* * *

For almost a quarter of an arn, he'd managed not to crash into anything, and he'd only been killed three or four times. Not bad, really, by Crichton standards.

He had actually come quite a long way with defensive maneuvers, so Aeryn had decided to step him up to full combat training. It was unlikely they would ever acquire a second starfighter, and even less likely she would trust him to fly hers in battle, but understanding the hunter's perspective firsthand might just improve his chances as prey. They'd managed to get hold of a set of outdated training lasers on one of the commerce planets, and fitted them to John's module. Aeryn had even been so gracious as to allow him to fly her Prowler; she knew he'd need all the help he could get.

Their first dogfight had lasted all of five microts, of course.

But slowly70;excruciatingly slowly, like most things with Crichton70;he'd improved. He'd learned to survive for longer and longer periods. He'd even managed to take her out a couple of times. Twice, in a hundred combats, and flying a vastly superior fighter; it was still enough to make Aeryn Sun wonder if she might be getting rusty.

Not that she'd ever admit that to John, of course. And not that it was worth worrying about today. They'd been training above a small moon, and he had been doing all right for a little while70;until he spotted that damned ditch. A long, sentient-made trench, perfectly straight; probably carved into the moon by a mining survey team.

And Crichton, for some reason, had found it absolutely fascinating. Mumbling something about a deceased star, he'd insisted on diving down and flying along it. Aeryn, bewildered, had nevertheless followed, humoring him.

After nearly ten microns it was growing tiresome, however. She had 'vaporized' him at least six times, mostly out of boredom, but still he refused to get back to work, and he'd stopped answering his comm.

Then both their comms began blinking red.

"Officer Sun, Commander Crichton70;you must return to Moya immediately."

Even for Pilot, there seemed an unusual amount of panic in his voice.

"On our way," Aeryn responded instantly, pulling the Farscape One smoothly up and out of the trench, and swinging her back round towards the ship. "What's wrong? Have we been spotted by a Peacekeeper patrol?"

"We have not, Officer Sun, but I fear that Moya70;may only have one hundred arns to live."

* * *

One arn later, Moya's crew gathered in command, most of them still unaware of the problem. Pilot had only felt comfortable explaining Moya's difficulty directly to John and Aeryn, and had asked them to pass the information on to their shipmates.

They were the last to enter, side by side, shoulders almost but not quite touching, and D'Argo had little trouble reading their expressions. "Something's wrong."

"Yeah, something's very wrong," John confirmed quietly. "Moya's70;caught the flu. And it's killing her. And Pilot."

Chiana turned her head to one side. "The flu?"

"She's very ill," translated Aeryn. "Her amnexus fluids have become contaminated, and without an antidote, in less than one hundred arns she will be beyond hope. Pilot says we are within range of a commerce planet, though-"

"Good70;with any luck, we should be able to make new transport arrangements from there," broke in Rygel. "So the only question that remains is whether or not we should put Moya out of her misery when we arrive."

"She's not the family dog, Buckwheat!" snapped John.

"No, that's a position we reserve for you, your lowness," Aeryn added coldly. "When we're feeling charitable."

Rygel shook his diminutive head. "I believe you both misunderstand me. While it should not be said that I am a Dominar blind to compassion, what I meant was70;we will have little to barter for our passage back offworld. Two options do present themselves, however: we could attempt to disguise Moya's illness and trade her in as a functional starship; or else we could sell her remains for medical study. There are those who would pay dearly for the chance to dissect a Leviathan70;"

At that point, it was all John could do to hold Aeryn back, and keep her from ripping the Hynerian from his thronesled70;if not his spine from his body.

Unsurprisingly, it was Zhaan who provided the voice of reason. "Aeryn said Moya will die 'without an antidote'; that implies that such an antidote exists, does it not?"

"Yes, yes there is!" John said quickly. "That's what Pilot is hoping we'll find on the commerce planet. He says we can create one from ground up70;drezzin crystals, something like that?"

Zhaan nodded, but grimly. "I've heard of them, but they are exceedingly rare70;"

"And valuable," added Rygel. "You may just have to consider my suggestion after all."

"Never," Aeryn swore. "We'll get those crystals. We'll find a way."

"Right," agreed Chiana. "We'll snurch 'em if we have to!"

D'Argo growled softly at that last suggestion, and John did have to wonder70;was Chi's enthusiasm born of loyalty to Moya? Or did she just find the thought of a diamond70;er, drezzin heist exciting?

* * *

Roughly fifteen arns later, Moya was in orbit of the commerce planet. Zhaan had remained aboard with Pilot, searching in vain for another way to remedy or at least slow down Moya's condition. The rest of her crew, meanwhile, gathered beside a fountain in a crowded square. They'd already been searching for quite a while.

"Any luck?" John asked the others.

D'Argo shared a glance with Chiana, and then shrugged. "We've located a merchant selling the crystals, but they're definitely outside our price range. Way outside."

"He's a little too smart for our own good, too," Chiana pouted. "Won't even take them out of the showcase for us until he sees some form of payment."

"Well, Aeryn and I haven't found *anything*," replied John. "Why am I getting the feeling that this merchant of yours has the only crystals on the planet?"

D'Argo grimaced. "He did suggest as much."

"Bah!" Rygel scoffed. "Of course he did. Doesn't mean it's true. Maybe he's the only one selling them *legally*, but70;"

"But have you located another source?" asked Aeryn. Rygel hesitated, then shook his head.

