Fic: SF 111: Time Travel, Genetic Experiments, and the Family Unit in Deep Space, Chapter 7
Title: SF 111: Time Travel, Genetic Experiments, and the Family Unit in Deep Space
Chapter Title: Lifting the Metaphorical Car
Author: katiemariie
Artist & Beta: subluxate
Fandom: Farscape
Word Count: 4235
Rating: R
Warnings: Strong language, references to past non-con, violence
“You know - we Peacekeepers think that we are so remarkable. Soldiers without equal. Precise tacticians. Purebloods. But I've realized - we're not remarkable. We do nothing for love. Not one thing.”
-Aeryn Sun, “The Choice”
-
“Are you certain all that is necessary?” Braca boggled at the list she'd prepared.
“At the bare minimum,” Aeryn replied. “You'll probably need more bottles.”
“How does something so small require so much furniture?”
If Braca was indignant, Stark and Staanz were stupefied. “There's no way we can afford all this right now,” Staanz whispered.
“What happened to the ucuz money?” Stark asked.
“I spent it on bribes trying to find you.”
John poked his head between them, resting his hands on their shoulders. “Don't worry. Me and Aeryn'll take care of it. Think of it as a late wedding present.”
“John...” Stark started.
“You've done a lot for me, Stark,” John said, staring at Aeryn. “It's the least I could do.” He smiled at Stark, then nuzzled their noses together. “Besides...” He stood up straight. “I figure if Scorpy's shelling out the dough for the Diagnosan, I gotta do something to look as generous as the worst person in the Uncharted Territories.”
“Thank you, Crichton,” Scorpius said around bites of food cubes.
“No problem, Harv.” He patted the top of Scorp's head.
“The Diagnosan still has time open, if you want your offspring seen.”
“Nah,” John said. “D's fine. Got all his shots and everything done before we headed out here.”
“Did you get him the vaccines for all your ooman diseases?” Staanz asked.
“No, the healer didn't have those and we figured what are the odds of him catching-what?”
“Nothing.” Staanz wiped her mouth. “Seems a little risky to me. You can't count on hybrid vigor for everything. I mean...” She pointed none-too-subtly to Scorpius.
John smirked. “I'll keep that in mind.”
Aeryn stood from the table. “We'll need to leave soon, if we want to get the supplies before we meet with the Diagnosan. Staanz and Braca can help me bring the children down on the first transport pod, and the rest of you can go down on the second with Scorpius' frozen assets.”
Scorpius nodded. “I'll need the help carrying it.”
“Whoa, whoa.” John held his hands out in front himself. “Why do I have to go with Scorpy? Braca, wouldn't you feel a lot less emasculated if you went instead of staying with the women babysitting?”
“I think I'll manage, Crichton.”
-
John stared deep into Triskel's refrigeration unit. “Who was he? That is a he, right?”
Scorpius pulled open the unit's door, sending the body slouching into his arms. “Stark,” he growled under the weight, “get his waist.”
The Banik crawled underneath and lifted the midsection clear over his head. John forgot how strong he was, what with all his crying. Made sense-he was bred for hard labor. Once the body cleared the unit's door, John slid it shut and grabbed the corpse's legs. “Whose feet am I carrying?”
“Do you really want to know?” Scorpius asked, steering them out of the kitchen.
“Call me old-fashioned, but if I'm gonna be hauling a dead body, I'd like to be on a first name basis with it.”
“Left. My left, Stark... His name was Wolesh.”
“What'd he do to deserve the freezer treatment?”
Pause. “He raped my mother.” The body sagged in the middle. “Stark!”
“Sorry,” Stark murmured.
“This is your father?” John asked.
“Only at the biological level.”
“So, you, what? Tracked him down and killed him?”
“Not exactly. I tracked him down and placed him in my freezer.”
“You couldn't do it?”
“Far from that. I've been ready and willing to kill him for all of my adult life. But death was too good for him.”
Stark stuck his head out from under the body. “You trapped him between life and death?”
“Yes. I seem to recall someone saying that it was particularly unpleasant. Fortunately, freezing a Scarran has the same effect as a cryopod.”
“And you were planning on keeping him in your fridge forever?” John asked.
“I was going to sell him at auction, but then I found something worth bidding on.”
“Stark, you have got the worst luck.”
“I know,” Stark mumbled.
“Pivot,” Scorpius directed. “Pivot.”
“What happens if he defrosts?” John asked.
“He dies. Or we do.”
Their pace picked up noticeably.
“Why did you do it?” Stark asked, his voice muffled by the not-quite-corpse. “You had cycles to kill him, but you didn't.”
“After the war, I realized that my previous method of acquiring justice-”
“Getting revenge,” John cut in.
“-was no longer viable, so I decided to turn my focus from the Scarran race as a whole to the individuals directly responsible. Having already dispatched Tauza, I turned to Wolesh.”
“Did it work?” Stark asked quietly. When Scorpius didn't answer: “Did it make you feel any better?”
Pause. “No.”
They shifted the body along in silence until they came to the transport pod. With a good shove, they got the body inside.
“It's very symbolic.” Stark wiped the ice crystals and bits of frozen Scarran off his hands. “Disposing of your evil father's body to pay for your new baby's surgery.”
-
Ektra was one of the finer commerce planets Aeryn had visited in the Uncharted Territories, which was rather remarkable considering most vendors were selling smuggled goods. There was a degree of organization to the planet's economy that was almost Peacekeeperlike-although the emphasis on conspicuous consumption was more Hynerian. Everything was arranged so that visitors were free to spend as much as money as possible. There were free trams running through the commercial district. Watering stations and latrines were stationed every fifty motras. And customers needn't carry their purchases from store-to-store; the businesses all provided free delivery to home and transport.
The luxuriousness of it all made Aeryn suspicious, but, strapped to her chest, D seemed to be enjoying the sights and sounds. Must have been those Hynerian hormones in utero.
