Date: 01/25/2002 
From: KernilCrash 


Good evening folks! 

Welcome to my longest hallucination yet. You have stumbled into a novel length
story, so feel free to back out of here now. I've been working on this critter
for almost three months now, and it is going to be somewhere between 14 and 16
chapters long. I'll post two chapters a week, and WILL have it done and posted
before March 29th. 

This was supposed to be a short fic but it got away from me completely. The
fanfic writers probably know how that feels, but for the rest of you -- the
next time you are hatching baby chicks, and one turns out to be a budong,
you'll have an idea. 

I'd like to recognize the following folks who gave me the necessary Bulletin
Board kick in the butt to get me to start writing fiction: ChianaWannabe,
ScapeArtist, Still_Waters, PKAmmoTroop, and JohnsKeedvaBBQ. Thank you so much.
(Didn't know you were creating a monster did you?) 

I can't begin to thank my two Beta-readers, ScapeArtist and imloco2, enough.
They generously answered my call for volunteers (a call from a relative
newbie), and they have been, and still are, right beside me through the entire
process. Aside from their keen eye for errors and good ear for getting the tone
of the characters right, they are critical moral support for someone taking on
a piece of work this large for the first time. Thank you ladies. 

The idea of a dormant black hole is NOT the product of my warped imagination.
Theoretical physics have begun to suggest that some black holes may go through
dormant stages where their gravity well simply ceases to exert force. The finer
intricacies are completely beyond me, so I hallucinated the rest of the
details. 

To one of my Beta-readers - ScapeArtist: Thank you for noticing that I had
mindlessly put the Weapons and Entertainment Sectors next to each other ...
"drinkin' and shootin'" you observed ... which convinced me to leave them
adjoined. :-D 

********** 

DEDICATION: This is dedicated to all of YOU. The generous, intelligent,
cheerful, articulate, and devoted fans without whom Farscape would be a
forgotten one-season flop. You're the best. 

********** 

VOICES OF REASON 
(crashbrown@adelphia.net) 

Rating: PG-13 - Just a bit of profanity. 

Disclaimer: Farscape and all related characters are the creation of, and are
owned by, the Jim Henson Company and the SCI-FI Channel. They are all
enormously talented, imaginative, and dedicated people who will certainly
understand that I have no intention of infringing on their ownership or making
any profit from their labors, but only wish to sooth the burning fever of my
Farscape dementia. Thank you all for your extraordinary vision. 

Spoilers: Abso-frelling-lutely. Plenty. Up to and including “Different
Destinations”. This definitely takes place before "Eat Me" … one Crichton is
all I could handle this time around. 

Archiving and Use: I'm open to all requests. E-mail address is there, just give
me a holler. My 'porchlight' is one of the ones which doesn't work. 

Symbols: I have enclosed scenes and dialogue involving dreams or the Scorpius
neural-clone within double angles << -- >> to indicate that you are inside
John's head for the moment. 

********** 

PROLOGUE 

Somewhere deep in space a killer slept. The black hole had been dormant for
many millennia, it's killing gravity temporarily suspended. For much of its
life the singularity had exercised its massive power without hindrance, ripping
stars apart, turning planets into just so much dust and debris, and distorting
one solar system after another until each one lost its perfect, precarious
balance and tumbled its components down into the oblivion. 

Civilizations rose and fell; planets slowly cooled, lost their atmosphere and
turned to barren rock; species evolved, achieved sentience, found their way to
the stars and traveled far beyond the region where the destroyer dwelled; and
throughout it all the great force continued to consume entire constellations. 

It was an unusual killer, spinning like a voracious tornado as it reached out
for whatever it could consume, and that circling momentum gave it a power over
space and time which most of its brethren did not exercise. It wrapped itself
in the surrounding magnetic fields, twisting and tightening the energies into
cables of spatial and temporal distortions which spun out from the hub for
thousands of metras. 

The spinning was a miniscule tax on the beast's strength, however, and
eventually the black hole overreached itself, consuming all the mass within its
vast reach. With each passing century less and less space detritus edged
towards it, and the ring of debris and trapped light circling at the event
horizon slowed imperceptibly as the gravity well lost an infinitesimal amount
of its grasp on mass and energy. 

The moment finally came when the energy stored there overpowered the grasp of
the black hole, and in a nano-microt the light, mass and energy trapped at the
point of no return finally escaped. An explosive flash of light and heat
smashed out through the surrounding area of space, waves of gravity distortion
carried much of the rock and ice away from its prison and the black hole slept. 

But it wasn't dead. It waited, holding a tenuous grasp on almost enough mass
and energy to resume its destructive habits. It slumbered while it waited for
the one piece of debris soaring aimlessly through the galaxies which would
chance to fall upon the sleeper and give it the last bit of mass to awaken it
once again. 

********** 

CHAPTER 1 

Moya was enjoying a rare opportunity for free flight. All Leviathans enjoyed
undirected flight through space, but rarely took the time to delight in its
freedom. They preferred to serve those who lived within them and found greater
satisfaction in carrying them where they bid. But the past eighteen solar days
had been quiet ones, a rarity for Moya and everyone aboard her. Her crew had
found a brief period of peace and they were allowing Moya to chose the route
from one star system to the next as they assisted with her repairs, replenished
supplies and resumed what they considered a normal pace and rhythm of life. 

The past two cycles since she had escaped from the Peacekeepers had been a
nightmarish period of one violent encounter after another. Her burned tiers
were almost healed now, scars thickening into what might become permanent
gnarled cicatrices within her corridors. Not even Moya or her Pilot knew
whether those corridors and chambers would ever fully heal, returning to their
lustrous golden glow, nutrients moving beneath a shimmering surface. 

Moya sometimes felt that if she were given enough time and rest she might be
able to fully heal, but she tried to shield those feelings from Pilot. She was
reluctant to place her own desire for her hull to return to its original beauty
ahead of the needs and desires of her crew, and she didn't want Pilot to have
to carry the burden of her wishes as well. But in this moment as she dove and
swooped through space, choosing the longest route to the next solar system
instead of the shortest, she felt as young and full of life as she had the
first day she had joined with a Pilot and taken her place as a Leviathan
transport. 

Moya detected a small nebula a short distance out of their way. Her sensors
detected that the nebula was full of energy currents and random gravity
patterns, swirling pockets of ions and plasma. In greater amounts, these would
represent a threat to Moya, but in small amounts such as this nebula it would
be like a human diving into a cool pond of water. 

The diversion would add almost an entire solar day to their journey, and Moya
became unsure whether she was justified in the additional delay just to take a
swim, so she sent the sensor data and an enquiry to her pilot. In the cycles
since Pilot had been neurologically joined with Moya, they had never had the
chance to dive into a benign nebula, and his excitement at the opportunity was
obvious as he relayed Moya's request to the crew. The answers came back
universally in the affirmative, and they altered course toward a quick
Leviathan splash. 

********** 

John Crichton was lying on the floor of the maintenance bay working on his
module. He was trying to repair a hydraulic fluid leak in the main strut of one
of the landing gear, and it wasn't going particularly well because he didn't
have the right material to replace the seals. Both arms were almost completely
inside the craft, and leaking hydraulic fluid streaked down both arms and was
soaking into an already filthy T-shirt. 

As he struggled to stop the leak long enough to get the strut cylinder out of
the craft he reflected that the landing gear had seen a lot of hard use over
the last quarter cycle, and even harder abuse before that. No, he thought
severely, he had promised himself he wouldn't let his thoughts stray back to
what had happened then. 

He began to sing in order to give himself something else to fix his thoughts
on, quietly and just slightly off key at first, but finding the pitch and
falling into a steady baritone. 

"In Amsterdam there lived a maid, mark well what I do say, 
In Amsterdam there lived a maid, and she was never seen afraid, 
I'll go no more a ro-oavin' with you fair maid. 
A roavin', a roavin', since roavins been my roo-eye-in, 
I'll go no more a ro-oavin with you fair maid." 

John was aware that most of the songs he had been singing lately were missing
some of the original lyrics, but he had begun to reconcile himself to that fact
that he was never going to remember them, and just filled in the rhyme as best
he could whenever a piece was lost to time and human memory. Okay, some of his
variations weren't spectacular but creating lyrics was not the usual occupation
of an astronaut. 

"Her eyes are like two stars so bright, mark well what I do say, 
Her eyes are like two stars so bright, her smile is great, her step is light --
" 

He couldn't remember when he had begun singing this particular song, but he
found it somehow reassuring lately. It was the one he usually chose when he was
feeling relaxed and content. Come to think of it, he reflected as he continued
to work, he couldn't even remember when he had first learned this song. It
might have been the High School dance when -- no, he remembered that night like
it had happened yesterday. 

He continued to sing and struggle with the module as he ran through memories of
his college and post-graduate days, trying to remember when he had learned the
lyrics to this old tune and why it seemed to have so much significance to him.
" -- Her cheeks are like the rosebuds red, there's gorgeous hair upon her head,
I'll go no more a ro-oavin' with you fair maid--" 

The recent lull in the usual frantic - or was that frenetic? - pace aboard Moya
had given everyone on board, including Pilot and Moya, some greatly needed
rest. 'Rest and revitalize,' John mused as one end of the strut finally came
loose and the module settled slightly as its weight came down onto the shipping
cases John had carefully placed under its fuselage before starting his repairs.
He glanced above his head from his place on the floor to make sure the module
was resting securely before he resumed his struggle to detach the other end of
the strut. 

'Rest, revitalize, shop, do laundry, clean my bedroom, take out the trash, and
change the shocks in the car,' he smiled. Sometimes life on Moya wasn't really
all that different from the life he had on Earth. 

"--since roavins been my roo-eye-in, I'll go no more a ro-oavin with you fair
maid." The entire strut came loose in a shower of hydraulic fluid, soaking the
once gray T-shirt and dumping most of the liquid in the crotch of his decrepit
black fatigues. He sat up and looked at the mess with a combined expression of
humor and disgust. It was then that he saw the pair of boots standing only
inches away from his own feet and looked up at the not quite glowering face of
Aeryn Sun. 

"Crichton, you seem to delight in getting absolutely, impossibly filthy -- and
this time you have out done yourself," she said, but there seemed to be
something in her expression which did not agree with the severity of her tone. 

John got to his feet, carefully keeping the strut upright in order to preserve
what little hydraulic fluid remained inside. He crab walked sideways toward
her, hoping he was doing a brilliant Igor imitation, which Aeryn wouldn't
understand anyway but felt good. "Give us a hug?" 

Aeryn clicked her tongue, managing a derogatory noise, and backed away. "We
gave up trying to call you for Midday Meal," she refused to call it by his term
of 'lunch'. Looking him over, she did not see what she was looking for, "Of
course, Rygel gave up sooner than the rest of us. Why aren't you wearing your
comms?" 

As an answer Crichton just continued to hold his arms open and advanced toward
her. "Give us a hug? A nice warm slippery messy hug? I left my comms over on
the work bench for OBVIOUS reasons, but I forgot, you're not a tech worker! You
couldn't see that this was a Don't-Wear-Your-Comms kind of a job." 

Aeryn continued to back across the hangar bay, filled with a familiar sense of
being unarmed against John's sillier behaviors. Frowning, she searched for a
humorous response to what was obviously an attempt at teasing her. She finally
tried, "Don't make me shoot you John!" and made a show of reaching for her
pulse pistol. 

John did laugh and stopped his advance, walking over to a workbench instead
where he carefully tipped the remaining fluid out of the cylinder in his hand
and into a container. He looked back at his module and realized that there was
a slick of hydraulic fluid starting to spread outwards from where he had been
working. He found his comms where he had left it on the workbench. 

"Pilot?" 

"Yes John," came the calm voice. 

"I made a rather large --", he paused as Aeryn made a snorting noise, " -- OK,
I made a, umm, Crichtonesquely large mess in the maintenance bay." He looked to
see if she approved of his term. "Could you send a couple of DRDs down to clean
this up, please." 

Yes, Commander," the response was slower and had Pilot's 'oppressed' drawl
wrapped around it. "I'll have two DRDs report to clean up after you
immediately." 

"Thank you Pilot. Oh, and can you have them --" 

"I'll have them save as much of your module's fluids as is possible." 

"Aeryn, I'll get cleaned up and then come scrounge for some leftovers. What did
you have to eat?" 

"Actually," she paused as they walked out of the hangar, "I was waiting to eat
with you. But you have to go take a shower first," she added hastily before he
could turn back from the corridor which led to Quarters. 

"Come up and chat while I get changed?" 

Aeryn nodded her assent and they began to walk through Moya's golden corridors,
not needing to talk for a bit, but being satisfied to be together and just
listening to the rhythmic sounds of Moya's systems. The steady beat of the bio-
mechanoid life form's various rumbles were reassuring to those who lived within
her now. 

Finally Aeryn asked, "What was that song you were singing? It sounded familiar,
almost as if it were a song I heard when I was growing up." 

"Peacekeeper Glee Club? I never suspected!" He changed his tone quickly when
she glared at him with the expression she normally saved for when she couldn't
understand his human terms. "I don't really remember where I learned that song
myself, it just popped into my head on its own a quarter cycle or more ago. I -
- like it." He shrugged, not knowing whhat else to say. 

"So do I -- but what is "roo-eye-in?" 

"Ruin, Aeryn, it's just 'ruin' stretched out to give the song some extra
bounce." 

"Oh really, I supposed that's another Earth thing? Just changing words because
you can't find the right one in order to rhyme?" 

