It's Getting Cold

By Jessie

Summary: A tragic piece from Aeryn's POV. It skips around a lot in time, but hopefully I've made it clear enough. The sequel is a little lighter, a little longer and a good read, but you need to read this one first.

TimeLine: Before A Bugs Life and after Through the Looking Glass

Rating: PG

Spoilers: Most of the first season, especially DNAMS and FLAX

Archive: You are more than welcome to take it as long as you ask first and keep my name and e-mail on it.

Disclaimer: The characters are the property of Jim Henson, Scifi, yadda, yadda, yadda.

Authors Note: I know the ending is a bit stressful, but work with me. It's a tragedy. The sequel is better. Promise. Though I haven't gotten around to writing it yet. And one quick comment: the writing style is a little different from how I normally write, so I apologize in advance for the way parts of it sound- I'm not use to writing in first person. And I LOVE feedback.

***

I know it's late. But . . . I just wanted to say something, make a record, before . . .

I don't know what convinced me to do this. No, I take that back. I can think of a couple of things. But now's not the time. No, not now. I just need to get this out, quickly. Like I said earlier: before it's too late. Oh, where to start? I could start at the beginning, but that would take too long.

I woke from a sound sleep. I had almost forgotten such a thing existed. But I shouldn't complain. Now is definitely not the time to complain. I guess it's never really time to complain. Chin up. Force down all those emotions that they tell you are not worth the time it takes to repress.

I awoke and immediately knew that something was wrong. It was the middle of the night, and although it seemed as if the lights had dimmed I was sure that they hadn't actually changed their brightness. It was just the effect that only three arns of sleep had. I stood up, adjusting the shorts that weren't really mine. Not in the strictest sense, anyway. Though, I could make a good argument that they weren't really Crichton's either.

There was something wrong. I could feel it like I could feel the clothes that I wore or the oxygen as it passed through my lungs. A weapon lay only centimeters from me, as it always did. I wouldn't have it any other way. I picked it up, making no attempt to hide it.

I walked the halls, feeling the empty awkwardness that filled them. No one was there. I strode up and down the tiers, peeking into each chamber, every moment increasing the fear that I continuously swallowed back. Not the time to be afraid, I kept telling myself. But what was I supposed to do? Even now, I don't know. I couldn't explain it. But the ship was empty of all life except for myself. No one answered the com. I called out, as if this would help, listening to my voice echo through the halls, but nothing answered, not even static.

I felt an energy that could have only been the fear that I choked down. It raced through my body and I began to run. I ran to the one creature who could not leave. He would have to be there. This is what I told myself. Even if he didn't answer the com, there was no way he could leave. He was bound to this place, even more so than I. It was a physical and emotional bond that I could only imagine having. He would HAVE to be there.

But he wasn't.

This is when the first wave of nausea hit me. My universe shattered when I saw the empty room. Completely and eerily empty. Not a sound, not a movement, save my heavy breathing. It was a sight to see. The huge panel with no Pilot behind it. It was terrifying. It wasn't real. It couldn't be. It COULDN'T be. I do not often admit to being afraid, but this was one of those moments when even my training could not save me from the instinctual emotion.

I fell to the floor, leaning against the panel, the exhausted expression on my face reflected in it. It was too much. Don't wimp out now, I told myself. But I didn't get up. I just sat there, trying to figure out what was going on. I wasn't used to thinking like that. I wasn't comfortable with analyzing situations and coming to a conclusion scientifically. I wasn't a tech. And I was glad of that. But I needed to know what was going on. What had happened to every one? To suddenly disappear while I slept. And for this, I had to think as a tech would, or perhaps, the resident scientist.

The first thing that had come to my mind was that they had left me. That they had decided to leave the ship and find another way home. But they wouldn't have been able to take Pilot. Still, the thought haunted me. I couldn't shake the idea that perhaps they had decided to move on, without me.

It's getting cold. I have to hurry. There's not much time left. It's almost funny, I always thought that the worst kind of environment was one of heat, but it seems that I've been getting into my fair share of unpleasant, cold situations.

Where was I? I need to get this all out.

