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Chapter Text

“The long and winding road that leads to your door
Will never disappear
I've seen that road before it always leads me here
Leads me to your door”

-Paul McCartney/John Lennon

Prologue

Sand got into her eyes at the bottom of the gorge. A blazing sun burned from above, hovering at its highest point in the sky that day, and the hunched and scaled Kurojji scuttled from tent to tent to avoid its touch. He beckoned her with his jagged crab-like claws, and Chiana followed.

“I recommend you buy,” Fango Kray-Kray told her, and as Chiana looked into his beady black eyes, which glistened like marbles, he blinked with his second eyelids. Chiana smiled, and his three rows of orange teeth smiled back at her, making her glad she wasn't a fish.

There were cracks between the hard rocks, through which the sound of a powerful river oozed upwards, and some gaps were greater than others. Chiana moved carefully to avoid them. She jumped from platform to platform, and some rocks wiggled beneath her feet, while others stood so firm, Chiana could hardly believe they weren't plummeting into the watery depths. There was a shadow below her and eyes looking back at her, making Chiana skip a platform and jump underneath the nearest white tent.

Everything was white. The tents, the tables, even her clothes had to be white so as not to be offending to the Kurojji. It had been hard to track down a suitable tailor to make something in her size, and whether it was worth it remained to be seen. Luckily, Chiana liked the outfit. And the crabmen liked her, as Scorpius had predicted, especially her Nebari skin. They took great care in pleasing her, and making her feel like the only girl at a party, although in the end even they tried to sell her their urine to drink.

“No, thank you,” she said, with a mouth drier than an Interion's scalp. “Just show me the merchandise.”

Far away, the heat distorted the air. An entire desert looked to Chiana as a magnificent shining ocean, in which she could swim forever, and all of it was a lie. With their orange, white-spotted shells, the Kurojji could blend in neatly with their background, and sometimes Chiana saw one scuttle away into the caves below, only to realize two others were looking back at her. They maneuvered the cracks with ease.

She desperately tried to understand their native 'click-clacking' language, but she restrained herself from leaning in too close, having heard stories of people having had their faces ripped off. Again, the Kurojji smiled at her.

Impatiently, she threw away the gifts they presented her, throwing caution and etiquette to the wind. “You got something else for me, huh? Don't think I'm here for my frelling pleasure.”

The sun started to get to her. The sky seemed to turn yellow and every outline in sight started to look blurred.

“Such foul language!” Fango hissed. If he put his hind legs to work he could have easily towered over her, but instead all the crabmen worked a head below her eye line. Chiana was starting to see how she could tell them all apart. Fango had impressive whiskers and there were horns growing from his snout, which almost seemed to form the shape of a small goatee.

“Why are you being so difficult?” he asked her. “You weren't like this before, on the Leviathan.”

“Yeah? Well, it's called salesmanship. Now show me the goods or I'm heading back, to the Leviathan.”

He hissed again, displeased.

“Where is your companion?”

***

Fess Argolius Traal was asleep when Chiana got back. He was commed six times but didn't wake until he heard the doors to his quarters swing open. The mechanics rattled, and then the lights turned on. He groaned as he turned over. Chiana hadn't even changed out of her traveling clothes yet. All the whites hurt his eyes.

“Are we under attack?”

A big hulk of a man growled beneath a thin golden sheet.

“Shut up,” Chiana told him, and kneeled by his bed. “I want you to taste something.”

Beneath a messy curtain of wild black hair, a long blue face stretched into an even longer disgusted grimace, showcasing his yellow fangs and scaly tongue.

“Haven't you got anything better to do? I'm sleeping.”

“I'll make it worth your while,” she added. “Taste it.”

His red eyes widened at the sight of the plug in her hands, and quickly he sat upright. It was of a design he had never seen before.

“You went down to the planet without me? That's dangerous.”

Chiana thanked him for being concerned, then handed over the object.

Fess examined the merchandise by placing it on his big palm and lifting it up to his nose so he could smell it. Then he opened his mouth wide until Chiana could see the plaque between his molars and stretched out his tongue so it almost touched the device. His tongue moved to split in half, and seemingly operated independently like a butterfly's antennae, to feel and taste the device all over. Chiana felt pleased, watching him put that tongue of his to good use again.

“Pilot has finished analyzing the other parts,” she said. “He says he's not sure, but it's possible they belong to the same machine. Crichton's device.”

Fess retracted his tongues, looking worried.

“This has been through many hands.”

It took him a while to come up with that assessment.

“Ew,” Chiana said. “Any tastes you recognize?”

The Hanarian tracker spit on the ground. “Charrids, definitely Charrids. Somewhere in the Rogus sector. Also, Scarran. With a touch of raslak.”

He looked at her then, and Chiana expected him to wink at her, but he didn't. His red eyes simply stared.

“There are also others I don't recognize.”

He tried to hand her the object, but Chiana pointed instead to the nightstand where he could leave it. Politely he set it down.

“So, definitely black market, then.”

“It would seem so.”

Chiana got to her feet, her mind spinning with excitement and dread.

“Scorpius was right then. They're building a wormhole weapon. That's what they took from Moya's data archives! It has to be. Bastards. This is the ninth object on the list we've found so far, and all the dealers say the same thing, that they got it from a Kalish trader , and if that's true...”

“Are you done?”

Suddenly it felt like someone had thrown a bucket of ice cold water over her. Chiana lost her train of thought, and stood up to make room for Fess as he got out of bed, stark naked. He moved as if she wasn't there.

Golden light fell softly on his muscular blue torso, but faded once it reached the black fur that covered his shoulders, spine and waist. Yellow tattoos covered anything that wasn't covered in fur. Fess looked lean, capable of killing a man, although he never had. Chiana always thought of him as younger than her, even though they were of the same age.

Turning his back on Chiana, he gathered metal chains from the floor and placed them on the hooks in the ceiling. Then, in preparation for his morning workout, he lifted himself off the floor, and flung his whole body upside down, so this time, he looked at Chiana face to face. His long hair almost touched the ground. As he opened his mouth to speak, Chiana could see his tongues dancing behind his teeth.

“This is important,” Chiana said.

“So? You didn't need me to tell you that. Pilot could've analyzed it for you. Or are you afraid he'll find out?”

“Frell you.”

“Yes, frell me,” Fess said. His red eyes seemed to accuse her, 'cause he never blinked.

Chiana snatched the plug from the nightstand, and caught her hand shaking. It was hard to find the right words. What the frell did he want from her?

“It was you who cheated on me, remember?”

Chiana spat it out, more than a statement than an accusation. She didn't want it to hurt. She just wanted it to be over.

“I know,” he said.

He stared at her, upside down, his body pumped, and the muscles in his arms strenuously fighting to hold on. Veins throbbed on his forehead, and yet he did not break his calm. The hooks on the ceiling creaked under the pressure of the metal chains. Fess started huffing and puffing, and staring, and Chiana refused to rise to the bait. She would not fight.

“Is this all you've got?” she said.

Chiana turned, and on her way out of the room, she turned off the lights and swiped the door controls to make the doors swing shut again, leaving Fess to finish his exercises in the dark. It was petty, she admitted, but worth it.

