There's Something About Crichton (R)
Rating and warnings: R for graphic violence, sexual situations and what is probably the smuttiest 3 word combination I have ever written in a fanfic.
Setting: During Aeryn's 'Summer Holiday'. No, don't switch off yet. This is a perspective that I guarantee you will never have considered before. That said….
OK, this didn't come out like I intended. It's neither funny, nor serious nor insightful nor sexy nor… anything much really except quite long. And no amount of tweaking on my part is likely to improve its shortcomings. But it is written and it does meet the challenge. So, based on those basic facts alone, I decided to post it anyway.
No beta. I only just finished it and couldn't squeeze having it beta'd in.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not at all.
Word count: 7291
There's Something About Crichton (R)
I thought… hoped, perhaps, that I had put John Crichton out of my mind. I thought that I had managed to move on with my life after I had left Moya and joined the assassins. But I was wrong. John Crichton is like a plague. Yes, a plague: A highly contagious disease.
I didn't even realise how much I was talking about him all the time, talking to any of my new comrades who came close enough and tarried long enough to hear. It seems that I waffled on endlessly about how wonderful he was and how I'd been such a fool to leave him. I probably would have kept on doing so, too if, one day, over target practice, one of my new companions hadn't turned to me with a scowl and tried to get me to stop.
"That's it! Enough!" Jenavian Chatto snapped at me. It's a jock, as John might say: I'd never have believed I'd have ended up friends with Jena when I had first met her on the Royal Planet a cycle and a half ago. Back then I thought she was just an overpainted tralk. I had no idea that she was actually a Peacekeeper. But shortly after I'd joined the assassins, in an extraordinary coincidence, so did she. Since we'd joined she'd gone out of her way to be friendly to me, eventually becoming my mess-mate, which made this outburst all the more unexpected. The only time she'd interrupted one of my John-ologues before was when she'd collapsed in a fit of laughter whilst I had been describing how we had insulted each other under Traaltix' influence.
"Flat butted Peacekeeper skank! Oh that's good!" She had said that time, squinting at my eema for a microt, smirking, before her usual composure snapped back into place, in response to my scowl.
"I'll track him down for you, Aeryn," she offered lowering her gun. Her manner now was surprisingly offhand, as though she had offered to go get me another chakan oil cartridge.
My mouth hung open in disbelief. Jena grinned, evidently revelling in my flummoxed condition. For me, even having my mouth open constitutes a major conversation. Unless I'm talking about John, of course. "Thanks!" I said at last, the word just pouring out in an uncontrolled flood.
"Don't mention it," Jena replied with a sassy wink, which immediately marked her out as a Disruptor. After all, normal soldiers don't do sass, not unless it is wrapped up in swagger. "What are friends for?" Jena chuckled. I shrugged, not really knowing and she let out an easy, somewhat too loud laugh. After a microt we continued our target practice and I gave it little more thought. Well, not until later.
A few days passed and Jena got herself sent on a mission. Before going she reassured me that, whilst away, she would start looking for John. I felt a warm glow inside, although that could have just been the bottle of Raslak we'd shared over our brief conversation. Deciding that warm glows could be dangerous for a Sebacean, I decided not to get my hopes up.
Imagine my excitement, a monen later, when I got a message chip delivered with Jena's ident on it. However, when I watched the message she had sent to me, my excitement was soon laced with confusion.
"Hi Aeryn," came Jena's chirpy voice, as I sat watching the chip in my sparsely furnished and cramped quarters. "Well, the good news is I found your Crichton friend." She paused and her expression turned sad, as though she had some bad news to impart. "I mean, in the end. It was quite hard to track him down, you see, because he's got a lot less hair than when I last saw him. That and…. Well…. And there's a bit more …. Actually, quite a lot more … of him around the middle," She ran her fingers around her own midriff to emphasize her point. She tossed her hair and continued. "But on the positive side, the diagnosians say that both those things are to be expected for a… man…. in his… condition… " She seemed agitated, as though not sure what to say next. She flashed a grin at the screen and launched into giving more information. "After the accident…. You know…? When he lost his…. But not to worry, they do say that they can do wonderful things with prosthetic mivonks these days, and just as soon as they're sure they've got all of his sexually transmitted diseases under control then they'll start looking into getting him one fitted!" She continued, giving what seemed to be a consoling sort of smile. Anyway, I don't want to bore you with all of the details, but Jena's message went on like that for another couple of hundred microts before she finally got round to telling me that her mission had been extended and that she might be gone for a long time, a very long time.
