WEIGHT OF THE WORLD
Part Two: Miles To Go


Prologue:


There were two things that Von Duvvlar wanted at the moment. Small
things, really. He wanted a new order, a universe where his
Peacekeepers stood on top of the heap. And he wanted something to eat.
Preferably a bowl of Grevlac Stew with stuffed, roasted Phellip rolls
in a neat semi-circle on the side.

He smacked his lips without thinking, his gaze softening for a moment
as he stared out the forward viewport. Not a chance for his favorite
meal, of course. But the other. His attention refocused on the
swirling pattern that disrupted the stars before him.

"Hold position, Kregga. I want to take a look at this thing the
half-breed has made us." He lifted one meaty hand to his Second and
the Carrier glided to a halt. Not that he could feel the decrease in
forward momentum, but he always fancied that he should.

A flock of prowlers swept overhead in formation, arrowing soundlessly
towards the tiny research vessel that hung motionless over the
Singularity. Then another wing, then another. His full Group had not
arrived yet, but his escort was always with him. He did not need to
look at the screens to know that a full compliment of Mauraders,
Prowlers, Reavers and Destroyers floated just behind him. And there
were more on the way. If Scorpius had not deceived them - no one at
High Command trusted the creature but there was no evidence to think
that he had - then they would be needed.

Scorpius had assured them that the world on the other side of the
wormhole was primitive, but even if that were the case, there was no
reason not to show them the full power of PeaceKeeper strength.

Duvvlar leaned forward and peered at the eerie thing that both seemed
frozen and moving at the same time. It gave him a mild case of the
creeps.

"High Preklate?" He did not turn his head to look at the woman who
spoke, continuing to study the anomaly. "Scorpius has taken note of
our arrival and wishes an audience." Von grunted and pursed his lips.
Of course he did. He sat back again with a creak of leather, his hand
moving to stroke his silvered beard thoughtfully.

Scorpius. It would be a matter of some delicacy to deal with the
half-Scarran. Duvvlar was no fool, he had not risen to such exalted
posting without being both cautious and clever. He was not of the same
opinion as many in High Command, that the man was an abomination.
Instead, he had been one of the few that had fought to encourage
Scorpius' ambitions. The half-breed was intelligent. And useful.
Probably more so than many gave him credit for. No, Scorpius walked to
a different siren's call than mere ambition. Power, yes. But for that
one, knowledge was power. Ruthlessly acquired and ruthlessly applied.

The problem was that Scorpius saw no man as his master. Not even the
Peacekeepers he claimed to be one of. The creature had within his
hands an incredible tool. A tool that could give its controller vast
galactic power. Von was not foolish enough to believe that Scorpius
had labored most of his life to simply hand over everything he had
worked for. And Von was also not foolish enough to think that Scorpius
would not have his own plans already in motion.

It would be a matter of discovering what Scorpius wanted. And
manipulating it.

The woman was still waiting. He flicked his eyes towards her, finally
acknowledging her. Beautiful, he took note. All his aides were. He had
not had this one yet. His eyes swept up and down her body briefly
before nodded. One hand flicked up in a dismissive gesture.

"Have him wait. I will send for him when I am ready." She lingered,
knowing he was not finished, he took a moment to be impressed by her.
His words, when he did speak again, were low. "And when we do send for
him, I want to make sure that our little gift makes its way over to
his vessel."

She bowed her head and turned away, back to the comm panels. He tapped
one large finger against his lips thoughtfully. It wasn't that he
needed time to think about how to handle Scorpius, it was more that he
needed to make the half-breed wait. Call him too fast, display any
eagerness and you gave him the upper hand. These wormholes, in the
end, belonged to Scorpius. And the half-breed knew it. Nothing would
change that.

He would need to find a way to control Scorpius, and thereby, his
wormholes. It would not be an easy thing, nor a quick thing. Delicacy
was called for. It was why he had come himself. There were too many in
High Command who did not have a subtle enough brain to deal with this
creature. And the wormhole technology was too important to leave to
chance.

In the meantime, the world that Scorpius claimed lay ripe for the
plucking just beyond that nauseating swirl of color and light would be
the perfect test. Not just to prove that they could take a fleet
across the galaxy in one leap, but to discover how the politics of the
new order would work. Scorpius might think that he was going to play
things close, but his every action would be a clue to Duvvar on how to
control him.

He would win. He always did. He lifted a hand and did not turn when
the woman reappeared at his side.

"Bring me Sallo Kray."

++++

"DK! There you are!" 

He twisted on the barstool, seeking and finding the slender figure of
Melissa Crichton through the happy hour crowd. She waved one hand at
him and he pushed to his feet, grinning. She looked the same. Maybe
older, maybe skinnier, but essentially it could have been a year
earlier. They came together in a brief embrace and he held her back
from him, looking her up and down. Slender, tanned, light brown hair
with blond streaks - she was the female image of her brother. It bit
at his heart a little, but now it was only a small pain. It had been
three years. Plenty of time to come to grips.

"Christ, DK, is *this* where you hang out? It's kinda Bennigan's isn't
it?"

He glanced around Monaco's faux, wacky interior and shrugged with a
half-grin. 

"It's close to IASA. And they have great chicken wings. What more
could you ask for?"

She laughed, scraping her fall of shoulder length hair back into a
loose knot before taking a seat next to him at the bar. DK didn't wait
to ask her, he just waved his hand at Jim for another beer. The
Crichtons had always been beer drinkers, all of them.

"I can't believe it, it's been what, a year?" She took the mug
appreciatively and lifted it in salute to him before taking a huge
gulp.

He nodded, snagging a basket of pretzels from down the bar and sliding
it towards her.

"Yeah, your wedding, I think. How's Eric?" She smiled, grabbing a
handful of the salty snacks.

"Great, everything is great. Colorado is perfect this time of year.
You should come out and visit. Go fishing. Take a load off once in a
while. You guys still working on Phoenix?"

He just nodded, she knew he couldn't talk about it. At least not in a
bar. She raised her eyebrows, cracking a pretzel between her teeth.

"Oh yeah, hush-hush and all that. Whatever. I can't stay long, my
flight is in about 2 hours. But that gives us time to at least
*pretend* to catch up."

"Where are you coming from?" He had gotten no info beyond the
breathless phone call from the Orlando Airport, Mel saying that she
was going to be in town for about five minutes, and could they have a
beer. It had been a relief to leave work. Quent and Karie were arguing
again.

"Big marketing convention in, get this, the Bahamas." She struck a
pose and lifted her chin. "You like my tan?"

DK grinned and took another sip of his beer. She looked great. He'd
thought once, for about a year in college, that Mel was attractive,
but it was too hard to get over the fact that he'd seen her in
diapers. Or that he used to put worms in her hair. 

"Bahamas, eh? Business must be going good."

"It is. Eric and I have more than we can handle. I wanted to go the
convention for the obvious reasons, but also just to treat myself to a
little vacation while I was at it." She eyed him critically over the
rim of her mug. "You look a little pale, Bucko. Maybe you ought to
think about a vacation yourself."

He snorted. That would be the day. He hadn't taken a vacation since...
since. He frowned then. It hadn't been since before Farscape. Christ.
She seemed to read his expression like a book. Something her brother
had been uncanny at.

"Jesus, DK. Don't tell me you haven't taken a break since... since the
accident?" There was a mixture of pity and sorrow in her eyes. He
waved his hand at her in protest.

"No, no, Mel. Not like that. I just haven't had time. I haven't wanted
to leave the project. It feels like we're close to something..."

"You always say that," her nose wrinkled. But the pity was gone now,
and for that he was thankful. It was true that he had thrown himself
into his work since John had died, but it wasn't all out of grief. It
wasn't like he was some kind of shut-in, keeping the drapes closed and
the frozen dinners in the freezer. He had grieved, they all had, but
time did heal. He had moved on. The Phoenix Project was part of that.
Part of him knew, of course, that much of his drive on Phoenix was to
try and erase his guilt, his failure on Farscape. To try and fill the
void that had been left by his friend's absence.

"Well, you know what I mean."

"Yeah," she was looking at him oddly, nodding, "yeah, I do." She took
a deep breath and rested one elbow on the stained bar, staring down
into the foam of her beer. "It's too bad I can't stay longer, now that
I'm here, I wish we had time to sit down at talk. I haven't really
talked to you since John's accident. Weird, isn't it? How time flies?"

DK nodded, finishing off the last swallow of his beer and gesturing
for another. He hadn't really wanted to talk about John. She didn't
seem to notice his discomfort.

"All of us, Dad, Jenn... we don't talk about him. That's stupid, isn't
it? Like if we pretend he didn't exist, the pain will go away." He
could feel her eyes on the side of his face. "You too... you believe
that too, don't you?"

He sighed.

"Look Mel, he's gone. It's been three years. We've all moved on. It
doesn't mean we've forgotten him." She frowned at his words.

"That's not what I mean, and you know it. I'm not saying we should be
building a shrine to him or anything...not that that's not what you're
doing with the Phoenix project-"

He finally lifted his eyes to hers, his brow coming down in a rare
display of anger. Her face was passive, her features set, she was
prodding him, he could tell. Christ, she was just like her damned
brother.

"I'm not going to rise to your bait, darlin'. What I'm doing with
Phoenix has nothing to do with John beyond the fact that I've tried to
learn from the mistakes that Farscape suffered from."

"You feel guilty?" The statement was almost a gasp, a revelation on
her part. "Lord, John really did rub off on you. He sure loved to take
the weight of the world on his shoulders, loved to think that he was
always to blame." He put up a hand to ward off a tirade he had heard
before. Specifically from the others on the Farscape/Phoenix team.

"Shut up, Mel. There was a fuck up. I was the engineer. You put the
pieces together. Sure, John knew the risks. But the fact is that it
was partly my fault that your brother was killed. You can talk till
you're blue in the face and that won't change reality."

She pressed her lips into a thin line and huffed softly through her
nose.

"Fine." She glanced down at her watch and her frown deepened. "And now
I have to go. This wasn't the reunion I'd had in mind. I had no idea
that you blamed yourself. All I can say is get over it. It's been
three years, like you said. Take a breath. Take a vacation. Take your
nose out of your job for five seconds so you can properly grieve for
my overly-brave, overly-egotistical, overly-adventurous brother and
get it done already." Her face softened slightly and she put one hand
on his shoulder. "Christ, DK-" She seemed to want to say more and then
shook her head. "To quote the ancient philosopher, Nike, just do it."

He actually chuckled as he pushed up to his feet.

"You think you've got it all figured out, don't you, doll. That's ok.
Maybe you do."

She shook her head at him, but the traces of a grin teased the edges
of her lips.

"Be that way, buddy. But do what I say. Take a break."

He nodded.

"Ok, after the Phoneix test trials, I promise I'll go on a Walkabout
or a Spirit Journey or whatever will make you happy."

"It'll make you happy too, you'll see. Guilt, blame, all that shit,
it's just the baggage that holds us down and keeps us from remembering
the important things."

"I see, grashoppah, it is clear to me now." He bowed mockingly to her
and she snorted in exasperation. Standing on tiptoes, she kissed him
on the cheek and then smiled up at him.

"Come out to Colorado, I mean it. You're always welcome. Leave all the
bullshit behind. Leave the guilt trips to would-be heroes like my bro.
It's over. It was over three years ago."

This time, he didn't make fun of her, he only smiled down at her,
brushing back a stray strand of dirty blond hair and tucking it behind
her ear.

"It was. And it is. Thanks for dropping by." Another hug and she was
heading to the door, pausing only briefly to look back once before
pushing through one half of the swinging doors. He stood there for a
long moment, letting the chatter of the crowd, the blare of the
baseball game on the tv, the white noise of it all just wash over him.

He had lied to her, of course. He couldn't explain it, couldn't put a
finger on it, but he knew somehow, that it wasn't over.

Not yet.

++++


Its name had been Rivit. A tiny little ship rodent, he had gotten
trapped in her training helmet when she had been small. Her training
instructor had tried to kill it when he'd spotted it scurrying away,
but had only injured it. It had been bleeding and wounded, but still
alive. Without even thinking, she'd gathered it up, tucked it into her
sleeve, and snuck it back to her bunk where she'd hidden it in her
personal locker.

A small discarded toolbox became its home after that and she'd fed him
from her own rations. She couldn't have said why she had taken him,
why she nursed him back to health, but she knew that she loved him. He
would crawl up the arm of her sleepshirt and huddle in the hollow of
her neck while she slept, her young body exhausted after her daily
training exercises.

She had been perhaps 12 cycles old at the time, just beginning the
hardest conditioning she would face in her childhood. The Peacekeepers
considered her age group to be only a few more cycles from real
service, and they worked them accordingly. And it was not as if she
didn't enjoy the challenge. She did. She was a perfect soldier in all
regards, taking her perfection seriously. But Rivit, somehow, was
worth disobedience for.

She had loved him. His tiny little cream-colored feet, his gray fur,
his three beady eyes and tiny little antennea. And she'd hidden him
successfully from Trainer for almost 6 monens. An accomplishment in
itself. Until the day they'd had surprise inspection and she had not
had time to put him back in the toolbox.

It wasn't the punishment she had endured that hurt: the beating, the
mockery and the penalty labor that lasted half a cycle. It was the
sound Rivit had made when Trainer had crushed him under his bootheel.
She had learned long before that moment not to cry where anyone could
see, but inside a part of her went dead that day. It was not, she had
learned, prudent to let emotions control you.

It hurt too much.

Hezmana, it hurt far too much.

Rivit was a distant scar, something she had tried hard to hold onto as
a reminder throughout her adult life. It had been part of why she had
resisted love for as long as she did. After all, the pain of
heartbreak was too awful to suffer.

And so she walked Moya's corridors as she always did. She talked with
her crewmates and she did her chores. She worked out her body and she
pretended that she was dead inside. Even when she was not.

