Rated: PG-13 Language, Adult Situations and Violence
Spoilers: Season one and two.
Author's notes: This story was written before the Look at the Princess trilogy was completed.

Prowler pilot.

L'Tan Sun felt a silent twinge of jealously as she studied her opponent from across the exercise mat. Delvar Corsair was big, brutish, made more for infantry than a prowler pilot. He was not fast, just clever and strong. And, until now, very lucky.

"What are you waiting for, Sun?" Corsair shifted the blade from hand to hand and lowered his cunning brown eyes on her from beneath the disheveled hood of dirty blond hair. "I've got a schedule to keep."

"Would that include stopping in the surgical bay for sutures?" The corner of her mouth curled up into a dangerous smirk.

"Be happy to walk you-"

Swiftly she charged him before he could finish his taunt. She ducked the surprised swing of his blade, to throw her weight below his center of gravity. Balance cut from under him, Corsair fell forward, recovering at the last minute into a neat roll.

"Clever... for what I've heard about you." He granted her an icy smile as he regained his footing, eyes daring her to move. A brief flicker of mock disappointment fluttered over his face. "But you didn't get me."

"Slow to move. Slow to bleed." L'Tan jerked her chin at the spreading blossom of red along the flank of his white shirt. "Corsair, do you do everything as slowly? How did you ever become a pilot?"

The surprised look on his face was brief, but the wave of satisfaction stayed with her much longer. Her smirk broadened into a smug smile that failed to touch the dare in her jade-colored eyes.

"This is only an exercise, Sun." His fingers traced the flesh blood to come away deep maroon. The anger was gravel in his voice as he stared her down. "You're lucky it wasn't deeper." "No. You are." She arched an eyebrow, smirk evaporating.

"That's it, Sun." All pretense at play disappeared. The knuckles wrapping the shaft of his blade were a baleful white. "If that's how you want to play..."

But she made no response. The purpose had been served. His concentration was compromised. She remained motionless, blade en guard, and calmly him circle like a great murderous beast.

"If the stories I've heard about you are right, I shouldn't be surprised. Should expect such behavior out of a hybrid."

"Careful, Corsair." She warned. L'Tan felt the sudden build of blood along the skin of her neck despite her self-control.

"Did I hit a nerve?" He granted her a deadly smile of even white teeth. His strike was furious and hard, sending her knife with a muted clatter to the floor. She grasped his wrist, halting his blade a hair's width from her throat. But his strength was greater, too much to overpower. Instead she flexed with the momentum of his body, bending into it, feeling the brief sting of cold metal on her skin. Balance spent, she fell with him to the mat, her weight forcing the flat edge of his blade between them. They lay, face to face, locked in a stalemate over the weapon, gasping for breath.

"You shouldn't listen to rumors. Very dangerous." L'Tan hissed through clenched teeth.

"A threat?" He pulled at his knife. Her command on his wrist was slipping. "From the product of irreversible contamination?"

"I warned you."

With a quick burst of feline grace, she arched her neck and brought her forehead down full force against his. She rolled from his chest and stood shakily. Her forehead pounded painfully in time with her racing pulse. She cautiously retrieved her blade. With eyes like flat stones, she regarded her fallen opponent.

Corsair rolled into his hands and knees, blood slipping from his broken nose. The quiet air was filled with the sound of the thick heavy droplets slapping the mat.

"Bitch. Frelling half-breed bitch!" He spat in a plume of saliva and blood.

L'Tan slipped behind him to grab a fistful of his hair. Her knife pushed under the crook of his jaw to lightly kiss the skin there.

Too easy. Almost disappointingly so. Prowler pilot. Indeed...

Like a lover she moved closer to whisper into his ear. Her chestnut hair fell from her unraveled plait to flirt with his cheek. "Now... choose your next words very carefully, Corsair. Do you yield?"

"Frell you!"

"What's that?" She mocked, with a painful tug at his hair. The blade dug deeper, bringing new blood. "My baser heritage must affect my hearing."

"Yield... I yield." He hissed.

* * * * *

My ship. Jocosta.

L'Tan repeated the words over and over silently. A private chant, as she moved a tremulous hand along the prowler's sleek hull. A rush of pride filled her heart. The ship was beautiful, unique. Any other prowler paled in comparison and with good reason. It represented a full cycle of tireless work; built from the deck up with her own bare hands.

And now it was ready.

The quiet was suddenly broken by the insolent hiss of a cutting torch. L'Tan followed the sound around the prowler's sharp nose. Her face twisted into an incredulous scowl. The torch rested in the clumsy hands of a technician. He was cutting her ship!

"What the frell are you doing?" L'Tan grabbed the torch from the shocked man's hands before he could gather his words.

"Orders! Remove the secondary shielding components." He blurted out, reaching for the torch like a greedy toddler.

"What? Whose frelling orders?" L'Tan held the torch out of his grasp like a school-yard bully.

"You know who... him." His voice took on the frigid lilt of a taunt.

Him. Scorpius.

With a disdainful sneer at the tech, she tossed the torch over the Jacosta's arched canopy to skitter noisily along the deck of the deserted hangar.

"Go fetch." She glared.

He drew breath to speak, thought better of it, and left in pursuit of the cutter.

My Ship. Jocosta.

A cold stone of dread formed in her stomach.

But the Jocosta was never really hers.

Not really.

"L'Tan... We seem to be missing our pilot. You wouldn't know the whereabouts of Officer Corsair, by chance?" Her master's voice snapped the silence.

Her spine constricted with surprise. Smoothing her face into a dispassionate mask, she turned to regard him.

Her s'duhar, an ancient Sebacean endearment, the owner of her life. Her patron and demon. Scorpius.

He stood, back-lit. A manifestation of shadow and darkness, seeming to know and fully enjoy the dreadful image he presented to her, an object of loath and, above all, worship.

L'Tan, bowed her head and demurely kept her eyes on some imagined middle distance between them. Her emotions were a devotional of perfect fear and awe.

"There was a... small accident sparring today. Corsair requires sutures." Her voice was soft and reverent as she stole a sidelong glance to judge his reaction. Fear of his anger clawed at the walls of her chest.

Scorpius lifted her chin with one gloved finger and she looked into those eyes, capable of piercing the pale shade of her soul. There was a breathless moment before his black lips split into a reptilian smile. A distantly amused chuckle followed like the rasp of dry leaves on stone.

"Be more careful with our pilots, L'Tan. They are not playthings."

"Yes, s'duhar." The clawed creature in her chest relaxed, basking in the dim promise of his approval.

"Now... why are you troubling our technician, young Sun?" His tone was smooth, patronizing. It told her to move with caution, but her urge to protect her ship was stronger. With a snap of his black hooded head, he pivoted, surveying the Jocosta.

She winced at the plaintive desperation in her own voice. "He was removing the secondary shielding-"

"At my direction, L'Tan." Scorpius interrupted. His rheumy gaze fell on her, a reprimand unvoiced.

"But... the shielding is essential. The pilot would be vulnerable to-"

"I am aware of the risks. They are acceptable." He said over his back, as he once again regarded the experimental ship. "The shielding creates interference with the wormhole's development."

L'Tan weathered his following tense silence. She had over-stepped the mark to question her master. A punishment might come. Swift. Irreversible. He could easily turn on his prize, his pet. There were enough scars on her body to remind her of that.

"You have come to forget your position of late." He would not turn to face her. A hint of exasperation edged his words. "I've have been more than patient with you. I am more than generous. I've given you free roam on this carrier, and I've turned a blind eye to your... personal engagements."

"Yes, s'duhar. Forgive me. I owe you everything." L'Tan fell to her knees before him in a graceless heap, head bowed.

Penance. Regret. Fear.

Her trinity swam in a muttering mass through her head. The only way of life she had known since she was first brought before him as a terrified child twelve cycles ago.

"You are willful. Ah... had you been a full Sebacean... " His voice trailed off, deceptively thoughtful. "But you are a splendid trophy nonetheless."

She squeezed her eyes shut as she heard his approach in a creak of leather. His hand cradled her bowed head, bringing a shallow happy flutter to her stomach.

"I absolve you, L'Tan. You cannot be blamed for your father's baser... human qualities."

She smiled thinly at the floor. The concerns about her precious prowler temporarily forgotten. Her universe was righted on its axis as her master smiled upon her once more.

* * * * *

The sheets were a smooth tangle on her bare legs as she shifted restlessly in the bed. Drowsily L'Tan looked over at Corsair's back. The steady rhythm of his breathing found to her. Her forehead pinched with an irritated frown. He was obviously falling asleep.

"I know you don't like your barracks. You have my sympathies. But you can't sleep here." She punctuated each sentence with a nudge of her toe against his legs.

He rolled to face her, a mischievous smirk dominating his rugged features. His hands roamed through the sheets to snake around her waist.

"Who says I want to sleep, Sun?"

A smile slowly stretched across her mouth. And she yielded to the delicious warm cradle of his bare skin on her back.

"Wait! There's something strange on your face." Corsair abruptly pushed up on an elbow to study her features. He arched an eyebrow in exaggerated consternation. "I think it's a smile. I'm afraid it's not regulation."

She erupted in a thin peal of giggles.

"Now, I'm in trouble. I've broken the stern concentration of L'Tan Sun, feared by torch-wielding technicians and prowler pilots throughout the regime."

He bent to her mouth and collected a lingering kiss.

"Prowler pilots too stupid to cheat at sparring." L'Tan corrected.

Their eyes met for a silent awkward moment. With delicate fingers she touched the small dark cut on the bridge of his nose. Her smile evaporated as the thought of the secondary shielding ripped from the delicate hull of her ship flickered through her mind, unbidden.

There was an unsettling twist of regret beneath her ribs. The warmth, his closeness became suddenly unbearable.

L'Tan pulled out of his embrace and sat up, sheets pooling around her waist. But his hands found her again to trace alone the ridge of her spine. They paused on the brand seared into the skin between her shoulder blades: a raised circle intersected with a maze of delicate lines that marked her permanently as Scorpius' property.

Her back went rigid and she inhaled sharply as though Corsair's touch brought pain. Although she could not see his face, she felt his tempered hesitation.

"It's true, then. You are a hybrid." Corsair's voice was lower, sorrowful. She refused to look at him as she slipped from the bed, pulling the bedclothes with her. A sullen rage bloomed in her chest.

"You should leave." She gathered his fatigues into an untidy bundle and tossed it onto the foot of the bed. "Get dressed."

"L'Tan, had I known there was any truth to the rumor-"

"Had you known, you would not be in my bed. I am repulsive. Untouchable. The product of irreversible contamination, remember?" Turning to face him, her anger refreshed at the blatant pity she saw there. She felt the urge to forcibly remove the expression from his perfect features.

"That is not what I was going to say. I don't really care--."

"Then you are a fool! I don't need your pity, Delvar. I do not need you! Go! Now!" L'Tan turned on her heel, seeking imagined sanctuary in the field of darkness beyond her window. Reflected, ghost-like in the glass against the black, she watched him hurriedly dress.

The door sealed between them.

L'Tan Sun was alone, left to stare at the rapidly blurring stars.

* * * * *

The hum of the great leviathan surrounded, protected. The sound was special to Eleanor. It was the comfort of a silent mother's heartbeat, a constant for her entire eight cycles of life. The adults on board, not even her father, would not understand. But she liked it that way. It was her secret to share with Moya.

Eyes alert for any sign of the Delvian priest, the child pressed her face against the cool spine of the wall. The engine hum vibrated though her skin, beneath it the dense mutter of a giant pulse. The sensation tickled the small hairs at the back of her neck. She stifled a giggle.

From her hidden vantagepoint, she watched Zhaan glide into view in a graceful drift of blue gauze. She moved cautiously through the corridor, investigating every possible hiding spot.

"Eleanor? Ellie? Please come out, my dear. It's time for your lessons."

At the mention of her lessons, her selective hearing kicked in. Eleanor squirmed in the opposite direction from Zhaan's pleas, through the DRD conduit, to find the larger chamber beyond.

The young girl stood, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. With all the stealth she could muster, she picked her way through great room. The hangar was strictly out of bounds. This forbidden moment quickened her pulse.

Eleanor's lively imagination took over: She was a spy sent to glean knowledge from a mysterious Peacekeeper stronghold, a brave commando sent by the IASA.

Curiously she sought out the familiar shapes in the dimness. Her hand met the sleek white curve of the flight module. She traced the red and white stripes of the standard on its dingy side. An alien symbol that never failed to captivate her curiosity. It seemed odd to her that anyone would draw a star with such jutting angry lines when every star she had ever glimpsed from Moya's portals was a delicate globe of brilliance, impossibly more elegant.

Suddenly, the insect-like buzz of a DRD raised the alert. She slipped around the module, keeping its bulk between her and the tiny yellow beast. Breathlessly she watched as the creature paused, its eye stalks no doubt seeking her out. After a tense moment, it moved on again with a defeated purr. A sigh of relief slumped her tiny shoulders in an air of melodrama. So far the spy had not been found out.

Ellie left the sheltering bulk of Farscape One, its intrigues forgotten. Her true goal was nearby.