"Then we need to keep looking," John said. "And not just for the crystals. Maybe we should start considering other ways to make some cash. Or whatever it is this merchant will be interested in." Everyone nodded. "We'll meet back at the transport pod in another six arns."

* * *

After another four arns, John had to admit he was getting bored. They'd been all over the place, it seemed, and found exactly zip. Zilch. Nada. To make matters worse, he'd been stuck in the Uncharted Territories for nearly two cycles now, and he *still* didn't know enough about interplanetary economics to do much besides follow Aeryn around. Not that he ever minded chasing after her, of course, but the atmosphere was all wrong.

So, while Aeryn argued with another trader, John began to wander. He noticed a bunch of what he assumed were children, gathered around a holographic projector of some kind on the other side of the street, and decided to take a look for himself, see what they found so exciting.

"Oh my gosh70;" he murmured as he got closer, breaking into a grin. "It's *Star Wars*!"

The holo showed a handful of starfighters in a vicious free-for-all; lasers were blasting away, and every few microts a glowing orange cloud appeared where a ship had been.

"Think yourself a pilot?" a deep, pre-recorded voice was saying. "Then prove it. Enter the Eighth Cyclical Rensarik Starfighter Challenge, brought to you by KedraCo. One pilot will know glory beyond imagining70;not to mention substantial wealth. And *all* will know who's truly the best." There was a brief pause; when the voice spoke again, John could hear the smirk, and he knew he didn't like it. "All who survive, that is."

"John?" Aeryn called suddenly, glancing over her shoulder. And then, louder, "Crichton?!"

Then she spotted him, surrounded by the children. He saw her mouth the words, "I'm going to kill him."

"Uh-oh70;" he muttered, wincing and tugging at one ear as she stalked across the street.

"John," she nearly growled. "We don't have time to70;"

"I know, I know. I'm sorry," Crichton apologized guiltily. "I just70;Aeryn?"

She'd stopped listening, and he resisted an urge to wave his hand in front of her eyes. Her attention was riveted on the holo.

Slowly, a faint smile appeared on Aeryn's face. Proud; triumphant, in a 'eureka!' kind of way; and it scared him.

"Actually, John70;perhaps I owe you the apology. You may have found exactly what we need."

John's eyes widened, and he looked from Aeryn, to the holo-just as three more ships exploded-and back again.

"You can't be serious!" he exclaimed, though he knew that she was. Had known it even before she spoke. "You're not gonna enter that70;demolition derby!"

"What other choice do we have, John?" she answered calmly. "What other chance does Moya have? I can do this. I'm a good pilot." She was staring straight at him now, her eyes an electric blue. Had he ever managed to resist that look?

"You're the best," he agreed quietly.

Her smile seemed to soften at the compliment, ever so slightly; but it was probably just his imagination. All she said was, "That's what they're looking for."

John sighed. "Fine. Okay. We'll check it out."

"There's a comm channel listed here. We can contact these people from Moya."

"All right. But if any of the others found something better70;if there's any other way70;"

Now it was Aeryn's turn to sigh. "I know, Crichton. I don't have a death wish. But I'm confident I can win this, and I doubt we'll find a better option."

* * *

She was right, of course. Neither D'Argo, Chiana, nor Rygel had come up with anything, let alone anything better. So the crew gathered once again in Command, and Aeryn contacted the contest administrators.

The humanoid that appeared in the viewscreen wore a bronze skullcap and matching robes, contrasting silver skin. His catlike eyes glowed golden70;as did his teeth when he smiled, too quickly. Everything about him screamed70;well, three possibilities came to John Crichton's mind. Politician, lawyer, or used-car salesman.

"Rensarik Starfighter Challenge Coordinator. How might I help you?"

Aeryn stepped up, front and center. "We're interested in more information about your contest. The precise rules, prizes offered and so on."

"Well, the specific details can be transferred directly to your ship's computer. How many of you are considering participation?" replied the coordinator. His gaze flicked from being to being with sly curiosity.

"Only myself," Aeryn answered simply; and the coordinator smiled. It was a genuine smile this time, which worried Crichton all the more.

"Excellent! You're Sebacean, are you not?" asked the coordinator. "A Peacekeeper?"

"Sebacean, yes. No longer a Peacekeeper."

"But you were at one time? And perhaps served in their flight corps?" Aeryn nodded, and the coordinator said again, "Excellent. We've heard quite a lot of70;good things about your pilots. Our people will be most excited to see one in action. Do you have your own fighter?"

"A Prowler, yes."

"Even better!"

"What about the entrance fee?" John piped up. He didn't like this guy. There had to be a catch somewhere, if he could just ask the right question.

But the coordinator waved the question away. "There isn't one. The contest's profits will come entirely from ticket sales, and the holo-broadcast."

"And the prize?" Rygel asked, eyes gleaming; he probably couldn't help it.

"The victorious pilot will receive a70;considerable sum, in the form of his-or her-choosing. Rensarik credits, precious metals, gemstones70;a lifetime supply of LaKey Char'emms70;"

"Gemstones?" Aeryn interrupted. "Drezzin crystals, for instance?"

"I do believe70;" replied the coordinator, scanning a computer terminal beside him. "Yes, that is one of the options available."

"We'll still need to look over your information70;" Aeryn answered slowly, and carefully, "But you may just have yourself another contestant."

* * *

The next solar day, Moya's crew sat in a bar on the orbital station from which the contest would launch. (Except for poor Zhaan, who never seemed to have any fun.) Aeryn's Prowler was down in the station maintenance bay, undergoing a mandatory inspection. And John Crichton was still far from happy.