And then she signed off.
I was devastated; I hardly need to tell you. At the next meal, several of my colleagues remarked that I seemed to be showing some sort of emotion, although none were quite sure what it might be.
All through the next weeken I found myself uncharacteristically distracted, replaying Jena's message in my mind. Poor John. I so wanted to go to him, to offer him what comfort I could. But my duties stood in my way, as did the obvious inadvisability of going absent without leave from a group of renegade assassins. So it was that, when offered a mission which would take me in the general direction of where Crichton was located, I leapt at the opportunity.
I was to be the pilot and second in command of a small assassination detail. We were to travel by marauder to a planetary commerce station on…. But no, I can't tell you those sort of mission details, I made a Promise not to talk about things like that.
The squad for this mission was a select crew of specialists. In charge was Lieutenant Niem, a dour, redheaded ex-Peacekeeper, who looked strangely familiar, although I could not remember meeting her before. Apart from leading the mission, I was told that her specialty was interrogation. Tech duties were taken by a short, blonde woman called T'loixi Drei who inexplicably reminded me of the late tech Gilina Raenez. Blonde techs all look alike, I suppose. Unusually, the grunts for this mission had all been stationed on the Gammack base or on my old command carrier some time in the last couple of cycles and were all female. That was quite a relief to me because it meant that I would not have to endure any unwanted sexual advances during our trip. None seemed to hold my past escapades against me, or at least no one said anything to my face. Apparently, once they had heard where we were headed, everyone on our small team had volunteered for the mission. Which was excellent: It meant everyone was highly motivated to perform their mission.
'~'
After an uneventful weeken in transit, we arrived at the commerce station and began making our preparations for our target to arrive. No, I can't tell you about all of that, or who the target was. I Promised, remember?
Two days after our arrival I found myself planetside on the roof of a ramshackle, multi-storey tenement building, checking for possible sniping positions, escape routes and such like. That was when I spotted him through my oculars. Yes, HIM. You know who I mean. No, not the target. HIM!
John Frelling Crichton. Plague of my life.
Down in the square four stories below, Crichton stepped out of what looked like a bar, paused in the strong daylight and put on a pair of darkened solar eye protectors. He looked around him briefly, and then went striding off towards a narrow passageway. Even from such a distance, I was fairly convinced that it was him. And, perplexingly, he was neither bald nor fat. He didn't seem to be missing any body parts either, as far as I could tell under the circumstances.
Maybe my eyes were mistaken and it wasn't John? Maybe Jena had been mistaken and had not really found him? Maybe Jena had deliberately misinformed me for some reason of great importance to the mission and of which I was currently unaware? Whichever, I had to chase after him and confirm who it was that I had just seen. Swiftly, my scouting objective temporarily on-hold, I slid down a fire escape and descended to street level. Once there, I ran across the square and charged off along the alleyway down which John, or his double, had just departed.
A hundred microts later I was forced to give up the chase. It was obvious that I had lost him, and, in this drannit-warren, I'd probably never find him again. I sighed despondently. It seemed that Fate had frelled with me once again.
As I started to make my way back towards the square I happened to glance through the open doorway of a nearby bar. The bar was far from packed, it being mid afternoon, and so the patrons inside the darkened hostelry were easy to see for someone with my superior, Sebacean vision. It seemed that Fate hadn't quite finished with me yet, because that was when I spotted him, now ensconced in the shadows deep inside the bar.
I took up a covered position next to the main door and peered closer. It was definitely John! I was just about to rush over to him and pour out my frelling feelings to him when I realised that he was with a pair of what I can only describe as feathery tralks. They were pouting, preening and displaying their loomas to Crichton for all they were worth, which was obviously not a great deal. And, worse, John seemed to be enjoying their company. And some other things, I deduced from the way he was continually taking the opportunity to stare at their cleavages.
This situation obviously merited further surveillance. So I surreptitiously entered the establishment, found myself a dark corner tucked in at the end of the bar and settled in to observe.
"Drink, miss?" came a low, growling voice from nearby. I looked across the bar, following the voice, to see the unmistakable form of a Vorlag bartender. I hadn't seen one of those in a long time. Actually, I'd never seen one of those at all, in all honesty, but I had heard that they make excellent bar tenders. This one seemed to expect me to order something, so, rather than draw attention to myself, I asked him for a small glass of whatever was cheap, cooling and non-alcoholic.
