In The Flesh - Part Two.

By Jess Pallas.

Disclaimer; I don't own Farscape or any of its characters. Please don't sue me!

Feedback; Go on then! E-mail me at jesspallas@hotmail.com

Archiving; If you like it, take it. But please, let me know first.

Rating: Not sure what the standard is but I'd guess at PG and General. No naughtiness (sorry shippers) but there are a few fights.

Spoilers; Mild ones only. Reference to OOTM, LATP, TWWW and DMS. There are also mild spoilers for my previous fic, Time and Again.

Timeframe; Season two, after LATP. This story assumes the events of Time and Again occurred, though it's not vital to have read it first.

Summary: Trapped in Aeryn's body, Pilot must save the day when Moya is taken over by pirates.

Note: This is a sort of follow-up to the events of OOTM. Although I love that episode, I always though it was a shame they didn't do more with it, especially as regards to Pilot. I would have liked to see him leave his chamber and what his reaction to that would have been. It occurred to me that if he was in Aeryn, he might not have any problems moving around, since her body contains some of his DNA. I also thought it might be good to get Moya involved in the body swapping, however peripherally. This story is a result of those thoughts.

Recap: Whilst the rest of the crew depart for a commerce planet, Aeryn and Chiana remain aboard Moya. But pirates have salvaged the Halosian ship and decide to capture Moya. And when Aeryn and Pilot refuse to surrender and raise the defence screen, they quickly open fire…

 

---

The first thing Pilot heard as he struggled back to consciousness was the sound of his own voice swearing fluently. He groaned, moving his new limbs experimentally; to his surprise, they responded well. He blinked, struggling to move, to control the unfamiliar muscles and motor functions. Although he had very little idea of what he was doing, he was astonished by how well the body responded to his commands; he felt none of the disorientation and discomfort he had encountered whilst trapped inside Chiana and D'Argo. But the silence that had haunted him of late; there was no escaping that. He struggled against the rising panic that the thought of separation from Moya entailed, trying desperately to focus his thoughts on something else. He couldn't afford to crack now. They had to sort this out. He forced himself to ignore the deafening lack of sound and concentrated instead on assessing the situation.

He knew he was in Aeryn almost at once; he could feel the chafe of her leather clothing, the drape of her hair across his face and besides he was still in his chamber and she had been the only one there. He could feel his own multiple thoughts patterns struggling to adapt to Aeryn's single-conscious brain, but he could also feel a strange melding like a flutter deep inside that seemed almost ready to welcome him.

"Pilot? Is that you?"

It was disconcerting to say the least to be addressed from above by his own voice. Awkwardly, he pushed up onto Aeryn's elbows, shaking her hair from his face.

"Yes," he replied. "Are you Aeryn?"

"Yes. It looks like we just did a straight swap this time. Chiana wasn't involved."

Pilot had forgotten Chiana was aboard.
"It must only work when the persons are in proximity. Can you contact Chiana or the others? Tell them what's happened?"

There was a moment of hesitation. Pilot felt suddenly apprehensive. He realised all at once that the silence was not just within his mind; it was all around as well. Moya was still and dark, her rhythms slow, her pulse all but inaudible.

Something was wrong.

He fought to contain his terror.

"Aeryn, is Moya all right?" he exclaimed shrilly. "Aeryn, tell me what's happening!"

"I would if I knew!" Aeryn retorted from above. She sounded almost as fraught as he did. "When we shifted, something happened to Moya as well. She went frantic for a microt, everything racing and out of control and then she just shut down entirely! I've been trying to get her to wake up but I'm not having much luck. I know where the controls are but this multi-tasking takes a bit of getting used to."

"You've done it before. You'll be fine." Gripping the edge of his den, Pilot managed to haul himself upright. He found himself face to face with himself. There was an odd moment as he stared into his own eyes and saw someone else looking back. Aeryn looked just as uncomfortable with the experience as he did, glancing quickly away and returning attention to the panels.

