hiding the progression of the disease from them, but Stark wasn't ready to let 
her go without a fight. 

Neither was John. 

He had shared Stark's words with Pilot and Aeryn. With Pilot, for obvious 
reasons, and with Aeryn, because the ex-Peacekeeper needed to feel like she was 
doing something. The search led them to Ectani Prime - a lush, golden planet 
revolving around twin pulsars. The light and the rich soil could be exactly what 
the Delvian needed. At the very least, it would garner them some time to look 
for a more aggressive cure. Best of all, Moya's sensors failed to detect any 
Peacekeeper presence in the area. 

Then there was that tight feeling at the bottom of Crichton's stomach - neither 
good nor bad, like slow burning embers. John wanted to go there. He just 
couldn't explain why. Gut instinct in all its glory. 

They hadn't talked about Peacekeepers, or Scorpius, or anything else. There had 
been no time. As far as they could tell, the Peacekeepers believed Aeryn dead 
and Crichton incapacitated. Scorpius was gone - although John struggled to 
believe that. No more hunting. If they'd had time to enjoy it, this newfound 
freedom would have been a heady feeling. 

There were always other, more pressing concerns. 

John's palm strayed along the organic curves of the transport pod and he 
reclined in his seat, trusting Aeryn to take them safely down to the surface. 
Delicate fingers closed around his forearm and he turned his head to confront 
their owner. 

Zhaan smiled gently, and he was forced to return the kindness. 

It wasn't fair that he should draw comfort from her touch. He had taken enough 
already. Her smile dimmed. He had always been transparent to Zhaan. They all 
were. They had come to her room with news of a suitable planet, and she had 
welcomed them with a quiet nod and wise eyes. Aware all along of what they were 
trying to do. For all John knew, Moya herself had whispered echoes of their 
secret meetings to the dying Delvian. He had witnessed stranger things. 

Zhaan's hand lingered on his forearm, but he turned his attention away from her. 
He too could read her well. Not all the time, but now, when she was too tired to 
hide and deceive, he would look inside eyes as blue as his own and choke on the 
depth of her acceptance, her calm embrace of fate and death. She was going along 
with this for their sake. Just as John had involved Aeryn because the Sebacean 
needed to take part in their efforts to save Zhaan, the priestess humored her 
children in the name of peace and their own healing. 

//There is nothing you can do.

//I will not accept that.

//I know.//

There was no end to his arrogance and his folly. Johnny-boy to the rescue. 
Savior of the Uncharted Territories. Hale-fucking-luja.

"We land in one hundred microts," Aeryn announced from the pilot's seat. 

D'Argo bent to retrieve his Qualta blade. Stark began fussing over Zhaan again. 
Rygel held on tighter to his throne-sled. Chiana and Jothee had remained aboard 
Moya to assist Pilot and watch over the Interons. Not that the humanoid 
popsicles would be going anywhere soon. 

Blood on his hands and on his brain. 

John Crichton almost smiled. 





"What the hell am I looking at, Blue?"

Zhaan clasped John's arm and stirred him onward with an indulgent smile. Stark 
trailed behind them, preceding D'Argo and Rygel. Aeryn walked ahead, the heel of 
her right hand resting on her holstered pulse pistol. No need to scare the 
natives witless, but no need to lower their guards either. 

"It's a weather dome, John," Zhaan answered, leaning against his side. He slowed 
down to match her languid pace, gaze riveted to the huge, transparent sphere 
surrounding the city of Ectani. "It is designed to protect the city from natural 
disturbances of unusual magnitude and magnetic interference from the twin 
pulsars. According to Pilot, we are not anywhere near storm season now, so we 
can safely leave the pod outside the dome's perimeter."

"Good thing too," John grunted. "I've had enough of bad weather on that goddamn 
ice cube, and keeping the transport outside this shiny little bubble makes for 
surer escape routes."

"Do not worry so, John. We have no reason to believe an escape route will be 
needed during our stay."

Crichton didn't answer her, nodding absentmindedly. Avoiding her eyes with 
deliberate care. Zhaan didn't need to read his face to capture his thoughts. 

//When I stop worrying, people die.//

She held his arm tighter, willing her warmth into him. 

John felt cold to her. He had for some time - as if the icy tendrils of the 
frozen planet refused to relinquish him. Stubborn memories of free-falling 
ejection seats, intrusive surgery, restraints and utter helplessness. They had 
been so caught up in the unexpected joy of their reunion with Aeryn, the grim 
satisfaction of Scorpius's death and the grief-stricken shock of Zhaan's own 
sacrifice. The Delvian wondered if anyone had bothered to inquire after him at 
all. When had John last talked, really talked, with any of them? 

When had John last been the sole master of his own mind?

One cycle and counting. Zhaan shuddered. One cycle. There was no telling what 
hidden damage the chip - Scorpius's consciousness - had wrecked over such a long 
period of time. John put up a strong, convincing front, but shadows lurked 
underneath the comforting facade of sarcasm, friendship, confidence and deranged 
humor. 

Whatever the outcome, this enforced rest would do them all some good. Zhaan 
refused to leave this realm without knowing whether all of her children would be 
safe. 

"So. What's the deal with the people here?" John was frowning, eyeing the tall, 
elegant bronze buildings beyond the protection of the dome with suspicion. 
"Looks an awful lot like another royal planet to me."

"This colony is much younger, John, a lot less decadent," Zhaan explained with a 
little laugh. "In fact, these Sebaceans broke off from the royal system hundreds 
of cycles ago, although they remain allies."

"Very reassuring." The Human shook his head with a derisive smirk. "Well, stop 
me before I kiss anybody this time. Deal?"

Zhaan tilted her head a little to the left. Chiana had informed her of John's 
ordeal on the royal planet. His reluctance was understandable. The Human's trust 
was in short supply these days. "Yes, John. I believe it is, as you say, a 
'deal'." 

"Thanks, Blue."

"No. Thank you, John."

He smiled for her, but there was no joy in it. He spread his free arm in a wide 
arc before them. "So what do ya say, Zhaanie? Think you'll like it here?" 

She ignored the bitter cheer and the modest grin, but answered him truthfully. 
"I do not know yet, John." She lifted her eyes to the whitened sky. "Under the 
pulsar's light, I feel better already. The pain is... less." She stopped and 
bent to gather a fistful of pungent earth. Crichton kept his arm wrapped around 
her in support. She brought her hand to her nose and inhaled. She could 
almost believe. "Maybe, John. Maybe." 

It was all she could concede. She refused to lie to him. 

He nodded, subdued, and they set off once more after Aeryn. The ex-Peacekeeper 
had stopped to wait for them, but she was still far enough that she wouldn't 
inadvertently eavesdrop on their conversation. Zhaan accepted the unnecessary 
gesture of esteem with resigned understanding. How far Aeryn had come. How proud 
of her Zhaan was, even if she had no right to feel such pride. The merit was 
Aeryn's and Aeryn's alone - once John's turbulent will and irrepressible faith 
had set her on her course. 

To the uninformed observer, Aeryn had undergone the most radical transformation, 
from wasted potential to radiant incarnation of one who was, ultimately, so much 
more than a Peacekeeper. But Aeryn was in so many ways not much more than a 
child - her growth could have been nothing but radical. John... John was another 
matter. 

From the start, Zhaan had sensed a self-assured soul and a strong center. Time 
and tragedy had conspired to undermine his foundations. While Aeryn couldn't 
help but benefit from whatever the future threw her way, John could only mourn 
what he had once possessed, what once was, what had been ripped away from him. 

Certitude.

Belief.

Faith. 

It took more destructive power to bring down so strong an edifice, than it took 
perseverance to raise it. Reconstruction meant tearing down the ruins, starting 
anew. Zhaan had been there. They faced uncertain times. John was floundering, 
while Aeryn's footing was not yet confident enough to hold them both upright. 

//And now, I am leaving them. My children.//

Responsibility pounded at the doors, raging against the soothing acceptance of 
her fate. Dared she indulge in one last act of selfishness? Dared she lay down 
to die, and abandon them to pick up the pieces?

//Ka'halen, guide me.//

Her survival rested in the hands of the Goddess.

"Hey, Zhaan? You still with me?" John's breath, warm against her ear. His voice 
was so very soft, and so very sad. 

"I am fine, John. Only admiring this amazing flora."

He nodded, taking in their surroundings himself, looking away from her to an 
edge of tall, ever golden trees. "Yeah. It's quite something."

Zhaan sighed in contentment. She felt better for the honest, if furtive note of 
wonderment floating beneath John's words. 

Her companion looked down at his heavy combat boots sinking into the lush, 
fertile ground with each new step. "Zhaan, I need to... I'm going to say 
something. I don't... don't expect any answer. I don't want one. Please, just... 
accept it."

Zhaan's eyes darkened, but she honored his request with a silent nod. 

He sighed. Pausing again so that they could face each other. 

Stark stood a few paces behind them, but John didn't seem to care. His warm, 
strong hands framed her face with aching tenderness, and she had to fight tears. 
He leaned forward ever so slowly, expecting her to push him away, but she held 
still. At last, his lips brushed against her brow, against her diseased skin, 
and lingered there. He pulled away a little, fathomless cerulean eyes, shuttered 
and pained. 

"I'm sorry, Zhaan. I'm so very, very sorry."

Stark bristled, and she wished him to stay away. She shook her head lightly, 
parting her lips to interrupt, but John's fingertips softly sealed her mouth. 
"I'll do whatever it takes, I swear, Zhaan. I can't promise you I'm going to 
heal you, because I'm not a god." He chuckled. It was a sorrowful, tormented 
sound. "Took me a while to realize that one. But if there's even a chance... I 
won't let you down. Not ever again."

John, always so willing to take the weight of the universe on his shoulders. So 
deeply wounded, yet never broken. For that brief moment while his eyes held 
hers, sealing their covenant, it hurt. Hurt so terribly, Zhaan thought Death had 
caught up to her. She had shared Unity with John, more than once. Better than 
anyone, she was aware of the cost - of the stains survival had left on his soul. 
But his core, his essence, still bespoke of infinite compassion, loyalty and 
undying strength. Bespoke of his love for her. For them all. And he hadn't 
needed eight hundred cycles to get there. 

//See what I see... Build on that piece.//

She tilted her head with grace, acknowledging his words. He wasn't ready 
to hear her. Before the end came, she would enter Unity with him. One last time. 
And return the gift. 

//Fight all the things that betray you.//

Show him, really show him, how precious and magnificent he was. 




Drops of light glittering through the windows of the solarium. Above her, the 
sky. Underneath her feet, the bustle of the merchants and the crowds, going 
about their daily lives in the market square. 

Allara never tired of the view. 

At times, she almost believed that her decision to become a priestess had less 
to do with faith than fond memories of roaming the temple as a child. No walls, 
but isolation nonetheless. Peace and quiet. The glass-like construction 
preserved her from the agitated masses of her fellow citizens, like the dome 
preserved Ectani from the capricious planet's atmosphere. 

She could see hundreds of metras in every direction by simply turning on 
herself, yet no one could see her. The reflection of the solar rays on the 
polished glass concealed the depths of the temple from profane eyes. 

Allara stood very still, staring at history unfolding a few denches underneath 
her. 

"He has arrived."

She didn't turn around. She had felt Jarian's approach as soon as he had entered 
the edifice. "I know, brother."

The tall, dark-haired man dressed in the dark brown leather of their order, 
joined her in front of the bay window and grasped her hand. "The leviathan 
remains in low geostationary orbit. Their pod landed outside the dome. The 
Regent gave them permission to stay for as long as they wished."

She felt his inquisitive gaze on her and tried to summon a smile. He wasn't 
fooled. Threading his fingers through her thick blond curls, he tilted her face 
to the side, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Why so sad, my sister?"

If she explained, would he understand?

"It is... hard, to reconcile my duty as a citizen and my oath as a priest."

"It is prophecy, Allara. What will be has already been written."

She pulled away from her sibling, taken aback by her own anger. "It is not 
prophecy, Jarian! We, the religious cast, should know better. The scroll was 
written seven hundred cycles ago, a mere transcription of what Kalem Sacot saw 
in the temporal rift. One glimpse of a possible future. But the future is not 
static. We could take matters into our own hands. We could choose a different 
path." She choked, shivering. "We could renounce war."

Jarian was shaking his head, the infinite patience that she envied so softening 
his features, his kind brown eyes. "Generations of scribes and priests have been 
over this, Allara. I have forgotten how many times you and I have had this same 
discussion. We dare not alter what we know of the future. According to Sacot's 
vision, we stand a fighting chance as long as the Human is here. If we turn him 
away, who knows what will become of us?"

"It is not the uncertainty of our fate, which saddens me, brother. It is not the 
specter of war, looming over the horizon, either."

"Then, what?"

She sighed deeply, and lay her hand against the warm pane of the window, 
watching the leather-clad figure she had hoped never to see penetrate the 
dome with his companions. "I grieve for him, Jarian. I mourn the inevitability 
of his suffering."

Jarian approached her slowly, as if she would bolt, and wrapped his arms 
around her shoulders. "So compassionate, Allara. Please, don't do something 
foolish. I would not be able to protect you from the Regent's wrath if you 
interfered. Our order may have kept the prophecy a secret from everyone, even 
our rulers for all those cycles, but Tesha has her own plans for the Human. We 
cannot appear to be taking interest in him. If anyone suspects..."

"They will attempt to assassinate him," she murmured, kissing the back of his 
hand. 

"Yes," Jarian said, not without kindness. 

She shivered. He only held her tighter. "There is so much more at stake here 
than this city, this planet, our war, brother. So much more that we do not yet 
understand. Sacot's vision showed us so little. We want to believe that we can 
master our future, but we are adrift."

Jarian nuzzled the hollow between her neck and shoulder. Together, they watched 
the strangers make their way confidently into the city - ignorant of small 
matters like time's invariance and prophetic quantum singularities. 




Ectani was built on fertile land, surrounded by wild forests of tall, golden 
trees visible through the gigantic dome. The city was dominated by a high, 
needle-like bronze edifice, which they learned was the palace. Another 
construction made of some reflective material Aeryn could not identify stood 
beside it. Inquiries brought back information that this was Ectani's main 
temple. 

Crichton perked up at that. "I thought Sebaceans didn't believe in anything. 
What would they need a temple for?"

The ex-Peacekeeper slowed down the pace, letting John and Zhaan catch up to her. 
There was no sarcasm in Crichton's tone, only mild curiosity, and this pleased 
Aeryn for reasons she could not quite name. She answered him, while they trailed 
through the narrow streets of what looked like the entertainment district, 
searching for a place to stay. 

"I learned a bit about the history of this colony when we were on the royal 
planet." Tactfully, she omitted to tell Crichton that the information had come 
from Dregon. That she had begun to plan a future away from Moya, when it seemed 
like John would marry Katralla and leave her behind. She had looked for a place 
where she might fit in and settle down. "You remember that dynastic integrity 
the Empress kept going on about?" 

John shot her a look. Of course, how could he forget? 

"Almost a thousand cycles ago, one of the princes had an offspring out of 
wedlock. It was all kept secret for the sake of political stability, and the 
child was exiled here with servants and a handful of colonists."

"Don't tell me a few dozen Sebaceans have managed to populate this planet all on 
their own, even if they had a thousand years to do it in," John said, his gaze 
panning around the sprawling city and its millions of inhabitants. 

Aeryn shook her head. "No. Fifty cycles or so after the child was sent away, the 
secret somehow leaked out of the palace. By then, it was too late. The dynastic 
integrity could not be compromised--"

"Because the prince had been Han Solo-ed," Crichton interrupted.

Aeryn ignored his obscure reference, although she caught the gist of it. 
"Because the prince was already married and turned into a statue. Some 
unsatisfied members of the nobility thought it was a good time to secede from 
the royal colonies and joined their compatriots out here, dragging a large 
following along. Tensions were high between the colonies for a while, but as 
Ectani grew into a thriving kingdom, things settled down and an alliance treaty 
was signed."

"So Ectani upholds the same policy of non-alignment as the royal system?" John 
asked.

"Yes. But Ectani Prime has very little power beyond this planet's immediate 
surrounding territories. Things are a lot more quiet here."

John relaxed. "Good. Quiet is good." 

Aeryn's eyes met Zhaan's troubled gaze, finding a familiar concern reflected in 
the clear blue orbs. The smile might be in place, the manic, rapid-fire, 
senseless chatter, or the cocky attitude John seemed to have picked up along 
with his fondness for Peacekeeper outfits, but there were other, more disturbing 
signs, which the women couldn't ignore. The purple shadows underneath sunken 
eyes, the paleness, the inattention, the fugue states, the occasional trembling 
of the hands - Crichton was running on nervous energy alone. 

"So what does this have to do with the fact that Sebaceans have a temple?" John 
asked, looking puzzled and genuinely intrigued. 

"The colonists were not the original inhabitants of this planet," Aeryn 
explained. "The aliens who lived here had a very advanced civilization. They 
welcomed the colonists, built the dome, cohabited with them for a long time. 
Then one day they just... left. By then the citizens of Ectani had adopted some 
of their beliefs, and those remained."

Crichton laughed, staring at the people going about their business around him, 
with what seemed like renewed appreciation. "So, what you're saying is that 
these guys have been irreversibly contaminated?" He winked at Zhaan with a broad 
smile. "Hell, we're gonna fit right in." 

John cocked his head towards a group of men in crimson leather suits, gathered 
in front of some kind of shop. Two women in similar attire were tending to them 
- their suits were black. Everyone they had come across so far had been wearing 
one of these two colors, save for a couple of Sebaceans dressed in brown when 
they passed the entrance of the temple.

"What's with the color code?" 

Once again, Aeryn took up the explanation. "This society is organized pretty 
rigidly, in casts."

John nodded. "Yeah, in some countries we got that on Earth, too."

Aeryn and Zhaan exchanged another meaningful glance. It had been a while since 
John had mentioned his home. 

"Red suits," the ex-Peacekeeper said, "are reserved for the warrior cast. 
Civilians wear black. The religious caste wears brown. The royal family wears 
gold."

"Looks more like the standard dominatrix outfit than religious robes to me, but 
whatever." John gave Aeryn a little salute. "Avoid red and gold like the plague. 
Got it. It's like one big game of Stratego."

She wasn't going to ask, but John waved his hand in her direction anyway. 
"Forget it."

He paused, Zhaan still leaning against his side, surveying their surroundings. 
They had left behind the center of the city, with its sky-reaching pyramidal 
edifices. The constructions in this district had been planned on a much smaller, 
reasonable scale. No building was higher than three stories. John had stopped in 
front of some kind of inn.

"Hey, Aeryn?" he asked, gesturing at the sign, written in Sebacean. "Does it say 
if they got vacancies?"

She shook her head. "No. It just states the name of the owner, his business, and 
his caste. But we can go in and inquire."

John wrapped his arm more securely around Zhaan. Stark had come up behind them, 
resting a hand on the back of his exhausted lover. The light was dimming - one 
of the pulsars setting beyond the planet's horizon. "Yeah," Crichton said 
softly, watching Aeryn over the head of the faltering Delvian. "I think that 
would be best."





Aeryn found him much later, on the open roof of the inn. 

A quick dinner, and they had retired to their rooms. Rygel had food delivered. 
There were advantages to waving around large amounts of currency. Their pulse 
weapons and D'Argo's Qualta blade insured that the rest of the patrons, mostly 
alien traders visiting Ectani on business, steered clear of them. 

The crew had agreed to get a good night's rest and reconvene in the morning. 
Stark, John and Aeryn would accompany Zhaan beyond the dome, deep into the 
forest, hoping that this planet's soil held some of the nutrients the priestess 
so needed. 

Aeryn was woken up by his cries. She always slept soundly, but John, who never 
bothered to hide his fears even when he was awake, surrendered to them 
unconditionally in the throes of unconsciousness. 

The walls were thin. 

She heard the shout, the tumble and muffled curse which meant that Crichton had 
hit the nightstand getting out of bed, the indiscriminate rummaging as he 
dressed and the soft click of the door when he left the room. 

She contemplated staying in bed - going back to that warm blackness where Zhaan 
wasn't dying. As far as she could tell from the sounds, John hadn't left the 
inn. What were the odds that he would get into trouble? 

She stared at the unsullied ceiling for a few microts. 

Guilt. 

What a frelling pointless emotion. 

If she stayed here, she would feel guilty for not being there for him. If she 
went to see him, she could make things worse. Either way, the possibility of 
catching a few more arns of sleep was fading away. 

With a groan, Aeryn dragged herself out of bed. She slipped on her leather pants 
and boots, leaving them untied. She forwent her leather jacket - the air was 
warm - and tied her hair in a quick, messy braid. She grabbed her weapon on the 
way out and left her room in silence, looking for a clue as to John's 
whereabouts. 

A door, which led to a flight of stairs and what Aeryn assumed to be the roof 
was still swinging. 

She reached the top of the stairs and emerged outside, greeted by the rumors of 
the busy merchant metropolis. At first, she thought that the light coming from 
the noisy streets beneath her was blocking out the stars, until she remembered 
what the innkeeper had told them about the dome. 

The planet was trapped in the gravitational web of the twin pulsars, like a 
child's toy balanced on a precarious edge. Night never fell, one pulsar rising 
over the horizon while the other set - dusk and dawn, a single moment in time. 
On top of its shielding duties, the dome had been conceived to offer Ectani an 
artificial night. It meant forsaking the starlight. Only the muffled glare 
of one of the pulsars was visible at the zenith, like a flaring, dying sun 
viewed through a dark prism. 

And there he was. 

Sitting on the ledge, legs swinging in the air, looking so young it made her 
want to throw up. Young equaled vulnerable, and a vulnerable John meant rattlers 
in her stomach. She hated those. 

The streetlight bounced off the dark bronze walls of the city, framing his 
familiar profile - bright eyes, pliant lips and soft cheekbones. His hands were 
joined loosely in his lap, shoulders stooped, fatigue drawn in every line of his 
body. 

Aeryn sighed. She rarely had to do the comforting, and he never asked for it. 
Focusing on other people's problems was John's way of running away from his own. 
Aeryn wasn't experienced enough at this emotional dren to decide if it was 
selflessness on his part, or cleverly disguised cowardice. Reading others had 
never been her strong suit, and after two cycles, John Crichton was still a 
perfectly annoying enigma. 

"Hey, Aeryn. Aeryn?"

How did he know she was there? She had been stealthy. 

She straightened like a good little soldier and walked out of the doorway's 
shadows towards him. "Yes, John."

He twisted around to look at her. She couldn't see his face against the backdrop 
of the city lights. "Is everything okay? You need me for something?"

He never assumed that she could be there for him - only that she had need of 
him. Why was that? 

Why did John do anything that he did? 

She opened her mouth to tell him that he had woken her up, then thought better 
of it. "No. I couldn't sleep."

John cocked his head to the left. She missed not being able to look into his 
eyes. "Yeah. Me either," he said at length, stating the obvious.

This was not going well at all. What was she supposed to do now? Had she 
expected him to come right out and share with her what was bothering him? John 
was very good at honing in on his crewmates' woes and worries. He wasn't half as 
cooperative when it came to volunteering his own. 

Not that she really needed him to explain. She wasn't privy to the content of 
his nightmares, but she could hazard a few guesses. He had, after all, spent the 
past cycle slipping into madness. He had never completely recovered from his 
treatment at Scorpius's hands on the gammak base - the spiral culminating with 
his surrender at the shadow depository, their frenzied escape, her subsequent 
death and the savage brain surgery. It had hardly been three weekens since he 
had been strapped down on the surgeon's table, brain laid open. Three weekens 
since he had killed her. 

Aeryn stood next to him, peering over the ledge, musing. So what if he couldn't 
sleep? By all accounts, he should be a raving lunatic. 

"This," John said without preamble, pointing at the uniform blackness of the 
sky-dome, "wigs me out."

Aeryn lived in dread of the day John wised up and realized once and for all how 
very little of everything he said his companions understood. Would he attempt 
genetic manipulation of the translator microbes? Radiation therapy? He was still 
very much a scientist. Once, she had seen him dissect a used dentic. Aeryn 
tended to forget that John had known nothing of space, dentics or any other 
alien life-forms a measly two cycles ago. 

He seemed to have forgotten himself. 

"Does that means it gives you a wooly?"

John blinked at her, nonplussed, then smiled a little. "The willies, Aeryn. It's 
the *willies*."

'Willies', 'wooly', 'woody'... sounded all the same to her. At least, he never 
mocked her efforts. And it made him smile. A cycle later and she still 
remembered the plate of food cubes with the funny face. John had thought smiling 
was important then. 

Aeryn acknowledged his correction with a grunt. "Being raised in space means 
that the view never looks familiar. It's always new constellations, new stars," 
she said, trying to bait him out of his sulk. "But you're right, this black sky 
is a bit... unsettling." What the frell was she doing? She was babbling like 
Rygel negotiating for Hynerian marjoles.  

John nodded, distracted, staring at his dangling feet. Aeryn hopped onto the 
ledge next to him, as close as she could without touching. 

She couldn't remember much about drowning, about dying, but she still had 
flashes of the neural cluster. 

//No matter what happens... you... have worked your way... into my heart.//

John, leaning towards her, callused yet surprisingly soft fingers framing her 
jaw, hot breath on her cheek, moist lips so close to her own, fear for him 
making his proximity all the sweeter. 

Pain and blackness. 

Aeryn was very careful not to flinch from his touch. She didn't want to 
punish him. She had entertained the thought, for a microt, when she first came 
back, and despised herself for that lapse, but she was still angry. It was 
irrational, she knew, yet it helped little. She was angry that Scorpius died 
before she could exact her revenge for what he had put John through, angry that 
John had succumbed to the chip, angry that the clone still lurked inside John's 
brain, angry that she had allowed her emotions to blind her and failed to shoot 
Crichton down before he killed her. 

Death was her gift. 

She had dispensed death to Zhaan unwillingly, and failed to offer it to John 
when it could have done some good. She wanted to be more than death's messenger, 
and it had almost killed them all. 

Aeryn stared at her fingertips, so close to John's leather-clad thigh. She could 
reach out and touch him. She could bridge the chasm.

//We will not act on it.//

John, sensitive little Human that he was, was abiding by her wishes and 
stubbornly refused to take the decision out of her hands. He kept his distance 
and never complained. When she snapped at him - frustration and need clawing at 
her womb - he didn't try to defend himself. He just shut down and pulled away. 
It only cut that much deeper, fanned her anger.

He would never retreat - never back off - before, whatever she did or said to 
him. And she had said a lot. Done a lot, too. Now all it took was the twitch of 
an eyebrow. A shiver of her hand, and he was gone. When she approached him, when 
the contact lingered, he mistook it for charity. Maybe, just maybe, she did want 
to punish him. Give in to the condescending little voice in her head. 

//Don't worry about it. He's not going anywhere. He doesn't have anyone but you. 
Let Crichton suffer. It's what he does best.// 

Frelling great. She had her own clone now.

On the ledge, John shifted, withdrawing away from her. Aeryn was well aware of 
the true depths of John's empathy, but he couldn't have guessed what she was 
thinking. Right? 

John would know. The words, the touches, the little comforts. If John were in 
her place, he would know how to put everything right. Aeryn wasn't used to 
lesser races making her feel inadequate. She didn't like it.

Tentatively, she leaned her head against his shoulder, like she had done so many 
times before, and her hand came to rest at the back of his head, caressing damp, 
short hair. John exhaled a little gasp, so very still, before slowly backing 
away from her, one hand making sure she wouldn't tip to the side when he 
withdrew his support. 

"Not tonight, Aeryn," he whispered, looking into her eyes. He smiled self-
consciously. No reproach there. "I'm not up to it, okay? Can we just sit here, 
enjoy the view, no games?"

She froze. 

Games.

Was he making fun of her? 

She turned, looking forward to an empty bed. John was right after all. Not 
tonight. 

"I talked to the innkeeper before turning in." She paused, striding the ledge 
with her back to him. "The dome does more than keep away the bad weather. It 
filters out the radiation from the twin pulsars. The people here have devised 
some pretty cool drugs so that Sebaceans can survive outside the dome for long 
period of times, so you can go with Zhaan tomorrow. She won't be affected. The 
radiation's exactly what she needs. Rygel will be fine without the drugs, 
because of his metabolism, but D'Argo and Stark will have to stay behind." John 
paused. "Astroboy won't be happy about that one."

Aeryn couldn't help but ask. "What about you?" 

She felt the infinitesimal displacement of air when he shrugged. If she closed 
her eyes, she could picture him - chin resting against his breastbone, that 
crooked, unassuming smile which ignited liquid fire in her loins, the falsely 
tranquil, dark-ringed cerulean eyes. 

"I'll take the drugs. Go with you and Zhaan. If I start cookin', we'll know I 
made a mistake."

She stood to face him with a disapproving scowl. "Crichton, that's madness."

He chuckled, the tips of his fingers worrying his lips. "Been there. Done that. 
Got the full body suit."

She almost apologized.

Turned around and made her way back to the stairway.

"See you in the morning, John."

She stole one last look at his forlorn figure, bathed in copper and darkness. 
His murmured answer escorted her in. 

"Sleep well, Aeryn."





"Sir." 

Annoying buzz in his ear, reminding him of the vibrations and the noises of a 
command carrier.

"Sir."

He missed the regulated environment of his defunct gammak base. These new 
installations, hastily thrown together, still had some ways to go in terms of 
accommodating his exigent physiology. 

"Sir? Are you all right?"

Scorpius sat up on his cot, feeling the tell-tale tension between his eyes. It 
was time to insert a new cooling rod, but there were other matters to attend to. 
"Come in, Lieutenant."

The door slid open, admitting his second in command. Braca's face was the 
picture of trained obedience. Bad news, then. Not that he had expected any 
different. 

Braca came to stand at attention at the foot of the cot, hands clasped behind 
his back, eyes fixed on some point above Scorpius's head. "I'm sorry to wake 
you, Sir."

It was a dance. An annoying, but necessary ritual. They had fallen into a rhythm 
over the monens since Scorpius had taken over Crais' ship. Braca's compliance 
and loyalty was self-serving at best, condescending at worst, but he was 
efficient. He had come to respect Scorpius's authority, even though his 
uneasiness and downright disgust at obeying the hybrid still flared up once in a 
while. Scorpius didn't mind. It made Braca more predictable. 

Predictability was a good thing in subordinates. 

"Why are you sorry, Lieutenant? I asked you to wake me, didn't I?"

Braca was off-balance again, but Scorpius was pleased to see him recover 
quickly. The half-breed had expanded minimal energy into molding the lieutenant 
into the perfect tool, and it was always satisfying to see one's plan come to 
fruition. 

Cold comfort, however, when major undertakings seemed on the verge of being 
thwarted, once again. 

How long until some ignorant commander from High Command sent someone at the 
base to challenge Scorpius's authority? It had been hard enough to convince the 
military to give a scientist the reins of a full gammak base. He had been 
allowed to take over the command carrier because Crais had proven insubordinate 
and unstable, but he couldn't expect Peacekeeper Command to watch from the 
sidelines for much longer. Not when the Scarran threat was more immediate than 
ever. 

Scorpius stilled before rising to face the lieutenant, calming himself down. 
Thinking of the Scarrans had a way of rising his core temperature. He stood, 
leather creaking in tandem with his careful movements. The suit had been a part 
of him for many cycles - he hated it. Woke every single time frivolously wishing 
it was gone. 

Scorpius had no patience for foolishness. Even his own.

"Report, Lieutenant."

"Sir, the techs have completed the analyses you requested. The results are 
available for your review."

Definitely bad news. This did not overly disturb Scorpius. Despite the threat 
from High Command, information gathering and problem-solving were what he 
excelled at, and what he, for lack of a better word, enjoyed. His skills had 
asserted themselves at an early age, allowing him to rise above the status of 
scientific curiosity and convenient lab rat. 

He didn't like to think back to those days. 

The experimentation. The humiliation. The pain.

Had it not been for his intelligence, he would have been terminated once the 
scientists realized that hybridization in no way provided answers to Sebacean 
thermal instability. Quite the contrary. 

He had learned much from the researchers who had experimented on him, soon 
outpacing them. He understood now that his suffering had served a higher 
purpose. The scientists were all dead. He had made sure of that. In a noticeable 
twist of irony, John Crichton had killed the last one when he had blown up the 
gammak base. 

Crichton. 

It always came back to John. 

Scorpius did not believe in fate, but the Human had a way of challenging his 
certitudes. 

A challenge. Yes. For a while, it had almost felt like Scorpius would miss the 
resourceful Human.

Scorpius contemplated Braca's carefully concealed discomfiture, until the 
lieutenant squirmed under his gaze. 

It now looked like his path and Crichton's might just be destined to cross 
again. Abandoning him on the frozen planet had been a rare miscalculation on 
Scorpius's part. He should have secured John along with the chip until 
completion of the analysis. Instead, he had allowed himself to be blinded by 
anger and the heady arrogance of victory.

For the first time in his painful life, Scorpius found himself hoping.

Hoping that John Crichton was not dead.




Breakfast - a thick white paste which tasted sweet on Aeryn's tongue, and 
generous helpings of some dark hot beverage Crichton said reminded him of Ko'ffi 
- was swallowed swiftly. 

If anyone noticed the Human's exhausted appearance, they kept it to themselves, 
and Aeryn didn't ask if he had slept at all. It was quite obvious that he 
hadn't. The dark shadows underneath weary eyes were starting to look like 
bruises, and his skin was paler than usual. 

Still, he ate and talked animatedly, not about to be deterred from his usual 
running commentary - not even by Stark, who, as predicted, was not taking 
to the news that he couldn't accompany Zhaan outside the dome well. Crichton's 
reasonable explanation - about the radiation and the drug - was dismissed. Stark 
only grew angrier. 

"I can take the drug, I can, I can..." Stark stuttered, almost panicked. 

"Sweet Stark..." Zhaan whispered, but he wouldn't let himself be soothed by her 
touch. 

They were drawing attention from the other patrons. Aeryn's hand rested close to 
her pistol. D'Argo had his Qualta blade on his knees, rather than at his back. 
Force of habit. 

Crichton's voice was low and gentle. "Stark, buddy, I understand. I'm sure there 
are tests we can do. But the innkeeper was pretty adamant that the drug wouldn't 
work for a Banik, and that the radiation would disrupt your energy pattern. We 
don't know how long any of us can survive exposure. We weren't harmed over the 
short time it took to reach the dome from the pod, but do you really want to 
risk it? Zhaan will need you later..."

Stark wasn't listening. "You have no... no right... no right to be with her, 
Crichton. Me. It should be me."

"I know that--" John interrupted, placating.

"Death," Stark moaned, laying his head on Zhaan's shoulder. "There's too much 
death." His one insane eye zeroed in on Crichton with frightening intensity. 
Aeryn wondered what he was seeing. "And you're at the center of it. Always the 
center..."

John froze. 

D'Argo growled, and Aeryn held very still.

Even Rygel stopped stuffing his face.

The background noise of the inn faded to a dull buzz. 

"Stark," Zhaan admonished softly, but John raised a hand to silence her. 

The handsome lines around his mouth and eyes tightened, anger and resignation 
warring for dominance. "I said you could guilt-trip me, and that still holds, 
Stark, but I'm not letting anyone else die if I have anything to say about it. 
So you'll take the damn test." Aeryn shifted to attract his attention. He 
scowled in her direction. "Right. We both take the test. And if you fail it, 
Stark, you stay behind. No discussion. Got it?"

The Banik looked like he would argue again, but D'Argo punched him the shoulder, 
barely checking his strength, shutting him up. 

"Fine," John said, standing. "Let's get this show on the road."





It was agreed that they would procure the drug, then accompany Zhaan to the edge 
of the dome where the crew would split up. John, Aeryn, and maybe Stark would 
escort the priestess outside the dome, while D'Argo and Rygel would remain 
behind, using the time to secure supplies. The Delvian had insisted that she 
could make her way to the forest just fine on her own, but she was respectfully 
ignored. 

They stepped out into a pretense of dawn - the dome allowing the pulsar light 
through in gradual layers. The streets were swarming with black-clad merchants 
setting up their displays. John had secured directions to the closest medical 
facility and led the way with D'Argo. Aeryn brought up the rear - Zhaan, Stark 
and Rygel between them. 

The Sebacean was surprised to feel a light breeze against the back of her neck. 
She hadn't expected any wind underneath the dome, but it would stand to reason 
that the protective sphere came equipped with powerful environmental scrubbers. 

She was the first to register the shout.

"Incoming!"

John.

Instincts took over, even though she didn't understand the word. The urgency and 
panic in his voice was enough. She tackled Zhaan and Stark, right there in the 
middle of the crowded street. 

Rygel she couldn't reach in time. 

A microt later, the ground heaved underneath her stomach and her world exploded 
in a cacophony of sound and fire. Her weapon was in her hand, but she was too 
busy protecting herself from flying debris to bring it up. 

After the concussion came silence - a stunned moment of frozen time. 

Then the screaming started. 

Aeryn raised her head, scanning her surroundings. A thick cloud of smoke was 
rising a handful of denches ahead of her, where she had last seen John. She shut 
down that line of thought, first checking herself over for injuries. She rolled 
away from Stark and Zhaan, wrapped around each other.

"Are you injured?"

"No, Aeryn, we're both fine," the Delvian answered, already struggling to her 
knees. 

Aeryn stopped her. "No, stay down. Let me survey the area first."

Zhaan was shaking her head before she had completed the sentence. "If someone is 
hurt, they might need me."

Aeryn sighed. There was no use arguing with Zhaan in healer mode. "Fine. Try to 
locate Rygel. I'm going to check on John and D'Argo."

She didn't wait around for an answer. 

Standing, she tried to assess the extent of the damage. 

It was a scene of carnage, and she was transported back to more than one planet-
side mission with her platoon. There were bodies on the ground. Lots of them. 
Ignoring the moans and pleas of the wounded, she made her way up the street, 
towards the epicenter of the explosion. The area had sustained severe structural 
damage. A large chunk of the paved road had collapsed, and at least one edifice 
was disfigured beyond recognition. 

It was hard to breathe, and it was very hot. Not an incendiary device, but some 
of the displays had caught fire from the sheer force of the detonation. Aeryn 
smelled carbonized flesh over the acrid stench of smoke. The heat was sure to 
kill off some of the wounded if the blaze wasn't put out soon. Aeryn didn't 
worry about the heat. She was busy replaying John's warning shout. If he had 
been close enough to spot the threat, then he must have been in the immediate 
vicinity of the blast. 

The rancid taste in her mouth had to come from the noxious fumes. 

Frell the stealth approach.

"Crichton!"

She tripped on... there was barely enough left of the body to identify it as 
Sebacean. She refused to check for distinctive marks. Frelling dren. She had to 
break John out of his leather fetish. How was she supposed to find him in this 
sea of black?

Black smoking corpses. 

"John!"

She clasped the palm of her free hand over her mouth and nose. Her lungs were 
beginning to hurt. She took as deep a breath as she could. "D'Argo! Answer me, 
you big... useless... Luxan!"

"I'm insulted."

She staggered and caught herself on a collapsed lamppost, coughing. Her blood-
shot eyes were tearing up. "D'Argo?" Aeryn felt his heavy hand on her shoulder 
before she saw him. The big warrior was covered in soot and ashes. There was 
also blood. 

Red, not black. Lots of it.

D'Argo must have seen something in her expression, because he didn't waste her 
time with inane comments, just grabbed her arm and pulled her a few denches 
away, towards the opposite side of the narrow street, where the damage was less 
extensive. 

Aeryn saw him then. 

Slumped over, his back resting against what might have once been a wall, head 
lolling to the side, eyes closed. 

She kneeled by John's side, holstering her weapon to free her hands. She 
reached for his leather jacket, hesitant, dreading the damage she would discover 
underneath. Crimson marred the sleek material.

D'Argo's words tumbled down to her with surprising gentleness. "It's not his 
blood," the Luxan said, crouching next to them. "As far as I can tell, he's not 
injured. Just knocked out cold." 

Aeryn closed her eyes briefly. This. This was relief. She remembered. She had 
experienced it often enough over the last few weekens, typically in connection 
with this annoying, unconscious man. 

"What happened?" she asked, when her voice felt steady enough.

She ran her fingers through John's short hair, inspecting a nasty cut on his 
forehead. It wasn't bleeding. D'Argo's assessment was correct. John wasn't 
seriously wounded. She discovered that she could breathe despite the smoke. 

"Suicide bomber," D'Argo said. "John spotted him before I was aware of what was 
going on. He shouted something. Next thing I knew, he had pushed us to the 
ground behind some kind of vehicle. I think he hit his head on the way down. I 
felt him go limp on top of me."

Aeryn and D'Argo traded a well-honed look of affectionate exasperation. The ex-
Peacekeeper couldn't help but chuckle when she pictured the Human trying to 
shield the huge Luxan with his body. 

"Is everyone else unharmed?"

"I think so. I saw Zhaan and Stark. I don't know about Rygel. But we were 
further away from the blast." 

D'Argo nodded. "Then we shouldn't stay here."

Aeryn stiffened and drew her weapon. "You think this was directed at us?"

Moya's crew had a way of turning peaceful strangers into crowds of homicidal 
maniacs out for their blood. Crichton called it a 'gift'. 

What was one more planet?

D'Argo was shaking his head. "No. This had all the markings of a terrorist 
assault. I've seen enough of those. Did your friend on the royal planet 
mentioned political instability?"

"No, but this could be new."

"What are the odds?" D'Argo grumbled, borrowing one of John's expressions. "If 
Ectani is involved in a civil war, at least we have nothing to do with it this 
time. I'd rather keep it that way." He growled, gently reaching for John's inert 
form. "That's if we haven't frelled this up beyond repair already."





John Crichton was not in a happy place. There was a cheerleading squad 
practicing back flips behind his right eye. And nausea rising like the storm of 
the century. 

"John. Wake up."

He didn't think opening his eyes could make him feel any worse, until the light 
promptly skewered his optic nerve. 

It also revealed the sober features of Aeryn Sun. 

He might just remain conscious for a while.

"Crichton?"

He turned on his side to face her.

It was a grievous mistake. 

"I'm going to barf." 

Aeryn bypassed the translation hiccup and grabbed a bucket. Breakfast had signed 
on for a return ticket. He should have laid off the gooey yogurt-wannabe. He 
heaved and the pounding in his head reached Superbowl proportions. 

Through the cramps, the pressure in his chest, and the instinctive panic, he 
tried to focus on Aeryn's touch, her fingers combing his matted hair. When he 
was done, he fell back on the cot, shaking. Now to get rid of that horrible 
taste in his mouth--

"You look like yotz, Crichton."

"Thanks for the pep talk, Sparky." He sounded a little like a frog going through 
puberty. His throat hurt like hell. He closed his eyes; Aeryn had disappeared 
somewhere - presumably to get rid of the evidence - and Rygel's scaly hide was 
hardly worth the discomfort. He raised his hand to wipe the sweat off his brow. 
Hissed when he encountered a bandage. 

"Here, John. Drink this." He forced his eyes open again to find Zhaan holding a 
glass of some clear liquid in front of his face. He tried to sit up, but his 
arms wouldn't cooperate. A firm hand attached to three hundred pounds of Luxan 
closed around his biceps and pulled him upright. 

He swayed a little, waiting for the worse of the vertigo to pass. "Thanks, Big 
D." He accepted Zhaan's offering with a grateful nod. The medicine tasted cool 
and sweet. "Someone wants to tell me what happened?"

It was hard to focus. Concussion, then. It would explain the goose-egg-sized 
bump above his right eye and the symphonic orchestra massacring the Ride of the 
Valkyries all over his frontal lobe. 

He used to like Wagner. 

"You don't remember?" Aeryn asked, looking concerned. 

It was hard to concentrate, but that didn't worry him. Between the mind-frells, 
the ice-pick surgeries and the good old-fashioned head traumas - it was a 
goddamn miracle when he managed to remember his own name. One day something 
irreparable was going to get jarred, and John Crichton would end up a drooling 
mess in some intergalactic loony bin. Or as a vegetable. 

Aeryn was staring at him. 

Words. Words should be coming out of his mouth. 

He blinked, reaching past the drumming pain. "Uh... I remember... seeing this 
guy. He was carrying something. I know a fragmentation grenade when I see one." 
He massaged a bruise on his shoulder. "I tried to warn people. Then I played 
linebreaker with big, bad and Luxan here." He checked the dressing on his 
forehead again. Mumbled. "Now why that seemed like a good idea at the time, I'll 
never know." 

He managed to focus long enough to take in his surroundings. They were in some 
kind of room filled with medical equipment - high ceiling and pristine walls. 
His companions stood around the gurney he was sitting on. No alien presence. It 
was safe to talk.

"Two questions: 'where are we?' and 'is everybody okay?'"

"We're at the medical facility where we planned to procure the anti-radiation 
drug. You've been unconscious for a couple of arns. A doctor looked you over. He 
said as far as he could tell you would be fine, save for a bad headache. He left 
to take care of the other victims," Aeryn said. "And everyone's okay. We hit the 
ground when we heard you shout and avoided the debris."

"What about me?" Rygel protested. "I was almost crushed under a store front when 
the building collapsed."

"You're not even injured, your lowness," D'Argo growled. 

The little Hynerian grumbled, maneuvering his throne-sled away from John. "Well, 
I could have been."

John was still processing Aeryn's words. "Other victims?" he echoed. "How many 
casualties?"

"A dozen dead, almost a hundred injured to various degrees," Zhaan explained. 
"Authorities are still clearing up the scene."

"He killed himself," John said, looking at Aeryn. It wasn't a question. "The 
bomber blew himself up."

She nodded. "There was barely enough left of him for an identification. They are 
conducting genetic testing on the remains now."

John swung his legs over the side of the cot. He had to get out of there. The 
medical apparatus, the table, the bright light overhead - it made him feel 
claustrophobic. 

Nasty memories. 

Too soon. 

"John, I think you should rest," Zhaan admonished, her palm on his chest. "You 
took a pretty hard blow. The scan showed a little swelling..."

"Oh, leave him alone, Zhaan," Rygel interrupted. "It's not like his brain can 
get frelled any more than it already is."

There was silence. Brief, outraged, acutely uncomfortable. 

Aeryn was scanning the rooms for projectiles.

D'Argo snarled. "Rygel!"

"Guido's right," John said quickly, grabbing the Luxan's forearm. His head hurt 
too much. He couldn't take a shouting match. Besides, Rygel's thoughts only ran 
parallel to his own. The Hynerian stared at him with no little surprise and what 
might even have been contrition. He couldn't read Rygel's eyes underneath the 
overhanging earbrows.

"Are we being detained?" Crichton asked, changing the subject. "Or can we leave 
whenever we want?" Another thought occurred. "Did Stark pass the radiation 
test?"

Aeryn answered his questions in order. "Nobody saw us at the bombing site and we 
passed off your injury as accidental. We're free to leave as soon as you're well 
enough to walk. We've secured the supply of Kantak drug we need. You passed the 
test. The drug will work for you. But Stark will have to stay behind."

Zhaan moved away from John to comfort the prostrate Banik. Crichton hadn't 
noticed him, crouched in a corner of the room. The posture was so reminiscent of 
their days of captivity in the gammak base, John had to look away. "Let's go 
then."

He jumped off the cot. 

Would have ended up flat on his face if not for D'Argo. The Luxan grabbed him by 
the collar of his jacket before his knees gave way. He heard Zhaan over the roar 
of the blood rushing in his ears. "John, maybe you should..." He managed to 
raise his hand, silencing her long enough to steady himself - allow the world to 
settle down along with his stomach. 

"M'okay," he reassured the Delvian, tentatively pulling away from D'Argo. Now 
that he was standing, something felt out of place. His hand strayed to his right 
thigh, twitching. "Where's Wynona?"

The question sounded harsh and a little frantic to his own ears. 

"Here," Aeryn said. She held the gun to him, butt first. She reminded him of a 
lion-tamer John had once seen as a boy. Without the whip.

Bad Johnny. Bad visuals.

He forced himself to relax, reaching for the weapon with as much nonchalance as 
he could muster. "Thanks." He holstered the pulse pistol before facing his 
shipmates, hands on hips. "As much as I'd love to know what the hell's going on 
in this place, we came here for a reason. D'Argo, you, Stark and Rygel can try 
to gather some information while we're gone. It would be better to know what 
we've walked into. It's just not a priority right now." He accepted the jacket 
Aeryn offered him. It was covered in blood, but that would have to wait. "I hope 
the comms work outside the dome. We gotta check that." His brow furrowed. "Or 
inside the dome for that matter." He pressed the badge pinned to his chest. "Yo. 
Ground control to Major Tom. Pilot, can you hear me?"

"Yes, Commander. I hear you just fine."

"Pilot, we've run into a bit of a jam, here." John pictured the symbiot hanging 
his big shell-head in resignation. He had become quite familiar with that 
particular Earthism. 

"Is everyone all right, Commander?"

"We're fine, Pilot. We just need you to monitor surface transmissions for 
information on a bombing. Happened a couple arns ago not far from the main 
market place. Will Moya's sensors be affected by the pulsars' radiation?"

"No, Crichton. Moya's scanners are perfectly operational. If the sensors were 
going to be impaired by the pulsars' proximity, I would have told you so."

John smirked. Snarky Pilot. His favorite kind. "Of course, Pilot. Please, let us 
know anything you find."

"Understood, Commander."

John nodded out of habit, even though Pilot couldn't see him. 

Rubbed his forehead again. 

Aeryn had been standing by his side through the entire exchange. She didn't look 
convinced that he could make it out the door on his own. That wouldn't stop him 
from trying. 

He took a few steps, managed to remain standing, and turned to face the others. 
"I'm fine," he said, before any one of them could ask again. Softly, "We should 
get moving." He didn't look at Zhaan. "We've wasted enough time."





Aeryn spotted them soon after they left the medical facility. 

Rygel was trying to secure a vehicle to spare Zhaan the effort of having to walk 
to the edge of the dome, which would have taken a couple of arns. The square 
buzzed with echoes of conversation - the attack was at the center of the 
speculations. From what Aeryn could gather, it wasn't the first incident, far 
from it. Violence was escalating, and the culprits belonged to some terrorist 
group the citizens only referred to as the G'Ken. 

When the ex-Peacekeeper noticed the unusual number of red-suited men in their 
vicinity, she attributed it to increased security patrols following the attack. 
Until she realized that the men were in fact shadowing Moya's crew - not even 
bothering to be inconspicuous. 

She caught D'Argo's attention with a glance. He nodded, letting her know that he 
was aware of the tail himself. Casually, she caught up to John, who was again 
leading the group. 

"I've seen them," Crichton said, before she could attract his attention.

He didn't look at her, staring straight ahead, apparently unconcerned, but she 
was close enough to see muscles clench around his jaw and watch his throat work 
convulsively. His nonchalant swagger wasn't as effortless as it looked. 

Dren. Why couldn't the frelling universe give them a break? 

John didn't need this. 

None of them did. 

She didn't have to look at D'Argo to know that the Luxan was ready to draw his 
blade. He stood close to Stark and Zhaan, and she assumed that he had warned 
them as well. Aeryn counted five shadows behind them, three ahead. And no alley 
close by to use as an escape route. They would have to fight their way out. 

She reached for her weapon.

John's fingers closed around her forearm. "No, Aeryn."

What the frell?

"Crichton, what are you doing?"

He stopped and squinted at her. She could tell that his head was still bothering 
him. He had gotten rid of the bandage, and although the cut above his eye was 
small, it looked angry and swollen. "We're outnumbered. If we open fire here, 
we're toast."

She stared at him, uncomprehending. "You want to surrender?"

"Aeryn, we can't get away, and we can't outgun them. They've been following us 
for a while, and they haven't tried anything. What do you say we chat a little, 
make nice with the friendly Neighborhood Watch? See what they want?"

Wry, deep-set voice which haunted nightmares and dreams alike.

She stared harder. 

John took a deep breath and muttered, "All right, children. Game face on." He 
winked at her. "If they shoot first and ask questions later, you're entitled to 
say 'Crichton, I told you so'."

"John, it's..."

"Insane, mad, crazy," he interjected in sing-song. "Hell, Aeryn, I know. You 
got another idea?"

She knew that tone. That look. John was set on a course of action, and there was 
nothing left for Aeryn Sun to do but stand by him, hold onto her weapon and pick 
up the pieces when he was done.

He turned on his heels and she took off after him, motioning D'Argo and the 
others to stay put. She saw the big Luxan shake his head in resignation. He 
would follow Crichton's lead, as always. 

Rygel hovered close to D'Argo, sneer firmly in place. "What a surprise. The 
Human's gone fahrbot again," he grumbled.

"Silence, Rygel," Zhaan ordered with steel in her voice.

Aeryn trusted the priestess to seize up the situation.

