Shadow Past (pg/r For Violence), Part of Aeryn's sabbatical

[ScaperRed]

Date originally posted at Kansas: February 26, 2003 -
Replies: 18
Views: 949


Rating: PG-13 to R for violence

Setting: Between TF and TS for the frame; flashbacks through the series

Spoilers: Through Twice Shy

Category: Shippy, angsty action?

Summary: Aeryn reflects on the costs of actions while away from Moya
Disclaimers: Don't own 'em, just borrowing them for awhile, will put them back neatly when finished. No action figures were harmed in the making of this fanfic. The only wormhole actually created was at the bottom of a blender.

Thanks to the usual wonderful suspects, betas muy buenas, Angel and Scrubschick, who had the stamina to get all the way through this in a very short amount of time. I appreciate all the suggestions, large and small (especially the title, Angel, which gave shape to what followed). You rock! Any errors left are entirely my own.

Warning: This is a long one. The escape pods are to hammond side.



SHADOW PAST



PROLOGUE: SHADOWS OF THE PRESENT


After Noranti went down the corridor, Aeryn stood frozen in place, turning the lakka bulb over and over in her fingers. The old woman had said it was for John to forget, for him to be able to move on, and maybe John even believed it was true. But that never works, she thought, trying to get a grip on the white-hot anger flowing through her.

Someone was coming down the corridor, and she turned quickly, striding blindly toward her quarters. She didn't want to see anyone, talk to anyone. Especially Crichton. She had to get at least some control of her emotions first before she even tried to talk to him about the lakka, or else she'd frell things up even more than she had already.

"Pilot, I'll be off my comms until further notice," she said shortly as she entered her quarters.

"Aeryn? Are you all right--"

"Fine, Pilot. Just don't want to be disturbed for a few arns." She palmed the door closed and ripped the privacy curtain shut, her hands shaking.

After a lengthy silence, Pilot replied formally, "Understood, Officer Sun," and she heard the chirp that signaled her comms were closed.

Frell,she thought, throwing herself into the chair by her work table. What does he think he's accomplishing? How much of his mind has he already lost with this...this...thing? He should know his physiology is different, he should know that he can't trust the old woman, he should know better than to even think of doing this-

And how should he have known this? Who would've told him? D'Argo? Would've just tongued him and taken away the drugs. Chiana? She wouldn't see it as a problem. Sikozu? Frell only knew what her agenda was. Rygel? Probably wouldn't matter to him unless using the drug made Crichton eat more food. Pilot? Even if he knew, how would he have told Crichton?

And I...And he doesn't trust me, that much is obvious, especially now. I'm the reason for this, according to Noranti. So that means I've got to make him stop. Make him understand that there's always a price to be paid, a loss of something-

And how do I do that, without breaking my oath? Without telling him too much, so much that...he won't even be able to look at me?

Sighing, she flicked the lakka bulb onto the work table. How much do I tell him? she asked herself, and found she was remembering it all, wading through it all once more.




PART 1: SHADOWS OF CHOICE

"I wasn't an assassin until I killed your father. I was a pilot... I was bred to be a pilot..."

Caught between memory and sleep, Aeryn heard the galley door snick open. Her eyes opened slightly, her right hand dipping to rest on her holstered pulse pistol, both reflex actions to a change in her environment. Otherwise, she was still, left elbow leaning on the table, chin propped in her hand, listening.

"But they made me kill again, and again. And finally I stopped caring."

Heavy tread of boots, three long strides to the table next to hers. Jax.
Her fingers stroked the holstered pulse pistol once and then relaxed to rest on the grip.

"Still winding down?"

Aeryn shrugged one shoulder, closing her eyes again. Xhalax's words rocketed around her exhausted brain, the desperate pleading in her gravelly voice. "I was a pilot... I was bred to be a pilot..."

A cup clinked onto the table, followed by a heavier object. Bottle. Slight rattle as Jax unscrewed the top, the rushing pour of liquid. Raslak; she could smell its sharpness, could smell the clean male scent of Jax mixed with the earthy odor of Peacekeeper leather. Sharper and more familiar were the aromas of chakkan oil and pulse pistol lubricant. Always those two odors surrounding any of them at any time...

On Xhalax too, mixed with sweat and fear and hate as they stood on the balcony on Valldon.

"I wasn't an assassin until I killed your father..."

Chair scraped back, cup clacked across from her onto the table, bottle followed. Aeryn drew a slow breath and reluctantly opened her eyes.

"You did good today," he offered, sitting down, elbows square on the table. He filled her vision, a big man, broad shoulders rippling out of the snug black regulation tank top. She let her gaze follow the smooth cut of his bicep, over his shoulder, up his short thick neck. His head was clean shaven, the same dusky shade as the skin on his arms. He was the darkest Peacekeeper she'd ever seen and had the deepest voice: soft rumble as now, late in the sleep cycle; roar like a Marauder engine when angry...


Belatedly, she realized he had spoken and shrugged again. "Didn't do much," she said, her eyes half closing again. As if from a distance, she watched the play of cut muscles as he lifted the cup for a sip of Raslak and returned it to the tabletop. Part of her wanted to admire his musculature. Part of her was just...deadened.

"You had my back. Teyn's too. Let us do the job."

The job.

He was watching her, his dark eyes narrowed over the rim of his cup. Concern. Maybe something else, as his gaze drifted openly over her tank top covered form. Keeping her eyes half closed so that he wouldn't be able to see, she let her gaze travel over him again, tracing each sharply defined muscle that was on unconscious display. Abruptly, her vision slipped inward, and she saw another man in a black tank top, relaxed across her bed in another time on another ship, grinning gently as he watched her taking in his form on conscious display for her enjoyment...

"I wasn't an assassin until I killed your father..."

Valldon. The graffiti-smeared room she could barely remember. Holding close phantoms, trying to pretend, until Xhalax-

She felt light fingertips on her arm and jerked back, still seeing the street below on Valldon, Xhalax's falling figure-

Rush of breath, and her right arm was pinned against the table; blur of movement in the edge of her vision as she started to rise. An arm locked around her head, dragging her backward, off balance, while her wrist remained caught against the table edge.

"Aeryn."

She struggled, pushing back, trying to get leverage, drawing her free elbow back for a jab-

"Aeryn! Teyn!"

Her elbow smashed into his ribs, and he grunted in her ear. "Aeryn, I don't want to hurt you, but if you do that again any lower-"

He threw his weight forward, smashing her down against the table. He cursed in her ear, exotic words the translator microbes didn't know, and his scent flooded her senses again.

Jax.

She stilled, went limp in shock. Jax. Part of her squad. The ex-Peacekeeper unit. The true Peacekeeper unit, they claimed themselves.

Warily, Jax loosened his grip on her head, and she drew a shaky sigh. "Sorry," she gasped, and shoved her shoulder back lightly against him. Wanting him off, wanting his weight gone, wanting his warmth...

Gone.

Everything, gone.

"It's the stim, residual effect," he said, not moving. "You having flashes?"

"No. Yes. Memory. No." She didn't know how to answer.

Clatter of running bootsteps, and then there were additional hands on her, a rough palm on the hand Jax still held pinned, another on the side of her jaw. Teyn, by her bootsteps, the faint incense that clung to her clothes.

"Let me up," Aeryn stammered, shrinking from touches, senses screaming.

"Stim," Jax said, and Teyn grunted, giving Aeryn's face a gentle pat.

"Let me up!" Aeryn yelled, and almost thrashed loose. Jax threw his weight on top of her again, crushing her against the table, the edge digging into her abdomen and driving the wind from her lungs. Teyn trapped her arm, twisting her wrist hard.

"Aeryn, it's the remains of the stimulant. Sometimes it makes your senses stay keen for arns afterward. Calm down, and we'll let you up."

Calm. Right. With all this frelling weight-can't breathe-Teyn's twisting my hand off-

She made herself draw a slow, ragged breath. Tried to ignore the crawling sensations shooting across her skin. Drew another. Tried not to flinch as Teyn's hand settled lightly on her throat.

"Pulse is slowing," Teyn said. Jax released her, and the sudden cessation of weight made her jerk in flight reflex. Smoothly, Teyn reversed her grip on Aeryn's wrist, twisted, and Aeryn found herself pinned left shoulder to table, right arm jacked around in a hard spiral, an unforgiving restraint hold against which she couldn't even struggle.

"I got her," Teyn said, and twisted slightly more, pain burning through Aeryn's arm. Her fingers opened, and she felt Teyn slip something free of them.

Teyn let go and stepped back quickly. Aeryn flailed helplessly, synapses firing randomly, adrenaline surging, and collapsed in a huddle on the table top.

"Sorry," she managed to get out, and clenched her teeth against the shudder that ripped through her entire body.

"Happens," Teyn said evenly. Aeryn let her weight drop, missed the chair, clipped her forehead against the edge of the table as she fell. A bright flash of pain blossomed briefly in the writhing collection of sensations.

"And you," Teyn said, still in that quiet tone, "should know better."

Aeryn pushed herself up, grabbing onto the edge of the bolted-down chair. Teyn was looking at Jax, who hung his head, not quite meeting her eyes. They were both standing a prudent distance away, against the serving counter on the far wall.

"My fault," Aeryn rasped, and cleared her throat. "Not his."

Teyn gave a soft snort and stood there, arms folded, a pulse pistol hanging from one hand. As she pulled herself together, Aeryn dropped her right hand automatically to check her holster, glanced up in shock.

My pulse pistol. I...drew my pulse pistol on Jax.

She could feel them watching as she struggled to her feet, grabbing onto the back of the chair for balance.

"Sit down before you fall down again. Ride it through," Teyn said. Aeryn obeyed, her legs wobbling, and dropped her head in her hands, elbows on knees. Teyn said something softly to Jax, and he moved to open cabinets as the senior officer slowly walked toward Aeryn, keeping the table between them.

"Aeryn."

Aeryn shook her head, her face buried in her hands. "Sorry. I'm...so sorry." Frelled this up, totally frelled this up, I don't belong here, I don't belong anywhere--

"Happens," Teyn said again, dropping into the chair opposite. "Aeryn, look at me."

Reluctantly, Aeryn lifted her head. Out of the corner of her vision, she saw Jax place two cups on the table. Teyn's dark eyes remained on Aeryn's smoky blue ones as the senior officer lifted the bottle of raslak and held it out to the side. "Go," she said. Jax took the bottle and his boots quickly thudded away, the galley door closing with a soft click.

Teyn's eyes were calm, and Aeryn felt herself relax slightly. "Tea," Teyn said, sliding a cup toward the younger woman. "Never drink raslak, or fellip nectar, or any of that dren while the stim is still in your system. Unless, of course, you're Jax, who's mixed enough chemicals to know what he can tolerate."

Teyn chuckled softly, and Aeryn forced a grin, concentrating on lifting the cup without spilling it. Grimacing at the bitter taste, she asked, "What is this?" Bad as some of Zhaan's concoctions...

Zhaan.

She swallowed pain and concentrated on Teyn's soft voice. "Just herbal tea. Nothing in it. Just something warm. Something to hang on to for the moment."

With a soft clink, Teyn put Aeryn's pulse pistol on the table, spun it so the grip was toward Aeryn, and shoved it over to her. Carefully, Aeryn put her cup down, eying the pulse pistol warily. Automatic reflex made her pick it up, check the chakkan oil cartridge, start to slide it into her holster. She hesitated, nauseated at having drawn it on a comrade, and withdrew it, placing it carefully on the table, turning its grip toward Teyn. Teyn's gaze flicked to the pistol briefly; ignoring it, she returned her gaze to Aeryn's face. Making sure I don't lose control again. Frell, I could. I feel so...

"It's hard, the first time," Teyn said.

"You have no idea," Aeryn muttered, voice trembling, before she could catch herself, and cut her eyes away from the reprimand that was sure to appear in the eyes of the senior officer.

Surprisingly, Teyn chuckled. "The young think everything is unique to them," she chided. "No one else has ever done or felt anything before-"

You're a Peacekeeper. You don't know, you can't understand, you've never had...what I had. What we had. Biting her words back, Aeryn drank the tea, its bitterness echoing that in her soul.

"You were mainly a prowler pilot. Commando training, sure, but you're a pilot. Combat you know, the in-close killing you know. You deal with that, because you do know it, you've been trained for it. Not much experience with this sort of stimulant. No training for that, really, just experience. Each person's body chemistry is different. You took too much, and your system's still wracked. Cut it in half next time.

"I know this, because I was a prowler pilot too. Still am, despite the work I've been...involved in for the last ten cycles. That's the image of myself that I hold inside.

"Jax is more of a commando than a pilot. He would've been a Black Ghost had he stayed. He lives for the mud and the blood. He's a tool I use very carefully, because his edges are so sharp. At the same time, he's a hell of a good man.

"Lena is a prowler pilot. She's not a commando. Never will be. But I couldn't ask for a better soldier. She flies perfect cover, and she would never leave anyone behind. She will get you home, or die trying. So she's another sort of tool.

"Ced is like Jax, just better contained. He would prefer to not get dirty, to not get the blood on him. But he'll do it on orders, and he'll do the job right. He flies good cover, but he's more comfortable with a pulse rifle in his hands.

"You..." Teyn paused, her dark eyes contemplative.

"Go on," Aeryn said, finishing the tea as the silence lengthened, Teyn's speculative gaze never wavering. "What sort of tool am I?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out. You're a pilot, better than Lena. Best I've seen since...well, in many cycles. But there's...there's something else in you, too. A certain kind of coldness. I know this, because I have it in myself. You could make one hezmana of an assassin, Aeryn. For the right reasons. It wouldn't take much for you to step over that line. The question is, do you want that. Is that the sort of the tool you want to become?"

"I wasn't an assassin until I killed your father. I was a pilot... I was bred to be a pilot...But they made me kill again, and again. And finally I stopped caring."

"Let me go, Aeryn. You live for me." The endless loop of Xhalax's gravelly voice, etched into Aeryn's mind.

"I don't know," Aeryn said finally.

Teyn nodded. "Well, I'll know when you do. Until then, there's plenty of ways you can be used. And I'll try not to ask you to do anything you'll regret. Meanwhile, we're two days away from shore leave at Cassino, and I have a recommendation for you. Not an order, a recommendation from your senior officer. Do something you enjoy to burn off the last few monens. The whole frelling station is a casino, but it's got natural environments too and a lot of other entertainments. We're spending five solar days, and you can stay drunk the whole time for all I care. Just use it."

Aeryn nodded dutifully.

Teyn leaned in closer, locking gazes. Automatically, Aeryn flinched at the proximity, but Teyn held her with her eyes. "Now. Some information from a comrade, in case you haven't figured this out. You caught Jax by surprise. You're half his size, and you almost took him down. And your reaction wasn't just because of the stim. Frell, you almost took us both down, and I was expecting it. You caught him by surprise, because there is something else on your mind, and this wasn't the sort of...hand-to-hand training he came down to the galley to see you about."

Aeryn stared for a moment, then leaned back, shaking her head. Oh frell, just what I need right now. "Teyn-"

"He's a good man, Aeryn. He's kind, despite his other attributes. You could both do each other some good." Teyn grinned wolfishly. "You couldn't ask for a better body either. So, my recommendation as a comrade is that sometime, during shore leave, you buy the man a bottle of raslak-and see if he's got any tattoos other than the one on his bicep."

"It's not that easy-"

"Yes it is. It's a physiological need. It's recreating. It's just getting rid of tension. It's nothing more than that between comrades." Teyn rose briskly. "Get some sleep. Take something if you have to. You're off duty the next two shifts, or until I think you've gotten enough sleep so you won't fly us straight into a supernova by mistake.

"And take this." Teyn sent the pulse pistol skittering across the table; Aeryn caught it automatically before it flew off and hit the ground. "You've got to start dealing with your past eventually. Now is a good time."

Stung by the words, Aeryn slowly slipped the pulse pistol into her holster and stood at attention, like a cadet. Teyn hesitated in the doorway, started to say something, and then shook her head, going out the door.

Aeryn washed and put away the cups and stepped quietly down the short passageway of the trading ship. Fortunately, it was deep enough in the sleep cycle for the others to be in bed if they didn't have bridge duty.

She passed Jax's quarters, which he shared with Ced; the door was slightly ajar, light streaming into the narrow corridor.

Teyn's door was closed, no light leaking from the rim. Probably already back to sleep. Aeryn envied her.

Her own quarters were dark and empty; she remembered that Lena had the watch, and, briefly, she wondered where Ced was. On command with Lena? Switching shifts? Frell, what time is it, anyway?

Utterly exhausted, she flopped on her bunk, grateful that Lena had claimed the top one. Doubly grateful that, for the moment, she was alone.

Utterly exhausted, and utterly awake, she stared at the wall, wishing for even a small porthole to see the stars through. What good would that do? I have no idea where I am, what I am doing. I have no guiding star. He died in my arms, and he's on Moya, or Earth, or hezmana knows where. And I'm here, and after today, I'm not even sure why, or that it's right.

She missed Moya suddenly, viscerally, an ache that ran through her bones. She missed the gentle thrumming of Moya's life around her, the recirculating air that felt like the Leviathan's breath. She missed Pilot; how many sleepless nights had she gone to him to talk about meaningless things or just to sit quietly until sleep could finally claim her? She missed D'Argo's decisiveness, although it was at times short-sighted and narrow; his view was like his Qualta blade: clean, precise, sharp. She missed Rygel, whose thieving little self was tempered by unexpected kindness and courage; his was a warrior's heart, as he had proved by manning the guns at Dam Ba Da even while wounded, but his courage ran counter to his inherent selfishness. She remembered how he had come to her on Valldon, braving the dizzying heights in his throne sled, to warn her of Xhalax...

Xhalax. Always came back to Xhalax. Every part of my life, whether I knew it or not.

She forced back the echoes of her mother's voice and turned her mind back to Moya, trying to remember herself there, in that warmth, that relative safety.

She missed them all, even Chiana and Jool. Chiana, so irritatingly immature at times, so lacking in sense, ever making up her own rules instead of following anyone else's, yet loyal. She could've left any time after they'd gotten the riches from the Shadow Depository, could have left with Jothee if that was what she really wanted, could have bought a ship at any commerce planet to go searching for her brother. Yet she stayed, for reasons that were own and shared with no one.

I wonder if she's found Nerri yet. I wonder if she's happy, if D'Argo's gotten himself killed or exacted his revenge. I wonder if Jool found her people, if Rygel has reclaimed his throne. I wonder if...

No.

She sat up, slid out of her boots and leather pants, stowed both items neatly in the locker under her bunk, and flopped between the cool sheets.

I can't think about Crichton. I can't. Not today. He...wouldn't understand. And I think that's one thing I always loved about him, that he couldn't...understand some things. But this...this he would find repellant. This, he would not forgive.

Faintly, at the back of her mind, she heard Xhalax's voice again. She was really pleading there, on that balcony. But for what? For me to forgive her? For her to forgive herself? For someone, somewhere, to just understand her before she died?

Restlessly, she rolled, wincing at the new collection of bruises and strains as the stim and adrenaline ebbed. She had assorted hurts from Jax's grip, and her right arm burned from the restraint Teyn had applied. Have to have her teach me that hold; very effective. And it frelling hurts. .

Above all, she fought back the memories, even as she fought sleep, orders or no orders. And finally, as she had feared, they flowed together into dreams.



I kneel in the open window, the faint wind against my face carrying a touch of salt from the nearby sea. I look to the building across from me, to my left and five stories below me. First I see the honor guard standing at the entrance of the Council chambers. To my right, there are guards at the rear entrance of the same building. Directly below me, in the square formed by the parliamentary buildings, a troop of Peacekeeper commandos jogs by on routine patrol.