"You see?" she told him. "Nothing's working. I hear Moya's sounds but only her vital signs. Everything else is dead."

Pilot knew how that felt. He bit back his own feeling of dread. Multiple layers of déjà vu rippled through his consciousness; he fought a wave of disorientation. Concentrating hard, he managed to stand, pulling himself up so he sat on the edge of the consoles. He needed to get a better look at this.

Aeryn watched him through his eyes. "Are you all right?" she asked suddenly. "You didn't take to this so well the last time."
He nodded. "I feel fine. I don't appear to have any problems manipulating your body. Perhaps the presence of my DNA has made adaptation easier."

She nodded. "That would make sense." She watched him as he ran her fingers awkwardly over the consoles, examining the data.

"Any ideas?" she asked.

He shook her head. "I don't understand. The impact was cushioned by the defence screen and there does not appear to be any real damage, although it is hard to be sure without functional DRDs. All ships functions apart from manual doors have failed. External comms are down, although I should be able to…"

He broke off, tapping at the controls with the precision of practice. "There. We have internal comms at least. But I can't revive Moya from here."

"What about from command?"

"I'm not sure that would work either. If we want to restore systems, the conduits will have to be manually recharged. Even then, it may not work. Since I have no idea what caused the shutdown, I cannot be certain of a solution."

"Well, it's better than sitting here doing nothing. How long will this recharging take you?"

He stared at her. "Pardon?"

"These repairs. Can you do them quickly?"

"Me?"

Pilot felt the full force of one of his own glares. "Well, who else is there? I'm not going anywhere right now and Chiana isn't responding to her comm. Besides, you're the only one who knows what needs to be done."

"Leave the Chamber?" Pilot felt a coldness run through his temporary body. "I can't!"
Aeryn huffed impatiently. "Why the frell not?"

He couldn't explain it. The very thought of being away from this place, his sanctuary of the last three cycles, filled him with a dread so vast it threatened to swallow him entirely. A Pilot never left his Chamber. It was a physical impossibility; at least under usual circumstances. He had long ago accustomed himself to the fact that he would spend the rest of his life in that single place, never moving, never changing, safe and secure within Moya's deepest sanctum. He had spent his entire existence in places he knew intimately, first his home world, then here. His brief time elsewhere, first aboard Velorek's transport and then in Moya's Cargo bay were times of fear and terror that he'd much sooner not recall. Admittedly he knew Moya's other regions well - he saw them regularly through the DRDs and his holographic clamshells - but the thought of physically moving about within them was so repulsive as to be almost sacrilegious.

"I…" He tried to put the feeling into words. "I have never…."

He broke off, looking pleadingly at Aeryn. "This is my place," he said quietly. "This is where I belong. I don't know how to live anywhere else."

Aeryn must have sensed his apprehension. Gently, she tried to reassure him.

"You'll be fine," she told him soothingly, laying one of his claws against her arm.

"I'll be right here on the other end of the comm if you need me. Chiana's around somewhere too; I'm sure if you can find her, she'll help you. I wouldn't ask you do this, but we have to know what's going on. Those pirates are still out there. And Moya needs you."

Those were the three words that he had no answer to.

"Moya needs me," he repeated. "You're right. I am being selfish."

Gently, he turned and slipped down to the ground. For a moment he thought that the legs would give way, but to his surprise they held, wobbling worryingly but holding steady. Shakily, he balanced upright, leaning one hand on the console for support.

"All right," he said nervously. "First things first." He glanced back at Aeryn.

"How exactly do I walk?"

For a moment she stared. But then realisation seemed to strike. Pilot had no proper legs. He'd never walked upright in his life. There was no reason that he would have any knowledge of what was involved. Under normal circumstances, he didn't need it.

"Well…" Aeryn paused awkwardly. How exactly did she walk? It was an instinctive thing; she didn't think about it. But Pilot had no instincts in this matter. Like it or not, she would have to coach him. She took a breath, thinking carefully.

"Okay. Move one foot out in front of you. Transfer your weight onto that foot."

