Disclaimer and Notes: see part 1.

"Jack, what the frell did you do to the comm panel in my ship?"

The familiar roar from D'Argo made Aeryn smile as she strode into the maintenance bay, intent on finishing the retrofit on their newest acquisition, a Kelvi Class Prowler. The fact that D'Argo's ire seemed to be aimed at her oldest bothered her not at all.  If Jack were at fault for something he'd done, he deserved to be yelled at.  If he wasn't, he was both young enough and old enough to argue with D'Argo and come out of it alive. Either way, Aeryn knew her oldest son had long ago learned how to deal with his godfather.  Sure enough, she heard him answer in his own patiently firm tones. 

"I re-routed the circuitry.  You said it was weak, so I checked it out.  See, it has something to do with these thingamajigs here, the phase reducers..."

"I know I said it was weak, but I most specifically did not say I wanted you to fix it..."

"I know but now it works great..."

"...and I know I did not give you permission to enter my ship...:

"...uh-huh, yeah, but anyway, you can pick up a Drannit farting in a high wind from across the galaxy. How cool is that?

"...and furthermore..." D'Argo stopped, mid wind.  He looked into the earnest expression of Jack Crichton, all of nine years old, and heaved a gusty sigh.  He should know better than to argue with John's son. First off, he'd lose.  Hands down.  The boy had mivonks the size of an overgrown Laltassiith and never backed down when he knew he was right.  And as time had proven, he was more often right than wrong.  So instead of continuing with his ranting, D'Argo waved his arm at the small Luxan scout ship.  "Show me," was all he said.

Aeryn watched them walking into the ship, deep in conversation.  At the worktable, seven-year-old Zelly sat cross-legged on the table top, tongue stuck out in concentration as she pondered the new attachment for the Kelvi prowler.  Aeryn settled in next to her, but on a chair, and picked up a different part. "Any thoughts Zell?"  She asked.

"Will it go faster with this?" 

"Yes, so they say."

"How about maneuverability?"

"Hmm...should improve some. Exponentially I suppose."

Zelly frowned and twiddled a part, her blue eyes dark under her thick black curls.  "How long have the Kelvi class prowlers been out?"

"Two cycles."

"And they're already fixing them?"  Zelly looked up.  "That doesn't sound like good engineering to me."

Aeryn smiled.  Of course, like Jack, Zelly was seldom far off base.  Unlike Jack, her somber disposition played dark against his light.  Jack, her anchor, her sunshine when things got to hard to take, her lifeline when days were dark.  His father's son.  Even after assuming the role of 'man of the family', Jack had retained the sunny disposition so reminiscent of his father, while Zelly, always the nurturing sort, had gone inwards to her soul and found this somber, adult persona. Even before John's disappearance, she was honest to a fault.  Forthright and sincere was darling little Zelly: delicate and beautiful and fair and mild...and fey.  Dark. Somber.  Sober as a judge, John once said.  John often called the two kids 'Yin and Yang'. 

But if Zelly lacked Jack's bubbly personality, she shared his voracious intelligence and his knack of fixing things.  Aeryn rarely worked on anything without one of them to help her.  What was the point?  They usually went back and re-did her work if they weren't there to help in the first place.  So Aeryn put down the part she was contemplating and turned her eyes to her daughter.

"I agree.  That's why I was thinking we should go over the prowler in detail before we do any work.  Let's see how they designed it and where they made their mistake before we add to it."

Zelly nodded once, briefly, and put down the part.  No effusive gestures or words, just blunt agreement.  Aeryn thought, not for the first time, that her daughter would have made one of those pragmatic, efficient PeaceKeepers that annoyed the hell out of mere mortals.  She smiled at her daughter and tugged a lock of her hair.  "It beats cleaning amnexus fluid from the ducts.  Shall we get started?"

Zelly finally smiled in answer, and the two of them carried diagnostics and tools to the new, sleek fighter.  From inside the Luxan ship, they heard Jack's piping voice overriding D'Argo's deep basso rumble.  "No, D'Argo, I transferred the power from here to there so you wouldn't lose signal even in an ion storm..."

                                                            ~~~~~

Chiana cooked all the meals now, and since on one had complained, at least in range of her hearing, she decided she did a good job of it.  Tonight she stewed some meat with an assortment of vegetables, added a loaf of some warm baked bread and a pudding recipe she'd picked up on a commerce planet some time back.  The kids loved the pudding, but Chiana only made it on rare occasions.  That meant it was always a special treat, and tonight was no exception.  She hummed as she worked, stirring the pudding thoughtfully.  Used to be, she made half this much for a meal, but the crew had grown.  In the last three cycles they had picked up a handful of additions.  There was Shalbit, a Nebari like herself, fleeing from mind cleansing and completely apolitical.  Chiana and Shalbit had become good friends, with a shared background and shared fear of their own kind.  Shalbit tweaked Chiana good-naturedly about her renewed relationship with D'Argo, telling her she was lucky to have such a handsome male. Chiana knew Shalbit was a little envious of her but fortunately had never made a play for the Luxan.  Good thing, Chiana thought, because Shalbit was a guy and D'Argo definitely did not go for that sort of thing.

Taryk and his family were Sebaceans fleeing from PeaceKeeper persecution and looking for a home.  They paid for passage on Moya, but lack of a suitable planet and the welcoming atmosphere on Moya encouraged them to stay, at least for now.  Their own children were younger than Aeryn's, so they weren't exactly built in playmates, but it was still a mutually beneficial agreement.

Rounding out this new crew was Dunnel, commonly called Dun.  He was like Aeryn and Crais, an ex PK officer gone south.  Disenchanted with his posting, his calling, and the manner in which he was supposed to fulfill them, he fled the military from a distant outpost in the Uncharteds, only to end up on board Moya, probably the only place he could live safely.  He was a good man to have around, and his loyalty to his new crew had never come under question, but Aeryn found him arrogant.  His clumsy attempts to seduce her left her cold. She had a man, somewhere, and she needed no other.  Dun seemed to think she would cave in eventually.  She patently ignored him.

Chiana smiled to herself as she tasted the pudding.  With a brisk nod she turned off the heat under the pan and poured the mess into a bowl to cool.  Yes, they had a decent crew now, and just last monen had caught up to Jothee again. Older, wiser and less inclined to scoff at his father's wisdom, Jothee had agreed to travel with them, if just for a while.  His feelings for his father's woman were now tempered with a galaxy of experience and he kept his hands off.  Chiana knew that while what she and D'Argo had may not be love exactly, it was something special, and she had no intentions of throwing it away again.  She toed the line as well.

The stew bubbled merrily at her and she tasted it as well.  Good, almost done. As soon as the pudding cooled, dinner would be ready. The bread was cooling on a rack and only the table needed to be set.  A chiding voice from the doorway made her turn her head.

"Burn anything today Chi?"

 She smiled in reply and tossed a dirty towel at her friend.

"Only your eema, if you don't leave me to it, Shalbit!"

"Ooh, promises promises!" the Nebari laughed.  "Actually I wondered if you'd like a hand, I'm bored beyond belief today."

"Sure, you always volunteer when the hard work is done!"  Chiana waved her arm expansively at the storage shelves.  "Set up the table if you want."

Happy to be of help, Shalbit did as he was asked.  He had been with the crew for a cycle or more but still felt like he was not quite a member, like he was a kindly regarded interloper.  The original crew, Aeryn, D'Argo, Chiana, Jool and the kids, and even Pilot, all seemed to have something between them, a common thread that tied them together.  All this time, and he still hadn't figured out what it was.  It was a mystery, and if there was one thing Shalbit liked, it was intrigue.  He began to question his charming friend as he worked.

"I imagine things are very different on Moya now, compared to when you joined," he began.  "I know you told me the story about how you came to be here, and I'm envious.  You and the others, the original crew, seem to have a...rapport...something the rest of us don't have.  I have a feeling it's something we never will have.  Like we're always on the outside of an inside joke."  He said this sadly, with true regret.  That he owed his life to the crew members of Moya he had no doubt.  "I envy you, all of you.  That sort of...camaraderie...is frowned upon in our society, as you know, and almost unheard of most places.  I hope you know just how lucky you are."  When he looked up though, he was horrified to see that Chiana was crying.

"OH! Chiana, I'm sorry, what did I say...?"  He went to her and put his hands on her shoulders to comfort her.

"It's all right, Shal, that just caught me off guard."  She wiped the tears from her eyes.  "It's just that, tonight is Drayk's birthday, and when you said that, I just remembered..." she sniffed again and raised a tear stained face to her friend. "I realized that he's four years old and has never seen his father, at least, he doesn't remember him, and that he'll never know him.  And that you'll never know him.  You would have liked him, you know.  He was a kind man."

Shalbit hugged her close, feeling her slim body snug against his.  She sparked no arousal in him, unless it was the natural arousal of a friend giving and accepting comfort.  Chiana was precious to him.  "I've...heard so little about him, I guess I just thought...that he was a pleasant memory, no more.  I'm sorry, I guess that's not very kind.  It's certainly shallow."

"It's all right, I understand Shal.  We...we don't talk about him much, unless the kids ask things.  It's hard on Aeryn.  D'Argo likes to tell the children stories about him.  Maybe..." she raised her face to his again.  "...maybe tonight you should come to our quarters? On birthdays, D'Argo always tells them something special about their father.  It's a...tradition he started after he disappeared."

Shalbit brightened and nodded his head.  "I'd like that, Chi." 

Chiana gave him a quick kiss and turned back to her cooking.  "And that table won't set itself you know..."

"Slave driver!" Shalbit growled.  Chiana ducked his eyes again, and he groaned.  "I guess I said something else I shouldn't have."

"John was captured on a commerce planet by Gabetthi slavers.  The only lead we ever got on him was that he was sold to a Traghellien, after that, nothing."

Shalbit froze in mid stride.  His chalky face paled, and his dark eyes turned comforting.  "Oh, Chiana, that is horrible.  And it's been how long?  Three cycles did you say?  The chances of finding him now..."  He stopped and slapped his hand to his forehead.  "And there I go, making it worse again.  Please, accept my apologies once more.  I'm a clod, a lump of dirt not fit for conversation tonight."

Chiana smiled at his theatrics, knowing that her friend was sincere in both his interest and his concern.  She waved her hand at him again, cocking her head attractively to one side.  "Don't let it bother you, Shal," she said.  "It's ok, really.  I think we've all gotten used to the idea that we'll never find him."  She smiled sadly then.  "But I know we'll never give up, even if all we ever find are his ashes.  We owe him that much."

"He must have been a remarkable man," was all Shalbit could find to say.  Oh, how pitiful those words sounded even in  his own ears.

"More than you'll ever know," was Chiana's quiet response.

D'Argo and Chiana's quarters were suitably dimmed, the atmosphere essential for story telling. D'Argo sat with Drayk in his lap, the boy's hand gripped lightly in his own.  Jack and Zelly sprawled on the floor in front of him while Chiana lounged beside, her ebony eyes flicking from his expressive face to the enchanted faces of the children.  Shalbit kept to the outside of the small circle, wanting to be innocuous and not intrude.  At high points in the story Chiana glanced his way; he was every bit as enthralled as the kids.  She smiled as D'Argo continued with the story.

"...we drifted in space, just your father and myself, completely alone.  We saw the moon with the Gammack base explode and burn, and we could hear Aeryn, your mother, calling to us but she couldn't get to us without being seen by the PeaceKeepers.  So we drifted and waited to die."  He paused, looking at his appreciative audience carefully.  "Your mother did find us, just in time, and we eventually found our way back to Moya.  There's more to that tale, but it's best left for another night." 

There was a small moment of silence.  Zelly sat deep in thought, her small face puckered into a frown of concentration. Jack closed his eyes, no doubt visualizing the sequence of events.  Shalbit, unseen by the others, pressed glittering tears from the corners of his eyes. Chiana smiled softly at his reaction, knowing he'd be full of questions later.

Drayk said nothing, his fingers lay still in D'Argo's hands.

"Were you afraid, D'Argo? Was father afraid?"  Zelly asked softly.

D'Argo smiled softly as he answered.  "At first, yes, we were very afraid.  We knew we would probably die but it had to be done, it was the only way for Moya and Talyn to escape.  As we went to jump from the pod, your father was smiling.  He asked my why it was that he was no longer afraid.  I had no answer, but I think I can answer now." He paused.  "Do you know what the answer is?"

Zelly frowned again, then shook her head.  D'Argo looked at Jack.  The boy was thinking hard, his eyes unfocused with concentration.  Then he smiled.  "You weren't afraid because you had courage."

"What is courage?"

"The ability...no, the perseverance to carry on in the face of danger.  To...face your fears, and overcome them, when it's necessary."  He sighed.  "It's not coming out right, let me think..." 

D'Argo did as Jack asked, letting the boy ruminate on the subject, until he brightened and continued.

"Courage means to do something you fear, regardless of the outcome, because you know it's right, or necessary."  He said firmly.  D'Argo smiled.

"Good Jack, very good. Anyone can be brave when the outcome is assured, but when you know you may very well die and continue on anyway, for the greater good of all, that takes courage.  Your father had more courage than any hundred men I've met. He wasn't always right and we didn't always agree, but I knew beyond any doubt that when I needed him, he'd be there. He was the truest friend I've ever known."

The children left for bed shortly after that, and Chiana unwound herself from the floor.  Shalbit sat quietly, unmoving, reflective and somber.

"Hey Shal, you ok over there?" she teased.  Shalbit smiled tentatively and raised his head.

"I'm just thinking Chi," he said.  "D'Argo, you tell a wonderful story, the children are indeed lucky to have you." D'Argo inclined his head in reply and smiled. 

"As I am lucky to have them.  Sometimes I think this...journey of ours is simply a means for them to grow into adults, with us to guide them. Sometimes I feel...that everything that happened did so just for them.  They are...essential somehow, so important."  He shook his head and finished firmly.  "They are John's children, and Aeryn's.  I am their godfather.  I could do no less for them."

"They are priceless children, so bright and caring."  He paused, turning inward, then continued.  "I seem to remember something in my travels, a place I was once maybe, or something someone told me.  It seems to me there's some small detail in the back of my mind that is important, something about...slave traders?  I don't remember, but I know it will come to me."

D'Argo leaned forward, his hands yearning to reach out and shake the Nebari.  "What?  Tell me! What do you remember?"

Shalbit smiled and held his hands up defensively.  "I honestly don't remember D'Argo, it was just a fleeting thought that is gone now. I promise, as soon as I remember, I'll come tell you."

D'Argo had to be satisfied at that, and soon the Nebari had gone to his own quarters for bed. D'Argo and Chiana also settled in for the night, dimming the lights completely and snuggling close.

"Is he still out there, Chiana?" he asked softly.  "Can you still feel him?  Is he alive?" 

Chiana stroked his chest gently, closing her eyes and using her rudimentary psychic skills to concentrate deeply.  "I...I think so, D'Argo, I can still feel him."  She sighed.  "But maybe I'm just wishing and hoping so hard I make myself feel him.  Maybe I'm just full of dren, and I really don't feel him."

"And what is life, without hope?"  D'Argo said softly.  "It was John who showed us that, and I will continue to hope."

They drifted off to sleep, and their sleep was dreamless.

                                                            ~~~~~

Bialar Crais tried not to reflect on his life these days.  After all, there was less than nothing he could do about it.  He was still a captain, and bonded more or less permanently to a ship like no other.  He had a crew, of sorts, albeit a small one, and more often than not they ran in tandem with Moya.  And keeping close to Moya was something Crais wanted to continue to do.  No, it was something he was compelled to do. He could no more abandon Moya and her crew than he could walk away from Talyn. 

And it was all John Crichton's fault.

Crais sighed and rubbed his temples, a faint and sad smile playing across his face.  Crichton.  Frell that miserable human.  Everything Crais was today he could lay at the human's door.  He had been a captain of note, moving fast in the ranks and targeted for big things.  He had his own career and his brother's to further, and both were doing fine.  And then Crichton had shown up and changed everything.

And Crais couldn't thank him enough. 

Everything had been going smoothly.  Moya and her crew moved in and out of his life sporadically, showing up at the same commerce planet as him or possibly seeking him out for one reason or another. He didn't mind, in fact, he found himself enjoying the company.  And oddly enough, he found himself feeling sort of...paternal towards John and Aeryn's children.  They called him Uncle Crais. That the children of the man he had once sworn to kill called him 'Uncle' was a vivid reminder of how things...how they...had changed.  Then three cycles ago, things had changed yet again.  Radically, irrevocably, and horribly.

The call from Moya had been similar to a mental shriek of pain.  Talyn had rolled and groaned from the slap of it.  Connected as he was, bonded deeply into Talyn's neural network, Crais had fainted before he even registered what was happening.  By the time he'd roused himself, they were on their way to Moya's assistance.  The following weekens and monens faded to a blur of activity.  The limping, halting trip to Hyneria, the anxious days waiting for Moya to be renewed, and the horrible knowledge that they were too late...John Crichton was gone, sold as a slave, lost forever in the Uncharted Territories.  And worst of all was having to tell Aeryn, to tell the children, that he was gone, that the chances of finding him were so small as to be moot.

Frell Crichton, to do this to them, to do this to him.

Crais sighed deeply and turned back to the console in front of him.  Like the others, he assumed that John was dead.  But also like the others, he had never given up searching.  Any time he thought of quitting the search, all he had to do was remember Jack's questioning face, or Zelly's too somber eyes, or Drayk's chilling silence.  He'd never give up, not as long as the children hoped.  Not as long as the children lived.

 The planet below him was a gaming moon.  As a former PeaceKeeper officer, he remembered being officially appalled at gaming moons, but he also remembered spending more than one leave losing every piece of currency he had at one.  This one was no different than the others he remembered. Dirty, ugly and pitifully small, the crowds would be varied and frantic with wealth.  As much as he hated it, he prepared himself to go down and investigate. The last tip they had said that a Treghellien had bought John more than three cycles ago.  Treghelliens liked gaming moons, so it was possible that Crichton had been on one.  Possible, but not likely.

The trip down to the planet was uneventful and the 'officials' at the spaceport barely glanced at his forged credentials.  Good, that was how Crais wanted it.  As far as anyone knew, he was still a PK officer and that's how he wanted it.  He told the officials that Crichton was wanted by PeaceKeeper command and it was his job to take him into custody.  Only half a lie, he thought to himself. Crichton was wanted by PK command.  They all were.  He flashed a holo pic and demanded to know if he'd been sold in the last few cycles.  It took most of the day, but after a long succession of toadies he finally found himself talking to someone with actual power.

The Administrator didn't remember Crichton, not at first.  He viewed the holo from all angles, a puzzled look on his face. Then he nodded meditatively. Yes, he thought he remembered this one. He wasn't much of a Match man himself, he said, but he thought this one might be the one...could be...possibly...

