Title: Old Haunts; Book 2, chptr 2
Author: Auna
Rating: PG-13 for violence
Disclaimer: Farscape is not mine, and I'm not making any money
Credit Due: Scrubschick and shipsister took a look at it and helped me to keep going. ScaperRed tried to fix all my grammar mistakes, but a woman can only do so much. Don't blame her. And Sanchez was an awesome creative consultant, who gave me the visual I needed to start this chapter. Thank you!
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Everything was happening too quickly. One microt she was relieving herself, the next she was running as hard as she could for the wagon. Only she hadn't been fast enough, or strong enough. Something from underneath catapulted her into the air, and she felt the weightlessness of flight.
But it hadn't lasted long enough. All too soon, she was heading downward again, her stomach in her throat with the assurance that she was going to hit the dirt and possibly shatter several bones. That would be fine, she could handle that.
But she was fighting with everything she had to stay upright, off her stomach. Not the baby, don't land on the baby.
Another vision, another time invaded the present and she was falling in a chair, locked in the straps, unable to break free. "I hope you meant what you said in the neural cluster. I did."
And she was engulfed in freezing, churning water, sucking her downward. She was powerless to stop it. Not you, Crichton, it wasn't you. It's not your fault. She fell, struggling to free herself as she continued downward, clawing; trying to swim with the burden of the metal chair.
She gasped for air, her lungs burning and filling with cold liquid. Try to hold your breath, don't breathe. But it was useless and she couldn't wait any longer, and her lungs expelled what little air was in them, only to deeply inhale the frigid liquid.
But the water wasn't cold. It was warm and thick and gooey as it entered, filling her. And suddenly, she wasn't in the chair, falling through arctic water, murdered by the one man she could ever love.
She was inside the belly of a giant wyrm, looking out to that same man, and through the distance she could see the tears cascade down his face as he pulled out his pistols and fired a barrage at her captor. Poor John. How many times in his life would he have to live through her death?
She struggled as she waited for it, the inevitable suffocation.
It was headed straight for them, mouth opened as it snaked across the dunes, charging. All he could do was sit next to the woman who had betrayed his mother, helplessly staring at the sight of his father losing control.
In the cycle they'd been together he'd never seen his father this way, never imagined the man who always seemed to have complete control over himself and his family, could become the man before him now. Dad was screaming, the sound gut-wrenching and ferocious. Tears were streaming down his face, unnoticed, and he was firing a volley of blasts at the animal charging toward them.
The blasts were useless, only succeeding on angering the wyrm, but Dad, Uncle D, Chiana and Brennik stood their ground, refusing to retreat or give up. He was useless, without a weapon and his father's words came back to haunt him. Someday you, or someone you love, is going to depend on you knowing how to shoot. All he could do was sit next to HER and make sure she didn't do anything else to make things worse, when what he wanted to do was stand next to his father and shoot the dren out that monster charging them.
All this took only a microt to pass through his mind, and the giant translucent creature was upon them. Its head reared back, traveling upwards as it screamed. Higher the creature went, towering over them and rising. Its momentum catapulted the wyrm into the air and it seemingly flew over their heads, through a barrage of firepower, to the other side of the unmarked road, landing face first into the dirt.
It wiggled and squirmed as it disappeared beneath the surface, until there was nothing left- not even a mark to show where the wyrm had burrowed. Everyone stared, amazed.
"What the frell just happened?" Chiana asked. "Why didn't it eat us?"
"We're in the safe zone," Jeleen remarked, unfazed by the four weapons suddenly swung in her direction. "It can't enter into this area."
"Why?"
"I don't know. I don't care."
Dad stalked over to Jeleen, pulling her from the wagon by a fistful of blue hair, the curls twirling around his fingers. He forced her to her knees and held her head back and pushed Winona against her left temple, the sun shining into her green, innocent eyes. "Lady," he said; his voice low and deadly, "you will care. If she dies, you will care for a very, very long time."
She looked up at his face, far above hers, and the admiration shone through. Her breathing deepened and she smiled in adulation. "Really?"
"Dad, if we don't get her soon, she'll suffocate," Brennik reminded.
"Where is the wyrm," he asked.
"Below ground."
"How do we find it?"
"Send someone into its territory. They are always hungry."
"How do we kill it?"
"The only way I've ever seen one killed, was a direct blast into its mouth. But I don't think you'll want to do that."
"Lady, I'm going to do what ever it takes to take that thing down…"
"Oooo, that'll be fun then. It causes an instant fireball encased inside the wrym."
"John, don't believe anything that trelk tells you," D'Argo cautioned as he scanned the dunes for any signs of the beast.
"Oh, she'll tell us," Dad assured. "If she doesn't, I'll feed her to the wyrms."
"You can't," she stated with confidence. "I am your only way out."
He lowered her face close to hers, his breath gently stirring her blue curls. "I… don't… care." For moment she stared into his eyes, and as slow comprehension seeped through her arrogance, the triumphant smile faded.
