Voices Of Reason
Chapter 8
“Pilot!” D’Argo demanded.
“Yes, Ka D’Argo,” the calm voice floated from the comms just before his image appeared on the portable
clamshell that the DRDs had set up in John’s quarters.
“We need some DRDs down here NOW to do some cleaning!” Wrinkling his nose against the acrid smell, the
Luxan grabbed the dead Peacekeeper by the nape of the jacket and flipped him over onto his back. Switching
his grip to a flaccid wrist he began dragging the body out of the chamber. “Aeryn, I’m taking this body down to
the hangar bay. We can jettison it later.”
Aeryn appeared from inside the waste alcove, her face paler than usual. She leaned against the wall for a
moment and stared at D’Argo. “I’d be happy to do that, if you’ll stay here with him.” A nod of her head
indicated Crichton, whose second bought of retching could still be heard. He hadn’t been able to stagger in
there on his own, and the task of guiding him had somehow fallen to her.
“Ahhhh … No!” D’Argo’s tentacles swung as he shook his head emphatically. “I’ve got my body to take care of,
and you have yours.”
“Thank you so much,” she raised her voice as he moved away. The dragging sounds faded down the hallway
as two DRDs raced in and began cleaning the floor around Crichton’s bed. She watched dispassionately as
they worked, just thankful that the drones were available to take care of this kind of problem. She reflected that
she had never imagined this sort of situation in the cycles she had been on board Moya. The noises from the
alcove finally stopped.
“Can I get you anything to help … from out here?” She was relieved when the unintelligible answer was
definitely a negative. She heard water running for several microts, and then suddenly he was standing next to
her, swaying and hanging on to the wall, but upright and grinning sheepishly. He had taken the time to finally
get rid of his heavy pants and boots, and stood now in just shorts and a clean T-shirt. She saw him eyeing the
distance to his bed and without hesitation stepped to his side, allowing his arm to fall naturally across her
shoulders, comfortable with the sudden heavy weight as he relied on her to guide him across the chamber.
He sagged on to the bed and rolled on to his back, still grinning widely. “What is so funny?” she demanded,
suspecting the humor was at her expense.
“Human military strategy,” he broke into laughter, rolling on to his side to ease his now aching stomach
muscles.
“You are insane.” Her voice was full of warmth and humor, and one other tone that he hadn’t heard very often.
It sounded like pride … in him. He pulled a pillow down, wadding it up under his head until it was comfortable,
and watched her movements as she reached for the heavy fur throw Jool had brought from the infirmary. She
floated the golden sheet over him first, and then spread the heavier layer on top. “Get some rest.”
She turned away from his fatuous smile, momentarily disconcerted by his pleased look. His love for her was a
warm security that enfolded her every waking moment, but there were still times, like this, when she wasn’t sure
how to meet that whole hearted commitment from John, when she wondered if she could ever match it.
“Please don’t …” he began to say something hurriedly, but his voice trailed off almost immediately.
She turned back, surprised at the degree of urgency in his tone. She saw the pleading loneliness in his look
that he was trying to hide, saw that he was hesitating to ask even more of her. She took the single step back to
his side and perched on the side of the bunk. “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”
* * * * *
Rygel’s head rested on his hand, small snores emanating from his nose slits. The Throne Sled, untended,
hovered in the deep shadows near the top of the chamber, remaining where he had last guided it. He was
dreaming of a long banquet table covered with every form of Hynerian delicacy, and as he drew near to the
feast his stomachs grumbled in harmony.
“Wah?” His head snapped up as his stomachs did, in fact, grumble. It was a vigorous complaint, however,
rather than a statement of anticipation. He scanned the chamber in panic, afraid someone might have snuck in
while he slept, but there was no one there. He began to calm down, reassured that his life was not in danger.
He looked across at the tangle of neural connections and felt irritation move within him.
“How long do they expect me to stay here standing guard over an empty room?” he asked of no one as he
began to guide his chair around and around the center of the cavern again. “I am not a Dominar of waiting …
I am a Dominar of decisiveness and action. I should be leading this search, not sitting up here like a mindless
enlisted soldier.” His grumbling went on as his chair continued to sail in circles.
He heard quick footsteps approaching the chamber and looked desperately around for a place to conceal
himself in case it was one of the fugitive Peacekeepers. He finally maneuvered his Throne Sled to hover
directly above the opening where he expected the intruder to enter the chamber and drew the pocket pistol
from within his robes.
“Rygel, you up here?” Chiana called as she carefully entered the room directly beneath him. The Hynerian
heaved a sigh of relief and looked down at her.
“Where else would I be? Everyone seems to have forgotten about me … and about Pilot.” He took a few
careful sniffs and quickly flew his chair to hover beside to her. “What is that? Do I smell pronga sinew? And
krawlak?”
Chiana gave him a sideways smile and placed the enormous plate of food on top of the low wall around the
neural plexus. “All for you, your Highness.” For once her voice was empty of the sarcastic inflection that
normally accompanied the titles she bestowed upon him. “I thought you might be hungry by now.”
“Is someone going to come up here to relieve me? Or do you expect me to stay up here all night? Where is
everybody and what’s going on?” The flow of demanding questions was uninterrupted even though he
continued to stuff his mouth with food at almost the same rate as his speech. “Nobody has told me anything,”
he complained. “Have either of those villains been captured yet?”
“One of them is dead. I’ll take over up here for a while, Rygel, if you want. I was about to go see how Crichton
is doing, but I suppose you could take a break first.” Her expression was suddenly serious, concern shouting
from every movement of her thin form.
Rygel continued to eat without slowing, relieved that his first stomach was finally full. He looked at the
remaining food and saw that there was enough there for all three of his stomachs plus a little more left over.
“You didn’t bring anything to drink?” he accused.
“Sorry, Your Gluttoness,” her smiling sarcasm returned, “but between hauling the pulse rifle and that load of
food up here, I didn’t have a free hand. I can go back and get some for you if you’d like. Some raslak
perhaps?” Her tone clearly stated that she had no intention whatsoever of carrying through on her offer. She
wandered to the doorway and looked into the corridor, her thoughts returning to bear on Crichton’s condition.
Rygel watched the slim figure pace about, silhouetted in the light from outside the dimly lit chamber. He thought
about Crichton for a moment, still watching Chiana as he continued to stuff food into his mouth. Words rang in
his memory. ‘I figure doing the right thing starts at the beginning of the day.’
“Yesss,” he said drawing out the word imperiously. “I would like something to drink in order to wash this krawlak
down, but I suppose,” he paused again, “that if you wanted to go see how Crichton is doing, I could wait a little
longer for you to get back.”
Chiana gave him one bright look and ran out the door.
* * * * *
Hasman was in trouble and he knew it. He had almost run into a DRD, avoiding it at the last microt only
because he heard the whine as it patrolled a hallway. He had been forced to retreat into an access shaft and
he was certain he was headed for a chamber that was part of the ship’s drive system. It would have internal
sensors and if he tried to cross through it, he was sure to be detected by the pilot. He scrambled through the
shaft, his legs and back aching from the hunched position, looking for any branch, any conduit large enough
for him to squirm through to get him out of this trap before he was found.
