RATING: PG-13

SUMMARY: An old friend makes Aeryn an offer. This is set about a month after 'A Bugs Life', Aeryn got better all on her own and Crais is still captain of his command carrier. I wrote the first draft in the long hiatus after ABL. Minor spoilers for AHR, ABL.
Any similarities between this work and subsequent episodes were a frelling surprise to me.

FEEDBACK: Yes, at ScribLL@houston.rr.com

POST: Please contant the author for permission.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything about Farscape. All characters, except the few I created belong to Henson Studios and the SciFi Channel

With many, many thanks to Kat for her encouragement, invaluable advice, and for reeling me back in when I get over my head.

Reunion

Aeryn Sun entered the bar warily, pausing by the entrance, the transition from bright sunlight to the poorly lit interior momentarily blinding. As she let her eyes adjust, the sounds and smells of the place became its opening introduction. Low conversations sprinkled here and there with nervous laughter, the smell of stale alcohol, the musky scent of alien bodies, others she’d rather not identify—all registered in a moment. The bar was much like others that she had seen throughout her travels in the uncharted territories, rather seedy, attending to the less virtuous needs of the many species in an uncivilized sector of space.

She searched the faces, looking for someone in particular, someone she believed that she would never willingly search out to find again. She took her time, careful to watch her back at the same time. The first thing she felt were his eyes pinned on her. With a radar-like precision she turned slowly, zeroing in on the occupant of a table at the back of the room. Their eyes locked and the familiarity of his face was unexpectedly comforting.

Still, she approached him cautiously. She was taking a terrible risk to come here, but, in the end, curiosity and more than just a twinge of hope pushed her on.

He rose slowly, deliberately, keeping his hands where she could see them. His determined movement hinted at restrained power and his dark, deep-set eyes never left hers. He was wearing a long overcoat that parted briefly as he stood and she glimpsed his concealed Pleisar regiment uniform underneath.

He smiled thinly at her and when she was close enough to hear him without raising his voice, he greeted her simply, “Aeryn.”

“Paulto,” she answered. She, too, was careful to make no sudden moves. She slowly removed a sensing bar from her belt. He opened his arms in tacit consent as she passed it over his limbs and torso just a few inches from his body. As in most bars in this sector, the patrons made a point of minding their own business and registered no notice of this. Just another day in the uncharted territories.

“No weapons. No tracers,” he assured her.

“You won’t mind if I check then,” she said as she continued. The scan turned up nothing, and he gestured for her to sit.

“Can I buy you a drink? The quanjon here is barely passable, but it’s better than I expected.” Aeryn nodded as she sat and Paulto motioned to the waiter who must have known what to expect for two mugs of the amber liquid were placed in front of them almost immediately.

“I’m glad you finally made it. This is the fourth time I’ve waited for you here and this place lost its charm on the first visit.”

“Sorry, I kept you,” she said flatly. She raised her mug, nodding to him in salute, and tasted the smoky liquid. The brew was too raw, and she tried in vain to suppress a shudder as the muscles in her throat constricted in protest.

He smiled broadly, chuckling in the back of his throat. “Ahh, I’ve missed you, Aeryn. It gets much better towards the bottom of the mug, I promise.”

Aeryn pushed the mug away. “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble to get me here. You certainly didn’t invite me here just for a drink. What do you want?”

“It wasn’t easy changing the encoded message in the wanted beacon without the captain finding out.”

“So, this has nothing to do with Crais?”

“Not in the way you might think.” He took a long draught of the quanjon, his eyes never leaving hers.

“I’m listening.” “The vendetta that Crais has against this ‘Crichton’ is insane. It goes beyond all reason. A quarter cycle ago, I found out that the Council at First Command had ordered him to abandon the search for the Leviathan and the escaped criminals and return to base.”

“But we’re still finding active beacons.”

“Yes. The orders have never been mentioned and the only other officer that would have been privy to those orders mysteriously disappeared.”

“Crais deliberately disobeyed the Council?” Aeryn eyes narrowed. “And just how do you know this?”