Out of the corner of my eye I perceived that the bar-Vorlag seemed to be giving me a long, appraising look. Then he sighed deeply, perhaps wistfully, smiled, and turned away. After a brief flurry of activity, he returned bearing a small glass receptacle which he set beside me.
With my mind and my eye still on John and his new lady friends I absent-mindedly picked up the glass. I was surprised to notice that it seemed to contain some sort of processed foodstuff and a small metal spoon. I lifted a small amount if the nutrient to my mouth and….. I almost shouted out there and then in shock and ecstasy. The foodstuff was freezing cold, creamy and so, so delicious. The bartender must have seen the expression on my face, because he chuckled. The sound was deep and melodious.
"Sebacean ladies always like the shock co-led I scream," he seemed to say. I had no idea what it was he had given me or what he was saying, but the stuff in the bowl was frelling amazing. I eagerly took another spoonful and nodded appreciatively over a low groan of pleasure. This stuff was almost better than recreation. Almost.
I took several more bites whilst I watched John and his tralks canoodling and cavorting. I was grateful that the stuff I was eating was so cool, because otherwise I might have been overcome with boiling anger.
"So, you seem quite taken by the Sebacean male over there?" my benefactor remarked, quietly enough that only I was likely to hear, whilst he busied himself by polishing the bar top with a huge cloth.
"What if I am?" I replied off-handedly. I took another spoonful. So good.
"Well, even though some might say that a beautiful raven haired goddess such as yourself might be able to set her sights somewhat higher… if yonder male is what would bring a smile to your radiant features, then a humble barkeep such as myself would feel obliged to help in any.."
"Talk a lot, don't you?" I interrupted. He seemed taken aback by my directness, but he shrugged in the affirmative.
"He's in here most days," the barkeep resumed, less loquaciously. "Has a string of floosies hanging off his arm…. and other appendages. I wouldn't waste your time with him… if you ask me, he seems like a bit of a tral….."
I turned and glowered at the barkeep, causing him to cower and fall silent mid-word. It's always nice to know that you haven't lost your touch with the 'deathly glare of silence'. The Vorlag seemed to consider the situation before continuing. At least I assumed that was what he was doing for the 20 or so microts before he spoke again.
"But he likes the Sebacean ladies, too," the Vorlag continued speaking again, now in a conciliatory manner. His voice soon began picking up speed again. "In fact his favourite lady is Sebacean, looks a lot like you, he likes to take her to the beach, I heard, lovely jirl name of Jena."
"Jena!" I nearly shouted. "That scheming tralk!" I hurriedly turned away from John in order to hide my face, just in case John looked my way in response to my outburst and recognised me.
"Miss? Are you alright?" The Vorlag asked sympathetically. I coughed back the urge to shout a stream of invective or to go over to John and Pantak jab him there and then. Instead, I decided it was probably safest to stick to other subjects of conversation for a few microts.
"How much do I owe you for the I is quim?" I asked. Inexplicably the Vorlag spluttered, blushed and averted his eyes. He coughed, although he didn't otherwise seem to be in respiratory distress. It was all most peculiar.
"For you: No charge," he eventually replied, flashing me a toothsome smile. And believe me, few species do toothsome smiles as well as Vorlags. So that is what I paid him.
Unfortunately, whilst I had had my back turned and been distracted with the bartender, John and the two feathery tralks had slipped out. When I realised that they had gone I chased out into the street after them, but there was no sign of them anywhere. So I decided that I'd need to get T'loixi to try to track down John, Chatto and the other two tralks by hacking into the local Infonet. Pausing only to indulge myself with a sigh of disappointment, I returned to my assignment.
'~'
It didn't take much to convince Niem to institute a search for Chatto: She was one of our unit, after all, and had gone absent without leave. Within a couple of arns T'loixi had tracked down both her prowler and the place she was staying. I headed off to her room, while another member of our team took the prowler.
The rest of my day was spent somewhat fruitlessly, as there was no sign of Chatto. Where in the universe had she got to? Maybe she was aware that we were on to her and was hiding out somewhere? As evening dawned, I made a last check of the surveillance devices I had installed around her room and headed off to the bar to meet the rest of the team.