Pilot obeyed, wobbling dangerously. Aeryn scrutinised him, trying to see what he was doing wrong. It came a moment later.

"Use your arms to balance or otherwise you'll fall. Try and keep the arm on the opposite side in sync with the leg."

"You people make this look easy." Pilot complained, one arm extended too far as he tried to overcompensate. He glanced nervously at the black abyss on either side of the walkway. "And there are better places to learn."

There wasn't much Aeryn could say to that. "It can't be helped. Now, do the same thing again. Extend your other foot, transfer the weight and balance with your arm."

Pilot did it, this time managing to balance himself better.

"Now just keep going," Aeryn instructed. "That's all there is to it."

"All there is to it indeed!" Pilot sounded less than impressed. He moved forward tentatively, wobbling more than slightly but he seemed to be getting the hang of it. He staggered a few more steps, muttering words in his own language under his breath, as his arms waved all over the place. It was bizarre to watch.

"You're getting better," Aeryn said, trying to sound encouraging. Pilot chose not to deign the comment with a response, settling for an icy glare that spoke volumes more than words. He tottered once around the outside of the den, completing the circuit with slightly more grace than he started it. He paused, exchanged a friendlier look with Aeryn and went around again. This time he seemed to catch the rhythm of it more; by the time he reached the front, he was almost walking properly. He smiled tentatively.

"I think I'm getting the hang of this," he said shakily.

Aeryn nodded. "You're a natural."

Pilot shot her an irritated glance. "That is not even close to being amusing."

He turned away, his eyes fixed on the door. "Oh, well," he said, sounding none to happy. "I can't really put this off any longer."

Casting an anxious glance back, he made his way awkwardly across the walkway. He reached the far side without incident, pausing by the door release. He looked back, meeting his own eyes almost plaintively. This chamber had been his world for the only part of his life that mattered. Could he really leave it behind?

But he had no choice. Moya needed him and he could not let her down. With a shaking hand, he punched the door lock. The door slid open with a hiss to reveal the corridor beyond; familiar but also virgin territory, the far unknown of a well-known world. For a microt, he couldn't move. He glanced back at Aeryn again, acknowledging her smile of encouragement. He had to do this. There was no going back.

He took a deep breath.

Then with a single step, he left his world behind and disappeared into the corridor.

**********************************

There was so much space!

Jak grinned to himself as he jumped free of the hatchway of the shuttle, one hand wrapped firmly around his pulse rifle. He rose, gazing around at the vast cavernous expense of the leviathan's docking bay, golden hangers spreading away as far as the eye could see. There was air, room to move, room to fight and absolutely no danger of banging his head or catching his hair on fire. If only the ship had had weapons, he could have quite happily made it his home.

He glanced behind him as his men gathered, also wide-eyed at their expansive surrounds. Grajul was in raptures, staring at the bio-mechanoid technology, with eager fingers twitching with the urge to take it apart. Areni inadvertently bumped into the techs' back, too involved with staring up at the cathedral vault above to look where he was going.

"This is a big ship!" Jak heard him mutter.

The pirate chief shook himself. Enough self-indulgence. They needed to concentrate. It would be dangerous to let his awe for the vessel distract him into losing it. The surprising presence of a defence screen had hampered his plans for a quick surrender but the screen was obviously less than a success; one blow from his cannon had been enough to shock the ship into shutting down, taking it's defences with it. A pulse of electro-magnetic energy was enough to jolt open the Docking bay door and allow them on board. But they had to be careful. They had received no response from the ship's crew - true, it was possible that they had all departed on the pod that they had detected leaving the leviathan just before their attack - but Jak knew enough about leviathans to know that the Pilot at least would have remained. However, he knew very little of the Pilot species and had no idea if a lone Pilot would respond to such a threat without consulting a crew first. Jak judged his enemy by their reactions but he was finding it difficult to paint a mental picture of his adversary. He had no vocal response to judge by, nor any form of retaliation. What kind of person sits still and vulnerable until the very last instant before attack? Was it just the Pilot or was someone else pulling the strings? There was something more going on here and until he knew what, he would have to take great care.

