Part I

Sela Tyron resisted the urge to tug at the cuffs of her uniform. Its high collar pinched at the neck. The material was too new. It itched fiercely.

These are liar's clothes, she thought. They were a decoration meant for men and women that sat in large rooms such as this, plotting and scheming, never with true agendas. Fat and complacent as they lodged in climate controlled rooms with flat gazed attendants scurrying in the dark corners. She knew her place in the scheme things and did not require such trappings, rooms like this one. The moment she could return to her normal duties and a set of care-worn utilities would not be too soon. 

Her patience crumbling, she pulled at the hateful itching collar. She turned to look out the huge clear-plaz window at the swirl of the infant nebula beyond. She tried not to think about the Delcar wing, somewhere out there traveling beyond its milky light. For the first time in the past cycle it as not under her command. 

That is where I belong… not here. 

She waved off a Delvian attendant that passed a tray of reslack before her. Its smell was cloying, serving as a further irritant.   

"He will see you."   

She turned. Lieutenant Braca had crept into the room soundlessly behind her. He stood at the center of the Peacekeeper emblem set into the floor, his hands folded behind his back. Sela received the distinct impression he was very aware of the image he presented in his prissy special ops uniform that she secretly detested. He nodded to her slightly, respect absent.  

She had met the man only twice since his assignment to Ravstar as Scorpius's First. Braca possessed the questionable skill of grating her nerves yet all the while feigning ignorance. In fact he had once cornered her in the officer's lounge, being so bold as to invite her to share down time in one of the recreation suites. Sela had burst into laughter. At the time she had honestly thought he was joking. This little prissy man was asking her… 

She smirked. Braca flinched seeming to guess the course of her thoughts. For the moment the itchy collar was forgotten as she followed him into the adjoining chamber where Scorpius awaited her. 

He was at the farthest end of the suite. The ever-present medical attendant hovered at his elbow. As always Sela felt the signature dread that permeated the air in his presence. It was compounded by her own revulsion for the hybrid demon.   

"For the glory of all," Sela paid him a formal salute, regardless of the fact he no longer held rank. High Command had dissolved his commission, reducing him to a protected consultant. She had heard the stories involving Tertiary Advocate D'Soto.  

"Ty… " He canted his head to the side. "I trust you were not waiting long."   

"You've sent for me, sir." She clasped her hands behind her back, suddenly aware of how naked she felt in these hateful clothes. A strange anxiety began to trickle into her veins. There was too much about this that seemed staged, meant to put her off balance: the formal interview, the long wait regardless of the urgency of his call. He was playing games, the scope of which were lost on her.   

He chuckled slightly, displaying black cragged teeth. "No. Let us not stand on ceremony here."   

She resisted the urge to fidget under his rheumy gaze.   

"The Scarran threat grows greater by the day, I fear. You have received certain… filtered intelligence reports. Is that not so?"   

"Yes. Sir." Sela nodded. 

"Then you are aware of the discovery in the Keurig debris field… the Scarran outpost."  

"Only that it exists, sir." She licked her lips. "And of the… circumstances surrounding its discovery."   

"And interesting way to phrase it." He smiled like a slit throat. The expression evaporated just as quickly. "Speak your mind, Tyron."   

"You have not asked me here to discuss the Scarrans. I am aware of your new situation with regard to High Command. Commander D'Soto--" 

"Advocate D'Soto....places us all at risk, lieutenant. In her own fool hearty means to seek advancement, she may have very well handed the Scarrans victory."   

"I don't understand." In the corner of her vision, Sela caught an expression flit over Braca's face. She turned to glare at him. The drennit did not bother to hide his smug smile.   

"Nor would I expect you to." Scorpius leaned forward, propping a leather clad elbow on one knee. He motioned to Braca.   

Smile growing, Braca thrust the transparency at her. She looked down at the document. The prominent seal of High Command was unmistakable. Reassignment... to the Keurig instillation under D'Soto's command! But the orders were obviously convincing counterfeits.  