The prowler. She smiled victoriously as she approached the menacing angle of its nose. The moment was filled her with awe. The prowler's battered black hull seemed to suck in the room's energy, even light. Fingers trembling in the excitement of her discovery, she caressed the scorched scars of some ancient battle along its side.

A vivid picture filled her energized mind. A dark-haired goddess for the fearless prowler pilot, aqua eyes blazing. Forever strong and beautiful. Triumphant against impossible odds in a tense dog fight in a field of envious stars.

But Ellie had long known the true ending to this prowler pilot's tale. A frown wrinkled the perfect skin of her forehead. This story did not have a happy ending. An odd wave of loss, an emotion well beyond the grasp of her eight years, flooded her heart. That brave soul was long gone, casualty of a baser death. Ellie backed away from the ship with a final sweep of her outstretched hand to collide blindly with Scorpius...

L'Tan snapped awake with an abrupt jerk, triggering an avalanche of components and delicate instruments from her table. The dream unraveled like a tattered flag in a windstorm, but the mingled terror and sadness of that long lost little girl remained in its wake.

She blinked owlishly around her sterile quarters and found her chronometer. A tingle filled her spine. The test flight had started already. L'Tan quickly donned her jacket and bolted through the door.

Before the next solar day's shift, the command carrier was quiet, its corridors virtually deserted. Nevertheless there were those she passed in its halls, officers or infantry alike, their eyes averted in a mix of contempt and barely veiled curiosity. Of their actions, she acknowledged nothing. L'Tan Sun existed only in the shadows of the Peacekeeper regime, as rumor and intrigue. Their reactions were a constant reminder.

The hanger, unlike the sleeping ship, was alive with activity.

Too much of it.

A sharp tug at her jacket betrayed her nervousness as she sought out the Jocosta in the flurry of bodies and equipment. Like a great winged insect her ship lay at the center of a swarm of technicians. A thread of black dread wove through her as the hideous curve of a body bag was lowered to the deck away from the Jocosta's cockpit.

Remnants of chaotic chatter filled the anxious air:

"Radiation caused too much heat.... Poor bastard."

"... Living death... had to administer a kill-shot."

The wave of guilt tugged in her chest, catching her off balance. She knew this would happen and allowed Corsair to blunder off to his death.

"Your ship is imperfect, L'Tan. And we have lost our pilot because of it." Scorpius' voice erupted at her elbow. It was impossible to judge the fierce anger beneath its glossy surface.

She tore her eyes away from the sad dark mass on the deck and turned to face him. "But, s'duhar, I tried to warn you about the secondary shielding-"

"Do not presume to warn me, child!" The glossy tone rolled into a thick growl, more in keeping with the eyes that penetrated from beneath the dark sheen of his hood. His voice smooth once again, becoming venomous and cool. "I cannot begin to tell you of my disappointment."

She could feel his anger like a bitter heat falling on her. A cyclone of needle-sharp fear invaded her body. Never had she seen or felt such danger from him. Quickly she averted her gaze, happy to look upon the featureless metal of the flight deck.

"We may salvage the core systems and propulsion." Scorpius continued. "The ship shall be dismantled."

"No!" L'Tan cried. She plied frantic fingers around his gloved wrist, heedless of her meager station. Her motion did not go unnoticed. Several members of the crowd of technicians, paused in their tracks with incredulous expressions plastered to their faces.

"My ship works! Let me prove it. The heat won't affect me like it did Corsair. I can get the wormhole to work!" Her voice was frenzied. The words tumbled out in an impassioned torrent.

With crushing strength Scorpius twisted her pleading hands from his arm, a curl of revulsion set on his thin black lips. In a smooth wave of a glove hand, he motioned for his security operative. The hulking commando was instantly at L'Tan's side, collecting her arm in his powerful grip.

"Remove her from my sight, Officer Tristis."

* * * * * *

"A dhilis. Fa bheal na tra...
Ta mise agus beidh go la.
Mo Mhaire mo Phadraig Ban...
A dhilis. Fa bheal na tra."

L'Tan rocked back and forth on her haunches in the oppressive quiet of her quarters, humming the ancient Delvian words, too complicated for translator microbes. Her voice was tinny, frail as it locked into the comforting cycle of the chant; its meaning long lost in the bleak memory of her childhood.

Restlessly her finger traced the raised stitching on the battered rectangle of fabric in her hand.

A blue field of angular white stars.

Red stripe.

White stripe.

Red. White.

Officer Tristis had no problem describing to her the precarious nature of her position. Scorpius was far from pleased with his hybrid servant. Delvar Corsair was the progeny of an officer from one of the Sebacean Great Houses with many curious friends in High Command. There would be an investigation. All activity of the wormhole project was halted.

Which meant one thing, she realized with a reckless flutter. She stopped rocking. Her spine straightened.

The Jocosta was still in one piece, waiting for her in the hangar.

There was a way to win back Scorpius' favor. All could be proven... and forgiven. All would be as it should.

Yes, she nodded to herself, convinced.

Under the dim glow of starlight, she found her flight suit and began to dress. Her decision was made.

* * * * *

Brilliant blue light flooded Moya's command chamber, drowning the natural amber glow of the wall sconces. Several thousand metras beyond, the wormhole blossomed in an awesome swirl of azure wrought with white.

"It's beautiful." Aeryn whispered.

Only John heard the anxious jab of remorse in her voice. He regarded the others who had joined them. Their expressions seemed to mirror his own mix of sadness and wonder as well.

This could be farewell... again.

John placed a hand on the smooth contour of Aeryn's shoulder. She turned to him, trying to sound stern. "You should leave, Crichton. Before it's too late."

"Once bitten. Twice shy." His voice was grim as he thought about the false earth. "I'd like to know a little more about this baby before I go anywhere."

John turned back to Pilot's image. "Talk to me, Pilot."

"The phenomenon is destabilizing." The navigator's arms danced in an artful frenzy at Moya's controls. "An energy surge is imminent."

In keeping with his prediction, a great jolt of white intensity suddenly filled the swirling center of the vortex. A dark shape emerged, its threatening edges in sharp contrast to the elegant dance of light.

Unmistakably, it was a ship. Then, just as quickly, the wormhole vanished, collapsing upon itself like a wilted flower, its passing unnoticed by the aloof stars. Only the new vessel marked where it once stood.

"The vortex has vanished from Moya's sensors, Commander Crichton." Pilot stated the obvious, his head lowered in apology.

"I'm sorry, John." A hand squeezed his arm reassuringly. He looked up into the direct blue of Zhaan's sorrowful gaze. But, he admitted silently, there was a vein of relief woven through the disappointment that washed over him. This insane corner of the Uncharted Territories was, for the moment, home. Those on Moya, family.

"Pilot, what can you tell us about that vessel?" Asked Aeryn, fully entranced with the newcomer.

"Its design is unknown to Moya; however, it more closely matches a prowler's schematics."

"That's not like any prowler I've seen." She noted, jealousy frosting the words.

"Maybe that's the new S class." John muttered as he fell into place beside her. "Leather interior, heated seats..."

With an elegant curl of her lip, she granted him one of her patent-pending-John-Crichton-you-are-the-oddest-creature looks and turned her attention back to Pilot. "Are there any other Peacekeeper vessels in the vicinity?"

"No other vessels within Moya's sensors horizon. But you should know there is a rather strong energy signature coming from it for a vessel of its size." His incredulity was well transferred over the holographic transmission. "And the ship appears to have... no detectable weapons."

"No weapons? On a prowler?" Aeryn's stifled a smirk.

John drew in a deep breath and prepared himself for the reaction his next statement would no doubt illicit from his shipmates.

"Can we open a comm to him?"

"You can't be frelling serious, right?" Chiana's liquid black eyes widened in disbelief. "That's a prowler and you want to stick around to chat?"

Zhaan nodded, seeming to guess where his thoughts were directed. "John, I know that learning about the wormhole is important to your journey home, but it could very well be a trap."

"I have to agree with Zhaan." Aeryn tore her wistful expression away from the vessel.

For whatever intrigue the new prowler held, her Peacekeeper discipline won out. "This is too... convenient."

"Okay! Time out!" With an irritated flourish, John raised his hands. "I know it's a prowler. It's alone. It has no weapons."

D'Argo leaned forward, giant hands outstretched on the console. "No detectable weapons. We should leave at once."

"Fine. No detectable weapons." John rolled his eyes. "It just plowed through a wormhole. I say it's worth a looksee."

"I don't care if it's worth the entire Hynerian treasury. Frell this." Rygel erupted from his sleigh-throne, careful to maneuver out of the human's reach.

"What are you suggesting, John?" Zhaan granted him a sidelong glance.

"I take a transport pod out to it and Moya hangs back while I check it out." John rubbed an impatient hand along the back of his neck and paced the length of the console. "Pilot stays ready to push the button and run like hell in case anything... happens."

"Wrong." Aeryn shook her head.

"Aeryn, come on-"

"We take my prowler." She folded her arms, eyes narrowed into a dare.

"That's my girl." John granted her a sly grin.

* * * * *

"You did not say you were going to steal it. I do not like this." D'Argo growled, surveying the strange new addition to Moya's bay. He folded his arms against the massive expanse of his chest and glowered at the smaller human.

"Don't worry, big guy. It's in the bag." John slapped a hand against the Luxan's solid shoulder and gave him a gleeful smirk. It was nearly impossible for him to feel wary.

"No." D'Argo maintained, unaffected by his enthusiasm. "It is in Moya's hangar. And I do not like it."

"What of its pilot, John?" Zhaan studied the prowler's menacing lines before returning her questioning eyes to him.

"Unresponsive. So far." Interjected Aeryn. "They made no attempt to avoid Moya's docking web."

"Let's see if that changes..." John nodded to Aeryn. She returned the gesture, raising her pulse rifle. With his own weapon drawn, he placed himself at the ready to activate the prowler's canopy.

Cautiously he triggered the release on the canopy's seal. It opened with a halted rush. The tiny blast of atmosphere condensed into vapor as it flooded from the cockpit to meet the cooler air of Moya's bay.

John felt the ripple of heat cross his face as he leaned warily over the darkened interior. The pilot lay slumped over the yoked control column. The helmeted head rested at a graceless angle against the instrument panel.

"Kentucky Fried Peacekeeper." He muttered.

"What?" Aeryn was instantly at his side.

"I think he's dead." He added, haltingly. "Or just as good as."

She swiftly withdrew as the draft of warmth met her skin. "Too hot."

John read his thoughts on her face. That answered the mystery of the unresponsive pilot. The environmental systems on the prowler must have malfunctioned, subjecting the luckless Sebacean to the living death as a consequence of such heat.

He righted the stooped body back into the seat. A muffled groan filtered out of the dark sheen of the helmet's faceplate. With numb fingers, he removed the pilot's helmet. It fell to Moya's floor with a hollow clatter. He brushed away arrant strands of damp chestnut hair to disclose the flushed face glistening over the staunch black collar of the flight suit.

Their he was really a she.

"Jeez. She's just a kid."

The pilot's eyes were fixed in a vacant, jade green stare. Her spine suddenly constricted into great whooping gasps. Gloved hands weakly clasped his wrist in a mindless reflex.

She began to mumble. He strained to hear her frail voice. Curiosity overpowered his fear of attack. It was a language he had heard a thousand times passing the dimly lit corridor before Zhaan's chamber.

A Delvian chant.

"Fa bheal na tra..."

* * * * *

You're ready to throw me off the ship for borrowing a tiny frelling bottle of oil. But he swipes a prowler and everyone's fine--

The circumstances are hardly the same.

Frell that! He brought a Peacekeeper here!

The voices swam through the blackness, held aloft by the invisible currents in the warm tide. It was hard to deny the strong desire to stay there, floating in the gentle ignorance of this bleak, featureless horizon. To surface now would mean pain and the graceless bind of gravity on her battered body. But the voices would not let her rest. Reluctantly, she succumbed to their pulling and surfaced into the blinding, deafening world beyond.

L'Tan forced her eyes open against the great coil of pain in her skull. The light of the room was soft amber. Its glow seemed to permeate the dull copper of the walls and spines reaching into the dimness overhead. She had been in enough rooms like this to recognize it.

Leviathan.

Closing her eyes once more, she pressed her face to the cushion at her head. Muffled, the soft purr of the great beast's engines found her ear. And gently, far more delicate, the distant beat of a giant pulse.

Leviathan.

Her eyes snapped open. Abruptly she sat up, heart slamming her ribs as she looked about the chamber. Aside from their gentle curve, the walls were bare. No other furniture filled the expanse of floor.

From beyond the sloped alcove at the head of the bed, the voices rolled on in the discordant tangle of an argument in its infancy.

"You are hardly in a position to judge John's actions."

"We have to trust him."

"Trust him? A few weekens ago he was ready to kills us over dehydrated food cubes!"

On legs that felt like dead wood, L'Tan tested her weight. Ignoring the protesting jitters in the muscles of her arms, she pushed herself from the bed and took unsteady steps toward the doorway. When she saw the barred lattice of the door, a tremor of fright pierced the cluttered fog of her brain. In the corridor beyond, stood the voices' owners, drawn into a tense triad, oblivious to her approach.

Nebari. Luxan. Delvian.

