Chapter Five
Jul. 1st, 2003 06:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
itsallovernowI just went ahead and wrote on this. I was feeling ultra bogged down and uncertain, but I'm a little happier with this chapter. It has more momentum, less drag, I think. And you can see evidence of plot. Please handwave the political situation a little. I started on one track, and it seems to be going somewhere else. The final draft will make sense, I promise:)
Chapter Five
She looked the same, steely-eyed and beautiful and deadly. Not so much as a grey hair, or tiny lines around her eyes, despite being the parent of a teenager, a captain in a dangerous rebellion. She was alive, though, healthy and whole with a daughter and a life beyond him. He had no idea what to think of that, past the rush of joy that came with seeing her. She also still favored fitted tops with full length zippers, he thought, taking in the sleek black shirt and pale exposed skin of her throat and chest.
She was silent, staring at the door where the Empress had just swept out along with her entourage. Tyno glancd back with an apologetic grimace, but followed just the same. Aeyrn’s hands were placed deliberately on the table, pushing down on it in an effort to hold back her anger. She had been reserved and controlled when he had known her, but nothing like this, so tightly bound and sharp that he could see the lines of tension running through her body.
“Aeryn,” D’Argo started.
She shook her head quickly, interrupting him. “No, don’t say anything. She is condemning these colonies to certain slaughter or enslavement, and there is little we can do to stop her.”
John decided that now might be a good time to speak. “You don’t know that, Aeryn,” he put in softly, aware that he was opening himself up to an attack.
She whirled to face him, her eyes hard, “I do know that,” she gritted out. “We have seen it over and over again. The Peacekeepers no longer care about pretending to keep order.”
“This kingdom has been neutral for a very long time,” he tried to press on, “If it can be rebuilt, if the weaponry gets back online, hell if we can contract for some more advanced weaponry, we may be able to remain neutral.”
She breathed heavily through her noise, still maintaining a sliver of control, but her voice was icy, “You do not understand,” she hissed. “I was not lying, or exaggerating for the Empress. There is no more neutrality. You either belong to the Peacekeepers, or the Scarrans or the Nebari or you fight against them all for as long as you can hold out.”
He leaned in towards her. “Thousands of cycles of peace, Captain Sun. That’s how long this kingdom has remained neutral and peaceful, longer than any other organized system. We can keep that peace if we stay out of the conflict.” His voice was tight and angry. He hadn’t been a statue for sixteen cycles and learned nothing of history and war.
“You really don’t know anything Crichton,” she said, standing up and glaring down at him. “The only thing that will keep you neutral and peaceful is a weapon more powerful than anything those non-neutral, non-peaceful enemies have. There is a war raging throughout the Uncharted Territories. Until there is a clear winner, no one is safe.”
He looked up at her, locking on her gaze, equally angry now at her stubborn negativity. “So then what’s the point of rebelling, or undermining them,” he snapped. “Why even try.” She looked at him, her glare pinpointed on something much more personal now.
“Because I decided a long time ago that I’d rather stay and fight and die then give up,” and with that she turned and stalked out of the room leaving John and D’Argo in silence.
John looked down at his hands.
“She’s right,” D’Argo said grimly. “It is not the world you left, and whatever news or information this planet may have received under a guise of neutrality, it’s all a façade.” He paused. “There is no neutrality, and there are only sides and a chance to die free rather than as a prisoner.”
“How could she have brought a child into that kind of existence, then?” John replied, anger and bitterness overwhelming him.
D’Argo looked at the human shrewdly. This was surely treading on dangerous ground. John waited, holding onto his anger and finally the Luxan relented.
“Because even this world provides more choice than Aeryn was ever given. No matter what, Anix will live and die as a free Sebacean. What more could you want for your child?” he asked.
“Love, happiness, success, peace, a good job, 2.5 kids, a nice house,” John trailed off, the anger dissipating. “I think I see your point.” He scrubbed his hands through his hair. “ So where does that leave us. I been biding my time here, man, trying to get back to normal, trying to figure things out, see where we stand, readjust to life as something more than a pigeon perch, and now what?”
D’Argo looked at him steadily. “That really is the question, isn’t it.”
***
He sat by Katralla’s bedside, holding her small hand in his, stroking the soft skin with his thumb. This was his wife, mother of his child, lying here and he’d never held her hand while awake, never kissed her or made love to her or bought furniture or gone for a walk in the park. He had spent sixteen cycles standing next to her, existence a dreamy, timeless parade of faces and voices and soft conversations, and the letting go of the past, and he had no idea whether to sacrifice her or the child. The Empress was still healthy, but she had been thrown into an irrational turmoil by the invasion and the presence of the rebel squadron. Katralla had very much wanted children, but she also believed that it was her destiny to rule, to lead her subjects in the best way she could, and John simply didn’t know what to do.