John didn't rise to the taunt and remained careful about keeping the tone of
the conversation light as they moved up through Moya's tiers to where their
personal chambers were located. Aeryn had been in an especially volatile mood
ever since they returned from the commerce planet the day before, and he was
relieved that she had made the gesture of waiting to eat until they were
together. He knew from experience how long it took Aeryn to work through being
angry with him, and this time it looked like they were running well ahead of
schedule. 

"How have you been feeling today? Do you still have a headache?" she asked
after several more microts of silence between them. 

"Not nearly as bad as it was this morning," Crichton answered, and held the
heels of both hands to his temples, testing to see if any portion of the
headache remained. "That zucchini plant that I got from you to chew on --" 

"The Zeccan plant which Zhaan gave ME to chew," Aeryn interjected, seeming
again to be on the verge of anger. 

'What the frell did I just say?' Crichton thought, baffled by Aeryn's sudden
change in mood. Maybe they weren't that far ahead of schedule after all. "Yes,
the Zeccan which Zhaan gave to you and you let me have is helping." They had
reached Crichton's quarters and he led the way into the converted prison cell,
pulling his shirt off as he entered. He held the filthy shirt out in front of
him and tried to decide if it was worth trying to save it. It was just a gray
T-shirt, but it had come from Earth and it was a tie to home. Before he could
make up his mind, Aeryn stepped from behind him, grabbed the shirt and tossed
it accurately into the waste chute . 

"Aeryn!," Crichton's cry of criticism and protest was cut short when she
continued her aggressive stride right out the door and disappeared down the
corridor. 

"Now what the heck set that off?" He stood motionless for several microts,
baffled by what had just occurred. As he mentally reviewed everything which had
transpired since he noticed Aeryn in the maintenance bay, he gently touched
both his ears. "I don't have the fish!" he spoke to himself, and still had no
idea why Aeryn had been so obviously upset. He considered running after her for
only a moment, but recognized that Aeryn was not in the kind of mood to be
convinced to talk to him. 

The sudden return of the throbbing headache which had been plaguing him since
yesterday didn't help his musings, and he finally gave up in resignation. 'I am
NEVER going to understand these people,' ran through his mind for perhaps the
hundredth time this cycle. The headache was upsetting his stomach now, and he
had begun to ache all over so he opted to take a shower and just try and relax
for the rest of the day. He suddenly didn't feel hungry at all. It just wasn't
turning out to be a particularly good day -- again. 

As Aeryn hurried away from Crichton's quarters she was not angry, she was
ashamed, and she struggled to control an emotion with which she still had very
little experience. When John had pressed his hands to the sides of his head she
had seen that both arms were heavily bruised from wrist to shoulder and she had
felt the first lurch of guilt. 

'I should have been there to prevent those bruises,' rang again and again in
her mind. Then he had taken off his shirt, something he had done dozens of
times since they had both come on board. Only this time his torso was mottled
with the same deep bruises as his arms, wide crimson patches already deepening
to heavy purple and black and spreading as the bleeding beneath the skin
finally came to a stop. 

Aeryn's sense of responsibility went deeper than John's injuries, and as she
struggled to control her emotions, they twisted and mutated into anger at John
for being part of the reason she felt this way. 'Everything was fine until we
went down to that wretched commerce planet yesterday,' she thought vehemently.
'If we had just stayed on board and done our bartering by transmissions instead
of going down to that frelling rock, nothing would have happened!' 

********** 

Captain Zaisar Hasman stood behind Pilot Officer Dai Ekron as the Marauder he
commanded swept through another vector in the search pattern they were flying.
He watched the tactical schematic console which displayed the movements of the
small squadron which had been tracing a methodical search pattern through this
portion of the galaxy for nine solar days. 

The group of ships consisted of Hasman's Marauder, four Prowlers and a
Vigilante light cruiser acting in the capacity of Command Vessel, and after
nine days it wasn't unreasonable to expect that the crews might be fatigued and
starting to lose focus by now. But Captain Hasman had drilled his crew
relentlessly when he took command, and there was no diminished performance on
board HIS ship. He did not feel pleasure as he observed the flawless
performance of his men. It was simply the minimum standard which he always
expected of himself and his crew. 

High Command had dispatched the minimum task force to follow up on reports
concerning an escaped Leviathan prison transport and its offspring. The group
had quickly verified that the Leviathan had been in orbit around two of the
planets in this sector at some time during the last quarter cycle, and began
their painstaking search, hoping that when they located it, they would also
locate the hybrid gunship offspring as well. 

Hasman hadn't been given much more information when he received his orders, but
he had heard a rumor that both ships carried Peacekeeper traitors. 'Traitors,'
he thought, 'how is it that anyone reaching officer rank in the Peacekeepers
would ever consider turning their backs on us. I will not allow these
abominations to continue to run free, spreading their abhorrent disorder
wherever they go." 

High Command's orders concerning the two ships had been unequivocal and more
detailed. They were to capture the gunship offspring and bring it back no
matter what the cost. Even the destruction of the female Leviathan which had
given birth to it was considered an acceptable price to pay, provided that its
destruction led directly to the capture of the young ship. Female Leviathans
capable of reproducing they had plenty of, but the genetic research which had
successfully produced that hybrid were irreplaceable. Personnel aboard the two
fugitive ships were expendable without exception. Hasman shifted his stance as
he reflected on their task, but otherwise remained quiet and still, allowing
his crew to carry out their duties without interruption. 

********** 

CHAPTER 2


The solar day they had spent on the commerce planet had seemed like a three day
weekend away from the office to John Crichton, at least until the last arn of
their visit. Most of Moya's inhabitants had eagerly accepted the opportunity to
go down to another small blue-green planet. With the exception of Aeryn, they
had all grown up under open skies and enjoyed every infrequent chance they got
to "hit dirt", a phrase they had adopted from Crichton's peculiar vocabulary. 

Even Aeryn, who preferred the familiar surroundings of a space craft, had begun
to find some pleasure in visiting planets. She continued to mock John's
fascination with each of the planets they visited, but now it had become just a
humorous game which he didn't seem to mind, as long as she went with him. 

Their need for supplies this time was great enough that they chose to take two
vessels down to the planet. Aeryn rode with John in his module, while D'Argo,
Chiana, Jool and Rygel flew in the transport pod. They expected the pod to be
full enough on the return trip that they would not have room for all six of
them. Only Stark chose to stay on board Moya, but he had been spending most of
his time wandering around the ship dejectedly, still intensely grieving for
Zhaan. Everyone had tried to draw Stark into their company, tried to ease his
grief with companionship, but each attempt seemed only to drive him further
into his own strange world. 

The little group had split up into pairs, working their way first purposefully,
and then more leisurely through the shops and pavilions to barter for practical
supplies, as well as for personal needs. Chiana and D'Argo had disappeared
toward the Mercantile Sector, and Jool and Rygel had grudgingly agreed to start
at the Agricultural Sector, using Jool's extensive knowledge of everyone's
nutritional needs and Rygel's tenacious bargaining skills to refill Moya's
stocks of food. John and Aeryn had started by heading for the Tech Sector where
they hoped to pick up parts both for his module and for some maintenance needed
on the transport pod. 

"Walk, run, or ride?" John asked. Aeryn had insisted on setting down near one
of the less metropolitan areas of the planet for a change. Although the larger
cities had a vastly greater variety of technological goods to offer and had
more centralized shopping areas, Aeryn found the constant crush of bodies and
chaos bothersome. She still found herself scanning for threats or potential
attacks whenever she was in a strange place, and the cramped confines and
bustling streets of the large cities made that a futile effort. 

"How far is it to the Tech Sector, have you seen a schematic or display?" she
asked. 

"Over there," he pointed. "Looks like we could walk out and back, but it'll
take long enough that we probably won't have time to look for anything other
than components." He knew that Aeryn first began to appreciate planetary
landings when she found she that walking from place to place gave her added
exercise. In the cycles since they had met, she had diligently maintained her
soldier's hard, lean physique. 

"No, I'd like to at least get back to the Armaments Sector before we break
orbit. Let's see what they have for ground transport." 

The ground transport system consisted of ground effect trains which were free
to all persons, funded entirely by the retailers and wholesalers in the area.
Moving customers from one sector to another free of charge was considered good
business on this planet, and the trains were clean and quiet, three car units
moving on cushions of air above what looked to John like crushed stone roads.
They waited barely microts at the nearest loading area before the next one
rushed in with a buffet of air and stopped. 

John spotted a few seats at the rear of the last car, outside in the fresh air.
He gestured to Aeryn, stepping aside to allow her to lead the way. Admiring her
lithe form as she pulled herself up the two steps onto the seating platform in
one bound, he quickly followed her example. They both adjusted the position of
their pulse pistols with an unconscious tug as they sat down, relaxing and
enjoying their view as the landscape began to stream away behind the train. 

A quiet chuckle came from John, and Aeryn just waited, knowing that if he found
something amusing he was going to eventually feel that he had to share it with
her. But this time he quieted down and said nothing. 

"What is so funny?" she finally broke down and asked. 

"Having to argue with Rygel to convince him to go buy food for Moya. Having to
argue with any Hynerian to go after food at all!" He continued to smile at the
memory and watched as his favorite expression blossomed on Aeryn's face. "I am
Dominar of over six hundred billion loyal subjects," John stabbed a finger into
the air as he did a credible imitation of Rygel's voice, "and I do not BUY
food, I consume food which is brought to me on the finest Alsolian platters
being born by dozens of beautiful, adoring women." Another of Aeryn's shining
smiles was his reward for the impersonation, and they sat silently but in
harmony for the remainder of the short trip. 

The Tech Sector consisted of wide, open-fronted structures which looked like
warehouses without their front walls or doors. The wares within each alcove
were hidden in the gloom until a customer stepped inside out of the sunlight.
Each owner had dragged displays of material into the open air as a form of
advertising. 

John pointed to one shop, and then a second, only to be answered with a curt
shake of the head each time. Aeryn always seemed to know exactly which shop had
the components and quality they wanted before they ever entered the building.
John tried to see what it was about the displays of used and refurbished parts
which alerted her that a vendor was the one she wanted, but too much of the
material still looked the same to him. 

"Not this place?" he tested, gesturing toward one shop which patently offered
what they were looking for. 

"No, look at these control circuit tabs," she flipped several of the small
units over and pointed out pitting in the substrate. John had long since
learned that this indicated that wherever the units had been taken from, they
had been subjected to extreme heat before being scavenged, enough to ensure
that the tab wouldn't be reliable. 

'But how the hezmana can she tell from six feet away when the tab was bad side
down?' He gave up and just let her lead, watching the slender form in black
leather wind her way through the junk and past other buyers, occasionally
kicking some piece of debris or merchandise out of their way, until she finally
paused and walked into a stall. 

John followed Aeryn in, pausing for only the briefest moment when he saw the
merchant standing in front of a counter. 'Its great-Grandpa Crichton's ice
cream maker,' he thought with a jolt. The being was about two feet tall, just
inches shorter than Rygel, and did have a resemblance to an old fashioned ice
cream maker, except with two cranks. It had the squat, round body covered with
brown slick hair, and a flat breathing opening on top of its -- head? 

He glanced at Aeryn and jerked his head at the critter, raising his eyebrows in
silent enquiry. "Wilket," was her one word explanation. John couldn't see any
feet and its arms jutted out at awkward angles. There must have been feet
somewhere though, because when Aeryn moved off to the left, starting to search
through racks and bins, the wilket went after her, talking in a screeching
dialect which made no sense at all to John's translator microbes. He watched
the two disappear down an aisle, fought to take it all in stride and turned to
the right, working through one collection of bins after another while Aeryn
searched the other side of the building. 

Aeryn found the wiring they needed for the upgrades to the transport pod and
took it back to the counter for purchase. The screeching of the wilket never
stopped and finally began to wear on her patience. "Go get your master!" The
screeching only paused and then resumed at a louder volume. "Go on!" she cried
over the noise. "Get out of here and fetch your master. Let him know we wish to
purchase." She moved toward it, waving her hands in
stop, but the creature scuttled off toward the back of the warehouse. 

John had found some of the tabs, circuitry and even some of the mechanoid
circuits they required, but was still searching the far end of the aisles. He
had watched Aeryn get rid of the little beast, and now he whistled sharply to
get her attention. As soon as she saw him, he began lobbing each unit across
the shop, Aeryn deftly catching them and adding them to the merchandise on the
counter. "Your microbes could understand that thing?" he raised his voice
marginally but enough that she could hear him. 

"No, of course not," the curt tone faded after her initial reaction. "Wilkets
aren't really quite sentient. They have a few minor reasoning skills, but
mostly they are just used in a small business like this to let the servicer
personnel know when someone has come in." 

"A doorbell! That thing was a doorbell?" If Aeryn had trouble with that term
she didn't show it as John arrived at the counter with another double handful
of items. "That ought to do it for the transport and for those modifications we
wanted to try on that clapped out defense screen." 

"What about parts for your ship, John? Anything here which might work?" 

"No, and even if I found parts to replace the original seals in t
cylinders, I still haven't found anything which will replace the fluid." The
frustration in his voice was well hidden, but Aeryn recognized the tone anyway.
John was facing the reality that the module's days might be numbered if he
couldn't find a source of parts for the craft. If it weren't for its freakish
capability to create wormholes, the white pod simply would have no value at all
on this side of the universe. 