It listed her rank below her current station. The tactical expertise credentials had been altered as well. Previous postings placed her most recently near the Nebari front whereas she had never glimpsed it in her life. A quiet voice in the back of her reeling brain knew there was no way in Scorpius's decreased position that he could gain this leverage. This was not the work of Command.   

"These orders are fraudulent." She looked up at him. "You are sending me to spy. High Command would never allow you to do this."   

"You wish victory over the Scarrans? You wish to see D'Soto brought to justice?"  He spouted.  

She nodded vehemently in response, all the while trying to find the right words to offer up in protest. How to combat a demon that had soldiers for a daily repast? What was the alternative? Treason to High Command or to simply disappear from the ranks of the regime, my absence never brought to question. The situation was growing more dangerous. But beneath the jangled currents of fear, she found a renewed source of strength. Sela recalled a similar room to this one, where not too long ago another man, acting on personal agendas, sought to manipulate her life.  She vowed it would never happen again.  

"Of course I do, sir." She paused. The next words seemed to come far away, not from her. Purposefully, she made her voice low, even. "What you are asking of me… constitutes treason. I will not be another toy… a puppet."   

"You chose now to employ independent thought, Tyron? This is indeed interesting." Something in his needling voice suggested amusement. Had he expected her to react this way? Was this his game from the start? He rose from his chair swiftly. Scorpius walked in a slow predatory circle around her.   

Sela felt her body tense, ready for anything. Her next words came quickly. There was the solid footing of hope beneath this dismal fear and she meant to take advantage of it. She glared at Braca as she spoke. "I know that you have no one left. No other… lackey… that you can trust."   

"Name your price, lieutenant." Scorpius seethed.   

"My own commission. Wherever I chose." She looked up at him as he stopped in front of her. "You have nothing to lose. If I succeed and get you what you want, your position shall be restored and you can easily grant me this request. You would never see or hear from me again. If I fail… you simply lose time and another of your toys."   

The silence that followed was nearly deafening. Scorpius tilted his hooded head, studying her. Aside from her fear, there would be nothing for him to perceive as a falsehood. She truly intended to never look upon this monstrosity again if it took everything in her power.   

"Deliver D'Soto to me. The evidence against her must be irrefutable." Scorpius said. "And we shall have a bargain, Tyron."   

#

I could think of worse places to wind up. DK smirked to himself. Hell… I've been there.  

He rolled on his side and regarded Alejandra's sleeping form. Regardless of the hour, the lights in her quarters were at full brilliance, but she never seemed to mind. Since his time with the Scarrans DK could not abide the darkness.  

"Hard thing to avoid if you're in outer space, bro… the dark." That was John's voice, glib and mocking. For all long drawn out conversations he had continued with the phantom of John Crichton during his long confinement by the Scarrans, his friend's voice had become more distant. He had clung to it as a security blanket. But now in the presence of very human-looking Peacekeepers it came to him less and less, often at strange times, like now.  

He absently toyed with a strand of her auburn hair. A red head? Who'd have figured?    

"Remember the payload specialist on the Colleroy?" John chided. He was a shadow in the corner, still clad in the baggy flightsuit. "What's her name? That red-head with the really nice--"  

He rolled onto his stomach and placed the pillow over his head, cutting out John's voice. He did not want to remember. It hurt to think about home or the time Before. It was easier that way. Instead his thoughts flowed along the corridors of the base, twisting a turning to the hangar. He imagined the half complete skeleton of the Farscape three.  

Remove the hydrazine pump casing. Fuel cells to realign in the morning. Need at least three more techs for that. Allie, she hated it when he called her that, had promised him…  

His sleeping brain drifted seamlessly over into the vestiges of sleep. As always nightmare shapes shifted in dark corners. And there was never enough light.

#

"Hey! Hold it right there!" He called across the slanted roof of the Farscape 3.   

Two wide-eyed techs swiveled their heads around to stare at him, frozen in place, the heavy shielding panel suspended between them. If he were not so annoyed, Douglas "DK" Knox might have found the expressions on their faces amusing.   

