Part IV

The excitement of death's brief visit had only served to disappoint, abandoning Rachel's patient instead to a fitful sleep that lasted for several hours. Liet, their guard, had long since lost interest. He had left his two boring charges and now idled outside the doorway to the medical bay.

Rachel Northway and Elenor Crichton regarded each other in tense silence. The space between them taut with the myriad of questions begging to be asked. But to rupture this moment was to invite disappointment at the answers they may hear.

Northway told Ix's men nothing about her revelation as to the identity of the girl. She felt it was wise to keep this information secret. The means of influence that Northway now held in her life dealt with the intangible: secrets and ideas offered in trade or held back to command an outcome. Her time in the House Ix had taught her such petty dealings. This was a different Rachel Northway that the Uncharteds had helped to birth. The process had been slow so that even Rachel herself would not know it.

It had taken what little authority as healer Rachel had to convince the two guards to bring the young woman to the sick bay where she could better care for her. She had found that invoking their employer's name and the possibility of his anger often conveyed more cooperation than anything else. The notion of needing to manipulate people this way would have sickened her. Rachel was used to meeting obstacles head on, usually with success. But here, in this strange backwards place, the rules were not the same. She was looking at one of those anomalies right now.

"Curiouser and curiouser,"  Rachel muttered. She had given up all pretense of tidying the low bench's rows of alien medicines and bizarre equipment. Instead she leaned back against its surface, her arms folded as she stared at the young woman who called herself Elenor Crichton.

At these word's the young woman's spine seemed to stiffen the slightest bit as she sat on the edge of the gurney, her legs dangling off the side. She looked up at Rachel and drew breath as if to speak, then looked down at the dusty toe of a battered thick soled boot, swallowing her words.

"You know what that means, don't you?" Rachel prodded. She stepped away from the bench and slid closer.

Rachel moved slowly, keeping her hands in plain view. She sensed an unpredictable side in this odd creature and had no desire to see it drawn out. Although she had never encountered a "Peacekeeper" the descriptions offered by the Zenetians gave Rachel enough reason to hesitate.

Butchers and war mongers. Organized mercenaries. Xenophobic. Ethnocentric. But looking at the pale, emaciated young woman. Rachael felt more pity than fear.

Slowly, the girl nodded. Her eyes staring through the floor to silently grapple with whatever demon had stolen her speech. When she finally spoke her voice was like a rusty hinge. The dialect was an incongruent mix of the Sebacean accent Rachel had grown used to hearing and a subtle twang that could only be American.

"Alice…in Wonderland. White rabbit. I forget the story. Father told it to me."

Father… The word snagged the hollow beneath Rachel's heart. That word, said aloud, in this place that knew more of orphans than families. How could this grown woman be the daughter of John Crichton, a man that had only been missing for five years? Yet she had seen it woven into the curious matrix that was the girl's genetics-- half Sebacean, half other.

Other… unknown species… 0001. It was the self-righteous designation that the diagnostic equipment granted human genetic material. After all, it was the label Rachel had supplied. But beyond the light of science, she felt it in her heart, an instinctual connection that somehow just felt right.

"Your father really is John Crichton… isn't he?" she whispered.

The girl looked up at Rachel, her mouth pressed into a pale line. Slowly she nodded again, with an expression that looked more like guilt.

Rachel felt her throat compress. Her vision began to blur with tears. The onslaught was sudden and complete. Fear, joy, sorrow. It was impossible to name the things she was feeling. They flew in the face of conventional wisdom, the jaded stance whose protection she had enjoyed most of her adult life and kept most of her sanity in tact.

"Then… do you know who I am? I mean… where I am from? What I am?" Rachel asked, unable to deny the odd quiver in her voice.

Elenor swallowed several times. Her own eyes were liquid. "Yes. Human… you're from home… Earth. Were you sent to bring Father home?"

"Sort of." Rachel said. She had to clear her throat before she tried to speak again. "It's a long wigged out story. But I can't tell you what it is to me to meet you… Elenor Crichton."