Crais pushed until the man coughed up a name, a Treghellien who bought and sold slaves like they were game pieces and lived for the Match.  This one had fought for the Treghellien, and if the administrator wasn't mistaken, he'd been a Champion.  A toady was called in, questions were asked, and it was ascertained that yes, the Champion of the Match, winner of thirteen games in an unprecedented short time, was the man in the holo Crais had.

Crais felt a sense of euphoria at this news.  So as short a time as two cycles  ago, John Crichton had been alive, here, on this planet.  Fighting for his life.  Fighting, if these miserable life forms could be believed, and winning.  He thanked the man for his time, paid him for his silence, and moved on.  He needed only to find the Treghellien, and he'd be that much closer to Crichton.

But days passed and he was no closer to finding the elusive Treghellien.  He scoured the moon from its desolate and devastated surface to its most putrid depths and found nothing.  The Treghellien, it seemed, had moved on.

What he did find were holo vids of John's fights.  He found himself purchasing a complete set of them, wanting to bring something for Aeryn to see, anything, even if just a gaudy show of his prowess in the gaming ring. And where, Crais wondered, did Crichton learn to fight so well?  The vids showed him beating an astonishing array of opponents in chilling fashion, and fighting hand to hand combat was not something John Crichton was noted for. But upon analyzing the fights one after the other, he noticed that Crichton seemed to use his intellect as well as a trained fighter used a blade.  His style changed drastically in each fight, depending on his opponent, and he was always on the offensive.  Never did he seem to fight defensively, unless it was an act used to lure his opponent into a sense of false security.  Crais found himself grudgingly admiring Crichton's abilities even as he cringed at the damage he accumulated.

With the holo vid chips secure onboard Talyn, Crais left the gaming moon for the latest rendezvous spot.  He was well within the three-day parameter for meeting Moya.  And for the first time, he had something to show for his searching.  Despite the fact that the trail was cold again, they at least had something.  He had the name of the Treghellien who had purchased John; all he had to do now was find him. 

Grimly determined to do just that, Crais sent Talyn hurtling towards their appointed meeting with Moya, confident that soon they would accomplish their goal.  Soon they would find John Crichton.

                                                            ~~~~~

He had forgotten his name.

How he wasn't sure, but that was the sad fact.  He knelt in the tunnel, his bare hands calloused and bloody, his face rough with stubble and dirt, and realized he didn't know who he was.  How, he wondered, could that happen?

His time here in the mines was fragmented by trauma and pain.  He could remember his arrival well enough, and the trepidation with which he had viewed his new home.  A wire-mesh enclosed lift had plummeted down from the surface of a grimy moon to the caverns beneath and deposited him in a large open area.  The ceiling was huge and domed, bearing the scars of miner's tools and explosives.  In the center of the room was a raised dais, its use at yet unknown to him.  A post stood in the center of the dais.  In the direction opposite that of the lift was the doorway to the mines.  When he arrived, it was open and the main cavern was empty.

He remembered how the guards had released him from his manacles and pushed him through the doorway. How they had shouted menacingly and displayed the stun batons he remembered so well from the slave ship, how they had demanded he dig, with his bare hands, for the precious and fragile stones buried in the loose rubble.  He remembered looking at his fellow slaves and thinking, I will not be like them, mindless, hollow, the walking dead.  He remembered trudging back to the main cavern, after what seemed like an eternity of digging, exhausted and dismayed.  He remembered, very clearly, the quiet obedience of the slaves when the guards were present, and the way they seemed to liven up when the guards disappeared up the lift.  And he remembered, indeed, could never forget, the shock he felt when he saw Apollo, his one-time nemesis from the slave ship, standing in front of him.

"PeaceKeeper coward."

The words were uttered with all the hatred a man held in bondage could muster, words held inside and treasured until they festered into a deep need for revenge.  John sighed deeply, hating this moment already. Fresh from the Match fights and trained to kill for these last fourteen monens, he didn't even give Apollo the chance to get in the first lick.  He stood quickly and delivered the first punch while the other man was still forming a plan of attack.  And he didn't stop there.  He stepped forward and delivered two more chopping punches, only stopping when Apollo hit the ground.  Weakened by his time in the mines, Apollo never moved.  Crumpled beneath him, Apollo could do nothing but listen.

"I don't want to fight you every day for the rest of my life so let's get one thing straight. You leave me alone and I'll do the same for you.  But come after me again and I'll kill you."  He nudged the prone alien with his toe.  "I'm not your enemy, I'm just another slave like you."

He expected and received no answer, but from that day forward Apollo avoided him.  The hate filled glares never stopped, nor did the hissed threats and occasional angry words, but never again did they fight.

And now he squatted in a tunnel far from the central chamber that housed the slaves, his ragged leathers stained and stinking, his hands calloused and shredded, calloused and shredded, his face and hair wild and untamed, wondering.  Who am I?  How did I get here?  And who, tell me, put me here?  He thought to himself, I have in my mind a picture of a woman, dark haired and striking, and three young children.  Their faces soothe me to sleep every night, but I have no memory of who they are. Is the woman mine, and the children? He frowned.  If they are, how could I have forgotten them?  And another question nagged at him whenever he roused himself from the semi-conscious working doze he spent his days in.

How long have I been here?

As before, all his questions were unanswered.  He resumed his digging, sifting through the loose rubble for the elusive dark emerald colored stones.  The mines were very dangerous places.  Every shaft was started by hand using dull wooden tools that did no damage to the valuable stones.  After a sizable hole had been dug, they seismic resonator was brought in.  A few well-placed pulses loosened the rock and soil, allowing the slaves to dig with their hands and make the tunnel wider and deeper.  The process was repeated daily, until the tunnel met up with bedrock that held no stones or until they connected with another tunnel.  But the seismic work also made the tunnels horribly weak, and cave-ins were common. Slaves died at the rate of one or two a month, and rare was the slave who lived more than two cycles in the mines. Apollo was a freaking miracle.

He plucked an emerald from the rubble at his feet and dropped it automatically into the pouch at his waist.  All slaves dug, but only the most nimble fingered slaves actually sifted for the stones.  The more brutish of them shoveled the slag into wheelbarrow like contraptions and carried it away.  He wasn't certain how all the slave cells did their work, but in this cell, they divided the work and reached their quota quickly.  Sometimes they reached their quota early enough to get back to their cell before their evening meal arrived.  If he had been less humble, he might have claimed to be the reason for it, but as it was he scarcely realized his own contributions to his fellows in captivity.  Since his decisive win over Apollo, he had slowly become the leader.  He suggested that the women do most of the lighter work like sifting for stones while the men did most of the shoveling and hauling. Anyone suffering from an injury, and there were many, would be put to work sifting, while a regular sifter would take their place hauling or shoveling.  The division of work along with the flexibility of the crew made them a stronger and more agile work force.  They actually found their rations slightly increased as they uncovered unheard of quantities of stones.  Despite that, they were all seriously malnourished.  Everyone suffered from poorly healed injuries.  The women lived roughly half as long as the men. 

His bag full, he stood and stretched the kinks out of his back.  He limped over to the nearest depository bin, left his bag inside and picked up a new one.  The guard nearest to him glowered menacingly, but said nothing.  The stun baton in his hand said everything necessary.

Back at work, his mind began to wander to the past once again.  The guards watched him closely, closer even than they did Apollo. Once work was done the slaves could fight amongst themselves all they wanted and they were never interfered with.  But stray so much as a toe out of line during union hours and all hell would break loose.  He frowned as he dug through the loose slag, searching for the precious stones that made another man rich. What had happened that time, when the guards had punished him?  He struggled to remember, forcing his sluggish mind to work through the haze. Oh yes, the cave in, and the girl. A very young girl, from Apollo's planet.  She had been deep down a narrow shaft, sifting slag.  Because of her small stature and nimble hands, she had been the one chosen for that hole.  She had been down the shaft for some time when a low rumble from deep in the ground shook them all.  He had braced himself against some solid bedrock and waited it out.  Slag and dirt rained down on them all, slaves and guards alike, but he had noticed early on that the guards only went so deep into the tunnels.  They always gave themselves enough time to escape during a cave in, and this time was no different. 

When the rumble ceased, he called out to the workers, automatically counting the replies.  He came up one short.  A quick search showed the girl's tunnel had collapsed. With no hesitation, he began to dig at the entrance.  In moments Apollo and several others were there, digging beside them.  They had gotten perhaps ten feet down the hole when the guard returned.  Seeing them attempting to rescue a slave who was no doubt dead, and worthless regardless, the guard had ordered them back to work.  He backed that order up with liberal use of the baton at a low setting. The others, Apollo included, returned to work, moaning and howling in pain.

But he did not. Gasping with the pain of the baton's electrically induced blow, he stood, his rage loosed with his frustration. All the months of training on the Gaming Moon came back to him, and he attacked.  It was pathetically easy to take out a man who didn't expect an attack and hadn't been trained to fight.  He brushed aside the baton like swatting a fly and shoved the guard brutally into the wall.  In his blind rage he simply struck out repeatedly until the guard lay limp and dead at his feet. 

The sudden silence brought him back to his senses.  He looked around him at his fellow slaves and recognized their expressions as shock. He'd killed a guard.  More than likely his life was worthless, and he knew it. Even Apollo looked astounded, and maybe even a little envious.  He heard the sounds of the rapidly approaching guards and turned quickly to Apollo.

"You're the boss now Big Guy.  It's been a pleasure."  He couldn't manage even the smallest of smiles it wasn't in him anymore.  But the look of sheer surprise on Apollo's face gave him a rush of pleasure.  Well, at least he could die knowing he'd never lost his capacity for compassion and honor, even if Apollo never acknowledged it.

The guards rushed in then, saw the dead guard at his feet and the blood still on his hands.  There was no doubt, and no hesitation.  Rough hands drug him out of the cavern while his fellow slaves were ordered to follow.  To him it seemed that a dozen hands grabbed him, pummeled him, squeezed him, until they were on the raised dais with the post.  Now he was to find out what it's purpose was.

Oh yeah, he knew already. The guards hung him from the post and ringed him, their stun batons held ready.  Yeah, he knew all right.  He'd seen first hand what the stun batons could do at every setting.  Set it on low power with a short burst and all it did was kick you.  An energy induced kick that put a Mississippi mule to shame (at that thought his beleaguered mind wondered, what the frell was a Mississippi mule?).  It left a bruise but that was it.  Power it up a bit and it would bleed some.  Add a sustained burst and it would break bones. He knew...didn't he have several half healed broken ribs, as well as other bones, as a memento?  Add more power and it could damage internal organs.  He'd seen guards kill a slave with the batons, just for fun, after brutally raping him.  It was not a death he welcomed.

The guards were grinning, their faintly humanoid faces streaked with dirt and sweat, their eyes glinting with excitement.  He could see that their batons were powered up but set in short bursts.  Oh good, he'd die painfully and it would take forever. Struggling did no good so he ranted instead, dragging up curses he'd long forgotten. 

"Kiss my ass Bluto! Why don't you guys go get nasty in the corner, it's what you're best at!  Frelling turd packers!  You're so frelling ugly you gotta fuck each other!  Your momma's must so proud!  Bet you..."

The first guard hit him with a baton and all language was driven brutally from his mind.  He screamed, then screamed again as more batons were applied.  It seemed to go on forever, but in reality was probably only a few minutes, when they stopped and surveyed their handiwork.  He hung from the post, mindless, drooling and bleeding, staring but unseeing, as the guards gestured and laughed.  The rest of the slaves watched in horror.  Someday, it might be them up there.

He returned to semi consciousness slowly, by painful degrees.  The guards were still living it up, passing around a pipe of some sort of illicit weed and laughing.  He raised his head, slowly, painfully, and glared.  When he was certain he had their full attention, he spoke again.

"Go ahead butt-wipes, kill me.  But if you do, I promise to come back.  I'll haunt your pathetic, pitiful ass-packin' minds till the day you die."

He was completely surprised to see the guards go pale and step back.  Oh boy, this was great...they were superstitious!  He pressed on.

"What? You didn't know that about Humans?  Don't even know what a human is you butt canker!  We do that, you know, come back from the dead to avenge a wrongful death. And baby, this is wrong. I'll dance on your graves assholes, I'll do the fucking Tango on your dead bodies; I'll make certain your souls never reach the happy hunting grounds.  I'll make your lives a living hell."

The guards mumbled amongst themselves and quickly came to a decision.  Without a word, they freed him from the post and let him drop. Their sudden goodwill didn't extend any further though, and they instead drove the rest of the slaves back into the mines, leaving him in a heap, slowly fading into unconsciousness once again.

As he picked through the rubble he smiled slightly at the memory.  He'd woken up in the small corner he'd claimed as his own, the pain was a hideous throb that began at his temples and ended somewhere south of his left knee.  A blurry image in front of him coalesced into one of the women, and she was gently cleaning his wounds with a filthy wet rag.  Probably a piece of her own clothing, he thought mindlessly. What a waste.  He'd die no matter what they did, he'd seen it before.  He faded out again as she rolled him gently to his back.

He'd had several periods of wakefulness, but no coherent thoughts in any of them.  At one point he'd see Apollo standing over him, his expression unreadable.  When he finally did wake up and become aware of his surroundings he realized that he was alone.  The rest of the slaves were obviously at work.  He laid there, his suddenly clear mind whirling with thoughts.  He was alive.  Impossible, but there ya have it.  Beside him were a bowl of water and a small plate of food.  Carefully, his body protesting in rushes of pain, he managed to prop himself on an elbow and drink slowly.  Then he tried some food, savoring every bite of the cold, bland gruel. It stayed down, so he ate a bite of the dry bread.  Exhausted, he lay back down.

His days passed like this.  In the evenings, one of the women would tend his wounds and leave his food.  In the mornings, someone would leave his food by his bed on their way to the mines.  It sustained him, and after a few weeks he was back at work.  But his knee was crippled and his body ached with every breath. No matter. He was alive, despite all the odds.  He'd live to get revenge, to find the dark haired woman and the three children who may or may not be his own. He would survive.

He felt a presence at his shoulder and turned.  Apollo stood ready, shovel in hand, to remove his excess slag.  He nodded and moved aside.  As one of the more seriously injured ones, he was on permanent sifting duty.  He'd protested and tried to shovel, but it was impossible.  After one day shoveling he had to be carried back to the cavern by two other slaves.  Apollo must have been made of stone, John thought.  He'd been in the cavern longer than anyone else and was still on shovel duty.

Wordless, for the guards forbade any conversation while working, Apollo plied his shovel and then wheeled himself away to the next sifter.  The routine was repeated all down the line.  It was efficient.

He bent back down to sift again, and his mind wandered back once more.  The beating had been bad, but it hadn't been repeated.  But the guards weren't above giving him an extra baton blast if they felt he warranted it, even if all he did was look at them.  As a result, he had several half healed wounds and numerous badly healed broken bones.  His amazement at his own stamina had turned to apprehension. There was no way he could normally survive treatment like this, so the only logical explanation was drugs.  He remembered another time when he thought someone was using drugs to sustain him, but that memory was faint.  Now his foggy mind dredged that suspicion to the front and re-examined it.  His meals had always been different from the others.  Different foods, and something not easily digested by the other slaves. His rations had been stolen once, and the next morning a slave was found dead, obviously poisoned.  Never again did anyone steal his rations, and he knew they were adding drugs.  How he could have forgotten that was beyond him.  Right on the heels of that thought was the realization that if the drugs could give him incredible stamina, they could also make thinking a trial. Mystery solved, he picked up his filled bag and headed to the depository once again.

The unmistakable sound of the lift in the cavern stopped him short.  He was close enough to the cavern entrance to see the lift when it came to rest.  Its operation at this time of day was unheard of.  The lift only moved when the guards came down in the morning and went back up again at night.  Not in all the time he'd been here...however long that was...had he seen the lift at any other time. 

The guard made a threatening noise in his direction so he continued on to deposit his gems.  As he dumped the bag inside and reached for a new one, the guard jabbed him in his already damaged ribs with his baton, sending him crashing to the floor.  He writhed in a silent parody of pain for long minutes, the bag forgotten and his arms wrapped around himself protectively.  As the pain diminished he became aware of booted feet in the thick dust before him.  Slowly he stood, his face carefully neutral.

The two men in front of him sparked no memories.  One was bipedal with spiky crests of hair growing from raised ridges of flesh on his skull.  His nose was flat and his lips thin.  The other was Sebacean, or something similar. Dark hair pulled into a tail, neatly trimmed moustache and goatee.  Dark commanding eyes.  This one looked him up and down with obvious distaste before turning to the first man.

"Yes, it's him. PeaceKeeper command will be very happy to have him in custody after all these cycles."

"And I'm always happy to help the PeaceKeepers in any way I can," the other man said in tones that said just the opposite.  "You will, of course, pay the going rate..."

"And what is the going rate on a slave who's been tortured in your mines for so many cycles?"  The Sebacean asked darkly.

"Fine then," the other responded, fear tingeing his voice.  "Half the going rate.  He's nearly used up but he's been quite...resourceful while he's been here."

"I will pay you in currency when the slave is delivered, unharmed, to my transport."  The Sebacean was relentless.

And with no chance for good-byes, he found himself propelled out of the mines, across the cavern, past the dais and into the shaft.  The guards forced him to his knees in the back of the lift while the two other men rode in front.  He lowered his head, trusting the guards to keep him upright.  He was so tired.  And now he was passing from slavery to capture by the PeaceKeepers, and something told him this was a worse fate.  But then, change could be a good thing.  He hoped for the best. 

                                                            ~~~~~

Crais met with the mine owner expecting the same results he'd had everywhere else.  Show him a holo of Crichton, explain he was wanted by PeaceKeeper command, and offer to pay a fair price to compensate the owner. This was only one of many mining planets he'd come too, and none so far had been forthcoming. 

But the owner here recognized Crichton immediately.  Yes, he'd purchased this one from a Traghellien over three cycles ago.  He was unruly and dangerous, but his cell produced more gems than any other so he'd been allowed to live.  Crais had been so amazed at this proclamation that he heard himself actually saying that Crichton had supreme leadership qualities, and it wasn't surprising that he'd taken control of his group of workers. Now why, he asked himself after, would I even bother to explain that to this disgusting member of society? 

It didn't matter. Within microts they had gone deep into the bowels of the planet.  When they entered the caverns Crais had been appalled.  This was where John Crichton had lived for the last several cycles, this squalid hole in the ground, filthy and crawling with vermin.  Then they entered the mines themselves, and he'd seen a man lying prone at the feet of a guard, writhing in soundless pain.  The stopped just short of the slave, waiting.

