Part 8
"You have to come to Zahn's lab right now," said Jool. "Crichton is missing."
D'Argo frowned. "Have you looked for him? He couldn't have gotten far in his condition."
"Of course, I looked for him. It's the first thing I did. He injected a stimulant into himself. A few syringes are empty."
"Pilot," said Aeryn, tapping her comm, "can you locate Crichton?"
"The commander is getting into a transport pod."
"What?" D'Argo stood. "John!"
There was no answer.
"John, get the frell off that pod," said D'Argo. "You are too ill to fly anywhere."
When John didn't respond, D'Argo took off down the hall
"I say let Crichton go," said Rygel. "If he's stupid enough to-"
Aeryn pushed Rygel's face into his breakfast. "Mm, ah, wha, bitch," he said around globs of yellow stickiness.
But Aeryn was already out the door, fists balled, legs pounding. All she wanted to do was knock Crichton unconscious, preferably after several tries so it would be memorable and he'd stop doing these foolish things. Since she'd known him, she'd wondered if he got into trouble more because of circumstances, bad luck or his own pigheadedness. Now she knew it was the latter.
"Pilot," she said, "Can you keep him from taking off?"
"I do not keep anyone here against their will," said Pilot, his voice full of indignation.
"Yeah, we understand, Pilot," said Chiana. She was right behind Aeryn, running. "But you know how sick he is. He's not thinking straight."
"I will see what I can do."
But it was too late. When the three of them arrived at the hanger, the doors were already shut.
"The commander is on his way to the planet," said Pilot.
"Frell," said Aeryn. "Of all the stupid, idiotic, dumb..." she paused, running out of words to describe what she thought of this latest stunt.
"Why would he go to the planet?" asked Chiana. "It doesn't make any sense."
"Does he do anything that makes sense?" said Aeryn. "I'm starting think he WANTS to die." She kicked a maintenance cart, sending tools crashing across the floor. Then she crossed her arms, breathing hard, feeling D'Argo and Chiana's eyes on her.
"He doesn't want to die," said Chiana. "He's mixed up. That's all."
Jool ran into the hanger, heels clicking on the floor. She held an empty syringe out in front of her. "You couldn't stop him?"
"Does it look like we stopped him?" said D'Argo. "Is that the stimulant?"
"Yes, one of them. He took three times the usual dosage, which would kill him within the arn." In her other hand, Jool held up a vial, half-full of liquid. "But he took this depressant with him, just enough to counteract the stimulant. Does Crichton know anything about drugs? This combination is not common knowledge."
D'Argo swore under his breath. "No, but I bet Harvey does."
Aeryn stared at D'Argo. "Harvey. You know about him?"
"Yes, we met once. Long story. You?"
"We met once, too."
"Who the frell is Harvey?" said Chiana.
"Never mind." Aeryn took a deep breath. "This situation is completely frelled up, so before any of you succeed in actually killing Crichton-" D'Argo opened his mouth to protest while Jool and Chiana glared at her. "-this is what we're going to do. D'Argo and I will go to the planet to retrieve him. Jool will accompany us with her medical supplies and enough of that depressant to keep him alive, and Chiana will stay here."
"Why do I have to stay here?" said Chiana.
"Because we don't want to have to rescue you too," said Aeryn.
Chiana stepped forward and pushed her face close to Aeryn's. "Listen, I've been taking care of him while you've been off in peace keeper land, pretending he doesn't exist, so if you don't mind, I'm coming too."
Aeryn glared at Chiana. They did not have time to argue. "Fine," she said, "you have 500 microts to get ready."
As the hanger doors finally slid open, D'Argo scooted through them. "We're taking my ship," he said over his shoulder. "And ladies, you have 300 microts."
Aeryn ran to her quarters. She grabbed her coat and two fully charged rifles, slinging one across her back. Then she slipped a dagger in her boot and snapped two grenades to her holster. John was not going to die if there was anything she could do about it. Next time though, she thought with a scowl, it would be helpful if he cooperated more in the not-dying part.
