Title: Are We Having Fun Yet?
Author: orchidcactus
Disclaimer: Oh, yeah, I made *loads* of money off of this; that's why I continue to work at a 7-4 job, and still drive a grocery-getter. Sheesh. (in other wordsthis is sarcasm. Farscape is not mine, I'm still broke.)
Rating and Setting: Set after Fractures, but before the final four in the States. I'll give this one a slightly stronger PG13; most of it is pretty tame.
Notes: In early October I posted 'The Good Times'. Although this fic didn't start as a sequel per-say, some of the references will make more sense if this is read second.
Additionally: I truly adore critters.
Spoilers: To current viewing in the States.

---

Are We Having Fun Yet?
by
orchidcactus

---

Prologue: Nature abhors a vacuum.


Resbis Station rotated slowly under the stare of a sun that burned dim. Resbis, dream of a pure, shining future; Resbis, rotting corpse that was too stubborn to die. The builders had designed the station envisioning that it would be a clearinghouse of knowledge and peace and order, and would hold the crux of power over the vast beyond. They had foreseen lively trade from the fifth and sixth planets of the solar system, and had been certain of righteous prosperity for their creation. Perhaps it was fortunate that none of them had lived to see the fate of this offspring.

The vast beyond was populated by the less-than-righteous, who were not inclined to be converted by knowledge, peace, or order. Once the station builders were dealt with and the Peacekeepers paid off, trade flourished. Of course, so did deceit and murder and the exchange in souls.

Under the influence of Resbis' new order, the inhabitants of the fifth and sixth planets had decided war on a grand scale was the best solution to their issues with one another. They were correct, the cratered worlds now rotated in absolute, silent peace.

The builders' ambitions had included prosperity and order. The station, on its own terms, had achieved both. Resbis was a glorious success and a wretched failure.

* * * * * * * * * *

Part One: It's easier to ask for forgiveness...


John stared unblinking at the curved ceiling; sleep had eluded him yet again. Not surprising, considering recent events. He would have tried to blame his restlessness on what he planned to do in the next arn, but he had never been into self-delusion. No, it wasn't the fact that he was about to sneak out on what was basically a joyride that had kept him awake. It was that his mind's feedback loop always returned him to Aeryn.

She should be the one about to go with him to the trading station Pilot had found; she should be the one backing him up. Unfortunately, Butch and Sundance seemed to be on hiatus. Aeryn had instead become his silent watcher, his protector, his guardian angel always in the wings. In a way it was reassuring, this silent statement that she did still care, except for the fact that he was starting to go a little stir crazy. If she were to find out about his current plan, he was sure she'd freak.

John sighed, trying to clear his mind of unwelcome thoughts. No point in trying to go back to sleep now, he thought, swinging bare feet to the floor. Absently he reached for his clothes, a little startled at the voice from across the room

"You're really not considering this... exploit as a viable option, are you, John?" Harvey leaned against the far wall, arms crossed in cranky petulance.

"Hey, Harv. Been laying' low, huh? You heard that the other me got rid of you?"

"That is of little consequence, John. The possible danger of this mission is what concerns me." The clone had begun to pace, hands flying in time with his agitated speech. "Surely you recognize that your safety is of the utmost importance. You must remain here until the others return."

"Hmm. Let me think about that for a microt. Mm... no."

"Why do you insist on this stubbornness? I am certain this cannot bring about the means to defeating Scorpius!" Harvey stopped in front of John, face set in an almost imploring expression.

John frowned, finishing lacing the black boots. Harvey had picked a hell of a time to make a reappearance. All he wanted was to go do a little shopping; it wasn't like he was attacking a Shadow Depository or anything.

"Sorry, pal. Not this time," he said, clapping Harvey on the shoulder as he pulled on the black duster and holstered Winona. Ignoring the clone's dirty looks, he slipped quietly into the corridor.

Midway to Chiana's quarters he paused at another doorway. Standing, listening, he was thankful that there were no screams this time. Reaching out, he put his hand flat on the door.

"Sleep tight," he whispered before moving away. He had to make one stop, a quick trip to the center chamber, and then he could get on with his... exploit.

Walking down another corridor he stopped at Chiana's door, voice low. He really didn't want anyone else waking up.

"Hey, Pip! Wake up, Chi," he whispered, feeling a little like a Peeping Tom. "Pip! You awake?"

"I am now!" Chiana shoved the cloth covering her cell door away, hair scrambled into even more disarray than usual, bed covering wrapped around her. Her black eyes held none of their normal mischievous sparkle; she just looked pissy. "What the frell are you doing?" she snapped.

"Just looking for my favorite traveling companion," he whispered, extending a steaming cup of Moya's equivalent to coffee. He grinned appealingly, trying to tease a smile from her. After a long moment, she grudgingly took the cup from him, and motioned for him to follow her inside.

"Traveling? We're going on a trip? What do the others think about that?" Chiana looked doubtfully at him as she took a sip of the hot liquid. Really she was asking if he had consulted Aeryn. Lately their ex-Peacekeeper had been... a little uptight. She had become all about the mission, focused on her goal, and seemed to take the Human's welfare personally; if Crichton was up to something, she would be a little... uptight when she found out.

"Didn't tell anyone else. Not going to. End of story," he smiled as he said it, but they could both hear the tension in his voice. "So, are you in, or what?"

"I couldn't go back to bed now anyway... unless?" She turned to set the cup down, looking suggestively over her shoulder, her tone playful once again.

"Drop it, Chi," John had to smile at her in spite of himself. He was a little surprised that it felt good to joke with *someone*; Aeryn certainly hadn't been in the mood lately. Actually he would have been happy if she would bother to say two words to him that didn't relate to the mission.

"Alright. Turn around then, I wouldn't want to offend you," she said, frowning as he faced the door. She couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him. Aeryn kept putting him through hezmana - and he kept coming back for more. "What's goin' on?"

"Feel like a little bit of shopping?"

"Your currency?" she smiled at his back, quickly pulling on her clothes. "You can turn around now."

"Yeah. Pilot says we're near a trading station that might have what I want." He resisted the urge to back up a step when Chiana crossed the room to stand inches from him, head tilted cleverly.

"And what... do you want?" She really couldn't help herself; leaning against him to slowly pull her long gray coat from its hook.

"You never quit, do you?" He stepped back as he asked, letting her stumble in the empty space he left. Catching her arm, he felt the smile again... definitely eternally persistent.

"Never," she smirked as he released her. It was so good to see him smile again. In the past monens he had been as grim as a Tarken in a bad mood.

They slipped through the corridors silently. Chiana following without comment, as he'd known she would. D'Argo and Rygel had gone with Crais on recon and wouldn't be back for at least another two solar days; and Aeryn or Jool would have questioned, argued, and tried to keep him from leaving. Only Chi would back him up without a second thought. They arrived in the bay without detection. It helped that Pilot was in on the deal; unwillingly, yes, but in on it nevertheless.

John ran his fingers down the side of his module. He hadn't had her out in a while; it would feel good to fly the small craft again. He pointedly ignored the other white-shrouded vessel on the opposite side of the bay. He had only been near it once and, frankly, that had been more than enough. Even standing near it felt like stepping on his own grave. He tapped his comms, ready for the string of complaints that ensued from the small device.

"Commander, Moya and I still disapprove of this venture," Pilot's voice was as stern as the symbiot could make it. "However, we realize that resistance would be futile at this point, and will not impede your departure."

"Resistance is futile? Wrong show, Pilot. This is more like... hmm. I'll let you know when I figure it out. Get the doors ready."

John boosted Chiana up first, finishing preparations before positioning himself in the pilot's seat. When he hit the thrusters, he felt suddenly lighter. This might turn out to be one of the good days after all, he thought. If he could find what he was looking for without getting caught, it would be a great day. Chiana finally spoke up as Farscape One cleared the outer doors, banking sharply against the backdrop of stars.

"So. What are we shopping for? L'aqwin crystals? Nah, you're not that type, although I think you could be," she almost giggled. "Hmm. How about a new pulse pistol? Winona is starting to look like dren, Crichton."

"Dren? It's a long walk back, Chi," he chuckled as his fingertips unconsciously ran over the pistol fastened at his thigh. Yeah, the weapon was starting to look a little rough, but he figured she'd been through a lot and was entitled to show her age. "Nope, we're looking for a getaway car. You're the resident snurch, so maybe you can point out my best options."

"You mean you want a ship?"

"No, already have one of those. I want a *fast* ship." He found the banter uplifting. This was going to be a good day, he could feel it.

"I get it. You think you can run away from Scorpius after you steal back your stuff?" she laughed behind him. Crichton and his plans.

"Something like that. Pilot says if we're going to find a fast ship anywhere in the Uncharted's, Resbis Station would be the place."

"Resbis?" she peered around him at the screen as the sprawling station gradually came into view. "Um... Crichton? Did Pilot tell you this was kind of a rough place?"

"Yeah, he mentioned that it wasn't your more savory of locations. I don't want to buy a summer home here, babe, just find a ship," he paused, turning to look at her suspiciously from the corner of his eye. "I take it you've been here before?"

Chiana only smirked again, usual sly smile flitting across her features. "An... old acquaintance owns an establishment there. Um... you'll want that set of rings, over there," she pointed at one set of slowly rotating rings.

John concentrated on locating the docking port in tangle of rings and ships and miscellaneous bits of construction. As they neared, it became apparent how large the station was. Four sets of rings, linked by an odd sort of center helix, rotated without synchrony. None of the rings were the same size, and all of them bristled with makeshift additions in various degrees of completion.

It sort of reminded John of a heap of Tinker-Toys, without the benefit of assembly. The entire structure, bathed in the dirty light from a dying sun, was bigger than some of the planets they'd visited, and seemed to literally crawl with traffic.

