Feedback: It’s always welcome.
Spoilers: Everything up to and including Fractures.
Rating: G
Summary: John tries to get crucial information about Scorpius’s command carrier while dealing with a deadly illness.

Part 1

John rubbed a spot between his eyes. The headache seemed to be radiating from there, surging through his skull and into his brain and then down into his neck, shoulders and spine. Thinking had become a chore. A long silence told him that it was his turn to talk. John glanced around the room. D’Argo and Crais looked at him expectantly while the Bocreel tapped a long claw against his fang. The three of them sat on stools around a makeshift table in the back of a tavern, facing the blue-furred alien. Aeryn stood by the door as still as one of those guards at Buckingham Palace, one hand on the pulse pistol at her hip, her eyes straight ahead.

She still only acknowledged him when absolutely necessary. It’d been three felling weeks since she’d come back on board Moya -- three -- and she still barely spoke to him and almost never looked at him.

John knew he should be grateful for her presence here, grateful that she was accompanying them on this mission. He desperately needed her expertise if he was going to stand a chance against Scorpius. But it was hard to be grateful when being around her made his stomach clench so much that he’d found himself holding his fist against it when she walked into the room. He’d started skipping meals and was sure he’d lost weight.

And now he had the headache to beat all headaches.

The Bocreel unsheathed another claw.

“Um, D’Argo,” said John, pulling his fingers away from his forehead. “What do you think?”

D’Argo gave him a funny look. “Like I JUST said, I don’t trust him. Anyone who has sold arms to the peace keepers is not someone we should be doing business with. And furthermore—“

John held up his hand and nodded. Big mistake. Snap, crackle and pop started doing their tap dance behind his eyeballs. “All right,” he said, bringing his fingers back to his forehead. “I don’t trust him either, but I don’t see that we have another choice. Crais?”

Crais gave the Bocreel a calculating look over his crossed arms. “I agree with the Luxan; however, we shouldn’t be too hasty. I suggest we take the data back to Moya and verify its authenticity before making a decision.”

The Bocreel covered the data chip with one enormous paw. All four claws formed a razor-sharp shield around it. “No, no verifying. You take my chip, you pay.”

“We wouldn’t take the entire chip, of course,” said Crais. “We only want confirm where the data came from.”

The Bocreel showed his teeth and two long fangs in some sort of smile. “Do I look like idiot to you? Do I? I stay in business by being smart. Three men die to get what is on chip. Another man, he was captured by the peace keepers. Lost his mind in the aurora chair. You not touch this chip without paying.”

“Whoa, hold on there, grizzly,” said John. “Listen, we don’t mean to offend you, okay? We’re sorry.” He looked from Aeryn to Crais to D’Argo. “We’ll take the chip.”

The Bocreel scooped the chip into his fist. “No, the data is not for sale. I take offense. You will find other way to know Scorpius’s security codes.”

The chair scraped back as the Bocreel stood up, a long unfolding of powerful blue limbs. He made D’Argo look small as he passed by them on his way out to the tavern.

“Wait.” John grabbed the Bocreel’s arm. “I said I was sor—“

With one smooth motion, the Bocreel wrapped his claws around John’s throat and hoisted him into the air. John grabbed onto the claws, trying to loosen the grip. He saw spots in front of his eyes and his head pounded so badly that he barely heard the rasp of two pulse pistols and one Qualta blade being drawn. His breath came out in short gasps.

“Drop him, now,” said Aeryn. Out of the corner of his eye, John saw her gun pressed against the Bocreel’s throat.

“Ah, you not so different from peace keepers, are you?” said the Bocreel. “Or maybe you are a peace keeper and you want to trap me.”

“I will shoot you if you do not let him go.” Aeryn’s voice was like steel.

“As will I,” said Crais.

“And I,” said D’Argo.

“How well do you know about my race? You know about poisonous fifth claw? It runs in family, misses every other generation. It did not miss me.”

The room was starting to lose focus as John felt one of the claws press tighter against his throat. After a long moment, Aeryn’s gun disappeared and the Bocreel loosened his grip slightly, though he still held onto John. John finally gulped in air, huge desperate gulps.

“Better.” The Bocreel pressed his bristly cheek against John’s, his steamy breath puffing into John’s ear. “I hear of you, Crichton, hear of your exploits. You want to bring down the peace keepers. That is bad for business. I need my business. Tell me, why should I sell this to you?”

John had to try two times before a sound came out. “We got money.”

“Not good enough.” The Bocreel opened his claws, and John dropped to the floor in a heap. “Come back tomorrow with better answer, and perhaps I sell you data. Double price, of course.”

The Bocreel laughed as he left, a guttural, scraping sound. John lay on the floor taking deep shuddering breaths, each one slightly less painful than the one before it. The pain in his head should’ve been a distant memory compared to what his throat had just been through, but instead it was worse than ever – if that was even possible.

“John,” said D’Argo, kneeling beside him, “are you all right?”

“I’ll live.” The words were barely more than a rough whisper.

“You’re bleeding,” said Crais.

“I’m bleeding?” John gingerly touched his neck. His fingers came away sticky with blood. Crais handed him a cloth napkin, which John pressed against his neck. “Oh, god.”

“Of all the stupid …” began Aeryn. “I don’t suppose anyone ever told you never to touch a Bocreel, have they?”

“What do you think?” John looked up. Aeryn stood by the door, her pulse pistol in hand, surveying the room. Nope, not even a glance in his direction.

As he struggled to stand, D’Argo grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet. The sudden movement, caused fireworks to explode in John’s head. He felt his knees buckle and his stomach roil. D’Argo’s grip at his elbow was the only thing that kept him on his feet.

“Did you get poisoned?” asked D’Argo.

John waved a hand in dismissal and swallowed, trying to stave off the nausea. “No, it’s a killer headache. Had it before I came in here. I just need some fresh air.”

“Good idea,” said Crais. “The sooner we get out of here the better. Aeryn, how does the common room look?”

Aeryn poked her head out the door. “It’s clear.”

With Aeryn leading the way, the four of them wove through the tavern, trying not to draw too much attention to themselves. As if that were possible, John thought. Three peace keepers and a Luxan warrior. Still, they made it through without eliciting more than a few curious glances, and John felt his strength returning along with the fresh air and sunshine of the outdoors. He shrugged his arm free of D’Argo’s grasp, pleased to find that his knees were steady.

“Well, that was a complete waste of time,” announced D’Argo as they made their way toward the landing area of the pod.

“I’m not certain we’ll find a better contact,” said Crais. “We may have to come up with another method of infiltrating the command carrier.”

“And just what other method do you suggest?”

“I do not have another idea just now. If you’ll recall, contacting the Bocreel was my idea.”

“Yes, and it almost got John killed.”

“Or course I am to blame for that.” Crais pressed his lips together and turned to D’Argo, one eyebrow raised. “Perhaps you have some knowledge of Scorpius’s command carrier that you haven’t shared with us, Ka D’Argo. Please, do us the honor of mapping out our next strategy.”

D’Argo growled.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake.” John shouldered his way between them. “Just shut up, both of you. We’ll figure something out. Let’s just get off this planet first. I think I’m allergic to it or something.”

The rest of the walk to the pod was made in blessed silence. And when John saw Chiana and the pod, he almost ran up and kissed her, except running wouldn’t have been a good idea right now. That, and the fact that what he really wanted to kiss was the nice soft bunk he was going to sprawl on as soon as he was inside the pod.

Chiana was practically bouncing as she waited for them to board. “What went wrong?”

“Ask D’Argo,” mumbled John as he climbed inside.

“Your neck is bleeding.”

“Yep.”

Chiana turned her attention to D’Argo. She flitted around him as he stowed his Qualta Blade against the wall of the pod. “I knew something was going to go wrong. I knew it. When’re you going to start listening to me? You’re going to have to let Aeryn do the talking next time if you want to get those security codes.”

“Aeryn?” said D’Argo, looking at her.

“Yeah, Aeryn, she’ll get you what you need.”

John glanced at Crais and D’Argo, who looked as puzzled as he did. Then he glanced at Aeryn, but she wasn’t paying attention to any of them.

“Prepare for departure,” she said from the pilot’s chair.

John shrugged and let himself collapse on the bunk in the back of the pod. Right now, it was time to think about nothing more than closing his eyes.

***

Part Two

“Time to wake up.”

John groaned as someone gently shook his shoulder.

“Crichton, you have to wake up if you want me to help you.” It was Jool.

“Go ‘way.”

“Are all the men of your species such children when it comes to illness?”

John opened his eyes, squinting against the light. Tentatively, he moved his head, only to be rewarded with what he was sure were pulse blasts inside his skull. “Only when they have the worst headache that ever existed in the history of mankind.”

“Well, this should help with the pain.” Jool pressed something cold and metallic against his upper arm. A moment later, an icy blast shot into his body and began traveling toward his torso. “You can sit up now.”

“No, I can’t.”

Jool laughed. “Crichton, trust me, you can sit up now.”

John moved his head a fraction of an inch. There was no pain. He moved it back and forth. Still no pain. John sighed in relief and pulled himself up. “Lady, I don’t know what you injected me with, but it has got to be the most fantastic drug ever invented.”

“I’m glad it worked. Now, let’s go to Zahn’s lab so I can examine you and see what caused your head pain. I also want to look at those claw marks. D’Argo said that you weren’t poisoned, but we should make sure.”

John resisted the urge to touch his neck as he stood up. Then he promptly fell against Jool. “Whoa, what happened?”

Jool put her arm around John’s waist and began to lead him toward the exit of the pod. “You’ll have to lean on me. As a side effect, this drug can affect your equilibrium. Apparently, you are more susceptible than other species.”

“Yeah, that always seems to be the case, doesn’t it?”

When they got to the hatch, John finally noticed how empty the pod was. “Where are the others?”

“D’Argo and Crais were arguing about some chip nonsense or something. They left as soon as I got here.” Jool paused at the steps leading down from the pod, and then started down very slowly.

John didn’t want to admit it, but he was grateful for her support. Right now he was seeing two staircases. “And, uhm, where was Aeryn?”

They went down another step before Jool answered. “She wasn’t here when I arrived.” Then she added uncertainly, “I’m sure she thought you were fine.”

John felt Jool’s eyes on him so he schooled his features into his best poker face. If there was one thing he hated more than anything since Aeryn had come back, it was all the damn sympathy. He knew that they meant well, and that he should feel grateful for their support, but the opposite was the case. It made him feel broken, damaged, like he really was just a copy of himself.

But the truth was, Aeryn was the one who was damaged. She was the one who had watched him die. Or rather, she’d watched the other John Crichton die.

And he knew what that was like. When he’d watched Aeryn crash through the ice, he’d died right along with her. He remembered feeling hollow and dried up inside, like a gourd. If someone had shaken him, he was sure his internal organs would’ve rattled around along with his heart. The only difference was, Aeryn had come back to him less than a day after she’d died. It’d had been easy to push down the pain and let her presence fill him until the hollow feeling had disappeared.

Aeryn, on the other hand, had a whole month to get used to the other guy being gone. When she’d come back aboard Moya, she’d looked at John as if he were a ghost, or a copy. Definitely, not the man she’d been in love with.

The problem was, she had been in love with him before there had been two of him.

John shook his head and let Jool lead him to the apothecary. If he tried to figure out their relationship, he’d just bring on another headache. And he had more urgent things to think about now. Namely, how to get that information the Bocreel had in his chip.

After Jool bandaged his neck, took a blood sample and pronounced him more or less fit, he headed toward the center chamber for some food. Though he did have to keep one hand on the wall to steady himself, it was much better than before.

“I see you’re feeling better,” said Chiana when he entered. The room smelled warm and spicy.

“Yeah, headache’s all gone.” John carefully took a seat next to her. D’Argo nodded hello, and then turned back to Crais. The two of them sat across the table, glaring at each other, while Aeryn sat at the far end, mechanically eating a food cube and staring at a spot somewhere in front of her.

“What would you like?” said Chiana, waving a black-gloved hand over the table. “We’ve got zelnik soup, boiled cournets, uhm, something sweet that Jool bought, Hynerian marjoules –“

“You keep your filthy hands off my marjoules,” said Rygel as he zoomed into the room. He floated to an empty space next to John and jabbed a stubby finger into John’s shoulder. “Pass me the marjoules, please. And no, you cannot have any.”

John rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, Sparky. I don’t wanna throw up.”

“My marjoules will not make you throw up. But they may make you handsome and manly like me.”

“Then I definitely don’t want any.”

D’Argo snorted.

Jool entered the center chamber and took a seat near Aeryn. “Well, I’ve checked your blood, Crichton, and you appear to have some abnormal bacteria in your system.” She frowned and reached for the pile of sweets. “Unless they’re always in your system, in which case they aren’t abnormal, are they?”

“Brilliant diagnosis,” said Rygel as he stuffed a marjoule in his mouth.

Jool smirked. “I’m sure the bacteria is nothing compared to the creatures living in Rygel’s system.”

“Okay, back up a sec’,” said John as Rygel prepared a retort. “Is this bacteria something I need to worry about?”

“Not unless you get some more symptoms. If the head pain returns, let me know.”

“Great.”

John dropped a few food cubes onto his plate, a piece of tangy rondir fruit and one of Jool’s sweets, which sort of looked like an egg roll. It smelled vaguely of licorice. “So what’s the plan?” he asked the room at large.