As she ran out the door, she tried to figure out why John had gone down to the planet in the first place. Despite the risks he liked to take, he was not suicidal. And now that she'd calmed down a bit, Aeryn had to admit that he was rarely foolish. For him to sneak out of Moya and endanger his life, meant that he'd had a good reason to do so. But for the life of chilnek, she couldn't figure out what it was. The thing that bothered her most was that he'd felt he couldn't talk to anyone else about it, including her. Not only could his lack of communication endanger the whole crew, it meant that the neural clone had a greater influence than she'd imagined.
It also meant that her wish had come true. John was not talking to her just like she'd not talked to him for the past few weekens. It wasn't a wish she'd spelled out for herself, but it was there nonetheless. Every time he'd spoken, she'd been relieved when he hadn't been addressing her, when she hadn't been forced to look at him, to make the inevitable comparison between him and her John. So then why did his silence bother her now? she wondered, frowning. Why wasn't she relieved instead of tense, coiled up inside, like a ball of twine about to unravel?
As Aeryn climbed aboard D'Argo's ship, she pushed aside all thoughts but the mission, just as she'd been trained to do. Chiana and Jool joined her a few microts later. Then, D'Argo flew to the planet, landing near John's pod, which Pilot had located for them. As the dust settled, Aeryn opened the hatch and jumped out, followed by the rest of the crew.
"Where do you supposed he went?" said Jool, tucking a medical kit under her arm.
D'Argo tried comming John a couple of times, but John still wouldn't answer. Or perhaps he couldn't.
"Pilot," said Aeryn, "can you locate Crichton for us?"
"No, I cannot," said Pilot. "I don't believe he is not wearing his comm."
"Of course not," said Aeryn. "Why make it easy for us?"
She shaded her eyes and looked around, trying to figure out where John could be headed. They were on the outskirts of the only city she'd been to on this planet, one teeming with different races, many of them criminals of one sort or another. However, if she followed the main thoroughfare past a government building, turned right down a narrow alley and veered left past the garbage receptacle, she'd run into a tavern that housed one very large, very blue Bocreel.
She and D'Argo shared a look that said they had been thinking the same thing.
"Chiana," said D'Argo, "wait near my ship."
"No way," said Chiana, shaking her head. "You're not leaving me alone here again."
"He's right," said Jool before Aeryn could speak up, or rather, yell at Chiana. "You're our backup in case anything goes wrong."
To Aeryn's surprise, Chiana glared at all of them as she took a position near the ship. "All right, but call me the microt you need help."
D'Argo assured her they would, and the three of them hurried toward the city.
***
As John made his way through town, he felt like he'd drunk about 30 cups of coffee after pulling an all-nighter before a final. He still felt weak and feverish. Every now and then, his knees buckled and he had to grab onto something to stay upright. Plus, the sun still hurt his eyes. But these symptoms seemed like petty concerns now. All he cared about getting to the Bocreel before the arn was up. So he wove between groups of aliens like he was playing football, ignoring the occasional shout at his back after he bumped into someone.
Eventually, he had to stop to catch his breath. He leaned against a building, panting. With the back of his hand, he wiped sweat from his eyes and blinked, trying to keep the world in focus. He'd thought his illness was bad on the eyes, but this stimulant really screwed things up. If he stood still and looked straight ahead, everything was fine. But if he moved, then he got this weird trail of color, like those photographs taken of a city at night, where you can see the red and white lights of cars all blended together.
"Enough," said Harvey in his ear, "you can rest later."
"How much time do I have?" asked John. And for the millionth time, he checked his belt pouch to make sure the counteragent was still safe.
"Less than half an arn," said Harvey.
"Okay, I'm going." John leaned his head back and swallowed. In the back of his mind, he wondered if Jool had noticed that he'd gone AWOL yet and if he should comm someone so they wouldn't come after him. But Harvey whispered in his ear, urging him to hurry, so he let the thought drift back down where it wouldn't bother him again. Then he took a deep breath and merged with the crowd.