The slave shuddered a few more times, and then slowly began to unwind himself and try to stand. He was filthy, his beard and hair long and matted and his clothes barely held together with primitive laces.  His feet were bare and he smelled worse than a Sheyang on a sunny day.  When he finally stood, Crais saw the slave tattoo standing out on his left cheek. Then he met the man's eyes.  That startling color of blue was unmistakable, as was the anger directed at him. Oh yes, this was Crichton, but he saw no recognition there, and sensed nothing that would indicate that Crichton knew who he was.  But that was of no matter. It was him, and he would do whatever it took to get him home.

The trip up the lift shaft was an eternity.  Once at the top the guards half drug Crichton to Crais' transport while Crais paid the mine owner.  He entered his pod to find Crichton chained to a support, a guard standing over him. Crichton was once again clenched around himself in pain.  The guard had his baton ready for one more hit when Crais ripped it from his hand.

"Get off my ship."

The guard complied, holding his hand out for the baton.  Crais couldn't help himself; he handed the baton to the guard point first, firing a harsh burst and making the guard squeal with pain and tumble inelegantly down the steps.  Crais tossed the baton after him.  "I didn't give you permission to punish my slave," he said carelessly, and closed the hatch.

  He shouted an order to Tort to launch and head back to Talyn, and then knelt by Crichton.

He was curled up in a ball, his mind and body reeling from the guard's sudden attack, when he felt gentle hands undoing the chains at his wrists.  The man, whoever he was, muttered curses under his breath as he began a cursory examination of his injuries.  His body shook from sudden cold, something he'd suffered through for cycles now.  He hadn't been warm for so long he'd forgotten what it was.  A blanket, bronze and silky to feel, was draped over him.  Words, meaningless, filtered into his consciousness.

"We looked for you Crichton, for so long.  Your family is fine...I...we took care of them.  I'm sorry we...we should have found you before now, I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry."

Meaningless, meaningless. He drifted to sleep.

He woke some time later and found himself sprawled on a bed.  He sat up, confused.  A bed? He was a slave, bought by a PeaceKeeper officer to be taken into custody.  But here he was, unbound, alone, and asleep on a bed.  His confusion was complete.

A small motion in the corner made him turn abruptly.  A little oblong shaped mechanical device scuttled from its hiding place and left the room, obviously to report that the prisoner was awake.  Ok, fine.  He was awake; he'd meet his captors now.  Like before, he decided that change could only be good right now. Hell, anything beat the mines.

The same man as before entered the room.  Dark, with penetrating eyes and a cool demeanor.  They watched each other, one with a deep abiding suspicion, the other with compassion and pity.  The dark man spoke first.

"Do you remember me, Crichton?" he asked softly.

He frowned, perplexed. Crichton?  Who was that?  He shook his head.  "I don't even know who I am," he replied honesty, his voice cracking from little use.

The dark man hung his head.  He moved closer, speaking again. "You are John Crichton, an astronaut from the planet Earth.  You...had been traveling on a Leviathan named Moya for nearly twelve cycles when you were taken by slavers.  We, your friends, have been searching for you for a very long time."

He frowned.  John Crichton?  Earth?  Moya? The names meant nothing to him. He shook his head.  "I don't remember."

The dark man moved across the room to a drawer.  He pulled a framed picture from it, hesitated, and then brought it over to him. He held it out.

Curious, Crichton took it.  He frowned, but this time in near recognition.  A dark haired woman smiled out at him, her striking beauty catching him in its intensity. She was seated, holding a young child in her lap.  He had dark hair like his mother and appeared to be about four cycles old. He wasn't looking at the camera, but rather at some distant point.  Standing at the woman's shoulder was a young boy, maybe nine or ten, also with his mother's hair.  His eyes were a clear, penetrating blue.  In front of the boy and the woman stood a girl, possibly a cycle or more younger than the boy standing, with dark curls falling over her forehead and a firm set to her mouth.  They looked...familiar.  The images he'd kept in his mind all these cycles...was this them?   The children would have grown of course, so it must be.  He looked up at the dark man.

"Who...who are they?" he asked.  "I think...I think I know them."

"Yes, you do know them. Aeryn Sun is your wife.  These are your children, Jack, Zelly and Drayk," he pointed to each as he said their names.  "They are waiting for you on Moya."

Crichton held the picture closer, studying them intensely.  "My...wife?  And children?"  His eyes unfocused as he thought about this.  He was married, he had children.  He looked up at...Crais, his name was Crais he thought grimly, and asked him.

"Who am I?"  Then he sat, his trembling hand still holding the picture.  "Why don't I remember?"

Crais moved closer. "I don't know, but we'll work on it. Right now, you need a shower. I've been in cesspools that smell better than you do right now."

Crichton nodded absently, his eyes still on the picture.  "Can I...have this?" he asked hesitantly.  He'd seen how reluctant Crais had been to give it up.

"Yes, of course. It's yours." 

The shower was long. Hot running water, all he wanted, was his.  He luxuriated in it, soaping his filthy damaged body over and over to remove three cycles of blood, sweat and grime.  He took a pair of shears in with him and hacked at both his hair and his beard, removing as much as he could.  Crais had given him a bottle of medicated soap to kill off any parasites nesting there, and he applied it liberally.  The water ran muddy, then merely dark, and finally clear.  He barely felt the pain of the scalding water rushing against his half healed wounds.  The relief at being clean was too great.  After almost an arn, he finally decided he was as clean as he could get at this point, and toweled off.  A wet razor was ready for him, and he shaved every inch of his face.  His wary eyes skittered over the tattoo as usual.  A pair of scissors handily finished the job on his hair, leaving it short and bristly but at least clean.

There were clean clothes waiting for him, and they sparked the smallest of memories.  Black leather pants, a t-shirt, and a leather vest. He frowned.  Was this a good memory or bad?  It didn't matter, the clothes were clean and so was he. Before he could get fully dressed, Crais returned with a mechanical device in his hand.  Acting out of mere reflex, John backed up, putting the bed between them, his eyes wary.  Crais stopped at once.

"It's a medical scan, it won't hurt you.  I want to see if you have any serious injuries we need to tend to."  He spoke gently, with firm kindness.  John slowly moved from behind the bed.  Crais moved the wand up and down John's body, his frown deepening as he went.  John watched his face, knowing that the device would be incomprehensible in his state.

"Not good news, is it?" he asked quietly.  Crais looked up then, respect and amazement gleaming.

"I'm surprised you're alive, much less upright," he replied.  "According to the scan, all of your ribs are broken or half healed, you have several damaged internal organs and numerous old lacerations and bruises. One leg has been badly broken and the other shows an old break that healed fairly straight.  You're malnourished and dehydrated as well, and full of internal parasites.  I'm almost afraid to see what sort of damage your head suffered."

"Oh, that's the hardest part of me, it's probably fine," John quipped, surprising himself.  He frowned.  "That felt right, but it sounds pretty stupid."

Crais smiled widely. "That just means you're sounding more like your old self then," he said.  "You never did make much sense."  He scanned John's head, frowning again.  "Numerous fractures in the facial bones, signs of old concussions..." he paused.  "...it looks like some serious chemical imbalances. That could be the cause of your memory loss."

John frowned.  "I think they were feeding me some sort of drug. I mean, I know I'm not that tough, there's no way I could have survived all this for so long..." He trailed off, thinking.  "Hell, it may not be over yet."

John sat in what passed as Talyn's central chamber, a meal of plain food before him.  He found that despite his virtual starvation and his mental cravings for food, he could barely eat.  Some foods came right back up, so he'd been forced to stick with foods that were bland but nourishing.  He snacked on food cubes almost constantly between meals.

Crais sat across from him eating his own meal.  The crewmembers largely avoided John.  There were only a few but they were all Sebacean and mostly ex-PK.  John made them uncomfortable, but he could care less. Tort remembered John but that meant nothing to the odd man.  John spent a large part of his time plying Crais with questions and hitting him with odd pieces of memory as it fell into place.  As far as his health went, it had taken nearly a dozen shots of increasingly varied medicines, but after a few days Crais declared John to be nearly free of parasites and on the mend.  Even his bad leg was easier to get around on, even if it still hurt like hell.

He pushed a lump of the hot steamed grain, what his mind insisted on calling oatmeal, to the edge of the bowl.  His head rested on his hand, elbow on the table.  He was deep in thought, or so it seemed.  When he spoke, it took Crais unaware.

"We weren't exactly good friends, were we?" he said softly.  Crais looked up, startled both by the question and the suddenness of it.

"No, not exactly." Was all Crais ventured as an answer.

Without looking up, John continued.  "I seem to remember something...a ship...like, a fighter or something.  I was in a different ship...small...I was lost I think."

Crais answered carefully. He'd said very little to Crichton about his past, letting him find his own memories.  I small reminder here and there seemed to be all the prodding he needed.  "Yes, that was when you first came here...to the Uncharted Territories.  You...accidentally created a wormhole while test flying your ship, the..."

"Farscape..." John said softly, in wonder.

"Yes, your Farscape module," Crais replied.  "You came through the wormhole right into a battle.  Your module collided with a Prowler, causing it to crash into an asteroid."

John looked up then, the ever-present confusion gone from his expression.  "That was your brother, Tauvo."

Crais sat stiffly, and only nodded.

"Oh...my God.  I killed your brother, but...you just saved me. How the frell did we get from there to here?"

Almost relieved at the way the question had been couched and in John's understanding of the situation, Crais launched into an explanation of the past.  He hit the high spots, hoping Crichton would remember the details on his own.  When he was done, he leaned closer, his hands folded fastidiously on the table.

"I hated you for so long, and it was...a waste of energy.  I ended up an outlaw like the rest of you, and I...I wouldn't have it any other way now.  Like Aeryn Sun, I learned decency and compassion.  The PeaceKeepers didn't take that away from me, they just hid it very, very well.  For a long time, I...wanted Aeryn."  At that, John sat upright a little, his expectant expression changed to a possessive one, but at Crais' next words he softened.  "But I saw how...good, and decent you were, and how the two of you seemed to be...one.  Together, you were a whole.  After Jack was born, I became..." he smiled softly.  "I became an Uncle.  Your children call me Uncle.  I could never, ever have imagined that.  And when you were abducted..." he paused again, his emotions glaring.  "For awhile there, we thought we were going to lose Aeryn.  We tried...everything.  But her grief was monstrous.  In the end, it was the children who saved her.  For them, she would do anything.  And so...so would I."

John sat silently, watching Crais, absently rubbing his hated tattoo and thinking.  He knew his name, he knew where he was from and that he had a family.  He remembered them, a little.  He remembered Earth, fragments yes, but memories still.  Slowly it was coming together.

"She...Aeryn...she waited for me, right?"  John asked quietly, fearing the answer.

"Without doubt. She'll have no other.  And we'll see her, and the others, in only a few solar days.  We're almost at the rendezvous point."

John nodded, distracted. He looked up again, a question in his eyes.  "The children...do they know me? Remember me?"

Crais nodded, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.  "D'Argo tells them bedtime stories of your exploits.  I sometimes wonder if he...embellishes them a bit.  The children think you are a hero, larger than life. You'll have quite a reputation to live up to."

"Tell me about them. Tell me again.  I need to know."  John said with furious intensity.

"Jack is ten now. He was six when you disappeared. He's always very...happy, friendly. He reminds me quite a bit of you. He's very intelligent and an excellent tech."

"And his name is Talyn Jack Crichton," John said with wonder.

"Yes, after both of your fathers.  Zelly is eight, and also quite a tech.  She's more...reserved than her brother, less likely to laugh or tease.  Very serious.  She looks like her mother, only with curls.  She is going to be very beautiful."

"And her name is Xhalax Catherine Crichton, after our mothers, but everyone calls her Zelly," John said, warming to this memory game.

"Yes."  John caught the hint of a frown when Crais continued. "Drayk was only eight monens old when you...were taken.  That makes him five cycles now.  He's...a wonderful child, so inventive..." Crais trailed off, and John frowned. 

"Something is wrong with Drayk, isn't there?" He said.  Crais nodded.

"We don't know what happened, Drayk was always a happy baby, very normal.  But after that...after...he was quiet.  He never cried, never spoke.  As he grew older, we noticed...he wouldn't make eye contact. Not with anyone.  He could hear, but not speak.  When he was two, Jack discovered that Drayk could communicate. He used his fingers to speak. He...touches the person he's speaking too, takes their hand, and uses his fingers."  Crais demonstrated, tapping and sliding his own fingers on his other hand. "He likes to sit in laps, he likes contact with others.  He gains...solace...by touching."

John internalized all this, his mind whirling.  Drayk had been fine...before.  It was only since his father had disappeared that this mysterious ailment had revealed itself.  There was only one conclusion to be drawn from this.  Crais must have known where his thoughts were headed, and he cut him off.

"It wasn't your fault. We have no idea what happened, but we think it's tied into the pulse weapon the...slavers used on the planet. It affected Moya and Pilot, and we think it might have affected Drayk as well."

"But it didn't affect any of the others," John said stubbornly.

"No, it didn't. But Drayk was so young..."

"That's not an answer."

Crais looked John in the eyes.  "It's the only answer we have."

And John had to leave it like that.

The next day, John again cornered Crais.  "How did you know I was on a mining planet?"

Crais finished giving orders to Pio, one of the ex-PK troops.  Pio sidled by John, doing her level best not to touch him.  John ignored her.  Crais faced him and gestured to his quarters nearby.  "Let's go in here, where we won't be disturbed."

"I found the Gaming Moon where you fought," Crais began.  John stopped short just inside the door.  "Oh my God, the Match fights.  I...remember.  That's one thing I wish I could forget."

"Yes, I can quite imagine.  I found...holo vids of your matches.  I have to say that as the only evidence we had of your presence, I purchased them.  Aeryn has them on Moya."

"You gave my wife videos of me fighting in death matches?  What, are you insane?"  He asked incredulously.

"It was all we had. At the time, we thought it might be all we ever had."  Crais said firmly.  John nodded, accepting that explanation even though it sickened him to think of it.

"From there I found an agent of the Traghellien who bought you..."

"WHERE?"  John shouted.  "Where is he?  I want his head on a platter..."

"And you shall have it, after we've found Moya."  Crais said placidly.  "But he only said his employer had sold you at auction, an auction that deals only in mining slaves.  And he'd had another servant take care of the details; he had no idea where the auction was.  We were stopped there for a long time, and than we had a breakthrough."  Here Crais paused to pour drinks for both of them.  Small shots of some thick liquor that promised to come back to haunt him, but John cared not at all.  He slammed it down quickly and turned back to Crais. 

"Go on."

"It was Shalbit who came up with the information, actually."

"Who's Shablit?" John asked.

"Shal-bit," Crais pronounced carefully.  "He's a Nebari that ended up on Moya several cycles ago.  He's...deviant, but he does his job and bothers no one on board." Crais' disgust was profound. John gathered that Shalbit was queer, and decided that homosexual men were something PeaceKeepers frowned upon. "But he remembered in his travels that there was a planet in the Uncharteds that dealt only in mining slaves, and held auctions every monen.  We found it, and eventually I found you."

John nodded once, then held his glass out for another shot.  "Whatever that shit is, I need another jolt."  Crais obliged him, and less than an arn later had to half carry the drunken human to his quarters.  Ankerian Ale might have stayed down but it also played hell with his system.  He was out cold before he even flopped onto his bed.  But as he drifted off to a drunken slumber, his thoughts went to his wife who he couldn't remember and his children who probably didn't remember him, and he despaired.

And in two days, he'd be home.

                                                            ~~~~~

Moya heard Talyn's call as a faint echo in space.  She acknowledged his call with one of her own, responding with her coordinates as he requested.  Then she passed on her contact to Pilot, knowing he would in turn pass this information on to the crew. Ever since they had discovered the slave auction planet known as Desludis, Crais had been searching every mining planet or moon he could find.  Whenever they located another, they would contact Crais with the new information.  Whenever he had exhausted all his leads, he would contact them again.  When the crew heard of Crais' impending arrival, they thought of it as nothing but routine.  Cycles of failure had dulled their sense of hope, their sense of achievement. 

As Talyn drew closer, Moya was able to converse with him in short bursts.  Thus it was Moya who heard the news of Crichton's arrival first...but she didn't pass this information on.  Rather, she did as her son insisted on and kept it secret, hidden even from Pilot. Crais, it seemed, wanted Crichton's arrival to be a surprise.  Moya didn't always understand these life forms that lived in her depths, but she did as Talyn said Crais wished and didn't reveal what she knew. 

With this news Moya became joyful.  It was hard to conceal her happiness from Pilot, impossible really, so she only told him she had a secret that would be revealed to him soon.  Unused to subterfuge from her, Pilot seemed lost, maybe even a bit...miffed at her.  But she kept her secret, waiting with barely unconstrained joy for the day when Talyn should return, bringing John Crichton home.

But Moya had another secret.

Moya well remembered the way her crew had cared for her during her pregnancy.  She knew they were as proud of Talyn as if he were one of their own children.  And she knew that her pregnancy had been a burden to them all.  So when Aeryn Sun had announced all those cycles ago, with some trepidation, that she was pregnant, Moya had felt a terrible conflict. She wanted to rejoice as the others were, particularly John Crichton, but her apprehension was too much for her. She conveyed her fears and feelings to Pilot, who then relayed them to the others.

Moya was afraid that she wouldn't be able to protect Aeryn's child.  She was afraid that something terrible might happen to it, or that life on board a Leviathan would be impossible with children, and that Aeryn and John would have to leave.  And Moya feared the break up of her crew more than anything else.  She feared being alone.

Once the others knew of her fears, they reassured her.  They wouldn't be leaving her, she was home.  And they trusted her, as they trusted each other, to help care for and protect the child.  And, as it ended up, to protect all the children.  Finally reassured, Moya promised to do whatever she could to keep them all safe. To protect the children no matter what.

And she did.  DRDs were assigned to stay with the children at all times, no mean feat when considering the active Crichton kids. And Moya found...she liked it.  She liked them.  The children loved to come into Pilot's den and snuggle in his lap, such as it was.  Often he, and of course Moya, became baby sitters for cranky or colicky children. There was just something about the soothing hums and murmurs in the chamber that put them to sleep.  And over the years Moya decided that she not only liked it, she would be very disappointed if the children ever left.

And then had come the pulse, and the capture of John Crichton.  Moya, once recovered, mourned loud and long for him.  Her moans were even audible for the crew, much to their dismay.  She had failed, she hadn't protected her crew.  John Crichton was gone, Drayk was irrevocably changed, and she had failed. Moya felt her beautiful world was collapsing around her.

But her secret...her secret was something she hadn't dared tell even Pilot, something she had only just recently worked out for herself and actually wasn't very sure of...yet. Someday, she would test her secret and see if it was true.  It wouldn't do to say anything to Pilot until she was certain.

Because once, she had felt the touch of another.  Just a suggestion of an emotion, a feeling of...curiosity and wonder.  The touch had been rudimentary and clumsy, but strong.  Someone had touched her inner self as none other than Pilot had.  As far as Moya could decipher, that someone could only be Drayk.  

