In the Company of Ghosts, by KodiakkeMax

In The Company of Ghosts, by KodiakkeMax
Chapter 3: Effects at Perihelion

Section 1:    Interspecies Dating
Section 2:    The Mechanics of Mutiny
Section 3:    Bonding Rituals
Section 4:    Team Players
Section 5:    Diaspora
Section 6:    Shell Game
Section 7:    Cracking in the Code
Section 8:    The Choice
Section 9:    Sensor Ghosts
Section 10:   The Consequence of Choices

Section 1: Interspecies Dating
It sure ain't about the sex.
The module slid into the hangar bay of the Vigilante, a tight fit even in the empty space. Peacekeeper cruisers, small and fast, were barely large enough to carry even one small attack craft inside their hulls. All the Prowlers were racked on the hull, luckily for him. He didn't want to have to go EVA to a ship he didn't yet know.
Was this empty slot in the hangar, this space he could just fit his module inside, her doing? He wouldn't put it past her.
Doesn't feel like lust. Well, not all of it.
He put up his module, kinda surprised that no one was there to greet him. Someone obviously knew he was here; the docking web had been deployed, though there had been no radio chatter. They were still sticking to the no-comms edict that had been laid down by the good Captain, paranoia that he agreed with, even when it meant he was flying blind into a situation, no idea of what was going on. But then, wasn't that par for the course? Where normally he became dead inside, going onto Command Carriers, hostile territory, anywhere that was unknown territory, here, within the Vigilante's hull, he was almost bouncing on his toes. It was like waking up from a dream, sloughing off the morning grogginess.
"Aeryn?" he called over the comms badge, the one she gave him.
Marat answered him. "Commander? Welcome aboard. She's in the training room. I don't think she was expecting you. Will you require escort?"
"Nah, I'll make this a surprise inspection," he muttered. Would she know, that he was on board? Would she sense it? "Thanks," he said aloud. "I can find my way there -- I think." And if he could, Marat would help him out, playing the Star Trek computer voice and leading him to the correct room. They were all so damn polite. Maybe Ghosts went through finishing classes as well as torture, explosives, and flight school.
Damn. It should be required for all PKs, if they turned out this polite.
Maybe it was the way she seemed to know him. Not a shared history, not knowledge from the other John, their brief meeting on Dam-Ba-Da. No. It was as though she understood what he was, accepted it. Not only a Human, but a Crichton.
He wound his way through the corridors. The Vigilante was smaller than Moya. He wasn't about to get lost here.
Maybe it was her little thoughtful gestures. Space for his module. Gilina's cremation.
A fork.
He smiled at that memory as he waved his hand over the door controls to the training room. Passed through the doorway and reared back at the sight that met his eyes.
What were you saying about lust? Harvey asked him.
Okay, so it's got a lot to do with lust.
And how is that a bad thing?
Shut up, Harvey. He had better things to concentrate on. Like the delectable vision of Captain Sun, attired in her workout clothes. Workout clothes, in her case, were skintight, midriff-baring. It wasn't the most outrageous outfit he'd seen in the UT by far. He'd seen more skin on Cocoa Beach in the summer. Hell, he lived with Jool: he saw more skin every day.
But it was, hands-down, the biggest turn-on he'd ever felt. Ever. The Miss America bikini strut, Patty in fifth grade, Chris in college, Alex smiling in his bed: they had all been whoas, stopping him in his tracks when he'd caught a flash of skin, a curve of flesh. His mind had been jumbled, jumped trains of thought.
All of them were blown away by Miss Universe here, a real, honest-to-god wow.
It's not the amount of skin you see, it's the woman inside. He was smiling at this, pleased with his own discovery, when he realized what that woman was doing. She was getting the crap beaten out of her. He opened his mouth to yell out, to interfere, when he noticed she wasn't doing so shabbily herself. Her opponent, Darwa, looked just as sweaty and bruised.
Oh, so now he knew what she did for fun.
He watched them go at it, a strange luxury to be the onlooker. Her back was to the door as they moved together in a deadly choreograph of steps and lunges. It was a dance, a sinuous flowing moment that moved from one position to another, weaving across the red and black patterned mat. Two bodies together, intimate, invading one another's space. Complete with surround sound. Punches landing. Muffled "oomphs". Smell-o-vision: sweat, leather, chakkan oil, even here. Visual effects: beads of sweat flying, crystalline teardrops glittering in the low-level light, the blur of hands and feet striking. This dance wasn't choreographed.
Okay, Johnny. When you start with the lusting and the fantasizing, remember this moment. That's not the way you want to get intimate with her.
He ignored the lascivious little tone that immediately followed that up with Then what way, hmmm? Hmmm? Harvey sounded too much like Pee-Wee Herman for his comfort.
Darwa noticed him, nodded to him over her head.
Crack.
John winced. Oooooh, that was gonna hurt. She fought dirty. Darwa had been distracted for one moment. She'd used that moment and slipped in under his guard, come up underneath his chin. The commando went flying onto the mat, doing a back-flop that just sounded bad.
Would it be impolite, if he clapped?
Darwa coughed for a few moments, his chest heaving as he remained flat on his back. Aeryn leaned forward, bracing her hands on her knees, and John was distracted by the delectable sight she was presenting him.
Very distracted.
"Good one, Cap'n." Darwa readjusted his jaw, his other hand finally propping him up on the mat. "Nice move, that last one."
"Lucky move." She finally stood upright, turned to John. Smiled. "I have you to thank for that."
Wow. John tried to remember how to breathe, speak. Aeryn Sun. Smiling at him. Wisps of hair curling around her face, beads of sweat glittering on the planes of her cheeks. Wow. "You're welcome," he finally breathed out. "But I don't think Darwa feels the same way. Sorry, man."
"My fault," the grey-haired commando muttered, still coughing. "Should have known better."
"Darwa," she said wryly, "will get over it."
"Sympathy much? He's a beaten man. Give him back his ego." Wait a minute, he was talking to Aeryn Sun. Men were lucky if it was only their egos that were bruised, after encountering her. Yeah, dad, I wanna bring this one home with me.
Darwa groaned loudly, flopped back onto the mat. She ignored him. "Darwa," she informed John, "could pound me into the mat any good day. Let me enjoy my moments, they're few and far between."
John looked to the side of the door, found the towel rack. Grabbed two, stepped forward to hand one to Aeryn. The other he threw at Darwa. It landed across the commando's face; Darwa waved weakly, hand limp in the air. John laughed. Aeryn shook her head and sighed as she took the towel from him. Their hands met in the cloth, skin touched.
He sucked in his breath. So did she; he could see the line of muscles ridging her stomach flutter. Along with other, more obvious signs.
"Hi," he said softly.
"Hi." Her voice was breathy. Exercise, he told himself. She was breathing hard 'cause of the workout. Because the notion of Aeryn Sun giddy just went against the grain of reality as he knew it.
"Thought I'd come over for a visit." He'd come over for information on their plans to break into the castle, wanting to know more about . . . something. Yeah, right. He'd had an idea. Right? Heck, at this point, he'd settle for a date.
Focus, John.
"You came over for information."
He shrugged. Count on her to be anything but distracted. "You know me better than anyone else," he said lightly. "What's the plan?" He wanted to know what they were going to do, and get started. He hated this waiting, this drifting through space. It was necessary, he knew -- give everyone time to think about the choices they'd made, the enormity of what they were about to do.
Namely, go pay a visit to PK High Command. Flush out a traitor. Who's playing tonight's game, Johnny? Well, let's introduce the home team. One escaped Leviathan with her crew of former PK prisoners and a Vigilante cruiser with a half-crew of Black Ghosts, scourge of the Peacekeeper universe. Add one Human and one former Peacekeeper officer to the Leviathan line-up. Serve belly-up.
The odds were staggering.
Yeah, but she led those same three Ghosts out into space and bagged herself a Scarran dreadnought.
It wasn't so much that he was afraid of what was to come, or how much he had to lose. He'd been in this moment before, when he'd decided to go up against Scorpius, and look what had happened. Command Carrier go boom, big boom. But at such cost.
Yes, it hadn't been easy, or without consequence. He'd expected to die; almost been disappointed when he hadn't. It seemed almost anticlimactic, his survival, but then, Scorpius did like to leave him alive. The bastard always preferred to see him suffer.
Well, look who was smiling now.
Yeah, he'd gotten a lot better. Harder -- he couldn't help that. His first reaction was still to reach for Wynonna; it had to be. Overwhelming odds were nothing new anymore. Certain death, horrible torture: daily life on the UT soap drama.
This . . . frustration was new to him, though. A hunger. To see her, to spend more time with her. To know her, intuitively as well as biblically. To understand her. To get under her skin, into her head, as thoroughly as she'd gotten into his. To make her smile, and be there to see it.
Yeah, it was more than sex. More than lust.
She didn't want him to travel with her, in her Vigilante. He got that. Any surprise visits by PKs would be hard to explain if he wasn't found on board gagged, chained, and preferably sandbagged. For the same reason, she refused to stash her Prowlers in Moya, the Leviathan parking lot. She insisted that safety, specifically his safety, lay in their ability to split quickly. He didn't like it, didn't think that was the only reason, but it was good enough for government work. Or pulling-down-a-government work.
Her crew needed her here, while they searched their data spools for any available information on High Command, what they would be up against. All four of them were spending large amounts of time staring at viewscreens, manually scrolling through data. So were Tauvo and D'Argo, on the Luxan ship, but that craft didn't have PK data spools, only what Aeryn's crew uploaded to them. Who knew how recently its data had been updated, prior to D'Argo's acquisition of it? Moya's Peacekeeper data spools had been erased by NamTar, of course, and everything accrued since then was an amalgam of PK data mixed in with whatever else they could plug in. Even then, Aeryn had requested a copy of the Leviathan's data.
"Why?" D'Argo asked, suspicious as always.
"Because it's not been approved by Peacekeeper High Command," she replied, her face devoid of any expression on the viewscreen. "It will be a way to cross-check any data we do receive, if only to get another viewpoint. Corroborating evidence."
Tauvo, at D'Argo's side, flushed, and John remembered that Officer Aeryn Sun had once served with Officer Tauvo Crais. A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away.
"The plan," John said now, reminding himself of what his goal was. Focus? What focus? Around her, his mind turned to mush.
"I don't know yet."
"Gotta have a plan."
"We don't have enough details yet. Enough intelligence. We don't even know the true location of High Command." She frowned as she wrapped the towel around her neck. "That's the first step. Intelligence and analysis. Without solid intel, all we have are the vaguest of ideas."
"You're already doing the data search." He cocked his head. "But you don't think that's going to be enough, do you?"
"We must assume everything is suspect." She shook her head. "You've met many Peacekeepers, John. You don't think that our superior officers would lie to us, too?"
"I thought it might cut down on your efficiency ratings."
"Work talk," Darwa muttered, rolling smoothly to his feet. He scrubbed his face as he walked past them, not looking either one in the eye. "Cap'n. Commander." A vague nod in their direction, and he was out the door.
John stared bemusedly after him. Real subtle, that man. No wonder he was the explosives expert of the group. "I think he likes me."
"He hasn't tried to kill you yet."
Was that her way of agreement? "None of them have. It's kinda weird." He looked down at her. "Your doing?"
She shook her head. "Of course not."
Yeah, of course not. She would consider it some type of rude to do that to her own people. Which was, of course, why they were still with her, and why they didn't try to kill him. He raised his hand, splayed fingers across her cheek. Rubbed his thumb along her lips. "That's one of the things I love about you, Aeryn," he murmured. "Your honesty. 'Brutal' doesn't even begin to cover it."
She seemed mesmerized by his touch, her eyes drawn to his lips. Which was good, because it told him she was thinking about it, too, and he could kiss her, he had permission. As he leaned in, he suddenly realized what he'd said.
One of the things I love about you.
Holy shit.
Then his lips touched hers, and the ability to fit thoughts into words fizzled out. She was lightning, bypassing his brain and plugging his chest directly into his groin. She was Southern Comfort, firing up his blood.
Aeryn.

Contact.
He short-circuited her thoughts, each distinct thread suddenly tangling into a crazy knot, with her at the center, bound in the loops. He was a taste, a sense, a smell. Familiar. Touching him was like completing a power circuit in her skin; everything began humming, glowing. The energy arced around her limits, tracing the edges of her self, a bright, safe framework for her to exist in.
He released her, drawing back. She felt him leaving, slipping from underneath her tongue, her mind, and nearly moved forward in a subconscious search for that warmth.
Focus.
He made it worse when his knuckles skimmed her cheek. "How you been?"
Had it only been two solar days without him? She stared at him, wondering at his power.
"You okay?" His touch became exploratory, tracing the reddened areas on her face, her arms, where blows had landed, smoothing at the tender skin. He mapped out her future, told her where it was going to hurt.
"You make me feel," she blurted.
He chuckled. "Welcome to my world." He leaned his forehead into hers, stroked his palm along her cheek. "I came here for some answers," he sighed. "To find out about the plan. Focus, John."
He wasn't the only one having problems. Her workout was a good one; she felt soft, languorous. No, that hadn't been the workout, that was him. He was doing this to her. "Is this always going to happen?" Almost a plea.
"I don't think so," he said. "Sometimes it'll be better. Sometimes it'll be worse."
Which way was worse? She was afraid to ask.
He grabbed the ends of her towel, the pressure making her lean closer to him. "You . . . should probably get cleaned up. Or something."
"How long will you be on board the cruiser?"
"How long will you let me stay?"
An electric moment between them. She could barely breathe, and it hurt too much to think, to try to figure out what the future held for her, down each path. This man defied all prediction, all sense.
He raised one hand, and the towel loosened around her neck. "Not . . . that. We haven't talked about that, so I'm not going there. Yet."
"We have a lot to talk about." One of his favourite phrases, it seemed, so she returned it in the spirit of sharing, and because she didn't know what else to say.
"Yeah. This is one of the things that can wait. I think." He mumbled something underneath his breath, then turned away with obvious effort. "Go. Go shower. Go do . . . something. Just go get buttoned up into an outfit that lets me think with Mr. Brain instead of Mr. Head. I'll meet you in the dining room. The mess. Whatever."
She watched his retreating back, then went down to her quarters. Cleaned up, fastened herself into her familiar Captain's uniform. Stroked a wondering hand down the leathers. Her comfortable armour. Her shell.
When she made it to the mess deck a quarter of an arn later, he was not sitting at one of the tables, but instead on the floor near the viewscreen, looking out at the stars. His gaze was thoughtful, his demeanor serious.
She padded over to stand by him, looking down into his face. When he finally met her eyes, she cocked her eyebrow in question. He chuckled. "I have this theory about floors. As a scientist, I gotta test it. Plus you guys don't have a terrace."
"As a scientist." It was good that he still continued to think of himself as such, even after so long and so much. Or was that identity his reaction to all that had happened, with Scorpius and the Command Carrier? Had he retreated from all that destruction and returned to the one thing that was truly his?
The wormhole knowledge for which Scorpius, Co-kura, had sacrificed so much.
After a microt's pause, she folded to sit down next to him, catching his smile. She had pleased him with her actions, surprised him with her willingness to join him down on the floor. A guilty pleasure, to make him smile; she rarely saw that, on his face. "A terrace?" she invited.
"Moya has a terrace. An open room with one side just a huge window out to space. You look out and up into the universe. I go there a lot; there's room to stretch. Think, write in my journal, look at the view. Play b-ball." He smiled at some memory.
"We don't have enough room for that." Whatever a beeball was, and however much space it required.
"But you have the same view."
"Yes." As soon as she'd settled, he'd automatically leaned in to her, his shoulder brushing hers. It felt comfortable, solid. He was so -- there. "Have you eaten?"
"Yeah, thanks." He smiled briefly, pulled something from his sleeve. "Brought my own fork."
"Keep it."
"Am I going to need it, where we're going?"
She hadn't missed his use of 'we'. "Undoubtedly."
He, in his turn, picked up on her thoughts, and shot her a dubious look as he slid it back up his sleeve. "You're not going to try to argue me out of going with you?"
"Would it do any good?"
"No. Moya and D'Argo are both signed up to do it. We'd just follow you if you took off."
As she'd thought. "It would be safer to include you in our plans, then."
"I'm glad you see it that way. I was kinda wondering about that."
She looked at him, amused. "You wondered whether or not my silence meant I was trying to keep you away, apart from the planning."
"It did cross my mind." He didn't look embarrassed or uncomfortable to admit that. "You fight dirty." His hands were drifting to her arm, playing with her jacket sleeve, tracing the seams. His movements were casual, unthreatening, as though reaching across that distance wasn't something unusual.
"I fight to win." So do you.
"What's to win this time, Aeryn?"
She sighed. Looked away. This was something she hadn't wanted to necessarily think about. She knew why she was doing this, but she wasn't yet comfortable with thinking about what would be required of her, in the end. What would result from her actions? Finding the traitor, if there was one, was only the first task. What would they do with him, when they found him? What was the best solution to the situation they would find?
Track One: If he is who you think he is, if he has that much power, you would leave worse in your wake by limiting yourself to removing him. You would condemn all Sebaceans to chaos, not save them from treachery.
Track Two: How much is demanded of me? How much of me will be required, to fulfill this duty?
She gave him the simple answer: "Freedom."
"For who?" He asked for something more than a simple answer, of course.
"Peacekeepers. Sebaceans." Looked back at him and admitted the worst one, the one that he would keep safe. "Myself."
He nodded. He understood; he'd known, and that didn't surprise her. "Last thing you gotta do before you can walk away."
"Yes."
"That's a lot to ask of yourself, Aeryn."
She blew her breath out between her teeth. "Yes, well. It seems that was . . . always a part of my job. My duty." She smiled, remembering how she'd felt, when she'd first been assigned to the Black Ghosts. Lost. As though she'd been separated from her people, relegated to the sidelines. Shoved out into the darkness, alone.
She'd been right.
He scooted forward slightly, moving so she was bracketed by his body, and he could look into her face fully. Just barely touching her, letting her know he was there. And listening.
"As Ghosts," she said slowly, haltingly, "we are allowed the strangest type of freedoms. It is our duty to touch what other Peacekeepers are not allowed. Our mission, to go where the others should not. That is part of what makes us . . . so different from the others, because of these demands of duty. We risk ourselves, our lives, so that other Peacekeepers might know the security of never coming into contact with the unknown."
"You guys go out and find it before it comes to find you."
"Yes." From what she knew of him, he served something of the same role, back on his Earth. "You may have heard of one of our edicts. 'Irreversible contamination.' A Peacekeeper must never be irreversibly contaminated by an unknown species. Such contact risks everyone else. Your unit, your platoon, your regiment."
"Tauvo kind of told me about it."
"Peacekeepers fear this regulation. It means automatic retirement. I've grown up with the knowledge that to become irreversibly contaminated means I have failed. Not only myself, but those in my unit. Because I was not good enough. Was not following the Peacekeeper way.
"And then . . . I became a Ghost. Becoming contaminated suddenly became . . . a daily hazard. A requirement, a way of life. Acceptable, because now that too was my duty." She took a deep breath. This had to be said, aloud, so that she could hear her own voice admitting the truth. "I am irreversibly contaminated, John. It started long before you. I took an oath, to be a Peacekeeper for life. But that oath means nothing to me. Scorpius made sure of that. He destroyed everything I was. I lost . . . everything I was because of him."
"Aeryn--"
"You know what I learned when I was away from him?" She looked up at him and smiled sadly. "Everything I lost isn't worth a damn. And I don't want to go back to that past. I cannot be put back into that box, and they would try. I can't fit there anymore, I've been too long out." Saying the words aloud made them real. It was the beginning of the end, the first step in a long journey . . . somewhere else. "There is only what I feel. And yet -- I feel as though I cannot leave this task behind. John, if the Nebari are behind this--"
"I know." His hand enfolded hers. "If it were just the Scarrans versus the Peacekeepers, you could."
"It would be . . . honest."
"Yeah. Kill or be killed. Nothing unfair in that." His voice was mocking, but she didn't call him on it.
"The Nebari don't want to kill," she pointed out. "They want to control. What's honest about that?"
"Oh, no complaint here. A universe run by the Nebari sounds an awful lot like the nursing home from hell. I'd be the first one to Jack Nicholson my way out of that reality, trust me."
She cocked her head at him, considering. The words flowed past her, filled with fragments her translator microbes struggled with, but luckily, her interaction with him, her understanding, was only partially based on verbal communication. It was that other, indefinable sense which now sensed something, noted changes, logged them into memory.
He imitated her gesture. "What?"
"Something in your tone. When you spoke about the Nebari. What has been your experience with them? Other than your shipmate."
"Chiana's fine. She's cool. She's a renegade, of course, but that's just part of her charm."
She waited.
"You know about the Zelbinion."
"I know you found it shortly after Captain Crais discovered the hulk. That's where your crew took on Tech Renais." She watched him carefully; she didn't want to hurt him, naming his dead.
He smiled at her, squeezed her hand. "We found Gilina there, and tangled with some Sheyang. Got some souvenirs." At her querying look, he suddenly seemed discomfited. "Scars."
Ah, yes. She knew those types of souvenirs. "Bad?"
"My side got burned." He showed her a patch from his arm, a shiny smooth spot paler than the surrounding golden skin. "Kinda like that, but bigger."
"Most Sebaceans would have died, from something like this."
"Gilina nearly did." His hand was still curled around hers, loose, warm. "Rygel had been tortured on that ship. He told us -- well, Zhaan did, really -- about Durka."
"The great Captain Durka," she murmured.
"The psycho Captain Durka."
She didn't bother to disagree with him. "Did you find his body?" Durka had been reported dead by Captain Crais, though Aeryn privately had wondered if Captain Crais, already in the habit of changing his official reports, had done so to that one as well.
Flashback: She had to read it several times, that report, to understand that Velorek was the traitor described with those cruel words. Velorek, whose true crime had been not knowing cruelty, not wielding it well enough. Crais was the tool; but she was the executioner.
Concentrate. John's voice, smoothing her way back to the now. "In a manner of speaking," he was saying. "Sparky found what was supposed to be his body. We actually ran into the real Durka a little later. The same time we picked up Chiana, matter of fact." He looked out into some middle distance, sorting through memories. "She was a prisoner on a Nebari transport. The head honcho was keeping Durka as a flunky."
She sat up straight. "Durka? Alive? In Nebari custody?"
"Oh, yeah. Note I wasn't surprised when you told me someone in High Command might have been mind-cleansed."
"Yes, I remember." She had been impressed, actually. He followed along her leaps of thought easily, an experience to which she was unaccustomed. "But we've had no reports, you see. No evidence. You've just proven . . . that it can happen, actually."
"But they couldn't have been using Durka. Not for your High Command mole. Because he was there in the Uncharted Territories at the same time we were, had been for over a hundred cycles, and, well, we kinda killed him. Rygel, actually. He was so the man. Rygel even undid the mind-cleansing, before Durka died. I was all for checking the warranty, myself."
She frowned at that. What? "How?"
"Head trauma. Works in all the soaps, why not out here? A hundred cycles of brainwashing, down to the tube. Whoops."
"Who was he . . . afterwards?" A sudden thought occurred to her: what would she be like, mind-cleansed? Who would she be? Which of the voices whispering inside her head would rule triumphant?
"His lovable psycho self."
"You're talking about a Peacekeeper hero." She said it without heat, merely repeating what she'd been taught. She had learned, during her training days, how much she hadn't been told, and if the Trainers hid information in one area, why not all? Heroes were the creation of their people's needs, not one's actual motivations. John, she thought, would not consider himself a hero. And yet he was, to some. A renegade, a threat, to others. Aeryn knew enough about her own kind to understand what type of person would be able to fulfill those needs. No surprise that, underneath the fanfare, Durka would be a monster. Scorpius had been like that.
She was like that.
"Yeah, well, that figures. He was a sick bastard. He threatened Tauvo with fire." John's eyes were grim. "One of his own kind, Aeryn. Durka didn't distinguish."
"You're certain he's dead?"
"Oh, yeah." Finality.
"So he is not our traitor." Why? she wondered. Why had the Nebari kept him? To study? As a toy, or a living specimen? Was he an example for Sebacean physiology and culture, or merely a plaything? Would she wish that on anyone, even a monster?
"You know," John said slowly, "Chiana told us that mind-cleansing took a long time. A hundred cycles, give or take some spare change. You'd think an absence that long would be noticeable in your PK files. Hell, on Earth we start thinking alien abduction if someone's gone for three days. Well, okay, so maybe only Jerry Springer does."
"A Peacekeeper would never betray another to the Nebari." One of these days, she would interrupt him every time he said something she didn't understand. Of course, then they'd never finish a conversation.
"Yeah, I know. You guys take xenophobia to new lows. That's what I don't get. It can't be a spy 'cause that's totally against the PK code, but on the other hand, it seems really unlikely that our bad guy's been mind-cleansed. Unless they did a deliberate lemon job."
Lemon job? "Meaning?"
"Meaning they didn't use the whole hundred cycles. Either 'cause they didn't need someone that tanked, or there wasn't any point."
"Or they refined the process. Perfected a way to affect Sebaceans particularly?"
He considered it for several microts, then shook his head. "Considering how easy it was to revert Durka, I'm gonna have to go with a 'no' on that one."
She sighed. "I'll find out when I get there."
"We."
"I'll have to go down onto High Command, John. Physically penetrate their security long enough to find the information. It makes sense that I go. I can enter easily, in my role as a Peacekeeper."
"We."
The microts slid by.
He broke the silence first. "I can help. I come in handy, and you know it. So I'm going."
"You can't."
"Why not?"
She tapped her finger lightly on his face, settling for that instead of giving him a Pantak jab. "This, perhaps?"
"I can pass for Sebacean easily. Remember, I got onto that Gammak base."
She didn't bother to mention how that had ended. But for her, he might have succeeded in his mission, never ended up in the Aurora Chair. "Yes, but you look like John Crichton." How many Peacekeepers had seen him? How many of them had been on the losing end of this man's actions, time and again? Oh, yes, they would remember him.
"Speaking of which, I talked to Zhaan before I came here. We bounced around a few ideas for a disguise."
Frell. He'd already put some thought into this. She should have expected that; she'd thought he might, though she was surprised his crewmembers hadn't immediately placed him in protective custody for even suggesting the idea. "Unless you plan on looking like a Scarran, I'm not sure how much different you'll look disguised. Not to mention passing the genetic scans and assorted Peackeeper security arrangements." Her mind whirled, one track thinking: now, if I were going to get him in, how would I do it?
Traitor, she told herself sternly.
"Oh, ye of little faith." His tone, strangely enough, mimicked that of her internal voice. He tugged lightly on her sleeve. "So is that the strongest part of your argument?"
"Oh, no." The Pantak jab was looking like a better option with every passing microt.
"Truce?"
She tried not to glare at him; they were both making a heroic effort to keep this light. "I'm not sure you understand your position, John."
Moving quickly, he flipped her over, half-trapping her with his own body. Just heavy enough for her to notice, but not so heavy that her muscle memory reacted to the stimulus. That must have been it, because she didn't react to him, not in the ways she'd been trained.
No, she reacted in new ways, and her mind wondered, worried at it. What is this, this thing called John? Who is he, that she knew him so well? His smell his taste his touch.
He was smiling at her. "You were talking about positions?"
She stared at him, shocked at him, at herself. How did he do that? How was he able to find these moments of play, even in the most serious of arguments, blunting the sharp edges without dismissing the danger? How was he able to lie atop of her, hip to hip, chest to chest, and not make her feel like he was demanding anything? Lucky for her she was excellent at multitasking, because her body was trying to tell her some fairly interesting things about their position, noting reactions, sensations. It was seriously considering making demands as a follow-up tactic.
"Don't . . . do that," she said. As firmly as she could.
"Do what? Look, I'm thinkin' here, okay? Stop trying to distract me."
She choked; he shifted minutely atop her. Hah. He was having problems with that one, at least if Human physiology was anything like Sebacean. "I'm distracting you?!"
He nodded, his expression completely innocent. If one didn't count the intent in his eyes. "Oh, yeah. You are always distracting me."
"Well, then you are easily distracted." Was this normal, in his world? Was this his people's of initiating recreation, or was this blend of playful words with serious discussion a uniquely John characteristic? "Get back on the subject."
"I am on the subject. You." He turned serious. "I don't want you to do this alone, Aeryn."
"I won't be alone."
"Okay, then, I don't want you to do this without me. Because you're going to need backup. Not the muscle kind, you got that in spades. But you need someone to watch your back. You need me."
They were arguing . . . like this. Lightly, as though so much were not at stake. "You need me." She didn't want to do that. She rolled away, and he let her. She didn't go far, just sat up and faced him. "John, you don't understand. These are Peacekeepers we're talking about. High Command. You can't just risk walking onto the base, or station, or planet, and think of getting away with being unnoticed!"
"I can risk it. You are."
"I'm not Human!"
"No, but you're going to be in just as much danger. More, even. Everyone will be looking at you. The Captain. The big kahuna. You're going to be in the limelight, Aeryn. No one will even notice just another PK goon."
"I'm used to it."
"And I'm not?" He laughed sardonically. "Oh, trust me, I'm used to being in danger. Ever since I dropped through that damn wormhole, I've been living with the fact that I'm a hunted man. And I've survived, Aeryn. I'm still here."
"Barely." His other self hadn't made it. But even that was his own choice, wasn't it?
"Let's not get into that competition again. I told you, it's over. We're not playing one-up again."
"If you think I need back-up, it makes more sense for you to stay here. You can coordinate our movements with the Leviathan."
"But you need one of us with you, because otherwise, no one on Moya will trust you if you call for help. We've walked into enough traps that way. And who's going to go? Not D'Argo, not Chiana, and definitely not Jool. Not Zhaan, and don't even bother suggesting Stark."
"Tauvo Crais knows more about Peacekeeper regulations than you do. It makes more sense for him to go."
"In his own way, he's as well-known as I am. He went to school with some of these guys. And, let's face it. If push comes to shove, he's not going to have the same priorities I do."
She didn't ask him what his priorities were; the look in his eyes was intense, piercing. And then the switch was thrown: he sighed and ran one hand through his hair, making him look . . . rumpled.
"Okay, here's the deal. Let me work with this end while you go on figuring out where PK High Command is. I'll talk with Zhaan about disguising myself, and I'll work with your unit to see how well I can blend in. If we come up with a plan that gets me down with you without exposing me to undue risk, I'm going."
"Who gets to define 'undue risk'?"
"I do. It's my hide that gets risked, so it's only fair."
"That's not fair." It wouldn't only be he that risked everything. If he was discovered, they were all dead. "You're risking Darwa, Sariv and Marat."
"And you. I know." He touched her hand almost absently. "But look at how much we've done so far. You and me, Aeryn. Together."
He was so unpredictable, so . . . effective, when he was focused. As he was now. "Not fair," she repeated.
"All's fair in love and war." He stopped short, as though he'd been about to say something else.
"Are we at war?" She knew what she thought. But he was John Crichton, Human. He'd been hunted by the Peacekeepers since his arrival. Would he see it the same way, because they were not his people? Because they were his enemies?
"Yeah," he said softly. "I guess we are."