She finally understood, and she was scared. "Your trelk and the brat inside her are fine. The wyrms digest their prey alive. As soon as she breathes in for the first time, the innard jelly will fill her lungs and stomach. It will supply her with all the oxygen and nutrients she needs to survive until the wyrm has digested her major organs."
Aeric couldn't help it. His breakfast pushed itself out and he found himself leaning over, letting it fall to the sand below. Heave after heave, his mind flashed with the image of his mother, filled with the inner goo of that monster. He fell to his knees and each retch, each gag ripping through his body felt as if it were trying to tear out his insides.
A cool hand pressed against his forehead, another rubbing his back, and when he was finished, those two gentle hands helped him to stand. A grey sleeve wiped his mouth, face and the moisture in his eyes and he was able to see Chiana before him, concern in her features.
She pulled him close, drawing his head to her shoulder and wrapping her arms around him, kissing him on the side of his ear, just his own mother had done on countless occasions. He should be embarrassed, he should pull away and collect himself, be a man.
But her slight arms were too comforting, too encompassing, and he allowed himself a moment of weakness before he finally pulled away.
She smiled at him and patted his cheek gently. "She'll…she'll be fine," she said with a twitch of her head. "She's been through worse… much worse. Just watch. We'll… we'll get her."
He looked over her shoulder and the sight that met him was daunting. Brennik held one of her pulse pistols against Jeleen's temple, where Winona had rested only a few moments before. He saw her lean over and whisper something, and if he read her lips correctly, it was something along the lines of, "Just give me an excuse."
Dad and D'Argo were near the wagon, arguing, as usual. Dad was holding the reins, previously attached to wagon, in his hand. Both had obviously been tied together to make a long rope. The animal they'd been pulled from stood obediently next to the wagon, watching the two men with interest and obviously knowing that to run away would not be smart.
Wait. The beast wasn't moving. Even through the attack, it had stayed in place, not even trying to pull on the reins. "Dad!" Aeric called loudly, interrupting the two men as he pulled out of the Nebari's arms.
"In a minute, Aeric," Dad called back before returning to his argument. "I don't care if it IS your Qualta Blade, I'm going after her."
"John, be sensible. You do not have the strength, or the skill to use this weapon."
"Dad," Aeric tried again.
"Not NOW Aeric!" his father yelled. "Fine, D'Argo, we'll do it this way. I'll go out, get his attention and then bring him to you. Slice and dice, his head is gone, we get Aeryn out."
"You're insane!" Jeleen yelled in dismay. "You'll never survive!"
"If I had a nickel, for every time someone said that to me," his father mumbled as he removed his coat and tied one end of the reins around his waist, throwing the other end to Chiana.
"We could all retire in wealth," D'Argo finished for him. "Chiana, are you ready?"
She tied her end around her waist and braced herself against the wagon. "As ready as I'm gonna get."
"All right, John. Do not go too far out." D'Argo warned.
"NO!" Jeleen cried. "Don't do this!" She tried to lunge forward, but Brennik's patience had expired and she hit Jeleen over the head with the butt of her pistol, knocking her unconscious to the ground. Sethya would've been proud.
"Despite what I said earlier, we DO need her, Bren. Don't cause any permanent damage."
"Dad, that's what…" Aeric tried.
"Later, Aeric," Dad interrupted, stoically heading out in the same direction the wyrm had disappeared, determination in every step. "HEEEEERE WYRMY, WYRMY, WYRMY!" he called loudly, waving his arms and jumping around. "Come and get me!" The ground remained stable and there was no signal of the return of the translucent beast.
"Ooo, you're big and bad enough to swallow a PREGNANT woman, but you're scared of someone who could REALLY take you on, aren't you?" He stomped on the ground several times, as if trying to wake the beast with the unheard noise of his boot-steps hitting the sand. Still, the wyrm remained hidden.
"Try peeing," Chiana yelled. "He liked Aeryn's well enough."
Dad turned and gave Chiana a "get real" look, but he could tell his father was getting desperate. Mom might be able to survive inside that wyrm, but she was encased in a vat of stomach acid, and the clock was ticking.
Oh. My. Gosh… was the only thing Brennik could think when her father turned away from the group. A soft zipping sound preceded the sight of a yellow stream being shot out into the air.
"COME AND GET IT YOU BASTARD!" John yelled.
Only the Crichtons could ever find themselves in this situation. Only the Crichtons would ever resort to these measures to fix things. Her mind flashed briefly to her life on the farm, and the old, used up farmer that had been her father. The difference was polar opposite to what he was now, and she was terrified that he would be totally lost, if he ever had to live without her mother again.
No. That was not an option. They were going to get her mother out. They would save her. Anything less was unacceptable. A low rumbling began to emanate from deep in the ground.
Her father wasted a few precious seconds zipping his pants, the noise growing louder, the earth beginning to shake. "RUN JOHN!" Chiana yelled, realizing with the rest of the group that he had managed to go farther out than he should have.