A day was a cycle long. Two days, an eon. She was exhausted within
arns of rolling out of bed just from repressing, just from pretending
that she did not hurt. She experienced little sleep that was not
plagued with either torturous memories or nightmarish visions. She was
worn and haggard and starting to get sick.

The latter was the least of it. It was merely insult to injury.
Crichton had been sick on the Base, she suspected that he must have
given it to her. It made her laugh to think that it might be the only
thing she had left to remind her that he had been real.

Aeryn Sun was not a moper. She did not wilt like a flower in the heat
when faced with a trial. She knew that, but she also knew that she had
never been confronted by her emotions in such a way before. At first
she had run through those last microts over and over again, trying to
find the one spot where she should have done something she had not.
Futile, of course. Nothing would bring him back.

And besides, she told herself bitterly, she had known perfectly well
that he would one day be presented with the opportunity to go home.
She had told him that she could not follow him there. What was
different now that she must dwell on it? Indeed. What?

Nothing.

She lay on her bed, fully dressed, staring up at the ceiling. Her
chambers were dark simply because she had not called up the lights. It
was not the sleep cycle, she just did not wish to get up. Her gut
cramped with nausea and her head throbbed painfully. She did not move
except to fold her arms tightly across her middle. 

The door hissed open and she sighed internally. It was bound to
happen, she supposed. That someone would come looking for her. She
should have been at dinner. The thought of food twisted her gut again
and she turned her head away from the light streaming in with the
intruder.

"If you wish for me to go, please say so." Zhaan's quiet voice slid
over her like a cool touch.

She did want her to go. She didn't want to talk. She said nothing.

The bed dipped slightly and she felt the Delvian's fingers stroke
across her cheek.

"You are flushed, my dear. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Her response was curt. She lacked the energy to be
diplomatic. "I think Crichton gave me something on the Base." She
still did not look at the Priestess.

Zhaan was quiet for a long moment, her fingers continuing to stroke
her face. Aeryn's eyes fluttered shut then, the comfort in the touch
was hard to deny.

"Aeryn, if you are ill, you will let me attend you..." It was not what
Zhaan had come here to say. They both knew it. The sebacean shivered
slightly. Fine, it was better than talking about other things. She
opened her eyes and turned her head without meeting Zhaan's concerned
gaze. The pity she knew lay there galled her, set her teeth to edge.
There was nothing she hated more than being pitied. Than being
pathetic. She pushed up into a sitting position, folding her arms over
bent knees.

Time to stop being pathetic then.

"Fine, Zhaan. But I'm sure it's nothing. Crichton survived it."

The Delvian tiled her head and reached out to cup Aeryn's jaw, turning
her head so their eyes met. There was no pity there, as she had
feared. Instead there was only a deep concern and love. It snapped
something inside her. She drew her knees closer and broke over them
like a wave, hanging her head in the cradle of her folded arms. No
tears. Never that. She had only cried in front of one person on this
ship.

And he was gone now.

"Aeryn, stop punishing yourself." The words were gentle. She didn't
look up.

"What makes you think you know what I'm feeling?" Her voice was hard
as metasteel.

"I do know." Zhaan's voice was firm now, and Aeryn finally looked up.
The Delvian was gazing at her with cool patience. "I know very well
what it is like to lose someone you love, and to blame yourself for
it. Do you think that you pushed him through that wormhole? He did
what he had to do. What you would have done in his position."

"I don't blame him for that!" Her voice was raw now, her teeth
clenched. "But I could have gone with him. I didn't. I can tell myself
that I could never have made it through those Prowlers, but I didn't
even try! I was...afraid... to go with him. I always have been." The
last was a whisper. "He knew that. If he hadn't known that he wouldn't
have had to sneak away from me like that."

"Did he really sneak, Aeryn? Didn't you know that he could never
abandon his world to Scorpius? To the Peacekeepers?"

Aeryn was silent for a countless number of hearbeats. Finally,
swallowing the lump in her throat, she nodded.

"I did know, part of me knew. I just...I just-" She broke off, her
voice breaking. She pressed her face back into the cradle of her arms,
hating to say it. Hating to acknowledge it. Then, harshly: "I was
afraid that he would ask me to go with him."

She had been unable to go, and he had known it. The pain she felt now
was all her own doing.

"And now?" Zhaans hand was stroking the hair back from her temple.

"It doesn't matter anymore. It's too late."

"Aeryn, darling. It's never too late." The voice was so sweetly amused
that Aeryn looked up again. The Priestess had a sad smile on her lips.
"Is that what torments you so? That the wormhole is still open? That
the choice remains?"

And she found that, as she opened her mouth to answer, no words came
out.

Nothing at all.

+++

8.12.2005 [2:13AM] 


It was the atmosphere that did it.

The scout-ship he stalked, a vessel that looked similar to a prowler
but without the heavy weaponry, came in low over the nighttime swamps
of Florida, its wings waggling as it tried to compensate for gravity,
for the low pressure that usually sat over the Everglades. He winced
as one of the scout's wingtips hit a tall cypress and went into a
spin, and he watched as it overcompensated, reacting as if it were
zero gee. It was no surprise when the sleek ship flipped out of
control and sliced down into the Glades like the spade of a plow
gouging out a furrow.

So much for PK training, he grimaced.

Crichton had shadowed the Scout as it had come out of the wormhole,
grimly determined to follow the peacekeeper at all costs. The pilot
would not make it back out to speak of what he had seen. So intent on
the scout was he, that he almost forgot to gape in astonished delight
when the gorgeous orb of his homeworld came into view. The reality of
it hadn't hit him until then, but there it was. He was really home.

The joy of it was muted, however. Circumstances did not exactly call
for fireworks and champagne. He had very little time before the
Carrier Group Scorpy had spoken of came and set up camp in orbit. And
they wouldn't be there to roast marshmallows and sing Girl Scout
songs.

The PK had flown an expertly executed stealth trajectory towards the
planet, and from what John knew about his own planet's meagre first
warning devices, he guessed that there was no way anyone would detect
the ship's approach. Down over the south pole and then low, low enough
that he would be undetected by radar.

The bearings the scout was taking were sending chills up and down
Crichton's spine. The PK ship seemed to be heading straight for
Florida. It could only mean that Scorpy had gotten a great deal from
both the neural chip and from the Aurora Chair. That he would send his
man straight for the place Crichton himself would have gone to first.
It was uncanny. What was Scorpy's intention? His family? His friends?
IASA?

Nighttime over Florida, thank goodness. No one to see them come in but
the gators and the water birds. Maybe the lone Seminole Indian or
hiker. Detection at this early stage might be disastrous, but no one
would believe the babblings of just one person.

Low level flying notwithstanding, it was the landing itself that was
the problem for the Scout. John could have told him that for nothing.
The vessel had crashed into the swamp but, thankfully, had not burst
into any kind of hollywood-style flames.

The research pod he flew was much like his own Farscape One, and he
controlled it with ease, carefully circling the crash-spot of the
Scout and finding a nice dry Hammock to land neatly on.

Popping the canopy and ripping his helmet off, he didn't move for a
long span of time, simply breathing in the delicious air, reveling in
the humidity and the hum of the bloodthirsty mosquitoes. Mosquitoes.
God help him, he had never been more delighted to hear their high
pitched buzz wavering in his ears. He looked up, his head lying back
on the headrest. The Big Dipper hung innocuously above him and he
could see the North Star just over it. His stars. He hadn't really
believed that he would see them again.

He closed his eyes then, just listening and smelling and feeling.
Home. He was home. Exhaustion, driven away one too many times by
adrenaline, hovered on the fringes of his awareness. He was going to
crash soon, and hard. But it couldn't be yet.

The Scout. Wrenching his eyes open was harder than it ever should have
been, but he did it. Numb fingers found the release on his harness and
he climbed out of the pod. He was running on fumes. Legs rubbery, he
took first one step and then another before he fell to his knees. Not
yet, he gritted to himself. Not yet. Up again. Another step. He could
see the break in the trees where the Scout had gone down. It would be
at least a 10 minute walk. He stopped. He needed his brain just then,
but it was like it was packed in cotton. 

He turned back to the pod to rummage for what supplies he could,
including a pulse pistol he found strapped to an interior panel.
Beautiful. He could almost kiss the Peacekeepers for being so
predictably violent that they would put a weapon into a one-man
research pod.

After he wolfed down a single ration-pouch, he fashioned a pack out of
the harness and the two kits and strapped the pistol to his belt. John
then covered the pod with loose palmetto leaves and dried sawgrass
until even he had a hard time spotting it.

By the time he set out towards the downed Scout, he felt better. Not
rested, not even partially competent, but better.

It was less than ten minutes before he came upon the crash site. The
ship lay half buried in the swamp right on the edge of a dry hammock.
Even as he watched, the water around it bubbled and shifted and the
ship sank a few inches into the muck. The pilot sat slumped and
unmoving, his head hanging forward against the restraints. The canopy
was cracked beyond repair and the water was already skirting the lower
edges of it. It would not be long before the cockpit started to fill
up. The unconscious man would drown.

He stared impassively at the unconscious peacekeeper in the cockpit
for a long moment. War, he reminded himself. This was the enemy.
*They* would show no mercy to his people. If John stopped now to first
save the PK's life and then care for his injuries, he would lose
valuable time. Time he needed to get the word out. It would take every
minute to find the right people to tell, it would take hours or even
days to convince them his warning wasn't insane.

He really didn't have the luxury or the time to be a good samaritan.

But he was, in the end, not a peacekeeper himself. Grumbling to
himself about regretting things in the future, he dropped his pack on
the dry hammock and climbed up into the canopy to drag the hapless
pilot out. He could never forget that Aeryn was a peacekeeper too. And
that no one had ever given her a chance to be more than just that. He
could do no less for any peacekeeper. Certainly he could never leave
him to just drown.

Aeryn. He wasn't going to think about her. Not yet. Later, maybe. When
he had time to examine the gaping hole in his heart where she used to
be. She had made her decision long ago, long before he had gone
through the wormhole without her. She hadn't wanted to come. That was
that.

The man was alive. Head wound. Older, surprisingly. This one had gray
hairs at his temples and a lined face that spoke of years of combat.
His age and experience had probably worked against him when he had
tried to maneuver in atmosphere. He had reacted poorly in every way he
could have.

Dragging the bulk of the big man up onto the hammock, John hauled him
over to a nearby dry tree and propped him up. He quickly poked through
the emergency kit and set out a tiny brick that, once he cracked it,
burst into a blazing heat source. Not bright enough to alert folks in
Cuba, but not so dim that he had to squint. One thing about PKs, they
knew their gear.

A small med scanner quickly proved to John that the sebacean suffered
from a concussion, not something that would make treating him easy. He
would just have to wait for the guy's brain to do a little emergency
triage on itself and then, once he woke up on his own, he would have
to keep him awake.

No time for this, a little voice whispered. No time. Still, he did not
leave.

He belatedly stripped the scout of his weapons and loosely tied his
hands in front of him before covering him with a thin plastic blanket.
Then he left him lying by the tree and went to town on the Scout ship
before it vanished into the sandy mud. The cockpit was already filling
up, murky water and bits of flotsam spilling down the sides of the
interior.

More rations were found, another emergency kit. Another weapon, a
spare EVA suit and clothing. This scout had been prepared to do
serious reconaissance. Which was good, because now John had a lot of
PK goodies to choose from. He sorted and packed everything slowly,
still fighting sleep and exhaustion like it was the enemy.

'What are you doing, John?'

He had no time for Harvey. The clone was leaning against a nearby
cypress tree, looking around the site with interest.

"Go away, Harv. I can't come out and play right now. And don't try
messing with my body again, I've got you covered this time." He
mumbled as he worked, not even looking up. Harvey ignored the
reference to his earlier failure.

'You know this is a mistake. Helping this fool. He would kill you if
your situations were reversed.'

"I'm not him, pal."

When he had scavenged everything he could, he looked up at the sky,
pointedly not looking at Harvey. Still dark as could be. Hopefully
they had a few more hours before dawn. Not that he thought anyone was
looking for them, but you could never tell. Better to err on the side
of caution.

"You look terrible, John."

"Ever looked in a mirror yourself?"

"I will never understand you. Not just with this insignificant pilot,
but on this planet. You won't stand a chance against a full Carrier
Group."

"I like hearing that. It means that Scorpy will underestimate me
again." It was pure bluff, and what was the point of bluffing someone
who was inside your head? Harvey's laughter stayed with him even after
he slammed a mental door in the creature's face.

John gritted his teeth, forcing himself to recheck his captive's
bonds, tying his legs together and finally, finally letting himself
collapse next to the heat source. Just a few hours, he told himself.
Just a little while.

Crichton's body didn't even let him waste time trying to fall asleep.
It simply went out like someone had flipped a switch. He slipped into
a slumber so deep it was practically unconsciousness.

++++

The hangar bay on the half-breed's vessel was buzzing with activity
when he walked in, dressed as a tech. No one gave him a second look, a
smaller man, slender and ordinary. They never did. A quality about him
made him nearly invisible when he wanted to be. Which was most of the
time. There were several research pods in a line against the far wall,
newly cleaned and fueled. Other techs scurried busily around them,
preparing for another run into the wormhole for readings. 

The pilots were not yet in the hangar, but according to the schedule
he'd seen, they soon would be. He placed himself carefully, pretending
to work on a nearby prowler that positioned him in just the right spot
to hijack a pilot when he walked by.

He had been trained for all circumstances, all climates, every
surprise. He had walked the surfaces of 50 different worlds,
impersonated hundreds of different species, wreaked havoc amongst
thousands of lives. He'd tracked criminals across light years,
assasinated heads of state, and dined with High Preklates. The matter
of disposing a pilot and replacing him in his pod was simple. 

Flying into a wormhole was simple. 