"You can't just swing that around like a sack of potatoes!" Grimacing at the dull ache in his leg, DK pulled himself out of the top hatch of the module and slipped down to the hangar floor.   

"Who told you to--" He took a step in their direction only to crash back into the side of the module. He turned to see the clasp of his jacket caught on the lip of the canopy.   

"What the hell do they have against zippers anyway?" he muttered, trying to free himself. At last he gave up. With a resigned sigh he slipped out of the jacket and left it to hang from where it was trapped. 

"Puh-tatos... sir?" The one called Purvis ventured as DK limped closer.   

In his time with the Peacekeepers, DK had learned how literally even the most innocent of comments could be taken. Techs were the worst. The dozen that been assigned to help in the construction of the module seldom spoke to him. When they did it was with their eyes downcast, each comment punctuated by at hearty "sir". He had laughed at first. It only made them seem more nervous, something of which he was constantly aware. He could tell they did not know what to make of him. He was not one of them, not a Peacekeeper. Yet this stranger was their superior, all in all an out-right violation of their Codes.  

He knew they were more than glorified attendants. They laughed. They smiled at each other. They gossiped. But never with him. Never in his presence. Although he was constantly surrounded by other beings, like minds, DK was completely alone.   

"Why are you moving the shielding. I never said that this needs to be removed, did I?"   

It was nearly painful to witness their out-right fear of him. On some level he could identify with them. He felt sorry for them. They were the universe's equivalent of the high school's resident AV geek, seldom acknowledged and fodder for bullies. But these were things that he kept to himself, mental pondering for other times. DK had been forced to play by Peacekeeper rules. 

Purvis exchanged a confused glance with his companion before speaking. "Sir… Commander D'Soto ordered this. The more… primitive thermal shields should be removed because of its instability."   

"Oh… she did?" DK asked, folding his arms.   

"Yes, sir."   

"We'll just have to see about that. " DK turned back to the module and freed his jacket in one ferocious tug. Pulling it back onto his arms, he made for the hangar's hatchway.   

"Sir!" Purvis called after him.   

"What?" He turned mid-stride.   

Purvis nodded at DK's jacket. He looked down to see it was on inside out.     

#

"Ally!"  

Alejandra D'Soto looked across the polished black surface of her desk to see the human barge into the logistics room. Her features pulled into a dangerous frown. She had asked him repeatedly to only address her by her surname during duty arns. However, he continued to use her first name, even throwing in variations: Al… Ally… Ally-babes.  

This transgression on its own would have launched her into a renewed missive on the importance of rank, propriety and expected behaviors. However, it seemed to lessen in importance of late. Something, an annoying nameless, something… made her stop.

"Is something wrong?" She asked.

"Your technicians are taking my ship apart!" He jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the opposite direction of the hangar. A sense of direction was not his strong suit.

She made no move to rise or otherwise physically acknowledge his intrusion. Instead she looked back down at the listing stack of transparencies before her. "The shielding… yes."

"Yes…. The shielding!" He thumped a hand on the desk.

"I decided that it would be best if it were replaced with transenium alloy. It's more stable." Alejandra said with menacing calm. She looked up at him, her face devoid of emotion. Her patience had never been long lived. Regardless of her detached fondness she was fully irritated by his assumptive speech.

"And you would tell me.. when?" DK blurted.

"I was not aware I needed your clearance." She arched an eyebrow. Alejandra slowly turned her head over her shoulder to silently indicate the active surveillance camera in the dim corner near the ceiling. He followed her gaze. The unspoken warning struck home.

"No… no. That's not what I meant." He ran a hand through his tousled brown hair. Self consciously he pulled his jacket into a straighter line, as though realizing for the first time his surroundings.

"Oh? Elaborate… please." She asked, planting her elbows on the desk.

"I meant… Commander D'Soto. That I'd like to know about something if you're going to do it to my ship."

"Your ship."

"The… module." He stammered.

