Rygel moved his Hoverthrone about the cramped confines of the Transport Pod aimlessly, all the while muttering to himself in ever growing irritation.
Finally, he floated over to the pilot's station and stabbed at a control stud with one stubby finger.
"Pilot! PILOT!" he demanded as a comm channel to the orbiting Leviathan opened. "I'm bored!" he announced.
A microt later, Moya's helmsman shimmered into view on a small holo tank.
"I am sorry about your ennui, Dominar Rygel," Pilot apologized. "But there is nothing neither Moya or I can do about it at the moment."
"Well, I am sick of sitting here," the Hynerian replied. "I am going out... there has to be some type of gambling entertainment on flark-hole of a sandpit."
"The others wanted you to stay and watch the Pod, Rygel," Pilot added. "They will not be happy if you leave it unguarded."
"Well that's frelling too bad for them," Rygel replied stubbornly. "Tell them I'll be back when I'm good and ready... and that they better not leave without me."
"Rygel! I think..." Pilot began to say until Rygel flicked the comm link off.
The Hynerian ruler floated his chair over to the hatchway. He was just about to exit when he recalled Aeryn's warning about his Hoverthrone's gravity mechanism being susceptible to being clogged with sand very quickly. His only option if he wanted to keep the device in good condition was to leave it behind in the Transport Pod.
The Dominar almost gave up on the idea of finding some entertainment if it meant actually having to walk anywhere, but then he decided he couldn't take being cooped up in the Pod alone for much longer.
Besides, he should be able to find a pheasant or two to carry him around in a sedan chair for a few krendar.
He hopped from his throne and a few microts latter had secured the Pod. He made his way across what served the city as a spaceport, which had more sand then any kind of paving or walkways.
Rygel hadn't taken one fact about the sand into account when he left the ship - it was hot!
The soles of his bare feet were roasting and he quickened his pace toward the nearest building. He cursed rancorously as he almost ran. If he didn't find sedan bearers soon, he was going to be forced to search for some kind of footwear, and he didn't hold out much of a chance on finding anything small enough to fit him.
The few people out in the mid-day sun mostly ignored the Hynerian, even when he ranted at them to get out of his way. He almost made it to the sanctuary of the building and it's shaded walkway when a couple of pair of worn tan boots suddenly blocked his way.
"Move! Damn you, you backwater savages!" Rygel exclaimed.
The boots just remained there and the small being suddenly got the feeling he might be in trouble.
Rygel looked upward, having to shield his eyes from the glaring sun that was positioned just over the two forms' heads. Shading his eyes, he could make out cloth swathed heads of the beings blocking him. Only their weathered eyes showed through the split between turban-like head wrap and the face veils.
And the eyes didn't look friendly in the least.
Rygel swallowed hard and forgetting his burning feet for a moment, began to back away.
"Er, Crichton..." he choked and then realized he needed to active his comm badge before calling for help.
He was just making a futile reach for it when the two desert-garbed beings lunged down in unison to seize him.
The crew on the planet's surface had just finished a reasonably palatable lunch when Moya's helmsman commed them.
"Yeah, what is it, Pilot?" asked the elder Crichton as he pushed an empty platter away from him.
"My apologizes," answered Pilot, "But Moya and I regret to inform you that Rygel has abandoned his post on the Transport Pod. We would have informed Zhaan first, but she is locked in her quarters meditating."
"Is there trouble?" asked D'argo.
"No..." came the reply. "He simply said he was bored and he does not answer his comm."
"Relax, Pilot," said John, "Its not the first time Buckwheat got a bug up his ass and baled on us."
Sean sneered and asked, "So where did Spud-boy the sixteenth say he was going?"
The exasperation in Pilot's voice was almost thick enough to cut with a knife.
"He claimed he was going to look for... entertainment."
It was Chiana's turn to snicker and smirk.
"Entertainment... as in gambling," she said.
"Correct," confirmed Pilot.
"Well, at least somebody's got the right idea," the Nebari continued. "I say we join him."
Aeryn shot the idea down. "Never mind that," she broke in. "Pilot, when did you lose contact with him?"
"About thirty microns ago."
"Okay, Pilot... we're on it," John said and then closed the comm link to the Leviathan. "Come on, troops. Lets go round ole Spanky up before he loses the farm on us."
"Do we have too?" asked Malika.
"I find myself having to agree with that sentiment," added Andar.
The older Crichton made a harried sigh. "I'm afraid we do," he replied. "One for all and all to kick Rygel's ass when we get him back to Moya, and all that."
"That part I like," added the Delvian girl.
Just as the human rose to his feet from his seat, he turned and noticed two of the desert dwellers standing in front of their table, gazing at the group with their full attention.
John's sudden pause brought the pair to the group's notice also and hands began to edge toward weapons.
"There will be no need to search for your tribe mate," one of the two abruptly informed them. "We have taken him."
"What do you mean?" demanded Crichton as he came all the way to his feet. Behind him, he heard several chairs scraping the floor as the others got up behind him. Someone came up directly behind him and he knew without looking that it was Aeryn, guarding his back and using his body to block the view of the intruders to the fact that she had her pulse rifle in her hand and ready to swing up into action.
A few muffled boot steps told him the others were fanning out, taking up positions to fight from.
"By 'tribe mate,' I assume you're referring to our missing Hynerian friend?" he asked next.
The desert man on the left nodded and held up a gold colored object. It was a comm badge from Moya and the group had no doubt that it belong to Rygel. D'argo hissed in growing fury at the sight of it.
"Your friend is unharmed and we offer 'shade truce' if you will honor it, outworlders."
"Shade truce?" asked Malika with one hand on knife hilt, but her pistol already in her other hand held down at her side.
Both robed beings nodded. "We pledge to do no harm or breath false word to you if you agree to honor the same while the shade truce stands between us," explained one.
"We have no wish to harm your tribe mate or any of you," added the other man.
"Then what do you want?" asked John.
"Our Sakmahar wishes counsel with your Sakmahar," replied the taller one who seemed to be the leader of the pair. At the blank looks they received at the unfamiliar term, he reiterated, "Our chieftain wishes a word with your chieftain or leader."
"You had to kidnap Rygel for that?" asked D'argo. Both desert dwellers remained silent to the comment.
"What happens if we decide not to go?" asked Crichton next.
Both man gave each other a quick glance, and then the taller one spoke again.
"Then regrettably the shade truce will dissolve... and your tribe mate might be killed."
"You're not leaving us much of an option," said Sean with growing indignation.
"You have our Sakmahar's holy word of honor that none of your tribe will be harmed and that all will be free to leave unmolested after you speak... should you all chose."
D'argo eased his Qualta rifle upwards a little more in the pair's direction.
"You'll forgive me if I give your Sakmahar's holy word the trust its due... none at all," rumbled the Luxan.
"Frelling right!" added Chiana, nervously fingering her palm pistol and darting her eyes around the room looking for any other sign of threats.
"No, no... hold on," Andar broke in. "I did some research into this world's cultures before we made planet fall. Moya's Peacekeeper data banks had an extensive history and profile for this world. The desert tribes are noted for their extreme adherence to their codes and system of honor. The shade truce is not given lightly, even to an enemy, and most desert dwellers would rather die than break it for any reason."
"There's always a first time," muttered Sean.
"Yeah, and the first time always happens to us," put in the Nebari girl.
Andar ignored the other two, even though he plainly heard the comments. Instead he went on to the pair of desert men before them.
"What tribe are you from and where do you share shade and water?" the ex-Teacher asked.
The taller man again answered.
"We are of the Forth Dymi. We share shade and water on the Domescus Reaches, west of the twin valleys."
Andar searched his memory and quickly found the name.
"One of the Great Seven Tribes of the True Nation?" he asked.
The big desert man smiled at the outworlder's knowledge and both men seemed to stand a bit taller now that someone from off world had recognized their tribe.
"Yes, outworlder," confirmed the tall man who seemed to be leader, "Under the great Sakmahar Cassius Zom'Darmarh... long may his line guide us across the sands."
"What's that all mean, Teach?" asked the elder human. Andar turned to look at John.
"It means I think we can trust them to do exactly what they say they will," replied the Sebacean man.
John frowned as he regarded the robed desert men, still with obvious mistrust.
"Still... its not like we have much of a choice if we want Rygel back," he said. "All right, we'll go with you to see what your head honcho wants with us, and agree to your truce. But I promise you... any funny business, anything hincky at all... and you're going to wish you never laid eyes on any of us."
Besides Berret, Chiana moaned under her breath, "I was afraid he'd decide that."
The Shrike allowed a momentary frown to grace his features. In his own opinion the crew was better off without the Hynerian who could rarely be trusted at best. Still, he owned the others to stand with them with whatever they decided to do about the missing Dominar. Even if he hadn't feel an obligation of his own; despite her muttered protest, Chiana had made no move to leave the group or urge the others to abandon the Hynerian to his fate. For that reason alone he would have stayed.
The frowned faded almost as quickly as it came, the ever-present emotionless veneer slipping back into place; he marched forward behind the others as they unenthusiastically followed their two guides.