Her meager focus fought the milky swirl of thoughts and returned to the Delvian.

"I... know you, Delvian." L'Tan's hoarse whisper cut their raised voices like a surgeon's knife. Crumpling, she fell heavily against the shallow arch of the threshold. Under the tumble of dark hair, her baleful green eyes remained pinned on the priest.

"My s'duhar had you killed. I watched you die, Pa'u Zotoah Zhaan."

* * * * *

Crichton balanced precariously over the lip of the new prowler's cockpit, penlight clasped between his teeth, as he fought an untidy coil of charred wires and circuit nodes.

There was a sudden crackle. A wicked blue arc greeted his fingers.

"Damnit!" He cried, shaking his injured hand.

Aeryn poked her head up from the opposite side of the prowler's hull.

"That's the third time." The human muttered as he retrieved his penlight from the floor.

"Fourth." She corrected, with an arched eyebrow. "Are you trying to electrocute yourself?"

"Why, yes! I am." He cocked his head, voice dripping with sarcasm. "One painful jolt at a time."

"Here. Let me." She crawled inside the cockpit, shooing him out of the way.

He rested his chin on folded arms and watched her deftly gather the wires into a careful choreography.

Another sinister crackle. Zap.

Aeryn wordlessly drew her assaulted fingers into her mouth, glaring at the uncooperative bundle of components.

"Not as easy as it looks, huh?" He did not fight the sardonic grin that spread over his face.

She shot him a reproachful glance. Undaunted, she collected the wires once more.

"That's one way of saying it." The meter of her words was protracted, thoughtful as she concentrated on the charred connections. "I've never seen so many security overrides in one place. Even the DRD's are having problems. Activate one system. And another shuts down. It's all very..."

"Deliberate. Like a puzzle." John finished.

She nodded, briefly glancing up at him from her work.

"You haven't said anything about our guest."

"Haven't I?" Aeryn frowned, feigning ignorance. But she had expected this. Crichton could be irritatingly observant for a being with such obviously inferior eyesight.

In all honesty, the pilot weighed heavily on her mind. No Sebacean, no matter how well conditioned, would have survived such heat. Their "guest" was demonstrating only some form of extreme exhaustion, and was expected to recover, according to Zhaan.

But, perhaps in keeping with his human failings, Crichton's thoughts were elsewhere than Sebacean physiology.

"She was praying, Aeryn. In Delvian. Zhaan said it's some kind of chant taught to children."

"Obviously some sort of delirium triggered by the heat." She squinted at the jumble of connections to avoid John's studying eyes.

"Is it so hard for you to believe she was really praying?" He was unconvinced by her lack of interest.

"Peacekeepers don't pray." With a defeated sigh, Aeryn turned to him. "Because there is no need for it. In conditioning we were trained to rely on ourselves, first and foremost. Ultimately, there's nothing beyond that. Nothing else is going to save you."

"That's kinda bleak. Do you still believe that?"

"I believe in luck." She said with a wan smile. "You're living, breathing proof of that."

"Thanks. I think."

In a sudden malevolent purr the console's tell-tales activated, filling the contours of the cockpit with delicate light. With a radiant smile, Aeryn awkwardly met John's extended palm with her own in the "high-five" gesture he had demonstrated to her on previous occasions.

"Way to go, Officer Sun."

Her smiled faltered. "Go where?"

She watched as Crichton shook his head dismissively and triggered the propulsion compartment latch. A lingering whine echoed through the bay as the panel opened along the brushed silver alloy skin of the prowler. He eagerly disappeared under the sharp angle of a wing.

His appreciative whistle soon punctuated the air.

She peered down at him, startled by his outburst.

"Um.... Aeryn, you've got to see this." His blue eyes were wide with amazement.

She squirmed over the prowler's side. As she moved to avoid a lumbering DRD, a small corner of blue jutting from along the pilot's seat caught her attention. With curious fingers, she felt along the small space and tugged at the colorful shape. The object came away in her hand. She slipped to the floor with her prize.

Studying the dingy rectangle of fabric, she paused mid-stride. It seemed... familiar. Lines of red interspersed with white. A block of blue studded with angry white shapes, all identical.

"Hey, Sun! What's the hold up?" Crichton prodded.

Tucking the emblem into her waistband, she rounded the wing to join him at the opened panel, and quickly forgot her odd discovery.

In place of the expected artful chaos of propulsion chambers and fuel conduits, a featureless spheroid balanced impossibly inside of an intricate cage of wires and circuits. A low-level hum, more felt than heard, seem to permeate the air around it.

"Curiouser and curiouser." Crichton whispered.

Before she could utter a warning, he reached out and touched the odd lusterless curve of the sphere. There was a tiny protest of static as his fingers came into contact with it.

"Careful!"

"It's okay, Mom." He said over his shoulder. With a sharp tug, he withdrew his hand and experimentally wriggled his fingers. "Wow." He looked up at her with a bemused smirk. "You've got to try that."

"Let's not and say I did." Aeryn borrowed a phase from his vocabulary of less than enthusiastic human responses. "What is it?"

"We'll have to talk to sleeping beauty to find that out." He shrugged. "It's hard to describe. It feels like this... gravity pulling my hand. The closer to the surface, the stronger it is. Sorta like a magnet."

Suddenly the com at Crichton's shoulder crackled with Chiana's voice: "Guys, the, uh, prisoner is awake... sort of."

"Is everything okay, Pip?" Crichton answered, concern creasing his brow at the uneasy quality in the Nebari's voice.

"Define... okay."

* * * * *

The prowler pilot was a crumpled knot on the floor. Eyes shut. Her face pressed to the heavy latticework of the cell door. A slender pale hand extended between the bars. It lay in vivid contrast against the cool blue of Zhaan's cheek. The Delvian was seated facing her, a folded fist resting on the high arch of the stranger's cheekbone.

"How long have they been like that?" John whispered to D'Argo.

"Too long." He answered. The apprehension was plain in his lumbering growl.

"Have they moved?" The human looked from the odd embrace to Chiana.

"Only if mumbling counts." She answered, clearly amused by the interesting turn of events. "She said something to Zhaan about her sooda-something-"

"S'duhar." Corrected Aeryn, studying the prowler pilot's motionless face. "It's an older Peacekeeper tradition, seldom practiced. In warfare, the victor... the s'duhar, passes judgment on the first born of his fallen enemy, usually keeping them as a trophy."

"Tradition?" John quipped. "That sounds like a Hallmark moment." He knelt next to Zhaan and snapped his fingers in front of her face. The peaceful expression remained undisturbed. He leaned forward, listening. A hushed chant carried from her parted lips. "Hey, Zhanny? Zhaan?" John threw a frustrated glance at his shipmates. "Come on, Blue. Wake up. You're scaring me."

But the prisoner was the first to awaken from their shared trance. She opened her eyes with a disjointed flutter at the sound of John's voice. Her passive features collapsed into a knot of fury. A flicker of recognition. Green eyes filled with malice peered at him through her tangled tendrils of hair. Zhaan's head rocked back on her neck as her communion with the newcomer was abruptly severed. With amazing strength and agility, the priest was instantly on her feet, John in tow, roughly steering him away from the cell.

"Whoa!" John resisted, although not much of a match for her strength.

"You mustn't be here." Zhaan insisted with a frantic whisper. Over the priest's shoulder, he watched the pilot throw her body at the gate. The dense metal rattled appreciably in its sturdy hinges. The young woman's white-knuckled fists clutched the bars.

"YOU LEFT ME TO DIE!" She screamed, her throat compressed into straining tendons. Her eyes streamed with tears. The anger they contained was fixed on him. "You abandoned me. You promised to return. Instead you left me to die!"

"What the hell is she talking about?" John turned to Zhaan.

"John, please-"

Angrily, he turned back to his accuser. "We just saved your Nazi-Peacekeeper ass! I didn't leave anyone to die."

Once more, Zhaan tried to lead him away from the cell. But he resisted.

"I shall explain later. John, it's best if you leave. You're presence will only agitate her."

"I'm gonna agitate her?" He returned, indignant. "What the hell is going on, Zhaan?"

"She remembers you from her childhood." The Delvian's grip on his arm yielded slightly as her stern face softened. The expression there hinted to more of a disturbing discovery than the words could convey.

"I've never seen her before in my life." John countered.

Meanwhile, the prisoner collapsed into a tangle of limbs, arms and face pressed against the floor in a beseeching pose. Fierce, mournful sobs racked her shoulders beneath the mass of hair. "S'duhar, forgive me! Forgive. Please." Her quiet moan was drenched in anguish. It made a small chill form in John's heart. He capitalized on the momentary distraction to break away from Zhaan and warily approach the gate. The stranger did not stir beyond the painful, nonsensical mutter of her pleas to some absent master.

"John, please... don't make this harder." Warned Zhaan. Suddenly, the woman rolled to her side, back arched in convulsive gasps as she frantically struggled to breathe. John acted on impulse and triggered the gate.

"Crichton, don't!" Aeryn called.

With blinding speed, the prisoner lunged at him. His arms were caught in her surprisingly strong grasp. A fierce momentum pitched him like a rag. He landed on his back. The air punched from his lungs in an agonizing rush. Before he could react, she was seated on his chest. His own pulse gun was pressed into the crook of his jaw.

"Do you know what they do to hybrids, John Crichton?" She hissed. Her maniacal glare, etched with accusation and loathing, did not waver from his face.

"Don't do this!" Zhaan rushed forward, kneeling as close to them as she dared. "No. We can help you."

The muzzle pushed harder into John's flesh.

"Do something else, Blue." He rasped, daring not to move. "I don't think the pop psychology is working."

Zhaan pleaded once more. "Please, don't-"

"Drop the weapon, now!" Aeryn's command cut the tense exchange. Cautiously she stepped into the cell, pulse rifle lowered on John's assailant.

Sudden recognition flickered through the rancor on the young woman's face as she focused on Aeryn. The fury faded; replaced with a distressing mix of dreadful awe and reverence bordering on rapture. John felt the pressure of the pulse gun at his jaw lessen.

There was a small motion, barely perceptible. Suddenly, the young woman's limp body was sprawled on the floor beside him. A red welt from D'Argo's sting was already forming on the cool white of her neck. John looked up as the Luxan stood over him, hand extended. He took it and allowed himself to be helped to his feet.

"You know." D'Argo chided. "That happens to you far too often."

* * * * *

"You're joking, right? There's some punch-line here I don't get. Like Delvian candid camera?" John's derisive words reverberated in the nearly empty galley.

Seated across from him, Zhaan watched his outburst with her usual serene self-control and waited for him to look at her before she spoke again.

"John, I realize you're uncomfortable with this, but it's the truth. I know what I experienced in my bond with her." The priest continued calmly. "I cannot explain how, but L'Tan Sun is your and Aeryn's daughter."

"Whoa! Zhaan... I don't think the word uncomfortable comes close to covering this."

He stood and began to pace, hands interlocked behind his neck. This was no trick, no joke. It was written in the tensely set lines of the priest's shoulders and her earnest stare.

"I can show you." Zhaan said quietly.

His pacing stopped. He knew what she meant. Unity. "I don't know if I want to do this, Zhaan." John bowed his head, his back turned to her.

"Maybe I shouldn't know about it. Did you consider that?"

"John, I would not mislead you. She needs your help."

"She tried to kill me." He admitted, still feeling the slight sting to his pride. "That's not how people ask for help."

"I can show you." Zhaan repeated. "Then you can decide."

John walked to the doorway, but froze before he reached the corridor beyond.

Do you know that they do to hybrids, John Crichton?

The words hissed with such rabid fervor echoed, unbidden. The injured, accusatory glow in those murderous eyes forever etched into his memory.

He released a surrendering sigh. "What do I have to do?"

* * * * *

Aeryn stood at the workbench in Moya's bay, dissected prowler components ignored, as she scrutinized the care-worn patch of fabric. She turned it over and over between her fingers in an acrobatic tumble, teasing her memory.

"Oh, frell it." She muttered. Irritated, she tossed aside. Turning back to her work, she stopped.

Lips parted in a bemused gasp, Aeryn looked back in the direction of which she had thrown the strange trinket. In the distance beyond, rested the awkward mass of Crichton's module. On its dingy black and white hull was the same pattern of red and white lines. A blue field decorated with the angular shapes.

"Frell me." Aeryn said under her breath, reclaiming the insignia. She felt a small twinge of embarrassment. The answer had been in obvious sight all along, something she had looked at almost every solar day plastered across the hideous little vessel. The fabric emblem was from Crichton's jacket. But...

Her satisfied grin faltered, hindered by a nagging thought. She had not seen the human wear his Earp clothing in well over a cycle. That did not explain how the decoration wound up in the prowler's cockpit.

"Aeryn... I'm glad you're still up." Crichton was suddenly at her shoulder. She suppressed the startled jolt in her spine and turned. The patch of cloth tucked behind her back, a precognitive reflex, as though she had been caught in some criminal act.

"I have to talk to you." His eyes were red-rimmed, distraught. An unnatural pallor had taken over his face as though he had glimpsed his own death.

"Crichton, are you all right?" She stepped closer. A shadowed corner of her mind told her that there was news she would not like.

