Part IV

I was born in a room like this. Now I shall die in one.  

The air was dull, flat. The heat stung her throat and clung to her lungs like heavy paste. Sweat poured into her eyes, stinging. Her breathing came in injured gasps. But she knew it was merely the beginning. The sentence had been passed. Retirement. Without honor. The living death. 

Devoid of energy Alejandra D'Soto lay on the toothed grating of the deck. Her auburn hair, made maroon by sweat, clung to her face and scalp. In slow agony she turned her head to the side. A discarded officer's tunic lay at her side, pulled inside out and rumpled.  

Whose…? Mine? She frowned. Dread seeped in around her like a chilling pool as she realized it was her own. Her panic, tempered by the raging delirium, found new energy.  

It felt as if the dull metal walls were pressing in upon her. They were like those in any of thousands of medical facilities. But with one major difference. Whereas one was for the salvation of life, this room housed other grim duties. To be born in a room like this, not to one of the Great Houses, was the same meaningless anonymity for them all. It was the great lie about oneself that a Peacekeeper could not change. When you are born in a room like this, you are nothing. No one. A common breeder's birth, complimented by a common breeder's death. It was not lost on her. And no doubt it was precisely what Scorpius wanted her to realize as well.  

There would be no rescue. There would be no pleas to the council. This was all. Four dingy steel walls. The baleful lights above. The heat. And the pain that could never end. 

#

"I must commend you, Crichton." Crais said as he studied the stars beyond Talyn's view port. 

The human did not look up from the metra-long stare he had been perfecting. Instead he withdrew the pad of his thumb from his mouth long enough to speak. His voice was deadpan. "Ya, for what?" 

"I have known Officer Sun to be a realistic headstrong soldier, never to be taken in by falsehoods. It must have required quite the effort for you to convince her of this apparent …fabrication." 

"Bite me." Crichton looked at him only briefly. 

"Yes. Convincing. And as cleverly worded, no doubt." Crais nodded to himself smugly.  

Instead of being drawn out into direct conflict as Crais had intended, Crichton seemed to shift into an even more insulting off-hand nonchalance. 

"Tell me. How do you intend to cope with the situation when the true identity of this… girl-child of yours is revealed?" Crais asked. "Will Aeryn be as accepting of that?" 

"I don't suppose you have any kids, Bialar."  

John moved over the control consol with his signature lazy saunter. Brutishly he prodded through a list of status readouts. It was entirely unnecessary. They were systems in which Crichton had no possible reason to delve. "There's not some little Wednesday or Pugsly Crais toddling around a command carrier right now? Learning to disarm enemies with their teething rings?" 

"No. I do not have offspring." He folded his fists behind his back. Somewhere in the myriad of noises and color that composed Talyn, Crais sensed the leviathan move to cut off the interface with the alien passenger. Crais reluctantly stopped him. 

"Ya. I'm not surprised," Crichton returned with a self satisfied grin. He shook his head slightly and seemed to lose interest with his task when he found nothing suspect. "I really don't know what Aeryn believes. I've decided not to question this one, Crais. It's a gift. You take it and you're grateful." 

"Perhaps you can share your insights on gratitude to the Peacekeeper detail that apprehends you on the installation." 

# 

Asher waited, crouching in the claustrophobically small space. He breathed in shallow gulps. The sweat ran down his face into his eyes. But he barely noticed. Face pressed against the blessedly cool metal, he watched the trooper pass in the corridor just beyond the murky film of the grid cover. The swishing blade of the circulation system partially obscured the trooper's voice.  

"Velka six-two. Reporting. All clear." 

Asher permitted himself the smallest sigh of relief. He felt the muscles in his shoulders loosen slightly. But he never took his gaze off the departing shape of the trooper. 

Although he had no fair estimate of how long he had been hiding since they took Ellie, the patrols were less common. It must have been at least a solar day. He had managed to stay one section, one tier ahead of the guard as he slipped through the maze of access conduits and ventilation shafts to the NeuTech station. 