***
Aeryn kept one hand on her pulse pistol and another on a grenade in her pocket. The streets were crowded but orderly, with the hum of movement and an occasional shout. As they walked along, she looked for a brown head above the crowds or a black-clad body lying against a building. So far, all the prone bodies in doorways or on walkways were either too yellow, too round or too scaly. She wasn't sure whether to be pleased that John wasn't one of them or dismayed that there were so many. She decided that it was better not to not think about it.
Eventually, they made it to the glass-walled government building and then to a city garbage receptacle with its swarm of insects and stench of rotten ... things. Finally they arrived at the tavern, which was nothing more than a nondescript doorway in a grimy building. Only the holo of a mug of fellip nectar gave any clue as to what was inside.
D'Argo turned to Jool. "You wait out here. We will comm you if you're needed."
Aeryn watched Jool glance around, swallowing. To the left of the doorway, a couple of patrons were busy counting money, their mandibles clicking away. To the right, a woman with four breasts and a lot of cleavage leaned against the building. Jool's eyes flickered from one side of the tavern to the next as she nodded.
Aeryn waved her hand over the door sensor. "Watch my back," she told D'Argo, pulling out her pulse pistol.
D'Argo nodded, Qualta blade ready.
As the door opened, they stepped inside. Low music and the murmur of conversations greeted them, along with the sickly sweet smell of konti tobacco and fellip nectar. As Aeryn waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim light, she heard John's voice carrying across the room, though she couldn't make out his words. After a microt, she finally saw him through the smoke. Sweat-soaked hair, reddened eyes. He looked like dren. He swayed in front of a sebacean hired gun, waving his arms about as if he were agitated. Then he paced in front of the woman, his stride jerky, as if he didn't want to pace but couldn't stop himself, most likely an effect of the stimulant.
Aeryn released a long breath and holstered her pistol. He was alive. She grabbed the edge of the bar as her knees suddenly became unreliable. Then she glanced at D'Argo who nodded in relief.
As they wove through the tables, they could hear John's voice rise in frustration. He was talking very fast. "He knows me. He told me to come back later and it's later. So he'll see me if you tell him. But if you don't tell him, he won't know I'm here, will he? Then he won't be able to see me. And he'll get pissed. Trust me, you don't want to see him pissed."
The sebacean just stared at him, arms folded.
"Can you even talk? Do you understand me?" John stopped and waved a hand in front of the woman's eyes. "Listen, this is really, really important. I-I have information for him about wormholes. Tell him that, okay?"
Aeryn and D'Argo flanked John. D'Argo clapped a hand on John's shoulder. "John."
John whirled around, shoving his pulse pistol in D'Argo's face. D'Argo threw up his hands and stepped back. John blinked and lowered his weapon. Then he glanced at Aeryn. "What're you guys doing here?"
Aeryn reached around and firmly but carefully grabbed John's pistol. "Stimulants and firearms are not a good combination," she told him. With her other hand, she applied pressure to his wrist until he opened his fingers. Aeryn stowed the gun in her coat pocket.
John scrubbed a hand across his face. "I really appreciate the concern, but I got things covered, okay? Give me back Winona."
Aeryn glanced at the sebacean. The woman stared at them impassively, her well-muscled forearm twitching. Aeryn guessed John had about a hundred microts before getting thrown out. "I'll give it to you outside," she said. "Let's go."
D'Argo grabbed John's arm and started pulling him toward the door. At first, John went along quietly. Then he twisted free and danced away, pulling a couple of chairs in front of him as a barrier.
"I'm not going until I finish what I came here for. I have to see the Bocreel, and I only have..." He trailed off as his eyes lost focus, and Aeryn realized that he was talking to the frelling neural clone. "... I only have a quarter arn left, so don't screw things up for me, okay?"
Aeryn noticed the sound level in the bar diminish as the other patrons stopped talking to observe the three of them. The sebacean took a step in their direction.