He rode the insane gravity and the eerie stretching speed as if he
were just walking down a hallway. He did not take the readings that he
was supposed to, nor did he turn back as soon as he breached the Neck
on the other side. Instead, he shot through space towards the
blue-and-white planet that sat so innocently among the stars before
him. Guiding the pod with purpose and deliberation into a spot in the
junk-cluttered orbit. It was a quick matter to set up the tiny
receivers that he had brought with him. This was the quiet part of a
mission, the part he loathed, but did well, just as he did everything
well. He would not be seen. But he could hear. He could hear
everything.

Setting the stage for invasion was simple.

++++

8.12.2005 [4:12AM]

It was beautiful out in the field. Mr. Weld's field, the one the old
man used to graze his black horse till the old gelding had died last
winter. Now it was the perfect spot for launching model rockets. He
and John came out here every other weekend or so, when they were kids,
with newer, better, more powerful rockets.

This time, he was alone. He walked through hip-high grasses, waving
and golden in the late afternoon sun, insects humming and buzzing
gently all around him. He spread his hands as he walked, letting the
soft brushes of the wheat stroke his bare arms. He felt at complete
peace, the air fresh and warm and fragrant, the sky a blue so perfect
it ached. 

There was a clearing ahead of him, he knew. A clearing where they
launched the rockets. He could feel a rising sense of dread creeping
up his spine, becoming stronger the closer he got to the clearing. And
still, he walked on.

The bugs vanished and the distant birds faded. The silence grew until
the air screamed with it. He entered the clearing. And found it in
shadow. Looking up, he saw no cloud. Looking down, he saw John
Crichton's body. 

And then the phone rang.

That particular sound in the early morning hours was never a welcome
thing. But it was never anything to ignore either. He groped out from
under the pile of tangled sheets and found his ringing cellphone
without opening his eyes.

"'Lo?" His voice sounded like someone was grinding sand under a boot
heel. Too many damned beers last night. He'd stayed on long after Mel
had left for the airport, nursing each new glass like it contained
answers to questions he didn't even want to ask. It was clearly her
fault that he'd had such an unsettling dream.

"DK?" It was Quent, his light indian accent flavoring the syllables.
"Yeah..." He cleared his throat, scooted to sit up, and rubbed at his
forehead with his free hand. He felt like shit. The clock said 4:12 am
in bleary red lines. "What is it, Quent? Somethin' wrong?"

"I don't know." Quent was nervous, or excited. It was hard to tell at
4:12 in the morning. But DK was in no state to try and fish it out of
the man.

"Just tell me, Q. I am so not capable of guessing games this early."

"The anomaly. It's back." There was a murmuring in the background
beneath Q's voice and DK thought he made out Karie's tones. "Yeah,
yeah...it's the same thing, I think. The same thing that -" He stopped
then, but DK knew what he was talking about already. They hadn't been
able to take many readings that day, and he had been in too much shock
to pay enough attention at the time, but what they had seen he would
never forget.

He was awake now, all traces of both sleep and hangover vanishing. His
heart was pounding as he threw back the covers and grabbed his
discarded pants. Cradling the phone between ear and shoulder while he
tried to pull a shirt over his head, he found his voice again.

"Where are you? Are you in the office?"

"On our way in. It was Jackson who got the call from Annie over at
NOAO. She gave him the heads up, even though it's still pretty
hush-hush. She always had that crush on John, you know."

DK nodded, hopping on one foot as he tried to pull his shoes on one at
a time.

"I always knew that annoying facet of his personality would pay off
one day," Quent chuckled in reply. "So, did she say what was going on?
What people are gonna do about it?"

"No. But I'm sure it's going to get people all worked up. It's right
in our system. Dr. Barnard thinks it might have something to do with
the unusually high solar flare activity we've had in the last year."

DK slammed out of his house, his footsteps sounding loud to his own
ears, hollow, as he ran down the walk. He slid behind the wheel of his
car. The muggy night was dark, the sky a muted brilliance of stars.
Night insects screeched in competition with the frogs that lived down
in the adjacent swampy ditch. 

"It probably does. I mean, something happened with those flares three
years ago. That was when John ..." He stopped himself before he said
it.  Time heals all wounds, yeah. Whoever said that didn't know squat
about guilt. Quent acted like he hadn't heard the slip.

"But solar flare activity has been way down in the past month, DK."

He sat in the car for a moment in silence, processing what Q had said.
Then he started the engine and backed out of his driveway with a
little squeal of tires.

"So then, Barnard must know that."

"He must. But you know how these old guys are, DK. He doesn't like
strange new things messing up his version of the Universe."

DK swooped up the ramp onto the Beeline and headed East, picking up
speed as he went.

"What are the odds of getting Phoenix up there for some readings?"

"Jackson's working on it. But DK," Quent paused then as if he were
afraid of getting the man's hopes up, "you know the odds of that
happening. The budget around here isn't what it used to be, and we're
still reeling from what happened to Farscape. At least in their eyes.
Bean counters don't forget."

"You think you need to tell me that, Q?" DK shook his head bitterly.
It was all bullshit, being on the government payroll. One of these
days space research wouldn't only be about budgets. Hopefully he'd be
around to benefit.

"I'm on my way. I'll see you in the office. At the very least maybe we
can get in on the pictures when they turn the Eyes that way."

He hung up, pressing the end button and slipping the thing into his
shirt pocket. For a brief moment he toyed with the idea of calling
Jack Crichton, but thought better of it. What would be the point? He
was having a hard enough time convincing himself that just because the
anomaly was back didn't mean that John was going to touch down at
White Sands any second now with a trunk full of souvenirs from the
void.

If anything, it only meant that there was a chance to finally
understand what went wrong those years back...and just maybe he might
at last get some closure.

++++

Her fists were a blur, her body a deadly weapon as she spun and kicked
and jabbed with an ease that had been bred into her. The bag rocked
and shuddered under her onslaught, sweat flew in droplets from her
skin, running down her forehead and stinging her eyes. She did not let
up, hammering relentlessly, trying not to think. About anything. 

It was true though.

Suddenly all the effort went out of her and she put her hands out onto
the bag, leaning heavily against it. Nausea choked her and she twisted
her body, leaping for the receptacle she had set in the corner for
water. Everything she had eaten for the midday meal came back up in a
barely digested rush and she dry heaved over the bin for a few more
microts before collapsing against the wall. She felt cold and her
headache was back. Closing her eyes she took a few deep breaths and
then used a cloth to wipe off her face and mouth.

Frell. When was this going to stop? Zhaan had not found any sign of an
invading bacteria or virus in her blood, she had theorized that it was
stress and advised Aeryn to rest.

Rest. Impossible. Resting meant that her mind would spin in endless
loops around that last moment in the shipyard of the Gammak Base. She
had known then, she had to have known what he was planning. He had
even looked at her like he was memorizing her features. She wasn't
stupid. She had known what he meant to do. Why hadn't she followed
him?

That was the question. Why was she so afraid of Earth and what it
represented? Nevermind that John was likely going back just in time to
die with his people. Nevermind that. Even before any of that had
happened she had not wanted to go with him.

Did she not love him?

The question actually brought a smile to her lips at its absurdity. If
there was any one thing she was certain of, it was that. She brought
her hands up to scrape the loose tendrils of her hair back against her
scalp, still not opening her eyes.

She loved him. The only love of her life, she knew. For she would
never allow this to happen to her again. Why hadn't she wanted to go
with him? She had no place of her own and he had become hers in a way
that the Peacekeepers never were. She was scared of his homeworld, of
course. Justifiably so after their experience on the False Earth. But
it was not just that.

Insecurity? Perhaps. The thought of following him to his homeworld, a
place where she would be a pariah, where she would be the oddity,
where she would stand out like a Luxan among Hynerians - it was
daunting. No, not just daunting. It was a matter of placing her faith
and her trust into one man. That he would love her. That he would not
abandon her there.

Hezmana. The thought of it. Of being trapped on a strange primitive
planet for the rest of her life without even the one thing that she
had gone there for. It would become her prison.

And that had to be it. She had been unable, in the end, to put her
faith in John Crichton. To trust him with her very existence. She
wasn't sure that she could be as strong as he had been, a stranger in
a crowd of aliens.

"Aeryn?" She didn't open her eyes as Chiana walked cautiously into the
room. She was too tired, too ill and too heartsick to care if the
Nebari was there or not. Let the girl chatter. It would simply wash
over her like so much wasted breath.

The squeak and creak of leather announced that the girl had settled
down next to her.

"Ugh, what is that smell?"

Aeryn did not move or answer her. The clatter of the bin told her that
Chiana was moving the thing away from them. She could smell the sweet
scent that the girl liked to slather over her body. It actually helped
settle her stomach a bit.

"Look, Aeryn. Zhaan didn't tell me anything about what happened out
there, but D'Argo gave me the edited version. There wasn't anything
you could have done differently."

Aeryn smiled then, she couldn't help it. The thought of this child
counselling her. As if the young nebari could even comprehend anything
that Aeryn was feeling. She cracked her eyes open and rolled her head
against the wall to look into the darkly lashed eyes.

"Thank you, Chiana, but I don't think that you know what you are
talking about."

The girl's expression hardened then, surprising Aeryn.

"You think you know so much more than I do, Aeryn? Let me tell you
what it was like to think that my brother was dead. For my whole life,
my *whole life*, he was all I had. You try and imagine what it was
like to think that he was gone forever."

"I think I can." Aeryn's smile was gone and Chiana nodded slightly.

"Maybe you think you can, but you can still go back. He's not dead,
Aeryn."

"How do you know that, Chiana?" she snapped, already impatient with
being lectured.

"You don't know that he is! D'Argo said the wormhole was still open
when we left."

Aeryn raised her eyebrows, saying nothing.

"Oh come on! All I'm saying is that you can sit and mope for the rest
of your life about losing Crichton or you can do something about it."

"You don't know what you're talking about." She repeated, tipping her
head back against the wall again.

"You're just being stupid now. You have two choices. Stay or go. And
ok, one isn't a sure thing...its dangerous and treacherous, and yeah,
he might not even still be alive. But the other one means that you
punch your bag and fly your ship and go back to being exactly what you
were before. Go ahead and pretend it doesn't mean anything to you. You
can lie to me and to Zhaan all you want, but you know the real truth.
You're the one you have to live with."

It was awkward and inelegant, but the child cut right to the point.
Could she follow Crichton? Or follow her heart? What if they were both
the same path?

She looked back over at Chiana then, a small sad smile curling the
edges of her mouth. She reached out and touched a white strand of
silky hair, tugging it free of where it stuck to the corner of her
mouth.

"How can you be sure that's not a mistake?" Chiana didn't smile, her
expression remained serious.

"I can't. You can't. But I think I can see certain things more clearly
than you. Big bad peacekeeper tries so hard not to have emotions, not
to let them take control." She did grin then, just a little thing.
"But emotion is all I am, Aeryn. I'm intimately acquainted with the
highs and lows. I understand what you're feeling, even if you don't."

Aeryn reached out and squeezed the girl's knee. She hadn't decided out
loud. Not yet. But on some level she already guessed what she would do
next. If she didn't do it, she would torment herself until she forced
her own hand.

"Aeryn?" The voice came from the doorway and both women looked up to
see Zhaan standing there. The sebacean grimaced slightly. Since when
did her workout turn into a public spectacle?

"Yes, Zhaan?" Her mind was already spinning and trundling around the
decision she thought she had come to.

"May I have a private moment?"

Aeryn glanced at Chiana and the girl unfolded to her feet gracefully.

"Remember what I said." She tossed the remark over her shoulder as she
exited and Aeryn smiled.

"Chiana..." The girl stopped and Aeryn met her eyes, "thanks."

The Nebari grinned and vanished out the door. Aeryn pushed herself up
the wall, some of the shakiness gone from her limbs. She rubbed at her
arms as Zhaan walked forward into the room. The Delvian glanced
briefly at the offending receptacle that Chiana had moved into the
corner and then back at Aeryn. Her expression was difficult to read.

"What is it, Zhaan?"

"I have been trying to determine what it is that afflicts you, my
dear, and I think I know what it is now."

"You said that it wasn't a virus." She leaned down to pick up her
towel, scrubbing the drying sweat from her limbs.

"It's not." Zhaan lifted her chin, staring intently at Aeryn. "You're
pregnant."

Aeryn froze, the towel halfway up one arm. She stared. The Delvian was
serious.

"Well, frell me dead."

+++

So many different languages, a diversity that civilized space did not
usually display on a self-contained world. He switched through channel
after channel, making rapid decisions about which voice to discard,
which to monitor. He disregarded titles and names, scanning with a
speed that many could not match without his training.

A small sip of water, a tablet of nutrients that would let his body
absorb without creating waste products. No sleep.

Economic and cultural stature. Military presence and might. These
things were important to him. He narrowed in on them with a skill that
spoke of years of experience. 22.5 arns after he had entered orbit, he
had the information he needed.

+++

8.12.2005  [7:20PM]

It was a bright and cheery day, the sort where you expected
butterflies to flutter through fields of daisies and birds to chirp
from flowering tree branches. It made it all the more bitter, somehow.
The world should be a gray and grim place. Humorless and joyless.

Melissa and DK stood to either side of him at the end of a long, paved
walkway. A white-washed building that lay at the end of the path. He
could hear his own heartbeat. DK was saying something to him,
squeezing his shoulder even as Mel squeezed his hand. His sister's
eyes were wet and red.  His were bone dry. It hurt to blink.

"We have to go in now, John." That was Mel's voice, echoing like she
spoke through a tube. She and DK left him standing there, walking
together towards the building that seemed to crouch like an omen at
the end of the path. 

He did not move. He could see his Dad waiting in the doorways, his
arms open.

"Come away, John. You don't want to go there."

He was so relieved to hear the words that he felt weak. He did not
want to go into the building. He looked over to see who held his arm,
who guided him back into the parking lot.

Harvey smiled benignly back at him.

The red light of the setting sun greeted him as he opened his puffy,
gritty eyes. Groaning softly, he pushed himself up onto his hands.
Damn it all. The clone. Again. At least Harvey had only been playing a
passive role in that particular cheerfest, there would be no more
attempts to shut down his internal systems. Somehow he was sure of
that. 

