Crouched behind the back wall of a quickly crumbling building, John Crichton could almost see death waving at him from around the corner. The smell of shakan oil hung heavily in the air and through the reddish - green dust he could see dozens of soldiers swarming the buildings behind him.
All he had to do was get back to the transport pod and he could get back to Moya, back to Aeryn.
"Surrender or die." The voice was loud and commanding, like he would expect from any peacekeeper. But these weren't just peacekeepers. They were hunters from every part of the galaxy.
John chuckled bitterly. It was more likely surrender and die. And the second option was undoubtedly less painful than the first. He was no fool and the thought of surrendering his mind to anyone turned his stomach.
Crawling here on the floor, all he could think of was Aeryn. Her long hair, the softest he had ever touched. And skin so strong and perfect it put a diamond to shame. No flaws, just intricate lines and patterns and signs that told him everything she was thinking and sometimes nothing at all. She'd be waiting for him. All he had to do was make it there.
The ultimatum didn't warrant an answer. John crawled quietly through the merchant stalls, searching for anything that might serve as a distraction.
D'Argo would be looking for him. They could do anything together. He just had to find the big guy.
It was all about finding people. Getting to places 2 metras, and a fleet of bounty hunters too far away.
Aeryn was going to kill him.
He just had to get back to her.
His leg was throbbing and it took him a moment to realize that there was something stuck in it. Something hard, sharp, pointy enough to scrape the bone of his thigh. It was a scary thought that even with a piece of metal the length of his arm lodged in his leg, John Crichton barely put a thought to moving. He just kept crawling, fingers feeling for any change in the ground beneath him.
There were glass and rocks embedded in his palms and his knees but that was little more than a nuisance when faced with a squad of bounty hungry savages.
Louder than Lola's guns, John could hear the boots thud through the deserted streets.
The only thing he had to his advantage was their rivalry. The hunters were from different groups. All were tipped off separately by the same trader. The groups tracked him separately, so they covered a limited amount of ground. If they'd been working together, he'd have been long captured by now, but as it was, he managed to hide between the groups, going past the other when they completed a sweep. But he didn't know how long he could keep this up.
He shook his head. All he had to do was get back to Moya and he could put this whole thing behind him.
He was almost there. But almost didn't count, did it? No. Not when he was so far away from his only way out of this eerily familiar situation. His back up against a lonely wall, staving off an army with just one pulse rifle and the hope that someone, anyone would be there in a moment to help him. He was already losing consciousness from the loss of blood and the throbbing that had started ten minutes after he'd made the decision to leave the piece of shrapnel in his leg.
Aeryn was going to kill him for getting killed. He just wanted to see her face before she did, he just wanted to etch every detail of her into his mind before he went because if there was anything of this life he wanted to take with him, it would be the people he loved.
And he was so scared that he'd never see her face again.
The concussion from the blast sapped him of whatever strength he might have had left and as he felt his body began to fall, he felt a surge of panic in his gut.
"You are a very foolish man." The soft sound of Aeryn's accented voice brought a smile to John's face.
"So I've been told."
"No, you were told to stay where you were."
"Then what? Hope that they didn't see me?"
"D'Argo would have found you." But the question wasn't whether he would have found him, but whether he would have done it in time. Would Aeryn have stayed put had John asked her to? He doubted that very much but he didn't want to argue. So he nodded his agreement and reached out for her hand.
"You've lost a lot of blood."
"I know."
"And you won't be walking on that leg for a while. You fractured the bone and there's serious damage to the muscle. You'll need rest."
"Somehow I don't think that's possible on Moya."
"You should have stayed where we told you to."
"And risk not seeing you again sunshine?"
"One of these days, John Crichton, your luck will run out."
"That's what I'm afraid of."