by RatGrl
Archive: This story is indeed my property and may be passed along and
archived as long as my name goes right along with it. Just ask first,
heh.
Category: Drama
Rating: PG-13, I guess.
Spoilers: None that I know of.
Summary: The crew of Moya must make a decision.
Disclaimer: Obviously the characters of Farscape do not belong to me and
never will (awww!). They do, however, belong to the Jim Henson Company
and I use them humbly for my personal entertainment within this little
universe of mine. The character of Seth is of my own creation, as well
as Captain Lundin. They are not to be used without my
permission.
Author's Note: This is the third part of the Evolution Series. It is
not crucial you read the first two parts, but it is suggested. Feedback
is always welcome.
Let's rock!
*****
The cautious footsteps echoed within the sterile silence of the
officer's quarters, interrupting Captain Lundin's pensive glare at the
expanse of blackness blanketing his vessel. Lost in thought, one hand
strayed to his face, absently rubbing the prominent line of his jaw,.
"Sir?"
If he concentrated, he could be lost within the nothingness.
"Yes Lieutenant?" Captain Lundin frowned, annoyed, turning to face the
sudden intruder.
Lieutenant Barka coughed nervously. "Our sources tell us that the boy
was taken to a Leviathan that was trading at the commerce planet."
"Is it still in the area?" Lundin asked, his interest growing.
He looked at his hands, wondering how long it would take to get the
stains out.
"We believe so."
He imagined a giant star exploding, then quickly disappearing. As if
it were never there.
"Then find it. And do not return to me until you do."
Lieutenant Barka nodded and quickly exited the room. Smiling, Lundin
clasped his hands behind his back, resuming his scrutiny of the pale
white stars drowning in a sea of ink.
Soon. The boy was close now. He could feel it.
Lundin licked his lips in anticipation.
*****
Words snapped through the air, sharp and serrated, like furious,
unchecked flames. An indignant glare, a crimson face, a strained curse;
all leapt together in a dissonance of opposition. Zhaan brought a hand
delicately to her temple, pressing lightly, feeling it faintly pulse
beneath her fingertips. A fervent voice, an accusing scowl, a scoffing
snicker. The assault continued. Pressing harder, Zhaan vainly hoped to
ease the intensifying headache beating through her skull.
Yet the distinct premonition that this meeting would not be reaching an
end any time soon caused her head to throb even more.
"He can't stay here!" D'Argo slammed a menacing fist onto the table.
"It's not safe!"
"How do you know it's any safer down there?" Crichton challenged, his
arm cutting through the air, indicating the planet they were currently
orbiting. "He was carved up by a rabid vendor, D'Argo, you call that
safe?!"
Zhaan cringed, waiting for the next onslaught of hostility to rain down
on all of them.
Ever since this disastrous meeting had begun, it had unexpectedly been
Crichton who was the most vocal about keeping the boy aboard Moya. It
was possible that Crichton, gripped with the naive notion that they, as
fugitives, could provide for the boy, was being too idealistic for their
current situation. But his passionate argument with D'Argo was genuine
and honest, and Zhaan found herself unwillingly filled with the optimism
a new child brings into the world.
Crichton was a strange creature. It would take cycles for her to even
begin to understand his paths of decision-making, most of which were
ruled by raw emotion and impulsive thought. Zhaan knew realistically
that keeping the child aboard Moya could easily be the equivalent of
signing his death warrant. They were fugitives, and dragging a child
into their world of uncertainty was simply not an option.
But perhaps, after taking part in the boy's rescue, Crichton felt
the desire, the responsibility, to protect this child. Perhaps Crichton
had invested himself within this life he had saved and couldn't find the
strength to abandon him to the unknown risks and pitfalls planetside.
Zhaan couldn't help wondering if Aeryn felt the same way.
Glancing at Aeryn, whose arms were crossed over her chest, defiantly,
dark eyes staring at the floor, Zhaan tried to keep her frustration at
bay.