As he waited for a response, he turned to Aeryn first, as he always did. It was a habit that he’d taken up as soon as she’d come back aboard Moya. Check with Aeryn before anyone else. She knew him, knew what he was thinking, could anticipate the weaknesses in his plans. But this time, he really wished he hadn’t. She was lost in her own world, still eating like a robot. Pick up a food cube, take a bite, lower hand, chew, repeat.

John turned quickly away, picked up one of his own food cubes and broke it in half. Then he set both halves back on the plate as his stomach did the familiar dance that told him eating was out of the question now.

“I think we should abandon this fool idea before we’re all killed,” said Rygel.

“Don’t worry, Buckwheat, you won’t be anywhere near the command carrier when we finally go in to stop Scorpius,” said John.

D’Argo leaned forward and pointed a finger at John. “That is the main flaw with your plan, Crichton. Going in to stop Scorpius. We cannot ‘go in.’ You, Aeryn and Crais will be recognized. I am a Luxan. There is no one here who can go aboard the command carrier undetected.”

“I can,” said Chiana, tilting her head to the side. “I did it before when we snuck onto the Gammack base. I can do it again.”

“Oh, and what?” said D’Argo. “You will destroy Scorpius’s wormhole research by yourself?”

“Yeah.” Chiana laughed. “Me and Ryg, right Ryg?”

“Speak for yourself, bitch.” Rygel took a bite of another marjoule. “You couldn’t pay me enough to get me on a peace keeper vessel again.”

John rolled his eyes. “Listen, we can wear disguises. Wigs, mustaches, I don’t know. Crais can dye his hair blond or something. The point is, we’ll figure something out.”

“D’Argo is right, I’m afraid,” said Crais. “Security will be extremely tight. Not only will we need to worry about being recognized, we’ll have to worry about retinal scans, heat signatures, brainwave patterns, fingerprints, and who knows what else.”

“Then we’ll figure out that stuff too,” said John. “But before we do, we need to know what the situation is like on the command carrier. Let’s concentrate on one thing at a time.”

Jool got up and grabbed a pitcher of chilled yaaret tea. “It sounds to me like you still need the data from the Bocreel.” She poured herself a glass and proceeded to go around the room filling everyone else’s. “I would go back and talk to him, if I were you. Reason with him. Offer him more money.”

“Well, lucky for us, we aren’t you,” said D’Argo. He took a long swallow of the tea and nodded his thanks to Jool. “That Bocreel is not to be trusted. Crais, surely, you have knowledge of other infiltrators like him.”

Crais sighed and crossed his arms. “Would you like me to lie to you this time, Luxan? My answer is not going to change. The Bocreel is the only one I know of who is still alive. It is not a business that is without risk. Most do not live very long.” Crais turned to Aeryn, his expression softening. “Aeryn, perhaps you know of someone who can help us. Do you have any contacts?“

“No, I do not.” Aeryn pushed her chair back with a loud scrape. There was still a half-eaten food cube on her plate. “I was a pilot, a soldier, remember?”

With that, she walked out deliberately, as if she were aware of everyone’s eyes on her. At the doorway, she paused, her back to the room. “I will be in my quarters if anyone needs me.”

John crumbled a food cube in his fist as he watched her leave. He abruptly turned back to the room and caught Chiana staring at him, the corners of her mouth turned down. When he glanced at everyone else, their eyes flickered away.

“I’ll be right back.” John brushed the food cube crumbs from his hands, pushed his chair back as Aeryn had and hurried from the room.

He jogged down the hall. When he found her, she had abandoned her slow, measured pace and was taking huge strides with swinging arms. She didn’t slow as John came alongside.

“Aeryn,” he said. There was no reaction, of course, so John grabbed Aeryn’s arm. Immediately, she froze up, a deer caught in the headlights. John swallowed and glanced aside. The intense way Aeryn avoided his eyes and stared at a spot just over his left shoulder, was freaking him out. He wanted to shake her or wrap his arms around her, he wasn’t sure which.

“We need you back there. We need your expertise. Plus, you have good ideas.” John paused. “I need you.”

Aeryn still didn’t react.

John sighed.

“You can’t keep running,” he said, loosening his grip but not letting go. “I’m here. I’m me. I’m not a copy or a ghost. You can’t keep pretending that I don’t exist.”

“Let go of my arm.”

“Aeryn, please, we can talk about this, can’t we? I mean, I know it’s bad. Hell, it’s probably the worst thing that’s happened to you, to us. And believe me, I know how you feel. It’s just –“

“You do not know how I feel.” Her voice was low, almost a whisper.

“Yes, I do. I saw you die when you crashed through the ice, remember? When I killed you?”

John sucked in a breath. He hadn’t said it out loud before, hadn’t acknowledged it in front of Aeryn like this. When I killed you. The words hung in the air between them. They brought tears to his eyes. He blinked furiously.

Aeryn’s brows drew together in a frown. She opened her mouth as if she were about to speak. Instead, she reached over and tugged on his fingers until they opened. John dropped his hand and stepped aside. Aeryn continued down the hallway, slowly at first and then picking up speed until she was almost running, her braid swinging.

John leaned his forehead against the wall. “Damn,” he said under his breath. “Damn.” Then he slammed his hand against the wall. If they gave awards for taking a bad situation and making it worse, he’d win every time. He remembered the words of his counterpart: “Be smart. Don’t push her. She takes time.”

Maybe he was the copy. Of the two of them, he certainly hadn’t gotten the brains.

And to bring up her death? John scrubbed a hand across his face as he flashbacked to Aeryn’s funeral. He tasted the sharp metallic air of the ice planet with its formaldehyde-like chemicals that preserved the bodies. He saw Aeryn laid out, D’Argo’s Qualta blade in her hands, her skin white and icy, her black hair fanned across her shoulders. The coldness of her lips had stung, he remembered. And when he’d cut her hair, he’d kept expecting her to open her eyes and ask him what kind of human nonsense he was up to now.

“Brooding about the past won’t change the present,” said Harvey.

“Shut up, freak.” John slammed his hand against the wall again. Surprisingly, Harvey remained silent.

But he did have a point, John had to admit. So he forced away memories of Aeryn’s funeral and headed back to the center chamber. When he got there, he paused in the doorway, watching everyone clear away their dishes. His sat on the table, untouched.

After a moment, they all stopped what they were doing to look at him.

“I’m going back to the planet tomorrow,” he told them, fingering the bandage around his neck, “and I’m going to convince the Bocreel to sell us his data.”

***

Part 3

When Aeryn made it to her quarters, she punched the door shut and walked the length of her room, back and forth, back and forth. Damn that Crichton. Until now, he’d left her alone. They whole crew had, in fact. They’d left her to her new routine, her tasks as a soldier. Wake up, report to Pilot, make rounds, eat breakfast, work on her part of the mission, then lunch, more work, dinner, rounds, and lights out.

Aeryn loved the routine. She loved the way she didn’t have to think about anything, the way she could be still and calm, wrapped up in duty and order as if it were a thick blanket.

Her part of the mission was to ready weapons and make explosives, pulse pistols, missile launchers, and Y57 rifles. They lay spread out on every surface of her quarters, many of them broken into their components. Aeryn stopped and picked up the firing mechanism of a hover mine. She’d bought the mines for next to nothing on a commerce planet and they all needed new locking springs. She sat down at her make-shift work table and started to pry loose the damaged spring. A moment later, she dropped the part and began pacing again.

Stupid, frelling human.

Very little disrupted her calm these days. Not the incident with the Bocreel nor Crichton’s injury nor Crais’s questions about informants. Then Crichton had to follow her and grab her arm in a way he had a million times before. And he had to make sense, of all things. “When I killed you,” he’d said, as if she could ever forget. And then she’d looked at him out of the corner of her eye. Looked. She’d seen the expression on his face, the quick blinking back of tears. She’d felt her hand twitch in response, almost reaching out to touch him.

No, this was completely unacceptable. She was a soldier now. Nothing more, nothing less. She’d tried love, tried the way of the nonmilitary, and it had almost destroyed her. She wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.

Aeryn punched open the door and strode into the hallway. She was breaking routine, but sometimes a change was necessary to stay sharp. “Expect the unexpected,” her old duty officer used to say, “Don’t grow complacent.” So she’d do rounds now and work on the weapons later.

Swinging her arms and keeping her pace to an even tempo, Aeryn let her mind shut down. As she walked through Moya’s corridors, making sure that the ship was not compromised, she lost herself in the rhythm of a job she’d done countless times before.

***

John dropped the bag of Hynerian ingots in front of the Bocreel. It made a satisfying tumble of clinks. The Bocreel’s yellow eyes narrowed slightly.

“I’ve come back for the chip,” said John. He pushed back his coat and placed his hands on his hips, showing his pulse pistol. D’Argo shifted beside him, Qualta Blade held ready. John had nixed the idea of the others joining them. He’d thought that they’d get more results with less sebaceans who looked like peace keepers. He hoped he was right. A day had passed since they’d last seen the Bocreel and he seemed just as fierce as ever.

John tried to appear, if not fierce, then determined, but he wasn’t sure how well he was pulling it off. The bandage around his neck probably didn’t help much, nor the fact that he was feeling the aftereffects of Jool’s pain killer. His muscles ached, his eyes were gritty, his head felt fuzzy and his left hand trembled if he held it out. All in all he was not the picture of dangerous criminal who would stop at nothing to get the contents of the chip.

The Bocreel gave him a hard look and gestured to the seat in front of him, the tips of his claws peeking out of blue fur.

As John sat down, he glanced around the tavern. A half dozen or so pairs of eyes were trained on them at this very moment, mixed in with the other patrons. Not very good odds. If things went wrong this time, it would be the two of them against the Bocreel plus his armed guards. John noticed D’Argo stepping back from the center of the room so he’d a better vantage point. It really didn’t make him feel any better.

“How your neck?” asked the Bocreel.

“It’s fine. How’re your claws?”

The Bocreel made a hoarse wheeze, which John took to be a guffaw. “My claws just fine. My chip just fine. My guards are just fine, too.”

“Good, glad to hear it.”

“We start with glass of goolaw.” The Bocreel poured amber liquid into two tiny cups. He picked up one and handed the other to John.

John took a sniff. It reminded him of some 150-proof moonshine he’d tried once when he was seventeen. “Goolaw, huh? Pretty strong stuff.” He set it on the table. “If you don’t mind, I’ll—” He was about to say “pass,” but noticed the Bocreel’s claws encircling his glass and remembered how easily offended he could be. “—drink this right up.”

John and the Bocreel tossed their drinks back at the same time. The Bocreel made a satisfied belch. John’s eyes watered and he coughed for half a minute.

“You like?” said the Bocreel.

“Yeah,” John said, his voice an octave higher than normal. He cleared his throat and tried again. “It’s great.”

“Good. Now why you back? Do you have better story to tell?”

John frowned and touched his glass again. “You know, actually, this stuff isn’t that great. It’s way too strong and it tastes a lot like gasoline. On my world that’d kill you. You’re not going to kill me, are you?”

“Not now,” said the Bocreel.

“Good, because my friend, D’Argo, there -- he’s a warrior, and he would not be happy if you killed me. Not that he’d be able to do much about it. I mean, you have a whole roomful of guards and we just have the two of us.”

“Crichton,” hissed D’Argo.

John leaned closer to the Bocreel. “Can I tell you a secret?”

The Bocreel nodded.

“D’Argo doesn’t win that many fights. Underneath all the bluster, he’s really a big softy.”

John felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder. “John,” whispered D’Argo in his ear, “shut … the … frell … up. What is wrong with you?”

“I don’t know.” John rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t seem to stop talking. “I feel like dren. My eyes are all gritty. My muscles are sore. And look at my hand. Look at this.” He demonstrated the shakiness by holding out his left hand. “It’s probably from this amazing drug I took yesterday, but Jool said I have abnormal bacteria in–”

“Enough,” said D’Argo. “Do you think you can stay silent for half a microt?”

John opened his mouth to reply, but D’Argo pressed a hand against it. “Just nod,” he said. John nodded.

D’Argo turned to the Bocreel, his hand still pressed against John’s mouth. “What did you put in his drink?”

The Bocreel shrugged. “Nothing IN drink. Goolaw is good beverage for negotiation. In my tongue, the word goolaw mean ‘without deception.’”

John yanked off D’Argo’s hand and glared at the Bocreel. “Truth serum? You gave me truth serum? Imagine that, another alien messing with my head. That’s just frelling great.”

D’Argo pointed his Qualta Blade at the Bocreel. “I knew this was a bad idea, John. This creature cannot be trusted. We will leave now.”

“No,” said the Bocreel. “Look around, Luxan.”

John and D’Argo glanced around the room. The Bocreel’s guards had stood up, their hands on their weapons. The rest of the patrons in the bar became intensely interested in their drinks.

“I want questions answered,” said the Bocreel. “Then you go. If I like answers, you get chip too.”

John stared at the Bocreel. “Fine, I’ve got nothing to hide.”

D’Argo leaned close. “Answer his questions and nothing else,” he said. “Do not babble.”

“I do not … babble … that much.” Damn goolaw.