Section 2: The Mechanics of Mutiny
Tauvo frowned over the latest batch of sensor reports. Nothing. He straightened, pushing back his shoulders and feeling the pops as muscles protested. "Frell."
"Tell me about it," John muttered, not looking up from his own screen. "How many sensors does that make, now? Three? Four?"
"Four."
"Tell me D'Argo's not out finding another one. My eyeballs are aching."
"I think he's cleaning out his ship. He's practically been living in it for the past weeken."
"Oh, the famous Luxan nose. Poor D'Argo."
"The Peacekeepers will start to wonder, when they find so many sensor platforms cannibalized and destroyed." Tauvo whacked the top of the display lightly, watching the viewscreen flicker. "This isn't getting us anywhere, John. This is useless, I told you that before we hit the first one. High Command's location is highly classified. If Aeryn Sun can't access it using her clearance, there's no way we're going to find it, especially not scooping up random sensor platforms remoting from the edges of various systems."
"She specifically asked us to get another data dump."
"I don't know what she's looking for, but we didn't find it."
John straightened up, moving stiffly, and sighed. Tauvo didn't know if the sigh was attached to his own words or the gesture. "Have a little more faith in her, Tauvo."
"What can I say? Maybe if she'd saved my life a time or two, I would."
A brief silence, and then: "What's up, Tauvo?"
Of course. Bloody John Crichton. The Human who always talked to you until you told him everything that was inside your head. "Nothing."
"Don't 'nothing' me, bro. I know you better than that."
He snarled, sullen. "If you're so frelling omniscient, why don't you tell me what's wrong with me?"
"Okay." John leaned back against his console. Tauvo had, as John would say, an oh-shit moment -- he'd practically invited this, hadn't he? -- before John continued. "Let's see. You're bored of looking at data 'cause it's killing your eyes. I have inferior eyesight and I coulda run out of here arns ago. You're upset because you keep thinking about the fact that we're essentially going up against PK High Command, and we don't even know where it is. And you're really pissed off because I'm planning on going down there with her. Am I close?"
Tauvo cleared his throat. "You missed the part where I'm angry because I don't get to do anything. Not anything real, anyway." Why not? Wasn't he good enough? Hadn't he proved his worth, after all this time?
John nodded. "Okay. That's a start."
"Forget the rest of it." Tauvo suddenly didn't want John thinking about it too much. Too easy for the Human to figure him out, sometimes, or talk to him to the point where Tauvo slipped and told John without meaning to show so much. No, he didn't want John worrying that Tauvo would go the way of Bialar. "Just tell me why you're even thinking of going down there. You're not going to be able to do any more than I would."
John shrugged. "Maybe I'll just be a warm body. Cannon fodder."
"Don't say that." He hated it when John made those jokes, he hated that calm, almost-joking tone. It hit too close to home. He'd seen the other John die. Tauvo and Captain Sun, together, had been in that room, watched that pain. She stayed until the end. How could she now sit by and watch this one do the same thing?
Because she was a Ghost.
"I don't have any expectations, Tauvo. She's got a better idea than I do, and I've been trying to spend some time with Darwa and Sariv, kinda getting a feel for the whole Ghost thing. They think it could work."
Tauvo knew about John's research. He'd spent much of his time, when not reading through sensor reports, shuttling in between Moya and the Vigilante. 'Commuting', as he'd put it. Which had lodged another burning ball in Tauvo's throat. John never asked him about Peacekeeper ways, never came back to him after talking to Sergeants Darwa and Sariv to double-check some fact or other. Tauvo understood, on a rational level; the others were Ghosts. Something totally different than anything he'd known. Anyway, all his knowledge was now out of date. Tauvo hadn't been a Peacekeeper, these last four cycles.
But still--
"They already warned me that unless they've got a designated area, we're probably going to be guarded," John noted. "More members added to the unit. Or we could even be split up."
Was that a question for information? Tauvo answered it slowly. "They won't let an unknown unit run around together alone."
"Yeah. Security risk."
"So why are you going? If all of you are going to be next to useless anyway?"
"To be closer. To be there, provide backup if needed. Because I can't sit back and do nothing."
"But you're asking me to do the same thing, John."
There was a heavy moment in between them, and then John nodded. "I guess so. But I can't stay here with you, Tauvo. I feel for you, man, but I just . . . can't."
"You're even more of a security risk than I am. To her. To all of them. You don't know the Regs, you still don't know the sequence of codes and countercodes and all the little things that Peacekeepers do and demand and require. Can you risk that, John?" Tauvo pulled out the heavy weaponry. "Can you risk being the one to blow their cover? If you're caught, you're going back to the Chair. If they're caught, they'll be dead in less than two microts. Do you want that to happen? I don't think so, John. You really haven't thought this through."
John looked strangely nonchalant as he shrugged. "I know I haven't. But I'm talking to Marat and Sariv and Darwa, and we're working together. We'll get there. They know about the risks, but no one's brought that up as a reason I shouldn't go." His voice was mild as he added: "Not from their end, anyway."
Tauvo had the grace to flush.
John, good friend that he was, ignored it. "It's not like we're in too much of a hurry yet; we don't even know where we're going."
The comms chimed; Tauvo looked over his shoulder and went to work the controls. "Transmission from the Vigilante. They're coming into range. Transmission onscreen."
The viewscreen showed the Vigilante's tiny Command. Aeryn was in the foreground, with the scarred one -- Sergeant Sariv -- behind. Tauvo nodded at her. "Captain Sun."
"Officer Crais. John. Have you downloaded that sensor data?"
John moved forward, in front of the pickup, so she could see him clearly. "And went through it. Found nothing, zippo, zilch. How was your day, honey?"
Tauvo found some amusement in noting that she didn't react to his Human phrases. She'd picked up that habit as quickly as Moya's crew. "We found another platform and did the same thing. Could you transmit the data over here so we can collate?"
John turned around. "Tauvo?"
"Sending." Tauvo bent over the console. "Just adding to the pile of dren," he said, just loud enough to be audible.
She heard, but nothing crossed her expression. "I expect we'll have a location within one or two arns," was her only comment, and that was delivered dryly.
He looked up quickly. "How? Where did you access that information?"
"We didn't. I'm going to extrapolate the data."
How? And now? "From what?" Out of thin air?
"Processing station logs. We have accumulated enough data from various systems to be able to track officer movements across a large section of Peacekeeper territories."
Processing stations logged units moving in and out, arriving and leaving, or merely just coming through en-route. How would this help? "And?"
She smiled. "What senior officer do you know who went to High Command regularly?"
Tauvo and John looked at each other, but it was the Human who said it out loud. "Scorpius," John breathed.
"Yes. He went back regularly to give reports. Since I know his clearance level, assignments and duty stations, I believe I'll be able to track his travels through the processing stations. I can cross-reference the timestamp of the logged data with my knowledge of his location at any given time, and we'll know if he was en route to High Command, or returning. Extend the line of bearing outward from the direction of the processing stations, and we'll have our heading." She looked down at her console. "Data received. I'll get to it. Vigilante out."
The viewscreen dissolved. Tauvo suddenly realized his mouth was open.
"Tauvo?"
"Yes, John?"
"Don't take this as a warning or anything, but . . . don't ever doubt her."
Tauvo closed his jaw with a snap.

A crawling on the back of his neck. Darwa turned around. It was the Captain. Of course.
Marat saw her and stopped wiping down the pulse pistol. "You need us on Command, Captain?"
"No." She was just standing there, in the doorway to the Armoury, watching them, a strange look on her face. Like she was . . . amused. Maybe.
Darwa suddenly felt like shivering. "Cap'n?" When she didn't respond, Marat glanced at him, a quick look, worry written all over her face. He shrugged, just a slight twitching of the shoulders. He'd never seen the Captain . . . well, look like this before.
Oh. She looked . . . puzzled.
"You're helping him," she said quietly, just before their nerves broke. A kindness, on her part, to break that building tension before they ran screaming into the corridor.
Oh. Oh. Now he understood. The Commander. "Yeah."
"All of you."
Now it was Marat's turn to shrug, carefully, slowly, like she was afraid to make any sudden moves. Even though she was the one holding a pulse pistol. "Yes."
"You know exactly how much more dangerous it will be." For us, was the end of that sentence. Unsaid. She was telling them that it wasn't going to be easy for anyone. That bringing him along would make it worse, harder.
They'd already talked about that, amongst themselves. "He can handle it," Darwa told her.
"I know that. But do you?"
Do you trust him? she was asking, and he nodded, slowly. "We think so."
"We?"
"All of us. We've talked. Sariv too," Marat said. "He's got the -- nerve, Captain. The ability to go with the mission."
"He'll need more than nerve."
"Well, we've had some thoughts on how to get him in, work . . . use the system. With his nerve and our help, he'll get the rest of the way."
"And will you guarantee his safety? All the way?"
Marat shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "We -- we can't do that."
That carved face was expressionless. "I know." Quiet. Final.
"But -- Captain . . . we should let him try."
"He's smart, Cap'n," Darwa said. "He'll do."
"We could do it with four," she replied. "Why take the risk?"
"Because--" Marat faltered. "Because--" She shot a help-me look at Darwa. The Captain waited patiently.
Because of you, Darwa thought, because of what we know you're going to have to go through. Because you might need him.
As though she'd heard that whispered thought, she looked at him. And smiled, and shook her head. Once again there was that lessening of tension, an almost palpable release. Yes. She was letting them go, giving them space. Darwa breathed more easily.
"You," she said quietly, "are all mad."
Darwa faced her. Saluted. "Yes, sir."

He looked at himself in the mirror. "Too weird." Well, not for the UT. For the UT, this was pretty tame. After all, it wasn't like he was now sporting a Luxan's tentacles or anything.
Just -- the blue-black hair was really throwing him. Dark skin, a cinnamon toffee hue. Not too dark, just about Tauvo's colouring. John's normal hair colour wasn't all that light, and he used to live in Florida, he knew what a tan was. But go just a few shades darker, and what a difference it made. His eyes looked electric blue. He looked . . . predatory.
"If I do say so m'self," he murmured, adding his PK Villain accent.
Not bad. He totally looked like a bad guy. Even down to the wearing black part. All except for -- he rummaged under the rest of his things -- the final piece. The Ghost jacket she'd given him, before she'd delivered him to the Carrier. The one he'd kept as a memento.
Leaving his chamber, he headed for the maintenance bay, where he'd meet up with D'Argo and Tauvo for the flight over to the Vigilante. Aeryn wanted to have the final briefing there, where she could run the sims on the cruiser's tactical holo tank.
Something weird, there; John got the feeling Aeryn didn't like being on Moya. The two times she had, she'd come over late in the sleep cycle, meeting no one but Tauvo and John. Maybe she was nervous because Moya didn't have any weapons capability? If the PKs showed up suddenly, it would be kind of hard for Aeryn to react without having something explosive handy.
Chiana zipped around the corridor, nearly running into him. He grabbed her out of instinct, holding her close for balance, so neither would fall.
"Whoa!" After a quick look at the new him, she waggled her eyebrows, tossed her head, and cocked her hip forward in a way that was so uniquely her, sex and drugs and rock'n'roll, all rolled into one package. "I like," she hissed, her voice mocking, seductive.
Her pelvis was rubbing into his. He shook his head and lightly, playfully, pushed her away. "Yeah, I know. You and men in uniform."
"Men out of uniform, too." She ran one finger down his lapel, moving in close under his chin. Her breath was hot on his neck.
"This turns you on, huh?" He shook his head, aware that she was treading close to his line. They'd been here before, and he hadn't been able to. Not even when Aeryn hadn't been someone he'd thought of every seven seconds. "I'll tell that to the next guy you set your eyes on."
"Maybe I've already set my eyes on . . . someone." She smiled at him coyly, cocked her head to peer at him from between tufts of white hair.
"I hope you have," he said quietly. "I have."
She stiffened, dropping the sex kitten to the wayside. "You're serious. You're going with her to High Command?"
He nodded. "You think I'd put on all the makeup but not go to the prom?"
"That's crazy. You know that's crazy."
"Well, you know what they say. Fools for love, and all that."
"Is that what this is?" She came back in, a shark looking for blood. Splayed her hands over the front of his jacket. "Is it love, Crichton? Or is it just--" She reared up, presenting him with soft grey lips, the tip of a pink bud tongue. A view of shadowy cleavage. "--lust?"
Harvey began bow-wowing in the background. John ignored him, trying hard to keep from, well, feeling hard. "I've been asking myself the very same question."
"And?" That wicked smile. A Chris Isaak song began playing in his head, a great theme song for this little scene. Harvey was really hamming it up over Wicked Game.
Damn it, John couldn't lie. He had to be honest. "It's not just lust, Pip."
She collapsed like he'd deflated her, supple body turning inward. For just a moment, and then she was bouncing back, smile bright. "Must be a nice change, Crichton. Instead of walking into traps, you're helping to set them up for yourself."
"It's not like that." He leaned forward quickly, moving his arms to trap her against the corridor wall. Brought his face close to hers. "You know better than that. I'm not asking you to trust her, Pip. I'm asking you to trust me."
Chiana was subdued now. The girl was quicksilver in her emotions, mercurial in her manner. But she was so easy to hurt; he'd seen that, over the cycles. Chiana trusted slowly, carefully, but she was still a frightened little girl underneath the thief, and he still ached for her. "Do you trust her that much?"
He nodded.
"Do you care for her that much?"
He nodded again.
"Well, then." She ducked underneath his arm, slapped him on the ass. "That's that. Here we go again."
Rubbing his eyes in frustration, he continued walking towards the maintenance bay, turning the little scenario over in his head. Were they still friends? Did she understand what he'd been trying to tell her? Did she realize he loved her, he always would, but never in the way that she wanted? Hot and heavy she could do easily, but the slow moments, the commitment -- she ran from that. He couldn't just scratch the itch, and she wouldn't understand his need to hold on. They were just not going to synch up.
And you think Captain Aeryn Sun will?
You really need to learn when to shut up, Harv.
You really need to learn that denial isn't just a river in Egypt.
She's giving up her life as she knows it, you stupid ass moron.
Yes, but she's not giving it up for you, is she?
No, and I don't want her to. That's called obsession. Something you're familiar with, Harv?
That took care of one problem, and as far as the other -- well, this was Chiana. Why was he worrying? He was never going to understand her. Luckily, he'd more or less given up trying, and just went with the flow. It was just -- the flow crashed on everyone a time or two, when Pip got bored.
He, D'Argo and Tauvo shuttled over to the Vigilante in one of the transport pods. The cruiser's bay was cleared for the pod, and Darwa met them at the hangar to escort them up to Command.
"Check out the new look," John said. "What do you think?"
Darwa blinked. "It's different."
Walking into Command, John's eyes went immediately to Aeryn. She was standing with her back to him, leaning over a console with Marat, but she knew the moment he was there. John could see the awareness in the lines of her body. He couldn't have pointed out the details, but he knew, and she knew, and it went round and round from there.
"So how do I look?"
She turned. Saw him. Her eyes widened, and for a moment, he almost didn't recognize her, she was so stiff, so remote. Gone. Then the moment passed; he blinked. She walked forward, checking over him critically.
"You look--" Circling around him, she paused, and smiled. A weird little half-smile, almost . . . sad. Her eyes were dark. "You look like a Ghost."
He half-frowned at her and cocked his head, inviting comment, but Sariv chose that moment to do a comical double-take and cough before he spoke. "Commander? I would never have recognized you!"
"You like?" John held out his arms. "Instant suntan. Works better than Clark Kent's glasses."
Aeryn reached out, touched his skin, rubbing lightly. He tried not to react. Her expression was masked now, shuttered. "It won't rub off?"
No, but she was more than welcome to try. "Won't wash off, either. Skin or hair colour."
"You're not like this permanently, are you?" Tauvo asked him.
Now he asked? "God no. But I think Zhaan oughta bottle this stuff and sell it back on Earth. She'd make a mint. Nah, it comes off with a -- solvent, I guess, is the best word for it. She's mixed up a reactive agent for me to use when I get back." Not if, but when.
"You did test it prior to using the entire solution?"
"Yes, Tauvo, I did, thank you so much for asking now. Do I look stupid? No, don't answer that." He looked back at Aeryn. "I definitely passed the appearance test."
"Hmmm." Non-committal. She wasn't going to give an inch. Reaching out, she touched one of the sigils along the collar. A quick move snapped it off, and his eyebrows rose in question. "Captain's sigils," she said lightly.
Oh, yeah. The sigils allowed him safe passage off Jessek's Carrier, but here, they would raise too many questions. He was supposed to be a pilot, and he'd be breaking a million and one PK regs, showing up in a jacket with shiny captain shit all over it.
But her removal of the captain's tags was significant. Right? "I think that counts as a point for my side."
"I thought we weren't taking sides?" A sliding glance, full of ironic amusement. "Besides, I already know I'm destined to lose. My traitorous crew has also come up with a way to chip you."
He had a sudden vision of being micro-chipped, like a dog back on Earth, until he saw her holding up a PK ident chip. "How?"
"These are blanks. Each Peacekeeper is supposed to hang on to their ident chip for life, but that doesn't often work on the front lines." Her voice was wry. "I'm authorized to carry a very limited amount of spares because of my clearance level. We'll program one with your genetic data and give you a false history."
His thoughts filled with a chorus of Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!, he tried to focus on what she'd said, and look for any flaws in the plan. That was his role here, right? "But won't the genetic scanners check to see if I'm Sebacean?"
"No. How do you think Scorpius passed those scans? Remember, John, most Peacekeepers can't imagine any non-Sebacean trying to fool a genetic scanner."
"Scarrans usually just blast their way through the hull," Sariv told him.
"The scanners just match what they sample with whatever is kept on your ident chip," Aeryn continued. "They won't check DNA strings or molecular composition."
"So I'll have a personnel record saved on the chip. What about the back-end solution?" He looked at Sariv and Marat. They'd discussed this problem and talked over some likely solutions, and he'd left them with action items.
Marat held out a chip. "Here."
"You rock." More than she knew; this program was his solution for more than one problem. He passed it on to Tauvo. "Captain Sun's staff has some very interesting specialties. This should have a personnel file on it, along with an embedded worm program."
Tauvo took it, understanding blooming on his face. "You want us to locate the outermost relay platforms in the system and insert the false data."
"Bingo. So if someone tries to access any information on me, it'll bounce off the satellites and download my file, hey presto. Big round of applause to Marat." He glanced at Aeryn. "How are they going to sneak up on the platforms?"
She pressed a panel on the console, bringing up a holo of a sensor platform, which she zoomed as she spoke. "Outlying relay platforms are just that -- for relaying coded information. They're automated, cramped, very little room. Just a large booster unit, really. The only people that go aboard them are techs. There's not a lot of space to mount weapons, and internally, they only have a few alarms, mainly to keep techs from doing something stupid.
"Relays are designed to work in concert with sensor platforms. Techs usually broadcast an encrypted signal that turns off the self-defence features on the sensor platforms. Unless you manage to follow a tech transport and capture that signal and decode it, I would suggest you simply float in under momentum. So long as you drift in with no power signature, you should be fine."
Should. He didn't like the sound of that. From anyone else, he would have demanded an alternate plan.
"When we were tossing around the idea, you said only D'Argo's ship was equipped to do this. Why can't Moya do the same thing?"
"Moya would read as an organic lifeform," she answered, and he saw Tauvo nodding in comprehension. "Ka D'Argo's ship is not. While the Leviathan can use her long-range scanners to locate and target the relays, the smaller ship should be used to deploy your people in to do the task while Moya looks for the next relay. That way we may get enough coverage to guarantee the insertion of the files, regardless of what route they're accessed."
"So who's going to be doing the actual dirty work?" He looked at Tauvo. "You wanna nominate yourself?"
"Actually, no." Now Tauvo was actually smiling. "Although I am a Peacekeeper, I was never a tech, so I don't think I'm quite suited for the job." He slanted a look at D'Argo. "However, I think I know just the person with the right sort of talents."
D'Argo's eyes widened. "Yes," he said slowly. "In fact, I think I know who else we should send, as an extra pair of hands."

They were ranged in Command. She looked at all the faces. So few. She knew what was going on behind their masks. Hearts beating faster. Anticipation rising. The rituals of pre-mission, and still even more tension, because of what they were about to do. Step into the unknown.
Peacekeeper High Command was now the operational theatre. Enemy territory. Familiar uniforms would hide secrets. They would have to be doubly on their guard, for those that they expected to be friends, the usual comforts, would be dangers here.
Track One: Empty your thoughts of everything. Begin with the void. Work from there.
Track Two: His name is Jocar Ton. Officer Jocar Ton. Remember that.
Not hard to do, when he looked so unlike John. So like . . . a Ghost. A memory.
Flashback: Rayn. Pretty name. She liked it.
Concentrate. "Last questions?" she asked.
No one asked. They'd drilled various parts of the plan. She didn't tell them too many of the variables, keeping the same signals, asking for the same basic responses. One way to cut down possible mistakes. Let her worry about the timing, about the motives and the theories. Just make sure when the signal came, they knew what to do, and how long they had to do it.
They were going into this with so little. Her thoughts. Shreds of evidence.
She knew. And John believed her.
Jocar Ton.
So little to go on, starting out. She would have to stretch further than she'd ever gone before. No way to know what she would ultimately face, what would be required. How much she would lose.
Rayn told her to let go, once, and look what she'd done to him in return. Too much at risk here; she couldn't afford to frell up. She drew her comms unit out of her jacket pocket. Tossed it to Darwa, who caught it automatically.
"What's this?"
"We're switching comms units. You'll be the main contact point. That way, no one will have to change frequencies."
As one, everyone frowned. "I'll be watched," she explained. "We can't afford for an emergency transmission to come through at the wrong time, but we can't risk frelling with our timing. Darwa, you've got enough seniority to be able to handle most problems if I'm not around, and no one will question you if we separated and need to make contact. At best, say that we're recreation partners." She didn't look at John -- Jocar Ton -- as she said that. "Marat, you know where you're going. Sariv and Jocar--"
Sariv looked over at the Human. "Snazzy uniforms, eh?"
John didn't look too impressed. "I hate balaclavas. One of these days, Sariv, I'm gonna tell you about a classic movie we have on Earth. Then you'll be able to understand what I mean when I say I'm not too happy playing a stormtrooper. It didn't work for Luke."
"Make it work for you." She made it an order. Because I'll kill you if it doesn't.
He looked at her. Smiled. Saluted. "Yes, sir."
"Just . . . keep your helmets down," she told them.

They'd been in-system for over three arns, slowly coasting in, and the tension was ratcheting back up. They hadn't been challenged, they hadn't seen any evidence of ships or traffic or Command Carriers.
"Where are they?" Sariv whispered aloud. For the fourth time since they'd arrived.
"Still no readings," Marat reported, as though that answered his question.
Darwa stared at the viewscreen, waiting. They were nearly at the central nexus of the system, with maybe another half arn to go. And still nothing. Just a gas giant, with a small moon orbiting it. But there was no doubt in his mind; the Captain wasn't wrong about where to go. They'd seen that as soon as they'd arrived. Peacekeeper equipment was scattered throughout the system. They'd picked up all sorts of readings off of sensors, relays. But no ships. No Carriers. The gas giant couldn't support a base, obviously. Maybe the moon? It had to be the moon, there was no place else.
"It's got to be here," Sariv muttered. "There are sensor platforms littering the system."
Darwa grunted. "Weapons platforms too."
"Have we been targeted yet?"
"Not with designators." Not yet, anyway. But anyone in the system would have seen them by now.
"They've been watching us since we arrived in-system," the Captain said quietly.
"Well, where are they?" Sariv said. "I don't see a frelling thing. Marat?"
"I can't get a fix," she responded, shaking her head. "Lots of weird readings. They're bouncing everywhere. It's like we're almost right on top of them, but I don't see anything."
The Captain's eyebrows rose, and she stared intently at her crew. They noticed, and to the last one, stilled. Darwa nodded to himself. As he'd expected, she'd figured it out. He looked over at the Commander, who was quiet, watching the Captain.
"What?" Sariv broke first. "Where are they?"
"Right there." She pointed at the viewscreen.
"I don't see anything," he replied. "Just that small moo--"
Three indrawn breaths. Darwa stole a glance at the Commander. Still watching the Captain. So he'd figured it out, too. Then again, he didn't have Peacekeeper indoctrination working against him.
"It's a moon," Sariv insisted. Darwa tried to filter the image through his display.
"No, it's not," she corrected him. "Look at our readings. It's a ship."
"What?" Sariv looked down again, as though he'd see something new or different.
Darwa stared at his display. Peacekeeper High Command was . . . a ship. A massive Carrier, easily triple the size of a Scarran dreadnought. The largest ship he'd ever seen. The size of a small moon, it was so huge. Concealed behind a screen designed to mimic lunar features. There even seemed to be the pale sheen of atmosphere.
High Command was a ship.
"It's the freakin' Death Star," the Commander muttered from behind them. He was lounging against one of the consoles, the very picture of ease. Except for the way he kept rubbing his fingers against his lips, a nervous habit.
Darwa looked away from the sight: a familiar figure with a stranger's gestures.
He cleared his throat, directing his next words to the Captain. "How do you want to do this?" They were still coasting inward, drifting towards the gas giant. Too late to run, and past time to be making decisions.
She turned to him. Smiled. It was a predator's smile. "We're Ghosts," she said calmly. "We have a reputation to maintain."
He could feel her slipping away already. She was going into herself, using the void to slow time and predict the future. "They'll blow us up if we try a combat drop." He wasn't arguing, just pointing it out.
"We're not going to do anything that stupid," she murmured. "We'll just let them know we're here." She reached out and pressed the active sensors. They flared to life, electromagnetic waves flowing out from the Vigilante, spreading in front of them, blanketing space.
A high-pitched beeping suddenly filled the interior of Command; four different weapons systems were tracking them. "Well, they know we're here," Darwa muttered. In case anyone had any doubt.
A strange voice crackled through their comms. "Vigilante cruiser, identify yourself! You are entering restricted territory!"
The Captain smiled. "It's beginning," she said quietly, to no one in particular.
Maybe it was Darwa's imagination, but it seemed colder in Command.

"It's beginning," Tauvo murmured. Chiana stared intently at the screen. No need to ask him what he meant.
"Why did they just do that?" Jool demanded. "They just gave away their position!"
Tauvo shook his head. "High Command knew they were there all along."
Chiana agreed with both of them. On the surface, everything had seemed to be fine; they'd been coasting in unchallenged. Then the Vigilante's active sensors had pinged to life, a beacon spotlighting them in the darkness. And suddenly there was a fleet of warships coming out to meet them, spilling from the moon, racing to close the distance. Peacekeepers.
The small icon of the Vigilante continued to coast onward, seemingly unperturbed. "They're making an entrance," she said softly. Almost caught herself smiling. John, she thought. John would do that. Maybe a little Nebari style was rubbing off on him. Finally!
"Well, that was frelling stupid," Jool snorted.
"That," D'Argo replied without looking at her, "is about taking power."
"But they're bluffing!"
"Are you so sure?"
Jool sputtered, the tips of her hair bouncing against her shoulders in comical counterpoint. "Well, isn't that their plan? Bluffing their way through this? I thought that was part of their plan!"
Chiana sighed and wondered how soon they would get to the first sensor platform. Not that she'd be able to escape Jool. The tralk would be following her. Maybe she could just manage to lose the Interon somewhere? Preferably stuffed into a maintenance shaft three sizes too small? Nah, that probably wouldn't work; her clothing was always at least two sizes too small already.
D'Argo snorted. "And what, exactly, do we really know about their plan?"
Chiana saw Tauvo freeze over his console and shoot the Luxan a dark glance. Ah hah, she thought. D'Argo doesn't trust her. And Tauvo . . . Tauvo doubts himself.
She turned back to the viewscreen, to watch the plan unfold.

He watched her being led away, heart in his throat. They'd come so damn far. He couldn't believe it. She hit every note right. Called every shot. Played it fast and cool, even when a fighter group of Prowlers and Marauders came out to meet them, a destroyer-class vessel shadowing their sensor edges. Made no difference to her; she never quite backed down, just backed off, holding on station to transmit codes and counter codes. A part of him wanted to take notes, for the next time he tried to bluff his way into a Peacekeeper base.
The other part was flinching back from her. She was so damn . . . cold. Watching her, John realized that he'd seen glimpses of this person, knew it was there, but this distance drove him crazy when it lasted for ten minutes. He hadn't really dealt with Captain Sun for whole hours at a time.
She was on their side. Remember that.
She bowled over most demands for identification by snapping out some sort of top-level security code. It made the underlings back off real quick, allowed them to land unharmed. When they touched down, were told to get off the Vigilante, she led the way. Outside the cruiser, when she finally got to someone with real authority, she looked him in the eye and demanded to see the Council.
The man laughed. She didn't. That's when they started to take her very seriously. John saw the change. From external threat to internal. She'd gone from being a stupid Peacekeeper to being a problem, an unknown quantity. John felt that sickening wrench of fear again.
They were led to some sort of holding cell or briefing room, he wasn't quite sure. A combination of both. Some brief frisks, taking the obvious weapons. He wasn't asked to remove his helmet. Peacekeeper thinking: it doesn't matter who you are, just what weapons you're toting.
And then some black-suits came for her. Only her.
She looked so damn calm.
As soon as she walked out, surrounded by her guards, the pulse pistols remaining in the room drooped. The guards didn't turn away entirely, but the tension in the room went down visibly. Because she was gone, or because their boss had gone with her? These were grunts, like Sariv and Darwa. Like him.
"Ident chips, please." A very polite-sounded young man, going around requesting their bona fides. Stopped in front of Sariv. "Faceplates up."
Sariv hesitated visibly, then lifted his slowly. He didn't have his balaclava on underneath.
John didn't move.
The young man checked at the sight of the scars on Sariv's face, white stripes in the shadows of the helmet. "Frell--" he whispered aloud. Sariv shut the faceplate again quickly, without being ordered. The guards at the door lunged forward, but the young man waved them away. "No," he said, his voice just a little shaky. "No, it's okay." He looked at John, noticed that he hadn't moved, either. "You too?"
John nodded.
Sariv pulled out his ident chip, wriggled his hand out of his glove. "W-will a genetic scan do, sir?" The most querulous tone John had heard from the talkative commando yet.
"Yeah." The PK's voice was rough, and his smooth baby-face was transparent as he stared at Sariv's hand.
Zhaan had outdone herself. The latex-like scars she'd given John and Sariv blended perfectly with their skin. Better than Broadway, baby. He and Sariv had glued them on that first arn they'd been in-system, the last bit of his -- their -- disguise.
John let his gaze travel around the bare-faced commandos around them -- all poster-boy types. Don't see much horror in your ivory tower, do you? He took off his glove. It reached past his elbow; he pulled it, revealing the hideous little ropy lines he'd stuck on his arm. He made sure to flash the real one, the burn where the Sheyang had flambed him, cycles ago. The spot was shiny in the harsh light. The young Peacekeeper saw it, flinched away.
It's not contagious, John wanted to tell him, just for the hell of it. But he needed to save the snappy chatter for later. He became busy lowering his sleeve again. Aeryn was right. By taking away the top guys, providing the obvious threat, she'd drawn the heat off of her unit. So to speak.
Sariv and Darwa were right, too. The PKs didn't like knowing they were fragile, frail. To be expected from a military society. Some scars were okay, they proved you worthy of battle. But the hideously scarred, the crippled, the elderly, the infirm -- eyes turned away, glances were averted.
Son of a bitch. John never really thought about it, never considered how Sariv must feel, when the young commando went onto a Command Carrier or was around 'normal' PKs. On the Vigilante, the others treated him like just another person, but they were part of his unit, they knew the guy beneath the mauled face. John noticed the scars, obviously, when they'd first met, but he'd never given it much thought either. Ever since he'd been shot to this side of the galaxy, the way someone looked had kinda lost its impact. It was hard to get worked up about scars when one of your best buddies sported tentacles.
The only other PK with scars he'd seen was that one Lieutenant on Scorpy's Command Carrier, the one that hated D'Argo, but that was a mild scar, especially compared to the roadmap of Sariv's face. Not to mention that Sariv was only a grunt. Grot.
This was Sariv got on a daily basis, from his own people. No wonder Sariv didn't get heartburn over spending months on board the cruiser, away from all this crap.
Sariv put his hand on the reader as the ident chip was inserted. It flashed green; his snapshot genetic code matched with that one stored on the chip. John was next. He tried not to hold his breath. It didn't check the code itself, just looked for the match, right? One to one.
Green. A match.
The rest of them were scanned through without a problem. He stood still, dazed. Everyone seemed to think that, with Aeryn gone, they were pretty much just soldiers. Just following orders.
Like the Nazis just followed orders, right?
They were left with a guard, who perfunctorily tried to talk to them, get some details, but John fell into his role of the silent, stupid type. Just right for him. It provided a little bit of space. Gave him a chance to catch his breath, because that was kind of hard to do right now. His heart rate was starting to get into the red zone, and he gritted his teeth, trying to breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth, without being too obvious. Damn it, this shouldn't be happening. He'd gotten over this.
Flashbacks. It was driving him crazy, to have to stand still, when his mind kept bringing on scenes of horror. The Chair. Torture. Pain. He wasn't their kind, but he knew too much about the PKs to think that they wouldn't do similar to their own.
Oh. Oh! I'm not having these flashbacks for my benefit.
He couldn't even pace. What was happening to her? What was she going through? Damn, it was way too late for second thoughts about the plan. Okay, Aeryn, I already hate your plans. Why is it that they usually end up with you out on the edge, alone?
But that's why he was here. So she wasn't alone.
That's it. Next time, I get to make the plan.

