Voices Of Reason
Chapter 7
John woke again as Jool set a few instruments down on the couch next to him. The ringing in his ears had
receded to a faint whine and he wasn’t as lightheaded as he had been before. He sat up, shivering as sweat
dried on him, and pulled the sheet closer around him, “How long have I been sleeping?”
“Only about half an arn this time.” She looked at the sensor display near the head of the table, “Your fever is
down. Good. I want to try another formulation, is that all right?” She seemed subdued, her usual arrogant
bravado was missing or severely in check.
“Sure. Anything to get rid of this damned bug.” A deep shudder shook his body as the cool air of the chamber
chilled him, his hair drying rapidly. He clamped his jaws together to keep his teeth from chattering, and watched
with a small dose of amazement as Jool stepped, unasked, across the floor, retrieved a heavy fur blanket and
helped wrap it around him.
“This may feel … a little odd,” she warned. She didn’t wait for an answer, but punched the injector into a
muscle in his forearm and stood back to watch the display panel again. She looked at him inquiringly,
“Anything?”
“Nothing. You must have done something wrong.” Her head came up with a snap, reacting to a challenge he
hadn’t intended to issue. “Wait!” he cut in before she could respond, “I was kidding. It seems like every time
someone in this universe sticks something into me, it just hurts like holy hell. I only meant that if it didn’t hurt, it
couldn’t be right.”
She pushed her anger back down where it had come from and tried to respond in the same light tone. “I’ll do
better next time,” she promised with a smile.
“Lie down and try to relax for a few microts, then I’ll see if this worked any better than the previous attempts.”
She moved back to the bench where the substance analyzer stood, and began picking up the mess of culture
plates and samples that were strewn everywhere. She looked back and saw him staring in her direction, a look
of … she didn’t recognize the look on his face.
“What’s gone wrong? What’s the matter?” She began a quick movement back in his direction, but paused as
his gaze snapped back from the faraway vagueness, focusing on her again.
“Nothing’s the matter. I’m … fine.” He nodded his head sideways toward his shoulder, silently acknowledging
that ‘fine’ was an overstatement. She turned away and began preparing another plate on which to make up the
next blood test.
His stare returned to the spot where the central support pillar for the chamber rose out of the floor, his memory
again jerking him back to when a female Peacekeeper commando had lain there, her skull crushed by a
parasitic viciousness that had controlled his actions. He had been invaded by a different kind of virus then, an
intellent virus that could control the thoughts and behaviors of its host. It was not a pleasant memory, not one
he had chosen to draw upon, and he was disturbed that it had risen unbidden at this particular moment.
* * * * *
Ekron was focused on the exchange between the two women above, reveling in the discovery that he might be
able to kill or capture two crew members instead of just one. He was so intent on the unfolding possibilities that
he did not notice when a DRD scuttled into the chamber where he crouched, reversed, and slid silently back
out of sight behind a pillar. Just its eyestalks peered around the corner, and even the light from those dimmed
a bit as the unit sought to avoid being detected. Far above, Pilot received the alert and reviewed the incoming
video message from the drone.
“Officer Sun!” Despite his attempt to speak quietly, Pilot’s voice blared out over her comms. Two levels down
the DRD could hear the transmission, and sent the data back to Pilot at once, who desperately sought a way to
prevent either Aeryn or Chiana from descending any further without alerting the Peacekeeper as well.
“Yes, Pilot.” Aeryn’s response was met with silence. “Pilot?” she repeated, abruptly concerned.
“Please wait where you are, D’Argo is coming to meet you. He has something very important to tell you.” Pilot
called D’Argo in Command and told him what was going on, and advised him of the commando’s current
location. D’Argo smile of wolfish anticipation reflected the frustrated anger that still roiled deep within him, and
he barreled out of Command on his way to meet with Aeryn and Chiana. He was looking forward to finally
catching one of the intruders.
* * * * *
Peacekeeper Captain Hasman backed slowly away from the doorway into the maintenance bay where he could
still hear two voices in conversation. One circumspect glance had revealed that there were only two people in
the chamber, the startled woman he had seen and a tall Sebacean, undoubtedly the hidden man during the
skirmish. He had considered trying to kill them both while they were in the room, but decided that crossing the
distance from the door to where they were located was going to take too much time. They were wearing comms
and might be able to alert the other criminals on board before he could execute both of them.
He listened to their discussion and felt a jolt of relief run through him. The Sebacean was sick, a condition
virtually unheard of among Peacekeepers. If that man was, in fact, another traitor, Hasman could have
exposed himself to some new disease and become infected as well. He felt a cold sweat break out along his
spine and his stomach tightened as he realized how close he had just come to such a horrible fate. He listened
as the conversation continued.
“I don’t understand. Do you think there is some special atmosphere in your own quarters that is going to help
you recover sooner?” The sarcasm in the woman’s voice could have cut steel. “You have offered no clinical
explanation for your ridiculous desire to return to some emotionally labeled former prison cell that you call your
‘bed room’. The invading pathogen has NOT been eliminated from your system, and it is going to take several
arns at least before your immune system begins to destroy the virus.”
The male voice when it returned was weak. “But you said I was going to start getting better, right?”
