Part V 

"What could they possibly be talking about?" She threw a glance over her shoulder to regard Crais's turned back. He remained stock-still, hands clasped behind his back. No doubt he was engaged in some silent dialogue with Talyn. 

"Oh. The usual… chicks… football… monster truck rallies." John leaned against her back to impart the whisper. For the moment he was not curious about the oddity of bond between the former captain and the leviathan. "When we reach the NeuTech base… how much time do you think we have before they can attack?" 

"Not long… perhaps four microts at best." Aeryn returned.  

"That's cutting it close." His hand found the line of her shoulder, a thumb ran absently over the collar of her vest. 

"Decidedly…" She lowered her voice even more, hoping he would do the same. "What are you thinking, Crichton?" 

"What if we wait until the last minute to drop out of starburst? You know… element of surprise."  

"The calculations would have to be precise. We cannot be certain of Talyn's control. He's still quite young." 

"I dunno… worked on an episode of Star Trek once." John shrugged.  

"Pretending… that I knew what you were talking about…" Aeryn rolled her eyes. "It would greatly decrease the time for the station's defenses to react--" 

"But…" He knew her too well.  

Aeryn smiled slightly. "The proximity to the gas giant is a major hazard. That is too risky." 

"And flying into a full arsenal of frag cannons isn't?" John moved around to her side and watched Crais over her shoulder. 

"What… frag cannons?" Crais asked. His voice was coarse, slightly slurred, as if his discourse with the leviathan had drugging effects. Now he emerged from that connection. 

John and Aeryn looked at each other. Frell. 

Crais turned on them, slightly unsteady. But his energy, fueled by growing anger was quickly returning. His focus narrowed on Aeryn. "Officer Sun. What are you talking about?" 

John stepped in front of Aeryn. He ignored her annoyed grunt. "So sue us, Bialar, we lied." 

#

"You think you're something special, traitor…" Selik grinned with lupine glee. The scar-pocked skin along his jaw ticked as he leaned closer. Sela recognized him. One of the two troopers that had carried the disgracefully drunk Hassan to his room. Not doubt he had not forgotten her.  

He grabbed the restraints that bound her wrists overhead and tightened them further. The pain added to the dull throb in her arms and shoulders. 

"Most traitors die where they stand. Glory all, you get a formal sentencing. Who'd you bunk with to earn that?"  

"That grotesque half-Scarren bastard, most prob'ly." The runner's pilot added, taking up Selik's campaign. The two men erupted in bawdy snickering. 

Sela did not move, did not speak. Eyes-forward she stared through the stocky little creature. She would not grant this genetic misstep of a sub-officer the satisfaction.  

"Now that's dedication to duty…"  

More laughter.  

"Tell me, Red." Selik yanked brutishly at the tangled mess of her plait. "Do you like that? Is he all Scarran… that frell-off ugly bastard?" 

"Is all secure for departure, Sergeant?" Braca's voice cut through ship's interior. 

The two men went abruptly silent, jaws snapping shut with audible clicks. They fell into attention as Braca appeared in the hatchway of the runner. Sela felt the muscles of her shoulders tighten. Her hands balled into fists. She knew the opportunity would be too much from him to miss. Braca had come to gloat. Braca wanted the final word. 

"Is the prisoner secure, Selik?" He repeated, regarding the stout trooper.  

"Yes, sir. We're awaiting clearance from the tech team. Trouble with Hammond side maneuvering--" 

"Then perhaps you should go… supervise." 

Selik's stygian eyes folded into slits with the effort of thought. "Sir…" 

"Leave!" 

Braca walked completely around Sela as the two infantry scrambled from the compartment, eager to be anywhere else. He relished the taint that Scorpius had granted him, especially with underlings.

 "And to think you could have avoided this. What an absolute shame… a sad waste."  

The sympathy in his voice was as synthetic as the fabric of his hateful special ops suit. He stopped before her. Hands folded behind his back. Parade rest. The consummate Peacekeeper puppet.  

"Will someone say the same thing about you as well, Braca? Will anyone even notice your absence when he's tired of you… of using you?" Sela said.  

"Don't pretend to judge me, traitor. I know my duty. You derelict yours… for what? Some half-imagined… romance that as a Peacekeeper you are to be above." 

