In The Flesh - Part Four.

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 and 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: Moya has been taken over by pirates who salvaged the stricken Halos 1. As a result of their attack, Aeryn and Pilot have switched bodies and Moya has shut down. The rest of the crew, in a transport at the time of the attack, have been taken prisoner as has Aeryn-in-Pilot. Pilot, still at large in Aeryn's body, has discovered the Rani device on the lower tiers. And the pirates have found the missing Chiana - whose eyes are mysteriously glowing blue…

This was getting old.

 

---

John sighed wearily. Just how much longer were they going to be left sitting here? He glanced around at his companions; Zhaan with her azure features, taut with worry; D'Argo, dark and brooding like a rumbling volcano, ready to explode with a force that would obliterate all in his path; and Rygel, now dumped on a heap on the floor, his eyes alight with indignant rage as he watched the Taurax tech who was taking his thronesled apart with a fascinated expression. All fraught, all edgy, all on the verge of making a mistake that would mean the end of all of them. Rygel had already tried his hand at bartering with the pirates, offering various sly bargains in exchange for his freedom. John could still see the look on Jak's face as he'd listened to the tiny Dominar, eyes cold, features emotionless, his lip curled in a mix of amusement and contempt. He'd had no intention of striking a deal; he just liked to play games. When Rygel had finished, he'd simply smiled that icy smile of his and told the Dominar that he was in no position to negotiate, since everything on this ship was already his. Then to prove his point, he'd dragged Rygel from the thronesled and dumped him at Zhaan's feet, before handing the device to Grajul to be stripped for useful parts.

They had all sat after that. In a show of unusual solidarity, with poor Rygel trapped in a forest of their legs, his three companions had also sunk to the floor, huddled in a tight knit group surrounded by a ring of guns. They had not moved or spoken since.

And it was dull as Hell.

John wasn't sure how much more of this inaction he could take. They could not just leave things like this, their fate and Moya's in the hands of a malicious buccaneer, their friends at large elsewhere on the ship, trapped in alien bodies. They had to do something! One glance at D'Argo told John that the Luxan was feeling the same; his eyes had not left his confiscated Qualta blade. But there was more there too, a concern, a worry. John could see it written large across his face. D'Argo was scared for Chiana. They had heard nothing of the Nebari over the comms and no pirate at mentioned her. Just what had befallen her in the arns since the attack? True, she could simply be at large in Moya's hidden chambers; there were times when even Pilot had troubling keeping track of the elusive little thief. People said that no news was good news; but in this case, that could work either way. Was she lying hurt somewhere? Was she lying dead?

There was no way of knowing. And it was driving them crazy.

"Jak!"

John started and looked up as a slender pirate came hurtling into the chamber, rushing up to the leader with an expression of wide-eyed breathlessness.

"We found someone!" he exclaimed as he skidded to a halt.

Jak came to his feet at once. "The female?"

"Could be! It's a girl, at any rate. Nebari, by her looks. But Jak, there be something strange about her. We thought she was sick at first 'cos she was all curled up and shaking in a corner. But when Callo went and had a closer look…" He tailed off, biting his lip.

Jak glared impatiently. "What?" he snapped.

The pirate pulled a face. "I think you'd best see for yourself."

He turned to the door, just as a pair of Jak's men appeared around the corner, dragging Chiana between them. The Nebari was limp, dangling by the shoulders in their firm but slightly uneasy grip, her feet sliding along the floor, her head slumped forward against her chest. Her only movement was a shiver that seemed to pulse through her body like a wave.

