A Pooka For Two
by Gonzai

Rated R
Disclaimer: Not mine at all. But I do so enjoying playing with them!
Summary: Thinking that advance information about Peacekeeper activities could be helpful to them, the Moya crew abducts Braca; needless to say, they're in much deeper than they expected, especially Crichton.
Author's Notes: Thanks to Kernezelda and Ainaechoiriel for beta-reading. This tale takes place not quite a cycle
after 'Bad Timing.' Eagle-eyed readers may notice the beginning of this story looks familiar. I had written 'A Day's Work' before I realized it would be a nifty starting point for this tale, and it stands on its own nicely, so, two different stories.

"Captain Braca!" The junior officer nervously approached her superior. Braca knew immediately who would have sent the Lieutenant, and he gritted his teeth in aggravation. "Commander Grayza wishes to see you at once, in her bedchamber."

Braca fought off frustration long enough to acknowledge the message, and set off for Grayza's quarters in resignation. Grayza routinely requested him at the oddest of times and often at the oddest of places. At least it wasn't the bath this time. He could only imagine what she wished of him. And he preferred not to use his imagination.

It wasn't a good idea where Grayza was involved. She had more than enough imagination for both of them. Particularly as Scorpius was unavailable for her games. Occasionally Braca wondered if his current situation would be any different, had the High Command not lost its patience and banished Scorpius entirely. Less often, he wondered what had become of Scorpius, but it mattered little at present.

He arrived at the door to Grayza's quarters, and to his further disgust, he found the entrance unguarded. Very incompetent. The sentries would have to be reprimanded, at the very least. "Ma'am? You wished to speak to with me?" Braca cautiously approached Grayza's bedchamber, unsure as to whether she would be satisfactorily clothed and hoping beyond hope that she would be.

She was not. Clothed. At all. And she was lying on her bed. Frell. Perhaps this was her revenge for what he'd done at Katratzi. He supposed he should have expected something like this, as Grayza had made it clear enough she was not through with him. But he was a Peacekeeper. He could resist his own superior officer. He hoped.

Grayza was, to be honest, bored. There had been little excitement aboard the carrier for many solar days. Generally it was best not to use subordinates, at least not the better ones, for her personal entertainment, but she found Captain Braca to be interesting, certainly after his recent behavior. Perhaps he would prove worthy of her interest. And if not, at the very minimum she could ensure he knew precisely who commanded this ship. Certainly there were matters between them long due for settlement.

"Captain Braca. Come in, please," she instructed him, adding just enough edge to her tone to indicate it was in fact an order. She was quite satisfied to note the effect her nudity had upon him, as he could not hide his discomfort.

"Commander, I - perhaps now is not the best time, I could come back...later, when you're...dressed," he stammered, averting his eyes from her. Good. He was actually rather attractive when he was uncomfortable.

"Now is the perfect time, Captain. Come closer."

Awkwardly, he did move closer to her and she quickly reached out and grasped his uniform pants in such a manner that he could not leave. Braca tried to step back, but under the circumstances, that was not possible. She pulled him closer to her and stroked his cheek lightly with her fingers. "Now, now, dearest Captain, this is what you've wanted all along, isn't it?"

Braca closed his eyes and spoke with his jaw tight. "No, ma'am, no, it's not. You're my commanding officer."

"Should that really matter?" She let her fingers drift slowly across his cheek, and then down his throat, before she carefully began undoing his uniform."Come now, Captain. I have an assignment for you."

As she had expected, he was unable to refuse her. The oil was quite useful in that regard. But regrettably, it was soon apparent this was not to her benefit. He performed for her, but nothing more, and her interest waned quickly. She would have to find another means to make him worthwhile, and she had something specific in mind. Something that would guarantee that Braca would never defy her again.

Grayza calmly began running her fingers through his hair with her left hand, while her right hand slipped beneath her bed. Her fingers tightened around the toy she kept there. At the moment that Braca completed the act, she tightened her hold on his hair and jerked his head back sharply, almost enough to break his neck, but not quite. She raised her right arm, and with the sharp, intricately carved knife she favored for such events, slashed Braca's throat.

Blood sprayed across the bed as she casually pushed his convulsing body off of her own and onto the floor. Calmly, she stood up, wrapped a very flimsy gown about her and gazed down imperiously at the dying man at her feet.

"Entirely inadequate, Captain," Grayza informed him, and serenely stepped over the fast-spreading pool of blood on the floor as she made her way from the room.

Braca awoke suddenly, very confused and unsure of his whereabouts for several moments, before finally realizing he was awake and lying in his bunk. Another nightmare. They were far too frequent. But if there were means for stopping them, it was beyond the knowledge of Peacekeepers, and admitting to having them would surely be the end of his career. Should Peacekeeper technology ever advance to the stage of possibly preventing dreaming, he would be first to offer himself for the experiment, he thought ruefully. At least this time, the dream had only included Grayza. She was no longer his worst nightmare.

It was another arn before he was due on duty, but he knew he would not sleep any more this night. He rose from the bunk and set about preparing himself for the day ahead. Someday, he supposed, he would no longer serve Grayza, and perhaps that specific dream might then subside, but until then he would have to tolerate it. He dressed, and briefly allowed his frustration to take hold of him, striking the mirror with his fist; some pieces of the glass sliced through his hand and left him bloodied. Now he would have to report to the medical bay before reporting to his post, and his frustration grew.

The visit to the medical bay was brief and to the point; the techs were not surprised by his injury, as it was not the first time, but they were discreet enough not to comment, unlike many of the officers Braca had encountered on his trip to the bay. His hand sufficiently repaired, Braca arrived at his post barely on schedule, and to his dismay, Grayza had already requested his presence at her chamber. Resolutely, he strode down the corridors to her den, trying his best to ignore the stares and whispers of the other Peacekeepers. Gossip was not worthy of a Peacekeeper, but try telling that to junior officers. Frell them. He reached Grayza's chamber and steeled himself, then entered, ignoring the whispers of the chamber guards.

"You requested me, ma'am? What can I do for you?" he spoke as evenly and without emotion as he possibly could, trying to ignore the way she looked at him, the way she saw him, the way she thought of him.

"Ah, my dear Captain Braca," she laughed lightly and stroked his disfigured throat, tracing the jagged scar that ran a path underneath his jaw and just above his collar, the mark that publicly declared what everyone aboard the carrier knew and no one would speak openly of, "it's what you can't do for me."

A few solar days later

Crichton arrived on the command bridge in an excellent mood, not unexpected given that Moya was presently secure, always a welcome circumstance, and she was serenely orbiting a commerce planet called Grimik. Indeed, simply knowing they were back in the Uncharted Territories was welcome enough. "Chiana! How's the grocery list coming?"

Moya's relative safety and calm was all the more welcome given the extremely close call the Leviathan had with a Peacekeeper Command Carrier only a few solar days ago. Moya had emerged from starburst, only to find herself disturbingly near the Carrier. Granted, she was barely within its scanner range, but still, that was too close for Pilot's comfort. Fortunately...and rather oddly...the Carrier did not seem to notice their presence. Indeed, it did not react at all in the manner they had come to expect from Peacekeeper vessels, and Moya was able to starburst again and remove herself from the danger within microts. The narrow escape had frightened them all, but now the morale aboard Moya was much improved.

"What the satra are groceries? And I'll get everything we need, I'm good at that," Chiana snipped.

"And likely what we don't need as well," Dominar Rygel shot back. "The day you bring back only what you've been sent for...hrmph."

"Right. And you can do better? You've gotten us kicked off more planets than I have, snurching where you don't belong," Chiana bit back. "The Royal Cemetery Planet, does that sound familiar?"

Rygel raised one eyebrow. "I am unwelcome on four worlds, to be exact. You, however, have gotten us kicked out of six planets. I do keep track." Chiana started to grab Rygel by his eyebrow in annoyance but Crichton separated them.

"So, Alf, how many planets made us personas non gratis courtesy of me?" Crichton asked. He seemed genuinely curious.

Rygel narrowed his eyes. "I lost count, cycles ago."

"Darn."

"I'm sure you're disappointed. As for you," Rygel returned his attention to Chiana, "try to make yourself useful and acquire some Shakloom jerky. I have a craving."

Chiana was having none of this. "Cravings, huh? What else should I get for you, Dominar? Trellon oil?"

In an attempt to avoid listening to Chiana and Rygel, Crichton decided to sing. "Food! Glorious food!" While Crichton's attempt at music, as well as Chiana and Rygel's bickering, was rather painful to Pilot's ears, it was nevertheless a positive sign. It had been several weekens since Moya had been able to stop at a commerce planet for supplies, and all on board were looking forward to their replenished food store. Moya and Pilot, in turn, were simply relieved.

"Indeed, as much you can possibly lay your hands on, for as little money as you can possibly spend," Rygel added. "We're not made of ingots."

"Are you sure, Rygel? You're about the same shape," Chiana answered curtly.

Crichton cut them both off quickly. "Strictly shopping, Pip, and only get the really important stuff. The less trouble the better," he confirmed. "Don't ruin my mood!"

But of course, as it was Chiana and Noranti who were sent to the planet, some sort of trouble was certain to occur, and so Pilot was not at all surprised when Chiana called back to Moya scarcely an arn after they had left for Grimik.

"Pilot!" she squeaked. The high frequency was nearly as painful as Crichton's singing.

"Yes, Chiana," Pilot inquired. "Is there a problem?"

"Yeah, there's a frelling problem. Peacekeepers!"

"How many?" Aeryn was now on the comm as well.

"Two. I don't think there's a lot of them. Maybe it's just those." Chiana sounded slightly calmer, which was more than Pilot could say for himself. There should not be any Peacekeeper presence around this planet. He had made a point of scanning thoroughly before they had approached Grimik. Any Peacekeeper contact with Grimik appeared strictly incidental, and he had checked the data twice.

By now Crichton had arrived on deck, and Aeryn and D'Argo were barely a microt behind him. "Only a pair of them? That's it?"

"What? Disappointed, Crichton?" Chiana asked sarcastically.

"Peacekeeper presence should be much greater than that, if it's a protected planet," Aeryn fumed. "Frell. They might not be there officially." "Chiana, have you at least found us some food? We should still be able to get you out, but we need the supplies," D'Argo argued.

"I've got everything I came for, the old woman's got it on the pod, but..."

"But what?"

"I wanted some dhozans. I saw a shop," Chiana muttered. "Anyway, there's three more Peacekeepers now."

D'Argo was getting antsy. "Chiana, get out of there, now!"

"One of them's that trezog Braca."

"Braca?" Aeryn stiffened.

"Really? What would he be doing on an unprotected commerce planet, without a command carrier in the neighborhood?" Crichton wondered out loud, and Pilot knew what the next question would be.

"Moya and I have thoroughly scanned this solar system, twice. There are no Peacekeeper vessels in the area, Commander. None," Pilot asserted. He wouldn't have dreamed of bringing Moya to this planet if he'd had the slightest fear of Peacekeeper presence. Surely they knew this by now? Still, in the Uncharted Territories there was never any failsafe means of knowing when or where they might encounter Peacekeepers. The possibility was always there.

"They could be waiting on a transport," Aeryn suggested. "Chiana, see if you can find out anything and report back at once."

"I'd rather come back now-"

"Check now. Then come back. Aeryn out."

They all waited, impatiently and with much trepidation, for the better part of an arn before finally hearing from Chiana once more. "Hey, I talked with some merchant, he says the Peacekeepers were dropped off here almost two solar days ago. Aeryn's right, they're waiting for a transport."

"Frell," rumbled D'Argo. "When is the transport scheduled to arrive?"

"Tomorrow, he told me," Chiana answered. "He was very cooperative. And he gave me extra dhozans!" She squealed in glee.

"That's nice, Pip, but right now it's intel we're looking for," Crichton reminded her.

Chiana managed to remain calm long enough to respond. "Right. So, a Peacekeeper transport is coming to take Braca back to High Command. It's something important, they're keeping real quiet, maybe they've got some message so big they can't trust a messenger?"

"Something about us?" queried Crichton. "Maybe they did notice our little 'oops, excuse me' the other day."

"Much as I'd like to believe we are the Peacekeepers' only concern, we are not necessarily their foremost business. Sorry about your ego, Crichton, but we aren't the only fugitives in the galaxy," Rygel added.

"Whether he's supplying information on us or someone else, whatever it is, he wouldn't be there unless it was critical to High Command," Aeryn thought out loud.

"And if the message doesn't get delivered..." Crichton began.

"...High Command will be frelled," Aeryn finished.

"As will we, if the Peacekeepers connect us to the disappearance of a high-ranking officer," D'Argo was skeptical.

Rygel agreed with D'Argo. "Don't even consider it, Crichton, it can't possibly work."

"I'm not suggesting we keep him," Crichton protested. "Just...borrow him a couple days, rewind him, and get him back to the store before the rental period's up. Knowing what those guys are up to can't hurt."

"I wouldn't count on that," snapped Rygel.

Still frightened by the recent encounter with the Command Carrier, Moya fully agreed with the Dominar, and Pilot relayed her message. "Moya and I would prefer to retrieve the supplies and leave, quickly."

