Part VII

John shut his eyes, seeking clarity. It existed in that hard cold shelter he had made for himself to survive the Uncharteds. This place had not failed him yet, if anything it welcomed him. But there was a complication. It was getting crowded. 

"John, you know that once Scorpius learns of your presence here, escape will be nearly impossible." Harvey muttered. He was a nearby shadow, more the complete absence of light.  

"Piss off." 

DK looked up at him. "You say something?" 

"No. Just talking … " He shook his head at his friend's perplexed expression. "Long story, man." 

"Sure." DK said guardedly, turning back to peer over the technician's shoulder. 

"And as for your friend, DK… I know what you are thinking. Is it possible he's working in collusion with Scorpius?" Harvey asked, canting a needle sharp grin. "It's likely that he has developed certain sympathies… His hatred of Scarrans is obvious, a common denominator that Scorpius would exploit." 

"No, man. Not DK…" It sounded terribly unconvincing.  

"Perhaps the man you once knew,… but admit it, John, this is not the same person, is it?" 

John did not fight the urge to agree with the shade. DK had changed. They … Scarrans… Peacekeepers… this entire ass end of the universe had put a mind frell on him that made Jim Jones look like the Easter Bunny. There was a quality to his once friend that was no longer present. The signature DKness was gone. It was as if someone were trying to pass off an imitation DK and only managed half the job. 

"After all… he was reluctant to mention Scorpius upon your arrival."  

John shifted slightly, as if that would rid his discomfort with the ill-fitting thought. 

"John?" DK said, without looking away from the cannibalized interface. "Look. Purvis has figured out a way to rig the--" 

"Just how much time did you spend with the Prince of Darkness?" John hooked a thumb into the waistband of his holster. The other hand worried the healing wound at his lip from his tussle with Korbyn. More unfinished business. 

"What?" 

"I mean… you guys like a couple now or what?" He moved closer, staring fixedly at his estranged comrade. 

"John… I've told you what I know." A frustration entered DK's voice. It was the DK classic you're-not-there-right-now. With a grunt he turned back to the interface station, already communing in whispers with his tech sidekick. 

John planted a hand on his shoulder, wrenching him away from the all important screen. "No… answer my question. Just what'd you guys chat about? Hot stock tips? Baywatch? Or… maybe using wormholes to get back at the Scarrans?" 

"John… What are you doing?" DK looked down at the hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it away roughly. 

John asked, dryly. "Don't tell me they cancelled Baywatch?" 

"What is this about? Damnit, John!" 

"Did you make a deal with him?" 

DK ran splayed fingers through his hair, as if trying to reach his very skull. Finally, he turned red-rimmed eyes up at John. "Yes. Is that what you want to hear? But I never once thought--" 

"Aw. Jesus Christ! What're you thinking!?" 

"You have no idea what they did, John. I'd be lying if I said I didn't consider it just for a second." The shrill of hysteria entered his voice. "It wasn't you in that room. It wasn't you praying that they'd just kill you the next time!"

What are you doing, John? It was a saner voice, largely absent of late. Guiltily he looked down at the hand that even now hovered near the pulse gun. Quickly the hand recoiled. 

"I've been there, DK. I've been there." His voice hitched. 

# 

Scorpius should have used better judgment in his choice of scapegoats. Sela Tyron had not been the perfect puppet after all. His own smug superiority, his reliance upon the absolute loyalty commanded by Peacekeeper conditioning had blinded him to her resourcefulness. And now they would all pay dearly. 

Tyron must have known the moment she had sent the encoded transmission to the Ravstar carrier that Scorpius had no intention of keeping his bargain. And so, she had left a legacy of revenge as reparation. 

The damage to the frag cannons was not enough to even rouse the attention of a low level systems check; however, the engagement with the leviathan hybrid had brought the seldom-used cannons on-line, accelerating the malignancy Tyron had planted in its system. There was no means of energy dispersion for the compromised components. An overload was inevitable. 