Section 3: Bonding Rituals
"Come on, Princess!"
"Look, you may be used to crawling around on your hands and knees in all sorts of small dark places, but I'm not, okay?"
Chiana rolled her eyes, unseen by the figure behind her. "And what have you been doing for the past cycle with D'Argo?"
"Why, that's -- none of your business!"
"He isn't." Anymore. She quashed the pain with the ease of familiarity; it's not like she knew for certain that it was actually happening. D'Argo hadn't really fallen to such depths, right? "This is. Now move!"
There was a ripping sound, and Jool squeaked. Chiana snarled and turned around. "What part of quiet didn't you understand, Princess?"
"I just ripped my skirt!"
"Right. Because you also didn't hear the part where I said 'we'll be crawling around the guts of that remote sensor platform', right? And I didn't mention that it was going to be cold and cramped?" Why was Jool even here, again?
Right on cue, Jool spoke up. "I don't even know why I'm here!"
"Because everyone else is busy. And you know stuff, even though you're not actually smart," Chiana reminded herself. Out loud. "And because you might -- just might -- come in useful when we need to load this thing. You've got lots of experience loading programs onto consoles, don't you, Princess?"
"See? I'm useful!" More scuffling in the background: they'd barely made it a body-length from the last encounter with outfit-eating hardware.
Barely. But Tauvo and D'Argo gotta be in the ship, in case someone sneaks up behind us and tries to shoot us in the back. "Yeah. That's pretty much the only experience you have."
"Hey!"
Chiana sighed and continued onward. "Move it, Princess."
"I am!"
"Faster, so we get there today, maybe? We want to make sure that data's online and sent down to the ship before any of those Councilors try to access any personnel information." John's life was at stake here. Again. He'd managed to make it down into the massive Carrier safely, but she didn't know what had happened to him after that. Certainly nothing was safe for him anymore. It frustrated her, not being able to be on that moon, protecting him, making sure he was okay, knowing where he was at any given microt. No, she was stuck here, playing breaking-and-entering with the red-headed tralk.
She missed him, his incomprehensible chatter, his smile. He'd only been gone a few arns when Moya had scouted the edges of the system, looking for the most likely sensor platform, but it seemed longer. Well, he had been mostly off Moya ever since they'd met up with the Ghost squad. Or so it seemed to Chiana. Maybe she was just reacting to his distance, the way that, even when he'd been on Moya, his mind was always subtly somewhere else.
With her, of course.
Chiana had yet to meet the enigmatic Captain Sun; the woman could apparently slip on and off Moya with all the expertise of a certain Nebari thief. I'm not going to hate you for being the one to catch his eye, she promised silently. But I will kill you if you don't see what you've got. And I certainly don't trust you. Not with John.
Amazing how important he'd become in her life. In all of their lives. His absence from Moya had been noted, even if most of them didn't talk about it. And she missed him terribly. She wanted him back with them, even if he was only an inferior Human. Even if he had no notion of how to have a good time.
She smiled, hearing Jool's muttered curses drift up behind her. Had it taken John this long, to learn? To catch up to the rest of them? Right now she'd take five Humans to one Jool. Well, five male Humans. No sense letting those odds go to waste.
She stopped suddenly, warned by instinct. Jool rammed her face into Chiana and shrieked.
Chiana smiled, briefly distracted by a memory. John once said something about this, something like . . . kiss my ass? Didn't pay to get too distracted, though; she thrust back a hand to silence the Interon and managed to find lips. "Shut up."
"What did I say?"
"What haven't you? Shut up and let me think." A sense of something, ahead. "I think there's a sensor trigger up here."
Jool craned her neck around to see the passageway in front of them. Her hair tickled Chiana's neck. "I don't see anything."
"Of course you don't." Now, if she were going to booby-trap this corridor, but still allow the various techs to be able to access this quickly, where would she--?
"Well, how do you know something's there?"
"Because that's why I'm here." Ah hah. That outlet box, there behind that pipe. Nothing hooked up to it, no dust on it. And, look here, hinges on the side. Chiana opened it and smiled, feeling very pleased with the universe. Three buttons. She gathered some dust from the surrounding pipes, blew it over the buttons. One of them collected more dust than the others.
"Problem solved," she chuckled to herself. Yeah, her time with Gilina on the Gammak base still came in handy. Chiana was glad she kept copious mental notes on everything she'd learned during those tense arns.
"I didn't see anything," Jool muttered as they crept onward.
"Well, you see, Princess, that's why it's called a trap."
"You think you're so good at this, don't you?"
"Well, that's because I am."
"Anyone could learn."
She stopped. Turned around, at least as much as she could in the passageway, to glare at Jool. "Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah. It's just a matter of intelligence. Logic."
"Uh-huh."
"Anyone could do it."
"So you think you're up to it, eh?"
"Of course," Jool sniffed. "All I lack is the knowledge and the experience."
"Well, then." Chiana smiled to herself. "Let's test your little theory, shall we? I'll start providing the knowledge. And by the time we finish bugging this relay station, you'll have a little experience. So the next time we have to do this, assuming that my hide isn't at stake, you can be the one in front."
Silence behind her. She laughed to herself. When the universe insisted on being dull and boring and life-and-death, sometimes a girl just had to make her own fun.
And, oh, was she going to have fun with this.

"State your mission!"
For the fifth time. Hadn't they recorded this yet? "Classified."
He was close, threatening her. The blank faceplate of the helmet reflected her pale face. "I hold a Security Five-Velka clearance." Showed her an ident chip. "You will identify yourself and tell me your purpose in being here!"
"I told you who I am. Captain Aeryn Sun. Look up the details in my personnel entry. And you already know my clearance matches yours." She didn't face him, didn't bother trying to stare him down. "As far as my mission, unless you are a Councilor, you do not have the clearance to hear details. So don't ask me again."
She counted off the chronometer in her head. He growled, right on cue. "You will be reprimanded and retired for this insolence, Captain! You are disobeying a direct order from a superior officer!"
"You are not my superior officer, sir." She smiled at him. That's your last warning. "And unless you are a Council member, you will not get any more information."
"We will call an interrogator."
She shrugged. "Go ahead. That's part of our training."
That's another clue, you frelling idiot, she thought sourly. He didn't pick up on it. There was fury in every line of that armoured figure while he reacted to her last statement. Didn't know that, did you? Don't see many Ghosts here. You don't get a chance to deal with many outsiders, just those you know and work with, cycle after cycle. She made it a point to stand relaxed, to breathe evenly. These were just the opening moves of the game, and she already knew she'd won this round. He was the one who hadn't figured it out yet, and she would help him. Soon.
"How did you find this location?"
Track One: Now.
Track Two: Well, you see, I was dragged here after I landed, and you separated me from my unit.
No, that sounded too much like Jocar Ton.
"How else would I have found out?" She kept her face blank. "Scorpius." The name was like a grenade, tossed into the room. Vaccum exploded, sucking all the sound out for several microts.
"What does Scorpius have to do with this?"
You're frelling kidding me. Surprise filled her; she didn't realize he would be so accommodating, she thought she'd have to work for the opening and victory. But this -- he gave it to her. Now she looked directly at him, allowing contempt to show through her eyes, to poison her voice. "You didn't actually read my ident chip report, did you?" Said it loudly, with a hint of incredulousness, loud enough for his own men to hear.
He almost left his station -- he visibly flinched -- but restrained himself before he went back to the display, to read what he'd missed.
She'd win this round. Had won. Waiting, she smiled at him, and it was cruel satisfaction. What he had just done was being relayed on imagers, back to his superior officers. Who would be reacting similarly, cursing him, themselves, for having trusted to his skills. Better revenge than she could ever hope for, if she had actually been so minded. No, this was all to his credit, and to his incompetence.
He broke first; he had to. It was either ask her or move towards the console, and he'd already frelled up. "Scorpius isn't here anymore."
Her smile became real, for just a microt. Well, he'd tried. "I'm still officially assigned to him." She took in the look on his face. "Did you think he was actually dead?"
The grenade went off. She wasn't surprised when, after a few long microts, the door slid aside, and a smooth-faced man walked in. After dismissing the officer with a peremptory gesture, he strode up to her. "Captain Sun."
She looked at him calmly. His hair was military short, and his clothing was simple, severe. Fine cloth, cut to fit rather than issued. No place for sigils or rank marks.
"I apologize for whatever delay I may have caused. My name is Councilman Garritti. I understand you have something to say to the Council?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, then." He perched on the edge of the desk and gestured to her, a cordial sweep of his hand. "I've been asked here, I believe, for your convenience."
She studied him carefully, openly. Watched him waiting for her, genial, pleasant. "Then you have been inconvenienced, sir. I'm sorry."
He stiffened just so slightly. "What are you talking about, Captain Sun?"
"You're not a Council member, sir. I think -- yes, I do think you're a Sub-Commander. Am I right?" The age would be correct, and the manner would fit. This was a practicing soldier, not a politician. He didn't even lie well.
"Are you questioning my word?"
When did it become obvious? She allowed her expression to say it all.
"Captain Sun, you do realize you are insubordinate." His tone was conversational, measured.
"Yes, sir. I am also correct." She smiled. "I was assigned to Scorpius, sir." That was his first warning. I'm not stupid.
"Scorpius is presumed dead."
"No, Scorpius is missing in action. There is a difference."
"Regardless. Even if he had survived, and returned to us, he no longer holds the power he once wielded. He has cost us too much in assets."
Her smile didn't fade. "And yet . . . if he came to you tomorrow with the wormhole information . . . you would forgive him anything." She cocked one eyebrow at him. "I have information, Sub-Commander. But only for a Councilor."
He didn't even excuse himself, when he left. She waited again, counting time in her head. The ticking of the chronometer kept her company. An arn passed. No one came to visit. The guard assigned to her stared at the opposite wall, bored.
There was a rattle at the door. Two armoured guards came in, ignoring her to sweep the cell. She remained where she was, holding her hands motionless at her sides. The guards held sensor wands over everything, even her. Her pulse pistol and knife had already been taken from her, and now the rest of her toys -- most of them -- followed suit. She stood passively, waiting, watching the guards. She couldn't see their faces. Sariv and Jocar would look like this. They would blend; only someone who knew them would be able to tell them apart from the crowd. The way they moved. Subtle clues. Everything else would seem the same.
After the guards were satisfied, they nodded to someone outside the cell and took up posts against the wall. Three people filed in with another guard. Councilors; she knew it in the way they entered, egos and airs clothing them as richly as their robes. One stared at her curiously; the other two just stared. She watched them just as avidly, soaking them in, reaching out to try to feel them, get a sense of who they were.
That one came because she's curious. The others, because they had nothing else to do. Were any of them the one she was looking for?
"Captain Sun." The oldest one, a thin-haired grey man, sat down at the table and folded his hands, deliberate, careful movements. "You have interesting negotiating skills. We have apparently been summoned--" he glared at the guards, "--at your request."
"Thank you for seeing me so promptly, Councilor."
"My name is Jikan. My associates are Council Members Vree and Wess." He pointed at them.
She looked at each dutifully, having already gathered enough information from her first glance. Vree and Wess hated one other, and Jikan didn't like either of them. Vree was the only one who came because she was interested. The others came because no one else would, and they desired something -- probably intel -- to use in front of others. Which meant none of these were particularly powerful Councilors.
"And you, of course, are Captain Sun. You find us at somewhat of disadvantage. For some reason, we have been unable to find any significant files detailing your career." Again the glare at the guards. "I will attribute that to a lack on our part, since you do exist in our personnel databases."
Foolish, to tell her that. Just a few words, but now she knew two things.
Track One: You're used to having information easily at hand. You won't bestir yourself to reach out, find anything. You are neither a traitor nor someone I can use.
Track Two: Scorpius kept me closer at hand than even I realized.
And, noting the way that the black-masked figures stiffened, just a touch, there was no love lost between the Councilor and the High Command security force.
Jikan sighed. "So, having dragged us here, Captain, exactly what do you have to say to us? Who sent you? What, exactly, is this important mission you're on, or information, or whatever?"
She didn't sit down at the table with them, but stood at parade attention. It would be easier to keep their focus that way. "Sirs. I don't come here with a mission, but rather with the results of one. I've recently received vital data that I believe must come to the attention of the Council."
"Everything eventually comes to the attention of the Council," the other man drawled. Wess.
"Yes, sir. I was concerned about the notion of 'eventually'. Not to mention the path it might take before it ended up here."
"So you took it upon yourself to deliver it personally? What ambition."
Yes, of course he would think so. He was almost too easy to map; she would have to be careful she didn't see only what was obviously there.
"What exactly is this crucial data, Captain?" Vree. Leaning forward and listening. Getting to the point. "Does it have to do with Scorpius' previous research?"
Vree hadn't mentioned wormholes. Hmmm. "No, sir, but my information may have significant impact on our current tactical situation. If I might detail my previous mission, sirs, I believe it will outline the brief." Aeryn didn't wait for permission, but moved on briskly. "I was assigned to a forward deployment on the Scarran Front, officially attached to a command element. We were dislocated as a recon and intel unit, moving independently some million metras forward of the front line."
Vree was the only one who looked as though she understood the implications of the terminology. "That's not how cruisers are usually employed in tactical operations."
"No, sir, but the relative size of a Vigilante was an accepted tradeoff for the thickness of armour plating, the speed, and the throw weight of a cruiser. When stealth failed, we required massive delivery of weaponry and the capability to take a beating while we ran for it." When Vree nodded, Aeryn continued.
"My Vigilante was tracking a Scarran battlegroup when one of their main assets, a single dreadnought, broke away. Since this is unusual behaviour for a battlegroup en route, we determined their heading, located their target coordinates, and arrived just prior to their entrance into the target system. There we learned that the Scarrans were testing a new weapon. They were conducting field tests on a planetary target."
"Stationary," Jikan said. "But who cares about planets?"
We do, for our infrastructure, food, mining ore. Sir. Waste of air, to say that. "We believe that this weapon has already been tested on a Peacekeeper target, sir. A Command Carrier."
Vree caught it first. "Captain Jessek," she whispered.
"Yes, sir."
Wess frowned. "That fool who got himself killed nearly a cycle ago? In the middle of our territory?"
"That fool," Vree snapped, "died, along with over fifty thousand personnel on that Carrier. A quarter of the Pleisar regiment. Half the Vaagen."
Track One: She must have been a pilot, to know precisely which ones are assigned to each Carrier. Either Pleisar or Vaagen regiment?
Track Two: She's less than a hundred cycles old. Not conclusive, but supporting evidence. She may be the one I need.
Wess looked up at her. "How deadly is this new weapon?"
Jikan snorted. "It took out a Command Carrier, Wess. What do you think?"
"Scarran dreadnoughts kill Command Carriers, Jikan."
"Sirs." She didn't have time for them to argue amongst themselves. Her unit needed to be protected before anyone began asking them too many questions, and she needed to carry this momentum she'd built, to use it. "The weapon itself, though obviously a threat to us, is not my primary concern. There are various considerations in its deployment that will work to predict its usability. And, of course, I will consider it my duty to debrief any intelligence officers of my knowledge, limited though it is." After all, I'm just a dumb grot Captain. How much can I know?
Wess waved a magnanimous hand. "Of course, Captain. Go on."
"I became concerned with the intelligence I received while observing the Scarrans. Our data indicated that they had been specifically led to this planet in the Uncharted Territories. They had chosen it for several factors, not least of which was some Sebacean presence on the planet."
"We don't have an outpost in that part."
"No, they knew that. In addition to testing their weapon on an appropriate stationary target, their secondary objective seems to have been attacking Sebaceans. Civilians." A little stretch, a little extrapolation. Not that she doubted it, but she had no solid evidence.
"Why?" Apparently Jikan had never been in the tactical realm.
"To provoke us," Vree said, holding Aeryn's gaze. "To start an incident."
Aeryn nodded. "I believe so. The destruction of the planet, together with the destruction of the Carrier, would have impelled us to retaliatory action."
"Over some breakaway Sebacean colony?" Wess snorted.
"We would have had to. We knew about the Carrier, but everyone thinks it's an anomaly. Or the fault of that idiot. But to know that the Scarrans had done it again--" Vree shook her head. "That, we cannot ignore."
Jikan groaned. "Wait until Strom hears about this."
Vree raised a hand. "Let me just clarify something. Their intention was destruction of a . . . planet? Not just the population?"
"Yes, sir."
"Did they succeed?"
"No, sir."
"Then their weapon failed," Wess pronounced. "Excellent."
"No, sir. Their weapon would likely have worked; it did on the Carrier. We -- my unit, that is -- believed it was in our best interest to destroy the dreadnought. If this were truly experimental, we hoped we might confuse the Scarrans, and possibly set their research back a monen or two."
Jikan choked. Wess coughed. Aeryn watched Vree. The Councilor stiffed and sat up straighter. "Your Vigilante?" she whispered. "Against a dreadnought?"
"Yes, sir."
"How?"
"With difficulty, sir." She raised a hand. "The details can be discussed later. I thought it best to come here with the cumulative intelligence I have gathered."
"We would have heard about this weapon sooner or later," Wess insisted.
"Sir. The Scarrans are still attempting to match our wormhole data." She saw the starts around the table; hid a smile. Yes, I know about that too. I was assigned to Scorpius, remember? "My Vigilante contains spools of raw data showing suspicious Scarran asset movements. Single dreadnoughts moving with advance screens. New weapons being tested. I don't believe this is knowledge that should be slowed by the regular channels."
Jikan shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "It's true that we aren't aware of . . . all that you say. But I'm still puzzled, Captain. Why didn't you simply report to a Command Carrier? Tell them this information? They would have been able to send or bring us the data with sufficient security."
"My Vigilante is small, fast, and easily maneuverable. As a single unit, I can outrun most pursuing ships of a larger class, engage with any ships up to destroyer size, and employ different hiding tactics. Thereby not putting larger battle assets at such risk. As has already been demonstrated."
"And what do you think you've done to us?"
She stared at him as though in surprise. "This is High Command. If I am not safe here, where else could I possibly go?"

Councilor Vree's mind whirled rapidly. This was all too sudden. She needed more time. She hadn't thought it would happen so quickly. Not like this.
Captain Sun was an enigma. Her entry into Central, the main section of High Command, was even now racing over the Command nets. Being discussed by the security personnel going off-duty.
Vree wasn't ready for this. Things were happening too fast. How did Captain Sun fit into the equation? Vree only knew what she'd seen of the so-called interrogation; little else had been available on such short notice. She needed to talk to her security chief, but he wasn't available. And she had to make a decision now.

Section 4: Team Players
Now.
As the men filed out, murmuring to each other, already forgetting her, she watched the older woman, who trailed the other two. Aeryn reached out to her, waiting for the right moment, the right movement.
Look at me.
As though she'd heard, Vree looked up.
Aeryn jerked her head. Just a little bit, a miniscule gesture. But Vree saw. She hung back. Two security guards followed up the Councilors, herding them out. The Councilors seemed oblivious, talking amongst themselves. The third guard stayed, remaining with his charge.
When the door finally closed behind the men, Vree turned to her. "Captain Sun," she murmured. "You wished to speak to me privately?"
An amusing conceit, considering that every space on High Command was likely monitored. But, as one of the jailors, Vree could consider this private. "Yes, sir."
"What do you have to say to me that you could not say to them?"
"A clarification of my brief, sir. I wanted to make perfectly clear to you that, based on what we learned, I believe we may have a security leak in High Command."
"The Scarrans."
"Yes, sir."
"You didn't tell that to the others."
She'd caught the clear to you part. Good. "I did not admit to my suspicions, no."
"'Traitor' is a harsh word, Captain."
She knew, more than the woman standing across from her could possibly understand. Didn't answer.
Vree sighed. "I had wondered why you would come all this way. Your story, though believable, is still somewhat thin on details."
"I know that, sir, and it cannot be helped. I believe High Command must be informed, and given how I know this knowledge has already led to the destruction of one Command Carrier--"
"Captain Jessek's Carrier."
"Yes, sir."
"We knew about that, of course, almost as soon as it happened. It was disturbing, to say the least. That a Scarran dreadnought could come into Peacekeeper territories--" Her voice trailed off, and she looked up at Aeryn. "The negotiations were hampered, to say the least, and Councilor Strom gained some ground."
Aeryn didn't bother to hide her surprise. "What negotiations?"
Vree blinked. "You don't know."
"Know what?"
"We've formed an alliance with Luxans."
Aeryn stared at her. "To battle the Scarrans?"
"To present a united front in negotiations. So we might never come to that battle." Her smile was a thin-lipped grimace. "What do you think?"
Aeryn countered with her own question. "How did the Scarrans explain Jessek's Carrier?"
"A rogue Captain, striking against us in order to destroy any chance for negotiation."
"How convenient."
"They claim to have removed him from command."
Aeryn didn't miss Vree's choice of words. "This makes my information even more critical. I was right to worry that any transmission of this data originating from a Carrier might . . . compromise that asset. Even, I'm sorry to say, at the Captain's level."
Vree's eyes widened. "You think that Jessek may have been a spy for the Scarrans? That they destroyed him when he didn't have the Human?"
Ah. Aeryn gave a mental nod, tallying up more information. So Vree also knew about the Human, and knew that he hadn't been on the Carrier. That indicated some interesting things about the intelligence assets available to Councilors -- and also indicated that Vree read the minutia in her reports.
She had to get John out of here, away from the Councilor. No, not John. Jocar Ton.
"I don't know, sir. I suspect . . . not. But I would still be curious to find out who assigned Jessek to that post."
"I don't know. But I agree with you. He was an idiot. I was surprised when he got his ship. I don't think I was the only one, either. I was frankly glad he'd served some purpose, in slowing the negotiations." She sighed. "We shall have to find out who cut his orders." Her gaze thoughtful, she stared at Aeryn.
Yes, Aeryn thought, waiting, watching the paths of the future glisten inside her mind, melt together into one track. Go there.
"Captain Sun, according to what I have seen -- or rather, have not seen -- of your files, I would guess that you have a history of taking on some very unusual assignments."
"Yes, sir."
"Well, I shall continue the tradition. I believe I shall attach you to my permanent staff. Temporarily. You will be an aide, a . . . a security advisor." She smiled.
"Sir."
Her voice became brisk as Vree committed to her course of action. "It's not a permanent post, Captain, nor is it a promotion. Ghosts aren't liked here, just like everywhere else. And, of course, you worked for Scorpius."
A moment of silence, as each watched the other.
Vree went on. "But you do have your uses, and you may well flush out a traitor in our midst. Succeed, and you will have your choice of postings and a promotion."
"Yes, sir." The price of success. Aeryn didn't ask what she would receive for failure. She already knew. It was the Peacekeeper way. "And the pretext for keeping me on High Command for any length of time?"
"Ah." Vree frowned. "I've only begun to think about that."
"If I may suggest?"
A cool, evaluating stare. "Go ahead."
"We've had a long journey here, directly from the Scarran Fringe. My crew is tired, and overdue for barracks rest. My Vigilante requires some maintenance overhauls. Nothing too extensive -- nothing that requires dismantling, or the engines to be off-line for more than a few arns -- but we would certainly benefit from any time off, and even a temporary reassignment of duty stations."
The Councilor's eyes were sharp. "Intelligence gathering?"
"Yes, sir. I will obviously need to retain one or two of my unit, but the rest could be spared for both obvious and not-so-obvious reasons." She paused. "To be honest, sir, I have several members of my unit whose efficiency ratings have dropped. A change of pace would do them well, and get them out of the way while I perform this mission." She smiled. "At the least . . . it may make them appreciate me."
"Have you told them about your conjecture?"
"I have told some more than others."
"Doesn't that leave you understaffed?"
"The intelligence requirements for finding a possible traitor are best served by minimum personnel, sir."
"Of course. You are, after all, an expert in these matters, Captain. However--" Here Vree leaned forward. "I will insist on adding to your staff. For your own protection, of course."
And for yours.
"This is High Command. And, no matter how much we would like to believe otherwise, there are politics here, among the Council. Cutthroat politics, of course, as is customary. Nevermind that we believe better of ourselves."
The Peacekeeper way.
Vree took her leave, nodding at Aeryn. Expecting to be ushered out by the remaining guard, Aeryn was surprised when another person walked into the room. Her eyes flicked over the newcomer: female, dark-haired, Commandant. A Councilor's military aide, then, even if what she wore was nothing remotely akin to a Peacekeeper military uniform. For one, it exposed the throat, not to mention other softer areas lower down.
The Commandant walked right up to Aeryn and looked her in the face. "You weren't on the Command Carrier."
Which one? The timing of her entrance, Aeryn thought, was significant. The Commandant didn't want to be seen or overheard by the Councilors. "And you are?"
The woman smiled. "A superior officer."
Aeryn blinked slowly. "Then whom do I have the honour of addressing?"
The other's smile grew wider. "Commandant Grayza, at your service. Captain Aeryn Sun."
Aeryn waited. She was Special Ops with an infantry background: she could wait out any flag officer and still retain enough patience to have her cruiser overhauled. Microts dragged by; Aeryn stopped counting at two hundred. Track One began a cycle of the plan -- where else were the flaws, what else could she use?
Grayza nodded and spoke, seemingly even more amused. "You didn't answer my question, Captain Sun."
"I have not heard a question, Commandant." Aeryn made sure to meet the other woman's eyes. "You have told me I could not be on the Command Carrier. Whichever one you were referencing. I am a Peacekeeper -- I have been on many Command Carriers."
"Scorpius commanded this one. Until it was destroyed." Grayza walked around her, pausing behind Aeryn's back. "You were assigned to Scorpius. I heard you say that."
So the good Commandant had been listening in on the interviews. Whose aide was she? To whom was she assigned? "Yes." Aeryn felt Grayza's attention focus, felt a tingle in between her shoulderblades. "Sir," she drawled finally.
Grayza moved around to face her again. The smile was still fixed on her face. "You weren't on that ship."
"No. Sir." But Grayza had been on that Carrier, apparently. While John had been on board.
"Why not?"
"Scorpius detailed me for another assignment." John was a quarter-metra from this room. From this woman.
"Which was?"
Aeryn smiled. "There were Gavin security classifications associated with that mission, Commandant."
After a short pause, Grayza's eyebrows rose. "Are you questioning my clearance level, Captain?"
"I would be remiss in my duties if I simply took your word for it." Aeryn made a show of looking around. "I don't see a chip reader here, though if you'd care to have one brought in, I will happily verify your ident chip and brief you on the details of that mission."
Grayza took one step closer. "Captain Sun," she said softly, "Scorpius is no longer here to protect you."
Aeryn looked evenly at her. "Scorpius," she replied, her voice just as quiet, "never protected me."
Something she'd said made the other woman step back, and for a microt, a real smile flashed across that face. Grayza nodded at her. "In that case . . . I believe we understand each other, Captain Sun." She turned on her heel, walked off through the door.
Aeryn didn't move.
Track One: She was safe, for the microt. Something in that last exchange, when the Commandant had asked her -- no, when the Commandant had found out that Aeryn was not loyal, body and mind, to Scorpius. She was not his follower, not another Braca.
Track Two: John.

His head snapped up a moment before she stepped into the room. He didn't say anything, didn't move, not even to flip up his faceplate.
She wasn't guarded. Their own guard, the Goon Squad, had left them about ten minutes ago, and her guard peeled off to join them at the door. His eyebrows rose behind his faceplate.
They bought it. Hot damn, they fucking bought it, hook, line and sinker.
Marat looked up as Aeryn walked into the room, then palmed a flat box out of her pocket, keeping it snug, close to her body. She punched a button and looked down; John, standing right beside her, had to squint to see a matte black display with a blinking grey arrow. Marat cocked her head at one of the walls in the small briefing room.
Sariv moved, a careless, shambling walk that brought him over to cover the door. Darwa reached into his jacket and brought out a small disk threaded through his fingers. Off Marat's direction, he stretched out, coincidentally lining the disk up with some invisible point on the wall, and pressed a button.
A subliminal whine filled the room. The disk extruded legs and flew, clamping to the wall, a techno-spider.
Marat was still watching her display, bringing it up to peer more closely at it. "Clear," she finally said. "That's the main relay point. All the imagers and sniffers in this room should be blanked for the next eighty microts."
John wasted no time in flipping back his faceplate and making his way to Aeryn's side. "You okay?" He touched her arm, feeling the familiar surge even through the double layer of armour.
She nodded. "Yes. We're in. For the microt. I met a Commandant Grayza. Remember the name?"
Her face was paler than usual; he felt the blood leave his face. Shit. "Yeah. The face, too. On the Command Carrier. Scorpius."
"Yes. Will she remember you?"
Oh, yeah. "Probably. I pointed a gun in her face."
"That would make you memorable." Her voice was dry, even. In control.
"We're going to have to go for the dispersal scenario, aren't we." Not a question.
"Yes."
My fault.
"The dispersal scenario is safer," she went on, looking at him intently. "For all of us. She's suspicious of me, because of my connection with Scorpius. I need to be careful around her; it will be safer for me if you can operate independently, out of her view. Will you be able to adjust?"
He'd have to; he had no choice. Not unless he wanted to leave her, and that wasn't an option. The UT was just too damn unpredictable for him to allow her to walk away. "That's what I'm here for. Brains and brawn, at your service." So was her call for the dispersal scenario really because of him, or for her? He wasn't sure which answer he preferred; if he took the blame, the easiest thing to do would be to remove himself, and it was too late for that. But if she was in danger herself-- "How long do you think it will take them to react?"
"Not long. Maybe two, three arns. Councilor Vree is smart. She won't leave me running around free for very long. I'll try to make the arrangements before then and have her sign off on it." She glanced at Darwa. "You ready?"
The commando nodded. "Everyone's been briefed."
Aeryn gestured to the silencer. "Everyone has a sniffer?"
"Gave out one each," Marat responded. "Went through the procedures."
Aeryn turned to look at John. "You comfortable with them?"
She knew he could get the tech; she was asking if he understood how the PKs thought, and could employ the equipment tactically. "I got it. Besides, I'm going to have Sariv with me, right?" That had always been the plan.
"We hope. I still need to make it happen."
He frowned. Her eyes were bright, the type of bright that usually came with a fever. And she was bouncing between them, quicksilver attention sliding from one to the other. He touched her sleeve to get her to focus on him. "You look really beat, Aeryn," he said quietly, pitching his voice for her ears alone. "That makes me the master of understatement, but maybe you'd do better to get some rest between now and the next time Vree calls you up."
Her voice matched his. "I don't have time. I need to be awake, to keep one step ahead of her and the Commandant. That way the rest of you will have the freedom you need--"
Marat was still glancing at her display. "Time," she called.
Shit. They couldn't jam the bug too long, or security would start to wonder at the slow-mo display on their end. He squeezed her arm, frustrated with everything he couldn't say. Darwa walked over to the wall, and with a cautioning glance at everyone, stretched out for the jammer.
Aeryn reached up and closed John's faceplate. He made a face at her as the helmet sealed. She must have seen a glimpse of it; he caught the brief flash of her smile.
All too brief. As soon as the jammer was pulled, the Captain was back in full force, shuttering her like an echo of his own helmet. She immediately went over to Darwa and conferred with him in low tones. Stuff about unit training, tactical sustainment, efficiency ratings. PK mumbo jumbo, all of it meant for the ears that were listening.
They couldn't even touch each other, because of the eyes that were watching.
The dispersal scenario. Crap. Safer for him, but a greater risk for all of them. And for her. He needed to make sure he took advantage of all the opportunities that came his way. God damn Commandant Grayza. Add her to his litany.
John stared at Aeryn, his eyes safely hidden behind the shield of the helmet. If all went well, this would be his last glimpse of her for who-knew-how-long.

Councilor Vree waited for the query to come back, unsure of what she hoped.
That this was real, perhaps.
She distrusted things that looked too convenient. Her cycles at High Command had taught her that. Sometimes the lessons had been merely embarrassing.
But who would be able to pull something like this off? Wess? He would love to, she knew, but she couldn't imagine him choosing, using Captain Sun as the appropriate tool. No, Wess wouldn't do that. His imagination was limited to using her for other things, actions that didn't require thinking or talking or anything but lying underneath him.
I learned that lesson all too well.
Who else had the pull? The sheer nerve?
And why? How was this going to affect the negotiations? Was disruption of them the desired result? Was Vree missing some other clues?
A Ghost Captain, complete with a half-crew. The preliminary report from the maintenance section, hurried in under priority, indicated that, as Captain Sun said, the unit had been out on the Scarran Fringe for quite some time. Wear and tear on the ship was worse than usual, but, as the Senior Officer in the maintenance bay had pointed out, High Command didn't often get to see tactical ships straight from the front.
The Vigilante's logs checked out. Stores, supplies: everything seemed to be in shape, with enough empties to indicate a long time spent out in the field.
Vree queried Central's personnel databanks herself for the public files. Immediately noted two discrepancies.
Captain Sun's file was missing. No, that wasn't correct. There was an entry, but it only comfirmed that there was a Captain Aeryn Sun, that she was a Ghost, that she was still alive and on active duty. There was no icon to indicate the file was available for download. When Vree manually entered in her request, an immediate message was returned, demanding authorization. Vree sat back in her chair. That's why Security was having fits, why the Councilors weren't properly briefed prior to being brought in. Sun's file was classified to levels requiring command authorization, which meant . . . Scorpius, of course.
One of Sun's commandos, Officer Ton, also had only an entry in the personnel records, a space created for his file. An icon indicated that his file was only available for download. That was a trifle nuisance, compared to the security barriers in Captain Sun's file, but Vree noted the coincidence.
Heart in her throat, she queried the relays, inputting her clearance. Waited while the messages transmitted over space and time, checks were performed, her security level verified. At one point she had to place her hands over the genetic scanner.
Her heart beat faster as the machine hummed. Scorpius wouldn't have locked out a Council member, would he? Somehow she wasn't positive.
More processing. She returned to her musings. Finally, a ping on her console, interrupting her train of thought, her mental list of all those on Central who would benefit from her humiliation. The files had arrived. She stared down at her desk, her fingers hesitating over the controls.
Which way am I hoping that this goes? Do I want her to be just what she looks like?
Hit the key.
Two files. She accessed Ton's first. Simple enough reading; she went through it in a few microts, skipping through the majority of entries, bland Peacekeeper training details, standard-issue. Most of his duty cycles -- not many, he was fairly young -- had been logged on a Carrier as a Prowler pilot. His rating was more than passable, but nothing to raise eyebrows over. A cross-link matched her to the Carrier; when she tried to pull it up, it led nowhere.
She accessed Central again.
Oh. She leaned back. No wonder there were no specific logs, and such a conspicuous lack of data. Officer Ton had been on Captain Jessek's Command Carrier. Ton's first Carrier posting. The same Carrier that, a short time after he'd been reassigned, had been destroyed by a Scarran dreadnought while in Peacekeeper territories.
You must have enjoyed your new assignment, then.
His presence, on board Captain Sun's Vigilante, must have been a constant reminder of the Scarran incursion. Vree went back to his file. Kept scrolling. Found medical entries.
Remanded her earlier thought. Sergeant Ton had been injured while in the Scarran Fringe. While going hand-to-hand with a Scarran, he'd been badly disfigured.
Vree frowned. One of Captain Sun's other Sergeants had a similar thing happen to him, according to his medical entries. Also with the Scarrans. That would explain why, when she'd looked at the viewscreen showing their surveillance, two of them had been helmeted. The rest hadn't; she'd noticed it, but didn't know the particulars involved in the breakout and tasking of Ghost units.
So those two had been put on guard duty, likely permanently, so they would blend into the background, and not be commented on whenever they were off their Vigilante.
It showed . . . an interesting sort of empathy on Captain Sun's part, one that Vree wasn't sure she could have credited to the woman. Aeryn Sun didn't strike her as the type of Captain who would think of things like that, at least not beyond impact on crew efficiency ratings. Would she care that to most Peacekeepers, scars were well and good, they proved a successful campaign, a battle was won, but outright disfigurement was not so accepted?
But then again, she had worked with Scorpius. He had enjoyed the way others had reacted to his differences. He had used their discomfort.
Sariv, if she remembered correctly. That was the other Sergeant's name. No need to go back and check; she had security people who would tell her the details, if she needed them.
She sat back in her chair and thought. Two team members injured by Scarrans. Captain Sun believed in getting close and personal.
More motivation, to explain why she'd come directly here, to Central. If she truly believed that there was a traitor in High Command, this would help explain why she'd felt it her duty to come and notify the Council under controlled circumstances. Especially if she thought it had anything to do with Scarrans.
She did the right thing. It would have taken monens for us to reach the same conclusion. I know how long it's taken me to get this far.
Still, all conjecture and intuition. Vree knew she'd been honed by her time in High Command, but she'd also learned her lessons too well. Time to stop guessing and find out more about Captain Sun.
Accessing the file, she spared a microt wishing for her security chief. It was her fault he wasn't available; she had asked a lot of him, and quickly. Her fault. He would be sure to point that out to her. She would please him by doing her homework, and making sure that when he came to speak to her about her new additions to staff, she had more answers.
She hoped.
As soon as she started reading, she forgot all her thoughts. Could barely remember to hope. Could barely remember to breathe.