"That silver guy was just a little too excited about getting a Peacekeeper to enter this contest," he argued. "There's something he's not telling us."

Chiana shrugged. "There's always *something* people aren't telling us."

"And especially not telling you, Crichton," Rygel added acidly. "You'd think you would've gotten used to it by now."

"I really don't see why you're so worried, John," cut in D'Argo. "The contest is tomorrow, and so far there are, what, ten pilots registered? We know Aeryn's good, and those really aren't bad odds."

John boggled. "In a free-for-all, every-man-for-himself, battle to the death?!?"

"It's not strictly to the death, John," Aeryn quietly corrected him. "If your fighter is disabled, ejection is within the rules."

"Oh, riiiiiiiiight. Aeryn Sun, Miss Klingon, Miss 'Today is a Good Day to Die!' is gonna know when to quit, when to punch out and accept defeat? Sure she is."

It wasn't that John didn't notice Aeryn's jaw setting like stone, or her nostrils flaring like a dragon on the verge of breathing fire, or even the odd shine to her eyes. Nor did he miss Chiana's wince as Aeryn shot from her seat and stalked silently towards the bar.

And he did hear the Nebari murmur, "Don't do this to her, John. Go after her."

But John was far too angry right now to think of anyone but himself. In a perverse way, he was almost enjoying his rant. Which he directed now towards D'Argo, expecting his Luxan friend--every bit as protective of Chiana as John was of Aeryn, if not more so--to be a sympathetic audience.

"Have you *looked* at the history of this contest? In eight cycles, seventy-one pilots have been killed, out of eighty-three competing. That's an eighty-five percent casualty rate! If ten pilots fly this year, eight and a half will die!"

Rygel grunted. "Crichton, would you be so kind as to enlighten us70;how does one kill half of a pilot?"

"Shut up, Guido," John snapped; or rather, he'd snapped several microns ago. "You know what I mean. And you know what else? Not all of those pilots were killed by other fighters. They fly this thing in a floating scrapyard, right? A starship cemetery? Well, it looks like some of those 'dead' ships have a history of spontaneously combusting during the contest70;"

"John, you really should70;" Chiana tried again.

This time it was D'Argo who drowned her out. "Actually, John, I *did* look through that information. And I also noticed that they jam all communications during the contest. Which means any traps laid in the field can't be activated by remote, only by proximity."

"Oh, of course!" John replied caustically. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"Aeryn is not stupid, John! She'll watch the other fighters, she'll avoid the spots they-"

"Come off it, D'Argo! We both know, in battle it's not that easy! Aeryn's the best, but that doesn't mean she's-"

At that moment a loud thump accomplished what Chiana had been unable to; John finally shut up and spun around70;and swore. Aeryn had been shoved up against the wall by a stocky brute with leathery brown skin and a crown of dirty yellow horns, wearing a dark flightsuit. The entire bar had grown silent, but no one moved.

"You think you're good enough to beat a Black Hole, Peacekeeper?" he growled. "Show us all how worthless we are?"

Aeryn struggled in vain to pull his hand from her throat; he raised the other fist70;

"Yo, Bart Simpson!" shouted John, leaping to his feet. "Leave her alone!"

The slime didn't let Aeryn go or lower that fist, but he turned, and chuckled. "Ooh, another Peacekeeper! Two for the price of one!"

Then Aeryn kicked him somewhere below the waist, and all hezmana broke loose.

Aeryn's assailant dropped her, just as a second flightsuited brute charged John from the right. John jumped out of the way, right up onto the nearest table, but landed just a little too far forward; the table began to tip. John dove, and by great skill, luck, or instinct--even he would never be sure--landed in a roll which carried him right into the legs of the first brute, who toppled.

John hopped up again and ran to Aeryn, who held one hand in a classic karate block, even as the other rubbed at her sore throat. "You okay?"

Aeryn nodded, and John whirled back around, looking for their friends. By this time, of course, everything was chaos. Once two patrons in a bar begin a fight, the rest fall in like dominoes, hoping to bleed out--of someone else--all the petty stresses and troubles they'd been attempting to drown.

Then Aeryn grabbed John's shoulder, pointing back towards what had been their table. "Look, there they are." Rygel, surprise surprise, was hovering carefully above the fight in his throne sled. D'Argo's tentacles were flying; he and the second brute each had their fists around the other's throat and were spinning round and round in a twisted dance. John saw Chiana try to clobber D'Argo's opponent from behind70;then let out a yowl, shaking her bruised hand.

No longer needing to talk, or even to think, John and Aeryn started wading through the melee towards their shipmates, back to back, moving sideways; right over the top, in fact, of the scum that had started the whole mess. John felt a curious calm settle over him; perhaps he was finally developing a battle instinct, or perhaps Aeryn was somehow managing to lend him hers just by standing beside him. Whatever it was, though, it was really working tonight. Every punch, every kick, every drunk that came at Crichton, he managed to block, dodge or redirect. In a matter of moments, he and Aeryn had worked their way back to the others70;just as Chiana clobbered her boyfriend's adversary again, this time with a bottle of frellip nectar. The brute groaned and released D'Argo, reeling away70;right into a Pantak Jab from Aeryn. He went down for the count.

Which left them with one rather obvious problem.

