Dr. Aleria Payne had started out her career as a cerebrologist. She'd used her meager psi gifts and her intimate knowledge of the physical, chemical and more arcane workings of the sebacean brain to help those with mental disorders. But she had barely finished her studies and begun her practice when she had been conscripted into the PeaceKeeper Corps. Now, instead of Dr. Aleria, she was Dr. Payne - Dr. Pain to those who knew how PK Command and the Directorate used her skills. Some of her duties over the last twenty cycles had included mental torture, even mentacide. Oh, she was still called on to heal those PK commandoes who'd seen a little too much action, or to aid command staff with personal mental difficulties. But more often she spent her duty hours doing such things as taming (but not removing) the brutal tendencies of a captain who found pleasure in the pain of others, for example, or chemically wiping the memories of his unfortunate victims; or digging into the brains of those who might have information Command coveted; or erasing the personalities of ‘renegades' and ‘subversives' at the behest of the Directorate.

Her psi ability was almost negligible, really only as strong as your average grandmother with a ‘weather sense'. But it was there, it had been proven. And psi talent was so very rare, the Directorate rarely let it escape their notice. She had been so young, and so flattered that the Directorate was interested in not only her natural talent, but her well-honed skills as a cerebrologist. Their plea that they needed intelligent young men and women to aid shell-shocked and unstable battle vets had seemed reasonable. She had believed in it. She had made herself believe. Because, when it came down to it, she had very little choice. When Command or the Directorate wanted someone or some thing, they got it.

Her initial assignments had been as described. She treated numerous campaign veterans for the plethora of mental ailments associated with wiping out colonial populations, or with overlong assignments in deep space alone. Sebaceans had been in space for eons but, despite the race's resistance to space-sickness, it still occurred in those assigned to long stretches in solitude. But she had been too good at her job. Her accomplishments had drawn more notice, as she perfected her ability to chemically or psychically enter the minds of unconscious subjects and root out their guilts and fears. Eventually she had been asked to modify her treatment for a ‘special patient', a war criminal.

A score of cycles later, Aleria was putting the last touches on the programming for a trank-tank - a large tubular structure designed to hold a sebacean body. The hapless soul inside the thing could be kept in an enforced coma indefinitely. The machine would feed, bathe, even eliminate the waste of the victim -er - patient, while sedating the brain into a pliant, coma-like state. Her current commander, an up-and-coming half-breed named Scorpius (and as frightening an individual as you could ever meet), had someone he wanted to nullify without killing, at least for now. It was the first such request since her recent assignment here. She irritably tucked an errant red-blonde lock behind her ear. Her hyper-wavy hair was always escaping it's severe PK queue - especially, it seemed, when she was under tension.

Aleria knew a few of the details, even though she was new and outside the normal channels that scuttlebutt took. Some Command Captain-turned-renegade (the former commander of this very carrier, she was told, imagine that) had something that Scorpius wanted: a revolutionary new ship, stolen from Command somehow. Something about the ship made it impossible for anyone but this Captain to fly it. So, the man lived - for now. He'd be delivered into her hands and, once she'd been filled in on the details of exactly what was expected, Aleria would peel his brain for the information needed, or murder his personality to make it impossible for him to rebel again - or whatever was called for. At this point it no longer mattered to her. All these cycles of misusing and abusing her skills had killed something inside her. Nothing short of a miracle could make her care what happened to any of them anymore, including the hapless renegade Captain.

When the attendants wheeled her latest ‘special patient' in, Aleria ignored them. They knew exactly how to connect the monitors, feeding tubes, cranial probes and other accouterments. She couldn't look at the man on the gurney before he was placed in the tank - he might seem too real, too much like a living, breathing sebacean if she did. Once inside the tank he became a ‘subject'. And that was how she kept her sanity. Besides, her attention was wholly taken up with the Carrier's current commander, Scorpius.

"I realize that you are new to this post, Doctor, so although your record is exemplary, I will make my wishes very clear. It is imperative, Dr. Payne, that Captain Crais be kept in complete stasis for the time-being," Scorpius was saying. "I want his brain functions kept to a minimum. He cannot be allowed to communicate with the leviathan in any way. Do you understand?"

"Certainly, Sir," Aleria nodded, staring at the half-Scarran, relieved that no more was being asked of her. She was fascinated by Scorpius' appearance, and by the enormous probes on either side of his head. She was aware of his reputation as a brilliant scientist, and wondered how much of his intellect was attributable to his Scarran heritage. Of course, his intelligence and ruthlessness also made it essential that she comply with his orders explicitly. He would know if she failed him, and punish her accordingly. She thanked her luck silently that Scorpius had no psi ability. If he could read her thoughts at all... She banished a mental image of swapping his cerebral cooling rods for heat-triggered plasma charges. "I was informed, however, that the neural implant used to communicate with the leviathan had been removed?"