But Crichton was already arming himself, and Aeryn was planning strategy. "Four escorts shouldn't be a problem, not with a good distraction."

"I guess I'm the distraction?" Everyone had forgotten Chiana, however briefly. "It sounds like a frodank idea to me, but if it frells the Peacekeepers, count me in."

The lodgings for visitors on Grimik were neither first rate nor particularly secure. Evidently Grimik had seen little disturbance in many cycles. All the better for us, D'Argo considered, as it was bad enough they were going to steal a Peacekeeper. The Peacekeepers Chiana had seen earlier had all returned to their lodging, and there was no indication there were any others on the planet. At least, they were not staying in this place. Aeryn waited at the back entrance; D'Argo and John were ready to go in the front, assuming Chiana's ruse worked.

"You set, D?" John asked. D'Argo nodded. "Yo, Chiana, do that thing you do!"

"Gotcha," Chiana answered, and sauntered inside the lodgings, D'Argo and John behind her, but not that far behind. The Peacekeepers were on the main floor; a few steps from the entrance, and a few tiles had ensured that the lodgings owner not only provided this information, but he was also conveniently absent at the moment.

Chiana knocked on the door lightly. The door opened, just a bit. "What do you want, Nebari?" A voice growled from inside.

Chiana swayed in place, swinging her body from side to side. "I got a call. Someone wanted...my services."

"The call was not from here," the Peacekeeper answered curtly and tried to close the door. Chiana stuck her foot between the door and the wall.

"The message was very specific. This lodging. This room. And I get paid, whether I work or not." Chiana was insistent.

The Peacekeeper was infuriated. He opened the door wide and stepped forward to argue the point. "I told you..."

He did not get to finish. D'Argo clubbed him over the head and the Peacekeeper fell to the ground without further protest. Chiana ducked to one side as John ran through the open door, firing Winona and taking down a second Peacekeeper immediately. D'Argo followed John inside, just in time to shoot down a third soldier before he could ambush John. There was no sign of Braca or the remaining guard.

"Heeerre, Braca Braca Braca," John crowed. "Here boy." There was an additional room attached to the main one, and the door was closed. John nodded towards it. D'Argo nodded back. The other two Peacekeepers were surely in there. John counted to three, and D'Argo broke down the door. John charged in, Winona drawn and ready, and D'Argo followed him.

Braca was indeed in the room, although D'Argo needed a moment to recognize him. The Peacekeeper did not look well; indeed, he looked as though he had been beaten, recently and more than once. Braca was clearly not the least bit pleased to see his uninvited guests, but he made no move towards them and he did not draw a weapon; he settled for glaring at them. Unchallenged, John advanced towards Braca, and then the first problem promptly presented itself; the last of the guards had been positioned just inside the door, and he now had his pulse pistol firmly pressed against John's neck.

"Valtek! Don't move, or I will shoot him," the Peacekeeper admonished. D'Argo had no option but to lower his own weapon. Something had gone wrong. Not surprising.

"I don't doubt that," John remarked casually, despite the pulse pistol at his throat. "What's the matter, Braca? Not happy to see me? Old buddy, old pal, c'mon, let's talk about it."

"Crichton," Braca answered, his tone even more clipped and icy than his normal frosty demeanor. He also sounded profoundly weary. "You will want to leave now. It would be best for you and your companions. You should believe me."

"Funny thing. I don't particularly trust you," John noted. "Now, why is that?"

"You should trust me this time, and leave this planet immediately," Braca shot back with some effort, and D'Argo had an odd sense that Braca was telling the truth. They were making a mistake, a much bigger one than they had thought.

John could not leave well enough alone. "This is gonna sound nutty, but where's Scorpy these days? Can't say we've heard from him. You get a Christmas card this year?"

Braca flinched slightly at the name. "I don't know," Braca answered. "High Command ordered...he's no longer a Peacekeeper. And we don't know where he is now. Nor does it matter."

"Not that I want to see old mildew-face..." John began.

The pulse blast was so unexpected it thoroughly startled him. Aeryn had slipped in through the back, unnoticed by all of them, and had dispatched the last of the guards before any of them had even realized she was there. "I can't let you two go anywhere, can I?" she asked with a smile.

"Apparently not," D'Argo answered. "I think this was a bad idea," he added, knowing it was of no use.

John had already grabbed Braca by the uniform collar and was dragging the recalcitrant Peacekeeper towards the door. "Saddle up Doc Holliday, the James Brothers are riding again! And if this is gonna be the OK Corral, I don't think we really want to hang around long enough to find out if this is a good idea or not."

Braca tried to dig his boot heels into the ground and slow John's dash for the door, with no success other than aggravating John. It was then that D'Argo noticed Braca's neck was horribly scarred, and he could not recall the Peacekeeper having been marked like that previously. Interesting. It had been at least half a cycle since they had encountered Braca, and D'Argo could only wonder what had occurred in the intervening time.

"I'm warning you, and I'm not saying this as a Peacekeeper," Braca growled. "You don't want to do this. High Command will renew their efforts. They'll hunt you down."

"And that's different from the same old same old, how?" John fired back. "At least we'd know what direction they were coming from this time. Meanwhile, I would strongly suggest you shut the frell up. I have one nerve left and you're getting on it."

Braca tried again to break free, a useless exercise. John roughly pulled him forward and Braca was able to twist himself sideways just enough to drive his elbow into John's chest, but there was little force behind the blow. D'Argo noticed then why there was nothing behind the blow: the Peacekeeper was manacled. He didn't recall that John had even brought Magcuffs; but the alternative was that the Peacekeepers had done it, and what possible reason could there be to manacle the captain of a command carrier? But if Braca was restrained, then D'Argo was not really inclined to object.

Braca, however, did make the mistake of objecting. "They'll kill you, you know. Wormholes or not."

"I told you. Shut. The. Frell. Up!" John lost his temper and punched Braca, full force, in the eye. For a supposedly highly trained soldier, Braca did not take a punch well; John knocked him out completely. John stared at the limp Peacekeeper while shaking the feeling back into his hand.

"Feel better now?" Aeryn inquired. She had checked the hallway and the entrance, and she signaled they were safe to escape.

"Like a new man," grunted John, regaining his composure quickly. "I shoulda just done that to start with. Now let's get outta here."

Fortunately they were able to reach the transport and leave for Moya without interference, Peacekeeper or otherwise, and Moya was more than glad to starburst immediately upon their return, making it very unlikely they would be followed. Braca was still unconscious when they returned to Moya and dropped him in a confinement cell. D'Argo confirmed that Braca's hands were restricted, and also chained one of his legs to the wall. The more restrained their prisoner was, the better D'Argo would sleep tonight. In fact, he thought, he would sleep better with a DRD on watch, and instructed one of the bug-like creations to stand guard.

"Scorpy's old cell. Think he'll appreciate the irony?" John wondered out loud.

"I doubt it," D'Argo commented, "but I do appreciate what you did to his face. Very nice, John. Colorful."

"Thanks. Always wanted to drop a Peacekeeper with one punch."

Aeryn teased John a bit. "Just one punch? With your history I thought you might have drawn it out a bit first. You two are due for a rematch, as I recall."

"Nah, for now I just wanted him to shut his yap." John turned and put his arms around Aeryn. "We are in soooo much trouble now, and it feels soooo good."

D'Argo tried to pretend he did not see what John and Aeryn were up to. "Yes," he agreed aloud, "We're in a lot of dren now." He briefly considered the unconscious Peacekeeper; besides the scar and the beating, Braca also sported healing cuts on one hand, and he looked exhausted and quite possibly starved. D'Argo decided then he would leave some food. As much as he despised Braca, it would never be said of this Luxan that he treated prisoners, even Peacekeepers, in the same manner that the Peacekeepers treated their prisoners.

Ka D'Argo's plan to leave a DRD to stand watch over Captain Braca was an excellent idea, as it turned out. Late in the sleep cycle, the vigilant DRD frantically alerted Moya to what was happening in the Peacekeeper's cell. Pilot watched the DRD's transmissions, but by this time the immediate crisis seemed over. In any event, there was nothing to be done to alleviate the situation. He waited until morning to inform the crew.

"We are apologetic for disturbing you so early, but Moya and I are very concerned about the behavior of Captain Braca last night," Pilot announced.

Chiana stiffened. "He's still locked up, right? He's not out?"

"Of course, Chiana," Pilot answered, "I would have alerted you all immediately. However, the DRD did record this." Pilot replayed the DRD's recording. Braca had not slept well, to say the least. He had spent much of the night screaming and crying out, and on more than one occasion appeared to have attempted to do harm to himself. His restraints, fortunately, had prevented this, but his behavior was most upsetting, at least, it was to Pilot and Moya.

The Dominar, however, was uninterested. "He has unpleasant dreams. Like I give a Garanta's brax. He should have them."

"Peacekeepers aren't supposed to have nightmares. They're distracting from your mission, a sign of weakness," Aeryn Sun noted. "You would be removed from your post if anyone knew."

"He has not eaten, either," D'Argo observed. "It has been arns now, he should have. Unless eating is also a distraction?" Aeryn scowled at D'Argo.

Chiana had been unusually silent for sometime, but she spoke now. "What happened to his neck? That's one drad of a knife job."

"A Nymic dagger," Rygel observed.

"An anemic knife?" Crichton inquired.

"Nymic, you yotz," Rygel snarled. "Their blades are meant for maximum scarring. In the hands of an expert, painful and disfiguring, not necessarily fatal." He paused, before adding in a heavy voice, "Durka was rather fond of them. And an expert."

An uncomfortable silence settled over all of them for a moment. Naturally it was again Chiana who broke the silence. "Who would want to do that? He's a vigilar and all, but, well."

"Grayza," Aeryn answered abruptly.

"La Commandante?" Crichton asked.

Aeryn nodded. "It makes sense. Henta said something in passing, that Grayza used to be an information officer. She would be accomplished in torture. Besides, a low-ranking officer couldn't do that to a superior and live."

"You are assuming the one who did that to him does live," pointed out D'Argo.

"True." Aeryn shrugged her shoulders. "Just a thought. Grayza struck me as someone that might mark her territory."

"Yowch," said Crichton. "So, somewhere along the line, somebody, possibly Mata Hari, was pretty pissed at our boy. And now they're hauling him off to High Command, in handcuffs. I, for one, have gotta know what's up."

"Would you mind if I tried him?" Aeryn inquired. "I know a few Peacekeeper tricks."

Crichton gestured grandly towards the door. "Ladies first."

Aeryn calmly sat down on a chair in the middle of the cell, facing Braca. She laid her pulse rifle across her lap. "Captain Braca, we need to talk," she said as neutrally as she could.

"I won't tell you anything," he answered without looking at her. He still lay on the cot they had left for him, but even without the DRD's information it was not difficult to observe that he had not slept well. In fact, he appeared not to have slept in some time. Braca looked like dren, really, and his weariness was palpable in his voice as well as in his appearance.

"You don't even know what I was going to ask," she returned. "I might have asked how your eye was feeling today." It was really rather spectacular. John had done some serious damage. "But you are right, I was going to ask why you were being escorted to High Command."

No answer. No surprise to her.

"It must have been important, to send a top officer with escort on a special transport to High Command. Extremely critical information, I would think."

Still nothing.

"Were you going to report on Moya?"

Braca finally looked up and stared back at her resolutely. "Even if I were, I wouldn't tell you," he answered coldly.

"Right. Of course not." Aeryn picked up the pulse rifle and ran her fingers up and down the barrel deliberately a few times before changing the setting on it. She made certain Braca could not see what setting she put it on.

"You won't use it," Braca challenged her. "I'm no good to you dead."

"You're no good to me alive, either," Aeryn noted.

"Then kill me. Save us both trouble."

Aeryn thought about it. "No, that would be too easy. Too simple. It wouldn't complicate our lives enough."

"You've spent too much time away from the Peacekeepers," Braca muttered.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Aeryn asked. Braca didn't answer. "That's what I thought. Now, this could be made simple. You could tell us why you were going to High Command, and we could drop you off at the next commerce planet, and we'll both go on our separate ways."

"You let me go, and I will tell the Peacekeepers where to find Moya," Braca informed her. "You know this. So you've no choice but to kill me."

Interesting, Aeryn thought, he's quite fixated on the whole killing idea. It was standard practice to die before giving away information, but not to very nearly demand death. And his behavior was decidedly very odd. She tested him, staring directly at him, silently and deliberately, to see what he might do. A good Peacekeeper should hold her stare. But Braca turned away, far sooner than he should have, and looked off into space as if there were something to see there, or he was listening to someone besides her. As he did so, the horrific scar on his neck was quite visible, and she had an idea.

She set the rifle on the floor and stood next to him. She touched him lightly at the top of the scar. "Who marked you?" she inquired. "I'm sure that's not classified information."

He flinched and pulled away from her. Target acquired, she thought. "I'll make a deal with you," she offered. "Tell me who did that to you, and I won't ask again why you're going to High Command."

His eyes briefly flicked to the right, as though seeking confirmation, then he turned back and glared at her. "Frell you."

Target locked. "Not a very Peacekeeper-like answer, Captain Braca," she was beginning to enjoy this. "Commandant Grayza wouldn't be impressed by such behavior from her subordinates."