Aeryn had risked her life for the boy's, that much was apparent. She
had carried his battered body to her Prowler while under a canopy of
chaos and panic, had held him, bleeding, on the way back to Moya. Had
even rushed him to Zhaan, laying him down on the medlab table with a
gentleness Zhaan had never seen the Peacekeeper exhibit before.
Ex-Peacekeeper, Zhaan corrected herself. Aeryn was no longer a part of
that world.
But it was so hard to tell, especially when Aeryn acted on the ignorant
ideals her people had forced upon her. Not moments after the boy had
been stitched up and was decided to be at least temporarily stable,
Aeryn was out of sight. For days, while the boy struggled against the
overwhelming darkness, Aeryn could not be found.
Then, on the third day, he woke up. Under Aeryn's watch.
Zhaan had been quite surprised to hear Aeryn's voice calling her over
the comm, dictating, calmly, the abrupt change that had taken place in
the status of the boy's condition. And she had been even more surprised
when Aeryn stayed and helped her perform the necessary medical checks
and re-checks that were crucial to the boy's survival.
But now Aeryn was a silent bystander in the discussions that were going
to determine this child's future. Aeryn, who had saved his life.
Aeryn, who had witnessed his reawakening into life. Yet she hadn't said
a word for the course of this meeting.
"We are fugitives. Or have you forgotten?" D'Argo bellowed.
Crichton's face reddened as he fought to contain his temper.
"I doubt he's forgotten, D'Argo," Chiana leered, smirking
mischievously.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Crichton, exasperated, spat out. If
Zhaan wasn't mistaken, a brief flash of guilt rippled across his
features. So he still blamed himself for the universe's woes. Typical
of Crichton.
She smiled, despite her growing aggravation with the crew.
"Yes, after all, it is because of him," Rygel added smugly, "That Crais
is still pursuing us."
Chiana laughed. Aeryn said nothing. A deep growl emitted from
D'Argo's throat.
"Rygel---" D'Argo warned.
"If you ask me, we should return the boy planetside as soon as
possible."
"No one asked you," Crichton hissed, still angry. Zhaan watched his
fingers involuntarily dig into the table's surface.
"I'm only looking out for the crew. We are on limited rations. One
less mouth to feed."
"How kind-hearted of you, your Royal Eminence," D'Argo snarled. Scowl
tightening in anger, Rygel swerved his hover chair towards the Luxan.
"I thought you were in favor of sending the boy back at the first
available microt."
"I am, but---"
"But what?"
A muscle visibly clenched in D'Argo's jaw. "I suggest you don't go
there."
"Why? Afraid I'll uncover a few more family secrets?" Rygel sneered.
With a deafening roar, D'Argo lunged for the Hynerian, who just barely
swerved ungracefully away from D'Ago's grasp. Crichton threw himself
into the scuffle, trying unsuccessfully to hold back the enraged Luxan.
Zhaan had to give him credit. He was brave.
But not nearly strong enough to keep D'Argo from ripping Rygel to
pieces.
"Ka'ha'leen, give me strength," she muttered, standing up, smoothing
out her robe. She closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath.
With an easy tug, she picked up one of the chairs scattered carelessly
in the mess hall. Zhaan took in another breath to calm herself, then
heaved the chair across the room, the clattering crash startling the
feuding crew.
"Are all of you finished?"
Everyone stared hard at her, silent. "We have been ‘discussing' for
nearly an arn now and we are still where we started."
Zhaan held up her hands. "So let us compromise. The boy has not said
a word since he has awoken. Once he speaks, we can get any needed
information from him. Then we will make a decision from there."
"I agree."
Aeryn stood up, jutting her chin outwards. Her eyes remained
impassively dark. "It is the only feasible thing to do, at this point."
The others nodded, still taken off-guard by Aeryn's sudden assertion.
With nothing more to be said, they slowly began to clear out of the mess
hall. Zhaan hoped that as they retreated to their rooms they would
carefully reconsider their decisions.
And Ka'ha'leen willing, they would soon have a plan.
Aeryn tried to slip past Zhaan, undetected. Zhaan quickly caught her
by the arm.