The crewmates were led a short distance away from the Inn and politely asked to board a waiting sandtruck. The desert vehicle was old and weather battered, sandstorms having blasted most of the paint off the machine, leaving it a tan sand-like color itself. The floor of the bed of the truck rose up to shoulder height on D'argo; to allow for the massive caterpillar tracks that the vehicle traveled over the dunes on.
Even with a fold-up step, Berret still had to boost up the shorter Chiana so she could make it onto the tarp-covered bed section of the sandtruck. As soon as all were aboard, the machine started up and headed out into the desert, steered by an unseen driver in the shielded box-like cab of the conveyance. Crichton stood up to peer over the truck's cab at where they were going, but could see no visible sign of a road anywhere ahead of them. Idly he wondered how the driver knew which way to go and decided the vehicle was probably relying on a GPS type of system for guidance.
As soon as they were on their way, their two guides introduced themselves, the taller and leader named himself Yurrek and the shortest of the pair, Tezlmin. The pair of desert folk explained that while the tribes themselves used little in the way of technology, the sandtruck's services had been secured for the sole purpose of transporting them to their meeting in as much comfort as possible.
Sean grumbled that the hard plastic-like bench seat under his behind was far from close to being comfortable. Despite the situation, the Delvian girl across from the human couldn't help but grin at the younger Crichton's gripping. She herself not having fauna-like flesh to be bruised, handled the bumpy ride with little mishap. Sean caught Malika's grin and returned a nasty sneer of his own... that made the blue girl grin even harder. The younger human made a mental note the next time the group dinned together at a refreshment house, to order the biggest salad on the menu. Then he began to store away as many off-color flora and vegetable based barbs and comments that he could think of for later use. There were several types of fruits and vegetables he'd found he'd like since arriving... in his mind's eye he saw himself asking Malika if one of them were a relative as he peeled it.
John might call it childish... he preferred to think of it as creative retaliation.
Sean abruptly smiled at his mischievous planning and like an opposite mirror image the grin on Malika's face faded as she wondered what the human had found so amusing all of a sudden.
Past experience with the other human led her to believe it don't bode well.
The two Sebaceans of the group handled the ride well. Andar having grown up on a relatively non-tech world was use to archaic modes of travel, and to Aeryn it could have been one of any number of military land vehicles she had traveled in over her career as a Peacekeeper.
Chiana on the other hand, with even less physical padding than Sean, was not finding it a pleasant adventure to say the least. The normally energizing Nebari female looked less than happy with the bouncing she was taking. After a few microns of trying to keep her seat, she gave up and simply dropped herself into Berret's lap.
Even with the armor plates sheathing the Shrike's limbs, her new position was much more comfortable on her delicate areas. Berret regarded her change of seating with only mild interest and no comments. Almost as if he took for granted that she had a right to be there.
Still, Chiana liked the fact that the Shrike didn't take her presumption as an intrusion on his personal space. He accepted her without pause, where he still kept everyone else at arm's length. In the short time since Moya's crew picked up its new members, she found she liked having a new person aboard who was more or less loyal to her.
She slung an arm around the ex-Enforcer's neck to study herself. The gray girl couldn't help but keep looking back at the two robed men who had detained them with Rygel's abduction. In her other hand, and draped across one knee, she realized she had taken out her palm pulse pistol once more without thinking about it. Her survival instincts had kicked into high mode and she was becoming more edgy by the microt.
"What do you think this Sakmahar guy wants?" Chiana whisper as she tilted her head closer to the former Syndicate assassin.
Berret shifted ice-colored eyes over to Telzmin and Yurrek. Neither of the men seemed to be paying much attention to the rest of the crewmates and both were busy answering questions John had been putting to them. And by the disapproving look on Crichton's face, the answers he was receiving from the pair, Berret concluded were very vague.
"I do not know," the Shrike answered the girl a moment later. "But there is something I find anomalous in their behavior."
"What?" Chiana asked, interested in what the man might have observed.
Berret turned his dead gaze back at the Nebari. Others might have flinched away from the soulless eyes, Chiana found them oddly reassuring. They were somehow as steadfast as D'argo was dependable... and in some ways those qualities in both her male crewmates made her feel a little safer.
"The pair of them rarely looks at any of us except for John Crichton," Berret went on to explain. "I find that very strange for a person facing possible multiple enemies."
Chiana turned a frown that wrinkled her forehead.
"Now that you mention it... I think you're right. I don't remember either of them looking any of the rest of us over for too long," the gray girl commented.
"No... they did not," the Shrike added with a dark frown of his own.
Chiana tapped the muzzle of her gun against her kneecap as she thought.
"Do you suppose its some sort of cultural taboo?" she asked. "Or maybe it's meant as an insult? Its not a very good one if it is."
"No, it was too much like a forced unnatural action. The few times they glanced at someone beside Crichton, they steer their eyes away too quickly," Berret deliberated with her.
Chiana turned to look him fully in the face, more to hide that they were having a serious discussion from the two desert men in case they might have been watching the crew from the corner of their eyes. If they did happen to notice, she'd hoped that they would just think she was taking a moment to flirt or hold a brief intimate conversation with the dark-haired Shrike.
"Then they're hiding something important?" she asked him with growing excitement and concern.
Berret considered the idea and then turned it aside as he sought a better fitting explanation.
"It seemed to me... it is more like being overly cautious and trying not to give something away," he finally said.
Chiana bit her lower lip and shot a quick look back at the men under assessment. The exact phrasing to express the sensation picking at her nerves had eluded her until Berret stumbled upon it. Now that he had found the words, they exactly described the nagging feeling she'd been having. The desert men's eyes said they were concealing something... and they were doing their best to hide any clues.
Roughly about an arn later the sandtruck rumbled up to a pastoral village of tents scattered out over several gentle dunes. Their guides requested that they dismount from the vehicle. As the crew more than gladly followed the direction, they noticed a smaller dune vehicle parked not to far away from their own transport.
John shielded his eyes from the sun's glare and glanced at D'argo. He saw that the Luxan was having the same thoughts as he about the other vehicle. The tall warrior casually brushed a hand up against the machine as Tezlmin and Yurrek led them passed it and toward the largest tent in the village.
John raised an eyebrow in enquiry as he slipped a pair of the dark glass occulars that he'd found in Moya's stores as the taller being moved up besides him. The tinted devices were close to what humans would call sunglasses. Sean and Andar each already had a pair on, while Aeryn stubbornly refused to impend her vision with them while there was a chance of combat. D'argo, Chiana and the Delvians seemed unaffected with the bright sunlight, while Berret's enhanced eyes had turned silver as they protected him from the sun.
"The engine compartment is barely warm," D'argo reported lowly. "Probably arrived no more than three-quarters of an arn before us."
"That's the buggy they brought Rygel in then, you think?"
The Luxan nodded. "That would be my guess," he confirmed.
John bit his lower lip briefly and than tilted his chin in agreement. "Probably made much better time than we did in the truck," he added. Without speaking further, he discreetly half-turned to Sean behind and tapped his wrist chron.
The younger Crichton barely moved his head in acknowledgement at the signal, and then passed it on to the Sebacean man and Delvian teenager behind him. The signal to be on-guard and ready for instant action passed all the way back through the crew members until it reach Aeryn and Berret at the rear of the group.
Strangely, neither desert man had demanded that the any of them surrender their weapons. Just as Andar had claimed, their agreement to abide by the shade truce seemed to have been assurance enough for the pair of guides. Part of Crichton almost regretted being willing to use violence against these people to get Rygel back. Normally without question, he would have expected a trick. But his gut feeling was that these people were on the straight and narrow as far as their promise not to harm any of them while the truce held.
His father, Jack Crichton, has always told him to follow his instincts and they would rarely lead him wrong. That, he learned the hard way countless times, was hard to do out here in the Territories.
They reach the huge tent that was their obvious destination. Outside the abode, two more desert dwellers armed with sheathed swords and antique looking pulse rifles guarded the tent. The guards wore full desert travel gear and had their faces veiled even though there was no wind or blowing sand.
The elder Crichton wondered briefly how they stood the heat in the garments, but concluded the material probably had a cooling quality like silk did.
The few villagers the group had passed, had silently watched them stroll by and then went back to whatever chore they were in the middle of. No one made a sound, called a greeting, or inquired as to the visitors' purpose in the community.
"Frelling weird," Chiana had remarked on their walk. "Not a peep out of anyone."
"Yeah," agreed Sean. "And no children... or dogs. Where are the kids and dogs? There should be some around playing."
"Dogs?" asked Chiana. Sean realized that there might not be a canine type of animal in the Territories or that it was known by another name.
"Pets... or animals that can be used as extra guards or to herd livestock animals," the human amended.
"Oh! You mean like Narburrnox!" Chiana exclaimed in understanding. "Yeah, that is kind of strange now that you mention it."
Berret broke in from behind them in a bland tone.
"The younger tribe members and most of the other older ones were probably ordered to stay under cover while we were present," the Shrike reasoned, "In order to not reveal to us their true numbers."
"Likewise, they are keeping their animal sentries hidden so we will not be able to calculate the extent of their security measures as well," Aeryn added. "A wise tactical maneuver."