A long sigh of forced patience preceded her next explanation, “My formulation has only stimulated your immune
system to fight what would otherwise be an unidentifiable, rapidly mutating virus capable of overwhelming your
physiological defenses. It is going to take some time before your own immunological peculiarities adapt to the
DNA I modified and begin to attack the source of the infection. Until your sub-evolved excuse for an immune
system does that, your physiological reaction will remain the same -- a high fever. Any symptomatic relief you
are currently experiencing is due entirely to the effects of the herbal preparation.”
“Then I want to go back to Quarters while I can still stand up, Jool.” The voice was still quiet, but insistent.
Hasman turned and walked quickly away, searching once again for a moment of opportunity. He was certain he
could surprise and kill the man and woman as they left the maintenance bay, but exposing himself to an
unknown disease would not achieve his purpose. He would find a weapon that could kill at longer ranges, and
then seek this pair out again.
* * * * *
Aeryn tried to wait patiently but Pilot had given her no more information, and her imagination began to fill in the
information that was still not forthcoming. “Why would he want us to wait for D’Argo here?” Her question to
Chiana was rhetorical and she went on considering the possibilities. “What if something has happened to
John? Perhaps Pilot doesn’t want to tell me over the comms.” She felt her self-control slipping; she couldn’t
stop worrying about Crichton.
“I’m sure that’s not it, Aeryn,” Chiana tried to reassure her. “Pilot probably just has something to tell you that’s
way too complicated over the comms. And there’s no clamshell down here to display information. That’s
probably all there is to it.” The voice was positive and optimistic, but when Aeryn looked at her more closely
she saw lines of concern in the gray skin that she didn’t remember seeing before.
Aeryn thought about it for several more microts, but began to feel an overwhelming need to take any kind of
action. This waiting around was a grot’s solution. She needed to do something … anything. “Jool?” she
inquired over the comms.
“Yes, Aeryn.” Her voice was strained.
“What’s going on?” she demanded, puzzled by the tone in Jool voice. “How is Crichton?”
“He’s a bit better. I’ll tell you more in a little while.” Her voice was shaking from what sounded like intense
physical effort. Chiana’s eyebrows had disappeared upward beneath her bangs, her look of quizzical
amazement having opposite the expected affect on Aeryn, who suddenly smiled and began to relax.
“What is going on up there?” she asked again.
A distinctly male grunt came over the comms, prompting Chiana’s face to look even more astonished, if that
was possible. Then there was nothing but silence from the personal transmitters.
“Oh for Eechub’s sake!” Jool petulant tone finally broke through. “You are the heaviest human I have ever tried
to move!”
“Jool!” Aeryn and Chiana demanded simultaneously.
“You two have all the patience of a love-deprived tralk!” came the sharp response. “John wanted to be back in
his own quarters and I saw no valid medical reason not to let him sleep in his own chamber,” her tone took on
an accusing pitch, “but he rather overestimated his stamina and I am never going to be put in a position of
trying to hold up that much staggering physiology ever again!” The comms went silent with a chirp.
“Aeryn, where are you?” She jumped as Rygel’s voice came through her comms. She had momentarily
forgotten that he was searching above them.
“About four tiers from the bottom, Rygel. Where are you?” She wouldn’t glance at Chiana, mildly mortified that
Rygel’s unexpected transmission had actually prompted a physical start. She had been trained better than
that, but her thoughts had been entirely fixated on John. If he was back in his own room he must be all right.
“Right below Pilot. Where do you recommend I search next?”
The question gave her a focus around which to gather her scattered thoughts. Her innate self-control began to
reassert itself as she considered the most plausible strategy their hidden opponents might attempt next. There
were too many variables to make even an educated estimation. Her thoughts worked back to their current
status -- waiting for D‘Argo.
“Just wait there and keep watch. Pilot’s neural connections are one of our most vulnerable locations. D’Argo is
coming down to meet Chiana and me. Once we’ve checked with him, I’ll get back to you.” She began to realize
that they were never going to get ahead of the two officers, and were going to have to resort to a painstaking
tier by tier search.
“All right … but unless someone brings me something to eat in the next half arn, the only area I’ll be guarding
will be the Center Chamber.”
“Rygel!” she began, but heard the chirp as he cut off the channel on his end. She looked at Chiana.
“Everyone seemed to be cutting comms off this evening.” She tried to make a joke of it, but the remark
reminded her that she had lost track of time during her search. “How long have we been at this?”
“It’s been almost five arns since the Marauder got on board.”
Aeryn shook her head. This was taking too much time. Five arns and they hadn’t had one sighting of either
commando since they Starburst. They had to find some way to locate them faster.
* * * * *
Ekron heard most of the conversation above him, including the portion about another crew member coming to
meet the two women. He crawled forward until he could peer cautiously up the cylindrical opening, trying to see
if either one had resumed their descent. He couldn’t stay here much longer; he was bound to be spotted by
one of the cursed DRDs if he stayed in one place too long. No one was in the shaft. He eased back out of
sight and considered. He had lost his small advantage, he could feel it. There were no empirical facts to
demonstrate that he had lost his window of opportunity, but his instincts told him it was time to move off this tier
and look for another chance to strike.
He moved stealthily toward an arched opening into a passageway, using the natural pillars as cover in case
someone was in the corridor outside. As he slid around the last one his foot kicked something. He looked
down and spotted the DRD just as it engaged all of its motivator circuits and accelerated out of the chamber.
