Return to Bermudas
Chapter 8 : Urgent
After interrogating the new prisoners, their executions followed one by one. They screamed for mercy, they pleaded with their captors, but they still met the same end, as General Kozz laughed at their histrionics. He thought of how frail these vermin were and it disgusted him. Inches away from their faces, he mocked them in their dying, mimicking their look of shock, panic, and agony as they expired.
He smiled; content that another colony pod would never infect his universe. How feeble these Sebaceans were, believing they could tarnish another of his planets, with nothing more than a handful of agricultural robots and a few pathetic pulse pistols.
The frivolous diversion had taken his mind off the anti-god Crichton for a little over an arn. Omala, still five unbearable arns away, taunted his endurance and his patience. Deciding to check on the progress of his magnificent forces, General Kozz strolled to the command center, in the heart of the flagship Fate.
Upon entering all bowed as he strode, proud in his unclothed perfection, toward the nexus. He paused purposely, gauging the humility of his subordinates as he searched each one for signs of weakness. For over a quarter arn he stood, watching as all within the command center bowed, which of itself is a feat contradictory to the Scarran anatomy. Yes, they were in pain. Yes, they were suffering. A moment to be savored.
Pleased at their resolve, basking in their worship, and impressed with their humility, the powerful General Kozz commanded, "Be as God!" With this, all rose to the proper Scarran position. "How many forces are arriving at the target?" the Scarran leader asked as he approached the nexus.
"We have reassigned the Dreadnoughts, seventy-five percent of our fleet, toward the Omala infestation" a disembodied voice informed.
"And what of the lesser portions of the fleet? What of the Deathbringers and the Behemoths?" the demon drooled in anticipation.
"We have diverted likewise seventy-five percent of the lighter fleet toward the infestation, my General. All available cruisers and fighters have been reassigned." another unimportant drone informed.
Kozz took a brief moment to think of the godly power focused on a single inconsequential rock that harbored abomination. As God's beloved, he would not fail. "And what of the expansion forces, what is their status?"
A single wise voice inquired, "Your worship?"
Kozz, pinpointing the talent of a true Scarran, looked to smile on the believer's face. He recognized it immediately as his most prudent Lieutenant General Zepol. He paused in admiration of his favorite Scarran's intelligence. "I assume you have ceased the extermination and ordered all fleet vessels to stand ready to assist in the Omala cleansing?"
Zepol bowed low, "Thine is the voice of God, my master."
The perfect commanded, "I want a reference schedule for the fleet's arrival. I want no firing without my command. I want assurance of Crichton's presence on Omala. I want no mistakes."
The cry of a worm broke the monotonous drumbeat of the mighty fusion engines. "Sire, we have taken many losses toward the recent counter strike of the Peacekeepers. Should we not draw back and regroup to patrol our borders? This would decrease any Sebacean advancement."
Seething, Kozz looked up from the nexus grid to discovery the heretic. Finding his next example of insubordination, the holy general calmly replied, "The Scarrans will fall to no one. The fluke of the Peacekeepers' luck has run out. You have no place to question my orders. If I wish, by the power of God, to call the entire fleet to Omala and break that rock into pieces, you have no grounds with which to doubt." He then lowered his face to the flashing grid of the command nexus. "Seize him."
On those words, all fell on the startled and unprepared worm. After securing him and stripping him, the nod passed to Zepol, as he turned and bowed to his holiness.
Adoring Zepol's perfect sentiment Kozz quietly ordered, "Slowly torture and kill his brood. Record the acts and make him watch these perpetually. Kill the females first and then his children. Feed them all too him. Insure he lives a long life."
Zepol bowed low, "You are wise in all things. It shall be done."
Mobbed by numbers, the immobilized prisoner fought while carried to detainment, screaming for vengeance as he resisted the inevitable. The wise general, laughing at the impudence of the coward, loudly relished the power that brought him one step further toward his holy reward, now four and a half arns away.
Chapter 9 : Valley Girl
A sobering Aeryn, jogged through the afternoon sun, to notice the heat register to optimum plus forty. She barely perspired as she charged the hill, racing toward its summit. Nearing the top, she began scanning over the crest and then once establishing a secure perimeter, she allowed herself to crouch and regroup. The familiar pain became more evident, forcing blood from her nose.