'~'
Anyway, shortly after that, there was a slight change of plan for the assassination squad. We learnt that our target would most likely be staying in orbit. They would not be straying beyond their ship or the orbital transit station during their brief visit to the commerce planet. So, while Niem and T'loixi stayed planet side to plan our attack, I took the marauder and led the remainder of the detachment to reconnoitre our target and the orbital station.
It turned out to be a fairly simple job for a team of trained Peacekeeper commandos, so we just got on with the job there and then. I can't tell you the details, but from docking to undocking was accomplished in less than 300 macrots with no casualties on our side. We didn't even need to kill everyone on board their ship to reach our target. In retrospect, of course, I now realise that it might have been better if we had killed everyone. Then there would have been no unfortunate infections or vendettas to deal with in the days and monens to come. I would tell you more about all of that, but I Promised not to.
Later that day, planetside once again, we soon found ourselves at the Vorlag's bar, where I had arranged for the team to rendezvous with Niem and T'loixi. Whilst the rest of the commandos set about celebrating, I had other aquatic food animals I wanted to cook in hot oil, as Crichton might have remarked. Almost literally as it turned out, but more of that later.
I tarried with my compatriots only long enough to share a (non-alcoholic) drink and for T'loixi to arrive. She'd had some success with the special research I'd asked her to do for me whilst I'd been weightless. She'd found the address of the feathery tralks, but unfortunately not the address for John. I nodded in thanks as I took both the tralks' address and some energy replenishment cubes from the short, plump, blonde-haired tech. I promised the team I'd be back long before closing time and left.
'~'
According to T'loixi, the feathery tralks lived in an apartment 20 macrots across town. Well, T'loixi had reckoned on 30 macrots, but the personal transport driver that I hired made the trip in exceptionally quick time. He could have got a job as a combat pilot they way he drove, although naturally, not with the Peacekeepers.
Once I'd paid off my driver I rapidly ascended the stairs to the fourth floor, where I hammered aggressively on the door of the tralks apartment. I was ready to make it quite painfully clear to them where the limits to their fraternising with John should lie. But, unexpectedly, the door swung open beneath my hand. I unholstered my pulse pistol and, alert for any ambush, ventured inside.
Clouds of thick, pungent smoke clouded vision within the apartment. I sucked back the urge to cough or in some other way give away my presence or position and slowly, methodically ventured deeper inside. There was a feather on the floor, then another and another. I followed a feathery trail towards where they appeared to lay most densely. I reached what seemed to be the cooking area: blue and green feathers now lay everywhere about me on every surface. Something was bubbling away, a vat of hot cooking oil from the smell of it. It was probably that which was causing the smoke. I moved to turn off the heat.
The sight that greeted me in front of the stove was shocking, even to my experienced eyes. The two once-feathery tralks were lying on the floor, quite dead. Having your head fried in hot cooking oil will do that to most species. Even Scarrans, I would imagine, and these ladies were not Scarrans. I quickly checked around for their assailant, but I appeared to be alone. However I noted, with a frown of morbid curiosity, that around eleven different jars of herbs and spices seemed to have been liberally distributed around the area and over the two bodies during the fracas.
Who could or would do such a thing? My thoughts turned to Jena. She was capable, and if she was after John for herself, she would have seen these two as rivals to be disposed of. Yes, Jena seemed the most likely culprit.
It was then that I heard the sirens of the local law enforcement vehicles in the street outside. I glanced out of the window, taking care not to be seen by the officers as they emerged from their transports. With my luck it seemed too much to expect that their business in the building might be related to something other than the two recently dead bodies lying at my feet. It didn't seem wise for me to stick around and try to explain to the local law enforcers that I had nothing to do with the two murders. After all, I had come here with the intention of plucking a few feathers myself. With that thought in mind, I made one last, rapid but futile check for clues and left.
'~'
I started to make my way back towards the bar on foot having decided that I couldn't risk a personal second transport driver identifying me as being at the crime scene. As I strode through the darkened streets, I called up Niem on my communicator in order to let her know where I was.
"What is it, Sun?" Niem snapped, angrily.
"Something's happened…"
"What, with the mission?"
"No, but…"
"Is our team at risk?"
"No… maybe… but…"
"Then I don't want to know till tomorrow. I've got important things to do this evening."
"But lieutenant!" I protested. Such lack of professionalism was shocking.