“After all the cycles we served together, you don’t trust me?”

“Ancient history.”

“I don’t believe that. We were crib-mates. We’ve known each other our whole lives...trained together...our lives depended on each other.”

“And I let you down,” she reminded him.

He gave a slight shrug. “True, we’re all being punished for your defection.”

Aeryn raised her chin in defiance of the accusation, but she held her tongue. Paulto leaned towards her, brow furrowed; his eyes narrow and focused. Aeryn had seen this look before. It was the same expression he had at the beginning of sparring exercises. He was a master of sizing up his opponent.

“Why did you do it?” he asked.

“I had no choice. Crais condemned me to death for the mere suggestion that his brother’s death was just an accident.”

“I know that. But whatever possessed you to defend the Human in the first place? What was he to you?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. It was an accident. His ship was caught in a wormhole that spit him out in exactly the wrong place. He tried to avoid Tauvo, but couldn’t. He comes from a backward race on the other side of the galaxy. He knew nothing about Peacekeepers or escaped criminals. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“He chose sides quickly enough.”

“He wasn’t given much of a choice. Neither was I.”

Paulto seemed to be weighing her answers. She shook off the need to have him understand what happened, realizing that it really made no difference. “What is this all about anyway?”

“As I said, I found out about the message from First Command. One of the techs in the unit I’ve been assigned to was called to do some repairs in the captain’s ready room and she found a damaged message chip. I talked her into trying to retrieve the message and she managed to get most of it. They were Crais’s orders from the Council. It took some doing, but my friend managed to hide a message to First Command in a carrier signal. If Crais finds out, his second may not be the only officer that disappears without a trace. But to the point, I’ve been authorized to make you an offer. From the Council.”

Aeryn sneered. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“Would you like to come back? Your commission restored? Rejoin your unit? The offer is genuine.”

“Remember, I’ve been ‘irreversibly contaminated’.”

“That could be overlooked.” He looked directly into her eyes. “Especially if you proved your loyalty.”

Of course. A crooked smile played at the corner of her mouth. “You want me to turn them in.”

“First Command is very unhappy with Crais for disobeying orders. The Batari rebellion has escalated and spread into the neighboring system. There are not the spare resources to go looking for a few escaped criminals in the uncharted territories. More importantly, the carrier that Crais commands is needed elsewhere and there are not the resources available to hunt him down. So, the Council is willing to make a few concessions. You will be pardoned and your full rank and commission restored—you’ll be welcomed back to active duty in your old unit. The entire unit’s rank will also be restored. This whole episode will disappear, as if it never happened. All you have to do is give us Crichton.”

“Crichton?”

“The Council’s only interest in Crichton is that Crais is looking for him. A ship from First Command was dispatched a weeken ago, as soon as my message with our coordinates was received. It should arrive in this sector in two solar days. It picks up Crichton and takes him to First Command. If the Council has Crichton, Crais will have no reason to remain in the uncharted territories. Once he returns to Peacekeeper territory, they’ll deal with him.”

“A ship couldn’t get from First Command to way out here in only a weeken.”

“It’s a new ship with a new type of drive. Heavy shielding, minimum weaponry. Built for speed—very fast.”

“And what happens to Crichton?”

There was that look again. “He’ll be kept in protective custody until Crais can be dealt with and then he’ll be free to go. Think of it this way—you’d be doing him a favor.”

“A favor,” she repeated skeptically. “And just how do you figure that?”

Paulto shrugged. “He’d no longer be a hunted man. Let’s face it, so far he’s been very lucky. Without you, he would have never had a chance against Crais. But how long do you really think his luck will hold out?”

Aeryn frowned. He had struck a deep nerve. If she was honest with herself, she had to admit that she thought they would have all been dead a long time ago. “And the others?”

“They’re escaped criminals.”

“They’ve saved my hide on more than one occasion.”

“I see,” he said slowly. “I can understand your reluctance to betray a comrade, but they are criminals.”

“You’ve wasted your time, Paulto.” She pushed back her chair to go.