The Bocreel started right in with Crais and Aeryn. He’d done his homework and was familiar with their careers in the peace keepers. John had no problem answering these questions, nor the ones about the aurora chair, the gammack base or anything else the Bocreel threw at him. The only problem was, John was really starting to feel worse and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep talking. The tremor in his left hand had spread to his entire body so that he had to wrap his arms across his middle to keep them still. He felt sweaty and hot. And the grittiness in his eyes felt like sandpaper. It hurt to blink.

“Listen,” said John, shaking his head to keep the fuzziness at bay, “we’re not going to turn you into the peace keepers. And I don’t want to take down the entire peace keeper force. So you can keep your damn business going. Sell all the arms you want. I don’t care. I just want this chip.”

The Bocreel shook his head. “One more question. Tell about wormholes.”

John frowned. There was something wrong with this request, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. He closed his eyes and tried to think, but that didn’t help at all. It just made the room spin. John opened his eyes, wincing at the way his eyelids scraped against his eyeballs.

“I came through a wormhole. That’s how I got to the Uncharted Territories.” John resisted the urge to keep talking, to tell him all about the knowledge in his brain, the knowledge that was probably worth a lot of money. He used the table to help stand up. “I’d love to keep chatting with you, but I really need to get going before …”

John felt as if the room was sliding to the right, so he grabbed onto the edge of the table and waited for it to settle down.

“You no look so good,” said the Bocreel. “We must end negotiation. Take money, come back when better. We finish.”

D’Argo slipped beside John and picked up the pouch full of coins. “Is it the drink?” he asked the Bocreel.

“No, no drink. Drink harmless.” The Bocreel waved his blue paws at them. “Go, go.”

“Right.” John turned, still hanging onto the table. Then he carefully made his way to the door, grabbing chairs along the way. He felt like he was drunk and had the flu at the same time. And he couldn’t stop shaking. Not a combination he’d recommend to anyone.

When he stepped outside, he threw a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. “Oh, man, this is not good.”

“We will go back to Moya,” said D’Argo. “Jool will be able to give you something. Can you walk?”

“Of course, I can walk.” But as soon as he took a step, he listed to the right and ran right into the wall.

D’Argo grabbed his arm. “The pod is this way.”

“Right.”

By the time they got back to the landing area, D’Argo had his arm around John and was supporting most of his weight. John just wanted to lay down, close his eyes and stop the world from spinning. D’Argo ended up carrying him up the steps of the pod and setting him down on the same bunk he’d collapsed in yesterday.

John tried to peel off his coat. “Hot,” he mumbled.

D’Argo helped him out of it and then rolled it up for a pillow. Then he set John’s head on the pillow and hurried to the pilot’s chair. The last thing John saw before he closed his eyes was the pouch full of Hynerian ingots sitting on the floor. He was still no closer to stopping Scorpius, he realized as he closed his eyes. He’d failed once again.

***

Part 4

D’Argo carried John to the lab, trying not to jostle him too much. The whole way, John drifted in and out of consciousness, mumbling something about wormholes. His skin shone pale and moist with perspiration. He felt hot. And over his usual human muskiness clung a new odor that spoke of illness and disease.

D’Argo tried not to breath in too deeply, and immediately winced at his selfishness. His friend was ill. His bodily odors should be ignored.

Chiana and Jool met him in Zahn’s lab. “What did you do to him?” said Chiana, peering into John’s face.

D’Argo laid him on a table. “I did not do anything,” he said, and pointed a finger at Jool. “It is your medicine that is affecting him.”

“My medicine? My medicine helped him.” Jool didn’t look up from her hand-held scanner, which she passed over John’s body. “His temperature is elevated, but I’ll have to run some more tests to find out exactly what is wrong. What happened on the planet?”

“He was given a drink called goolaw, which altered his mind so he could not tell a lie.”

“Goolaw?”

“Yes,” said D’Argo, “I suppose that could be causing his illness, but the Bocreel said the drink was harmless.”

Chiana looked at D’Argo. “I thought you didn’t trust the Bocreel.”

“I do not.”

“Well, Goolaw might mess with your mind, but it doesn’t make you sick.”

“How do you know?” said Jool, glancing up at her.

“Let’s just say,” said Chiana with her usual head tilt, “that there’ve been times in my life when it’s good to know where your friends stand.”

“Hmph,” said Jool, turning back to John.

Chiana shrugged. Then she laid a hand against John’s cheek and smoothed away a bead of moisture that was trickling past his temple.

D’Argo took up a post near John’s shoulder so that he could keep an eye on him while watching Jool work, though he wished he could do more than simply stand at a bedside. D’Argo was not good with sick people. It was more than just the smell, which he could learn to ignore. It was the helplessness in the face of suffering. It was the memory of other times in which D’Argo had ignored injured comrades during battle, ignored their screams because he could do nothing to ease their pain.

Like he’d ignored John’s pain, when John had begged for death while being taken over by Scorpius’s clone. Like he’d ignored Chiana when she’d grown increasingly unhappy at the prospect of settling down. Like he’d ignored Jothee when he had not known how to fit into D’Argo’s world. D’Argo clenched his fists. No, not ignore. He had not ignored them, as you would a sore back after a day of laboring. He had pretended. He’d convinced himself that their problems were not critical and that he did not have the means to help them. He had been wrong.

Jool drew some blood from John’s arm and placed it into an instrument in the back of the lab. She frowned and looked up for a microt before resuming her work.

D’Argo felt like he would burst apart at his joints. “What have you found out?” he demanded.

“Nothing yet,” said Jool. She waved a hand in his direction as if he were an insect.

D’Argo growled.

Chiana lightly touched his wrist. “You know how Crichton is. He’s always getting in trouble one way or another. He’ll be fine.”

D’Argo nodded. Chiana had matured of late, and D’Argo appreciated her common sense. “I do not enjoy standing around,” he said.

Chiana smiled at him. “Neither do I.”

“Then both of you, make yourselves useful,” said Jool from across the room, her eye pressed against a small viewing screen. “Remove Crichton’s clothes so he’s more comfortable.”

With Chiana’s help, D’Argo did as Jool suggested, peeling off John’s damp shirt and trousers, untying and removing his boots. Then he laid everything on a bench against the wall while Chiana covered John in a blanket and pressed a moist cloth against his forehead. D’Argo resumed his position next to John’s bed. Then he crossed his arms, trying to be patient.

He did not have to wait long. John moved his head to the right and opened his eyes. Immediately, he moaned and squeezed them shut again.

D’Argo quickly turned off the light shining on the bed.

When John opened his eyes once again, D’Argo steppped into his line of vision, resting a hand on his shoulder. “How do you feel?”

“Great. How do I look?” His voice had none of its usual strength.

“Like dren.”

John half-smiled and turned, glimpsing Chiana. “Hey, Pip.”

“Hey, old man.”

“What happened?”

“You lost consciousness on the transport pod,” said D’Argo. “I brought you to Zahn’s lab.” He would’ve said more but Jool elbowed him out of the way.

“I see you’re awake.” Jool smiled and gently placed her hand behind John’s head, raising it up. “I need you to drink this, Crichton. It will help with your fever.” She held a glass full of pink liquid up to his mouth, tilting it while he drank it down.

John closed his eyes as if that small effort had tired him out. “What’s wrong with me?”

“I believe you have an illness called cerbel. It’s an infection of your nervous system.”

“Is is from that bacteria?”

“No, actually. That bacteria is part of your system. I didn’t recognize the cerbel yesterday because it is not unusual to my people. It was in you then, however.”

D’Argo could not believe his ears. “You mean you could have been treating John for this yesterday?”

“I didn’t know yesterday.”

“Children,” said Chiana, glaring at D’Argo and Jool and then looking pointedly at John.

“It’s all right, Jool,” said John. “What’s the cure?”

Jool bit her lip and glanced at D’Argo and Chiana. She forced a smile when she turned back to John. “There is no cure, I’m afraid. We just treat the symptoms. It usually goes goes away in several days. Most contract this during our wet season when we spend more time indoors.”

John smiled weakly. “You mean I have an alien common cold? Damn, I wondered when I’d catch something out here.”

“You should rest, Crichton.” Jool tucked his blanket under his chin. “I’ll be back in a bit with more medicine.”

John nodded. As Chiana removed the cloth from his forehead to moisten it, D’Argo pulled Jool to the far side of the lab.

“What are you not telling us?” he said quietly.

Jool crossed her arms, her forehead creased with worry. “I’ve never seen anyone this sick before,” she said. “I’ve heard stories of severe cases early in our people’s history, before we had the medicines we have today. But D’Argo, those people didn’t survive.”

“Crichton is human, surely it will not affect him the same way.”

“Perhaps,” said Jool glancing back at John, “or maybe it will be worse.”

Chiana approached them. “He wants to talk to you,” she told D’Argo.

D’Argo gave Jool’s hand a squeeze. Their eyes met briefly. Then he headed back across the room, grabbing a stool along the way so John would not have to look up at him. He sat down and leaned forward.

“I’m pretty sick,” said John.

D’Argo nodded, noting John’s pale skin and reddened eyes, the sluggish way he turned his head, and the effort it took to speak. “Are you in any pain?”

“I’m okay.”

“You will heal. Jool is preparing the medicine.”

John nodded absently. “Who else knows I’m sick? Does Aeryn know?”

D’Argo wasn’t sure. “She may have heard me tell Jool that you were ill, but she knows nothing else.”

“Good. Do me a favor, okay? Make sure she doesn’t find out about this. I don’t want her to worry.”

With the way Aeryn had shut herself away from everyone since her arrival on Moya, D’Argo couldn’t imagine her worrying about anything, especially John. She seemed to have erected a wall that a prowler couldn’t blast through. Plus, D’Argo did not believe in deceipt as a solution to a problem among friends. He shook his head. “She will notice your absence.”

“Then tell her I’m sick but not that sick.” John grabbed D’Argo’s arm. “I mean it, man, she can’t find out. Not until I’m better.”

D’Argo decided that it would only be a small lie. “All right.”

“And make sure Chiana and Jool know about this, and don’t tell Sparky or Crais anything. The less people who know the less chance of someone slipping up.” He stopped, breathing hard.

D’Argo patted John’s hand. “I will take care of it.”

But John didn’t seem to hear him. “You know how she is,” he said. “Walking around like a zombie because the other me died. Who knows what’ll happen when she finds out how sick I am. She might freak out or something.”

D’Argo frowned. “But she barely looks at you now, I can’t imagine …”

John’s eyes widened and he stared at the ceiling. “You’re right. She may not ask about me. In fact, she probably won’t even notice I’m not around, probably’ll think I’m off doing something stupid. You know how she much she thinks of my plans. Heck you’ll be off the hook, buddy, you—”

“John,” said D’Argo. He sighed heavily as an immense sadness for his two friends pressed down on his shoulders. As much as he would like to help them, this was one situation in which he really could do very little. “I understand.”

John swallowed hard and pressed his lips together. “Thanks.”

“Rest now,” said D’Argo as he tucked John’s hand back under the blanket.

D’Argo sat back on his stool. He watched John close his eyes and listened to his breathing as it grew slow and regular.

***

Part 5

Jool entered the lab to find Crichton shivering, his blanket on the floor. She sighed and strode across the lab. Then she picked up the blanket and tucked it around him. He didn’t even stir, not that he stirred much nowadays. He spent more time asleep than awake. When the shivering didn’t stop, she checked the heating coil, and sure enough, it had come unplugged. That monochromatic bitch, she thought as she plugged the blanket back in. It’d been her turn to watch Crichton.

“Chiana,” she said into her comm, not even trying to hide her exasperation, “where the frell are you?”

Chiana walked into the lab, a mug of something steaming in her hand. “I’m right here. What’s your problem?”

“My problem is that –“ Jool turned away and took a deep breath and released it slowly, trying to keep her temper in check. Chiana had been just as dedicated as D’Argo in nursing Crichton. The problem wasn’t Chiana. It was Crichton, or rather, his illness. He’d been sick a weeken without any signs of improvement and it was making Jool crazy. She knew more about medical science than anyone aboard Moya. She had seven advanced degrees. She was considered a genius by her people, which was so far beyond what anyone on this ship was capable of that she wondered why she stayed sometimes. Yet she could not determine how to heal Crichton, the only one on board with even a small amount of intelligence.

Jool sat heavily at a table and rested her head on her hand. “I don’t have a problem.”

Chiana pulled up a stool and sat next to her. “Crichton is strong. He’ll get better, you’ll see. Tomorrow he’ll be sitting up and talking about three stupid men again.”

“Stooges. I believe he called them stooges.”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

Jool smiled and rubbed her eyes. “It has been rather quiet, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah, especially with Aeryn, well, you know. And with Stark gone.”

Jool nodded.

Chiana took a sip out of her mug and offered it to Jool. Jool sniffed the contents: merve root sweetened with hipsor and just a hint of cint. Lovely. With a grateful smile, she drank some and passed it back. And they spent the next half arn that way, sitting on stools in the lab, watching Crichton and passing a mug between them.

“You know, I’m really impressed with this,” said Chiana, breaking their silence.

“With what?”

“This lab, the way you’ve kept it up, how much you know about healing.” Chiana tilted her head and considered Jool. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Thanks … I think.” Jool looked at Chiana and decided to pay her a compliment too. It was not something she did very often, so she had to think for bit to come up with one. “It’s blex the way you can tell the future.”