I checked the transport pods, and they were all still there. If the others had left purposefully then they had not taken any of the ships. Or their belongings, I noted, remembering the chambers I had passed. They were as if waiting for their inhabitants to return. And then another wave of nausea hit, as I checked the surrounding space. There was nothing. No read out, that is. Just black. And then- more nausea and for a added treat, a dizziness that kept my thoughts unfocused for some time afterward.

Moya was dead.

She was lifeless except for the lights, environmentals, and a few other various systems, which should have been down, but were, unexplainably, working. She was a dead shell of a ship, floating in this black soup of nothingness, and I was trapped inside of her, with no possible escape, and nowhere to escape to. Even if I did manage to blast through the doors with my prowler, there would be nothing out there, no place for me to go. Just . . . blackness.

How to describe this feeling that took hold of me. I don't think I can, even now, as it continues to grow inside of me. It is the feeling of death, all around me and in me. It is the feeling of abandonment, reflecting off every wall and doorway that I see. It is the feeling of being completely alone, of being totally helpless, and of a nothingness only moments away from eating me alive. It is a feeling that I have had no training to deal with.

As I stalked the vacant passages, clinging to my pulse rifle as though it could somehow save me, I realized what had woken me up. The silence. Moya had never been silent, especially not for me, after the experience with Namtar. After that, Moya had always been full of sound. And I liked it. It gave me a sense of comfort, of false security. And now it was silent. Not even a DRD roamed the hollow vessel.

I suddenly found myself in my own chamber. I looked around suspiciously, as though it were suddenly not what it seemed. I could not stand that feeling. Walking cautiously out into the hall, I continued my aimless wandering. This time I found myself in Crichton's quarters. The human's odd-looking things were sprawled everywhere. His bed looked as though he had just been sleeping in it. I sat down on it and stared at the wall. What had happened to everyone? I could still smell the human, his scent was strong on the blankets, clothes and strange equipment from his ship. If it could even be called a ship.

I was worried. Being around Crichton's things made it worse. I could almost see him hovering over me like he always did. I could hear him going on about the strangest things, while I struggled to understand what he was trying to get across. And the look on his face whenever he didn't understand me, which was most of the time.

I tried to think of what to do, tried to think like Crichton would. But his memory wouldn't let me, not while I was in his chamber. It simply caused me to worry more. So I left; again walking the halls with no particular direction.

I decided right away that I had to leave the ship. Even if there was no place for me to go, I could not stay aboard this dead thing. This was my first mistake, or, rather, the decision that ignited my first mistake. I marched purposefully to the pods, hauling with me all the supplies that I could salvage and that I thought might be of some use. Inside my prowler, I felt at home immediately. This was familiar to me, this was something that I could work with.

I fired up the engines, smiling at the well-known sound and the comforting grip of the equipment. This was as close to home as I had been able to get for nearly a cycle. I was determined to get out of Moya. Although my new home, I could not bear the feeling of emptiness that inhabited it. So I sat in the pilot's seat of my prowler, and blasted the locked doors that lead outside. They fell away immediately, as though Moya were already beginning to decay.

I flew through the hole that I had made and into darkness.

I look back upon this now with a sense of resentment at myself for leaving Moya. Even on a dead ship I might have been able to figure out where the others had gone. I might have been able to do something- figure out where I was, anything. But instead I had left, searching for any form of comfort. I was stupid and careless and an insult to my former regiment. What I did, perhaps, cost me my life.

Only microns after I had left Moya, my battery immediately began to drain. I did everything I could to stop it, but nothing helped and it was not long before all my primary systems were out of power. Rerouting power from non-vital systems did nothing but drain more energy from backup units. Going back to Moya was now impossible, not only because I could not operate my ship, but because it was no longer there. Moya had vanished from view.

*****

(24 arns earlier)

I've decided to record my progress with the repairs to my Prowler, on the off chance that, looking back on this I will be able to better examine what happened to my ship. Dren. Crichton's got me thinking like a frellin' tech. Well, I guess I'm also doing this to take my mind off the situation. If I start to drift off and really think about what's happening, I'll never get anything done.

I'm attempting to bring piloting back online. So far I've only tried this about a dozen different times in the past arn. And without success. Perhaps if I knew what had caused the power to drain in the first place. Perhaps then, I would have better luck with this damn thing. Perhaps . . .