* * * * *
D’Argo hurried along the corridor, Qualta rifle still at the ready, ever conscious of the remaining threat of the
second Peacekeeper loose on the ship. They had been unbelievably lucky that no one … No, he thought,
facing his concern for his friend squarely … they were lucky that Crichton had not been injured in the recent
fray. He allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction that it had all turned out well, and then concentrated on
the search still ahead of them. This remaining officer had managed to remain undetected for almost an entire
half-cycle. He must know something of Leviathan biology to continue avoiding all the areas with internal
sensors.
As he approached Crichton’s chamber he heard an escalating argument approaching from the other end of the
corridor. Although the words were unintelligible, the voices of Chiana and Jool were unmistakable. He hurried
past the open cell door and met them before they brought their screaming any closer. He raised his hand in
admonition, and the argument stopped abruptly before he could say anything.
“Sorry D‘Argo,” Chiana offered first. “How’s Crichton?”
He shrugged, admitting that he had no new information, and looked to Jool for help. She just glared at both of
them and walked haughtily into the hushed chamber. Aeryn was still perched on the side of the bed, one leg
tucked under the other, just watching Crichton, who looked to be sleeping soundly.
Chiana wandered over to the small clamshell that rested on a shelf across the chamber from John’s bed. She
gestured at the blank screen and gave D’Argo a questioning look, enquiring why the equipment had been
installed. D‘Argo glanced to where Aeryn sat next to John. “We were concerned that we might need to leave
John alone again in order to find that other piece of Peacekeeper dren. Pilot suggested that he and Moya
could monitor his condition if we had to leave.”
“Pilot thought of that?” The purplish hologram came to life next to her elbow. “That was a great idea, Pilot.”
“Moya and I have a strong desire to make sure everyone on board remains safe, Chiana. It is our pleasure to
offer our assistance.”
“I still don’t understand one thing though, isn’t he better? Hasn’t the Medical Maiden cured him?” Chiana
advanced toward Jool, concern for her shipmate making her gait spikier than usual.
“We haven’t had time to find out, Chiana,” Aeryn spoke quietly, turning away from John’s senseless figure to
look at the others. “What have you done for John? Is he cured?” She focused her gaze on Jool alone.
The Interion surveyed the trio surrounding her, and for once was direct and to the point. “John’s symptoms and
the progress of the disease are consistent with Saltauri-Sebacean flu, but his immunological responses are not
what I would term normal.”
“Because he’s human?” Chiana asked.
“Not entirely. His species uses an antibody generator to cure their diseases. Crichton received a number of
treatments as a juvenile. He also is not Sebacean. I won’t go into all the details …”
“Thank you!” interjected D’Argo. Green eyes flashed a laser-intense glare at him before she resumed.
“ … but it means that the virus developed an increased capacity for mutation almost immediately, and will
survive any existing compound I could give him that would normally destroy a standard viral pathogen. I’ve
given him a modified Sebacean immune booster instead, to encourage John’s body to kill the infection itself.”
“Modified how?”
“Pilot provided access to information stored in Moya’s databanks that allowed me to synthesize an application
that has been used extensively in treating non-Peacekeeper Sebaceans. But Crichton’s human physiology will
tolerate an aggravated fever without the widespread systemic breakdown that occurs in Sebaceans …”
“The Living Death.” Aeryn’s flat tone almost hid that she was asking a question.
“ … yes, resulting in the Living Death.” She cocked her head in momentary introspection. “What a charming
phrase for such a frightful condition.” She saw the exasperated look on Aeryn’s face and returned to her
explanation. “The combination of his fever and some other physiological peculiarities broke the molecular
chains in the formulation almost immediately; I found no trace of it in his system within microts. So I used both
Sebacean and his own human DNA as a template to restructure the bonding of the chemical chains as well as
to manipulate the pathogen response mechanism of the immune booster and this time it held up.”
“So what do we do now?” Aeryn placed the backs of her fingers against John’s temple and stroked the hair
back. At first she thought there was no response, that he was truly asleep. Then she saw that the muscles of
his face had relaxed slightly. She continued the motion and saw his shoulders relax as well. His body seemed
to sink into the bed.
“He will very likely experience a resurgence of the fever over the next several hours as his body begins to fight
the infection, but if everything goes the way I predict,” her arrogance regained its vigor, “and it usually does, I’d
say that he would be well on the way to recovery before morning.” She shook her hair back and flounced out of
the room, staccato steps echoing back through the corridor.
Chiana watched Aeryn for long microts as the Sebacean continued to stare at the still figure, then turned to
D’Argo. “Come on, let’s go check with Pilot and see if there’s been any progress on the search by the DRDs.”
He started to object, but the slight figure grabbed him firmly by the elbow and steered him out of the room.
Aeryn glanced up as they moved to leave. “I’ll come with you. We’re going to need everyone searching to find
that last man.” She began to rise, feeling a tearing deep inside as her sense of duty struggled with her desire
to make sure John remained safe. “We can lock him in this time, just in case, and ask Pilot to begin monitoring
his condition right away.”
“No Aeryn, you stay here with Crichton.” Chiana returned to stand in the doorway, elbows canted behind her,
watching Aeryn as she collected her pulse rifle and moved to leave also. “You said yourself that you didn’t
know what tactic the Peacekeeper would take next. If you could lead us to where he was going to be, then
sure, you should come with us. But you ought to stay here for now.”
D’Argo had returned to stand beside her. “We will comm you as soon as we have an idea where to go after
him. Everyone is armed and Moya is a large ship. The search is going to take time.”
Aeryn still stood poised to leave. All her training said she had to go with them, but their arguments made her
look down one more time. The familiar face was suddenly strange to her, all character erased, every
expression extinguished by fatigue. A blow seemed to hit her as she realized that right now he more closely
resembled the man she had met her first day on Moya than the person she had recently learned to love. With
the worry and care erased, he had somehow reverted to the innocent, almost bumbling, human who hadn’t
even known how to open the doors to Moya’s chambers.
She brushed her hand lightly down his arm, already feeling the heat of the returning fever flowing from his
body. Then she tucked her rifle under her arm, a movement as natural as breathing to her, and walked to join
D’Argo and Chiana. “We are not going to get lucky again. We have to start a tier by tier search to find that
officer before he finds some way to damage or destroy Moya, and everyone is going to have to help.” She
brushed her hand across the door mechanism and watched as the bars swung shut.
“Pilot. Please lock Crichton’s cell and ask Moya if she could begin monitoring his condition. If he seems to get
worse, let one of us know.”
“Of course, Officer Sun.”
Aeryn refused to let herself look back at the locked doors. She harshly forced John out of her mind and started
formulating a plan for a search grid that would allow their small number to cover as much of Moya as possible in
the shortest amount of time. Every microt they allowed their enemy to remain on the loose represented a risk
they could not afford.
* * * * *
Zeisar Hasman stared into a large conduit, gauging whether he could squirm through the entire length without
getting stuck. It would be a humiliating catastrophe if he got jammed in there, waiting for the DRDs to come and
surround him. He hunkered on his heels and tried to remember where this tunnel might lead, but he had not
been assigned to a Leviathan long enough to have learned every single passageway.
He surveyed the tight fit one more time, and began shrugging out of his heavy fatigue jacket. He made sure
there was nothing left attached to the lash points or in the concealed pockets and tossed the discarded jacket
as far down the access shaft as he could, hoping it would not be found soon. Swinging his long blade out of
the way behind him, he lay down on his belly and began to snake his way through.