Aeryn glared at John, trying to remember that he was ill and on drugs and not the idiot he was acting like. "Look around," she hissed. "You'll never see the Bocreel if you cause a riot. Come outside now. We'll figure something out."
John glanced around, eyes widening as he seemed to finally notice the trouble he was about to cause. Still, he hesitated.
D'Argo sighed loudly. "Do you want me to tongue you?"
John turned to D'Argo, eyebrows raised. Then he pushed the chairs back in their spots and headed toward the door, bumping into tables along the way and muttering apologies, barely able to walk straight. D'Argo and Aeryn trailed him, weapons held ready to discourage anyone from following.
Once they were outside, Jool ran up. "How is he?"
"Alive," said Aeryn.
"But he is acting like a yenchilk," said D'Argo. "Give him the medicine now."
John shaded his eyes from the sun. "You know, you could just ask me. I'm right here."
"Oh we could, could we?" Aeryn stepped in front of John and grabbed the opening of his coat, forcing him to look at her. "And that would be because you confided in us before taking this jaunt to the planet? Or is it because you decided to inject a fatal dose of stimulant after consulting with us? Hmm?"
John stared at her, jaw thrust forward. "You don't understand. The Bocreel --"
"Oh, I understand all right," she began, but D'Argo pulled her aside.
Jool glared at all three of them. "Remove his coat and bring him over here." She walked to an adjoining building that was in the shade and opened her medical kit.
John stumbled as he started to follow, so Aeryn thrust her arm around his waist and hurried him across to Jool. D'Argo helped her lower him to the ground and lean him against the building. Then the two of them pulled his coat off his shoulders. Jool pressed a syringe against his arm and injected the counteragent. It went in with a hiss.
John closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the building. "Oh man."
"How do you feel?" said D'Argo.
"Like I'm on one of the tea cups at Disney World after drinking 50 shots of Tequila." He wrapped his arms around his stomach. As a breeze ruffled their hair, John began shivering. Aeryn knelt beside him and pulled his coat back up.
"You should be fine," said Jool. She bit her lip. "Well, as fine as you were before..."
The three of them exchanged a worried look. Then D'Argo reached for John. "We will head back to Moya now."
John pushed D'Argo's hand away, shaking his head. "No way. We're not going until someone talks to the Bocreel."
Aeryn tucked the front of his coat together to keep out the breeze. "Always the frelling hero," she murmured.
"Hero? No, no, no." John paused to take a breath, his teeth chattering. "Aeryn, the Bocreel is supposed to be this badass infiltrator, right? He sells stuff that no one else can get, all kinds of things. Maybe even medicine."
"So wanted to try to get medicine from him?" said Aeryn.
"Yeah, or find out where there was a diagnosan or something. It's not like I have a lot of options."
"And why did you not tell us?" said D'Argo.
"Because ... because ... I don't know. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Besides you don't trust the Bocreel. And Aeryn isn't exactly talking to me." John shivered and pulled his coat tighter.
Aeryn sat back on her heels and crossed her arms. She refused to feel guilty for his poor judgment in not talking to her. She refused. "And Harvey had nothing to do with this?"
John shrugged and didn't answer. He wouldn't meet her eyes.
"Just as I thought." She looked away, suddenly exhausted. All she wanted to do was lock herself in her quarters and never emerge again. She wanted to do go back to her routine and work on weapons and do rounds and eat while everyone else was busy with other things. She didn't want to talk to John or look at him or worry that he might die. And she certainly didn't want to deal with a neural clone all over again.
She wanted her John alive, and she wanted to be happy again. Aeryn felt that ball of twine that was stuck in her gut begin to unravel. Tears stung her eyes.
Suddenly Jool pointed across to the tavern. "Well, it looks like you'll have your chance to talk to him now," she said. "Look."
Aeryn glanced over her shoulder. And standing in the doorway, scratching his ear with one long claw, stood the Bocreel. He was staring at them.