The mention of Grayza's name caused him to turn white, then red. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Fire. "She did it, didn't she? Your own commanding officer marked you. You're her property now. I don't suppose you're off to tell on Mommy now, are you?"

"You said if I told you, you wouldn't ask again," Braca bit each word off, choking on the words, shaking almost as if he were afraid now. He glanced to his right again. When he turned back to Aeryn, he looked quite...terrified.

"You never said who did it. I guessed. I can keep asking." Aeryn was definitely entertained now. The Captain had been an irritant to them for so long, certainly he deserved it.

The fun ended abruptly when Braca suddenly dove to the floor after the pulse rifle. With the chain securing him to the wall, she had not expected he would be able to reach that far. Frell. Aeryn dove after Braca and barreled into him hard enough to knock him away from the rifle before he could get a sure grip on it. He tried to reach for the rifle again, but she grabbed his arms and easily pinned him to the floor. Far too easily. And John had taken down Braca with one blow, hadn't he? A Peacekeeper officer should never be so weak.

"Now you're beginning to annoy me, Captain," she advised him. "No one touches my rifle. Not even John."

"Then perhaps you should use it," he hissed at her.

She gave some serious consideration to doing that. He was right, he would only be trouble for them if they kept him alive. But perhaps John could get more information out of him, and she owed John the opportunity to try. "No," she told Braca, climbing to her feet and dragging him upright. "I won't give you the satisfaction." She tossed him against the wall, again much too easily, retrieved her rifle and left the cell.

John and D'Argo were waiting outside for her. "I told you trying to get information from that pain in the eema would not work," D'Argo announced.

"Oh, I got information from him, just not the sort we wanted originally," Aeryn shot back. "It was Grayza that marked him, and I wouldn't be at all surprised if that really is the reason for his trip to Command."

"Think he's tattling?" John asked with interest.

"Quite possibly," Aeryn answered.

D'Argo groaned. "So we may have put ourselves in dren for nothing?"

"Not nothing if we can do it right," John thought. "Obviously he and Commandant Cleavage have some issues to be worked out..."

"Play them against each other?" Aeryn finished.

"Oh, I love this woman," John grinned.

Unfortunately, whatever plans John and Aeryn might have had were promptly interrupted by Pilot. "Commander Crichton!"

"Yeah, Pilot?"

"A DRD has intercepted a Peacekeeper beacon..."

"You mean they finally noticed we stole their toy?" John grinned ear-to-ear at the idea.

"Commander. This situation is far from amusing," Pilot answered in annoyance.

Pilot did not usually get that irritated without good reason. "What is the matter, Pilot?" D'Argo asked, shushing John at the same time.

"It appears we may have made a very substantial error in abducting the Captain," Pilot said cryptically. "I strongly suggest you view the beacon. It is...informative."

John, Aeryn and D'Argo shared some uneasy looks and hurried up to the bridge.

Chiana and Rygel were already there, and none too happy. "I told you this was a bad idea," snapped Rygel. "But no one listens to me."

"We're frelled, really frelled," pouted Chiana. "Gah!"

"Pilot, the beacon?" D'Argo asked impatiently.

"Of course, Ka D'Argo," Pilot agreed, and commenced playing the beacon. The image of Captain Braca appeared. The voice of a Peacekeeper Commandant, unfamiliar to any on board Moya, began to speak.

*"This is Commandant Tarrag of the Peacekeeper High Command. Be aware, that a Peacekeeper officer, Captain Miklor Braca, has been abducted from the commerce planet Grimik. Captain Braca is wanted for the vicious and brutal assassination of Commandant Mele'on Grayza. He is extremely dangerous. Precaution should be taken. Any information as to the present whereabouts of Captain Braca shall be rewarded generously. His retrieval...alive... is of the utmost importance."*

"Oh, frell," Aeryn muttered.

"I can't believe we've been fahrbot enough to steal a murderer," lamented Rygel.

"I can't believe Braca has a first name," added Crichton. Rygel promptly struck the Commander, but the exchange faltered as the image from the beacon changed to a rotating set of images: John, Aeryn, D'Argo and Chiana.

*"It is believed that Captain Braca may be traveling in the company of escaped prisoners aboard the Leviathan called Moya. Any sighting of this Leviathan, or of the human Crichton, the Luxan D'Argo, the Nebari Chiana or the former Peacekeeper Aeryn Sun should be reported to Peacekeeper High Command immediately. This matter should be considered to be of the highest priority."*

The transmission flickered out. John let out a low whistle. "I'm not sure frelled is a strong enough word right now."

"A murderer! We snurched a killer!" Chiana whined. "We are such greebols!"

"Worse than that. An assassin, wanted by assassins," Rygel observed. "They might want Braca back alive, but I doubt they'll extend the rest of us the same courtesy."

"Rygel's right," Aeryn concluded grimly. "Killing a superior officer is the highest crime, other than treason. He was going to High Command for court-martial, and they'll stop at nothing to ensure he faces a tribunal."

"Let me guess - a damn short and just-for-show tribunal, to be immediately followed by a very public execution?" John asked. Aeryn nodded.

Frelled, indeed. "And we have just done him a very large favor. Our trial will be even shorter," D'Argo muttered. "Pilot, any signs of the Peacekeepers?"

"None," Pilot answered. "For the moment, we appear unnoticed."

"That won't last long," Rygel noted. "I suggest we drop off the Captain at the next planet we see. Perhaps, if the Peacekeepers know we don't have him, we can settle this."

"Unlikely," D'Argo answered. "We freed him. However briefly, it will not matter. We are still wanted."

"We just upped our fugitive status," John agreed. "Our mugs are going to be up in every intergalactic post office."

"So what do we do then?" Chiana asked in panic. "I'm sick of running away."

"You should be used to it," Rygel said dryly.

Aeryn had been sitting quietly for some time, and now John sat next to her. "I'd give you a penny for your thoughts, but all I've got is ingots," John told her.

Aeryn sighed. "I don't - I can't see Braca murdering a superior officer, not without explicit orders. I can't imagine it."

"I can't explain Smithers knocking off his lady boss either. Unless...maybe he didn't do it," John wondered out loud.

"Lovely," Rygel sniffed. "We've freed a killer, and now we're forming his defense counsel? Are you all fahrbot?"

"Point taken, Lumpy," John conceded. "But I think we ought to at least have a little chat with Captain-not-that-Courageous first."

Rygel sniffed with displeasure after Crichton, Aeryn and D'Argo left to further interrogate the Peacekeeper. While he bore Braca no personal ill-will - certainly he had been of use to them in the past, however inadvertently - the last thing he cared for was renewed pursuit by the Peacekeepers. The sooner Braca was off of Moya and back under Peacekeeper control, the better. But those yotzes weren't going to listen to him. Chiana had remained on the deck, and Pilot seemed upset. Perhaps there were possibilities here.

"The longer the Peacekeeper is on board, the better the chance we'll be found," he told them. "We need him off this ship, now."

"Agreed," Pilot answered. "Moya and I are very distressed. Perhaps we could return the Captain to Grimik and starburst before we are noticed."

"Not a chance," Rygel grunted. "The Peacekeepers will be swarming Grimik by now. We'd have to leave him somewhere else."

"And until then? What? We just keep him? What if - they've got him, you know, tracked or something? They'll find us." Chiana fretted. "Even if we just leave him somewhere, what if they don't find him? We'll still be frelled."

Rygel had an idea. "They'd find him if he couldn't go anywhere."

Chiana didn't get the hint. "Tie him up to something?"

"Kill him," Rygel explained, "and leave the carcass where they'll find it. No point chasing after us if they've got him back. In some form."

Chiana nodded quickly. "That - that would work."

"Dominar, Moya and I must respectfully disagree. While we certainly wish that Captain Braca was not aboard Moya, neither can we comply with your suggestion," Pilot looked even more distressed. Rygel sighed inwardly. It wouldn't be a good idea to have Pilot and Moya opposed to his plans. Very well then.

"Understood, Pilot. We will let the Captain be. For now," Rygel acknowledged Pilot and steered his sled towards the door. But he gave Chiana a wink on his way out, and she also understood. She would meet him elsewhere.

Braca hadn't gone anywhere in the meantime, not that he could have. He was sitting now, wedged into the far side of the cell, and doing his best to pretend they weren't watching him. "It might be a good idea to immobilize him," D'Argo suggested.

"No," John murmured. "He'd know we're on to him."

"The longer he doesn't know, the better," Aeryn added. D'Argo sighed. "This won't end well."

"For me, nothing ever does," John took a deep breath and hit the open codes on the cell door. They slid apart and John slipped inside the cell, closing the door behind him quickly. Braca's eyes flicked up briefly, just long enough to register who had entered the cell, and then he went back to staring at the floor. Not a problem. No hurry.

"Whassup, B?" John inquired. "That eye's looking nasty. Almost like it hit my fist or something."

Braca tensed, and set his jaw a bit tighter, but didn't answer.

"One of these days, we oughta just let it all hang out. You and me, mano a mano, so I can knock the dren out of you fair and square. How about it? Is it a date?"

A little tenser. No eye contact. That was fine with John, he could play passive aggressive. Or whatever the hell that was, he could never keep the psychobabble terminology straight.

"You know what, Braca?" John asked casually while he paced around in circles and feigned interest in the design of the cell. "We just picked up a Peacekeeper emergency broadcast beacon. Better reception out in this part of the universe. Must be the rabbit ears I stuck on Moya. Anyway, we got one big surprise. It seems you're a wanted man. I would never have guessed."

Braca wasn't taking that bait, either. He studied the floor at his feet. It would be nice to know for certain if he was at least listening.

"Personally, I can't imagine anybody wanting you for anything other than brown-nosing, but according to the beacon, you murdered Grayza. That's just mind-blowing, I mean, since when did you come up with the mivonks for that?"

Flinch. On the right track.

"So?" John stopped in front of Braca. "How 'bout it, champ? Did you kill her?"

Braca looked away.

"Aw, please?"

"I didn't kill her," Braca finally spoke, clipped and emotionless.

"A-ha! He can speak, hallelujah!" John started to dance, then stopped as fast as he started. "Problem. I don't believe you." He stopped in front of Braca again, this time leaning over the smaller man, close enough to make him squirm. "Really. Did. You. Do it?"

Braca closed his eyes and swallowed hard, but didn't answer.

It occurred to John that Aeryn knew what Peacekeeper buttons to push; but there are some buttons that just have to be pushed by a guy. "Too bad. Because I've got this horrible, terrible, wonderful idea. I can stop Christmas from coming to Whoville!"

Braca shrank backwards. He briefly glanced off to one side as he did so, then shuddered. Good. He was freaked. There's nothing like being interrogated by the crazy guy.

"See, I know that half a cycle ago you grew a pair and dumped Grayza from her job. But I heard a rumor there was a little problem with that. High Command didn't quite see it the same way you did. They gave Grayza back her command, sorry about the misunderstanding, carry on. And you - you got smacked across the hands with a ruler and sent back to Grayza, with instructions to be a good little boy from now on, or else. How am I doing so far?"

Was he imagining things, or was Braca actually shaking? All right, maybe trembling was more appropriate, but he was definitely approaching shaking, and he'd broken out in a cold sweat. The rest of the way could be found without a map. John grinned to himself. "Now, that has to suck. You got to be Chicken Little, but nobody believes the little boy who says the sky is falling. Aww, poor widdle Braca. Has to behave and do what Mommy tells him."

Braca suddenly tried to lunge away, but John anticipated that move and caught him, pushing him back into his seat. Why did he move sideways? Backwards would be more appropriate, but John decided he'd worry about dissecting this later. He'd really found the right nerve. "Were you a good boy, Braca?" The Peacekeeper was now pure white. That gave John an even more evil idea. He bent down and put his thumb against the scar on Braca's neck, then started slowly tracing it downwards. He whispered into Braca's ear.

"Well? Were you good?" That really was one helluva nasty scar, that had to have hurt like a bitch - stop that. Don't sympathize with the prisoner. You'll screw up. "Or were you just...ehhh? Is that why she did this?"

John was ready and waiting for Braca to attack him. He was sure there was a fist with his name on it coming any moment. Problem was, the fist didn't come. Braca made absolutely no attempt to get away from him, just sat there limply and shook like the proverbial leaf while staring at empty space somewhere off to John's left. Something wasn't working right. John let go of Braca and stood up, but Braca still didn't move, except to wince in pain, which couldn't be right since John had barely touched him. What the hell was going on?

"Hey Braca, snap out of it pal, this isn't- " OK, now he moved, now that John wasn't expecting anything. Braca lunged forward and grabbed for Winona. Aeryn wasn't kidding when she said Braca wasn't in fighting shape; it wasn't hard at all to shove his hands off the pulse pistol, throw him down on the floor and get Winona in his face. "Hey! You forgot the rules. I take the gun away from you."

Braca stared at him, glanced to John's left, then looked back at John. Failed to see the irony, apparently. Must have seen something else though, because now Braca looked scared. He was pouring sweat and shivering, possibly on the verge of tears, and John was disturbed to realize he was beginning to feel just a bit sorry for the guy. "Kill me," Braca suddenly blurted.