"I would also assume the people we do see are part of their current security measures should we chose to leave before they are willing to let us," Berret continued.
"Just frelling lovely," Chiana grumbled.
"Yeah, just peachy," Sean said while fingering the grip of one of his pulse pistols at his thigh. All the while wishing he had his slug throwers with him, but he had to leave his Earth sidearms back on Moya, as they were low on ammo until he could make some.
The group was permitted to pass by the guards without hindrance.
Inside the tent, it was surprisingly cool and John and the group heaved a sigh of relief to be out from under the blaring sunlight. Even the normally imperturbable Shrike seemed to be glad to be out of the glare as his eyes faded back to their usual pale blue color.
'This way," requested Yurrek, "Our Sakmahar is already waiting to receive you."
"Good," said John as he put away his sun occulars. "Lets find out what he wants and get this over with."
The pair of desert men led them through a short hallway made of the same tent material into a larger chamber. Once inside they heard voices.
The crewmates entered into the ruler's presence only to find that one of the voices they'd heard belonged to the captured Rygel. D'argo frowned deeply when he realized that the Hynerian was reclining leisurely on plush pillows besides a handsome desert man, and shoveling some sort of native cuisine into his mouth.
The Dominar seemed to be enjoying some amusing antidote with his host and neither males noticed the group's arrive until both Tezlmin and Yurrek rushed over and knelt to the man next to Rygel.
"We have brought the outworlders as instructed, my liege," Tezlmin announced respectfully.
The man Crichton guessed was Cassius the Sakmahar looked up and examined the comrades.
Rygel perked up himself at the sight of them.
"Friends!" the small being belted out joyfully. "I'm so glad you finally made it!"
John strode forward until he stood directly in front of the pair.
"Not like we had much of a choice, Ryg," the human drawled. "You okay?"
"Okay?" Rygel repeated somewhat amused. "I'm more than just okay. I've been treated stupendously! Like royalty... like a Dominar. They've catered to my every whim."
"How charming," Crichton replied with some sarcasm. He then turned his attention to the man beside the Hynerian ruler.
"I assure you, no harm has come to your Dominar," the tribal ruler told them.
"He's not our Dominar." John corrected dryly. He knew from experience there was no telling what story Rygel might have given the man. It was best to set things straight right away.
"Your companion then," the man corrected gracefully. "I am Cassius Zom'Darmarh, Sakmahar of the Forth Dymi Tribe." The ruler stood from his low chair and made a short bow in greeting.
Crichton tucked both thumbs into his gun belt near the buckle and strived for a relaxed casual appearance while returning the somewhat formal greeting with a nod of his head.
Aeryn had taken up a position on his right and Berret on his left. The ex-soldier had her pulse rifle ready at her side and he knew that should any fighting break out, the Shrike would rush forward to capture Cassius if he could. The augmented ex-Enforcer was the fastest of the group from a standing start and his sole job would be to snare the desert ruler and force him at brace blade-point into a bargaining position before the gunplay became too serious. It was a tactic that they had used several times successfully in the past to great advantage.
The human felt the immense presence of D'argo directly behind him like a stone statue.
At the rear of the Luxan, Sean positioned himself to cover the doorway they came through, both hands close to the butts of his pair of pulse pistols. Malika turned herself slightly sideways to protect the group's rear and flanks. Andar realized what she was doing a few microts later and positioned himself in a mirror image of the Delvian teen to guard the opposite flank.
The blue girl allowed herself a quick smile as the Sebacean man copied her. The ex-teacher was learning how to survive fast... and for some reason it pleased her.
His friends in a protective array around him, John focused on the tribal leader and the business at hand.
"I'm Butch Cassidy," he said, sticking with the crew's cover identities. "And these are my band of merry men. Do you mind telling me what this is all about?"
He tried for an air of thin patience with the ruler, keeping his face set on what he thought should look like the edge of dark annoyance. The other man only smiled instead and casually strolled over closer to him.
"Come now, let us dispense with the un-honorable pretense, my guests," Cassius said without resentment. "You are Commander John Crichton - wanted for questioning by the Peacekeepers."
The human attempted to keep the surprise off his face as the man then turned to Aeryn. "And you, my lady, are Officer Aeryn Sun. Formally Peacekeeper Prowler Pilot, Icarion Company, Pleisar Regiment. Now branded traitor and wanted outlaw."
Aeryn narrowed her eyes dangerously but offered nothing more in return. The Sakmahar didn't looked offended and instead turned to D'argo.
"You honorable warrior are Ka'D'argo. Once prisoner and accused of murdering your wife, also wanted by the Peacekeepers." The Luxan growled low in his throat but waited like the others to see where Cassius was going with the revelations. The desert man glanced at Chiana next.
"You child, are Chiana of Nebari Prime. Fugitive from the Nebari Establishment and wanted on forty-three other worlds for various crimes ranging from theft and burglary to suspected murder. Quite an accomplishment for one so young in cycles."
Unlike the others, Chiana only smirked in wicked amusement.
"Only forty-three?" she asked flippantly. "I thought there would be more. And it was self-defense," she added on, almost as a vaguely significant after thought.
Cassius himself grinned slightly at the gray girl and moved on to the Delvian beside her.
"Malika Phatan," he said as he stood in front of the blue girl. "Daughter of Samnatha and Zanath. Former Peacekeeper slave and mercenary on occasion. Widow of Peacekeeper Lieutenant Rahlin. Likewise being sought by the authorities. Another most colorful traveling companion."
Malika's green eyes flared with sudden anger and she fingered the hilt of her fighting knife. She might have gutted the Sakmahar at another time in her life, but Zhaan's training took over and she reined her fury in. Beside her, Andar started at the mention of her having a husband and being widowed.
But before he could ask anything of his Delvian companion, Cassius turned then to him.
"Andar Murdough... world of origin unknown," the tribal leader began.
"Shalazar, if you must know," Andar supplied with a slight hint of defiance.
"Of Shalazar than," Cassius amended with a graceful nod of gratitude for the courtesy. " An educator if rumor is correct. A man of refined background and with an odd talent for understanding machinery and other devices."
"You have me at a sight disadvantage," Andar comment wryly.
"I will correct that oversight very soon, honorable sir," the Sakmahar told him. "I am curious, Andar of house Murdough... in your travels or readings, have you heard a story of an escape of an experimental subject in brain enhancement from a race who are sometimes called the Shinai?"
Andar eyes grew dark for a moment.
"No, sir... I can't say that I have," he replied a microt later. "But as represented by your vast knowledge of our group already... I am confident that you will learn what you wish to know sometime in the future."
Cassius regarded him with knowing eyes. "I'm sure I will," he said to the ex-teacher. "We all have our secrets, don't we, Mr. Murdough?"
"Without doubt."
Cassius nodded his head in agreement and turned away from the Sebacean man, this time to attend Sean.
"You my friend, are a little bit of a mystery," the ruler told him.
"I'm like that," Sean simply replied and offered nothing else.
Another grin broke out on the Sakmahar's face; he was obviously enjoying the game.
"You share part of a name with John Crichton... and you resemble him in some ways. So I will guess that you both are related to each other somehow."
"If I had a cigar, I'd give it too you," Sean quipped.
The ruler bowed his head once more to the younger human. "I do not know what a cigar is, but I believe I understand the initiative behind the statement. It is enough for now that you travel with John Crichton as a member of his group for the moment."
Impishly Sean grinned back.
"How do you know that it isn't that they travel with me instead?" he asked.
Cassius gave him an amused look that said he consider Sean far too young to be leader of the group. Sean almost gave the Sakmahar the one finger salute in response, but decided that it would be a lost gesture on the man and didn't waste his time.
The desert tribesman than turned back to the front of the crewmates and stepped around the face Berret.
The ex-assassin blankly eyed him back, waiting for Cassius to state whatever history about him he knew.
"And lastly, we have Shrike457. Rogue Enforcer for the Scarran Black Syndicate with a 'eradicate on sight' directive on his head."
Oddly enough, the history lesson on Berret ended there and Cassius walked back over to Rygel near his own low throne-type chair.
"And of course we have, Rygel the XVI, Dominar of the Hynerian Empire, un-honorably disposed by his cousin Bishan and wrongly held captive by the Peacekeepers."
Rygel seemed pleased that Cassius recognized the conditions of his treacherous dethronement. The features on the Hynerian's face went from disheartened glumness as the man spoke, to a faint smile of gratitude of having his current position noted with empathy by another who was in power.
Crichton and the others knew the Dominar was reveling in it and playing it for all it was worth.
Crichton sighed heavily and rolled his fingertips in a gesture meant to tell the Sakmahar he'd had enough of the small talk for the moment.
"Okay, we know who you are... and you obviously know all you need to about who we really are," the elder human stated firmly. "Now... tell us why you kidnapped Rygel to bring us here?"
Tezlmin and Yurrek who had remained kneeling by Cassius' throne chair, both turned to look at each other and audibly gasped in shock at Crichton's tone to the ruler. Both men made as if to bolt to their feet to protest or perhaps call John to task for his perceived disrespect. Their intent was never established as Cassius caught their movement out of the corner of his eye and raised one hand to idly bid them to keep their places.