"You have to come to Zahn's lab right now," said Jool. "Crichton is missing."
D'Argo frowned. "Have you looked for him? He couldn't have gotten far in his condition."
"Of course, I looked for him. It's the first thing I did. He injected a stimulant into himself. A few syringes are empty."
"Pilot," said Aeryn, tapping her comm, "can you locate Crichton?"
"The commander is getting into a transport pod."
"What?" D'Argo stood. "John!"
There was no answer.
"John, get the frell off that pod," said D'Argo. "You are too ill to fly anywhere."
When John didn't respond, D'Argo took off down the hall
"I say let Crichton go," said Rygel. "If he's stupid enough to-"
Aeryn pushed Rygel's face into his breakfast. "Mm, ah, wha, bitch," he said around globs of yellow stickiness.
But Aeryn was already out the door, fists balled, legs pounding. All she wanted to do was knock Crichton unconscious, preferably after several tries so it would be memorable and he'd stop doing these foolish things. Since she'd known him, she'd wondered if he got into trouble more because of circumstances, bad luck or his own pigheadedness. Now she knew it was the latter.
"Pilot," she said, "Can you keep him from taking off?"
"I do not keep anyone here against their will," said Pilot, his voice full of indignation.
"Yeah, we understand, Pilot," said Chiana. She was right behind Aeryn, running. "But you know how sick he is. He's not thinking straight."
"I will see what I can do."
But it was too late. When the three of them arrived at the hanger, the doors were already shut.
"The commander is on his way to the planet," said Pilot.
"Frell," said Aeryn. "Of all the stupid, idiotic, dumb..." she paused, running out of words to describe what she thought of this latest stunt.
"Why would he go to the planet?" asked Chiana. "It doesn't make any sense."
"Does he do anything that makes sense?" said Aeryn. "I'm starting think he WANTS to die." She kicked a maintenance cart, sending tools crashing across the floor. Then she crossed her arms, breathing hard, feeling D'Argo and Chiana's eyes on her.
"He doesn't want to die," said Chiana. "He's mixed up. That's all."
Jool ran into the hanger, heels clicking on the floor. She held an empty syringe out in front of her. "You couldn't stop him?"
"Does it look like we stopped him?" said D'Argo. "Is that the stimulant?"
"Yes, one of them. He took three times the usual dosage, which would kill him within the arn." In her other hand, Jool held up a vial, half-full of liquid. "But he took this depressant with him, just enough to counteract the stimulant. Does Crichton know anything about drugs? This combination is not common knowledge."
D'Argo swore under his breath. "No, but I bet Harvey does."
Aeryn stared at D'Argo. "Harvey. You know about him?"
"Yes, we met once. Long story. You?"
"We met once, too."
"Who the frell is Harvey?" said Chiana.
"Never mind." Aeryn took a deep breath. "This situation is completely frelled up, so before any of you succeed in actually killing Crichton-" D'Argo opened his mouth to protest while Jool and Chiana glared at her. "-this is what we're going to do. D'Argo and I will go to the planet to retrieve him. Jool will accompany us with her medical supplies and enough of that depressant to keep him alive, and Chiana will stay here."
"Why do I have to stay here?" said Chiana.
"Because we don't want to have to rescue you too," said Aeryn.
Chiana stepped forward and pushed her face close to Aeryn's. "Listen, I've been taking care of him while you've been off in peace keeper land, pretending he doesn't exist, so if you don't mind, I'm coming too."
Aeryn glared at Chiana. They did not have time to argue. "Fine," she said, "you have 500 microts to get ready."
As the hanger doors finally slid open, D'Argo scooted through them. "We're taking my ship," he said over his shoulder. "And ladies, you have 300 microts."
Aeryn ran to her quarters. She grabbed her coat and two fully charged rifles, slinging one across her back. Then she slipped a dagger in her boot and snapped two grenades to her holster. John was not going to die if there was anything she could do about it. Next time though, she thought with a scowl, it would be helpful if he cooperated more in the not-dying part.