Halfway down the corridor, she couldn't remember why she bothered to find him anyway. She'd gotten so caught up in her own little mission, she'd forgotten to be mad at him. Days she'd spent avoiding him, tolerating him, trying to forget him, and then he pulls a stunt like this, just to spite her.

Asshole. She liked that Earth word. It described Fess perfectly: an orifice which only ever lets out dren and stank, and shits over everything, just to get it out of its system.

Pointlessly, she flung the plug in her hand back towards his quarters. There were countless of these now, so it didn't matter; they were all over the black market by now, and created for a single purpose, a single machine. Its design stolen from an unlikely source.

DRD's whizzed past on her way to Pilot. Their little grunts and buzzes pierced an otherwise eerie quiet. After spending time stuck above a desert oasis, Moya's corridors felt awfully cold, and outside there was only darkness and silence. The sounds of her footsteps were dulled by the hard, smooth floor, as she turned the corridor and dove inside an alcove to drink from a water basin.

It was a small bathroom, one of many along Moya's longest tiers grown specifically to service the needs of many Peacekeeper soldiers that walked down these corridors almost fifteen cycles ago. Chiana had almost forgotten it existed. Unused, the stalls seemed to have been slowly reabsorbed back into Moya's system, the organic material from which it had been created had slowly degraded and fallen apart. There were layers that seemed to come off like dry, flayed, skin, or molten cheese, burnt at the edges.

When Chiana leaned in to drink from the small water fountain she mashed the button with the bottom of her fist, but no water would come out of it. After the third attempt at hurting her hand, she looked around and left again.

Chiana marched on, alone. The same old walk she always used to walk.

She could see the doorway that lead to Pilot then, but she kept on walking as soon as her wrist started to itch. Then her clothes seemed to fit too tight and she wanted to rip it all off.

In those desperate times she'd spent alone on Moya, and whoever was left was still sound asleep, of course she'd done it, of course she'd walked down these corridors naked. It was too funny not to. She stopped though, once she realized who was watching. Moya she didn't mind, who glided naked into starlight, but Pilot was male, Pilot was different. And then it occurred to her Pilot had always been watching, had seen them all naked, had seen them all for who they truly were, at their most private and personal.

She dressed uneasily then, one item at a time, as she insisted on ridding herself of the smell of crab before heading back to the den, where Pilot would see her coming.

Whereas in the corridors her footfalls were absorbed by the flat floors, in the magnificent and massive chamber from which Pilot operated, every single whisper seemed to reverberate down below, and every little step made a noise of its own. Chiana nervously tapped along the bridge, comfortable in her own black leathers again, as she called for Pilot. His massive shape was partly obscured by shadow.

Chiana could barely stand to look at his face. Half paralyzed, he rarely spoke these days, as the left side of his mouth drooped causing an incessant slur. Through his left eye, he could no longer see. It hung from the socket, almost dangling sadly, yellow and empty, because it had been that soft tissue through which the Kalish had stuck their needle and invaded his mind.

He could still operate as fast as he used to, although at times his shaking claws were prone to make mistakes.

“I'm sorry....” he softly muttered. “Chiana.... I wanted.... to say hello.”

She jumped on to his forward console and clung to him to press her tears into his neck.

“You don't have to say anything, Pilot. Not if it hurts you.”

“I..... I'm all right.”

“I know you are.”

Chapter Text

There was something off about arriving early in a town like this. It felt disrespectful to catch it off guard, as the people in the town hadn't woken yet, nor had the sun risen above the mountains. Life hadn't started yet, instead the town looked frozen in the layer of motionless snow that covered the rooftops. It was sort of nice, even though she knew very well the danger of sleeping cities. Towns were different. Chiana felt like waiting, waiting for the day to start.

She wondered which house they lived in. Ever since Crichton and Aeryn had left Moya, she'd look for them wandering in secret, moving from place to place to avoid getting found. Not caught. Found. You can't exactly create a black hole weapon that swallows up a solar system and not grab the attention of the entire universe. They were frelling infamous. And so was she.

She liked that it was mostly them, though. She still remembered the beacons that had been scattered across the uncharted territories, the ones that mentioned the rogue Nebari girl and the dead Luxan warrior. Some didn't even mention them at all, and that used to infuriate her. Used to. Not anymore.

Chiana wandered wide-eyed into the empty town square. Her breath turned to vapour in the cold. Casually, she followed the trail of grey stone slabs beneath the snow which lead to the fountain at the centre of the town. It could've been beautiful, but the water had frozen over and the mechanism was bust. Sharp icicles dangled from the tiny ledge When her eyes glimpsed the clock tower she rolled up her glove, and exposed her wrist to the freezing air, only to find her watch didn't show the same time.

“The frell?”

Last time she was here, the two clocks had been synchronized, but now her watch was running a little under an arn ahead. It must've had something to do with travelling via Starburst. Crichton had once told her something about that, about a hu-man called Einstein and the weirdness of travelling at the speed of light. She missed the way he used to explain things.

Shuffling through the snow, Chiana cursed the cold, and found her way to the inn at the end of the hill. As she approached, a man in slippers and bathrobe opened the door and beckoned her in.

“Come in, come in,” the man told her, watching her slowly walk towards him.

There was a sign above the door, of a figure, carved in wood, next to the name of the inn. It looked like a scarecrow chasing a band of children. Chiana wondered whether they were smiling or screaming, since the artist didn't bother to give the children faces.

“Thanks,” Chiana said, when the creaking door shut. She pulled her hands out of her pockets and removed her gloves, but inside the temperature was hardly any better. Her backpack slipped from her shoulder and Chiana managed to catch it within the corner of her elbow.

“Darn, you're cold as a stone,” the man in the bathrobe said, as he took her hand. “It crept right into your gloves there, didn't it? Hold on, let me light a fire.”

Chiana shrugged as he turned his back on her. “Sure, why not?”

The man left for a moment, allowing Chiana to get aquainted with her new surroundings. It didn't take long for her to remember this place, as nothing much had changed since the last time she stayed here. The same old seats encircled the fireplace, and the same old set of golden goblets proudly adorned the mantlepiece, even if they hadn't been polished in a while. Chiana sat down and waited.

The man returned, and Chiana could tell in advance by the soft 'clap clap' of his slippers that preceded him. In his hands he held a steaming mug of some hot beverage for his guest, which he set down on the glass table before her. He was slightly flustered now, his cheeks were red, as he took two black stones from the pockets of his robe and started banging them together above the logs. His backside wasn't a pleasant sight, as he almost clambered headfirst into the fireplace.

“I....suppose....” he proceeded to say, somewhat strained, in between every beat of the stones, “that..... you'll be wanting a room.”

“If that's okay with you.”

She took a careful zip of her drink. It tasted as hazelnut brown as it looked.

“For how long will you be staying?” he said. The stones sparked, but they still did nothing to light the logs. Still, the man looked at her with a twinkle in his eye, as if to say, 'Don't worry, this won't take long'.

“I don't know. It depends.”

“This is a small town,” the man spoke.

He dropped to his knees when his back started to ache.

“I know,” Chiana said with a smile.

“Not many people come here long. They usually travel on to the big cities. That's where all the money is.”

“I know.”

“So why are you here?”

Chiana thought about it for a microt.

“It's a secret.”

The twinkle in his eye disappeared, and he was becoming more and more frustrated that the stones refused to do their job.