"Stop day-dreaming!" he admonished sharply. "This is no easy ride. We have no idea what's waiting round the next corner. Keep your minds alert or at least pretend for my sake that you have them. Now, come on!"

Chastised, his men hurried to his side. Jak eyed the closed hanger door with wary precision. For all he knew, an entire battalion of vicious warriors could be lurking beyond those innocent golden curves, ready to reduce the Taurax invaders to piles of smoking ash the moment they hit the panel. A sudden concern gripped him. Was this all a trick? Had the leviathan truly shut down or was it all a dummy to lure them aboard so that their ground troops could engage in a little wholesale slaughtering? He went cold. He remembered the scans they had performed on the inert leviathan from the Mot-Halos. They had found no damage, no explanation for the shut down. Was this all a trap devised by some devious mind?

Well, he could be devious too.

"Areni, stay here with the men," he declared abruptly. "I'm going to scout the terrain."

His eyes fixed on an access shaft. He started forward and pulled away the vent, crawling quickly inside.

It was a less the pleasant experience. The shaft was narrow, cramped, and lined with ridges that grazed the bare skin of his arms. It smelt funny and vaguely sour and every so often his progress would be hindered by a small, lifeless yellow droid, sitting motionless and upside down on a protrusion. He discovered the source of the foul odour not long after; a cache of food, much of it half- rotten and inedible, that blocked his path, forcing him to crawl through it in order to continue. By the time he emerged, his vest was filled with crumbs, his arms sticky and smeared with goo and his nostrils felt as though they had been scoured with gelatine paste. He wiped away the worst of the refuge, pausing at a junction of shafts. Obviously this ship was infested with some kind of vile, hoarding pest. He would have to have it checked over by an exterminator before sale could go ahead.

Finally, Jak caught a glimpse of light ahead. Relieved, he doubled his pace, lost control of his descent and tumbled head first into a passageway. He rolled to his feet, casting about him with his rifle extended, but the corridor was silent and deserted. He took a deep breath, attempting to regain his composure and bearings. He shook himself, glad to see that there was no one around to see him in this state and glanced around. He still found it hard to believe that a ship this size could have so little crew.
Where was everyone?

He moved a few cautious steps down the corridor. Ahead, a small corridor branched off, a small dead-end leading to a closed doorway. Warily, the pirate moved ahead, rifle braced. He sneaked up to the door on cats' feet and paused, pressing one ear to the metal.

Voices! There were voices!

He'd been right! Jak bit down a surge of satisfaction. So they had sought to trick him, ambush him and catch him unprepared. But he had bested them! He had sussed their little game and now he would be victorious! No one made a fool out of Jak Cordak!

With a cry of triumph, Jak kicked back the door and burst into the maintenance bay.

He came face to face with Areni and Grajul.

There was a long moment of silence. Areni seemed more than a little taken aback by his sudden appearance. His eyes slid down his leader's dishevelled form, taking in the smears of fruit, scattered crumbs and none too pleasant odour. He clearly had no idea what to say. For his part, Jak stopped in his tracks, wild-eyed, his cry dying on his lips as he gripped his rifle before him with white-knuckled hands as he struggled to regain his composure.

"I thought I told you to wait outside," he said in a dreadfully quiet voice. Grajul recognised the tone immediately and was gone from sight in a flash. Areni bravely stood his ground.

"And, we would have of course," he replied reasonably. "But the crew returned in their pod. We hid as they investigated our shuttle and when they opened the hanger, we took them captive. Look."

