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Chapter Text

By their second day in orbit around Dymar IV, John Crichton had concluded that there would be nothing interesting about this supply stop. Certainly there was nothing interesting about the planet. That seemed crazy, that a whole god damn alien planet could be boring, but it was. It wasn't even a so-boring-that-it's-interesting-how-boring-it-is kind of boring. Just the boring kind of boring.

It was an average-sized rocky planet, about the size of Mars. Breathable atmosphere, a bit heavy on the argon. It had no trees, no shrubs, just various species of beige scrub grass. There were no large animals, no exotic mineral deposits, no strange lights in the sky - hell, there wasn't even a frelling moon. The most interesting thing about the planet was the amazing resemblance its main settlement bore to Cleveland, Ohio.

Just as John decided that Dymar IV was the most boring planet in the world (and before he noticed the problem with that statement) another Leviathan showed up. John was alone in command enjoying a few arns off baby duty when it appeared on sensors approaching the planet. God, how long had it been since they'd seen another Leviathan? Probably at least a year. Deep groans and hums ran through the ship as Moya said hello in her own way. John got on the communicator to say hi in his.

"Other Leviathan, this is Moya. How's it going?"

Their Pilot, which John was pretty sure was female, answered. She looked a lot like Moya's Pilot, at least to John's eyes, but with a more greenish color and a craggier looking shell. "Moya, this is Roelim. Your question is not understood, please restate."

John sighed. Everyone was so uncultured in space. "How are things, how's life treating you, wazzzzzup?"

Pilot - Moya's Pilot - appeared on the clamshell. With a weary sigh, he interjected, "I believe it's a greeting among his people."

"I see. Then wazzup to you too, passenger," she said, in what John found to be a rather patronizing tone of voice. "Pilot, etalak Moya di'ent; Bi Dymar IV titen'ka. Arn-fe'uilt bok."

John pounded the side of his head with his palm, attempting a little percussive maintenance on his translator microbes.

"Understood, thank you, Pilot," Pilot replied. "We extend the same offer to you and Roelim." He ended the connection.

"What'd she say?" John asked Pilot.

"She said, 'Pilot, etalak Moya di'ent; Bi Dymar IV titen'ka. Arn-fe'uilt bok.'"

John's hand collided with his head again, this time against the forehead. "Yes, but what does that mean?"

"Oh, did the translation cut out?"

"Yes!"

"In essence, she suggested running a diagnostic on Moya's systems to see if there's is anything they can help us with in the three solar days they'll be at Dymar IV. They'll reach orbit in point three arns and will call again then. Then I thanked her and said we would be willing to do the same for her and Roelim."

"I got your part, actually"

"I apologize. It sounds the same to me whether or not the translation works. I'm going to run a diagnostic. Expect some brief system outages."

John tooled around in command a while, watching the bioluminescent indicators fade on and off as Pilot did his checks. Eventually, Aeryn brought the baby by. She held his drooling face up to John.

"I thought it might be time for a visit," she said.

"Oh, why's that?" John asked as he took the child. A familiar smell answered his question before Aeryn could. He sighed. "Aeryn, you gotta to learn to change a diaper."

"Is it really necessary? I'm sure he'll learn to use the proper facilities soon."

"He's four months old!"

"Exactly! I'd mastered it by half a cycle. Even with your primitive genes, how much longer could it take?"

"Most humans are potty trained at around three or four cycles."

"Three or four cycles!?" Disgust filled her face. "But he'll be on solid food soon. Think of the smell."

"Yep, kids are gross."

"Human kids maybe."

"He's half human"

"Yes, your half. You deal with it."

At this point, Roelim's Pilot made her promised second call. Pilot answered, and they began a rapid exchange that John's translator microbes didn't even attempt to follow. Aeryn watched it intently as John wrangled their son's legs into a fresh cloth square.

"Does something seem off to you with Pilot?" she whispered to John.

"Which one?"

"Our Pilot. He seems flustered, or distracted, or something."

John peered at the image and shrugged. "Maybe he didn't sleep well?" A thought occurred to him. "Do Pilots sleep?"

"Of course they sleep."

"But how does he fly the ship while he's asleep?"

"It's mostly uninodular sleep, only one segment of the brain at a time. Pretty common for aquatic species."

"Pilots are aquatic?"

"They're 100-stonnen carcaforms; where did you think they lived?"

"Car phones?"

"Carcaforms, it's a pretty common body plan. Not as common as sebaceanoid, but it still turns up a lot. Exoskeletons, six to ten segmented limbs, distributed nervous systems. Earth even had some carcaform species. I think they were crap."

"I think you mean 'crabs.'"

"Close enough."

"It's really not." John took a moment to absorb this new information. "Do Pilots have gills?"

Aeryn didn't look up from the screen this time. "I don't understand why this is such a revelation for you. No gills; they breathe air. They can hold their breathe a long time, though. I've seen Pilot hold his for half an arn without even trying during on of Rygel's farting sprees."

"Handy."

"Maybe later," Aeryn replied. She pointed at the screen. "She keeps clicking her claw like that."

John looked at the screen. The other Pilot was casually snapping her far-left claw like a lazy castanet player as she spoke.

"Nervous habit?" he suggested.

"Does she look nervous to you?"

"Well, no, but as you said, they're a hundred stolen crackhead ferns. I'm not exactly an expert on the body language."

"I don't like it."

John shrugged. "Seems normal to me, but you've usually got good instincts. How about I watch the kid for a bit, and you play space-crab psychologist?"

John spent the rest of the day teaching their son how to blow raspberries, or at least the few stretches of the day not taken up by naps and crying. He didn't really expect anything to come of Aeryn's investigation. Of course, she was probably right about Pilot being a little "off." She had a pretty good read on him most of the time. He figured she'd just go talk to him after the call though, he'd tell her he missed the beach or something - seriously, they're aquatic? - and that would be the end of it.

Chapter Text

John was awoken in the middle of the night by Aeryn whispering in his ear.

"Meet me in the transport pod."

John smiled, eyeing the curve of her tank top. "Can do!" he said, pulling on a pair of pants. He rushed to the pod and grabbed her in his arms. He leaned in to kiss her.

"Did you know Pilot made another call to the other Leviathan?"

John slumped. "Is that what this is about?"

"Yes, I don't think he can hear us in here."

"Why are we sneaking around behind Pilot's back on this?"

"Well I tried asking him directly if something was going on, but he just got really uncomfortable and changed the subject. Plus, the second call I told you about - he deleted the log. I managed to find the recording in the temporary backup system though."

"Aeryn, let the guy have some privacy! It's Pilot; he's not up to anything sinister."

"What if he's being blackmailed or threatened or something? I mean, I like him, but we both know he's kind of a pushover about that sort of thing."

"He does literally have no spine," John admitted.

"Here, watch the recordings. I think it's pretty clear there's something odd about them."

She turned on a screen in the pod. She'd already set it up to display both the outgoing and incoming video.