"We need to get out of here70;" muttered John. The doors were still halfway across the room, and the mob in between was thick, and violent. To make matters worse, three more horned thugs in black flightsuits were trying to push through the crowd from that direction.

"First sensible thing you've said all night!" Rygel called down from his hovering throne. "In fact70;what am I waiting for?"

He stabbed a control and began to drift away70;but not before Crichton managed to leap up and catch hold of the bottom of his thronesled.

"What do you think you're doing, you, you70;*human*!" screeched Rygel.

"Just go, Sparky, go!"

Rygel didn't need to be told twice; he zoomed straight over the heads of the mob and out the door; he wouldn't even have stopped when Crichton dropped down in the hallway outside, if John hadn't pulled his pulse pistol. "You wouldn't!"

"Try me, Buckwheat. You can go back for the others, or I can send the thronesled back empty."

"You still wouldn't! I know you, Crichton, it's not in your nature!"

John sighed, and holstered the gun. "No, you're right. That was just to get your attention. But you're still going back."

"And why is that?"

"For the same reason you didn't just shoot out of there alone in the first place. We've locked you out of the transport pod controls, you're not sure you can hotwire it70;and you *really* don't want be stuck here."

Grumbling, but knowing when he was beaten, Rygel went back for the others.

* * *

The next solar day, John woke, expecting to feel battered and bruised. But he didn't. His guardian angels must have been working overtime, because somehow he'd survived one humdinger of a barroom brawl without a mark.

It was only too bad that his conscience hadn't been working overtime as well; Aeryn might never have been attacked if he hadn't been acting like a jerk, and he hadn't even gotten around to apologizing afterwards.

Well, no time like the present70;

* * *

He found her in Pilot's chamber. She glanced up as he entered, and nodded slightly, but he couldn't quite tell if that was supposed to be a subtle grin or just a glare.

Well, either way70; "Look, Aeryn70;about what I said last night, in the bar70;"

"It's not important, John."

"Aeryn, all I'm trying to say is-"

"Don't, just forget it."

What was it with her today? Or any day, for that matter? He couldn't even apologize without70;

A polite, "Commander Crichton?" from Pilot broke into his thoughts.

John sighed, trying to expel his frustration and welcoming the distraction. "Yeah, sorry70;and good morning, Pilot. How are you and Moya holding up?"

"We are70;uncomfortable, but the symptoms of the virus are not yet severe. Thank you for your concern."

"Of course."

"I've set up an interface between Moya's database and the public information system of the orbital station," Pilot went on to explain. "I was just telling Officer Sun what I've managed to learn about the miscreants who attacked you last night. It appears they were members of a small group of mercenaries called the 'Black Holes'. They arrived in this system approximately five cycles ago, after their homeworld came under Peacekeeper control."

John nodded slowly. "So that's what this is about70;"

"Not quite," Aeryn countered, crossing her arms. "This isn't just another group of annoyed refugees from an occupied system. They're a fighter squadron, and their world's entire space fleet was disbanded when the Peacekeepers came in."

"In other words70;these guys are pissed off because your people moved in, and they got downsized. And that would also explain why that coordinator was so eager for you to fly in his contest. These Eema Holes are entering, aren't they?"

"Three of them are registered, yes," Pilot confirmed.

"And the public just loves a grudge match70;too bad we're not gonna give them one."

Aeryn raised one eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, come *on*, Aeryn! You know those bastards will all be gunning for you, and using every dirty trick in the book! You have to withdraw!"

"What I *have* to do, John, is save Moya. I'm a good pilot. Better than good. I'll be fine."

"You're good, you're not invincible!" Crichton turned, almost pleading, to Pilot. "Pilot, tell her I'm right! That we can find another way to help Moya, that this isn't70;"

"Excuse me, Commander," Pilot cut in, "But I am receiving a transmission. A merchant named Turella70;she wishes to meet with Officer Sun, on a matter which she claims could be of 'benefit to everyone'."

"Is that all she says?" Aeryn asked dubiously.

"She also says she is very busy and can say no more at this point. She's transmitted a time70;one arn from now70;and a meeting place, an office over on the station, but that is all."

"I suppose it's at least worth finding out what she wants," Aeryn decided. "I'll go."

She had checked over the information on Pilot's console and was halfway to the door before John could say, "I'm coming with you."

Aeryn paused, but didn't turn around. "The last thing I need right now is another argument."

"No, what you *need*, if you're heading back over to that station, is someone to watch your back."

Only then did she turn to face him, her grey eyes gleaming coldly from the shadows. "And you promise to keep your mouth shut?"

John hesitated, but only for a moment.

* * *

A little over an arn later, a secretary directed Aeryn and her 'bodyguard' into a small, sparsely (but expensively) furnished office.

"Good day," said the merchant, waving them both towards seats. She was of the same silver-skinned, golden-eyed species as the contest coordinator, but paler, and more willowy--almost ethereal--and her robes and hood were of purest white. "I am Turella, Chief Officiate of RelCorp."

Aeryn nodded, more or less politely. "I am Aeryn Sun. This is John Crichton. My, um70;friend."

"I understand you were at one time an officer in the Peacekeeper Prowler corps?" Aeryn nodded again, and Turella turned, beaming, to John. "And what rank did you hold?"

"Well70;I was a commander, but I wasn't70;"

"Splendid!" the merchant rolled on, looking back to Aeryn, and Crichton decided it wasn't worth the effort to correct her. "But only one of you will be flying in the contest?"

"Yes."

"It's a pity, but I'm certain we can still come to quite a profitable arrangement."

