Cholak's Demon
Chapter 4
Gallenn sat up as the door lock chirped its six-tone combination. The headache left behind by the Aurora Chair
was gone, but there seemed to be a blank inside his head where there used to be the ability to cope with
unexpected events. His mouth went dry as the lock cycled, making it difficult to swallow the painful lump that
had formed in his throat. In the days since he’d been taken prisoner, the only times they’d come to take him
out of the cell had been to put him in the Chair. Gallenn swallowed a second time, the tight constriction in his
throat increasing at the thought of another session in the Aurora Chair.
The door slid open … and nothing happened. He put one foot to the floor, leaning to one side to see if there
was someone in the corridor. It was empty. What felt like a hand clapped itself over his mouth, muffling his
unthinking yell of surprise.
“Be quiet!” a whispered voice barked next to his ear. He received a small slap alongside his head in response
to his second small yelp, the light blow chastising him for his additional outburst. The disembodied touch
increased the surrealism of the moment, disbelief relieving him of his self-control. “I said be quiet. Sometimes
the cells pick up noises through the walls.” He nodded, eyes darting left and right in search of the source of the
voice. The fingers eased away from his mouth.
“Can you stay quiet?” the voice asked. He nodded and the hand let go of him.
“Please tell me I’m cracking up from what the Chair did to me,” he requested.
A moment later Gallenn slapped his own palm over his mouth to prevent a shout when Aeryn Sun’s face
appeared in front of him, floating in the middle of the cell without a body to go with it. The rest of her head
appeared, followed by her upper body as she stripped the invisibility away from a Peacekeeper officer’s
uniform.
“What the frell?” he whispered from behind his hand. “Wait. A stealth garment!” He’d read about them a cycle
or two earlier, dismissing the idea as an unusable application of new technology. Something far more important
occurred to him before she could respond. “John! Did they get John?”
“Yes. Put this on. Hurry.” Her hands went to her waist and her lower body added itself beneath the floating
torso, encased in the shimmering gray cloth of the deactivated suit. “We’ve got less than four hundred microts
before the next guard shows up for his shift.”
She straightened her uniform, tugging it into perfect alignment as he fumbled his way into the suit, then showed
him how to fasten the front. “Switch here,” she instructed, guiding his hand to the circuitry. “Seal up and follow
me to the control room. You know where it is?”
“Yes.” He toggled the suit on and off, making sure he could work it. When he looked up to thank her for
breaking him out, she was gone. “Rush, rush, rush,” he commented. He ricocheted off the side of the doorway
on his way to catch up with her, trying to get the hood into place while negotiating the corners of the
passageway, and succeeding at neither. “What now?” he asked, entering the control station.
Aeryn was standing over the panel that controlled all of the surveillance equipment, fingers rapping hard
against the entry pad as she hurriedly typed in commands.
“I’m deleting the last three hundred microts of recordings so they won’t know how you got out.” She glanced at
him as she worked. “Turn the suit on in case someone comes in without warning. Carry that inside so no one
sees it.” She indicated the stolen encoding unit sitting to one side.
“You reprogrammed the access codes to let you into the system,” he surmised. She nodded and kept typing.
He pulled the connections loose and closed the unit, tucking it inside the suit as she’d instructed, too stunned
by the rescue to offer any witticisms.
“Frell,” she snarled, still working at the console. “It won’t erase the video portions.”
“Let me,” he ordered, shoving her aside. Five microts later the monitors began to flash in synchronization,
fading in and out three times before reverting to the usual unexciting views of the cells and corridors of the
detention block.
Aeryn nodded in satisfaction. “You need to tell me how you knew those commands, but not until later.” She
scanned the room quickly, tucked a chair neatly under the consoles, and straightened a sheaf of schematics.
“What about him?” Gallenn nudged the guard with his foot, fascinated by the sight of the body jostling without
any apparent impetus. Some part of him had expected to be able to see his own body even when no one else
could. “Leave him here?” he asked as Aeryn turned away from the consoles.
“We hide him. Give me a hand.” Aeryn Sun grunted as they pulled the body up together and got it over her
shoulders.
“Where in the name of hezmana do you hide a dead body aboard a command carrier?” he asked
incredulously.
The dark eyebrows lowered in what he first thought was anger, then recognized as vicious humor. “That’s
easy. You hide him where you hid all the rest of the dead bodies.” Her hand searched for him, hitting him in
the shoulder and then latching on to his arm. “You take the lead. Warn me if anyone comes the other way.”
“Warn you?” Gallenn asked in disbelief. He stepped through the door, scanned the corridor, then turned left,
as directed by her hand signal. “What are you going to do with the body even if you get a warning?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” she whispered as they hurried through the first intersection. “No matter what I do,
this keeps turning into the kind of plan Crichton would dream up. Faster. We have to get this done before this
sector’s sleep-cycle is over.” They began to run, Aeryn grunting quietly from the strain of carrying the dead
guard.
* * * * *
Grayza paced slowly from the doors of her quarters to the short stairway leading to the upper level, leafing
through the readouts that Braca had delivered. “Two more missing, an explosion in the hangar, and the
sebacean prisoner has escaped. This is unacceptable.” She consulted the flimsy printouts again. “This began
shortly after we captured Crichton. You have verified that there was no one else aboard his ship.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Braca confirmed. “The investigation squad reported that they had just finished searching the
ship when the … the uh, tank exploded.”
“But they did finish searching the entire craft,” Grayza confirmed, watching Braca’s reaction carefully.
“Yes, ma’am. That’s what they reported.” Braca fidgeted under the weight of her gaze.
“Very well. Check the records of every technician aboard this carrier for a possible association with the
sebacean mechanic. There may be someone on board who is sympathetic to his situation. If you find any link
to him at all, even if it appears coincidental, have the person questioned in the Aurora Chair. Is that
understood?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Braca snapped his response.
Grayza handed the schematics to him and continued issuing orders, wandering from door to stairs several
times as she spoke. “Put all security checkpoints on genetic verification scans. I want an accounting of all
personnel in order to verify that no one else has … fallen victim to Cholak’s demon.” She sneered the last five
words in derision. “Inform the ranking officers in each division that anyone caught spreading this ridiculous
rumor is to be brought before me for disciplinary action.”
Braca remained silent as she paused, moving only his eyes to watch her as she paced.
“Search Crichton’s ship again. The most likely explanation for everything that has happened is that someone
came aboard at the same time he was captured. Look for anything out of the ordinary. Anything that doesn’t
fit.”
“Ma’am,” Braca stuttered slightly. “The only personnel working in that hangar now are --”
“Was some portion of my order unclear, Lieutenant?” she inquired, stepping closer to him. The abruptly quiet
tone was more threatening than any of her barked commands.
Braca glanced back and forth between his commanding officer and a spot on the wall several times, his
wariness shifting to apprehension. “No, ma’am, you were perfectly clear. The search will begin immediately.”
“What is Crichton’s condition?” She stepped away from him, rounding her desk to assume a relaxed slouch in
the high-backed chair.
Braca allowed himself a deeper breath, relaxing as her fury abated. “He seems to be intentionally trying to stay
awake. There have been a few incidents of what might be the beginnings of auditory hallucinations, but he
talks to himself constantly, so it’s difficult to tell.” He stepped forward, offering a data chip. “These are the
latest surveillance recordings and transcripts of what he has been saying.”
Grayza punched the chip into the playback unit incorporated into her work surface and scrolled rapidly through
the broken, mumbled ramblings of John Crichton, slowing down to watch more carefully as he began the
repetitive rocking. “Is it possible that his mind has snapped?” she demanded.
“I don’t believe so, commandant. His behavior in the past has been --” He shifted awkwardly before the blue-
eyed stare, searching for a term as she waited impatiently. “In the past, Crichton’s responses have tended to
be remarkably irrational, his remarks sometimes bordering on the insane.”
“I do recall our first meeting,” she reminded him. “He pointed a gun at me.”
“My point exactly. His current behavior does not seem peculiar when examined in that light. I believe he is as
sane as Crichton ever gets.”
“Take care of the security situation first, then I want you to go to the detention sector. There is something I
want you to try before bringing him here.” Grayza leaned back in her chair, fingers gently stroking the skin at
the base of her throat.
Braca swallowed hard, an eager smile appearing as his eyes followed the course of the slender hand from
throat to abdomen and back up. “Yes, ma’am. What would you like me to do?”
* * * * *
“Are you in?” Aeryn asked cautiously, trying to spot the slight visual distortion that was Gallenn.
“Right beside you,” he answered. His body winked into existence all at once as he turned off the suit.
The doors slid shut and she engaged the lock, releasing her breath in a quiet sigh as she began to relax.
Freeing Gallenn, hiding the guard’s body, and making their way to the quarters of the tech she’d killed earlier
had been a tense three-arn process. Aeryn slid the heavily armored uniform jacket off and ducked through the
cylindrical opening to sit on the bed.
“Thanks for getting me out of there,” Gallenn said as he peered through at her from the outer half of the
quarters. She nodded an acknowledgement, suddenly too tired to form words. He finished stripping off the
suit, looked it over admiringly, and tossed it on a seat. “Where’s Crichton? You’re on the loose. You said they
got him?”
