Crais Chronicles -- End Notes

"Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster... for when you gaze long into the abyss. The abyss gazes also into you.”

― Friedrich Nietzsche

Crais Chronicles was written in 1999-2000 at the height of Farscape's run on SciFi Channel. At the time--and still, to this day--I harbored a grande passion for Bialar Crais (and Lani Tupu). I endeavor to understand his personality, his motives and his actions. It was from this understanding and passion that this trilogy was born. I also agree with Mr. Tupu's observations that Crais is neither a good, nor a bad character, merely a passionate and driven one. 

Taking into account Peacekeeper upbringing, Crais behaved according to type. Only by seeing Crais through Crichton's eyes does he become the villain. Even Aeryn Sun has feelings for him, choosing to betray Moya and her crew of escapees to return to what she knew. It was only when Crais meted out her punishment for being defiled by association with Crichton did she turn.

Immaculate Deception was my love letter to both Crais and Scorpius, being their Peacekeeper best, as they vied for the favor of First Council. Pitting them as adversaries for First Council's coveted support for their respective projects filled another plot hole left by David Kemper, et al. What happened to make Crais and Scorpius such bitter rivals? ID puts it together with a ribbon on top. Featuring the truly vicious and despicable(OC) Regulator Liliina EL-Vashti, and the gestapo-like watchdog group, Internal Affairs Directorate.

Serendipity and Procrustes was my way of giving Crais equal face time with the remainder of the cast during the long drought following his abduction of Talyn. Six months passed. Yet we were given no more information than were he a mere guest character. Of course, I couldn't leave well enough alone, giving Crais the puzzle of Senna Romero to gnaw upon for half a cycle.

Reparation, in particular, was inspired by a plot hole left by the Farscape creators and writers; i.e. why did Talyn turn on Crais. It was never fully explained. In order to fill this vacuum, I created the original character of Senna Romero. A troubled and troubling woman whom Crais finds himself equal parts repelled and fascinated by. It, like any other OC-driven tale, had to come to a hard and final end prior to the events in the series progressing to Crais reaching out to Aeryn Sun as a surrogate mother for Talyn. Crais' vow to find Senna one day couldn't be acted upon because of David Kemper's ultimately ridiculous and ridiculed decision to kill Crais. Hero's ending being neither here nor there, the denigration of the character to third banana to green t-shirt Crichton and Aeryn was a shameful thing to see. However, if you believe in the matter of Senna Romero, Crais' fall from his former strong, self-determined personality makes terrible sense. His attraction to Aeryn during this phase of his declined can easily be explained by the fact that Talyn needed to replace Senna with another suitable surrogate. And thereby, via the neural link they shared, attraction was born.

Trivia:

In the original version of Immaculate Deception, it was Aeryn Sun who suffered a stillbirth of Crais' child. I rewrote the story, following the reveal of his affair with Darinta Larell.

Senna Romero was a character that came to me in a dream. She was quite the Mary Sue at that point. I had to file off her serial number and shave down her edges a bit to avoid that sort of cliche. Hence her lack of fighting skills, addiction to Hecho Red, time as a tralk, etc. I also gave her the symptoms of depression and PTSD because of her back story. It was to be expected.

In the now missing (and soon to be rewritten) Chapter 3 of Serendipity and Procrustes, Crichton was originally going to, in a drunken state, make a joke about oral sex. That was later toned down to maintain a PG-13 rating.

I've been asked countless times why I did not spell out in detail the love scene between Crais and Senna. I felt the final line of that chapter told the tale without any further comment. "They undressed silently, moving with the resigned comprehension of the damned." I was originally not going to have the two of them sleep together at all. It was not until the scene--from which episode I cannot presently tell you--where Talyn shows Crichton the video that is supposed to be Aeryn having sex with Crais. I figured, Talyn videoed Crais and Senna and superimposed Aeryn's face. Not a far stretch to believe it, right?

Reparation's theme song, Seal's brilliant title song from his CD of the same name, Human Beings, inspired a good deal of what happens. Crais' theme, When a Man is Wrong, is from the same album.

My love of Flamenco music inspired Senna's ability to play Gypsy Flamenco guitar. In researching the background of this music, I hit upon Senna's cultural heritage as a Gypsy, or person of Rom decent. I wanted her to be as different from Crichton as night from day. I also wanted her to share certain cultural memories with Crais.

To hear the entire soundtrack, look up Crais Chronicles on Spotify.

Reparation -- Chapter 8: End Game

          "Burn it," EL-Vashti ordered the squad of commandos as they stood before the locked inner door of Talyn's docking bay.
          They obeyed her command without delay, firing on the door at point blank range. It was a melting scrap in microts, falling in lumps of liquefied metal to the deck. EL-Vashti would have to thank Scorpius for his suggestion of the dampening net. Without it, the young Leviathan Gunship would have made short work of them all with his internal weaponry.
          "Scanners to maximum," she ordered as the commandos turned back toward her. "Fan out. Search every tier. They will be in hiding, naturally. I want only the human female. Alive understood? Furthermore, Crais is not to be killed under any circumstances."
          "Yes, sir," the ten commandos replied in unison. She walked slowly after them as they quick marched into the bowels of Crais' ship.



          Crais stiffened, arched his back and cried out. Talyn was burning. He was in pain. Commandos were on board, moving toward them quickly. The damping net may have rendered Talyn's weaponry useless, but the Gunship was still very much aware of what was going on. Crais grasped at the neural transponder, trying to calm him and ease his pain. With his own thoughts jumbled and disconnected, it was no easy task.
          Senna seemed to sense Talyn's distress through him and quickly sat up and moved away from him. He picked her clothes up from the deck and tossed them onto the bed beside her. She began to dress quickly without begin told. He pulled on his uniform trousers, boots and undershirt. His hair was wild, loosened from the queue and falling about his face and shoulders, but he ignored it.
          He looked at her, eyes like a terrified child set in the face of an incensed executioner. She shook her head slightly and forced her lips into a slight smile.
          "Time's up," she said as she rose to stand beside him. She touched his face softly with her fingertips before turning to unlock the door. "Time to cash in my chips."
          "Senna," he said tucking his hair back behind his ears.
          "No," she cut him short.
          She left his quarters for several moments, returning with her jump bag and guitar. She laid them carefully on his bed, sitting down beside them.
          "I cannot believe you will now sit serenely waiting," he shouted, slashing an arm across his console. Glass bottles, trinkets and keepsakes were sent flying, smashing upon the deck by his action. He spun to face her, the glare on his face terrifying. "You have no concept of what is going to happen to you!"
          "Sometimes you have to know when to give in," she sighed looking up into his face with such affection that his heart felt squeezed in a vice. "Sometimes it's the only way to survive. Trust me. I'm the expert at survival."
          "You haven't changed one dench, Crais," EL-Vashti's cold voice interrupted. "It is amazing to me that you ever accomplished anything outside the bedchamber. . .or in it for that matter. . .if memory serves."
         "Just give it a rest," Senna said tiredly as she rose, gathering her things.
         "Leave that dren," EL-Vashti snapped.
         "I'm taking my stuff," Senna retorted, and now seemed completely unafraid.
         "We have no time for this," the other woman said frostily, staring at Senna with unadulterated hatred.
         "What harm can there be in allowing her to take her belongings?" Crais asked delicately, not wishing to inflame EL-Vashti's wrath further.
         "She will not be needing them where she is going," the Magistrate replied.
         "You gave me your vow as a Peacekeeper she was not to be killed." Crais rejoined more sharply.
          "Killed?" EL-Vashti replied with a slight laugh. "No."
          "Look," Senna said, her tone softer but still insistent. "The guitar. . .the musical instrument in that gun case has been in my family for nearly a hundred cycles. Let me take it. I'll leave the rest."
          "What?" EL-Vashti said, brow furrowed in mock curiosity as she motioned one of the commandos to open the case.
          He removed the guitar, kicking the case to the deck and dropped the instrument on Crais' bed. It twanged its disapproval loudly, unaccustomed to such handling.
          "That device?" EL-Vashti asked pointing at it.
          "Yes," Senna replied.
          "Very well," EL-Vashti said, making a subtle hand gesture to the soldier.
          The towering commando picked up the guitar roughly with one enormous, gloved hand. Before another word could be said he swung it with all his might into a support stanchion. The strings sung discordantly to the sound of wood splintering.
          "No!" screamed Senna as she lunged toward the commando.
          EL-Vashti stepped forward dealing the woman a hard fist to the jaw. Senna yelped in pain, crumbling to one knee on the deck, hand over her mouth. Crais was leaping toward EL-Vashti in the same instant. He was stopped abruptly by a hail of blows from the butts of the commandos' pulse rifles.
          "No!" Senna shrieked. "Don't hurt him! Stop damn it!"
          "Don't hurt him," mocked EL-Vashti as she motioned her commandos to leave off their attack on Crais and retrieve the human.
          "You will not get away with this, Magistrate," hissed Crais, blood and spittle spraying from his mouth.
         "Ah, I seem to recall saying something similar to you all those cycles ago," she replied with a cold smile. "In my case however, I was correct. You have not gotten away with what you did to me or House EL-Vashti."
         "I will hunt you down and squeeze the life out of you with my bare hands," Crais swore as he rose to face her, casually wiping his bloodied face on the sleeve of his undershirt.
         "You should have done that four cycles ago on the Mhultaan, Crais." She scoffed as she motioned the commandos to remove the human from Crais' quarters. "I assure you on my honor as an IAD Agent, you will never be afforded another chance."
          EL-Vashti was about to issue an order to the commandos when Senna turned and spewed a stream of blood from her shattered mouth fully into the other woman's face.
          "Prohasar man opre pirend. Sa muro djiben semas opre chengende." She muttered the old Rom saying around broken teeth as the commandos lifted her off her feet and struck at her with fists and rifles.
          The translator microbes allowed them all to understand, but Crais repeated her words.
          "Bury me standing. I've been on my knees all my life."
          "Take that revolting creature out of here," EL-Vashti snarled, wiping at her face with the corner of the coverlet on his bed.
           "I will find you," Crais vowed to Senna.
          Senna mouthed his name silently and their eyes met a final time before she was dragged out of his quarters.
          "You will have to sleep some time," Crais said quietly, his face a mask of pure evil as he turned his deathly gaze back to EL-Vashti.
          "So will you," she replied sweetly. "And remember the bargain. The human woman for the life of your son. You even think of making a move in the direction of Peacekeeper territory and I will know about it. You allow this Gunship to mature with its weaponry intact, I will know about it. Your hopes of House Crais will be buried in an unmarked grave and the human tralk will suffer my methods for many cycles to come."
          "I believe we understand each other," Crais said, his voice filled with ghastly promises.
          "Not if you lived to be a thousand cycles, first-genner," she said before spinning on her heel and leaving him alone in his room.




