The Best You Can Do

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It was odd, Aeryn thought, to be sitting in the pilot’s seat of this ancient transport pod, dressed in something other than her old Peacekeeper leathers. Of course, it was odd to be sitting in the pilot’s seat at all, with this old tub actually off the ground and in space. As much as she missed flying, it had been cycles since she had flown this ship at any time except these annual journeys to the Barren Planet to check for an opening in the mist that had trapped her here. There wasn’t anywhere else to go, and every non-essential trip just meant some part could wear out or she’d use up her fuel, and the pod wouldn’t be able to fly when she needed it to….

Fifty-five cycles since she was stranded here, and she could still fly the pod blindfolded. She smiled in a way that would have puzzled her husband.

She’d done this frequently when she first arrived, come back here to search for a hole in the mist. Eventually, after talking to the few old timers who, like her, had come from outside, and searching the historical records, such as they were, she settled on a pilgrimage once a cycle. It seemed that the mist opened with a regular rhythm, on the same day of a cycle, though how many cycles apart, no one seemed to know. So, now, she tried that day every cycle, hoping to find the opening she needed to help those left behind on Moya.

It appeared from her inquiries that there was a difference in the way time flowed, inside the mist or out of it. So far as she could tell, that meant Moya’s crew was probably still caught in the mist, waiting for her to return, unaware that more than a few arns had passed.

A quarter of an arn now, give or take a few microts, and she would be back above the Barren Planet, looking for a way out of this isolated universe. She tried not to allow herself to think what would happen if she found it.

She would warn her friends on Moya that they must leave. That was all. Even if they were still here, she couldn’t go back to that life, however much a large part of her still wanted to, after all these cycles.

Cerric – well, truly, if it were only Cerric, she could go. She knew he would be heartbroken if she left, but she’d told him from the beginning that her heart was elsewhere. She’d never lied to him.

But her children bound her here. She’d never imagined what it would be like, having children of her own, how much she would love them. She’d give her life for them, and she knew she couldn’t abandon them, no matter that their father adored them too and would take good care of them if she were gone. They were still so young, Rhys just eleven cycles old, and John only five. It made her understand, a little more, how her mother had felt, why she’d risked everything to visit Aeryn that one time in the crčche – and at the same time, she wondered how her mother could ever have let the Peacekeepers have her in the first place.

She could never leave Rhys and John behind.

And she couldn’t take them with her, either. This was their world.

Well, for now she was back in her world, the world she was born and bred into. She was approaching the planet now, and the area where she had entered this place through a hole in the mist that surrounded this solar system. She peered through the viewscreen in front of her, and set her instruments scanning.

She didn’t dare hope that this time she would find it, *this* time she could see the others again, say goodbye, at least….

“Frell!” she muttered, startled when the alarm on her scanner went off, indicating an anomaly in the swirling mist. It had happened a few times before in the past 55 cycles, but it was always a false alarm.

Aeryn checked the instruments. “Double frell!” There *was* something unusual up ahead.

After a moment’s stunned immobility, she rapidly changed course to follow the readings. Heart pounding, she scrutinized the viewscreen, trying to see a clear path through to Moya, somewhere, anywhere.

There! An opening in the mist, edges swirling madly. Her heart stopped, and her brain turned off, and all she could do was urge the aged transport pod to top speed, rushing towards the gateway back to her world, to Moya, to….

But when she got there, it was obvious it was already too late. She could see glimpses of free space through the opening, but it was destabilizing even as she watched. Still, she rushed on, ignoring the part of her that was screaming that even if she made it through that collapsing tunnel without being destroyed, she couldn’t come back, she would never see her children again.

“No!” she cried, pounding on the control panel in front of her, as the opening vanished before her eyes.

“Crichton!” she screamed in fury.

* * * * * * * * *

The next few arns were a blur of rage. Wishing for the millionth time that she had her prowler instead of this frelling flying *box*, Aeryn set the controls to avoid obstacles and gave in to her fury.

If she’d had the prowler now, she would have found something, anything to shoot, to destroy. Instead, she kicked the storage lockers and bunkers, and kicked them again, and then kicked them some more until everything was dented and her feet were so bruised and sore she couldn’t kick anything more. She tore at the vines that covered the interior of the pod, heedless of her hands, and let out a steady stream of curses that even *she* hadn’t realized she’d known, until her voice failed her from the abuse.

She finally collapsed to the floor, exhausted, and wept, her grief almost as sharp as when she first realized she was stuck in this place. She hadn’t realized she’d allowed herself to hope that she might see John Crichton again. To have been so close….