She nodded, slowly fingering her hair to make sure it was tight and even. Gallenn flopped down on the other
side of the bed and dropped his head into his hands, the dejected slump of his shoulders and bowed head
speaking more clearly than words of his remorse.
“You haven’t seen him?” she asked. He shook his head. “He was at the end of the block beyond you.”
“I heard the guards coming and going a few times but I never got to the door in time to see anyone. I’m sorry,
Aeryn. It’s my fault that they caught you. They wouldn’t have Crichton now if it weren’t for me.”
Aeryn rubbed her forehead, trying to remember what she’d planned to do after she got this far. There had
been several options to be considered, but they’d all gone missing behind the returning fear that John might be
permanently injured by the interrogations. “A few times?” she asked in a near-whisper. “How many?”
Gallenn sat up to look at her, eyeing the slouched shoulders and trembling hands. “Two, I think. I’m not sure.
When’s the last time you had any sleep?”
“I can rest once we escape. Nothing else matters except that.” She sat up straight and twisted from side to
side, stretching the tight muscles in her back. “And it isn’t your fault that we got caught. They’ve been chasing
John for cycles. We probably should have warned you. It was stupid of us to assume they wouldn’t follow the
same trail I did. If I hadn’t been so focused on getting John to talk to me -- ”
“Okay, I get the point,” he interrupted. “If we’re still eaten up by guilt when this is over, we can take turns
smacking ourselves with a dead drannit. What’s next? You broke me out instead of him. Why?”
She remembered one of the things she needed to accomplish in order to get off the carrier. “The ship has to
be repaired. John had a problem with the power getting to the hetch drive.” Gallenn began nodding in
understanding. “He said he ripped the power cabling loose from the rhotarri engines completely and spliced it
to the other system permanently.”
Gallenn was still nodding. “I told him those switches were rated too low to handle that much power. They froze
up, didn’t they?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “The whole mess will have to be repaired.”
“If I get you into the hangar, how long will it take?” Aeryn got to her feet and stepped through the round
opening in the bulkhead to retrieve the electronic encoding equipment that she’d used to gain access to the
databanks in the detention block.
“To just rewire the power to the rhotarri engines, a matter of a couple hundred microts per engine. If you want
access to both drives with new switches that won’t freeze up --” He considered the process. “Maybe two arns if
I have everything I need and I’m in a rush. To do it right and check everything over, more like three or four
arns.”
Aeryn opened the case, activated the unit and watched the holographic display come to life. “How did you
know the commands to erase the recordings?” she asked, changing the subject. Gallenn ducked his head,
avoiding her gaze. “You’re a Peacekeeper,” Aeryn accused him, voicing what she’d suspected since the
moment she’d watched his fast, accurate manipulation of the controls in the detention block. “Tech?”
“Yeah, but not for the last eight cycles,” he admitted. “I deserted. It’s a fascinating story. I’ll tell you over a
raslak some time. The important thing is that they know who I am. Grayza found the memory while I was in the
Aurora Chair.”
“That could be a problem, but I may have created a bigger one. In order to get you out, I reprogrammed the
palm scanners to take my handprint. The databanks run an automated verification of all stored identifications
on a regular basis. It’s only a matter of time before they find that my print is in there.”
Gallenn was rummaging around in the storage bins in the outer area as he spoke, reappearing with a container
of food cubes and a drinking flask. “At which point, the system will allow you to pass through, but kicks out an
alert and every thick-necked, no-brain security specialist on the entire carrier descends on your position and
blasts you into a smudge spot on the deck.”
“So nicely put,” she agreed, smiling at his description. The expression felt odd on her face, pulling at muscles
that had not been used for that purpose in too many arns. Smiles were something that belonged to other
people, not to the person who was running out of time to free John Crichton from the Peacekeepers. She
shook her head when he offered her a food cube.
“Give me that thing.” Gallenn pulled the electronic input device toward him, devoting one hand to pulling out
leads and connectors while popping several squares into his mouth with the other. He continued talking
through a mouthful of food cubes. “Let me see what I can do about reprogramming the system to take your
DNA in case they go to genetic verifications and getting us better access throughout the ship.”
Aeryn stretched out on her side, her head propped on one hand to watch as he removed several wall panels
until he found the circuitry he wanted, then hooked up the encoder. “There’s a tech’s uniform out there along
with an ident chip,” she told him. “It might fit you.”
“Another body in the lake?” he asked almost too casually, not bothering to look up. “If you keep this up, they’ll
start to notice that the water is rising.” He continued to stare at the information being displayed before him, but
stopped working. “How … how many bodies are in that lake?”
“Only one in that particular lake,” she answered, pulling a pillow under her head. He remained motionless. “Do
you want the real answer to that question?” Gallenn looked troubled, but shook his head.
“It bothers you that I killed them,” she theorized.
“None of my business, I think.” He rubbed his temples with the heels of both hands, and then let his breath out
slowly. “You’re a Peacekeeper. Guess it’s no big deal to you.”
Aeryn sat up in a rush, surprising even herself with the level of anger in her voice as she leaned close to the
former technician. “They … have … John!” she attacked him. “They will kill him if I don’t get him out. I don’t
enjoy any part of this. I’ve done too much killing in the past few cycles, and I would prefer not to have to do it
again. But I will not sacrifice John just to make myself more comfortable. I did that before and it was the wrong
decision.” She backed away from the wary figure who was now perched on the far edge of the bed.
“These quarters … do you want to know how I knew they were safe to use?” She leaned in close again,
something untamed glittering in her eyes. “I killed a man for a plate of food.” Gallenn started to answer, but
she continued before he could get a word out. Her voice slid into the room, low and hushed, crawling like
smoke to insinuate itself into every corner. “A plate of food because I couldn’t get onto our ship to get to the
rations. But I needed that food to keep going. For … John.”
“I get it,” he said nervously. “I do understand.” The two sat uncomfortably for several microts, the vicious
declaration chilling the air between them.
Aeryn sat back, the wild light in her eyes dimming then fading out altogether as Gallenn nervously fiddled with
the encoder’s controls. “I may be going a little bit crazy from this,” Aeryn finally offered, breaking the short
silence. “To have him taken away from me as soon as I find him seems … so …” She tapered off to silence as
the words to describe the feelings eluded her.
Gallenn slid the encoder across the mattress toward her, cautiously taking her by one wrist to place her hand
over a sensor pad. “Stay still for a microt,” he ordered, and activated the scanner. “It’s reading your DNA.”
“I was apologizing,” she explained when he released her.
“I know,” he glanced at her, starting to relax. “I’m not entirely mentally deficient, despite what my commanding
officers used to think. It didn’t seem to require an answer. Let’s forget about the last few microts and
concentrate on getting Crichton out before you displace so much water that it starts to flood the carrier.” His
grin was back in place as he went back to work. “Relax for a few microts while I finish changing these data
files.”
The room was nearly silent, the quiet clicking of Gallenn’s efforts the only noise to break the perpetual
undercurrent hum that was a constant aboard a command carrier. Aeryn watched him work, oddly reassured
by having this friend of John’s beside her. Companionship had been an alien concept when she’d first met
Crichton. Earning a position in the Pleisars had won her the bonds of loyalty, service, and dedication to the
regiment, but it hadn’t taught her about friendship and the emotional commitment inherent in that concept.
John had bound this other person to him with the offer of his unique type of friendship. She watched Gallenn
frown at the unit, bite his lip, and clear out the display to start over again, and wanted to tap into his memories
to learn what he knew of John Crichton. She’d missed so much of his life, given it away carelessly when she
had walked away. It seemed too unfair that he’d been ripped away from her just as she was rediscovering how
wonderful it was to be loved by him.
Aeryn was vaguely aware of the motion when Gallenn ducked out of the sleeping space to retrieve the spare
ident chip, but had fallen completely asleep by the time he nodded with satisfaction and turned off the
maintenance unit.
* * * * *
His own quiet snoring woke him. Crichton’s head came up with a jerk, bumping into the wall behind him, the
quiet ‘whang’ echoing slightly in the silent room. He’d been dozing for short intervals despite the cold, his
disorientation increasing each time he woke. A small glitter on the front of the insulated covers caught his eye,
and he stared at it, trying to determine what was reflecting a stray beam of light. They’d lowered the light levels
to the point where details were hard to make out. He assumed that the dim lighting was an attempt to
encourage his half-conscious mutterings. One hand wormed its way out of the confining folds to rub lightly at
the shining object.
“Lovely,” Crichton commented, his voice crackling hoarsely in the quiet of the cell. In his exhaustion, he’d been
drooling down the front of the blanket. It was the thin stream of saliva that had been shining in the glow of the
lights from the corridor. His chin bobbed against his chest as he started to doze off again. “Sight for … sore
eyes,” he mumbled, trying to make a small joke of his condition.
The door rumbled open, grinding ponderously as it retreated into the wall and the lights increased to full
intensity. John squinted at his strutting visitor, his eyes watering from the unaccustomed glare. “Braca. Didn’t
go down with your ship, I see.”
