"Long Dark Night"
by ValleyA
(set immediately after Hidden Memory)
Chapter One
"He isn't doing any better here than he was onboard Moya. Just look at him," Chiana whispered into her mug of razlak as she took a drink.
In response, Pau'u Zhoto Zhaan glanced over at John Crichton across the crowded consortium for a moment before she sighed and looked away. "I was hoping a change in his surroundings would help bring him out of his grief, but I see that I was mistaken."
"Can't you do something for him? Some... priest thing to ease his pain-"
Zhaan's frown was enough to silence the young woman.
"There is not a thing that can be done for a heart that is broken and a spirit that is wounded. One must simply give time a chance to mend the wounds. I pray in John's case, the healing will come quickly."
Chiana heard the worry in Zhaan's voice and wished she hadn't pressed the Delvian so hard. All of them were at a loss as to how to help Crichton recover from his ordeal at the Peacekeeper base. She looked up at Zhaan. The priest wore her light-colored wrap draped gracefully around her head, accentuating her blue skin tones, and giving her a regal bearing.
The bartender, a stout Pandorian with three arms, green hair, and cream-colored skin came along, whistling as he wiped at the counter with a towel with one arm while filling a mug with razlak with the other two. "Can I get you another?"
Zhaan smiled at him. "No, thank you. We are fine."
The Pandorian frowned as he looked in Crichton's direction. "Mind if I asked you a question?"
Zhaan eyed the bartender closely. "Go ahead."
Without looking back at her, he said, "Is that Peacekeeper with you? I thought I saw you walk in together."
Chiana glanced over at John, and then noticed the people around him also looking at John, but with distrust and quiet whispers.
Zhaan sighed and shook her head. "No, he is not a Peacekeeper. He's not even Sebecean, but he did come in with us. He is part of our crew."
The Pandorian considered her words and finally said, "He doesn't look very happy."
"He isn't," Zhaan said sadly.
"Most Peacekeepers aren't," the Pandorian said quietly.
"He is no more a Peacekeeper than I am," Zhaan said sternly.
The Pandorian put up all three hands and backed away. "Don't let the Katarrahs get you all wound up. I was only asking."
"Katarrahs?" she asked.
The Pandorian grunted. "I forget about off-worlders sometimes. It's our winter winds. They can knock down a town if they get strong enough. Mostly, they irritate the hezmana out of people and get their emotions all whipped up, along with clearing the roadways."
"Interesting," Zhaan replied, then added, "I am sorry for my harsh tone."
"Don't worry about it."
After he went to help another customer, Zhaan hung her head for a moment. "Was that the only reason why I got so angry with him?"
Chiana put a hand on Zhaan's shoulder. "We've all been under a lot of stress. Don't worry about it."
There was a commotion up front as a blast of wind blew the front door open with enough force to knock two people into each other. Chiana frowned at the haze of dust it left in the air. She took another swig of razlak and then wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. "Well, Crichton needs some company, whether he wants it or not...I'm going to sit with him for a while."
Zhaan touched Chiana's shoulder gently. "Do not be alarmed if he doesn't speak with you. He's barely said a word since we arrived."
"He's barely said a word in days..." the Nebari whispered as she stood at the bar, swaying softly to the sultry music the live band was playing. One more look at John and her decision was finalized.
"I'll be careful with him," she added as an afterthought, not quite sure if she planned to be careful for John's sake or her own.
When they returned from the gamik base, Crichton had asked them to respect his privacy, but nothing could truly be private among shipmates. The change in their friend was too dramatic for that. Chiana remembered how Aeryn Sun quietly explained the purpose of the Aurora chair to them, along with its torturous effects in vivid detail during the night following Crichton's rescue.
And she remembered shedding silent tears for John as Aeryn described how the chair searched through a person's memories like it was a heavy plow moving through a field of eggshells, sometimes searching for specific memories, sometimes not. It caused both psychic and physical agony for the victim. The truth was John's terrible experiences with the chair hit too close to home. She also could have spent time there herself, if her escape hadn't gone as smoothly as it did. It was only a fluke she was able to flee the base when she did.
Frelling Aurora chair! It's almost worse than the mental cleansing my people had wanted to do to me, she told herself angrily, because the person remembers every minute of the agony afterwards.
She thought again about her escape. Who was she kidding? Her getaway wasn't a fluke. The only reason she was able to escape the gamik base when she did was because of Gilina. The woman really did care about Crichton. Chiana couldn't imagine how John felt knowing Gilina was dead because of that affection.