Aeryn's low opinion of the planet was confirmed on high street, where a man brushed past her and Staanz with a muttered, “Tralk.” Intending on giving him a piece of her mind, Aeryn turned around just in time to see Braca trip the man, sending him face-first into the pavement. Aeryn would've protested that she could take care of zannets herself if she didn't suspect Braca did it out of a genuine pleasure in tripping people rather than any chivalric impulse.
“Bunch of snobs on this planet,” Staanz said, hustling down the lane. “Look at 'em. They all think they're hot dren because they're Smuggler's Guild.”
“You have a guild?”
“They do. They wouldn't let me in if it was snowing out. Noity-boity bastards. Watch when we go into a store; the sales clerks will avoid me and Stark like Traskan borderpox.”
In reality, it was quite the opposite. At the baby store, the clerks fawned over Stark and Staanz, but gave nothing but glares to Braca and Scorpius. And clearly not out of an objection to two men of different species raising a child together-Aeryn and John couldn't get served either. It got so bad that Staanz ended up having to buy for everyone. (Disturbed by the attention he was receiving, Stark decided to hide in the middle of a rack of clothes for the duration of their visit.)
Back on the street, Staanz remarked, “No one's ever followed me around a shop like that unless they thought I was shoplifting.”
“They must really hate Peacekeepers,” Stark said.
Yet, at the next store, the staff helped a retired PK tech, but wouldn't look at Braca, Scorpius, John, or Aeryn. The same at the next. It wasn't until they reached the media stall that the four of them received any common courtesy.
“My god,” the clerk gasped, grabbing a stockgirl by the sleeve. “It's them. It's the Hynerian bandits!”
“The Hynerian who?” John asked.
“The Hynerian bandits,” the stockgirl said. “You're the Dominar's followers.”
“Followers? You been talking to Rygel?”
“No, no. Of course not. I could never imagine having audience with Rygel the Magnificent. But I read his memoir. I mean, who hasn't read his memoir?”
“Us,” Aeryn said, “for starters.”
“It's the fastest selling datapod in the Uncharted Territories,” the clerk said disbelievingly.
“And you're in it!” the stockgirl added. “Not you two,” she said to Stark and Staanz. “But the rest of you are. John Crichton and Aeryn Sun and Scorpius and... their Peacekeeper friend.”
“He's not out friend,” John and Aeryn said, just as Braca said, “I'm not their friend.”
“Here.” The clerk passed John a datapod. “It's on the house. And if any of you feel like doing a public appearance here at the store...”
With enough time to take a break before the Diagnosan, they pulled over in one of the city's rest areas to see what exactly Rygel had been saying about his “followers.”
John read aloud the description beneath a remarkably accurate holo of his likeness, “John Crichton, the human I rescued single-handedly from a space battle and mentored in his journey to discover wormhole technology.”
The next slide contained Aeryn's portrait. “Aeryn Sun,” she read, “a Peacekeeper female whom over the cycles I taught to connect to her emotions.”
Scorpius read his picture's description, “Scorpius, the Scarran-Sebacean who served as my deeply-embedded spy after I saved him from a Scarran research facility when he was a boy.”
Under Braca's face... “Unnamed Peacekeeper male,” Braca read.
“Did he write about me?” Stark asked. “He probably just didn't do a portrait of me because... I was never quite certain he could tell me apart from other Baniks. He kept calling me Striva.”
John patted Stark's shoulder. “Well, you know how old Rygel is. I'm surprised he knew any of our names.”
“Striva's a girl's name.”
Aeryn searched through the index. “The only Baniks mentioned are the ones Scorpius spaced at the Shadow Depository.”
“He talks about the Shadow Depository?” Staanz asked.
“A little. With the help of my followers, the Hynerian bandits... That's us, apparently. I destroyed a Shadow Depository and all of its contents, no doubt freeing hundreds of planets from war lords and smugglers.”
“No wonder the whole planet's pissed at you! You blew up their money. Honestly, I'd be surprised if any commerce planet in the Uncharted Territories sells to you lot.”
“You serious?” John asked.
“As a liver spasm. Interplanetary trade out here's run by smugglers. You're public enemy number one.”
Crichton's fingers caressed his pulse pistol. “Are we safe here?”
“I wouldn't worry. Bodies are bad for business.”
“You learn that at one of your seminars?”
-
The waiting room for the Diagnosan was far more welcoming than the ice planet where Grunschlik had set up shop. Plushy couches, datapods, toys for the kids-the place reminded John of his family doctor's office. It made sense; the folks on this planet could afford to go to the galaxy's premier medical mind for the sniffles. Just like Dr. Geoffrey's office, the Diagnosan kept people waiting past their appointment time.
They were waiting half an arn when the door to the backroom opened. “Mr. Dellos, the Diagnosan will see you-Scorpius.” Even with her hair growing back out, she was unmistakable. It seemed Sikozu found herself a new gig. “What are you-” Her eyes flicked to the chart in her hands, then to the baby strapped to Braca's chest. “I see.” She was always too smart. “Excuse me.” She ducked back through the door.
“Did you know-” Aeryn started.
“No,” Scorpius snarled. He tapped on his comm, beginning a stream of Pilot invectives.
His Pilot listened patiently, waiting for a pause. “I didn't tell you because I knew you would refuse to visit the Diagnosan and the child would grow sicker. And I know that you both have missed the Kalish despite your-”
Scorpius cut the comm link.
Braca stood from the couch, passing Mirwa to Scorpius, and left the hospital without a word.
-
The hospital's stone exterior scratched his back through his undershirt. He'd abandoned his leather jacket as soon as he'd come outside feeling hot under the collar. Working under Scorpius, he'd wondered what it was like to be a few thoughts away from teetering on the edge of heat delirium. Now he knew. Maybe they could get matching cooling suits.