Moya held her secret close, and waited for the return of John Crichton.

"MOM!  Jack ate all the mooshie!" 

Zelly stood, hands on hips, glaring furiously at her older brother.  Completely nonplussed, Jack smiled around the last mouthful, letting crumbs of the fruit pie dot his lips and sweet red juices tremble at the corners of his mouth.

"MOM!"  Zelly screamed once again. 

Aeryn sighed.  Yet another fight between her two oldest. What was it about kids?  Why did they always bicker?  Jack seemed to delight in teasing his sister, and she was so serious minded she could do nothing but get mad.  Getting even never occurred to her.  She thought things should be right and that was it, end of story.  Jack, free wheeling, jokester Jack, didn't have a serious bone in his body.  Taking away a privilege or a meal seemed to have no affect on him; he could sustain himself on his sister's agitation. 

So Aeryn sent Jack to do some mindlessly boring task to make up for eating more than his share of mooshie, then she let Zelly help Chiana cook dinner for the day, including a new mooshie that Jack got no part of, and that was it.  Until the next time.

That disaster averted, Aeryn went to command for her shift.  Jool was watching Drayk; Jool and a bevy of DRDs.  They seemed to flock around Drayk, and for that Aeryn was glad.  Moya would never let the boy get into any trouble.

Command was empty save for Dun.  He turned as she entered; smiling in what he thought was a provocative manner.  Aeryn sighed again, this time not so noticeably.  Not again.

"Anything I need to know, Officer Dunnel?" she asked briskly, ignoring his expression.

"All systems operational, as usual."  He responded.  Then he smiled.  "But I think I see a potential problem."

Since Aeryn wasn't looking up, she didn't see his smile and so took him at his word. "Where?  Are Moya's amnexus levels fluctuating again?"

"No, no, nothing like that."  He moved closer to her, trying his best to charm her.  "It's just that...well...you are so lonely, a blind man could see that."

Aeryn looked at him abruptly, her anger only surface deep.  "We've been over that Dun.  Back off unless you want Jool to have to try to pull your head out of your eema."

"Oh come on, Officer Sun.  You know you need some...recreation.  And there's no one here to...recreate with...but me.  Crais has too much honor, for what that's worth, and D'Argo is a Luxan." He said Luxan as if it were poison to his mouth.  "Shalbit is a sexual deviant.  That leaves...me."  He smiled.

"I see, so by process of elimination, you end up the only one to...recreate with."  She spoke evenly, as if she were considering.  Dun smiled.  Could he be winning her over?

"Yes, that's it!" he said softly, moving in.  "With only two Sebacean males to choose from, and one of them so much older than you, I am the logical choice.  You've been too long without a man, a real man." 

Her mind seething with rage, Aeryn let him work himself closer.  She wanted him well within range and completely unaware of his fate when she pounced.  She couldn't believe his audacity, to treat her as if she had no brain, as if sex, recreating, were the only thing on her mind.  As if she needed him.  She smiled.

"And tell me, Dun. What is a real man like?"

Nearly salivating with anticipation, Dun sidled up behind her, leaning against her body and placing his hands upon hers on the console.  He let his breath tickle her ear.

"Oh, I'd much rather just...show you," he whispered.

Aeryn turned slowly in his embrace until they were face to face, her legs between his and his face only inches from her own.  "Oh really?" she said softly.  "Well, here, let me help..."

She drove her knee upwards violently, contacting his mivonks with a satisfying thud.  She watched impassively as he turned white and his face crumpled with astonishment and pain.  He fell bonelessly to the floor, holding himself and moaning. Aeryn waited until his pain subsided a bit before kneeling down next to him.

"I want you to hear me, and hear me well, Officer Dun.  I had a man, the best of men.  He was ten times the man you ever could hope to be.  He is the father of my children and the only one with a hold on my heart or my body.  No man, not you, not Crais, could ever satisfy me like he did.  If I never see him again, I'll go to my grave remembering his touch and his body, not anyone else's."  She stood then, and nudged him with her toe until she was certain he was paying close attention.  "And if you ever make another attempt to seduce me again I will beat you unconscious and have you thrown off Moya." 

With that, she turned back to the console and finished taking a routine readout.  After a few minutes, she spoke without even looking at him.

"Oh quit frelling about and get out of here."  Moments later she was alone.

Aeryn watched the stars spin by and couldn't help but wonder.  Was John still alive?  She didn't know anymore, but her heart was still dead inside without him.  He would be so proud of his children.  She punched in a code on the station and moved on to the next.  Frowning, she checked the readings.  All normal.  She looked back up at the stars.  All normal.  All normal, except that John was still gone, Dun kept attempting to seduce her and her youngest son was an emotional cripple.  Normal except that she was raising her children with only a fragmentary image of their father.  Normal, normal normal...what the frell was normal anyway? 

The stars spun by.

                                                            ~~~~~

It was the middle of the sleep cycle, but John Crichton was haunting Talyn's command.  Pio was on watch, and his presence made her uncomfortable.  She knew who and what he was--a human, genetically similar but not quite the same as a Sebacean, and it made her and the others nervous.  It was one thing to be a renegade and travel with a renegade PK captain, but just having Crichton on board was unsettling.  She kept her mind on her work and ignored him.  That suited Crichton as well.

They would rendezvous with Moya in eight arns.  He'd slept only a little, haunted by endless nightmares filled with monstrous guards pummeling him with batons, fights in which he entered the ring unarmed and outmatched, and cave ins where the girl he finally pulled ragged and dead from the rubble was his own vaguely remembered daughter.  His nights were mostly sleepless, and his fatigue was evident. His limp worsened by the end of each day.  His excitement was tempered only by his apprehension.

Would he know them? Would they really, truly, know him?  He once again fingered the tattoo on his cheek, a hated reminder of his recent enslavement.  He could only dredge up the faintest of memories of his wife.  Of  Aeryn.  Crais had told him of their love, how strong it was, and how deep.  How could he have forgotten?  The blood tests Crais had run told them nothing.  They would need to compare what he'd found with tests done earlier, on Moya, to have a base to work from.  They needed to know what was normal before they could understand what was abnormal.  But if the slavers had been feeding him something to keep him working past his endurance...would it affect his memory?  As it was, memories were flooding back into his mind in a constant flow.  A gesture, a word, some small piece of information, would trigger a memory and it in turn would trigger another. The cascade was never ending; it was difficult to process it all.

Pio glared at him, and he realized he'd mumbled something out loud.  He shot her a glare of his own in return, and was surprised when she ducked her head and went back to her work.  Surprised, and dismayed.  Since when was he such a menace to people, women in particular?  Pio was a tech, not a PK soldier.  She wasn't trained to fight like Aeryn had been, like Crais.

Like him. 

He thought back, remembering some of his fights on the Gaming Moon.  He was getting better at this, at picking a memory at random and gleaning details.  Yeah, Pio had a reason to fear him.  He'd been something of a bad ass on that Moon, and Crais had bought the holo vids. It was entirely possible that this crew had seen those vids.  So, taking all that into consideration, Pio probably thought he was something of a freaked out psycho alien who killed for pleasure.  He sighed, wondering how close to the truth that was.

Eight arns.  He hoped they remembered him.  He hoped they would welcome him.

"Talyn is within transport pod range.  Captain Crais is on his way."  Pilot's simple words were routine by now.  Only Aeryn walked down to meet him.  There was no need for any of the others to come, if there had been news Crais would have said something.  Therefore, this was a routine information gathering mission and nothing more. Aeryn for one would be glad to see Crais.  One more face to break the monotony of day-to-day life, and someone she could confide in.  There was the matter of Dun, of course.  A little Captain-to-officer talk by Crais would go a long ways to putting Dun straight. 

Her thoughts were running in that vein when the hanger doors opened and the pod's hatch dropped. Crais walked down the steps, tension in every move.  Aeryn paused, wondering what could possibly make Crais so nervous.  Despite his apparent unease, Crais was smiling at her. Noticing her confusion, he stopped at the bottom of the steps and turned to look back.  Aeryn shifted her gaze.

At first she wasn't sure what she was seeing.  Crais had a new crewmember, she thought mindlessly, but then she caught her breath. Could it be?  Even with a limp, she knew that walk, that posture...she only knew one man who could enter a room and suddenly own it, just by walking in. Breathless, she looked up at his face.

That face...despite a bizarre tattoo and half a dozen new scars, she could never forget that face. John Crichton.  There wasn't another one like it anywhere in the Uncharteds...at least, not anymore.  His was the only face guaranteed to make her smile, to make her laugh.  She looked into his eyes, those startlingly blue eyes that used to make her blood boil...and nearly cried.  Anguish flared out at her, anguish and pain, sorrow and fear. Fear?  No, not John.  He didn't fear her, he could never fear her.  She suddenly realized that she stood frozen, and it was her inaction that made him afraid.  He thought she was horrified at his reappearance.

A voice at her elbow startled her out of her shock.  "Crais picked up another stay did he?  Looks like he found this one wallowing in the gutter."  Dun spoke with smug tones, but stood a safe distance away from Aeryn. Without a word, Aeryn found her feet moving towards John, ignoring Dun's mindless monologue behind her.  Her eyes never left his, as she walked past Crais and stood face to face with her long lost husband.  Tears, unbidden, fell on her cheeks.  The fear in his eyes was replaced by hope, and Aeryn stepped wordlessly into his arms.

Oh, it felt so good, so soothing, so right.  His arms wrapped around her and held her so close; his hands cupped her head and her back. She in turn gripped his vest tightly, pulling him even closer.  His breath tickled her ear, and she couldn't help but remember Dun's breath doing the same thing only days ago. She shuddered, as if the memory some how soiled the moment.  Then she turned her face to his, knowing he'd be doing the same, and kissed him.

It was the same, and it was different.  There was a noticeable hesitation on his part, and she wondered.  Oh gods, what had they done to him?  He acted like a stranger.  She willed his body to remember her, to remember what this felt like...and this...and that.  She broke away for a moment, breathless, and looked into his eyes again.  No fear, just wonder.  That was much better.  She smiled and let her forehead rest against his, the old familiar gesture simply something she did unthinkingly, and with love.  Her hands were under his vest, smoothing his shirt and feeling the narrow edges of his ribs under the hard muscles of his back.  Oh, he was so thin.  His voice was hoarse with emotion.

"I was lost, more lost than you can ever know."

"Not now, not anymore. We've found you."  She pulled him closer, letting her lips play against his. "And I'm never, ever, letting you out of my sight again."

"I can live with that," he breathed softly.

They kissed again, completely oblivious to the world around them.

Crais walked over to Dun, smiling to himself at the ex PK officer's complete surprise.  Dun glanced at him, and then back to Aeryn and John.  "I must be missing something," he muttered.  "She practically drove my mivonks into my back bone just yesterday, and here she is, nearly frelling some total stranger..." He growled angrily.  "She's completely fahrbot!"

Crais looked away from the happy couple and smoothly hustled Dun out of the hangar.  "That's no stranger, Dun.  That's John Crichton, her husband."

Dun struggled to look back over his shoulder but he was bodily pulled along.  "Leave them alone for a minute.  There will be time for everyone to meet soon.  Right now I need to let the others know.  I think there are three children especially who would love to see him."  He tagged his comm just then.

"Pilot?  I'd like you to make an announcement, if you would."

"Of course, Captain Crais.  What would you like me to say?" Pilot was at his urbane best, and Crais suspected that Talyn had already told his mother, and thus Pilot, the good news.  Crais smiled at Pilot's smooth duplicity.

"Please inform the crew that we have a...new arrival.  The children especially would like to meet him."

"Oh? And who am I to say is here?"  Pilot was warming to the game.  Crais found himself enjoying it as well.

"Please tell them all that John Crichton is home."

Jack and Zelly were reading Sebacean history in the improvised schoolroom and quizzing each other in a rapid-fire mode that baffled the adults.  Nobody else could keep up, but that mattered not to them.  No one else needed to learn it.  And as long as they were learning, they could do it anyway they wanted.

"Who was the first prefect in Sebacean history to install the six member cabinet system on Sabeca IV?"

Zelly didn't even bother to glance up from her own viewer as she answered.  "Pilus Degal, in the fourth Realm of the sixth dynasty."

"The second?" Jack shot back.

"Daveem Tuveers, in the sixth realm of the sixth dynasty."  Zelly looked up at her brother scornfully.  "If you're going to ask questions, at least challenge me."

Before Jack could make a retort, Pilot interrupted them.

"I need everyone's attention, please."  He paused, and then repeated the statement.  When he was sure he had everyone's attention, he continued. This was unprecedented, and Zelly looked at her brother for clues. He shrugged helplessly.  He had no idea what Pilot was going to say.

"Everyone, please come to the hangar bay."  Jack frowned.  Pilot sounded upset, or maybe extremely happy, it was hard to tell which.  Either way, his announcement was unusual, to say the least. Pilot's next words left him stunned.

"John Crichton has come home."

Zelly and Jack's reactions were exactly the same; a brief moment of shock, an exchanged look of disbelief, then a race, hand in hand, to the hangar bay.  Drayk was somewhere with Chiana, and they knew she'd bring him on the run.  Mother, Jack thought, I wonder where mother is.  But common sense told him that his mother had probably been the first to greet Crais when he arrived.  No matter, if she hadn't greeted the pod she had already heard the message and probably beat the rest of them there.

Jack skidded around a corner, nearly dragging Zelly behind him in his haste.  His legs had gotten considerably longer in the last few monens, and Zelly was finding it harder to keep up.  After all, he was almost ten and a half cycles old, nearly a man. And when his father had disappeared, he'd been nothing but a baby really, six years old.  He pumped his legs faster and felt Zelly do her best to keep up.

Zelly struggled to keep up with her brother, but also allowed herself to be pulled.  Why not?  He was taller, faster and stronger than her; it was only in their studies that she could keep up with him.  She was nearly nine now, well, only a few monens short of nine, and she'd been just a baby of a four year old when her father was abducted.  Would he know them?  Would he know her?  She hoped so.

As they flew into the hangar bay, they saw their mother standing in their father's embrace. They were still alone; Jack and Zelly were the first to arrive.  Given the circumstances, it seemed fitting.  They never slowed, they simply ran hand in hand, until they were within only a few feet.  Then they stopped, as if an invisible wall stood between them. 

Aeryn smiled, understanding the children's shyness in a strange situation.  It was normal, even for her extroverted geniuses.  Just how do you greet the father you haven't seen in four and a half cycles?  The father who had been a Champion Ghellt fighter and a mining slave.  But when she turned to John she saw, once again, that fear reflected in his eyes.  What had happened to him, that he feared even the normal reaction of a child in a strange setting? Was he really afraid that his children wouldn't want him, or was there something else?  Before she could say or do anything, Jack broke the stunned silence.

"I did my best, Daddy. I kept everyone safe."  His childish audacity was tinged with fear and pride in equal measure.  He may have been a child, but in his own mind it had been his job these last few years to watch over the family in his father's absence.  Zelly could only stare, her blue eyes wide.  Aeryn smiled proudly while John knelt slowly, reaching out with his hands.  Jack and Zelly wasted no time; wasn't this what they'd been waiting for all these years?

It was incredible. These two were his children, he felt their warm bodies snug up against his, he felt their small arms wind around his neck, felt their warm breath upon his cheeks.  His children. Jack. Zelly.  The beating of their hearts was rapid from their long run and the excitement, no doubt.  He held them close, vowing to himself that he'd never let them go again.  A hundred memories flooded his mind.  How could he have ever forgotten them?  How could anyone forget this?  He cataloged everything; the feeling of their bodies next to his, their smell, slightly salty and fresh, and their soft, rapid breathing.  He felt tears slide down his cheeks, felt Aeryn standing behind him, her hands resting comfortingly on his shoulders, her voice soothing in his ears. 

"You can be proud of them, John.  We couldn't run Moya without their help."

"I am proud, of all of you.  And I'm so damned happy to be here, you can't..." he was about to say 'can't imagine it,' but he realized that yes, they could.  They had suffered all these years as well.  He hugged the children once more and stood, knowing from the stifled sounds that others were approaching.

D'Argo ran in wildly, his tentacles and braids flying.  One look at John, standing with his family, and the huge Luxan couldn't help but grin broadly.  "John Crichton!  You have more lives than a Luxan gevix!"  Before John could protest that he had no idea what a gevix was, he was wrapped in a Luxan-style welcoming embrace.  His breath was almost wrung out of him and then his back was pounded hugely, and lovingly.  Then, in a change of tactics, D'Argo grabbed him by the shoulders and looked down at him closely, his eyes probing.  "We searched...you know that, don't you?  We searched for so long..."

John returned the grip, grasping his friend by the upper arms.  "I know.  And now you've found me."  He smiled. "And I'm starving..."

A memorable high pitched shriek, blessedly short, cut through their discussion.  John grinned, let go of D'Argo and caught Jool's full tilt plunge mid-stride.  He remembered now how she had resented him at first, how she had blamed him for the deaths of her fellow Intiron's.  But now it seemed that blame had been set aside in favor of a rousing welcome, and he decided to enjoy it.  She hugged him closely, kissing his cheek soundly and stepping back to take a closer look.

"John Crichton, you look like dren, but I am so frelling happy to see you!"  She frowned slightly, held him by the elbows and looked him up and down with a critical Doctor's eye.  "And I think I need to do a complete scan, see what's going on in that inferior human body of yours."

"Great babe, you can scan to your heart's content...later.  I gotta get something to eat first..."

A shy sound made him look up.  Chiana stood there, holding hands with a young boy.  John felt his heart falter.  Drayk. His son, his damaged son.  His fault.  He knelt again as Jool stepped aside.  He held his hands out to his son as tears once again threatened to fall. The only memory of Drayk he could come up with was of a happy laughing baby, such a stark contrast to this silent boy who avoided eye contact and hung onto Chiana's hand.

"Hey Drayk," was all he could manage.  Drayk made no immediate move towards him, but John saw his fingers moving furiously in Chiana's hand.  She stepped closer to John, smiling apologetically at Drayk's reluctance. John smiled back at her and then turned his attention back to his son.  "You're going to have to teach me how to do that, ya know..." Oh please, he was thinking, please...

And then Drayk traversed the few steps from Chiana's arms to his father's.  He placed his head on John's shoulder and wrapped his arms tightly around him, tears streaming down his face.  He didn't try to use his fingers to communicate-there was no need. A blind man would have understood what Drayk was trying to say, and John wasn't blind.  He held his youngest son, a five cycle old child who was still a babbling infant when he left more than four cycles ago, and for the second time that day he wept for joy.

John finally stood, Drayk held firmly in his arms, and surveyed the rest of the crew.  Chiana smiled shyly in his direction and he gestured her close with his free hand.  "Come here Pip, gimme a hug."