"Why are you here, Braca? Did you think somehow I would beg now… offer to make a deal to be spared? Offer to do anything?" She drew the last word out, and leaned forward against the restraints in a parody of vamp-like posturing.  

"As if I would even touch you… the whore of Jaryd Kes." He spat. But she noticed the flush moving up his neck before he turned on his heel, dismissing her with his back.  

Her fury was complete. Sela drew her feet up. Quickly lashed out with a savage kick. Braca fell forward, sprawling on the deck. He sprang to his feet, face collapsed in incredulous rage. He touched the back of his hand to his lip. It came away bloody. 

"You are not even fit to speak his name." Sela hissed. "My only regret is that I won't live long enough to see you die." 

He sneered. "How inconsiderate of me…" 

Head lowered as she glared at him, Sela smiled. The expression was pure ice. "That time's closer than you think, Braca."

#

Ellie lifted her head. It felt like a bag of hot sand. Instantly she regretted it. Even this small movement made the vertigo worsen. The sensation rankled her stomach and it threatened to revolt.  

The chair had not done this. Scorpius had other toys that made the chair seem like a simple logistics drill. There had been injections… drugs that made her very veins burn… then more pain. Never a moment of blissful unconsciousness. Did I confess all? Did I condemn Rachel? 

Ah… young Sun, you have excelled splendidly in failure. Asher is most probably dead, if he was foolish enough to remain. By now Scorpius has learned of your ties to Rachel and you have managed to imperil her as well. And there is the new blood still to wet your hands… that of the child you carry. 

"You told me half-breeds couldn't… huh-have children." She could recall the day. It was another clever hurt that would forever keep her different, apart and in disgrace. 

And had I told you differently, would it have made a difference? 

"Otherwise I wouldn't have…" It was a whisper, weak and barely audible. The embattled logical corner of her mind knew there was no advantage in the continued discourse with the daemon, a figment of her beleaguered brain. 

Romanticize it all you want. Convince yourself of your own fortitude. Pretend you possess no baser instincts like any other animal. It will not change facts, I'm afraid. You carry the bastard child of a common thief… a known deserter. Think of your father's absolute disappointment to learn this… 

"Stop this." She commanded herself. "This is useless." 

And for a moment it worked. The Beast was silent. A temporary reprieve.  

All these cycles she had lived with the Beast's voice in her head. There was not the comparative luxury of a personality chip, some tiny wretched tech toy that could be removed.  

Zhaan had tried to show her that he was a monster of her own construction, made a million times worse than his living counterpart. He was a grotesque caricature. A study of evil produced in the fearful mind of a petrified child. The part of Elenor Sun Crichton that refused to become overwhelmed by his evil, chose instead to embody it in this boogeyman that would plague her forever. 

Ellie lay still forehead resting against the metal bench of the holding cell. She listened to the liquid rattle of her own breathing in the close room. The air was stale and flat. On it she could smell the rust of the metal and the stale scent of her own retching. Once more her stomach protested. She bit down hard on the inside of her mouth, willing the sensation away. 

"I have chosen this. This is the consequence." 

Yes. How very noble… selfless of you to say that. But speak your true fear. Should you somehow manage to escape… reach safety… will this being that even now grows beneath your heart take your life? Just as your birth killed Aeryn Sun? 

"Stop. Stop." Her throat shrank on the words.  

Slowly, purposefully, as if turning away from the voice, she rolled onto her side, knees tucked into her chest. Listlessly she regarded the simple metal bars that comprised the cell's front wall. Even if the gate were unlocked, she doubted her energy to walk away.  

The tears came, blurring the useless view.  

"Well then..." Her voice hitched. "If I die… I die." 

Distantly the wail of sirens echoed, the counterpoint to this living nightmare. 

# 

"Now... why are you troubling our technician, young Sun?" His tone was smooth, patronizing. It told her to move with caution, but her impatience to protect her ship was stronger. With a snap of his black hooded head, he pivoted, surveying the Jocosta.

She winced at the plaintive desperation in her own voice. "He was removing the secondary shielding-- "

"At my direction, L'Tan." Scorpius interrupted. His rheumy gaze fell on her, a reprimand unvoiced.