Braca felt Scorpius draw near. Their implants, like most communication devices, generated feedback when in close proximity, creating an almost humming sensation in Braca's brain that he found alternatingly comforting or annoying depending on how he felt about Scorpius at a given moment.
“Braca.” (No one ever called him “Meeklo.” Not even his handlers as a child.) Scorpius leaned against the wall next to Braca, his trademark grace hampered somewhat by the infant strapped to his chest. Braca decided he could get used to that sight.
“I don't want to talk.”
“I know. Aeryn Sun refused to stop glaring at me until I went after you. She's a very intimidating woman.”
He laughed-for perhaps too long because his body seemed to take it as permission to send liquid streaming uncontrollably from his eyes and tremors in his shoulders. Oh, god. He was crying. In front of Scorpius. In public. Like he was Crichton or something. “I can't go back inside. She knows. She knows.”
“The situation is... undesirable, but Sikozu might be Mirwa's best chance for a cure.”
“Fine. You take her and I'll go back to Triskel.”
“You need to see the Diagnosan.” Scorpius licked a tear from the corner of Braca's eye. “You won't last much longer.”
“I can't.”
“You must. Mirwa needs you... and you've done a commendable job making yourself indispensable to me as well.” He rested his forehead on Braca's, transmitting, I won't allow Grayza to kill you from beyond the grave. You're mine.
“Okay.”
Following Scorpius back into the hospital, Braca felt like he was walking though fire. (He always said he would for Scorpius-Mirwa was a new addition.) Although that might have been the approaching heat delirium. As he went down, Braca thought how fortunate it was that Scorpius was holding Mirwa and dimly hoped he would land on something soft.
-
John managed to get Sikozu alone in the observation room as she looked down through the one-way mirror at Braca and the Diagnosan, having been banished from the exam room by Scorpius who it turns out spoke Diagnosan.
“Hey, Sputnik.”
She turned to him-on her cheek: a reflected image of Scorpius with a comforting hand around Braca's neck. “Crichton.”
“Scorpy says you're gonna rewrite baby Braca's DNA, get rid of all the alien pig dren.”
“I wouldn't have framed the procedure in such crude terms, but yes.”
“So, you can eradicate alien DNA from a living organism?”
“Yes. I've had great success in my clinical trials. Why?”
“You think you can do the same thing with a tissue sample?” He held up the vial containing Aeryn's hair.
“Easily.”
“Good. Take this.” He pressed the vial into her hand. “Clean it up. And then compare it to this.” He slipped Braca's vial into her other hand. “I'll need it done by the time we leave.”
“I'm not your personal medtech, Crichton.”
“Baby, you owe me.”
Sikozu closed her eyes, biting back a sigh. “I'll complete the analysis if my other duties allow.”
“Atta girl.”
-
Sikozu Shanu was a very lucky woman. If not for the cocktail of anti-anxiety drugs making him so sluggish, Braca most definitely would have punched her in the face. Sun had given him some forewarning, detailing how she wanted to sock the medtech who gave her offspring his immunizations and translator microbes. When triggered, she said, a parent's protective instincts could override all reason. Braca didn't need Sun to tell him this; he'd come to the realization a few microts after trying to smuggle a commandant's infant child out of a heavily fortified Peacekeeper base. Logically, Braca knew that the medical procedure was necessary and that in the long term Mirwa would benefit, but at present her caterwauling generated a primal impulse to tear the cause of her trauma limb from limb. Admittedly, that was not such a grave threat given Sikozu's ability to reattach severed limbs.
“Can you not sedate her?” Braca asked.
Sikozu looked up from her instruments. “No. As I have said, sedation would decelerate the genetic encryption process.” Looking through her eyelashes, she added consolingly, “She won't remember the pain.”
Braca lunged, going for the throat. Scorpius yanked him back by his jacket before his heels left the floor. Calm yourself. Incisors pinched Braca's neck, worrying familiar scars. Braca's muscles slackened. A moan escaped his mouth, unbidden.
Sikozu's distance from them stung more than Braca's Peacekeeper-perfected attacks could.
-
Stark was hesitant to let the Diagnosan examine Zev without Sikozu there to translate, but hearing Mirwa's screams from the waiting room, he thought it was better the Kalish wasn't involved at all. The Diagnosan managed well enough, speaking in high-pitched, short sentences as he poked and prodded paying particular attention to Zev's eyes.
“Baby blind,” the Diagnosan said.
“Pardon?” Staanz asked.
He struggled to put the concept into words lesser beings could understand. “Baby-cannot-see.”
“We know what blind means!” Stark hissed. “How did this happen? The Traskan midwife said the baby was growing fine.”
“The baby-when born-eyes were open-the light destroyed.”
Stark slumped into a chair. “This is my fault. I shouldn't-I shouldn't have-if I'd-”
“Stark,” Staanz said sharply. “Baby, not now.” She address the Diagnosan. “Can you fix it? Give him new eyes?”
“May-be,” the Diagnosan answered. “Have to rewire visual cortex. Never done on Banik-Yenen. Might take cycles for research.” He reached out for Zev. “You leave him here.”
“Pardon?”
“You leave him here-for testing. Come back in...” He thought for a microt. “...three cycles. Zev be ready then.”
Staanz cradled Zev close to her chest. “We're not leaving our baby with you. He's not a laboratory animal.”
“He will be blind.”
“So, what? Lots of people are blind. Like... I can't think of any, but there's probably scads of them.”
Stark tugged on her sleeve. “Stevie Wonder. He's from Crichton's planet.”
“That's right. Steevuwunder.” She looked down at Stark. “Who's Steevuwunder?”
“He's famous. He hits the bones of large mammals with his fingertips. Rhythmically.”
“See? Zev's got a role model already.”
“O-kay.” The Diagnosan took a step back. “No take the baby.”
“That's right.”
“I have good news. From genetic scan. Baby is Stykera.”