John's eyes narrowed. "Just what sort of 'arrangement' are you talking about?"

"The three Black Hole contestants are favored to win, as I'm sure you're already aware," explained Turella; though of course they didn't. "The only real question is which of the three it will be. Now that Officer Sun is involved, however70;well, even a Peacekeeper's reputation isn't quite that formidable, given these odds, but the public does love an underdog. Which is why RelCorp wants you to fly with our full support70;"

All of a sudden it clicked, and John couldn't help but grin. "Wait, hang on a minute here70;you're offering Aeryn a corporate sponsorship? Will she get her face on the Wheaties box, too?" Turella, of course, just gaped at him.

Aeryn shot John what could only be described as The Look. "What is it this agreement would entail?"

"You would allow us to be listed as your official patron, and use that in our advertising. In exchange, if you survive the contest70;" *If* Aeryn survived; what a wonderful way to put it. "70;our company will pay you quite a nice fee. And a nicer one still, should you prove the victor. We are even willing to provide you with one of our own fighters."

"There's no need," Aeryn replied curtly. "I have my Prowler."

"Ah, but ours are top of the line, the very finest that70;"

"I said there's no need."

"Aeryn, it's at least worth taking a look at right?" She shot him The Look, Phase Two, but he pressed on. "It can't really hurt, can it?"

"All right, fine," Aeryn agreed, most likely just to shut him up. Despite the exasperation in the former Peacekeeper's voice, Turella smiled broadly.

* * *

Her smile gradually faded as Aeryn inspected the ship, down in the station hanger.

To Crichton's eye, the RelCorp fighter was quite impressive. Turella called it a StarDragon, and it did bear some resemblance to that mythical beast. The main fuselage was more or less cylindrical, but the front and rear thirds gradually narrowed to points, suggesting a head (where the end was capped by a bulbous sensor package) and tail. Broad wings curved downwards from the center, and the dark glass globe of a cockpit sat between them, making it almost look as if the ship bore a rider rather than a pilot. The entire fighter was painted in bright blue, accented with gold, the RelCorp colors. Most importantly, it was nearly twice the size of Aeryn's Prowler, and carried a pair of heavy blast lasers hung under each wing.

But all Aeryn said was, "No. Thank you."

"Are you sure?" Turella pressed. "The Black Holes will be flying StarDragons themselves70;but their models are more than five cycles old."

"I'm sure."

John certainly wasn't. "Will you excuse us for a moment?"

Turella nodded, and John pulled Aeryn around behind the ship. By now she was giving him The Look, Phase Three70;and Phase Four wasn't a look at all; that was, 'straight to Pantak Jab, do not pass go, do not collect $200'.

"Whatever happened to that promise?" she hissed. "About keeping your mouth shut, and letting me handle this?"

"Aeryn70;at least consider her offer!" John nearly pleaded. "That thing is bigger and better armed than your Prowler70;and it sounds like the ones the Eema Holes are flying probably will be too!"

"These StarDragons are clumsy, John. My Prowler is fast, and maneuverable, which will make all the difference."

"No, what will make all the difference is that your Prowler is *distinctive*. Like a red flag in front of three bulls."

"One of these days, Crichton, you're going to get it through that thick skull of yours that when I say no, I mean it."

* * *

Turella was disappointed, but she was still quite determined to make some sort of bargain with Aeryn. In the end, she did, after offering that RelCorp would offer her companions 'consolation' in drezzin crystals, should Aeryn *not* survive the contest.

Whatever happened, Pilot and Moya would be all right70;but somehow, John was less than thrilled.

* * *

When they returned to the ship, Aeryn vanished, and for the rest of that solar day she refused to speak to Crichton. John, for his part, didn't even bother to go looking for her until the next morning70;three arns before the contest was to start. Whether he meant to argue some more, or to apologize for real this time, even he couldn't decide. Pilot refused to tell him where Aeryn was, though, insisting she wanted to be alone, and John found himself returning again and again to the area of the cargo bay where Aeryn worked out.

She was never there, and he knew she probably wouldn't be, that it was far too obvious a retreat70;but John just kept staring at that blood-red leather punching bag, until it became too much. All the anger and frustration he felt over Aeryn's kamikaze plan boiled over, until he was nearly an animal, a creature of pure and violent instinct. He pounded that pillar70;and he waited for it to pound back, because his deepest and darkest rage was reserved for himself. For not finding another way to help Moya. For losing his cool, and failing to make Aeryn see sense. He was supposed to be the thinker in the crew, and the talker. So why hadn't he been able to think or talk their way out of this one?

"Because, John70;" he huffed as he punched, as if it really were himself his was beating the stuffing out of. "When70;it comes70;right70;down to it70;you're *useless*!"

One more punch is all it would have taken for his knuckles to crack, for John to begin to bleed. He might even have enjoyed it. But instead of rough red leather, John's next blow met an open blue palm. That single touch grounded him, drawing away all his energy like a lightning rod. He collapsed to his knees, shuddering, trying to will the tears to stop flowing.

Zhaan knelt before him, silent, waiting for John to feel ready to speak. Instead he tried to stand, to push past her and run, hide in his quarters. "I've gotta go."

But Zhaan placed her hand on his shoulders, her grip gentle, yet firmer than steel. All she said was, "You are concerned for Aeryn."

For a long moment, John just stared at her. When he finally spoke, his voice was bitter. "Yeah, kinda ironic, isn't it? I'm the deficient, you're the priest70;but who's the only one here who gives a damn70;who *ever* gives a damn about anybody else?!"

