----------------------------------------------------------------
D'Argo stroked his fingers along his lover's flank.

"Not again."

D'Argo was surprised at this response.  John usually liked sexual advances.
Although he had noticed an increasing reluctance on his lover's part in
recent days.  It usually kicked in between advances two and three of the
evening.  "Why not?"

"I am not a sex machine.  I am not a horny teenage boy."  D'Argo resisted
the urge to ask what horns had to do with sex, since neither humans nor
Luxans had them, but refrained.  "I cannot have sex four times in under
twelve hours on a regular basis, not without drugs. Humans just don't have
that kind of stamina.  Go frell Aeryn. I'm going to get some sleep."  The
human turned away from him, scooted to the side of the bed, and began
emitting large, false snores.  They didn't fool D'Argo in the least, but
they did hurt his ears (which John knew perfectly well).  So he left the
room.  He paused on his way out, as he realized these were his quarters he
was being thrown out of.  Then he shrugged and grabbed his shilquen.  He
couldn't grab Aeryn.  She had forbidden him to touch her for the next 20
arns.  Maybe Pilot would like some company.

***

"Zhaan, I'm worried about D'Argo."

Zhaan looked at Aeryn, startled that the Sebacean would come to her about
problems with her Swordbrother, instead of going to their lover. "What's
wrong, Aeryn?"

"He's insatiable.  He eats enough for five, frells enough for ten, and he's
stopped sleeping, as far as I can tell.  If I didn't know better, I would
suspect him of using some sort of drug.  As it is, John and I ... we've been
spendng a lot of time in John's hyperrage holes, napping during the day."

At this pronouncement, Zhaan focused her full attention on Aeryn, and
actually saw the changes that had come over the Sebacean woman.  Her hair
was lank and oily, her skin was pasty, rather than shipboard pale, and her
eyelids were constantly fluttering, as if she had trouble keeping them open.
She hadn't looked so bad since her brush with the Living Death.  "Does John
look like you?"

"He's also lost weight, again."  Aeryn didn't have to mention the Aurora
Chair, Zhaan could read the worry in her eyes.  After his return from that
ordeal, John hadn't eaten properly for about 100 solar days.  He'd slowly
been building back the muscle he'd loss, but this had evidently halted his
progress.

"How long has this been going on?" Zhaan asked absently.  She had the
feeling that the solution was obvious, that she had the final piece of the
puzzle, if she just knew what she needed to know.

"Fifteen, twenty days maybe.  It built up gradually.  We liked it at first,
John and I.  It doesn't seem like," and here the Peacekeeper actually
managed something like an embarrassed blush, "we get enough of his
attention, in the normal course of events.  So, it seemed like a good thing,
in the beginning."

Zhaan nodded.  She was fairly sure that the beginning had something to do
with the thing she was almost, but not quite, thinking of.  In the
beginning, when she first met D'Argo.  He'd said something about being ...
thirty cycles old.  Which would make him almost thirty-two now.  Which would
make his son Jothee ...  "Do you know how old Jothee is?"

Aeryn blinked, nodded.  "I believe he is nearly fifteen cycles."

"Dren.  We just did this with Moya and that didn't end very well."

"We just did what with Moya?"  Aeryn was backing away very slowly, shaking
her head.  She didn't want to hear what Zhaan had to say next.

"You and John and D'Argo need to have a talk.  I think D'Argo is entering
barasada."

That was not what she had been expecting.  "What is that?"

Zhaan frowned.  The others sometimes seemed to believe she was an unlimited
fount of information.  It was true, at more than 800 cycles she knew a lot
about the universe, but she didn't know everything.  She grabbed Aeryn's
wrist, squeezed a little for emphasis.  "Talk to D'Argo.  He knows far more
about it than I."

Aeryn looked at Zhaan thoughtfully, seeming to search for something in her
eyes.  Then she nodded, turned, and left the apothecary.