"Chiana!!!!" D'Argo was on his feet in microts, lunging at the nearest pirate with vicious hands. The Taurax was caught completely by surprise as the big Luxan battered him over the head with a merciless blow. "What have you done to her?" he roared, fury burning in eyes fixed only on his lover as he kicked his victim aside and started towards her. For a moment, it seemed he would succeed, that they would finally break free, but D'Argo was trapped in a tunnel vision focussed on the Nebari. He did not see Jak as he snatched the Qualta blade from a nearby workbench, raising the hilt like a club. John cried out a warning, staring to his feet, only to be pushed back to the floor by a rough shove from a guard. It was too late. A crushing blow hammered into the side of D'Argo's head and the Luxan went down, slumped in a heap on the floor. A couple of pirates grabbed him roughly and hauled him across the floor, dumping him back with the other prisoners.

Jak tossed the Qualta blade aside indifferently, casting a disdainful glance at his erstwhile assailant, now barely conscious.

"Don't do that again," he said casually. Smiling slightly, he turned to his men.

"So what's with this girl?" he asked.

John struggled to his knees, glancing across at Zhaan, who was examining D'Argo with a concerned expression.

"I think he'll be all right," she said, flicking a wan smile back at John. "Luxans have thick skulls."

The human nodded. "Yeah, I coulda guessed." Squinting the human, tried to get a glimpse of what was happening with Chiana but the guards had closed in, affectively blocking his view. He looked up at their impassive faces and sighed. There was no leeway to be found with these goons. They didn't want him to see. But he could still hear. Closing his eyes, John listened.

"…see what you mean." Jak. John knew that smug tone anywhere. "But I don't think she's dangerous." There was a pause; John could almost sense the pirate eyeing her up and down and felt a sudden surge of fury. "She's a pretty wench," he commented, undertones rippling behind his words. "And that little anomaly of hers will make her valuable. We could make a decent profit. Stick her with the others for now. We'll decide her fate when we decide theirs. And keep looking. I'm not convinced that this is the female we overheard."

Anomaly? John had no idea what Jak was talking about but he had no time to ponder it for at that moment, one of the guards contacted him solidly with a foot. As he rolled back in pain, the pirate wall parted and a grey blur was tossed inside the impromptu enclave. John half-rose, considering a rush, but it was too late - the gap sealed as quickly at it appeared. Beside him, Chiana was convulsing gently on the floor.
"Chi?" John was at her side at once. "Pip, can you here me?" Gently he rested his hands on her shoulders; she shuddered but did not rise. A strange noise was emanating from her lips, half-whisper, half-moan, a sliver of a word that was gone as quickly as it was spoken, lost elusive in the air. John felt a strange sense of confusion; it seemed to him that he knew this word, that it tugged at his subconscious, but at the same time it was alien, a mystery beyond his skill to comprehend. He felt frustration rising. What the frell was the matter with her?

He turned to summon Zhaan to find that she was already there. The priestess bent close, her brow creased in confusion and concern, her gentle hands cradling the Nebari's face.

"Chiana, dear, can you hear me? Can you tell me what's wrong?"

At the sound of her voice, the Nebari seemed to pause. Her head twitched; it seemed almost as though she was trying to look up. Her voice was a hum, low and pulsating, as she fought to contort her noises into coherent speech.

"Za…Zaaaaaa…..Zhhaaaannnnn."

"Yes, that's right." Zhaan signalled to John for help as she lifted the girl gently, resting her head in her lap. "I'm here, Chiana. What's the matter?"

Chiana shook her head suddenly and the movement seemed to pulsate down her body as she shook and thrashed in John's arms.

"Zzzzhhhhhaaaannnnnn!!!!!" she screamed at the top of her voice, followed by that same elusive word, but this time not a whisper but a shout, at the top of her voice, screaming for something that no one around her could understand.

"Chiana! Chiana!" Zhaan called her name almost desperately, as she held her down as gently as she could. Tears were streaming from Chiana's tightly closed eyes.

"Chiana, please! What's wrong?" Zhaan's voice had a frantic edge. "I can't help you if you don't tell me! Open your eyes!!"

The convulsions stopped. Chiana seemed to freeze in place, her face upturned to Zhaan's. She opened her eyes.