“But I suppose you could help me out. I'm looking for some old friends of mine.”

“Could you?”

The man clambered from the fireplace, holding his back with one hand, and handed the stones over to Chiana in the other. Instead, Chiana reached inside her coat pocket and fetched a lighter. The flame danced atop the tiny lighter, then as it touched the logs it spread and cast a wild orange light into the previously white barren room.

The wooden floor moaned underneath the man's every step, until he sat down beside her, warming his hands to the flames.

“You're lucky I saw you,” he said. “You could've been standing there for another arn or so.”

“I knew you were watching me.”

“Oh, you did?”

“I have a special sense for stuff like that. Keeps me alive.”

The man nodded, impressed.

“I don't have special senses like that,” he said. “My mother used to say I only know nonsense.”

He laughed and Chiana chuckled, until he started coughing. A whiff of smoke escaped the chimney and evaporated above their heads.

“I can't think of a better joke,” he said.

When she finished her drink the man (“Call me Thail,” he said, “Thail the Handsome.”) showed her to her room upstairs. Together they clung to the bannister up this narrow winding stair, whose creaking wooden steps their feet barely had room to squeeze onto, up to the second storey where Chiana found herself on a comfortably, soft carpeted landing. Thail pointed her to the bathroom first, and then her room. It was small, small enough that even she could stretch out her hands and touch both walls with her fingertips. Opposite the door there was a window. The dust seemed to burst into being as Thail moved the curtains and let the morning light fall on to the empty desk and the bed, tucked into the corner next to the door.

“It's amazing,” she said. She had a perfect view of the surrounding woodland.

Thail only asked to see payment up front. Chiana fished inside her pocket once again, moved her lighter aside with her hand, and found some coins she was willing to dispense with.

“What is this?” he told her. “I can't work with this.”

“They're Scarran krendars.”

“Scarran? Look around. I don't get many Scarran customers around here.”

She took the krendars back and got out her wallet, even though she didn't want to reveal where she stashed it on her person right in front of him.

“Will seven brandar tiles do?”

“They'll do just fine, thank you.”

Chiana froze, waiting for him to leave, and when he finally got the message he smiled, bowed and took his leave.

“Enjoy your stay.”

“I will,” she said and closed the door.

Then it was suddenly quiet. A soft chill crept in underneath the windowsill. Chiana closed the curtains and got into bed as soon as the shivers returned.

“I think I'll take a nap first.”

Chapter Text

When Chiana awoke at midday, an emptiness washed over her. She suddenly felt more tired than when she got into bed that morning. Her joints hurt, her back seemed to scream, her bladder was full, and her legs refused to leave the confides of the warm covers. It was the oldest she felt in her life.

She rubbed her eyes, recounting how many times that morning she had heard someone descend those creaky stairs, while pale light snuck past the curtains to blind her with brightness. Her interrupted sleep had lead to crazy dreams, until she started to feel downright disconnected from reality. There seemed to be something missing, but she couldn't put her finger on it, until she realized this had been the first time she'd slept planetbound in a long long time.

In kicking away her covers, she committed to the day, even though she still felt sore walking all those motras into town. Her ears still felt painfully numb.

When she got up from her bed she stepped right into a cold puddle of water; a trail of snow left behind on the bottom of her boots, which had melted overnight.

Despite appearances, the cold outside hadn't gone, and was still powerful enough to make a skinny man's appendages fall off, so Chiana, even though she had slept in her clothes, put on her coat again and tied her scarf so tightly around her neck that it was close enough to choking her.

Reluctantly, she went on with her work.

There were four items she treasured most inside her backpack. When she unzipped it, she placed them atop the wooden desk to examine them closely, and make sure they were not only ready, but also not robbed. Even though the bolt she had placed on the door before sleeping seemed to have been untouched, she still needed to see it with her own eyes. Just to make sure.

Then came a sudden knock at her door, and Chiana swiftly put her knife and her gun away first, strapping them to her person underneath her coat. Then she put away her communicator, but hesitated to put the fourth item back into the pack. While the banging continued, she held it within her hands, turning it over and over, in wonder of what it could possibly be. Then she put it back in and slid her backpack on to her shoulder again, before removing the bolt from the door.

“Who the frell are you?” she had to ask, upon seeing who interrupted her.

“I'm Kor Alabacha. I work here,” the boy said.

Chiana waited for something to care about.

“Mr Thail doesn't want his doors to be locked,” he added, nervously.

“Frell you,” was the first thing that came to Chiana's mind.

“Well, you can tell your master that I'm going to take a bath, and that the door will be very very locked.”

“You can't.”

“Yeah? You just watch me.”

“No, I mean... There's no hot water. The pipes have all frozen.”

Chiana sighed.

“Frell.”

She thought for a microt. Alabacha noticeably swallowed and waited, wide-eyed and innocent. There was a time when she used to jump on hot young things like him without a second thought.

“Just get me a bucket,” she said.

At times like these she really missed Moya.

For the next arn and a half she sat in the chair in front of the fireplace, rubbing her hands and waiting for the water in the bucket to boil. Little 'ting' noises crept from the fireplace, as the heat made the metal of the old bucket expand.

Chiana was surprised to find she wasn't the only guest at Thail's inn today. Maybe it was the way he had been coddling her that morning which had given her that impression, or maybe that was just his personal charm, but there were other guests eating their lunches across the room, and she could still hear people walking up and down the creaking stairs. Luckily she'd brought her backpack down with her, so no-one would be tempted to steal it. She looked at it once in a while, sitting at the side of her chair, to make sure it was still there.

Alabacha emerged from behind the counter with a mop, to soak up the water that had pooled by the doormat. Chiana watched him handle the stick clumsily, and found him suddenly not as attractive as she did when he stood in her doorway. His eyes were a little bit too close together, and he had only a few hairs sprouting from his weak chin, too little for someone his age. He had a sneaky way about him, as if he thought no-one could see him, and he looked at the guests with disdain.

It's weird how you can see people one way at first, and then suddenly see them in a completely different way. She was glad she didn't act on instinct before. She was probably just feeling lonely, that's all, even if that didn't sound like her.

Suddenly the door flung open and a big ball of fur appeared, shaking off snow wherever it went, right where Alabacha had just cleaned it up, and it took Chiana a moment to realize it was a man. Thail looked better without the bathrobe and slippers, although his flushed cheeks hadn't faded. In his burgundy furs and matching hat, he looked like a man trapped inside a bear.

“You want breakfast?” he said, the microt he found her. He struggled to take off his coat. “I'll get breakfast.”

“No, thanks,” Chiana said, even though she was starving. “I'm fine.”

The man was grunting, and talking to himself all the way down to the back room where he must've ditched his coat, because he re-appeared without it. He clipped his servant Alabacha behind the ear and told him to clean up the mess he'd just made. No wonder the kid was so unhappy, Chiana thought.

The water finally started to boil. Chiana carefully lifted the spike with both hands, wearing her gloves to keep them from getting burned, and set the bucket down before her. Burning particles and sparks flew up into the chimney while she put the spike back beside the blackened logs where she found it.

Without forgetting her backpack, she carefully carried the bucket up the winding stairs, without spilling a drop. Hot vapour rose from the water. Her hand started sweating.