Her first priority was the stasis generator. Carefully observing the palm attached device, she reasoned it still had 5 arns optimum use, more than enough time to complete her mission's last objective. She silently thanked Jool for this incredible invention, realizing how it was the only thing responsible for maintaining her Sebacean life.
Aeryn refolded her map, revealing only the coordinates area, then removed the "Jool's Aerial" from her waist pack. The device was small and simple. Its purpose was to tap into a natural structure of a planet, fill in the unique topographical data, and then recognize the holder's position in correspondence to a reference chart. The modified map, acting as the reference chart, made the process virtually foolproof. Holding the device over the map, the readout flashed confirmation, that Aeryn's direction was true. She was close to her target. "Objective almost complete", she thought. Then a distant voice within the back of her mind corrected, "mission failed". The sharp, stabbing pain shout through her head, as Aeryn fell unconscious into the dirt.
As she came to, she was briefly aware of the intense heat as she lay in the desert's sun. She quickly checked her stasis generator and was relieved to see that it was still functioning, and she was only out for half an arn this time. Still half-blind with pain, she gathered her tools and herself and after wiping the coagulated blood from her face, resumed her marathon across the wasteland.
Lumbering toward her camouflaged vessel, Aeryn activated her ident-chip causing Xhalax, to dissolve into view. Wiping her constantly bloody nose, she boarded her ride as the pain shot through her brain. Fighting the initialization sequence, she sealed the hatch and gulped in the pure synthetic atmosphere. Heaving as the pain spiked once more, she quickly set the internal dampers to optimum minus three in hopes to expedite her recovery by pulling out the devastating poison. Hoping to increase efficiency, Aeryn rerouted the communications to the dampers. As she finished the launch sequence, she then disengaged the stasis generator after removing it.
Weak, but still conscious, Aeryn launched the prowler and sped away from Earth. She adjusted the flight controls to divert power from the camouflage system to the environmental controls once out of range from the planet's surveillance. She then focused her attention to the prowler's med-pack and injected some much-needed anti-toxins.
Aeryn felt stronger almost immediately, cursing the radiation poisoning of the Nevada desert and likewise damning her own genetic structure to succumb so easily to it. Her mind reeled in the agony of her failed mission, and she vowed that when the time became appropriate, she would punish herself severely. Aeryn then allowed herself to collapse.
Bolting upright in her seat, Aeryn awoke. After surmising her physical wellness, she consulted the controls, verifying she was well out of Earth's solar system. Feeling close to optimum herself, she activated the Array creating a vortex in front of her. She entered the hole speeding toward the rendezvous point.
Realizing she had no contingency plan, she fought reason to find a solution. "I did not come all this way to give up now!" she argued aloud. "I cannot, and I will not give in. There must be a way."
Thinking of how far she had actually traveled, Aeryn looked back across the cycles to when she lost John. She thought of how foolishly he died, and she thought of the torment that plagued her. Irradiating himself to halt a reactor overload, he passed on. She thought of him dying as he lived, a man.
Time passed through Crais' betrayal, her mother's second death, and then the reunion with Crichton. Aeryn recollected how she hated him. How, at the time, she could not tolerate his voice; reminding her too much of her John. Aeryn fought him at every turn, his opinions, his concerns, and his emotions. It was not the same, he was not her John. He was a fraud, he was a twin brother, and she could not and would not allow anyone or anything to trample the memories of her one true love.
China already involved with Crichton when Aeryn returned, abandoned him to pursue some religious escapade. Aeryn judging Crichton's reaction understood how he was hurt, and how he purposely avoided her to keep to himself.
Aeryn then revived the image a cycle after the reunion when Crichton, eager to unlock the wormhole technology, found the machine, abandoned by its self-destroyed creators. The machine, some ancient mind control device allowed one to probe any mind based on an individual's DNA. Crichton's idea to turn it on himself to retrieve the wormhole technology only led to his own insanity, as the machine matched every thought John ever had with every thought the other John ever had.
