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The Morning After;
Time: Just after 'Premier'
I've followed orders all my life - why not this time? - 'Break off, return to carrier'. I'd be in my own bunk now; not expecting a knife in the ribs.
But, oh no! I had to have one more shot, bring in the Leviathan, make an impression.
I did that! - certainly got myself noticed...
Unghh! - this bulkhead's uncomfortable. Hard enough to keep a drunken hezlop awake!
No-one to watch my back.
And that frelling Pilot! Taking orders from a Luxan! If he'd only open the hangar doors, let me get to my Prowler, I could sleep in the cockpit at least.
That human - can't get to his pod either. They're not likely to quietly murder him though. Are they?
How many arns since I slept? Next time I'll break off when I'm told - Next time! Huh! If I had a weapon . . .
Alright Officer Sun; time for some exercise; Time to go exploring!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And there is the human. He says, "I thought everyone was sleeping."
"You're not."
"I ran into the little rubbery guy back there too -" he waves his hand back down the passage.
"The Hynerian -" (I suppose he means).
"On the flying tea tray -"
"It's a throne sled. He thinks he's too grand to walk."
"Is he really a ruler, a king?"
"He probably was, once."
"What are you doing wandering about up here?" he asks.
"I could ask you the same."
"Me - I'm lost," he grins. There's a certain inevitability to it. I could offer to show him the way back to quarters. I'll point him in the right direction: this is not the time to get sidetracked. I'll probably find the yotz again later, still wandering round the corridors.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
At last, the upper levels, where all the dren got stowed. Where idle troopers knew no officer ever came. Pitch black in here. "Pilot! I need illumination."
"The others are resting."
Irrelevant. "Well I am not." Nothing. "Lights, Pilot!"
A soft glow - better.
Oh my! A worse mess than I expected. This ship was converted in a big hurry. Uniforms. (What are they doing here?) Hardware, assorted. Flashlights - good - heavy enough to make a useful weapon. And, oh yes! rifles.
Useless. No cartridges. Frell!
If I took one, they wouldn't know it was useless - I could rest, with a gun in my hands. I'm so tired.
If I sleep - then I'm dead.
Will Captain Crais really come after us?
'Little yellow bolts of light ~ ~ ' Unghh! - nearly asleep then.
I could use some of those little yellow bolts of light - there have to be some cartridges up here somewhere.
How can one prison ship have so much dren dumped in it? Someone should be on charges for this mess.
And these things are...?? Leviathan technology - who knows?
<<Officer Sun - >> Pilot's voice startles me
<< - that is a communication device! And you were talking to yourself.>>
"Thank you, Pilot." Do Pilots smirk? Sure sounded like it.
Yes! Chackun cartridges! Now we're getting somewhere!
I could sleep here - it's quiet enough.
No, I'll go back down - keep an eye on the Prowler.
Back to my uncomfortable bulkhead,...
'You can be more' - -
so why does it feel like less?
"Where did you get that gun?" D'Argo growled.
"Does it bother you?" I couldn't resist a small smirk – it's too easy to irritate a Luxan.
"Both of you, you don't need weapons to have breakfast!" Crichton said. "Can I get eggs around here?"
D'Argo drew his qualta blade.
"Put down the weapons. . . Tomatoes? Grits?"
"She cannot be trusted."
"How 'bout you try trusting her. Let her get at her ship. Might make her a little less twitchy."
"She followed us down to the commerce planet in that ship!"
"That's what prisoners do D'Argo – they escape."
"And put Crais back on our trail."
Crichton turned on me - "If you wanna say something in your defence here . . ."
I didn't see why I should, and sent him a look that said as much.
"Do Peacekeepers have court martial?"
"Mmm hmm . . ."
"And your chances would be . . .?"
"Let's see – alien contamination, escape from custody, aiding escaped prisoners, theft of a Prowler . . . What do you think?"
"See, D'Argo. We none of us want to be here. But we're stuck with it."
At last, D'Argo nodded and put down the blade.
"So what do we have going for us?" Crichton asked.
"Very little," D'Argo said. He put down his plate and stomped off. I let him get as far as the open door.
"Ka D'Argo!"
"What!"
"I found these too."
"More Peacekeeper spying devices??"
"Not Peacekeeper. Leviathan. Comms."
He picked one up, turned it over in his fingers.
"If we are to crew Moya . . . " I said.
"How exactly do we use them?"
I showed him.
"So we can talk to each other wherever we are?" Crichton was looking over my shoulder – stating the obvious.
"Just checking," he said – irrepressible. "Cool, just like Star Trek."
Translator microbes seem to have met their match in humans.
D'Argo gathered a couple up. "I will pass one to Zhaan – "
"And the Hynerian," I told him. It would be good to be able to hail the dominar wherever he was.
D'Argo came back and picked up another one. "And Rygel," he said.
When he was gone Crichton clapped me on the shoulder. (I might have to break his arm for him sometime soon.) "Well done!" he beamed.
I could only reply, "Huh?" he'd lost me again.
"The hand of friendship," Another big silly grin.
I shook my head, not understanding. Why would I offer friendship?
"They are prisoners – "
"Were prisoners – " he said.
"As you like . . . have you considered why?"
"No – " he hadn't. " Criminals you mean? Murderers, terrorists, . . . ? But, as you said, if we are to crew Moya – we gotta get along."
I started to argue, but was it worth it? I got on with breakfast instead.
John just stood and watched. Could he tell I hadn't a clue what happened next?
"These green things all we got?"
"There are orange food cubes too – if you prefer."