Maybe she should sleep with Alabacha, she thought. She'd be doing the kid a favour, showing him some much needed appreciation, and in return, she'd have gained herself an ally, more importantly, someone to do her dirty work for her. Because, let's face it, her sex is awesome. Anyone would do anything to get into her pants a second time. She could use a man on the inside. Both literally and figuratively. She laughed for having come up with that joke.

She could sit down, talk to him, and wrap him around her little finger.

The door to the bathroom was locked when she reached the second floor. She banged on the door and cursed whoever was in it, until she finally heard the sound of flushing water and the 'click' of a door being unlocked. The man looked at her funny when he was finally driven away.

She locked the door.

“Finally...” she said, relieved to be able to put the bucket down. She opened the small window to get rid of the presence of the previous occupant. It didn't become any warmer.

Chiana decided not to sleep with Alabacha when she caught her own reflection in the mirror. It was a stupid thought, anyway.

Let them wait, she thought to herself, let them all wait, as she started to undress. Her butt cheeks flattened against the edge of the bath she leaned against, and she knew she was naked when she felt goosebumps all over her body.

Then she carefully bent over the bucket, taking a piece of cloth from her pack and dipping it within until it touched the bottom. The hot air tickled her nostrils. When the wet cloth touched her skin the water seemed to freeze instantly, as if it hadn't been heated at all. Still, she enjoyed it. She'd seen worse days than this. For an instance, she did stop, though, and contemplated all the people that didn't get to share this feeling today. She sighed, then resumed.

Rubbing a small crystal against her wet skin, a white soapy substance spread. She made circles with it on her arms and body until her grey skin turned completely white and smooth. All the blood and dirt and sweat, and all those metras of walking in the snow, seemed to come right off.

Bending over with a groan, she picked the bucket up from the floor and raised it above her head, smiling, before she tipped it over and let it flow right over her. For a moment it burned, then it froze. Quickly, she reached for a towel and buried her face within it.

When she looked up, she could see nothing but a clear white sky through the small window.

“Let them wait,” she told herself again.

Then her backpack started vibrating, to the sound of a bleeping noise and a small green light. Chiana rummaged within and found what she was looking for.

Chiana was shaking, before she took out her communicator, but then suddenly it stopped.

Clutching her towel, she answered the call.

Chapter Text

“You're late.”

Miklo Braca waited for her in the street, with his hands dug deep inside his pockets. His bad mood only increased Chiana's mirth, and so she grinned at him as she walked out the door. He looked different. It wasn't the haircut, a short square cut which had almost turned as grey as hers, nor the familiar patch of hair underneath his bottom lip. His scar looked the same as ever, cutting deep through the constantly worrying wrinkles on his spotted forehead. No, what was different was that for the first time in nine years he actually looked like he was a man used to fieldwork. His deriding eyes looked her over in return, gliding across her new grey coat.

The way he looked, he seemed to be hiding an arsenal beneath his bulky black leather coat. Not exactly inconspicuous. His gloves barely fit into the pockets. She herself opted more for a native look. The soft grey wool had silver linings, and a large leather patch around her waist. It was slimming, but also managed to cover her from neck to toe without getting in her way. Her gun, comms and knife pressed against her body, so she knew exactly where to reach for them in a pinch.

“I see you're blending in with the natives,” Braca said.

“Yeah. You like it?”

“No.”

Braca had to keep up with her as she marched down the hill. The cold air stung their faces.

“I had the innkeeper arrange it for me, plus some other expenses.”

She brushed some snow off her new coat. Braca sighed, knowing he'd get stuck with the bill.

“I've got the servant boy checking out all the local hardware shops for specific orders,” Chiana resumed. “All I need now is to find some neutral ground.”

She knew Crichton couldn't resist tinkering at his projects and gadgets, and to do so would require certain items. Items that could lead her straight to his door.

Braca grunted.

They spoke without making eye contact, each pretending the other wasn't really there.

“I don't know what that means,” Braca said. “But when you're done, I want you to report back to me straight away.”

Chiana scoffed at the very notion of Braca suggesting he was her boss. He rubbed his red dribbling nose with the back of his glove.

“Crichton's probably not even here,” he continued. “This is the third time you've crossed us, Chiana. Scorpius won't be as forgiving this time.”

“He will be,” Chiana spoke, smiling when suddenly something swooped in to circle the town. Even though her good looks had gone, the black aircraft could still surf smoothly across the treetops, and fly as if the whole world was watching.

“Because he knows I'm right.”

“But that's a Prowler!” Braca exclaimed, as he watched it touch down somewhere behind the woods. “Except there isn't a Command Carrier in range for several weeks! You're not seriously suggesting...”

“Yup, that's her. She knows I'm here.”

Chiana trudged on. Wheels drove through the snow, of massive wagons carrying thick wooden logs towards even bigger factories. And they blocked the road. Men were shouting up ahead, wondering why they couldn't keep moving, and Chiana knew one of them must've got itself stuck in the snow.

“They're idiots. Everybody will be looking for a Prowler...”

“And yet they still haven't been caught yet. I mean, you never found them, did you?”

Braca seemed to mope. “Not for lack of trying.”

“No, Scorpius definitely didn't try. I wonder why that is.”

Finally the train of wagons moved, and they could see past them to the other side of the street, where rows and rows of stately stores stood, and narrow houses squeezed between them, windows stacked atop each other. Grand limestone staircases lead to each front door, adorned with flowers and thorns. Winter seemed to wrap everything, and while the snow lingered, time stood still.

Chiana checked her watch. A high pitched wind howled in the distance, just out of reach, as if ringing through a long metal tube. If ice had a voice it would sound like that.

“You said something about neutral ground?”

Chiana weighed her options before crossing the street.

Peering through the stained windows she could see a barber cutting a blonde woman's hair, and in the next, she saw an aroma bar where its many patrons readily enjoyed slurping hot air from shapely blue vases. Then a disgruntled man in a long brown coat and fur hat left the third building in a hurry, and as he left his house, he ran down his front steps and nearly slipped across a patch of ice. He nearly ran them over in his haste, but Chiana and Braca looked on, quietly amused.

“In here,” Chiana said as they reached the fourth building. It was a small pet shop. They could hear the animals screech inside those doors.

Braca climbed the small stairs with both hands still stubbornly lodged inside his coat pockets. The birds screeched as they saw his face peering into the window, and something with lots of teeth barked at him from within a strong cage.

“You're a fool if you think I'm even going to set one foot inside this shop.”

“Well, you're gonna.”

And he did. Braca was easily swayed, she found, a natural follower, and loyal to a fault. It didn't surprise her he was only ever a captain for so short a while. The Peacekeepers are very careful in who they train to fight, and who they train to lead.

But right now the last thing she needed was to be followed around town by some stray dog. If Aeryn saw them standing together in the street she would turn around and leave, thinking there was something either horribly wrong, or that she had betrayed them to the Peacekeepers.

Both of which weren't completely wrong, or right for that matter. She still didn't quite understand how she had ended up in this crazy situation. One thing lead to another, and suddenly she was a fugitive no more. Now people ran away from her, if they were left alive long enough to remember. That was something to be proud of, in the long run, she reckoned. If only her brother could see her now.