“Do you think she’ll wake up,” asked a soft voice. He turned his head to see Anix standing behind him, her posture hesitant, arms crossed under her breasts.
“I don’t know, hon.” He looked back at Katralla. “It doesn’t look good.”
“She’s pretty,” Anix said softly. “ She looks like she was nice.”
John had to smile at that. It seemed things weren’t getting any easier with Aeryn.
“She is nice.” He said, and wanted to tell this girl about standing in a tunnel with her mother, Aeryn’s head tilted, eyes narrowed, beautiful and irritating, saying, “I’m not good at nice.” But he didn’t know where to start there either, so he just quirked his lips up.
“You knew them before, didn’t you.” He nodded. She sounded uncertain and unhappy. “When they were running from the Peacekeepers, cycles ago after Moya escaped,” she stated flatly.
John turned back to her.
“You’ve been on Moya?” he asked, surprised.
Anix nodded. “We lived there for a while, after Talyn died. Then again a few cycles ago. I don’t really remember living on Talyn, but Moya was nice. “ Anix wrinkled her nose, “Nicer than the Vigilante, but not as nice as planets.”
“Yeah,” John said, amused in spite of himself, “I’m pretty big on planets myself. Your mom though, I think she’s probably happiest in space.”
“She’s cranky on planet,” Anix agreed. “She says she feels too exposed, too tied down.” She shrugged, “I think she just doesn’t like it because she can’t tell everyone what to do. “
John tried very hard not to laugh at that.
She continued, “ I lived with D’Argo and Chiana for a cycle, on a planet with prowsa fruit and farms and animals. I went to school, and didn’t have to have tutors, and there were other kids. It was kind of boring, but I liked being on the planet, not running away all the time. My mother doesn’t get that, I think. I mean, I don’t think she likes running either, but she doesn’t understand why I’d want to stay on a planet when I can be in space.”
He had dreamed of the stars, traced and charted them in his bed at night, at the lake, on the roof, anywhere. Dreams of walking among them carried him into this nightmare life, but he’d never forgotten how that felt, that longing for the semi-attainable.
“I was born on a planet,” he offered. “So were D’Argo and Chiana and even Pilot. But your mom, she was born in space, honey. She’s never known anything different. It’s part of who she is.”
Anix set her jaw in an expression that was becoming very familiar to John, but didn’t say anything. He let go of Katralla’s hand, pacing it gently on her stomach. He kissed her forehead, brushing away the curls, and stood up.
“Anix,” he began, and was startled by a flash of black behind the girl, “What the frell,” he yelled, his hand moving instinctively to his thigh to grab Winona. He fumbled for the pulse pistol, and stopped short realizing that he wasn’t armed, hadn’t been since he woke up.
“Frell,” he muttered, shaking his head, the expletive just not enough. “Fuck!”
“Crichton, what is it?” she demanded, moving towards him, eyes wide in wariness and surprise.
“It’s nothing, Anna. Probably just something left over from being a popsicle.”
She raised an eyebrow, looking eerily like her mother. He laughed sharply, the flash of black and white and fear beginning to recede.
“It’s like frozen juice,” he explained. “It’s a treat,”
She continued to stare at him like he was crazy, and he sighed. “Come on Cadet Sun, let’s go see if someone can find me a gun.”
“That word. Fuck. Mother says it, but I’ve never heard anyone else use it,” she commented as they walked.
John couldn’t contain himself. He laughed out loud, bringing his fingertips to his face, shaking his head. “You got any rules on things you can and can’t say, kid?”
“No.”
“Ok, so Aeryn probably won’t kill me for expanding your vocabulary then.”
She gave him another quizzical look, “She doesn’t say it often, but she seems to like it.”
John snorted, trying to think of an appropriate response to that. He ended up not being able to come up with anything appropriate and just slung his arms around her shoulders, shaking his head, repeating “Come on, kid.”
They were walking back towards the bar where John had been sitting with D’Argo earlier, when they encountered Aeryn. She stopped in front of them, her Captain persona as securely on as the long, fitted coat she now wore.
“I have something to show you,” she said to him without prelude, her voice clipped and businesslike.
“Yeah, well, we were on our way to find me a pulse pistol,” he retorted. “Can’t it wait?”