* * * * *
Pilot was engrossed in his duties when D'Argo and Chiana entered the Den, to the point of not even noticing
that they were there until they had reached his station. His arms moved without pause over the controls in front
of him, his multitasking capabilities allowing him to continue directing the search while also digesting all the
other information flowing into him from Moya.
The bulk of his free attention at that moment was held by the strange energy signature that he had been
analyzing ever since they had emerged from Starburst. Moya had just been resting in one position, waiting
while the crew took care of the intruders, until they could make a decision as to where they desired to go next.
But Moya and Pilot had not stopped examining the anomalous readings, curiosity about all things stellar driving
them to solve the mystery.
And now there was another reading that drew their attention, something was heading toward them at a steady
and high velocity. Pilot monitored it carefully, not sure yet whether it was a ship of some sort, perhaps even a
Peacekeeper ship that might have been able to follow them here.
“Pilot, any luck at all with the search by the DRDs?” At D'Argo's question, Pilot's head came up, noticing the
pair for the first time. His eyes retracted a bit as he refocused his attention to include his immediate
surroundings.
“What's the matter, Pilot?” Chiana recognized his level of distraction.
“There has been no progress with locating the second Peacekeeper.” He answered D’Argo’s question. “You
do realize that there are large expanses of Moya that have no sensors. He could be in any of those areas.
There are also Moya’s burned tiers …” he broke off his explanation, sensing that he did not have to go any
further.
“I do not believe he would take refuge in those areas. They hold no advantage for him, no weapons, no
hostages.” D’Argo began pacing in frustration. If only they could get just one sighting on the intruder, then
they could move to surround him.
“Pilot? Is there something wrong?” Chiana had not been distracted from her original question, and had been
watching the increasing pace of Pilot’s adjustments to his controls.
“There is something very large moving toward us at a very high rate of speed,” he said, listening all the while to
the shifting sounds and colors of Moya’s long range sensors. He could smell the energy signatures, see the
wave distortions of the object as the sensor data poured into his mind. “It is not close enough for Moya’s
sensors to make a determination as to its nature.”
“So there’s no way of knowing if it’s a ship or not?” D’Argo asked.
“No, not yet.” Claws made adjustments to his controls. “It is moving very fast. It will be close enough to Moya
to make an assessment in less than half an arn.”
“All right, Pilot, keep us informed. We’ll be in Command for a while, and then we’ll be starting a tier by tier
search. We’ll need your help when that begins.”
“Of course, Ka D’Argo.”
* * * * *
Rygel was the second to last to arrive in Command. He soared in, still working his way through a pile of food
cubes even as he guided his chair. “What is so important that you had to interrupt my meal?” he groused.
“That crazy man Stark didn’t tell me anything when he came to get me. Where did he go? I thought everyone
was meeting here?”
“You ate that entire platter of pronga and krawlak just an arn ago, Rygel,” Chiana accused him. “You can’t
possibly be that hungry again so soon.”
“I had some catching up to do,” he said. “Now what’s going on?”
“We are going to have to search Moya chamber by chamber and tier by tier in order to find this last officer,”
Aeryn explained. “Pilot is going to monitor our progress and either lock off chambers or station DRDs to patrol
once we have finished.” She began calling up schematics of Moya’s layout in order to organize their search
pattern, pausing to look up as Stark hurried into the room.
“Find the man, find the man, find the man,” he was singing quietly as he pulled up beside the Hynerian.
“RYGEL! I can go with the Dominar! I can search high, he can search low, we’ll look wherever a
Peacekeeper’d go!”
Rygel was coughing out bits of food cube, inhaled in surprise when Stark had grabbed his chair. “Get away
from me you rhyming raving lunatic,” he commanded, but didn’t move to drive his chair away from the Banik.
He turned back to Aeryn who had resumed her planning. “Your way will take arns! There aren’t enough of us
to search this ship from top to bottom!”
“What choice do we have, Your Expansionness?” D’Argo reached to scatter food cubes out of Rygel’s lap. “I
supposed you would just have us sit around stuffing ourselves until he appears to kill us one by one? Or better
yet, injures Moya?”
“That’s not what I meant.” Rygel stared down at his lost meal and his earbrows began to droop. “I was only
trying to suggest that we find another way to locate the Peacekeeper which might be faster.”
“Do you have any suggestions?” Aeryn looked up from the console, her voice giving him the benefit of doubt.
He understood that for once she was allowing that he might have actually come up with a better idea than her
own. But … “No,” he said on a heavy sigh, knowing his chance had been wasted.
“All right then. Everyone stays armed, keep your comms open, and don’t take any shortcuts. Search every
chamber no matter what -- whether you think he could have gotten in there or not. Keep Pilot informed so he
can lock off areas as we work. Stay in pairs for protection.” She paused, tried to think what else she needed to
tell them.
“Can Rygel and I be a pair? Can we work together?”
Stark was still in one of his wilder modes. She never knew when he was going to revert to more lucid behavior.
She looked at the assembled crew, considering what pairs would be best. Before she could answer him, the
decision was taken out of her hands.
“All right, Stark,” the Dominar grumbled. “I’ll work with you. But remember, you go into every chamber in front
of me, understood?” Stark smiled broadly and nodded his head in eager assent.
Chiana had come to stand next to Aeryn, surprising her once again. She had expected her to try and pair off
with D’Argo, but she looked around and Jool had moved to his side. That was new. This was NOT the sort of
thing she should be musing about now, she told herself fiercely. The interpersonal peculiarities of the crew
could wait until there was one more dead body waiting to be jettisoned from the ship. She just hoped it was the
right body.
“Stark and Rygel, take Tier One. Jool and D’Argo start on Tier Two, and we’ll go to Three. We’ll work our way
down through the ship. We’re probably going to have to work as a single team when we begin searching
through the maintenance areas and drive sections later.”
* * * * *
Pilot watched the incoming data as the unidentified object approached. The information was becoming more
precise as Moya’s long range sensors were finally able to probe the unknown traveler. Suddenly all the facts
made a pattern and he relaxed. It was only a large wandering planetoid on its aimless way through the system,
but it was going to pass very close to their position.
He commed D’Argo who was still with the others in Command and explained. “It will pass very close to Moya‘s
present position, so I will have her move out of the way. Should we leave this area of space as well?”
Pilot listened to the discussion, waiting patiently as Moya’s charges debated the question. All decisions by this
group seemed to take so long. It was his purpose in life to serve those who coexisted with Moya, but he
sometimes wished that they had made their break for freedom at a time when a more agreeable group had
been on board. His patience began to wear thin as the argument on Command continued. He finally
interceded, “Excuse me … it would be advisable for Moya to begin to move away from the trajectory of the
planetoid at this time. Perhaps she could move a short distance until a further course of action has been
determined.” His bored drawl tried to convey that they were taking too long to make up their minds.
“Go ahead and do it Pilot. We’ll let you know about our direction of travel later.”
“Of course, Ka D’Argo.”
Pilot turned a small portion of his attention to the task of managing Moya’s drive system, noting as he did that
the mass of rock was headed for the locus of the odd energy output. Perhaps the readings when the mass hit
the energy signal would give him more information to determine what was there.