“Wait! Let’s look at this from a practical point of view.”

“What do you mean?”

“This ship from First Command—it’s not a warship. They’re not going to be in any position to take a Leviathan on, even if she doesn’t have any weapons. Once you get Crichton off the Leviathan, your friends can starburst out of here. This ship is certainly not going to follow them. The return of Crais’s carrier is vital. They want to get Crichton back to their base as soon as possible. Retrieval of the criminals is secondary. They won’t risk the primary mission for a secondary target they are unlikely to succeed at.”

Aeryn followed his argument and realized that he was probably right. Moya and the others would likely have no trouble escaping.

“They’d still be wanted,” he continued, “but Crais wouldn’t be breathing down their necks. And it could be a long while before a Peacekeeper force comes to the uncharteds looking for them again.” He paused. “Think about it, Aeryn. There’s still a few days until the ship arrives.”

Aeryn hesitated. “Alright, I’ll think about it.” She stood.

“What’s your hurry? Finish your quanjon, or, at least, keep me company while I finish mine.” Paulto took a sip from his mug.

Aeryn tried to sense the trap, but could only make out the sincere and distantly familiar welcome from an old friend and she found it warmed her considerably. She sat back down and relaxed a bit for the first time since she had entered the bar. “Alright.” She took a careful sip from her mug. The liquid was still raw, but not as bad, now that she expected it. “How did you get away from Crais without detection?”

“It’s too easy. Crais is still sending out as many patrols as possible looking for your friend. We’ve been spreading ourselves extremely thin. The ships in a patrol are often out of contact with one another. It’s a simple matter for a prowler to slip off for a few arns.”

Alarmed, she rose. “Then the carrier is close?”

He grabbed her by the wrist and held her. “Not that close. Don’t worry.”

Aeryn’s eyes narrowed. “How do I know that this isn’t a trick, a diversion, while Crais goes after the Leviathan?”

Paulto released her hand, but held her eyes. “I give you my word, on my honor as a Peacekeeper—and as your friend.”

Aeryn searched his face for any kind of deception. The Paulto Jetaal she had known would not have given such an oath lightly, but it had been a long time. She was certainly not the same. Was he?

“This is a dangerous game you’re playing, Paulto.”

“I never let that stop me before,” he smiled at her, “Especially not with Aeryn Sun on my wing.” “This isn’t exactly like picking off Hockring Stingers.”

He grinned at her reference to the long ago sortie. “They’ve got eyes in the back of their heads—tell me that wasn’t frellin’ dangerous.”

Aeryn peered at him evenly. “So you were the eyes in the back of my head.”

“And you were mine,” he said matching the intensity of her eyes.

Aeryn took another sip of the quanjon. She found the taste had become friendlier, even familiar. Maybe she could trust him after all.

* * * * * *

Several arns later Aeryn landed her prowler in the transport bay on Moya. Rygel and Crichton met her just as she stepped down to the launching pad.

“It’s about time you showed up. I was about to head up a search party,” John said. “Do you need any help unloading?”

“Did you find anything interesting to eat?” Rygel broke in.

“I picked up a few things,” Aeryn answered noncommittally.

John opened the doors to the prowler’s very limited cargo hold. Even so, it was nearly empty, containing only two small crates. “This is it? What were you doing down there all this time?”

Aeryn joined him and lifted one of the crates out. “Negotiating.” She carried the crate with her as she made her way to the door.

John picked up the other crate and followed after her. “Negotiating?”

“Yes,” she answered brusquely, not turning to look at him. “I may need to go back in a couple days.”

Rygel had been following them in his levitating chair as they made their way to the center chamber. “Perhaps you could use my expertise?” he offered.

“No!” she snapped. “I can handle it.”

“Yeah, back off, Sparky,” warned John. He’d sensed Aeryn’s edginess since she’d returned and just as soon preferred to stay on her good side.

His good intentions backfired, however, as she exploded at him. “I don’t need your help either.”

“What did I say?” asked John, suddenly confused.