Gripping the controls of Xhalax, Aeryn thought of how she fought the notion of helping him, as part of her wanted to see John die for the pain she suffered. How she decided to try to help him and used the device to reach John. Remembering when she entered his mind, she smiled, seeing again his thoughts, his memories, and his heart. At that point, she realized it was John. It was her John. He loved her, and he remembered what they had as the device mixed his other's memories together with his causing the insanity.
Pounding, Aeryn heard her heart as she remembered how they have grown together again, how they built a family and a life, and how they shared too much to lose. Allowing herself to panic, Aeryn sped down the vortex toward Omala.
Chapter 10 : Toy Soldiers
Sitting in the command's chair, D'Argo counted six heads added to his crew. He looked into their eyes and seen that all were accustomed to death. Savoring the pain of his wounds, he sighed as his woman, Jool, tended to her battle scared husband. As they entered neutral space, D'Argo activated the vortex, targeting home. Entering the bubble, D'Argo engaged the automatic guidance system of his vessel then turn his attention back to his passengers.
Breaking the silence, Jothee began, "So, I was-"
"We need an army" interrupted D'Argo.
"Ok..." Jothee confirmed as his mind reached to understand.
D'Argo, looking at his son, immediately noticed the scars of war and torture. He noticed the patch over Jothee's left eye and weak stature of a starved prisoner. The sight began breaking his massive heart. Regaining his composure, he continued, "The Scarrans are attacking a small outpost called Omala." D'Argo then looked deep into Jothee, through his past and through him. D'Argo solemnly stated, "John Crichton is on that outpost. I have sworn to do anything in my power for my brother, and I will."
"What does this have to do with me?" asked Jothee.
D'Argo explained, "I know you are part of the underground that fights the Peacekeepers-"
"Destroying their fascist oppression." Jothee corrected as he defiantly interrupted his father.
D'Argo smirked, "Whatever, look, you want to listen or do I have to gag you?"
Jothee, glancing at his decrepit comrades, but finding little capable support, submitted, "Sorry, continue."
Wincing with ecstasy as Jool continued cleaning his wounds with her equipment, D'Argo growled, "You have resources and you have people. I know you have gained the respect and a position of authority in the underground."
"Resistance." Jothee corrected.
"Regardless," continued D'Argo, "You and your people have done severe damage to the Peacekeepers from the inside. We need those same resources to fight the Scarrans."
"Why not go to the Peacekeepers?" asked Jothee.
"Because you have crippled them and they are in no position to help. If they were strong enough to help, they surely would not aid the likes of us, particularly John Crichton." D'Argo reminded the rouge.
"Why not call on the Luxans and the Ilanics?" challenged Jothee.
"I have. The Luxans await us, as the Ilanics likewise stand ready," D'Argo said.
"So why do you need my-," Jothee paused as he surveyed his partners, "our help."
Jool interjected, "You owe your life to John Crichton. Your 'resistance' owes its success to that fact that John Crichton was responsible for the Peacekeepers being in their weak state in the first place. You also use the name of 'John Crichton' as a calling card whenever you initiate one of your terrorist acts. John Crichton is the only thing that has allowed your activities to be successful. You owe everything to him!"
"Oh, I know," confirmed Jothee," I have no problems helping out John, but I wondering if you have the Luxans and Ilanics, what good are we?"
"The Luxans and Ilanics are still at war with the Scorvians and the Scarrans." D'Argo nodded his approval to Jool as she proved his blood was flowing clear. He then turned his attention back to his son and added," They are weak themselves, and the extremely small force we have could not even take out one of the Scarran Dreadnoughts."
Jothee's mouth went dry, "...One of them? How many are there?"
D'Argo's heart sank as he revealed, "At last count there were two, but I know the Scarrans and there will be more on the way, especially since Crichton is the target."
Jothee looked at his fellow freedom fighters and rated their hearts by their eyes. After gathering the votes, he then asked verbally, "Can we help?"
In unison all disagreed, as Jothee looked at D'Argo with no small amount of shame. "Well, I guess I am It." resigned Jothee.
Anger followed by gratitude flashed briefly in the mind of Ka D'Argo as he stated, "Then you will have to do."