She started with the first call, the one John had had been elbow-deep in diaper for most of. There was what appears to be an exchange of greetings. Then just a lot of normal talking, too complex for the translator microbes but the tone seemed normal and professional. Then Roelim's Pilot started speaking quietly, punctuating her speech here and there with a loud snap of her claw.

"I think the claw thing could be a threat of some kind," Aeryn said. "Whatever it is, our Pilot doesn't seem to like it, look how he responds."

Pilot did seem like he might have been angry. He raised his voice and started snapping his claws back. Then Roelim's Pilot said something, and he suddenly got meeker. A few more words were exchanged, Roelim's Pilot snapped her claws a few more times, and the call ended.

"Alright, I see what you're talking about," John said.

"The second one is even stranger."

Roelim's Pilot seemed relaxed when the call started, but their Pilot was a bundle of nerves. They spoke for a while. The claw snaps came back for a bit, on both sides. Then the video from Roelim switched to a dark, cramped supply room of some kind. There were boxes of spare parts, medical supplies, weird alien fruits, a pretty eclectic mix. In the center of the room there was something slimy and translucent hanging from the deck above. It looked like four softball-sized lumps in a thick membrane.

This got a very strong reaction from their Pilot. His eyes went wide and he all but shouted at her. She spoke calmly back to him.

"Oh dear," their Pilot said as the translator microbes briefly managed to find their bearings. Then it was back to the alien language again. Roelim's Pilot brought up a show advertisement to some kind. It showed a well-endowed green woman in a very revealing outfit. Their Pilot appeared to object to it. A second advertisement was brought up, this one showing a puppet show. The call ended soon after.

"He actually suggested to me last night that we bring the kid to that puppet show," Aeryn said.

"What'd you tell him?"

"I said we'd check it out. It seemed like a good cover for us to go to the planet."

"Why do we need a cover to go to the planet?"

"I want to get these recordings translated."

John's expression screamed discomfort, but he didn't say anything.

"You don't like it," Aeryn said.

John sighed. "Look, I don't know how I feel. You're right, something weird is definitely going on. But it's Pilot. He wouldn't do anything that could put us in danger, and he for sure wouldn't hurt the kid, or Moya. I guess maybe Rygel could worry a little, but even that's a stretch."

"What about Pilot himself? Would he put himself in danger?"

John didn't have an answer for this.

Aeryn sighed. "Look, I don't like it either, but all my instincts are telling me that something isn't right here. It's just a translation. If it turns out there's nothing going on then I'll drop it and Pilot never needs to know I saw it."

"I guess." John turned to leave.

"Hang on," Aeryn said with a smile. "We walked all the way over here. No sense wasting a trip." She pulled off her shirt in one fluid motion.

"Now that's an idea I can get behind."

Chapter Text

"Are you two really going to a puppet show?" Rygel asked as they took the transport pod down to the surface.

"What's wrong with puppets?" John said.

"They're creepy. Floppy bodies and dead eyes. Not my idea of a fun afternoon."

"Where are you going then?" John asked.

"Kraetel's Buffet. Three stories of all you can eat luxury. You really should come try it before I bankrupt the place."

Needless to say, it was extremely easy to ditch Rygel when they reached the surface. Aeryn led the way to the translation service, a small grey office in the corner of a small grey building, where they were greeted by a small grey receptionist.

"What language do you need translated?" the receptionist asked.

"Pilot," Aeryn answered.

"Dilla is our only Pilot translator, but I think she's free. Down the hall, last door on the left."

Dilla appeared to be a bit of a rebel in this building, at least as far as interior decorating goes. Her office wasn't grey at all. It was beige.

Dilla herself was a dull green. Her hair, or at least some kind of hair-like substance on her head, was pulled back sternly, and her bland suit had so much starch John suspected it could stand up on its own. She pulled the video up on a small screen on her desk.

"Are subtitles acceptable, or would you like to purchase the full dub?"

"Subtitles are fine," Aeryn answered. "In Standard Sebacean, please."

"Obviously."

John and Aeryn couldn't see the screen, so they just sat facing the beige wall. John wondered if he could manage to nap in the chair. Suddenly, the translator's eyes went wide and her lips pursed.

"There's a twenty percent surcharge for this type of content, ma'am."

"Twenty percent! That's outrageous!" John said, but Aeryn was already reaching for their money.

"There are just three Pilot translators listed for this whole frelling planet, and she's the only one I managed to track down. We're paying the frelling surcharge."

"Garvet is on an extended leave of absence," the translator said, "and Zandil passed away a few weekens ago. Actually, I'm sorry, I think I misspoke. It's a thirty percent surcharge."

"Of course it is," Aeryn scoffed, but she handed over the credits anyway.

Satisfied, the translator continued watching, lips still pursed, typing her translations stiffly onto the keyboard in front of her. After a long, uncomfortable wait, with nothing but the curt clacking of the keyboard to break the silence, she announced that she had finished.

"May we watch it now?" Aeryn asked.

"Absolutely not."

"But-"

"Absolutely. not."

Aeryn sighed, defeated. "We'll watch it in the pod then."

Luckily, Rygel wasn't back yet. Aeryn locked the door and put the video on the screen. Sebacean subtitles flashed rapidly. Aeryn slowed the video so she could keep up. The two Pilots' voices became a low drone.

"So she says, 'Hello Pilot,' then he says, 'Hello Pilot,' and she says, "Please, call me Pilot," Aeryn read.

John was unimpressed. "We paid a thirty percent surcharge for this?"

"Hang on, there's a footnote. It says she's using the subordinate masculine occupational mode of address, which is pretty typical for the context and age difference. He uses the honorific ungendered occupational mode of address, which is a bit on the formal side, but still fairly typical. She asks him to use the honorific feminine occupational mode instead. The gender marker makes it more casual."

"This is going to take a while, isn't it?"

Aeryn ignored him. "Then it's just updates on ship status for a while. Moya's in good shape, nothing we need Roelim's help with. Roelim's treblin power link has a small instability, but they haven't had passengers in a few tenths of a cycle, so it would take a while to spin up the environmentals in that section so we could help fix it. Plus they have a repair appointment at their next stop anyway.

"Then Roelim's Pilot starts talking about Moya, says she's not surprised to hear she's in such a good state, that she's a very beautiful ship, that Pilot must take good care of her. Oh, this is where the claw thing starts. She says Moya's hull looks so sturdy, and she's never seen such a sleek aft section.

"Then Pilot gets irritated and says, 'stop kataking at Moya.' Hang on, there's another footnote. It says, 'kataking is a loud clicking of the claws, typically done to,-' ah, I see." Aeryn suddenly looked very uncomfortable.

"What?" John asked.

"'typically done to attract a mate.'"

"Oh..." John scratched his head nervously. "So she's... flirting?"

"I think so, yes."

He cringed. "We probably shouldn't have pried."

"No, I suppose not."

"Wait, does that mean that weird slimy thing in the next call-"

"Oh frell," Aeryn said, "that was the deck under her console."

"Oh gross! It was some kind of crab-lady dick pic!"