* * * * *
Hasman could see the end of the conduit at last. He squirmed along a little faster, desperate to get out of what
felt like a prison. He hadn’t seen or heard any DRDs, but wasn’t sure he would have been able to detect one if
it had been motionless as he crawled through some of the wider cavities where the drones maintained the
ship’s systems. He was finally close enough to grab the edges of the aperture out of the ship’s duct, and
cautiously easing his shoulders and hips through the narrow opening, pulled himself free. He stood up with
relief and looked around him.
“Frell!” He was in the ion backwash chamber, which was exactly the type of chamber with internal sensors he
had been trying to avoid when he had resorted to crawling through the conduit. “Wasted effort,” he growled
quietly. His memory had betrayed him, and he needed to get out of here and hide again fast.
Behind him, the hatch for sealing the conduit snapped shut with a loud clap and Hasman jumped, startled by
the first loud noise he had heard in arns. He started to swing around, looking at the closed tunnel, but stopped
himself when he saw the large doors to the chamber sliding shut as well. He realized that the ship was about to
engage its drive system, flooding this chamber with deadly energy. He scrambled frantically toward the nearest
of the rapidly narrowing openings.
* * * * *
“Officer Sun! The Peacekeeper has just left the ion backwash chamber!” Pilot’s excited image appeared
before anyone could leave Command. All six figures seemed to head for the door at once, an eager
mad-scramble to finally rid themselves of a threat. Rygel’s sled swerved around the clog and was the first out
the door by zooming over their heads.
“Same basic plan,” Aeryn shouted as they all turned into the corridor. “Stark and Rygel, take the tier directly
above the ion backwash chamber. D’Argo and Jool get below him.” She watched the two pairs peel off to follow
her instructions. “Pilot?”
“DRDs are already being directed into the tier, Officer Sun. No sightings yet.”
Aeryn burst into a run, Chiana close behind her. She was desperate not to lose this opportunity to catch what
was becoming a torment. It was like an itch she couldn’t scratch, knowing the danger was always there but
being powerless to do anything about it. She wasn’t going to squander their best chance.
* * * * *
John woke to the pounding headache of his fever. He lay quietly for a moment, taking in the darkened, silent
chamber and wondered how long he had been sleeping. He remembered bits and pieces of the conversation
that had flowed around him earlier, and realized he was entering the final phase of the disease before recovery
broke its hold over him. He looked around his room, noting the closed doors, remembering the dimly heard
conversation and knew they were probably locked.
He sighed and relaxed back, wondering how much longer this was going to last. If nothing else, he was starting
to get bored. He gazed up at the ceiling and finally saw the DRD that hung there, quiescent, just watching. “Hi
Moya, how’s it shakin’?” he asked. The drone blinked once. “How am I doing?” It blinked once. “Not much of a
conversationalist are you?” He smiled. It was kind of nice having one big Mom all around him when he wasn’t
feeling well.
He began to wonder how long it had been since the others left. His cycles of waking and sleeping had begun to
merge together and the sense of timelessness was growing each time he woke from another restless nap.
“Pilot?”
“Yes, Commander Crichton.” The image appeared across his chamber, the seemingly imperturbable face
gazing at him, although Crichton knew Pilot could already see him through the video feed from the DRD in the
room.
“How long have I been asleep since the others left?”
“About one arn. Is there anything you need?”
“No. Thank you, Pilot.”
His body suddenly flushed with warmth, and it felt like the air was becoming an intolerable burden in his abruptly
overheated lungs. He had been comfortable only a microt earlier, what was this all about? He began to shove
the covers off, dumping them carelessly in a heap on the floor. When the cool air of the chamber finally began
to flow over him again, he slumped back onto his bunk, waiting for some relief from the all encompassing heat
of his fever. Sometime while he was waiting he fell asleep again.
Pilot closed the transmission to the clamshell but continued to closely monitor the input from the drone in
Crichton’s quarters. He had noticed the rise in the human’s internal body temperature and was watching to
ensure that it did not rise above the highest point that would be safe for his health. With Zhaan and Crichton’s
assistance, Pilot had been adding information concerning human physiological parameters to the exobiology
information in Moya’s data stores for the past two cycles. He was pleased that the effort was going to pay off
now.
* * * * *
John walked into the crowded apartment, amazed at the number of people who had shown up for DK’s party.
He recognized friends from high school, college, and from IASA. He was glad that so many of them had turned
out to celebrate his best friend’s birthday. He managed to squeeze between two gorgeous women to snag a
beer from the makeshift bar in the kitchen, levering the cap loose and sailing it accurately into the trash barrel.
“Yes, the kid hits from outside the line. Three points!” The line rang familiarly in his mind, like an echo, but he
couldn’t remember when he had said it recently. He shook his head, deciding it wasn’t important and took his
first sip of the dark beer. Icy cold, slightly bitter, he could feel it slide all the way down his throat. ‘God, I
haven’t had one like that in …’
What was he thinking? He drank beer all the time. Why had that reaction leapt into his mind?
He eased back between the two women, pausing as one reached up for a kiss. Now THIS was his kind of
party. Finishing the first embrace he looked at the second woman expectantly and she also stepped forward
for a deep passionate kiss. “I am NEVER leaving this place!” he exclaimed as she released him. A horrible
shiver of foreboding ran through him for no reason. He shook his head and moved away from the pair,
disconcerted.
He wound his way slowly through the crowd, looking for either DK or Alex, surprised not to find either one of
them holding the center of attention. Usually one or the other somehow managed to become the focus of any
party. He glanced toward the sliding glass doors and saw a reflection of someone standing behind him, looking
at him with malevolent hatred. He spun around, but there was no one there.
“Wow, gotta lay off the Guinness Stout … wait, only had one sip, maybe I need to HIT the Guinness.” He took
another healthy sized swallow and choked. The brew had gone ’off’ just since he had opened it. He looked at
the label to check for an expiration date, and staggered when he saw that it now read “Guinness Fellip Nectar”.
He glanced back toward the kitchen and saw cages of strange creatures. The bartender was taking each one
in turn and filling the empty bottles by …
Crichton turned away gagging, afraid he was going to vomit. Barely getting his stomach back under control, he
set the bottle down and continued looking for just Alex this time. “One at a time, John. Find Alex and then get
DK to explain this new brewing method.” He saw the reflection again, and instead of turning, he moved closer
to the window to get a better look.
GILINA. He turned and saw her standing across the room, staring at him, accusing him, blaming him for being
alive when she was dead. He looked away, unable to meet her eyes. When he glanced back it was suddenly
no longer her, never had been her. It was a tall, arrogant woman wearing strange black leather clothes, her
long red hair hanging to her waist. She stared at him in distain. NIEM.
He turned away again and began looking for the door to leave, and noticed for the first time that everyone in
the room was wearing red and black leather, all staring at him. He tried to back away, but the crowd had
closed in around him. He felt hands gripping his arms, turning him around, looked down to see black armored
hands grasping him, felt them behind him pushing him forward, more hands adding on, pulling him toward the
wall of black leathered figures.
He screamed and thrashed wildly as more hands grabbed on and pushed and pulled him forward, and the wall
of bodies separated and Niem and Scorpius stood waiting.
Pilot watched as the figure sweated and cried out, hands twitching as though they were fending something off,
and debated whether this was something he should bring to Officer Sun’s attention. He alternated his attention
for a moment between his surveillance of Crichton and the input from DRDs filling the corridors, and found
Aeryn Sun approaching the last known position of the Peacekeeper. He decided that Crichton’s condition could
wait.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Chapter 8
“Pilot!” D’Argo demanded.