Chiana half-smiled and laughed like she didn’t mean it. “Yeah, blex.”

Jool frowned, wondering what she’d said wrong. She opened her mouth to ask Chiana, but Crichton began muttering and shaking his head back and forth.

Jool and Chiana tensed and leaned forward, ready to run across the room if Crichton woke up or started thrashing as he had once before. That time, they’d needed to hold him down. The object of his attention had been Scorpius, wormholes and what was probably remnants of torture. At least that was what Jool had surmised from the frantic way he’d jerked his body about and screamed “freak” at the top of his lungs.

This time his muttering was mostly unintelligible, and he settled down after a while, but not before “Aeryn,” slipped out, soft as a sigh.

Jool glanced at Chiana. “This is wrong. She should know.”

“Aeryn?” Chiana shook her head. “No, no, no, no, no, D’Argo said Crichton doesn’t want her to know.”

“I know what he said. But what if Crichton dies and we never told her he was sick -- do you want to be the one to break the news to her then?”

Chiana stared at Jool as if doing so could make Jool undo her words. “He is not going to die.”

“Chiana, I have given him every medication I can think of and nothing is helping. I don’t know what else to do. Aeryn must know.” Frustration made her voice get higher and louder. “Rygel and Crais should know, too, for that matter.”

“They already do.” When Jool turned to stare at Chiana, Chiana squirmed on her stool. “We had to tell them. They were asking too many questions.”

“And I take it that Aeryn never asks any questions.”

“Not of me. How about you?”

Jool shook her head.

“D’Argo said she asked him a couple of times but that was it.” Chiana stood up, stretching her back. She started across the room. “So don’t say anything, okay? ‘Cause Crichton will get better. He will. You’ll see, he’ll be talking nonstop tomorrow and -- and you’ll want to dose him with something to make him shut up.”

Chiana’s teasing fell flat as she stopped next to the still Crichton. Jool came up alongside her and watched Chiana brush back the short hair at his forehead with one gloved hand.

“He was the one who let me stay on Moya,” said Chiana. “The others would’ve been just as happy throwing me out the nearest airlock.”

“Me, too,” said Jool, remembering D’Argo’s story of how Crichton had insisted they take her and her cousin aboard Moya. For the longest time, she’d resented the fact that Crichton ability to talk had come at the expense of her cousin. Not because she cared about this cousin so much. He was the greedy trelnik who’d convinced her to enter the mine in the first place, the mine with its genetic scanning that he had assured her would not be operating the day she snuck in. Frelling idiot. He deserved Grunchlik’s cryochamber.

No, Crichton was just an easy target for everything horrible that had happened to her lately. Losing twenty-two cycles out of her life, being lost in the Uncharted Territories, having to deal with Nebari, Luxans, Hynerians, and ex-peacekeepers, none of whom liked her and all of whom who yelled at her all the time. It was completely Crichton’s fault that she was stuck in such an icky place that alternated between completely boring and so horrible that Jool sometimes wished she was still frozen. She shuddered as she remembered the milking machine and the diseased leviathan. No, horrible wasn’t strong enough of a word to describe what she’d been through since she’d come aboard.

Jool looked down at Crichton’s pale face, so young and relaxed in sleep. When had she stopped resenting him? she wondered. When had this huge ship started feeling like home?

She put an arm around Chiana and gave her a brief squeeze. “It’s late. Go get some sleep.”

Chiana nodded. She bent down and kissed Crichton on the cheek. As she turned to go, she deposited the mug in Jool’s hand, an impish grin on her face. “You can take this back.”

Jool smiled. “Fair enough.”

When Chiana got to the doorway, she paused, her back to the room. “He is not going to die. He isn’t. Got it?”

“Got it.”

After Chiana left, Jool touched her comm. “Good evening, Pilot.”

“Good evening, Joolushka. How is Commander Crichton doing?”

“He’s resting quietly. Have you seen Aeryn around?”

“I believe she is in the center chamber, why?”

“No reason. Thanks, Pilot.”

Jool straightened her collar and smoothed the front of her dress. Then she tightened her grip on the mug and headed down the hall to the center chamber. D’Argo and Chiana might think they knew what was best for Crichton’s health. And abiding by his wishes was a very loyal and honorable thing to do. But they were not in charge of his healing. She was. And only she knew how precarious that was right now.

Besides, Aeryn Sun had a right to know how ill Crichton was. And if she chose not to care, then no one need ever know. And if she chose to lose her temper, well, Jool was fairly confident that Aeryn would not harm her for the deceipt. Fairly certain.

At the center chamber, Jool glanced inside before entering. Aeryn was sitting at the table sipping a beverage, hair neatly pulled back. She looked calm. But then again, she always looked calm these days.

Jool stalled by washing out the mug and setting it back on its shelf. Then she grabbed a rondir and a pairing knife. She sat across from Aeryn, sliced off a piece and held it out. “Would you like some?”

Aeryn shook her head. Jool took a tiny bite of rondir and forced herself to swallow. She was glad she held a knife in her hand. “Crichton is ill,” she said.

Aeryn glanced up in surprise. “Yes, I know. D’Argo told me.”

“He has something called cerbel. It’s fairly common among my people.”

“Mmm.” Aeryn took a sip out of her cup.

“It’s an infection of the nervous system.” Jool set down her fruit, but she held onto the knife. “It causes headaches, fever, vertigo, muscle weakness, and sensitivity to light. There is no cure.”

Aeryn stared at Jool.

“In my people, the symptoms are mild, and we usually heal within a few days. But Crichton is human, so he isn’t responding to the medication as I thought he would. It’s been a weeken already and –“

Aeryn grabbed Jool’s collar and pressed Jool’s face to the table. Jool yelped. She tried thrusting the knife outward, but Aeryn grabbed her wrist and squeezed until Jool let go. The knife fell to the table with a clang.

“Is Crichton dying?” said Aeryn.

“You’re hurting me.” Jool felt tears spill down her face and her shoulders shook.

Aeryn pressed her head close to Jool’s. Her hot breath moistened Jool’s cheek. “Is he dying?”

“I don’t know.” Jool tried to stop herself from crying, but she wasn’t very good at it. In between sobs, she managed to get out, “He isn’t getting better and I don’t know what else to do.”

Aeryn released her. Jool scrambled off the stool and backed away. “No one else wanted to tell you. They’re all afraid of you and with good reason. But I thought you should know. Crichton is very sick.”

Jool wiped her face. She was breathing hard and her hands were trembling. Aeryn on the other hand, seemed as calm as ever. She picked up the paring knife and ran her fingers along the sharp side as if testing its usefulness.

“Where is he?” she said quietly, glancing up.

Jool took a step back. Aeryn’s normally expressionless face had changed. Her gray eyes were wide and her brow was wrinkled as if she were in pain. It looked like an old pain, one she had grown familiar with, one that haunted her at night. The rest of her was tense, tired, the lines on her face sharply etched. She looked like she was resigning herself to facing something horrible. And perhaps she was.

“He’s in Zahn’s lab,” said Jool.

Aeryn nodded and went back to studying the knife, turning it slowly in her fingers.

No apology, no thank you. Nothing. Not that Jool had expected anything. In fact, she was just grateful to be done. She escaped down the hall and headed back to the lab, hoping she’d made the right decision. Because if she hadn’t, then she would be facing D’Argo the next day.

***

Part 6

When Jool left the room, Aeryn felt her whole body sag. The paring knife slid from fingers. Pressing a hand to her chest, she willed her heart to beat slower before it leapt from her body. She could not go through this again. She couldn’t. Not the being strong for him, nor the watching him grow weaker and weaker, nor the final words as he came to terms with his life, nor the last passionate kiss. And certainly not the soft hiss of air from lungs that would never contract again.

With a grunt, Aeryn swept the knife from the table. It soared across the room and clanged against a food storage unit. Frell that human for getting himself duplicated in the first place. She had never met anyone who found himself in more impossible situations than he did. If Aeryn had been on that diseased leviathan, she could’ve prevented this whole thing from happening. That way there would’ve only been one of him and he could die only once the way most people did.

Of course, she wasn’t most people, either, she reminded herself. Who knew how many more times she’d pass on before it was her last. Two? Three?

An hysterical bubble of laughter threatened to burst forth from her throat. Aeryn clamped her lips tight, sure that the laughter would end in the kind of gut-tearing sobs she’d experienced after her John’s death.

Besides, this John was different. He wasn’t her John. He was the one left behind, the one they hadn’t talked about. He was the one who’d brought stabs of guilt to her gut late at night. She remembered laying with John after making love, when the only sounds were his even breaths and Talyn’s gentle hum. Aeryn would trace her fingers along his collarbone and remember.

There was another one.

Aeryn rose so fast her chair tipped over. She kicked it out of the way and set off down the hall. Her every intention was to go to her quarters, shut the door, and resume maintenance on the pulse pistols. She was not a diagnosan nor a spiritualist. She was a peace keeper, a weapons specialist on a mission. Of course, thanks to Jool. she now knew the mission would probably end if John died again.

Before she knew it, she found herself in the doorway of Zahn’s lab, breathing hard. John was there. He lay on a table across the room, motionless, his profile highlighted against the low light coming from Moya’s walls. He looked pale and thin and so like her John on his deathbed that Aeryn thought she could be seeing a ghost.

“Are you coming in?”

Aeryn whirled to her right, hand reaching for her pulse pistol. But it was only Jool. “What?”

“I said, are you coming in? There’s no point standing in the doorway.” Jool thrust her chin out, a small show of bravado from behind a lab table. “He’s certainly not coming to you.”

Aeryn didn’t move. The doorway felt safe and substantial and she liked it at her side. Instead, she faced John. “How is he?”

“He’s sleeping. I gave him some kilint a couple arns ago, and that makes him groggy. He’ll probably sleep through the night.”

“Why haven’t we hired a diagnosan?”

“Because there are none on the planet, and Crichton insisted that we stay so he could talk to the Bocreel again. Of course that was four solar day ago.” Her tone made it clear how little she thought of this plan. “D’Argo agreed.”

“Stubborn, frelling, idiots,” Aeryn muttered.

Jool edged closer to Aeryn. “If you are staying, then I’ll go to my quarters. It’s late.”

Aeryn shook her head. “I’m not staying.”

Jool quickly squeezed past Aeryn and into the hall. “Just post a drd before you leave so Pilot can watch over him.”

Aeryn glared at Jool’s back and briefly considered telling Jool to post her own drd’s. But she didn’t move, and as the sound of Jool’s heels faded down the hall, Aeryn fingered her comm badge, trying to decide whether or not to call Pilot.

Her body made her mind up for her. In a moment, she’d walked to his bedside and was reaching out with a hand that trembled slightly. She traced the smooth skin above his left eyebrow, the flawless patch that marked him as the other one more than anything else did. Then she slid her fingers down his face, past a cheekbone, along his jaw. She outlined his lips, his nose, and brushed his hairline. He felt hot. The hollows of his cheeks were too deep. He was not her John.

She should leave.

She didn’t. She brought her face close to his bare shoulder and breathed in. He smelled like sweat and medicine and his favorite soap. She tasted the skin, flicking her tongue lightly on his bicep. It was salty and familiar.

John sighed and turned his head toward her. Aeryn glanced up, but he was still asleep. Emboldened, she pulled down his blanket until there was enough room for her to rest her head on his chest as she had a hundred times on Talyn. The short hairs tickled her cheek. She closed her eyes and brought her arm across him, letting her hand settle around his waist.

The last time she had held him like this he had grown cold. This time he was too hot. Tears filled her eyes along with a familiar ache deep in her chest.

If she wanted to, she could pretend that her John hadn’t died, that he’d simply lost his recent memories in an injury. She could move into his quarters and wear his t-shirts while he pretended outrage that she’d stretched them out. They could make love just before first shift and sneak onto the transport pod when they should be performing maintenance on communication circuits. They could nibble mokon chips from the same plate and chase Rygel away by licking the salt from each others’ lips. They could stand on the bridge, shoulders touching, fingertips barely interlocking so Crais wouldn’t notice, or at least not mind.

But Aeryn was on Moya now and this John was not her John, and pretending was not her way. She straightened up and smoothed John’s blanket back into place, fingers lingering on his collar bone. Finally, she forced them away and wiped the moisture from her nose and cheeks.

A footstep sounded behind her. Aeryn turned. D’Argo was hovering in the doorway, half-in and half-out of the room. “If you would like to be alone …” he said.

Aeryn crossed her arms. “No, it’s fine.”

“I just wanted to check on him before I went to my quarters for the night.” D’Argo came alongside her, giving her a measuring glance. “I am surprised to see you here.”

“Shocked, I would think,” said Aeryn, “considering that you had no intention of telling me about his condition.”

D’Argo swung his head sheepishly to the side. “John did not want to worry you.”

“This was his idea?”

“Yes.”

“I should have known.” Aeryn stepped away from John, beckoning D’Argo to join her near Jool’s lab table. “He needs a diagnosan.”

“Yes, I know.”

Aeryn frowned. “We should leave orbit immediately and find one.”

“Do you think we have not considered that? Just where do you propose we go?”

“I don’t know, but clearly what you are doing is not working.”

D’Argo glared at her. “And how would you know what we are doing?”

“I don’t, but then you have hidden his illness from me along with everything else.”