I'm rerouting power from the backup systems to piloting. It doesn't make any sense. Even with the power down, the piloting should still be semi-operational. Unless Crichton's been messing with my equipment without consulting me. I just don't understand. These controls should still function, even if the battery is drained.

So far, so good. The power from most of the back up units seems to be holding. But piloting is still off-line. I don't- Frell. I'm blocking the energy flow. Something's eating up the power before it can reach the control console.

Piloting still won't work. All I've accomplished is the draining of more power. This is pointless. I know my ship inside out and I can't figure out what's causing this. I can't . . .

*****

(Present)

For the first few arns I spent all my time and energy on bringing piloting back on line. After numerous failed attempts I had no choice but to stop for a moment and think. What to do? I was going to die out there, trapped in my prowler, unknowing of the location of any of my shipmates. There was no chance of a rescue.

My impending doom was something that I had experienced before and somehow, this made it easier to deal with. I had been in many situations where death was certain, and though I had survived, I now knew what it was to know I was about to die.

I half-heartedly worked for a few more arns at repairing the systems. But I had no idea what had caused the battery drain and so all attempts that I made were in vain. Finally I just sat there, my thoughts working over the many possibilities of what had happened back on Moya. How had she died? Where was her crew? It was almost too much to believe that they would abandon her and me. They wouldn't do that. But the fear lingered in the back of my mind.

*****

(19 arns earlier)

I'm getting nowhere fast. Isn't that what Crichton would say? I've tried everything I can think of to get piloting back. I don't know what else to do. I wish, at least, I wasn't alone out here. I keep thinking it would be easier to get through this if I had someone with me. Someone who might have some idea what's going on. Frell it. I shouldn't need anyone else. I'm a Peacekeeper.

Ex-Peacekeeper, I sometimes have to remind myself.

Frell, I'm tired. I can't work for more than twenty arns straight without getting too tired to see what I'm doing. And it's been twenty-five since I first awoke. I can just imagine that nagging 'human' standing over me, telling me that I need to get some sleep. As though he has the right to tell me what I need. But I can't sleep. Not when there's so much work to do.

I wish I knew what was going on. It's so frustrating having no control over the situation. I hate being helpless. I wonder if things would be different right now if Zaahn had also been aboard Moya with me. She probably would have convinced me to stay aboard. It would have been best. Zaahn would have known that. I'm not sure how, but she knows these things.

Arrghhh! Where is my mind going? I can't let it wander like that. I have to get back to these repairs . . . I wonder if I would be in this mess if Crichton had been aboard as well. I imagine he would have convinced me to conduct more 'tests' to try and figure out what had happened. And he probably would have been right. I hate it when he's right.

*****

(Present)

I rested for about an arn. Not willing to let myself relax fully, not when there was so much to be done, not when I still thought of myself as a Peacekeeper. And through that entire arn my thoughts wandered over so many things that I did not want to think about, until, finally, I could not stand it any longer and forced myself to focus on work.

*****

(15 arns earlier)

I'm currently searching for the source of the battery drain. After inspecting nearly all of the ships systems and any possible data that could prove helpful, I'm almost ready to give up. It's hard to believe. Me. Nearly about to give up. I don't think there's ever been a time when I've willingly given up on something.

I'm not finding anything unusual, unless you count the lack of power to all systems except non-vitals. And, now that I've drained most of their power, I doubt any of them will last much longer. Including, now that I check, life support. I estimate about fourteen to sixteen arns worth of breathable air left. Frell. Oxygen must have also drained along with the power. I don't know how, but . . .

I'm rerouting all power, despite how little of it I have left, to life support. Perhaps I can manage to add a few more arns to this countdown. Even if I had more oxygen, a lot of good it would do me if I froze to death.

Channeling power . . . now. It seems to be working. The lights are dimming, but it doesn't matter as long as this works. Most of the power is now gone from non-vital systems. Now let's see if this did anything more than drain the remaining energy.

Life support is fully operational. For now. Estimated thirteen to fourteen arns 'till I'm left in the cold. A spacesuit might work to keep me alive for a couple of arns afterward, but that option quickly died when I discovered that there was no more oxygen left in the tanks.