"RUN!" everyone yelled, needlessly as he was already sprinting for the wagon. His legs and arms pumping, he'd made it halfway to the safe zone when the rumbling and shaking of the ground tripped him, bringing him hard down on his face.
Chiana began pulling frantically on the rope and Aeric and Brennik, stumbling, hurried to join her in the effort. Their combined strength had him sailing through the soft sand at a high speed, but it still wasn't fast enough. D'Argo began to stumble out to his friend with his Qualta Blade drawn and a warrior's call that was loud enough to be heard over the rumbling.
He thought he would make it. All he had to do was run a few motras to D'Argo, and let the man chop off this thing's head. But the ground began to shake worse, his feet flew out from under him, and he landed on his face so hard, he was afraid his nose was going to start bleeding. He tried to stand up, but the wind was also knocked from his lungs, and every time he tried to refill them, the sand tried to follow.
Not that he had been given any time to get on his feet. It seemed that the second he'd hit the ground, he'd felt himself sliding in the dirt, the rope around his waist cinched so tightly, he knew he was going to have a nasty welt… if he managed to live through this latest stunt. He reached up and grabbed the rope, trying to minimize the damage, but it was only helping a little.
He was infinitely grateful for his leather pants, though. The burn from the ride through the sand would have been a killer. All he could see was dirt flying in his face, his mouth was filling with the sand and something had to change. There was no way he was going to be able to stand; he was being dragged to quickly. (How were they managing that so smoothly, anyway?)
The only option left was to try to turn over. Still holding onto the rope, he kicked his feet and twisted his hips, using his momentum to propel himself onto his back. Big mistake. He vaguely heard D'Argo's warrior call approaching, but before he could concentrate on the sound, a volcano of sand erupted at his feet, causing an explosion of dirt that flew in every direction.
The wyrm shot from within the chaos, climbing into the air, rising higher and higher. John caught a glimpse of Aeryn, still struggling, about halfway down its digestive track. The wrym reached its pinnacle and turned its face to him as it fluidly dove downward, straight for his body, its scream loud and consuming. Pull faster, pull faster!
Time seemed to slow down and he was able to process every tiny detail of the next five seconds as if it were five hundred. D'Argo's voice mingled with the wyrm's, and the two screams melded together, the two nearly harmonizing. The wyrm's mouth was wide open, ready to engorge itself on desert. It descended closer, faster than he was moving, faster than his family was able to pull.
Closer… closer… screaming louder, faster. And then it was on him. It plunged its final dive and he saw the wrym's mouth cover him on all directions, closing beneath him and scooping him off the ground. He felt the weight of the rope around his waist grow tighter, and he prayed for Chiana and the others to just let go.
He was only six motras from Aeryn. If this thing swallowed, he could reach her. He was almost there. He reached out to her outstretched arms, calling to her, trying to tell her that he was here and they would get through this together. He hadn't been swallowed yet, though. He was still in the monster's mouth, and he was too far away to reach her. He hadn't even been covered by the clear goo yet.
Hold on, baby, I'm coming for you.
Something grey passed in front of him, a soft swishing sound accompanying the object, and he felt the weightlessness of freefall. He landed hard, the wind knocked from him once again, but he was free of the wyrm. Well, technically, he was still sitting inside the wyrm's mouth, but daylight was before him, the convulsing remains of the wyrm's head collapsing on top of him.
He crawled out to find the bottom portion of the wyrm lying nearby. D'Argo was running to it, his Qualta Blade dripping with clear goo, wyrm guts splattered over his face and chest. He reached the convulsing piece the same as his friend, and both dropped to their knees to look into the gelatinous mess.
Aeryn was desperately trying to climb forward, but her time spent inside the digestive jelly must have made it nearly impossible; she was barely progressing. "Grab my feet," he instructed before pulling in a long breath and holding it. He felt D'Argo's hands encase his ankles and he crawled forward, into the clear Jell-O.
Moving was difficult, but he forced his arms to dredge onward, his legs stretched out behind him, until at last he was within reach. She looked up at him, love and gratitude in her eyes, and grasped his outstretched wrist, locking them together in a death grip.
D'Argo must have been able to see the connection, because no sooner had their hold become secure than his friend started to pull them out. For the second time in less than five minutes he found himself being dragged, but this time was less pleasant. He desperately needed to breathe, and he wasn't sure if he was going to make it out of this cadaverous tomb without a lungful of stomach jelly.
His chest began to burn and tiny pinpricks of light invaded his vision, distorting his view of Aeryn. He wasn't going to make it. Violently, the air rushed from his lungs, causing a myriad of air bubbles to spray outward, over Aeryn's head, disappearing in the pressure of ooze.
He tried to keep himself from breathing in, he screamed silently at himself to wait a few seconds longer, but it was no use. His chest expanded of its own volition, and his lungs willingly and desperately followed the example. In one giant heave, his lungs greedily filled with warm, dusty air.