"How do I know they won't make me sick?"
"You don't. But can you survive without food?"
He pushed the plate away and stared rummaging for something to drink. " No coffee – no juice – oh man, I gotta get home!"
"The little transparent guy," he said.
"Pilot – "
"That's his name?"
Pilots don't have names that I know of. I shrugged.
"Has he got star charts?"
"These are the Uncharted Territories . . ." What did he think? (Did he think?)
"Give me a break!" He tossed the drink down his throat and lobbed the flask into the waste. A flash of anger or something. But he got hold of it.
"If I could check - look for star signatures – I might recognise - - - You laughing at me?"
"They all want to go home. Why would they give you priority?"
He looked totally crestfallen.
I watched him a moment longer. It wouldn't hurt to help him. I smiled at him – it wasn't all his fault . . . "Come on – it's time you met Pilot – in the flesh."
"This ship is vast - You know your way all over it?" he asked.
"U-huh. There are a lot of Leviathans in service."
The vast door swung open for me. "Pilot's den," I said.
"He lives here?"
"He's bonded to the ship – wait – you'll see.......... Pilot – Commander Crichton would like to meet you."
And I stood back to watch his reaction. It was good.
"Wooaa!! You're ..............."
"Not quite the 'little transparent guy', is he?"
He threw me a grin, and moved forward.
"Watch where you walk!"
He checked in his stride, took a quick look down into Moya's awesome depths, carried on across the walkway.
"I'm sorry. My name's John, John Crichton." He looked back at me with a little grin. "I've already said that twice on this ship. Are you going to throw me across the room too?"
Pilot inclined his head. "Pleased to meet you Commander."
I watched a moment more, and left them to get to know each other.
Crichton rejoined us on command some time later. I had found a comfortable corner, where I could jam my back against a bulkhead, and prop my feet up. Crichton pulled up a seat without ceremony. "Pilot has charts," he said, "but nothing that looks like Earth's Solar system....... "
"Why would he have?" Rygel said.
John ignored him, "And the doors are open – you can get to your Prowler." One up for the human's powers of persuasion.
"Excellent!" Rygel said, gliding over to put his ugly face in mine. "Please feel free to leave as soon as you like." He took a deep breath, throwing back his head. I lifted the muzzle of the gun to bear on him, very slowly. I've seen the gunk that Hynerians could spit out. He thought better of it and sped off back to Zhaan at the console. D'Argo came back from checking where I'd found the comms. I had already stowed the cartridges elsewhere – there was nothing else up there of immediate use – or danger.
So there we were – it felt like several arns – in silence – staring at the passing unfamiliar starscape – each wondering 'what now?'. Even Crichton ran out of questions and was quiet.
From my corner I could watch them all, and the forward view. The weight of the gun in my lap was comfortable. I know I dozed.
Pilot woke us out of the trance; "We have a problem, people."
"What is it Pilot?" It was Zhaan who asked.
"Moya is experiencing pressure loss in several of her systems. I have been unable to maintain the levels."
"Why didn't you tell us?" D'Argo roared. Typical Luxan.
"I have been attempting to stabilise the situation. The Peacekeeper attack brought us close to hull breach, and then I believe the jettisoning of the collar, and her first Starburst after so many cycles put an unbearable strain on her major vessels. There is damage somewhere forward."
"Does it matter how it happened? Is there anything we can do?
"The DRDs are swamped – if you could reconnect manually .........."
"We'll check it out, Pilot" Crichton said. "Anyone care to show me the way?"
"I'm going to check for hull damage," I told them and headed for the hangar. D'Argo stood solidly in my way. I was not going to argue about it. It went against instinct, but I kept the gun's muzzle down. It was Zhaan at length who touched him lightly on the arm, and he stood aside.
It felt so good to be in the Prowler again. I took a turn around the hull. There was scaring where the collar had been, but no rents. Wherever the fluid was leaking to, it was not out into space.
I took another turn around the hull, then another further out. There were systems out there, nebulae, great gas clouds - - - but nothing my navs could recognise. I could go, just take off into . . . what?
"Aeryn!!" The human interrupted.
Now what?
"Aeryn – you there?"
"Where else would I be?"
"We need a hand in here."
Yotz! Two of them in there and they need help! "I'll be there."
Forward chamber was a mess, vessels ruptured all over the place. Pools and drifts of foam all about. Crichton was jammed into the tide spaces clutching what looked like an amnexus conduit. Fluid was oozing between his fingers.
"How long does it take a Leviathan to bleed to death?" he said. "We need to seal the tear in this artery. Rygel can get in here, but hasn't the strength."
One look at D'Argo – it was obvious he was too big. "Zhaan can't make it either," he said.
I stripped off my jacket, found I had to shed the boots too, and slid – literally – into the space. It took an age to close the tear, but I'd used a suture gun in the field, so I didn't have to look a complete yotz. Then we bound it with some kind of artificial skin and the DRDs came in to meld it into place. Pilot assured us it would graft naturally in time.
We slithered out of the space, smothered in amnexus, and other nameless fluids it didn't do to think about.
D'Argo had a huge stupid smile on his face.
"They tell me it's very good for the complexion ........ "
Crichton wiped his hand over his face, and looked me up and down – "We'll be the pin-ups of the Uncharted Territories then," he grinned.
The microbes failed me, but it didn't sound like an insult. He stripped off his T-shirt, found a cleanish patch, and wiped Moya's blood off my face before I knew what was happening. Then he rubbed himself down.
Well, maybe we could work together.
I found I was smiling too. But perhaps they wouldn't notice.