“Dren!” the word escaped his lips, the first sound he had uttered in several tension filled arns. How long had
that frelling machine been watching him? He cast away stealth and bolted out of the chamber, watching for the
first available access tunnel into which he might be able to disappear.
“D’Argo! The Peacekeeper has left the neural plexus cavern and is headed outboard, hamman side!” Pilot
relayed the information he had just received from the DRD to the Luxan who was still running at full speed
through Moya’s corridors.
“Frell! He’s going to lose us again. Pilot, are there enough DRDs in that area to continue tracking him?”
D’Argo skidded around a corner and cut into a chamber where there was a vertical shaft to the next tier below.
He slid his Qualta blade unerringly into its scabbard and vaulted onto the ladder that grew from the floor of the
tier below. He slid down, hands and feet gripping only the outer edges of the vertical support, and hit the floor
running. “Tell Aeryn what is going on and have her meet me. Can we get him trapped between us?”
“I don’t believe so. I have already directed DRDs into the areas ahead of him, but I believe he will be ahead of
both you and Officer Sun. You will be able to meet on the tier directly below you now, and pursue him from
there. I have already informed Officer Sun and she is on her way.”
D’Argo didn’t waste his breath with any further questions. He realized that Pilot was already in as much control
of the situation as they could hope for, and now he just needed to catch up with this haatak scum.
When Aeryn received the transmission from Pilot she had simply leapt over the low wall onto the ladder where
she had been standing with Chiana, and scrambled down two tiers to begin her pursuit. “Go stand watch with
Rygel,” she yelled to Chiana. “That area is the most vital on board Moya, see if he needs any help.”
Chiana started to open her mouth to object, but Aeryn was already gone. For a short moment she considered
disregarding Aeryn’s order, but realized that as much as she wanted to help Aeryn for John’s sake, Moya’s
safety was more important. She glanced up the vertical shaft, shook her head, and left the chamber to take the
more normal route upward via corridors and ramps.
* * * * *
“Officer Sun … turn right at the next junction.” Pilot had been guiding her unerringly to fall in as closely as
possible behind the fugitive. She followed his instructions and found a DRD waiting in the middle of the
corridor. She heard pounding footsteps ahead coming from another intersection, but before she could even
begin to raise her rifle she realized the noise had to be D’Argo. A second yellow flash crossed the intersection
in front of her and D’Argo appeared in hot pursuit.
“Have you spotted him yet?” he asked. She only shook her head and went after the yellow machine as it sailed
around the next corner, leading them to their quarry.
* * * * *
Rygel listened to all three of his stomachs as they growled, complaining loudly that that not one of them had
been fed recently. He guided his Throne Sled around and around the central bulk that was Pilot’s lower body,
and all the thousands of neural connections that joined him to Moya. Each time he completed a circuit Rygel
looked out of the chamber into the corridor that he knew led to the Central Chamber they all used as a dining
area, and each time he did his stomachs made an audible objection concerning their neglect.
He finally began to steer his chair out into the corridor, but paused and looked back at the unguarded chamber,
and looked up at what he could see of Pilot. “I am not some lower class soldier to be standing guard over a
bunch of neural fibers while the rest of the members of this crew run around doing whatever they like!” he
objected to no one. “This is not the correct station for a Dominar of the House of Rygel.”
He sighed, and thought about the huge creature above for a moment. Pilot had no choice. Pilot was bonded to
Moya and had given up his mobility freely in order to enter into a symbiotic relationship with this great peaceful
ship. Zhaan had always tried to protect the pair, but Zhaan was gone now.
The tips of Rygel’s earbrows drooped a bit, and he gazed down at the corridor floor considering the situation.
Then he steered his floating seat back into the chamber to continue standing guard as Aeryn had instructed
him. His stomachs had waited this long to be fed … they could wait another arn or two.
* * * * *
Ekron was still moving quickly but no longer running headlong through the corridors. He could hear the Luxan
and the traitor still behind him, and knew that his chances of overwhelming both of them together was slim at
best. He still didn’t have any option except retreat. He had no idea where his captain was, he would have to
turn this situation around on his own.
He had already tried opening several of the doors to the chambers he was passing, but the pilot had locked
them all. He had seen that most of them were just abandoned prisoner’s cells anyway, holding nothing that
would provide him with an advantage over his pursuers. If he were to go into any of the chambers, it would
become his prison instead of a criminal’s. So he continued to move quickly and quietly, looking for his moment
of opportunity.
* * * * *
John lay back on his own bed and felt some of the tension leave his body. Jool had just left in order to retrieve
some medical instruments from the infirmary, swearing dire repercussions if she returned and found him
anywhere other than on his bunk getting some rest. He laughed out loud at the thought. He had barely been
able to make it to his room, and even then had needed a lot of help from Jool. He wasn’t going anywhere for a
while, but finally being in his own space again, and having his few meager possessions around him was
emotionally comforting.
Before leaving the lab, Jool had insisted that he choke down some soup and some more of the tea made from
Zhaan’s botanical pharmacy. He had acknowledged that his body needed the energy in order to continue its
fight against this illness and had somehow managed to drink everything she had given him. Unfortunately, the
two liquids he had consumed were now combining in his stomach to create the worst case of nausea he had
experienced since the time Moya had become stuck in mid-starburst, wedged between dimensions.