"Only the transponder, Doctor. Only the transponder. To remove the implant itself at this point might kill the Captain, and he is the only thing I have right now to keep the leviathan under control. Once we've synthesized another implant and installed a new captain aboard the Talyn, Captain Crais will cease to be useful. Simply keep him alive, for now, Doctor. I'll send further instructions if the situation warrants it." Scorpius moved to leave the medunit, his aide turning in perfect synchronization, as if she were an automaton designed to mimic him exactly. Before he reached the door, Scorpius paused, his aide again matching him step for step.

"Oh, and Doctor Payne," Scorpius said, looking back over his shoulder with a chilly grin, "If you should happen to discover any useful information in Captain Crais' head while you're monitoring him, I would count it a *personal* favor. Any references to the leviathan ship Moya would be of particular interest to me." Aleria nodded her assent woodenly, and then Scorpius was out the door, his aide in lockstep behind him.

Frell! Aleria thought. That was exactly the kind of order she hated. Nowhere would it be recorded that Scorpius had asked her to rip apart this Crais' mind. And yet, if she failed to turn up the information Scorpius wanted, he could - and would - see that she was penalized, probably severely. But, had she remembered to...?

As soon as the attendants left, Aleria moved to the med console, brushing past the unconscious renegade captain without looking at him. She checked the settings, found what she was looking for, and hit a contact. An audiovisual recording of the last few mentars began to play back on a small screen. She again saw Scorpius turn back from the door and issue his smiling non-order. She sighed with relief and quickly keyed the console to make a duplicate recording of the vid. It wasn't much, but at least she had this. Judging from Scorpius' demeanor, his last order stemmed from a personal agenda, not an official one. If things ever went bad, she might be able to use that to save herself.

She pocketed the data chip the recorder spit out, reset the equipment to resume recording, and turned to inspect her latest patient, steeling herself for the pain a mind-frelling would cause her. The luckless Captain Crais was protected by the trank-tank. She was the one who would have nightmares.

The subject in the tank (yes, subject; that was better than ‘person' or ‘man') was young, in his prime. Only his head and shoulders were visible, but they told her a great deal about his overall condition. The shoulders were broad, hinting at an equally broad chest. The musculature was taut, even in this relaxed state. The skin was elastic and not at all dry, and of a swarthy color. The neck was also thick-set, and gave the impression of great strength in his overall physique. This subject exercised and worked out regularly, that was plain. Aleria turned back momentarily and checked her monitors. Yes. All vital signs were in the extreme low-normal range. Excellent physical condition. That was good. A mind-frelling could have serious physical consequences and, if the subject were not in good health, accidents had been known to happen. If she let this subject die there wouldn't be time to get her secret recording to anyone before Scorpius was on her.

Aleria - Doctor Pain - moved back to her patient, preparing herself for the worst part, praying that the mind she had been ordered to rape was that of a degenerate, malevolent and depraved. That made her work easier. Wallowing in an evil mind was degrading, soiling. But it was still infinitely better than the guilt associated with tearing apart the mind of a blameless victim.

She bent low over the man in the tank, studying his face, insinuated her fingers into the hair at his temples, feeling for the right contact point. The skin of his face was smooth and unblemished, with a high forehead and prominent nose. Sensuous lips were framed by a short, neatly trimmed beard. She checked the dilation of his pupils and noted that the irises were an unusual shade of amber-brown. In repose, and framed by gently waving dark hair, his was the face of an innocent. But she had seen Generals who had committed genocide looking just as peaceful in the tank.

Aleria shifted position, trying to find a comfortable stance to continue her examination. She kept searching with her fingers, trying to locate the exact spot where her fingertips became sensitive to the brain's electrical activity. Or that is how it was explained to her by another psi. She only knew that some spots on the head, when touched, aided in making mental contact. There were no sebacean schools for psi talents. Even the Directorate had not yet set up training for psi - it was too new and too rare to bother with. Although they made certain to ‘recruit' any talent they found. Aleria kept finding herself distracted by the man's hair. All that hair kept getting in the way. All that glorious hair...

She shook her head to clear it, grimacing. She must be losing her mind to let herself become distracted so easily. Her fingertips began to tingle slightly, and she tightened her concentration. Perhaps she could get enough information to satisfy Scorpius without seriously damaging the captain's mind. But what good would it do? As soon as he was no longer of use, Captain Crais would be dispatched. No. Simply get it done, go back to quarters, and get drunk. That always worked for her. Mostly. At least raslak muddled the nightmares so they weren't so clear, so vivid.