"I see. I'll take that into consideration." Alejandra leaned back in the chair, revoking her feigned interest. He had not always been this difficult. Perhaps placing him in supervision of the technician team had given him too much assumed leverage.

The doors to her quarters parted once more. Four troopers trundled in, pulse rifles drawn. Two of them were immediately flanking DK. The other pair barred the doorway.

"Commander?" The trooper's inquiry was made flat by his helmet's mic.

Rising from her chair, Alejandra waved them away. She rounded her desk and stood before the confused huddle of soldiers. "There's no need. I'd be dead by now if this were a legitimate intrusion. Tell Hassan his security detail is substandard. I want an explanation."

They looked at each other, uncertain. "The consultant has no clearance for this sector--"

"Leave me!" She barked. "All of you."

DK turned to leave with them. She grabbed his elbow, stopping him. "No. Stay. Obviously you considered this a matter of grievous importance."

"I just… over reacted." He stepped back. His every motion now was wary: of her… the room… the cameras. He backed towards the doorway. It took him two tries to activate the lock before he stumbled out into the hallway. He narrowly avoided a collision with another commando.

"You're late for the party." DK muttered to the woman. She only grunted, pointedly disinterested in his comment.

"If you're with the security detail, your timing is even worse." D'Soto snapped at the junior officer standing in the open doorway.

"I'm not with your personal detail, sir." The woman answered, stepping inside without invitation.

"State your business." D'Soto growled, crossing back behind her desk.

"Officer Sela Tyron. Black Star regiment. Reporting as ordered." She reached inside the folds of her black duty uniform and produced a transparency. "Hereby reassigned to Neu-Tech…. Chief Security Operative Sub-Decca Level."

Alejandra stared at her. She did not move to retrieve the offered document. "That is interesting… especially in that I have not requested personnel."

"You made no request. High command has assigned me here." Tyron efficiently crossed the space and placed the orders on the black luster of her desk.

"I don't want… I do not need a new security operative." D'Soto picked up the transparency between her thumb and forefinger, as though it were some contaminant.

"Begging your pardon, Commander… High Command feels differently." Tyron returned as she glanced around, taking in the cavernous logistics room. "My post is temporary."

D'Soto sighed silently to herself. Her annoyance with DK colored everything else. Verification of Tyron's transfer would take weekens. And usually the answer that returned was more cryptic than the action that had launched the inquiry in the first place. Alejandra studied at the otherwise unremarkable woman. Tyron was tall, lanky and hardly seemed the physical type to possess the combat skills posted on her documentation. Obviously someone in personnel was developing a sense of humor.

"Fine." D'Soto said, realizing she had grown quiet. "Report to Hassan."

"I have… sir." Tyron looked at her as thought the knowledge was commonplace.

"Then I don't need to look at you again until I call for you."

"Sir." Tyron said. She paid her on the faintest of nods, her spine stiff.

"And I don't intend to call on you." She said at the woman's back.

#

"I don't understand the question, sir."

Rhen Purvis, Technician Third Grade frowned at the hopelessly primitive propulsion system. To him it was a minor miracle that this ship was operational not to mention the fact that his rather eccentric superior considered it "cutting edge technology." He had honestly thought it a prank or some logistics exercise when he received assignment to the retro engineering team. However, half a cycle later, no punch line had been delivered and Purvis resigned himself to the rather dubious challenge of incorporating Peacekeeper technology with the equivalent of an inferior alien artifact.

Then there was Knox, or DK, as he insisted to be addressed. Purvis found him a constant source of confusion. For every advance DK offered a dozen more pointless questions. Each time he assumed that they could continue in satisfied silence, there would be more strange observations from DK that would take twice as much time to be clarified.

Of course, this was not to be outdone by the myriad of "jokes" that DK tried to tell. Purvis never "got" them. More often or not Purvis would have needed to have "been there" to "get it". He instead would nod or shrug, delivering a plastic sliver of a smile and it would make the man content… for approximately five microts. Then the entire process would start again.