"Ellie… or El. No one ever called me Elenor… except when I was in trouble." The girl said, erupting into a strange sobbing smile. Her hand covered her mouth, as though the show of emotion were something uncommon, a source of embarrassment.  Then hesitantly, with delicate fingers she reached out to the flag patch on the arm of Rachel's flight suit.

"Are you really…real?" She asked.

"Girl." Rachel smiled wanly and placed a comforting hand on Elenor's shoulder. "Don't I know it."

Neesa watched him, his outline picked out by the dim light that reached the high barred window to the dank little cell. His head was propped on his fist as he stared blankly at the wall.

 Asher Korbyn had always held such mystery to her. He was like not like Lucien, moody and paranoid. For a former Peacekeeper, Asher's head was often full of strange ideas. The eddy of his thoughts was constantly evolving, reflexive to the changing environment. It showed in his ability to survive.

But the Korbyn that sat here now kept the company of demons. This was not the same person that she had once beheld with breathless infatuation. She could not decide what alarmed her more, the tiresome whir of his fretting or the fact that he had not found a means to escape on his own. If she did not know better, it was as if he preferred being caught.

"Asher," she called softly.

He actually startled, something that she had never seen him do. Asher quickly recovered as he turned to regard her, one of his classic roguish smiles dominating his face.

"I was wondering when I'd see you." He said, stepping toward the lattice of the door. Casually, he leaned against the gate, as though he were used to the sight of prison bars.

"No you weren't." Neesa returned sharply, eyes narrowing on him. The hybrid girl had been the object of his worry. Her scent was all over him. It was a peculiar mix: Sebacean sweat and tears. But with it something other that reminded Neesa of the strange dark skinned healer called Northway.

"Since when can you read me like a holoweb, Neesa?" He chided, reaching through the bars to touch her jaw. His deep brown eyes avoiding her gaze.

"Some things are more apparent than others, Asher." An image surfaced in his mind and Neesa seized it: the hybrid's pale back branded with the waxy pink scar in the shape of a Scarran standard. Neesa frowned, backing away from his touch.

"I've never known you to worry… especially about someone other than yourself, Asher. You're getting soft."

"Come on, Neesa." He said, canting his head. Regardless of his casual tone, she could sense him recoil, trying to tuck his thoughts away under neat rank and file. It was something he was never very good at. "This is me you're talking to… Asher Korbyn…."

"Precisely… I know who I am talking to." She said, icily. Neesa paced the short length of the door. "Your little hybrid tralk lives… for now."

"Good… that's uh… that's good." He feigned only a vague interest, but she sensed a greater relief flood through him.

It brought her sour jolt of jealousy. How could he dare? Why would that frail, scrawny little girl offer anything of interest to him?

"She's a bit… inexperienced… for you…" Neesa hissed. She looked at him, making him meet her eyes. But this time, he did not look away.

"Oh… come on, Neesa. You can't be jealous. I'm only using her." He offered another handsome smile. For a moment she was tempted to believe that the girl was a fleeting fascination to him, but the doubt had already taken root. His comment was the kernel of truth that he still clung to; however, even he had begun to doubt the reason.

"Then I do no know who to pity more... you or her, " she said finally. They regarded each other for a moment, strangers that had once known each other's skin.

It was Neesa who spoke again. "I know what you want, Asher. I'm not going to do it."

"What do you mean?" His smile evaporated. The knuckles of his fists whitened as they wrapped the bars. Neesa felt a small rush of satisfaction; it almost overshadowed her revelation about him and the half-breed.

"Exactly what it sounds like," she purred, her mouth pulling into an exaggerated pout. "Asher, if I am found out, where does that leave me? Ix treats me well. We have an understanding. I get my way. I let him think he gets his. I live like Hynerian royalty.

"Why should I risk all this for you…" The playful tone fell away from her voice. "Or your little Peacekeeper whore?"

"Because you owe me! Because… you and I… we have a history, Neesa." He returned in an intimating whisper.

"It's a shame, Asher, that you live in the past." Neesa smiled. The expression did not touch her eyes. "You should really learn to move on. Sorry, pet."

She turned and moved away at a slow amble, knowing the image she presented in her seductive sway of gossamer.

"Neesa!"