“Just leave me alone!” She slammed the crate down on the table and stormed out.

John watched her backside as she stomped off. “What bug got up her butt?” he muttered. He shook his head and began to help Rygel unload the crates.

* * * * * *

Aeryn retreated to the relative privacy of her quarters, if there was such a thing as privacy aboard Moya. She began to pace, the turmoil in her mind expressing itself as barely contained nervous energy. The ache in her head, a parting gift from the quanjon, only fed her irritation.

She was a soldier, a warrior born and bred, a force for order in the universe, and it hadn’t taken a chat with Paulto to remind her where she belonged. But here on Moya —-what had she been reduced to? An outlaw, a tech, and worse—a common peddler.

In her distracted state, she accidentally tripped on the corner of her bed. Cursing, she lifted one side of the bed and overturned it, at the same time hitting the bedside table and sending it and everything on it to the floor in a satisfying crash. She spun around, in a glance taking in her surroundings. The contents of her quarters only served to underscore her life in exile and she unleashed her fury at the rest of her meager possessions. She threw herself into her rampage, overturning shelves and cabinets, kicking their contents across the room, and when nothing else remained, attacking the very walls themselves.

When her impotent rage finally dissipated, she was sitting on the floor in the middle of a rubble-strewn room cradling torn hands.

She and Paulto had spent the last two arns reminiscing about old battles they had fought together, their former easy camaraderie reawakening. Paulto was again her brother-in-arms and she found herself reliving the excitement of each engagement—the jazzed anticipation of each mission, the thrill of the chase, the aggressive reflex reaction to danger, the honed killer instinct. She was a warrior among warriors and this was the life she was bred and trained to live.

The time had flown by too quickly. She was disappointed when Paulto said he had best get back before a patrol was sent out to look for him. It was like wakening from a wonderful dream and wanting desperately to fall asleep again. She hardly remembered getting in her prowler and the trip back to Moya.

She had believed that she could never go back to her old life and had resigned herself to make the best of what circumstance had handed her.

But now here it was, dangled before her, so close she could taste it, as sweet as the last sip of quanjon. Did she really dare believe she could go back?

She looked down at the raw skin on the back of her hands and noticed the blood had begun to dry. She made a fist, breaking open the wound again. Fresh blood appeared, reminding her again of why she lost control.

When she had returned to Moya, Crichton was standing in the transport bay, waiting for her, her dream collapsing by his very existence. She had felt her bitter resentment rise on seeing his smiling face, blissfully unaware, asking, of all things, to help her. No matter that it was not his fault—she had said as much to Paulto earlier—but the fact remained that she was here because of him and would stay here because of him.

Ahh, but that was the compelling irony, wasn’t it? She didn’t have to stay here because of him—he was her way home. She began to laugh bitterly at the cruel, cruel joke, but it made her head hurt more.

Her head hurt, her hands hurt, but not as much as her disappointment. It was easiest to lay the blame on the quanjon. She was tired and she just wanted Paulto and Crichton to get out of her head, go away, and leave her alone for awhile. She got up, found her mattress, and drug it back to the bed, then lay down, clothes and all. In moments she was oblivious.

* * * * * *

Not long after a concerned John and Zhaan peered through the door to her quarters. Pilot had seen Aeryn’s rampage through one of the DRD’s and had contacted them both. They had watched most of it through one of Moya’s monitors. John had wanted to try and stop her, but Zhaan had wisely suggested that it would be better to wait and let it play itself out.

“I’m sure she’s just asleep, John,” Zhaan whispered to him.

John peered at the wreckage of her room—usually so neat that it looked as if no one actually lived there. “What do you think got into her? Do Sebaceans go through ‘hyper-rage’?” he whispered back.

“Not that I’m aware of. Let’s just keep an eye on her the next few days. Don’t push her though, John. You don’t want to inadvertently start another episode.”

John looked back at Aeryn, worry etching deep lines in his forehead. Zhaan patted him on the shoulder. “I’m sure she’ll be alright, John.” She turned and walked away.

Reluctantly, John followed her.