"Perhaps one of those junk shops we came by earlier --" she said, raising her
eyebrows over eyes that held devious humor. John's search for a devastatingly
scathing remark was interrupted when the owner of the business finally
appeared, the wilket at his heels. 

John stayed close to Aeryn, just listening, as she haggled prices and delivery
to the transport pod with the merchant, who turned out to be an enormous
bipedal anthropoid looking vaguely human if one could overlook the bright
yellow skin, ears which could swivel independently all the way around to face
behind the creature's head, and the fact that he was almost eight feet tall.
The vendor coughed and sneezed his way through the bartering, something which
didn't seem to bother Aeryn, so John assumed it was peculiar to the species
rather than a disease. 

It wasn't until they were walking back the way they had come and were more than
two hundred feet from the shop that Crichton finally put his hands to his ears,
and twisting his hands back and forth, asked, "Sonar? Echo-location?" 

Aeryn had to think about his meaning for a minute, then answered, "Yes,
Saltaurians can locate objects up to almost a metra away by sound alone." 

'Solariums.' He used one of his twisted mnemonic devices to file the name of
the species. "Nice color yellow, it would brighten up any party." 

"Oh, Saltaurians aren't usually yellow. Normally they're a pale orange color,
they only turn that color when they've contracted Saltauri-Sebacean flu." 

"Flu? Sebacean flu, Aeryn? That thing was sneezing all over us! Maybe the
Peacekeepers inoculated you, maybe not, but what about --" 

"--you? Relax John, that flu strain has mutated so many times it only affects
Saltaurians now. Your human physiology is so close to Sebaceans it would be
practically impossible for you to catch it." 

John didn't argue, but he felt an uneasy feeling crawl over him as he listened
to the certainty in Aeryn's voice. 

********** 

D'Argo and Chiana approached the transport pod, carrying goods which they had
purchased in the Mercantile Sector. D'Argo wore an expression of barely
contained annoyance, but he had stopped grumbling, so Chiana decided she could
convince him to make one more excursion before they left the planet. She went
ahead of D'Argo to open the hatch because he was carrying most of their
purchases, which was the source of his displeasure. 

Although most of the packages were in containers or wrapped up, too many of
Chiana's choices were hanging out of his arms for everyone to see. Argilavian
silks to decorate the walls of her chamber, rough Meltac hide to throw over his
bed, some new leather pants to replace Crichton's which were about to wear
through, and some Raltarian furs for Rygel, all hung out of his arms. "I look
like some sort of apparelist's rack, or a hide dryer's tree," he renewed his
grumbling. 

"D'Argo, we did great." Chiana's angular form darted between him and the rows
of food containers which were already stacked in the back of the pod, taking
his burdens from him and laying them almost carefully among the other items.
"We got everything we wanted, we found some new garments for John, Rygel will
be happy, and we even found a new outfit to replace that horrible armor that
Jool wears!" She laughed. "And we have time to go back to the Leisure Sector
for a raslak," drawing out the last word in a melodic invitation. 

"And what about paying for the raslak? How do you propose to do that?" 

"Aeryn was right about using the smaller towns on this planet. These wellnitz's
couldn't barter their way out of the sack. We have plenty of credits left
still." 

D'Argo looked at her in puzzlement for a moment. "Isn't Crichton's saying 'out
of a paper bag'" He was still pondering the choice of words. 

"Bag, sack, what's the difference? Doesn't sound like any difference to me."
She approached D'Argo and placed a hand on his chest, but was cautious not to
impart any sensuality into the gesture. He had been badly hurt by her behavior
too recently for her to use her wiles to talk him 
into doing what she wanted. "Please D'Argo, just one raslak. You know it'll do
you good." She cocked her head, eyes imploring him to agree to her suggestion. 

D'Argo's tentacles swung about his shoulders as he shook his head. Chiana's
face began to fall, but then he said "Just one. Then we come back and wait for
the others." Chiana laughed and bounced toward the hatch of the transport pod. 

The late afternoon sun was lengthening the shadows in the market place and
Crichton was feeling tired, thirsty and annoyed at both Aeryn and himself. When
they had completed their transactions in the Tech Sector, he had proposed
taking the trains back to either the Mercantile Sector or to the landing area
where they had left the transport. He needed certain personal clothing items
and he didn't entirely trust D'Argo and Chiana to get him exactly the items he
wanted. 'No one in the Uncharted Territories offers what I really want, but
mail order takes forever.' 

When Aeryn balked and said she wanted to walk back by way of the Armaments
Sector, John had given in easily. He had not lost his fascination for the
variety of life forms, noises, and conversations to be found in the
marketplaces of commerce planets. And if he could spend relaxed time with Aeryn
it was even more worthwhile. But the excursion had somehow turned into a
marathon of examining weapons and his patience was wearing thin. 

"Aeryn, let's skip the last couple of shops and go get something to eat and
drink." 

"You go ahead if you want John, I just want to look at what this shop over here
has for sale." 

Aeryn stalked into one more small shop which stood at the edge of the Armaments
Sector. This last row of buildings offering weaponry shared an open plaza with
the Leisure Sector, which contained refreshment houses, bars, and restaurants.
John watched her as she disappeared into the building, her thick black braid
bouncing lightly between her shoulder blades in time with her athletic stride. 

He looked across the tree shaded plaza at what was obviously a bar of some
sort, which had a regular stream of customers entering and leaving. The
departing patrons frequently carried metal beverage containers, and despite not
knowing what was in them, John felt his thirst ratchet up a few notches. 

As he paused to consider his choices, he noticed D'Argo and Chiana entering the
bar. 'At last, they are finally doing things together again. It's about time.'
He was pleased that they had mended their friendship. He considered the pair
for a microt, but then turned and followed Aeryn after all, who had stopped
just inside the shadow being cast by the open front building. 

"Oh baby, you'd look so good with one of these," he lowered his voice into a
deep whisper, "I know you just love to accessorize with black. You're an
accessory kind of a girl." Moving close behind her, and placing one hand on her
shoulder, he leaned forward around her and pointed to some sort of large hand
weapon. Aeryn responded by giving him a gentle elbow in the solar plexus, and
then leaned back against him as she looked over their heads at weapons hung in
the rafters. Her body suddenly tightened. 

"How about that?" Aeryn pointed at a strange weapon directly over their heads,
speaking in a quiet tone, but transmitting a frisson of excited interest to
John through their body contact. 

"What -- ?" 

"-- whichss one?" 

Crichton and the shop owner spoke at the same time, unsure who she was
addressing. John steadied himself with one hand on a display case, and leaving
the other on Aeryn's shoulder to steady her in turn, looked straight up. "Which
one?" 

"The third one from the left in the front." She looked at the owner
inquisitively. 

"I hafss only one ofss thoss available," he spoke through intimidating fangs,
but seemed a gentle individual despite the length of his incisors. "Verry rarre
itemsss. Verry expensifess." 

Crichton's attention was divided between observing the movements of the alien
merchant and the warm, full body contact of Aeryn as she continued to lean
against him, looking upwards as the weapon was retrieved. As a result, he
almost missed her next statement, and realizing belatedly what she had said, he
overreacted. 

"You'll TAKE it? Just like that, without haggling?" 

Aeryn pushed herself away from John and spun to face him. "Yes! Shut up
Crichton." 

"Aeryn, we don't need another god-damned weapon! We are wading through piles of
death dealing doodads on board Moya as it is. Whatever this is, we don't need
it." He had lowered his voice, but the interest on the face of the merchant
showed that he was still able to hear their discussion. 

"Crichton, you don't know what you are talking about," she ground through
clenched teeth and a hair thin smile as she glanced back at the shop owner.
"Now be a good little man and go away and let me finish the purchase of this
'gotdamt' weapon." 

Perhaps it was the 'good little man', perhaps it was the clenched teeth which
reminded him of a patronizing teacher he had been forced to endure throughout
the fifth grade, John wasn't sure, but he didn't just go away. He turned toward
the street and lowered his head to speak directly to Aeryn, but they were still
overheard. 

"You don't have to buy every stupid weapon you come across. Stop being a
frelling Peacekeeper for just one minute, would you? Weapons are part of what
got us in such a world of hurt on Jocacea." 

The shopkeeper's eyes widened at the word 'peacekeeper' and Aeryn felt her
purchase slipping away from her, but she also felt censure in the way John
mentioned her breeding and what had happened on Jocacea, both being part of her
heritage. Aeryn suddenly grabbed him by the front of his leather vest and
dragged him out of the shop. John went abruptly silent because she had never
treated him in such a manner in public, not since the very first time they had
met. There had been the occasional altercation between them, but always in the
relative privacy of Moya. 

"THAT is a Tarak Silencer, big brother to the Tarak Deployer I was able to
trade for on the space station. No one can get their hands on those anymore --
no one but me ... right ... now." She spaced her last words out for emphasis.
"A Tarak Silencer will give us the greatest amount of firepower possible in a
hand held weapon. Moya does not have any weapons, so we need that firepower." 

John started to open his mouth, but she launched back in again. "If you told me
what you were going to do with General Grines, and had listened to me and let
me use WEAPONS, maybe things would have turned out differently on Jocacea. Now
let me go back in there and buy that Silencer." 

"That's a cheap shot Aeryn, we all screwed up. We've talked about this since
then and -- " 

"Yes, but you screwed up without even discussing it with any of the rest of
us." As angry as Crichton was, Aeryn was angrier and her voice ran over his,
drowning out his arguments. "This is getting to be a very old discussion, John.
You don't have all the answers, but you think you know how to handle things
better than anyone else on Moya. You make decisions for the rest of us which
you shouldn't be making at all." 

Aeryn was still filled with guilt and pain resulting from their lack of
foresight when they left Jocacea, which had resulted in the slaughter of
innocents, and she couldn't stop the tumble of accusations which flowed out of
her now. She felt a small pang of surprise at some of her words though, because
she didn't really blame John, it just came out sounding that way. 

John stood without answering her, his body crying out with the signs of anger
and hurt, but she couldn't find a way to back down. She released the grip she
still held on his vest and shoved him away. She walked back to the vendor and
repeated, "How much is it?" 

John was humiliated by her treatment, by his own behavior, and by the truth of
what she had said about their experience with the Venek Horde. 'What's worse,'
he mused, 'is that if just I had stayed, my presence alone probably could have
stopped the slaughter.' But it would have also meant sacrificing his life in
the place of the slaughtered nurses. 

He meandered slowly across the plaza, idly watching the foot traffic while he
struggled to get at least his temper under control, even if his emotions were
still inflamed. 'That conversation was a fiasco from start to finish,' he
realized. 'I screwed up the beginning, but Aeryn sure took her pound of flesh
out of me.' He remembered then that D'Argo and Chiana were probably still in
the bar just across the street, and quickened his pace, hoping to find a
sympathetic ear. 

D'Argo had initially refrained from any of the drinks offered at the bar, and
had stood looking out of one of the glassless windows in the front of the bar
while Chiana ordered a raslak for herself. He had seen John and Aeryn across
the plaza, but hadn't wanted to interrupt their time together. He enjoyed
watching them at moments like this. When the two of them were together, they
moved in a strange choreography, seldom touching and often a short distance
apart, but always linked and in tune. Even when they argued on Moya, there was
a connectivity which their anger never seemed to break. He could see them now,
just inside the shop, John's hand lightly on her shoulder. 

'I had that for a short time,' he knew, 'with Lo-Lann.' His time with his
Sebacean wife had been short, however, and had ended in death and imprisonment.
He glanced across at Chiana who was flirting with some males who were dressed
in the local fashion. 'My time with Chiana was wonderful, but it wasn't the
same.' 

He decided to have a drink to dull the treble sense of loss. He had lost his
wife, he had lost his tumultuous affair with Chiana, and he had lost the
richness of the intimate but non-sexual bond Crichton and Aeryn shared for the
moment. 'Well, three times the loss, three times the drink.' 

"Give me two more of these!" he called to the servicer. Pretty soon he was
feeling pretty good, and ordered two more raslaks. As the additional drinks
arrived, he looked again across the room at Chiana, about to motion her to join
him, only to spot her sitting in the lap of one of the locals, her hand high up
on his thigh. D'Argo felt something start to build within him, a deep
overwhelming fury rising from the most primeval part of his psyche moved out of
its hiding place and took him over. The drink, the loss, and the sight of
Chiana all combined to feed the rage. 

As John's eyes adjusted to the half-light inside the bar, he spotted D'Argo
striding quickly toward him and began to smile a welcome. Suddenly he
recognized the aggression in the figure, and his brain took in the bellows of
fury. 'Oh hell, he's on the verge of hyper-rage!' 

********** 

CHAPTER 3 

"Incoming transmission from the Vigilante, sir." The sergeant standing at the
communications position looked to where Captain Hasman maintained his
unwavering watch over the operation of his ship. A Marauder wasn't as plush and
prestigious as a Command Carrier or a Vigilante Cruiser, but Hasman understood
that if he took good care of this crew and ship it would lead to a promotion.
That meant unwavering attention to its operation. 

"What is it?" 

"We've been ordered to take up a new directional vector, sir. Primna six, lerg
four, and execute search pattern Decka Eight, four thousand metras beyond the
quadrant covered by the Prowlers, sir." 

"What's over there? What are we looking for in that area?" 

The entire crew knew that when a ship was taken out of a search pattern before
it was completed, it meant that there was something of extreme importance which
needed to be examined. Three pairs of eyes were on Hasman as he reached to
adjust the navigation console to review the new area of space. Pilot Officer
Ekron was again at the flight controls and did not take his eyes from his
display for even a split-microt. Hasman noticed, and felt a sense of
satisfaction that his drilling of this crew had paid off. 