John grinned as the transmission in the headset instructed he align with a set of blinking red lights. Yeah, he'd be able to find a ship here, get out of Dodge, and be back to Moya before Aeryn and Jool even knew they'd gone. Definitely a good day.

The first thing John noticed as they stepped from the docking port was the smell, kind of like road-kill meets budong. The second thing was the confusion. The massive plaza with its branching corridors was crowded with critters and aliens of every description, filling the place with so many different chattering languages that his microbes screamed in defeat. The plaza seemed to serve this section of rings as customs; within three steps a pop-eyed quadruped in a uniform lumbered in front of them.

"Is this Nebari yours, Peacekeeper?" the uniform was squinting down at Chiana; at least he was trying to squint, his protruding eyes made that somewhat difficult. He glanced at John, doing a double take as something clicked. He stepped closer to John to scrutinize the human's face. John could almost see the wheels turning in the alien's mind. His hand rested lightly on the grip of his pulse pistol

"You've been here before?" Pop-eyes finally asked. "What are you called?"

"First time here, the name's Bond. James Bond."

"Bond?" The wheels slowly squeaked through another rotation. "Oh. The Nebari, how much?"

"How much? Uh... well, she's... "John was quickly interrupted by Chiana.

"With him." John thought her attempt at 'contrite' failed, and the guard seemed only slightly convinced. He poked a clawed finger at John.

"Keep track of it until you get to the new ring-section. We don't need no fights over it," he snorted, sending globs of slobber flying, before moving off to question another set of travelers.

"Do I even want the explanation for that?" John had a sneaking suspicion this not be the good day he had in mind.

"I have no idea," Chiana answered, unfazed. "Do you want to find a ship or not?" She started weaving through the mass of travelers without waiting for an answer.

Resbis was more than a little rough. They hadn't made it more than a few steps through the crowd when two pea-green, ropy-armed beings spilled from a seedy shop, stabbing at one another with their razor-edged claws. The crowd started backing up, letting the two have their space. Chiana hooked her arm through John's, pulling him back further. When the smaller of the green critters started cursing a string of untranslatable words, Chiana pulled harder.

"I'd duck," she suggested, stooping and scrambling through the crowd, dragging him away from the noise. The microt they stepped behind a glassed wall there was a loud *crack* and an even louder groan from the crowd. Chiana peeked around the corner, smiling back at John to look for himself.

"I've got to get me some of that spidey-sense!" John shook his head at the sight of green goo covering those unlucky enough to be caught in the plaza.

"Nah, I didn't see it comin'. I did see that Suroch grenade, though. Messy!" she smiled and then pointed at the entrance to one of the corridors. "Shuttle's that way; we need to get to the old section to find what you want."

The shuttle car was small, almost claustrophobically so. The two yellow, eight-foot gremlins standing in the opposite space didn't help much either. They completely ignored John, but when Chiana stepped on behind him, they began whispering back and forth, eyeing the Nebari almost hungrily. Chiana glanced at the two, frowning. Something felt off about them, it was almost as if energy was pouring from them and washing over her.

The car shot away with a groan, swinging back and forth so violently that Chiana almost lost her grip on the overhead rail. John caught her by the arm, keeping her from sprawling against the gremlins.

"Thanks," she said, glaring at whispering pair.

"No problem," he answered, pointedly tapping Winona with his fingertips until the creatures stopped whispering and were reduced to sulky looks.

The ride was thankfully short, the car ground to a noisy halt in front of a deserted platform with tunnels branching from it. Gremlins One and Two hurried off the car, disappearing down a tunnel. As soon as John and Chiana stepped from the car, it too shot away, leaving them alone.

"Well, that was interesting. Guess someone fed them after midnight." John nudged Chiana who was staring after the critters. "You okay?"

"I'm not sure... it's just... you didn't feel it, did you? They - It's like they wanted something," she glanced at him uneasily.

"Right, they wanted lunch," he smiled, but couldn't help but feel like her responding smile was forced. She really *was* upset. Whether or not she was sensing things, though, they didn't have a lot of time before Aeryn or Jool discovered they were gone. "Which way?"

Chiana looked around the decrepit terminal as if trying to remember which way to go next. Finally she pointed down one of the numerous tunnels.

"The C'ayet I know, his bar is down there. If he's still alive, he might be able to help."

"Still alive?"

"Well, yeah. I told you this is the old section."

John wasn't surprised that the tunnel Chiana had indicated was dark, and narrow, and smelled worse than either the plaza or the shuttle car. As they walked, avoiding the thin stream of fluorescent slime ribboning along the floor, he concentrated on ignoring whatever it was that kept sticking to the bottoms of his boots. They walked for almost half an arn before Chiana stopped in front of doorway marked with an alien symbol. John jumped across a pool of slime to join her.

"Y'know, I might have to rethink that condo; this is nice, classy even. Is this the place?" he asked. Chiana nodded, looking more unsettled by the microt.

"You'd better go in first, just, uh, make sure that Winona's ready."

John shook his head, checking the pistol before opening the door, letting the deep music and babble of voices spill into the corridor. Hand on the pulse pistol; he disappeared into the dark room.

Chiana paused before following him, looking up and down the corridor. Had she really heard something? Deciding it was only imagination, and that John shouldn't be left to himself, she stepped through the entrance, pulling the door behind.

One of the gremlins from the shuttle car appeared from an entrance further down the tunnel. He sniffed at the air, and then shuffled forward to sniff again at where Chiana and John had brushed against the doorway. His eyes flicked nervously up and down the corridor before he shuffled off, disappearing into the shadows again.

"Good day, my ass," John muttered, mostly to himself. He stared across the noisy, dank room, at what he was sure was the C'ayet. Of course, his head had long since been detached from his body, and was stapled to the wall behind the bar.

"Oh, frell," Chiana added, confirming that it was indeed the C'ayet.



* * * * * * * * * *

Part Two: Meanwhile, back at the ranch.


She was dreaming; at least that was her hope. If the images flashing around her were reality, then surely insanity was not far from taking her in its icy grasp.

John. Whispering... no, not whispering... *gasping* harsh words against her ear. Words that wouldn't translate, his Earth words moving through her soul as surely as his hands moved over her skin. Whispers; driving her and pulling her and demanding so much and so little, all in those gasping, torn words.

It amazed her in some inexplicable way that he could be utterly fierce. A pleasant surprise, this intimate discovery that he was perfectly willing to use his language so deviously. Hadn't he come to them reluctant to fight? Hadn't it been necessary to force him to viciousness? And yet, here was this exquisite bit of violence.

The words filled her being, sending their charges to every nerve ending, his voice rasping those brittle pieces of desire. No translation necessary.

It was a dream, though; and as scenes within dreamscapes often do, the tapestry of this one abruptly changed. They were running, and he was coughing the cough of a dying man. The maze's creatures,critters, her mind supplied, and he stumbled. Except, this time, her restless dream supplied the gore of the demons leaping on him, tearing at him with shining claws.

The screaming woke her. His screams, her screams, what was the difference? Aeryn was half out of her bunk before she recognized the dim interior of her quarters. No critters, only the hum of the propulsion systems. Moya. She gripped the edge of the bunk until her knuckles turned pale, hands aching under the pressure of fear and grief.

No, the screaming monsters hadn't butchered him, but it hadn't mattered, he had died anyway. She had managed to keep him from harm on Chimmera, only to fail him on DamBaDa. She had loved him, and it hadn't mattered.

Maybe it had mattered though, and that was the torture, the source of her nightly terrors. If she hadn't loved him, embraced him, shared in that exquisite violence, she would have been the one in the module. If she hadn't loved him, he would have been on Talyn, where maybe he could have been treated.

She was well aware that she had been awarded a second chance. Not to share those good times again, of course, but to ensure that this Crichton would see his home planet and embrace his father.

Her breathing gradually became measured, and she dared to loosen her grip on the bunk. Her undershirt was damp, but that she was used to. Once her sleep had been sound, now every sleep-cycle ended in this well-worn panic. Only Pilot knew the truth, why she had moved to quarters away from Crichton. She was sure John had thought it revulsion; Pilot knew it was so her screams wouldn't disrupt the human's sleep.

"Pilot?" she was surprised that her voice didn't waver.

"Officer Sun." He was well accustomed to her erratic sleep patterns; however, he dreaded what he knew was to be her next question. He suddenly longed for the ability to withhold truths from Aeryn.

"Status, please?"

"Our position has not changed, Aeryn. There has been no report from Talyn and Crais, although Moya and I feel it too early to be concerned by this." At least this part was not an untruth.

"Agreed... "she let her voice trail off. Why was he stalling? Always, in the past, he had answered her unasked query, spared her the awkward question. Why make her say the words this time? She waited for a few more microts, unsure, finally asking.

"And the status of the others on Moya?"

* * * * * * * * * *

Part Three: A fool and his Nebari...


"I'm sorry. Nothing like that," the round alien bobbed his head politely, at the same time signaling the bartender before moving away through the chaos of the room. The bartender ambled over to set a glowing red glass next to John's elbow; he shot Chiana a curious glance before moving back along the bar.

"Wow. We're battin' a thousand here, Chi," John tossed back the liquid. He grimaced at the taste, thinking again that it was impressive that in almost three cycles, every bartender he'd met hadn't been able to make a decent drink. "At least the locals are polite."

"Mm, very polite, they think you're a wealthy Peacekeeper," she said, not really listening. Instead she was looking at a golden, almost-Sebacean male across the room that kept sending her half-looks and sly smiles. Apparently whatever had been bothering her in the corridor had been forgotten.

"Hello? Ship?" John got the distinct impression that he was about to be ditched. A light tap on his shoulder made him turn slightly. A tall being stared down from his right, looking for all the world like a very purple version of Cousin It.

Belatedly he noticed that Chiana was starting through the crowd. Sighing, he stepped after her, catching her arm. She gave him a cheeky smile.