“He has been laid up for a weeken, Aeryn. If you really wanted to know, you would have cared enough to notice.”

Aeryn turned away, acknowledging the truth of his words.

“Enough.” D’Argo paced back and forth, breathing deeply as if trying to reign in his temper. “We could spend all of our time flying from planet to planet looking for a diagnosan. Or we could stay near this one where he caught the frelling disease and continue to consult with the healers here. That is what we are doing.”

“Then it looks like you’ve thought of everything.” Aeryn turned and headed toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

She paused and glanced at him in surprise. “To my quarters. Now that you are here, you can watch Crichton. Jool said to post drd’s before leaving him alone, though I suppose you already know that.”

D’Argo frowned in confusion. “But I thought you would be staying.”

“Why would I do that?”

His brows drew together in the most irritatingly sympathetic fashion, as if he thought he understood her. “Aeryn, I saw you with him just now.”

“And?”

“And I saw that you have finally stopped thinking of him as a copy.”

“A copy? I know he isn’t a copy.” And she added under her breath, “That’s not the problem.”

Just then, Rygel zoomed into the lab. He looked from Aeryn to D’Argo and back again. “What are the two of you up to?”

“What do you think, your lowness?” said D’Argo. “We’re placing wagers on when you will be thrown out an airlock.”

Rygel hmmphed and turned to Aeryn. “I see they finally decided to tell you about Crichton.”

Aeryn raised an eyebrow, warning Rygel not to push things. Not that he listened to much besides his stomachs.

“Why are you here?” said D’Argo. “If you want to steal John’s clothes then you are wasting your time. I have locked them in his quarters.”

Rygel flew his throne chair to a shelf covered with bottles and jars of all colors and shapes. He selected one filled with a green liquid. “I am having trouble sleeping, and this relaxant always helps.”

As he flew back toward the door, he stopped and floated next to John. “Is he doing any better?” he said in a tone that surprised Aeryn for its soberness.

“His condition is unchanged,” said D’Argo.

Rygel then flew up to Aeryn. He reached out and patted her on the arm. “I’m sorry, Aeryn. I don’t want to see Crichton die again, either.”

Aeryn shook off his arm.

“Hey, everyone,” said John in a gruff voice.

The three of them quickly turned. D’Argo hurried to John’s side with Rygel close behind. “John, how are you feeling?” said D’Argo.

“Ready to party.” John swallowed with some difficulty. “Thirsty.”

D’Argo grabbed a small cup from the table and filled it with water. He elevated John’s bed and held the glass for him. After John had gulped a small amount of water, he fell back against the pillow, closed his eyes and took in deep raspy breathes.

Aeryn felt the familiar ache spread from her chest to her shoulders and neck. She tried telling herself to leave but she couldn’t stop watching. He looked exactly like her John had looked when he’d grown weak from radiation poisoning. It was like seeing a distorted replay of the worst day of her life. All they needed now, was Stark and Crais.

Finally John opened his eyes and noticed Rygel. “Sparky, haven’t seen you in a while. How you doing?”

“I am having a little trouble sleeping,” admitted Rygel.

“Sleeping, huh?” John chuckled, though it was barely above a whisper. “That’s all I do.”

“You have another visitor,” said D’Argo. He and Rygel parted to allow an unobstructed view of Aeryn.

The minute John looked in her direction, Aeryn wanted to run. She stepped back, knocking against a stool. Then she hurried to the doorway, pressing a hand to her chest. The ache had turned into a knife wound or a pulse blast, exactly the kind of thing she’d been trying to avoid since she’d come back aboard Moya.

Finally, she paused, bolstered by the frame of the door, her back half-turned to the room and glanced at him. John was looking at her, his eyes bluer and more beautiful than she ever remembered.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.”

They stared at each other for several hundred microts.

“You didn’t want me to know,” she finally said, at the same moment that John said, “You’re here.”

Rygel glanced from Aeryn to John. “Yotz, this could take all night.” Rygel zoomed his throne chair past Aeryn calling, “Good night” as he sped down the hallway.

Then it was D’Argo’s turn. “Is there anything else I can get you?” he asked.

John barely took his eyes off Aeryn. “Thanks, buddy. I’m fine.”

“Then I will leave the two of you alone.” D’Argo squeezed John’s shoulder and stepped quickly from the room.

For a long time, neither John nor Aeryn said a word, and the silenced stretched out between them.

“Come closer,” said John finally. But he said it as if he thought she might do just the opposite.

Aeryn sighed and moved to his side. She ran her fingers along a fold of his blanket.

“That’s better.” He smiled with none of his usual energy. “You’re a sight for sore eyes – literally.”

“Your eyes are in pain?”

He chuckled. Then he reached out and touched her hand. Aeryn pulled back, and winced at the flicker of hurt that flashed across his face.

“How are you?” he said.

“It doesn’t matter how I am. You’re the one who is ill.”

“It matters to me.” John closed his eyes for a moment. Weak, pale. “I’m fading. Damn bug juice of Jool’s really knocks me out.”

“Can I get you anything?”

John shook his head and opened his eyes. “Sometimes I don’t know if I’ll wake up so ... since you’re here ... I love you.”

Aeryn felt an immense weight press down upon her and she crossed her arms. “John,” she began, but he shook his head.

“Just wanted you to know in case you didn’t.” He paused to catch his breath, panting after every few words. “’Cause if the next words out of your mouth aren’t ‘I love you too’ then I really, really don’t want to hear them.”

Aeryn nodded. “You should get some sleep.”

“Yeah.” He stared at her intently, brows drawn together. He looked as if he weren’t sure he’d see her again and he wanted to remember this moment, as if he knew what she could handle, knew they’d crossed the line just now. Then he closed his eyes.

Aeryn stood by his bed and watched as his breathing slowed down and his face relaxed. She picked up a cloth and wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead. Then she commed Pilot and told him to post a drd. Finally, she dimmed the lights and went back to her own quarters.

Sleep did not come easily that night.

***

Part 7

John sat in a lawn chair in the back yard, sipping a beer. It was late and the sky glowed orange with pink tendrils low on the horizon. The air felt humid and smelled of someone’s cookout. It made John’s mouth water. In the playground directly in front of him, a bunch of kids horsed around on a teeter-totter. Their shrieks rang out against the hum of crickets. It was a perfect August evening.

“Where are we this time?” asked Harvey. He unfolded a lawn chair next to John’s, tested its weight and sat down gingerly.

“This is Huntsville. We lived here for a year when I was eight. It was one of my favorite places because we were right in front of that.” He pointed out the playground. “We were the envy of the neighborhood.”

“Another trip down memory lane, I see.” Harvey leaned forward. “John, these senseless excursions are not productive. I have an idea which I believe—“

“They’re useful to me.” John got up, drained his beer and set it on the ground. Then he cut through the gap in the low hedges that lined the yard. He stopped in front of a swing set, the kind with thick steel chains attached to a flexible rubber seat. After sitting down, he started pumping. Soon he was at the limit of the arc, the chains going slack at the top of each swing.

“Whoo-eee,” he screamed, startling the kids on the teeter-totters. God, this felt wonderful, flying through the air with the wind on his face. The last time he’d been on a swing was in college after Phi Psi party and he’d been so drunk he’d fallen off and twisted his wrist, though he hadn’t felt it until the next day. This was much more fun, company excluded.

Speaking of company. Harvey sat down on the adjoining swing, a distasteful look on his face. He flipped the tail of his outfit behind him. It dragged on the ground as he began awkwardly pumping his legs.

“You have to lean forward and backward as you do that,” said John, smiling. Not even Harvey would spoil this moment.

Harvey glared at him and did as John suggested. Soon he swinging about as high as John.

“Well, John, I must admit that as a children’s game, this would be amusing, but I am not a child.” Harvey let the swing coast down. “By visiting these old memories, you are resigning yourself to dying. That is unacceptable.”

John ignored him. “When we were kids we used to jump off,” he said. “We’d swing as high as we could, then let go, seeing who could go the farthest. Tommy Manzo always won. He was this really tiny kid, wiry. And he’d do something to his body in the air, twist it somehow, like one of those flying squirrels or something. Man, he could go about twenty feet. I couldn’t come close, but I wanted to beat him more than anything. I thought, if I could beat Tommy, then I’d be flying like my dad.” John snorted. “I wanted my dad to see how far I flew. Then he’d take me with him next time he went off somewhere.”

“Ah yes, memories of your father again. It always comes down to that with you, doesn’t it? My father is a Scarren, but I have no wish to remember him, except to fuel my hatred of that race.”

“You’re really tugging at my heart strings, Harve.”

“Your father left you alone much of your childhood. He always disappointed you, didn’t he, John? Yet that would make you work all the harder because you wanted to please him. Not that he noticed.” Harvey’s swing had come to a complete stop. He twisted it idly from side to side, scrutinizing John. “You’re still trying to please him.”

“You’re way off base,” said John. “I told you before that you don’t understand what is going on in here. When are you going to accept that?”

“Your brain is a puzzle. And I loathe leaving a puzzle unsolved. However, I do not think I’m far from the truth this time.”

“Whatever.” John got the swing going as high as it could, pulled his arms inside the chains and jumped. He soared through the air and landed hard, falling to his knees and rolling to the side. “Oomph.”

“Did you enjoy that?” said Harvey.

“Yeah, it was a blast.” John refused to admit that the fall had hurt his knees and ankles. He stood and brushed grass from his jeans. Then he looked back. The swing set was about twelve feet away. Damn.

“What would your father think of the way you’re giving up now?” said Harvey.

“Man, you just don’t quit, do you?” John set off across the playground, Harvey close behind.

“Is that why you find it so important to prove yourself to your friends on Moya time after time, even when they don’t notice? Is that why you’re trying to save the entire universe from wormholes?” Harvey grabbed John’s arm, bringing him to an abrupt halt. “Dying won’t help anyone. And it certainly won’t please your father.”

John wrenched his arm free. “Listen, freak, they’re my friends, that’s why I look out for them and why they look out for me. It has nothing to do with my father.”

Harvey gestured to the playground. “Then why are we here?”

“We’re here because … because I don’t think I’ll ever make it back to Earth. And it’s not because I’m going to do my damnedest to destroy your wormhole research, but because my real body is dying, little by little, from a cold. A stupid common cold.” John walked up to fiberglass hippo that rested on a giant spring and wacked it so it bounced crazily. “And it’s not something you can talk me out of. It’s not a coma. I can’t just wake up from this one. I need medicine or a cure or something. So cut the crap about me giving up.”

Suddenly, John felt the pull of his body back on Moya, sapping the energy from him. He sank to the grass and crossed his legs. Harvey joined him.

“I just wanted,” continued John, “to be where all I had to worry about was whether or not I could fly farther than Tommy Manzo, whether I’d get to play second base in little league or whether my dad would talk to me, really talk, before he left again. Everything is hard now. And back then, it was simple.”

“Why are you trying to save the universe?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.” John sighed. “And yes, it would please my father. It’s what he would do.”

“Are you ready to listen to my ideas now?”

John rested his chin on his hands and closed his eyes. All he wanted to do was sleep. He used to be able to stay in the past like this for hours at a time. Now he barely had the energy for a few minutes. His mind must be weakening along with his body. “Can’t I just die in peace?”

Harvey sighed. “And what of Aeryn Sun?”

“What about her?”

“Do you want her to go through the death of another John Crichton?”

“Do you really think she cares if I die?”

“Do not lie to yourself. It is a waste of time and you have so little left.”

John opened his eyes, scrubbing a hand over his face. The idea of Aeryn in even more pain was hard to fathom. Last night, he’d seen the weariness in her eyes, the way she’d flinched when he’d touched her, the way she’d practically run from the room.

“Maybe it would be better for her if I died.”

Harvey stared at him the way his old chemistry prof used to stare if you hadn’t thought out a problem all the way.

“Okay, okay. I know the answer to this one. It would be easier if I died, but not better.”

“Are you ready now?”

John rubbed a spot between his eyes. Then he glanced around. In the darkening evening, the teeter-totters and the jungle gym looked menacing, full of shadows where big kids or robbers lurked, where vampires would snatch at your ankles if you got too close. He smiled, glad that he hadn’t known then how bad the bad guys really were. He nodded to Harvey.

Harvey smiled and rubbed his hands together. “Yes, yes, that’s the spirit. While you have been revisiting these childhood memories, I have been busy thinking through your problem. We will have to work together, if we want to save you.”

“All right,” said John. “But I don’t think I’m going to like this.”

***

Aeryn woke feeling like she had never slept. She rose and got dressed as she always did, spending an extra few microts under the shower with her face turned into the water. It didn’t help.

As she headed to the center chamber, she realized that she’d dreamed last night. And she almost never dreamed. The details eluded her, though, just a series flashes that included Xhalax plunging to her death, Rygel hovering in front of her talking about loss, and John’s pale face beaded with sweat. The last image was particularly disturbing because she wasn’t sure which John it was. And she wasn’t sure it mattered. But it was the feeling associated the dream that stayed with her. It was a certainty that she’d never experience happiness again, ever, and would end up like her mother. Bitter, scarred, twisted. It was a horrible feeling and it could pin her to her bed if she let it.