          Crais stalked into Talyn's command core glaring at the shape of the IAD cruiser on the main viewer. Stepping into the center circle, he tried to keep his feelings under control and his voice soft. Talyn had been frantic but powerless during the altercation in his quarters. Now the Gunship was on the verge of madness.
          "Talyn, prepare to starburst." He said, his voice far more calm that he felt.
          Talyn screeched in protest. Lighting panels and controls flashed wildly and the entire Gunship rocked in place.
          "You must starburst," he said, gritting his teeth. "There is nothing further we can do for her now. We must make good our escape."
          There was a long sing song of discordant noises and Crais reached a hand up to stroke the rounded structure above his head.
          "I understand that, Talyn," he reasoned softly, trying to calm the ship. "But there is no other way open to us."
          The Gunship's engines throbbed to life beneath his feet.
          "Starburst," he breathed, relieved as he felt Talyn comply.
          He looked at the IAD ship a final time before closing his eyes.



          Senna stumbled, fell and was roughly set back onto her feet by the commandos as they left the transport pod. She stepped onto the deck in the landing bay feeling far less brave now that the reality of being in Peacekeeper hands was upon her. The entire area was filled with commandos and other personnel milling like wasps around their nest.
          A pulse rifle was jammed into her back, forcing her to stop gaping and continue walking. EL-Vashti appeared microts later, no sign of blood on her face. She walked ahead of them to greet a monstrous creature that reminded Senna of something out of Hellraiser. The commandos urged her forward again and she deliberately dragged her feet.
          EL-Vashti made a quick hand motion. The leading commando grabbed Senna by the magcuffs around her wrists, pulling her face to face with the creature and EL-Vashti.
          "Liliina," he said, voice effeminate, clicking his tongue in disapproval. "You've damaged her."
          "She was less than willing to leave her lover," EL-Vashti said then laughed hollowly.
          He reached a gloved hand to take her chin in a light grip. Senna turned her head and backed away. He grabbed her face in a hard grip nearly pulling her off her feet. She winced and cried out as the boney fingers dug into her swollen jaw.
          "Who are you supposed to be?" she hissed against the pain. "Dungeon Master at Madame FiFi's House of Pain?"
          He seemed genuinely amused at her comment, smiling to reveal a mouthful of sharp, stained teeth. He released her, turning back to speak with EL-Vashti.
          "The Gunship starburst out of the system 5 microts ago," he told her.
          Senna's bowels turned to liquid and she thought she would foul herself.
          Bialar's gone.
          Their voices droned on, nearly drowned out by the buzzing sound growing inside her head. She blinked, tried to wipe her eyes only to have a commando slap her arms down hard.
          "Having his female hostage should force a degree of obedience out of Crais," EL-Vashti remarked bitterly.
          "Just the leash he needs," Scorpius chuckled in reply.
          A chill swept over Senna as she listened and she shuddered visibly. She was practically numb as Scorpius ordered all but one of the commandos guarding her back to their original posts. The remaining commando shifted his grip on his rifle, jabbing the muzzle into her back to force her to walk forward.
          "I'm certain Crichton would be most interested in seeing you again," Scorpius said dangerously, only denches from her face, before turning away from her.
          Well, that's not going to happen, a voice in her head snapped, like someone suddenly switching off a light.
          Please human being if you bleed they will say that it's destined.
          The words of the Seal song shook her like a sudden clap of thunder. She remembered having the CD on in her car the last time she drove it--to the embarkation center in Maryland where the group was turned over to the Tirysp.
          A million years ago in my real life. . .
          They'll be punching tickets by the minute if you fall out of line.
          She saw the inscription on the portal nearest to them and with icy clarity knew exactly what she was about to do. Her body was on automatic, her mind calm and filled with acceptance.
          When you lose your self-esteem, that's when love dies. So desperate. Desperate.
          Sucking in a deep breath, she lurched sideways toward the door, her shoulder connecting with the locking mechanism. Alarms began to sound throughout the landing bay as the door slid aside. Red and white alert lights flashed inside the airlock as the outer door prepared to open.
          We're mere human beings. We die. It's destined.
          She stumbled inside the small alcove, landing face down with enough force to knock the air out of herself. The commando was lunging after her, his hand grabbing at her heels as she floundered away from him. Fingernails popped, split and sheared off as she pulled herself along the metal decking and up a nearby wall. She could hear voices shouting, screaming as the door opened slowly and air rushed outward.
          "Prepare to snag them if they get sucked out of the ship," Scorpius yelled to the personnel around him.
          The commando had her by one arm and was dragging her up onto her feet. Unsecured objects near the airlock began to slide rapidly toward them. She and the commando were being pelted by bits and pieces of equipment and debris caught in the growing suction. He was about to shove her back into the landing bay.
          Now or never.
          She knew she could never overpower the commando with force. Remembering the lessons in self-defense Crais pounded into her, she relaxed, slumping forward into him. It was a move he was completely unprepared for. In his moment of hesitation, Senna's finger was sliding onto the trigger of his pulse rifle.
          It's destined.
          It's not true, what they say about your life flashing before your eyes, she thought bitterly as she pressed his finger down onto the trigger.
          The resulting pulse charge shattered any further thoughts Senna may have had along with most of her skull. The force of the shot sent them both tumbling weightless through the opened outer airlock doors, the commando still gripping her limp body in one hand.
          "Retrieve the body for dissection and study," Scorpius growled before stalking out of the landing bay.




          The commerce planet Gillal IV was bustling with transport ships, cargo vessels and a wide variety of mercenary traffic. The cities were filled to overflowing with every species known to the Peacekeepers and many more as yet unknown. It was a perfect location to conduct a variety of business, including those deemed illegal by most systems. Crais piloted the transport pod through the atmosphere, locked onto the coordinates of the meeting place.
          Nearly a month had passed since the altercation with EL-Vashti. He tried not to think of the things Scorpius might be doing to Senna. Having been at the half-breed's mercy on more than one occasion, Crais could well image the level of suffering she was being forced to endure. He gritted his teeth and grimaced. He hoped for her sake she didn't survive for very long. In reality, however, he knew Scorpius was quite accomplished at his methods and could keep her alive indefinitely if he wanted it.
          Crais landed the transport pod carefully on the soft mud more than five kilometras from the nearest city. Even in a dren hole like this one, he felt unsafe and therefore unwilling to risk a meeting in town.
          He stood, straightening his uniform before climbing out of the pod into the fetid, oppressive night. Talyn's sensors picked up the other vessel and the Gunship chattered to him excitedly. Crais touched the transponder, trying to comfort him as he walked to the center of the clearing to wait.
          "Monitor message traffic," he instructed. "Remain calm and take no action unless I expressly order it."
          Even in the darkness, Crais could see the ungainly movements of the Plokavian scout shambling toward him.
          "That's far enough," he warned when the creature was ten metras away.
          "You have a proposition for us?" the creature wheezed, face hidden beneath its enormous hood.
          "Hard currency and a specialized frag cannon in exchange for a damping net made to my custom specifications," Crais replied tightly.
          "Not a fair trade on your end," the Plokavian said with a breathless laugh.
          "Not your concern," he countered sharply.
          "True enough," it said in return. "Give us your specifications."
          Crais tossed the data pad across the distance between them. He watched as the Plokavian stooped disjointedly to retrieve it, then erect itself with great difficulty. It shook the mud off the device before putting it very close to its face to study the information.
          "Easily done," it said. "Five solar days."
          "Five solar days," Crais agreed. "Meet my ship at the coordinates given on the data pad."
          "A good faith deposit is required," the creature told him, shifting uncomfortably.
          Crais produced a small case from his gun belt, tossing it across the clearing at the creature's feet. He watched as it nearly tipped over in an attempt to retrieve it. It made humming noises and spoke to itself as it counted out the currency chits.
          "Agreed," it said with finality.
          Crais watched as it turned and awkwardly made its way back to its ship.