"Don't worry, old man. I'm just gonna have a little fun, that's all."

"Fun? Like we all had on LoMo? Or have you forgotten what a good time that was?" He could see that she really wasn't paying much attention

"Look, I'll be careful, okay? You're the one that ends up needing help, anyway," she grinned up at him before starting back through the crowd.

"Don't get lost! And try to stay out of trouble," he called after her. He really hoped she didn't run into one of the pop-eyed guards and get tossed in jail. How would he explain that to Aeryn and Jool? He barely heard Chiana shout back something about being back in an arn.

"I am... Sithe. Are you... looking for a ship?" Cousin It asked, voice soft and whispery around its fangs, drawing John's attention back.

"Hey, sorry. Yeah, I need a fast ship," John found he was having a hard time not laughing at the purple It. He wondered absently if he should have stopped accepting drinks a few alien ship-peddlers ago.

"I may... help you, if you can... compensate me."

"Depends what you have."

Sithe tutted softly, teeth making a noise like scissors through cloth. Producing a small globe from the depths of its purple fur it extended the softly glowing orb to John, nodding at him to take it.

John looked warily at the little ball, almost wishing Chiana was there to tell him if it was one of those Suroch grenades. Sithe nodded again, his face scrunched up in what John supposed was meant to be a smile. Reluctantly John extended his hand, watching as the orb rolled from the purple hand into his own.

"Frell!" he wasn't sure if he even managed to get the word out. It was like sticking a fork into an electrical outlet. His whole body tightened for one split second, and the room went intensely bright. He could feel his hand convulse around the orb, now warm to the touch. Then, strangely enough, he found himself looking at a ship. It was a distinctly odd sensation to see the long black vessel hovering overhead; odder still were the specs that flashed around it. The orb glowed a little warmer and the ship rotated slowly in front of him. He suddenly felt like he was looking at an advertisement for a new car; all that was missing was the voice-over from a smooth salesman. He felt the globe suddenly cool, the ship disappeared, and his attention was drawn back to the bar, where things moved in time-delay.

Figures moving in slow motion leaving funny energy patterns behind them; the bartender pouring a brown gremlin a drink, a willowy being laughing, and the orb growing dim as the light within it faded. Time seem to snap back into focus, and John found himself sagging against the bar, facing a rather surprised It.

"What the frell... " he coughed, wishing the C'ayet would quit winking at him. He couldn't help but stare at the dark globe in his hand, wondering if there was an Uncharted Territories' record for most mind frells in a cycle.

Sithe, seeming a little surprised, reached out to tap the orb with a claw. A brief flicker of light within, a sudden pulse of warmth against John's palm. The alien seemed to assess this energy.

"Not Sebacean?"

"No shit, Sherlock," John muttered, still trying to stand completely upright. There was a curious ringing in his ears, throbbing in time to his pulse. "What was that?"

"A ship," the alien still had a claw on the orb and was looking at John thoughtfully. "Very, very sorry," he whispered, signaling the bartender.

"No, no, Cuz. No more drinks," John held up a hand, then gestured with the orb. "A ship? A fast ship?" Even as he asked the question, specifics of the propulsion system jumped to the front of his mind, and he had to smile. "Very cool."

"You do see?" It asked, seemingly happy; with all the teeth and hair, it was hard to tell. "Good. You can... pilot?"

"Yeah," John focused again on the specs. "I think I can. I don't understand everything, though. I need to see it. In person," he added the last bit hastily, in case the other had another globe tucked away.

"Yes," Sithe looked over the sea of beings crowding the bar. "Your... Nebari?"

"Crap. I don't know where she went," John shook his head, rolling the orb between his hands while his mind continued to work the puzzle of the ship. "Can we get back in an arn? She said she's been here before, I'm sure she'll find her way back." He almost felt sorry for the golden being he'd seen her with earlier, hoping he didn't have anything worth snurching.

"An arn... yes. It does not concern you that... " but his expression was similar to that of the bartender, as if he found John's attitude towards Chiana, and even her presence in this place, a curiosity.

"Chi? I'm more worried about that guy she was with. He's in for a world of hurt."

Maybe if he hadn't had visions of diagrams dancing in his head, John might have questioned the strange looks, or at least noticed that the brown gremlin had just left the bar through another door.

* * * * * * * * * *

Part Four: Be careful what you wish for.


The first thing John thought of when he looked at the gleaming black ship was a falcon. He'd seen them hunt once, in his life before, plummeting to earth in powerful dives before extending hooked feet to snare hapless prey. This ship reminded him of those sleek birds.

It was small, no larger than a Prowler, but that's where the resemblance ended. Prowlers were built for combat with weaponry that would put an F-16 to shame, and a maneuverability that was made for close quarter dueling. The ship in front of him had none of that.

There were no weapons, and any free space not designated for the pilot was propulsion, with a small area for cargo. Long and shimmering, with wings tucked tight in for a dive, it seemed to hum as he walked nearer. He extended a hand, and was surprised that the ship was slightly warm to the touch. He looked at Sithe.

"Is it biomechanoid?"

"Not... exactly," Sithe tapped the side of the ship, opening the hatch. John watched as the purple being pulled an odd headset from the cockpit, extending it out. Then he hesitated. "This is... more. The orb, simply a memory download. This is meant for..."

"Sebaceans, right?"

Sithe nodded, looking a little unhappy, not like the used car-salesman about to lose a sale, but truly concerned for his customer's welfare. With every nerve protesting, John silenced that annoying inner voice named common sense and reached out for the headset. Before he slipped it on, he pointed at his comms.

"If this thing kills me, call my ship, okay?" he realized that the joke fell horribly flat, and made him feel even worse. Cringing, he slid the headset carefully on, the ocular piece obscuring the room. For a microt nothing happened, then everything happened at once.

Light filled his mind, but it wasn't the painful crash of the orb, tightening every muscle. He wasn't even sure that he had a body any more. It was as if he were the center of a glowing room; the light was interwoven with his being. Around him, through him, he could hear a voice... singing. The ship? With this single thought, the glow of light changed, began to break into a spectrum of color, racing past him. The colors tugged gently, the voice louder, more insistent. He felt himself agreeing, moving along with the flow of color.

Cool pinks and fiery blues shot by, pulling him along towards... what? It was as if he could *feel* these colors. He wasn't sure, but it was as if he was being aligned with the dancing riot of color. The color pulled, and the voice sang, and abruptly he realized he was back in the bay, seeing the world through what had to be ship's sensors. Cool.

It struck him, linked to this amazing vessel, that he was just glimpsing what Pilot must feel, being a part of Moya. It was incredible and beautiful to know a ship so completely.

He accessed propulsion, feeling pure joy at the power available. Not a lot of maneuverability, but point her in the right direction and she'd be *gone*. His mind flew through systems checks, gleefully playing with the different commands at his disposal. When he accessed scans, he was surprised to find that he was scanning... himself, standing beside the ship. Laughing, he pulled off the headset. Very cool.

Knowing that he had 'sucker' stamped on his forehead, all he could do was grin as he handed the headset back.

"I'll bet you can make me a hell of a deal, huh?"

Sithe tutted again, teeth making that odd scissor noise. He looked across the bay, purple head, nodding as if in time to something John couldn't see.

"You traveled here... on a large ship... yes?"

"Who's askin'?" John was instantly on edge, hand over his pulse pistol. He knew this was too good to be true.

"I am no... threat," Sithe help up purple claws in protest. "I have no... large ship. Ours was... destroyed, leaving ushere. We seek... passage."

"Uh... that's not a good idea. Sorry, pal, but trust me on this; you don't want a ride on this boat," he shook his head, smiling wryly. "Is the ship still for sale?" "Yes..." Sithe sighed, sounding disappointed, but unwilling to pass on the currency. "The other, my shipmate... Gaele will take... to your ship. Resbis is... vile. I am not. We will discuss currency... over drinks."

* * * * * * * * * *

Part Five: So this human walks into this bar.


"Very... good. Drinks?" Sithe looked pleased.

"Why not?" John shook his head with a small chuckle. He'd just spent more currency than he'd probably made on Earth in his entire life. On a ship. No, he amended, a very *fast* ship. As the bartender set a glass in front of him, his comms clicked with static.

"Commander?" Pilot, sounding no less disapproving.

"What's up, Pilot?"

"There is a small vessel requesting to board Moya. The pilot says it belongs to you?"

"Yeah, it does. Could have it dock in bay three? By the way, what do you think?" He swore he could hear Pilot's annoyance as he began pressing various controls in the scan of the ship.

"It is quite advanced, almost sentient in design. However, the cargo hold resists all scans. You are aware that this design is consistent with that of a smuggler's vessel?" he was still irritated enough to sound condescending.

"That's kind of the point. Just have it dock, okay?" John shook his head as communications ended with the same static *click*. Raising his glass, he returned Sithe's half-salute before taking a hesitant drink of the gold liquid. And was pleasantly surprised.

It was the best drink he'd had in three cycles; it tasted like ice-cold Corona the kind he used to drink at barbecues in his back yard. He sipped the golden drink again, feeling oddly content as the intoxicant ebbed through him. Remembering something, he put his hand into the pocket of the long coat, pulling out the orb.

"So, how does this thing work, anyway?" he set it carefully on the bar, rolling it under his palm in small circles.

"It... senses... mm... different energy patterns, ideas, memories. I hold... it reads. You touch... it downloads."

"Cool," he nodded slowly as he took another drink of the pseudo-Corona, his head starting to feel slightly disconnected. "So, why isn't it recording me right now?"

"Must contact different being... or be reset. Reset for you?" Sithe reached out to activate the orb, only to have John hold up a protesting hand.