She shook her head. “No,” but she gestured behind her, “Anix, go ask Teyvn for an extra pulse pistol and a holster.” She looked him up and down, taking in the soft cloth pants and white shirt. She twisted her lips in false humor. “It’s going to chafe,” she said.
“Yeah, well, seeing as my cowboy days were supposed to be behind me, you got any suggestions?”
“No and we don’t have time for this. I want to be back before nightfall. Come on.”
She tapped a com badge, “Anix. We will be back before sunset. This would be a good time to catch up with Ra’ahil.”
John could hear the girl groan through the com.
Aeryn started to walk forward and he followed her unwillingly. “I know you’ve neglected your studies, and I’ve allowed it, but that is not going to continue.”
“Mother,” she said tightly.
“I will see you this evening.” Aeryn countered, and tapped the badge, ending the conversation.
“Do you at least have a coat of some sort,” she asked. He glared at her, and indicated that yeah, he was pretty sure he had some sort of frelling coat, although internally he wasn’t so sure. Wardrobe just hadn’t been a concern for the past few weekens.
“Get it and meet me at docking station,” she ordered, and headed down the opposite hallway, leaving him standing in the hallway, stunned.
He did indeed have a coat, although it was pink. He glared at Aeryn defiantly, but she just arched a perfect eyebrow, and gestured towards the prowlers docked there. And John finally understood, joy spreading through his belly.
“We’re gonna fly,” he said, hard pressed to keep the glee out of his voice. All this time, still and stagnant and floating, and then waking up and recovering and dealing with this flood of existence, and it hadn’t even occurred to him that he was missing flight like a piece of himself until he say the Prowlers. He gave Aeryn the first genuinely grateful smile he’d felt for sixteen cycles. Meeting her eyes, he saw something soften there at his expression. She bit down on her lower lip, losing the hardened soldier for a moment, and returned his smile. The moment lasting only until she turned back to the lethal looking ship.
“There’s something you need to see,” she said quietly. “It might help you understand.”
The prowler was as claustrophobic as ever, it’s Peacekeeper roots shining through in the sleekness of the systems, the sophistication of the weaponry, and the skill of the pilot. He was tucked in behind her seat, but he didn’t know where to put his hands, how to tilt his body in the confined space, so he clung to the back of her seat, struggling to not touch her. John could smell her soap, the well-worn leather of her coat, the musk of her skin and he felt the first stirrings of desire, the leap of his pulse that had always resulted from being in a small space with this woman.
They took off from the space port in silence, accelerating into the sky so quickly that he felt his stomach lurch. He heard that slight pop as they broke atmosphere, ascending into space and flying through the stars, and then that pure silence of vacuum, broken only by the internal beeps of the Prowler, it’s engine mute. How could he have forgotten this? It was glorious.
The self-tracking pulse canons were off-line at the moment, but several equally lethal looking ships orbited the planet. He assumed they were part of Aeryn’s militia. They passed them with ease, heading away from the planet and John wanted to whoop with joy, still in awe after all these cycles at the wonder of FTL travel, hetch drive or no.
As they neared what appeared to be a cluster of three small moons, Aeryn slowed down and decelerated to get closer. They were actually small planets, further away from the main sun than the Royal planet, but close enough to be fertile and green. At least they should have been. Instead he could say barren patches, dark empty places of nothing, and as they descended onto the closest of the moons, he felt sick to his stomach.
Aeryn landed the Prowler smoothly, and popped the canopy and climbed out, waiting for him to struggle to the ground. The ground was black, steaming with smoke from the charred remains of people and buildings. He felt beyond absurd in the silk coat, but he tightened it around himself and looked at Aeryn.
“These were prison colonies, farmlands, small settlements of people who were part of the Breakaway colonies,” she said, finally. “They had the protection of the larger system, but were no threat to anyone.”
John looked around, and walked forward, nudging some sort of building material away with his foot.
Aeryn followed, her voice still cold, but less certain, less captainlike.
“The Peackeeper forces did this after we drove them off the Royal Planet,” she said. “They were sending a message.”
He looked at her then, the wind blowing loose pieces of her tight braid, sliding into her coat like a lover.
“I can’t protect these colonies from that,” she said softly. “And I can’t even begin to assemble the manpower for the colonies outside of this particular system.”
John looked at the ground, his stomach clenched in anger and fear and hatred.
“We are going to lose. These people are going to die. There is nothing I can do, and the Empress wants us to stay and help her rebuild. I cannot condemn my troops to certain death when there is work that we can do elsewhere.”
