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 DatingIt 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.
"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.
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