"Nah. I don't think the universe can stand another copy of my brain," he smiled as he drained his glass. Gesturing to the bartender, he turned back to the purple alien. "Y'know, Sithe. All and all, this has turned out to be a good... "

"John Crichton! By the law of Resbis, I order you into our custody!" proclaimed a booming voice behind them. The bar got strangely quiet, music dying abruptly, patrons backing away and slipping out exits.

John actually did consider whipping around with Winona in hand. A glance behind him made him glad he hadn't. Officer Pop-eyes and four more goons were lined up facing the bar, all of them armed, all of them on edge.

"Come on! I'm under arrest? For what?" he kept his hands on the bar, trying to force his slightly inebriated mind into finding an escape route.

"Silence, John Crichton!" Pop-eyes shouted again, sounding strained.

"You are... Crichton? You didn't... say," Sithe murmured from his left, looking a maybe a little disappointed in this legend.

"Well, yeah. You didn't ask."

"Silence, both of you! Turn around, slowly!" the roar was definitely becoming screechy, as if he expected the notorious criminal to detonate at any microt.

John knew he should have expected it. It did make a certain sort of sense that the instant he faced the uniforms, Pop-eyes would hit him. He saw the butt of the rifle swing up, and was shortly very grateful for the numbing effect the drink had provided.

The rifle caught him along the cheekbone, spinning him back around into the bar, sending empty glasses clattering away. When he sobered up he was really going to hurt. The irritating thing, though, was when the bug-eyed alien started laughing.

"Oh! Not so terrible as we heard!" Intensely irritating. John's fingers twitched over his pulse pistol, but one of the goons pressing his rifle at the base of his skull dissuaded that thought.

"Turn around, Crichton," Pop-eyes' voice, thick with cruel amusement. He was going to have a lot of fun with this before he turned the human in.

Sithe made a sharp hiss of disapproval and was promptly rewarded with the smash of a baton against the top of his purple head. John winced as It hit the floor with a thud; maybe he *should* have mentioned to the other the 'wanted criminal' thing.

"Turn around." The rifle against his head shoved, the guard overestimating the strength of the human, and John's head contacted the bar with a sharp *pop* that he heard rather than felt. Pop-eyes grumbled at his flunky, then poked at John, who had stayed sprawled on the bar. "Get up," he ordered, seeming almost concerned, he obviously knew that 'alive, with brain undamaged' had been a stipulation of the reward.

John really did try to right himself, but his arms didn't want to work. When one of the guards grabbed the back of his coat, jerking him up, his hand bumped into the little orb, rolling it down the bar. Too bad, John thought, he would have liked to show that to his dad someday. It did register, as Flunky shoved him around, that the orb didn't shatter. Weird.

The guard gave John a little shake. Of course, the Corona chose that instant to wear off. His brain rattled inside his skull.

"Kill him?" the one gripping his coat asked.

"No! Worth much to Peacekeepers. First we have fun," his eyes bulged a little more as he raised the butt of the rifle again.

"Oh, I think... not." They all turned at the sound of the cool voice. John couldn't help but grin at his captors.

"Boy, are *you* are in a world of shit."

Aeryn stood at the other end of the bar, pulse rifle cradled in one arm with her free hand keeping the orb from rolling off the bar.

Jool stood a few paces behind her, pulse pistol gripped with both hands in frightened determination. Aeryn glanced at John and the uniforms and Sithe on the floor, then back at John.

"Let him go."

"Peacekeeper, this is not your problem," Pop-eyes, stepping closer to John, pushed his rifle against the human's chin. He was aware that he had an advantage; he just didn't know how to exploit it and still receive his reward. "This is criminal John Crichton. He is the one killed your Retrieval Squad. I kill him, save you trouble."

"This man did not kill anyone. The John Crichton that did, is dead. Do not make me repeat myself again. Let him go."

"Then who destroy Chimmera maze? How do you know wasn't this Crichton?" Pop-eyes was getting bolder. After all, she was just one Peacekeeper.

"Because I was there." Clipped words betrayed nothing. The rifle barrel shifted painfully under John's chin, and Aeryn's voice became tighter. "There were two of them, the one that died and this one."

John blinked slowly, wondering what it cost her to say those words, forced to speak so casually of her dead lover. Maybe her care wasn't about duty after all. He suddenly felt like a drunk kid caught stealing his dad's car.

"Two? A copy? You say his copy did these things? Maybe this is the copy? No, Peacekeeper, I do not release," but he sounded unsure. Why bother with a prisoner that had to be delivered alive to start with, and might not even be the right one?

"No. He is not a copy; the one that did those things is gone. I told you not to make me ask again," her tone was icy.

The pulse rifle powered up, they all heard it whine. Pop-eyes looked panicky. Jool gave a little whimper. Flunky's eyes got wide.

"Don't do it," John cautioned, aware that goons weren't hired for their smarts.

No exception to the rule, Flunky released John's coat and started to spin, rifle dropping to firing level. Aeryn's first shot caught him dead in the chest.

John wasn't quite sure how it happened, but he found himself dropped on the floor next to Sithe, while pulse fire erupted over his head. Goons scrambled under the bolts of energy, sending chairs and tables crashing out of their way as they either toppled under the blasts or fled for the doors. Pulling Winona, he added his own fire, immensely enjoying the howl of pain Pop-eyes let out as he was winged in his scramble for the exit. The bar, filled only with the smoke of singed critter fur, was still.

Two black boots appeared in front of his face. He peered up, wincing as his brain rattled again. The look on Aeryn's face was enough to make him almost wish Pop-eyes had killed him. God, he felt like an idiot. The first time she'd let him out of her sight, and he needed rescued.

"Hey."

"Are you injured?" she offered a hand.

"Uh, no," he replied, letting her help him up. She released his hand as soon as he was steady, expression once more becoming blank.

"Where's Chiana? Who's that?" she pointed at Sithe.

"She said she'd be back in an arn, and that... "

"I am... Sithe," the alien muttered, clawed hand holding his head. "They will... return. We must leave."

Aeryn nodded curtly, tapping her comms. "Chiana?" There was no reply, only a static-filled silence.

"The Nebari?" Sithe asked, seeming puzzled. "You want... her back?"

"What? The microbes aren't catching all of that, Sithe, old buddy, old pal."

"The Rhaast... will not give her back... now."

"Rhaast?" Jool spoke for the first time. She wondered how John had acquired his special talent for encountering the worst possible beings. Aeryn and John looked at her, puzzled; obviously they had no idea the danger Chiana was in. "Rhaast. Moderately telepathic creature that cannot procreate without the aid of a non-empath," she supplied.

"And most Nebari are mind-neuters," John finished for her, looking disgusted with himself.

"Except, Chiana isn't most Nebari," Aeryn added.

"Well, let's get out of here, and go find her. Why didn't you say anything?" John asked Sithe as they left the bar together.

"You did not... ask," Sithe muttered dryly. "Most are not so... innocent, in Resbis. The Rhaast use the..."

"New section of rings. Pop-eyes thought I was here to sell her, didn't he? I'll bet she's never been here before, either; just lied to get rid of me. Damn it, Chi!"

* * * * * * * * * *

Part Six: The light at the end of the tunnel.


They had to take another shuttle car to the new ring-section, Sithe explaining before they boarded the route they would have to take, the dangers to avoid. Smiling his odd smile, he watched the three of them climb into the car.

"These... Rhaast...are vile. If they do not... kill you for.. interrupting, I will come to your ship... to retrieve Gaele from delivering... your ship," he said as the door snapped shut and the shuttle shot away to the new rings.

Jool immediately moved to the seats at one end of the car, leaving John and Aeryn alone at the other, she wanted no part in the argument she was sure was about to erupt. Instead of recrimination though, Aeryn looked at John curiously; she hadn't heard anything about a ship.

"Ship?"

"Yeah, well... I bought a ship," he tried to shrug it off, embarrassed that the entire fiasco was over the purchase of a ship... and his own childish need to escape.

"What kind?" despite herself, she was curious.

"Fast. Faster than anything I've ever flown."

"Really?" she couldn't keep the interest out of her voice, if there was one thing she appreciated, it was a fast ship. "Weaponry?"

He was grinning now, but not because of the ship; he had forgotten how it felt to simply *talk* with her. Plus he was relieved she wasn't chewing up and spitting him out over the whole thing.

"With this ship, you won't need it," he answered.

She actually smiled, and for a microt he believed what she had said about him being a copy. For some reason it gave him false bravery; he moved a little closer, no need for Jool to hear how pathetic he was.

"Hey," he tried to keep his voice neutral. "I, uh, I wanted to say thanks. You know, for saving my ass again."

The smile faded slightly.

"Um, you didn't have to... what you said back there... uh, that copy stuff"

"Crichton, no." He saw her knuckles whiten around the pulse rifle, heard her voice go brittle as her eyes broke away from him.

"Sorry," he whispered, looking down; just something else he'd managed to screw up.

The terminal the car finally stopped in was even more disgusting than the last, but John found it welcoming after the tension in the car. He watched as Aeryn started down one of the corridors, leaving him to walk behind with Jool. What he really wanted to do was run ahead, pull her to the side, and force her to look at him; really look and see that he truly *was* John. He settled for quizzing Jool.

"By the way, what do Rhaast look like? Soft, fluffy, cuddly?" He could tell she was about as impressed with him as Aeryn was.

"No, they're large, but rarely as large as a Sheyang. Yellow or brown in color, with the brown variety far less aggressive. Both variations have pointed ears and generally a lot of teeth." It didn't take John long to figure who had taken Chiana.

"The gremlins. Crap. I guess I should have seen that coming. So, they need 'non-empaths' to reproduce? Why can't they do it on their own?"

"It's very complicated, so I will try simple words," she said with a gentle smile, actually she did feel sorry for him. He only shrugged; obviously her jibe wasn't funny enough for a retort. She handed him her pulse pistol so that she could gesture as they walked; pointedly ignoring his frown.