"Say what?" That wasn't what John anticipated.

"He - he's here. He wants me to - Crichton, please, kill me. You have to," Braca mumbled.

Okay, so this was really pathetic. "You're kidding me, right?" John was in disbelief. "Frell." John stood there like an idiot, not knowing what else to do. This was not how the game got played. He'd never reduced a Peacekeeper to table scraps before. And there was something about the words...they were very familiar, like he had heard them before, but he couldn't for the life of him remember where or how he knew them.

Braca looked left again, nervously, fearfully, almost like he expected a blow. "KILL ME!" Braca screamed, and this time John wasn't sure if Braca was talking to him or...someone else?

Is he seeing something - someone - I'm not? John wondered. This was some of the craziest dren... "You're begging me. You're really - I know that's something Peacekeepers do not do, so if you want to take it back, we can pretend it never-"

Meanwhile, Braca was full-blown panicking. "Just frelling fire the gun!" he screamed. "Or don't you have the mivonks to do it? I wouldn't be surprised if you don't have the nerve. Or you - you could prove me wrong." Holy mother. John cocked Winona skyward, briefly considered obliging Braca, decided this was all way too weird and holstered the pistol.

Braca had himself slightly more under control now, or at least he'd traded the screaming for babbling. "You don't want me alive, we both know that. Shoot me. I won't trouble you again," Braca's voice was barely audible, and there was something uncomfortably familiar about the terrified look in his eyes. Way too familiar.

"The hell I will," John backed away. "It's not gonna happen." John turned and scampered out of the cell, leaving Braca where he had landed on the floor. John was highly aggravated and he didn't even know why...at first...but he was starting to put together the puzzle pieces and he didn't like the way the picture was turning out.

"What the frell was that about?" Aeryn asked, shocked.

"Beats me," John answered. Aeryn put her arms around him, and John closed his eyes and tried to think about what her arms felt like, instead of what Braca was reminding him of. "Something's really...I'm gonna sleep on it. I'll let you know if it bites."

Chiana skittered down Moya's corridors as quietly as possible, hoping she would not attract the attention of either the drowsy Leviathan or any of the DRDs. She approached the cell where that lisch-tog Peacekeeper was kept and carefully keyed in the code to open the door. He was lying on the cot, and he looked asleep; she hoped the door would be quiet enough that he would stay that way. To her relief, the door slid aside with scarcely a whoosh.

She crept inside silently, and as she drew nearer to Braca, she fingered the knife Rygel had provided her. How to do this? Ordinarily she would have cut his throat, but that probably wasn't enough to kill him. Obviously it didn't work before. She decided the heart was a better option. She slipped the knife out of her clothing and leaned over the sleeping Peacekeeper, seeking her target.

He moved so quickly she didn't even have a chance to flinch. One moment he was perfectly still, the next microt he had wrapped his arms around her throat, yanking her head backwards so violently she dropped the knife without even realizing she had dropped it. She grabbed uselessly at his arms, scared grotless.

"I knew. I knew one of you would come to kill me," the relkit murmured, just alongside her ear.

Mouthing off was not a good idea, but Chiana just couldn't help it. "We shouldn't have waited this long," she sniffed. His forearm pressed hard against her throat, not enough to cut off her breath, but enough to make it difficult. He could snap her neck in a microt, and she was certain he would do precisely that.

"Who sent you?" he hissed.

"No one," she gasped. "I'm not - we - only - just me. I want you off my ship."

He snorted. "Your ship. Right." He stood, dragging her upwards with him. "You listen to me. You want me dead? Do it when I'm awake. Don't-"

The Peacekeeper suddenly froze, staring past her at...what? There wasn't anything there, or anyone that she could see, she was the only one there, right? Braca's breathing quickened, and she could feel he was sweating, it soaked into her clothes. What was this gris?

"No. I - I won't," he said tightly. "You can't make me."

"I didn't...." She thought the better of protesting. This was far too strange.

"It was a mistake!" he screamed.

What was? He wasn't talking to her, was he? Who was he talking to? He sounded afraid. In pain.This was totally frelled. She tried to squirm loose but he gripped her tighter, and she starting plaking.

Braca's voice was cracking next to her ear now. "I won't do it. No. No more." Was he crying? The trog was crying?

And then as suddenly as he had grabbed her in the first place, Braca yanked his arms away from her, sending her spinning wildly across the room. She couldn't keep her balance and landed in an undignified heap on the floor. Enough of this. "Who the tink are you talking to?"

Braca had also fallen to the ground, shaking, crying, and muttering wildly to himself. "I don't have to listen to you. I won't let you. Leave me alone." He had landed near where her knife had fallen, and he picked it up. Oh, frell, what's he going to do with that? Then Braca happened to look upwards and saw her. It occurred to Chiana this was the first time in microts he had actually seen her. He threw the knife in her direction. "Aren't you going to use it? Aren't you?" This time he was talking to her, definitely.

"I - no, no, I won't, quit pleeking around with me-"

"Leave me alone!" he screamed. She didn't know if he was talking to her or not but she wasn't waiting around to find out. Chiana scrambled backwards on all fours out of the cell as fast as she could, stabbing at the door panel to close the door and keep that crazy fahrbot away from her. He was crazier than Stark. And that was something.

She staggered to her feet and ran unsteadily down the corridor. She had to get away from him, she had to get as far as - whumph. Chiana ran straight into something, something that grabbed her arms and she squealed in fright.

"Chiana," she heard the rumbling voice she most wanted to hear that moment, "what the frell do you think you're doing?"

Braca stayed on the floor where he had fallen, trembling and afraid, after he threw the Nebari across the room. She was stupid to come in here. No one should want to be near him. Not with him here, too. He wouldn't leave Braca alone. He had been there when Aeryn was here; he had tried to take the rifle, tried to kill her, but she was too quick for him. Then, Crichton...he had taunted Braca as much as Crichton had, and had tried to grab the pulse pistol, but Crichton was also too quick. At least that was as much as Braca could recall, he was reasonably sure there were other things that happened that he could not remember. And all Braca could do was let him do these things, let himself be used yet again, knowing he was being used, because saying no was worse.

Braca supposed he should have let the Nebari kill him. He was sick. Sick of it all. Of following his orders. Of being used, and not being able to resist. And he was sick of saying yes, so now, this time at least, he would say no. He could have killed the Nebari when he was told to, but he didn't want to, there was no point and so he decided he would not do it, and he did not allow him to do it. And now he would be punished for that. Braca waited. There would be punishment. And pain. A lot of pain. There was always pain.

He sat down next to Braca. "Braca, my favorite officer. To think you were once so eager to follow my orders. We really must discuss this...insubordination," Scorpius told him.

At first, John did try to sleep, but his mind was racing at Indy 500 speed. He was not tremendously surprised when he found himself on the control deck of a Peacekeeper Command Carrier, alone except for Harvey, who in his typically horrific sense of irony was wearing the uniform of a high-ranking Peacekeeper. A Captain, maybe. Like, say, Braca.

"Nice duds, Harv," John observed. "Too bad it's not funny."

"It's not amusing? It's your hallucination, John, it's up to you to make it entertaining," Harvey returned.

Fair point, but John wasn't in the mood. "Cut to the chase," he snapped.

"Well, it was a pity you had to be so difficult with our Captain," Harvey drawled, "particularly as he was telling the truth, you know. He is not Grayza's murderer. I know for an equal fact he wishes he had been, and he may even believe that he was, but he was not."

"Brilliant, Harvey, just brilliant," John muttered. "How'd you solve the murder, Columbo? Compiled notes, interviewed witnesses or just blew smoke?"

"Really, John, one would think by now you'd know I wouldn't say such a thing, if I weren't certain of it."

"One would think you'd know by now I prefer proof."

"I doubt it rises to the level of your 'proof', but I can say Braca was not the murderer," Harvey paused, "because I am the murderer."

John stopped pacing mid-step, lost his balance and nearly fell. Bet that was Kodak moment. "That's not funny," he growled, annoyed. "That's frelling hilarious. Got another one?"

"Not amusing in the least, no," Harvey agreed, "but not being 'funny' doesn't make it less true."

"You don't get it, Harv, you can't murder someone because you're in my head. You don't exist outside my increasingly pureed brain. You're not even corporeal!" John hollered into Harvey's face.

Harvey didn't even flinch. "Point taken. But you must admit my influence has caused you to take some actions that your conscious mind would never accept or submit to. Correct?"

John cringed at the reminder of what he had done to Aeryn under the control of Harvey and Scorpius. Ow ow ow. "Yeah. Thanks for the memories."

Harvey began circling him, and the dizziness really wasn't helping the confusion. "If I can influence you to the point of destroying Aeryn, surely it would be, in your odd words, a piece of cake for me to suggest to Captain Braca that eliminating Grayza would be a positive development?"

"He'd take out Grayza for lunch money," answered John, "but you're not in Braca's head, you're in mine."

Harvey patted John's head condescendingly. Hate it when he does that. "My poor boy," he cooed. "You don't really think Scorpius made only one of me, do you? Even your ego isn't large enough to think only John Crichton warrants a neural clone."

The realization sank into John like the Titanic hitting ice. And sinking. "You're in his head, too? You - wait - how long? How many of us are there?" John was so furious the room was spinning like a carnival ride. He grabbed Harvey by his Peacekeeper collar and slammed him against the wall. "How many? Tell me, you son-of-a..."

"Active? Hmm. Let's see. Just three of us at the moment, I believe. Stark has one as well, but he's far too confused to even notice the chip is there. My counterpart simply cannot seem to get his attention. And he's too confusing to comprehend much of the time." Harvey paused in wonderment before continuing. "Braca's clone has been with the Captain much longer than I've been with you, John. He's been far more successful in keeping silent, though admittedly, he is an earlier, simpler version, and Scorpius thought it best for him to keep quiet. Not engage in conversation at all. Too bad, really, as once he did speak, it did serious damage to Braca's mind."

John turned his back on Harvey, far too infuriated to give him the gratification of a response.

"Now, John, surely you do understand that wormhole knowledge was far too critical for an untested experiment? Suppose inserting me killed you? Scorpius went through quite a few designs for the neural clone before finding one that worked properly, without causing the host's death. I'm merely his biggest success. Thanks entirely to you, of course, and your cooperation."

"Frell my cooperation!" John wheeled, grabbed Harvey and tossed him against the wall again. "What does Braca know? Did you tell him about the wormholes?"

Harvey squirmed a bit. "He knows as much about the wormholes as you do about Peacekeepers. It's there, somewhere in his mind, but buried even deeper than it was in yours. As are his memories in you."

Unbe-freaking-lievable. Multiple Harveys. John let go of Harvey and paced the room in aggravation. "So if the Peacekeepers happen to improve their tech a bit - "

" - they could extract the information, yes."

"So he's staying here. No way we let him go." John banged his head against the wall.

"There is another option, John," Harvey offered hopefully.

"And that would be..."

"You could always eliminate Braca entirely and permanently. One less possible source of wormhole knowledge."

"Is that your answer for everything? Kill this, kill that?" John asked. "Did it ever occur to you to see a shrink about this whole death wish fixation?"

Harvey shrugged. "It is convenient. And it appears to be what the Captain desires."

Hit the switch, the light is on. Now he remembered why Braca's words sounded familiar. Because John himself had said them. When the clone had taken control of him, he had said them, and now John had a pretty good idea why Braca wanted to die. He couldn't honestly say he blamed the guy. "And I don't suppose you have anything to do with that."

"Whatever do you-"

"You know. He thinks he wants to die, but that's the clone doing the talking, isn't it?"

"Not the talking, John, just the suggesting," Harvey corrected.

"Of course," John agreed, "the power of suggestion worked just great on me."

Harvey sighed. "You're much stronger than Braca."

"He's a soldier. He can take it."

"Can he, John?" posited Harvey.

Enough of this. "He's just gonna have to," John announced, and shoved Harvey out the door.

"You scared me!" Chiana squealed in relief and threw herself against D'Argo.

D'Argo did not expect that sort of reaction from Chiana. Normally when he caught her doing something she knew full well she should not have been doing, she was not happy to see him. That alone worried him. "Chiana," he began again, less forcefully this time, "what are you doing on this level? The only thing down here is -"

Now she looked like she was caught.

"-the Peacekeeper," he finished. That answered that question, at the very least. "What the hezmanna did you do to him?"

"Wh-what did I do to him?" Chiana was indignant. Far too indignant. "It's what he did to me, that's what...he was going to kill me!"

D'Argo simply stared at her. A couple of microts, that was all he needed. Chiana squirmed out of his arms, turned her back on him and sulked. "All right, I went down there to kill him, but - I thought he was going to...oh, frell it. It was Rygel's idea."

"I'll deal with Rygel later. There is a reason Crichton doesn't want you down here," D'Argo began.

"Yeah, I'm sure he's got reasons," Chiana sniffed.

D'Argo continued. "It is dangerous. You could have gotten killed. Or you could have let him out and then we would all be frelled."

"I wouldn't let him out!" She hesitated. "Not intentionally. Gah."