“We can broker a peace, Aeryn. It’s entirely possible that the PK’s razed these lands to scare the rebellion. Doesn’t mean we aren’t still a strong force.” He said, still shaken by this destruction.
“There isn’t peace anywhere, John. If the Empress had any sense, she’d evacuate the city, send people to bases throughout the UT’s, or form an alliance, or hell, join with the rebellion and help us supply food to the small colonies that are fighting these forces. But she wants to remain neutral, and she wants us to help her do that. It isn’t what we do. The Scarrans will want the resources these colonies provide, the Nebari will want the space, the people, and the Peacekeepers will want revenge for the 2000 cycles of peace and success. There will be no way to stop one of those forces from getting their way.”
She walked over towards what had once been a house, standing in the former doorway, and looking around.
“We are terrorists,” she said softly. “We aren’t a government. We impede the efforts of the powerful, we undermine their attempts at control. We supply weapons to small planets, and pulse cannons to pirate ships. We assassinate key figures, and we blow up command carriers. Well,” she paused, swallowing heavily. “One command carrier, and one Scarrann dreadnaught. The Nebari seem impervious, but they are not vicious, only methodical. And the Dreadnought was a mistake.”
He watched her as she stood there, her back ramrod straight, her voice throaty and rough.
“You’ve found a cause, Aeryn. A place to belong,” he said softly, torn between sorrow and wonder.
She shook her head, not looking at him, “No, I’ve found a group to die with.”
They flew back to the Royal Planet in silence, the stars duller in John’s eyes. They didn’t say anything as they exited the ship, but Aeryn paused, lagging behind him, talking softly into the com. He stopped in the hallway, and turned towards her. “I,” he started, and then stopped not knowing what to say. She moistened her lips, and tilted her head, seeming equally uncertain.
“I need to check in on Anix and my troops,” she said.
“Yeah,” he answered, wanting to say something, anything, wanting to touch her but afraid. “I guess I’ll see you later.”
She made an effort to smile, then shook her head, walking away.
He found his way to his quarters in a daze, uncertain of what he’d seen, uncertain of what it meant, of what Aeryn meant. It was dark, and as usual, the soldiers were unwilling to give up any of their precious energy for little things like light. After having seen the offline defense systems though, John was more than willing for all of the extra electricity to go towards getting those things permanently repaired. He lit two of the luminescent lamps that infused his quarters with an eerie neonish underwater feeling.
The play of light did illuminate the chamber though, and he glanced down at his bed, and let out a bark of laughter. Lying there, dark against the spread were a pair of leather pants, a holster, a pulse pistol, and what he was pretty sure was his old jacket. He picked it up, looking at the waist length coat and the sturdy clasps, and laid it back down shaking his head. He picked up the gun, weighing the balance in his hand, turning it over, and was startled out of his contemplation by the voice that haunted his nightmares.
“Hello Crichton,” it said, oily thick and self-satisfied. Instinct kicked in, forcing John back, his arms straight in front of him, eyes locked onto the shiny, leather-clad monstrosity perched at the edge of his bed.
“It really has been too long,” Scorpius said, fingering the scattered clothing, and ignoring Crichton’s yell of outrage.
Chapter Five
She looked the same, steely-eyed and beautiful and deadly. Not so much as a grey hair, or tiny lines around her eyes, despite being the parent of a teenager, a captain in a dangerous rebellion. She was alive, though, healthy and whole with a daughter and a life beyond him. He had no idea what to think of that, past the rush of joy that came with seeing her. She also still favored fitted tops with full length zippers, he thought, taking in the sleek black shirt and pale exposed skin of her throat and chest.
She was silent, staring at the door where the Empress had just swept out along with her entourage. Tyno glancd back with an apologetic grimace, but followed just the same. Aeyrn’s hands were placed deliberately on the table, pushing down on it in an effort to hold back her anger. She had been reserved and controlled when he had known her, but nothing like this, so tightly bound and sharp that he could see the lines of tension running through her body.
“Aeryn,” D’Argo started.
She shook her head quickly, interrupting him. “No, don’t say anything. She is condemning these colonies to certain slaughter or enslavement, and there is little we can do to stop her.”
John decided that now might be a good time to speak. “You don’t know that, Aeryn,” he put in softly, aware that he was opening himself up to an attack.
She whirled to face him, her eyes hard, “I do know that,” she gritted out. “We have seen it over and over again. The Peacekeepers no longer care about pretending to keep order.”
