Disclaimer: Same as all of my other stories, please ask if you take it.

Thanks are in order to: My beta reader, Kelly Hill, who has patiently pointed out all the obvious errors that pass by my oblivious eyes, and Jeff at Redbeard’s site, the BEST Farscape site out there in my book! Thanks also to those who emailed me and kept telling me to "HURRY UP DAMMIT!" This Bud’s for you! (sluuuurp...aaahhhh...)

Author’snote: Please, send me feedback! Chocolate is also appreciated, and inspires me to wondrous flights of fancy. :)

Blackest night prevailed.

The stars lay scattered on the heavens like jewels tossed casually upon a velvet coverlet, glittering madly. Constellations shimmered to life before his eyes; Leo the Lion roared his rage; Taurus, the mighty bull, pawed the heavens until they trembled; the Twins Gods of war fought unseen enemies. Unspeakably beautiful tapestries of cosmos and galaxies spun and danced before him, wielding their magic seductively. He had had his chance, and now it was gone. He had thrown away his one chance for a life among the stars, just as he had thrown away his best friend and all the years they had shared.

DK sighed and pulled his gaze from the desert sky. He took a long drink from the bottle of Corona in his hand, wondering as he did if John had managed to get a good supply of beer sent up to Moya. He set the beer down on the hood of his jeep and shifted his position, gazing once more above. The news reports said that the best place to see Moya pass in orbit was here, in the middle of the desert where no city lights would interfere. He had been halfway to Death Valley before he even realized that was his destination.

He shivered in his parka, wondering what sort of fool would sit in the desert at night, with thirty degree temperatures, drinking cold beer. Smiling in spite of himself, he remembered many earlier excursions to "star watch", usually accompanied by John and whatever girls they were dating at the time. It didn't matter where they lived, they always found some secluded spot to watch the heavens. And let's face it, watching the stars could be cold...and romantic. Those had been good times.

DK glanced at his watch, and then scanned the heavens again. Any time now, he thought. Any time. So far he had seen a number of satellites and even a handful of shooting stars. Numerous low and high flying jets had passed close on the horizon. Deciding it was time to get serious about it, he jumped off the hood of the jeep and began fine tuning the telescope set up on the hard pan of the desert floor.

Finally ready, he once more glanced at his watch. This was it, time for Moya to make her appearance. His excitement mounting, he almost missed her as she hove into view, a blip of light larger than any satellite. So large, in fact, that he decided he could be standing in downtown LA during a psychedelic light show and still see her moving gracefully across the sky.

He adjusted the telescope again, finding Moya and sharpening the focus carefully. A gasp of pleasure escaped his mouth, the small puff of steam from his breath threatening to cloud the lens. Oh, so beautiful, he thought. So graceful, so elegant. Moya moved across the deep expanses of space like a dolphin in water; smooth, strong, confident. DK found himself wondering what was going in inside of her. Were John and Aeryn still awake, were they talking, arguing, making love? Were the boys sleeping or were they giggling and plotting, as he and John used to do? Was Jack there, sleeping peacefully surrounded by aliens? He would never know, but it didn't stop him from wondering.

Moya moved swiftly across the night sky, coursing through the heavens like some finely bred horse might cut a path across it's pasture, moving with deceptive speed and poise. She was a thing of beauty, all right, one of a kind. At least, in this part of the Galaxy.

All too soon, she was gone, her lovely shape disappearing over the horizon, leaving DK with only the cruel stars for company. Somehow he thought it fitting, that since he had lost John, his only consolation would be the stars, which turned out to be no consolation at all.

And blackest night prevailed.

********************

"CAT I'M GONNA KILL YOU!" Griffyn Crichton screamed at the top of his lungs, tears of rage welling in his eyes and his hands shaking in barely controlled anger. He stood in the middle of the room he shared with his brother, covered in a slimy greenish substance with an odor that could knock a Sheyang off his feet. The object of his anger simply danced out of range and squealed laughter, clapping her hands with glee. Standing safely on his bed, Garryt could only stare at his twin in horror, glad that for once he had been left out of this particular prank. A sudden bout of self preservation made him take a good look around to make sure one of the stink bombs wasn't hiding somewhere set for him.

"Oooh, Griff *stinks*!" Cat chortled madly. "He's so *stinky* mommy and daddy ain’t gonna let him go to the big dinner t'night!" She did a little skip dance at this particularly juicy thought. Griffyn, despite his superior age of nine years, felt the tears coming. He cast his dejected gaze at his twin for moral support, but Garryt was staring behind Cat, a look of resignation on his face. Following his gaze, Griffyn stifled the tears the best he could.

John Crichton stood behind Cat and wondered, not for the first time, what sort of hallucinogens he and Aeryn were on when they decided to have kids. They were like puppies or kittens, so damn cute when they were little. But they had a nasty habit of growing up. And growing up was so...messy. Hiding his disappointment, John stepped up to Cat, gently touching her on the top of her head. She whirled around, immediately dropping into a defensive position. Even as he admired her reflexes, John felt a surge of frustration. What ever happened to sugar and spice and everything nice? Oh wait a minute, he amended, this was Aeryn's daughter he was talking about.

"Want to tell me what happened, Cat?" he said quietly.

The dancing and gloating stopped, and the defensive posture was changed into her best little girl pose; hands behind her back, head down, and crystal blue eyes looking up beseechingly through thick lashes.

"I don' know, Daddy," she said with a little girl lisp, "Griff got stinky."

"Can the act, Catherine. You are in big trouble here," he said sternly.

Knowing that to interrupt before being asked for their own version was not going to help their cause, the boys stayed quiet. Cat was most certainly going to get in trouble, but trouble seemed to have a huge fallout effect. Silence was the best option at this point.

The sudden switch from innocent child to thwarted evildoer was a typical Cat Crichton typhoon. She could go from demure to demonic in nothing flat, John thought as she stomped her feet and began to shout out her story in enraged little snippets that made no sense to John whatsoever.

"...an' GRIFFYN said he was older so he could...an' GARRYT said I was jus' a GIRL...it ain’t FAIR! It ain’t FAIR! IT AIN’T FAIR!"

John watched her with a mixture of amusement and horror. This was his *daughter*? He shook his head, waving his hands in front of him to shut her up.

"Whoa, whoa, slow down and try again."

She burst into tears then, and John sighed. Despite her commando tactics and guerrilla training, she was after all just a seven year old girl. He looked behind him, hoping to see Aeryn returning from wherever she was at the moment, but no luck. With a sigh of frustration, he turned back to the wailing Cat and the hapless boys. This was not the time or place for this; they had a banquet in less than two arns with delegates from the Earth Colonists and every wig big enough to rate passage aboard the transport pod. John Crichton, his wife, and all three of his children were supposed to be in attendance. Now he would have to deal with a child who smelled like a Zenetan cesspool at high noon and another one having a snit fit of titanic proportions.

Why was it the problems facing the colony now seemed insignificant compared to this?

"OK, here's what's going to happen," he said firmly, grasping Cat's arm as she pinwheeled out of control in her anger. "Garryt, you help your brother get out of those clothes and into the shower. I'll send Chiana in with some industrial strength cleaner. Amnexus fluid, Pine Sol, jet fuel, sulfuric acid...whatever the hell it takes to clean you up we'll use.  Cow shit would smell better than you do right now." When neither boy moved, he snapped his fingers. "Come on, hop to it, we have less than two arns."

Garryt hopped off the bed and approached his brother hesitantly. "Um, Dad? This shi...um...dren...um stuff, got on Griff's good clothes. Mine too."

Sighing in frustration, he held the now silently squirming Cat out at arms length, a habitual position for her in a tantrum, and shook his head. "Send them down to the cleaning chamber, see if they can get them clean. If they can't, we'll just have to make do with something else."

The boys nodded, and Griffyn began to gingerly pick at his clothes in an attempt to remove them. Garryt was even more tentative, but when John was certain they were on their way to success, he left with Cat still held out like a flailing banshee.

Once he had her in the relative quiet of his and Aeryn's quarters, he dropped her onto the bed. Watching her pound her fists and kick her heels and resume screaming incoherently in an actual factual tizzy fit was not what he had planned for the evening. He first called Chiana to help the boys and then went about his business of dressing, ignoring the tantrum as best he could. When Aeryn came in, Cat was winding down and John was nearly ready to go. She eyed her red faced daughter suspiciously.

"What did she do to the boys this time?" she asked.

"Hit Griffyn with some sort of a stink bomb," he replied tiredly. "I'm not sure if either Griffyn or his clothes will recover in time for dinner. Oh, and Garryt's clothes got it too."

"Dren," Aeryn cursed. "Do you want me to take care of it?"

"No, I'm ready to go, you get dressed and I'll deal with Genghis Khan here."

Smiling in amusement, Aeyrn watched as John expertly scooped his now pouting daughter into his arms and left the room. Avoiding the stench in the boys’ room, he went straight to the family area. Sensing she was going to be in trouble, Cat began to struggle again. That was it, John was tired of playing the game by her rules. He dropped her none to gently onto the couch and threw up his hands.

"Nora Catherine Crichton, that is ENOUGH!" he ended in a shout. Not surprisingly, Cat subsided, her blue eyes so round that John thought they might pop right out of her head. Scrubbing his hands through his hair in frustration, he stopped right in front of her.

"Do you know what you've done? No, of course you don't know what you've done, you're seven, your brains are mush and empty neurons looking for something to do so you torture your brothers and do your level best to get them into trouble and then act innocent."  He took a deep breath and then resumed, speaking almost to himself. "You act without thinking, but of course you  do, you're seven, what do you know? Why think about the consequences of your actions when doing whatever tickles you is so much fun? You think only of yourself, but of course you do, you're only seven, being egocentric is what childhood is all about. I guess I can't expect you to act like anything but what you are, a child..."

"I am NOT! I'm almos' as old as Gare and Griff I am NOT A CHILD! I'M GROWED UP!" She stood face to face with her father and shouted.

"THEN ACT LIKE IT!" John shouted back.

Cat nearly fell backwards in astonishment. John was appalled with himself for yelling like that, but then realized that she was actually listening. Live and learn, he thought.

"If you want to be treated your age, act it," he said bluntly. "If you want us to treat you like we do the boys, do something to deserve it. If you want to be on equal terms with the boys, then behave yourself. If you want to grow up at all, then maybe you should rethink your tantrums." He paused, leaning down so that he and the peanut sized menace were eye to eye and continued. "If you think we are going to listen to you scream and whine because life is unfair, you have made a huge error in judgment. A wise man on Earth once said, 'Life is unfair...get used to it.'  It seems to me you are in serious need of a reality check."

Speechless now, all Cat could do was stare gape mouthed at her father, more horrified at the turn of events than any thought of punishment. How had she lost control so quickly?

"So my darling daughter, this is how it is. You have two choices. You can apologize to your brothers or you can sit in your room during dinner."

"But they tol' me I was a baby an' I couldn't go it was their fault not mine an' they're mean to me alla time..."

"Two choices Cat, and I mean it. Apologize or stay in your room."

"But..."

"Did I tell you this morning that you were going to dinner?" he asked.

"Y-yes,..."

"Did you think I had changed my mind?" he continued.

"N-no...."

"Did you know the boys were teasing you?"

Abashed now, she hung her head. "Yes," she said softly.

"Did you make a poor choice on what to do next?" He was nothing if not relentless.

"...yes..." even softer.

"Then face the consequences. Apologize or sit in your room. Your choice, take

your time."

She kept her face down for the longest time. John waited, holding his breath without even being aware of it. She scuffed one toe over the other, scowling and nearly sobbing, the decision process seemingly a painful one. Finally she lifted her face to her father's.

"I'll 'pologize," she muttered.

"Wise decision, Cat. Maybe you'll grow up after all," John said with a smile.

Crisis averted, he turned her over to her mother and went to check on the boys. 

***********************

Despite the Great Stink Bomb crisis, despite John’s lack of enthusiasm for formal functions, and despite the unbearable boredom, the banquet was an unqualified success. The Colony project was nearing completion. More than two hundred of Earth’s finest scientists, medical personnel, agricultural experts and engineers were eagerly anticipating the departure of their shuttles to Moya for a two week acclimation trip. They would lift off in less than three weeks.

And for the first time, John felt a sense of accomplishment. Finally, things were working out like they should. The League Against Colonization had more or less folded under the pressure from the rest of the scientific community. Reverend Hessler had been reduced to ranting to his rapidly dissipating crowd of followers. Alex and her husband had once again disappeared into obscurity.

And DK still was silent. John’s only regret, really, was that DK hadn’t come around. Even knowing that he’d spilled his guts to Alex didn’t keep John from wishing his best friend was joining them when they left.

Still, things were peaceful for a change, and John was reveling in that peace. In fact, he was so enamored of the change that he made secret plans, sharing them only with his father until the details were taken care of. Aeryn was stunned when he broke the news to her, a silly, sappy, all too human grin pasted on his face.

"We’re doing *what*?" she asked, incredulous.

"You heard me," he replied, grinning even wider.

"Yes, I heard you, I just don’t *believe* you..." she said forcefully.

"It’s simple," he said, flopping down on the bed and crossing his arms behind his head. "You, me, the kids and Dad are going to spend Christmas in the old farmhouse in Vermont where our family spent every Christmas that I can remember. My sisters are joining us, too. I figured this was the best way to get to see them, and have them meet you and the kids."

"And what happened to ‘I’m never going down planet again’?" she asked.

He shrugged, a difficult maneuver while laying flat on his back. "Things change. I don’t really see a threat now, since the Flat Earth Society self destructed."

"There was a threat before them, you know," she answered carefully, sitting beside him and frowning. "Or have you forgotten the false Earth?"

"Not likely I’ll ever forget that," he said quietly. "I just don’t see that being a viable threat anymore. We’re too public, too popular. One thing I do know about Earth and its spooks is that they do not like media attention, and if they made a move against us, it would be a big media circus."

"That doesn’t make me feel any better," she replied simply.

"Aeryn, trust me," he said with a quick grin. "The spooks are strictly on a ‘look but don’t touch’ agenda right now, and this is probably the last time we’ll be able to do something like this." He reached up and took her hand in his, rubbing his fingers over her palm. "It’ll be OK," he said.

Reluctantly, she agreed. How could she refuse him this? Especially when she had initially insisted he to go down to Earth when they first arrived. He was right, there was really nothing to fear.

Nothing except the rattlers giving dire warnings in her own gut.

****************************

The day was postcard perfect. The Vermont countryside was sugar coated in snow, dotted with tiny little farms and villages with high steepled churches. The mid day sun was so glaringly bright that the solar reflectors had dropped on the shuttle windows. John had insisted that Aeryn let Merryc do the flying so she could join him and the children at the windows, just enjoying the view. She had to admit, it was like nothing she had ever seen. It was beautiful, in its own simple way. Pristine and virginal in its covering of newly fallen snow, the landscape below her beckoned enticingly. She found herself smiling, the rattlers fading to a dim memory.

"Pretty, isn’t it?" he said from her elbow. His arms wrapped around her and his chin rested on her shoulder so he could also watch below. The children pointed out this or that charm while squealing with delight.

"Yes, I guess it is," Aeryn admitted.

"Glad we came?" he asked.

"Yes, of course."

"Me, too," he murmured as he kissed her lightly.

"Dad! What’s that?" Garryt asked for the hundredth time. John smiled indulgently as he peered out the window.

Down below, in the middle of a small town park, dozens of children were busy sledding down a hill. From their vantage point, the scene looked like an ant hill swarming with busy workers, albeit dressed in colorful swatches of clothing. All three children watched, thoroughly absorbed.

"It’s a sledding hill," he began.

"What’s sledding?" Cat asked before he could continue. Griffyn nudged her with his elbow, giving her his best older brother superior glare. "What they’re doing," he said.

Stifling a grin, John continued. "A sled is usually made of durable plastic or wood and metal. You sit on it and slide down the hill." He watched as the hill left their view, then continued. "Snow is slick, like ice. Sort of. Believe me, it’s extremely fun."

Beside him, he saw Aeryn smile as well, and wondered what she would think about sledding. Remembering her delight in piloting her prowler through dangerous paths, he decided she would enjoy sledding very much. Probably as much as the kids. He made a mental note to ask for a few more sleds. Knowing his family as he did, he could see a sledding wreck or two in their immediate future.

*************************************

He swung the ax firmly, feeling the satisfying ‘thunk’ as it made contact with the wood and continued through. The sixteen inch diameter log fell in two neat pieces, and the ax head buried itself in the worn chopping block.

As he pulled the ax free, the boys each grabbed a log to stack and he grabbed a new one to split. This was something he never thought he would miss, splitting wood. Not that he had done much of it, but it had become a Christmas tradition over the years. He found its repetitive action soothing, a muscle memory of Christmas past. It was nostalgic, in it’s own way. He checked to see that both boys were out of the way and swung again.

The snow covered ground was littered with wood chips. The day was cold, about 20 degrees Fahrenheit, but John and the boys were down to sweatshirts and jeans. Now *that* was a blast from the past, good ol’ Levi Strauss originals. Exertion aside, the brisk air felt great after the months of living aboard Moya. Their arrival the previous day had been a busy one, filled with snowball fights and sledding, blazing fires and hot cocoa, Christmas music and wine. In a word, it had been perfect. Jack had met them at the farm house, complete with a decorated Christmas tree and presents.

He heard the squeak of tires on snow and rested the ax head on the ground easily as he watched the rented car glide in, followed by and preceded by armed guards in Humvees. The guards were Army issue and, he felt, necessary to a peaceful Christmas. He barely noticed them now though as he observed a tall man in a camel hair coat exiting the car, followed by a woman in a full length mink. Both had that glossy, made up, varnished look he always attributed to the faux rich. Since they hadn’t noticed him yet, he watched them carefully. The boys, he was happy to see, had faded into the woodwork. They too would be watching carefully.

The woman’s smile slipped fractionally as she realized they had no audience. The man frowned, as if he expected a welcoming committee. They said something to each other over the roof of the car, looking both peeved and puzzled. Then the man ducked his head into the still open door and spoke again.

Almost reluctantly, the back door opened. A young boy emerged, both older, taller, and broader than the twins. As he stood, John grimaced at his rebellious new age tufted hair cut and his arrogant sneer. Too far away to hear what he said, John nonetheless understood that this boy had a low opinion of Vermont, snow and having to inconvenience himself in any way. He also noticed that the boy was well on his way to obesity.

Finally deciding that he needed to do something, John picked up the ax and swung it one handed, letting the head hit the chopping block with a muted *thunk*. The woman raised her head quickly at the sound, and looked over her husband’s shoulder at the wood shed, partially hidden behind a stand of walnut trees. John waved, and began, however reluctantly, to walk her way.

His sister Carol had arrived.

****************************

"Oh, John!" Carol gushed as soon as she was certain he could hear her sufficiently enough to appreciate her horrible anguish at a lengthy sibling separation. "It’s been so *long*! I thought we’d *never* get to see each other again!" She moved towards him as gracefully as possible, considering the snow, attempting to provoke a scene worthy of Gone With the Wind. He let her embrace him, only returning it superficially. Never one to pretend, he hated it when it was foisted upon him. But as per a long talk with his father, he had promised to keep his not so flattering opinions to himself.

"Hi, Carol, it’s good to see you," he replied honestly. Good, but not great. John and Carol only got along marginally at the best of times.

"Oh, all these years, we thought you were dead..." she paused dramatically, tilting her head up to him to assess his reaction. He only raised his eyebrows fractionally, leaving his hand on her shoulder. Her blue eyes were misting, but he knew Carol wouldn’t cry. No sense wasting good make up. Close scrutiny of her face told him she’d had more than one nip and tuck. She looked artificially young.

"Yeah, you and me both," he quipped. Trying to avert a Carol scene, one where she dominated the conversation with how horrible it was for *her* while he was gone, how terribly *she* had suffered, he looked over her shoulder at the tall blond man slowly approaching and the fat kid with the 2011 version of a Gameboy who was now sitting in the open car door.

Carol at once saw an opportunity to take charge again. Smiling widely now (and would you look at those expensive teeth, John couldn’t help but think inanely), she half turned, keeping one hand on John’s arm and pointing dramatically with the other.

"John, this is my husband, Mitch Greer."

Mitch flashed a $5,000 smile John’s way and reached out eagerly to shake hands. John had always been one to judge a man on how he shook hands. You could tell a lot by the grip, or lack of it. Mitch had what John thought of as the professional bottom dweller’s hand shake. Strong, firm grip, one quick up and down shake, a gentle squeeze, and drop. Must have been cultivating that hand shake for years. As artificial as the rest of the man, John thought. Mitch showed signs of the old nip and tuck himself.

"John, great to meet you, honored actually," Mitch was saying effusively. "Truly an honor."

Holding back from his natural reaction (gagging), John smiled convincingly and nodded his head. "Nice to meet you Mitch," he replied.

"Oh, and this," Carol beckoned prettily to the pudgy boy, who didn’t even pretend to notice them. Blanching at the insult, Carol nonetheless recovered well, turning back to John with that oh-so-perfect smile to say with fractured joviality, "This is Mitch’s nephew, Wesley. His parents are in Acapulco, and we promised him a good old fashioned Christmas." Wesley looked like he could give a ripe shit about Christmas, parents, Acapulco or anyone else in the universe for that matter. John nodded dismissively and smiled. Sure, whatever.

"So, John, I hear you have some boys of your own. That’s great, Wesley could benefit from some pals right about now," Mitch spoke, fairly oozing with sincerity and smarmy pop psychology. "His folks are going through a...rough patch. Wes is taking it rather hard." Carol pulled on her best ‘oh that poor boy’ face as her husband spoke.

Choking back his disgust and amusement, John looked around as if he had no idea where the boys were. "Yeah, they were just here a minute ago helping me chop wood." Garryt was hiding rather effectively in the bushes at the corner of the house, close enough to see and hear all being said. Griffyn was on the roof of the wood shed. John played dumb, giving the boys time to remove themselves from their present locations and be presented.

"Oh, I’m so excited to meet them," Carol said with false sincerity, casting her eyes about nervously. John knew her hesitance came from the boys being half Sebacean. Carol had always been a bigot as well as a snob. "Wh-where are they?"

Just then, both boys clattered out the back door of the house and down the steps, their new Land’s End snow boots making a gleeful noise on the wood. Both boys were grinning, giving their father a look. No sweat, they seemed to say, we got it handled. Act like normal Earth boys. Six months in orbit reading Earth novels and watching an occasional TV show had given them a fair idea of what was required.

"Dad, can we go sledding?" Garryt asked before they had even gotten close enough to be introduced. Carol pulled her coat closer to her, looking the boys over as if she expected to see horns growing out of their heads or tails protruding from their Levis. Mitch’s eyes narrowed speculatively, and Wesley made disgusted grunting noises as he jabbed at his portable game player. John pulled the boys close to him, one on each side, and turned them to face their aunt.

"Garryt, Griffyn, this is your Aunt Carol and your Uncle Mitch," he said formally. "And this is Uncle Mitch’s nephew Wesley." Understanding formality quite well, both boys smiled and responded politely. Carol smiled weakly and stammered something; Mitch shook their hands as if he was doing them a favor.

Garryt turned around under his father’s hand. "Can we, Dad? Can we go sledding? Please?"

"Yeah, sure," he replied, and then as if as an afterthought, added, "Why don’t you ask Wesley if he’d like to go?"

Grinning, both boys trotted to the car to stand in front of Wesley. "Wanna go sledding?" they asked in unison.

Wesley finished some sort of maneuver with his modern Game Boy and hit the pause function. He looked at the twins with a grimace of supreme disdain. He looked them up and down, distaste evident on his face. "Why would I want to do *that*?" he said in a whining voice.

Garryt let his smile falter, but John wasn’t fooled. They were setting ol’ Wesley up for a fall, pun intended. Not much got by his boys, and poor Wesley was badly outmatched. "Well, cuz it’s fun?" he said. "Come on, we got this really cool sled..."

"Sleds are not cool, they’re lame," Wesley snarled contemptuously.