I am in full commando uniform, the armor a familiar weight and bulk. It fits me well enough, although the gloves are a little tight. I have the insignia of a unit I had never before seen, and I carry a name and a rank that are not mine. In my gloved hands is a pulse rifle that feels as if it is an extension of my own limbs, although it too is not mine.

The owner of these items is dead. By whose hand, I don't know; we ambushed their marauder, which was taking reinforcement troops on rotation to this world, and the firefight as we boarded was brief but effective. As reinforcements, they deserved death; as Peacekeepers, they were taken so easily, so overconfident in what they thought was a controlled sector of space.

I can't even remember a time that I felt so confident. Maybe that's why I am still alive, and wearing someone else's gear.

My name for this day is Senior Officer Leyna Varras. I am attached to the Redstar Company, Larrath Regiment, and my duty is to guard this minor parliamentary building. As such, after reporting for duty, (and having my orders and ident chip cursorily scanned, as I and the other reinforcements were expected) I stood a shift in the central guard station, monitoring all movement through the square. I was relieved of duty precisely on time, and I was given directions to the nearby barracks. Instead, I, having memorized the building's layout, found my way through the back corridors, only having to identify myself once to a dozing trooper, to my real assigned post. Disabling the security system with a simple patch, I opened the window and assumed my watch. At that point, I became no one, a ghost, an assassin waiting for my target.

Teyn has the primary post on this mission, assisted by Jax. I am backup. I provide a measure of distraction, and if the main team is disabled or isolated, I first will finish the job and second will enable their extraction. Ced remains with the prowlers, a commando disguised as a tech-we will harass him over that, we will-and Lena is flying our cover, our ship registered as a trading vessel that holds four Prowlers and a lot of weapons.

I check the chronometer strapped to my armored wrist, and note that it is time. I will not be using a trooper's rifle for my part of the mission. No, I will now assemble the parts of a smaller, sleeker, more deadly weapon, a sniper's rifle-an assassin's rifle-with a tiny but extremely powerful scope.

I take the pieces from my gear bag-no one questions a legitimate Peacekeeper who has weapons of any kind, particularly a Senior Officer in a secured and controlled area-and quickly snap them together. Two hundred microts was my best completion time in practice, shaving five microts off Jax's top time. Automatically, I mark the time, and note 203 microts. Still better than Jax's best, and I feel a brief, warm glow of satisfaction.

I hear a step outside the door and I become utterly still. I've locked the door, and no one has any business coming in anyway; this floor is unused offices and storage. No one should even be here. Noiselessly, I draw the knife from my belt. Any interference must be dealt with silently and swiftly.

The door is tried. There is a small giggle, an exhalation of disappointment. The footsteps fade, and I hear another door being rattled. This time, a curse floats back to me.

"Try the next floor," a female voice says, and their steps fade away.

Slowly, I exhale, almost chuckle to myself. A pair of troopers, probably on duty, looking for an out-of-the-way place to recreate. Not regulation. Not commandos, those two. Nothing I'd ever done or even been tempted to do. Duty was sacred; lives depended on it. And I wonder if it's fate that made them decide to decline duty, to find a place that will be out of the firefight that will erupt in a few hundred microts. Is it fate that these two will be derelict in their duty, perhaps unintentionally aiding in the assassination of this world's corrupt leadership?

Or is it fate that I won't have to kill them both so quickly that neither will be able to scream?

In my headset, I hear the single beep that means Teyn and Jax are moving into position. They are exactly on schedule, and I know that they are using counterfeit orders to relieve the guards in the inner chamber. Teyn is wearing the insignia of a lieutenant, and when I open fire on the square, she will hear the instant alarm on her comms and order the other troopers to reinforce the square. She and Jax will execute the troopers remaining, and then they will assassinate the five sitting council members who bought their positions of power through hiring Peacekeepers to initiate the coup and slaughter the lawfully elected members. Within forty-five microts, between ten and fifteen people will be dead, and Teyn and Jax will be racing at top speed through the rear access chamber, changing rank insignia as they run. I will have killed the guards at the rear entrance; they will pause to drag the bodies to "safety," yelling about the sniper (me) the whole time, and will then blend in with the others in the search. Meanwhile, I will set my weapon to timed overload and leave it in the room I have just vacated. Within sixty microts, it will explode, drawing more Peacekeepers to the area in confusion. I will be gone, blending in with the tide of dark, helmeted uniforms. If I am questioned about my presence, I will simply say that I heard over my comms about the activity and returned straight away from barracks to aid in the search. As a senior officer, I will dispatch troops elsewhere if necessary. As no one, as one of the assassins, I will fade into the crowd until I can break away for the landing field and our Prowlers. There, Ced has a different set of counterfeit orders waiting for us, authorizing us to use any means, and force, to apprehend the assassins.

Jax had roared with laughter at that part of the plan. I had felt...a little ill, although I said nothing. This was my first time as part of the ground unit, rather than flying cover, and I hadn't yet earned the right to say anything.

So now, it is time for my part in the plan. I steady myself in the open window; I break open the powerful stim tab Jax gave me, and I inhale sharply twice. I hate these things, but I will need the speed and clarity it will bring. I have extremely fast reflexes and acute senses-I am a highly rated pilot, after all-and I am as accurate with this rifle as Teyn, which is why I am qualified to occupy the third post on this team. But I cannot hesitate, cannot think, cannot do anything other than my assignment, or else I place everyone in jeopardy. This is why I take the stim, gritting my teeth against the instant whiteout of my senses, their return with bladed clarity. In that moment, it's like when I tried to save the little girl, taking the stim to do a suicide run across exposed territory. My mission is clear, my resolve absolute. I have no fear. I have no feelings at all.

It's later that I will pay for this numbing clarity.

I put on my helmet and bring the assassin's rifle to my shoulder; I hardly need the scope to aim at my first victim. I think it's a female about my size, although with armor it's hard to tell. One of the honor guard, she stands at the door with no frelling idea that in microts she will die at the hands of a person who was once one of her own. She probably doesn't even realize the corruption in which she is involved; she is a trooper, and she takes orders, as I was a commando and once instantly obeyed my captain's demand to murder a defenseless Pilot.

One clean shot, and I think briefly as I continue to fire, Four cycles ago and that could have been me. That one could have been Henta. And that one-

Four cycles ago, if I'd just pulled back my pursuit of a Leviathan prison ship trying to escape custody, I'd have remained with my unit, remained on the command carrier that was the closest thing to home I knew. I could be on the other end of this rifle right now; I could've been on the losing end of the firefight in the Marauder two days ago. Either way, I would be Officer Aeryn Sun, Special Commando, Icarion Company, Pleisar Regiment, a member of the best of the best.

Instead, I am...no one. I do this right, and no one knows my name, no one remembers me. That's the part that I like best, perhaps because I'm not even sure I know who I am. Best to be no one in some cases. Crichton doesn't know that I learned that from him, the endless pursuits of him by Peacekeepers and others. Poor Crichton.

The six troopers of the honor guard are convulsing but have not even hit the ground before I turn my attention to the guards at the rear entrance. The sound of pulse fire has alerted them; they've started to break formation, weapons shifting, but it's another four shots and they are dead before their armor-clad bodies crash to the ground. My aim slips a bit on the last one; the pulse blast hits his left chest instead of center, and I curse myself for inaccuracy although he's dead anyway.

A quick spray of random shots across the square; a few people are hit, but it doesn't matter, it's just distraction now, it's cover for Teyn and Jax. My part of the job is essentially finished unless there's a frell-up.

I am expecting a frell-up, of course, because I am still not used to participating in plans that work.

I set the assassin's rifle to timed overload and place it in the middle of the room. Anyone tracing its faint whine to open the door will be sprayed with debris and shrapnel.

I unlock the door and check my chronometer once more. Forty-five microts. Teyn and Jax should be hitting the back door.

Sure enough, over my Peacekeeper comms, I hear Teyn's voice, seeming to be ragged with stress but actually ragged with stim: "The guard's been shot! We need a medical team now at the rear entrance! There's a sniper in the Old Council building, on the sixth floor I think!"

It's a nice touch; I'm on the fifth floor, and I could claim that I was actually heading up to find the sniper on the sixth, or I could say that I had just cleared that floor and no one was there.

I force myself to slow as I reach the stairwell. There are people coming up towards me, racket in the building and on the comms. I reverse direction instantly and let the group overtake me. No one notices as they round the landing. It's a struggle now to slow my reactions, and I'm grateful for the helmet that covers my face, my wide-irised eyes.

Three continue pounding up the stairs to the sixth floor; three, including myself, turn onto the fifth. For a moment, I hesitate; do I head back down or continue the farce a bit longer? The whine of the overloading pulse rifle makes the decision for me, as we three look at each other. Instantly, they race toward the sound, and I lag behind just enough, cursing my momentary indecision-

As the rifle's whine reaches its highest pitch, the first one flings open the door-something he should have known better than to do-and the blast shreds him. He is blown across the corridor to strike the wall and fall limply, helmet faceplate shattered, shrapnel sticking like Fousian spineplates from his armor. One of his arms is gone, simply vanished from the blast, and the blood spurts everywhere, spraying onto his companion, who was far enough back to be knocked merely to his knees. Because of the stim, I watch this as if it were in slow motion, an entertainment of some kind. It does not feel real.

I have to give the second trooper credit; he's smarter than his comrade, because he spins around on his knee, looking wildly for me, and he's starting to raise his rifle. I see his mouth begin to form an alarm to be shouted into his comms, and I am on him, knocking his rifle away, my knife appearing in my hand. He's not wearing a helmet, and it's easy for the knife to slash under his jaw, above the linking collar of his armor. I hear him gasp, and I turn his body swiftly so that I am not sprayed with his blood. I hear a gurgle of blood trapped in his open windpipe. He collapses so slowly to the floor, gasping, as I rip the comms from his head and toss it as far as I can down the hall.

"Fifth floor explosion," I say into my comms, careful to slow my voice so that it sounds slightly panicked but intelligible. "Two down. Need a medic. Sniper is gone. Repeat, sniper is gone."

There is blood on my glove, and that is real, because it may be noticed. I have nothing to wipe it on, so I smear it against the dying man's armor, wipe my knife blade before I slide it into its sheath at my waist, eliminating as much evidence as possible. I am kneeling by him still when the next group clatters up, and I point to the destroyed room, the shrapnel-sprayed man. Most of the troopers quickly vacate, still hunting the sniper, and I go with them, fading into their crowd, my duty bag still on my shoulder, Peacekeeper blood in the creases of my glove.

I exit the building, moving as if I have a purpose, a legitimate assignment, and I cross to the landing field at a half trot.

The sniper is gone.



The plan...works. We meet on schedule at the Prowlers, our ranks and orders changed, and Ced has become a pilot instead of a tech with a uniform change and a bit of bludgeoning done to the legitimate tech on duty who could identify him. We clear the atmosphere of that world, which is instantly beginning to shift into civil war, and our assignment is completed. Those who had hired us would be responsible for the next government to rise. Their first act, of course, would be to fire the Peacekeepers for dereliction of duty, in that they were unable to protect the assassinated leaders.

The irony makes me smile very slightly.

Lena has our disguised trading ship at the prearranged coordinates, and we dock carefully in the landing bay, jockeying in the tight space allotted for four Prowlers.

Lena changes course slightly, alters our identity beacon signal, and we are yet another trading ship, this one empty and bound for cargo pickup at Cassino.

I am starting to shake by the time we dock. I avoid the others as much as I can, focusing on first securing my Prowler, then cleaning and racking my equipment. Teyn and Jax are exuberant, pounding each other on the back, swapping tales with Ced. They try to celebrate with me, but they quickly give me space, perhaps remembering that this is my first mission, my first time. Lena listens to it all, smiling a little, but it is obvious that she is content with her part of the mission. I...am not sure how I feel, my emotions churning between the stim and what Crichton would call my conscience.

I strip the stolen armor off as quickly as I can, dumping it down the waste shunt. The bloodied glove goes first. The others do the same, more slowly, still talking. The waste will be left floating in space, and there will be little evidence to connect us to our...mission.

Along with the shakes comes the return of physical sensations. The temperature of the shower is never quite right, either too hot or too cold, although I stay in there a long time, trying to let it all wash away.

I dress in a clean uniform-if it can be called that, people just wear what they like and it's all vaguely military; this is the only thing that reminds me of Moya-black tank top, leather pants, boots. I leave my vest off because now I feel hot. It's as I'm in my quarters, strapping my holster to my leg, that I hear my mother's voice for the first time.

I know it's an echo of memory generated by the stim. Frell, it could even be a spark of that thing Crichton called conscience. But it startles me, startles me so much that I can't fasten the holster for a few microts. I have to actually look around the tiny room, assure myself that I'm alone. And then, as the thin voice continues replaying itself, I don't want to be alone. But at the same time, I don't want to explain to anyone how I'm hearing my dead mother's voice. They already think I'm farboht, between the rumors that followed me to this group and my own actions with it, and I don't really want them to know exactly how tinked I am, as Chiana would say.

So I join my squad in the galley, and we eat and debrief. Lena is still on watch. One by one they drift off; Ced is the first, yawning, and then Jax. Teyn is the last, and we talk about nothing of consequence for a while before she rises, patting my shoulder. Her hand feels like fire, and I have to force myself not to flinch. "You did well today, Aeryn. Clean shots, steady hand. Couldn't have done better myself."

I nod at the compliment, and she leaves, perhaps sensing that I need space more than anything right now.

A short time later, as Xhalax's voice continues to racket around in my brain, the galley door opens, but it's not Jax who comes through, it's John.

He looks the same as when I left Moya: long black coat over red and black vest, leather pants, lace-up boots. He strides in, and I see the edge of Winona in the holster on his thigh as his coat parts.

He sits down at the table across from me, as I know Jax did earlier, and I start to feel uneasy, not sure if this is memory or dream or wish or where the boundaries are anymore at all. I hear Xhalax again and remember Valldon, remember the incorporeal John that had seemed so real in my...deranged state, and I feel the hair rise on my arms.

"You're not here," I say firmly, and I wait to toss over in bed, to hear a snore from a comrade down the corridor, to wake in sweat-drenched sheets as I have so many times since he died.

He just looks at me, smiling a little. "Then where am I?"

"Somewhere else. Valldon? Moya? Earth? But you're not here." Frell, for a moment, I didn't even know which one he was.

"It doesn't matter which one I am. I'm John Crichton."

I didn't say that, but he knew what I meant, so this must be a dream. Right?

I answer myself, "Right. So wake up, Aeryn. Wake up, or if this is a frelling dream, make Xhalax's voice go away before you truly go insane--"

The smile leaves his face, and he sits there looking at me, pain in every line of his face. "I told you, Aeryn, anyplace in the universe, you pick the planet. I never thought you'd pick...this."

"I don't want to talk about this. You're not here, you're not real. Go away." For a moment I'm on Valldon, and I'm telling his shadow, "You have to go now." He was dead there, and his spirit haunted me. Now, he's alive, and he's still frelling haunting me, and it frightens me, this power he has.

I know which Crichton he is now, by the pain in his face, by the darkness in his eyes, by the hard set of his jaw. And he knows me now, knows what I've done, what I am now, because I've told him, as I told him everything, the one who died. He sees the blood on my hand. It's opposite of everything he ever was, everything to which he has clung. He can't understand it, doesn't want to try, and he stands abruptly, his eyes hard glittering blue. I've seen that look of angry despair before, when I sent him from the cargo bay, before I called him back for the frelling coin toss. He knows me, and he doesn't understand one frelling thing about me or anything I do, and he's helpless to change anything. And I'm-I'm just me, but frell if I know what that is anymore, except maybe broken.

He turns his back to me and strides to the door. I want to call him back, I'm desperate for him to turn, but there's no coin toss, that's already been decided, and-

Gasping, she bolted upright, smashing her head into the underside of the bunk above. She dropped back, blinding pain ripping through her, dissipating the threads of the dream.

Dream. Just another frelling dream.

She wasn't sure if she was grateful or not.

She listened for a moment, for his voice or Xhalax's to echo in the remnants of memory or dream. She heard nothing, not even Lena's even breathing in the bunk above, and finally believed that she was completely alone.

For that, in that moment, she was grateful.

[ScaperRed]

Shadow Past, Part 2: Shadow Boxing


They were all in the landing bay, except for Ced, on watch in command. Aeryn stood for a moment in the doorway, marking their positions. Teyn was doing maintenance on her prowler. Lena was running laps around the small bay. Jax was doing warm up stretches nearby, but he hadn't seen Aeryn come in yet, as he and Lena were shouting good-natured insults at each other. Today, they all actually matched, all had the same semblance of uniform: black tank top, leather pants, boots, low-slung holsters on utility belts that held various assortments of other weapons and tools.

If I close my eyes just a bit, Aeryn thought, I can almost imagine that we're all on a transport, a regular Peacekeeper commando squad on its way to a new assignment. Everyone trying to stay amused while being trapped aboard ship for the journey.

She walked in further, heading for Teyn, trying to ignore Jax. Hoping he would do the same.

"Hey, how you feeling today?" he said softly, jogging up next to her.

"Fine, thanks. Listen, Jax-I'm sorry about last night, about-"

He shrugged broadly, jogging in place, grinning just a little. "It's all right, Aeryn. I do know better than to get too close to someone coming off of stim. I just-" His voice wavered, and he stopped jogging momentarily, his dark eyes intent.

"Yes, well, I still hit you, and drew a weapon on you, and that's my fault," Aeryn said, her voice stammering a little, breaking away from his gaze. "I also know better."

"No harm done," he said cheerfully, and started jogging in place again, flexing his arms. "But I tell you, a little lower with that elbow jab-a different story. I underestimated you, and I won't do that again. Hey, you want to work out, spar a little? Work out the sore spots?"

If it were only that simple..."Maybe later. I've got to talk to Teyn right now."

He nodded and jogged past, yelling another insult at Lena.

Teyn was sitting on the edge of the cockpit, wiping her hands with a rag as she watched the exchange between Aeryn and Jax. She smiled slightly as Aeryn approached and levered herself down from the prowler. "Everything all right?"

Aeryn nodded, at a loss for words for the moment. "I got some sleep, as ordered, and I feel fine, Senior Officer. So I'm ready for duty, whenever you say."

"Fine. You can take the last shift as we make final approach to Cassino. There's a lot of traffic there, and we could use a fresh mind."

"Teyn...about going to Cassino...I have a request."

Thoughtfully, Teyn rubbed her hands clean and climbed back up the ladder to put the cloth away in the cockpit. "Go," she said, closing the cockpit canopy and dropping down to sit on the wing.

Aeryn rested one hand on the wingtip, using its cool metal to ground herself. "I've got some...unfinished business to attend to, and I'd like to use my leave time for that. It's near Cassino, shouldn't take me more than three days, and I'll meet you there before you're ready to leave."

"You're leaving?"

Aeryn shook her head. "Just for a few solar days. I will meet you at Cassino."

"Well, Aeryn, this group is pretty loosely organized...we have agreements, but it's not as if I really can grant or deny your request. You're not conscripted. I just wonder if it's a good time for you to be taking off alone."

"I have to go alone." And there is no way I can explain this to you, Teyn, so please don't make me try. Not sure I understand it myself.

"So where is it you're going?" Teyn asked, her quiet voice even, but her dark eyes raked Aeryn's until, feeling like a cadet again, she had to look away.

"I...it's one solar day by Prowler from Cassino. That's all I can tell you. Teyn, this is just-remember what you told me? About dealing with my past?" Please don't ask any more, Teyn, because I don't want to show you any disrespect, but I won't tell you more. I can't.