At his estimate, the project would have been about three weekens ahead of schedule if it were not for the Knox's constant banter. But never the less, Purvis had to admit, he had begun to look forward to the interruptions of routine. In his entire, yet brief, career as a technician, Purvis had never met another being like Knox.

"It's easy… do you like what you do?" DK looked up from the opposite side of the hydrazine pump manifold.

"I am a technician, sir." Purvis answered quickly. "It is what I do. It is how I serve."

Knox gave an exasperated sigh. He muttered. "It's like talking to a coffee maker."

Purvis looked over at him. He had no clue what he had just said, but could only assume that it was derogatory. He turned back to the manifold. The casing was hopelessly fused by the melted polymer insulation and refused to budge. A dissatisfied silence ensued, but Purvis held out hope that Knox had given up for the day.

"What about girls?"

He hadn't.

Frustrated, Purvis rested his forehead against his arm. Nevertheless he responded, knowing that ignoring the question would only make things worse. His voice was muffled by the sleeve of his jumpsuit.  "Girls… sir?"

"Chicks… dames … broads… skirts…" DK pantomimed a curvy motion, seemingly ignorant of the annoyance he was cultivating.

"Ah. Females." Purvis nodded, acknowledging their existence.

"Yes. You have a girlfriend?"

"You mean a mate?"

"Yes, Margaret Meade. I guess that's what I mean."

"No. Those issues are decided… elsewhere."

"Whoa…. What?"

Purvis swallowed, feeling his ears burning. He was not entirely certain what the man wanted to know, but he did not want to be the candidate to explain it to him. "It's not an accepted--"

"Topic for discussion." DK finished the sentence. It was not the first time Purvis had been forced to recite from Decca. "Yes… I'm pleased to know you read your own instruction manual, Mr. Coffee."

They continued working in silence. Purvis knew better than to think it would last. He said the name quietly. "Cade."

"What?" DK smirked at him.

"Her name is Cade."

"Hey… wait… that's the brunette… with the big---"

Purvis looked at him, eyes narrowed.

"Brown eyes." Knox finished with a mischievous grin.

"Sir…" He nodded at the interchange manifold. "If you don't mind…"

"OK. OK. I know… enough questions." DK maneuvered into the hollowed out fuselage and began to help him dismantle the casing brackets. "Here. You should let me do this. The hydrazine line can't mix with oxygen. It'll --."

"Sir." Purvis swatted his hand away. "I'm certain I can do this."

"Wait! Did you purge the lines first?"

"Purge the wh--" He gave one final ferocious yank and the casing fell away. Everything that happened next was an awkward blur. A sudden burst of blue white flame tasted the air. DK shoved him squarely in the back. Surprised, he fell out of the module's framework. Powerful heat licked the back of his neck. Something fell against his legs, taking away his balance. The floor of the hangar greeted him, the metal teeth grating against his face.

Wind knocked out of him, he looked up. The hangar was filled with the shrill hazard alert klaxons. Booted feet rushed by. The chemical smell of the fire suppression system filled the air. Gagging, Purvis rolled onto his side. Suddenly he was hefted gracelessly to his feet by unfriendly hands. He was surrounded by a crush of gleaming helmets and unyielding armored shoulders.

Troopers? Where did they come from?

"Hey! Hang on!" That was Knox. "What the hell are you doing?"

Eyes stinging, Purvis strained to look over the mountainous shoulders of the guards. He caught glimpses of DK engaged in an argument with the station commander. The klaxon abruptly ended.

"…. in here and start taking my people!"

"If you did not control your technicians, this would not have happened!"

"No! Wait! You don't get it. Purvis… He saved my life just now." What? That was not what happened. Why would Knox lie?

"We were pulling the casing away and I forgot to warn them about draining the hydrazine from the thruster pump."

The two wove closer. D'Soto was in one of her infamous rages and Knox in pursuit. He saw that the man's eyebrows had been singed. His jacket's arm was charred.