He pointed behind him. In the midst of a circle of his men, staring warily at the rifle barrels that ringed them, was a cluster of aliens. There was a large, angry-looking Luxan, his eyes burning with a desire to strike out against his enemy, his fists clenched and his features an eloquent depiction of the kind of grim death that awaited them should he get free of their control. At his side was a tall, female Delvian, her arm rested gently on the Luxan's shoulder as she whispered in his ear, apparently trying to calm him down. A squat little Hynerian lay huddled on a floating sled, staring at the gun barrel shoved in his face with a mixture of fear and indignation. At his side, one hand gripping the back of the sled was a male Sebacean, dressed in clothes that looked like peacekeeper hand-me-downs. He was gazing across the bay, his eyes fixed on Jak. There was a sardonic twist to his lips.

He was laughing at him. His prisoner was laughing at him! Angrily, Jak shoved passed Areni, struggling to regain at least a shred of his tattered dignity. He snatched a cloth from one of the workbenches and wiped himself clean, his eyes fixed with icy menace upon the mocking eyes of the Sebacean. He glanced at Grajul, who was cowering nearby and immediately felt better. At least someone around here was still afraid of him.

"Grajul!" he snapped. The tech jumped a good foot in the air and then scurried over with a fawning expression, although Jak did note that he stayed just out of range of his chief's rangy arms.

"Yessir?" he said deferentially.

"Set up the comms monitor. I want to know if they're the only ones we have to deal with."

"Aye sir!" Grajul hurried back towards the shuttle. He emerged a moment later with a medium-sized black box. Scuttling towards the control console, he pulled off the intricate latticework covering and set to work linking in the device.

Jak watched for a moment, then lost interest. Trying to exude his customary menace, despite the unpromising start, the pirate sauntered over to where the prisoners were huddled, his gaze trained on the insolent Sebacean.

"Something amusing?" he drawled threateningly. "I don't think you're in any position to laugh at me!"

The Delvian placed her free hand on the Sebacean's arm but he didn't react, keeping his eye contact with Jak.

"Well when life sucks as much as it does right now, you have to keep your sense of humour!" he said dryly, his accent odd and unfamiliar.

Jak smiled grimly. "I suppose you do. But if I get so much as the slightest inkling that you are trying to make a fool out of me, you'll be wearing that smile on the back of your head. Clear?"

The Sebacean shrugged. "Oh, I don't think you need any help from me in that respect, pal!"

"John!" The Delvian exclaimed sharply but he didn't respond. Jak didn't either. He just glared.

"I'd pay attention to your friend," he said coldly. "She has more sense than you do."

The tension shimmered like fire. The eyes of the two men locked.

"Sir? I think I be in, sir!"

Grajul's call dissolved the moment. Fingering his weapon, his eyes watching the Sebacean's face as if to imply that it wasn't over, Jak turned away and went to join the tech.

******************************

To her credit, Zhaan restrained herself until the pirate leader was out of earshot, before she started to berate John.

"What the frell do you think you are doing?" she whispered sharply in his ear. "I would expect behaviour like that from D'Argo, but not from you, John. These people may hold our lives in their hands. We cannot afford to anger them!"

John sighed. "I'm sorry, Zhaany. The guy just pissed me off. Swaggering around like he owns the joint!"

"Right now, he does!" The Delvian released her grip on his arm although she continued to lean close. "We have no choice but to wait for our chance to strike. Aeryn, Chiana and Pilot are still free. Perhaps they can do something."

"If they could, don't you think they'd have done it already? Look around you, Zhaan. There's something wrong with Moya. There's no sound, no rhythm. It's almost like she's shut down entirely.

There was a long pause. John glanced back over his shoulder at the Delvian. She was gazing into the air, her features twisted with terrible recognition. Her eyes were haunted.

"Goddess, not again," she whispered softly.

"Zhaan?"

The priestess shook herself. She smiled wanly at John.

"Bad memories," she said softly.

John had no idea what she was talking about but decided this was no the time to ask. He was staring thoughtfully at the piecemeal shuttle in the docking bay.

"Zhaan, we all saw that ship that fired on Moya. Did it remind you of something?"

"Halos 1," It was not Zhaan but D'Argo who responded, apparently calmed enough to engage in a reasonable conversation. "It looked like Tek's ship."

