Title: Necessary Evil

Summary: The agricultural planet of Kinfea Prime is an ideal place for a grocery run. But when one of Moya's crew gets in over her head, the others agree to a little dirty work. The job seems simple enough, but nothing is ever easy in the Uncharted Territories. And the right decisions aren't always the best ones.

Category: Action/Adventure

Notes: Takes place between Scratch 'n Sniff and Revenging Angel.

Archive: Please let me know before you do.

Author: sunshiner

Email: wayfarer@cfl.rr.com

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: Helps to be aware of Suns and Lovers, Eat Me, and Scratch 'n Sniff. But I don't really give a lot away if you don't.

Disclaimer: I'm only borrowing them. They don't really belong to me. I'll put them away when I'm done.



Cool Hand Jool

It was not so much a junk shop as it was an exotic collection of odds and ends categorized in bins and grouped by like shapes. The bins were further arranged on shelves according to size, with larger objects hung from overhead rafters. It was questionable that the association of like part to like part was any more accurate then it was plausible the items functioned as promised.

The current visitor to the peculiar collection had his doubts. "You're sure, huh?"

The shopkeeper, a mishmash of body parts that complimented his line of work, gestured with a narrow hand. "It will perform the same function as that which you wish to replace."

"And if it doesn't, I get to bring back my receipt for a refund, right?"

"It will work as I have said."

John shook his head and set the component back on the counter. "That's okay. We'll keep looking around."

"My word is trusted by many, and it can be trusted by you."

"Don't take it personally," the Human said as he turned for the exit. "But I don't trust anyone." The door slammed shut behind him.

"That's not entirely true."

John glanced over his shoulder, shielding his eyes against the glare of Kinfea Prime's sun. "And what's that, Jool?" he asked.

"That you don't trust anyone. You trust D'Argo. And Chiana."

John noticed she stopped short of including herself in that list. She probably didn't trust him either. He stopped to peer through the window of another shop. The agricultural planet had an overabundance of fresh food but was decidedly lacking in other commerce. Space faring crews frequented the world to re-supply their stores, enjoy the rustic charm of lush gardens, and relax in the security of an alleged crime free world. The crew of Moya had their doubts about the last claim, especially when required to pay a hefty protection tax with the Port Authority. Another substantial fee allowed them to continue carrying their weapons. "Fine. Then I don't trust anyone who says 'Trust me'"

"But you say just that same thing all the time."

John turned around with an exasperated sigh and focused on Jool. "Why are you following me again?"

"Because," she explained, her expression displaying a moment of annoyance. "You said we should stay in pairs. D'Argo went with Chiana for supplies. That left you and me to find tech parts."

"Right." John's glance moved over Jool's shoulder. The open air market was crowded but John was sure the individual examining wares at a stall nearby had been the same one that had followed them into the junk store. He did not feel threatened just yet, however. Legal Enforcement was on prominent patrol throughout the settlement and he had yet to see anything resembling a wanted beacon or Peacekeeper. Regardless, he thought it best to get off the street. "How 'bout I buy you a drink."

Jool did not get a chance to refuse or accept John's offer before he took her by the arm and led her toward an alehouse. They pushed through the door and looked around. "It doesn't look very clean in here."

"They never do, darlin'. It's part of the atmosphere." He had seen worse. This particular establishment at least made an effort to sweep the floor and rinse out the glasses. Round tables were scattered about the central area, leaving one wall open for a high counter and stools. There was no overhead illumination; casting most of the room in a smoky twilight broken by tiny table lamps and a narrow glowing strip running the length of the bar. John directed her to a table and sat down. Habit made him find a place where he could easily see the front entrance. The survival instincts he had honed over the last few cycles made him take note of any additional exits. A solid door at the back of the building. An arched corridor opening from one side. A service hallway behind the bar leading to kitchens. Nothing too far away a mad dash couldn't reach.

A dark skinned, black haired female standing just shy of four feet approached them for their drink request. Her eyes were solid white, with no pupil or iris to break the color. It gave the eerie perception of blindness although it was obvious she could see. Pale silver garments covered her form. The loose and practical outfit of shirt and trousers seemed favored by the planet's inhabitants.

"Whatever's on tap," John muttered in reply. He looked up into the server's confused expression and waved a hand. "The house brew. Local favorite. Whatever everyone else is having."

The female gave a hesitant nod before moving away.

"You really shouldn't try and make yourself so obvious. In case you haven't noticed, there is not a single individual in this entire star system that looks like you." Jool folded her hands in her lap, gazing impertinently at the Human.

John's eyes flicked from their patrol of the room toward the Interion. " And you don't stand out? Besides, there's only one of me no matter what star system we're in."

