Return to Ficlet Index
The tiny Leviathan hung, all but dead, in its orbit. The planet Daczer, spinning below, was murky with cloud. The scene was less than heartening.
"There's nothing we can do here, Pilot. It's dead. Let's go."
"No, Chiana. Moya will not leave."
"Well, make her!" Rygel said.
Listening in from the central chamber, Aeryn, John & D'Argo exchanged a collective sigh and headed for command.
"Two options," John summed up. "We get the heck out of here or we find out what's wrong. With our record on dying Leviathans . . ."
But Moya made it very clear she was not leaving. With a decaying orbit the young ship's remaining arns would be few.
Aeryn and Crichton boarded the little Leviathan.
The flashlight on Aeryn's gun showed an unconscious Pilot slumped in the tiny new-formed den. She vaulted onto the low console and tried a few of the control panels. Nothing happened.
"Pilot," she commed; "can Moya come in close and link with the infant?"
"Not till we know what's knocked it out " John said from somewhere else on the ship.
Aeryn nodded briefly; "Right."
"D'Argo " they said in unison.
And so D'Argo took Lo'la out to herd the little leviathan into a safer orbit. As his ship skimmed the exosphere a fiery halo began to crackle around it, until it was surrounded by a glowing net. D'Argo hit the shielding. Thankfully the effect dimmed as they reached Moya's orbit. D'Argo stumbled out into the hangar, all colour drained from his face and his hair crackling with static. He did not tell anyone how the experience had made his tentacles feel.
Rygel was sent into the crawl spaces of the young Leviathan grumbling all the way to give the Pilot a stimulant shot. She came to, babbling and confused.
"Botwig?" John said incredulously. "You have a name?"
"That is not my true name - more of a designation but it suffices. It stands for . . .well, never mind. My uh, my employers, find it convenient to distinguish between Pilots when Leviathans are so young. "Sure is," John agreed. "So what's the deal here? Who are your employers?"
"You think I will tell you?" Botwig said.
"Well then we can't help you." Chiana said.
"I never expected you to help us."
"Hey hold up a moment. We pulled you out of an orbit that would have killed you." John told her. "And Big D nearly got fried."
"I know that. But we will tell you nothing." She folded her several arms defiantly.
A light dawned. Aeryn said, "Botwig. We are not. . . I am not a PeaceKeeper. I was, long ago. We are all fugitives. Ask our Pilot . . ."
Botwig looked long and hard at the former PeaceKeeper. "Yes, I see that you are as you say," she told her at last.
With that misunderstanding sorted out Botwig proved garrulous in the extreme. Daczer, the world spinning below, trying to resist PeaceKeeper exploitation, had been punished with a total block on trade. PeaceKeepers had seeded the upper atmosphere with Rejna, one of the few compounds that could disable a leviathan. In retaliation the locals had set up a screen that would knock out any ship bearing weapons.
"That's what happened to D'Argo's ship?" Chiana said.
"You took an armed ship into the atmosphere?" Botwig said in surprise.
"How were we to know?"
"You were very lucky to survive," the Pilot said.
The planet was well nigh unapproachable now. Daczer's allies had hoped that the young leviathan, Yohell, might be able to burst through. They were wrong.
"There is much-needed food and medicines in Yohell's holds. There is also Chacamtillahwat," Botwig said.
"Cha - what?" Chiana piped up.
"Chacamtillahwat has two purposes. Scattered in the exosphere it will, eventually, neutralise the Rejna, for a short time. Better still, sown in the soil it will be taken up by the vegetation. In time they will produce a steady stream of a Chacamtillahwat compound that will permanently neutralise the Rejna effect. We have to deliver this cargo. They are relying on us. Yohell and I had hoped that we might punch through. Even if we were killed, sufficient cargo might survive. I had not expected that I would be knocked out so quickly."
"No need for suicide missions," Aeryn said. "We can tow Yohell."
"So, the bucket-of-dren saves the day again," John crowed, leading the way to the white death pod. Aeryn snorted her disdain and followed.
Towing the little leviathan was no easy matter. The atmosphere on some planets is more turbulent than on others and Daczer's was the worst John had come across. With Yohell bucking and yawing on the end of a tow rope it was all but impossible to fly. Daczer's maelstrom atmosphere resisted him all the way. It was seat of the pants flying worse than the most violent wormhole. Had John had the breath to comment, he would have said that it beat the best white-knuckle ride anywhere in the Galaxy.