John stumbled back in shock as blue light shimmered in the air. Zhaan seemed to freeze, locked in the intensity of the glowing gaze that seemed to reflect off her face like breaking waves. Chiana's features were a twisted mix of pain, confusion and a desperate plea; a plea for help that held the priestess transfixed.

Chiana's lips shivered; awkwardly, she tried to form a word.

"Mmmmmm…… Mmmmmooooyyyyy…….Mmmmoooooyy," She broke off to whimper slightly then tried again. "Mmmmmmooooyyyyy….. Mmmmmmoooyyyyyy…. Mmmmmooooyyyyaaaaaahhhhhh!"

"Moya!" Zhaan gasped. "By the Goddess!" She tore her gaze away to stare wide-eyed at John. The human was watching without comprehension.

"What the Hell is going on?" he exclaimed. "What is with Chiana's eyes?"

"John, don't you see?" Zhaan was breathless. "When the Taurax attacked, it did not just affect Aeryn and Pilot. It affected Chiana and Moya too - in a way we'd never have expected!"
John's eyes widened in sudden realisation. He stared at Chiana in utter disbelief.

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" he said shakily.

Zhaan nodded. "This isn't Chiana, John. This is Moya!"

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

That explained everything.

Pilot stared down into the maintenance bay from his vantage point hidden behind one of the high arcs of the ceiling. He had made quick progress crawling through the vents and ducts to reach this place, quickly slipping into his current position during the distraction caused by D'Argo's assault. Now he crouched, eyes fixed intently upon the convulsing form of the Nebari, cradled compassionately in Zhaan's arms.

He had known her the microt he'd set eyes on her. How could he not? Three cycles of shared thoughts, of co-operation and unity, of fondness, of love, had imprinted the essence of her presence on his senses more strongly than the sense of his own. Despite his detachment from the heightened perceptions of his own body, the whisper of his DNA that Aeryn harboured gave him enough insight to recognise her feel without need for a physical connection. It had been all he could do to prevent himself from leaping out from hiding and diving to the rescue, but the folly of D'Argo's attempt had stayed him just in time. If the powerful Luxan could not overcome the pirates, what chance had a Pilot trapped in a body he barely knew? Anxiously he had forced down his emotions, taking deep breaths and closing his eyes in a desperate bid to stay in command of himself. It was not easy. He could only imagine how terrified she must be, imprisoned in a form so alien as to be almost incomprehensible to her. At least he had some basic knowledge of the form he was in - he knew how to manipulate muscles, how to move, how to communicate, even how to think, albeit on a more simplified level than he was accustomed to. But Moya had none of this knowledge. Her methods of motion, communication, of thought were all impossible in humanoid form. It seemed she had mastered some simple sound making, but proper speech was beyond her; her only real comprehension of a language of sounds came from names. Her cries had rended his soul, her call and plea. She needed him, had called for him, unable to understand why she was suddenly alone. Pilot did not like to think about how much she must be suffering; it made him feel hollow inside. Her essence, her being, was too vast to be contained in a simple Nebari body; already the powerful energy of her soul was leaking through Chiana's eyes. In Pilot's opinion, it was a miracle that the switch had not killed them both.

But it was not just Moya who was enclosed in a form she could not comprehend. What must Chiana have felt on being thrust into Moya? It certainly explained the shutdown; Chiana's mind, too narrow and limited to manipulate the intricacies of leviathan form, had overloaded with the effort and collapsed into unconsciousness to protect itself. Pilot now knew all attempts to restore the ship to waking would be in vain; any attempt to revive Chiana would only risk serious damage to her mind. It was better that she slept. Being woken would probably drive her to insanity.