“This kingdom has been neutral for a very long time,” he tried to press on, “If it can be rebuilt, if the weaponry gets back online, hell if we can contract for some more advanced weaponry, we may be able to remain neutral.”
She breathed heavily through her noise, still maintaining a sliver of control, but her voice was icy, “You do not understand,” she hissed. “I was not lying, or exaggerating for the Empress. There is no more neutrality. You either belong to the Peacekeepers, or the Scarrans or the Nebari or you fight against them all for as long as you can hold out.”
He leaned in towards her. “Thousands of cycles of peace, Captain Sun. That’s how long this kingdom has remained neutral and peaceful, longer than any other organized system. We can keep that peace if we stay out of the conflict.” His voice was tight and angry. He hadn’t been a statue for sixteen cycles and learned nothing of history and war.
“You really don’t know anything Crichton,” she said, standing up and glaring down at him. “The only thing that will keep you neutral and peaceful is a weapon more powerful than anything those non-neutral, non-peaceful enemies have. There is a war raging throughout the Uncharted Territories. Until there is a clear winner, no one is safe.”
He looked up at her, locking on her gaze, equally angry now at her stubborn negativity. “So then what’s the point of rebelling, or undermining them,” he snapped. “Why even try.” She looked at him, her glare pinpointed on something much more personal now.
“Because I decided a long time ago that I’d rather stay and fight and die then give up,” and with that she turned and stalked out of the room leaving John and D’Argo in silence.
John looked down at his hands.
“She’s right,” D’Argo said grimly. “It is not the world you left, and whatever news or information this planet may have received under a guise of neutrality, it’s all a façade.” He paused. “There is no neutrality, and there are only sides and a chance to die free rather than as a prisoner.”
“How could she have brought a child into that kind of existence, then?” John replied, anger and bitterness overwhelming him.
D’Argo looked at the human shrewdly. This was surely treading on dangerous ground. John waited, holding onto his anger and finally the Luxan relented.
“Because even this world provides more choice than Aeryn was ever given. No matter what, Anix will live and die as a free Sebacean. What more could you want for your child?” he asked.
“Love, happiness, success, peace, a good job, 2.5 kids, a nice house,” John trailed off, the anger dissipating. “I think I see your point.” He scrubbed his hands through his hair. “ So where does that leave us. I been biding my time here, man, trying to get back to normal, trying to figure things out, see where we stand, readjust to life as something more than a pigeon perch, and now what?”
D’Argo looked at him steadily. “That really is the question, isn’t it.”
***
He sat by Katralla’s bedside, holding her small hand in his, stroking the soft skin with his thumb. This was his wife, mother of his child, lying here and he’d never held her hand while awake, never kissed her or made love to her or bought furniture or gone for a walk in the park. He had spent sixteen cycles standing next to her, existence a dreamy, timeless parade of faces and voices and soft conversations, and the letting go of the past, and he had no idea whether to sacrifice her or the child. The Empress was still healthy, but she had been thrown into an irrational turmoil by the invasion and the presence of the rebel squadron. Katralla had very much wanted children, but she also believed that it was her destiny to rule, to lead her subjects in the best way she could, and John simply didn’t know what to do.
“Do you think she’ll wake up,” asked a soft voice. He turned his head to see Anix standing behind him, her posture hesitant, arms crossed under her breasts.
“I don’t know, hon.” He looked back at Katralla. “It doesn’t look good.”
“She’s pretty,” Anix said softly. “ She looks like she was nice.”
John had to smile at that. It seemed things weren’t getting any easier with Aeryn.
“She is nice.” He said, and wanted to tell this girl about standing in a tunnel with her mother, Aeryn’s head tilted, eyes narrowed, beautiful and irritating, saying, “I’m not good at nice.” But he didn’t know where to start there either, so he just quirked his lips up.
“You knew them before, didn’t you.” He nodded. She sounded uncertain and unhappy. “When they were running from the Peacekeepers, cycles ago after Moya escaped,” she stated flatly.
John turned back to her.
“You’ve been on Moya?” he asked, surprised.
Anix nodded. “We lived there for a while, after Talyn died. Then again a few cycles ago. I don’t really remember living on Talyn, but Moya was nice. “ Anix wrinkled her nose, “Nicer than the Vigilante, but not as nice as planets.”
“Yeah,” John said, amused in spite of himself, “I’m pretty big on planets myself. Your mom though, I think she’s probably happiest in space.”