The creaking door clanged into a tiny bell, announcing their entry into the shop. A young woman behind the counter presented a serviceable smile, while the creatures in the cages made their horrible noises.

“We need to use the back door, if that's all right with you,” Chiana told her. The woman turned to call her manager, but by then they had already passed her by.

“You can't just go in there!” she cried after them, until she was silenced by Chiana actually opening the back door.

“You have a key?”

Chiana had picked the lock so quickly the girl hadn't even noticed. Braca smiled, thanked her with a curt nod, and followed Chiana into the back garden. Back into the cold.

“Was that really necessary?”

His constant complaining was getting on her nerves. She had to find a way to ditch him somehow, or lock him in a closet somewhere. So she quickened her pace. Climbed a fence.

“Hey, wait!”

The alleyway was empty; nothing but relentless brick reaching four stories into the sky. Chiana felt as if she was gliding through this shadow world. Snow crackled beneath her boots. When Braca was far enough behind her, she dropped all pretense and started running.

The ground was slippery. With every step she took she was putting her life at risk, and she didn't know where the alleyway would stop or where it would take her. Her heart beat to the rhythm of her pace. And she remembered the metronome, from when she was just a kid, as it stood on her teacher's desk, guiding their oral lessons, and their music in praise of the Nebari leaders, designed to give them pause and give them structure and discipline. She'd hated it, but her anger gave her focus, restrained her fear, let her scream and let her run, as buildings raced on by in a blur of bricks, until she reached the end.

Braca yelled at her as she crossed the street, as she bounded into the white world, and Chiana stopped, feeling the aim of a gun pointed at her back. Call it survival instinct. Maybe there was something of the visions left after all. But she stopped and froze on the other side of the street, just as the clock tower struck a fourth time.

From her vantage point, she was the only one to see him, standing in between two buildings and hidden in the shadow. She wanted to slap that smug smile off his face.

They were too far apart to hear anything said by either of them, and both too out of breath to try and utter anything. So they stood there, locked in a deadly stare, as Braca coiled his outstretched hands around his pulse pistol, heaving.

Then it happened, almost too fast for Braca to comprehend it, and massive wagons drove into the line of fire, a long line of heavy wheels burrowing uphill into the snow. Braca yelled in vain, seeing leather boots dash out of sight, but when he ran out into the street and the train had passed, she had gone.

Why she thought of that metronome then eluded her. More and more her mind drifted back to her childhood these days. But out of many places and planets she remembered to be covered in snow, Nebari Prime would be the one she would never forget, and always associate with it.

She used to love the snow. Now she wrapped her arms around herself and closed up her coat to keep out the cold, looking both ways as she crossed the street once more.

When Chiana entered the aroma bar, a cloud of musty smoke instantly assaulted her senses. There was no bell at the door here. Just a bearded man behind the bar, who kept a close eye on the young crowd passing the blue vase around their small circle of friends. There were stools, tapestries and other wooden furniture, which made Chiana think all the scented candles were a big mistake. Clearly a fire hazard. But it was a place of softness nonetheless.

There was a small fireplace, and a big kitchen for anyone with an appetite. The bearded man clearly expected her to order something, so she took a glance at the menu and ordered something she hoped would have meat on it. She hadn't eaten in days.

When Chiana turned her head to look around, she saw a woman sitting in the corner, her face partly obscured by the wooden pillar that stood between them, but she could've recognised that long black hair anywhere. She cautiously walked over and sat in the booth opposite her.

Aeryn showed slight crow's feet as she narrowed her eyes, leaning over to check the door behind her.

“You're late.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

Chapter Text

Her hands were cold. The aroma bar was flooded by a winter wind every time the door opened and closed.

Chiana watched the bearded bartender put on an apron and shout something into the kitchen she couldn't understand. With a slight limp in his step he walked over to their booth and placed some napkins and cutlery in front of Chiana. She couldn't help but notice the delicate lettering imprinted on the fine red napkins, as she softly traced it with her finger. Chiana smiled nervously until the man went away.

Aeryn had still said nothing, nor had she ordered anything. By the time Chiana's meal had arrived she was still quietly sitting opposite her, her hands gently folded on the empty space before her, content to merely watch Chiana eat.

“That was quick,” Chiana noted, approvingly.

After days in this cold, she bet she could eat a whole Hynerian donkey. Give or take the right sauce.

“Sheriff,” the bearded bartender grunted, and Aeryn nodded politely in response.

Chiana looked at the man and then back to Aeryn, as if to make sure she didn't hear wrong.

“Really? So, you're sheriff now, huh?”

Aeryn smiled.

“You look good, Chiana,” she merely said.

Aeryn didn't look so bad herself. The native greys looked wise on her, and indeed the woollen fabric was bulky, but only served to counterpoint her lean fighting body beneath. But then again, Aeryn had always been in perfect shape. Her face was tanned, except for the discolouring around her eyes, where the imprint of round goggles could still be faintly seen. There were curls in her hair Chiana hadn't seen in many cycles.

Chiana wondered suddenly how Aeryn had managed to get here so quickly, having seen her land so far out into the woods, but she let the thought slide as she stared down at the thing she had ordered. The plate steamed. It was a pungent smell that arose from the mound of orange flesh she at first mistook for some sort of huge mushroom. It sat surrounded by purple leaves on her plate. Skipping the salad, she opted to dig straight in, but the blunt knife could barely cut through the top of the great lobster's shell.

“Neither flesh or fish,” Chiana muttered to herself, losing her confidence but not her appetite. “Great. Just great.”

The corners of Aeryn's mouth only curved slightly upwards this time.

“I don't think that's exactly what you ordered,” she said.

Chiana shrugged.

“I don't care. I'm starving.”

Dropping her utensils, she grabbed both sides of the scaly creature on her plate and started tugging until the flesh cracked and let go. The more she pulled, the more she lifted it from the plate, revealing long boney legs, or tendrils, tucked underneath, ending in jagged white pincers.

“It's a spider crab...” Chiana noted and smiled. “I've had this before.”

Aeryn smiled again. Chiana had never seen her so calm before. It was almost as if she was waiting.

“So how have you been holding up?” Chiana asked, after downing her first bite of spider crab intestines. The flesh was much hotter on the inside. Slivers of smoke rose from the cracks in its body, blending in with the many-coloured aromas that drifted through the bar.

“It's been five years,” Chiana continued. The flame of the candle flickered nervously when the door to the bar opened and shut again. “The Breakaway Colonies mustn't be a very comfortable place to live, but then again, you could do worse. Why here, though? Couldn't you have picked a better climate?”

“The planet's seasonal tilt moves slow. Its winters and summers last for five years,” Aeryn explained. “Sometimes even longer. You should really see this place in the summer. It's magnificent.”

Chiana laughed. “You've changed. First time I've seen you take an interest in the scenery.”

Aeryn moved on.

“We're less noticed among Sebaceans. Here, we don't stand out in the crowd.”

Chiana got the message. They're hiding, and they've been hiding here for cycles. Chiana stared into her eyes and saw the anger beneath the surface. She remembered it well. Aeryn could never hide it that well.

She was worried whether Chiana had been leading her into a trap.

“I wouldn't exactly call this a crowd,” Chiana continued, her mouth obscenely stuffed with crustacean. Some parts were a bit too hard to swallow, and too painful to chew. “Civilization's hard to come by around these parts.”