He tried to just let his thoughts drift, giving his imagination full reign to take his mental focus away from the
waves of discomfort emanating from his stomach in an increasing crescendo. It was with a brief flash of humor
that he realized he had finally encountered one enemy in the Uncharted Territories that he had no hope of
conquering or fleeing from … his own stomach. He eyed the distance from his bed to the alcove containing the
waste funnel, trying to decide how many microts it would take for him to bolt in there if he lost the battle, or if he
could make it in there at all.
His exhaustion finally carried him to a trance-like state just short of falling asleep where he achieved a standoff
with his recalcitrant innards … ‘Fine kids,’ he sent a mental message to his body, ‘you guys chill out and don’t
heave, and I won’t eat anything more today -- you leave me alone, and I’ll leave you alone. No talking to Ralph
on the big telephone … no technicolor burp.’
* * * * *
Aeryn and D’Argo moved in harmony through the corridors, covering each other and sweeping each chamber
as they hurried after the fugitive Peacekeeper. They were approaching another intersection where two of
Moya’s corridors crossed and individually they were both concerned that they might lose track of their quarry.
Aeryn glanced at D’Argo as she heard a barely audible snarl make it past his lips. When he glanced at her in
return she merely gave a single shake of her head, trying to convey that the situation was not good.
But when they swept around a bend in Moya’s corridor they found that Pilot still had the situation well in hand,
for they found yet another DRD in the intersection. As soon as they appeared, it bolted down one of the
corridors for a short distance, then spun around again. Facing them without any of the usual chirps or squeals,
it waved its eyestalks at them and blinked rapidly. The two warriors smiled grimly and increased their pace.
Ekron heard noises ahead, but they weren’t the noises of pursuit. He flattened himself behind one of the thick
ribs along the sides of the corridor and listened as Jool left Crichton’s chamber, moving away from him. He took
the chance of a quick look around the rib as her sounds faded. She wasn’t really far enough away for him to
risk moving again, but he could hear the two behind him catching up. How the frell did they continue to track
him through intersections and branches without even once taking the wrong choice? It had to be those frelling
DRDs again. He had to move now, they were going to come upon him any microt.
He chose, finally, to enter the still open chamber, hoping to find something he could use for an attack, or
somewhere he could conceal himself. He scanned quickly, sweeping his gaze methodically around the room.
He drew his long belt knife and started to jump back when he saw the figure on the bed, but the man showed no
sign of being aware that he was there. He saw the sweat-dried and matted hair, the hunched position of the
sleeper -- all the signs of illness.
He began to back away, not wanting to approach a Sebacean who had actually become sick, but then there
was no more time. He heard the noises in the corridor and took the only action he could, despite his initial
revulsion. He leapt to the bed, grabbed the senseless figure by the hair, and wrenching him to an upright
position held his knife to the man’s throat.
Still moving in concert, Aeryn and D’Argo abruptly realized what direction their pursuit was taking them at almost
the same moment. “Frell” escaped from Aeryn lips and she bolted into a headlong, incautious run, D’Argo right
behind her. They did not slow as they skidded around the corner into Crichton’s chamber, but immediately
separated, taking up positions in two different corners across from the commando who was now poised with one
knee on Crichton’s bed, holding the apparently unconscious figure up by the hair.
“Let go of him now!” Aeryn commanded.
“Not on your life, traitor. You want him, come get him.” He dragged Crichton half in front of him and briefly
pointed his blade at Aeryn, beckoning. But the edge was back against John’s throat before either of them
could take action. He changed his grip to Crichton’s arm, holding him swaying in front of him, Crichton’s head
lolling against his chest. Impasse.
John wasn’t unconscious but the floating partial awareness he had achieved during his combat with his nausea
was proving difficult to dispel. He became aware of the commando only when he was dragged painfully up by
the hair. He could hear when Aeryn and D’Argo came racing into the cell, and the quick exchange. He felt the
finely honed blade return to his throat, catching and like a whisper, drawing an incision in his skin. And he still
couldn’t rise close enough to the surface to offer any resistance.
‘Mexican standoff out there, dude, gotta do something,’ his thoughts finally consolidated, ‘think of something to
help Aeryn and the big D take this jerk down.’ Then Crichton realized there was one action he could take, and
it was the easiest thing in the world for him. He allowed his stomach to finally win the battle, and vomited down
the front of the Peacekeeper.
Despite all his training, the years of exercises and battle-hardening, this was one thing no strategist in the
Peacekeepers had ever thought to include in a soldier’s training. The commando officer involuntarily shoved
Crichton away and sprang back with an exclamation of disgust, knowing even as he did that he was making a
deadly mistake, but unable to stop himself.
Pulse and Qualta rifles fired at the same time and the intruder crumpled to the floor. Lowering their weapons,
D’Argo and Aeryn looked across at John who was now sitting on the side of his bed, no longer retching but still
hunched over. He had managed to remain unscathed during his ‘assault‘, and grinned wanly at his friends,
enjoying his physical release.
“Are you all right?” Aeryn was concerned, but was not inclined to approach him anyway. John nodded an
affirmative.
Relief washed over D‘Argo, who gave them both a huge smile and turned back to John. “Finally, after more
than two entire cycles, we get to see an example of your much bragged about human military strategy.”