"Just think of it as a field strategy exercise, Aeryn." She paused,
meeting Aeryn's eyes. "He is only a boy."
Aeryn said nothing, breaking from Zhaan's grasp, leaving the mess hall.
But for that moment as their eyes connected, Zhaan saw an unnameable
turmoil rippling through the gray, breaking through the surface,
reflecting a startling geyser of vulnerability. A bare, unchecked mass
of emotion Zhaan had never seen before in the Sebecean or in anyone
else.
Zhaan made a mental note to reserve a special prayer for the
ex-Peacekeeper tonight. She would need it.
*****
Aeryn stood outside his room, watching, fascinated by each delicate
puff of his chest as he took in a new breath. One hand clenched at her
side, muscles sore and stiff, while the fingers of the other wove
through the metal bars.
He was beautiful when he slept. Innocent.
Her fingers curled around the bars, knuckles whitening, unrest outlined
in each crease of her pale skin.
Why was this so difficult? Why was it so difficult to admit she wanted
to know if he was okay?
Because maybe it was more than that.
Maybe she even cared.
The boy's leg twitched slightly under the blankets, his arm brushing
across his face haphazardly. Wriggling onto his side, one bare foot
poked out of the tumble of blankets tangled around his small body.
She could have sworn she heard him whimper.
Aeryn blinked her eyes furiously, quelling the aching that had risen
inside.
Why was it she was so mesmerized by this child? Why did she constantly
find herself, late at night, keeping vigil over him within the shadows?
He was a mistake. Peacekeeper doctrine had deemed it so. A mistake, a
sin, an evil byproduct leaked from the womb of parents disfigured and
polluted by the entity of Free Will.
Yet here she was. Watching him.
She couldn't explain it. She didn't dare to. It was dangerous to
explore such thoughts, such feelings. To lose yourself within the
infinite depths of Truth, to walk untethered to the solid buildings of
Fact, to be manipulated by the vision of Self? Improbable. She
rejected Thought and Feeling and Love. She rejected those beasts
happily, lustfully. Without reservation. And in that sublime
proclamation, she felt safe. Protected. No longer alone, but an
insignificant piece of the Larger Whole.
But then why did she still feel so unfulfilled?
Aeryn bit the inside of her cheeks, her body betraying itself, shaking.
She chose not to explore that thought any further.
Again, the boy squirmed to get comfortable. This time Aeryn was
certain she had heard him whimpering. And when she looked closer,
through the dim light throwing shadows against the walls, her eyes
caught a glistening bead of water trailing down his smooth face.
He was crying.
Oh, frell.
Her mind wrapped around itself, coiling tight with indecision. Should
she do something? Get someone? Or just leave?
He scrunched into a ball, thin arms wrapping around his legs, face
pushed into the cradle of his knees. Pitiful, Aeryn assessed. Weak.
Yet Aeryn couldn't muster any contempt towards the child.
For a microt, that bothered her. Worried her even. But her mind
was currently focused on the boy, who was now rocking in an erratic
rhythm, his sobbing muffled by the waves of blankets wrapping around
him.
Perhaps she should call Zhaan in. Zhaan would know what to do.
But she was a soldier. She had fought countless enemies, sometimes
only armed with her bare hands. She could at least, she rationalized,
handle a child.
But she wasn't trained to deal with children.
Just think of it as a field strategy exercise, Aeryn.
Why did she suddenly find that phrase clawing into her thoughts now,
uninvited, when she needed to ignore it most?
He is only a boy.
She swallowed, hard.
He is only a boy.
She walked in, awkwardly, careful not to startle him, yet making enough
noise so he would know she was there. Resting a hand on his bed, she
crouched next to his bed, her face level with his. When was the last
time she had been this close to him? Not since he had awoken, she
realized. Not since he had rejoined the ranks of the living.
Just think of it as a field exercise, Aeryn.
She cleared her throat. "Why are you crying?" she asked, as gently as
possible. Her heart thumped loudly in her ears, a loud, demanding,
beat.
He is only a boy.