John nodded. "Give the boy a gold star! Now when they shot at Moya, we all saw the defence screen go up, right? Do you guys remember what happened the last time we mixed Halosian firepower and our screen together?"

Zhaan and D'Argo hesitated, exchanging a glance.

"Frell!" D'Argo muttered.

"My sentiments exactly. It could explain the lack of a welcoming committee and even why Moya's out for the count. If whoever ended in Pilot screwed up somehow or Moya took exception to them…"

He didn't need to finish. His shipmates knew exactly where he was leading.

"And if Aeryn, Chiana and Pilot are struggling to cope with alien bodies, we can't count on a rescue." D'Argo growled. "We will have to free ourselves."

"Hold that thought," John said. "This is all just speculation. We don't know what's happened. Let's at least wait until we can be sure, huh?"

"I agree," said Zhaan quickly. D'Argo did not look happy but nodded his consent.

A cry from across the room arrested their attention.

"I think I've isolated their comm frequency!" The squat tech was fiddling with his black box, eyes intense. The pirate leader was watching him scornfully.

"Well don't just stand there!" he exclaimed. "Tune it in! I want to know what we're dealing with!"

The black box hissed and buzzed. Distorted voices filled the air, twisted and contorted out of all recognition. Under the wrathful gaze of his superior, the tech twiddled and poked around inside his device. John, Zhaan and D'Argo exchanged glances as the signal twisted to coherency and the unmistakable if incomprehensible sound of Aeryn's voice echoed across the bay. But the question remained; was it Aeryn? Putting aside their own predicament, the captives bit down on their fears and listened.

***************************

"Is it much further?"

Pilot had tried to stay calm. He had done everything he could to fight the panic that had been rising in his soul every since the fateful moment when he stepped outside of his Chamber for the first time in his life. But it wasn't easy. Despite the unexpected ease with which he had adapted to manipulating Aeryn's body, it still felt uncomfortable, chafing like an ill-fitting garment as he moved haltingly through Moya's lower tiers. The silence burned his ears; he simply could not get used to having his mind to himself again. Aeryn's brain was coping much better with his mode of thought than Chiana's or D'Argo's ever had, but he still felt limited somehow, restricted by the smaller number of parallel strands he was able to achieve. Admittedly, since his disconnection from Moya he didn't need so many. Indeed, it was probably a good thing in a way, for without Moya's functions to occupy his mind, the few strands he had mastered were all devoted to various levels of anxiety. But it felt wrong. This wasn't the way he was supposed to think. He felt diminished, his senses restricted, his movements unnatural, his vision inferior and perspective confused. Everything was so familiar, but yet wildly out of place. He knew it all, knew every corner, curve and access duct, every conduit and vent, but he had never before viewed Moya from this height, this angle, with these eyes. Everything looked different and even though there was no one alive who knew this ship better than he did, he felt almost like a stranger, stepping unbidden into a whole new world.

"You tell me! It's your frelling ship!" Aeryn's response was uncharacteristically harsh. The peacekeeper did not appear to be adapting to her new form any better than Pilot was; she had been short with him and disgruntled ever since his departure.

Pilot was not in the mood to be snapped at. "I fly the ship!" he retorted. "I don't wander around inside it!"

"Well you ought to know it well enough!" Aeryn's voice contained an unusual level of stress. "You see it everyday through the DRDs and the clamshells!"

"Those are completely different angles!" Pilot's voice shrilly, reflecting his rising anxiety. "It's either high or low! This is the middle! I am not used to the middle!"

There was an impatient huff at the other end of the commlink. Pilot couldn't help but feel that Aeryn was being unreasonable about this. He could feel his stress level achieving greater heights with each passing microt and fought desperately to hold it down. Aeryn's legs were wobbling dangerously; exhausted beyond all reason, Pilot tottered to the wall and rested Aeryn's dark ahead against it, fighting to control himself. He took several deep breaths, trying to focus.

"This is taking forever! Can't you go any faster?" Aeryn's intervention was ill timed.