Chapter 11 : Aqualung
Some playing as children, some talking in a small group, and some Caretakers slept their day away. Crichton watched as they relished the small holiday, not dwelling on horror that would beset them. Crichton sought out the mad Banik for a rap session, now fifteen arns after their original encounter with the Scarran. Crichton found the unusually quiet lunatic sitting on the top of one of the walled sections staring at the horizon. Crichton climbed to sit beside him hoping that somehow pooling their ideas for another time would help.
Crichton initiated, "Hey, if it ain't Chernobyl-boy, what's shakin'."
While being aware of Crichton, Stark stared ahead as this friend sat beside him. Calmly but quickly, Stark added, "John. John. John. John. John..."
Crichton laughed reminding Stark, "This is the part where you say 'We're all going to die' and you start screaming 'Death! Beloved Death! I welcome you'. Then you run around like a chicken with its head cut off." He grinned as he looked in the slave's face for indications of a plan.
Stark calmly looked across the plateau, and sighed, "I was always wrong before. I have learned to trust you, not to mention your abilities, John. I have a strong feeling, everything will be just fine."
Crichton's heart leapt in his throat, knowing what the Banik was actually saying. As he calmed himself, Crichton tried desperately to see beyond the horizon, hoping for an inevitably obvious solution. While searching he turned his voice again to Stark and added, "Hey, why do you have such a sense of renewed faith in me?"
Stark, uncharacteristically calm, shrugged he looked over to Crichton, "I guess you could say I cast my cares to the heavens and I saw the power of God."
Smiling back to Stark, Crichton looked across the plains fighting for a translation to the Banik's cryptic salvation. Looking back to Stark, Crichton noticed Stark renewing his scan of the horizon, with Crichton unable to find a terrestrial answer. Unsure, Crichton stared at Stark about to ask for a translation.
Stark, without looking at Crichton, moved his hand, and then pointed his index finger directly to the sky above. As Crichton looked up, the sun briefly blinded him. Shading his eyes Crichton beheld the horror. Crichton's heart pounded in his ears as his adrenaline surged through his veins. His breathing became rhythmically fast as his mind sought earnestly for a solution. Above them, miles from the surface of the planet, orbiting within space, Crichton was still able to detect the shapes of thirty Scarran Dreadnoughts as they began establishing an attack perimeter around the planet.
"Well, that's something you don't see every day" mused the shaky Crichton as he watched the shapes slowly dance far above. "What are they waiting for?"
Stark slowly cast his eye to Crichton and informed, "They will sterilize this planet as soon as they receive the order. Very Soon. Very Soon, Very, Very, Very Soon."
"You bet! I can feel the love," witted Crichton as he desperately raced for a working solution. "How much time do you think we have?"
"All the time in the world." droned Stark.
Pausing to appreciate the dark humor, Crichton swallowed hard trying to regroup internally. Crichton fought, "Anything going on in that glowing head of yours?"
Stark stoically replied, "I do not understand, John."
Crichton reminded, "I've noticed you seem to know a little bit about a little bit, and every single time we get in a real tight jam, you sometimes hold the answer... I guess I'm hoping this is one of those times."
Stark sighed, "John, I have no answers." He looked over to Crichton as if ashamed, hanging his head he continued, "The Caretakers in the past have never been able to defend themselves. The Scarrans have always previously ignored this planet, and since this is a singular unique circumstance, I feel only the Goddess can help us."
Crichton remembered, "Yeah, BoWeen mentioned that the Caretakers have died here, who attacked them?"
Stark returned to face the horizon, "John, this is a graveyard. So many races have fought and died here that no reason would be as good as the last. I hear the dead cry out and I am overwhelmed, since some are too late to pass."
Crichton nodded, "OK, you said that this place has been a war zone before, right?"
Stark turned to Crichton to nod, "Yes, but I do not understand."
Crichton gathered a hand of sand and hurled it at beam jutting up to his left. "Well, if this planet was hit before, then why is fort still standing?"
Stark shook his head, "John, the Caretakers know the secret of this place, its not for us to understand."
Crichton sighed, "Well, Masked-Marauder, I've been hearing a lot of people tell me 'It's not your place', 'You wouldn't understand', and 'Look out, its a Goddess thing.' But ya know what? I can't say I really care about that right about now. I think these people are holding some information we could use, and hellfire or not, our hides depend on it."