Her chalk white hair tickled his nose as she snuggled comfortably under his chin and hugged him close.  Oh yes, that was familiar. "Hey old man, I thought we'd never find you."  She too was near tears. "You old, dren eating fool, you have either the best luck or the worst luck in the Galaxy, you know that."

"Yeah, ain't that the truth," he grinned as he kissed the top of her head.  "Lucky for me I got you here to keep everyone in line while I'm gone."

At that, Chiana burst into tears.  Great, John, he thought to himself.  Make her cry you dumbass.  He rubbed her back soothingly while shifting Drayk into a more comfortable position. "It's ok Chi, I hear you did a great job while I was gone."

"We...I...I...never thought we'd see you again, and I was so scared...no matter what happened, you always seemed to find a way out of it, and then you were g-g-gone...and we need you so much...and I thought...the kids, they need us more than ever now..."

John shushed her, doing his best to soothe her until D'Argo came and pulled the weeping Chiana into his own arms, leaving John with Drayk.  Another memory popped unbidden into his head, one of betrayal.  So Chiana and D'Argo got past that then, he thought.  Aeryn slipped her arm around his waist, and both Jack and Zelly vied for the spot on his other side. 'We look like a Hallmark card,' John thought hysterically.  'My Holiday in the Uncharted's' or 'Moya Family Reunion'.  Regardless, he was beyond happy.  Tired as hell, but certainly happier than he ever thought he'd be again.  Was it only a weeken ago that he'd been down in a mineshaft, covered in living filth and waiting to die? It seemed impossible.

He was introduced to other crewmembers, but their names fled his memory like water through cloth. Shalbit, the Nebari, he vaguely remembered, but only because Crais had told him Shal's role in finding him. Jothee of course, he remembered him. He managed a polite nod and smile in his direction.  The party moved slowly towards the central chamber and food.  Drayk, for all that he was small for his age and slim, seemed to weigh on John heavily before they ever got there.  His limp worsened.  Aeryn did her best to pry the boy from his father's arms, but he became so distraught that John asked her to stop.  Let him stay, he told her, it wasn't very far now.

They sat, they ate, they told story after story.  John told them very little of what he'd experienced, and they respected that, asking nothing at all.  Drayk sat in his lap and Jack and Zelly flanked him, each child doing their level best to keep his attention.  Aeryn sat on Jack and John's right, amused by her children's possessiveness but willing to let them have a monopoly on his time...for now.  John, on his part, was perfectly willing to cater to his children, feeding Drayk from his own plate and fielding questions from the other two. He asked his own questions as well, intent on finding out their level of knowledge.  Crais had told him how bright the two were, and he wanted to see for himself.

"What are you studying now?"  He asked Jack as he handed yet another piece of what he called shrimp to Drayk.  From across the table, Jool frowned.  She noticed that more that half of John's food had gone to the boy, and despite his claims at hunger, John himself seemed to barely eat at all. Anything spicy he bypassed. Breads attracted him, and a dish of soft vegetables.  Something wasn't right.  Her doctor's brain moved into overdrive, and she watched him closer.

"Well, we're both studying Sebacean history, and it's actually rather boring.  Very repetitive."

John chuckled. "Well, I guess history is the same everywhere, boring and repetitive.  At least you didn't have to sit through Mr. Lawry's World History class. The guy was so dry we thought he could spontaneously combust."

Jack grinned, remembering his father's habit of spitting out Earthisms like bad seeds.  "I've gotten through the higher mathematics that mother knows and Uncle Crais has promised to find me more material..." he looked meaningfully at Crais, who shrugged his shoulders in mock apology. "So I found your father instead. Please forgive me."  He said wryly.

Jack laughed and leaped from his seat.  Impulsively he ran around the table and gave a cringing Crais a hug, then ran back to his seat.  John was impressed with both Crais' reserve and his tolerance.  This was a different man than his tattered memories showed him. He'd have to reconcile the two. Now he turned to Zelly, who stared at his face with serious intent.

"What are you studying, besides boring history?"

"I don't think it's boring, but it is repetitive.  It seems that people never learn.  Get rid of a despot and replace him with a strong and healthy government and within a few hundred cycles, they have a despot again.  I find the pattern intellectually stimulating but fundamentally disturbing."

John's jaw dropped. And his father had thought he was bright because he skipped the third grade, got straight A's all through school and built his own spaceship.  Wow. 

"Okaaaay, I'll accept that, but tell me then, what can we learn from this 'stimulating' pattern?" He decided to bluff her and try to play her game, but he had a feeling he was in over his head.

Zelly frowned, thinking. She tapped her teeth with a piece of food cube, a habit so reminiscent of himself that even he had to smile. Another memory.  Soon she shrugged.

"I think we learn that people are doomed to repeat history, unless they can learn to break from the cycle."

John smiled widely. "On Earth they have a saying. 'People who don't read history are doomed to repeat it.'  Sounds like you came to the same conclusion.  Any way we can change that?"

Now Zelly was really thinking, and Jack seemed to be mulling over the question himself. Crais was obviously amused-and interested.  Most of the table was listening to the exchange with honest interest.

"Well, given that people have read history, I guess that means they either didn't see the pattern, which is unlikely, or they ignored it, which is probable, or they thought they were different...better maybe...then those who came before them." Zelly was thinking out loud, and John couldn't fault her logic.  Who could? She was only nine years old. Sometimes just thinking was a big thing for nine year olds.  "And it's equally logical that someone besides myself has noticed this pattern, so that means this has been dealt with extensively.  It's a paradox.  There is no answer that will be sufficient, because each time the cycle repeats itself there are a million different variables that change and evolve."

Before John could interject anything, Jack butted in.  "That's true, but wouldn't there be instances of someone trying, and achieving, a moderate success?  Or a cataclysmic failure?"

Again John took a breath to speak, but this time Zelly broke in.  "Yes, I think you could be right.  But if someone did manage to see the pattern, and managed to convince the powers in the declining government that things needed to change, it would still be nearly impossible.  Once a government gets that large and...old, once it's been in existence for centuries, it has its own form of...inertia.  It's too unwieldy.  Logic dictates...no, demands that it collapse under its own weight."

Before Jack could interject something else here, John held up his hands, grinning widely.  "Wow, great Siskel and Eibert routine you guys have, we got a thumbs up and a thumbs down on the 'evolution of government' theory. How about we dig in and finish eating, now that I know your education is up to speed?"

Later, as John and Aeryn were walking hand in hand to their quarters, John reflected on the discussion, and his children's obvious intelligence, out loud to Aeryn.

"I'm remembering now," he said softly.  "They were both very bright.  We talked about it, didn't we?  That it wasn't normal for either Humans or Sebaceans."   Jack and Zelly had raced ahead of their parents, wanting to get their evening ablutions over with quickly so they could spend a few more minutes with their father.  Drayk held tightly to John's left hand.

"Yes, we did," she replied.  "We've discussed it since then, Crais and I, and the children are normal as far as growth and development, but their learning processes seem to be...accelerated.  He wondered if maybe humans were more intelligent than even you think, or if the mix of Human and Sebacean produced something even better." She smiled at him, her eyes twinkling brightly.  "After all, how else could an inferior species like yours have survived all these cycles?" 

In answer, he spanked her butt lightly and laughed.  "Humans in general and my family in particular were not noted for over-producing geniuses," he answered her, shrugging his shoulders.  "I was no Einstein, but I guess I was a notch or two above Cro-Magnon.  Not that we don't get geniuses once in awhile, but two in one family?  Kinda like winning the lotto twice."

Aeryn frowned at him, trying to decipher his earth-isms.  He grinned widely, elated in his recall of trivial things, and decided to translate.  "Humans throw out a genius once in awhile but it's not common for more than one child in a family to have an extremely high level of intelligence." 

"Well then, I guess we'd better put our geniuses to bed and tuck them in, it's late."  Aeryn smiled and squeezed his hand.

"How 'bout me? Going to tuck me in?" he said playfully.  Aeryn smiled and kissed the corner of his mouth.  "I thought we'd play doctor first..." John laughed, astounded that he remembered teaching her that old Earth phrase so long ago.  Oh, and had they had fun with it then.

'Good night' seemed to take forever.  None of the children wanted to sleep, and John and Aeryn wanted nothing but to be alone, which in turn made them feel guilty, so they lingered far longer then they intended.  But soon the children were settled, and (hopefully) sleeping peacefully.  John and Aeryn backed out of the children's room and into the main room that adjoined the sleeping quarters.  Beyond that was their sleeping chamber.  John grinned, actually remembering the discussion they'd had on how to arrange their family living space.  Aeryn, a first time mother and ex-Pk, wanted the children in the room next to theirs so she could keep an eye and an ear on them.  John wanted the main chamber between for privacy. Initially, Aeryn had thought him heartless as well as foolish.  As the children got older, she never quit telling him how much she appreciated his plan.

"How long before they really fall asleep?" he mumbled as he kissed her mouth, her hair, her eyes.

"Half an arn."  She kissed him back readily and then whispered, "Are you sure...?"

John pulled his head away from hers briefly.  "Sure? Aeryn, a week ago I could remember what you looked like but I didn't have a clue who you were.  Today, right now, this microt, I can't imagine not knowing you.  And if you think I'm going to sleep in the same bed with you and NOT get up close and personal, you've been drinking your own bathwater."

Laughing, Aeryn kissed him and pulled him gently towards the refresher unit.  "Well I don't know drinking the bathwater, Erp man, but I need a shower.  Can I talk you into washing my back?"

"Only if you wash mine too," he returned.  "And I gotta say, I just can't get enough of hot water.  I swear I still smell like Uncle Ike's pigsty in August, even after eight days..."

Soon after, they divested themselves of their clothing, and all coherent conversation ceased.

He woke in the depths of the night, the dream still rattling away in his head and his heart hammering in his chest. He was clammy with perspiration and nearly sick with fear. Ok, that was a doozey, he thought, although none of the details of the dream woke with him.  He closed his eyes and did his best to regulate his breathing and calm his heart.  He felt dizzy, almost weak, like he'd over exerted himself.  Beside him, Aeryn shifted in her sleep, nuzzling his shoulder and sighing deeply.  Still sound asleep, she flung her left arm over him and gave a soft snore.  He covered her hand with his own, relishing the texture of her skin and it's warmth against his body.  Slowly he relaxed and his breathing became regular. He drifted back to sleep with her hand clasped in his.

Aeryn wasn't sure what woke her.  She lay still, listening carefully, but nothing intruded on her senses.  There was no sound from the children's room and the hall was quiet. She lifted her head slowly, looking around.  The bed was empty save for her, but then her bed had been empty for cycles...she sat bolt upright.  John, where was John?  A small sound from the refresher calmed her.  A dim light showed under the door, so she settled back under the covers to wait.  But she must have dozed off, because she jerked awake nearly a quarter of an arn later and John was still in the 'fresher.  Something wasn't right.  That could only mean something was wrong. 

"John?" she called softly, tapping on the door.  "Are you all right?"

At first silence greeted her.  She frowned in thought.  A small soft movement from behind the door caught her ear, and she strained for more.  She heard him move slowly before he answered.

"Um, yeah, I guess so." He cleared his throat.  "I guess my stomach isn't ready for real food yet," he said with wry amusement.  She heard water running, heard him rinse and spit several times.  More rinsing and spitting followed the sound of the dentic bin opening and closing.

The door latch clicked and he came out, his face lit only by Moya's dim nighttime glow.  Aeryn was struck by the harsh angles and planes of his face, once so mobile and expressive, and now so taut with pain and memory.  The slave tattoo stuck out in horrible relief in the dim light.  She touched his chin gently with one hand, stroking the skin reverently. "Are you sure you're all right?" she asked.  "Do you want me to wake Jool?"

He cupped her hand on his chin with his own hand and leaned closer to kiss her.  "I'll be fine till morning," he insisted as he breathed fire in her ear and ignited a spark of desire.  His tongue flicked delicately at her jaw-line and then probed her mouth.  Her eyes closed in rapture as her body melted into his.  His other hand held her naked body close, cupping her lower back.  She moaned softly as he broke his kiss, but his intent wasn't to stop, but merely to move to a more comfortable location.  Soon she found herself on the bed, his eager body next to hers, exploring every curve and crevice.

The night passed, slowly and with great joy.

Something was wrong. He was sprawled flat on his back, with Aeryn only a muffled lump under the covers, her dark head barely visible. He stared, sleepless, at Moya's bronze skin above him and shivered from an inner chill.  Something was wrong, he could feel it in his bones, in his skin, in his head.  Jool had run tests, she'd questioned him over and over again until he was sick of answering questions about how much he was eating, how much he excreted, how much he puked.  She found traces of an as yet unidentified drug in his system, but it was diminishing daily, not increasing.  It couldn't be making him sick. 

Or could it?  He let his exhausted mind drift, tumbling the problem around in his head.  He knew the answer was there, just out of reach, but he was so tired.  He let his eyes close and hoped he'd drift into a dreamless sleep.

He jolted awake only minutes later, suddenly aware of two things.  First off, he was trembling uncontrollably, and it had nothing to do with fear or a chill.  His arms and legs quivered with spasms, sometimes even curling up painfully. The second thing he was immediately aware of was that the diminishing drug in his system was the cause of his problems.  He knew it as he knew his own name, as he knew that day followed night and the sun rose in the east...except here, in the Uncharted Territories, where there was no night and day and his only sun was Aeryn Sun.

"Aeryn..." he tried to speak up, but he found it increasingly difficult to get a deep breath. He nudged her with a trembling hand, feeling her waken suddenly.  Good ol' PK training. 

"Aeryn, honey, you need to get Jool, fast."  He fell back, dragging another breath in as deeply as he could. 

"Pilot!  Send Jool to our quarters immediately!"  Aeryn shouted her demand to Pilot before she even knew what she was facing.  She slid loose of the covers swiftly.

"John?"  She knelt over him, concern deepening her frown. "Tell me what's wrong." 

"Can't...breath...well," he struggled to get out.  "Need to tell...you.  Drug in my...body..." He stopped, waiting for the oxygen to course through his system.

"Yes, the drug is in you but Jool said it wasn't causing you to be sick..."

"Think...drug...kept me...going.  Now it's...gone, body is...quitting."

Aeryn froze then, her face a mask.  Frell. Frell, frell FRELL!

When Jool ran in the room, she found Aeryn sitting on the pillows and leaning back against the wall, John supported in her arms with his head tucked under her chin.  He was breathing with difficulty and his body was wracked with spasms.  The look on Aeryn's face was enough for Jool.  She practically flew into the room.  Aeryn spoke rapidly before Jool could speak.

"John said the drug that's leaving his system is what has been keeping him going.  Now that it's gone, his body is shutting down."

"Oh frell," Jool said with venom.  "I should have seen that!"  She prepared a syringe of something that would hopefully help John breathe easier and applied it to his arm. 

"I think I know what it might be," Aeryn said softly as she supported John's head.  He was only semi conscious.  His breathing was harsh and ragged still, but seemed to have eased a little.  From the corridor, they heard the sounds of the rest of the crew running to help.  So far, there had been no sound from the children's room, and Aeryn hoped they stayed asleep for now.

"What do you mean?" Jool asked as she prepared a second syringe, this one to hopefully take care of the spasms.

"When a PeaceKeeper takes a wound that's not life threatening while on a mission, we...they often used an injection of clavyneral to keep them going until they can get to medical help.  It's a...stimulant.  I'm not sure what it does..."

"It stimulates the pandura gland is what it does," Jool said coolly as she injected John a second time.  "And if John has a similar gland, and was given clavyneral daily..."

"John was sure he was given a drug with his food on a daily basis.  It would have stimulated his...whatever gland, if he has one, constantly. And now it's not."  Aeryn shivered, more in fear than the cold.

"And that would create huge problems," Jool said softly.  "His body has been getting a steady dose of a naturally produced stimulating body chemical for more than four cycles.  And now, suddenly, it's not.  We need some clavyneral now, to keep him stable until we can get him to Hyneria."

"Great. Do we have any?" Aeryn asked with dim hope.

"No, but if we can find a well equipped commerce planet it shouldn't be to difficult to purchase." Jool waved the medical scanner over John's spasming body slowly, her frown deepening.  "I think I can keep him stable long enough for that."

Needing no direct orders, Pilot announced impending starburst almost immediately, and they fled the depths of space in a flash of light.

                                                            ~~~~~

Moya orbited Hyneria slowly, an oversized moth circling a green flame.  In his den, Pilot waited impatiently for word from below, knowing his crewmates would contact him as soon as they knew something.  But waiting was difficult these days.  He could remember in days past the many times when the others had commed him incessantly, asking for news he couldn't give, information he didn't have, but that they desperately needed.  Now he understood their frantic pleas, their manic persistence.  Now, he was on the other end of things and he found he didn't like it, not at all.

For what was most likely the hundredth time, Pilot commed D'Argo.

"Is there any word, Ka D'Argo?" he asked.

With uncharacteristic patience, D'Argo answered.  "Nothing yet, Pilot.  He's still in with the Healers."

"Thank you, D'Argo." Pilot paused, thinking.  "For the first time in my life, I find myself wishing I could leave Moya, if just to be able to stand there and wait with all of you."

D'Argo smiled in spite of the tension.  Those around him who heard Pilot smiled as well.  "Standing and waiting is highly overrated, Pilot.  You at least have something to keep your mind occupied.  I envy you."

After that, silence reigned over the small group as they waited on soft couches in the premier medical facility on Hyneria Prime.  Aeryn and the children sat on one of the largest couches, huddled together.  Jack and Zelly sat stoically; Drayk was curled into a small ball and tucked in next to his mother.  He had stopped communicating altogether when the seriousness of his father's illness had been made clear. 

They had been waiting for arns now, with no word yet.  Jool had disappeared with the Hynerian healers, a mixture of Sebaceans, Delvians and diminutive Hynerians, when they had taken John away.  All had looked grave, muttering incomprehensible doctor jargon as they wheeled John through the doors.  His patience almost gone, D'Argo considered simply breaking through the doors, but there were too many guards.  His Eminence, Dominar Rygel the Sixteenth, also sat and waited with his friends.  As per normal for a Hynerian, he was eating.  Anxiety made him hungry.  But then, pretty much everything made Rygel hungry.  D'Argo turned to Rygel finally, figuring if anyone could at least get some word from the healers, it would be him.

"Rygel!  You're the Dominar.  You contact them and demand to know what's happening!"  He nodded at Aeryn and the children for emphasis. "And while this hurts to say it, I'm going to anyway...please?"

Rygel finished chewing first, surreptitiously eyeing one of his advisors standing in a corner of the room.  The Sebacean advisor was glowering at D'Argo over his presumptuous address of His Eminence. Rygel decided to take care of that nuisance first.

"Taybor, I take it you disapprove of something?" he asked the advisor.