Zhaan shook her head, started putting things away.  She needed to get up to
medical rejuvenation and see what supplies they had on hand.  "Khalaan
preserve us all, and especially those three."

***

Once it had been made clear to him that neither of his mates intended to
have sex that sleep cycle, it took an inordinate amount of time to seduce
D'Argo into bed.  His lovers' protestations that they would like to spend a
little time talking with him were met with first shy and then insistent
demurrals that four arns into the 10 arn period was far too soon to go to
bed, and besides, there were some overdue repairs on tier eight, his
shilquen playing was  terribly rusty, and he needed to refuel his Qualta
blade.

When he turned to walk out of the room, feeling he'd won his argument, John
tackled him around the knees.  This would not have moved the seven-foot tall
Luxan if Aeryn had not also tackled him at chest height.  D'Argo's larger
body having cushioned their fall,  the human and the Sebacean recovered
first.  By means of an extremely awkward crawl-waddle-carry, they moved him
out of the hallway and next to the bed.  Then they sat on him again.

"We lied.  It's not your sparkling personality we're after tonight.  Zhaan
said that she thinks you're becoming a barracuda, but she wouldn't tell us
what that means."  John felt D'Argo jerk and stiffen underneath his legs at
this pronouncement.  He scooted back a few inches.  D'Argo's knees were not
the most comfortable of perches under normal circumstances, and they were
worse when the Luxan was all tensed up.

"I don't know what becoming a small fish has to do with anything." asked
D'Argo.

"Barasada," said Aeryn.  "She said you were entering barasada.  Can we all
sit on the bed now? Will you stay and talk to us?"  D'Argo nodded, and
Aeryn rolled off of him.    John scooted up onto the bed, then reached out a
hand to both his lovers.  Only D'Argo accepted his assistance.  They
arranged themselves so D'Argo was in the middle, and John and Aeryn were
facing one another.

"Do you know anything about Luxan reproduction?"

John and Aeryn looked at each other with identical raised eyebrows.  "Just,
uh, you know." John made a gesture which seemed to encompass the lower half
of the threem of them.

"Every fifteen cycles, Luxans have to reproduce.  It's physically possible
to have children in between, and if you do, it ... resets the clock, but I
haven't had a baby since Jothee."

"What happens if you don't?" asked Aeryn.

"I die."

"This would seem to present a bit of a problem, as the only Luxan female
we've met in the Uncharted Territories just died."  John's voice got louder
as he spoke; he practically shouted the last two words.

"I don't need a female to reproduce," said D'Argo.  "I just need a
relatively large number of cells from a single indvidual."

"From anybody?  It doesn't have to be Luxan?"

"Ah, it works best if the physiology isn't too different.  Two arms, two
legs, one head, that sort of thing."

"Oh," said John, in a very  little voice.  "Sex cells."

"No, because sex cells aren't identical.  The DNA isn't supposed to be all
the same in sex cells.  Blood cells work best."

"You bleed to reproduce?" said Aeryn.  John had one of those sudden moments
of clarity when he could tell what she was thinking just from her
expression.  Unfortunately, she was having really nauseating images of Luxan
pornography involving knife fights, war footage, and blood transfusions.

"Another Luxan wouldn't have to.  But I have to," he sighed.  "I have to ask
one of you.  To bleed for me.  To raise a child with me."

"Oh my god," said John, shocked.  "Oh my god," he repeated, but this time it
was a happy sound, a pleased sound, almost a sly sound.  "I want this baby.
I didn't think I would ever have a child.  And now I will.  We will, D'Argo.
And you, too, Aeryn.  But I don't know when I'm going to get home, and there
are no humans here.  But now. Life is good!"  And he got up and did a little
dance.  D'Argo and Aeryn watched him with the stiff warrior expression they
substituted for open-mouthed astonishment.

***

"What the *hell* is he doing in there?" John walked back and forth, pacing
in front of the closed door to Medical Rejuvenation.