"The Rhaast are an unexplained scientific anomaly, which why I chose their biology as one of my studies. As I explained previously, they are moderate-level telepaths; except when they are not'whole', then the... parts emit powerful mental energy. This energy is strong enough to drive most species into a coma-like state. Unfortunately for the Rhaast, this includes them."

"So, they need babysitters?" John was really puzzled now.

"Oh, no. You see, the larvae are actually the mind or... soul, if you prefer that imprecise word, of the Rhaast. The soul grows, separately, very slowly compared to the body; a forty-cycle larva will often be placed into a three-cycle body. Once joined, both parts are sane once again, and both cease to emit telepathic energy."

"Cool. The ultimate face-lift. I still don't get why this makes their energy so intense." He ignored the look he got for that comment, like he was an exceptionally slow pupil.

"Have you not been listening? After forty cycles without a body, or living without a brain for three cycles, don't you think you'd be a little insane? As an added complication, occasionally the soul dies before the body, and then another is placed in. They need a non-empath to place the soul in the body," her gestures mimed the words, as if she'd personally sat in on one of these procedures. "Aeryn is right; Chiana hasn't been like other Nebari since the energy-rider. I don't know... "

"I think this is it," Aeryn called back. She was looking up at a ventilation hatch in the ceiling of the corridor.

John trotted to catch up, nodding at the hatch. "Looks right, Sithe said it would have that symbol on it." He jumped up, smacking the release, surprised when the hatch simply swung open. Linking his hands together to form a step, he nodded at Aeryn and Jool.

"Who's first?"

The shaft was cramped and dank, not unlike the rest of Resbis. Sithe had explained that it would lead them directly to the section the Rhaast used. When they stopped to rest in a small maintenance spur of the shaft, John couldn't help but comment on the situation.

"This is worse than a B-grade movie," he muttered looking past Aeryn. "A tunnel leading straight to the bad-guys' hideout? Come on. And it's not just a tunnel, oh no, it has to be a cramped, filthy tunnel. I keep expecting a critter to come charging up behind us, all red eyes and teeth. Aliens and Sigourney Weaver."

Immediately he realized he'd said something wrong. Aeryn looked past him, eyes going to that distant place and time that had been *theirs*; another memory that he wasn't privy to. Abruptly she stood, sliding into the tunnel again.

"Frell," John sighed, looking at Jool. "Ready?"

The ventilation shaft led exactly where Sithe had said it would. John and Aeryn looked down from opposite sides of the hatch, peering through the small holes piercing it. Below them were at least ten of the gremlins, and arranged like little gray toys along one end of the room, were Nebari. None of which were Chiana.

"Frell," Aeryn whispered.

"I'll second that," John answered, examining the room, then looking along the tunnel. "Let's go a little further, maybe we... "

Screams interrupted him. Screams that rose and fell hysterically, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand. Chiana.

"Damn it!" he swore. He really didn't think about what he did next, he simply acted. Instinct or foolishness, he never would be able to figure out which prompted him to slam his fist into the hatch release and drop into the nest of gremlins.

For a microt there was stillness as they stared at this strange creature falling into their midst. The screams were confusing them, had rendered them momentarily immobile. John heard a soft thump behind him and knew Aeryn had followed. He would have smiled, except for the gremlin that had been staring at him decided to charge.

Winona's first blast caught the yellow critter in the side, making it stumble, but succeeded in only slowing its attack. As he squeezed off another shot, he was aware that things were starting to go pear-shaped. The screams were intensifying; the hysterical voice and the pulse fire were sending the gremlins into frenzy.

His second shot floored the charging gremlin, but another took its place. He took a step back, firing as rapidly as he could pull the trigger. The creatures had them surrounded. Another step and his back touched something. Aeryn.

Standing back to back they continued firing, the ring of gremlins tightening around them. One of them leapt at him, he saw the ragged teeth flash, and then amazingly it dropped short. Pulse fire from above; Jool picking the critters off in haphazard fashion. Another blast from Jool's pistol, and an opening appeared in the direction of the screams.

"Aeryn!" John shouted. He didn't even have to look to know she was by his side, sprinting with him to the door. They exchanged a quick look, Aeryn nodding at him, finishing his thoughts out loud.

"Go! I'll cover you."

John smashed the door with his shoulder, when it gave too easily his momentum carried him into a narrow hallway. The screams were louder now, moving down the passage in almost tangible waves. Following them at a dead run, John turned a sharp corner, almost slamming into a pair of gremlins guarding a doorway. He had Winona pressed against the nearer one's throat in a heartbeat.

"Open it," his voice was dark.

"The offspring has not joined," the demon garbled. Clearly the screaming was panicking him. His comrade was staring wide-eyed at John, glancing back and forth between him and the door.

"*Cambni soa*," the second gremlin growled, reaching behind him to unlock the door. Instead of opening it, though, he made another guttural noise and leapt away, disappearing around a corner. The one left behind began what sounded like a prayer. John gave him a hard shove, pointing the pistol at his head.

"Get out of here!" he said, glad that he didn't have to blast the critter to make his point. Alone, he faced the door, feeling the odd pull of whatever was inside wash over him. Only the screams made him push it open. He wasn't prepared for the force of what hit him. Staggering backward, he fell hard against the wall, slumping to his side on the floor.

He was standing on a path. On Earth. The smells of burning grass and moldering earth filled the air. Golden leaves above him, final survivors, rattled against one another, singing a memory of summer. A chill breeze brushed his hair, a promise of winter. Fall had always been his favorite season.

"Yes, yes, quite lovely. Now, for the business at hand, John."

"Oh, is this one of those 'unconscious-and-or-coma' things again?" John asked, looking at Harvey tiredly. "This wouldn't make for a bad heaven, you know."

"Thankfully, the situation is not that dire. However, I cannot pass this opportunity to use one of your colloquialisms," the clone put his arm around John's shoulder as they started walking down the path. "I believe I should say, 'I told you so.' "

"Cute, Harv. What the frell happened?"

"Joolushko was correct. The energy possessed by both the soul and body of the Rhaast is phenomenal. Peacekeepers have studied them for countless cycles in an attempt to ascertain a method for harnessing this energy. Failing each time, unfortunately."

"Oh, I'm sure it was heartbreaking."

"Jest as you like, the fact remains you've been rendered unconscious."

"Okay, but I know you're not forgetting Numero Uno here. I die, you die."

"Forgotten, no. I can only offer that this predicament is a perfect example of why you should choose to keep me as an ally, rather than attempt to extract me."

"You're still wigged about that? Damn, Harv, you're not as cool as you like to act! Look, I don't really have a clue how the other me got rid of the other you. So, I wouldn't panic just yet," John smiled widely, patting Harvey on the back.

"That isn't very inspiring, John."

"Take what you can get, Harv."

Harvey's eyes narrowed, but after a microt he nodded. The leaves around them started to whirl, holding them both in a vortex of gold and brown, until the forest around them disappeared. Then John was alone again.

The screaming had finally stopped. He was slumped along the corridor, and although he could *feel* the uncomfortable tug of the creature beyond, it was no longer debilitating. John scrambled up, racing through the entrance.

The room was small, the only lights burning sickly yellow, sending pale shadows over two tables. Laying on one was the body of a gremlin, wrapped in cloth; the other held what looked like a pulsating cocoon. Between them, crumpled silent on the floor, was Chiana.

"Oh, frell. Pip?" John knelt beside her, putting a tentative hand on her shoulder. When she moaned softly, he felt intense relief. Scooping her up like a child, he headed for the door at a run, trying to get as much distance between her and that thing as possible. Almost to the door he heard a scratchy yowl behind them. Turning, his eyes widened in fear. The shell of the gremlin was sitting up, tearing the cloth off like a mummy from a black and white horror flick, and was staring at them in mindless, murderous rage, hate rolling from him with a black force.

It was like a bad nightmare. He was running, but he couldn't run fast enough. Chiana's light weight tugged at his arms, slowing him, his legs had turned to lead, and he could hear the critter screaming behind him.

"Aeryn!" he shouted, pounding down the corridor. "Aeryn! I need some help here!"

He tore around another corner, and could have sworn he was staring at an avenging angel. Aeryn Sun, standing with a pulse rifle in one hand, and a pistol in the other. As he charged by her, he heard both weapons discharge. Jool, a bit further down the passage, darted by him looking far more confident then he'd ever expected to see her. He heard her pistol blast added, and then her triumphant shout. Slowing down he turned in time to see the huge yellow gremlin skid along the floor, fur singed in half a dozen places.

They ran together back to the room they had originally dropped into. Gremlins lay scattered about, and the Nebari that had been sitting along the wall were gone.

"Wow. Nice work." John nodded at Aeryn and Jool. "You two ready to blow this pop-stand?"

"We came in the transport and are docked near your module. It would be a good idea to tether it to the pod," Aeryn said flatly, tone indicating what she really thought would be a good idea, was for him not to argue.

John nodded, what he hoped was a neutral gesture. Sometimes Pilot hit the nail on the head, he thought. Sometimes resistance *was* futile.



* * * * * * * * * *

Part Seven: Out of the frying pan, into the fire.


"Hey, hey. Look who's waking up," John moved across the pod to kneel down next to Jool, who was gently cradling Chiana's head in her arms. Chiana groaned again, slowly blinking her eyes open.

"Cr-Crichton? Mm, wh-what the frell?" she muttered. Her head was splitting, and she was seeing two of Crichton. That wasn't normally a *bad* thing and at one point it had been normal, but right now it only added to her nausea. She struggled up, leaning crookedly against the transport's hull.

"How ya feelin'?"

"Like I've had one of Jool's spiritual enemas," she tried to smile at the Interon. Closing her eyes again she whispered, "What happened? I don't remember anything after the C'ayet's place."

"Oh, just a little search and rescue, critter clean-up, typical Sunday outing stuff," John carefully took one of her hands in his own, squeezing gently.