"Your...friends seem to lack respect when they speak to you, Dominar."  Taybor sniffed disdainfully.  "One would think, in this instance especially, they would be more...properly obedient."

D'Argo bristled at the comment, but even he could see what poor Taybor did not.  Was complete arrogance a prerequisite for mid-level gofers, he wondered?  He kept his thoughts hidden from his face and watched as Rygel, to paraphrase John, ripped his advisor a new one.

"My friends, Taybor, are just that.  They have earned the right to speak to me any way they choose.  You, however, have not, and your presence her is not required or desired.  I'd suggest you find someplace else to take up space and waste oxygen." 

Taybor left hurriedly, his face a mask of dismay and horror.  D'Argo did his best not to laugh out loud, but Chiana let out a low chuckle.  After the tension of the past few arns, any sort of humor, especially at someone else's expense, was welcome.  But Aeryn never looked up. Rygel polished off a mug of some foul smelling brew and then cleared his throat.  He nodded at one of the guards, a hefty man of indeterminate origins. "Find the healers and tell them I demand an update."  The man saluted his Dominar and left.

Chiana sat up then, smoothing her spiky hair into something vaguely approaching order and then moved to sit next to Zelly.  Despite her supercharged intellect, Zelly was after all just a little girl.  She snuggled closer to her 'Aunt' Chi and watched the door with wide eyes.  Rygel hovered closer to them, saying nothing but lending his support nonetheless. Again, they waited.

Within a short time the guard reappeared, followed closely by Jool.  She wore a white smock type garment and her unruly mess of hair was tightly constrained.  Her usual haughty demeanor was gone, replaced by a stillness the others found disconcerting.  She attempted to smile, gave it up and sighed deeply instead.

"He's in a stasis tank. We got...caught up in preparing him for the tank, I'm sorry I didn't come out sooner."

"What does the...tank do? And what's wrong with him?" Aeryn was the first to speak. Jack and Zelly listened attentively, but Drayk never moved from his fetal position.

"It...slows down the body functions and sustains it for a...prolonged healing."  She looked up to the ceiling as if hoping the words she needed were written there, then continued.  "It's filled with a thick fluid, clear, containing microscopic...machines, for want of a better word.  They're engineered to fix what's wrong at the microscopic level.  The patient needs to be in stasis so they can have time to work."

"And what is wrong?" Aeryn insisted. 

"We were right, the clavyneral was leaving his system and his body was breaking down.  We were lucky to find some when we did, or he wouldn't have made it here.  We...think we have him stabilized now.  They should be putting him in the tank soon.  Then...then we get to wait."

"For how long?" D'Argo asked. 

Jool shrugged helplessly. "We don't know.  Until the stasis tank can do what it's supposed to do I guess. It could be a few days or as long as a few monens."

Aeryn's face was a mask of misery, but she schooled herself as best she could.  She had the children to think of, after all.  "Can I see him?  And will you be able to...monitor him while he's in the tank?"

"Yes to both questions," Jool said with a slight smile.  "We will be able to read his vitals on the chamber, and the cover is clear. The healers even say that some people revived from stasis say they remembered voices while they were under, so it's not impossible that he could be able to hear you."

Aeryn brightened visibly after that, and so did the children.  Rygel puffed up with pride, as if it were he in charge of the healing process instead of one of his many subjects. Despite the grim outlook, everyone brightened considerably.  Everyone but Drayk.  Jool frowned as she noticed his unchanged position and overall lack of response. 

"How long has he been like this?" she asked Aeryn, approaching the still child and checking his pulse and breathing. 

"He stopped...communicating when he heard his father was ill.  He's been like this since we brought him here."  She stroked her youngest son's baby fine hair and cupped his fragile skull in her hand. 

Jool stood abruptly and motioned for Aeryn to follow her.  "Let's bring him in here, I want to check him out."

Several arns later, Jool turned a disturbed gaze on Aeryn.  "I don't know what to tell you, Aeryn, but it's like he's in a self induced coma.  There's plenty of brain activity; in fact, the parts of his brain that produce empathic awareness are going off the charts.  But there are some abnormalities in some areas and he's even more unaware of outside stimulus than ever."  She shook her head miserably.

Aeryn slumped beside Drayk's still form, her hand gently brushing his unruly hair from his forehead. First John, now Drayk.  It was really quite a lot for her to take in; definitely too much to take in all at once.  She did her best to sound firm, resolute, like the stoic PeaceKeeper she used to be.  She failed.

"Wh-what can we do for him?" she asked softly.

"Nothing really, except keep him hydrated and fed and monitor him.  I'll check with the others, but he may need a stasis chamber of his own.  I'm sorry, Aeryn, I wish I could just wave my scanner over him and..." she stopped then, overcome herself at the turn of events.  Aeryn only nodded, understanding.  After all, they were just one big extended family here.  Jool was every bit as affected as Aeryn was, just on different levels.

"Do me one favor, then," Aeryn asked.  "Put him in the same room as John.  I can't be two places at once."

                                                            ~~~~~

It was cold, where he was.  Cold, empty, and horribly lonely.  He struggled to be seen and heard, but to no avail.  The dark was cavernous and absolute; it frightened him with its vast reaches and he almost succumbed to it.  But he soon remembered his mission.  He couldn't be afraid anymore, he must try again, like he did so long ago.  Slowly, with infinite patience, he calmed himself and began to search.  For so many cycles he'd refused himself this contact, this stretching of his feelings and his mind towards others.  It had hurt him, once, and he had never recovered.  He remembered the pain as a scorching blast that seemed to incinerate his entire being.  It had fried so many of his developing brain cells that they ceased to work correctly. But now, contact was necessary. Someone needed him.  Someone he loved and missed, someone who was dying and in pain.  And so he reached and searched, not daring to hope for success.

                                                            ~~~~~

There was a sameness to every day that promoted reassurance, and so Jack and Zelly flourished despite everything.  The diminutive Dominar delighted in showing off his immense holdings and playing 'Uncle' Rygel.  D'Argo and Chiana sometimes came along, making it a family outing.  The fun parks and temples of learning both held the two children enthralled for hours.

But always they came back to see their mother, sitting patiently beside John and Drayk, and so took up their own share of the burden, allowing her to go for a walk or to work out. At least once a day, at Jool's command, Aeryn had to leave for several arns for her own well being.  Often the children would accompany her on long walks or runs or let her instruct them in self-defense.  The much-needed break in the strain of sitting beside the stasis chambers of her husband and son was a welcome relief and distraction.  As much as she mourned the two fallen, she rejoiced in the growth of the two remaining.

On this day, Jack and Zelly were on an excursion with Rygel yet again to some unnamed outpost. Aeryn knew they had told her but it slipped her mind.  Much slipped her mind these days, she was always tired and often cranky.  She frowned as she contemplated that.  The strain was getting to her, no matter how hard she tried to tell herself otherwise.  She sighed and entered the med chamber where John and Drayk were 'sleeping'.  Peering intently at the gauges on the stasis chamber, she knew instantly that everything was the same as it had been for the last six weekens.  John was alive, and the Nanotech-droids living in the stasis fluid were doing their job as intended.  She turned then to check on Drayk, lying helplessly in his own, smaller chamber, and nearly wept with frustration.  She sat by his chamber, wishing she could at least touch him, and let her thoughts wander.

Arns later, when the children returned home, she was in the same position.  She smiled brightly and begged them to chatter about their day, insisting they give details she soon forgot.  Shalbit was today's chaperone.  He smiled gently in her direction and then moved to visit with Drayk. While Jack launched himself into a narrative of the cultural fair they had attended, aided by his sister, Shalbit sat by Drayk's side and softly whispered encouragement.  Aeryn, he knew, needed to respond to her older children on a deeper level and she was doing her best.  Looking up during a lull in the talking, he nodded at the tired mother.

"Go for a walk.  I'll stay here."  He smiled warmly and urged the children to escort their unwilling mother out the door.  Shalbit once again resumed his soothing conversation with his favorite child, the youngest and most vulnerable.  Being vulnerable was something the two of them had in common.

                                                            ~~~~~

Light, he saw light. So dim as to be almost an illusion, but unmistakably light.  Glorious, wondrous light, soothing and warm.  He strained and struggled, aiming for it even as he fought leaving the dark. The dark, so comforting, like a cocoon. But there was something in the light he needed, or something in the light that needed him.  He couldn't remember which it was now. Something or someone had been prodding him from his slumber, talking to him, telling him...telling him he had to focus. And so he did, and the light was something he knew he should focus on.  It was important.

It grew brighter, more distinct.  But diffused, as if through a blurry lens or distorted glass.  As he struggled to wakefulness he became aware that his movements were sluggish and disoriented.  It felt like he was in a bowl of warm jelly, odd yet still comforting in its own way. He moved, and the movement didn't go unnoticed.

                                                            ~~~~~

From his spot by Drayk's bedside, Shalbit pondered the small form in its sterile chamber.  So fragile, this boy, so delicate.  What horrible process had dealt him this fate? Shalbit of all people knew how unfair and dangerously fickle the galaxy truly was, but for a child of Drayk's tender years to suffer so was a terrible thing.  He was so lost in his contemplations that he missed the blinking green light on John's stasis chamber.  Moments after it had begun, a gentle but persistent bell toned melodiously. At that, Shalbit turned a puzzled look towards the gleaming silver casket with it's clear top.

It was cycling. John Crichton was waking up.

                                                            ~~~~~

He stood in the window, watching the moon rise over the principal city of Rygel's home planet. He tried to think of the last time he'd seen such a sight but soon gave up.  Sometime before he'd been captured he was sure.  Cycles ago...a lifetime.  He was a different man now, a new man.  Oh, so new.  He smiled at the sound of children's voices and turned around. 

"Here they come," was all he said.  From her spot at the mirror where she was braiding her hair, Aeryn glanced his way and smiled in reply.  She too could hear their voices approaching.  She put the finishing touches on a simple but elaborate looking braid (John called it a French braid) in quick fashion and came to his side.  The doors were flung open to admit Jack and Zelly, both talking at once, evidently very excited.  They often came home from excursions like this, flushed with the excitement of adventure and discovery.  Aeryn was often perplexed by her children's all consuming desire to learn new things. This, she was sure, was a human trait. No Sebacean she knew, except for an odd tech here and there, behaved in such a fashion. 

They were babbling about a surprise now.  Aeryn smiled and let herself be led out the door.  John too was being drug behind them, a bemused look on his face.  He shrugged at her and she shrugged in return. Whatever it was, neither of them knew about it.  The children led them to the recovery rooms adjoining the hospital wing, and John let himself frown a little.  They had been planning to go see Drayk where he lay in alone in stasis, but those rooms were further down the hall.  Why were they stopping here?

The answer came soon enough.  Jool emerged, a smile lighting her face with joy.  She was almost dancing in her eagerness as she approached them.

"Hey Jool, what's the deal here?" John asked, a chill coursing up his spine despite her smile.

Jool answered by opening the door wider and gesturing them inside.  "See for yourself," was all she said.  Aeryn and John exchanged a quick glance before entering.  Jack and Zelly were now quiet, but couldn't hide the cheeky grins on their faces.

The room was small and bare, hosting only a bed.  Two of the med techs stood over the bed fussing with the covers and the patient there. Seeing John and Aeryn, they smiled indulgently and stepped back.  The figure on the bed also saw them and smiled.

Drayk smiled.  He looked them in the eye and smiled, he opened his mouth and said, in a croaking, rusty child's voice, "Hi mommy, hi daddy."

And they all wept.

"Quit moving around so much, you're mucking with my readings," Jool said absently as she pushed his head back down on the table.

John snorted disgustedly.  "I'm fine, Jool.  Let's call it good, ok?  The nano-thingies did the watusti on all the broken parts and I'm a new man.  I make the Six Million Dollar man look cheap.  I can out run Carl Lewis and Michael Johnson and get a hard on in a moment's notice.  Speaking of..." he sat up with a lecherous grin and garnered an exasperated look from the red head.  "...where's Aeryn?"

"Outside, but if you don't cooperate I'll bring her in here and she'll make you sit still!" Brandishing the scanner like a weapon and doing her best to look fierce, Jool forced John back.  He sighed deeply.  "Come on Jool, it's been weekens.  I'm fine.  Let me go." But his protests were feeble ones and Jool ignored them.

She frowned, looked closer at the scanner, reset it and ran it again.  Same reading.  John was rambling on again, making obscure references that only he understood, but she wasn't listening.  She reset the scanner yet again, but with the same results.  Ignoring John, she called out to the med tech across the room. "Neng, come take a look at this."

Neng was a Heprite, known for their medical aptitude and compassion for all species.  "Here, you try it," Jool said.  "Make sure I'm not frelling something up somewhere."

Suddenly wary, John lay completely still and eyed Jool with care.  "What'd you find, Princess?" he asked carefully.

"Let's let Neng check it out first."  Jool wasn't about to complicate things.

Neng finished his scan. "The reading is correct, Jool." He turned to John then, a sorrowful expression on his face.  "I am sorry, I thought the stasis chamber had caught everything.  But it seems it was unable to correct a genetic flaw."

John's heart jumped in his throat.  Genetic flaw?  Was it heart disease? Diabetes?  God forbid, Alzheimer's?  "Wh-what genetic flaw?"  He managed to ask.

"I'm afraid your life expectancy is unnaturally short, and the stasis chamber was unable to fix it."

"Life expectancy?" John was baffled.  Not what he'd expected, for sure, but still...

"How...how long do I have?" Better to face it head on, he thought. Hell, this couldn't be worse than living for four cycles as a slave.  Could it?

"I'm afraid you only have, at most, 125 to 150 cycles."  Neng looked down in shame.

John barked out a harsh laugh.  "Wait, this is a joke, right?" He glanced at Jool, who was looking at Neng in consternation.  Neng still contemplated his toes.

"No, no 'joke'," Neng said miserably.  "I am sorry, my performance was inadequate..." John interrupted with a loud whoop and a laugh.

"Neng, I'm not Sebacean."

Neng glanced up then, puzzled.  "You...are not Sebacean?"

John shook his head, grinning.  "Nope.  Human.  I'm one of a kind in any corner of the universe.  We look Sebacean, but the genetics go south.  And our life spans are about eighty to one hundred years...er...cycles, and I'm...fifty? Fifty-one, fifty-two?  Who the frell knows, but I'm more than halfway there. Or I was." He stood up abruptly, grabbed Neng's face in both hands and planted a kiss on the center of his forehead. "Neng, old buddy old pal, you just gave me an extra one hundred cycles or so with my family.  You da man!"

Jool too was rewarded with a kiss, and John sprinted from the room to spread the news.  Neng turned his baffled face to Jool who could only shrug.  "He affects us all like that," she said.  "It grows on you."

They walked down Moya's corridors, just walking and talking and looking at everything.  John held Drayk's hand in his own, reveling in the feel and texture.  Everything astounded and delighted him these days.  He found himself spending hours just watching the stars from the terrace. But even more astounding was hearing Drayk speak, and seeing him smile.  Of all the miracles that had happened to him in the last few monens, this was the most precious and important.  After years of wandering in the dark, unable to express himself to his family and locked away in the dim rooms of his mind, Drayk could now tell his family his greatest pain, and his greatest triumph.

"Do you remember, Daddy?" he was saying now.  "I came to you."

"Came to me when buddy?" John asked as they strolled past the central chamber and headed into the depths of the ship.

"When you were in the stisas...I mean...statis..." Drayk squeezed his eyes closed and forced his inexperienced and reluctant tongue to say the word correctly. "Stay...sis...chamber."

John stopped him and looked into his earnest eyes.  "In the stasis chamber?  I was unconscious, and so were you..."

"I know.  I came to see you.  We talked.  Don't you remember?"

John closed his eyes and concentrated.  He remembered...dimness, floating, feeling lost and alone.  He also remembered a presence, one that prodded him to focus. He remembered feeling love and compassion from this presence, something that had always been absent from Harvey, his missing in action neural clone. 

"That was you?" was all he could think of to say.

Drayk smiled.

"How?"  John sat down on the floor and pulled Drayk down next to him, his mind milling frantically.  "What did you do and how?"

"I don't know," Drayk began.  "I just do it. But it hurt once so I stopped."

John thought hard. "When I disappeared, when you were a baby.  That's when you stopped trying to talk.  Who were you...talking to when that happened?"

Drayk scrunched his eyes closed, making his nose wrinkle.  John smiled fondly, realizing that he looked so much like his mother when he did that.  He waited patiently for Drayk to search his memory, knowing that in all likelihood he wouldn't be able to remember anything from his infancy.  But again, Drayk surprised him.

"Moya," he said. "I was talking to Moya."

John's jaw dropped. "Oh my God, the pulse.  You were connected to Moya when the pulse hit."

Drayk nodded and began tapping out a rhythm with his fingers, something he did when he was nervous. John knew he was 'talking' in his old language, but he had never gotten the chance to learn it.  "Oh man, oh buddy, we never knew.  Can you remember it?  I mean, you were just a baby..."

"I rem'ber...Moya was surprised.  She didn't know who I was. And we never got to talk much when this big...noise happened.  It hurt, lots.  I cried."  He said this last with evident shame.  John hugged him close.  "Don't worry 'bout it buddy, I cry some too."

"If you tell him, I'll space you."  Aeryn said firmly as she faced off with Jool.

"But Aeryn..." Jool began.

"No, Jool, I'm serious. Don't tell him.  Not yet.  Not until we've done this.  Promise me."

Jool looked at the determined expression on Aeryn's face and reluctantly agreed.  Better to go along with this than to risk broken bones and blood.  "But as soon as we get done with this mission of John's, you'll tell him.  Right away."

Aeryn nodded agreement and left the med bay.  She trusted Jool about as far as she could throw her but she figured fear would do a lot to keep her in line.  Thinking furiously, she headed back to their quarters on Moya.  They'd been gone from Hyneria for only a few solar days and were accompanied not only by Talyn, but also by a fleet of Hynerian Battle Cruisers and roughly 2,000 troops and medical personnel.  Their mission, as John called it, was to 'repatriate' the slaves on the mining planet he'd been imprisoned on.  After that, they were going to hunt down the Traghellien.  It was important to John to find some sort of closure, and Aeryn shared his need.  To take revenge on those who had taken her husband from her for so many cycles and to free his fellow slaves was a noble cause, and one she entered wholeheartedly. John would just have to wait until they were done with all of this to hear the news.

Aeryn rubbed her stomach absently, smiling to herself.  Always room for one more baby, she mused, and entered their quarters with a smile.

"This is it? You're sure?" John questioned Crais sharply.  Understanding the Human's anger, Crais nodded and continued his reconnaissance lecture for the rest of the crew.  "This is the mining planet. The owner is a Dencherian.  There are over four hundred slaves divided into twenty cell groups.  Each cell group has four guards.  They are armed only with the stun batons, no pulse weapons.  Our objective is to take over the command post, taking the Dencherian hostage.  He is not to be killed. The guards will most likely not put up a fight faced with soldiers."  Here Crais turned to John.  "What do you want us to do with the guards?"