But he could not afford to just leave the matter. Neither Chiana nor Moya were stable enough to be left where they were. Pilot didn't know what kind of effect Moya's thought processes would have upon Chiana but he suspected it would not be beneficial. Most likely, her mind, even whilst sleeping, would try to expand to fill the gaps but such expansion would only lead to it being dispersed beyond restoration and cause Moya's body to lose energy and deactivate entirely. And Moya, imprisoned in a vessel ill prepared to cope with the energy of a leviathan soul, was in no less danger. Just how much longer would Chiana's waif like form be able to cope with the stress? He remembered, with discomfort, the horrible sense of detachment as the Nebari form tried to reject him during their last switch. If it had barely coped with him, how the frell could it cope with Moya? The strain her mind and body were struggling under would be immense. Just how long did they have before something gave out and killed them both?

This left Pilot with a serious dilemma. Just what should he do now? He needed a plan, some way to both free his crew and restore them all to their true bodies before both Moya and Chiana were lost for good. He would have preferred a little longer to think about it, to put together a foolproof scheme that was guaranteed success, but time was a luxury he did not possess. He needed to act and soon. Gently, reluctantly, he opened his hand and stared down at the gleaming black heap of the Rani device. He would have liked to have found some other way - the memory of the creators of this thing still made him deeply uneasy - but he had been left with few other options. He was going to have to try and fix it.

A call from below arrested his attention; Pilot closed his hand sharply and turned, peering cautiously around the golden shield that protected him from the pirates view. A large, burly, dark haired pirate had just entered the bay, his big hand wrapped around a huge rifle as he approached the lighter haired, rangier man who Pilot's observations had led him to believe was leader. He looked vicious. Pilot bit back a shudder and tried to listen.

"….found it, up near the front end on a high tier." It was the burly newcomer who was speaking. "Don't look like much is working up there either though."

"Is it defensible?" the rangier man asked sharply, his cold voice carrying with much more clarity than the low rumble of his companion.

"Only one entry. Not good for escape but not bad to defend."

"Especially against a small number of enemies." The leader was frowning thoughtfully. "And perhaps Grajul will be able to do more from the Command."

Abruptly he turned to his men. "Pack up!" he ordered loudly. "We're shifting our base to the Command! Annit, Kerlin, Callo, you stay here and guard the shuttle. The rest of you are with me!"

"What about them?" It was one of the guards, who gestured to the five prisoners with a flick of his rifle.

The leader grinned. "Bring them along. I'm sure we can find a spot that's just as cosy on the upper tiers!"

Pilot watched them silently, as they gathered their gear. Should he follow? Much as his heart yearned to keep Moya safe within his sight, his head reluctantly issued an overrule. There was no purpose to it. It was not as though he feared the pirates would be able to revive the leviathan from there; now he knew the reason for the shut down, that was simply not going to happen until Moya was restored to her own form. He would do much better to find himself a quiet corner and concentrate on repairing the Rani device. If he could get the thing to function, it would give him a massive advantage; the ability to manipulate Moya's body without the need to wake Chiana. In this tricky situation, that was just the kind of advantage he needed.

But still, it hurt to leave her. It felt wrong somehow, like an abandonment. Three cycles of sharing minds with a being as wonderful as Moya had led to a kind of love between them that no other being could ever approach. He knew that Zhaan and Crichton would be capable guardians, but still, he could not shake the nagging feeling that they couldn't do the job half as well as he would.

The pirates were ready to move. Pilot watched, helpless as the five prisoners were forced to their feet. Moya of course could not rise, and D'Argo was more than a little groggy. So after exchanging a quick glance with Zhaan, Crichton had lifted the displaced leviathan gently in his arms, leaving the priestess to support the Luxan. Rygel, protesting wildly about the indignity of proceeding on foot, had been snatched unceremoniously up by a pirate, and tucked rather disrespectfully under his armpit. Slowly, like the straggling survivors of a war, the little group made their way to the door. Pilot watched, eyes never leaving the Nebari held limply in John's arms, whose grey folds concealed the spirit of the being that meant more to him than any other. He watched as they slipped from his sight behind a wall of gold, his heart heavy inside of his borrowed chest. A part of him wanted to cry, but another stronger part fought to dominate. Aeryn's words echoed in his mind…. Moya needs you….of even more resonance now than before. Sudden determination bolstered his heart. He would save her. He would not let her down! She needed him!