Stark took a deep breath, "John, this is why they are chosen. Their entire existence throughout time is to keep the secrets of this place. You can ask them, you can threaten them, and you can kill them, and no one will help you. Why do you think they are resolved to die?"
Crichton confessed, "I was afraid you were going to say that."
Climbing down off the wall to leave Stark to his ways, Crichton approached BoWeen as she sat talking with her family. "Hey there, I was wondering..."
As she began frantically signaling, Stark called out, "John, she refuses to help you."
Crichton shook his head, "Look at least let me ask before you jump to conclusions." As she patient sat quietly and waited, Crichton commented, "I saw where your people were collecting things that others drop. I was wondering if you could show them to me."
Obviously embarrassed, BoWeen stood and motioned Crichton to follow. She led him to her hut, and moved the straw mat that rested on the floor. Crichton witnessed a large piece of metal that was uncovered and surmised their must be a small hole dug, with the metal serving the purpose of allowing her a flat sleeping area. After a small series of movements, BoWeen moved the piece of metal, revealing a stairway going down.
Laughing loudly, Crichton added, "Well that's handy to have around."
Following BoWeen down the dirt carved stairway, Crichton hurried after, more than a little excited. After descending, a self-lighting torch on the wall flared, as BoWeen showed her treasure. Crichton found himself hoping to find a cache of weapons or some sort of hidden super device capable of devastating the Scarrans. Unfortunately, all Crichton found was a large room full of junk. It was garbage, filled mostly with miscellaneous items, with an occasional trinket of moderate value.
Searching through the garbage, Crichton did happen to find one adjustable Com, a drained pulse rifle, a broken Qualta blade, seven torn tents, and a handful parts that looked like they were scattered remnants of the Voyager space probe. Activating the Com, he listened to the Scarrans banter and brag about his imminent death.
Pocketing the communications device, he turned to see BoWeen, standing as Gilina does when she has a secret. Not being able to understand the woman, Crichton began looking around the room for obvious clues. He found none.
As he grabbed the torch to extinguish it, he noticed BoWeen flinch ever so slightly. Searching the wall where the torch was mounted, Crichton tapped it, knocking free a small amount of dirt. As he rubbed hard on the wall, the dull gunmetal tint became apparent.
Spinning around to BoWeen who was already backing up the stairs Crichton commented, "OK. Hold it. The wall goes underground right?"
Not accustomed to lying, being a Caretaker for many cycles, BoWeen shrugged struggling to look honestly confused.
Crichton shook his head, as he commented, "So what does that mean anyway?"
As BoWeen prepared another lie, one of her brothers came bounding down the stairs. He was a Sebacean that looked like Don Johnson, and Crichton had given him the nickname "Crockett" from Miami Vice. After a brief chat, they vaulted up the stairs with Crichton close behind, as terrible visions flashing in his mind.
Hurling himself outside, Crichton met with a growing sandstorm. Before it could increase, Crichton found his way to Stark, and they hurried to Chiana's hut, where they then sealed the door.
"Now that was nasty!" Crichton commented as he began spitting out sand and futilely dusting himself off.
Stark, doing likewise, commented, "You know they'll blame you for this."
Crichton chuckled, "Oh and why is that winky?"
Slightly more like the old Stark, he replied, "Because you sealed the gates this morning, and then the storm came."
Hearing that odd and distant music again, Crichton realized it was the dome ever so slightly singing, as the sand pelted metal rang out. Crichton mused, "Well, at least they can't hit what they can't see."
Smiling in return Stark replied, "John, I think we're going to die."
Realizing the honest chuckle broke the crushing tension within him, Crichton looked to the Banik and laughed; "Now THAT'S what I like to hear! In fact, all we need now is a god-like alien, and it'll feel just like home."
Chapter 12 : Anarchy in the U.K.
As the fire consumed his patience, the general they called Kozz, prayed to the one true God. Content but not ornately happy with Fate's artificial volcano, the Scarran steeped in the waters he found not warm enough. Readying his mind for battle, the General thought of his brood on Tazur. The brood was not a particularly special lot, and it flourished by females who were mostly forgettable. He had several broods, as they walked hand in hand with his power, authority, and his rank. However, the vilest part is Kozz became one brood less that the hands of the unholy. To save face, Kozz knew the correction needed.