"You are quite right, Commander. To business then," the Sakmahar conceded. "I ordered that one of your companions be taken. It wasn't necessarily meant to be the Dominar. He was merely a target of opportunity." The desert ruler turn part way back toward where Rygel was sitting. "No slight or offense meant, your Eminence."
"None taken," replied Rygel as he lifted another roasted piece of some unidentifiable animal to his mouth.
"The purpose was to insure your cooperation with coming here," Cassius continued. "We have business with one of your party."
"Which of us?" John immediately demanded, his eyes darting directly toward Aeryn and then the other two females in the crew. These Lawrence of Arabia type guys were always after new women for their harems or as slaves he thought quickly to himself.
Cassius caught the quick look at the girls and knew what was passing through the other man's mind. He held up a hand to correct the assumption. "Peace, John Crichton. We do not take females for mates by force in the tribes. It is against custom and forbidden by honor. Our business is with another."
"Then who, damnit!" barked Sean.
John held up his hand in a mimic of Cassius a moment before to quiet his young relative. If it wasn't the girls, then perhaps the desert dweller wanted hired guns for some reason. It wouldn't be the first time somebody has approached the crew to try and get them to do their dirty work for them.
Surprisingly Cassius took one step to John's left that brought him up right in front of Berret.
"You, Shrike Enforcer 457," the Sakmahar said with a serious look. "Our business is with you."
Berret regarded the ruler with an emotionless look, almost as if the man hadn't said a word.
Chiana pushed up next to the cloaked man and sprouted irately,
"What the frell are you talking about!"
John placed a hand on the Nebari waif's slim shoulder and moved her back a step.
"Wait a minute, Pip," he asked, and then turned back to Cassius. "Explain," was all he said to the man.
The Sakmahar slightly bowed his head in concord.
"The Syndicate assassin owes the Forth Dymi Tribe, and my family personally, a blood debt," the desert man explained. "We are now demanding atonement."
"What exactly has Berret suppose to have done?" asked Aeryn.
Cassius looked Berret squarely in the eyes as he continued to enlighten the rest of the others.
"The assassin killed my younger brother, Tohmaus, several cycles ago. Murdered him dishonorably without even the respectable chance to defend himself. Leaving his only child, whose mother died giving birth to her, an orphan. And leaving my tribe without an immediate successor should I fall."
"Those are serious charges," answered John, "Can you prove them?"
Chiana broke in with a knowing smirk. "He can't prove anything," she said. "There are thousands of Enforcers from hundreds of Syndicate Houses loose in the Territories. There's no way you can be sure Berret was the one who killed your brother."
"We have proof against the Shrike," Cassius confirmed.
"His name is Berret!" Chiana barked defensively, as she pushed closer to the man trying to crowd him. Her cheeks flushed blue with anger as she twisted her face up at Cassius in a battle mask. "He's not a Shrike anymore."
"Until the blood debt is paid, he was no name other than Shrike or assassin among the desert people!" the Skamahar thundered. "We do not honor murdering filth with a proper name!"
D'argo reached forward and grabbed Chiana's forearm and forcibly moved her away from the tall desert man. "We don't care if you'll say his name," the angry gray girl shot back. "We're getting out of here anyway and we'll never be coming back to this drenhole planet."
"Alright, lets cool down everyone," John told the room-at-large.
He moved over to the still silent ex-assassin. Berret looked him back in the eye showing no emotion as usual.
"How about it, 'Ret?" he asked neutrally. "Any chance that what Cassius says is true?"
"I do not recall," came the tall Shrike's answer.
"Fair enough," John said as he turned back to the desert tribesman. He knew that Berret's memory wasn't always complete as far as his past went. "Several years ago, Berret was a slave to the Syndicate. He had a control collar that allowed him no free will. He rarely even remembers those times except as disjointed flashes. If he did this as you claim - he wasn't responsible for his actions. The people you really want for your blood debt are the ones who used him."
Cassius listened to Crichton's comment and then shook his head.
"That does not matter... a blood debt is still owed. This assassin killed Tohmaus. My brother's spirit cries out from the night sands for atonement. The debt must be paid by he who owes it."
The human could see that the ruler wasn't going to budge on the matter.
"What happens if we decide we want no part of this blood debt and try to leave?" John asked to buy himself some more time to think.
"Then none will stop you. We have given our bond according to shade truce."
"Even Berret is free to leave?"
"Even the murderer if he wishes," Cassius confirmed.
"What about Rygel?" the elder Crichton then asked.
The Sakmahar actually looked regretful. "The Dominar must stay then. Shade truce was not made with him."
"Damn!" muttered John in growing frustration.
"Well, let them keep Rygel than!" interrupted Chiana.
"What!" the Hynerian exclaimed, "You treacherous pasty-assed bitch!"
John was starting to develop a headache. "Easy, Spanky... nobody's leaving anybody just yet."
Andar stepped in to give the human a break from negotiation.
"Perhaps if you show us this evidence it will make a decision much easier," the ex-teacher suggested.
"An excellent idea," commented the Sakmahar. "I was waiting for the proper moment to suggest it myself." He turned to one end of the tent's inner chamber. "Lokyu, if you please," he called.
A shadow none had noticed until then disengaged itself from a back wall and shuffled toward the desert ruler. Once closer, the companions could make out the ancient looking tribesman. The old man held an old style data projector in both withered hands. Cassius took the device with genuine thanks from the elder and turned back toward the group from Moya.
"Our people have little use for your technology," he explained as he set the machine down on a low table. "But like the sand vehicles, we do find it useful on occasion. This projector contains security video of the murder of my brother. If I can direct your attention..."
Cassius pressed an activation stud and the device whirled into life... an antique hologram shimmered into focus above the projector's round body. Off screen for a few moments there were cries of warning and the sounds of fighting.
"This was taken several weekens after I refused a deal with the Scarran criminals to allow them to use our stone havens... places underground where we weather the storm seasons, to hide their contraband. It appears they did not take the refusal lightly and sent their assassins to teach us a lesson in blood," the Sakmahar narrated.
Abruptly, the sound track grew louder and several men rushed into view and regrouped. The majority of the tribesman gathered around a single male in more ornament desert robes. The man who looked similar to Cassius was apparently giving out orders unable to be clearly picked up by the surveillance device, but several men broke off in singles or groups as the leader assigned them tasks.
The crew had no doubt that the man in charge was the Sakmahar's younger brother Tohmaus.
Soon the group in the hologram was down to only three men. Something dark rushed in from the shadows and one man screamed as he died suddenly in some unknown matter.
The next desert man faired little better. This time the viewers saw the pair of brace blades that impaled the man and ripped their way out through his ribcage. On the screen, Tohmaus spun to face his attacker, barely drawing his sword in time. The tribesman's blade flashed downward in a single haphazard stroke, only to meet the superior Bat'Rellite blades of the assassin and shatter. The Shrike seized Tohmaus by the front of his robes and lifted him clear of the sands under his feet. Holding the man with one arm, the Enforcer drove the brace blades of his free hand into the ruler's brother's throat. A savage twist of the elbow and the dying man's head came off.
The Shrike dropped the body and casually surveyed the area for more prey. The camera froze the image and zoomed in on the assassin's face.
The still image showed a tall Sebacean-looking male with augmented silver eyes. His long dark hair weaved into a Peacekeeper style battle braid with a heavy gold braid-stop at the end.
There was no doubt at all it was Berret.
Both the ex-Enforcer and the tribal leader held the same emotionless look on their features. They both could have been sculpted from the same block of stone.
Cassius hit another key on the holo device and the image went into motion again. On the screen, Berret turned a little and the tiny blinking status lights on the control collar were plainly evident at his neck.
"My brother did not even have the chance to engage in honorable combat before he was struck down weaponless," Cassius continued on. "An honorable death is met with sword in hand... not skewered like a livestock animal."
The hologram Berret finally turned and walked off screen. The program ran for several more microts showing nothing more and then ended.
"Is that proof enough for you," Cassius asked the crewmates. Oddly, he didn't seem at all pleased to have made his argument to his visitors.
"Yes... you have," said Aeryn tightly.
"Surely you can forgive..." Andar began and then several more of his friends joined in all talking at the same time. Trying to offer reasons and requests for understanding from the Sakmahar and his people.
Malika stood off to one side, not sure about how she felt about what she'd just seen, but willing to back her new friends on whatever they decided to do.
The only one not trying to speak with Cassius at the moment was Berret. He simply remained where he was, staring at the now empty hologram projector.
Chiana, ever attuned to the tall ex-Enforcer's moods, was the first to notice and stepped over to the Shrike's side. She reached under the cloak and held on to the metal covered forearm she found inside.
"Berret?" she asked with a gentle pull on the limb to get his attention. A great part of her wanted her friend to deny the images, to denounce them as fake and a devious trick. At the same time she was petrified he'd remember them as true as he sometimes did under certain circumstances.
"Berret?" she asked a second time when he didn't respond right away to her.
Slowly the ex-assassin turned to look at her with unemotional eyes.
"Berret, say something," she pleaded quietly.
The Shrike looked back down at the projector. Chiana's blood ran cold in the next instant as he spoke.