          "Talyn let's get out of here," Crais ordered as he stepped into the center circle of the Gunship's command. "Starburst."
          Instead of the enormous rush of energy and indescribably images he normally felt as they starburst, his brain rang with discordant sounds. Before he could speak or even think, every nerve in his body was on fire. He shrieked in pain as he fell to his knees. His hands grabbed at the neural transponder, trying desperately to remove it. With another bolt of pain, his hands fell ineffectually at his sides.
          "Talyn!" he moaned, fighting to put his feet beneath him and stand. "What's happening? Why are you doing this?"
          The pain boiled over him again as he sprawled onto his stomach, cheek pressed against the icy coldness of the deck.
          Images, concepts, emotions. Talyn communicated with him now in a way he'd never done before. The fury and feelings of betrayal had the young Gunship at the point of madness. Through the pain, Crais tried to make sense of what he was being shown.
          Message traffic. Message. Peacekeeper message traffic.
          Crais felt hot whelps rising on his skin and cried out again.
          "Talyn, no!" he begged, spittle flying from his lips as he writhed on the deck.
          See. Images. Message images. Sounds. Peacekeeper message traffic.
          ". . .human female captive killed in escape attempt." A voice echoed in his head through the transponder link along with random and nonsensical images. "Body sent to Special Research Directorate for further study. . ."
          Crais screamed, but it was Talyn's emotions behind it. As Crais' body flailed to its feet, it was Talyn awkwardly guiding it. Only the tears streaming down Crais' face were his own.



          Aeryn stood beside a table watching Crichton and D'Argo argue over the game.
          "No, no, no, D," Crichton laughed, shaking a small piece of carved metal at the Luxan. "This is the horse. Got it? It moves in an 'L' shape like this."
          Crichton moved the piece around on the board in several different directions before the Luxan exhaled noisily with disgust. He crossed his arms over his bulky chest, eying Crichton critically.
          "First of all, I do not know what a hoorze is," he groused, voice rumbling low, mouth turned down in a sneer. "Second, I am not entirely sure I want to know."
          "Come on, D'Argo," Crichton argued amiably. "This is a man's game. Game of kings. It's a battle between two sides. I'd have thought as a soldier, you'd take to it right off!"
          Aeryn shook her head as she watched the two men argue like small children over the pieces of junk metal between them. The bizarre and often ludicrous concoctions of Crichton's mind never failed to amaze her. At least with this he was talking to D'Argo and not himself as he'd been doing entirely too much of lately.
          "Officer Sun," Pilot's voice interrupted over her comm.
          "Yes, Pilot?"
          "May I have a word with you in my den?" he asked haltingly.
          Sensitive to his moods and subtle intonations she said, "I'll be there in a microt."
          Still bickering over the game, neither Crichton nor D'Argo saw her slip out of the human's quarters.
          She hurriedly made her way down the tiers. The door to Pilot's den swung aside to admit her as she emerged on his tier. The look on his face as she entered shocked her. She walked swiftly across to his console, climbing over it and sat facing him.
          "What's going on?" she asked softly.
          "I've received a message from Talyn," he admitted hesitantly. "I was instructed that it was meant for you alone."
          Aeryn's face creased in apprehension.
         "Captain Crais wishes to speak with you," Pilot said, obviously uncomfortable with the words.
         "Why?"
         "He did not give a reason," he replied. "Only that I was to call you here alone for the transmission."
          Aeryn held her breath for a microt before nodding her agreement.
          Pilot depressed a single toggle and a small holo-image of Crais spun to life over one side of his console.
          "Officer Sun," he greeted her stiffly.
          "Crais," she replied, surprised that it was a live transmission. "What's this about?"
          One hand went to the transponder on the back of his neck and he seemed to struggle with something for a moment before answering her.
          "I have been experiencing problems with Talyn," he admitted awkwardly. "I require your assistance in the matter."
          "What kind of problems?" Aeryn asked, thoroughly unsettled not only by the request, but the way he was acting.
          "His aggressive tendencies have become too much to handle alone," he explained, his face rigid.
          "What exactly do you think I can do to help you with this?" Aeryn questioned, eying him suspiciously.
          "I can better explain the situation face to face," Crais said flatly. "I propose a rendezvous."
          "The others are not going to like that idea," Aeryn interrupted him. "Particularly since the last time nearly cost all of us our lives."
          Crais averted his eyes briefly before responding.
           "Nonetheless, I require your help, Officer Sun." he said, his voice a razor's edge away from begging.
          "I will have to consult with the others about this," she said, shifting uncomfortably, her eyes never leaving the holo-image.
         "Make them understand my intentions are only for Talyn's best welfare," Crais replied grasping at the transponder again.
          "I will try." She nodded her agreement, and then asked, "How is Senna Romero? Crichton will want to know."
          Crais seemed to shudder, his mouth working furiously before he spoke.
          "She is dead," he replied solemnly, head bowed. "On Yrunndas III. We went there for supplies and were ambushed by Peacekeepers. Talyn acted rashly, causing . . . her death."
          Aeryn was too shocked to speak for several long microts, then: "I'm sorry, Crais."
          "Hence my request for aid from you, Officer Sun." he replied quickly. "We cannot go on in the manner we have been. It has become clear to me that Talyn is far too immature to handle the weaponry with which he is equipped."
          Aeryn nodded her head in understanding. "I will speak to the others immediately."
          "Aeryn," he said, and then seemed to catch himself. "Officer Sun, I will require that you come aboard unarmed."
          "Crichton and D'Argo will not agree to that," she replied bluntly.
          "Nevertheless," he countered stridently. "Talyn's state of mind is very unstable and any show of force might lead to. . .a repeat of the tragedy that befell Senna on Yrunndas III."
          Aeryn considered this, staring wordlessly at him for several microts.
          "You have my vow that, should you come unarmed, it will be a peaceful encounter." He told her with a slight smile.
          Still feeling ill at ease with the situation, she acquiesced. "I'll talk with the others."
          "Thank you, Officer Sun." he replied, the forced smile widening.
          The image shuddered, swirled and disappeared. She felt Pilot's huge eyes on her and slowly met his gaze.
          "I don't like this," he murmured nervously.

          She put a hand tenderly to his cheek and nodded her head. "Neither do I."

Reparation -- Chapter 7: A Time for Truth

          Crais made his way to Talyn's command at a flat out run, Senna at his heels. The Gunship's cannon fired wildly despite Crais' orders for him to stop. As they dashed into command, Talyn's desperate sing song was deafening.
          "Talyn, starburst now!" Crais shouted, hands held up in supplication. "Now!"
          The Gunship continued to fire as his starburst engines flared to life. As the slipping sensation of starburst filled Crais, the entire ship rocked violently and lurched backward. Both he and Senna were knocked from their feet, sprawling across the floor.
          Talyn struggled, rousing himself from the stunner blast, trying to initiate starburst again. As Crais helped Senna to her feet, sensing the Gunship's actions, he saw the damping net drift over and around them. Snared. Talyn's panic was rising to levels he knew he would never be able to control.
          "Bialar Crais," the voice from his past said as her image solidified on the forward viewer.
          "Magistrate EL-Vashti," he said hoarsely, moving Senna behind him.
          This seemed to amuse the woman. An icy smile formed on her face as she watched them.
          "A waste of time, Crais," she told him callously. "We know all about your pet human, I'm afraid. Leave it to a first-genner to soil one of our uniforms with his tralk."
          Crais could feel Senna trembling against him, her hands holding onto his waist in desperation. As he was about to make a terse reply, movement at the side of the screen caught his eye. EL-Vashti noticed the change in his expression.
          "Yes," she said forcefully, indicating Atsutane. "You know what this man is."
          "I do," Crais admitted, unable to hide his discomfort.
          "Good. That will spare me one introduction," she smiled. "But there is another person I would very much like you to meet."
          Crais watched her subtle hand gesture to the tracker. The man turned away briefly, returning again with a small boy in his arms.
          "Tauvo Crais," EL-Vashti snarled with glee, her hand patting the thin golden cheek of the boy. "This is your father, Bialar."
          Crais gasped, stumbled forward, grabbing a control panel for support. The boy was the very image of his brother at that age. Of course she'd known the significance of the name, choosing it as a weapon to wound him. How she must have delighted in the news of his brother's death, knowing the name now had treble meaning.
          "Give him to me," Crais roared, slamming a fist against the control panel.
          "I'm afraid that would be out of the question," EL-Vashti purred malevolently.
          She glanced briefly at the tracker and he produced a torture device, holding it denches from the child's face. Crais recognized it for what it was and knew its infamous reputation for pain via nerve induction.
          As the tracker moved the device closer to the boy's left eye, Crais said, his voice nearly a sob, "Don't hurt him."
          "That will depend entirely on you, Crais." EL-Vashti replied.
          "What is it you want?" He asked, but he could guess the answer.
          "Now, that's more like it." She smiled. "My terms are simple. Follow them to the letter and our darling little Tauvo will live a long and sheltered life. Break faith with me and, well. . .you can guess the consequences."
          The tracker touched the device to the boy's cheek for a microt and the piercing shriek it elicited ripped a sob from Crais' throat and a scream from Senna.
          "Stop it!" he yelled, shaking his fists impotently at the viewer.
          "You needed to be reminded of my resolve, Crais." She said, her voice the headman's axe. "In the event you'd forgotten my methods in these long four cycles apart."
          Crais could hear Senna's sobs behind him. Controlling his own rage and grief he turned a tight gaze on EL-Vashti.
          "State your terms," he said, defeated.
          "First," she smiled in triumph. "Scorpius has a voracious interest in studying the Human species. He demands that I take your tralk for research purposes."
          Crais' brow knitted and his face was dark as death as he was about to respond. The device at his son's cheek silenced him. With difficultly, he swallowed and remained mute.
          "Second," she continued. "You will disarm this Gunship hybrid. He is not to grow to maturity with his current armaments intact."
          Crais held his breath for several microts in the silence that fell between them. He considered what was being offered before making a reply.
          "Am I to believe if I turn this woman over to you," Crais said, hand going behind him to pull Senna closer against him. "You will simply allow Talyn and I to starburst away unmolested?"
          "You will be watched, Crais." She answered harshly. "If you do not have that main cannon dismantled within the next few solar days, there is nowhere in the Uncharted Territories too remote for Peacekeeper retrieval squads to find you."
          "Obviously, you will kill her." Crais rejoined bitterly hugging Senna more tightly. "Or Scorpius will."
          "My vow as a Peacekeeper she will not be killed," EL-Vashti replied.
          Crais considered this for a moment before she spoke again.
          "You've obviously overlooked one other minor complication should you not follow my instructions," she warned indicating their son with a flick of one hand.
          The tracker edged the device closer to the child's face again, causing him to squirm and whimper piteously.
          "A negative response from you will mean this child's death," she told him flatly. "And you know my methods. . .intimately."
          "He's just a child!" Senna shouted, pulling from behind Crais to lash out at the viewer.
          "Oh, look," EL-Vashti mocked with a dry chuckle. "The Human tralk has teeth. . .and obviously more numnas than her renegade lover."
          Crais pulled her back toward him, an arm protectively around her waist. She shuddered against him, tears pouring from her glazed eyes.
          "Two arns," Crais whispered bitterly. "Give me two arns to make my decision."
          "Two arns or two cycles, Crais," EL-Vashti snapped. "It makes little difference. Do as I order or your little family is dead."
          The image shook, dissolved and was replaced with the stars and IAD cruiser hovering only a thousand metras off Talyn's hamman side.
          Senna broke free from his grasp, running out of Talyn's command before he could stop her.
          The sounds Talyn made filled every square dench of Crais' brain. He was terrified of the IAD cruiser. He was also furious at the thought of the human leaving them. Crais tried desperately to calm him to no avail. The din was cutting into his nerves.
          "Talyn, stop this!" Crais shouted, hands raised in entreaty toward the rounded structure above him.
          The Leviathan Gunship's response was a mad sequence of light flashes accompanied by strident hoots. He was unmoved by Crais' commands, that much was obvious. It was all Crais could do to keep the ship from making a move that would bring the frag cannons down upon them.
          "Talyn, listen to me." Crais' tone was softer. "I will do everything in my power to protect her. We will protect her and escape this situation. You have my vow."
          Talyn's caterwauling lessened, finally dropping to a quiet trilling.
          "That's much better." Crais forced a smile as he spoke. "I must go after Senna, Talyn. Take no action of any kind in my absence."
          The ship hooted its affirmation and Crais left the command center.