Teyn nodded slowly, once. "Be careful. And we won't be far if you need us."


* * * *


No, not far at all, Aeryn thought, glancing out the side of her cockpit canopy a few arns later. She could see the tip of the prowler paralleling hers, cutting through the darkness of space.

"Going to get some sleep, Aeryn," Teyn said, her yawn crackling through the headset.

"Acknowledged," Aeryn said, automatically setting her sensors on wider sweep. Teyn's prowler, to hammond side and slightly behind, was the only ship glowing on the readouts.

She was still irked that Teyn had insisted on coming with her.

She'd said her goodbyes to Ced and Lena; Lena had surprised her by throwing an arm around her shoulders in a quick hug; Ced had whispered his gratitude that Lena should have empty quarters now and he'd leered over his shoulder at her. Lena, laughing, had punched his shoulder and called him a bastard fondly. Aeryn had managed a smile at the exchange, cold pain knifing through her. Shouldn't hurt to see someone...happy like that. But it did.

Jax had been on duty in command, and she'd settled on giving him a flick of her hand, a quick goodbye, keeping the corridor between them. He'd nodded and responded in kind, but she'd felt his eyes track her through the hatch and down the access shaft to the hangar bay. And, in the hangar bay...was Teyn.

She sighed softly, sinking back in her seat. She understood Teyn's reasoning, which was perhaps why she was so irritated even now at the memory, but at the same time...



"Ready to go?" Teyn said casually, running a sensor over her prowler. She was dressed as Aeryn was, vest over black shirt, long coat open over her leathers, pulse pistol strapped to one thigh.

"You're not coming with me," Aeryn said flatly. She had expected a few words of wisdom at parting from the senior officer, not...this.

Teyn nodded her head briskly and completed her scan. "Yes, I am, and it would be helpful to know exactly where we're going."

"Teyn, I'm fine, and I give you my word I'll be back-"

"I know," Teyn said blandly, but her eyes were unrelenting. "But you're still not going alone. Now," she ducked under the wing of her prowler and crossed to Aeryn, "you are not functioning at your best with whatever it is that's on your mind. The reaction you had two days ago had little to do with stim. But I'm not asking a frelling thing about it. I'm just coming along to watch your back."

"Teyn, I'm not a raw recruit, and I don't need a frelling crèche minder-"

Abruptly, Teyn gave that wolfish smile, the same one that Aeryn had glimpsed just before getting sucker-punched in the side of the head the first time she'd trained with Teyn. "Want to prove that? Prove how stable you are right now? Let's go. You've got a bit more height; I've got a bit more weight. You've got a longer reach, but I hit harder. You're half my age, but I know more tricks. You're as fast as I am. You might take me in a fair fight, Aeryn. Probably would. But I didn't get this old fighting fair, and the question you've got to answer is, how much are you willing to lose? Especially when I'm doing this for you."

Aeryn choked back a swirl of emotions, anger cresting. For a moment, she considered it, glaring at Teyn's slight smirk. Her shoulder still ached from the restraint hold Teyn had used in the galley two days before. "Frell," she muttered in defeat, and crossed to her Prowler to climb up and stow her bag. "Fight over this?"

"Well, I prefer to settle things directly. I could've just followed you." Teyn climbed up into her own cockpit, balanced on the edge, and grinned again. "I'll get Jax, if you want. He was worried about you, too. Now, he really wanted to go along. Want me to get him for you?"

Aeryn threw her bag harder than necessary into the storage area behind the seat. Should've fought her , she thought angrily, but the rational part of her mind disagreed. She might be able to take Teyn in a fair fight-had come close when sparring-but she'd be in no shape to fly afterward. Frell, she'd be on liquid nourishment for a weeken. Not afraid of her, exactly-yeah, I am, a little, when she's like this.

She had a brief flash of insight into how Crichton must have felt initially on Moya with D'Argo-and herself-and felt a bit ashamed.

"So where are we going?" Teyn said, settling into her cockpit and strapping in.

"No place for a Peacekeeper. Valldon."




"Keep your gloves on," Aeryn said, jumping down from her Prowler. Teyn followed more slowly, casting a wary eye around the dilapidated port. Aeryn secured her prowler and took a handful of coins from her pocket, dropping a stream of them into the outstretched, bony fingers of the eager attendant. She couldn't quite see his face under his tattered cloak, but it didn't really matter. With a snick, she drew her blade, flashed it beneath his nose. She didn't need to verbalize the threat; he, it instantly cowered, babbling, clutching the currency in both hands, bowing, and she knew the Prowlers would remain untouched until their return. She straightened, sheathing the knife, and glanced over her shoulder at Teyn, whose expression was carefully bland. "And don't let anyone touch you."

"Disease?"

"Thought you said you wouldn't ask anything," Aeryn shot back, hooking one hand in her utility belt as she strode. The other, trembling just a bit, rested lightly on the grip of her weapon. She kept her back to Teyn, trying to keep a shudder from racking through her whole body.

Teyn grabbed her right arm, and Aeryn spun around on one boot, fist cocking. Teyn slipped the punch by a dench and caught Aeryn's forearm, twisting it down, using Aeryn's own weight to spin and drag her down to one knee.

"Steady, officer," was all Teyn said, before reversing her grip to haul Aeryn back to her feet. She held up Aeryn's shaking hand for a moment, looking pointedly at it instead of Aeryn's pale face, and let go. "Steady."

Standing still for a moment to collect herself, Aeryn fought an urge to rub her left elbow, both of her arms aching now. I really have to get Teyn to teach me that , she thought again, and had to chuckle humorlessly at the irony. Teyn smiled briefly and jerked her head toward the gate, hanging half off its hinges on the rusted metal fence.

The streets beyond pulsed with shrouded people scurrying in the drizzle. Bareheaded, Aeryn and Teyn shouldered through the crowd, which parted far more easily for a pair of obviously armed Peacekeepers than it had for Aeryn in the rags of a pilgrim a half cycle ago. Aeryn clenched her jaw against the oily moisture slicking her face.

Lightning flashed above, and she skidded to a halt, Teyn braking to a hard stop a step behind.

"What?"

She heard Teyn dimly, but she was staring upward, at the sullen sky. A sullen sky with brilliant flashes of sun breaking through; clean water dripping from it; the fresh dampness of dirt, pavement, metal, vegetation radiating from the ground; cool drops streaking her cheeks. "Pick it up, Aeryn. I want to get out of this rain."

"Rain, is that what this is? I like it," she said, catching droplets on her tongue, intoxicated by the sensory experience, forgetting for a few microts that they were hunted...

Lightning flashed again, and she blinked at its intensity, reality edging visceral memory again. The tall buildings of the city interior were shadowed against the weeping sky, and she drew a shaky breath. I wonder what it looked like from here, when Xhalax...

Aeryn shook herself, trying to swallow the dual pain, force away the drifting memories. She could sense that Teyn stood a half step behind her shoulder, waiting, stolid against the streaming crowd jostling past them.

Right, then. Let's do this.



She had no difficulty finding her way; it was after she'd found the squalid hostelry and its endless supply of fellip nectar that the details became blurred.

But not blurred enough.

"This is where Xhalax died," she said, her voice barely audible above the noise of the shifting crowd.

Teyn fended off a beggar with bleeding palms, aimed a kick at another one coming to her side. He avoided her boot with practiced ease and scuttled back into the crowd.

"I'd heard she was dead," Teyn said, stepping onto the sidewalk beside Aeryn. The foot traffic continued to flow around them as they regarded the tall building.

Aeryn stared at the uppermost floors, trying to pick the window of the room she had rented over half a cycle ago.

"Crais shot her. He thought she was trying to kill me-well, she was, but-she could have, but she didn't. He didn't know that. He came blasting in the door, saw her with the gun. One shot. I caught her on the edge..."
"Let me fall, Aeryn."
"No."
"Do it. Let me go...I died a long time ago...you live for me."

"She fell a long way," Aeryn said softly, her gaze still riveted on the tiny window far above the street, her mother's voice echoing in her mind.

"Yes, she did," Teyn muttered. "A long, long way."

Startled, Aeryn dropped her gaze to the senior officer's weathered face. Teyn stared skyward, her dark eyes unseeing, one hand hooked in her utility belt, the other resting lightly on her pulse pistol. People still streamed by, cutting a wider swath around the two Peacekeepers now, but Teyn paid no attention.

"You knew her. Xhalax."

Teyn nodded slowly, meeting Aeryn's gaze. Aeryn's breath caught in her throat, a thousand questions that could not be phrased.

Sighing, Teyn put her hand lightly on Aeryn's shoulder and tugged. "This is no place to talk. It smells here. Smells like death."



"I know I said I wouldn't ask any questions," Teyn said, speaking only after they'd found their way to a small tavern nearby and claimed a table in the back. "And you know I'm here to watch your back, not pry. But tell me this, Aeryn: why Valldon? Why here? Because this is where your mother died?"

"Drinks--"

Teyn's gloved hand whipped out, seized the server by the throat, yanked him down to her eye level. "Raslak. In a sealed bottle. Two clean glasses. And privacy. No one else back here. Understand?" Her hand tightened slightly, and Aeryn watched the wretched biped writhe, not quite daring to claw at the Peacekeeper's hand. It squeaked what Teyn apparently decided was an assent; she let it go, and it fled, reeling backward into the table behind. It disappeared behind the serving bar, leaving the table to quake uncertainly on its rickety legs.

Teyn grunted, ran one hand over the top of her head, smoothing down the few dark brown hairs that had escaped her thick braid, and returned her piercing gaze to Aeryn. "Why?" she repeated hoarsely.

"I'm not sure," Aeryn said quietly. "Just knew, passing this close by, that I had to-needed to."

"This isn't all about Xhalax, is it? Please tell me it's not, because-" Teyn caught herself, drew a long slow breath, exhaled, jaw set hard.

"Teyn," Aeryn began, and paused, trying to find the right words. Say the wrong thing, and you'll either have a fight on your hands or Teyn will tell you nothing. "You knew Xhalax, then."

"Yeah, I knew her. Knew Talyn, too. Your father." Exhaling, Teyn ran both hands over her head, wiping the oily rain off with distaste, then stripped her gloves off and slapped them onto the table, causing it to wobble a little. "I knew Xhalax had had a child. I saw you once. You were young, maybe sixteen or seventeen cycles old, had just started flying Prowlers. I was being shipped out on another assignment, and I was spending time with some old comrades while I waited for my orders. One of them said, 'New pilot, there. Best one I've seen in a long time.' You had just gotten out of the Prowler and were talking to another pilot. You started to walk away, and there was something about the way you carried yourself, that arrogant Prowler pilot cadet swagger, that reminded me of someone. They said your name was Aeryn Sun, and I knew."

"Am I so much like her, then?" Aeryn said, her voice barely audible.

The server scuttled up and quickly set a bottle and two glasses on the table, trying to remain out of reach of both Peacekeepers as he did so. Aeryn tossed him a brandar tile, which he snatched gratefully out of the air and fled.

Carefully, Teyn first examined and then unsealed the bottle of raslak, tipping generous amounts into each glass.

"No," she said finally. "And yes."

Swirling the raslak thoughtfully, she suddenly held up her glass. "To shadows. May they sleep quietly in the past where they belong."

Clinking glasses, they downed the shots and slammed the glasses back onto the table. Wincing only slightly at the burn, Teyn poured another round for them both and emptied her glass in one swallow. Aeryn left hers untouched.

"What do you want to hear, Aeryn? That it was a damn tragedy, the whole thing? Or a frelling bit of foolish dren? That Xhalax was one of the best frelling pilots I've ever seen-and I see that in you-but that she was too soft in some ways? Or that she was too frelling hard in others? That she had a kind of innocence about her, no matter what she went through? Or that she was a calculating bitch?

"Or do you want to know about Talyn? How he was a good man, good soldier, the type that would bring you home or die trying, but he lost his head, lost his edge...lost more than that."

"I want to know the truth."

Teyn shook her head and downed a third shot, slamming her glass so hard onto the table that the bottle started to tip. Aeryn reached for it, but Teyn's hand was there first, steadying it. "It's all the truth, Aeryn. All of it. And I don't know what Xhalax told you, what you've heard elsewhere. But I know what happened. And all you need to know is this: Xhalax had a choice."

Aeryn closed her eyes against sudden tears, Xhalax's husky whisper painfully piercing in memory. "Cycles ago, after your birth, I was given an order. They called it a choice. 'One of you must die,' they said. I killed your father so you could live."

"I know," she said softly.

Teyn shook her head, pouring a fourth drink for herself. She swirled it gently this time, her eyes bleak. "No, you don't. No one does but me. See, when I knew it was time for me to leave, I found my old comrade. Hadn't seen her in cycles. She had changed...so much. I guess I had, too. But when you've known someone for so long...I gave her another option. Ten cycles ago, when I left, I asked if she wanted to come too. 'We can do what we were meant to,' I said. 'Be the kind of Peacekeepers we should. The kind we pretend we are so we can look in the mirror and get through the day.' Too late. She-" Teyn broke off, staring into the past, fingering the thin scar that slanted her face from eyebrow to jaw. "Seeing her, like that...made me realize that what I was doing was right," she murmured, "and how far from the ideal the Peacekeepers truly were."

Silently, Aeryn took a small sip of raslak, returned the glass noiselessly to its damp circle on the table.

"You want to know more? Or is that enough?"

Shrugging, Aeryn regarded her glass of blue liquid intently. Abruptly, she was tired, tired to the bone, so tired that she could scarcely move.

"You didn't come here because of Xhalax."

Aeryn shook her head slightly. "Not entirely.

"Then what?"

"Remember fate? We talked about it once. How certain things are meant to be, regardless of any action a person might take."

Brow creasing slightly, puzzled, Teyn nodded.

Aeryn drew a deep breath, took another quick sip of raslak, her restless fingers remaining around the glass after she returned it to the table, twisting it in its circle of condensation. "I've been here before, on Valldon. When I checked navigation, after our...mission, I realized how close Cassino was to Valldon. So...it seemed like fate, that it meant that I should come here."

"Sounds more like a coincidence," Teyn said, then softened her blunt tone.

"You said you had unfinished business here. Doesn't have anything to do with Xhalax, does it?"

Aeryn steadied her shaking fingers on the cool glass, tossed the remains of her drink down quickly to mask the trembling. "No. Just something I need to do. Something I've got to settle for myself."

Quietly, Teyn studied her for a moment; Aeryn could feel the senior officer's gaze even as she kept her own eyes on the table top, the glass, her black gloves. The image flashed unbidden across her mind- Peacekeeper blood in the creases of my glove--and she forced it away, forced it to the back of her mind with the other uneasy images of her life.


"Need another drink before we go do this thing, whatever it is?" Teyn said, her steel voice rasping a bit.

Aeryn shook her head and forced herself meet Teyn's guarded dark eyes. The senior officer was not enjoying this shore leave one bit, good raslak or not, but she had that hard-jawed look that indicated a Peacekeeper was committed and would not be swayed. Teyn meant to see her through this, no matter how farboht the whole situation might become.

To her surprise, Aeryn found a fraction of the cold pain in her heart recede. Teyn was choosing to do this, to stand beside a comrade. A person who still considered herself a Peacekeeper chose to stand beside the irreversibly contaminated traitor Aeryn Sun.

Swallowing hard, Aeryn spoke slowly to minimize the tremor in her voice. "It's...not a good idea to drink too much here. The raslak can make you...vulnerable in ways you don't realize."

Laughing harshly, Teyn hooked two fingers around the slim neck of the bottle and rose. "Think I already figured that out for myself," she said.

Shocked, Aeryn watched a shudder rip through Teyn's taut frame. What shadows do you see, Teyn?




The oily drizzle continued as the ground vehicle sputtered slowly up the steep grade. Aeryn leaned against the filthy, half-open window, staring up at the gray-yellow clouds and thinking of another sky, another place, another light rain.

She was aware of Teyn, slouched in the opposite corner of the seat, with her arms folded across her chest, radiating disapproval. For a fleeting moment, Aeryn thought of calling to their driver and telling him to turn around to the port. One solar day, and they could be with the rest of the squad, enjoying whatever delights Cassino might offer, instead of...

"A seer," Teyn had repeated. "To talk to the dead."

Aeryn had nodded curtly. "Teyn, it would really be better if you-"

Teyn had shaken her head slightly, folding her arms across her chest, her dark eyes drilling into Aeryn, measuring her. Looking for weakness, for doubt. Same look that the senior officer had given her that first day, when one of the squad members had brought her to the training camp.

Same look Aeryn had glimpsed just before Teyn had punched her in the ear when they'd sparred the first time.

Aeryn smiled slightly, remembering. Not her best moment, crumpled on the ground, her whole head ringing, blood pouring from her ear. She'd rolled to her feet, assuming a defensive posture, fighting to get her balance back. Teyn had allowed that, had not stepped in hard to finish her off as could have happened. She'd had that look of concentrated speculation for the duration of the sparring, the microts that it had lasted.

Aeryn had quickly reassessed the situation, angry with herself. Out of practice. The only sparring she'd done the last few cycles had been with Crichton, and she'd rarely been able to taunt him into putting much of a deadly effort into it. He hadn't wanted to hurt her, even accidentally, even when she'd provoke him by inflicting small amounts of pain. to improve his reflexes, she'd worried at the time. Needs to be able to react instantly. Not a game. He has to understand that... Still, even when he was most aggressive, if she'd simply paid attention, her defensive techniques had been more than adequate.

Lot of good my training did him in the end.

And now she was out of practice, with a dozen commandoes watching, one ear deafened by a blow she should have been able to avoid.

Teyn had circled slowly, fists up, waiting. Giving her a chance to sort things out. More than I would've done for a new recruit to my unit, Aeryn had thought, and stepped in hard and fast, right hand curving in for a Pantak jab. Teyn had turned slightly to block, and Aeryn had feinted to the left, bringing her elbow it for a strike to the face. Teyn had staggered back, reeling to her left, and Aeryn had pressed the momentary advantage. They had traded blows for maybe fifteen microts, feint and block, until Teyn had gotten inside her guard and Aeryn had found herself writhing on the ground, trying desperately to stay conscious and scramble to her feet after a Pantak jab.

"Enough for now," Teyn had said, breathing hard. "You're a bit out of practice, officer. Alya, you'll work with our new comrade for the next week. Then Rall." Teyn had sniffed, gingerly wiping the blood from her upper lip. "Welcome, comrade. I think you broke my nose." She'd extended a hand and helped Aeryn up and then had walked away nonchalantly, not even brushing the dust from her leathers. Aeryn did not see her again until three weekens later, when she traveled from the training facility to the base camp.

There had been other instructive sparring, other tests, but Teyn had not given her that deeply measuring look since that first day in the training ring. Until now.

It emanated from her, even when she slouched, eyes closed, as if sleeping, and had since Aeryn had given the driver the destination.

Well, I can hardly blame her. This is totally farboht, to think that I can-
The vehicle slowed, rounding a curve, and Aeryn shifted her attention from the sky to the structure ahead. In design, it reminded her of the peace monument at the Jocacean monastery that the crew had visited; ancient, weathered, made of natural stones and carved into the side of the mountain. It was, in fact, a monastery, but of a far different type.

"Teyn," she said, and nodded toward the window when the senior officer opened one reluctant eye. Nodding grimly, Teyn straightened. Her hand fell onto the grip of her holstered pulse pistol, nervously stroking it; to Aeryn's surprise, she was mirroring the gesture, her heart hammering as if she was getting ready to go in the training ring. As if a pulse pistol, any weapon would be of use here.