“We manage.”

“You mean survive.”

Aeryn sighed, finally losing her patience.

“Look, I'm not here to play wordgames, Chiana,” Aeryn spoke, and the smile disappeared. “I know why you're here.”

Chiana wiped her mouth. The bearded bartender ocassionally glanced into their direction while he was cleaning his glasses by hand.

“Does Crichton know I'm here?” Chiana asked.

“No.”

Aeryn did not leave any room for doubt there.

“And I'll see to it that it stays that way. Scorpius can find somebody else to do his dirty work for him. And I guess he found you.”

“Hey!” Chiana exclaimed. “What? No! I don't work for Scorpius!”

Aeryn waited.

“No, I mean, not really.”

“Of course, you don't. You've just gotten yourself in a mess of your own making, as usual, but I'm not going to let you drag my family down with you.”

Her family. She hád changed.

The candle flickered again. A cold shiver ran across Chiana's spine.

“Frell you.”

The youths at the other side of the bar dropped their blue vase, but despite the shattering sound Chiana did not look away from Aeryn.

“All I need is some help. Just let me talk to Crichton. I don't work for Scorpius!”

The bartender stopped cleaning his glasses, took off his apron and retreated into the kitchen.

Aeryn's eyes narrowed as a fleeting smirk appeared across her face.

Then a shadow passed her by and the candle's flame went out. Chiana gasped, realizing suddenly who had really piloted the Prowler she'd seen arrive just before. She could hear his leather chafing, and squeak, not to mention the low growl beneath his breath, as he loomed over her.

“Welcome,” Aeryn said. “I'm glad you could make it.”

Scorpius grabbed himself a chair.

****

Chiana felt humiliated.

When she stared at Aeryn, she could only find a condescending look gazing back at her, as if she was only doing it for Chiana's own good. Frell that.

Scorpius sighed ingratiatingly, knowingly, and admittedly amused by the awkward silence. The legs of the chair slowly scraped along the floor as Scorpius moved closer and sat down. The light from the cold outdoors reflected in his rough, leather body armour, that covered his entire body, except his face. If anyone passing by would have felt inclined to look in through the window, it would've been a very weird sight indeed, to see the three of them sitting at a booth in the corner.

Chiana clenched her jaw shut, while Aeryn waited, so Scorpius took it upon himself to restart the conversation. His thin lips stretched to form a breathy smile, but Chiana could only see teeth.

She'd never seen him this up close before, or if she had, she couldn't remember. The last time she remembered seeing him in person was back when he still occupied a cell on Moya. No wait, that wasn't right. He was standing not far away from her on Command the day everything went to hell and back, on the final day of the war.

“Is this where you wanted me?” Scorpius said impatiently, and he only had eyes for Aeryn. It was like Chiana didn't exist. She'd fulfilled her purpose and she was now being discarded. This was it. This was what he wanted. Except he wasn't there yet.

Because he didn't have Crichton.

“This makes things so much easier, doesn't it?” Aeryn smiled.

Scorpius oozed sarcasm.

Chiana felt stuck in the booth, unable to leave because Scorpius was blocking her. The meal in front of her, still steaming, looked like a bad joke. She felt like a child in an adult conversation.

“Did you send Chiana here?” Aeryn asked Scorpius.

She still had that air of conceit on her face, and after that comment Chiana wanted to throw something into her face.

“Frell you, Aeryn,” Chiana said, and stood up. “You should've trusted me.”

“Sit down, Chiana.”

Aeryn had locked eyes with Scorpius, waiting for his reply.

“It's not your fault. You were simply being used. But this is as far as it goes. The end of the line.”

Scorpius closed his eyes and smiled, as if she had just flattered him. Chiana slowly sat back down, moving slightly at a more appropriate angle from the two of them, as she watched Scorpius's hand hover over the table's woodgrain. Then his devilish eyes appeared again and he stared at Chiana. Maybe he was as stuck as she was.

When he finally spoke, his voice was smooth, without a hint of a threat, but still they hung by his every word.

“You think you're safe,” he said. “You think running away will solve everything.”

“We've done our part, remember? We did what you wanted. We did what we had to do.”

“And who do you think has kept you safe?” Scorpius continued.

Finally someone had burst Aeryn's bubble. It was disquieting to see, really, how she suddenly lost her shine. Anger seethed through, and a hurt pride.

“We did not ask you for help,” Aeryn spoke, but again, Scorpius ignored her words.

“As Arbiter to the Scarran peace treaty, I have been charged with keeping the existence of wormhole weapons a secret, and banned, and I have headed a special taskforce to enforce this law, for almost ten cycles.”

Chiana knew that his powers went way beyond that. If he were not officially bound to his responsibilities as Arbiter, he could have easily amassed enough strength or influence to be a big player among the Peacekeeper hotshots. Of course, there's an advantage to keeping to the shadows, and Chiana had learned that while in the employ of this taskforce several times before. Scorpius had only stepped out of the shadows now, especially at Aeryn's request.

“Until certain recent events, there hadn't been a threat in over many cycles. You understand that I am forced to react.”

“What recent events?” Aeryn asked.

Scorpius bowed his head and silently turned to Chiana. She smiled, emptily, for all the things she meant to say.

“Noranti's dead,” she said, with a lump in the back of her throat. It felt so trivial now to say, so random, to think of the dead.

“I meant to say before. T-there was a raid....and-and she died, because she was old.... But some Kalish mercenaries got on board, tied us up and left with some important information.”

“...Moya?”

“Moya's fine. It's.... it's Pilot. They sucked it out of his skull. He was hurt bad. Real bad.”

Scorpius turned his gaze back to Aeryn, shocked as she may have been, and resumed.

“I managed to track the dataprints to the Kalish homeworld, before the Scarran Emperor ordered it destroyed.”

“The dataprints?”

“The Kalish homeworld.”

A grim silence fell in the conversation, but Aeryn never blinked.

“But by then it was too late,” Chiana finished. “I've found several parts of it, already spread across several dealers on the black market. If you could call that a black market.”

“But there's only one man who knew how to activate it,” Aeryn interjected. “Because those parts are useless without an ignition source. Without the knowledge...”

Scorpius turned silent.

“They will come for him,” he said. “And when they do.... I cannot guarantee his safety.”

Chapter Text

Chiana had sat in the booth for what felt like arns now, a moment she now seriously started to consider as the worst moment of her life, even though she knew she would have to come back to that opinion later.

It didn't matter now, because it was over, and Scorpius had stood up after some awkward stares, before marching out the door. Patience exuded from Aeryn. She had played the game well.

In the end, what mattered most was the things they hadn't told each other: the silences between every one of their sentences, in which the pair of them had stared at each other and respectfully remembered their histories. Aeryn had never told Chiana what had really gone on in those troubling times away from Moya, after they had destroyed Scorpius's Command Carrier, long ago, just like she had never told Aeryn what had happened to her, which made them even, she supposed. But she still remembered finding her, almost passing out within Crichton's arms upon their return to Moya, and seeing Scorpius standing there in her wake, asking for asylum. That had been nearly twelve cycles ago. If Crichton had given the word, she would have blown Scorpius's head off, and then today would've looked very different.