Pilot bit back the inappropriate response that hovered on his lips. He admonished himself silently. Focus, endure. Stay in control.

"Could you please be a little more tolerant?" he replied plaintively, but there was a snappish edge lurking just beneath the surface. "I only learned to walk a quarter arn ago!"

Precariously, he pushed Aeryn's body upright, and moved on, setting a brisk but wary pace. It was a dangerous act. His balance was uncertain and only the speed of his movement from one step to the next kept him from falling. He turned a corner recklessly, almost too fast and stumbled on a DRD. He careened forward, arms waving madly as he fought to avoid a tumble, confused and disorientated by the movement of body parts he knew nothing about, barely able to extend his hands in time as he crashed headfirst into a wall. Breathing hard, he stepped back, as he struggled to gather the ragged shreds of his dignity, glad that no one was around to see. He was overwhelmed by a sudden irrational urge to blame somebody.

"It's hard enough just keeping upright without these… things at the front!" he snapped down the comm link. "They distract me when I'm trying to concentrate!"

"What are you talking about?"

"They affect my balance! And the way they move - it's disconcerting!"

"Disconcerting? What do you mean?"

"They bounce!"

"They do not!" Aeryn did not appear to appreciate the observation.

"Yes, they do! You must have noticed!"

"You're as bad as Crichton!"

"I resent that!" Pilot's response was indignant. "I have no interest in them other than the fact that they are making my life difficult!" He started to walk again, but slipped, his face swallowed by a curtain of black. Angrily, he pushed it back. "And having this hair of yours in my face all the time doesn't help either!"

"Is there any other part of my body you'd like to criticise?" Aeryn sounded irate. "Or can I start on yours?"

"There is nothing wrong with my body!"

"What apart from the fact you can't frelling move? How do you live like this? I'd go mad stuck in one place all the time!"

Sounds like you already have, Pilot thought uncharitably, but he wisely kept it to himself. His mind was whirring, buzzing with concern, fear, indignation and anxiety, tumbling over and over each other, mixing in an explosive cocktail that was rapidly pushing the navigator to the edge of outright hysteria. "Right now, Aeryn, I would welcome being stuck in one place!" Something inside him seemed to snap; he felt an all-engulfing urge to find a quite corner, curl up in a ball and cry. Gasping, tearful, suddenly broken, he released his frustration in a torrent of words. " This isn't what I do! I am not accustomed to this kind of motion! I stay still, I listen and I react! I do not run around the ship making frelling repairs!"

Aeryn must have sensed his distress. Her response was temperate but firm.

"Calm down. You're getting hysterical!"

"Good! I want to be hysterical! I like being hysterical! I'm good at being hysterical!"

There was a resigned sigh from the other end of the commlink. When Aeryn spoke, her voice sounded strained. "Will you please stop panicking? This isn't easy for me either, you know! This isn't what I do either! I'm a peacekeeper! We don't sit in one place, waiting for someone else to do our work! We react! We take action! But I can't take frelling action because thanks to those dren-cursed pirates, I can't frelling move anymore!"

There was a moment of silence. Pilot felt a wash of shame. He'd been so focussed on his own problems, his own fears and frustrations, it had never occurred to him that Aeryn might be feeling exactly the same. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to be calm, reaching for his inner focus and halting the frantic spiral of his multitude of thoughts. Firmly he sorted through the strands, pulling forward the more positive ones and relegating the terrified swirl of his fears to the back. Once he was confident that he was back in control, he opened his eyes and spoke.

"I know. I'm sorry." His voice was genuinely contrite. He felt a sudden need to explain himself. "It's just that I'm not used to living like this. When things change, I get upset. When I get upset, I panic. I can't help it. Panicking is one of the few things in life I've ever been able to do really well!"

There was a laugh from the other end. "I'll second that!"

"Hey!" Pilot tried to sound annoyed, but he couldn't help but smile. "You were not supposed to agree!"