John was in a dark mood, this close to the mining planet and his past.  He stood stiffly beside Aeryn, his face a mask.  He radiated rage and fear.  The tattoo on his cheek stood out starkly against his pale skin. "Turn them and their batons over to the slaves," he growled. Crais nodded.  No one else contradicted him.  No one dared.

The landing party consisted of John, Aeryn, Crais, D'Argo, Dun, Jothee and a complement of Hynerian Mercenary soldiers.  Looking nothing like their pint-sized leader, the Hynerian Mercs were heavy built soldiers in dark gear with helmets.  They rarely showed their faces and didn't speak, but they listened to orders and carried them out with horrifying precision.  Each slave cell got its own complement of twenty Mercs. But first they had to take over command.

The Dencherian knew they were coming.  Dun had commed ahead and explained to him that they had slaves to sell, and the greedy bastard had fallen for it.  One transport pod would land first, with the landing party, and once they had taken the command room the others would follow.  The planet's security was low because the profits were hauled off every day to a secure bank.  No one wanted used up slaves and the stones themselves were difficult and dangerous to dig.  This made their takeover simple and quick.

John let the others take the lead when they landed.  Since Dun had made contact with the Dencharian (and since Crais didn't want to be recognized), he led the way in.  Without being told, John understood that Dun had made passes at Aeryn.  This put Dun at the top of John's long shit list, not because his offense was the worst but because he was handy.  He bored holes into the back of Dun's head as he chatted up the Dencharian across the room.  Aeryn tugged at his arm.  "Pay attention."  He glanced her way, saw her concern, and let his anger simmer.  He knew he'd have a better target for his bottled up rage in only moments. 

"Now then, fellow, about those slaves you have for sale..." began the Dencharian, but Dun cut him off.

"Oh, did I say for sale? Forgive me, I meant you have slaves we want."  He smiled his most beguiling smile.

"But...what slaves? And whatever for?"  The Dencharian was incredulous.

"Why, all of them!" Dun grinned now, and pulled his pulse pistol out and waved it under the mystified slaver's nose.  "All of them, and right now, or I'll stick this up your eema and pull the trigger."

As the Dencharian quivered and quailed and fell to his knees, John stepped forward followed closely by Aeryn and Crais.  The fallen man looked up and nearly wailed in fear as he saw the tattoo on John's cheek and Crais standing firm beside him.  "PeaceKeeper!  You lied! You said he was wanted by PeaceKeeper command!"

"I never lied.  He is wanted by PeaceKeeper command...but so am I." He smiled widely.  "I guess I failed to mention that."

John stepped closer until his boot toes were flush against the Dencharian's knees.  Wordlessly, he looked the frightened man up and down, his face expressionless.  After a few microts, he leaned closer and spoke.  "I think the most painful thing for you right now would be to watch this." He stood up again and gestured with his chin at Dun.  "Bring him along.  Don't let him alert anyone, keep him quiet."

They stood in the wire lift cage with the Dencharian in front, Dun at his side with a pulse gun at his back and Crais on the other side.  Aeryn, John, Jothee, and a dozen Hynerian Mercs rode in back.  John faced straight ahead, his back stiff and his entire demeanor frantic with fear and loathing.  Aeryn could do nothing but stand close, offering her touch and her presence.  John would have to face his inner demons alone, but with the real live ones in the shaft below, he would have help.  As the lift clattered to a stop, she gave his sweaty hand a quick squeeze and was rewarded with a ghost of a smile. 

The door opened.

Aeryn had to hold her breath for the first few moments.  The stench, coupled with her pregnancy, made her breakfast threaten to abandon her.  She stared around her, appalled.  Evidently the slaves lived in this common room.  Lived, ate, suffered, excreted, died.  It was dim and damp and filthy.  Every nook and corner held an assortment of rags and pathetic belongings. Filth encrusted bowls and grimy cups littered the floor.  She saw a profusion of bugs crawling over the rags and once again swallowed back bile. John survived this, she thought. He survived this for three cycles. She glanced at him again and gripped his shoulder gently.

"Can you do this?" she asked softly.

He stood there, rooted to the spot, his mind taking it all in.  He'd forgotten the stench.  Well, actually, he had adjusted to it all those years, so he'd never even realized how bad it stunk.  But it hit him now like a runaway freight train.  His eyes watered and his anger boiled.  Behind him, he heard Jothee gag.  Dun was spitting and cursing.  Aeryn did her best to keep it from him but she was affected as well.  When she spoke, it galvanized him to action.

"Yeah, I can do this." He strode forward until he was right behind Dun.  "Call the guards out here.  All of them."

Even as weak and pitiful as the Dencharian's demand sounded, the guards came on the run. John stepped back again, behind D'Argo, hiding his face.  He snorted derisively as the guards, not the brightest crayons in the box, lined up in front of their boss with expressions ranging from bored to befuddled. 

"Take them," John ordered softly as he stepped out.  "Tie them to the post in the center."

The guards' squawks of protest were soon drowned out by their own howls of pain as they were beaten, relieved of their weapons and drug unceremoniously to the post.  The small pile of stun batons were piled at John's feet, but he ignored them.  He turned to Crais.  "Call the...workers in here."  He never could bring himself to say the word slave.  It was just too personal.

They came. Limping, hobbling, and moaning, they came.  The walking dead, John thought as they staggered into the cavern fearfully.  There was the woman who had fed him when he was sick, and the one who cleaned his wounds.  There was the angry young man from Apollo's world who had come only monens before John's departure.  And there, bringing up the rear like John always did before, was Apollo.  He alone stood strong and fearless, an amazing feat after more than four cycles here.  John picked up a baton and walked forward as they approached.

Their first reaction was to flinch from him.  He was clean and whole, someone to fear.  But it was one of the women who noticed his tattoo and gave a shrill cry, pointing.  Others saw it too then, and he was recognized.  The excited jabbering thrilled him as he walked still closer.  He had nothing to fear from these people.  They were his, or they had been.

Apollo frowned deeply. No doubt he thought John had overthrown their masters only to put himself in their place.  But John only smiled as he stopped scant feet from his former comrades in chains.  He picked out the weakest of the women and handed her the baton.  Wordlessly she took it, amazed.  John nodded as her hand grasped the slick metal and pointed with his chin in the direction of the guards.  Understanding dawned, and the woman looked to Apollo for guidance. With a stiff nod in her direction, Apollo gave his approval.  One of her friends helped her hobble forward.  John felt Apollo's gaze on him, thick and hot, and met it. 

They had run the gamut, the two of them, from boiling hatred to grudging respect and forced alliance to now, finally, open acceptance.  John smiled, just slightly, and nodded.  Apollo nodded back, then swept past his people to grab a baton for himself. John noted absently that some of the Hynerian Mercs had gone back up and returned with more batons.  Most of the slaves were now armed and eagerly working on the guards, and the screams and pleas for mercy rang in his ears.  He found, to his dismay, that he really didn't care.

Aeryn came to his side again.  She watched his face as the freed slaves tortured their captors to the death and saw not one ounce of compassion.  Oddly enough, she approved. The old John, the young, naïve astronaut fresh from Earth, would have been sickened.  This John was very, very different.  She had witnessed the transition from one to the other and so understood it, and also understood its necessity.  He never would have survived any other way. 

The Dencharian was beside himself with fear.  No one wanted to stand next to him, as he'd both pissed and shit himself.  He knelt in the rubble, moaning and sobbing in fear, promising them every credit of his fortune if they'd just let him live. John's gaze flickered to him and then over to Crais.

"Who's your best hacker?" he asked.

Crais was not familiar with the term, so John explained.  Crais nodded briskly.  "Pio is the best slicer in the crew."  He tapped his comm, demanding Pio make herself available in the command, then gestured to Jothee and Dun to drag the wailing Dencharian back up the lift. John watched them go, knowing they would be better equipped for that work than he. 

The guards were fading fast.  As they fainted, Apollo demanded that water be thrown over their heads to revive them.  John watched with a detached expression, waiting for them to die.  It took more than an arn, and even then some of the freed slaves kept prodding the guards, hoping for a twitch of a muscle or a blink of an eye.  When it was apparent all were dead, Apollo called off his people and collected the batons.  With a calm dignity that John envied, Apollo carried the weapons over and deposited them at John's feet.  The symbolism of it all didn't get past him; he knew Apollo was once again giving him command of his people.

"Let's get everyone up on the surface.  We have transport pods to take you out of here."

Apollo cocked his head to one side, questioning.  "Where are we going?"

"We're taking you to Hyneria for medical treatment.  Then you can be repatriated to your own planets, if you want."

"Why?"  Apollo asked, staring at John intently.  "Why are you doing this for us?"

John looked at the other man like he'd lost his mind.  "Why...why wouldn't I?  I was one of you, wasn't I?  For three cycles.  They took me from my family and my friends, they did their damnedest to kill me...why shouldn't I come back and kill them, and free you?"

Apollo shook his head in amazement.  "I am not so sure I would have done the same thing, if it were I who were freed."

John shrugged and half smiled.  "So I'm soft headed that way. Some people call it a weakness of mine."

"No, I would call it a greatness."  Apollo stepped forward and placed his hands on John's shoulders.  "All my life I looked down upon those who were different from me, those from other worlds.  PeaceKeepers, I hated above all others.  But you have shown me how small my life was, how meaningless.  My direction is yours now, my life, my future, my world.  Where you go, I will follow."

It was truly the first time Aeryn had seen John completely speechless.  He could only stare at Apollo's back as he made his way to the lift and organized his people, making room for everyone, helping the most infirm and supporting those in need.  As the lift moved upwards, he made eye contact with John once again.  For the first time, Apollo smiled, just a little.

"I think you've made a friend for life," Aeryn commented.

"He tried to kill me, when we were first taken."  John said softly, his amazement evident.

"On the planet? Was he on that miserable little planet where you were taken?"

"Yeah, he was.  He thought I was a PeaceKeeper.  Probably still does, for that matter."

"He's been here for more than four cycles?"  Aeryn was incredulous.

"Tough bastard ain't he?" John smiled fondly.  "When I showed up here three cycles ago, first thing he wanted to do was fight me.  But..." he frowned, remembering. "...he never had a chance.  I dropped him before he could ever get a lick in."

"You never cease to amaze me," Aeryn smiled softly. 

Pio huddled over the computer terminal, her mouth set in concentration.  Every once in awhile she prodded the prone form of the Dencharian at her feet and demanded another piece of information from him.  Codes, passwords, account numbers, whatever she needed.  The pitiful whimpers from the former slave owner set her teeth on edge, and she just wanted to get this over with. 

Finally, she sat back with satisfaction.  "Done, Captain."

"All the accounts are transferred to a Hynerian bank?" Crais asked.

"Every last credit. All of it held in trust for the slaves from this planet."  She looked up at her captain with a certain smug satisfaction.  "Brilliant idea, sir, to give all this worm's wealth to his former slaves."

"The credit goes to Crichton, but I do agree that it's brilliant."  The Dencharian wailed from the floor.  Crais frowned and addressed Crichton.  "What are we going to do with him?"

John made no answer. He had been leaning against a console, gazing pensively out the window at the dismal world.  The slaves were assembled in a shivering mass on the surface, awaiting transport to Moya.  Glittering landing lights from the first of the transport pods were approaching. Suddenly John's slack features became expressive again.  Not responding at all to Crais, he snapped his fingers as if a great idea had just assailed him. His smile was feral as he gestured to Jothee and D'Argo to bring the prone figure of the former slave owner.  Then he commed Dun, who was organizing the first throng of passengers, and told him to wait.  As they were leaving the room, he grabbed a slim length of metal sitting in a box by the door. 

The slaves waited patiently, none of them quite understanding the magnitude of the moment but all watching carefully.  John had the two Luxan's drag the helplessly bleating slave owner to the center of the crowd and throw him down.  Crais and Pio followed, curious.  Aeryn followed as well and kept a close eye on John, carefully gauging his reactions and moods.  The slaves at first hissed and shouted, but as John waited and watched, they became still.  When he was certain he had their attention, he raised the slim rod over his head so that the ex-slaves could see it.  They roared their approval, beating their hands together and stomping their feet.  The volume of noise made Crais cover his ears in protest.  No one noticed or cared.  Pio looked to Crais questioningly, but he had no more idea than she.  Aeryn looked at John with grim admiration.

John ordered D'Argo and Jothee to pin the Dencharian to the ground while he flipped a switch on the rod in his hand.  The freed slaves pressed closer, needing to see.  Those in the back climbed rocks or crawled under other's legs to see.  The rod's end began to glow.  A stench of burning dust tinged the cold air, and Crais finally understood.  He nodded his head, finally understanding.  Pio glanced at him, a question in her eyes.

"Watch," was all Crais would say.  Pio watched closely.

The Dencharian began to howl for mercy, but none to was to be had.  No one on the entire planet would come to his aid, and that alone inspired irrational terror.  His body wrenched from side to side in a last ditch effort to escape, but willing bodies pinned him down, freeing D'Argo and Jothee to simply hold his head still, the left cheek exposed and waiting.  John brandished the rod, it's tip a white-hot protrusion.

When the rod was ready, John knelt down and held it close to the Dencharian's cheek.  The man ceased howling and merely looked at him in misery.  John smiled.

"Now you'll know what it's like to wear one of these," he said softly.  "For the rest of your life, everyone will see you and say, 'he's a slave'.  For the rest of your life, people will spit on you and kick you.  For the rest of your fucking, miserable existence, you'll suffer, but never, never enough.  I just want you to know that every scrap of wealth you owned now belongs to these people. They'll live in luxury while you wallow in the gutter and die alone.  And it's not enough.  It'll never be enough.  You could die a million deaths and it would never, ever be enough.  I just wanted you to know that."

With that, he held the device firmly against the Dencharian's exposed cheek.  The howls of fear reached a fevered pitch of agony and every single member of the crowd flinched, remembering how it was for them. John's hand never wavered as the tattoo was burned into the man's face, forever marking him a slave.

                                                            ~~~~~

Her labor, like the three before it, went without a hitch.  And like the three before it, John was there through every stage and step, holding her and talking soothingly.  He insisted it was an earth custom for the father to stay in the delivery room, and after Jack was born, Aeryn decided she liked it.  Having someone to cling to and scream at had helped during the pain, even for a tough ex-PeaceKeeper like herself.  Besides, she hated to be separated from him for any length of time.

Their fourth child and third son was born four monens after the preordained demise of the Traghellien.  Moya and her crew had settled into a comfortable routine, with John, Aeryn and the kids learning how to be a family again after so many tumultuous changes.  Once Aeryn had revealed her condition to John he passed the chore of finding the slave trader on to Crais and Talyn, preferring to remain at her side.  Aeryn was surprised at his remarkable calm and poise about the situation.  She knew how driven he was for revenge.  But his love of his family overrode any such thoughts or desires.  The Treghellien could wait.

Their time was not idly spent, however.  There were more than 400 slaves to be cared for and repatriated.  Many died, but they at least died free.  Those that survived were taken to their home worlds and given substantial amounts of wealth.  Rygel's medical staff had worked day and night to bring the damaged slaves back to full health, and the tiny Dominar had taken up the cause of slavery as his own.  Slavery in the Hynerian Empire had been largely a product of the wealthier classes in previous years, but with his imprisonment and the reign of his greedy cousin, it had blossomed into rampant, parasitical growth.  In a highly unpopular speech, Rygel freed all slaves in his own empire, demanding full fair wages for all.  The moneyed classes hated him, but the overwhelming population of the empire was in the middle and lower classes, and they vastly approved of their leader's decision.

The denizens of Apollo's world were loaded on Moya for their return.  John had insisted on that, since that's where it had all started for them and for him.  Nearly 300 of the bronze aliens, who called themselves P'shtari, survived.  They filled one hold, preferring  to live there collectively, than to take up hundreds of separate quarters for the ride home.  They were a largely happy group with their newly acquired freedom and wealth. Apollo, who's real name was Chacat but insisted on answering only to the nick name John had given him, would wind his way among them every day, speaking to all he could and reassuring them that they were headed home, that John was taking care of them.  His allegiance to John was simple and deep.

Aeryn was four monens pregnant and just beginning to show when they set out with the P'shtari.  On one occasion she was in the hold helping to distribute food when Apollo stepped up beside her to help.  She smiled briefly and nodded thanks and went on with her work.  After the last man had been served, she rubbed her hands along her lower back and heaved a deep sigh of relief.  Apollo cocked his head from side to side and looked her up and down.

"You are a PeaceKeeper," he said with no rancor or hate.

"I was a PeaceKeeper," Aeryn corrected.  "Not anymore."

"You, the Captain, and my Ch'va, you were all PeaceKeepers?"  It had been established that Apollo considered John to be his Ch'va, a word that meant something between mentor and idol.  Aeryn never ceased teasing John about it, calling him her Ch'va when they snuggled in bed at night.  John had told Apollo to call him by his name, but Apollo had refused. John accepted it with good grace, even if it was a tad embarrassing.

"The captain and I were, yes.  John was not a PeaceKeeper. He's not even Sebacean."

Apollo's eyes widened as he digested this information.  "Not Sebacean?" 

"He's human.  The only one out here, in the Uncharteds. His planet has no space technology beyond visiting their own moon, and they've only done that a few times.  He was performing an experiment with a ship he designed when he went through a wormhole and ended up here.  We all ended up together by...accident."  She smiled. "I'm an ex-PeaceKeeper because of John, and so is Crais."

"And you do not blame him for this?"  Apollo was rapidly becoming worried.

"Blame him?  No.  But I thank him every time I think of it," she smiled.  "I believe Crais has the same opinion.  He'd never have been able to be with Talyn if not for John."

Apollo nodded sagely, his thoughts almost readable on his large, open face.  "You are my Ch'va's consort?"

Aeryn flicked her eyes at Apollo, looking for mockery and saw none.  "No, his wife.  We have three children."

Apollo sniffed the air delicately, and smiled as he nodded in the direction of her stomach.  "And another soon."

Aeryn nodded as she stroked her stomach fondly.  "Yes, we'll have another in about five monens."

"Good," Apollo smiled widely.  "A man should have sons, many sons, and many daughters."

"And a woman?" Aeryn said darkly.

Apollo grinned widely, showing his sharp teeth in a rare display of good humor.  "A woman should have many children to comfort her and a strong man at her side.  But I see you and my Ch'va together and I know that both of you are very strong. You both stand so strong alone that together you are invincible."

"Good save," Aeryn grinned.

Apollo glanced around at his people, eating peacefully and with great gusto.  He seemed content then, pleased at the turn of events. Aeryn, moved by some sudden urge to thank this man, nodded in the direction of the door.  "Come up to the central chamber for the meal.  I'd like you to meet our children."