“Yes, Ka D’Argo,” the calm voice floated from the comms just before his image appeared on the portable
clamshell that the DRDs had set up in John’s quarters.
“We need some DRDs down here NOW to do some cleaning!” Wrinkling his nose against the acrid smell, the
Luxan grabbed the dead Peacekeeper by the nape of the jacket and flipped him over onto his back. Switching
his grip to a flaccid wrist he began dragging the body out of the chamber. “Aeryn, I’m taking this body down to
the hangar bay. We can jettison it later.”
Aeryn appeared from inside the waste alcove, her face paler than usual. She leaned against the wall for a
moment and stared at D’Argo. “I’d be happy to do that, if you’ll stay here with him.” A nod of her head
indicated Crichton, whose second bought of retching could still be heard. He hadn’t been able to stagger in
there on his own, and the task of guiding him had somehow fallen to her.
“Ahhhh … No!” D’Argo’s tentacles swung as he shook his head emphatically. “I’ve got my body to take care of,
and you have yours.”
“Thank you so much,” she raised her voice as he moved away. The dragging sounds faded down the hallway
as two DRDs raced in and began cleaning the floor around Crichton’s bed. She watched dispassionately as
they worked, just thankful that the drones were available to take care of this kind of problem. She reflected that
she had never imagined this sort of situation in the cycles she had been on board Moya. The noises from the
alcove finally stopped.
“Can I get you anything to help … from out here?” She was relieved when the unintelligible answer was
definitely a negative. She heard water running for several microts, and then suddenly he was standing next to
her, swaying and hanging on to the wall, but upright and grinning sheepishly. He had taken the time to finally
get rid of his heavy pants and boots, and stood now in just shorts and a clean T-shirt. She saw him eyeing the
distance to his bed and without hesitation stepped to his side, allowing his arm to fall naturally across her
shoulders, comfortable with the sudden heavy weight as he relied on her to guide him across the chamber.
He sagged on to the bed and rolled on to his back, still grinning widely. “What is so funny?” she demanded,
suspecting the humor was at her expense.
“Human military strategy,” he broke into laughter, rolling on to his side to ease his now aching stomach
muscles.
“You are insane.” Her voice was full of warmth and humor, and one other tone that he hadn’t heard very often.
It sounded like pride … in him. He pulled a pillow down, wadding it up under his head until it was comfortable,
and watched her movements as she reached for the heavy fur throw Jool had brought from the infirmary. She
floated the golden sheet over him first, and then spread the heavier layer on top. “Get some rest.”
She turned away from his fatuous smile, momentarily disconcerted by his pleased look. His love for her was a
warm security that enfolded her every waking moment, but there were still times, like this, when she wasn’t sure
how to meet that whole hearted commitment from John, when she wondered if she could ever match it.
“Please don’t …” he began to say something hurriedly, but his voice trailed off almost immediately.
She turned back, surprised at the degree of urgency in his tone. She saw the pleading loneliness in his look
that he was trying to hide, saw that he was hesitating to ask even more of her. She took the single step back to
his side and perched on the side of the bunk. “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”
* * * * *
Rygel’s head rested on his hand, small snores emanating from his nose slits. The Throne Sled, untended,
hovered in the deep shadows near the top of the chamber, remaining where he had last guided it. He was
dreaming of a long banquet table covered with every form of Hynerian delicacy, and as he drew near to the
feast his stomachs grumbled in harmony.
“Wah?” His head snapped up as his stomachs did, in fact, grumble. It was a vigorous complaint, however,
rather than a statement of anticipation. He scanned the chamber in panic, afraid someone might have snuck in
while he slept, but there was no one there. He began to calm down, reassured that his life was not in danger.
He looked across at the tangle of neural connections and felt irritation move within him.
“How long do they expect me to stay here standing guard over an empty room?” he asked of no one as he
began to guide his chair around and around the center of the cavern again. “I am not a Dominar of waiting …
I am a Dominar of decisiveness and action. I should be leading this search, not sitting up here like a mindless
enlisted soldier.” His grumbling went on as his chair continued to sail in circles.
He heard quick footsteps approaching the chamber and looked desperately around for a place to conceal
himself in case it was one of the fugitive Peacekeepers. He finally maneuvered his Throne Sled to hover
directly above the opening where he expected the intruder to enter the chamber and drew the pocket pistol
from within his robes.
“Rygel, you up here?” Chiana called as she carefully entered the room directly beneath him. The Hynerian
heaved a sigh of relief and looked down at her.
“Where else would I be? Everyone seems to have forgotten about me … and about Pilot.” He took a few
careful sniffs and quickly flew his chair to hover beside to her. “What is that? Do I smell pronga sinew? And
krawlak?”
Chiana gave him a sideways smile and placed the enormous plate of food on top of the low wall around the
neural plexus. “All for you, your Highness.” For once her voice was empty of the sarcastic inflection that
normally accompanied the titles she bestowed upon him. “I thought you might be hungry by now.”
“Is someone going to come up here to relieve me? Or do you expect me to stay up here all night? Where is
everybody and what’s going on?” The flow of demanding questions was uninterrupted even though he
continued to stuff his mouth with food at almost the same rate as his speech. “Nobody has told me anything,”
he complained. “Have either of those villains been captured yet?”
“One of them is dead. I’ll take over up here for a while, Rygel, if you want. I was about to go see how Crichton
is doing, but I suppose you could take a break first.” Her expression was suddenly serious, concern shouting
from every movement of her thin form.
Rygel continued to eat without slowing, relieved that his first stomach was finally full. He looked at the
remaining food and saw that there was enough there for all three of his stomachs plus a little more left over.
“You didn’t bring anything to drink?” he accused.
“Sorry, Your Gluttoness,” her smiling sarcasm returned, “but between hauling the pulse rifle and that load of
food up here, I didn’t have a free hand. I can go back and get some for you if you’d like. Some raslak
perhaps?” Her tone clearly stated that she had no intention whatsoever of carrying through on her offer. She
wandered to the doorway and looked into the corridor, her thoughts returning to bear on Crichton’s condition.
Rygel watched the slim figure pace about, silhouetted in the light from outside the dimly lit chamber. He thought
about Crichton for a moment, still watching Chiana as he continued to stuff food into his mouth. Words rang in
his memory. ‘I figure doing the right thing starts at the beginning of the day.’
“Yesss,” he said drawing out the word imperiously. “I would like something to drink in order to wash this krawlak
down, but I suppose,” he paused again, “that if you wanted to go see how Crichton is doing, I could wait a little
longer for you to get back.”
Chiana gave him one bright look and ran out the door.
* * * * *
Hasman was in trouble and he knew it. He had almost run into a DRD, avoiding it at the last microt only
because he heard the whine as it patrolled a hallway. He had been forced to retreat into an access shaft and
he was certain he was headed for a chamber that was part of the ship’s drive system. It would have internal
sensors and if he tried to cross through it, he was sure to be detected by the pilot. He scrambled through the
shaft, his legs and back aching from the hunched position, looking for any branch, any conduit large enough
for him to squirm through to get him out of this trap before he was found.