He had known since the moment they arrived. Something was not right. Now, only in hiding, had he been able to piece together via overheard conversations and trips into unoccupied rooms an even more worrisome mosaic. Ravstar, a regiment that he himself as a grunt had only overheard as rumor, had staged a coup against NeuTech, in essence, capturing it. Whatever project Northway's friend had been involved with had gained the full attention of First Command, an entity Asher Korbyn had no desire of ever encountering. 

Hezmana, Ellie. No more of this dren. First runner out of here…  

He shook his head, negating his own lie. There was no way he would leave the station without her. Somewhere things, his life in particular, had encountered a sharp turn. And it was well before the decision that brought him to his present situation. He was fairly certain it had to with the day that Elenor Crichton showed up, his own personal bad luck trinket.  

"Frell." He muttered. 

Cautiously he rose, standing as tall as the low ceiling would allow. He moved along the dim shadows of the passage, pretending not to know the course he was following. To do that admitted defeat. It meant he needed to ask for help… from her. Northway.  

Hiding was solving nothing, only prolonging his chances of discovery. Freeing Ellie on his own would be nearly impossible. They had no allies here, save the annoying human woman, and perhaps, by extension, her friend that had launched this ill fated crusade in the first place, the one called Knox. Although he felt that perhaps Northway's continued incarceration would have enhanced her personality greatly, Asher was forced to face the fact that the doctor may indeed prove useful.  

He paused at a junction. One fork ended in a dead end. The other passed a series of open grid covers. If the rooms were occupied, moving past them could give him away. He listened for any sounds. 

"Have Officer Tyron removed to the carrier to await sentencing…" 

"Yes, Lieutenant." 

"Scorpius has instructed you to remove the protocols on the Aurora chair. Why haven't you?" 

"Their removal can only complicate mapping the prisoner's neural pathways. I do not think--" 

"Scorpius did not instruct you to think, Nurse Froy. His orders were explicit." 

"I will remove them." 

"That's better. Scorpius expects a full biological assessment of the hybrid woman. He wants that before we begin with the chair." 

"Yes, sir." 

Scorpius. He knew that name. Ellie uttered it only twice, and never had she given great detail. Her every hesitance spoke volumes. This was the beast. Her nightmare. And now he had her. 

"Frell." He needed to do something. And now. 

# 

"Tell me, Lieutenant. Does it please you to know you are a distraction to me?" 

"I don't know what you mean, sir." 

His eyes narrowed on her, but it was not the scathing scrutiny he reserved for the command tier. The hint of a smile found his expression. Jaryd nodded to himself, agreeing with some unknown internal observation and clearly amused by it.  

He waved a dismissive hand. "No. I don't suppose you do." 

"Sir…" Sela stammered, resisting the urge to fidget with the cuffs of her jacket. The blood rushed to her neck, burning her ears, as she slowly realized his meaning. She felt so vulnerable, naïve in his presence. Now. Alone with her captain, it filled every pore, countermanding every possible defense. "I am unaware of any transgression--" 

"Reslack." Jaryd slid the canister toward her in offering. He leaned into the tall back of his chair, propping his boots on the battered surface of the desk.  

"Sir?" She granted him a perplexed smile. No. This was not the glowering, moody man that commanded their vessel. "Thank you… no. I am on duty." 

"No. You're not. Not for the past quarter arn." He grinned, leaning forward slightly. "It's not wise to lie to your captain, Tyron." 

"Indeed. It constitutes treason." She fell from her tense stance and sidled closer to the desk. Her smile broadened into a dare. "What do you want with me, sir?" 

"Guess..." 