"No, Sun!" her words cut across my thoughts, leaving me perplexed. "You had your chance and blew it. Now it's my turn!" She snapped. The communicator went silent. I frowned, trying to understand what Niem had meant, and what could be so important to her that she would not want to talk to me. I tried to call her back, but she wasn't answering my calls. I seethed in anger and called T'loixi instead.
"T'loixi, Sun here."
"Y...Yes?" T'loixi was always a simpering bag of submissive nerves when dealing with me or the other commandos. It was frelling annoying.
"What's going on with the lieutenant?" I demanded, probably not helping her nerves. "I just tried to tell her about something important and she bit my head off. Now she's not answering her comms!"
"H…hot…. D…date!" T'loixi supplied, clearly nervous about doing so.
"A DATE!" my anger exploded as I realised the depths of Niem's lack of professionalism.
"Y..yeah. Apparently she bumped into some hot Sebacean-look-alike guy she had as a prisoner a couple of cycles back…."
"An ex-prisoner! And she thinks he'd want to date her!" I almost laughed at the preposterousness of the idea.
"Y… yeah. She said something about a neural chip in his head and him doing whatever she wanted." It only took about a microt then for me to realise why Niem looked familiar. I'd never got a clear look at Scorpius' assistant on the Gammack base, but from the glimpses that I had gotten…. I was sure now that it was her!
"T'loixi! Where is the lieutenant now!" I yelled down the comms. I found that I had been gripped by a sudden, inexplicable and most uncharacteristic urge to pull at someone's long, red hair and scratch at the same someone's eyes with my fingernails.
'~'
I took the stairs up to Niem's hotel room three at a time, only slowing when I came within about twenty paces of the door. It wouldn't do to give away my imminent arrival. Bracing myself for an unpleasant confrontation with what was still, after all, my senior officer, I made my final approach to her room.
I went to knock, but the door was ajar. The gap was scarcely noticeable, but the door was not secure. Realising immediately how strange this was, I drew my pulse pistol and proceeded with due caution. Slowly, gently I pushed the door open and waited a few microts before edging inside.
The condition of the room was a shocking: I'm not ashamed to say that I had to fight back a wave of nausea. There were soft, pink furnishings everywhere, often trimmed with some scratchy-looking hole-filled fabric: It covered the floor, the walls, and, most disturbingly, the bed. Apart from being entirely impractical, I imagined that it was all far from comfortable. The only normal thing about the entire boudoir, from a Peacekeeper perspective, was the currently unused black leather outfit tossed over a heavily tasselled, pink chair.
Niem lay on her back on the enormous, pink bed, her face turned towards the ceiling. Uncharacteristically for a Peacekeeper, she had not moved a dench since I had entered the room. It was all very strange, but not nearly as strange as what she was wearing.
The lieutenant's current outfit, like the rest of the room, didn't look very comfortable, or in keeping with the Peacekeeper uniform code, her rank or her responsibilities. She was dressed, head to toe in a variety of flimsy, transparent pink and white mesh garments which somehow managed to make her look more naked than had she actually not been wearing anything at all.
I took another foot-sliding step towards her. Surprisingly, she had still not moved. I edged still closer, pistol braced in front of me in a two handed grip, ready for anything.
"Lieutenant!" I hissed, somewhat pointlessly. With just one more step I could see that she was quite dead. There was some evidence that she had been murdered. When I say evidence, I mean dead-giveaways, such as the top of her head having somehow been sliced open. There was no sign of any other struggle, which struck me as somewhat strange: Someone had overpowered and killed a trained Peacekeeper officer without even disturbing the furniture. I quickly took another glance around the room, looking for any sign of her attacker. That was when I noticed the small table, set as though for an intimate meal for two. However, the plate of what appeared to be fresh Sebacean brains was a little incongruous, even when served, as it was, with a side salad. I looked back at Niem, and deduced that she had probably had a different dish in mind for her head-to-head with Crichton.
Despite my previous anger at Niem, this went way beyond what I had had in mind to do to the late Lieutenant. I smelt a drannit. A drannit who was also a disruptor. A drannit called Jenavian Chatto.
Speaking of drannits, at that moment I heard the familiar sounds of Crichton, who was loudly singing some of his Erp nonsense as he ascended the last flight of stairs and approached the room. Frell! I couldn't risk him finding me here: Too many, too difficult explanations. And I could hardly sit him down and talk about everything over a pleasant meal, could I?