Their escort had stopped when they did. They were standing at attention in the 
middle of the street; a vacuum had opened in the crowd around them. They watched 
John and Aeryn's approach without a flinch, seemingly willing to take their cue 
from their quarry. They wore side-arms - regulation PK pulse pistols - but made 
no move to draw them. 

Aeryn pushed her coat-tail behind her hip to expose her weapon, still holstered. 
John was right on one key point. They were outgunned, and Aeryn had learned the 
hard way that choosing conciliation over fire-power had its upside every once in 
a while. 

She could even acknowledge it out loud without shame. 

John came to stand an arm's length away from one of the soldiers. Judging from 
his posture, the man was likely to be the one in charge - the commanding 
officer. Aeryn surveyed the others, all the while tracking Crichton out of the 
corner of her eye. 

He had adopted a familiar stance - hands on hips, arms akimbo, feet shoulder-
width apart for balance. It wasn't his PK captain impression; he had outgrown 
that over the last few monens. She recognized the bravado from their first 
intrusion in the shadow depository - the reckless confidence in his own 
abilities born of one too many trials, the hint of dangerousness and the subtle 
self-possession. 

She had yet to discover what the frell was a 'kayeffssi'. 

"So what is it this time, people?" John drawled, without preamble. "Have we 
parked our pod outside the yellow lines? You're selling subscriptions to the 
Encyclopaedia Sebacea?" He gestured at their suits. "Can't be Jehovah's 
witnesses, you're the wrong color."

And if the soldiers had caught any of that, Aeryn had a nice gammak base to 
sell, overlooking Nebari Prime. 

When the commanding officer took one rigid step closer to John, she tensed, 
ready to jump into the fray should he attack Crichton. His next words stayed her 
hand before she could reach for her pistol. "Officer Tanol, Your Highness. 
Please accept our apologies. We did not mean to intrude. We have been assigned 
to your protection by the Regent. She wishes you to join her at the palace at 
your earliest convenience."

She got another shock when John burst out laughing. It didn't sound quite right. 
"I... just... sorry--" Crichton shook his head, biting the fleshy end of his 
thumb, eyes rooted to the ground, "for a minute there, I thought you called me 
'Highness'."

Officer Tanol had to be commanded for his impeccable review stance and blank 
face. "If you would accompany us to the palace, Highness, I am sure the Regent 
will answer all your questions." 

John wiped the smirk off his face, deadly serious. "Are we given a choice?"

In the tense silence that followed, Aeryn heard D'Argo, Zhaan, Stark and even 
Rygel gather behind John and herself, closing ranks. To their credit, the 
soldiers didn't react in any way to the sight of an angry Luxan readying his 
Qualta blade for battle. 

Tanol's gaze did not waver when he answered John. "Please, Highness."

Crichton sighed, shoulders hunched. "If I go with you, can my shipmates carry on 
with their business?"

Anger ripped through Aeryn. "No frelling way!"

"John..." Zhaan interceded.

D'Argo growled. "Crichton, what in hezmana...?"

Crichton turned around to confront the rest of the crew. "Look, guys, we came 
here with a purpose." His eyes softened when they found Zhaan's. "You can't 
afford to waste more time, Blue. You get weaker every day. That's a fact. I 
don't think I'm in danger from those guys." 

He was lying through his teeth. Aeryn knew him too well - the aloof self-
sacrificing routine couldn't fool her. John was scared.

"John," Zhaan said, concerned, "I don't believe..."

Crichton lowered his voice. "Aeryn, you take Zhaan outside the dome as planned. 
Rygel and Stark, you go ahead with the information gathering. Looks like it's 
more necessary than ever. D'Argo..."

"Shut the frell up, John."

Crichton's mouth snapped shut.

"We're not leaving you behind," the Luxan said, unperturbed by the Human's dark 
glare, and unwilling to be provoked. 

Aeryn knew that D'Argo recognized the hostility for what it was - John's fear 
masquerading as anger. Driving himself, always, because he didn't know how to 
let anyone else take the lead. Because things had been set this way a long time 
ago. The crew looked to him for plans and directions - for sheer stubbornness - 
and patterns died hard. 

Aeryn frowned. Time there was a change. 

Crichton's jaw was clenched so tight it looked painful. "Haven't you guys 
learned anything? Don't you get tired of this shit? Since I've set foot in this 
frelling galaxy I've landed you in one mess after another. We haven't got time 
for this. Stark, you must see that I'm right-"

"You're right," Aeryn interjected before the Banik could intervene and pound 
John's self-esteem into the ground. It annoyed her to hear John talk like this. 
He was never one to assign blame or shoulder guilt in vain - preferring to act 
rather than wallow. 

She ground her teeth, seething. 

Scorpius's poisoned legacy. 

"We don't have time. So do as D'Argo says. Shut up. We're all going." She didn't 
need to look for Zhaan's acquiescence. The Delvian wouldn't go anywhere without 
John. "We'll do what it takes to fix this, together, like we always do. And 
that's final."

Aeryn sidestepped Crichton, addressing Tanol before John had time to recover. 

"Take us to the Regent, Officer," she snapped. "All of us. Now."





"Pilot?"

"Yes, Chiana?"

"Could you locate Jothee, please?"

"In his quarters, sleeping. Would you like me to wake him?"

"No, thanks... How are you getting on with the scans? Anything I can do to 
help?"

There wasn't anything Chiana could do that Pilot and Moya couldn't handle 
themselves, but it beat staring at the interons. The comatose popsicles were, as 
John said each time they encountered a new eat-us kind of creature, 'giving her 
the crisp'. As to why she spent so much time in the maintenance bay in the first 
place - maybe she was trying to make it harder for Jothee to find her. 

Or was that easier? 

It was difficult to think around the anger and the guilt. 

D'Argo had forbidden them to go down planet-side. He hadn't said it in so many 
words - had even tried to be tactful about it, amazingly enough, by insisting 
someone should remain on board to assist Pilot and watch over the interons, but 
she had known what he was doing. His protectiveness had crossed the line over to 
overt control since Jothee was back, and although she understood where her lover 
came from, she couldn't quite repress her ire.

She had needed to be with Zhaan.

And John, always the mediator, had been too taken up with what she assumed was 
his own grief to reason with the Luxan. 

"Thank you for your assistance, Chiana," Pilot's disembodied voice answered, 
"but I cannot think of anything at the moment. Although I am starting to piece 
together some of the information Crichton asked for, and it looks like our 
arrival on this planet is not the most fortunate."

Chiana didn't like the sound of that. She left maintenance bay three, and made 
her way to Command. "What do you mean, Pilot?" 

"From what I can gather, we arrived in the middle of a civil war."

The young Nebari began to walk faster. "I'm listening."

"The bombing Crichton wanted me to look into is not the first of its kind. The 
attacks have become increasingly frequent and deadly over the last cycle. The 
responsible party is believed to be a group known as the G'Ken."

"Doesn't that mean 'Purity' or something like that?" Chiana interjected. She had 
picked up quite a lot of Sebacean in her travels. This was an older form of the 
word, but still close enough that she recognized the meaning.

"Indeed," Pilot confirmed. He sounded surprised. 

"So what do they want?"

"From what I understand of the local politics, they are trying to overthrow the 
royal family."

"Revolutionaries? Drad," Chiana muttered. "That's just drad."

"This hardly seems like a good thing, Chiana," said Pilot reproachfully.

"I was being sarcastic."

"Ah, yes."

Chiana entered Command, striding to one of the control consoles. Pilot's image 
appeared on the clamshell. 

"So what have they got against the royals?"

"I managed to access some of the planet's official records. I didn't dare 
venture too deeply, in case my intrusion was traced back. Moya is not an 
intelligence-gathering vessel..."

"Pilot," Chiana muttered between clenched teeth.

She didn't know who rambled the most - Pilot or Crichton. 

Pilot had the good grace to look contrite. "Hmm, yes, Chiana. It appears that 
the G'Ken does not approve of the royal family's endorsement of the religious 
caste. They seem to think that a more traditional Sebacean organization of 
society is the proper way. They have called for the main temple to be destroyed 
and the orders disbanded. The G'Ken has been a vocal opposition for many cycles. 
They had legitimate political representation until a cycle ago, when they 
suddenly went underground. That's when the violence started."

"There's no indication as to why they suddenly decided to plant bombs all over 
the place? Was their position threatened by the royals or something?"

"I have not been able to find any information on the subject. However, I have 
only accessed official records. Those could have been censured."

Chiana hung her head over the console, reviewing the data Pilot had gathered. 
"That's not good, Pilot. Not good at all."

"The others should be made aware of the danger, indeed."

"That's not what I meant," she said, frowning. Shivers coursed up and down her 
spine. 

This was always a bad sign. Rattlers, John said. Reptiles. He had drawn 
one for her, and she envisioned the disgusting creatures now, coiling in her 
stomach. 

"D'Argo wasn't the only one who got to listen to Rygel ramble over and 
over about the breakaway colonies' politics, and I've heard him and Aeryn 
discuss Ectani before they went planet-side. This colony's sphere of influence 
is small compared to the royal system, but they are allies. Their royal families 
are related, right? This place would make a great Peacekeeper outpost. It's just 
that the Peacekeepers can't overtly take over because the royal system would be 
all over them in a microt - threaten to align with the Scarrans or something. It 
would be a mess. But if they were to take over covertly..."

Perplexed silence from Pilot. 

What? Did he think she was Nerri's little sister for nothing? That she had 
survived that long without listening to conversations around her? Without 
understanding anything of politics? She might be bent on personal survival, but 
she knew there was a whole universe out there. 

She had to live in it. 

"I'm just speculating, Pilot." She spent too much time around Crichton. She was 
beginning to make things up as she went along. "But you said the G'Ken promoted 
a more traditional Sebacean society, so they would be more receptive to 
Peacekeeper doctrine. They've been peaceful for cycles and suddenly they've got 
weapons, bombs... they threaten the stability of their own planet... Can we say 
'Peacekeeper Special Directorate'?"

She waited expectantly as Pilot ran her conjectures through his multi-tasking 
brain. 

His eyebrows - or what passed for them - drooped. "I believe your hypothesis 
could be sound, Chiana. I will contact Crichton right away. Even if the 
Peacekeepers are not involved, our friends should stay clear of the political 
conflict. This information will be useful." 

Chiana hugged herself, watching Ectani Prime rotate languidly through the main 
view-screen. "Vek. They have no idea what they're walking into."





The Regent was not what John had in mind. He had pictured more or less a carbon 
copy of the royal planet's Empress, and he kept waiting for counselor Tyno to 
come to his rescue. She hardly looked a day over twenty. If this was the best 
they could come up with, he didn't want to know what had happened to the 
remainder of the royal family. 

She was small, about Chiana's height. Pretty in an almost androgynous way - 
slender bone structure, pale skin, transparent gray eyes, innocent mouth, boyish 
hands joined at waist level. She wore her hair short - strawberry blond curls, 
which framed delicate cheekbones. 

The Regent stood in what John assumed to be the main audience chamber. She 
seemed to be expecting them, although Crichton hadn't noticed any of the 
soldiers reach for any kind of communication device since their 'arrest'. For 
lack of a better word. 

Or was he meant to believe that this was a social call? 

//Fame. Gotta love it.//

He squashed the slight hysterical laugh that wanted to bubble up his throat and 
viciously ignored the quiet despair, which ripped through his insides when he 
thought of his unborn child. The pain dulled a little each day - more through 
sheer resignation than the healing balm of time. John had once thought that he 
would make a good father. He wasn't so sure now. If he was meant to protect a 
child's innocence through the formative years of its life, shouldn't he have 
some left for himself? 

His head was still pounding, but he kept his hand to his side rather than try to 
massage the tension out of his forehead. No need to give further sign of 
weakness. Although the jagged cut above his right eye was bound to be a dead 
giveaway. 

The edifice was quite similar to the palace on the royal planet - dark corridors 
and high windows - although the walls and floors were not pristine white, but a 
deep, golden bronze. In fact, the audience room reminded John a little of Moya's 
main chamber, save for the much, much higher ceiling. 

And the armed guards lining the walls. 

What was the ratio of back-stabbers to PK spies in this charming little place? 

The Regent strode up to him, rather than wait for him to come up to her, as 
would have been proper. Inexperience or convenient facade, he couldn't tell. It 
wasn't the first time John was thrown into a situation without the slightest 
clue as to what was going on; it didn't mean that he had learned to like it. 
Nevertheless, he decided to play the game. He wasn't the only one involved this 
time, and outspokenness would only take him so far. The others had agreed to let 
him handle this, since he was the primary target, and he couldn't let them down. 
He swallowed his annoyance and a stinging retort. Time to turn on the Southern 
charm. 

His mother would be so proud. 

An unidentified blur zoomed past, pulling him out of his thoughts. "Your 
Majesty, I am Rygel the Sixteenth, Dominar of Hyneria, sovereign to..."

"Not now, Sparky," Crichton growled, pulling the little Hynerian back by his 
throne-sled. He ignored Rygel's affronted sputtering. When the Regent was close 
enough that he could count the freckles on her colorless cheeks, he bowed his 
head a little. "Your Highness."

She looked even smaller from up close. Her skin-tight, matte, gold leather suit 
did nothing to accentuate her stature. Her voice was surprisingly deep, accented 
in a way he had come to associate with Sebaceans. "Welcome, cousin."

That he hadn't expected. 

His companions fidgeted nervously behind him. Judging by the quality of their 
silence, they were as lost as he. "Cousin?" 

"I am Tesha, Regent of Ectani. My dynasty is related by blood to the dynasty of 
Princess Katralla. You are Katralla's consort and future Regent of the royal 
system. You are therefore my cousin." She didn't smile. "Family."

//What family? The Addams? The fucking Medicis?//

How, for the love of all that was holy, did he get himself into these messes? 
"Uh, Highness... I think there's been some kind of misunderstanding..."

"Please," Tesha interrupted. "What we have to discuss is for our ears only. My 
guards will escort your friends..."

John was already shaking his head, hackles rising. "Stop right there, lady. 
Whatever you have to say to me, you can say in front of them. I have no secrets 
for my shipmates. Deal with it." He couldn't see Aeryn standing at his back, but 
imagined she was already dropping into a fighting stance - cursing his name to 
hell and back. At least, they hadn't been relieved of their weapons, which in 
itself made no sense. 

Tesha didn't look happy, but she relented. She signaled her guard, and the 
soldiers filed out, leaving Moya's crew alone with the Regent and Officer Tanol. 
Either Tesha knew a lot more about Crichton than John was comfortable 
considering, or she was pretty fond of unnecessary risks. She didn't behave like 
the sovereign of a kingdom threatened by terrorism. 

His comms burst to life. "Commander Crichton."

"Yes, Pilot?" he replied, never looking away from Tesha. Taking the 
communication was a mark of disrespect, but he didn't want to find himself 
trapped or otherwise dead for the sake of protocol. If a command carrier or 
something equally nasty had entered orbit, he wanted to know. Been there, done 
that - and it wasn't much fun the first time around.

"I have the information you asked for regarding the bombing. Chiana has also 
contributed significantly to my analysis."

That sounded like something he wanted to hear. But not yet. "Pilot, I'm kinda in 
the middle of something. I'm gonna have to call you back."

"But, Commander..."

"I. Really. Can't. Talk. Right. Now. I'll be in touch A.S.A.P. Or one of the 
others will."

He killed the transmission. //A.S.A.P.// Pilot was going to spend the rest of 
the day wondering if John had used some kind of code.

"Sorry for the interruption, Highness."

Tesha's expression was unreadable. There wasn't nearly enough light in this 
room. The high windows were covered by heavy drapes. 

Shadows roamed. 

"I apologize if my guards alarmed you, cousin," Tesha said, disregarding his 
half-hearted apology. "I only sent them to insure your protection. Of course, I 
knew who you were as soon as your leviathan came into our orbit. I just thought 
preferable not to contact you on an open channel."

"Wow, wow. Back up. First, let's cut the 'cousin' crap. I'm John. Second, how 
did you hear about me in the first place? The Empress had all records sealed."

Tesha eyed him as if he was the stupidest of life-forms. He would recognize that 
look anywhere. "What kind of a Regent would I be if I didn't know what was 
happening in my own family?"

"So basically, you're spying on your allies," Crichton said. 

She shrugged. "As I am sure they are spying on us. Why does that bother you?"

He shook his head, dismissing the question. "Forget it." He was too tired for 
head-games. "If you're that well informed, you must know I'm not really Regent. 
It was all a scam. I'm not the one playing pigeon-stool with Katralla right now. 
So although I appreciate the house-call, I think we're gonna leave you alone and 
just get on with our business, okay?"

He made to turn around, but Tesha's hand on his shoulder stopped him. "You are 
Katralla's consort, John. The vows have been exchanged. She carries your 
offspring."

That hurt.

Not so dulled after all. 

"You are family."

Aeryn was standing closer and he drew comfort from her presence. He wondered in 
passing how she felt about hearing of Katralla again, then dismissed the thought 
as futile. She would be angry, jealous; that was a given. Aeryn felt deeply, 
despite appearances. She didn't always know how to govern her own emotions, 
which only strengthened her decision to stay the hell away from him. 

So many nails in his coffin.

"Fine," John said, going along with Tesha's logic. "Then why didn't you get in 
touch as soon as we landed?"

"'Get in... touch?'," the sovereign echoed, puzzled. 

"Contacted us. Why wait?"

She didn't reply. She didn't need to.

"Ah, yes," he said, chuckling, answering his own question. "You were spying on 
us. Wanted to know what we were doing here."

Tesha didn't bother to deny his accusation. "Indeed. However, after the... 
incident, I realized that your safety could be at risk and ordered my guards to 
reveal themselves. Bring you to me."

"And we are very grateful for your protection, Highness," Rygel declared 
obsequiously.

John opened his mouth to offer a reply of his own... but the words wouldn't 
come.

He was tired.

Tired.

Zhaan was wasting away, and this kid in seventies bondage gear was playing mind 
games.

John let his head fall back, staring at the ceiling. In this light, the bronze 
covering looked like diseased skin. Clogged, burst capillaries. 

He wanted out of this place. 

"Okay," he said softly, swinging his attention back to the young Regent, 
"enough. You didn't invite us over for tea and crackers. And I was just a 
convenient blow-up doll for your cousin. So what do you want, lady?"

Tesha blinked owlishly, big gray eyes holding him in place. Her impenitent, 
expressionless face was beginning to creep him out. If she weren't so pretty, 
she would look dead. A waif. Whatever was going through her calculating, icy 
little mind, he wasn't going to like it. 

"I require your... assistance."

He couldn't help but tense. //Calm down, Johnny. You're not alone this time.// 
As long as Aeryn didn't go trekking in the forest with some of the locals, he 
would be fine. "Sorry, don't wanna carry your children."

She disregarded the interruption. The kid caught up fast. "Your reputation 
precedes you, John Crichton."

"Yeah, you said that already."

Where was she going with this? 

"Not that reputation."

Sarcasm. Progress, at last. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You have eluded the Peacekeepers for over two cycles, destroyed a gammak base 
and more recently a shadow depository. Information travels."

"You've got little spies everywhere," John muttered. "Yeah, I know, I know. I'm 
family. I'm a pet project... What is it that you think my--" he sneaked a glance 
at Aeryn and D'Argo on either side of him, "our reputation can do for you?"

That kind of fame he couldn't wait to share. 

"Have you heard of the G'Ken?"

He nodded non-committally. "They're responsible for the bombing today. I don't 
know anything about the 'why'. And I really don't care."

Tesha broke out of her rigid stance, stepping away from her bodyguard, and began 
circling John. She passed by Aeryn without touching her, barely a few inches 
between them, ignoring the armed woman. Aeryn's eyes flashed with rage. Crichton 
wanted to reach out to her, but he couldn't. Tesha didn't need to know what kind 
of bond existed between the crewmates. Information was power, leverage. She had 
too much of both already. 

"G'Ken signifies 'purity' or 'rectitude'. It's an ancient Sebacean word. Its 
true meaning is not easy to translate. G'Ken was the name given to members of 
the warrior caste who had been, shall we say, at odds with the religious caste 
for cycles. The strife was mostly political, matters of influence at the court, 
nothing more. Until a cycle ago, when most of the G'Ken disappeared, and the 
violence started."

"What are they trying to achieve?" John asked, worrying his lower lip, curious 
in spite of himself. 

D'Argo shifted. The big guy was starting to get impatient. 

That was not a good thing. 

Tesha shrugged, still pacing. "Take power, overthrow the royal family, destroy 
the religious caste-"

"Rejoin the Peacekeepers," Crichton interjected between clenched teeth. 

Tesha whipped around. He was so unprepared for the display of anger that he took 
a step back. "No!" the Regent bit out. "The G'Ken believes we have betrayed our 
Sebacean heritage by embracing alien creeds, but their hatred of the 
Peacekeepers runs as deep as that of any other colonist."

"All right," John said to appease the ruffled sovereign. "Why did the G'Ken 
decide to go from legitimate political group to terrorist movement overnight?"

Tesha froze, fists clenched. "My... aunt, the queen, was ill-advised. She 
planned to have the members of the G'Ken arrested."

"And someone leaked the info," John sighed, understanding. He tried to rub out 
some of the tension building between his eyes. He needed to sit down.

"That's when the G'Ken went underground. Two monens later, they planted their 
first bomb. Here. Inside the palace." Life drained like sand out of her 
features. So young and so hard. "We were celebrating the birth of the queen's 
first heir. My cousin. The infant and I were the sole survivors."

"I'm sorry for your loss," John said, "but I still don't see what this has to do 
with me."

Tesha pursed her lips, as if tasting something sour. "I... Ectani Prime doesn't 
have the experience or the resources to fight the G'Ken. We have never known any 
major war, certainly no civil conflict. We rely mostly on intelligence, 
information-gathering, for security purposes. And since the warrior caste is 
involved, I cannot trust anyone, not even my personal guard."

Officer Tanol stiffened. John wondered if there was more between them than met 
the eye. The Regent paused in front of him, steely gray irises daring him to 
call attention to Ectani's security failures. For the first time, he looked past 
the coldness, the haughtiness and the defiance, and realized how much the 
admission was costing Tesha. 

"I need your help to eradicate the G'Ken."

Aeryn had had enough. "We're sorry, Tesha," no mark of respect there, "but we 
have other commitments. Now if you don't mind, we're leaving."

The Regent was unmoved.

John guessed what was coming and managed to stifle an inappropriate, derisive 
chuckle. "Look, I appreciate your situation, Highness, but there's nothing we 
can do for you. We're not mercenaries, and we're not professional soldiers. What 
you're talking about could take monens, and with our track record, you really 
don't want us to hang around that long. Trust me."

"Well done, John. Calm and rational. I'm proud of you."

//Now is not a good time for your paternal instincts to kick in, Scorpy.//

He snapped himself back to reality, expecting Tesha's ire, but the Regent was 
looking at him with eyes as calm and clear as the dome overhead. "I need your 
expertise," Tesha said. 

"No." John shook his head. "No way. What do you think I am? Gun-for-hire?" Even 
as he denied it, he knew. The young Regent was too confident. She already had 
the means to manipulate him into doing her bidding. And she hadn't even taken a 
goddamn number. 

This was not - //not// - happening again. 

No fucking way. 

"We don't have time for this, we don't--"

"Stark!"

The Banik had been admirably restrained until now, no doubt due to Zhaan's 
influence. John hadn't expected him to keep silent that long, but they couldn't 
give away the reason for their presence on Ectani. 

"Stark, please," John repeated in a softer voice, not turning around. He didn't 
want to confront Stark's despondent agony, or Zhaan's enduring strength. It 
would only drive home the shame, and make it harder to breathe.

His life was one big, three-ringed circus. 

//What's black-and-white, black-and-white, black-and-white...//

Spinning. Always spinning. 

He wanted off the ride. 

Tesha's hands were intertwined in front of her. There was neither sympathy, nor 
compassion - not a hint of remorse - marring her juvenile features. She danced 
with the shadows. Sucked the light out of the room. "I am aware of your Delvian 
friend's condition," the Regent remarked, as if discussing the weather. "I 
understand Ectani's soil is what she needs."

John didn't stop to wonder how Tesha had come by this information. Her spies 
could have eavesdropped on any of their conversations. 

He had run out of words. There was nothing to say.

"How dare you?" Zhaan snapped, sharp and angrier than John remembered her being 
for a long time. "I will not allow you to use me as a vulgar bargaining tool, 
child!" The Delvian was seething. This time, it was Stark restraining his lover, 
shushing her, pleading with her to spare her strength. 

"That's it," Aeryn interjected. "We're leaving."

"I'll cover you," D'Argo growled, converting his blade. 

"Well, yotz. Every single time I smell power, the Human has to frell with a 
princess..."

John clung to the silence amid the raised voices. Calmness of defeat. He knew 
it well. A last moment of stillness before going EVA without a suit. Motionless 
determination as he surrendered to Scorpius and traded himself for Jothee. The 
numbness was soothing, comfortable. Familiar. 

It heralded lucidity. 

Tesha seemed unperturbed by the ruckus, by his friends' show of force. Her 
stillness called to his. He stood very close - and wondered in passing what 
could have happened in such a short life to rip the light from her eyes. He 
hoped, for her sake, that it was nothing like what had happened to him. 

That it wasn't irreversible. 

"Zhaan needs to leave the dome," he stated. 

"John, what are you doing--"

"Crichton--"

"Please, Zhaan, Aeryn. Let me finish." He kept his attention on the Regent. 
"Tesha, Zhaan can't stay here."

"I could not possibly let her venture outside the dome without an armed escort. 
It is too dangerous. And if you do not help me, I cannot spare the men to 
accompany her."

He was cold. "She needs her friends around her now."

"You are royalty, John. The G'Ken threatens you as they do me. It would be 
prudent for you to remain inside the palace." She had the decency to offer him 
the illusion of choice. Of dignity. Small favors. "I know you have been told 
that the Banik and the Luxan would not be able to leave the dome, but there are 
ways. They will be free to escort your friend while you remain here. To help 
me."

Aeryn's fingers thread through his own. "John." Her voice was deep and limpid. 
This voice had once told him about love. "You don't have to do this. You must 
take some time to think about it. There has to be another way." She held his 
hand tight. "John. You're not alone."

"I know that. But there's no time. You take Zhaan. You go now. Well, as soon as 
Stark's problem is fixed." He wanted to plead with her not to argue; he had 
showed enough weakness for one day. Sometimes appearances were all a man had to 
cling to for support when fear came knocking. And John had learned to pretend 
with the best of them. "I'll be here when you return."

"I'm not going anywhere, Crichton." She shook her head, refusing to hear him 
when he tried to interrupt. "D'Argo and Stark can go with Zhaan. You're staying, 
I'm staying too. That's final."

He hung his head, hiding the flood of relief. He should have tried harder to 
make her leave, for her own safety, but he was powerless to convince himself - 
least of all her. 

Tesha was waiting for his answer.

"I'll stay. I still think it's a complete waste of your time, but I'll do what I 
can to... help you stop the G'Ken. You make sure Zhaan is escorted outside the 
dome as soon as D'Argo and Stark are clear from the danger of the radiation. 
Agreed?"

The Regent bowed her head a little. It could have passed for a mark of respect. 
"Agreed, John Crichton. I thank you." Tesha frowned. "You have been injured," 
she said, pointing at the cut on his forehead. "My healers will tend to you." 
She eyed him coolly. "You should rest. The next few days will be trying."

He believed her. 




Patterns. Logic. A life of schemes. Order ushered in reprieve, bred certitude 
and arrogance. Sustained authority. Meaning had been sought from the beginning. 
The knowledge that his birth had not been willful - for who, in their right 
mind, would have brought him deliberately into the world? The understanding that 
he had been kept alive for a purpose. 

Discernment. Control.

Patterns.

Scorpius was unlike other Peacekeepers in more ways than genetics. He was 
willing to take responsibility, where others only looked to shift the blame, 
avoid the consequences, driven by fear, incapable of seeing past their 
immediate discomfort to consider the bigger picture. 

He was unique. 

Like John. 

In many twisted ways, they were deformed reflections of each other. He was 
beginning to see that now.

Patterns. 

He found himself spending many arns dissecting their bond with the clarity of 
hindsight and all the sharpness of his considerable powers of analysis. 

John was not his equal. How could he be? Inferior species, from a primitive 
world. Impaired by emotions he could not control. Scorpius thrived on 
discipline. Strength of mind held his warring natures together, just as his 
thermal suit allowed him to survive an impossible cohabitation. 

John had tapped into a similar strength to survive their first encounter, and 
everything that came after. Scorpius had violated the Human's thoughts often 
enough - first with the Chair, then in the shadow depository, and finally with 
the neural implant - to map out the changes in John. A strong edifice built on 
shaky foundations. None of it made sense, but Scorpius excelled at solving 
conundrums. Yet where Crichton struggled to impose order - regain control - 
Scorpius only saw chaos and confusion. John's alien consciousness had stopped 
making sense - had it ever? - and was defeating him even now. 

He should have given more credit to the complexity and sophistication of John's 
brain. Scorpius had never been confronted with an unsolvable equation, and he 
now faced two: John Crichton and wormhole technology. How utterly vexing that 
one should be the key to the other. It was time to shoulder responsibility and 
move on - look ahead to the broader picture. He needed the Human's help. Rage, 
humiliation, all of it had to be set aside for the sake of the greater goal. It 
was a simple matter of discipline. Giving into the anger, the dark urge to go 
after John, capture the Human and make him suffer as Scorpius had suffered, rip 
out screams of mercy falling on deaf ears - exact revenge and temporary 
satisfaction - would be surrendering to his Scarran heritage. As a Peacekeeper, 
he could not waste time and resources. 

So very ironic that John brought out the Scarran in him, the very thing the 
Human's knowledge could help him eradicate. Therein lay the ambivalence of his 
impulses towards Crichton. Unthinking anger and objective need coalescing to 
challenge his hard-won control. To be dependent on John's cooperation in order 
to win the single most important battle of his existence was an insult to the 
keenness of his mind, but it was time to surrender to logic and seek the Human's 
cooperation. 

By any means necessary. 

"Sir. Communications have opened a secure channel to High Command, as you 
requested."

Scorpius didn't look away from the console, which had been holding his attention 
for the past seven arns. The holograms spun in front of his eyes, evading him, 
taunting him. Cruel illusion of victory. True genius was the ability to hold two 
contradictory concepts in mind at the same time. He had not expected the Human 
to be capable of such feat. 

"Sir?"

"I heard you the first time, lieutenant."

Braca's long-suffering silence brought a thin smile to Scorpius's blackened 
mouth. He stood, marching out of the lab, heading for the communication center. 
Braca fell in step behind him. 

"While I inform High Command of the latest," - he licked his lips - "unfortunate 
development, I want you to send out a wide-dispersal priority Red One message 
coded to all operatives in the Uncharted Territories. It is imperative that we 
locate John Crichton as quickly as possible." 

"Sir, our resources are very limited. It will be difficult to follow up on--"

Scorpius's hand cut through the air. "High Command will send us all the 
reinforcements we need, I assure you. Reports of Scarran forces massing at the 
borders of the Uncharted Territories are coming in with increasing frequency. We 
need that technology, Braca. High Command knows this as well as I do. Time is 
running out. If we cannot access the chip's information, we are as good as 
dead."

"There's still a chance our tech specialists could break the code."

Was that Braca trying to make him feel better? He found the idea highly amusing. 
"I do not share your optimism, Lieutenant. I have to confess that in the 
beginning I found this puzzle entertaining. Now I just find it... excruciatingly 
annoying. The Ancients used sequences of concepts which must be indigenous to 
Crichton's culture and his personal history to create the code. We will never 
find the proper combination on our own." The anger rose again and he struggled 
to smother it. "Make very clear in your message that finding Crichton must take 
precedence over all ongoing missions. Capture is authorized, but I want him 
unharmed. Completely unharmed, Braca."

"Yes, Sir. Should I order the techs to ready the Chair for extraction?"

Scorpius paused before entering the communication center, facing Braca with a 
snide, closed smile. "Ah... I'm afraid the Chair will not do it this time, 
Lieutenant. I need more than John's memories. I need access to his higher brain 
functions. And the Chair can be... rather unforgiving." Although Braca remained 
impassible, Scorpius could tell that the lieutenant thought those last words to 
be quite the understatement. "I thought that I would simply try to... ask 
nicely."

Staring. Braca was definitely staring now, and Scorpius found that he was quite 
enjoying the lieutenant's chagrin, as always. "Crichton gave himself up for the 
Luxan's son. I do think he would be convinced to cooperate again if he was 
informed of the threat the Scarrans represent. To himself, his friends and even 
his home world."

"And if he cannot be enticed, Sir?"

Scorpius bared his teeth, hard-pressed to stifle the growl building in his 
chest. "Then we will have to consider other means of persuasion."




D'Argo hadn't said a word, and that in itself was a bit disturbing. Rygel was 
off on a food binge, abusing the Regent's hospitality. Comfort of the expected. 
Tesha's healers had come to collect Stark. They would be back for D'Argo later. 
Crichton had been insistent. Take care of the others first, then he would submit 
himself to their examination. In truth, Aeryn could tell that the healers were 
not high on his list of favorite persons at the moment. He had had enough of 
being prodded, poked, and scanned to last him a lifetime, just like she had had 
enough of ice and snow. 

She knew that his head was still bothering him. With Zhaan drilling holes in his 
skull, it wouldn't get better anytime soon. He stood, back against the wall in 
one of the chambers Tesha had set aside for them as living quarters, deceptively 
at ease. His tired, unsettled eyes told a different story. His movements were 
stilted, lacking their usual grace. 

She wanted to let him go, let him sleep, but she had to contend with fatigue and 
deceptions of her own. She was wary of pushing, prodding at the wall he had 
erected for fear that he would retreat deeper inside his shell. She knew that 
wall very well. Funny that he should erect his barricades when hers were 
crumbling down. It was a new kind of gift, one she wasn't sure how to accept. 
The privilege to look inside herself by simply watching him. 

So why wasn't she laughing? 

There were things he didn't want them to see. Secrets. Secrets weren't something 
she had ever associated with John. It was foolish, of course. Everyone had 
secrets, at the very least willful omissions. Why would John be any different? 

He was hiding. It made her want to hunt him down. Did he feel that way around 
her, when confusion meant retreat, evasion, harsh words destined to push him 
away, declarations of love she would not follow through? It was still awkward - 
trying to see through someone else's eyes. 

//They say you have to walk a mile in someone else's shoes to understand them.//

It came with the territory, came with caring for another. 

It was more than a little frightening. 

"I am not a pawn to be played with!" Zhaan was angry. Aeryn had gone as far as 
checking the color of her eyes from up close. Still blue. Could have fooled her. 
There was nothing weak or sickly about the Delvian. The priestess stood tall and 
unyielding in front of Crichton, fists clenched, lips pressed into a thin, 
unforgiving line. "You had no right to make such a decision for me."

"I understand, Zhaan, but--"

"I believe I have earned a little more respect."

Aeryn heard John's sharp intake of breath over the sound of her own blood 
rushing in her ears. 

"Zhaan, please--"

"No, John. I thought you were past making choices for the rest of us. I can see 
now that I was wrong."

Crichton flinched. Aeryn watched the scene unfold with morbid fascination. She 
wanted to stop Zhaan, help John, but she couldn't bring herself to derail the 
priestess's righteous anger. Short of restraining Zhaan, which was out of the 
question, she wouldn't know how. It wasn't her place. In a little corner of her 
mind, she could even convince herself that John deserved the lashing. D'Argo's 
stern expression spoke of similar thoughts. 

Aeryn found herself wishing for Stark. The Banik and the Delvian had a way of 
balancing each other. 

John pushed away from the wall. His hands were trembling a little. He swallowed, 
shoulders hunkered. "I'm... I'm sorry."

"Apologies are not the answer to everything, John." 

Aeryn couldn't imagine how much that hurt. 

"I... ah... I've got to..." He looked at the ground, raised his eyes up again 
with a visible effort. "Take care of yourself, Zhaan. I hope you find... what 
you need."

Aeryn didn't like to see him withdraw. It wasn't like Crichton at all, yet so 
little was these days. Something was very, very wrong with him.

John walked past Zhaan, past the rest of them, and left the room. 

Aeryn didn't move. Waited for Zhaan, who was breathing slowly, to calm herself. 
A moment later, the Delvian seemed to deflate, lassitude undermining her strong 
carriage. Her shoulders bore the weight of every one of her eight hundred 
cycles. D'Argo stepped forward, offering his arm in support. 

"Go after him, Aeryn," the priestess whispered. Her blue eyes were grieving. 

The ex-Peacekeeper turned around, following Crichton. 




One foot in front of the other. Breathe slowly, but not too deep. Drive away the 
gray edge around his vision. His chest hurt, his hands were clammy, shivers 
running up and down his spine. He had to sit down. Outside. Get some fresh air - 
as fresh as the dome would allow anyway. Escape the walls closing in on him. 

He had tried to leave the palace. Had been intercepted by a couple of Tesha's 
very polite guards. He hadn't argued with them. He couldn't. His mouth was dry, 
throat was too tight, no words would come. 

He stumbled onto a terrace like a blind man. Sat down, hard, when his knees hit 
a bench. He couldn't see... couldn't see... Nausea swelled at the back of his 
esophagus and the panic rose with it. He couldn't be sick here - no, no no. He 
bent forward, head between in legs. Shallow breaths. He knew the drill. 

Maxime knew all about these things. Psychology 101, she would have said. Anxiety 
attack. Post-traumatic disorder. Jesus, did he qualify. He wanted to laugh, but 
he didn't have the oxygen to spare. 

Maxime... her image had not faded over the years and remained crystal-clear, 
even if she was confined to the periphery of his thoughts in a little box 
labeled 'too painful to dwell on', where she kept his mother company. He had 
been thinking about her a lot since the surgery - one of those memories he had 
been unwilling to sacrifice. He didn't like to question just how badly the 
diagnosian had screwed with his brain. //Attempt... replace... you... normal.// 
Well, fuck. Did he look normal now? 

He wrapped his arms around himself, digging his fingers into the flesh of his 
sides with bruising force. The sharp pain helped a little. He was so cold. Buzz 
in his ears. Reality was a place very, very far-away. 

For fuck's sake, Johnny, calm down. 

He didn't think anyone would be coming after him, but he couldn't take the risk 
of being found like this. Shit, shit, shit, it hurt. He was rocking, back and 
forth, back and forth, comforting himself, because there was no one else to do 
it for him.

Losing it. Completely losing it. 

He had been for a while, and didn't know how much longer he could keep it hidden 
from the others. There were panic attacks after the gammak base; they had 
alleviated around the time he began hallucinating Scorpy - the clone at work, 
altering his brain chemistry to insure John didn't do something drastic like 
play Russian Roulette with Wynona, knowing he could only lose. After that, there 
had been little time for fear, only madness on a downward slope. 

The attacks had recurred since the surgery. And the nightmares. It wasn't like 
before - hallucinations so vivid he could touch them - more like half-formed 
memories twisted beyond recognition, fever dreams, hellish visions, night 
terrors beginning to seep into his waking hours like a malignant disease. They 
were getting harder to subdue and he was terrified of losing it in front of his 
shipmates. Their trust in him was shaky enough as it was. 

All he needed was some uninterrupted sleep. A full day's rest without feeling 
like he owed his crewmates an apology, and he would be fine. But now this... 
Frosty the Snow Bitch manipulating him, Aeryn angry and distant, Zhaan pissed at 
him... Whatever it was - delayed-onset post-traumatic reaction or the surgery 
scrambling his memory centers - he was terrified that he wouldn't be able to 
hold it together, keep up the pretense for much longer. Not that he had a 
choice. Zhaan came first. 

Wind him up. Watch him spin. 

John blinked hard, fighting off the tears building up at the back of his throat. 
Shit, oh, God. Small black spots swam across his vision. 

He couldn't go back. Back before Scorpius. Before the wormhole. He would never 
be who he once was. And he couldn't go forward. His future was an endless stream 
of jumbled images, flashbacks of failures and torture, Scorpy's ugly grinning 
face every time he closed his eyes and Harvey the only one still willing to talk 
to him. Smiles, smokescreens and jokes - human nonsense to cover up the cracks. 

He could only go down.

He was panting like a lost puppy now; if he kept this up much longer, he would 
faint. He hugged himself tighter. Breathe, Johnny, breathe. He thought of simple 
things. Sunday brunches at the old family house in Charlotte. Playing little 
league on warm Saturday afternoons, the extended Crichton clan screaming their 
heads off in the stands. Sneaking into the Hasty Pudding Club in the middle of 
the night to surprise Maxime on Halloween. She had been pretty sick by then, 
even if she showed none of it. The traditional Harvard-MIT raft race on the 
Charles in the spring. Celebrating the successful funding of the Farscape 
project with Alex, DK and his father - mourning those who couldn't be present 
with too much champagne. A peaceful, sleepless night on Maxime's grave, a week 
before the flight, sharing his hopes and dreams with her, like he hadn't in a 
long time. Not even bothered that she couldn't talk back at him. 

Bittersweet places. Home. God.

He giggled, and the sound wrapped around a sob. Funny how his dreams hadn't 
featured anything about living ships, stubborn Peacekeeper commandos, sadistic 
scientists, killing the love of his life and nervous breakdowns. 

"Want me to hold your hand?" Caustic feminine voice, a familiar trail of wood, 
green cypress, old leather, silk and breath mints. Short-nailed fingertips on 
his cheek.

He snapped his eyes open with a start. 

Found himself kneeling on the ground with no idea how he got there. Another 
blackout. 

Maxime. Oh God, Maxime. Was she haunting him now too? 

He grabbed onto the bench to give himself a push. His heart-rate was slowing 
down, his breathing was more regular - his vision clearing up - but the headache 
still lanced through him. A couple of Extra-Strength Tylenols would really hit 
the spot. 

Get your act together, pal. 

His own kind of hero - right. The kind that came with psychotropic 
prescriptions. Cooker without the relief valve. What would his father say? 

He sat, facing the dome, the city sprawled underneath, not seeing any of it. 
Wishing the pulsar light would warm him up a little. 




Aeryn tracked him down to a terrace overlooking the temple. He had tried to walk 
as far as he could, probably got turned around by sentries when he attempted to 
exit the palace, and found this place, the closest thing to freedom he could 
achieve. 

He sat on a bench, hunched like an old man, almost a perfect recreation of their 
conversation the previous night, except that he wasn't on the ledge. Perhaps he 
didn't trust himself so close to nothingness. Like then, Aeryn didn't have 
the words to reach him, the momentum to trample all over her fears, her 
confusion, her daily struggle with the past, the present, things that didn't 
make any sense. Before... before, there had been the hallucinations of Scorpius, 
then the chip. Whatever was wrong now - had been wrong since the surgery, or 
since forever really - she had no clue. If she didn't understand the problem, 
she couldn't solve it. And John wasn't talking. 

Frelling hezmana. It hurt. She didn't care to wonder about it for once, just 
accepted that the pain was there. Was this her lesson for the day? If she didn't 
hold onto that frelling emotional dren, just let it flow through her, didn't try 
to force it into a neat Peacekeeper box just to prove to herself that it 
wouldn't fit, it might not hurt so badly. John had a way of teaching her even 
when he wasn't trying. 

"Zhaan was upset," she said. Why not? It was the truth. Zhaan was upset. She 
could even tell John that the Delvian hadn't really meant the accusations. It 
would be true also. The priestess had berated him about stolen choices and 
forced decisions to avoid voicing her real grievance. 

//What do you think I am? Gun-for-hire?//

That was more or less what Tesha had asked of John. And he had said yes. For 
Zhaan's sake. And Zhaan - dying Zhaan - didn't want that ultimate stain on her 
soul before reuniting with her goddess. Zhaan was not a warrior. The idea of 
John killing for her made her sick. Aeryn could have explained, but she had a 
feeling Crichton already knew. He often did. It was almost distressing, to 
fathom how few secrets they had for John. He could look at them and grasp their 
innermost thoughts just because he cared enough to listen. 

Aeryn didn't sit. Just stood over him, a hand on his shoulder. He winced a 
little and she removed it. There was still a discolored bruise where the Scarran 
had hit him three weekens ago. The shoulder had been dislocated. Sometimes she 
forgot how fragile his human body was. She forced herself to forget, or she 
would never be able to take him into danger again. 

//I love you.

//I love you too.//

Her throat was tight. It wasn't from his warm proximity, or the memory of his 
arms around her, of being reintroduced to life. She ruffled his hair, and he 
bowed his head a little, like a Ketian cat allowing itself to be petted. 

"Are you still angry with me?" 

The question threw her, but she didn't stop caressing him. She let her fingers 
trail down the smooth column of his neck, over the broad shoulders, the strong 
chest and came to rest on his waist as she kneeled in front of him. She tilted 
her head to capture his eyes. Red-rimmed. So blue. So worn. Squinted in pain. 
The headache wasn't letting up. 

"I was never..."

The tips of his fingers landed on her mouth, silencing her. John would forgive 
anything, but a lie. "Yes, you were. You are, still. I understand. Trust isn't 
easily regained. I broke it."

"That's not true," she protested, drawing his hand into her lap. His skin was 
chilled. Her chest hurt. 

"Yes, it is." His mouth quirked. "It is, Aeryn."

"It wasn't you." She had never doubted that. "There's nothing you could have 
done."

He chuckled darkly. "And that's the problem, isn't it?"

She didn't know anything could feel like this - to see a friend in pain, need to 
alleviate their suffering so desperately, yet not know how to offer help. Which 
was all right, because John didn't look like he would know how to accept it 
anyway. 

"John..."

"I'm okay, Aeryn."

He was far, far from 'okay'. 

He stood, guiding her to her feet. A firm hand framed the side of her face and 
she couldn't help it, she nuzzled the rough skin of his palm. He had that look 
again. As if he held some profound truth that would not be revealed to her for 
cycles, but he couldn't come out and share, because the journey was as important 
as the destination. 

And she understood. She clutched one such truth herself, close to her center. 
The hope John was so evidently mourning - it wasn't dead, just buried. Crichton 
had the map to it, he had just forgotten, but she could not confront him with 
that simple fact. 

He wasn't ready to hear it. 

So John would keep her truth safe, and she would do the same with his. Maybe 
this was love. She was still new to the subject; she couldn't be sure. 

Aeryn squeezed the hand caressing her face and on impulse brought it to her 
mouth. She kissed his palm. His skin tasted like rain - she remembered still - 
and sweat. She might not be able to share his truth with him yet, but she could 
remind him to keep looking. 

"Aeryn, what--"

She shushed him. Guided him back inside, gratified when he leaned against her. 
"You need to sleep, John."

A shudder coursed through him.

She understood how he could do it, how he could be so giving all the time; it 
was easy to be strong for someone other than herself. Her confusion and 
frustration appeared so inconsequential when she focused on someone else's pain. 
John's pain.

She tugged on his hand, worried when he stumbled over his own feet. He was 
almost sleep-walking. She berated herself for not spotting the real extent of 
his exhaustion earlier. How many sleepless nights... were the nightmares a 
regular occurrence too? 

"How's your head?"

"Fine," he whispered. 

Aeryn couldn't decide what was worse - a manic Crichton or a subdued Crichton. 
She was about ready for some inane lecture on the mood-lifting virtues of 
'shokolate' over food cubes. 

"The truth, John."

He sighed, a little exasperated. A spark of the old Crichton. "It's sore. Okay, 
pounding like a drunk steel-band on Mardi Gras." He yawned. "I'll let Tesha's 
healers have a look at me. Promise."

John sounded like he would rather volunteer for a full frontal lobotomy without 
anesthetic than allow any of Tesha's people anywhere near him. What he wanted - 
needed - was Zhaan, but he would never ask. Aeryn let him be. 

When they reached their quarters, Zhaan and D'Argo were gone and Stark still 
hadn't returned. Aeryn breathed a little in relief. She guided John to the main 
room and led him to the bed. He dropped on the mattress. His lids were drooping 
and he stifled another yawn. 

When she bent to remove his boots, he blinked, startled. "Aeryn, what are you 
doing?"

"Stop talking, John."

He did. 

She took off his jacket and pushed him against the covers. His eyes were already 
shut tight. "John," she called, combing through the short hair on his forehead. 
It was getting shorter all the time. 

"Hmm."

"I'll wake you up in a couple of arns, all right?"

He stared blearily up at her. 

"I remember what you told me the first time you got knocked over the head. It 
happens often enough." His eyebrows rose in half-hearted indignation. "You said 
it was important to conduct standard neurological exams over the next solar day. 
Make sure the swelling doesn't get worse."

"I don't think my brain would notice," he mumbled.

His breathing evened out as soon as he closed his eyes. Aeryn kissed his brow, 
pleased to see the deep lines of tension smooth out in slumber. Her thumb traced 
the path of an imaginary tear down his cheek. Knowing he would rest for a while, 
she left the room and went in search of Zhaan.




No one stopped Allara. No one asked questions. Why would they? 

Her brother was Tesha's personal advisor and lover. The Regent was known for her 
wild sexual appetites, and the priest was allowed access to the palace anytime 
of the day or night. Allara herself had shared the royal bed on occasion. It was 
not an unusual practice. Over hundreds of cycles, the religious caste had relied 
on personal favors as much as political savvy to guarantee royal support against 
the warrior caste.

Allara did not worry about the soldiers she came across, but she went out of her 
way to stay clear of the Human's friends. No need to arouse suspicion. She 
waited outside the aliens' quarters, saw the Delvian Pa'u and the Luxan leave, a 
handful of microts before the former Peacekeeper returned with Crichton. 

She had not seen him up close until that moment, and despite his obvious 
weariness, he made a daunting picture standing by his companion, both of them 
clad in Peacekeeper leathers. It was obvious by the way the Human leaned on the 
woman that they were close, moving with the coordinated grace of old lovers, or 
old warriors - it was difficult to tell one apart from the other. The ex-
Peacekeeper's touch spoke of caring, worry and aching tenderness. Her hand 
looked deceptively fragile against the man's broader figure - her dark, 
unconventional beauty made even more striking by the contrast of his handsome, 
chiseled frame. 

Allara waited for a long time after the woman departed. Her muscles ached with a 
mixture of fear, anticipation and a little awe. She had been raised on tales of 
the Human and his part in her planet's fate, she had grown up knowing that he 
would stand somewhere in her future - an enigmatic but all too frail figure. And 
although the mystic and the thrill had faded with time, some of the sense of 
wonder buried in childhood memories resurfaced now that she stood so close to 
him. The implications of her actions, the sheer scope of what she was about to 
do, only compounded her scruples. If the Regent found out, her fate would be 
worse than death. 

Allara couldn't stall any longer. Crichton's shipmates were bound to come back. 
She crossed the hall, the corridor, pushed open the door to the bedroom and 
paused - letting her vision adjust to the darkness. The door remained ajar, 
providing just enough illumination to navigate around the furniture and make out 
the slumbering form on the mattress. Khal'a'x bless, she was shaking. She wished 
for Jarian's appeasing presence, but it couldn't be. She could not involve her 
brother in her reckless decision. 

She stopped by the bed. Her heart skipped a beat.

She was about to alter prophecy. Whatever her scientific knowledge and 
understanding of the true nature of Sacot's so-called vision, she couldn't 
suppress the small shiver of primal dread snaking through her. She sat carefully 
on the edge of the mattress, shifting a little to let the dim light from the 
hallway illuminate the Human's features. 

Beautiful.

Not the dark, threatening seduction of most Sebacean males, but a kind of 
unassuming, sweet perfection, a face which bespoke of intelligence, kindness and 
determination. She took it all in - hair too short to be disheveled, the high 
brow, the soft cheekbones, the angle of the jaw, the full lips and the throat 
bared in submission, the outline of a nipple through his shirt. Her palm coursed 
the contours of his chest, never touching him - broad shoulders and strong arms, 
confident hands, narrow waist, trim hips. Sculpted muscles, defined frame - 
lithe but substantial. The leather pants left very little to her imagination. It 
seemed that human males were susceptible to involuntary arousal as well. 

By the gods, so lovely. The solidness, the rightness of him. 

So very real. 

As a priestess of Ectani, she had an unlimited choice of attractive male 
partners with whom she could recreate. Allara never went frustrated. She hadn't 
expected to react physically to the Human, but there it was. 

She climbed onto the bed, holding her respiration. He didn't move. Even asleep, 
he looked exhausted. Only when she bent a hair-breadth away from his lips, 
savoring his earthy, male scent, the alien warmth of him, did she realize that 
he was trembling. His lips parted, freeing a small, husky sound of need; or was 
it distress? He tossed his head to the side, and she withdrew, afraid that he 
had sensed her presence and was waking up, but he settled down again with a soft 
sigh, and she resumed her exploration. The hard planes of his stomach. So 
tempting. Her hands ventured between his legs. 