"But... the shielding is essential. The pilot would be vulnerable to-- "

"I am aware of the risks. They are acceptable." He said over his back, as he once again regarded the experimental ship. "The shielding creates interference with the wormhole development."

L'Tan weathered his following tense silence. She had over-stepped the mark to question her master. A punishment might come. Swift. Irreversible. He could easily turn on his prize, his pet. There were enough scars on her body to remind her of that.

"You have come to forget your position of late." He would not turn to face her. A hint of exasperation edged his words. "I've have been more than patient with you. I am more than generous. I've given you free roam on this carrier, and I've turned a blind eye to your... personal engagements."

"Yes, s'duhar. Forgive me. I owe you everything." L'Tan fell to her knees in a graceless heap, head bowed.

Penance. Regret. Fear. Her trinity swam in a muttering mass through her head. The only way of life she had known since she was first brought before him as a terrified child twelve cycles ago.

"You are willful. Ah... had you been a full Sebacean... " His voice trailed off, deceptively thoughtful. "But you are a splendid trophy nonetheless."

She squeezed her eyes shut as she heard his approach in a creak of leather. His hand cradled her bowed head, bringing a shallow happy flutter to her stomach.

"I absolve you, L'Tan. You cannot be blamed for your father's baser… human qualities." 

The proximity klaxons screeched into abrupt life, jarring him back into the present. He shut off the recording from the hybrid girl's memories extracted by the chair. Scorpius rose, snatching at the coms to find his vapid Second.  "Braca--" 

The door's parted. A breathless Braca sprinted in. "It's the leviathan gunship, sir. Crais... Projections place it on a direct bearing with us. Deep space telemetry failed to pick it up--" 

Scorpius pounded a fist against the console. It was a small display of frustration seldom seen. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Braca recoil. He growled. "Scramble all prowlers. Redirect the carrier to intercept." 

"Sir, the carrier won't be able to return in time." 

"Then find a way, Braca! I want Crais. I want that ship."  

#

"Yes, I know Talyn." Crais spoke aloud to the empty command center. "I see the prowlers. They're insignificant." 

He felt the biomechanoid's hostility seek to overwhelm him. It was the ever-present hatred, the aggression that was like a current in swift dark waters. This creature would never be purged of it. Yet beneath existed the barb, forever buried deep... isolation. Crais recognized it in the eddy of emotion because it was something he could claim as his own. There would always be a portion of him that longed to return to the fold of the Peacekeepers... the primitive need to belong... 

"They are easily dissuaded. Target the station and wait for my command to fire." 

With a thought he opened the coms to Aeryn Sun: "Officer Sun, I advise you work quickly. The station has launched a prowler squadron." 

"Acknowledged." 

"Talyn and I will do our best to conceal your transport's approach." 

Crichton's voice cut across the link: "Crais… thanks."

Crais shut the link without another word. 

"Talyn. Confirm target and… fire!" 

#

Don't let me frell this up. I've three weekens away from leave, Fredyn thought.  

It of course did not occur to him of whom he was making this demand as he fought the yoked control column of the runner. He assumed, as much as most pilots did, that there was some universal balance that ensured, with proper amounts of cursing and deal-making, one would pull out of any tough spot. 

But this was one situation Fredyn feared even vulgarities could not fix.  

The meager prowler accompaniment to the NeuTech base had been scrambled. As well as all available armed craft in service. This included Fredyn's runner on an ignominious prisoner shuttling exercise to the Ravstar regimental carrier.  

The leviathan had appeared out of starburst, bearing down on the station in an unmistakable collision course. Their makeshift assault squad swept in to intercept. And then the Biomech did something that Fredyn would never forget. It opened fire. 

Leviathan's don't have weapons.

As if to reinforce evidence to the contrary, the ship, decorated in the unmistakable trappings of Peacekeeper insignia, opened fire again. Three prowlers were sudden blossoms of flung shrapnel and explosive gases. He managed to avoid their cesium-plasma stream. But it must have been debris that took out main propulsive motivators. He remembered the distinct pings of metal against the hull. The casings on a runner may as well have been covered in tissue paper compared to the crystalline metallic shell of a prowler. 