“Pardon?”
“Baby is Stykera. Pass over the dead.”
“He can't!” Stark shot off his chair. “He can't pass over the dead. He has... face in the way!” Stark grabbed Staanz by the shoulders. “Scorpius! Scorpy said my time travel-he thought it came from my face healing over. The energy doesn't have anywhere to go.” He turned to the Diagnosan, taking his hands and shaking them furiously. “You have to fix him. He's just a baby-he can't control time travel.” He clasped a hand to his mouth. Unfortunately for the Diagnosan, said hand belonged to him rather than Stark. “But I took the time travel knowledge from Zhaan. What if I didn't pass that on to Zev? The energy can't get out! He'll explode!” Stark squeezed the Diagnosan's hands. “You have to help him!”
“I cannot cure time travel. I am a Diagnosan, not a witch doctor.”
It wasn't until they were back in the waiting room that Stark realized the full extent of their problems. “Staanz, we have a blind baby named Pilot.”
She rested her head on Stark's shoulder. “Irony is a tralk.”
-
Reverse engineering vaccinations from the Human's tissue samples was less time consuming than Sikozu initially estimated; Earth's pathogens proved just as simple as its people. With Diagnosan Heret not expecting her for another quarter of an arn, Sikozu took the time to complete Crichton's side project. Easily done, if a little unsettling. She cleaned up her work station and headed out to deliver the vaccines to Heret.
If of a weaker, more ungainly species, Sikozu would have walked right into Scorpius, who was standing outside the lab's doorway. A curious place, far from the public portions of the facility. She allowed herself a microt of self-delusion of him waiting for her-until the cool air hit her face. Scorpius was basking under a climate control vent-like a reptile.
“Do you need me to change your cooling rod?” she asked. It was almost a reflex.
Scorpius glared down at her. “No.” He always had an uncanny way of saying so much with so little. The Living Death is preferable to being touched by you.
Stung by his rejection, she passed down the corridor, stopping before the break room door. “Does it bother you?” She didn't turn. She didn't look at him.
“What?”
“That while we were on Moya frelling on every surface of your cell, Braca was with Grayza getting poisoned a-”
“You think I haven't considered that?” The Scarran timbre crackled at the edges of Sebacean self-control.
“Do you blame yourself? I would,” she added almost casually. “I do.” She left him alone under the vent. On the way to the exam room, she passed Braca-no doubt en route to attend to Scorpius. He was close enough to touch-she was close enough to reach up and bite his cheek-but he wouldn't look at her. Even Crichton's face was a welcome reprieve from the parade through all the things Sikozu's programming could never let her have.
“Hey.” He touched her arm as she reached for the exam room door. “Did you do the...?”
“Yes.” She leaned in close to Crichton and whispered, “Aeryn and Braca are almost certainly siblings.”
“How'd you...? Did Scorpius tell you?”
“Simple deduction. As far I know, Aeryn is the only Sebacean female to ever be injected with Pilot DNA. As for Braca... I recognized his genetic signature on sight.”
“You memorized his DNA? That's kinda sweet. For your type.”
Sikozu rolled her eyes. “If this is supposed to be a secret, I suggest you do not tell. At least, not tonight. Even with the medication Diagnosan Heret prescribed, after so much trauma today, Braca might not be able to handle the shock. Physically.”
Crichton gave her one of his all-knowing, all-comprehending Human looks. “You really cared about him.”
She opened the door to the exam room. “I don't see how that's pertinent.” Because it wasn't anymore.
-
Walking back to the transport pods was like the music video for “Everybody Hurts” by R.E.M. except on a commerce planet and everyone was walking. Everyone was embroiled in their own personal trauma-everyone caught up in their internal conflicts. John could practically see captions floating under each of his companions saying what they were thinking.
Under Braca: Everything is spinning out of control.
Under Scorpy: There is nothing I can do.
Under Staanz: I don't think I can carry them both.
Under Stark: ...
“Guys.” John stopped. “Where's Stark?”
-
Stark managed to spit out his gag. (If he seemed good at that, it was only because he got lots of practice.) “I have an owner!”
The slaver pushed Stark into the back of his transport with one hand and balanced a yowling Zev in the other. He slammed the back door close. “I don't see an owner.” Different planets had different rules for what Crichton called “finders keepers,” and among smugglers, Stark imagined being out of his owner's sight was enough to make him fair game.
“Please! Not my baby! He's freeborn. Look, he has a freemark behind his ear.”
The man glanced behind Zev's ear. “That can be easily gotten rid of.”
Stark used his only bargaining chip. “You-you don't want him. He's blind. He can't see at all. What kind of money would you get for a blind slave?”
The slaver waved a finger in front of Zev's face, waiting for his eyes to follow. “If that's the case...” he mumbled, taking a rag from his pocket and lowering it to Zev's mouth.
“No!” Time stopped. The rag hanged limply in the air a breath away from Zev's face. “I did it. I did it! I saved him. I-I...” It was then he realized he was locked in the cargo hold of a transport pod. “Shit.” The Human invective seemed to fit the moment. “Shit, shit, shit.” Stark got as much of a running start as the cramped hold allowed and rammed his shoulder into the door. Repeatedly. “What-is-the-point-of-having-superpowers-if-you-can-get-locked-in-someone's-storage-compartment?” Stark knew full well that this sort of thing only worked in films Crichton watched, but pledged to keep slamming into the door until Staanz showed up to rescue them. He hoped she gave him warning or else he'd come barreling through the open door and fall all over himself.
Which is exactly what he did. But Staanz was nowhere to be seen. There was no one there except the stuck-still-in-time slaver and Zev. Stark muttered a thankful prayer to the Goddess, grabbed Zev (who unfroze at his touch), and ran the frell out of there.
-
“Guys.” John stopped. “Where's Stark?”
“I'm-right-here,” Stark gasped.