"We'll destroy it. We'll destroy it and we'll never speak or think about it again." Aeryn snatched the datapod and reached for her pulse pistol.

Then she froze. "Do you remember what was under the console?"

"That's sort of the issue here, Aeryn."

"I mean what else was under there."

"I dunno, some boxes, spare parts, some kind of weird spiky fruit."

"Exactly!" Aeryn said. "If Roelim hasn't had passengers in a few tenths of a cycle like the other Pilot said, why was there fresh fruit onboard?"

The question hung in the air a few moments as John realized the full implication.

"Oh shit, you think she was lying about having passengers?"

Aeryn nodded. "I can't think of an innocent reason she'd lie about that. And we just left Pilot and Moya alone." She jumped to the controls. "We need to go back now. We can pick Rygel up later." They took off and accelerated hard.

But there were no Leviathans when they reached orbit. No Roelim. No Moya.

Chapter Text

John and Aeryn sat in shock for a bit, looking at the empty space where their home had been less than an arn earlier.

"This is bad," John said.

"Yes," Aeryn agreed.

"This is really bad."

"I think we need to watch the rest of the recording," Aeryn said.

"And it just keeps getting worse."

"I'll watch the recording. It will go faster if I don't need to read it out loud anyway."

John stood and gave her a grateful kiss on the top of her head. "Thank you so much."

"Don't mention it," she said. "Ever." She switched on the screen.

"I'm not kataking at Moya," the female Pilot said, amused.

"What do you mean you're not kataking at Moya? You're doing this -" he clicked his claws in a loud flurry "- that's kataking!"

"Yes it is," the female Pilot replied with a sly smile. "And pretty good for a young little softshell. It doesn't mean much to Leviathans though."

Pilot froze. "Oh, you don't mean you aren't kataking, you mean you aren't aren't doing it at Moya."

"Yes, Pilot*, that's what I mean."

Aeryn found the footnote, "*increased emphasis on the masculine indicator."

The female Pilot spoke again. "I have some maintenance I need to run. Call me back in a few arns. Just from your screen directly this time; I don't think your passengers need to be part of this conversation."

The first message ended, and Aeryn still had no idea where the two Leviathans were. She moved on to the next video.

"I've been thinking about you," the female Pilot purred.

"That's," poor Pilot looked terrified, "well, that's nice."

"It's the mating season back home," she said. "Have you felt it?"

"I've noticed it, yes," Pilot admitted shyly.

"Ah, good, you haven't been bonded too long then; the hormones haven't faded. Not that you could have been bonded all that long; you're so young! Did you ever even go to the nesting grounds before you left?"

"On one occasion." He looked away from the screen. "But I was not successful in coupling."

The female Pilot started clicking her claws again, all four this time. "It's hard when you're young. Most people want someone a little older," click, "harder shelled," click, "more fertile," click click click. "I'm sure you would've had your pick in a few more cycles. Maybe even by this one, you've certainly got the first step down. May I hear again?"

Pilot obliged and clicked his claws back, a little self consciously at first but he seemed to get more confident as time went on. The female Pilot clicked back, and they went on like that for quite a while. Then the female Pilot spoke.

"I want to show you something."

"What?"

The camera switched to the space under the console. Aeryn suppressed a gag.

Pilot gasped and his eyes went wide. He looked away from the screen. "Oh! That's... wow, four eggs...That's, well that's a very impressive egg sack, but, well," he took a deep breath and said, a bit to loudly, "I don't think this is a productive line of conversation."

"Not a productive line of conversation? Oh, the elders must love you. Wouldn't you like to rub yourself all over my eggs, cover them in your seminal gel*?,"

"Is there seriously a footnote on that?" Aeryn thought.

She paused the video and found the corresponding text. "*The term she used is less clinical. I refuse to check for a Sebacean equivalent."

Aeryn grimaced and continued watching.

"Even supposing that I'd like to -" Pilot began.

"But would you like to?" the female Pilot interrupted.

"Well, obviously, but that's not the point. I can't. And even if I could, there's nothing but dry air. They wouldn't develop."

The clicking returned. "Oh Pilot*, adorable Pilot*-,"

Aeryn jumped to the footnote. "diminutive, masculine occupational mode."

"-there's a lot more to mating than reproduction, and plenty of options available. Roelim finds Moya absolutely stunning you know. And I think it's safe to say Moya thinks the same about him."

"How did you know that?" Pilot asked, shocked.

She laughed. "Check your scanner logs."

Pilot looked mortified. "Oh dear."

"At least nine scans since we got here! She's been checking him out." the female Pilot said, dragging a claw across her console in what Aeryn suspected was meant to be a seductive way.

"Eleven," Pilot corrected. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," she purred, "We like a lady who knows how to be direct."

Pilot didn't appear to know how to respond to this.

"So are you interested?" she asked. "And is Moya? I can tell you that Roelim certainly is."

"In what?"

The female Pilot threw up all four of her arms in exasperation. "Roelim. Moya. Mating."

"Oh!" Comprehension suddenly dawned on Pilot. He looked distant for a second, like he was listening to something far off. Aeryn knew he was talking to Moya. "Moya lost a child a few cycles ago. She doesn't want to risk another pregnancy."

"Oh. I'm sorry." The female Pilot appeared to consult with her ship. "Roelim suggests a maneuver that I believe most internally fertilizing species refer to as 'pulling out'. With some additional contraceptive measures on your end, the risk of pregnancy would be minimal."

Pilot and Moya considered this. "That would be acceptable."

"Just acceptable?"

"We would like that," Pilot corrected. "Oh, wait. We have passengers."

"That's easy. There's a whole planet down there, get them to see a show or something. Here's a popular one." She pulled up a holographic advertisement for something called "Luscious Loomas" that appeared to feature an alarmingly proportioned woman in a dress the size of a Hynerian flannel.

"They have an infant. I don't believe that would be appropriate for him."

"But the focus of the show is on mammary glands. Isn't feeding infants the primary function of those things? Alright, fine. What about this. It has-" she shuddered "-finger puppets."

"You don't like puppets?" Pilot asked.

"I don't like fingers. Why do other species need so many of them?"

"I believe I can persuade them to see that show."

"Wonderful! Then I'll see you at the third planet tomorrow?"

Pilot nodded. "We look forward to it."

"I'll bet you do."

The call ended.

"They're at the third planet," Aeryn announced. They punched in a course and set out.

Chapter Text

The two Leviathans began their mating dance, tracing slow spirals about one another. To Moya, it was instinctual. She neither needed, nor wanted any input from Pilot. Evidently there was some nuance to it he couldn't hope to understand. Accepting this, he immersed himself in the sensor data and watched Roelim tumble across the stars.

He could feel Moya's attraction to the other Leviathan almost as if it were his own. He watched the strong lines of his bioluminescence, appreciated how they accentuated the sleek lines of his hull and the deft curve of his dorsal spars.

By small increments, the spirals tightened, until Pilot felt like he could have reached out and brushed a claw across Roelim's hull, if Moya had had claws. He could feel Moya's eagerness bubbling into his own mind.