Garryt was quiet for a minute, then he smiled slyly. "Oh, I see. You’re afraid. That’s OK, we understand."

He turned to his brother. "Race ya to the top of the hill," he said, and ran off. Before they had gone ten feet, Wesley was on his feet, his face turning purple.

"I am *not* afraid!" he shouted, and ran off after them. Mitch and Carol watched in horror, wondering what would happen to ‘poor little Wesley’. John wondered the same thing, but he was wishing he could be there to watch.

"Well," Mitch said, "That went well. I think Wes wanted to go all along, but he was just too...sensitive to say anything."

John snorted back laughter and helped them unload the luggage from the car. "It’s a good thing Garryt saw that then. Wes being sensitive and all." Mitch frowned, uncertain whether or not he was being laughed at.

After unloading, unpacking, and quelling Carol’s obvious distaste at their room (she wanted the master suite, the one John and Aeryn had), they all wandered downstairs, where John poured drinks for them and opened a beer for himself. He swallowed a third of the bottle in one long swallow, then looked up to see Carol giving him the ‘eye’. He remembered the eye, she had had it for as long as he could remember.

"What?"

"That’s disgusting," she said.

"No, it’s beer," he quipped.

"You are acting like a barbarian," she sounded appalled. Mitch seemed amused, almost distracted.

"Why, because I’m drinking a beer?"

"No, because you’re drinking it like a...a...redneck."

"But Carol, honey," he drawled, "I am a redneck, and so are you. Besides," he set the beer down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, "I’ve gone eleven years without beer, I have to make up for lost time."

"No beer out there, huh?" Mitch commiserated. "What did you drink?"

"Hmm, well, there was Fellip Nectar, but it doesn’t pack much punch. There’s some hootches out there that will knock you on your ass and keep kickin’, and I do my level best to avoid those. Well, most of the time. Unless there’s a really angry Luxan *demanding* I match him drink for drink. But not much in between, and nothing, *nothing*, like good ol, wonderful, refreshing, beer." He took another long pull, emptying the bottle. Mitch watched in amazement, Carol tried not to die of embarrassment.

"Wow, how do you do that?" Mitch asked.

"You never were in a Fraternity, were ya, Mitch?" John asked sadly.

The squeak of tires on snow again alerted them to vehicles. John glanced out the window and smiled. "Ah, my women!" he grinned. "Dad took Aeryn and Cat Christmas shopping."

"Your daughter’s name is...Cat?" Carol asked hesitantly.

"Yup. Nora Catherine Crichton. Cat for short. And because she’s got claws and knows how to use them."

Carol laughed. "But she’s only seven! I’m sure she’s a sweetheart!"

John laughed. "Are you kidding? Better forget that line of thought or she’ll have you suckered with her sweet little girl routine and then *whammo*! she’ll pounce."

Carol swatted John’s arm as she stood in preparation to greet her alien sister-in-law and her half alien niece. "John, you are being needlessly cruel. She’s *just* a little girl."

"Yeah, and the Black Plague was *just* a touch of the flu," John muttered darkly, but with a grin. Mitch looked a bit lost, but John was beginning to think that was his normal self defense routine.

Jack came in first, laden with packages and grinning happily. He said a quick hello and moved to the back bedroom to deposit his load. Behind him trooped Cat, carrying one small package and sporting a new haircut. One look at Carol and Cat stopped short, eyeing her warily and placing her package carefully on the table. She glanced at her father and then back to her now approaching aunt.

"Oh, you must be Catherine!" gushed Carol, flashing her perfect teeth and letting her eyes brim again as she crossed the floor. In an instant, Cat knew that this strange woman was going to embrace her. Self defense instincts kicked in, and she dove behind the couch for protection. Casting one eye in her father’s direction, she asked him a question in Sebacean.

"Who is *she*?" she asked with unfeigned horror. Carol had stopped mid stride, appalled and more than a bit confused.

"Cat, this is your aunt Carol, my sister. Don’t worry, she won’t bite. Give her a hug."

Eyeing Carol still more warily, Cat asked again in Sebacean, "Do I have to?"

"Yes, and speak in English or you’ll be doing the dishes by yourself tonight,"

John responded sternly. With a sigh of resignation, she came out from behind the scant protection of the couch and approached her aunt. Wrinkling her nose at the cloying scent of perfume, she let herself be hugged...stiffly.

"Well, Catherine, It’s so nice to finally meet you!" Carol managed to blurt out, doing her level best to salvage the situation.

Not knowing what to say, Cat turned her stricken face up to her father. John bailed her out.

"And I’m sure she’s happy to meet you, Carol, but she’s a bit overwhelmed right now." He turned to his daughter. "Cat, honey, why don’t you run upstairs and change? The boys are out sledding, if you want to join them." Grinning with a mixture of relief and excitement, she raced off in a most unladylike manner.

John looked around, but still didn’t see Aeryn. Jack returned from the back room, gave Carol a hug and shook Mitch’s hand. Seeing John’s perplexed look, he nodded out the door.

"Aeryn got a communication from Pilot and stayed in the car to finish. She’ll be right in," he supplied.

Carol interrupted him before he could reply. "You sent your seven year old daughter to go sledding with the boys? Don’t you think it might be a bit...rough?"

Before he could form a reply, a smooth voice speaking in the same strange language Cat had used answered her.

"Of course it will be rough, but I’m sure the boys will survive," Aeryn said as she tossed her PK issue leather jacket over a hook by the door and crossed the room to John.

"What...what did she say?" Carol asked, her eyes glued to Aeryn.

"She said that of course it would be rough, but that the boys would survive."

"No, I meant Catherine."

"So did she."

"Oh."

There was either nothing or everything left to say on the subject, so John took the easy route and made the introductions. Something was said about dinner, and everyone moved to the kitchen. Carol, John noticed, stayed well away from her sister in law, giving her the ‘eye’. He sighed inwardly.

It was going to be a long Christmas.

*****************************

Garryt smiled politely as Wesley puffed up the hill, his face red and sweat dripping from under his hat. With studied politeness, Garryt offered the sled’s rope to the larger boy, telling him, "Watch out for that run," he pointed down a steep hill that ended at a split rail fence, "it’s scary." He smiled, a jackal in disguise. Wesley grunted with disdain.

"You ain’t nothin’ but a couple of wimps!" he snorted. "That hill’s for pussies."

Garryt frowned, intentionally misunderstanding. "It’s for felines?"

Wesley laughed, tears squirting from the corners of his eyes. "Oh man, you two are such *idiots*!" he wailed, slapping his hands on his meaty thighs as if punctuating his statement. He recovered eventually, wiping his face and turning to the slope Garryt had pointed to. "I’ll show you how it’s done." With a considerable lack of grace, Wesley plopped belly down on the sled and tried to push it. With his knees bent, he attempted to shove off with his hands. The sled, bogged down in the soft snow, didn’t budge. "Gimme a push off, pansy!"

Garryt and Griffyn each grabbed one of Wesley’s feet, their eyes meeting in a silent communication inherent only in twins. They pushed hard, running through the snow and nearly launching Wesley airborne as he leapt from the brow of the hill.

They listened to him whoop, first in exhilaration, and then in abject fear as the sled picked up speed until it was rocketing along at a deadly clip. Laughing like hyenas and leaping down the hill in huge bounds, the boys followed Wesley’s descent closely, howling in laughter as the sled picked up air going over a small hillock and made the bigger boy grunt in pain when it landed. They stopped as Wes approached the split rail fence, wondering if he would notice before he was thoroughly closelined. An earsplitting howl of sheer terror told them he had seen it, but was he too close to do anything to save himself?

The sled could clear the bottom rail of the fence easily. The sled and one small child, pinned flat, could also pass underneath. The sled and one large fat child could not. Wesley’s head and shoulders passed because of the sheer force behind his descent. Unfortunately for Wes, his butt didn’t fit. His stop was sudden and screeching, and so was Wesley. Screeching, that is. As if he’d been killed. Nearly doubled over in uncontrollable laughter, the twins reached the larger boy, but they were incapacitated by their own mirth and unable to help right away. As soon as they regained control, they pulled and pushed on Wesley to try and dislodge him, to no avail. Still laughing, Griffyn began digging at the snow in an attempt to lower the sled. Finally, after several minutes of digging and listening to Wesley whine and cry and watching the snot run from his nose, they had him out.

"I’m gonna tell my Uncle Mitch!" he blubbered, rubbing his bruised posterior and running home. The boys only giggled all the harder. Wesley ran through the snow around the base of the hill, passing Cat on her way to meet the boys. He never stopped crying or running, and Cat watched him go with mild amusement. When she reached the twins, she cocked her thumb over her shoulder at the retreating Wesley.

"Hit the rail, didn’t he?" she asked conversationally. At her brother’s

exclamations, "It was the *draddest*!" her only comment was, "I get next!"

*********************************

Christmas morning was all John had hoped it would be. Tons of presents, garish lights, hopelessly excited children and indulgent parents all combined for a morning of exuberant fun. The stockings nearly dragged the floor and spilled candy and treats out the top like wonderful confetti. Each child had a mountain of gifts to open, and so did all the adults. The pile of torn paper, ribbons, bows and chucked tissue was jaw droppingly stupendous.

Even Jolene and her husband Topaz, both hold over hippies from a bygone era, and their braided and ornamented children Dream, Light and Dance, enjoyed the spectacle. They considered themselves minimalists and abhorred the collection of meaningless objects. Despite this, they gave presents to all the family, from Grandpa Jack down to their half alien cousins. Hand crafted necklaces made of stone or petrified wood, braided on sisal twine and wrapped in loose woven wool scarves; strange whistles carved from mesquite; dolls and figures made of corn cobs, wood and hemp, dressed in the same loose woven wool. John found himself wondering, not for the first time, of the dichotomous nature of his two sisters.

Carol’s gifts tended to be too large, too ostentatious, and far too many. Piles of cutesy little dresses for Cat, along with bows and scrunchies for her hair. Dolls and darling little ponies and kittens made of molded plastic and cheap ceramic were given a baleful eye, soon to be unceremoniously discarded. The boys fared no better. Polo shirts, khaki pants, dress shoes and ties were mounded on top of tame computer games about leaping frogs and princesses in need of rescue. Board games like Monopoly and Life, meaningless beyond measure in the Uncharted Territories, baffled them. Not a gun or a knife in the works, the Crichton children thought miserably. Both boys thanked their Aunt Carol effusively of course, and even Cat was prodded into passing on a brief albeit insincere response.

Jack did far better. Each of the boys got a top of the line skate board, complete with three sets of spare wheels each and all the requisite protective gear. Cat received a trick scooter, something all the rage since the turn of the newest century. Loftily disdaining anything the boys clamored for, she squealed like any other seven year old when she unwrapped her grandfather’s gift of a metallic green and purple scooter. It too came with all the bells and whistles, and all the spare parts and protection applicable.

John gave each boy a new knife, the best he could find from a local maker. Custom made of the finest steel and fitted on hand carved and smoothed walnut, they were perfectly balanced pieces of art. Even Aeryn had been suitably impressed at their quality. She demanded John take her to the craftsman after Christmas for her own knife. Cat received a smaller version, although no less deadly. It was her first knife, and her mother gave her strict instructions on how to treat it and not abuse its deadly nature. Carol was predictably appalled, and Jolene frowned in staunch disapproval, but John shrugged it off.

Breakfast was a loose affair, simple foods laid out on the breakfast bar for any to snack on. Christmas dinner was already teasing the olfactory senses with succulent aromas of turkey and glazed ham. Potatoes were ready to boil, yams were cleaned and cut, and the jello salad quivered in the cool confines of the refrigerator. It promised to be a fine meal.

John sprawled on the couch, clad in only his Levis and a soft gray henley shirt that Aeryn had given him. A cup of coffee, laced with mellow whiskey, warmed his hand. He watched his children experience their first real Christmas with a real tree and all their family and abruptly wondered how he could take this from them. As usual, Aeryn sensed his mood and nudged her way on to the couch,

sitting at his waist and leaning back on him.

"How can you be moody on a day like this?" she asked, stealing his cup for a sip.

"Hmm...jus’ thinking. This is their first Christmas, and probably their last, with their family. It’s just a little overwhelming is all."

"Oh for frell’s sake, John, we can come back from the colony once in awhile.

Once a year if we have to. This won’t be their last. Or yours either." She leaned down and gave him a quick kiss. "Now get off your ass and enjoy your children’s Christmas presents with them! And help them carry all those useless clothes upstairs!" Without looking back, she made her way into the kitchen, knowing full well that John had done what she suggested. Moody yes, but easy to cajole out of it sometimes.

***************************

Garryt and Griffyn piled their assorted treasures on their beds in the attic room set aside for all the boy cousins, sorting the great gifts from the bizarre. On the floor near their beds, Dream sat cross-legged and watched them with eyes as soft and brown as a doe’s. Dream was eight, younger than the twins but older than Cat. He had shoulder length brown hair tied off into a series of braids and festooned with beads and other ornaments. Of all the cousins, the twins liked him the best. He was odd, but he didn’t rub them abrasively like Wesley or tell them they were heartless savages for eating meat like Dream’s older sister Dance. Light, the oldest of their family, despised them all for being younger than his ten years and far more immature. He wore his long hair in dreadlocks and meditated more than Zhaan. He also picked his nose when he thought no one was looking. Garryt and Griffyn ignored him. 

It was obvious that Dream was in serious hero worship mode. He didn’t speak, he simply watched his cousins with adoring eyes. They were like gods to him, and he was simply an unworthy follower. Besides, they protected him from Wesley.

"What the frell is this?" Garryt queried his brother as he held aloft a clip tie of staid navy tones.

"Who cares?" Griffyn shrugged. "Dad said we’d donate it to someone who needed it." He glanced at Dream and smiled. "How ‘bout you, buddy? Need some new stuff?"

But Dream’s hero worship didn’t extend to natty clothes and formal ties. He wrinkled his nose in distaste and shook his head. Hair ornaments rattled like castanets as he did so.

"Don’t blame you," Garryt said as he made a neat pile of clothing. Dream smiled at the offhanded praise.

A rude blatting noise interrupted their sorting. Wesley had arrived.

"Hah! Got lots of pretty clothes, don’tcha, babies?" he bawled. Dream scuttled surreptitiously closer to Garryt, who just as surreptitiously moved between his younger cousin and the dreaded Wesley. Dream was weird, but he was all right.

"Did you hear something?" Griffyn asked in Sebacean, cocking his head to the side eerily reminiscent of his father.

"No," Garryt replied in the same language, then held his nose as if assaulted by a fetid odor, "but I sure *smell* something!"

The language might have gone over his head, but Wesley knew right away what they were saying. When Dream laughed from somewhere below Garryt’s knees, he became angry.

"What’d you say?" he demanded of Garryt, moving closer and nearly spitting into the smaller boy’s face. "What’d you say, faggot?!" he demanded.

Garryt leaned in closer to Wesley until their noses were almost touching. His eyes were glittering with laughter. "I said, you smell like a Sheyang who’s been lighting his own farts." He cast his eyes up and down Wesley's large frame. "Kinda look like one, too." Griffyn laughed heartily at this salvo. Dream crept further away from Wesley, enjoying the show but showing remarkable self preservation skills.

"I’ll *flatten* you for that, faggot!" Wesley sputtered, his face gone red and purple.

"Yeah, I imagine if you sat on me you would," was Garryt’s calm reply.

With a high wailing scream of inarticulate rage, Wesley launched himself at Garryt. Predicting Wesley’s move had been easy, so Garryt simply let his knees fold back, throwing both boys onto the bed. But Garryt used Wesley’s momentum to flip him over, pushing off the floor with both legs and sending big ol’ Wes over the bed and onto the floor. Before Wes could comprehend what had happened, Garryt was straddling him, his knees planted firmly in the bigger boy’s fleshy biceps and one hand cocked back for a punch.

"Give," he said simply, with a smile.

"Get *offa* me faggot!" Wesley sputtered.

"Give."

"I’m gonna tell my uncle!"

"Good. Give."

"What’s going on?" a voice interrupted in a superior tone. Garryt never moved, his eyes never left Wesley’s face. Griffyn converged on the interloper, their older cousin Light. "None of your business at all," he said smoothly.

"What are you doing to Wesley?" Light said in horror. As the oldest, he tended to react like an adult about situations like this.

"The same frelling thing I’m going to do to you if you don’t shut up and get out," Garryt said in a level tone, fist still cocked, eyes on Wesley.

Light’s eyes narrowed and his thin lips compressed to nothing. "You will not. I’m going to get my mother."

"Good. Get out, go get your mommy," Griffyn said softly. "Get ours while you’re at it. Hell, get Grandpa too. But do get the frell out." Light fled.

"Now, where were we, Wes? Oh yeah, you were going to give, right now, or get a face full of knuckles." Downstairs, they heard Light hollering for his mother. The answering reply was faint, and Light’s voice retreated as well.

"My uncle is gonna kick your ass!" Wesley wailed. Garryt waved his fist again and leaned on his knees, causing Wesley to wail even louder. "That huuUUURRTTSS!"

"Give," Garryt said again. Wesley’s only reply was to cry harder. The sounds of footsteps on the stairs alerted him to the approach of an adult. He stood and gave Wesley a disgusted nudge with his shoe. "Typical bully, can’t take it when someone gives you your own treatment." Wesley only sobbed more. When he knew the adults were in the room, he really went to town.

Jolene approached with a worried frown, earrings and ornaments dangling. Behind her was Carol, her face a well practiced mask of suffering and horror. Light gloated behind the both of them. As soon as he saw them, Wesley began to blubber out his story, complete with rather large embellishments.

The interrogation began. Who started it, what did you say, why would you do that?, you just wait until I tell your father, poor Wesley, he’s *hurt*! What did you *do* to him this time? Wasn’t it bad enough what they did to him while sledding? It was really going badly for the twins when Griffyn caught a glimpse of Cat peeking over the landing and then hustling down the stairs. He stifled a grin. She was going for their parents, he knew. No matter how much the three of them tormented each other, blood was blood.

By the time John and Aeryn made it upstairs, Carol had worked herself into a sobbing frenzy, forming a duet with Wesley. Jolene was in full finger shaking mode, aiming first at Garryt and then Griffyn. Her tirade had less to do with what had happened than with a total anti-violence agenda, complete with a speech about ‘loving your fellow man’. John got there just in time to hear her admonish Garryt that he was a disgrace to the human race.

"Then it’s a damn good thing I’m only half human," was his frustrated reply.

The silence was palpable. Even Wesley slowed his sniffling in surprise. John interrupted before anyone could blow up again.

"I’m trying to take offense at that," he said easily, "But with such stellar representations of the human race present, I find it difficult." He moved to the center of the mess, between the twins and their sniffling cousin. "Tell me what happened."

"They *jumped* me for no reason!" Wesley wailed. Carol hugged him closer, shooting ‘I told you so’ looks at John.

"I was talking to the twins," John said evenly, "Seems to me you’ve already had your chance to talk."

Garryt waited until his father’s attention was on him fully before he started. Trained from birth to be honest and truthful regardless of the consequences, he told them everything, omitting no details. He wouldn’t mind being punished for his part, as long as Wes was punished as well. Wes and Carol both tried to interrupt at several points, but John would have none of it.

Aeryn listened as well, hearing what wasn’t said. That Wes was a bully was common knowledge to all but Carol. Personally, Aeryn would have liked to let Garryt finish what he had started, but she knew that wasn’t going to happen. A small movement caught the corner of her eye. Dream peered over the far side of the bed, watching intently. He seemed worried about something.

"Oh, I see, it’s *all* Wesley’s fault," Carol said bitterly. "And you of course believe that," she added, turning to John.

"What I believe right now is that someone is lying, so let’s just find out what happened without involving the Spanish inquisition, OK?"

"I can *tell* you what hap..." Carol began, but she was cut off by a quiet voice from the corner.

"Garryt told the truth."

All eyes turned to Dream, sitting quietly on the floor where he had remained hidden from the moment Wesley entered the room. Jolene moved over to him and encouraged him to stand. He spoke again.

"It was just like Garryt said, he didn’ leave nothin’ out." Dream said quietly, eyeing Wesley furtively.

"That’s a lie!" Wes blurted, tears forming again. "He’s lyin’!"

Jolene leaned down into her son’s face. "Is this true, Dream? Honest?"

"Yes."

She straightened and nodded at John, who looked to Carol and the weeping Wes. She cast hateful eyes his way and nearly spit at Jolene. "I see, you are ganging up on me, just like when we were kids." She escorted Wes out the door and they stomped down the stairs. The silence was overwhelming.

"I’m sorry, Dad," Garryt said softly, rightly understanding that this childish incident had boiled over into adult territory.

"No, Gare, it’s not your fault. I’ve had to stop myself from pasting a hay maker on that kid’s face from the moment he got here. You boys have shown remarkable restraint."

"John, that’s a horrible thing to say!" Jolene protested.

"Of course it is, but it’s the truth. He’s an annoying bully."

"He’s a child!"

"Come on, Jolene, remember being kids? Remember how Kandi Olsen used to laugh at your hair? Remember when Frank Weimer pushed you down and skinned your knee and you *begged* me to kick his ass? It sucks, but it’s *kids*. We teach them values and we do our best, but sometimes we have to let them solve their own problems. Life is going to be extremely tough on ol’ Wesley as he gets older. I feel sorry for him." He looked at the twins, at Cat peering intensely at the entire scene, at Light and Dream watching in undisguised horror, at Aeryn watching in undisguised pride. "See Jolene, you and I have raised our children the same in many respects. They admire and respect courage and honesty; they hate bullies and liars."

"My children know that violence is not the answer," Jolene said softly.

"Your children know that they live in a society where they can live out that philosophy. Mine live where life is a gamble. Violence is an unhappy reality there."

"It doesn’t have to be that way," Jolene began, "You could take a message of peace with you when you go..."

"Give it a rest, Jo," he said angrily. "Preaching peace to the Uncharteds is like masturbating, it feels good but it doesn’t accomplish anything." Light and the twins held in snorts of laughter, but Dream and Cat exchanged perplexed looks.

"Don’t be crude, John!" Jolene snapped. "You’re making excuses."

"No, Jolene, I’m teaching my children to survive. They must know how to defend themselves to live. Peace is what we are looking for at the colony."

"If they could learn to live in harmony with other races, they could teach that to others."

"You’re not getting it, Jo. We *do* live in harmony with other races. We have a very mixed crew, a dozen different species, all living together, as close to racial harmony as we could get. But that’s just Moya, just one small group. Any PeaceKeepers would shoot us on sight. Any Nebari that found us would make certain we were mentally ‘cleansed’. All for getting along. We’re the exception in the galaxy, Jolene, not the rule."

Jolene was silent then, absorbing this information in abject misery. "What a dismal reality you live in then, John."

"Dismal?" he frowned. "It’s what we make of it, Jolene. I have a family, friends, a home. We’re going to start a colony, a new way of life. What’s dismal about that?"

"It’s founded on violence," Jolene responded. "It’s doomed to failure."

"Hell, Jolene, if that’s the case then all of mankind is doomed. We have a knack for violence, if you remember." He shrugged. "We do whatever we need to to stay alive, Jolene, and I don’t feel the need to apologize for it."

There was nothing to be said, after that. Jolene took her sons and left. John looked at Aeryn and the kids and sighed. "My family put the ‘fun’ in dysfunctional."

**********************************

It was Jack who suggested the trip to Disneyworld in Florida. After all, they would be leaving for Moya in two more days, they needed something to bring the families back together. Carol had been cold, Jolene distant. Mitch stayed confused, but John knew by now that this was his strongest defense. Playing dumb worked for him.

John had managed to keep Kaben on board Moya while they were at the farmhouse simply by insisting that they had protection and they were safe.  Reluctantly, he had agreed.  The trip to Disneyworld was a tougher sell.  It took a lot of fast talking on John's part and back up from Jack, Admiral Fleer and Aeryn before Kaben would agree that yes, they were right, Human's were not ready to see aliens in their midst.  Not yet, at any rate.  For that same reason, Zhaan had also stayed on Moya, even for the holiday.  While John was comfortable with his father's relationship with the beautiful Delvian, they were all fairly certain the sisters would have dropped dead from shock.  Besides, Zhaan insisted that it was a traditional family affair, she would, at this point, be an unwelcome intrusion.