The dire nature of the situation was written in the pale drawn faces of the techs crammed into the ante chamber. The hiss and whine of equipment rang against the metal walls. Blue sparks of cutters filled the dark corners with staccato light. They were fighting a pointless battle. 

He stepped over the lifeless body of Gelic Hassan. Head canted to the side in an unconscious imitation of his hated master, Braca peered down at the man’s bleak features sagged by death. Hassan's eyes remained fixed in haughty incredulity at the prospect of this end. 

Perhaps he was lucky, Braca mused. It was no mistake the missing security chief was found here. He knew it for what it was: Tyron’s cryptic remarks to him in the runner gained hideous clarity. She indeed had gotten the final word. 

"Bitch." He hissed. Straightening he pulled his tunic into order. There was the beast to deal with. Dread cooled the hate. Scorpius must be informed. 

"Sir! I've instructed the technicians to begin diverting the power feeds, but I am afraid the damage done to the cesium lines is too great." The senior tech fell into stride at Braca's elbow, practically yelling over the bustle of activity in what had only moments before been an insignificant access chamber to the frag cannon assemblage. 

"We must consider a worst case scenario and begin the removal of all non-essential personnel. Had we caught it sooner--" The tech looked up. "Sir?" 

Braca was moving away without a backward glance. 

# 

A huddle of techs scampered by, their faces drawn in anxious lines, as they engaged in wild chatter. Aeryn staggered as Elenor sagged against her side. She turned, muscling the girl onto her feet, silently cursing the unique brand of luck that had placed her here and now with such an unlikely charge. 

"There's something wrong." Elenor whispered. 

Aeryn looked around the hangar, realizing Ellie had just pointed out what she'd been sensing for the past few microts. A shift had taken place, unseen. It was not the orchestrated chaos of a general alert. No klaxons had sounded. There had been no call to stations. The picket was abandoned at the entrance to the hangar. Only a few drab-clad flight techs lingered in the bay, their attention clearly occupied on other matters. 

"You may be right." Aeryn returned. 

She had kept the helmet's comms open, scanning for any sign that their incursion had been discovered. Other than the normal periodic checking of posts, nothing in the traffic seemed amiss. Nevertheless her heart thrummed faster. The hair at the back of her neck rose. The girl was right. Crichton, I hope you know what you're doing… 

Aeryn steered their party along the side of a prowler. Its canopy was open. The underside’s coupler systems were engaged with the fueling lines. Leaving Elenor to lean wearily against a wing, Aeryn slipped her helmet off. She briefly registered the cooler air of the hanger and its familiar echo. A brief scan of the cockpit told her what she needed to know. Fueling was nearly complete. All other systems seemed to be at peak. She regarded Elenor. 

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?" Her jade green eyes darkened with suspicion. 

She jerked her chin at the cockpit. "Alright. It's fueled. Get in." 

"Absolutely not!" Elenor spat. 

"You heard your father." Aeryn hopped back down to the deck, facing her squarely. 

"My hearing is not a skew,” she spat the slang expression. “I am not leaving." 

"Do not make this difficult." 

"I. Am. Not. Leaving." She folded her arms. 

"Elenor," Aeryn sighed heavily. Carefully she placed the helmet on the wing. She planted first one hand, then her other on Elenor's shoulders. "This is going to hurt you far more than it does me." 

"What--" 

With a vicious snap, Aeryn brought her forehead crashing against Ellie’s. The girl thumped to the floor in a motionless heap. Aeryn swayed slightly, dolefully rubbing her forehead. She looked around the hangar. No one had noticed them still. 

"Skull's as hard as Crichton's…" she muttered, stooping to gather Elenor’s limp frame. 

# 

Think, Rachel. Think! 

She regarded the pallid tortured figure of Scorpius. Part of her had begun to tune out the relentless drone. He was certainly fond of hearing himself talk. Megalomania? Narcissism? Whatever his damage, if there was any way out of this room it was going to be through him. The key was finding out how. 