“Jesus!” Crichton jumped. “You gotta stop doin' that.”
Like frell Stark would.
Previous Chapter Next Chapter
Chapter Title: Lifting the Metaphorical Car
Author: katiemariie
Artist & Beta: subluxate
Fandom: Farscape
Word Count: 4235
Rating: R
Warnings: Strong language, references to past non-con, violence
“You know - we Peacekeepers think that we are so remarkable. Soldiers without equal. Precise tacticians. Purebloods. But I've realized - we're not remarkable. We do nothing for love. Not one thing.”
-Aeryn Sun, “The Choice”
-
“Are you certain all that is necessary?” Braca boggled at the list she'd prepared.
“At the bare minimum,” Aeryn replied. “You'll probably need more bottles.”
“How does something so small require so much furniture?”
If Braca was indignant, Stark and Staanz were stupefied. “There's no way we can afford all this right now,” Staanz whispered.
“What happened to the ucuz money?” Stark asked.
“I spent it on bribes trying to find you.”
John poked his head between them, resting his hands on their shoulders. “Don't worry. Me and Aeryn'll take care of it. Think of it as a late wedding present.”
“John...” Stark started.
“You've done a lot for me, Stark,” John said, staring at Aeryn. “It's the least I could do.” He smiled at Stark, then nuzzled their noses together. “Besides...” He stood up straight. “I figure if Scorpy's shelling out the dough for the Diagnosan, I gotta do something to look as generous as the worst person in the Uncharted Territories.”
“Thank you, Crichton,” Scorpius said around bites of food cubes.
“No problem, Harv.” He patted the top of Scorp's head.
“The Diagnosan still has time open, if you want your offspring seen.”
“Nah,” John said. “D's fine. Got all his shots and everything done before we headed out here.”
“Did you get him the vaccines for all your ooman diseases?” Staanz asked.
“No, the healer didn't have those and we figured what are the odds of him catching-what?”
“Nothing.” Staanz wiped her mouth. “Seems a little risky to me. You can't count on hybrid vigor for everything. I mean...” She pointed none-too-subtly to Scorpius.
John smirked. “I'll keep that in mind.”
Aeryn stood from the table. “We'll need to leave soon, if we want to get the supplies before we meet with the Diagnosan. Staanz and Braca can help me bring the children down on the first transport pod, and the rest of you can go down on the second with Scorpius' frozen assets.”
Scorpius nodded. “I'll need the help carrying it.”
“Whoa, whoa.” John held his hands out in front himself. “Why do I have to go with Scorpy? Braca, wouldn't you feel a lot less emasculated if you went instead of staying with the women babysitting?”
“I think I'll manage, Crichton.”
-
John stared deep into Triskel's refrigeration unit. “Who was he? That is a he, right?”
Scorpius pulled open the unit's door, sending the body slouching into his arms. “Stark,” he growled under the weight, “get his waist.”
The Banik crawled underneath and lifted the midsection clear over his head. John forgot how strong he was, what with all his crying. Made sense-he was bred for hard labor. Once the body cleared the unit's door, John slid it shut and grabbed the corpse's legs. “Whose feet am I carrying?”
“Do you really want to know?” Scorpius asked, steering them out of the kitchen.
“Call me old-fashioned, but if I'm gonna be hauling a dead body, I'd like to be on a first name basis with it.”
“Left. My left, Stark... His name was Wolesh.”
“What'd he do to deserve the freezer treatment?”
Pause. “He raped my mother.” The body sagged in the middle. “Stark!”
“Sorry,” Stark murmured.
“This is your father?” John asked.
“Only at the biological level.”
“So, you, what? Tracked him down and killed him?”
“Not exactly. I tracked him down and placed him in my freezer.”
“You couldn't do it?”
“Far from that. I've been ready and willing to kill him for all of my adult life. But death was too good for him.”
Stark stuck his head out from under the body. “You trapped him between life and death?”
“Yes. I seem to recall someone saying that it was particularly unpleasant. Fortunately, freezing a Scarran has the same effect as a cryopod.”
“And you were planning on keeping him in your fridge forever?” John asked.
“I was going to sell him at auction, but then I found something worth bidding on.”
“Stark, you have got the worst luck.”
“I know,” Stark mumbled.
“Pivot,” Scorpius directed. “Pivot.”
“What happens if he defrosts?” John asked.
“He dies. Or we do.”
Their pace picked up noticeably.
“Why did you do it?” Stark asked, his voice muffled by the not-quite-corpse. “You had cycles to kill him, but you didn't.”
“After the war, I realized that my previous method of acquiring justice-”
“Getting revenge,” John cut in.
“-was no longer viable, so I decided to turn my focus from the Scarran race as a whole to the individuals directly responsible. Having already dispatched Tauza, I turned to Wolesh.”
“Did it work?” Stark asked quietly. When Scorpius didn't answer: “Did it make you feel any better?”
Pause. “No.”
They shifted the body along in silence until they came to the transport pod. With a good shove, they got the body inside.
“It's very symbolic.” Stark wiped the ice crystals and bits of frozen Scarran off his hands. “Disposing of your evil father's body to pay for your new baby's surgery.”
-
Ektra was one of the finer commerce planets Aeryn had visited in the Uncharted Territories, which was rather remarkable considering most vendors were selling smuggled goods. There was a degree of organization to the planet's economy that was almost Peacekeeperlike-although the emphasis on conspicuous consumption was more Hynerian. Everything was arranged so that visitors were free to spend as much as money as possible. There were free trams running through the commercial district. Watering stations and latrines were stationed every fifty motras. And customers needn't carry their purchases from store-to-store; the businesses all provided free delivery to home and transport.
The luxuriousness of it all made Aeryn suspicious, but, strapped to her chest, D seemed to be enjoying the sights and sounds. Must have been those Hynerian hormones in utero.
