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Chapter
Six
Stark,
Rygel and Pilot
Two tiers down,
Stark was pacing along one of Moya's corridors, muttering to
a DRD. He was worried. John knew that he was going to give Zhaan
a gift, and so did she but now, he had no idea what that gift
was going to be. Nothing would be grand enough, nor beautiful
enough, nor mystical enough for Zhaan. Anything he might give
would pale in comparison to anything she might give. He was a
poor Bannick slave, he knew nothing of grandeur or riches. What
does one give to a ninth level Pa'u to show how much one appreciates
her? Present-giving was not something he was accustomed to.
He did, however,
know about love. And he knew that he loved Zhaan. He was pretty
sure that Zhaan loved him back, too. He was hoping that, perhaps,
Zhaan would give him a present, that maybe all the love she had
inside her would focus primarily on him. He thought, however,
that this was probably a vast over-assumption on his part.
Stark had create
a little game for himself in the corridor. Every time he paced
and completed a lap, he would utter either "She loves me,"
or "She loves me not," alternating between the two.
If he accidentally tripped over the DRD that was patrolling the
area, he would assume that whatever he said last was the truth.
If Fate meant for Zhaan to love him, then it would tell him in
such a manner.
The fact remained,
though, that he had no idea what he was going to give her
Rygel had all
but forgotten about Crichton's plan, and it only came back to
him when he saw the blurred form of Stark running past his door,
shouting something about "She doesn't love me no, it can't
be true!" He laughed gruffly, then hovered his Throne Sled
over to shut the door.
So, Crichton
expected him, Rygel XVI, Dominar of over a billion subjects,
to get someone else a present? Ridiculous. He did not give presents,
he received them.
In fact, he
was certain that his high political status meant that everybody
on board Moya would be humble enough to succumb and give him
something from each of them. Suddenly, Crichton's plan seemed
a lot more palatable.
Rygel smiled,
imagining all the gifts he was going to be rolling in come a
weeken's time
Everything
was quiet in Pilot's Den, just how he liked it. Of course, he
could hear Moya. He could always hear Moya, but her sounds were
pleasurable to his senses unlike the harsh voices of the crew
when they gathered near his panel. He had to be in the correct
mood to cope with them, and his moods depended entirely on Moya's
moods. She was apparently as bored as the rest of them, which
is why Pilot had agreed to partake in the Commander's strange
Erp ritual.
He moved his
entire body to the right, keeping one of his left arms in contact
with the panel, compensating for the changes and movements of
the Leviathan. At least, he supposed, this ritual did not involve
being decorated with "tins-ul" and "bar-bulls";
he could never figure out why Crichton had found it so amusing
to pretend he was some kind of foliage, and had gone along with
it in the end to keep the peace.
Pilot already
knew whom he was going to bestow his gift upon. As with everybody
else, however, he was having trouble coming up with the gift
in question, even with hundreds of DRDs at his disposable
His reverie
was broken by Stark running into the Den with one of the DRDs
in his hands, apparently frantic about something. The Bannick
ambled forwards and dropped the little robot in front of Pilot
on the panel.
"What
is the matter, Stark?" he asked.
"She doesn't
love me" came the moaned reply.
Pilot looked
suspiciously at the DRD, and decided to humour him. "Um
by what means did you discover this?"
Stark looked
pained and indicated the DRD, which was trundling along the top
of the panel trying to find a way down. "Fate told me so.
Fate yes fate knows everything" He trailed off.
Pilot continued
to watch the DRD; it was now attempting to lower itself to the
ground by some kind of rope, making it resemble a sort of arachnid
without legs. The rope snapped, and there was a crunch as it
hit the ground. It rolled away, unfazed. Pilot returned his gaze
to Stark, and waved a clawed hand in front of his eyes to stop
him mumbling. Stark focussed. "You believe that Pa'u Zotoh
no longer loves you?" A nod. "And you say that Fate
told you this?" Another nod. Pilot sighed. This was unproductive.
Then, Moya relayed back to him what the little DRD had told her,
and he understood. "Well I'm not an expert in these matters,
but I do know Zhaan very well, and I believe she would never
lie to anyone especially not someone who is as special to her
as you are, Stark."
Something brightened
in Stark's devastated eyes and he looked almost gleeful. "She
loves me? She still loves me?"
"To the
best of my knowledge, yes."
"Thank
you, Pilot. Thank you, thank you, thank you so much!"
With that,
he ran back out of the Den, leaving a very bewildered Pilot behind
him. When the silence descended again, he breathed a sigh of
relief and returned to what he was doing. Between all the myriadsounds
and sensations, Moya transferred a feeling reserved only for
Pilot. He smiled.
"Yes,
Moya. The feeling is mutual."
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