"What I'm about so say is gonna sound really crazy." His hands trembled slightly as they settled onto her shoulders, his blue eyes seeking hers.

"How is that unusual?" Aeryn smiled thinly.

"Just for one microt, drop the close-minded Peacekeeper mode and listen to what I have to say. Think of all the things... all of us on Moya have experienced... and all those things you thought impossible... until they happened. For once, don't judge. Just listen..."

* * * * *

She looked cautiously about the hangar for any sign of her father. The coast was clear. Quickly she darted along the wall of Moya's hanger and slipped into the transport pod. She wriggled behind the control console in search of a hiding spot. Footfalls betrayed someone's approach. Suddenly, strong hands gently grasped her around the waist and she felt the smooth floor leave her feet. Despite her disappointment at being discovered, Ellie giggled wildly.

"Gotcha." Her father announced with a grin as he carried her back out into the hangar. "What do you think you're doing, Commando Eleanor?"

Ellie wrapped an arm around her daddy's neck and pushed her forehead to his beard-stubbled jaw. "I'm going with you." He set her down and knelt before her. "Ellie, you know you can't go. It's very... risky."

Crestfallen, her chin tucked into her narrow chest as a pout pulled over her mouth. "If it's so risky, then why are you going?"

"It's complicated, hon." John struggled to keep the apprehension from his voice. But he could tell he was loosing ground by the unconvinced stare in her green eyes. "Besides, I need you here to help Zhaan. Who's gonna run mission control?"

"Yes, daddy. Mission control." Her tiny voice was on the verge of tears. The frown knotting her eyebrows deepened as a wave of adult dread filled her tiny body. She had overheard the halted whispering and the urgency in his conversations with Zhaan and Pilot. This was no ordinary excursion.

"Okay... part of this mission is really top secret." He said, with a conspicuous glance around Moya's bay. "I wasn't gonna do this until I got back, but... the IASA has authorized your promotion."

Eleanor nodded, sorrow momentarily forgotten by the intrigue in his voice.

"Close your eyes."

She complied, sooty dark lashes rolling down to meet the delicate pallor of her cheeks. His fingers trembled slightly as he attached the emblem to the soft-spun cloth of her tunic. The red, white and blue fell in discordant contrast to the elegant purple. He planted a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"Okay. Open 'em." Her father drew his shoulders into a formal line and placed his hands on her shoulders. His voice took on a feigned official tone. "I am placing you, Eleanor Sun-Crichton, in command of the Farscape project. It's your job to stay here and make sure Pilot and Zhaan are okay."

She looked down at the colorful rectangular patch, awestruck. Her dainty fingers traced the pattern of the same strange standard that decorated the skin of the module.

Red stripe. White stripe. Red stripe. White. Fragile white stars in a blue field....

"Identify yourself."

Her eyes snapped open. But her throat denied the startled gasp in her lungs. L'Tan had learned such discipline a long time ago. Control, adaptability were the keys to survival.

"Identify yourself." The gravel in the feminine voice was firmer, more insistent.

Still drowsy from the Luxan's sting, L'Tan had fallen asleep seated, arms wrapped around her knees, against the wall furthest from the doorway. She rolled her throbbing head up from her chest, hoping against the cold surety in her spine.

But the room was the same. She was still on the leviathan. On Moya. L'Tan allowed the thought, for the moment, as improbable as it might be.

Finally her eyes settled on her inquisitor. The same flood of emotions filled her at the sight of her mother, Aeryn Sun. An unvoiced loss.

Unabashed fear.

Self-loathing failure.

L'Tan looked away with a shameful tremor. She refused to meet her mother's eyes. To see the loathe and hate housed there was unbearable. Aeryn Sun, whom she had worshipped and never known, clearly held nothing but venom in her heart for her.

Oblivious to L'Tan's internal torment, Aeryn stepped closer, deceptively delicate hand extended. In it rested the dingy, battered patch like an unspoken accusation. Although she felt an urge to snatch it away, L'Tan remained frozen by her mother's contempt.

"I know you're not a prowler pilot," Aeryn continued in measured coolness.

The outstretched hand twisted slightly. The patch slid along the smooth skin.

"I've seen the brand on your back... Scorpius' mark."

The hand inverted, dumping the patch to the floor.

"You may have Crichton and Zhaan fooled. But not me. Identify yourself."

Aeryn wove a white knuckled fist through L'Tan's collar and pulled her to her feet. L'Tan, who knew countless ways to end an enemy's life, was helpless under her mother's reproachful glare. "Aeryn! What are you doing?" Her father's voice erupted from the open doorway.

* * * * *

"I want my own answers, Crichton!" Aeryn jerked her elbow from his grasp as they approached the galley.

"What were you gonna do?" John countered, shutting the door behind them. "Beat it out of her? Don't you think she's had enough of that?"

She would not face him, only watched his frosted reflection in the glass of the portal. Her back was a rigid line of anger.

"You want answers? Here. Here's answers." He waved a stack of transparencies and slid them across the table toward her. "Look at the energy signature from the wormhole. It's nothing like the ones I've seen before. Somehow, it was different. The whole thing was shot full of tachyons."

With an arrogant wave, she lashed out. The pages were sent flying like a flock of startled birds. "I don't know what the frell a takeeon is! And I don't care how many readouts and figures you shove in my face. This is all dren! There's an explanation that doesn't involve what you're suggesting."

"Explain how she survived the heat, Aeryn. No Sebacean. No full-blooded Sebacean would have! She's a hybrid. Explain how she knows Zhaan, or Delvian prayers. Or, better yet..." He tossed the patch on to the table. "Explain how she got this."

Aeryn folded her arms pensively against her chest. There was no response.

"I saw it myself. In her memories. I gave that to her... or I will." John rounded the table and stood before her. "If you don't believe it, on some level, then why did you hide it from me?"

His fingers gently brushed her cheek. But she tore away once more, keeping her eyes hidden.

"You and the Delvian have been frelling inside each others brains too much. You're both insane!" She said, angrily.

"Why? Why won't you believe it, Aeryn?"

But she fell silent, head bowed.

"Aeryn-"

"Is this what you meant by being more? I could be so much more?" Her voice wavered when she finally spoke. He noticed the unmistakable shimmer of tears in her eyes.

"I don't understand." But he did. He remembered.

An offer extended. A promise made.

You can be more.

"That being more means my death? And yours? That I, that we, would have a child who knows nothing but hatred or fear? That is the slave for a madman?"

But he would have never imagined the ending that had developed before them.

"We have a chance to change that," he began. "It doesn't have to end like-"

"Enough, Crichton." Aeryn shook her head. The fury had faded. "Enough. I refuse."

She strode away. Leaving him alone in the silent galley.

* * * * *

Something was wrong.

Moya had stopped.

The familiar rhythm beneath her bare feet was gone. Ellie pressed her face to the warm floor of the galley. Only the Leviathan's pulse remained, a mournful drum against her ear.

"Eleanor!" Zhaan was a sudden flurry of blue in the doorway, her face pulled into distressed lines. "Come here! Quickly! We must go to Pilot's den."

The small girl was swept up into the Delvian's arms. Winding corridors passed in a frenzied blur until they reached the familiar sanctuary of the Navigator's lair.

"Pilot, is there any sign of John's transport pod?"

"Nothing. Many of Moya's systems were disabled by the pulse weapon, including her communications... Starburst as well. But there is worse news, Pa'u Zhann." He answered, head lowered in defeat. "The marauders are now in Moya's bay."

"Seal all of the doors between here and the shuttle bay, Pilot."

Ellie watched the door swing shut. Frantically, she tugged at the priest's sleeve. "Where's Daddy? How can Daddy get in if the doors are closed?"

"Hush, my dear. Your father is very clever. He will find us." She embraced the girl with the soft crush of her robes. "Right now, we must be very quiet and hide until we can get away."

"I'm scared." Ellie whispered, emerald eyes huge in the half-light.

"I know, my dear. I know."

Suddenly, a tremendous explosion shook the floor. The ambient lighting winked uncertainly before returning in a feeble glow.

"Pilot!" Zhaan called.

"I am... fine, Zhaan. I will not divulge your location. Hurry. There is little time."

Ellie was lead along twisting tunnels within Moya's living walls. Finally they rested, in the pitch black.

Distant, half-imagined sounds reverberated beyond their hiding place:

A raucous shout.

Barked commands carried on disciplined, murderous voices.

A hammering shudder ravaged the wall.

Ellie let out a startled squeal, pushing her face further into the fold of Zhaan's robes. "Why doesn't Daddy come?"

"Soon." Zhaan hushed. "We will see him soon."

Another angry barrage of thunder. With a trembling moan, the ruined wall gave way to a flood of naked light. There was a sudden crush of hulking dark figures in gleaming black helmets and heavy boots. Ellie felt Zhaan's body convulse in a painful scream against her. Rough hands pried them apart, dragging Ellie into the light.

Then nothing.

Until.

Another room on a different ship.

In stark contrast to the gentle warmth of the leviathan. A harsh study in cold metal walls and grating that gnawed at Ellie's bare feet.

"You may leave her with me."

The voice's owner was hidden in the thick shadows. The monsters cast Ellie to the floor before disappearing into the darkness.

She stood, shivering with cold and fear. A waif, dressed in dingy purple, trapped by the harsh overhead light like some exotic insect.

"What do they call you, child? Hmm...?" The voice circled just beyond the reach of light.

"Answer."

But fear claimed her tongue.

"No matter. I shall choose a new name for you. Understood?"

He prowled ever closer. Soon the dark would give him up.

"I want my Daddy!" Ellie forced her panic-stricken lungs to work.

Circling, closer still. Reflections played with the perfect black sheen of his form. She tensed, her tiny fists like stones at her sides.

"What makes you think he wants you?" The voice taunted. "After all, your father left you to die on the Leviathan."

Fear pooled in her center at the callous accusation.

"You're a big liar! I want my Daddy."

Another step closer. The light carved out the arch of a waxy, translucent cheekbone. The eyes were hidden beneath the headpiece of taut black skin.

Panic bloomed anew in her chest. She backed away from this pale shade of a creature.

"I need not lie. I can prove it." He said.

The grainy image flickered from the darkness beyond:

John Crichton was dying. Dark shadows defined his red-rimmed eyes. A fresh bruise was a garish purple along his temple. His tortured voice was a ragged hitch. "... don't know what the hell you're talking about. There's...n-n-no rendezvous. Nothing, nobody on Moya worth the risk. No reason for me to go back there."

Ellie buried her tear-stained face in her hands. Crushing betrayal and disbelief tore at her heart.

"Now do you believe me, child? Your father will not return." He glided closer; slim gloved hands outstretched with sinister grace. "But you are fortunate. I want you, my dear. As my right of victory, I have claimed you.

"I shall be your father. Your master. In time, you will understand how fortunate you are."

"But, I forget myself." A smile split his cracked black lips to expose the teeth of a carnivore. It did not touch the rheumy glow of his reptile eyes. "I am Scorpius."

John sat up in his bed with an abrupt gasp.

"Just a dream." He said to his empty quarters.

But he knew better. More than a dream, the images from Unity with Zhaan had wormed their way into his sleep. They were the fractured memories of the strange young woman who now resided in the containment tier. L'Tan, for want of a better explanation, his daughter.

"Aw... crap." He pushed a shaky hand through his hair. "Get a grip, Crichton."

Sleep would not return. It was written in the certainty of his racing pulse.

John dressed without looking at the chronometer. He knew what it would say.

Damned late or damned early.

The only things prowling Moya's corridors would be DRDs and ghosts. And of the latter, he had plenty.

He wandered the empty hallways, without direction until he found himself outside of command. A pool of light spilled into the darkened corridor. Within he glimpsed the movement of a slender shadow: Aeryn.

"Can't sleep?" He said from the doorway. It sounded more like a self-incrimination than a question.

If he had startled her, he could not tell. She regarded him with a quick nod before turning back to the Nav console.

"I thought it best to do a systems check while Moya was in sleep cycle." Her voice was cool. "What do you want, John?"

"Is this how it's gonna be from now on?" John moved to her side. "We just coordinate our schedules so we never see each other again?"

Her hands paused over the panel. "I have no answers for you."

"I'm not asking you to solve the mysteries of the universe, Aeryn. I don't know what we're supposed to do now. I just need to know that you're on my team."

She turned to face him. Her voice softened. "I never left your team, John."

"Aeryn, I-"

The alien memory rammed this his tired brain, full-tilt:

...acrid smoke filled the cockpit as a half a dozen alerts sprang to life. Comm. Proximity. Navigation. Life support. The prowler performed a gut-wrenching roll and hit a flat spin. The yawning mouth of the wormhole loomed. Another jarring blast grazed the Jocosta-

John shook his head. "Whoa."

"Crichton?" She grabbed his shoulder to steady him.

"It's okay." He said with a meager grin. "Delvian mind-meld hiccup-"

He stopped. Revelation flooded over him.

"I need your help." He tugged Aeryn toward the door. "What can you tell me about the weapons on a command carrier?"

* * * * *

"You haven't eaten." John said, stepping over the dented tray that lay in the middle of the hallway. Bits of food still clung to the wall opposite of L'Tan's cell, evidence of an earlier tantrum.