"So, you aren't gonna stick me on that 'first to get in trouble' thing, are you?" she tried for coy again, eyes dark shards against gray skin.

"Uh, no," he looked to the front of the pod, at Aeryn's ramrod stiff figure at the controls. "I... got in a bind of my own."

Jool made a soft, disparaging noise, and Chiana's eyes opened to black pools, she tilted her head to look at Aeryn, flicking back to John knowingly.

"Ouch... thank you, though."

"Hey, no problem," he shrugged.

"You need to sleep," Jool interrupted, taking over her patient again. John nodded, releasing Chiana's hand. He waited until her eyes closed again before looking at Jool.

"Is she okay?" he didn't disguise the worry in his voice.

"I think so, she needs sleep. And no more shopping trips for a while."

"Yeah," he looked again to the front of the pod. Aeryn had glanced back at his exclamation when Chiana woke, but now was facing away again. "She's pretty pissed, huh?"

"Actually, she's calmed down. I think her words were 'frelling cretin'. Pilot wouldn't let her leave until she swore not to break any of your appendages."

"He's a great guy, Pilot," John said wryly. Jool rolled her eyes, standing and carefully stepping around Chiana, moving to the front of the pod to sit in the other seat beside Aeryn. John watched the two for a microt, then settled next to Chiana, content to simply rest.

He had dozed off, and was dreaming about the gremlins and Chiana. And she was screaming again. Bolting awake, he realized the screams were real. Chiana was sitting up beside him screaming in abject fear.

"Crichton! Crichton, there's one of them here! I can feel it!" her screams filled the transport. Jool, moving quickly to kneel beside her, pressed an injector against the Nebari's arm, and John carefully lowered her to the floor as the sleep-shot took effect.

"What was that all about? Where are we?" Even as he asked he could see from the front screen that they'd docked in bay two on Moya. "Was she having a nightmare?"

"I think so," Jool shook her head in frustration. "Bring her to the medical lab, I'd like to keep her sedated and watch her for at least a solar day."

Aeryn looked at John as she deployed the pod stairs. "Alternate watches?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'll go first", he said picking Chiana up carefully, carrying her down the steps toward the medical lab. When one of her arms fell free, it was Aeryn that repositioned it across her stomach. John still said nothing, watching as she fell in beside him. He felt like he should apologize or thank her again, but that hadn't worked so well the first time. The silence stretched out, uncomfortable. He was a little surprised that Aeryn was the first to speak.

"Pilot commed while you were asleep on the transport. He said your new ship is docked in bay three as you requested. Your module is docked behind the transport, tethering it did not damage it."

"Thanks," he wished there was more to say.

"A creature called Gaele brought the new ship on board. From Pilot's description he is Rhaast. He has been placed in a cell until we can determine his motivations."

"Huh, that's Sithe's assistant. I wonder why he didn't say anything? I think Sithe is okay, but who knows? Probably a good idea to lock up the critter. I'll go talk to him when it's not my watch. I wonder what Sithe really knows about the Rhaast? Then again, Sithe has that used-car thing going for him, too. It might be a good idea to... " he trailed off, realizing he was babbling.

"Have you even flown this ship?" Although Aeryn was obvious about ignoring the stream of words, she did seem genuinely curious; she loved ships. Crais had told John that she'd lost Xhalex's Prowler on a planet called Chimmera. From the look on Crais' face, John couldn't help but wonder what details were being left out of that little adventure. At least this new craft gave them something to talk about, other than the fact she wanted to break some of his appendages.

"The new ship? Nope. Didn't have to, I saw the specs."

"The specs? And this was enough?"

"Sure. I'm taking first watch with Chi, go put on the headset. The ship is... amazing."

When she nodded slightly, John hoped he'd interested her enough to at least look at the ship; if she did, he'd probably lose an extremely expensive vessel - and for some reason that made him feel a little better.

* * * * * * * * * *

Part Eight: So, who let the cat out of the bag?


Aeryn had to admit surprise at the sight of the ship. Resting alone in the bay, it reminded her of something from her childhood, from a training exercise to Oethes Beta.

Gravity and heat well beyond comfort levels for any Sebacean, they'd spent almost a monen scaling the high cliffs, a test of endurance. She really didn't remember much about the planet, they'd all functioned in a haze, but she did remember the sitiki. Crichton's ship reminded her of those remarkable flying creatures, creatures that could defy even the cruel pull of their planet.

Walking toward it, she extended a hand, pulling it back at the slight tingle. It felt... alive. Intrigued, she pressed the hatch release, leaning over the cockpit. Another surprise, no controls, no panels, only a single headset. Now truly curious, she pulled the headset out, examining it thoughtfully. His enthusiasm for the ship was... she searched for the exact memory, face tightening when it surfaced. It reminded her of... John, when he'd been freed of the clone; free, happy, childlike. This beautiful ship had the same effect on the one left behind. She bit at her lip, hesitating, finally sliding the ocular piece over her eyes.

"Oh." She knew she had stepped forward to lean on the ship, even though she hadn't really felt herself move. Crichton was wrong, the ship wasn't just amazing, it was... it was almost like being linked to Talyn again. It was like being one of the sitiki. She ran through the systems, noting that one of the diagnostics checks came up with an error. The cargo-hold door had a malfunction. Not significant, but if exposed to the pressures of vacuum too long it would give.

She made a mental note to inform Crichton his costly little vessel had a defect. What a foolish exploit, she thought, irritated once again. When Pilot had finally admitted John had gone to Resbis, she had been furious. She really had been ready to break something when she left Moya to retrieve him, but that had turned to panic as bad as any nightmare when she saw him pinned against the bar, pulse rifle at his head.

With him it was never easy, there was no simple answer to Crichton. He was as much a plague as the other, she thought. Pushing away the feeling, she slipped off the headset. She might as well try to fix the hold door herself, instead of disappointing its new owner.

~*~

"So, what's so special about this ship?" Jool asked, handing John a cup of something that steamed gently. She took a seat opposite of him, looking down at Chiana with a slight frown. The Nebari twitched in her sleep, images apparently still plaguing her despite the heavy sedation.

"Nothing worth this," John said tiredly, nodding gratefully as he took a sip of the liquid. His head still ached from its introduction to the bar, the pulse rifle, and way too many alien drinks. "Why is she still dreaming? I thought the drugs would stop that. Is it Gaele? He's Rhaast." Jool looked at him in exasperation; obviously he hadn't listened carefully to their earlier discussion.

"Gaele is an adult. Only a Rhaast during fraction are emitters, perhaps exposure to the ones you saw has damaged her permanently, I don't know. What I do know is that suppressing her neural functions any further could be fatal. I've explained this once." She saw the hurt in his eyes, and regretted the harshness of her words. Sighing, she reached out, placing her hand on his wrist. "Crichton, you didn't know about the Rhaast."

"Crichton?" Pilot's voice from the comms.

"Yeah."

"Your... ship-broker has arrived and is docked in bay two. He is requesting we release the Rhaast, but I thought it would be more appropriate for you to speak with him."

"Yeah, tell him I'll meet him there in a sec." Taking another careful drink from his cup, he shrugged, looking away from Jool. "I never should have let her go off alone. I don't understand why she seemed better on the pod."

"She slept and she didn't start screaming until we docked. Gaele was here, but we've discussed that. There's no other way... "

"No, no, frell!" John jumped up, cup shattering on the floor as he started running. He slipped in his race to the corridor, scrambling back up, screaming at the top of his voice. "Aeryn! Get away from the ship! There's one of them in the hold of my frelling ship!"

There was no reply. Somewhere he registered Pilot's concerned inquiry, but Aeryn's comms were silent.

~*~

Aeryn walked along the side of ship, fingers trailing the surface unconsciously. After she got the hold door repaired, maybe she would take it out, fly like one of the sitiki. She shook her head at the sight of the door; at some point the release mechanism had been damaged, probably during a frelled burglary. Leave it to Crichton to purchase a smuggler's ship that had no anti-theft protection. A blind merita could break into this ship.

She pulled a tech box from the workbench, even though she knew that it would take a lot more to fix the ship than what she was capable of. Holding the box in one hand, she reached for the hold release, only to flinch back at the sudden shout from the entrance of the bay.

"No! Aeryn, don't open that!" John's breathing was ragged, the sprint from Jool's med-lab feeling like the longest run he'd ever made. He gasped for air, hands on his knees, as Aeryn dropped the tech box and pulled her pistol. "Damn, I'm too old for this... " he muttered, his last word obscured in a cough.

"What is wrong with you?"

"Why didn't you answer your comms? There's a critter in there!" he jabbed his finger at the ship.

"Comms? Oh."

"Oh?"

"I had your headset on."

"Okay, well you really should... " he shook his head; the conversation was starting to get a weird sort of déjà vu to it. "Well, we've either got a cocoon or a critter in there, that's what's making Chi freak."

"Rhaast?" she pointed at the hold door, he could see what she had in mind, and he wasn't too happy about it.

"I open, you shoot? Uh-uh. Why don't I shoot?"

"Because 'Winona' misfires."

"Come on! Winona is usually very reliable!"

She wondered if it would ever get any easier to hear this echo. "Not this time, Crichton."

He knew that stubborn look, sometimes he even wondered why he bothered arguing with her. Moving to one side of the door, he positioned his hand over the mechanism.

"Ready?"

She nodded, a quick jerk of the head as she aimed her pistol at the door. Her eyes narrowed over the weapon as she concentrated on the movement of his hand, the protest of the damaged lock giving, and the door abruptly dropping open. Instead of firing though, she lowered her weapon, looking at John.

"Empty. At least it's empty now," she gestured with the pistol.

"Empty?" John stepped around to look into the hold, looking to see the twisted bars of the containment crate. "Frell. Oh, frell. It's loose on Moya."