She bit her lower lip, indecisive. This had not been the reason for her 
intrusion in the Human's chamber, but she felt a familiar ache deep within her 
womb. Soon he would leave, tied to another, and she would never see him again. 

She cupped him, gently, through the material of his pants, and he arched under 
her hand with a moan. She would not go further. She had wanted to see that 
expression on his face, once - and hold it, a rare memory. She loved him. In a 
way, she had always loved him. The idea of him. Words on a scroll. Faithful 
companion on one too many lonely nights of study in the temple. Fantasy lover of 
a young, impressionable mind. 

The reality by far outclassed the fiction.

Allara pulled away, comforted in her resolve. She could not allow prophecy to 
unfold. 

His pain was unjustifiable. 




"Do you think the Universe is indeterminate?"

"Since when do you care about Quantum Mechanics?"

"You cared, so I always cared. My mind just wasn't warped like yours. Warped 
period, sure, but I never was, and never wanted to be, a scientist. The 
Uncertainty Principle has entertaining philosophical implications, so I'm 
asking."

Short laugh over the soothing whisper of the tide. It felt good. "Entertaining?"

"I get bored."

"I remember." A sigh. "Why are we talking about this, really?"

Sly smile. How he remembered. The smile. The smaragdine eyes. "It drives him 
crazy." A look over her shoulder. A snide quirk of her mouth. Pink tongue 
snaking out to moisten her lips. 

"Him?"

"Harvey," she sniggered.

He tried to turn around, then thought better of it. "What is he doing back there 
anyway? Feasting on my soul? I feel a little more like Faust each time I conjure 
him up."

"Chill. I keep him in line."

A groan. "Do you sell tickets? This I wanna see."

"Hey, it's your brain, sexy. You can drop by anytime."

He wrapped one arm around himself, his other hand bringing a Sam Adams to his 
lips. "I'm dreaming, right?"

A shrug. "Well, you're sleeping, so I guess this qualifies as dreaming."

He reached for her hand, almost startled when his fingers closed around solid 
skin and bone. He looked at her sideways, afraid she would disappear if he 
stared too hard. "I miss you."

Enigmatic smile. "I've always been here."

"Really?" Doubtful.

"You know. Horatio. Weird things. Heaven and Earth. Blah, blah, blah."

He loved this place. The summer house, north of Long Island, not far from Port 
Jefferson. A century-old construction, two stories, blue and white wood, 
shingles and gingerbread, a gallery. A few wooden steps led to a stretch of 
beach from the garden. White sand, wild grass running across the dunes. If he 
closed his eyes, he would smell his mother's expensive perfume. 

They sat on the gallery, bare feet teasing the grass, shoulder to shoulder. 
Facing the Atlantic. The sun had set. The sky was clear - a deep, royal blue to 
usher in darkness. 

"Why are we here?"

"You chose the place. Not me. Hey, the house, the education, the looks, the 
personal tragedies... you qualify to be a Kennedy." The ribbing was good-
natured, like a balm to his soul. 

She held a mug of coffee between both hands. She blew across the rim, her breath 
going up in volutes. It got cold here in October. She wore her favorite pair of 
501s and one of his M.I.T. shirts. She was always the talk of the campus at 
Harvard, for wearing the colors of the enemy. 

She never gave a damn. 

Her skin was pale, but she looked healthy. Short copper hair, lustrous. Wild 
cat's eyes. A witch's mouth. She smelled like home and family. He reached out to 
caress the line of her jaw. "You haven't changed at all."

Affectionate. "Cause that's the way you remember me, stupid."

"I don't understand what's happening. Why are you back?"

Almost sad. "All will become clear. At some point."

"How do you know?"

"I'm dead. I get to be whatever I want. I get to be a fortune cookie. I get to 
be omniscient." He stared. "All right, just kidding. I mean, I'm still dead. But 
I'm not a fortune cookie."

Pressure, on his chest. A pull he never wanted to answer again. He whimpered. 
"Don't leave. I'm scared. I'm losing it."

She leaned against him a little heavier. 

"Not going anywhere. You called me. I came."

"I'm just dreaming. When I wake up, you'll be gone. It'll still hurt."

"I'm never far. And you have your friends."

He closed his eyes. 

"They're not very happy with me right now - not that it's much of a change."

It was her turn to sigh. She had no answer to that. So much for a cookie. She 
turned around again, glaring at something deep into the house. 

"What's he doing now?"

She snorted. "He spent so much time burrowing in deep enough to get to the 
wormhole knowledge left by the Ancients, he sort of forgot to check out your 
basic Earth science. Arrogant little bastard. He's puzzling out the Plank time 
at the moment. Peacekeepers aren't that great at theoretical mathematics, you 
know? They stole the hetch drive from someone else. Scorpy is kind of the 
leading mind in a restricted field."

"Scary thought." Small voice. "Can you tell me about DK?"

She lowered her head. Exhaled. "I could tell you what you want to hear, but I'm 
here with you, not there with him. I don't know anymore about DK and your Dad 
than you do."

He didn't want to cry. Please, he didn't want to. But Maxime was here, and he 
had never minded so much breaking down in front of her. "It hurts. God, it 
hurts."

Her hand drifted across his back, light as a feather.

"Let your friends help you, John."

"They can't help. They rely on me so much. They don't realize it, but they do." 
He laughed. It only hurt his throat. "God, listen to me. Think I can get a 
little bit more pathetic?"

"You must allow yourself to heal. Weakness isn't a sin, John."

"Jesus. Yes, it is. It is!" Despair, his voice rising on the wings of hysteria. 
"We're in the Uncharted Territories. I'm weak, I die. Someone else dies."

"Shh. Rest now."

"No nightmares?" Scared. Pleading. 

"No. Not today. I'll stand watch."

Puzzled. "I get to sleep in my dream?"

She pulled him down onto her lap. He burrowed into her warmth. 

"'We are such stuff/As dreams are made on;/ and our little life/Is rounded with 
a sleep," Maxime murmured in his ear. 

He closed his eyes. He loved it when she quoted Shakespeare. 




He wasn't trembling anymore. The lines on his forehead had smoothed out and he 
looked peaceful, so young. Untainted. Allara was loath to wake him, but she 
had indulged herself long enough. She slid off the bed to stand over him, wary 
of the pulse pistol strapped to his right thigh. She stilled, allowing the 
sounds of the palace to flow around her, over the deafening beating of her 
heart. 

Satisfied that they were alone for the time being, Allara lifted a slim hand 
towards the Human's unassumingly handsome face, hovering above his parted lips. 
His warm breath teased her palm and she bent forward, her cheek close to his 
ear. 

"Wake up," she murmured, fighting the impulse to lick the velvety skin of his 
jaw. 

He didn't rouse, just shifted a little. 

"Wake up," she repeated with a bit more force. 

She nudged his shoulder. 

His eyes opened with a start and she clasped one hand over his mouth, muffling 
his cry of surprise, grabbing his wrist with the other to prevent him from 
drawing his weapon. "Wait, wait!" she said quickly. "I'm not going to hurt you." 
His chest heaved. Eyes wide with fear. "Please, John Crichton. Please. I wish 
you no harm."

He had stopped breathing. He was staring at her. 

How blue his eyes were. Frightened. Calculating and distrustful. 

"I'm going to remove my hand. I just wish to talk to you. I'm not armed. Please, 
don't call out." Allara waited, her expression as open as she could make it, 
standing very still, as if taming some wild, wounded creature. He nodded 
underneath her palm. 

She lifted away the hand gagging him, then let go of his wrist, wary. 

For a microt, he didn't react, didn't even blink, as if paralyzed. She was about 
to call his name again. Then he moved. So fast, she had no time to scream. So 
lithe, she didn't feel the weight of him pressing her into the mattress and the 
pistol bruising her throat until it was too late. 

"Who are you? What the fuck do you people want with me now?"

He was angry. No, furious. His rage was like a living thing, twisting thickly 
between them. His fingers dug into her upper arm. He would leave bruises. Yet 
despite the pain and his wrathful proximity, she didn't fear him. 

"My name is Allara. I'm not here to harm you," she repeated with a patience and 
poise she reserved for small children. "I just wish to speak with you. I 
apologize for startling you."

His eyes roamed the room as she talked, looking for covert enemies. 

"I'm alone," she assured him. "This was the only way I could talk to you 
unseen."

He brought his attention back to her, satisfied that there were no other 
threats. "Why the secrecy?" he asked - then shook his head. "Forget it. I don't 
even care. What do you want?"

"Nothing from you. I wish to help."

She didn't expect him to laugh or jump off the bed, his pistol leveled at her 
face. "Oh, that's good, lady. But I'm afraid you won't get the copyright on that 
one. I've only heard it a couple hundred times."

Her translator microbes took issue of the word 'copeerite', but she got the gist 
of it. She sat up, aware of his volatile mood, unwilling to provoke him. She 
stood to face him, keeping a prudent distance between them, her hands visible at 
all times. She spread her arms away from her body. "I'm not carrying any 
weapon."

He snorted. "It's not because I can't see it that it ain't there."

That gave her pause. What in Hi'k'am had been done to this man? 

"You have to leave Ectani Prime right away. You're not safe."

He lifted his free hand to his forehead, rubbing a spot above his right eye. Now 
that he was standing closer to the light spilling from the corridor, she could 
see a jagged cut and a bruise. She remembered Jarian telling her that Crichton 
had been injured in the explosion. 

"Damn, I know that. But I can't go anywhere. I have a friend... She needs to be 
here." He lowered his weapon. His head fell forward on his chest. "Look, I don't 
know what mind-game of the week you're up to, but you're wasting your time. This 
Dixie boy's brain is as scrambled as it's gonna get." He gestured towards the 
door. "Hope it kicks you in the ass on the way out."

Allara frowned. She hadn't planned on the Human making so little sense to her. 
How much of what she was saying did he really understand? 

"You cannot trust Tesha."

"Who are you?" he snarled, losing patience with her. "Queen of the Obvious?"

Did he think she was related to the Regent? She had to get through to him soon. 
He was in enemy territory. She couldn't trust him not to use his weapon sooner 
or later. "I'm not royalty," she explained. 

He stared at her with a strange, nonplussed expression on his face. Squinting in 
the darkness. "Brown suit," he murmured under his breath. "You're a priestess?" 

She nodded. "Of the order of Khal'a'x."

Obviously, that meant nothing to him. 

The echo of footfalls carried through the open door, startling them both. Allara 
backed away, closer to the exit. "I can't stay. I can't be found here. There is 
much we have to talk about. Tonight, after the pulsar has set, meet me behind 
the temple."

He was shaking his head, bemused. "Yeah, right."

"Please, if you're not going to leave the planet, then you must come," she 
pleaded, desperate to convey the gravity of his situation. She paused at the 
door, committing his dark silhouette to memory.

He didn't answer. Just stood there, pistol forgotten in his right hand. His 
azure eyes glittered in the yellow light. 

"You must come," Allara repeated. Her voice sounded a little frantic to her own 
ears. She had been close to him, had touched him. She would not stand by and 
allow him to get hurt. 

She fled. 




Zhaan had expected to find John asleep. If she was honest with herself, she had 
hoped to look him over while he was unconscious - she could fulfill her 
obligation as a Pa'u, and Crichton wouldn't need to know she had been there. She 
wasn't prepared to find him up, Wynona out of its holster. She couldn't decipher 
his expression. There was puzzlement. Anger, too - an unfortunate common 
occurrence these last weekens. A touch of fear. She wondered if he had just 
awakened from one of those horrific nightmares John thought his crewmates didn't 
know about.

He holstered his pistol upon seeing her and his hands clenched into fists, as if 
he didn't know what to do with them. "Hey, Blue," he said with a wry, twisted 
smile. He shifted, chin up. John anticipated another tirade, prepared to take 
whatever punishment she saw fit to inflict. 

It bothered Zhaan. She knew she was dying, but John was taking deference one 
step too far. She wanted his anger. Needed it. She had been unfair, and he 
shouldn't be standing there, quiet endurance etched all over his face, willing 
to accept her sentence as if Zhaan spoke the words of the Goddess herself. 

The Delvian repressed a sigh. How typical of John that he should teach her 
patience and humility right up to the end. There were no such things as 
superfluous lessons. The Universe made room for redundancy for a reason - so 
that one could be given the chance to learn from their mistakes the second time 
around. Zhaan had trampled all over John's deepest held belief that it was okay 
to fail as long as you kept on trying. This unforgiving galaxy had yet to rip 
that conviction out of him. She didn't want to be the one to succeed where the 
Uncharted Territories had failed.  

"Aeryn sent me, John," she said, with a measured voice and a small closed smile. 

Crichton arched an eyebrow in surprise, looking very much like the clueless, 
highly adaptable creature she had first met over two cycles ago. "She did?" His 
eyes darted over her shoulder, checking for something she couldn't see, before 
roaming back to her face.

"She believed you would rather I examined you than have to rely on Tesha's 
healers."

John blinked quickly, still dubious. He looked both surprised and oddly pleased 
by Aeryn's thoughtful insight. He unwound, and Zhaan felt it safe to move 
further into the room. On the nightstand, she deposited the small scanner one of 
them always carried when going planet-side. 

"The Crichton Disaster Kit," John commented, eyeing the device with honest 
amusement. "Never leave home without it."

He was trying so hard to relieve the tension between them - she rewarded him 
with her softest smile. "Sit," she asked, reaching for his arm. 

She noticed the flinch, which he tried to cover up with an overtly affectionate 
"Yes, mom" - and realized that she had reached for his gun hand. His reaction 
had been instinctive; he had turned away a little, keeping the right side of his 
body away from her. Goddess. Did he ever feel safe anymore? 

Zhaan kept her face painfully blank, as if she hadn't noticed anything amiss. 
Her hand froze in mid-air for a microt, then patted the mattress. He sat. She 
ignored the death-grip of his fingers on the bedcover and switched the scanner 
on. 

"Are Stark and D'Argo okay?" John asked, while she moved the device over his 
head. 

"Yes," she answered, concentrating on the readings. "The Ectanians have long ago 
developed an alternate drug for non-Sebaceans, but its administration is 
regulated as a means of controlling off-worlders' movements on the planet."

John shrugged. "Makes sense. Non-obtrusive defense mechanism. They're big on 
commerce around here. Wouldn't want to scare off potential traders. They've got 
self-tracking pulse cannons in orbit to take out major threats." He was chewing 
on the fleshy end of his thumb. "It's bizarre, how they have an entire caste of 
warriors and soldiers, but from what Tesha said they've never been involved in 
any major war."

Zhaan fought off a wider smile. John was babbling. Added to his oral fixation, 
it was a sure sign of rampaging nervousness. She was about to comment, when the 
scanner's readings caught her attention. She adjusted some of the settings. The 
priestess had enough experience patching him up that she knew what was normal 
for the Human and what wasn't. 

"What is it?" John asked, worried. 

"Your... your readings," she answered, trying to make sense of what she was 
seeing. 

John grabbed her wrist, just enough to attract her attention. "Zhaan."

She shook her head. "I don't know, John. Your brain chemistry seems... 
different. It reminds me..."

"What?" Crichton repeated, a little louder. 

She wanted to reassure him, but she didn't know how. "It reminds me of when we 
rescued you from the gammak base. I ran some superficial exams on you then. Your 
neurotransmitters levels were off the scale and synaptic activity was somewhat 
erratic. After-effects of the Aurora Chair, no doubt."

"I remember," John muttered. His eyes had darkened, his gaze fixed somewhere 
behind her, absorbed, as if her words made some abrupt kind of sense. Was it 
Scorpius? Was he conversing with the clone right now? 

"Do you think this could be a result of the concussion?" she proposed, knowing 
very well that it wasn't the case. She had treated him often enough. "Or, 
maybe..."

"Say it, Zhaan," he spoke calmly, not looking up. 

She crouched in front of him, depositing the scanner on the floor, trying to 
capture the vacant blue stare. "You said that the diagnosian had to rearrange 
your memory centers to access the chip. It could explain your altered cerebral 
chemistry. Over-stimulation of that region of your brain..." she trailed off, 
frustrated by her own limited understanding of his physiology. "It's the same 
zone the Aurora Chair's sensors tapped into." Her palm closed over his left 
knee. "It would account for your inability to rest, your scattered behavior, the 
mood-swings..."

He was shaking underneath her hand. Zhaan reached for him anxiously, until she 
realized that he was chuckling. He stood, moving away from her, and she almost 
toppled to the floor, losing her balance. She grabbed onto the bed for leverage 
and righted herself up. 

John was still laughing - a full, crazed chortle. "Oh, that's brilliant, Blue." 
Hands on hips, he was shaking his head from side to side. "Yeah, I'm sure that's 
it. Got my amines and polypeptides all jumbled up. How goddamn fucking 
convenient."

What was he talking about? "John, what are you--" But he was beyond listening to 
her. The muscles of his neck stood out in stark relief against his colorless, 
clammy skin, pulsing with the throb of his fury. His voice was hoarse from the 
effort it took not to yell. "Well, lookie here. The more things change, the more 
they remain the same. Why go the long road, when you can take the easy way out, 
uh, Zhaanie?"

The Delvian's expression hardened. Crichton never used than tone with her, and 
she wasn't about to stand for it now. "You're going too far, John. I will 
overlook the affront on account of your fatigue--"

"Gee, Blue, you're hitting all the stops today," he interrupted. His eyes 
flared. "Don't, okay? Just don't. Don't hide behind the deficient Human, don't 
try to pretend that you're not giving up. And don't use me as your alibi. 
'John's crazy," he went on, mimicking her, "whatever he contributes is 
worthless. If I say I'm dying, I know what I'm talking about and there's nothing 
anyone can possibly do to change the outcome. Cause I'm Pa'u Zotoh Zhaan, kick-
ass Mistress of the Universe.'"

"John!" the priestess snapped. How dare he, this... this... ungrateful child?

"I won't allay your conscience for you. I'm not making it so you can die easy. 
No way. Find another sucker to be your scapegoat. You're afraid, Zhaan. You're 
afraid that Ectani will heal you. You're afraid that you're gonna have to get 
reacquainted with life when you've made peace with the idea of dying. Well, join 
the fucking club, cause baby, misery loves company. I was on that goddamn table 
ready to die, but you people wouldn't let me. So you wanna hate me, have me 
committed? Fine. I know you guys don't trust me anymore. Hell, most of the time 
I wonder if you ever did. But you're still gonna get your big blue ass out of 
this dome right now, no more stalling, and I'll get on with doing what has to be 
done. Tesha thinks it takes a sick bastard to catch one, and maybe she's right." 
He stood so close to her, she felt the incensed heat of his breath on her skin. 
He crooned. "Does that work for you, Zhannie?"

When the Delvian saw the lopsided smile, she didn't fight the impulse to wipe it 
off his face. Her hand shot out before the thought had fully formed, and she 
didn't realize what she had done until John was suspended in the air, trying to 
loosen her death-grip on his throat. She had put her meager reserves of 
spiritual energy behind the strike and he was on the verge of losing 
consciousness. Already the whites of his eyes showed through fluttering lids, 
and his lips were cyanotic. 

The daze of rage retreated as quickly as it had taken over. Horrified, Zhaan let 
go and John crumpled to the floor in a heap with a gasp of pain. 

"Still need to work on that Hippocratic oath," he croaked. She offered a hand to 
pull him back to his feet, but he turned his face away, pretending not to see 
the gesture. He stood shakily and made his way to the bed, retrieved his black 
leather jacket and boots, keeping some distance between them. 

Distraught, Zhaan tried to reach for him, but he sidestepped her. "John, 
please... I'm sorry." She hadn't felt such depths of shame in a very long time. 
Had she pulled away from this realm so much already that she was untouched by 
the suffering of a friend? She had needed John's anger and her wish had been 
granted. She should have welcomed it with compassion and some amount of grace - 
not mindless retaliation.

He wouldn't look at her. She could already see bruises form around his neck. 
"Apologies aren't the answer to everything, Blue." 

There was no sarcasm, only infinite sorrow. What had she done? 

John turned away from her frozen form, stalking to the door. "Thanks for the 
once-over, Zhaanie," he threw over his shoulder with false cheer. "Good thing I 
didn't go to Tesha's healers, uh? Catch ya later."

He was gone. 

Zhaan brought her useless extended hand back to her middle. Sat down on the 
unmade bed.

And prayed for their souls.




Rasp of satin on cool skin. Cooler breath teasing the hollow of his throat. So 
young and yet so skilled. He wondered how many lovers graced that very bed. He 
knew better than to believe he was the only one, not anymore - although she 
probably showed him more affection than most. Cold, cold touch. He had lost his 
lover the day she had been forced onto the throne. 

"Tesh," Jarian murmured, rolling on top of her. He had grown accustomed to her 
distant, spiritless love-making, but this aloof coupling was a new low, even for 
her. "Tesha, what is it?" He fastened his mouth to her jugular, suckling, and 
she arched underneath him, her nipples seeking the friction of his chest as if 
possessed of a will of their own. 

He knew the secrets of her body. There was nothing else left for him to devote 
himself to. The release he brought her, and the pleasure she offered in return 
had taken on the predictable rhythm of duty. Little surprise and no passion, 
despite the games she liked to indulge in, yet he couldn't tear himself away 
from her. Even if his position as aspirant grand priest of Ectani hadn't 
destined him to become the Regent's first mate, his memory still hummed with the 
echo of the woman Tesha might have once been. The ghost of comfort lingered in 
her embrace - easy solace and familiarity. He owed her as much loyalty as the 
very nature of his order would allow. 

He closed his eyes. His cheek came to rest against her chest, nose buried in the 
delicate valley between her breasts. Essence of Fen'k'et tree - the oil she 
favored - rose gently from her alabaster skin, mixed with the heavy tang of sex 
and his own musky male scent. 

How could he miss her so much, when she rested so close, her heartbeat answering 
his own? 

"I heard about the stranger," he murmured with false detachment. There was no 
more closeness to be shared tonight. He might as well get on with the hidden 
agenda compelling his presence in the royal bed. "Is that what's got you so 
thoughtful?" 

It was a polite way to describe her utter failure to answer any of his attempts 
at conversation, but he knew better than to provoke her wrath. Tesha's anger was 
cold and efficient, and while she wouldn't harm him, she could make his life 
utterly miserable for a long time. Or go after Allara. It wasn't worth it. 

His hand ventured underneath the covers, and he managed to capture her 
attention. He was a skilled lover. High priests were trained in these matters 
from a very young age. She gasped and wriggled against his hand, begging for 
pressure. He prolonged the sweet torture absentmindedly, lifting himself up on 
an elbow when Tesha's mouth rooted for his own, evading her. Her pupils were 
dilated with lust, a moist, small pink tongue fluttering between swollen lips 
devoid of makeup. 

"You want him," he whispered with a startled little laugh, watching the unusual 
blush spread across his lover's cheeks. 

"I believe he would make a satisfying lover," she purred. Her hips twisted and 
her breath caught on a whimper. She ground herself on him. "Stop what you're 
doing and I'll have you disemboweled."

Jarian chuckled. For all he knew, she was serious. There was a time his 
childhood friendship with Tesha would have protected him from anything. Not 
anymore. He missed their simple games. Hiding in the palace with Allara and 
Tesha's older brother, driving the adults sick with worry - escaping tedious 
preaching in the temple and boring lessons in royal etiquette. The solidarity of 
children everywhere. 

"Are you going to take him?"

She gasped her answer. "It's a moot point."

Jarian frowned at that. "What do you mean?" 

Before he knew what was happening, Tesha had rolled out from underneath him. She 
was kneeling next to him on the bed, in all her nude glory. "Don't you know, 
Jarian? Maybe those spies are overpaid after all. Are you telling me that you 
are unaware of my true plans for the Human?"

He didn't bother to protest her assumption that his order maintained spies 
between the palace's walls. It would have been an insult to her intelligence. 
"They have obviously failed me." He reached up for her, wrapped his hand around 
the back of her head, forcing their mouths in a grinding kiss, tongue dueling 
wetly. The kiss ignited his arousal and he tried to coax Tesha so that she would 
straddle him, but she resisted. 

She couldn't be angry about the spies. It was the way of Ectani. Why was she 
refusing him? And what did she mean by 'true plans'? She had already 
blackmailed Crichton into fighting the G'Ken for her. 

"Have I offended you?"

She laid her palm flat against his torso, strong and regal above his supine, 
vulnerable form. Her lips parted as if she would speak, and her eyes softened. 
His heart tightened inside his chest. He could not remember the last time her 
face had been painted with an emotion other than anger or disdain. Yet she 
remained silent. 

"Tesha?"

The mask fell in place again, and before he could halt her retreat she was 
standing, reaching for a long gold silk robe. She tied the garment negligently 
close. The curve of a firm, pubescent breast peaked through an opening in the 
rich fabric, tantalizing. He followed her with his eyes, hiding his puzzlement. 
The Regent's behavior was quite enigmatic, even for her. 

Jarian resolved not to ask anymore questions. Always wise when one had the 
sinking feeling that the answers would not be to their liking. He looked over 
the edge of the mattress for his clothes but they seem very far away. 

Footsteps. Heavy boots on the stone floor. 

Soldiers. 

He sat up, seeking Tesha's attention, but she was turned away from him, 
unperturbed by their visitors, although no one was allowed to enter the royal 
chamber without express permission, save for officer Tanol. But Jarian could 
hear two sets of footsteps coming from a side-door hidden behind a large screen. 
This access was reserved for the guests of Tesha's bed, who would come and go 
unseen. 

Tanol emerged first, followed by a tall, beautiful blonde woman in warrior garb, 
whom Jarian had never seen before. 

Neither of them paid any attention to him, coming to stand at attention before 
Tesha, who managed to look regal half-dressed. They bowed. "I see you have 
received my message," she said coolly, addressing Tanol's companion. "I take it 
your presence means that you agree to an arrangement."

The woman relaxed her stance. Her face did not give anything away, rivaling the 
Regent's unfathomable posture. "Your offer was most intriguing, Highness."

"I assume you have taken the time to verify the truth of my assertion."

"We have confirmed that your guest is indeed John Crichton, Katralla's consort."

"And you agree that it would be in the interest of the Peacekeepers to focus 
their efforts on our more powerful allies, rather than waste precious resources 
destabilizing Ectani."

Jarian listened on, stunned by the scene unfolding before his eyes. That woman 
was a disruptor, most certainly infiltrated inside the G'Ken. And Tesha was 
giving her Crichton. 

"High Command concurs. Taking John Crichton back to the royal system as proof 
that dynastic integrity has been compromised would provide significant leverage, 
tipping the balance of power in our favor. Provided we can secure John Crichton, 
the Special Directorate will terminate all support to the G'Ken."

Tesha wrapped thin arms around her slender waist, head bowed, and for a moment 
Jarian thought she would falter and renounce this insanity. He was too far to 
read her eyes.

"How they must hate us to have allied with you," she murmured, barely loud 
enough for him to hear. 

The disruptor remained unperturbed by the unexpected show of weakness. "Your 
aunt was quite ruthless," she stated. 

"Because one of yours advised her," Tesha hissed. "Had she known her lover, her 
councilor was a disruptor..."

"I congratulate you on figuring it out, even if it was a bit late," the 
Peacekeeper said. She didn't brag. Wise choice. "I take it the agent is dead?"

Tesha straightened, sending an appraising look at Tanol. Jarian wasn't eager to 
find out the spy's fate. No doubt the Regent had taken pleasure in insuring his 
death was a very painful one. "Very."

The disruptor didn't even flinch. "Fair enough. Where will we find Crichton?"

"Officer Tanol has all the information you require. You must leave the palace at 
once. I'm sure the G'Ken have their own agents between these walls. The traitors 
are unaware of the true aim of our meeting, of course?"

"Of course. They would not allow us to go after the royal colonies." Was that 
contempt on the Peacekeeper's face? "They believe Crichton is a mercenary, a 
terrorist you have hired to track them down. His reputation disserves him. I 
will take him from their custody once he has been captured. I need the G'Ken's 
help to smuggle him out of the city. The Human's companions are very 
resourceful. They could be a problem."

She sounded as if she was talking from experience rather than mere reports. 

"So I'm told," Tesha acknowledged. "Most of the group has already left the 
palace for the forest outside the dome. Only the Hynerian and the former 
Peacekeeper remain. I'm sure you can subdue them, should they be with Crichton 
when you take him into custody."

The Regent turned her back on the soldiers, dismissing them. 

In a moment, they had disappeared behind the screen.

Hypnotized, in shock, Jarian watched his lover stalk back to the bed. 

By. The. Gods. 

"You look flustered, lover. Have I upset your plans?" She was laughing at him. 
"Jarian, Jarian, Jarian... my dear sweet love. Did you really think you could 
keep the prophecy a secret? You should know better. There are no secrets in this 
city. Even the order could not have kept such vital information to themselves 
forever." She chuckled. A dark, icy sound. "You should rejoice, priest. The 
prophecy will come to pass. John Crichton will save Ectani from civil war - 
probably not the way Sacot had envisioned though."

He swallowed, afraid his voice would fail him now. "By Khal'a'x, Tesha. What 
have you done?"

She climbed onto the bed, and he couldn't help but shrink away from her. "What 
had to be done. Now the Peacekeepers will leave Ectani, and the G'Ken will fall 
quickly without their support."

"What about your cousins?" His back was flush against the headboard. 

Tesha shrugged, caressing his chest. "Sacrifices have to be made."

He grappled for a thought that made some sort of sense. "We will remain without 
allies. Easy pray for the Peacekeepers."

"Then perhaps it is time we sought new allies."

He closed his eyes. "Scarrans?"

"Always a possibility."

And the worse thing was, she wasn't insane.

"I can't allow you to interfere, but I won't kill you. You will remain here 
tonight. I don't want you running off to Allara, ruining all my plans. Did you 
know that your dearest sister was here a few arns ago? She tried to convince 
the Human to leave. In his own quarters. As if the place wasn't fitted with 
surveillance equipment from floor to ceiling." She sighed. "She doesn't share 
your confidence in Sacot's wisdom, but we'll prove her wrong, won't we?"

Tesha leaned forward, her nails digging into his thighs. Had he ever loved this 
woman?

She slithered her way up his body with a smile. "How shall I ever make it up to 
you?"

Her kiss was cold. 




John clung to his righteous rage. It felt good to be in control again for a 
short while - believe the illusion. The guilt would hit with a vengeance soon 
enough, but for now he would ride the wave of relief. Concentrate on the anger - 
better than dwell on what might be going on inside his brain. Despite the 
neurology class he had taken one semester, //Maxime said it would be fun; they 
didn't have the same definition of fun// he couldn't remember if brain tissue 
scarred. God, he hoped not. By now, his scars would have scars. 

He did remember something clearly. The brain didn't heal, the cells wouldn't 
mend or be replaced. Whatever damage he had sustained during the surgery was 
permanent. What had been taken from him - trust in his own abilities - he could 
never regain. 

Shit, Johnny, you said you wouldn't dwell. 

Circular thoughts. He was such a mess. 

He signaled a black-clad waitress and a small glass of whatever green-tinged 
liquor he had been sipping for the last arn materialized in front of him. The 
custom was to pour the liquid over a cube of felah'k the size of a dice. felah'k 
resembled sugar in consistency, crystal-like, but the taste was more bitter than 
sweet. Once the intoxicant had soaked through, you let the felah'k melt under 
your tongue. The problem with the technique was that John was getting drunk fast 
without even realizing it. That last time he had bypassed the felah'k and drunk 
the liquor straight out of the glass. The Sebaceans occupying nearby booths were 
staring at him like he was some kind of barbarian. Nothing new. 

He reclined on a long, comfortable couch, closing his senses to the animated 
conversations of the crowded bar. After leaving Zhaan, he had tracked down one 
of the many servers that roamed the vast halls of the palace, and her 
directions had sent him here - the favorite haunt of the royal court. The music 
was a bit too loud, but the alcohol was free, and a table facing one of the few 
windows had vacated for him as if by magic. Either his North Carolinian accent, 
thick-as-molasses under the influence of the felah'k, worked wonders with the 
female staff suddenly at his beck and call, or these people knew he was Tesha's 
new boy-toy. Either way, he hardly cared. He used to wonder about the story 
behind each new face, but not anymore. He wanted to be alone. Just not by 
himself. 

Alone in a crowd. 

Bubble of silence around him. Silence and plenty of space. 

The server had found him a clean leather coat and he wrapped the garment tighter 
around himself, cold. Unsettling that he felt cold surrounded by so many bodies, 
but Sebaceans generated no heat. He nursed his drink. The intoxicant sat like 
ice at the bottom of his stomach, but he needed it. Bizarrely enough, the 
alcohol didn't really muddle up his mind; it just made him think faster. 

The pulsar would set in half an arn, plunging Ectani back into that damn 
artificial night, which played on his claustrophobia. He had to make a decision. 
Would he meet what's-her-name... Allara, behind the temple and without a doubt 
set himself up for something unpleasant, or stay here and wonder? He could get 
hammered. Then his brain chemistry would be well and truly fucked. Maybe Maxime 
would come back. Talk to him about home. 

He bent forward, one arm locked tight around his stomach. Shit, it hurt. It had 
been forever since the ache of longing had hit like a physical pain. He had put 
the past to rest. He hadn't renounced all hope of ever making it home, but he 
had found some kind of peace despite the knowledge that he might never see Earth 
again. And now... he was bombarded day and night by visions of horror wedged 
inside half-formed memories and he couldn't make sense of any of it, nothing was 
where it was supposed to be. Maxime... Maxime had been buried years ago. Why 
her, why now? Why not his father, or DK? Yes, he had held onto her when the 
diagnosian had probed for memories he would agree to sacrifice. 

But then, he had held onto his dogs too. 

They weren't popping up all over his dreamscape. 

Let go, damn it. He had to let go. But he was so, so very tired. Hard to think. 
No plan, no escape. He couldn't even dredge up the strength to worry about what 
Tesha had in mind for him. He just wanted Zhaan to get better so they could get 
the hell off this planet, back to Moya where at least the nightmares felt 
familiar. Damn. The little things humans took for granted. Privacy. Sanctity of 
the mind. Maybe it was time to rekindle his quest for home. He didn't believe 
for one moment that Scorpius was dead. //Nothing's ever easy.// And if the 
bastard was out there, then he was working on the wormhole technology. 
At some point he would figure it out, and no one would be safe ever again. 
Scorpius had beaten him. The freak had defeated him from day one. Every single 
victory - the gammak base, the royal planet - had been a scam. 

John needed time to get his head screwed on straight again, that was all. He 
longed to feel hollow. Wiped clean. He should have let the diagnosian rip out 
that entire region of his brain. Tabula rasa. No past, just the present - and a 
future, if he was lucky. The demise of responsibility, no debts, no regrets, no 
suffering. The coward's way out. 

He would never have done it, but it felt good to fantasize about it for a little 
while. 

Happy place. 

Alcohol-imbibed felah'k sure packed a punch. 

He was bound to start forgetting at some point. He rubbed his sore throat. 
Wasn't that the whole point of drinking? He had spent many a night looking after 
his mother while his father was on a mission, the twins sleeping ignorantly 
away. Escapism in a bottle. 

His mom liked schnaps. A lot. 

He dropped his glass on a small table, the intoxicant not so appealing anymore. 
His mother's ravaged face rose predictably from the abyss, morphing into 
Zhaan's. Leslie had died and he had been left in charge, holding the family 
together. If Zhaan went, it would fall to him, always him, to take care of the 
crew, and he couldn't--

He scrubbed at his eyes furiously, pulling at his hair, biting back a moan when 
waves upon waves of jumbled memories crashed onto the shore of his abused 
psyche. 

//first memory the softness of his mother's hand soothing scraped knees, 
building sand castles on the beach of Long Island, Leslie's sunglasses and wide 
straw hats, his parents kissing in the den, the voices raised the day before his 
father walked on the moon, bloodshot eyes, doctor's appointments and colorful 
pills, smell of hospital, blotched skin, didn't she take care of him when he was 
hurt after the Scorpy captured him, no it was Zhaan, Zhaan didn't know the song 
mom used to sing when he was home in bed and the fever made his throat hurt, 
but he wasn't there, wasn't there, and he failed her, and they died, no Zhaan 
wasn't there, not dead yet--//

Oh, sweet God, please, stop, pleasepleaseplease...

He was going to be sick or black out. He breathed through his nose, wishing the 
nausea away. Fought down the urge to clamp his hands over his ears like a child.

Twice in one day. It was getting worse, not better - he was starting to lose it 
in public. What if something had been irreversibly damaged? The diagnosian had 
hardly operated under optimal conditions. What if it never got better? What if 
he became a danger to the others again? D'Argo would kill him, if he asked. 
Knowing what had resulted from ignoring John's plea the first time around, the 
Luxan wouldn't hesitate. 

No, he-- No, he didn't think like that. He couldn't fucking quit. Wouldn't give 
this goddamn galaxy the satisfaction. All this reminiscing, this soul-searching, 
this worrying-himself-to-death had to be a good sign, right? True crazy people 
didn't know that they were crazy. Right? He could put up with this. Until it got 
better or he got used to it. He had dealt with Harvey for a cycle. He wouldn't 
be taken down by his own memories. His demons might be relentless, but he had 
the Crichton Streak of Pigheadedness working for him. 

The parallels between his mother and Zhaan were so obvious, it was laughable. He 
hadn't been there for his mom, but he could be there for Zhaan. It wasn't guilt 
strapping him down so much as fear. Duty, obligations. Scared of failing his 
crewmates again. Terrified of losing their friendship. It made him selfish, not 
quite the altruistic hero. It would have been easy to remind himself that so 
much had been done //to// him, that not all of it was his fault, but he didn't 
want to feel like a victim. 

John Crichton, commander, astronaut, human. Good - but never quite good enough. 

It wouldn't be so hard, he might just manage to be good enough, if he didn't 
have to do it alone. John didn't do alone well. Kinship and connections defined 
him. He had never been afraid to lean on his friends. Understood from an early 
age that fortitude came from needing other people. But nothing in the 
Uncharted Territories was ever that simple, that straightforward. His companions 
on Moya were both a little less and a little more than friends - thrown together 
by impossible odds, the choice taken away from them, not companionship so much 
as survival. Every single interaction was an exercise in restraint, and a 
reminder that Moya's crew differed in more than appearance. The temptation to 
attribute Human rationales to everyone had been burned out of him quickly. Trial 
by fire. Empathy was a rare currency; he had learned to expect condemnation as 
often as support. Not that he blamed any of them. He was collapsing after a few 
months of what most of his crewmates had endured for cycles. How could they 
respect him after that? Helplessness scared him. Losing those he cared about 
frightened the living shit out of him. And he would surely lose them. He was 
becoming more of a burden than an asset. Sooner or later, they would realize the 
necessity of leaving him behind for their own safety. 

Moya's crew was nothing if not pragmatic.

He had hoped... for that one perfect moment in Aeryn's arms. Hoped. That things 
would get better. That his luck was turning, the fucking wheel was finally 
turning his way, and hers. They were both overdue. He needed the connection with 
quiet desperation. Touch - simple touch. So close to human touch, Aeryn - at 
times he forgot that she only looked the part. She had been his anchor for so 
long. He wouldn't have made it through the last months without her. Her quiet 
acceptance, her unsought willingness to run interference for him, to protect him 
from prying eyes - she was his sanity when reality pulled away and the black-
clad monsters reared their ugly hybrid heads. She didn't thread around him like 
he suffered from some kind of terminal disease. Her no-nonsense compassion had 
almost made the whole deal worthwhile. Hope soaring amidst the misery, comfort 
given without expectations - more of a gift to him than Zhaan's detached 
understanding or D'Argo's gruff camaraderie. 

He didn't know how to function without Aeryn at his side, hauling his ass all 
over the place when he needed his priorities set straight. Worse now, because 
she was there and yet not. This Aeryn... this Aeryn approached their encounters 
like a strategic field exercise, and in any other circumstances he would have 
taken the battle right up to her, pounded his way in. But there was the small 
matter of her death and his mental health standing between them. He didn't know 
how to face her. What did you do when hope began to hurt?

John chuckled. He was under the influence and wishing he was under Aeryn. Shit, 
he wasn't going to like himself much tomorrow. Just when his headache was 
receding. Typical. What was the Uncharted Territories' answer to a hangover? 

A glance through the window. The skydome was almost pitch-black. 

Allara would be waiting for him. 

Meeting her behind the temple meant sneaking out of the palace. The challenge 
was appealing. Could have been the felah'k talking, but he had nothing better to 
do; might be his last taste of freedom for a while, and there was always the - 
remote - prospect that the priestess would share useful information. 

Wasn't it possible, just barely, that she had something beneficial to 
contribute?

"Not fucking likely," John grumbled, scratching his chin. He needed a shave.

Once Allara was dealt with, and he was a little less plastered, he would track 
Aeryn down. Maybe take his own advice. Talk to her. Talking was important, he 
remembered that. Searching, watching, arguing it out... anything was better than 
being left in the dark. Than not knowing. He hadn't been told his mother was 
sick until there was no time left. So many things unsaid; he didn't want to take 
that risk again. If something was seriously wrong with him... Aeryn had a right 
to know, whether she was willing to help or not. 

He checked Wynona's chakan oil cartridge. Full. 

That cinched it. Allara, then Aeryn. 

He stood, ignoring the roomful of Ectanians staring at the weapon strapped to 
his thigh. He was surprised to discover himself reasonably stable on his feet. 
He grinned like a maniac. 

Chapter one of the UT's Survival Guide. When in doubt, look like you know what 
you're doing. It also happened to be the core edict of the Plan-Bs-are-for-wimps 
school of thought - official sponsor of Moya's crew. Worked every time. 

Almost. 

Refusing to question his apparent tolerance for felah'k, he strode cockily out 
of the bar.





"What the frell are you doing to yourself, John?" Aeryn muttered. 

The Human was making his way out of the refreshment house, the crowd parting in 
front of him with almost comical celerity. Understandable if rumors had spread 
that John Crichton was the Regent's mercenary, an extermination squad of one. 
These people here couldn't know of his tie to Katralla. They certainly weren't 
treating him like royalty - more like some kind of psychotic hitman who would be 
set off by a loud noise. 

Not that John noticed the unwanted attention. He had spent the last arn 
drinking, lost in his internal world with a distant look and secret mutterings, 
far away from this glorified prison. Frell. Was he hallucinating again? Was that 
the cause of all this? 

Someone had to look after the rest of him, while his mind wandered the scenery 
of his solitary nightmares. 

"Have I given you, at any time, the impression that I cared? Because I will 
hasten to rectify."

Rygel. Had she been thinking out loud? 

She twisted one of the Hynerian's sensitive ears out of habit. He choked 
on whatever local delicacy he had been stuffing his face with and swallowed, 
coughing. "Peacekeeper bitch," he growled, low. 

She grabbed the back of his throne-sled, dragging him away from their table when 
John's back disappeared around a corner. 

She had been observing the Human for a while, not that remaining unnoticed had 
been much of a challenge, even with the Hynerian nuisance in her midst. John was 
not keeping track of his surroundings, which was the very reason she was 
shadowing him. Maybe she had forgotten how to be anything but his keeper. Maybe 
she was so frelling worried for him she forgot to breathe until she could see 
for herself that he was safe. She missed him. Missed being close to him. Craved 
the intimacy of his touch like a physical ache, the casual closeness she had 
never shared with anyone but John. In the few days after her resurrection, she 
had been the one withholding touch, and it had almost killed him. 

She understood now. She wasn't running away, she was only running toward. It had 
just taken a little time to catch up to him, that was all. 

"What the yotz do you think you're doing?" Rygel grumbled, holding onto his 
throne-sled. "Let go of me this instant! My third stomach still has room for--"

"Shut up, Rygel," she hissed between clenched teeth, trying to keep John's 
wavering figure in sight. At first glance he seemed sober, but every once in a 
while he would miss a step and right himself up before he could tumble, hand 
following the curve of the wall like a security blanket. 

No one was watching him. How curious that Tesha hadn't assigned a detail of 
guards to the Human, if his expertise was as precious and vital as she claimed. 
What was John's saying? Something to do with sea creatures... which meant that 
the Regent was up to something. 

Hardly a revelation. 

After sending Zhaan to look after John, Aeryn had contacted Moya to resume their 
interrupted conversation. Pilot and Chiana's suspicions made too much sense and 
ran parallel to her own. Peacekeeper involvement was hardly a surprise. High 
Command would be interested in Ectani, and the Special Directorate wouldn't pass 
up on the opportunities arising from political instability. The Regent was 
young, but she was far from stupid. She had to suspect Peacekeeper involvement 
herself. So why coerce Crichton? What did she think the Human could do for her? 
Scorpius was dead and gone, and even if he wasn't, he had the technology stolen 
from Crichton's brain anyway. Tesha would gain nothing by trading John for 
favors from High Command. Or would she? 

Aeryn wasn't a covert operative, but she felt the urge to indulge in some spying 
of her own. Zhaan, D'Argo and Stark had left the palace and were already outside 
the dome. They had been in contact with her to confirm that the Regent was 
upholding her end of the bargain. It was the reason she had tracked John down in 
the first place, to share the news, but she had found her shipmate drinking 
himself into a stupor and decided to leave it for later. She had seen Zhaan 
before the Delvian had left. Judging by the priestess expression, her last 
encounter with John hadn't gone any better than the previous one, yet she had 
refused to confide in Aeryn. And Crichton would rather have a conversation with 
a felah'k crystal than talk to her. How typical that she should be ready to open 
up, when everybody else was shutting down. 

John had stopped in the middle of a corridor, staring around himself in 
confusion, as if he couldn't remember how he had gotten there or where he was 
going. Aeryn pushed Rygel behind a very ugly statue, and joined him in the 
cramped hiding place, keeping her eyes on the dazed Human. "Rygel, I want you to 
keep an eye on John." She must be frelling crazy. "I'm going to try and track 
down officer Tanol. See how much information I can get out of him."

"I didn't know insanity was contagious," the little dominar remarked, falsely 
solicitous. "Do I look like a bloodtracker to you?"

She sneered. "Picture Crichton as a big pile of Hynerian marjoles. That should 
do the trick."

"What 'trick'?" Rygel grumbled. "I swear, you're more and more like that Human 
every day."

Aeryn blinked. How true. 

And he was becoming more like her. 

"Rygel," she growled under her breath. 

The little slug turned a nice shade of pale green. "Fine, fine. I'll follow. But 
if he gets into trouble-- what am I saying? //When// he gets into trouble, don't 
expect me to save his ass. Crichton has been enough of a liability, I say."

The key to not throttling Rygel was to ignore him, and Aeryn did just that. "If 
anything happens, comm me. I'm sure you can manage that." She sobered. "And 
if... if you hear him talking to himself, try to listen to what he's saying, 
all right? Then report it to me."

Rygel quieted. "You think he's hallucinating again, don't you?"

Rhetorical question, but she nodded anyway. "After the chip was removed, I 
thought John would be free of Scorpius. Stark said he had managed to subdue the 
remnants of the clone, but now..."

She was surprised to feel the tiny Hynerian awkwardly patting her wrist. There 
was something in Rygel's expression... something she had seen there once before, 
when an insane Peacekeeper captain had threatened her with torture to coerce 
Moya into starburst. "Scorpius tortured him, Aeryn. Freedom is not gained so 
easily."

He didn't share the rest of his thoughts out loud, and she was grateful. She 
didn't want to hear that Rygel had still been Durka's prisoner after one hundred 
cycles out of his tormentor's clutches. That Aeryn might have some experience 
with torture, but she had been on the wrong side of the fence at the time. She 
couldn't really understand what John was going through, or empathize the way the 
little dominar could. 

She returned her attention to John's confused wanderings. 

"I'll follow him," Rygel said. His words tightened around her heart. Then, 
gruffly, "Go find a way to get us out of this accursed place." Aeryn looked at 
him in surprise. He shrugged. "The food is good, but Tesha is not to be trusted. 
I would know," the Hynerian stated, in his best I'm-Rygel-The-Sixteenth tone of 
voice. "I believe one shouldn't question authority--"

"Right," Aeryn said, speaking from experience, "because it doesn't know either." 

That wasn't enough to throw Rygel off course. "But I guess since I'm not the one 
in the position of authority, we can make an exception this time."

John had come out of whatever daze he had been lost into and had wandered down a 
hallway. Rygel and Aeryn came out of hiding, and without another word the 
dominar floated after his Human shipmate. 

Aeryn watched him go. "Look after him for me," she whispered. 

The little Hynerian was already too far to hear her.




For beings who purported to vehemently distrust him, his crewmates sure assigned 
Rygel the important missions. As it should be. He was after all older than 
Zhaan, brighter than D'Argo - which wasn't saying much - a more skilled procurer 
than Chiana, a better leader than Aeryn and a craftier negotiator than Crichton. 
It did cross his mind that Aeryn had chosen him as the only, and smallest, 
option available to her, but surely she must have had more confidence in Rygel's 
abilities than she professed. The Human was a magnet for trouble. The situation 
called for level-headedness... and the ability to sneak around unnoticed. 

As for Rygel's willingness to participate in this useless endeavor - it beat 
being bored. He was also aware that in enemy territory information was precious, 
a weapon he could yield despite his diminutive stature. His attempts to gain a 
private audience with the Regent had been met with polite but firm refusal, 
which he would make certain his shipmates never found out. Self-preservation 
dictated that he should gain some leverage, and Crichton - who, for some 
unfathomable reason, the Regent deemed valuable - was a candidate. 

He kept a safe distance between the Human and himself, hoping that Crichton 
would not pick up on the tell-tale hum of his throne-sled. He shouldn't have 
worried. Not only were Crichton's ears deficient, he wasn't paying sufficient 
attention to his environment to notice a blood-crazed Rorklak coming right at 
him, let alone an astute Hynerian. It did look like he was moving with a 
purpose, although with the Human that meant very little. Crichton always looked 
like he knew what he was doing. It didn't mean that he actually did. Even Rygel 
had to respect that aptitude. Maintaining appearances could come a long way in 
salvaging an otherwise hopeless predicament. He had born witness to many such 
reversals of fortune on Moya. 

Where the yotz was Crichton going?

The noises of the crowd and the chatter of the occasional noblemen and women 
they came across in the corridors had long since faded. Crichton was venturing 
deeper into the servers' quarters of the palace. The kitchens. Rygel's nose 
rarely failed him when it came to gastronomy, even if Sebacean cuisine was a bit 
bland for his taste. Tomorrow he would go out in search of a decent food court. 
In the meantime, he followed Crichton in the bowels of the massive edifice, 
sticking close to the walls. 

When the Human came to a halt in a dark chamber adjacent to the main kitchen, 
Rygel remained by the entryway, poking his head inside, then retreated in a 
hurry. The stench was unbearable. This was the waste disposal unit. He hazarded 
another look, holding his hand over his nose. Crichton stood in a corner of the 
small room, fiddling with some sort of latch in the wall. 

Rygel almost groaned out loud. Garbage dispatch conduit. He knew where this was 
going. Crichton had been looking for a way out of the palace, and he had just 
found one. The Hynerian thought about comming Aeryn, but the Human would hear 
him. He sighed, ears drooping, resigned. 

//I figure the right thing starts at the beginning of the day.//

Sometimes he really, really despised that pitiful creature. 

After Crichton managed to open the conduit and disappeared inside, he counted 
twenty microts and pressed his comm badge. "Aeryn, come in."

"Yes, Rygel?" She sounded tense. 

"That frelling Human of yours is making his way out of the palace through the 
kitchen waste disposal unit. You better get your flat Peacekeeper ass here now."

"Don't let him out of your sight, do you hear me Rygel? Or I swear I'll make 
good on your greatest fear!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he muttered, undaunted, floating his way over to the 
conduit. He severed the communication. He didn't fear Aeryn. Hadn't for a long 
while. She was becoming more like the Human all the time. And Crichton wasn't to 
be feared. Only pitied.

And trusted. 

Yes, Rygel conceded silently, regretfully. Trusted. 

He leaned forward as far as he could, inspecting the walls of the conduit. At 
least these people had the foresight to throw out their garbage in bags. 
Although the stink was still enough to empty one of his three stomachs, the 
tunnel was clean, and large enough that he could follow after Crichton without 
having to dismount his throne-sled. Good thing too, otherwise he would have 
renounced this little adventure, and to hezmana with Aeryn's pathetic threats. 

Grumbling and groaning, he ventured inside the shaft, face pinched in disgust at 
the repulsive stench. He would have to burn his clothes, and Crichton could 
scrub his throne-sled clean for his troubles. 

The duct went down at a slight angle and Rygel couldn't make out an exit or get 
an idea on the length of the conduit. He couldn't pick up any sound, so he 
assumed that Crichton had already squirmed his way out. 