With Admiral Fleer making all the protection arrangements, John agreed. Aeryn felt apprehensive, but after seeing the way the kids oohed and aahed over the brochures, she couldn’t say no. Even Jolene was getting into the mood, and her children were ecstatic. Wesley managed to pull himself out of his sulk long enough to express interest as well.

So they planned and packed and loaded up for the trip. John insisted that they all travel together, and that meant a trip in one of Moya’s transport pods. It was faster, safer and could carry everyone. Jolene and Carol were nervous, but Mitch was as exuberant as a pup. Apparently he held some long repressed desire to be an astronaut. Go figure.

The day was perfect. Sunny and warm, but not oppressively so. Aeryn was comfortable in the 70 degree heat and the others were gleeful to be free of the cold. Jolene and Carol forgot their differences and managed to giggle over some old stories from their childhood. Jack had fun ushering his grandchildren, all six of them and even Wesley the tagalong, on as many rides as he dared to try.

It was Aeryn who delighted John the most. The wilder the ride, the more she whooped with the excitement of it. If it soared high, zipped fast, dropped like a stone or flung you about like a dog with a rat, she was happy. No, she was rapturous. She dared him to join him when she saw him hesitate, but he couldn’t back down. He joined her and whooped right along with her, even when he felt like hurling instead. For better or worse, he thought.

The day done, the children satisfied, the parents exhausted, and everyone stuffed to the gills with more processed food than they could stand, they straggled to the exit. Aeryn walked arm in arm with John, completely fulfilled. John had had his Christmas with his family, and despite the petty bickering, it had been enjoyable. She was glad they had done it. The children knew their family now, and, despite their oddities and obvious faults, they were good solid people. She decided she liked knowing them.

As they left the gates and walked through the parking lot en route to the pad where Merryc waited with the transport, Aeryn couldn’t help but notice how strung out they were as a group. The twins and Cat were out in front, Dream tagging along behind and Wesley hounding them with surly insults. Fringing them, some thirty feet ahead, were the guards, circumspect in their civilian garb.

Closer to Aeryn and John were Light and Dance, walking with their mother. Their father, Topaz, had had enough of family and fun and had headed back for Arizona the day before. This small group was about fifteen feet directly in front of Aeryn, while Carol, Mitch and Jack were some twenty feet behind them.

Frowning, Aeryn swiveled her head around looking for whatever had suddenly made her nervous. She could see the boys, laughing and joking with each other, their new Levis already out at the knee and broken in like any earth boys’, their t-shirts spotted with small stains, their matching navy blue sweaters tied at their waists. She saw Garryt tilt his head up and watch a bird soaring overhead and smiled at the expression of beauty on his face. His dark curls shook with his laughter. Cat made some comment to her brothers, and they tore after her in retaliation.

It was then that the rattlers hit her, and hit her hard. She pulled away from John and stopped, so abruptly tense that she seemed a statue. John stopped also, turning his head to see her better.

"What?" was all he needed to say.

She didn’t reply to him, instead she called the children. "Garryt! Griffyn! Cat! Get back here now!"

John whirled to see where the kids had run to, seeing at once that while the boys had heard their mother, Cat hadn’t. Whatever had been bothering Aeryn suddenly hit John, and he also shouted for Cat. Seeing that his sister wasn’t stopping, Griffyn turned back to chase her down.

At that moment, when they were at their most vulnerable, the Earth shook.

Cat, furthest out, heard a thunderous crash. She felt the cement heave beneath her and fell to meet it. She saw one of the guards rushing to assist her, felt his strong arms lift her easily, heard him tell her it was OK, she was fine. God would be with her.

That woke her up. She looked up into the face of the man who carried her and realized he was not one of the guards. He was a stranger, and he wasn’t carrying her towards her family but away. For a moment, fear froze her heart, but only for a moment. With stunning swiftness, she found her voice and shrieked like a banshee.

The man nearly dropped her in surprise. Cat struggled mightily, but he held her tight. No matter, all she needed to do was reach her ankle. Her new knife was strapped tightly in place, ready should an emergency arise. This classified as such, she decided, and when she managed to grab it, she swung it full force, and with a scream to wake the dead.

This time he did drop her, swearing and grabbing at his injured arm. Cat wasted no time in running back the way she had come.

She ran straight into a vision from Hell.

The earth shaking she had felt and heard was a bomb. Smoke and flames were everywhere, people were screaming and running around mindlessly. She couldn’t see her father or mother. Very nearly she panicked.

From the flames came two men, each carrying a child clamped tightly to his body. At first Cat thought they were rescuers, but then she realized they had Garryt and Griffyn, and her heart stilled once again. The boys were both struggling, but weakly, as if they had been injured. The men were running hard in the opposite direction she was going. She had to do something, and having escaped her own captor gave her courage. Without a thought for the consequences, she launched herself at them, brandishing the knife and shrieking wildly.

She felt the knife bite deep in the leg of one of the men, but he swung a huge back hand at her and drove her down to the pavement. Her head singing and her eyes fighting back tears of pain and rage, Cat struggled to her feet. Her last glimpse was of Griffyn’s face, watching her with fear, gesturing her to go back, go back, get away. Sobbing, she did just that. With her heart heavy, she turned from her brothers and ran away.

**************************

For John, the world slowed to a horrible speed. He saw the boys running after Cat, saw one of the guards moving to intercept them, saw them slip past. They were strung out like this; Cat in front, then the boys, then the guards. Closer to him, Wesley and Dream were frozen in place and Jolene was half turned to see why John was yelling. Then the first blast hit them.

A car between John and Aeryn and their children disintegrated into fine parts, spewing flames, glass, metal and smoke in all directions. Not even stopping to think about it, both John and Aeryn drew their concealed weapons and ran. Choking, John found his sister, huddling over her children protectively, all of them injured but amazingly alive. He paused long enough to tell them to move back to safety before continuing on. The smoke was thick, the world directionless. He plowed on, following Aeryn’s strong back.

A small shout of joy stopped them abruptly, and Aeryn scooped up Cat. Dream was clinging to her, frightened tears on his cheeks. Wesley hovered close, fear overcoming his initial disdain.

Cat wailed her story, telling her parents about the men and the twins. She gave a description of them, as well as she could, and told her father which direction they were headed. Hot with anger, she brandished her small bloody knife, confirming her account of the attack. Then she buried her face in her mother’s breast. Dream wrapped his arms about her too, nearly crawling up her body in fear. With a look, Aeryn told John she would get them to safety. He must go after the boys.

He ran. Another explosion rocked him, and he felt the heat push him back. Struggling to his feet, he thought he saw two men race away, carrying something.  He followed, his feet pounding the cement, his blood pounding in his veins. Never again, never again, his blood cried over and over. Never again. He wouldn’t lose another child, his heart and his mind couldn’t take it.

He burst into clear air, the screams of people were faint or his ears were damaged from the blasts, he had no idea which. But regardless, the men he was chasing were right in front of him, burdened with his sons, slowing under the weight. He shouted, aiming his pulse gun, his anger an overwhelming, palpable rage.

One of the men slowed, stopped. But John couldn’t fire, the man made certain Griffyn was in the way. The man turned, aiming something past John. Not a gun, no, a transmitter. He depressed a button, then turned again and ran.

Before John could draw down and shoot, another blast rocked his world. He felt the heat wave like a strong hand, lifting him, spinning him like a toy, shoving him roughly to the pavement. Oddly, he heard no noise, and it didn’t strike him until later that it was because he couldn’t hear at all. He felt no pain, only a numbness that started at his heart. He watched through a steady drip of blood from his head as his sons retreated into the distance, and knew that he had failed. He dropped his head in despair and grayed out.

*****************************

Aeryn raced back to where she had seen Jolene and found Jack there along with Carol and Mitch. She handed the weeping Cat to her grandfather and let Jolene pull Dream from her arms. Wesley ran easily to Carol and Mitch. With little time to waste, she tossed out orders.

"Jack, get everyone to safety. Two men have the twins, John went after them. Cat can give you a description." She reached up and activated her comm. "Merryc! Get in the air and get a visual. The twins have been abducted, and I’m thinking they are going to try to fly them out of here. Pilot! Launch all the marauders and prowlers on a search mission. Lock onto the boys’ comm signals. They may not realize we can locate them that way."

Without waiting for any response to her orders, she ran after her husband and sons.

**************************

She found him alone, a still form in a small spill of blood, unconscious. The burning car on his left told her he never saw what hit him. His pulse was weak but steady, his cuts superficial. She called out to one of the guards who followed her, telling him to go for an ambulance. The other guards stayed with her, one assessing John’s injuries and telling her what she already knew, that he was unconscious but seemed to not be seriously injured.

She held him, eyes distant, wondering who had done this and why. Wondering if her boys were being held hostage for a ransom, or if they were political prisoners, or worse. Wondering if John would recover from this, if he would hang onto his sanity yet again.

Wondering if they would ever escape this place alive.

*************************

The helicopter landed close, its rotors chopping noisily at the air. Aeryn watched as paramedics determined the best course of action for her husband, marveling at their professional calm and their expertise. This may have been a low tech society by her standards, but they did know more about human physiology than anyone on board Moya. This was the best course of action.

John slowly regained consciousness, his over dilated pupils focusing on her face first. He was sluggish to respond, but slowly answered her when she called his name.

"You’re going to be fine, just relax. You’re going to be fine," she repeated, wondering if it were true. He could only shake his head with infinite slowness.

"No, no, they took the boys...gotta go find them..."

"We’re looking, don’t worry. We’ll find them. Pilot is doing a search for their comm signals right now." She didn’t add that Pilot was having difficulties finding their signals, and believed that the comms had been destroyed or discarded.

He struggled to rise, only to be held down by the paramedics. One of them leaned over to speak to him. "It’s OK, Captain Crichton, we’ll take good care of you. You’ve got a concussion and some bumps and bruises, but you should be fine. We’re taking you to the hospital, they’ll check you out..."

"NO!" John lurched upright, nearly tossing both paramedics to the pavement. Aeryn pulled him back down, holding his head between her palms and doing her best to calm him. He ignored her pleas and continued to fight. "NO! No hospital! Take me to Moya, but NO HOSPITAL!" His obvious hysteria made her heartsick.

"John, calm down, it’s fine, just calm down, I’ll stay with you, I promise..." she did her best, but he couldn’t be calmed. She knew his irrational fears from the false Earth were still with him, and the not so irrational fears from his torture at Scorpius’s hand. She understood his reaction, even if she had no way to experience it. One of the paramedics held out a syringe, nodding his head in John’s direction. Understanding that he wanted to sedate John, she replied with her own terse nod. Better he be sedated and healed than for him to hurt himself further. The paramedic efficiently applied his needle, and John quickly subsided.

"This isn’t a real good idea with his concussion, but I couldn’t see any other way to calm him," the paramedic told her. Knowing he had no microbes and thus wouldn’t understand a word she said, she merely nodded and stroked John’s face. Soon enough, they loaded him in the stretcher and onto the ‘copter. One of the paramedics held his hand out palm up, as if to stop her from coming with them, but one shot from her icy glare and he changed his mind. They’d make room.

The flight to the hospital was uneventful. The paramedics spoke to each other and presumably to the hospital via their headsets. The helicopter was unbelieveably loud, and John was unbearably quiet. She realized then just how dependent she was on him. She needed him as much or more than he thought he needed her. Her fear of losing him diminished with each passing mile however, to be replaced with a new fear.

Where were her sons, and were they all right? Would she ever see them again?

*******************************

Griffyn opened his eyes to darkness. He wasn’t bound, though his limbs felt sluggish. Groggily, he raised his head, reeling at the wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. His newly opened eyes felt gummy and thick. He lowered his head again, flat on the ground, and waited for the feeling to pass. It took forever.

When he could finally look around in the dark room, he realized he could see a little, so there was some light. He was overjoyed to see a dim shape next to him, recognizing his brother’s shape even in the dark. He felt better just knowing they were together. Not only could they plan their escape together, they didn’t have to worry about finding each other when they did make their move.

He managed to sit up eventually, although it took every effort. He looked around carefully. Wherever they were, it seemed to be a small room with no furniture. As his eyes adjusted further to the light, he saw a small sink and toilet in the corner. A towel hung nearby, a lump of soap graced the small soap holder. Gradually, he realized the light came from a half covered window, and his ability to see more came from the growing light outside. That meant it was morning, and they had slept the night through.

Wanting, no, *needing* to speak to someone, Griffyn nudged his brother with his hand. A stifled groan told him Garryt was on the verge of waking. Knowing from experience how painful it was, but still desperate to speak to him, he gently shook his brother again. "Wake up, Gare, we need to plan."

"Oh frell, I feel like a company of Luxans just did a tap dance on my head," Garryt moaned. He tried to sit up, gagged, subsided back, and moaned again. Griffyn rested his hand on his brother’s back and waited. Eventually Garryt sat up, looking around like a bleary eyed drunk.

"Where the frell are we?" he muttered.

"Not a clue," was his brother’s reply. "But we ain’t staying long." He was speaking in Sebacean, and in a moment that fact sunk into Garryt’s brain. He replied in kind.

"I guess it’s safer to speak this way, isn’t it?"

"Yeah, unless whoever grabbed us is someone who’s had microbes injected. I figure those odds are slim, so we’re safer this way."

"When did you get so damn smart?" Garryt asked with a grin.

"I didn’t, I just came out of whatever drug they hit us with quicker than you," Griffyn grinned back. For a moment, his grin faltered. "Do ya think Cat made it back OK?"

Garryt mused on this for a moment, then nodded. "They had us, no reason to grab her too. Too risky at that point. Besides," he grinned again, "she looked pretty pissed off. Would *you* mess with her in one of those moods?"

"Not for all the pizza and chocolate in the galaxy," Griffyn vowed seriously.

"Then she’s safe, and we will be, too. We just have to plan."

With that, they put their heads together and began.

******************************

The Emergency Department was a whirl of confusion to Aeryn. She clung to a semi conscious John the entire time, ostensibly to keep him calm, but in reality calming herself. This was all so new to her, so foreign. So alien.

The doctors and nurses worked with efficiency, attaching tubes to the IV in his arm, an oxygen mask on his face, a small white clip on the tip of one finger. Monitors blipped and bleeped, doctors conversed in grave tones, and Aeryn felt completely left out. Apparently they thought her unable to understand a word they said, but she did gather that while John was in no immediate danger, his condition was fairly serious. She had never felt so alone in her life.

An interminable amount of time passed before a welcome face appeared in the door. Jack, carrying a subdued Cat, entered and swiftly came to her side. Not caring what anyone thought or said, she embraced both of them tearfully, relishing the feel of her daughter’s heartbeat through her thin shirt.

"Are you all right?" she asked first, checking Cat and Jack both for wounds. Jack nodded quickly.

"I’m fine, not even a scratch. Cat has a few bumps, and she’s going to have a shiner right here," he touched her left eye gingerly, "but she’s OK too. I thought the doctors should check on her to be safe."

Aeryn held her daughter close and agreed. "But here, they can’t take her from this room. I won’t leave John, and she’s not leaving my sight."

"I ain’t leavin’ you, Mama," Cat said softly. "Never an’ never an’ never. I couldn’t stop them from takin’ Griff and Gare, I tried but I couldn’t." She sniffed as new tears welled up. "I tried, I really did!"

"Shh, shh, I know sweetheart, I know. You did what you could, and I’m proud of you. Let’s let the doctor look at you, OK?"

"Is Daddy all right?" she asked, looking down at her unconscious father.

"He will be, he just needs some rest," Aeryn replied, catching Jack’s eye. She wasn’t sure, but that’s what she had gathered from listening to the doctors. A nurse entered then, and seeing Cat’s condition, called for the doctor.

"Let’s take her next door," she began, but Jack interrupted her.

"No, leave her here. She isn’t leaving this room. In fact," he turned to the door, "there should be some guards coming soon, and they are going to need all of us in one room."

Shrugging, the nurse acquiesced, sitting Cat on a table and checking her eyes and ears. She took a temperature and frowned. "She seems to have low body temp."

Jack glanced at the reading and shook his head. "Well, she’s half Sebacean, her body temp is naturally lower." The nurse looked at him as if he were insane, then the realization dawned on her. She glanced at Aeryn, thinking, she’s an alien, from another planet.

"Right," she finally said, "Then I guess this would be normal for her?" She showed Jack the temperature reading of ninety-five, and he agreed. She made note of this on her chart then went right back to administering to Cat.

"How did you get this shiner, sweetie?" the nurse asked as she gently probed the orbit of Cat’s eye. Wincing but bravely making not a whimper, Cat told her.

"I stabbed the man who took one a my brothers an’ he *hit* me!"

The nurse drew back, looking first at Cat and then at Jack and Aeryn.

"You...stabbed him..." she said.

"Yeah, an’ I stabbed the bad guy who tried to take me away too. Got him in th’ arm. Got th’ other one in the leg." She smirked hatefully. "I hope they both rot."

Completely at a loss, the nurse went back to work checking Cat for injuries. Along with the black eye, she had numerous bruises and a half dozen small scrapes and cuts, most likely from flying debris. One cut on her leg required five neat stitches. Cat watched the intern who stitched her with intense interest. She couldn’t wait to show Dream and Wesley, and her brothers of course. That thought sobered her again, and she glanced apprehensively at her father’s still form. Mama said he’d be fine. Mama didn’t lie. But he looked so still, so bruised. Cat found herself frightened all over again. As soon as the young doctor was done stitching her, she slipped off the table and over to her father’s side.

The bed was too high, she couldn’t see him. Seeing her frantic look, Jack picked up his granddaughter and held her so she could see and touch her father. With a tender look and a tear on her cheek, Cat leaned down to kiss her father lightly.

"Wake up, Daddy, please wake up," she murmured.

Aeryn held her arms out then and took Cat, holding her close and letting her cry. It had been a long, strange and forbidding day, and she was only a little girl despite her commando tactics earlier. Aeryn held her and rocked her and soothed her with nonsense songs that John had sung over the years, anything to help her rest and sleep. Eventually, Cat slept. Aeryn continued to hold her, reluctant to let even that small amount of contact go.

Aeryn’s comm buzzed to life. She shifted Cat’s deeply sleeping form to her other arm and answered.

"Yes, Pilot?" she said anxiously.

"Officer Sun, I am sorry...I have been unable to locate the boys’ comm signals. Either they have been discarded or somehow...deactivated." His agitation over the failure to find the boys quickly was strong.

"Thank you Pilot, we knew that was a possibility anyway. It was a long shot."

"Officer Merryc checked in, he said the...helicopper?...that took the boys away went in a north-easterly direction. It had a slight head start over him. They had...landed...and switched vehicles before he found them." Pilot hesitated. "I can honestly say that Officer Merryc is despondent, he seems to...be blaming himself for losing them."

"Why?" Aeryn asked. "Why does he blame himself? And how did they get away so fast? I called him right away..." She stopped herself before she inadvertently blamed Merryc for something she knew wasn’t his doing.

"There were crowds of people surrounding the transport pod, he couldn’t take off without harming them. He tried to tell them to leave, but they couldn’t understand him. He had to resort to yelling and waving his pulse pistol. I’m...afraid he set back human relations somewhat..."

Aeryn stifled a giggle. Who gave a ripe shit, as John would say, about human relations *now*? "Tell Merryc to contact me, I need to talk to him. I know it isn’t his fault, of course, that goes without saying."

"I...believe he is there, at the hospital. Or...he should be soon. He wanted to apologize personally and ask for instructions..."

"Good, then I can tell him personally that he’s foolish if he thinks he’s to blame. Thank-you Pilot."

"Of course Officer Sun." He paused, then plunged on. "How is Captain Crichton? And was anyone else injured?"

"John has a concussion, he’s still unconscious, but the doctors say he’ll be fine." She did her best to sound convincing. "Cat has some bruises and she got five stitches for a cut. She’s sleeping now." She looked at Jack for more.

"Jolene has quite a bit of glass in her right side, from the blast. Light broke his arm,  Dance has a broken hand. All of them got some serious bruises, but they should all be fine." He paused. "There were half a dozen other people injured as well, some rather seriously."

"That is reprehensible," Pilot said forcefully. "Who would do this, Colonel Crichton?"

"We don’t know, not yet," Jack said. "But I have some ideas."

Aeryn frowned, thinking. She looked at Jack. "Cat said the man who grabbed her told her, ‘God would be with her’. Are you thinking the League is in on this?"

"Possibly, yes. But the helicopters, the bombs, the planning...I’m thinking they had help. That would mean spooks."

"Spooks? You mean espionage experts, right?" she verified. Pilot was listening carefully as well.

"Yeah. There’s no way the Flat Earth Society has the scientific brains to pull this off, unless they join forces with someone else, and my guess is some branch of spooks. Domestic or international, who knows."

"What about the Millers? They both had their reputations thrashed over this," Aeryn said.

"Trashed," Jack corrected automatically, then frowned. "You could be right, too, we’ll have to check them all out."

As if in response to that idea, Admiral Fleer entered the room, flanked by men in suits that Jack failed to recognize.

"Colonel, I came as soon as I heard." He glanced at John and back to Aeryn, still holding a sleeping Cat. "My God, are you all right?" he asked her shakily.

"I’m fine, and Cat has some bruises. Some of the other family members have injuries as well." She shook her head. "What do you know so far?" she demanded.

"Only that this was professionally done. Someone with a strong knowledge of explosives and detonation devices did this." He introduced the two suits with him as National Security Agency operatives, indicating with a glance that he wasn’t impressed over much with their credentials.

Aeryn and Jack repeated their suspicions to the Admiral, knowing all the while that Pilot was listening in carefully. They discussed different courses their investigation would take, the ground and air search, the tracking of the explosives used, a computer chase. Aeryn listened and nodded at the appropriate moments, her mind on what sort of investigation she would be launching from Moya. And what would happen when they found the boys. This sort of attack would not go unpunished.

One of the suits was saying something about the likelihood of the Flat Earth Society having help from the spook community, so Aeryn turned her attention back to him.

"...highly unlikely that they have that sort of help, of course, although I can sympathize with your view." The man smiled in what he thought was a sincere manner. "But honestly, what would any organization have to gain from something like this? The League, or what’s left of them, don’t need a rational reason, but anyone else would."

"So you’re saying you think the Flat Earth Society did this on their own?" Jack said incredulously.

"Well, they probably hired an explosives man, but yes, essentially so."

An incredibly weary voice replied to that.

"Bullshit."

Aeryn spun around, Cat whimpering softly in her arms. John was awake, his eyes glittering angrily despite his pain. She leaned down and gently stroked his brow.

"John, do you remember what happened?" She asked.

"Yeah, I’ve got a bad ass headache but I ain’t brain dead," he retorted, his anger directed at the suits. "And if you think I’m going to believe the Flat Earthers did this on their own, you’ve been sniffing your own tailpipes."

"Captain Crichton, I assure you..."

"You assure me *shit*, you lame ass spook. Get out of here." He closed his eyes in pain, and Aeryn carefully passed Cat to her grandfather. Admiral Fleer ushered the two protesting suits out.

"You have a concussion, John, nothing broken. You look like you got on the wrong side of a Luxan in a hyper rage though."

"...nothin’ new..." he mumbled. "How’s Cat? Did they find the boys yet?"

"Cat is fine. We...we’re still looking for the boys," she said softly, holding his hand.

"Damn," he whispered.

"We *will* find them, Captain," Pilot broke in firmly. "Moya has called to Talyn, he should be here in three solar days to help. We will find them."

"...thanks, Pilot..." he was drifting off again, softly.

"John! Stay awake, you need to stay awake." The nurse was calling for the doctor again. They were saying something about a CT scan. Aeryn barely heard them.

"...jus’ wanna sleep..."