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Chapter 7
John woke again as Jool set a few instruments down on the couch next to him. The ringing in his ears had
receded to a faint whine and he wasn’t as lightheaded as he had been before. He sat up, shivering as sweat
dried on him, and pulled the sheet closer around him, “How long have I been sleeping?”
“Only about half an arn this time.” She looked at the sensor display near the head of the table, “Your fever is
down. Good. I want to try another formulation, is that all right?” She seemed subdued, her usual arrogant
bravado was missing or severely in check.
“Sure. Anything to get rid of this damned bug.” A deep shudder shook his body as the cool air of the chamber
chilled him, his hair drying rapidly. He clamped his jaws together to keep his teeth from chattering, and watched
with a small dose of amazement as Jool stepped, unasked, across the floor, retrieved a heavy fur blanket and
helped wrap it around him.
“This may feel … a little odd,” she warned. She didn’t wait for an answer, but punched the injector into a
muscle in his forearm and stood back to watch the display panel again. She looked at him inquiringly,
“Anything?”
“Nothing. You must have done something wrong.” Her head came up with a snap, reacting to a challenge he
hadn’t intended to issue. “Wait!” he cut in before she could respond, “I was kidding. It seems like every time
someone in this universe sticks something into me, it just hurts like holy hell. I only meant that if it didn’t hurt, it
couldn’t be right.”
She pushed her anger back down where it had come from and tried to respond in the same light tone. “I’ll do
better next time,” she promised with a smile.
“Lie down and try to relax for a few microts, then I’ll see if this worked any better than the previous attempts.”
She moved back to the bench where the substance analyzer stood, and began picking up the mess of culture
plates and samples that were strewn everywhere. She looked back and saw him staring in her direction, a look
of … she didn’t recognize the look on his face.
“What’s gone wrong? What’s the matter?” She began a quick movement back in his direction, but paused as
his gaze snapped back from the faraway vagueness, focusing on her again.
“Nothing’s the matter. I’m … fine.” He nodded his head sideways toward his shoulder, silently acknowledging
that ‘fine’ was an overstatement. She turned away and began preparing another plate on which to make up the
next blood test.
His stare returned to the spot where the central support pillar for the chamber rose out of the floor, his memory
again jerking him back to when a female Peacekeeper commando had lain there, her skull crushed by a
parasitic viciousness that had controlled his actions. He had been invaded by a different kind of virus then, an
intellent virus that could control the thoughts and behaviors of its host. It was not a pleasant memory, not one
he had chosen to draw upon, and he was disturbed that it had risen unbidden at this particular moment.
* * * * *
Ekron was focused on the exchange between the two women above, reveling in the discovery that he might be
able to kill or capture two crew members instead of just one. He was so intent on the unfolding possibilities that
he did not notice when a DRD scuttled into the chamber where he crouched, reversed, and slid silently back
out of sight behind a pillar. Just its eyestalks peered around the corner, and even the light from those dimmed
a bit as the unit sought to avoid being detected. Far above, Pilot received the alert and reviewed the incoming
video message from the drone.
“Officer Sun!” Despite his attempt to speak quietly, Pilot’s voice blared out over her comms. Two levels down
the DRD could hear the transmission, and sent the data back to Pilot at once, who desperately sought a way to
prevent either Aeryn or Chiana from descending any further without alerting the Peacekeeper as well.
“Yes, Pilot.” Aeryn’s response was met with silence. “Pilot?” she repeated, abruptly concerned.
“Please wait where you are, D’Argo is coming to meet you. He has something very important to tell you.” Pilot
called D’Argo in Command and told him what was going on, and advised him of the commando’s current
location. D’Argo smile of wolfish anticipation reflected the frustrated anger that still roiled deep within him, and
he barreled out of Command on his way to meet with Aeryn and Chiana. He was looking forward to finally
catching one of the intruders.
* * * * *
Peacekeeper Captain Hasman backed slowly away from the doorway into the maintenance bay where he could
still hear two voices in conversation. One circumspect glance had revealed that there were only two people in
the chamber, the startled woman he had seen and a tall Sebacean, undoubtedly the hidden man during the
skirmish. He had considered trying to kill them both while they were in the room, but decided that crossing the
distance from the door to where they were located was going to take too much time. They were wearing comms
and might be able to alert the other criminals on board before he could execute both of them.
He listened to their discussion and felt a jolt of relief run through him. The Sebacean was sick, a condition
virtually unheard of among Peacekeepers. If that man was, in fact, another traitor, Hasman could have
exposed himself to some new disease and become infected as well. He felt a cold sweat break out along his
spine and his stomach tightened as he realized how close he had just come to such a horrible fate. He listened
as the conversation continued.
“I don’t understand. Do you think there is some special atmosphere in your own quarters that is going to help
you recover sooner?” The sarcasm in the woman’s voice could have cut steel. “You have offered no clinical
explanation for your ridiculous desire to return to some emotionally labeled former prison cell that you call your
‘bed room’. The invading pathogen has NOT been eliminated from your system, and it is going to take several
arns at least before your immune system begins to destroy the virus.”
The male voice when it returned was weak. “But you said I was going to start getting better, right?”