"Not intentionally," D'Argo agreed. "Still too dangerous." Chiana nodded unhappily. "Why were you going to kill him? He hasn't told us anything yet."

"Like he would. We got ourselves in dren up to here, for nothing," she whined, "and what are the Peacekeepers gonna do to us when they catch us?"

"And what will they do if they catch us and he is already dead?" demanded D'Argo. "I do not want him on Moya another microt any more than you, but we cannot kill him. The only chance we have of getting out of this in something resembling a single piece is to turn him over, alive, and hope we can talk our way out of this. Do you understand? You cannot kill him, Chiana."

Chiana sulked. "We should. He's crazy. Totally tinked."

"We noticed," D'Argo snorted.

"He's talking to someone who's not there," Chiana whined.

D'Argo remembered Braca had seemed to have his attention elsewhere, when Aeryn and John had tried to interrogate him. "Another person? In the cell?"

"Yeah," Chiana agreed. "And then he - the trog asked me to kill him! Tinked!"

"He is consistent," D'Argo snorted. "Chiana, I will talk to John and Aeryn. But do not, and I mean do not, come down here alone again."

John woke up with a bit of a start. It really sucked, talking with Harvey instead of getting good zzzs. And if the Peacekeepers caught up with them, he was going to need the sleep. But meanwhile he had some interrogating to do.

"Aeryn," he purred in her ear, "Wake up."

Aeryn stirred slightly. "Mmph. Are we going to play good cop bad cop again?"

"Nope," John muttered. "I'm going to play different kind of cop."

"I beg your pardon?" Aeryn was awake now.

"Long story." John kissed her, then climbed out of bed. "This time, I need him tied up before I go in there."

"You think he'll try to get the gun again?"

"Not even bringing Winona in this time. And I'm going in alone, just me and Peacekeeper Bob, not even a DRD. I have something in mind, and I need him alone. But -"

" - I have to trust you," Aeryn finished. "I'm familiar with the grand plans of one Commander John Crichton. But I will be nearby, and I will have a gun."

"You won't need it," John answered confidently. "Just a hunch."

As things turned out, it was D'Argo who trussed up Braca like a traditional Thanksgiving turkey and left him jicks-tied to a chair in the middle of the cell. D'Argo hadn't been happy about the request, and was particularly loath to remove the Magcuffs, but John was insistent. Braca was far less cooperative today than yesterday, if that was possible. John hadn't been surprised when D'Argo reported the Peacekeeper had put up a physical objection this time. No biggie, John was expecting games. Fair enough.

"Gooooood morning, Braca!" John stormed in the door this time. Grand entrances were the best. And it had the desired effect - the opposite result of the previous day. Today, Braca glared at him, brittle and defiant. John stopped in front of Braca and stared right back at him. "Captain, Captain, is it just me or are you royally pissed off today?" John asked jovially. "Glad to see it actually. Now this is the Braca I've come to know and not love."

"Frell you."

Nice and cold. Yes, this would be good. "Sorry. You might actually enjoy that, so, no." John sat down on the floor facing Braca. "I really think we need to have a heart to heart here. You know, just two guys, sharing their feelings, having a brewski - well, I'll have one, you're on your own there."

"You have no idea what you've gotten into," Braca sniffed.

"Oh, you mean about how we're gonna get chased down by your homeboys? Used to that. That's been the story of my life for what, four, five cycles now? Big deal. No, we're going to talk about how frelled you are. See, you are what we used to call back home a dead man walking. Or in this case sitting."

Braca winced and swallowed hard. "That's...correct."

"See? We've got an understanding. And it wasn't even that hard. The hard part is, I want to know what really happened to Grayza."

"She's dead. I killed her." Braca's words were clipped.

"Funny, yesterday you said you didn't kill her."

Braca looked away without answering.

John sighed. "Look, I don't really care, guilty, not guilty, the fifth, whatever. I just want to know...why."

He stood up and walked over a few steps, enough so he could look Braca in the eye again. Braca apparently considered trying to look away again, but realized it wasn't going to help. He returned John's gaze. Good boy.

"Why'd you kill her? Something personal? Doubt it. All you've ever done is follow orders - yeah, you're damn good at following orders. Whose orders were you following, Braca? Who told you to kill her?"

A small sound - a whimper? And Braca closed his eyes.

"Oh no you don't. Keep 'em open pal, or I'll find a way to keep them open for you." John waited a moment. Braca reluctantly opened his eyes again.

"See what I mean? You follow orders. But that was one hell of an order. What do you get out of it?"

"Nothing. I did what I was told to do." Barely audible, but an answer. It would do.

"Naw, you had to get something back." John feigned thought. "Wait. Did you want them to execute you? Or was that just the prize in the crackerjack box?"

"You don't know what you're talking about." Braca was now right back to where he'd been yesterday. Shaking, afraid and very un-Peacekeeperlike.

"Wrong-o. I know exactly what I'm talking about. So," John sat down and rested his chin in his hands. "How long have you known Harvey?"

Braca eyed him warily. "Wh-who?"

"Harvey. The pooka. You know, six foot rabbit, follows you around everywhere, nobody else sees or hears him?"

OK, possibly went a little too far on that reference. Braca had no idea what he was talking about. "Scorpius," John specified, noting the cringe the name elicited. "The version in your head. The one that gives you the orders? Likes to tell you you're better off dead? I call mine Harvey."

"Y-you're insane." Braca was trying to put up the brave front again. Tut-tut.

"Takes one to know one. That's the problem, isn't it? Insanity just isn't becoming in a Peacekeeper."

"No."

"No, what?"

"No, I am not insane." Braca said in a failed attempt at defiance.

"The hell you aren't," John snapped. "I think I know it when I see it."

"Get frelled," Braca snapped back.

Enough with the game now. "Now, we are really gonna talk." John grabbed the Peacekeeper by the arms and pushed him backwards and then -

The sirens were deafening. Exactly that wrong pitch that pierces right through the eardrums and sets your head to spinning. It was difficult trying to think around the whooping of the sirens, but as John gained some measure of mental control over the whining he could hear voices, yelling, barking orders, men running everywhere.

"John! John, hurry or he'll get away!" Harvey. Right there in front of him. With a dog. German Shepherd, if John remembered right. Fortunately Fido was leashed, because he was anxious as hell to go somewhere and track down something. Harvey barely had the pooch reined in. And was Harv wearing a prison guard uniform?

"What's going on, Harvey?" John asked. The dog snarled. "Nice doggie. Nice now." To John's surprise, the dog took his word for it and turned its attention elsewhere. Hallucinations did have some advantages, he supposed.

"He's escaped! We must look for him!" Harvey drawled impatiently. He sounded almost like that guy in 'Cool Hand Luke,' the one who went on about the 'failure to communicate.'

As long as there weren't eggs involved. "Who escaped? I don't see-" and then John looked down and discovered he was in a guard's uniform himself. And he had a rifle. A normal rifle, American made, NRA approved. Great.

"The prisoner!" Harvey hissed in annoyance. "The one who killed the Commandant! He's getting away, you're wasting valuable time!"

"Escaped how?" John looked behind him, where he correctly guessed there might be a maximum security prison. Buzzing like a beehive now, searchlights, sirens, the works. Definitely a jailbreak. "This place looks tight."

Harvey stomped over to a section of wall, dragging the reluctant dog along behind him. "Here, John, he broke down the wall, don't you see? We must bring him back at once, he mustn't be allowed to get away with murdering the Commandant."

The wall was, or had been, solid concrete. "Somebody blasted a heckuva hole here." As John crouched down, he could see near the bottom of the wall that a charge had been placed. Suddenly he had a flash, a vision. He could see Grayza and Braca, and Grayza had done something to Braca, put some...thing...on his head and he was screaming. As quickly as it came the vision was gone, leaving John wobbling on his ankles before he recovered his balance.

The hole couldn't have brought down the wall on its own, but there were fault lines running upwards from it. "The blast weakened the wall," John said out loud, to himself. More visions suddenly flashed through his mind; quick ones, too short to really understand fully, but he could see Braca, Scorpius, Scarrans, Grayza...something with Grayza and a knife... "Then the wall collapsed." Not the subtlest metaphor in the world, but he got the picture.

"And the murderer got out," Harvey whined, further upsetting the dog. "Enough analysis John, we have to go."

"You're not going anywhere," the voice behind John was familiar enough. "Good job, Officer Crichton. You've caught him."

It occurred to John at that moment that he did actually have his rifle pointed at Harvey, even if he hadn't intended to use it. Fine. We can play that game. "Yessirree boss, looks like I have," he drawled. "I caught me a varmint. You want I should tack his hide to the wall?"

Braca walked up and stopped alongside of John. Braca was toting his own rifle, and he was wearing the warden's uniform. John had half-expected that. "That won't be necessary," Braca answered grimly. "Return him to his cell. At once."

"You sure about that?" John asked Braca. "I mean, this wall's toast. He'll just get out again, and then we do this routine all over again." Harvey made the mistake of opening his mouth to respond, John raised the rifle and for once, Harvey shut up.

"That wall can be rebuilt," Braca snapped.

"I dunno about that," John observed. "On and on, we're just another brick in the wall, can't have any pudding if we don't eat our meat, but, honestly, I don't think this thing's gonna hold him in." It was interesting, actually, that a hallucination had room for extras. Maybe he should start taking notes. Braca looked surprised, pained, afraid. "But it - it has to."

"It won't. Take it from me, he'll get right back out again," John muttered. "You need a different plan here."

Braca was silent for a moment. "I don't have another plan," he finally admitted.

Glory be, progress. "It's a lot simpler than you think," John explained. "Meet him head on and play his game. Like, this..." John decided as long as the circumstances were going to allow for it, he'd like to see Harvey a bit more humiliated. "Yo, pooch." On cue, the dog lifted its leg on Harvey. "See?"

And just like that, John was back on Moya, back in the cell and still hanging onto Braca, his fingers digging so far into the other man's arms he was sure he left some pretty serious bruises. John let go immediately and stepped back, gasping. "Damn, I hate that," he complained to Braca, who was utterly, completely terrified. "Bad enough having Harvey for company, a threesome's just a little too much, you know?"

"Wh - what just happened? Braca asked, thoroughly disconcerted.

"We went on the Magical Mystery Tour." John was taken aback. Surely Braca had been on the big ride before? "You have chatted with Harvey before, right?"

"It wasn't like that," Braca answered awkwardly.

"OK. What was it like?"

A long silence. "He...spoke to me. That's all."

"That's it? Never made a personal appearance? Not even for autographs?" John was perplexed.

"I thought I dreamed it," Braca spat out, clearly disgusted with himself for the admission.

"News flash, you did dream it. He's in your head. He's not real."

Braca twitched and turned away.

"But it sure did feel real, didn't it? So real you think you could touch him, except you can't because he's not there. Been there, done that, got a script in production," John muttered. "So anyway, the cameos are new, the voiceovers are established. How long's he been in there?"

Braca hesitated. "I - don't know."

"Sure you do," John responded, "he's been in there since whenever Scorpy decided to give you a nice brain-cleansing spin in the Aurora Chair. I know you'd remember that."

"I don't." He was definitely full of dren on that one.

"You don't remember, or you don't want to remember?" Braca was silent. "That's what I thought. It's not a lot of fun being on that Tilt-a-Whirl. Wish I could forget about that." John stood up, walked to the side of the cell and leaned against the wall, facing away from Braca. He really, truly wished he could forget his time on the Gammak base. Forget everything that happened in the Aurora Chair, forget Scorpius, forget the whole frelling -

"He said I was a spy."

It was said so quietly John almost didn't hear it. He raised his head and looked back. Braca was staring at the floor, blankly.

"He said someone accused me. It was...a trial, or the Chair," Braca swallowed hard.

"You took your chances on the Chair," John finished. Braca barely nodded. John let out a deep breath. "Well?"

"I don't understand."

"Were you spying on Scorpy?"

"NO!" John would bet the farm Braca didn't intend to be quite that emphatic.

"No, no, I don't, I would never have -"

"But he thought you did. Or, he wanted you to think he thought he did..."

Several cycles ago

Lieutenant Braca nearly ran to the Gammak laboratories upon receiving the summons from Scorpius. He had not had any orders or assignments for several days, not since Scorpius had ordered him to execute Prisoner 1361 after Scorpius no longer found the man useful. Occasionally Braca was curious to know just what exactly Scorpius did with the prisoners prior to their execution. After all, once they had been interrogated in the Aurora Chair, they couldn't possibly have any more information. What use were they? Still, orders were orders, and any orders or requests Scorpius cared to make of him, Braca was pleased to oblige.

From the day Scorpius had first arrived at the Gammak base, it was clear to all the half-breed was both a significant player and well-connected within the High Command. The authority given to Scorpius was unprecedented, even for a Peacekeeper, and it had not taken Braca more than a moment to realize Scorpius was quite likely his best opportunity to leave the Gammak base and secure a higher-ranking assignment. And as commanders went, Scorpius' orders tended to be straightforward and easily accomplished; it had taken Braca no time at all to earn Scorpius' reliance. It shouldn't be much longer before Scorpius would be reassigned to a higher position, and Braca was reasonably certain he had earned the right to accompany Scorpius.