But at last she calmed down, and told herself that this time, at least, she had somewhere to go, and children she loved and had almost abandoned for a man she could never have, not any more. A life to live. It wasn’t the life she would have chosen, but still, it was hers. She dried her face and wiped her nose, and flew back to the Favored Planet, ignoring the ache in her throat.

Aeryn landed the pod in the late evening darkness, and spent half an arn preparing it for storage again, trying to soothe her mind with the routine. When she finished, she realized she was still unsettled.

She didn’t want to go back to Cerric in that state. She gave him little enough; it wasn’t fair to return to him with her mind far away and her heart in a jumble. She thought for a moment, and decided to climb a nearby hill and sit under the stars, as she had so often when she first arrived. It would give her a chance to think, and regroup. If Cerric was awake, he would have heard her pod, and know she had come back. That would be enough to reassure him. If he wasn’t awake, he wouldn’t miss her.

The sky was full of stars, and the planet’s larger moon was full. Aeryn walked up the hill, one foot in front of the other. Her body protested from the abuse she’d subjected it to, but she kept going, and gradually the aches subsided. She inhaled the scent of the grass she was crushing under her feet, and her ears became attuned to the sounds of the insects she was disturbing.

And then she heard the sound of someone else, following her through the grass. It wasn’t an adult, or a large animal such as the ploviks they kept for food. There *were* no small animals in the area. Rhys would have made more noise, so that left –

“John!” she called quietly. “I guess you’d better get up here.”

Her younger son presented himself promptly. The moonlight gave just a hint of the easy grin she knew would be present on his face, trying to ingratiate himself now that he’d been caught. He was a charmer, this one. She couldn’t believe she’d almost left him without a thought.

Aeryn knelt and hugged him tightly before she began her interrogation. He was dressed in his nightclothes, with his boots covering his feet. “Does your da know you’re not in bed?”

“No,” John said without elaboration.

“Why not?”

The boy shrugged. “He’s asleep.”

“And your brother?”

“Asleep.” He shrugged again. “Where are you going?”

“To the top of the hill,” she told him, debating the wisdom of sending him home alone in the dark. Something was wrong, she thought. He was usually a lot more talkative. “To think. Can you be quiet while I do that?”

He shrugged one more time. “Sure,” he said.

“You’d better come with me then,” she said, and set off again, holding his hand securely. As they walked at a pace comfortable for her son’s short legs, she asked, “What are you doing out here?”

“I heard your ship so I came to see you,” he said.

“To make sure I’d come back?” she asked guiltily, suddenly realizing what might have brought him out here. Rhys had never seemed to worry about these excursions of hers, but maybe John was different.

“No,” he said bravely, but she heard the uncertainty in his voice.

“Are you sure?” she asked him. “It’s all right to be scared sometimes.”

“No one else’s mum goes away,” he said.

“Well, I’m not everyone else’s mum, am I?” she said, stung by the truth despite herself. She kept walking, not wanting to make too much fuss. After a moment, she said to him, trying to explain, “John, when I was growing up, I only ever saw my mother once. That was when I was about your age. And I never knew my father.”

He stumbled slightly on the dry grass and, no doubt thinking about some of the deaths they’d experienced in the community even in his short life, asked, “What happened to them?”

“Nothing happened to them,” she told him. “That’s the way it was where I grew up. But I always wanted to know them.”

“I bet they were nice,” John said.

“I promise you,” she told him, as they reached the top of the hill, “that I will never leave you and Rhys on purpose.” She paused for a moment and crouched down in front of him. She vowed, as much to herself as to her son, “I will *always* be here for you, if I have anything to say about it.”

“Okay,” he said, seeming reassured.

Aeryn hugged him again, enjoying holding his small frame in her arms. But the image of a tall man with brown hair and beautiful blue eyes whose name was also “John” flashed into her mind, and she pulled back before tears could overwhelm her and worry her child more than he already was.

“Time for me to think now,” she said. She sat down, cross-legged, her back to the moon so she could see the most stars. “Come here,” she told him, patting the ground next to her, and John curled up alongside her with his head in her lap. She smoothed his hair and hoped he would go to sleep.

* * * * * * * * *

Her son was quiet, and she sat and looked at the stars, thinking again of her lost life. Are you out there still, Crichton? she wondered. Is Moya there, trapped in the mist? That she’d missed the chance to warn them was nearly unbearable.

Moya’s crew had already lost fifty-five cycles, waiting for her to return. She knew they were still there, all of them. Crichton would never have let them leave without her, not in the few arns her research suggested had passed in their time frame. And by being too late, just arns too late in *her* time frame, she’d condemned them to lose another fifty-five cycles.

Fifty-five frelling cycles.

Because Crichton would never leave if she didn’t tell him to.

And she was going to have to wait another fifty-five cycles before she could tell him he had to go.