"Good night, Asher Korbyn. Good bye." She called over her shoulder. By the time she had reached the stairwell to the great hall, the small exchange was nearly forgotten. Her mind drifted to the coming day and preparations for the execution of a traitor to the house of Ix.

Elenor and Rachel had exchanged their strange tales, in hushed voices, startling at every noise that came from the hallway beyond. As she listened to Northway speak Ellie was struck once again by the sensation that time was tricking her, moving backwards. In the healer's presence, she felt like a child, vulnerable, yet protected. Northway exuded a confidence that Ellie had only known in the staunchest of Peacekeeper officers. Yet it was tempered by a very human element of compassion. Something that she had not known since she was taken from her father. 

"You're lucky." Rachel said. She made no attempt to soften her tone. "But you're not out of the woods yet."

Ellie nodded, vaguely understanding the expression. Her head felt hollow. Her neck like a twig. The heavy pain in her lungs was gone, but she could sense it was only the calm before the final onslaught. It did not bother her. Her own death. The concept was judged from a distance, compact and resolute. A destination that awaited. It was not covered in the red haze of fear. Somehow, that was a relief.

"The best I can do is treat the symptoms you're experiencing, not the actual genetic degradation." Rachel shook her head, slowly. She turned back to the work bench and activated the holo-image of the disfigured double helix that belonged to Elenor.

"Any director at Cal Tech would give their eye teeth for one of these puppies and these dorks treat it like it's an iMac." Rachel muttered to herself, frowning at new scratch on the casing to the diagnostics equipment. Satisfied that there was no real damage, she continued. "You've been treated for this before, haven't you?"

"Yes. Twice before. At eight cycles… and again at fifteen. He… they always intervened with treatment," she heard her own voice crack.

Treatment. The word suggested care or concern. No. How was it that we seek to change the meaning of things as if calling something by a different name also changed its nature. These events were more like well organized torture. The pain had been excruciating, as if her living soul were being contorted into submission with the rest of her imperfect hybrid genetics.

If she closed her eyes she could still smell the flat antiseptic on the air and feel the harsh heatless light of the comfortless room. If she were quiet enough she could imagine the tick and whine of the auto-docs, the sighing of the equipment, usually such quiet noises, raised to a deafening level to her over sensitive nerves. The cold stern gazes of the med techs, their mouths drawn into disapproving bows.

"It was never explained to me."

"It looks as though they found a way to amplify certain sections of DNA to more or less fortify portions…" Rachel said, as she studied the image, her voice drawn out in concentration. "This is just… light years beyond any genetic therapy I've ever seen."

"I don't… understand," Ellie returned, massaging the sore bundle of muscles that composed her neck. She was feeling the exhaustion ebb at her once more.

"I don't know enough to be sure. But it looks like human DNA was spliced into your own to replace the defective sections. The odd part is… how did they get an additional source of uncontaminated human genetic material?"

Ellie slid from the bed and stepped toward the machine. Her legs felt hollow. A cold sweat broke out on her skin but it was more from the course of her thoughts than the small exertion. She licked her lips, looking from the holo-graphic to Northway. "They would need a compatible donor… wouldn't they?"

"Yes…probably a blood relative. That goes without saying." Rachel did not turn from the data store.

"A blood relative. Someone… like my father?" Ellie asked quietly. But she knew the answer. Scorpius had used her murdered father's own genetics to keep her as his living prize.

Rachel looked up at her through the image, its dull gray green giving her face a sickly glow. Her expression fell with the dreadful realization. "Oh. Jesus. I'm so… sorry, Ellie."

Ellie's breath caught in a wounded hitch. She nodded slightly, slowly shutting her eyelids. Outwardly she remained still while a wicked spark of fury consumed her soul. Her hands collapsed into fists, the nails digging into the flesh of her palms to bring blood. She concentrated on the small pain this brought, seeking control against the violent sudden urge to destroy. But it did nothing to squelch the feeling. It simply condensed to a searing cheated fury, its subject far removed from her grasp.

"Scorpius."  She hissed, opening her eyes.

In that moment, she knew the course of her remaining days: vengeance. She slowly walked back to the gurney. Ellie found her jacket and began pulling it on, the dull ache of her body was a distant complaint. She could feel Northway's troubled gaze on her, but she did not look at her when she spoke again.