"You wished to see me, Sir?" he asked immediately upon entering the laboratory.

Braca's enthusiasm was quickly dampened when he saw the look on Scorpius' face. His words didn't help. "Lieutenant Braca," Scorpius began slowly, "I have received some information which indicates someone working on this base has been providing...secrets...to unauthorized officers outside the project."

A spy? Here? On this project? Braca stiffened. This was not good at all, and likely the responsibility for this would be laid upon him, which was worse. "Sir, I assure you, I will find out immediately who is responsible for this."

Scorpius eyed him and suddenly Braca felt extremely small. "Interesting, Lieutenant. Because I believe you won't have to look very far."

"Sir?" Braca could scarcely believe that squeak came from his own throat.

"It is my understanding that the leak is...you. Is that so, Lieutenant Braca?" Scorpius hissed directly into Braca's ear.

No, this could not be happening. It wasn't. Not to him. "No, no, Sir, I wouldn't, I would never..."

"Much as I might like to believe you, I cannot," Scorpius announced, stepping away and beginning to pace a circle around Braca. "I am under strict orders to have you delivered to High Command, for trial, on account of treason. Immediately."

That was a death sentence. High Command was not known for conducting fair trials, particularly in such matters as treason. That he was innocent was no matter to them. There would be torture, a sham of a trial, more torture, and death. He would have no opportunity whatsoever to clear his name. "Sir, I - I beg of you Sir, I haven't done any such thing! I am, I have been absolutely loyal to you, I would never even think of -

"Indeed, you have been quite a loyal servant to me, Lieutenant, and I would certainly prefer to believe you in this matter. High Command has allowed me one small concession. If I were to demonstrate, to their satisfaction and my own, that you are not in fact the spy we seek, the entire matter might be...forgotten," Scorpius informed him.

One small chance. It was all he had, but he would certainly take it. "Yes, Sir. Whatever you wish me to do, it shall be done." His voice shook terribly.

"I am sorry, Lieutenant, but it is not what you must do, it is what I must do," Scorpius was still circling Braca. "The only means acceptable to the High Command is an interrogation. In the Aurora Chair."

Braca's knees turned to water and he nearly fell, grasping desperately for something to hold him upright, and instead he was caught by Scorpius before he struck the floor. "No, Sir, no please, I swear to you, I did not..."

"I believe you, Braca, but as you must surely know, that will never be enough for the Command," Scorpius guided Braca to a chair and set him in it. "You have a decision to make."

A decision? Hardly a decision. He could never make such a choice. "Sir, I can't, please don't make me."

"Lieutenant," Scorpius said sternly, "if you are innocent, the Chair can determine so. And you will be free to go. It will not kill you, I promise you of that. I shall swear that to you. And you will not carry the name of traitor."

He was right, wasn't he? If he died in the Chair, at least he would die with his name untainted, a Peacekeeper with honor until his last moment. So be it, then, so be it. "All right, the Chair," he choked out, and it was all Braca could do not to sob.

It was some solar days later before Braca was once more aware of who he was, and some days after that before he knew where he was. There had been only two options for him, the agony and the blackness, and after failing to survive the agony he had surrendered to the blackness. He had presumed, then, that he was dead, and when his senses gradually returned to him he was very much shocked to discover he was still alive. Alive, and in the Gammak base medical bay, by the smell of it. It was many more arns before he summoned the courage necessary to open his eyes and confirm this. And the first sight he had was of Scorpius looming above him. Braca did not even have a chance to think; his body reacted first, shrinking back and preparing to run. But he was too weak to move.

"Lieutenant Braca," Scorpius greeted him. "They told me you were conscious again. I was becoming concerned."

The memory of what had happened to him was quickly flooding back, too quickly. The pain, the agony of his mind being torn apart...seeing Scorpius was returning all of these horrors he had briefly forgotten to his conscious mind, and Braca surely didn't want them there. He closed his eyes and turned away from Scorpius. It was so much better in the dark. He wanted to return there. Now. Perhaps stay there. It was better.

"You will be pleased to know that the interrogation demonstrated you were telling the truth. High Command agrees you were not spying on the laboratory. You are free to resume your duties on base, as soon as you are able. That is," Scorpius added, nearly as an afterthought, "if you wish to. Perhaps some time away would be best? I understand there is a need for an officer on a command carrier under Captain Crais. If you wished to transfer to the carrier, I would ensure you received the assignment."

Braca didn't want to answer Scorpius. Answering meant more anguish, more bolts of tortuous pain in his mind. But not answering, he had already learned, produced the same excruciating pain. He nodded, very slightly, and hoped that the pain would not come to him this time. It did not. But he wasn't as grateful for that as he thought he would be. He would certainly take the command carrier assignment. He could not, would not see that face, hear that voice every day, the memories would drive him insane, if they had not already.

"Very well then. I will be disappointed to lose you. You have served me better than you could ever imagine," Scorpius informed him. "I shall keep you in mind for the future. Indeed, I shall not forget about you."

'That frelling vigilar.' The words burst like explosives inside of his mind along with another bolt of white-hot pain. Except Braca could not quite remember hearing those words spoken, nor could he hear who was saying them. Did he say them? Was it only in his mind? It didn't matter really, because it was true. All that he had done for Scorpius, all the official assignments and all of the unofficial and inexplicable duties, all he would have ever done for him, and this was his reward? Betrayal? Frell him, it would be worth the suffering.

"Sir," he rasped through his raw throat, "I will...ensure that I forget you."

Scorpius paused to absorb this information, then his eyes glinted as they often did when he had a idea. Braca did not even wish to consider what the idea was, and closed his eyes so he would no longer have to see Scorpius. "Yes, Lieutenant. I have no doubt you will forget me entirely," Scorpius chuckled. And then he left.

At least Braca assumed he left. He never reopened his eyes, he could not bear to see that face in front of him, it was horrifying enough to hear that voice and remember each and every question, each accusation, each demand, and the agony that followed before he could even try to respond. The rush of memories brought a wave of nausea upon him, and he retched, the movements sending pain shooting up his limbs and into his already damaged mind, which could not withstand any more. The darkness came upon him again, and he returned to it, for how long he never knew.

"You really, truly, forgot all of it?" John asked quietly. He sat on the floor, leaning his back against the wall. "I've heard of memory repression but...that sounds like the Olympic record."

"When he - when he took Crais' command, I didn't know who he was, and he never let on. Not once," Braca sat limply in the chair; he hadn't moved since they began, nor had he so much as raised his head. John couldn't say he blamed the guy.

John stretched slowly, then stood and ambled his way alongside Braca and stopped. "I guess you know you're going to be staying here a while," he told Braca softly.

"Why?" Braca asked bitterly. "I'm a danger to you, this ship..."

"Oh yeah, I know all about being Public Enemy Number One," John said wryly. "I've got some pretty good stories myself. I might tell you a few of them. Later. We have time."

"I doubt that."

"You see a bridge? Me neither. When we see one, we'll cross it." Here goes nothing, John thought. He slid a knife out of his boot and made sure Braca could see it.

Braca winced at the sight. "What...are you going to do?"

"Haven't decided," John answered. "What do you think I should do with it?" Braca was quiet. John couldn't help it; he started singing the 'Jeopardy' thinking music.

"I don't know," Braca finally answered. "I suppose you'll do what you want to do."

John pressed the broad side of the knife against Braca's chin and looked him directly in the eyes. He saw nothing there but resignation and misery. "Yeah, I suppose I will." He cut the ropes that bound Braca's hands.

Surprised, Braca hesitated, then started rubbing some feeling back into his hands. "You're letting me go?" he asked cautiously.

"Nope, you're staying in here," John answered, cutting the rest of the ropes holding Braca in the chair. Braca might not be incapacitated, but he wouldn't be getting out of the cell, which should keep D'Argo and company reasonably happy. "Don't make me sorry I did that, or I might have to sing again," he informed Braca. "And believe me, there is nothing in this cell you're gonna find useful for a jailbreak, so don't bother."

Braca stood up shakily, then turned to face John. "Why?"

"Beats the hell outta me," John shrugged.

"Excellent question, Crichton, why?" Aeryn demanded the moment John left the cell. The events that had occurred in the last several arns were completely confusing to her. John had been saying for cycles now how much he wanted to knock the dren out of Braca. And now that he had the opportunity...he was being nice to him? Comparatively, at least.

"Long, long story, Aeryn," John muttered. "And I don't know that you'd get it."

She stepped in his path and stopped dead, crossed her arms in front of her chest and locked him in her gaze. "Try me."

"Aeryn..."

"No. Explain to me, right now, why we have a Peacekeeper on Moya, barely restrained, and evidently taking up indefinite residence?"

John studied the floor for several moments before he finally answered her. "Harvey," he said softly.

"He's back?" John hadn't mentioned the neural clone's presence for some time, she had hoped, oh, she had hoped it was gone. John nodded. "Frell." That explained, at least, why John was unhappy. And why he'd slept so fitfully last night. "But what does he have to with-"

"Braca's got a Harvey in his head, too," John cut her off, and turned to lean on the wall.

"What?" How could...how could the clone be in both of them? She knew about the neural clone, roughly how it worked and such forth, but she hadn't the slightest idea how it could be in more than one being. "I don't - how?"

"Scorpy made lots of neural chips, plenty of neural clones, most of his experiments with 'em didn't work," John answered heavily, "but Scorpy kept swinging until he had a few that did. And Braca was the big success story until I came along. He's been using Braca's clone as a spy this whole frelling time."

It made sense. That would explain how Scorpius had known what first Crais and then Grayza were up to, certainly. But then - "He's spying on us right now." She would definitely kill the Peacekeeper, right this moment, she wasn't going to let him get them caught.

John grabbed her arm. "Aeryn," he pleaded, "there is nothing he knows that Scorpy wouldn't get out of my head too. Don't bother."

He had a point. All the same, she'd prefer Braca were off the ship sooner rather than later. "What about...wormholes?" That would be their other concern, certainly.

"Don't ask me how, I don't get it and Harvey's not telling, but apparently Braca's clone and Harvey have been in touch. He's got the wormhole knowledge locked in his head somewhere."

"So we can't let him go back to the Peacekeepers."

"Well, probably they'd kill him without ever noticing he had the knowledge, but yeah, it would not be a good idea." John pulled her close to him. "Aeryn, Braca's clone has been locked up for cycles. Now he's out and he's frelling with the guy, worse than Harvey did with me."

Aeryn began to think she understood what John was thinking here. "You feel sorry for him, don't you?"

John was quiet. "What I've been through, I would never wish that on anyone," he whispered, "not even my worst enemy." She sighed. One of these days, John's little moments of kindness would be the end of all of them. She supposed that was one of the reasons she loved him so much.

A light came into his eyes, the way it always did when John had what he thought was a great idea. "And Braca's not my worst enemy. Scorpius has frelled us both. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. I can turn him on Scorpius, Aeryn. He could help us."

"I doubt it. But if anyone could do it, it would be you," she told him.

Braca remained standing in the middle of the cell where Crichton had left him, for how long he wasn't certain, too dazed to comprehend fully what was happening. In time his back began to ache, and finally his thoughts cleared somewhat. He walked around the cell for several microts; he debated for a time regarding the food and water the Luxan had left for him, and conceded that it would not matter in the long run if he were to eat something. Then he tried to sit, but his body still ached in nearly every part and place, and he had to lie down. He did not want to sleep; he knew what would happen if he slept.

But staying awake was no longer enough to keep the visions away now. Shocked as he had been to find himself trapped in a waking nightmare with Crichton, the hallucinations were as likely to come upon him when he was awake as when he slept. And he could not rid himself of Scorpius as simply as Crichton seemingly could. He envied Crichton that. For himself, Scorpius would simply come back, over and over, repeating his instructions and enforcing them with pain until it was simpler, easier to obey and hope that doing what Scorpius asked would be enough to make him disappear. But it never was enough.

He hadn't lied to Crichton; neither had he told the entire truth. The human seemed forthright enough, but it was so difficult to tell what was real and what was not. He truly had never been visited by Scorpius, not in this manner, until perhaps a cycle ago. If not for occasionally thinking he had heard a voice that could not possibly have been real, he hadn't had the slightest clue that not all was well with him. But then...

Grayza had called him to the Command Deck. This much he could remember, but nothing else until he awoke, lying on the floor, sweating, every muscle in his body aching and his head pained more than it had ever been in his life. So he thought then. Grayza claimed they had recreated together, but he couldn't remember it. And it seemed to him, even if they had, his head shouldn't hurt so much. And for nearly two solar days, Grayza would summon him every few arns, and the circumstances repeated, his head growing more and more painful with each incident. The last time was the worst of it. He had wakened to the smell of that horrid oil Grayza used, his head so agonizingly painful his vision swam, and oh yes, he was half-naked. Even now he couldn't decide what had been the worst of it, the pain or the humiliation. And it was after this he first knew with certainty he heard Scorpius' voice inside his head, even when he knew full well the half-breed couldn't possibly be there.