And that *was* unbearable. She didn’t know how to deal with that.

But, it occurred to her, if she’d been only a few hundred microts later, she would never have known the mist had opened. She’d been a fool not to allow more time for each pass. Had she missed other opportunities? Was it possible that the mist might open sooner than fifty-five cycles?

She took a deep breath, and thought about it some more, stroking John’s hair.

There was no way to be sure.

Except not to assume the rhythm was fifty-five cycles.

She could feel herself relax. This was right, or at least the best she could do for all of them. For Crichton, and Zhaan, and D’Argo, and Chiana, and Rygel, and Pilot, and Moya. Oh, and Stark, too. She would continue to return to the Barren Planet each cycle. She would allow more time – at least half a solar day on either side of the day she thought was “right.” And if by chance the mist opened sooner, well, she would have shortened the waiting for them, and for herself. And if not, if it took another fifty-five cycles, well, at least she would have done her best.

She could live with that.

She sighed and looked at the stars again. For many cycles after she’d been stranded here, she had come to this hillside at night to look at the stars. It reminded her of the terrace on Moya. It felt like home in a way nowhere else on this planet felt like home. She’d outgrown the need, accepted her life here, most of the time – but tonight, she needed the comfort.

She could almost feel Crichton standing behind her now, watching her. He’d be proud of her life here, proud that she’d changed enough to *build* a life with Cerric, to love her children. That was his doing, he’d started her on that path. And if she’d made it through that opening tonight, he would have been horrified that she had left Rhys and John behind, here -- for *him*. It made her feel all the more guilty that she almost had, even if it hadn’t been intentional.

She was startled out of her reverie by John’s voice. Surprisingly, he sounded wide awake. “What are you thinking about, Mum?” he asked.

He’d been quiet a long time, letting her sort things out. He deserved an answer. She took a breath and smiled. “On Moya, the ship I lived on before I came here, we had a special place we called the terrace,” she told him. “It was on the top of the ship, and it didn’t have real walls. You could sit on the floor, like we’re sitting here, and see the stars all around you. It was very beautiful. I used to go there to think.”

“Is it very different from here?”

“Yes, John. Where I come from is very different from here. I miss it sometimes.”

He brought his hand up and scratched his nose, apparently thinking about what she’d said. Finally, he asked, “But you’re staying here?”

“Yes, I’m staying here. This is where I live now. With you and Rhys and your da.” She couldn’t quite bring herself to call this planet home, even for this little boy that she loved with all her heart, and she hoped he wouldn’t notice.

John yawned, stretching out his words: “That’s good.”

It *was* good, Aeryn thought. This wasn’t the life she’d expected, wanted, but there was nothing she could do about that. If she had to wait alone, from cycle to cycle, hoping to get back to Moya, she would go mad. She would have gone mad already.

She leaned down and gave John a kiss on the cheek. “I suppose we should go home before your da wakes up and worries about us,” she said.

“Okay,” he agreed, and sat up.

Aeryn stood and picked him up and settled him on her hip. He laid his head on her shoulder, seemingly content, and she carried him back to the house.

* * * * * * * * *

Despite the late hour, there was a light on the porch, and Cerric was just walking out the front door when she arrived. From his agitated movements, Aeryn guessed he’d woken up after all and checked on the children, discovered John was missing, and was setting out to look for him.

Her husband looked at her, at the sleeping child in her arms, questioned her wordlessly.

She gave him a rueful smile, shrugged apologetically. “He came looking for me,” she said. “He heard me come back.”

He nodded, no longer worried about his son, but something in his eyes told her he sensed that something had happened this time while she was gone, something different. Could he sense the grief for her failure? Did he guess how close she came to leaving? Did her face show her guilt that just for one microt she would have abandoned them, all of them, for…the man they never spoke of?

He would never ask, this gentle man she’d lived with for fifteen cycles. But tomorrow, she thought, she would tell him the bare bones of what had happened. He might guess the rest. He knew her heart too well, knew where it was given.

Without reproach, he took John from her, turned to put their child to back to bed.

“Cerric,” she blurted, and he stopped and turned back to look at her. The silence stretched while she wondered what she’d intended to say. No point in telling him pleasant lies; she never had before. The truth was the one thing she had always been able to give him.

“Thank you,” she told him, reaching out to brush his cheek with her fingers. If he saw the damage she’d done to her hands, he gave no sign. She wished things had been different, that she could have loved him as he deserved.

But if things had been different, she wouldn’t have been here at all.

He smiled at her gently, and she tried not to notice the surprise in his eyes at the unexpected caress. She left then, to walk to their bed and do what she now did best. Wait.


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aeryncrichton

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Author's Afterword, The Best You Can Do

Return to Aeryn Years Index