A small bronze-and-brown pod sat on the outskirts of a spaceport on a
warm, brown and yellow planet called Armanith. There wasn't a lot of
vegetation, but a cool breeze all but made up for the lack of shade.
Nearby was a bustling marketplace with stalls made of wooden poles and
cloth, and nearer to the spaceport was a building with high sandstone-
colored walls that offered the only reliable protection from the sun's
rays.
Aeryn and D'Argo lifted the last box into the pod's hold. As D'Argo went around to the front of the small vehicle to close the back hatch, Aeryn leaned against the side of the pod, looking slightly worn out, and lifted the communicator to her mouth.
"John?"
There was a short silence, then:
"Yeah?"
"We're all finished down here and ready to come back." She pushed away from the pod and walked around to the front and the pilot's seat.
"Alright. See ya in a few."
Aeryn clambered into the pod. As it took off, a churning ring of dust slowly moved away from where it had been.
* * *
A few solar days later, Moya moved calmly through the blackness of space. How wonderful to just be flying, and not chased and shot at! Still, despite the peace, something was already wrong.
The time was approximately 1930 arns. Inside, John, Aeryn and D'Argo sat around the Command Deck looking somewhat bored, but perfectly happy to be that way. Chiana, Zhaan and Rygel were in their respective quarters. All was quiet except for the throbbing hum of Moya that they were accustomed to.
Suddenly, a booming sound had everyone on his or her feet as the corresponding ball of light that was a ship's projectile flashed across the viewing screen and headed off into space.
"What the..?!" yelled Chrichton. Similar exclamations had risen from the other two, and all were now staring at the screen.
"They're sending a transmission..." said D'Argo, frantically pushing buttons. An image popped up on the screen of a tall, dark man with brown skin, neatly pulled-back black hair, amber eyes, and a hawk-like profile. Behind him was the ship's bridge, manned by four or five others all wearing the same tan-with-yellow uniform. This man didn't waste time with formality but got straight to the point:
"We have reason to believe," he drawled in a thick baritone voice, "that you are hiding an escaped criminal on board your ship. If this person is not surrendered within twelve arns time, we will not hesitate to destroy you."
Quickly deciding that he was not the sort of person to be taken lightly, the three aboard Moya took action at once and simultaneously.
Aeryn: attempted to 'pacify' hawk-man: "Hold on for just a micron; we don't know what you're talking about. We're not hiding anyone..."
D'Argo: "I'll start searching Moya." He headed off to find the others.
Chrichton: whirled around to face the clamshell and shouted into the comm.: "Pilot! Is there any damage? How soon can we get the defense screen up? Pilot?"
The said image flickered into clarity, looking gray and feverish. He looked toward John, but didn't really seem to see him. His face was tight with pain.
"I'm not well..."
Aeryn and D'Argo lifted the last box into the pod's hold. As D'Argo went around to the front of the small vehicle to close the back hatch, Aeryn leaned against the side of the pod, looking slightly worn out, and lifted the communicator to her mouth.
"John?"
There was a short silence, then:
"Yeah?"
"We're all finished down here and ready to come back." She pushed away from the pod and walked around to the front and the pilot's seat.
"Alright. See ya in a few."
Aeryn clambered into the pod. As it took off, a churning ring of dust slowly moved away from where it had been.
* * *
A few solar days later, Moya moved calmly through the blackness of space. How wonderful to just be flying, and not chased and shot at! Still, despite the peace, something was already wrong.
The time was approximately 1930 arns. Inside, John, Aeryn and D'Argo sat around the Command Deck looking somewhat bored, but perfectly happy to be that way. Chiana, Zhaan and Rygel were in their respective quarters. All was quiet except for the throbbing hum of Moya that they were accustomed to.
Suddenly, a booming sound had everyone on his or her feet as the corresponding ball of light that was a ship's projectile flashed across the viewing screen and headed off into space.
"What the..?!" yelled Chrichton. Similar exclamations had risen from the other two, and all were now staring at the screen.
"They're sending a transmission..." said D'Argo, frantically pushing buttons. An image popped up on the screen of a tall, dark man with brown skin, neatly pulled-back black hair, amber eyes, and a hawk-like profile. Behind him was the ship's bridge, manned by four or five others all wearing the same tan-with-yellow uniform. This man didn't waste time with formality but got straight to the point:
"We have reason to believe," he drawled in a thick baritone voice, "that you are hiding an escaped criminal on board your ship. If this person is not surrendered within twelve arns time, we will not hesitate to destroy you."
Quickly deciding that he was not the sort of person to be taken lightly, the three aboard Moya took action at once and simultaneously.
Aeryn: attempted to 'pacify' hawk-man: "Hold on for just a micron; we don't know what you're talking about. We're not hiding anyone..."
D'Argo: "I'll start searching Moya." He headed off to find the others.
Chrichton: whirled around to face the clamshell and shouted into the comm.: "Pilot! Is there any damage? How soon can we get the defense screen up? Pilot?"
The said image flickered into clarity, looking gray and feverish. He looked toward John, but didn't really seem to see him. His face was tight with pain.
"I'm not well..."