"NO. Stay awake." She squeezed his hand, watching his eyes open slightly and dilate with the bright light.

"Frell, that *hurts*," he muttered.

"Captain Crichton?" a new voice interrupted. A fresh faced doctor in scrubs leaned over him. "We’re going to send you down for a CT scan..."

That energized John. "NO!" he erupted, trying to rise. "No scans! Aeryn, get me outta here...!"

But Aeryn held him down, calming him. "John, listen to me! They just want to check out your concussion, make certain you aren’t bleeding inside. Calm down, just listen. It’s ok, I’ll stay with you, I promise."

Eventually the dizziness and nausea got the best of him, and he subsided again. "Don’t let them hurt me..." he mumbled. The doctor looked puzzled, but Aeryn reassured John. "I’d never let anyone hurt you," she said, realizing as she said it that she had, he was hurt now, wasn’t he?

Jack watched as they wheeled John away, Aeryn at his side, and wondered again just what went on inside his head to produce such terror at the thought of a medical scan.

He decided he really didn’t want to know.

**********************************

The first person to enter their cell was a middle aged man with thinning blond hair. He smiled as if he were their best friend reunited at last, and held out a tray with a light breakfast.

"Good morning, I hope your stomachs can handle a little breakfast?" he queried, smiling all the while. Both boys kept to their plan. Act like Earth boys, RE-act like Earth boys, and their escape would be assured.

Garryt groaned, still in the throes of misery from the drug. Griffyn sniffed at the plates of scrambled eggs and toast. He picked up a plastic glass of juice and took an experimental sip. It stayed down so he gulped more. Ahh, that was better. He glanced up at their captor.

"Good! Before you eat though, you must give praise," the man said. "You have been long in the clutches of the devil, but your salvation is here!" He spoke as if a train were pulling up in the station.

"Right," Griffyn replied. "Whatever, just let me eat."

"Repeat after me," the man answered, moving the tray out of Griffyn’s reach. Then he began a prayer, something long and convoluted and completely out of Griffyn’s realm. By simply following along and behaving as if they lived in terror of their captives, the boys hoped to lure them into complacency. After all, they had been trained all their lives to defend themselves. They were ready to put that training to the test.

Mumbling along in response to the prompts, both boys eventually were left to eat in peace. Garryt managed to choke down some toast, but turned green at the thought of eating eggs.

"How long have we been here?" Garryt asked later, as he sipped his juice with a grimace.

"Since yesterday evening, I guess. It’s morning now, so twelve arns? hours I mean."

"Whatever. I still feel like dren." Garryt flopped down on his side, breathing heavily. Griffyn felt his clammy forehead, a worried frown on his face.

"It didn’t affect me like this. Maybe you got more?" he asked worriedly. But Garryt was asleep.

OK, Griff, take stock, he thought to himself. You know the League is behind this, because of that wingnut at breakfast. He vaguely remembered his dad saying something about the Flat Earth Society not having the brains to wipe their own ass. So, that meant there were others in on this, maybe hired guns. He wasn’t sure, but it made sense.

All he knew for a fact was that he had to do something quick, because Garryt wasn’t well, and he didn’t trust these people to do a damn thing about it.

***************************

Doctor Iverson looked at the CT scan in shock. Good lord, what had happened here? And here? and THERE? The damage from the concussion was minimal, no bleeding, no swelling. But man, this guy’s brain looked like a chunk of Swiss cheese left out in the sun.

He had called in several other experts, radiologists and neurological specialists. They all stroked their chins, doing their best to look professional and dignified, but he knew they were as baffled as he was. He had an inkling as to why Captain Crichton had been upset about the test. If this was any indication, he’d had some fairly crude treatment in the last eleven years.

"I see no damage from the concussion, as I’m sure you know," began one of the neuro experts, "...but this other..." he shook his head. "I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s like he’s had a...hell..."

"It’s like someone has systematically destroyed small parts of his brain," completed another, soberly. "How he’s remained functional is beyond me."

"Well, I agree, but since there doesn’t seem to be any pressing problem with this," he gestured at the scans, "then I suppose we need to just give him a clean bill of health. So to speak."

The others agreed, uncomfortable with looking at scans that made no sense to them, and certainly not ready to risk their reputations on a diagnosis. Dr. Iverson was expecting that, but it still bothered him that so many of his colleagues were gutless.

He left then, after putting the scans in the Captain’s file and putting them away. No sense showing them to the family, they would make no sense and would only alarm them. Or, quite possibly, simply confirm something they already knew. Either way, it made no sense to show them.

He left the office to find the family. Moments later, a man in civilian clothing quickly and quietly opened the door, found the file, and took it. He left as swiftly as he came, making no noise, attracting no attention. When Dr. Iverson came back to ruminate over the CT scans hours later, they were gone. They were never found again.

************************

"John, it’s too soon, you must stay here," Aeryn pleaded once again. But John waved her off and stood anyway, pulling up the PK issue leather pants as he did.  In the doorway, Merryc stood guard, not trusting his Earth counterparts with the job anymore. John couldn’t say as he blamed him, he wasn’t in a trusting mood himself.

The wave of nausea wasn’t as bad as he anticipated. He held it off and managed to pull a shirt on over his head before he felt the pressing need to sit again. Aeryn stood over him, frowning deeply. "I know how you feel, but you won’t do the boys any favors if you collapse because you got up too soon," she said softly.

"Aeryn, answer me truthfully. If it was you in bed, in the same situation, what would you do?"

She sighed, knowing that of course he was right, of course she would be doing this very thing. Knowing the truth and accepting it were not the same, of course. She saw any threat to John’s safety as a reason to hold him back, she had for cycles now. "That’s different.." she began, but John cut her off angrily.

"Bullshit!" he flared, standing again. Merryc faded into the woodwork, but Jack was stunned. In the last six months he’d seen John and Aeryn have a spat or two, but this was different. John was furious. "The only thing different is you, Aeryn. It’s fine and dandy for Miss PK Universe to jump out of bed with serious injury but it’s too much for the poor frail human? Give me a fucking break."

"That’s not what I meant!" she replied, getting angry herself. Jack glanced at Merryc, but he had retreated behind his PK helmet. Coward.

"NO? Then what did you mean, Aeryn? If it’s not the poor frail human than what is it? Oh I know, the poor *stupid* human maybe? Is THAT it?"

A nurse walked in then, watched them with a puzzled expression on her face and left, probably to consult with the doctor. It was then that Jack realized the two of them were speaking in Sebacean, and that was why the nurse had looked so perplexed. They continued full force.

"NO! Dammit, John you can be so *frelling* irritating sometimes...." she threw down his vest, getting right into his face. Neither one of them was backing down.

"I learned from the master," he snarled.

"You were *born* irritating," she snarled back. "But if you’re so insistent about leaving the hospital, I won’t be held responsible for what happens to you!"

"You never were," he retorted, angry at being provoked.

"Merryc!" she snapped. Merryc stood stiffer at attention than Jack thought possible. "Sir!" he replied.

"Stick to the *Captain* wherever he goes."

"Yes, SIR!"

"Fuck you Aeryn, I can take care of myself," he fumed. "I have been for a long time now."

"And who’s been covering your ass all that time?"

"I could ask you that same question."

They were speaking in low voices now, through clenched teeth. Jack wanted to intervene, but a subtle head shake from Merryc stopped him. This was best if they worked it out themselves, he assumed. But wow, could they fight.

The door opened on guests then, Carol and Mitch, accompanied by Wesley, and Jolene with bandages on her arm and face. Cat held her aunt Jo’s hand. Seeing John, both sisters ran to embrace him, and Aeryn backed up. She picked up his vest from the floor and handed it to Jack without a word as she left the room.

"Oh, John, we were so worried!" Carol said, for once with true sincerity. "Are you all right?" She backed up a bit to examine his face. He had a large bruise covering his left cheekbone and blacking his eye, with a stitched up cut above his eyebrow. He looked tired, pale and totally exhausted, but he was obviously dressing to leave. It was Jolene who expressed their concerns.

"Are you sure you’re ready to leave?" she asked. "Did the doctor say you could?"

"Screw the doctor," he muttered darkly.

"John..." Carol began, but John cut her off, this time in a softer tone.

"No, Carol, don’t start. I can’t find my boys by sitting here on my ass. I have to go."

"They’ll be found, the Army is looking, the Air Force, even the FBI! They’ll *find* them, John!"

"Will they? And when they do, what will they do with them, hmmm?"

"John, you are being paranoid," Jolene said, exasperated.

"Am I?" he replied as he pulled on the leather vest his father proffered. "And just who do you think supplied the C4 fun show for us yesterday? Mickey Mouse? Goofy? Barney the purple-fucking-dinosaur?"

"John!" Carol very nearly shouted, covering Cat’s ears as if to protect her.

"If there isn’t a government spook behind this bullshit I’ll eat a bowl of dentics. Trust me, someone in a suit and Ray Bans has their dirty little fingers in this."

"The Men in Black strike again. Where are Tommy Lee Jones and Will Smith when you need them?" a voice interrupted from the door. John looked up sharply, his narrowed eyes widening in surprise.

DK stood framed by the doorway, a half smile on his face, managing to look both fearful and overjoyed all at once. John said nothing, speechless for once in his life. He could only gape in astonishment, in near fear, wondering if DK was a product of his concussion or actually there in front of him. The hesitant smile on DK’s face began to fade as the moment stretched out interminably. He ducked his head, ready to leave, when John found his voice.

"Probably at a party in the Da-jhon Nebula, drinking themselves stupid and screwing some skanky little tralks," John said quietly. "But then, they never did have any taste."

DK grinned then and moved into the room. Behind him was Aeryn, whom he had obviously run into in the hallway. She was still frowning at John, not ready to forgive him yet, but the return of DK was of far more importance. Between herself, Jack and now DK, she felt they could keep John under control and out of danger.

The silence was less strained then as DK crossed the room to John and they embraced. It was a gentle embrace, full of regrets and unsaid words, empty of malice. Everything they needed to say was done so in silence; words were heard but not spoken; thoughts were unsaid but completely understood. Someday those words might be voiced, but not now. There were more pressing concerns now.

"Dad, is Admiral Fleer still around?" John asked as he pulled away from DK and strapped on his pulse pistol. Jack nodded briskly. "Get him. I need to know how they’re going at this so I can do it better." He tugged on his boots, nearly falling as he leaned over. DK and Aeryn both grabbed his arms, and he didn’t pull away.

"There were others injured in the blasts, are they here, in this hospital?" he asked as he regained his balance.

"Yes, I think so," Jack said. "Let me ask the nurse."

As he left, John turned back to his sisters. "I’m...*we’re*...going to find the boys. There’s nothing in the universe that would keep me from doing that."

"Well then," Carol said with forced brightness, "I’ll take care of Cat then..."

"NO," John cut her off. "Cat’s going home, to Moya. At least there I know she’s safe."

Cat and both of her aunts erupted at once, all three of them voicing their opinions loudly.

"But daddy....!"

"She needs to be with her family..." Carol said firmly.

"Are you certain that’s for the best?" from Jolene.

It was Aeryn who cut through the objections with a sudden curt order in Sebacean. Neither Carol or Jolene had let themselves be injected with translator microbes, and so they had no idea what she actually said, but the implications were all to clear--shut up.

"Cat, Challis is waiting for you on the roof. Merryc will take you up. Zhaan will be in charge, and you *will* listen to her. Understood?" Cat nodded glumly, knowing from that tone of voice that objections wouldn’t work.

"John..." Carol began, but Aeryn cut her off again.

"Shut up you mindless, overmade, spoiled little tralk," she said with conviction. "You are my husband’s sister but by all the gods and goddesses in this universe I do *not* have to listen to you whine. *My* daughter will go home, to Moya, where she is *safe*." When Carol made as if to speak again, Aeryn held up her hand to stop her. "Shut up before I’m forced to do something I won't regret."

John watched this in amusement, as did DK. Knowing Carol didn’t understand a word of what was said, he offered no apologies or excuses to her, nor did he translate. He picked up Cat and kissed her cheek gently. "Be good, we’ll bring the boys home soon."

"OK, Daddy," she said softly. Passed on to her mother, she repeated the process. Once set down on the floor, she let her both her aunts kiss and embrace her. She even managed to say good-bye to Wesley in a civil manner. Then Merryc led her out, her small tender hand clasped in his large callused one.

John turned to his sisters then, full of regret. "I wanted to say good-bye at the farm, someplace where we all had fun. I didn’t want to say good-bye like this."

"Why is it good-bye?" Jolene said sadly. "You’ll be back, won’t you? To pick up supplies, to get more colonists."

"Yeah, I will. But I won’t be coming back down planet. I try not to make the same colossal mistake twice."

"Then I guess we’ll have to go up...there." Carol said with sincerity. "I mean, if that’s the only way we’ll ever get to see you, I guess that’s what we’ll do." Jolene nodded in affirmation, both of them smiling through their tears. There was nothing more to say. John let his sisters hug him and felt the tears wet his chest.

Moments later, Jack re-entered. There were seven other people injured from the blast, he reported. An elderly man and woman with lacerations kept for observation, two teen-aged boys with broken bones, and three members of a family; mother, daughter and son, all with varying degrees of damage. John decided to begin with the family. He let Jack say his good-byes to the girls as he and Aeryn waited for Merryc to return.

When all were finally ready, farewells said and plans made, Merryc returned leading four of his best men. All wore PeaceKeeper black, beetle-like helmets covering their faces, their demeanor demanding attention and respect. And quite possibly, fear.

Certainly they made an impression as they stalked through the hospital corridors, John and Aeryn flanked by DK and Jack, two guards in front and two in the rear. Merryc paced relentlessly behind them all, his entire focus on his captain and his family. His own honor demanded perfection. He was still wracked with guilt for failing his duty.

On the sixth floor, Admiral Fleer caught up with them. They paused by the nurse’s station while Fleer updated them on the search. John only listened with half an ear, waiting for a certain line of inquiry and not hearing it. Satisfied that the powers that be were only half hearted at best in their search, John knew instinctively that if he was to find his sons, it would be with his own plan and his own men. All the better, he thought.

"Admiral, how wealthy is our planetside account?" he asked suddenly. Fleer shrugged, momentarily confused. "Umm...big enough to buy any island you want, I guess. All the patents and information you’ve sold planetside have made you a rich man."

"Great. All these people injured yesterday are having their medical bills paid, everything. Every bottle of pills, every penny of lost wages, every dime of future physical therapy. You can take care of that?"

"I can, and gladly," Fleer smiled. "It’s a smart move, Captain."

"Smart hell, it’s common decency." John retorted. "Let’s start here, the Norick family." He strode down the hall and knocked on a half open door, then stuck his head inside.

"Excuse me?" he said. A woman was in the bed, bandages on her arms and head, an IV running snakelike from the back of her hand to a clear bag dangling above her. A man, presumably her husband, sat beside her on the bed, his expression worried. Both of them looked up at John’s entrance. The man’s eyes widened when he saw the leather encased troopers behind John, and the pulse pistol on John’s hip. With obvious recognition, he stood and nodded.

"Come in." While he sounded polite, he didn’t sound particularly welcoming. John, flanked by Aeryn and the Admiral, entered. Jack and DK hung in the doorway, observers. Merryc and company guarded the hallway.

"Mr. Norick, I’m John Crichton," he began, but Mrs. Norick interrupted him. "We know who you are," she said, not too fondly.

"Then I’ll skip the formalities," John said quickly. "There are no words that can tell you how sorry I am about yesterday. I...we...I never thought anyone else would be hurt if we tried to go to a public place. If I had thought that, if I had any idea, we never would have gone. I guess I did know better, inside, but I just didn’t think people...my own people...humans..." he faltered, at a loss for the right things to say. How could he *not* have known? He had always feared being abducted if he returned, ever since the false earth. How had he blocked out his better judgment? "I just wanted to have one last day with my family before we left. Just one more day." He shook his head.

"I’m a teacher, Captain, with five kids to raise. My wife is seriously injured, and my son is going to have at least three more operations to repair his leg. My daughter is only five, she doesn’t understand what happened, all she knows is that she’s been hurt. She’s going to have to have surgery on her face for years, and they can’t do anything for the burn scars until she’s older. So what am I supposed to tell her, Captain?"

John shook his head in regret and shame. "I can only say I’m sorry, Mr. Norick. If I could erase all that happened yesterday I would. I will say though that you’ll never receive a bill for any of this. Not the ER care, surgeries, none of it. All future medical problems that result from this will be paid for, and all lost wages will be supplied. You have my word on that."

"Your word? And what is that worth? A man who has forsaken his own for aliens?" Mrs. Norick spat out.

"Doesn’t look like my own are doing much for me, does it?" he replied sadly. "Let’s remember who it was that did this."

There was a moment of silence, then Mr. Norick spoke again.

"And your own sons? Have they been found?" he asked.

"No. But I’ll find them, I have no doubt of that. And then we’ll be gone."

"Not soon enough," Mrs. Norick said with a stifled sob. Mr. Norick bent down to

care for her, and as he did, John and the others left the room.

They paused in the hallway, Aeryn with her arm around John, Jack standing with his hand on John’s back. That had been difficult, but the all understood why is was necessary. Apparently, John’s knack for self flagellation in times of crisis was a constant in both galaxies.

Before they moved on, Mr. Norick appeared again. Looking a bit more contrite, he approached John.

"I’m sorry, Captain, if we were a bit rude. This has been very hard for us, as I’m sure you can understand."

John could only nod in response.

"I do wish you luck in finding your sons, and I know my wife feels the same way. She’s just so frightened right now, for herself and our children. But then..." he paused. "...you must be too."

"The difference, Mr. Norick, is that you were the innocent in this, and I should have known better."

"Be that as it may, I just wanted you to know that I accept your apology, and your help. I realize it’s all you have to give, it’s all you can do, and I’m thankful." Turning abruptly, Mr. Norick went back into his wife’s room.

It was going to be a long day.

*****************************

Griffyn sat at a table in a brightly lit room, truly scared for the first time in his life. The man opposite him was not spouting religion. If this man had any leanings towards religion of any sort it was not evident in his manner. Griffyn was of the opinion that this man’s religion dealt with confessions of guilt, not sin, and that his tools of trade were best left unsaid.

"I have heard, young Master Crichton, that you are thought to be quite intelligent for your age. That your IQ is, shall we say, off the charts?"

Griffyn’s mouth turned dry. Act like a typical Earth nine year old, he thought frantically.

"Huh?" was all that came out of his mouth.

"Please, don’t mock me with stupidity, it doesn’t suit you. What we want to know, young sir, is if this increased intelligence is a result of the mixing of species or something more base, just a fluke in genetics. So, tell me, Griffyn Crichton, are your brother and sister as capable as you? Are your intellects matched, or are you a mutant?"

Griffyn wrinkled his nose in thought, pretending to not understand. OK, think fast Grif, what is going to satisfy this guy?

"Umm...I dunno." He brightened suddenly. "Dad always said I take after him more than the others do."

"You are being intentionally obtuse," the man commented dryly.

"I am?" Griffyn smiled.

The man sighed. Griffyn did his best to look like a perplexed nine year old. But he was watching carefully, very carefully indeed. The man took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose as if very tired. He was about fifty, Grif decided, hair thinning and turning gray, eyes sharp and a dark shade of blue. He was neither spare nor heavy, but rather some indiscriminate middle ground. His features unremarkable, his presence soon forgotten in most company.

But this wasn’t most company. This man was interrogating Griffyn, a nine year old child, as if he were a threat to national security. This disturbing turn of events supported Griffyn’s theory that the Flat Earth Society was not in this on their own. This strange man with his totally forgettable face and relentless questions confirmed that. Griffyn shifted uncomfortably in his chair. After a moment or two, the man looked up.

"Stop fidgeting," he said abstractedly as he shuffled through some papers.

"But, I gotta go..." Griffyn said miserably. The man sighed, once again rubbing the bridge of his nose. He stood and knocked on the door in a quick rhythm; taptaptap...tap...taptap...tap, tap, tap. Griffyn nearly laughed. What, did this man think he was too stupid or to scared to notice the specific rhythm?

Another man, dressed similarly in a suit and tie, opened the door, not even attempting to hide the gun in his hand. Once he was assured that it was his superior at the door, he relaxed marginally and waited for directions.

"Show him where the facilities are and bring him right back," the Man from the room said tonelessly.

Griffyn took his time, but not too much of it. Already he had gleaned a few useful pieces of information. This particular group was tight on security, well armed, and not especially concerned for his well being if that gun was any indication. Getting past them would be tough, but he felt it could be done. All he needed was a better idea of the layout of the place. And a plan. Of course he needed a plan. He and Gare could come up with something.

Thinking of his brother, he felt a twinge of fear. Garryt was still sick, and in fact was barely able to eat. The Prayer Squad, as Garryt jokingly called the men who delivered their food, did nothing but pray for healing, as both boys had figured they would. The others, like the man questioning Griffyn, never replied when he mentioned his brother’s condition. He had to find a way out of here fast.

His business done (and it had been difficult, with an armed man watching him pee), he turned around and smiled tentatively. The man with the gun merely gestured towards the door and moved aside for him to leave. OK, so he didn’t like kids, no problem. One thing bothered Griffyn as they marched back to the interrogation room. If these guys were so intent on security, and if they considered the twins a threat, why weren’t they searched when they were brought in? Both boys still had their Christmas knives strapped to their ankles. It was either a serious breach of security or the boys were left armed to facilitate their escape. And *that* could mean that either someone wished for them to find a way to escape for honest reasons, or to ensure their death. No matter how he looked at it, Griffyn was worried. Regardless, they would attempt to escape as soon as a way opened for them.

The Man in the Room looked up impatiently as Griffyn entered. Grif brightened and slid into his seat. "Hi Fred," he quipped.

The man straightened suddenly. "Why did you call me that?" he demanded.

Oh shit, Griffyn, you moron! he thought to himself. Stupid stupid STUPID! Now you’ve got him wondering again. He did his best with an on the spot lie. "Well, you look kinda like this guy we picked up from a commerce planet last cycle. No one could pronounce his name, so Dad called him Fred."

"I see," ‘Fred’ said slowly.

"’Cept Fred has orangeish skin and really bad breath."

"....I see....."

"An’ he had this thing for dentics, I mean, I never knew anyone who could *eat* a dentic, but ol’ Fred...."

Ol’ Fred had had enough. He turned slapped his hand down on the table glared at Griffyn. "Shut up," he growled. Turning to the door where the Man with the Gun waited, he nodded his head. "Take him to Doctor Sandoval."

Griffyn stilled. Doctor. Wow, that didn’t sound good. He wondered if he had played up the dumb kid part too far. He walked down the corridor in front of the armed man, thinking of his father’s aversion to doctors. With a sudden clarity of thought, he understood his father’s terror.

What, he wondered, would this doctor *do* to him?

*****************************

Kaben Thall monitored his board with even more than his usual diligence. Frustrated at not being able to actively help in the search for the captain’s sons, he had pulled double and triple shifts in command, relentlessly searching for some sign of the boys. He and Pilot had searched first for their comm signals, but when the signals had stopped abruptly, they reasoned that they had been destroyed. It had been a long shot anyway. Next, they tried to use ship sensors to find them, setting the delicate devices to search for the boy’s slightly lower body temperatures. But the difference was too minor to register, and that too failed. Now they were systematically looking for places that might be a hiding place; abandoned farms, old military bases, empty buildings that were now suddenly occupied, *anything* that may give them a clue, anything within a two hundred mile radius of the abduction. John had figured that to be the absolute

maximum range they would run, simply because the Earth search was going in the opposite extreme and searching heavily outside that radius. Not being particularly impressed with military intelligence, a gross oxymoron under any circumstances, he applied a little old fashioned southern reverse psychology.

Kaben sighed with extreme fatigue. It had been two days since he rested. Stopping now was not an option, not when his captain needed him. Not when the twins were still out there, somewhere, in enemy hands. Rubbing his eyes clear, he reset the controls and began the sequence again.