As she ran out the door, she tried to figure out why John had gone down to the planet in the first place. Despite the risks he liked to take, he was not suicidal. And now that she'd calmed down a bit, Aeryn had to admit that he was rarely foolish. For him to sneak out of Moya and endanger his life, meant that he'd had a good reason to do so. But for the life of chilnek, she couldn't figure out what it was. The thing that bothered her most was that he'd felt he couldn't talk to anyone else about it, including her. Not only could his lack of communication endanger the whole crew, it meant that the neural clone had a greater influence than she'd imagined.
It also meant that her wish had come true. John was not talking to her just like she'd not talked to him for the past few weekens. It wasn't a wish she'd spelled out for herself, but it was there nonetheless. Every time he'd spoken, she'd been relieved when he hadn't been addressing her, when she hadn't been forced to look at him, to make the inevitable comparison between him and her John. So then why did his silence bother her now? she wondered, frowning. Why wasn't she relieved instead of tense, coiled up inside, like a ball of twine about to unravel?
As Aeryn climbed aboard D'Argo's ship, she pushed aside all thoughts but the mission, just as she'd been trained to do. Chiana and Jool joined her a few microts later. Then, D'Argo flew to the planet, landing near John's pod, which Pilot had located for them. As the dust settled, Aeryn opened the hatch and jumped out, followed by the rest of the crew.
"Where do you supposed he went?" said Jool, tucking a medical kit under her arm.
D'Argo tried comming John a couple of times, but John still wouldn't answer. Or perhaps he couldn't.
"Pilot," said Aeryn, "can you locate Crichton for us?"
"No, I cannot," said Pilot. "I don't believe he is not wearing his comm."
"Of course not," said Aeryn. "Why make it easy for us?"
She shaded her eyes and looked around, trying to figure out where John could be headed. They were on the outskirts of the only city she'd been to on this planet, one teeming with different races, many of them criminals of one sort or another. However, if she followed the main thoroughfare past a government building, turned right down a narrow alley and veered left past the garbage receptacle, she'd run into a tavern that housed one very large, very blue Bocreel.
She and D'Argo shared a look that said they had been thinking the same thing.
"Chiana," said D'Argo, "wait near my ship."
"No way," said Chiana, shaking her head. "You're not leaving me alone here again."
"He's right," said Jool before Aeryn could speak up, or rather, yell at Chiana. "You're our backup in case anything goes wrong."
To Aeryn's surprise, Chiana glared at all of them as she took a position near the ship. "All right, but call me the microt you need help."
D'Argo assured her they would, and the three of them hurried toward the city.
***
As John made his way through town, he felt like he'd drunk about 30 cups of coffee after pulling an all-nighter before a final. He still felt weak and feverish. Every now and then, his knees buckled and he had to grab onto something to stay upright. Plus, the sun still hurt his eyes. But these symptoms seemed like petty concerns now. All he cared about getting to the Bocreel before the arn was up. So he wove between groups of aliens like he was playing football, ignoring the occasional shout at his back after he bumped into someone.
Eventually, he had to stop to catch his breath. He leaned against a building, panting. With the back of his hand, he wiped sweat from his eyes and blinked, trying to keep the world in focus. He'd thought his illness was bad on the eyes, but this stimulant really screwed things up. If he stood still and looked straight ahead, everything was fine. But if he moved, then he got this weird trail of color, like those photographs taken of a city at night, where you can see the red and white lights of cars all blended together.
"Enough," said Harvey in his ear, "you can rest later."
"How much time do I have?" asked John. And for the millionth time, he checked his belt pouch to make sure the counteragent was still safe.
"Less than half an arn," said Harvey.
"Okay, I'm going." John leaned his head back and swallowed. In the back of his mind, he wondered if Jool had noticed that he'd gone AWOL yet and if he should comm someone so they wouldn't come after him. But Harvey whispered in his ear, urging him to hurry, so he let the thought drift back down where it wouldn't bother him again. Then he took a deep breath and merged with the crowd.