The little heat source still burned, telling him that, at the least,
48 arns - hours - had not passed yet. That was something. But the
setting sun also told him that he had slept the full day through. The
skin on the side of his face felt tight and hot. He was going to have
one hell of a weird sunburn.

His eyes felt like they were full of sand and he rubbed at them
wearily. He was sick to his stomach and still tired, but at least he
wasn't on the verge of unconsciousness. Blinking he peered across the
little burning brick and saw that his new best pal was still asleep.

Forcing his stiff limbs to cooperate, he staggered to his feet and
moved slowly across the tiny clearing. Fingers to the man's neck, he
found himself oddly relieved that the pilot was still alive. Mr.
Peacekeeper even seemed a little better, as much as he could tell. The
color was a little higher in his cheeks and the pupils weren't so
dialated anymore. He untied the man's legs and then squatted next to
him to carefully eat another packet of rations.

The Everglades were settling down for the night all around them and he
took the opportunity to lean back against the tree with Peacekeeper
Pete and enjoy the sunset, watching as it painted the swamp a glowing
orange. Birdcalls echoed across the water and he followed a pair of
Great Blue Herons with his eyes as they winged silently across the
darkening sky.

He was covered with mosquito bites from his long sleep and he
scratched at them idyly, not minding in the least. He knew that he
needed to plan, knew that he was on a ticking clock, but for the
moment he could do nothing. The PK pilot presented a problem.

He amused himself for a moment. PK pilot presented a pesky problem.
Peculiarly pesky problem...

"Who the frell are you?"

The husky voice startled him and he actually jumped. There was still
enough light to see the man's features, and to see that Petey was
staring at him.

"Christ. You scared the hell out of me. How you feeling?" Crichton
pushed to his knees, keeping a decent distance between them. The man
might be loosely tied, but he was still the enemy. Not to be trusted.

Petey stared at him for a long moment, heavy-lidded eyes sweeping up
and down John, taking in the black uniform suit that Aeryn had stolen
for him what seemed like years before on the base.

"Are you from the Base? What are you doing here?" the man was blinking
slowly and his words were slightly off cadence. The concussion was
still a factor. John lifted a cup of water to his lips and let him
drink while he tried to figure out what to tell the man. By the time
Pete finished off the cup, he had already decided to just be
straightforward.

"I'm not from the base. I followed you here through the wormhole. To
stop you from bringing back a report."

The pilot furrowed his brow, looking down at the blanket covering him,
eyeing the only remaining part of his ship that was visible just above
the waterline.

"You... you helped me? I thought you said you were here to stop me.
Are you a Disruptor?"

John shook his head, a small smile on his face as he poured another
cup of water.

"Yup, yup and nope. My name is John Crichton. This is my homeworld."

Another long stare. The poor guy was gonna burn out a brain circuit if
he thought any harder.

"John Crichton." He said the name with a touch of amazement. John
supposed that if you followed Scorpy around long enough, eventually
you would hear the name 'John Crichton' bandied about. He must have
been the subject of talk over many a water cooler on the Carrier.

"In the flesh. No autographs." He handed the man the second cup and
Pete took it like a man in a dream. He clearly still did not
understand what had happened.

"I was trying to land..." he sipped the water thoughtfully. "I think I
crashed. Not used to flying in atmosphere, no beacons, strange air
pressure. Wasn't trained for it."

"I noticed."

Petey examined the collapsible poly cup, still half full of water.

"Why are you helping me?" His brow was deeply furrowed in confusion.

John shrugged.

"I guess that would be the 64,000 dollar question. I don't know what
to tell you buddy. I guess it's just a flaw of mine, not killing
people in cold blood." Even as the words left his mouth he had a flash
of all the Peacekeepers he had killed on the Gammak base not 24 hours
before. He swallowed and looked away. War. That was what he had called
it. Was saving this pilot part of his own personal attempt at penance?

"If you came here to help your world, why aren't you doing so? The
Carrier Group will be here within the weeken. There will be no
hesitation as soon as they see that the wormhole can be navigated
safely."

John nodded, grim.

"I know, pal. But I couldn't leave you to die out here. Now that
you're up though, you get to come along. I may have saved your life,
but I still want to keep an eye on you." He grinned almost ferally. "I
know how you fellas work. I don't think I want to turn you loose out
here."

Petey nodded, finally understanding.

"I am a prisoner then."

"Sure. Whatever you want to call it. Can you walk?"

The pilot looked down and then tested his muscles.

"I think so." John untied his legs, leaving the wrists bound as he
helped the bigger man to stand. "My name, by the way, is Tynan Werryn.
6th Dragar Regiment. I used to be a fighter pilot before I was demoted
to scout." There was pride in his voice when he spoke of his regiment,
and Crichton fought back a surge of emotion. He knew of another proud
pilot.

"Ok, Al, this is the plan. I've got everything I need in those two
packs. You carry one. You walk in front of me. I tell you where to
go." Tynan tested his legs and seemed to find them suitable, if a
little unsteady. Quite the duo they made, John thought. A couple of
rubber-legged guys hauling makeshift packs through the everglades at
night. It was already very dark out. No moon.

He picked up a handheld light and gave it to Tynan, then he pulled his
pistol out from his belt. He waved it amiably at the man to get him
moving after he'd helped strap one of the packs on. Tynan seemed mild
enough, but Crichton wasn't stupid. Peacekeepers were not trained to
give up so easily.

Tynan took one step into the water at the edge of the hammock and
paused, looking back at John. He nodded and gestured him on. They
needed to head North. Hopefully they were not too far into the glades
or it was going to be a long hike.

And he didn't have a lot of time.

++++

His name was Sallo Kray and he was very good at what he did. 

He was somewhat of an experiment within the Peacekeepers, a personal
project of Von Duvlarr's back before the man had risen to High
Preklate. Kray's parents were chosen, not for their physical
attributes, but for their mental skills. They had been bred
specifically for that purpose, and the result had been him. Surely,
not a large man, nor even a striking one, he was slender and
sharp-looking and the sort that blended into the background.

It was exactly what Duvlarr had wanted, of course. The perfect thing,
he had said time and time again, for anonimity. Peacekeepers as a
whole, Duvlarr had muttered to him once when he was a teen, were a
predictible bunch. They loved the idea of the perfect soldier. Strong
of body and sound in discipline. A fighting machine. The Peacekeepers,
as a result, were strong, yes. But also easily manipulated.

Kray had learned from his sponsor. An apt teacher, and one to emulate.
The example the man provided could not have been better, for before
Sallo was even a teen, Von had been made High Preklate. Not because he
was the strongest, but because he knew that knowledge was power.
Especially when those around you did not realize that simple fact.
Duvlarr had never stooped to the vulgarities of assassination except
it was called for. He preferred to use people's own weaknesses against
them. It was an invisible way to control. It was brilliant.

And so Duvlarr had nurtured Kray with discipline of the mind. The
small man would have never been more than a glorified tech otherwise.
Instead, he had become legendary among Disruptors for the things he
had accomplished. No one knew that he served Duvlarr before he served
the Peacekeepers. Sallo was simply a very talented Disruptor with a
mysterious, high ranking protector. It was not unusual for Disruptors
to have sponsors, but it was unusual for them to secretly answer only
to that sponsor. 

Sallo Kray had only failed once on all his missions. Once. And that
had been his first. He had vowed never again. Now, at 38 cycles old,
he was secure in his own sense of self worth. His body had been
modified to match what nature had not seen fit to give him. He was the
best Disruptor the Peacekeepers had ever had. And Duvlarr had ordered
him through the wormhole to do what he did best.

His mind was on nothing but the intelligence he had gleaned from the
satellite signals. The scanner readings he had taken showed the
faintest of plasma trails leading down on the vector he had already
chosen for himself. The scout that he had been warned about, the one
sent by the half-breed abomination. Interesting that the pilot had
chosen the same course as he had. Clearly Scorpius had had some prior
knowledge. Facsinating. It was something to keep in mind.

It was only once he swept low over the swamplands the scout had chosen
that his scanners picked up not one, but two ships hidden crudely
below. Scorpius had only mentioned one vessel had been sent. Another
lie? Or perhaps something else?

He circled in and splashed down with a maneuver designed to be as
quiet as possible. Immediately, he discarded his flight suit,
revealing a tight, nearly invisible uniform that cleverly reflected
its surroundings. His weapons he tucked into hidden compartments
throughout the suit and he moved silently and rapidly to both vessels.
The first was a pod like his stolen one. The second was a true
scouting ship, damaged from a poor landing and almost fully submerged
in the swamp.

What he found the most interesting of all, however, was the fact that
both pilots seemed to be working together. He found two sets of tracks
leading east in the glow of his night-focals. Not too far ahead,
either. He could see the latent heat trails of their passing through
the murky waters.

He followed.

++++

She sat cross-legged in the center of the terrace, staring out at
nothing in particular. Her back was straight, her hands rested lightly
on her knees. She felt peaceful, still, for the first time since she
and D'Argo had returned from the Wormhole.

Chiana's words had not triggered anything in her that had not already
been there. She knew that. Zhaan's news had not solidified any
decision that she needed to make. What it had come down to was simple
enough. She had to decide if she would make a leap of faith. And it
had nothing to do with Crichton after all. It was all about her. Was
she ready?

Because if she wasn't, then everything she had feared for so long
would prove itself founded. But if she was ... well. If she was, then
her path was clear.

Her hands moved from her knees to her midsection and she frowned
slightly, trying to imagine what it would feel like. What it meant.
She still wasn't even sure herself of how she felt about it. So far it
had only instigated an odd sense of strength. Purpose, perhaps.

She would not, she knew, go after Crichton for the child. She would
not go after him because she loved him. She would not go *after* him
at all. What she would do was simply go. She would go because she
wanted to belong somewhere. And because he had said she could belong
there. She did belong with him.

Aeryn took a deep breath and tilted her head back to look at the stars
again. It was not a simple decision. To leave Moya, to leave the
people here who had become her family. Crichton had done it a weeken
before, but he had done it because he had no choice. She did.

And she made it freely. At last, she made it freely. Ironically, she
found that she was only able to do it *because* John was not there.

She leaned back on the heels of her hands and exposed her neck to the
sky, hanging her head down until her hair spilled against the decking.
She could feel the hum of the living ship beneath her skin and feel
the Universe spin on its vast axis around her. She understood then,
just why John loved to come and lie up here. She smiled out into
space. It was chilly on the Terrace.

But she was not cold.


++++

8.13.2005  [5:45AM]


"Come on pal, stay awake." John reached out and slapped the older man
on his cheek, hard. Tynan shook his head, reeling a little and
catching himself on a peeling, spindly cypress trunk. The sky was
beginning to lighten with dawn and he could see the pilot's features.
Exhausted, drawn and haggard. Probably pretty much what he looked like
himself.

"Uhh... I...thank you. I'm fine now." He cleared his throat and nodded
to show that he was ready to continue. John stared at him a little
longer and then gestured on. In a little while, he would be able to
turn off the handlight. Unfortunately, the coming sun would mean a
return of the muggy heat Florida was known for.

"Tell me," Tynan said after they had walked for another half mile,
slogging through calf deep water. "We knew why Captain Crais did it,
but why did Scorpius chase you for so long? Many of us wondered. Did
you steal something from him?"

"You mean you never heard? He said it to me so often, I can still hear
his words in my sleep." He put on his best Scorpy imitation. "'I need
the wormhole calculations that are stored in your brain, John'. Christ
the guy never let up."

Tynan stopped dead in the water, turning to look back at John.

"Wormhole calculations? You mean, that was why he wanted you so badly?
I didn't realize you were a scientist." He said it like he was shocked
that a non-sebacean was even capable of sophisticated thought. John
decided not to take it personally.

"Probably not in the definition of the word as you might think, but
yeah. I am. More of a test pilot, actually. But it goes with the job."

Tynan nodded.

"Test pilot. Very dangerous."

"Yeah, tell me about it." John twisted his lips a little, picking his
feet up to step over a root. Water splashed and sloshed around his
legs as he found the bottom again, touching a tree trunk briefly for
support. "How about you? You said you were demoted. Why?" Tynan eyed
him and John could almost detect a wry glint in his expression.

"Because of you, actually." Oh, that was great. Just what he needed,
tramping through the middle of the everglades with a PK holding a
grudge.

"Oh? What did I do this time? Kill one of your family members? Run
over your dog?"

"Well, nothing directly. My regiment was assigned to find you right
after you destroyed the Gammak base - the first Gammak base. We
failed. Scorpius picked four of us as examples, and we were demoted to
scouts." The big man shrugged then. "Don't worry. I'm no Bilar Crais.
I hold no grudges. Life is too short."

John actually laughed out loud. A short bark of sound that echoed
through the lightening swampland.

"Are you sure you're a Peacekeeper? I thought grudges were standard
modus operandi."

Tynan looked back at him again, and in the new light Crichton saw a
face that was lined with more than combat. It occurred to him once
more that he had never really ta lked to any Peacekeepers except the
one he was in love with and the ones who were clinically insane.

"If you judge all Peacekeepers by Captain Crais and Scorpius, then you
are in for a surprise." Tynan could have been reading his mind.

John held up his hands, grinning.

"Hey, hey. No. Not at all. Some of my best friends are Peacekeepers."
He chuckled weakly. "It's just that I've never really met any who are
as ... uh ... mellow...level-headed... easy-going as you are. You all
seemed so hard-nosed, you know." Tynan actually chuckled.

"I've seen a number of things in my life, boy. Things that you can't
help but learn from. The Universe is not black and white. The
Peacekeepers believe it is, in general."

John grinned.

"Did you just call me 'boy'?" Tynan went on like he hadn't heard, but
his lips twitched slightly.

"We're just trained from an early age to follow orders. Don't hold it
against us."

John's face went hard then, all humor draining from it.

"I'll hold it against you if you come knocking down my door, pal."
Tynan was silent for a long series of splashing footsteps.