She breathed shallowly, slowing her pulse, preparing to step into another world beyond the tepid sunshine and oily drizzle.




I said I was here to watch her back, and I am. But frell, she must be more farboht than I thought to even consider coming here.

Teyn had kept her thoughts to herself as she listened to the instructions Aeryn gave the driver they'd found, to take them to a person called Seer Cresus, a group of people called Nelliks.

"You wish to speak to the dead?" the driver had said, his voice soft from within the folds of his hooded cloak.

Aeryn had looked at him stolidly, eyes blue blades, until he rustled a dirty hand out from his robes. She dropped currency in it and swung into the vehicle. Teyn had followed, settling herself with distaste on the cracked, grimy seats. At least it's out of that frelling moisture, she thought, and contented herself for a moment by estimating the distance to the driver's seat in front, how swiftly she could break his neck if need be. One of them had to be prepared, and it wasn't Aeryn; no, she was staring out the window, her face carefully composed, although an occasional flicker would disturb its smooth expression. Sadness, regret...something else, something Teyn wasn't familiar with.

It seemed to take arns for the vehicle to maneuver from the crowded city, into the edge of the low mountains nearby. The greatest threat seemed to be losing one's sense of smell in the stench that surrounded the city. Consequently, Teyn resigned herself to her situation and closed her eyes, planning to lightly nap, saving her energy in case it might be soon needed.

"You wish to speak to the dead..." floated across the surface of her mind, and she scowled at the farboht idea. Dead was dead. The dead were terrible conversationalists, because they were dead . And Aeryn had wanted to come this far to do just that.

Maybe she wasn't ready for that mission. This is more than a reaction to stim. Far more than the depression that sometimes comes afterwards. She's walking a fine line between insanity and reality, and sometimes the distance between is frelling small. I know that all too well myself.

Speak to the dead. The dead don't talk. Sebaceans aren't like Delvians, Hynerians, or the rest of that lot. When we die, we die. All we have is this small amount of time before our lives end.

The dead don't talk. I know this so well.

"Teyn," Aeryn said.

Swallowing memories, Teyn opened one eye. She turned her head in the direction of Aeryn's nod and watched the monastery enlarge slowly in her view until the ground vehicle sputtered to a stop. Teyn unlatched the door and stepped out, stretching her back muscles, one hand on her pulse pistol, and glanced over her shoulder as Aeryn swung out.

"Rain's stopped," Aeryn said, and Teyn shifted her gaze to the swollen clouds.
A small favor, a brief cessation at best-

She stood there in a plain black uniform, back ramrod straight, blond-brown hair slicked back into a tight braid. Slender, face carefully neutral, brown eyes more serious and intent than they should be for a person who was only sixteen cycles old. And then the smile broke through, the shoulders dropped a bit, as she said, "I'm in the top of my unit, Teyn. My instructor said that if I keep improving, I'll be flying with you one day."

Transfixed, Teyn heard herself chuckle, felt her own body lighten, thin, the cycles peeling away until she stood with the easy arrogance of a young pilot, her flight helmet under one arm, gloves tucked in it. "Of course you will," she heard herself say, felt the warm pride flow through her again-

She blinked, and this time it was Aeryn standing there scrutinizing her. Scowling, she jerked her head toward the monastery in silent question. Aeryn gave her a long, questioning look before she walked past, boots crunching on loose gravel.

Teyn looked back once at the ground vehicle, at the empty space where the young girl had stood. The driver revved the sputtering engine, and the vehicle creaked around slowly until it was pointed down the road again.

Frell. What is this place?

Swallowing heat at the back of her throat, telling herself that her eyes were stinging from the frelling chemicals in the frelling atmosphere, Teyn spun on her boot heel and stomped up the path after Aeryn.




"You're sure?" Aeryn asked again.

"Just shut up and do whatever it is you're going to do," Teyn ground out, arms tightly folded across her chest, back ramrod straight. They stood in a small anteroom of the monastery, waiting for this Seer Cresus to be brought to them, or them to him, or whatever the frell was going to happen. "Stinks in here," she muttered, and allowed herself to pace one length of the room before returning to stand next to Aeryn.

Aeryn was quiet, blue gray eyes thoughtful as she regarded the open doorway, one hand hooked in her belt, the other resting on her weapon. She was motionless, scarcely breathing or blinking, as she stood waiting.

That unnerved Teyn more than the atmosphere: the dank rotting smell; the vague claustrophobic feeling the close stone walls gave her. Aeryn was a coiled spring, and Teyn had no idea what would set her in motion.

She looked hard at Aeryn, trying to read her smoothly expressionless face, and for a fleeting moment saw someone shorter, slighter, with a tumbled blond-brown braid.

Aeryn turned her head slightly, and Teyn realized she had sucked in a hard gasp. She blinked, but the image of Aeryn remained steady, the expression altering to mild puzzlement and concern.

Teyn shook her head dismissively and jerked her chin at the doorway. The hooded figure who had escorted them to the anteroom had returned and was motioning to them to follow.

Too much frelling raslak, Teyn told herself, falling into step slightly behind and to Aeryn's right. She was relieved to note that Aeryn's long stride was unhurried, and that she kept one hand on her pulse pistol, the other hooked into her belt next to her sheathed knife. At least she's not rushing blindly into this...whatever it is.

A twisting corridor and crumbling stairwell later, their guide left them in a larger room. It was dark, lit only by two oil torches and dim sunlight through a wide window slit between the stones. The torches bracketed a small altar, on which an open metal basket sat. In the basket sat a deformed creature, a fetus with a misshapen skull. Its four eyes opened, focusing on Aeryn, who walked forward slowly.

"So," it chirped, and Teyn gagged at the childish voice, the folded clawlike frontal appendages of this abomination. "You have...changed your mind, Aeryn Sun?"

Aeryn paused two motras from the ghastly thing, and Teyn hoped she would draw her pulse pistol and blast it into pieces. Instead, she knelt before it, one knee on the gritty stone floor, putting her eyes on the level of its own.

"Tell me what you can do," Aeryn said quietly. Her hand curled around the grip of the pulse pistol on her thigh, and Teyn shifted her weight slightly, drawing her pulse pistol upward a dench in its holster.

The little horror cackled. Frell, shoot it, Aeryn, or stand aside and let me, Teyn thought, the hair on the back of her neck rising.

"Aeryn, it does not work that way. You know how it works," the seer cooed. "Touch me...soft," he added, his querulous voice hardening in warning.

Aeryn bowed her head for a moment, and she slowly stripped off her gloves, pausing to tuck them into her belt neatly. Then she reached out with her shaking left hand, the long slim fingers making light contact with the slimy, spongy-appearing skull. The creature cooed again, shivering, and a quick smile shot across its tiny face.

"Soft," he breathed. "Oh, so soft...So far you have traveled, yet no farther than this room..."

Teyn took two quick steps forward and then forced herself to stop, her pulse pistol half drawn. Aeryn did not move; that stillness was upon her again, that waiting, although her right hand white-knuckled the grip of her pistol.
A long sigh escaped the tiny mouth, materialized as smoke, lazily coiling around its face, rising above to collect as a cloud.

"Teyn."

Sharply, Teyn looked at Aeryn, who still knelt, transfixed, the blank mask slipping away as she stared into the smoke forming.

"Teyn!" the clear tenor voice said again, and Teyn spun around, the pulse pistol starting to clear her holster-

She stood there, smiling broadly, new officer's rank insignia on her uniform, her gear bag at her feet. She was twenty-two cycles old, her broad jaw lean now, all her features more sharply defined. Tendrils of blond-brown hair spilled from her braid and clung to her face; she was straight out of the cockpit of her Prowler, barely taking time to change from flight suit to uniform in her urgency to share her good fortune. "I've been reassigned, Teyn. Your unit. I did it!"

"No..." the word ripped slowly from Teyn's stricken throat. "No, it can't be..."
Still grinning, leaving the gear bag behind, the apparition solidified and began walking forward.

Teyn ripped her pulse pistol the rest of the way from its holster and began firing.




Why am I doing this? What do I even hope to accomplish by coming here, by doing this? Aeryn asked herself again, bracing herself mentally to touch the Seer. His skin was warmer than she had remembered, but his head felt softer, as if there were fewer bones encasing the misshapen brain. As if she could drive her fist through it with little effort.

You know what you...hope. Such a bitter word now; another strange concept brought by Crichton, along with fate, love-

Cresus cooed again, a shiver of-pleasure?-rippling through him as he leaned into her tentative touch. She watched the smoke emanate from his mouth and rise, coagulating. Aeryn closed her eyes, steeling herself against the nauseating contact, against what she might see next.

Teyn cried out. Aeryn half spun, her hand oddly compelled to keep contact with the Seer, just as Teyn drew her pulse pistol and began firing.

Instantly, Aeryn pulled her hand away from the Seer, and Cresus gasped, beginning to babble angrily. "No, no, must touch me soft-"

Aeryn slammed her shoulder into Teyn's, her hands locking around the senior officer's gun arm, forcing the muzzle down. Teyn staggered but kept her feet. Another pulse blast blackened the floor, and Teyn, using her greater weight, shoved back hard into Aeryn, knocking her off balance a little.

"Teyn! Stop it! It's me, Aeryn! Teyn!"

Locking one hand desperately around the senior officer's wrist, Aeryn wrapped her other arm around Teyn's neck, trying to yank her back into a headlock. Briefly, Aeryn had a flash of a similar fight, of wrestling Xhalax to the ground in the jungle, trying to restrain without hurting too much-
Teyn shifted her weight forward abruptly, dragging Aeryn slightly off balance. Half pivoting, she shoved into Aeryn, breaking her grip enough to whip her arm around.

Out of the corner of her eye, Aeryn saw the pulse pistol streak toward her face and tried to duck. The weapon clipped the side of her head, and she rolled with the blow, coming up slightly to Teyn's right, right eye blinded momentarily by pain. Through blurred vision, she saw the pulse pistol waver for a moment, then move to track her.

Frell this.

Aeryn sprang, one hand trapping Teyn's gun hand, the other striking a Pantak jab. With her second blow, her elbow smashed into Teyn's ear, and she felt the senior officer slump.

Panting, blinking blood out of her eye, Aeryn pulled the pulse pistol out of Teyn's nerveless fingers as the older woman collapsed unconscious on the floor.

"What the frell was that?" she gasped in the silence, jamming the pistol into her utility belt.

Cresus gurgled a laugh in reply. "Unexpected," he said.





The first sensation was softness. The second was a dank smell permeating from the walls around her.

Teyn shoved herself upright, throwing back the leather covering her, her hands automatically seeking her weapons. She breathed in more of the damp air, its wet-stone odor, and realized she was lying on a ragged bed in a small chamber. The monastery. The-

Her hands stilling in their luckless search for her weapons, Teyn shot a glance
around the room, trying to orient herself. Small room. Stone walls. One open window, a slit between stones. No furniture other than the narrow cot on which she sat. One oil torch, burning dimly in the far corner. One entrance, no door.

Bare arms locked over her knees, almost lost in the shadows, Aeryn squatted against the far wall. She was positioned so that she could see both the entrance and the bed. Guarding.

"What the frell happened?" Teyn said, relaxing only slightly. The side of her head ached, as did her chest. She swung her legs over the edge of the cot and realized Aeryn's coat was draped over her.

"You tell me," Aeryn answered, not moving from her post, her voice as cold as the room. "You shot up half the room and nearly took my head off. What did you see?"

Teyn scrubbed her hands over her face, gingerly felt her swollen ear, and rose. She tossed the coat to Aeryn, who caught it one-handed, scarcely looking. Slowly, her eyes remaining on the doorway, the younger woman shrugged into it. In her belt were tucked Teyn's missing weapons, which was a slight relief to the senior officer.

"Bed didn't look too clean, but it was all they had. For a while there, I thought I'd hit you too hard. You've been unconscious for a few arns."

"You all right?" Teyn asked quietly, coming to squat against the wall next to Aeryn. She felt curiously naked without her weapons, disoriented. Her injuries, her body, told her that she'd been in a fight, but she had no memory of it, no memory that would account for Aeryn's taut watchfulness.

Aeryn nodded brusquely, finally turned her icy blue gaze to meet Teyn's. One eye was puffy and swelling shut, a purpling gash above the eyebrow.

Teyn winced at the sight of the wound. "I'm sorry, Aeryn. I had no intention of doing that to you-"

"Then to who? You nearly bashed my frelling head in. What did you see, Teyn?"

Sighing, Teyn slumped back against the wall and closed her eyes. "I thought I saw-someone who couldn't possibly be here."

"Someone dead. Someone you lost."

Teyn snorted, resting her head on the rough wall. "I've been a soldier my whole life, Aeryn. I've lost a lifetime of people. So have you."

"You know what I mean."

Sighing through clenched teeth, Teyn shook her aching head. "It's not possible, Aeryn, it's not-"

"You have no idea what is possible, Teyn," Aeryn muttered, and shoved to her feet, joints creaking from her long, motionless watch. She steadied herself against the wall for a moment and looked down at the senior officer. "What part of your past followed you, Teyn? What shadows are walking with you?"

Teyn looked away from the hard blue gaze. There was a motion, and when she looked back, Aeryn was holding out a pulse pistol, the grip extended. Teyn took it, holstering the weapon automatically, then the two knives and the small backup pistol that went to their places on her utility belt. Silently, Aeryn held out her forearm, and Teyn gripped it, levering herself to her feet.

"You lost someone. That's why you're here?"

Aeryn nodded once, turning to the doorway. "I...came here to contact him once."

"But I thought Cr-" Teyn broke off, teetering on that edge of privacy Aeryn had always maintained. She had never asked about the rumors, and Aeryn had never volunteered any information about whatever relationship she had had with the being who had gotten her declared irreversibly contaminated by that madman Crais. But, frell, they were too far into it now to worry about boundaries. "I thought Crichton survived the command carrier explosion."

Aeryn's back was ramrod straight under her coat. "He did."

"Then why-"

"There was-someone else I cared for. Don't ask me to explain, Teyn. I-I lost him. Who did you lose?"

Teyn's step faltered. She coughed in the foul, dank air as they passed through the doorway and into the narrow corridor. "Rani. My younger sister."

"I'm sorry," Aeryn said softly, the ice in her voice thawing. "Was that why you left the Peacekeepers?"

Now she was breaking the boundaries, too.

"In part. She-She was a prowler pilot in my unit. We were in an action, and her prowler was damaged. Tarius IV."

"I was there, too. Many casualties. Crais sent squadrons into the asteroid fields, which were mined, trying to find a way through the planetary defenses."

"Rani was in the first wave. My team had just returned from another mission and was off the rotation for the next three solar days." Teyn swallowed hard, struck by memory; they'd traded friendly barbs in the common room before Rani and the rest of her team had reported to their prowlers. You never think it's going to be the last time when you look at someone going through the door. Never. No matter how many times it happens.

"Most of the casualties were caused by debris striking the prowlers. Two members of my unit died before we got through," Aeryn said, leading the way slowly up the crumbling stairs.

"Rani was a fine pilot. She would've gotten through. Her wingman miscalculated, hit a mine. When his prowler exploded, hers was damaged. Lost power. All she had were guidance thrusters on one wing. So," Teyn said softly, drawing a long breath, "she used those thrusters to jockey her position, to keep from being hit by the mines or the drifting debris, for half an arn. Crais-refused to send an extraction team. 'It would detract from our objective,' is what he said. I can still hear him-"

Aeryn paused at the top of the stairs, waiting for the rest of the story.
You don't remember this. Of course you don't. There were too many stories like this one. Teyn avoided her eyes, cleared her throat roughly.

"Well, it's done. And yes, I lost someone I cared for. But I went on. That's what we do, Aeryn. Because there is only this life, only this moment, nothing beyond, and whatever you're hoping for here-"

"You're wrong, Teyn. I died once, did you know that? Wasn't acting like a Peacekeeper, and it resulted in my death. I hesitated. But someone brought me back, a Delvian pa'u. Someone far more worthy than I could ever hope to be. Someone who traded her life for mine, because she cared about me, and because-someone else also cared for me. That same Delvian-that same lesser species-gave what was left of her life to save our entire crew. And she was at peace; she was ready to go to something after death.

"So who are we to say she's wrong? That what the Peacekeepers taught us is right, when we do know how much of it is not right?"

Teyn set her jaw. "Aeryn, the dead do not talk. People don't come back."

"But I did, Teyn. Believe me or not. And you saw your sister here. It's this place. It makes you see things. Sometimes it makes you see the truth. Remember that." Aeryn pointed down the corridor. "There's a room down there. Wait for me. I don't know how long this will take."

"Aeryn-"

"Teyn, you told me I've got to start dealing with my past sometime. You should do the same."

Shoulders squared, Aeryn turned her back on the senior officer and shoved the wooden door inward.

[ScaperRed]

Shadow Past, Part 3: Shadow Night



Aeryn stepped into darkness.

Her hand on her pistol, she quietly closed the splintering wooden door behind her and stood to the right of the doorway. Swiftly her Sebacean eyes adjusted to the dimness; she could make out the wide slit of the open window across the room, the unlit torches bracketing the low altar, the oval metal basket.

"Shall we try again?" Cresus asked, hidden in the shadows of his basket.

"Yes," Aeryn said softly, and strode forward. She passed the slit of open window, and reflex made her look out the window to check the perimeter. The last of the day's sun was seeping through the dirty clouds. Wind struck her face suddenly, and she glanced through the window at the sky. Clear sky patched the dirty wadding of clouds, and as her gaze lingered, a small bright star blossomed in the gray-black of twilight.

"Star-light, star-bright, first star I see tonight...is Aeryn," John's voice whispered, his breath warm on the back of her neck.

Aeryn stumbled in mid-step, caught herself, and continued walking, fighting the impulse to turn, to look over her shoulder, the back of her neck prickling.

That was a memory, I remember that, I remember him doing that on Talyn's command-He is not here, I cannot feel his touch. He told me that. He told me that he could not be brought back.

Clenching her hands into tight fists, the nails digging into her palms, she knelt in front of the altar. She concentrated on her breathing, forcing back the pain of memory, more blinding than any physical hurt she had ever had. She had cried enough tears for a lifetime, and perhaps she could finally face this, face him, without them.

"Are you ready?" she asked, her voice steady, clear.

"Soft," Cresus said warningly. "Must touch me soft, or-"

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Just keep breathing. Aeryn unfolded the fingers of her left hand slowly, reached out, and placed the tips lightly on the Seer's malleable head.

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Hold your center. Hold on. Breathe...

Dimly, as she focused on listening to each steady breath she took, she heard the Seer babbling. A fragment of memory overrode his voice; Zhaan chanting softly and calmly as Aeryn waited for her presence to be acknowledged; Zhaan's greeting smile and attempt to teach the simple chant to an ex-Peacekeeper. Breath control I understand; breath is life, and it's a resource. A soldier must control and use all available resources to her advantage. The chanting, though it sounded lovely, did not seem to have a use-then. I wish I remembered that chant now, Zhaan. I wish I'd listened to a lot of things you'd said. I wish-

The torches flared to life, and Aeryn jerked, barely maintaining contact with Cresus. Heart hammering, she scanned the empty room as another gust of wind swirled the long tail of her coat.

Abruptly, Cresus silenced.

Shaking, clutching her holstered pistol as a talisman, Aeryn forced herself to look on the diminutive seer. His four tiny blue eyes opened suddenly, his little jaw dropping as if surprised.

"There are two," he said. "Two come. Two come now!"