Thank whatever deity had managed to watch over him right them, but D'Argo had managed to pull his head free just at the moment he was going to receive a lungful of gelatinous goo.
He opened his eyes and looked through the layer of jell still covering them to see Aeryn's hands emerge with his own. A loud sucking noise reverberated throughout the dunes as she slowly emerged. D'Argo was straining to pull them free and, and he realized that the pressure had increased, the goo holding tightly to its dinner.
It was as if, even in death, the wyrm was fighting for its meal, refusing to admit defeat or give up. He held tighter and he knew that she was going to have some nasty bruises when this was all over.
Her head emerged, her shoulders, her waist. She began twisting, struggling, and he almost yelled to her to stop when he realized what her problem was. "D'Argo, turn us to the side!" he yelled, hoping the Luxan wouldn't question why, and simply do it.
Twenty-eight cycles of brotherhood paid off and, without question, his friend did as asked, maneuvering them sideways at the last moment. D'Argo heaved one last time and she sprang from her prison with a loud *POP*, landing both of them in the dirt. The air was knocked from his lungs, again, for the millionth time that day, but he scrambled to his hands and knees and crawled to Aeryn's side.
She tried to get up, but all her energy had been spent, and she lay there, helpless as she choked and gagged, desperately trying to get air into her already filled lungs. He helped her to her knees and she fell forward, catching herself with her hands. Her shoulders shook and her rounded stomach began to convulse.
With a muddy hand, he slicked her hair back from her face and held it out of the way. There was no part of her, no crevice, nook or cranny that was not covered or filled with the sticky, clinging goo. The dirt mixed with the stomach gel, forming a sticky paste that covered her left side and any part of her body that had contact with the dune beneath her.
She began to retch, and clear liquid poured from her mouth, landing in the dirt between her quivering hands. A small puddle grew larger and larger as he emptied first the contents of her stomach and then her lungs. At least, he hoped her lungs would clear.
She'd already drowned once. He didn't want to watch that again.
Her elbows buckled and he caught her shoulders in his arms, holding her high enough to ensure she didn't fall, face first into the pool collecting beneath her. Vaguely he registered noise far behind him, yelling and screaming, but all of his concentration was on Aeryn, making sure she was getting everything from that wyrm out of her system. Retching, gagging, choking, convulsing, the liquid continued to pour from her.
The noise ended about the same time everything from her was spent, and a quiet descended, only a slight howl of wind swirling dust around them created any noise. Her entire body shook gently, and she fell backward into his arms, letting him hold her. Both of them were covered in mud and clear Jello-O, and everywhere they touched, they created a soft squishing noise.
Her eyes closed and she let her head fall backward against his shoulder with a light *splatt*. She was safe, in his arms. Her entire body was pink and slightly swollen; raw from being digested in stomach acid. It looked as if the wyrm had only been able to process the first layer or two of skin.
"We have to get you out of here," he whispered into her ear. "We have to get this crap off you."
She shook her head slightly. "The burning has stopped," she rasped, her voice still watery. "I think the air stopped the effectiveness. We have to keep going." Her breath was labored, but she was insistent. "We're not far from the castle. I saw it when he resurfaced once, just before he went after you."
"John, Aeryn," D'Argo called to them, interrupting their quiet moment. "We have a problem."
Brennik stood beside Chiana in shocked horror. The moment had played out so quickly, she was still trying to reconstruct in her mind what had happened. She and Aeric had been standing beside Chiana, watching their mother gasp and vomit into the dirt, being held by their father. They were desperate to run to her, but knew it would only make things difficult, and their father had everything under control. Besides, D'Argo was standing nearby to assist them, if need be.
Then, as her father would have said, all hell broke loose. A vicious, animalistic snarl sounded behind her. She was knocked down by Jeleen, with teeth bared and a dagger in her fist, running past them, straight for her parents. Her blue curly hair flew out behind her as she ran, flying like a wild mane in the wind, with a low guttural growl escaping past bared teeth.
Brennik hit the wagon in the fall, her elbow smashing against the edge, and landed on the wrist of the other arm, twisting it into an unnatural position. Both arms were incapacitated and she couldn't even pull herself to sit up. Aeric saw her problem and, without hesitation, jumped to her side and pulled one of her pulse pistols from her thigh.
In one fluid motion he raised the pistol, grasping it with both hands, and began firing at Jeleen as she ran for his mother. He missed, adjusted his aim, fired again, adjusted, fired again, trailing behind the running woman.
Chiana, still tied to the rope, couldn't reach her pulse rifle. She began desperately clawing at the knot, but with the weight it had been forced to support, it was impossible to undo. D'Argo turned to see the ruckus and started to run to intercept Jeleen, not wanting to take the time to transform his Qualta Blade back into a pulse weapon.