“Crichton,” smirked the lieutenant. “Our accommodations don’t seem to agree with you.” He examined the
blank walls and ceiling with exaggerated care. John ignored the taunt, too tired to summon a response. Braca
paced around the cell several times before coming to a stop in front of the weary astronaut, his eyes bright with
pleasure as he stared down at the prisoner.
“What d’ya want, Braca?” John demanded tiredly, fumbling through each word. “Cap’n Cleavage send you
down here to gloat me to death?”
“Commandant Grayza,” the Peacekeeper officer snarled back, emphasizing both the rank and her name, “has
instructed me to inform you that your companion has been shot and killed while attempting to elude our search
teams.”
John’s head spun for a moment, his hands and feet numb with shock. A remembered voice broke out from
where he’d hidden it, reminding him not to succumb to their tricks.
“Don’t let them convince you that it’s hopeless. Until you see my body, unless they drag my dead body in front
of you, you keep believing that I’m going to get you out.”
He took a slow breath, recovering from the momentary shock of the announcement, and forced himself back
into the imagined history he’d been building in his mind.
“Companion,” he repeated slowly. “Give me a clue here, Braca buddy. Charlotte maybe? Runty the bird?
You got someone specific in mind?”
Braca’s pleased expression faltered for a microt. “I am referring to Aeryn Sun. You smuggled her onto the
carrier. Her attempts to elude us were futile. I am afraid she did not die painlessly.” His smirk destroyed any
chance that the mock sympathy might be mistaken for genuine concern.
Crichton snorted a laugh at him before tapping into the anger that had ruled his life for almost an entire cycle.
“Peacekeeper Officer Sun? No passenger of mine.” He squinted at Braca, trying to get the blurred image into
focus. “You’re trying to trick me, aren’t you? Always suspected you were a little stupid, Braca. You don’t do so
well without Scorpy around to make your mouth move up and down.”
“You are lying, Crichton. We have her body to prove it.”
It was suddenly difficult to breathe, his chest tightening until the air caught in his throat and made his head spin
worse than before. Aeryn dead. Logic and faith told him it wasn’t true, but the idea was threatening to destroy
his carefully constructed façade anyway. Crichton concentrated on the two tasks of keeping his breathing even
and focusing on the image of Aeryn’s Prowler leaving Moya, doing his best to maintain the alternate version of
history.
“Feel free to trot the carcass out. Be nice to see old what’s her name Sun one more time.” He watched the last
of the pleasure fade from Braca’s face, uncertainty taking its place. “If Grayza is looking for a lever, she’s going
to have to do better than that, Mortimer. Go back and sit on her knee for a bit, maybe she’ll teach you a new
act.” The taunt left him dizzy and panting as he used up too much of his reserve of energy, but he continued,
trying to provoke his adversary into doing or saying something rash.
“Tell me something, Braca … does she ever let you play? Join in for a threesome maybe? Or does she just
keep you around to parrot her orders? A puppet to mouth her commands?” He knew it was lame, but he
couldn’t formulate anything better. The metal bunk had begun to shift beneath him, wobbling about very
unsteadily considering that it was attached to the wall.
“Very funny, Crichton,” the officer hissed angrily. “I look forward to attending the final interrogation that results
in your death.” He spun about, headed for the door, but turned before leaving, the smirk back in place. “As for
Commandant Grayza’s preferences, I would guess that you are more familiar with those than anyone else at
this point.” The Peacekeeper linked his hands together behind his back and peered down his nose at the
exhausted human. Crichton gazed dully back at him, jaw hanging slackly, empty of comebacks. “If not, you will
have another opportunity to learn about them within the arn.”
* * * * *
Aeryn sat up, momentarily confused by her surroundings. She was alone on the bed with the covers folded
over her body to keep her warm. The events of the past several days snapped back into place, and she
lunged out of bed and through the short tunnel. The maintenance encoder was lying open on the table with
Gallenn’s threadbare coveralls flung carelessly next to it, the tech’s uniform missing.
“You let me sleep!” she snapped at him, spotting his back where he was standing in the tiny waste chamber.
“It’s been a single arn,” he returned in an untroubled tone. “And tell me what it means when a Pleisar falls
asleep in the middle of a mission.” Water ran for a microt but she couldn’t see what he was doing in there.
She took a deep breath, calming down once she knew it had been only an arn. “It means I needed the rest,”
she admitted. He stepped out of the small room and she took one fast step back, jumping with surprise.
“That’s good,” she admitted, recovering quickly. “That’s very good.”
He’d cut his hair while she’d been sleeping, cropping it down to a mere dench in length, then he’d brushed it
back into the almost obsessively neat arrangement favored by many of the male techs. She looked him over,
checking for any details that might be out of place, but he’d done well for someone who’d been out of the ranks
for eight cycles. The dead man had been slightly taller, but the single fold at the bottom of his pant legs wasn’t
out of line for someone who might spend more time crawling through servicing conduits than walking upright.
Gallenn turned around slowly, letting her check him over.
“They’re already on ident chip verification,” she noted. “Have it out and waiting.” He pulled the tethered tag out
from inside the uniform. “Wrong boots.” His dusty tan boots had been buffed clean, but they weren’t issue.
“The others were too small,” he agreed. “I’ll have to hope these are close enough. They should be checking
faces instead of feet.”
“What else did I miss while I was asleep?” She reached for the stealth suit and began pulling it on.
“You’ll pass the genetic scans now. I tried to alter the datafile attached to my DNA record to make me
something other than a deserter, but I couldn’t get that far into the system. Too many layers of encryption.” He
sat down across from her and treated her with a huge grin, reminding her of John’s bright-eyed smiles. “You’re
going to like this one though. I put in an order for the parts to fix the engines, and a work order for a specific
tech to make the repairs. Guess which one?”
He was rightfully proud of himself, warranting a compliment, but everything was progressing so smoothly it was
generating fear instead of pleasure. Nothing they ever did went this easily. There had to be something,
somewhere going terribly wrong. “Nicely done,” she acknowledged, shrugging the suit onto her shoulders.
“We’re almost ready to get out of here.” She sat down, rested her head on her hands and tried to get her tired
brain to think.
“Two arns to complete the repairs?” she suggested.
“I’ll rush the job. The parts should be waiting, so that’ll help. I might be able to get it done in under two if I really
push it.” He closed the maintenance unit and latched it, getting ready to take the encoder and the tools inside
it with him. “I checked on Crichton while you were asleep. He was in his cell as of a quarter arn ago.”
“All right. If I see a chance, I’ll get him out and bring him straight to the hangar. If there’s no opportunity or he’s
injured, I’ll come get you, and we’ll do it another way.” The unanswered questions and unresolved portions of
the plan began returning. “Can the rhotarri drive jump from inside the ship, or will we need to get out of the
hangar first?” When she didn’t get an answer, she looked up at him.
Gallenn was staring at her, shaking his head in astonishment. “I don’t know how to make that thing go. I
figured you did.”
“Oh frell.” She got up and paced. “You helped build it, you must know how to get it to work,” she insisted.
“Crichton pointed, said ‘put that part here’, and I did what I was told. I know how to perform maintenance flights
on a few spacecraft, but I’m not a pilot. I assumed you knew how to make the drive work. He tried to teach me,
but I was never taught navigation.”
The unsettled feeling that something was going to go wrong expanded. “Okay, we’ll have to assume John is
going to be able to work the drive or at least tell us how. We don’t have a choice.”
“Take a Marauder instead. Why even bother fixing the prototype?” Gallenn asked.
“They’d overtake us before we were a hundred metras from the carrier. We need something that can move
faster than the Prowlers, and that means his ship. And --” She paused, wondering if John had admitted this to
the sebacean and whether she should be the one to tell him. “A few days ago, John told me that the rhotarri
drive could be used as a weapon. We can’t let them have the ship. If we don’t do anything else, we have to
destroy it.”
The carrier seemed to shift beneath her, assuming an erratic course. She checked on Gallenn, but he didn’t
seem to notice the undulating deck plates. Aeryn slid into the waste chamber and began rummaging through
the racks of hygiene items and personal supplies, finally locating the small container that virtually every
member of the Peacekeepers possessed. She stepped back into the main section of the quarters, and
grabbed the drinking container from the table.
“What are you taking?” Gallenn demanded harshly. He grabbed her wrist and forced her to turn her hand palm
up. “Those things will kill you!”
“I’m only taking one,” she told him, pulling loose. “I’ve used them before -- I know how I’ll react.”
Known simply as “Boosters”, the green tablets were a potent stimulant that all personnel used whenever their
duties forced them to go without sleep for too long. Gallenn was correct though. Extended use or even a mild
overdose was a prescription for heart failure or a drug-induced onset of heat delirium, but one small green
tablet would keep her alert and energized for at least another twelve arns, and would put a stop to the odd
antics from the walls and floors.
“You won’t be any help to Crichton if you drop dead,” he said, watching her wash it down.
“Just one isn’t going to kill me.” She shoved several more into a pocket of the uniform, then replaced the
container in the rack where she’d found it, spotting a different supply of capsules that might come in handy
later. She dumped the additional items into the same pocket and sealed the front of the stealth suit.
“Stay near the ship when you get it fixed,” she ordered him, pulling the hood into place. “You’ll know it if I get
caught. Destroy the engines if we don’t make it back. If I need help, I’ll come get you.”