“She’s cranky on planet,” Anix agreed. “She says she feels too exposed, too tied down.” She shrugged, “I think she just doesn’t like it because she can’t tell everyone what to do. “
John tried very hard not to laugh at that.
She continued, “ I lived with D’Argo and Chiana for a cycle, on a planet with prowsa fruit and farms and animals. I went to school, and didn’t have to have tutors, and there were other kids. It was kind of boring, but I liked being on the planet, not running away all the time. My mother doesn’t get that, I think. I mean, I don’t think she likes running either, but she doesn’t understand why I’d want to stay on a planet when I can be in space.”
He had dreamed of the stars, traced and charted them in his bed at night, at the lake, on the roof, anywhere. Dreams of walking among them carried him into this nightmare life, but he’d never forgotten how that felt, that longing for the semi-attainable.
“I was born on a planet,” he offered. “So were D’Argo and Chiana and even Pilot. But your mom, she was born in space, honey. She’s never known anything different. It’s part of who she is.”
Anix set her jaw in an expression that was becoming very familiar to John, but didn’t say anything. He let go of Katralla’s hand, pacing it gently on her stomach. He kissed her forehead, brushing away the curls, and stood up.
“Anix,” he began, and was startled by a flash of black behind the girl, “What the frell,” he yelled, his hand moving instinctively to his thigh to grab Winona. He fumbled for the pulse pistol, and stopped short realizing that he wasn’t armed, hadn’t been since he woke up.
“Frell,” he muttered, shaking his head, the expletive just not enough. “Fuck!”
“Crichton, what is it?” she demanded, moving towards him, eyes wide in wariness and surprise.
“It’s nothing, Anna. Probably just something left over from being a popsicle.”
She raised an eyebrow, looking eerily like her mother. He laughed sharply, the flash of black and white and fear beginning to recede.
“It’s like frozen juice,” he explained. “It’s a treat,”
She continued to stare at him like he was crazy, and he sighed. “Come on Cadet Sun, let’s go see if someone can find me a gun.”
“That word. Fuck. Mother says it, but I’ve never heard anyone else use it,” she commented as they walked.
John couldn’t contain himself. He laughed out loud, bringing his fingertips to his face, shaking his head. “You got any rules on things you can and can’t say, kid?”
“No.”
“Ok, so Aeryn probably won’t kill me for expanding your vocabulary then.”
She gave him another quizzical look, “She doesn’t say it often, but she seems to like it.”
John snorted, trying to think of an appropriate response to that. He ended up not being able to come up with anything appropriate and just slung his arms around her shoulders, shaking his head, repeating “Come on, kid.”
They were walking back towards the bar where John had been sitting with D’Argo earlier, when they encountered Aeryn. She stopped in front of them, her Captain persona as securely on as the long, fitted coat she now wore.
“I have something to show you,” she said to him without prelude, her voice clipped and businesslike.
“Yeah, well, we were on our way to find me a pulse pistol,” he retorted. “Can’t it wait?”
She shook her head. “No,” but she gestured behind her, “Anix, go ask Teyvn for an extra pulse pistol and a holster.” She looked him up and down, taking in the soft cloth pants and white shirt. She twisted her lips in false humor. “It’s going to chafe,” she said.
“Yeah, well, seeing as my cowboy days were supposed to be behind me, you got any suggestions?”
“No and we don’t have time for this. I want to be back before nightfall. Come on.”
She tapped a com badge, “Anix. We will be back before sunset. This would be a good time to catch up with Ra’ahil.”
John could hear the girl groan through the com.
Aeryn started to walk forward and he followed her unwillingly. “I know you’ve neglected your studies, and I’ve allowed it, but that is not going to continue.”
“Mother,” she said tightly.
“I will see you this evening.” Aeryn countered, and tapped the badge, ending the conversation.
“Do you at least have a coat of some sort,” she asked. He glared at her, and indicated that yeah, he was pretty sure he had some sort of frelling coat, although internally he wasn’t so sure. Wardrobe just hadn’t been a concern for the past few weekens.
“Get it and meet me at docking station,” she ordered, and headed down the opposite hallway, leaving him standing in the hallway, stunned.
He did indeed have a coat, although it was pink. He glared at Aeryn defiantly, but she just arched a perfect eyebrow, and gestured towards the prowlers docked there. And John finally understood, joy spreading through his belly.