In his den, Pilot felt the urgency of the crew, even if he couldn’t actually see it. His own anguish at the twins’ abduction was an astonishing revelation to him. Not since Dhell’s death had he allowed himself to become so hopelessly attached to any being, and after Dhell he had sworn he would never let himself become so entangled again. But then Cat arrived home only a day ago, and he found himself contacting Zhaan and begging her to send the child to see him, if only to confirm to himself that she was not harmed. When and how the children had worked their way into the innermost depths of his heart and soul was beyond him. He only knew that their well being and continued spiritual growth was of utmost importance to himself as well as the rest of the crew. He reasoned to himself that it was because they were an extension of the earliest crew, the original crew, the crew that had rescued Moya and himself from slavery. They were a lasting monument to the early days of their banishment in the Uncharteds, a living testimony to perseverance and loyalty, to life, death and love.

Noticing that Kaben had started another search, Pilot re-routed his own search program to coincide with and help Kaben’s. He found the young alien’s mind refreshingly concise and linear, a joy to work with in comparison to some other less structured and hopelessly convoluted minds.

Kaben’s search seemed to be concentrating on a certain type of buildings, usually medium sized clusters of multi-use facilities, largely commercial manufacturing structures, all abandoned. He had located six such structures so far and was nearly finished with his search. Pilot ran a secondary scan, hoping to determine if the structures were inhabited or not, but it was inconclusive. Still, he thought the odds of the kidnappers using such a place for a hideaway quite high. He contacted the Captain right away.

****************************

John and DK stood shoulder to shoulder in front of a huge wall map of Orlando and the surrounding area. The two hundred mile perimeter was marked in red, with the specific areas already covered by the military marked with pins. There were a lot of pins, and John had heard a lot of unmitigated bullshit from the FBI and all branches of the military about the ‘extensive search’ that was being launched. Only Admiral Fleer had cut through the crap and told John the truth --there was little being done, little they could do, since they were obviously looking in all the wrong places. And that, of course, was why John was searching so intently where the military wasn’t.

"What do you think about some backwoods swamp hideout?" DK asked. John shook his head.

"No, not these guys. They’re professionals, remember. They want some place where they can do...research." John frowned when he realized what that might entail, but he plowed on. "They need a building with all the amenities, some place secure. All we have to do is find it..." He trailed off with a sigh of fatigue.

"You need some rest," DK said without turning.

"Bite me."

“I'm serious John, you have a concussion and you’re exhausted, get some rest. We’ll call you if something comes up."

Before John could come up with a reply that would still DK’s objections, Pilot made contact.

"Captain Crichton, we have the results of a different search for you," he said, faint hope tingeing his voice.

"Lay it on me, Pilot," he answered, neatly avoiding DK’s question.

"It was Kaben’s search, I will let him present it to you." There was a very brief moment of silence, and then Kaben spoke.

"Captain, I have conducted a search of abandoned manufacturing or commercial sites, all with multiple buildings. There are seven in a radius of one hundred to one hundred and fifty...miles? of the abduction site. I am sending the locations to you now."

John and DK moved to the portable command center set up in the middle of the room. Admiral Fleer had set them up here, in a building at a small local airport. It gave them safe access for their search flights and a makeshift connection to Moya, via the communication set up in front of them now. The location map came to them in 2-D, a flat printout. John grabbed it the moment it finished printing and raced back to the wall map. He and DK began plotting location, conferring with Kaben and Pilot all the while, and were so deep into their search that they failed to notice when Aeryn and Jack came into the room.

Jack glanced covertly at Aeryn as they entered, knowing full well that she and John had argued deep into last night. Apparently, Aeryn wasn’t used to not getting her way when it came to John’s health, and that wasn’t sitting well. When he questioned John, he got short non answers. Merryc was of no help, either. Jack had even called up Zhaan and asked her what he should do, but her advice was to do nothing. Let them squabble, they would work it out.

DK glanced up, saw them, and beamed brightly. "We may be on to something here," he said quickly, gesturing them over. He told them about Kaben’s search and babbled on about the logic of such a hideout, the remoteness of some of the places, and the high probability that one of them would be the one. While he was talking and marking places with pins, Aeryn had sidled up next to John, her right shoulder pressing into his left, her head turned towards him to see more closely. It was an almost silent apology, and John responded in kind, turning his head slightly to brush her hair with his lips, settling into her body with his own. No words were needed, and Jack breathed a sigh of relief.

"We’ve decided that these three here are the most likely, but all of them have potential," DK finalized. "This one here has a fence enclosure, we think it’s a more likely spot. This one..." he pointed to another pin, about sixty miles east of the first, "...is not quite so big, but more remote. And this one..." he pointed to the last pin. "...has more buildings, but has been abandoned for less time than the others.  Those are the most likely spots, but all of them have something to offer.  We’ll check them all out."

Aeryn was nodding in agreement and letting her mind fall into her strategic action, commando mode. They would need a good look at each of these facilities to determine first off if they were occupied, and second to plan how to break in, if necessary. "As soon as it’s dark, send in covert troops to each of these facilities. We need to know if they’re occupied and what the layouts are. And Pilot," she said as an afterthought, "...do a scan of each of those sites for life forms."

"Already doing so, Officer Sun," he replied.

"Troops?" DK asked.

"Commandos, to do surveillance only," John reassured him. "But if you think we’re going to get out of this with no bloodshed, you might as well know this right now. They *will* pay for this, one way or another."

"Yeah, I figured as much," DK answered. He had seen the mad glint in John’s eye, he knew that whoever had taken the twins was in for some serious mojo when John got hold of them. It wouldn’t be a pretty sight, but for the first time since John’s arrival home, DK felt he understood. The children were innocent of wrong doing; taking them was so far wrong that DK not only understood John’s need for revenge, he lusted for it himself. "These guys are toast, man."

John paused in thought, then grinned. "They’re walking dead and they don’t even know it," he replied, falling into the old ‘we’re going to kill ‘em’ football pep talk they used to go through before every big game of John’s.

"Go Crichton-ize ‘em John," Jack grinned too, going along with them.

"Hit ‘em so hard they’re head’s fall outta their asses and they have to put ‘em on a leash," DK laughed.

"Leashes? We don’ need no stinkin’ leashes!" John growled in his best (or worst) Mexican accent.

Aeryn was looking at them as if they had gone insane, but for John it was one of those rare moments. He had his father, his best friend, and the only woman he could ever love right here in this room. For this moment, this small breath of time, life was good. All he needed to do was find the boys and blow this popsicle stand, and life would be even better.

********************************

Garryt took several deep breaths and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. OK, so maybe eating cold congealed eggs wasn’t such a smart idea, but for the first time in the three days they had been captured, he woke up with an appetite. He managed to choke down four mouthfuls before it all came back up.

He shuffled over to the sink and cupped his hand under the faucet, taking a long, slow drink. That seemed to settle his stomach a bit, so he drank more and then sat down on the small pile of blankets that was his and Griffyn’s bed.

Three days. He had barely eaten in that time, but he was slowly feeling better. Sort of. He was vaguely aware that sometime this morning, Griffyn had left with one of the Men in Black (he had a memory of his dad telling him that phrase to describe some sort of Earth special agent, but wasn’t sure whether they were good or bad). That had happened the last two mornings, after Prayer Boy had given them their breakfast and demanded (in the nicest possible way) that they pray before they ate. Garryt’s reply had been to roll over and go back to sleep. Griffyn had eaten and left shortly thereafter.

He was sitting deep in thought when the door opened suddenly and Griffyn entered. Garryt had a brief glimpse of one of the Men in Black before the door shut and locked. With a happy grin, Griffyn flopped down in the bed next to his twin.

"Thanks for leaving me slimy eggs for breakfast, dear brother, they tasted like congealed snot," Garryt said amiably.

"Anything for you, butthead," Griffyn replied with a gentle punch.

"Did they tell you why we’re here?" Garryt deliberately spoke in English, hoping

Griffyn would too.

"No, they jus’ asked me tons of questions. I mean, like I would know anything about genec...genec...genetics. Whatever." Actually, Griffyn and Garryt both knew quite a bit about Sebacean and, to some extent, human genetics, but there was no way in hell they would reveal that.

"Genetics? Yuk. Remember that test we had in math a couple months ago? I *hate* dividing fractions. Like I’m going to need to know how to do that when I’m grown up!" Garryt was relieved that his twin had picked up on his ‘we’re just helpless little boys’ routine. He also hoped it would work.

They talked for some time before Garryt decided he needed a nap again.

Surprisingly, Griffyn yawned and lay down beside him. "Nothin’ else to do, darn people don’t even have video games," he complained. They waited a sufficient length of time, and then Garryt whispered to his brother in Sebacean.

"Tonight, when they bring our dinner. I’ll act sick. When Pray Boy comes inside, you go to the door. Cry, whatever, but make the suit believe you’re no threat. Then take him out. I can handle Pray Boy."

Griffyn squeezed his brother’s shoulder that he had heard. He knew any more speaking might be heard, and even though their captors couldn’t understand

what they were saying, they might wonder about it.

It seemed that dinner would never come.

***********************

"Captain, the surveillance troops have been deployed," Pilot informed John as he finally lay down for a brief rest. He thanked Pilot and sank back in the bed, sighing as much from frustration as exhaustion. Of course he had wanted to go along with the search, and of course Aeryn had been vehemently against such a notion. Siding with Aeryn had been Jack and DK, and so John subsided and agreed not only to stay here, but to try to get some sleep as well. This was just surveillance, not search and destroy, they had no plans to take any of these compounds, simply see if the boys were there. And after John had agreed with all of this, Aeryn had sneaked out with the commando team heading to the most likely of the spots, leaving John fuming but completely unable to do anything about it. Leave it to Ms. Super PK herself to not only get her way about it, but to make certain he didn’t know about it till it was too late.

John’s eyes drooped with fatigue, and he felt himself drifting off. His head still throbbed painfully, despite the codeine pills the doctor had given him. The bruise on his face had turned a deep shade of purple and blue, tinged with yellow. The stitches tugged painfully whenever he moved, and the various bumps and bruises nagged constantly. He drifted off with that thought that he wasn’t as young as he used to be, and it was finally showing.

He awoke with a start, clawing his way from the depths of a shapeless dream, muttering gibberish and nearly falling from his bed. It was seamlessly dark and utterly quiet. He lay back, letting his breathing slow and his racing pulse settle to a normal rhythm.

That had been a bad one. Whenever he got stressed, he tended to have the old dreams again, the shapeless visions of Scorpius looming over him, of Crais flinging Dhell against a steely gray sky, of wandering Moya’s halls embraced in madness. Happy dreams they were not.

He glanced at the clock (a good old Earth clock, telling Earth time, he thought inanely), and saw that it was nearly five in the morning. He had slept at least seven hours, a record for him these days. And, he had to admit, he felt much better. He stood and grimaced. OK, a little better then. He made his way to the bathroom in the dark.

Twenty minutes later, after a shower and a shave, he emerged dressed in black leather and carrying his trusty pulse pistol. He tapped his comm as he left the room, summoning Pilot.

"Yo, Pilot, any word yet?" he asked.

"Officer Sun’s team reports that their target is empty, and appears to have been for some time now. The other two teams have yet to report."

"Great, that was our best guess," he said dryly.

"We could have been wrong about it."

"Kaben Thall wrong? That’d be a first," John laughed. He tapped his comm off and headed in the general direction of the coffee he smelled brewing.

***************************

The room was dark, lit only by the dim light from under the door. Garryt squeezed Griffyn’s hand, a silent signal, and watched his brother run to the door in a seeming full fledged panic. Garryt, for his part, began to moan as if in pain. It wasn’t much of a stretch, he still felt foul.

"Help! Help! Someone help me! My brother’s sick HELP ME!" Griffyn pounded on the door frantically, knowing that a suit waited patiently on the other side. He heard running footsteps and the scrape of a key in the lock, but kept pounding. "Help me! Help!"

The door opened quickly, inward, pushing Griffyn backwards. "Help me!" he yelled again. "My brother’s real sick...!" The suit flicked on the light, saw Garryt curled up in a fetal position, moaning in pain, and backed out, all in one smooth motion. He signaled to someone else, and Pray Boy entered, concern etched on his face.

"Oh, Brother, we must pray for God’s grace and guidance," he began. Griffyn didn’t wait to hear anymore. He made the tears flow and ran out into the hall, to the suit.

"Please, call a doctor! That guy ain’t gonna do anything but pray, please..." he tugged on the surprised suit’s arm, as a child might in such a circumstance. The suit frowned and attempted to push Griffyn back into the room, but Grif had already anticipated such a move. Without warning, the suit found himself on his back, a knee in his chest and a knife at his throat.

"Not a sound, or you’re toast," Griffyn said quietly.

Inside the room, Garryt waited until he knew Griffyn had accomplished his mission before he went for Pray Boy. As soon as he heard Griffyn’s command to the suit, he abruptly sat up, pulling Pray Boy down to him as he did, the knife bare millimeters from his skin.

"Shh!" Garryt said, seeing Pray Boy’s eyes widen in surprise. "Shh! Don’t say a word." He gently let go of the young man’s shirt, smiled, and delivered a well practiced pantak jab. Pray Boy’s eyes rolled back in his head as he flopped to the floor.

Garryt at once ran to help his brother in immobilizing the suit. They secured his hands with his own tie, and gagged him with one of his own socks and his belt. The look of sheer hatred and revulsion was enough to bring a giggle to Griffyn.  "That’ll teach you not to wash your socks," he said.

Once that was done, they emptied the man’s gun and took it with them, intending to dump it as soon as they were outside. They checked the corridor; no one was around. So far they were undetected. On silent feet they ran in the prearranged direction, for what they assumed was the closest exit.

It was late, and all was quiet. They saw no one on their level at all, and found the stairs just where they had hoped they would. They went down a level and checked out a window, assuming they were on the ground floor, only to find out they had two more floors to go. So much for careful planning. They ran down the stairs quietly, their boots slung around their necks, their sock covered feet soundless. The made the ground floor in no time, and peeked out to the hall carefully.

"I’m telling you, Sandoval, he’s hiding something. I know these kids are holding back, and I know a way to get it out of them," a voice boomed distressingly loud in their ears.

"Drugging them for answers might very well kill them, you saw all the test results. Their white and red cell counts, their body temperature, hell, even their goddamned genetic code is different...." said another voice.

"Gentlemen, must I remind you about using the Lord’s name in vain?" a smooth voice interrupted.

Garryt felt his blood chill, and not only because of what they were saying. He recognized that last voice. He had heard it often enough on the Earth news. It was Reverend Hessler, he knew it was. Barely daring to do so, he inched the door open a crack and peeked out.

Three men were conferring about thirty meters down the hall. One was indeed the Reverend Hessler, dressed in one of his natty suits and highly polished shoes. One of the others was the Man in Black who had come for Griffyn and even Garryt, despite his sickness, and questioned them. The other was a doctor who had run some tests on them. Sandoval was the doctor’s name, but they didn’t know the name of the Man in Black. Barely daring to breathe, the boys listened carefully.

"Oh do shut up, Reverend," the Man in Black replied tiredly.

"You would do well to pay heed to the Lord, Mr. Deevers, for he will be judging you in your hour...."

"Right." Deevers turned back to the doctor. "So what did your little tests show you, Doctor? Was there any abnormal brain activity? Unusual development in the frontal lobe perhaps? Enhanced eyesight, enhanced intelligence? Genetic myopia, enlarged testicles, *what*!?"

Doctor Sandoval lifted one eyebrow, and frowned. "Really, Mr. Deevers, must you resort to histrionics? I found what I said I found. Lower body temperature, an odd mixture of red and white blood cells, and a varied genetic code. Other than that, they check out medically like a human child would."

"Then we need to run more tests, and that will commence tomorrow. First thing in the morning. See to it, Doctor Sandoval," Deevers said brusquely.

"And am I allowed to see to those boy’s souls too, Mr. Deevers? Must I remind you whose idea this was, who is really in charge here?" Hessler intoned pompously.

"Oh, I’m sorry, Reverend Hessler, I almost forgot." Deevers smiled, a chilling expression on his bland face. "Let’s understand just exactly what your role is here, Rev. You are correct, it was *your* idea, *your* basic plan, and that makes it *your* ass on the line if we get caught. Of course we let you think you were in charge, because you are the perfect fall guy. We needed *someone* to pin the blame on if we were discovered." He patted the reverend on the shoulder as he moved away. "Enjoy your fame when and where it comes, Rev. In your case, probably soon and in a jail cell." He laughed uproariously at his own joke as he walked away.  Doctor Sandoval merely shook his head in disgust as he left the building.

Reverend Hessler, all alone, seemed to stand perfectly still, until Garryt noticed a slight trembling in his hands. The man was in a perfect rage, barely controlling his anger. The sight made Garryt smile tightly. But as much as he hated the Reverend, he also pitied him, just a little. He was a fool.

In only a few minutes, the reverend was also gone, leaving the boys in their stairwell, watching the door, wondering which way to run. Griffyn, looking both ways down the long hall, decided to scout a better exit than the front door. "Too dangerous," he grumbled. Garryt stayed in the stairwell and watched for company.

Griffyn was back in microts with good news. There was a side entrance only a short distance down the hall. Still bootless, the two boys slipped quietly out the stairwell door and made for the exit. Amazingly enough, they were outside in the brisk air only microts after the strange hallway conversation was over. They could still see the taillights of both Dr. Sandoval’s car it's way down a long drive.

They ran to thicker cover some fifty feet from the building and then sat down to put on their boots. The gun was tossed into the deep grass. Quickly, knowing that their escape would be known soon, they settled on a direction of travel that went in the opposite direction of the car. No sense in courting disaster.

Less than ten minutes from the building, they heard distant alarms begin to blare. Garryt muttered "shit!" at the same time his brother came out with "dren!", and they put wings on their feet. Running was their only option, running and hiding in the dark. But running to where?

*****************************

Aeryn scanned the cluster of buildings with her oculars, dismayed to find them empty. They had been so certain that this was the most likely location to hide the boys that she had counted on finding them here. She had planned to rescue them, to bring them back to John, triumphant. She had wanted to find her sons and keep John safe in the process. But the only things in residence were snakes and rats, if the condition of the buildings was any indication. She sighed deeply and spoke into her comm.

"That’s it, we’re done. Head back to the Marauder," she said crisply, moving through the tangle of brush as noiselessly as she could. Her crew answered just as precisely.

Once back onboard the Marauder and enroute to the base, she called in with a check.

"Base one, this is ops one, base one this is ops one, do you read?"

"Loud and clear, ops one. Find anything?" It was John, sounding tense but decidedly more alive than he had on the previous two days.

"Negative, just a lot of...’critters’," she allowed a smile to creep into her voice, wanting, *needing*, John to not lose his composure over this minor setback. She was rewarded by a slight chuckle. "Damn them critters anyway," he muttered.  "We’re still waiting for ops two, four and five to check in. Three and six were a bust too."

"We’ll be there in fifteen...minutes," she said, checking the time piece John had recently given her. She had to admit, it was a wonderful work of art, with what John called "all the bells and whistles," but telling Earth time was still difficult to her. Time based on a number system of twelve instead of ten confused her.

"Great, I’ll keep you posted on the other missions," he replied. "Base one out."

"Ops one out," she answered, shutting off her comm.

For the next fifteen minutes, she stared ahead of her, watching the foreign landscape pass underneath the ship in a dim blur. Of the seven sites chosen to search, three were unoccupied. This scenario was their best option, one of the sites had to be the one. It just had too. The thought of Griffyn and Garryt held prisoner, subject to tests and possibly torture chilled her so thoroughly that she had had difficulty sleeping these past few nights. Since their abduction, she had slept furtively, sparingly, and had dared not tell John. His capacity for worrying was limitless. In his condition, and especially after the argument they had gotten into in the hospital, he did not need one more thing to worry about.

The thud of the landing pods and the hiss of the repulsors jolted her from her reverie. She shook herself awake and went to the drop, landing lightly on the tarmac. Over the roaring hum of the Marauder, she heard her name being shouted. John was sprinting for her, DK and Jack pounding behind him.

"Aeryn! They found it! Ops team four..." he stopped breathlessly beside her, his long PeaceKeeper coat flapping in the steady brush of air, "...ops team four found an occupied site in the middle of an alarm. They were conducting a search of the area, our people managed to get out of there before they were spotted, but the spooks were *definitely* looking for something!"

"Which means the boys escaped?" Aeryn said hopefully.

"Would *our* sons do any less?" he grinned.

Aeryn grunted. "I’ll be surprised if they caused no casualties."

"Yeah, me too," his grin was contagious, and she hugged him briefly.

"We’re headed out there, then?" she assumed, shifting her pulse rifle to a more comfortable position on her shoulder.

"You got it. Dad notified Admiral Fleer, he’ll keep the rest of the world occupied while we go look for the boys."

Aeryn looked at Jack and DK. "You coming?" she asked casually. Both of them shook their heads, Jack with some regret, DK with studied diffidence. "We’re manning this end of it. Besides, neither one of us is trained for this kind of thing," Jack said quietly. Impulsively, he hugged his daughter-in-law, kissing her cheek softly. "Find them well, Aeryn."

John managed to slap DK in a brotherly fashion on the shoulder and give his father a one armed hug before he eagerly jumped into the waiting marauder. Aeryn joined him, watching the land plummet beneath them as they sped off into the depths of the night.

"Ops team four said they estimate the alarm sounded about an hour...arn...ago. That means the boys have at least that for a head start, maybe more. Pilot is scanning, but that area is literally crawling with critters." He grinned quickly at Aeryn, then continued. "There’s only one road in and out of there, everything else is just woods and swamp. I’m betting on the swamp."

"That sounds like a logical assumption. After all, they take after you more than me. A logical being would head down the road." She couldn’t help but take a small dig at him, just to keep him sharp. He nudged her with his elbow and ducked his head closer to hers.

"We’ll find them, Aeryn. And then we’re packing our shit and getting the fuck out of Dodge."

"And the people who did this? Will we leave them for Earth courts to take care of?" she asked carefully.

John thought for a moment, then shook his head. "You know, I hadn’t thought that far ahead. You’re right, leaving them for Earth courts may not be very...satisfying. We may have to take care of it ourselves. Provided that any of them survive the assault."

Aeryn watched the land speed by beneath them and prayed to all the gods and goddesses that her children were safe. She also fervently hoped that her husband survived whatever he had planned, without losing his humanity.

*******************************

"Frelling dren!" Griffyn sputtered for the hundredth time. Garryt waited patiently, breathing hard, his face waxen in the moonlight. He’d thrown up three times in the last two arns and his energy reserves were severely depleted. He watched his brother fight his way through the thick brush dispassionately, knowing he should care more but unable to do anything about it. Finally fighting his way clear of the brambles that held him, Griffyn flopped down by his brother.

"Well, there’s a town about ten minutes’ walk that way," he gestured with his hand while he sucked a bramble tear on his other thumb. "It’s not very big, but I think we could get a phone call in to Dad, or Grandpa. Thing is, I’m not sure where to call."

Garryt had been long thinking about the same topic. They were out, but who would they call? Should they go to the local police? That seemed logical, but logic also dictated that if there was a government agency at work in their abduction, they might have corrupted the local law enforcement. Simply turning themselves into the police might be the worst thing they could do.

"Let’s go to that town and see what comes up. If we can get to a phone, we can call Admiral Fleer. I think I remember his cell number."

"That’s a great idea. You ready?" Griffyn stood, his hand outstretched to his ailing brother. With a grunt of effort, he pulled him to his feet. "We’ll be home before morning, I bet!" he enthused. Garryt said nothing, knowing his brother was doing his best to help. But he was not feeling quite so sanguine, he thought their chances of recapture were slightly higher than their chances of rescue.

He desperately hoped he was wrong.