They should have thrown that useless Human out of an airlock cycles ago, they 
should have-- 

Rygel sighed, unsheathing the small knife he kept hidden inside his robes. 
Whatever awaited the dominar at the end of the shaft, it was better to be 
prepared. He tried to muster back some of his annoyance at his defective 
shipmate, but he didn't have the heart for it. He was Rygel the Sixteenth, 
dominar of over six billion subjects - and some primitive body-breeder had shown 
him that he wasn't too old to change, or to learn. 

To teach also. 

He hoped Ectani's soil would restore Zhaan to health. She was a friend, maybe 
his sole true friend, the only confidant he'd ever had. He found himself seeking 
her counsel - at times, soliciting her approval. It was disconcerting. Rygel had 
always been alone. Valuing the opinion of another was as foreign as the concept 
of sacrificing himself for another. And if Moya's crew had managed to instill 
the first notion in him, who was to say that they wouldn't be successful in 
convincing him of the second, given enough time? Rygel wasn't easily frightened, 
but the prospect was enough to drive him into hiding, never to be heard from 
again. 

By the Hynerian gods, he would run - well, float - before he let it get to that 
point. 

He reached the end of the conduit without realizing it. It was so dark outside, 
it was hard to tell the difference between the stinking shaft and the smelly 
alley. 

"Crichton, son of a hezmot," he grumbled under his breath, "where the frell are 
you?" He kept the knife in one hand, guiding his throne-sled with the other. A 
little light spilled from the palace's high windows further away from him. He 
went in that direction; Crichton would be seeking illumination to compensate for 
his inadequate vision. 

Rygel looked overhead. The needle-like tower of the palace rose toward the 
skydome on his left, the massive, glass-like pyramid of the temple stood firmly 
on his right. His ears didn't pick up any other presence, which in itself was 
suspicious. He would have expected patrols so close to the palace. In fact, 
Crichton's escape had been too frelling easy. "Come on, Aeryn," he hissed, "come 
on."

Rygel spotted him as soon as he rounded the corner of the alley. Crichton--

And a woman. 

Blond.

The dominar hung his head. Damn body-breeders. He had been crawling all over 
that conduit just because Crichton wanted to have some fun with the local 
Sebacean beauties. And a priestess at that. The Hynerian had half-a-mind to 
introduce his tiny blade to Crichton's mivonks. Frelling Human. He never 
learned. 

In the end, Rygel didn't move, debating whether or not to call Aeryn, give her 
directions to this place and watch her redesign Crichton's anatomy. 

Crichton's voice carried over to him. "You're lucky I showed up at all, lady, so 
why don't you talk. Quick. Before they realize I've given them the slip."

"Not here," the woman answered, "we can talk--"

"Stop right there. I'm not going anywhere with you. I may be stupid, but I'm not 
suicidal. Curiosity killed the cat and all that."

The stranger was shaking her head, no doubt baffled by Crichton's incoherent 
ramblings. "I have to show you. There is this scroll, this prophecy. It's about 
you. You're in danger."

Rygel could read Crichton's bemused expression from across the street. Maybe the 
dominar had misread the situation. He didn't know much about Sebacean mating 
rituals, even less about Human practices, but being an unwilling spectator 
to Aeryn and John's pitiable antics over the last cycles, he knew this wasn't 
it. 

"Uh, yeah. Right. I'm not the only one who's been overindulging tonight."

The priestess was getting frustrated. "What do you know about quantum 
singularities?"

Crichton frowned at that. "A lot more than I ever wanted to know. Why?"

"Over seven hundred cycles ago, one of the members of my order, Kalem Sacot, 
encountered such a singularity, and got a glimpse of Ectani's future."

"And I was in it?" Crichton sounded as dubious as Rygel felt. "Ma'am, you get 
extra points for creativity."

Whatever the priestess's reply, it was interrupted by Rygel's comms crackling to 
life. "Rygel! I'm in the kitchens. Where the frell are you?"

Crichton turned and saw him then, puzzled. "Sparky? That you? What are you 
doing--"

Rygel himself didn't hear them coming. They rounded opposite corners, and in a 
handful of microts they had Crichton and the priestess surrounded. Eight of 
them, wearing dark crimson uniforms. At first, the dominar assumed that they 
were guards sent by the Regent to retrieve the misplaced Human. Crichton must 
have reached the same conclusion, because he lifted his hands at shoulder 
height. "Hey, guys, sorry. I saw the light, and--"

He never finished his sentence. One of the soldiers retrieved some sort of 
weapon from his belt and shot the Human. Rygel didn't actually see the 
projectile, but Crichton went down like a stone and didn't move. 

The Hynerian gasped in shock. He reached for his comms, frantic. "Aeryn," he 
whispered, trying not to attract any attention, retreating into the 
shadows, "we're under attack, outside, behind the temple. Use the conduit! 
Quick! Crichton is down--"

He didn't see his assailant stand behind him. Didn't smell the Sebacean female 
over the stench of garbage until it was too late. He only felt the knife against 
his throat, heard the familiar voice in his ear. "Drop your weapon."

He did.

"I'm afraid you're coming along for the ride, Dominar. I have no purpose for 
you, but I can't leave witnesses behind. Nor can I kill you. Everyone should be 
so lucky."

As she spoke, he saw Crichton's attackers close down on the frightened 
priestess. They didn't use the strange weapon on her. They had knives of their 
own. He turned his eyes away, unwilling to watch. 

"Jenavian Chato?" he squeaked, having identified the voice. 

Peacekeepers. Special Directorate. And they had Crichton. They were doomed. 

Aeryn's tight, frantic voice burst through the comm again. "Rygel! Rygel! What's 
happening down there? I'm almost there! Hold--"

He didn't feel the pantak jab either. 




Entrusting Rygel with Crichton's shadowing had been a painful - and counter-
intuitive - decision, but the Hynerian had correctly assessed their situation. 
They had to find a way out of the palace. It was too dangerous to stay, for John 
and the rest of them. Tesha had already managed to split the crew; whatever her 
motivation, Aeryn would not let her isolate John further. She needed more 
information. About the G'Ken and the Regent's plans for Crichton. There was 
always the possibility that Tesha really believed John would help her take down 
the terrorist group based on Moya's crew's reputation, but as time went on 
without any sign of interest from the Regent - not even a couple of bodyguards 
to insure that Crichton didn't do something rash - it seemed less and less 
likely. 

Yet even if they found a way out of the palace, they couldn't get off Ectani 
Prime until Zhaan returned. They couldn't take action against the Regent because 
the Delvian was, for all intents and purposes, in Tesha's custody. There was 
little Stark and D'Argo could do on their own. If Pilot and Chiana's assessment 
was correct, and Aeryn didn't doubt that it was, they now had to face the 
additional threat of a Peacekeeper presence behind the G'Ken. 

It was the royal planet all over again, and this time Aeryn wasn't running. She 
was done being afraid. Doubts and anger made her tired. On the terrace, she had 
experienced what it was like to be John, feel like John, see herself the way he 
saw her. Empathy had killed the fear, and she understood what the Human had once 
tried to explain - that the whole was greater than the sum of its parts. 

She was weary of walking around like she was missing a limb. 

Now to rescue her magnificent madman from himself. 

She expected to find officer Tanol in the immediate vicinity of the Regent's 
private quarters and headed for the audience chamber. As it turned out, he found 
her first. 

"Officer Sun."

She whipped around, tensing up when she recognized her interlocutor. "I'm not an 
officer anymore, Officer Tanol."

He nodded in acknowledgement. "Indeed. You are most fortunate to have escaped 
Peacekeeper indoctrination."

"Is there anything I can do for you?" No need to give away the fact that she had 
been looking for him. 

His smile was small, but seemed sincere. For the first time she noticed how dark 
his eyes were. He was taller than John, although not as tall as D'Argo, and she 
had to lift her face a little to look at him. She could see why the Regent had 
chosen him for her personal guard. He was an imposing presence. "It's just 
Tanol. No need to stand on formality. As you said, you are no longer military." 
His voice was deep and pleasing. He was, as John would say, flirting 
shamelessly. Aeryn schooled her features to mask her impatience. "I thought you 
might want to join me for a drink. I'm off duty for the next six arns. I know 
today hasn't been relaxing for you."

"We didn't expect to be coerced into fighting your war, that's true," she said.

"The Regent is young and strong-headed," Tanol offered by way of explanation. 

"You mean manipulative and devious," Aeryn interjected, pushing her luck. It was 
as good a way as any to test Tanol's relationship to his sovereign. 

"That too," he agreed. He pointed down the hallway, back the way she had come. 
"What about that drink?"

With typical bad timing, Rygel forestalled her answer. "Aeryn, come in." 

She thought about ignoring him. She had a real chance at some serious 
information gathering, and Tanol was eyeing her comm badge expectantly. But the 
need to know what was happening with John overrode everything else. 

"Yes, Rygel?" 

"That frelling Human of yours is making his way out of the palace through the 
kitchen waste disposal unit. You better get your flat Peacekeeper ass here now."

She didn't even look up to judge Tanol's reaction. She turned around and took 
off at a run, aware that the officer was following, keeping up the pace. "Don't 
let him out of your sight," she shouted. "Do you hear me Rygel? Or I swear I'll 
make good on your greatest fear!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

The connection was cut off, and she picked up speed, one hand on the butt of her 
pistol. She had a broad idea of her destination, but she required specifics. 
"What's the fastest route to the disposal unit?" she bit off.

"Follow me," Tanol said. The officer hadn't called for any reinforcements, even 
knowing that the Regent's so-called guest was making his way out of the 
building. Aeryn would worry about what it all meant later.

The edifice was frelling huge, and it took them over one hundred microts to 
reach the kitchens. "Rygel! I'm in the kitchens. Where the frell are you?"

She found the open hatch of the disposal conduit and wedged her head inside. 
Nothing but darkness.

"Aeryn!" Rygel's panicked whisper bounced against the metal walls, and for a 
moment she thought he was somewhere trapped inside the tunnel, until she 
realized that the sound came from her comms. His next words froze the blood in 
her veins. "We're under attack, outside, behind the temple. Use the conduit! 
Quick! Crichton is down--"

That was all. 

John. 

Down. 

No. 

She squashed the mindless panic with trained determination and used her hands as 
leverage to slide further into the shaft. A strong hold around her ankles pulled 
her back. As soon as she was free, she drew her weapon and aimed at Tanol. "What 
do you think you're doing?" she snapped, enraged. 

He lifted his hands palms first to show that he was unarmed. "We don't know what 
could be waiting for us down there. Better use another exit. Come on!" He turned 
around without waiting for an answer, knowing she wouldn't shoot. Knowing she 
would follow. 

She dashed out of the waste disposal room, hot on Tanol's heels, activating her 
badge, tracking her companion's broad back along a dark corridor, then down a 
short flight of stairs. "Rygel! Rygel! What's happening down there? I'm almost 
there! Hold on. Tell me what's frelling going on! Rygel!"

Static. 

Aeryn focused on the feel of the muscles springing so tightly in her thighs and 
shins her feet barely touched the ground, gun-hand squeezed so hard around her 
pistol it hurt. When they hit a closed metal door, she had to bite back a 
roar. Tanol whipped out some sort of id card from inside his suit, and swiped it 
down the scanner on the wall.

The door opened with a hiss. 

Aeryn extended her pistol, fighting the urge to rush headlong into the dark 
alley sprawled ahead of her. It wouldn't help John at all if she got picked off 
by enemy fire before she made it out the door. She went low, letting Tanol cover 
her. It took only a microt for her eyes to adapt to the shadows. She surveyed 
her surroundings as best she could. The alley was narrow, and smelly. Empty as 
far as she could tell. There was no place to hide. She scanned high positions 
for snipers and was confronted by the smooth walls of the palace and the temple 
on either side. She held her fist up out of habit, Peacekeeper gesture 
indicating to Tanol that the area was clear and she was on the move. Back 
against the wall, she progressed up towards the mouth of the alley, searching 
for any sign of her shipmates, senses on alert, muscles taut. Tanol was a 
shoulder-length behind, noiseless. 

When she reached the corner, she crouched. Sneaked a glance past the bend. 

There was a body on the ground. 

Aeryn was too far to tell. Could be a trap. Bait. The body could be rigged. She 
didn't care. She didn't spare a thought for Tanol. Just stood and jogged to the 
unmoving form. Knelt. 

It wasn't John. 

She didn't know whether to sigh in relief or dread. 

It was a woman, barely older than Tesha. Blonde. Brown suit. A priestess. Aeryn 
looked for a pulse, still wary of booby-traps. The woman was alive. Barely. 
Dark, red blood glistened in the darkness, dripping from a gaping wound in her 
midsection. 

Aeryn raised her eyes to Tanol, standing over her shoulder, both hands wrapped 
around his weapon pointing at the ground. "Go get some help," she ordered. He 
seemed to hesitate, glancing tensely at the fallen woman. She barked. "Now!" 

With a quick nod of acknowledgement, Tanol sprinted back the way they'd come. 
Aeryn didn't lose any time watching him go. She holstered her weapon and 
flattened both her hands against the priestess's stomach, applying pressure, 
trying to slow down the flow without much hope of success. The blood was dark - 
a major artery had been damaged. Considering the placement of the wound, it was 
a sure bet that the paraphoral nerve had been compromised as well. 

The woman moaned, low, and her eyes fluttered open. It could have been the 
light, but Aeryn thought she saw a spark of recognition there. The priestess's 
lips parted, trying to form words. She was deathly pale, her skin freezing cold. 
Aeryn wanted to tell her to rest, save her strength, but she didn't. This woman 
was dying - and she was her only link to John. She bent closer, straining to 
understand the agonized, whispered words. 

"Took... took him... they took... Human..."

"John?" Aeryn asked around the lump in her throat, urgency depriving her lungs 
of vital air. "Did you see who took him? Is he hurt?" There was no time to 
question who the woman was, what was her relationship to Crichton, or ask the 
other million interrogations warring in Aeryn's mind. "Do you know where they 
went?"

"G'Ken... took him. Know about... the pro... prophecy. Tesha... betrayed--" She 
gasped, the nails of her right hand gouging the skin of Aeryn's forearm. "Tell 
J... Jarian... tell my brother... Save... S--" She coughed, bringing up blood. 
"Save Cr... Crichton."

The light in her eyes faded. 

She was gone. 

For a handful of microts, Aeryn just stared at the blood covering her arms to 
the elbows, her hands bathed in crimson. 

John... John was gone. Possibly injured. Possibly worse. 

No help would come from the palace. Whatever value Tesha professed to put on 
Crichton, Aeryn had heard the priestess's dying words and took them to heart. 
John had been taken by the G'Ken, and somehow the Regent was involved. 

Peacekeeper Special Directorate. 

It was the only explanation that made sense. John was no real threat to the 
G'Ken. Tesha had given him to the Peacekeepers. For what purpose, Aeryn would 
fathom later. Maybe track down this Jarian, if she could. 

She stood. Wiped her hands on her pants. 

Looked left and right, searching for another pool of blood. Allowing herself to 
think again when she failed to find anything. She couldn't stay. Tanol would be 
back with reinforcements soon, and no way was she setting foot in that frelling 
palace ever again. Aeryn took off at a light jog, away from the palace and the 
temple, putting some distance between herself and Tesha's men. She would worry 
about her destination later. She hit her comms hard enough to bruise her chest.

"Pilot!"

"Yes, Aeryn." He could tell from her voice that something was very wrong. He 
wouldn't have dropped the 'Officer Sun' otherwise. 

"Crichton and Rygel have... disappeared. I think they've been taken by the 
G'Ken."

"What-- why?" Chiana. 

"I don't know," Aeryn snapped, fighting off the frustration. She was running 
faster now, looking over her shoulder once in a while, and it was harder to talk 
and breathe at the same time. "It could have something to do with Tesha wanting 
John to stop the G'Ken." She had brought Pilot and Chiana up to date over their 
previous conversation. "Or, if your suspicions are sound, it could be the 
Peacekeepers. I just... I don't know why they would need Crichton now."

"What can we do?"

"First, try to scan for movement at the periphery of the dome. I figure they'll 
want to smuggle Crichton and Rygel out of the city. From what little I was able 
to gather, the G'Ken are holed up somewhere in the hills north of Ectani." She 
breathed deeply. "Next, contact D'Argo and the others. Be careful, because they 
might be under watch. I figure it'll be harder for Tesha's techs to pick up on 
our communications if we go through Moya and scramble the signal. Can you do 
that, Pilot?"

"Yes, Aeryn. I'll get on it right away."

"Tell D'Argo to meet me in front of the inn in four arns. That should give him 
enough time to make his way back. I know I'm asking him to abandon Stark and 
Zhaan, but--"

"Don't worry, Aeryn." Chiana's voice was oddly soothing. "We'll do what needs to 
be done. Like always."

The ex-Peacekeeper threw herself inside an archway in front of a pleasure house, 
hand digging in her side, trying to catch her breath. Since her 'death', she had 
been a bit out of shape, and it was taking a while to rebuild her stamina. Now 
wasn't the time for muscle cramps. 

"Thanks, Chiana," she gasped, bending forward. 

"Aeryn?"

"Yes?"

John. Shadowed eyes. Pale face. Afraid.

Not dead. 

No. Not dead. 

"Aeryn." Soft, tentative. She wished that she wasn't alone. Damn, now she missed 
Chiana. What next? "There's something you're not saying."

Frell, the Nebari could be perceptive. She spent too much time around John. 
"Crichton-- I'm not sure, but John... John might be hurt. The last thing Rygel 
had time to say before they were taken was that-- John was down."

She heard the twin sharp intakes of breath over the noises of the dwindling 
night crowd passing her by. 

"How bad, Aeryn?" Chiana asked.

"I don't know. I don't think... I didn't find any blood. But someone was killed. 
There was a woman, I think she was meeting John. They gutted her, Chiana. 
Frell," she snapped, "why didn't he tell me? Stupid, stupid Human."

"I have reached D'Argo and informed him of the situation, Officer Sun," Pilot 
contributed. "He will meet you as instructed. What will you do until then?"

Aeryn pushed away from her hiding place, checking the street for pursuers. There 
wasn't a red suit in sight. She broke into a light jog again. She had rested 
enough. She thought of the priestess who had died in her arms, thought of Zhaan 
fighting for her life deep in the forest of Ectani. What would the Delvian do in 
her place?

The answer was bitter and short. 

"Pray."




"Sir?"

"Yes," Scorpius hissed, jaw clenched tight. He stared at the holo-representation 
that haunted his too-short, uneasy sleep cycles. Scrubbing his brain for any 
remnants of thoughts picked up from Crichton's mind, but even his perfect memory 
failed him now. 

Scorpius was tired - the limitations of his body, as always dragging him down 
while driving the half-breed to surpass himself - but even he could not keep on 
going on so little rest. The techs didn't jump at attention each time he entered 
a room anymore. Even Braca was beginning to look a little frayed. The lieutenant 
didn't bother to lift an eyebrow at his superior officer's repeated displays of 
impatience. 

"Priority Red One communication, Sir."

Another report of the Scarran advance from High Command. Scorpius's superiors 
seemed to think he wasn't under enough pressure. The scientist didn't bother to 
lift his head, just waved his hand towards a nearby console. "I will review it 
later, Lieutenant."

"I think you'll want to see this right away, Sir."

Something in Braca's voice got his attention. He stood to face his subordinate. 

"Crichton has been located."

If he hadn't known better, Scorpius would have interpreted Braca's expression as 
a self-satisfied smile. "Where?" he asked. 

"Ectani Prime. One of the breakaway colonies, an ally of the royal system."

Scorpius killed the holographic simulation and left the lab. He headed straight 
for Command, Braca at his side. "Who reported his presence?" 

"The ident code identifies the source as Peacekeeper Special Directorate. A 
disruptor."

Scorpius frowned at that. "What is the Special Directorate's mission on Ectani 
Prime?"

Braca grunted and the half-breed glanced at his second in command in question. 
"I have attempted to access this information since we received the transmission, 
but the database is predictably vague." The enmity between soldiers and 
disruptors was well-known. Men like Braca had very little tolerance for the 
Special Directorate operatives' rather lax treatment of rules and protocols. 
But most of all, they despised the secrecy. "However, since our intelligence on 
Ectani Prime shows that the kingdom has been prey to terrorist attacks, which 
have threatened the stability of the royal court, I think it safe to guess at 
the Special Directorate's involvement."

Scorpius nodded his approval. Braca always showed just the right amount of 
initiative. "Is Crichton in the disruptor's custody?"

A couple of techs scurried out of the way as they approached Command. 

"The coded message is unclear," Braca answered, standing aside to allow his 
superior to enter the central chamber first. "It appears that the agent has 
access to Crichton, but not control. The disruptor instructs us to come as fast 
as we can. There are some concerns about Crichton's safety."

Scorpius cocked his head with a small smile. "John, John, John," he lamented to 
no one in particular, "what have you gotten yourself into this time?" He sat in 
his chair, and Braca came to stand by him. "Have the carrier ready to depart at 
once, lieutenant. Knowing John, he is single-handedly attempting to resolve 
Ectani's political situation and his misguided heroics will land him in the line 
of fire." He dropped the smile, snarling. "No harm must come to the Human, do 
you hear me, Braca? Contact that disruptor, go over the Special Directorate if 
you have to, but I want all our resources on Ectani dedicated to keeping 
Crichton alive, whatever the cost." He paused. "It's going to take at least that 
much."

"Won't the neural clone assist Crichton again, Sir?" Braca asked. 

His curiosity seemed genuine. 

Scorpius reclined in his chair. "The clone does not have the same imperative 
this time, I'm afraid, lieutenant." He sighed. War forged the strangest 
alliances. "Let's hope John's crewmates come through for him again."

He gripped the armrests.

"Until I retrieve him myself."




//Shakespeare recognizes no borders to possibility. He is life, death, the soul, 
exaltation of the most powerful emotions of human nature. He gave Western 
dramaturgy its bloodiest, most luminous Iliad - and also its Odyssey. He tames 
the soul, this battlefield of the illusory, more concerned with the internal 
mystery of the spirit, than the external enigma of God. 

//Shakespeare is haunted by the obscurity and the depth of doubt - this doubt, 
unsinkable Titanic, which pushes Hamlet to question the darkness and the ghosts. 
The Bard masters all the ubiquity, the immensity of human tragedy. There are no 
limits to his dissection of the soul, for there are no limits to the soul 
itself. He brings to the subterranean worlds of a Dante Alighieri, to the 
rigorous furor of an Eschyle, the richness of the gothic - set against antic, 
trenchant purity. Shakespeare is life ordered by the Dream. Hamlet is Orestes 
sublimed. Ophelia embraces all the Andromaches, Falstaff and Iago embody all the 
fools and all the condemned souls, Titania all the Morgans and all the fairies. 
The Bard exalts our hatred of the ordinary. 

//Shakespeare does not spare the reader. The melancholy which drains his oeuvre 
is more painful than fatality, because it is impossible to capture, more 
terrible because it is intrinsic. Mist and fog ensnare the malediction of 
infinity; infinity which throws in our faces the vanity and illusion of 
existence - perverts our instincts, submits us to the chaos of our intelligence-
-//

There was rustling - wind in the tall swamp white oaks. 

"What the hell--"

"I got bored again. Sorry."

He caught a whiff of Fifth Avenue before she rounded a mausoleum and walked 
casually up to him. She had swapped the jeans for slim gray wool pants and a 
heavy black turtleneck. Expensive tastes. Maxime liked designer labels. John 
remembered that. 

It was cold here. 

Where was 'here'?

He turned around on himself. It was a cemetery. A familiar one. It... it 
couldn't be. Why in Heaven--

"Because I've never seen it." She pointed at some spot behind him. "My grave. I 
got curious, so I took the liberty of interrupting your fond reminiscence of 
Professor Clarke's annual Shakespeare festival opening lecture. Hope you don't 
mind. I always thought he was a pompous ass anyway." She breathed deeply, 
looking at the simple marble stone etched with her name, and the tall, elegant 
sculpture - a woman and a wolf - watching over the grave. "You know, I really 
wanted to be buried in the garden, at Long Island. I never asked, because it was 
too morbid, and I was afraid no one would want to set foot in the summer house 
ever again."

She was quiet once more, watching the sky, heavy with rain that refused to fall. 

John looked down at himself. Still wearing black pants, black jacket, cotton t-
shirt. Wynona in her holster. 

"Hey, I don't mess with your clothes," Maxime said, raising her hands in 
protestation. "That's //his// thing." She grinned like a cat on poppers. 
"Besides, if I took an interest in your wardrobe, you'd walk around naked."

He didn't know one could blush in his own delusions. How sick was that?

"Not much. I've seen sicker. And are you gonna start talking to me, or you're 
sticking to the strong silent type act?"

He blinked. "Am I dreaming again?"

Her expression darkened and she looked away from him, shrugging. "In a way."

What? Had he finally gone around the bend? One too many Happy Meals? Drooling 
all over himself in a little padded room? It was bound to happen--

"No, no!" she hastened to reassure him. "It's not like that. But... you're not 
sleeping. You're unconscious."

He snorted. "Did I pass out from the felah'k?"

She shook her head. A copper strand fell across her right eye. "I'm afraid not."

He frowned at that. "What happened?"

The smell of snow was rising off the ground. "You don't remember?"

It was hard to concentrate. His head felt fuzzy. "There was the priestess chick-
-"

"Allara," Maxime supplied. 

"Yeah. I met her behind the temple. She said... a bunch of bullshit about a 
prophecy, and me, and... and Sparky was there, and then... a group of guards 
surrounded us." Wincing, he rubbed his stomach. "They... shot me?" He blanched. 
"Am I dying?" 

//Humans believe... well, some believe... that there's this bright light. And 
that you, uh, end up somewhere else along with your friends, family, relatives - 
all the people who died before you.//

An ocean of time ago. 

John stared at his childhood friend. "Is that why you're here?"

She laughed"No, silly. You're not dying." She reached up to ruffle his hair. 
"Besides, I think they would send your mom, not me."

He flinched. Couldn't help it. 

She bit her lower lip, contrite. "Sorry. That was very callous of me."

He dismissed her apology. "So I'm unconscious, but not dying. Drugged?"

She sighed. "It's my guess."

"Where's Harvey?"

That grin again. "Tied up."

He didn't even want to ask. He closed his eyes. Thought about the bender he had 
gone on before all this happened. "This is really gonna hurt like a bitch when I 
wake up, ain't it?"

"You should have asked Aeryn to tag along, you know," Maxime pointed out without 
an ounce of sympathy. 

"Gee, kick a man when he's down, why don't you?" He sat down underneath the 
statue, leaning against the wolf - claiming his old spot without thinking. It 
was quiet here. Restful. 

"I know," she said softly, seating next to him. "I thought you might like that."

John kept his eyes shut. He knew each bush, each tree, each monument by heart. 
He had made his way in the dark often enough. 

His mother's grave was twenty paces north, under the old chestnut tree. 

"Remember the time we climbed onto the roof of your house with DK? Your Dad was 
on some training gig and you'd stolen your mom's cigarettes. It was cold like 
this."

"If I remember?" he sniggered. "I almost killed you that day. Hell, I didn't 
even mind the dressing down I got from Dad when Mom told him. I felt so 
horrible. I goddamn welcomed it."

She nudged his shoulder with the tip of her nose. "You weren't responsible for 
my actions. Hell, //I// wasn't responsible for my actions most of the time. I 
was the one with the heart condition. I knew what smoking would do to me. But 
I... I just had to try. Self-preservation only goes so far. Sometimes you have 
to do silly things to realize what you've got. What is staring you in the face, 
but you can't see for the fear clouding your vision."

John massaged his stomach again. "Don't I know it."

He felt her nod against his jacket. "Free will's a bitch."

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "What did it feel like?"

Maxime shifted. "What?"

"Dying," he said at length, refusing to open his eyes. He didn't want to look at 
her pale face right then. He would only remember the hospital, the tubes and the 
useless machines. His father's heavy eyes when he told them - him and DK - that 
Maxime was gone. 

The twins had cried. DK had fled the hospital at a dead run. 

John had stayed behind. 

Kissed her still-warm lips. Because it was something she had never let him do in 
life. 

"It didn't feel like anything," she answered calmly. Too calmly. And he knew she 
was lying.

Fair enough.

"Wake me when it's tomorrow," he breathed, snuggling closer to her warmth. Her 
heartbeat. He didn't want silence. Silence always broke something in him. 
Exhaustion enfolded him tightly. He wanted to enjoy her presence - the watchful 
eyes, which kept the nightmares at bay. He could have sworn that he felt a warm 
tear splash on his brow. 

Tang of wet grass and decomposing leaves. 

"Rest, John." Her voice sounded far, far away now. "I'll see you again soon 
enough."




Consciousness reasserted itself unbidden. 

The ghost arms wrapped around him, the memory of safety, sodden earth and an 
expensive perfume faded, driven away by the taste of dust in his mouth and 
a sharp stone digging into his ribcage. Horizon of gray dirt and the stench of 
decaying earth in his nostrils. 

There was pain. A dull pounding behind his eyes and every inch of him 
complaining of a close encounter with a steamroller or some device equally 
unrelenting. Even his ears hurt. The soles of his feet. 

So, so cold. 

"Crichton, wake up. Wake up, you son of a hezmot."

That didn't sound like Maxime at all. "Sparky?" It came out a bit like 
'skrghmph'. 

A small, scaly green hand nudged his cheek. "Can you get up?"

Was that concern? 

It took him almost a whole minute to make it to his knees. The world swam, 
refusing to stay put. That was a hell of a hangover. Then he remembered the 
shot, the dart embedding itself in his stomach. He checked his midsection. A 
dark bruise marked the spot. He cleared his aching throat. "Where's my shirt?" 
He didn't bother to check for Wynona. His thigh felt naked without a holster 
strapped to it. 

He squinted in the dark. There was just enough light filtering from a small 
opening in the ceiling to see the spot Rygel was pointing at. He crawled to the 
pile of clothes, and retrieved his tee shirt and jacket. No trace of Wynona, 
of course. 

"Okay, Spanky. Where? Who? How many?" John wasn't bothering with the 'why' at 
this juncture. 

He peered at his surroundings through the blinding headache. They were in some 
kind of cell. Ground of battered dirt, dank walls, no windows and the 
prerequisite heavy steel door. It reminded him of the guest quarters at the 
gammak base, and he shuddered. His stomach rolled. He had been knocked 
unconscious twice over the last day. This couldn't possibly be 
healthy.

Rygel waddled up to John's right side. The throne-deprived Hynerian wasn't a 
happy camper. "You've been useless for at least two arns. We're somewhere in the 
hills outside the dome, some subterranean complex. I think our captors are 
members of that terrorist group the Regent wanted you to eradicate. As for their 
numbers... I don't know. Too frelling many, I would say."

John sighed. When did they ever face reasonable odds? Hell, he didn't even think 
he could function in a stress-free environment anymore. On the John Crichton 
Scale of Desperate Situations graded from one to ten, this one rated about a 
six. It would have been higher before space walks without suits, ice pick 
surgeries and falling ejection chairs. Couldn't fault the Uncharted Territories' 
favorite whipping boy for becoming a little jaded. 

Time to inquire about the 'why' then. "Did they say what they wanted?"

"No. They refused all offers of negotiation. They came to take you away for half 
an arn. They brought you back a while ago, then you woke up."

John swallowed the irrational burst of fear. Gone for about thirty minutes and 
returned half-naked. Not good. Moments that couldn't be accounted for spent in 
the hands of the enemy led to hardware insertion that would come back to 
haunt him later. "How much did you promise them for your liberation?" he asked 
to distract himself and quench the panic. 

"Yotz, I offered them Moya and all the riches we stole from the shadow 
depository," the dominar huffed, puffing his chest in defiance. "They didn't 
even listen to me." 

John chuckled, patting the tiny ruthless slug on the head. Maybe that was how 
the G'Ken tortured their prisoners. Locked them up with temperamental, back-
stabbing Hynerians. 

Rygel was rubbing his neck. "You okay, Guido?"

"I had an unpleasant encounter with an old friend of yours," he sneered. 

John was on his feet in a second - Rygel in a chokehold, back against the wall. 
"What... why didn't you say something straight away? Who is it, Rygel? Scorpy? 
Is it... is Scorpy here?"

"No, Crichton," Rygel croaked, trying to breathe. "Scorpius is dead. What's 
wrong with you, stupid Human? It's that disruptor - from the royal planet. 
Chato."

John backed away, stunned. He dropped Rygel back on the ground. "J-- Jenavian?"

"Yes," Rygel snarled. He picked himself up. "I didn't tell you, because I knew 
you would go fahrbot. And I was right, wasn't I?" 

John walked to the door, turned around when he got there. Stopped, frozen, in 
the middle of the room. "The Peacekeepers are in on this?" 

It was bad. Really bad. Whatever the Peacekeepers wanted with him this time, 
John was pretty sure it didn't include a formal apology and a complimentary 
ticket home. Shit, oh, shit. What had they done to him now? And why Jena? Was 
she undercover, or were the G'Ken aware of the Peacekeeper presence amidst their 
numbers?

Movement outside the door. 

He looked down. Rygel was hugging his left leg, cowering behind him. "Oh, thanks 
for the moral support, Fluffy." The door-lock rattled and he tensed, too scared 
to panic properly. Too much epinephrine flooding his bloodstream, leaving him 
numb. 

The door swung open, bathing the cell in dull, yellow light. 

It was Jena. 

She had changed. Her red leather outfit was a far cry from the revealing white 
dresses of the royal planet. Her hair had been cut short, lighter than he 
remembered. Not a trace of makeup on her tanned skin. Not a trace of a smile. 

He checked that she was alone. If she had infiltrated the terrorist group, he 
didn't want to blow her cover - at least until he could assess the situation 
better. As far as he could tell, the disruptor was on her own. He took a step 
forward, dislodging Rygel in the process. "Hey, Jena," he said tentatively. 

He didn't see the blow coming. 

Didn't realize she had struck him until he was on his knees, the copper taste of 
blood in his mouth. 

"You speak when spoken to, Human."

He lifted his head, dazed. "What--"

The kick to the ribs left him gasping for breath, stars shooting across his 
vision. He curled in on himself to protect his midsection from further abuse. He 
groaned when several hands grabbed his arms in a punishing grip, hauling him to 
his feet. 

Jena wasn't alone. There had been two men waiting in the hallway. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. He shouldn't have spoken to her. 

John didn't bother to struggle. No need to waste his strength on some pointless 
act of bravado. Despite the cold, unhealthy fear seizing his entrails, Jena's 
presence fanned a little spark of hope. The beautiful Peacekeeper had come 
through for him once already. They had parted on friendly terms. If Jena needed 
to knock him around a little to maintain her cover, then so be it. Until he 
could come up with a plan that wasn't quite so painful. 

John hung in his captors' hold, staring at Jena from under his lashes. 

"Bring him." 

"Wait," Rygel protested, "what about me--"

Jena's kick sent Rygel flying against a wall. John winced in sympathy. 

"You'll pay for this, you P--"

"Sparky!" John shouted. The Hynerian was likely to blow Jenavian's cover in his 
anger. 

His escort dragged him out of the cell, and the door swung shut after them with 
a chilling clang. Jena walked behind him, but he didn't dare look over his 
shoulder. He had to focus on putting one foot in front of the other, battling 
his physical exhaustion. The faint illumination of the corridor might be enough 
for the Sebaceans, but he had to concentrate to avoid tripping on whatever 
debris littered the ground. He stumbled once, and a sharp nudge to his side 
provided the incentive to right himself up. 

The place smelled like putrefied soil, and he remembered what Rygel had said 
about the complex being underground. He caught a glimpse of a wall to his left. 
It looked damp, like dripping stone. Natural caves - a mine, maybe? He tried to 
remember what Pilot had told them about the layout of the land. If they were 
outside the dome - had his kidnappers remembered to inject him with the anti-
radiation drug? Did they care? He wished he'd had more time to check himself 
over for suspicious scars and track marks. 

The group came to an abrupt halt in a larger room without windows. The yellow 
lighting was only aggravating his headache. He wanted someone to talk to him. 
He almost missed Scorpy's falsely casual, self-indulgent sideshow. The silence 
was driving him insane. What did these people want with him? Had they only taken 
him and Rygel? What about Aeryn alone back at the palace? Was she safe? Was she 
looking for them? Did she even know he was gone? 

"Look, guys, really, this isn't necessary--"

The grip on his right arm tightened, twisting hard, and he bit back a moan when 
agony flared in his shoulder. Not dislocated yet, but if the linebacker who held 
him kept this up, the joint would pop out soon enough. 

A third man approached from behind. When he entered John's line of vision, 
Crichton saw that he held some kind of metallic cuff hooked to a thick length of 
chain. He followed the link back to an anchor in the floor, at the immediate 
center of the chamber. The man crouched in front of him and locked the cuff 
around his left ankle. 

Suddenly his escort was gone. 

John staggered without their support. One hand flew to his mistreated shoulder 
and he grunted with the release of pressure. He rubbed the blood back in his 
arm, flexing his hand to relieve the sensation of pins and needles. Stared at 
the restraint bolted to the floor. 

//I swear I will never be taken prisoner again.//

Jesus, he felt the urge to giggle. He wished D'Argo was here. Damn, he would 
rather have faced the Luxan's hyper-rage, knowing he was chained down and 
couldn't escape, than the five, hard Sebaceans males he could now make out in 
the semi-darkness of the chamber. Jenavian stood apart from them, standing at 
attention by the door. 

One of the men detached himself from the group, stopping a few steps away from 
John. About the length of the chain, Crichton realized. The soldier - taller 
than him, dark-haired, lithe - appraised him with cool, almost disinterested 
sable eyes. 

"I am Commander Serris. And you are John Crichton."

//And thanks for reminding me.//

"Don't tell me," John snickered, reaching past the fear to the bottomless well 
of outrage and obstinacy beyond. "You've heard so much about me, and the reality 
doesn't quite measure up to the legend, uh? I knew I should never have sold the 
rights to Century Fox."

Serris's expression didn't change at all. "No, I had never heard of you and your 
band of criminals. But Disruptor Chato here knew about your so-called exploits 
and shared the information with us."

That took the wind out of his sails. They knew Jenavian was Peacekeeper, because 
she had told them herself. What else had she told the G'Ken? //Criminals?// 
"Why... why am I here? What do you want from me?"

"Information, of course," Serris answered. 

John chuckled nervously. "Look, pal, I don't know anything about anything, okay? 
I didn't want to get involved in this. Your Regent didn't give me a choice."

"I believe you. In fact, my agents in the palace reported most of your 
conversation to us. Tesha blackmailed you into assisting her."

It was safe to assume that some of the palace's staff were playing all sides at 
once. How else could everyone know so much about what the other parties were up 
to? John had a itchy feeling that everybody was reading the script two pages 
ahead of him. "Ah... well, good then. Can I go?"

"I'm afraid we need to ensure that the Regent hasn't shared any information, 
which could be vital to us. And you were captured while holding a secret meeting 
with a high priestess, whose brother also happens to be the Regent's lover."

"Woah, woah, there," John said, "hold your horses. I didn't know that woman. She 
was the one who called the meeting. She didn't have time to tell me anything 
before you guys crashed the party. Why don't you ask her?"

"She's dead," was Serris' cold reply. 

John gaped at him. "You killed her? Why?"

"She would not have given up anything, even under torture. Allara was a high 
priestess. We left a warning that we could strike anyone, at anytime."

Crichton was getting angry again. He shook with the force of it. "I don't 
understand anything of what's going on with this goddamn planet. Why it is so 
important that the religious caste be abolished, why the Queen tried to have you 
all demoted in the first place, why you're planting bombs killing your own 
people, but this isn't my corner of the friggin' universe, so I'm used to not 
having a clue. I wouldn't have taken sides in the first place if Tesha hadn't 
threatened my friend's life, okay? I don't go around meddling with the politics 
of entire worlds. I've only been here two frelling solar days. I. Am. On. 
Vacation. Will you people get that through your thick skulls?"

He was panting. Damn, he wasn't up for this shit. 

Serris looked unimpressed by his outburst. "What was your business with Allara?" 

"I told you," John answered, teeth clenched. "I don't know."

He wasn't quite sure what happened next. 

Serris's right hand drifted to his belt, and in the next breath John was on the 
floor, gasping in agony. The pain was unlike anything he had ever experienced. 
It radiated from everywhere at once, the jolt and the surprise stunning him as 
much as the feeling that he was burning from the inside out. 

It lasted seconds or minutes, he wouldn't have been able to tell. When the pain 
receded, he was curled into a tight little ball on the ground and he couldn't 
remember falling. It felt like the aftermath of a blackout - his brain seizing, 
his lungs hurting, begging for air, his muscles spasming so hard he was 
practically convulsing on the floor. 

He waited in terrified silence, and when the pain didn't come back, he lifted 
his face off the dirt floor, staring at Serris in shock. "What... what was 
that?"

The Commander crouched in front of him, angling his head, peering at John with 
little emotion. "Peacekeeper technology. Disruptor Chato was kind enough to 
suggest this method. She said it would be more appropriate to your physiology, 
that humans bled out too easily for us to employ our common technique of 
interrogation. Aren't you grateful?"

Serris didn't sound sarcastic or bragging. Or compassionate. Or anything. He 
just didn't care. Torturing John was business. A means to an end. There was no 
way out of this chamber. No one would listen to him. They didn't want to. These 
men sent suicide bombers in busy market places to kill and mutilate their own 
people, for the benefit of some ideological crusade John couldn't hope to 
understand in a million years. 

"What did you do to me?"

Serris reached for his belt again, and John tensed, but the G'Ken officer simply 
produced a minuscule, metallic device sprouting small pins on one side, smooth 
on the other. "A dozen of those little chips have been implanted under your 
epidermis and hooked into the pain centers of your neck, hands, chest and back. 
When activated," he pointed to some sort of switch on his belt, "the chips 
stimulate your pain receptors. Very efficient."

John blanched.

He opened his mouth - to yell, to insult, to beg - but nothing came out. No 
reprieve, no respite, no magic word would get him out, or stave off the mind-
numbing pain, which he knew with cold certainty would rush him again. No way to 
answer the innate urge to fight or flee - forced, unnatural powerlessness in the 
face of inevitable agony triggering a surge of adrenaline. 

There was nowhere to go. 

He looked at Jena, but her eyes refused to meet his, dousing the last flame of 
hope in cold, unforgiving waters. 

Serris' voice didn't waver. If this guy had a heart, it was artificial. "Why 
were you meeting Allara behind the temple?"

Maybe if he gave them something - told them about the prophecy, whatever that 
was... But he couldn't be sure. They would want more than what little Allara had 
the time to explain. Or he might unwittingly aggravate his case. He didn't know 
what role, if any, the prophecy played in all of this. "She asked me to meet 
her. You murdered her before she had time to tell me why."

"I'm afraid that's not enough, John Crichton."

"Well, it's all I have."

When the pain struck, he screamed. 

Raw. 

There was no point in hiding. He had long since stopped caring who heard him 
scream, plead or beg. Men, heroes weren't supposed to break down in tears or ask 
for mercy. Well, screw that. Whoever came up with that rule had never been 
tortured. 

His muscles locked around his spine so tight, he arched off the floor. He 
couldn't draw a breath. He was suffocating. He panicked, blind with pain. He 
couldn't ear his own cries over the sound of his frantic heart. 

The torment, like a feverish wave, held off the sweet comfort of 
unconsciousness. 

Excruciating agony. 

Oh, holy sweet God, he couldn't take more of this, he had to be dying--

Serris released the switch and John collapsed. 

He just lay there and tried not to die. 

"Hold on, John. Hold on."

Choked, hurried breaths ripped at his throat. 

"Help is coming. Aeryn. Aeryn will be here soon. You have to hold on."

Maxime?

"Yes. I'm not leaving you, hear me?"

There were tears in her voice. He tried to turn on his side, but he couldn't, 
weaker than a child. His body felt like lead, heavy with phantom suffering. He 
couldn't see her. 

"I'm right here. Come on, look at me." She sounded close. Warm breath against 
his cheek. He managed to curl on his side before his stomach rebelled. He hadn't 
eaten anything since before the explosion that morning and dry-heaved painfully. 

A pair of military boots traversed his field of vision. He rolled onto his back, 
not making any effort to speak or protect himself. Lost in a haze of bright 
nothingness and shiny black dots. He was so thirsty.

Soft fingers, almost reverent, on parchment-dry, taut skin. Maxime knelt by him, 
her face drawn with grief. Always too empathic, Maxime. She laughed. It sounded 
laborious. "We were quite the pair," she murmured. Tried to smile and failed. 

"Will you answer my questions now, Crichton?" 

John didn't lift his red-rimmed, dead eyes away from Maxime. Couldn't be 
bothered to pay attention to whatever Serris was saying. No answer he could give 
would make a difference. 

"Crichton!"

His weak hand closed around Maxime's pale, phantom fingers. "Screw you, Serris," 
he whispered, drowning in the shelter of Maxime's fathomless, emerald eyes - her 
proud bearing. Safe there. Didn't want to leave. 

"Don't you dare give up, John," she urged, a little desperate. 

He didn't want to make her angry. "M'tired," he murmured, closing his eyes. 

"I'm afraid we're just getting started, John Crichton." Was that Serris still 
talking? 

Shut up, Red Ranger. 

Shit. He didn't say that out loud, did he? 

"No, no you didn't." He had made Maxime laugh. 

//Wicked.// 

He'd picked up that word in London - traveling across Europe after their high 
school graduation. It had taken a lot of fast-talking to convince Maxime's mom 
to let her go. Cardio-myopathy and long plane rides didn't mix. "Mom knew I 
would smuggle myself in your suitcase or something silly if she didn't let me 
go," Maxime said, wrapping him in warm memories. He basked in the strength 
rolling off of her. So much like Aeryn, and yet not.

"She's coming, John. She's never let you down before. You know that better than 
I do," she chided him. "Think about what she'll do to those bastards when she 
gets here."

Hmm. Yeah. Aeryn going medieval Peacekeeper on the G'Ken's collective asses. 
Pretty visual.

When the debilitating pain hit again, shaking him like a ragged doll, a rabid 
hound gnashing on an old bone, he clawed at the ground, howling. The chain 
rattled like a snake. 

His screams went on long after the dust had settled on the floor. 




It felt like a dozen other times before. Mounting off a rescue alongside D'Argo, 
with no plan, no means, not even a target. 

Aeryn had breathed a sigh of relief when she found the Luxan waiting for her at 
the agreed rendezvous point. Not so much because she had any qualms about going 
after John alone, but if anything happened to her, there would be someone left 
to see the mission through. 

Bringing D'Argo up to date didn't take long. She knew so little. Pilot's scans 
hadn't revealed anything. The G'Ken squad that had taken John must have split 
up before exiting the dome. Moya's sensors hadn't detected the telltale 
signature of a group leaving Ectani. 

D'Argo wanted to go back to the palace, force their way in, and coerce the 
Regent into revealing what she knew. While the thought appealed to Aeryn's 
barely repressed rage, it was nothing short of unfeasible. 

"D'Argo, there's two of us, and hundreds of them."

"Since when did that stop us?" her crewmate grumbled, but the argument was half-
hearted. D'Argo's frustration warred against his fighter instincts. 

And his guilt. 

Crichton was in this mess because he had more or less surrendered himself to 
Tesha for Zhaan's sake. It hit too close to home. It wasn't so long ago 
that John had given himself up for Jothee. As far as Aeryn knew, Crichton and 
D'Argo hadn't talked about it since John's recovery. The big Luxan was 
uncomfortable around the Human, wanting to apologize for misjudging his friend, 
unsure whether John would forgive a transgression, which could have cost him his 
life and ultimately robbed him of his sanity. Aeryn didn't think that Crichton 
held a grudge. He understood his shipmate too well, knew that D'Argo was swift 
to assign arbitrary blame to anyone but himself in a crisis. John was his target 
more often than not. It was the Luxan's way, and he always came around 
eventually. No, Crichton didn't cling to bitterness and resentment. It wasn't in 
the Human's nature to punish his friends. At any other time, he would have gone 
out of his way to show D'Argo that things were once more all right between them. 
Except that John hadn't been all right for a while. 

Aeryn huddled closer to the fire burning in the hearth of the refreshment house 
they had retreated to. Less conspicuous than two strangers standing in the 
middle of the street. And it was cold tonight. 

She felt so frelling useless. 

"What about this Jarian?" D'Argo asked, ignoring his drink. 

She shook her head. "I assume that because he was the priestess's brother, he 
must be a priest himself. I don't know how that will help us locate him. We 
can't possibly go back to the temple, simply knock on the door and ask."

"That's what John would do," D'Argo said with an affectionate smile. 

Aeryn couldn't help herself. She smiled, too. Until she remembered that, 
wherever he was, John probably wasn't smiling.

The Luxan's large hand closed around her slim wrist. "He's resilient, Aeryn."

"I know that." It would be easier on John, on herself, if he didn't have to 
prove it quite so often. "You're sure Stark and Zhaan will be all right?"

D'Argo chuckled, although there was no mirth in it. "It was all I could do to 
keep Zhaan from coming with me. It was hard enough to escape the guards' 
vigilance on my own. And Zhaan couldn't afford to expend any more energy. A good 
thing Stark was there to restrain her. She was bound to do something foolish. 
She feels responsible for not supporting John more."

Aeryn sighed. They were all getting so mired down in guilt, each for their own 
misguided or legitimate reasons, that they were paralyzed. Maybe, just maybe, 
John had brought more than hope to Moya. He had brought guilt too - when he 
taught them about responsibility. 

"At least when I left it appeared like Ectani's soil was restoring some her of 
strength. This wasn't all for nothing," D'Argo added, subdued. 

Aeryn wished John was there to share the news. 

"Officer Sun."

Her hand flew to her comms and she lifted the badge close to her mouth. "Yes, 
Pilot. Anything?"

"In a sense." She frowned. What now? "I have just received a transmission from a 
man named Jarian who wishes to meet with you. He said that he had information on 
Crichton, that he didn't know how to contact you other than going through me. He 
gave me the coordinates for a rendezvous point. He will wait there for you in 
half an arn."

Aeryn looked up at D'Argo. 

"It could be a trap," the Luxan said, because someone had to.

"It could be," she acknowledged. 

She was already standing. 

D'Argo followed her lead, dropping some currency on the table. A lot more than 
they owed for the two drinks they hadn't consumed, but he couldn't be bothered 
to count. 

"Pilot," Aeryn said into her comms as they made their way through the mid-night 
crowd and out of the refreshment house, "give me the coordinates."




"Why are we here?"

How could he feel so very numb, while his heart still beat? 

"You won't let me take you away." She wrapped the shawl tighter around her 
shoulders and her heavy velvet dress, old-fashioned boots sinking into the snow, 
flakes of ice melting against alabaster cheeks. She looked tired. Hollow 
temples, blue lips, darkly-ringed eyes. Much like she had looked to him before 
her death. "Please, come with me, John. There's nothing for you here."

He stood on the edge of the cliff, staring at the frozen lake below. Would there 
be peace for him in the silence and the cold?

"I don't like it."

"What don't you like?" 

From this perspective, he could see the hole, the gaping wound in the pristine 
cape where the ejection chair had shattered the ice. "What I've become."

No meaningless words and futile protests. Maxime would never go predictable on 
him. "We can never be who we once were."

He snorted. "What do you care? You're dead."

She didn't hide the hurt, and he winced. "Sorry." He sighed. "It seems to be all 
I do, lately. Apologize."

"Then stop."

He chortled. "Stop screwing up, you mean?"

"No. Stop apologizing altogether. John, you were never one to shoulder blame 
needlessly, to be crippled by unnecessary guilt. You know your worth. You always 
have. So you've been struggling lately. So what? Give yourself credit for the 
things you have achieved. And give yourself time to tackle the things you 
haven't. One step at a time, remember? One step at a time." She wrapped both 
hands around his right arm, leaning close to him. She kissed the shell of his 
ear. "What are you afraid of? What is your greatest fear?"

"You know," he answered darkly. 

"Tell me anyway. What do you see when the nightmares come? What do you pray 
you'll be spared when you turn to this God you don't believe in?"

She held onto him tighter when the shivers racked his body. "Dying alone," he 
surrendered. "Losing them. Failing them." He slid down to his knees and she 
accompanied his fall with preternatural grace, unmindful of the snow melting 
through layers of clothing. 

"There is no fate, John. I want you to remember that. It's important, or it will 
be. There is no fate. No chains."

He breathed. 

Inevitability scared him. Free will was the measure by which he defined himself. 
Choices. Always choices. He must have made some pretty bad ones to get to that 
point. And the worst thing was, thinking back, he couldn't even figure out what 
they were. Pinpoint the moment when it all went to hell, the wrong decision. 
What if the wrong decision could be made without being aware of it? How could 
you hope to learn from your mistakes and never do it again? 