"That's not fair. And you know it isn't."

"No! What's not fair is that Aeryn's about to crash and burn on Pay-Per-View, and not one of you is even trying to talk her out of it! Not one of you is even bothering to look for a better way!"

"We've looked, John. It appears this is the only way. And perhaps, for Aeryn, this is the best one."

"How the70;" Crichton stammered. "How can you say that?"

"Even I can almost forget at times what she was. She's come a long way. But she *was* a Peacekeeper70;and her skill as a pilot is perhaps all she has left from that life which she can still take pride in. When you consider that70;and the special bond she shares with Pilot, and by extension Moya70;do you really expect anyone can change her mind right now?"

John wouldn't, or maybe couldn't, meet her eyes, but Zhaan just kept staring at him, until at last he muttered, "No."

"Aeryn knows how you feel, John70;but right now, you worrying about her is just one more distraction. What she needs is your support." It took him a microt, but John nodded. "I truly believe she'll be all right, John. The Goddess will watch over her70;and perhaps it's her opponents we should be praying for."

She grinned, impishly, and in the end John had to grin too.

"Thanks70;mom."

* * *

Now that his mind had cleared a bit, Crichton realized what he should have a long time ago--that Aeryn probably wasn't even on Moya anymore. He took the Farscape One over to the orbital station, and sure enough, he found her and her Prowler already waiting in the main hanger, from which the contest would launch. The cockpit was open, and she sat inside, dressed in her full combat flightsuit, just as she had been when they'd first met. Her helmet was in her lap, and she was reaching across it to tap various controls, probably running some sort of pre-flight check. She glanced over as he approached, but immediately went back to whatever she was doing, her frown of concentration deepening to one of irritation.

"Aeryn," he called up, "got a minute?"

"Nope," she answered simply.

"The contest doesn't start for more than two arns. Just give me one minute, that's all I ask."

"I'm not interested in any more arguments, Crichton."

He smiled doing his best to look 'cute', and hoping she'd bother to notice. "How about an apology, then?"

Aeryn didn't look at him, but looked up at the ceiling, took a deep breath, cursed softly, then swung herself over the side of the cockpit. "You'd better make this short, and you'd better make it good."

"Okay70;how does 'I was stupid, and I'm sorry' sound?"

"Like someone who just wants me to stop being mad at him, because it's too late for him to change my mind anyway."

John sighed. Of course she wasn't gonna make this easy.

"Aeryn70;I trust you with my life," he told her softly. "You know that. So I guess70;I should trust you with your own, too. And Pilot's, and Moya's."

"Yes, you should."

"I do. And, hey, what have I got to worry about? Woe to anyone who messes with Aeryn Sun when she's wearing the Battle Ponytail, right?"

At that, finally, she smiled, in that 'the human's dumb, but kinda cute' way. (That's what Crichton had always hoped it meant, anyway.)

John extended his hand. "Good luck," he murmured.

Aeryn took it, nodding silently, and they stood, connected like that, for a long moment. Then Aeryn turned, climbing back into her Prowler.

John turned too, walking slowly from the hanger. Wishing he'd had the nerve to kiss her. And wishing the voice deep inside, telling him that he'd missed his very last chance, would just shut the frell up.

* * *

Two arns later, Aeryn had spoken briefly with the rest of the Moya's crew over the comm, and the Eighth Cyclical Rensarik Starfighter Challenge was about to begin.

One by one, the pilots were given clearance to liftoff; this was done via a set of signal lights in the hanger, since the communications blackout was already in effect. Aeryn was third in the line, and when her turn came up, she glided free of the hanger, circled the station once (as each of the pilots had been instructed, for the sake of the spectators there and planetside), and flew out to her assigned starting position in the scrapyard.

The two pilots who'd launched ahead of Aeryn were both using broad, flat Gonbrian BoomBlades. Directly following her was a needle-shaped Catalina X-26, and after that came the three Black Holes. Each of their StarDragons was painted jet black, with streaks of white spiraling out from the cockpit. Behind them, curiously, there was a Krezli Fireball. As far as Aeryn was aware, only a thousand or so had ever been produced, and less than a hundred survived the first cycle. The ship was a perfect sphere, it's surface covered by alternating maneuvering thrusters, laser cannons70;and holo-cameras, since the pilot, seated in the center, had no physical viewport to look out of. In theory, Fireballs were extremely fast, maneuverable and lethal. In practice, however, they were awkward, unnatural, and just about useless. That pilot would have to be very good, or he'd wind up very dead, very fast. Finally, there came a pair of boxy, sluggish but heavily armed Tingra Vacras; fighters the Prowler corps had referred to as Marauder-pups.

Or not so finally, as it turned out. After the Tingra Vacras, an eleventh starfighter emerged from a secondary hanger. A late entrant, and a familiar one; a top of the line, blue and gold StarDragon. It seemed Turella had found someone else to fly for RelCorp70;and Aeryn felt a ball of ice forming in the pit of her stomach. If Turella's other pilot won, she might attempt some kind of legal dren to back out of her contract with Aeryn. Especially if Aeryn didn't survive to put a pulse rifle to her head afterwards. Perhaps Moya's fate wasn't quite so secure after all.