****************************

John and Aeryn observed the area on a map as they approached. The cluster of buildings sat on the edge of an abandoned swamp some fifteen miles from a small town. The swamp and nearby forests led to numerous communities and towns. The boys could be anywhere. Going by what they knew, the area within a mile or so of the buildings had been thoroughly searched, so they focused their attention on the area outside of that parameter. Ops four team had done an extensive search of their own after eluding the search for the boys and discovered nothing. The small section of swamp and forest they had searched was marked off on the map, reducing the remaining search area by a small amount.

John forced his mind to think like the boys. Where would they go? Who would they trust? A sudden thought made him slap his comm. "Dad, contact Admiral Fleer again, tell him to standby. If the boys get to a phone, they may try to contact him."

"Why him and not you? Or me?" Jack said in reply.

"They won’t know how to call us, but the Admiral has a cell phone, I saw him showing the boys how to use it, trying to impress them with human technology. It’s entirely possible he told them his phone number."

"Let’s hope so," Jack said with feeling. In the background John could hear DK talking to someone, most likely Fleer.

"We’ll contact you as soon as we know anything, Dad," John said, then clicked the comm off.

"OK, beyond that, do you have a plan?" Aeryn asked.

"Nope. You?"

"It’s your planet, so it’s got to be your plan," she smiled.

John sighed. "Why do I always have to have a plan? Who am I, Han Solo? Where’s my Wookiee? Where’s the Jedi? And where’s your gold bikini? I am just dying to see you in a gold bikini."

Aeryn had to laugh. John had made her sit through all of the Star Wars movies, and she had to admit, while some of the science was laughable, it was highly entertaining. Now that she understood some of his references, it made them that much more humorous. "I’ll wear a bikini if you ever have to opportunity to rescue me from a giant slug," she quipped.

"Deal," he replied, giving her a quick kiss. The marauder was only microts from landing, and he looked closer at the map. "I have an idea. Let’s not do a search, let’s catch them with their pants down and take the facility. From there, we’ll know where to search."

Aeryn nodded, knowing that affirming that their son’s were not in the buildings was of the utmost importance. They could waste time searching the surrounding land without ever knowing if the boys had been recaptured. It was sound. She leaned forward to Merryc, piloting the marauder, and gave him different orders. Land on the top of the biggest building and start kicking ass and taking names. It was, after all, what they did best.

*************************

Dr. Ivan Sandoval was rapidly regretting ever getting involved with Deevers and his crew. His own desire to study the alien physiology was being dampened by Deevers’ ruthless search for secrets. These were children, and Deevers treated them like threats to national security. And then there was Hessler. A megalomaniac from the word go, he oozed a false sense of religious devotion so studied and practiced that it overpowered his true selfish nature. When he dropped his rabid devotion, he exposed a naked soul, so lacking in human compassion as to be completely without redemption. His only love was for himself, his only passion was for the wealth of others, his only desire was for power. He was contemptible.

Sandoval was wasting no time. He had barely gotten to town when Deevers called him, informing him of the escape.  He was too vulnerable. Knowing full well that Deevers would probably escape into some unknown warren of spooks, leaving him, Sandoval, behind to take the blame, he gathered anything incriminating and stuffed it into his briefcase. Discs, CDs, notes, whatever. He had his computer working now, wiping everything of importance. Most of it was on the discs anyway, so wiping the computer was merely a formality.

Whisking the last of his papers into a garbage can, he dropped a lit match into it. Once he was certain that the papers were burning well and that the computer was nearly finished with its wipe of the system, he fairly sped out of the room.

The elevator was down the hall. He punched the Lobby button and waited, glancing at his watch from time to time. How long since the boys had escaped? Two hours, three? It was nearly dawn, he wanted to be on an airplane out of Orlando by eight o’clock.

He heard the muted ‘ding’ of the elevator and the nearly silent whoosh as the door opened. He had already committed his foot to the step forward, his body following dutifully, when he realized the elevator was filled with people.

Strangers. Dressed in black leather. All of them armed, all of them pointing their weapons at him. He was barely able to gasp in alarm before the man in front smiled ferociously and spoke.

"For an empty building, there sure are an awful lot of people here," the man said laconically. At once Sandoval recognized him. John Crichton, complete with his alien wife and some of his alien commandos. Before he could speak in protest, two of Crichton’s aliens had him by the elbows, forcing him to the floor on his knees. Crichton himself plucked the briefcase from the doctor’s hand and set it aside. With extreme care, Crichton squatted before Sandoval and looked him square in the eye. "Name?" was all he said. Sandoval could only gape, completely speechless, staring incomprehensibly at the dark bruise on Crichton’s face.

"Name?" he demanded, leaning closer.

"S-S-Sandoval, Dr. Ivan Sandoval."

"Doctor?" Crichton frowned, and his wife muttered something unintelligible. "Tell me, *doctor*," he said softly, the hatred dripping menacingly from every word, "...are my sons here?"

Knowing to deny was far too dangerous, he merely nodded, stuttering in his fear. 

"Y-yes, I mean, n-no, they w-were, but they escaped. They got away."

"And as a doctor, did you perform...*tests*...on my sons?" Danger coated his words, and Sandoval was frightened out of his wits. "Y-y-y-yes..." he finally got out.

Crichton stood then, abruptly, his eyes darkening with anger. "Take him and his briefcase to the marauder, lock him up. If he tries to get away, shoot him." He strode away, his wife firmly at his side, two escorts in their wake. The remaining man grabbed Sandoval by the elbow again and hauled him to his feet. The trip to the roof was just long enough for Sandoval to realize two things. One, he was still alive, even if he had just pissed his pants. And two, he was most likely not on his way to the police, or a military base, or any other sort of Earth law enforcement. He was in the hands of the crew of Moya, and likely as not, that was their destination.

Dr. Ivan Sandoval, professor of genetics, researcher of the human genome and writer of several inflammatory papers aimed at keeping the aliens from gaining support on Earth, was now in the hands of his enemy. Before he had arrived on the roof, he pissed his pants again.

***********************

Griffyn studied the building carefully. It was a well lit spot, a ‘convenience store’ his father would say. A place where you could buy things at all hours of the night, more or less. Gas, food, a few groceries. A bored girl with her nose and eyebrow pierced manned the register, her jaws working overtime on a wad of gum and a magazine held in front of her face. It was four in the morning, and the boys had been on the run for more than three hours. They were exhausted, and Garryt needed medical attention. Griffyn was wondering how to approach this girl about using the phone when Garryt spoke up.

"There’s a pay phone in front," he whispered, looking up through bleary eyes.

"Yeah, but they take money. We don’t have any."

Garryt subsided then, wondering what humans did in situations like this. He remembered some rather ridiculous commercials on TV showing people making phone calls when they had no money. Calling collect? Was that it? He mentioned it to Griffyn, who shrugged. "I think you have to have a phone number registered to use one of those things," he replied.

"Why don’t you ask the girl inside how you can use the phone? Maybe she knows."

Griffyn thought about that for a minute, shrugging. "I guess so, can’t hurt. What’s my cover story, genius?"

"Umm...you ran away from home and you want your mom and dad to come get you now."

"Yeah, sure, make me sound like a total cheeser," Griffyn muttered darkly.

"You could tell her the truth, see where that gets you," Garryt replied, laying back down. Griffyn felt ashamed, as he should. "I’m sorry, Gare, I guess we’re both just tired. I’ll give it a try." He squeezed his brother’s shoulder and left the relative safety of the ditch.

Trotting across the tarmac, he shivered in the night air. It was winter, and even in Florida the nights were chilly. Tonight was colder than most, either that or he was so exhausted from running that he was affected by it.

He entered the blazing warmth of the convenience store and stood, spellbound by the light, the heat, the severe opulence of plenty before him. ‘Lock me up for a few days and I think a gritty Quik-Stop is a palace’, he thought to himself. This can’t be good. He was brought out of his moment of bliss by the girl behind the counter.

"Hey Junior, shit or get off the pot!" she cawed raucously.

"Wh-what?" he stammered, surprised.

"Are you buying or what?" she snapped.

"Oh, um...no. I mean, do you know how I can call someone on the phone outside? I don’t have any money..."

"What are you, a retard or something?" she snorted nastily. "You need 50 cents to make a call!"

Griffyn frowned, thinking hard. "But can’t I call collect? Isn’t there some way?"

"Look dipshit, if you aint going to buy something, get out. I can’t be sittin’ here waitin’ for you to steal somethin’."

Completely out of his league, Griffyn turned slowly and left, leaving the welcome warmth of the store for the brisk cold outside. As he walked dejectedly back to the ditch, he wondered if Garryt might have been able to charm that girl into giving them help, but decided no one could charm her. He could have forced her to help him, but to what end? She would have called the police long before Admiral Fleer could have come to their rescue.

Garryt was asleep when he returned, and Griffyn curled up around his brother. They were under a low growing bush on the edge of the ditch across from the store. Griffyn let his eyes close, intending only to sleep for a minute or two. He was so tired. His last thought before sleep claimed him was that his father could have charmed that girl into helping him. 

***************************

They stormed the building, taking prisoner anyone who crossed their path. All the Ops teams had been sent for, and six marauders circled the buildings, spotlighting the grounds, keeping anyone from escaping. Leather clad ex-PeaceKeepers in beetle black helmets scoured the premises, silent and deadly.

John and Aeryn strode into the room where all the people had been herded, John’s leather coat swirling behind him dramatically. Fully two dozen people waited, some stoically quiet, others praying. Sitting up front and personal was the Reverend Hessler, surrounded by his fawning minions. Seeing him, John walked his direction. Stopping in front of the nattily dressed reverend, he smiled chillingly.

"This was your idea, wasn’t it, Reverend?" he asked.

"The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want, he maketh me to lie down in green pastures..."

"Good for you. You got anything else to say, Reverend?"

Hessler looked up from the prayer he was leading long enough to say, "I’d like to call my lawyer."

John threw his head back and laughed. He slapped his thigh and leaned closer to Hessler. "Reverend Hessler, you’d do better to call God. Where we’re going, your lawyer can’t help you." With that, he suddenly swung with his right hand, connecting with Hessler’s jaw, snapping his head back and knocking him to the floor.

"That’s for my boys," he growled. "Consider it a down payment on the rest of your sentence, for all the people you hurt." He swirled away, shouting orders as he went.

"Pilot! I want all of them transported to Moya. Make certain we have the Penthouse suite ready for their arrival, please." As an afterthought, he turned back. "Who was the spook in charge, Reverend? Who laid out for the plastics and the detonators?"

Hessler sat up straighter in his chair, nursing his bruised cheek and glaring at John. "I will tell you nothing, sinner, heretic, SATAN!" he bellowed.

John moved closer, but he wasn’t fast enough. Aeryn bulled her way past John and grabbed Hessler by the lapels. Lifting him up with frightening ease, she dragged him away from the crowd and threw him to the floor. Aiming her pulse rifle at his head, she nodded to John. Turning to the prisoners, now unnervingly still with fear, he repeated his question.

"Who was the spook in charge?"

The silence reigned, broken only by a soft, incoherent sob from the Reverend. The people in the room glanced at each other, white pasty faces streaked with sweat and tears, fear glaring from their eyes. John spoke softly. "I won’t ask again," he said. Aeryn flicked the safety off on her rifle, the click ominously loud in the room. "I really don’t need him, you know."

A young man who had been praying with the Reverend stood up, tears streaming from his face. "I won’t let the Reverend die for that man’s sin," he said firmly. "I don’t know his name, but *that’s* the man there," he pointed to a man in a black suit sitting calmly against the wall. "He’s the one who gave all the orders."

John turned to the Reverend. "What’s his name, Rev?"

Hessler glared at John with savage hatred, but the pressure of the rifle butt against his temple kept him in check. "His name is Deevers, but that is all I know."

"See! That was easy!" John said with gallows humor. He grabbed Hessler by the collar and hauled him unceremoniously back to his flock. They gathered around his prostrate body, murmuring sympathy. John walked to the man Hessler had pointed out, Deevers, and stood in front of him.

"Hey Sunshine, we got us a Man in Black!" he grinned. "Super-spook extraordinaire. I bet he’s got a secret decoder ring and everything."

Deevers said nothing, moved not a finger, didn’t even twitch. John smiled.

"And he’s cool as a cucumber. I think he’ll just love the accommodations on Moya, don’t you? His own private cell, his own guard, and lots of nice, quiet conversations with me. Or D’Argo, once I work him into a hyper-rage. Or maybe," here he turned to Aeryn, silent beside him, and looked into her eyes. "Or maybe, you’d like to have some time alone with the man who stole your sons?"

Aeryn said nothing, but she smiled gently at John, touching his cheek as if he had given her a precious gift. Deevers smiled at the gesture, mocking its tenderness. In one swift movement, Aeryn had turned and delivered a perfect pantak jab, sending the overconfident spook to the floor in a heap.

"OK, here’s the deal. Everyone is coming with us. No exceptions. Anyone attempting to run will be shot. Also no exceptions. You! and you, carry this piece of shit."

There were voices raised in protest, cries of innocence. One woman grabbed his arm on his way by, claiming she was only a cook, she wasn’t guilty of anything. John shook her arm off and replied, "Yeah, you and the cooks at Dachau, you were all innocent." 

In the end, twenty-two people were loaded onto the transport pods, and John knew that he had just burned the last bridge between himself and humanity.

****************************

The first thing Griffyn noticed when he woke up was that while it was daylight, it wasn’t sunny. In fact, it was a gloomy morning, with low gray clouds threatening to dump cold rain at any moment. He sighed. Not only had he slept, he’d slept so long that the cover of dark was impossible. There was no way he and Garryt would remain unseen in their hiding spot. It was too visible. Thankfully, there were few people about in the early dawn, so he hustled his brother up and they moved on, looking for a way to get help.

They were walking down a street that was rapidly turning into a bad neighborhood when Garryt simply fell down and refused to get up. Griffyn pulled him into the mouth of an alley and held him, despairing of ever finding a way to get home. His brother’s ragged, shallow breathing punctuated the stillness of the dark morning. It was barely six A.M.

Several people passed them in the next half hour, but none noticed them. Or if they were noticed, none stopped to see what they were doing, or to ask why they were there. These were people with problems of their own, they didn’t need the problems of some strange boys. Soon, Griffyn noticed a young boy crossing the street, heading in their general direction. He was dark skinned, what his father called black or Negro, and about their age, wearing faded blue jeans and scuffed sneakers. His coat was threadbare but of good quality, and zipped tight. He wore a Florida Marlins baseball cap, set backwards, and walked with the jaunty air of someone who was in possession of all he needed or wanted in life. He spied the boys when he was nearly on the sidewalk, changing direction so he would stop before them.

The boy cocked his head to one side with his hands on his hips. "Homeboy, you in the wrong neighborhood for certain," he said with good humor.

Griffyn said nothing, just watched carefully, not wanting to trust this young boy at face value.

"Something wrong with your homey, bro?" he asked, pointing at Garryt.

"He’s...he’s sick," Griffyn said lamely.

"Yeah, guess he is," the boy answered. "Guess we need to get him some place warm, huh? My mom’s home, she’s a nurse. C’mon, let’s get him to my place." Without waiting for an answer, the boy reached down and helped Garryt up. Griffyn found himself helping without questioning the boy’s motives. And he was a fount of information, most of it useless but all of it fascinating. Baseball scores, basketball plays, accounts of his week at school, stories of gang crime he had witnessed, his mother’s job and consequent loss of said job, all poured out in a convivial litany of charm and wit, told with humor and good nature. Griffyn liked him immensely from the first moment.

"Anyway, I tol’ him he could take his gang colors and motivate, ya hear? I ain’t gonna be no banger, I’m gonna be a doctor. He jus’ laughed at me, man, like I said I was gonna fly to the moon. Then he beat the crap outta me, but since he wasn’ that big, it didn’t hurt much. I mean, I walked home on my own an’ all..."

"Did you fight back?" Griffyn asked as they helped a half awake Garryt negotiate the stairs to a tired building.

"Sure, I fought back, but see he got this thing goin’ wit’ the rest a’ his gang. He ain’t but maybe eight, ya know? But they juice him up on coke an’ send him out to recruit. Hard to fight a cokehead, they don’ feel no pain or nothin’."

Griffyn was going to ask more, but the boy indicated a scarred door in the dim hall. "This’s my place. Momma’s inside, an’ I forgot my key. Knock, would ya’?" he asked Griffyn. Griffyn did, with some trepidation. He hoped he was doing the right thing.

The woman who opened the door was of a lighter complexion than her son and beautiful in a maternal sense. She was of medium height with even, regular features, nurturing eyes and a kind smile. Full figured and still slim waisted, she exuded a sense of calm and care. All Griffyn understood was that she was a mother, a woman, someone to help his brother. Instinctively he realized she was someone he could trust, someone he could let his guard down with. As soon as she saw Garryt, held up by the two other boys, the woman gasped and reached for him. Griffyn let her scoop up his brother without a word, relief etched in his features.

"Oh! You poor boy! Let’s see what’s wrong, shall we?" she said soothingly as she carried Garryt to a neat bedroom and laid him on the freshly made bed. Casting her gaze to her son, she said softly, "Denzel, get the thermometer and my blood pressure cuff, please." Griffyn trailed ineffectively behind her, watching her precise ministrations with a mute appeal in his eyes.

"What’s your name, son?" she asked him gently, her hand firm on Garryt’s forehead.

"Umm...Dale," Griffyn lied.

"His name’s either Garryt or Griffyn, I aint sure which. They’s the missing twins, Momma." Denzel said as he re-entered the room.

Griffyn stared at him, astounded. Denzel’s mother glanced from her son to Griffyn, assessing the truth, and deciding her son was right. "Oh Lord, this is going to be interesting," she murmured. She busied herself in the next few minutes with taking Garryt’s temperature and blood pressure. She also checked for dehydration, and was shocked to see how depleted he was.

"His temperature is about ninty-nine, not much of a fever, and his blood pressure is fairly normal," she observed to herself.

"Ninety-five is normal for us," Griffyn said softly, "...and we have a slightly lower blood pressure too."

She looked at Griffyn carefully, decided he was probably more knowledgeable about his own physiology than she was and nodded. "Denzel, bring that down comforter from my bed please." She turned back to Griffyn. "What’s your name son? And your brother’s?"

"I’m Griffyn, this is Garryt."

"Well, Griffyn, my name is Rose, and my son is Denzel. He talks a lot but he’s a fine boy."

Griffyn smiled. "I liked him the first time he opened his mouth."

Rose laughed heartily, and took the comforter Denzel offered her. "You and that mouth of yours, Denzel," she quipped. "Always making friends."

"It’s a gift, Momma," he smiled, sitting next to Griffyn and slinging his arm around his shoulders.

"It is at that, son." She pulled the comforter around Garryt’s shoulders and tucked him in, frowning. "What happened to your brother, Griffyn?" she asked.

Griff tensed, worry creasing his features. "They drugged us with something, I didn’t get so sick, but it never did wear off for Gare. He’s been sick since they took us. He ain’t been able to eat much at all. He throws up all the time."

A severe look settled on Rose’s face. "And did they call a doctor?" she asked.

"There was a doctor there, but all he did was...tests. He never did give Gare anything to help him. I think...I think him being sick was part of the test," Griffyn was ashamed to find he was sniffling as he spoke.

Rose took him into her arms and held him, letting him cry. He was after all only a boy, and had endured far more in the last several days than any boy should ever have to endure. She held him, cooed soothing words to him, and let him cry his heart out. She was not surprised to hear him mutter through his tears, "I want my mother," before he fell into an exhausted sleep.

She lay him next to his sleeping brother and set Denzel to cooking up a pot of her home made chicken soup. The broth would do both these boys good, but she knew they needed far more than that. They needed to get home, and fast. Whoever had done this would be looking for them, and it was possible that someone had seen Denzel bring them home.

She knew she had to call someone, but who? She didn’t want to wake Griffyn to ask, he was so completely worn out. She picked up the paper, a thick Sunday edition, and looked for the most recent information on the search for the boys. Sure enough, there were their pictures under a headline, "Have You Seen Us?". Griffyn and Garryt Crichton, sons of John Robert Crichton Jr, astronaut and now Captain of an alien ship, and Aeryn Sun, Sebacean, ex-PeaceKeeper, alien. Her picture was there too, and Rose could see some of her features in the boys. Her lean face, aquiline nose, and strong jaw. But they had their father’s mouth, his stunning blue eyes, and his smile. Their mother’s dark hair crowned their heads, thick with curls and untamed. They were beautiful boys, and obviously well loved. She had to get them home.

Under the article was a phone number to call, a local one. She frowned, not wanting to trust the lives of these boys to the local Deputy Dawg.  Who knows, maybe the men who took them also had the local police in their pocket? There had to be another way. She scanned further, until she saw a reference to Admiral Fleer, Aide to Captain Crichton, liaison to the colony effort. From everything she had read, Fleer seemed like a friend of the family, someone she could trust with this information. She searched for and found a number to reach him, a number from a local Air Force base. It would have to do.

She watched the sleeping boys and thought of how different their lives were. Out in the kitchen, she could hear Denzel humming to himself as he stirred the soup. How she wished she had something better than this to offer her son, her only child. After being laid off from her job as a nurse, she had been unable to find steady work doing anything. Times were hard, and getting harder. Her son was an intelligent, talented boy, he deserved better than the streets, the gangs, the life of neglect that he could easily end up in if he stayed here. She knew he was tender hearted and quick witted, but those attributes were not rewarded kindly on the streets. If she didn’t get Denzel out now, she could lose him.

She dialed the number quickly, praying it was the right thing to do. After three rings, a woman answered, listened to what Rose had to say, and transferred her to someone else, who then transferred her to someone else, who then told her he would "look into it," and hung up. Discouraged, Rose sighed as she watched the twins sleeping. God help them if she had called the wrong people, she thought. God help them all.

******************************

As the marauder took off from the rooftop, John heard his comm come to life.

"Captain Crichton, you have an urgent message from a General Broussard," Pilot said, somewhat agitatedly.

"Put him on, Pilot."

There was a brief moment of silence, then the harsh rasp of a heavy smoker clearing his throat. "Captain Crichton? General Broussard," the voice grated.

"Yes General, what can I do for you?" John asked blandly.

"Cut the bullshit, Crichton, you know damn well what this is about. You and your people just stormed a building on American soil and kidnapped everyone there, all tax paying American citizens. You have perpetrated an act of terrorism, sir, and I demand the return of all of those people!"

"Oh bite me big time, you pompous ass," John retorted. "Those true blue, all American tax payers were the ones who kidnapped my boys, and I intend to find out what they did to them and where they are."

"That’s our job, Crichton!" the general roared.

"Yes, and you were doing such a stellar job of it too," he responded nastily.

"You won’t get away with this!" the general pontificated.

"General, take a good long look. I already *have*."

Before the general could reply, John cut the connection. Aeryn watched him closely as he examined his nails on his hands, humming softly to himself. Despite his outward calm, she knew inside he seethed with anger. Where were the boys?

"They escaped, John, they’re out there somewhere, safe for now. We’ll find them," she said softly.

"Yeah, I know. They’re pretty resourceful. I’m just afraid they may try to trust the wrong people. This isn’t such a nice place, in case you haven’t noticed," he said, bitterness tingeing his words.

"You’re wrong, John, it is a nice place. It’s just got it’s share of ignorant, immoral and dangerous people. We unfortunately attract that sort."

"Imagine that," he retorted, but held her hands in his to soften his words. "I know we’ll find them. And then all those people who are responsible will pay, in one way or another."

"You don’t want to leave them for the Earth courts to take care of?"

He snorted. "Hell no, their idea of a trial would last for years, and most of them would get off on technicalities. I have no faith in the American justice system."

"So what are we going to do with them?" she asked.

John ruminated for a moment. "I’m not sure yet, but you’ll be the first to know."

"Well, that’s comforting," she said dryly.

"They will pay, Aeryn," he said, and refused to speak for some time.

********************************

DK and Jack answered phones and listened closely to radio and TV news reports from all over the area. They watched with dismay the TV footage of the marauders flying en-masse from the cluster of buildings that had been the boy’s kidnapper’s hideout, knowing that the transport pods they saw protected in the middle of the group held prisoners. They shook their heads in wonder at John’s audacity, and his strength of purpose. There was, they decided, no other way. Every other avenue had been closed to them. Besides, John always was a take charge kinda guy.