On the way, Aeryn told him Drayk's story.  The big P'shtari was instantly engrossed and greatly moved by the pain Aeryn and the rest had suffered in John's absence.  Any scrap of information that immortalized his Ch'va further was gospel to him, and so he listened attentively.  By the time they arrived in the central chamber, Aeryn was afraid Apollo might actually prostrate himself at John's feet.   She was relieved when he used a more traditional greeting instead.

John crooked a finger at the children and hailed his former enemy.  "Apollo, I would like you to meet my children."

He introduced them oldest to youngest, and Apollo greeted them all with grave dignity.  Jack he favored with a firm handshake, a swift glance at his size and strength and a warrior's nod of approval.  He took one look at Zelly's sober demeanor and smiled brightly, evoking the same reaction from her.  When Drayk met his eye and offered his hand bravely, Apollo softened his smile and clasped the younger boy's hand firmly in both of his. Incredibly, he winked.  Drayk's laugh filled the central chamber and everyone's hearts.

The meal was lighthearted and full of talk.  Story after story was told about times gone by.  Adventures and misadventures were related for Apollo's sake and to the children's delight.  The food, Apollo noted, was no different than what the former slaves were eating. He would happily tell his people that their new friends were indeed true friends.  He looked forward to settling them back on their home world where they would be safe.  As if reading his mind, John spoke.

"What are you going to do when you get home?" he asked around a mouthful of nutty bread.

Apollo ducked his head first, thinking deeply, and then raised only his eyes, looking directly at John.  "I do not plan to stay on my planet," he said softly.

John was confused. "Are you sure?  Don't you have family, friends?" 

"Yes, I have both. My mother and father are elderly and need assistance.  The currency that is now mine I will use to keep them safely fed and cared for.  But it is my elder sister and her children who will care for them.  My destiny lies elsewhere."

John swallowed the bread. "Where will you go?"

Apollo raised his head fully.  His gaze never wavered. "I will go where you go," he said firmly.  "Your destination is mine. You saved my life when I was your enemy; I can do no less than that."

The silence was broken when D'Argo slapped his hands on the table, making some of the platters and dishes rattle.  Everyone, including Apollo, looked his way.  "I,  for one approve," he began.  "If there was ever someone who needed extra help in staying out of trouble, it's you John Crichton."  Aeryn smiled and the children laughed, but their eyes lingered on Apollo with wonder. This was much better than dry history lessons; this was history in the making.

Several solar days later, they arrived at the home world of the P'shtari.  Apollo and his people offloaded in an atmosphere of delight. The city they landed in, the same one where John and Apollo had been taken, was no less miserable than before. The sullen quiet of its beleaguered citizens was shaken with the swiftly spreading news of the unheard of return. Within arns, the market square was full of the sounds of joyful reunion and wails of sorrow for those permanently lost.  Apollo gravely introduced John and Aeryn to his family, informing the latter of his intentions to leave with his Ch'va.  Instead of being saddened by his decision, Apollo's family responded with intense pride.  But family honor notwithstanding, his leave taking would be a painful one. 

Nearly a monen later they heard from Crais.

                                                            ~~~~~

They orbited the gaming moon at a safe distance, wanting to elude any PeaceKeeper ships that might come for an illicit visit.  But their caution was more reactionary than necessary.  With Talyn at their side, they felt well protected.

John gazed at the moon with an eerie calm.  Aeryn, now a full five monens pregnant, worried about that more than anything. His agitation at the mining planet had nearly overwhelmed him, but she almost preferred it to this jaded, deadly detachment.  She leaned closer, letting her body caress the length of his from the side.  Her head tilted up slightly, catching him looking at her out of the corner of his eye.  He smiled.

"It's almost over," he said with that same detachment, completely devoid of emotion.  Aeryn shuddered, and felt John's arm slip around her shoulders. 

"I'm going," she said firmly, asserting the position she had seemingly lost the evening before. "Just shut up, I'm going."

"No, you're not." He said, equally as assertive. "Not this pregnant.  We went over this last night..."

"And I never agreed to stay on Moya."  She stepped away from his side and turned to face him, her nose inches from his, her expression more determined than he remembered.  "I'm not letting you out of my sight.  Get used to it."

John frowned. "You're being stubborn, Aeryn."

"I learned from the master," she quipped sarcastically, crossing her arms over her belly. Finding that slightly uncomfortable due to her increasing pregnancy, she instead placed her hands on her hips, never altering her glare.  John, however, didn't miss a thing.

"I'll have D'Argo, Apollo, Crais and the rest of the Hole in the Wall gang to back me up, Sundance. It's going to be simple, and I'm going to be better protected than a virgin in a prince's harem!"

Areyn scowled at his earth-isms and his irrefutable logic.  They'd stopped at this impasse just last night and she hadn't been able to come up with an argument yet to counter it.  That didn't mean she had given up though.  "It's not that and you know it," she said forcefully.

"Yeah, I know," he said softly.  "I do understand, Aeryn. I understand how you feel responsible for me being taken, but it's just not true.  If you had been there to protect me, the kids would have been orphans. And I'd rather this kid," he stroked the growing mound of her belly, "...didn't go through a firefight before he was a walkin', talkin', shoutin' member of society. Let's not take chances with that, ok?"

She softened then, deciding that whether she liked it or not, he was right.  She was going to miss this one.  She hated that, letting John head into danger without her there to protect him, but she admitted to herself the logic of it.  Fine, but she wouldn't go down without a fight, and a compromise.

"Then make me this promise," she said, catching his hand and clasping it in both of hers.  "You will listen to D'Argo and the others, let them lead this.  Let them protect you. You're the one with the mark of a slave, you're the one others will try to take.  You may even be recognized.  Take no unnecessary risks and come back to me, whole."

John kissed her slowly, enfolding her body with his arms and nuzzling her ear.  "I promise, I'll be careful and I'll stay safe.  D'Argo and Crais are in charge."

He left her then, with one last farewell glance.  True to their past, they never said good-bye.

Surprisingly, it went without a hitch.  Not that there were no surprises, but they handled them with a speed and alacrity that the PK elite would have envied.  D'Argo, Crais, John and Apollo went down planet in D'Argo's Luxan ship. Dun, Jothee, and a handful of Hynerian Mercs traveled in a transport pod.  They regrouped at the landing bay and moved out as a tight unit, John in its center, well protected, well armed. He was never so aware of his slave tattoo as he was when they burst into the main entertainment room of the establishment, the place where, their intelligence had said, the Traghellien liked to spend his time. 

Sentients of all types looked up, mostly bored and none of them overly surprised.  The Hynerian Mercs had all circled around to other entrances from the outside and entered at a pre-arranged signal from Crais, so the entire room was instantly in their control.  It was Crais who stepped forward, ignoring all the questions and threats now hurtling his way.  He spoke over his shoulder to John.  "Do you see him?" he asked.

John studied the crowd carefully.  There were quite a few Treghelliens in attendance, but the dim recesses of the room inhibited his detection of the one man he wanted to kill most in the galaxy. He shook his head.  "No, it's too hard to see.  Bring all the Treghelliens up front. Put those bastards in a line. We'll just shoot them all if we have to."  The venom in his voice made Crais glance backwards, but Crichton looked as calm and self-possessed as he had on the trip down.  Crais turned back to the crowd.

"I want every Traghellien to come forward.  Line up in front of me.  There's no place to run, we have all exits covered.  My men have orders to shoot if you resist.  Come, line up, quickly."  He turned to a man tending the bar closest to them.  "Turn up the lights." 

There was a burst of protest at the command.  Every Traghellien in attendance did their level best to hide or escape, but their own companions would have none of it.  The sooner this little problem was taken care of the sooner they could get back to their illicit pursuits.  Within short order, the Treghelliens were all pushed to the front of the room by the rest of the crowd.

They were a sullen, angry and ugly lot.  D'Argo and Jothee sniffed delicately at the group, their more sensitive noses picking up traces of stimulating drugs, expensive liquor and foods, and the overpowering stench of body odor.  Treghelliens were not noted for their personal hygiene.  John made his move, stepping forward from behind the others, Apollo hovering protectively at his side.  Instinctively, D'Argo did the same.  Dun and Crais stayed behind the small group, close enough to protect but far enough away to see danger coming from any angle. 

A gasp came from all corners of the room.  John's slave tattoo stood out in stark contrast to his skin in the now bright lights. He ignored their mutters and imprecations, instead concentrating on the expensively dressed but slovenly men lined up in front of him.  He strolled leisurely down the line, letting his calm, deadly gaze linger on every face, chilling the victims instantly.  More than twenty were in attendance.  If 'his' Traghellien was not there, their job would become tougher, but not impossible.  Talyn would keep any ships from leaving.

About two-thirds of the way down the line, John found a familiar face.  He stopped, looked closely at the man, and smiled.  "You rat bastard, I found you."  At a signal from John, two Hynerian Mercs grabbed the wailing Traghellien by the arms and drug him forward.  The others quaked in their shoes as they scuttled back to their dark corners.

The Mercs forced the Traghellien to his knees in front of John. D'Argo, Apollo and Crais stood close by, weapons held ready.  John, though well armed, hadn't drawn his.  Instead, he leaned down close to his prostate prisoner and smiled hugely.  "I told you I'd escape and come back for you. You knew this day would come.  I hope you enjoy it as much as I will." With that he stood upright quickly and scanned the room, grinning maniacally.  "Ladies and gentlemen, friends and neighbors, dudes and dudettes, scum, shit-heads and douche bags, I'd like to invite you to a new event! It's called, Revenge of the Ghellt. You've got half an arn to meet at the main gaming pit to witness this perverted little ass-wipe's total annihilation.  Come place your bets on how long it takes me to take him apart, piece by piece."

With that, they drug their prize away.

The memories flooded into his head in a horrible rush, nearly choking him.  He gasped and grabbed his head, feeling D'Argo's strong hands on his shoulders steadying him.  Crais and Apollo moved closer, concern on their faces.  They were in the ready room of the gaming pit, choosing weapons.  It was almost too much, the force of the memories, and the pain they evoked.  D'Argo growled close by his ear.  "You should not do this.  Aeryn wouldn't approve."

"Piss on that," he muttered, scrubbing his face with both hands.  "I'm fine, just a lot of...memories."

Crais tilted his head to one side.  "D'Argo and Apollo will be in the ring with you, but won't interfere."

"No!"  John snatched up a long staff, weighted at both ends and nasty with spikes and other lethal protrusions.  "I'm going in alone.  Watch from the viewing glass, but don't interfere."

"If he manages to hurt you..." Crais began.

"He won't.  We're doing this my way."

D'Argo interrupted softly.  "You promised her."

John stopped, his back to his friends.  His head dipped down, as if he were thinking deeply.  They all waited patiently.

"Leave the door open and stand just inside.  Do NOT interfere unless it's life or death."  He turned around and looked up, the tattoo gleaming in the harsh lights. "I mean that. Life or death." 

John stood in front of the door once again.  How well he remembered this door, and standing here like this, armed and ready to fight.  To kill.  Memories he would rather live without.  But here he was, once again.  He shuddered slightly in the damp corridor, the warm leathers suddenly clammy against his skin.  But this time, everything was different.  He felt D'Argo's presence at his back, and behind him, Apollo and Crais. He knew the outcome of this fight before it ever started.  And when it was over, he would go home to Aeryn, the kids, Moya--his friends and family. He would go home.

"Open the frelling door," he rasped.

The pit was well illuminated but there were no lights blinding the fighters.  Word had spread and the place was packed.  The crowd was noisy and belligerent, and wagering was fast paced.  John was of course the odds-on favorite to win, but the main betting was on how long it would take him to finish off his former master.  It was John who entered the ring first, as he intended, his staff held ready.  He'd allowed the Traghellien to choose whatever weapon he wanted, but the Hynerian Mercs were there to assure that no poisons or other tricks were employed.  It would be a fair fight in that respect.  But John was appalled at how quickly his mind reverted to fight mode. He was already calculating what the Treghellien's first move would be when he came through the door and what weapon he would have chosen.  He was adjusting his fighting stance and mentally preparing himself when the door was flung open and the Traghellien rushed out, going on the offensive exactly as John had assumed he would.  For a weapon, the squat alien had chosen a pike with a wicked blade and counter weighted end.  He had longer reach than John, but little or no training in how to use it. 

John let his opponent rush him, waiting for the last possible moment before he stepped into the wild thrust and fended it off effortlessly.  He delivered a sharp rap to the middle of the Treghellien's back as he whirled.  Wailing in pain but not seriously hurt, the smaller man spun about, his pike held out in a defensive posture.  John grinned hugely.

"You made me a slave and then you sent me to the mines.  You poisoned me with drugs.   This is your reward, you stupid bastard.  I told you my friends would find me.  Because of you, I missed four and half cycles of my kid's lives. Birthdays, lost teeth, pillow fights, chicken pox, scary dreams...and it's all YOUR FAULT!"  With his last word, John lunged, swinging the staff expertly.  The Treghellien yelped and leaped backwards, but John, anticipating several moves at once, was ready. He swung from the hip, sideways and up, and when his opponent jumped backwards he just followed him and extended his reach.  The blow caught the Traghellien across the midsection, opening him up with several shallow gashes.  John saw the faint gleam of intestines through one small gap. 

Howling now, the bug-eyed Traghellien began a frenzied attack, whirling the huge pike like a majorette with a baton and running straight at John.  Despite a defensive posture, John received a few sharp raps with the blunt end of the pike on his shins and arms.  He backed up, allowing his enemy to wear himself out before returning the attack.  In short order, the Traghellien stopped, keening in pain now and frothing at the mouth with panic.  John stepped back again, assessing the situation carefully.  He knew that once the Traghellien got his wind back, the fight would resume.  He intended this torture to go on as long as he could stretch it, so he held off for another moment.

"You really didn't know who you were messin' with, did you?  Didn't know I was the most wanted man in the Uncharted Territories, did you? Every wanne-be Dick Tracy and his dog have been huntin' me for more than fourteen cycles you Sheyang pond scum reject, and you sent me to the fuckin' mines.  I'm worth more than this entire planet to the PeaceKeepers and you sent me to the fuckin' mines.  My friends and I wiped out a Top Secret Gammack base, cleaned out and destroyed a shadow depository and sent my good buddy Scorpius to PK hell in a hand basket...and you sent me to the FUCKING MINES!"

Anticipating another attack at the end of John's tirade, the Traghellien flinched and raised his pike again.  With an expert flick of his weapon, John hurled the clumsy pike across the sand ring and stood facing the disarmed slave owner, a small smile on his face.

"And now you're mine," was all he said.

The Traghellien fell to his knees, covered his head with his hands and begged for mercy.

In the end, he got it.

                                                            ~~~~~

Aeryn gazed into the cloudy blue eyes of their newest son, born only arns before, and wondered yet again how she had ended up here.  From a PeaceKeeper dormitory to soldier, reluctant renegade, lover and now mother. The journey was worth the end result, she decided, watching this perfect being as he squinted his eyes in another yawn. She smiled and looked up at John where he waited patiently on the edge of the bed.  He was grinning in that hopelessly cockeyed way of his. 

"Well, we did it again. Now we have to name him," Aeryn said softly.

"We?  I think you did all the work," he leaned closer and chucked his new son on the chin.  "I only sacrificed the bones in my hands for this little guy."

"Sorry, I guess I did squeeze a bit hard..."

"Don't worry about it, nothing's broken."  He leaned even closer and kissed her sweaty forehead.  "You need rest.  Let me take this little guy to his crib, ok?"

"We need to name him first," Aeryn said stubbornly.

"Well, if you don't have any objections, I thought of a name."  John looked shy, almost embarrassed.  Aeryn raised one eyebrow in amazement. 

"Tell me," she said.

John picked up his son and snuggled him close, finding it easier to look his son in the face than his wife.  "Well, I know in the past, I've not been one of Crais' favorite people, and I never did trust him.  But, well...I wouldn't be here now if not for him. He found me in the mines and brought me home.  I'll never be able to repay him for that."  He glanced down at Aeryn and found her listening with rapt attention.  He continued in a rush.  "I thought, well, since this whole thing started with me crashing into his brother...let's name this guy Tauvo.  If Crais says it's ok that is."

Areyn was astounded, and her expression showed it.  John's face fell.  "You hate it," he said.

"No, no, I'm just very surprised.  I think it's a wonderful idea.  I can't think of any reason why Crais would say no."  She smiled and reached up to squeeze his hand.  "I think it's very like you, to want to give something back to Crais."

John smiled again, relieved at her approval.  "Let me call him in here, before I take this guy for his nap."

In moments, a baffled Crais was ushered into the med lab.  He was slightly nervous.  He'd managed to miss the actual birth of all the older children, having been days away at the time, but this time there had been no reasonable excuse to leave the area when Aeryn announced she was in labor.  He was decidedly uncomfortable as it was, and doubly so after being called into a private conference with John and Aeryn now.  He stood, hands twitching and face impassive, waiting. It was John who spoke.

"Um, well...wow, this is more difficult than I thought."  He grinned and started again.  "I owe you, more than I'll ever be able to pay.  If you hadn't found me when you did, I'd be pushing up celestial daisies.  And, um...I know I can't replace your brother, but I thought...um...you might let us name this guy Tauvo.  I mean, if that's all right with you."  He looked up, his face red and his expression hopeful. 

Crais was struck dumb, his mouth agape in astonishment.  He could only look from John to Aeryn and back again and sputter uselessly.  John smiled a little.  He decided this must be a good sign.  Aeryn lay back against the pillow with a smile of her own.  Finally, Crais found his voice.

"I'm...flattered Crichton...I don't know what to say."  He gazed at the small, squirming bundle in John's hands, his eyes unreadable.  "I have long ago...forgiven you for what happened to my brother.  I know it was an accident, but still...for a long time, I hated you.  Simply because you were alive and he wasn't.  I know now how...futile that was."  He looked up into John's eyes, and his voice was firm. "I would be...honored to let you name your son for my brother.  But in turn, I would like to be made his sponsor."  He glanced quickly at Aeryn.  "Aeryn knows the custom of which I speak."

Aeryn nodded, tucking one arm behind her head as she spoke.  "A Sebacean sponsorship is for life.  The sponsor promises to assist in the child's education and spiritual well-being in whatever way he can."

John nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, I like that.  I think...I think it would be very fitting."

With that, Aeryn settled in for a well-deserved nap, Crais went to the terrace to contemplate his new status, and John settled little Tauvo into his crib.

"Tauvo, Tauvo, you are one lucky little fella," he said softly.  "You got more family than a rat has fleas."

                                                            ~~~~~

Change is inevitable. And sometimes, when the stars are right and the gods are smiling, change brings out the best in people. Sometimes, change helps define who we are.

Sometimes, change is a good thing.

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-RedBeard