"You are aware of the Peacekeeper's continued desire to harness the power of wormholes." Scorpius asked. He canted his head to the side. For an instant his eyes closed. He shook his head as if warding off some sort vertigo. 

"I'm aware you want to use it to kill, yes." Northway returned. She watched him stagger slightly. This was getting interesting. 

"The purpose should not concern you, Doctor. If anything, you should very well share my sympathies… as well as Doctor Knox’s sympathies against the Scarrans." He leaned heavily on the table, gloved fists planted on its glossy surface. A sheen of perspiration coated the exposed portions of his waxy skin. He turned pain filled eyes up at her. 

She huffed. "You're going to have to do better than that." 

"John Crichton has all but drawn considerable Scarran attention to your species, by his very behavior of late. Who are we to say that they do not even now have designs to conquer Earth?" His attention was divided between her and the chronometer inset into the table top. A low rumble entered his voice. The conversation was mindless, rolling over the same battered ground. 

"I don't believe you." What's wrong with this cat?  

"That is of little consequence." He straightened, seeming to sense her scrutiny. Another stolen glance at the chronometer. Whatever was making him sick was getting worse. 

"Look. I’m not going to help you with your little science fair project, so you can forget it. You can threaten me. You can threaten… Ellie… DK… and the Back Street Boys… the answer is no." 

"For the purpose you will serve, it requires none of your cooperation." He snarled, twisting his head. It was as if he were trying to slip his very skin. 

The comms chimed. A feminine voice sounded. "Sir?" 

He whirled, lurching toward the doorway. He staggered on the riser, falling to one knee. Was that relief in his voice? "Nurse Froy. You are late--" 

The doors parted. A female entered the room. Her blue hair and pale skin were made all the more incongruous by the slick black clothes. She stumbled forward… no… she was shoved inside the room, Rachel realized. A black metal case tumbled from her hands as she landed on hands and knees. 

A trooper stormed inside, stepping over Froy’s sprawled figure with little regard. In his vicious wake were Purvis and Douglas. 

"Douglas!" Rachel shouted. She sprinted past the fallen Scorpius, giving him a wide berth. She attacked DK with a ferocious hug. 

"I know you, lady?" Douglas feigned surprise. A grin surfaced. Relief smoothed his features. “Hey, kiddo. You okay?” 

She nodded vigorously. “Camp sucks. I’d like to go home now.” 

Rachel craned to see into the hallway, just as Purvis shut the door. Dread drowned her elation. "Where's Ellie?” 

“Why did you ask that?” The dark sheen of the trooper’s helmet turned on her. This was most definitely not Korbyn. Then who was it? 

“What the hell’s going on here?” Rachel asked. She looked from DK, to the trooper, to Purvis like a spectator in a new and confusing form of tennis. 

"Rachel… um… you know John Crichton." DK stammered. He switched the pulse gun from hand to hand keeping his attention on Froy. "John. Rachel. Rachel. John." 

"Meetcha." Crichton called raising one hand over his shoulder in a non-committal greeting. He tugged his helmet off and sent it scattering across the room. “Aeryn's got Ellie. She's safe." 

Rachel released a sigh. Her brown pinched. “Then where’s Korbyn?” 

“Who cares?” John shrugged. His attention was snagged by movement in the room.

"Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Not so fast there!" 

Scorpius had begun to crawl after the black case. With a satisfied grunt, John kicked it away from the alien’s reach. 

Rachel watched, mouth agape. This was John Crichton? There had to be a mistake. This looked nothing like the man she had once met, for whom she'd possessed a certain amount of professional jealousy. How could this be? He held their alien weapons with far too much skill. His universe had collapsed into the simplified rules of survival. A fine scientist had left earth five years ago and that man would never return, no matter if this John Crichton arrived in Florida tomorrow. 

Cautiously she approached, the strange sight of Scorpius lolling about on the floor like a shiny black beetle. 

"What's… wrong with him?" Rachel asked. 