"Your new staff members, Captain."
She'd been right. Just a little over an arn. Aeryn studied them as they stood before her. A part of her noted the Councilor's gaze.
Track One: Something's happened. She's treating me with more distance. Won't come close to me, doesn't want to give anything away. Until she makes up her mind about me. Still hasn't decided. Must have read my file. That explains why there are three of them. That tells me who they're going to be.
Track Two: She's afraid of me now.
Aeryn's eyes picked out the sharp creases in the uniforms, the shiny boots. The depths of the grooves in their faces. The cleanlliness of their pulse pistols. "Not Ghosts," she said quietly.
"Well, no. We don't have many of those here. These will have to do for now." The Councilor's tone was thoughtful. "It's fairly unusual to find any unit at half-strength; I'm surprised you went so long without requesting additional personnel."
"We took on one member after Sergeant Sariv was severely injured, but no, technically, we couldn't. We were on class two status for some time. The only reason I received the additional person, despite his lack of training, was because we were willing to overlook his commensurate lack of experience as a trade-off for what he could bring to the unit." Her voice was casual, informative. "Our first assignment, after requal to class one, required a stripped-down unit, and it would have been inefficient, at that point, to replace him." Everything was verifiable.
"Ah, I see. Of course. It was easier to use yours, rather than split up an established team."
"I believe that's how the Personnel Officer saw it." She stared down the line at the new faces. Memorized them. "Names."
The first man saluted her, his movements brisk, sharp. "Corporal Nam Bish, sir. Commando, Marauder unit."
His nails were clean, almost manicured. His hair, a silvery blond, was buzzed to regulation length. He was quite the picture in his black uniform, resplendent, every metal bit shining. He looked, as John would have said, like the "poster boy" for recruiting. She wondered how long it had been since Bish had been detailed to a Marauder. It was just status, here on High Command. A grade. Meant he'd gone through the training.
John. Don't think about John.
The second man saluted her. Lazier movements, the snap of his wrist not quite regulation. "Sergeant Tannen Mi, sir. Commando, Marauder unit." His uniform was not quite so pressed. He almost had the look of a Ghost about him, something in the eyes. A particular flatness to his gaze, an echo of things he had seen, done, that had shaped him. There was a fringe of grey in his short brown hair, a pallor of grey under his skin. His belt was worn, but his pulse pistol was clean. A sergeant, the workhorse of the unit. Mi looked as though he might actually have seen the inside of a Marauder a time or three.
The third, a female, saluted her. Just barely. "Ensign Narah Fize, sir. Pilot, Prowler detail." A short, compact body. Likely hadn't qualified for Prowler training until late, given her estimated growth rate. Her brown hair was shiny, pulled back into the active Peacekeeper's tail. Her face was clear, her eyes untroubled. Aeryn figured her for a driver, ferrying high-ranking stripes around.
"Their personnel files will be downloaded directly to the console in your office, Captain Sun." Aeryn was shown to the office soon after one of the Councilor's aides fetched her from the briefing room where she waited with her unit. It was a comfortable room, large enough for a desk with a secured console. No windows. Two doors. One led into a waiting room, the other fronted onto a hall in the Councilor's own administrative wing.
"Thank you, Councilor."
"They all come with my personal recommendation." More than a hint of warning in that tone.
"If they can do the work, they will be more than welcome on our team."
"I understand, Captain. As I'm sure they do." She nodded. "Now, I have another appointment I must attend to. If you will excuse me?"
After bowing and nodding Vree away, Aeryn turned to look at the figures ranged before her, still unmoving.
Track One: Subtly done, that warning. Offered in such a way she couldn't deny the gift. Protection. For her, and from her. They would be her shadows, obstacles she would have to factor in to her thinking, her plans. Needed to use them, to satisfy their own requirements for full work without actually placing them in a critical position; she could set them to pulling all the Scarran data, analyzing recent movements. That would both occupy them and reinforce her ostensible reason for being here.
Track Two: I wonder which one is the spy in charge.
She let her eyes run over them again, allowed her focus to blur. Just reached out with thoughts, allowing subliminal information to seep in, how they stood, how they waited. Who would I send?
On a certain level, it seemed obvious. The Sergeant. The most experienced of them all, the most likely to be relied upon by her for real information. Corporals were too young, too fresh, and Ensigns were newly minted line officers, just out of training. Most of the time they had too much knowledge and not enough experience.
Aeryn hadn't been an Ensign for long.
Well. She turned back to her desk, sat down. "Corporal Bish, I will ask you to take the first watch. The dangers of being the most junior member of the team, I'm afraid." Keying in her ident chip, she began pulling up files on her viewscreen. Vree had worked fast. "Sergeant Mi, please be prepared to stand second watch. I'll expect a report summarizing data from official releases indicating any overt Scarran activity over the past . . . oh, three cycles or so. I will also expect your opinion on them. Ensign Fize, please report to me at third watch. Bring me collated details. I want to know who on board this ship has a security clearance above a Level Three Velka." She clicked a button to zap some flimsies. "How many people hold that level and above, their names, how long they've been here, their last four postings. If the security considerations are above us both, please apply to Councilor Vree and explain who is requesting it."
She looked up briefly. "Any questions?" No one responded; they were all staring at her with similar expressions of horror mixed with amazement. Ensign Fize, in particular, had more horror than amazement. Good. "Dismissed."
Only Corporal Bish remained in the room; he took up his watch post beside the door, awaiting her attention. She ignored him as she gathered the flimsies and collated them into a file. Stupid tradition, to have someone inside the room with her. She was a Ghost. If she'd been on a Carrier, she would have pulled rank and tossed him out the door; that was fairly common behaviour, on Carriers. But since she was here, and since he was who he was. . . .
Alone with him, she knew. She read through the flimsies, aware of his eyes very deliberately not on her. Typical young Corporal.
She waited less than a quarter of an arn before she looked at him again. "Corporal Bish."
"Sir!" He saluted her sharply.
Leaning back in her chair, she openly looked at him. The picture of the perfect Peacekeeper: Smart, handsome, young. Strong and brave. His eyes were bright. Empty. She knew what went on in eyes like those; she woke up to them every morning.
"Your real file must be very interesting," she finally remarked. He had only just begun to fidget, the classic young soldier wondering why his senior officer had called him on the carpet. "My compliments to Councilor Vree. She works fast."
"Yes, s-sir?"
She leaned forward and opened the folder, gestured at the thin pile of flimsies. "Not that this isn't interesting reading, and I'm sure most of it is true."
"I don't understand, sir." A flicker behind his eyes. She could almost mistake it for confusion, but he hid it so well. Too used to his role.
"It's well-done. There are no obvious gaps anywhere. And you, of course, fit the part perfectly." She inclined her head. "My compliments. You must have been very good indeed, to rise so quickly. Unless, of course, there was a surgeon involved, but I don't think so."
"Sir, I don't--"
She raised her hand, stopped him. "Don't. There are already so many lies here -- let's not start out our relationship like this." She sat back again in her chair. "I will not require you to blow your cover, Bish. That would be unnecessary and irrelevant. I didn't have you stay in order to prove to you that I can tell when people are lying to me." She watched him carefully, noting the little muscles around his eyes. His breathing. His pulse ticking lightly at his throat. He wasn't sure yet if she was guessing, or if she knew.
"But I am good at my job, as I expect you are at yours. And, because of that, I do want to assure that we understand each other. I am here for a reason: I suspect a traitor in your midst. I believe this has impacted my life in myriad ways, not least of which is the destruction of a Carrier. I am sure you are aware of that."
He nodded slowly. Still sticking to his role.
"You are here to watch me. I am here to watch others. Tasking orders that are not mutually exclusive. I would like to come to an agreement that I believe may benefit both of us." She kept her words slow, deliberate. "You will be afforded all opportunities to monitor my movements, my actions. In return, I will ask that you afford me a chance to do my duty as quickly and reliably as I can. If I ask for information on someone, you will give me it to me as quickly as possible. After having assured yourself that it won't compromise security, of course. If I require action, I will afford you all explanations at the convenience available. But understand, Bish, that even I cannot promise to always have the convenience of time."
He nodded slowly, the glow fading from his face. He suddenly looked older, warier. So now we finally see each other for who we are. Or rather, we see past the masks we wear, and look at the next layer down.
"This is the only compromise I can offer. That is within my power." She didn't smile. "You will do your job. And, as is your cover, you will help me do mine. Is this acceptable?"
His hand rose slowly. He saluted her carefully. "Yes, sir." Face blank, like a young soldier who receives incomprehensible orders, but humours a senior officer. The note of confusion in his voice, just enough of a trace to be obvious. She'd seen it before.
He did it pretty damn well. But then again, he would have had to, to gain the spot. Which led to his being on the carpet before her.
You are good, she thought as she dismissed him. Maybe too good, but that's a risk she could take. Because she knew him now. I know who you are.

"What do you think?"
The man who wore the tags of Corporal Bish walked into the private briefing room and looked at the figure behind the desk. Saluted perfunctorily; they had long ago moved past the requirements of regs and protocol. Two soldiers in this room, two 'real' Peacekeepers, stripped of all everything but who they really were: Councilor Vree and Lieutenant Tanar Brin.
Councilor Vree leaned forward in her chair, unconsciously echoing the Captain's movements of several arns ago. "Is she real?"
He thought back to the look in Captain Sun's eyes, when she'd dropped all pretenses. Torn away his mask easily. He almost shivered.
It had taken her less than a quarter of an arn. He'd had to stand watch for another three arns with that damning refrain running through his head: Less than a quarter of an arn.
"She's real." Real good.
"Can we trust her?"
One eyebrow rose as he folded himself into his customary chair. Vree was nervous. Why? "It's not my job to trust people, sir. That's not why you hired me to be head of your Security detail. Unless the job description changed?"
She sat back in her chair, smoothed strands of loose hair from her eyes. "She's dangerous," she said quietly.
He didn't need her to tell him that. "Why would you say that? And why, knowing that, would you have hired her on a microt's notice?"
"You're upset that I didn't consult you further."
"There are enough surprises in my duties that I don't need you adding to them." The scramble for a generic cover file. Digging up the proper uniform. Getting his hair cut back to baby grot length. Briefing the others. Making sure his own staff knew the situation, the cover details, and would inform the rest of the Councilor's people.
"When she came and told me her story, the real one, I was . . . surprised. It sounded too true. Like what we'd talked about before. It's too perfect." She sighed, and the lines were deeply incised in her face. "Too many times we've been surprised. Scarran technology so far ahead of us. The negotiations still going forward. I want to keep her here, use her, however we could. Either for information or bait. Because too many things fit, Tanar."
"You've told me." Long talks in the evenings, secure in this office. They'd gone over the hints, the signs. They'd whispered it aloud, among themselves. Captain Aeryn Sun had said the same thing, only louder. Much louder. And in front of several members of the Council.
"But is she here to draw them out, or me?" Her hands clenched on her desktop. "She's a deadly tool, and I don't know if I can use her safely, or if she'll discharge in my hands or at my back. I need to know, Tanar. I need you to tell me if it's safe."
He thought back to his conversation with the Captain. Compared this woman before him with her, their similar poses, the way they looked at him.
Therein lay the differences. Unlike Vree, the Captain looked through him. Saw all his secrets. Even knew he hadn't had surgery.
Safe? She was anything but safe. He couldn't contain his shudder. She will see me, he thought suddenly, all of me. The longer I work with her, the more she will see.
Her words ripped through his mind, the cold clear tones echoing. "If I ask for information on someone, you will give me it to me as quickly as possible. After having assured yourself that it won't compromise security, of course."
She even knew who, what, he was.
"You will be afforded all opportunities to monitor my movements, my actions."
"I assume you have access to her personnel records?" he asked Vree.
"Of course. Have you seen it?"
"You only gave me enough warning to view the official reports." A bit of mild censure in his tone wouldn't go amiss. "Which said nothing, understandable for someone with her classification levels. All public details verifiable, of course."
"Not that this isn't interesting reading, and I'm sure most of it is true."
He shifted in his seat and continued. "From what I get off her so far, she is very good at what she does." She was a Ghost. He didn't know the half of what she did.
"She used to be a pilot. In the Pleisar regiment."
"Did the two of you talk about that?" Suspicious, if she'd done something like that, ingratiating herself with the boss. Not to mention that she shouldn't have known that. The Council's personnel files were encrypted to a higher level than even Captain's Sun. Not by much, but alarms would have gone off in his head if she'd known about Vree's first regiment.
"No. She didn't mention it. I read it in her files."
Ah. "Used to be?" She had come a long, long way from that.
"She was also one of Scorpius' proteges."
Ah. He winced; he'd heard enough about that one. You couldn't be at High Command and not know, especially not after Commandant Grayza had come back from her impromptu visit. Brin had made an enemy of her that day, laughing when he'd heard. "Not one of the ones that worked with him on his experiments?"
"She's a commando, not a tech. But he seems to have used her for most of his missions. She was good at something, Tanar, other than flattering her senior officers." Her laugh was a short, cynical bark. "For all we know, she could have been one of his experiments."
That edge again, of almost paranoid fear. That was his job, not hers. "Are you going to let me see her files? Even the parts that are above my security clearance?"
"How do you know there's anything that high?"
"Because you still haven't offered to download the files to my console." Because she worked for Scorpius and survived, unlike most of his people. If she found him out that quickly, the majority of her file would be buried deep, where even he wouldn't run across it. And because Vree was scared of her, and not much scared her anymore.
"Yes," Vree said finally. "I'll let you see it."
He nodded. Stood up. "Until I get a chance to review it thoroughly, I'll give her what she wants -- within limits, of course. Is that acceptable?"
She took a deep breath. Sighed. "Yes."
He paused outside the door. "Councilor?"
"Yes?"
"If she came to the same conclusion that you did, without your assets and your knowledge of what goes on here . . . she may be exactly what you need."
"I know." Vree raised tired eyes to his. "And I'll use her, Tanar, I will. I just wish . . . I wish I could trust, as well."
Trust. It wasn't a word that was used often, especially not here.
He saluted her before he turned and left.

Section 5: Diaspora
The processing station wasn't crowded; they approached the guard at the scanner in one cohesive knot. People were moving around them, busy with tasks. Typical day.
The main guard saw them coming and stood to intercept. "Business?"
All they had to do was make it through that guard station, Marat thought, and the troop transports would take them safely away. Their first real barrier. Corporal Bish had taken their names, scanned their chips, but he hadn't attempted anything else. Not with the Captain standing right there with him.
"Reporting for temporary reassignment." She held up her ident chip. "Our shuttles leave within the arn."
The guard took her ident chip and stuck it in the slot, read the report. "You're a long way from your last posting."
"Special duty."
He did a quick double take. "That's why you look so different, and that uniform. You're one of them special duty commandos, aren't you? A Black Ghost?" He looked at the other two. "All of you?"
She nodded.
"I heard about you guys. Gave Security a real ride yesterday, right?"
She smiled. "Classified."
"Oh, right." He smiled back. "Some special duty. Looks like you got stuck up on one of the sensor platforms. That's just a huge rock with a few techs."
She shrugged. "Bigger than a Vigilante, yeah?"
"True. I'd hate to work in your conditions." He kept chatting with her while he scanned the other ident chips. "You're off to one of the outpost positions. Mainly a staffing base for the techs. Boring dren work, mainly standing around guarding a wasteland of sensors." He looked back at Marat. "Can't imagine being on a Vigilante. You've got loads of speed, loads of weapons, but you're on one of the smallest warships in deepspace. Brr. Makes you feel lonely, if you know what I mean."
"There is that." She didn't look at the others.
"Hey, you guys can take those off in here." He nodded to Sariv as he handed back his ident chip. "We're not such sticklers for regs in here, you don't have to cover and contain. Not often we get senior officers running through here for a transport, they usually take their own personal shuttles." His hand was out, ready for the next one.
Jocar Ton. A tall silent figure, masked and armoured, standing with Sariv.
"That's okay. We're used to them," Sariv's voice issued from behind his tac helmet.
Marat watched as the ident chip was scanned. The light flashed green. Clear. The guard at the processing station checked the destination readout. "I thought you Ghost types weren't one for formalities and regs. Not that I've met any of you, mind, but you hear things." Still conversational.
"We're just back from the Scarran Fringe," Sariv replied. "A place like that leaves its marks."
The guard looked up. "You mean you--?"
A moment's pause, then: "Yeah." The voice modulator in the helmet didn't hide the anger in Sariv's voice.
The guard's face twisted as he tried to imagine what horrors could be underneath the dark faceplate. "Your face?" He looked at the other still black figure. "Both of you?"
"For starters." Sariv pulled back his glove slightly and flashed scars.
"Frell," the guard muttered as he handed back the last ident chip. Jocar Ton took his with a steady hand and nodded his thanks. The guard peered up into the faceplate and shuddered visibly. "I'm surprised you're not asking for permanent reassignment here, after all that. It's cushy. Quiet. Just the occasional drill. You might even qualify for reconstruction."
"Us? We're grots," Sariv scoffed.
"I like quiet," Marat said to the guard. "Don't get it very often out here."
"Well, it'll be quiet here. I promise you that. You kind of have to find your own fun, you know what I mean?"
"Yes," she replied. "I know exactly what you mean."

She was so tired. Her thoughts jumbled in her head, tracks mingling, memories rising to the surface with random flashes. Leviathan corridors melded into Command Carriers and Gammak bases. Faces, people, flashing before her eyes. Velorek. Rayn.
Concentrate. She was here to do a mission. A final duty. Because she couldn't stay, she wasn't herself any more. She had changed.
"You look really beat, Aeryn."
John. She was too tired to reach out, to find him. The distance was growing between them. Perhaps that was for the good; she missed him already. Better that he wasn't around. He would see too much, know too well the real Aeryn Sun. It would be difficult to become those that she would need to find, if he were always there, reminding her of what she was losing. Yes. Better this way.
Already he'd seen too much. Said too much, even in those brief microts. It wasn't sleepiness he'd seen, it was weariness. Ever since she entered the Council chamber, she'd been stretching. Feeling. Working to get into the thoughts of all those she met. Map them quickly, locate an element of them that she could use later, on which she could begin developing a pattern.
So many people.
Concentrate. Faces flashed in her mind: Councilors. The aides she'd seen on the way out. Her new staff. Too little information. So many people.
Commandant Grayza. Almost too obvious, that one. And so she should be even more careful not to dismiss the other woman. To follow her own advice. Aeryn had once told John not to be blinded by the obvious, as Peacekeepers were.
Aeryn needed to remember that she was -- still -- a Peacekeeper. Think. More than a Peacekeeper. But not a Nebari spy.
"Chiana told us that mind-cleansing took a long time. A hundred cycles, give or take some spare change. You'd think an absence that long would be noticeable in your files."
"I wish it were that easy," she muttered aloud, and of course that sent her thoughts spiraling back to familiar tracks.
Track One: Time factors would be critical. Time and opportunity; motive was not a consideration, not with the Nebari. None of the Councilors would have been able to disappear for cycles at a time, and so she had to look at something else. Consistent absences. Convenient medical procedures. Experiments. Durka had been an experiment. Why would they keep Durka around?
Track Two: Don't even mention his name aloud, don't use it in your thoughts. Remember who he is now: Jocar Ton.
Frell. She gritted her teeth as those thoughts rose loudly to the forefront, drowning out the analysis. John. Too much in her head. He was dangerous to her here, inside, outside. In so much danger himself. How could he have risked so much? And why, when he was here, did she want him further away?
You know where he is. How close he is. You still feel him, inside your mind.
Along with the other voices. They were soft, thready. His hum drowned them all out. She listened to him too keenly, was too attuned. And that was bad.
Concentrate. Why would they keep Durka around? It was an important clue, a key to a puzzle that she was only now beginning to map. The question buzzed around her, insistent. Demanding her attention, her focus. Her time.
But then there was John. Taking up such a space inside of her. There were things she had to do. Goals she had to accomplish. I don't want you out, but I do need you quiet. The demands of duty. She needed to do this one last thing.
She took a deep breath. Needless, but it gave her something to hold onto. Exhaled and pushed. Pushed John Crichton into a small corner of her thoughts. Pulled that thread loose of all others, picked it free, wound it tightly about itself. Shoved him into a corner, a pocket of the shimmering void that still existed deep within herself.
The chronometer started ticking inside her head. She could feel it pulsing beneath her temple, counting time.
The voices were whispering; she could almost hear them now.

John strapped himself into the transport's seat, trying not to fumble in the heavy gloves. Didn't matter how many days he'd practiced, he still didn't have it down cold. Damn. Beside him, Sariv locked himself in.
At least John had company. Someone to lead as example, not to mention run interference when required. Sariv was the man.
There was a rumble as the transport's engines fired. The hull rattled around them. John suddenly wished for a viewport. A window. A goddamned view. We sure ain't flying first class here. They were grunts. Grots, as Darwa had called them. Troop transport was good enough for them. Luckily. John could only imagine the security gauntlet he'd have to run to get on a Councilor's personal shuttle.
Which was why he couldn't have stayed in Central, being the one to support Aeryn. No, because Darwa knew the rules, the codes, the things to ask for and to say in response. And there was Commandant Grayza. Yeah, wouldn't it be nice to just run into her in the hallways? Oh yeah.
John could feel the g-force suddenly pressing down on him as thrust worked its magic against the thin wisps of atmosphere that bubbled the massive Death Star Carrier. The transport was taking off.
A sudden sense of claustrophobia gripped him. The transport was too crowded. The damn helmet was too small. The balaclava he wore underneath the helmet was scratching him, suffocating him.
He bit down on a groan before it could escape. Toggled his speakers to mute just in case. Now he was trapped in his own little private bubble of hell.
Aeryn--
Shit, he couldn't leave her. Panic rose with the thought. He was leaving her behind. He could feel her getting further and further away behind him, the shuttle was taking him too far away. Too. Damn. Far. Was this the same mistake the other John had made? Was this why the other John had lost?
Not now, John.
He couldn't leave; he would be too far to do anything. Wouldn't be close enough to help if he needed her--
Wait a minute, that should have read: if she needed him.
The sight of Harvey playing tug-of-rope, feet sliding as he was pulled towards a mud puddle, was enough to knock John back, and he strained in his seat. Take it easy, man. You're losing it. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Sariv must have noticed something; he laid a warning, comforting hand on John's arm.
Concentrate, buddy. Keep it together. Inside, Harvey was doing a little joy-dance around the edges of the puddle.
John could feel her. Distantly. Like a solid core in his thoughts. Remembered that, even at his new post, he would still be on the moon-ship, even if miles away. He could have been on Moya. She would have preferred it. She would have felt easier, if he'd remained on the Leviathan.
He played no great part in her plan, no truly pivotal role. With a little time and training -- okay, a lot, or one hell of a crash course -- Sariv could have subbed for him. John could have remained on Moya, out in deep space, and Aeryn would have figured something out, some way around the lack of a fourth body. Hell, his presence caused her more problems than solutions, what with Commandant Cleavage on board.
But he couldn't stay away.
This is what it feels like. His eyes widened, hidden in the shell of his helmet. Holy shit. He'd known this was real, the thing between them.
But this was It. The Big One, the Only, the Once in a Lifetime.
Hell of a time to figure that out, with the miles growing between them.

Section 6: Shell Game
One day. Spent buried in the files provided her by Councilor Vree. Ensign Fize notified her that morning when they'd been downloaded. Aeryn didn't look at Corporal Bish, standing at attention at her door, when she relayed her thanks.
A whirl of thoughts in her head, the powerful hum of data processing. Quite a bit of her attention, her focus, was on the threads spiraling through her brain. Following them down the kinks, winding carefully through the puzzle. It was almost strange to have so much of her multitasking capabilities devoted to a single train of thought; it made the cascade of information predictable, allowed her to relax, let the information flow faster, more fluidly. The flickering of images, words, displayed on the backs of her retinas as her mind scrolled through the data.
She'd found more evidence, as she'd expected. Movements here, there. Intel leaked. The beginning of Scarran ascendance over Peacekeeper technology. Secrets lost or stolen. Scarran ships disappearing, and then Decca cruisers suddenly destroyed by unknown ships. Others just vanishing. Like the Zelbinion.
It could have been much, much worse.
Why had they kept Durka?
Map it first. Then see the pattern.

One day.
Bish stared down at his comsole, reviewing the logs. Scrolling through the pathways that Aeryn Sun had taken, when she'd begun looking through the files he'd allowed her. One day, and she'd gone through over a third of the work that he'd spent cycles piecing together. She'd even highlighted a few entries that he had gone back, looked at, and thought, of course. How obvious it seemed now, after she had pointed it out.
She knew he would look, of course, and follow the trail she'd blazed today. She played it like a professional, both her receipt of the files, her casual "Don't stay up late" when he'd been dismissed.
He had no frelling clue what she was. Her file had told him two things. One: she wasn't working for anyone. Only someone like Scorpius could ever have controlled her, and even then, Bish was all too aware that she was here, and Scorpius wasn't. Two: Bish needed to be very, very careful around her.
He remembered the feel in the room, after she took the files. It was as though he could suddenly breathe again. Like he could scratch at an itch without worrying that she was watching him from the corner of her eye. She delved into the files and never resurfaced once. The Sergeant that remained with her, Darwa, brought her water, made her drink a few times, reminded her when mealtime arrived. The customary prodding of a well-established partnership, a unit. Bish watched Darwa with new eyes.
You're used to this sort of thing, aren't you?
He almost envied the man. How long had it taken, Bish wondered, to get used to that all-seeing stare? What had the Sergeant given up, in terms of privacy, self?
Wait a microt. Darwa was only a Sergeant; he wasn't used to having any privacy or being anything other than a tool. A self? Common Peacekeepers didn't get such luxuries. Only Bish would think along those terms.
I'm upset because I'm used to being the watcher, and not the target, of the imager.
One day, she'd been at this. One bloody day. He didn't look forward to tomorrow.
She could see everything he was; he knew it, was sure of it. She would dig through his self and judge his innermost thoughts. As a loyal Peacekeeper who knew his duty, that was all that he had to himself. All that he owned. Everything else belonged to High Command.
But she would know.
More files, he thought, that's the solution. More information, load her up. The more I give her, the less of me she'll see.
He leaned forward, coding the console. He would allow her more access, give her greater run through their data files. Anything to keep her from doing the same to him.

Darwa looked through the shield in the maintenance bay. "It's all done?"
"Most of it, yeah." The tech was wiping his hands on a rag. "Got the flutter in the engines tuned, fixed that problem in the environmental cycler. There was a modified bridge in one of your nav circuits, looked like a field patch in your nav systems, so we went ahead and fixed that too."
Darwa nodded absently, not taking his eyes from the Vigilante. "Yeah. Kept blowing."
"Circuit kept popping open with the intermittent load. I guess one of your last techs bridged it through another route. Neat little field job. Guess you didn't have time for proper work?"
"No."
"Yeah, I didn't think so. We also loaded you up with cesium fuel. This thing's ready to go. I guess you're going to hangar it while you're posted here?"
"No. Got training." Darwa fell into step behind the tech as they headed for the Senior Officer's room.
"Oh, right. In that case, I'll pull up your docking assignment and change it. Did you need to requisition stores?"
"Might as well do it now."
They walked into the office foyer, where the techs had their consoles. The Senior Officer wasn't around. The tech checked his office proper, then came back, shaking his head.
"He'll be back in a microt, I guess. In the meantime, we can start the resupply process here, soon as I get your ident chip and authorization."
Darwa handed over his chip, and the tech went over to his console. Inserted it. He did a double-take, then looked over at Darwa.
"Frell. You could order anything you wanted, with this level of clearance!"
Darwa grinned at the response, pretty much what he'd expected after two days of working in Central. "Yeah. But we'll stick with standard issue this time."
The tech looked at the list and whistled. "Two sets of suits each -- do you guys go through them, or what? You know the listed lifecycle on those things?
"Cap'n's orders."
"Standard supplies, yeah, and chakkan oil, mm-hmm. Limpets. You want how many limpets? And--" There was awe in his eyes. "Are you planning to blow up a Scarran installation, or something? Tak Fives, Stingers -- you know how much you got in here?"
Darwa shrugged. "Standard issue for us." He hid his smile at the tech's muttering. Every grot's dream, to be able to walk in and order up the works. When the Captain gave him the requisition sheet, she'd smiled when she told him to add to it as he saw fit.
Well, it felt damn good to be around the maintenance bay, kicking back and waiting for the machine to start up, the processing of requisition and supply. It felt -- simple.
Life wasn't simple just now.
It wasn't the mission. He did consider this a mission, regardless of where they were, or how it might look to others. Helping find a traitor in High Command. A mole, in the most sacred of the Peacekeeper bastions. How could that not be part of his duty?
He didn't think past the here and now. That type of thinking assumed there was a future, that he was in it, and he was too much of a combat vet to bet on that.
The Captain was right in what she did, and the choice she'd made in coming here. Just like she'd always been, since he'd served with her. Darwa knew there were those who would consider her the traitor, but he couldn't. He knew her too well.
She knew him, too.
He frowned as he thought back to the past two days. She was deep in the data that had been collected for her, losing herself in the files, in the business of the mission. Recon. He saw the way she had the others jumping, and he stayed out of the way, knowing that she was figuring the new members of their crew out as much as going through the intel. Setting the triggers in motion so that when the time came, everything fired off on her signal. Better for them all if he just hung back, let her do what she needed to do.
Better for the mission. He wasn't so sure it was good for her. He was used to the way she worked, of course, accepted it from long practise. The way she slipped away, when she was locked on target, and became a shell of a person, a mechanoid.
But she'd always been like that, pretty much. Part of who she was. What she did.
She had to do it, to get the results, right?
Well . . . yes and no. He knew how it felt usually, when she left, wherever she went, into the place that made the room so cold. Made everything speed up for her, and the rest of them so slow, so far behind her. It was like watching starburst -- there was light, there was energy, and you had no clue what the frell was happening underneath the skin, but you knew you'd better hang on or you'd get left behind.
When the Commander was around, she kind of felt the same. Had that crackle of energy. The speed of thought. The way of making time stand still long enough for her to step outside and just get a good look around. But with the Commander, she was . . . more often there, inside her head. She looked at the others, not through them.
Darwa had gotten spoiled. Somewhere in the past monen, he'd begun to think, or maybe hope, that this would be the way of the future. How this awareness of self would happen the next time, and the next.
But the Commander wasn't around at the microt, and she was slipping back into that cold dark place where she froze them all out. Became something else, a void-creature that looked at him with empty eyes.
Realisation dawned slowly. She knew this would happen. That's why she made him the point of contact for comms. That thought chilled him even more. If she'd known, if she planned for it, did that mean Darwa should do nothing? Was it what she wanted, what she needed to complete the mission?
He couldn't talk to the Commander. That one had his own type of energy, and it was explosive. In his own way, John Crichton changed the universe as much as the Captain. It was a wilder force, less contained than hers, and Darwa wasn't sure what would happen if he opened that channel without having thought about it very, very carefully. No. The Commander wasn't like the Captain; he required careful aiming. Darwa wasn't sure he could, or even should, attempt to do the aiming. No, the Commander was the back-up plan. The ultimate weapon.
She thought about all this, but didn't clue me in on what I was supposed to do.
Or maybe . . . he was supposed to do nothing. She'd thought this through, right? She knew what she was doing. She'd planned most of it.
Who was she when she planned it?
He would have to think about this. Make his own contingency plans. He was left behind with her to both guard her and keep out of her way, not draw suspicion to himself. Well, it was time to think about his role in this part of the plan, and how to accomplish his objectives without jeopardizing the mission as a whole.