"I... did those things," was all he said.
Finally, he floated over to the pilot's station and stabbed at a control stud with one stubby finger.
"Pilot! PILOT!" he demanded as a comm channel to the orbiting Leviathan opened. "I'm bored!" he announced.
A microt later, Moya's helmsman shimmered into view on a small holo tank.
"I am sorry about your ennui, Dominar Rygel," Pilot apologized. "But there is nothing neither Moya or I can do about it at the moment."
"Well, I am sick of sitting here," the Hynerian replied. "I am going out... there has to be some type of gambling entertainment on flark-hole of a sandpit."
"The others wanted you to stay and watch the Pod, Rygel," Pilot added. "They will not be happy if you leave it unguarded."
"Well that's frelling too bad for them," Rygel replied stubbornly. "Tell them I'll be back when I'm good and ready... and that they better not leave without me."
"Rygel! I think..." Pilot began to say until Rygel flicked the comm link off.
The Hynerian ruler floated his chair over to the hatchway. He was just about to exit when he recalled Aeryn's warning about his Hoverthrone's gravity mechanism being susceptible to being clogged with sand very quickly. His only option if he wanted to keep the device in good condition was to leave it behind in the Transport Pod.
The Dominar almost gave up on the idea of finding some entertainment if it meant actually having to walk anywhere, but then he decided he couldn't take being cooped up in the Pod alone for much longer.
Besides, he should be able to find a pheasant or two to carry him around in a sedan chair for a few krendar.
He hopped from his throne and a few microts latter had secured the Pod. He made his way across what served the city as a spaceport, which had more sand then any kind of paving or walkways.
Rygel hadn't taken one fact about the sand into account when he left the ship - it was hot!
The soles of his bare feet were roasting and he quickened his pace toward the nearest building. He cursed rancorously as he almost ran. If he didn't find sedan bearers soon, he was going to be forced to search for some kind of footwear, and he didn't hold out much of a chance on finding anything small enough to fit him.
The few people out in the mid-day sun mostly ignored the Hynerian, even when he ranted at them to get out of his way. He almost made it to the sanctuary of the building and it's shaded walkway when a couple of pair of worn tan boots suddenly blocked his way.
"Move! Damn you, you backwater savages!" Rygel exclaimed.
The boots just remained there and the small being suddenly got the feeling he might be in trouble.
Rygel looked upward, having to shield his eyes from the glaring sun that was positioned just over the two forms' heads. Shading his eyes, he could make out cloth swathed heads of the beings blocking him. Only their weathered eyes showed through the split between turban-like head wrap and the face veils.
And the eyes didn't look friendly in the least.
Rygel swallowed hard and forgetting his burning feet for a moment, began to back away.
"Er, Crichton..." he choked and then realized he needed to active his comm badge before calling for help.
He was just making a futile reach for it when the two desert-garbed beings lunged down in unison to seize him.
The crew on the planet's surface had just finished a reasonably palatable lunch when Moya's helmsman commed them.
"Yeah, what is it, Pilot?" asked the elder Crichton as he pushed an empty platter away from him.
"My apologizes," answered Pilot, "But Moya and I regret to inform you that Rygel has abandoned his post on the Transport Pod. We would have informed Zhaan first, but she is locked in her quarters meditating."
"Is there trouble?" asked D'argo.
"No..." came the reply. "He simply said he was bored and he does not answer his comm."
"Relax, Pilot," said John, "Its not the first time Buckwheat got a bug up his ass and baled on us."
Sean sneered and asked, "So where did Spud-boy the sixteenth say he was going?"
The exasperation in Pilot's voice was almost thick enough to cut with a knife.
"He claimed he was going to look for... entertainment."
It was Chiana's turn to snicker and smirk.
"Entertainment... as in gambling," she said.
"Correct," confirmed Pilot.
"Well, at least somebody's got the right idea," the Nebari continued. "I say we join him."
Aeryn shot the idea down. "Never mind that," she broke in. "Pilot, when did you lose contact with him?"
"About thirty microns ago."
"Okay, Pilot... we're on it," John said and then closed the comm link to the Leviathan. "Come on, troops. Lets go round ole Spanky up before he loses the farm on us."
"Do we have too?" asked Malika.
"I find myself having to agree with that sentiment," added Andar.
The older Crichton made a harried sigh. "I'm afraid we do," he replied. "One for all and all to kick Rygel's ass when we get him back to Moya, and all that."
"That part I like," added the Delvian girl.
Just as the human rose to his feet from his seat, he turned and noticed two of the desert dwellers standing in front of their table, gazing at the group with their full attention.
John's sudden pause brought the pair to the group's notice also and hands began to edge toward weapons.
"There will be no need to search for your tribe mate," one of the two abruptly informed them. "We have taken him."
"What do you mean?" demanded Crichton as he came all the way to his feet. Behind him, he heard several chairs scraping the floor as the others got up behind him. Someone came up directly behind him and he knew without looking that it was Aeryn, guarding his back and using his body to block the view of the intruders to the fact that she had her pulse rifle in her hand and ready to swing up into action.
A few muffled boot steps told him the others were fanning out, taking up positions to fight from.
"By 'tribe mate,' I assume you're referring to our missing Hynerian friend?" he asked next.
The desert man on the left nodded and held up a gold colored object. It was a comm badge from Moya and the group had no doubt that it belong to Rygel. D'argo hissed in growing fury at the sight of it.
"Your friend is unharmed and we offer 'shade truce' if you will honor it, outworlders."
"Shade truce?" asked Malika with one hand on knife hilt, but her pistol already in her other hand held down at her side.
Both robed beings nodded. "We pledge to do no harm or breath false word to you if you agree to honor the same while the shade truce stands between us," explained one.
"We have no wish to harm your tribe mate or any of you," added the other man.
"Then what do you want?" asked John.
"Our Sakmahar wishes counsel with your Sakmahar," replied the taller one who seemed to be the leader of the pair. At the blank looks they received at the unfamiliar term, he reiterated, "Our chieftain wishes a word with your chieftain or leader."
"You had to kidnap Rygel for that?" asked D'argo. Both desert dwellers remained silent to the comment.
"What happens if we decide not to go?" asked Crichton next.
Both man gave each other a quick glance, and then the taller one spoke again.
"Then regrettably the shade truce will dissolve... and your tribe mate might be killed."
"You're not leaving us much of an option," said Sean with growing indignation.
"You have our Sakmahar's holy word of honor that none of your tribe will be harmed and that all will be free to leave unmolested after you speak... should you all chose."
D'argo eased his Qualta rifle upwards a little more in the pair's direction.
"You'll forgive me if I give your Sakmahar's holy word the trust its due... none at all," rumbled the Luxan.
"Frelling right!" added Chiana, nervously fingering her palm pistol and darting her eyes around the room looking for any other sign of threats.
"No, no... hold on," Andar broke in. "I did some research into this world's cultures before we made planet fall. Moya's Peacekeeper data banks had an extensive history and profile for this world. The desert tribes are noted for their extreme adherence to their codes and system of honor. The shade truce is not given lightly, even to an enemy, and most desert dwellers would rather die than break it for any reason."
"There's always a first time," muttered Sean.
"Yeah, and the first time always happens to us," put in the Nebari girl.
Andar ignored the other two, even though he plainly heard the comments. Instead he went on to the pair of desert men before them.
"What tribe are you from and where do you share shade and water?" the ex-Teacher asked.
The taller man again answered.
"We are of the Forth Dymi. We share shade and water on the Domescus Reaches, west of the twin valleys."
Andar searched his memory and quickly found the name.
"One of the Great Seven Tribes of the True Nation?" he asked.
The big desert man smiled at the outworlder's knowledge and both men seemed to stand a bit taller now that someone from off world had recognized their tribe.
"Yes, outworlder," confirmed the tall man who seemed to be leader, "Under the great Sakmahar Cassius Zom'Darmarh... long may his line guide us across the sands."
"What's that all mean, Teach?" asked the elder human. Andar turned to look at John.
"It means I think we can trust them to do exactly what they say they will," replied the Sebacean man.
John frowned as he regarded the robed desert men, still with obvious mistrust.
"Still... its not like we have much of a choice if we want Rygel back," he said. "All right, we'll go with you to see what your head honcho wants with us, and agree to your truce. But I promise you... any funny business, anything hincky at all... and you're going to wish you never laid eyes on any of us."
Besides Berret, Chiana moaned under her breath, "I was afraid he'd decide that."
The Shrike allowed a momentary frown to grace his features. In his own opinion the crew was better off without the Hynerian who could rarely be trusted at best. Still, he owned the others to stand with them with whatever they decided to do about the missing Dominar. Even if he hadn't feel an obligation of his own; despite her muttered protest, Chiana had made no move to leave the group or urge the others to abandon the Hynerian to his fate. For that reason alone he would have stayed.
The frowned faded almost as quickly as it came, the ever-present emotionless veneer slipping back into place; he marched forward behind the others as they unenthusiastically followed their two guides.