Another spiral, and they came into contact. Roelim's hull was firm, but yielding against Moya's. His docking clamps engaged to hold them together. They spun as one now.

Gently, Roelim reached out and made the connection. Pilot gasped at the wave of pleasure that ran through Moya at his touch. She groaned in approval, a low, metallic sound like a collapsing bridge. The stimulation grew. Wave after wave of sensation passed through Moya, each one stronger than the last. Pilot could feel his own body responding sympathetically, organs he'd never used waking up, swelling, secreting.

He found himself thinking about the other Pilot with her thick, rough shell and her four unfertilized eggs. He wanted to see her. Through great effort, he managed to send a message between waves. She responded with audio only, her voice sounded strained.

"Oh frell, the video's not on," she said, breathing heavy. She let out a little shriek that descended into a moan. "Sorry, this will have to do, I'm not nearly clear-headed enough to fix it."

Pilot responded with a groan. He didn't think he could manage words anymore. He was shaking. Moya was shaking. Her bellows of ecstasy reverberated through the bulkheads. The waves of stimulation grew, washing, crashing over both their minds. Pilot could no longer find the boundaries between their thoughts.

Then the moment. Enormous tremors ran through Moya. Pilot's own senses were overwhelmed by the sensation. He couldn't hear. He couldn't see. He was completely within Moya's pleasure.

It began to ebb. Roelim released his docking clamps and turned away, sending a spray of gametes across the sky. Slowly, Pilot returned to himself. He was trembling, exhausted. Alarms blared from neglected systems. Somehow, the hanger door was open. A gob of seminal gel dripped fruitlessly onto the deck below him. He opened his eyes.

Two heavily armed mercenaries were leveling pulse pistols at him.

He gulped. "Oh frell."

John and Aeryn arrived at the third planet just in time to see the two Leviathans disengage. Roelim rolled over and released a plume of silvery particles. They sparkled as they caught the light of the sun, a glittering ribbon across the stars.

John quickly covered the baby's eyes. "Wow, that's," John considered the sight before him, "oddly beautiful, actually."

"As long as you don't think about it too much," Aeryn added. She glanced down at the sensors. "It looks like the hanger door has been forced open. Probably while Moya was, uh, distracted."

"Damn, I was hoping maybe the other Pilot just liked fruit. I vote we give them a few microns to unload and clear out of the hanger deck, then we go in too."

The communicator crackled to life and they heard Pilot's voice.

"This is Moya, we're -" but then it descended into screams. There might have been the word 'third' in there, but nothing else intelligible.

"I vote we go in now," Aeryn said.

"Yeah, now sounds good."

Chapter Text

One of the mercenaries was a Scarran, a lower-caste one, the kind Commander Crichton described as "horse-faced." The other, covered in blue-purple scales, was an Arvator, or maybe a Razden. Pilot couldn't seem to remember how to tell them apart just now. Actually, he was finding it hard to think about anything except the pulse pistols that were leveled at him. His circulatory system was racing. Why did he become such a mess in these types of situations? One would think he'd be used to them by now.

The maybe-Arvator spoke. "We're supposed to tell you, umm, it was-"

"Withdraw-" the Scarran began, but the other cut him off.

"This is my job, Ankar!"

"Have it your way then," the Scarran muttered.

He began again. "Withdraw all, umm, all ten of your drills - yeah, I think that was it - that you've got around the ship. Bring them all back here. That was it, right?"

The Scarran shrugged. "How would I know. It's your job, after all."

Pilot spoke cautiously. "You want me to get ten drills and bring them here?"

"You heard me!"

"Why?"

"We're asking the questions here!"

"We didn't ask him any questions, Danten," Ankar sighed.

"Right! We aren't asking the questions here; you are!" He puzzled over this a moment and added, "But you shouldn't be! Nobody should ask any questions here; you understand me? Now where are those drills?!"

"I'm not sure if there are ten of them on board..." Pilot warned.

"Ankar, how about you get those hands out and show him what your job is?"

"I'll just have the DRDs bring all the tools," Pilot said quickly. He sent out the command.

Throughout his confusing exchange with Danten and Ankar, he was aware of more men within the ship. Two were unloading something large from a transport pod - not one of Moya's, probably from Roelim - in the transport hanger. Another was carrying some kind of device down a corridor.

Moya actually recognized the device before he did, and with a frantic urgency she shared a memory of her capture by the peacekeepers. They had used a similar stunning device in her primary neural conduit. When she had awoken again, there had been a control collar, and her Pilot - her previous Pilot - was gone. She begged him to do something to stop the man, convinced that something equally terrible would happen this time if he didn't.

"I'll do something. It will be alright," he told her silently. He wasn't sure what yet though. The man with the device was nearly at the main neural conduit. And worse, Pilot realized, he and Moya were at the third planet, while everybody who might be able to help them was at the fourth.

They wouldn't be able to get back under normal engine power, not before the man reached the neural conduit. Starburst was faster, but not precise enough. A message was their only chance of rescue.

Ankar and Danten would definitely notice that though. Maybe he would get lucky and they would need him alive. Either way, he suspected he would feel Ankar's heat projection soon. He steeled himself, trying to calm his racing circulatory system. This was for Moya. At least she might stand a chance of rescue, whatever happened to him.

"That alarm is for the environmentals," Pilot told Danten, trying not to let his voice shake too much. He was referencing the chime that had been sounding since sometime during Moya and Roelim's tryst. It wasn't a lie, the chime meant it was time to purge the particulate filter, though there was really no harm in letting it wait a few arns now and then. "I'll need to use the console to fix it."

"Yeah, go ahead," Danten said, but Ankar objected.

"How do you know that's what he's doing?"

"Ankar, it's the environmentals! I don't know about you, but I don't feel like choking to death."

"Don't let him touch that console, Danten. Garvet will be here in a few microns, we can sort it out then."

"I am so tired of you treating me like I'm stupid! It's my turn to be in charge, and I say to let him fix the frelling environmentals."

"Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you."

Pilot could feel their eyes on him. He wasn't eager to find out how they would react to him lying to them. But the man with the device was nearly at his destination. He took a deep breath, flicked the controls, and started the message.

"This is Moya. We're - GAAAUGH!" Ankar hadn't wasted any with his heat projection. "Thi - third," he managed to screech though the pain, but that was all he could manage. His nerves felt like they were on fire. The pain was vivid, searing, overwhelming. His instincts screamed at him to dive or swim away, but of course that was impossible. He twisted, writhed, trying to at least reduce the amount of his body in the path of the beam. Vaguely, he was aware of Moya trying to comfort him, simultaneously snarling in anger at Roelim for putting them in this situation. It barely registered in his mind though. Every thought was overwritten by his need for the pain to stop. Why didn't it stop? Please, please, let it stop.

It was a relief when the stunner hit, sending him and Moya into unconsciousness.