Aleria was surprised to find herself sitting on the medunit floor. An attendant entered immediately, asking if anything was wrong. Apparently the unit was being monitored. She should have realized. She shook her head and allowed the attendant to help her stand. "Never mind, Ensign. I'm fine. Just lost my balance and tripped over my own frelling feet. You'd better get back to your post before someone notices." She waggled a brow expressively, counting on the ensign's naiveté to propel him back to his assigned monitoring station, fearful he'd done something wrong. Aleria straightened the red lab coat that was always too big for her petite frame, smoothed wayward hair back into its required tail, and went to her console reasonably sure the ensign hadn't noticed her rapid breathing and sweating palms.

The contact with Bialar Crais' mind had been electrifying. Never before had she made such a complete connection. For a few mentars she had lost herself, not sure where she ended and Crais began. She'd even felt the merest touch of another presence. Whether an actual contact with Talyn, or a ghost of Crais' prior mental connection to the leviathan, she wasn't sure. She sat down at her console, as much because her legs wouldn't support her as to enable her to more easily work.

Usually she gathered only enough surface thought from a patient to guide her chemical probing and to satisfy whatever question she had been asked to resolve. It was a truism she'd established that those things we wish to hide echo loudest in the mind, and patients were generally made aware beforehand that they would be probed. The old adage about trying *not* to think of something held true.

But Aleria Payne *knew* Bialar Crais. In mere microts she had learned more about him than she was sure anyone else alive knew, save for Talyn. He had been a PeaceKeeper, and had performed all the usual duties associated with a Fleet Captain: planetary subjugation, population control, prisoner torture and execution... He had even committed the murder of a subordinate officer in order to safeguard his own mad personal agenda. She felt his past obsession with this Erp human, John Crichton, and his current frustration with the young leviathan's recklessness. She felt his guilt over his brother's death, and Lieutenant Teeg's. She felt his anger at Scorpius, and his fear of him.

Her hands raced over the contacts, calling up all the information she could find on Bialar Crais. She took care to cover her tracks. She wasn't sure how inquiries into her patient's past could be explained, should they come to Scorpius' notice. What she learned confirmed what she had gleaned from his mind for the most part. The PK take on things was a bit different, of course, but the facts remained the same. Next, she turned her efforts to locating an item that had suddenly become very important to her. She had no inkling of when the idea had formed in her mind, when she decided to escape from the PeaceKeepers. It seemed to have come to her full-blown, in an instant. She must get away from what PK Command had made of her, and Bialar Crais could help her do it.

She grinned inanely. Captain Crais had been irreversibly contaminated by his contact with PK rebel Aeryn Sun, the human Crichton, and the rest of the Moya crew. Perhaps by going into his mind she, too, had been contaminated. She was certainly thinking insurgent thoughts! It didn't matter. For the first time in twenty cycles, something felt right to her. She had to act now, before she had time to talk herself out of the only chance to free herself that she might ever have.

Aleria Payne nearly had all she needed to pull off her daring escape. And moreover, she had time. It turned out that Scorpius had left the Command Carrier after issuing his orders concerning Crais, off on some mission. He wouldn't be back to interrogate her about Crais' memories just yet.

Synthesizing the new neural implant for a new captain for Talyn was also going to take time. The implant technology had been perfected by scientists under Crais' command, over three cycles ago. Most of those involved had since been reassigned to other posts, particularly after Crais had come under Directorate scrutiny for his attempt to impregnate Moya, and the leviathan's later escape. Those not reassigned had requested transfer, getting as far away as they could from a Captain who seemed to be in deep dren.

Given that the Command Carrier was currently deep in the Uncharted Territories, and had to move circumspectly to avoid attracting either Nebari or Scarran notice, weekens would pass before the Carrier was close enough to PK-controlled space to transfer qualified techs and scientists back in. After her initial rush of adrenaline on discovering she really did have the means to break away from the PeaceKeepers, Aleria settled in to plan carefully. She had never before seriously considered escaping. It had seemed impossible. But this Captain Crais and the Prowler Pilot Aeryn Sun were proof it could be done. Granted, Crais had been recaptured. But she would see to it that it was a temporary captivity. He was her ticket out of the Fleet Med Corps.

Aleria maintained Crais' physical health with the trank-tank, just as ordered. When possible, she added electrical muscular stimulation, and servo joint-movement. It wouldn't do to have the Captain unable to stand or walk once she revived him to execute her plan. She acted surreptitiously, never adding the exercise routines when knowledgeable medical personnel were in the lab. The young ensign she discounted. He was so green, he'd never know what was going on inside the tank just from the readouts. She also probed Crais' mind periodically, gently, gleaning more information on him, and on Talyn, looking for anything that could aid her plan. The increased contact was disturbing, oddly exciting. She wondered what she was doing to herself, and to Crais.

