John Angst-a-Thon!

Short, and not very sweet. For Suenix, who wanted John to do something "evil".



Dust.

It blows everywhere, steals through the seams in his clothes, infiltrates the pores of his skin in tiny, radioactive grains. John wonders if he'll ever be clean again.


Aeryn sagged against the open door of the transport pod. This wasn't supposed to happen, John thought. A milk run to a commerce planet—a trip to the supermarket for formula and diapers. John felt his gut tighten as he took in her bloodied face, the way she held herself, saw the anger— "D," he asked at last. "What happened to Little D?"


"Come back to Moya, Old Man." Chiana looks at him, anxiously. "It isn't, uh, safe here." Especially for you, she might have added.

"S'OK, Pip." Except nothing, ever, will be OK again.


John forced himself back into the shadow of the door, Winona slick in his hand. Another day, another rescue. Out of the corner of one eye he could see Aeryn's face, taut with self-control. Since Little D had been kidnapped she had started wearing her Peacekeeper mask again—the one which let her keep a lid on her fear, her anger, the sick grief that twisted her inside. John wondered what he would see if he could look at his own face. Did it reflect the cold psycho rage consuming him? —"This is crazy," he whispered. "Let's do it."


While Chiana hesitates, looking for words to comfort him, John stares out across the bay. There is a twisted metal structure on the other side, which once might have been a gantry. "This place," he says. "I used to—" He rubs his thumb thoughtfully against his bottom lip. The sea, like the sky, is grey.


"Why?" he had demanded when brought before the emperor.

Staleek growled softly. "Survival," he said. "The survival of our race." John saw him crush something bright and fragrant in one hand. A flower – bird-of-paradise. Hummingbird feeder. Chrysterium.


"It's not – it's not your fault. You didn't do any of this." Chiana puts her hand on his arm, as if mere touch could comfort him. She tilts her head and looks up into his face. "You had to look out for the narl, protect your family—" She stops, realising she has said the wrong thing.


Hands on hips, John leaned forward into Staleek's space. "Gonna put you straight," he said. "You. Do. Not. Threaten. The. Dude. With. The. Doomsday. Weapon. Get it?"


"I led them here, Pip."


"Can't – or won't?" Staleek asked. "You will find a way!"


"Family," says John. Dad, Olivia, Susan, Bobby – all gone. At least, he hopes so, because there are worse things than being dead, and John has seen most of them. He has searched the ruined cities and towns of Florida, questioned endless columns of refugees about his family. Been spat on a few times for his pains. There are people who recognise him, know what he has brought down on them.


"You belong to an interesting species, Crichton. At first you appear to appear to be as puny and weak as the Sebaceans, but on closer observation you seem more resilient." Staleek poked the baby gently. "We will enjoy studying this one further if you refuse to help us."

John stared, horrified, as the child wriggled and laughed in Staleek's arms. Little D wasn't old enough yet to know that some people weren't friends. Staleek extended a scaly forefinger and D grasped it happily.


The Kalish are everywhere, John thinks. Taking inventory, writing lists, organising things for their scaly masters. Packing up the Earth in tidy little boxes. From somewhere in the past John remembers the phrase, "the banality of evil". He thinks of the black-coated bureaucrats who made the death trains run on time.

The Scarrans don't want the Earth for keeps. This is a raid, not a conquest. Even traveling Wormhole Express, the planet is too far away to be integrated into their empire, not valuable enough strategically to be worth holding. But evolution has played Earth a trick.

"Oh god," John says heavily. "Pip—"



"The choice is yours," he said.
"An offer I can't refuse, right?"



"Pip—" he says. "I saw them, Pip. They're taking slaves. Not the men. The women."

John thinks of an Earth-that-never-was, where everyone looked like Scorpius.


There were rumours in every refugee camp John visited. Sometimes he heard first hand accounts from survivors. But John didn't see it for himself until that day in the camp outside of Miami. He'd been asking questions about his family, as usual, when the Scarrans pushed through the crowd, taking anyone they wanted, taking out anyone who got in the way. It was dumb luck – if he could call it that – that John survived. He was at the back of the crowd when the Scarrans arrived, and pushed further back when people started panicking. There wasn't enough clear space to try something heroic, even if he'd wanted to.

In the quiet hours of the night, however, John still hears the screams of one teenage girl as the Scarrans dragged her away…


Somewhere in orbit above him are a woman and a child, whose lives have been paid for in blood and suffering. Not the blood of some anonymous bad guy at the wrong end of Winona, nor even the lives of some anonymous aliens caught up in some crazy plan of his. John feels he would have willingly given his own life if that had been the price. Once he'd offered up the universe for Aeryn. Now he wonders if he can look her in the face.

The Scarrans have agreed to leave John alone – after all, they've got all they want of him. Correction – all they can get out of him. They figure three dreadnaughts aiming at his friends, his family, and what is left of Earth are enough to keep him in line.

John looks at his ruined, looted world, crouches and picks up a stone, and hurls it into the ocean.