Gallenn nodded, hesitating with his hand hovering over the door switch. “Can I ask you one question before we
commit this insanity?” She raised her eyebrows, inviting him to continue. “Did you really beat Crichton up the
first time you two met?”
She laughed, mildly startled by the unexpected query. “What did he tell you?”
“That you flung him from one end of a cell to the other five or six times, kicked the dren out of him, threw him on
the floor, and then sat on him … the last of which he seemed to enjoy if the smile on his face was any
indication.” Gallenn leaned a shoulder against the edge of the door opening for the duration of the small
recitation.
The sense of loss returned. She wished she could have been sitting at a nearby table as John told the story,
eavesdropping as he added the exaggerations, listening to his version of what had happened that day. “Did he
tell you much about those first days?” she asked quietly. Gallenn shook his head. “I threw him across the cell
twice, kicked him once. He didn’t know much about fighting back then.”
“But you did sit on him?” Both his eyes and his grin widened in delight at the image.
“Yes.” She sealed the face flap and turned on the suit, letting him know that the conversation was over. It was
too distracting to think of those moments while John was still imprisoned. She had to concentrate on the next
few arns, not wallow in the past.
“Pleisars. Always so polite when meeting someone for the first time,” Gallenn laughed, and opened the door.
* * * * *
Moving silently was difficult for the first several hundred microts, the slow, cautious movements uncomfortable
after the few arns of normal walking and talking. Aeryn pressed herself against a bulkhead to avoid an
oncoming officer, and then moved forward two motras to wait for a break in the traffic around the security
checkpoint. The security personnel were performing only ident chip verifications, but as she watched one of
them put his hand to his earpiece, nodded several times as he listened to the transmission, and then switched
on the equipment for the genetic scans. It had taken her half an arn to reach this corridor a level above the
detention cells. She could only hope that Gallenn had made it into the hangar before they changed to the extra
precautions.
She dodged another officer and pressed herself into the corner formed by a reinforcing brace, getting out of
the way as the increased level of security created a momentary clog of personnel waiting on either side of the
checkpoint.
“What’s the frelling holdup?” someone asked from a half-motra away.
“I heard that command thinks there’s a saboteur on board,” came the answer. “I’ll wager we get hit with a full
security lock down within a solar day. Any takers?” The grumbles around the speaker suggested that no one
disagreed with the assessment.
“Looking for infiltrators on board a command carrier has got to be the all time stupidest idea,” someone else
said more quietly. “It’s grot-brained. How does a saboteur get on board in the first place? Past all the
security?”
“I suppose you think everyone who has disappeared has been eaten by a demon?” another voice demanded
with a laugh.
“Don’t joke about it … move up will you?” Aeryn flattened herself against the wall as the group shuffled past
her position. “I heard that over fifty officers have simply disappeared. How do you explain that?”
The speaker was plainly nervous, several other grumbles of concern agreed with him as the cluster of talkers
moved away. The small deception was working on some level, even if only by exaggerating the number of
missing personnel. Aeryn peeked around the vertical brace, verifying that the traffic jam was easing. She
waited until the corridor returned to its usual level of traffic, then slid along the wall, skirting the checkpoint.
* * * * *
Gallenn nodded curtly to the supply officer and gathered up the components that would replace the faulty
switches in the engines. Despite his extended absence, the procedures aboard the carrier were familiar in an
eerie way, as though he were following a set of instructions he’d learned in a dream.
“Fight?” the officer asked him as he turned away. Gallenn froze, trying to figure out if the small comment was a
query or an invitation. “Get in a fight?” the stocky woman asked, expanding on the original question. He’d
forgotten about the bruises on his face.
“Mouthed off to a Prowler pilot,” he tried, assuming that the antagonism between specialties still existed. “They
just don’t get it that certain pieces of equipment can’t be treated that way.” The barking laugh behind him said
he’d chosen the right excuse and his shoulders began settling back where they belonged as the muscles
relaxed.
“If you’re going to speak your mind, you’ve got to learn to duck,” she called after him.
“Next time,” he agreed, and hurried out of the supply center.
He paused for a moment near the base of the scaffolding under the treblin side engine nacelle, trying to
remember if the switches had been installed from inside the ship or outside, his contemplation interrupted as an
appalling odor swept past him. “Augh!” he exclaimed, covering his nose by burying his face in the inside of his
elbow.
“What did you do to get assigned down here right now?” someone said from behind his shoulder. He turned
quickly, looking at the person over his forearm. “Oh! Punishment for fighting?” A slender tech moved past
him, pulling a sealed container, the markings indicating that it held radioactive waste from expended froonium.
“What the frell is that stench?” he asked.
The tech shook his head in disgust. “Didn’t they even tell you how you were being punished? You think this
container actually holds froonium sludge? Someone blew that thing up.” A fast jerk of his head indicated the
charred, fragmented tank on the far side of the hangar. “I’ve never heard of the demon blowing things up, but
if it was him then Cholak has a very warped sense of humor.” The tech turned away, headed back toward a
section of hangar that hadn’t been cleaned yet.
“Aeryn Sun, I’m going to kill you for not warning me about this,” Gallenn growled quietly, trying to not breathe
through his nose. He examined the ladder on the scaffolding to make sure it hadn’t been subjected to any
impacts during the explosion, then climbed up to the first engine. Leaning into the open hatch he saw
immediately where the wiring had been patched in, and spotted the substandard switching components.
“Crichton, you lazy drannit, I told you those wouldn’t work.” He wormed further inside the nacelle and began
pulling the wiring loose from the faulty junction. “That’s right! This is his fault. He’s the one I’m going to kill if
we don’t die getting out of here.”
* * * * *
Aeryn heard several sets of footsteps moving in the curving corridor ahead of her and began running faster to
catch up. She’d been approaching the detention block when she’d overheard a conversation between two
guards standing watch. They’d been discussing a prisoner who had just passed by, being escorted to
Commandant Grayza’s quarters. Their quiet, snide comments had suggested that the interrogation was not a
standard one. The conversation had been cut off by the appearance of a senior officer before she could make
any sense of the leers or laughter.
It had taken several microts for her to decide to follow the unknown prisoner on the chance that it was John. If
she was wrong, she could always backtrack to the cells; if she was right, there might be an opportunity to free
him. Her route through the decks and corridors had been followed without conscious direction, her lifetime
aboard carriers guiding her while she considered the options that might present themselves if it was John.
She turned right at the next intersection and saw him. The initial burst of relief turned into the stomach-
tightening anxiety when she saw that he was being half-carried this time, his stumbling progress suggesting that
he was injured. She closed to within two motras, looking for signs of damage.
She jerked to a halt as he tripped over his own feet, going down nearly to his knees. The guards grunted as
they took the impact of his weight, and dragged him along for several motras before stopping to let him get up.
“Hurry up, fekkik,” one of them growled. “Don’t want to keep the commandant waiting. She’s eager to have you
visit again.” The double laughter echoed hollowly inside the helmets, and they staggered forward again. Aeryn
frowned, puzzled by their amusement, and drifted after them.
“You can join us,” John’s voice carried back to her weakly.
This time when he stumbled they let go, deliberately dropping him. Aeryn moved forward quickly, thinking that
this was the moment she needed, intent on disabling the first guard quickly before moving on to the second
one. John rolled over, floundering as he tried to get up, and she stopped, teetering on her toes. He wasn’t
able to move on his own, she realized. She wouldn’t be able to get him to the hangar without help.
“Get up,” one of the guards ordered, grabbing an arm.
“Need to be up for this,” the other one chimed in, generating more inexplicable laughter. They pulled John
upright, and hustled forward, dragging him. Aeryn frowned again, concerned by the odd humor, then followed
to make sure he was taken to the quarters she assumed would be Grayza’s. It would be easier to free him from
that relatively unsecured location than from the detention cell.
They rounded the last corner, were waved through the doors by Grayza’s personal guard, and tossed John
part way across the lower level of the plush quarters. He never got his feet under him, hit the steel deck hard
and slid half a motra before coming to a stop. Aeryn hesitated for a microt, considering her options, then
darted inside. The doors slid closed behind her, and she slid along the wall to her right, looking for the
commandant.
John pushed himself up onto his knees and stayed there, swaying from side to side. “Hang in there, dude,” he
said. “Keep your shit together.”
Aeryn stood up straight and scanned the quarters, taking several steps forward to make sure no one was on
the upper level. They were alone, and there were rarely any surveillance devices in the quarters of the
commanding officer of a ship this large. She moved to his side, lowering her voice to a nearly silent whisper as
a precaution, intent on letting him know that he wasn’t alone.
“John, just a few more arns, then --”
“No!” He shook his head vigorously. “Go away. Bad timing.” He stumbled to his feet and walked toward the
stairs, scrubbing his face with his hands. “Stay awake, John. Don’t do that now. Stay awake. Focus.” He sat
down on a step and rested his head in his hands, still mumbling.