The crewmates were led a short distance away from the Inn and politely asked to board a waiting sandtruck. The desert vehicle was old and weather battered, sandstorms having blasted most of the paint off the machine, leaving it a tan sand-like color itself. The floor of the bed of the truck rose up to shoulder height on D'argo; to allow for the massive caterpillar tracks that the vehicle traveled over the dunes on.
Even with a fold-up step, Berret still had to boost up the shorter Chiana so she could make it onto the tarp-covered bed section of the sandtruck. As soon as all were aboard, the machine started up and headed out into the desert, steered by an unseen driver in the shielded box-like cab of the conveyance. Crichton stood up to peer over the truck's cab at where they were going, but could see no visible sign of a road anywhere ahead of them. Idly he wondered how the driver knew which way to go and decided the vehicle was probably relying on a GPS type of system for guidance.
As soon as they were on their way, their two guides introduced themselves, the taller and leader named himself Yurrek and the shortest of the pair, Tezlmin. The pair of desert folk explained that while the tribes themselves used little in the way of technology, the sandtruck's services had been secured for the sole purpose of transporting them to their meeting in as much comfort as possible.
Sean grumbled that the hard plastic-like bench seat under his behind was far from close to being comfortable. Despite the situation, the Delvian girl across from the human couldn't help but grin at the younger Crichton's gripping. She herself not having fauna-like flesh to be bruised, handled the bumpy ride with little mishap. Sean caught Malika's grin and returned a nasty sneer of his own... that made the blue girl grin even harder. The younger human made a mental note the next time the group dinned together at a refreshment house, to order the biggest salad on the menu. Then he began to store away as many off-color flora and vegetable based barbs and comments that he could think of for later use. There were several types of fruits and vegetables he'd found he'd like since arriving... in his mind's eye he saw himself asking Malika if one of them were a relative as he peeled it.
John might call it childish... he preferred to think of it as creative retaliation.
Sean abruptly smiled at his mischievous planning and like an opposite mirror image the grin on Malika's face faded as she wondered what the human had found so amusing all of a sudden.
Past experience with the other human led her to believe it don't bode well.
The two Sebaceans of the group handled the ride well. Andar having grown up on a relatively non-tech world was use to archaic modes of travel, and to Aeryn it could have been one of any number of military land vehicles she had traveled in over her career as a Peacekeeper.
Chiana on the other hand, with even less physical padding than Sean, was not finding it a pleasant adventure to say the least. The normally energizing Nebari female looked less than happy with the bouncing she was taking. After a few microns of trying to keep her seat, she gave up and simply dropped herself into Berret's lap.
Even with the armor plates sheathing the Shrike's limbs, her new position was much more comfortable on her delicate areas. Berret regarded her change of seating with only mild interest and no comments. Almost as if he took for granted that she had a right to be there.
Still, Chiana liked the fact that the Shrike didn't take her presumption as an intrusion on his personal space. He accepted her without pause, where he still kept everyone else at arm's length. In the short time since Moya's crew picked up its new members, she found she liked having a new person aboard who was more or less loyal to her.
She slung an arm around the ex-Enforcer's neck to study herself. The gray girl couldn't help but keep looking back at the two robed men who had detained them with Rygel's abduction. In her other hand, and draped across one knee, she realized she had taken out her palm pulse pistol once more without thinking about it. Her survival instincts had kicked into high mode and she was becoming more edgy by the microt.
"What do you think this Sakmahar guy wants?" Chiana whisper as she tilted her head closer to the former Syndicate assassin.
Berret shifted ice-colored eyes over to Telzmin and Yurrek. Neither of the men seemed to be paying much attention to the rest of the crewmates and both were busy answering questions John had been putting to them. And by the disapproving look on Crichton's face, the answers he was receiving from the pair, Berret concluded were very vague.
"I do not know," the Shrike answered the girl a moment later. "But there is something I find anomalous in their behavior."
"What?" Chiana asked, interested in what the man might have observed.
Berret turned his dead gaze back at the Nebari. Others might have flinched away from the soulless eyes, Chiana found them oddly reassuring. They were somehow as steadfast as D'argo was dependable... and in some ways those qualities in both her male crewmates made her feel a little safer.
"The pair of them rarely looks at any of us except for John Crichton," Berret went on to explain. "I find that very strange for a person facing possible multiple enemies."
Chiana turned a frown that wrinkled her forehead.
"Now that you mention it... I think you're right. I don't remember either of them looking any of the rest of us over for too long," the gray girl commented.
"No... they did not," the Shrike added with a dark frown of his own.
Chiana tapped the muzzle of her gun against her kneecap as she thought.
"Do you suppose its some sort of cultural taboo?" she asked. "Or maybe it's meant as an insult? Its not a very good one if it is."
"No, it was too much like a forced unnatural action. The few times they glanced at someone beside Crichton, they steer their eyes away too quickly," Berret deliberated with her.
Chiana turned to look him fully in the face, more to hide that they were having a serious discussion from the two desert men in case they might have been watching the crew from the corner of their eyes. If they did happen to notice, she'd hoped that they would just think she was taking a moment to flirt or hold a brief intimate conversation with the dark-haired Shrike.
"Then they're hiding something important?" she asked him with growing excitement and concern.
Berret considered the idea and then turned it aside as he sought a better fitting explanation.
"It seemed to me... it is more like being overly cautious and trying not to give something away," he finally said.
Chiana bit her lower lip and shot a quick look back at the men under assessment. The exact phrasing to express the sensation picking at her nerves had eluded her until Berret stumbled upon it. Now that he had found the words, they exactly described the nagging feeling she'd been having. The desert men's eyes said they were concealing something... and they were doing their best to hide any clues.
Roughly about an arn later the sandtruck rumbled up to a pastoral village of tents scattered out over several gentle dunes. Their guides requested that they dismount from the vehicle. As the crew more than gladly followed the direction, they noticed a smaller dune vehicle parked not to far away from their own transport.
John shielded his eyes from the sun's glare and glanced at D'argo. He saw that the Luxan was having the same thoughts as he about the other vehicle. The tall warrior casually brushed a hand up against the machine as Tezlmin and Yurrek led them passed it and toward the largest tent in the village.
John raised an eyebrow in enquiry as he slipped a pair of the dark glass occulars that he'd found in Moya's stores as the taller being moved up besides him. The tinted devices were close to what humans would call sunglasses. Sean and Andar each already had a pair on, while Aeryn stubbornly refused to impend her vision with them while there was a chance of combat. D'argo, Chiana and the Delvians seemed unaffected with the bright sunlight, while Berret's enhanced eyes had turned silver as they protected him from the sun.
"The engine compartment is barely warm," D'argo reported lowly. "Probably arrived no more than three-quarters of an arn before us."
"That's the buggy they brought Rygel in then, you think?"
The Luxan nodded. "That would be my guess," he confirmed.
John bit his lower lip briefly and than tilted his chin in agreement. "Probably made much better time than we did in the truck," he added. Without speaking further, he discreetly half-turned to Sean behind and tapped his wrist chron.
The younger Crichton barely moved his head in acknowledgement at the signal, and then passed it on to the Sebacean man and Delvian teenager behind him. The signal to be on-guard and ready for instant action passed all the way back through the crew members until it reach Aeryn and Berret at the rear of the group.
Strangely, neither desert man had demanded that the any of them surrender their weapons. Just as Andar had claimed, their agreement to abide by the shade truce seemed to have been assurance enough for the pair of guides. Part of Crichton almost regretted being willing to use violence against these people to get Rygel back. Normally without question, he would have expected a trick. But his gut feeling was that these people were on the straight and narrow as far as their promise not to harm any of them while the truce held.
His father, Jack Crichton, has always told him to follow his instincts and they would rarely lead him wrong. That, he learned the hard way countless times, was hard to do out here in the Territories.
They reach the huge tent that was their obvious destination. Outside the abode, two more desert dwellers armed with sheathed swords and antique looking pulse rifles guarded the tent. The guards wore full desert travel gear and had their faces veiled even though there was no wind or blowing sand.
The elder Crichton wondered briefly how they stood the heat in the garments, but concluded the material probably had a cooling quality like silk did.
The few villagers the group had passed, had silently watched them stroll by and then went back to whatever chore they were in the middle of. No one made a sound, called a greeting, or inquired as to the visitors' purpose in the community.
"Frelling weird," Chiana had remarked on their walk. "Not a peep out of anyone."
"Yeah," agreed Sean. "And no children... or dogs. Where are the kids and dogs? There should be some around playing."
"Dogs?" asked Chiana. Sean realized that there might not be a canine type of animal in the Territories or that it was known by another name.
"Pets... or animals that can be used as extra guards or to herd livestock animals," the human amended.
"Oh! You mean like Narburrnox!" Chiana exclaimed in understanding. "Yeah, that is kind of strange now that you mention it."
Berret broke in from behind them in a bland tone.
"The younger tribe members and most of the other older ones were probably ordered to stay under cover while we were present," the Shrike reasoned, "In order to not reveal to us their true numbers."
"Likewise, they are keeping their animal sentries hidden so we will not be able to calculate the extent of their security measures as well," Aeryn added. "A wise tactical maneuver."
"I would also assume the people we do see are part of their current security measures should we chose to leave before they are willing to let us," Berret continued.