"Yes. They will. I know. And they will win. I'm sorry, but it's what
we do. We do it well."

"Not if I can help it," John grumbled. Tynan did not look back again,
but his graying head bobbed up and down a little as if he was agreeing
with some silent truth.

"When you say it, I believe you, John Crichton. You managed to elude
both Crais and Scorpius for two cycles. One an obsessed madman, and
the other a coldly brilliant mastermind. If anyone else were to tell
me such a thing, I would laugh."

John did not miss the fact that Tynan was not laughing. He chuckled
softly.

"It's nice to know I have a fan club."

"I'm sure you have no idea, human." The voice came from ahead of them,
and the two men froze, water lapping around their knees from the
sudden stop. Tynan shone his light around in the direction of the
voice and they found themselves facing a stranger. Not very tall,
unremarkable looking with dark hair and dark eyes, he wore a uniform
that immeditely marked him as a non-local. Peacekeeper.

Even without the uniform it would have been obvious by the pulse
pistol in his steady grip and the superior expression on his face.

Neither Crichton nor Tynan said anything.

"So this is John Crichton." The man tilted his head slightly to one
side, studying him. John got the eerie impression that the man could
see him very clearly even without a light. It hit him then, fucking
Disruptor, that's what he was. "You look hardly worth all the effort
and energy." His voice was mild. He wasn't moving from the dry hammock
he stood on a few feet from them. There was no way John, in two feet
of water, would be able to move before he would be sporting several
new smoking holes in his chest. The man lifted his eyebrows slightly,
flicking his gaze to Tynan.

"Fraternizing with the enemy, scout? I believe you know the term
'irreversible contamination'?" Crichton was experiencing deja vu in a
terrible way. 

"Hey! Waitaminute there, pal. He's my prisoner. See?" Crichton jerked
his chin at Tynan's loose bonds. "He's not fraternizing."

Those dark eyes looked as cold and flat as a reptiles. John refrained
from shivering as the Disruptor flicked his gaze between them again.

"Such a charming species you are, human. Overflowing with compassion
and kindness. I can't believe that you haven't been conquered before
now." Regardless of his words, the man flipped his weapon at Tynan,
gesturing him over. Without glancing at John, the older pilot sloshed
forward and held out his wrists obediently to the Disruptor. A flash
of a blade confirmed that the guy's profession. It wasn't everyone who
got to have weapons inserted into their skeletal structure.

Tynan shook his wrists out, rubbing them idly as he studied John from
the dry hammock. Crichton was starting to realize that saving the man
had not been the best thing he could have done. His whole world was
going to die because he had waited for Tynan to recover instead of
rushing to warn who he could.

"What was the plan, John Crichton? Were you going to rally your
people? Gather everyone together just long enough to die when we crush
your primitive little world? It might have been amusing to see. Too
bad you won't get a chance."

"If we're so doomed, why do you care what I do?" He was mentally
calculating how long it would take to dash behind the nearest cover.
Too long, any way he looked at it. 

"Good question. The answer is simple. I don't believe in being stupid.
You have done things that no one would have believed possible simply
because you were underestimated. I will make no such error." His eyes
were made all the more chilling by their gruesome intelligence. John
was more than certain that he could not manipulate this man.

And he was given no other warning before the Disruptor, totally
disregarding the whole 'Bad Guy Rule #1' that disallowed shooting the
good guy until he had time to figure out what to do, fired his weapon.
All his intentions flew out the window. There was no time to even dive
out of the way before a bolt slammed into his chest, spinning him
around to crack through a skinny tree trunk. 

The pain was incredible, waves of it surging and overwhelming his
brain with warning signals. He felt consciousness fluttering fragilely
against the back of his eyes, his limbs losing the ability to remain
rigid. The world tilted dangerously and he became distantly aware that
murky water was filling his nose and mouth.

With every last molecule of his will, he fought to remain conscious.
There was a thinking part of his brain that knew that no Sebacean save
one understood human anatomy. This Disruptor would not know that he
had not killed him. He let his eyes roll back, an easy thing, and
slumped into the swamp, going still.

Voices wavered in and out of his awareness as he lay there, feeling
water soak into his uniform, feeling the taste of grit against his
tongue. Tynan's voice was cool and neutral. Obedient. Disciplined.
Good little soldier.

He couldn't hang on any longer. Blackness closed in.

++++

8.13.2005  [9:15AM]


"You know, I heard this crap from you three years ago. Haven't you let
it go yet? Pure sci-fi nonsense. We deal with the real world here."
Quent's voice was sharp and annoyed. Karie was glaring at their
co-worker like he was a moron when DK walked into the lab with a
cardboard tray of Starbucks. Their arguing was normal enough. It had
nothing to do with the fact that they had been in the lab for over 24
hours running. 

Jackson was working quietly at his own terminal, toggling through the
readings that were coming in from the anomaly. Leaving the pair
arguing theory, he brought Jackson his latte and leaned over his
shoulder.

"What do you think?" His voice was low as his eyes scanned the columns
of numbers. Jackson took a sip of the steaming cup and closed his eyes
briefly in pleasure before answering.

"About them? That they're crazy. And that Karie might have something."

DK popped the plastic lid off his cup and dumped two sugar packets in
before lifting his eyes in interest to his friend. 

"Seriously? I had meant about the readings you were looking at, but
you really think that Karie could be right about this wormhole
nonsense?" The pair of them looked across the room to where the two
were still shaking papers and jabbing at equations. Jackson shrugged
and gestured to his own screen.

"The numbers seem to make sense if you apply white hole math to them.
And these readings," he gestured at a string of numbers with his red
plastic stirrer, "I have no idea what they are. If the things we've
always theorized about Wormholes are true, then it could be Exotic
Matter we're looking at here."

DK rubbed at his head with both hands and straightened his back.
Wormholes. It was science fiction. A doorway through the space time
continuum. 

"Is this it? This is all the data?"

Jackson nodded, looking up at him over the rim of his cup as he took
another sip

"This is it. Howard is demanding an explanation for why we
commandeered the Eye, and we're gonna have to give him something. I
think we should just give him the Wormhole theory."

Karie heard him, her dark head snapping up. She waggled her hand at
Quent.

"See? Jackson agrees with me. You're just too damned narrow minded,
Quent. I have no idea sometimes how you even got into this field."

The other man flung his own hands up and stalked to where DK had left
the coffee cups.

"I can't believe you guys are supporting this crap. Everyone knows
that wormholes can't exist. The theory is too unstable. You could
never get two singularities to connect."

"Jackson thinks he might have the readings on Exotic Matter, Q." DK
hid a smile behind his cup, enjoying baiting the man. Quent was his
friend, but he could be infuriatingly unbending sometimes.

"What?" Quent froze just as he reached for the coffee cup. Karie
gasped.

"Why haven't you said anything?!" She stalked over to his computer and
leaned over, her green eyes scanning the screen quickly. "You just let
us stand over there arguing, didn't you." Despite her scolding, her
lips were stretched in a smile. "He's right! Come and look, Q. Look!"

Quent was already on his way, his ire forgotton in the face of a
possible discovery. DK knew what it meant. Wormholes worked only in
theory, made stable by something scientists named, for lack of any
other term, Exotic Matter. Since no one knew what sort of thing would
be capable of binding a black and a white hole through a fold in
space, no one knew what to look for. It was all very shaky.

But this. Well, if it *was* a wormhole, it might be a doorway.

"We need to get a probe or something up there. We need to *see* it!"
Karie was breathless, her coffee clutched forgotton in her hand.

"Oh yeah, that's gonna happen." Quent was shaking his head. "This
could be anything. Just because we can't regonize it, doesn't mean its
Exotic."

"But it *could* be."

Q made a noise in the back of his throat that showed just what he
thought of 'coulds'.

"In any event," DK leaned one hip against the table, "we have to
report this. I'm sure there are others who have their own opinions.
We're not the only ones who have been watching this baby, I bet."

No one was saying it, the one thing that they were all thinking. This
was the same sort of anomaly that had destroyed the Farscape One and
their friend. If it was a wormhole... God. If it was a wormhole, what
if... what if John were alive?

++++

Step one. Go through the wormhole.

Step two. Find John Crichton.

Simple enough. Aeryn chuckled grimly to herself as she expertly
maneuvered the tiny pod through the debris field, keeping its
movements erratic. 

She had to sneak up on them. If John had been right and there was
going to be an entire Carrier Group massed around the wormhole when
she got there, it would be much easier to lose herself amongst the
other PK ships. It was lucky that they had kept the one-man pod she'd
escaped in only days before.

Emerging near the remains of the Gammak base, she peered down to see
the dead moon swarming with movement. They would repair it, she knew.
It was only a matter of time. As John would say, the cat was out of
the brig now. Until Scorpy and his amassed knowledge died, the
Peacekeepers would never stop striving for the wormhole technology.

And there it was. She felt a coldness clamp around her spine as she
looked into its queasy spinning, the hypnotic quality of the light's
movement. Glancing at her newly repaired scanners, she could see that
the Wormhole was not alone. Far from it. It was not an entire Group,
but there was a full Carrier and compliment hanging stationary at a
good distance from the wormhole. She recognized the red-painted
prowlers and the insignia on the Carrier itself as being High Command.
A High Preklate was here.

She'd already cataloged all her insecurities, suffered all the
speeches, all the arguments. If there was one thing that Aeryn Sun
did, it was stick to a decision once she made it. She'd made her
tearful goodbyes to the people she had come to call family. This was a
place they could never go, nor would she ask them to. It was another
chapter of her life, closed. Grimly, she shot onwards towards the
gaping maw.

She was faster than the Prowlers that would be patrolling. She had no
doubt that she could make it. She would just take a deep breath and
go. And then she would see what happened.

Not the best plan in the world, but she didn't think there was any
trickier way around it. With any luck, they might think she was just a
random research pod. She had seen a few go in and out. It was actually
good that she was not flying a Prowler or other, more conspicuous
vessel. Peacekeepers were somewhat predictable in being able to ignore
anything that did not have weapons.

Swallowing her fears and her concerns, she pushed the throttle up and
tried to look as much like the other research pods as she could.
Scientists were not great pilots. She tried not to fly like a warrior.
Easy, she thought with a small humorless grin. Just fly like Crichton.

Her pod shot past the research vessel, past uncaring wings of
Prowlers, between two Reavers and under a Destroyer.

And then: down the gullet of the Wormhole.

++++

8.13.2005  [10:22AM]


"Well, John, you've done it this time, haven't you?"

"Go away." it was a muttered plea.

"If only I could. You won't let me."

He still stood at the end of the walkway. The clone was now at his
side, DK and Mellisa long gone. The path stretched before him, the
gaping doorway of the white building still beckoned. Glancing down, he
could see that his suit was dark with blood. Not his own this time, it
belonged to someone else.

"Why don't you want me to go in there, Harv?" He forced himself to ask
it.

"You don't really want to know, do you, John?" The Clone's voice was
light, conversational. "I don't think you do."

"No." Why did he feel such shame?

His shoulder hurt. A lot. His mouth tasted like swamp water. He had
been shot, he recalled even as he stared at the funeral home. Was he
dead?

"No. John. You are not, unfortunately, dead. Why, I don't know. You
*should* be dead by all rights. A Disruptor rarely makes a mistake of
this magnitude."

John sighed.

"But Harv, I'm unconscious in a swamp. I'll be dead soon enough."

The clone only narrowed his eyes at John. Why was he so angry?

"John Crichton? John Crichton!"

The voice was low and urgent. He cracked his eyes open and snapped
them shut just as quickly as sunlight streamed straight into his
brain. Groaning, he swallowed thickly and nearly gagged on all the
grit and sand in his mouth. Hands helped him roll onto his side and he
retched blindly onto the ground, dry grasses prickling his face. 

Oh Lord. It hurt. The pain was not debilitating, it had receeded to a
full-body throb, but it *hurt*. He pressed his cheek into the dirt for
a moment, catching his breath and trying to assemble his thoughts into
some semblance of order.

"Lie still a moment. I didn't know how much atinex to give you, so it
might react badly with your system."

Atinex. PK painkiller. He cranked his eyes open again, squinting
through the light. Tynan, for god's sake. He tried to wrap his fuzzy
brain around it. The last he'd seen, the man had been back with his
own, the nice warm blanket of orders to take wrapped around his
shoulders.

"Tynan?" His voice was a rasp and he spit out some more mud and
debris. "What...?"

The big man maneuvered him until John lay with his head cushioned on
one leg.

"Kray sent me to take your ship back through the wormhole. He felt
that I should report to the High Preklate that you had somehow gotten
through, but that he had disposed of you."

John blinked.

"And why aren't you winging your way back home as we speak?" His voice
was gravely, harsh. He had to close his eyes against the sun and the
pain. The atinex was working in terms of actual pain, but he was
starting to feel nauseous and lightheaded. The drug also had to be
part of why his eyes hurt so much. He felt a strangely gentle hand
come up to cover his closed lids, blissfully blocking out the glaring
light beating against them.

"You saved my life. You didn't abandon me in the swamp as any
Peacekeeper would have done. The Disruptor would have killed me
himself if he hadn't seen me as a handy messenger. You are lucky that
Peacekeepers are so predictable, he simply assumed that I would follow
his orders because everyone always does."

John nodded minutely under the hand and waited, knowing there had to
be more.

"Scorpius sent me in as a preemptive move against the coming Carrier
Group. They said that a High Preklate would be leading the Group. This
Disruptor must be here as insurance. Scorpius doesn't know about him,
I'm sure. There will be a political game played out over there, John
Crichton, it might just buy you a little more time while they posture
and jockey for position."

John was shaking his head.

"Off the record. How much time do you think we really have?" He opened
his eyes just a little, pushing up Tynan's hand and looking into the
older man's grizzled face.

"As I said before, you might have a weeken at the most. The Group will
take a few solar days to gather, and then there will be bickering
among the generals about how to make the strike. None of them have
flown through a wormhole, so they will be cautious, wanting others to
take the risk of going first. They will also possibly fear a trap on
Scorpius's part. There are not many in Command who do not hate him for
what he is. They certainly do not trust him."