On Yohell's command deck Aeryn found and activated the manual helm bare moments before Botwig lost consciousness again. Gradually, as Aeryn learned the knack of riding the tow, Yohell fell into line behind Farscape 1.
As they racketed through the atmosphere the module's nose cone began to glow red. It reminded John of something or other. It would come back to him, once he stopped worrying about burning up.
They circled in low around a walled city, looking for a safe landing spot. Aeryn released the tow, gliding Yohell smoothly to rest in a shallow swamp. With Chiana and D'Argo she splashed to dry land, glad of firm rock beneath her boots for once.
John landed nearby and sat a moment gathering his breath before clambering out of the cockpit, and landed in a heap in the mud. "Frell," he breathed.
In microts Aeryn was at his side. She hauled him to his feet. "What's wrong?"
"Smashed my knee," he said. "Forgot to buckle up."
From the distance a convoy approached. It stopped a safe way off. Figures alighted hesitated.
To break the stalemate, John took a painful step forward and, hands spread, uttered a clichι. "We come in peace."
Aeryn had slid under his arm to support him as his knee failed him. She could not resist a quizzical grimace.
"I know; corny," he admitted.
The man looked from Aeryn and John to Chiana and D'Argo. Back and forth, undecided.
"Oh, no!" Aeryn told him, realising his dilemma. "We are not PeaceKeepers."
"Happens all the time," John said. "Heck I'm not even Sebacean . . . John Crichton, human," he offered, proffering his hand.
The evidence of Yohell was on their side. The leader took John's hand and shook it.
"Bezpod." he said. "We thought no-one could ever run the blockade. We are in your debt. You are hurt?"
Ruefully John nodded. "I seem to be . . ."
It took a long while to unload the little Leviathan. Even a young ship like Yohell packed a lot of cargo space. Chiana, D'Argo and Aeryn weighed in to help the weakened locals.
In the icy night John was soon shivering. Bezpod insisted on sending him back to the city with the first load. Aeryn insisted on accompanying him. This was still unknown territory, inhabited by an unknown folk.
The colony on Daczer looked much like any city under siege. Poverty and hunger were everywhere to be seen. Bezpod, it turned out, lived in the equivalent of a huge warehouse. Long ago it had been a Tannot store now it was all but empty. His wife, Croal, greeted them.
Between them she and Aeryn made John comfortable, binding up his battered knee. Then Aeryn went off to help stow the cargo. Croal set about making a herbal brew to take down the swelling. In the corner a baby stirred and began to cry.
"Yours?" John asked.
"Yes," Croal smiled proudly. "She is only a few days old. With your help, she stands a good chance of surviving."
"It was that bad?"
"It was."
Croal was hesitating between soothing the baby and ministering to John.
"Here," he said, seeing her dilemma. "Let me hold her."
"You?"
"Sure. It's about all I'm good for right now."
So it was that Aeryn, hurrying in half an arn later, found him; propped comfortably on a chair, leg supported by cushions, and holding a sleeping baby. He was rapt, watching her sleeping features.
He glanced up as Aeryn strode in, and for a shocked moment their eyes locked, while the tableau burned itself on both their memories. What might have been, what might yet be . . .
Then the moment was gone.
"Could you," John said quietly. "She's asleep and I can't move." He gestured to the crib in a corner.
"Oh. Erm alright." Awkwardly Aeryn lifted the sleeping child, feeling her warmth where she had been snuggled against John. Her capable hands shifted the baby's weight and settled her in her blankets. She stirred. Aeryn hesitated, then tucked the blankets round more firmly and gently rocked the crib.
John watched as her face took on a look he'd rarely seen.
"You'll make a good mother."
She did not reply.
The baby was still again; sleeping soundly.
"We did a good thing here, Aeryn."
"We did," she smiled.
D'Argo stomped in with Bezpod and Chiana, stamping frost off their boots. Sikozu and Rygel followed, laden with foods from their own stock. Through the open doors the night shone now, clear and bright. Stars twinkled icily.
"Moya will not dare the run, until the Renja is thoroughly cleared, but we brought a transport pod down," Sikozu said.
"And I have brought the finest raslak," Rygel announced munificently, bearing in a flask.
For the first time in a cycle Bezpod and his family feasted that night, and toasted the new hope that strangers had brought.