* * * * * * * * * *

Part Nine: Things that go bump.


"Look, Jool, just keep the door locked. If you hear anything..." John trailed off, seeing the expression on Aeryn's face.

She was further down the corridor, staring into an open cell. He didn't need to get closer to her to see the smears of blood painting the smooth floor under her feet.

"That was the Rhaast?" she asked. "Gaele," he answered, standing beside her, surveying the splatters, shaking his head at the gory scene. When had he thought this was a good idea?

"Crichton?" Jool's voice tightened over the syllables.

"I'm here, just keep the door locked. And keep your pulse pistol handy, okay?" he tapped the comms to shut out the responding whimper, and then looked back at the mess in the cell.

"We need to stop this thing," he said, wondering why the only conversation left between them seemed to be the continuous restatement of the obvious.

"You have a plan?"

John looked at her quickly, searching for a hint of teasing smile, but she'd already turned to survey the corridor; his ever-vigilant angel, keeping him from harm.

"Um, no... Pilot?" he broke in mid-sentence. "We need the DRDs to start watchin' for this critter. And you keep your den sealed, too."

"I will notify you if they detect any movement."

"Great, and Pilot... " John flinched, as high-pitched screams of fear and pain carried through the corridor, turning him cold; colder still when they were abruptly silenced. "Ah, frell. Sithe came looking for us, didn't he?"

Anything Pilot might have said was lost in the explosion of pulse fire, shouting, and screams as the Rhaast trotted around the corner, locked eyes with Aeryn over the length of the corridor, and charged.

"Crichton!" Aeryn had the quicker response time, pistol up and firing before John could spin around. Winona had the good graces not to jam, and the creature screamed in anger, not missing a stride.

"It's not stopping!"

"I can see that!"

"Oh, frell!"

"Run!"

Aeryn's eyes flashed and she fired off another round, but at the same time she nodded, and they sprinted together, Butch and Sundance scrambling for their lives.

Moya's corridors stretched like a three-mile dash, and John could feel his lungs start to tighten. Rounding a corner, out of the Rhaast's view, John grabbed Aeryn's coat, yanking her down a branching corridor. Off balance, she slipped, almost losing her footing. John caught her, hand around her waist, pulling her tight against him as he flattened to the wall.

"Crichton! This corridor has no outlet!" she tried to pull away from him, but he held her fast, hand quick over her mouth, keeping her still.

"Shh!" he whispered, taking his hand away. Looking down at her, he couldn't help the quick grin. "I have a plan. Remember the serpent?"

The critter overshot the corridor, screaming black rage as it lost the scent, then tried to backpedal.

She didn't answer, didn't have to. Instead, she nodded, a quick military gesture as she assessed the situation completely. When she sprinted back the way they had come John was close behind.

Landing bay three was almost too far. Almost. The small distance gained between them and the Rhaast proved to be enough, and they slipped through the bay door, Aeryn slapping the controls.

When the Rhaast collided with the half-open door, they were already inside the new sleek ship, John jamming a coupler in the internal locking mechanism, frying the circuits. The interior light flickered indecisively a few times, finally coming to a decision and flooding the small hold with weak blue light.

Within a microt, the critter slammed against the ship, making the entire thing rock, and the interior light flickered again. They could hear the Rhaast working at the controls, trying to force the door, but the mechanisms were fused solid. Again and again it screamed, throwing itself at them, until finally it seemed to give up and leave them. The following silence, filled only with their harsh breathing, was almost unsettling.

"Pilot?" Aeryn tapped her comms. John shook his head, gesturing at the hold.

"Used for smuggling. Resists all scans. And I've frelled the door controls beyond all hope of... " his face wrinkled in thought, and he didn't notice he had started chewing at his thumb.

"What?" Aeryn knew what the look meant.

"Um, I don't know. Uh... something about the...oh," he smiled slightly, shook his head at the unasked question on Aeryn's face, and slid past the twisted containment crate. Aeryn listened as he mumbled to himself, fumbling in the dark. She heard a metallic *ping*, John curse a stray Earth word, and then a hiss of static.

"Pilot?"

"Commander! Are you uninjured? Is Aeryn hurt? Moya and I were very concerned for you. Jool is hysterical, even though DRDs report the creature on a distant... "

"Easy there, big guy! We're fine, but... um, we're stuck. In my new ship. The critter frelled... okay, *I* frelled the door controls. Can you send down the DRDs? Oh, and tell Jool to calm down. I'm workin' on a plan, okay?"

"A plan? Of course, John," Pilot sounded less than enthusiastic as he ended transmission.

Aeryn heard John move behind the crate, and watched as he slid back into view with a satisfied grin.

"How did you know comms could be accessed there?"

"I saw the specs," he shrugged with another quick smile.

Aeryn nodded, a short perfunctory gesture, and his grin faded a little. She leaned against the wall, sliding down it to sit on the floor, knees hugged to her chest, turning her face away. Closing him out again.

John swallowed, trying to wash the bitterness away. For a moment, in the corridor, it had been so easy to believe he wasn't the copy, that they were a team again. Slouching against the opposite wall, he mirrored her posture, careful not to let his feet slide out and touch her across the narrow space.

A microt later, when she spoke a single word, it almost startled him. He looked up, watching her face in the dim blue light.

"What?" he kept his voice low, trying always trying to be smart.

"Sitiki. A flying creature that lives on Oethes Beta. This ship," she made a small movement with one hand, encompassing the hold," is like those creatures."

She was trying to tell him something important here, he was sure of it. Instead of saying anything, he settled for a slow nod.

Aeryn took a careful breath that shuddered slightly on the way back out. The odd light made harsh planes of her face one microt, and a pastel haziness the next. She looked unsteady.

"Oethes Beta is a training planet, used specifically for endurance testing of those in consideration for Prowler duty. It is a large planet, near the system's star, so it is ideal for this purpose."

Large planet, near the sun, he thought. High gravity, heat. That Peacekeepers tended to the sadistic was no surprise. He nodded again, wondering where this was going.

"Our only task for the monen was to reach the tops of the cliffs," she laughed grimly, as if to a private joke, her eyes, fixed on a point just over his right shoulder, flicked to his for a microt. "The cliffs of Oethes extend beyond sight," she looked away again.

"And the only creatures that we saw, our instructors not included, were the sitiki. The fact that they were larger than I... only made them more amazing. Beautiful creatures, really. Cannibals, sometimes, but beautiful. They could withstand the heat and gravity."

"Cannibals? Wait. Larger? How old were you?" John frowned, asking before his brain could tell him to shut up. Aeryn seemed lost in the memory; the questions didn't put her off. She stared at the same point.

"Mm. Eight, nine cycles? They were only cannibals when one of the others... broke. Sometimes the sitiki give to the gravity, their wings coming apart like they'd been fired on. But some of the sitiki were smart, they stayed on the cliff-face, flying only to catch the fallen ones." Another small, bitter smile. "It wasn't until much later that I knew, these creatures were the reason we were forced to climb."

"So, did the ones on the cliff live to be old and gray?" he asked, knowing the answer, but wanting to hear her say it, make sure she *understood* it.

The light flickered, and her concentration broke. DRDs were fiddling with the outer door, grinding through layers of hull to expose the mechanics of the lock. John wanted to ask again, but the moment was over, Aeryn on her feet, waiting for the door to swing open.

The microt it did, Jool's voice squealed from the comms.

"Crichton! That thing ran by the med-lab, I think it knows the DRDs are opening the ship. Get out of there now!"

"This keeps getting gets better and better."

"Aeryn, Crichton!" Pilot sounding agitated.

"Kinda busy here, Pilot," John shook his head, checking Winona's charge, noticing that Aeryn, instead of checking her pistol, was walking around the bay, examining the containers stacked in untidy rows.

"No! It's Talyn, he is back early!"

"Great. Have D'Argo get his ass over here and help kill this thing."

"Wait," Aeryn said, walking back to him. "I have an idea."

* * * * * * * * * *

Part Ten: It sounded like a good idea at the time.


"This is a very bad plan," John peered around the container, watching the door to the corridor. "Very bad," he repeated, looking up at Aeryn, perched two crates above him. Hidden from the door, she had her back braced against the uppermost container, a vat of something Rygel called Hynerian Piik.

"Watch the door," she hissed back.

He nodded, eyes straining in the semi-darkness. A movement caught his eye, and his stomach tightened. The Rhaast stopped in the door, nose in the air, smelling cautiously. Another step, and it was in the bay.

John nodded again, waiting for it to take another step, waiting... "Hey! Over here!" he shouted, stepping out from behind the container, waving his arms.

The Rhaast tilted its head, eyes widening in hate. Growling softly, it lunged forward, charging toward him... only to turn in mid-stride and disappear into the maze of containers.

"Oh... frell!" his face fell, and he yanked Winona free. Aeryn stayed silent, maybe she thought the critter hadn't seen her.

"Like I said, friggin' B-grade movie," he whispered under his breath, taking a slow step, peering between two cargo containers. A noise behind him made him spin around, boots squeaking too loud on the polished floor. His eyes widened, trying to draw in more light. There was nothing there, only the containers in untidy rows

Above him, Aeryn watched, heart hammering a dull beat in her chest. They had one chance to make this work, and she was well aware that it only would if she was perfectly silent and unnoticed. So when she saw the Rhaast creeping in the space running parallel to where John was, all she could do was sit in silence, and feel her stomach roll. The nightmare was replaying in front of her.

John stared for a moment, before taking a halting step forward, his breathing sounding loud and harsh against his ears. Another step. He put his hand on the edge of one container, leaning to look around it.

Nothing. He swallowed, wondering why his throat was suddenly so incredibly tight. The containers formed a sort of passageway, a shadowed corridor leading to... where? He fought the urge to run; instead he slipped between the containers.