Bait? She wouldn't put it past Councilor Vree.
More data required. More. More. Echoes in the void.
Tired. So what was she doing here, in one of the most ostentatious rec lounges on Central? Having a drink to cool the heat inside her head?
Vree's request. Likely the only thing that could have drawn her away for any length of time from the treasure trove of data her console was providing.
No, that wasn't quite true. It was past time to start putting faces and names and personalities together. Stare into their faces and get to know the players, look behind their eyes. Assembling the puzzle, piece by slow piece.
Track One: Still more information required. Insufficient data. Large suspect pool; too many factors, too many motives. Peacekeeper High Command was not the unified head of an empire in everything but name, but rather a fractured conglomeration of desires, duty. Not that anything else was expected.
Track Two: Vree's message said only to be here, and come in uniform. Why?
Her eyes narrowed as she saw Councilor Vree step into the room with another Member. Noted their attire. Formalized office wear.
Track One: Councilor Garriti/seventy-two cycles/former Personnel officer/majority of assignments were Gammak bases/assigned to High Command twelve cycles ago--
Track Two: It's a party.
She tapped her comms badge with a leisurely hand. "Corporal Bish."
"Yes, sir."
"Please report to me in the rec lounge. Bring Ensign Fize with you."
"Yes, sir." He didn't sound surprised, didn't ask her which lounge. Of course not. He would have known this was happening, when and where; the duty officer trailing Vree, a bland man who faded into the woodwork, was likely one of his staff.
Bish hadn't told her because he was curious to see who she would call. Darwa, one of her own, or the man on duty, the erstwhile Corporal?
Well, he had his answer.
They arrived in just over a quarter of an arn, enough time for her to watch another two Council members and various aides, assistants, and accoutrements come through the main doors.
Both of them were in dress uniform. They'd been ready, waiting for her call. "Ensign Fize. Corporal Bish. Thank you for joining me so promptly." She raised her cup. "Ensign Fize, get yourself something to drink. Mingle. Corporal Bish. Do what you do best. She has one already, but your acting skills will be up to playing a bored second guard."
They picked up on it, of course. She caught Bish's eye before he turned away. You aren't sharing.
He hesitated, it was just a microt's pause, before he went to find Councilor Vree. She didn't watch them go, but rather turned back to her thoughts, absently noted who was coming in, going out. All the Councilors made an appearance. She was able to identify most of the people in the room from Bish's files. Names and faces scrolled through her thoughts, a playback loop, adding more data with every glance.
Some people spoke to her, just little comments, curiousity and gossip. She answered and explained who she was as required, only a small portion of her attention on her conversations. No need to pay attention until the chronometer went off in her head.
Word of her arrival had spread, of course. She watched as some of those around her made the connection from the sudden arrival of a Vigilante to her presence and current status as aide. The flow of conversation. The patterns of looks, surreptitious gestures.
You are here somewhere I just have to figure this out--
"You must have been pleased, to have such a promotion fall into your lap."
She looked at the man curiously. Per Nikar, minor Council members. He'd been mouthing pleasantries at her for some time now. Identifying features: reddish hair, just a little longer than regs would allow for loose hair. Regs only applied to soldiers. Fine features. No scars. No horrors in his eyes.
Per Nikar: Auditor training/Dhui system school/posted to High Command for ten cycles--
"I've had no promotion, sir."
"Not in rank, of course, but certainly in prestige. Being an aide to a Councilor cannot hurt your career."
"A temporary assignment, while my unit rests and my Vigilante is overhauled."
"It's only as temporary as you want it to be." He smiled into his cup. "Or are you one of those who eschews the comforts of home for the hardships of duty?"
"I am what I was bred to be."
"Ah, the perfect Peacekeeper. One does wonder what you're doing here, then."
"Sir?"
"Look around you." He gestured with his cup, a florid movement that managed not to risk any of the liquid inside. "The jewel in the fine Peacekeeper crown. See how it sparkles, how it shines. But no one wears the crown, of course, because everyone here is the perfect Peacekeeper, no?"
"No one is perfect."
"Truths from the Fringe, Captain?"
"Honesty, sir. Out on the Fringe, that is an easy thing to remember. Perhaps here--", she looked him in the eye, "--perhaps here it is not so easy to remember."
He looked suddenly shaken, and she continued, pressing firmly into the silence, sliding the dagger in smoothly. "On the Fringe, one does not expect success. One only hopes for it. The dangers are many and obvious. Here, there is no such comfort."
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Commandant Grayza walking in the room, her gaze sweeping the area. Searching.
"--The perfect Peacekeeper--"
Time and space skewed, tracks jumped; One and Two became tangled, and her skin prickled, heat crawling and whispering. Someone here. Someone listening to them; one of the aides had turned to look their way. He saw her as she noted him, smiled at her, a small, private smile.
She kept talking to Per, separating herself again with effort. Concentrate. The killing thrust was hers; he was in shock and would allow her to slide it in easily, to its full length. "I would imagine that it would be easy to forget the mission is not material, but ideal. A harder task, with no clearly defined objective other than something closer to perfection. There is no real way to measure success."
"--how it sparkles, how it shines--"
Per still didn't answer. She smiled and took a small sip of her raslak. Allowed her voice to rise in pitch just slightly. "No, sir, you are right. I am one of the ones who prefers to be out there."
Eyes wide, he excused himself. She watched him go. Bitter, she thought. The taste of truth is bitter on his tongue. He is unaccustomed to drinking that down.
The man who'd been listening in moved closer, smiled after the retreating back. "Well done, Captain."
Refocus, switch. "I won't pretend to know what you mean, sir."
Track One: No identification available. Badge indicates affiliation with Council Member Keravian. Features: tall, thin, graying hair. Robes cut simply. Keravian: second-oldest Councilor on High Command/Auditor training/majority of postings on lunar support installations. Hasn't held real power or influence in Central for over thirty cycles, half his tenure on High Command.
Track Two: Are you here to congratulate me, or to befriend me?
"Per is rarely the one left stunned. He moves in on the newcomers, converts them to his way of thinking. Infects them with his cynicism and indoctrinates them to his own way of interpreting duty."
"And you? What do you do?"
--the perfect Peacekeeper--
He laughed. "I listen. I learn. And I remind myself that, at best, I am merely a cog in the great wheel." He smiled. "As are you."
As he turned away, she memorized his face. Encoded the way he moved, walked, talked, into her mind. Created a spot in the void just for him. All she would need was a name.
You timed that so you would have the last word. Well done. A small gesture on her part, and Bish was at her side in a microt. Undoubtedly making up for his lack of sharing. She inclined her head in the direction of the retreating, familiar back. "Who?"
He didn't have to ask; he'd been watching their conversation. He'd noted everyone she spoke to. "Fallon. Aide Dar Fallon."
"And her?" She didn't gesture to Commandant Grayza, but he knew. "Who does she work for?" Would his answer be different from what she'd read in the files?
"Councilor Strom."
She nodded. No difference. Still, interesting, given what she knew about that Councilor. "And how do they feel about the negotiations with the Scarrans?"
"They follow the will of the Council."
"Thank you," she said absently, dismissing him, and after a microt he drifted away again.
She watched everyone: Councilors, aides, auditors, guards, serving staff. Noticed the movements, the patterns of conversational partners. Her staff drifted, working the room; she picked out their patterns easily, predicted their movements. Listening, watching, her ostensible eyes, her ears. She noticed whom they focused on, and didn't make the mistake of thinking that they were not watching her, as well.
One final encounter brought her attention back to where she was.
"How are you acclimating to life at High Command, Captain Sun?"
Will they never cease to ask me that? Focus: Councilor Strom. Status: Ascendant, at least after the Scarran attack on Jessek's Carrier. During Council sessions, Strom supported direct action against the Scarrans, argued to take the battle to them. Outside, he purported to do the whim of the Council.
He had been drifting through the lounge, seemingly going with the flowing movements of those in the room, but she knew he had seen her, noticed her. Made his way to her, slowly, patiently.
"I'm not sure I understand, sir. What is there to acclimate to?"
"Certainly this is nothing like life on a Carrier." He stared into his drink briefly. "I miss those days."
He would know about life on the Front; he served as Captain of several Carriers. Councilor Strom: Battle of Ghana Noom Five. Decisive action in the Helias Sector. A timely hero, after Durka's disappearance. After that clash, nothing of note until his posting to the Council. Majority of assignments: Gammak bases, commanding officer.
She allowed her gaze to drift around the room. "Duty. Orders. Fulfillment of objectives. Meetings. And, at the end of the day, perhaps a chance to drink some raslak in the officers' lounge." Turning to meet his gaze, she shrugged lightly. "It seems the same."
--how it sparkles, how it shines--
He barked with laughter, almost sputtering his drink. Raised his glass to her in toast. His eyes crinkled around the edges, there was a real smile in there. She had caught him off-guard. "A soldier's sage wisdom, Captain Sun! How simply put. Refreshingly honest, and yet precisely on target."
She inclined her head slightly.
"Simply put, but I will not make the mistake of assuming you are stupid. Do many people?"
"I am a Ghost," she answered neutrally.
"Then you will fit in well here." He smiled, moved on.
--the perfect Peacekeeper--
She had sparked his curiousity. She felt it remain with her, a wraith that clung to her skin. He would go back to his suite tonight, pull up her records. Find out who she was.
Good luck. She smiled, and it was hidden by her cup.

Commandant Grayza watched her superior officer make his way towards Captain Sun. He probably thought he was being subtle.
But she knew him too damn well.
She watched them talk. Strom laughed. The Captain smiled. They were speaking easily, comfortably. Interesting. Her superior officer, and Captain Sun.
That . . . was not good.

Damn, he hated waiting.
No, he hated being here. Setting the trap. Waiting for it to spring back on them.
You're on the offensive side now, remember, John?
Weird feeling, that. For once he wasn't on the side with the running and the screaming and the reacting. Instead he was part of the plan that set it all in motion.
He learned, on Scorpy's Command Carrier, that he liked being on the other side better. At least then there was no time to worry, 'cause he was pretty much busy doing something. Well, until he got captured and it all went to hell.
He actually came up with this part of the plan, and what did it involve? Waiting. Simple guard duty at the station. Wait. Wait. Stand still, shoulders aching, feet sore. Trying not to shift from side to side. How did they do this, day in and day out?
Note to self: next time you make a plan, more action, less wait.
I disagree, John. It's quite a change, to have so much time off. Harvey again, riffing on the harmonica.
You're not going to convince me Scorpy ever did this part of the PK shit.
Well. An embarrassed pause, if Harvey ever had those moments. No.
Sleep. Eat in the privacy of his own quarters. Marat had given him some sort of jamming device for bugs. Simple little wand, smaller than a VCR remote. Three buttons; range indicated by flicker rate. Easy enough for him to pick up. He found all the vid pickups; disabled them. Found the audio bugs; he left one on. Just like she'd told him.
"Disable the video. We all do that. Disable some of the audio. They'll feel superior. Like you didn't find them all. Check them every day. They'll try to put them in again; you'll have to destroy a few before they finally give up."
Showering late in the duty cycle, so there were fewer people in the locker rooms. It took three showers before he stopped checking the water for running dye from hair and skin, or peeling scars. He kept a towel over his hair, over his face, even though one of the scars ran cross-wise down his cheek. Two guys caught a glimpse of the burns on his side, averted their eyes.
Yeah, if they knew he was the Human, they'd be over here kicking his ass, not looking off to the side like some little prissy dude.
Wait. Guard duty. Going to the bathroom during established periods in their timetables.
The greatness of the Peacekeepers: not only did they control large portions of the galaxy, they'd also mastered the bladder.
Sleep. Eat. Pass the time. Keep the mask on, always. Don't talk, ever. Respond to a strange name. The few times he saw himself in the mirror, he paused. Ghost, he whispered to himself.
Waiting. And, in all that time, figuring the layout of the place, finding the weaknesses. Getting the wiring diagrams for the area, following the relay routers. All the while, feeling the pressure of time, knowing that Aeryn was in Central, the PK capital. Visible. If the Nebari had a traitor, they would know she was there. They would figure out why. The Nebari were smarter than the average bear.
Tracing the diagrams in the darkness of his room, a small little penlight type of thing lighting the way. And finally: finding it. The weak spot. He traced it, found the access points, the switching numbers. Using Marat's toys and some elementary knowledge from his required electrical engineering courses, programmed in his target. Bully for tech, go nerds. Sariv couldn't have done this part.
Waiting again. Time, time. All for that one moment where he and Sariv were both posted to the same station, and the senior officer stepped away for a moment.
John was the lookout, Sariv the one who got to slide the thin chip into the board. John knew what he would see: a green blinking light. The code downloaded itself automatically, executed. John wished there was some way to check it, but Marat had told them the green blinking light was all the confirmation they'd need; his little package was on its way to be delivered.
And after all that waiting, letting everyone forget they were Ghosts, hurry up and do this job. Their successful escape could all too easily depend on it. Then they were done, and suddenly it was back to the waiting.
His attention was on a spot over the horizon. A place he knew existed, felt. A tug. So close, and yet so damn far away.
She was still out there. She was still okay. He turned his suit audio to high whenever he heard someone discussing their spectacular entry onto the moon-ship. There was some talk, in the lounges, in the corridors. Kinda like announcing that Wal-Mart was coming to a small town in Podunk; there was a little bit of gossip, steady, for about a week after their arrival. Nothing else to do. Nothing else to talk about.
Sariv allowed himself to be seen without his balaclava, once, in a common area. There were whispers about the scars on his face. A Scarran did that. The scars on his arms. He got that close.
The story about John's burn scar got out, too. Didja hear about that? Heard it covers his whole ribcage. Amazing he didn't die. They didn't seem to notice his scars.
Very little about the Ghost Captain who was in Central. Quiet. Crazy. Intense.
Good. The less said about her, the better. The safer, for her, from the Nebari.
He and Sariv spent a lot of time in the data libraries. Catching up with PK news, with Central gossip. Inserting data chips, because John had found other weak spots. He wasn't a programmer, but he could read a flow diagram. As an astronaut, he'd learned the value of redundant systems.
Learning. Waiting. Thinking.

Marat slid another chip into the sensor recorder and watched the tell-tale blink green. Recording.
Rote work. Insert chip, check to make sure it was working, move on. It would have been tech work but for the security level required to access many of these areas, and so instead it was simplified, the processes automated, and the duty given to any old grot who didn't have to think, just insert chips. Any grot with a very high level of clearance. As a Ghost, she automatically rated a Level Three, so she had been a welcome addition to the unit. They hadn't asked her many questions beyond how long she was staying, too happy to have her to care about anything else.
This was the pinnacle of success? The culmination of duty, to be rewarded with this job? They were the best of the best?
She'd expected better, somehow, in High Command.
Take chip from stack. Insert into slot. Watch tell-tale. Green. Move on.
The duty rotated every day. Her temporary unit drew lots, and each person went to a different duty section. The sensor platform was too large for just one person to cover; it ran the sensors that covered over half the planetary envelope. Techs outnumbered soldiers ten to one. Once you got off the high clearance areas, you were up to your elbows in techs. The techs were what she'd imagined. Young. Bright-eyed. Filled with fervor.
Take chip from stack. Insert into slot. Watch tell-tale. Green. Move on.
For the first weekens, someone had ridden her shoulder. Showed her the access routes. Explained the maze that was the maintenance slots for the data chipsets. Each time her fellow grot had been bored, relaying instructions in a monotonous tone. Pointing out the security features as though they were obstacles, not protection.
Take chip from stack. Insert into slot. Watch tell-tale. Green. Move on.
She'd been running this duty by herself for three solar days now.
Take chip from stack. Insert into slot. Watch tell-tale. Green. Move on.
Soon, depending on how the lots were drawn, she could expect to have covered eighty percent of the entire sensor platform in her rotations.
Take chip from pocket. Insert into slot. Watch tell-tale.
Green.
She moved on.

"She's not doing anything we haven't done. Though," and he admitted this grudgingly, "she's going through it a lot faster than we did."
"You're in a bad mood."
"I don't like having her here."
"I do."
Now, he thought, but didn't say anything aloud. Councilor Vree had begun to feel comfortable around Captain Sun.
She stretched carefully, smiled. "Two of the Councilors are already looking frightened. The fact that she's still around worries them, I think."
Sun hadn't done anything unpredictable. Other than apparently saying some fairly insightful things to certain people. Of course that would scare them. Truth was hard to come by in Central, which perhaps explained his own feelings about her. He was so used to being the only one who knew the truth. Or whatever version passed for reality.
"Which Councilors?" he said aloud.
"Jikan and Wess. They're much quieter now in session."
He grunted. He knew Vree's feelings for Wess, and was personally glad for her, but still. "That isn't any sort of proof."
She gazed at him owlishly from over the rim of her glass. "It's not just her, is it? You don't like Ghosts."
Perceptive of her, but she hadn't become a Councilor because of her looks. He stared morosely at his drink. "They're a nightmare, from a Security standpoint."
"What do you mean?"
"They're paranoid grots. Check everything." Didn't just accept, like normal Peacekeepers. Wouldn't trust what they were told. Or rather, didn't act like they believed. They didn't pretend, unlike the ones who saw through the facade of rank and structure.
She laughed. "I see. Or rather, I saw that report. They found your imagers, didn't they?"
"Found all the ones in their quarters. All of them." Good equipment, totally destroyed. When he had someone go in to replace the imagers, those were promptly disabled as well. His operative hadn't been able to find the locator devices they were using, either. "I've met some commandos that were good, but to get four of them at one time gets on my nerves." Not to mention the problems inherent in working with other security forces. Bish was only head of Security for Councilor Vree, not the whole damn moon. Unfortunately.
"So you don't have access to their secret lives? Their deepest thoughts?"
"I didn't say that. They haven't found all the listeners. Those are harder to pick up on a 'scope. They don't require the circuitry and the energy demands of the imagers." He rubbed his hand over his face, suddenly tired. "We've still got some sort of output from all their quarters, at least." The only reason they were allowed to roam freely. He'd have been a lot more worried without that data.
"Anything interesting?"
"No. I'd hate to go on mission with them. They're not the most talkative bunch, not even with each other."
"And Captain Sun?"
"Nothing." The woman barely breathed in the room assigned to her, much less slept.
"You're spoiled. You want to know it all."
"That's my job, Councilor." That's why he was sticking so close to the good Captain. She was traveling ground he'd already covered, but she was doing it quickly, with a speed and efficiency that surprised him.
Awed him.
She was a machine, the way she ingested data. Always data. On a whim, he had her medical records checked, her vitals scanned. Except for that floating grace evident in the way she moved, she performed mechanically: ate, slept, worked out. She probably recreated mechanically too; he certainly didn't envy her Sergeant, who seemed the most obvious choice, especially since she'd kept him near her, running nothing other than unit errands. Worse than grot work.
She wasn't mechanoid, though. Bish knew that for certain. Med told him as much. Nothing mechanoid could move as quietly as she did at times, or wielded that sense of presence like a weapon. No, she was Sebacean, as much as she didn't seem it. If her output matched her input, he was going to be grateful to her. He would have hired her, if he wasn't certain she'd put him out of a job.
And he was sure he didn't trust her with any of his own secrets.
Either way, he was going to be ready.

Darwa paused for a microt before he walked into the office.
Funny. He hadn't felt her here, but there she was, sitting behind her desk. He could usually tell.
Well, she'd been wrapped up in her thoughts the past few days. Weekens, now. He was trying not to feel impatient at the wait. Intel work was slow, tedious, nerve-wracking. Which was why he was glad he didn't have to be the one sitting at the console.
"Cap'n."
She looked up instantly, her eyes focusing on him. Kind of. He didn't feel the accompanying sense of her that usually came through, though. It had been weakening, the past few days. She looked tired. The Commander had noticed that, the first day they'd been here. It hadn't gotten better.
"Darwa."
"Came to ask if you needed anything before I head out to pick up today's sensor dumps."
"No. Thank you." She looked down at her display again, and he felt the dismissal.
He stayed. "How's it going?"
There was a pause. Darwa felt Sergeant Mi's eyes suddenly laser into the back of his skull. Maybe it was only his imagination that he heard the commando's intake of breath. Yeah, and Mi would probably be more than happy to see his own CO bite it, more like. 'Cause Darwa would bet anything Mi's life hadn't ever actually depended on the CO.
The Captain finally raised her head again. Her eyes were cloudy, and Darwa could almost see her sorting through the past few microts, trying to remember what he'd said.
"We're closer to finding out who it can't be," she told him, and there was a hint of a smile in her voice.
He smiled in relief. "Yes, sir."

Section 7: Cracking in the Code
She'd begun to narrow down on something. He could feel it, almost see it in the data logs he reviewed every night. There was a pattern, slowly forming over these past two weekens, but he still couldn't -- quite -- define the shape.
Although she performed a cursory search of any personnel having a high clearance level, she kept cycling through the information he'd given her on the Councilors themselves, the aides, the staff. She spent more time going over posting records than she did training. Concentrated on those who had served on Carriers. Pored over medical records. Cross-checked with processing stations and ran calculations on transit times.
Was she looking for a slip, a manufactured time stamp? Or just verifying that everyone was where they'd claimed to be?
He could always ask her.
Bish shook his head absently, snorting at himself in amusement. No. He'd wait to ask her when she wasn't at her console. Just getting her attention had been . . . different, the past few days. She barely even looked up at anyone, but kept her eyes on the scrolling data.
That was all right. At least she wasn't paying attention to him.

A frelling party. Darwa sighed. It seemed like the Councilors had one every few nights or so. This was the second one he attended as guard, and the third one she'd been to. Corporal Bish, of course, was floating through the crowd, bouncing between the Captain and the Councilor. Darwa tracked him from the corner of his eyes. The Captain hadn't had to tell him who Corporal Bish really was; as soon as Darwa had noticed the way she paid attention to him, he'd figured it out for himself.
Another person approached the Captain, a familiar-looking man. One of the aides. After a microt, she clicked in on him, and they began talking, sipping their drinks and looking at the crowd. He drifted closer to catch the words.
The man was smiling at her, teeth glinting in the shadowy atmosphere. "Are you free tonight?"
Darwa sighed and rolled his eyes.
"Not for you."
Matter-of-fact tone. Deadly as usual.
As soon as that one left, another aide approached, laughing. "Still fending them off, Captain?"
"I haven't had to draw my pulse pistol. Yet."
"Well, you know how it is. You're new. Delightful."
"Rude."
"That doesn't overcome your distinct appeal." He raised his glass to her. "I'm not talking about your looks, Captain Sun, though of course you're very pleasing to the eye."
"I'm fresh from the front, Fallon. With the stench still clinging to my boots."
"Which is precisely why they're fascinated. We are a civilized microcosm, Captain. This is High Command. We dictate war and policy and destruction, all without being touched by it ourselves. You are . . . a symbol. Of what we really are. Who we strive to be."
Darwa flinched for her, but she didn't respond, other than to shake her head. "You are an idealist."
"And you are a warrior." He touched his cup to hers. "Good luck on further conquests, Captain."
Darwa tried not to roll his eyes again; they'd been getting quite a workout at these parties. This was High Command? After the aide had left, he drifted closer behind her. "Pretty words from a former sensor officer," he muttered, wondering what that exchange had really been about. If she had a microt, maybe she would explain?
She didn't respond.
Had she not heard him? He circled around, still keeping a little distance. She was staring off into space, her eyes blank.
Cap'n?
Someone was approaching them; Darwa took three steps back, faded into the unobtrusive nook he'd staked out.
Councilor Strom. He recognized the man, of course. Strom had taken to chatting up the Captain during the parties. Reliving past days and glories.
"Aeryn. Glad to see you here. Good to talk to a real soldier, after all these politicians." Watching her carefully, Darwa saw her finally click in. Slowly. Partially. "Good evening, sir. I know what you mean."
"For the simplicity of one's ship, eh?"
"Soon, I hope." Said absently, while she scanned the room. She wasn't even looking at the Councilor.
"I'm envious, you know."
Now she looked at him, but it was brief, and Darwa could see the way her attention slid off him quickly, like chakkan oil. "You could go back out there, sir."
"We are looking forward to a time of peace, Captain."
"We are negotiating for peace, sir," she replied, "but there is distance to cover, between here and there."
"So you believe the Scarrans aren't content to restrict their activities to mere negotiation? Of course you understand; you've lived it. Most of the people here think I'm just seeing sensor ghosts, looking for former glory." He shook his head, looking mournful. "No, I'm afraid, I'm stuck here. I belong on High Command, my dear Captain, where I might do some good in these upcoming negotiations."
"And die slowly inside." Her voice slowly trailed off; she almost visibly lost her train of thought. Darwa stiffened.
Strom shrugged, and Darwa knew the man was aware, at a subconscious level, of something wrong. "Duty calls, Captain. Who are we to deny that?" Gestures expansive, voice fruity with conviction. His glass was mostly full. Darwa checked the chronometer and estimated it was the Councilor's second. He was loud because he was nervous.
The Captain was doing that to him.
"And who knows? Your duty may call you once again out to the front."
"Perhaps." He drained his cup. "Ah. I see Councilor Garritti; I must get together with him over some estimated numbers. You'll excuse me, Aeryn."
She didn't even watch him go. Didn't say goodbye. Was just . . . blank. Trapped in that middle distance.
Darwa felt the rising bubbles of panic.

"Cap'n."
Track One: Not Vree no motive nothing there just simple thoughts loyal not Jikan no connection small-minded no power base not Wess don't get inside his head--
Track Two: Darwa's voice. Calling her.
She tracked it. Focused. "Yes."
"Cap'n, I think you've been stuck in here for too long."
In here. Where was here? She turned her head around her to look. Oh. Her office. High Command. Central. Every Peacekeeper's dream, to be appointed here. Every Peacekeeper's duty, work hard to serve. No, here was where she belonged.
--"No, I'm afraid, I'm stuck here. I belong on High Command, my dear Captain, where I can do some good--"
"I've got work to do, Sergeant."
Traitors work in the dark corners must have enough power to influence but doesn't seem like a Councilor too obvious some access Most of the people here think I'm just seeing sensor ghosts go through the files again find the pattern the missing piece--
"Yes, sir. But you still should get some pilot time, you know."
He was still talking. She focused, narrowed to hear him, rewound the loop to catch what he'd said.
"I remember you talked about that before we got here. It's been a while since you've been at the Vigilante's controls yourself. Almost two weekens here."
Track One: New data unknown motive possible intents message warning unimportant "you may well flush out a traitor in our midst" coded message and negotiations--
Insistent. A loop, playing constantly, new things added but nothing taken away.
Track Two: See it, help. The void cool, so calm. Beckoning with his blue eyes, blue eyes, a sequence of blue-eyed memories. Darwa don't leave me here--
"I don't have time for this, Sergeant." Her voice came out without her volition, the words spilling easily from cold lips.
"Begging your pardon, sir, but to quote one of your good friends, 'We're not going to have any time if you get your way,' Cap'n."
Weapon on target. Analysis: direct hit. John.
Back. Crash. Darwa's words impacted the knot of twisting shifting voices, pushed them aside for the microt. In the madness, held out that one memory of John. She grabbed it like a lifeline in zero gee, felt it cut through cold.
Smiled. "I suppose you're right, Sergeant. Plan it for a convenient time."
Track One: Time Waste of time investigate Councilor motives working through the Council somehow find the missing piece of the pattern something not seeing it's obvious must find the pattern think I'm just seeing sensor ghosts--
Track Two: No. No. Just shut up shut up shut up no. . . .

"Marat."
She looked up from her console and across at her duty officer. "Yes, sir?"
"Incoming transmission for you."
Inside her composed facade, her stomach clenched. What? How? This wasn't one of the signals--
He was looking at his screen, oblivious to her microt-long pause. "I think it's your former CO?"
That didn't help her digestive system or her mental health. The Captain, calling here? For her? What was going on? She looked at her screen. "Route it through to here, sir?"
A flashing as her screen switched from sensor cones and tracking to black, then Darwa. She didn't allow her frown to reach her face, and the feeling of unease didn't quite go away. Darwa was the established point-of-contact, but they'd worked out that she would check in with him, not the other way around. "Darwa!" What the frell is going on?
"Thought we'd forgotten about you all the way up there, eh?"
"I was wondering." Am wondering.
"Not to worry. We miss you. Especially one of us." His smile turned knowing.
Her mind raced furiously. "Oh, really?"
"Don't play so coy. You know Jocar still talks about you."
It took her a microt, but then the import hit. Now she knew who, and with that knowledge came a glimmer of why. Her stomach knotted more tightly. "Only talks?" Her tone was teasing.
"Well, he's young. He doesn't only want to talk."
"Maybe I ought to do something about it." She tasted bile in the back of her throat. He wanted her to warn the Commander. It was that bad.
"It might help his efficiency ratings. He's probably going to get called up for some flight training fairly soon -- everyone's going to get called up, I think -- and he'll need all his parts in working order. Including his brain. Hull separations, you know."
She groaned. "In that case, I'll try not to break him."
Darwa smiled. "I knew you'd understand."

His doorbell chimed. He wasn't expecting anyone. Grabbing a pulse pistol and the balaclava, he shoved the former into his holster and the latter over his head, stretching it over his hair, settling it over his face.
"Who is it?" Muffled through the scratchy material.
"Jocar? It's me, Marat."
Cold fear. He hit the door controls, and it hissed aside. She stood out in the hall, pale hair loose, wearing a jumpsuit sort of thing, unzipped at the throat. Her Ghost jacket was slung over one shoulder.
He was so surprised by her outfit, by her casual attitude, he was almost distracted from the fact that she was here. Almost. But before he could say anything, she smiled, come-hither written all over it. "Aren't you going to invite an old crewmember in?"
Stepping away from the door, he gestured her inside. Locked the door and turned just in time to get an armful of very soft, pliant Marat. His arms encircled her automatically, cupping her closer.
"Did you leave a listener?" she whispered into his ear, nuzzling his neck. Moaned aloud.
He buried his nose in the fine strands of her hair. "Yeah."
One of her hands left his neck, burrowed between them. The loud noise of a zipper heading south, and her hand wriggled inside her suit. He felt her withdraw something flat, square, felt her forearm clench as she pressed a button.
"It's on." As easily as she'd thrown the switch to her jammer, she was Marat again, stepping away from him. Cool, pale, Marat. "It's only jamming audio; you sure you got the imagers?"
"Yeah." He was John Crichton again, or something close enough. Apparently he'd lost his tastes for blondes. More like Aeryn spoiled him for all others. "What's wrong?" Marat wouldn't show up in person unless she had a damn good reason. Change in plans?
"It's the Captain."
That was a damn good reason. Fear lanced his gut, chilled his blood. "What's happened to her? Is she okay?" Had she been found out? Was she in PK custody?
"It's -- no, it's not that." Her eyes warned him. Even though they thought all the listening devices had been secured, all the imaging devices destroyed, it was still too dangerous to discuss specifics, to talk about details. "I know what you're thinking, and it's not that."
He grabbed her hands. "Marat, just tell me. Don't jerk me around."
"We're losing her."
He cocked his head, frowning. "She's okay, right?"
"Physically, yes. But up here--" She gestured at her temple, and John suddenly felt a chill in his heart. "You know how she is. You've seen some. What . . . can happen."
"What's -- what is she like?" How could he ask? Is she sane? Has she gone over the edge? Is there any way to get her back?
"She's very far away from us. It's bad. Worse than -- before. I think maybe . . . she might be lost."
Shit. He stepped away, began pacing in the small room. "Did you see her?"
"No. Darwa told me."
"How did--?" How did this happen? How long ago was this noticed?
"She's trying to be . . . in too many thoughts."
Too many people.
"Darwa sent me a message," Marat continued. "He can't help her anymore. He can't . . . reach her. He wants you to come. Can you?"
Yes. "I'm there." He turned to grab his jacket. She was on him in a moment, pale hand cold against his arm.
"No," she said softly. "I know you want to go now, but you can't. We have to be careful."
But Aeryn was in danger. The type that she was not equipped to handle well. "Tell me," he gritted out, trying not to shake the information out of Marat. "What's the plan?" Because Darwa would have a plan. Darwa didn't move without a plan.
She leaned back; he could read relief in every line of her face, her body. She was worried for me, he thought. Or was it for Aeryn?
"Darwa will be transmitting a message to you in less than an arn. It will be a request for you and Sariv to come up and practise explosive hull separations in your Prowler." At his puzzled frown, she clarified. "A tactical maneuver. Quick separation means dropping your racked Prowler from the Vigilante with weapons armed and systems hot. It's fairly difficult to do without scragging the Vigilante's hull."
Fascinating, but--! "The message, Marat."
"You and Sariv will each take a Prowler up to the Vigilante, which will be just outside of the planetary envelope. Make sure you rack onto the Hammond side. Darwa will take the new members of the unit to the opposite side of the hull." She nodded at the look on his face. "Yes, they'll be there -- they have to be, it would be too suspicious not to include them. They're the pretext for the entire unit going up.
"Darwa will suggest that Sariv take the new members, since he's the best pilot -- other than the Captain, of course. They'll stay on the planet side and actually practise the maneuvers. Any of the sensor platforms nearby will see and record them. You, Darwa and the Captain will be able to stay on the Vigilante until it's over."
Until they got her back. "You're not going?"
"You know I can't. I need to stay up on the sensor platform."
They'd be outnumbered by the PKs, if anything went wrong. "It's risky."
"It's our only chance."
Her only chance, you mean, but he bit back those words. "Why are you really here, Marat? You could just have waited until Darwa sent the message. We would have figured it out." He stared at her. "What else aren't you telling me? What else is wrong?"
She turned away. "I wanted to warn you," she said quietly.
"About?"
"Her." Her shoulders were tight. "I told you she was bad. I don't know what she'll be like. And I'm afraid."
His mouth was dry. "Of her?" Marat, afraid?
"Of. For." She nodded. "And for you."
Like a body blow, because that he hadn't expected. "What are you talking about?"
"The fact that Darwa arranged this means he doesn't feel like he can handle it. Handle her. By himself."
"Handle her." A question.
"She gets . . . dangerous. Inside and out." She took a deep breath. "I don't know how much you've seen."
"Marat." He reached out, turned her to face him again. Looked into her eyes. "I know what she means to you. I know you want to keep her safe. Even if it's from me." He paused. "I need to know, so I can keep her safe, too."
"She goes into herself. You've seen it. How she . . . disappears. I don't know if you've seen how she is, during mission. How she becomes what she hunts."
"No," he said dryly, softly. "I usually . . . only see the results." Like when she appeared out of nowhere to either save or capture him.
Marat must have remembered whom she was talking to, because she suddenly flushed. "We've had missions, where we had to find something. Someone. Like Scarrans."
John remembered the look in Aeryn's eyes when she spoke about Scarrans. Her voice held neutral objectivity, but in her eyes something roiled. Nothing that he'd attributed to hatred, or vengeance, but there was always something there, something dark. The way she could predict Scarrans was just downright freaky.
"We had a mission. The first one with her in our unit. We were looking for two Scarrans in particular. Our Captain, Rayn, gave her all the data on them. Told her to find them. Urged her to . . . become them."
"Oh, shit," he breathed. Shit. Shit. He'd seen just enough to figure out what Aeryn would have done--
Marat nodded. "She did. They lived, on our ship. They walked in her body and spoke through her voice."
"You found them."
"She found them. And killed them. By destroying the planet."
Meaning took a while to catch up with the words. John stared at Marat in shock, realization filtering in slowly. No wonder Aeryn reacted so badly to the Scarrans' decision to attack the commerce planet, why she stayed and fought, throwing her pitifully few crew members against the massive obstacle of the Scarran dreadnought. And he'd asked her why, challenged her. Aeryn, I never knew--
"I needed to tell you this because--" Marat took a deep breath. "Because I don't know where she is, or who she is. She's worse than Darwa has ever seen her, I think. He wasn't with us, on the planet, but he's scared. And you -- with your hair and your skin tone, your height -- you almost look a little like Rayn. Not too much, just enough for a first look."
So that's why Aeryn had paused, in the cruiser's Command, when she had first seen his dye job. "You look--" She paused, and smiled. A weird little half-smile, sad. "You look like a Ghost."
"Rayn. Your Captain." Former Captain. Whose jacket John wore, on the Command Carrier. Aeryn had taken the captain's tabs from his coat, that day on the Vigilante.
"Yes." Marat cleared her throat. "On that planet, when we were with the Scarrans, he was captured. They . . . they used him."
His mouth was dry. "Tortured him?" He knew about Scarran torture all too well.
"They infected him. With an intellent virus. Turned him loose on us."
Oh. Shit. John waited, breathless.
"She killed him. She had to. For us." Marat sighed, and a moment stretched between them, one filled with horror, memory, pain. "I'm telling you this because . . . I don't know where she'll be, either. Coming out of wherever she is now -- I don't know who she's going to be, once she sees you."