"I know exactly as little as I did when you first dragged me here for this
vigil, John.  You wanted D'Argo and I to watch you bleed into a cup, and we
respected that, even though you know it makes him uncomfortable to see blood
gushing.  D'Argo didn't want us to know exactly what he was going to have to
do to get pregnant, and I respect that as well.  I respect it so much, in
fact, that I was planning to do some repairs on Tier 8, and if he's not done
in another hundred microts, I'm going to do those anyway."  John shot her a
dirty look, and she substitued a soft, playful smile for the rather
grim-faced mask she had been wearing before.  "Officers quarters are on Tier
8.  The commander's suite should be big enough for four, but some of the
environmental ductwork needs repair."

He smiled back at her, ran his fingers through is hair.  "I'm being a pain
in the ass, aren't I?"

"I've been told that reproduction is a harrowing experience, if one does it
naturally."

"Don't Peacekeepers ... ?"

"Almost never.  They take a sample of your seed and do a reversible
sterilization just after your first successful assignment.  There's a
governmental department which supervises breeding of Peacekeepers, although
we also practice conscription.  Keeps the bloodlines fresh."

"So, you can't have kids?"  He wondered, for the first time, if he'd been
selfish, rushing in to father the baby.

"I could.  There's just an implant to remove.   Zhaan could probably  do it,
if it were necessary."  She smiled at him, again, but looked away quickly.

He reached out and touched her hands.  He opened his mouth and hoped that
whatever came out wouldn't be too embarassing, but luckily for him, the door
opened.

D'Argo walked out.  He looked the same as when he went in.  Except that
there was a little red-brown spot in the corner of his mouth that made John
terrifically happy that he hadn't insisted on watching the reproductive
process.  "It's done.   Come and see."  The Luxan turned around and went in.

John mouthed, "Go and see what?" at Aeryn, but she just shrugged and went
in.  The most extroardinary thing happened.  John turned away from Medical
Rejuvenation and started heading back to his quarters.  He was only a few
feet down the hallway when he noticed a DRD focusing on him, inquisitively.

He looked at it and blushed.  It waved a very small monkey-wrench at him
reproachfully.  For a moment, he fancied that Moya was in control of the
unit.  Then he realized that he was standing in front of a panel that had
been opened and appeared to have some scorched nodes.  He went back to
Medical Rejuvenation.  He was not prepared for what he saw.

He pointed at the object resting on D'Argo's lap.  Except for the fact that
it was a very pale pink, like a drink made of one part Shirley Temple to one
part Cool Whip, it looked like Zhaan's left breast.  He'd made a very close
study of Zhaan's entire body one day when they were trading on a desert
planet, and it had been decided that she needed a baby-sitter.  The thing on
D'Argo's lap bore an uncanny resemblance to the left breast.  Except for the
matter of color.  "What is that?"

Aeryn smiled him and reached for his hand.  "It's your child."  She put his
hand on the object.  It was just a little warm.  The texture was like melted
chocolate.  He lifted his hand and was surprised to find that it was not
coated in a pink layer of goo.

"D'Argo, did you just lay an egg?"

"Where the hezmana did you get an idea like that?"  D'Argo's voice was
gentle and directed at the, well, the baby.  But his eyes were angry and his
mouth was twisted unpleasantly.  Oddly, his tongue seemed to be hanging out.
Not very far, but he usually kept the bulk of it rather tightly coiled in
his throat.  Talking was easier that way he'd explained to John one lazy
afternoon.

"There's an egg in your lap, and Aeryn said it was the, uh, the kid.  So?"
He pointed in the direction of D'Argo's lap.

"I'm not a frelling bird."  D'Argo spoke in a croon, the rhythm of his words
reminicent of a lullaby.  "The outer layer forms in response to saliva, but
the interior is my ejaculate and your blood and --."   D'Argo stopped
reciting when John raised his hand.  "Is there something wrong?"

