Title: Al'dahara
Author: AsianScaper
Disclaimer: Farscape and its characters are owned by Jim Henson, The Hallmark Network, and the Sci-Fi Channel. No infringement is intended.
Rating: G
Category: General
Feedback: Friends, enemies: Send your comments or constructive criticism to larq003@hotmail.com
Summary: Moya's crew goes on an unprecedented visit to the mysterious bar in the middle of the city of Ul'mak'ara and they meet an unlikely host. This serves as the continuation to my earlier story 'The Commerce Planet'.
Spoilers: None
Archiving: I'd be honored to have this posted wherever you fellow Scapers wish. Though, I'd appreciate it very much if you could drop me a line and tell me where it's at.
Dedication: To all ye Scapers out there.
Author's Note: Please read and review! It's a story in progress and I'm not sure if any of you would like it. Even the title's not final. It'll come slow though not steady since only a few chosen things inspire me to write but I will try to finish it. Once I get the final draft, I'll squeeze it into one file. I need your help to prod me onward. I need your ideas! Other than that, enjoy! Hope you like it! And tell me if you do *grin*.
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Continued from 'The Commerce Planet'
***
Entering the outskirts of Ul'mak'ara filled John with an unbridled desire to wander off and explore. The entrance to the city was one that enticed any wandering bandit or, for that matter, any wandering fugitive, to dig into the suburbs. It was the closest thing John had come to a haven in the middle of the Uncharted Territories. Every wanderer, each with a race that had somehow disowned them, bore smiles yet unseen in their unending hunts for peace.
The city stood well away from the ocean yet the air that perforated inside the Shield Dike, as they called it, bore the strength of an ocean breeze and carried upon it the smells of food and drink. Mogrid'in, when one sees it from the outskirts of the city, was a hostile place and it was meant to be such but only to invaders. If one knew where to look for the elusive truth, the sheltered city of Ul'mak'ara was an unbound treasure.
Indeed, thieves fed on their own in this jolly little town and one could see two or three bandits being accosted by yet another, well armed bounty hunter. Every level of nefarious felons would have been categorized in the dress and measure of these stately villains. Thieving brats and notorious bandits were better than Peacekeepers in a searching rampage after all.
Yet there was a balance of peace and order and the sweet odor of it surrounded the biggest establishment. Signs written in a display of languages and races flashes against screens while aliens barged out the doors in a drunken throng. John though, had to respect the way by which two or three of the bigger customers would watch their backs before bruising a drinking comrade.
Whoever owned this place, if Rygel was to be believed, was the closest thing the planet had to a leader. Even his 'palatial' residence exuded the grandness of a ruling monarch in a rather rough, grubby way. It stood more than thirty stories in height and its windows were lit in pleasant hues of yellow and white. Although, he was told, it took decades to build it simply because it had not been built. It was a coral reef of extinct yet diverse structures and space-faring vessels that had somehow made its way there and had settled unconsciously in what had now developed into a sprawling city-state.
Cruisers?
John squinted and wondered at the protruding bow of a carrier.
Yes, cruisers.
"This place is incredible," he said to no one in particular.
Chiana heard him and the Nebari wrapped her arms around his and proceeded to lead him to Al'dahara. "Well, that's only the outside," she told him, tugging at his arm.
D'argo was looking hastily from one place to another. He was the tallest, after all, and the crowd of people who came and went, made his comrades susceptible to illusions. The Luxan's height accounted for a small nod that told of momentary safety.
"It's all clear," D'argo muttered, clenching his fists in anxiety. "I don't see any Peacekeepers though you must be wary of agents."
John patted the Luxan's shoulder. "Sure, big guy."
Aeryn quickened her pace to simply stay beside the human while Rygel sniffed the air one or twice before finally entering the outstanding tavern with the air of a king. It did him little since nobody paid much attention to the newcomers.
Every alien had his place here, it seemed, and discrimination had no seat upon the banquet table. After all, every one had something in common. They were all criminals in their own profound way.
A huge man, Sebacean in descent, approached them, his hair tied in intricate braids and his exposed chest marked with exotic tattoos. He rivaled D'argo in build and his large frame accounted for the widening space that started to separate them from the rest of the talking, dancing, and carousing patrons.
"You must be Crichton," he boomed, staring pointedly at John and rudely eyeing the rest of his companions.
The human raised a brow. "Who wants to know?"