Aeryn moved toward him, intending to try again, but at that moment the doors slid open and Mele-On Grayza
entered. She paused to lock the doors, and Aeryn was trapped inside her quarters.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Chapter 4
Gallenn sat up as the door lock chirped its six-tone combination. The headache left behind by the Aurora Chair
was gone, but there seemed to be a blank inside his head where there used to be the ability to cope with
unexpected events. His mouth went dry as the lock cycled, making it difficult to swallow the painful lump that
had formed in his throat. In the days since he’d been taken prisoner, the only times they’d come to take him
out of the cell had been to put him in the Chair. Gallenn swallowed a second time, the tight constriction in his
throat increasing at the thought of another session in the Aurora Chair.
The door slid open … and nothing happened. He put one foot to the floor, leaning to one side to see if there
was someone in the corridor. It was empty. What felt like a hand clapped itself over his mouth, muffling his
unthinking yell of surprise.
“Be quiet!” a whispered voice barked next to his ear. He received a small slap alongside his head in response
to his second small yelp, the light blow chastising him for his additional outburst. The disembodied touch
increased the surrealism of the moment, disbelief relieving him of his self-control. “I said be quiet. Sometimes
the cells pick up noises through the walls.” He nodded, eyes darting left and right in search of the source of the
voice. The fingers eased away from his mouth.
“Can you stay quiet?” the voice asked. He nodded and the hand let go of him.
“Please tell me I’m cracking up from what the Chair did to me,” he requested.
A moment later Gallenn slapped his own palm over his mouth to prevent a shout when Aeryn Sun’s face
appeared in front of him, floating in the middle of the cell without a body to go with it. The rest of her head
appeared, followed by her upper body as she stripped the invisibility away from a Peacekeeper officer’s
uniform.
“What the frell?” he whispered from behind his hand. “Wait. A stealth garment!” He’d read about them a cycle
or two earlier, dismissing the idea as an unusable application of new technology. Something far more important
occurred to him before she could respond. “John! Did they get John?”
“Yes. Put this on. Hurry.” Her hands went to her waist and her lower body added itself beneath the floating
torso, encased in the shimmering gray cloth of the deactivated suit. “We’ve got less than four hundred microts
before the next guard shows up for his shift.”
She straightened her uniform, tugging it into perfect alignment as he fumbled his way into the suit, then showed
him how to fasten the front. “Switch here,” she instructed, guiding his hand to the circuitry. “Seal up and follow
me to the control room. You know where it is?”
“Yes.” He toggled the suit on and off, making sure he could work it. When he looked up to thank her for
breaking him out, she was gone. “Rush, rush, rush,” he commented. He ricocheted off the side of the doorway
on his way to catch up with her, trying to get the hood into place while negotiating the corners of the
passageway, and succeeding at neither. “What now?” he asked, entering the control station.
Aeryn was standing over the panel that controlled all of the surveillance equipment, fingers rapping hard
against the entry pad as she hurriedly typed in commands.
“I’m deleting the last three hundred microts of recordings so they won’t know how you got out.” She glanced at
him as she worked. “Turn the suit on in case someone comes in without warning. Carry that inside so no one
sees it.” She indicated the stolen encoding unit sitting to one side.
“You reprogrammed the access codes to let you into the system,” he surmised. She nodded and kept typing.
He pulled the connections loose and closed the unit, tucking it inside the suit as she’d instructed, too stunned
by the rescue to offer any witticisms.
“Frell,” she snarled, still working at the console. “It won’t erase the video portions.”
“Let me,” he ordered, shoving her aside. Five microts later the monitors began to flash in synchronization,
fading in and out three times before reverting to the usual unexciting views of the cells and corridors of the
detention block.
Aeryn nodded in satisfaction. “You need to tell me how you knew those commands, but not until later.” She
scanned the room quickly, tucked a chair neatly under the consoles, and straightened a sheaf of schematics.
“What about him?” Gallenn nudged the guard with his foot, fascinated by the sight of the body jostling without
any apparent impetus. Some part of him had expected to be able to see his own body even when no one else
could. “Leave him here?” he asked as Aeryn turned away from the consoles.
“We hide him. Give me a hand.” Aeryn Sun grunted as they pulled the body up together and got it over her
shoulders.
“Where in the name of hezmana do you hide a dead body aboard a command carrier?” he asked
incredulously.
The dark eyebrows lowered in what he first thought was anger, then recognized as vicious humor. “That’s
easy. You hide him where you hid all the rest of the dead bodies.” Her hand searched for him, hitting him in
the shoulder and then latching on to his arm. “You take the lead. Warn me if anyone comes the other way.”
“Warn you?” Gallenn asked in disbelief. He stepped through the door, scanned the corridor, then turned left,
as directed by her hand signal. “What are you going to do with the body even if you get a warning?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” she whispered as they hurried through the first intersection. “No matter what I do,
this keeps turning into the kind of plan Crichton would dream up. Faster. We have to get this done before this
sector’s sleep-cycle is over.” They began to run, Aeryn grunting quietly from the strain of carrying the dead
guard.
* * * * *
Grayza paced slowly from the doors of her quarters to the short stairway leading to the upper level, leafing
through the readouts that Braca had delivered. “Two more missing, an explosion in the hangar, and the
sebacean prisoner has escaped. This is unacceptable.” She consulted the flimsy printouts again. “This began
shortly after we captured Crichton. You have verified that there was no one else aboard his ship.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Braca confirmed. “The investigation squad reported that they had just finished searching the
ship when the … the uh, tank exploded.”
“But they did finish searching the entire craft,” Grayza confirmed, watching Braca’s reaction carefully.
“Yes, ma’am. That’s what they reported.” Braca fidgeted under the weight of her gaze.
“Very well. Check the records of every technician aboard this carrier for a possible association with the
sebacean mechanic. There may be someone on board who is sympathetic to his situation. If you find any link
to him at all, even if it appears coincidental, have the person questioned in the Aurora Chair. Is that
understood?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Braca snapped his response.
Grayza handed the schematics to him and continued issuing orders, wandering from door to stairs several
times as she spoke. “Put all security checkpoints on genetic verification scans. I want an accounting of all
personnel in order to verify that no one else has … fallen victim to Cholak’s demon.” She sneered the last five
words in derision. “Inform the ranking officers in each division that anyone caught spreading this ridiculous
rumor is to be brought before me for disciplinary action.”
Braca remained silent as she paused, moving only his eyes to watch her as she paced.
“Search Crichton’s ship again. The most likely explanation for everything that has happened is that someone
came aboard at the same time he was captured. Look for anything out of the ordinary. Anything that doesn’t
fit.”
“Ma’am,” Braca stuttered slightly. “The only personnel working in that hangar now are --”
“Was some portion of my order unclear, Lieutenant?” she inquired, stepping closer to him. The abruptly quiet
tone was more threatening than any of her barked commands.
Braca glanced back and forth between his commanding officer and a spot on the wall several times, his
wariness shifting to apprehension. “No, ma’am, you were perfectly clear. The search will begin immediately.”
“What is Crichton’s condition?” She stepped away from him, rounding her desk to assume a relaxed slouch in
the high-backed chair.
Braca allowed himself a deeper breath, relaxing as her fury abated. “He seems to be intentionally trying to stay
awake. There have been a few incidents of what might be the beginnings of auditory hallucinations, but he
talks to himself constantly, so it’s difficult to tell.” He stepped forward, offering a data chip. “These are the
latest surveillance recordings and transcripts of what he has been saying.”
Grayza punched the chip into the playback unit incorporated into her work surface and scrolled rapidly through
the broken, mumbled ramblings of John Crichton, slowing down to watch more carefully as he began the
repetitive rocking. “Is it possible that his mind has snapped?” she demanded.
“I don’t believe so, commandant. His behavior in the past has been --” He shifted awkwardly before the blue-
eyed stare, searching for a term as she waited impatiently. “In the past, Crichton’s responses have tended to
be remarkably irrational, his remarks sometimes bordering on the insane.”
“I do recall our first meeting,” she reminded him. “He pointed a gun at me.”
“My point exactly. His current behavior does not seem peculiar when examined in that light. I believe he is as
sane as Crichton ever gets.”
“Take care of the security situation first, then I want you to go to the detention sector. There is something I
want you to try before bringing him here.” Grayza leaned back in her chair, fingers gently stroking the skin at
the base of her throat.
Braca swallowed hard, an eager smile appearing as his eyes followed the course of the slender hand from
throat to abdomen and back up. “Yes, ma’am. What would you like me to do?”
* * * * *
“Are you in?” Aeryn asked cautiously, trying to spot the slight visual distortion that was Gallenn.
“Right beside you,” he answered. His body winked into existence all at once as he turned off the suit.
The doors slid shut and she engaged the lock, releasing her breath in a quiet sigh as she began to relax.
Freeing Gallenn, hiding the guard’s body, and making their way to the quarters of the tech she’d killed earlier
had been a tense three-arn process. Aeryn slid the heavily armored uniform jacket off and ducked through the
cylindrical opening to sit on the bed.
“Thanks for getting me out of there,” Gallenn said as he peered through at her from the outer half of the
quarters. She nodded an acknowledgement, suddenly too tired to form words. He finished stripping off the
suit, looked it over admiringly, and tossed it on a seat. “Where’s Crichton? You’re on the loose. You said they
got him?”