***
Aeryn kept one hand on her pulse pistol and another on a grenade in her pocket. The streets were crowded but orderly, with the hum of movement and an occasional shout. As they walked along, she looked for a brown head above the crowds or a black-clad body lying against a building. So far, all the prone bodies in doorways or on walkways were either too yellow, too round or too scaly. She wasn't sure whether to be pleased that John wasn't one of them or dismayed that there were so many. She decided that it was better not to not think about it.
Eventually, they made it to the glass-walled government building and then to a city garbage receptacle with its swarm of insects and stench of rotten ... things. Finally they arrived at the tavern, which was nothing more than a nondescript doorway in a grimy building. Only the holo of a mug of fellip nectar gave any clue as to what was inside.
D'Argo turned to Jool. "You wait out here. We will comm you if you're needed."
Aeryn watched Jool glance around, swallowing. To the left of the doorway, a couple of patrons were busy counting money, their mandibles clicking away. To the right, a woman with four breasts and a lot of cleavage leaned against the building. Jool's eyes flickered from one side of the tavern to the next as she nodded.
Aeryn waved her hand over the door sensor. "Watch my back," she told D'Argo, pulling out her pulse pistol.
D'Argo nodded, Qualta blade ready.
As the door opened, they stepped inside. Low music and the murmur of conversations greeted them, along with the sickly sweet smell of konti tobacco and fellip nectar. As Aeryn waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim light, she heard John's voice carrying across the room, though she couldn't make out his words. After a microt, she finally saw him through the smoke. Sweat-soaked hair, reddened eyes. He looked like dren. He swayed in front of a sebacean hired gun, waving his arms about as if he were agitated. Then he paced in front of the woman, his stride jerky, as if he didn't want to pace but couldn't stop himself, most likely an effect of the stimulant.
Aeryn released a long breath and holstered her pistol. He was alive. She grabbed the edge of the bar as her knees suddenly became unreliable. Then she glanced at D'Argo who nodded in relief.
As they wove through the tables, they could hear John's voice rise in frustration. He was talking very fast. "He knows me. He told me to come back later and it's later. So he'll see me if you tell him. But if you don't tell him, he won't know I'm here, will he? Then he won't be able to see me. And he'll get pissed. Trust me, you don't want to see him pissed."
The sebacean just stared at him, arms folded.
"Can you even talk? Do you understand me?" John stopped and waved a hand in front of the woman's eyes. "Listen, this is really, really important. I-I have information for him about wormholes. Tell him that, okay?"
Aeryn and D'Argo flanked John. D'Argo clapped a hand on John's shoulder. "John."
John whirled around, shoving his pulse pistol in D'Argo's face. D'Argo threw up his hands and stepped back. John blinked and lowered his weapon. Then he glanced at Aeryn. "What're you guys doing here?"
Aeryn reached around and firmly but carefully grabbed John's pistol. "Stimulants and firearms are not a good combination," she told him. With her other hand, she applied pressure to his wrist until he opened his fingers. Aeryn stowed the gun in her coat pocket.
John scrubbed a hand across his face. "I really appreciate the concern, but I got things covered, okay? Give me back Winona."
Aeryn glanced at the sebacean. The woman stared at them impassively, her well-muscled forearm twitching. Aeryn guessed John had about a hundred microts before getting thrown out. "I'll give it to you outside," she said. "Let's go."
D'Argo grabbed John's arm and started pulling him toward the door. At first, John went along quietly. Then he twisted free and danced away, pulling a couple of chairs in front of him as a barrier.
"I'm not going until I finish what I came here for. I have to see the Bocreel, and I only have..." He trailed off as his eyes lost focus, and Aeryn realized that he was talking to the frelling neural clone. "... I only have a quarter arn left, so don't screw things up for me, okay?"
Aeryn noticed the sound level in the bar diminish as the other patrons stopped talking to observe the three of them. The sebacean took a step in their direction.