A long sigh of forced patience preceded her next explanation, “My formulation has only stimulated your immune
system to fight what would otherwise be an unidentifiable, rapidly mutating virus capable of overwhelming your
physiological defenses. It is going to take some time before your own immunological peculiarities adapt to the
DNA I modified and begin to attack the source of the infection. Until your sub-evolved excuse for an immune
system does that, your physiological reaction will remain the same -- a high fever. Any symptomatic relief you
are currently experiencing is due entirely to the effects of the herbal preparation.”
“Then I want to go back to Quarters while I can still stand up, Jool.” The voice was still quiet, but insistent.
Hasman turned and walked quickly away, searching once again for a moment of opportunity. He was certain he
could surprise and kill the man and woman as they left the maintenance bay, but exposing himself to an
unknown disease would not achieve his purpose. He would find a weapon that could kill at longer ranges, and
then seek this pair out again.
* * * * *
Aeryn tried to wait patiently but Pilot had given her no more information, and her imagination began to fill in the
information that was still not forthcoming. “Why would he want us to wait for D’Argo here?” Her question to
Chiana was rhetorical and she went on considering the possibilities. “What if something has happened to
John? Perhaps Pilot doesn’t want to tell me over the comms.” She felt her self-control slipping; she couldn’t
stop worrying about Crichton.
“I’m sure that’s not it, Aeryn,” Chiana tried to reassure her. “Pilot probably just has something to tell you that’s
way too complicated over the comms. And there’s no clamshell down here to display information. That’s
probably all there is to it.” The voice was positive and optimistic, but when Aeryn looked at her more closely
she saw lines of concern in the gray skin that she didn’t remember seeing before.
Aeryn thought about it for several more microts, but began to feel an overwhelming need to take any kind of
action. This waiting around was a grot’s solution. She needed to do something … anything. “Jool?” she
inquired over the comms.
“Yes, Aeryn.” Her voice was strained.
“What’s going on?” she demanded, puzzled by the tone in Jool voice. “How is Crichton?”
“He’s a bit better. I’ll tell you more in a little while.” Her voice was shaking from what sounded like intense
physical effort. Chiana’s eyebrows had disappeared upward beneath her bangs, her look of quizzical
amazement having opposite the expected affect on Aeryn, who suddenly smiled and began to relax.
“What is going on up there?” she asked again.
A distinctly male grunt came over the comms, prompting Chiana’s face to look even more astonished, if that
was possible. Then there was nothing but silence from the personal transmitters.
“Oh for Eechub’s sake!” Jool petulant tone finally broke through. “You are the heaviest human I have ever tried
to move!”
“Jool!” Aeryn and Chiana demanded simultaneously.
“You two have all the patience of a love-deprived tralk!” came the sharp response. “John wanted to be back in
his own quarters and I saw no valid medical reason not to let him sleep in his own chamber,” her tone took on
an accusing pitch, “but he rather overestimated his stamina and I am never going to be put in a position of
trying to hold up that much staggering physiology ever again!” The comms went silent with a chirp.
“Aeryn, where are you?” She jumped as Rygel’s voice came through her comms. She had momentarily
forgotten that he was searching above them.
“About four tiers from the bottom, Rygel. Where are you?” She wouldn’t glance at Chiana, mildly mortified that
Rygel’s unexpected transmission had actually prompted a physical start. She had been trained better than
that, but her thoughts had been entirely fixated on John. If he was back in his own room he must be all right.
“Right below Pilot. Where do you recommend I search next?”
The question gave her a focus around which to gather her scattered thoughts. Her innate self-control began to
reassert itself as she considered the most plausible strategy their hidden opponents might attempt next. There
were too many variables to make even an educated estimation. Her thoughts worked back to their current
status -- waiting for D‘Argo.
“Just wait there and keep watch. Pilot’s neural connections are one of our most vulnerable locations. D’Argo is
coming down to meet Chiana and me. Once we’ve checked with him, I’ll get back to you.” She began to realize
that they were never going to get ahead of the two officers, and were going to have to resort to a painstaking
tier by tier search.
“All right … but unless someone brings me something to eat in the next half arn, the only area I’ll be guarding
will be the Center Chamber.”
“Rygel!” she began, but heard the chirp as he cut off the channel on his end. She looked at Chiana.
“Everyone seemed to be cutting comms off this evening.” She tried to make a joke of it, but the remark
reminded her that she had lost track of time during her search. “How long have we been at this?”
“It’s been almost five arns since the Marauder got on board.”
Aeryn shook her head. This was taking too much time. Five arns and they hadn’t had one sighting of either
commando since they Starburst. They had to find some way to locate them faster.
* * * * *
Ekron heard most of the conversation above him, including the portion about another crew member coming to
meet the two women. He crawled forward until he could peer cautiously up the cylindrical opening, trying to see
if either one had resumed their descent. He couldn’t stay here much longer; he was bound to be spotted by
one of the cursed DRDs if he stayed in one place too long. No one was in the shaft. He eased back out of
sight and considered. He had lost his small advantage, he could feel it. There were no empirical facts to
demonstrate that he had lost his window of opportunity, but his instincts told him it was time to move off this tier
and look for another chance to strike.
He moved stealthily toward an arched opening into a passageway, using the natural pillars as cover in case
someone was in the corridor outside. As he slid around the last one his foot kicked something. He looked
down and spotted the DRD just as it engaged all of its motivator circuits and accelerated out of the chamber.