The screams from the communicator continued as Aeryn and John landed in the transport hanger. An unfamiliar transport pod was there, but luckily no people. There were streaks of a viscous, dark blue fluid leading from it. It reminded John of the time a pen had exploded in his hand after he chewed on it a bit too hard during an especially difficult calculus test, a messy, inky sacrifice on the alter of L'Hôpital's rule.

A spasm ran through Moya and the screaming abruptly stopped.

"They didn't just, you know," John asked, a little shaken.

Aeryn shook her head. "The communication cut out. He's probably still alive."

John sighed, relieved.

"It sounds like there's a good chance at least one of them is with Pilot," Aeryn said. "We should start there."

"In this plan, does 'we' include the baby? Maybe let's keep him away from the bad guys?"

"Oh, right."

"How about we head for command?" John suggested. "We'll be able to see what's going on around the ship from there, and hopefully we won't meet anyone else on the way."

"What's the plan if we do?"

"I'll shoot. You take the baby and run like hell."

"Why do you get to do the shooting?"

"Because I don't have the right equipment," he gestured to his chest, "to feed the kid if something happens to you, and formula, or whatever it is you call it-"

"Sebacean infant nutritional liquid," Aeryn interjected.

"Yeah that stuff. It's kinda hard to come by when you're trying to avoid Peacekeeper space, seeing how that's where all the Sebacean babies are."

"Hmm, I see your point. I can't wait until the little narl is weaned. I guess it's a plan at least." Aeryn sighed. "Alright. Command. Let's head out."

Chapter Text

Pilot was sitting on a soft, alge-covered rock in his home estuary. His tendrils drifted lazily in the current, filtering out nutrients. He felt peaceful, relaxed, but he couldn't shake the sense that something very trying had just happened to him. He wondered what it had been. There was heat, he remembered that. Maybe Moya would know more.

Moya! It all came rushing back: Roelim, the mercenaries, the stunner.

Groggily, Pilot opened his eyes. His arms had been chained to the console while he was out. He pulled at the bonds a bit, testing them, but quickly decided that was a bad idea. It hurt to move. Everything ached.

Moya was still out, and probably would be for at least another arn. She had taken the brunt of the stunner burst. He had just been hit through his bond with her.

He saw five people in the room now: the two he'd met earlier, the one who had been carrying the stunner, and the two that had been unloading something large from their transport pod. Whatever it was they'd been unloading, they'd brought it here. It was on a low cart and covered in blankets. A thick blue fluid that to Pilot looked uncomfortably similar to blood oozed from it.

"Hey, Garvet!" Danten called to one of the men with the cart. "Is this a drill?" He held up an auger-like device. "If so, we're up to six already!"

The one he'd called to looked, dumbfounded, at the mountain of hand tools and the DRDs furiously adding to it. "What the frell is this?"

Danten looked crestfallen. "The ten drills you said to bring back here?"

"Ten drills? What made you think - no, I don't want to hear it." Garvet sighed and walked past him toward the center of the chamber. Garvet appeared to be local to this system, and had the the typical Dymarian greenish skin and long cranial quills. He walked with an urgent purpose, as though determined not to let Danten, or anyone else, get in the way of whatever his plan was. Pilot suspected he usually walked like that.

Garvet knelt next to Pilot and opened an access panel in the deck, revealing a tangle of tubes and wires connecting Pilot to Moya's ancillary systems. He sorted through them, selected a handful, and in one fluid motion, yanked them out. Pilot let out an involuntary shriek as he felt them pull away from where they had embedded into his exoskeleton. They were only surface-level connections, but it still stung. Blood began to drip down his side. The action was repeated in a few more locations. Wincing, Pilot took stock: he'd lost access to all scanners - internal and external, communications, DRDs, and a few more minor systems that he suspected had been unintentional such as passenger deck thermostats and the lights in all the hamman-side heads. Cut off from sensors, his world shrank to the size of the chamber.

Pilot took another look at the blanket-wrapped bundle on the cart. It was quite a bit closer now. There was something familiar about the outline. Suddenly it hit him. It was another of his species. They were planning to replace him. That was blood on the cart after all. Why were they bleeding?

"Is this a bad time to tell you that he managed to get a message out?" Danten asked.

Garvet stood. His jaw clenched and a muscle in his neck twitched. Some limit appeared to be reached. "Danten, please come here," he said in an eerily level voice. Danten approached cautiously. Garvet threw an arm over Danten's shoulders and leaned in close. "Danten, this is an incredibly time-sensitive operation, so I'm not going to waste time berating you for your mistakes."

"Gee, that's awfully kind of -" began Danten, but he was interrupted by a blast of yellow light. His lifeless body collapsed against the console.

Garvet put away his pulse pistol. Casually, he flicked a few switches to purge the particulate filter in the environmental system. The chime stopped.

"Well there's two annoyances out of the way," he said. He turned to Pilot. "Thank you for your cooperation with my former associate's garbled instructions. What I would actually like you to do is to withdraw all your tendrils from around the ship."

"I see. That does make more sense." Pilot said.

Garvet stared at him expectantly. There was a long pause. His eyes narrowed. "Then why aren't you doing it?"

Ah. Pilot had hoped he wouldn't notice that so quickly. He looked nervously at Ankar, suspecting he would use his heat projection again after what he was about to say. "Because I believe you're going to kill me once I do. It's clear that you're planning to replace me."

Garvet put an arm around Pilot, much the same way he had just done with Danten. Pilot tensed.

"You're right that we're going to kill you if you after, but I think you need to consider the alternative. You see, we're going to replace you no matter what, but we'll only kill you first if you cooperate. If you decide not to withdraw your tendrils, and we're forced to go crawling around through conduits clearing them out by hand, delaying the new bonding and dramatically increasing the risk of infection to Pilot here," he gestured to the cart, "well, then I'm going to be sure you're alive to feel every connection ripped out of you. Then we'll find some empty rock where we can leave you to die. Slowly. Painfully. Alone."

Pilot cringed. He knew he couldn't let these people get their claws - hands - on Moya. He really wished they didn't have their hands on him though. He'd been disconnected from Moya once, and even with a generous amount of extremely strong drugs, it had been enormously unpleasant. He could still remember the sickening feeling of the primary connections being removed. Those ones went deep, interfacing directly with major neural clusters in his body. He didn't want to experience that again, certainly not unmedicated.

But he didn't want to die either.

Garvet was watching him, occasionally glancing through the grating of the deck to check for compliance. He had such cold eyes.

"You still aren't withdrawing," he said.

"No, I'm not," Pilot said with a great deal of fear and a hint of surprise.

Garvet clearly didn't like this answer, but rather than saying anything, he turned and walked away. Ankar glanced up at him, but Garvet didn't ask for his help. The Scarran shrugged and stayed where he was sitting on the cart with the other Pilot, gently stroking the blankets. Garvet went to the pile of tools from the DRDs, which by now had grown quite large, and grabbed something. Pilot squinted. It was a clamp of some kind, such as one might use for woodworking.