Bish watched her carefully as she stood in the cruiser's small Command. If he didn't know better, he would have sworn she was drugged, but he had her checked and knew she was clean. Whatever was happening to her, it wasn't meds.
Sergeant Darwa piloted up, taking the controls without comment. She merely sat there, working the nav controls. Her movements were precise, correct, always on time. Automatic. He'd met mechanoids with more personality.
"The others are meeting us?" Ensign Fize, her voice eager. Knowing her, she likely thought she would get a chance to show off her piloting skills.
"We won't wait for them," Darwa responded lightly. "As soon as we're stationary, we'll get to the Prowlers and have some warm-up before we start the maneuvers."
His gaze only slid over her once, but Bish saw the look in the commando's eyes. You're worried, too.
Fize bounced impatiently in place; Mi was, as usual, unperturbed. Or so it seemed. But Bish noticed that Mi didn't come closer to Captain Sun than was absolutely necessary.
"Ready," Darwa announced. "You know which Prowlers have been assigned to you; go down and start pre-flight. We'll do a comms check as soon as you get into the cockpits--"
Should he stay, or go? Darwa was obviously intending on staying. She -- well, no one asked her. The rest of her old crew would be here soon. If Bish stayed, he would be able to see what interaction she had with them. What sort of exchange she made. If intel was passed.
If he went, he would have a Prowler at his disposal. A separate asset, so he could control her movements. Monitor her comms traffic.
She suddenly looked up at him, as though she were aware of his thoughts, heard him. Something in him clenched, thoughts and bowels alike, and his subconscious babbled in his own frightened voice, a high-pitched half-scream that drowned out Darwa's continued mission brief.
She sees everything I am. If she touched me, she would swallow me whole and trap me inside that vortex.
There were . . . things behind her eyes. Predators. Creatures that watched his movements, that hungered for his thoughts.
A single thought: I can't.
He would do his duty, he would obey his orders. But not from here. Not standing next to that. No, he would take his Prowler, get off this ship. Be ready to act, if the predators were suddenly unleashed. And he would have her blown out of space. Out there, he would be able to press the button himself.

Track One: Don't have time don't have time a traitor in our midst negotiations don't have time the perfect Peacekeeper--
Track Two was a whispering litany drowned out by the insistent ticking of a chronometer in her head. Explosions in her psyche. Threads of consciousness spiraling together, twisting, melding.
"Cap'n?"
Turned her head.
Target: Darwa.
Staring. At her. Calling. Her. "Cap'n." Her ident. Name. Her.
Response required: "Yes?" Voice. From far away. Hers.
"--this knowledge has already led to the destruction of one Command Carrier--"
"You'll stay here in Command, right? You obviously don't need to do this yourself, and you can coordinate the team's maneuvers." His voice dropped. "You could also use the time to go through the files."
Objective: Time. Secured.
A flickering of faces through her head, a never-ending queue that sped, faster, faster.
He was still waiting. Response required. "Yes." She turned to the consoles, ignoring the members filing out. The footsteps were nothing compared to the voices in her head, thoughts whispering into her ears.
"--belong on High Command where I can do some good--"
Never alone. Echoes off the walls.
Anomaly: Presence.
Looked up. Around. Target: Darwa. Anomaly. "What are you doing here, Darwa?"
"Making sure you're okay, Cap'n."
Face. Innocent. Open. Wrong. Lie. Reached out to touch him, to hurt him. Wait. Not lie. Truth. A blubbering in her head, a whimpering: safe! safe!
What was safe? Something in her grabbed at that word, twisted the concept. Safe. Something groaned, tight underneath the strain.
Track Two: run!
A tell-tale flashed; Darwa moved quickly to view the board. "Sariv's here," he announced, and his voice came as though from far away, tinny and small. "Engaging hull clamps now."
A jumble of words, taken apart and put back together for sense and meaning. Faint whimpers beginning to drown out the chronometer, interrupting the hypnotic cadence of tick, tick, tick. Sariv. Name. Something about that--
Eyes watched Darwa bend over the board. Noted a slight release of tension. Relief. He felt relief. The chronometer ticked, ticked, ticked. Thoughts flashed, snippets of conversations with the Councilor, with Scorpius, with spies killers warriors monsters.
--don't know how close you are--
"What are you doing, Darwa?" Voice. Hers. Calm. Dead.
He looked up, his mouth moved, his voice wound its way slowly to her through fractured time. "Just completed racking the Prowlers, Cap'n."
Couldn't take her eyes away from his. He faded from her vision, melting into the background.
Prowlers.
"Cap'n?" Voice. His. Worried.
The ticking was loud in her head, drowning out all else.
"Cap'n?" Voice. His. Closer. Faint. Strange.
She couldn't see him anymore, couldn't see anything but the darkness. Heard the ticking give way to groaning, cracking, the strain, the voices. All the voices, all the screaming and the crying and the dying.
--don't know the danger--
Knew he would reach out, try to touch her.
Tick, tick, tick. Time moving inexorably, all the paths of the future silvered shiny fading into shadow the darkness was flowing in the void was rising.
Don't please don't danger i know you too well--
A warm hand on her shoulder.
A snap. A scream.
know you too well--

When Sariv hadn't gotten an answer from Darwa in Command, John had gone from worry to frantic.
So had Sariv, in his super-cool PK way. "Go," he said. "I'll go back out to distract the others." He grabbed John by the upper arm for just a moment, stared into his eyes. "Be careful."
"I will."
Now, in the hallway outside of Command, John heard a groan, a bit-off cry, and barreled through the door into a scene that was eerily familiar, if you took the real memory and stuck it in a blender with Tales From the Crypt. Scorpius couldn't have done it better.
Aeryn didn't turn at his entrance; only Darwa noticed he'd come in. Darwa, who was backed up behind the main console, nose bleeding, breathing heavily. Blood was streaked across his face, his hands. His uniform was wet with blood. The look in his eyes was frightened.
There was a lot of goddamned blood. Was any of it hers?
Aeryn was crouched across from Darwa, a dark, coiled shape. John still couldn't see her face. He walked forward slowly, watching the line of her back. She didn't move. She was totally locked in to Darwa.
"Commander!" Darwa's eyes flicked across to him. "Stay back!"
Hell he would!
She exploded from her position, lunging across the comsole. His entrance had been a distraction, all right, but for the wrong person. Shit, man, hadn't this happened already?
Darwa paid for it. Again, and in spades. She was on him in an instant, hands and feet flying. John stared at her, stunned. He'd never seen her go all-out, hand-to-hand. Watching her and her team work out had been impressive as hell, but he'd never seen what a Ghost was really taught. She wasn't pulling her blows, and when he saw her face, something in him shuddered. Totally blank. Devoid of everything. She was going for the kill. Darwa was struggling to keep her off him, concentrating on defending himself.
"Darwa could pound me into the mat on any good day."
It wasn't a good day for Darwa. John cast around quickly, looking for something that he could use to sneak up behind her, drop her without hurting her.
"Commander--" Darwa was breathing heavily. "Get out of here -- she's gone -- won't be able to hold her off -- much longer."
"We can't just leave her here like this!"
"In med lab -- trank--" He yelped as she did something to his hand; John winced as he heard something snap.
"Aeryn!" John lunged forward, grabbed her from behind, cocked his hip and threw her across the floor, a wrestling move he'd picked up in high school. She bounced to her feet like a cartoon character, like Freddy Krueger, and stared at him from across the distance. She was far away, gone. Nothing there in her eyes.
Darwa was, at least, behind him. "She's gone," the commando whispered, and it sounded suspiciously like a prayer.
"No," John said. "She's still in there." She's gotta be. "How are you?" He didn't look around to check, didn't take his eyes off her. She wasn't moving, hell, she was barely blinking.
"She broke a few fingers."
That's all? Darwa looked like he'd been pounded into shit. "I thought you were better at this stuff than she was."
"So did I. But she's not herself." Darwa's voice shook with emotion. The commando was off his game. Scared. For himself, or her?
"Hey, baby--" Stepping forward, John was brought up short by Darwa's good hand on his shoulder.
"Don't, Commander."
"Your way didn't work, so let's try mine." The hand holding him didn't release. "Darwa, it's me." Whatever he meant to her, whatever was between them.
"But that's not her."
"It is her." He wasn't going to lose her now, and not this way. Especially not this way. She stood there, still crouched, lost in her own little world. She didn't even flicker at their conversation.
He knew what it was like, to hear voices inside your head. To have someone else speak, live, move inside your mind. He couldn't imagine what it was like for her, to have to suffer more than one at a time. Oh, Aeryn--
"She'll kill you, Commander. Even you." No doubt in the commando's voice.
Like Rayn? Marat's voice inside his head: "She killed him."
"Go get the trank," he told Darwa. "I'm staying here."
"Come with me, Commander. We'll lock the door from outside, jam it, and she'll be safe."
"But she'll be alone." He briefly looked at the commando. Tried for a grin, managed a shrug. "And I can't leave her to deal with it alone. Not when she's like this." Not like he'd been left alone. No. He wouldn't do that to her.
Darwa shook his head, but dropped his hand. Touched John's arm. "You sure?"
"Yeah."
"Good luck."
"Thanks." John watched her carefully as Darwa backed out of the room. Her head followed the commando's movement, but she didn't focus, didn't really track him. Her eyes were just blue, sightless pits of void.
He waved with his hand, trying to get her to focus on him, not the commando. "Hey, baby." Her head swung back to him. Locking on target. Wherever she was, she wasn't reacting to people, just movement.
He didn't move closer, but he had to talk to her, had to try. "Where are you, Aeryn? Can you hear me? Do you know who I am?"
Still that blank gaze.
"Don't do this to yourself, Aeryn. Hell, don't do this to me. I don't like seeing you all alone. I know what it's like to be trapped inside there."
Nothing.
"You're still you. Underneath all the rest of them." He took a step forward. "There's still Aeryn Sun. There always will be. You can't lose that. I won't let you."
Not even a flicker of change.
Another step closer, another two. "Listen to me, Aeryn. Listen to my voice." Another minute, another step. Almost close enough to jump her, if he had to. "Don't listen to anything else. Just listen to my voice. You know who I am."
She still hadn't moved. Tension was crawling across his shoulders. Shit. She wasn't responding; he felt another stab of fear, not in his gut, but in his chest. He stepped closer, wanting to look deeply into her eyes. Find that awesome presence she had, when she was aware. The feeling that rocked him back on his heels. If she could find him from across the universe, she should be able to feel him when he was in the same goddamned room.
Nothing.
"Come back to me, Aeryn," he whispered. "God. . . . Don't leave me alone here either, baby."
He hadn't meant to say that.
No visible response to that naked appeal, but something changed. She'd reacted to that. Still no sense of her presence, but something in her responded, he was sure of it. Damn! What would it take? How could he do it? If he just reached out a little more--
He thought about it for a moment, decided. Yes. He would. It would be worth it, for her. He would do whatever he had to, for her. Even if he knew it was probably going to hurt like hell.
He reached out slowly, touched her cheek.
Contact.
Almost--
Crack.
Before he'd managed to stumble away from the first blow, she followed it up with another punch to his throat. He coughed blood, rolled over to protect himself, but she was on him again.
Shit! Bleeding--
But he didn't fight like a PK goon, and he wasn't interested in fighting her at all. Wasn't going to try to hurt her and stay out of range; his goal was to get in there. He grabbed her, twisted into her arms, well in her reach; flipped both of them to wrestle her underneath him. Fought one hand free to touch her cheek.
Contact. Only this time there was no answering blow from her; he'd managed to trap her arms long enough to stave off the instinctive response she'd given him the first time, reaction to the shock. Long enough to give them time. The energy between them caught them, fused them together. Like that first time, on the Gammak base. Drowning. Pain. A roaring in his ears, a sapping of his strength -- bleeding drowning falling pain but you're here--
And then a wall. It just stopped. Like someone just unplugged her; she froze, her movements stilled, and she blinked. Once.
Abracadabra, baby.
Not all movement. As he watched, tears began slipping down her cheek. He rubbed his thumb over them, wiping the trails. Caught his breath, licked his lips -- tasted coppery blood -- and tried again to talk to her. "Aeryn. Come back."
It was as though she'd been struck by lightning. A shudder wracked through her body; she stared up at him, suddenly aware, but somehow still lost. He could feel her like mist, trying to slip through his fingers. So lost, so alone.
Her lips moved, and he could just hear her words: "I returned from the dead. Why can't you?"
He froze. He couldn't have said what he clued in on: their connection, her lost little-girl voice, the knowledge that Marat had gifted him, whatever. But there, in Aeryn's eyes, he knew that he was Rayn, he was the other John; he was everything that equaled pain in her past.
She moved her hand; he released it slowly. Not that he was afraid she would punch him again, no, now he was afraid to let her go. He held her with his body, his hands, his eyes. Kept her from fracturing into a thousand little pieces.
Her fingers drifted over his chin, down the line of his jaw. Trembling. Her whole body was shaking, her breathing laboured.
He smoothed his right hand over her shoulder, down her chest, just above the swell of breast. Her heartbeat was thready and irregular. She watched him, locked into his gaze, still lost. Looking like something broken and scattered. Shards of everything that had ever moved behind those eyes, she was lost in time and pain.
"This is where it hurts," he said softly. In that heart. Behind those eyes, hidden in the unshed tears that waited their turn.
She sighed. Relaxed underneath him. "Yes."
Yeah, he'd found it. "Right here." He rubbed a slow circle, letting her feel his touch. It came down to this moment, this person, this pain. This was what he fought, more than any Peacekeeper in High Command, more than Scorpius, more than the terrifying prospect of never seeing Earth, his dad, again. Here and now, this was his battle. The moment where John Crichton fought for everything he wanted and everything he would be.
He settled himself more firmly over her, weight on his elbows and knees, but plastered on her with every possible square inch. Chest to chest. His thighs straddling hers. Hips propped on the framework of hers. Arms, legs, all that he was, held her, protected her.
Mine.
"Was it easy to be a hero?" Her voice was haunted, broken. "Was it easy to die?"
She wasn't talking to him, she was talking to his ghost, but even so John knew he had to answer, because she was also asking him, now. All that he'd done, all that was crazy and foolish and risky. He remembered each moment, how close he'd been to that edge. Knew that feeling all too well, the damning I-gotta-no-matter-what. Danger. Risk. It was strangely exciting; it freed one's senses. You forgot about all else: the pain, the dreams, the friends you would leave behind-- Yeah, he knew. "You never think you're gonna die."
"You . . . you did."
No, you did. He lowered his chin, nuzzled her, seeking to reassure her. "No."
"Yes, you did." She smiled, and his heart broke. She touched his lower lip, traced the curve. Her fingertips trailed fire and ice.
"No." He kissed her lightly, proving to her that he was here. Still here. "I would never leave you behind."
"You told me I belonged here. But I am . . . what I was bred to be."
"Aeryn, come here." He said it quietly. Didn't demand. Just asked her. Thought about everything he was, everything he'd done, and all his hopes, fears, dreams. She was in his dreams, she, Earth, dad, sex, pizza, beer, sex, Aeryn. Love. He held those out to her even as he held her. Something. . . .
"Aeryn." A stirring along his senses, like ghostly fingertips over his skin.
"You belong with me," he breathed.
A long moment while he watched her struggle. Watched her come back in, pouring in with the pain, the honesty, confidence, everything she was. Always the pain.
"John?" A whisper.
"Yeah. I'm here." He smiled down at her. She was back.
Her eyes, clouded with confusion, widened. "You're bleeding--" She reached up. Touched his face. Her finger came away with blood on it. "I did this?" Her voice was ragged, just this edge of sane. "I did this to you?!"
He was losing her again.

His blood, on her hands.
She'd done this to him.
Her mind shied away from that knowledge. Flashes of memory, of scenes. Remember what you did? Showing her with sharp-edged clarity. The look in Darwa's eyes. Fear. The snap of fragile bones. John flying across the room. On the floor, bleeding. This is what you've done.
"No," she whispered. Pain. There was so much pain--
A crash at the door. She flinched, suddenly aware of who it was, who it must be. Darwa. John didn't move, didn't react, other than his head snapping up. She felt the loss of his focus, wanted to cry out at the absence. There was no where to go, nothing to hold her in--
"It's okay." John's voice, reverberating through her body. Pinning her back down to the ground before she fell away again.
From the corner of her eyes, she saw Darwa stumble to a halt. Suddenly noticed their positions, their lack of struggling. His eyes widened.
John jerked his head towards the door. She felt that, too.
Darwa nodded. "Yes, Commander." As Darwa went back through the door, quickly as he'd come in, she noticed the trank gun.
He'd been afraid of her. She closed her eyes. This is what you've done, because you weren't good enough. Because you weren't strong enough. Velorek, Rayn, John. All of them. Because of you.
"Hey. Hey." His voice insisted she pay attention. His presence demanded an answer.
She rolled her head to the side, trying to escape. "No," she muttered dully. Failed. She'd failed them. She hurt them. Him. He was bleeding, just like she did. Bleeding--
He grabbed her hands. Locked tightly. Pain. She opened her eyes, gasping at the sensation of pain that came from outside herself. Stared up at him.
"Don't," he gritted out. "Don't do this to yourself!"
"Why?" Why couldn't she just get lost in there?
"Because I need you."
His eyes were so bright. What did he see, when he looked at her? There was fear, fear for her, and hope, and lust, and the sense of him throughout, strong. Like a heartbeat. All that he was, there before her.
She liked herself better in his eyes. She reached out to him.

She kissed him. Urgently. Hungrily.
Danger, Will Robinson. His own voice, nagging him.
She pushed against him with her body while holding on like she'd never let go. She was panting, her breasts rising and falling against his chest.
You need to think right now, and you're using the wrong head.
Her tongue was halfway down his throat, slick. Her hips ground into his, begging, and his body responded. She was telling him she wanted him. Needed him.
This isn't the way you want it.
That one got his attention. He grabbed her face, stilled her between his hands; he couldn't do anything about the rest of her. He certainly couldn't draw away, couldn't flinch. She would feel like she'd been rejected, and that was the last thing in the world he wanted to make her feel.
Don't think about what you're feeling right now, John.
God, talk about effective restraint. Harvey, now. John took a couple of deep breaths. Took a couple more just for buffer, settling more weight on his elbows, getting just a bit more distance between their chests. "Hang on a minute, Aeryn. Whoa there."
Out of my head right now, Harvey. Speak up now and I will find a way to rip you out, even if it means drastic action.
No response, and good, because John really was too damn busy right now. She was still thrashing beneath him, feeling very good in a very painful way. "John--" Formless whimpers.
"I know," he breathed, close to whimpering himself. But it ain't about the lust, remember? "I know how it feels, it hurts. You don't want to think. You don't want to have to look at it. But you need to, Aeryn. Trust me, I know. Listen to yourself. Listen to the silence inside of your head, in that space you've made. That's what you need right now, not to drown it all out."
"But . . . I don't want to feel. It hurts too much--"
"I know." He touched his forehead to hers, shut his eyes so he wouldn't see. So close. Just a few inches and he would touch her lips, kiss her again. Every shudder, every breath she took, reminded him of how she felt underneath him. Soft. The perfect fit if they were just a little bit closer. "But you shouldn't be looking for me, Aeryn. You need to find yourself. You know where I am -- I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. I'll always help you find your way back. But right now you can't be me. You need to be you."
She tried to roll away. He didn't let her.
"I don't know . . . who that is. Not anymore."
"I do." He stroked her cheek. Forced her to meet his eyes. "I know who she is, Aeryn. And so do you."
"There are so many parts . . . of other people. Pieces."
"There will always be those pieces. I'll always carry a part of my dad and DK with me. I'll always have you with me. But I'm going to leave enough room for me, too. I gotta be myself."
"Easy for you." Tears were shimmering in her eyes. "You have always been whole, John Crichton. You were never made. Manufactured."
"Scorpius changed you, Aeryn. Just like he changed me. But he didn't create you. Don't give him that much credit. Don't give anyone . . . that much credit."
"What about you? You made me. As much as anyone else."
"No, I haven't. I've just gotten to watch. I would never try to change you, Aeryn. Not like that." He'd learned his lesson with Gilina. "I'll push you, and I'll get demanding and insensitive as all hell, I'll be a total guy, but don't ever believe that I want to change you. You be who you are, Aeryn. That's who I want to be with."
"But not . . . in certain ways."
He couldn't help himself; he chuckled, it was too damn funny. "God, Aeryn, if you could only--" No, not 'hear what I was thinking', don't say that. He gently flexed his hips, once. "Feel that? That's how I want you. Like that, and like this." Bending down, he touched his nose to her lips, moved his head to trace the outline of those petals. "In every way. Just . . . at the right time. When it's just you and me and not the whole world waiting for us."
Her eyes darkened. "You tell me to be who I am, then remind me of my duties." She laughed shakily. "How ironic."
"'Cause it's a part of you, and I know that. Just like being stubborn, argumentative, and Human is part of mine." He grinned, and it felt so good to smile at her. "Don't worry, you get used to it."
"I want to."
A quick intake of breath, filling himself with her scent. A lump in his throat. "I'm going to have to make sure you stick around, then."
Her muscles tensing under him, she sighed. "No," he said, guessing where she was going. "Not just yet. We still have a little time, you don't have to go back just yet. Just you and me, whoever we are now." He stroked her hair away from her face. She was still filtering in from behind her eyes. The shakiness was disappearing as he watched.
"We seem to spend a lot of time on the floor in this position."
He remembered. Before they'd come here, that day in the Vigilante. When Darwa had gotten the snot beat out of him the first time. "Yeah. Interesting habit."
She quirked an eyebrow at him, and when he looked down at her, puzzled, she smiled. A real smile, fragile through tears. "Are you comfortable? Shall I get you a pillow?"
He stared down at her. Had he just heard--? Started gasping for breath, collapsing fully onto her, weak with laughter, with relief. From 0 to 60 in sixty seconds. "You are . . . the most amazing woman, Aeryn Sun." Bending down, he pecked her on the end of her nose, then rolled off her. Didn't let her go, but moved her with him so they cuddled on the floor, her back snugged against his chest, his arms around her. On the cold floor. Of Command.
Boy, did he ever have this theory about floors. They were quiet for a moment, settling into the silence. He waited, stroking her arm. Touching her.
Her head moved beneath his; she twisted slightly. Opening his arms, he waited while she rolled to face him, then held her again.
"I never asked you," she said softly. "About the neural clone."
"Hmm?"
"Did you ever get rid of it?"
How to answer her? "I'm all me," he said finally. "But . . . I can still hear his voice. I know it's me, though. In the end. It's me."

Section 8: The Choice
"It's still ticking, inside my head."
He moved his head, his chin brushing her hair, and what that movement did to her insides was -- interesting. "What?"
"The chronometer."
They'd moved to sit back against one of the forward consoles. She was cradled in his grasp. Warm. His thighs were warm against hers, his arms stretched outside of hers. His hands were intertwined with her own. His heartbeat was a soothing murmur underneath her shoulder blades. She was tired, her body weary.
He understood what she meant. "Are we running out of time?"
"It feels like it."
"Why?"
She tried to sort through her thoughts. It was difficult, painful, after so much confusion and tangling. "Because nothing has happened yet."
His body tensed. "Has anyone tried to kill you?"
She shook her head. "No, not that I know of." But would she have noticed? How much had she missed, lost as she had been?
"Commandant Grayza?"
"Very much in the background. Waiting."
"For you to make a mistake."
"Perhaps." Aeryn frowned. "She may not want to jeopardize her position with Councilor Strom."
"Because heaven forbid she's happy at her current job, right? Anyone else manage to put two and two together to make five?"
"No. Vree and her Security still think we're looking for a Scarran connection. I haven't frelled that up, at least." He pressed in with his knees, tacit disapproval, but she went on. "I've looked at very few Nebari connections, just to make sure the Peacekeepers didn't make the connection before we were ready, but the Nebari should be aware that I was on that path, even if I didn't know they were involved."
"And with the way they work, they'll react."
"Yes."
"But you haven't seen anything yet."
"No."
"So what results, exactly, are you expecting?" His voice was casual. "You really didn't explain that part of the plan to me, you know."
"That's because I knew you wouldn't like it."
He sighed, blowing some strands of her hair into her face. Once again he'd curled his fingers through it, releasing it from the Peacekeeper style. She blinked, but before she could raise her hand to get it out of her eyes, he was drawing his thumb down the line of her face, moving it for her. "I'm making the next plan, Aeryn."
"You can suggest it."
Smart man; he knew when to give in. "So what won't I like?"
"I think they'll send a Nebari scoutship."
"Out here?"
"Yes."
"Um, wouldn't that be suicidal?"
"We're talking about the Nebari." Why had they wanted Durka?
"Right. Sorry, I sit corrected: homicidal." Now he tensed against her as the import of her words sunk in. "So you think they'll try to take you out."
"Yes."
"Not on High Command itself!"
"No. They'll wait around in the system somewhere. They might have access to Peacekeeper codes, or some way to get in far enough to retrieve data from the spy. They'll wait until I leave. They may even manufacture some pretext, just to get me out of here, off High Command."
"And Moya will tell us if anything like that happens." He nodded. "You know, maybe he just tight-beams any data out to them."
"They still need to be in range, closer than the relay platforms. That also indicates a level of communications access available only to Council members and their staffs."
Something--
"Who all seem to check out."
"Seem to, yes." She sighed. "I can't see it. Him. I can't find him."
"Yeah, well, the security on this Death Star wannabe is really tight, and the Imperial Forces haven't found him, either. He's not going to be in one of the obvious places, neon sign over his head saying Spy Here. You're doing fine, Aeryn."
"Not obvious, but in a position of power. Enough time to be mind-cleansed by the Nebari, not enough time to have been missed. That last factor discounts all the Council members." Some of the aides had suspicious lapses in time, medical retreats, isolated postings, but nothing longer than twenty cycles or so.
--"Unless they did a deliberate lemon job. Meaning they didn't use the whole hundred cycles. Either 'cause they didn't need someone that tanked, or there wasn't any point."--
"No faked files?"
"Not unless they faked the whole net," she muttered. What would be the point of not fully mind-cleansing someone?
"Well, we did. And look at how much power we have. Having something and having access to something are two different things."
"Yes, they are," she murmured. It couldn't be obvious, as he said. Who would be able to move invisibly, without comment? Without remark?
"You're checking security, too?"
"They're checking for me," she said dryly.
"And checking you out, no doubt. How's the situation with Commandant Cleavage?"
"Who?"
"Grayza."
"She's presumably kept busy with the negotiations."
He frowned. "They're still going on? Even after that Command Carrier got blown? You're shitting me."
He knew about the negotiations? "Regardless of how she feels, she is required to follow orders."
"Could she be the traitor? That would be cool."
Could she? Aeryn doubted it. "I don't think so," she said slowly. "She's too . . . passionate." At his raised eyebrows, she clarified. "About Scorpius."
"You're not talking about her having the hots for Scorpy, right? You can't be, because she's not even in his ballpark. I've met some of his other girlfriends." He sighed. "And trust me, he and Grayza did not get along."
"Hmmmm?"
"At loggerheads. Back when she was out to visit Scorpius, she wasn't so hot to go to war."
"I was wondering how you knew about the negotiations."
"Scorpy got pissed off because she was talking about making deals with the Luxans. Getting out of the fight with the Scarrans. He thought that might give me incentive to give him a helping hand."
Interesting. "She's Councilor Strom's military aide."
"The old war horse?"
"Horse?"
"A pet. A creature. On Earth. We take care of them."
What did they have to do with war? She went back to the topic at hand. "Strom is the chief proponent of going to war with the Scarrans, yes."
"That's weird."
"He still follows the orders of the Council."
"And she could have been assigned to him, to counterbalance those warrior instincts. I guess you don't have to like or agree with your boss." He rubbed his face. "Can Vree protect you from her?"
"A Councilor and a Commandant. Yes, if she wants. Vree has kept herself alive this long." Which was saying something, indeed. "She's suspected something for cycles, and yet she's still alive." Too weak, still.
"She's got a good instinct."
"She's a former pilot, you know."
"Not that you're biased, of course."
"I have been called many things, but rarely biased."
--"You are a warrior"--
She slowly sat upright. "--But I have also been called a Peacekeeper." The perfect Peacekeeper.
He frowned, his body tensing against hers. "What are you talking about?"
Something she'd said to him, almost a cycle ago, talking about the Crais brothers: "They fell into the same trap that many of our kind are susceptible to: overconfidence in our own tactics."
A wave of dizziness as perspective shifted, and the pattern heaved.
--"Having something and having access to something are two different things."--
And again: --"A pet. A creature . . . we take care of them."--
"John--" She touched him on the arm. It was here, it was right here-- "I have to-- Wait--" Oh, she couldn't hold on much longer, the pattern was coalescing, mapping her--
"I'll wait," and his touch became her anchor, holding her.
She sank inward, crying out at the thoughts that raced by her, the tangled paths. Grab onto one shining cord, follow that, trace out the lines and the differences and the boundaries, deeper into the void--
Voices rippling through memory, time warping and bending around her; she could reach out and touch each thread, pull it forward.
Click: "The jewel in the fine Peacekeeper crown. See how it sparkles, how it shines. But no one wears the crown, of course, because everyone here is the perfect Peacekeeper, no?"
Click: "Which is precisely why they're fascinated. We are a civilized microcosm, Captain. This is High Command. We dictate war and policy and destruction, all without being touched by it ourselves."
Darwa's voice: "Pretty words from a former sensor officer."
Click: "You are . . . a symbol. Of what we really are. Who we strive to be."
Durka.
Click: ". . . They didn't use the whole hundred cycles. Either 'cause they didn't need someone that tanked, or there wasn't any point."
Click: "No, I'm afraid, I'm stuck here. I belong on High Command, my dear Captain, where I can do some good."
John's voice: "The old war horse."
The pattern blazed into being.
"Frell," she whispered, and blinked.