I only had about a dozen microts to slip quietly out through the window onto the fire exit before he strolled in through the open door, clutching a handful of dead plant blooms. From my vantage point, clinging to the outside of the building, I could just about make out the surprised look on his face, although I had no trouble in hearing his surprised exclamation. I decided that if this matter was ever resolved I'd have to ask him what that strange word he had called out meant, as the translator microbes refused to translate it. It sounded to me like 'Belch them.'
There was clearly no way that I could return to the room without John assuming that I was the murderer, so I tarried just long enough to check that no one else was lying in wait, ready to attack Crichton, before slipping away into the night.
'~'
When I got back to the bar an arn later there was no sign of my squad, so I asked the friendly Vorlag barkeep if he knew when they had left and where they were headed. He didn't know, although he did comment that they seemed to be a little bit tired and emotional when they had left. Several of them had been unable even to stand. I scowled. I could understand my squad being tired after the strain of our mission, but emotional…. That was just unforgivable, were it true.
I thanked the Vorlag for his time and stalked out of the bar, resolving to head back to the marauder and wait for them there.
Luckily for me, I was still well over 200 paces away from our ship when it exploded in an orange-y fireball. I slipped into the now heavily accentuated shadows and watched long enough to determine that if any of the squad had been unfortunate enough to have been aboard the marauder when it had exploded, then they were highly unlikely to have survived the blast or subsequent fire.
I cursed Jena to Hezmana for this latest betrayal.
There was nothing for it but to make for the primary emergency rendezvous and wait to see which, if any, members of my squad showed up.
'~'
Another arn passed and a cold, night wind blew through the food storage and processing facility which we had chosen for our emergency rendezvous. Despite the chill, I was feeling comfortably warm, though. I was starting to wonder whether Jena had got to T'loixi, too, and whether I might be wise just to cut my losses and run. Just as I was about to go, a mousy, frightened figure emerged from the shadows of a large freezer unit about a dozen paces away.
"A… Aeryn? I… is that you?" the figure asked, her nervousness coming through in her quivering voice. I squinted to see better, as my eyes seemed to be having problems focussing: It was definitely T'loixi.
"Is there anyone else with you?" I hissed, not holstering my weapon or dropping my guard.
"No!" she whined miserably, slowly drawing closer to me. She looked and moved like a scared drannit. "Everyone but you, me and the lieutenant were on the ship!"
"The lieutenant's dead anyway…."
"Dead?"
"Dead! Look, is there something wrong with your hearing? Someone seems intent on killing off our squad… and one or two other people as well," I explained through gritted teeth. This jirl was slow. I had an awful headache developing and it was getting quite hot in here. I didn't need her dren right now.
"Other people?" T'loixi sounded shocked, terrified even. Oh, for frells sake! What was it going to take to get through to this stupid tech?
"Yes. Those feathery tralks got themselves deep fried," I supplied with a wave of my hand.
"Do you know who it was?" She asked breathlessly. I scowled at her.
"The feathery Tralks. I just said." Really, how obtuse could she be?
"No, who killed them, I mean?" T'loixi persisted.
"Jenavian Chatto I reckon!" I accused. "She seems to be obsessed with John and I think she has been eliminating any rivals to his affections."
"But why kill our team?" T'loixi asked with a horrified gasp. My growing headache must have been getting to me, because I didn't notice that she didn't question the John connection.
"Well, she's gone absent without leave from our cell," I explained my deductions. "When she saw us here on the planet she was probably worried we might try to take her back to the group or…" A sudden wave of nausea and dizziness swept over me and I half-crumpled, leaning back into a storage unit for support.
"Officer Sun!" T'loixi asked, her face a mask of concern as she reached out to feel my forehead. "You're burning up!"
She took a step back just as my knees gave way and I crumpled to the hard, cold floor. It was then that I noticed that T'loixi had taken my pistol from my hand and was grinning at me, a victorious smile playing across her features as she stood and backed away another step.
"My congratulations, Officer Sun," she grinned, her eyes now twinkling maniacally in the reflected rays of the distant lights outside the warehouse. All sign of her previous nervous demeanour had suddenly vanished. "You've proved far harder to dispose of than any of the others. And much though I'd like to stay and make sure you don't somehow survive this time, I have promises to keep elsewhere," she remarked with a wink.