"This is going to be more difficult for both of us if you don't cooperate, so I'll tell you what; I'll give you four more chances to reconsider," Garvet said as he walked back to Pilot. The meaning of the threat became clear as he placed the clamp over his rightmost claw and began to tighten it slowly.

Pilot looked away. Panic surged through him. Why was this happening? This wasn't how this solar cycle was supposed to go. He could feel his thoughts beginning to unravel, becoming disparate strings untethered to one another. Most of them were about what was going to happen if Garvet kept tightening the clamp.

There was a voice from the blankets, familiar and female. "Garvet, let me try talking to him." She lifted her head. Pilot looked at her in surprise. She seemed weak and her eyes were glassy, but it was unmistakeable. She was the Pilot from Roelim.

Despite everything going on, Pilot couldn't help notice that she was even more beautiful in person.

"Pilot! Please go ahead. I didn't realize you were awake," Garvet said, stepping away.

"Most of me is," she said. She turned to Pilot. "You're worried for Moya, aren't you? That's why you're holding out?"

Pilot's thoughts began to knit together again. Fear of Garvet, estimates of how soon Commander Crichton and Officer Sun could get here, and a non-trivial number about how much he would love to watch over a nest with the woman speaking began to condense, growing aligned towards a common purpose: getting Moya out of this situation.

Pilot nodded.

"I promise you, we have no ill intentions toward her," she said.

"Garvet stopped when you told him to. Why did he do that?"

"Because if he didn't listen to me, I wouldn't pay him," she answered.

"You hired him?"

"I hired all of them."

"Why?"

"Roelim is dying," she said. "He has less than half a cycle left. I can't bring myself to die with him. I need to bond to another Leviathan. We've tried to find an unbonded one, but we're out of time. Moya is my only option."

"But it doesn't work that way. You've already bonded to a Leviathan, your body will reject another."

"That's why Garvet is here. He's developed an immunotherapy that will allow Pilots to be moved between Leviathans. After half a cycle of injections, my immune system has reset."

"Leaving you free to take Moya, leaving Roelim and me to die alone."

"Don't act all high and mighty. It's not as if you and I are all that different. I know the elders wouldn't have let you be bonded at your age. It's obvious you got here through Peacekeeper meddling. Tell me, was Moya unbonded before you?"

Pilot flinched like he'd been slapped in the face. He didn't respond.

"That's what I thought," she said haughtily. "She'll have a good life with me. Roelim and I carried cargo. We were quite successful at it. There was peace, safety, freedom. She'll be happy."

Maybe she was right. Certainly Moya's life with him so far had not been peaceful or safe. Maybe someone more experienced would be better for her. Maybe with someone more competent she wouldn't have been enslaved for so long and experimented on. Maybe her child wouldn't have died.

"Moya likes passengers," Pilot told her. He was almost ready to admit defeat, but a tiny spark of a loose thought was rattling in his mind, vying desperately for attention. Pilot tried to pull it in to see what it was.

"Really? Roelim can't stand them. Still, that's an easy switch," she reassured him.

He found the thought. His eyes grew wide with horrifying realization as he examined it. A sudden resolve filled him.

"You said yesterday that there was an instability in Roelim's treblin power link," he said accusingly. "It's Inghezic disorder, isn't it?"

She didn't respond, but there was alarm in her eyes.

"It is, isn't it? You let him carry mutometic spores! And now that they've made him sick, you're just abandoning him to die alone."

"They were well packaged," she said, her voice bitter. "It shouldn't have happened. I don't even know how it happened. We never had issues the other times."

"Other times! I'm sorry, is there something unclear in the term 'forbidden cargo?' You killed your Leviathan, and somehow you're still acting like you're the victim in all this. I will never let you near Moya, Ex-pilot."

Everyone who could follow the conversation fell into a shocked silence at the last word. Admittedly, the people who could follow the conversation were just be the two Pilots and Garvet, but they were so shocked and so silent that it was obvious to everyone else that something very serious had just been said. A cold fury grew in the eyes of the female Pilot. She turned to Garvet.

"Please continue."

Chapter Text

John and Aeryn reached command as stealthily as one can while carrying an infant that's eager to show off his newly learned raspberry skills. Even so, they didn't encounter anyone else. Aeryn began flicking through internal sensor readouts.

"There's at least three of them with Pilot," she said. "Probably more, but it's hard to tell at this angle. Oh frell, at least four; that's a Scarran. They've got something on a cart too, but it's covered and I can't see what it is. I don't see anyone else on the ship."

"I guess it's convenient that they're all in one place," John said.

"It's too many for one of us to take on though."

"We might stand a chance with both of us, if we can find somewhere safe to put the baby down."

"And what's the plan if we're killed?" Aeryn asked. "Do we leave a note? Dear heavily armed mercenaries. Please watch our son. You'll need to wipe the dren off him several times a day for another few cycles, but he can make fart sounds with his mouth, so he's really very clever for his age. Also, he's not weaned, so hopefully one of you men is lactating. Sincerely, the two drannits that just tried to kill you."

John got the point. "Ok," he said, "so nobody's putting baby in the corner. What's plan B?"

But Aeryn was distracted. "Oh frell," she said, watching the scene in Pilot's den. "What kind of krastik coward tortures a Pilot?"

"We'll save him, Aeryn, we just need a plan."

"Right. We just need to find a way to kill them, without getting ourselves or the baby killed."

"Or Pilot," John added. "Or Moya."

"That's an awful lot of requirements."

"Hey! You said Pilot could hold his breath a long time. Could we vent the air?"

Aeryn thought for a bit. "I don't think he's near enough to the hull for that to work. We'd have to vent nearly all the air, and it would take several arns to replenish that much."

"Hmm, yeah, that seems like too long."

Suddenly, Aeryn's face lit up. "Oh! I think you're on the right track though," she said. "I've got an idea."

Pilot settled herself back down on the cart. Ankar was concerned how much even that conversation had taken out of her. She would have to bond with the new Leviathan soon. He didn't think she would need to wait much longer though, judging from the increasingly distressed cries coming from the other Pilot. He tucked the blankets back in around her.

"It seemed like things were going well up until the end there," he told her.

"How much did you get?" she asked.

"Not much. There were a few sections here and there that translated, but not enough to follow."

"The short version is that he figured out what Roelim's dying of. Then he called me 'Ex-pilot.' Can you believe it?"

"Ex-pilot. Is that what passes for an insult among your species?" Ankar asked.

She laughed. "Well, it loses a lot of depth when you say it. The 'ex' modifier is specifically for someone who left, or more commonly that the speaker thinks should leave, a profession in disgrace."

"I see. And is that what passes for an insult among your species?" he repeated.

"Ankar, careers are such a large part of my people's identities that we never developed the concept of names. Yes, it's an insult. A pretty serious one."

Ankar glanced at the other Pilot, who was sobbing and thrashing against his bonds as Garvet tightened the mechanism. His shell was beginning to flex under the pressure. "Well, I suspect he regrets it now," Ankar said.