Restlessly, Teyn paced the length of the small room, counting the steps. Seven long steps, turn about short on her boot heel, seven more long steps to the other wall, turn about and-

Wind blasted through the open window slit abruptly; Teyn spun, hand dropping to her pulse pistol, and swore. Of course there's nothing here. That's all that can "be" here. Aeryn, what are you doing? I can't understand any of this-

She crossed to the window and leaned on the gritty stone of its opening, ever mindful that the faint torch light still backlit her. I'd be a target in this window, if there was anyone here. She gave a humorless chuckle, breathing the chill air flowing steadily against her. She scented the industrial smells of the city nearby, the sulfur odor of the port, the damp stone, wet earth and vegetation nearby on the hills. For a moment, it reminded her of long ago, on-

Someone is in the room.

Teyn stilled, maintaining her casual lounge on the windowsill. Half closing her eyes, she breathed slowly and deeply, trying to sense whoever was behind her.

Not a threat, but odd, this tingling-

Slowly she turned, hand riding on the grip of her pistol, and saw someone standing in the doorless entrance. Sebacean. Not Aeryn; shorter, more compact build. In the flickering light of the torches, her braided hair seemed blond-brown.

Teyn stopped breathing.

The figure moved a couple steps inside the entrance and leaned against the wall, propping elbow against the wall, hand supporting her head, one leg folding slightly behind the other. A totally relaxed, defenseless posture-

Teyn wrenched her eyes away, biting her lip at the sudden shaft of pain burning through her. Although she closed her eyes tightly, she still saw the image, that distinctively casual pose imprinted by a thousand memories.

"You-are not here," she ground out, fighting the wild impulse to draw her pulse pistol, to fire at the shadowy image until it shattered. Didn't work before, nothing worked until Aeryn knocked me out- "This is a trick, a mind frell, nothing more. That's what people come to this planet for, that's what happens, and I'm not playing this game. So go away. Go do your trick for someone who's willing to pay."

The figure lounging on the wall chuckled softly. "You were always a cynic, Teyn, and you always hated to be wrong. But when you were, you'd admit it. That was one of your strengths. The ability to know when to let go."

"You are not my sister. My sister died fifteen cycles ago, her particles dispersed through a mined asteroid field. You -are a fraud. You -are a trick, a manipulation of memory, of-"

Furious, Teyn swung around, jabbing a finger at the apparition, and stumbled back a step as she realized the figure was now a stride from her. It smiled, that slight, patient Rani smile, head tilted to the right, a wisp of blond-streaked brown hair escaping from behind her left ear.

"It wasn't your fault, Teyn. It just happened."

Solid, so solid, like I could reach out and touch her, grab her by the shoulder and pound her on the back in a hug-

With a start, Teyn tasted leather and tears and realized she was biting her gloved left hand.

Frell this. It's not real.

She drew her weapon, leveled it at the specter, index finger squeezing slightly.
Rani's brown eyes were only patient. Slowly, she raised her hands to shoulder level, then reached out to Teyn.

"Remember, Teyn," she said, her hands curving around Teyn's face, not quite touching. Teyn closed her eyes, fighting back tears, wanting to feel warmth emanating from those hands on her face, not the chill of the breeze streaming through the window.




Armor creaking, I balance on one knee, putting myself at eye level to the little girl. She is still terrified, standing ramrod straight-posture is the first thing the new conscripts are taught, I remembered too well-her brown eyes huge in her pale, round-cheeked face. We have the same eyes, I realize, but that's the only resemblance I can see. She's thinner than I was at her age, her frame narrower, limbs longer. Her hair reminds me of my mother's, but nothing else; there have been too many years between, the details blurring into half-remembered dreams of a home, a narrow bed with sheets that smelled of the fresh air of a planet, a soft stuffed toy clutched in my arms as I fell asleep. Dreams that had no tinge of chakkan oil or leather.

Slowly, I strip off my gloves, tuck them into my belt, and try to think of what to say. I realize that I have one hand resting unconsciously on my weapon, and I quickly remove it. She flinches, and I raise my bare hands to gently curve about her round little face. "My name is Teyn," I say softly, and try to make my numb lips form a reassuring smile. I don't think I succeed. For some reason, I want to cry, but of course I don't. I am a Peacekeeper officer, a prowler pilot, a commando.

There is a flicker in her fearful eyes, a cautious hope as she looks at me, searching my face for...what? Does she know of me? Has...my name been mentioned?

"Teyn," she whispers, and it's half a question, her high-pitched voice shaking. Eight or ten cycles old, a few weekens in this strange place at the most.

I clear my throat and pat her cheeks lightly. My hands are huge around her small face. "If you are from Tirias Colony, and your mother's name is Ariana Nava, then I believe that you are my sister," I say softly, striving to keep my voice steady.

She whimpers my name and throws herself against me, her thin arms wrapping around my neck. Catching my balance, my arms go around her automatically, although my gaze darts around the empty room, fearful of a crèche minder seeing this display of emotion from the new conscript. I should break the contact instantly, but she is shaking in my arms, and I realize she is crying, soundlessly; one of the first things the children learn. I don't know what to do. Awkwardly, I pat her back and let her settle against me, although I can scarcely breathe. I have so many questions that I choke back, questions I haven't dared to even consider for cycles, about a home and a family that I left nearly a lifetime ago.

Finally, nervously, I grip her arms, so tiny in my fists, and set her back from me a bit. Her hands curl onto my forearms, and I can feel their grip even through the armor.

"Calm yourself," I say firmly, but one of my hands wipes gently at her tear-streaked cheeks. "You are a Peacekeeper cadet now."

She straightens, shoulders squaring, and stands at attention, her hands falling away from my arms now. Her hard-set jaw is at odds with her soft round cheeks, but she holds the posture, holds the tight-lipped expression, a good little soldier already.

"I just wanted you to know-" My voice catches, and I rise to my feet, looking down on her smoothly braided head. "You are not alone here, Ariana. I'll watch over you as much as I can. But you are not alone."

I clamp my jaws tightly shut, trying to stifle the pain I feel. I'm not sure if it's sorrow that she has been ripped from her family, as I was, or if I remember too well those first monens of absolute terror as I was indoctrinated into the ways of the Peacekeepers. It may be sorrow that this is the only way I'll ever see one of my siblings, or sorrow that I have never seen this child before. It may be sorrow at my own losses for this life that I've been given, this life that I've learned to love as an adult. All I know is that I feel pain, and I think this pain is called sorrow, and I've never felt it before.

I allow myself the indulgence of resting my palm lightly on the small head that hardly rises past my waist. "Go on back now, Ariana. I'll see you soon."

She nods once and looks up briefly. "They call me Rani," she says. I nod in return, and she turns obediently to walk from the room, to join the other cadets in their bunks.

I blink back tears and pull my gloves on, adjust my armor carefully, and pick up my gear bag as I walk through the door. I'm leaving on a mission, and my mind must be on its details, nothing personal. I've already indulged myself too much. I've made a promise to a small, lost girl, and it's one that I will damn myself to hezmana if I won't be able to keep it.
I'll be watching over you, Rani.





"Two come. Two come now!"

Aeryn stared at Cresus, then around the room, fighting an impulse to pull away from the deformed little seer, to draw her weapon. "What? What are you talking about?"

"Two..." he sighed again, sagging beneath her touch. "Two bridge the realm...unexpected..."

Two? Panic choked Aeryn. "Who? Cresus, who?" she forced her voice from her stricken throat. "Cresus?"

The little seer's misshapen head lolled, white spittle dripping from his tiny lips. Frozen, Aeryn watched thin smoke curl from his open mouth and spiral lazily upward into a cloud above his head. The mass gradually divided, one half streaming toward the wall, dissipating, the other coalescing to a luminescent gray shadow against the darkness of the room before it gradually faded.

Gaping, Aeryn looked back down at the seer, who appeared to be unconscious, his tiny body limp in the metal basket. "Cresus?" she said softly. "Are you..."

A shiver wracked involuntarily through her, and she realized a blast of cool air had rushed against her back. But the window is to my right-

She stilled for a moment, and then withdrew her hand from Cresus's head. Wiping her fingers on the thigh of her leather pants, she slowly swung around, still on one knee.

Her breath caught in her throat. John.

He stood there, smiling down at her for a moment, before he mimicked her posture, dropping to one knee a few motras away.

"Don't shoot, OK?" he said, his light tone teasing, and nodded at her hand, spasmodically gripping her holstered pulse pistol.

She forced herself to breathe. Giving a harsh bark of laughter, she released the pistol and slowly sank cross-legged to the floor. Again, he mimicked her position, even resting his squared elbows on his knees. That slight, teasing smile never left his face as she drank him in: slightly mussed hair, bit of stubble on his cheeks, the curve of his biceps under the sleeve of the black t-shirt, vest hanging across his broad shoulders.

"I've missed you," she said, striving to keep her voice steady.

"No more than I've missed you," he said, and his voice was shaking, tears glinting in his blue eyes.

She reached out, wanting to cup his cheek, but he shook his head, leaning away from her hand.

"Don't," he said, and cleared his throat roughly, and the tears were more than a glint now. "Don't try to touch me. You can't, you know."

"No?" she breathed, swallowing the tears. "When I was here before, on Valldon, I could, I did-"

"Dream, Aeryn. I was with you the times you were dreaming. It was, uh, the only way I could reach you, try to let you know that-that-"

She shook her head, throat constricted but her eyes painfully dry. "I knew that, John. Knew you couldn't be brought back, just as I knew that that imposter wasn't my father. I just had..."

"...hope," he whispered. "Well, it is what keeps both of us going."

"You taught me that."

He nodded, and this time he was the one to reach out. Aeryn closed her eyes, holding perfectly still. She felt a whisper of coolness on her cheek, and she wondered if she were to try to touch him, would he feel faint warmth in return.
She clenched her hands together to keep from finding out.

Softly, he sighed, and when she opened her eyes, he had his chin propped on his clasped hands.

"What happened to your eye? You hanging with a rough crowd?" he asked, and she touched it reflexively, grinning humorlessly. His answering grin faded slowly, his eyes saddening as they moved over her.

"I miss your hair," he said. "You're braiding it again."

She nodded. "I-I'm a Peacekeeper again. We, uh, we did as you asked. Destroyed the command carrier and Scorpius' research. The-other you did well. He's unlocked it, you know, all the wormhole knowledge in his head. He understands it, or he should by now. I-left some time ago." Back ramrod straight, she dropped her hands to her knees and looked him in the eye. "I found a unit of former Peacekeepers who actually follow the ideals with which we were raised. They're like Dacon's unit. They believe in protecting the helpless."

She watched his eyes narrow slightly and braced herself for his withdrawal. John Crichton can never understand this, understand me, not this part of me-

"But," he said, and gestured for her to continue.

"But," she drew a deep breath, "sometimes the methods...are extreme. Sometimes it's regular battle action, but sometimes...my unit is hired to assassinate key political leaders. They are all unjustly put into those positions, they have seized power, and they abuse thousands, millions of their citizens. But it's still assassination."

He was silent, gazing at the floor.

"Why?" he said finally, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. He sounded hurt more than angry or outraged, and the softness of his tone cracked her reserve.

She fought it, fought the tears suddenly flooding her eyes and her throat, fought it as if it were a physical attack instead of emotional. "Why what? I told you, because those leaders are-"

"No. Why you left Moya. Why you...do this now. Why you."

She shoved to her feet, caught between anger and frustration and pain, and paced toward the door. "I knew you wouldn't understand it, you didn't understand why I had to leave, so how would you understand anything that I've done since-"

"I wasn't there, Aeryn. You didn't leave me. I left you."

"I know that!" she cried, and slammed her fists against the wooden door. It shook in its frame as she pounded her hands raw on it, finally splintering with a loud cracking sound. Numbly, anger spent, she regarded the sagging door and shook her head. "Yes, you left me. You went off to be the hero. You were more, more than that deficient little Erpling that crashed into my life. You were...Zhaan said I was selfless, before she died, the real selfless one, trading her life for all of ours. I thought I understood what she was trying to say, thought that I understood from things that I've done for others, things of which I've been proud. Things even from the time I was a Peacekeeper.

"But I didn't know what she really meant. Didn't truly understand what selfless meant until I watched you drag your dying body into that frelling module and go off to destroy a Scarran dreadnaught using only your courage and some alien knowledge that you barely comprehended. No thought to yourself, or to me, or to what would come afterward. Your only thought to complete the mission, at any cost, because billions of lives hung in the balance, hung on one man's actions. One alien's actions. And you never flinched, never hesitated. You just did the job."

She looked over her shoulder. He had moved to the center of the room and was standing there, sadness etched in his face, his hands opening and closing at his sides. He is unarmed, she realized dimly, noting the lack of holster at his side. Well, I did take Winona back to the other one. Didn't even think about it. Do spirits need weapons in the afterlife?

She swallowed, absently rubbing one bleeding hand with the other, picking out splinters. "And you left a job for the other one, and one for me, and the rest of us, too. Just like you, he did not hesitate. He was determined to go destroy Scorpius' research, whether or not anyone would stand by him."

"But you did."

She nodded. "That was the job you left for me. To watch over him, protect him as best I could on the command carrier, to make it possible for him to carry out your directive. I think he thought it was because of you, your last wishes, so to speak. And I couldn't tell him otherwise, couldn't tell him that I was constantly on guard, every microt of every frelling day, because I couldn't let John Crichton die again. Wasn't worried about myself, frell, it would have been a relief, the pressure was so much. The fear. The fear that I would lose you-him-John Crichton again. Because he is just like you, that selfless hero, and it should be enough, shouldn't it, even for fate, for you to die in my arms once."

"But he didn't die."

"You don't understand," she said, her voice a dull whisper, as she sank down to sit with her back against the wall. "He didn't understand either. If I had stayed on Moya with him afterwards, it would be another command carrier, a Scarran, a wormhole, just bad frelling luck-"

"Aeryn, people die, and they never have enough time together. It's not the number of cycles or arns they have together. It's how it's spent. Like our time together on Talyn."

"It's not enough!" she lashed out.

"No," he agreed softly, and sat on his haunches. "It wasn't enough time. But it was what we had."

She leaned her head back against the wall, feeling tears trickle from the corners of her eyes. Thought I was done with tears for him. How many more do I have?

"Doesn't matter now," she said, wiping her eyes quickly. The salty tears stung the cuts on her hands, and she welcomed the physical pain. "I had to leave Moya. You were my whole galaxy, John, my Uncharted Territories. It all shattered when you died, and there wasn't much left. Didn't know who I was anymore-not a Peacekeeper, not an irreversibly contaminated Peacekeeper, not anything. Didn't know what I wanted, other than that I couldn't wait for John Crichton to die in my arms again. And-" She broke off, unable to tell him any more than she'd been able to tell the other Crichton, about what she had learned on the command carrier. "So I became more, the only way I could think of. I found this unit, and I've made a place for myself, and I've done things that John Crichton can never understand nor forgive."

"You don't know that."

"And you don't know what I've done!" she shouted, springing to her feet.

He rose as well. "So tell me."

She turned her back on him and shook her head. She felt a slight rush of air, and he was standing denches from her, so close that she took a panicked step back, hands rising defensively. "No!"

He materialized in front of her again, and she backed into the wall, stumbling.

"Stop it!"

"You stop it, Aeryn. Talk to me. Five cents, the doctor is in, lie down on the couch. I know you. I know what you're capable of, so why do you think I'll be shocked by anything you've done?"

Lips tightly compressed, she shook her head and turned hard to her right, walking along the wall. Displaced air swirled, and he was in front of her again. Furious, she shot a Pantak jab at him, watched in horror as her hand went through him. She stumbled, off balance from the force of her strike and its lack of connection, and found herself falling forward.

Through him.





Arms folded tightly across her chest, Teyn cried soundlessly, as she had been taught, shoulders shaking, tears rolling down her face.

"It wasn't your fault," Rani said gently. "It was my time, Teyn. Nothing could have changed that."

Violently, Teyn shook her head and collapsed to her knees, old grief racketing freshly through her. "Rani, I tried, I-"

"I know." Rani knelt in front of her, her hands not quite touching her sister's face. "Ride it out, Teyn. Remember it. Remember it all."

Teyn pressed her fists against her eyes tightly and dropped through time.





"Teyn! Teyn!"

"What?" I yell back, snapping off the shower spray, annoyed because all I've wanted for three days is a good shower and a bottle of fellip nectar. "For the love of Cholak-"

Still shouting, Desa and Trin pound into the shower room. I take one look at their white faces and grab onto the narrow shower door to steady myself.

"It's Rani," Trin says, her voice shaking, and Desa throws a couple of towels at me.



I half walk, half run down the corridor, still fighting to get one boot fastened. Most of my squad is behind me, pulling uniforms into some semblance of order. I get the boot fastened, and Trin throws my Prowler jacket to me as we near Command. I shrug into it, shake my dripping hair out of my face, and am still banding it back when Desa palms the door switch.

Trin is the first one through the door, and the first stopped by an incensed bridge officer. She shoves him back, clearing the way, and I stride through, only to be confronted by another indignant officer.

"What do you think you're doing-"

I drop him with a Pantak jab without breaking stride. Right behind me looms Crik, who is barely within size limitations set for Prowler pilots. He grins unpleasantly at Lt. Braca, the closest bridge officer, who backpedals quickly against the nearest console.

Crais finally looks up at the commotion, as the rest of the squad swarms through, vague displeasure on his swarthy face. The bridge crew stands silent, aghast, as five prowler pilots line through the door. I am dimly aware of them spreading in an arrowhead formation behind me.

As the Captain's eyes fall on me, I snap to attention. "Captain, Officer Teyn Nava-"

"I assume, Officer, that such a display must mean that you possess information vital to our current mission!"

"Sir, there is a prowler pilot trapped in a disabled ship in the asteroid field. I volunteer to enact extraction."

Crais scowls. "You barge onto my command for that? Extraction is impossible. Dismissed."

I step forward, and Crais swings fully around, perhaps sensing my intensity.

"Captain, sir, that pilot is Officer Rani Nava. My sister."

Crais stares at me for a microt and then shakes his head slowly. "Then I am sorry, Officer. Any attempt at extraction would be an unacceptable risk, and it would detract from the focus of our mission." He turns away to speak to Lt. Teeg, who is staring open-mouthed at our group on Command.

I hold my ground. I am desperate, ready to plead, but I can't let Crais see it. It will be a weakness. "Captain, I understand your brother is a Prowler pilot also," I say, my quiet voice cutting through the conversations resuming on Command. "If it were Tauvo Crais trapped in that asteroid field, what would you do, sir?"

Crais' back goes rigid. He turns around and I meet his piercing gaze unflinchingly.

"If it were my brother," he says quietly, "I would mourn his loss and honor his memory. The mission must continue, and another life must not be foolishly lost."

Blind with fury, I lunge for the captain. Trin and Desa grab me by the arms before I can reach Crais, struggling to hold me back. Shouting curses, I fight them, almost throw them off me before Crik reaches over them all and locks an arm across my chest. The three of them slowly wrestle me back from the Captain, all of them babbling calming words to me that don't mean a frelling thing.

Crais watches them pull me away. "Officer, I will ignore this subordinate behavior only because I do understand your grief and loss."

Those are the last words he ever speaks directly to me, and I am quickly forgotten as he turns back to his immediate battle concerns.

It's the first time in my life I have ever felt hate for one of my own.

I let my comrades drag me from Command, because there is nothing to be done here. Crais will not help. So Rani, you have one chance left. Me.
I'm going to save you.