Eyes squeezed shut, she pressed her face against the metal wall of the dank holding cell, trying to turn the memory away. Since the chair… how long had that been? A day? Arns? … since the chair… she could not shut them off. All of them of Jaryd. They were memories so buried it was as if they had happened to someone else a million cycles ago. Each was as vivid as the next. It was a torrent of bitter joy. She could hear him. Feel him. Her nostrils were full of his scent: Chakan oil, leather. Beyond the blood of a throat ruined by screaming, she could taste the salt of his skin. 

"Weak. I am weak. I am weak." The flat air filled with the lunatic mutter of her sobbing. "I am nothing special. I am nothing to defy our way." 

"But you did…" 

Her eyes fluttered open reflexively at his voice. Jaryd. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck rose. Sela doubled over. She pressed her hands over her hears. "Go away. You're not there… not there. You're dead." 

"I know you do not want that."  

If she listened closely, she could hear the creak of leather, the light stride of his boots on the grated deck. He could always read her like a transparency. Always. 

"Go away. Please." She whispered through clenched teeth. 

"Sela. You deserve more than the life of a Peacekeeper…" 

"Stop. You mustn't talk like that." How many times? How many times had she whispered that to him, warning him. In the dark. After. Within the warmth of his bed in hushed exchanges, intoxicated by his attention. It was those moments when sluggish sleep made it so easy to listen, to believe and feel. There was a part of her that waited secretly to hear these things from him, treasonous or not. 

"You have lived and served by the very decca they claim to uphold yet they pervert it to their own vile use. You are the defender of what they'll never be and they despise you for it, Sela." 

Slowly she pushed away from the wall. To open her eyes would delay the truth. She forced the words from a closing throat. "I loved you. And now I shall die for that." 

"No, Sela. They decided that is a crime. They will come for you soon. And you must choose. Die their way… or live your own." 

# 

A deadly blossom of azure veined with white consumed the entire mid section of the carrier. The hulking metal beast crumpled inward, folded toward the mouth of the wormhole. Like the delicate fabric of a curtain, the skin of the carrier undulated under the ravages of the distortion wave.

At tremendous ball of fire issued along the exposed side of the carrier. The flames quickly silenced by the cold of space. For a brief flickering moment, the wash of blue grew stronger still.

Ellie squinted as if reliving the blazing white light of the wormhole once more. Panting, teeth clenched she turned her head away from the screen as far as the chair's restraints would allow. The taste of copper invaded her mouth, and she realized distantly in the torrent of this memory-rape, she had bitten her own tongue. 

"Hezmana." The one called Braca muttered, astounded and slightly horrified. "It's her." 

The Beast swam into view. He leaned down against the harness of the chair. She could feel his warm breath against her face. A victorious sneer decorated his crackled black mouth. "So. You are my would be assassin. You were the pilot of the prowler that nearly destroyed the command carrier well over a cycle ago." 

She drew in a ragged hitching breath. Her eyes narrowed. A surreal bravado enveloped her. For some reason, she held no fear for him. The creature that plagued her life, her very childhood seemed to be replaced by this shallow imposter.  

"A shame I could not finish the task."  

"You have no idea the lengths to which I have gone to track you down." Scorpius hummed.  

"I have an idea." A dangerous insane hilarity coated everything. "Oh… by the way, Tristis failed." 

"I know that you are not Sebacean… not entirely. I know that genetically you have been altered to include human characteristics… specifically nearly identical to that of John Crichton."  

He canted his head, studying her from beneath the dark sheen of his hood. She knew he was reading her energies, that inane parlor trick he used to intimidate. He could not read minds any more than she. Scorpius had learned to hone the skills of his Scarran heritage, their apparent reptilian ability to sense changes in thermogenic energy patterns produced by most warm-blooded species. 

"Until I arrived at this installation, I was aware of only one human in the Uncharted Territories… now we are virtually infested with them."  

"Try living on a planet full of them." She fell into another lunatic bout of laughter.  

"This is well more than a coincidence. What is your mission here?" He ignored her remark. 

Elenor shut her eyes. 

