Chiana lay sprawled across several large pillows in the pavilion that the Sakmahar Cassius had given over to the crew to use while staying in his village. It was almost two arns after they had seen the hologram evidence of Berret's guilt and the desert leader had been gracious enough to let the group have time before asking the Shrike to admit his culpability and accept the blood debt he owed.
The tent, which was near Cassius' own, had been provided for their comfort while the ex-assassin contemplated his formal answer to the charges made against him. It was the strangest captive situation the young Nebari woman could ever remember being in. The Desert nomads seemed exceedingly concerned about their well-being and were extremely apologetic whenever they thought they'd give cause for offense to any in the crew. Well, anyone in the crew except for Berret that was. The tall Shrike they made plainly obvious that they considered to be a non-entity.
The gray girl sighed deeply and then resettled her chin on her clasped hands. Her mind was racing at hetch-four trying to come up with a way out of this mess, and she rested her chin on her folded hands more to keep them from fluttering about from stress than a need to support her head. John had stayed behind in the Sakmahar's tent along with Aeryn and D'argo, trying to cut a deal with the man while the rest of the crewmates decided to make use of the offered tent to relax and think for a while. Rygel of course had also remained behind as a "guest" of the tribal leader in his pergola. Chiana herself had given up hope for trying to talk their way out of village, but she knew the older human would continue to try for a peaceful solution up until the very moment when weapons were drawn in anger. It was just Crichton's way and a major part of what she always admired about the Earthman.
Movement besides her mound of pillows caught her attention. It was Berret, and she gazed upward at him through the rogue bangs of her white hair. Her friend had removed his midnight-black cloak and wore only his Enforcer armor now. The dark metal plates that sheathed his body from toes to neck made him appear almost part reptile.
Part of her also wished he didn't look so damned calm about what was happening.
Berret was more than aware of the gray female's attention and her enervated mood. Chiana was sprawled out on her stomach on the body-sized pillows, letting her eyes follow him around the small chamber of the divided tent they had chosen for themselves.
In another chamber somewhere else in the cloth structure, the Shrike could hear the muffled voices of Andar and the Delvian girl, Malika, having a discussion. The voices held a kind of tenseness, but were too low to make out what the topic of conversation was about. Of Sean Crichton, he heard no sound from wherever he had selected to rest.
Berret placed a jug of water where Chiana could reach it, having brought it even if she hadn't asked for the refreshment. The ex-assassin had concluded on his own that the girl would probably be more affected by the desert heat than he would and need the water to replenish what her body had lost.
The Nebari only continued to follow him with her eyes, a perplexed look twisting her silver-black lips. She made no move toward the water container nor did she appear even slightly interested in it for the time being.
The Shrike took a moment to make his own assessment of his small friend. He noted that Chiana's cheeks had flushed blue, the insipid azure streak of color marring her normally perfect whitish-gray skin.
The coloring flush was a telltale sign, he had learned over the last few weekens, that the Nebari could be tired, excited, or under emotional stress. He determined that shade of light blue led toward the more lax condition of the possibilities that he had categorized.
"You are tired," he said, more for something to say than to make an obvious observation.
Chiana watched him find a seat next to her on a low chair and wondered how he could be comfortable in such an irregular position wearing armor. She then threw the thought aside as she remembered that comfort had little concern with Berret at times. She had seen him crouched in waiting or standing motionless for arns at a time if needed, without complaint or indications of distress.
It was just a strange leftover part of having been what he was.
"What he had been," she told herself silently, "He wasn't a Syndicate Enforcer anymore. He'd escaped that life that had been wrongfully forced upon him. It wasn't right that this Cassius frellnik came out of nowhere to hold Berret responsible for what the Scarrans made him do."
She felt her lips turn downward in a deep frown, then realized Berret was still looking at her as if he expected an answer to his remark.
"No," she finally said out loud to him. "I'm not tired. I'm worried about my... friend."
The slight pause had caught her off guard. She had been on the verge of saying something other than "friend," but she wasn't quite she what it was she might have meant to say in its place. "Friend" seemed too imprecise for how she thought of the tall man.
Berret caught the tiny pause also; although after seeing the hologram of him killing Tohmaus and his men, the Shrike was also sure Chiana had meant to use a description other than "friend." He was certain she meant to say something that would have defined their relationship at a much more aloof distance than "friend."