Kozz knew his men, and being the true general he was, he knew their morale. Since that fateful day, Kozz watched their steps falter. He watched, as they, the mighty Scarran, would actually dwell on the thought of a worthless hunk of flesh that eviscerated Scarran property. He pitied this human anti-god, but he was ashamed of the Scarran heart. What fools the Scarrans had become.
The Scarran, who they themselves decimated entire systems, one at a time, for generations, are brought low by a single act. The Scarran, who is of God's own creation, bowing to none but their God, and yet they fall prey to fear. The Scarran a once proud and viral force in the universe, fighting for scraps of outposts instead of eating the heart out of the still living Peacekeepers. The Scarrans' needed a hero, and Kozz determined he was that hero.
Kozz knew his God, and as a true believer, he knew his role. He was mindful by the part he played, but also he encouraged the Scarrans' belief. Drawing each Scarran into the war on a personal level, would make their goals easy to obtain. He was resolved that he must be their personal savior, to pull the Scarran's hearts into the war. He knew he was not their God, but he knew they also needed a symbol. He realized he could be that symbol and ignite the fire they needed to succeed.
Kozz recognized the Scarrans. He himself knew the curse, bringing with it doubt, shame, and their own destruction. He himself knew God frowned on them, as their entire race and culture became sterile by the act of a single human. How proud they had grown, how weak they were. Kozz recognized the fire of their greatness grew cold with complacency. All believed, and rightfully so, they were God's chosen, but they did not understand the price of this made them vulnerable from within. Kozz, watching the Scarran mind for a lifetime, witnessed how they wanted universal domination. Then Kozz recognized how they continually expected God to simply hand it to them.
The wise General Kozz, revealing his true self to his God, knew the things that the now childish minds of his ancient and once great heritage had forgotten. The entire race trembled, their spine bruised by a single act. Unlike a hatchling, instinctively fighting its first beating, the existence of the Scarrans distilled into the ability to fight only a weaker opponent. The Scarrans had traded their instincts for cowardice.
Gone were the days of the savage battles, where the Scarran and the insects fought toe to toe. Gone were the days of the single Scarran that marched proudly into a well-fortified outpost, rending all that opposed him. Gone were the days of a small group of Scarran fighters that went beyond their calling. Gone was the army that rose above merely holding the sector, to driving the mysterious ancients out of their home, forcing them to flee the strategic planet. Gone was the glory and pride that was the Scarran, and gone were soldiers like General Kozz in his youth.
Rising from the pit, Kozz ascended the rock to the chamber's door. With each step, with each clawing grasp, Kozz became more of the General he had to be, and less the Scarran God made him. Entering the corridor, the mighty Kozz strode toward the command center. With each step, he marched. With each step, he demonstrated. With each step, he held his head high, proud to be a Scarran, and he thanked God for his perfection.
His now holiness entered the command center; as always tested the resolve of his troops. He scanned for weakness, he judged their self-control, and he made sure they, the twisted reminisce that were once the mighty Scarran, were ready to resolve the past and look toward the purpose of their existence.
The holy general commanded, "Be as God!" as he marched toward the nexus. "What is the schedule for the fleet's arrival?"
"Two arns until we arrive at the target, with the distributed forces awaiting your command... your worship" a frivolous presence announced.
"Has their been any firing?" the powerful general asked.
"No your holiness, not one shot has been fired, as all await your supreme command." an insignificant voice responded.
"And visual conformation of the anti-god?" the perfect inquired.
The monotony of the engines replied to the silence for microts. "Your worship," cringed the voice of Zepol, the general's perfect example.
Slowing in his pace, Kozz braced for the answer he feared was coming, "What is it?"
Zepol fumbled, searching for the right approach, "There has been a delay in thy commandment. It seems there is a disturbance on the planet that is obstructing our reconnaissance."
The voice of God responded, "Define the disturbance!"
Zepol, now finding his true voice, adhered, "At first our readings showed what appeared to be seismic activity. After slightly recalibrating them, it appears that an odd weather phenomenon has arisen to interfere with our readings."
Thinking briefly of the possibilities that existed with the anomaly Crichton, the general continued, "And what, exactly, is this phenomenon?"