He held her while she sorted through her mind, feeling the slight tremors just underneath her skin. All sound and the fury, contained in frail housing. Letting her go back in there was one of the hardest things he'd ever done.
But he had to, if she was going to figure this out anytime soon.
Something he'd said triggered her. As familiar as she was becoming to him, he felt that crackle of energy when they touched, and knew when it had subtly changed. Humming into a higher frequency.
They were talking about the Nebari. About the spy, how he probably dropped data to them. What good was a mole if you didn't get any regular info?
Damn. Why had they wanted Durka? And if this Strom guy was so hot to trot on war, why had Cleavage wanted Scorpius to learn to play well with others? Was she working under Strom's orders, or on her own?
It was too easy to want Grayza to be the bad guy. But that was just too damn easy. That's why he didn't want to go there. The UT just couldn't pass up just another chance to mind-fuck him.
She crashed back into herself, gasping. "Aeryn!? You okay?" His arms tightened reflexively, and he tried to look into her eyes.
"I'm okay." She nodded at him. "I'm okay, John."
"Okay." Deep breath. "What did you bring back?"
"The answers."
Well, what did he expect? Less? From her? "So you know who's the Nebari headcase, the puppet?"
"I know who the Nebari mindcleansed, yes. I also know who the puppet is."
Understanding. "And they're two different people."
"Yes. So obvious!"
"Once you know, yeah. But I'm still stumbling blind."
"Something you said to me. About a lemon? That was the key, John."
Well, cool. He could Robin to her Batman. "So who's the masked man?"
"Fallon. An aide. He hasn't been mindcleansed, not fully. Because he's not intended to last. He's a throwaway asset, readying High Command for the real Nebari weapon."
"Which is?"
"Was. Captain Durka."
Oh. Oh, shit. Oh, shit, he could see it now, and the picture wasn't pretty, and he had to say it aloud to feel his way through it, watching her face. "The Nebari bring the Scarrans and the PKs to the brink of war. The PKs start to lose, 'cause they're leaking like a sieve, thanks to Mister Half-Assed Job on PK HQ." He paused. "And then, voila, enter Durka, stage left. But Aeryn, wouldn't someone ask him what he'd been doing for a hundred and fifty cycles?"
"Would you question a Peacekeeper hero? One who had saved your people not once, but twice?"
"I would."
"Yes, and look where it's gotten you. High Command might question him, but not until it's too late. He had a pull over the common soldier, something that High Command doesn't."
Psychological warfare, aimed at the millions of PKs serving their everyday duties. "A triumphant return, bringing order to chaos and a warm fuzzy to the enlisted." Great plan, long-term, and very Nebari. "But, Aeryn, he's dead. He's been dead for cycles now."
"That was their original plan. They're continuing on, despite not having Durka. They're going to use their backup."
"Which is who?"
"Councilor Strom."
"But why? And how?"
"He was one of Durka's pupils. After Durka's disappearance, he managed to regain control of the sector."
"And he became the next great hero, champion to the Peacekeeper cause forevermore, until he was invited into the Council."
"No, actually. He didn't become a war horse, as you put it. He was a hero after the battle, but then he took over command of Gammak base after Gammak base. Until there was an opening on the Council, when he was elected."
He was momentarily sidetracked. "You guys have elections?"
"It's a term for the induction process."
That would be a no. "I don't get it. Why didn't he become the next big thing? The toast of the town? The PK golden boy? Was he waiting for the Nebari to make their move?"
"No. He was afraid."
All stop. "What? Afraid? Of the Nebari?"
"No, he doesn't know about them. And there was no need of that. He was already afraid of his own success. That's how they're controlling him."
"What? He retired from the field because he got performance anxiety?"
"It's a fear of success. He achieved that height, once, and now he doesn't know the way back."
"Oh, shit. And the Nebari are going to play on that, aren't they?"
"When the time is right, yes."
"How many Scarran dreadnoughts have we run across? I'd say the time is getting pretty damn ripe."
"Yes."
"Aeryn . . . this is a really long-term plan."
"The Nebari believe in certainties."
True. What effort was this, if they were willing to spend a hundred cycles mind-cleansing someone? "And Cleavage? Is she involved?"
"No. I don't think so. Not if what you say is true, about her and Scorpius on the Carrier."
Oh, god, he really could see it all too well. They'd both been caught by the same trap. Thinking that only one person could have been the spy, because of the effort involved in creating the tool. It wouldn't have been likely that the Nebari would have been able to slip two vegetables into High Command. Even having slipped one in was bad enough. "Aeryn."
"Hmmm?" She was still lost in her thoughts, but not so far that he couldn't reach her easily.
"You said he was a Councilor. If you take this guy out . . . does that create a power vacuum?"
She sighed. "Yes. Unfortunately. He's head of a faction that is growing in power and momentum, even with the negotiations."
And Commandant Grayza was a part of that? Was his second-in-command, at least as far as the military was concerned? God, John hated politics, regardless of what species was running the show. "Not the time to piss them off, right?" If Aeryn took out Strom, if his party found out about her, she would be hunted across the universe, PK Public Enemy number one. Commandant Grayza would make sure of that. After she took over, of course.
"I've thought about this, you know. The options."
"Yeah?"
"I can't leave a power vacuum, not without someone to fill it. If we remove the Councilor, it would likely be Commandant Grayza."
Without any conscious action on his part, his arms tightened around her. Holding on. No, he thought. No, please no.
He cleared his throat. Forced the words out. "So, are you thinking of changing careers?"
"What?" She stared at him blankly. "What are you talking about? You thought that I-- I'm a commando, John, not a politician!"
Embarrassment was not going to win out, not when relief was so pervasive. "Yeah, but you know . . . the whole 'learning how to be more' thing you're doing."
"Yes, I'd like to grow forward, not backward on the evolutionary scale!"
He hugged her. Yes. She was still his. "So what's the call, Aeryn? How are we going to beat Strom and Grayza?"
"I don't know yet."
"There's another option, you know." She turned to look at him, and he continued. She'd probably thought about it already, but he had to bring it up. To get it out into the open. "You could just . . . do nothing."
Yup, she'd thought about it. He could tell in the way she turned her head from him. "I've thought about that, too," she admitted, her voice low. "I could walk away now. Forget everything I've learned."
"Doesn't mean the Nebari will win."
"No, it doesn't." She didn't sound like she believed that was likely, either.
"But it does mean that the Nebari have invested a lot into the Peacekeepers. So Sebaceans won't be alone when they finally do fight the Scarrans. 'Cause you know it's coming to that, too."
"I know."
He tucked her head into the crook of his shoulder, and she allowed it. Her eyelashes fluttered against her pale skin as she closed her eyes, sighed. He pressed his lips against her temple, feeling the pulse underneath his mouth, underneath his arms, where they crossed her throat. Counting that oh-so-precious time.
He wished he could give her all the time in the world. But he couldn't. Even now he could hear the comms chatter of the pilots outside the ship, intruding on their moments. Reminding them of the countdown clock, set to go off who-knew-when.
"Listen. I'll take care of keeping Grayza off your back, when it comes time." He kissed her forehead, her nose. "And as for the other, you don't have to decide right this microt." He didn't want her to have to decide at all. This wasn't a choice anyone should ever have to make, to bear. She wouldn't be able to walk away whole, regardless of which way she went. And he couldn't help her out. They weren't his people. This wasn't his call.
"It wouldn't get any easier." She straightened. "Let's go back down there, John. Finish this."
He held her, looked into her eyes. "You sure?"
"Yes."
Damn. A single moment, a single person, affecting the fate of a people, a culture. Affecting the outcome of this little corner of the universe. He tightened his hands around her. "Aeryn--"
"I know, John." She shrugged, but it wasn't that easy, he saw it, heard it. "If I do this, I am condemning my people to war, regardless of the negotiations. I am leaving them to die, while I walk away. But if I have to choose to grant either life or freedom, I choose . . . freedom."
"So would I," he admitted. Small comfort though it was, in this moment. "I just needed to know that you were sure."
"I am." She sounded small. Scared. Alone. He hugged her even more tightly, wishing for just a few more minutes.

The words blurted from his mouth before he really thought through them. "What happened to you?"
Sergeant Darwa looked up at him, face purpled with bruises. His hand was bandaged, splinted in fact. "Workout."
So that was why the pilots had not received any direction from the Vigilante, but instead were taken charge of by the master pilot in the group, Sergeant Sariv. Bish turned to look around the small Command. Only Captain Sun remained, other than his unit; the remainder of her unit had already returned to High Command.
"Against the Captain?"
Darwa nodded, already turned back to his display. Bish's eyes flicked back to her thoughtfully. The Captain wasn't even scratched. No discolouration on that sharply carved face, no bandages anywhere. He frowned. Her file didn't indicate expertise in hand-to-hand, not anything to indicate she would be able to--
Wait a microt. She wasn't . . . the strange mechanoid creature who had come up with them. Her nominal position was the same -- standing at the one of the forward consoles, working intently -- but there was something very, very different about her.
He looked back at Darwa. She uses you as a punching bag.
And the Sergeant, of course, had no choice but to obey. Broken bones, bruises. Bleeding. All so that she could unwind from her tasking.
Bish shuddered. Better you than me, Sergeant.

Section 9: Sensor Ghosts
Chiana blew an irritating piece of hair out of her eyes and blinked. "What the frell is that?"
D'Argo, staring intently at the viewscreen, shook his head, his tentacles moving gently across his back. "I do not know," he murmured. "I am not able to receive a clear signal."
"That's not just sensor flutter," she stated.
Zhaan looked over at the clamshell. "Pilot? Do you have any idea?"
Pilot's image shimmered into being. "I believe it is . . . a Nebari scoutship," he announced. "It's just on the edge of our sensor capabilities."
The effect was electrifying on all those in Command. Zhaan straightened, her eyes widening. Chiana felt a bolt of primal fear spark through her. Fear for herself, for John. "A Nebari scoutship? H-here? What's it doing all the way out here? So close to the Peacekeepers?"
Well, almost everyone. D'Argo merely growled. Calm, for D'Argo, and Chiana frowned as he strode past her towards the door. "Pilot, I'm going to my ship."
"Kill it, D'Argo," she called after him. "Fast."
Pilot shook his head. "I'm sorry, Chiana, but D'Argo must do no such thing."
"I know the plan, Pilot," D'Argo growled, and now he did sound impatient. He slapped his comms. "Tauvo. Meet me at my ship -- we're going!"
He went out the door with a swirl of tankas, and Chiana gaped after him for a microt before turning back to Zhaan. "What plan?" What was it? Did it include killing the Nebari scoutship before it saw them?
"I don't know, Chiana." Zhaan was tapping her way across the console. "Pilot, do you know what's going on?"
"D'Argo and Tauvo will take the Luxan ship and prepare to move into position, Zhaan." Pilot barely looked up at them, busy with something on his board.
Chiana's gaze darted around Command, checking the sensor readouts. So far so good; the Nebari didn't seem to have spotted them. Didn't seem to. That was kinda important. Especially with the Nebari. "What position? What the frell are you talking about? That Nebari ship is moving closer into the system; doesn't anyone care about that?"
"Surely the Peacekeepers will see it?" Zhaan asked.
"There is no guarantee, Zhaan," Pilot responded. "I believe that Commander Crichton and Captain Sun believe it may evade discovery, even by the Peacekeepers."
"How?"
Because they're Nebari, Chiana wanted to say, but didn't. "Why don't we help them find it, then?"
Pilot shook his head; even in the pickup, Chiana could see his claws working furiously. "No, Chiana, we must allow it to enter the system. You'll excuse me, I need just a microt more to -- there. Message transmitted."
"Explain yourself, Pilot!" Zhaan was starting to sound a little more frazzled than usual.
"Moya and I have been expecting the Nebari, Zhaan. As soon as I was able to calculate its vector with any certainty, I needed to send off a tightbeam transmission to the sensor platform located closest to us."
Chiana sputtered. "So you told the Peacekeepers where we were?! Whose fahrbot idea was that?"
"Commander Crichton relayed those instructions to me, though I believe the original idea came from both him and Captain Sun."
Zhaan raised a hand before Chiana could spit out an answer. "You transmitted the scoutship's coordinates to the Peacekeepers? But how will they fail to notice that we sent the transmission?"
"Not quite. My transmission was a coded energy pulse that will be relayed back to the main sensor nexus in approximately a quarter arn. I believe the only ones who will understand the message will be members of Captain Sun's crew."
Chiana's gaze dropped down to the sensor readout, and she sucked in her breath. "Where is D'Argo going?" Because he wasn't heading for the Nebari. No, he'd taken off in the opposite direction, heading at almost ninety degrees from the scoutship's vector.

Tauvo stared at the console in front of him, then looked ruefully at his gloved hands. How ironic, he thought, that here is a pilot who shouldn't touch the controls.
D'Argo had apparently become psychic. "Don't even think about it," he rumbled.
"I wasn't."
D'Argo snorted, but didn't lift his gaze from the display. They were creeping out slowly, on a different vector than the scoutship, while still trying to keep it within their sensor envelope. Tauvo had been a Prowler pilot, but he'd had access to his brother's knowledge. He knew what Nebari technology was capable of, how easily it could find and destroy them.
Nerve-wracking, it was, to have to keep alert, ready to clutch at the controls any microt. Just in case the scoutship did find them, and turned on them. Tauvo had to be aware, pilot the ship while D'Argo switched to combat systems. Or, as John would put it, Tauvo would take care of the running, and D'Argo would have the shooting.
They crept forward, the microts oozing by. Finally D'Argo turned the ship, aligned their heading with the scoutship, and now they were pacing the small ship.
Tauvo checked their sensors. "Moya's gone off the readouts."
"She should start to move into position."
They were blind. They wouldn't be able to see Moya floating to maneuver herself behind the gas giant, ready to support John and his friends when they managed to leave High Command. Tauvo and D'Argo would simply have to trust in the exquisite timing cuts that had been laid out before them.
Frell. It was close, any way he looked at it. Too much depended on precision reaction, on the ability to react to information in a microt. Once the signal was sent out--
No, the signal was already out. Events were moving beyond their control.
Tauvo wouldn't have planned it this way. Not him. But he wasn't her, was he?
If he were still a Peacekeeper, he would have followed her orders unquestioningly. She was a Captain. He would have doubted, but he would have followed. Much like she expected her unit to follow her. So why was Tauvo so worried?
Because he had been a Peacekeeper, once. And, in his heart, he'd never trusted them, either.

John casually wiped his hands as he left the hangar bay. Still no sign of surveillance. Marat's little toy, which he'd been using as a hand-held, was quiet. He'd expected nothing more; he'd been around PKs long enough to figure out the way they thought. Why put tons of cameras into what was essentially an overnight storage area for transports? It wasn't like this outpost had techs on it, after all, and these were only transports, not attack craft like Prowlers. Nothing tactically sensitive.
No one disturbed him, the seventeen minutes he'd been inside that transport. Only seventeen minutes. A world record. No, that was a galaxy record. If he did say so himself.
He'd had to cannabilise one of the comms, but that was okay. It was standard PK-issue, and the one he'd been assigned upon his arrival here. Not the important one, turned off and hidden away. No. This was the spare.
He smiled to himself, under cover of his helmet, as he turned the corner into yet another hallway, making sure to take a circuitous route back. He'd have to make sure to thank Rygel and Jool and Chiana for having fucked up all those transports. He was going to have to apologise to them for how he'd bitched, each time they'd called him to fix yet another patented Stupid Superior Alien trick. Because, in fixing all those transports, crawling through the guts of the small ships, he'd discovered how to fix the most inventive ways of disabling a transport. And boy, was Rygel inventive.
If you knew how to fix something, you were more than equipped to break it.
He smiled as he tucked the comms badge into his uniform sleeve.
So, John, what else do you have up your sleeve? Because you know that won't be enough.
I know, Harvey. That was just the distraction.
She is not so easily distracted.
Yeah, well . . . I guess we're going to have to make sure she's not looking in the wrong direction at the wrong time.
Harvey peered into his thoughts and chuckled. Oh, very good. You're going to copy and alter the good Sergeant's program. Ah, if I might suggest -- a self-destruct sequence set for a slightly shorter time increment?
Already there, Harvey.
You're becoming quite the tactician, John.
What can I say? He resisted the urge to whistle as he walked down the empty corridor. I just don't like anyone messing with my girl.

Chiana watched the icon float off their display, her heart in her mouth. D'Argo, too? First John, and now D'Argo?
"B-but won't they be seen, if they follow the Nebari?" There were so many sensor platforms scattered throughout the system, and all the platforms that Chiana and Jool had modified had been too far out to do much good.
Jool, who had joined them in Command, whimpered at those words, but Chiana didn't look at the Interon.
"I believe Captain Sun has a contingency plan to cover that aspect of the retrieval, although I am not aware of all the details. Commander Crichton was in somewhat of a hurry at the time."
"Why didn't you tell us about this part of the plan, Pilot?"
"Because Commander Crichton relayed several alternatives, Zhaan. I was merely asked to execute various commands depending on what occurred. I myself did not know which possibility was the most likely. I believe he wasn't quite sure about all aspects of the plan, such as it was."
Jool groaned. "Great. So now we're letting her make the plans? Isn't it bad enough when Crichton makes them, now we've got some crazy Peacekeeper tralk doing it?"
Chiana ignored her. "So we're just going to let that scoutship sneak into the system?" she demanded.

All the viewscreens in the control room flickered.
"What was that?"
A soft murmur from across the control room. Marat listened, hoping it was the expected anomaly.
"I don't know," said another officer, leaning over his own display. "I thought it was a power interruption."
Another looked up from his display. "I almost thought it was a weird reading. Kinda looked like a sensor ghost or something, but it's gone now."
"Must have been a power glitch. Damn techs, playing with our toys."
Marat rewound the logs, played it back. Isolated the spike, down-converted it, and applied a series of automatic filters.
Vector reading.
She checked the chronometer. Half an arn until she was off shift. She hoped there was enough time.

Darwa nodded at Marat's figure on the viewscreen. "Permission granted. Will you be able to get clearance from your duty supervisor?"
"Already received." If her voice was just a bit excited, it was to be expected. She was escaping the tedium of the sensor planet, looking forward to a bit of recreation with a fellow Peacekeeper.
"Any problems getting transport down?"
"There's a space on a transport leaving here in less than a quarter arn. I'll take it down to the processing station and check out a Prowler from there. I thought I'd try to beat Jocar's record for asteroid hops."
"Prowlers available for your use?"
"Already checked and requested. I was told there was no problem. Don't worry, I don't want to have the Captain chew me out, like she did last time. Everything's by the book. I even went ahead and reserved three, just in case Sariv wants to go with us."
"Make sure you tell your duty CO where you're going, 'case we need to reach you."
"Will do."
"Have a good flight. Darwa out." He reached forward, cut the connection with his good hand. Stared off into space.
It was time.
Glad he'd loaded the Vigilante when he did. No need to scurry and requisition last-minute supplies.
He spared a microt to check the chakkan oil magazine on his pulse pistol, pulling out an empty cartridge from the bottom of the stack, before getting up to tell the Captain. Pausing outside the office door, he studied her. She was staring at the walls. Not at the viewscreen, not at some flimsies. At the wall.
She knew it was coming. Did she know it was here already?
"Come in, Darwa."
She knows I'm here, he thought. That was . . . very good. It was hard not to smile, even at this microt. So good to have her back.
"Cap'n." He stepped forward. "I was cleaning my weapon and ran across this. Just thought you might want to keep it." A click as he put the empty chakkan oil cartridge on her desk. He kept the bandaged hand behind his back, out of sight. She looked at the cartridge thoughtfully, still leaning back in her chair. Utterly relaxed.
Bish, standing guard, was watching them carefully.
"I thought you might like it, sir. As a . . . memento of different times."
She reached out, picked it up. Smiled as she turned it around in her hand, let it catch the light. "Not so different, were they, Sergeant?"
"Guess not." He looked around the office as though seeing it for the first time. "Long and bloody boring arns."
"The long and bloody boring paperwork."
"Not my job, Cap'n. I point and fire. Your job to think it all through."
"My job. Very true." She paused. "How's your hand?"
"What hand?" He stared at her. Let it go, Cap'n. There's no time anyway.
She smiled again, but it was colder this time. "Thank you, Sergeant. For reminding me of my duty."
"Cap'n." He braced and turned around. As he left the room, he nodded at Bish.
Behind him, Darwa knew she would be leaning once more over the console. Looking for the next piece.

The pulse pistol was in hand before the chime silenced. The balaclava was already over his head. The door slid aside to show Marat's face. Her lips were smiling, but the lines around her eyes were tight. She wore her flightsuit, was dangling her helmet from crooked fingers.
"Wanna go for a ride, soldier?"
He turned to grab his gear and call Sariv.

This part was going to be real. It had to be, for her to accrue the console log. She was racing the chronometer in her head. Fighting the phantom voices that crowded in, demanding time and space and life.
Necessary trade-offs. She would give a little, so that she could know them, find them, destroy them.
She started at the correct file entry, then started tracing through history. At the nexus, that crucial moment in his past, she jumped into another file. Scrolled back from that. Allowed herself to frown. Lean back. Stare at the ceiling. Ticked off time in her head. Leaned forward. Began calling up sensor logs.
Now it was real.
Track One: With the store of his sensor knowledge, they would have felt that the best way to sneak them in. No one would have remarked on his presence there. Unlike the Councilor, he could go places, be unnoticeable.
Unless you were looking for him.
Track Two: If the message got to me, it's already gotten to John. We set it up that way on purpose. He knows what to do; he's on his way.
She didn't know what he'd done. There had been no time to talk of that, in the Vigilante, in those stolen moments. So she could only trust.
Concentrate. She didn't look for anything out of the ordinary. Not yet. She simply went through the past weekens of data, collecting a sense of the pattern. Allowing her mind to learn the pathways.
One arn ticked past.
After she was fairly certain she knew where it wasn't, she turned her attention to where it was.
An arn and a quarter.
She knew.
It was time.

Time. It was time.
John stared at the comms in his hand. The spare unit. Just one press of the button and another ball would start rolling.
If she wasn't in position, it was all going to be for nothing. And the moment he pressed the button, people were going to die. He didn't know how many, or who, or even where, but that wasn't the point. Once again he was going to kill people. Nameless faces. But that wasn't why he hesitated.
If anyone had slipped, by an hour, hell, maybe even minutes . . . who knew if this would help?
But this was Aeryn. And her unit.
He pressed the button, and imagined the signal going out, streaking away like a deadly little wave.

A transport, performing a routine passenger retrieval from one of the sensor platforms, exploded in a violent little burst. Five techs and two soldiers were on board, along with the pilot. Everyone was vaporized.
So was the little shunt that had crossed the fuel lines, allowing cesium and water to mix. And so was the little remote-controlled unit that had operated the shunt.
Vaporized.

Grayza stared at the incoming message. Unknown causes, indeed.
She would usually have ignored something like this. Transports failed, blew up, crashed. Accidents happened, much as the Peacekeepers tried to breed otherwise. Failures occurred.
Normal.
But she didn't want to wait for the formal report. Not now, when Captain Aeryn Sun was on High Command. With a half-complement unit of Ghosts. The woman had seemed to keep close to Vree, staying low and working hard, but Grayza wasn't fooled. Sun had worked with Scorpius. That was bad enough. Sun had survived Scorpius. That was not acceptable.
And now a transport had blown up on exit from a sensor platform. An in-system sensor platform, a secondary backup which held an impressive relay array. Why that one? Why on exit? Was it something the transport had been carrying? Supplies? A person?
She couldn't wait for the Peacekeeper machine to move into action, finally, ponderously, spitting out an answer.
"Lieutenant," she called out to the man standing guard outside her door. "Ready my shuttle immediately." As she stood, she made sure to reconfigure her console. Any incoming calls would immediately be routed to her personal shuttle. This was not a time to be out of the information loop. Captain Aeryn Sun was on High Command.

"They're here."
The words were almost whispered; he didn't quite catch it the first time, until his eyes put together her lips moving, remembered the sound.
Bish stiffened. He'd been lulled by her fingers over the keyboard, by her silence as she worked over the data. As he'd seen her do for weekens now. "What?"
She didn't respond to him, just bent over further, staring intently at the data in front of her.
"Captain Sun!"
She looked up at him, her eyes wide. She'd forgotten he was there.
A microt while he digested that. She'd forgotten he was there. He felt a cold pit open up in his stomach. She, of all people, forget? What the frell was going on? "What did you say, Captain Sun?"
"I said they're here."
"Who?"
"The Nebari."
He froze. Not in his wildest nightmares-- "What are you talking about?" His voice was his own command voice, not the young pomposity of Corporal Bish.
"It must be the Nebari. No wonder the trail didn't fit, I was looking in the wrong direction all the time--" Her voice trailed off.
He left his post, rushed to her side. Resisted the urge to grab her; he wasn't that stupid. "What are you talking about?"
"Look here." She scrolled back in her files. "Councilor Strom."
His mouth was dry. "You're joking."
"I was wondering why he'd had no action since his victories over the Scarrans. Almost ninety cycles ago. A brilliant commander, and yet he switched to Gammak bases soon after."
What did Councilor Strom have to do with the Nebari? Was she saying he was the traitor? "Those were important positions--"
"But a line officer, born and bred to the duty, wouldn't have done that. It would have been . . . less than what he could do. If he'd been truly bred for that, he would have considered any base post as a sign of weakness."
"Are you saying the Nebari controlled him?"
"No. His own fear controlled him. The Nebari used him."
"I -- I don't understand."
"It doesn't matter. Look here." She pulled up another file.
He frowned. "Fallon?"
"Yes."
"How is he connected?"
"He's the Nebari spy. Or rather, the puppet."
"Fallon? He can't be!" A simple aide? "How could he control the Council? He works for Councilor Keravian, who's not even very popular!"
"Because he's not manipulating Keravian, he's manipulating Strom. They had their first Carrier duty together. Captain Durka's Carrier. Strom doesn't realize that Fallon has been mind-cleansed by the Nebari."
He felt dizzy. She was pulling names from what seemed like thin air, and then putting them together in ways that frightened him when he grasped where she was going. "How is their first posting relevant?"
"Captain Durka was captured by the Nebari and mind-cleansed."
He stared at her in horror. "H-how do you know?" Captain Durka? The Peacekeeper hero?
"Because I ran across footage of him when I boarded a Leviathan transport. They had logged surveillance footage of Captain Durka." She glanced up at him. "You didn't know?"
He shook his head dumbly.
"Captain Crais found the Zelbinion. There was a body there, in Durka's chair, but it wasn't him. The Nebari had destroyed the ship and taken him prisoner, mind-cleansed him. I think -- yes, I think they were going to keep him." She mumbled to herself, thinking out loud. "To use him later. Yes, that makes sense. And then they blame it on the Scarrans. Or maybe -- maybe they're using the Scarrans?"
"Nothing you are saying," he gritted out, "makes sense."
"Bish, listen to me. It doesn't matter if you believe me, or understand how, because of this." She displayed a sensor map.
"What am I supposed to be seeing?"
"This." She highlighted a cone of overlap. "Doesn't it seem interesting to you?"
He wasn't a sensor tech; he had them working for him, so he could pick their brains and get them to spit out the words in plain language. "Why don't you tell me?"
She didn't seem to notice his frustration at his inability to read the display, too intent on whatever she was trying to communicate. "This shows the sensor cuts for a least-time course from out of system, and yet nothing ever passes through here. No traffic, no asteroid readings, no debris. Nothing. Here. I'll speed up the traffic logs and you can see the time lapse."
He watched, understanding growing hand-in-hand with horror. She was right. It was a clear path to High Command, and yet nothing passed through there. "What does that mean?"
"That this--" she indicated the image, "--is fake. It's a dead zone. There are either no sensors pointed that way, or somehow, someone has tapped in a continuous feed through those spools, so you always read the wrong data."
"And anyone could sneak up on us."
"In a small enough ship, yes. And I believe someone has." Her words rang, echoed in his ears, but she wasn't waiting for him to understand. Her fingers were scrabbling across the keyboard, moving faster than she spoke. "Here's a reading from one of the furthest sensor platforms in the system, taken just a few arns ago."
"It's in the dead zone." That much he could follow.
"Yes, but look at this." She pointed it out. "See that flutter? Just on the edge of the sensor envelope? It looks like a sensor echo."
"Yes." He didn't actually see it, he just wanted her to keep going, to explain.
"Now let's look at another sensor platform further insystem." She typed in commands. "I'm pulling up the same heading. Look at the edge."
"A flutter."
She nodded. "Someone's here, Bish."
Frell. The pieces crashed together in his head. He stared at the screen, feeling thick, dull, slow. "How long ago?"
"Heading in system approximately . . . four arns ago."
He cranked his head up to meet her gaze. "They're going to be here at any microt."
She nodded. "We've got to go up there," she told him. "We need to find them, and quickly, without alerting them. If we catch them in system, track back their headings, and show how the sensors have been tampered with, that will be proof enough. The Council will have to act."
Movement at the door. He whipped around, hand automatically going to his pulse pistol, to see Sergeant Darwa at the door. The Sergeant looked at him curiously.
"Darwa. Perfect timing." Her voice was calm, collected. "Contact the other members of the team. Recall them immediately. Marat's still on her assigned sensor platform; we'll have to leave her behind this time."
He tapped in their emergency code before he answered her, correct Peacekeeper protocol. "Actually, Cap'n, I think she might be with Jocar. She commed me a few arns ago, reported she was coming down."
She looked at the grey-haired commando in surprise. "That's lucky."
Bish stared at her. How? Even when she didn't plan it, the universe seemed to arrange itself for her convenience. He could almost guarantee that if he'd been in charge, it wouldn't have happened that way. Almost too suspicious as it was, but no one could have known, have predicted this crazy turn of events. No one.
Fize came galloping into the room, Mi padding silently at her heels. Sun transferred her attention to them smoothly.
"Ensign, I'll need you to get on line with Central Control. Make sure they don't blow us out of the airspace as we take off. Sorry -- I know you want to pilot, but you're the only officer I have, and you may need to pull some rank. Sergeant Mi, you're on guard detail. Make sure no one gets in here and touches that console until either I get back or Coucilor Vree accesses it. That data trail may be the only thing we have left if all goes wrong. Corporal, we need Councilor Vree here, and we need her here now. And make sure she gets here safely." Her eyes fell on her commando. "Let's go."
He lunged after her. "Wait a microt," he said. "I'm going with you."
She shook off his hand. "No, you're not, Corporal."
"I insist." He dropped the Corporal voice, letting his command authority seep through. "I'm sure . . . you will require backup and proper authorization to get past the weapons platforms."
She turned on him, her face showing just a hint of expression, probably the most he'd ever seen. He had time for one thought: she's angry. And then she was on him.
"Think, Bish!" Her eyes were flashing. "You're smarter than that."
That's why she was not going anywhere without him. "I can't let you go up there alone, Captain. You know too much about this plot to risk yourself like this."
"Which is precisely why you can't go." She moved closer to him, and her snarl reached his ears alone. "With what we've just discovered, Bish, you and I cannot afford to be on the same ship together. Frell, we shouldn't be in the same room. You need to get this information to Councilor Vree as soon as possible, and protect her. Her security may well be compromised the microt anyone else knows about this. We can trace the fact that Fallon may be mind-cleansed, but how many others? The microt anyone knows about the Nebari involvement, who else will snap?" She shook her head. "I know enough about the Nebari that I have the best chance of finding them, of knowing their possible vectors. You're talking about something I've spent the last cycle doing! It's my duty!"
"We can let the sensor and weapons platforms take care of that!"
"Sensor platforms which we believe have already been compromised by unknown spies?" Now her look was mocking. "You're losing your touch, Corporal."
He flushed at her use of his erstwhile rank, suddenly feeling very much the awkward youngster. "None of my people are available to take off with you this microt, Captain!"
"Bish." Her voice was low, her eyes were flat. "I am your person. I'm sorry that you can't see that."
He bit his cheek. Frell. Time was ticking away; they were losing precious microts with each moment that he hesitated.
"You can get to her the fastest," she said quietly. "She would question everyone else but you."
He released her, snatching his hand back. "Go," he gritted out. "Just go."
She left. He turned and ran for the opposite door, to find the nearest skimmer. He had to get to the Councilor.

Time again.
It wasn't so hard this time. Actually, it was a pleasure. Which was why he hadn't tied this signal to the original. No, he wanted to do this one personally.
John hit the comms button again, and as he thought of the outgoing signal, he smiled. Machine time, now. And that was nearly instantaneous.
Dropping the spare comms badge, he crushed it underneath his boots and spread the pieces over the floor mats of the Prowler.

They were nearly at the hangar bay when she struck, hidden in a maintenance alcove by the door.
Aeryn and Darwa broke their hurried march and dove to opposite sides of the corridor. The pulse bolts tracked Aeryn's roll, hissing just finger-lengths behind her.
Nowhere to go after she hit the wall, and if Fize was armoured with tactical gear, their pulse pistols wouldn't be enough--
Crack-boom. An explosion lit up the corridor, contained by the bend of the alcove. When her ears stopped ringing, when she could see again, she turned her face to meet Darwa's. He was already standing, his hand held out to her. His good hand.
"Thanks." She took it and allowed him to help her up. "That wasn't a pulse pistol," she said mildly.
"No, Cap'n."
They hurried up to the body; no point in being cautious. Shrapnel grenades didn't leave much to be cautious about. Tiny metal shards dotted the walls of the alcove, and blood was already runnelling out the space, spilling into the corridor. Aeryn sighed, aware of time. Fize was young, despite her training; she had anticipated instead of waiting. Five more steps forward and Fize couldn't have missed them.
"So who do you think she was working for?"
"Does it matter?"
Of course it mattered, but perhaps it shouldn't. Not to Aeryn, the rest of them, not anymore. She stepped out of the way of a fingertrail of blood, a bit of gore floating past. "Isn't much to identify."
"No, Cap'n. But they will."
Yes, they would. Eventually. But, in the meantime, there was no one in Central to keep the weapons platforms from blowing the Vigilante out of existence.
Luckily, she'd planned for that, too.
She and Darwa moved into position in the Vigilante's Command. Her fingers danced over the console board, powering on all the systems. Since Darwa had requested a training bay, it was only a matter of hot-starting the engines.
"Prowlers racked and loaded, Cap'n. Everyone's reported in."
Everything was clicking together. The game was set. Keep the momentum. "Lay in our course," she ordered, noting the green life readings from each racked Prowler. "Spiral trajectory off this hunk of metal."
Incoming transmission from Bay Control. "Vigilante! We are reading your engines as hot. Explain yourself!"
She nodded to herself. Right on time. Toggling her comms, she pitched her voice correctly: demanding, urgent. "Bay Control, this is Captain Aeryn Sun. I am requesting priority exit, Security Five Velka. I will be lifting off in five microts. Over." Ignoring the sputtering, she gestured to Darwa. "Now. Bring weapons online."
He fired their thrusters, the Vigilante lifting from the deck. She watched their egress, noting the scramble of pilots moving ships out of their way, of docking webs flying overhead. The weapons cycle glowed red, then yellow.
Bay Control came back online. "Vigilante, we show no mission orders or filed flight plans!" A yelp in the background. "We also show your weapons coming online!"
"Bay Control, I am going out to meet a hostile and do not have time to give explanations." A Prowler being towed by a docking web nearly collided with them; she spared a moment to frown at Darwa. "If you require more than my clearance, contact Councilor Vree's security office. Sun out."
"Sorry 'bout that, Cap'n."
Weapons status was green as they flew out of the bay. "Should I have given you another opportunity to practise those Prowler maneuvers?" She kept her voice light, letting him know that it was a moment of levity.
"No, sir." Now, for the first time, he waggled his bandaged fingers at her. "As you can see, I work best under pressure."
He forgave her. A sudden sense of ease. "In that case," she murmured, watching their sensors come to life on the holo, "I expect to see some of your best work yet." She already had; the plan had come together so far, so well, because of him.
A tracking mark showed up on the holo. Their turnover point, coming all too soon. But they couldn't miss it, not even by a microt; the calculations were too precise, the timing too crucial. She made some final adjustments to her console. "Ready?"
"Yes, sir."
"Transmit the signal."
"Yes, sir." He activated the comms and sent the brief code that would bounce off a sensor platform, and down onto a library console in a remote outpost station.
From there, she didn't know what would happen, not with Vree, with Grayza. Except: trust John.
"Transmitted."
"Excellent." She pressed a button, bringing their active sensors to life, full power. Electromagnetic waves furled out around their ship, blanketing all nearby systems, sending all sensors into a frenzy of energy overload. "Let's go."