"You've killed."

"Yes," he whispered, mesmerized by the cracked iced cape. "Many times."

"But that's not what eats at you when the visions come."

"No. I hate it, but I understand the necessity of it. It's a reality I've come 
to accept, even if survival isn't all it's cracked up to be. Not for me." He 
shook his head, hoping, praying - that she wouldn't push for an answer. 

"So tell me."

Unmerciful exigency of friendship. Maxime wouldn't let him hide - or lose 
himself in this barren wasteland. 

"Tell me." Soft, but unrelenting. Her palm lay on his cheek, sharing what little 
warmth she had managed to salvage. 

"I've stopped listening." She wrapped her arm around his waist. Tight. Like a 
reward. "It's harder to care. Harder to see their pain beyond mine. I'm afraid, 
and I can't reach passed the fear. Can't be there for them." He shook his head, 
choking on the self-loathing. "Coward, coward, coward," he murmured the cold 
litany against the copper mane of her hair. "Dad would be so disappointed in 
me."

"What is the cardinal strength, John?"

He moaned. He didn't remember. 

"Of course you do. You taught me."

"Trust," he gasped. 

She sighed her approval. "Yes."

Maxime was waiting for more. 

He didn't know what she wanted. Didn't understand. Numb. Cold to the marrow of 
his bones. Trust? He had so precious little left. 

She leaned very close to him, her forehead against his brow, lips a hair-breath 
away, and he remembered in a rush. That last kiss. Unmoving shadow of her in the 
impersonal hospital bed. She had wanted to die at home, but her mom wouldn't let 
her, praying until the last minute for a miracle, which never came. "That's 
enough for now." She pressed a kiss against his closed eyelids, then retreated. 

When he opened his eyes, the terrible specter of the ice planet was gone, 
leaving tall weeds and golden sand in its wake. 

Back to the summer house. Warm July night. Cotton shirts on bare skin and loose 
overalls. They lay side by side on the big bed they had shared until they became 
too old for that sort of thing - and touches under the sheets took on a headier 
tang. Nights of traded secrets, Maxime sharing advice on wooing Luanne Johnson. 

The high French windows were wide open, welcoming the fragrant, salty breeze, 
the peaceful roar of the ocean. 

His body felt heavy, hollow, sinking into the mattress, and he held onto her 
like a life-raft, a feminine anchor who smelled of Earth and too much sun. "Why 
are they hurting me?" The question sounded small and childlike to his own ears.

"Because there's no fairness in this universe, John. But it doesn't mean we 
can't make our own. We just have to work for it."

"I've worked. Hard."

"I know, John. God, I know. I was here all along." 

He held on tighter. "What are you trying to show me?" Sweet Lord, he didn't want 
an answer, but he needed to ask just the same. "What are you?"

Wet, chaste lips against his collarbone. "I can be whatever you need me to be. I 
can be a hallucination, a shape-shifting alien, a memory, a ghost, a security 
blanket, a delusion. I can be gone. If my presence is causing you pain, I'll 
leave. Just say the words."

"God, no." Jagged plea, torn from some place deep inside his soul. 

She soothed him, petting his hair, cooing lightly in his ear. "Shh, John. Shh." 
So firm, so real. She embraced the silence for a handful of seconds, before 
speaking again. Echo of mirth in her tone. "Perhaps I'm a self-defense mechanism 
created by your brain to cope with the situation - is there anything normal or 
average about your life here? Have you stopped to think about that? How many 
human minds do you know have been invaded by alien, sentient life-forms time and 
time again? None. Unity isn't very common on Earth, in case you haven't noticed. 
Neuro-biotracers? Let see Freud wrap his mind around that one." He couldn't help 
it. He grinned. "Do you think modern psychiatry has answers for all the states 
of altered consciousness you've experienced? Those so-called ninety percent of 
dormant brain matter - you might just be tapping into them. You're the one who 
plans three impossible things before breakfast. You tell me."

He laughed. "You could always rationalize anything."

"Well, you came to me all the time, didn't you?" she huffed, falsely offended.

"Oh, yeah. And I seem to remember one of those pretty rationalizations landing 
me in Alex's arms."

Maxime groaned, hiding her face in his shirt. She had been quite dead for years 
by the time he had proposed to Alex. "Yes, well, miscalculation on my part. 
Happens to the best of us."

He seized her shoulders, pushed her away so that he could see her face, stare 
into her eyes. The months of madness, Aeryn... God, Aeryn, falling to her death. 
"Why didn't you come before?"

She stilled. "I can't tell you that."

He recoiled, hurt. "Why?"

Maxime sat up, looking down on him. "Because I don't know. Because the clone 
wouldn't let me through. Because you didn't really need me then. Because your 
mind wasn't as open as it is now. Because you weren't anywhere near a quantum 
singularity at the time. Take your pick."

John damn near shot off the bed in shock, but exhaustion kept him down. "A black 
hole? There's..." He took a deep breath. "There's a black hole around here?"

She seemed to hesitate, as if she had said too much. Nodded. "Jesus, John. 
You've got no idea." Maxime cocked her head to the side, as if listening to some 
secret song. He knew what was coming next.

"No, no," he said flatly. 

Her eyes were hard with unshed tears. "I'm sorry, John. You've got to go."

The panic rushed him again. "No, please," he begged. Beseeching her mercy. 
"Don't do this to me. Don't send me back."

"I'm not leaving you."

"Maxime--"

Consciousness pulled at him like a tide. Dragging. Dragging him down. Pain, 
everywhere.

"Remember Aeryn, John." Maxime, on a whisper. "Hold onto her."




He was already waiting for them. Sitting peaceably under the trees by a small 
pond. They didn't reveal themselves right away and took the time to scour the 
area for camouflaged men, but found nothing. If it was an ambush, they would 
never see the enemy coming. 

Having ascertained the risk and discarded it as acceptable, Aeryn and D'Argo 
abandoned the cover of foliage and revealed themselves to Jarian. He wasn't 
wearing the colors of his order, but a much less conspicuous civilian black 
suit. He was of a darker coloring than Allara, but from up close, Aeryn could 
see the fraternal resemblance in the deep-set eyes and the thin mouth. 

He didn't stand at their approach, hands forsaken in his lap. Easy to tell that 
he wasn't armed. 

"Are you Jarian?" she asked, her pulse pistol aimed straight at his chest. 
D'Argo had converted his Qualta blade, and covered her back. 

The Ectanian nodded. Raised his face to look at her. His skin was an unhealthy, 
sickly yellow, his eyes bloodshot. The grief wasn't an act. She had seen eyes 
like this before, luminous blue rather than earthy brown - staring at her out of 
John's ravaged face. 

She crouched in front of Jarian. The bushes protected them from prying eyes. 
They were as safe as they were likely to get in this foreign city, in the dead 
of night, with the royal guard after them. She lowered her weapon. "I'm sorry 
for your loss." He was staring down at her hands. She had washed them at best 
she could, but her sleeves were dark with Allara's dried lifeblood. "I couldn't 
save her."

He nodded again, lips pressed into a tight line. "It wasn't your place to save 
her. It was mine. I knew how she felt about the Human. I should have stopped 
her. I didn't want to believe..." he swallowed, "didn't want to believe that 
Tesha would..."

"What do you mean?" Aeryn asked, fighting the urge to grab the man by the 
shoulders and shake him until he talked. "What interest could your sister have 
had in John? How did Tesha betray you?"

That caught his attention. "How do you know--"

"Allara's last words. Before she... passed away. She said that the G'Ken had 
taken Crichton because of some prophecy, that Tesha had betrayed you, and that 
you had to save John. How did you escape the palace?"

"I grew up there. Tesha, Allara and I were childhood friends--" He lowered his 
eyes. "The servers came to tell me what had happened, that Allara was dead and 
the Human gone. I had to leave." Jarian seemed to come to a decision then. "I'll 
explain everything."

Finally. 

He must have read the urgency - and who knew what else - in her expression, 
because he lifted his hands, palm out, to sate her restlessness. "I'll be as 
quick as I can, but someone has to know everything. I don't think Tesha will let 
me live much longer, her assurances to the contrary." Aeryn didn't want to wait. 
She wanted to beat John's whereabouts out of him. Assuming he knew. Jarian 
forestalled her. "I don't know where the G'Ken is keeping John Crichton. But I 
know what they are going to do with him."

She gestured for him to continue. 

"The reason that the G'Ken has been so successful in their campaign over the 
last cycle, is because they've received tactical and technological support from 
Peacekeeper Special Directorate."

"We suspected as much," Aeryn commented. "Wait-- You mean they are aware of the 
Peacekeeper influence. They actually sought them out? We figured the 
Peacekeepers were operating under cover. I thought Ectanians hated 
Peacekeepers."

"They do. The G'Ken was manipulated into accepting the Peacekeepers' offer of 
assistance. One of their disruptors, who happened to be the late Queen's lover 
and security advisor, convinced her of the necessity to strike forcefully and 
mercilessly against the G'KKen, persuading her that they would take the same 
actions against the royal court if she didn't make the first move. Several 
members of the G'Ken were killed."

"And they were driven underground, only to retaliate against the royal family 
later," D'Argo said impatiently above Aeryn's shoulder. "We know all that 
already."

Jarian wasn't fazed by the Luxan's interruption. "What they aren't aware of is 
that Tesha made a deal of her own with the G'Ken's Peacekeeper contact. She 
agreed to set Crichton up to be captured by the G'Ken, and in exchange the 
Special Directorate would discontinue all support to the terrorists."

Aeryn frowned, uncomprehending. "Why would the disruptor agree to those terms? I 
see how fomenting political instability on Ectani would turn the planet into a 
potential Peacekeeper outpost in the Uncharted Territories, and quite close to 
Scarran space, too. Why would they renounce this opportunity?"

"Because the situation between Peacekeepers and Scarrans is degenerating as we 
speak. The stakes are much higher now. When the Peacekeepers would have been 
satisfied with Ectani before, now they want the royal system. And the only way 
to force the Empress into an alliance with the Peacekeepers is to blackmail 
her." He waited a microt for the information to sink in. "Do you see, now?"

Aeryn paled.

//You remember that dynastic integrity the Empress kept going on about?//

She had said those very words to John not two solar days ago. "The disruptor 
will take John back to the royal planet and use him as a bargaining tool." 

D'Argo snarled behind her. 

"Yes," Jarian confirmed. "The G'Ken, of course, ignore the disruptor's plans. 
They captured Crichton to interrogate him. They probably believe that Tesha has 
shared her schemes with him, since she intended to have him lead the assault 
against the rebels - or so she claimed."

Interrogate. 

Her jaw was locked so tight it hurt, and they were no closer to locating John. 
"Do you think the disruptor has succeeded in taking him off the planet already?"

Jarian shrugged. "Your Pilot would know better than I. If he hasn't reported any 
departures outside of the spaceport, it would be safe to assume the Human is 
still on Ectani Prime. I doubt the disruptor would risk taking a prisoner 
through official customs, even with the Regent's clearance. Too dangerous. She 
must have her own ship hidden somewhere in the woods."

That made sense. And Pilot would have contacted her if any vessel had lifted off 
since Crichton had gone missing.

"She?" D'Argo remarked, processing Jarian's words.

"Yeah, it's a woman. I saw her."

Aeryn tucked the information away for later use. "What is this dren about a 
prophecy? No offense, but despite the existence of a religious caste, I didn't 
picture you for a superstitious people."

"It's no superstition, Officer Sun. And no one knows about it outside of my 
order." His face darkened. "Or so we thought." His hands flexed into fists. 
"Soon after the second wave of colonists settled on Ectani, they discovered that 
they weren't the first inhabitants of the planet. At the time, everybody had to 
take the drug to combat the effects of the radiation, life wasn't easy then. 
That's when they revealed themselves to us. They had many names. They belonged 
to an ancient civilization and lived underground. They had found refuge here, 
but it was only temporary, they wouldn't stay forever on Ectani. They taught us. 
Built the dome for us. They were the ones who organized Ectanian society as you 
see it today."

"They set up the castes," Aeryn said, intrigued in spite of herself. 

"Yes," Jarian acquiesced. "We didn't question why. They were so advanced - we 
revered them like gods, although they never encouraged it. We were the ones who 
built the temple. And then one day, without explanation, they just left." He 
looked up at the opaque curvature of the dome, as if he could see to the stars 
beyond. "We were bereft. Like orphans, for the longest time, lost. Until one of 
us, the oldest, wisest member of my order, decided to retreat into the hills 
where we had always believed our gods lived, hoping that through meditation 
would come guidance." 

Aeryn kept her face blank. Acceptance came easier to her now, after cycles spent 
drawing comfort from Zhaan's priesthood and D'Argo's simple Luxan rituals. Easy 
solace found in the quiet rhythm of her shipmates' beliefs. So much so, that she 
didn't feel the need to seek her own.

"That was over seven hundred cycles ago," Jarian continued. "The hermit, Kalem 
Sacot, never came back. But his young apprentice did - well, he wasn't so young 
when he came back. He carried with him a scroll written by Sacot himself, and 
told an incredible story."

"Do we really need to hear this?" D'Argo protested with a growl. Aeryn could 
empathize. She wanted nothing better than to go after John. Right. Then. But 
they were running blind. If they didn't learn anything useful from Jarian's 
little tale, she would consider drastic measures. Like going after Tesha 
herself. 

Aeryn would enjoy that. 

"Yes, you do!" Jarian's voice rose in restrained anger, and broke on a sob. He 
pressed his palm against his mouth to muffle the sound. Shook his head, allowed 
his hand to fall back down in his lap, and drew a ragged breath. "Allara was the 
order's most gifted student. The prophecy was her life's work. Would have been--
" He hissed. "That's why she was meeting Crichton behind the temple. She went to 
warn him, tell him to leave Ectani at once. But Tesha learned about it, and..."

He fell silent. The struggle to force the words out wasn't worth it. 

"Why would she tell Crichton to leave?" Aeryn prodded, as gentle as she could 
afford to be. "What was she warning him about?"

A fresh breeze rose then and she shivered, drawing her coat closer to her body. 
The young priest didn't seem to notice. "Whatever Sacot did in the woods, he 
found some hidden cave. Maybe the visions that came to him showed him the path, 
no one really knows. The apprentice had been sworn to secrecy, and he never 
talked. But according to Sacot's writing, what he found in that place was a 
containment field. And in that field, was a quantum singularity."

Aeryn flashed back to their long ago encounter with the Scorvian spy. D'Argo 
grunted. He remembered too. "A black hole?" she said, calling to mind one of 
John's endless, enthusiastic technical lectures. A younger John. It had been a 
while since the scientist in him had reared his head. 

"Yes. And he touched it. Well-- or it touched him, that part is unclear."

"And he began slipping in and out of time."

The priest's expression would have been almost comical had there been any room 
for laughter. "How did you know? Are you a scientist?"

"Me?" she scoffed. "No. But Crichton is. And he's had an encounter similar to 
that which you describe."

"Really," Jarian whispered, in obvious fascination. "Allara would have loved 
talking to the Human, share--" Remembrance of grief, hitting him anew. "Never 
mind. Sacot did indeed gain prescience from his encounter with the quantum 
singularity, and he wrote down most of what he saw. Ectani Prime's future. He 
saw a war, which might destroy Ectani and threaten the religious orders. And he 
saw a man. A Sebacean who wasn't Sebacean. A species known as Human. His 
description of the man, his companions, his ship left us no doubt. As soon as 
your leviathan entered orbit, we recognized the signs for what they were. The 
prophecy coming into being. The war was already there. According to Sacot, the 
Human would help us avoid destruction."

"How?" D'Argo questioned, as confused as Aeryn felt. 

Jarian shrugged. "That part isn't very clear. We know that Crichton will somehow 
give Ectani a fighting chance, but that it will come at great cost to himself."

Aeryn didn't like the sound of that at all. Why couldn't these people fight 
their own battles?

Exhaustion and loss were catching up to Jarian. "The prophecy has been kept a 
secret. It's never left my order. All those who study it swear an oath of 
secrecy. Many priests have gone in search of the cave and never found it."

"Why keep it to yourself?" Aeryn asked, puzzled. 

"It's all politics," Jarian admitted. "The religious orders kept the upper hand 
on the warrior caste, because Ectani never had to face any real threat. We're 
such a small kingdom, everybody pretty much leaves us alone. And with allies as 
powerful as the royal system, we've rarely had to fight our own battles. But the 
prophecy said that there would come a time when the warriors would be needed. 
For all we knew, the ancient race had seen what Sacot had seen, and that's why 
they had trained some of us to fight. The order refused to give the soldiers 
such a foothold in the power struggle that had defined Ectani since its 
foundation. It might just have tipped the balance in their favor."

"You deprived your people of the chance to prepare for the sake of your own 
glory," D'Argo growled, low. Aeryn didn't quiet him. Her thoughts ran along the 
same lines. 

"I won't defend the order," Jarian answered. "There were other reasons, of 
course. We don't have time to go into details. We also worried about the impact 
the certainty of war would have on the development of our society."

Aeryn shifted. "It's only one possible future."

"Yes, but it is possible. And not everyone would understand that our paths are 
still very much our own. I know I didn't. Allara did, though. She tried to tell 
me, but I wouldn't listen. She was always the bright one."

Aeryn scrubbed her face to clear her thoughts. 

D'Argo voiced the question she hadn't even dared ask herself. The Luxan's hand 
came to rest softly on her shoulder. "If Pilot hasn't reported any stealth take-
offs, it's likely John is still in the hands of the G'Ken. What will they do 
when they realize that he knows nothing of Tesha's plans?"

Jarian closed his eyes. Was he seeing his sister's mutilated body? "To tell you 
the truth," the priest whispered, hunched over, "I don't think he will survive 
their interrogation."




Rygel had sworn to himself that he would never go hungry again. After hundreds 
of cycles of famine, there wasn't any indulgence too insignificant, any feast 
too decadent. Yet here he was - cold, throneless, reduced to sitting on the 
dirty ground, starving. He had put Durka to rest, literally, weekens ago, but 
the damp cell and the icy fingers of fear still hit too close to home. 

This time though, the screams of pain weren't his own, and surprisingly enough, 
that made him feel only marginally better. The Hynerian cringed every time 
Crichton's cries of agony ricocheted down the corridor. He couldn't imagine the 
level of pain it would take to rip such sounds from the Human - the throes of a 
dying creature. 

When silence fell and the screaming didn't resume, he breathed a sigh of relief. 
Sent a short prayer of thanks to gods he hadn't honored since his downfall. When 
he heard heavy footsteps coming ever closer to the door, he retreated to a dark 
corner of the cell. 

They didn't bother coming in. He didn't see their faces. They just threw 
Crichton on the ground and left without a word or a look. The Human didn't make 
a sound, even when he hit the floor, face first. 

The Hynerian waited. 

For a while, all was quiet. 

Rygel judged it safe to come out of hiding and waddled to the Human's side. 
Crichton looked like all kinds of yotz. Pale, even for his species, save for the 
bruise where Chato had hit him. Tear tracks and spittle on his face. Deep, dark 
circles around his eyes. His breathing was erratic, his lips cyanotic, as if he 
were getting too little oxygen. Even in unconsciousness, his hands shook, body 
convulsing uncontrollably. He smelled of sweat, sickness and fear. Rygel knew 
the foul odor all too well. There was a time he thought he would never be rid of 
it. 

He spotted the coat Crichton had left behind and picked it up. He rolled it into 
a ball and managed with some effort to slide it under the Human's head. There 
wasn't much more he could do. Crichton needed water. He felt warm to the touch - 
fever. Rygel doubted their captors would be so accommodating as to inquire after 
their prisoner's health. 

For the first time in his very long life, the royal Hynerian didn't mind being 
ignored - he, who dreaded nothing more than being alone and abandoned. A fear 
which had kept him tied to Moya when the sensible thing to do would have been to 
leave them all behind. He patted the Human's brow. "Come on, Crichton," he 
coaxed. "You can't die now. Aeryn won't mount a rescue mission for me alone."

This time, he didn't hear them until they opened the door. Still, he thought 
about scurrying out of sight. No need to attract unnecessary attention. When he 
found himself still standing by the fallen Human, he pacified his instinct of 
self-preservation by remembering that Crichton would do the same for him. 

Probably. 

It was Chato again. Alone this time. She shut the door. 

Rygel stared at her with venom in his eyes. He owed her one for the kick, and he 
wouldn't mind taking another blow if she would just lean close enough that he 
could bite her, leave a visible scar. "What do you want now, you white-assed 
bitch? Don't you think you've done enough?"

Chato glared, but didn't send him flying. She just crouched on the opposite side 
of the Human, and rolled him onto his back. Even senseless, Crichton flinched 
away from her touch and whimpered. "No-- no more," he gasped, trying to curl 
back into a ball, but she wouldn't let him. 

"Are you trying to kill him?" Rygel asked. "He needs the rest." Peacekeeper 
tralk. "Trust me. I've been around the Human long enough to know he's not 
supposed to be this color."

"Silence, Hynerian," she ordered, fetching a small metal cylinder out of her 
suit. She flipped the cap open and waved the tiny rod under Crichton's nose. 

The Human twitched, his head lolled to the side, but she forced him to inhale 
the foul substance until his lids fluttered open and he coughed. When his eyes 
focused and he recognized the shape hovering over him, he tried to crawl away, 
but she pinned him down. 

"Get... get the f--fuck away from... m--me." His voice was hoarse, almost
inaudible. Screaming in pain for a few arns would do that to you. 

"Leave him alone," Rygel snapped, memories of small cages and Peacekeepers 
looming over him rising from dark places. 

Crichton slowly turned his face to look at him, and Rygel bent a little so that 
the Human wouldn't have to strain to see him. "Hey, Sparky," Crichton croaked. 
"You okay?"

That was almost too much for Rygel, and he replied gruffly, "I'm fine," before 
moving away. 

"John, sit up," Chato said, wrapping an arm around the Human's shoulders. It 
looked to Rygel as if Crichton would hardly be able to blink without help, let 
alone get off the floor. 

"Don't... touch me," Crichton said with as much vehemence as he could muster, 
which wasn't a lot. The disruptor ignored him and hauled him upright. He 
groaned; his eyelids batted wildly. Chato slapped his cheek. 

"Stay with me, John. I deactivated the surveillance equipment in the cell, but I 
don't know how long we'll remain uninterrupted. I can help you get out of here, 
but you have to stay awake."

Crichton's answer to that sounded something like "Frell you, bitch." 

"We've been there and done that, remember?" 

Rygel's mouth hung agape. Well, well. Crichton sure got around. 

Chato propped the Human against a wall, keeping a hand on his chest to steady 
him. Despite the exhaustion and pain, Crichton managed to nail the Peacekeeper 
with a look of pure hatred. "Take these fucking... things out of... me," he 
seethed, panting. 

The Hynerian frowned. What was the Human going on about? 

"I can't," Chato answered. "They are no fools. I don't have unsupervised access 
to their laboratory." 

Crichton squeezed his eyes shut. Whatever she had said was bad news, and it was 
obvious to the Hynerian that the Human was struggling to keep a modicum of 
composure. "Do they... do they know, I'm... r--royalty?"

"They know you're Katralla's consort, if that's what you're asking. Their 
informants gathered the gist of your conversation with Tesha. But they don't 
care. They think you must have tricked the Empress somehow, married her 
daughter, and once discovered for a fraud, you were thrown off the planet. 
You're a mercenary hired to take them down, and they want to know what the 
Regent's plans are. They have no interest in you beyond that."

"But you d--do."

The disruptor scowled. "How do you--"

Crichton laughed - a miserable sound. His words were slurred, running into each 
other. "Everybody always has some sort of interest... in me. You... going to let 
me escape out of the goodness of your little black... heart... and some fond 
memories? I ain't that... good." He coughed. "M--mission comes first, s'what you 
told me. So how can I help... this time?" His eyes were bloodshot and swollen, 
the whites showing a little as he hung onto consciousness. Rygel inched closer 
again. 

"My job here is to support the G'Ken, smuggle in weapons when they need it, to 
destabilize the power on Ectani Prime and make for an easy take-over when the 
time comes. We need all the outposts we can get. The war is coming, John. 
There's nothing we can do to avoid it now, and we are on the losing side. Tesha 
gave you up to First Command. By using you to prove the dynasty has been 
compromised, we can alter the balance of power on the royal system, and create 
such instability that the Empress will be forced to accept Peacekeeper alliance 
against the Scarrans. I was ordered to capture you and smuggle you off Ectani 
Prime." Chato's hand on Crichton's chest seemed to linger regretfully. "I didn't 
plan on the G'Ken compromising our escape."

Crichton looked like he would spit in her face if he had the strength. Rygel 
entertained the notion of doing it for him, but the disruptor was armed. "Jena, 
I won't... s--survive this," the Human whispered, paler if that was possible. 
"My b--body can't take this kind of... abuse for l--long." 

Breathing looked painful.

The Peacekeeper was almost sympathetic. "The drug they gave you had more of an 
effect than I thought. You were incapacitated for too long. I was planning on 
escaping with you once we were outside the dome, before we got to the compound."

"I'm... I c--can't make it far like... this. I'll slow you d--down. Find a 
way... to get Rygel back to the city." The Hynerian's earbrows perked up. "He'll 
get the others to h--help."

"Of course, Crichton--" Chato clamped her hand over Rygel's mouth, cutting him 
off. He growled his indignation. 

"I'll do one better," she said, ignoring the dominar. "I've got your comms. I'll 
contact Officer Sun. The two of us can get you out."

"Don't forget... Rygel."

"The Hynerian is not my concern." Rygel growled louder, in vain. "He's not 
part of my brief. I only spared him because I knew that you would refuse to 
cooperate if I killed one of your shipmates. I convinced the G'Ken to take him 
as leverage - against you and against the Regent. He's a dominar after all."

Quite right. 

"No d--deal. He goes... or I s--stay. Non... non-negotiable."

Rygel couldn't help but stare. Frell that Human. 

"John--"

"No." Crichton turned his head away with determination.

Chato grabbed his chin and forced him to face her again. "There's more."

Crichton closed his eyes in defeat. "W--what?"

Rygel waited, still gagged - although the Peacekeeper appeared to have forgotten 
about him. Her voice softened. "After I got my orders from Special Directorate, 
I received another, wide-dispersal transmission... Scorpius is still looking for 
you."

Rygel's muffled "frelling yotz" covered Crichton's small, desperate giggle. 
"So... he's... he's alive, uh?"

"Did you believe otherwise?"

The Human was beyond listening. "But he g--got what he... wanted," he whispered 
to no one in particular. "D--did you reply to th--the... message?"

Chato shook her head. "No. I answer to First Command, not Scorpius, but I'm 
afraid he'll get his hands on you once you have served your purpose."

Crichton wrapped his arms around his chest - as tightly as he could. His pupils 
looked dilated, and he seemed to be staring at something that wasn't there. 
"You'll have to k--kill me, Jena. I'm n--not going through that... a--again."

The disruptor looked like she didn't really understand what Crichton was talking 
about. "It's all irrelevant right now. I can't get you out of here on my own. 
John, you'll die. And my mission will fail. Neither of us can afford to work 
against the other." She grabbed his upper arms to make her point, letting go of 
Rygel in the process. "Will you allow me to call Aeryn Sun and have her help 
with our escape, knowing I might turn against you once we've made it to safety? 
Or do you want to stay here, with no means of protecting yourself?"

Crichton was fading again. "If you h--harm her, I'll k--kill you... Jenavian."

He never heard her reply, but Rygel did. 

"I know."




She needed to be close to someone. 

There was always Jothee, but Jothee didn't know John. Didn't share the history. 
Jothee would never call her 'Pip' or come fix her shower in the middle of the 
night just because she asked. Should Jothee find her hunched over a useless 
life-disk, he wouldn't know what it meant. Wouldn't put together a little puzzle 
from scraps of metal just to make her smile. 

Last time she flirted with Jothee, he took her up on the offer. 

So Chiana sought refuge in Pilot's den. The symbiot didn't ask the reason for 
her presence, and she didn't volunteer an explanation. Pushed herself up on the 
console, smiled when one of his claws patted her thigh. She welcomed the 
unassuming, comforting gesture. The inactivity and the not-knowing were driving 
her, as John had once said, "out of her tree". 

The fact that Humans lived in trees explained a lot. Or so Rygel had concluded. 

She was resolute to remain silent, swathe herself in the motherly hum of Moya, 
gently hypnotized by the ballet of Pilot's arms, the squeaks of the DRDs, the 
soft lights of the chamber - but the torpor would not smother the fear. The 
quietude only weighted more heavily on her shoulders. She had promised herself 
that she wouldn't ask, because if Pilot hadn't said anything, then there was 
nothing to report. 

She wet her lips, throat tight, and opened her mouth.

"No, Chiana. I have not heard from any of them yet. Not since Officer Sun called 
to confirm that no ship had left the planet on a stealth trajectory. I am still 
attempting to target the Commander and Rygel's comm signals, without any 
success."

There was in Pilot's voice a soft patience, which had been lacking of late and 
she smiled, welcoming its return. Moya's burns had almost completely healed, and 
Pilot's temper had improved in spades. 

"I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologize, Chiana. Moya and I share your concern for the 
safety of Commander Crichton. We were hoping that he would benefit from resting 
planet-side, as would all the others. Crichton seemed so intent on visiting 
Ectani."

That was news to Chiana. She rubbed her aching shoulders. Muscles cramped, too 
tight. "Why do you say that, Pilot?"

"When Stark and Crichton searched Moya's database for a planet, which would suit 
Zhaan's needs, there were several appropriate destinations, some of which were 
closer to us than Ectani Prime, but the Commander insisted that we should come 
here. I believe his exact words were that he had a 'gut feeling'." The symbiot 
still looked puzzled solar days later. "I did not understand the meaning of 
this, but Crichton is the most qualified data analyst on board. I believed he 
would make the appropriate decision. I did not object." Pilot lowered his head. 
"Had I been more conscientious, I might have discovered some element that the 
Commander overlooked and advised the crew to stay away from Ectani Prime."

Chiana lifted her hand to still the self-recrimination. Who on board wasn't 
familiar with John's hunches? They had never failed him so drastically before. 
"You had no reason to doubt John's decision, Pilot." He did not look up or 
answer her. The Nebari reached for what passed for Pilot's shoulder, tilting her 
head to try and capture his gaze. "Hey, what is it?"

Pilot's thick eyebrows drooped. "I have had concerns about the Commander's... 
state of mind, since we left the ice planet, but I was too absorbed in Moya's 
pain and my own to really pay attention to him. And I guess... I suppose that I 
was still angry with him for what happened to Aeryn--" he raised his voice a 
little, forestalling Chiana's objection, "however irrational my resentment might 
have been."

The Nebari did not call Pilot on that last statement. Suddenly, Crichton's 
reluctance to visit the den, when he never used to pass up an opportunity to 
talk to Pilot face to face, made a lot more sense. The Human had a knack for 
picking up on his shipmates' moods. He would have been hard-pressed to ignore 
Pilot's animosity. 

"Why were you concerned about John?" she asked instead. 

"I do not want to infringe on the Commander's privacy--"

But he still wanted to talk. She watched a DRD roam the floor in circles 
underneath her feet, antennas twitching, as if Moya herself wanted to contribute 
to the conversation. "It's all right, Pilot. It's kind of your job to look after 
all of us. If you know something that could help Crichton, please tell me."

The symbiot sighed, manipulating panels without sparing a glance to the console. 
"After... after the Commander returned from the ice planet, I assigned a DRD 
to... keep watch over him. I know he was healed, but I guess I didn't want to 
risk a repeat performance--" He paused, blinking. "I failed to stop him when he 
took his module down to the planet and signaled Scorpius. I am as responsible as 
he for what happened to Officer Sun as a consequence. More so, because I was in 
control of my actions."

Chiana was already shaking her head. "That's not true, Pilot. You were senseless 
because of the anesthetic we had administered Moya. There was nothing you could 
have done."

The symbiot turned to execute some obscure command, falsely absorbed. His 
multitasking brain could easily handle his conversation with Chiana as well as 
Moya's care. "Regardless of what my obligations might have been, I decided to 
observe the Commander. Everyone else was otherwise occupied, dealing with their 
own concerns. D'Argo with you and Jothee, Aeryn and Stark attending to Zhaan, 
Zhaan attending to me and Moya... Rygel attending to himself." Chiana chuckled. 
Pilot had a caustic sense of humor - but a sense of humor nonetheless. "I 
noticed that Crichton was still talking to himself from time to time. I couldn't 
tell if he was still conversing with the clone of Scorpius. I also know that the 
Commander has not been sleeping properly for the last three weekens. I suspect 
he has taken to keeping himself awake."

"Why would he do that?" asked Chiana, baffled. 

"He suffers from... violent nightmares. Once or twice, I feared he would injure 
himself in his sleep." Pilot cocked his large head to the side expectantly. 

The Nebari shifted on the console to better face the symbiot. "Do you know what 
he's been dreaming about?" 

Another heartfelt exhalation. "He calls for Officer Sun. He has violent 
arguments with Scorpius. Since we engaged on our course to Ectani Prime, he has 
been muttering another name. Or a word. Ma'x'eem. I am not familiar with that 
term."

Chiana searched her memory for such an earth-term, but came up blank. "Did you 
try to talk to him about the nightmares? Zhaan could have given him something to 
help him sleep."

That self-reproach again. "I... told myself that if he needed help, the 
Commander would ask one of you."

There was only one person John would have considered soliciting for help, and 
she had her own issues to deal with. "It's all right, Pilot," Chiana whispered 
with more conviction than she felt. "We're going to get John back, and then 
we'll give him all the help that he needs."

Whether he asked for it or not. 

"Thank you, Chiana."

"We're not losing him," she said, hoping for an assurance she knew wasn't 
Pilot's to give. Three weekens ago, she had watched her family break apart - her 
friends drifting, lost to their own grief. John past the brink of madness, cold, 
dead, as dead as Aeryn. She had lived through her worst nightmare. She couldn't 
go through that again. 

She stroke the Pilot's arm closest to her, needing to provide solace almost as 
much as she needed to receive it. Leaned her cheek against his bulk. She hadn't 
slept at all since the crew had left Moya - worry over D'Argo, Jothee and now 
John keeping her alert. 

"Chiana... Chiana, please wake up."

Had she dozed off?

"Hmm... yeah. Sorry, Pilot. Must have been more tired than I thought. What is 
it?" she murmured, slurring her words a little. Her head pounded, her tongue 
felt heavy in her mouth. 

"I'm picking up a signal from the planet. Someone is attempting to use the 
Commander's comm badge to contact Officer Sun, but they have to go through Moya 
to unscramble the signal."

Chiana almost fell off the console in her haste. "Is it Crichton?"

"No. It's a woman. She has not identified herself."

"Can you pinpoint the source of the signal?" the Nebari asked. 

"I can delimit a general location. Moya's sensors, unlike Talyn's, are not 
designed for surface-range surveillance. The signal originates from a wooden 
area outside the dome."

Chiana's heart skipped a beat. Finally, a lead. "Pilot, patch her through to 
Aeryn. Now!"

Pilot pushed down a panel. "Done."

The woman's voice flowed through the comm channel. "Officer Sun, come in."

Aeryn's tone could have frozen the ice planet. "This is Officer Sun. Identify 
yourself."

"Is this channel secure?"

"Yes."

Sharp and deadly. 

"Jenavian Chato. Disruptor. Special Directorate."

Chiana saw her own shock reflected in Pilot's expression. To her credit, Aeryn 
didn't even gasp. Didn't ask the obvious questions. Chato had to be the 
Peacekeeper infiltrated inside the G'Ken. "Where is Crichton?"

"I have access to him, but he is not in my custody."

Aeryn had explained in a few words the kind of deal Tesha had cut with the 
Peacekeeper operative. Chiana didn't know whether to be concerned or relieved 
that John was still in the terrorists' hands, and not on his way to the royal 
planet or High Command. 

"I want to talk to him."

"I'm afraid that's impossible right now. He's being interrogated. Again." 
Chato's insinuation was clear as day and Chiana tightened her fists, nails 
biting through the leather of her gloves. 

She imagined Aeryn, swallowing her distress with typical resolve. "What do you 
want, Chato?"

"I need your help smuggling him out of here."

Aeryn snorted, disbelieving. Chiana shared the sentiment. "This has to be the 
lamest trap you've ever thought of."

"There is no trap. Why would I want to lure you here?" There was some sort of 
indistinct scuffle. "Come here, Hynerian."

Chiana arched an eyebrow in disbelief. What was Rygel doing with Chato?

"She's telling the truth, Aeryn. She wants to get Crichton out here as much as 
we do." The uncharacteristic 'we' didn't escape the discerning Nebari.

"Then why doesn't she?"

Chiana dreaded the answer to that. Rygel's voice lost a bit of its customary 
gruffness. "Because Crichton couldn't crawl out of his cell right now."

"H--how badly is he hurt?"

"Bad enough, Aeryn, and--" Chiana shuddered. Were those screams in the 
background? "It will only get worse. It's not a trap. You're his only chance. 
He'll die if you don't come quickly."

Aeryn sounded like she was pacing. "I swear on Crichton's life, Rygel, if you've 
made any kind of deal with the disruptor to save your pathetic little hide--" 
The former Peacekeeper let the threat hang between them.

There was silence. Then, "I told John you wouldn't trust me."

Rygel had never, ever called the Human 'John', and Chiana was taken aback by the 
depth of feeling in the dominar's voice.

Another pause. Aeryn, this time. "Give us the coordinates."

"You're coming alone, Officer Sun." Chato was back on the channel. "Or there is 
no deal."

Chiana held her breath, knowing what thoughts must be racing through Aeryn's 
mind. What were the odds that Pilot could track down the signal with enough 
precision that she and D'Argo could get to Crichton on their own and not give 
the disruptor the advantage of fighting on her own turf? And more importantly, 
was it worth the risk, when John might not survive the delay? 

The answer was sound, and ultimately predictable - no. 

"Give me the coordinates." Muffled, deep angry baritone - D'Argo in the 
background. "Not now, D'Argo-- I'll come alone, Chato. And I don't need to tell 
you what I will do to you if anything happens to John before I get there."

Rhetorical, but Chato acknowledged the threat anyway. "Indeed you don't, Sun. 
I'll be waiting for you in two arns. Delta twelve, Premno five, Lerg two. Chato 
out."

Chiana could tell the symbiot was already processing the information. "Pilot?"

"Yes, Officer Sun. I am scanning that area. There is nothing but woods as far as 
Moya's sensors can detect, but the landscape is elevated. There might be 
installations underground."

Chiana stepped away from the console, making her way out of the den. "Pilot," 
she called over her shoulder, "prepare a pod. I'm going down."

"No, Chiana," Aeryn interjected. "We don't need more targets down here."

The Nebari shook her head, even though the ex-Peacekeeper couldn't see her. 
"What about Zhaan, Aeryn? You're going to trust Stark to protect her? Tesha is 
just waiting for word that Chato has taken off with John. She'll get rid of 
Zhaan when she doesn't need her to pressure Crichton anymore."

"D'Argo can do that."

"Maybe. And when you need help getting an injured Crichton back to the pod, 
who's gonna come after you? You need reinforcements."

Chiana veered right after the galley. She had to stop by the armory. 

"Fine," Aeryn conceded. She sounded anything but. "Comm D'Argo once you've 
landed. And don't stay out of the dome too long. We don't know what kind of 
effect the radiation might have on Nebari. D'Argo has a supply of the drug. 
Hopefully, it'll work on you."

"All right." She fingered her comms. "Good luck, Aeryn. Please bring him back 
safely."

"I-- I will." It made her feel worse. When Aeryn's voice shook, Chiana's world 
trembled.

That was all. 

The young Nebari was weighting a pulse rifle, checking for maneuverability when 
Pilot shouted. "Chiana, you're needed in Command. Now!"

She didn't hesitate and didn't falter. She dropped the rifle and raced through 
the main tier. "What's happening, Pilot?"

"There's a ship approaching. Before we left the ice planet, Moya downloaded 
Talyn's logs, and she recognizes the pattern. It's a marauder, on a stealth 
trajectory."

Peacekeepers. 

Oh, frell. Frell, frell, frell.

"Have they spotted us?"

"No. They don't seem interested in us at all. They are trying to bypass the 
orbital defenses. I can't detect any other ship on Moya's sense horizon."

She rounded a corner at full speed, her hand against Moya's bulkhead for 
balance. "Can you determine the origin of the marauder?" She skimmed to a halt 
in Command, by the main console. 

"The ident signal," Pilot said from the clamshell, hunched over his panels, 
"identifies the marauder as coming from--" The symbiot gasped audibly. 
"Scorpius's command carrier."

Could it be... the bastard was alive? Chiana found herself ruminating one of 
John's favorite mantras. "It's never easy. It's never frelling easy." She 
watched anxiously as the marauder shot by ten thousand metras ahead of them, 
before disappearing into the atmosphere. Whatever the Peacekeepers had done 
seemed to have incapacitated a few of the self-tracking satellites. 

Of course. 

They would know the technology. They had designed it. 

"Pilot, I think you should take advantage of the opening in the defense line and 
take Moya down to the bonosphere. It'll be easier to keep track of incoming 
ships, and we'll see them before they see us."

"Good idea, Chiana. It will also make it easier to target comm signals without 
atmospheric interference."

She left the Command, jogging back to the armory. "Pilot, is the pod ready?" She 
picked up the rifle, as many hand-grenades as she could carry and a pulse 
pistol, complete with thigh holster. She stopped by Zhaan's laboratory on the 
way to the pad. She had helped the Delvian patch up John, D'Argo and Aeryn often 
enough that she knew where everything was. She grabbed some bandages and an 
anesthetic, not knowing which state John would be in when - //when// - they 
rescued him. She stuffed her bounty inside a small pouch and threw the bag over 
her shoulder. 

She raced out of the laboratory all the way to the hangar doors. Jothee was 
waiting for her there. "What's happening, Chiana?"

She didn't spare him a glance, addressing him over her shoulder. "I'm going 
planet-side. You're staying here to help Pilot."

His hand closed around her upper arm as she reached the pod, forcing her to face 
him. "The hezmana I am. If you're going down there, it means there's trouble, 
and I'm going down too."

"You do what I tell you to do," she said between clenched teeth, ripping her arm 
free. 

Jothee snarled at her. "Who do you think you are? My father?"

"No," she replied. "My temper is shorter than his." She turned around to climb 
inside the pod. She dropped her gear on the floor and found Jothee standing 
behind her. "Out," she hissed, gratified when D'Argo's son took a step back. 
Vek, the Luxan didn't stay with her just for her looks, and it was time his 
progeny understood what he was getting into. "I need someone to stay here, scan 
for incoming Peacekeeper ships."

"Pilot can do that," Jothee protested.

"Oh, yeah?" she purred, unamused. "And who's going to take the last pod down to 
the planet if anything happens to our transports? For all I know, the Regent's 
got the first pod immobilized already. It's called back-up, Jothee. And you're 
it. You want to find your place aboard this boat, you start using your head." 

"I-- I just want to help you," he stuttered, no doubt wondering where his meek 
little Nebari had gone.

Well, he better get used to Moya's special brand of nurturing if he was to fit 
in around here. She pushed against his chest, forcing him back to the threshold 
of the pod's landing. "I don't have the time, Jothee. My best friend is down 
there being tortured as we speak. Anything else can wait."

"Chiana! You have to hurry!"

She almost jumped out of her skin. "What is it now, Pilot?"

"Another vessel is approaching."

"The command carrier?"

"No." Pilot's voice sounded a bit strangled. "It's a Scarran piercer."

Chiana froze. "This is-- this is bad." She couldn't stop to process this. Her 
mind would just shut down. There was only one explanation for the presence of 
both Peacekeepers and Scarrans on Ectani Prime. They were hunting John again. 
"Pilot, how many troops can the marauder and the Scarran piercer transport 
respectively?"

"The marauder can transport an assault unit. Eight to ten Sebaceans. The Scarran 
piercer is an individual craft. The equivalent of a prowler."

"That's... manageable," Chiana said, trying to convince herself more than anyone 
else. "Jothee, go to Command. See what you can do from there. I would expect the 
Scarran vessel to ignore us like the marauder, but just in case, prepare Moya 
for evasive maneuvers. Record his vector, and send the data to myself and 
Aeryn."

Jothee was through arguing with her. With one last resentful look, he raced down 
the steps and out of the hangar. 

"Jothee is clear, Pilot," she said, sitting behind the main console. "Open the 
outer doors. I'm ready for take off." She engaged the power drive. "Contact 
Zhaan and Stark. Tell them everything. Let them know we're coming."

"Yes, Chiana. The marauder has now reached the surface. I don't think the 
Scarran vessel is aware of its presence yet. I will let Officer Sun know that 
she should be on the look-out for Peacekeeper commandos."

"Good, Pilot. Please keep all of us appraised of everybody else's position at 
all times." With a practiced eye, the Nebari checked that all systems were on 
line. 

"Good luck, Chiana."

She closed her eyes. Drew on one last increment of stillness and quiet. "Thank 
you, Pilot."




The pungent smell of rich, dark soil clung to Scorpius after the aseptic 
environment of the base and the command carrier. The wide, golden trees blocked 
out most of the pulsar's light, and the thick bushes hid the marauder from 
aerial surveillance. His boots sunk into the thick moss and the carpet of 
decomposing leaves. 

The air was thick with rain in suspension. "Report, Lieutenant."

Braca walked up to his side, hands joined behind his back. "The area is secure, 
sir. The planet's sensors have not locked onto us. They are unaware of our 
presence. The disruptor disabled the orbital satellites and the surface 
scanners. The commandos have deployed pattern Lok-Deka and are awaiting your 
orders."

Scorpius looked up out of habit. "What about Moya?"

"A transport pod left the Leviathan after we entered the atmosphere, on a 
different vector," Braca answered. "We intercepted multiple communications 
between Moya and the surface, but we have been unable to decode them."

"It is safe to assume that they are aware of our arrival." The hybrid waved his 
hand at the depth of the woods. "No matter. The disruptor will make sure they 
cannot leave the surface without our knowing. It is essential that our presence 
remains undetected until John is in custody." He grimaced. "I don't want the 
Regent calling on her royal planet allies. It would attract too much attention 
from the Scarrans." Scorpius's expression darkened. "We mustn't lead them to 
Crichton. I know from the information downloaded from my neural clone in the 
shadow depository that they captured Crichton once already. Only the 
intervention of the neuro-biotracer saved John's life." He turned to face his 
second in command, eager to drive home his urgency. "They can't be allowed to 
possess this technology, Braca. Once John has served his purpose, I will have to 
terminate him. Painlessly." Tight, but sincere toothless smile. "A reward for 
his contribution to Peacekeeper advancement."

The lieutenant didn't twitch. He didn't have to. "I know you think little of 
John Crichton, Lieutenant, but he has bested you twice already. I trust this 
will be incentive enough for you not to allow this unfortunate situation to 
recur."

"Yes, sir," Braca answered, smarting from the insult. He signaled one of his 
men, who escorted a tall Sebacean in a dark red suit up to Scorpius. He towered 
over Braca, who was doing his best to act as if that didn't bother him. 
"Identify yourself," the lieutenant ordered. 

The man's relaxed stance haughty sneer betrayed his identity before he even 
opened his mouth. "Bakat Tanol. Special Directorate. Disruptor. Reporting, sir."

Scorpius had better things to do than castigate a Special Directorate operative 
who wouldn't have answered to him in any other circumstances. "Where is John 
Crichton?"

The disruptor's countenance didn't falter, and he confronted Scorpius's gaze 
without flinching. "There's been a problem, sir."

Scorpius sighed, waiting for the tell-tale twinge of tension that he had come to 
associate with Crichton. John had a way of making him burn through cooling rods 
too fast. "Always be suspicious of good news," he said softly to himself. 
"Explain."

"The Human was captured by a terrorist group known as the G'Ken. They are 
torturing him for his supposed knowledge of the Regent's strategy."

Scorpius growled, displaying darkened teeth. He ignored Braca's condescending 
smirk. "That is unacceptable, Disruptor Tanol. I made very clear that no harm 
should come to Crichton. Whatever the cost."

To his credit, Tanol didn't even twitch. "There's another disruptor on Ectani 
Prime, Jenavian Chato. She's the assigned contact between the G'Ken and the 
Special Directorate. She's not aware of my identity, nor of the fact that I have 
infiltrated the G'Ken myself. The terrorists believe I'm spying on the court for 
them. The Regent made her own deal with Chato. She gave Crichton to High Command 
as a mean of destabilizing the royal colonies. In exchange, the Special 
Directorate will discontinue all support to the G'Ken. I assumed Chato had 
received your wide dispersal transmission and would secure Crichton as required. 
However, my contacts inside the G'Ken tell me the Human is still captive."

"A typical example of the right hand being ignorant of what the left is doing," 
Scorpius commented with affected long-sufferance. "Can you take us to the place 
where Crichton is detained?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Very well," Scorpius said, watching the commandos complete the marauder's 
camouflage cover. "I will have to rescue John from himself once more. In the 
meantime, Tanol, you can endeavor to contact your fellow disruptor again. Inform 
her of our presence and the absolute urgency of our mission. If she is isolated, 
her movements restrained, or under tight observation, she might not have 
received the Priority Red One message." There was one last thing to ascertain. 
"What are the whereabouts of Moya's crew?"

"The Delvian and the Banik are on the opposite side of the city. The Delvian 
suffers from some sort of illness, and needs the planet's soil to regenerate."

That answered one of Scorpius's questions. Crichton was so predictable. His 
loyalty could be counted on to land him in the most impossible situations. Their 
encounter over a cycle ago was proof enough of that. Speaking of-- "And Officer 
Sun?"

He had been intrigued to discover from the disruptor's short report that the ex-
Peacekeeper was in fact alive. 

"Unknown, sir," Tanol admitted. "She and the Luxan disappeared shortly after the 
Human's capture."

Hardly surprising.

"They are no doubt expending all their energy in an effort to retrieve him. The 
Nebari must be piloting the pod. They called for reinforcement." They were the 
real threat. Since the shadow depository, he had learned not to underestimate 
the formidable resourcefulness of John's shipmates. "We have to get there 
first."

A comm tech emerged from the marauder. "Sirs, an urgent communication from the 
command carrier." The tech waited for his commanding officer's acknowledgement. 
"A Scarran piercer was reported entering the planet's atmosphere. The carrier 
could not intercept and remain undetected in the planet's shadow."

Braca was the only one who didn't take a step away from the cold fury of the 
hybrid. "Scarrans. Here?"

Tanol recovered smoothly. "The Regent has entertained the idea of an alliance 
with them since Ectani Prime stands to lose its principal ally." He frowned. 
"But it's too soon. She wouldn't have had the time to contact them."

"Could they have followed us here?" Scorpius demanded.

"It's a possibility, sir," Braca admitted. "Scarran cloaking technology is far 
superior to ours."

Scorpius thought he knew about patience and restraint. Then he met the Human, 
and he had to learn all over again. "This might turn out to be quite an 
interesting race," he conceded with a smile. "Lieutenant, tell your troops to 
restrict communications to a minimum. I don't want the Scarran picking up on 
them. There is a remote chance that his arrival is unrelated to ours, but I 
don't believe in coincidences. Disruptor Tanol, you have secured a transport 
which can take us through these woods?"

The Special Directorate operative angled his head to the side, towards a small 
clearing. "Yes, sir. Two lurkers can transport all of your men to our 
destination in under three arns."

Braca didn't wait for Scorpius's instructions. With a sharp command, he rounded 
up the troops. 

"Let's not delay." Scorpius raised his leather-clad face to the invisible sky. 
The rain was coming. "We must beat Aeryn Sun and the Scarran agent to John 
Crichton."




Unconscious again, but Maxime hadn't been waiting for him on the other side of 
the pain. 

No Harvey either.

Clean nothingness. 

His return to wakefulness however was every bit as uncomfortable as he had 
anticipated. It was a testament to the level of agony he was in, and the sheer 
breadth of his exhaustion that the pointy, unidentified debris poking his lower 
back didn't even bother him. 

From his supine position on the floor, the ceiling looked cracked and friable. 
With any chance the entire hill would come tumbling down on them and put him out 
of his misery. Either way, it would be over soon. One more torture session and 
his heart would give out. Or Serris would catch a clue and realize that John 
Crichton wasn't extraordinarily brave - just extraordinarily ignorant. 

"It's always the same. Even when you know better. You think - maybe, if you 
suffer enough, if you wail loud enough, cry enough tears something out there is 
going to have mercy. It's the basis of faith, right? Well, it's just bullshit. 
And deep down inside, you're quite aware of that, which just makes you wail 
louder."