Before he could reach her, Aeric's shot found its mark. A yellow bolt of light exploded against her back, throwing her forward into the sand. She landed so hard, her entire face was buried and sticky yellow blood oozed from the charred wound. She twitched slightly, her limbs jolting with each small spasm, until finally her body lay still.
Deathly silence descended over the entire group. The only sound for metras was the low hum of wind picking up layers of sand and redistributing it randomly in the wasteland. Everyone stared at the body, the yellow blood as it seeped into the dirt. There lay the corpse of the only woman who could lead them through the Wyrmland.
"John," D'Argo called, not taking his eyes from the body. "We have a problem."
Frell! Frell, frell, frell, frell, frell, frell, frell! She was cut in half, in the middle of a wasteland of dirt, by a frelling rope tied around her waist. She could barely breathe, she was scared drenless that her two closest friends had been swallowed by a giant Wyrm, and now she was torn between anger and sympathy for a boy who was just trying to help.
That stinking trelk was bleeding all over this desert, and there was no way she'd survived that blast. She had to admit- it was a good shot. But Aeric stood there, pistol still raised, no readable expression on his face. Usually, she could tell exactly what the boy was thinking or feeling. He expressed in emotions in his eyes, the same as his father.
But right now they were blank. His hands were shaking slightly, but there was no other sign of what he was experiencing, having killed someone for the first time. The sad irony that it was Aeric, the pacifist of Moya, who was the one to finally kill Jeleen was not lost on Chiana. She remembered another time when someone else had told her that she didn't believe in violence, and she'd responded with the statement that she would learn.
Everyone on Moya eventually learned.
Chiana tried to put an arm around his shoulders, but he shook it off. He was being ungrateful, but he just didn't want anything touching him right now. He should be feeling something, anything. He should be angry, he should be remorseful, and he should be elated that the trelk was dead. But he felt nothing. He was numb, anesthetized and he felt an odd curiosity about the body lying in the dirt and the yellow blood that was oozing from her. What kind of monster was he?
He looked up across the distance to meet his father's gaze. Even from here he saw the concern, the sympathy, in the older man's eyes. It was sympathy that he apparently didn't need. He glanced at D'Argo and saw the same expression; a mixture of concern, pity, sympathy and anger and frustration over the death of Jeleen.
He tossed the pistol into Brennik's lap and turned away from the adults staring at him, reaching for the pack animal that was still waiting calmly beside the wagon. "There is no problem," he stated clearly, his voice traveling in the stillness of the afternoon desert.
He grabbed two fistfuls of hair and adeptly swung onto the tired beast's back. If there was one thing he learned as a slave to farmers, it was how to work a pack animal. "It never was Jeleen that knew the way." He looked over to his father, still sitting in the dirt, holding his mother. "It was the beast."
It was a sorry looking group, arriving at the castle. They approached slowly, more from exhaustion than caution. John, Aeryn and D'Argo were covered in sticky, pasty mud and wyrm guts. Their hair was matted, ugly bruises beginning to form on Aeryn's wrists. Brennik's wrist was swollen and an ugly red and purple, her hand incapacitated. Her other arm hung at her side, only usable with extreme effort. Chiana was the only one apparently unhurt, but her breathing was labored and when D'Argo had checked under her top, a grey bruise circled her waist.
All of the adults rode in the back of the wagon, draped over each other, looking like dirty refugees from a war front. Aeric rode on the high seat in the front, letting the beast lead by using the control techniques he'd watched Jeleen execute.
They were about a hundred yards from the castle, when John heard what sounded like trumpets blaring. The wagon stopped and everyone eyed the castle warily, unsure if the fanfare was for them or not. A large door descended and chariots emerged, carrying armored soldiers wearing feathered helmets.
A sigh sounded from the weary group as they each picked themselves up and pulled their weapons into their hands, getting ready for whatever would happen. Twenty armed soldiers in five chariots rode toward them until their wagon was surrounded.
"Halt!" one soldier wearing a purple feather yelled to his subordinates. At least, John assumed it was for the other soldiers, since the rag tag group in the wagon wasn't moving anywhere. "Everyone, out of the cart. You and all your property are hereby seized in the name of The Elected, Netrijon."
He couldn't take it anymore. Too much crap had happened in the last hour, for him to sit around and let an idiot in a feather carry on like this. John stood pointing a finger at the soldier in charge, anger glaring in his gaze. "Try it and you'll end up like the wrym and that trelk Jeleen. We have had one hellacious morning and I am NOT in the mood for this dren! So get your boss out here…"
He didn't realize that the moment he started talking, the guard's eyes grew big, and he was so busy ranting he missed the gasp of horror that emanated through the crowd of soldiers. One by one, they fell to one knee, each bowing their head. When he finally realized what was happened, his rant petered out and he stood there looking at the small crowd of colored feathers pointing at his face.
"We are humbly sorry, Sir," the soldier spokesman said when it became apparent John was finished, "for any inconvenience you may have experienced. I assure that The Elected has been looking forward to this day, and had he known of your arrival, all consideration would have been made for your comfort. Please allow us to escort you the rest of the way."