Filled to overflowing with a powerful new resolve, Pilot turned silently and slipped out of the maintenance bay. He needed to find somewhere quiet….

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

The command was dead. John disliked using that word, especially in regards to Moya, but in this case it was the only word he could find to fit. A darkness cloaked the room like a shroud, the dim and guttural lights lost and surrounded by all encroaching darkness. The golden consoles, usually gleaming and flashing with bright read-outs, now lay still, silent and colourless, detached from their functions by an absence of power. It was sinister to behold. John had to admit, if he'd have had a choice, he probably would not have gone in there.

The rifle muzzle dug firmly against his shoulder blades, reminding him that of course, he didn't have a choice. With Chiana - or Moya - cradled in his arms, John shuffled reluctantly forward. Dazzling light expelled the darkness to the hidden recesses as Jak stepped in front of him with a powerful lantern, depositing it firmly on the strategy table. He looked around the golden chamber, his face fixed with that disturbing smile as he examined the leviathan's manual control centre with the assuredness of one who is master of all he surveyed. John watched him coldly, his face fixed angrily at the man's presumption. How dare he treat them like this in their own home? One way or another, that guy was going to pay.

A wail from Rygel caught John's attention. He half turned just in time to see the tiny green dominar being hurled unceremoniously into one of the alcoves to their left. He barely had time to register this fact before he felt a rough hand on his arm and a shove. He reeled back, stumbling to his knees as he struggled to hold onto Moya, collapsing beside Rygel with a painful jarring on his knees. A solid shape contacted him, pushing him against the wall. He looked up to meet Zhaan's apologetic eyes. A hefty oomph from Rygel revealed where the still semi-conscious D'Argo had been deposited and in response to the Hynerian's breathless cries for help, Zhaan turned away to arrange the Luxan more comfortably.

Gently, John placed Moya on the ground, arranging her arms and legs for her as he leaned her carefully against the wall of her own body, supporting her lolling head. After her fit in the maintenance bay, the displaced leviathan seemed to have recovered a little, but now she had retreated into herself, eyes tightly closed, her soft lips mouthing over and over that same mysterious, elusive word. She seemed to chant it, murmuring it aloud like one of Zhaan's mantras, a combination of a prayer and a plea for help. John wished he had some idea what it meant. He wished he could ask Pilot. But he might as well wish for Jak to spontaneously combust. Right now at least, it wasn't going to happen.

He wondered where Pilot was. The fact that had hadn't been brought to join them before now was encouraging; maybe he was better at taking care of himself than John had given him credit for. It was easy to forget that Pilot had not passed his whole life aboard Moya, and although it was never discussed, he must have had a life before his bonding three cycles before. Who could say how different he had been back then, before his painful bonding and years of subservience to the peacekeepers? With a shock, John realised that despite the time they had spent working together, enough certainly to count him as a friend, he knew virtually nothing about the reclusive navigator. It was easy to just lump him in as a part of Moya, an organic computer to obey their commands. But he wasn't. He was a person, with a character and needs all his own, a history and past that they did not and probably would not ever know. Did he have a family on his home planet? What kind of life had he led there? John hadn't a clue. The guy was his friend but yet he knew almost nothing about his life. And he found that mildly disturbing.

A gentle touch to his shoulder jerked him out of his reverie. He turned to meet Zhaan's blue eyes. She smiled at him, but the expression was wan.

"How are you?" she asked him softly.

"Me?" John shrugged. "Oh, I'm on top of the world right now. How's the big guy?"

"Recovering," Zhaan shot a covert glance at the pirate guards, who were blocking them in, their backs to their prisoners before shifting her glance to the semi-comatose Nebari form in which Moya currently resided. "John, we have to do something."
John followed her gaze. "You won't get any argument from me." He glanced at her hopefully. "You got a plan?"