John cracked bleary eyes open. He couldn't see her, but from the sound, she was 
sitting somewhere to his right.

What? No more summer house?

"I'm afraid if I take you to the house, you won't want to come back." 

He wheezed out a chuckle. "You got a point there, darlin'," he murmured, his 
voice so raspy as to be almost inaudible. 

"Crichton?" That sounded like Sparky. Sure enough, the diminutive Hynerian bent 
over his face, blocking out his view of the ceiling. "I was beginning to wonder 
if you would ever frelling wake up."

"How--" He broke into a cough, the pain almost pulling him down again. "How 
long--"

"You've been out for three arns." Rygel retreated, but John couldn't be bothered 
to investigate. He didn't even twitch when Maxime replaced the dominar, hovering 
above him. He squinted a little. 

Pale, pale skin. Hollow eyes. Ashen lips. Her hair had lost its lustrous, copper 
lushness. 

"You don't look... so g-good," he muttered. 

"I'm just a reflection," she said flatly. 

He couldn't be asked to request more of an explanation. She pulled away, and 
Rygel stood close again, this time holding some sort of bowl. "Chato left this 
for you. She said it would make you feel better. A stimulant."

John's heart tightened. "Rygel... surveillance."

The little Hynerian shook his head. "They have picture, but no sound." He 
scowled. "Can you sit up?"

John didn't even bother to give it a try. "No... way."

"Frelling wonderful." 

Crichton vaguely stared. Was he supposed to apologize? Then the Hynerian did 
something truly unexpected, and John did feel like apologizing. Rygel collected 
a little of whatever that liquid was in his tiny green hand and brought it to 
Crichton's parted lips. There was a bundle of something cushioning his skull and 
his head was inclined enough for him to drink without choking. It took ten 
painstaking minutes, but Rygel managed to give him the whole cup with only 
minimal spilling and negligible sputtering. 

"Th-thank you," John gasped, and was even more surprised when the Hynerian 
accepted the gratitude without insulting his species. "Whaa-- what s'happening," 
he slurred, closing his eyes. 

Better be one hell of a stimulant.

"We're getting out of here," Rygel boasted, and John smiled.

"Right, Sparky. G-good. That... s'good."

"Don't you dare lose consciousness on me again, Crichton." The Hynerian pinched 
his neck. "Chato should be back any microt now."

At some point, Rygel had stopped making sense, and Crichton didn't even care. 

"You know, John, maybe you should travel around asking people what's the meaning 
of life, on the off chance one of them might know the answer. More advanced 
civilizations and all that jazz."

Maxime, close again. Her warmth against his coldness. What the hell was up with 
her? "Uh, that isn't v-very... ah, help... ful."

"Not helpful?" his miniature cellmate ranted. "What do you mean, not helpful? 
Chato has already called Aeryn. She took some convincing," Rygel blabbered on. 
"She didn't want to believe a word I said."

A violent tremor almost drove John off the ground. 

"Crichton?" Rygel asked uncertainly.

"M'still... here." Not for long, he hoped. He craved the sun, the sand and the 
wild grass with quiet desperation. Lullaby of the ocean to rock him to sleep. 

"Sorry, John," Maxime whispered close to his ear. "Can't do that. Rygel's right. 
Jena and Aeryn are coming for you. You need to stay alert."

It sounded like a lot of trouble. Why couldn't he just die here? Seemed like as 
good a place as any. 

"It's the fever talking, John. Listen to me."

Ignore the feverish confusion but trust the specter of a childhood friend dead 
and buried for the better part of a decade? Funny.

"Smart-ass." She chuckled. "And don't you know that 'dead' isn't politically 
correct? You have to say 'permanently inconvenienced'."

Just how fucked up was he anyway?

"Good, John. Good. You're wising up." John refused to crack his eyes open. He 
didn't want to see Harvey, looking just as real as Maxime did a second ago. He 
fucking deserved a break. "Is that what this is all about?" Hated, syrupy lilt 
of the half-breed's voice. "Do you trust her because she looks like someone you 
once knew? I'm sure if Scorpius had known this, he would have endeavored to 
develop a more attractive neural clone."

A sexy version of Scorpius. The visuals were so disturbing, John giggled. Gasped 
when the pain wrapped around his ribs. 

"I fail to see what's so amusing, Crichton." He could try to explain, but Fluffy 
wouldn't get it. 

He flashed to Rygel in bondage gear. 

No. Not going down that road. 

Leather-clad fingers wrapped around his right wrist. John cringed. "Don't t-
touch... me."

"I'm not touching you," Rygel complained. "Will you snap out of it already? We 
don't have time for your nonsense."

"John, you have to listen to me." His favorite Harvey. The be-reasonable-and-
stop-acting-like-a-child Harvey. The let's-forget-the-Aurora-Chair-and-
everything-thereafter-it's-for-your-own-good Harvey. Yeah, and someday the clone 
would convince him that the last cycle had merely been an unfortunate incident. 

He was tired. Tired, tired, tired.

Why hadn't Maxime kept the bastard tied up?

"Because you're weakening, John, and she only has so much energy to spare," 
Harvey whispered, as if confiding some precious secret. "Why do you trust her? 
Since when do people offer comfort without expecting something in return? I have 
never lied to you, have I? Believe me when I say your little friend has a hidden 
agenda."

What would that be?

"Unlocking the mysteries of your mind, of course. What else, John?"

What if his mind had no secrets left to yield? What if he didn't care? Maxime 
felt like haven, comfort, family. He would just as soon assume that she was a 
convoluted creation of his damaged psyche than yet another alien consciousness 
trying to rip his brain apart. 

Where was she? 

"I'm right here, John." This time, he made the effort to open his eyes. Which 
was silly, because she was inside his head, and whether or not his eyes were 
open shouldn't have mattered at all. She was not smiling. Wearing one of his old 
sweaters, three times too big for her. The worn garment dwarfed her. She looked 
so very young, and it overcame him all over again. The horrifying injustice of 
her death - the anger, the terrible anger. "I'm sorry I couldn't keep him away."

Soft touch in his hair, her moist, warm lips on his brow. She, too, felt 
feverish. "He f-feels tangible... now. Like... you."

Her eyes, moss-green - deep, emerald forests, colors of earth and home. "Sorry 
about that too," she soothed. "It's only temporary."

Harvey couldn't have told the truth. Could he?

"I'm not an alien consciousness," Maxime hastened to reassure him. He tried to 
ignore the wounded look, which he had known would be there.

She stroke his cheek, and he sighed. "But you are... here for a r-reason."

"Who the frelling yotz are you talking to?" John ignored Rygel's irritated 
bafflement. 

"Yes. To guide you. To help. With the task."

"Are you... Maxime?" Or another psychic vampire feeding off his memories? So 
needy and pathetic. If Aeryn didn't hurry, there would be nothing left of John 
Crichton worth saving. 

Maxime seemed puzzled by the question, as if she had put off asking that very 
same thing to herself. She licked her lips with an adorable little frown. "I 
am... an echo. Of her. From her. More. And less at the same time. You called me 
and I came."

//Stay with me when I go.//

Tears, unbidden, rolled down his temples. His chest hurt, as if something wide 
and heavy was sitting on it. He missed the smell of freshly mowed grass, a Sam 
Adams on a scorching summer day, bubbling lazily on his tongue, the softness of 
his mother's arms. "Please, I can't... can't go through th--that again."

Her face was pressed against his stomach, her voice muffled against the flat 
planes of his mid-section. "I told you," Maxime whispered. "There is no fate. 
Only choices. Say the words and I am gone."

He couldn't. He just... couldn't. Even if he was setting himself up for the fall 
that would finally break him. Move over, Murphy. Here comes the life of John 
Crichton. 

She lifted her head a little, and kissed his chest. Above his heart. "You won't 
break, John." Such depths of conviction in her voice. "You are the strongest 
being I know."

That worried him. He didn't feel strong at all. 




When Jenavian Chato had received the first wide-dispersal transmission and 
identified the origin as Scorpius's gammak base, she dreaded the order even 
knowing that she would disregard it. She expected a succinct 'capture and 
terminate' directive, and found an order to capture and preserve instead. 
Although she ignored the message, she was relieved. She didn't want to terminate 
John Crichton. 

Not that she wouldn't if necessary. She just didn't want to. 

And now this second transmission. Different ident code, same target. Retrieve 
and preserve the Human. Terminate if John Crichton's capture by a Scarran agent 
looked unavoidable. 

The injunction bothered Jena on several levels. 

The transmission originated from the planet's surface, meaning Scorpius was on 
Ectani Prime to recover his quarry in person. There was a Scarran operative on 
the loose. And she might have to terminate John Crichton after all. 

Once her initial mission on the royal system had been concluded, Jena had 
conducted her own research and discovered the source of Scorpius's obsession 
with the Human. As much as she disliked the hybrid, she had to admit that the 
half-Scarran scientist was justified in his pursuit of Crichton. Peacekeepers 
needed the wormhole technology, and every measure should be taken to ensure that 
if they couldn't get it, the Scarrans wouldn't either. 

Her current mission - taking John back to the royal planet - still held 
priority, until she received contradictory orders from the Special Directorate 
or First Command, but if she was unable to complete it, she might have to assist 
Scorpius with his secondary objective. 

She was getting ahead of herself. First, she had to smuggle John out of the 
G'Ken's compound. 

Four hundred microts until they were due to rendezvous with Aeryn Sun. 

The former pilot was the unknown variable in this equation. It would have made 
the whole endeavor more exciting - if Jena had been in the mood, if she hadn't 
been forced to watch Crichton go through Serris's dispassionate torture twice 
over the last eight arns. She hadn't enjoyed the sight of her one-time lover 
writhing in agony, or the bone-chilling pitch of his screams. She still held 
some inexplicable echo of affection for the Human. She had to admire his 
resilience if nothing else - aside from his more obvious assets. 

Jenavian Chato loved her job. Authorized contact with unclassified life-forms, 
without the threat of irreversible contamination, had introduced her to the 
satisfaction of taking lovers skilled in the art of pleasuring their partners. 

John certainly fit that category. She didn't even have to kill him afterwards. 
Too bad he wasn't in any shape for a repeat performance. Jena wasn't much for 
unsatisfying, practical frells used as tension relievers, and Serris had been 
thoroughly disappointing so far. 

Three hundred and fifty microts. 

Outside the dome would be lightening up in the distance, a simulacra of dawn. In 
the forest, the perpetual daylight would be dimmed by the cover of clouds and 
the thick golden foliage, like a persistent dusk. 

She walked casually down the narrow tunnel leading to the cells, not sparing a 
glance to the couple of soldiers she met on the way. They wouldn't talk to her. 
She was a pariah here. Barely tolerated out of necessity. Had been for monens. 

Three hundred and twenty. 

She was four metras away from the door of the cell when the power went out. Once 
ignited, the br'gen paste melted with precision, until the explosive core was 
exposed to the air and detonated. She grabbed the miniature lenses hidden inside 
her belt and quickly dropped them over her irises. She blinked a couple of times 
to adjust her vision, until blackness resolved into the shape of the tunnel, 
clear as day. She pulled out a magnetic card and swiped it down the scanner on 
the side of the door. Walked in. 

The Hynerian huddled by the prostrate Human, attention trained on the entrance. 
His eyes were naturally adapted to the darkness. With uncharacteristic silence, 
he motioned her over. At least he was following her directives. Jena toyed with 
the idea of knocking him out, leaving him behind. He would only slow them down, 
but it wasn't worth the chance that Crichton might fight her and jeopardize 
their escape. 

The stimulant had to be doing its job. John was struggling to sit up. "C'mon, 
Sparky. We got-gotta make our... move." She knelt by him. Her hand on his 
shoulder. 

He scrambled away from her with a shout, completely blind in the darkness.

"Wait, John. It's me." He uncoiled, raised his hand, looking for her. She 
grabbed his wrist. "I'm right here."

"What--"

"I've sabotaged the generator. They'll work it out soon enough. Let's go." She 
didn't ask him if he could stand, just pulled him to his feet, and guided him to 
a wall when he swayed. "Stay here." She walked to a corner of the cell to 
retrieve the bag she had hidden there earlier. Without a word of warning, she 
picked up the Hynerian by the scruff of the neck and stuffed him inside. She 
squeezed his throat through the cloth when he complained. "Shut up, or I'm 
leaving you behind." He quieted and she threw the bag over her shoulder, 
strapping it across her chest. When she was certain that it wouldn't get in the 
way, she went back to Crichton. She wrapped an arm around his waist and wedged a 
shoulder underneath his, keeping her gun-hand free. 

Two hundred and ninety.

"Come on."

"Wh-where--"

"Quiet."

Crichton let go of the wall and sagged against her. She waited as long as she 
dared for him to regain his balance. He was burning up; he felt like a furnace 
against her skin. A Sebacean would have been well into the throes of the Living 
Death. He nodded sluggishly and let her drag him out of the cell. 

Their progression was painstakingly slow. It took them one hundred microts to 
clear the corridor. They had to stop several times to flatten themselves against 
the wall when confused soldiers stumbled by. She didn't need to look at John to 
know that each step was torture. His body was hard as a coiled spring against 
her own, muscles trembling with the impossible exertion of merely standing up. 
If not for the stimulant, he would be unconscious.

Jena held her breath when they hit the level-risers. As she had hoped, no one 
was guarding them. With the generator down, the risers weren't operational, and 
John's disappearance hadn't yet been discovered. She flipped a switch on her 
utility belt, and the doors to the central level-riser slid open. The miniature 
power supply attached to the engine was functioning. Another victory for 
Peacekeeper technology. Contrary to most of her equals, Jena had a healthy 
respect for techs. 

She guided John inside.

"Where are w--we going?" 

If his head hadn't been leaning against her shoulder, so close to her ear, she 
wouldn't have heard him. "Surface level. Aeryn Sun is waiting for us."

"Aeryn..." Halfway between a sigh and a prayer. Had these two finally given into 
the inevitable since she had last seen them?

Seventy microts. 

She grabbed the back of John's jacket and hauled him out of the level-riser. She 
spotted the sentry before the man realized that one of the risers was in working 
order despite the general power outage. The pulse blast caught him in the face 
and he collapsed, his corpse twitching on the ground before he could alert 
anyone on the lower levels. 

Fifty microts. 

She was practically carrying Crichton. The stimulant was potent, but the effects 
didn't last. Jena could only hope that they reached Aeryn Sun before the Human 
crashed. It didn't help that John couldn't see where they were going and kept 
tripping over his own feet. 

"Five steps ahead of us," she said. "A door, and then we're outside. It'll take 
a little while for your eyes to adjust. Don't stop walking. Hold onto me and 
I'll guide you." He didn't have the breath to spare for an acknowledgement, but 
she felt his nod against her cheek. 

They made it up the stairs without incident. She didn't bother picking the lock, 
just shot through it. Speed preceded stealth now. 

The air was cool and humid. She discarded the night vision lenses. She didn't 
need to look up to know that rain was coming. Outside of the dome, they wouldn't 
be protected from the unpredictable Ectanian weather. That was a concern best 
left for later. 

Thirty microts. 

Any moment now, Serris would realize that she was gone - robbing the G'Ken of 
its prey. She dragged John forward through the woods, leaving the underground 
complex behind, heading for the hills. 

Fifteen microts. 

Crichton stumbled, taking her down with him. She fell to her knees with a grunt, 
scrambling back up in the next breath. The Human was already struggling to his 
knees, but his arms were too weak to push his weight off the ground. "C-can't... 
go... go..."

"Shut up, John."

Jena whipped her head up to see Aeryn Sun drop to a crouch on the Human's other 
side. "You're supposed to wait with our transport," the disruptor hissed, 
annoyed. 

Sun wasn't paying her any attention. Already she had assisted Crichton to a 
somewhat standing position. She gestured to Jena to support John's other side. 
The disruptor complied, and together they pulled the Human towards an edge of 
bushes, which would provide some cover. 

Five microts. 

They weren't going to make it. 

Wet leaves and mud, slippery underneath their feet. 

The explosion knocked them to the ground face first. Sun knew the detonation was 
coming and threw herself on top of the Human to protect him. Jena heard the 
Hynerian's expletives over the blast as she fell on her side, crushing him. She 
looked back. The slope of dirt disguising the complex had been swallowed in 
flames. 

"Let's go," she ordered. She knew better than to think this would slow Serris 
for long. She only had enough explosives to rig the surface level. The 
terrorists weren't dead, just delayed. 

Sun had turned Crichton on his back, calling his name, lifting his lids when he 
didn't respond. He tried to bat her hands away. "Hmm. F-five more m-minutes... 
mom."

Jena and Sun shared a look of exasperated empathy at the Human's incoherent 
ramblings. Once again, they managed to haul Crichton to his feet, ignoring his 
groans of protest. 

It took them a hundred painful microts to make it to their transport. All the 
while, Jena strained to pick up any sign of activity from the compound. She 
didn't relax even when the glider Sun had manage to secure and smuggle out of 
the city came into view. As far as transports went, it was pretty small. Two 
seats in the front, a flat-bed in the back, and no roof, but it would do. Only a 
small vehicle could negotiate the dense woods. 

Jena helped Sun throw John none too gently in the back, jumped into the driver's 
seat and dumped the sputtering Hynerian on the passenger side. The ex-
Peacekeeper hopped in next to John. Jena revved up and the engine burst into a 
deep-throated snarl. The wheels found purchase in the mud and she stepped on the 
accelerator, taking them away from the complex, beyond the hillside and straight 
to the dome. 

She threw a rapid glance over her shoulder. Crichton was sprawled across the 
flat bed, his head in Aeryn Sun's lap. The former pilot was murmuring to him, 
one hand on his chest securing him each time the tires hit a bump, the other 
holding her pistol aimed at eventual pursuers, her eyes fixed on the direction 
they had come from. 

Jena frowned. It wouldn't be easy to get rid of Sun, but she would start 
worrying about that when they were a safe distance from the G'Ken.

"What do you think I am? A sac of krongal? This is no way to treat--"

Jena punched the Hynerian in the face. She didn't have much patience for his 
antics. Why John had insisted on saving him was beyond her. 

Movement in the back. She sneaked another look. Aeryn Sun was digging around in 
a small pouch, having momentarily holstered her pistol. She produced an injector 
and didn't waste time pushing it against John's exposed neck. Jena nodded 
approvingly to herself. She hadn't had time to administer the Kantak before 
their escape. Good thinking. 

"I suppose you didn't think of bringing my throne-sled," the dominar grumbled, 
favoring his jaw. 

Jena took her eyes off the trees in front of her for an instant, determined to 
knock out the annoying little slug.

She barely registered the explosion. 

Before her skull impacted with the dashboard. 




The blast propelled Aeryn several denches in the air. She never let go of John's 
jacket, and he landed on top of her a microt after she collided with the ground. 
The thick rug of dead leaves cushioned her fall and she rolled, taking Crichton 
with her, coming to an abrupt stop when her lower back met the immovable mass of 
an old tree. The impact forced the breath out of her and her vision darkened, 
until her lungs began functioning again, and the gaping chasm of unconsciousness 
receded. 

She opened her eyes and came face to face with John, his body tightly entangled 
with hers, his lips a hair-breadth away from her own. For a heartbeat, she lay 
there, allowing his unnatural warmth to seep into her, his ragged breathing to 
cover the wild sounds of the forest, his male, human smell to smother the stench 
of burning metal and smoldering rubber. 

With infinite care, she pushed him away and rolled him onto his back. Her 
muscles complained loudly when she sat up, but a quick survey revealed nothing 
more than a few superficial cuts and some painful bruises. With an ease borne of 
too much practice, her fingertips sought a pulse at Crichton's throat. She 
sighed out loud when she found one and surveyed his condition quickly. He didn't 
seem to have sustained any additional injuries and she was tempted to thank 
Zhaan's Goddess for that. She covered him with her coat and stood, weapon at the 
ready. 

At first, she thought the glider had collided with a tree, until she circled the 
smoking vehicle and discovered the large crater in the ground. 

A mine.

Frelling wonderful. 

The G'Ken had mined the complex's immediate surroundings. It was a miracle she 
hadn't tripped one on her way in. 

She didn't waste time inspecting the transport. The bomb had eviscerated the 
engine. Even if John had been in any condition to fix it, the glider was damaged 
beyond the Human's skills. 

Chato lay slumped over the wheel. Aeryn clasped one of her shoulders and slowly 
reclined her against the seat. She was breathing steadily. The right side of her 
face was matted with blood, but the wound itself looked superficial. The mine 
was meant for troops on foot, not heavy vehicles. The forest precluded any 
motorized assault on the compound. 

Leaving Chato's side, Aeryn went to check on Rygel. 

"Ah, finally. Someone worries about me."

She smothered a smile. The Hynerian was buried neck-deep in a pile of rotting 
leaves and humus, not far from the glider. "You're all right?" 

Rygel scowled. "Do I look all right to you?"

"Well, the leaves cushioned your fall, so why are you complaining?"

Stupid question. Since when did the dominar need a reason? 

"How's Crichton?" the Hynerian asked gruffly. 

Aeryn arched an eyebrow in wonder, and bent to pull him free. "He's out. I think 
it's the fever. He wasn't injured in the explosion." She hurried back to Chato's 
side. They couldn't stay there. The smoke was bound to attract their pursuers, 
as soon as they found a way out of the burning complex. 

She shouldn't have worried. The disruptor was already stirring by the time she 
made it around the glider. "What happened?" the woman groaned, reaching for her 
head wound. A magnanimous Aeryn offered a rag laying in the back of the vehicle. 
Chato accepted it with a short nod.

"A mine. You didn't tell me the area was mined."

"I didn't know," the Peacekeeper said, struggling out of her seat. "They knew I 
was Special Directorate, remember? They wouldn't have told me that kind of 
thing."

"Well, now we're on foot," Aeryn observed, handing Chato a pulse rifle and a 
backpack. She tried to peer through the dense curtain of branches, but she 
couldn't see the sky. It smelled like that day on the false Earth. Like rain. 
"John is unconscious."

"Hardly surprising," Chato commented, seeking out the prone Human. Aeryn 
followed her to John's side, toying with the idea of knocking out the weakened 
disruptor, but logic prevailed. She couldn't make it far on her own with an 
incapacitated Crichton. They were stuck together. For now. 

Chato produced a small injector similar to the one Aeryn had just used to 
administer the Kantak. "What is it?"

"b'reen. I already gave him enough orally so that he could make it out of the 
compound. I wasn't planning on giving him more, but we can't carry him and we 
have to find shelter, until we can figure a way out of this mess."

Aeryn didn't like the idea of injecting the stimulant either, without knowing 
how it would react with John's physiology, but Chato was right. They had to be 
far from the accident site before the G'Ken came to investigate. 

Whether she was deferring to Aeryn's greater knowledge of the Human's biology, 
or whether she was weary of the pulse pistol aimed at her back, Chato was 
waiting for her assent. "Do it."

Chato pushed Aeryn's coat out of the way and found a clean spot on John's 
throat. The effect was immediate and John's lids fluttered open. He moaned and 
brought a very shaky hand up to his forehead. 

"Got the n--name of that... truck?" 

Aeryn put her coat back on. She once again wrapped her arm around John's waist 
and pulled him upright. He waved drunkenly, his face nestling in the hollow 
between her neck and shoulder. "Thought I'd dreamed you... up, b--babe," he 
whispered against her skin. 

She didn't tell him about Pilot's last transmission. About Scorpius and the 
Scarran. It would serve no purpose at this point. She just kissed his temple 
softly before pulling away from him a little, so she could catch his eyes. The 
pupils were dilated to the size of Venian coins. "We had an accident and we have 
to continue on foot, John."

He seemed to consider this. Looked down on himself, frowning. "Can't walk... f--
far," he concluded, as if the answer wasn't obvious enough. 

"I know," she said, her fingers finding their way to the back of his neck of 
their own volition. "We just need to move away from here," she explained, 
pointing at the disabled glider. "Then you'll be able to get some rest, all 
right?"

He nodded quietly. "Okay. T--trust you, Aeryn."

She loved this man. 

"I recognize the place," Chato said, and Aeryn was grateful. Although this 
wasn't exactly an epiphany, the realization that she cared so deeply for John 
Crichton still gave her pause at the most inopportune times. "There are caves, 
this way." Chato pointed downhill and John almost sagged in relief against 
Aeryn. "I'll grab the Hynerian," the disruptor said with a smirk, clearing more 
of the blood off her face. 

Aeryn set off down the slope, John held firmly against her side and reached for 
her comm badge. 




"Zhaan... Zhaan... This isn't a good idea. You're still too weak. It's not even 
been a day--"

"Please, Stark." She shushed him, the tips of her fingers against his lips. 
"John and Aeryn need us."

"What about--"

"Besides," the priestess interjected before her lover could articulate more 
objections, "if Scorpius is on this planet, how long do you think we'll be safe? 
We have to find John and Aeryn, and leave as soon as we can."

"But, your cure..."

"All is in the hands of the gentle Goddess. Maybe her purpose for me here was 
greater than to enjoy Ectani's restorative abilities." She placed her hands on 
either side of the Banik's head. "It's time. Are you ready?"

"Yes," Stark answered mournfully. He reached at his throat to unbuckle his mask, 
allowing the energy to shine free. Zhaan basked in the soft, warm glow, before 
summoning her own power. She guided Stark's consciousness along the tendrils of 
mental energy binding her to the earth - like the roots of the trees physically 
bound her - and directed him to severe each one. As her link to the planet ebbed 
away, she felt the strength flow out of her as well. She realized that she was 
giving up her life, again, that there would be no second chances. Stark's hold 
tightened in sorrow, but he didn't let go, respecting her wishes. She would not 
be healed at the expense of another. She would not watch her loves wither and 
die. She knew no fear. 

When Stark was done disconnecting the bonds, she smothered a whimper and waited 
for D'Argo's blade to free her from the trees' embrace. Abandoning the life-
giving matrix behind, she accepted Chiana's support and drew herself upright. 
Her lips parted, pearls of rain collecting on her tongue, mourning the sweet 
closeness of the planet's regenerative template. Zhaan drew on the certitude 
which had sustained her for the last few weekens - the promise of peace and 
perfect acceptance. Her heart tightened when her eyes fell on Stark's despondent 
figure, but her soul soared with the knowledge that the path would open up for 
her, the journey was not reaching an end, but a new beginning. That in sacrifice 
and faultless love lay the ultimate reward. 

Redemption.

And John had suffered enough. 

She allowed Chiana to lead her to the lurker. Stark climbed in first to offer 
his lover a hand up. Zhaan looked at the remains of the encampment they were 
leaving behind, and murmured a quick prayer for the four guards the Luxan and 
the Nebari had killed. The rain had started and the soldiers had been playing 
some sort of game inside their tent. A Banik and a sick Delvian had hardly 
seemed worth constant surveillance, not when the slave seemed lost in constant 
prayer and the priestess was literally stuck to the forest's ground. Most of the 
detachment had already been sent out in pursuit of D'Argo the previous day.

They didn't hear Stark's comm badge crackle to life. Didn't hear the 
conversation, the facts laid out, the plan discussed and devised in a matter of 
microts - with the ruthless efficiency of people who would do anything to 
protect one of their own.

The Ectanians didn't stand a chance and were disposed of quickly. 

D'Argo hunkered in the passenger seat, his blade on his knees, while Chiana slid 
behind the wheel. The Nebari's vast array of experience designated her as the 
best driver. Zhaan smiled when Stark held her close to him. "Pilot," the Delvian 
called into her badge, interrupting the radio silence maintained during the 
attack.

"Zhaan. Did you succeed?"

"Yes, Pilot. We escaped the custody of Tesha's guards." She didn't share the 
details. The symbiot would come to his own conclusions. Not that he would care. 
Pilot felt no duty to anyone but Moya and her crew. In that order. "Any word 
from Aeryn?"

"Officer Sun contacted me fifty microts ago. She was successful in helping 
Commander Crichton and Rygel escape. She could not speak for long, because of 
the disruptor's presence."

The four occupants of the lurker hung their heads in relief. John was free from 
his tormentors. For now. 

"Where are they now, Pilot?" D'Argo asked.

"From what little Aeryn had the time to explain, they were forced to abandon 
their vehicle. They are making their way through the forest on foot, looking for 
shelter. Commander Crichton is..." Pilot's voice lowered, "not well."

Zhaan closed her eyes. "Have you targeted their location?"

"Yes," Pilot confirmed. "From her position in the bonosphere, Moya can narrow 
down the area to a forty metra radius."

"That should be enough," D'Argo said, grabbing the dashboard when the lurer hit 
a knot of thick surface roots. Chiana didn't waste her breath in apologies. "How 
far out are we, Pilot?"

"If you maintain your current vector and speed, you should reach the perimeter 
delimited by Moya in under an arn."

"Scorpius will be after them, too," Zhaan reminded them, worried. "Maybe the 
Scarran. And the G'Ken. We're all converging on the same location, heavily 
armed... I fear that John and Aeryn will be caught in the crossfire."

"What we need is a tactical advantage," Chiana contributed, her shiny black eyes 
squinted in concentration. "Like more fire power."

"And how do you propose we achieve this?" the priestess inquired, puzzled.

Her question was met with embarrassed silence. 

D'Argo turned around to face the Delvian, a gleam in his eager blue eyes. "I 
have an idea."




"We have to... continue, Aeryn. We have t--to. P--please."

"John, you need to rest."

"N--no. Not... yet."

He was barely able to stand of his own power. Red-rimmed blue eyes burning 
bright with fever, purple shadows marring too pale skin, shivers and chattering 
teeth... Aeryn had gone straight past concerned all the way to deathly worried. 
At first he had leaned on her silently, just conscious enough to follow her 
directions and nod a quiet understanding when she promised him that everything 
would be all right soon. That the others were coming. It didn't matter whether 
she believed any of it or not. For him, she would go against pragmatism. 

When they hit the first network of caves, Chato pointed to one of the entrances, 
but John had refused to follow. Insisting, in a voice that bespoke of fatigue 
beyond exhaustion, that they keep going. To another cave. And another. When 
Aeryn asked gently for an explanation, he could offer none, but the fiery look 
of determination was there underneath the grime and the two-day stubble. She had 
cajoled, reasoned, threatened, but he was undeterred. She had idly played with 
the idea of knocking him unconscious, carrying him on her shoulders over the 
short distance separating them from safety, but one look at his earnest, 
stubborn features - pain warring with a fortitude that was so typically //John// 
- had stilled her hand. He didn't need one more person bending him to their will 
by force, much less a friend. 

So Aeryn had ignored common sense, ignored Chato's furious stare and Rygel's 
obnoxious whining. They could be discovered at any moment. It had been half an 
arn since their escape. Enough time for the G'Ken to put the fire out and 
regroup. Enough time for Scorpius to catch up to them. 

But John was unrelenting. 

"J--just one more... one m--more."

"John, be reasonable."

She must be fahrbot. Arguing with the Human to be reasonable.

"S'important, Aeryn..."

He was practically walking with his lids shut, his hand trembling on her 
shoulder, one foot put obstinately in front of the other, like a man possessed.

Possessed.

"Why, John? You have to tell me why," Aeryn insisted, stopping to face him. She 
grabbed his face firmly between her hands. It was raining and his hair was 
soaked. She wiped the sweat off his brow, her thumbs stroke his cheekbones, his 
temples, calling him back to her. His skin scorched her fingertips. Cerulean 
irises found her, wide and untamed.

"Says... we have t--to," John whispered, the words flowing like quicksand.

Oh, frell. 

"Who says that, John? The clone? Are you still hearing Scorpius?"

What if Crichton was under the clone's influence again? What if he was leading 
them to the half-breed? Stark had said the clone was powerless, a mere echo. 
What if the Banik had been wrong?

"M--Maxime..." Crichton said, his hands coming up to frame her face as well, 
"She says..." 

//I have to tell you... have to tell you how I feel.//

She blinked the memory away. "Focus for me, John," she ordered. "Who is 
Max'eem?"

His hands fell to his sides. He stepped out of her embrace, unsteady and dazed. 
She had lost him again to the feverish delirium. He turned around, his back to 
the downward slope that would take them closer to the dome, and stared at the 
side of the hill, the caves like so many bleached, cauterized wounds. He 
staggered forward, his hand extended in front of him. Led by a ghost. Some force 
Aeryn couldn't name and which terrified her. 

She didn't know if she could protect John from his demons. She had tried and she 
had died. She had failed him in the worst possible way, but she wouldn't give 
him up. Not now, not ever. Would not let him embrace insanity quietly and stand 
idly by. He had not abandoned her, and she was done renouncing what was rightly 
hers, for the sake of some stupid memory of duty and home.

"Sun--"

"Shut up," she told Chato. She didn't care that the disruptor was right, that 
any microt they spent in open space brought the hunters ever closer to them. 
John appeared transfixed and she walked up to him. Snaked an arm around his 
waist when his knees wobbled. "What is it, John?"

"I think... we're there..."

She followed his eyes to the mouth of a cave. Why was this one different from 
any of the dozens of other caverns they had already passed by, she didn't know. 
In the end, it mattered little. "Very well, John," she said, tucking the Human 
safely against her, "let me take you, all right?"

He didn't nod, just lay his forehead against her shoulder. Despite the greater 
dosage and the intravenous injection, the effects of the stimulant were fading. 
Crichton was at the end of his tether. He tilted to the side and she wrapped 
both arms tightly around him. 

"I've got him." Chato nodded at her above John's head and they half-carried him 
to the cave. 

Just in time as it turned out.

The G'Ken soldiers were stealthy, but not stealthy enough. It was their luck 
that one of the men disturbed a pile of rocks at the top of the hill. Aeryn's 
eyes shot up, but above her the bank broke into a steep cliff. At this angle, 
she couldn't see their pursuers, but they couldn't see her either. Chato 
gestured towards the cave that had drawn John's attention, and both women led 
the Human inside, grateful for the thick matting of leaves which muted their 
progression. 

The interior of the cavern was nothing but darkness. Pitch black. 

"Rygel," Aeryn hissed between clenched teeth. 

"Yes," the Hynerian answered from the bag strapped to Chato's back. 

"You need to be our eyes. We can't use the frelling flashlights."

"Oh, I would love to," he replied obsequiously. "But I'm facing the wrong 
frelling way around!"

There was shuffling, some Hynerian cursing, a few threats from Chato. 

"Shut the frell up," Aeryn barked. John had stopped responding. He was dead-
weight between her and the disruptor, and she wanted to lay him down and examine 
him. To do that, they needed to go further into the cave, away from danger. 

"Fifteen metras straight ahead, then turn left. Keep your heads down."

The progression was slow, but they managed to walk deeper into the cave without 
tripping or hitting the walls, following Rygel's directions. Aeryn found herself 
thankful for the dominar's presence - although she would never admit to it, even 
under torture. 

"There," she said, when they were far away from the entrance. "Let's stop here." 

The women guided Crichton down until the Human lay recumbent on the cold ground. 
Aeryn took off her coat and wrapped it around him as best she could in the dark. 
He was drenched from the rain - they all were. It couldn't be helping the fever. 

Chato was rummaging inside her bag and suddenly there was light. xek'it gas bar. 
Once the chemical reaction was initiated, the little tube would dispense white 
light for arns. 

Aeryn leaned over John. She raised her eyes briefly when she felt movement next 
to her. Rygel stood close to Crichton, his hand on the Human's thigh, his 
expression trapped somewhere between worry and curiosity. The little dominar 
realized he was being observed and stared right back, as if daring her to 
comment.

She didn't, acting as if Rygel's display of concern was an everyday occurrence. 
"Rygel, could you get me some water, please?" she asked casually. 

The Hynerian looked at her in surprise, before recovering. "Do I look like a 
servicer to you?" he protested, but waddled his way to the bag she had dropped 
on the ground.

Aeryn ran her fingers through the Human's damp hair. She wished they had 
something to bring the fever down. It amazed her that he could emanate such heat 
and still be alive. She looked up to Chato, who stood a few denches away, 
guarding the passageway. Maybe the disruptor had brought something useful in her 
bag of tricks. 

"Hey."

It was weak and barely recognizable as John's customary salute, but it was the 
sweetest sound in the world. She lowered her eyes to find him watching her. He 
seemed lucid, despite the drowsy irises and the unhealthy flush. She bent over 
him, smoothing out the severe lines around her eyes and mouth. "Hey," she 
answered, laying her palm on his chest. 

"Are we s--safe?"

"For now. You should sleep, John."

His lids fluttered but he came back, clinging to consciousness. Holding onto 
her. "Th--thank you... for coming... f--for me."

She shushed him. John was so absurd sometimes - to believe that thanks were 
necessary. "Do you still see her? Max'eem?"

He looked confused. "Maxime? How... how do you know..."

"You said she guided you here."

"Yes," he sighed.

"Aeryn." She looked away from Crichton to Rygel and the small flask he held in 
his hands. 

"Thank you," she said, accepting the flask. She slid her hand under John's head 
and raised him as gently as she could. "Here, drink a little." She brought the 
bottle close to his cracked lips and tipped the container. Crichton drank slowly 
at first, then broke into a coughing fit. Aeryn handed the flask back to Rygel. 
She sat between John and the wall of the cave, holding him close against her 
chest, legs spread on either side of him, until the convulsions abetted. 

"Eas--ier to b--breathe... thanks," he croaked, his voice raw. 

He was shaking so hard. There was nothing Aeryn could do but hold him tighter. 
She hit her comms, but the channel regurgitated static. The signal couldn't 
penetrate the rock. 

"Chato--"

The disruptor gestured for her to be quiet. 

Aeryn withheld her question. She could hear them now. Voices. John tensed in her 
arms, and she unholstered her pistol, staring uselessly in the dark. The sound 
didn't seem to be coming closer. She couldn't make out any words. The men were 
standing at the mouth of the cave, and the tunnel reverberated their muffled 
conversations. 

When John arched against her, eyes clenched shut, mouth distorted around a 
silent scream, Aeryn understood what was happening. She clasped her hand over 
his mouth and wrapped herself tightly around him. He buckled and jerked, trying 
to escape the pain. He clutched at her arms, bruising her skin, but she twinned 
her limbs to his, cushioning his body so he wouldn't hurt himself. His eyes shot 
open and she drowned in his agony. Aeryn didn't look away. She wouldn't leave 
him to face the pain alone. Tears rolled furiously down his cheeks. He was 
choking. 

"I'm sorry," Aeryn murmured in his ear. 

She delivered the pantak jab with perfect precision. 

He went limp, his body still convulsing from the unnatural stimulation, but he 
didn't feel the pain any longer. Chato and Rygel looked at her with grudging 
sympathy. Aeryn didn't care. Just held onto John until the seizures stopped. 

The disruptor knelt by her side. "They're gone for now. Too many caves, they 
can't search them all." She looked down at John's unconscious form, and Aeryn 
could have sworn that there was true compassion in the Peacekeeper's touch when 
Chato drew the crumpled leather coat over Crichton. "They were trying to flush 
us out. Hoping John's screams would lead them to us."

"We have to take these chips out of him." 

Chato countered the veiled accusation, unapologetic. She had explained about the 
chips while they planned Crichton's escape. "If not for my intervention, he 
would have died from their torture well before now, Sun."

Aeryn refused to acknowledge her. She lay John flat on his back, and got to work 
removing his jacket and shirt. 

"There," Chato said.

A portable medicscan appeared in front of her. 

"I knew we might have to take the implants out before we reached a medical 
facility. I secured the scan before our escape. I also grabbed an anesthetic. I 
don't know if there's enough of it. I'm unfamiliar with the Human's physiology." 
It almost sounded like an apology. "We should begin while he's unconscious."

"Rygel." The Hynerian trudged up to Aeryn. "Grab the xek'it tube. Make sure we 
have enough light. I need to see what I'm doing."

"You?" the Peacekeeper objected. "You want to be the one cutting into him?"

Want? No, Aeryn didn't want to cut into John, but their situation had nothing to 
do with what she wanted. She wouldn't trust anyone else with the knife. "Hold 
the medicscan," she instructed Chato. Her jaw was so tight it hurt. Her hand 
trembled slightly. She unsheathed a small blade from her boot and washed it as 
best she could. "Just tell me where to cut."




"What were you talking about?"

"When? Hey, pass that beer over, will you?"

He handed her the bottle without a second thought and watched her take a long 
swallow. She hadn't been allowed to drink when she was alive, and she seemed 
determined to make up for lost time. "What you said about tears and the basis of 
faith," he explained, accepting the beer back from her. 

She shrugged, which wasn't half as easy as it sounded, lying on the hood of the 
T-Bird. "You asked me about dying. I was just telling you." 

"Great timing."

He basked in the biting throes of the setting sun over the launch pad. The 
salute of heroes. The American shuttle gleamed against the sapphire expanse of 
sky. "We're close," she whispered, stretching tired limbs like an overgrown 
house cat. She still looked frail. She hadn't changed out of his sweater and a 
lose pair of overalls.

"We better be, Max."

His coldness didn't deter her. "You're angry."

"What was your first clue?" He snorted. "You said I would get answers. That's 
why I agreed to drag Aeryn all the way over... wherever we are." His fingers 
combed nervously through his hair. "I... I don't want to believe Harvey, but... 
Fuck it, I don't know what to trust anymore."

"I understand."

She was playing unruffled and wise. It annoyed him to no end. Maxime always made 
him feel like a kid. "If you're a delusion, you're damn persistent." He 
reconsidered that statement. There wasn't enough beer in the world. "If you're a 
delusion, I might as well just let them take me now and be done with it."

She hit his shoulder - hard - and sat up, looming over him. "John Robert 
Crichton Jr. If you keep talking like that I'm going to kick your ass six ways 
from Sunday."

John wasn't impressed. "You and what army?"

"Watch me. I've gone through all your memories of Aeryn. Very. Carefully."

He was standing up in an instant, fingers wrapped around Maxime's fragile 
throat. He pushed her against the hood of the T Bird, hard. "You leave her out 
of this."

She didn't fight him. "John, I'm not the enemy. And I can't ignore Aeryn. I 
mean, look," she said, indicating his Peacekeeper outfit. Needless to say, the 
contrast between his leather garb, Maxime's casual outfit and their surroundings 
was somewhat incongruous. "She's everywhere. I'd have to be blind not to see 
her."

John let go of her. Annoyed that the Uncharted Territories would intrude upon 
his memories, even if it was only in the form of a leather coat and Wynona 
strapped to his thigh. He didn't need Wynona here. "Yeah, blind," he said, 
embarrassed. "Cause dead isn't good enough."

"I'm not rising to the bait."

She wasn't even upset. 

"How close are we?" John sighed, producing another beer. 

"Pretty damn close. Could you, maybe... conjure up some chocolate?"

"You could have told me from the beginning, you know? Save us some time."

"Don't shoot the messenger." Maxime bit her lower lip. "You're the one who 
decided to come, whether you realize it or not. You came in your own time. All 
that other mess... well, sorry, but there wasn't much I could do. I tried to 
protect you from the pain, but--"

He waved his hand. It wasn't worth discussing. "What about the nightmares? The 
visions?"

She waited for a honor formation of F15s to pass overhead. "It's called trauma, 
John. You're a test pilot. You know what I'm talking about. You needed help to 
heal." She looked at the pond, the golden sunset reflecting in the bay. "Your 
subconscious summoned me and brought you here."

He was too exhausted for grief and doubt. For things that sucked him dry, left 
him hollow and scared. He was tired of running away from certainty, because he 
couldn't remember how the knowledge had been acquired in the first place. "It's 
got something to do with going home. Somehow, I know that... I just don't know 
how I know."

Maxime nodded. "I'm here to access the information for you."

"Like a translator?"

"Something like that. The knowledge had to manifest itself somehow, in a way you 
could comprehend. Your brain chose me." She grinned. "Go figure."

John stood. Restless. "So tell me. It has to do with that black hole, right?"

She followed suit. Started after him when he walked away from the vintage car to 
the decrepit ruins of the old launch pad, overlooking the new installations. 
There wasn't even a bird in the sky. It was them, the shuttle - and dusk.

"Yes," Maxime answered, straightforward enough. "Remember when Aeryn told you 
that the Sebaceans weren't the first inhabitants of Ectani?" He motioned for her 
to continue. "Well, you've had a close encounters with those original 
inhabitants in the past."

"The Ancients." He didn't need to make it a question.

She leaned her forehead against his shoulder. "Bingo. Sixty-four thousand dollar 
question, Alex." She smoothed out his rumpled tee shirt. Her hand lingered on 
his breastbone with the ease of old companionship. "They captured a quantum 
singularity to conduct their wormhole experiments. I don't need to tell you that 
wormholes are off-shots of black holes, and that in theory singularities are 
likely to be very small."

He froze. Flabbergasted. "Holy Mary... Are you telling me... it's on the 
planet's surface?"

She was way too perky for her own good. "Yep."

"Here?"

Maxime pouted, counting on her fingers. "Two hundred feet, give or take."

The implications were staggering. "A window on time?"

"Precisely."

"I'll see... the future?" 

Rush of awe and potent fear, like an unearthly tingle along his spine.

Choices, always choices. 

//There is no fate, John. I want you to remember that.//

He couldn't breathe.

"Your future." For once, she didn't seem to be reading his mind. "Like the 
Ancients saw your future. Well, bits, anyway."

He gasped. "It's insane."

"Why?" Maxime asked, looking genuinely puzzled. "You've had experience with 
quantum singularities. Let's just say that this time around it's under control, 
and it's focused on one specific fracture in the continuum."

"A possible future," he interjected, a rusty portion of his brain kicking into 
gear.

"More like //probable//," she corrected. "But let's not get technical. You know 
I suck at math. Plus Harvey would insist on helping."

Another mystery that needed solving.

"Why don't you just get rid of him?"

She stopped and sat on a ratty stretch of lawn. She seemed resolute to stay 
there, so he lowered himself down next to her. It smelled of freshly-mowed 
grass, of inconsequential wishes granted. Maxime smiled - a conspiratorial 
little twist of her colorless lips. 

"Even if I had the power to harm Harvey, I wouldn't. He's a part of you now, 
John. In a way, he's always been." Her fingers on his open mouth stilled his 
righteous indignation. "Since the chip's gone, he's only taken over the parts of 
your brain you allowed him to venture into. He's become the embodiment of all 
the things you don't want to confront, but still need to be aware of. Without 
him, you won't make it. He's your survival instinct, your willingness to kill, 
the clarity of reason that allows you to work beyond the guilt. He's the part of 
you that adapted to your environment." He hated that her words made sense. They 
felt like he was the anonymous amnesiac author of the script. "I just had to 
suppress him for a while so you would listen to me," she added, "but he is a 
part of you. Except that since he started out as a foreign consciousness, he 
tends to have a mind of his own about some things. But you're learning to 
control him better."

She took her time unwrapping a Hershey bar. Where the hell did that come from?

"And you. You say you've been here forever. Since the beginning?" 

Maxime dropped her eyes to the ground, like a ten-year old caught with her hand 
in the cookie jar. "You met me, we grew up, then I died, and you carried a part 
of me with you. Now I'm a manifestation of something else."

"That's not good enough. You can do better than this, Max. Go ahead, dazzle me 
with one of your spectacular rationalizations," he taunted. 

For a while, she said nothing, munching on the chocolate. When she was done, she 
sucked her fingers clean, leaning on her knees to catch her reflection in the 
unperturbed stillness of the pond. "Do you know what schizophrenia is?"

John did not like the sound of that.

Her quicksilver smile did nothing to appease him. "Do you understand how it 
works?"

He did, but waited for her explanation anyway. 

She didn't disappoint. "Basically, there's some kind of chemical imbalance in 
your brain. Your neurons fire at random without external stimuli. The brain 
doesn't like unexplained activity and will strive to make sense of it, to 
ascribe meaning to all this pointless firing. So it'll invent a corresponding 
stimulus. You'll hear voices, see things that are not there because your brain 
thinks they should be." She released her breath over the water, mesmerized by 
the spreading concentric circles. "It's kind of the same thing here," she 
continued, sparing him a glance to gauge his reaction. "Well, almost. The 
Ancients put something in your brain that wasn't supposed to be there in the 
first place. Your mind just tried to come up with an explanation, a 
manifestation for all this data. The brain doesn't like the unaccountable. So it 
chose me." She was hugging herself, and he wondered if she was cold. Maxime was 
dead. Of course, she was cold. "Life is mental energy, John. You carry a little 
of all the creatures you've met. Some have marked you more than others. You were 
there when I died. You held onto me. And I held onto you." 

Did that explain... why Maxime. Why not his mom? 

"I'm not gonna answer that," she said. Her irises glinted, precious remnants of 
daylight. "You feel the pull. You've felt it for a while. The need to come 
here." She waited for his acknowledgement. "At first you didn't know what it 
was, then you started searching for a planet, and you found Ectani. You wanted 
to come. Do you remember?"

His fingers strayed to his lips. His brow furrowed. "Yes. It wasn't... 
overwhelming. Just sort of there."

She offered her hand, palm up, and he accepted it. She pulled him to his knees 
besides her. "It wasn't overwhelming, because it wasn't a compulsion, simply 
information you needed to process; you had to decide on your own whether now was 
the right time to come here or not. Obviously it was." Sheepish. "It triggered 
the mechanism that brought you here. Triggered me. Mathematical constructions, 
John." She paused. Always the dramaturge, Maxime. "Equations."

"E... equ... worm..." He stuttered. "Wormhole equations?"

"Yes. But they aren't what you think." She dipped her index in the water. He 
saw... pictures, symbols, that he recognized. "I'm here to help unlock the 
code." 

John was in shock. After all this time and all the pain... "The equations," he 
echoed. "I'm here to... What? Now?... Why now?"

She looked like more of a ghost than she ever had before. Her palm felt cool and 
dry against his stubbled cheek. "Because you're losing hope, John. You need to 
unlock the code. And after all you've been through, you've learned the value of 
what's inside your mind."

It was too much to process. He got to his feet. She remained kneeling - like the 
ritual lamb led to the altar. She didn't try to shield herself from his wrath.

"Are you saying that they knew?" he asked, fists clenched at his sides. His 
voice rose. "Everything that was coming? When the Ancients implanted the 
equations, they knew?" He swallowed around the lump in his throat. "About 
Scorpy, about the God. Damn. Chair?" His eyes hurt. His jaw. His chest tight, 
too tight. "What about Aeryn, uh? Did they glimpse that too in the singularity?"

He was shaking. Weakness, and shock. Fury and things that he didn't have words 
for.

//Choices. Always choices.//

How could they take this away from him?

"Time isn't the universal invariant Einstein envisioned," Maxime said. She 
stood. "They knew of possibilities. They knew that a war was coming, that a 
weapon would be needed." She looked away from him, ashamed. "That it could be 
you." He could feel it coming. The consolation prize. The shiny blue bubble, the 
furry animal, the treat for jumping through the hoops like a good little doggy. 
"And because you have gone through all of this, because you've gained insight 
into yourself and others, and this universe..."

Damn it. 

"...you are worthy of learning what it all means." 

Damn it all to hell. 




John Crichton was dying. 

In the arms of Aeryn Sun. 

The ex-Peacekeeper would wonder for the rest of her life if she had killed him. 
It had taken the better part of an arn to remove all the chips. He hadn't bled 
much. The incisions hadn't been deep, but there had been no way to cauterize the 
wounds. Aeryn had settled for clean water, and now John's fever was rising. 
Zhaan had remarked some time ago that John's immune system was weaker than that 
of most species she had encountered - that he was very susceptible to infection 
- and Aeryn was left to ponder whether she had done more harm than good.  

They hadn't used the anesthetic. John had remained unconscious throughout the 
procedure. Aeryn didn't know what to hope for at this point. That he would 
awaken one last time, or that he would slip away quietly, free from the pain. 
She didn't want to accept that she had failed John, that she was losing him, but 
her options were limited. He couldn't be transported and she couldn't leave him 
alone with Chato to get help. She could risk going back to the mouth of the cave 
and contact Moya from there, but it meant incapacitating the disruptor first. 
The Peacekeeper wouldn't let her signal her crewmates without a fight. 

"You know what needs to be done."

She knew. She didn't want to hear it, but John wouldn't have let her shy away 
from the tough decisions, so she tore her eyes away from the deathly pallor of 
his face to answer Chato.

"If I let you go, you'll bring back Scorpius."

The disruptor didn't bother to deny the truth of Aeryn's words. "He's dying," 
Chato said simply, with a cold matter-of-factness Aeryn so often heard echo in 
her own voice. "If we wait any longer, it won't matter who finds us first. It'll 
be too late."

//Always choices.//

In the past, Aeryn had made hundreds of decisions, which meant life and death 
for other people, but this was different. She had to choose for John between 
death, and a fate worse than death. 