“Dren!” the word escaped his lips, the first sound he had uttered in several tension filled arns. How long had
that frelling machine been watching him? He cast away stealth and bolted out of the chamber, watching for the
first available access tunnel into which he might be able to disappear.
“D’Argo! The Peacekeeper has left the neural plexus cavern and is headed outboard, hamman side!” Pilot
relayed the information he had just received from the DRD to the Luxan who was still running at full speed
through Moya’s corridors.
“Frell! He’s going to lose us again. Pilot, are there enough DRDs in that area to continue tracking him?”
D’Argo skidded around a corner and cut into a chamber where there was a vertical shaft to the next tier below.
He slid his Qualta blade unerringly into its scabbard and vaulted onto the ladder that grew from the floor of the
tier below. He slid down, hands and feet gripping only the outer edges of the vertical support, and hit the floor
running. “Tell Aeryn what is going on and have her meet me. Can we get him trapped between us?”
“I don’t believe so. I have already directed DRDs into the areas ahead of him, but I believe he will be ahead of
both you and Officer Sun. You will be able to meet on the tier directly below you now, and pursue him from
there. I have already informed Officer Sun and she is on her way.”
D’Argo didn’t waste his breath with any further questions. He realized that Pilot was already in as much control
of the situation as they could hope for, and now he just needed to catch up with this haatak scum.
When Aeryn received the transmission from Pilot she had simply leapt over the low wall onto the ladder where
she had been standing with Chiana, and scrambled down two tiers to begin her pursuit. “Go stand watch with
Rygel,” she yelled to Chiana. “That area is the most vital on board Moya, see if he needs any help.”
Chiana started to open her mouth to object, but Aeryn was already gone. For a short moment she considered
disregarding Aeryn’s order, but realized that as much as she wanted to help Aeryn for John’s sake, Moya’s
safety was more important. She glanced up the vertical shaft, shook her head, and left the chamber to take the
more normal route upward via corridors and ramps.
* * * * *
“Officer Sun … turn right at the next junction.” Pilot had been guiding her unerringly to fall in as closely as
possible behind the fugitive. She followed his instructions and found a DRD waiting in the middle of the
corridor. She heard pounding footsteps ahead coming from another intersection, but before she could even
begin to raise her rifle she realized the noise had to be D’Argo. A second yellow flash crossed the intersection
in front of her and D’Argo appeared in hot pursuit.
“Have you spotted him yet?” he asked. She only shook her head and went after the yellow machine as it sailed
around the next corner, leading them to their quarry.
* * * * *
Rygel listened to all three of his stomachs as they growled, complaining loudly that that not one of them had
been fed recently. He guided his Throne Sled around and around the central bulk that was Pilot’s lower body,
and all the thousands of neural connections that joined him to Moya. Each time he completed a circuit Rygel
looked out of the chamber into the corridor that he knew led to the Central Chamber they all used as a dining
area, and each time he did his stomachs made an audible objection concerning their neglect.
He finally began to steer his chair out into the corridor, but paused and looked back at the unguarded chamber,
and looked up at what he could see of Pilot. “I am not some lower class soldier to be standing guard over a
bunch of neural fibers while the rest of the members of this crew run around doing whatever they like!” he
objected to no one. “This is not the correct station for a Dominar of the House of Rygel.”
He sighed, and thought about the huge creature above for a moment. Pilot had no choice. Pilot was bonded to
Moya and had given up his mobility freely in order to enter into a symbiotic relationship with this great peaceful
ship. Zhaan had always tried to protect the pair, but Zhaan was gone now.
The tips of Rygel’s earbrows drooped a bit, and he gazed down at the corridor floor considering the situation.
Then he steered his floating seat back into the chamber to continue standing guard as Aeryn had instructed
him. His stomachs had waited this long to be fed … they could wait another arn or two.
* * * * *
Ekron was still moving quickly but no longer running headlong through the corridors. He could hear the Luxan
and the traitor still behind him, and knew that his chances of overwhelming both of them together was slim at
best. He still didn’t have any option except retreat. He had no idea where his captain was, he would have to
turn this situation around on his own.
He had already tried opening several of the doors to the chambers he was passing, but the pilot had locked
them all. He had seen that most of them were just abandoned prisoner’s cells anyway, holding nothing that
would provide him with an advantage over his pursuers. If he were to go into any of the chambers, it would
become his prison instead of a criminal’s. So he continued to move quickly and quietly, looking for his moment
of opportunity.
* * * * *
John lay back on his own bed and felt some of the tension leave his body. Jool had just left in order to retrieve
some medical instruments from the infirmary, swearing dire repercussions if she returned and found him
anywhere other than on his bunk getting some rest. He laughed out loud at the thought. He had barely been
able to make it to his room, and even then had needed a lot of help from Jool. He wasn’t going anywhere for a
while, but finally being in his own space again, and having his few meager possessions around him was
emotionally comforting.
Before leaving the lab, Jool had insisted that he choke down some soup and some more of the tea made from
Zhaan’s botanical pharmacy. He had acknowledged that his body needed the energy in order to continue its
fight against this illness and had somehow managed to drink everything she had given him. Unfortunately, the
two liquids he had consumed were now combining in his stomach to create the worst case of nausea he had
experienced since the time Moya had become stuck in mid-starburst, wedged between dimensions.