With dreadful clarity he realized what had happened. The fuel in the alien vessel reacted violently with the air in the room, triggering a small explosion. Knox had reacted quickly enough to shove him out of harm's way. It was miraculous that either of them lived still.

"Yes… so.. Purvis pushed me out of the way."

"Is this what happened?" She scowled at Purvis.

This stomach contorted into a cold knot under her gaze. He glanced at Knox. The man was nodding at him beyond her point of view, pantomiming for him to agree with the falsehood. Swallowing he lowered his head submissively. "Yes… Commander."

His heart thudded in his ears as he tried to not imagine the penalties for the transgression of lying. Why would Knox risk lying to his commander for him? After all, he was only a tech.

"Regardless. The project has been damaged. Weekens of work have been destroyed. These technicians must bear responsibility." She turned away from Purvis, squaring off with Knox.

"Then I will handle it." It was delivered with cold severity that Purvis had never seen before in the strange man. "Commander."

She dismissed him with her back. The troopers all but threw him back to the deck as they departed in her wake. He watched their receding backs, uncertain if he should be enjoying the relief flooding over him. Had he told the truth, he would have certainly been eliminated. Knox had told him repeatedly about the fuel line mix, but he had ignored the warnings, thinking the primitive was exaggerating from the standpoint of inferior science.

"Christ. I don't know about you, but I need a beer." Knox exhaled. He plopped onto the deck beside him with a relieved sigh.

Purvis looked at him, mouth agape. "Why did you do that?"

He grinned cryptically. "Good help is hard to come by."

#

"I mean…" Hassan slurred the treasonous remark. "That she's frelling bitch!"

Sela rested her chin in her palm and looked across the small table at the drunk officer. He was on his sixth fellip nectar and showed no indication that he was going to stop. Each time she tried to maneuver the conversation toward Commander D'Soto, Hassan would turn sullen and vengeful.

"D'Soto… doesn't know what she's frelling doing." This fell into an ill-timed lull in the ambient conversation in the sparsely populated officer's lounge. "She and that… Knox. Frelling morons…"

In the three solar days she had known Hassan, she had developed a seething contempt for him. He was slovenly, constantly late for duty, and bore the graceless intelligence associated with grot-level commandos. Overall just what one might expect from promoting a field grunt to a position of office. Clearly it was a rank given to Hassan to buy his loyalty, a temporary bribe that had long since lost its appeal.

"Say…" Hassan looked blearily up at her, all the characteristics an idea dawning on his slack-jawed expression. He leaned forward. Under the table, his hand was a sudden weight on her knee. "Black Star regiment. Most of those guys were stationed on Hedas. Did you ever know a… "

"About our Commander." She held the open bottle just out of his reach to draw his attention as she deftly maneuvered away from his touch. "I believe you were about to say something more."

"I cannot be certain. You understand." His eyebrows rose on his square forehead and he looked around, aping secretiveness.

"I hold whatever you say in the strictest of confidences." She grinned, fighting her revulsion for the man.

"That… alien… primate."

"Alien?"

"Yes. Yes… Consultant Knox." He said, waving it off as a minor point.

"He is non-Sebacean?" The meeting in the hallway. The strange man that muttered something to her before she entered D'Soto's room.

"Calls himself…heman… hurr-nah… human. That's it?"

Human! The term brought a flare of crimson hate. The fugitive called Crichton. He was human. Whatever dim happiness she had ever possessed had ended because of a human. If it were not for Crichton, Jared Kes would still be alive. And the universe to a certain extent would still make sense. Sela could have continued to be the obedient Peacekeeper stumbling along in content stupidity.

"Are you certain?"

"I don't think she's giving him Tadek lessons during down time…" he sneered, taking another greedy gulp from his drink.

A smile crept around the corner of her mouth. D'Soto could not possibly be that stupid? Could she risk irreversible contamination just to recreate with some backwards species like these humans? The idea sickened her. Yet, if this were true, Scorpius would have his ammunition and she could be free of the hybrid monster.

She forced another smile onto her face. "Would you like another drink, Hassan?"

Part 2

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