Now, for a second time in twelve cycles, they had come together for Crichton. After nearly a decade of hiding in the shadows, they had been lured out into the open again to face each other. Scorpius had come unarmed. Aeryn had not.

Chiana had noticed Scorpius could be charming if he wanted to, but Aeryn had her pride to protect, and John's, and blocked him with mere body language. Whatever he was proposing, she wasn't interested, but Scorpius merely smiled, for he had held no illusions about this meeting in his mind, and knew that they would not listen to reason.

Chiana remembered the last time Scorpius had offered Crichton to join the Peacekeepers, and use his wormhole knowledge to defend the universe from the Scarrans, and he had kindly returned him to his masters with a bomb strapped to his chest. She still smiled when she thought of that.

This time was different. Scorpius saw no interest in Crichton, now that the wormhole knowledge had been removed from his mind. But of course, he was only one of few that actually knew that.

Aeryn lit one of the aroma sticks when she reached the open air. The snow crackled beneath their feet as the door shut behind them. The blue light hurt her eyes.

She could've chosen to join Scorpius and run after him, and in due time she would probably come to that, but first things first. Aeryn was her friend. She deserved to know about Pilot.

“Scorpius is a bastard,” Chiana said, to break the tense silence between them. “But you know already know that.”

The sound of children playing in the snow burst into the alleyway, as the children run screaming down the street. The gardens all looked similar down here, just like the petshop she had run through earlier. The same colourless fences and stone walls, locking a blanket of snow inside, about as thick as a tall laced up military boot.

Aeryn's calm unnerved her. She smiled at Chiana, as if she had forgotten she was still there. Her eyes narrowed to adjust to her bright white surroundings, while Chiana's eyes simply switched to a different setting automatically.

“Moya...” she said. “She's not in orbit, is she?”

“No,” Chiana admitted.

Would they come visit, she wondered? She thought they should. It was the least they could do. Pilot really misses them.

“I told Pilot to go explore for a few days, while I take care of business here. They love exploring. Besides, a Leviathan parked in orbit would be the first thing anyone would look for.... I'm not stupid, you know.”

“You've grown, Chiana,” Aeryn said. “Just be careful, all right?”

“I can take care of myself.”

Aeryn looked away.

Chiana walked closer to Aeryn, her shoes sinking into the fresh, untouched snow (she could see the little imprints of birds further on at the back of the garden), not knowing how to position herself. She waited for Aeryn to say something.

“Scorpius won't help,” Aeryn changed the subject. The thin little stick was still smoking in between her fingers, leaving behind a thin long grey trail that extended into the sky as it rose. The smell of flowers tainted Aeryn's breath.

“There's nothing to gain for him,” Chiana added. “Not now you've turned him down. Everything would've been much easier if you'd just said 'yes'.”

Aeryn said nothing, so Chiana continued.

“But when do we ever take the easy path?”

Aeryn smiled again, and Chiana was getting sick of it.

“You're staying aren't you?”

she said.

Chiana couldn't believe it.

“Frell it, Aeryn! I would've expected as much from Crichton, but from you? When did you get as stubborn as he is? Oh, never mind. This is serious, Aeryn.”

“Scorpius never told you, did he?”

“About this? About the attack? No, but it makes sense that they would want to come after Crichton! And if he says they're coming...”

“We've been hiding here for 9 cycles. The only way anyone was going to find us here is if someone showed how. And you lead him straight here didn't you, doing exactly what he wanted.”

Chiana lost her breath.

“But Scorpius.... he told you.... “

She'd been wrong. This was the worst moment of her life.

“Bait," Chiana realized. "He's using you as bait.”

It was a message. Not a warning. Aeryn scoffed at Chiana's naivety.

“He's going to let you die...”

“And we'll die fighting.”

Aeryn threw the aroma stick into the snow. It made a neat little hole where it fell. Then she headed for the gate and left the garden, Chiana hot on her heels.

Chiana regained herself. She'd been so stupid. How could she let this happen?

The damage was done, and there was nothing she could do to set it right again.

“Let me talk to Crichton,” she begged her, while hurrying beside her. Aeryn was unmoved.

“No.”

“I just want to talk to him. Why won't you let me see him?”

Children ran past them, skidding in the snow. They forced Aeryn to stop, and look at her.

“Because if he'll see you, he'll want to leave and go back to Moya. And we're not leaving.”

Aeryn didn't care to tell her the truth. Chiana could tell she had mellowed over the cycles, because the old Aeryn would've put her down where she stood, with a punch or with a gunshot. She'd never liked talking. And she never smoked before. She'd hated mind-altering substances. Chiana remembered her saying it was exclusively for losers and everyone else that wanted to substitute reality with empty dreams. She remembered Crichton being there as well.

“But you could still escape! You could still run! Hide! You don't have to die!”

Aeryn ignored her, marching on into the street. Chiana felt like she'd been here before.

The man was back, in his long brown coat and fur hat, he looked distinctively less harrowed than before, and also, he, except for his nose, was no longer running. He nodded at Aeryn in passing. It was a nod of respect and kindness. They watched him walk up the steps to his front porch and enter his house, where a warm fireplace would be waiting for him.

“This is not your fight, Chiana. You have your own life.”

Chiana laughed. “Do I?”

“Moya needs you.”

“There's no-one else left.”

Chiana started crying.

“I'm not leaving you. I will fight for you. I will make things right. I will.”

“Tell Pilot we love him. Tell Moya....”

“I wish I could've seen D'Argo,” Chiana said. “He must be so old now... Probably looks like his dad.”

Tears were welling up inside Aeryn's eyes as well now. It was extremely silly now, the pair of them standing there, with their hands in their pockets, bawling their eyes out.

“He does,” Aeryn said. “And he's doing fine. Both he, and his sister.”

Chiana couldn't believe it.

“Sister?”

Aeryn nodded.

“You guys must've really been at it! But frell, what else is there to do in a place like this?”

“Goodbye, Chiana.”

One last look, and Aeryn placed her hand on Chi's shoulder, while walking away. She would never forget that touch.

Chiana sucked in her tears. Her throat hurt.

“This isn't over,” she softly announced to herself.

She challenged the cold and empty sky.

“I'm coming back. You hear me? I'm coming back.”

****

As soon as she got back on the ship, Chiana ran straight to Command. It felt good to be back, knowing exactly what she had to do.

When she finally tore her eyes away from the command console and saw the stars peering through the view portal, she smiled and commed Pilot.

His soft presence emerged in holographic form, eager to know what was on Chiana's mind. So she told him.

Pilot promised he would do the best he can to guide Moya to her new destination.

“Preparing for Starburst!”

Chiana allowed herself one last look at the snowed in continent which housed her friends on the planet below, before Moya's entire body was swallowed up by a massive blue energy, and disappeared into light.

Chapter Text

The attack had come four weekens later and winter still persisted. The deep layers of snow had become blackened and scorched by fire, and riddled with wreckage and corpses. The trees stood firm, while the town burned.

The smell of ash followed her as Chiana abandoned the path and headed downhill, towards the forest. The fires cast tall shadows out in the open streets, flickering and dancing shadows with freaky elongated arms. They looked like aliens whose fingers reached into the distance.

The forest loomed beside her, turning darker and darker within as the day turned to dusk, becoming an impenetrable black barrier with every passing breath. With the heat of the wild flames far behind her, the cold no longer bothered to chill anymore, and went straight to frostbite.