"Two of you."

"What?" he mumbled distractedly. Their shadow from the market had followed them inside. The Kinfea male stood in the doorway a moment before walking toward the archway. He passed through without a look back. John relaxed only slightly.

"There's two of you, remember?" Her voice dipped as the server returned with a pair of metallic mugs.

John reached for his with a tight grin. "Almost slipped my mind. Thanks for reminding me. Don't know what I'd do without you." He took a sip of his drink, pausing a moment before deciding the taste of it wasn't that bad. Sort of like Ovaltine with a hint of Zippo lighter fluid.

She peered into her mug but declined to taste it. "How long do we have to wait here?"

"Until D'Argo and Chiana let us know that they have the supplies." John was slowly convincing himself he had only been paranoid. Three cycles on the run would do that to a person though, he consoled himself.

The server returned shortly to refill their drinks. "Might I offer a diversion?" she asked. The woman gestured toward the door in the back. "Our Games Room is one of the finest in all of Kinfea Prime."

"Games. Like gambling?"

She smiled. "Perhaps you would like to try your hand at luck?"

"No thanks. My luck sucks," John muttered as he took a swallow of his drink. "But if you want to go check it out," he said to Jool. "Feel free."

"I will." Jool rose from her seat. "Anything to break the tedium."

"Knock 'em dead." John made a dismissive gesture but the woman had already left his side and disappeared through the doorway. He was thankful for the respite from Jool's condescending chatter but the sudden solitude quickly made him reconsider.

The dark skinned Kinfea farmers and laborers dominated the room. There was a striking enough variance from the Sebacean mold to make John feel like an irregularity. He had long gotten used to being the only human around, but Aeryn looked enough like his species to keep him from feeling totally alone. Intellectually, John knew how different they were and on occasion, the difference was unquestionably obvious. But when he looked at her, the tiny part of his brain that still wanted to believe all of this was a horrible, twisted dream insisted they were the same. It reminded him of the parakeet he had as a kid. The pet shop clerk had instructed him to put a small mirror in the cage so the bird was tricked into thinking it wasn't alone. Parakeets apparently could die of loneliness. John didn't know if this was true or not, but he took the clerk's advice and the tiny blue and white bird spent years chirping happily at its own reflection.

Aeryn had been his mirror.

But it had been too long since he had seen her. Rising from his seat, he decided to join Jool in the Gaming room. She at least was a familiar face and that would have to do.

John was almost to the Gaming Room when the front door of the drinking house slammed open. His hand fell to his side, fingers brushing against the smooth surface that made up the butt of his pulse pistol. Like everyone else in the room, he watched as first one male and then two more entered the establishment.

Dressed in matching uniforms of starched blue cloth, they moved into the room with a swagger that came from possessing some high authority. The leading male continued further in while his companions took up positions on either side of the door. They drew rather misshapen pistols from hip holsters as obvious deterrence should anyone decide upon foolish bravery.

Every conversation within the tavern stopped, some coming to an abrupt end while others faltered like the last drips of a leaky faucet. Only a few heads turned in the direction of the trio. Most of the customers discovered something intensely fascinating at the bottom of their glasses or growing beneath unkempt fingernails.

One of the servers approached the single male, appearing more annoyed by his arrival then concerned. "Good eve, sir. Would you care for some refreshment?"

John suppressed the urge to duck through the door, grab Jool, and make for the nearest exit. But he was sure any suspicious move on his part would draw unnecessary attention. So far, there was little indication that the events unfolding before him were out of the ordinary for this place. He forced his stance into a more relaxed pose and prayed to whomever was listening that D'Argo did not take this moment to show up. The Luxan would undoubtedly overreact.

"No," the man replied without physically acknowledging the server. His gaze slid across the beings in the room, granting each one a practiced sneer, but not focusing on anyone in particular. "Just tell Cabmauri I am here."

Before the server could comply with the demand, a voice issued from the archway. "What do you want, Dartoi? I paid you yesterday."

John turned his head toward who he assumed to be Cabmauri. All he saw was a dim silhouette.

"Yes, you did." Dartoi embarked upon a languid stroll through the room. "But that was yesterday. Today, if you wish preferred treatment from Legal Authority, we need to renegotiate."

There was a palpable silence emanating from the archway before a dark skinned hand moved with a beckoning gesture. "Very well," Cabmauri said.

Conversation resumed, slowly at first but quickly picking up in volume, as Dartoi disappeared after the proprietor of the drinking house. Only then did John realize he had been holding his breath. He exhaled, leaning heavily on the wall behind him.

It felt good to be an innocent bystander for a change. The universe was frelling with some other poor sap and leaving John Crichton alone. It was almost too good to be true.