“We’re gonna fly,” he said, hard pressed to keep the glee out of his voice. All this time, still and stagnant and floating, and then waking up and recovering and dealing with this flood of existence, and it hadn’t even occurred to him that he was missing flight like a piece of himself until he say the Prowlers. He gave Aeryn the first genuinely grateful smile he’d felt for sixteen cycles. Meeting her eyes, he saw something soften there at his expression. She bit down on her lower lip, losing the hardened soldier for a moment, and returned his smile. The moment lasting only until she turned back to the lethal looking ship.
“There’s something you need to see,” she said quietly. “It might help you understand.”
The prowler was as claustrophobic as ever, it’s Peacekeeper roots shining through in the sleekness of the systems, the sophistication of the weaponry, and the skill of the pilot. He was tucked in behind her seat, but he didn’t know where to put his hands, how to tilt his body in the confined space, so he clung to the back of her seat, struggling to not touch her. John could smell her soap, the well-worn leather of her coat, the musk of her skin and he felt the first stirrings of desire, the leap of his pulse that had always resulted from being in a small space with this woman.
They took off from the space port in silence, accelerating into the sky so quickly that he felt his stomach lurch. He heard that slight pop as they broke atmosphere, ascending into space and flying through the stars, and then that pure silence of vacuum, broken only by the internal beeps of the Prowler, it’s engine mute. How could he have forgotten this? It was glorious.
The self-tracking pulse canons were off-line at the moment, but several equally lethal looking ships orbited the planet. He assumed they were part of Aeryn’s militia. They passed them with ease, heading away from the planet and John wanted to whoop with joy, still in awe after all these cycles at the wonder of FTL travel, hetch drive or no.
As they neared what appeared to be a cluster of three small moons, Aeryn slowed down and decelerated to get closer. They were actually small planets, further away from the main sun than the Royal planet, but close enough to be fertile and green. At least they should have been. Instead he could say barren patches, dark empty places of nothing, and as they descended onto the closest of the moons, he felt sick to his stomach.
Aeryn landed the Prowler smoothly, and popped the canopy and climbed out, waiting for him to struggle to the ground. The ground was black, steaming with smoke from the charred remains of people and buildings. He felt beyond absurd in the silk coat, but he tightened it around himself and looked at Aeryn.
“These were prison colonies, farmlands, small settlements of people who were part of the Breakaway colonies,” she said, finally. “They had the protection of the larger system, but were no threat to anyone.”
John looked around, and walked forward, nudging some sort of building material away with his foot.
Aeryn followed, her voice still cold, but less certain, less captainlike.
“The Peackeeper forces did this after we drove them off the Royal Planet,” she said. “They were sending a message.”
He looked at her then, the wind blowing loose pieces of her tight braid, sliding into her coat like a lover.
“I can’t protect these colonies from that,” she said softly. “And I can’t even begin to assemble the manpower for the colonies outside of this particular system.”
John looked at the ground, his stomach clenched in anger and fear and hatred.
“We are going to lose. These people are going to die. There is nothing I can do, and the Empress wants us to stay and help her rebuild. I cannot condemn my troops to certain death when there is work that we can do elsewhere.”
“We can broker a peace, Aeryn. It’s entirely possible that the PK’s razed these lands to scare the rebellion. Doesn’t mean we aren’t still a strong force.” He said, still shaken by this destruction.
“There isn’t peace anywhere, John. If the Empress had any sense, she’d evacuate the city, send people to bases throughout the UT’s, or form an alliance, or hell, join with the rebellion and help us supply food to the small colonies that are fighting these forces. But she wants to remain neutral, and she wants us to help her do that. It isn’t what we do. The Scarrans will want the resources these colonies provide, the Nebari will want the space, the people, and the Peacekeepers will want revenge for the 2000 cycles of peace and success. There will be no way to stop one of those forces from getting their way.”
She walked over towards what had once been a house, standing in the former doorway, and looking around.
“We are terrorists,” she said softly. “We aren’t a government. We impede the efforts of the powerful, we undermine their attempts at control. We supply weapons to small planets, and pulse cannons to pirate ships. We assassinate key figures, and we blow up command carriers. Well,” she paused, swallowing heavily. “One command carrier, and one Scarrann dreadnaught. The Nebari seem impervious, but they are not vicious, only methodical. And the Dreadnought was a mistake.”
He watched her as she stood there, her back ramrod straight, her voice throaty and rough.
“You’ve found a cause, Aeryn. A place to belong,” he said softly, torn between sorrow and wonder.
She shook her head, not looking at him, “No, I’ve found a group to die with.”