* * * * *
D’Argo hurried along the corridor, Qualta rifle still at the ready, ever conscious of the remaining threat of the
second Peacekeeper loose on the ship. They had been unbelievably lucky that no one … No, he thought,
facing his concern for his friend squarely … they were lucky that Crichton had not been injured in the recent
fray. He allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction that it had all turned out well, and then concentrated on
the search still ahead of them. This remaining officer had managed to remain undetected for almost an entire
half-cycle. He must know something of Leviathan biology to continue avoiding all the areas with internal
sensors.
As he approached Crichton’s chamber he heard an escalating argument approaching from the other end of the
corridor. Although the words were unintelligible, the voices of Chiana and Jool were unmistakable. He hurried
past the open cell door and met them before they brought their screaming any closer. He raised his hand in
admonition, and the argument stopped abruptly before he could say anything.
“Sorry D‘Argo,” Chiana offered first. “How’s Crichton?”
He shrugged, admitting that he had no new information, and looked to Jool for help. She just glared at both of
them and walked haughtily into the hushed chamber. Aeryn was still perched on the side of the bed, one leg
tucked under the other, just watching Crichton, who looked to be sleeping soundly.
Chiana wandered over to the small clamshell that rested on a shelf across the chamber from John’s bed. She
gestured at the blank screen and gave D’Argo a questioning look, enquiring why the equipment had been
installed. D‘Argo glanced to where Aeryn sat next to John. “We were concerned that we might need to leave
John alone again in order to find that other piece of Peacekeeper dren. Pilot suggested that he and Moya
could monitor his condition if we had to leave.”
“Pilot thought of that?” The purplish hologram came to life next to her elbow. “That was a great idea, Pilot.”
“Moya and I have a strong desire to make sure everyone on board remains safe, Chiana. It is our pleasure to
offer our assistance.”
“I still don’t understand one thing though, isn’t he better? Hasn’t the Medical Maiden cured him?” Chiana
advanced toward Jool, concern for her shipmate making her gait spikier than usual.
“We haven’t had time to find out, Chiana,” Aeryn spoke quietly, turning away from John’s senseless figure to
look at the others. “What have you done for John? Is he cured?” She focused her gaze on Jool alone.
The Interion surveyed the trio surrounding her, and for once was direct and to the point. “John’s symptoms and
the progress of the disease are consistent with Saltauri-Sebacean flu, but his immunological responses are not
what I would term normal.”
“Because he’s human?” Chiana asked.
“Not entirely. His species uses an antibody generator to cure their diseases. Crichton received a number of
treatments as a juvenile. He also is not Sebacean. I won’t go into all the details …”
“Thank you!” interjected D’Argo. Green eyes flashed a laser-intense glare at him before she resumed.
“ … but it means that the virus developed an increased capacity for mutation almost immediately, and will
survive any existing compound I could give him that would normally destroy a standard viral pathogen. I’ve
given him a modified Sebacean immune booster instead, to encourage John’s body to kill the infection itself.”
“Modified how?”
“Pilot provided access to information stored in Moya’s databanks that allowed me to synthesize an application
that has been used extensively in treating non-Peacekeeper Sebaceans. But Crichton’s human physiology will
tolerate an aggravated fever without the widespread systemic breakdown that occurs in Sebaceans …”
“The Living Death.” Aeryn’s flat tone almost hid that she was asking a question.
“ … yes, resulting in the Living Death.” She cocked her head in momentary introspection. “What a charming
phrase for such a frightful condition.” She saw the exasperated look on Aeryn’s face and returned to her
explanation. “The combination of his fever and some other physiological peculiarities broke the molecular
chains in the formulation almost immediately; I found no trace of it in his system within microts. So I used both
Sebacean and his own human DNA as a template to restructure the bonding of the chemical chains as well as
to manipulate the pathogen response mechanism of the immune booster and this time it held up.”
“So what do we do now?” Aeryn placed the backs of her fingers against John’s temple and stroked the hair
back. At first she thought there was no response, that he was truly asleep. Then she saw that the muscles of
his face had relaxed slightly. She continued the motion and saw his shoulders relax as well. His body seemed
to sink into the bed.
“He will very likely experience a resurgence of the fever over the next several hours as his body begins to fight
the infection, but if everything goes the way I predict,” her arrogance regained its vigor, “and it usually does, I’d
say that he would be well on the way to recovery before morning.” She shook her hair back and flounced out of
the room, staccato steps echoing back through the corridor.
Chiana watched Aeryn for long microts as the Sebacean continued to stare at the still figure, then turned to
D’Argo. “Come on, let’s go check with Pilot and see if there’s been any progress on the search by the DRDs.”
He started to object, but the slight figure grabbed him firmly by the elbow and steered him out of the room.
Aeryn glanced up as they moved to leave. “I’ll come with you. We’re going to need everyone searching to find
that last man.” She began to rise, feeling a tearing deep inside as her sense of duty struggled with her desire
to make sure John remained safe. “We can lock him in this time, just in case, and ask Pilot to begin monitoring
his condition right away.”
“No Aeryn, you stay here with Crichton.” Chiana returned to stand in the doorway, elbows canted behind her,
watching Aeryn as she collected her pulse rifle and moved to leave also. “You said yourself that you didn’t
know what tactic the Peacekeeper would take next. If you could lead us to where he was going to be, then
sure, you should come with us. But you ought to stay here for now.”
D’Argo had returned to stand beside her. “We will comm you as soon as we have an idea where to go after
him. Everyone is armed and Moya is a large ship. The search is going to take time.”
Aeryn still stood poised to leave. All her training said she had to go with them, but their arguments made her
look down one more time. The familiar face was suddenly strange to her, all character erased, every
expression extinguished by fatigue. A blow seemed to hit her as she realized that right now he more closely
resembled the man she had met her first day on Moya than the person she had recently learned to love. With
the worry and care erased, he had somehow reverted to the innocent, almost bumbling, human who hadn’t
even known how to open the doors to Moya’s chambers.
She brushed her hand lightly down his arm, already feeling the heat of the returning fever flowing from his
body. Then she tucked her rifle under her arm, a movement as natural as breathing to her, and walked to join
D’Argo and Chiana. “We are not going to get lucky again. We have to start a tier by tier search to find that
officer before he finds some way to damage or destroy Moya, and everyone is going to have to help.” She
brushed her hand across the door mechanism and watched as the bars swung shut.
“Pilot. Please lock Crichton’s cell and ask Moya if she could begin monitoring his condition. If he seems to get
worse, let one of us know.”
“Of course, Officer Sun.”
Aeryn refused to let herself look back at the locked doors. She harshly forced John out of her mind and started
formulating a plan for a search grid that would allow their small number to cover as much of Moya as possible in
the shortest amount of time. Every microt they allowed their enemy to remain on the loose represented a risk
they could not afford.
* * * * *
Zeisar Hasman stared into a large conduit, gauging whether he could squirm through the entire length without
getting stuck. It would be a humiliating catastrophe if he got jammed in there, waiting for the DRDs to come and
surround him. He hunkered on his heels and tried to remember where this tunnel might lead, but he had not
been assigned to a Leviathan long enough to have learned every single passageway.
He surveyed the tight fit one more time, and began shrugging out of his heavy fatigue jacket. He made sure
there was nothing left attached to the lash points or in the concealed pockets and tossed the discarded jacket
as far down the access shaft as he could, hoping it would not be found soon. Swinging his long blade out of
the way behind him, he lay down on his belly and began to snake his way through.