          Crais entered her quarters. She looked at him in desperation. Her eyes seemed to say he would surely think of a way to avoid this without costing all of them their lives. For his part he knew no answer, no brilliant subterfuge that would free them from the trap EL-Vashti and Scorpius had sprung so brilliantly. She must have seen this in his eyes.
          She nodded her head in understanding, returning to the business of packing her belongings as if preparing for a pleasant vacation. He shook his head, chuckling bitterly.
         "What are you doing?" he asked the obvious.
         "Exactly what it looks like," she replied flatly, not pausing in her task.
         "You have absolutely no clue what you'd be letting yourself in for." He told her bluntly.
          She shrugged and kept putting her belongings into the bag.
          Crais moved quickly toward her, snatching the jump bag from her hands and throwing it across the room. Her clothing flew out, raining down around the small room.
          "Come with me," he ordered as he spun on his heel.
          He crossed the corridor to his quarters in three furious strides. He removed his gloves, tossing them angrily on top of his console. He turned to see Senna standing just inside the doorway watching him. The expression on her face betrayed her foreboding.
          "Four cycles ago," he began painfully, voice little more than a whisper. "I cared for a woman under my command."
          The look on her face was blatant shock.
          "Not that woman?" she interrupted, meaning EL-Vashti.
          "No," he answered quickly. "Darinta Larell."
          He saw that she recognized the name from their ill-fated adventures on Yrunndas III. The expression on her face was painful to see, and he turned away before continuing.
          "We chose to procreate against regulation." He explained slowly. "My rank protected me and I had many powerful allies in High Command. Even among the members of First Council. It was officially overlooked.
          "When the child was stillborn, my reaction was not. . .one of understanding or compassion." He admitted hesitantly.
          He glanced over his shoulder at her and was relieved to find her no longer staring at him.
          "I treated her with a great disrespect and cruelty that was entirely undeserved." He continued. "I spent nearly a cycle punishing her. However. . .as you have done. . .she repeatedly forgave me my cruelty and stood by me."
          "She obviously loved you," Senna said bluntly, her eyes on him again.
          He nodded, ill at ease with the words.
          "Obviously," he whispered. "And I owed her a great debt of gratitude. For you see, she was the one responsible for designing the Peacekeeper catalyst that allowed Talyn to be created."
          A long silence fell between them.
          "But what about this EL-Vashti person?" she asked. "What did you do to her that she'd be willing to kill her own son to get even?"
          Crais exhaled sharply, his entire body stiff as he walked to the console. He opened a drawer and retrieved a small, intricately carved box. Lifting the lid, he removed a single data chip. He slowly walked back to the conference table, sliding the chip into the viewer. An image of his former quarters aboard the Mhultaan formed and Senna stepped closer to the table to watch it.
          The Crais on the image sat behind his desk, a smug grin creasing his face. The woman, EL-Vashti, stood bracketed by four commandos, a Peacekeeper physician examining her.
         
          "Well, doctor. Are we ready?" said Crais.
          "Of course, sir." The physician replied.
          "Sorry about the bad news, Captain." EL-Vashti sneered as the medical officer ran a scanner over the length of her body. "We can't have everything we want."
          "Shall we let my physician decide whether the news is good or bad. . .and for whom?" Crais smiled placidly in response. "Doctor?"
          "The scan is conclusive, sir," he answered. "Regulator EL-Vashti has successfully conceived and the offspring is male."
          "Stop this charade, Crais." The woman snapped.
          "Oh, I assure you it isn't a charade, Liliina," Crais replied with a dangerous smile. "You have conceived. You are carrying my child. My son."
          "That is not possible!" EL-Vashti snarled.
          She broke away from her commandos, leaning across his desk menacingly.
          "Why?" Crais blinked innocently up at her. "Because your lover gave you a drug to prevent it? I'm afraid I couldn't let Dr. Khetyr give you the contraceptive agent. I convinced him it would be in his best interest to give you a conceptual stimulant instead. He mixed in a genetic enhancer as well. . .to assure you'd have a male offspring.
          "He was quite helpful actually," Crais continued, his tone a serpent's strike. "He acted as any true Peacekeeper would, recognizing where his loyalties lie."
          "You scheming thoddo!" EL-Vashti shrieked, lunging over the desk her hands flailing for his throat. The commandos were dragging her away kicking and cursing.
"You see, Liliina, your mistake was in assuming the inferiority of a commoner. High Command and the Genetics Directorate found me of some value. Pity you did not."
          The woman hurled more curses at him, struggling violently in the hands of the commandos.
          "So much for breeding," Crais observed with cool disdain.
          "I'll see you dead for this you trog!" EL-Vashti spat. "Dead and your body ripped to shreds!"
          "I don't have time for this," Crais sighed. "Take her out of here. See that she is under guard at all times until she is put into the custody of the maternity unit on Kordaen."