Aeryn's low opinion of the planet was confirmed on high street, where a man brushed past her and Staanz with a muttered, “Tralk.” Intending on giving him a piece of her mind, Aeryn turned around just in time to see Braca trip the man, sending him face-first into the pavement. Aeryn would've protested that she could take care of zannets herself if she didn't suspect Braca did it out of a genuine pleasure in tripping people rather than any chivalric impulse.
“Bunch of snobs on this planet,” Staanz said, hustling down the lane. “Look at 'em. They all think they're hot dren because they're Smuggler's Guild.”
“You have a guild?”
“They do. They wouldn't let me in if it was snowing out. Noity-boity bastards. Watch when we go into a store; the sales clerks will avoid me and Stark like Traskan borderpox.”
In reality, it was quite the opposite. At the baby store, the clerks fawned over Stark and Staanz, but gave nothing but glares to Braca and Scorpius. And clearly not out of an objection to two men of different species raising a child together-Aeryn and John couldn't get served either. It got so bad that Staanz ended up having to buy for everyone. (Disturbed by the attention he was receiving, Stark decided to hide in the middle of a rack of clothes for the duration of their visit.)
Back on the street, Staanz remarked, “No one's ever followed me around a shop like that unless they thought I was shoplifting.”
“They must really hate Peacekeepers,” Stark said.
Yet, at the next store, the staff helped a retired PK tech, but wouldn't look at Braca, Scorpius, John, or Aeryn. The same at the next. It wasn't until they reached the media stall that the four of them received any common courtesy.
“My god,” the clerk gasped, grabbing a stockgirl by the sleeve. “It's them. It's the Hynerian bandits!”
“The Hynerian who?” John asked.
“The Hynerian bandits,” the stockgirl said. “You're the Dominar's followers.”
“Followers? You been talking to Rygel?”
“No, no. Of course not. I could never imagine having audience with Rygel the Magnificent. But I read his memoir. I mean, who hasn't read his memoir?”
“Us,” Aeryn said, “for starters.”
“It's the fastest selling datapod in the Uncharted Territories,” the clerk said disbelievingly.
“And you're in it!” the stockgirl added. “Not you two,” she said to Stark and Staanz. “But the rest of you are. John Crichton and Aeryn Sun and Scorpius and... their Peacekeeper friend.”
“He's not out friend,” John and Aeryn said, just as Braca said, “I'm not their friend.”
“Here.” The clerk passed John a datapod. “It's on the house. And if any of you feel like doing a public appearance here at the store...”
With enough time to take a break before the Diagnosan, they pulled over in one of the city's rest areas to see what exactly Rygel had been saying about his “followers.”
John read aloud the description beneath a remarkably accurate holo of his likeness, “John Crichton, the human I rescued single-handedly from a space battle and mentored in his journey to discover wormhole technology.”
The next slide contained Aeryn's portrait. “Aeryn Sun,” she read, “a Peacekeeper female whom over the cycles I taught to connect to her emotions.”
Scorpius read his picture's description, “Scorpius, the Scarran-Sebacean who served as my deeply-embedded spy after I saved him from a Scarran research facility when he was a boy.”
Under Braca's face... “Unnamed Peacekeeper male,” Braca read.
“Did he write about me?” Stark asked. “He probably just didn't do a portrait of me because... I was never quite certain he could tell me apart from other Baniks. He kept calling me Striva.”
John patted Stark's shoulder. “Well, you know how old Rygel is. I'm surprised he knew any of our names.”
“Striva's a girl's name.”
Aeryn searched through the index. “The only Baniks mentioned are the ones Scorpius spaced at the Shadow Depository.”
“He talks about the Shadow Depository?” Staanz asked.
“A little. With the help of my followers, the Hynerian bandits... That's us, apparently. I destroyed a Shadow Depository and all of its contents, no doubt freeing hundreds of planets from war lords and smugglers.”
“No wonder the whole planet's pissed at you! You blew up their money. Honestly, I'd be surprised if any commerce planet in the Uncharted Territories sells to you lot.”
“You serious?” John asked.
“As a liver spasm. Interplanetary trade out here's run by smugglers. You're public enemy number one.”
Crichton's fingers caressed his pulse pistol. “Are we safe here?”
“I wouldn't worry. Bodies are bad for business.”
“You learn that at one of your seminars?”
-
The waiting room for the Diagnosan was far more welcoming than the ice planet where Grunschlik had set up shop. Plushy couches, datapods, toys for the kids-the place reminded John of his family doctor's office. It made sense; the folks on this planet could afford to go to the galaxy's premier medical mind for the sniffles. Just like Dr. Geoffrey's office, the Diagnosan kept people waiting past their appointment time.
They were waiting half an arn when the door to the backroom opened. “Mr. Dellos, the Diagnosan will see you-Scorpius.” Even with her hair growing back out, she was unmistakable. It seemed Sikozu found herself a new gig. “What are you-” Her eyes flicked to the chart in her hands, then to the baby strapped to Braca's chest. “I see.” She was always too smart. “Excuse me.” She ducked back through the door.
“Did you know-” Aeryn started.
“No,” Scorpius snarled. He tapped on his comm, beginning a stream of Pilot invectives.
His Pilot listened patiently, waiting for a pause. “I didn't tell you because I knew you would refuse to visit the Diagnosan and the child would grow sicker. And I know that you both have missed the Kalish despite your-”
Scorpius cut the comm link.
Braca stood from the couch, passing Mirwa to Scorpius, and left the hospital without a word.
-
The hospital's stone exterior scratched his back through his undershirt. He'd abandoned his leather jacket as soon as he'd come outside feeling hot under the collar. Working under Scorpius, he'd wondered what it was like to be a few thoughts away from teetering on the edge of heat delirium. Now he knew. Maybe they could get matching cooling suits.