* * * * *
Pilot was engrossed in his duties when D'Argo and Chiana entered the Den, to the point of not even noticing
that they were there until they had reached his station. His arms moved without pause over the controls in front
of him, his multitasking capabilities allowing him to continue directing the search while also digesting all the
other information flowing into him from Moya.
The bulk of his free attention at that moment was held by the strange energy signature that he had been
analyzing ever since they had emerged from Starburst. Moya had just been resting in one position, waiting
while the crew took care of the intruders, until they could make a decision as to where they desired to go next.
But Moya and Pilot had not stopped examining the anomalous readings, curiosity about all things stellar driving
them to solve the mystery.
And now there was another reading that drew their attention, something was heading toward them at a steady
and high velocity. Pilot monitored it carefully, not sure yet whether it was a ship of some sort, perhaps even a
Peacekeeper ship that might have been able to follow them here.
“Pilot, any luck at all with the search by the DRDs?” At D'Argo's question, Pilot's head came up, noticing the
pair for the first time. His eyes retracted a bit as he refocused his attention to include his immediate
surroundings.
“What's the matter, Pilot?” Chiana recognized his level of distraction.
“There has been no progress with locating the second Peacekeeper.” He answered D’Argo’s question. “You
do realize that there are large expanses of Moya that have no sensors. He could be in any of those areas.
There are also Moya’s burned tiers …” he broke off his explanation, sensing that he did not have to go any
further.
“I do not believe he would take refuge in those areas. They hold no advantage for him, no weapons, no
hostages.” D’Argo began pacing in frustration. If only they could get just one sighting on the intruder, then
they could move to surround him.
“Pilot? Is there something wrong?” Chiana had not been distracted from her original question, and had been
watching the increasing pace of Pilot’s adjustments to his controls.
“There is something very large moving toward us at a very high rate of speed,” he said, listening all the while to
the shifting sounds and colors of Moya’s long range sensors. He could smell the energy signatures, see the
wave distortions of the object as the sensor data poured into his mind. “It is not close enough for Moya’s
sensors to make a determination as to its nature.”
“So there’s no way of knowing if it’s a ship or not?” D’Argo asked.
“No, not yet.” Claws made adjustments to his controls. “It is moving very fast. It will be close enough to Moya
to make an assessment in less than half an arn.”
“All right, Pilot, keep us informed. We’ll be in Command for a while, and then we’ll be starting a tier by tier
search. We’ll need your help when that begins.”
“Of course, Ka D’Argo.”
* * * * *
Rygel was the second to last to arrive in Command. He soared in, still working his way through a pile of food
cubes even as he guided his chair. “What is so important that you had to interrupt my meal?” he groused.
“That crazy man Stark didn’t tell me anything when he came to get me. Where did he go? I thought everyone
was meeting here?”
“You ate that entire platter of pronga and krawlak just an arn ago, Rygel,” Chiana accused him. “You can’t
possibly be that hungry again so soon.”
“I had some catching up to do,” he said. “Now what’s going on?”
“We are going to have to search Moya chamber by chamber and tier by tier in order to find this last officer,”
Aeryn explained. “Pilot is going to monitor our progress and either lock off chambers or station DRDs to patrol
once we have finished.” She began calling up schematics of Moya’s layout in order to organize their search
pattern, pausing to look up as Stark hurried into the room.
“Find the man, find the man, find the man,” he was singing quietly as he pulled up beside the Hynerian.
“RYGEL! I can go with the Dominar! I can search high, he can search low, we’ll look wherever a
Peacekeeper’d go!”
Rygel was coughing out bits of food cube, inhaled in surprise when Stark had grabbed his chair. “Get away
from me you rhyming raving lunatic,” he commanded, but didn’t move to drive his chair away from the Banik.
He turned back to Aeryn who had resumed her planning. “Your way will take arns! There aren’t enough of us
to search this ship from top to bottom!”
“What choice do we have, Your Expansionness?” D’Argo reached to scatter food cubes out of Rygel’s lap. “I
supposed you would just have us sit around stuffing ourselves until he appears to kill us one by one? Or better
yet, injures Moya?”
“That’s not what I meant.” Rygel stared down at his lost meal and his earbrows began to droop. “I was only
trying to suggest that we find another way to locate the Peacekeeper which might be faster.”
“Do you have any suggestions?” Aeryn looked up from the console, her voice giving him the benefit of doubt.
He understood that for once she was allowing that he might have actually come up with a better idea than her
own. But … “No,” he said on a heavy sigh, knowing his chance had been wasted.
“All right then. Everyone stays armed, keep your comms open, and don’t take any shortcuts. Search every
chamber no matter what -- whether you think he could have gotten in there or not. Keep Pilot informed so he
can lock off areas as we work. Stay in pairs for protection.” She paused, tried to think what else she needed to
tell them.
“Can Rygel and I be a pair? Can we work together?”
Stark was still in one of his wilder modes. She never knew when he was going to revert to more lucid behavior.
She looked at the assembled crew, considering what pairs would be best. Before she could answer him, the
decision was taken out of her hands.
“All right, Stark,” the Dominar grumbled. “I’ll work with you. But remember, you go into every chamber in front
of me, understood?” Stark smiled broadly and nodded his head in eager assent.
Chiana had come to stand next to Aeryn, surprising her once again. She had expected her to try and pair off
with D’Argo, but she looked around and Jool had moved to his side. That was new. This was NOT the sort of
thing she should be musing about now, she told herself fiercely. The interpersonal peculiarities of the crew
could wait until there was one more dead body waiting to be jettisoned from the ship. She just hoped it was the
right body.
“Stark and Rygel, take Tier One. Jool and D’Argo start on Tier Two, and we’ll go to Three. We’ll work our way
down through the ship. We’re probably going to have to work as a single team when we begin searching
through the maintenance areas and drive sections later.”
* * * * *
Pilot watched the incoming data as the unidentified object approached. The information was becoming more
precise as Moya’s long range sensors were finally able to probe the unknown traveler. Suddenly all the facts
made a pattern and he relaxed. It was only a large wandering planetoid on its aimless way through the system,
but it was going to pass very close to their position.
He commed D’Argo who was still with the others in Command and explained. “It will pass very close to Moya‘s
present position, so I will have her move out of the way. Should we leave this area of space as well?”
Pilot listened to the discussion, waiting patiently as Moya’s charges debated the question. All decisions by this
group seemed to take so long. It was his purpose in life to serve those who coexisted with Moya, but he
sometimes wished that they had made their break for freedom at a time when a more agreeable group had
been on board. His patience began to wear thin as the argument on Command continued. He finally
interceded, “Excuse me … it would be advisable for Moya to begin to move away from the trajectory of the
planetoid at this time. Perhaps she could move a short distance until a further course of action has been
determined.” His bored drawl tried to convey that they were taking too long to make up their minds.
“Go ahead and do it Pilot. We’ll let you know about our direction of travel later.”
“Of course, Ka D’Argo.”
Pilot turned a small portion of his attention to the task of managing Moya’s drive system, noting as he did that
the mass of rock was headed for the locus of the odd energy output. Perhaps the readings when the mass hit
the energy signal would give him more information to determine what was there.