"Again." 

She shuddered as the now familiar pain paraded down her spine. But she did not fight the invasion. That only made it worse… 

"You're a big liar! I want my daddy."

Another step closer. The light carved out the arch of a waxy, translucent cheekbone. The eyes were hidden beneath the headpiece of taut black skin. Panic bloomed anew in her chest. She backed away from this pale shade of a creature.

"I need not lie. I can prove it." He said.

The grainy image flickered from the darkness beyond:

John Crichton was dying. Dark shadows defined his red-rimmed eyes. A fresh bruise was a garish purple along his temple. Her father's tortured voice droned on in a ragged hitch. "... don't know what the hell you're talking about. There's...n-n-no rendezvous. Nothing, nobody on Moya worth the risk. No reason for me to go back there."

… Your father will not return." He glided closer; slim gloved hands outstretched with sinister grace. "But you are fortunate. I want you, my dear. As my right of victory, I have claimed you.

"I shall be your father. Your master. In time, you will understand how fortunate you are."

"But, I forget myself." A smile split his cracked black lips to expose the teeth of a carnivore. It did not touch the rheumy glow of his reptile eyes. "I am Scorpius." 

Surprise filtered into the Beast's voice. He looked to Braca. "What was that?" 

"A moment, sir. Froy is analyzing it." 

A vague hope formed. Elenor had come to the realization that this chair was by far, much less sophisticated that the distant relative that she had come to know and dread in her own reality. It bore a weakness that could be exploited. It was fallible and could be tricked. Willingly she gave it access to corners of her memory, anything that lead him away from her recent encounter with Moya or her true agenda of rescuing Rachel. It would not be a lasting defense, but it kept him from discovering a means to barter further control. He would think nothing of threatening Rachel's life for her own cooperation. 

"Impossible. I have never seen this woman until now." 

Braca exchanged a nervous glance with Froy. They entered into a hushed debate, their words barely audible. 

"Braca!" 

The officer jumped noticeably, but it was the nurse that answered. "No, sir. This is correct. It is a memory that she possesses." 

"How intriguing…." He turned his full attention back unto Elenor, but he spoke to his second. "Braca… I want every single microt of this session recorded. Prepare a new series of refinements--" 

"Sir?" The officer prodded. 

Scorpius grinned at his prey with sudden viciousness. "You're very clever." 

Her heart lurched. The alien surety instantly began to dissolve beneath his stare. Elenor knew her trick had been discovered. 

His rheumy eyes measured her. "I do not know how you can manage this, but… you are hiding more. You have found a way to lead the neural mapping." 

She swallowed reflexively. Fear seeped like a cool dark pool around her.  

"You are protecting someone here… who?" 

She did not look at him.  

"Is it your accomplice? I assure you… he did not escape this station. When he is found, he can suffer the same fate." He prodded her chin with a slim gloved finger. 

"Frell off." 

"What is this? No more witticisms? Certainly you can manage some colorful human remarks! Do your father proud!" 

"You don’t know dren about my father!" She hissed, skewering him a sidelong glance. 

Scorpius leaned closer. His stale hot breath grazed the skin of her neck. "Then it is your unborn child you seek to protect." 

She looked up at him. Her skin felt suddenly cold. All the moisture left her mouth. "My... what?" 

"I can see you are surprised by this information." He leaned back, relishing this odd victory. "Allow me to be the first to congratulate you."  

"That's impossible. No. You're lying." 

"Ah. As I apparently told you once before, child. I do not lie." 

# 

Rachel marched dutifully in the middle of the security escort. It was a complete contrast to her initial introduction to Peacekeeper security measures, but it did nothing to ease her dread. She was drawing out a major lie, but was desperate for access to Douglas. Their odd parade wove down a series of dimly lit corridors. As they passed, groups of uniformed men and women parted. Some of them watched her with blatant curiosity.  

"Enjoy the show, folks." She muttered. 