Scorpius spoke to him more and more often as the weekens passed. Every action, every incident, every meeting with Grayza brought another visit from Scorpius, and his demands grew more insistent with each occasion. 'You should kill her,' Scorpius would tell him. That is, Scorpius would tell him this when he did not have instructions for dealing with Crichton, or the Scarrans, or some other odious matter.

And then, that night...how much he had tried to forget feeling his life's blood pouring out of him, his body weakening, his limbs numb, the pain replaced by cold as the blood flowed. The med techs had come, they had tried to stop the blood but it no longer mattered, and that was just as well by Braca's estimation. Scorpius couldn't follow him into death...except that he had, or at least his voice had. "Captain!" he had screamed. "You have orders! Carry out your orders!" But Braca didn't have to listen any more, the cold would take him and then he would never have to hear Scorpius' voice again.

But many arns later, the coldness was gone and he lay awake in the medical bay, too weak to move but alive all the same. Braca had taken some pride in the quality of the carrier's medical technicians before, but now he wished the ship were staffed by incompetents. How could they have so cruelly saved his life? Moreover, he could hear the staff whispering. About Grayza. About what happened to him. Worse still were the memories that now flooded into his head, in rushes and torrents, memories of cycles spent at Scorpius' beck and call, the things he had done, the things that had been done to him, the horror of the Aurora Chair. Everything he had made sure he would never remember, he now remembered as clearly as though it were happening to him now.

And later that same night it had happened. Scorpius had appeared to him as if in a dream, taunted him, ridiculed him. He looked real, he sounded real, but he was not. Or was he real? Was Scorpius real? Or was Braca losing his sanity?

Now his mind was Scorpius' property, his body was very publicly Grayza's property, and all he had left for himself was misery. There were many nights after this, when he was alone in his quarters, he had wept bitterly, wishing time and time again that he could have died and escaped his past and his present, and never see or hear that horrid creature again. But instead he was haunted, always, and sometimes he did things, things he would not have done if he were able to resist the taunts of Scorpius.

John lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling. Harvey would be dropping by again soon. Sooner rather than later. Or now. A basketball court. Harvey looked particularly odd in a Celtics jersey. John stole the ball from him and executed a perfect layup. "Two points for me, Harv," he noted. "What have you got?"

"Quite a bit, John," Harvey answered, trying to retrieve the rebound. John swiped the ball away again and hit a three point shot without trying hard.

"You'll have to do better than that," John answered. A lot better.

Harvey stopped mid-court. "You already have some idea."

"I do?"

"You have seen a few things, yes? Some memories that are not yours?"

John recalled the flashes that struck him the last time Harvey showed up. "Right. Couple of Braca's memories got downloaded into my brain, why?"

"Not a couple, John. All of them. Everything that he remembers is in your subconscious, as is your wormhole knowledge in his. Keep pushing, John, and you'll both start to remember."

"Spiffy," John remarked. "A lifetime of PK information. Just what I wanted for Christmas."

Harvey sighed and tried to take the ball back. John put it behind his back. "This is serious, John. For instance-"

Boom, vision quest time, but this one...John's knees gave out and he sank onto the court. He knew only that DK and Karen had been killed; he hadn't known how. "He - Braca had something to do with that?" he could barely speak.

"No, it was the same creature that attacked your family. The Captain was merely serving as the creature's conduit for Commandant Grayza. He doesn't remember this...but I do." Harvey easily relieved John of the ball, but made the absolute worst attempt at a basket in recorded history, missing the entire backstop. "This is not as easy as it looks, is it, John?"

"It's not," John answered distractedly. This was his fault, the alien had followed him to Earth, what the hell had he been thinking?

"Would you like to see more?"

Before John could say no, his mind was flooded with Braca's memories. The Aurora Chair, Crais, Scorpius, Scarrans, everything poured in at once, like it had in the earlier hallucination except with more details, right up to what Grayza had done with the knife...Oh. That's what she - John really wished he hadn't seen that. Too much information. He'd guessed way too close yesterday, no wonder Braca freaked on him. What struck John in particular: it was Grayza who let out Braca's Harvey, and Grayza who completely undid whatever Braca had done to his own mind to forget. Ironic, really. She let the worms out of the can. And paid for it in full, he'd be willing to bet, except that Harvey conveniently wasn't sharing that little moment.

"I must keep something for myself. A bargaining chip?" Harvey bounced the basketball a couple times, nearly lost it in the process.

"Poor choice of words," John snapped. He grabbed the ball back and drove the net, but the ball slammed off the rim this time. "Dammit!"

"Now, John, it's just a game..."

"No, it's not a game." No wonder Braca was bonkers. Bananas, crackers, nuts, oh yeah, Harvey could get his own cornucopia going. A maximum Harvey overload. So that's what two tons of Harvey will do to your head. He had a handle on Harv, kept him on the reservation. He wondered if Braca could do that. Worth exploring, at least, if Braca could keep Harvey locked up that solid for that long - at worst, John could learn from the experience. And he hadn't been blowing smoke at Aeryn, either. If he could repair Braca, he'd make a great ally against old mold face. John retrieved the ball, drove the net again and this time he slammed it. "It's my game, Harvey. Mine."

Aeryn sat alongside Pilot, petting him softly, neither of them speaking for a long time. She had suspected Pilot was distressed well before he had requested her presence, and she was certain Moya's feelings were not much different. For that matter they probably differed little from most of the crew, as she was reasonably sure John hadn't shared the knowledge of the neural clone with any of the others. She wondered if she should.

"Moya and I thank you, Officer Sun, for your patience," Pilot finally spoke, hesitatingly.

"You and Moya are always welcome," Aeryn answered, glad to finally get to business.

Pilot sighed. "As you know, Moya opposed Commander's Crichton's plan to bring Captain Braca aboard."

"It was my idea as well, Pilot, you should blame me at least as much." Contrition couldn't hurt.

"Hmmm. Regardless of fault, we have a problem with the Captain's continued presence aboard Moya. Moya is very afraid of what the Peacekeepers may do, should they find him with us," Pilot admitted.

"So am I, Pilot, so are we all, believe me, we had no intention of causing so much trouble," Aeryn tried to reassure Pilot, but certainly it was her fault, hers and John's. "We were stupid to try this."

"What is done is done. But now what are we to do, Aeryn? Crichton does not seem willing to return Captain Braca to the Peacekeepers."

"Pilot...I know this will be difficult for you and Moya to understand, but...John does have a very good reason why he's not willing to give up Braca, not yet," she chose her words carefully. "There's...something else going on."

Pilot looked at her inquiringly, expectantly. She supposed she had better continue. "John has learned that Scorpius...did experiments on Braca, so that he could do them again later, on John, without killing him."

Pilot gasped, and Moya shivered.

"John suspects Braca may have the wormhole information in his mind as well, if so, we cannot return him to the Peacekeepers."

"This is...understandable," Pilot nodded.

"John also thinks maybe Braca could be of use against Scorpius, in the future," Aeryn added, in trepidation.

Pilot was quiet, thinking, talking it over with Moya. "We understand Crichton's actions, but...we would prefer Captain Braca be sent away, all the same." Pilot sighed again. "We are willing to give Crichton some time. But if he cannot succeed, we must remove Braca from Moya, and without hesitation."

Aeryn let out the breath she had been holding for several microts. "Thank you, Pilot. John realizes your concerns. He will tell us, I'm sure, when the time comes."

"I hope so, Aeryn Sun. We all do."

"Yo, Braca," John charged into the cell this time. "We need to talk."

"Yes. I suppose we do." Braca did not move, his face pained but his voice quiet and calm. "You want to know about Grayza."

John hit the brakes. "How - how did you -"

"Scorpius told me. He said he showed you. What she did." Braca spoke matter of factly, dully, numbly. John supposed that was probably the only way he could speak of it without completely losing whatever little bit of mind he had left.

"Harvey did, yeah. I, uh...I'm sorry about yesterday. I guessed too lucky," John sat down, rather numb himself.

"Not luck. Not guessing. You knew."

Good point. He supposed he did have some instinctive idea where to go. Good idea where the instinct came from, too. "Apparently...my version of Harvey and your version get together for drinks. Somewhere in here -" John tapped his head "- is everything you've ever experienced, even the stuff you don't remember. And you've got all of my memories buried in your head somewhere."

Braca turned away. "I've no memories but my own. They're more than enough."

"Because mine are buried in you, Braca, that's why you don't remember. And yours were buried in me until Harvey decided I oughta see a couple," John answered, frustrated. "He's controlling us, our subconscious, we remember what Scorpius wants us to remember."

Quiet in the corner. For a very long time. "Why would he want me to remember?" The words were bitter.

"I don't know. I don't - my Harvey's kind of, well, self-destructive. Sounds to me like yours might be, too."

"Every day, he tells me I'm best off dead."

"And he gets you so deep in dren he might even be right," John finished.

"Yes..."

Several solar days ago

Grayza reached out and stroked the jagged scar that was her own doing. Braca knew she would do so as soon as he arrived; she did that each time she saw him, reminding him that he was marked, that he was worthless, that he was owned. He hated her for it, and yet what else could he do? She was still his Commandant, he was still the Captain, and he could never leave the carrier without permission from the High Command, something that would never be granted him. He had hoped perhaps one day there would be a battle, whether on a planet surface or space engagement, it mattered not which, and he could take part and conveniently be killed. But Grayza knew; she knew he would deliberately fail given the chance, and she ensured he would never get such a chance. He was trapped by her malice, with no exit, and she knew it.

"Ma'am. You summoned me. For what purpose?"

"No special reason, Captain," she emphasized. "Perhaps I like you."

Frell her. The fury built up in him so quickly he could not stop it. "Perhaps you don't," he snapped. It was all he could not to scream the words.

"Captain! I am your Commandant, and you will address me properly!" she snapped back, striking him across the face hard.

The blow stung, and while he managed to keep his feet and most of his military bearing, the impact forced him to look away from her, only for a moment but that was long enough. Scorpius was there, standing next to Grayza, laughing at him. "Ah, Captain," he chuckled, "you'll allow her to do anything to you. As you allowed me. Such devotion you have."

"Frell you," Braca snapped at Scorpius, not realizing he'd said the words out loud.

The next blow dropped him to his knees, as Grayza struck him in the chest with surprising power, violently forcing the air from his lungs. "Captain! I will have you brought up on charges for this."

No doubt she would, he thought, as he fell onto all fours and fought his way through the dizziness while desperately attempting to breathe. A lifetime, locked in a cell. But it would be away from her, wouldn't it? Yes, it would be far from Grayza. "You should do that, Commandant," he said her title sarcastically. "The High Command will no doubt be impressed with the loyalty of your subordinates."

"And you, no doubt, will be pleased to remain confined under my command," she snarled. He froze. Could she, would she...From the corner of his eye, he saw Grayza was retrieving the knife. No. No, she would not, she would never touch him again, never would she -

"Of course she would, Captain," Scorpius noted calmly. "I can only imagine what uses she might have for you under such circumstances."

Frelled. He was frelled, so completely...he hated Grayza. He hated Scorpius. The hate was overwhelming him.

"But there might be another way," Scorpius added.

Anything. For as much as he hated Scorpius, he hated Grayza equally, and it was she who could harm him the most. Anything to destroy her. "Tell me," Braca gasped. "Please, tell me..."

"Why, I would be honored, Captain Braca. First, I think you should take away the knife."

Yes, yes, he should do that, it was the only thing left for him to do, he would do exactly as Scorpius told him and everything would be better, it would be much, much better, and he could rest again, in the dark, and Grayza would not trouble him again, he could see her blood on his hands and she would never trouble anyone again, ever. It was many arns before his rage subsided, before he came back from the dark, and by then it was far too late; he was locked away in a cell, tortured and beaten until he confessed to what they already knew perfectly well he had done. The High Command had ordered him brought before them for tribunal, and all things were then as they should be, as Scorpius had told him they should be, and he could no longer argue.

"You were played," John said quietly. "Scorpius played you from the first note, he wanted Grayza out of the way and you couldn't have been a better man for the job."

"I suppose not," Braca agreed, barely audible. He was now standing against the wall.

"You're Scorpy's boy, like it or not. And Grayza set herself up for one helluva fall," John stretched out his legs. "It's not all your fault. She frelled you up, let the clone get a grip."

"She did?"

Right, he doesn't remember that part. John decided to give Braca at least a small break and not remind him. "Um, yeah. Don't - don't worry about it," John backpedaled. Awkward silence. John couldn't think of what to say that wouldn't dig them both in deeper.

Eventually Braca broke the quiet and he did dig them in deeper. "You say I have the wormhole knowledge? And you haven't disposed of me yet? You should."

"Ahem," John growled. "You talking, or Scorpy?"

Braca thought about it. "Me. I'm talking now. Scorpius is not here."

"Too bad."

That got Braca's undivided attention. "What?"

"It's high time you and your Scorpy talked things over, set the rules of engagement, yadda yadda yadda."

That seemed to scare the dren out of Braca. "I don't want to see him, or hear him. He'll make me..."

"- not if you make him first. You wanna give it a shot? It could be the clone on that leash, not you. And that was fun the first time, right?"

"I don't know how." One helluva an admission for a Peacekeeper. John had to give Braca some points for that.