People had been screaming. She saw Thail standing outside his precious inn, watching it burn. The petshop had been abandoned, with, hopefully, the animals moved to a safer location, or set free into the wild. The aroma bar was silent, until the creatures attacked again.

The setting sun pierced through the giant forest, its canopy a thick and high ceiling of leaves, making the sound of an ocean. It bathed in orange light from opposite directions, until both flames were seemingly extinguished. Then darkness swallowed her whole.

Chiana gasped and aimed her gun at the dark, before lowering it, relieved. There was a tree stump that had looked just like a face. In her stride away from the tree, she stepped in some mushrooms and turned them to mush.

Moving on, her feet kept getting caught within the thick undergrowth covering the whole forest floor. In order to avoid getting entangled, she had to walk in long strides, lifting her feet and placing them carefully on the next root.

She strained her articifical eyes to see, trying to activate her night vision with a muscle she hadn't used in ages, but it didn't work. Her flashlight was a poor alternative.

“Frell damnit.”

The light seemed to attract something. Something was definitely moving.

Their howls, guttural toothless threats, grew louder as more and more joined in, separating from the trees one limb at a time. Their skin was withered and dried up like ancient bark, as if carved from flesh. They were stick men, made from jagged ends, it was as if the trees had come alive to eat her.

They screeched and screeched and she fired and fired, until the creatures exploded into infinite splinters. Their camouflage had served them well, but they were no match for a rifle and a quick trigger finger.

A voice cried out from the forest, drawn to the sound of gunfire. The man warned her to show herself, or else he would open fire. She told Braca to go frell himself. His spirit vanished when he found the trail of corpses in her wake.

She followed the path from which he emerged, trudging through snow, and past twisted roots and rotten tree trunks. Rows and rows of conifer trees lined the edge of a treacherous hillslope, but there were huge redwoods too, the roots of which were sometimes so deeply ingrained into the soil that they were impossible to budge, or break. Sharp knots and branches could cut through her clothes as easily as the sharpest knife. Chiana found herself slipping into dells and hollows when the ground beneath her gave way.

Down at the bottom of this small woodland bowl, full of underground holes, it was pitch black, and in the snow beneath her she found tracks. There were bootprints everywhere, and clear signs of a struggle which lead to two dirty boots sticking out from bulging patch of snow, attached to a body beneath.

Chiana hesitated to look. The boots were a man's size, but they'd never bury Crichton out here, she reckoned. It couldn't be him. Feeling a sliver of panic, she kept on walking and didn't look back.

Ships were flying overhead, broadcasting a surge of wind throughout the starstruck woods. Explosions pierced the silence and flooded the sky with light. Another battle had ended in fire.

Then a blast struck the ground nearby. Chiana could feel the dirt move. The trees shook and shed their snowy baggage right where Chiana was standing. Desperately she tried to pick the blots of snow from the back of her neck, shivering madly from the gripping cold.

She could see a shack in the distance. Smoke rose from behind it, and for a microt it looked peaceful and idyllic. Chiana imagined John throwing another log into the fireplace, socks hanging from the chimney, the kids warming their hands while clutching their mugs of warm liquid with both hands, smiling. John would take an axe and go into the woods for more firewood to keep them warm in their constant cold nights, and they would huddle together in light of the fire, wrapped in thick blankets, and fall asleep surrounded by pillows.

Chiana remembered those movies, those endless Christmas movies, she had endured on Earth. Yeah, that was a life she could picture John leading.

She trudged onward through the snow, knowing what she would find.

Ships of the Royal Family soared through the nights sky when Chiana arrived, frozen and out of breath. In the light of the house, the fire and the passing ships, she saw Scorpius dragging corpses through the snow, and throwing them all on a pile outside out by the back of the cabin. When one of the Kalish wriggled and proved himself to be still alive, Scorpius did not hesitate to take out his weapon and shoot him where he stood. Metal, wire and yellow goo burst from his skull, and then he wriggled no more.

When Chiana passed him by, his cold demeanor turned to outright unpleasantness. Chiana felt pleased, but walked on without a word.

A yellow light beamed from the round windows of the house. In her stride, she tried to catch a glimpse of the insides, but couldn't see past the curtains. The cabin itself was made of strong wood, built in the shape of a shoe, and Chiana liked the way it looked until she reached the other side, which seemed to have been bombarded with bullet holes, with a giant hole ripped from its side.

Then she heard a familiar voice coming from within.

“I'll survey the perimeter. Stay here.”

She checked her pulse pistol first as she stepped outside into the cold. There were four little lights on the side of the black cartridge. Three red ones, and only one of them green. Aeryn pulled up the collar of her grey longcoat and set out into the wild, until her eyes met Chiana's. Contentedly, she looked back into the house, and then at Chiana again, smiling, and Chiana knew she had just been given her permission to enter.

Inside the cabin, a fireplace roared. Strong wooden pillars supported the structure of this house, but also obscured her sight. She slipped through the wreckage uneasily, when something cracked beneath her boot. A child's toy. A little wooden horse-y.

“My Hynerian cruisers are at your disposal, Crichton. You know that.”

“I know. Thanks, Sparky.”

When Rygel heard her enter, he turned and grinned broadly, stroking his burgundy robes. His new hover throne was more slick than the other one, adorned with jewels, and less prone to sudden jerks. The flames from the fire reflected in the grand green medallion he wore around his wrinkled neck. His little white whiskers were in pristine condition, and although the little Dominar's brow had grown more spotted and hairy after nine cycles, his little eyes had not lost any of its twinkle and guile. Like a true royal, he knew when to bow down and leave. The rest was silence.

This had all been her doing. Arranging all these allies at the last microt had taken some effort, but it had all been worth it.

Chiana dropped the gun and pulled back her hair, only for her bangs to fall down the side of her face again. She stepped forward into the light, as the snow melted into water beneath her soppy boots.

John Crichton sat in a chair by the fire, with two sleeping children sitting on either knee, nuzzled against his chest. D'Argo had grown so much, but even he had managed to cram his body next to his little four-year old sister's (his long legs were sticking outwards at an awkward angle), until Crichton had been completely locked into the chair, unable to move. And he didn't care. He suffered, gladly.

Just like his wife, he too was dressed in the native greys, and yet of all the times he'd spoken in the past of his hair turning grey, it was still as dark brown as it ever was, although a little longer than she was used to.

The lines in his forehead had deepened, but where she could really tell he had aged, was in his deep blue eyes. They lit up as he saw her.

He opened his mouth to speak, but then shook his head softly, looking down on his two children and silently indicating 'What am I to do?'. He pressed his lips together to restrain a chortling laugh. Chiana started laughing too. John's cheeks were turning red, and his chest heaved up and down, his gut shaking his children slowly awake.

“....dad? What are you doing?” Deke asked, rubbing his eyes.

John could hold in his laughter no longer. Chiana started to cry.

“Nothing, son,” he said, and he kissed his son on the head. He resettled his head and went back to sleep. His father gazed up at Chiana from his chair.

“I'm laughing...” he said, “it means I'm happy....”

Silently he reached out a hand towards her. Chiana took it, holding on tight, hoping she would never have to let go.