"Just frelling lovely," Chiana grumbled.
"Yeah, just peachy," Sean said while fingering the grip of one of his pulse pistols at his thigh. All the while wishing he had his slug throwers with him, but he had to leave his Earth sidearms back on Moya, as they were low on ammo until he could make some.
The group was permitted to pass by the guards without hindrance.
Inside the tent, it was surprisingly cool and John and the group heaved a sigh of relief to be out from under the blaring sunlight. Even the normally imperturbable Shrike seemed to be glad to be out of the glare as his eyes faded back to their usual pale blue color.
'This way," requested Yurrek, "Our Sakmahar is already waiting to receive you."
"Good," said John as he put away his sun occulars. "Lets find out what he wants and get this over with."
The pair of desert men led them through a short hallway made of the same tent material into a larger chamber. Once inside they heard voices.
The crewmates entered into the ruler's presence only to find that one of the voices they'd heard belonged to the captured Rygel. D'argo frowned deeply when he realized that the Hynerian was reclining leisurely on plush pillows besides a handsome desert man, and shoveling some sort of native cuisine into his mouth.
The Dominar seemed to be enjoying some amusing antidote with his host and neither males noticed the group's arrive until both Tezlmin and Yurrek rushed over and knelt to the man next to Rygel.
"We have brought the outworlders as instructed, my liege," Tezlmin announced respectfully.
The man Crichton guessed was Cassius the Sakmahar looked up and examined the comrades.
Rygel perked up himself at the sight of them.
"Friends!" the small being belted out joyfully. "I'm so glad you finally made it!"
John strode forward until he stood directly in front of the pair.
"Not like we had much of a choice, Ryg," the human drawled. "You okay?"
"Okay?" Rygel repeated somewhat amused. "I'm more than just okay. I've been treated stupendously! Like royalty... like a Dominar. They've catered to my every whim."
"How charming," Crichton replied with some sarcasm. He then turned his attention to the man beside the Hynerian ruler.
"I assure you, no harm has come to your Dominar," the tribal ruler told them.
"He's not our Dominar." John corrected dryly. He knew from experience there was no telling what story Rygel might have given the man. It was best to set things straight right away.
"Your companion then," the man corrected gracefully. "I am Cassius Zom'Darmarh, Sakmahar of the Forth Dymi Tribe." The ruler stood from his low chair and made a short bow in greeting.
Crichton tucked both thumbs into his gun belt near the buckle and strived for a relaxed casual appearance while returning the somewhat formal greeting with a nod of his head.
Aeryn had taken up a position on his right and Berret on his left. The ex-soldier had her pulse rifle ready at her side and he knew that should any fighting break out, the Shrike would rush forward to capture Cassius if he could. The augmented ex-Enforcer was the fastest of the group from a standing start and his sole job would be to snare the desert ruler and force him at brace blade-point into a bargaining position before the gunplay became too serious. It was a tactic that they had used several times successfully in the past to great advantage.
The human felt the immense presence of D'argo directly behind him like a stone statue.
At the rear of the Luxan, Sean positioned himself to cover the doorway they came through, both hands close to the butts of his pair of pulse pistols. Malika turned herself slightly sideways to protect the group's rear and flanks. Andar realized what she was doing a few microts later and positioned himself in a mirror image of the Delvian teen to guard the opposite flank.
The blue girl allowed herself a quick smile as the Sebacean man copied her. The ex-teacher was learning how to survive fast... and for some reason it pleased her.
His friends in a protective array around him, John focused on the tribal leader and the business at hand.
"I'm Butch Cassidy," he said, sticking with the crew's cover identities. "And these are my band of merry men. Do you mind telling me what this is all about?"
He tried for an air of thin patience with the ruler, keeping his face set on what he thought should look like the edge of dark annoyance. The other man only smiled instead and casually strolled over closer to him.
"Come now, let us dispense with the un-honorable pretense, my guests," Cassius said without resentment. "You are Commander John Crichton - wanted for questioning by the Peacekeepers."
The human attempted to keep the surprise off his face as the man then turned to Aeryn. "And you, my lady, are Officer Aeryn Sun. Formally Peacekeeper Prowler Pilot, Icarion Company, Pleisar Regiment. Now branded traitor and wanted outlaw."
Aeryn narrowed her eyes dangerously but offered nothing more in return. The Sakmahar didn't looked offended and instead turned to D'argo.
"You honorable warrior are Ka'D'argo. Once prisoner and accused of murdering your wife, also wanted by the Peacekeepers." The Luxan growled low in his throat but waited like the others to see where Cassius was going with the revelations. The desert man glanced at Chiana next.
"You child, are Chiana of Nebari Prime. Fugitive from the Nebari Establishment and wanted on forty-three other worlds for various crimes ranging from theft and burglary to suspected murder. Quite an accomplishment for one so young in cycles."
Unlike the others, Chiana only smirked in wicked amusement.
"Only forty-three?" she asked flippantly. "I thought there would be more. And it was self-defense," she added on, almost as a vaguely significant after thought.
Cassius himself grinned slightly at the gray girl and moved on to the Delvian beside her.
"Malika Phatan," he said as he stood in front of the blue girl. "Daughter of Samnatha and Zanath. Former Peacekeeper slave and mercenary on occasion. Widow of Peacekeeper Lieutenant Rahlin. Likewise being sought by the authorities. Another most colorful traveling companion."
Malika's green eyes flared with sudden anger and she fingered the hilt of her fighting knife. She might have gutted the Sakmahar at another time in her life, but Zhaan's training took over and she reined her fury in. Beside her, Andar started at the mention of her having a husband and being widowed.
But before he could ask anything of his Delvian companion, Cassius turned then to him.
"Andar Murdough... world of origin unknown," the tribal leader began.
"Shalazar, if you must know," Andar supplied with a slight hint of defiance.
"Of Shalazar than," Cassius amended with a graceful nod of gratitude for the courtesy. " An educator if rumor is correct. A man of refined background and with an odd talent for understanding machinery and other devices."
"You have me at a sight disadvantage," Andar comment wryly.
"I will correct that oversight very soon, honorable sir," the Sakmahar told him. "I am curious, Andar of house Murdough... in your travels or readings, have you heard a story of an escape of an experimental subject in brain enhancement from a race who are sometimes called the Shinai?"
Andar eyes grew dark for a moment.
"No, sir... I can't say that I have," he replied a microt later. "But as represented by your vast knowledge of our group already... I am confident that you will learn what you wish to know sometime in the future."
Cassius regarded him with knowing eyes. "I'm sure I will," he said to the ex-teacher. "We all have our secrets, don't we, Mr. Murdough?"
"Without doubt."
Cassius nodded his head in agreement and turned away from the Sebacean man, this time to attend Sean.
"You my friend, are a little bit of a mystery," the ruler told him.
"I'm like that," Sean simply replied and offered nothing else.
Another grin broke out on the Sakmahar's face; he was obviously enjoying the game.
"You share part of a name with John Crichton... and you resemble him in some ways. So I will guess that you both are related to each other somehow."
"If I had a cigar, I'd give it too you," Sean quipped.
The ruler bowed his head once more to the younger human. "I do not know what a cigar is, but I believe I understand the initiative behind the statement. It is enough for now that you travel with John Crichton as a member of his group for the moment."
Impishly Sean grinned back.
"How do you know that it isn't that they travel with me instead?" he asked.
Cassius gave him an amused look that said he consider Sean far too young to be leader of the group. Sean almost gave the Sakmahar the one finger salute in response, but decided that it would be a lost gesture on the man and didn't waste his time.
The desert tribesman than turned back to the front of the crewmates and stepped around the face Berret.
The ex-assassin blankly eyed him back, waiting for Cassius to state whatever history about him he knew.
"And lastly, we have Shrike457. Rogue Enforcer for the Scarran Black Syndicate with a 'eradicate on sight' directive on his head."
Oddly enough, the history lesson on Berret ended there and Cassius walked back over to Rygel near his own low throne-type chair.
"And of course we have, Rygel the XVI, Dominar of the Hynerian Empire, un-honorably disposed by his cousin Bishan and wrongly held captive by the Peacekeepers."
Rygel seemed pleased that Cassius recognized the conditions of his treacherous dethronement. The features on the Hynerian's face went from disheartened glumness as the man spoke, to a faint smile of gratitude of having his current position noted with empathy by another who was in power.
Crichton and the others knew the Dominar was reveling in it and playing it for all it was worth.
Crichton sighed heavily and rolled his fingertips in a gesture meant to tell the Sakmahar he'd had enough of the small talk for the moment.
"Okay, we know who you are... and you obviously know all you need to about who we really are," the elder human stated firmly. "Now... tell us why you kidnapped Rygel to bring us here?"
Tezlmin and Yurrek who had remained kneeling by Cassius' throne chair, both turned to look at each other and audibly gasped in shock at Crichton's tone to the ruler. Both men made as if to bolt to their feet to protest or perhaps call John to task for his perceived disrespect. Their intent was never established as Cassius caught their movement out of the corner of his eye and raised one hand to idly bid them to keep their places.