I guess all I can do now is wait for death, or the impossible rescue. It's too dark in here for my liking. I'm stuck, I'm about to die, and it's growing darker. This seems all too familiar. I'd rather not remember, but perhaps this is something like the flax. But no, I never hit anything. I would have felt it if this were anything like the flax. D'Argo had saved us then, in more ways than one, when we had thought our lives were over. Perhaps something of that nature will happen again.

I know it's a far-fetched hope. No one will come for me, if only because no one is there. All I can do is wait.

*****

(Present)

During this eternity of silence in which I sit, alone, my head is mainly occupied by thoughts of Moya and her former crew. I knew that I would never see my shipmates again. Sadness filled my being. I could not stand how alone I felt- feel- and how helpless. I miss Zaahn's calmness. A balance to my own anger. At first I had thought her weak and soft, I felt that she could never be a warrior, never be respected. But I was wrong. I admit that. Though she is not a warrior, my respect for her has grown since our first encounter. I would hope that she knew that before . . . before whatever it was that happened.

I think of D'Argo and Rygel and Crichton. I did miss D'Argo. He was the only one who could identify with the part of me who was a soldier. The part of me that fought everything and everyone. He was one of the few who immediately held my respect. Even as a prisoner, I could look into his eyes and tell that he was an honest fighter.

As I sit here, watching the level of breathable oxygen fall, I even find myself missing Rygel and . . . Chiana. They are two who I would kill in an instant if the need arose, but they were becoming familiar to me, and this, alone, was enough.

I miss Pilot. How could I not? I think of what we had shared, how good a friend he was to me. He was a comrade who I needed more than I would ever admit. If not for him, I would certainly have killed my crewmates on more than one occasion. But his voice was always there for me. This is something I can not say of many others. In the past, no one has ever offered themselves, their friendship, their service, to me as he has, without wanting anything in return.

The lights blinked on and off. But I had expected that. The power was quickly fading and I could not figure out why. I struggled to find what might be causing this, but I could find and do nothing. Only watch, as the energy dissipated and the oxygen level dropped.

I thought of Crichton as I idly checked system after system for power leaks for the second time. I missed him as well. Even now, I find myself surprised and angry at uttering these words. I am not weak, and I do not show emotion. But if not at the end of my life, then when? When do I admit to being as flawed as anyone else?

I did miss Crichton, the human, the odd tech, the strangest creature I have ever met. He is, or was, I do not know which, a scientist and someone who constantly challenged every thought, every moral, every command that was instilled upon me. He was a puzzle to me. So vastly different yet, somehow, reminding me so much of home.

I remembered the times that he had pushed me where I did not want to go. I remembered how much I fought him, perhaps more than the others. I remembered his Earth, even if it wasn't real. It was beautiful. I think I told him that, I hope I told him that. Because it was beautiful. He was right. He was right about a lot of things, actually, which just made me all the more angry.

I wish that I had told him a lot of different things. Same with the others. But somehow, I think that the others knew my feelings for them. I think that they saw the respect that I had for them. But not John. I wish, though, that I had said something or done something to let him know how I felt. I buried it so well, it's doubtful he even knew that I did feel. I did have respect for him, even if I didn't show it.

I . . . I did have feelings . . . for him.

Frell.

And now, I come to the end. Now, through the anger and pain that courses through me, I am grateful that I'm able to record this. I just want to get everything out. I don't care whether anyone ever hears it or not. I don't care. But I wanted to let that small part of me out, that small part that I've buried alive, deep down in my chest. I wanted to let it breathe for a moment.

Oxygen and power are both below what's considered safe. I'm glad that I finished in time. Before . . . Oxygen nearly at zero now. The heat has totally gone.

It's getting cold.

*****

Aeryn Sun's face was pale and lifeless as her body slumped over in her chair. The oxygen deprivation had been setting in for several microns before claiming her. The cold might have been enough to kill her if the lack of air had not gotten to her first.

She sat there; unmoving. Her ship; unmoving. Nothing but cold, black space surrounding them. Her hand still clutched the small recording device she had found amongst the materials she had brought aboard. It had belonged to the human. She had seen him using it many times, though he had not known it.

Her heart stopped shortly after her breath. Perhaps it would have been more comforting knowing where her shipmates were. But comfort had seemed a lost cause to her. Perhaps it would have been easier if she had been able to say goodbye. But 'easy' was not a part of her training.

Her body grew colder.

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