They won't let me go alone, no matter how much I curse as we run through the corridors. Desa splits off to communications to pinpoint your exact position, because we have no room for error on this extraction; you've been struggling with your failing craft for far too long. Desa vows she'll empty communications and seal it if she has to, and I know she will. We have been comrades since the day we were conscripted together, remaining close even as units changed and reunited.

Trin is at my side, silent now, and Crik declares he won't be left out of this farboht party. Dek heads for quarters, to let the rest of the unit know, and for a brief, warm moment, I wonder how many Prowlers will queue up for this unauthorized rescue. Frell, maybe we'll just commandeer a couple of Marauders.

"They can't court-martial all of us!" Crik declares.

"Actually, they can," I say, slowing marginally. My mind is very clear at this moment, very focused as to what I must do. It does occur to me that I'm encouraging my comrades to break a direct order. Because the order is so wrong, it does not bother me, but it may well impact them greatly afterward. "Don't do this with me. Crais will-"

Trin punches me on the arm, hard. "Frell it," she says, and pushes me forward.

We grab our gear bags from the ready room and head for the hangar. Shouting hoarsely, we startle the techs away from our fighter crafts. I grab the access ladder to my Prowler and scramble up and into the cockpit. In microts, I have my gloves and life support unit on, and I'm reaching for my helmet when my headset comms chirps. Desa's voice sounds brokenly in my ear.

"Teyn-I'm sorry, Teyn-Rani's Prowler exploded. She's gone."

I rip the headset from my head and throw it halfway across the hangar, screaming. I grab my helmet, drop it from nerveless fingers onto the seat, grab it again, but I can't hold onto it, and the edges of my vision are blacking.

Trin appears at the side of my open cockpit. "Teyn. Teyn-"

She reaches for me, and I knock her hands away. I realize I have no breath left in my lungs, and I inhale sharply. Dimly, I wonder who the hezmana keeps howling.

She grabs the helmet from my trembling hands and tosses it down to someone. She grabs my shoulders, and I hit her, a hard elbow across the face. She flinches but keeps her grasp. Tears are sliding from her light blue eyes, but I realize it's not pain from my blow. She cries silently even as she hoists me half out of the cockpit. I don't know where she is getting the strength; I'm much bigger than she is. I can't hear what she's saying over my own ragged gasps.

I shake her off, and she lets go, pushing off the steps to drop lightly onto the floor beside my Prowler. I grab for the handrail as I swing over the side of the cockpit, miss it, and land hard on my knees beside Trin. I don't feel the impact, but I will limp for a weeken. Trin's arms are like steel bands around me, soon joined by Crik's and then Desa's. They hold me together, offering the comfort of their entwined bodies, as silent sobs rip through me.

Later, as they take turns pouring raslak down me, they tell me my throat is so sore because I kept screaming your name.




Teyn sat on the sill of the narrow window slit, back resting against one edge, one boot drawn up and resting on the rough stones, the other dangling into the darkness. Rani sat at the opposite end, mirroring her posture, both staring out into the deepening night.

"I held on as long as I could," Rani said.

Teyn nodded. "I know. Just couldn't get there fast enough."

"It's not your fault. You risked everything to try to save me. Your friends, too."

My friends. Teyn blinked against fresh grief. Frell, that was the problem with tears; once started, one never seemed to run out of them. She thought of Crik, who was dead two cycles later, not in battle, but in a bar on a planet whose name she could not recall, a knife under his ribs over the questionable virtue of a local's daughter. They had burned the tavern to the ground in retaliation, but it hadn't been enough to ease the emptiness in the unit afterward. Some of them had done more terrible things in response. Teyn, with an acute understanding of grief, had not.

Dek, for whom she'd had a fondness beyond the occasional quick barracks frell, had died in battle. His death had been quick, as befitted a pilot; his Prowler exploded during a border skirmish with Scarrans.

Trin had been the next to go, almost two cycles later, killed in a commando raid. She had been a split microt too slow, the only time Teyn could remember, but it only took once in battle. She had taken multiple weapons fire to the midsection but had still managed to crawl to cover, leaving a trail of blood and torn flesh. The squad had taken the base, and Teyn and Desa had returned to hold Trin's hands as she took her last breath.

Desa...frell, it still hurt to remember. The occupation of Tanzit was almost complete, and they were doing cleanup patrol and anticipating a shore leave of three raslak-filled days to celebrate as soon as they landed their Prowlers. The last ragtag squadron of rebels made a suicide flight on the five Prowlers. Teyn had taken out two herself, Desa another, Lek the fourth. But the last one, although hit, and spinning wildly, managed to aim for Desa's Prowler, which was on the outside edge of the formation. "Oh frell!" she'd shouted, and then her Prowler had exploded, small fiery pieces raining down on the half-destroyed city below.

"That's when I heard about another group forming, and I decided that I might want to be a part of it. That action on Tanzit-those people were starving, desperate. We subdued them in a matter of arns, not days. The despot who hired us killed a third of them within the first three monens of occupation. Another third starved within the next three monens." Teyn shook her head. "Or maybe I'd just lost enough people on fools' quests."

She stared out into the darkness for a while before rummaging through the interior pockets of her coat. Bringing out the bottle of raslak, she tipped it inquiringly toward her companion.

Wistfully, Rani smiled and waved to decline. "I wish."

Teyn held up the bottle in salute, then took a long swallow. "I know how you loved raslak. We split many bottles, didn't we, little sister?"

"One of the things that I miss, sister."

Teyn took another sip and leaned her head back, eyes closed against fresh tears.

"I miss you, little sister. That's the worst part. I still miss you. Drinking, playing tadek-"

"Backing you up in bar fights?"

"Oh, you know that that was Trin and Crik! Those two weren't happy unless one of us came back to the ship being carried by two others-"

Rani's laughter rang into the night. "Do you remember..."

And Teyn did.

[ScaperRed]

Shadow Past, Part 4: Shadow Heart



Aeryn felt herself falling and desperately tried to catch her balance, trying not to touch him, as he'd warned. She saw his eyes widen, saw his face, his shirt become translucent as she toppled forward.

She fell through him.

A rush of cold spread across her still-bleeding hands, shot up her arms, wrapped around her head and then her torso as she fell. Time stretched, microts turning inside out, as she fell endlessly through an icy fog. It slowly enveloped her body, and she was reminded of her ejection seat plummeting through the ice, the breath-shattering cold that had instantly gripped her.

She struggled for a single breath, and the cold cocoon exploded into frigid shards that instantly melted into warmth, and she fell into memory again, of John pulling her into a desperate embrace in the snow on the diagnosan's planet, both of them scarcely believing she could be alive-

Her cheek pressed against warm flesh, strong arms encircling her. Too warm to be a Sebacean.

I've got you, John says.

But you said you can't-

It's body memory, and his voice is rough with grief. It's what you remember about touching me. It's all I can do for you, Aeryn. It's the only way I can hold you.

Blindly, she wraps her arms and legs tightly around him, clinging to him, colors and sensations streaking past as they tumble in freefall.

Talk to me, he says in her ear, and she revels in the feel of his breath against her skin, wanting to soak that sensation in, ignore all else. It has been so long.

Talk to me, and his voice, although trembling, is insistent.

No. No, John, let's just take this moment, just-

Baby, there's not much time, and his hands frame her face. Open your heart, Aeryn.

She clings to him, realizing what they tumble through. A blue twister, as he'd called it. A wormhole, although how the frell he'd called it here, now, she doesn't know. Could he do this even beyond the grave? No matter.

Blindly, she thrusts forward, catching his lips with hers. He is just as desperate, his mouth almost bruising against hers, his tongue hot and demanding as it slides over hers.

He can't be talking, she owns his mouth, so it must be a thought that pierces her frantic jumble of fear and desire and love.

Open your heart, Aeryn.

She did that a long time ago and had never closed it to this John Crichton. No reason to do so now.

She digs her fingers into his shoulders as the wormhole bores through memory.




They sit on command, a table between them physically, a chasm the size of a star system between them. "Some things," John says quietly, "you die for."

Fighting tears, Aeryn tries to talk to him, tries to let him know why things can't be the same, why she can't ever be the same. "I just can't watch that happen... again. It was perfect. We were so... perfect. And you're just like him. I mean, you are him."

John, sitting so close, is utterly still for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is controlled, with only a hint of the sadness tearing him apart. "No... I'm me. I was here." Aeryn can't look at him during the silence that stretches between them, can't deny his words, can't even apologize, too wrapped in her own emotions. "I missed that dance."

And there is nothing she can say, nothing she can refute, no comfort she can give, because she is so sorely in need of comfort herself, and there's nothing, no one, who can give it to her now. But he tries, tries to ease her the only way he can. By letting her go. "Aeryn...don't come with us."

It's one of the many comforts she can't accept. "No. We started this together, Crichton." She makes herself rise, stand, shoulders straight, although she is so tired of everything that she wants only to collapse. She has made this John Crichton a promise, and she will not break her vow. He isn't the only one with a duty to perform. "That's how we'll end it." Trapped in her own pain, she doesn't realize how she breaks him with that statement even as she strengthens him.



The blue twisting tunnel surrounds them again, openings flashing past. John shifts slightly, and she realizes that he's guiding her through memory even as they drop once more.


They walk down the ramp from the transport pod and stride steadily down the narrow aisle between the rows of Peacekeepers standing at attention. John is first, Aeryn slightly behind and to one side, her movements carefully controlled, her senses on full alert for any hint of treachery. There are thousands of Peacekeepers glaring at them, but if Scorpius reneges, Aeryn knows clearly what she will do. It is her job to kill John should it appear that he will fall helpless into Scorpius' clutches, and she is prepared to carry out her orders. Scorpius will never get the wormhole technology in John's brain that the hybrid so covets. It is almost a relief to note that she will be dead the instant after John and Scorpius, her body riddled with pulse blasts.

It is easier to think of dying than to recall that her boots have tread this path before, in less formal circumstances, that this is a bizarre homecoming for an irreversibly contaminated Peacekeeper, that she recognizes faces she passes by, faces that look at her impassively or with barely contained hate.

"Let's try the jewelry," John says, and she strides forward, catches his left hand in a joint lock, twists more viciously than she would have, because her attention is not on John, but on Scorpius, who instantly winces and hisses.

Bastard , she thinks, and hopes she will watch him die one day, for everything he has done to John Crichton.

She walks forward, still ever on the alert, confident that her single shot to kill John, if necessary, will fulfill its dual purpose of exterminating the half-breed who has made him an enemy. She takes her place by D'Argo as Scorpius commences his brief ceremony, and she is only marginally relieved that they are all still alive.



That was only the beginning. The whole time we were on the command carrier, on the only home I'd ever known before Moya, among people who now despised me, I could not relax. I was on guard. Guarding John Crichton. That was my life, the only life I had left.

Show me, Aeryn.



The flashes came faster now, just quick images, more emotion than visual now, disconnected from time, a stream of consciousness. [/i]

--Henta, throwing her drink into Aeryn's shocked face.

--Henta, pointing a pulse pistol at Aeryn before being immolated.

--D'Argo, his collarbone rings being removed by an indifferent med tech.

--They'd all undergone routine physicals, nothing notable, except-


Oh, baby. Aeryn, he whispered against her lips. You left because-

I don't know why I left, John. Just knew I had to.

You know who the father is, he said, and gripped her tighter. Aeryn-

Don't let go of me, John. Don't let go. Go through this with me. Try to understand me.

This time, she leads him blindly, reaching out for a particular memory as its entrance flashes by.



John is wavering about the means of destroying the wormhole tech, uncertain that he should. She reminds him that his other self died to protect it, and he bristles at the suggestion, claiming it's his call now. And then, taking pity on her shattered nerves, he suggests that she leave. He doesn't understand that she can't, she won't. She can't explain it herself, can only tell him that she promised she'd back his plan and she will, but he has to make up his mind soon.

You didn't tell him.

No.



Faster now, blending together. The attempt on John's life in the generator room, her panic when they were separated during the fight. His frelling insanity of flying upward into danger instead of merely out of it. His screaming her name as he dangled helpless, about to be vaporized, until she got the techs to shut the power off. John's insane plan of destroying the command carrier, as it contained all of the research. Aeryn's horror at the loss of life, her determination to save as many as possible.


You didn't tell him?

How could I? And what could I have told him? We were both destroyed. He would have wanted to send me away, been distracted, vulnerable. And later...


Crais' and Talyn's sacrifice, the grief that still echoes through her for the loss of Talyn. A thousand flashes and emotions of Crais, but one moment solidifying, the last time she sees him, the look they exchange. She doesn't have the words for him any more than she has words for Crichton, so she lays her hand on his cheek, hoping that the light touch of a comrade can convey all that she feels. Pride at his selflessness, respect for his determination, forgiveness for all that has passed between them. "Now you go," she says softly, the only words she can muster, and he takes them as a benediction, taking himself and Talyn to their deaths unflinching microts later.


They pass swiftly through the memory of the command carrier imploding, glimpsing Aeryn's frantic run through the habitats urging people to evacuate, her finding the rest of the crew and liberating them from the cells. The tide slows as her concern for John spikes again, as she reflects on those long microts, dipping only into the edges of particular memory.


Feeling her need to verify John Crichton still lived, although she is supposed to stay off the comms, until she can't stand it any longer, calling to ask if he is still with Co-Kura. His response that she should not wait for him. The cold dread that flutters through her entire body as she continues on autopilot now, making her way through the burning carrier. She comms him again when she secures a Prowler and tells him she is leaving now. A hint, Crichton, it is past time to go. He pauses, and when he speaks, she can tell he also is unable to find the words he wants, and so he settles for, "Fly safe," and she settles for a nerve-wracking silence, every fiber of her body screaming until she knows he is safe...



What would you have told him?

Everything. Nothing.



They sit together in Command, stars spread behind them that they do not want to contemplate. John scribbles marks on his arm, marks in his notebook. Weariness rides on Aeryn's shoulders, bending her now that the mission is complete, her job finally finished.

You should have told him.

John, I had nothing left. There are no words for that.



He has to try one more time, and she should've expected it. He's never had a shortage of words for her until lately, but now he seems to have found a hidden store of them. But none matter. He doesn't understand that, and she is too tired, too empty to explain.

I tried to explain to him, but he didn't want to hear me.

Aeryn, how could he? You're everything to him.

I know that.

"I'm afraid it's not that easy for me, you see...you died. I watched that happen and yet you're still alive. I have to go."

So of course we fight, shove each other, act like a pair of drannits, shout things that hardly make sense.

"John! My name...is John."

"Guarantee you won't die in my arms again!"

"Guarantee you won't die in mine!"

I don't understand what he's saying, of what he's afraid, there's no room in me for that, no room except for my own fear. So I scream back at him, shove him again, get angry. It's what I know best.

"I can...by leaving!"

But then it stops being a fair fight. He knows my weak points. They're all him. All you. All John Crichton.

"Do you love John Crichton? Not him, not me. John Crichton."

I could lie, but he would know. I could try to tell him again that he's just like you, that you are him and he is you, but he won't believe that any more now than before, when I tried to tell him before we left for the command carrier. So I say yes, and he drops all the rules of engagement. I want to fight him, but I want this too, and I am too tired, too broken, too full of nothing to fight any more. So he kisses me, and I am lost again.

"Then what does that taste like?"

"Yesterday."

I don't mean to hurt him. I speak before I even think. The taste, the feel, the way I feel-it is yesterday, and it's beautiful pain, and it leaves me weak. He forgets that he is part of yesterday, too, and he rages, and he still doesn't understand me when I tell him that I can't do this again. I don't know what to do, I don't have the words, so I throw some of his back at him.

"You once said it was as if the fates meant for us to be together."

"And I believe that."

"Well, then, if it's true, we will be together again."

But that doesn't work either, he still isn't following the rules, or maybe I just don't understand his rules or mine or anything else. He doesn't realize that what I need is time, that that is what I am truly asking for. And you told him that, that I take time. But he won't give it to me. Has to push. He's Crichton. More argument, and I'm trying to stay calm, I'm trying to get through this without both of us ending in pieces, and he's so focused on getting me to stay that he can't even think about why I might have to go. I finally snap at his absurd suggestion of a coin toss.

"Just make a frelling wormhole, and go home."

"There is no home! There is no wormhole! There's only you--Aeryn... anywhere in the universe. You pick the planet."

As if it were that simple, as if I could do that. I try to tell him, again, that it's too late for me, that too much has happened.

He can't let you go.

He has to. If he convinces me to stay...

What?

He'll never be John, to me or to himself. He'll always be the copy. But he doesn't realize that. I'm half a person from grief. He's half a person from his fears. If I don't leave today, one of us will leave tomorrow. Better that he stay on Moya. And so I use more of his words, desperate, panicking. It's my last option because I don't frelling know what to do or how to make him let me go before we are torn to pieces by each other.

"Do you love Aeryn Sun?

"Beyond hope."

"Then, don't make me say good-bye and don't make me stay."

He's trapped now, and he knows it. I've won, but there is no victory, only spilled blood. From both of us. He starts to leave, and I can't let it end this way. I'm filled with fury-at you for dying, at him for living, at myself for being so frelling weak. It's good that he's walking away; otherwise I might kick him instead of my packing crates, kicking the dren out of them until I am suddenly exhausted, suddenly spent. He's coming back, and I resign myself. I don't want to leave, but I can't stay. So fate. Fine, Crichton. We'll leave it to fate. I kick the coin across the floor, and with my eyes I dare him to pick it up, to let fate make the decision that neither one of us can. Carefully, he picks up the coin, tosses it high in the air. Silently, we watch it spin, and I don't know what I hope for, which way I want it to land, I just want it decided.

But, Aeryn, for him...

Oh, we're both crushed, and we're both relieved, I think. There wasn't going to be any, what, happy ending to this. Couldn't be. Not then.

If it'd gone the other way...

I'd have stayed. For a while. And we'd have been miserable. John, it was the only way. But I doubt that he can see it even now.

I'm the last to leave Moya. I take my time packing, say goodbye to the others as they come through to depart. And then it is my turn, and John takes the module out, following me out one more time. When it's time for him to turn back, he has no words. It's up to me then, and although I'm no good with words, I try to show him my heart one more time.

"We're in the hands of fate now. We have to trust in that. Fly safe. Good-bye, John Crichton."

I use his words again, and I hope he understands my meaning. I tell him to fly safe, as he told me when I was leaving the imploding command carrier. I give him back what he gave me at that moment, and I hope that through his anger and his despair, he finally hears me.

The last I see of him is through the cockpit of his module.

So you never told him about the pregnancy.

No.

Aeryn, you should have.

I know. But then he wouldn't have let me go. And now-now I can't go back. Too
much has happened.

Tell me.

No.

He breaks the kiss, and she protests, but he pulls her closer, tucking her head under his chin, against his chest, cradling her. She should be able to hear his heart, cannot, feels panic rush through her, a surge of memories: his last breath, the light going from his eyes, her lying next to his cooling body one more time, her head on his chest, her own heart breaking more each time his did not beat...

His arms tighten around her, and she feels his lips against her temple, feels warmth roll through her. Her body becomes limp, pliable. She can no longer feel his arms around her or his body against hers; it is as if she is somehow moving inside him, that he is covering her, wrapping around her like a blanket, and she sinks into him with an astonished sigh.

I'm home.

Not yet. He is amused. But close. Aeryn, this is how I feel about you. This is my love for you. It didn't end when I died. It never will. This is how John Crichton, somewhere in the universe, feels about Aeryn Sun. This will not change. Let me show you this.

Remember, Aeryn. Remember what you fear. Remember it all.

A dozen entrances spin around in a vortex. Shakily, she reaches toward one and gains confidence with the realization that this is not so different from flying a tactical attack pattern. Set the course, compensate for environmental factors, and stay on target.