Chiana nudged him violently and whispered into his ear, "Listen, old man. We're here to drink and find information. You're not going to pick a fight, alright?"
"Who said I was picking a fight?" John shot back, his eyes never leaving the Sebacean's own.
"I am Larhal and I serve the mogul of this place," the huge man replied. "Come with me."
Crichton shrugged but followed the Sebacean without question.
Wading through the people left unwanted scents sticking to his leathers and more yet, unwanted looks of curiosity. They were a sad bunch, his companions and he. They simply followed Larhal and allowed the tide of drinkers, quick sorties, and half-meant curses to slide off their egos.
They arrived at the central bar where one man and twenty of his assistants served drinks from the middle of a huge fellip nectar fountain. The Sebacean, who not only served drinks but also had the unusual talent of engaging every customer in conversation for less than a minute, was not as well built or as eminent as his assistants were. He emitted an authoritative air and his face had the stern countenance of a no nonsense man. Evidently, from the way he shouted orders and greeted every face that sat on his bar with familiarity, this tall Sebacean was the mogul Larhal had been talking about.
The huge steward led them like sheep to exactly five empty seats that had stayed empty as the river of customers came close to overflowing. As they sat, the mogul had just finished serving a wicked looking Luxan with a tall mug of nectar.
"News come and go, Ka G'tar," he was saying, wiping the evidence of two Lemari as an afterthought. "Why don't we talk about this outbreak later on, after the night shift?"
"Very well," his Luxan counterpart answered. "I will meet with you later." He lifted a hand to bid him a temporary good-bye.
As soon as the customer was settled, this mogul turned to them and seeing the rather impatient look on Aeryn's face, he summoned one of his assistants to carry the array of drinks he had somehow prepared before hand.
He placed the tall glasses in front of them. The smell wafted across their noses and John had to suppress an urge to grab the glass and drink it.
The Luxan offered enough hostility and shoved the drink away. Chiana studied hers, dipping her finger into it and tasting it before finally taking a sip. John held on to the glass while Aeryn waved her hand.
"I don't drink," she told him, frowning all the more.
Rygel simply drank his in a microt and offered his empty ware as if to say that he wanted more. "Put a cork on it, Sparky," John said, placing the glass away.
John watched the master of ceremonies as he took Rygel's glass and filled it with more of the fragrant liquid.
The mogul studied everyone's initial reaction with a diplomatic smile. He smiled at Chiana's look of pure bliss as she drank the last drops of her beverage, he smiled at D'argo's unwarranted scowl, he smiled at Aeryn's amazingly frank expression of dislike, and he smiled at Rygel who not only drank his drink to the very dregs of the glass but also grinned worriedly to ask for another one. It was unnerving to John, yet so very human.
"We're not paying," John said. "Who are you and what do you want?"
"How do you know us?" Aeryn interjected quickly, fingering her glass yet careful to not sip from it.
"All will be answered, in time," was the mogul's salute, his eyes glittering its rather curious glow. His tone suggested that of a father explaining the very secrets of birds and bees to his son.
John could have sworn that this man was not Sebacean. He lacked that dominant egoism and the glint of an infinite knowledge that served only as a mask. He lacked the coldness and seeming mediocrity of a brainwashed Peacekeeper. John laughed at himself. He would never expect the owner of this grand mansion of drink to be a Peacekeeper…or an ex-Peacekeeper for that matter. His eyes flashed an odd shade of violet yet there was a softness to it, an ability to be kind and sympathetic; an ability to be firm and vehement; an ability to be furious and joyful.
A vest easily held all the tools of his trade and a laser rifle was strapped snugly onto his back. He looked more like a wrangler than a host. Gigantic knives were strapped both on his wrist and ankle and his very countenance suggested frequent rituals with ungainly patrons.
"My name is…no, I'm not going to tell you just yet." John's eyes widened. It was English. This man was speaking English! Whatever microbes were inserted into this man's blood were not cooperating! "Come, come, Crichton," he was saying, "Who do you think I am?"
"Y…you…" the human breathed. "You're not…you can't exist."
John's companions had risen and two of them, D'argo and Aeryn, had their weapons from their sheaths.
"Why not?" the mogul exclaimed. "I know we're complete strangers yet to me, you have the certainty of our dear, dear planet Earth and what an untimely pleasure that is." And he bowed elegantly like the Englishman he was with a gracious hand for John to shake.
In John's complete inability to think straight, he did.
***
To be continued...