He allowed nothing to show that the pause had registered on his consciousness. He couldn't blame Chiana for being repulsed by what he had done to Cassius' brother at the Syndicate's whim.
He knew if he would permit it, he could barely stand himself over what he let happen. A good man, a better man... would have found a way to stop it, even if it had meant ending his own life to achieve that objective. Instead he'd found out not so long ago, he had been a killer for the Scarrans for over ten cycles. Surely in all that time, there had to have been at least one opportunity, a chance to do the honorable thing.
His eyes narrowed minutely for a split microt in frustration. It was so hard to remember most of the time.
The collar had scrambled his thoughts and memories; mostly only the endless slaughter came through in crystal clarity in his dreams. He struggled to recall a brief moment of free will as an assassin, and was terrorized deep inside that if he did find one instant of freedom in his Enforcer past, that he might have actually enjoyed the killing.
"What do you think they'll do?" Chiana asked.
Berret almost blinked as his gray friend's question cut through his personal thoughts.
"Whatever they feel they must." His response was noncommittal.
Chiana allowed a frown to turn down the outer edges of her lips. She hadn't really expected the Shrike to have a ready answer, but she'd hoped anyway that he might have worked out some sort of idea of what would happen. Sometimes he had a knack for strategy and figuring out what an opponent would do.
She looked back up at the man; something in the back of her mind told her she might be reaching the end of her time with Berret. She didn't like that feeling and she rallied against it.
It wasn't fair an inner part of her cried. She had found and saved him. She had given him his freedom, had laughed, cried, and even willingly bled for him. Aeryn had John, D'argo had Zhaan, Pilot had Moya, and it even looked like the new kids Andar and Malika might be pairing off. Even Sean had his lost love back on his homeworld he hung on too. And what did she have for herself?
Berret was the one thing that this frelled up life had led her way that she could call her own. Fate had taken Nerri, and now it looked like it wanted her one last possession too.
She wasn't going to let go so easily.
"We can fight," she said next in hard determination. The ex-Enforcer only regarded her impassively. His lack of response seemed to irritate her in a small way. She wanted him to be as angry as she had become with it all. "Well, what do you want to do?" she then asked a little harsher than she actually meant too.
"I want... to do what is right."
Chiana's jaw dropped.
"You mean you want to stay... and let them judge this blood debt dren on you?" she asked.
"If that is what is the right thing to do."
"You're kinkoid!" the Nebari girl exclaimed. "What if their blood debt says you have to die?"
"All things must die sometime," Berret said colorlessly.
He was being circuitous... she hated when he did that.
"Well being dead lasts a long time... a frell of a long time!" she countered, "It ain't worth doing what's right if it means you're gonna die. What's right for us is getting the frell outta here and shaking the sand off our boots as soon as possible."
"And Rygel?" Berret than asked, watching her with amounted to slightly curious interest for the man.
Chiana faltered for moment, she had almost forgotten about the Hynerian and her earlier statement about abandoning him. "I-I didn't mean what I said before... about just leaving him. We'd fight to take him with us, of course," she added.
"Because that is the right thing?" Berret persisted.
Chiana gave in and looked morose as she realized he'd roped her in.
"Yes," she reluctantly admitted. "Because it's the right thing."
Berret nodded in agreement but didn't look a bit elated that he had made his point with her.
"I hate it when you do that," she grumbled as she returned to her former chin-on-hands position on her pillows.
"Do what?" asked the Shrike in small curiosity.
"Flam~nurk me into doing the ethical thing instead of the smart thing... like running," she told him. "Its unhealthy... and I have no idea where you learned that from."
"From you," the ex-assassin supplied. Chiana did a double take. She had expected Berret to place the blame on one of the Crichtons... or even D'argo or Zhaan. Anyone or anything else but on her.
"What? I don't have a death wish! I never have!" she protested as Berret finished pouring a glass of water from the jug he had brought it a few moments before. She absently took the glass from him. "I always do the smart thing!" she continued in minor protest.
"I know," he said as he handed her the glass of cool water. "But you are not as mercenary as you believe yourself to be either."