          "Liliina EL-Vashti comes from one of the Founding Four, those families responsible for forming the Peacekeeper alliance thousands of cycles ago." Crais explained sadly. "I used certain favors owed me to have our genetics pairing assigned against all tradition and regulation as a means of punishing her. I assumed at the time she would never have the means to. . .return the. . .favor."
          "What goes around comes around," Senna said under her breath. She pulled the chip from the viewer, slapping it down hard on the table top.
          "Unfortunately, I underestimated her connections," he admitted. "Especially her alliance with Scorpius."
          They stared at one another silently for several microts. He shook his head, disgusted with his own lack of insight four cycles ago.
          "As you can see," Crais said uncomfortably. "Her wrath is not entirely unjustified."
          "I don't know that man," She said pointing to the chip. "I only know you. We all make mistakes that are hard to live with."
          Crais laughed out loud then, harshly, dumbfounded by her ability to forgive him.
          "After seeing this," he said incredulously. "With the IAD cruiser poised to kill us all. After the way I. . .treated you on the planet. You can still say that? Still willingly trade your life for that of my son's?"
          "I have a philosophy about life," she began quietly, her face softening as she stared at him. "I believe that everyone is on a predestined path. A path that guides us through our lives like a road map. I've always felt that as long as you stay on the path you're okay. You get the house, the car, the 2.5 kids and the happy retirement. But, if something happens. . .if you do something to break the thread holding you on that path. . .there are dire consequences.
          "I've known for a long time I was never meant to survive the Tirysp." She continued smiling tenderly at him. "Hell, I was never supposed to go with them. Leave it to me to wreck my own destiny. I figure I should have stayed in my boring little cubical in Washington and my path. . .my destined path wouldn't have gone haywire."
          Crais' forehead was pinched, his eyes intense as he listened to her.
          "I have to face the consequences of my actions. We all do." She told him, her tone one of resignation. "I have to go with her. I may be many things, but I'm no baby killer."
          The words struck Crais like a slap and he saw the defeat in her eyes.
          "It's like the song says, 'We're mere human beings. We die. It's destined.'" She sighed.
          "Months ago you swore something to me," he said as he took a step closer to her. "You gave me your vow."
          She looked at him obviously not understanding where he was going with this.
          "When I retrieved you from Moya you promised that if I held you in my arms, you would never ask another thing of me as long as you lived," he explained not unkindly, hands held out open before him, his head tilted and eyebrows high.
         "And I've kept that promise," she rejoined.
          The expression on her face was one of uneasiness as she backed away from him.
          "That is a lie, Senna," he snapped. "You are now asking me to allow that vicious. . .hazmot. . . to take you from Talyn, from. . .me. . .without a fight. It is not in my nature to surrender."
          She chuckled bitterly, a hollow sound in the quiet of the cabin. "Finally, he speaks the truth!"
          Crais bit his lips and considered her silently for a moment. She was correct, of course. The one thing he wanted now was the least logical. He should have found a way months ago to break through his inertia. Now they had only a couple of arns, perhaps less.
          He depressed the locking mechanism atop the conference table. The door slid shut with a beep as the security device engaged. Her expression became more apprehensive as she stepped around the table and away from him. He moved toward her and she actually gasped.
          Could she read him so well? Did she know what was he was thinking?
          As he advanced, she retreated. At last her back was against the bulkhead nearest his bed. She folded her arms across her chest gaping at him with wide eyes. She was shivering; from fright, cold or anticipation he could not be certain. Suddenly her face was tilting downward, her eyes cast to the deck.
          Taking her face in one hand he abruptly kissed her. She struggled away from him and he did not fight to hold onto her. Neither did he allow her to move from her place against the wall. He held up his hands as a gesture of apology.
          "Fifteen arns ago you were ready to leave me on a commerce planet!" She shouted, eyes hard.
          He unfolded her arms, gently placing them down at her sides. When she didn't resist this, he leaned forward and tentatively brushed his lips against her mouth, careful to keep the rest of his body apart from hers. He could feel her breath rustling the fine wisps of hair falling across his cheek.
          "Please don't," she sighed against his lips but didn't struggle or move away from him. "No good can come out of this, Bialar."
          When she didn't stop him, Crais kissed her fully, moving his body closer to hers. Her trembling worsened but her body was soft, yielding against his. He pressed her gently against the bulkhead, savoring her. After several moments she turned her face away from his.
          "If you'd ever touched me like you meant it," she protested, pushing him away. "Looked at me with anything but contempt, I would have gotten down on my knees for you. I would have done anything you asked. Now it's too late for both of us."
          "No it's not" he said, his words kisses upon the soft hollows of her neck. He ran a hand over her hair and her head tilted, molding her face into his palm.
          He inhaled deeply, smelling her fragrance. His lips moved against her ear, "I have been. . .dishonest with you. . .and myself for so long and could not admit it. Now time has run out and I have nothing to offer. . .but an illogical act of desperation."
          She silenced him with her own kiss, demanding everything of him in that instant. It was as if she meant to make this handful of microts left to them expand into a small eternity. He reached up to remove the neural transponder, but her hand gently stopped him.
          "Leave it," she whispered, her eyes locked on his.
          He considered this and felt Talyn's reaction. Talyn pleaded with him. He was still filled with fear and emotions he was too immature to understand. Crais recognized leaving them connected was a mistake, but his hand fell away to his side.

          They undressed silently, moving with the resigned comprehension of the damned.

Reparation -- Chapter 6: Sins of the Father

           Senna sat very still, scarcely breathing as she watched Crais pilot the transport pod. It was three days since their escape from Yrunndas III without a word spoken between them. He hadn't slept or eaten and only left the controls to use the hygiene chamber.

          She spent her time praying, for Talyn's safety, for Crais' forgiveness, for some end to the inconceivable nightmare her life had become. She slept fitfully, sitting in the seat opposite him. She feared if she used one of the benches along the side of the pod she would sleep too soundly and miss something. She didn't want to be that far from him physically either. There was a feeling of finality since he shot Lt. Chalmer and she was now afraid of everything, even her own thoughts.
          "You cannot stay aboard Talyn."
          When he finally spoke, his voice shocked her so badly she jumped.
          She shook her head slowly, "I know that."
          It was what she'd dreaded, but suspected he would say.
          "Do you wish to return to Moya?" he asked, still not looking at her.
          "No."
          "Where do you want to go?"
          "The sweet hereafter," she breathed raggedly, pushing herself out of the navigator's chair. "The sweet by and by."
          She knew he didn't understand her words, but she no longer cared. She lie on the seating bench, turning her back to him and curled into a fetal position.
          "Our current course will have us back to Talyn's position in less than fifteen arns," he told her after a long silence. "You need to consider your options."
          "I'm going to let fate decide, okay," she sighed, draping an arm over her ear to block out anything else he might say.




          Scorpius studied the message again carefully for the hundredth time.
          Officer Garro was terse and to the point:
          Materiel acquired, returning Mhultaan three solar days.
          He wondered why Braca hadn't sent the message himself. He looked more closely at the image. The commando had her helmet off, her hair was in disarray and her face flushed. She sat in the pilot's chair of the marauder, body coiled as tightly as a spring.
          This gave Scorpius a bad feeling he couldn't dismiss. Obviously the team had trouble on Yrunndas III, but more than that was only a guess.
          He snapped the viewer off, disquieted, and left his quarters for the main landing bay. Filled with dread at all the possible problems this message foretold, he ignored members of his crew as he passed them in the corridors. Normally, their feelings of repulsion, disgust and fear were like a splash of ice water on his sensitive skin. Today he was impervious and ignorant of it all.
          Entering the main landing bay, he signaled a squad of commandos to his side. The Techs from Ordnance Division were already lined up at attention, awaiting the marauder's arrival.
          Within a few microts, the ungainly shape of the red and black ship eased its way into the bay, hovering momentarily before its landing claws met the deck. As the rear door opened, Scorpius ordered the Ordnance Techs to help with the unloading. Before any of them could board, six commandos stepped down the access ramp, arms around shoulders in a traditional funereal stance with a shrouded body as their burden.
          Scorpius drew in a sharp breath, fearing the worst, until he saw Braca walking slowly behind them. The young lieutenant ordered the commandos to take the body to the Quartermaster Division before coming to stand beside him.
          "Sir," he said with a respectful bow.
          Scorpius noted the look on his face, but reserved comment. "Make your report, Lieutenant."
          "We successfully acquired all necessary materiel for repairs," he said, his tone clipped and taut. "However, we did experience a slight problem with the native population."
          "Slight problem?" Scorpius asked turning to walk with him back toward his quarters.
          "One of the Freydahl's light cruisers crashed into a local religious structure," Braca explained, following closely at his side. "It was during their annual religious festival and the Yrunndasians were out for Peacekeeper blood after that. We were forced to kill a number of the locals to secure the materiel and our safe passage off the planet. Any further acquisitions will only come through our control of the Yrunndas system"
          "The Scarrans," Scorpius said as he entered his quarters, mounted the steps to the upper level and sat down. "Reports came in from the Freydahl group shortly after your team departed. Unfortunately, Commander Nagen's cruiser was too far out to receive the warning in time and failed to escape."
          Scorpius' nurse strode from the next room, opening a case with a fresh cooling rod inside. She busied herself with the process of changing out the used rod in Scorpius' head as he studied Braca.
          He knew there was far more Braca was hiding than he was telling. He rose, leaning menacingly into the young man's face with a dreadful smile.
          "And the rest of the story, Braca," he hissed.
          Braca closed his eyes, swallowed hard before saying, "Crais was on Yrunndas III."
          "What!"
          "And the human female," Braca admitted cautiously. "We tracked them, had them pinned down."
          He waved the nurse away. When the doors of his quarters closed behind her he turned a furious glare on Braca.
          "And you lost them?" he questioned, teeth bared dangerously.
          "Crais killed Lt. Chalmer," Braca said bitterly. "That was her body we brought aboard."
          "This is going to make repairs to the frag cannon very difficult," Scorpius said evenly then held up a silencing hand. He tapped the comm beside his chair, saying, "Ordnance Division, give me Officer Voldin."
          He noticed Braca shift uncomfortably but ignored him.
          "Officer Voldin, sir," came a crisp male voice.
          "Lt. Chalmer is dead." Scorpius informed him lightly. "You are now officer in charge of Ordnance Division."
          He snapped off the comm and turned his attention fully on Braca again.
          "And this is the reason you let him escape, Lieutenant?" He asked harshly.
          "He incapacitated me," Braca explained awkwardly. "A panthak jab as I was rushing to engage him."
          Scorpius considered this with a grim frown.
          "And the woman. The human female," he asked after several long microts of silence. "You saw her? She does exist? Not some figment invented by the Nebari girl?"
          "Yes, I saw her." Braca replied, voice tight. "Lt. Chalmer was about to capture the human when Crais shot Chalmer, point blank range, killing her."
          "And this is when Crais incapacitated you?" Scorpius asked. "In a moment of weakness over Chalmer's death?"
          Braca understood the meaning and the threat behind the words. His eyes were wide and glassy as he stared at a point a metra over Scorpius' head.
          "While I was unconscious following the panthak jab," Braca explained contritely. "Crais and the woman made their way off the planet. Officer Garro attempted to track their course, but after an arn with no success, I ordered our return to the Mhultaan."
          "Letting the renegade and his human escape," Scorpius concluded.
          "I feared another attack on this ship by the Scarrans." Braca replied, meeting his gaze for the first time. "My priority mission was to retrieve the ordnance materiel and return to the Mhultaan as quickly as possible. That is what I did and I stand by my decision."
          Scorpius considered Braca for a long while. His obsequious toady had matured into a full-fledged second officer. His emotions for his friend Chalmer may have aided the escape of the renegade, but his loyalty to the ship and its primary mission was unquestionable. Scorpius nodded thoughtfully before once again tapping the comm beside his chair.
          "Lt. Trost," he said to his third officer. "Contact Captain Rhoane, Freydahl carrier group. Relay the communication to me here."
          "Permission to retire, sir," Braca said, eyes avoiding Scorpius' face once more. "I wish to attend to the final arrangements for Lt. Chalmer."
          Scorpius shook his head impatiently. "Make it quick, Lieutenant."
          "Sir," Braca acknowledged with a stiff bow and click of his heels.