Braca frowned at her, but said nothing. He seemed to possess two other expressions as well: horrified surprise and a haughty incredulity. The former being more in the presence of Scorpius, the later being used more often for those he deemed inferior, which appeared to include just about everyone else. 

Braca was a piece of work. He apparently did not fart sideways unless Scorpius cleared it in advance. And it had taken Rachel considerable needling to get him to even acknowledge her. Substantial lying about her "wormhole expertise" sealed the deal. After eliciting a promise of her cooperation, Braca arranged for the escort to the Velka level… whatever that was. 

They paused before a locked passage way. Once again Braca frowned at her with suspicion. He was evidently branching out in his expressions.  

"Tick. Tock." Rachel said. "Don't want to keep the boss waiting." 

He snorted and turned to an elaborate security lock at the door. Conspicuously he turned his back on her, blocking her view. Braca keyed a series of commands that were meaningless to her. Translator microbes left a lot to be desired with written symbols, she was learning.  

The door parted with a mechanical purr. They were greeted by a gust of frigid air. The room was a bustle of activity. Rachel was frozen in place. 

The center of the room was dominated by the Farscape Two. Or what was left of her. Her scorched sides were covered in vast sections by a dull gray plating. The entire propulsion system lay in plain view on the floor, gutted parts littered about it like sad offerings. Her frame was infested with techs, all busy at work. Rachel shuddered. It made her think of an ant hill. Tiny, black ants swarming over the bulk of a larger, fallen insect.  

Weaving among them, engaged in some sort of heated discussion was DK, as oblivious as ever to the world around him. The scene was surreal. This could have been the annex hangar at Sydney. These could have been IASA geeks.  

But this was not home. These were not friends. 

"Jesus… DK," she whispered. "What the hell have you done?" 

# 

"What do you think?" DK beamed, throwing his arms out into a wide gesture at the hulk of the ship. The jovial mood was completely false and fell flat. He was a mess, running on raw nervous adrenaline and from his appearance ready to tank out. His hair stood in tousled spikes. Dark smudges decorated his face like war paint. His eyes were red-rimmed, deepened by dark circles.  

"That it looks like the Borg got a hold of it." Rachel returned.  

Arms folded she leaned forward to scrutinize a new addition to the wing. A tech barged into her path without a second glance. She looked up at Douglas. "What the hell are they doing?" 

His expression sobered, seeming to collapse. His voice was lower, almost self-assuring. "It's better. They're making it a hell of a lot better." 

"You don't believe that, do you?" She planted her hands on her hips.  

"I'll say it again. You shouldn't have come here, Rachel." He looked past her at the receding backs of the security escort. For a moment she feared he would call them back, ask them to take her away. 

She stepped closer. "I want… I need to talk to you." 

"Can't it wait?" He turned and stooped beneath the low arc of the wing.  

"You're joking. Right?" She crawled in after him into the confined space, blocking any escape.  

"Douglas…." 

He did not look up for the transparency in his hand. "Hmm…?" 

Angrily, she snatched it away. She waited until he looked at her to speak again. "John is alive." 

"Alive?" He breathed the word, as if to say it louder would make it false. His shoulders sagged. Douglas sank onto his haunches, stooped over in the small space. He met her eyes for the first time.  

"Yes." 

"Jesus… Rach… why didn't you say some-" 

"I tried. You were busy being an asshole." She returned. Rachel glanced around. There was no one in earshot, but she spoke quickly. "This guy, Scorpius, captured John. Tortured him. He's been after him ever since to dissect his brain about wormholes." 

"How do you know this?" His voice dropped sharply. A tech approached a nearby console. 

"It's a long… long… story, Douglas. Just trust me. John has had a bounty on his head. Peacekeepers… Scarrans… they've all been hunting him. He's been risking his life to keep this technology away from them because he knows what you refuse to believe… that it can kill… that it's a weapon. Douglas, you can't just waltz in here and hand them the ability to make wormholes like it's a ham on rye." 