To his disappointment, the Delvian shook her head. "I'm afraid not. But this situation is more urgent than it appears." She took a breath. "I can't be sure John, but I think Moya and Chiana are dying."

John felt his heart drop. A hollowness settled in his stomach. "What makes you say that?"

Zhaan sighed. "I can only speculate. I think that when the combination of our shield and the Halosian weapon caused Moya and Chiana to switch bodies, it took no account of the differing ways in which Nebari and leviathan minds work. Look at her, John." She gestured to the porcelain frame slumped against the bulkhead. "Moya's energy and mind are used to being housed in a vessel metras long. You can't just push that amount of power into a tiny body like Chiana's and expect it to cope. And Chiana's mind is used to operating a simple humanoid form not a massive, space-faring vessel. I believe that when they changed places, Chiana's mind was unable to handle the complexity of Moya and shut down. Who knows what kind of damage that will do, to both of them! We need to get out of here, fast, and restore them to their true forms as quickly as possible. Otherwise…."

She left it hanging. But her meaning was clear.

John felt sick. Zhaan was right. It was obvious, when you thought about it. After all, Chiana's body had had problems dealing with Pilot's mind, for frell's sake! How could it be expected to cope with the vastness of Moya?

Pilot. Frell!

"Zhaan, what about Pilot?" John turned to the Delvian in sudden concern. "Last time we all played pass the parcel with our minds, Pilot almost died!"

"I know," Zhaan leaned forward, checking on Moya's breathing with gentle fingers.

"But he may not be so badly affected this time. Remember, Aeryn's body still contains dormant fragments of his DNA. Maybe it will be able to cope better with the complexities of Pilot's mind. And Aeryn has experience of multi-tasking. I suspect that both of them will be able to adapt to each other's bodies without too much difficulty."

John nodded, hoping as he did so that the priestess was right. He smiled uncertainly.

"You think Pilot can get us out of this from inside Aeryn's body?"

Zhaan smiled, more genuinely. "I think Pilot is more resourceful than we give him credit for."

John gave her a look. "That doesn't answer my question."

The Delvian returned his gaze. "When I have an answer, I'll give you one."

The human sighed, glancing out through the cracks in the wall of legs that hemmed them in. "So what do we do until then?"

Zhaan looked away, her eyes fixed with concern on the whispering lips of the leviathan souled Nebari. "Until then," she said softly. "We must wait."

John rolled his eyes. "Whether we like it or not," he replied.

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

Well, well, well.

Jak Cordak smiled to himself. Hadn't that been an interesting conversation?
He knew it had been a good idea to place the listening device on the Nebari girl. They had not seen him do it, of course, too concerned with their impetuous Luxan friend. And now they had given him some very key information.

He had no idea how or why those aboard the leviathan during the attack would have switched bodies. He had been dubious at first, thinking perhaps they had found the device and were trying to make a fool of him. But the Delvian seemed genuine enough. Why would they take the trouble to invent a lie like that? No, Jak was convinced they were telling the truth. And that was excellent news.

It was a fascinating phenomenon. The idea that that blue eyed Nebari was the leviathan inside was amazing; he could scarcely comprehend the kind of price he could fetch for something like that. But of more significance was the information about the elusive female still at large. He had feared her presence, an unknown element in his neat equation of victory. But now, he discovered, she was no more than a displaced Pilot! A Pilot! He knew enough of the race to know that they were bred to be quiet, obedient and peaceful. You didn't get a leviathan if you weren't. No one wanted to fly on a ship with a disobedient, troublemaking navigator. No, this was going to be easy. Once the Pilot was found, there would be no fight. It would all be over quicker than one of Areni's conquests!

Now all he had to do was draw him out.

And how do you draw something out?

With bait.

And what did Pilots care about more than anything else?

Jak cast a sidelong look at the alcove where the prisoners were huddled. He caught a glimpse of grey skin and smiled to himself.

Perfect.

The Pilot was as good as his.

END OF PART FOUR.