Pilot kept them informed of everything, from the arrival of the prisoners to John’s message that the search would concentrate on the several smaller towns in the vicinity of the kidnapper’s hideout. They were also informed that a marauder would be by to retrieve them shortly. DK protested vehemently.

"No, we need to be here, monitoring everything," he said for the hundredth time. But Pilot had orders from John and could not be dissuaded. It was Jack who convinced him.

"Son, it’s safer this way, we all know that," he said.

"Why? Do you really think they’ll come after us?"

"If they can’t get at John, yes, I do think that. We have to leave as soon as possible. We’ll be safe on Moya."

DK swore and threw the empty pop can he had been clutching across the room.

"Damn it, damn it! What about my career? What about my life?" he said savagely.

"What about them?" Jack countered. "Do you really think they’d leave you alone to do research now, after aligning yourself with John on this? Think about it, DK. You may not have known what you were getting into, but that’s not going to cut it as an excuse. You’re with us, whether you want to be or not."

DK fumed a bit more, and Jack continued.

"Besides, think of the research you can do from onboard Moya, or Talyn. Think of the things you’ll see! You and John can pick right up where you left off on your Farscape research. Your career," he smiled, "is just beginning."

********************************

Griffyn woke suddenly, in a strange place, warm and comfortable for the first time in days. He froze, afraid to move, trying to clear his fuzzy mind. He felt his brother’s quiet form next to him, breathing softly. The room was unfamiliar, but comforting. The thick blanket covering him felt heavenly, soft and warm. A good smell was coming from the open door, and then he remembered. The boy, Denzel, and his mother Rose. They were helping him. He checked Garryt again, found him still and pale, but no worse, and silently left the bed.

He padded on sock feet to the door, exiting into a short hall and then a kitchen. Denzel sat at a table, reading from a book. His mother sat beside him frowning at the newspaper. She looked up when she saw him and smiled. "Feeling better, son?" she asked.

He nodded. "Did you call someone?" he asked, fearfully.

"I tried to, anyway," she said. "I didn’t want to trust the local police, so I called the Air Force, tried to get a hold of Admiral Fleer? Isn’t he a family friend?"

Griffyn sighed with relief. "Yeah, he is. I know his cell phone number, too."

She smiled brightly. "Well, that is a welcome piece of information! Denzel, get Griffyn a bowl of soup, and I’ll make a call to the admiral. Does that sound good?"

"Yes ma’am, it does," Griffyn smiled, sitting down. "It smells good too."

They laughed gently, and Griffyn ate. Rose tried to call, but there was no answer. Fleer may have turned his cell of for some reason. No matter, they were safe for now, and warm. Griffyn and Rose took some food into Garryt, managing to get some in him despite his protests that he wasn’t hungry. It was a start anyway. Rose tried every fifteen minutes to make the call, and in between times they talked. Griffyn felt comfortable, and even Garryt managed to make conversation.

"Griff, did Cat get away?" he asked suddenly, a worried frown creasing his brow.

"Yeah, she did, I know she did," Griffyn answered. "I saw her run. Besides, the papers said she was safe on Moya. Don’t worry, Cat is fine."

"Good, I was worried. I mean, she might hurt someone," he said, trying to look serious.

"She’s just a little girl," Rose protested.

"Dad calls her the Tasmanian Devil. She throws the coolest tantrums, it’s like having this awesome wind up toy that bounces off walls. But she can fight, trust me. She may be only seven, but she’s nasty mean."

"You can’t mean that!" she said, aghast.

"When we were grabbed, we saw her. She saw these guys carrying us and ran up and stabbed the one carrying Griffyn. It didn’t stop him, he just slapped her out of the way, but she’s tough, trust me."

Rose could only shake her head and sigh. "Still, you boys best be nice to your little sister when you get home, no telling what she’s been thinking since you’ve been gone."

"She’s probably got all my Sh’vel rocks in her room by now," Griffyn moaned.

"And our new skateboards. And our sleds. Bet you my best Buki knife she’s up there raiding our rooms at night and gloating," Garryt said with a laugh.

"You gots new skateboards?" Denzel asked excitedly. "What kind? A Razor?"

"Yeah, me an’ Gare both got RazorExtremes for Christmas. They’re really drad."

"Wow, that’s cool. What color did you get? I like the Camo ones."

Rose left the boys to discuss the merits of Scooters and their variety of styles and colors while she made another attempt to call the Admiral. Boys, she thought, of any variety, will be boys.

**************************

Aeryn and John were staying on the move, keeping safe. Several times military helicopters seemed to be vectoring towards them, but they had only to go up to the atmosphere to escape. Soon the helicopters simply kept them under surveillance, and kept their distance.

John had been dismayed when DK informed him that the local and national TV news was portraying him as a madman, bent on destroying anyone who got in his way. Rumors of death and destruction seemed to crop up everywhere, none of the substantiated, none of them true, most of them believed. By mid afternoon, John had had enough. He called Admiral Fleer.

"Call CNN," he said peremptorily. "Tell them I want an interview, exclusive. They can send a camera crew to a location and we’ll pick them up with a promise of safe return. Can you do that?"

"Consider it done. And John," he paused, gathering his courage, "I think I’ll be joining you when Moya leaves. I’m guessing my career is pretty much shot to hell now."

John brightened considerably. "That’s great! You won’t regret it, I promise."

"Yeah, well, it’s not like I have a choice, really. I’m thinking I made that choice when I agreed to take that first flight up to Moya. Guess I’m a closet astronaut."

"Closet my ass, you’re one of the guys.  Call me when you get it arranged."

Fleer closed his eyes as he closed the connection. He had no children, only two ex-wives.  Leaving them was no hardship. Leaving Earth, well, that was harder, but he understood the necessity of it. After all, he was a career military man, he knew the drill. You took punches and rolled with them, no bitching and moaning allowed.

He stood, reaching for his cell phone. Calling on a land line wouldn’t be the best of ideas. He needed to do this as quietly as possible. Frowning, he noticed his cell phone was inoperational. The ‘low battery’ indicator was blinking at him, and he sighed. If he would just remember to check that damn thing more often, he groused. Then he smiled. After today, there would never be a need to check his cell phone battery.

He replaced the battery and made his call, wondering idly if he had missed any important calls.

***************************

Rose, Denzel and the boys were watching the news with mounting fear. Everywhere people were claiming that John and his PK troops were wreaking havoc and destruction. They showed aerial shots of marauders hovering over cities and fields, close ups of troops on the ground inspecting buildings, fuzzy running shots of John shouting orders, and chaotic scenes of rioting and looting where they had been. To Rose, it was all contrived. Yes, John and his troops had scoured some of those areas, but it was obvious from the footage that they hadn’t used a single weapon and had in effect been unfailingly polite. It was after they left that insurgents began rioting and looting, and Rose began to suspect it was a set up. She said as much, and Garryt nodded from the bed.

"That would be a sound military tactic, you know. Discredit the enemy to the general public. The best way to get around all that is to go directly to the source, the news media." He paused, thinking. "That’s it, Griffyn, the news. If we can’t get a hold of the Admiral, we can call the news."

Griffyn was thinking along the same lines, but a different angle. "Gare, what if Dad called the news? To counter all that," he gestured dismissively at the news coverage.

Garryt thought about it and nodded. "Yeah, that sounds like something he would do all right. Who would he call, Rose? What news agency would be best?"

"He wouldn’t call anyone local, I can say that for a fact. This has to get out internationally, not just nationally. One of the world wide news agencies then. I would guess the logical choice would be CNN." Without waiting for someone to ask, she used the remote control to change the channels. Sports was on, and Rose glanced at her watch. "In about four minutes the headlines will come back on, we’ll be able to see then if there’s been any...." she stopped when the "Breaking News" headline appeared and the news anchor broke into the sports.

"We interrupt this addition of Headline Sports to bring you a Breaking News story. At 3:30 P.M. today, CNN news camera man and reporter Darrel Schemp met with Captain John Crichton, somewhere in the skies above central Florida. We go to him now, live. Darrel?"

The picture changed to a slightly grainy shot of the inside of a marauder. Schemp had set his camera up to film as he stood with John for the interview. His excitement obvious, Schemp did his best to remain calm.

"Jim, I’m here with Captain John Crichton on board his ship, a close range reconnaissance vessel called a marauder. Captain, what do have to say against these charges that you and your men have left a path of destruction wherever you’ve been?"

"We’ve done nothing but stop and ask questions, nothing at all. We’ve carried our weapons holstered and conducted a peaceful, quiet but thorough search. Every place we left, we left peacefully. Whoever is doing this, they are doing it to discredit us. Look at the scenes of rioting and fighting, there’s not a single member of my crew. We are looking for my sons, nothing more. All I want is the boys, and we’ll be gone." He looked haunted, his face still bruised, his eyes touched by pain. Rose found herself wanting to scream at the masses, you have badly misjudged this man.

"What about reports that you kidnapped people? Is there any truth to that?"

"We raided a facility that had been used as a hideout for the kidnappers. My sons had already escaped by the time we got there," Garryt and Griffyn traded astonished looks. Dad had found them, but they were gone already! "...so we transported all the guilty individuals up to Moya to stand trial."

"What about a trial on Earth? Don’t you think they deserve a trial with a jury of their peers?"

"They stay on Moya, and that’s final. But I will say that no one was injured, no one at all. Everyone was transported safely. And they will remain safe. I just want my sons back."

"How did you know where to look, Captain?" Schemp asked.

"That was easy. Wherever the military wasn’t looking was bound to be where they were," John growled.

"Are you implying that you think the US military had something to do with the abduction of your sons, and the bombing at Disneyworld?" he asked incredulously.

"No, I’m implying that *someone* knew about it and sent the search in the wrong direction."

"Do you have proof of that, Captain?"

"I will have when I’m done interrogating the prisoners," he warned.

There was more, but Rose wasn’t hearing it. She was on the phone, calling Fleer again. The sudden and not so irrational fear that they would be found, soon, but by the wrong people was overpowering. She hit the re-dial again, praying for an answer.

She was shocked to silence when a masculine voice answered on the third ring. "Fleer."

Her eyes widened, and she hit the mute on the TV remote. All three boys turned her way, amazed, but she gestured with her hand to the phone and responded.

"Admiral Fleer? My name is Rose Dubouis, and I have information about the missing boys."

"Excuse me, but how did you get this number?" he demanded.

"Garryt remembered it, he gave it to me."

"Is he there? Is Griffyn there?" She thought she heard a note of fear in his voice, of desperation. This was a man who cared deeply for these boys, and she was glad she had called.

"Yes, he is, they both are," she answered, smiling at the boys.

"Put one of them on, please," he said, his composure back.

Wordlessly, Rose handed the phone to Griffyn, who spoke rapidly in Sebacean. Rose’s eyes widened. The language sounded so liquid, so alien. Griffyn was nodding to something the Admiral said, his face impassive. He looked up suddenly, his eyes asking Rose to pay attention.

"The Admiral wants to know who you talked to when you called the main number," he said.

"Um, the first operator, then a Lieutenant Durrel, then a Commander Avis. The commander pretty much blew me off," she said.

"Did you tell them we were with you?" Griffyn asked, after relating that information to the Admiral.

"No, I said that I had information on your whereabouts, nothing more."

Griffyn relayed this information over the phone, and Garryt muttered darkly, "Fleer is worried about a leak in his own office. I’m betting we’re on the road inside of twenty microts."

Denzel seemed to be thinking deeply, then he left the room. Rose wondered what he was doing, but before she could ask, Griffyn handed the phone to Rose. "Fleer wants to talk to you again," he said, before sitting next to his brother and conversing in intense and rapid Sebacean again.

"Mrs. Dubouis, you must listen to me carefully. I’m alerting the Captain where you are, he will be on his way immediately. But you *must* get out of there, now. You need to get in your car and head for someplace, anyplace but there. What kind of a car do you drive?"

"I don’t have a car, Admiral, I had to sell it," she said quietly.

"You’ll have to walk then," he began, but she stopped him there too.

"No, Garryt is sick, he can’t walk very far. We’ll have to come up with something else."

Fleer blew out his breath in a gust, thinking. "Call a cab and take it to..." he consulted a map of the area, "Um...damn, I need a meeting place that John can find..."

"How about Riverside Park?" she suggested. "It’s an easy spot to find, it’s next to the river, obviously, and there’s a huge statue and fountain in the middle. It would be easy to find from the air."

"Good, that will work. Take a cab there, and stay in it. Get the cab’s number and driver’s name so we...I...can reimburse him for his time. John and Aeryn will meet you there."

"Thank you, Admiral," she said simply.

"No, Mrs. Dubouis, thank *you*."

They hung up then, cutting short their mutual admiration society. The twins were already on their feet, anticipating leaving. Denzel appeared from the bedroom with two bags. His mother looked at him in amazement.

"And where do you think you are going, Denzel Thomas Dubouis?" she asked in astonishment.

"Mom, them suits after the boys aint going to believe us that we din’t have nothin’ to do wit’ all this. We’ll be safer wit’ them, or wit’ the admiral."

Garryt and Griffyn smiled, but Rose was dumbfounded. What, was he thinking that they would be arrested for something? She couldn’t believe what her son was saying. Amazingly enough, Garryt echoed Denzel’s thoughts.

"He’s right, Mrs. Dubuois You’ll be safer coming with us. I have a feeling that after what’s happened the last few days," here he gestured at the TV, still displaying images of riots and destruction, "...anyone who’s come into contact with us will be suspect."

"It’s ok, Mom, I packed a bunch of your stuff too," Denzel said. "Just things we really need, like your nursing kit and my books."

Unable to speak, Rose Dubouis could only shake her head in astonishment. Denzel smiled winningly, and Griffyn grimly. Garryt came up to her and hugged her. "I’m sorry you and Denzel had to be caught up in this, really I am. But we have to get going, or it will be too late."

Rose called the cab with a feeling of dread and uncertainty. What had she gotten herself and her son into?

**************************

The marauder sped through the darkening afternoon, the low clouds parting for them like a biblical sea. John and Aeryn, spurred on by Admiral Fleer’s assertion that the boys were all right and in competent hands, now readied themselves for what they hoped would be a bloodless, simple reunion. Darrel Schemp found himself along for the ride, but he wasn’t picking up on any secrets. All conversations on board the marauder were conducted in Sebacean. Besides, John had shut his camera off, with the directive that he was not to turn it on again unless otherwise ordered. Seeing the feral look in John’s eyes, he decided it would be prudent to follow orders.

When they were barely fifteen minutes from the rendezvous point, Aeryn grabbed John by the arm. "What if they beat us to them?" she queried, fear threatening to overcome her. John slipped his arm around her, finding it odd that it was him comforting her. Usually it was the other way around.

"They won’t, they can’t. We’ll get there first," he chanted soothingly. He believed it because he had to believe it. Losing one child had almost undone him, losing the twins would without a doubt finish the job. There could be no other outcome to this. Remembering something, he turned to Schemp.

"Take a note, scribbler. I’ve got something to say."

"Technically, I’m a TV reporter, not a news writer," Schemp grumbled as he found a pen and his notebook.

"Fuck semantics, scribbler, shut up and listen. We had another son, before the twins. His name was Dhell." He paused long enough to spell that for Schemp, then continued. "When he was four months old, he was killed by a rogue PeaceKeeper because he was only half Sebacean, a half breed, an abomination. I swore that *nothing* would ever happen to my other children, that I would protect them with my life. If this doesn’t turn out like it should...if our boys..." he paused again, regained his composure, and continued in a menacing tone. "If anything happens to stop us from reuniting with our sons, or if they are...harmed...those at fault will pay. They will pay with their lives. And we will leave, and never come back."

Schemp scribbled madly, frighteningly aware that this was the biggest scoop of his career, and that it could cost him his life. But what the hell, he thought, no guts no glory. What he wouldn’t give to go along with the colony! The story of a lifetime, he thought.

The rest of the ride was done in silence. Schemp watched the half dozen people in the ship as they prepared. The three troopers geared up in black leather and helmets, frightening things that gave no indication of the being behind them. Wordless, they sat in military readiness, their bodies bristling with weapons. The pilot, a man Crichton called Merryc, piloted the craft with skill. Helmetless, he looked as human as anyone Schemp had ever met. He bore the scars and the features of a career soldier. John and his wife were armed to the teeth as well. Schemp found himself thinking, not for the first time, that Aeryn Sun, wronged mother, seemed far more menacing than any of the troopers he had witnessed so far. Images of enraged grizzly bears roared across his mind.

They circled over a large park, both John and Aeryn watching closely out of the window. It was John who saw the landmarks first, the river, the statue, the cab. He stabbed his finger out the wet windshield and shouted triumphantly, "There!" Merryc brought the marauder down swiftly, hovering two yards above the ground as the three troopers, along with Aeryn Sun, dropped through the now open hatch. They spread out instantly, each one guarding the other’s backs. John, followed by Merryc, dropped when they were grounded. Even so, Schemp saw John limp a step before recovering. Merryc stayed glued to his Captain’s left side, and Schemp was reminded the captain was blind there. He disregarded a direct order, telling himself that John Crichton wasn’t his captain, and followed them.

The staccato sound of an approaching helicopter sent Schemp’s gaze heavenward, and he was astonished to see a phalanx of Army ‘copters closing in. He barely had time to mutter, "oh shit!" before he saw the rest of Moya’s marauders inserting themselves bravely between the approaching military advance. They hovered with astonishing ease, their deadly guns trained on the US Army’s finest aviation weaponry. Schemp decided it was no contest, the US Army was severely outclassed, Custer’s last stand all over again. His camera was rolling, even if he was unable to speak.

He returned his attention to the cab, which was now speeding away. John Crichton and his wife were each holding onto a child, each carrying a treasured son as they returned quickly to the remaining marauder. A youngish black woman and her son, roughly the same age as the Crichton twins, ran with them. John was screaming at Schemp as they approached.

"Go! Go! Get inside you miserable piece of dren! Hurry up!" he slapped Schemp across the head as he flew by to emphasize the urgency, and Schemp followed, shutting down his camera in the process.

Once inside, the marauder began its rapid ascent. The other marauders kept their deadly vigil between their Captain and the Army, two menaces facing off for the first time. John watched it all with a look of anger and dismay. Human and Sebacean in a deadly conflict. It never should have happened.

Their marauder rose with a scream, entering the upper atmosphere so quickly that Schemp barely had time to realize where he was going. The scoop of a lifetime, he thought with dread. Oh dear oh damn, this was too good to be true. He felt like pissing his pants with fright. In moments, they were in space. Schemp nearly fainted with surprise. "Oh shiiit..." he breathed.

John had no time for the frightened CNN newsman. He was too busy trying to get Garryt to wake up. He cradled his son, casting quick glances at Aeryn and Griffyn. Griffyn seemed no worse for wear, but his breakdown into tears as soon as he was safe on board the marauder was disconcerting. John turned back to Garryt, shaking him gently, speaking his name, stroking his cheek. He was rapidly approaching panic when the woman who had been in the cab moved next to him.

"He was awake only a few minutes ago. He knew you were there, he saw your ship," she said helpfully, resting her hand on Garryt’s head.

"Thank you," John said hoarsely. "Thank you for everything."

She smiled. "I’m a nurse, with a son of my own, how could I not help?"

John smiled back, and looked down at Garryt. "What’s wrong with him?" he asked.

"I’m not sure. It looks like a flu bug, but he doesn’t have all the symptoms. He’s tired, achy, and can’t keep food down. He did manage to eat some of my chicken soup about two hours ago, but that’s the best he’s done I guess since they were...taken."

"Why won’t he wake up?" John whispered fiercely. "Why won’t he wake up?"

Aeryn moved closer, needing to see Garryt. John reached out and hugged Griffyn, holding him close for a long moment. "We’re proud of you, son," he said. "You got away, I knew you could."

"I was scared, Daddy," he nearly whimpered. How long had it been since either of the boys had called him Daddy, he wondered?

"You done good, Griffyn. Both of you."

"Let me see Garryt," Aeryn said softly. Wordlessly they switched. Griffyn climbed into his father’s lap and clung tight with his arms and legs. Aeryn pulled Garryt’s limp sleeping body to her and held him close. Soon, John heard the soft words of a Sebacean lullaby. It was one of Garryt’s favorites. He turned to the woman again.

"I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name," he said apologetically.

"Rose Dubouis, and this is my son Denzel," she said.

John reached out his hand and shook Denzel’s, man to man. "Thank you, Denzel. I hear you found the boys."

"Yes sir, I did," Denzel replied, for once in his life shy. His mother smiled.

"Well, Denzel, we’ll be on Moya in a few minutes. I bet you always wanted to be an astronaut, huh?"

"No, I want to be a doctor," Denzel said with absolute honesty. John heard Aeryn laugh softly, and blushed. "Well, you get to be an astronaut first. Hope that’s OK with you?"

"Sure, that’s fine." He looked out the window and his mouth gaped. "We out in space?" he said in a small voice.

"Yeah, man, we out in space," John answered. "We home."

***********************

The marauder settled in the launch bay, a giant metal bug of immense proportions. DK watched it with awe, still unused to the sight. But his admiration and natural curiosity had to be curbed. The twins had to be cared for, and there were twenty-two prisoners, twenty-two *human* prisoners, in a long cell block. Three of those prisoners were kept in complete isolation; Reverend Hessler, Dr. Sandoval, and Mr. Deevers. They all gave DK the willies. Now, Aeryn and John were back with the twins. It would be only a matter of days and they would be off to the Uncharteds, to the Colony planet, Aquarra, and he was so stoked. DK had adjusted rapidly.

John came down first, with Griffyn at his side. Although still badly shaken, Griffyn refused to be carried. It was a source of pride for him to be able to walk off the ship. Aeryn carried Garryt in her arms, his sweat dampened curls soft on her cheek. Behind them walked a rather pretty black woman and her son, carrying a bag. A nondescript man with a Press pass followed, running his camera for all it was worth. He looked decidedly pale.

The walk to the medlab took forever. Once he was assured that Garryt wasn’t injured physically, he fell in next to the woman and son.

"Hi, call me DK," he said jovially.

"Hello DK, call me Rose," she answered with a stunning smile. "And this is my son, Denzel." Denzel shook DK’s proffered hand.

"Denzel huh? Can I get your autograph?" He grinned as he mussed Denzel’s cap and received a ‘not this again’ look from the boy.

"Denzel Washington is one of my favorite actors," Rose explained. "He’s a man of education, integrity and foresight. I wanted all of those qualities in my own son. Besides," she teased, getting a mock dreamy look on her face, "...that Denzel, he’s soo good lookin’!"

DK laughed, liking her immediately. Things were indeed looking up on this trip. 

*************************

Zhann smiled as she examined Garryt, who was finally awake. He lay in bed with his mother sitting on one side and his father on the other. Griffyn was clinging to his mother and watching with interest. Jack and DK stood close, with Rose and Denzel observing anxiously.

"Well Garryt," Zhaan said as she put the med scanner away, "You seem to have a slight infection, from what I don’t know. I’ll make some tea that should help you fight it off." She kissed him gently on the brow and crossed the room to her collection of herbs. John could tell however that she was puzzled.

DK turned to Rose to ask her a question and noticed her perplexed look. He grinned at her. "Oh yeah, I forgot you two don’t have translator microbes. She said he’s fine, he’s just got an infection. She’s making him something to help."

"Wh-who is she?" Denzel stammered.

"That’s Zhaan, she’s Delvian. I think she’s a drop dead gorgeous babe, don’t

you?"

"She’s...blue..." Denzel said lamely.

"Yeah, she is, ain’t she? Hey," he said, snapping his fingers, "if you two are going to be here for awhile, you’ll need microbes. Either that or I’ll have to stay joined at the hip with your mom here to translate everything." He looked as if he would like that more than anything on heaven or Earth.

"Umm...I don’t know if we’re staying..." Rose faltered. John intervened as he stood up from Garryt’s sick bed.