She nodded, slowly fingering her hair to make sure it was tight and even. Gallenn flopped down on the other
side of the bed and dropped his head into his hands, the dejected slump of his shoulders and bowed head
speaking more clearly than words of his remorse.
“You haven’t seen him?” she asked. He shook his head. “He was at the end of the block beyond you.”
“I heard the guards coming and going a few times but I never got to the door in time to see anyone. I’m sorry,
Aeryn. It’s my fault that they caught you. They wouldn’t have Crichton now if it weren’t for me.”
Aeryn rubbed her forehead, trying to remember what she’d planned to do after she got this far. There had
been several options to be considered, but they’d all gone missing behind the returning fear that John might be
permanently injured by the interrogations. “A few times?” she asked in a near-whisper. “How many?”
Gallenn sat up to look at her, eyeing the slouched shoulders and trembling hands. “Two, I think. I’m not sure.
When’s the last time you had any sleep?”
“I can rest once we escape. Nothing else matters except that.” She sat up straight and twisted from side to
side, stretching the tight muscles in her back. “And it isn’t your fault that we got caught. They’ve been chasing
John for cycles. We probably should have warned you. It was stupid of us to assume they wouldn’t follow the
same trail I did. If I hadn’t been so focused on getting John to talk to me -- ”
“Okay, I get the point,” he interrupted. “If we’re still eaten up by guilt when this is over, we can take turns
smacking ourselves with a dead drannit. What’s next? You broke me out instead of him. Why?”
She remembered one of the things she needed to accomplish in order to get off the carrier. “The ship has to
be repaired. John had a problem with the power getting to the hetch drive.” Gallenn began nodding in
understanding. “He said he ripped the power cabling loose from the rhotarri engines completely and spliced it
to the other system permanently.”
Gallenn was still nodding. “I told him those switches were rated too low to handle that much power. They froze
up, didn’t they?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “The whole mess will have to be repaired.”
“If I get you into the hangar, how long will it take?” Aeryn got to her feet and stepped through the round
opening in the bulkhead to retrieve the electronic encoding equipment that she’d used to gain access to the
databanks in the detention block.
“To just rewire the power to the rhotarri engines, a matter of a couple hundred microts per engine. If you want
access to both drives with new switches that won’t freeze up --” He considered the process. “Maybe two arns if
I have everything I need and I’m in a rush. To do it right and check everything over, more like three or four
arns.”
Aeryn opened the case, activated the unit and watched the holographic display come to life. “How did you
know the commands to erase the recordings?” she asked, changing the subject. Gallenn ducked his head,
avoiding her gaze. “You’re a Peacekeeper,” Aeryn accused him, voicing what she’d suspected since the
moment she’d watched his fast, accurate manipulation of the controls in the detention block. “Tech?”
“Yeah, but not for the last eight cycles,” he admitted. “I deserted. It’s a fascinating story. I’ll tell you over a
raslak some time. The important thing is that they know who I am. Grayza found the memory while I was in the
Aurora Chair.”
“That could be a problem, but I may have created a bigger one. In order to get you out, I reprogrammed the
palm scanners to take my handprint. The databanks run an automated verification of all stored identifications
on a regular basis. It’s only a matter of time before they find that my print is in there.”
Gallenn was rummaging around in the storage bins in the outer area as he spoke, reappearing with a container
of food cubes and a drinking flask. “At which point, the system will allow you to pass through, but kicks out an
alert and every thick-necked, no-brain security specialist on the entire carrier descends on your position and
blasts you into a smudge spot on the deck.”
“So nicely put,” she agreed, smiling at his description. The expression felt odd on her face, pulling at muscles
that had not been used for that purpose in too many arns. Smiles were something that belonged to other
people, not to the person who was running out of time to free John Crichton from the Peacekeepers. She
shook her head when he offered her a food cube.
“Give me that thing.” Gallenn pulled the electronic input device toward him, devoting one hand to pulling out
leads and connectors while popping several squares into his mouth with the other. He continued talking
through a mouthful of food cubes. “Let me see what I can do about reprogramming the system to take your
DNA in case they go to genetic verifications and getting us better access throughout the ship.”
Aeryn stretched out on her side, her head propped on one hand to watch as he removed several wall panels
until he found the circuitry he wanted, then hooked up the encoder. “There’s a tech’s uniform out there along
with an ident chip,” she told him. “It might fit you.”
“Another body in the lake?” he asked almost too casually, not bothering to look up. “If you keep this up, they’ll
start to notice that the water is rising.” He continued to stare at the information being displayed before him, but
stopped working. “How … how many bodies are in that lake?”
“Only one in that particular lake,” she answered, pulling a pillow under her head. He remained motionless. “Do
you want the real answer to that question?” Gallenn looked troubled, but shook his head.
“It bothers you that I killed them,” she theorized.
“None of my business, I think.” He rubbed his temples with the heels of both hands, and then let his breath out
slowly. “You’re a Peacekeeper. Guess it’s no big deal to you.”
Aeryn sat up in a rush, surprising even herself with the level of anger in her voice as she leaned close to the
former technician. “They … have … John!” she attacked him. “They will kill him if I don’t get him out. I don’t
enjoy any part of this. I’ve done too much killing in the past few cycles, and I would prefer not to have to do it
again. But I will not sacrifice John just to make myself more comfortable. I did that before and it was the wrong
decision.” She backed away from the wary figure who was now perched on the far edge of the bed.
“These quarters … do you want to know how I knew they were safe to use?” She leaned in close again,
something untamed glittering in her eyes. “I killed a man for a plate of food.” Gallenn started to answer, but
she continued before he could get a word out. Her voice slid into the room, low and hushed, crawling like
smoke to insinuate itself into every corner. “A plate of food because I couldn’t get onto our ship to get to the
rations. But I needed that food to keep going. For … John.”
“I get it,” he said nervously. “I do understand.” The two sat uncomfortably for several microts, the vicious
declaration chilling the air between them.
Aeryn sat back, the wild light in her eyes dimming then fading out altogether as Gallenn nervously fiddled with
the encoder’s controls. “I may be going a little bit crazy from this,” Aeryn finally offered, breaking the short
silence. “To have him taken away from me as soon as I find him seems … so …” She tapered off to silence as
the words to describe the feelings eluded her.
Gallenn slid the encoder across the mattress toward her, cautiously taking her by one wrist to place her hand
over a sensor pad. “Stay still for a microt,” he ordered, and activated the scanner. “It’s reading your DNA.”
“I was apologizing,” she explained when he released her.
“I know,” he glanced at her, starting to relax. “I’m not entirely mentally deficient, despite what my commanding
officers used to think. It didn’t seem to require an answer. Let’s forget about the last few microts and
concentrate on getting Crichton out before you displace so much water that it starts to flood the carrier.” His
grin was back in place as he went back to work. “Relax for a few microts while I finish changing these data
files.”
The room was nearly silent, the quiet clicking of Gallenn’s efforts the only noise to break the perpetual
undercurrent hum that was a constant aboard a command carrier. Aeryn watched him work, oddly reassured
by having this friend of John’s beside her. Companionship had been an alien concept when she’d first met
Crichton. Earning a position in the Pleisars had won her the bonds of loyalty, service, and dedication to the
regiment, but it hadn’t taught her about friendship and the emotional commitment inherent in that concept.
John had bound this other person to him with the offer of his unique type of friendship. She watched Gallenn
frown at the unit, bite his lip, and clear out the display to start over again, and wanted to tap into his memories
to learn what he knew of John Crichton. She’d missed so much of his life, given it away carelessly when she
had walked away. It seemed too unfair that he’d been ripped away from her just as she was rediscovering how
wonderful it was to be loved by him.
Aeryn was vaguely aware of the motion when Gallenn ducked out of the sleeping space to retrieve the spare
ident chip, but had fallen completely asleep by the time he nodded with satisfaction and turned off the
maintenance unit.
* * * * *
His own quiet snoring woke him. Crichton’s head came up with a jerk, bumping into the wall behind him, the
quiet ‘whang’ echoing slightly in the silent room. He’d been dozing for short intervals despite the cold, his
disorientation increasing each time he woke. A small glitter on the front of the insulated covers caught his eye,
and he stared at it, trying to determine what was reflecting a stray beam of light. They’d lowered the light levels
to the point where details were hard to make out. He assumed that the dim lighting was an attempt to
encourage his half-conscious mutterings. One hand wormed its way out of the confining folds to rub lightly at
the shining object.
“Lovely,” Crichton commented, his voice crackling hoarsely in the quiet of the cell. In his exhaustion, he’d been
drooling down the front of the blanket. It was the thin stream of saliva that had been shining in the glow of the
lights from the corridor. His chin bobbed against his chest as he started to doze off again. “Sight for … sore
eyes,” he mumbled, trying to make a small joke of his condition.
The door rumbled open, grinding ponderously as it retreated into the wall and the lights increased to full
intensity. John squinted at his strutting visitor, his eyes watering from the unaccustomed glare. “Braca. Didn’t
go down with your ship, I see.”