Crichton and his two companions arrived at the temporary quarters for Moya's crew not too long after. The party glumly reported no success with getting the Sakmahar to make some other arrangement concerning the blood debt the Shrike owed. There wasn't much else for the crewmates to do but make hasty plans that involved little more than playing the situation by ear and taking the first chance they saw to get everybody out - even if it came down to a firefight.
Berret said little and offered no opinion while the discussion took place. The others took his silence to be acquiescing and never asked anything further of the tall man as far as his wishes in the matter. Taking for granted that he would go along with whatever the others decided. Chiana sat somberly by, not contributing much more than the quiet ex-assassin to the plans, and knowing that Berret had already made up his own mind about the blood debt. She hoped against hope that somewhere along the line, her friend would change his mind.
She had little expectation of that happening; Berret could be stubborn to the point of becoming stone if he wished. He didn't slip into that mood often, but when he did, there was little change of even her budging him.
The group sat and waited for the summons from Cassius to come. Each member taking time to eat, drink their fill of water, or simply rest. Even Malika had ceased her dark complaining of the circumstances and settled into what seemed a more relaxed state of being. Her crewmates weren't fooled by the young Delvian's apparent tranquility, each knew that the girl was preparing herself mentally to fight.
The blue female's cool edginess even rubbed off on her closest companion Andar. The Sebacean man allowed himself to slip into his own state of blank-minded readiness, even though he still occasional stole a sideways glance at his partner. The earlier private discussion he had with Malika had left him with more questions than answers - and he wasn't very satisfied with what he did learn, which was next to nothing.
It was just something they would have to pick up another time when they had less pressing business ahead of them. Across the chamber floor from them, Sean lay back on a series of pillows, eyes closed but lightly humming to himself. The occasion frown graced his features as he turned whatever private thoughts he had over in his mind. Whatever the reflections were, he chose to keep them to himself.
Just before dusk fell over the desert plains, the Sakmahar's summons came.
The crewmembers were given half an arn to prepare for the gathering and then were guided by a torch wielding native back into the Sakmahar's presence.
Even though their pavilion was virtually next-door to the desert ruler's, the group had not heard any movement outside from the tribe's people or any other out of the ordinary noise. They as a whole were very surprised to find the chamber they had met Cassius in before filled with silent tribe members. Virtually every member of the clan had assembled inside the large tent hall.
Desert garbed men, women, and children sat in neat rows on the carpeted ground before their leader's dais and low throne seat. Besides Cassius on his slightly raised platform also sat Rygel in the very same place he had occupied that afternoon. The Hynerian looked less then thrilled and more than a little expectant as he saw his friends enter.
A path had been left opened between the seated throng of people for the companions to approach the Sakmahar's position. John steeled himself for one last desperate attempted to reason with the man and stepped forward down the isle. Besides him, Aeryn grunted lowly in concern. She didn't like the idea of having all the tribesmen at their backs, but she strode forward besides Crichton anyway. Still, that didn't stop her from automatically checking the safety on her pulse rifle and resetting her grip on the weapon's handle. Her dark eyes continuously scanned the crowd looking for the smallest hint of threat.
Behind the couple came D'argo and Sean. The Luxan also warily watched the silent people around them, tense and ready in an instant to draw his Qualta blade from over his shoulder. Sean marched along beside the big warrior, seemingly at a degree of ease, but his Peacekeeper duster unbuttoned to aid in speed-drawing his pair of pulse pistols.
Next followed Chiana and Berret. The Shrike had re-donned his black cloak over his gunmetal body armor. With his cloak's hood down, he moved forward to face his accusers expressionlessly. The small Nebari girl traveled besides the tall assassin, her gaze darting about the assembly with nervous and excited energy. She wore her customary silver palm pistol in its low hip holster, while thrown over one slim shoulder like a bandolier; she wore the Shrike's pistol belt and his own pulse gun.
The ex-assassin had asked her to take possession of his sidearm during the final meeting with the desert ruler. Chiana had accepted, hoping that the request meant that Berret decided he would be more effective fighting in such close quarters with armor and brace blades alone, while she with her smaller handgun, could use the extra firepower of the much larger and more powerful weapon he carried.
Bringing up the rear was Andar and Malika. The Sebacean ex-teacher nonchalantly cradled his rifle in his arms just as he had his hunting longarms back on his homeworld. The posture was deceptively relaxed while keeping the weapon ready for immediate deployment.