As Aeryn entered the center chamber, she pushed the dream and the dark feelings aside. Then she stopped, surprised to see almost everyone here. Normally, she was the first one up and had to eat alone. She must’ve overslept, she realized. The last time she’d done that had been the day after John had died.

The thought did nothing to lighten her mood. Not that it should be light. Not when John was dying. She sat down next to Rygel and piled food cubes onto her plate, though she did not have much of an appetite this morning.

“So what do we do now?” asked Chiana, sweeping the room with her black eyes.

No one answered. Crais sighed and went back to eating. D’Argo stirred something in a bowl in front of him that smelled spicy. Rygel continued stuffing his face, though with none of his usual enthusiasm. And Aeryn poured herself a glass of relet juice, lost in her thoughts. As she did, she became aware of silence and the absence of movement around her. She glanced up. Everyone was looking at her. “What?” she asked, resisting the urge to duck her head.

“We were talking about what to do about Crichton,” said D’Argo.

“Yeah,” said Chiana, “Jool says he’s getting worse. The healers on the planet aren’t helping. I say it’s time we looked for a diagnosan.”

Crais stabbed his fork into the air as if it would help make his point. “And I say that we could spend a monen looking without success.”

“But we all agree that you should be the one to make the final decision,” said Rygel. “Though if you want my advice, we should let the healers take apart Jool so we can find out how SHE resists this frelling bacteria. But does anyone ask me? No. And it’s a mistake they will all regret some day, let me assure you.” He went back to eating, mumbling to himself about injustices.

Aeryn turned to the rest of the room. “Why should I have the final decision?”

Crais cleared his throat. He had trouble meeting Aeryn’s gaze. “On Talyn, you and the other Crichton were … close … and this would have been your decision to make. We thought it proper for you to have the same … opportunity … here.”

Aeryn almost lunged across the table to grab Crais’s throat. Of all those present, he was the one who understood the most what she had gone through. He’d been linked to Talyn when she’d shown her feelings for John. He’d seen her with John on his deathbed. He’d seen her afterwards. Aeryn gripped the edge of the table. “It is hardly an opportunity,” she said, teeth clenched.

D’Argo and Chiana glared at Crais.

“Perhaps that was not the best choice of words,” said Crais.

“The point is,” began Chiana, “we just thought you—“

But Jool’s voice came over their comms. “D’Argo, Chiana, are you there?”

“What is it, Jool?” said D’Argo.

“You have to come to Zahn’s lab right now. Crichton is missing.”

***

Part 8

D’Argo frowned. “Have you looked for him? He couldn’t have gotten far in his condition.”

“Of course, I looked for him. It’s the first thing I did. He injected a stimulant into himself. A few syringes are empty.”

“Pilot,” said Aeryn, tapping her comm, “can you locate Crichton?”

“The commander is getting into a transport pod.”

“What?” D’Argo stood. “John!”

There was no answer.

“John, get the frell off that pod,” said D’Argo. “You are too ill to fly anywhere.”

When John didn’t respond, D’Argo took off down the hall

“I say let Crichton go,” said Rygel. “If he’s stupid enough to—“

Aeryn pushed Rygel’s face into his breakfast. “Mm, ah, wha, bitch,” he said around globs of yellow stickiness.

But Aeryn was already out the door, fists balled, legs pounding. All she wanted to do was knock Crichton unconscious, preferably after several tries so it would be memorable and he’d stop doing these foolish things. Since she’d known him, she’d wondered if he got into trouble more because of circumstances, bad luck or his own pigheadedness. Now she knew it was the latter.

“Pilot,” she said, “Can you keep him from taking off?”

“I do not keep anyone here against their will,” said Pilot, his voice full of indignation.

“Yeah, we understand, Pilot,” said Chiana. She was right behind Aeryn, running. “But you know how sick he is. He’s not thinking straight.”

“I will see what I can do.”

But it was too late. When the three of them arrived at the hanger, the doors were already shut.

“The commander is on his way to the planet,” said Pilot.

“Frell,” said Aeryn. “Of all the stupid, idiotic, dumb…” she paused, running out of words to describe what she thought of this latest stunt.

“Why would he go to the planet?” asked Chiana. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Does he do anything that makes sense?” said Aeryn. “I’m starting think he WANTS to die.” She kicked a maintenance cart, sending tools crashing across the floor. Then she crossed her arms, breathing hard, feeling D’Argo and Chiana’s eyes on her.

“He doesn’t want to die,” said Chiana. “He’s mixed up. That’s all.”

Jool ran into the hanger, heels clicking on the floor. She held an empty syringe out in front of her. “You couldn’t stop him?”

“Does it look like we stopped him?” said D’Argo. “Is that the stimulant?”

“Yes, one of them. He took three times the usual dosage, which would kill him within the arn.” In her other hand, Jool held up a vial, half-full of liquid. “But he took this depressant with him, just enough to counteract the stimulant. Does Crichton know anything about drugs? This combination is not common knowledge.”

D’Argo swore under his breath. “No, but I bet Harvey does.”

Aeryn stared at D’Argo. “Harvey. You know about him?”

“Yes, we met once. Long story. You?”

“We met once, too.”

“Who the frell is Harvey?” said Chiana.

“Never mind.” Aeryn took a deep breath. “This situation is completely frelled up, so before any of you succeed in actually killing Crichton—“ D’Argo opened his mouth to protest while Jool and Chiana glared at her. “—this is what we’re going to do. D’Argo and I will go to the planet to retrieve him. Jool will accompany us with her medical supplies and enough of that depressant to keep him alive, and Chiana will stay here.”

“Why do I have to stay here?” said Chiana.

“Because we don’t want to have to rescue you too,” said Aeryn.

Chiana stepped forward and pushed her face close to Aeryn’s. “Listen, I’ve been taking care of him while you’ve been off in peace keeper land, pretending he doesn’t exist, so if you don’t mind, I’m coming too.”

Aeryn glared at Chiana. They did not have time to argue. “Fine,” she said, “you have 500 microts to get ready.”

As the hanger doors finally slid open, D’Argo scooted through them. “We’re taking my ship,” he said over his shoulder. “And ladies, you have 300 microts.”

Aeryn ran to her quarters. She grabbed her coat and two fully charged rifles, slinging one across her back. Then she slipped a dagger in her boot and snapped two grenades to her holster. John was not going to die if there was anything she could do about it. Next time though, she thought with a scowl, it would be helpful if he cooperated more in the not-dying part.

As she ran out the door, she tried to figure out why John had gone down to the planet in the first place. Despite the risks he liked to take, he was not suicidal. And now that she’d calmed down a bit, Aeryn had to admit that he was rarely foolish. For him to sneak out of Moya and endanger his life, meant that he’d had a good reason to do so. But for the life of chilnek, she couldn’t figure out what it was. The thing that bothered her most was that he’d felt he couldn’t talk to anyone else about it, including her. Not only could his lack of communication endanger the whole crew, it meant that the neural clone had a greater influence than she’d imagined.

It also meant that her wish had come true. John was not talking to her just like she’d not talked to him for the past few weekens. It wasn’t a wish she’d spelled out for herself, but it was there nonetheless. Every time he’d spoken, she’d been relieved when he hadn’t been addressing her, when she hadn’t been forced to look at him, to make the inevitable comparison between him and her John. So then why did his silence bother her now? she wondered, frowning. Why wasn’t she relieved instead of tense, coiled up inside, like a ball of twine about to unravel?

As Aeryn climbed aboard D’Argo’s ship, she pushed aside all thoughts but the mission, just as she’d been trained to do. Chiana and Jool joined her a few microts later. Then, D’Argo flew to the planet, landing near John’s pod, which Pilot had located for them. As the dust settled, Aeryn opened the hatch and jumped out, followed by the rest of the crew.

“Where do you supposed he went?” said Jool, tucking a medical kit under her arm.

D’Argo tried comming John a couple of times, but John still wouldn’t answer. Or perhaps he couldn’t.

“Pilot,” said Aeryn, “can you locate Crichton for us?”

“No, I cannot,” said Pilot. “I don’t believe he is not wearing his comm.”

“Of course not,” said Aeryn. “Why make it easy for us?”

She shaded her eyes and looked around, trying to figure out where John could be headed. They were on the outskirts of the only city she’d been to on this planet, one teeming with different races, many of them criminals of one sort or another. However, if she followed the main thoroughfare past a government building, turned right down a narrow alley and veered left past the garbage receptacle, she’d run into a tavern that housed one very large, very blue Bocreel.

She and D’Argo shared a look that said they had been thinking the same thing.

“Chiana,” said D’Argo, “wait near my ship.”

“No way,” said Chiana, shaking her head. “You’re not leaving me alone here again.”

“He’s right,” said Jool before Aeryn could speak up, or rather, yell at Chiana. “You’re our backup in case anything goes wrong.”

To Aeryn’s surprise, Chiana glared at all of them as she took a position near the ship. “All right, but call me the microt you need help.”

D’Argo assured her they would, and the three of them hurried toward the city.

***

As John made his way through town, he felt like he’d drunk about 30 cups of coffee after pulling an all-nighter before a final. He still felt weak and feverish. Every now and then, his knees buckled and he had to grab onto something to stay upright. Plus, the sun still hurt his eyes. But these symptoms seemed like petty concerns now. All he cared about getting to the Bocreel before the arn was up. So he wove between groups of aliens like he was playing football, ignoring the occasional shout at his back after he bumped into someone.

Eventually, he had to stop to catch his breath. He leaned against a building, panting. With the back of his hand, he wiped sweat from his eyes and blinked, trying to keep the world in focus. He’d thought his illness was bad on the eyes, but this stimulant really screwed things up. If he stood still and looked straight ahead, everything was fine. But if he moved, then he got this weird trail of color, like those photographs taken of a city at night, where you can see the red and white lights of cars all blended together.

“Enough,” said Harvey in his ear, “you can rest later.”

“How much time do I have?” asked John. And for the millionth time, he checked his belt pouch to make sure the counteragent was still safe.

“Less than half an arn,” said Harvey.

“Okay, I’m going.” John leaned his head back and swallowed. In the back of his mind, he wondered if Jool had noticed that he’d gone AWOL yet and if he should comm someone so they wouldn’t come after him. But Harvey whispered in his ear, urging him to hurry, so he let the thought drift back down where it wouldn’t bother him again. Then he took a deep breath and merged with the crowd.

***

Aeryn kept one hand on her pulse pistol and another on a grenade in her pocket. The streets were crowded but orderly, with the hum of movement and an occasional shout. As they walked along, she looked for a brown head above the crowds or a black-clad body lying against a building. So far, all the prone bodies in doorways or on walkways were either too yellow, too round or too scaly. She wasn’t sure whether to be pleased that John wasn’t one of them or dismayed that there were so many. She decided that it was better not to not think about it.

Eventually, they made it to the glass-walled government building and then to a city garbage receptacle with its swarm of insects and stench of rotten … things. Finally they arrived at the tavern, which was nothing more than a nondescript doorway in a grimy building. Only the holo of a mug of fellip nectar gave any clue as to what was inside.

D’Argo turned to Jool. “You wait out here. We will comm you if you’re needed.”

Aeryn watched Jool glance around, swallowing. To the left of the doorway, a couple of patrons were busy counting money, their mandibles clicking away. To the right, a woman with four breasts and a lot of cleavage leaned against the building. Jool’s eyes flickered from one side of the tavern to the next as she nodded.

Aeryn waved her hand over the door sensor. “Watch my back,” she told D’Argo, pulling out her pulse pistol.

D’Argo nodded, Qualta blade ready.

As the door opened, they stepped inside. Low music and the murmur of conversations greeted them, along with the sickly sweet smell of old fellip nectar. As Aeryn waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim light, she heard John’s voice carrying across the room, though she couldn’t make out his words. After a microt, she finally saw him through the smoke. Sweat-soaked hair, reddened eyes. He looked like dren. He swayed in front of a sebacean hired gun, waving his arms about as if he were agitated. Then he paced in front of the woman, his stride jerky, as if he didn’t want to pace but couldn’t stop himself, most likely an effect of the stimulant.

Aeryn released a long breath and holstered her pistol. He was alive. She grabbed the edge of the bar as her knees suddenly became unreliable. Then she glanced at D’Argo who nodded in relief.

As they wove through the tables, they could hear John’s voice rise in frustration. He was talking very fast. “He knows me. He told me to come back later and it’s later. So he’ll see me if you tell him. But if you don’t tell him, he won’t know I’m here, will he? Then he won’t be able to see me. And he’ll get pissed. Trust me, you don’t want to see him pissed.”

The sebacean just stared at him, arms folded.

“Can you even talk? Do you understand me?” John stopped and waved a hand in front of the woman’s eyes. “Listen, this is really, really important. I-I have information for him about wormholes. Tell him that, okay?”

Aeryn and D’Argo flanked John. D’Argo clamped a hand on John’s shoulder. “John.”

John whirled around, shoving his pulse pistol in D’Argo’s face. D’Argo threw up his hands and stepped back. John blinked and lowered his weapon. Then he glanced at Aeryn. “What’re you guys doing here?”

Aeryn reached around and firmly but carefully grabbed John’s pistol. “Stimulants and firearms are not a good combination,” she told him. With her other hand, she applied pressure to his wrist until he opened his fingers. Aeryn stowed the gun in her coat pocket.

John scrubbed a hand across his face. “I really appreciate the concern, but I got things covered, okay? Give me back Winona.”