“Crichton,” smirked the lieutenant. “Our accommodations don’t seem to agree with you.” He examined the
blank walls and ceiling with exaggerated care. John ignored the taunt, too tired to summon a response. Braca
paced around the cell several times before coming to a stop in front of the weary astronaut, his eyes bright with
pleasure as he stared down at the prisoner.
“What d’ya want, Braca?” John demanded tiredly, fumbling through each word. “Cap’n Cleavage send you
down here to gloat me to death?”
“Commandant Grayza,” the Peacekeeper officer snarled back, emphasizing both the rank and her name, “has
instructed me to inform you that your companion has been shot and killed while attempting to elude our search
teams.”
John’s head spun for a moment, his hands and feet numb with shock. A remembered voice broke out from
where he’d hidden it, reminding him not to succumb to their tricks.
“Don’t let them convince you that it’s hopeless. Until you see my body, unless they drag my dead body in front
of you, you keep believing that I’m going to get you out.”
He took a slow breath, recovering from the momentary shock of the announcement, and forced himself back
into the imagined history he’d been building in his mind.
“Companion,” he repeated slowly. “Give me a clue here, Braca buddy. Charlotte maybe? Runty the bird?
You got someone specific in mind?”
Braca’s pleased expression faltered for a microt. “I am referring to Aeryn Sun. You smuggled her onto the
carrier. Her attempts to elude us were futile. I am afraid she did not die painlessly.” His smirk destroyed any
chance that the mock sympathy might be mistaken for genuine concern.
Crichton snorted a laugh at him before tapping into the anger that had ruled his life for almost an entire cycle.
“Peacekeeper Officer Sun? No passenger of mine.” He squinted at Braca, trying to get the blurred image into
focus. “You’re trying to trick me, aren’t you? Always suspected you were a little stupid, Braca. You don’t do so
well without Scorpy around to make your mouth move up and down.”
“You are lying, Crichton. We have her body to prove it.”
It was suddenly difficult to breathe, his chest tightening until the air caught in his throat and made his head spin
worse than before. Aeryn dead. Logic and faith told him it wasn’t true, but the idea was threatening to destroy
his carefully constructed façade anyway. Crichton concentrated on the two tasks of keeping his breathing even
and focusing on the image of Aeryn’s Prowler leaving Moya, doing his best to maintain the alternate version of
history.
“Feel free to trot the carcass out. Be nice to see old what’s her name Sun one more time.” He watched the last
of the pleasure fade from Braca’s face, uncertainty taking its place. “If Grayza is looking for a lever, she’s going
to have to do better than that, Mortimer. Go back and sit on her knee for a bit, maybe she’ll teach you a new
act.” The taunt left him dizzy and panting as he used up too much of his reserve of energy, but he continued,
trying to provoke his adversary into doing or saying something rash.
“Tell me something, Braca … does she ever let you play? Join in for a threesome maybe? Or does she just
keep you around to parrot her orders? A puppet to mouth her commands?” He knew it was lame, but he
couldn’t formulate anything better. The metal bunk had begun to shift beneath him, wobbling about very
unsteadily considering that it was attached to the wall.
“Very funny, Crichton,” the officer hissed angrily. “I look forward to attending the final interrogation that results
in your death.” He spun about, headed for the door, but turned before leaving, the smirk back in place. “As for
Commandant Grayza’s preferences, I would guess that you are more familiar with those than anyone else at
this point.” The Peacekeeper linked his hands together behind his back and peered down his nose at the
exhausted human. Crichton gazed dully back at him, jaw hanging slackly, empty of comebacks. “If not, you will
have another opportunity to learn about them within the arn.”
* * * * *
Aeryn sat up, momentarily confused by her surroundings. She was alone on the bed with the covers folded
over her body to keep her warm. The events of the past several days snapped back into place, and she
lunged out of bed and through the short tunnel. The maintenance encoder was lying open on the table with
Gallenn’s threadbare coveralls flung carelessly next to it, the tech’s uniform missing.
“You let me sleep!” she snapped at him, spotting his back where he was standing in the tiny waste chamber.
“It’s been a single arn,” he returned in an untroubled tone. “And tell me what it means when a Pleisar falls
asleep in the middle of a mission.” Water ran for a microt but she couldn’t see what he was doing in there.
She took a deep breath, calming down once she knew it had been only an arn. “It means I needed the rest,”
she admitted. He stepped out of the small room and she took one fast step back, jumping with surprise.
“That’s good,” she admitted, recovering quickly. “That’s very good.”
He’d cut his hair while she’d been sleeping, cropping it down to a mere dench in length, then he’d brushed it
back into the almost obsessively neat arrangement favored by many of the male techs. She looked him over,
checking for any details that might be out of place, but he’d done well for someone who’d been out of the ranks
for eight cycles. The dead man had been slightly taller, but the single fold at the bottom of his pant legs wasn’t
out of line for someone who might spend more time crawling through servicing conduits than walking upright.
Gallenn turned around slowly, letting her check him over.
“They’re already on ident chip verification,” she noted. “Have it out and waiting.” He pulled the tethered tag out
from inside the uniform. “Wrong boots.” His dusty tan boots had been buffed clean, but they weren’t issue.
“The others were too small,” he agreed. “I’ll have to hope these are close enough. They should be checking
faces instead of feet.”
“What else did I miss while I was asleep?” She reached for the stealth suit and began pulling it on.
“You’ll pass the genetic scans now. I tried to alter the datafile attached to my DNA record to make me
something other than a deserter, but I couldn’t get that far into the system. Too many layers of encryption.” He
sat down across from her and treated her with a huge grin, reminding her of John’s bright-eyed smiles. “You’re
going to like this one though. I put in an order for the parts to fix the engines, and a work order for a specific
tech to make the repairs. Guess which one?”
He was rightfully proud of himself, warranting a compliment, but everything was progressing so smoothly it was
generating fear instead of pleasure. Nothing they ever did went this easily. There had to be something,
somewhere going terribly wrong. “Nicely done,” she acknowledged, shrugging the suit onto her shoulders.
“We’re almost ready to get out of here.” She sat down, rested her head on her hands and tried to get her tired
brain to think.
“Two arns to complete the repairs?” she suggested.
“I’ll rush the job. The parts should be waiting, so that’ll help. I might be able to get it done in under two if I really
push it.” He closed the maintenance unit and latched it, getting ready to take the encoder and the tools inside
it with him. “I checked on Crichton while you were asleep. He was in his cell as of a quarter arn ago.”
“All right. If I see a chance, I’ll get him out and bring him straight to the hangar. If there’s no opportunity or he’s
injured, I’ll come get you, and we’ll do it another way.” The unanswered questions and unresolved portions of
the plan began returning. “Can the rhotarri drive jump from inside the ship, or will we need to get out of the
hangar first?” When she didn’t get an answer, she looked up at him.
Gallenn was staring at her, shaking his head in astonishment. “I don’t know how to make that thing go. I
figured you did.”
“Oh frell.” She got up and paced. “You helped build it, you must know how to get it to work,” she insisted.
“Crichton pointed, said ‘put that part here’, and I did what I was told. I know how to perform maintenance flights
on a few spacecraft, but I’m not a pilot. I assumed you knew how to make the drive work. He tried to teach me,
but I was never taught navigation.”
The unsettled feeling that something was going to go wrong expanded. “Okay, we’ll have to assume John is
going to be able to work the drive or at least tell us how. We don’t have a choice.”
“Take a Marauder instead. Why even bother fixing the prototype?” Gallenn asked.
“They’d overtake us before we were a hundred metras from the carrier. We need something that can move
faster than the Prowlers, and that means his ship. And --” She paused, wondering if John had admitted this to
the sebacean and whether she should be the one to tell him. “A few days ago, John told me that the rhotarri
drive could be used as a weapon. We can’t let them have the ship. If we don’t do anything else, we have to
destroy it.”
The carrier seemed to shift beneath her, assuming an erratic course. She checked on Gallenn, but he didn’t
seem to notice the undulating deck plates. Aeryn slid into the waste chamber and began rummaging through
the racks of hygiene items and personal supplies, finally locating the small container that virtually every
member of the Peacekeepers possessed. She stepped back into the main section of the quarters, and
grabbed the drinking container from the table.
“What are you taking?” Gallenn demanded harshly. He grabbed her wrist and forced her to turn her hand palm
up. “Those things will kill you!”
“I’m only taking one,” she told him, pulling loose. “I’ve used them before -- I know how I’ll react.”
Known simply as “Boosters”, the green tablets were a potent stimulant that all personnel used whenever their
duties forced them to go without sleep for too long. Gallenn was correct though. Extended use or even a mild
overdose was a prescription for heart failure or a drug-induced onset of heat delirium, but one small green
tablet would keep her alert and energized for at least another twelve arns, and would put a stop to the odd
antics from the walls and floors.
“You won’t be any help to Crichton if you drop dead,” he said, watching her wash it down.
“Just one isn’t going to kill me.” She shoved several more into a pocket of the uniform, then replaced the
container in the rack where she’d found it, spotting a different supply of capsules that might come in handy
later. She dumped the additional items into the same pocket and sealed the front of the stealth suit.
“Stay near the ship when you get it fixed,” she ordered him, pulling the hood into place. “You’ll know it if I get
caught. Destroy the engines if we don’t make it back. If I need help, I’ll come get you.”