"There is something I must do." Ellie said. "I need to get that spheroid as far away from here as possible… destroy it, if I can. Scorpius will never have it while I still draw breath."

She turned to Rachel. "Will you help me to get out of here?"

"Escape?" Rachel returned with a small derisive laugh. She folded her arms across her chest. "You think I'd still be here if I could do that?"

Ellie looked away, regarding the dingy walls of the small room as though written on them would be some cryptic answer. She paused. "Asher."

"You mean that hunk that said he was a medic?" Rachel asked.

"Hunk? Pain in the eema is more like it." Ellie mocked sarcastically, rolling her eyes. " If anyone could get us out of here... he could. We have to act quickly. Nix is going to kill him."

"Ix." Rachel corrected. Stepping closer she granted Ellie a strange secretive smile. Then, turning to the door, she bellowed at the top of her lungs: "Guard! Liet!"

Ellie felt a brief surprised panic. She moved to the doorway, uncertain of her actions. But Northway grabbed her by the upper arms with surprising speed and strength. She quickly ushered Ellie to the gurney forcing her to sit.

"Chill out!" Rachel said in a rushed whisper, her eyes glued on the doorway. "I'm not ratting you out!"

Wide-eyed, but understanding slowly seeping in, Ellie nodded.

"Just… play along." Rachel commanded. She straightened as an approaching shadow played along the wall of the corridor beyond. Her face fell into a stern mask as she looked up at their guard.

Liet, stood in the doorway, slightly out of breath. An irritated frown dominated his doughy tattooed face. He trundled into the room. "Well? What now, Northway? I'm a busy person--"

"Sure. Liet." Rachel shot back. Her eyebrow arched. "You fell asleep at your post, didn't you?"

His scowl deepened. He nervously swayed, shifting his considerable weight from foot to foot. Liet sought to counter the sudden attention drawn to his ineptitude. He jerked his chin at Ellie. "Isn't she well enough? Lucien wants her working on the spheroid in an arn."

"Now, hold on a second." Rachel stepped between them. She propped her hands on her hips.

"She looks well enough." He ventured, peering over Rachel's shoulder.

"She's still my patient. I haven't said she's well enough." She looked over her shoulder at Ellie. Rachel winked at her, unseen, and casually turned back to the henchman. "That is …unless you want to see if Zenetians can catch it too?"

Liet paused. He took a large stride back. His voice hovered between suspicion and fear. "Catch?"

"Gingivitis." Rachel said, her tone serious. She leaned closer to Liet as though imparting a dread secret. "Nasty stuff."

"I've never heard of it." His gaze danced nervously between Rachel and Ellie. He took another conspicuous step back to the doorway.

"You're lucky then, Liet." She nodded gravely. Rachel moved to the work bench and began to busily pull out trays of medicines and instruments. Her motions were hectic, self important.

"I need that Ash-guy. What's his face." Rachel said indifferently over her shoulder to him.

"Korbyn?!" Liet looked at her, mouth agape. He laughed nervously and stepped closer, cutting a wide arch away from the bed where Ellie sat. "You're fahrbot! Lucien'll have my head. He's gonna have 'im executed at sunset."

"Then you'd better go get him now." Rachel said. She shooed Liet out of her way to busy herself with more equipment, none of it consistent in use with the other items she had just touched. This went completely unnoticed by the clueless Liet. "I need to confer with him. He's a medic." 

"Confer?" Liet groused. "Now… listen here--"

 "Won't Ix also have your head if you let this girl die?" She spun on him.

 At this moment Ellie feigned a cough; she stole a side long glance at their pigeon. Liet whirled, his rotund form colliding gracelessly with a metal cart, sending it into the wall.

 Fearfully he kept his eyes on Ellie as he questioned. "Why Korbyn?"

 "The Peacekeepers have been experimenting with biological weapons." Rachel granted him an exaggerated sigh of frustration. "She's been exposed to it. He knows a lot more about her condition than I do."

Liet ran a nervous hand over his shaven head. A thin layer of perspiration had broken out on his face regardless of the cool climate that his master kept the house.