He shook his head. "Rachel… you don't know… what they did…" 

She placed her hands on his shoulders. "Don't believe their lie, Douglas. You're making a weapon. Something that will be used to kill millions. They screwed over your girlfriend. They'll screw you over too, Douglas. The Peacekeepers will not stop with Scarrans and you know it. " 

His hands raked through his hair. For a long moment, he shut his eyes. His voice was so quiet she had to strain to hear him. "It's out of control, Rach. I don't know what to do." 

Rachel smiled slightly. "Like I said before, stupid, I'm here to rescue you."  

# 

"You wanted to see me, sir?" 

"Purvis! Hey…ya." Knox waived him into the small control suite in his usual distracted manner. He was intent on the systems interface and did not turn to great his senior technician. "I'll be with ya in a sec…. I mean a microt." 

Rhen looked at the dark-skinned woman that stood over Knox's shoulder. She had been in the velka bay the entire morning, her presence raising wild speculation and rumors in Purvis's team. Although he had never given much attention to scuttlebutt, Rhen had to admit he was intrigued. He had never seen a creature like her before. There had been stories of primitive colonies, inferior genetic Sebacean stocks with variations in skin and eye pigment. But not like her. And judging from the prideful set of her chin and the rigid line of her back, she was anything but primitive.  

She arched a delicate eyebrow at him. "Take a picture. It'll last longer." 

Blood rushing to his face, Rhen found sudden interest in the sheen of his duty boots.  

"Rhen." Knox finished with his task. "I need your help." 

"Of course, sir." He glanced guardedly at the woman before approaching the raised dais of the workstation.  

"I need your help. And need you to not ask questions." 

# 

Cade Sevrin shifted anxiously from foot to foot. She was half an arn late for her duty shift. That was a distant worry and irrelevant. What she was waiting for… who she was waiting for… was much more important. 

She ducked her head around the corner to check the passage. So far no one had questioned her presence. Techs were only allowed on certain levels unless it was for work or by request of command. These were the officer's habitation levels. Without work orders, Cade did not even have the comfort of a plausible lie. 

"I don't care to hear your excuses. Have the remaining prisoners transported off the base to await sentencing on the carrier. Do it now. Braca out." 

His voice carried through the deserted corridor. Cade felt the ball of dread in her stomach curl tighter. The new Second was not alone. A trooper followed at his heels, pulse rifle resting in the crook of his elbow.  

Braca spoke into his coms again: "Has anyone found the former Security Chief for this installation… Hassan?" 

"Negative, sir." 

Braca was nearly upon her. Cade stepped out into the middle of the corridor, her back at rigid attention. Her hands were curled into fists at her sides as she spoke. "Lieutenant Braca, sir!" 

…and he walked right past her without a second glance. 

Mouth slightly ajar, heart pounding in her ears, she watched him continue down the corridor. Cade ran behind in pursuit. "Lieutenant Braca, sir." 

This time the trooper turned his attention on her. His face folded into a frown. "What is it, tech?" 

Cade looked up at the behemoth. "I need to talk to Lieutenant Braca." 

"No you don't. Go back to your level, tech." 

"It's very important." Her heart threatened to crawl out of her throat as she spoke. 

"Selik, what is it?" Braca called impatiently. 

"Just a tech, sir." 

"It's about Consultant Knox." She raised her voice in the still air of the hallway. Cade stood on tiptoe to peek over the trooper's shoulders at Braca. 

"What about Knox…" Braca intoned. His look was suddenly alert. There was a gratifying flutter beneath her heart and the knot of dread loosened slightly. He stepped closer.  

Cade backed into the armor of the trooper. She swallowed. "Consultant Knox is about to commit treason." 