"Why should that matter to you?" L'Tan answered in a brassy whisper. She was coiled against the wall, her knees tucked beneath her chin. At his approach, her shoulders drew into a rigid line. Cool green eyes studied his every move.

"Because it does." John answered.

She seemed smaller, almost delicate, like a polished stone. This was not the same frenzied creature that had attacked him. Her wild mop of dark hair was smoothed into a smooth plait. Her bulky flight suit gone, shed in favor of the sleek clothes beneath. Pale, slender arms, marked with scars, wound around her legs.

"Return me to my ship." She hissed. It was part order, part plea.

"Where would you go?"

"I don't belong here." Her eyes narrowed. The sleek control on her temper was failing.

"And you belong with him? With Scorpius?" John returned, incredulous.

At the mention of her master's name he could see her flinch, a dagger of guilt and devotion twisting in her side.

"He is more to me than you ever were." She rose, poised with a graceful tension. The anger was building somewhere beneath her glassy surface.

She stepped closer to the gate. Her head lowered. "You never answered my question, Commander. Do you know what they do to hybrids? The Peacekeepers?"

His jaw tightened. "I've got an idea."

"I was fortunate. I was not fitted with a control device, to be some mindless attendant or servant. To live my life in a drugged stupor. My s'duhar saw no sport in that." L'Tan turned and paced, impassioned with her sermon. "He taught me well. I learned of your cowardice. You left me to die. You left. He came. And I was liberated. My master showed me the truth!"

As she spoke, the small hairs on the back of his neck stood up en masse. Whatever vulnerability he had imagined in her had dissolved. L'Tan's mannerisms, the patterns of her speech were nearly identical with those of Scorpius.

"Are you done, Princess?" John asked with callous finality. "Now, let me tell you what I now.

"I've seen your memories... through Zhaan. I'm not certain what that prick Scorpy showed you, but I know me. I wouldn't abandon Moya like that. What I saw was a dying man who lied to save the life of his daughter."

Unconvinced, a reproachful sneer twisted her mouth.

He cycled the lock, opening the gate.

"Come on. Field trip." He waved her toward him. "I'm gonna show you the truth, since you're so into it."

* * * * *

Jocosta. L'Tan allowed herself the small wave of relief as she stood before the prowler once more. She fought the urge to run a hand along the brushed alloy of a sloped wing. Her soul was restored knowing her ship remained in one piece.

"We're gonna play a game. It's called truth or consequences." Crichton said, slapping her back. With an irritated growl, she turned on him, ready to pounce. But a heavy hand fell on her shoulder. She looked up. It was attached to the Luxan, she noted with naked disdain.

"L'Tan, this is D'Argo. I believe you've met... sort of."

She watched as Crichton ran a thick finger along the wing, eliciting a screech of skin on metal that made her flinch. "Anything wrong with your pretty little hotrod you want to tell me about, L'Tan?"

"No." She answered, making no attempt to hide her annoyance.

"Perfect?" He rapped a fist over the fuselage.

She took a protective step forward. D'Argo's hand clamped down more firmly on her shoulder. "Yes."

Crichton bounded onto the wing like a graceless primate. The landing struts uttered a small protest. The "rules" of his game, although they had not been explained, were quickly becoming apparent. Each time she gave an answer he did not like, her prowler was victimized.

"Your perfect little ship made a frelled up wormhole?" He challenged with a snide grin as he leaned into the cockpit, rummaging for something.

"It was fine until I approached the event horizon." The words jumped from her mouth. Anything to get him off the Jocosta.

"Then what happened to bring you here?" Crichton hopped back to the floor, transparency in hand. "Took a wrong turn in Albuquerque?"

L'Tan swallowed. Her eyes darted between him and the ship. The slow tide of her anger was ebbing, challenged by a blacker thoughts.

He did not wait for her answer.

"Before it decided to shut me out, I managed to crack open the flight data recorder. It's all here." He fluttered the transparency in her face then yanked it away with a flourish. "Point A to point B. Fifty thousand metras. A short jaunt, right? But guess what? Something you didn't count on. There was a really large energy burst. Large enough to alter the temporal signature on that wormhole. To screw up your little test flight and bring you here. Any guesses where that energy surge came from, Princess?"

"None." She clenched her fists, nails digging into the soft flesh of her palms.

"Wrong answer!"

The page fluttered to the bay floor. With a firm hand, he led her by the elbow along the side of the ship.

In the wing's shadow, a black singe stretched over the alloy like a malignancy.

"See that mark?" He rapped an impatient knuckle on the hull.

L'Tan pulled away, but he fished a hand through her collar. She followed him, grudgingly. His finger ran along the black scar.

"What do you think that is?" He demanded.

"It's a burn." She hissed through clenched teeth.

"Ding! Give the kid a cigar!" He shook her shoulder with feigned enthusiasm. "In fact, it's from a near miss with a frag cannon. The kind they have on big old Peacekeeper command carriers."

Crichton released her shirt. She backed into the Luxan's thick chest.

"They fired on you. Your big hero, Scorpius, tried to kill you. How's that for the truth?"

"Lies!" She spat the word. "This means noth-"

"Focus!" He commanded, snapping his fingers in her face. "What'd you do to piss him off? Come on... Make me proud."

"Nothing." The air was leaden in her lungs. There was no room to breathe.

"You stole the ship." Crichton stepped closer.

"I did not steal it!" L'Tan felt an indignant flush, enraged tears blurring her vision. "He would not listen. He tried to-"

"He tried to kill you." He said quietly.

"You could not possibly understand!"

* * * * *

Penance. Regret. Fear. All swarmed through her poisoned heart to be joined by another demon: Betrayal.

L'Tan shut her eyes and pressed her face to the wall. The Leviathan's hum crawled over her skin, flooding her ears.

But she could still hear him. Still feel him. Her master.

I am greatly disappointed, young Sun.

Pacing, hands clasped behind his back, hovering over her stooped shoulders. He would not look upon her. Somehow, that was worse.

He makes you doubt me. He seeks to turn you against me. And you turn. What does that say of your loyalty to me?

She answered, her hushed voice anxious and reverent. "I did not turn. I would not be here, if you would have only listened-"

He whirled on her, his eyes black pools in the half-light.

You presume to blame me? You exist only because I wish it!

"Forgive me, s'duhar. Please." She cringed closer to the wall, head bowed in penance. Her throat became a painful knot. "I only wished to restore myself to your favor."

You live for me.

"Yes." She nodded vigorously, with the ardor of a child.

And you would die for me?

L'Tan opened her eyes.

The answer died in her throat. Yes.

Yet. You breathe still.

The clawed panic in her chest was stilled, replaced by a cold surety. With numb fingers, she pulled at the hidden pocket within her jacket. Even the crafty Nebari had failed to find the tiny vial of liquid concealed there. She folded this tiny capsule of death in her fist.

Here was escape.

"All will be forgiven?" She asked, looking up.

But there was no answer. Her master was gone.

L'Tan swiped impatiently at her tear streaked face then gingerly removed the vial's seal. The glass ticked against her teeth as her nervous fingers quivered. The xiocine was overpoweringly acrid, her tongue recoiling with the taste of the first droplets.

"What the hell are you doing?" Crichton's voice suddenly erupted as he darted through the gate to her. Quickly she turned away, seeking to drink the remainder. But his brute hands slapped the vial away. It was dashed to the floor.

"What is that crap?" Crichton demanded, admonishing. His rage was betrayed by the fear in his eyes.

L'Tan tried to back away, but her legs did not heed her command.

Her mouth. Her lungs had become lazy beasts. A mist flooded the edges of her vision. The few drops had been enough. Enough to bring the black swirling tide around her feet. It rose eagerly up her legs, dissolving her knees. She crumpled to the floor, gladly succumbing.

"L'Tan?" A rough hand shook her. But she watched more than felt.

Come on. Wake up! The commanding voice was tinny, disconnected.

The black filled her mouth, her nostrils. Covered her eyes. To the last, her ears were still buffeted by the unimportant sounds.

wakeup... zhaan... getthehelldownhere...

* * * * *

Denor is a rock. One big, muggy, hot rock.

Surveying the terraced landscape, John swatted distractedly at the tiny swarm of insects hovering near his ear. The sky was a brilliant, almost painful yellow. Two suns blazed overhead. A failing red dwarf and its bloated partner. There was no breeze, leaving the air heavy and stale over his skin.

"How long has it been?" He turned to Zhaan before casting an anxious glance at the curtained doorway. Beyond it, somewhere in the peculiar shadows of the apothecary's lab was his daughter, possibly dead.

She ended her hushed chant before answering. "Nearly two arns."

"This guy'd better know his stuff." He muttered, dragging a hand across the back of his neck.

Zhaan touched his arm, comforting. "Metur's expertise excels my ability to treat her. Chiana said that he is well known in this region for his skills with toxins."

"Making them? Or stopping them?" He said, sarcastically.

He turned back to the dismal landscape. "I don't get it, Zhaan. Why? What could Scorpius do to a kid's head to drive her that far? It must make the Aurora chair look like a cake walk."

"The mental conditioning she was subjected to runs very deep, John. I sensed as much in my communion with her." Said the priest, the pity for L'Tan apparent in her voice.

The curtains parted. Metur, a gnarled knot of a being, exited in his ragged bundle of robes. The Trelgin apothecary recoiled slightly as John approached. "Sebaceans" were oddities here. The heat of the planet keep them away.

"Well?" John prodded.

"The woman-child rests. Hmmmm. Shall be fine." Metur hummed in his strange sing-song. "Lucky her. Nerve not there. Not damaged by xiocine."

"Paraphoral nerve?"

"Hmmmm. Yes. Have other organs that take place. An oddity, this woman. Most unlikely Sebacean. You no Sebacean either, hmmm? The heat here would kill." The apothecary's wizened eyes, a filmy yellow, but sharper than a serpent's tooth, peered at him from the folds of an ancient face. John felt the crawl of hair across the back of his neck.

Leaving soon would be a good idea.

"Can I see her?" He said, ignoring the question.

"Proceed." The alchemist extended a bony, big knuckled hand, ushering him to the door.

John turned to Zhaan. "Get D'Argo. Round up Pip and Sparky. I don't want to wear out our welcome."

She nodded slightly, reading the new tension in his voice. Things could get worse.

* * * * *

For a moment she could not breathe. But then her lungs unfolded like the wings of some great weary moth and beat against the liquid heaviness that sought to bear her down into the alien mat of cushions. She rolled onto her side as a fit of coughing racked her frame.

A thick spurt of blood spilled over her lips. Stupidly, she looked at the miniature pool of dark crimson and dragged a numb hand against her mouth. A disjointed thought bubbled in her brain.

I missed. Corsair was faster than I'd thought.

L'Tan peered about the dim room, thoughts slowly clearing. This was not the carrier. Or even the Leviathan.

A row of candles lined the wall. Twisted ropes of sabet oil vines hung along the walls. The warm, humid air was heavy with their scent.

Memory return in a rushing wave:

The tiny vial dashed to the floor. Crichton's angry voice, tempered with fear. Gnarled ancient hands moving over her, prying open her jaw. Some cloying sweet fluid. A craggy voice demanding that she drink.

A sliver of brilliant yellow sunlight struck the far wall. A figure entered through the curtained doorway, Crichton.

"I don't know this place." She said simply, watching his approach.

"Well, it ain't Johns Hopkins, but it's covered on Moya's HMO." He plopped next to her in the thick layers of pillows. "How do you feel?".

"Thick." It was the best word. Her tongue felt sluggish in her mouth. Muscles ached as if she had been through a commando physical training course. Only the pain in her lungs seemed to be receding.

He smiled, thinly. "I was afraid you weren't going to make it."

"Of course." She peered at him in a sidelong glance. "You need me to repair the Jocosta."

"Listen to me." Crichton abruptly seized her shoulders and forced her to look at him. A hurt anger edged his words. "I am not your enemy. I just want to help you. Can you get it through your thick skull?"

Zhaan's disembodied voice suddenly issued from his com: "John, there is no sign of Chiana or Rygel. We've searched everywhere."

"Keep looking." He replied, but his eyes did not leave L'Tan's. "We'll meet you at the transport pod in a few microts."

He rose from the cushions, extending a hand to her. "I hate to break up our dysfunctional family fun, but the guy who runs this joint gives me the creeps. We should split."

L'Tan studied his face for a long measuring moment. Hesitantly she took his hand, allowing herself to be pulled to her feet.

The curtains in the doorway parted, bathing the room with blinding light. They both looked up to see a silhouette fill the doorway, taller, more firm. Most definitely not the hobbled Metur.

"Don't move! Hands where I can see them!" The figure commanded through the muffle of a rebreathing coil. A sinister glint of sunlight on metal betrayed the pulse rifle in his hands.

Their attacker spoke to second, unseen via comlink. "I have the Sebaceans right where Metur said they'd be. Let me know when you've spotted the others. Remember, heads are fine. They only wanted the one called Crichton alive."

"Great. Just wonderful. Bounty hunter." Crichton muttered.

L'Tan spared him a curious glance, confused by his observation. She saw nothing beneficial about this new development.