At the tall man's side, Malika kept her shortened Peacekeeper overcoat open and the flap swept back to clear her pulse gun in its thigh holster. Her more dominated hand hovered just brushing the hilt of the large fighting knife sheathed just offside from her belt buckle. With her Delvian speed and strength, the knife would be drawn and thrown in a split microt. Some unlucky attacker would find the knife hilt protruding from his or her chest around the same instant her gun was in her hand and firing its third pulse bolt.
As the group neared the dais, Cassius watched, sitting on his throne dressed in formal robes. The man sat stiff backed as if tense, but his eyes were relaxed and confident as befitted a ruler.
John Crichton noticed the contradictory body language and instinctively knew that he faced a man who was apprehensively awaiting an important event - an event he was very worried about the outcome of.
The human led his friends to a halt just in front of the raised platform. Not sure what he should do at that point, he waited for the other man to speak. After all, it was his party, Crichton silently told himself.
The Sakmahar nodded in approval.
"Well met, Commander John Crichton," Cassius said a moment later. "The people of the Forth Dymi welcome you and your tribe to our tents. Peace, cool shade, and clear water to you and your descendants."
John faltered for a few microts, not sure of how to reply to what was obviously a formal greeting. Behind him he heard Andar hurriedly whisper the proper response.
"And calm desert, true sands, and honor to your ancestors, people of the Forth Dymi," John said, "My tribe and I travel the dunes in peace to your tents.
The formal reply seemed to go someway in appeasing the tribe people, as a few nodded their heads and murmured approvingly. Cassius himself gave a slightly pleased smile to the group as a whole.
"And so our tribes have met," the Sakmahar finished.
"Good," the elder Crichton said. "Now that we have the formalities out of the way, Sakmahar... I would like to ask you one more time if we could work this out some..."
The Desert ruler raised his hand palm outward to halt the other man's familiar question.
"The time for talk has passed us now, John Crichton," Cassius replied firmly. " The heads of both tribes have assembled to parley in this matter as is custom. Now calls the time for response. The obligation of blood debt has been lawfully avowed; the tribe has been called to bear witness. Does the murderer acknowledge our grievance?" The leader's eyes finally shifted to lie solely on Berret. "What say you, Shrike 457 - slayer of Tohmaus of the royal Zom'Darmarh line? Step forward and answer if there be any honor in your heart."
Aeryn felt the Shrike move behind her and took a step to one side so he could join John and her at the front of the group. The tall ex-assassin took his place before Cassius, his face unreadable. Out of the corner of her eye she saw John's hand inch closer to his pulse pistol in its holster. The ex-Peacekeeper heard the others shifted around behind her as they readied themselves to pull weapons.
Her own pulse rifle seemed to grow heavy in her hand as her heart started to race. Aeryn knew that the feeling was just an illusion and part of what signaled that her body was in battle readiness. Any soldier worth his field rations experienced a feeling of hypersensitivity before combat. The rifle had really not grown any heavier, she has simply grown more aware of it as she prepared to fight. A soldier who grew careless and who wasn't aware of every nuance of his or her weapon - was soon a dead soldier.
Berret stood solid and as poised as stone. The Enforcer armor filling out his midnight cloak, making him appear as massive as a Luxan warrior and just as quietly deadly as one of the war-like race.
"I freely acknowledge that I eradicated Tohmaus and several others at the Syndicate's bidding," Berret announced. "I also acknowledge that I have done far worse in my service to the Scarrans."
The Sakmahar inclined his head a single time at the ex-assassin's statement.
"Your other crimes do not concern us," Cassius continued. "But you show a allusion of honor in freely admitting them. The tribe members who died that day with my brother, died honorable deaths - with weapons in hand and defending their people. You stand accused of slaying my brother, a prince of the Forth Dymi, without honorable combat. You slew an honorable man without allowing him a chance to face you armed. That is our grievance with your crime."
"I have killed many in such a way," Berret said.
"Tohmaus' spirit now walks the sands, unable to face our ancestors," the ruler went on, "By spilling his blood in what we view as a cowardly way, you chained him to this realm, shamed his family, and stolen his rightful place in the halls of the honored dead of our tribe."
Unable to contain herself any longer, Chiana spoke out.