"Uncle Fester here can't take the heat." John crouched over him, wearing a vicious grin. "He needs to take a chill pill every so often or the poor fella will fry his brain. Ain't that right?" 

Scorpius glared up at him, sputtering froth. His head wavered uncertainly, he continued to claw at the floor reaching for the black case. 

"What's that, boy? You want your treat?" John called. 

"Jesus." She looked at John. This was not the man Jack Crichton wanted to return home. Was this even the man that Elle called "father"? 

John trained his pulse gun at the black writhing form. 

"What are you doing?" She pushed his hand away. 

"What I needed to do over two cycles ago…" He looked at her, eye narrowed. Only now he did he acknowledge her presence. 

"Stop it! You don't have to do that!" Ignorant of the sound of the weapon's priming, she shoved his hand away again. A round struck the floor half a foot away from Scorpius's head. She had no love for Scorpius, but there something inhuman about torturing an injured creature. 

He whirled on her, grabbing a fist full of her shirt. She heard the distinct purr of ripping fabric. "Listen, lady. You don't know the score." 

"No! You're right. I don't." Rachel wrenched her clothes from his grasp and took a step back. His weapon was not pointing at her. It wasn't exactly pointing away either. That's not what worried her the most. It was the folded rage in his eyes, waiting for its release. Jesus. What the hell happened to him? "But what's the point? You've won! Let's leave!" 

"Come on, John. Rachel's right. Let's just get the fuck out of here." DK called, glancing away from his own hostage. His face was pallid. The way he held the pulse gun suggested he would be more of a danger to himself than any Peacekeeper that were to stumble across their merry little mutiny. 

"Twenty-two microts remaining." Rhen announced to the room in general. He shifted anxiously on his feet and glanced nervously overhead as if waiting for a sign from the divine. 

"What happens in twenty-two microts?" Rachel asked. 

"We rigged an alarm. The station will go on alert and think it's a core overload. That should get us time to get to the hangar." 

The deck gave a vicious lurch. The wall sconces erupted in a shower and sparks. The ensuing sounds of protesting metal were overwhelmed by the petulant wail of klaxons. 

"That's one hell of a false alarm." Rachel looked at Purvis. The panic on his face said it all. This wasn't part of the plan. 

"It's not," he gulped. Fighting the uncertain shimmy of the deck, he staggered toward the interface. He pounded furiously through commands. His shoulders sagged. "There really is an overload." 

"What? How?" DK abandoned his hostage to peer over Purvis’s shoulder. 

"I don't know." 

"Shit! Shit! Shit! That’s just great!" John cursed. He glared down at the struggling Scorpius. His mouth pulled into an ugly line. 

“Damnit, John! Come on!” DK bellowed, beckoning him to the door. 

"It ain't over, you son of a bitch." He snarled, stepping on Scorpius's back on his path to join the others out the doorway.

# 

Around him the corridors were filled with personnel. Faceless. Nameless. Like panicked cattle. 

You don't know what terror is…  

"Scorpius." Braca spoke into his coms without breaking stride.    

There was nothing but an answering rattle of static. Annoyed, he tapped the comms device adhered to the collar of his suit. Still nothing. Perhaps the Beast had died. A momentary montage of fantasies flickered through his mind: Scorpius seared by the contents of a ruptured conduit. No. Too quick. Scorpius pinned like a great loathsome insect beneath a fallen bulkhead. No. Not painful enough. Scorpius… 

"Braca!" A dry croak erupted from the link.

"Sir." Braca did his best to not stammer with surprise. "I have been--" 

"Crichton… is here!" Scorpius's snarl lost none of its feral anger in the transmission. "Bring your men." 

"Crichton?" He frowned. This time he did stop. Without a glance, he signaled deftly over his shoulder for the small detachment to change direction. 

# 

What had once been subdued grays and dim metal walls were now alive with the screech of warning sirens. Rachel winced at the sound. It clearly worked on a decibel level meant to rattle the very fillings in her teeth. Technicians, officers streamed past them. There were curious glances but no one stopped them, too intent upon their own missions. 