And with that, only pausing at the door long enough to check that I was still succumbing to whatever it was that I was succumbing to, she slipped away into the night. She never even bothered to tell me what the frell was going on, which I though was just rude plain of her.
'~'
"Officer Sun, it's so good to see you again," Scorpius crowed as he stalked around me, always careful to keep just beyond my lashing-out range. He held what looked like a syringe in one hand and I had a nasty feeling he had just injected me with something whilst I had been going through a particularly delirious period. "I wish I could say you were looking well, but no matter."
"You! It's you who've been killing my squad!" I accused him, between laboured breaths.
He smiled as though I had spoken the truth. "Alas… No," he said in denial. "In fact, I do believe that I have just saved your life."
"Then what…?" I asked, never seriously expecting him to supply an answer. I was somewhat surprised when he did.
"I was here on this… delightful planet… with lieutenant Braca and a small, but loyal team of my own. Our interest here was purely in…. protecting….. John Crichton. So you can imagine our surprise when we also encountered not just you and your team, but also Jenavian Chatto and… something else."
"Something else?" I asked. "What the frell…?"
"A bioloid. You do know what a bioloid is, do you not, Officer Sun?" I nodded in the affirmative. The motion nearly made me throw up.
"So? Why should I care about any of this?" I snapped. I didn't feel in the mood for his sort of conversation. "And what's so special about a frelling bioloid?" I demanded. He smiled coyly.
"It was manufactured shortly after your escape from our Gammack base, two cycles ago," he failed to explain. I frowned.
"So? Get the frell on with it if you're going to!" He smiled, as though indulging an ungrateful and unworthy cadet.
"Well, after you and your associates had jettisoned the body of the other traitor, the late Senior Technician Raenez, we recovered her corpse and attempted to transfer her consciousness into a bioloid."
"Why the frell…?" I began to question. But he had already held up a hand to request, no, demand my silence and leave to continue.
"In order to interrogate her and learn more of your group and its plans, of course. However, something went awry with the transfer process. It is always hazardous trying to create a bioloid from a corpse. Things get jumbled…. Lost…. Important things."
"What the frell…?" I tried again. This was bizarre and irrelevant, even by Scorpius' standards.
"Officer Sun, you really ought to try to enlarge your vocabulary if you want to get ahead in life." He sighed. I sighed too, but for different reasons. "Unfortunately, the Raenez bioloid was single-mindedly obsessed with finding and mating with John Crichton. Anything in her way, any obstacles, any perceived rivals, were… and still are…. brutally disposed of. She went rogue."
"Why didn't you just terminate her?" I snapped. It seemed a reasonable enough question.
"Oh we tried. Believe me," he sighed again. "However, does the phrase 'You cannot kill what does not live' mean anything to you?" He said it with a strange, lispy affectation. I have no idea why.
"No," I shook my head. "But the concept…."
"Yes?"
"…Is frelling stupid!" I spat angrily.
"Nevertheless, the bioloid, now going under the names of Trixie, or most recently T'loixi, was following you in the hope of finding Crichton. When the unfortunate Disruptor Chatto found…"
"What do you mean, unfortunate?"
"Oh, do try to keep up, Officer Sun," this time it really did seem as though his sigh was heartfelt.
"Isn't Jena behind all this?" I asked.
"Alas for her…. No." He slapped his hand on the freezer cabinet he was standing in front of. "In fact, she is currently behind this." He slapped the cabinet again for emphasis. "The work of the bioloid, again. I would imagine a good diagnosian could revive her with few ill effects, but good diagnosians are so hard to come by, don't you find?"
I growled at him. He smiled back.
"You're just full of dren…" I pointed out.
"Why do you persist in doubting me?" he asked wearily. So saying he pulled open the freezer door. Through the swirling clouds of subliming gases I could just about make out that the frozen Sebaceanoid figure within did indeed seem to be Jena. So, who's the frigid Peacekeeper skank now, I laughed to myself? Satisfied that his point had been made, he shut the door.
"Anyway, to cut a long story short, I think that all of your team actually came here looking for Crichton, except, ironically, yourself," he allowed himself a laugh. I didn't join him. "But all that most of them found was an unfortunate end at the hands of Technician T'loixi, or should I say, Trixie. It seems that you were proving the hardest to dispose of, so she chose a particularly nasty biogenic weapon, supplied by the Hokothians, associates of your last target, to finally ensure your demise. It is keyed to your DNA and causes heat delirium. Most unpleasant," he nodded sympathetically as though he rally did understand, which I suppose he did.