The curtain fell shut, imparting their tense triad to the dim. The hunter strode toward them, pulse rifle at the ready. Red eyes narrowed in a jeer over the rebreather mask.

"Looks like I'm going to retire in style."

"Who the hell are you?" Crichton challenged.

"Botan Ved." He answered, studying the human's face. "Yes. You are the one in the Peacekeeper's wanted beacon."

Ved's beady red eyes next fell on L'Tan. He sniffed curiously at her hair, the sound of it amplified by the mask. The pulse rifle's muzzle prodded at her ribs. "Not Sebacean... but not like him. Curious... There's no bounty on you. Must be worth some credits to somebody though. Shame to waste such a pretty piece of meat."

"Now, hang on there, Boba Fet-" Crichton stepped forward. The rifle switched back to him at the sudden move.

L'Tan lashed out at the distracted hunter, her fist striking his throat.

Dazed, he fumbled with the rifle as she seized on it. They were soon caught in a deadly tug-of-war. With a great shove, Ved sent her crashing into the wall. A rain of earthen apothecary jars shattered around her. She lost her footing in the slick oil from a broken vessel and fell to the floor.

There was the unmistakable flash of a pulse gun. It struck the hunter high on the back. Ved's limp body fell onto her with a winded thump.

Panting, head reeling, she looked up to see Crichton holstering his gun.

"Are you okay?" He questioned.

But she did not share his distress. L'Tan was incensed. She had been caught off-guard, her body in a weakened state. A grievous error that is seldom forgiven. She angrily rolled the slumped body off of her, waving away Crichton's offer of assistance.

"Zhaan? D'Argo?" He called into his com, sparing a cautious peek into the courtyard beyond the doorway.

D'Argo's response was angry and breathless. "John! Where are you? There are wanted beacons-"

"And bounty hunters. I know." Crichton broke in. "Keep an eye out. We'll be at the transport pod in five microts."

He jerked his chin at her. "Let's go. Coast is clear."

"No." L'Tan squatted along side the fallen hunter, her head at a curious tilt, studying. "He still lives."

"Yes... and he'll wake up really pissed off. Been there. Done that. Let's go." Crichton turned from the door, his brow furrowed. "What're you doing?"

"He's Onari. The air we breathe is poison to him." She said, clinically.

"No! Wait-" He called.

With a callous jerk, L'Tan removed the rebreather coil fastened to Ved's face. A tiny hiss resounded. Instantly the unconscious hunter began to convulse, a thick green foam flooding from his mouth. Then he lay still.

"Why did you do that?" Crichton looked from the body to her, dismayed. "You didn't have to do that."

She looked up at him. Her face was expressionless as she repeated the Peacekeeper mantra from memory. "A dead enemy is better than a disabled enemy."

* * * * *

"Trouble. Since her first microt on this ship." Rygel huffed, keeping his sleigh throne doggedly in pace with John and D'Argo along Moya's corridor. "We don't need her. L'Tan is another yammering mouth to feed. We should dump the scrawny bitch off at the next commerce planet."

John whirled on him, his hand dashing out to grab his royal pain in the ass by the ear. "Put a lid on it, Fluffy. Nobody's dumping anyone. Got it?"

He released the Hynerian and watched him dart down the hall, muttering a string of garbled curses.

John looked back at D'Argo's disapproving scowl. "What?" He challenged. "Don't tell me you're on the same page as Rygel?"

"John, I know what it is like to worry over a child." D'Argo began. "But this is not the same. She is not a little girl. You cannot save her, Crichton. L'Tan is dangerous, even to herself. Today was proof enough of that."

"So what are you saying, D'Argo?" John threw his arms in the air in a disgruntled flourish. "Lock her up forever? Drop her off on some rock?"

D'Argo met his eyes gaze. He said, simply. "Just let go."

* * * * *

L'Tan slouched at the galley's long curving table under the dim starlight of the portal. A plate of food cubes rested in front of her, untouched. In the corner of her eye there was a stealthy movement, a darker figure glided among the shadows in the doorway. She turned, eyes piercing the dark.

"What." L'Tan said. It was not a question.

"Never seen anyone that drank xiocine and lived." The Nebari cautiously approached the table. She regarded L'Tan with a queer cant of her shaggy head. "How do you feel?"

L'Tan rolled spiteful eyes up at her. She answered in a derisive voice. "What do you think?"

"Right." Chiana nodded with a nervous smile.

"I know you're not concerned with my health." She turned back to the window. "Why are you really here, Nebari?"

"I wanted to know... It's just that your first day here, you remembered Zhaan. But you didn't recognize me or D'Argo, even Toad." Chiana drew herself up onto the table. "Why don't you remember us? What happens to us in the future?"

L'Tan's mouth pulled into a thin line. Her eyes held back a sinister knowledge. "Do you really want to know?"

"Chiana." Aeryn's voice sliced the air, startling both of them. The Nebari jumped up with a guilty look. "Aeryn, I was just-"

"Zhaan has been looking for you." Aeryn strode up to the table, eyes narrowed. "She needs your help."

"No she doesn't, I just left-"

"That's why you should leave... now." Aeryn continued jerking her chin at the door impatiently.

"Fine. I know where I'm not wanted." Chiana said, striding away in an irritated huff.

L'Tan and Aeryn regarded each other in an awkward silence that remained.

It was Aeryn who was the first to speak. "Crichton told me about the bounty hunter... Ved."

L'Tan turned away, gaze fixed on the portal. "I assume you do not approve either."

"I can understand why you did it." Aeryn replied. "It would have been a tactical error to leave your enemy disabled. You were merely following your training."

L'Tan's spine straightened at the familiar words on her mother's voice. Aeryn detected a liquid quiver to her eyes in the half-light. There was something in the expression that reminded her of Crichton. Not so much her features, but the expression of unvoiced loss.

"You cannot know what it is to look upon you. To hear your voice." L'Tan rose and stood before the field of stars, her back to Aeryn. She spoke with a trembling reverence. "When I was a child, I would have gladly given anything for just this moment. I wanted so desperately to know you, to be just like you.

"But that could never happen. I am nothing like you. I have done things, worse than my actions today. Things you would never understand. There is nothing... to change that."

"You helped us today." Aeryn said. "Helped our shipmates escape the bounty hunters. It is a beginning."

L'Tan bowed her head. "I thought only of my own life."

Aeryn slipped beside her at the window. "John told me something once. 'You can be more.' He believed it of me. But the real challenge is, can you believe it of yourself?"

* * * * *

What are you thinking, L'Tan?

Her master's voice filled her thoughts, unbidden.

She sat within the shadows of the deserted galley, like some forgotten misery.

That they would suffer you to stay? Call you their own? All the while you know what is in their hearts, don't you? They fear you. Despise you.

You can be more?! Ridiculous tripe.

He strode behind her back, all the while his voice deceptively even, protracted. Your mother does not want you here any more than he does. His only interest is the prowler and what he can take from it.

"I deliver the Leviathan to you and all will be as it should. All will be forgiven." L'Tan murmured, eyes vacant within her pale mask of a face.

It was no longer a question. For there was no longer a choice.

L'Tan slipped through winding corridors until she reached the darkened bay, heart ramming her ribs. A DRD trundled by, eyestalks nosing the shadows. She froze, hidden behind the sloped roof of the module, until the creature continued on its self-important mission.

She paused and drew a shaky breath.

The Jocosta waited for her in the dull copper glow of the wall sconces.

What are you thinking, L'Tan? Why do you even hesitate?

His voice was an icy finger on her heart.

With an agile grace, she noiselessly climbed inside the darkened cockpit. Nervous fingers played with the ident-chip on its chain, stalling. Her resolve was draining.

"I do this and all will be as it should." She told herself.

Shaking hands inserted the chip through the scanner. A low hum resonated in the console.

She slipped on the occulars.

"Jocosta, identify pilot: L'Tan Sun." Her own voice seemed too loud in the small space.

The response flickered across the occular display, weak at first then brighter:

Voice Identification Confirmed

The orange glow of the console slowly filled the darkened space. She spared another quick glance to the hanger.

Nothing. No one.

"Report status." She commanded.

There was a contemplative pause as the ship checked its systems. A list of complaints soon rolled into view:

Navigation - Disabled
Secondary Shielding - Disabled
Environmental - Disabled
Communications - Enabled
"Cancel command."

The report abruptly vanished. She had seen what she needed to know.

L'Tan paused, swallowing to keep the tremor from her voice. "Open a hyperlink channel, all known Ravstar regiment distress frequencies."

The view changed. Within the theater of the occulars, the blue hexagonal pattern of the communications grid appeared.

"Activate automated distress signal. Attach triangulation coordinates. Omni pattern recognition. Operative.... Scorpius. Delay command while we are in range of pulsar diffraction."

Operation complete

It was done. She exhaled sharply; but there was no relief. "Estimate time until free of pulsar signal diffraction."

Solar days: 2
Arns: 14
Microns: 47
Microts: 09

L'Tan watched the microts start of tick away. The light of the console became a blurry backdrop to the command screen. She distractedly swiped at her eyes.

"All will be forgiven.

* * * * *

"Don't touch that." L'Tan said sharply. "Are you insane?"

"Okay, boss." John drew his hands into the air in a surrendering motion. He turned away from the Jocosta's propulsion compartment, directing a sardonic grin at her. "And, no, I'm not... yet."

The young woman leaned protectively against the prowler's wing, analyzing his every move. She was deathly pale. Sunken hollows lined her glassy eyes. A vitality, that was more than corporeal, was missing in her.

But L'Tan had proven to be more like Aeryn than he had first guessed: denying her infirmity, unwilling to talk about her moment of weakness; her attempt to claim her own life less than two solar days ago.

He watched as she distractedly chewed on her thumb, her only nervous habit. One of his own, he noted, feeling a strange tug in his chest.

"What." She demanded, lifting her head. Her emerald eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why are you staring at me?"

"Nothing." He smirked, waving a dismissive hand. "Just... nothing."

John returned his attention to spheroid in its nest of conduits and field coils. The same intriguing hum filled the air around it. "Okay. Can you at least tell me what this deally-gig is?"

"That deally-gig," she mocked. "Is a naked singularity housed in a metallic hydrogen casing."

"What?" John took an apprehensive step back, unconsciously wiping his hand on his vest. Eyes wide with disbelief, he looked up at her. "There's a singularity? In that?"

"Yes." She stated with the aloof arch of an eyebrow. "You're very astute."

"How? I mean... how?" He questioned, approaching her.

Avoiding his eyes, L'Tan wordlessly pushed away from the prowler's wing in search of the sanctuary of the cockpit.

"Well?" He pursued.

"It's very... complicated." She sighed, lowering herself into the seat.

John leaned over the cockpit's edge, looking down at her. "You don't know, do you?"

"Are you always this annoying?" She asked with tepid exasperation.

"You'll have to excuse me." He said, rolling with eyes. "It's only the second time I've seen a black hole stashed inside someone's glove compartment."

L'Tan regarded him with a quizzical look. "You are the oddest creature."

"I know. I get a lot of that." He returned. "And you didn't answer my question."

"The spheroid is not Peacekeeper technology." She admitted, resting her head back onto the seat. "It was obtained from a species called the Ciax. It does what it's supposed to do... create wormholes. My primary concern was designing the Jocosta."

Frowning, she unplugged a charred circuit node. With disgusted relish, she threw it out into the hangar.

"Just like Corsair." L'Tan muttered.

"Who?"

"Delvar Corsair. Someone I... knew." She said, gazing inward to some personal desolate landscape. "So cavalier. Never thinking ahead. You remind me of him somewhat. He wasn't afraid of me like everyone else. Never had the foresight to fear me."

John tensed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." Her pale mouth pulled into a thin line as she patiently maneuvered the snarl of console cables into a semblance of order.

He fell silent, watching her work. The universe did not exist for L'Tan beyond her ship and its organized chaos of circuits and schematics.

"Jocosta..." John whispered thoughtfully. "What does that mean?"

Her hands halted, only briefly. "It's a Delvian word."

"And. what does it mean?"

"It means," she squinted reflectively, still intent on the panel of circuits before her. "A distant.... far horizon."

"Far horizon?" He arched an eyebrow.

Oblivious to the significance to him, L'Tan gave him a shallow nod before she looked away.

John grinned to himself, bemused.

Farscape.

* * * * *

Metur took an appalled step back as the one called Crichton barged through his doorway, the dying woman in his arms.

The stranger's voice was tainted with panic. "She's dying."

"There." The alchemist gestured to a thick pile of pillows in an alcove, anxiously eyeing the other curiosities that had appeared with them: a Delvian priestess and a rather imposing Luxon.

Crichton gently lowered the woman's limp body to the cushions before he whirled on Metur, snagging him by the collar of his robes. "Don't just stare. Do something. Help her."

"John. Please." The Delvian implored. She moved swiftly between them, placing a calming hand on her companion.

"We are desperate for your help, Salis Metur." She turned to him. Her face was grave as she placed the shattered remains of a tiny glass vial into his bony fist. "She drank from this. It's xiocine, I believe. Can you help her?"

"Enough." Scorpius ordered. He signaled to his attendant, fully annoyed. Niem responded with a subtle, obedient nod. The images vanished from the viewer.