Braca felt Scorpius draw near. Their implants, like most communication devices, generated feedback when in close proximity, creating an almost humming sensation in Braca's brain that he found alternatingly comforting or annoying depending on how he felt about Scorpius at a given moment.
“Braca.” (No one ever called him “Meeklo.” Not even his handlers as a child.) Scorpius leaned against the wall next to Braca, his trademark grace hampered somewhat by the infant strapped to his chest. Braca decided he could get used to that sight.
“I don't want to talk.”
“I know. Aeryn Sun refused to stop glaring at me until I went after you. She's a very intimidating woman.”
He laughed-for perhaps too long because his body seemed to take it as permission to send liquid streaming uncontrollably from his eyes and tremors in his shoulders. Oh, god. He was crying. In front of Scorpius. In public. Like he was Crichton or something. “I can't go back inside. She knows. She knows.”
“The situation is... undesirable, but Sikozu might be Mirwa's best chance for a cure.”
“Fine. You take her and I'll go back to Triskel.”
“You need to see the Diagnosan.” Scorpius licked a tear from the corner of Braca's eye. “You won't last much longer.”
“I can't.”
“You must. Mirwa needs you... and you've done a commendable job making yourself indispensable to me as well.” He rested his forehead on Braca's, transmitting, I won't allow Grayza to kill you from beyond the grave. You're mine.
“Okay.”
Following Scorpius back into the hospital, Braca felt like he was walking though fire. (He always said he would for Scorpius-Mirwa was a new addition.) Although that might have been the approaching heat delirium. As he went down, Braca thought how fortunate it was that Scorpius was holding Mirwa and dimly hoped he would land on something soft.
-
John managed to get Sikozu alone in the observation room as she looked down through the one-way mirror at Braca and the Diagnosan, having been banished from the exam room by Scorpius who it turns out spoke Diagnosan.
“Hey, Sputnik.”
She turned to him-on her cheek: a reflected image of Scorpius with a comforting hand around Braca's neck. “Crichton.”
“Scorpy says you're gonna rewrite baby Braca's DNA, get rid of all the alien pig dren.”
“I wouldn't have framed the procedure in such crude terms, but yes.”
“So, you can eradicate alien DNA from a living organism?”
“Yes. I've had great success in my clinical trials. Why?”
“You think you can do the same thing with a tissue sample?” He held up the vial containing Aeryn's hair.
“Easily.”
“Good. Take this.” He pressed the vial into her hand. “Clean it up. And then compare it to this.” He slipped Braca's vial into her other hand. “I'll need it done by the time we leave.”
“I'm not your personal medtech, Crichton.”
“Baby, you owe me.”
Sikozu closed her eyes, biting back a sigh. “I'll complete the analysis if my other duties allow.”
“Atta girl.”
-
Sikozu Shanu was a very lucky woman. If not for the cocktail of anti-anxiety drugs making him so sluggish, Braca most definitely would have punched her in the face. Sun had given him some forewarning, detailing how she wanted to sock the medtech who gave her offspring his immunizations and translator microbes. When triggered, she said, a parent's protective instincts could override all reason. Braca didn't need Sun to tell him this; he'd come to the realization a few microts after trying to smuggle a commandant's infant child out of a heavily fortified Peacekeeper base. Logically, Braca knew that the medical procedure was necessary and that in the long term Mirwa would benefit, but at present her caterwauling generated a primal impulse to tear the cause of her trauma limb from limb. Admittedly, that was not such a grave threat given Sikozu's ability to reattach severed limbs.
“Can you not sedate her?” Braca asked.
Sikozu looked up from her instruments. “No. As I have said, sedation would decelerate the genetic encryption process.” Looking through her eyelashes, she added consolingly, “She won't remember the pain.”
Braca lunged, going for the throat. Scorpius yanked him back by his jacket before his heels left the floor. Calm yourself. Incisors pinched Braca's neck, worrying familiar scars. Braca's muscles slackened. A moan escaped his mouth, unbidden.
Sikozu's distance from them stung more than Braca's Peacekeeper-perfected attacks could.
-
Stark was hesitant to let the Diagnosan examine Zev without Sikozu there to translate, but hearing Mirwa's screams from the waiting room, he thought it was better the Kalish wasn't involved at all. The Diagnosan managed well enough, speaking in high-pitched, short sentences as he poked and prodded paying particular attention to Zev's eyes.
“Baby blind,” the Diagnosan said.
“Pardon?” Staanz asked.
He struggled to put the concept into words lesser beings could understand. “Baby-cannot-see.”
“We know what blind means!” Stark hissed. “How did this happen? The Traskan midwife said the baby was growing fine.”
“The baby-when born-eyes were open-the light destroyed.”
Stark slumped into a chair. “This is my fault. I shouldn't-I shouldn't have-if I'd-”
“Stark,” Staanz said sharply. “Baby, not now.” She address the Diagnosan. “Can you fix it? Give him new eyes?”
“May-be,” the Diagnosan answered. “Have to rewire visual cortex. Never done on Banik-Yenen. Might take cycles for research.” He reached out for Zev. “You leave him here.”
“Pardon?”
“You leave him here-for testing. Come back in...” He thought for a microt. “...three cycles. Zev be ready then.”
Staanz cradled Zev close to her chest. “We're not leaving our baby with you. He's not a laboratory animal.”
“He will be blind.”
“So, what? Lots of people are blind. Like... I can't think of any, but there's probably scads of them.”
Stark tugged on her sleeve. “Stevie Wonder. He's from Crichton's planet.”
“That's right. Steevuwunder.” She looked down at Stark. “Who's Steevuwunder?”
“He's famous. He hits the bones of large mammals with his fingertips. Rhythmically.”
“See? Zev's got a role model already.”
“O-kay.” The Diagnosan took a step back. “No take the baby.”
“That's right.”
“I have good news. From genetic scan. Baby is Stykera.”
“Pardon?”
“Baby is Stykera. Pass over the dead.”