Fredyn, hardly the best at glimpsing strategy, saw the benefit in breaking the engagement with the bastardized leviathan. Now, nearly an arn later, they were limping along with the nearly useless maneuvering system. Tracking buoy now launched, he was fighting a losing battle against the considerable gravity well of the gas giant that served as protector for the station. 

"What the frell are you doing? Hold her!" Selik screeched. He leaned over as if to pull at the column himself. 

"You do your frelling job and let me do mine!" Fredyn shoved him away. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder to the inner berth. "You make sure we're not venting." 

Selik did not have the courtesy to feign reluctance at leaving this losing battle. He disappeared into the lower deck. A moment later Fredyn's coms chimed: "No leaks. Nothing I could see." 

Nothing a grot like you would have been trained to pick out, dren for brains. Fredyn answered. "You listen for ruptures, frell-jack. Just verify that the integrity is whole. Check the redundancy systems." 

This time Selik was silent much longer. Then: "All clean. Panel's in blue." 

"And make sure that bitch is still shackled. That's the last I need is her on the loose." 

"Acknowledged." 

A brief his of static erupted from Fredyn's coms.  

"Selik?" 

Fredyn's hand fell on the pulse gun strapped in the campaign holster on his belt. The other remained on the column. Even with auto-nav on… the runner was fighting. There was a nervous rattle to his spine that matched the pattern of the failing runner. It was taking too long for his partner to answer. Hairs rising on the back of his neck, he tried again: "Selik?" 

He sensed movement in the corner of his vision. But he knew he was much too slow. The shape that filled the passage was too slender, too tall to be Selik. 

#

"This is too easy." John muttered. He crouched low in the deserted corridor, trying to take in all of the possible angles of approach at once.  

Aeryn turned from the sealed hatch. The locking mechanism's security seals had not even been active. Was this a trap? Or simply sloppy indifference to duty? She looked back at John, eyebrow arched in silent agreement. There were dangers in either possibility. 

As quietly as possible, cringing at the echo carried by small sounds here, he unlatched the helmet of the pressure suit. Aeryn did the same. She quickly shed the remainder of the suit, tossing it aside along with John's into a reclamation chute. Inwardly she balked at the waste, but they could not let a discarded suit arouse suspicions. As Crichton so confusingly stated, they'd all be leaving the base by the "front door." Whatever that meant… 

"You think Talyn got away alright?" He said quietly.  

"You saw what few prowlers they scrambled," she shook her head. The pieces of this particular puzzle were not adding up. "I don't think they have the resources we'd imagined..." 

Could it be I'm disappointed that there's not been a single snag yet? 

Fortune was working for them for once, it seemed. Talyn's help had been commendable. The gunship's assault on the station's security grid had made a hole for their pod large enough to slip through undetected. The spacewalk from the pod to the hatchway had been eventless. And now this level of the station appeared literally deserted. I don't like this...    

But John appeared more eager to move on than to reflect their dumb luck. Pulse gun drawn, he eased along the opposite wall and peered around the corner. He jerked his chin, an indication for her to follow. All clear. 

Perhaps this is one plan that shall work… She fell in step with the human, en garde for security as well as keeping a watchful eye out for the access conduits they would need to reach the lower decks of the station. It would have been suicide to try to use the level risers. 

"Here." Fists wrapped around her drawn weapon, she nodded at the familiar markings that lead to the system of ladders used by tech for repair access. 

John turned back, watching her open the panel. Aeryn was first to lean into the open space before he could offer a protest. She looked back at him. "Clear." 

He moved into place beside her and peered down the edge. He let out an appreciative whistle. "Long way down. I'll go first." 

"No. John… I will. You're unfamiliar with the terrain." 

He groaned. "God damnit, Aeryn--" 

"So far this has gone off with out a single ketchup--" 

"Hands up!"  Aeryn felt the cold metal shape pressed into the back of her neck. Pulse rifle. Frell! She could tell from the electronic filter to the voice, it was a trooper.  

Slowly she and Crichton straightened, turning to face their captors. The pulse gun was plucked from her hand. Another trooper appeared at John's back and was relieved of his weapon as well. 

"That's hiccup, Aeryn! Hiccup! Not ketchup." John hissed. 

Part 6

| Home | Fiction in Technicolor | Feedback |