Flashes arc through her consciousness: finding the unit, being cautiously accepted, training with them, sparring-

Don't be afraid, Aeryn. Follow your instincts.

New killing techniques, silent ones, to add to her already comprehensive inventory. New weapons. New drill patterns. Practice memorizing escape plans and floor plans.

Flying Prowler cover for assault teams retaking cities that had fallen to despots. Her suicidal run to protect the little girl.

Not all bad, is it?

Proud of you for that, babe. But that was nuts! Weren't you afraid of-

Death? John, why would I be?

What about the...

Baby? If you have to ask that, John, you still don't understand. I was broken.
Still am.

Aeryn...

John, see me clearly now. Don't let go. See me as I am, not as who you think I should be. See the "more" I have become.

With a strange sense of detachment, she watches her body go through the motions, her competent assassin's hands assembling the rifle, firing...all of it. She relives all of it, watches it dispassionately as she can, because he is clinging tightly to her, clutching her to his chest, and if there were tears in this place, they would be falling as warm rain to wet her hair.

But he doesn't let go.

And so she takes him deeper, into the raw, twisted part of her where the memory of Xhalax Sun is stored. She wants to close her eyes, not see the images flickering past, but it's all within her mind, and she has no eyelids there, nothing to hide behind. She sees the young Xhalax again, about the same age that Aeryn is now, coming to see her that one time. She sees the older Xhalax determined to kill or capture them all. She sees the embittered, lost Xhalax on Valldon, caught between the desire to kill her own daughter and the desire to make her understand why her mother has become...this. She hears Xhalax's words again, as they've echoed so often during the past few solar days: "I was a pilot. I was bred to be a pilot...I wasn't an assassin until I killed your father..." And, finally, as she was dying, "Let me go, Aeryn. You live for me."

This is what you're afraid of.

This...is what I am...I'm afraid.

Aeryn...I don't know what you want me to say.

Say it doesn't matter. Say it's not really me. Say you love me. Say that everything will be all right, the way you always do.

If I could say that, would it matter? Would you believe me?

No.

He's quiet, stroking her braided hair lightly, and she leans into his touch, turning her head slightly so that his hand brushes her cheek.

I miss this, and she's not sure which one of them said it, or if it was together, or thoughts co-mingling, and she wants to bury herself into his orange-red warmth, bury herself completely, remain-

But this isn't, can't be real. Not beyond this moment. And nothing can ever be right again.

A sigh shudders through him, them, and the wormhole wavers around them.

We're almost out of time.

We're always out of time.

He brought her head up, their lips locking desperately again, and she feels that warmth pulse from him once more, that orange-red heat that wraps around her, through her.

Don't let go, John. Not yet. Don't let go. I need you--

Aeryn, I love you. Always.




She fell forward, right arm still extended in the Pantak jab, and she hit the gritty floor hard and flat, no time to roll or even get her hands out in front of her. Stunned, gasping for breath, she lay there for a few microts, blinking in the dim light, before she slowly pushed herself up to sit, hunched, on the floor.

"Your hands are bleeding," he said softly, and she flicked her eyes up to meet his briefly. He was sitting on the raised edge of the altar, hands dangling between his knees, his blue eyes reflecting the same torn grief she had felt when their tenuous contact was broken.

She looked away, down at her freshly scraped hands. The fall hadn't even hurt. Maybe there's no room for pain left.

"Is this the life you want?"

"It's the life I have."

"Aeryn, no! That is not what I asked!" he lashed out, leaping to his feet. He walked toward her, and she closed her eyes tightly, not wanting to meet his eyes, not wanting to realize that he was fading, that she heard no slapping crunch as his boots hit the dirty stone floor. She heard him sigh, tried to imagine his breath on her face. Somehow, she knew where he was, just as she always had, knew that he had sat down on the floor in front of her, even knew the patient but frustrated expression that would be on his face.

"Why did you come here, Aeryn?" he asked quietly.

"To see you. Talk to you. Frell, I don't know. I dream of you, you know that? Both of you. Sometimes I don't even know which one is which." She laughed bitterly. "One dead Crichton, and I'm haunted by both. Or maybe I've lost what's left of my sanity finally. Maybe you're not even here, and I'm just sitting here talking to-air. Or a fraud."

She felt a slight rush of air and opened her eyes slightly, dreading that he would simply vanish. Instead, she watched him walk soundlessly to stand in front of the window.

Stars shone faintly through his body.

"Aeryn," he said, and paused, still facing the window. "I told Rygel once that I figure the right thing starts at the beginning of the day, not after you've been caught. That's the way I've tried to live my life, Aeryn, even out here. I can't tell you what to do, what decision to make...who or what to be. You have to do what you think is right. Just make sure that you still think it's the right thing at the end of the day, too. And I know you can do this, because you have changed so much in three cycles," he said quietly.

"Because of you, John."

He shook his head and half turned; starlight glinted from his teeth. "No, Aeryn," he said gently. "Aeryn Sun changed because she wanted to. John Crichton was fortunate enough to be there and be a part of those changes, but it was you. You made choices, because of the person you were and the person you wanted to be."

Choices. Shivering, Aeryn folded her arms across her chest, trying to hold herself together.

"I would be so proud," he said, and paused, his voice shaking. "I would be so proud to take the credit for how you have changed, Aeryn. I am proud of you, and I am so-grateful-that I was a part of your life, a part of that change. You let me into your heart, and I would not have traded one microt of that for anything, any life I could have lived."

He walked toward her; she closed her eyes, because he was a shadow now, a pale shadow against the darker night outside the window, and the bright stars appeared to ripple through him as he moved soundlessly.

"That's why this is so hard for me to say," he whispered in front of her. She opened her eyes reluctantly, and he was kneeling, his face denches from hers. "Aeryn, it's time for me to go. It's time for you to really let me go. What we had was good. It was perfect. But I'm dead, Aeryn, and you have to let me go. I don't want to be a shadow on your heart."

Biting her lips, willing back the tears, she shook her head slowly, knowing what he was going to say. Knowing what she was not able to do.

"You have a second chance, Aeryn. There is another John Crichton who loves you. How many people get this kind of chance?"

"I know that, I know that he is like you, he is you-"

"No. He's not. Remember this: I was the lucky one, Aeryn. I had you. All he had were wormholes and dreams. Now you listen to me. You have to go back to Moya. You have to go back to Crichton."

"I don't have to-"

"Yes, you do. You've mourned me long enough, Aeryn. You have to go on, now. You have to go back to Moya. Not today, not tomorrow, but soon. He needs you, and you need him."

"John, he won't understand-"

"Aeryn, you don't have to tell him everything. All you have to tell him is that you love him, and that you're carrying his child. Crichton's child. He won't give a damn about what you've done any more than I do. He's waiting for you, Aeryn, and he'll never stop loving you any more than I will. No matter what you do, who you think you've become. He's seen you, the real you, just as I have, and that's the image he carries deep inside." He faltered, seeing her tears. "Baby, don't cry. You've cried enough for me. Don't do this to yourself any more."

Biting back a sob, Aeryn scrubbed her hands across her eyes. "John, you're-you're fading away."

"I know, baby. I don't have much time left here, and I've got a lot to tell you. Close your eyes, and listen, and remember. Things are going to happen, and you've got to be ready, you've got to be able to look for them, see the signs-"

"I don't understand-"

"You will."







They sat in companionable silence, sprawled at opposite ends of the window sill, boots almost touching. Teyn looked outside, marking the clearing of the night sky, the slow movement of constellations across it. Atop the ridge of higher mountains, she thought she could see a faint lightening, the night beginning to fade.

She glanced at her sister; Rani was very still, head slightly cocked, as if listening to something that only she could hear. She looks-fainter, Teyn thought, uneasy, and bit her lip hard, not ready for this time to end.
Rani shifted her gaze to her sister's face, her lips quirking in a small, sad smile.

Teyn nodded, sitting up straighter. "It's time."

"Yes. I'm-needed elsewhere. At least my energy is. Teyn-thank you for this. Thank you for one last talk," she grinned broadly, "one last drink with you. You raised me, you know. I always knew you were there, and all I ever wanted was to be as good as you. The best moment of my life was when you welcomed me into your unit as an equal, as a comrade, as a friend. And as a sister, you were so proud."

"Always proud of you, Rani. Always. You were the best," Teyn said hoarsely.
Rani shook her head, smiling. "No. You were the best. You were what I wanted to be. But I did all right myself.

"Listen to me carefully, Teyn. When my ship was struck, I knew my chances of survival were very poor. I heard the order go out that I would not be retrieved. But I kept fighting, kept myself alive as long as I could, because I knew you were coming for me. I never had any doubt, I never thought you'd give up. I just couldn't hold on long enough. I tried, though, I really did. I just didn't have enough power left in my thrusters.

"It was never your fault, Teyn. It just happened."

She held out her hand, palm up. Swallowing tears, Teyn put her shaking hand out to match, almost touching. "Love you, little sister," she choked.

Tears glinted in Rani's dark eyes. "Love you, too, sister," she said softly. "Don't forget that. Don't forget me. I would've gone with you, Teyn. I would've been proud to follow you anywhere."

Slowly, her image faded, her tearful smile glittering.

Wiping the last tears from her aching eyes, Teyn released a shuddering sigh.
She breathed out regret, fear, years of pain, and fresh morning air gently replaced the darkness within her. In that moment, the cycles fell away and memory opened once more.



I stand in the hangar bay of the command carrier, leaning one hand against the wing of my Prowler, the other making loops and flat planes to describe a maneuver. Rani nods, smiling, her hand echoing the gestures, as we speak the pilot's language of attack angles, approach vectors, thrust variances, each expressed in a few words, a gesture, a nod, a shrug; a complicated pantomime to the techs scattered around us, a wealth of communication between experienced pilots. We finish, and I cuff Rani's cheek gently in rough affection before throwing my arm around her shoulders. She'll never be quite as tall as I am; she always feels a little frail to me although we have the same build, and she has taken me down on the mat more than once in training. I brush back that wisp of hair that always escapes her braid, and we walk, arms around each other's shoulders, trading battle tales, to the officer's lounge to share a bottle of raslak with the others.



Blinking, Teyn held up the nearly empty bottle of raslak in silent salute.

That's how I'll remember you, Rani, little sister. Always.






"I don't understand-"

"You don't have to, not right now. Just remember it, Aeryn. Just look for it. You'll know what to do." He paused, and a soft sigh escaped his tight lips. He looked exhausted, and he was so dim now, so pale, she could scarcely make herself look at him. "Aeryn, would you do something for me? Right now?"

Throat too tight to speak, she nodded.

"Would you, um, take your hair down?" he said huskily. "Could I see it one more time?"

Quickly, her trembling fingers pulled the fasteners out. She ran her hands through it, freeing the strands from their tight plait, and shook its length out over her shoulders.

His ephemeral hand reached out, tracing its fall past her shoulders. "It's longer. You're letting it grow," he said, smiling faintly.

She shrugged, and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force back the sob filling her throat. Frell! There is no bottom to this well of grief. That's one thing you forgot to teach me, Crichton. That no matter what, good or bad, everything must be paid for later.

"Thank you," he whispered, and cleared his throat. "Aeryn. Look at me. Tell me goodbye."

She shook her head, face twisting. "We don't say goodbye."

"We do this time," he said, and her nerves resonated with the sameness of the dialogue contrasted with the situation, the place, the soft love in his voice.

"Aeryn, say goodbye to my face."

She shook her head again, hands clenching, nails grinding into her palms. Make me, Crichton! she almost shouted, wanting a fight, wanting anything except...this.

But he was right.

Numbly, she nodded, seeing his sad smile through a haze of tears and knowing it was reflected on her face as well.

Abruptly, he frowned, glancing down at himself.

"John, what's happening-"

She felt his hands wrap in her hair, pulling her face forward. Warm breath grazed her lips, and then his mouth was on hers, hard moist pressure.

Automatically, she leaned into the kiss, her hands seizing his solid shoulders.
He broke the kiss abruptly, shifting to lean his forehead against hers. Remember it all, Aeryn. Let go of the fear, let go of the shadows in your heart.

Live for yourself.

She tried to hold on to him, tried to clench her fingers around his shoulders, but her hands closed around air, through air.

Swallowing tears, she tried to speak, to do as he'd asked before he faded away completely, but she could only smile weakly and think the words. Goodbye, John Crichton. Goodbye.

His smile glimmered against the darkness of the window, and he was gone.

Aeryn still knelt, hands closing around shoulders that no longer existed, the cool wind drying the last tears on her cheeks.

[ScaperRed]

Shadow Past, Part 5: Shadow into Light


"You all right?"

Blinking, Aeryn turned her head and realized that Teyn stood in the doorway to the balcony. Caught in her own thoughts, she hadn't even heard the older woman's boot steps approach.

"Yeah," she said belatedly, and became aware that her arms had remained folded across her chest, that reflex action hadn't carried one hand to her weapon. She considered that for a moment, tried to see any importance in it, and then shook the thought away, filing it for later. "I'm fine. You?"

Teyn stepped through the door and to the low wall on which Aeryn sat. Aeryn shifted back against the corner support, drawing her bent knee closer to her chest, the other leg dangling over the side of the wall. Teyn mirrored Aeryn's posture, settling her back against the opposite corner support, and glanced over the wall. A rough wash of stones and scrubby vegetation lay a hundred motras or so below, the backside of hill and monastery suddenly sheering into space.

"You all right, Teyn?" Aeryn repeated.

Shivering a little, Teyn pulled her coat more tightly around herself. "Yeah. It's cold out here."

"Is it?" Aeryn murmured, only half listening, studying Teyn's puffy dark eyes, the slight tremble of her hands. Teyn gave her an identical look of inquiry, and Aeryn nearly laughed at the thought of how they paralleled each other so perfectly in that moment, in so many ways.

The corner of Teyn's mouth quirked in a tiny grin, and she reached into an interior pocket of her coat to bring out the bottle of raslak, of which a scant amount remained. Uncapping it, she held the bottle toward the breaking day in silent salute, lips moving soundlessly to form a name, before taking a swallow and handing it to Aeryn, who did the same.

They passed the bottle wordlessly, each taking small sips, lost in their own thoughts, until cool orange fire touched the tops of the higher mountains. Aeryn swallowed the dregs and, with a practiced flip, sent the bottle arcing high into the air. They listened to its tinkling shatter as dawn broke on Valldon.

"Ready?" Teyn said at last, voice gravelly with exhaustion and something Aeryn suspected was grief.

Aeryn looked at the lightening sky once more, watching the brightness of the last star fade. I'll do my best, John. I'll try to do as you asked. That's the best I can give you, the best way I can honor you. I hope that's enough.

"Yes, I'm ready to go," she said, surprised at the roughness of her own voice. She swung her legs over the side of the wall and nearly fell, limbs numb from having sat still for so long.

Teyn caught her arm, steadying her until Aeryn got her balance. In her dark eyes Aeryn saw the questions she had promised not to ask and which Aeryn did not entirely want to answer herself yet. In gratitude, Aeryn gave a slight nod and grasped Teyn's hand. Yes, I did what I came to do, and yes, I'm all right. And thank you, my friend. Thank you for coming with me.

Teyn blinked, and Aeryn realized that the roughness she'd heard in the older woman's voice was held-back tears.

"You want to-talk about it?" Aeryn asked quietly, and felt echoes of all the times, all the people who had said that to her.

"No," Teyn said, just as a Peacekeeper would, just as Aeryn had so many times, and they both smiled slightly. "Not now. But thank you."

She clapped her hand on Aeryn's shoulder and left it there as they walked through the doorway to the great room beyond and found their way down the stairs and out of the crumbling building. The touch held reassurance, although Aeryn was unsure who drew more comfort from it.




"Aeryn. Wake up. We're approaching Cassino."

Aeryn roused and rubbed her eyes, automatically checking her position. Teyn was on point, her Prowler slightly ahead and to her hammond side. Scans showed a variety of vessels making their way to Cassino, which appeared to be the size of a large moon. "Should've woken me arns ago, Teyn."

"Ah, there was nothing on the scans, and I-I wasn't sleepy."

Aeryn half smiled and yawned until her jaw cracked, stretching in the seat as best she could. Teyn had let her sleep a good eight arns-more than she'd slept at one stretch since John had died.

Since John had died. I can think of that now, and it hurts, it always will, but-it's a different kind of ache, not as sharp. It doesn't cut me in half now.

Belatedly, Aeryn noted the senior officer's ragged tone. More than exhaustion at being awake for close to two solar days.

"You all right, Teyn?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, I've just been-thinking. Dangerous thing for Peacekeepers to do. It's what got us into this little-this little field resourcefulness exercise."

"Regrets? Well, I did tell you to go with the others."

"And I did some frelling thinking and decided you might need someone to look out for you. Didn't know it would go the other way. How's your head?"

Gingerly, Aeryn touched the swollen gash on her forehead. It still hurt like hezmana, but some of the swelling had gone down; her vision was not impaired. She'd have to tell the others she'd been in a bar fight or something. "It's fine."

"I'm sorry about that."

"And I'm sorry you got dragged along with me to Valldon. Must've been pretty painful for you."

There was a long pause, and Aeryn instantly regretted her candor. What had happened should be left on Valldon; Teyn, still a Peacekeeper at her core, would not want to discuss it.

"More for you, I think," Teyn said softly. "I, uh, think I actually-frell. Don't tell anyone this, Aeryn. Like most of us, like most Peacekeepers, I made few lasting relationships. But there were a few comrades. They're all gone now. It was right after Desa, the last one, was killed in battle that I decided to look at other options. There were six, six out of a whole lifetime. After each one died, the rest of us would drink in honor of them, and I would-I would take one memory of that person, one memory of that person at his or her absolute best, and that is how I would remember that comrade. Never believed in any kind of an afterlife, so this was how they would live on, in me. That's the only way I could honor them and what they meant to me.

"But Rani-my sister-I tried for so long to do that, but I couldn't. Too much anger, too much pain, too much-guilt for not doing the impossible to save her. Until now."

Aeryn closed her eyes, images flashing through her mind. Of Velorek, Zhaan, Dacon, Henta. John. "I think I know what you mean, Teyn."

"What about you? You settle your demons?"

"No one ever does that, Teyn. They just find a way to live with them." Aeryn swallowed hard and scrubbed her hands over her blurring eyes. "I think I've made some decisions, though."

"Good," Teyn began, before the mechanical voice of Cassino's traffic router broke into their comms.

They kept conversation to a minimum, concentrating on their approach vector, dodging slower, drifting vessels. Fifteen hundred microts later, they were securing their Prowlers in an enclosed landing bay near their team's freighter.

Bag slung over her shoulder, Aeryn waited for Teyn to clear her cockpit. The senior officer finally appeared, dropping heavily to the hangar bay floor; it was the first time Aeryn had seen her show her age. Shoulders slightly slumped, eyes red-rimmed, Teyn picked up her bag and walked slowly to join Aeryn.

"You," Aeryn swallowed the rest of her query as Teyn's dark eyes pierced her. She straightened to stand at attention and then followed wordlessly as the senior officer led the way from the hangar bay.

Silently, they took a succession of swift escalators through the levels until they reached the accommodations section. They provided aliases and appropriate identification to the bored Nebari male clerk, paid in cash, and were tossed entry chips as well as a bag of "complimentary" tokens for assorted amusements.

Teyn broke the silence as they rode the lift to an upper level. "You said you'd made some decisions."

Aeryn nodded. "Some, but not-all."

Teyn fixed that penetrating gaze on her again, and Aeryn returned it unflinchingly until the doors of the lift snicked open. "When you want to talk, Aeryn," Teyn said quietly, "come find me. All right?" She punched the younger woman's shoulder lightly and walked from the lift.