Then a ceizium flare went up from the center of the field, and the contest was under way. The Fireball shot straight upwards, relative to the plane of the scrapyard, and one of the BoomBlades straight down, both hoping to skirt the edges of the conflict until the odds were a little better. The trio of Black Holes converged on the Tingra Vacras, while the Catalina went head to head with the second Boomblade70;

And the RelCorp StarDragon shot straight towards Aeryn. She ducked underneath the nearest starship husk, then looped back round above, snapping off two quick shots before rolling to starboard and accelerating. The StarDragon evaded smoothly almost before she even fired, and kept right on after her. His own laser blasts scored her port wing70;and did no damage whatsoever.

He'd tapped her with training lasers, which meant he was requesting to fly as her wingman. Although there could only be one victor to the contest, there was nothing to stop pilots from backing each other up during the fight-as the Eema Holes were doing-or even voluntarily ejecting, should the last ships below to the same 'side'.

It could have been a trick, of course, but gut instinct told Aeryn otherwise, and in battle a pilot had no time to listen to anything else. If Turella wished to protect her investment, Aeryn wasn't about to complain70;her assurances to Crichton aside, in a fight like this, she needed all the help, skill and luck she could find.

Side by side, the Prowler and the StarDragon swung about, and dove into the fray. The Catalina was now in pursuit of the fireball, and neither of the Boomblades was anywhere to be seen. One of the Tingra Vacras was already floating dead in space; the thick armor had saved its pilot, but not its engines. Its companion was about to go the same way; the only question was whether or not it would manage to take a Black Hole with it.

Suddenly laser fire was spattering against the underside of her hull. Aeryn immediately banked the Prowler, then dove. The Boomblade-almost certainly the same one that had run at the beginning of the fight-was already dodging away again, between two of the larger wrecks in the field. Aeryn followed, behind, a little above, and angled just slightly to starboard70;in perfect synch with her wingman, who aimed his own nose a little towards port. They hit their accelerators, and then their triggers70;and their fire criss-crossed just behind the Boomblade's cockpit. The pilot had the sense to eject after only a microt; after four more, her fighter was one more ghost in the graveyard.

A microt after that, Aeryn rolled out to starboard, angling a little upwards and inwards, trying to get another quick overview of the battlefield. Once again, her partner moved effortlessly and almost preemptively with her, as if he knew exactly how she was thinking. It was beginning to look like Turella had not only found another pilot, but another pilot with Peacekeeper training70;

But mysteries had as little place in battle as doubt.

The second Tingra Vacras was as dead as the first, and all three Black Holes were eager for new prey. One of them was turning towards the Fireball-who's pilot evidently had some skill after all, since the Catalina was floating dead in space. The other two were circling different ends of the field, but were certain to converge on Aeryn and her wingman, given half a chance.

The RelCorp StarDragon immediately peeled off to port and gunned his engines, obviously meaning to engage-and with any luck destroy-one of the Black Holes before the other got too close. Aeryn should have followed him70;but she didn't.

The third Black Hole had closed with the Fireball, who was zigging and zagging desperately, and firing all the time; but despite the number of lasers mounted on his craft, each were less than half as strong as the standard. In theory, it shouldn't have mattered, since the Fireball was giving roughly three times as good as he was getting right now. What it's pilot had failed to notice, however, was that he was being driven away from center of the scrapyard70;and closer and closer to the edge of the planet below. Fireballs were barely designed for space; if it hit atmosphere, that fighter would break up within microts. Its pilot would never have time to get clear.

Nearly two cycles with Crichton had obviously driven Aeryn fahrbots, because she found herself angry, gunning her engines, and firing wildly, trying to draw the Black Hole's attention away from the Fireball and onto herself.

She almost didn't make in time, however. Even with the chance to eliminate a Peacekeeper, the Black Hole waited until Aeryn's third shot had rocked his fighter before coming around70;and by that time, the base of the Fireball was already grazing the planet's stratosphere, glowing red-hot.

Aeryn fired once more and came about herself, trying to lead the Black Hole as far from the Fireball as possible70;only to see her pursuer vanish from her sensors even before she'd completed the turn. So the Fireball wasn't out of the fight after all.

Or so Aeryn thought. When she turned back again, the spherical fighter seemed to be splitting apart, it's outer hull drifting away in four wedge-shaped sections, leaving the pilot's chair floating alone in the center. Fireball pilots couldn't eject in the traditional sense, but they could cut loose if their thrusters or weapons were in danger of overloading. In this case, however, it looked like the pilot just wasn't in the mood to take on his rescuer. Out of fear, or out of gratitude70;Aeryn didn't have the time to care.

And even less time than she thought, she realized when she managed to locate her wingman. He'd failed to take out a Black Hole and even his odds, and by this point he'd given up on offense all together. Guns silent, he was dodging and diving for all he was worth, shooting through the center of the scrapyard at a speed bordering on reckless.

A speed Aeryn doubled as she raced once more into the field70;and just a little too close to the remains of the wrong freighter. A bolt of blue-lightning shot across the nose of her Prowler, and a microt later, her engines and all her instruments cut out. She must have set off one of those booby-traps Crichton had been so worried about, and now she was drifting dead in space70;and her still considerable momentum was carrying her right towards the largest derelict starship in the field.

With no choice and a growl, Aeryn punched out.

The action might have saved her Prowler. As Aeryn's pilot-seat shot upwards, the fighter's nose was forced down, just enough that it missed the derelict and dropped out of the field altogether. There was a good chance one of the station's towships would retrieve the fighter later on.