He tried to just let his thoughts drift, giving his imagination full reign to take his mental focus away from the
waves of discomfort emanating from his stomach in an increasing crescendo. It was with a brief flash of humor
that he realized he had finally encountered one enemy in the Uncharted Territories that he had no hope of
conquering or fleeing from … his own stomach. He eyed the distance from his bed to the alcove containing the
waste funnel, trying to decide how many microts it would take for him to bolt in there if he lost the battle, or if he
could make it in there at all.
His exhaustion finally carried him to a trance-like state just short of falling asleep where he achieved a standoff
with his recalcitrant innards … ‘Fine kids,’ he sent a mental message to his body, ‘you guys chill out and don’t
heave, and I won’t eat anything more today -- you leave me alone, and I’ll leave you alone. No talking to Ralph
on the big telephone … no technicolor burp.’
* * * * *
Aeryn and D’Argo moved in harmony through the corridors, covering each other and sweeping each chamber
as they hurried after the fugitive Peacekeeper. They were approaching another intersection where two of
Moya’s corridors crossed and individually they were both concerned that they might lose track of their quarry.
Aeryn glanced at D’Argo as she heard a barely audible snarl make it past his lips. When he glanced at her in
return she merely gave a single shake of her head, trying to convey that the situation was not good.
But when they swept around a bend in Moya’s corridor they found that Pilot still had the situation well in hand,
for they found yet another DRD in the intersection. As soon as they appeared, it bolted down one of the
corridors for a short distance, then spun around again. Facing them without any of the usual chirps or squeals,
it waved its eyestalks at them and blinked rapidly. The two warriors smiled grimly and increased their pace.
Ekron heard noises ahead, but they weren’t the noises of pursuit. He flattened himself behind one of the thick
ribs along the sides of the corridor and listened as Jool left Crichton’s chamber, moving away from him. He took
the chance of a quick look around the rib as her sounds faded. She wasn’t really far enough away for him to
risk moving again, but he could hear the two behind him catching up. How the frell did they continue to track
him through intersections and branches without even once taking the wrong choice? It had to be those frelling
DRDs again. He had to move now, they were going to come upon him any microt.
He chose, finally, to enter the still open chamber, hoping to find something he could use for an attack, or
somewhere he could conceal himself. He scanned quickly, sweeping his gaze methodically around the room.
He drew his long belt knife and started to jump back when he saw the figure on the bed, but the man showed no
sign of being aware that he was there. He saw the sweat-dried and matted hair, the hunched position of the
sleeper -- all the signs of illness.
He began to back away, not wanting to approach a Sebacean who had actually become sick, but then there
was no more time. He heard the noises in the corridor and took the only action he could, despite his initial
revulsion. He leapt to the bed, grabbed the senseless figure by the hair, and wrenching him to an upright
position held his knife to the man’s throat.
Still moving in concert, Aeryn and D’Argo abruptly realized what direction their pursuit was taking them at almost
the same moment. “Frell” escaped from Aeryn lips and she bolted into a headlong, incautious run, D’Argo right
behind her. They did not slow as they skidded around the corner into Crichton’s chamber, but immediately
separated, taking up positions in two different corners across from the commando who was now poised with one
knee on Crichton’s bed, holding the apparently unconscious figure up by the hair.
“Let go of him now!” Aeryn commanded.
“Not on your life, traitor. You want him, come get him.” He dragged Crichton half in front of him and briefly
pointed his blade at Aeryn, beckoning. But the edge was back against John’s throat before either of them
could take action. He changed his grip to Crichton’s arm, holding him swaying in front of him, Crichton’s head
lolling against his chest. Impasse.
John wasn’t unconscious but the floating partial awareness he had achieved during his combat with his nausea
was proving difficult to dispel. He became aware of the commando only when he was dragged painfully up by
the hair. He could hear when Aeryn and D’Argo came racing into the cell, and the quick exchange. He felt the
finely honed blade return to his throat, catching and like a whisper, drawing an incision in his skin. And he still
couldn’t rise close enough to the surface to offer any resistance.
‘Mexican standoff out there, dude, gotta do something,’ his thoughts finally consolidated, ‘think of something to
help Aeryn and the big D take this jerk down.’ Then Crichton realized there was one action he could take, and
it was the easiest thing in the world for him. He allowed his stomach to finally win the battle, and vomited down
the front of the Peacekeeper.
Despite all his training, the years of exercises and battle-hardening, this was one thing no strategist in the
Peacekeepers had ever thought to include in a soldier’s training. The commando officer involuntarily shoved
Crichton away and sprang back with an exclamation of disgust, knowing even as he did that he was making a
deadly mistake, but unable to stop himself.
Pulse and Qualta rifles fired at the same time and the intruder crumpled to the floor. Lowering their weapons,
D’Argo and Aeryn looked across at John who was now sitting on the side of his bed, no longer retching but still
hunched over. He had managed to remain unscathed during his ‘assault‘, and grinned wanly at his friends,
enjoying his physical release.
“Are you all right?” Aeryn was concerned, but was not inclined to approach him anyway. John nodded an
affirmative.
Relief washed over D‘Argo, who gave them both a huge smile and turned back to John. “Finally, after more
than two entire cycles, we get to see an example of your much bragged about human military strategy.”
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