Ok, now he was just confused. He looked at the others from the corner of his eye and saw they were all as clueless as he was. He shrugged slightly and faced the soldier once again. "This is the way it should have been from the start!" he declared, throwing authority behind his voice for good measure, standing tall and trying to look dignified. It was difficult, being sore and covered in mud and wyrm guts, but the bravado seemed to impress the soldier.
"Yes, Emperor Thasnoidian," the guard placated. "All of your needs will be seen to within the castle walls. Please follow us."
The guards continued to surround the wagon as they guided the group in, and everyone remained quiet and confused, in unspoken agreement to follow along and see where this would lead.
Brennik lay in her bed, staring at the ornate ceiling, listening to the waves below crash against the rocks. Had she known that Sethya had been in this room, sat in the chair at the end of her bed, it might have brought her a touch of comfort. But she didn't know that, and she was beyond comfort tonight. Her mind drifted back to their arrival, and the events that led her to her current state of depression.
When they had arrived at the front doors of the castle, the soldiers showed a wealth of compassion for the tired crew and assisted them from their wagon with the greatest care, treating them as if they were royalty; which evidently they were. They kept referring to Dad as Emperor Thasnoidian, and once they figured out which female was his mate, they called Mom, Empress and Your Highness.
And when they discovered she was with child, they became even more solicitous, almost incurring the wrath of both her parents with too much hovering. It would have been funny, if it hadn't been so scary.
They had been led inside by a servant wearing a massive head-piece made of colorful flowers that fanned from his head. He'd shown them to their rooms, all in the same hallway. Both Brennik and Aeric had been given their own rooms, Dad and Mom sharing, D'Argo and Chiana sharing. All four rooms were opulent, to match the ornate hallways.
They had been left with instructions that they would be led to dinner, and to stay in this hall until collected. A healer was sent for and everyone was bathed, treated for their injuries and told there would be no permanent damage. The baby had not been harmed, Chiana's bruise would clear up after a few days, and Brennik's broken wrist and fractured elbow were spliced back together within a few hundred microts under some hand-held machine she didn't recognize.
Two arns after being shown to their rooms, they were collected by a servant and led to massive dining hall, where they were fed large plates of colorful food that no one could recognize. It had been good food, though, and the crew ate with the enthusiasm only those who had missed a couple of meals could appreciate.
They still had yet to meet Netrijon. They'd been told he had been visiting the mines on official business, but as soon as he'd heard of their arrival, he left his tour and journeyed back to headquarters. He would be with them shortly.
When their dinners were complete, they were led to a large room that seemed as if it were intended for court, as a large throne sat high on a platform at one end. They had only been there for a few hundred microts, trying to mingle with the large crowd without being separated, when a sick Keedva blared a call throughout the room. Brennik, and everyone she was with, pulled their weapons, scanning for the danger.
The crowd gasped, soldiers surrounding the room instantly had every weapon trained on them and to their embarrassment, a feather clad horn man choked on his instrument, the announcing call dying an agonizing death. Netrijon swept in to the room, arms spread wide to complete silence and a standoff between his guards and his new guests.
His grand entrance had been ruined. The look on his face told the crew that he was not impressed.
He recovered quickly, though, his smile warm and welcoming as he glided across the room in his teal blue pantaloons and white ruffled shirt. Brennik had never seen a man wear heeled shoes before, especially one in heeled shoes with pink bows to match his stockings.
She could just imagine what Sethya had thought of this guy. What was her father's term? Fruit loop. It seemed like a very apt description. She'd have loved to have been here when Sethya saw this guy for the first time. She bet the look on his face must have been worth a thousand crindars.
D'Argo lowered his Qualta blade, and everyone else followed his example, including the soldiers on guard duty around the room. "Isn't this so much nicer? Welcome, Emperor Thasniodian! Welcome to my humble business!" The Elected bowed deep at the waist in her father's direction. "I am honored that a man with a great empire such as yours would take the time to visit my establishment."
He bowed to her mother and continued his speech. "Empress Thasniodian, I hope you have received your mentor in good health? You must have traveled very quickly; it has only been two weekens since your representative, Sethya Miskhaal, was here last."
"No," her other stated, much to the shock of everyone in the room. "I did not."
"What was that?" the elected asked, clearly taken aback. A light twitch began in the corner of his right eye, and Brennik found herself distracted by it, unable to take her eyes away.
"No, I did not receive my mentor. Miskhaal was en route home, when he was ambushed by two of YOUR slaving vessels. We are here for his, my mentor's, and their escorts, safe return."
Brennik had pulled her gaze from Netrijon during her mother's fabrication and was now staring at her. Her father was eyeing her with pride. The lie was rolling off her tongue with absolute earnestness and she was playing her role with complete conviction. At this moment she was an angry Queen, determined to have her own way. Dad had said she was a bad liar, but somewhere along the way, she learned the art. She was almost as good as Chiana.