"I can't believe the nerve of him," she fumed. "A peacekeeper collaborator, and he thinks he can speak to me like -" she was drowned out by an especially loud shriek "- like I'm some kind of heartless monster," she repeated louder. "I made one mistake. I shouldn't have to die for it. Besides, it's not as if he bonded with this Leviathan under completely legitimate circumstances either. I don't think he deserves her more than I do."

"Scarrans don't really worry about who deserves things," Ankar said. "It's all about who's strong enough to take them. The strong can get take the things they want. The weak can't."

Pilot leaned her head against Ankar's shoulder. "My species isn't strong."

Ankar ran a hand across her forehead. "I think that's where my people, and a lot of others, get it wrong. They think strength is about not having weaknesses."

"So what do you think makes somebody strong?"

Ankar shrugged. "I think strength makes somebody strong."

"That's very straightforward."

"I'm a straightforward guy. But look at you, for example. You've got tunks of weaknesses. You're also the best smuggler I've ever worked with, and you've got great business sense. You find ways to use those skills to your advantage. And from what I've seen, well, you usually get what you want."

There was a loud crack, and an agonized wail echoed through the chamber.

"Three more chances, Pilot," Garvet yelled over the sound. "Are you going to cooperate?"

"Atap," the other Pilot managed to say between hitching breaths. "Ambalo di'ek."

Garvet sighed and started on the next claw.

"I take it that was a no, then?" Ankar asked.

"It was," Pilot said. "And a rather scathing, if not very coherent, opinion about Garvet's research ethics."

"Huh," he said with an expression of mild surprise. "I didn't expect him to hold out this long. Do you think -"

But he was interrupted by the sound of the door to the chamber opening. A woman rushed in carrying two large jugs of liquid.

"Pilot!" she yelled, her voice slightly muffled by the helmet of her spacesuit, "Hold your breath!" She knocked the jugs onto their sides so that their contents ran together on the deck. Sickly yellow vapor rose.

Ankar reached for his pulse pistol, but he could only get two shots off before she leapt out the door and closed it behind her. Neither one hit.

"What is going on here?" Garvet shouted. "Quick, get -" but then he fell to the deck, convulsing.

Ankar had the sense not to breath the vapor that was filling the chamber. He rushed towards the door, but frell, it was was a long way. His lungs were burning by the time he reached it, and his vision was beginning to swim. He pressed the door controls.

Locked.

He jabbed at it angrily, tore open the mechanism, but it was no use. He could barely think anymore, he needed air. He looked back at Pilot, who was watching with horror as her men dropped around her. Her gaze met his. Her yellow eyes pleaded with him to hold out.

"I'm sorry. I'm weak," he said with the last of his breath. Then he gave into instinct and inhaled.

"Five microns," Aeryn thought from where she was sheltered in the passageway. "That ought to do it." She opened the door and ran to Pilot.

"I'm so sorry it took me so long," she said, switching on the extractor fans from the console. He was trembling, and there was a frantic look in his eyes. "It's ok," Aeryn reassured him, "It's over now."

She loosened the clamp from his claw. Luckily, it didn't look as if they'd made much progress on this one. She wished she could say the same for the right-most one. A wave of nausea came over her as she looked at it, a mass of broken shell dripping with strings of viscous blue blood. She had to keep reminding herself that it would grow back.

Pilot tapped his good claws against the console insistently. He seemed to be trying to gesture to something behind her.

"You want me to unchain you? Does one of them have the key?" she asked. She turned away from Pilot and found herself face to face with -

- Pilot? No, another Pilot, shuffling slowly towards Aeryn with a crazed sort of determination in her eyes, stubby finned legs straining as they dragged her bleeding carapace along the deck. A Pilot, moving!

Before Aeryn could wrap her head around what she was seeing, the strange Pilot raised a claw and knocked her off the platform.

Chapter Text

Pilot stared, shocked, at the spot where Aeryn had stood just a moment before, but he wasn't able to dwell on it long. The female Pilot was already turning towards the console, a burning fury and singleminded determination in her eyes. Pilot pulled at the chains holding his arms with a renewed urgency as she shuffled slowly towards him.

"Please just stop," he wanted to say. "It's over. Go be with Roelim," but that would have required air, and he knew better than to breathe before the fumes of whatever Aeryn had mixed had fully cleared out. Then she was on him, digging her claws into his body, finding the weak spots in his exoskeleton and slowly working towards vital organs. It took all his will not to scream.

Why didn't she stop? Did she hope that if she killed him, the others would just let her take his place? Did she think Moya would allow it? Gentle as Moya usually was, he suspected she would not be cooperative with this new Pilot after everything that had happened. Maybe Garvet had had a way to protect her from nutrient starvation if Moya rejected her, but he was dead. There was no rational reason for the other Pilot to keep going.

Which means, he realized, she wasn't being rational. She just wanted him dead.

Her center-left claw was now very close to a major artery. He tried to twist away, but she followed his motions. He could only watch as she tore deeper into him towards the point that would end his life. It suddenly hit him that he was going to die without the chance to say goodbye to Moya.

Suddenly, there was a blast. The arms digging into his body went limp. The other Pilot's head dropped, and he saw Aeryn behind her. She was climbing up over the edge of the deck, one hand clutching her pulse pistol. He would have sighed with relief if he hadn't remembered the deadly gas that filled the chamber.

She pulled herself up and vaulted over the console, knocking the body of the other Pilot unceremoniously away. She tore a handful of cloth from Garvet's shirt and pressed it against the worst of Pilot's wounds.

"That was the last of them, right?" she asked.

Pilot nodded. He suddenly felt very dizzy.

"Hey!" Aeryn said, gently grabbing his head and holding it upright, "wait until the air clears. Then you can pass out." She rested his head on her shoulder and stroked it. He sagged against her, but stayed awake.

"I managed to catch one of the support beams on the next deck down," she explained. "I think I twisted my elbow a bit though, and my shoulder." She felt Pilot shift. "No, you're fine where you are; it's the other shoulder. In fact, I probably shouldn't be complaining to you at all about my arm hurting."

Pilot smiled faintly. Aeryn stood there with him, moving only to adjust the makeshift bandages on his wounds, until eventually, Pilot spoke.

"The air is safe now." His voice was hoarse, and sounded so weak. "Garvet - the Dymarian there - removed some of my minor connections to Moya. May I have your help putting them back?"

Aeryn nodded and removed the helmet from her spacesuit. Pilot walked her through where each connection went. She felt terrible seeing the way he winced as she forced the thick, needle-like connections back into his exoskeleton, but she reassured herself that it would be even worse if they waited and the injuries scarred and recalcified. His instructions gradually became slower and jumbled as he began to lose his battle against rest. Aeryn gave up trying to insert the connections gently, which seemed to be impossible, and settled for quickly. With a hard lean, she shoved the final connections in.

"I think that's the last of them," she said.

His eyelids slowly drifted shut.

"Thank you, Officer Sun," he managed to say, then his body went limp as he gave in to unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

The first thing Pilot felt as he woke up, before he even opened his eyes, was Moya. She had him cradled him in her thoughts, doing what she could to soothe the pain of his injuries.