Scorpius did return to the Carrier briefly, before being sent off on another covert task. Aleria nearly bolted when the summons came to his quarters. But she schooled herself to calmness, calling on every ounce of her strength. She would not let Scorpius shake her. She would not inadvertently reveal her plan. Now that she had conceived a hope of escape, making it a reality was too precious to her. She'd dealt with dozens of PK Captains and Admirals who felt they could easily intimidate her. She could deal with one more.

Scorpius was at ease in his quarters. That is to say, he was sitting in the chair behind his expansive desk. Scorpius never really looked at ease in his leather bio-maintenance suit and headgear. His robot-like female aide was not in evidence but Lt. Braca, Scorpius' second, was.

"Do sit, Doctor, and have some refreshments," Scorpius said as she entered, and waved a gloved hand at a chair across from him. "I am most interested to hear what you have to report." Aleria sat, shaking her head politely to refuse the offered libations. It was usually protocol to accept an offer of hospitality from a superior. But Aleria was certain that Scorpius cared little about protocol, and she was simply too nervous to eat or drink anything. She feared the shaking of her hands alone would give her away.

"I've been monitoring former Captain Crais as you asked, Sir. His physical health is quite good, just as he was when he was brought to me."

"Yes?" Scorpius prompted. Oh, yes, she had judged him accurately in this respect, at least. He eschewed the usual dance most PeaceKeepers used when interacting with either subordinates or superiors. He clearly wanted her to get right to the point.

Well, Sir, it seems that former Captain Crais has had fairly recent contact with the leviathan ship, Moya, that you mentioned." When Scorpius sat up straight in his chair and leaned forward, she knew she was going to get through this. Moya and her crew meant little to her, although she knew they meant a great deal to Crais and to Talyn, in particular. But any information she gave Scorpius was going to be monens old. Moya should no longer be anywhere near where Talyn had last rendezvoused with her. Of course, she stretched the truth a bit, and made it seem the information was fresher than it was. If Scorpius was off chasing Moya and John Crichton, he would be far away when she made her move.

Aleria left her interview with Scorpius feeling overwhelming relief. The information she had given him was apparently not enough to send him off on a wild goose-chase, but it had satisfied him that she was doing her job. He had even ordered her to continue her efforts, which was exactly what she needed to explain her almost constant presence in Crais' lab cell. Otherwise, she might have had to move more quickly, before someone wondered whether she had other duties she was neglecting and kept a closer eye on her. She resolved to get everything in readiness as fast as possible, anyway. As soon as she heard that Scorpius had left the Carrier again, she would make her move.

Her years of flawless service stood Aleria in good stead over the next few days. No one questioned her when she went into labs other than the ones she was assigned. They assumed she was under orders. Stealing into the armory was more difficult. But as a commissioned officer she had been issued the usual sidearm and was required to practice on the range regularly. She simply told the Chief Petty Officer in charge of the weapons cache that she had been ‘strongly advised' to correct her bad marksmanship, and requested a pulse rifle to supplement her pistol when going to target practice. She made much of her fictitious encounter with a superior on the firing range, and the dressing down she'd been given. The CPO had to leave the room for several microts to locate the requisite paperwork, which she put to good use, secreting several small items on her person.

A solar day later, Aleria found herself scheduled for the range. Her wry amusement turned to near-panic when she saw that the CPO from the armory was also on the range. Her aim was truly not all that good, but certainly not as bad as she'd made it out to be. She was just bad enough that she feared if she *tried* to aim off, she'd accidentally score better hits. She tried to quell her nervousness as the magnetic field downrange went up, and the holographic targets activated.

Her first shot went near-wild, missing the target altogether. She settled herself, trying to ignore the watching eyes of the CPO, and squeezed off several more rounds. More than half hit the sebaceanoid target, but none in the kill-zones. The laughter from the CPO and a small group of his cronies made her feel oddly irritated. She should have been relieved, but the laughter rankled. Several not-so-quiet remarks about officers and Techs reached her ears and made them burn. She returned her pistol to charge mode and stowed it, taking the rifle out of her kit. All ten of her next shots hit targets, 9 of them in kill-zones. In fact, the rifle was powerful enough that kill-zone shots obliterated the targets and she had to wait each time for them to reset. When she finished, she stowed her kit, zipped it shut and stood with it in her hand. Before leaving the range she couldn't resist shooting a satisfied smile and a nod at the CPO and his friends, who returned her gesture with good-natured grins and mock-salutes.

To be Continued...