"Even if Berret had a choice, he couldn't have know he was violating your frelling codes!" she exclaimed.
"SILENCE!" Cassius nearly roared out. "Only the accused may speak now!"
D'argo laid a huge hand on the slim Nebari's shoulder and urged her to be quiet in a low voice. The Sakmahar chose to ignore the Luxan's whispered instruction and instead turned his attention back to Berret.
"Assassin," Cassius said, "My brother can rest only if his murderer accepts responsibility... in this way, his honor again achieves balance in the beyond realms. This road can only be traveled by what we, his people and family, ask. Do you recognize your obligation, do you accept this blood debt?"
The crewmates shifted uneasily in place, waiting for Berret to deny he owned anything to these people. Safeties silently slid off weapons, hands rested on pistol grips. Malika's knife blade cleared a henta of gleaming steel from its sheath as the girl unconsciously readied to throw it.
Aeryn and D'argo picked nearby targets as John prepared to rush forward and grab Rygel. Sean and Andar began to turn slightly sideways to cover the group's retreat and blast their way through the crowd that they were sure would try to block them from the tent's doorway. Chiana made ready to charge forward to cover Berret's back as he would be fighting with only brace blades.
The ex-Enforcer stood calmly gazing at the desert leader for what seemed to be an eternity. Chiana found herself silently urging the man to act, wanting desperately to hear the unnerving metal chime of his gauntlet blades deploying for combat. A deep part of her knew she would never hear the sound.
"I accept the blood debt," Berret announced evenly, without emotion.
The others in the crew looked momentarily stunned, not expecting the words.
Cassius surprisingly looked relieved as if a great weight had suddenly lifted from him.
Not surprisingly, Rygel looked as if he might faint from relief and went limp on his pillow-like chair.
Chiana simply slumped her shoulders and let out a low distraught groan.
The tent, which was near Cassius' own, had been provided for their comfort while the ex-assassin contemplated his formal answer to the charges made against him. It was the strangest captive situation the young Nebari woman could ever remember being in. The Desert nomads seemed exceedingly concerned about their well-being and were extremely apologetic whenever they thought they'd give cause for offense to any in the crew. Well, anyone in the crew except for Berret that was. The tall Shrike they made plainly obvious that they considered to be a non-entity.
The gray girl sighed deeply and then resettled her chin on her clasped hands. Her mind was racing at hetch-four trying to come up with a way out of this mess, and she rested her chin on her folded hands more to keep them from fluttering about from stress than a need to support her head. John had stayed behind in the Sakmahar's tent along with Aeryn and D'argo, trying to cut a deal with the man while the rest of the crewmates decided to make use of the offered tent to relax and think for a while. Rygel of course had also remained behind as a "guest" of the tribal leader in his pergola. Chiana herself had given up hope for trying to talk their way out of village, but she knew the older human would continue to try for a peaceful solution up until the very moment when weapons were drawn in anger. It was just Crichton's way and a major part of what she always admired about the Earthman.
Movement besides her mound of pillows caught her attention. It was Berret, and she gazed upward at him through the rogue bangs of her white hair. Her friend had removed his midnight-black cloak and wore only his Enforcer armor now. The dark metal plates that sheathed his body from toes to neck made him appear almost part reptile.
Part of her also wished he didn't look so damned calm about what was happening.
Berret was more than aware of the gray female's attention and her enervated mood. Chiana was sprawled out on her stomach on the body-sized pillows, letting her eyes follow him around the small chamber of the divided tent they had chosen for themselves.
In another chamber somewhere else in the cloth structure, the Shrike could hear the muffled voices of Andar and the Delvian girl, Malika, having a discussion. The voices held a kind of tenseness, but were too low to make out what the topic of conversation was about. Of Sean Crichton, he heard no sound from wherever he had selected to rest.
Berret placed a jug of water where Chiana could reach it, having brought it even if she hadn't asked for the refreshment. The ex-assassin had concluded on his own that the girl would probably be more affected by the desert heat than he would and need the water to replenish what her body had lost.
The Nebari only continued to follow him with her eyes, a perplexed look twisting her silver-black lips. She made no move toward the water container nor did she appear even slightly interested in it for the time being.
The Shrike took a moment to make his own assessment of his small friend. He noted that Chiana's cheeks had flushed blue, the insipid azure streak of color marring her normally perfect whitish-gray skin.