"It's good to see you again," he told her.

Moya echoed the sentiment.

There were other voices around him too, ones that spoke in words.

"And now you just pin it on the sides here. Yep, just like that."

"And that's it?"

"Yep, you did it."

"Great! Where's the cleansud?"

Pilot opened his eyes. He noticed his arms were free now and stretched a few of the uninjured ones.

"Pilot!" John exclaimed. "You're awake! You just missed it; Aeryn changed her first diaper."

Aeryn was scrubbing her hands with cleansud foam with a meticulous ferocity.

"Congratulations, Officer Sun," Pilot said. With another part of his mind, he reached an arm over to the console to adjust a few systems.

"Thank you," she said. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better. Remarkably better, actually."

"Yes, there's a reason for that," Aeryn said. "We found some pain medicine on the Dymarian's body, probably what he was giving the other Pilot. We gave you some, hope you don't mind."

"We weren't really sure about the dose either," John added, "so let us know if you need more, or if you start seeing dancing pink elephants or something."

"Elephants?"

"An Earth animal, big, long nose they can grab stuff with, sounds like this" - John held his arm against his face to mimic a trunk - "baROOOOOM!"

"I shall certainly inform you if I see one."

While he had been speaking with John and Aeryn, he had been aware of Moya gently searching through his mind to find out what had happened while she was unconscious. He guided her to the relevant memories.

He could feel a fury growing within her as she went through them. To his surprise, a significant amount of it was directed at Roelim.

"He's ill and dying," Pilot reminded her. "He's a victim in all this."

Moya wasn't convinced. She countered that he would have known they were planning to kill her Pilot, and had helped anyway. And he had even had the nerve to mate with them first.

She added, fuming, that he hadn't even been that good.

"There's no way that's true."

Moya conceded that, no, it was not true, but it felt like it should be.

That was when Roelim signaled them, speaking directly to Moya in the electromagnetic language of Leviathans.

"Is something wrong? You said you would signal by now."

Pilots circulatory system jumped. Roelim! Of course he wouldn't know what had happened.

Moya asked if she should answer.

"Yes, I think he deserves to know what happened to his Pilot."

Moya thought some rather unkind things about what Roelim "deserved," but agreed to tell him anyway.

"Your Pilot and other passengers were killed in their abduction attempt," she signaled back.

The anguished cry from Roelim at this news was heartbreaking, and Moya immediately regretted how bluntly she had delivered it.

"How could this have happened?" he sobbed, his pitch so high it was nearly in the microwave range. "She had a plan. She always makes such good plans. She was supposed to be ok."

"One of my passengers shot her to protect my Pilot," Moya answered.

"She said she would still travel beside me. Now I'm alone."

Pilot shared an idea with her. Moya sighed internally, but grudgingly agreed to pass it on.

"We would be willing to accompany you to the sacred space, if you desire companionship."

Roelim's tone became cold. "After what your passenger did, I don't want to see you ever again. She was only trying to survive."

"So were we."

Roelim's heading changed. Pilot prepared for evasive actions, but the other Leviathan simply starburst away. The slipstream brushed Moya, rattling her, but not causing any harm.

"What was that," John asked?

"Roelim left," Pilot answered.

"Does he know what happened?" Aeryn asked.

"Moya told him. He took it about as well as can be expected."

"I'm not sure I really know what happened," John said.

Pilot explained about Roelim's illness and the other Pilot's plan to take Moya.

"It was my fault, really." Pilot said.

"It wasn't, Pilot," Aeryn said. "How could you have suspected she would do something like this. Aren't Pilots typically pacifists?"

"On the whole, yes, but there are exceptions. Really though I should have realized there was something else going on when - well, she distracted me by claiming to have a, um, sexual interest in me."

"And why should that have tipped you off?"

Pilot looked at Aeryn as though she had just asked him why one might overheat orbiting too near a star, or get a bit wet crash landing in the ocean.

"You did see her, did you not? She is, was, far more attractive than I am."

John found this hard to believe. "Pilot, I've seen stale baguettes less crusty looking than her. She looked like somebody left playdough in the sun too long."

"Yes, exactly," Pilot said wistfully, "And apparently a thick shell and some flattering words is all it takes to turn me into a jibbering idiot."

After a moment of surprise, John decided that Pilot standards of beauty were hardly the strangest thing he'd encountered and shrugged.

"Well, we all get a little stupid around a pretty girl," John said, patting Pilot on the shoulder, or what he thought probably counted as his shoulder. It was where one of his arms met his body at least. "I mean, my first girlfriend tried to run me over with her car."

"Are those the metallic, combustion-powered ground transports humans use?" Pilot asked.

"Yep. A '79 Dodge Charger."

"That's an appropriate name," said Aeryn.

John laughed. "Yeah, I guess it is. It was a great car. Terrible girl though."

"And a dramatic break up," said Aeryn.

John looked embarrassed. "I, uh, actually dated her for almost a month after that."

"Seriously?" said Aeryn.

"I was sixteen and she let me touch her boobs. I was willing to overlook a whole lot."

Aeryn rolled her eyes. "Well I don't have any stories quite as dramatic as that, but I've definitely recreated with people who later turned out to be real drannits. There's not a lot you can do to identify people like that beforehand, so the best thing to do is have a contingency plan."

"What do you mean?" asked Pilot.

"Well, maybe don't be so secretive next time? All of us here look out for each other, but we can't do that if we don't know what's going on," she said.

"My apologies."

Aeryn held up a hand. "No apologies. This wasn't your fault. This is just a precaution."

"I will be more forthcoming in the future."

"You don't have to be too forthcoming though," John added. "Vague is fine. Preferred even."

"I believe I can strike the right balance. If you have no more business on Dymar IV, I propose we move on. We're near the Unaci System. There's a waterfall on the second planet that's said to be quite impressive."

"Anywhere had got to be better than this dump," said John.

"Then prepare to st-"

"Wait!" shouted Aeryn. "We left Rygel on the planet."

It was sunset when the transport pod returned to the surface of Dymar IV. Aeryn stepped out. John followed carrying their son over his shoulder. A small figure lay on the ground. His belly was so swollen it stretched the seams of his robes.

"Well, it's about time you showed up," he said.

"Sorry Rygel. There was a situation back on Moya," said Aeryn.

Rygel groaned slightly as he stood up. "And that's a good enough reason to leave the Dominar of the Hynerian Empire waiting in the dirt, is it?"

"It was, actually."

"Why didn't you wait at the restaurant?" John asked.

"They kicked me out over an arn ago. Disappointing place really. Don't call yourself all you can eat if you don't let a man have the whole hunex haunch. All they would give me is one measly slice at a time. All this whining about how long it takes to cook a 3-stonnen roast."

"How dare they," Aeryn said in mock sympathy as she herded him into the transport pod.

"It's a terrible planet," Rygel said.

"It really is," John agreed.

Stars were just beginning to appear in the darkening sky. The transport pod rose up to meet them.