The sergeant at communications continued listening to the transmissions in his
earpiece and then relayed to his captain. "A Leviathan with a number of
different species on board was reported in that system within the last solar
day. There's a Class Eight nebula in the new search grid area which might cloak
an object the size of the Leviathan. We are the only ship with the new multi-
photonic sensors which can cope with the plasma in the nebula, sir." 

Hasman was doubtful. A Class Eight nebula was quite small. It would certainly
hold a Leviathan, but unless the creature was careful about moving around
within the swirling formation, it would be detectable by standard sensors
anytime it moved near the edges of the disturbance. But Hasman didn't question
his orders at any moment. He nodded to his subordinate at Navigation, who fed
the new coordinates to Officer Ekron. The Marauder swung away from the rest of
the searching ships and headed toward the nebula. 

********** 

John was aware of Chiana standing off to one side, calling to him, but he
couldn't hear her words. He stood absolutely still, his mind running at top
speed as D'Argo continued to advance toward him, flinging chairs and tables
aside as if they were balsawood stage replicas. He felt like a rabbit trying to
hide in plain view by not moving, his body freezing like a statute while his
mind desperately sought a way to get out of this alive and uninjured. Crockery
and glass exploded around the room as the bar's patrons began scrambling toward
the door. 

<<"John, I suggest you run. I am aware that you are contemplating trying to
talk Ka D'Argo out of his current state, but it is not a wise idea." Scorpius'
voice rang in his psyche. >> 

<<The portion of his mind which dealt with the neural clone suddenly found
itself inside a smoky boxing gym. Scorpius was in the ring shadow boxing,
incongruous white satin boxing trunks and high white boxing shoes worn over his
usual black leather. "I could hear you considering talking him 'down' from his
present state," Scorpius threw a flurry of jabs and shuffled around the ring,
"but Luxans have a reputation of never recovering from hyper-rage without some
form of physical release.">> 

<<"Scorpy, this really isn't a good time for a chat." John walked to the ring,
grabbed the lowest rope, leaned back and bounced against its elasticity.>> 

<<"If you try and reason with him John, any other time may be too late -- for
both of us.">> 

The major portion of his mind registered that D'Argo had stopped eight feet
from him and was bellowing in Luxan. Since his translator microbes weren't
providing an English context to the words, it was a fair bet that it was all
profanity. John inched to one side of the insane figure, neither advancing nor
retreating, but trying to reach an uncluttered portion of the floor. 

<<"I didn't call for you Scorpy, and I don't think you're right. This time I'm
going to help D'Argo work his way out of hyper-rage instead of letting him sink
into violence. He doesn't want to hurt anyone, he just can't always control
what his genetics made him." John could feel the barely contained anger left
over from his confrontation with Aeryn welling up inside him and turning itself
into a stubborn refusal to listen to anyone's advice, least of all the
Scorpius-clone's.>> 

<<"I hope I can come back later to tell you 'I told you so', John. But if you
really are going to try this --" Scorpius stopped talking and began climbing
out of the boxing ring through the ropes.>> 

<<"What? Where you going Scorpy?" John danced toward him in a series of boxing
shuffles, throwing punches into the air.>> 

<<"Well, let's just say that I don't want to share your experiences during the
outcome. Goodbye for a while John.">> 

Back in the bar, D'Argo still hadn't advanced any further, and John decided
that he still had a chance to reason with the huge berserker. Looking up at his
friend, who towered six inches taller than him, Crichton made a start. 

"Hey, D'Argo, hang on a microt man --" and that's all it took to push D'Argo
over the edge. 

He bellowed "Crich-ton!" and charged forward. John scrambled back toward the
door, knocking over chairs as he tried to retreat while still keeping an eye on
D'Argo. He had seen him in full hyper-rage like this only once before, almost
three cycles ago, and that time he had been afforded plenty of time and a head
start in order to run away and hide. This time D'Argo had just reached the
pinnacle of hyper-rage, and for a reason he still didn't understand, it was
once again aimed at him. 

He was losing ground quickly so he abandoned the look-but-run strategy, turned
his back on his temporarily psychopathic friend and bolted for the door. 'What
could I have done to deserve this exceptional attention?' The ridiculous
thought skittered through his mind as he vaulted over a table, scattering
dishes and glasses. 'Last time it was just because I was a male, but I suppose
it's just as well that I still qualify for that criteria.' 

He felt the edge of futility approaching as he tripped over a chair and
scrambled up again. 'I hate it when Scorpy's right,' was the last coherent
thought that went through his mind as he felt D'Argo's hand grasp the back of
his vest and then he was casually tossed back across the room, smashing into a
group of chairs that had been shoved into a tumble when D'Argo first began his
rampage. 

The next few minutes were a maelstrom of images as Crichton just tried to ride
out D'Argo's fury. He rolled out of the wreckage of chairs and wrapped his arms
around his head, trying to at least protect his skull. He was momentarily aware
that customers were yelling and stampeding in an effort to leave the scene of
his impending murder, and then he was lost to bludgeoning Luxan ferocity. 

He could feel as he was plucked up effortlessly and knew there was a hurricane
of battering which drove him back to the floor, but his mind hid from the
ordeal, prevented him from feeling the pain. The storm continued unabated. He
was again dragged to his feet and this time flung into the remainder of the
crowd which was still trying to exit. 'Softer landing that time,' he thought
soggily and tried to curl into a protective ball again. When nothing else
happened he cautiously looked up. 

D'Argo was standing only three feet away, the muzzle of Aeryn's pulse pistol a
scant inch away from his face. He was not in total control of his anger yet,
but he had regained enough awareness to know that Aeryn was serious about
stopping any further violence against John. The warrior took one huge breath
and stalked out of the building. 

"Are you all right?" Holstering her weapon, Aeryn looked down where he was
still partially curled up on the floor. 

"I'm just peachy," he started and found he was suddenly breathless. He rolled
over onto his back, but before he could thank her, Aeryn stalked out of the
building also. "Well I'm certainly continuing to win friends and influence
people today. I wonder what evil star soared into my universe this morning?" He
sat up and waited for his head to stop spinning. 

"Hey Crichton, why did you say something like that to D'Argo to set him off?"
Chiana crouched down nearby and peered at him. 

"I didn't say anything, Pip. He tossed me before I got a chance." 

"You must have said something," she straightened up and offered a hand to pull
him to his feet. "I was trying to tell you to just get the frell out of here." 

"He never gave me a chance -- and why's he mad at me this time?" Crichton
didn't stay on his feet long, but sank back to a sitting position with his back
against a wall and cradled his now aching head in his hands. "Wow, I haven't
had a ride like that since we went to Disneyworld when I was nine." 

"I haven't any idea. Listen, I'm going to go after D'Argo and see if he's
calmed down. Is that all right Crichton?" she crouched near him again and
examined his face carefully. "You look pretty good considering how badly you
fought back," and gave a quick laugh. "That was actually pretty amazing to
watch, you should have charged everyone credits to watch." 

Then she was gone. 'Should have sold tickets! Some things don't change no
matter what galaxy I call home.' John got an elbow on the seat of a chair and
levered himself back on to his feet. He tested all the moving parts and was
pleased to find that everything worked fine. His head still ached a bit, just a
dull throbbing pain now, and his chest was sore inside. 'I probably held my
breath through the entire debacle,' he guessed, but essentially he was
unharmed. Nodding to several of the cautiously returning patrons he walked
carefully to the door and headed back to the landing fields to find Aeryn and
get a ride back to Moya. 

John's afternoon did not improve a great deal after leaving the bar. As he
approached the gates to what he termed in his own mind "The Airport", John saw
what was unmistakably Moya's transport pod taking off. 'Well, that's not all
that bad,' he tried to see the bright side of the situation, 'since riding in
the transport with D'Argo might start the entire fracas again.' The module was
parked about half a metra further down the field though and with his chest
still feeling as though he wasn't getting enough oxygen John didn't relish the
walk. He had only covered a quarter of the distance though when he saw the
module departing as well. 

"Well this is a fine situation you've gotten us into, Olly!" John intoned,
earning himself a peculiar look from a stranger walking by. He activated his
comms. "Aeryn?" No answer. “D’Argo or Chiana can you hear me?“ No
answer again, perhaps they were still in the atmosphere where air friction and
turbulence would attenuate the signal too severely to be received. "Pilot?" 

"Yes John?" 

John had never been able to figure out what Pilot's ground rules were for
determining whether he called him 'John', 'Crichton' or 'Commander', but it
seemed that the bigger mess he got himself into, the more informal Pilot's
address became. He was lucky he wasn't being called 'John-Boy' today. 

"The others have left the planet in both the transport and the module, and left
me behind. Is this a hint I should be paying attention to?" 

"Hint? I'm not familiar with that concept, but I am sure it is just an
oversight. Perhaps each vehicle assumed you were in the other. I will contact
the transport pod and instruct them to return for you." 

"NO!" John got his voice back under control and continued more calmly. "Pilot,
the transport is full of supplies which will need to be unloaded. Why don't you
just ask Aeryn to come back for me." 

"Very well John, I will contact Officer Sun." 

When the module landed again, John was still standing, leaning against the
barricade which ran all the way around the field. He did his best to saunter
nonchalantly over to his own craft, waving for Aeryn to remain in the pilot's
seat when she started to unbuckle and move out of his usual spot. "You're
already strapped in, go ahead and fly back." He managed to slide in behind
Aeryn without yelping as his sore muscles complained at the cramped position.
He was just happy that he didn't have to handle the flight back. 

Aeryn expertise with any form of space craft was still far beyond John's, even
when she was flying his module, but when she set the small craft down in the
hangar bay, it settled with a slight thump which reverberated through the
craft. A quiet grunt of pain was forced out of John despite his best
intentions, his already stiffening muscles objecting to the sudden lurch. He
managed to rearrange his expression to his best imitation of normalcy before
Aeryn turned around. 

"Are you sure you're alright?" 

"Abso-frelling-lutely. Takes more than a short waltz with a ragin' Luxan to
take the starch out of an astronaut." He could see he had pretty much baffled
Aeryn with his answer. 

"I believe D'Argo has finally scattered what few wits Crichton had to begin
with." Rygel was floating next to the cockpit in his chair, his earbrows at
full height, as he enjoyed a rare opportunity to badger John. "How you can
continue to exceed the capability of translator microbes never ceases to amaze
me. And how you can continue to provoke your own ship mates into violence never
ceases to amuse me." 

"Rygel, go away." Aeryn was already out of the cockpit and striding away, so he
now had enough room to hoist himself up with his arms and swing his legs over
the side. He slid down the side of the ship to a fairly graceful landing. "Just
bug off." Much to his relief Rygel didn't argue. The Hynerian began to open his
mouth for a retort, looked piercingly at Crichton, and then simply left. 

John watched, bemused, as the Throne Sled sailed away across the hanger. He
wasn't going to admit it to anyone but he felt terrible and wanted nothing more
than to go take a shower and then to go to bed. But life was never that easy
and D'Argo was heading toward him now. John waited for him, leaning against the
Farscape I, and felt tension crawl back into his body. 

"John --" 

"D'Argo?" 

"I don't know the words for what I need to say," D'Argo paused, truly at a loss
for words. 

'This is one humble Bumble,' John almost grinned at the vision, but kept his
face straight for the sake of his friend's feelings. "D'Argo, it's a Luxan
thing, don't sweat it. Just tell me one thing -- were you mad at ME?" 

"No John. I don't even know what I was mad at, I was just angry." 

"Then it's OK and there's a way you can make it up to me." 

"Anything." 

"Do my share of unloading the supplies, hunh? I think I'm just going to go get
cleaned up." He clapped his warrior friend lightly on the shoulder and
sauntered out of the hangar bay, heading for his room and a hot shower. 

D'Argo watched the human stroll away, seemingly without any concern about what
had happened on the planet. He almost went after him, because he hadn't been
quite honest with John. When he had tried to prepare an explanation for John
inside his own mind, he'd found that he couldn't begin to put his feelings into
words or concepts at all. How could he explain that it had been pure jealousy,
not of Crichton, but of something which Crichton had which he might never again
experience? How could he explain the sense of loss and loneliness to John, of
all people? 

Aeryn overheard the exchange, said nothing, and returned to helping unload
supplies. She tried to understand how Crichton continued to forgive everyone so
easily. She wasn't blind. She knew there were times when John couldn't let go
of his anger, and would settle into an unyielding stubbornness which could
exceed the combined capacity of the entire crew at times. But in this situation
she hadn't even begun to forgive D'Argo or herself yet, and John had already
moved beyond the incident. Their behavior had been inexcusable -- D'Argo had
attacked John without provocation, and she had snapped at him outside the shop
for no good reason which drove him right into the arms of D'Argo's rage -- and
John just didn't seem to care. 

She watched his relaxed figure as he disappeared into Moya's corridor and gave
herself a small shake of the head, still amazed at his attitude. 

She knew now that she hadn't gotten mad at Crichton when he made his comment
about being a Peacekeeper, or for what he said about Jocacea. She'd been angry
and hurt the microt he had simply disagreed with her. The whole thing was
ridiculous. He hadn't meant anything by what he said, so why did it bother her
so much? She shook her head, trying to dispel the unaccustomed thoughts.
Perhaps she could talk to John about it in the morning. 