John had been an easy-going guy, a little testy when it came to his module, but in general an easy going guy. When she compared the memories of him to the present John Crichton, she could see how deeply John wore the wounds of a prisoner of war. It seemed nothing was going to change that condition...except maybe time, if Zhaan's prediction was to be trusted, along with lots of TLC from his friends.
"Chiana?"
Chi blinked and slowly turned back to Zhaan, only then realizing how completely she'd been lost in thought. What had happened to John had affected all of them a great deal, she just hadn't seen how deeply until then. Zhaan seemed to understand Chiana's lapse of attention as she stepped closer to her. "Chiana, we only have a few hours before our supplies will arrive and we can leave, so stay close. With this many travelers in town, we can easily get separated."
Chiana shrugged and toyed with the mug still in her hand. "That's what comms are for. Besides, it's getting late. The streets should be clear by the time we want to leave."
Zhaan shook her head. "Pilot said the comms could malfunction with the heavy dust storms they have here, something to do with the high concentration of silitron in the atmosphere. We need to stay close."
"I'm close. Don't worry about me. It's D'Argo and Aeryn you should be worried about. They left for the transport pod an arn ago, and we haven't heard from them since then."
Zhaan sighed. "Yes, I know, but I can trust them to keep a level head, so I'd rather the rest of us didn't spread out too far. It would be an unnecessary annoyance."
Chiana nodded, but she allowed herself a deep sigh of irritation. With all of Zhaan's efforts towards enlightenment, she never realized she had a real way of talking down to Chiana without even trying.
Chi stopped when she noticed the bartender speaking to another employee. The two looked across the saloon and eyed Crichton suspiciously before looking back at Zhaan and Chiana. Chiana shivered. It seemed distrust of Peacekeepers was alive and well on Mebendik. At least, that thought was comforting. She toyed with the idea of talking to the Pandorian, so he'd really understand John wasn't a Peacekeeper, but then decided they weren't going to be there long enough to matter.
As she walked away, Chiana took in the atmosphere around her. The place was called a consortium, because of its many businesses inside the establishment. It contained a saloon, a thriving supply station, a restaurant, a source of live entertainment and was a meeting place for many of the locals.
Purple, brown and gold were the predominant colors on this world called Mebendik as the colors stood out in the clothing and interior design of the establishment. The goldish tone to the dust seemed to accentuate the gold that played into the grand color scheme. Cleanliness was obviously not a top priority as there was a fine layer of dust upon everything. Little wonder with the wind beginning to blow like it was, keeping on top of it would be nearly impossible.
The dust didn't seem to bother the people present in the consortium. The people there could be divided into three categories. One, the employees in the saloon: the vendors, dancers, singers, waiters and bartenders; two, the usual clientele of local residents, mostly miners, who were largely resentful of the third category; the wayfarers, those making the sacred pilgrimage to Aserraki, the holy birth site of their ancient prophet, Danifa.
The wayfarers were godfearing believers who followed their religion's dictates and journeyed to Aserraki every five years in order to be counted as one of the chosen. Visiting the site on one's birthday held a special significance, and trips were usually planned to honor the head of the household on their birthday.
Mebendik's inhabitants were much like Sebeceans, except they had an elongated chin, lavender colored eyes and mane-like hair that ran anywhere from white to a brilliant gold to dark brown.
Chiana watched the wayfarers with interest as they moved about. They all had a familiar cast to them. She had seen it time afer time on different worlds. The truly devout rarely had any currency to spare, so their fate was dependent upon their faith and hard work to carry them through.
These travelers in the consortium were there for supplies and maybe a well-cooked meal. Their clothing was functional, done in simple textiles and earthy colors, and none of them wore gold or purple in their attire, unlike the employees and residents of the town. They clearly spurned the more materialistic, glitzy side of their planet's culture. Most of the wayfarers inside were lingering while waiting for their supplies to be processed and loaded. Though their numbers were large, it was strange that so many of them were often treated as second class citizens.
She nearly bumped into a pair of wayfarers, a young woman and a body. "Excuse me," Chiana said softly.
The woman smiled. "No harm done."
The woman was jostled from behind. A trio of men pushed their way through. "If you can't watch out for normal folk, how can you know when the Unseen is about to strike?"
The words were said with mock concern and the tone rankled Chiana's nerves. Trouble seemed to be in the air. The speaker continued, "If you knew what was good for you, you'd get out of town now. It ain't gonna be real safe around here for wayfarers real soon."