"Sorry," Aeryn sounded friendlier. The more light-hearted exchange appeared to have done the trick. "I think we'd better get on. Are you anywhere near that junction yet?"

Pilot cast around, trying to compare his old awareness of the ship with his current visual perspective. It wasn't easy. Golden walls gleamed, their shapes half-shrouded in shadow due to the dimness of Moya's lights. Pilot frowned.

"Well, it's around here somewhere," he offered blandly, trying to hide his confusion. He glanced around at the corridors and walls, golden arches arcing to the ceiling to vanish into shadow. A strange coldness rose within his chest. Where the frell was he?

He had never realised before just how alike the different parts of Moya looked. His ability to distinguish between then was based on his knowledge of the conduits and vents that catacombed the tiers. But those crucial landmarks were invisible from here. He realised that in his distraction during the argument with Aeryn, he'd completely lost his bearings. It was painful to admit it, especially for a navigator and a supposed expert on leviathan physiology, but the fact was unavoidable.

He was lost.

He couldn't tell Aeryn. He'd never live it down. Embarrassment rose within him; he felt Aeryn's cheeks warm and glow, a disconcerting sensation to which he was not accustomed. He remembered descending several tiers and passing one of the lower amnexus chambers, but that had been a while ago. He had moved quite some way since then, changing tiers and striding down corridors. He glanced around, but could see no revealing doors or chambers. The passage stretched into darkness ahead of him, curving away around a gentle corner. Behind him lay a junction, splitting off in three directions but for the life of it, he couldn't remember which one he'd come from. Panic began to rise within him; he suddenly felt isolated and very alone. What was he going to do?

"Pilot? Are you all right?" His own voice broke into his thoughts, scattered with Aeryn's distinctive nuances. "You went very quiet there for a microt."

"Sorry," Pilot shook himself. "I was just trying to get my bearings," he said, trying to hide his true situation. "I got a little distracted and…"

"You're lost." Aeryn's precise response cut straight to the heart of the matter. Pilot winced.

" I wouldn't say I'm lost, exactly," He ventured. "I just… cannot pinpoint my location at present."

"In other words, you're lost." Aeryn sounded mildly amused. Pilot fought to hold down the flush of embarrassment. He was never going to live this down!

"Never mind," The peacekeeper said cheerfully. "It happens to the best of us. I think the best thing you can do is just carry on until you see something you recognise. That way, we can…"

Abruptly, the transmission cut. An ugly hiss rose to fill the silence.

It took a moment to register. Pilot glanced sharply at his comm, staring at it in shock. For a moment, that was all he could do, just stare as though staring alone would restore the link. But nothing happened.

"Aeryn?" he ventured. There was no answer

"Aeryn?" His voice rose shrilly. He tapped at the comm.

"Aeryn!" A frantic note penetrated his voice. He yanked at the comm, attacked it, but it continued to hiss spitefully. Then suddenly, it went quiet, even that slight noise gone. The darkened corridors were still and cold. The shadows seemed to stare.

The silence was awesome.

Pilot felt dizzy. He breathed hard, lurching against the wall as he fought to rein in the hysteria battering his soul. This couldn't be happening! Where was Aeryn? What had happened? Why had she abandoned him, left him to fend for himself, to struggle on…

Alone.

The word was terrifying. Alone.

He was alone.

Frell! He could handle anything but that!

He could barely breathe. Silence and being alone. The two things he feared most in the world. The two things that, on his joining to Moya, he thought he'd never have to face again. He could remember the chill in his heart when he had disconnected himself from Moya, sat in silence, alone in his chamber.

But Moya had still been there. He could still feel her pulse.

And when she had passed on, lost to him, he'd been trapped in darkness, condemned to die a solitary, silent death.

But Zhaan had come.

Zhaan was not going to come now. No one was. Only one person knew he was out here and she didn't know where he was. He didn't know where he was!

He was on his own.

Completely on his own.

How was he supposed to go on?

This time, it was all too much. Slumping disconsolate against the wall, Pilot sank to the floor and cried.

END OF PART TWO.