"Sounds like I should start a club, then." John didn't smile at his
own joke, closing his eyes again. "Back to topic. What do you expect
to do now, Al? Now that you've repaid your debt? I have to know."

The Peacekeeper did not hesitate.

"What I would normally do would be to find a way to communicate with
my base ship, but I can't do that with a wormhole between us. My role
in such an event is not clearly defined. But my training tells me that
I should do what I can for the cause, no matter my situation. In this
case," he stopped and looked at Crichton, "I should have done what the
Disruptor ordered." 

But he hadn't. That fact spoke louder than any explanation.

"Would you... help me?" He'd been wanting to ask it for a while, but
he'd been afraid of the answer, afraid to beg. At this point he would
not be able to do much more than lie in the swamp and groan pitifully
without the man. "Help me save my world?"

Tynan made a small noise, shifting under John's head slightly. He
smelled like sweat and swamp and Chakan Oil. The rank humidity was
already sending beads of his own sweat rolling down his face and neck. 

"I couldn't help you do that without a fleet at my back, son."

John closed his eyes again, his heart sinking. He was so tired.

"But let me tell you a story now, John Crichton."

Like he was in a position to refuse. He nodded weakly. The atinex was
making him numb and diconnected, but at least the pain was dulling.

"When I was perhaps 20 cycles old, I went on my third campaign to a
world called Hevvoss V. I was very proud of who I was, I was an
excellent pilot with an amazing record for my age. Although we
normally engage the enemy ship to ship, every once in a while we
attack en masse when it's a larger more powerful opponent. In the case
of Hevvoss V, we were not asked to fight. We were told to kill.
Murder. At the time, I didn't know the difference between what I did
in battle and what I was asked to do that day. Hevvoss V was a dome
world. Their atmosphere had burned away long, long ago and the people
retreated under world-domes. They were a peaceful and artistic race,
they made these beautiful little glass sculptures that would sing when
you touched them. They are very rare now."

John grimaced. 

"You know what happened, then. You can guess. We were ordered to make
strafing runs on the Domes. See, they had a planetary defense net that
they would not lower for the Commander of the Group I was with at the
time. He took personal offense at it. Why? He wanted to be able to
bring his Carrier anywhere he pleased. Being told no did not suit him.
He decided, all on his own, that it would not affect the universe one
way or the other if the Hevvossians were no longer a part of it. And
since he could not bring his heavy ships in close to destroy the
domes, he sent in us." Tynan was grim, looking down at his hands. "It
would have been quicker and faster if the Carriers had done the job.
With us, it took a while. We could see them, their bodies sucked into
space, the debris from their cities crushing them in a maelstrom
inside their disintigrating domes."

John heard the click of Tynan's throat as he swallowed, still haunted
with the dishonor of what he had seen. What he had done that day.

"I will help your world for the Hevvossians, John Crichton. Because
they died for no reason. Because your world is going to fall to the
same fate for no other reason than to set an example to Command. To
show them that wormholes are as powerful as they already know they
are. And I will help you because I was a part of the slaughter that
day, and I haven't been able to like myself since." He smiled then, an
expression of sincerity. "Besides, with your propensity for getting
out of tight spots, who knows what will happen?"

Indeed. If only this guy knew the half of it. That most of his
existence was based on blind, blundering luck and naievite. He levered
his eyes open once more, twisting part of his numbed body up to
awkwardly hold out his hand. Tynan looked down at it for a moment, and
Crichton actually laughed, pain spasming through his temples. It had
been so long since anyone had glanced askance at his 'Erp' customs.

"You shake it. Here, hold your good hand out." Crichton grabbed it and
pumped it weakly. His fingers felt like someone had pumped novocaine
into them. "It's meant to seal a deal. You know, good faith and all
that." Tynan nodded solemnly.

"Yes, John Crichton. Good faith."

"Call me John."

"I will." The man lifted his head and looked up at the sun then.
"John?"

"Yeah?" He wanted nothing more than to slip into a coma.

"You are turning an unpleasant color of gray."

"I am?" The words didn't sound like he had spoken them. Stars of pain
were goign supernova behind his eyes. 

"I think you might be reacting badly to the atinex." The worried voice
was getting fainter. He didn't even hear whatever else the man said.
He just slipped quietly back into the familiar dark.

Again.

++++

Von Duvvlar gently dabbed at his lips with a napkin, and then tossed
it onto the table, gesturing for Leeda to take it away. Scorpius sat
at the opposite end of the table, reclining almost indolently. Duvvlar
pretended not to notice the blatant disrespect the creature showed,
instead smiling and holding up his glass for a toast.

"To your remarkable accomplishment." Scorpius lifted his glass in kind
and they both sipped. The vitorik was excellent, of course. A thin
smile crossed the half-breed's lips as he set the glass back down and
tilted his head at Von.

"Thank you for the feast, High Preklate. It was most satisfying." He
lifted his chin slightly. "I wonder if I might ask how soon before the
rest of the Carrier Group arrives?"

"Two more solar days at the most. How have the test runs gone?"

"No mishaps beyond two pods that did not return, an acceptable loss
rate. The hole remains stable and open. I believe that once the full
might of this group is assembled we can march through and take the
world at our leisure." Von lifted his eyebrows ever so slightly.

"We?" The word was soft and almost friendly. Scorpius smiled again,
his eyes dark and sharp.

"By we, I mean the Peacekeepers, of course."

"Of course." Von sipped again, still regarding Scorpius slyly. "Tell
me, what do you want from the destruction of this world? I know what
we want from it, we being High Command, but I fail to see why you
would choose this one over others."

Scorpius' smile did not waver. He was a cool one, that was certain.

"The methods by which I obtained the wormhole calculations were
dependent on one specific set of coordinates. They just happened to
lead here. By a lovely turn of events, it just so happens that it is
the homeworld of the alien who destroyed both my Gammak Bases."

"Revenge? That seems so petty, Scorpius." Von allowed his lips to lift
in a small mocking smile. For the first time, he saw the half-Scarran
lose some of his calm. He mentally scored a tiny victory for himself.

"I would not stoop to revenge, High Preklate. I merely think of it as
evening the score. I do not really care what world we... the
peacekeepers ... use as an example with this new technology, it just
happens that it will give me some small pleasure to see this one
used."

"And after that?" This was the crux of it. How did the creature see
himself as the creator of this new tech? Where did he expect to fit
in?

"I would hope that I would be allowed to continue my work, rebuild the
Phaze Generator and open new gateways."

Well, that was obvious. "And," Scorpius tipped his head again, "I
would hope that I would be given full control over the project. After
all, I am the only one who fully understands it."

It was true, much as the rest of Command might want to deny it.

"are you saying that you would not welcome interference from High
Command?"

"I would not, High Preklate. They would only get in my way."

"A project of such magnitude would need to be overseen by someone in
the upper circles, you understand that, don't you?" Von already knew
where this was going, but he had to play the game. Scorpius only
nodded his head once, hooding his eyes. Damn the creature, but he knew
too.

"We are at an impasse then, High Preklate." The voice was smooth as
oil. "Surely there is a way to take care of this situation so that all
involved are happy?"

Von actually laughed out loud then. High Command would most certainly
*not* be happy by what Scorpius wanted, by what he was about to do. He
lifted his glass to the half breed, waiting until the black gloved
hand copied the gesture before drinking.

"I think we understand each other, sir." Von smirked. "Or should I
say, Prekla Scorpius?"

Scoprius only smiled his thin, cold smile. In the half-breed's mind,
he had never had any doubt of the outcome.

+++

8.13.2005  [8:25PM]


"Honey, the phone."

Jeff Wansetter looked up from the dining room table, his glasses
perched on the end of his nose, his fingers tangled in tying a fly.
The phone rang again, echoing harshly over the lilt of Goddard's
'Berceuse'.

"For Christ's sake, Mary. Can't you get it? My hands are full." His
wife poked her head out of the kitchen and looked him over as if she
didn't believe him. He held up both his busy hands in defiant proof.
She sighed and conceded victory to him with a grimace.

"Hello?" Her voice was low under the slicing melody of strings. He
clamped his tounge between his teeth and picked up his tweezers. "And
whom may I ask is calling?" Jeff sighed and set his tweezers down
again. Mary reappeared in the archway into the kitchen holding out the
phone. "Someone from IASA."

Damn. He pursed his lips and considered telling whoever it was to call
later, but duty got the better of him and he carefully set his work
down and took the phone from Mary's flour-stained hands with a frown.

"This is General Wansetter, who is this?"

"General, this is Howard Grevvard over at IASA. I'm sorry to bother
you, but we have some rather incredible news." 

"What sort of news?" His ire was already dwindling under the weight of
his curiousity. He parked his rear on the edge of the dining room
table and crossed his ankles.

"Some of the folks over on the Phoneix Project -"

"The one Jack Crichton's boy was killed in a few years back?"

"Yes. It was called Farscape then. But, General, they've been doing
some serious study of an interesting anomaly that's appeared in our
system-"

"Our system?" Jeff interrupted again without concern for the speaker.
This was the sort of thing he should have been alerted to.

"Yes, sir. NOAO spotted it a few days ago. These kids have been
studying it, and they have some rather fantastical theories about what
it could be."

Wansetter waited, frowning.

"Well?"

"A wormhole, General. They think its a wormhole."

Jeff was becoming impatient.

"Is this supposed to mean something to me? I always thought they were
purely theoretical."

"They are, sir. That's just it. And there's no positive proof that
that's what we're looking at here, but their arguments are
convincing."

"Suppose it is a Wormhole. What does that mean? Is it threatening?"

"Well, that depends, General. There are some that believe they are
gateways through time and space."

"Gateways? You mean-"

"Yes. Something from the other side of the Galaxy, hell, the Universe,
could possibly waltz right through."

Jeff was silent for a long moment, his brow furrowed.

"'Could', you say? That's pretty iffy. And we're not even sure that's
what this thing is, right?" Suddenly, his cellphone, the one he never
turned off, shrilled from where it sat plugged in, on the sideboard.
"Could you hold on, Grevvard?" He pressed hold on the phone and set it
on the table while he scooped up the cell.

"Wansetter."

"General." It was Lieutenant Patcher, she sounded almost breathless.
"General, we have a situation."

"What is it, Holly?"

"Something... something has just passed through the radar net over the
arctic. One of our satellites picked it up. It's moving fast, sir.
Almost too fast for our instruments to follow."

A chill ran up his spine. For a moment, he couldn't find his voice. It
was too convenient, to hear of this crazy doorway opening up and now
this.

"Have our boys moved to intercept?"

"Yes, sir. They haven't gotten visual yet. The object is heading south
towards North America."

He was already moving towards the garage, picking up his coat and hat
as he went.

"I'm on my way, Lieutenant. Have Omega Team intercept and bring it
down if you can without violence. Have a chopper waiting at the
airfield, I'll be there in two minutes."

And he was slamming out the door, leaving Howard Grevvard on hold and
his wife standing in the middle of the kitchen with her hands full of
bread dough and a frown on her face.

++++

8.14.2005  [7:01AM]


Jericho Pautler was screaming the lyrics to 'Heartbreaker' at the top
of her lungs as she barreled down the Tamiami Trail. The hum of her
Volvo's tires on the humid asphalt roared through her open window,
competing with her singing. She had a whole trunkload of new shells
and two new books of patterns. She could hardly wait to get back to
the shop with them. 

When a man stepped off the side of the road, waving his hands, the
shock nearly gave her a heartattack. She hit her brakes with a squeal
of smoking rubber, the car fishtailing to the left as she swerved to
keep from plastering him all over her grill. The car came to a
sideways halt and sputtered to a stall as she let off the clutch in
shock.

"GODDAMNIT!" She howled, hitting her steering wheel as she realized
she had narrowly managed to avoid both killing the man and herself.
Adrenaline was surging through her veins and she took serveral deep
breaths to calm herself. Yvonne had told her it was gonna be a strange
day. She shoulda listened.

Shoving her door open with all of her considerable bulk, she got out
of the car and stormed across the asphalt, her bracelets jangling as
she shook her hands at the man who still stood in the road. Just
looking at her.

"You stupid shit! Don't you know you coulda got us both killed?!" It
was only once she saw the second man that the 20/20 episode she'd seen
the month before flashed through the forefront of her mind. It had
talked about car thieves on remote roads. Predators lying in wait. It
had freaked her out at the time... the idea of preying on someone's
compassion. The creeps would pretend to lie injured on the road and
when you got out of your car to help they would steal everything.
Sometimes they would do worse. 

The stranger was a big muscular man, big enough to take even her on
easily. Her mind flashed to her mace, but it was in her purse, sitting
back on the passenger seat in her car. She twisted her head to look
for a sneaking gang of hooligans behind her, but the volvo sat
undisturbed with its door still gaping open.

The big man was gesturing at her, not threatening at all, but she
hesitated. She didn't want to be the corpse on the 7 o clock news.
Channel 4's Sandra Watters' voice echoed in her imagination: 'A woman
was found dead today on the Tamiami Trail, a span of road that bisects
the everglades. She left behind an overweight cat and two goldfish...'

"What? What is it?" She moved forward a step, cautious. The other man
was just sitting against a tree, he looked dead. She swallowed and
took another step. Her problem, she thought, was that she was a
sucker. It was her fate to end up dead on the side of the road. The
big man continued to gesture, but still said nothing. It was a little
creepy. He turned and walked over to the other man and she took note
of his military looking gear and the fact that he seemed slightly
unsteady on his feet. Had there been a car accident? If so, where was
the car?

He crouched down next to the other man, and now she could see that the
injured man was wearing similar clothing and that there was a thick
torn wrapping over his shoulder. This one was younger, and quite the
little cutie.