Zepol replied, "It appears to be a sandstorm" As the general began ovations of disgust, Zepol continued, "But it appears to have engulfed the entire planet, my master."
The tactician known as General Kozz, labeled the nexus with his claw, "I want the fleet equally distributed here, we will not make a standard sterilization sweep, we will form here then all will await my orders."
Zepol nodded, "Thine is the voice of God, my master."
As Kozz turned to leave, he added, "Also, what is the condition of the extermination forces?"
"They stand ready and await your command, your holiness," a shadow spoke.
Kozz ordered, "Have them guard their respective areas, but do not have them fall back. Also, stand ready for a vid broadcast throughout the entire Scarran and Peacekeeper regions. When it is time to broadcast, I will give the signal. I want to ensure all of Scarran space, whether under our control today or tomorrow, witness the death of Crichton."
"As your wish, my lord," Zepol bowed.
Smiling inwardly the wise General Kozz briefly thought of the upcoming holy war, the fire to temper his kind. Kozz strode from the room, while his heart devised wicked plans.
Chapter 13 : Another Brick in the Wall, part 2
After automatically landing in the vast docking bay, fear swallowed Rygel as he emitted the noble gas and whimpered. "Yotz, Now what do we do?"
Opening the hatch, Chiana quickly observed their surroundings. They were indeed in a Peacekeeper Command Carrier, but there as something odd. The docking bay, littered with scraps, parts and a plethora of foreign, yet complete vessels. Each vessel, along with the scraps of its corresponding technology, all neatly grouped and segregated. Chiana observed the dark burn marks she assumed to be Sebacean shadows, appeared burned into the walls and floors.
Chiana received another dark premonition, as imminent danger approached. She jumped out of the Farscape II and motioned to her passengers to hurry. The holy woman, with flowing robes, ran to another captured vessel. She slowly pointed to it, pointed to her chest, pointed to her crew, and then pointed to the vessel again.
With a proud smile across Chiana's face, Rygel nodded in agreement as he realized she looked like the old Chiana, as she wore a face Rygel had not seen since her fall to the Scarrans. As his tiny greatness whisked aboard the new vessel, he grumbled in disgust and hurried immediately to the rations.
Gilina tarried in Farscape II. She fought to pull a special part off her daddy's machine, remembering he said this one part was very important. She was a little girl, who loved her parents and did everything she could to make them happy.
Running over to collect the girl Chiana understood her intentions. As Chiana removed the heart of Crichton's invention, assuring its inoperability, Chiana carried it and the young girl, vaulting over scraps and ruin of the salvaged technology. Diving into their new craft, Chiana, Rygel, and the nearly crying Gilina, heard the voices of Sheyangs as they conspired to one day dismantle their latest prize. Crouching, Chiana crept to the control panel. She was relieved to find its familiar controls.
Starting to cry the little girl whispered to the concerned Chiana, "I have to pee."
Nodding, Chiana quietly led the little girl to the facilities toward the rear of the single cabin. The vessel, generous in room in comparison to the abandoned Farscape II, provided confirmation to the relieved Chiana that it was complete and intact.
The Sheyangs prided themselves on the last few solar days, as the small crew of five, netted the entire yet damaged command carrier, as well as several smaller vessels that happened into the recent war zone. One continually grumbled of ghosts or some horrific weapon, as he offered proof that the new vessel had no inhabitants making it equal to the command carrier they liberated.
After nearly and arn of observation and arguing, the Sheyangs departed to parts unknown. Chiana crept back to the control panel and prayed a silent prayer. As she touched the panel, the ship became alive with humming pulses. Quickly, the small scout vessel darted from the docking bay as the closing bay doors nearly ended the argument.
Increasing the distance between her and the now aware Sheyang's vessel, Chiana activated the ships special propulsion. The wormhole swallowed the ship.
Returning from the restroom, the mimic Gilina began watching Chiana maneuver the ship. Chiana would create portal after portal, wormhole after wormhole, only to return to the vacuum of the ether, trying to find the pattern to Omala. Gilina mimicked the controls' use, as traveling for what could have been an arn; Chiana entered an unfamiliar wormhole. Recognizing the anomaly before her, Chiana followed it, thanking the Goddess for answering her prayers.