Gallenn nodded, hesitating with his hand hovering over the door switch. “Can I ask you one question before we
commit this insanity?” She raised her eyebrows, inviting him to continue. “Did you really beat Crichton up the
first time you two met?”
She laughed, mildly startled by the unexpected query. “What did he tell you?”
“That you flung him from one end of a cell to the other five or six times, kicked the dren out of him, threw him on
the floor, and then sat on him … the last of which he seemed to enjoy if the smile on his face was any
indication.” Gallenn leaned a shoulder against the edge of the door opening for the duration of the small
recitation.
The sense of loss returned. She wished she could have been sitting at a nearby table as John told the story,
eavesdropping as he added the exaggerations, listening to his version of what had happened that day. “Did he
tell you much about those first days?” she asked quietly. Gallenn shook his head. “I threw him across the cell
twice, kicked him once. He didn’t know much about fighting back then.”
“But you did sit on him?” Both his eyes and his grin widened in delight at the image.
“Yes.” She sealed the face flap and turned on the suit, letting him know that the conversation was over. It was
too distracting to think of those moments while John was still imprisoned. She had to concentrate on the next
few arns, not wallow in the past.
“Pleisars. Always so polite when meeting someone for the first time,” Gallenn laughed, and opened the door.
* * * * *
Moving silently was difficult for the first several hundred microts, the slow, cautious movements uncomfortable
after the few arns of normal walking and talking. Aeryn pressed herself against a bulkhead to avoid an
oncoming officer, and then moved forward two motras to wait for a break in the traffic around the security
checkpoint. The security personnel were performing only ident chip verifications, but as she watched one of
them put his hand to his earpiece, nodded several times as he listened to the transmission, and then switched
on the equipment for the genetic scans. It had taken her half an arn to reach this corridor a level above the
detention cells. She could only hope that Gallenn had made it into the hangar before they changed to the extra
precautions.
She dodged another officer and pressed herself into the corner formed by a reinforcing brace, getting out of
the way as the increased level of security created a momentary clog of personnel waiting on either side of the
checkpoint.
“What’s the frelling holdup?” someone asked from a half-motra away.
“I heard that command thinks there’s a saboteur on board,” came the answer. “I’ll wager we get hit with a full
security lock down within a solar day. Any takers?” The grumbles around the speaker suggested that no one
disagreed with the assessment.
“Looking for infiltrators on board a command carrier has got to be the all time stupidest idea,” someone else
said more quietly. “It’s grot-brained. How does a saboteur get on board in the first place? Past all the
security?”
“I suppose you think everyone who has disappeared has been eaten by a demon?” another voice demanded
with a laugh.
“Don’t joke about it … move up will you?” Aeryn flattened herself against the wall as the group shuffled past
her position. “I heard that over fifty officers have simply disappeared. How do you explain that?”
The speaker was plainly nervous, several other grumbles of concern agreed with him as the cluster of talkers
moved away. The small deception was working on some level, even if only by exaggerating the number of
missing personnel. Aeryn peeked around the vertical brace, verifying that the traffic jam was easing. She
waited until the corridor returned to its usual level of traffic, then slid along the wall, skirting the checkpoint.
* * * * *
Gallenn nodded curtly to the supply officer and gathered up the components that would replace the faulty
switches in the engines. Despite his extended absence, the procedures aboard the carrier were familiar in an
eerie way, as though he were following a set of instructions he’d learned in a dream.
“Fight?” the officer asked him as he turned away. Gallenn froze, trying to figure out if the small comment was a
query or an invitation. “Get in a fight?” the stocky woman asked, expanding on the original question. He’d
forgotten about the bruises on his face.
“Mouthed off to a Prowler pilot,” he tried, assuming that the antagonism between specialties still existed. “They
just don’t get it that certain pieces of equipment can’t be treated that way.” The barking laugh behind him said
he’d chosen the right excuse and his shoulders began settling back where they belonged as the muscles
relaxed.
“If you’re going to speak your mind, you’ve got to learn to duck,” she called after him.
“Next time,” he agreed, and hurried out of the supply center.
He paused for a moment near the base of the scaffolding under the treblin side engine nacelle, trying to
remember if the switches had been installed from inside the ship or outside, his contemplation interrupted as an
appalling odor swept past him. “Augh!” he exclaimed, covering his nose by burying his face in the inside of his
elbow.
“What did you do to get assigned down here right now?” someone said from behind his shoulder. He turned
quickly, looking at the person over his forearm. “Oh! Punishment for fighting?” A slender tech moved past
him, pulling a sealed container, the markings indicating that it held radioactive waste from expended froonium.
“What the frell is that stench?” he asked.
The tech shook his head in disgust. “Didn’t they even tell you how you were being punished? You think this
container actually holds froonium sludge? Someone blew that thing up.” A fast jerk of his head indicated the
charred, fragmented tank on the far side of the hangar. “I’ve never heard of the demon blowing things up, but
if it was him then Cholak has a very warped sense of humor.” The tech turned away, headed back toward a
section of hangar that hadn’t been cleaned yet.
“Aeryn Sun, I’m going to kill you for not warning me about this,” Gallenn growled quietly, trying to not breathe
through his nose. He examined the ladder on the scaffolding to make sure it hadn’t been subjected to any
impacts during the explosion, then climbed up to the first engine. Leaning into the open hatch he saw
immediately where the wiring had been patched in, and spotted the substandard switching components.
“Crichton, you lazy drannit, I told you those wouldn’t work.” He wormed further inside the nacelle and began
pulling the wiring loose from the faulty junction. “That’s right! This is his fault. He’s the one I’m going to kill if
we don’t die getting out of here.”
* * * * *
Aeryn heard several sets of footsteps moving in the curving corridor ahead of her and began running faster to
catch up. She’d been approaching the detention block when she’d overheard a conversation between two
guards standing watch. They’d been discussing a prisoner who had just passed by, being escorted to
Commandant Grayza’s quarters. Their quiet, snide comments had suggested that the interrogation was not a
standard one. The conversation had been cut off by the appearance of a senior officer before she could make
any sense of the leers or laughter.
It had taken several microts for her to decide to follow the unknown prisoner on the chance that it was John. If
she was wrong, she could always backtrack to the cells; if she was right, there might be an opportunity to free
him. Her route through the decks and corridors had been followed without conscious direction, her lifetime
aboard carriers guiding her while she considered the options that might present themselves if it was John.
She turned right at the next intersection and saw him. The initial burst of relief turned into the stomach-
tightening anxiety when she saw that he was being half-carried this time, his stumbling progress suggesting that
he was injured. She closed to within two motras, looking for signs of damage.
She jerked to a halt as he tripped over his own feet, going down nearly to his knees. The guards grunted as
they took the impact of his weight, and dragged him along for several motras before stopping to let him get up.
“Hurry up, fekkik,” one of them growled. “Don’t want to keep the commandant waiting. She’s eager to have you
visit again.” The double laughter echoed hollowly inside the helmets, and they staggered forward again. Aeryn
frowned, puzzled by their amusement, and drifted after them.
“You can join us,” John’s voice carried back to her weakly.
This time when he stumbled they let go, deliberately dropping him. Aeryn moved forward quickly, thinking that
this was the moment she needed, intent on disabling the first guard quickly before moving on to the second
one. John rolled over, floundering as he tried to get up, and she stopped, teetering on her toes. He wasn’t
able to move on his own, she realized. She wouldn’t be able to get him to the hangar without help.
“Get up,” one of the guards ordered, grabbing an arm.
“Need to be up for this,” the other one chimed in, generating more inexplicable laughter. They pulled John
upright, and hustled forward, dragging him. Aeryn frowned again, concerned by the odd humor, then followed
to make sure he was taken to the quarters she assumed would be Grayza’s. It would be easier to free him from
that relatively unsecured location than from the detention cell.
They rounded the last corner, were waved through the doors by Grayza’s personal guard, and tossed John
part way across the lower level of the plush quarters. He never got his feet under him, hit the steel deck hard
and slid half a motra before coming to a stop. Aeryn hesitated for a microt, considering her options, then
darted inside. The doors slid closed behind her, and she slid along the wall to her right, looking for the
commandant.
John pushed himself up onto his knees and stayed there, swaying from side to side. “Hang in there, dude,” he
said. “Keep your shit together.”
Aeryn stood up straight and scanned the quarters, taking several steps forward to make sure no one was on
the upper level. They were alone, and there were rarely any surveillance devices in the quarters of the
commanding officer of a ship this large. She moved to his side, lowering her voice to a nearly silent whisper as
a precaution, intent on letting him know that he wasn’t alone.
“John, just a few more arns, then --”
“No!” He shook his head vigorously. “Go away. Bad timing.” He stumbled to his feet and walked toward the
stairs, scrubbing his face with his hands. “Stay awake, John. Don’t do that now. Stay awake. Focus.” He sat
down on a step and rested his head in his hands, still mumbling.
Aeryn moved toward him, intending to try again, but at that moment the doors slid open and Mele-On Grayza
entered. She paused to lock the doors, and Aeryn was trapped inside her quarters.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