He turned to the Trelgin strapped to the Aurora chair, temper slipping. With very little experience with the subject's anatomy, he had been forced to improvise on modifications for the new chair's effectiveness. The success to extract information from his mind was, at best, limited. Until this moment, Scorpius had begun to doubt the report of the recent sighting of Crichton on Denor.

"I am not interested in this... drama." He waved a hand disgustedly. Through fissured black lips, he enunciated each word. "Tell me where the Leviathan is headed."

"I know nothing... nothing of Leviathan" Metur slurred. The alien's misshapen head hung over his chest in ragged breaths. He was dying. The chair's effects had been far more detrimental on his physiology than anticipated.

All of these things Scorpius observed clinically, as he circled the chair. He paused, leaning on the viewer to peer down at the Trelgin.

"Again." He ordered, coldly.

Metur uttered a thick moan as the chair hummed to sinister life once more. The tortured muscles in his body snapped into rigid protest against the restraints.

Disjointed images rolled across the screen:

The dead Onari bounty hunter sprawled across the floor of his home...

A brilliant yellow sky pinioned with two suns...

The young Sebacean female, her delicate features framed by a tangle of dark hair. She was sickly pale, skin glistening in the meager flicker of the oil lanterns. He pressed the bowl of elixir to her clenched jaw. She twisted her head away, eyes squeezed shut.

"Jocosta. My ship." The woman muttered feverishly. "Return me to my ship."

Scorpius nodded to Niem in an unspoken command.

The viewer went blank.

He pushed a gloved hand beneath the Metur's chin, impaling him with an icy stare.

"I want to know where the Leviathan is." Scorpius' voice lowered into a menacing growl.

"I have no interest in this dying stranger."

* * * * *

L'Tan landed badly, balance off-center, arms thrown out to meet the sparring mat as it rushed up to her. The air left her lungs in a painful rush. Blood began to well between her teeth almost instantly. For a long moment, she lay there panting, feeling the indignant flush on her face and neck.

"Again." L'Tan commanded, rolling onto her side to face her opponent. She wiped a hand across her bloody mouth, ignoring the sting of her split lower lip.

"No." Aeryn shook her head, hands on her hips as she caught her breath. They had been sparring for over an arn. The match so far had ended in a draw. Each stubbornly refusing to yield.

"I think that's enough for today-"

"I am not a child. Again!" Her brow furrowed in determination as she pushed herself up from the floor.

"You're still weak from the xiocine." Aeryn argued. "You mustn't push yourself so hard."

Without another word, L'Tan fell into defense stance, her face stony. The point was apparently no longer open for negotiation.

"Very well." Aeryn muttered. "One thing is for certain... you're as stubborn as Crichton."

Aeryn returned to her corner of the mat, disguising a limp. L'Tan had taken her off her feet in a surprise move early in the match. The thick muscle of her thigh was now a riot of pain.

They exchanged a terse nod. Soon the two women were studying each other, circling.

"Your attack stance is familiar." Aeryn observed, cautiously sidestepping, looking for an opening. "You trained with Ravstar commandos, didn't you?"

L'Tan's bloodied lip pulled into a smug smirk. "And Black Star regiment... Arachnid... Icarius... Mikzan."

"Good." Aeryn returned, with a secretive smile. "Then this should be over soon."

* * * * *

"Hold still." Zhaan rebuked, studying the fresh cut over L'Tan's eye. She pressed a tincture-soaked cloth to the wound.

"What is that dren?" The young woman hissed, squirming away. "It burns."

"It should." She said, holding L'Tan's chin firmly in place to examine to the gash in her lip. "Serves you right. You should be resting. Not sparring. Aeryn should have known better as well."

"I am fine." L'Tan said, rising from her chair.

The Delvian pushed her back down. Her strength easily a match for her. "You nearly died two solar days ago. You're fortunate to be sitting here bleeding right now."

"Yes. That's my first thought every morning." L'Tan mumbled with vicious sarcasm. "How fortunate I am."

Zhaan stepped back, regarding the cleaned injuries. Her voice was low, deliberate. "It must be very tiresome. Being that angry every waking moment of your existence. Hating yourself so much."

L'Tan's mouth pressed into a bitter line. The barb had struck deeply. "Are you finished?"

Zhaan nodded after a long measuring moment. She turned back to the workbench, her hands moved over bandages and glass bottles, touching them without purpose.

"You weren't always like this." She said over her shoulder. "You were once happy... cared for. I saw as much in your memories."

L'Tan paused in the threshold, head bowed.

"That child is dead." She snapped. But she remained in place, facing the corridor. Unable to go. Reluctant to stay.

"I can help you understand, my dear." Zhaan said quietly. Approaching she placed a gentle hand on L'Tan's shoulder. "I can help you see past the anger and the hatred."

* * * * *

"Come see...this way." The gentle voice was barely a whisper, like the song of chimes on a soft breeze.

L'Tan looked down to see a young girl in a purple shift, tugging at her hand.

"That's me." She looked to Zhaan with the subdued astonishment of a sleepwalker.

"What do I do?"

"Go with her."

She succumbed, feeling herself pulled along. The motion was fluid. Not the drudgery of muscle and bone; the confines of the corporeal did not exist here. The lab had dissolved, swiftly taking the shape of another room.

The air was alive with the voiceless mutter of Moya, not the same subdued purr she knew from her waking hours, but an undeniable presence that permeated the air, the floor, the walls. This was Moya the way that Ellie thought of her.

The gleaming copper walls were festooned with pastel garlands of cloth. Colorful crude paintings covered the floor, all done in the same childish hand: planets, stars, arching comets.

"My room. It was Mother's once. But it became mine" L'Tan said, sorrow framing the words.

"See that one's Earp, Daddy. See?" Ellie pointed proudly to a brilliant circle done in swatches of blue and green.

"Ellie." John Crichton gathered her up onto his hip, disguising an amused grin. "What's the right word?"

She gave a sheepish smile and lisped through missing front teeth. "Earth."

"Good girl." He kissed his daughter's forehead and placed her gently back on her feet.

"Come see. I've got a surprise for you."

"I remember this day." L'Tan felt her throat tighten. "I had just turned seven... my mother's message to me."

The specter of John passed through L'Tan, dissolving and reforming as he led his daughter before the portable vid console.

An image sprang to life.

Aeryn Sun smiled warmly, a hand nestled protectively over the pregnant rise of her stomach. But there existed in her the taint of winter, written in the sunken hollows of her cheeks and the deep shadows beneath her eyes as she spoke: "My daughter... my only regret is that I will never meet you, or look upon you and to tell you what an incredible gift you are to us..."

L'Tan backed away, retreating. "I cannot watch this."

"Why? What is it, my dear?" Zhaan pursued in a trail of gossamer.

She felt, more than heard, Zhaan's questioning push against her mind. It was like a walking against a sudden gust of wind, seeking to anchor her to this painful place.

"This is how I learned that I was the cause of my mother's death. She chose my own life over hers."

"I don't understand." Zhaan pressed.

"When they discovered that Mother was carrying me, I was not... viable. I would not survive because of defects in my chromosomes. They found someone to help them. An outcast scientist. He performed the double helix manipulation on me before I was born."

"It worked... to a fault. I thrived, slowing stealing her life. I was born; Aeryn Sun died. And I was the cause. That is what I learned on this day."

"L'Tan... Ellie." Zhaan soothed. "I am certain this was not their intent... to make you feel this guilt."

"Utter nonsense." The sinister chuckle surrounded them in a cold draft.

Scorpius.

An etching of black and chalky white, he stood out like an ogre in the bright and cheerfully colored room. The fanged monster beneath a child's bed. The fearsome creature in the darkness.

"Listen to me. He does not exist here." She felt Zhaan's essence surround her protectively. "He has infected your memories. You must fight him."

But it was useless.

"No. No. No. Please... continue." Scorpius stepped forward, gloved hands outstretched in a counterfeit entreaty. His voice was oily. "Go on. Please tell her how wanted she was. How ...loved."

Zhaan ignored the shade, continuing her plea to L'Tan. "You're doing this. Stop it."

He dipped behind her back, circling, like a great hungry beast. "They wanted nothing of you, my dear. Especially Crichton. It was as though he knew what a monster you would become. You have killed many. Your mother was your first victim."

"This is false. This is not a real memory." Zhaan maintained.

"Stop!" L'Tan pulled away, pushing her hands over her ears. She felt cornered, trapped, as if the very breathing walls of the leviathan would collapse upon her.

"Get out of my frelling mind!"

The room dissolved abruptly, like shifting sands at the mercy of a windstorm. The connection was broken. Their communion ended.

The lab once more surrounded them.

L'Tan snapped her lowered head away from Zhaan and took a shambling step back. The Delvian collected herself, reeling slightly from the sudden break in their connection. She opened her impossibly blue eyes, great pools of sorrow as they focused on L'Tan.

"I don't need your pity, Delvian." She hissed, her internal torment building. "I don't need you.

"Ellie." Zhaan reached out cautiously, her hands enveloping the young woman's. "You are not the monster he calls you. He is. He twisted the mind of an innocent child."

"I destroy..." L'Tan stammered, her eyes filling with agonized tears. "I destroy everything that is close to me. Mother. Delvar. And now-"

Her jaw snapped shut as she caught herself, afraid that Zhaan could sense her guilt. She had already said and done far too much.

The distress beacon. The tampering with Moya's calorics chamber.

L'Tan stumbled away from her, violently upsetting a neat row of instruments and jars. She crumpled to the floor, holding her head against a crushing wave of guilt and despair.

"Don't." Her voice was a naked plea as she waved Zhaan away. "Just... don't."

* * * * *

"Dren." Aeryn muttered, frowning before the mirror in her room. Gingerly, she prodded the red welt beneath her left eye, wincing. It was already starting to turn purple.

There was a whistle from the doorway at her back.

"Nice shiner, Officer Sun." Crichton called as he leaned in the threshold.

"I'm afraid the compliment goes to L'Tan." Aeryn replied to his mirror image. "Lucky shot."

Stiffly, she turned and pulled herself up onto the shelf, grimacing at the twinge in her injured leg.

"Really?" He teased with a mischievous grin. "Same lucky shot got you that limp, too?"

"Oh. Yes." She said, cutting him a scathing look. "I forget how well you did in subduing her when she first arrived."

Ignoring the jeer, he plopped onto the corner of her bed and peered about her orderly room. As always, she could tell by the pensive set in his jaw when he had something on his mind.

"What do you think of her?" Crichton asked, as if on cue.

Aeryn drew in a breath, massaging the painful knot on her thigh. "She is an efficient fighter. Hard to predict-"

"Aeryn, that's a critique." Crichton interrupted. He leaned forward, planting his elbows on his knees. "What do you think of her? As a person?"

She looked at him for a long, silent moment before answering. It would be easier to be irritated with him, his tireless parade of questions, but she resisted the urge. "Why is this so important to you, Crichton?"

"It's important to her, Aeryn." He countered, rising from the bed.

Aeryn slipped from the shelf at his approach and busied herself with straightening things that were already immaculately neat.

"I know what you're trying to do," she replied.

"What? What am I trying to do?" He needled, following her from workbench to chest and back. "So we'll both know."

"You're hoping to push us together, so I would accept her." Aeryn halted, tossing down an armful of gear onto the shelf. "I don't."

Crichton turned to the room with an impatient flourish, seeking solace from the mute walls. "Aeryn-"

"But I will tolerate her." She said quietly.

Irritation fading, Crichton pivoted back to face her. He must have expected a larger battle.

"I guess that's a start." He said with a small smirk.

"Frelling tralk!" L'Tan's curse suddenly shattered the air.

Something heavy hit the floor with a hollow clatter.

John and Aeryn exchanged a glance: "Chiana."

They darted out the door, quickly covering the short distance to L'Tan's new quarters.

John cleared the entrance first, taking in the chaos with one glance. L'Tan and Chiana were a snarl of flailing fists and legs as they rolled on the floor in an all-out brawl. With alarm he watched as his daughter deftly changed tactics and brought her hands around the Nebari's throat. He quickly moved in and scooped his arms around her waist, pulling her away from Chiana.

"Break it up." He ordered.

"No!" L'Tan protested. She struggled to be free of him and maintain her lock Chiana's throat at the same time. "No. Get off me!"

It took all of his strength, but she finally came away in his arms.

"Is knowing your fate so important?" L'Tan hissed over his shoulder at her target. "I'll kill you now and spare you the suspense!"

"Knock it off, now!" John shouted, dragging her to the door.

With feline grace, she slipped out of his hold and dove for Chiana, only to be suddenly caught in D'Argo's fierce tackle as he rushed into the room. He was far less gentle, grabbing her by the hair at the base of her neck.

"What the frell is going on?" The Luxan demanded, looking to John for an explanation.

"You want to know your fate, Nebari?" L'Tan strained against the painful grip on her hair, her eyes burning into Chiana. "Is that why you are rummaging through my things?"

John moved between the two women, stooping over Chiana.

"Chi, is that what you were doing?" He asked, sternly.

D'Argo growled. "John, this is not-"

"I was talking to Chiana." John snapped, without looking at him.