Aeryn glanced at the sebacean. The woman stared at them impassively, her well-muscled forearms twitching. Aeryn guessed John had about a hundred microts before getting thrown out. “I’ll give it to you outside,” she said. “Let’s go.”

D’Argo grabbed John’s arm and started pulling him toward the door. At first, John went along quietly. Then he twisted free and danced away, pulling a couple of chairs in front of him as a barrier.

“I’m not going until I finish what I came here for. I have to see the Bocreel, and I only have…” He trailed off as his eyes lost focus, and Aeryn realized that he was talking to the frelling neural clone. “… I only have a quarter arn left, so don’t screw things up for me, okay?”

Aeryn noticed the sound level in the bar diminish as the other patrons stopped talking to observe the three of them. The sebacean guard took a step in their direction.

Aeryn glared at John, trying to remember that he was ill and on drugs and not the idiot he was acting like. “Look around,” she hissed. “You’ll never see the Bocreel if you cause a riot. Come outside now. We’ll figure something out.”

John glanced around, eyes widening as he seemed to finally notice the trouble he was about to cause. Still, he hesitated.

D’Argo sighed loudly. “Do you want me to tongue you?”

John turned to D’Argo, eyebrows raised. Then he pushed the chairs back in their spots and headed toward the door, bumping into tables along the way and muttering apologies, barely able to walk straight. D’Argo and Aeryn trailed him, weapons held ready to discourage anyone from following.

Once they were outside, Jool ran up. “How is he?”

“Alive,” said Aeryn.

“But he is acting like a yenchilk,” said D’Argo. “Give him the medicine now.”

John shaded his eyes from the sun. “You know, you could just ask me. I’m right here.”

“Oh we could, could we?” Aeryn stepped in front of John and grabbed the opening of his coat, forcing him to look at her. “And that would be because you confided in us before taking this jaunt to the planet? Or is it because you decided to inject a fatal dose of stimulant after consulting with us? Hmm?”

John stared at her, jaw thrust forward. “You don’t understand. The Bocreel --”

“Oh, I understand all right,” she began, but D’Argo pulled her aside.

Jool glared at all three of them. “Remove his coat and bring him over here.” She walked to an adjoining building that was in the shade and opened her medical kit.

John stumbled as he started to follow, so Aeryn thrust her arm around his waist and hurried him across to Jool. D’Argo helped her lower him to the ground and lean him against the building. Then the two of them pulled his coat off his shoulders. Jool pressed a syringe against his arm and injected the counteragent. It went in with a hiss.

John closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the building. “Oh man.”

“How do you feel?” said D’Argo.

“Like I’m on one of the tea cups at Disney World after drinking 50 shots of Tequila.” He wrapped his arms around his stomach. As a breeze ruffled their hair, John began shivering. Aeryn knelt beside him and pulled his coat back up.

“You should be fine,” said Jool. She bit her lip. “Well, as fine as you were before…”

The three of them exchanged a worried look. Then D’Argo reached for John. “We will head back to Moya now.”

John pushed D’Argo’s hand away, shaking his head. “No way. We’re not going until someone talks to the Bocreel.”

Aeryn tucked the front of his coat together to keep out the breeze. “Always the frelling hero,” she murmured.

“Hero? No, no, no.” John paused to take a breath, his teeth chattering. “Aeryn, the Bocreel is supposed to be this badass infiltrator, right? He sells stuff that no one else can get, all kinds of things. Maybe even medicine.”

“So you wanted to try to get medicine from him?” said Aeryn.

“Yeah, or find out where there was a diagnosan or something. It’s not like I have a lot of options.”

“And why did you not tell us?” said D’Argo.

“Because … because … I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Besides you don’t trust the Bocreel. And Aeryn isn’t exactly talking to me.” John shivered and pulled his coat tighter.

Aeryn sat back on her heels and crossed her arms. She refused to feel guilty for his poor judgment in not talking to her. She refused. “And Harvey had nothing to do with this?”

John shrugged and didn’t answer. He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“Just as I thought.” She looked away, suddenly exhausted. All she wanted to do was lock herself in her quarters and never emerge again. She wanted to do go back to her routine and work on weapons and do rounds and eat while everyone else was busy with other things. She didn’t want to talk to John or look at him or worry that he might die. And she certainly didn’t want to deal with a neural clone all over again.

She wanted her John alive, and she wanted to be happy again. Aeryn felt that ball of twine that was stuck in her gut begin to unravel. Tears stung her eyes.

Suddenly Jool pointed across to the tavern. “Well, it looks like you’ll have your chance to talk to him now,” she said. “Look.”

Aeryn glanced over her shoulder. And standing in the doorway, scratching his ear with one long claw, stood the Bocreel. He was staring at them.

***

Part 9

“Who’s he?” said Jool, sidling close to the wall and using D’Argo as a shield.

“That is the Bocreel.” D’Argo fingered his Qualta Blade.

“Aeryn.” John grabbed her sleeve. “You have to talk to him.” He was staring at her, looking both intense and helpless like her John had looked before he’d gone up to destroy the Scarren ship. He was desperate. She hated seeing him that way.

“Trust me,” he whispered.

“Jool,” said Aeryn, “will he be all right for half an arn or so?”

Jool pulled out her scanner and ran it over John’s body. “His fever is a little higher than it has been, but he’s adjusting to the counteragent well enough.”

“Okay, then.” Aeryn glanced over her shoulder. The Bocreel was going back in the tavern. “I’ll talk to the Bocreel. I just hope Harvey knows what he’s doing.”

“He does.” John pulled a bag of currency from his pocket and passed it to her. “It’s not like before when I still had the chip. He’s weak. I can control him and he’s knows it. Plus if I stay alive, so does he.”

John said that as if it would reassure her, but Aeryn found it impossible to meet his eyes. Sometimes he was so perceptive it scared her, and she didn’t want him to see exactly how much his casual acceptance of Harvey’s advice disturbed her. She vividly remembering almost shooting her John because of Harvey, a John with cold, haughty eyes and Scorpius’s voice.

So she concentrated on buckling John’s coat and fussing with his collar to keep out the breeze. She even took off her own coat to lay over him when his shivering didn’t abate. Inwardly though, she vowed to get rid of Harvey. If John survived his illness and if they all survived this mission to destroy Scorpius’s wormhole knowledge, Harvey would be her next target.

“Thanks,” said John.

“Don’t thank me yet.”

As she started to rise, John grabbed her hand and wouldn’t let go even when she reflexively pulled away. “No,” he said, squeezing her fingers. “Thanks.” He waited until she nodded. Then his hand fell as if he’d used up the last of his strength. He closed his eyes, breathing hard, teeth chattering.

As Aeryn stood up, she had a feeling something was changing between them, and she wasn’t sure what it was or whether she liked it. And there wasn’t time to figure it out.

She grabbed the bag of currency and settled her pulse rifle into the crook of her arm. “Comm me if he gets worse.”

“Of course,” said Jool with a toss of her hair.

Aeryn turned and headed back to the tavern. When she got inside, she marched straight to the sebacean hired gun, who immediately turned and led the way to a door in the back. Aeryn palmed it open.

The Bocreel sat at a small table, reading glasses perched on his snout. He was examining data from a hand-held computer that looked like a toy in his massive paw. With a sigh, he pulled off his glasses and motioned Aeryn to take the seat across from him.

She tossed the bag of currency on the table and sat, rifle in her lap. She wanted to demand that the Bocreel tell her if he knew of medicine to help John, but she remembered how volatile he’d been the last time she saw him. So she remained silent, unsure, wishing Rygel was here. She was not suited to negotiation.

The Bocreel pulled out a bottle filled with amber liquid. “I see that John Crichton still not well.”

“Yes.”

“And why should I talk to peace keeper?”

“I’m no longer a peace keeper.”

“You look like peace keeper. You act like peace keeper.”

Aeryn just stared at him, one eyebrow cocked.

The Bocreel chuckled, or at least that’s what Aeryn assumed he was doing from the gutteral noise he was making. He set two small glasses on the table and filled them with the amber liquid. “All negotiations begin with goolaw. Drink.”

Aeryn frowned and fingered her glass. The name “goolaw” sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it. Vaguely, she remembered D’Argo saying something about John having to drink an alcoholic beverage the last time they’d come down here, but she hadn’t been paying attention. D’Argo had mentioned it during a meal when she’d been busy concentrating on eating as fast as she could so she could escape back to her room and her routine as a soldier.

“Frell,” she said under her breath. Some soldier she was. Now she was missing vital information that could affect the success of this mission.

Aeryn sniffed the drink. It was strong but seemed harmless enough. As the Bocreel tossed back his drink, she did the same. It made Aeryn’s eyes water and her throat burn. She blinked and waited for the sensation to pass.

The Bocreel belched and smacked his lips. Then he cleared the bottle and glasses from the table. He studied her for a microt, tapping a claw on one of his fangs. “Why you leave the peace keepers?” he asked quietly.

His question surprised her, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it. Instead, she found herself answering him with more candor than she ever had before, even including details she hadn’t thought about in a long time. “Crais tried to get me to return,” she finished, “but I knew that his idea of a full pardon meant the living death, so I stayed on Moya.”

“You wish to be peace keeper again?”

Aeryn tried to think about this, but again she found herself answering before she had a chance. “No, Moya is my home now. I’m not the same person I was then.”

This time, all it took was for the Bocreel to look at her with a raised eyebrow. He didn’t even have to ask a question.

“I THINK now,” Aeryn continued. “I don’t blindly follow orders. I no longer believe that all emotions are dangerous. In fact, I’ve learned that not expressing emotions can be dangerous too, perhaps moreso. Mostly I’ve learned that the peace keepers are a brutal and corrupt organization that’s lost all of its original ideals. I’ve seen them torture and kill my friends. Scorpius is the worst of them all, and he is allowed to make his own rules. He put a neurochip in Crichton, which drove him mad until he killed me.” Aeryn’s voice caught as she remembered her plunge into the freezing water. She shivered.

“Tell about Captain Crais,” said the Bocreel.

As Aeryn opened her mouth and heard herself explain how Crais had stolen Talyn and how he’d needed her help with the retrieval squad, she listened in horror. This was wrong. She was a soldier and knew how to be interogated. Why did the simplest questions evoke long-winded ramblings from her? When she began to explain the current problems Crais was having with Talyn, she forced herself to cough and pressed her fist against her lips, trying to regain control.

The Bocreel waited patiently for her finish. She nodded when the compulsion to speak lessened.

“Now tell about wormholes,” he said.

***

John woke to the sound of Chiana and D’Argo arguing. He forced his eyes open and blinked, trying to remember where he was and why. He lay propped against a building with Aeryn’s coat over him. The ground was rough and cold, and the air smelled like garbage and sun-baked asphalt. Seeing Jool jogged his memory. She stood nearby, arms crossed and a disgusted look on her face.

“Well deal with it,” said Chiana, hands hanging loose at her sides and head cocked in typical Chiana fashion. “I’m not going back.”

D’Argo cursed in Luxan. “Then tell us about your vision,” he said. He took a deep breath as if trying to remain calm.

“It’s bad.” She beckoned D’Argo closer so she could lower her voice. “Aeryn was crying and she was sitting next to Crichton. And Crichton didn’t look good.”

“What do you mean he didn’t look good?”

“I mean, he looked dead.”

The three of them turned to stare at John. John squinted back at them, questions zipping around in his mind. He was having trouble thinking and no answers came were coming. Did Chiana’s visions always come true? Was this truly a vision or was she just worried? Could she be seeing Aeryn and the other him when the other him was dying?

None of his friends seemed to have the answers either. They just stared at him, eyes narrowed in sympathy as if they believed Chiana.

“Hey, Pip,” he said, his voice raspy.

“Hey, old man.” She stooped next to him and rested a hand on his chest.

“One question. How often have your visions not come true?”

“Well … never. Except for the time I said Aeryn had to talk to the Bocreel…” Chiana glanced around. “Hey, where is Aeryn anyway?”

John squeezed his eyes shut and let his head fall against the wall. No, no, no, no, he was not going to die. He was too young. He had too much to do. He had to kill Scorpy and save the universe from wormholes. He had to go home again so he could see Dad and Jenny and Pam and DK. He had to have pizza and watch Monday Night Football and go fishing on Swallow Lake. He had to kiss Aeryn one more time and wrap his fingers in her hair and feel her breath on his cheek.

“Have faith,” whispered Harvey. “I’m smarter than them.”

John wanted to punch him.

***

Aeryn shoved her rifle in the Bocreel’s face, pressing it into the side of his furry snout. “Tell me what you did to me.”

“I do nothing,” said the Bocreel calmly.

“Do not lie. There was something in that drink which is making me talk. What is it?”

“If you not remove pistol, you die.” The Bocreel’s eyes flickered toward the wall. Aeryn glanced around. Pulse blasters jutted out of the light fixtures, and they were trained on her. She had no doubt that she would be dead the microt she moved her index finger. For a moment, she thought killing this creature might be worth the risk, but she knew that was foolishness. So she brought up her rifle, and the pulse blasters retreated.

“Your turn to talk,” said Aeryn, sitting down. “So talk.”

The Bocreel spread his hands on the table as if to show her he’d meant no harm. “Goolaw is drink of negotiation. It mean ‘without deception.’”