"Oh. Alright. But no frelling around," he said finally.

"I swear, Liet, there's no time to frell around." Rachel said, gravely. She clapped a hand on his shoulder. He startled slightly, his attention still riveted to Ellie. With an obviously eager pace he made his way to the doorway. He hovered there for a moment, swallowing nervously.

"Gingivitis," he muttered under his breath, completely distracted. Then Liet disappeared down the corridor. 

Rachel released a relieved sigh, her shoulders slumping. Then she turned a conspiratory grin at Elenor. "So what's the plan?"

 Kaltic rubbed the sore spot on the back of his bare head. A new welt was already forming. He frowned up at the older Gird. "What the Hezmana was that for?"

 "I warned ya … if you complained one more time about the frelling cold that I'd hit ya." Gird grumbled. "Didn't I?"

 This was greeted with a snort of laughter from Bryn, the other sentry huddled at the small fire outside the Ix keep. But Gird did not share the man's mirth. He was bored and cold. The bullying helped alleviate at least part of the boredom. The white haired pirate continued to glower at the younger Kaltic, his one good eye a shiny black marble in the flickering light.

"Well it is cold!" Kaltic whined. He climbed back to his feet and made a half-hearted attempt at dusting off his clothes.

"You don't know when to frelling stop, do you?" Gird took a menacing step towards the novice. He felt a staying hand clap down on his shoulder. Gird whirled, ready to start an all out brawl, but stopped when he saw Bryn was watching something else. He turned.

A dark shape had detached from the blackness and made its way toward them. A man. He moved without stealth, no attempt to hide his presence. The uncertain light of their fire began to pick out details: the sheen of light on leather boots, broad shoulders covered in a dark uniform. Peacekeeper. 

"What the…" Gird started. He stepped forward. "Hold it there! That's close enough."

The newcomer did not pause. The only response was the cant of his head to the sound of his voice.

"Are you deaf? Let's see your hands!" Bryn chimed in.

Again, there was no response. Nor did the stranger's pace slacken. Finally, he stopped, standing at the edge of the ring of light carved by their campfire. Gird could barely make out the details of his pale face, partially consumed by the dark. But he realized it was not a trick of light, but a wide swath of charred skin that obliterated half the stranger's face.

"Where is the one… Lucien Ix?" The unwelcome visitor's voice was low, gritty, as though the very chords used to make it were in decay.

Keltic and Bryn looked at each other and erupted into uneasy laughter. Gird frowned. "Are you fahrbot?"

"Where is the one called Lucien Ix?" he repeated, stepping closer. There was a faint glint in the half-light. Gird realized he could see this Peacekeeper's teeth through a diseased hole in the man's cheek.

"Frell off, Peacekeeper. Before we add more damage to that face." Keltic chirped, encouraged by the bravado of his co-workers.

"The only way you're getting in to see Lucien Ix is past our dead bodies." Gird squared off, folding his arms across his chest.

The Peacekeeper slowly regarded each of the men and then turned flat, lifeless eyes on Gird.

"Your proposal… is acceptable," said the stranger.

The bastard was cheating.

He had always suspected as much, but Enid would never garner the courage to accuse his temperamental employer of it. Instead the hulking bodyguard looked across the Tadek board at Lucien Ix's self-satisfied grin and silently cursed. Even if he could manage to win, it would not be wise to have Ix lose.

Neesa hovered at Lucien's elbow. She granted Enid a dangerous smile, seeming to know his silent accusation. Enid had never trusted the B'Nai, or any other race with her curious gift. The tralk would think little of amusing Lucien with her prying little mind. Anxiously Enid watched as she slinked a dark skinned around her master's shoulders and leaned against his ear to whisper.

His concentration averted, the bodyguard miscalculated his next move. The silicate sphere beneath his fingertips delivered a slight jolt. A new column of tiles evaporated in a tiny electric whir. Another game, lost.

"Frell," Enid sighed, more relieved than disappointed. He longed for the quiet sanity of his post. That boredom was welcome compared to his current slow torture.

"You're losing your touch, Enid." Lucien smirked.

"I… uh… reckon so," he returned, standing up a little too eagerly. He stole a quick glance at Neesa. The same evil smile was playing on the pout of her mouth.