          Braca watched, face kept carefully blank, as the Quartermaster Division Techs lifted Chalmer's coffin onto the catafalque. A handful of Ordnance personnel and a few officers from the prowler divisions formed lines around it. They all stood stiffly at attention.
          "Honored soldier, decorated officer, loyal Peacekeeper," Braca said rigidly, unblinking, as he stood at the head of the coffin. "To the stars you were born and to them you are now returned."
          Upon his signal, the coffin floated off the catafalque, across an exit ramp and slid into the holding alcove. The inner airlock door closed with a hiss. Within a microt, the launching jets whooshed, and the assembled personnel relaxed their stances, turned away and left the Quartermaster Division.
          Braca thought of the moment when Crais killed Chalmer and he was filled with rage. Shooting his former OIC of Ordnance Division and sometime lover in the face was a clear message. It was also the act of a coward and a first-genner. Little better could be expected of him, but the memory still rankled Braca. He longed for the day when Scorpius would catch Crais and despite EL-Vashti and the IAD, he hoped to be the one to personally mount his head on a jinka pole.




          "I don't have time for this, Scorpius," Captain Rhoane said gruffly. "I've lost two of my light cruisers within the last quarter of a cycle. The Scarrans have stepped up their guerrilla attacks and I may be forced to move my group out of this sector entirely until that menace is stopped."
          Scorpius eyed the sturdy, graying woman with patience, nodding his head in understanding.
          "I appreciate this, Captain, however," he replied with saccharin sweetness. "The matter of recapturing the renegade and the alien fugitive with him is of Zelka One importance."
          "Show me the order from High Command," Rhoane snapped looking at him harshly.
          "I have something a little more. . .convincing," he smiled holding up the triskele shaped emblem of the Internal Affairs Directorate.
          He noted the look of disquiet cross the woman's face, her stance stiffened. She swallowed hard, seemed about to reply but held her tongue.
          "As you can see, this mission has been handed down by order of Magistrate EL-Vashti herself," Scorpius explained as if to a child. "Her orders in this matter are beyond any exploratory mission the Freydahl group might now be pursuing."
          "What would you have us do?" Rhoane asked diffidently.
          "Here are the last known coordinates of the renegade's transport pod," Scorpius said, sliding the data chip into the slot beside his viewer. "Included is a list of possible trajectories recommended by my navigation teams. Coordinate your group in the sector indicated in the data, look for the Leviathan Gunship hybrid. Find it and you will find the renegade."
          "We will proceed immediately," Rhoane said with a reluctant bow.
          Scorpius smiled to himself as he closed the communication. He tapped another control and his third officer's face appeared on the screen before him.
          "Contact Magistrate EL-Vashti," he said softly.



          The transport pod from the IAD cruiser touched down lightly in the main landing bay of the Mhultaan. Scorpius and Braca stood with a squad of commandos watching as the IAD elite guard filed out of the ship. EL-Vashti followed with her usual conceited flourish. Scorpius' eyes locked instead on two of the figures following her. He grimaced as he saw Lt. Atsutane's hand grip the small child's shoulder to keep him from running to Scorpius.
          "You have him?" EL-Vashti asked as she came to a stop before him.
          "The Freydahl group is closing in on the Gunship's position." Scorpius smiled.
          The boy squirmed from Atsutane's grip and dashed to throw his arms around Scorpius' legs.
          "Tauvo!" she snapped. She glared murderously at the small frightened face, signaling to her aide to retrieve him.
          Scorpius was filled with such hatred for her then that his stomach clenched. He patted the black ringlets and smiled down at the boy before the young woman jerked him away. Suppressing his rage, he took EL-Vashti by the arm, leading her away from ear shot of the others.
          "Why did you bring the child, Liliina?" he whispered with forced pleasantness.
          "I want to see Crais' face when he sees his son," she replied with a bitter smile.
          "And after Crais sees his son," Scorpius asked softly. "What will become of the boy?"
          She seemed to smile to herself, savoring some secret she alone knew.
          "To the barracks to fill the ranks." She explained, still smiling. "Or he may meet with an unfortunate accident. I haven't firmly decided yet."
          Scorpius shuddered inwardly. She was monstrous, unspeakable. The result of the genetic pairing of Crais and EL-Vashti, like himself, was a tool in the hands of those who'd masterminded it. He vowed he would do whatever it took to protect that innocent boy, even if it meant betraying his patron's beloved daughter.
          Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Braca walking hurriedly toward them.
          "Sir," he said smartly, "Captain Rhoane just signaled. They have the Gunship on their scanners and have traced the transport pod."
          The expression on EL-Vashti's face was one of exultation. Scorpius looked beyond her to the boy, held fast by EL-Vashti's aide with Atsutane beside them.
          "I will come with you," he told EL-Vashti with a forced smile.
          "Whatever for, Scorpius?" she asked, looking at him dismissively. "The game is nearly over."
          "Let us just say I want to see the end game myself." He told her, putting his arm around her shoulders and giving them an affectionate squeeze.
          EL-Vashti relented, walking away from him to enter the IAD pod.
          "Lieutenant," Scorpius said quickly to Braca, "Hold position here. Get those ordnance repairs completed."
          He signaled to his nurse waiting behind them before following EL-Vashti into her ship.




          "Yes, Talyn," Crais said, voice filled with relief. "We are within scanner range and will be aboard in less than 40 microts."
          Senna sat beside him silently, bruised face a blank. He couldn't even think of what would happen between them once they were aboard Talyn again. Talyn's reaction to his decision to leave her on the next commerce planet would be the most difficult thing of all. Somehow, Crais knew he would make the Gunship understand.
          They could have no more tragedies like the one on Yrunndas III. Even if he wanted to return to the Peacekeepers, with Chalmer's death on his hands, there was no way back. He could offer John Crichton and Scorpius would still see him impaled through the eema in High Command Square. Braca would see to that.
          Talyn was chattering madly for his attention. He looked down to the sensor panel between the seats and saw the images approaching. He hit a series of buttons and the IAD cruiser flashed on the screen ahead of them.
          "Bialar?" Senna asked, voice hoarse and filled with fear.
          "Peacekeepers," he said without elaborating.
          "Oh, god." she whispered, her voice quivering. "God, not again."
          "Hold on," he snapped as he turned the pod at a sharp angle, pushing it for all it was worth toward Talyn's landing bay.
          The docking net loomed outward from the IAD ship, shimmering blue-green with finality. Crais grabbed the transponder, closing his eyes and sent a desperate message to Talyn.
          Shoot the beam!

          He could feel the Gunship's cannon roar to life, level itself then shoot several bursts. No sooner had the web enveloped them it shattered, falling away as he forced the pod into the relative safety of Talyn's landing bay.

Reparation -- Chapter 5: No Way Back

          As the sun's heat fled the day, townsfolk began to filter out, first in small groups then in droves. The town center was packed with dancers, jugglers, and riotous music. It reminded Crais of the winter festivals on Kordaen, but less sophisticated. Instead of Directorate and division standards flying from the windows, there were colorful banners and bunting. No drunken commandos and officers; only brilliantly costumed civilians laughing, embracing and celebrating.

          "Bialar,"
          Senna's voice pulled him from his revere. He turned from the louvered window to look at her.
          "The registrar log just updated," she said, pointing to a particular line in the list of symbols. "It shows the Mhultaan's marauder and crew left half an arn ago."
          Crais walked over to the terminal looking intently at the words, skeptical of her ability to accurately read them.
          "Very good," he said after several microts. "We'll have to drive to the munitions complex because of the flight restrictions from the festival."
          "Understood," Senna said as she retrieved the gun belt, strapping it clumsily around her waist.
          "You're going to have to acquire the ground transport," He explained, not believing he had to say such a thing.
          The look on her face became one of fear, but she shook her head in understanding. He handed her a small pouch of currency.
          "Ask the desk keeper where the nearest vehicle rental establishment is," he explained walking her to the door. "Go there and hire something large enough for cargo."
          He opened the door for her, meeting her terrified stare. "You'll be fine, Senna."
          She forced a smile before slipping out into the growing darkness.