Suddenly Aeryn remembered. D’Argo had called it truth serum and had laughed at how it had made John babble, implying that he’d thought nothing could make John talk more than he already did. Just as it was making Aeryn talk now.

“Well, the time for negotiating is over,” she said. “And if you don’t like that, too bad. Right now, I care nothing for your frelling chip. Crichton is ill, and we thought you might have medicine that could help him.”

“Perhaps, perhaps,” said the Bocreel. “I sell many things. What he need?”

“He has something called …” Aeryn had to think for a microt before the name came to her. “… cerbal. It’s an Interon disease of the nervous system.”

“It possible I have something,” he said. Then he leaned back and flicked a drop of goolaw from his fur. “Tell about wormholes first.”

Aeryn resisted the urge to start babbling everything she knew. She pressed her lips together, and the moment passed. “Right. And then you kill me.”

“I only kill peace keepers and those who deceive me. Goolaw make good insurance.”

Aeryn hesitated. “You kill peace keepers? I thought they were your best customer.”

The Bocreel didn’t respond. “Wormholes,” he repeated. “Or maybe Crichton not need medicine so bad.”

Aeryn rubbed her lips. They were already starting to form the words that he wanted to hear. “Before I talk, I need you to make a vow.”

As the Bocreel started to shake his head, Aeryn leaned forward. She almost grabbed the fur near his throat, but remembered not to just in time. “You’re going to vow not to kill us because of what I’m about to tell you. And you’ll let us leave without harm, ALL of us, especially Crichton. If you don’t, then I walk out that door now.”

The Bocreel stared at her for a moment. Then he touched his heart with his left paw. “By Yano, I so vow.”

How do you read the sincerity of a Bocreel? Aeryn wondered. Who the frell was Yano? She sat back and gripped her rifle, glancing at the doorway, wishing once more Rygel was here and wondering if the Bocreel actually had the medicine or not. Finally, she decided that she had little choice but to take this chance. John seemed to trust him, though she wasn’t sure whether that was good or bad.

Finally, she sighed and let the goolaw take over. “The first time I saw a wormhole,” she began, “Crichton and I were in in module, orbiting Dam Ba Da.” She then went on to describe John’s first experiments with solar flares and how Furlow had gotten her hands on the data.

From there, she told him about the Ancients and the false Earth, everything she’d ever known about wormholes. She was like an airlock losing pressure in space. Words poured from her about Scorpius, Furlow, Jack and Neeyala’s people. She told him how John had been split and how her John had had the wormhole knowledge unlocked in his brain. She told him how he had become fatally contaminated with radiation and how he’d touched the sun and destroyed the Scarren dreadnought. She told him how honorably he’d died. Then she told him about the other John, the one lying outside right now, the one that was not hers, and how he had the same knowledge locked inside his brain only he couldn’t access it.

“Scorpius should not have this power. No one should. So we are going to destroy it. Somehow. That is why we need the chip.”

Aeryn stopped and hunched over, breathing hard. Her throat hurt and her lips were parched. Tears ran down her face and across her neck, dampening the front of her shirt. She hadn’t told it all like this before. She hadn’t told anyone about John’s death, leaving Crais and Rygel to fill the others in. To speak of it again was the second hardest thing she’d ever done. The first had been to close his eyes after he’d died.

Aeryn fought to bring her emotions under control, but she seemed to have lost the ability. Her chest hurt so much that she pressed a hand to it and just cried. The Bocreel watched silently.

***

Part 10

After several hundred microts or half an arn or a monen, Aeryn stopped crying. She’d lost all track of time. The Bocreel passed her a square of cloth, which she used to wipe her face and blow her nose. The pressure in her chest had lessened, and she was glad of that.

“That’s all I know,” she said finally, meeting his eyes as if it were normal for a soldier to break down in the middle of negotiations. She would certainly not apologize for it.

“That is enough.” The Bocreel pulled out another bottle; this one was filled with clear liquid. “Negotiations over. For peace keeper, you answer questions honorably.”

“I’m not a peace keeper,” said Aeryn.

The Bocreel chuckled. He set the glasses on the table and filled them. “I give you chip now. Triple price. We drink to seal it.”

They each took a glass and swallowed the drink. It burned Aeryn’s throat as before but with an icy aftertaste.

“Why did you decide to sell it to us?” she asked.

“Before, I afraid you want to help peace keepers. Now I know you do not.”

Aeryn frowned. “But you help them. You sell them arms. You deal with them all the time.”

The Bocreel didn’t answer. He reached in a drawer and pulled out the chip, which he tossed in her direction. Then he took the bag of currency and set it on a scanner. After the total was calculated, he opened the bag and counted out a few dozen ingots and slid them toward Aeryn. She dumped them in her pocket along with the chip.

“About the medicine,” she said.

The Bocreel sat back and ran his claws back and forth against one fang. “Crichton very sick, no?”

“Yes.”

“He could die?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“What?”

The Bocreel shrugged. “If wormhole knowledge so dangerous, it better he die. Then, wormhole knowledge die with him. Everybody safe.”

“No.” Aeryn shook her head. “You’re wrong. It’s not better if he dies. Furlow still has the wormhole knowledge and she’s very much alive. Plus, John will help us stop Scorpius.”

Her fingers twitched on her rifle, and she forced herself to remain calm. Now was the time to focus. Aeryn took a deep breath as bits of information about the Bocreel began to make sense.

“You know what I think?” she said. “I think you don’t help the peace keepers at all. I think the weapons you sell them are defective. Not defective enough to fail their scans, of course. And not ALL weapons because that would make people suspicious. But enough fail at crucial moments so that peace keepers lose their lives or, even worse, their ships. And since the weapons are bought illegally, no one will dare complain to high command. Nor to each other. Which means you keep your business going.”

The Bocreel tilted his head and stared, one paw frozen over the currency in the process of putting it away.

“I am right, am I not? That would explain the goolaw and why you were so interested in my past, in Crais’s past. It would explain why you are selling us the chip now. And why you don’t mind killing peace keepers.”

When the Bocreel didn’t answer, Aeryn continued, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice. “All we want to do is stop Scorpius, and keep wormhole technology out of his hands. Out of peace keeper hands. We can’t do that without John.”

The Bocreel slid his currency into a drawer. Then he just looked at her.

***

Harvey loomed over John, repeatedly slapping John’s cheeks. “If you had listened to me sooner, we would not be in this predicament. Oh, of all the hosts in which to be confined, Scorpius had to choose one who does not know how to take care of himself.” He made a quick exhalation of disgust.

“Shut … the … frell … up.” John grabbed Harvey’s hand before he could slap him again.

“Ah, that’s better.” Harvey sat back on his heels.

“This is it, isn’t it? I’m really dying. Chiana was right.” John glanced around. He and Harvey were in the alley across from the tavern. They were alone. “And I’m dying with YOU? No frelling way. I refuse to die with a freak. I want to be around my friends.”

Harvey rolled his eyes. “So dramatic. There is still a chance you may live.”

“Yeah? How’s that?”

“Aeryn Sun will carry out my plan in getting you the medication from the Bocreel.” Harvey shook his head. “Let’s just hope she can convince him to do so. You are much more adept at the subtlety of negotiation, and with my knowledge at your disposal, well, the outcome was guaranteed.”

John rubbed he eyes. Even in his dream landscape, he felt weaker than he ever had before. “I trust Aeryn.”

“It’s not a matter of trust, it’s a matter of skill.” Harvey glanced back at the doorway of the tavern. “She should have finished her task by now. Unless her feelings for you aren’t as strong as they were for the other Crichton. In which case, we may end up …”

“What?”

“Shh.” Harvey waved a hand in front of John’s face. “I hear something. Yes, Officer Sun has returned. I will attempt to –“

John opened his eyes.

He blinked and squinted in the light. Harvey was gone, replaced by Jool, who was leaning over him. She held the scanner over his chest. “He’s waking up,” she said, her brow furrowed. “His vital signs are stable, but we should get him back on Moya right away.”

“Right,” said Aeryn. She was standing next to D’Argo and Chiana, pulse rifle clenched against her body. She seemed so tense John thought she might shatter at any moment. When she glanced down, her eyes shone bright with unshed tears.

John’s heart started pounding as he thought about Chiana’s vision. Aeryn took Jool’s place beside him, kneeling.

“Hey,” he whispered.

She set her rifle on the ground. “I got the medicine from the Bocreel. Jool injected it just now.”

“And that’s good, right?”

She nodded. Then her face screwed up as if she were trying not to cry, and she placed a hand over her mouth.

D’Argo stooped on John’s other side and patted John’s arm. “The medicine is not designed specifically for what you have. Apparently, it is some experimental stuff the peace keepers have been working on. It’s supposed to cure a lot of different diseases. Jool believes humans are close enough to Sebaceans for it to work.”

John nodded. He released a breath and drew another, squeezing his eyes shut. So he wasn’t out of the woods yet, but it was the best news he’d had since he’d gotten this frelling cold. Relief made him lightheaded.

He had an urge to grab Aeryn and hug her till his arms hurt. Instead, he watched her brush at her eyes, wondering if she was crying because of him or her memory of the other guy.

Chiana poked her head between D’Argo and Aeryn’s. “I’m going to bring the pod closer, so D’Argo doesn’t have to lug you through town. You’re going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” said John. “I hate being carried.”

“Good.” Chiana smiled and ducked from view. Then D’Argo got up to talk quietly with Jool, leaving John and Aeryn against the wall.

“How do you feel?” said Aeryn.

John took stock of his body. He’d been ill for so long that it’d begun feeling normal. Fever, lights bothering his eyes, so weak he couldn’t imagine doing something as small as pushing aside Aeryn’s coat, headache. “I’m fine.”

Aeryn shook her head. “No more lies. How do you feel?”

John sighed. “I feel like crap.”

She nodded and shifted until she sat next to him. Then she put her arm around his shoulders. “I hate you,” she said, quietly.

John stopped breathing.

“And I love you.”

He started breathing again, but it was harder than before because his throat had suddenly closed up. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“So am I.”

John let his head fall against Aeryn’s arm. When he felt tears slide down his face and onto her shirt, he didn’t try to stop them, even when Aeryn brought her other arm around to rest it on the side of his head, even when she began stroking his hair, even when he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, she was thinking about him right now and not the other guy.

The last thing John remembered was Chiana comming to say that the pod was ready.

***

When they got back on Moya, Aeryn made sure John was settled in Zahn’s lab. She helped Jool remove his clothes and set up the monitoring equipment. She watched Jool pronounce him “improved” after scrutinizing a drop of blood in one of her instruments. And she helped Jool tidy up the lab from John’s hasty retreat earlier that morning.

Finally, when there was nothing left to do, Aeryn gathered up her coat and weapons, glanced at John’s peaceful face one last time, and headed to her quarters. Her mission was over. Time to get back to her routine and start figuring out how to get on Scorpius’s command carrier. Time to take a look at the chip.

Her resolve lasted almost three days. The first day, she managed to carry on as before, eating alone except for dinner. Working on the weapons in her quarters. Going on scheduled rounds even if they now included a special trip past Zahn’s lab. On the second day, she met with Crais and D’Argo to begin deciphering the data on the chip, which meant that she had to eat with them and the rest of the crew, which meant that she couldn’t do rounds. Well, except for the bit that took her past Zahn’s lab. On the third day, she decided to do rounds when she awoke instead of later in the day. Then she decided to do them after lunch and again after dinner.

And each time she walked past Zahn’s lab, she paused in the doorway to observe John, making sure he was healing properly, eating what Chiana brought, not talking to D’Argo too long. Usually no one noticed, but once, when John was sipping some broth, he saw her in the shadows beyond the grate, a question forming in his eyes. But since Aeryn didn’t know what to say, she just turned and walked away, surprised at the feeling of loss that accompanied her movement.

By day four, Aeryn stopped trying to pretend that she had any routine at all. She marched into Zahn’s lab – only to find John almost fully dressed, trying to pull a shirt over his head.

“We have to talk,” she said.

John glanced up in surprise. “Yeah.” He spun the shirt around, trying to find the front. Then he dropped his arms, panting.

Aeryn grabbed the shirt, turned it right-side out and held it as he slipped his arms through the sleeves. He pulled it the rest of the way on. “Thanks.” Then he sat on the bed. Pale and weak. Much too thin.

Aeryn sat next to him. She set her hands in her lap and stared at them, trying to figure out what to say, feeling John’s eyes on her face. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

“A lot better. My fever is gone. I was just going to head to the center chamber. If I have to spend another day looking at these walls, I’m gonna go stir crazy.”

“We’ve been looking at the chip.”

“So I heard. D’Argo told me it has access codes and a map of the command carrier and shielding and other things. It sounds like a gold mine. You did a great job getting it from the Bocreel. How’d you do it?”

Aeryn shrugged. “It turns out the Bocreel is no friend of peace keepers.” Her mouth quirked up at the corner. “And he liked you. In the end, that’s why he gave me the medicine.”

“’Cause he liked me?” Out of the corner of her eye, Aeryn could see him frowning. “Huh, who would’ve figured.”

“Exactly.”

John snorted softly.

Aeryn wove her fingers together. “That’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

“I didn’t think so.”

Aeryn hadn’t planned this talk, hadn’t made a list. She just knew