The space was narrow; his shoulders brushed the containers on either side; the noise the long coat made against them was painfully loud. Another halting step, heart pounding in his ears, suddenly feeling claustrophobic in the tight space. Abruptly he stopped, eyes growing wide. He had the unmistakable feeling that he was being watched. He couldn't help it; he had to look back over his shoulder.

Nothing. Shaking his head, he turned back, and came face to face with glittering red eyes.

The creature seemed to gloat, before its claws flashed in the dim light.

John fell backward, landing hard as the claws reached for him, catching the edge of the coat, snagging, and... coming loose. The fall knocked the wind from him, and for a heartbeat he knew he was dead. The Rhaast screamed victory, stepping forward to slash again. When John rolled to one side, slipping into a gap between containers, the scream turned to a roar, and the creature launched itself at the gap.

"Oh, frell, oh frell," a mantra of sorts, as both he and the creature realized these containers were empty, easy to bat aside. Somehow he pushed himself up, back on his feet among the falling crates, running, twisting, dodging with the Rhaast following every move as if they were connected by invisible thread.

Left! Right! his mind shouted. Left again! Down the crooked alley, run to the dead end!

Spinning around, he stared as the creature charged closer, closer... then he turned back, and dove through the opening he knew waited. In the same heartbeat, Aeryn pushed off hard, and the crate of liquid crashed down.

The Rhaast saw it falling, and tried to step aside, but the container battered him to the floor. His screams sounded off the walls, the echo amplifying in the golden curves.

John wove through the containers, breathing ragged. When Aeryn appeared from behind a crate, he flinched sideways bringing Winona up. "Frell!

"Crichton!" she grabbed his arm, forcing the pistol down, jerking her head for the door. "We have to hurry!"

As if he couldn't hear the Rhaast screaming as it freed itself from the jumble of containers. There was no time for a smart comment about her plan; she was already running for the door, John close behind.

"Pilot! The doors!" Aeryn shouted as she ran. Even as she said it, they could hear the outer doors grind. At the sound, there was the briefest of silence; apparently the Rhaast knew what had happened, how it had been trapped. Its howls resumed with a frantic note. Even the maddened creature knew that the bay was about to become a vacuum.

Aeryn was the first into the corridor, twisting to trigger the controls in one smooth motion. John, half a stride behind, slid through the narrowing gap even as the rush of atmosphere tugged at his coat. The door sealed shut with a sigh, and the furious screams were silenced as the contents of the bay swept into space.

John shook his head, adrenaline leaving him as he holstered Winona. "Nice plan," he said with a quick smile.

"Thank you," she returned the smile, however briefly, as she tapped her comms. "Pilot? Prepare to retrieve Crichton's ship."

Instead of Pilot's words of agreement though, they heard his voice, tight with anxiety even as he tried to soothe.

"...soon be no danger. I implore you to listen to Moya! The creature is too near Crichton's ship! Do not fire!"

"No, Talyn, Pilot is correct," Crais in an attempt to convince the gunship. "Talyn. I order you to power... "

John's head jerked toward the bay. "What?" he shouted, disbelief on the heels of realization. He took half a step toward the door, as if he could somehow stop what was about to happen. "No! No! My ship! Talyn, the critter'll die from... "

The explosion from Talyn's main cannon made floor tremble slightly.

"... vacuum."

Epilogue: This has been fun and all, but...

"Talyn would like to express his regret over the destr... " Crais', voice echoing slightly from the comms, was cut off abruptly by D'Argo.

"How is Chiana?"

"Fine, she's fine, D. Jool's with her now," John said, leaning against the entrance of the empty bay. It felt as if the weight of the past arns were suddenly pressing against him. He ran a tired hand through his hair with a sigh. Most of the fatigue, he knew, came from his inability to think of *something* to say to the solitary figure outlined at the other end of the bay.

"Hm. Talyn again, sends his regrets," Crais, again, sounding irritated at D'Argo's interruption.

John shrugged to himself, pushing off the doorframe with his foot. "Hey, it's just a ship, don't sweat it, Crais."

Crais made a slight, noncommittal noise, suggesting he wouldn't. Then Rygel's voice, grousing in the background about transports and food, and D'Argo added in an irritated comment about Talyn's air scrubbers. As the transmission ended, John could hear the three of them arguing. With a shake of his head, he started across the bay.

"Now, that's one trip I'm glad I didn't go on," he said, stopping next to Aeryn, copying her stance, staring at the doors. When she didn't answer, he nodded slowly, turning to leave. He was tired, didn't want to push, and couldn't deal with the drain of... pretending, after the day he'd been through.

"It was a fine ship," Aeryn's soft voice stopped him.

He turned back, watching her profile, looking for a clue to where she was going with this. "Yes, it was."

"I would have enjoyed piloting it."

"Yeah, that makes two of us," he let the wry laugh out with a shake of his head. He wondered what she was driving at. She wasn't the type to waste words on idle conversation. "What's up, Aeryn?"

She finally looked at him, expression tight, almost unreadable. Regret maybe; for another time, another life. Words flickered behind her eyes, almost spilling from her lips, but then she looked down, eyes breaking from his. "I... earlier... " she paused, hand sliding into the pocket of the long coat she hadn't taken off. "This is yours."

She held out something small and round, snug in the palm of her hand. John smiled slightly; he had forgotten she had been the reason it hadn't shattered. "I wanted to show it to my dad, someday." He reached out, hand closing around the orb. Wasn't prepared for what happened next. Couldn't believe he had forgotten Sithe's instruction on how it worked.

The electrical charge shot through him, the tightening of muscle and joints so intense he wondered if something might snap this time. His hand convulsed, squeezing with its own desperation. Somewhere through the haze he could hear Aeryn's voice, not yet panicked, but getting there. And then he was back in the bar, and his sense of self slipped and skidded about him.

'... the one that died and this one,' the bitter words pouring from Aeryn's lips, and he was feeling her heart pound as if it were his own. Because he *was* her. Seeing himself, pressed against the bar, looking like crap, a funny desperation and hope in his eyes. He knew what it meant, even if Aeryn hadn't, and he was certain she hadn't because her nerves were strung so tight she wasn't thinking in words any more. Desperate images flashed as she spoke the words. Died. Death.

/John. Her tears blurring the image of his face; his face so pale with radiation./

/John. Her throat tightened, and he felt the scream build, felt it crushed. 'Hello, John.'/

'No. He is not a copy.' And he could feel the truth of the words, even as the scream was crushed again and again. The scream as she relived *his* death, and imagined another. The images of death slid around in her mind, confused, overlapping, and all he could hear was the scream that it was happening again in front of her.

Time and self slipped again. Aeryn, here. Now. Her fingers tight around his wrist, shaking his arm, trying to force the orb from his fingers. He could see her lips forming words, but the sound was delayed. Then, finally, time and place converged.

"Crichton! You need to frelling let go!" Another hard shake. He tried to hang on, make his own words to tell her it was okay, but found it impossible. The orb flew through the air in a smooth, clean arc. When it hit the floor, it seemed to flex inward before it exploded in a shower of frosted crystal.

"Frell," he finally managed, coughing as he swayed. "That sucks."

"Are you injured? What the frell just happened?" her fingers loosened marginally, but she wasn't ready to release him. She stared intently at him, as if reassuring herself that he was unharmed.

He could only stare back. He wasn't the copy. Not the copy. The thought repeated over and over. Funny that it was making him feel worse. He carefully pulled away from her fingers, looking at her with his head tilted slightly. He took a swaying step back.

"Crichton?"

"The orb... it... downloads memories. Uh, yours. From the bar," he answered the questions before she could even think of them.

She shook her head, maybe confused, maybe unwilling to accept he had seen her thoughts. He knew how she felt; he'd had his brain picked through more than once. Her face seemed to close. "And what did you see?"

"Let me ask you something first, Aeryn," he stepped close again. Eyes flicking over her features, searching. "You didn't finish the story about the sitiki."

"The sitiki?" she was thrown off guard, not yet understanding.

"Yes. Because I'm bettin' that you and the other cadets killed the ones that stayed on the cliff. They weren't safe, either, were they?" he kept his voice soft, but there was nothing there to suggest gentleness.

"No, they weren't," she sounded flat, emotions locked away. "Soar, crawl, they all eventually died."

"Am I the copy?" he asked softly, gentle now. She took a careful step back, and he could tell the sudden change had thrown her again, the change in tactics a surprise.

"No," equally soft, but laced with pain. She looked down, and he knew it had nothing to do with shame or avoidance, and everything with the search for the exact - always unfamiliar - words. When she brought her eyes back up, he could see she had no answers, only emptiness.

"What I am... is worse, right?" he regretted the bitter words even as he spoke them. It wasn't enough to know the truth; he had to punish them both with it. He shook his head, glancing away. When he looked back she met his eyes without flinching. "So, now what do we do, Aeryn?"

She didn't hesitate. "We stop Scorpius. We destroy his data," she said, looking at John directly, as if his words hadn't even reached her. Then she gave a short nod, terminating the conversation before he could say anything else. Turning in her crisp, military style, she marched out of the bay, heels clicking on the polished floor, braid swinging in time with each step.

If she heard the question that trailed after her, she gave no sign.

"And then? What do we do then, Aeryn?"



-*- -*-

Never made it as a wise man
I couldn't cut it as a poor man stealin'
Tired of livin' like a blind man
I'm sick of sight without a sense of feeling

This is how you remind me
This is how you remind me, of what I really am

It's not like you, to say sorry, I was waiting on a different story
This time I'm mistaken, for handing you a heart worth breaking
I've been wrong, I've been down, been to the bottom of every bottle

-*- -*-

These five words in my head scream 'are we havin' fun yet?'

from: 'How You Remind Me', Nickelback





Orchid ( morgansmom98@yahoo.com )

Author's Afterword: Are We Having Fun Yet? (Inactive Link)