"You're about to explain bodily functions to me, aren't you?  Don't.  Just
... when do we get a baby out of that?"  John made himself very proud when
reached out and touched the surface of the, well, the kid.  He leaned down,
stroking, trying to determine if it looked as smooth as it felt.

"I don't know."

John looked up.  "You don't know?"

"Jothee was solid for only a quarter cycle.  Most full Luxans are like this
for closer to three quarters of a cycle.  No one's ever mated with a human
before."

He nodded.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Oddly enough, it was Chiana who finally got them a practical sling for
carrying the baby.  Aeryn had no experience with clothing other than wearing
it.  D'Argo, although he could make lovely ceremonial robes, didn't have a
very good grasp of clothes construction.  He couldn't quite figure out how
one might design a snug-fitting, soft-sided container for an object that was
only roughly spheroid.  And while John was enough of a scientist that he
could have quite happily just experimented in most circumstances, the only
possible experimental object was his child, and he wasn't prepared to risk
the kid.  Which meant that for the first fifty solar days of its solidity,
one of the three of them was always out of commission, keeping their child
warm with body heat and conditioned to their emission patterns: the soft,
living body sounds everyone makes; the chemicals they each produced as a
consequence of eating, breathing, working; and the internal rhythms to which
they each moved, expressed as an irregular series of twitches, stretches,
wriggles, and finger drummings.

John was sitting with the egg in his lap, reading aloud from a book written
in Galactic Pidgin.  He'd found that it was very easy to forget the
rudiments of the pictographic language if he didn't practice.  And D'Argo
had said it was good for the baby to hear its parents' voices while they
were egg-sitting.  He stopped when Pilot announced that the others had
returned from their shopping trip on the latest supply planet.

He was expecting one of his lovers to come and relieve him, but it was the
young Nebari girl who got to their room first.  "Got a present for you,
Crichton."

"Oh, really, Chiana?  Please don't tell me you're preggers, too.  Pretty
soon we're going to have to build an actual nursery."

Chiana just looked at him and the miserable, flat puddle of his joke for a
second.  Then she grinned and held out a cloud of brightly colored fabric.
"Think of this as a portable nursery."  She reached into a purple patch and
opened up a pocket.  "The interior clings to and cushions whatever you put
in it."  She turned it around and pulled away two bright red strips.  "And
the bands are self-adjusting for a comfortable fit.  All three of you should
be able to use it, and you should be able to switch back and forth between
front and back carry at will."

John gave a small, amazed smile.  It was times like these, when he could
really feel Chiana growing and changing, that he began to understand how his
father felt when and D.K. played with rocket ships as little boys.  "Thank
you, Chiana.  That was really thou-"

She held up one hand to silence him.  "And I all I ask in return, is your
absolute guarantee that I will not have to remove that child from its shell
and that the process used by whoever does do the removal will not interfere
with internal atmosphere."  Then she draped her package over him and the
baby, kissed his forehead, and walked out.

***

"Bring me a 0.4 wrench, please," said Aeryn. She wasn't watching the 
DRDs, and when she reached down for the tool, it got closed painfully 
over her thumb, instead of landing in her hand. "Frelling dren!" Ever 
practical, she grabbed the tool and *then* kicked the DRD away from her 
in a fit of pique.

She sat down and sighed. Looked around the room, taking stock of her 
accomplishments. "Well, it's clean; I cleared out the vermin that had 
made themselves at home in this chamber. Got a mattress and linens from 
ships' stores. Removed that wrack thing from the corner; D'Argo would 
have had a fit if he'd seen that. Repaired all of the broken paneling, 
replaced the flooring underneath where the rack thing had been. Added a 
large laundry bin. Got the plumbing reattached to this section. Put up 
a couple of shelves. Not bad for four solar days. The only thing left 
is the crib." She looked up balefully at a collection of completely 
uncooperative pieces of wood, metal, and molded plastic, half of which 
was attached to the wall, the other half strewn across the floor.

She stood up with a sigh, started taking it down. Maybe if she 
assembled it on the ground, and then attached it to the wall, it would 
look like something one could leave a child alone in for more than 2 
microts.