She took two more steps forward, glancing back once more at her
abandoned car. And then she gave in and went the rest of the way over,
crouching down in a jangle of jewelry to look at the wounded man.
Whatever. If the world ended tomorrow, she wanted to be able to say
she'd been a good samaritan if nothing else.

Cutie-Pie was in bad shape. Haggard and gaunt, his cheeks pale with
high spots of color. She'd seen her little nephew look that way at the
4th of July picnic two years before when he'd been stung by a bee.
Anaphal... anaphaltic... phaltatic? Something 'shock'.

"You need help? You need a hospital?"

Butch shook his head, grimacing and then mimed what she thought was
either a telephone or a hang-ten sign. Then he leaned over the
Cutie-Pie and gently shook him. Blue eyes cracked open and Jeri
frowned at the dazed look in his eyes. All thoughts of these two lying
in ambush were gone.

"Call. We need to call ...Erin. Call Moya. DK, I mean. Call DK
Spencer. No doctors. No time." His words sounded blurred, like his
tongue was too thick for his mouth. One of his hands came up to paw at
the older man, his fingers unable to close properly.

"All right, lets get him into the car. The nearest dip in the road is
Andytown, I can get you there in 45 minutes or so." She stood up,
dusting her purple pants off with nervous hands. There was still no
sign of other traffic, which was a good thing, considering her car was
half in and half out of the road. "Can you carry him?" Butch didn't
hesitate. He leaned down and lifted the younger man up like he weighed
nothing.

She opened her back door and began shoving all her accumulated fast
food wrappers - bags of shells and beads, assorted boxes of copper
wiring she'd bought in Naples - onto the floor without regard. With
her help, they laid the mumbling man down in the back seat. 

It was a quiet drive, the only sounds coming from Cutie-Pie as he
mumbled and muttered in broken sentences. Her eyes flicked to the rear
view mirror more than once whenever he fell silent, as if she was
afraid he was going to die on the stained apholstry of her back seat.

"Erin his girlfriend or something?" She finally glanced at Silent
Butch. He said nothing, but met her eyes. Mute then, she figured. No
one was that rude. "Ok. So I take it that you will need me to make
this call then? To Erin?" Butch frowned and shook his head. "Not Erin?
Who? I caught a couple of names. This other one? DK?" This time Butch
nodded, but slowly, as if he weren't sure himself.

"DK." That was from the back seat. Cutie-Pie had been quiet for a long
stretch and she was a little surprised to hear him speak with
something approaching lucidity. "DK Spencer. IASA. I hope..."

He hoped. Great. She sighed. No doctor. Fine. Wasn't that dandy.
Knowing her, she was gonna end up driving the dynamic duo all over
southern Florida.

++++

8.14.2005  [8:49AM]


It had only been an hour since he'd dragged himself home from the lab
when the phone rang. It wasn't his cellphone, which was odd enough in
itself. He didn't think anyone but his parents used his land line. He
considered not answering it, but the pavlovian circuitry in his brain
refused to allow such freethinking anarchy. Like a good little dog, he
dragged himself off the couch, across the floor and pulled the
receiver off the kitchen wall, slumping into a dinette chair.

"Ma, this better be good. I've been at the lab all yesterday and last
night."

There was a silence on the other end and he closed his eyes. Fabulous.
A wrong number had gotten him off the couch. Next time he was gonna
fight the system. Down with conformity. Screw answering the phone.

"Is this DK Spencer?"

Fabulous. Telemarketer.

"Yeah. Look, I'm not interested, I have enough credit cards-"

"I'm not selling you anything, mister. I have a guy here who asked me
to call you for help."

DK frowned, leaning forward and pinching the bridge of his nose before
settling his head against his hand.

"Who is this?"

"My name is Jeri Paulter. I was driving down on the Tamiami Trail
earlier, you know, Hwy 75 back from Naples -"

"Look, Ms. Paulter? I'm really tired. If you have something to tell
me, please get to it."

He heard a huff on the other end of the line.

"All right, fine. I found a couple guys on the road who seemed to be
hurt. One of them asked me to call you for help. He said to tell you
his name was John."

DK frowned, sitting up a little straighter. If it hadn't been for the
thoughts that had been running though his mind just recently, thoughts
that perhaps John *hadn't* died in that accident, it might not have
even occurred to him that she might be talking about his old friend.

"John?" He swallowed. "John who?"

"He... he's not talking so clear. Sick or on some drugs or something.
I think it's Brighton? Maybe?"

"Crichton? Is...is this a joke?" His throat was hoarse with emotion.
It couldn't be. It really couldn't.

"No sir. He's ...uh... tall. Blue eyes. Light brown hair. Real cutie."

It sounded like him. It sounded like him. He took a few deep breaths,
totally unsure what he should say or do. Maybe he was dreaming. He
might still be on that couch, asleep. In his dazed state, he actually
craned his neck to look out into the living room, as if he might catch
sight of his slumbering body.

"Mister Spencer? You still there?"

He swallowed.

"He's dead. So I can't be having this conversation." His words were
flat now. He heard the phone scrabbling then and a murmured bit of
conversation that he couldn't make out. And then, faint, hoarse,
unmistakable Carolina accent:

"Did you ever find the module, pal? Did you even find a piece of it?
Why assume that I was dead? Was it easier than the alternative?"

Oh my god.

"John? Is that really you? Where the fuck are you?" It wasn't his
voice. It was someone else having the conversation. He felt like he
was looking at himself from across the room. Somehow he was on his
feet and he didn't remember moving.

Jeri had the phone again.

"He's in Andytown, down on the Trail. We're parked in front of the
Denny's at a pay phone." It was Jeri again, her tone almost
sympathetic now, if confused. "I'll wait here with him. Wherever you
are, he'd appreciate it if you hurried. He seems to be impatient about
something. And maybe *you* can convince him to see a doctor."

"I'll be there in a few hours."

He hung up, having to use both hands to find the cradle. He stood like
that, unmoving, for a long, slow count of five and then shook his head
violently.

"It wasn't a dream." His own voice startled him slightly as it echoed
in the silence. He looked around his kitchen, his living room, as if
he might find a clue that what he had just heard was real. His
furniture stared impassively back at him, passing no judgement.
Ultimately no help at all.

Ok then. He needed to gas up the Toyota. As if in a dream, he picked
up his jacket, his keys and his phone, just like he did every time he
left the house. Thank god for reflex.

The sun was climbing slowly into the pale, morning sky as he slid in
behind the wheel and started the car he'd just parked only minutes
before. He was having some sort of nervous breakdown. Barely any sleep
in the past days, hardly any food. Karie and her Wormholes had finally
driven him nuts. That had to be it.

So why, if it was all in his head, why was he backing the car out of
the driveway and squealing rubber as he burned down his street towards
the freeway. Why was his heart racing and his hands shaking? The voice
on the phone had been real. He would stake his life on it.

So why wasn't he calling the others? Why wasn't he calling Jack or the
girls?

No. He would keep this delerium to himself. If it was really John,
*then* he would tell the others. Not before. Otherwise a story about a
phone conversation with a dead man would get him thrown into a padded
room. And he hadn't really slept in 52 hours, so there was always that
fact to throw suspicion on the whole thing. None of it slowed him
down.

Sunlight on black pavement, a beautiful late summer day. Fast lane,
weaving to pass slower traffic. The whole drive passed in a frenzy of
impatient anxiety. Questions swirled like eddying currents through his
thoughts. What if his childhood friend was actually waiting at a
Denny's on the edge of the Everglades? What if it *was* true? Because
of the wormhole, if that's what it was, the obvious seemed too
incredible. Where had John been all this time? He fiddled with the
radio, unable to tolerate any song the whole way through, unable to
listen to a commercial without switching it. 

He finally settled on a Talk Radio station in Spanish.

DK'd managed to calm slightly by the time he was an hour into the
drive, but when he saw the city limits sign for Andytown, he felt his
pulse start to throb in his teeth, his stomach doing back flips like
Mary Lou Retton. He hadn't been this nervous since the day they'd
tested Farscape. God. What if no one was there but this strange woman? 

And somehow more terrifying, what if John *was* there?

DK actually slowed the car down to a crawl as he saw the big yellow
and red sign, his fear and hope growing too great to control. The
toyota almost came to a complete stop before he shook himself out of
it, straightened his spine and accelerated through the parking lot.

He pulled the vehicle to a stop in a handicapped spot, put it into
park, opened the door and got out. That was as far as he could go. The
young man stood on the driver's side and stared over the top of the
car at the Volvo that was parked in the slot next to him.

There was a large woman with very long hair, a wealth of jewlery and
purple denim pants standing near the front of the hood with another
stranger dressed like a commando. Neither were talking, but they were
both looking at him. He swallowed.

"DK?" The woman was moving around the car. His eyes had moved off them
to the man in the back seat of the Volvo, definitely John Robert
Crichton. Definitely. and he did not look good. That broke him out of
his reverie.

"Yeah. I'm DK. What's wrong with him?" He was already fumbling his way
around the back of his Toyota, meeting Jeri as she pulled open the
back door.

"I don't know. He wouldn't let me get him to the doctor. He looks like
he was wounded." DK tore his eyes off John's slack face and found the
commando.

"Who's this guy?" Jeri glanced over the big guy and shrugged.

"Like I know? He was with your friend. He doesn't speak."

DK frowned. It was too much to process at the moment. He was having a
hard time wrapping his brain around anything more complex than the
fact that his friend was alive. 

"Look, I don't mean to be callous, but I was on my way somewhere. Can
we just get your pal into your car now?" Jeri was trying not to sound
like she was uncomfortable and out of her depth. He could sympathize.

"Of course. I... thank you for helping him. Thank you." He knew his
simple words weren't conveying the depth of his sincerity, but he
wasn't capable of anything more at the moment. Jeri just nodded,
gesturing at the commando with a jangle of bracelets. 

The big man pushed both of them aside and pulled John out of the car,
lifting him out easily. DK didn't say another word, just opened the
back door of his own car. 

Jeri stood for a moment with her hand on her doorhandle, staring at
the three of them and then she nodded as if to herself.

"Good luck with... good luck." She didn't have anything more to say
and she levered herself back into her car and backed carefully out,
driving away without another glance. 

The big silent fellow was already sitting in the front seat and DK
moved like a man on autopilot towards the driver's side, unable to
refrain from looking in the backseat window again and again.

It was slowly starting to become real to him.

John was alive. John was back.

++++

8.14.2005  [10:15AM]


Wansetter stared at the woman behind the plexiglass. Woman. Maybe. All
their preliminary scans told them that she was about as human as
Spock. She sat on the narrow cot in her cell, legs crossed, hands
loosely settled on her knees. 

Staring at him.

It sent cold feet marching up and down his spine, that stare. She gave
the impression of a chill deadliness, a competence and a control that
being a captive should have deprived her of. She was also beautiful.
That was disconcerting as well. Aliens shouldn't look like she did.
They shouldn't look human.

There had been no authority from up top yet on what to do with her.
They had only done what they could from a distance. No one had wanted
to enter the cell with her. As if she could read his mind, the corners
of her lips curled up just slightly.

Shivering, he turned away and stalked down the hall. How much longer
would they wait? He was both uneasy and impatient to hear what would
be determined. A queasy part of him dreaded the order that he knew
would come. The order that involved finding out just what made the
alien tick. He had seen E.T. just like everyone else.

"General."

The thin voice came from behind him and he turned to find a stranger,
clearly his new NSA liason, walking towards him. The small man looked
like a living scarecrow. Appropriate, Jeff thought, since the man
looked to be the sort that  crows should be following like his own
personal omens.

"Ah, Big Brother. I wondered when you would show up."

The man did not smile at the joke and Jeff had not expected him to. He
got right to business.

"It was only a matter of getting everything in order, General." He
held out his hand belatedly then, as if an afterthought. "Dan Brenner,
NSA." Jeff did not take the hand. He had no intention of pretending to
be friends with the man or his organization. He knew they wanted
nothing more than to whisk his alien out from his control. Even though
he had been placed in this position for just such an eventuality, had
trained for it. Brenner seemed unfazed, folding his hands neatly
before him. "This is a delicate matter, sir. There were witnesses."

Holly had told him. More than a few of the boys at the Air Force Base
they had escorted the strange craft down at had seen it. It had been
dark, thank god, or they would really have leak problems. As it was,
it would be bad enough. Already he had seen the cover of the Weekly
World News sporting an article with an unnamed source who claimed
aliens had invaded and the government was covering it up.
Nothing to worry about, since the WWW put that sort of crap on their
front page every other week. People expected it. But it was the fact
that *this* story was true that told him people were talking. It would
only take one picture, one credible person to step forward and the
whole situation could get out of hand. 

"Witnesses. They saw a strange ship. Most of the boys on the field
won't talk, and the ones who do won't be believed, Danny-boy. You know
that."

"For the most part, General. But we can't really take chances in this
situation. My superiors are asking questions that they want me to
answer. Is this creature a threat?"

"You know I can't answer that myself yet, Brenner." His voice was a
growl. "There's going to be a lot arguing at the upper levels over how
to handle her...it. If we'd been able to capture the ship somewhere
secluded, this wouldn't be an issue. But we didn't. And it is."

"Soon enough, I think, they will make a decision. We need to know if
she's alone in this. We need to know if she's taken human form or if
this is her natural shape. We need to know if she intends us harm." It
seemed crazy. Crazy that they were having this discussion at all. That
this wasn't a dream.

But Jeff said nothing. Brenner was stating the obvious. The worst
thing was that he couldn't throw the man out of his installation. He
was untouchable, and he knew it. Bastard.

"I have ordered a team of specialists in on this, General. I hope you
don't mind."

"I do mind, actually, Brenner." His voice was mild, but there was
steel under it. "This is my roof and I give the orders around here."

"Of course you do, sir." He was a smooth one. Smooth like a snake. "I
was only having them standing by for when they will be needed. Experts
in their field."

"Their field?" Sarcasm hung heavy in the words

"You know what I mean, General." A thin smile stretched the thin face. 
"Linguistics, biology, zoology, neurological, that sort of thing."