          Crais eased the cargo vehicle through the throng in the town center gingerly. He lost track of how many times he slammed the transport to a halt as lines of drunken townsfolk danced, ran or fell in front of them.
          "This is like Mardi Gas in New Orleans," Senna observed with an empty chuckle. "Can't drive your car through the French Quarter for all the drunken tourists partying in the streets."
          He had no idea what she was talking about but comprehended the meaning behind the words. As they finally reached the outskirts of the city, he pushed the controls to maximum. They roared down the empty highway. As the last hint of sun disappeared, lights in the front grill flashed to life, illuminating the roadway ahead of them.
          In a quarter of an arn, they were in front of the complex. Crais slowed as the headlamps lit the ruined gate and dead guards.
          "I don't like the look of this," he said between clenched teeth. "Come on."
          He stepped out of the driving compartment, walking slowly toward the bodies with his pulse pistol drawn. He motioned for her to follow as he walked cautiously through the inner yard to the front entrance.
          "What a mess," Senna said seeing the damaged front door.
          "Peacekeeper pulse rifles," Crais grunted, holding up a hand, meaning for her to stay put.
          He stepped over the wrecked door, eyes adjusting quickly to the darkness. The smell of burnt flesh hit him before he saw the pile of dead bodies on the floor of the lobby. He knew instinctively that this was Braca's handiwork. He turned quickly, leaping through the hole in the door and back out into the night.
          "Braca's people have been here," he said with a grimace. "Killed everyone inside the complex."
          "Oh, god," Senna whispered. "What are we going to do? What about the parts for Talyn?"
          Before he could answer, sirens cut the silence around them. They turned to see row after row of headlamps on the road coming toward them.
          "No choice," Crais shouted shoving her toward the cargo vehicle. "We've got to get off this planet before anyone can place us at the complex. As Peacekeepers, we'll be blamed for this debacle."
          As she climbed into the passenger seat, Crais smashed his boot into the vehicle's grill four times, shattering the light panels. He leaped behind the controls, steering away from the complex and off the roadway. He drove blindly through the undergrowth and trees, praying the militia hadn't seen them.




          They ditched the battered and wheezing cargo vehicle outside the capital, making their way back to the lodging on foot. It was late and the majority of people attending the festival were drunk beyond all reason. Still, Crais led them kilmetras out of their way to be safe. As they turned onto the street adjacent to their hostel, Crais stopped as if shot. He pulled Senna off into the shadows as he watched the rotating red image at the nearest intersection.
          "What is it?" Senna whispered, huddled against him in terror.
          "Wanted beacon." He replied through clenched teeth.
          Taking her by the hand, he moved into the alley nearest them and found the rear entrance to the hostel. They rode upward in the maintenance level riser to the sixth floor in complete silence. He pulled her along as he made his way to their room. Once safely inside, he released her, locked the door and went to the information terminal.
          "Braca orchestrated this perfectly. The local militia is on high alert. Apparently, a Peacekeeper light cruiser crashed into their temple today. The authorities are blaming me for this, the attack on the complex, as well as a massacre that took place this afternoon at a local Township." Crais growled bitterly. "I have no doubt whatsoever that Braca is as responsible for reporting me to the local authorities as he is for all the killings."
          He turned back to finish reading the remainder of the militia report. After only microts, his entire body stiffened. With a murderous glare, he wordlessly closed the gap between them in three strides. She didn't even have time to flinch when his hand connected with her cheek in a slap that resounded in the quiet room. She staggered backward but he caught her arm pulling her toward him.
          "You've killed us all!" he roared, slapping her again and again.
          He grabbed her by the hair, forcing her to her knees on the floor. She screamed, struggled but never once struck out at him in return.
          "Braca found us because the signature code was wrong," he growled into her ear, his cheek against hers. "The signature code you programmed into Talyn's transport pod."
          She was sobbing bitterly now, her entire body shaking with the force of her cries.
          "I'm sorry," she bawled, tears pouring from her eyes across the bruises starting to form on her face. "I'm sorry."
          "I don't need your apologies." He snapped shaking her by her hair. "Your apologies won't help us get off this planet alive. Your apologies won't save Talyn when the Peacekeepers find him."
          He released his hold on her hair, then dealt her a backhand that sent her sprawling onto her stomach on the floor. Her loud sobs grew muffled against the carpet and she didn't move.
          "You've killed us all," he repeated in an icy whisper as he rose to stand over her.
          He strode angrily toward the door, punching the lock release with his fist.
          "Bialar!" she wailed, forcing herself up from the floor. "The militia! Don't go!"
          He ignored her pleas, slipping out into the cool of the night without a backward glance.



          As the light and heat of the new day filled the streets, Senna sat alone in their room, too distraught to eat, sleep or even move. She'd been sitting in a chair facing the door throughout the night, unable to sleep. Her heart was broken and her gut was tied tighter than the Gordian knot in fear for Crais. She had little hope of surviving another day if he was captured or killed. She was also unsure emotionally how his death would effect her.
          She kept turning the last six months over in her mind, wondering what psychotic gods she'd pissed of to get herself into this mess. He was never easy to live with. He'd always been hard on her, for the most part not unjustly. But, he had never actually beaten her before.
          She knew in her heart as he forced her to her knees he was going to kill her. Either strangle the life out of her with his powerful hands or use his pulse pistol to fry her brains. She cried then as much out of fear for her life as from the certain knowledge he now hated her.
          As angry as she was for the beating, she was also disturbed by the idea that it truly was her fault. In a moment of tenderness between them, she'd offered her help. Obviously her knowledge of Peacekeeper technology was lacking and now it would cost them all their lives. Even poor Talyn, so childlike in his innocent, waiting for Crais' return.
          The pulse pistol he'd given her sat on the table beside her elbow. She'd looked at it a hundred times over the course of the night. The idea of using it to blow her own brains out occurred to her nearly as many times. She looked at it now, considering how very little she had to leave behind.
          She heard a key slide into the locking mechanism outside. She knew she should reach for the weapon in case it was trouble. She shook her head and cast the thought aside. Let them come, she thought morosely.
          The brightness from outside made the dark figure in the doorway no more than a silhouette. She knew without seeing the face that it was Crais. He shut the door quickly behind himself. He moved wordlessly to the cooler unit, cranking it to maximum. She watched his uncomfortable movements, not willing to speak even after her long vigil.
          His face was flushed and beaded with sweat. His normally flawlessly coiffed hair was a mass of loosened tendrils surrounding his face. He reeked of some sweet fragrance and his uniform was covered with long blonde hairs. Human, Sebacean or otherwise, she didn't need to be a mind reader to guess where he'd spent his night.
          "I wish to apologize," he said at last with great difficultly, clearly keeping his distance. "My protectiveness of Talyn. . . I didn't stop to think,"
          "No, you didn't," Senna interrupted him bitterly. She touched one bruised cheek and he seemed to wince as he watched her.
          "We will have to wait until the afternoon cool to get off this planet." He said softly. "Even if I could tolerate moving around in the heat, it would draw suspicion for any Sebaceans to be out in it."
          He seemed to realize she'd been sitting up waiting for him all night.
"Best to get a few arns of sleep before we try to make good our escape." He said coming closer to her.
          She rose from the chair before he could touch her. Her legs were asleep, but she wouldn't let him see her stumble or falter. She moved slowly to one of the beds, pulling back the covers and sliding off her boots.
          Still in the uniform, she eased herself beneath the blanket and slowed her breathing so he would assume she was asleep. She kept herself absolutely still as she listened to him cleaning himself up. Finally, he undressed and climbed into the bed opposite hers. The room was soon silent except for the sound of their breathing.




          Crais sat at the dining table, his eyes on Senna's sleeping form. Remorse for his actions burned in his gut. He'd struck out blindly at her, might have even killed her if he hadn't stopped himself. He stormed out to burn off his aggression with a forgettable tralk, never bothered that he'd be an easy target in a brothel. His eyes narrowed as she began to murmur in her sleep, her legs moving as though she was trying to run.
          Once he'd left the brothel and made his way back to their lodging in the silent morning streets, he was able to admit his own guilt.
          The militia report listed his true name along with his accomplice: Lt. Larell. Crais had no doubt Braca recognized that name and acted accordingly. It was true the random scan found the signature code to be a fraud, but the use of his old lover's name was the key that turned the lock on the trap they now found themselves in.
          Crais started as Senna sat bolt upright screaming. He got up and went to her in four long strides. She struggled, tangled in the covers, eyes looking madly around the room with complete lack of recognition.
          "Senna," he took her by the shoulders and tried to hold her, but she fought him like a wild animal. "Senna, it's Bialar."
          She shook violently as her eyes fought to focus on his face. Tears welled in them and she swallowed hard. At last she realized where she was and her face became less terrified.
          "I dreamed they'd come for us," she whispered, hugging herself like a small child. "They shot you and I couldn't stop them."
          He remembered her first night aboard Talyn and his heart ached for her and his remorse deepened.
          "Bialar, I'm sorry. I am so sorry," she sobbed into her hands. "I didn't mean to do anything to put you or Talyn in danger. If I could take it back I would."
          He nodded his head in understanding as he looked down into her bruised, tear stained face. He walked toward the dining table, strapping on his gun belt. He straightened his suspenders over his shoulders and pulled on his uniform tunic. Wordlessly, Senna put her legs over the side of the bed and slid into her boots. He held out her gun belt and watched as she secured it around her waist.
          "It's time," he said simply, but the expression on his face was intense.