Netrijon lost all color in his face and he raised a hand high above his head, snapping loudly. "I assure you both, if my recruiters have mistakenly indoctrinated your people, full restitution will be made. Miskhaal, and his charge, were very accommodating during their stay."
Her father stepped forward, ensuring the eyes of Netrijon were on him. "Well, you see Sigfreid, Miskhaal was more than just my representative. He was taking extra security precautions and didn't tell you who he really was." She didn't think it was possible, but even more color drained from Netrijon's face. "He is married to my daughter, the heir to my throne, which makes him Prince Regent, and I will not be happy if my daughter has been turned into a widow before she bears an heir."
Both her parents were taking very big risks. At first, she thought that this was just a case of mistaken identity and that her parents were taking advantage of the situation. But Netrijon had just confirmed that he knew Sethya was connected to this crew.
What had Sethya done the last time he was here? What had he told this company about the crew of Moya? He had obviously impressed this creep, and impressed on him the danger of messing with this group. He'd also told several grandiose lies as well. What she couldn't believe, was that a businessman as controlling as The Elected seemed to actually believe the lies.
But her parents were using the groundwork already laid, and making things up as they went. She hoped they knew what they were doing.
A servant appeared with a square, thin monitor, and Netrijon immediately starting playing with the screen, looking through menu after menu. "Sethya is not employed at my mines, nor is he in transport," he reported, still looking at the monitor and scrolling through various screens. He continued to work for several hundred microts before he seemed satisfied. "All of my active recruitment vehicles have reported in, and neither your Prince, nor the Empress's mentor, is among them."
"The last transmission received showed them being targeted by two Jivihsten Company ships, and I am getting tired of waiting." As her father spoke, his voice became harder, more ruthless, more powerful, and his control seemed to be barely held in check. "I have a ship, orbiting your planet right now. And as thorough as your data appears to be, I'm sure it will confirm that my ship is capable of blowing holes in your mines so big, the entire planet will look like Swiss Cheese… and don't think I haven't done this before." His eyes were narrowed and he'd stepped close the The Elected, ignoring the weapons the guards lifted. "Find them."
The Elected cleared his throat, but didn't step back, and met her Father's gaze unflinchingly. "There are two inactive ships that were lost five solar days ago. My men have been searching and believe they will have the ships back within custody by daybreak. Perhaps the answers to this mystery will be forthcoming with their recovery."
"I want access to all information regarding the ships when you get them."
"You will be supplied with all information that is pertinent. Now, I understand it has been a trying day for you and your family. I apologize for Jeleen's behavior, and I assure you that, had she lived, she would have been disciplined severely. You were merciful, letting her die in her beloved desert, among her wyrms. I would suggest rest and relaxation and my men will inform you the moment any news has been reported."
No one looked happy, but it was the best bargain they were going to get. So far, this man had shown incredible patience after being threatened in his own home. Who knew how long his hospitality would last? A servant stepped forward, removing the hand monitor, and another motioned for the crew to follow her.
As they stepped away, Netrijon waved to her father and he stepped back to speak privately. She wasn't sure exactly what had been said, but she caught Netrijon asking about who trained the Emperor's concubines. There was a decidedly eerie look on the man's faced as he asked.
She shuddered and followed the group from the room.
So here she lay, staring at the moonlit ceiling, the waves crashing far below, no closer to Sethya than she was before finding the transmission. There would be no sleep for her tonight. Maybe she should go get Aeric to play a game of Chess with her, he was always willing. No. That would mean getting up and getting dressed, and right now that was too much effort.
He was hovering on his skateboard, about half a motra off the ground. It was as liberating as flying the module. No. It was more so because he wasn't surrounded by metal. He was free of walls and machinery.
Pushing with his foot, he flew forward, faster than his wheels ever let him go. Around the halls of Moya he skated, taking turns expertly at speeds his mother would have a fit over if she knew. He loved this. He was free, he was away.
"Help!" cried over the comms and he stopped at the sound of Brennik's voice. "Help me!"
"Brennik, where are you?" he asked, looking around for the first time, realizing he had no clue where he was.
"I'm in my room! Help me!"
"Brennik, what's wrong?" he asked, trying to head back the way he came, but all of the halls looked familiar and he couldn't tell if he was going in circles, going the wrong way, or making any progress at all.
"Pilot, where am I?" he asked desperately, hoping for directions, but the comms remained silent. He looked for a DRD but the corridors were empty. "Brennik, hold on, I'm coming for you!"
"It's too late," a silky voice spoke from behind him. He turned around to see Jeleen, standing in the hall smiling sweetly. Her blue curls circled her face, her red lips parted slightly, invitingly.
"What have you done with them?" he demanded.