"There's no go on cutting her up just yet, Dan. Until there is, we
don't touch her. Got it?"

Dan Brenner tipped his head mildly. Somehow the gesture was not
reassuring. He made a mental note to double the guard on the captive.
It would not do to have the NSA minion undermining both his authority
and his own ethics. 

In the end, he knew that he would have to turn E.T. over to the
butchers, but for the time being he was going to make sure that he
could sleep at night. 

+++

8.14.2005  [5:30PM]


Jack Crichton had been many things in his life. Dishwasher,
construction worker, college student, astronaut, husband, father,
fisherman and widower. What he had never been, was reckless. But
things could change. He wove in and out of traffic like he'd been
reborn as a stock car driver, hitting gaps and running lights. He was
lucky there were no cops lurking between the Orlando airport and the
Cape. He was lucky that he didn't cause an accident.

Everything seemed secondary, unimportant. Speeding tickets, other
drivers. He gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles and
replayed the conversation he had had with DK only 4 hours earlier. It
had been, perhaps, the shortest conversation he'd ever had on the
phone that had packed so much wallop.

"Jack, it's DK. You'd better come. He's back."

That had been it. No questions, he hadn't wanted to waste the time.
Hadn't wanted to break the illusion, if that was what it was. DK had
sounded lucid. He could fill the time it took to get from North
Carolina to Florida with speculation. But he hadn't. Instead, as he'd
sat on the plane, gripping the handrests as if his will alone could
make the plane go faster, he'd only replayed that horrible day over
and over.

Certainly he'd done it before. Every nuance, every word was recorded
in his mind. Gone over and over again to see if he could pick out that
one moment when something he could or should have done might have
changed things. He'd never found that moment. Never found anything to
blame beyond his son's need to step out of his shadow. He could, he
supposed, blame himself for being the man he was, but... even in his
grief, he couldn't do that. He was too reasonable, in the end.

Now, as he sped towards the coast, the sun heading towards the horizon
behind him and drawing the long stretched outline of his rental car
out before him, he couldn't stop from hoping that it was true. That DK
wasn't wrong or lying or, god forbid, joking.

The big green highway sign that indicated Rockledge flashed 2 miles at
him and he began to weave over to the right out of the fast lane,
swooping down the ramp and only glancing once to the left before
squealing onto Murrell road. He was almost there and he found himself
breathless. Right, left, right, and then he was coming to an almost
gentle stop in front of the small, redone cracker cottage that DK
lived in. He sat behind the wheel for a long moment, staring blankly
out the bug spattered windsheild, listening to the ticking engine
cool.

One deep breath. Two. Then he got out of the car and calmly walked up
to the front of the house. DK was at the door waiting for him, leaning
on the jamb. Jack licked his lips, reaching out to shake the young
man's hand out of habit. Pleasantries didn't even occurr to him.

"Is it true?"

DK bit his lip and nodded.

"He's asleep, actually. He looks like hell, Jack. And he's in some
kind of weird shock. Just warning you." DK didn't look so good
himself, shaken and pale, but alert. The kind of alert you got from
drinking a whole pot of coffee on an empty stomach. Or having a big
shock. The young man stepped aside to let him in, closing the door
behind him. "His pal there won't let us call a doctor."

"Pal?"

DK blanched a little more, nodding.

"Yeah, John's with some guy. And before you ask, I have no idea what's
going on. He hasn't woken up since I went and got him down in Big
Cypress. I'm going to have to let him explain when he wakes up."

"I want to see him."

DK nodded, running both hands through his rumpled hair in a
characteristic move.

"He's here on the couch." He jerked his head to one side, his mouth
slightly open as if he wanted to say more but thought better of it.

Jack barely heard him. He walked into the living room and looked down
at the sleeping figure on the couch, ignoring the small cluster of
DK's friends over in the dining room and the stranger who slumped,
weary and tense, in the recliner. His knees gave out with no warning
and he sat down heavily on the coffee table, not even hearing the
protesting squeal the wood gave under the stress.

It was true. Somehow. He reached out to touch his son, but held back
from waking him. He really did look like shit. Deep hollows under his
eyes, skin tight and drawn, an odd pattern of sunburn on his left
cheek. He swept his studying gaze up and down the sleeping form. His
son's arms were well-muscled. Wherever he'd been, he'd been working
hard. Still lean, he had a worn look to him. As if he were slightly
frayed around the edges from overuse the way an afghan got after too
many years on the couch. And there was a thick, clumsy bandage wrapped
around his left shoulder. 

Jack folded his arms across his knees and leaned on them, not taking
his eyes off the sleeping man. It was his boy. His searching gaze
found a glint at his son's throat and he pressed his lips together as
he realized it was his lucky ring. There was a slim braid of dark,
glossy hair twisted around it. A tiny reminder that wherever John had
been, it had been somewhere. He had not just reappeared from the ether
to take up his old life.

This man was changed. Better or worse, he would have to wait to find
out. But for now, he just let the relief, the overwhelming joy and
redefined hope fill him like an empty glass. He closed his eyes and
hung his head, fighting back the overwhelming surge of emotion.
Laughter, tears, he couldn't distinguish. He just wanted to shout. He
should be calling Melissa and Jennifer. He should be calling an
ambulance or the doctor or something. 

He didn't move from his spot beside the couch.

"I'm not sure what's wrong with him, Jack. It's like he's OD'd on
something or maybe he's just having a brutal allergic reaction. To
what, I don't know." The light indian accent belonged to Quent, the
mathematician in DK's little team. He could see the wrinkled knees of
Quent's pant legs out of the corner of his eye. He didn't want to take
his eyes of his son.

"What happened?" He asked, knowing that it was likely none of them
knew.

"I think he was burned... or shot?" The last word was shaky, as if
Quent couldn't believe it himself. "It's like no wound I can explain.
Maybe if someone took an electrified prod and drove it into his
shoulder?" Jack did look up at the younger man then and found his eyes
flickering towards the stranger. Jack looked.

The big man was military, there was no doubt in Jack's mind. He'd been
around enough of them to know. But what caught his attention was the
strange gun that the man was suddenly holding up for them to see, as
if it were a show and tell display. The jarhead stared at them
meaningfully and then slowly,  non-threateningly, took it in on hand,
aimed it at a spot across the room and fired.

Karie yelped in shock and everyone jumped back, DK almost tumbling
over the back of the couch as a bolt of energy sizzled from the blunt
muzzle and tore an emormous, smoking hole in the back of a chair that
sat across the room. Everyone simply stared, Jack finally remembering
to breathe. The big man was looking right at him as he gestured at the
weapon with his free hand and then gestured at John.

It became clear. John had been shot with that weapon. Somehow, that
seemed secondary to what Jack knew they were all now wondering about.
Who the hell was this guy?

"Who are you?" It was the only thing Jack could think to ask, but it
was DK who spoke the words first.

The big man shook his head as he holstered the weapon. Instead of
talking, he stood up and walked over to John, his lips a thin line.
Jack wasn't sure whether or not to block his path, to protect his son.
Every instinct screamed fear of the stranger, but he was more than
just instinct. He hovered, tense and close, but did not interfere as
the man leaned over John's still form. 

And then the jarhead slapped John across the face.

DK lunged forward, but Quent held him back with an arm. They watched
as the man slapped their friend once more and then straightened,
folding his arms and frowning down. John groaned, moving his head into
the couch and bringing one hand up to rub at his reddened cheek.

Catching his breath, Jack knelt next to the couch, helping John to sit
up.

It was only once his son was leaning over his bent knees and shaking
his head somewhat dazedly, that he opened his eyes. And looked right
at Jack. His blue eyes widened, his mouth dropping open. He blinked
rapidly and swallowed.

"Dad? Is that you?" He closed his eyes and shook his head, then opened
them again. Jack was grinning as he carefully held onto his son's
shoulders.

"It is. I could ask the same of you."

John had caught sight of the rest of them, his eyes wandering from DK
to Quent to Karie to Jackson and then back to his Dad, he was shaking
his head ever so slowly, his throat working.

"I can't believe..." He looked finally at the stranger, blinking back
emotion. "Christ, Al, you really came through." Jack glanced up at the
stranger...Al... to see him still unsmiling. There was something else
here, something serious. But for the moment, he simply pulled his son
into his arms. It was something he had never thought to do again. 

John hugged him back so hard his ribs creaked.

"Oh man, Dad. It's so good to see you again. I wasn't sure that..."
John stopped, falling into silence and then pulled back. His eyes
found DK then and he reached out to clasp hands with his best friend,
his eyes suspiciously red-rimmed with the effort of fighting back
tears. "All of you. I only wish that I could really enjoy this. I
dreamed of coming home for a long time, but this isn't really what I
had in mind."

"Mryy'd'a'ki Borr inv'n'k'k. Finrr vvvk 's's K." It was the stranger
who spoke, his expression serious as he tucked the gun neatly away.
John nodded, holding up a hand.

"Yeah, I know. Christ, I know." He scrubbed at his face with his
hands, wincing slightly as he pulled at his shoulder. "Goddamn.
Whatever you gave me for the pain really screwed me over, Al."

"Grk'k'k Va eldr'i'n din nii." The tone was wry.

"Yeah, yeah. Well, next time, I'm thinking that the pain might be
preferrable to the feverish delerium."

Jack sat back on his heels and looked from his son to 'Al', finally
frowning.

"Are you going to introduce us to your friend, son? I think we all
have a few questions."

"I know, I know, Dad. I'm trying to figure out how to say this." He
swung his legs carefully off the couch, hunching over his knees on
bent elbows as he took several deep breaths. Finally he looked up, his
expression bleak and grim. "I'm sure you've probably guessed there's
something a little 'off' about my pal here." He gestured at Al. "Well,
I can't get into all the specifics right now because of a time crunch,
but there's an entire legion of guys just like him about to introduce
themselves to Earth. And they aren't here to play Speak N' Spell with
Elliot."

He pushed himself to his feet on shaking legs, glancing thanks at DK
as his friend grabbed an arm to steady him. 

"Give me the duffel there, Al."

The man snatched the bag and tossed it to John.

"R'Avk'k'k Drima's'n K K Zordmmar'll."

"You did?" John shot a glance across the room to where the chair still
sat with a smoking hole in its back. He grimaced.

"Jeez. I remember that chair. We had that piece of junk in our
apartment on Goddar Street, DK. What are you still doing with it?" He
shook his head, not expecting an answer as he rifled though the bag.
"I can see that Ty already gave you a demo of a pulse weapon, well I
want you to imagine that on a massive scale." He pulled a much larger
version of Al's weapon out of the bag and showed it to all of them.
"And I'm not talking about this one."

Karie, Jack could see, was the color of parchment, Jackson was holding
her up. He himself was glad that he was still kneeling on the floor by
the couch, because he was starting to understand a little.

"You've been somewhere... out there...all this time, haven't you,
son."

John swallowed, not meeting his Dad's eye. He nodded. Jack frowned.
John was almost acting guilty.

"I have, Dad. Farscape took me through a wormhole."

"I KNEW it !" Karie had forgotton her shock for an instant, her hands
clenching into excited fists. "I KNEW IT!" She glanced almost
triumphantly at Quent, but the man was not paying attention. Instead
he was staring intently at John and his ray gun. Jack could see that
of them all, Quent seemed to be putting it together the fastest.

"I've been out there all this time, and there's a whole lot of shit
flying around on the other side of that wormhole. A Hole that's still
open now. A hole that has a fleet massing on the other side as we
speak." John's voice was tight.

"A fleet? Are we talking Star Trek here, pal?" DK's hands were white
where he clutched the back of the couch.

"Not even close, DK. They're called Peacekeepers, and I want you to
imagine Darth Vader and the Empire, not the G-rated Federation. They
have big ships with big guns and an unnatural urge to run the galaxy.
Nazis in black leather. Zenophobic, self-superior and wholly
not-nice."

"They're coming here? Why? What did we do?" That was Jackson. His arms
were akimbo. Jack could see that the man didn't quite believe, even
with the evidence of the smoking chair.

John swallowed. There was something that boy wasn't saying. Something
important. His son had never been able to lie convincingly. 

"Nothing. They don't need a reason. Why did Napolean decide to march
all over Europe? Why did Hitler invade Poland? They opened the
wormhole and now they're coming through. I had to come back and warn
you."

"What...what can we do?" Karie was staring at the smoking chair with
wide eyes.

"Nothing." Jack finally spoke, standing up and meeting his son's eyes.
He could already read the truth there. "There's nothing we can do.
John didn't come back to help us fight them, he came back to help us
survive it."

John nodded, his mouth a white, compressed line. He was still
unsteady.

"I need all of you to think of anyone, any contact within the
government who might be able to help us. We're going to have to get as
many people underground, hidden as we can. We are going to have to
stockpile and evacuate. There's no way we can save everyone... or even
that many. At this point, we need to figure out how to keep enough of
us alive to fight back. Later."

It was too much to contemplate.

Impossible.

But while John might be hiding something, he was telling the truth
about this. And they couldn't afford not to listen.

+++

8.14.2005 [11:15PM]


The lights in the sterile hallway were dim and she took some small
relief in that fact. Her eyes felt puffy from the white, sharp light.
Aeryn still sat on her narrow cot, still unmoving as she had been
since she had awoken in the cramped room. Men and women alike had come
to stare at her like an animal behind glass, jabbering foolish
questions and scribbling on their clipboards. She said nothing to any
of them. Even if they could have understood her, she would have said
nothing.

There was one man, a shorter, rounder fellow with bushy eyebrows whom
she thought was in charge. Him she stared at as well, giving them
nothing. They did not know if she spoke their language and she
preferred to keep them shrouded in confusion as long as she could.

It wouldn't be long, she knew, before the skinny one with the cold
eyes came back. She could recognize a battle for control when she saw
one and it was only a matter of time before the skinny man won out.
They would come and they would open her up.

Aeryn shivered slightly. This was exactly the