          Three arns after midday, Braca and Chalmer disguised themselves as festival goers before venturing out into the city. Squad One was hiding within the abandoned building, waiting for his signal that Crais had been located. Squad Two and the Techs were with the marauder, concealed in the forests outside the capital. The trap was ready to be sprung.
          Using a decrepit information terminal in their hiding place, Chalmer's Techs were able to locate the hostel where a Captain Anton and Lt. Larell were registered. They weren't able to get a room number, however. Braca knew it was information that would be gained only through direct methods.
          He kept his pace slow because of Chalmer's pronounced limp. He knew she was in a great deal of pain, but she was a drag on the Team he did not need now. She never once complained, of course. She was too much the Peacekeeper to give in to that sort of weakness. He kept a hand on her arm as he helped her up the steps and into the lodging facility.
          He eyed the humongous woman behind the counter with obvious disgust. She sat stuffing confections into her mouth as she watched the festival out a nearby window. Braca removed his costume cloak, handing it to Chalmer before drawing his weapon and approaching the counter.
          "Hold it, sir!" the woman squealed in horror. "No pulse weapons here in this lobby."
          "Captain Anton and Lt. Larell," Braca snapped with a vicious smirk. "Their room assignment."
          "You know I can't simply give that information out," she argued trying to back away from the counter to the safety of the office beyond.
          "What room are they in?" Braca demanded, slamming the butt of his pistol hard onto the front desk.
          The woman made the mistake of trying to reach for the communications device on the desk. She fell with an abbreviated grunt, a smoldering wound in her chest from Braca's pistol.
          Without missing a beat, Braca was spinning the information terminal toward the two of them. He and Chalmer looked down the list of hostel guests. Chalmer found it first, sparing Braca a triumphant smile.




          Crais and Senna looked on silently from the level riser alcove. With no time to think, Crais pushed her backward into one of the level risers, joined her and swiftly punched the controls.
          "You saw the registrar's report yourself," Senna said as they rose slowly. "The Mhultaan's marauder was on the list of departures yesterday."
          Crais shook his head angrily, said, "Another trick. Braca is an exceptional officer."
          "How are we going to get back to the transport pod?" she asked as they stopped at the third floor.
          "I don't know," he admitted heatedly as he jogged along the catwalk to the rear of the building.           "Just follow me and do everything I tell you without hesitation."
          "Yes, Bialar," she agreed.
          He took her by the arm and aimed her at the maintenance level risers they'd used the night before. He followed her inside one and then punched the controls for ground level. As the doors slid open, Crais was out like a shot with Senna at his heels. He kicked open the locked rear door and bolted outside.
          Looking rapidly in every direction, Crais shoved Senna into an alleyway to their right and they took off running at top speed.




          Braca blasted the room controls with his pulse pistol, jerking the door open with brute force. Chalmer was right behind him as he entered the cool, darkened interior. He emerged from the hygiene chamber, his face red with fury.
          "They've escaped," he shouted, kicking at one of the dining chairs. "Obviously Crais knows we're after them."
          "He's no idiot," Chalmer said bitterly. "We both know that intimately."
          "He can't be allowed to get off this planet," Braca replied as he stalked out of the room.
          She grunted in pain as she shifted her weight and followed him.
          "Go out the rear of this building," Braca ordered from the main level risers. "Make certain they didn't slip out that way."
          Before the doors slid shut on him, she made her way to the maintenance risers as fast as the pain would allow.




          Only half a kilometra from the landing field, Crais and Senna dashed around a corner, coming face to face with a female Peacekeeper officer. They skidded to a stop as the lieutenant leveled her weapon at the startled face of her former captain.
          "Lt. Chalmer," Crais acknowledged as he reciprocated by aiming his pulse pistol at her.
          "Traitor Crais," she sneered wickedly.
          Smiling dangerously in return he said, "I would like to say that it is a pleasure to see you again, however that would not be true."
          Their pistols fired simultaneously as each leaped for cover in nearby doorways. Crais shoved Senna across the alley where she sprawled onto her stomach behind the stoop of the adjacent building. She crouched, terrified, as Crais and Chalmer made rapid-fire attacks on each other.
          Crais watched for a microt between volleys, getting a feel for Chalmer's timing. He fired a quick burst, leaned back into cover then aimed his pistol around the door frame and fired again. Chalmer let out a shriek of pain as the bolt connected with her right elbow.
          "Braca!" she shouted into her comm as she struggled to get behind a row of refuse bins only three metras from Senna's hiding place.
          Crais peered around the edge of the door in time to see his former second officer run into the alley with a single commando. Before they could assess the situation, he began showering fire down on them. A lucky bolt caught the commando in the narrow gap between helmet and armor, sending him flying backward, dead where he fell.
          As he got a clear shot at Braca, his pistol misfired. He shook it, slammed the butt against the lintel and tried firing again. A pathetic spray of sparks fell from the muzzle.
          As he watched in horror, Chalmer rose from concealment behind the refuse bins and moved toward Senna. Her right arm was badly mangled, her pulse pistol dangling from limp, bloodied fingers.
          "His cartridge is empty, Braca." She yelled over her shoulder with a triumphant laugh.
          "Shoot her," Crais shouted. "Damn you, Senna. Shoot her."
          "Senna?" Braca exclaimed in recognition then spoke into his comm. "Squad One, lock onto my signal for retrieval. We have the human female and the deserter pinned down."
          Senna rose from her hiding place, the pulse pistol trembling in her hand. The wounded Chalmer looked at her with venom, switching her pistol to her left hand and taking aim at the human woman. Crais slid the spare chakan oil cartridge from his belt and into his pistol. He took aim, shooting Chalmer square in the face at close range. She fell to the ground, her head splattering the wall behind her.
          "Veya!" Braca screamed, rushing forward firing his pistol wildly.
          Senna fired then, grazing Braca's right shoulder. It did little to slow his furious rush toward them. Suddenly, Crais sprang from the doorway out into the alley with all the strength and speed he possessed. He stopped the force of Braca's momentum with an elbow to his sternum followed by a panthak jab. The young lieutenant slumped downward bonelessly, falling across Chalmer's dead body.
          Enraged, Crais spun toward Senna. She stood with a glazed expression, trembling violently, the pistol still held ineffectually before her.
          "Come on," he shouted. "We've got to get out of here before that squad arrives."
          She didn't respond, simply standing frozen in place. Afraid for them both, furious at her apparent cowardice and knowing no other way to deal with her, he closed the gap between them. He was about to strike her again, thought better of it, shaking her instead.
          "Wake up!" He barked. "We have to go."
          She gaped at him like a child, the emotions he saw on her face making him want to take her into his arms when he should strangle the life out of her instead.
          "You heard what he said," she breathed, eyes wild. "They know about me. They know who I am."
          Crais said nothing. There was nothing to say and there was no time for wondering how Braca knew about her. Taking Senna by the arm, he pulled her along as he ran back the way they came.
          Switching tactics, Crais lead them through the main streets crowded with festival celebrants. They plunged through the throng, slamming into many of the drunken revelers, knocking them to the ground. Ignoring any protests, they ran onward without looking back.
          Crais bolted out onto the landing field and across to their transport pod without looking to see if Senna was still behind him. He was up the ladder and into the pilot's chair before noticing that she was with him, strapping herself into the seat opposite him.
          Crais started the engines and pulled back on the controls to guide the craft off the ground.
          "Peacekeeper transport," a voice called over the main comms. "You do not have clearance to leave Yrunndas III. You are fugitives and are ordered to halt your escape attempt at once."
          Crais gritted his teeth as he forced the pod into a steep climb. The planetary defense cannons blasted to life beneath them. One particularly close shot rocked them as if the transport was a toy. Crais growled in fury, turning and banking the pod in evasive maneuvers as though it was a prowler like he'd flown in his youth.
          In two  microts they were lifting up out of the atmosphere and the range of the planetary defense systems. With one hand still on the guidance controls, he plotted a circuitous route back to Talyn in case they were being followed.




          When Squad One located Braca's position, he was on one knee next to the mangled body of Lt. Chalmer.
          "Orders, sir?" Officer Garro asked, looking down at him.
          The expression on his face was terrible as he ran his hand over the blood and gore covering Chalmer's hair. He swallowed hard, closing his eyes for a long time, squatting silent and motionless.
          "Sir," Officer Garro said haltingly. "Squad Two reports the traitor's transport pod has successfully escaped from the planet."
          He seemed oblivious to her words, still on his haunches by Chalmer's body.
          "Sir, they tried to comm you for orders," the commando pilot went on. "But you didn't respond."
          Slowly, as if every motion destroyed him, Braca pulled Chalmer's body over his shoulder, carrying her as he had from Fhaval Township the previous day. Blood seeped out of the wound in his shoulder from the effort, but he seemed ignorant of this as well.
          "Sir, you're wounded." Garro said, desperation edging her tone.
          Braca walked away from the entire squad without looking back. As Garro and the other commandos followed him, he finally spoke.
          "We're getting off this dren hole," he said icily. "Send a security three zelka message back to the Mhultaan that we're on our way with the necessary materiel."