John finished his shower and clad in no more than shorts, looked at himself in
the mirror. Not all that bad considering, but the next two or three days might
get pretty ugly until his bruises started to fade. Already his arms and
shoulders were stiffening to the point that he couldn't be bothered taking off
two days worth of beard. He knew it was very likely that he would not be able
to do it at all the next morning, and wished he had shaved before heading to
the planet, but he wasn't going to bother at this point. 

All of his joints ached, even his legs, although he didn't remember getting hit
below the waist. D'Argo's anger had been blind and John had been pummeled
primarily around his arms, shoulders, and mid-body. 'Must have been one of
those flying Walendas D'Argo treated me to,' he surmised. He slid a T-shirt
over his head, covering the worst of the bruises, and then indulged himself by
slithering under the covers into his bed on his stomach, as he had when he was
young. 

Reaching into a container standing on a cargo case next to the bed, he scooped
a dentic out of its liquid habitat and popped it into his mouth. He lay on his
bed for the few minutes it took for the little creature to efficiently remove
all the bacteria and microscopic food particles from his entire palate, and
while he waited he allowed his thoughts to drift idly through what had happened
on the planet today. He had managed to piss Aeryn off, draw D'Argo's rage, get
dissed by Chiana, and amuse Sparky. Jool was always annoyed with everyone on
board, so he decided he could discount her attitude. 

'Quite a score for one day, but still doesn't explain why everyone was on my
case.' He failed to come to any further conclusions. When the dentic stopped
moving around he knew it had completed its symbiotic job and that his peculiar
little pet was fed for the day. He rolled on his back, spat the little beast
into his hand and sent it arcing toward its container. It splashed accurately
back into its watery home. 

"Yessss! The kid hits from outside the line -- three points!" He rolled on to
his side and was instantly asleep. 

********** 

Hasman's Marauder located the nebula without difficulty, the directional
vectors having been precise. They slowed and began the spherical search pattern
which would allow them to detect any mechanical or biomechanoid ship within the
phenomenon. Even with the new adaptive sensors it was going to take several
cycles to ensure that nothing was hiding within the swirling clutter of
interstellar material. 

********** 

The next morning John woke to the reality that maybe he wasn't really fine, and
that he absolutely wasn't able to get out of bed. He was so stiff he couldn't
sit up. He finally discovered that he could roll over onto his stomach, then he
hunched up like an inch worm until he could flop into a sitting position, and
finally crawled out of bed. He thought about staying in bed the entire 
day, but decided that moving would be better for him. To that end, he slowly
hitched himself into the shower and stayed under the hot water until he could
move at a pace approaching normal. 

He still had a pounding headache and his chest felt tight. The slightest bit of
exertion left him sweating and short of breath, but he knew that would pass in
time. What he needed now was something to eat -- 'Scratch that idea!' he
thought as the mental vision of food brought on a wave of nausea. 'What I need
is a little Percodan, maybe some Codeine.' What did they use in the Uncharted
Territories? Then he remember the plant Zhaan had given Aeryn. Chewing its
leaves provided an analgesic for most discomforts. 

"The cure for what ails you -- guaranteed to cure liver spots, take the gray
out of your hair, and preserve the wax on your car!" he was going to let
himself get on a roll as he strolled through the corridor toward Aeryn's
chamber, but found he was once again short of breath and sweating. He decided
to use his air for breathing instead. 

Stopping outside Aeryn's chamber he listened for a moment and then called,
"Morning, anybody home?" He was greeted with only silence. "Aeryn?" Getting
caught rummaging around in her personal effects sounded like another quick trip
to the hurt factory, so he headed for the center chamber to see if she was
eating First Meal. 

When Aeryn looked up from her food to see Crichton strolling in with a smile on
his face, the relief was so strong she had to put her utensils down quickly so
no one could see her hands shaking. The feeling gradually began to pass as he
sat down across the table from Rygel and pretended to grab at the Hynerian's
food. It was an old joke but John hadn't tired of it yet, especially since
Rygel fell for it every time, snapping at the hand that snatched at his plate
but came away empty every time. Even as she watched him laugh, she noticed that
the lines around his eyes were a little deeper than usual and that he had not
removed the night's growth of beard, but he seemed otherwise normal. 

"Aeryn, do you still have that zucchini plant growing? The one Zhaan gave you?" 

"Soukeenee?" she struggled with the new sounds -- yet another word from
Crichton which seemed to have no counterpart in Sebacean. "Do you mean the
Zeccan plant she gave me for head pains?" 

"Zeccan, zucchini, Zhaan-plant, whatever. Is it still growing?" 

"Yes, it's in my chambers. Did you want some?" 

"If it's OK with you." He got up before she could rise, "No, don't get up, I
can find it if you don't mind me going in your quarters." He barely waited for
her nod of assent before he headed out the door. 

Aeryn watched him go with a resurgence of annoyance. Now he seemed to be
deliberately short with her, 'brushing her off' was his phrase for it. She
decided that her plan of talking things out with John would have to wait until
she had a better idea of what was going on. As he headed back along the
corridor toward Chambers, though, John was concentrating only on controlling
the nausea which had overtaken him when he had looked at all the food on the
table in the central chamber. He would get some zucchini leaves from Aeryn's
quarters and then take his mind off everything else by working on his module
for a while. 

********** 

Officer Ekron had been relieved from the pilot's station by one of the other
men, and had taken up Hasman's post monitoring all operations while the captain
got some sleep. Ekron had been promoted to the Marauder only a half-cycle ago,
but he had learned fast and adapted to Hasman's stringent operating procedures
quickly. He wasn't as experienced as Hasman, but he spotted the additional
target on the sensor readouts before the Peacekeeper manning the station did,
and knew what to do without hesitation. 

He stepped quickly to the Navigation Console and typed in a new trajectory for
the Marauder, sending it to the pilot's console with a firm slap of his palm.
"Speed, full slow. Ease us into the center of that nebula." He pointed to one
of the other commandos and ordered, "Get the captain, tell him we may have
found one of the Leviathans." 

"Dai, if that ship IS the Leviathan it will see us, we need to get into the
shadow of a planet or an asteroid." The pilot was already steering the ship
where he had been directed despite his objection. 

"Idiot! We are the only ones in this entire quadrant with sensors that can see
through all that energy plasma. They're coming straight at us, the nebula is
the one place they CAN'T see this ship." 

"How will we fire upon it from in the nebula?" 

"We won't FIRE from within the nebula," Hasman said, walking into the operating
quarters as he buckled his uniform jacket. "If they pass it by, we'll get
behind them in their sensor blind, and if they go through the nebula on their
present course -- " 

For once, all four sets of eyes turned and look at him as a smile began to form
on his normally stern face. 

********** 

CHAPTER 4


John wandered around the maintenance bay, slowly picking up the tools he had
left laying on the floor when he had gone with Aeryn for the Midday Meal he had
never eaten. He had expected that he would begin to feel better as the day wore
on, but he continued to feel even worse. He was able to block the sensations
out at first, but each time he leaned over his head began pounding and he
became dizzy. 

When he leaned over to pick up a laser alignment probe and almost fell over, it
finally dawned on him that he wasn't hurt. He was sick! He began to shake,
shocked by the enormity that after almost three cycles in the Uncharted
Territories, his body had finally been invaded by a truly alien germ. 'All
right, Johnny Boy, calm down. You knew this was probably going to happen if you
stayed here long enough. It's probably a little bit overdue, so just relax and
don't freak out. It's just another damned critter.' 

He walked carefully to the doorway which led out of the bay into Moya's central
corridor for the tier, but instead of leaving, he sat down near the opening
with his back against an inner hull member and leaned his head back against
Moya's wall. He could feel two sets of vibrations -- Moya's steady pulsing beat
which echoed in muted tones throughout the ship and reassured him, and his own
pulse pounding in his ears and through his chest, which left him feeling a bit
scared and lonely. 

"You're a healthy, studly guy John. Just relax and let your body do what it
does best and you'll survive." Hearing the words out loud reassured him a bit,
but he had always been healthy and the idea of being ill here, alone, with no
other humans who understood how he felt, added to a rapidly mounting
depression. 

He put his head down into his trembling hands and realized he was sweating all
over. Large areas of his shirt were becoming damp as was the hair on the back
of his head. "Oh great! In this galaxy the chicken pox probably actually turns
you into a chicken." Making a joke finally broke the cycle of emotional shock,
and he started to laugh as rational thought returned and fear dissipated like
fog before a breeze. 

********** 

"Officer Sun?" Pilot's polite inquiry drew Aeryn's attention to the holographic
image being projected in the clam shell which hung near the ceiling in the
Central Chamber. She hadn't been hungry after leaving Crichton's quarters, but
her growling stomach had finally driven her into the dining area to find a
small substitute for the Midday Meal she had missed. 

"Yes Pilot?" She always reserved a special smile for Pilot, a response to the
emotional link between them. They shared both DNA and the mutual understanding
of what it was like to be able to hear and sense all of Moya in each separate
heartbeat for an entire lifetime. 

"I have alerted the rest of the crew that Moya is about to enter the nebula, it
should be a rather unusual sight from Command." 

"Thank you Pilot, I'll join them there immediately." 

"Actually, -- Aeryn, I thought you might --" his embarrassed pause was longer
than usual, but Aeryn knew to just wait, " -- prefer to join me here. I am
reconfiguring one of my displays so that you may view an enhanced visual
representation of what Moya and I experience as we pass through the clouds of
energy and charged matter. We will be entering the outer area in just under one
hundred microts." 

"I'd like that very much, Pilot. I'm on my way." Aeryn hurried out of the
chamber, knowing it would take her almost that long to traverse the tiers to
get to Pilot's den. 

D'Argo had enlisted Chiana's help in finding Stark and bringing him to Command,
hoping that the visual spectacle Pilot had promised them would brighten his
mood. Rygel was already waiting there, so he heard the threesome coming down
the corridor. 

"Ions? Ions? Plasma and energy. Zhaan is energy now, I was just energy once,
floating, floating, molecular diaspora. Are we going to see Zhaan's energy, her
diaspora coming to surround us?" 

"Yeah Stark, that's it. I'm sure Zhaan will be all around us soon. Why don't
you come watch for her." Chiana's tone wasn't unkind, it just reflected the
absence of understanding which most of them suffered from whenever they were
around the Banik slave. His ramblings were the manifestations of his unusual
thought patterns, twisted by torture and a lifetime of experiencing the pain
and death of thousands of beings. 

"Where are Aeryn and Crichton?" asked Rygel. "Don't they want to see this?" 

"They're watching from the Den with Pilot. We passed Aeryn heading that way,
and apparently Pilot has arranged a separate viewing for them." D'Argo's
opinion concerning the special accommodations was evident from the disgust in
his voice. 

"I don't understand what all the excitement is about," grumped Rygel. "I
thought Moya wasn't going to be able to detect anything while she is in this
interstellar mud puddle. Why are we all here to stare at a projection of
nothing? It's absurd -- and it's boring." 

Jool walked into Command and snapped her fingers at one of Rygel's earbrows,
but he saw it coming in time and his Throne Sled dipped towards the floor,
taking some of his more sensitive anatomy out of harm's way. "Her sensors will
be blocked from scanning, but we will be able to watch a direct
representational display of the discharge as the ions and charged plasma
interact with the minimal electrical charge of Moya's living components in her
hull." Jool fired off the explanation with her normal patronizing tone. 

"There you go, your Frogness!" Chiana laughed, "what she said!" She forgot
about her standing feud with the newcomer in her enjoyment of the Hynerian's
discomfort. 

"Look, look, beginning, beginning. Ahhhh, diaspora flowing around us, energy
here, energy there, energy everywhere, in, out, all about." Stark ran down as
they all fell silent in awe. The coruscating colors shimmered and leapt all
around Moya's hull, ion exchange charges leaping from Moya's charged hull out
to clouds of charged particles, and energy returns running back toward her in
streams. Sheets of elemental particles glowed around her like a corona as she
dove through clouds of vaporized materials. 

In the Den, Aeryn sat on the edge of Pilot's console, hunched over a bit to
avoid the spreading reaches of his cranial shell. He had reconfigured the
largest of his informational displays to provide a view of the light show for
her. He watched the reflection of the colors flash across her face, all the
time continuing to adjust controls with his four arms, maintaining Moya's
intricate systems as he helped guide her through the thickening debris in the
center of the nebula. But his capacity for multi-tasking allowed him ample time
to watch the pleasure in Aeryn's face, and to note that she watched not only
the reconfigured display, but continued to scan and understand the other
displays before them. 

"About another 50 microts to transition the center, Pilot?" 

"Yes, Aeryn, and then an additional 150 microts to reach the perimeter on the
far side of the nebula again." 

"It really is very beautiful. Moya has never had a chance to do this before,
has she?" 

"There are very few nebulas of this type which are smaller than a Class Four,
and transitioning anything much larger than this current formation would be
very dangerous for Moya. The random electrical charges could permanently
desensitize her sensors, and perhaps even erase vast portions of her data
stores." 

"But there's no danger --" Aeryn stopped her alarmed tone midstream as Pilot
ponderously shook his head. 

"Moya and I would never have entered this area if we didn't have complete
confidence that it would not do any harm. Moya is quite enjoying the sensation,
actually." 

"What does it feel like Pilot? Can you explain it?" 

"I've never felt this sensation before, but I believe this is what it is like -
-
to be tickled." Pilot's eyes widened and Aeryn detected what passed for his
smile beaming at her. "We are passing through the center -- NOW!" 