# 

Rachel examined the contents of the plate on the table before her with no real enthusiasm. It was not for lack of appetite. She was starving. The problem was with the items presented to her under the laughable term of "food". This had to be a mistake. This was not dinner. This was someone's science project.  

There was a small pile of roughly formed cubes, chartreuse in color, that smelled vaguely of boiled cabbage. A bowl at her elbow contained what could only be the result of insect genetics gone horribly wrong. And well… the other platter… she was dead sure she saw something move on it.  

With a groan of disgust she pushed her chair away and paced the length of the room. She came to rest before the narrow portal. The dull orange glow of the looming gas giant filtered through, making the hard interior of the room seem a little softer. It was a small comfort.  

DK had talked her into returning to her room. He had thought it best to avoid suspicion from the technicians on the crew. She shut her eyes and took in a deep cleansing breath.  

Please, Douglas… let's both live through this… I want to be in a dive bar in Miami a month from now, laughing at this… please. 

She opened her eyes. That was the question. How? How to get home? If they somehow managed to pull this little coup off, win one for the good guys and escape, how would they get home? 

"Jesus. One miracle at a time, Rachel." She muttered.

 "Not a good habit to have… keeping your back to the door."  

Rachel jumped, uttering a small gasp. She had not heard the door open. She turned to see a trooper standing in the middle of the room, arms folded across one of those elephant guns they affectionately called rifles. Above his bulky armor, he wore a visored helmet, obscuring his features.  

"I flunked out my first year at StarFleet." Rachel returned. "That must have been year two." 

"And that's why it's impossible to take humans seriously." His voice was made tinny by the helmet's mic. He unfolded his arms and shouldered the rifle. "You open your mouths and nothing but nonsense comes out." 

"Can I help you? What the hell do you want?" Although her tone was indignant, she could not help but feel anxious. She looked around the room. The doors were sealed. There was no real way to call for help. She was doubtful she would get it, for that matter. 

"Is that a trick question?  

Rachel frowned. She canted her head to the side, trying to peer through the facemask on her visitor. "Who are you?" 

The trooper unlocked the seals and pulled the helmet off his head with a relieved sigh. Asher Korbyn smirked at her, discarding the gear gracelessly onto the table with a loud clatter. "What's for dinner, Northway? I haven't eaten in two days." 

"I don't believe it." Rachel seethed. She strode closer as Korbyn began to paw through the abandoned meal on the table.  

"I know. Don't say it…" He chewed. "You're happy to see me, right?" 

"Like hell I am!" She reached across the table and shoved the plates away. Rachel leaned in. Her face was inches from his. "Where's Ellie? I know there's no way you'd be here on your own." 

"That's not very charitable--" 

"You idiot!" Oblivious of his larger bulk, Rachel grabbed the collar of his armor. He did not move much when she tugged at it, but the ferocity was implied.  

"You stupid ape-brained dumb ass! You let her come here after me! Korbyn… you're supposed to keep her OUT of trouble. And you brought her HERE!?" 

"Do you have any idea how much of a pain in the eema she can be if she doesn't get her way?" He looked down at Rachel's fist and began dislodging it from his armor. 

"Where you born this stupid or did you take lessons?" 

"I took lessons." He returned sarcastically. 

She shoved him away with a disgruntled sigh. "Christ! Korbyn! I don't need this right now!" 

He frowned. "Is there a time when you would?" 

Rachel waved off his confused question. She looked around the mute gray walls as if they would offer solace. "Where is she?" 

"Here." His tone sobered. He looked away. 

"Where… here?" Rachel turned on him, eyes narrowing. 

"On the detention level."  

"Oh… Christ!" 

He ran a calloused hand over his closely shaved head. A strange timbre entered his voice, like a vague surrender. "I've tried everything. I can't get to her. I need… oh Hezmana… I need your help."  

"You need my help." Rachel said with a laconic laugh. She sat on the edge of the table, feeling suddenly old and tired. "One miracle at a time, Korbyn." 

Part 5   

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