* * * * *
Hasman could see the end of the conduit at last. He squirmed along a little faster, desperate to get out of what
felt like a prison. He hadn’t seen or heard any DRDs, but wasn’t sure he would have been able to detect one if
it had been motionless as he crawled through some of the wider cavities where the drones maintained the
ship’s systems. He was finally close enough to grab the edges of the aperture out of the ship’s duct, and
cautiously easing his shoulders and hips through the narrow opening, pulled himself free. He stood up with
relief and looked around him.
“Frell!” He was in the ion backwash chamber, which was exactly the type of chamber with internal sensors he
had been trying to avoid when he had resorted to crawling through the conduit. “Wasted effort,” he growled
quietly. His memory had betrayed him, and he needed to get out of here and hide again fast.
Behind him, the hatch for sealing the conduit snapped shut with a loud clap and Hasman jumped, startled by
the first loud noise he had heard in arns. He started to swing around, looking at the closed tunnel, but stopped
himself when he saw the large doors to the chamber sliding shut as well. He realized that the ship was about to
engage its drive system, flooding this chamber with deadly energy. He scrambled frantically toward the nearest
of the rapidly narrowing openings.
* * * * *
“Officer Sun! The Peacekeeper has just left the ion backwash chamber!” Pilot’s excited image appeared
before anyone could leave Command. All six figures seemed to head for the door at once, an eager
mad-scramble to finally rid themselves of a threat. Rygel’s sled swerved around the clog and was the first out
the door by zooming over their heads.
“Same basic plan,” Aeryn shouted as they all turned into the corridor. “Stark and Rygel, take the tier directly
above the ion backwash chamber. D’Argo and Jool get below him.” She watched the two pairs peel off to follow
her instructions. “Pilot?”
“DRDs are already being directed into the tier, Officer Sun. No sightings yet.”
Aeryn burst into a run, Chiana close behind her. She was desperate not to lose this opportunity to catch what
was becoming a torment. It was like an itch she couldn’t scratch, knowing the danger was always there but
being powerless to do anything about it. She wasn’t going to squander their best chance.
* * * * *
John woke to the pounding headache of his fever. He lay quietly for a moment, taking in the darkened, silent
chamber and wondered how long he had been sleeping. He remembered bits and pieces of the conversation
that had flowed around him earlier, and realized he was entering the final phase of the disease before recovery
broke its hold over him. He looked around his room, noting the closed doors, remembering the dimly heard
conversation and knew they were probably locked.
He sighed and relaxed back, wondering how much longer this was going to last. If nothing else, he was starting
to get bored. He gazed up at the ceiling and finally saw the DRD that hung there, quiescent, just watching. “Hi
Moya, how’s it shakin’?” he asked. The drone blinked once. “How am I doing?” It blinked once. “Not much of a
conversationalist are you?” He smiled. It was kind of nice having one big Mom all around him when he wasn’t
feeling well.
He began to wonder how long it had been since the others left. His cycles of waking and sleeping had begun to
merge together and the sense of timelessness was growing each time he woke from another restless nap.
“Pilot?”
“Yes, Commander Crichton.” The image appeared across his chamber, the seemingly imperturbable face
gazing at him, although Crichton knew Pilot could already see him through the video feed from the DRD in the
room.
“How long have I been asleep since the others left?”
“About one arn. Is there anything you need?”
“No. Thank you, Pilot.”
His body suddenly flushed with warmth, and it felt like the air was becoming an intolerable burden in his abruptly
overheated lungs. He had been comfortable only a microt earlier, what was this all about? He began to shove
the covers off, dumping them carelessly in a heap on the floor. When the cool air of the chamber finally began
to flow over him again, he slumped back onto his bunk, waiting for some relief from the all encompassing heat
of his fever. Sometime while he was waiting he fell asleep again.
Pilot closed the transmission to the clamshell but continued to closely monitor the input from the drone in
Crichton’s quarters. He had noticed the rise in the human’s internal body temperature and was watching to
ensure that it did not rise above the highest point that would be safe for his health. With Zhaan and Crichton’s
assistance, Pilot had been adding information concerning human physiological parameters to the exobiology
information in Moya’s data stores for the past two cycles. He was pleased that the effort was going to pay off
now.
* * * * *
John walked into the crowded apartment, amazed at the number of people who had shown up for DK’s party.
He recognized friends from high school, college, and from IASA. He was glad that so many of them had turned
out to celebrate his best friend’s birthday. He managed to squeeze between two gorgeous women to snag a
beer from the makeshift bar in the kitchen, levering the cap loose and sailing it accurately into the trash barrel.
“Yes, the kid hits from outside the line. Three points!” The line rang familiarly in his mind, like an echo, but he
couldn’t remember when he had said it recently. He shook his head, deciding it wasn’t important and took his
first sip of the dark beer. Icy cold, slightly bitter, he could feel it slide all the way down his throat. ‘God, I
haven’t had one like that in …’
What was he thinking? He drank beer all the time. Why had that reaction leapt into his mind?
He eased back between the two women, pausing as one reached up for a kiss. Now THIS was his kind of
party. Finishing the first embrace he looked at the second woman expectantly and she also stepped forward
for a deep passionate kiss. “I am NEVER leaving this place!” he exclaimed as she released him. A horrible
shiver of foreboding ran through him for no reason. He shook his head and moved away from the pair,
disconcerted.
He wound his way slowly through the crowd, looking for either DK or Alex, surprised not to find either one of
them holding the center of attention. Usually one or the other somehow managed to become the focus of any
party. He glanced toward the sliding glass doors and saw a reflection of someone standing behind him, looking
at him with malevolent hatred. He spun around, but there was no one there.
“Wow, gotta lay off the Guinness Stout … wait, only had one sip, maybe I need to HIT the Guinness.” He took
another healthy sized swallow and choked. The brew had gone ’off’ just since he had opened it. He looked at
the label to check for an expiration date, and staggered when he saw that it now read “Guinness Fellip Nectar”.
He glanced back toward the kitchen and saw cages of strange creatures. The bartender was taking each one
in turn and filling the empty bottles by …
Crichton turned away gagging, afraid he was going to vomit. Barely getting his stomach back under control, he
set the bottle down and continued looking for just Alex this time. “One at a time, John. Find Alex and then get
DK to explain this new brewing method.” He saw the reflection again, and instead of turning, he moved closer
to the window to get a better look.
GILINA. He turned and saw her standing across the room, staring at him, accusing him, blaming him for being
alive when she was dead. He looked away, unable to meet her eyes. When he glanced back it was suddenly
no longer her, never had been her. It was a tall, arrogant woman wearing strange black leather clothes, her
long red hair hanging to her waist. She stared at him in distain. NIEM.
He turned away again and began looking for the door to leave, and noticed for the first time that everyone in
the room was wearing red and black leather, all staring at him. He tried to back away, but the crowd had
closed in around him. He felt hands gripping his arms, turning him around, looked down to see black armored
hands grasping him, felt them behind him pushing him forward, more hands adding on, pulling him toward the
wall of black leathered figures.
He screamed and thrashed wildly as more hands grabbed on and pushed and pulled him forward, and the wall
of bodies separated and Niem and Scorpius stood waiting.
Pilot watched as the figure sweated and cried out, hands twitching as though they were fending something off,
and debated whether this was something he should bring to Officer Sun’s attention. He alternated his attention
for a moment between his surveillance of Crichton and the input from DRDs filling the corridors, and found
Aeryn Sun approaching the last known position of the Peacekeeper. He decided that Crichton’s condition could
wait.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