"Look at that interaction! That's amazing. Crichton once described something to
me called the Northern Lights, charged particles striking the magnetic field of
his planet. I think this is the same. I hope he's enjoying it." 

********** 

Ekron was unaware of anything going on around him as the other members of the
team prepared for an assault against the Leviathan. His entire conscious effort
was focused on the sensor displays, picking out the huge mass alongside them as
they drove together through the center of the nebula which had concealed the
Marauder. He felt as though his psyche had merged with the controls as he
brought his ship up to speed, matching the velocity of their target and
bringing them recklessly close to the flashing hull. There was an explosive
burst of noise as the side hatch was opened and the interior atmosphere was
sucked out. He wavered for only a split-microt and then maneuvered even closer
to the beast of burden. 

Hasman had watched Moya's approach carefully for a tenth of an arn while his
ship was concealed in the densest portion of the clutter, and was finally
forced to conclude that the fugitive ship was actually going to fly right
through the middle of the plasma cloud. He had never even heard rumors of
biomechanoids deliberately flying through a nebular anomaly of any size, but
this creature and its crew had continued to defy expectations ever since it had
escaped. He was finally forced to admit that his secondary plan was going to
work. He ordered the entire team into space suits and had Dai Ekron resume the
pilot's station. Ekron was the newest member of his squad, but he was by far
the best pilot, and his plan required the highest degree of piloting skill. 

As Moya passed through the dense center of the swirling mass, the Peacekeeper
ship was undetectable by her sensors. She had no warning at all as they pulled
alongside her hammond side hangar door, opened their side hatch, and fired an
electromagnetic pulse at the door mechanism, triggering it to open. Officer
Ekron then needed only to negotiate the entrance of Moya's hangar bay, a highly
risky maneuver, and gently landed the Marauder inside the vast cavern. "We're
in!" gloated Hasman to his subordinates. "They're ours." 

Moya burst out of the dense center of the formation and began to spin along her
axis as she headed for the far edge of the amorphous cloud. Sheets of energized
particles were caught by her spreading flanks and then flung away like spray, a
rainbow hued halo of electrically charged elements. Her entranced passengers
felt none of the affects of her playful revolutions, and as they continued to
watch it only appeared that they were diving into a massive swirling vortex of
molecular vapor, following the winding tube down into one gaseous cloud after
another. 

********** 

Once the initial emotional trauma had worn off, John continued to just sit
against the wall in the maintenance bay, listening to Moya's rhythms, the
sounds of life within her. He was concerned about being ill, but the momentary
shattering fear of being sick in a strange place had passed. He laid his head
back against the wall and let the pulses of the ship reverberate through him. 

He knew they were about to enter the nebula and that he was missing the light
show, but he wanted to be alone for a few microts to think about what might
happen over the next few days. He felt as much as heard the change in Moya's
propulsion systems when she entered the nebula, the vibration shifting down
slightly, which John knew was from Pilot and Moya modifying the ion backwash
flow in order to avoid an interaction with the charged particles all around
them now. 

"Northern Lights on the go! A moving, glowing extravaganza of pulsing polarized
particles." There had been a brief time over a cycle ago when he could not have
spoken any of those words, let alone the last three, and he had recovered from
that injury. He could recover from this. "Just a germ, John, you'll be fine.
Ouch!" 

He looked down and realized that DRD One-Eye had just rammed into his ankle
bone in a last-ditch attempt to get his attention. Its eyestalks were waving
madly and a non-stop stream of clicks, chirps and squeals came from its
enunciator. "Either this is love, or you'd like to show me something." One-Eye
squeaked again and zipped off across the interior of the maintenance bay and
disappeared behind a stack of cargo containers. John got to his feet and went
after it. One-Eye had just led him behind the containers when he heard the
inner hangar doors begin to cycle open. 

"Everyone is up in Command, so who the frell is this? The Big Bad Wolf?" He
looked up from One-Eye in time to see the first Marauder commando roll around
the edge of the hangar door and take up a covering position, followed
immediately by two more. The pair spread left and right, leapfrogging forward
in a classic pattern. 

'Crap, it IS the Big Bad Wolf.' Crichton ducked behind cover, noting that One-
Eye had disappeared. 'Traitor! Yellow rat deserts the sinking ship.' He quietly
released his pulse pistol from the holster, but didn't do anything else. He
knew that commando units almost always consisted of five man teams, which meant
he was badly outnumbered. 'I could call Pilot, but they'd hear me for sure. Bad
idea. Why the heck hasn't Pilot figured out that these nasty bastards are on
board?' He took a quick look over his barricade and saw that there were, in
fact, five intruders. He ducked down and tried to think. 

Hasman and his team had encountered no resistance at all as they moved out of
the hangar bay and into what appeared to be a maintenance area. This was better
than he expected. This ship had such a reputation for smash-and-grab tactics,
he had anticipated having to fight his way in right from the beginning. He held
his team up for a moment while he considered the corridors beyond the doorway
out of the bay. Hasman had learned his tactics from Peacekeeper manuals, and
no-resistance advances hadn't been heavily covered. He needed to stop and think
about their next move. 

'Come on John, think of something. Come up with a plan, blast it! Think outside
the box.' He was still crouching in the same place, now behind the position
taken by the soldiers. 'Don't want to drive them out of the bay INTO Moya, that
would be a bad plan. Need someone to bottle them up in here. Where the frell
are Pilot and the others!' His thoughts took him no closer to a solution. 

Others were, in fact, coming down the corridor, but they weren't the
reinforcements he expected. After running away from John, One-Eye had summoned
as many unoccupied DRDs as his signals could reach, and simultaneously alerted
Moya about the intruders. The DRDs were already on their way to his position,
but it was going to take time for Moya to relay the information and to get the
biological residents to come help. One-Eye waited in plain sight in the
corridor outside the maintenance bay. His logic circuits correctly derived that
the intruders would not think it peculiar to see a DRD aboard a Leviathan. 

Hasman still hesitated. He could see that the corridor outside the bay branched
off in two directions, and neither one seemed to offer any danger or
concealment for a resistance force. He finally decided to treat it as if there
was opposition in both branches and gave the orders for his team to split up
and advance in both directions. The team moved up to the door together and
burst into the hallways. 

With additional direction now from Moya and Pilot, the squadron of DRDs heading
toward One-Eye's position had split up, one group gathering in each hallway.
They unshipped their tiny laser tools and when the intruders emerged into the
corridors, the little tank-like mechanoids rushed forward into battle, filling
the entire junction with volleys of red laser pulses. 

John had started to come out of cover to follow the Peacekeepers, but had to
scramble back as the sound of firing was followed immediately by the team
falling back into the maintenance bay. "What the frell was that?" "I've been
hit!" "How badly?" "Just a flesh wound, I'll be alright." "Who lost weapons?"
"Anyone spot who was firing at us?" "All I saw were frelling DRDs." "There have
to be soldiers behind them, they're just using the DRDs for cover fire." Ekron
offered this last comment, and it sounded like a rational strategy. The team
righted itself and prepared for a second, more careful excursion into the
corridor. 

Aeryn was still with Pilot when the signal from One-Eye alerted him to their
intruders. "Officer Sun, there is a Marauder on board in the hammond side
hangar bay! Peacekeeper commandos have penetrated to the maintenance bay and
are preparing to advance into the rest of that tier." 

"How the frell did they get in there without our knowing about it?" Aeryn
didn't actually wait for an answer, but vaulted lightly over the consoles and
ran out of Pilot's chamber, switching to her comms so that she could continue
talking to Pilot as she ran. "Notify the others, tell them I'm on my way to
pick up a pulse cannon and rifles. Have them get down there now and I'll bring
the weapons." 

"D'Argo, Chiana, everyone, may I please have your attention." Pilot's image
appeared in Command. 

"Go ahead Pilot." Chiana's answer was curt as she recognized the distraught
tone of Pilot's voice. 

"Peacekeeper commandos have managed to get on board. Officer Sun has gone to
get weapons, and wants you to proceed immediately to the vicinity of the
maintenance bay for the hammond side hangar," he repeated the bad news. 

"We're on our way, Pilot. How the hezmana did they get on board?" D'Argo didn't
wait for an answer to this question either, pulling his Qualta blade from its
sheath and converting it to its rifle form as he ran from Command, the others
behind him. "And where is Crichton going to be?" 

"I assumed that Crichton was with you, in Command." 

Rygel pulled his Throne Sled to a stop and faced the clamshell image of Pilot.
"We thought he was with you and Aeryn." 

"Rygel, come on! We're going to need everyone's help, even yours!" Chiana's
voice faded down the corridor. 

Aeryn was not moving as fast as she would have like for she was weighed down
with enough firepower from the weapons locker to arm everyone. She had taken
extra microts to swing by her quarters and pick up the newly purchased Tarak
Silencer as well. She knew beating back a Marauder force was going to take a
miracle considering the untrained fighters she had to depend upon. At least
Crichton was becoming somewhat expert at executing the Peacekeeper methods she
had been teaching him. She hoisted the strap of the pulse cannon a little
higher on her shoulder and tried to increase her pace. 

As she approached the junction where she expected to meet the others, she could
hear pulse weapons firing somewhere further ahead. She heard another noise
firing, but couldn't identify it. She slowed to negotiate the turn and almost
ran into D'Argo. 

"Good, they haven't had a chance to penetrate very far. We have a chance." She
looked the group over as she handed out pulse rifles, keeping the larger cannon
for herself. "Who's down there preventing them from advancing? Crichton?" Her
gut tightened as she envisioned him alone, trying to hold his position against
a commando team. 

"We don't know where John is, we thought he was with you in the Den." 

D'Argo and Aeryn stared at each other for a microt, recalling simultaneously
where Crichton had been headed when they had seen him last. "Frell. Let's go." 

"Wait, what's the plan?" Chiana yelled, but Aeryn continued toward the din of
weapons fire. 

D'Argo grimaced at her as he ran past also. "What has our best plan ALWAYS
been?" 

Rygel soared past them, carrying two shock grenades, "Break down the front door
and shoot anything that moves, of course." 

Jool stood motionless as the others hustled away, "Wait, that's not a plan!
Stark, that's not a plan." He was still standing next to her, weaponless. 

"Plan, plan? We always have to have a plan. I had a plan with Zhaan, it was a
Zhaan plan. Would you like me to come up with a plan?" Jool looked at him in
dismay, cradled the pulse rifle with awkward unfamiliarity and went doggedly
after the others. 

John listened to the conversation between the members of the PK team, and knew
that the reinforcements he had expected still had not arrived. He had seen the
red pulses from repair lasers ricochet into the maintenance bay and knew what
had prevented the commandos from advancing into the corridors. 'Those little
guys have got the right stuff.' The tenacious mechanoids were going to need a
advantage though in order to hold out until the others got there, so he began
working his way cautiously around the perimeter of the large chamber, looking
for a spot behind the Marauder team where he could get the drop on them. 

Leather vest and pants hissing quietly, he squirmed the last twelve feet on his
stomach, reaching a spot behind a workbench which provided some cover from the
Marauder team. They were preparing to move out into the corridor again which
helped prevent him from being observed. He rocked up onto the balls of his feet
and popped a rapid glance over the top of the bench. They were about to
advance. He rose carefully into a firing position and when the first pair made
their move, he aimed at the last man in the group and pulled

Wynona misfired. 

"Frell, frell, frell, frell, frell!" There was no need to remain silent
anymore. The tiny firework had managed to sail the entire distance and bounced
off the bulkhead near his target. The response was a staccato of pulse rifle
fire which smashed and rattled against the workbench. He flipped into a sitting
position and worked feverishly to clear the jam, leaning against the bench
while tools were thrown off by the impact of the shots and fell rattling onto
the floor. "Come on, baby. Don't make me change your name, because you just
keep finding a fine time to leave me, Lucille." 

He dropped the chakan oil cartridge into his lap, pulled the trigger several
times to clear the pulse chamber, and blew sharply into the voided weapon.
Aeryn had repeatedly insisted that this had nothing to do with clearing a pulse
chamber malfunction, but he continued to rely on both the recommended method
plus the little extra human touch. 'It can't hurt,' he reasoned. 

He slapped the cartridge back into place. "Don't fail me now, darlin'." The
workbench was still being pounded from the same angle, so he knew he wasn't
being flanked by that soldier, yet. He wormed his way to the far end of the
bench, gave the pistol a kiss, and tried again. The Peacekeeper scrambled for
cover as Wynona fired true this time. 

The earsplitting crack of the pulse cannon filled the maintenance bay. "The
c
crescendo of pulse fire was matched by ricochets and energy blasts filling the
chamber. John could only hunker down behind the bench and wait now. He was
pinned down by the shots coming from Aeryn and the others, who were on the far
side of the Peacekeepers. 

The tempo of his headache increased abruptly along with the din in the chamber,
and a part of his mind acknowledged that his fever was rising. 'Just great, did
Quickdraw McGraw ever get a headache in the middle of a shootout? I'll bet
Clayton Moore never said, Hey Tonto give me an ibuprofen out of those
saddlebags.' He forcefully put his condition out of his mind and waited for
another opportunity to fire. 

"John!" Aeryn's voice cut clearly through the din. 

"Aeryn?" 