"Where are you going, Enid?" Lucien's calm voice asked. A hollow jolt of fear invaded his stomach. A clam voice from Ix was always the harbinger of trouble.

"My post… Luc."

"No." Lucien kicked the empty chair away from the table and gestured for his guard to sit. "We should talk… about this accusation. Of cheating."

Enid looked from Neesa to Lucien, swallowing. "Don't know what you're talking about--"

"Sit down NOW!" Lucien leaned forward. A venomous smile appeared. His voice quiet as he added. "I… insist."

Enid sighed heavily and lumbered back to the table. He glared at Neesa who promptly erupted into a peal of amused giggles.

"Enid… have I ever told you of how Peacekeepers punish duplicity? It's an interesting and painful process." Lucien leaned back in his chair, templing his misshapen fingers. "But first, Enid, answer a question… what do you think, as a marksman, what would be the worse digits to lose from your hands?"

"Enid!"

The shriek cut the air. Both men whirled, their anxious stand off for the moment forgotten. Stumbling into the doors, the young gangly Zenetian collapsed in the middle of the floor to the Great Hall.

Enid was the first to reach him, pulling the boy to his feet.

"Gird and Bryn. Gone." Keltic gasped, his words falling together in a frantic jumble. He turned fear-filled wide eyes up at Enid. "He won't stop! I watched it with my own eyes! A Peacekeeper."

"What is he talking about?" Lucien asked.

Enid straightened. "Trouble."

The lights in the hall flickered once. Then snapped off entirely.

"We have to move quickly." Ellie said, stepping over Liet's fallen body.

Northway flipped the unconscious guard onto his stomach and paused to find his pulse. It had happened so quickly. They had been ready the moment Liet returned with Korbyn. But it had taken enough sedative to bring down a small third world country to fell Liet. She worried that it could be fatal. The sick knot of dread in Rachel' stomach soon evaporated. The man's pulse was there: steady. His breathing taking on the healthy rattle of a resonant snore.

"He should be ok." Rachel fell back on her haunches and released a sigh. She looked up and was greeted by the girl's perplexed expression.  "Liet could have been a real dick to me, but he wasn't."

"I understand." Ellie replied, looking away quickly. Rachel knew the girl would have used deadly force on the guard, fatally ill herself or not. It was a matter of instinct, not a lack of morals. Whatever Elenor Crichton's fate, it would be something she would have to combat the balance of her life.

"Ladies… I'm almost impressed." Asher still stood in the center of the room. The expression on his face bordered between surprise and amusement. He looked from Ellie to Rachel and back.  "Crichton. What took you so long? I was getting bored."

"See what I mean?" Ellie asked over her shoulder to her. "Pain in the frelling eema."

"Half way across the damn galaxy and some things don't change," Rachel muttered to herself shaking her head.

Ellie turned a disarming smile up at him. In an unvoiced taunt she bounced the keys to Asher's restraints back and forth from palm to palm. "What's wrong, Korbyn? Did your B'Nai tralk not come to your rescue?"

He smirked, obviously savoring her baiting. "You couldn't bear to be away from me, could you?"

"Asher." She drew her voice out into a quiet purr. "Please focus. You're about to make an important decision. It involves the complication of being trustworthy. I know it will be a struggle for you. But it beats the alternative."

"You need me to get you out of here. " He replied.

"Good boy. You're very clever." Ellie maneuvered even closer. The smile remained in place as she dangled the keys before his eyes. "First things first. I need that spheroid."

"Sure," he said sarcastically. "Let's just walk right past armed Zenetians and get it. Better yet. Let me. I insist."

"Don't we need a distraction or something?" Rachel broke in. They both turned to regard her, as if she had just stumbled in from the street onto their exchange. "I mean… that's how they do it in the movies."

"Cut me some slack," she muttered, feeling the blood rush to face in response to their calm, yet condescending expressions. "I'm a doctor, not an anarchist."

The lights suddenly winked uncertainly and then shut off. The only illumination came from the display of the monitoring equipment. For a moment they stood in shocked silence.

"See? That's what I mean by distraction." Rachel said.  

Part 5