Chiana turned soulful eyes up at him. She pulled herself up to her hands and knees, effecting a pitiful cough. "I wanted to know why she doesn't remember me or D'Argo. That's all."

"So you just started ransacking her room?" He pressed, immune to her drama.

"I deserve to know!"

"Then I will tell you." L'Tan erupted with renewed rage. "Gladly! Very soon, you will end your brief and miserable career in the custody of Nebari constables."

"Shut up!" D'Argo yelled, slipping a thick forearm under her chin.

"And you..." L'Tan turned angrily on her captor, pressed against his dense chest. "Dumb enough to give your life trying to save her thieving ass."

"That's enough!" John wrangled her from D'Argo and shoved her through the doorway. She faltered to the floor in the corridor, trembling with rage.

"John! She does not belong-" D'Argo began.

"I didn't ask for your opinion!" John whirled on him, his own temper slipping.

He turned back to the hallway, angry words ready for L'Tan.

But she was gone.

John looked at Aeryn as she leaned against the wall, arms folded, her face impassive.

"That way." She nodded down the corridor.

* * * * *

John crouched down before of the latticework of the access tunnel, peering inside. Within, a brief glimpse of a hand retreated into the shadows at his approach.

"Come on out." He said, patiently. "I know you're in there."

L'Tan's reply was a flat echo. "How did you know where to find me?"

An errant shaft of light caught the liquid glimmer of her eyes.

"Your memories... you would come here to hide from Zhaan when you were little." He answered, marveling briefly at his own acceptance for referring to the future as the past.

One possible future. It does not have to end that way.

A pensive silence followed. John was beginning to think that she had noiselessly stolen away until she spoke.

"Leave me."

"Sorry. Can't do that." He said, seating himself in front of the tunnel's opening.

"Chiana was wrong to do what she did." John continued. He wished he could just see her face, to judge the reaction there as he spoke. "But it doesn't make what you did okay."

There was no response. Only the silent shift of her hunched frame.

"I don't belong here." She said, finally. "The Luxan believes that. Why don't you?"

"Because I'm annoying, remember?" He paused, his tone turning serious. "Don't you even want to try?"

"Too late." L'Tan muttered, cryptically. "Too late for me. For everything."

"No. I don't believe that." John said. She was redeemable. He firmly believed there was a genuine soul beneath the tormented exterior of this young woman. This was more of a reason than the inexplicable guilt he felt about this lost child, left to the revenge-driven onslaught of a madman.

"I would never know peace. I can't get him out of my mind. I wouldn't know how." She said with quiet terror.

Scorpius.

A shudder moved through his body. The very thought of his name was the crawl of spider's legs on his skin.

"What happened? What did he do to you?" John ventured, licking his lips apprehensively. He was not certain he wanted to know. But there were ugly truths that had to be told, their deformities drawn into the light.

L'Tan crawled into view and looked up at him, her eyes full of secret pain. She wound her delicate fingers through the latticework of the tunnel's cover.

"I tried. Very hard to be strong... to be brave. At first..." Her voice trailed off. She looked away.

"He used the chair on you, didn't he? The Aurora chair?" He asked, the muscles in his jaw tightening. A dark hollow blossomed in his heart. A certainty he knew without waiting for her answer.

A guilty pause. "Yes."

There was an instant rush of miserable anger. He struggled to keep his composure.

A child. Scorpius would do that to a child. Without provocation. Without reason.

"Why should I be surprised?" He asked himself, looking up at Moya's mute walls.

"I was a... curiosity to him." She said, simply. A polite excuse thrown in the face of sinister deeds.

John slowly rose and removed the lattice from the tunnel entrance. L'Tan recoiled further into the darkness, uncertain. "Come out of there... please." He extended a hand to her. "This is ridiculous."

Hesitantly, she squirmed from the small space. They stood facing each other for a tense moment. Abruptly he folded her into his arms. L'Tan was a rigid bundle of muscles against him. But, finally she yielded, much to his surprise, tucking her head beneath his chin. A quiet shiver wove through her shoulders as she began to cry, noiselessly.

"Shhh. Shhh. It's okay." He crooned, hating the part of his mind that knew the truth. What had happened to her was most definitely not okay.

John pulled her to his chest more tightly.

"Daddy." She said once, softly.

* * * * *

Incoming Trans:
Priority distress call.
Ravstar regiment 8873.74.3

Scorpius stopped reading and peered over the top of the transparency at Lieutenant Vedit Corsair, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"How long have you known about this?" He asked, his annoyance plain.

"Only a few arns, sir." Answered Corsair with a small nod, hands clasped. His distaste for the hybrid was evident in the downcast bow of his mouth.

Scorpius glowered. "Arns."

Corsair shifted his weight and swallowed, dread mounting. "Sir... yes. Sir."

"This is a priority distress call directed for my eyes only." Document clutched in his gloved hand, he rose from his chair. He circled Corsair as he silently read the remainder.

"Of an unverified source... on an experimental hyperlink channel." Corsair spouted, seeking to fill the tense silence. Regardless of Scorpius' dubious position of rank, one did not tempt fate. "I felt it was unlikely to be genuine... possibly a trick to throw us off the Leviathan's trail."

Scorpius stopped in his tracks. His eyes focused on a single word on the flimsy: Jocosta

"Lay in an intercept course," he ordered, thrusting the document back at Corsair's chest. "Hecht 11. Immediately. To the last known coordinates transmitted by this distress beacon."

Corsair looked up from the document to him, dissension ill-disguised. "Sir, there has been no verification-"

"Do it now!" He clipped. "Find this distress beacon, and we find the leviathan."

"Yes... sir." The young officer responded reluctantly, swallowing any additional protests.

Dismissing him with his back, Scorpius turned to Niem. "Prepare the Trelgin once more for the Aurora chair. I want to know more about the woman Crichton brought to him."

* * * * *

The guilt was a coiled serpent in her chest, hungrily devouring her heart. L'Tan lay restlessly in the thick shadows of her room, waiting for some nameless moment that would never come.

Self-absolution.

A clearing of the conscience.

But nothing.

She rose to slip through Moya's sleeping corridors, pretending not to know her course, until she turned the corner to the maintenance bay. She hesitated, leaning against the smooth copper curve of the door.

Iwillnotthink....iwillnotthink...iwillnotthink.

The mantra pulsated in her brain.

But it did nothing to stop him.

What are you thinking, L'Tan?

Her master's voice hovered at the base of her skull, weaker, but terrifying nonetheless. The grotesque vision of him flitted in the corner of her eye, a trick of her tortured brain.

That you can undo what is already destined?

The end is so close. You can return to me.

Fighting the urge to obey, she forced her paralyzed legs into motion. Slowly at first. Then faster until she was sprinting to the Jocosta.

Stealth no longer a consideration she scaled the side of the prowler, pawing open the canopy with frantic hands. Her mind raced, trying to keep pace with her thudding heart as she slipped into the cockpit.

There was time.

There still had to be time left.

A quarter arn? Microts?

Time enough to undo this... then fix what she had done to Moya.

No one would need to know.

Her hands shook violently. The identchip did not go into the scanner until the third try.

She jammed the occulars onto her head.

"Jocosta." Her voice cracked. "Identify Pilot: L'Tan Sun"

Voice Identification Confirmed

"Cancel automated distress signal." She said hurriedly.

The image shifted within the oculars. What she read there was an icy jab to her heart.

Cancellation Denied
Detection Confirmed - Trans Received: 8873.74.3
Tracking Coordinates Transmitting
Ravstar Extraction
ETA: 2 Arns
13 Microns
03 Microts

"No. Not fair. Not frelling fair!" She protested, fist slamming the console.

Tearing off the occulars, she scrambled out of the cockpit. Hectically, she climbed atop the sloped angle of the fuselage, throwing herself down in front of the com array panel. The cover would not budge.

As she pawed at the jammed cover, it sliced deeply into her palm. But she was heedless of the pain. Finally it opened. Hands slippery with her own blood, she pulled at the com array's harness. The component surrendered to her in a shower of sparks as she dashed it to the bay floor.

L'Tan slid down the side of the Jocosta on dead legs, panting. She studied the dead com array in the half-light. It lay on the floor like some crushed insect.

"Not fair." She muttered.

Violently, she kicked the ruined device. It skittered across the floor, banished to a black corner. L'Tan collapsed into a knot under the Jocosta's outstretched wing, her heart as empty as the shadows there.

Her master had been right.

There was no time.

She envisioned the calorics cells. Their precious fluids slowly bleeding onto Moya's deck.

Just numbed enough by the clorium she had stolen from Zhaan's apothecary.

Just enough to drain the energy from Starburst, unnoticed by Pilot.

Just enough to end this all.

"Not fair."

* * * * *

"Hello, Pilot."

The greeting was a soft echo in the den. The navigator looked up, but he was not surprised to see her. The DRDs had told of her approach much earlier. The young female was the apparition that had been wandering Moya's hallways for arns. A displaced fragment of sound amongst a chorus that composed the Leviathan for him.

"Officer Sun." Pilot announced. It was an arched greeting, suspicious. And, obviously, not one she had expected. Her face fell slightly.

L'Tan triggered the door. It slowly shut on its central hinge as she crossed the narrow span to his console.

"I guess you would not know me." She muttered to herself. "Not now... not yet."

Pausing at the edge of the catwalk, she peered down into the deep abyss of the chamber.

Her voice was weary, surrendering. "I am not an officer. I am no one... nothing."

"Very well... L'Tan." Pilot answered, slightly uncomfortable with the familiar address. This young woman was an oddity indeed. He had never met a prowler pilot, a Peacekeeper for that matter, who did not hold rank.

Very curious.

"What do you want?" He ventured. This was not the same fierce creature that he had been told of by the Hynerian Dominar or Chiana.

"I don't want anything." She seemed very lost, defeated. "Can't I just stay here... for a little while?"

He hesitated. "Very well."

In silent amazement, he watched as she climbed onto the console and sat facing him, perfectly at ease, as though she had done this a thousand times before. She hugged her knees to her chest. Her eyes followed the intricate rhythm of his arms as he guided Moya's systems.

"I would sit here and listen to your stories of mother and father...of their lives before I was born." She extended a hand to his claw. A naked pain fell into her voice. "We hid here when they came for us... the Peacekeepers. You were very brave. Very brave to the last."

L'Tan spared a look at the door, as if expecting someone. The visit of old ghosts, perhaps.

Pilot spoke cautiously. "I had hoped to speak to you of this. Moya is anxious to hear if you have any knowledge of the fate of Talyn."

"Of course, Pilot." She answered with a small sad smile. The words meant something much more for her. Her gaze fell inward, engulfed by an impenetrable sadness. "Any mother would want to know the same."

The door swung open, revealing the silhouette of a second visitor. The young woman collected herself and slid down from the console. It was the behavior of the prisoner receiving her sentence, who had accepted the inevitable ending.

Aeryn Sun strode in; her features set in anger. But it was no match for the smoldering fury that rested in her eyes. She raised a white-knuckled fist. In it rested the shattered remains of the Jocosta's distress beacon, dangling by a frayed cable.

"Is there something you would like to tell me?" Aeryn said, acidly.

* * * * *

Lt. Vedit Corsair sauntered onto the bridge, and briefly surveyed the scurrying bustle of technicians and other lower ranking officers. The duty shift was not his, not at this early arn. He ignored their surprised acknowledgments as he found his quarry near the nav console, her back to him. Face stern, he slid noiselessly to her side. She did not look up.

"Alya." He said, leaning into her neck in an intimate whisper.

Startled, the blonde stepped back from the console and stood at attention. The smallest smile crept over her mouth as their eyes met. "Lieutenant Corsair."

"As you were, Officer Brin." He said for the benefit of the room.

Alya returned her attention to the console, but granted him a sly sidelong glance. He pressed against her, tracing a single finger over the top of her hand. She drew away, her smile dissolving.

Her hiss was indignant, reproachful. "Don't. They'll see."

"Let them." Corsair whispered, daring her to retreat further. "They are nothing."

"They can still see." Alya returned. She completed her task at the station and drifted into the deeper recesses of the nav center, out of view from the rest of the bridge.

Corsair was at her heels. As soon as they were alone, she turned on him with cool venom. "What do you want, Vedit?"

He smirked at her, not surprised by her challenge. It was the dangerous game they had played since their childhood days at the induction center. Each daring the other past common sense or caution, feeding off of petty jealousies and ambitions. Little had changed since.

"The same as any other first officer... his own command. This carrier would suffice. I want to be free of that frelling hybrid and this pointless chase."

Alya looked nervously about before answering in a terse whisper. "You are the third first officer Scorpius has received in as many cycles. Your position is precarious enough. What you are suggesting is mutinous-"

"Only if it does not work, Alya." He interrupted, tugging at the rank patch of her uniform in a silent insult.

She slapped his hand away, her expression severe. "Start talking. I know you would do this on your own, if you could."

Corsair stepped closer, wrapping his hands over her shoulders. "Scorpius has no rightful place here. His pull with High Command is questionable at best. This opportunity is something I cannot resist."

"What's in it for me?" Her mouth pulled into a dissatisfied bow. The price of getting her hands dirty was goi