So that would explain my sudden weakness, I thought.
"Look, why are you telling me all of this?" I blurted out.
He seemed to consider this for a few microts. "Perhaps because I am bored? And besides, it is not MY scheme which I am outlining to you. I might even gain some advantage from helping you. So why wouldn't I?"
"You're farbot…" I observed.
"Perhaps." He shrugged it off. "Nevertheless, I think you would agree that we cannot allow the bioloid Raenez to claim Crichton. To that end, one of my operatives is currently plying him with Vorlag Zombies at the bar which he frequents."
None of what Scorpius was saying made much sense. I decided to let him continue in the hope that something lucid would emerge. Besides, my store of expletives was nearly exhausted. Even so, I still had questions.
"Vorlag Zombies? But aren't they hazardous to Sebaceans? Don't they cause hallucinations, memory and shoe loss and excessive facial hair growth?"
Scorpius nodded and gave a strange grin. If I had to describe his emotional state, I would say he was most likely amused.
"Indeed they do. Oh dear. What a pity. Never mind," his grin flashed wider for a microt then diminished as he grew more serious once again. "The memory loss and hallucinations should prove useful, in that we can convince him that he never was here on this planet. Although the facial hair growth is an unpleasant but unavoidable evil," he conceded. "As to the shoe loss?" He shrugged as though it didn't matter. "I understand other items of clothing may be affected as well. No matter."
Whatever it was that Scorpius had injected me with at the start of our conversation now seemed to be taking effect as I found that I was feeling a little cooler and less weak and delirious. I sat up, intending to take matters into my own hands. This proved unwise, as I almost threw up into the bargain.
"Have you got any more of that stuff?" I nodded towards the syringe, now discarded on the floor nearby. I struggled to raise myself onto hands and knees to fetch it, but found I was not nearly as recovered as I hoped that I was. I slumped back to a seating position.
"Alas, even if I had, it would do you no good. One dose is all that a Sebacean such as yourself can tolerate without permanent damage to your gluteus maximus perfectum," I had no idea what that was, but it sounded serious and I decided I didn't want to risk it.
Scorpius seemed to ponder my predicament for a few microts. "Of course, in your current state you would merely encumber my efforts to rescue Crichton from the Bioloid, so I shall have to leave you here. When you feel well enough to stand you should take Chatto's Prowler and meet me at these coordinates…" he pulled a data chip out of some unspeakable crevice in his outfit and tossed it to me, "… in two weekens – I will come - prepared with a more durable solution to your overheating problem."
He turned and began to walk away. He had barely gone a few steps when he stopped and half turned in the doorway. He taped one finger to his forehead and smiled. "Just one more thing, Officer Sun. You must, of course, promise never to reveal any of the events here to Crichton. Far better for him to think that he has spent six monens alone on an old Leviathan than that he has spent the time here as some sort of playbeing, enjoying untold comfort, ease and carnal pleasures."
"Why?" I asked.
"Only to be snatched away from all of that tedious decadence by you and I. Far better for everyone's sake, that he believes he has spent the last six monens marooned on a derelict Leviathan, wouldn't you say?"
I could see his point. So I promised not to say anything to John. And you know how I am with promises.
'~'
Anyway, that almost concludes my tale. I know that Scorpius and his associates succeeded in getting Crichton away, with the loss of some of his memory and clothing and with him gaining a substantial amount of facial hair. I also understand that Scorpius' team took him to the relative safety of an old Leviathan and left him there while they attended to some other business of theirs. I think they then all ran into some sort of trouble with some other Peacekeepers, the details of which no one seems to want to discuss with me. However, Scorpius did eventually get away from all of that and made his way to our rendezvous, even though arrived there a weeken or so late.
And then, I think, you know the rest: Within the monen we were all aboard Moya. Except, happily, for Trixie the bioloid.
I know that Scorpius was right and that I can never tell John what really happened in those six monens, and so he can never know what I know about the unspeakable, blonde threat which hangs over us. I can feel in my bones that she is still out there, somewhere in the dark emptiness of space, plotting, scheming, waiting for her chance to fulfil her dark desires.
But when and if she does come, I'm going to be ready for her. And I'm going to blow her frelling bioloid brains out. That should ruin her hair and give her pause for thought. It's the only thing blondes like her can understand.
The End