"Oh, please, Aeric. You know you don't care about them. You have your skateboard. You have… me. I can make you happy, Aeric." Her green eyes held his captive and he found he couldn't look away. "Not like that brat your mother was going to bare. Ever since you came to Moya, she hasn't had time for you, has she? Not like it used to be, anyway. Remember, when it was just the two of you? Remember when she didn't carry pistols around all the time, or insist on making you shoot? It could be like that again, Aeric, just the two of us."
A light glinted, and in her hand held at her side, he saw a long, thick knife. The handle was jewel encrusted; the metal sleek and covered in blue liquid. Gradually, the liquid pooled at the tip, forming a ball before slowly… slowly… dripping to the floor. Chiana's blood.
"WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER, YOU TRELK!" he screamed, skating for her with all his strength. The harder he pushed, the faster his board went, but she stayed the same distance away.
She smiled and giggled slightly. "Oh, please, Aeric. You know you'll be happier."
The next drop to fall was a deep burgundy. D'Argo's blood. Harder he pushed, faster he flew.
A bright red drip fell to the floor. Dad's blood.
Tears streamed down his face and he pulled Winona from his thigh and aimed, shooting at the small seductress standing before him. The light traveled through her, to the wall behind, impotent in its power.
A light red drop slowly fell. Brennik's blood.
"NO YOU TRELK!" he screamed, pulling D'Argo's Qualta blade from his back, hurling it with all the strength his arms would throw. It sailed past her, landing in the wall of Moya, imbedding itself into his one friend he had left. The ship moaned and he apologized in his heart, hoping she could hear him.
A deep red drop pooled at the tip, fighting to stay on the blade. But gravity finally won the fight, forcing it to cascade to the floor, a clear drop following closely. Mother and the baby.
"NOOOOOOO!" he screamed, jumping from the skateboard and running toward Jeleen, still standing before him, smiling sweetly. Everyone's blood covered his hands, the mixture of colors splattered on his shirt.
He ran, legs pumping, arms swinging, just as his father had in the desert. Finally, he made progress, reaching Jeleen and grabbing her by the shoulders, throwing her against the wall, screaming the entire time.
Her head snapped and the arrogance disappeared from her eyes. He'd killed her. Her head fell forward and yellow blood gathered on his hands, climbing upward until it covered his arms, his shoulders, his chest, his neck… his face. It seeped into his mouth, salty and slick, and covered his hair, stinging his eyes.
Still he screamed, trying desperately to wipe the blood away, hoping that if he could make it disappear, all the bad things would disappear with it. The more he wiped, the thicker the blood pooled and he was afraid he was going to drown.
Her lifeless hands reached up and began to shake him, and he knew this was the end. He would pay for his selfishness, his apathy; he would pay for his crime of murder.
"Aeric!" a familiar voice called, pulling him from his desperation.
"You're DEAD!" he shouted to the spectre of his mother.
"No, I'm not, Aeric, I'm here; I'm fine. I'm alive."
Warm arms surrounded him and he began to cry. Heart-wrenching sobs tore throughout his body, the pain of the convulsion equal to the agony of the two hands squeezing his heart. His lungs burned and he could barely draw in breath, when the hitching allowed him to try.
His mother was in his bed, and pulled him into her lap; her belly, the baby, his brother or sister, pushing into his side, almost as if they were trying to comfort him as well. She combed his hair with long fingers, rubbed his back with a gentle hand. His tears and snot soaked her shirt, but she continued to hold him, rocking him. She didn't speak, but mumbled incoherently, occasionally kissing his head. She let him cry, and when he ran out of tears, she continued to hold him as his body stilled convulsed, still choked him, still burned with shame and anger and desperation.
He never knew when he finally fell asleep again, and when he awoke, his mother was gone. But he still felt her long fingers caressing his hair, her soft lips on his forehead. The raw agony of the night before had subsided slightly, replaced by a heavy weight that settled in the pit of his stomach.
It would be a very long time before that weight was gone, if it ever left. Throwing off the covers he began to dress. There had to have been more news by now, and his family needed him.
John's heart sank to his stomach as he stared at the screen before him. Netrijon had been true to his word and retrieved John when the soldiers reported in, and now he sat in The Elected's private business chamber, looking at the intel report.
It was bad. The two ships had been overtaken by mercenaries, and had been taken on a week long raiding binge. The mercenaries belonged to a company that worked for a man named Klune, and upon questioning, had offered the location of the headquarters of their business.
They'd apprehended Sethya, Laighn and Tean, delivered them to Klune himself and knew nothing of what happened from there.
Netrijon stood next to John, watching his reactions. "The men of Klune are infamous in this area," he said with calculation in his eyes. "They are also very expensive to hire." The implication was left to hang in the air, but John refused to give the man any indication of the truth.
"We are heading out within the arn," he responded, turning off the monitor. "I need transportation out of your compound, and we'll handle our arrangements from there."
The Elected gestured to an unseen servant, and the door was slammed shut and locked. John had been relieved of his weapon upon entry to the chambers and was left weaponless. "No," he said, as a soldier stepped forward, a long scepter in hand. "I don't believe that will happen."