Aeryn felt like her pounding heart was going to tear loose from its mounts
inside her chest. Her back was against a support column, providing cover
against the spray of fire from the besieged Peacekeepers. Intermixed with the
noise of pulse fire she could hear the shuffles and thuds as the five man team
maneuvered behind their covering fire. She knew instinctually that they would
be setting up a multi-pronged counter attack, and that if she couldn't find a
way to throw

She neatly fielded one of Rygel's shock grenades, then looked to where Chiana
stood by the Dominar, ready for their next move. She prepared to throw the
explosive but hesitated. If she did this wrong she could wind up injuring John,
possibly maiming him permanently. But John was trapped on the other side of the
Peacekeepers, and she knew she had to try something desperate if she was going
to get him out of there without getting killed -- or captured -- which would be
just the same as dead. 

She stared at the weapon in her hand. It looked to her like a sphere of
despair. D'Argo was waiting impatiently, shielded from fire by one of Moya's
supporting ribs, the second globe ready in his hand. She called upon the
tattered remnants of her self-control and nodded. 

"Cover up John! Incoming from Rygel." 

John started to glance over the barricade, but saw the twin arcing silver and
black globes as they were launched in his direction. It all connected in a
flash. 'Rygel? Grenade! No time for the holster, Hickok.' He dropped Wynona
carelessly to the floor and rolled up into a ball, his forearms clamped tightly
over his ears. The entire maintenance bay shook with the concussion, John's
curled body rattling around on the floor like a marble in an earthquake. 

********** 

CHAPTER 5


"John? John! Are you all right?" Aeryn was on one knee next to him, one hand
gripping his, the other holding his pulse pistol. The cannon was slung out of
the way behind her back. As his vision cleared he saw the relief flood into her
face, color replacing pallor. "Are you all right?" she asked again, more
quietly. 

"Yeah." He paused, "yeah, I'm fine." He grabbed the edge of the workbench and
with her pulling on his other hand, staggered to his feet. He overbalanced and
almost went back down, clutching at the bench for support. "What's going on?
How long have I been out?" He took the pistol from Aeryn and after two tries,
it slid with a click into its holster. He looked around the maintenance bay,
which was a mess of scattered tools, parts, and cargo containers, but was
relatively intact. "Is Moya all right?" 

"You've been unconscious for only two hundred microts or so. Moya is fine so
far. Pilot says this felt like a leviathan sized case of indigestion, but she's
unharmed. Two of them got past us and are loose on this tier. Chiana and Rygel
have gone after them, and Stark is helping search." 

"Stark?" 

She gave him a humorless grin and nodded her head. "We managed to force two of
them back into the hangar bay, but they've taken up positions behind the
Marauder and we can't get at them." 

"That's four." His head was still ringing from the dual concussion of the
explosives. "That was a gutsy move with the stun bombs, Aeryn. A nice plan." He
returned to the subject at hand. "What about number five?" 

"He'd almost reached you, that's why I had to try the grenades." John watched
as she went pale again thinking about it, but she turned almost as if to hide
her concern, and pointed at the sprawled body only three feet away. Both of
their heads abruptly snapped around in the direction of the hangar bay as a
brief exchange of pulse fire sent several ricochets dancing around the upper
reaches of the chamber. "D'Argo and Jool are keeping the other two pinned down
in there, but it's only a matter of time -- " She looked at him more closely.
"Are you sure you're all right?" 

"Yes, I'm fine." He finished her sentence for her, " -- but it's only a matter
of time till they use their ship's weapons to start shooting their way out of
the hangar bay." He had tried shaking his head to clear the buzzing left over
from the grenades but it had set off a wave of dizziness and he stumbled,
Aeryn's firm hand under his elbow righting him again. 

"Destroying half of Moya in the process," she concluded. Aeryn couldn't ask him
if he was all right a third time, but she could see that he was having
difficulty with his balance. She ached to have the time to take him aside and
force him to tell her what was wrong, to trust her, but instead, she forced the
concern out of her mind, falling back on her rigid Peacekeeper indoctrination
to allow her to focus on the larger problem. 

They picked their way through the debris and scattered containers and walked to
where D'Argo and Jool stood sentry over the Marauder ship from just inside the
inner hangar doors. The intruder squatted in the outer chamber like some sort
of mutated carnivorous beast, waiting but lethal. 

********** 

Chiana, Rygel and Stark were still on the trail of one of the Peacekeeper
officers, running headlong through Moya's corridors in pursuit. They had almost
lost his trail when they reached an intersection where four hallways connected,
but a DRD had come firing out of the small access hatches, chirping madly and
had sailed off down one branch. They watched transfixed for a split microt as
the DRD rushed away. The motivator circuits which allowed it to move were
making a shrill whine as it traveled at maximum velocity, a piercing shriek
which summoned them to follow. 

Stark was the quickest to realize what was happening, "Helping, helping, Moya
is helping. We should go -- follow -- go after the little helper." Before he
finished, Chiana's slim figure was already flashing after the little mechanoid,
shadowed by Rygel's Throne Sled, also traveling at nearly its speed limit. The
Banik's single eye widened as he realized that in another microt he would be
standing alone and he ran after them. 

********** 

"What's the plan, Aeryn? Have we got a can opener big enough for that thing?" 

"I was going to try the Tarak Silencer. I'm hoping it will blow a significantly
large hole in the side of the ship." 

"Significantly large?" 

"Yes." She grinned at him. 

D'Argo interjected, "Can we please just do something before those hataak scum
decide to blow a significantly large hole in us? They are not going to wait
forever just because two of their crew are on board Moya somewhere." He rolled
away from the edge of the door as another volley of shots smashed into the
walls and through the opening to ricochet around the inner area. "They are also
not going to wait forever until they try and get back in here again either." 

"Should we warn Pilot first this time? You know how Moya feels about blowing
things up in her hangar bay." John took a judicious, fleeting glance into the
hangar. 

"I have been maintaining an open comms channel on everybody since I became
aware of the intruders, Commander. Moya is willing to have you try to destroy
the Peacekeeper ship." 

"If we need to, can we flush the ship out of here? Are we still inside the
nebula?" 

"We passed out of the nebula some time ago, Commander, while all of you were
still firing on the Peacekeepers. Moya is capable of ejecting the Marauder if
you can disable it." 

"All right, Pilot, here we go." 

John drew his pistol and checked the chakan oil cartridge. He shook his head
and reholstered Wynona. Aeryn started to hand him her pistol, but after
considering, she lifted the strap from the cannon over her head and handed it
to him. She watched him loop the carrying strap over his head and onto his
shoulder as she began loosing the Tarak weapon from its backpack-style holster. 

"You hardly ever let me play with the big toys!" He eagerly swung the oversized
pulse rifle into a comfortable position and began the priming process. "I
promise, no pulse chamber accidents." She glanced at him with a tolerant smile,
forgiving him for his past mishap with a pulse rifle but also leaving him with
a fluttering feeling in his stomach. 

'How in the midst of all this chaos can a single look from her turn me into a
blithering fool?' he wondered. He dragged his eyes away from her and tried to
focus on their problem. "Jool, you'll need to at least stick that thing around
the corner and pull the trigger. You don't even need to aim, just send some
fire in the direction of the Marauder to keep their heads down." 

She looked as though she were frightened to the point of not being able to
move, but she nodded, red hair bouncing in all directions, and gripped the
rifle more securely, although no less awkwardly. 

"Go?" John asked. 

"Go!" said D'Argo and they stepped out into danger's way, laying down cover
fire. Jool did just as John had suggested, sticking the muzzle of her rifle
around the corner, holding the weapon at arm's length and pulling the trigger
without even looking to see what she was hitting. Aeryn stepped around the two
men, aimed her weapon and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. 

John was astonished. Aeryn didn't usually make mistakes when it came to buying
weapons. "Well, THAT was magnificent! I can see you got your money's worth on
that one." 

But no one was looking at John, they were looking at the ship. Jool had joined
them to watch as the Marauder was enveloped by energy strands of red, blue,
green and yellow, which were contracting around the ship and increasing in
intensity as they watched. They could see the two remaining commandos on the
floor near the vessel, writhing in agony as they too were encased in the snare. 

"Frell," John breathed. 

"Big frell," she agreed. 

"Really big frell," D'Argo added. 

Three figures bolted away from the hangar door, Aeryn yelling, "Pilot! Close
the hangar doors! Have Moya eject the Marauder and move us away from here."
D'Argo looked back and saw Jool transfixed. He reversed course, grabbed her
roughly and dragged her screaming away from the opening. 

The inner hangar doors began to close even as they were still scrambling away,
air whistling through the narrowing gap as Moya simultaneously released the
gravity field in the hangar and began opening her outer doors. The explosive
force of the exiting atmosphere in the enormous chamber grabbed the now
unsecured Peacekeeper ship and its two crew members and blew them out into
space. Moya engaged her drive system and moved away. 

Pilot was the only one who had a chance to observe as the energy strands
continued to weave themselves into a solid, tightening matrix around the ship.
As the energy output increased, he was forced to switch from a direct view of
the process to sensor data. A moment later a shock wave rolled through the
entire length of the Leviathan. 

Far from the Den, Aeryn and D'Argo managed to grab onto fixtures and maintained
their balance. Jool's shrieks of indignation came from the floor where D'Argo's
final shove had thrown her. The tremblor threw John against a table for a
moment. He grabbed for it, missed and went down hard. As the vibrations faded,
he rolled over on his back and looked up at Aeryn. 

"What the frell was that?" Chiana's voice burst over the comms. 

"Aeryn's new toy." He sat up and looked around, "Can I please have one of those
for Christmas, Mom? And why didn't you tell me that was how that thing worked?" 

"Tarak weapons were always named for how they fired, not for the damage they
did. Everybody knows that." Jool brushed herself off while looking at Crichton
who still sat on the floor, "Well, almost everybody." 

D'Argo glared at Jool, then said, "Pilot, we need to get out of here. Prepare
for immediate starburst." 

"Wait -- " A thought skittered through John's head and he sat silently,
pursuing it. He rubbed his forehead trying to encourage the errant idea to come
forward. His hand came away slick with sweat, and he hoped no one else noticed
the trickles running down his face and neck. The image clarified in his mind.
"Pilot, how much wreckage is left from the Marauder?" 

"Quite a lot, actually. It appears that very little of the actual mass was
destroyed." 

"If we leave that here, other Peacekeepers may find it and know that we were
here also." 

"Excellent thinking, John." Aeryn turned to the clamshell where Pilot's image
had finally appeared. "Pilot, can the docking web capture all the wreckage and
pull it aboard before we starburst?" 

"I will do so now, Officer Sun." 

John was back on his feet, and all four stood surveying the chaos in the
maintenance bay. "We were lucky," Aeryn summed up. 

"Yes, but there are still two of those Peacekeeper vermin aboard, and we lost
track of them when you decided to turn Moya into a Toreilian vibrator." Rygel
steered his Throne Sled across the chamber to join them, coming to a stop near
Jool and surveying the devastation around him. "And who exactly is going to
pick all this up?" 

"We'll worry about that when we find those last two frelling Peacekeepers."
D'Argo was about to say something else, but was cut off by an enormous,
sustained crashing noise in the hangar bay. 

"The remains of the Marauder are aboard." Pilot's purple holo-image reappeared.
The inner doors slid silently apart and they turned to see wreckage strewn the
full length of the hangar. In an area big enough to accommodate a half dozen
Prowlers, the entire floor was covered with components, circuits, wiring, and
hull plating. John, Aeryn and D'Argo walked cautiously through the debris,
while Rygel floated easily above it. 

"What is all that dren? You said you were netting the debris from the
Marauder." Jool hung back at the hangar doors. 

"That Silencer of Aeryn's dismantled it." John's voice was slow with the
dawning realization as he knelt and picked through components which were
obviously still intact, but separated from each other. "It just knocked apart
every joint and seam in the ship! Did you know that would happened?" 

"If you recall, I was just hoping for a significantly large hole." Aeryn held
up a double handful of bolts, screws and circuits, showing them to everyone.
"What are we going to do with all these parts? This is amazing." 

Pilot's voice emanated once again from their comms. "I'm -- very sorry about
the mess." 

John and Aeryn look at each other for a minute, both on the verge of laughing.
John was going to ask her if she thought Pilot was developing a sense of humor,
but he didn't want to offend Pilot who was still listening. Aeryn also started
to open her mouth, but clamped it firmly shut against any laughter and turned
away from the clamshell. 

********** 

Moya struggled to contain her fear and guilt. When she became aware of the
Peacekeeper ship within her hangar bay, she knew immediately that it was only
because she had indulged herself that the ship had managed to get on board. In
that state of distress, she had cried out into the void of space, but there was
no one to answer her call except those within her, and only Pilot was aware of
her emotional shout. The lives within her were now at risk, and yet decisions
concerning the intrusion were still being based on how their actions would
affect her well being. 

Her guilt rose from the knowledge that before she ever touched the outermost
fringes of the nebula, she had known that all of her sensors would be
disrupted, but the temptation had been more than she could resist and it had
all appeared so innocuous. Pilot tried to reassure her that all would be well,
that it was not her fault, and although she calmed down somewhat, a deep core
of guilt remained. Leviathans existed to serve and she had indulged herself
instead. 

As soon as the docking web finished pulling the wreckage of the Marauder on
board, Pilot sent her the commands to initiate starburst. They had already
scanned the quadrant together, and located an area of space devoid of stars,
planets, or other debris which might create a hazard when she exited starburst.
It was not quite half again as far as the longest distance Moya had ever
attempted, but galvanized by her emotions she leapt long and hard away from the
scene of near disaster. 