-------------------------------

John grabbed her hand, pulled her down for a kiss before she could seat 
herself for last meal. "Baby, where you been all day? Tier 8 again?"

She nodded, sat down and reached for a platter of roasted seed pods and 
wilted leaves of some sort. "I think I'll be done with it tomorrow, 
actually."

D'Argo handed her a plate of roasted meat in a reddish sauce. "This 
sauce is very good, even though John made it." His face was solemn, but 
his eyes were full of warm good humor. "Are you certain you do not wish 
us to help?"

"Really, there's only about an arn's worth of work at this point. It's 
really a one person job, now." She shrugged and bit into some of the 
meat. It was good. "What is this sauce, John? It's delicious."

"This," and he stuck his finger in the sauce and licked it, "is an 
Uncharted Territories approximation of my grandfather's barbecue sauce. 
I've been experimenting since we found those tomato-like plants, and 
this is the first good batch." He scowled at his plate. "Still haven't 
found a good substitute for paprika or orange juice, but I'll figure 
something out."

Rygel looked affronted as he picked up the thread of his tirade which 
Aeryn's arrival had interrupted. "I can't believe that you passed your 
failures onto me as special confections for the discerning palate. And 
I still think that the fifth version was superior to this one, although 
I would have put it on hynerian marjoules, rather than a simple roast."

John gave Rygel a deadly glare. "I told you never to mention that sauce 
again." There was suddenly a knife in his hand, and it was 
frighteningly close to Rygel's left earbrow. "Barbeque is a serious 
thing, Short Stuff. A very serious thing."

Rygel slowly backed away from the table, and then rushed his thronesled 
behind Zhaan. "He has threathened the person of an Hynerian Dominar, 
and I wasn't even insulting him. I was complimenting him." He glared at 
Aeryn and D'Argo equally. "Your mate has become deranged."

John licked his lips and started gesturing with his knife as if it were 
neither a dining utensil nor a weapon, but rather a lecturer's pointer. 
"I am not deranged, I am attempting to provide for my child's future." 
He began, very gently, to tick off points on his fingers with the point 
of the knife. "D'Argo and I are having a child. All Crichton children, 
on their tenth birthdays, are given the Crichton family barbeque recipe 
as a sacred trust. It took nearly two cycles and a lot of 
experimentation to find the Uncharted Territories equivalent of a 
tomato. Several key ingredients for the sauce remain unduplicated. So, 
in order to make sure this one," and he paused to rub the shell of the 
egg, which was serving as a sort of surreal centerpiece, "is a true 
Crichton, I have to make sure there is a recipe to pass on to it. And I 
do not want its mind or its taste buds corrupted with the utter *dren* 
that was batch number five!" He turned to glare at Rygel, and the knife 
in his hand was no lecturer's aid, but a threat. "Do I make myself 
clear?"

Rygel nodded, and gave a conciliatory smile. "Indubitably, Commander 
Crichton. Indubitably."

Aeryn had stopped eating when John began listing points. She started 
again as Rygel edged towards his plate again, but she left the meat 
uneaten.


***

The three of them were lying in bed one night, wrapped around the egg and
one another when Aeryn asked, "What are you going to name the baby?"

"Bav Chysa."  "Damalis Kay."  The men looked at each other, then away.
Crichton flushed a bit.

"I," said Aeryn in a grand and lazy tone, "think that Vas might suit.  Vas
Colye was my first instructor at Prowler school.  She encouraged me to work
more, to do more than everyone else, even though it was dangerous."  She
reached out a hand to rub reassuringly on the egg, as they'd all taken to
doing in times of parental disagreement.

"Why do you want Bav Chysa?"

"It is the Luxan form of my great-great grandmother's name.  She was
Callanese.  I thought it was appropriate."