She could bring up her pistol and take Chato down. It would solve part of the 
problem. With the disruptor dead, she would be free to let go of John long 
enough to venture outside and contact Moya. 

His body was heavy and warm in the cradle of her arms. His soft hair tickled her 
nose. 

John wouldn't kill the Peacekeeper to save himself. Chato had rescued him on the 
royal planet - Aeryn knew that much and suspected more. Duty, loyalty, honor, 
respect. Indebted as he was to the other woman, John wouldn't consider squeezing 
the trigger until Chato threatened the lives of his friends. 

Aeryn's right hand migrated away from her thigh to Crichton's stomach. "Go," she 
said, grinding her teeth. 

She couldn't decipher Chato's expression in the scarce light. The disruptor 
picked up her bag, reached for something inside and knelt by Aeryn. "There," she 
said, placing another small injector on the ground. "It's the last of the 
b'reen. It might buy John a little time."

Oddly, the Peacekeeper seemed to linger - her fingertips hovering a hair-breadth 
away from John's skin - but she stood and stalked away without another word. 
Aeryn heard the tell-tale cracking of another xek'it gas tube being activated. 
Light flared briefly until Chato rounded a curve, swallowed by the darkness of 
the cave. 

Aeryn watched John. Counted his shallow breaths. Firm muscles falling and rising 
underneath her palm. Sweetest lullaby of his heartbeat teasing the sensitive 
skin of her lips, pressed against his temple. If his salvation meant capture, 
what would he choose? Torture at Scorpius's hands but a shot at survival, or the 
silence of the hills? More importantly, what would she choose? What did she 
value most? Her lover's life or his freedom? For he was her lover in all the 
ways that mattered. She hadn't offered up those three costly little words 
lightly, and if she had learned anything from John, it was that love meant 
loyalty. Placing the happiness of a friend above her own. Not because of duty, 
or breeding, or direct orders, but because the pain of another was unacceptable. 

Aeryn had never promised John that she wouldn't let anyone else hurt him - not 
even at his darkest hour, when she wanted to soothe him so badly she ached. She 
respected him too much to lie even for his sake, but she had sworn that she 
would always come after him. And that afterwards, he wouldn't have to deal with 
the pain alone. 

What if being there for him meant letting him go?

//I always thought of the future in terms of survival. Keeping the body alive.//

Survival would never be enough for the uncompromising spirit of John Crichton. 
Surrender, when no other life but his own hung in the balance, was not an 
option.

Aeryn caressed John's forehead and met Rygel's silent stare. "I need your help." 
The dominar's earbrows twitched in interest and, she thought, implicit 
acquiescence. She slowly and very carefully slid out from behind John and laid 
the unconscious Human on the ground. "I'm going to take you to the mouth of the 
cave. It would take too long for you to get there on your own. I'm pretty sure 
Chato will be scouting the perimeter, trying to locate the G'Ken's forces after 
calling Scorpius. You should be fine for a while."

She busied herself by wrapping her coat securely around John, making sure that 
he would be as warm and comfortable as possible while she was gone, then checked 
her pulse pistol for the contents of the chakan oil cartridge. 

"Are you sure you don't want to stay with him?" Rygel asked. "What if--"

She shook her head and the little Hynerian took the hint. He let it go. "I want 
you to contact Moya and coordinate with Pilot, then signal D'Argo only when they 
are close to the cave. I don't want to risk the Scarran or Scorpius tracing the 
signal back to us, on the off chance that they don't know where we are already." 

Aeryn lifted Rygel up, tucking the dominar underneath her arm. She bent to pick 
up the last of the xek'it tubes and initiated the chemical reaction. For a 
microt, the cavern was illuminated as clear as day. 

John didn't even stir. 

There was nothing left to do, except pray that he would still be here when she 
came back - but she didn't know any prayers. John was the one who knew about 
hopes, wishes, what-ifs, self-fulfilling prophecies, and wild, ultimately 
endless faith, and with one last glance Aeryn set out towards the mouth of the 
cave. 

She made it to the entrance in under two hundred microts, and like she had 
predicted, Chato was nowhere to be found. She lowered Rygel to the ground, and 
dropped next to him. The forest loomed dark and silent, save for the rustle of 
heavy rain hitting the leaves. The downpour would provide some cover to D'Argo 
and the others. On the other hand, it would muffle Scorpius's approach. 

Aeryn unholstered her pistol and gave it to Rygel. The weapon would be difficult 
to manipulate for the little Hynerian - he favored blades for a reason - but it 
was better than nothing and she didn't need it. She had left her pulse rifle 
with John. She unpinned her comm badge and fixed it to Rygel's chest. It left 
her without any means of contacting Moya, but she couldn't use the frelling 
thing inside the cave anyway. 

"You know what to do."

Rygel's nod was solemn, and she didn't wonder about placing John's life between 
the hands of this tiny, selfish creature. "I'll get help, Aeryn. Go back to 
him."

Holding the xek'it in front of her, Aeryn hurried back the way she came, 
tripping a couple of times - always picking herself up, unmindful of bruised 
palms and scraped knees, her throat tight with a sense of foreboding rising from 
deep within her belly.

She wasn't fast enough. 

The empty b'reen injector lay on the ground, next to her discarded coat. 

John was gone. 




"What are the reports on the Scarran's progression?"

Braca paused while preparing the next dose of Kantak provided by Tanol. Due to 
his hybrid physiology, Scorpius had to be injected often. They had gone through 
three rods already. The pulsar's radiation didn't interact well with the cooling 
suit and kept raising the half-breed's temperature to uncomfortable levels. 
Nevertheless, Scorpius hadn't once suggested that they turn back. If he had, 
Braca would have started to seriously worry about the hidden effects of the 
radiation on his commanding officer. 

"Last communication from the command carrier indicates the piercer landed delta 
eleven, premno seven, lerg four. If the Scarran progresses at a constant rate 
and vector we should get to Crichton's location four hundred microts ahead of 
him. The Scarran is maintaining a zero presence profile himself, sir."

This was probably the only reason the Scarran had scouted the forest for a rare 
clearing before landing his craft, rather than simply blasting off an open area. 
He was operating under the same constrictions as the Peacekeepers, meaning he 
would be making his way on foot. It was very unlikely the Scarran agent had 
managed to secure ground transportation. As it was, the Peacekeepers would soon 
have to abandon the lurkers, as the forest became denser the closer they got to 
Crichton. 

Braca resisted the urge to rub the side of his face. Last time, the Human had 
broken his cheekbone. If not for the fundamental knowledge Crichton possessed, 
the idea of abandoning him to be captured and interrogated by a Scarran would be 
appealing. 

The lurker came to an abrupt halt and Braca juggled with the injector to keep 
from dropping it. Tanol turned around in the passenger seat. "We have to abandon 
the transports here. We're a hundred metras away from the compound. Lieutenant, 
instruct your men to follow in my footsteps. The area is mined."

Braca bristled at the idea that a disruptor could order him around, but Scorpius 
was already climbing out of the lurker from the rear, and he followed suit. He 
presented the hybrid with the injector and Scorpius nodded his thanks. It was 
still strange, being complimented by a superior officer - or even being 
acknowledged at all. Crais had never showed the slightest interest in his second 
in command. Braca could have been any other Peacekeeper. To be valued for his 
abilities and rewarded for his loyalty was, even after a cycle, a puzzling, 
although not disagreeable experience. 

Braca accepted the empty injector back from Scorpius and handed it to a tech. 
The half-breed seemed content to let him take the lead, and he turned to face 
the troops gathering at attention outside of the lurkers. "The target is a 
hundred metras ahead of us. Your orders to maintain a zero presence profile 
stand. Deploy pattern Keta Loka and follow disruptor Tanol's lead. The target's 
immediate perimeter is mined."

Braca fell silent, knowing without having to spare a glance at his commanding 
officer that Scorpius would add his customary injunction. 

"John Crichton is to be captured alive," the hybrid ordered with casual ease. 
"You will not spare your efforts to keep him from harm."

Scorpius had, in essence, ordered the commandos to put themselves between the 
Human and a pulse blast. It was so very wrong yet, Braca understood, so very 
necessary. He hoped that this time around Scorpius would remove the Human's 
brain from his skull altogether and be done with it. 

All this running around after a lesser life form was highly inefficient.

They set out through the woods, and without thinking about it Braca put himself 
between Tanol and Scorpius. In any other circumstances, he would be walking at 
the hybrid's side or one step behind him, but this way he could hope to catch 
any mine the disruptor might miss - voluntarily or not. To say that Braca 
violently distrusted the man would be an understatement. 

His precaution was superfluous as it turned out. They trudged through the forest 
without setting off any charges, only slowed down by the thick covering of 
leaves and mud. The rain made it hard to see more than a few metras ahead. 

He smelled the smoke several microts before they came upon the wreckage. 

The ruins looked like some gutted ship sprouting crazily from the hill. The rain 
had put out the fire and only smoldering debris remained. Braca couldn't see any 
bodies, and the ground around the ravaged compound had been trampled. It was a 
sure conclusion that a large number of men had come out of the construction 
alive. 

"Yes," Scorpius hissed, between frustration and recalcitrant amusement. "John 
was here, indeed."

Braca wondered if he should crack a smile. 

He was cold, wet, annoyed. He decided against it.

He opened his mouth to send a small detail of commandos to investigate the site 
while the rest of the unit deployed across the area when Tanol's comms crackled 
to life. 

"Come in, Teka Red."

"Identify yourself," Tanol replied.

"Jenavian Chato. Disruptor. Special Directorate. Responding to Priority Red One 
Communication, sir."

Scorpius's eyes narrowed, as if the voice was familiar. Braca had gotten used to 
the hybrid's perfect memory. In two steps Scorpius reached Tanol and confiscated 
his comms. The disruptor raised his hand in surprise, but an ostensible move 
from Braca towards his weapon dissuaded him to even try. 

"Disruptor Chato, this is Scorpius. Is John Crichton in your custody?"

"Not quite," the female's voice replied without pause. She didn't seem 
disconcerted by the interruption. "I've had to enlist Aeryn Sun's help to break 
him out of the terrorists' base. They are holed up in a cave not far from the 
G'Ken's encampment and not going anywhere. I request a retrieval unit 
immediately, sir."

"What is Crichton's status?"  

"He was tortured repeatedly and seems to have contracted some sort of infection. 
I believe his condition is critical, sir. Furthermore, the terrorists are still 
out there looking for him."

Scorpius signaled a tech over and gestured towards the comm system, eliciting a 
short affirmative nod. "Maintain radio silence from now on, but keep the channel 
open. We will target your signal and rendezvous with you, Disruptor Chato. In 
the meantime, I suggest you remain alert for any Scarran presence." 

There was a short lapse before a reply crackled through. "Yes, sir. Do your 
orders to terminate Crichton should the Scarran threat materialize stand?"

Scorpius frowned. Braca could tell he was measuring his words. "You are 
authorized to use extreme prejudice against the Human only if capture appears 
unavoidable. This is a last resort, Disruptor. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

The hybrid terminated the connection and returned the comm system to Tanol. 
"This disruptor is the same agent the Special Directorate sent to the royal 
planet half a cycle ago," Scorpius said, turning to face Braca. "I never knew 
her name, but I recognize the voice. When we meet with her, be on your guard. 
Someone has to be leaking information to the Scarran. He would not have known 
where to find Crichton otherwise."

"Yes, sir," Braca acknowledged. 

"Have you located the origin of the transmission yet?" Scorpius asked the tech. 

The young woman nodded decisively. Even Scorpius's techs were chosen for their 
confidence and their loyalty. "Yes, sir." She lifted a palm-sized map-pad for 
his perusal. "I have fixed the coordinates. With the channel open, the self-
tracking system will inform us of the disruptor's movements."

The news elicited a closed smile. "Then take us to John." Scorpius set off away 
from the smoldering remains of the compound, and Braca jogged to catch up with 
him. The hybrid seemed to sniff the air, as if he could zero in on the Human by 
scent. For all the lieutenant knew, he could. 

"John cannot be allowed to die, Braca," Scorpius said, and the lieutenant 
swallowed a sigh.

Find Crichton and rip his brains out. Definitely. 




"D'Argo?"

"Yes, Pilot?" the big Luxan ground out, holding onto his seat for dear life. It 
was the last time he allowed Chiana to drive. Trees were rushing past him at 
reckless speed and his non-existent breakfast was making a come-back. 

"I have received a communication from Rygel. He did not contact you directly so 
as to reduce the risk of the transmission being intercepted by either 
Peacekeepers or Scarran. Chiana, please adjust your trajectory by five peeka 
south. You'll be upon them in six hundred microts."

"What's their situation, Pilot? Did they get away from the disruptor?" Zhaan 
asked from the back seat, where she reclined in Stark's arms. It had been over 
an arn since she had literally ripped herself away from the planet's soil, and 
the tiredness was already showing. The top of her skull was a light shade of 
carmine. 

"The disruptor left to scout the area." Pilot's voice faltered in a way which 
always heralded bad news. "And to contact Scorpius."

"What?" D'Argo roared - and regretted it when Chiana took her eyes away from the 
forest to look at him. He gestured frantically at her to watch where she was 
going. "Did Rygel cut a deal? I swear, it's the last time the Hynerian gets away 
with betraying us."

"Rygel did no such thing, Ka D'Argo," Pilot chided. "Officer Sun let Disruptor 
Chato go."

"Why would Aeryn do that?" Chiana asked, voicing everyone else's consternation.

"Commander Crichton is... dying."

This time, D'Argo didn't protest when Chiana accelerated. 

"Aeryn let the disruptor go to give Dominar Rygel a chance to contact Moya. She 
hopes you'll get to them before Scorpius."

The Luxan turned around, sharing a meaningful look with Zhaan. For Aeryn to make 
such an extreme decision, Crichton had to be in bad shape. "Have you been able 
to track Scorpius and the Scarran, Pilot?"

"The foliage is too dense and Moya's sensors aren't suited to deep surface 
scanning. However, I have successfully relayed your instructions to Jarian. 
He'll be ready."

"But will he make it here on time?" Chiana worried, tightening her grip on the 
wheel. 

D'Argo growled and frowned, glaring at the rain. "Drive faster."




It was like sleepwalking. Darkness all around, but an intimate knowledge of his 
surroundings, voice whispering from the marrow of his bones when to turn right, 
left, when to raise his foot so he wouldn't stumble over a traitorous rock or 
trip over a sudden depression in the ground. 

The impenetrable wall of inky blackness didn't frighten him, didn't call back 
vivid memories of clutching his pillow as a child, praying to be spared the 
wrath of the monsters under his bed. Intangible threats to mask the dread - the 
instinctual fear that the heavens would keep his father. That his dad wouldn't 
make it back from the moon, and cold, cold space. His mother was no help, lost 
in a haze of schnaps and colorful pills. Little Johnny would huddle underneath 
the covers, mesmerized by the hypnotic spin of his glow-in-the-dark miniature 
solar system. So much left to explore. And to a child, so much time to do it in. 

Johnny wanted to be an astronaut. 

Now, there was only certitude and the erratic beating of his heart, trying to 
deal with its third dose of b'reen in as many hours. He had waited for Aeryn to 
leave, faking sleep, and even as he awkwardly pressed the injector to his own 
throat, he knew that he was taking a risk, that the stimulant could kill him - 
but he needed to know. He couldn't tell whether the drive was his, or if he was 
answering yet another beacon like a trained hound. It mattered little in the 
end. John Crichton valued knowledge over his own life. Fair trade. It was 
something DK had never understood - DK wasn't a test pilot - but his dad had 
known. That last walk down the concourse, the orange flight suit, the lucky 
charm, and the blessing. Too many flutters in his stomach - no room left for 
cold fear. 

He felt the same way now, the anticipation and the feeling of moving through 
thick cotton only heightened by the blurry tendrils of fever coursing through 
his veins. He was alone, but he wasn't afraid - yet he wished Aeryn were here, 
holding his hand for comfort and steadfastness, guarding his back with a 
practical devotion he would always return. Butch and Sundance. Friendship 
without judgement or chains, the freedom to make one's own choices. He would 
gladly jump off a cliff if she asked. Standing in front of him, hands on 
glorious hips, confidence exuding from every inch of a body that made him wish 
Playboy centerfolds included PK pilots.

Aeryn.

He found his tired mind slipping back into the firm embrace of her image. 

Need without obsession. Solace offered without surrender of everything that made 
him John. More than love - a diligent passion for who she was. Watching her 
blossom had been the one true delight of his life. If there was anything John 
Crichton was to be remembered for, he wanted it to be having set Aeryn Sun free 
to become. More. The mere idea of Aeryn could keep him going forever.

At the shadow depository, he had surrendered believing that the removal of the 
chip would kill him. He hadn't even minded. He was losing himself; there was 
nothing left to offer anyone. He hadn't wanted to take her down with him - oh, 
the bitter irony, for in the end he had, literally. Practical Aeryn would have 
seen him lose himself to insanity, lose himself to Scorpius. She would have done 
the right thing, ended his suffering out of love, and he didn't want to do that 
to her. Didn't want her to equate love with killing him. In the end, it hadn't 
been about Jothee, D'Argo, or doing what was right. It had been about Aeryn. 
About sparing her the burden of putting a gun to John Crichton's head. 

He couldn't bear to disappoint her now, to let her down. She had come after him 
again, and he would not lie down meekly to die. It didn't matter that he was 
losing it, that Aeryn had been his first line of defense for so long that she 
might never remember how to trust him, how to rely on him. His mind could break, 
his brain liquefy like Swiss cheese, and he might never make it off this 
godforsaken planet alive, but he wouldn't allow all this suffering to have been 
for nothing. And so he ignored the legs that just wanted to fold underneath him, 
the breaths coming in sharp, painful gasps, his heart running a marathon, 
banging so hard against his ribcage it hurt. He had somewhere to be.

He leaned against the wall of the cave for a second. He hoped //somewhere// 
wasn't much further. He might pass out before Aeryn caught up with him. She 
would really get pissed off if she found out he had ditched her only to collapse 
in a heap.

"Ten more feet and you're there. It's right around the corner."

Maxime sounded just as bad as he felt. How ridiculous was it that he couldn't 
see her in the dark? He followed the sound of her raspy breathing. It took a 
little time for his eyes to adjust and for his brain to register that the 
shadows were getting less dense, until the darkness coalesced into a thin bluish 
glow. It was right around the corner indeed. At least his delusions didn't play 
games.

"Are you still not talking to me?"

She did look as bad as she sounded. 

"Damn... we m--match," he murmured, by way of answering her question. She was 
pale and shivery. Blue lips, blue fingertips. So much like those last few months 
before her death. "Why do you... look i--ill?" He was way past noticing the 
blatant aberration of worrying about the health of his own delusion. It was 
Maxime. It felt like her. Sounded like her. 

She pushed away from the wall she had been leaning against and he had to resist 
the urge to go to her and offer a hand. The disabled leaning on the dying. Or 
something like that. 

"I told you," she said. "I'm just a reflection. I'm not like... Harvey. I come 
from you."

Asking her to clarify wasn't worth the headache, and he tried to focus on his 
environment instead. This small burrow off the cave's main tunnel would have 
been totally unremarkable if not for the faintly glowing device standing at its 
center. It looked strangely enough like an oversized, metallic rugby in 
precarious equilibrium on an erect baseball bat.

John froze.

"Is that..."

Maxime came to stand next to him. "The containment field. Yes."

He lifted his hand towards the oval-shaped ball on top. "Do I... just--"

"No!" She took him by the hand and guided him closer, until he saw the small 
knobs of light blinking on the surface of the device. "You have to enter the 
code first, then the containment field will neutralize the gamma rays released 
by the singularity. Anyone who penetrates the containment field without entering 
the code would die of radiation poisoning within a hour."

"Safety... precaution?" John asked, awed. 

She nodded. "Yes. Just the same, the code cannot be used twice. Once you're done 
here, the containment field will collapse the singularity beyond its 
Schwarzchild radius and destroy it."

He felt like sitting down, but now wasn't the time. Aeryn would catch up to him 
any minute now. 

"It won't matter once you're inside," Maxime explained, her cold, clammy hand 
around his wrist. "There is no time beyond the event horizon."

"How... the a--accretion... the gravitational pull-- I'll be... c--crushed."

"Trust me."

John wanted to so badly. He had gone past the anger. He just wanted answers now. 
Even if it killed him... he didn't want to go without having figured it out.

"You're not going anywhere." She sounded so certain, but John had clung to too 
many false hopes over the last two cycles, and his body had taken as much abuse 
as it was going to. The small incisions opened by Aeryn were raw and painful - 
infected. She had done good considering the circumstances. He would rather die 
of septic shock than go through the G'Ken's torture again. He hoped Aeryn 
wouldn't stupidly shoulder the blame. That she would forgive him for not 
spending those last moments with her - for being who he had always been. John 
Crichton. Searching for an answer. A way home. 

"The code... that's what the An--Ancients put in my... head? Not... wormhole e--
equations?" he asked, his palm hovering over the displays. 

Random sequences of dots, but it was all starting to make sense to him now. 
Concepts, formulas zooming through his consciousness, familiar constructs 
rearranging themselves in his mind, private memories interlocking, contradictory 
abstractions suddenly merging, coalescing into shapes... until nothing was left 
behind but a string. A mathematical construction. 

The code. 

"Remember what the Ancient - Jack - said to you? That the equations were 
necessary to create a wormhole, and that you would have to discover the 
knowledge on your own?" 

He nodded, mesmerized by the science unlocking. 

"Placing the wormhole equations themselves inside your head was too dangerous. 
Who knew what you would do with it if you unlocked it before you were ready?" 
Soft and sad. "Or worse - if someone else did?" 

He didn't bother to hide his shudder from Maxime, allowing the haunting, 
familiar flashes of his torment in the Aurora Chair to flow over him. There was 
no point fighting the memories. 

"The equations Jack left in your unconscious mind had several functions," she 
continued when he was ready to hear more. "One set was an evaluation model, some 
kind of diagnostic program if you will, that would determine whether you were 
ready or not for the second system to be activated, according to the Ancient's 
criteria. That you understood the importance of the knowledge you were about to 
be granted, and that you had need for it. The second mathematical construction 
was a subtle beacon system. An unconscious map, which would lead you right here. 
You would be free to apply the information when you judged necessary. You did it 
unconsciously when your search for a planet to heal Zhaan brought you across the 
description of Ectani Prime in Moya's logs, but you would have ended up here 
regardless, sooner or later."

Maxime paused.

"The third set of equations was you," John said. "That's what you were trying to 
explain earlier."

She shrugged a little. "In a way. The third set was a translator. You must 
realize that Human and Ancient mental constructs have to be wildly dissimilar, 
to say the least. Your mind needed an interpreter. It was left up to your brain 
what shape or form that interpreter would take. It chose me."

//I am... an echo. Of her. From her. More. And less at the same time. You called 
me and I came.//

John nodded without looking at her. 

"I told you I wasn't an alien consciousness, that I was an emanation of you."

He chuckled in derision. "So all th--this time, I've been talking... to myself. 
Gee... wh--what's new?"

She laughed too. "I guess you could say that. Your mind's a bit of a mess at the 
moment, sexy." Big shock there. "But what I said about you carrying a part of 
Maxime after her death, about life being mental energy, that was true also." She 
rubbed his arm. "Don't think about it too hard. You're going to strain 
something."

John was beginning to feel lightheaded - the last of the b'reen getting flushed 
out of his system. "And I just... solved the fourth s--set. The code," he said, 
tipping against her. 

"Yeah," she sighed. "The code was hidden inside a pattern of Human and personal 
concepts only you could solve." Her lids fluttered close. She pressed her hand 
against his, until his fingertips grazed the control panel of the containment 
field. "Ready to go down the rabbit hole?"

"You're c--coming with me?"

Maxime faked a small military salute. She was shaking. "Your favorite 
interpreter, reporting for duty, sir."

John smirked. "Let's g--go make some... wormholes, darlin'."





It never even crossed her mind that Scorpius could have somehow captured John 
using another access, or that one of those 'critters' the Human always ranted 
about could have sneaked up on him. Even without the evidence of the empty 
b'reen injector, Aeryn would have concluded that John had left of his own 
volition to implement some foolhardy plan, some stupid, self-sacrificing fancy. 
He was predictable to the point of irritation. 

Crichton had been hiding something from her. Many somethings. Since the surgery, 
since their arrival on Ectani Prime, since his escape from the compound. She 
should have known better than to leave him alone. Dying was nothing more than a 
minor impediment for John Crichton. Hadn't she spent the better part of a cycle 
rescuing him from the repercussion of his asinine, stubborn heroics? 

//Do Humans have a ritual for situations like this?//

He had lost much because of her. 

She had given much in return. 

As she collected her pulse rifle and set out to venture deeper into the entrails 
of the hill, she wondered why keeping her distance from John since her 
resurrection seemed like a good idea at the time. She found that she couldn't 
remember. Had she been afraid to lose herself, to feel needy and inadequate, to 
take too much - like she had taken too much from Zhaan? She was a soldier. 
Cannon-fodder. Since birth. She wasn't worth either of their sacrifices. She 
wasn't worth John submitting himself to the Aurora Chair, wasn't worth Zhaan 
sharing Unity with her. 

Or was she? 

It would be spitting in the face of everything they stood for to trample their 
gift. Because refusing John meant denying him the only currency he valued - 
trust. The Human couldn't care less about pulse rifles and strategic decisions. 
Those weren't the lines of defense that mattered to him. 

It was so simple really. 

Aeryn adjusted the rifle's strap across her shoulder, chiding herself.

Rygel was frelling right. 

She was becoming more like the Human every passing microt. 

Despite the glow of the xek'it, the shadows seemed to deepen the more she 
progressed inside the cave. Goosebumps raced along her forearms, like static 
electricity, like glowing eyes stalking her in the dark. And the complete 
absence of sound. Not a trickle of condensing water, no insects scattering 
underneath her feet, no roots breaching the walls of the tunnel. There was no 
life here. It was freezing. The coldness of space. A smell like ozone, but 
different. 

Aeryn slowed down. A hard, unnatural knot obstructed her throat. She didn't want 
to walk past John, in case he had collapsed in a corner somewhere. How the frell 
had he made his way so far in the dark so quickly, hurt as he was, b'reen or 
not? 

It took her a while to realize that the blue halo didn't originate from the 
xek'it tube held securely in her left hand. She paused. She could discard the 
xek'it and look for the source of the light. 

And then she heard... voices. 

John. It was John. 

Was he laughing?

"So all th--this time, I've been talking... to myself. Gee... wh--what's new?"

Aeryn froze. Who was he talking to?

She made a decision and deactivated the xek'it. 

"And I just... solved the fourth s--set. The code."

Her eyes were beginning to adjust. She could follow the glow now, as long as she 
stayed closed to the wall of the cave and progressed slowly. The light wasn't 
strong enough to illuminate her path. How the frell had John done it?

"You're c--coming with me?"

He sounded so weak. Where did he think he was going? 

Much closer now. He couldn't be more than a few denches ahead, somewhere on her 
left. Aeryn could almost see...

"Let's g--go make some... wormholes, darlin'."

She heard...

Then there was nothing.





Wet, cold and hungry. Three states Rygel had very little tolerance for. Combine 
all three and he was in Hynerian hell. His muscles were cramping from stooping 
behind a boulder while trying to peer over it at the same time, scrutinizing the 
forest not ten metras ahead of him. The pounding rain masked all sounds, and 
even his sensitive nose couldn't screen for unwanted visitors through the 
pungent smell of decaying vegetation.

Too annoyed to be scared, the Dominar fumbled with his comm badge, eyes darting 
over the small open space at the bottom of the cliff, in front of the cavern's 
entrance.

"D'Argo!"

The reply came over the roar of an abused engine. "Rygel, where are you?"

Could the Luxan be getting thicker with age? "Still guarding that frelling cave, 
what do you think? Where are you? Pilot said you were in range for surface 
communication."

"Wait... we've got you on the scanner of the lurker. We are... east of your 
position. You should see us in about fifty microts."

"Well, frelling hurry," Rygel growled. "If that Scarran shows up, I won't stay 
around long enough to pick up what's left of Crichton."

"How self-sacrificing of you, your frogness." That was Chiana.

Rygel bristled. "I don't see why all of us have to die. What's the word on 
Scorpius?"

D'Argo again. "No idea. What's the word on Chato?"

Rygel sneaked a coveting glance at Aeryn's pistol. He still had a score to 
settle with that Sebacean. "She hasn't returned. Maybe she was captured by the 
terrorists, or dismembered by the Scarran. About time something went our way."

"Have you heard from Aeryn?" 

Definitely thicker.

"No, you idiot. The comms don't work inside the cave. Haven't you been paying 
attention? Of course not. A Luxan. Complex thought processes. I see a stumbling 
block," he sneered. "That's why I'm out here freezing my mivonks off! And who 
knows what kind of creatures use these caves as lairs..." 

He shuddered. 

The sputter of the engine announced the inelegant arrival of Moya's crew before 
the lurker broke the edge of trees. 

"Ah, finally."

But the transport didn't stop there, careening madly, heading straight for him. 
Rygel dodged for cover inside the cavern. The bumper came to a halt a mere dench 
from his feet. 

He waited for the engine to stutter to a halt before picking himself up. "Are 
you fahrbot?" he barked, rounding on the driver, "or were you actively trying to 
kill me?"

"You don't want me to answer that, Ryge." Chiana smirked, hopping off the 
driver's seat.

"They let you drive?" Rygel gasped in horror.

The Nebari grabbed him off the floor without ceremony and dropped him on the 
transport's slippery hood. "What?" she asked, pulling his ear "You want to take 
my place? Think your feet will reach the pedals?"

He spluttered.

To bite or not to bite. 

"Stop bickering," D'Argo said, extracting himself ungracefully from the 
passenger seat. "Let's collect Aeryn and Crichton and get the hezmana off this 
frelling planet."

"I'm afraid I have other plans, Ka D'Argo."

It was almost comical, the speed at which they all dived behind the transport, 
trapped between the lurker and the cave. Save for Rygel, who enjoyed a perfect 
view of a grinning Scorpius emerging from the forest, complete with full 
Peacekeeper escort. 

The Hynerian's mivonks attempted a strategic retreat inside his stomach. 

They were frelled. 





I. Can't. 

Breathe.

It. Hurts.

I.

Help.

God.

What.

Where.

Can't.

Breathe.

*Let go, John. You have to let me take control.*

Please.

Pain.

Stop.

*Your mind can't process this. Allow me.*

Fall.

Falling.

*Relax. Open your thoughts.*

Gone.

Lost.

Nowhere.

*Stay with me.*

Fear.

*Trust me.*

Abyss.

*John.*





Crichton had once called a similar situation a Mexeek'an standoff. Whatever that 
meant, no one made it out alive. 

"Ka D'Argo." Scorpius was standing a dozen metras away from the Luxan, flanked 
by Braca, a man who looked suspiciously like the Regent's bodyguard and a full 
commando unit. "As a warrior and a strategist, surely you must see that you are 
outnumbered. Your position is untenable. Please, surrender. I do not want to 
harm any of you. I merely wish to speak with John, and protect him from the 
Scarran agent."

D'Argo was a warrior, a father and a widow. He had suffered much in his short 
life, had made many enemies and few friends. He was given to extremes, it was no 
secret. Yet save for his wife's murderer, he didn't believe he had ever despised 
a creature as much as he hated the Sebacean-Scarran hybrid. 

"And you think I'm going to trust your word?" he called back. "Do you remember 
torturing Crichton, putting a frelling chip in his head, killing Aeryn? Because 
I can tell you that he hasn't forgotten."

"Your loyalty to your friend is commendable, general D'Argo," Scorpius replied. 
As if flattery would get him anywhere. "But our past dissension, well... I 
believe that they are for me and John to discuss. You must understand that I am 
committed in this endeavor. However, I am willing to negotiate to the extent--"

"Don't listen to the hybrid, Luxan."

D'Argo took his sights off Scorpius to assess this newest threat. 

The Scarran had arrived.

Could this situation get anymore frelled? 

On the upside, half of Scorpius's men took their aim off Moya's crew and brought 
them to bear on the enemy agent, which left D'Argo, Rygel, Chiana, Zhaan and 
Stark huddled behind the lurker for cover with only a Qualta blade, a rifle, a 
couple of pulse pistols, and a handful of grenades to keep at bay a dozen 
Peacekeeper commandos blocking their escape route on the right and a telepathic 
Scarran now flanking them from the opposite side of the clearing. The cave at 
their back lead nowhere or Aeryn would already have found another exit, and the 
cliff above them was too abrupt to be practicable. 

"He's lying," the Scarran said, pointing a clawed finger at Scorpius. "And I 
know for a fact that the Human would rather die than surrender himself to 
this... genetic abomination."

Stark sneered, clutching a pistol in a tight fist. His voice held a tinge of 
hysteria. Zhaan was dying, and they were trapped. D'Argo understood that. They 
all did. "How would you know?"

"We have captured the Human once before," the Scarran explained, addressing 
Scorpius. The half-breed didn't seem surprised by the revelation, but it was 
news to D'Argo. When did that happen? "We penetrated his mind. He is your 
quarry. Your enemy. We don't understand why such a lower life-form would be of 
interest to you, but we are aware of his hatred, Scorpius. It doesn't speak 
highly of your abilities that this frail creature has evaded you for so long."

Scorpius only smiled. "And what does it say that he has killed three of your 
agents already?"

D'Argo watched each of them in turn. It was like following a game of Telka ball. 
Even Rygel looked queasy.

"They might end up killing each other," the Dominar said hopefully.

"Don't worry," Chiana purred. "D'Argo has a plan."

The tiny Hynerian turned to face the Nebari, earbrows rising over beady eyes. 
"In that case, may I request that you put me out of your collective misery now?"

D'Argo snorted. As tempting as it was, he didn't want to waste the ammunition.

"It's a good plan," Chiana protested. 

The Luxan wished she didn't sound quite so surprised.

"Should we contact Pilot again?" Zhaan whispered. 

The Luxan shook his head emphatically. "They are close enough that their techs 
might intercept our transmission." He tensed. There was some new activity at the 
forest's edge, on the Peacekeeper flank. 

"Sir."

It was Chato. She was pushing another Sebacean in front of her, a male. His 
hands were tied behind his back and she held him at gunpoint. 

"Disruptor Chato, sir," she said, unperturbed by the Scarran's presence.

Scorpius looked curiously at her. "Report."

She pushed her prisoner towards a commando, seemed to pause briefly when she 
noticed Tesha's bodyguard, then came to stand at attention opposite the half-
breed. "The main G'Ken contingent has spread further away from the area. They 
are still trying to locate Crichton." She gestured at the silent, bound man. 
D'Argo was surprised to hear Rygel growl. "However, I have captured the leader, 
Commander Serris, and incapacitated half a dozen of their men. I suggest the 
mission be completed before the rest of the terrorists make their way back here. 
By now, they must have realized that they lost contact with their commanding 
officer, and they know these woods better than we do." 

D'Argo fought the undignified urge to bang his head against the hood of the 
lurker. 

Could John get any more popular?

"Do you hear, Ka D'Argo?" Scorpius said, taking one step in the direction of the 
barricaded crew. The Luxan raised his converted blade in warning. "Stalling will 
lead you nowhere, and John doesn't have much longer."

It twisted D'Argo's stomach that the half-breed sounded like he actually cared. 
What could he want with Crichton now, that he seemed so worried about the 
Human's health? 

And, more importantly, would the son of a freslip ever die? 

"Wait, Scorpius."

The Luxan looked up, startled to see Zhaan on her feet, exposing herself to 
enemy fire. "Zhaan," he snarled, "what are you--"

Stark's hand on his forearm silenced him. The Banik's single blue eye was 
terribly sane. 

Scorpius cocked his head with interest, watching the Delvian, his hand raised to 
hold off fire. "Yes, Zhaan?" 

The priestess's eyes traveled from the Scarran to the disruptor, and back to 
Scorpius. Her voice carried without effort. "You must be aware that we won't 
deliver John into your hands, and you obviously know that he is badly wounded. 
Let me go into the cave. There is no other way to communicate with them. I will 
take care of Crichton if I can. Talk to Aeryn. She will never allow you anywhere 
near John, you realize that. If you attempt to overcome us, she will hear and 
she will be ready."

D'Argo frowned. Indeed. Why hadn't Aeryn come to meet them already? They hadn't 
exactly been discreet. 

"Crichton will be wounded in the crossfire, or might take his own life," Zhaan 
continued reasonably. "You assure us that you do not wish to harm either 
ourselves or John. Then allow me to mediate. I am no threat to you."

It seemed that even the rain had fallen silent. Scorpius wasn't even blinking. 
The Scarran was looking at Zhaan, unconcerned with the Peacekeeper weapons 
trained on him. 

Scorpius smiled. A slow, cold grimace that sent shivers down D'Argo's spine. 
"This stalemate must be broken, I agree, Pa'u Zotoh Zhaan. You are, as always, 
the voice of reason. Bring John back and let him decide. But you will go alone."

D'Argo didn't need to be as perceptive as Zhaan or as cunning as Rygel to figure 
out that the half-breed counted on John surrendering himself to insure the 
safety of his shipmates, like he had in the past. 

//Kill me, D'Argo. Please, kill me.//

The Luxan swallowed thickly. He had betrayed his ally once by denying Crichton's 
request. What would he do the second time around?

Zhaan didn't look at any of them before entering the cave. 





"Welcome back."

His first thought was that Maxime sounded healthy again, his second that there 
was no more pain. No more weakness. Just warmth and comfort - he looked down at 
himself, favorite lumberjack shirt, worn jeans and his oldest pair of 
Timberlands. His head was still attached to his neck. He hadn't been so sure 
about that. 

"What happened? I felt..."

A terrible joy. Or the embrace of death. A mixture of all he had ever 
experienced, a sensory flatline, and then something beyond that threshold.

"Like your frontal lobe was getting mushed?"

He sighed. Deeply. "Like my mind was breaking."

"It almost did." She sounded quite casual about it. 

Ah, well. Psychoses were in this season. 

"I'm not here just to translate the Ancient's knowledge, gorgeous. The Human 
brain... pretty much any kind of brain in fact, isn't exactly equipped to deal 
with what you're experiencing right now."

Her head was pillowed on his stomach, the weight familiar, an anchor to the 
maelstrom of memories, the tide of remembrance and time fleeing through his 
fingers. 

It was weird to not feel the hard ground against his back - his body telling him 
that he was floating in the ether, his eyes convincing him that he was lying on 
his back on the floor of the Albert Einstein planetarium. Being the son of 
Colonel Jack Crichton had some perks. Access to the Air and Space Museum after 
hours for one. The guards knew him by name. Many a night had been spent exactly 
like this, Maxime lying at a right angle to his body, DK using her thighs as a 
cushion, the three of them entangled like some esoteric, human rune - galaxies 
and star clouds swirling above. 

Life had been so very sweet. 

"Where are we?" 

He knew better than to believe he was back in Washington, DC on a balmy summer 
night, the confusing, worldly presence of his best friend snuggled tight against 
his body. They had loved each other in that tender, undemanding way of childhood 
dreams, but nothing had ever come of it. Maxime was dying, and he wasn't. Life 
had stopped being fair a long time ago.

"You want to be technical? We're in the immediate vicinity of the black hole."

"Beyond the event horizon?"

He felt her shift against the tight planes of his belly. 

"Not quite, but close enough. We're on the rim of the Schwarzschild radius."

He tried not to take her words to their natural conclusion. Tried not to add 
pictures to her revelation. Safer to shy away behind the cold doors of his 
scientific mind. "The singularity must be very small. Is that why it's not 
pulling me in?"

John watched the dome and the big telescope. The scene needed some popcorn and 
Mountain Dew. 

"Yes," she said, as if they were gossiping about Aunt Ruth's latest extra-
conjugal adventure. "Although there are other cosmic events involved due to the 
containment field, but I don't have the mathematics to explain them to you." She 
tugged lazily on his pant leg. "You need to freshen up on your general 
relativity equations, honey. Quantum mechanics should be a no-brainer."

Whatever. "But if we're so close to the horizon, then..."

"Uh, uh." She was chewing her lower lip. He couldn't see her, but he could 
always tell. "Time is bending."

Time was bending. 

Shying away from that one too. "Where's Harvey?"

She shrugged. "He wanted to come, but I told him to go catch a movie. I was very 
persuasive."

This had been bothering him for a while. "How come you seem stronger than him, 
when he's the one who's his own entity, so to speak?" He cleared his throat. "No 
offense."

"None taken," she said, pinching his thigh. His left hand found its way to a 
cascade of red curls. "I'll just have to drive it home again." She sounded like 
an indefatigable teacher, talking to a very slow child. "I'm a part of you and 
you have the power to bend Harvey to your will. You've done it before. I think, 
someday, you'll be able to get rid of him altogether. Keep the archetype, throw 
away the foreign consciousness. Mental energy, John. You got plenty. But that's 
a discussion best saved for another time."

He tried to raise himself off the floor, but found he couldn't. Hard to breathe. 
"What about Aeryn?"

"She's fine," Maxime shushed him. "Once the code has been entered, she can't 
join you, only look from the outside. She's perfectly safe. To her, nothing is 
happening. You are absolutely still. Time bends and twists only for you."

He blinked. Ursa major, sailing overhead.

"Why me?"

She raised her arm up, tickling the star. "I don't know. In the course of their 
wormhole research the Ancients have experimented with many singularities. This 
one happened to get a fix on your mental energy pattern. Who can tell why these 
things occur? Even the Ancients do not possess universal understanding." Poking 
Ursa minor now. "Could be a time paradox. You came here in the present, touched 
the black hole, attuned it to your pattern, and it changed the past. I really 
don't know, John." 

He wanted a big black board to lay it all down. Variables. Constants. Inflation 
and virtual particles.

Equations.

He rubbed his mouth with his free hand, muffling his words. "Scale invariance?"

She seemed to give it some thought. "Quantum fluctuations present since the Big 
Bang? Possibly."

No. No. "But it would imply that all was written, since before the beginning, at 
the Plank length."

She was already shaking her head. "Tut, tut. Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle, 
remember? Nothing has precise value in the universe. It allows room to maneuver. 
That's free will, John."

He wanted to curl up tight around something warm and safe. He didn't want to 
think about quantum fluctuations, determinism, fate and things that gave him 
goosebumps and made his stomach heave.

Maxime was unrelenting. "You know what this is all about, John." 

//It's time to move past your fears.//

He breathed shakily. "Will you show me the road ahead?"

"That is why you came here."

In stillness, there was only honesty. "I'm fucking scared, Max. The Aurora Chair 
is a goddamn trip to Mickeyland compared to this."

She twisted on her stomach, slithered her way up his body and came to nestle 
against his shoulder, feverish limbs embracing him like a cocoon. "I will show 
you only that which you can handle. That which you need." Her nose teased his 
jaw. "We have all the time in the world, John."

She was silent for a long while //there is no time here// and held him tighter.

"You're shaking."

He was. He didn't feel cold though. "If I... watch... this future will become 
more than probable, more than possible. Once I know, it will happen."

That didn't even give her pause. "What you do with the knowledge is yours."

It angered him. "Tell me why."

"Why what?"

He felt small and stupid. "Stop playing the vapid blonde, you're gonna win."

"Why the Ancients chose you?" She muttered. "And I'm not blond."

Somehow, that pacified him. "Yeah," he conceded, subdued. "Did they leave that 
knowledge in you... I mean, me?"

She nodded. 

"Then..."

Sultry lips, rustling rasp of a voice. "I'll tell you. After." She pointed at 
the dome. She couldn't possibly reach that high. Not in a world in three 
dimensions. Yet somehow, she did, and with the tip of a nail, opened a breach in 
the swirly, dark cover. "It'll be easier to understand then."

The stars were fading. Another pattern taking their place. 

Was that a fractal?

He grinned. "Have black hole. Will travel."

Maxime laughed, open and carefree. "Let me show you." 

She touched the fractal, and his senses exploded in an inhuman harmonic of 
colors and sounds. 

"Your world."





Freedom. 

In all of her eight hundred cycles, Zhaan had never experienced such freedom - 
the absence of struggle, which accompanied certitude. No gaping savageness at 
her core, taunting her with dark, sinful memories of power, of life taken and 
granted, no time for regrets or guilt, no mirror reflecting ad infinitum every 
single misguided burst of pride, every affront to her Goddess, every failure to 
accept the universe as it was. 

She would be leaving this plane soon. Despite her words and her belief that 
there was nothing to be done, she had been clinging to the last glitter of life, 
hanging onto her crewmates' dogged refusal to let her go, hiding from a stubborn 
spark of fear behind their love and their untamable spirit. Her chance had come 
and gone, and it was liberating to shed the worry of tomorrow, to watch the 
world with the eyes of one who already possessed a little bit of that clarity 
gained from crossing the threshold in perfect trust. 

As she made her way through the cavern, her keen eyes compensating for the lack 
of illumination, Zhaan knew neither dread nor bitterness. She drew strength from 
the bond she shared with the two extraordinary beings who waited for her in the 
heart of darkness. Her soul had touched theirs and had been forever transfigured 
by the experience. They honored her by accepting her gift, and it fell to her 
now to insure that they continued to do so. 

Zhaan's hand trailed against the wall of rock and she reached out with her mind, 
seeking Aeryn along the fresh link she shared with the Sebacean. Out of Unity, 
the bond wasn't strong enough to convey thoughts or images, but the priestess's 
mind was more open than it had ever been and she felt the other woman's 
presence, teasing the edge of her consciousness. Poised, coiled tight, angry, 
worried. Deeply worried. It could only mean that John was deteriorating. Seeking 
to help, Zhaan stretched her inner senses out to the Human. 

There was nothing there. 

She recoiled. 

No. It made no sense. If John were gone, Aeryn would be devastated and even the 
most unskilled Pa'u would pick up on her grief. Hurrying as best she could, 
Zhaan again tried to reach for her friend, until she realized that she was 
pushing against some sort of barrier, as if there were a wall between her mind 
and John's. 

She called out. "Aeryn."

Ten more steps and she came around a corner. 

The Delvian had to shade her eyes from the sudden light. 

"Aeryn!"

"I'm here, Zhaan."

She waited until her vision adjusted to the glow and followed the direction of 
Aeryn's voice. The spectacle waiting for her stole her breath. 

She gasped. "By the Goddess."

"I can't reach him."

There was a tinge of panic underneath the anger and the frustration. Aeryn stood 
an arm's length away from Crichton, fists clutched at her side, hard and 
helpless. Her pulse rifle lay abandoned on the ground. John... Zhaan couldn't 
really tell what was happening to John. The Human was unnaturally still. His 
eyes were closed, but it didn't look like sleep or unconsciousness. He was... 
frozen? 

It wasn't until she came shoulder to shoulder with Aeryn that the priestess 
realized John's feet didn't even touch the ground. His expression was peaceful, 
lips parted as if he wanted to speak or express his awe. "What is happening to 
him?" 

"I'm... not sure." Zhaan could tell from the strangled voice and the transfixed 
stare how much the admission cost the former Peacekeeper. Aeryn lifted her right 
hand as if something heavy were attached to her wrist, and pointed at something 
behind John. "But I'm pretty certain this... thing is responsible."

The Delvian hadn't noticed the device right away, baffled by John's condition. 
It looked like nothing she had seen before - some sort of flattened sphere on 
top of a... some kind of silver pillar. She saw nodes and controls, but like 
John, all activity appeared at a standstill. 

"If this is the origin of the phenomena, we could shut it off--" Zhaan attempted 
to step closer. It was like running headfirst into a wall. She cried out more in 
surprise than pain, and Aeryn quickly wrapped her arm around the priestess's 
shoulders for support. "I should have warned you," she said. "There seems to be 
some sort of magnetic barrier, or maybe a stasis field surrounding John."

"Have you tried..." The words trailed off. Zhaan nodded at the discarded weapon 
lying at her feet.

"I'm afraid of... screwing something up," Aeryn confessed with obvious 
reluctance, stepping away from Zhaan. "Last time I shot an energy field with 
Crichton inside it, we ended up with three of him." The smile was self-
deprecating and joyless. "He slipped away when I carried Rygel to the entrance 
of the cave. I tracked him down here, but it was too late. I heard him talking 
to someone," she shrugged, "maybe that frelling clone. He said something about 
wormholes. Then there was this big... flash. I got knocked over, I must have hit 
my head. He was like this when I found him. I can't--" Her eyes shone 
unnaturally. "I can't even tell if he's alive."

"He's alive," Zhaan assured. Aeryn's eyes shot up to her and she smiled. "I can 
feel him. If you concentrate, allow your mind to stand still, I am certain that 
you can too."

There was a time when that kind of assertion would have earned her a sarcastic, 
disbelieving exclamation, but Aeryn obediently closed her eyes. She shivered and 
her face remained blank for several microts. "You are right." 

There was no wonderment in her voice, no surprise. She had taken Zhaan's 
assurance at face value. The priestess repressed a smile. On some level, Aeryn 
had to be aware of her connection with John. They were so close to each other, 
their very existence, their minds, their souls entwined, taking and giving in a 
perpetual dance, growing together. 

Aeryn frowned. "Where are the others?"

"Outside. Scorpius has found us."

The Sebacean picked up her rifle, alarmed. "Why didn't you say something sooner? 
How long do we have?"

Zhaan lifted a ringed hand in appeasement. "The Scarran and Scorpius's men 
surround the cave, but D'Argo and the others are blocking their way in. It was 
agreed that I would come," she patted the small pouch Chiana had the foresight 
to bring down from Moya, now tied to her waist, "and attend John." She fought 
the desire to reach for the Human again. The eerie stillness was so at odds 
with her irrepressible crewmate. 

"I'm sorry... that you had to renounce your cure because of... because of us."

Aeryn wouldn't allow John to shoulder even misguided blame alone. 

The Delvian had known the needless apology was coming. "Don't be, Aeryn. The 
Goddess led me here. She had a plan for me all along, and I am honored that She 
would judge me equal to the task. Do not insult me by taking this path away and 
making it about you." She was careful to take the sting out of her words with a 
kind smile. 

Aeryn wasn't looking at her, but nodded. They would not discuss this again. 

Zhaan sighed. John's pale, bruised face seemed to beg for her. It hurt to 
remember that she had denied him compassion not so long ago, but now she must 
acknowledge her failure and move on. 

She squinted. At first, she thought that her eyes were betraying her - a trick 
of the light, a shadow where there should be none. She brushed against Aeryn's 
arm to attract her attention. "Do you see this?" She gestured at the tiny speck 
of absolute darkness hovering above the sphere. Shadow was the wrong word. It 
was a fraction of space filled with... nothing. No light. The glow emanating 
from the device wrapped around that fragment of perfect blackness, the swirling 
motion itself, inert. 

It couldn't be.

"Quantum singularity," Aeryn informed her with detached interest. 

"How do you know?"

Weary. "It's a long story. The religious orders have tales of a visionary named 
Sacot who found such a singularity seven hundred cycles ago. He saw the future 
of Ectani in it. Apparently, Crichton had some role to play to stop the war. 
I... assume that this is the black hole Sacot encountered. How could there be 
two such rare cosmic events occurring on this planet's surface?"

Zhaan took a moment to process this revelation. "How would John know where to 
find it?"

"I have no idea," Aeryn confessed. "He was drawn to this place. He wouldn't tell 
me why. He was so weak... I attributed his irrationality to the fever delirium."

The priestess remained silent. Aeryn would have to work through the guilt on her 
own. They had all questioned the Human's trustworthiness and pulled away from 
him, each for their own reasons, since the surgery. Without a doubt, the ex-
Peacekeeper wondered whether she could have prevented any of this, caught 
Crichton before he stumbled over the traps laid by his unmerciful demons. She 
had become quite adept at shielding the Human from himself. 

This was no time for self-recriminations. "We have to find a way to free John 
from this... machine. D'Argo has a plan, which stands a good chance of 
succeeding."

Aeryn chuckled - a tiny, broken sound. The priestess hid her surprise behind an 
inquisitive gaze. 

"Say it again, Zhaan. I figure the shock might just be enough to wake up 
Crichton."





"Do you understand, now?"

Still lying on the floor, Maxime very still, a few inches above him like a 
living, breathing blanket. The infinite pattern of the fractal landscape swirled 
behind her, where the dome of the planetarium should have been, so close that 
John could almost reach out and touch it. 

"Yes."

The planes of the geometric construction blurred and twisted, images indistinct, 
timelines intertwined, chaos ruling now that Maxime wasn't translating the 
algorithms for him any longer. She said he had seen enough. He thought he might 
have seen more than he could take. 

"You have the means to go home."