She collided with John Crichton's armored back. Frantically he grabbed her by the shoulders and whirled her around. 

"Back! Back! Other way!" He shouted. 

Her instinct was for distrust of whatever this renegade human ordered on sheer principle, until she glimpsed the approaching nightmare over his shoulder. A swarm of heavily armed troopers were splitting the crowd of bodies, bearing down on them. Rachel swallowed her protest and turned. 

They reached yet another anonymous looking intersection. Rachel muscled her way to DK's side as they struggled to keep their group together and remain out of sight of the troopers. 

"We're cut off!" Douglas called, snagging Crichton's arm. 

His face fell as he looked at the corridor beyond Crichton's shoulder. John whirled in time to see the fury of gleaming helmets and menacing black armor. A barrage of pulse gun rounds stuck the bulkheads around them, scattering them in search of cover. 

"Down!" 

The hallway offered little cover. DK squeezed into the questionable protection of a bulkhead. Across the corridor John did the same. He was already returning fire with a perfunctory skill that made Rachel cringe. 

In answer to John's volley another rain of energy struck the metal walls near by. DK pressed even further into the scant space. Briefly Rachel met his eyes across the space. He looked just the way she felt: scared shitless. 

# 

"The corridor is sealed." Braca said with a self-satisfied grin. "We've ascertained that Crichton as well as the two humans are in their group. There is no other means of escape." 

Scorpius asked. "Have you located the human-hybrid girl?" 

Braca paused. His superior showed no signs of the original state in which he had been found, but to question such an obviously minor matter at the moment. Perhaps there was hope that he had been damaged. 

He felt his stomach sink. "The detention level has been sealed. The core meltdown is affecting that level." 

"That is not what I asked." Scorpius stepped closer. "That girl is the key to all of this, Braca. It is essential that she be found." 

He pulled his shoulders into a rigid line and drew his chin up, regardless of the flounder knot that formed in his stomach. "I can only assume--" 

"Assume!" Scorpius snarled. He grabbed a fist full of Braca's uniform. "You do not assume! I tell you what to think. And now I tell you this. Crichton is on this station because of that prisoner. He is here to reclaim her." 

# 

"We can get through the access conduits if they've not been sealed yet." Purvis called, tugging at her elbow. 

Rachel did not look away from the growing disaster. "What?" 

"There are at least forty metras between here and the bays. We can make it through." 

Purvis was already muscling open a panel that looked barely large enough for child to crawl through. She could make it. DK maybe. But Crichton while in trooper's armor… no chance. 

"Wait!" She yelled. 

"Come on. Through here." Purvis beckoned, oblivious to her hesitation. He writhed into the space with a nonchalant grace and disappeared. 

Rachel waved frantically across the corridor. "Douglas! In here!" 

He squinted at her, dawning realization to her pantomime. She watched him gesture to John. But the moment Crichton regarded the escape route, he saw the same obstacle as she. He slapped DK on the back and nodded. Gallantly he stepped nearly into full view of the corridor, bringing down a hail of fire, cover for DK as he dove across the hall. 

The space beyond was wide and tall enough to allow her to move in a staggered stoop. She stepped over a lip of metal, cautious of the superheated piping, glowing red hot. 

"John!" DK called. He holstered the pulse gun long enough to crawl on hands and knees to turn around in the small space. There was the grating protest of metal. In the corridor beyond, emergency bulkheads were rolling shut, severing access to the hatchway. 

# 

"Here. Just in case." 

DK pressed the pulse gun into her hand. Rachel's face pinched with revulsion. 

She detested weapons. Four years working emergency medicine at Hennepin County had taught her a roughly-hewn lesson of the violence that men could do with even lesser sophisticated things. She never believed in them as a solution and was not about to take it up now. 

The moment DK’s back was turned, she lay the gun on the floor, instantly relieved to be free of the weapon’s cold oily weight. 