"And if something is too good to be true…" John muttered under his breath. He turned his back to the room and activated his comm. "Hey D'Argo. How you guys coming with the supplies?"

"We are almost finished," the Luxan responded. "The supplies should be loaded onto the transport pod within the arn."

Chiana's voice interrupted, smooth as silk compared to D'Argo's gruff tones. "But the Port Authority says we can't leave until morning. They only allow off world travel at designated times. Free of charge, that is"

"Why doesn't that surprise me? Okay. I'll call up to Pilot that we're spending the night. I'll grab Jool and meet up with you."

He deactivated his comm and stepped into the adjoining chamber. The Gaming Room was half the size of the outer tavern. Games of chance were played at one of six crescent shaped tables. Currently, a small crowd was gathered around one of the tables, all attention diverted to the battle being waged by a card dealer and Jool.

John made his way through the throng and stood beside Jool, looking down at the table. The purpose of the game was not obviously plain to him. It consisted of playing cards that resembled round plastic disks, each one imbued with its own color. Some of the shades dipped into spectrums no human eye had ever seen before, but it was clear there was only one color per card. Three of the disks were placed on the table in front of the dealer while three others rested before Jool. A short stack of cards was placed in the center of the table, faced down so the color was obscured. A second stack, with colors facing up, sat near the dealer's right hand.

"So. You winning?"

"Be quiet," Jool hissed. Her expression bounced between stress and excitement as she studied the cards on the table. "I need to concentrate."

John bit back his reply, knowing it would be wasted on his companion anyway. Since he didn't understand the rules of the game, he diverted his attention from the table and glanced around to those gathered nearby. Most of the spectators watched with the same intensity as those playing the game. They did not dare to speak to each other except in hushed whispers. No one wanted to take responsibility for ruining the concentration of the players at the table.

Jool tapped the center card, biting her bottom lip as the dealer reached for it and put it in the pile beside him. He reached for one of the unknown disks and with a flip, set it face up in the empty spot. A murmur rippled through the audience, echoing the pleased smile on the Interon's face. "Beat that," she smiled.

The dealer tapped one of his own disks, removing it to the discard pile. Although John had little idea as to what was going on, he found himself watching the table expectantly. The next card in the unknown pile was taken from the top of the stack and deposited with a flourish in front of the dealer. The color it displayed made John's eyes water and he was forced to look away.

"What?!" Jool's tone was incredulous. "That's impossible."

A collective groan of disappointment sounded from the group as they began to disperse. From the scattered bits of conversation John could pick up, most of the spectators had expected Jool to win as well.

John rubbed his thumb and forefinger across his eyelids to refocus his vision, and then looked at Jool. "I take it you lost?"

"There is no way I could have lost." Jool's hair bounced around her shoulders as her head turned toward John, then back toward the dealer. "You cheated," she accused.

"The House requests that you settle your wager," the dealer said.

"I will not," Jool replied indignantly. Her lips parted wider as she prepared a barrage of insults directed toward the dealer, but John grabbed her arm and pulled the Interion close.

"Just pay up and let's go. Whatever passes for law enforcement around here is in the next room and we don't want to cause trouble. Okay?" He loosened his grip and smiled at the dealer. "She's a little high strung. You'll have to excuse her."

"But Crichton-" Jool moved to stand between John and the table. "I can't pay the bet," she said through clenched teeth.

"How much did you lose?" John reached into his pocket. "I've got some money if you need it."

"This is Bacria. You don't play for currency." Jool held up her left hand and wiggled the fingers.

John's eyes narrowed and his head tilted to the side. "You bet your fingers?" he asked after a moment.

"No. The whole hand."

John blinked rapidly, his mouth open as he gathered words. "Are you nuts?"

"I've never lost at Bacria before. A mathematical formula dictates the color of the disks and which order they are played. The only way he could have drawn the Vue card was if he cheated." The last few words were spoken loudly and directed with venomous accusation toward the dealer.

The dealer apparently disagreed with the allegation. Reaching under the table, he withdrew a weapon and aimed it at Jool. "The House must insist you settle your wager." John spotted a second individual approaching the table, summoned by the actions of the dealer. He was taller and broader then the others, leaving little doubt to his purpose in the Game room. In a game with stakes this high, apparently not everyone lost to Bacria willingly.

"Crichton!" Jool wailed, darting to stand behind the man. "Do something!"

John groaned and pulled his pulse pistol from his thigh holster. He alternated his aim between the bouncer and the dealer. His other arm extended out at his side, providing a barrier between them and Jool. He was painfully aware that every eye in the room was now directed toward him. "What we have here," he said, trying to keep his voice as level as possible. "Is a failure to communicate."