They flew back to the Royal Planet in silence, the stars duller in John’s eyes. They didn’t say anything as they exited the ship, but Aeryn paused, lagging behind him, talking softly into the com. He stopped in the hallway, and turned towards her. “I,” he started, and then stopped not knowing what to say. She moistened her lips, and tilted her head, seeming equally uncertain.
“I need to check in on Anix and my troops,” she said.
“Yeah,” he answered, wanting to say something, anything, wanting to touch her but afraid. “I guess I’ll see you later.”
She made an effort to smile, then shook her head, walking away.
He found his way to his quarters in a daze, uncertain of what he’d seen, uncertain of what it meant, of what Aeryn meant. It was dark, and as usual, the soldiers were unwilling to give up any of their precious energy for little things like light. After having seen the offline defense systems though, John was more than willing for all of the extra electricity to go towards getting those things permanently repaired. He lit two of the luminescent lamps that infused his quarters with an eerie neonish underwater feeling.
The play of light did illuminate the chamber though, and he glanced down at his bed, and let out a bark of laughter. Lying there, dark against the spread were a pair of leather pants, a holster, a pulse pistol, and what he was pretty sure was his old jacket. He picked it up, looking at the waist length coat and the sturdy clasps, and laid it back down shaking his head. He picked up the gun, weighing the balance in his hand, turning it over, and was startled out of his contemplation by the voice that haunted his nightmares.
“Hello Crichton,” it said, oily thick and self-satisfied. Instinct kicked in, forcing John back, his arms straight in front of him, eyes locked onto the shiny, leather-clad monstrosity perched at the edge of his bed.
“It really has been too long,” Scorpius said, fingering the scattered clothing, and ignoring Crichton’s yell of outrage.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2003-07-01 07:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-07-01 09:25 pm (UTC)And YES!!!!! I was wonderring when Scorpy's neural clone was going to show up. Of course now that John's been defrosted the clone's gonna send the signal to Scorpy and well, then it will get interesting.
I like the clothes at the end. Makes me think it is John's stuff. Okay wistful thinking but you know, it would be nice if it was his stuff and Winona.
Re:
Date: 2003-07-02 10:52 am (UTC)And the political situation in a nutshell, everyone's unhappy about something. Conflict is essential to a good story, so the actual conflict can be a little vague, right:)
no subject
Date: 2003-07-03 08:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-07-02 06:39 am (UTC)But, who knows. ;)
Re:
Date: 2003-07-02 10:46 am (UTC)Devil's Advocate
Date: 2003-07-03 08:29 am (UTC)Re: Devil's Advocate
Date: 2003-07-03 09:39 am (UTC)Re: Devil's Advocate
Date: 2003-07-03 10:36 am (UTC)Ack, your post just sent a flood of plot bunnies loping through my brain, all of them very, very serious.
Re: Devil's Advocate
Date: 2003-07-03 10:57 am (UTC)Re: Devil's Advocate
Date: 2003-07-03 12:29 pm (UTC)Any actually thought about talent or ability is utterly counterproductive to the process.
Re: Devil's Advocate
Date: 2003-07-03 12:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-07-03 01:41 pm (UTC)Re:
Date: 2003-07-03 01:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-07-02 08:52 am (UTC)Can't wait to see what comes next.
Lillie
Re:
Date: 2003-07-02 04:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-07-02 05:53 pm (UTC)I like the flash of black early on, and then the neural clone appearing, in the flesh, as it were. This will be the first time John meets him face to face, in his right mind, won't it? CDM - he was hallucinating, and WFGA never happened.
Re:
Date: 2003-07-03 09:50 am (UTC)And yeah, this will be the first real meeting with the clone. He hints at it in LATP, and then when Harvey appears in BOD, it seems like he's been seeing him for awhile. Harvey has a lot of time to make up for:)
no subject
Date: 2003-07-03 08:34 am (UTC)It's never easy, is it? I especially like how much John wants to believe that Aeryn is the same pin-up girl for frontal assault that he remembers because if she's not and she's right about the universe beyond the colonies his last sixteen years were wasted, weren't they?
And Katralla needs to die already. And the Empress with her. Bitch. Grrrr.
So...not to wheedle or distress the author but, presuming Chiana frelled Jothee and left D'Argo ten cycles or more ago, wassup with Rygel and Zhaan?
More please.
Re:
Date: 2003-07-03 09:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-07-03 10:14 am (UTC)Hee. It's nice to be able to poke someone else about fic...whoops, I see the betas are all in. Damn. Porn is calling. ;]
Really, I crack myself up. It's pathetic.
Re:
Date: 2003-07-03 10:37 am (UTC)