"Neither did I. But I figured it out. And I'm willing to share." Later, though. John decided this was enough for now. He was beat. And Braca looked like toast.

"It's all in your head, and that's where you have to fight. Now if you'll excuse me, I need a nap."

Aeryn let John sleep for a couple arns. She didn't fully understand what was happening, what John was up to, but he would do what he wanted to do, particularly in matters regarding that frelling clone, and there was no point trying to stop him. But at some point he would have to explain to the others that Harvey was back, and hope they understood.

D'Argo had approached her after she had spoken with Pilot; he had correctly guessed the nature of their conversation, and he had told her about finding Chiana and what she had been up to. With all of Moya's residents sorely distressed and ill-informed, it was time to talk to John.

When D'Argo arrived at their quarters, Aeryn woke John. Two arns would have to do. "John? John! Wake up!"

John pulled his pillow back over his head. "I don' wanna go to school."

D'Argo yanked the blankets off of John. "Too bad."

"Geez, D'Argo. What if I was naked or something?" John dragged himself back to a waking state very gradually; Aeryn decided to accelerate the process by physically pulling him upright. "OK, OK, I'm up, I'm up. Where's the fire?"

"On Moya, before too much longer," Aeryn told him flatly.

John blinked. "What did I miss?"

D'Argo sighed. "Chiana and Rygel tried to kill Braca last night."

"And Moya and Pilot are extremely unhappy," Aeryn added, "they don't want Braca on Moya any longer. Too dangerous."

"I agree with them, John. We tried, it did not work, and it is time to dump the Peacekeeper off at the next planet," D'Argo concluded.

"Can't do that, D," John muttered. D'Argo looked at him questioningly. John looked at Aeryn. She shrugged, and John understood that she hadn't told D'Argo much yet. Certainly not about the wormholes.

Aeryn sat on the edge of the bed. "Braca has the wormhole knowledge in his mind. We can't let the Peacekeepers have him back."

"What!" D'Argo roared. "How did...what the frell is going on?"

"Braca has a neural clone. His own personal PJ Harvey. It knows what I know and it's keeping a backup copy in Braca's brain." John put his head in his hands.

D'Argo let out a deep breath and sat down himself. "And you believe him?"

"Think about it. There is no way Scorpius knows that some day he's going to run into a human with wormhole knowledge in his brain that he won't fork over, even if he's tortured."

"The neural clones had another purpose." D'Argo pondered a moment. "Spies?"

"Bingo baby," John answered. "What better way to find out what's going on everywhere than a bunch of spies who don't even know they are spies?"

"Perfect plan," Aeryn agreed.

"So Scorpy experiments on Peacekeeper prisoners for cycles, messing around with their minds until he's got a viable chip and clone thing going. Now he's playing for real, so he puts the chip in a convenient Peacekeeper. Say an officer with unquestioned loyalty to the PKs, who can go anywhere and work with anyone without ruffling a feather."

"Braca," D'Argo said flatly.

John rubbed his face, and Aeryn put her hand on his shoulder. "Now if Braca were to remember how the chip got there -"

"The Aurora Chair?" D'Argo asked, and John nodded.

"He'd never cooperate. So Scorpy programmed the clone to wipe Braca's mind of every memory of Scorpius. Locked it all up in a little box and buried it in his head as deep as the Ancients put the wormhole info in mine. Then Scorpy has Braca assigned to Crais' command carrier, so he knows everything Crais is up to, and Scorpy is privy to everything Braca knows."

"So he knew full well who you were when we came to the Gammak base," Aeryn realized. "He knew you weren't Larraq."

"Yeah, he just didn't know about the wormholes yet," John agreed. "Now it's more convenient for Scorpy to keep his best pawn on his board for a while, but sooner or later he knows there's going to be a power shift. When there is, he maneuvers his pawn over to Grayza, and now he knows what she's gonna do, too."

D'Argo growled low. "And he can conveniently trick us into countering her moves for him."

"Right. Now, problem," John continued. "Grayza screwed up. She did something to Braca, something that made him a conduit for that thing that attacked us on Earth, and did some damage to the little box in his head. He starts to remember things, maybe he hears Scorpius once or twice, thinks he might be losing his mind."

"Which he is, in a manner." Aeryn was torn between admiration for Scorpius' deviousness and pity for Braca. Both were very confusing for her.

"I won't get detailed, but...I guess because of what happened on Katratzi, Grayza wanted to get back at Braca. So she...she...raped him. And cut him, and made sure he lived."

Aeryn trembled a bit. She had no difficulty believing Grayza would do such a thing, and she was all too aware of what Braca would have experienced afterwards. Peacekeepers could be remarkably cruel to their own.

"And that destroyed his mind?" D'Argo asked.

"The part of it that had Scorpius corralled, yeah," John stood up and started pacing the room. "He remembered everything, including the Chair, plus his clone's even nastier than mine. Showed up whenever wherever and started ordering him around. Particularly keen on getting rid of Grayza, I guess Scorpy wasn't too happy she ruined his best spy. And the other day, whatever sanity he had left cracked and he did exactly what Scorpius told him to do. And he's hallucinating the clone all the time now."

"He saw Scorpius when we were interrogating him," Aeryn realized.

"Right. So now we have a problem. He knows everything I know, if not consciously. And he's insane. And he's wanted." John sat down heavily. Aeryn moved next to him and put her arm around him.

"But I fail to see the problem," D'Argo argued. "If we were to kill him now, the wormhole information cannot be taken from him, Scorpius loses his spy, and maybe we can get out of this dren."

"Except he's crazy, and it's not his fault," John snapped. "We kill him now, it's in cold blood, and I, for one, can't do that."

"I could not either, but trust me, there is no shortage of volunteers on board this ship who would gladly dispose of him," D'Argo snarled.

It occurred to Aeryn that if she could feel pity for Braca, John's empathy must be a hundred times greater. And John's compassion had worked out to their benefit on occasion. "You think you can bring him back?" she asked him quietly.

"I have to bring him back," John answered. "He's me a few cycles ago, Aeryn, and he's me a few cycles from now. I have Harvey on a leash, but so did Braca, once. If he can completely lose to Harvey like this, so can I."

"That is what this about," D'Argo realized.

"I have to try, D, I have to try or wonder what happens to me. Give me a few more arns with him. Maybe he can beat back the clone, maybe not, but if he can't...do what you have to then, but not until then." John's voice nearly cracked.

D'Argo sighed. "All right, John, a little more time. But the others are not going to understand, not at all."

"He's right, John, you need to be ready for that," Aeryn added.

"One more shot," John agreed.

John went back to the cell, braced himself and went inside. Braca had eaten a little, he noticed, and he was at least trying to sleep. It was a start. Problem was it needed to be a running start right now. He shook Braca a bit. "Wakey wakey, we have more quality time scheduled," he quipped.

And boom, back into psychedelic land. Possibly not the right time, but John quickly noticed, definitely the right kind of place. He was on a swingset, just like the one they had at Bradley Park down the road from his house, where he and DK had spent a lot of time. Fine by John. Well, except for the being way too tall to fit on a kid's swingset these days. Oh yeah, and awkwardly perched on the next swing was a very scared Braca, swaying in the breeze and not doing the best job of staying balanced on the seat. Sheesh.

John whistled sharply. "Yo, Braca, hang onto these. It helps." He demonstrated grabbing the chains. Braca hesitantly followed suit, but upon discovering it really was a lot easier to stay on the swing that way, he gripped the chains tighter. Braca was too big for the swingset, too. Furthermore, he looked like an idiot. Short pants, sneakers, T-shirt and one of the those stupid multi-color propeller beanies that Moms think look cute, but kids absolutely hate. John was almost afraid to wonder what he was wearing.

Check. Pretty much the same outfit, except backwards baseball cap. "There's trips into your childhood, and then there's trips," he announced. "At least I get to do the Griffey look. You look like a dork."

Braca glared at him. "This isn't amusing, Crichton. Take us back."

John snorted. "Can't."

"Can't? Or won't?"

"Can't. It's Harvey's call, wherever he may be." John wondered if he could get himself going on the swing despite being nearly on his knees. He pushed off awkwardly with his feet, tucked his legs under and started pumping. Son of a gun, it worked. "Wah-hoo!" Man, he forgot how much fun this was.

Braca watched him, still hanging onto the chains for dear life. "You wanna try it? It's fun. Really. Promise."

Braca shook his head. "I want to go back."

"Sorry. Waiting for Godot here. Hey Braca, watch this!" As John swung forward and up again, he put his feet out in front of him and let go of the swing at the top of the arc. He went flying and landed on his knees, skinning them. "Damn! Forgot about the shorts," he complained, although he was not unhappy until he sat up and looked behind him.

There was Harvey. In a dress. And a hat. And carrying an umbrella. "Holy Hannah, Harvey," John hooted. "You look like Mary frelling Poppins!"

"And you look like a mess, John!" Harvey scolded him. "I can't take you home looking like that. What would your parents say?"

John checked himself. He was covered in dirt and grass, head to toe, to go along with the bloody knees. "So I look like dren. No big deal."

"I'll wash your mouth out with soap for that!" Harvey announced, then thought about it. "Why does your species believe putting hygienic materials in your mouth will change your speech patterns?"

"Same reason we think rolling in dirt is fun. We're idiots," John answered.

"As I suspected," Harvey replied. "Really John, I had such high hopes for you, I thought perhaps you might even be as well behaved as the Captain."

Up until that point Braca had been an interested, if totally confused, bystander. But Harvey had his attention now. "I don't frelling answer to you, and I won't behave," he growled at Harvey.

Harvey was quite perturbed at Braca's outburst and fluttered his lacy handkerchief in front of his face. He really went the distance on the outfit this time. "John!" he fretted. "You're being a terrible influence on Captain Braca. He was a perfectly comported gentleman and now you've corrupted him. For shame!"

"Actually, I kinda like my corruptive influence," John grinned. He stood up and dusted himself off a bit.

"You're grounded!" Harvey declared.

John took another look at his dirty clothes. "Yep," he agreed. "By the way, Harv, your slip is showing." He looked at Braca expectantly, but he didn't get his cue. John sighed, walked over, leaned down next to Braca and whispered in his ear. "Do something nasty to him."

Braca looked alarmed. "Like what?"

"You know, do something rude. Be creative. Knock yourself out," John murmured.

"I - I can't do that."

"Don't tell me you used up your backbone on one line? You wanna get rid of him or not? Practice makes perfect." John snorted. "Where's a dumpster when you really need one?"

Braca swallowed hard and thought harder. Nervously he stood up, took a few steps closer to Harvey, and kicked some dirt on him. Then Braca turned back to John. Couldn't he do anything without checking with the boss? John shrugged. "Harvey as home plate? It's a start."

Harvey got huffier. "A start? A start? What have you been teaching the Captain? Insubordination? Truancy? Delinquency? You'll be the death of the poor boy!"

Suddenly Braca got angry. Way angry. He got into Harvey's face and Harv backpedaled fast, stumbling over his pumps until Braca had him backed against the swingset. "That's your idea, isn't it?" Braca demanded. "You wanted me dead, didn't you? Changed your mind now? Changed it, now that you can't make me do every last little thing you're too frightened to do yourself?"

"Now you're getting the idea," John said proudly. "That's my boy."

Harvey was not amused. "John, this behavior has to stop."

"Why? He's just getting warmed up." John waltzed over to join Braca, who was beginning to lose his confidence again.

"What should I do now?" he asked under his breath.

John thought about it. "Nice umbrella, Harv. It would be really too bad, if something were to happen to it."

"You wouldn't dare, John!"

John was ignoring Harvey in favor of Braca. "Trust me. You can do this."

Braca was shaking hard, but he nodded. "Right." He took a step towards Harvey, but after a moment stepped back instead. "I can't do this."

"This isn't going to work, is it?" John groaned. He took a deep breath, and blew it as hard as he could in the direction of the umbrella. A stiff breeze came out of nowhere, caught the open umbrella and Harvey was floating away, hanging onto the umbrella's handle for dear life, and hoo boy, Harvey should not be wearing skirts. "Man, I'm gonna be blind for life now."

"I'll get you for this, John! You'll be sorry!" Harvey's protests blew away with the wind.

Braca was watching the very unhappy Harvey disappear into the sky. "Is it that simple then?" he asked hopefully.

"Eh. Sometimes," John told him. "Some days, he just comes right back."

"Oh." That deflated Braca.

John sighed, turned Braca to face him and put his hands on Braca's shoulders. "One thing you gotta understand. He's in there for good," John said softly. "You can't get rid of him. Not now. Not ever. You live with him. Or you don't. Harvey's no picnic, and your Windows 95 version's a lot worse than my XP version, I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to frell the whole thing and quit. But if you want to try to get your mind back...I'll try to help you."

Braca closed his eyes. "I don't think I can keep him away. I can't control him."

"Hey, if I can do it," John assured.

Braca sucked in a deep breath. "I want him to leave me alone."

Snap, flash, back on Moya. Surprised, John let go of Braca and stepped back. Braca stumbled backwards several steps and fell to the floor. "Damn," John muttered, "and I thought it was a rough ride alone."

Braca stayed on the floor, breathing heavily. "Did - did you mean that?"