"Teyn, the same goes for you," Aeryn replied in an identical tone.

Teyn's step faltered. "I know that. Thanks. But now," she said, grinning tightly over her shoulder, "all I want is a shower, a meal, and a Tadek game. And a tall, broad-shouldered man to distract me from everything."

Aeryn gave a startled laugh and shook her head.

"You're three doors down from me. The others are probably out drinking or gaming." Teyn slipped her entry chip into the slot, and the door slid open.
"Aeryn. I'm glad I went," she said, and strode into her room.

I'm glad you did, too, Aeryn thought to Teyn's disappearing back, and walked on to find her own room. Microts later, she had tossed her bag in the corner and was in the shower, pulse pistol on a counter within easy reach, warm water pounding the stiffness from her sore, tense muscles.

Wrapped in a towel, hair dripping, she carried the holstered pistol with her to the bed and had just enough strength left to secure it on the small night table before falling between the sheets and into sleep.


I open my eyes, and he is sitting in the chair by the door. He wears a black t-shirt and leather pants; one boot rests on the opposite knee, but that's the only bit of casualness to his posture. Upper body straight, he is alert, as if he is guarding me, one hand resting on Winona.

He's been watching me sleep, and I remember awakening another time, after Larraq's knife almost ended my life, to find him watching over me. At the time, I hadn't understood his need to do so, but I had taken comfort from it. I want to take comfort from it now as well, but tension crackles from him. He is afraid. Afraid for me.

I wipe damp hair from my face and sit up, drawing the sheet around me because the room is cold. I want to ask him what is the matter, but I'm afraid; the words stick in my throat, because I realize we are not on Talyn, or Moya, or my unit's base, and I am not sure which John Crichton I would address even if I could speak.

"Can you live with it?" he asks, urgently.

I don't understand, so he repeats his question. I still don't understand-I have so much I have to live with, and I feel trapped within the weight of my decisions, my dreams, my... crimes.

Suddenly, he is kneeling by the bed, his hands on the edge, digging into the sheets. "Are you sure you've made the right decisions?"

I nod, and the tension slips from him. He closes his hand around mine gently, and his hand is so warm, so very warm on my cold skin.

"Aeryn, before you left, I told you I'd go with you anywhere in the universe, you pick the planet. I still mean that."

"No matter what happens?"

"No matter what happens. Come home to me. Come home to Moya."

I sigh deeply, and everything flows out of me in that sigh: all the pain, all the loss, all the uncertainty, all the fear. All that's left is a slowly building warmth that I realize now is love, and utter exhaustion.

The bed shifts, and he slides in next to me. He rolls me over onto my side, and his arms wrap around me gently. His leather pants are cool and slightly rough against my skin, and part of me wants to protest, to strip his clothing away so that I can revel in the heat of his skin. But he strokes my hair, murmuring in my ear, "I'll watch over you while you sleep."

I close my eyes, bonelessly relaxed within the safety of his arms.
I'm home. Wherever he is, I'm home.





Aeryn edged her way through the teeming masses on the main casino floor and made her way to the crowded bar. She nodded at several acquaintances on the way, recognizing a dozen commandos from her unit. Apparently quite a few teams were taking shore leave together at this time.

Jax was sitting at a table in the back, demonstrating some sort of dice game; she could barely see his smooth head through the crowd. Good. He wouldn't be able to see her yet then.

She signaled the bartender and leaned against the bar, considering her options as she slowly sipped a bottle of fellip nectar.

Her eye fell on a blond young woman several cycles younger than herself, who was also leaning against the bar and staring at Jax, her blue eyes intent.

Perfect. Grabbing her bottle, Aeryn elbowed her way over. "Cena, right?" she said, shouting to be heard over the jostling crowd.

Frowning a bit, Cena glanced over, relaxing as she recognized the other Peacekeeper. "Aeryn?" she said uncertainly; they'd never really spoken before. She poked an elbow against the Nebari lounging next to her; he gave her an annoyed look but moved over at her glare, making room for Aeryn to stand at the bar by Cena.

"Yes. Not gaming?"

Cena shrugged. "Not what I'm interested right now," she said, and her eyes strayed again toward Jax.

Aeryn grinned. "Well, I can certainly understand that," she said, and lifted her chin in Jax's direction. Cena blushed faintly. "Why don't you go over and buy him a drink?"

Cena stammered and looked away. Must be younger than I thought, Aeryn mused. She thought of Crichton, of how long it had taken for him to reveal his interest in her. Or intimidated.

Aeryn signaled the harried bartender again and traded brandar tiles for a good bottle of raslak. "Come on then," she told Cena briskly.

"What? No, no, I-"

Aeryn gave the younger woman an exasperated look. "You'd rather stand there and stare at him than have a drink with him? All right, be a drannit. But I think he likes you."

"How do you know that?"

Aeryn shrugged, hefting the raslak bottle. "Perhaps because we are on the same team and we've just spent weekens together on a mission and there is very little to do on the ship except talk?"

She turned and started working her way through the crowd. Cena was denches behind.

Roaring with laughter, Jax threw the dice again and was explaining his play to the half dozen other commandos surrounding him when Aeryn walked up, Cena in her wake. His dark eyes lit up, and he half rose from the table, shouting, "Aeryn! About time you got here! Where the frell you been?"

Aeryn grinned. "Around," she said, and nodded to the other commandos, whose names she scarcely remembered. They exchanged greetings with Cena as well, and two more chairs were jammed into the small space next to Jax. "Where are the others?"

"Well, Ced and Lena are probably off frelling like flibbisks. Teyn's been working a tadek table in the next casino for the last solar day. Last I checked, she had a stack of tiles she could hardly see over! You been climbing?"

"Yes," Aeryn said, caught by surprise.

Grinning, Jax tapped her sunburned arm. "The solar radiation level is always too high on the Barath Stairs. But it's a frelling drad view from the top, even if it is a hologram. You watch the sun set?"

"Twice," Aeryn nodded, and flexed her slightly sore arms. The view from the top had been breathtaking for a habitat, far better than the simulations she had been accustomed to on the command carrier. The sole climber on the expert-rated wall, she had had arns to sit on the summit and quietly think about all that had happened lately as the habitat went through its entire solar day cycle in one-fourth the time.

Jax was looking at her intently, and Aeryn shifted in her chair, putting the bottle of raslak on the table in front of him with a clink. "I wanted to thank you," she said. "You've been a good friend."

He shrugged, turning the bottle in his hands. "Not difficult," he said, and shot her that darkly intent look again. "I can be a very good friend."

Smiling slightly, Aeryn leaned close to his ear. "Good. I think this young commando next to me needs a very good friend. And I think she really likes you. But she's very young." She punched his bicep hard. "Don't scare her."

Jax's gaze darted over Aeryn's shoulder and fastened onto Cena's nervously smiling face. He blinked and started to grin slowly. Patting him on the shoulder, Aeryn rose.

"Leaving? Ah, come on, one drink with us," Jax called, uncapping the raslak.

Aeryn shook her head. "I've got to talk to Teyn. I'll see you back on the ship." She nodded to the others, who were animatedly discussing the dice game again, gave Cena an encouraging wave, and began to slip back into the crowd.

"Aeryn," Jax called, half laughing, half annoyed. She met his eyes, grinning back at him, and he gave a barely perceptible nod of acceptance. Winking at him, she walked behind Cena's chair and gave the rear leg a hard enough kick so that the young commando slipped forward a bit. Jax's hand was there, steadying her, drawing her closer, into the seat Aeryn had just vacated.

"So what have you been doing for fun here, Cena?" Aeryn heard Jax say just before the crowd closed around her.

Smiling, Aeryn began looking for the tadek tables.




Teyn indeed had a stack of tiles she could scarcely see over, and had just won another tall stack when Aeryn found her. Whooping with delight, Teyn knocked all the chips into a huge pile and leaped up to hug a dark-haired man standing to her right. "Nothing but luck, Mal!" she exclaimed, and kissed him soundly.

She turned around to start scooping her winnings into a bag. When she saw Aeryn standing by the eight-sided table, she stopped, tiles trickling between her fingers, and frowned slightly. "Cash me out, Mal. I don't think I can top that play," she said, and handed him the bag. With a slow grin, she patted his hand. "You know where I'll be."

"I didn't mean to interrupt-"

"Oh, I'm done here," Teyn said fervently, catching Aeryn's arm. "I know when to walk away. I could use a stretch, though. Mal will cash me out."

Aeryn glanced over her shoulder as they threaded their way through the throng. "The broad-shouldered man?"

"Um hmm. Known him for cycles. One of the best pilots we have. You didn't buy Jax that bottle of raslak, did you?"

"Actually, I did," Aeryn said dryly, as they found their way out of the casino and into the quieter commerce area beyond. Teyn shot her a bright, inquiring look, and Aeryn chuckled. "And I found someone to share it with him, if you must know."

Teyn shook her head. "Jax is a fine fellow. You don't know what you're missing."

"Actually, I do. You don't know what you're missing," Aeryn shot back sharply.

Teyn stopped suddenly, wheeling around at Aeryn's tone. Her brown eyes were bleary from alcohol and hours of gaming, but the hard look in them made Aeryn automatically start to fall into a defensive stance.

"No, I guess I don't," Teyn said, her mild voice at odds with the look in her eyes. "I've never felt the way you have. Mine is a warrior's heart, and my love is for my comrades in battle. That's all I've ever known."

Blinking in the bright, artificial sunlight, she led the way to a bench under a small synthetic tree. They sat quietly for a few microts, watching the thin crowd of shoppers trickle from merchant to merchant. "So you're leaving," Teyn said matter-of-factly, but her small smile did not reach her eyes. "Going back to Crichton."

"Leaving?" Aeryn echoed, caught off guard. "Uh, well-maybe."

Teyn nodded slowly. "You don't need to explain, Aeryn. I can understand how you feel, just a bit. I wasn't carrier-born, like you. I was a conscript. My father was a Peacekeeper stationed on my mother's world for two cycles, during a conflict. They saw each other when they could. He knew she was pregnant when he left, but he had no options. Ten years later, the Peacekeepers came through looking for conscripts. My mother's people were starving, so she went to them and told them who my father was in the hopes that they would take me, save my life."

"Did you ever meet your father?"

"No. He was killed in battle before I was even conscripted. I found that out years later, after I had achieved certain security clearances. But I knew about him. I knew, because my mother had kept his memory alive. She had loved him."

Teyn cleared her throat, squaring her shoulders. "Aeryn, you are not a conscript. Members of our unit remain of their own free will. All we ask is that you keep the oaths you have sworn in order to protect those who continue to do our work. People do leave, do go on to other lives.

"So one day, you'll leave on a mission, and that will be the last we see of you."

"No, Teyn, I wouldn't do that-"

"Yes, you will, Aeryn. It will just happen, and maybe you won't have even planned it. You won't come back, and that's when I'll know you've gone to find him. And on that day, we'll have a drink to wish you well, but we'll also mourn your loss. Because you won't be coming back. Aeryn, you're a good soldier and a fine pilot. As a senior officer, I'm proud to have you in my unit for as long as you can stay. And I promise that I will try very hard to not ask anything of you that are not willing to do."

Speechless, Aeryn stared at Teyn for a few microts. "Thank you, Teyn," she said at last. "I came to tell you that I will be whatever tool you need. I trust your judgment, and I trust in what our group believes in."

Teyn nodded. "You won't regret it, Aeryn."

"Do you have any regrets, Teyn? Any at all for this life you have now?"

"Only the necessity of what I have to do at times. I sleep soundly."

"I hope I will too," Aeryn murmured, rising. "I hope I can balance the cost as well as you have, Teyn."

"You're not your mother, Aeryn, and you're not me. You're you. You'll find your way." Teyn clapped Aeryn's shoulder. "Now, you've got less than one solar day left. Stop thinking and relax for at least half of it."



Instead, Aeryn found herself sitting on the summit of Baranth's Stairs again, watching the sun set yet again, as it did every six arns. She worked it all through again, everything from leaving Moya to going to Valldon, trying to make it clear in her own mind.

"I figure the right thing starts at the beginning of the day, not after you've been caught."

She tried to look at events through John's eyes and realized how much she had hurt him, how many mistakes she had made. At the same time, she did not think she could have done anything differently. She would have to hope he would understand that, when she went back.

I will go back to Moya. I will go back to John Crichton.
She tasted the thought thoroughly for the first time, drawing on the optimism that her dream last night had given her. It had been the first time she had not struggled with identifying which John had come to her. For the first time, it hadn't mattered. For the first time, there had been no distinction between the two. It was simply John Crichton.

It was harder to come to a decision about the fetus. She had tried to give it as little thought as possible until she had been injured saving the little girl and had had two weekens off duty with little to do than consider consequences, fate, future. During that time, she'd grasped that perhaps she did want to have this child, no matter who the father was, eventually.

Now, she was sure.

If I can give it the life it deserves. If I can protect it. If I can figure out how to be a mother to it. If I can be strong enough to do this alone, if I need to be...

But those were questions, decisions, for a different day. For now, she was content to sit atop an artificial mountaintop, watching holographic stars wink quickly into a simulated night sky.

"That's that star right there... the bright one. That's my point of reference--my guide--and it always becomes the center of my chart. I always name it Aeryn."

Somewhere in the universe, John Crichton would be looking at the stars too.

[ScaperRed]

Shadow Past, Epilogue


Aeryn sat in her quarters on Moya, taking small comfort in the quiet life noises of the leviathan. She concentrated on her breathing, trying to calm herself, to make herself see clearly so that she would know what to do.

Fleetingly, she thought of the other missions she had gone on, the other decisions she had made before returning to Moya. What she had told Ullom was true, not just a ruse to make him break from hiding: "Your leader had more people slaughtered in one day than I could possibly kill in a lifetime. And if asked to do again what I did, I would do it again, and again... and I would do it for free. I wasn't hired to kill him-- "

Like Teyn, she sometimes regretted the necessity of her actions. But she slept quite soundly.

When needed, she had used the stimulants, in smaller amounts. And there had always been a cost afterward, a crashing wave of depression she'd had to ride out alone, belated payment for the momentary clarity of purpose. Never as bad as the first, because she kept her center, kept her resolve, kept her sense of purpose.

All the things John traded away each time he used the lakka.

So what do I do now?

Everything has been frelled since I came back. The cost of my decisions, my demons, my shadows. It should be my cost alone, consequences of my actions. But it's not. The cost has spilled over to him, obviously, because he can't cope with what I've done. Frell, he hardly knows anything of what I have done.
So this, then, is partially my fault. That means I have to make it right, somehow.

Leaping to her feet, she began to pace the length of her quarters. All she could think of was going straight to John to confront him, but that wouldn't work. All they'd been doing lately was politely fighting or avoiding each other. He would just coldly look through her, as he had on Earth when she'd gone to his father's house to ask him if he wanted her to leave. And then that frelling creature had attacked before he could say what he wanted, what she should do...

She could go to D'Argo and ask for his help. Frell, would that even do any good? Or would D'Argo see this as being a solution for John, a way for him to cut the ties? D'Argo has never forgiven Chiana; he would not understand John forgiving me, either.

Chiana? She and John had obviously become closer. But would that make John angry, for something else between them to be made public?

Frell. I don't know what to do. I don't even know what he wants me to do. He said to come back when I had my story straight. All right, then. Does that mean he wants me to tell him everything? Does he really think that that is all it will take?

But I can't. I'd like to, but I can't.

I'd like to tell him everything. I'd like to tell him how I found out about the pregnancy on the command carrier, how totally alone I felt, how conflicted. I'd like to tell him how I really felt during the coin toss. I'd like to tell him how it was a relief to leave Moya, to be able to get some space and time to think, and I'd like to tell him how much joy I felt when I realized that I could, I should, come back. I'd like to tell him about sitting on the summit of a mountain, looking at artificial stars in an artificial sky and feeling so close to him even though we were separated by so much. I'd like to tell him how much I want this baby to be John Crichton's. About how much I want to have it and raise it now, and how gradually I came to this decision...And even if I have to do it alone, I think I can do that now. I'd like to tell him about the dreams I have for this child, and how I never want her, or him, to be raised the way I was, with the vaguest memory of one parent and none of the other.

I'd like to tell him about Valldon, about all that happened there and all that I realized. I'd like to tell him about watching for signs, and seeing them along the way, and all the oaths I've taken. But I can't. He wouldn't hear it even if I tried. He's too far now, too far from me, and I don't know what to do. I don't know how to help him.

Wearily, Aeryn dropped down onto the floor, leaning her back against one of Moya's ribs, and rubbed her stinging eyes.

And I am so tired of being able to only give tears to Crichton.

Closing her eyes, she remembered Valldon, another Crichton, promises and vague signposts to watch for and declarations of love.

He'd been right about some things. The wormholes. It's instinct, Aeryn, and it's skill. You have to do it by touch, and you have to have absolute concentration. Remember that, and you'll be fine. You've flown the edge of one before, you flew Moya clear of another. You can't be afraid of them, and you can't hate them. You've got to let that go.

He'd said that it would take time, that Aeryn wasn't the only one who would need time. Wait for him, Aeryn. You've got to wait for him. You have to be strong for him, and you have to be strong for yourself. He'll ask for a lot. Give him what you can. You're going to have to trust your own judgment on many things, and he's gonna be mad as hell at you. Do what you know is right, and he will understand, someday.

You've got to believe in him, and in yourself, and in both of you together. You've got some-hard times ahead. Millions of people's lives will be riding on the decisions you and Crichton make. Do the right thing.

Most important, though, Aeryn-let yourself love him. And never forget that he-John Crichton-loves Aeryn Sun beyond all reason and all hope. And when he comes for you, it'll be with all he's got.

She began crying again, silently this time, cursing him under her breath. I've done everything I was supposed to do. I've done everything I could think of to keep us together. I've done what he wanted me to do. Frell, everything I did on Earth was for him-talking to those so-called military experts, letting them examine my Prowler, the medical tests-what more am I supposed to do?

Against her back, Moya vibrated gently. Dimly, Aeryn was aware of it, was aware too of a faint warmth through the back of her shirt and vest. The vibration deepened slightly, a rumbling purr, and the warmth spread across her shoulders. Hunched against the wall of the living ship, Aeryn accepted Moya's comfort and let the last tears of anger and pain fall.

She manually signaled to Pilot on her comms. "Pilot, Moya, thank you," she said softly, striving to keep her voice steady.

"Aeryn...is there anything we can do? Do you want to talk?"

Aeryn gave a strangled laugh and pushed herself to her feet. "Thank you, Pilot, but not right now. I have to trust in my own judgment for this."

"Of course. However, Aeryn...things are not always how they seem to be," Pilot said hesitantly.

"I know that, Pilot. I know that. Where's Crichton?"

"In his quarters. Do you wish for me to-"

"No. It can wait until morning." Scrubbing her hands over her face, Aeryn turned to the door. "I'll be doing maintenance on my Prowler, Pilot, for the next few arns. Leave my comms open, please."

"As you wish."

Aeryn strode down the corridor, longing for physical action. She would have to play this game carefully. A confrontation would simply make him more stubborn. She would have to be patient, wait for an opportunity to bring up his drug use, use that opportunity to make him see how it was affecting him, what the cost of it would be. She would help him find his way back.

Of course, if that didn't work, she could, quite calmly, take the lakka away from him and pin him out until he decided to see reason. She'd learned quite a lot from Teyn, about restraint holds and friendship and seeing things through.
Being patient.

Whatever it took from her, she'd pay the cost.