“He can't!” Stark shot off his chair. “He can't pass over the dead. He has... face in the way!” Stark grabbed Staanz by the shoulders. “Scorpius! Scorpy said my time travel-he thought it came from my face healing over. The energy doesn't have anywhere to go.” He turned to the Diagnosan, taking his hands and shaking them furiously. “You have to fix him. He's just a baby-he can't control time travel.” He clasped a hand to his mouth. Unfortunately for the Diagnosan, said hand belonged to him rather than Stark. “But I took the time travel knowledge from Zhaan. What if I didn't pass that on to Zev? The energy can't get out! He'll explode!” Stark squeezed the Diagnosan's hands. “You have to help him!”
“I cannot cure time travel. I am a Diagnosan, not a witch doctor.”
It wasn't until they were back in the waiting room that Stark realized the full extent of their problems. “Staanz, we have a blind baby named Pilot.”
She rested her head on Stark's shoulder. “Irony is a tralk.”
-
Reverse engineering vaccinations from the Human's tissue samples was less time consuming than Sikozu initially estimated; Earth's pathogens proved just as simple as its people. With Diagnosan Heret not expecting her for another quarter of an arn, Sikozu took the time to complete Crichton's side project. Easily done, if a little unsettling. She cleaned up her work station and headed out to deliver the vaccines to Heret.
If of a weaker, more ungainly species, Sikozu would have walked right into Scorpius, who was standing outside the lab's doorway. A curious place, far from the public portions of the facility. She allowed herself a microt of self-delusion of him waiting for her-until the cool air hit her face. Scorpius was basking under a climate control vent-like a reptile.
“Do you need me to change your cooling rod?” she asked. It was almost a reflex.
Scorpius glared down at her. “No.” He always had an uncanny way of saying so much with so little. The Living Death is preferable to being touched by you.
Stung by his rejection, she passed down the corridor, stopping before the break room door. “Does it bother you?” She didn't turn. She didn't look at him.
“What?”
“That while we were on Moya frelling on every surface of your cell, Braca was with Grayza getting poisoned a-”
“You think I haven't considered that?” The Scarran timbre crackled at the edges of Sebacean self-control.
“Do you blame yourself? I would,” she added almost casually. “I do.” She left him alone under the vent. On the way to the exam room, she passed Braca-no doubt en route to attend to Scorpius. He was close enough to touch-she was close enough to reach up and bite his cheek-but he wouldn't look at her. Even Crichton's face was a welcome reprieve from the parade through all the things Sikozu's programming could never let her have.
“Hey.” He touched her arm as she reached for the exam room door. “Did you do the...?”
“Yes.” She leaned in close to Crichton and whispered, “Aeryn and Braca are almost certainly siblings.”
“How'd you...? Did Scorpius tell you?”
“Simple deduction. As far I know, Aeryn is the only Sebacean female to ever be injected with Pilot DNA. As for Braca... I recognized his genetic signature on sight.”
“You memorized his DNA? That's kinda sweet. For your type.”
Sikozu rolled her eyes. “If this is supposed to be a secret, I suggest you do not tell. At least, not tonight. Even with the medication Diagnosan Heret prescribed, after so much trauma today, Braca might not be able to handle the shock. Physically.”
Crichton gave her one of his all-knowing, all-comprehending Human looks. “You really cared about him.”
She opened the door to the exam room. “I don't see how that's pertinent.” Because it wasn't anymore.
-
Walking back to the transport pods was like the music video for “Everybody Hurts” by R.E.M. except on a commerce planet and everyone was walking. Everyone was embroiled in their own personal trauma-everyone caught up in their internal conflicts. John could practically see captions floating under each of his companions saying what they were thinking.
Under Braca: Everything is spinning out of control.
Under Scorpy: There is nothing I can do.
Under Staanz: I don't think I can carry them both.
Under Stark: ...
“Guys.” John stopped. “Where's Stark?”
-
Stark managed to spit out his gag. (If he seemed good at that, it was only because he got lots of practice.) “I have an owner!”
The slaver pushed Stark into the back of his transport with one hand and balanced a yowling Zev in the other. He slammed the back door close. “I don't see an owner.” Different planets had different rules for what Crichton called “finders keepers,” and among smugglers, Stark imagined being out of his owner's sight was enough to make him fair game.
“Please! Not my baby! He's freeborn. Look, he has a freemark behind his ear.”
The man glanced behind Zev's ear. “That can be easily gotten rid of.”
Stark used his only bargaining chip. “You-you don't want him. He's blind. He can't see at all. What kind of money would you get for a blind slave?”
The slaver waved a finger in front of Zev's face, waiting for his eyes to follow. “If that's the case...” he mumbled, taking a rag from his pocket and lowering it to Zev's mouth.
“No!” Time stopped. The rag hanged limply in the air a breath away from Zev's face. “I did it. I did it! I saved him. I-I...” It was then he realized he was locked in the cargo hold of a transport pod. “Shit.” The Human invective seemed to fit the moment. “Shit, shit, shit.” Stark got as much of a running start as the cramped hold allowed and rammed his shoulder into the door. Repeatedly. “What-is-the-point-of-having-superpowers-if-you-can-get-locked-in-someone's-storage-compartment?” Stark knew full well that this sort of thing only worked in films Crichton watched, but pledged to keep slamming into the door until Staanz showed up to rescue them. He hoped she gave him warning or else he'd come barreling through the open door and fall all over himself.
Which is exactly what he did. But Staanz was nowhere to be seen. There was no one there except the stuck-still-in-time slaver and Zev. Stark muttered a thankful prayer to the Goddess, grabbed Zev (who unfroze at his touch), and ran the frell out of there.
-
“Guys.” John stopped. “Where's Stark?”
“I'm-right-here,” Stark gasped.
“Jesus!” Crichton jumped. “You gotta stop doin' that.”
Like frell Stark would.
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