"It’s up to you, Rose. I’m not sure of the treatment you’d get if you went back down now. I don’t think any of us are very popular at this point, and we’re going to wear out our welcome even more real soon." She knew he was referring to the fate of the prisoners. "But we'd love for you and Denzel to stay here, with us. You’re a nurse, right? You have a place on the colony, if you want it." 

Rose was astounded. Denzel shared eager grins with Griffyn and Garryt, all three of them envisioning more trouble than three boys had a right too. But Rose’s first thought was this: ‘At least I wouldn’t have to worry ‘bout no damn gangs’. She shook her head to clear it. "Denzel, you want this?" she asked.

"Oh Momma, you even gotta *ask*?" he grinned.

She smiled fondly, watching her son laugh and joke with two white boys who were only half human, while a six foot tall bald, blue woman mixed herb tea and hummed and a living ship thrummed vitally around them. It reminded her of the old beer commercial, but with a twist; ‘It just doesn’t get any stranger than this.’

"Yes," she said at last, "yes, we’ll stay, and thank you, Captain."

"Thank *me*? You’re the one who returned our sons to us, we can *never* repay you for that."

"I think you just have," Rose smiled.

A commotion from outside the room ended the moment. They heard the sound of running feet and the strained voice of a harried, swearing Chiana. John and Aeryn both managed to smile widely. "Here comes Hurricane Cat," John quipped, before the tiny tyrant sprinted into the room, her dark hair flying and her blue eyes flashing. Without breaking stride, she flung herself at her father, who barely managed to catch her. Chiana staggered in, saw Cat in her father’s control, and collapsed on a bed. "I think I’m going to have a frelling heart attack!" she muttered darkly. Rose’s eyes widened considerablely at Chiana, but she quickly turned back to look at Cat.

"DADDY! MOMMY! DADDY! MOMMY!" Cat repeated over and over, shameless tears streaking her face. Aeryn left Garryt’s side to come hold her youngest, speaking softly in Sebacean and wiping the tears from her face. As soon as it started, the tempest ended, and Cat struggled in her mother’s arms to go see her brothers.

She crawled onto the bed between the twins and gave them both a sound kiss on the cheek. Not the slightest bit embarrassed, both twins hugged her tightly.

"We missed you, Cat, things were awful quiet where we were."

"If *I* had been with ya’ we woulda broke out right away. We woulda never been caught!" she declared with supreme confidence. The boys both rolled their eyes but didn’t contradict her. "I got away from the man who took me," she added.

"How’d ya get away, Cat?" Garryt asked, sincerely wondering.

"I stuck ‘em!" Cat chortled gleefully, displaying her small knife.

"Yes, and I’m treating two of the prisoners for infection because of it," Zhaan said with a smile as she approached. She handed the steaming tea to Garryt, who made the requisite face as he sipped it.

"They deserved it," Cat said hotly, sticking her tongue out. Rose stared in wonder at this littlest of demons, Cat Crichton. What an amazing child. Cat suddenly noticed both Rose and Denzel, and cocked her head to one side.

"Hey, you’re a really neat color," she said to Denzel. "What’s your name?"

Rose laughed lightly. Where else could someone start a conversation about one’s color in such a way? She spared her bemused son and answered for him.  "I’m Rose, and this is my son Denzel. You can only be Cat."

"That’s right, I can’t be anyone else," she replied innocently. The torrent of laughter that followed escaped her, but the fact that she was the center of attention did not. She smiled with them and hugged her brothers again.

And Rose Dubouis could only think of two things; the twins had been right about their sister, she was beyond description. And she liked these people, she could call them family, and she *would* call this place home

******************************

"Captain Crichton, if the alleged kidnappers in your custody are not returned within twenty-four hours, we will have no choice but to declare you an enemy of the country, and revoke your citizenship and your rights thereof. You, you soldiers, your family and friends, will all be arrested on sight."

The somber declaration came from a White house stiff with a bad toupee and an Armani suit. He spoke as if he were reading John’s death sentence, and in some ways, maybe he was. John Crichton, citizen of Earth, was dead. In his place was John Crichton, Captain, husband, father, and citizen of the galaxy. The old John had been dead for some time, John thought as he readied himself to respond, he just didn’t realize it till now.

"Well, you’d have to see me first, wouldn’t you?" he said lightly.

"Captain Crichton, I don’t feel you are taking this seriously. Let me repeat..."

"You don’t have to repeat anything, I’m half blind, not half deaf. I heard you fine the first time."

"And your answer, Captain?" the man said pedantically.

"My answer is this. The "alleged" kidnappers in my custody will be tried by a jury and a judge here on Moya. They will be treated fairly and not harmed. When and if any are judged to be innocent of wrong doing, they will be released, unharmed, back to Earth."

"And if there are some judged guilty? What of them?"

"Their punishment will be served out swiftly, I can assure you," John said.

"And what sort of punishment would that be, Captain?"

"How would I know? I’m not a judge or a jury, it’s not my job."

The man in the Armani suit looked exasperated. He shifted out of John’s vision on the screen, and then came back, this time he was frowning deeply.

"You have until seven A.M. tomorrow morning to return our citizens, Captain. Twenty-four hours."

The screen went black, and John let out the breath he had been holding deeply.

"Well, you certainly have a way with words, Han Solo," DK said dryly. "What are you going to do now, call in the Ewoks?"

"Oh bite me," John muttered.

"Sorry, I’ve forgotten how sensitive you’ve become." DK was grinning now, and John couldn’t help but grin back.

"Bastard."

"Yeah, that I am."

"You’ve joked about it, DK, but you haven’t really said what you think," John said cautiously.

DK shifted uncomfortably on the couch, his naturally lively face creased with a frown. "I don’t know, man, I mean, under normal circumstances I guess I’d be saying send them down and let them go to trial there. But these aren’t normal circumstances. Half of these guys you caught are government spooks, they’re paid to do what they did, and do it well. The other half are religious nuts without the benefit of both oars in the water. Neither group rates very high on my list, ya know." He paused then, sitting forward and looking John in the eyes. "And they set off bombs in Disneyworld, injured a dozen innocent people, and took *your* kids. How can I *not* take the personally? I’m human, John, I want justice."

John smiled and leaned forward to squeeze DK’s shoulder with his hand. "Welcome home, brother," was all he said.

****************************

The interrogation of prisoners went swiftly, and in only a few days they had winnowed out the cooks, the janitors, the nonessential personnel who were guilty only of a deplorable sense morals and a decided lack of judgment. Those people they would let Earth’s civilian courts take care of. They were sent down planet under heavy escort, a list of their crimes accompanying them.

Those left behind were the core of the organization and its strong arms; Hessler, Sandoval and Deevers, along with a young man named David Strong and two spooks who were packing Glocks when they were apprehended. David Strong was the young man the boys called Pray Boy, and was Hessler’s right hand man.

During the interrogation, two things came to light. First, it was Deevers who approached Hessler, made overtures of friendship and commiserated with him about the "Alien" situation. If his intention was to inflame Hessler into coming up with a plan, it had worked splendidly. Hessler walked into a trap so neat and concise it fit him like his custom suits. He had tumbled to the fact that he’d been had, and was not happy about it.

Secondly was Deevers. While he never cracked under questioning, John knew there was someone higher up in the chain of command who knew all about the plan. It was simply too well laid out and heavily financed to be a freelance job. D’Argo agreed, and begged John to let him "interrogate" the prisoner, which John refused. But John was rapidly losing patience with the smug spook. Maybe D’Argo could persuade Deevers to cut loose of a few juicy details.

That was why John found himself standing outside Deevers’ cell, silently watching the man sitting impassively on his neatly made bed. They stared at each other across the smooth floor and through the crosshatched cell door, neither one flinching or speaking for a long minute. It was Deevers who broke the silence.

"So I imagine you are thinking of bringing in someone else for the questioning, am I correct, Captain? Someone less squeamish, perhaps, or more aggressive? Someone who can get the confession you want from me, instead of the silence I’ve handed you?"

John said nothing. Men like Deevers read something into every action, even a non action like silence. Silence just gave him less to go on than speaking at this point, so John only smiled, slowly. Deevers smiled back. "You are trying to shake me up, Captain. I recognize the tactic. I have in fact done it professionally for years, and do it with considerable grace and élan, if I do say so myself. You, sir, are a rank amateur."

John was elated at this smooth outburst, but didn’t even twitch in response. His

silence was making Deevers reveal more than he intended, as evidenced by his compulsive need to brag. John didn’t really expect anymore, and wasn’t surprised when Deevers remained silent.

Until now, Deevers had only seen the Sebacean crew members. No one any more threatening than Admiral Fleer had been in his cell, and his Sebacean guards did not speak to him. This was intentional. Deevers had been softened up, now it was time to bring in the big guns. It was time for D’Argo and Jothee.

Several minutes after John arrived, he heard D’Argo’s distinctive voice approaching. He kept his face immobile, not wanting to reveal anything. This was going to be tough to pull off, but he felt it was necessary. They had worked it all out in advance, of course. It was the Uncharted’s version of good cop/bad cop, with a twist. John loved twists. D’Argo had grumbled about having to restrain himself, but he agreed all the same.

"Where is the Sheyang maggot who dared to take my godsons?" D’Argo roared as he rounded the corner with Jothee beside him, pleading with him to stop. Since Deevers had no microbes, he heard only the angry growls and earth shattering blends and consonants of the Luxan language. Sounds that made anyone elses throat hurt to hear blasted out of D’Argo’s mouth like unseen explosions. And since Deevers had yet to see an alien, he was doubly stunned by D’Argo’s appearance and sheer size. John was immensely gratified to see Deevers stagger to the rear of his cell in abject fear. Oh yeah, time to rock and roll.

"D’Argo! Knock it off! This is for *me* to do! Get back, that is an order!" he threw himself into the act, blocking D’Argo’s path and standing firm. He fully expected to get a bruise or two doing this, but D’Argo said he would pull all punches and not aim for the head. Thank God for small favors, he thought dryly.

"Get out of my way, Crichton! He will die for what he has done!" With that, D’Argo pulled his Qualta blade from its sheath on his back with one smooth motion. Jothee resumed pulling on his father’s arm, pleading, "No, Father, do not do this!" an anguished look on his face. Oh, this was priceless, Oscar material.

"Get away, both of you, or I will be forced to hurt you!" D’Argo roared once again. Deevers began pleading with John to do something, *anything*, but keep that tentacled monstrosity away from him. John wasn’t sure he’d seen anyone go from smug to groveling so fast. It was so lovely to see, he wished he could savor it forever.

Time for part two, he thought with a grim inner smile. He stood side by side with Jothee and asked him loudly, "Is this hyper-rage?", as if he had never seen the malady firsthand. Jothee declared that yes, indeed it was, and they were doomed. John almost laughed out loud as he called for backup to help with D’Argo. If this were a true hyper-rage, he and Jothee would be dead by now, but Deevers didn’t know that. Staying in the act, he swore loudly and backed up a step, his back to the cell door. "Damn, he’s in a full hyper-rage, I hope we can hold him..." he began, but D’Argo suddenly swung with the hilt of his blade, catching John on the sternum painfully, but fortunately, not seriously. He crumpled, moaning in not entirely fake pain, as Jothee did his part, taking a much more serious blow and falling dramatically beside John.

D’Argo worked the controls to the cell and rushed in, looming over the petrified Deevers like a maniacal Sasquatch bent on revenge. Shrieking in terror (John almost giggled from his prone position, strategically placed so he could see what was happening in the cell), Deevers pulled into a fetal position and began to confess to everything, stopping just short of claiming responsibility to JFK’s assassination and Jimmy Hoffa’s disappearance. It was a true moment of serendipity, a keystone moment in John’s life. He would treasure it forever.

Deevers implicated dozens of top military advisors and aides, generals, admirals, and heads of the FBI, the CIA and the NSA. At one point, John decided the only government employee not involved was the grounds keeper at the National Park Service headquarters. Even the president had been in the know, to a small degree. As satisfying as it was to see Deevers break, John was appalled at what he heard. He was also quite pleased that Pilot had been recording the episode.  For posterity’s sake, of course.

As the frightened man wound down, John glanced at D’Argo. Since Deevers was hiding his head, D’Argo wasn’t doing anything to keep in character. He was laughing so hard, tears were rolling down his cheeks. He leaned on his Qualta blade to keep from falling over. Seeing John watching him, D’Argo motioned for him to rise. What the hell, John thought. They’d gotten what they wanted, and without harming anyone.

"Hey, Deevers," John said as he rolled over on his side, propping his head up on his elbow. "Stand up."

Deevers’ body stilled then; not a muscle twitched. Slowly, with a supreme effort, he peeled his fingers from their death grip on his head and began to uncurl his body from its tight ball. He flinched when he saw D’Argo leaning on his blade, but realized the huge Luxan was quiet and keeping his distance. He also saw Crichton and realized he’d been had. He sat up then and did his best to sit decorously on his bed, legs crossed, but his entire body was still shaking with adrenaline charged energy.

"Psyche!" John laughed. "Man, Earth people are such a sucker for a good ol’ Luxan hyper-rage!"

D’Argo and Jothee laughed uproariously, moving together and slapping each other on the back. John stood up and came in the cell, high-fiving both Luxans on his way by. "Excellent, boys, excellent! We could take that act on the road." He stopped a few steps from Deevers, wrinkling his nose. "Whew! Man, that’s the first time I actually *saw* someone get the shit scared out of them!" he laughed. "Too bad you don’t have a change of clothes, huh, Deevers?"

Deevers hung his head. He actually hung his head. John grinned, leaning down a bit closer. "The Colony Council will decide on your fate, Mr. Deevers. May God have mercy on your soul, cuz they won’t."

When he left the cell, Deevers was curled up in a fetal position again.

************************

There was no need to question Dr. Sandoval any further, he had confessed readily to everything he could, including the fact that he had attempted genetic manipulation on Garryt. His hybrid physiology had fought it off as if it were an infection, and that was why he’d been so sick. The Colony Council was waiting for the confessions of Deevers and Hessler, so John went to see the good Reverend next.

He found him seated firmly in a chair in his cell, reading from his worn Bible. His suit was wrinkled and his face was set in a grimace of rapture that John found disturbing. He had no doubt’s as to the man’s devotion, just as he also had no illusions to his mastery at creating an image and living up to it. This man was a chameleon, able to change his colors when the need suited him and danger was close.

"Morning, Reverend. Ready to talk yet?"

"So speaketh the Devil, for I say unto you...." Hessler began, but John cut him off, again.

"Stow it, Rev. Deevers confessed to everything. How does it feel, knowing you were set up to take the fall from the get-go?"

Hessler froze, then set his bible down on the small table next to the bed. "He confessed? To what? And why should I believe you?"

"You don’t have to believe me, but how about a recording?" John smiled. "Pilot? Run the recording we just made in Deevers’ cell please."

A moment later, Hessler heard Deevers’ panic stricken voice spouting a confession like no other, a verbal diarrhea that was as pathetic as it was shameful. He heard how Deevers had set him up, how he had manipulated him into staging the kidnapping to ‘redeem the souls of the alien horde’, while secretly planning to conduct genetic tests. He learned about the genetic manipulation attempted on Garryt, whose adaptive alien DNA had destroyed all such attempts. He was appalled to learn how deep the shame went, how far reaching, how widely known. He was disgusted at his own gullibility and culpability. By the time the tape was over, Hessler had bowed his head and covered his face with his shaking hands.

"What do you have to say, Reverend?" John said with a touch of gentleness.

The pause was long and deep. Hessler was doing some rather frantic and long overdue soul searching, and not liking what he saw. "I am ashamed," was his only response.

"That’s not enough, Reverend," John replied.

"I was a fool, Captain Crichton, a fool and a charlatan. But no more. I am a changed man, from this moment on. From here on out, I preach nothing but the true word of God. No more shall I reap rewards from my followers, but shall be humble in body and spirit before my Maker."

John sighed. "Right, save it for Cable TV, call Jim and Tammy Faye, I’m not buying.  Tell me if anything Deevers said was bogus."

Hessler sat in pensive quiet for some time, then shook his head. "Much of what he said I knew nothing about, but I knew enough to see that I was being led. I just refused to actually acknowledge it. I thought...I thought I was the one in control. I was wrong." He sighed deeply, then rubbed his face with his hands nervously. "Yes, Captain, I am guilty of plotting to abduct your children, I am guilty of injuring the innocent, I am guilty of letting these abominable men perform tests and conduct interrogations, just so I could feed my vanity. I confess, Captain, I confess." He subsided into weeping silence.

John frowned. Somehow, he had thought the breaking of Reverend Hessler would be the crowning point of this entire affair, but it left him feeling dirty, contaminated, foul. He had wanted to feel proud, to feel the lust for revenge fade and dim in his soul. Instead he felt a restless anger and deep seated disgust at his own lack of morals.

He left the Reverend Hessler with his guards, and put them on a suicide watch, more for his own sense of justice than for any feelings of remorse. The world, he tried to convince himself, would be much better off without Hessler.

***************************

The verdicts came swiftly, and fell into the silence of the holding area like stones. All six prisoners were lined up in front of their cells; Sandoval, Deevers, Hessler, Strong and the two henchmen. Strong and Deevers’ two men were to be given the option of three cycles of hard labor on the colony and three years of probation there as well, or being turned over to the judicial system on Earth. Strong, knowing his guilt was far less than that of the others, opted for Earth. The man Griffyn had disarmed also chose Earth, but the third chose the colony’s sentence.

Sandoval was also given the choice of a colony sentence or Earth. The colony sentence was harsh; fifteen cycles of hard labor and another ten of probation, and never being able to work as a doctor again. He decided to take his chances on Earth, the relief in his body evident.

Hessler was given a twenty year prison term, to be served on Moya, or death. John had been dubious of either option for a multitude of reasons. A twenty year term on Moya would mean Hessler would be his responsibility for a very long time. A death sentence would make Hessler a martyr.

Surprisingly, Hessler listened to the sentence with grave calm. He bowed his head and prayed for a long moment, then decided. "Death," he answered. "I choose death over living with what I have become." It was such a simple statement that John was surprised. He had expected a sermon. Maybe the reverend had changed after all.

Deevers was last, and he was sweating profusely. He kept his eyes on the wall, avoiding the gaze of all and the sight of the many aliens present. His abject fear of D’Argo and Jothee was evident in his trembling hands and his shaking knees. The sentence was read by Zhaan.

"Raymond Albert Deevers, citizen of Earth, you have been found guilty on two charges of kidnapping, one charge of attempted kidnapping, fifteen charges of assault..." the charges went on for some time, an endless drone of depravity and deception. But the sentence astonished all when it was read.

"There is no redemption for a being who has no remorse for actions of destruction against others, and so we the Colony Council, sentence Raymond Albert Deevers to death. May the Goddess find you worthy of the redemption we could not find in our hearts to give you."

The entire proceedings, trial, interrogations and reading of the sentence, had been taped for Earth. The reading of the sentences had been filmed by Schemp, still wandering goggle eyed through Moya’s halls. He would fly down with the final prisoners and report on what he had seen and heard. John had no doubts that no matter what was said, no matter who spoke on their behalf, he was done with Earth. He had more than likely sentenced those involved with the colony to a lifetime of isolation, and he felt heartily sorry for that. But there was no turning back, the bridge had crumbled to ashes.

***************************

The two executions were dealt with forthwith. Hessler went first, a quick injection of a drug that stopped his heart quietly. But Hessler had spoken one last time for the camera, and even Aeryn was moved. For the first time in his life, the Reverend Hessler truly was a man of God, and his humility and humble request for forgiveness was from the heart. With good grace and a firm handshake of goodwill, John forgave him, as did Aeryn. The reverend died with a beatific smile on his face. His coffin would accompany the others on their ride home.

Deevers went to his death with considerably less grace, weeping and sobbing shamefully and begging them to let him live. He swore to deities and saints he had never given passing thought to before that he was a changed man, he would live his life in repentance, if only they would let him return to Earth. John felt no remorse for this man, no twinges of guilt or pangs of doubt assailed him. He helped Merryc strap him onto the med lab bed and stepped back while Zhaan administered the shot. Deevers hadn’t wanted to make one last statement, but he wept and babbled in panic until the drug took him. The silence was astounding.

Before John could say anything, before Deevers was unstrapped and bagged for his last trip home, D’Argo pushed his way between John and the table, whipped out his Qualta blade and in one smooth motion, severed the dead man’s head.

"Now my godsons, the sons of my brother, are avenged," he said simply.  

Schemp managed to keep filming, even though he was gagging. He for one couldn't wait to get home. Scoop of the century or not, he wanted off this boat. His career was set, and now he wanted to see the sunrise in Manhattan.

By the time the transport pod had returned to Moya from its final trip to Earth, Schemp was in a containment cell next to those of the tried prisoners, and all thoughts of taking the world by storm had faded to elusive dreams. It would be a long time before Darren Schemp saw daylight again, but the world would forget about him long before then.

****************************

Aeryn lay in bed, curled around John’s comforting warmth in a cozy spoon. He was sleeping, his breath slow and even. She sighed in contentment, knowing that soon they would be on Aquarra and their life, their real life as a family and not a band of escaped felons, would begin. She was ecstatic about the idea of raising her children on a peaceful planet, a place where their biggest concern would be getting in the harvest. She longed for dull dreary days of farming, school, and tedious meetings. She was craving ordinary, mundane, boring. She wanted to settle down more than anything in the universe, and it was really starting to concern her. Why was she, Aeryn Sun, ex-PeaceKeeper, wanted woman, first officer, wife of a captain and mother of three, suddenly wanting to settle, to slow, to stay in one place?

A sudden realization hit her, and she gasped. Her free hand, the one absently caressing John’s chest, went swiftly to her flat stomach, as if looking for some telltale sign. She smiled when John stirred.

"What’s up? Can’t sleep?" he mumbled, rolling over to pull her into his arms.

"You could say that," she said evasively, smiling in the dark.

"I could say what?" he muttered sleepily.

"John, are you awake?"

His breathing was slowing again, getting deeper. Aeryn pinched him on the ribs,

and he yelped. "Are you awake?"

"I am now," he grumbled.

"Good. I have news." He could almost hear her smile in the dark.

"Go on..."

"I think I’m pregnant," she said. "I always get frelling maternal and start craving peace when I’m pregnant."

John sat up. "Pregnant? Really? Wow...." he trailed off, his voice full of wonder. "Wow. Pregnant."

"John, say something intelligent for a change," she said with a wry smile, poking his stomach.

"Hey baby, wanna frell the capitan? I may even promote you," he growled in a bad Mexican bandit accent.

"Only if you promise to take me away to a beautiful planet, raise babies and have wild sex every night." She was playing with the waistband of his Calvins, pulling them down slowly.

"You drive a hard bargain, wench," he said, gasping as she pulled his boxers all the way down, "but I think I can manage that."

The night passed swiftly.

**********************************

He stood in command, firm, resolute, confident. His gaze, locked on the stars, never wavered. His stance betrayed none of the emotions boiling inside. He was captain, THE Captain, and he could not falter for any reason.

He was alone.

He was alone, and thus the homecoming was his alone. He savored it, relished it. Aquarra loomed before him like a radiant star, bejeweled an ambient glow all it's own. As improbable and impossible as it seemed, given the last cycle, John Crichton was home.

It was Pilot who broke his reverie. "Captain Crichton, shall I awaken the others?"

Crichton studied on that for a microt before answering. "Please, call Aeryn up here, and tell her to bring the kids. Wake up DK, Dad and the Admiral too, please."

As silence again reigned in command, he savored the view of a home that by all rights he had never expected to see again. Home, earth, pizza and beer, chocolate, football and MTV-those things had been left behind once again. So much he had longed for and given up. Things that he had desired were now with him; Aeryn, the kids, his father, DK, his friends. Home truly was where the heart was, and he carried his family in his heart. As he heard the excited patter of feet racing up Moya’s corridor, he smiled.

John Crichton was home.

Finis

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-RedBeard