The woman put her arm around the boy and headed back toward the supply station at the rear of the business without saying another word.
The man with the threatening tone turned his attention to Chiana. "Don't worry, these wayfarers won't be bothering you for much longer."
"Don't trouble yourself on my account," she said as she turned away, deliberating doing the opposite of what her heart wanted to do, namely teach these men some manners. But Zhaan had told to keep a low profile and that was what she was going to do.
Chiana resumed her course, and angled her way across the crowd to the corner where John was sitting. Normally, Crichton's light brown hair, blue eyes, dimples and strong jawline made him a person of interest to the women around him, but now he was gathering more nervous glances than anything else, but he wasn't interested in any of it. Unfortunately, there wasn't much that did interest him these days.
John had positioned himself with his back to the wall, able to see anyone who approached him, though his attention seemed turned more inward. His distant gaze hinted at introspection, but his pained expression told more. As she watched, he grimaced, then gasped, bending forward slightly as if in pain. He held tightly to the table's edge with both hands. When he finally raised his head, a brief flash of panic crossed his eyes and they darted around the room, almost as if he didn't know where he was. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth as he settled back into his chair.
Chiana increased her pace, but by the time she arrived, John seemed to have recovered somewhat. His complexion was still misted with perspiration, his breathing rapid, but he recognized her and attempted to smile.
"Hello, handsome," Chiana said softly as she turned a chair around and sat facing its back, wrapping her legs around the back of the chair, moving quickly before John could tell her to leave. She smiled as she set down her mug, and reached forward, cracking the seal on his unopened bottle of razlak without invitation.
"How did you know my cup was empty?" she asked with a feigned innocence, her voice low and sexy.
With a flourish, she poured his drink and hers, then set the bottle down, and strummed her fingers across the top of the poorly cleaned table. She glanced around and was at a loss at what to do next, so her mouth took over. "Pilot said there were a lot of people in town, but I didn't think he meant this many. What was it again that they are doing?"
John sniffed as if thinking of his response, then answered her without looking at her. "A sacred pilgrimage."
He took a long draw on his razlak, closing his eyes as he drank. Chi's worry for him grew as she watched. She leaned forward, trying to pull him out of himself with conversation. "But Pilot said a lot of the wayfarers die every year on this sacred pilgr-pilgr...however the hezmana you say it. I'll never understand religions that make you think you have to die for a holy cause. In my book, God would never want you to suffer like that, but then again, I've never really had that many conversations with God."
John simply closed his eyes again and brought his mug to his lips, this time sipping at the brew like it was some healing balm. His sigh afterward told how poorly the balm had worked. Chiana wasn't sure what to do next.
She thought again about propositioning him again, then tossed the notion aside. John had a real hangup about promiscuous sex, or maybe it was just promiscuous sex with her. He seemed to attach some deeper, spiritual meaning to it, but sex was sex to her. She only knew that it made her feel better. If she had gone through the type of ordeal John had just been through, she would desperately need it, so maybe John did, too.
She looked up to see John squeeze his eyes shut as something new took hold of him, something akin to fear, but then he caught himself, quickly looking to Chi to see if she had noticed. There was a hollow cast of despair that flashed in his eyes, and then disappeared almost as fast as it came, and she knew the new look had been psychological pain.
When the moment had passed, he stared at her with those penetrating blue eyes of his before finally glancing away. He sighed with a great fatigue, one more borne of the spirit than the body and picked up the half empty bottle of razlak. He played with it for a moment and said, "Pip, stop worrying about me, I'm fine. Besides, you don't make a very good Mother Theresa."
He grunted as he rolled his eyes. "Hell, Mother Theresa probably just rolled over in her grave for saying that. You're not known for modesty or restraint or any of the other things nuns are usually known for. You're an amazing woman, Chi, but you just don't fit the bill."
She was about to ask what a nun was when an explosion outside stopped her. Another followed in rapid succession. John's hand went to his pulse pistol as Chiana reached for hers.
A strange cheer that went up from both outside and in with the explosions, as if it were some type of community event, but not everyone was celebrating. Again, the consortium's patrons were divided into separate groups, the locals who pushed their way out the front doors in excited anticipation, those that stayed behind, the employees and patrons not in the first group, and finally the wayfarers who ran out the back way in fear.
Frell, Chiana thought, why are we always in the middle of someone else's dren?
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