He didn't answer, only started to cry harder.
Discouraged, Aeryn leaned back on her haunches, preparing to leave.
She had tried. And failed. But this was not in her training, she
reminded herself. She had never dealt with children before. She didn't
know how.
But she did try.
But why did that not feel like enough? And why couldn't she leave his
bedside?
She felt a brush against her arm. Looked down. A small hand clutched
her shirt sleeve, the fabric twisted within his frail grasp. "Don't
leave me."
His voice was so soft, so strained. Faint. Surprise choked through
Aeryn, and she found that she couldn't speak, couldn't reply, couldn't
tell him that nothing would make her leave him at this moment.
Nothing. Her throat was tight, her tongue dry. Why couldn't she find
the voice to tell him that maybe she didn't understand what was going
on, or how to fix it, or even what it meant, but that she would do her
best to protect him as long as she could?
The revelation burst through her mind in a brilliant flash of light,
bright and blinding.
And frightening.
She would protect him. As long as she could.
"Please."
Her hand raised and rested on his head, smoothing down a rebellious
lock of blonde hair. His face looked up into hers; vulnerable,
sorrowful. Trusting. Aeryn felt something break inside her, then
rebuild, and she finally found her voice.
"My name is Aeryn."
The profound declaration rang in her ears.
Since she had been born, she had been conditioned to see herself as a
Peacekeeper and a Peacekeeper only. A solider. Duty first, personal
desires last. Every fiber of her identity had been held within her
people's hands. And when it had been ripped away from her, irreversibly
demolished forever, she had been lost, unable to stop the world from
tilting on its axis.
Alone.
But her name was Aeryn. She was Aeryn. Not Officer Aeryn Sun, or
Aeryn Sun, Peacekeeper. Just Aeryn.
And strangely, that was more than enough.
"What is your name?"
The question felt clumsy to her ears. Awkward. She had saved his
life, sat by his bedside, watched him sleep, and yet she didn't even
know his name.
He wiped a hand across his face. Sniffled. Released her shirt from
his grasp.
"Seth."
She smiled warmly at him, a small laugh deep in her throat. A corner
of his mouth twitched, tentatively. They watched each other for a
while, gray eyes staring into clear, honest blue, feeling out the
other's presence.
He had stopped crying. And maybe at that moment, to Aeryn, that was
all that mattered. Not the aching in her knees, not Crais, not her
life. Him. Seth.
Just maybe.
"Will you stay here with me for a while?"
"Yes."
*****
"Zhaan!" Pilot cried urgently. "Zhaan!"
"What is it, Pilot?" Zhaan asked hurriedly, trying to read Pilot's
agitated face on the viewscreen. D'Argo appeared next to her.
"There are Peacekeepers wishing to board."
"From Crais' command carrier?" D'Argo demanded.
"No."
"Then what do they want?"
Zhaan's breath caught in her throat, afraid she already knew the
answer.
"They say," Pilot began. "That they are looking for a boy."
*****
Seth's eyes finally drifted closed, his body relaxing within the wings
of peaceful slumber. Aeryn rubbed a hand across her face, suddenly
feeling the weight of the day descending upon her heavy limbs and sore
knees. Mentally and physically exhausted, she hesitated to leave for
her own bed.
She had promised him she would be there if he woke up again.
A loud voice suddenly bristled over her comm, startling her. She
quickly glanced at Seth, thankful he was still asleep.
"Aeryn!"
"Yes, Zhaan?" Aeryn straightened, alert.
There was a pause over the line, as if she was deciding whether or not
to proceed. Then, "Is the boy with you?"
"Yes," Aeryn answered. "He just fell asleep. What is going on?"
"Good. Stay with him. Out of sight. There are Peacekeepers on
board."
"Crais?"
"No. But please, stay out of sight."
"Zhaan," Aeryn pressed. "What is it you're not telling me?"
Silence crackled over the line. Aeryn tensed.
"You are not aboard this ship. Neither is the boy." Zhaan paused,
letting the silent connotation sink in.
"I understand."
Yes, she understood. All too well.
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