"My buddy DK's actual name is Damalys Kay.  I wouldn't be out here if it
weren't for the work we did together on slingshot theory.  In a way, this is
all his fault."  John yawned.  Then Aeryn yawned.  And D'Argo gave the oddly
high-pitched grunt that was the Luxan equivalent.  "I'm too tired to have
this discussion, and so are the two of you.  Let's sleep on it, see what we
come up with in the morning."  The other two nodded, and they shifted
themselves so that John and the egg were lying in the middle.  They were the
two who got most uncomfortable being cold.  "Good night all."

"It's not night.  You only get nights on planets."

"Good sleep cycle, Aeryn."

"Better."

D'Argo just continued the gentle whirring sounds he made in sleep.

The morning began like any other. D'Argo woke up first and snuffled
Aeryn's face and neck until she awoke. She greeted him with a lazy smile
and then slunk out of bed, heading towards a physical training room for
her morning wake-up routine.

That movement woke John up, and he scurried quickly out of bed and
towards a toilet. The egg inevitably wound up spending most of the night
resting heavily on his bladder, and he always woke up feeling like he
was going to explode.

This left D'Argo and the baby alone for a little while, and D'Argo
enjoyed the chance to bond with his offspring before he had to deal with
anyone else. "He wants to call you Damalys Kaye," he said in an off-
handed way to the small, round form. "It is in no way a Luxan name." He
picked it up and put it in his lap. "When Jothee was young, there were
... difficulties with other youngsters. Because of me. He was a half-
breed, and so are you." He turned the egg over, rubbing carefully,
checking for cracks and imperfections in the shell. Checking also for
the change in color and the slight softening of the shell that would
indicate emergence. At least, he hoped it would work that way.

"I insisted that my first son have a Luxan name. Lo'laan would name our
next child, but ... I named your brother for my father." He stroked the
egg some more.

John padded back into the room and crawled into the bed, grabbed D'Argo
from behind and rested his head on one of his lover's huge shoulders.
"You know, I can't do that."

"What?"

"Talk to the kid. It just lays there, like a humongous paperweight. I
love this child, I really do, but I can't talk to it."

D'Argo looked at the egg with an amused expression, but he made his
voice sound very serious. "I believe your father has just given you a
deadly insult, child."

John playfully punched D'Argo in the arm. "I won't feel like that by the
time it can do anything about it." Then he kissed the place where he'd
hit his lover, and snuggled up closer. "What were y'all talking about?"

"Names. And Jothee."

D'Argo's neutral tone left Crichton completely unsure as to how to
react. "You all right, babe?"

The answering sigh was exasperated and put out. "I am fine, Crichton."

"I told you about calling me Crichton in bed."

"I am fine, John."

"Better." The human slipped around to stretch across the Luxan's legs and rub
his cheek over the baby's shell. "Any law saying how many names a kid
can have?"

"I don't understand you."

Crichton rolled his eyes. The sentence was something of a joke between
the two of them. D'Argo seemed to have the most trouble of all Moya's
crew in understanding what was meant when John threw Earth cultural
references at him. "I mean, we could name the baby Bav Chysa Damalys
Kaye Vas. And it could always be sure when we were really, really angry
with it."

"Hmm?"

"On Earth, parents only use your full name if they're furious. I figure
that a kid with five names will always know exactly how much wrong it's
done."

"What name shall we use when we are not enraged?"

"George."

"George?"

"Uh huh. We're gonna love him and squeeze him and call him George."
Crichton's delivery was completely dead pan, but there was something in
his eyes that made D'Argo look at him more closely.

"You're not serious?"

"Not even a bit." And he burst out laughing.

D'Argo joined him in his laughter, but once it died down, he reached
over and gave him a kiss. "I like your idea to give him many names."

"Yeah?" said John, with a weird little half-grin. "Well, I'll go run it
by Aeryn, but sounds like Junior's got itself a name." And he kissed
D'Argo back and then scurried out of the room.

D'Argo picked the egg up and secured it more firmly in his lap. Then he
looked up and asked the room at large, "Junior?"