Together they had surfed the hills and valleys of the non-Euclidean mirror, each 
indentation, each nook a little pocket of time, reflecting his past or his 
future, could-have-been flowing gracefully into will-be. Heisenberg's principle 
again - inescapable. The presence of the observer, the action of observing 
itself, could alter reality. John was forging his own future, altering events 
even as he was watching them. 

The sheer chaos of the time paradox boggled the mind. 

"Yes."

There was too much fear for awe, his awareness bending before snapping back into 
place like a rubber band. If not for Maxime's presence, he would be insane. No 
consciousness could see what he had seen, understand what he now understood and 
gently fall back into normal, expected patterns without a gradual shift. Maxime, 
an inbuilt algorithmic defense-mechanism left by the Ancients and constructed 
from his memories, provided that transition. A miniature artificial intelligence 
inside his own brain. 

"The big picture can be humbling to the point of destructiveness."

Her words echoed his deepest terror, the mantel of responsibility settling down 
on his shoulders, unforgiving. The fractal shifted again, reacting to his 
thoughts, reverberating that one glorious, future discovery. He gasped again in 
wonder as he saw himself - a future John Crichton - creating a wormhole. The 
Ancients may not have implanted the wormhole equations in his brain, but they 
had gifted him with the knowledge nonetheless, just not in the way he had 
expected. 

He couldn't help but chuckle. If Scorpy could see him now. 

"Hmm. Scorpius," Maxime sighed. "How are you going to deal with him?"

He mock-scowled at her. "You're not gonna tell me he's my father, right?"

She pouted. "Darth Scorpy? More's the pity."

John grinned. His chest hurt, his lungs were too tight, but it was easier to 
laugh than scream. "You're playing blond again. After what I've just seen, 
there's only one thing to do and you know it. I need to buy us some time."

"So you're not going back to Earth."

It wasn't a question. He was glad that his unconscious wasn't trying to dissuade 
him from engaging on this path. All things considered, the decision had been an 
easy one to make. "No."

"Will you tell them?" Frank emerald eyes stared back at him, waiting for an 
answer. He couldn't help but wonder again - why Maxime? Why not his Dad. Or DK?

She crossed her fingers underneath her chin, pillowed on some invisible cosmic 
couch. "That one's easy. It couldn't be your father for obvious reasons. After 
what the Ancients and the Scarrans put you through... you wouldn't have trusted 
that it wasn't some alien playing with your mind again. As for DK... he never 
knew when to kick you in the ass." She licked her lips. "Don't evade the 
question. Will you tell the others?"

"They have a right to know," he acknowledged. "If anyone finds out what happened 
here... this could make them more of a target than they already are." 

"They won't leave you."

Why was it so cold in here? 

"Of course not."

Maxime nodded exaggeratedly. "Oh, yeah. You convinced me."

"That's-- that's fine," he insisted. "I have to do this anyway. I can do it on 
my own."

"Yo, Toto! Remember me? Maxime. I was there when you lost all your front teeth 
at age five and refused to leave the house for a week. I was there when Hubble 
died and you buried him in the backyard without your dad's help. The day you 
crashed your bike and I had to cover for you so your mom wouldn't find out. You 
can't bullshit me with your self-sacrificing hero routine." She reached down to 
brush an eyebrow with the pad of her thumb. Her smile was so bittersweet it 
hurt. "You were with me when the doctors told me I had a few months left. I held 
you in my arms all night, and DK was there, and both of you cried, but I 
didn't." Her voice caught in her throat. "I know you'll do what must be done, 
but don't tell me that you don't care whether you end up alone or not. Don't lie 
to yourself."

//You must confront your fears with strength.//

He captured her hand and brought her palm flat against his cheek. "I hope they 
don't leave me, but I won't ask them to put themselves in harm's way because of 
me."

Maxime seemed to consider his answer for a while, and nodded, appeased. "Does 
that mean you'll finally give them a chance?"

He pursed his lips, puzzled. "Uh?"

"The cardinal strength, John," she hissed, annoyed. "The cardinal strength."

"Trust?" he said, wondering where she was going with this. "I trust them. 
They've stopped trusting me. And I can't blame them."

She jabbed his chest with her index finger - hard. "Because you've stopped 
trusting them to help you. Give and take. You taught them that. Now you're 
changing the rules on them and they don't understand. The lesson is good enough 
for them, but not good enough for you? You're a mule-headed hypocrite, John 
Crichton." 

She winced, looking baffled at her own outburst. 

"That was a long time ago," John retorted. "How could they accept me as I am 
now? It was hard enough when they learned I still carried Scorpy inside of me, 
and now this... the knowledge I've just received, I..." He faltered. "I don't-- 
I'm not sure what's left of John Crichton. What about the memories I lost on 
that operating table? I can remember something's gone, but I'll never remember 
what it was. What if it was important? Some fundamental part of what makes me 
//me//? Sure, I can tell myself that I would never have sacrificed the 
significant memories, but Aeryn was gone, so maybe, maybe..." His voice rose 
again. "How are they supposed to trust me when I have no fucking faith left in 
myself?"

Maxime looked sad. "Why not let them decide? Do you think so little of them that 
you would doubt their ability to judge? Or are you afraid to rely on your 
friends so much that if they do leave, there'll be nothing left of you?"

He couldn't look at her. 

She punched him gently in the shoulder to attract his attention. "Hey, sexy." 
Slender fingers brought his face around. "Crichtons are built to endure and 
last." Cheshire cat smile. "I checked the warranty."

He buried his face in her long-sleeved cotton tee shirt. Fifth Avenue. "God. I 
wish you were here with me."

She shrugged. "I'm haunting you. It's the next best thing."

"Yeah," he agreed in all seriousness. He traced the bridge of her nose with the 
tip of a finger. "I don't want to hate myself, Max. There are many things I 
could do to ensure my survival, but I won't. It wouldn't be worth it in the 
end." 

At the sound of clapping, he didn't even flinch. Harvey strutted his way inside 
the planetarium through the service entrance. "Hey, Harvey. Come sit. Have some 
marshmallows."

The clone was, as always, both irked and condescending. "There's no bonfire, 
John."

Crichton played with the red curls on Maxime's forehead. She was smirking. So 
young. Barely twenty-two when she died. "Ah. Right. Shame that. Go 'way."

Harvey crossed the large circular room, stealing a glance at the gyrating 
fractal from time to time. "John, I've been muzzled long enough." Maxime giggled 
and John could only leer in return. Knowing her, Harvey's complaint was to be 
taken literally. "I will have my say."

The clone sounded like an irritated uncle left off the Christmas list. He sat, 
and the image of a cross-legged Scorpius talking down on him while Maxime 
hovered in mid air, cheek resting on the heal of her hand, her hand resting on 
nothing, almost sent John into hysterics. 

Not cracking up, not cracking up. 

If he made it back to Earth one day, he would go straight on Oprah, explain how 
insanity was just an elaborate survival mechanism. 

"You must think, John. She," Harvey hissed, "is just an agent of the Ancients. 
She is not your friend. Remember what they put you through. The false Earth, 
taking the shape of your father, implanting the wormhole technology in your 
brain unknown to you? And now, you discover that the wormhole equations were 
never really there and you went through all this torment - the Chair, losing 
Aeryn - for nothing."

"Whose fault is that?" John groused. "And Maxime isn't the one trying to 
convince me to do anything, is she?"

"How would you know? Can you tell which thoughts are yours and which aren't 
anymore?"

The bastard. "Okay, Grouchy. You got something to share with the class? Let's 
hear it."

Harvey stapled his fingers underneath his chin and bent forward like an 
overeager puppy courting its master's attention. John resisted the urge to pat 
him on the head. "John, my friend. You have seen what is coming. Not all of it, 
but enough to realize that this part of the galaxy is in for some very serious 
trouble, and if you're not careful, your home world as well. You think you 
understand the balance of power, that you can play one side against the others, 
but you're mistaken. You're not a warrior or a military strategist, you're a 
scientist."

John's stomach muscles were cramped from the effort it took not to laugh. Maxime 
was making faces at him while Harvey droned on. 

"Your newly acquired knowledge is too precious to be wasted. You can't possibly 
believe that remaining with your little band of misfits aboard Moya is a 
solution. You must form powerful alliances, John, if only to protect those you 
care about."

"Cheap shot," Maxime mouthed, and he had to agree. Harvey was losing his edge. 

"The Ancients saw the war coming, just like you did, and they didn't want to get 
caught in it. They left the scene of the accident, John, and you end up having 
to mop up the mess. You're just another line of defense to them, while they 
search for a precious new planet. You're a weapon. They raped your mind looking 
for a human reaction and recognized you from their experiments with this 
particular singularity. Maybe they knew who you were all along, and your 
encounter wasn't random at all. They realized that you would fight their war for 
them if only they gave you the means. You're just a pawn, John. Don't you think 
it's time you took the initiative?"

Good thing they weren't on a schedule. Harvey sure liked to hear himself talk. 
"If you think I'm going to hand over the wormhole technology to your alter-ego, 
Harv, you're dreaming. Moya's my home now. I'm not going to betray them."

The clone stared at him with all the expressiveness of a crash dummy. "Do you 
think of them as your family, John?" Crichton didn't bother to answer that. 
"Because you'll never really fit in. You're different. The only way you will 
ever fit into that little fantasy family of yours is if you become more like 
them. You were on the right path. Willing to take action when needed. Why 
backtrack now?" Harvey stood, exasperated. "Don't be weak. Weakness and 
misguided emotional attachments landed you in Scorpius' hands in the first 
place." John's hackles rose, but Harvey didn't relent. "You can't afford to 
ignore reason any longer, John. Not with the information you possess."

Maxime yawned. 

John grunted. "Can we go? Aeryn must be ready to shoot something by now. I'd 
rather it wasn't me."

Harvey sputtered, angry at the cursory dismissal. 

"Nah," Maxime said, settling down against John's shoulder again. Crichton 
couldn't be sure, but he thought she might have stuck her tongue out at the 
clone. Harvey's deer-in-headlights grimace was worth memorizing. "First, there's 
no time here - well, very little of it - and almost no time has elapsed there. 
Second, she's grown beyond the 'shoot first and don't waste time asking 
questions' phase."

A smile sneaked past him. "That she has."

Maxime was busy working a kink out of her neck. "She'll come around in her own 
time. You've always known that." She kissed his temple, like she used to do when 
he ran through half the town in the middle of the night, seeking refuge in his 
best friend's arms, unable to watch his mother slowly self-destruct. "It might 
happen sooner than you think."

"Cardinal strength," he murmured. 

"Exactly."

He clasped Maxime's right hand tightly in his. "Let's go home, Dorothy."

"Hold onto your knickers, Harv," Maxime warned. She reached up towards the 
swirling pattern of the dome.

And brought the fractal crashing down on them.





"Sir."

"I know, Lieutenant," Scorpius acknowledged. He didn't need Braca to state the 
obvious. "We can't remain here much longer, notwithstanding the fact that 
Crichton might not survive a siege." He scowled. "Give Zhaan five hundred 
microts. If John isn't out by then, you are authorized to storm the cave. 
Attempt to incapacitate Moya's crew, not terminate. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." Braca shifted his attention away from the blockade, towards the 
Scarran. "What about him?"

"He has failed," Scorpius said. "He knows he cannot take Crichton away from us. 
He might attempt to kill the Human. At the very least, he will report his 
capture to Scarran Command. Inform the carrier. Whatever happens, the Scarran 
piercer cannot be allowed to leave this planet's atmosphere."

Braca nodded his understanding. "Should I also inform the carrier that Moya must 
be immobilized?"

"No," the half-breed answered, leaving no room for argument. "John will demand 
that his friends be allowed to depart unharmed. He will try to contact the pilot 
first. If I must gain his confidence, I cannot appear to be threatening the 
leviathan." He ground his teeth. "Not yet."





"What is the Scarran doing?" D'Argo asked, never taking his eyes off Scorpius.

"He's staring at me," Rygel said. "He looks hungry."

"Scarrans don't eat Hynerians," Chiana chided. 

The small dominar huffed. "How do you know?"

The Nebari's knuckles were turning dark from gripping her rifle too hard. "What 
the vek is Zhaan doing?" 

Stark seemed lost in some kind of trance. Rygel kicked him, but he didn't react 
at all. 

"Maybe there's a problem with Crichton," D'Argo offered. 

Rygel snorted. "Of course there's a problem with Crichton. When isn't there?"

"Come on," the Luxan hissed at no one. He watched Braca confer with Scorpius 
before signaling his men. D'Argo couldn't tell what instructions were handed 
out, but it didn't take a mind-reader to figure out that the Peacekeepers were 
growing impatient. He wished he could contact Pilot without risk. Inquire how 
the backup plan was coming along.





It happened without the slightest warning. One microt Aeryn was trying to 
convince Zhaan that forging Unity with John through the magnetic wall was a 
reckless, suicidal idea, the next Crichton was on the floor and the device had 
shut down. 

Aeryn dropped to her knees in the darkness, blinded by the afterimage of the 
glowing containment field, reaching for the spot were John had fallen. The back 
of her fingers encountered his jacket and she pulled him to her, seeking the 
pulse at his throat. 

His heart was beating, too fast for what she had come to expect from the Human, 
but it beat. His skin felt cold and clammy, his breathing short and irregular. 
She brought him to a seating position against her chest, remembering that it 
made his breathing easier. He was shaking.

John was in shock. She had seen it before, after he had been spit out of the 
green replicating sphere on Moya. She wrapped herself around him tight, calling 
his name softly, again and again, close to his ear. She was vaguely aware that 
Zhaan was rummaging for something behind her, then there was light. The Delvian 
held a small torch and was pulling assorted containers out of her pouch. From 
the smell, they contained some of her medicinal herbs. 

"He's in shock," Aeryn said, knowing the priestess would understand. John's eyes 
were open to small slits. She rocked him gently. "John. John, please, can you 
answer me?"

His breath caught, but he seemed to make a conscious effort and relaxed against 
her. "Hey... honey."

She stroke his arms, trying to restore some circulation in his limbs and warm 
him up. He was ice-cold. "John, can you tell me what happened? Do you remember?"

He nodded. "Remember... everything." Was that amazement in his voice? 

"John." Zhaan was kneeling on his other side. 

He smiled at her. "Hey... Bluie."

"I'd like to examine you. Will you let me?"

He shook his head, and Aeryn began to protest, but he wasn't listening. "There's 
no... no time." The frelling idiot was actually struggling, trying to stand. 

"Crichton, what do you think you're doing?"

"L--later." He gave up the fight with a groan. "Zhaan... got something 
for the fever in... in there?" he whispered, looking at her bag. 

The Delvian glanced at Aeryn. The Sebacean shrugged, clueless. John's urgency 
made no sense to her either. "Yes, John, but I really think..."

Crichton's hand shot out with unexpected strength. His fingers closed around 
Zhaan's wrist. "It's... important," he rasped. Even the priestess flinched at 
the intensity of his stare. "Give me s--something, so I can walk out of... 
here."

The idea that John could walk anywhere in his condition was ludicrous. 

"John," Aeryn interrupted in her most reasonable let's-disarm-the-lunatic voice, 
"you must be overdosing on b'reen by now. I don't think another stimulant--"

"Aeryn." 

His eyes, his hand on hers, burned. 

"Please... trust me?"

It was a question. It had never been a question before. 

She pushed away logic, his weakness, the fact that he might very well be dying 
in her arms, and simply answered his entreaty. "I trust you, John."

His closed smile rewarded her honesty. "Then let's do... it."

Aeryn's eyes darted to the dormant containment field. She had so many questions. 
None of them were pertinent right now. "John, wait. There's something you must 
know." She braced herself for his anger and the fear. "Scorpius... Scorpius is 
here. He found us. The cave is surrounded. The others are stalling him for now, 
but--"

"S'all right, babe." John motioned for Zhaan to get out the drugs. "I already--" 
He seized in a coughing fit, and her ribs tightened in sympathy. When 
the crisis passed, he fell back against her, panting and ghostly white. He 
gasped. "Already... know."

What the frell? "John, you couldn't possibly know."

Crichton squeezed her hand with as much force as he could muster, then sought 
the priestess in the semi-darkness. "Blue."

The Delvian held a small injector. She paused before applying it to Crichton's 
throat. "John, are you sure?"

"Yeah. No guts... no... glory."

Alarmed, Aeryn stared at his midsection. 

It made him laugh. 





Aeryn wished there had been a way to contact the rest of the crew, let them know 
they were exiting the cave. They walked out hands up to shield their eyes from 
the light of day. Despite the cover of clouds, it took some time to adjust after 
the prolonged darkness. 

On the way out, she wanted to question Crichton about his experience in the 
containment field, but one look at him and she decided that her curiosity could 
wait to be appeased. It didn't stop him from arguing with her. He was adamant 
that her weapon should remain holstered when they confronted Scorpius. It went 
against her training and her instincts - the half-breed had caused them both so 
much grief. There was a time John would have frozen stiff at the mere mention of 
his nemesis, yet now he thought nothing of leaving their shelter and walking up 
to his enemy unarmed. 

"Hold your fire." 

Aeryn heard the distinct order. When her vision cleared, she didn't spare a 
glance at her shipmates crouched in front of her. Her eyes went to Scorpius, to 
the commandos and the Scarran, assessing their formation through the heavy rain, 
seeking escape routes. She came up empty. Should they try and blast their way 
out? Some of them might make it out alive, but certainly not John. He stood 
between herself and Zhaan, struggling to remain upright, chin up, one arm 
supporting his ribs, jaw clenched around the pain. His eyes were wide open, 
smoldering fragments of sky, and his free hand was closed in a tight fist to 
hide the shakes. He had insisted that Zhaan double the dose of stimulant, and as 
was often the case they had bowed to his stubbornness and his tenacity. 

Aeryn recognized the signs. The resolve, the eerie calm, the soft-spoken 
confidence. He bore that same look while they roamed Moya's scorched tiers, arns 
before he swapped himself for Jothee. John had had a plan then, a good plan, but 
they had run out of time, and he bought D'Argo's son's freedom with his 
surrender. 

Aeryn wouldn't allow history to repeat itself. She was tired of losing him, 
whether to Scorpius, or the specters in his head. "John, I can't let you do 
this."

He turned to face her - hair ruffled, slow, cocky smile and bedroom eyes. His 
hand came up to cup her jaw with painful gentleness. She had come to accept his 
physical need for an anchor and didn't deny him the touch. "Hey, Sundance," he 
said in that quicksand voice of his. "Whatever I do, whatever I... say, trust 
me. I know what I'm... doing."

He sounded stronger, lucid. It wouldn't last.

//Trust me.//

Again, that soft plea. Aeryn had put the shadows and the doubt in his eyes; she 
would take them away now. There was a hole where her center used to be, the core 
of her where her partnership to this insane Human thrived. She missed him like 
she missed space when she was planet-side. Like she mourned air and empty sleep 
when she woke up from the nightmares, breathless in the dark. "All right, John."

His hand glided down her shoulder, her arm, until his fingers tangled with hers. 
She followed him around the lurker the others were using as barricade. 

"Are you frelling fahrbot?" Rygel asked. "Where are you going?"

John paused to face his shipmates. 

"You look terrible, Crichton," Chiana said, not hiding her worry. 

"I'm okay for now... Pip. I want you to stay with me. Do exactly as I... say. I 
know it's a lot to... ask." He gazed into the cavern and Aeryn resisted the urge 
to turn around, check for herself if there was anything there. "D'Argo," 
Crichton was saying, "you got a good... plan. It's going to work."

The Luxan stared. "Did Zhaan tell you? How do you know about--"

"Later. We have to go... now. Rygel," he said, looking at the dominar who Stark 
now carried, "let me do the talking. It's... important."

Something passed between Hynerian and Human, something Aeryn couldn't quite 
grasp, but Rygel grunted his approval. 

"John," Scorpius called. 

"Hold you... horses, Scorpy," Crichton said loud enough for the half-breed to 
hear. "Everyone, k--keep your weapons... down," he murmured before turning away. 
He emerged from behind the land vehicle and Aeryn never let go of his hand. 

It was among the hardest things the former Peacekeeper had ever done. To walk 
the ten metras that separated the barricade from the full Peacekeeper unit 
flanking Scorpius without even a pistol in her hand, her crewmates filing after 
them, because they had nothing left but the crazy hope that John indeed knew 
what he was doing. For a moment, she wanted to grab her weapon, push everyone 
down, and force herself between John and his torturer. A lifetime of training 
burnt like acid in the pit of her stomach. The high-pitched voice of reason 
insisted that Crichton wasn't himself and couldn't be relied on. Then John's 
fingers tightened minutely around hers as they came to stand in front of 
Scorpius, and the moment passed. He was holding onto her as much to offer 
support as to steady himself. 

Aeryn had never come face to face with the hybrid before. She had caught 
glimpses of him in the heat of battle on the gammak base and in the shadow 
depository, but she had never as much as talked to him. On the royal planet, 
D'Argo had dealt with the hybrid. It seemed improbable, almost sacrilegious that 
she had never once confronted this creature who had caused John so much pain, or 
that she should be the last member of the crew to stare into those icy blue eyes 
and wish she could excise them with a dull instrument. 

"You do not look well, John," Scorpius said, as if he cared. Aeryn guessed he 
did. Wouldn't want his precious wormhole knowledge to be lost alongside John.

"Sounds like a familiar... conversation," John replied. "Missed me already? It 
hasn't even been a m--monen. They got support... groups for that kind of thing. 
You know what they... say, about co-dependency?"

Scorpius inclined his head in an incongruous salute. "I am relieved to see that 
you came through the surgery unscathed."

"Yeah, and I want to thank you for all your... help, Scorp."

The half-breed shifted, uncomfortable. Aeryn kept her eyes in constant movement, 
going from Braca, to the commandos, Chato and the Scarran. She contained any 
sign of surprise at seeing Tanol among the Peacekeepers. There was another man 
whom she didn't recognize. From the restraints he wore and the way he stared at 
John, she assumed he was one of the terrorists. 

"It was nothing personal," Scorpius was saying. 

Why all the niceties? What was she missing? John was eerily calm for a trapped 
man on the verge of collapse. She wished someone had let her in on D'Argo's big 
plan, then she could share some of the Human's confidence. 

"I seem to remember something about me suffering for the rest of my... life. 
That was c--compassionate. You're a true... humanitarian, Scorpy." John dropped 
the sarcasm. "What do you want... this time?" His fingers twitched. Aeryn could 
tell that he was frustrated with his inability do draw a proper breath. 
Presenting a strong front seemed of import to whatever John had in mind. It made 
sense to her. Never show frailty. When the prey displayed weakness, the predator 
pounced. 

She took heart in the fact that none of them had been disarmed. Yet.

"I have begun my analysis of the neurochip," Scorpius explained. "However, the 
Ancients have set up a code to limit access to the information. I believe this 
code is algorithmic, based on combinations of concepts which are familiar only 
to you or your species. I need your help to unlock it."

"Another trip in the... Chair." Aeryn wondered if the shiver she felt through 
her coat, where her shoulder brushed John's, was only an act.

Scorpius's smile was downright obsequious. "Ah... not this time, John. I need 
your full collaboration. The Chair might damage your mind further."

The 'further' was enough to make Aeryn wish she could ram her pulse rifle up the 
hybrid's most private orifice. John's reply was admirably tempered. "How do you 
propose to... force me to work for you?"

"Actually, John, I thought I could convince you that helping me would be in this 
galaxy's - maybe even your home world's - best interest."

Crichton wasn't impressed. "Uh, uh. Been spending too long... in the sun 
lately?"

Scorpius tilted his head, like an indulgent adult placating a child. "Of course, 
there is always the matter of your friends. Officer Sun is a renegade. Ka 
D'Argo, Dominar Rygel and Pa'u Zotoh Zhaan are still, to my knowledge, 
considered fugitives by High Command."

John chuckled. "Show your true colors, Scorpy, why dontcha?" 

Aeryn tried not to steal a glance at him. Was he still playing, or was he in 
trouble? Should she intervene? John had to know this was coming. It was the 
shadow depository all over again. Her instincts were at odds with the part of 
her that had come alive the day a reckless Human taught her about trust. Aeryn 
Sun had never been alone, but she hadn't understood the true meaning of 
partnership until John Crichton. 

//I'm Butch. This is Sundance.//

Movement on her left. D'Argo shifted in battle stance behind her. Braca reached 
for his sidearm. 

The Scarran was approaching. 

The commandos looked to their superior officer for instructions, and Braca 
looked to Scorpius. The hybrid scowled but remained silent. 

"John Crichton." The Scarran's foul breath reached Aeryn and she tried not to 
gag. Two Peacekeepers came to stand in front of the enemy agent, protecting 
John. "I am Kolvo Tanosk. On behalf of the Scarran empire, I offer you 
protection from that... error of nature."

"Nature had nothing to do with it," Scorpius said, anger deepening his voice. 

"Hello?" John interrupted. He faced the Scarran through the screen of his 
escort. "You guys have attempted to kill me... twice, captured me, mind-frelled 
me... and now you're offering protective custody? I'm inferior, not brain... 
dead." He frowned. "Not yet. Besides, what are you gonna... do? Get rid of a 
full PK c--commando unit all by your... lonesome?"

Aeryn's eyes narrowed. Captured? When--

Her vision darkened in anger.

"I assure you, John," Scorpius interjected, "working with me is a preferable 
alternative to leaving in the custody of this barbarian."

The Scarran hissed, claws stretched. 

John's fingers gripped Aeryn's tighter. She snaked her arm around his waist with 
apparent detachment, and he didn't look at her, as if the gesture was the most 
natural in the world, but she felt him lean some of his weight on her. "Right," 
he said, addressing Scorpius, "and then you'll kill me, because I still can't 
access the knowledge... consciously, but someday I might. And unique is 
always... more valuable, uh?"

"What knowledge?" the Scarran inquired, and even Chato made an ostensible move 
towards her weapon to dissuade Tanosk from using his telepathic abilities on 
John. 

The precaution turned out to be unnecessary. "Wormhole technology," John replied 
without hesitation. "Doesn't the whole frelling... galaxy know by n--now?" 

"Crichton!" Scorpius roared. 

John ignored him and Aeryn stared, dumbfounded, as he painted himself a bigger 
target than he already was. Until now, the Scarrans hadn't known why Scorpius 
expanded so much energy chasing Crichton. "My friend Scorpy's got this chip full 
of wormhole information... He stole the data from... my brain. I don't have it 
anymore, but he still needs me... to break the code and access the chip."

Was it true? Had Scorpius's chip not only stolen the wormhole information left 
by the Ancients, but erased it? From the half-breed's dubious expression, John 
was lying. Crichton hung his head. "Do you have it... here?" When he didn't get 
an answer, he looked up. "The code."

Confusion was an odd expression to behold on Scorpius's face.

"You say it's a sequence of Human concepts. Shouldn't take... me too long to put 
them together. I'll--" He swallowed thickly. "I'll unlock it for you, and you 
leave me and mine the hell... a--alone."

"Now, John--"

Aeryn fought to keep a neutral face. Was John considering giving up the wormhole 
technology to Scorpius, after all he had gone through - //they// had gone 
through? D'Argo's baffled anger radiated like heat against her back. 

"Take it or leave it, Scorpy. I'm not... playing, anymore."

Scorpius's closed smile felt too much like pity - an odd mixture of scientific 
curiosity and grudging respect - as if John were some exotic creature the half-
breed had grown rather fond of, but would vivisect in a microt to advance his 
research. Aeryn's stomach twisted. "You're not in a position to set terms, 
Crichton. You have proven to be a resourceful adversary, not to be 
underestimated, but we are not equals. We never will be."

John grinned. A full-blown, brash I'm-human-and-soon-you'll-wish-you'd-never-
heard-of-my-species smile that Aeryn knew all too well. Her heart rate increased 
and Scorpius blanched. 

"Sir." 

She didn't realize right away that Braca had spoken, and since the lieutenant 
had to repeat himself, neither did Scorpius.

"Sir," Braca said again. 

The hybrid followed his second-in-command's stare and so did everyone else, save 
for Crichton. Aeryn twisted to find out what could have the lieutenant so 
flustered. 

At least fifty armed men in brown leather suits stood at the top of the cliff. 
The rustle of leaves brought all eyes back down to the forest and more men 
emerged, surrounding Peacekeepers, Scarran and Moya's crew. Rygel gawked. 

John glanced over his shoulder at a relieved D'Argo. "Told you it would... 
work," he bragged, eliciting a dazed nod from the Luxan. "Hold your fire, 
Scorpy. N--no one needs to die... today."

The hybrid was struggling to regain his composure. "Who are these men?"

"The cavalry," John said, watching one of the newcomers come forth, walking 
through the Peacekeeper lines. Aeryn relaxed. 

Jarian. 

The priest bowed a little. "It's an honor to finally meet you, John Crichton."

Crichton's answering salute was subdued. "Same here, Jarian. I'm... sorry, for 
Allara."

Jarian accepted the condolences with quiet dignity. "I apologize for the delay, 
Ka D'Argo. It took me some time to assemble the members of my order without 
alerting Tesha." He noticed Tanol. "A disruptor, then," he acknowledged with 
little emotion. 

"In fact... he played all sides for profit," John explained, looking at the 
Scarran, "but it's... irrelevant."

Aeryn couldn't believe a Peacekeeper would collaborate with the Scarrans for 
money, but John's accusation was transparent enough. Tanol paled and Braca 
looked like he wanted a few hours alone with the disruptor. 

Scorpius was uninterested by this development. "John."

"Don't beg," the Human said. "It's... unseemly."

There was something completely alien in Scorpius's features. Fear. "You don't 
realize what you're doing."

For a microt, Aeryn thought John would go for the hybrid's throat, weak as he 
was, but he swept the rage under control so fast she wondered if it had been 
there at all. "Show me the... code."

Taken aback, Scorpius hesitated, but signaled a tech who presented John with a 
Peacekeeper console. She opened it flat, passing her palm over one of the 
controls to activate it and brought up a series of holograms. 

It looked like nothing Aeryn recognized. 

Hopelessly outnumbered, the Peacekeeper commandos had relinquished their weapons 
to the order of Kah'a'lax, who held everyone in respect. The Scarran appeared, 
of all things, perplexed, Serris was still bound, Tanol looked as if he wanted 
to run and Chato stood idly by. Aeryn couldn't fathom what was going on behind 
the glassy green irises. Moya's crew was still huddled in a semi-circle around 
John and herself. Even Rygel was silent. All eyes were trained on Crichton. 

The Human studied the display, his hand coming up to stroke the virtual 
representations, caressing the alien shapes like a long-lost lover. The 
unbearable tension climbed until John's fingers froze in mid-air. "The shit's... 
gonna hit the... fan," he sing-songed under his breath. 

That was one saying Aeryn could live without. She squeezed John's hand to get 
his attention. She had to work under the assumption that he might not be in 
control of himself - because of the fever, or as a consequence of what had 
happened in the containment field. It was her duty to insure that he wouldn't 
come back to his senses only to hate himself for what he seemed about to do. 

Aeryn cupped John's cheek with her free hand, turning her back on Scorpius and 
not even caring. Crichton looked terrible. Gaunt, unshaven, bruise-like shadows 
under haunted eyes; he was paler than death and colder than she was. She missed 
his warmth. "John." She traced the shape of an eyebrow with the pad of her thumb 
and his lips parted as if in recognition. "Do you know what you're doing?"

Crichton deftly wiped a flash of hurt off his face and gratified her with a 
forced smile. That she could tell the smile was forced, that she had caught the 
hint of pain at all rocked her. She had never experienced this awareness of 
another. Aeryn pushed the dread and the worry down, deep down. John's strong 
hands wrapped around her head with the same fathomless distress he had displayed 
in the shadow depository, confessing that Scorpius had done something to him - 
something he didn't understand. She didn't flinch away from his fear this time, 
just let him hold her. 

He lowered his head, and she thought she was about to be kissed, but he simply 
lay his forehead against hers, eyes closed, whispering. "I know I haven't given 
you any... reason, lately, but... please, Aeryn. Trust me." He pulled away, and 
she felt the gentle scrap of stubble against her cheek. "P--please."

She stepped aside. 

John never let go of her hand. He didn't look at Scorpius. Didn't pay any 
attention to the tech still holding the blinking console. He just began 
activating commands, rearranging the holographic sequence, fingers flying over 
foreign shapes. It went on for about fifty microts. The woods themselves seemed 
to be holding their breath. 

The solution came with a series a beeping noises. The three-dimensional 
holograms disappeared, replaced by a simple algorithmic solution.

John blinked. He took the console from the tech and forced it into Scorpius's 
hands. The hybrid didn't even spare a glance at his prize. He was watching 
Crichton, and the raw hunger chilled Aeryn to the bone. "You fried my brain... 
and there's almost nothing left of me. I can't take it... anymore. So... here 
you go. The k--keys to the kingdom. Just... leave me alone. Have fun mastering 
the lesser... races."

Braca was looking at Aeryn. Aeryn stared right back. She stood by John Crichton. 
She would continue to stand by him, even if he sounded like the man she never 
wanted him to become. 

John leaned forward, so close to Scorpius his lips almost brushed the leather of 
the cooling suit, above the rods in the hybrid's skull. Only Aeryn and Braca 
stood close enough to catch what he murmured next. "Play along... Scorp. You're 
screwed. I'm not... not going with you. Salvage what you... can."

"What aren't you telling me, John?"

The Human stepped back. "Nothing. You got the chip. I don't." He lowered his 
voice again, cocking his head towards the fuming Scarran. "I just bought you 
some... time. They won't attack now. They would have." Somehow, he didn't turn 
the statement into a question. 

And somehow, Scorpius understood what Aeryn couldn't yet grasp. 

"Braca," the hybrid said. "Contact the command carrier. The Scarran piercer is 
to leave the atmosphere unchallenged. As is Moya."

The lieutenant looked dubious, but didn't question the injunction. "Yes, sir."

In the background, Jarian was conferring with D'Argo in hushed tones. John 
turned to address the priest, losing interest in Scorpius altogether. "Thanks 
for the... rescue, Jarian."

The priest detached himself from the Luxan's side and clasped John's proffered 
arm. "Allara cared very much about you."

"I wish I could have known her... better."

"We will hold them here until your ship is safe. One of our gliders will take 
you to your transport pod. We have seized control of the automated satellites 
defense system. Should the command carrier try to intercept you, we will 
attack." Jarian spoke loudly enough to be heard by all. 

"Thank you," Crichton answered. He motioned for Chato, indicating Serris. 
"Jena... please."

To her credit, the disruptor didn't bother arguing. A subcutaneous blade sprang 
from her wrist, and she cut her captive loose. Serris massaged the blood back in 
his wrists with a frown. He must have expected a very different treatment. Aeryn 
wondered if he was one of the men who had tortured Crichton. 

Safer that she never found out. 

"They are your... enemies, now," Crichton said, nodding towards both 
Peacekeepers and Scarran. His tired words were aimed at Jarian as well. "Are you 
going... to let Tesha destroy Ectani because you're... too busy fighting among 
yourselves, or will you do something about it? Divided, you'll fall... on your 
ass. Believe me. I know."

"John." D'Argo's soft voice, so at odds with his massive bearing, rose from 
behind. 

"I know. We have to... g--go."

His eyes went from Serris to Jarian and back again. Aeryn got the impression he 
was praying. Hoping that a handful of words and a lot of faith would be enough 
to undo cycles of hatred. She didn't begrudge him the naive belief. Sometimes, 
it only took four words. 

//You can be more.//

She should know. 

Rygel, Zhaan and Stark were already making their way deep into the woods, 
following one of Jarian's men. D'Argo and Chiana hung back, waiting. 

"So long, Jena," Crichton offered with a closed smile. 

The disruptor inclined her head, the gesture both respectful and affectionate. 
"Best of fortune, John." No one could have torn the irony out of those words. 
For who was less fortunate than Crichton?

"We will meet again," Scorpius promised, as if to revoke Chato's blessing. 
"Soon."

John didn't answer him. Didn't even look at him. With Aeryn's support, Chiana 
and D'Argo covering his back, he set out after the other half of the crew. It 
was pouring still, and the rain dripping down his cheeks glittered like tears. 
He made it ten metras before asking. "Can they still... s--see us, Aeryn?"

"No, John," she answered quietly.

She caught him before his knees hit the ground. Ahead of them, Zhaan waited. She 
too had known the collapse was coming. D'Argo knelt by Aeryn's side and handed 
her his blade, taking the unconscious Human from her, lifting him in his arms 
without effort. 

They walked in silence for a while. 

"Aeryn. How did he...? How could he--"

"Not now, D'Argo." She kissed John's burning forehead. "Not now."





EPILOGUE

He looked thin and hard without the shield of Peacekeeper leather, Aeryn 
thought. His hair had grown a little. He would soon ask Chiana to cut it for 
him; he had taken to keeping it so short since the surgery. 

It had been nine solar days since they left the hellish surface of Ectani Prime. 
John had been unconscious for the first three, mostly delirious for the next 
two, but Zhaan had managed to restart his heart twice - the overdose of 
stimulant coming back to haunt them - and to wrestle the infection under 
control. The priestess rested little herself despite the protests of the crew, 
and it seemed that the Human's recovery was well under way. After his return to 
consciousness, he still tired easily and spent most of his time asleep, but the 
feverish confusion had receded and Zhaan was confident he would build up his 
strength soon. 

Aeryn sat vigil. She was there when he woke up and there when he slept. She 
would let Chiana know when John was aware enough to try and get some fluids down 
his throat, she would call for the Nebari rather than disturb Zhaan when John's 
nightmares had him lashing and twisting - and a sedative sounded like a good 
idea. 

Aeryn slept in dutiful shifts of a few arns, confident that Rygel would cover 
for her, and ate whatever Chiana offered. She had to remain alert and strong. 
John needed looking after, and the threat of Scorpius once more loomed over the 
crew. 

They hadn't really discussed the events which had unfolded on Ectani Prime when 
they got back on board. D'Argo briefly explained how he had Pilot convince 
Jarian that the religious caste should stand up for itself now that the Regent 
had been exposed for a traitor, and come to the rescue of the fabled John 
Crichton. Chiana told of her decision to send Moya to the bonosphere after 
Scorpius' arrival. Jothee sulked. Something was going on between those two, but 
Aeryn couldn't be bothered to investigate. Rygel boasted about his key role in 
facilitating Crichton's escape. Stark remained silent and held Zhaan. The issue 
of Scorpius was brought up in passing when they decided to increase the 
frequency of Moya's long range scans, but never again after that. 

The one who held all the important answers was busy battling feverish 
hallucinations and arguing with ghosts.

Over the interminable arns spent wondering whether John would live or die, 
whether he would still be the man she knew when he woke up or whether his brain 
had been irremediably fried, Aeryn held long, hushed conversations with Pilot. 
She didn't feel comfortable sharing her concern for John with anyone else -  
surprised enough to discover that she needed to talk about it at all. Pilot told 
her about Crichton's insomnia and his erratic behavior. Combined with her own 
observations, she drew a better picture of just how much trouble John had been 
in since leaving the diagnosian's lab. Since... since the shadow depository. 
Since the royal planet. Maybe even since the gammak base. 

She had to wonder whether Ectani would be the last straw, the bottom of John's 
well of resilience. 

How had they let it come to this? 

On the eighth day, John managed to drag himself out of bed for half an arn and 
asked after Zhaan. He seemed lucid if exhausted, and Aeryn decided to save the 
tough questions for later. 

On the ninth day, Moya's amnexus conduits chose to act up again and she had to 
leave a sleeping Crichton unattended. When she came back, he was gone. 

"Pilot?"

"In the galley, Aeryn."

She had expected John to seek refuge on the terrace, but when was the last time 
the Human had been predictable? "Thank you, Pilot."

And here she was now. Her back ramrod straight, contemplating the lithe, tight 
form of John Crichton, thinking of Chiana cutting his hair. He looked awfully 
young in the loose-fitting gray tee shirt and his old khakis. No doubt the 
leather chaffed the still painful incisions. He sat on a ledge, staring at empty 
space, holding a goblet which he wasn't drinking from. It was a lot like 
travelling back in time, meeting this beautiful, annoying, clueless creature 
fallen from a wormhole. If she sat next to him, would he give her that old 
crooked smile and talk to her about horses, 'park'ing lotz' or 'stok teeps', 
whatever they were? Or would he grieve for his losses in the quiet, his head on 
her shoulder? 

She crossed the deserted chamber and found a comfortable spot beside him. He 
looked drained. "You should be in bed."

"I got thirsty," he answered, and Aeryn didn't argue with him. 

She waited. It was simple, really. He had done it to her often enough that she 
mastered the technique. 

"You're angry."

She thought about lying. "Yes."

He flinched. "It's not what you think. I did give Scorpy the code to access the 
chip, but I didn't give him the wormhole technology."

That was not at all what Aeryn had been angry about. Confused and worried as to 
why John had surrendered to the half-breed, endangered his home and essentially 
conceded a victory of unimaginable proportion when they could have gotten safely 
away, but not angry. She had come a long way since the royal planet - learned 
to, as he once said to her, lower her expectations. He didn't judge her. She 
could return the courtesy. Nonetheless, she didn't correct him. He was talking. 
That was progress. 

"The wormhole equations... they were never in my brain."

She stared at him in horror. Was he telling her that he had gone through the 
pain and indignity of the last cycle for nothing? "When did you...?"

John saved her from having to articulate her thoughts. "On Ectani." He clutched 
his goblet a little tight. "It'll take a while to explain in details, but... 
what the Ancients left in me was a map, which would lead me to Ectani when the 
time was right. Lead me to a quantum singularity... hmm... That's the thing, you 
know, the device in the cave. That's what it was."

"A containment field," Aeryn said. 

John turned to look at her, one eyebrow raised in question. 

"D'Argo and I met Jarian after the G'Ken took you. He told us about a prophecy, 
a scroll of some kind. A member of his order discovered a black hole somehow 
connected to the planet's future and saw you in it. The scroll said you would 
save Ectani from civil war. That was seven hundred cycles ago."

Crichton seemed to mull over the revelation. "So that's what it was, the thing 
Allara was talking about... I didn't know..." He scrubbed his red-rimmed eyes 
with his right hand like a little child. "The guy must have died from the 
radiation, but he had the time to write down some of what he saw." John watched 
her struggle to assemble his disjointed words into a coherent picture. "The 
quantum singularity wasn't fixed on Ectani's future, but on mine. The Ancients 
were the first inhabitants of the planet, those aliens you told me about when we 
first arrived. They were experimenting with wormholes, opened a black hole 
and... saw me." He shrugged. "I guess the false Earth incident wasn't so random 
after all. All that speech about the fact that creating a wormhole would take 
all their remaining power, that was bullshit. It's not that complicated when you 
know what you're doing. They came looking for me, tested me, knew I would..." He 
shook his head. "They did give me the wormhole technology. In the form of a map 
and the code that would allow me access to the containment field."

"How so?" Aeryn asked, puzzled. Her stomach tightened. "How did that give you 
wormhole technology?"

The smile was bittersweet. "Because I saw myself, creating one." He waved his 
hand tiredly. "I know, it's a time paradox. Would I have been able to build a 
wormhole in the future if I hadn't seen myself doing just that? Maybe I would 
have worked it out without the intervention of the Ancients..." He trailed off. 
"Gives me an Extra-Strength Tylenol headache. Don't think I'll ever figure it 
out."

He drank a little of whatever was in the goblet. It better not be an intoxicant, 
or Zhaan would expedite him right back into a coma. Aeryn was too busy 
processing the information to care.

"So you... you know how to create wormholes."

John nodded. "Yep."

She opened her mouth, but nothing came. He noticed her disconcerted silence. 

"I'm not going anywhere, Aeryn, if that's what you're thinking. I got... work to 
do here. And really, I'd rather not have told you at all, but you guys are in 
more danger now because of... because of what I know. I'm going to tell 
everybody. They deserve to make an informed decision. If they ask me to leave 
Moya, I... I will."

"But... Scorpius..."

John hung his head. He looked ashamed. "Could already be on our trail. By now 
he's used the code to unlock the chip. It probably took him a few days to work 
out the algorithms, cause he didn't have a translator, or maybe... damn, I 
wonder if there's a Maxime clone in the chip... Poor Scorpy." He shook his head 
with an odd smile before Aeryn could ask about that mysterious Max'eem. "Later. 
It's not important. If Scorpy decoded the information, he's got the equations 
that will lead him right back to Ectani. I don't know how much he's going to 
figure out. The containment field was left to self-destruct, but eventually, 
he'll put the pieces together. My boy Scorpy ain't stupid."

John's voice was turning raspy from overuse, and he drank some more, while Aeryn 
tried to absorb a fraction of what he had just said. "Why tell the Scarran about 
Scorpius's wormhole research and his obsession with you? For that matter, why 
give Scorpius the code if he might figure out you have access to the 
technology?"

John chewed his bottom lip, arms wrapped around his chest. "I saw more than 
myself building wormholes, Aeryn. I saw Scorpy waiting for me outside that cave 
and Jarian coming to the rescue. That's how I knew. And I saw a war coming. I 
hope I managed to convince Serris and Jarian that the outside enemy is a lot 
more dangerous than some flimsy divergence of opinion. The Territories, fucking 
hell, the entire goddamn galaxy is headed for a massive showdown. Scarrans, 
Peacekeepers, Nebari... You got no idea. The Scarrans are already poised to 
strike and they got a huge numerical advantage. I needed to push back the date. 
To give myself some time, to... to..." He punched the wall with his fist and she 
winced. "Shit, I don't know, Aeryn. Time to figure something out. Scorpy's been 
bluffing the Scarrans. Made them believe that he had the wormhole tech already. 
Except that they aren't buying any longer." He cradled his bruised fist in his 
lap, looking to the stars for answers. "I had to make them believe that the 
Peacekeepers have the means to develop the technology. Good ol' Leatherface 
understood what I was doing. He didn't know why, but he understood. That's why 
he ordered the carrier to let the Scarran go. So the agent could go back to 
Scarran Command an tell them the PK's got wormhole tech from some backward 
inferior species after all."

The irony seemed to please him greatly. Aeryn didn't feel like smiling. 

//Death. There's too much death. And you're at the center of it. Always the 
center...//

Stark had called it right. 

Crichton was watching her. Reading her thoughts - and the light deemed in his 
eyes. He nodded, as if confirming something to himself. 

"John, you should rest."

"No." She knew that tone. "You're still angry." He rested his forehead against a 
porthole. "It was selfish of me to unlock the containment field, knowing what I 
would find inside. We'd be safer if I hadn't... I understand that. You guys had 
to bail me out again. And Zhaan... I said I wouldn't... wouldn't let her down."

He closed his eyes.

John could be so perceptive - and so breathtakingly clueless at the same time. 
"Why do you think all of us stay aboard Moya, John?" Aeryn asked. 

"Because they've got nowhere else to go."

It didn't escape her that John hadn't included himself in that statement. He had 
somewhere to go now. 

"That's not the point I was making." That caught his attention and he raised his 
head with an effort. Aeryn waited for his eyes to seek hers. "We stay because we 
choose to. We help each other out because we care. And you would take this away 
from us, because it's easier to assume we would rather have nothing to do with 
you from now on?"

In the end, it was all so easy. Look ahead to a future without this complicated 
man in it, feel her insides shrivel and her throat clench. The grief made it 
worth the effort to force the words out and get them right. Her voice sounded 
rusty. 

"I'm not angry because of wormholes or strategic decisions you made without 
consulting me." Frell, he was trembling. John wasn't strong enough for this, but 
she was committed. "I'm angry at your lack of respect for us. For me."

Crichton recoiled as if slapped. 

Aeryn took a microt to collect herself, because she wasn't used to articulating 
so many thoughts. She wanted John to understand the import of what she was 
trying to say. "You don't like that I hide my feelings from you, that I keep you 
at a distance. I have worked... hard, to learn, to allow you in. I know that 
there is still a long way to go--"

"Aeryn..." he sighed, eyes shining.

She lifted her hand palm out to silence him. 

"I told you once that if you were cracking up, I wanted to know. I needed to 
know. Why didn't you tell me about the nightmares, about the hallucinations and 
the panic attacks?"

John was on his feet in an instant, one hand against Moya's bulkhead for 
balance. "Who told y--" His eyes narrowed. "Of course. Pilot." He glared at the 
vacant clamshell. 

Aeryn stood to face him. "You talk about endangering the crew. Well, you are 
endangering us when you keep something like that from me." 

John flinched away from her. She was hurting him, but it was a clean pain, a 
necessary pain. He had to put some of his ghosts to rest, like she had put 
Velorek to rest, or he would collapse under the strain.

He was hoarse with grief. "What was I supposed to tell you? 'Gee, Aeryn, I know 
I just killed you, that Zhaan is dying because of me, and you're crumbling under 
the guilt that by all means should be mine, but could you put all that aside, 
cause I think I'm losing it. Once more over the cuckoo's nest!'" 

"What about the Scarran? When, exactly, were you captured?"

John blanched, confused. "That was half a cycle ago. It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me," Aeryn insisted. "What did he do to you?"

"He took the standard brain tour. Got the group fare. I got away. Case closed." 
John shrugged, dismissing the incident, but the distress lingered in the stooped 
shoulders. 

She pushed. "He tortured you."

"Why are we discussing this?" John asked, annoyance warring a little with 
desperation.

She didn't falter, even if it hurt her to see him like this. "Because you lied 
to me about it."

"I. Didn't. Lie. To. You," Crichton enounced. "I never lied to you."

"Then why didn't you tell me? Why was it so important that you keep this to 
yourself?"

He leaned against the bulkhead, deflated. "It was... just after the Vork. Do you 
remember?" 

She nodded. John had taken her down to a commerce planet a few solar days after 
the Vork's death to 'cheer her up'. At some point they had gotten separated. She 
went shopping for what she called non-essentials with Chiana, and he went off on 
his own against her advice. They had planned to stay the night on the surface. 
He was already asleep by the time she made it back to the inn. She found that 
odd, but attributed it to mental fatigue. He seemed fine the next morning, if a 
little subdued. Complaining only of a mild headache. 

"You already thought I was cracking up, and... and I was. It just wasn't transit 
madness. I was... hallucinating Scorpius left and right... I don't even remember 
everything the Scarran did to me, or how I got away. I..."

Understanding dawned. "You thought we wouldn't believe you."

John lowered his eyes, holding onto a counter when he swayed. Aeryn took hold of 
his arm and guided him back to the porthole sill. "Sit down before you fall."

John was shaking. Zhaan might just put Aeryn in a coma for upseting her 
patient. She sat next to him and lay a soft hand on the back of his neck, 
playing with the short, damp hair. He leaned into her touch. Warm and real and 
firm. Alive. Gloriously alive. Being so close to him was a simple pleasure she 
shouldn't take for granted. The lives they led - the smallest gestures often 
turned out to be the most cherished gifts.  

She spoke quietly. "You were afraid that your... weakness would undermine our 
trust in you. I can understand... I know, in the beginning, we didn't go easy on 
you, and it was difficult, proving yourself to us, but things are different now.  
Do you think we will trust you more if you hide the bad things from us?"

He snorted. "When you say it like that..." 

"I'm not going anywhere, John."

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, nuzzling her skin. "God, I love 
you."

She kissed the top of his head, holding him tight. He smelled like tears, like 
Moya, like sleepiness. The cut on his forehead was healing, but it would leave a 
scar. She searched for the incisions on his forearms and the back of his hands. 
Trailed her fingers over the fading wounds in apology. He kissed the soft patch 
of skin behind her ear. 

Nothing to forgive.

"My brain's a goddamn mess, Aeryn." His words were muffled against her throat. 
"I'm having technicolor conversations with Scorpy and a girl who died ten years 
ago. We're talking the full Jack Nicholson psych evaluation here, babe. Men in 
white coats and shiny pills. You sure you wanna stick with this spaceman?"

"I was a Peacekeeper, John. I think I have you beat. If you can put up with my 
ghosts, I'm sure I can put up with yours." 

He was fading fast. "I shouldn't give Scorpy more... leverage, and the next few 
months, years... they're going to be hell... but I don't think I can do this 
alone." His breathing was slowing down. "It'll be hard. Don't give up on... me."

Aeryn thought of Zhaan, who had chosen to spend her last days surrounded by her 
loved ones rather than chase after a chimera. In the final moments, friendships 
and memories were all that remained. Pride taken in the lives one had touched. 

"You're afraid to burden me," she said, looking out to the vacuum, "and I worry 
about relying too much on you." His hair tickled her cheek. "We could just try 
to lean on each other."

Silence rose like volutes towards the ceiling. Had John fallen asleep?

"How did you get so wise?"

She smiled. "You made me that way."

Zhaan found them wrapped around each other the next morning. 



THE END.

Watch for an extra epilogue to this story in 'No Dominion: Lovers Be Lost'. 
Rated NC17.



And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan't crack;
And death shall have no dominion. 

Dylan Thomas