Tauvo watched as the tiny speck of the Vigilante lifted off. Everyone would be tracking the Ghost ship, wondering what it would do with that Captain at the helm.
He could only imagine what the surrounding COs on the orbital fortresses were thinking. A Ghost commando. Unpredictable. Unknown.
But for John Crichton, his brother could well have been one of those COs.
"Moving into final position . . . now," he muttered to D'Argo.

The commander of the orbital platform stared in horror as the Vigilante popped up over the curve of High Command. What the frell was she doing?
"Anything from Central?" he snapped out.
"They don't know anything, sir," the tech replied hurriedly, one hand holding his earbug. "According to Central, she's invoked Security Nine Velka."
"That doesn't mean she can light off actives within range of all our sensor platforms! That's against regs!" He tapped a personal code into his console and hit transmit. Central might not know anything, but surely Councilor Strom would know of the situation. His military aide, Commandant Grayza, made it a point to be aware of anything that went on in Central. He would send a message to her, make sure she knew what was going on. Just in case.
"Sir, she claimed that she was going out to meet a hostile."
"A hostile?" He frowned. If she believed they were about to be attacked, why would she engage active sensors right outside High Command? Unless she thought-- "Right here? Nonsense. We would have seen anything long ago."
Now her spiral pattern, her activation, made sense. That is, if you happened to be one frelled-up mental deficient!
"Bring our targeting systems to bear on her. Perhaps that will get her attention!"

The orbital commander's signal pulsed through the relays, pausing at each, waiting for the destination header to be read, readjusted for its next goal, the next relay. And so on and so on, all in the blur of nanomicrots. All that mattered was the designation header. In machine code, a string of numbers, it did not matter to the machines that, in the flowing Sebacean script, the numbers translated to read Commandant Grayza. What did machines care? It was all about the numbers.
At one particular relay, as the message paused, the relay scanned the destination header. But as it scanned the first fifty digits, fifty out of one hundred forty-four, it paused -- just a skip, really, to check another piece of programming, a recently added update. Syntax correct, timestamp indicated, parameters acceptable. Checksum complete. The machine didn't care that, in another three hundred microts, the new program would have purged, and this message would have passed by smoothly. It was all about the numbers, and they checked out.
So, as it continued to scan the remaining digits -- ninety-four in all -- it smoothly overwrote the digits. After the scan was complete, the relay hummed, checked the destination code, and sent it out again.

"They've locked onto us, Cap'n."
His voice was even. She nodded, even though he couldn't see her. Time. "Bring targeting sensors online."
"Going to targeting now."
The comms crackled as she was buckling herself in. Right on time, and so much depended on very precise timing.
"Captain Sun! This is the commander of orbital platform Gavin Three. Stand down!"
"Sir, I am responding to hostile presence."
"We read nothing, Captain, and we've been sitting out here a lot longer than you have! Explain yourself immediately!"
"Yes, sir." She didn't raise her voice. "I have excellent cause to believe there is a Nebari scoutship close to your location, sir. You are well within its weapons range."
A sputtering on the comms, which she ignored. Where were they? She knew they'd come here, were sent to kill her. The Vigilante had already completed one turn around High Command and was now zeroing in on the likeliest spot for the predicted trajectory in-system, close to one of the larger orbital platforms.
Of course. It would be hiding in the platform's shadow, the "bottom" relative to High Command, where no sensors would be required.
"Distance to platform?" she murmured.
"Fifty metras," Darwa replied quietly.
"Move in closer. Sir," now she raised her voice, "please contact Councilor Vree. She is aware of my investigation and will supply you with all required explanations." Credit where credit was due, and a way to keep Commandant Grayza from being a little too hungry. As much as Aeryn could do. If any power vacuum would be left after the hunt, it wouldn't be because of her own lack of action, but Vree's lack of ambition.
"I don't have time to get her on the comms, Captain, and I already have you! You will stand down immediately and remain at your position until you are taken into custody!"
"There's no time for that," she muttered. Wondering if Bish had managed to get to Councilor Vree in time, Aeryn kept her eyes on the spot in the display, the spot where she knew they were hiding.
I have done this before. I found you then, and I found you now.
"Any visual yet?" she asked Darwa. Forty-seven metras. Almost close enough.
"No, Cap'n."
"Paint a designator at these coordinates anyway." She mapped out the darkest spot. There. They would be there, hiding in the visual and radar shadow of the platform. If she guessed correctly, they should hit the scoutship forward on the hull, and miss those explosive engines. If. If she doubted, then better to miss them entirely, and have Ka D'Argo fire instead. If he was indeed back there, he would be certain to cripple the scoutship. But then that risked him, giving away his position.
That portion of the display was suddenly ringed in red. Range displayed was forty-five metras.
"Captain Sun, stand down your weapons! I say again, that is a direct order!"
"Sir, there is a Nebari scoutship in your sensor shadow, and it is armed!"
"We read nothing!"
"That's because it's stealthed!" Forty-one metras.
Darwa's voice. "I see it, Cap'n."
Yes.
"Stand down your weapons!"
"I am going to fire on the Nebari scoutship, sir!" She checked the display again. Thirty-nine metras. Close enough to the platform, almost close enough to the Nebari ship. She'd guessed correctly. At this distance they would be certain to cripple it without destroying it outright. "Ready?" she called to Darwa.
"Yes, Cap'n. Locked on target and coming into range in five microts."
She watched the designator, wondering where Vree and Bish were, at that microt. Timing. Were they where she needed them? Did it matter, in the end? Duty, she thought. I do this for duty.
The Vigilante moved into range; the designator changed from red to green. Her world snapped into focus, time stopped. "Fire when ready."
Darwa pressed the button.

Section 10: The Consequence of Choices
"They've fired!"
The commander stared at his display. A Vigilante cruiser had just fired on them.
The idea was too preposterous to believe. A single Vigilante wouldn't do much damage to them, it wasn't the loss of personnel or materials that concerned him -- much -- it was the sheer effrontery of this single, mad act.
And it was completely insane; she had violated over a dozen regs and was clearly in the wrong. He had done his duty, waited for her to commit the final, unforgiven act. Well, she'd done that, and more. He didn't need any recognition by Councilor Strom, Commandant Grayza. Oh, no. Captain Aeryn Sun may have managed to get in the first shot, but he would make sure it was her final, Councilors be damned. "All guns," he spat out, "fire at will!"
The first volley sped out to meet the Vigilante, a pitifully small blip on their holo screen. There was no way she could dodge that death. It was such a short distance, the platform would have shrapnel impacting on their sensors.
"Sir!" One of the techs suddenly whirled in his chair. "Sir, the Vigilante's fire has landed on an unidentified object underneath our position! We're showing debris!"
The commander started. "What--?"
It was too late. His own answering fire reached the Vigilante.
There was a flutter across their screens, the only warning. Then the cruiser blossomed, unfolded into a bright orange star, smearing across the inky darkness of space. Techs were screaming as they whipped off headsets, tore out earpieces. The actinic glare blanked their viewscreens as the Vigilante exploded, a boiling bubble of energy, and even he could hear the whine through the audio as the sensors reacted from the near-field explosion.
"Direct hit, sir! Multiple cannons!"
"What did she hit?" he yelled out at one of the scrabbling techs.
"I don't know, sir!" the man yelled back. "Sensors are down -- they're blanked from the shockwave of that blast!"
"I need to know what she hit!"
"Working on that, sir! We should have outlying sensors online in just a few more microts!"
He nearly asked if communications were down as well, then bit his tongue. Of course they were. All the sensor platform relays would have been singed by that too-close explosion of energy, and the sensor net would have failed across the board.
The Captain had been correct.
Oh, frell. In that moment, he knew what he'd done, and deafness took hold of him, blocking all else out. Just the knowledge of what he'd done. Frell.
But the comms were down. He had a little more time, then, before explaining to the Councilors.

"Now!"
The Prowler's engines revved to full power when she punched her thrusters. As she rose, she brought her own sensors online and checked her tell-tales. Sensors were working, green across the board, undamaged by the blast only because they'd been completely turned off. She read four other Prowlers on a direct heading. Full vertical ascent, piercing through the thin atmosphere surrounding the artificial moon with brute force. The horizon behind her was still rippling with the shockwave of explosion, not completely shielded by the curve of High Command.
Five Prowlers. Marat. John. Sariv. Darwa. If all went according to plan, Ka D'Argo would be reversing on his dead-zone course even now, everyone speeding away from the shattered remains of her Vigilante.
Incoming transmission. "Captain? We've only got about fifty microts to clear the atmospheric layers before the sensors begin to come online on their own."
"How long did you program this dead zone to last?"
"For three hundred microts. Keep on this trajectory."
"Good job, Marat. That should give us plenty of time to reach the gas giant." So much preplanning involved, and even now there were other factors that demanded attention. But first-- "Is everyone okay?"
"Aye," Sariv said. "Darwa, what did you load the Vigilante with, Tak Fives?"
A grunt. "She said a big explosion."
Aeryn knew she could count those as two affirmatives, grot-style.
"Riding shotgun, baby."
She smiled then, in the darkness of her cockpit. "Darwa, target status?"
"Ship's been blown, Cap'n. They're dead in space."
Not for long, she knew. As soon as the Nebari realized their situation, they would self-destruct. It had happened before. She just hoped the commander on that fortress had been able to follow where she'd pointed. If he was any good at all, he would be able to find debris, prove it was the Nebari. That might even be enough to save his career.
"I'm reading some sensor activity," Marat reported. "Still on the outer edge."
The gas giant was looming in front of them. So close.
"I see the Leviathan on my screen, Cap'n." Sariv's voice; he was in front, already curving around the giant.
"She sees us," Darwa commented, just a few microts later. Aeryn didn't say anything, just listened to the chronometer in her head.
Almost there.
The Leviathan's docking bay was open, yawning. Aeryn held her Prowler back for last, waiting until the rest had been caught by the docking webs, counting time in her head. Final pieces clicking into place, the last moves to be made.
For one moment, time slipped sideways, and she stood outside herself. Looked from the floating Prowler to the waiting Leviathan, measured the distance between them. Wondered if time would never move on, if she didn't go forward: would this scene be frozen, forever? Would she remain in this moment?
The void pooled up from beneath her.
She'd counted two hundred and seventy microts just as her Prowler touched down on the floor, a light touch that, somewhere between the landing gear and the cockpit, became a jar she felt through her body. The announcement was loud over the comms, and she heard it inside her canopy.
"Starburst now!"
The wrench as they slipped through space, hidden by the gas giant. Flickering through the void.
Mission objective: achieved.
An eternity later, just a few microts really, she reached up and released the canopy. Crawled out of the cockpit on suddenly unsteady legs.
It's over.
Took a few deep breaths. The tang of unfamiliar environmentals: Moya. They'd done it. It's over.
Someone was there to grab her before she fell, hold her up. She looked up into his face and tried to smile from the distance as everything beneath her melted away.
It was over. The mission, the life . . . the thing that was Captain Aeryn Sun. Everything she had been . . . was over.
He touched her cheek, palm warm against her cold flesh. "You okay?"
"I think so." He knew. "I don't know." Honesty; he always deserved that. "I don't know, John."
"That's okay." He smiled. "I'll wait."
Over and done. Now there was only the task of living with the consequences.
His fingers were friction against her skin, light, gentle. Warm where he touched her, where he reached, deep inside her, to the spaces that always seemed cold. His gaze, when he looked at her, was quiet. Waiting. As he'd promised.
She was so cold.
He always kept his promises.

Chiana skittered down Moya's hallway, rebounding off the corridor crease before pushing off in the direction of the hangar.
One more turn.
She burst into the hangar just as the airlock doors began to hiss open. Rygel raised one browridge at her. "Decided to finally join us? Or did you think it was time for us to go pick up D'Argo?"
"I was in the neighbourhood," she replied, surreptitiously adjusting her shirt. Zhaan and Stark merely looked on patiently; how annoying of them. Jool tossed her hair over her shoulder, a nervous gesture Chiana had come to recognize. Unless she was mistaken, Jool was also wearing one of her more gaudy, chesty outfits. Trying to make an impression. Nervous, Princess? It was only John and four PK commandos.
Only.
The airlock doors were finally pulling apart, displaying several strange Prowlers crouching within a cloud of billowing gasses. Chiana straightened up. Remembered to breathe, then promptly forgot to as a figure materialized out of the mist.
A man, a black, lithe shape that she belatedly recognized as John. She'd forgotten about his changed colouring, the darkened skin and hair. His blue eyes were overly bright against the dark background he presented with that changed skin, those clothes. Even though his eyes were brighter than she'd seen in a long time, less closed, she shuddered. You look like them, she thought. You're starting to move like them, too.
As he came towards them, though, she found her John again in the way he walked, the swing of his left arm, a touch more than his right. In his grin, the way he warmed up the entire hangar.
"Hey, guys." His voice was boisterous, his smile infectious. "We did it."
Zhaan stepped forward to cup his face and smile. "Welcome back, John."
For a moment, John's face was so bright, Chiana half-expected Zhaan to go into photogasms. "Hey, Bluie. Believe me when I say it's good to be back."
Rygel cleared his throat. "It is good to have you back."
"Thanks, Fluffy." He looked around at all of them. "They thought I should come out first," he explained.
With those words, a commando, a stranger, came up behind him. When Chiana finally got a good look at him, she stared, and she knew she wasn't the only one. Looked at him. And stared.
More than a dozen Peacekeeper commandos had come through this hangar bay. At least three of them were these feared Ghost types. Moya's crew was too used to being the loser in those confrontations. But this male -- well, it looked like he'd been on the losing end at least one time, and barely survived. White scars ringed his face, looking almost as if they were attachment points, holding his skin to his skull. It took more than a microt for Chiana to be able to look at the rest of him -- tall, wiry, well-muscled -- but then her gaze was once again drawn to his face. The white jagged scars were shining against his dark background.
Suddenly, she realized that she was staring, like the rest of Moya's crew. And he'd noticed. But he strode forward with a blank expression and flat eyes, and she shivered, suddenly ashamed of herself. Then she was suddenly pissed. She didn't feel shame!
"Sergeant Sariv," John introduced him. "Moya's crew. Dominar Rygel, Joolushko, Pa'u Zotoh Zhaan, Stark, and Chiana." He pointed them out, and Sariv's eyes tracked each of them. Chiana watched those eyes. He wouldn't have to be told their names twice. "D'Argo and Tauvo you've already met. We'll be joining up with them later, at the rendezvous point."
Another man was suddenly behind Sariv; Chiana blinked. She hadn't even heard him walk, hadn't seen him move forward.
"Sergeant Darwa." John smiled. "Did you hear the introductions?"
Darwa nodded. Talkative fellow, she thought, and suddenly wondered if they were planning to stay on board Moya permanently. Didn't they already have enough Peacekeepers, or former Peacekeepers?
A muffled footfall on the deck; Chiana stiffened automatically as she turned. No, she thought, wrong one. Had there been another female on board the Vigilante? Frell.
This one could have rivaled Nebari for pale skin. A Ghost. Huh. Unlike Chiana herself, however, this one had no hues to shadow her skin, to sculpt her flesh in a pleasing manner. There was only unrelieved ivory, from her hair to her skin; even her pupils were grey, like a moon. Only her black uniform provided stark relief to the eye-blinding colour.
"Sergeant Marat," John said. Like Darwa, this one said nothing. Chiana began to see why John liked them so much -- he could talk all he wanted without being interrupted.
Although there was no sound of boots on deck, all of Moya's crew stiffened. Don't think she'll be sneaking up on us, Chiana thought, not if she's like that. Chiana turned to meet Aeryn Sun. The other woman.
She stalked towards them -- no, she probably walked like that all the time. Chiana's eyes ran over her assessingly; this woman had likely never been on a hostile ship. As a Peacekeeper, she had likely always been surrounded by other Peacekeepers, living on her home turf. Chiana had a brief microt to wonder what the Captain would do, would be like, when she moved into someone else's space.
But as soon as Chiana asked herself the question, she knew the answer. Aeryn Sun dominated it. Made it hers.
Chiana had been many things in her short life: rebel, thief, warrior, child, seductress. She had been successful at so many things, survived, because she had learned to recognize the sharp edges, balanced on the thin line.
Aeryn Sun was a sharp edge. Especially now. Chiana looked into the Peacekeeper's eyes and shivered, her head twitching away. Her shoulders hunched automatically as her body remembered the ways of survival and tried to make herself smaller. She's not dangerous, Chiana told herself firmly. Look at her and see how much she's lost. She doesn't even realize it yet.
The other, primal, child part of her was still whimpering: Don't you remember? Don't you remember how dangerous they are when they've lost everything?
A movement from Zhaan caught her attention, since she was busy looking at anything other than Aeryn Sun. The Delvian priest was staring openly at the Peacekeeper Captain, something different on her blue-skinned face. Not the usual expression of peace, or joy, or even amusement. Not the shock of surprise, as when they ran across something unusual that, oddly enough, tried to kill them nine times out of ten.
Stark's expression mirrored Zhaan's. The world tilted, and Chiana strangled her words before they could come spilling out. Cold-- Zhaan, she wanted to whisper. So cold-- Don't get too close. She'll be the death of you.
But then Zhaan smiled -- a forced smile -- and stepped forward. "Welcome to Moya, Aeryn Sun." Something about the Captain must have warned her, because Zhaan didn't try to touch her, but seemed to almost . . . flinch. "Will you -- will you be staying long?"
Chiana had to look back at Sun, to see what those words did, addressed directly at her. Finally, a flicker of expression crossed that carved face. "Ask him," she said calmly, pointing at John.
He wanted her on board Moya. The only reason Aeryn Sun was here now. Did this mean he would stay, too? Chiana suddenly stared openly at the Captain. He's all yours, now. He would go where you go. Do you know that?
She couldn't read the ice-blue eyes. There was a patina of energy she couldn't pierce, and Chiana felt almost glad that she couldn't see past it. There was already too much pain in the way Aeryn Sun held herself, the way she moved. Carefully, as though she would break. Chiana knew that one all too well.
You do know, she thought. That's the only reason why you're here right now. For him. Because otherwise you would have stayed on the Vigilante, even knowing what would happen.
"They're on board for now," he responded, moving closer to the Captain. "Anything else, any serious decisions, can wait until later, when we've had fifty arns of sleep and we're back to our normal selves." On the surface, it was just a reference to his colouring, but Chiana knew him better than that. He was asking them to give her time.
Aeryn Sun smiled, though it was merely a movement of lips, not an actual emotion that reached her eyes. "Yes," she said evenly. "Let us all put some distance in between us and what's past."
Edged words. Everyone heard them; Chiana stared at the Sebacean woman. Frell, she thought, you're still in shock, aren't you?
Aeryn Sun shifted, and her eyes fell on Chiana. The Nebari shivered, suddenly wanting, more than before, to curl up in a ball. To hide her face, because Aeryn Sun read her question there, saw through her facade to the child beneath.
The Captain smiled again, and this time, something moved behind her eyes.
Chiana turned away, afraid the other would say something, answer the silent question.

Zhaan walked normally until she had left the hangar bay, then stumbled, straining to catch her breath again. Stark caught her, of course. Dear, sweet Stark.
"Zhaan?"
"I'm fine." She shook her head, trying to clear the cold fog that had seeped in when she'd looked at the Peacekeeper Captain, when she'd come close to the woman. She smiled up into his concerned face, laying her hand on his cheek. He felt so warm, after the chill, and she felt herself opening back up underneath his gaze. "I'm fine, beloved."
"What is it?" he asked her. "What do you feel?"
His words demanded an answer, and she searched for it, deep within herself. How had she felt? Cold. Shriveling, withering. Dead. Touching Stark was to unfold from that first bitter taste and touch. "Ice," she whispered, and shivered.
Stark, of course, knew exactly what she meant. "I felt that too," he whispered. "The cold. The ice. It's in her. Should we tell them?"
"No." John knew: of that, she was sure. Because as soon as John had moved closer to Aeryn Sun, the cold had receded. That was the effect he had on her. His fire, melting her ice.
No. So long as John remained with her, he could counteract that effect. Better not to say anything, and hope that together, the two of them would melt the killing cold that surrounded her.

Councilor Vree stared at the report before her.
Captain Sun was dead. Gone. How shameful, that there was relief mixed in with the sense of loss.
Vree finally lifted her eyes to the pale Commander standing at attention before her.
"I didn't know--" he blurted out, unable to stand the strain. "Sir, I couldn't know, the Regs state that--"
"Stop." She raised a hand. "I know, Commander."
"Sir?"
"I understand the situation you find yourself in. I do not forgive it nor excuse it, but I do understand it. You reacted to the situation in which you found yourself. You had a lack of data. You were not aware of Captain Sun's role as an investigator for my office."
"Sir." It was a wash; she knew he wasn't sure whether to agree or disagree.
"You should have had more data. Or at least attempted to do so."
"I tried to reach you through your comms channel, but it was occupied, and--"
"So you did." Part of the fault was her own, or rather, outside of her control. Someone had set up the library comps to automatically update themselves remotely; all the bands had been receiving data from an outpost at the time the first transmission from the orbital platform to her office had been attempted. A waste of valuable time, during which she could have intercepted that call. Intervened on behalf of Captain Sun, stopped the weapons platform from firing. As Fize had not, obviously. And so Captain Sun had done her another favour.
"My aide did finally pick up the transmission, but was unfortunately cut off by a relay failure." Caused by this man's destruction of the Vigilante. The overload from the multiple guns had caused an explosion that had wiped out sensors, relays, comms. Everything. She sighed. "You attempted. You failed. And Captain Sun is dead because of this." Her voice was calm, at least it sounded calm, to her. "Battle happens quickly. There is never any time to think. I remember that much." She tapped the desktop. "I understand what you did, Commander. But I cannot forgive the loss of a good officer, killed for doing her duty."
She gestured at the waiting guard. "Take him away."
Disgust overcoming her, she turned her chair, not wanting to look at the pathetic little man, listen to his cries. Such horrible, horrible disgust she was feeling. Not at his weakness, but at the loss.
Her Security chief, behind her desk, was watching her thoughtfully. "You liked her."
"I was afraid of her, of course." She laughed. "But yes, I liked her. She did so much, in such a short time. Less than a monen here, and she outstripped at least five cycles of our own work. Think of what she could have done, had she lived."
"Think of what she's already done. I'm happy with that." His voice was neutral, but Vree remembered the look on his face when he'd realized that the dead body was Fize. The frantic four arns of work, calling in the best techs, calling in favours. And when they'd finally cracked the Ensign's files, decoded some of her transmissions -- yes, he had come a long way from that moment, if he could manage a neutral tone.
"Don't be jealous of her," Vree sighed. "She was better than you. She had an incredible focus. A drive for duty. It consumed her, and it ultimately killed her. You and I both know that."
"She could have waited for us. She could have commed us after Ensign Fize attempted to kill her--"
"That Nebari scoutship was less than a thousand metras from High Command, and we didn't even see it coming. Who knew how long it had been there? No, I think Captain Sun knew she couldn't wait."
"What's next?"
She slanted a curious glance at him. "Have you found out who Fize was working for?"
"No. I was hoping she was another Nebari plant."
It sounded strange, to say that, but nothing was certain any longer. If Vree could hate Aeryn Sun, it was for discovering more questions even as she'd found out the answers Vree had wanted for so long. "I don't think we can count on that."
"No. But even then, nothing changes."
She sighed. "No, it doesn't. So. We go at it alone. Fallon has already been taken into custody. Strom . . . will recover, eventually, but he will never be so powerful, working on his own. Knowing that his old friend has been mind-cleansed by the Nebari forces him to question himself even more than he used to. It seems so obvious, now, that he was afraid for so long. That someone was propping him up." She remembered all the times he quieted at new things on the Council's agenda. How he always required more time for thought, reflection, research. She'd thought that odd from a man of his class, but there were times that Peacekeeper breeding programs threw products like that.
Captain Sun had been a perfect specimen of Peacekeeper breeding, a product that proved the system worked. She had been better. Smarter. The perfect soldier. A loyal Peacekeeper. To the very end.
She stared thoughtfully at the door after he'd left. He would recover. They would go on, that much further ahead, armed with the knowledge Aeryn Sun had left as her legacy.
"Thank you, Captain Sun," she said softly. "You found him, led us to him . . . and saved us all."

The death notice was brief, terse. No mention of traitorous evidence, no whisper of conspiracy. Just the news: Ensign Fize dead, shot in the line of duty. Duty. How ironic.
Commandant Grayza drummed her fingernails on the console's shiny surface and regarded her reflection. Scorpius, her thoughts whispered, and she nodded to herself.
Yes. Somehow. No, he was not directly to blame, but somehow, he was involved. Because Captain Sun was involved. Had been involved. Grayza saw that clearly now. Knew that the transport had been a trap, to lure her away from her console. She still didn't know how they'd managed to destroy the transport, but she also didn't know how they'd managed to jam her console. Other messages had come through. Techs were working on that very problem now. She didn't want that situation to occur again.
Fize was killed outside the hangar bay doors. Her last communication, as she'd left Councilor Vree's wing, had been to gain permission before she moved. Commandant Grayza was sure it was Scorpius, and that Captain Sun had gone out to meet him.
So Grayza given her permission to the Ensign.
But the remains of the Nebari scoutship had proven real, as had the Vigilante's.
Had she overestimated Captain Sun, simply because the good Captain had been one of Scorpius' creatures? Or underestimated? Because, after all, Captain Sun had once belonged to Scorpius.
Grayza looked down once again at the report on the debris. The Vigilante had nearly been atomized with the weight of firepower that had been directed at it. The Nebari scoutship, happily enough, was in slightly larger pieces, and there was a possibility that some intelligence could be obtained.
And they needed it. No, she needed it. Because Strom was on his way out. She'd heard the rumours. The whispers. The mutters.
She knew she couldn't step into his place. Not now, not yet. It was time to protect herself. She was too close to him. Better to let Vree rise, as she was doing. Let Vree rise, Strom fall, and just stay quiet, confident, in the same position. For now.
Yes, she had a lot of things for which to thank Captain Sun. How unfortunate, that the woman was dead.

How fitting, to be in a cell because of her own decisions. Her gifts: war and death to her own people. A certain future.
Aeryn stared around the room. Her new quarters on Moya. A prison cell, converted, but still obvious traces of its origins. Like me, she thought, running a hand over Peacekeeper leathers. I still look it, on the outside.
A bloodless revolution, unseen, unnoticed. But there would be war now, almost inevitably. She could have stopped that, but chose freedom over lives. Freedom: a concept that Peacekeepers didn't truly understand.
She didn't want to be here, on the Leviathan. Too many memories, ones dredged up the microt she'd first seen the Delvian on the viewscreen, remembered the Pilot's voice. Aeryn moved those out of her conscious thoughts at the time, knowing she would have to confront them. For now, better to deal with them as Captain Crais likely had, when he was still alive: pretend to forget. Better that way.
Another time, another betrayal. Her keen memory -- itself a product of Scorpius, and his work on her? -- brought her the visions, flashing them before her eyes. A Pilot. The same species that Scorpius used, to blend with her own DNA and change her. Velorek. Sebaceans and Pilots. You are a toxin, Aeryn Sun, even to your own kind.
But there was nowhere else to go. The other members of Moya's crew were undoubtedly nervous to have half a unit of Peacekeepers on the Leviathan, but her unit had been brought on board without comment. Moya's spacious hangar held their Prowlers comfortably.
Aeryn noted, without comment, the assorted ships as she made her way through the hangar. Several Prowlers already in place. Enough space for that Luxan vessel. Two white modules; she'd wanted to go over, inspect them, see if she could pick out the one that had collided with her, so long ago.
She missed her Vigilante, in that moment.
So quiet. Inside, of course, because she could hear the Leviathan around her. The DRDs moving from one place to another. Environmentals. The sounds of the living ship. They pressed in on her, stimuli, but she blocked them out with ease of long practise. It was the silence inside that was so strange.
I have come to the end of myself.
She should get up. Go down to meet her crew on the mess deck, sit with them. She might have lost her place, her role, but she was still something to them. Had a duty to make sure they were all right. She should verify that they had settled into their new quarters, didn't need anything. Darwa had managed, sometime between the loading of the Vigilante and their explosive escape, to scavenge their meager belongings, smuggle them onto the Prowlers. Too few things overall, but he had done more than she'd expected with weapons. Plus the flight suits she'd requisitioned, and the deepspace suits. Everyone had at least two sets; everything was high-end Peacekeeper tech. Her gifts to her team, after they had given up so much.
Very few personal belongings. They were Ghosts. Used to living with their baggage wrapped up mostly in their scars.
A knock at the door, a sound breaking waves over her stillness. Of course.
He came in; she hadn't locked him out. "Aeryn."
"John." As she remembered him; his own hair and skin. His own self, which she preferred; already she was having problems looking at him without visions of the past overlaid on his face. When he was like this, it was easier. Because he was only himself.
Only.
She didn't know what else to say; the voices were quiet, shocked into silence for the first time in cycles. So this was who she was, after all else was stripped away.
He held out his hand. "C'mere."
She took it automatically, drawn to her feet. Shock, she thought, I am still in shock from having condemned my people. Betrayed them and abandoned them. It was barely five arns; she was allowed that emotion, that weakness.
He led her through the corridors; one part of her mind mapped them, noted cross-sections and identifying marks so she would be able to find her way back. They met no one in the halls, even though she heard voices faintly, down some of the corridors. He never let go of her hand.
He would undo her.
Finally, they stopped before a door. John waved his hand over the door controls. Ushered her into a room. The largest rec room she'd ever seen on board a ship, the largest space devoted to . . . space. A luxury for her, used to allocating every available area for equipment or personnel or weaponry. She recognized it immediately. "Your terrace," she breathed.
"Yeah. C'mon." Pausing to lock the door behind him, he led her to the far edge of the room. There were blankets, pillows on the floor, a pile of comfort awaiting her. Pushing her gently down on one of the pillows, he supported her as she folded numb legs, facing out at the stars. He sat down next to her.
"John--"
"Aeryn." Wait, she heard, and fell silent. Wrapping one of the blankets around himself, he brought her back so she was cradled between his thighs, snug against his body. He tucked the edges of the blanket around her, enveloping her in him, his warmth, his touch.
She so wanted to lean against him. Relax. Not think.
"I know," he murmured against her temple. His chest rumbled underneath her, a soothing echo of his voice. "I kinda figured how you'd feel tonight. The first night of the rest of your life. I remember feeling it the first night I was on Moya, too." He was quiet for a moment. Underneath the blanket, his hands stroked down her forearms, smoothing over skin, gentle, reassuring. "I can remember -- like it was yesterday -- how scared I felt. Rattlers in my stomach. I'd just left everything I knew behind. Typical stranger in a strange land syndrome. I recorded a message for my dad. I told him . . . I told him I didn't know if he'd ever get to hear my message, but I just needed someone to talk to. I was so lonely. Terrified. I didn't know anything or anyone. It was a strange new world, and I didn't belong.
"But I'm still here. Cycles later, I'm on the same ship, but now these are friends. This is home. I know what I've lost, but I also know how much I've gained. Another home. Another family. You.
"I can tell you that you're better off than I was, because you know the world you're in, you know the different species, the currency, how to open the doors, how to pilot the ships . . . but I don't know if that would help right now, or if it would mean anything to you. So all I can do is sit here with you. This first night. Because you're not alone, Aeryn."
There were tears in her eyes, and she didn't want to blink them away. Suddenly they too seemed precious luxuries, a demonstration of mourning for a past life. Mourning in a way that would never have been accepted in that past. She had already begun the change.
"I know," she whispered. Underneath the blanket, she turned her palms up, captured his hands in hers. "You're here with me."
Under her skin, in her thoughts, in her dreams. In her heart.
"This night, and every night after." She heard the promise in his voice. Breathing deeply, she felt a knot in herself begin to fray. Her muscles loosened their hold around her body, released her from her cage, and she moved back against him, boneless, formless.
"Let's not talk about tomorrow just yet." She looked out. Seen through the filter of her tears, each star was haloed, indistinct. "I still have to live through tonight. To remember who I was."
Everything I was . . . is gone.
"Tonight."
"Yes," she agreed. "Tonight. One last night as a Peacekeeper. And then, tomorrow . . . something more."
Everything I am and will be . . . is here.

Fin

End - In the Company of Ghosts, by KodiakkeMax ( KodiakkeMax@yahoo.com )

In The Company of Ghosts: Story Index

Author's Afterword: In the Company of Ghosts (inactive link)

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