Aeryn glared at John, trying to remember that he was ill and on drugs and not the idiot he was acting like. "Look around," she hissed. "You'll never see the Bocreel if you cause a riot. Come outside now. We'll figure something out."
John glanced around, eyes widening as he seemed to finally notice the trouble he was about to cause. Still, he hesitated.
D'Argo sighed loudly. "Do you want me to tongue you?"
John turned to D'Argo, eyebrows raised. Then he pushed the chairs back in their spots and headed toward the door, bumping into tables along the way and muttering apologies, barely able to walk straight. D'Argo and Aeryn trailed him, weapons held ready to discourage anyone from following.
Once they were outside, Jool ran up. "How is he?"
"Alive," said Aeryn.
"But he is acting like a yenchilk," said D'Argo. "Give him the medicine now."
John shaded his eyes from the sun. "You know, you could just ask me. I'm right here."
"Oh we could, could we?" Aeryn stepped in front of John and grabbed the opening of his coat, forcing him to look at her. "And that would be because you confided in us before taking this jaunt to the planet? Or is it because you decided to inject a fatal dose of stimulant after consulting with us? Hmm?"
John stared at her, jaw thrust forward. "You don't understand. The Bocreel --"
"Oh, I understand all right," she began, but D'Argo pulled her aside.
Jool glared at all three of them. "Remove his coat and bring him over here." She walked to an adjoining building that was in the shade and opened her medical kit.
John stumbled as he started to follow, so Aeryn thrust her arm around his waist and hurried him across to Jool. D'Argo helped her lower him to the ground and lean him against the building. Then the two of them pulled his coat off his shoulders. Jool pressed a syringe against his arm and injected the counteragent. It went in with a hiss.
John closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the building. "Oh man."
"How do you feel?" said D'Argo.
"Like I'm on one of the tea cups at Disney World after drinking 50 shots of Tequila." He wrapped his arms around his stomach. As a breeze ruffled their hair, John began shivering. Aeryn knelt beside him and pulled his coat back up.
"You should be fine," said Jool. She bit her lip. "Well, as fine as you were before..."
The three of them exchanged a worried look. Then D'Argo reached for John. "We will head back to Moya now."
John pushed D'Argo's hand away, shaking his head. "No way. We're not going until someone talks to the Bocreel."
Aeryn tucked the front of his coat together to keep out the breeze. "Always the frelling hero," she murmured.
"Hero? No, no, no." John paused to take a breath, his teeth chattering. "Aeryn, the Bocreel is supposed to be this badass infiltrator, right? He sells stuff that no one else can get, all kinds of things. Maybe even medicine."
"So wanted to try to get medicine from him?" said Aeryn.
"Yeah, or find out where there was a diagnosan or something. It's not like I have a lot of options."
"And why did you not tell us?" said D'Argo.
"Because ... because ... I don't know. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Besides you don't trust the Bocreel. And Aeryn isn't exactly talking to me." John shivered and pulled his coat tighter.
Aeryn sat back on her heels and crossed her arms. She refused to feel guilty for his poor judgment in not talking to her. She refused. "And Harvey had nothing to do with this?"
John shrugged and didn't answer. He wouldn't meet her eyes.
"Just as I thought." She looked away, suddenly exhausted. All she wanted to do was lock herself in her quarters and never emerge again. She wanted to do go back to her routine and work on weapons and do rounds and eat while everyone else was busy with other things. She didn't want to talk to John or look at him or worry that he might die. And she certainly didn't want to deal with a neural clone all over again.
She wanted her John alive, and she wanted to be happy again. Aeryn felt that ball of twine that was stuck in her gut begin to unravel. Tears stung her eyes.
Suddenly Jool pointed across to the tavern. "Well, it looks like you'll have your chance to talk to him now," she said. "Look."
Aeryn glanced over her shoulder. And standing in the doorway, scratching his ear with one long claw, stood the Bocreel. He was staring at them.