Emerging from starburst with polarized materials and energy streaming from her
hull like radiant water, Moya immediately scanned the area, as she always did
after emerging from the slipway which ran in the emptiness between dimensions.
The entire area was clear of spatial debris and there were no energy signatures
of any kind for thousands of metras in every direction. Relaxing within the
returning sense of safety, she returned her attention to her internal workings
as well as beginning a further analysis of the area of space around her. 

********** 

Captain Zaisan Hasman finally found a point in the access shaft where he could
stop and catch his breath and would still be able to see if any of his pursuers
were coming though the tunnel after him. The engagement had turned into a rout
so quickly, he was forced to acknowledge that the reputation of this group of
fugitives was well deserved. The double percussion of the two shock grenades
had left one of his men staggering and deaf, an easy target for the Qualta
rifle handled by the Luxan. He and the other three men had been stunned for
only a split microt but it was enough time for the Nebari and what must have
been the Peacekeeper traitor to drive between them and split the quartet apart. 

He had taken enough time to note that two of his men had been driven back
toward their ship, and he had seen the flash of Pilot Officer Dai Ekron's
figure escaping through a different doorway before he was forced to retreat
into the corridors. He cursed himself for dropping his weapon while still
staggering from the concussion of the grenades. It was unthinkable for an
officer of his rank to be disarmed so easily, he had been trained to not let
this happen. 

'Find a weapon, stay ahead of the pursuers, find a tactical advantage in order
to stop this ship from escaping,' he listed in his mind his most basic
priorities. Returning to his uncomfortable crouched position he began to move
through the shaft again, looking for an exit point. He had moved only a short
distance when he felt a lurch, identified it as entry into starburst. 'Priority
number three,' he modified his list, 'now just stop this ship any way I can, no
matter what, without regard to wherever we wind up.' His career was finished
after this fiasco, he was going to make sure he took this ship and its crew
with him. 

********** 

Ekron had not escaped from the maintenance bay as cleanly as his captain. He
had found himself without a pulse weapon and constantly shadowed by DRDs. He
was still trying to lose the mechanoid spies completely, wondering how long it
would be before they led one of the ship's crew to his location. Each time he
managed to elude one DRD he seemed to stumble into one or two more who would
immediately begin to trail him in turn. 

He knew he had to keep moving no matter what, until he was unwatched. Stopping
at any time now would mean capture or death at the hands of these fugitives. He
followed a sloping corridor which he hoped would lead him to the center of the
tier he was on, looking for a vertical shaft where he might be able to out
climb the tenacious little tanks. 

********** 

D'Argo watched Jool's departing figure as she left the maintenance bay. She had
refused to partake in any search which might result in another encounter with a
Peacekeeper commando, and was headed to her quarters. She still carried a pulse
rifle for self-defense, but no one remaining behind knew whether she would have
the courage to kill another being even if it was in self defense. D'Argo
continued to watch her receding form as he spoke to the others. "We must find
the remaining Peacekeepers. Do either of you have a plan?" 

"Either? Either of you?" Rygel's voice exuded angry sarcasm. "I don't suppose
that you would ever assume that I had a plan for this situation." The answer
from D'Argo was a curt but unequivocal "No." Rygel's earbrows drooped and he
turned his Throne Sled away. He didn't actually have a suggestion, but he just
wished that at least once they would assume that he could be of some help in
these situations. It was the sorry position of a Hynerian to be looked down
upon simply because of his stature. 

"The two who escaped had to both be officers," Aeryn announced firmly. "They
will have the greatest tactical expertise of the team, and therefore will be
the most difficult to capture." Her mind began to scroll through the variations
of Peacekeeper tactics which had been drilled into her from childhood,
retaining any which might be used by their quarry. 

"How do you know they were both officers?" John wondered how much of the
skirmish he had been unconscious through if he had missed that information as
well. 

"Simply, the two we trapped in the hangar, and the dead man all wore sergeant's
or trooper's insignia. There would have to be a captain and a pilot officer of
some sort as part of the team. We'll need to get Pilot and the DRDs to help us
with the search and start sweeping Moya tier by tier." 

The trio began walking, catching up with Rygel who was moving slowly out of the
maintenance bay, still grumbling over his abrupt verbal drubbing. "This is
going to take a lot of time," John mused, "so maybe we need to get everyone
involved." He stepped into the corridor, Aeryn and D'Argo on either side of
him. 

Unnoticed overhead, three DRDs were repairing an inner hull tear, clearing away
charred skin from an area which had been hit by pulse weapons fire during the
skirmish with the Peacekeepers. Two units continued their excavation in
preparation for rebuilding the thick golden membrane, but the third little
drone stopped moving and focused its eyestalks on the three figures below.
Video and audio signals were shunted to Moya's massive data banks, and from
there the information was relayed to both Moya herself and to Pilot, who
jointly analyzed the incoming information. They monitored the conversation as
it unfolded beneath the DRD, and together they chose to take a hand in what was
occurring. 

"What is that appalling smell?" D'Argo burst out. He took a deep breath through
his nose, and looked down in disgust at Crichton. "I've been encountering this
strange odor most of today, and your usual stench, Crichton, has disappeared
completely -- to be replaced by this!" 

"What? I showered this afternoon! I mean its been a few hours and I've been
just a little busy, but I'm clean." He plucked his shirt up from the center of
his chest and gave it a small sniff, noting that wide patches were damp with
sweat. It was a sharp reminder of the fever he was harboring, and once aware of
it again his attention could no longer be diverted from the headache he had
been deliberately ignoring, or the shortness of breath and lightheadedness. 

'But Aeryn is going to be chasing commandos again,' he objected to himself. He
had no intention of letting her go without him. The last time they had been
forced to track down special ops commandos on board Moya had been the beginning
of an avalanche of disasters. 

"What is wrong with you, Crichton?" D'Argo stepped closer and took another
judicious sniff as John smoothed his shirt back down. 

"I knew there was something wrong in the maintenance bay!" Aeryn's concern was
a sharp accusation, stinging him for not being completely honest. "Was it the
grenades? Have you been hit, are you injured, John?" When she had seen him
stagger and lose his balance earlier, a frightening prescient chill had run
through her, and she still had not been able to dispel the lingering sense of
dread. 

John opened his mouth to deny everything, but shut it again without speaking.
He tried again. "I think I'm sick," was all that came out. 

"Your head is all wet!" Rygel had maneuvered behind him while his attention was
focused on the other two and was eyeing John's short soaked hair. "Even a
Hynerian never gets that moist. It's actually rather disgusting, Crichton." 

"Takes one to know one, Buckwheat." He looked abashed as he turned back to
Aeryn. "I think I may have caught that uncatchable Saltauri-Sebacean flu."
Aeryn was starting to shake her head. "I'm sure I'll be fine once my body
starts to fight it," he added quickly. 

"That's not the problem. You're of no help to us if you're sick. We can't be
looking out for you while we're trying to capture highly trained Peacekeeper
officers." 

"I am NOT going to let you go crawling around this ship looking for a pair of
killers without me." John's voice immediately rose to a shout. 

"I can certainly look out for myself better without you than with you. You'd
only slow me down and become a liability to both of us. You're the one who
needs someone looking out for him all the time." Aeryn was surprised to find
herself yelling also, driven by a sense of panic welling up from a place within
her which she didn't recognize. She tried to get a grip on emotions exploding
within her, confused by their appearance when she didn't know what was setting
them off. She only knew she was afraid for John, she had never seen him ill
before. 

Her glare silenced D'Argo who had opened his mouth to speak. She got a tiny
grip on her temper. "John. There isn't anything you can do right now that the
others can't do as well. If anything else goes wrong, we may need you at one
hundred percent later. Go find Jool and see if she can figure out what is
making you ill." 

Watching Aeryn struggle to get herself under control forced him to get a grip
on his fears as well. He wanted to argue with her, but knew deep down that she
was right. There was also a scared little voice inside which told him that if
she got hurt because he insisted on helping, he would never be able to live
with that mistake. He nodded, thumbed sweat from his eyebrows and stared at his
dripping hand, defeated. "I'll go to my room and get some sleep." 

"John, please go find Jool and make sure that you are getting better." He just
nodded and turned to make his way through the tier. "Please." He turned at the
single word plea, and finally saw all the concern that was inexpertly hidden.
He saw the rigid muscles and upright stance which weren't Peacekeeper training
-- they were love and fear tangled intoo almost unrecognizable strain. 

He wanted to reach out physically to reassure that stiff, frightened figure,
but as he stepped toward her he remembered the infection raging inside him. He
hesitated, not knowing what effect his human physiology would have on whatever
organism had invaded him. He looked at her and knew he could
chance of a mutated germ infecting her as well. He nodded and turned away
again. 

"All right, I promise. I'll go." The trio watched as he ran one hand along
Moya's inner hull, tracing a slow, unsteady path away from them. 

"D'Argo --" Aeryn couldn't take her eyes off John but couldn't bring herself to
move after him either. She had other things which had to come first right now,
but she also couldn't stand to watch him walking away all alone. 

The big warrior breathed heavily through his nose, a habit which surfaced
whenever he was making a show of doing something reluctantly, when he really
wanted to do it very badly anyway. "YOU be careful," he said to her, glancing
between her frozen expression and Crichton's receding figure. He turned to
glare at the Hynerian still hovering beside them. "And YOU go with her." 

********** 

CHAPTER 6 

Jool was already waiting in the maintenance chamber which everyone still
thought of as Zhaan's infirmary when D'Argo strode in carrying a weakly
objecting Crichton. John had traversed less than half the distance from where
they had left Aeryn when he had been forced to stop, leaning against one of the
thick arches which were spaced regularly through all of Moya's corridors. He
bent over forward, his back against Moya's rib but bracing his hands on his
thighs, waiting for a bout of dizziness to pass. He gazed at his friend's feet
through half closed eyes. "I'll be all right in a minute. You don't really have
to stay here with me. Go help Aeryn." 

Closing his eyes momentarily against a whirling view of the floor, he only
heard D'Argo's hiss of disagreement. He wasn't even aware that he was sliding
to the floor until he felt strong hands hauling him upright again. 

"No D'Argo," he objected as he felt the Luxan start to lift him off his feet,
"just let me lean on you and I can make it the rest of the way." But muscular
arms slid behind his shoulders and knees, he was scooped off the floor and they
started to move again. Through nearly closed eyes he was aware of the flash of
corridor lights passing at a quickening pace. The pulsing lights joined the
whirling in his head, threatening to spin him into unconsciousness. He tried to
help D'Argo support his frame by hanging on with one arm, but found that he
suddenly had no strength remaining whatsoever, and was left with no other
choice but to submit to his friend's assistance. 

If the weight of the tall, sturdy human was a burden, D'Argo didn't show any
sign of the strain. He had carried his small son, Jothee, to bed this way many
times, and he now cradled someone who meant nearly as much to him. He reached
the infirmary quickly, maneuvered John's long legs through the doorway, and
carried him to the high couch they used as an examining table. As D'Argo
carefully deposited his burden, Crichton quietly renewed his complaint, "I hate
being carried that way, D'Argo." 

"Very well! Next time I will grab you by one ankle and drag you through Moya's
corridors behind me like the carcass of a Folsatian pit hog." Jool started to
open her mouth to object to his retort but he cut her off. "John needs medical
treatment. Can you help him?" 

Jool was already moving quickly from one rack of instruments to the next,
grabbing several items. "If this retrograde laboratory has the necessary
equipment," she rattled through the racks which held what had been Zhaan's
herbal treatments, "I supposed I might be able to make a clinical diagnosis.
Doesn't your species believe in treating your illnesses before they become
advanced? I've studied most of my culture's theoretical fields covering
numerous existent xenobiological microbial and viral infectious agents, so if
your species does have any passing similarities to my own, as you've suggested,
then hypothetically I should be able to formulate an initial diagnosis of what
form of -- oh good, sensor pads and a readout panel --" Her voice ran on as she
prepared the pads and continued her search through the contents of the benches
and drawers. 

"How did you get here so quickly?" John inquired, struggling to regain some
firmness in his tone, "we only commed you a couple of microts ago." 

"Pilot said Moya wanted me to come down here and wait for you, but he wasn't
specific as to the nature of the problem. I'll need to place these sensors,
John, in order to derive some primary physiological parameters -- " 

Ignoring the non-stop prattle coming from the corner, D'Argo reached behind
John as he managed to sit up, and helped him take his vest off. John started to
just yank his T-shirt up enough for Jool to place the torso sensors, but he
discovered that it was thoroughly soaked now, so he struggled to pull the wet
garment off over his head. Again, a firm but gentle hand took hold and helped
him pull it free. John wrapped himself in the thermal sheet which had been
draped at the foot of the table, shivering for a moment now that his sweating
body was shirtless, and laid down again, waiting for Jool. 

D'Argo spared a brief moment to place his hand on John's shoulder, gave it a
gentle squeeze, turned and hurried out of the room. Crichton could hear the
metallic zing as the Luxan pulled his Qualta blade from its sheath, then a
click and a snap as he converted it into an energy rifle. He was left feeling
weak and alone, stuck here with an invisible viral foe to battle while the
others were searching Moya, risking their lives against the Peacekeeper
infiltrators. 

He was consumed by an urge to just leave the lab and go after D'Argo, pushing
through the discomfort of his illness in order to help his friends, to be with
Aeryn, to make sure she was safe. His promise echoed in his ears though, and he
knew he couldn't let her down. He tried to relax. He forced himself to let the
strange