Aeryn's own fate was far less certain, however. One of the Black Holes had broken off his pursuit of her wingman and come about, and he was already firing. Vaporizing an extra-vehicular pilot was definitely against the contest rules, not to mention intergalactic law, but this bastard didn't really seem to care.

The next thirty microts, quite possibly the last of Aeryn Sun's life, took on an eerie, drawn-out unreality.

Beyond her executioner, the other Black Hole was closing in on Aeryn's wingman, following every evasion with barely an instant's delay. Then the RelCorp StarDragon dove down and around another of the dead ships, and its landing gear suddenly shot out, the heavy metal 'feet' punching through the hull of the wreck. For a moment, Aeryn suspected some sort of design flaw or system glitch70;until the Black Hole's fighter shot right past her wingman, into his sights, and into oblivion.

The surviving Black Hole showed no reaction.

The RelCorp StarDragon jettisoned his landing gear and took off in pursuit, accelerating to full speed. Reckless didn't begin to cover it, and despite the vacuum of space, Aeryn could almost hear the debris banging against the fighter as he plowed right through the thickest part of the field.

The first bright laser bolts whistled past.

Aeryn's wingman closed to within firing range of the Black Hole. His first shot bounced off of the bastard's cockpit, but failed to slow him down. And by now, the Black Hole was within only-a-frelling-idiot-could-miss range.

A blast connected with Aeryn's ejection seat, just above her right shoulder. Several microts passed before the damage became apparent, as she felt the first pangs of a dizzy headache; breathable air was no longer flowing from her chair to her helmet.

Aeryn's sight began to blur, just as her wingman overtook the Black Hole. Or rather, undertook; the RelCorp StarDragon shot up from beneath the Black Hole's fighter, forcing him to pull up as well to avoid a collision.

As her oxygen ran out and consciousness faded, Aeryn's final vision was of flaring laser blasts, a pair of StarDragons dancing death around her head70;and in her mind's eye, the face of her mysterious guardian.

At last she knew.

* * *

Aeryn awoke in the orbital station's sickbay, and the instant her eyes snapped open, she said one word: "Moya?"

"She's going to be fine," John assured her. "Pilot, too. Turella had the crystals for us almost as soon as the contest ended70;Zhaan's over on the ship, preparing them right now70;and we've got more coming, actually. We won."

"*You* won," Aeryn corrected him. "That was you out there, flying the RelCorp fighter."

John hesitated for a fraction of a microt, then admitted, "Yeah, it was. I couldn't let you go out there alone. And Turella thought70;still thinks, actually70;that I'm a Peacekeeper. Wasn't too hard to convince her to let me fly her ship. When did you figure it out?"

"During the fight," Aeryn replied vaguely. "You were using Peacekeeper maneuvers70;but no recruit who performs them so sloppily lives to tell the tale."

"Hey! I'm not the one who bailed, now am I?"

For the briefest instant, Aeryn looked almost as if she'd been slapped. Then she turned her face to the wall, and John kicked himself inside.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "That was low. You only got knocked out 'cause somebody cheated70;and you ejected, you survived70;exactly what I was afraid you wouldn't."

He could almost see the hole Aeryn's eyes were burning in the wall, so stubbornly was she *not* looking at him right then. And such a mess he was making of this.

He tried changing the subject. "You should be glad to know70;your Prowler's gonna need a little work and a new seat, but it's fine. The same shuttle that picked you up, soon as I managed to nail that bastard, towed it back to the station. We'll use the prize money, have her fixed up good as new. Better than new."

Several minutes passed before Aeryn finally looked at him again, but when she did, there was a gleam in her eye. "I don't know what hurts more right now70;my lungs, or my pride."

John's own smile formed more slowly, as he knelt down beside her, resting his elbows on the edge of the bed.

His face was barely inches from hers as he said, "Well, we both know who the better pilot is between us, Sunshine. And how's this for a consolation prize70;?"

* * *

Two days later, it was morning on Moya, and the Leviathan and her crew were nearly ready to leave Rensarik. When Crichton reached Command, D'Argo was waiting for him, and blocking the doorway.

"What's up, big guy?" The Luxan looked both amused and a little concerned.

"John, I know your luck's been pretty good this past weeken, with the barfight, and those dogfights, and everything else70;"

John grinned. "You're telling me! I'm starting to wonder if some secret society has assigned me bodyguards or something."

"Well, they might just have their work cut out for them right now," D'Argo answered ruefully. "Were there any SnoopDrones following you around after the contest, by any chance? Little floating robotic holo-cameras?"

"Yeah, now that you mention it. I couldn't get them to shoo, so I just kind of forgot about them. Figured it wasn't that big a deal."

"And were they still with you when you went to see Aeryn?"

"Probably, I don't know70;ah." Suddenly D'Argo's expression made perfect sense. "This isn't good, is it?"

"Not really, John, no."

D'Argo moved aside, and John took two steps into the room. Aeryn was standing, far too still, at the center console, and her knuckles were white as she gripped its edges. A holo-news feed from the planet below filled the main viewscreen, showing John at Aeryn's bedside in the orbital station's sickbay.

"They've shown this several times over the past twelve arns," murmured D'Argo. "But I believe this is the first time Aeryn has seen it."

John heard his own voice. "How's this for a consolation prize70;?"

"70;the surprisingly romantic aftermath of this cycle's Starfighter Challenge," a voice-over added, just as, on the screen, John leaned in to kiss Aeryn full on the lips.

And on Moya, John ran like hezmana, with Aeryn close behind.