"We're trapped." DK said, breathlessly. 

"Do you think John made it?" She did not look up from her patient. 

Purvis grunted weakly, his breathing was turning into a labored panting. The wound to his chest was bad. The pulse gun round had seared a hole through to his left lung. Although she had done her best to cover the hole, the air that was trapped in his chest was already creating pressure, crushing the delicate balance of breathing. It was only a matter of time. 

This had been a mistake. They had traded one peril for another. The thought settled on her with a jarring clarity. Another detachment of troopers had surprised them, injuring Purvis before they could escape back into the access conduits and loose them in a maze of winding passages. Now they rested. Waited. On borrowed time. 

"I don't know. I hope so… I think so. He's probably asking the same thing about us right now." DK ran a bloody hand through his hair and tried very hard not to look at the technician. He paced the tiny room. 

"We've got to think of something." 

He reclined on his haunches. Rachel could feel his stare. She shook her head slowly, answering the unspoken question that lingered. The floor lurched. Another clatter of metal voiced the continued destruction of the station. 

"Whatever it is… think of it fast." Rachel hissed. She was not afraid. She was angry. Angry at poor choices, fueled by hot-headed decisions. The latest mistake would be her grave. 

"Sir…" Purvis gurgled. 

"Hey. No talking. Be still." Rachel ordered. 

But the tech was beyond orders, ignorant of her efforts. His face was bleak with the knowledge that she refused to share. 

"Access conduits remain… pressurized." His voice was a bloody crackle. He raised a quivering hand, pointing at an access hatchway. "Cross tier fourteen to the … bay. The two…" he swallowed… "the two of you could make it in the… time… left." 

"Shut up." DK's voice wavered. His mouth pressed into a bitter line. "Shut up. We're not leaving you." 

"Douglas…" He felt Rachel's hand on his arm. "He's gone." 

# 

"Sir, we cannot remain on this station." Braca swallowed. "The carrier is on an intercept and shall be here shortly." 

A seething silence was his only response. In a rare show of anger, Scorpius kicked at the empty shell of armor left in the deserted corridor, the only sign that Crichton had once been there. 

"Sir! Crichton and the others are as good as dead." 

"You have underestimated how resourceful they are." He answered. "Pray you do not err further, Braca." 

# 

Electro-magnetic field? Hopefully something harmless that wouldn’t hurt too much. 

He could not be certain he had seen it. There was a faint blue haze. There. A filmy waver to the air. It was too perfect to be smoke from a fire or mist. Cautiously, he approached, hand outstretched. He looked back the way he came. A great deal of the conduits had ruptured, cutting off his pursuers but also neatly severing him from DK and the others as well. John clinched his eyes shut and leaned closer, fingers flirting with its surface. 

"I wouldn't do that." 

John recoiled, instantly drawing his side arm. His sights landed on a darker shape in a shadowed alcove nearby. The man moved forward slightly. The light settled on the flat, brute features of Asher Korbyn. 

"You!" 

"I have a name." Asher raised an eyebrow. He meandered into the corridor, as if there were all the time in the world. As if the base were not about to collapse around them like a crumpled tin can. 

He jerked his chin at the bluish scrim. He clucked his tongue, shaking his head in rueful mockery. "Nil field. One of the… messier security features. It destroys on a cellular level." 

John side-stepped away from the field, secretly grateful. He sneered at this loathsome thief that somehow had managed to charm his daughter. "Thought you'd be on your way to whatever septic system you crawled out of." 

"Not without Ellie." He shook his head, jaw squared and his shoulders stubborn. 

"If Aeryn did what I told her, they're long gone." He contemplated holstering the pulse gun. 

"Then she’s ok." Relief flooded his voice. His chin rolled down to his chest as he exhaled. Then the same insolent stare returned as he looked once more to John. 

“Ya. She’s ok.” 

The deck lurched violently. 

"Can't say the same for us." 

Resolution

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