"You are quite right, Commander. To business then," the Sakmahar conceded. "I ordered that one of your companions be taken. It wasn't necessarily meant to be the Dominar. He was merely a target of opportunity." The desert ruler turn part way back toward where Rygel was sitting. "No slight or offense meant, your Eminence."
"None taken," replied Rygel as he lifted another roasted piece of some unidentifiable animal to his mouth.
"The purpose was to insure your cooperation with coming here," Cassius continued. "We have business with one of your party."
"Which of us?" John immediately demanded, his eyes darting directly toward Aeryn and then the other two females in the crew. These Lawrence of Arabia type guys were always after new women for their harems or as slaves he thought quickly to himself.
Cassius caught the quick look at the girls and knew what was passing through the other man's mind. He held up a hand to correct the assumption. "Peace, John Crichton. We do not take females for mates by force in the tribes. It is against custom and forbidden by honor. Our business is with another."
"Then who, damnit!" barked Sean.
John held up his hand in a mimic of Cassius a moment before to quiet his young relative. If it wasn't the girls, then perhaps the desert dweller wanted hired guns for some reason. It wouldn't be the first time somebody has approached the crew to try and get them to do their dirty work for them.
Surprisingly Cassius took one step to John's left that brought him up right in front of Berret.
"You, Shrike Enforcer 457," the Sakmahar said with a serious look. "Our business is with you."
Berret regarded the ruler with an emotionless look, almost as if the man hadn't said a word.
Chiana pushed up next to the cloaked man and sprouted irately,
"What the frell are you talking about!"
John placed a hand on the Nebari waif's slim shoulder and moved her back a step.
"Wait a minute, Pip," he asked, and then turned back to Cassius. "Explain," was all he said to the man.
The Sakmahar slightly bowed his head in concord.
"The Syndicate assassin owes the Forth Dymi Tribe, and my family personally, a blood debt," the desert man explained. "We are now demanding atonement."
"What exactly has Berret suppose to have done?" asked Aeryn.
Cassius looked Berret squarely in the eyes as he continued to enlighten the rest of the others.
"The assassin killed my younger brother, Tohmaus, several cycles ago. Murdered him dishonorably without even the respectable chance to defend himself. Leaving his only child, whose mother died giving birth to her, an orphan. And leaving my tribe without an immediate successor should I fall."
"Those are serious charges," answered John, "Can you prove them?"
Chiana broke in with a knowing smirk. "He can't prove anything," she said. "There are thousands of Enforcers from hundreds of Syndicate Houses loose in the Territories. There's no way you can be sure Berret was the one who killed your brother."
"We have proof against the Shrike," Cassius confirmed.
"His name is Berret!" Chiana barked defensively, as she pushed closer to the man trying to crowd him. Her cheeks flushed blue with anger as she twisted her face up at Cassius in a battle mask. "He's not a Shrike anymore."
"Until the blood debt is paid, he was no name other than Shrike or assassin among the desert people!" the Skamahar thundered. "We do not honor murdering filth with a proper name!"
D'argo reached forward and grabbed Chiana's forearm and forcibly moved her away from the tall desert man. "We don't care if you'll say his name," the angry gray girl shot back. "We're getting out of here anyway and we'll never be coming back to this drenhole planet."
"Alright, lets cool down everyone," John told the room-at-large.
He moved over to the still silent ex-assassin. Berret looked him back in the eye showing no emotion as usual.
"How about it, 'Ret?" he asked neutrally. "Any chance that what Cassius says is true?"
"I do not recall," came the tall Shrike's answer.
"Fair enough," John said as he turned back to the desert tribesman. He knew that Berret's memory wasn't always complete as far as his past went. "Several years ago, Berret was a slave to the Syndicate. He had a control collar that allowed him no free will. He rarely even remembers those times except as disjointed flashes. If he did this as you claim - he wasn't responsible for his actions. The people you really want for your blood debt are the ones who used him."
Cassius listened to Crichton's comment and then shook his head.
"That does not matter... a blood debt is still owed. This assassin killed Tohmaus. My brother's spirit cries out from the night sands for atonement. The debt must be paid by he who owes it."
The human could see that the ruler wasn't going to budge on the matter.
"What happens if we decide we want no part of this blood debt and try to leave?" John asked to buy himself some more time to think.
"Then none will stop you. We have given our bond according to shade truce."
"Even Berret is free to leave?"
"Even the murderer if he wishes," Cassius confirmed.
"What about Rygel?" the elder Crichton then asked.
The Sakmahar actually looked regretful. "The Dominar must stay then. Shade truce was not made with him."
"Damn!" muttered John in growing frustration.
"Well, let them keep Rygel than!" interrupted Chiana.
"What!" the Hynerian exclaimed, "You treacherous pasty-assed bitch!"
John was starting to develop a headache. "Easy, Spanky... nobody's leaving anybody just yet."
Andar stepped in to give the human a break from negotiation.
"Perhaps if you show us this evidence it will make a decision much easier," the ex-teacher suggested.
"An excellent idea," commented the Sakmahar. "I was waiting for the proper moment to suggest it myself." He turned to one end of the tent's inner chamber. "Lokyu, if you please," he called.
A shadow none had noticed until then disengaged itself from a back wall and shuffled toward the desert ruler. Once closer, the companions could make out the ancient looking tribesman. The old man held an old style data projector in both withered hands. Cassius took the device with genuine thanks from the elder and turned back toward the group from Moya.
"Our people have little use for your technology," he explained as he set the machine down on a low table. "But like the sand vehicles, we do find it useful on occasion. This projector contains security video of the murder of my brother. If I can direct your attention..."
Cassius pressed an activation stud and the device whirled into life... an antique hologram shimmered into focus above the projector's round body. Off screen for a few moments there were cries of warning and the sounds of fighting.
"This was taken several weekens after I refused a deal with the Scarran criminals to allow them to use our stone havens... places underground where we weather the storm seasons, to hide their contraband. It appears they did not take the refusal lightly and sent their assassins to teach us a lesson in blood," the Sakmahar narrated.
Abruptly, the sound track grew louder and several men rushed into view and regrouped. The majority of the tribesman gathered around a single male in more ornament desert robes. The man who looked similar to Cassius was apparently giving out orders unable to be clearly picked up by the surveillance device, but several men broke off in singles or groups as the leader assigned them tasks.
The crew had no doubt that the man in charge was the Sakmahar's younger brother Tohmaus.
Soon the group in the hologram was down to only three men. Something dark rushed in from the shadows and one man screamed as he died suddenly in some unknown matter.
The next desert man faired little better. This time the viewers saw the pair of brace blades that impaled the man and ripped their way out through his ribcage. On the screen, Tohmaus spun to face his attacker, barely drawing his sword in time. The tribesman's blade flashed downward in a single haphazard stroke, only to meet the superior Bat'Rellite blades of the assassin and shatter. The Shrike seized Tohmaus by the front of his robes and lifted him clear of the sands under his feet. Holding the man with one arm, the Enforcer drove the brace blades of his free hand into the ruler's brother's throat. A savage twist of the elbow and the dying man's head came off.
The Shrike dropped the body and casually surveyed the area for more prey. The camera froze the image and zoomed in on the assassin's face.
The still image showed a tall Sebacean-looking male with augmented silver eyes. His long dark hair weaved into a Peacekeeper style battle braid with a heavy gold braid-stop at the end.
There was no doubt at all it was Berret.
Both the ex-Enforcer and the tribal leader held the same emotionless look on their features. They both could have been sculpted from the same block of stone.
Cassius hit another key on the holo device and the image went into motion again. On the screen, Berret turned a little and the tiny blinking status lights on the control collar were plainly evident at his neck.
"My brother did not even have the chance to engage in honorable combat before he was struck down weaponless," Cassius continued on. "An honorable death is met with sword in hand... not skewered like a livestock animal."
The hologram Berret finally turned and walked off screen. The program ran for several more microts showing nothing more and then ended.
"Is that proof enough for you," Cassius asked the crewmates. Oddly, he didn't seem at all pleased to have made his argument to his visitors.
"Yes... you have," said Aeryn tightly.
"Surely you can forgive..." Andar began and then several more of his friends joined in all talking at the same time. Trying to offer reasons and requests for understanding from the Sakmahar and his people.
Malika stood off to one side, not sure about how she felt about what she'd just seen, but willing to back her new friends on whatever they decided to do.
The only one not trying to speak with Cassius at the moment was Berret. He simply remained where he was, staring at the now empty hologram projector.
Chiana, ever attuned to the tall ex-Enforcer's moods, was the first to notice and stepped over to the Shrike's side. She reached under the cloak and held on to the metal covered forearm she found inside.
"Berret?" she asked with a gentle pull on the limb to get his attention. A great part of her wanted her friend to deny the images, to denounce them as fake and a devious trick. At the same time she was petrified he'd remember them as true as he sometimes did under certain circumstances.
"Berret?" she asked a second time when he didn't respond right away to her.
Slowly the ex-assassin turned to look at her with unemotional eyes.
"Berret, say something," she pleaded quietly.
The Shrike looked back down at the projector. Chiana's blood ran cold in the next instant as he spoke.
"I... did those things," was all he said.