The coloring flush was a telltale sign, he had learned over the last few weekens, that the Nebari could be tired, excited, or under emotional stress. He determined that shade of light blue led toward the more lax condition of the possibilities that he had categorized.
"You are tired," he said, more for something to say than to make an obvious observation.
Chiana watched him find a seat next to her on a low chair and wondered how he could be comfortable in such an irregular position wearing armor. She then threw the thought aside as she remembered that comfort had little concern with Berret at times. She had seen him crouched in waiting or standing motionless for arns at a time if needed, without complaint or indications of distress.
It was just a strange leftover part of having been what he was.
"What he had been," she told herself silently, "He wasn't a Syndicate Enforcer anymore. He'd escaped that life that had been wrongfully forced upon him. It wasn't right that this Cassius frellnik came out of nowhere to hold Berret responsible for what the Scarrans made him do."
She felt her lips turn downward in a deep frown, then realized Berret was still looking at her as if he expected an answer to his remark.
"No," she finally said out loud to him. "I'm not tired. I'm worried about my... friend."
The slight pause had caught her off guard. She had been on the verge of saying something other than "friend," but she wasn't quite she what it was she might have meant to say in its place. "Friend" seemed too imprecise for how she thought of the tall man.
Berret caught the tiny pause also; although after seeing the hologram of him killing Tohmaus and his men, the Shrike was also sure Chiana had meant to use a description other than "friend." He was certain she meant to say something that would have defined their relationship at a much more aloof distance than "friend."
He allowed nothing to show that the pause had registered on his consciousness. He couldn't blame Chiana for being repulsed by what he had done to Cassius' brother at the Syndicate's whim.
He knew if he would permit it, he could barely stand himself over what he let happen. A good man, a better man... would have found a way to stop it, even if it had meant ending his own life to achieve that objective. Instead he'd found out not so long ago, he had been a killer for the Scarrans for over ten cycles. Surely in all that time, there had to have been at least one opportunity, a chance to do the honorable thing.
His eyes narrowed minutely for a split microt in frustration. It was so hard to remember most of the time.
The collar had scrambled his thoughts and memories; mostly only the endless slaughter came through in crystal clarity in his dreams. He struggled to recall a brief moment of free will as an assassin, and was terrorized deep inside that if he did find one instant of freedom in his Enforcer past, that he might have actually enjoyed the killing.
"What do you think they'll do?" Chiana asked.
Berret almost blinked as his gray friend's question cut through his personal thoughts.
"Whatever they feel they must." His response was noncommittal.
Chiana allowed a frown to turn down the outer edges of her lips. She hadn't really expected the Shrike to have a ready answer, but she'd hoped anyway that he might have worked out some sort of idea of what would happen. Sometimes he had a knack for strategy and figuring out what an opponent would do.
She looked back up at the man; something in the back of her mind told her she might be reaching the end of her time with Berret. She didn't like that feeling and she rallied against it.
It wasn't fair an inner part of her cried. She had found and saved him. She had given him his freedom, had laughed, cried, and even willingly bled for him. Aeryn had John, D'argo had Zhaan, Pilot had Moya, and it even looked like the new kids Andar and Malika might be pairing off. Even Sean had his lost love back on his homeworld he hung on too. And what did she have for herself?
Berret was the one thing that this frelled up life had led her way that she could call her own. Fate had taken Nerri, and now it looked like it wanted her one last possession too.
She wasn't going to let go so easily.
"We can fight," she said next in hard determination. The ex-Enforcer only regarded her impassively. His lack of response seemed to irritate her in a small way. She wanted him to be as angry as she had become with it all. "Well, what do you want to do?" she then asked a little harsher than she actually meant too.
"I want... to do what is right."
Chiana's jaw dropped.
"You mean you want to stay... and let them judge this blood debt dren on you?" she asked.
"If that is what is the right thing to do."
"You're kinkoid!" the Nebari girl exclaimed. "What if their blood debt says you have to die?"
"All things must die sometime," Berret said colorlessly.
He was being circuitous... she hated when he did that.
"Well being dead lasts a long time... a frell of a long time!" she countered, "It ain't worth doing what's right if it means you're gonna die. What's right for us is getting the frell outta here and shaking the sand off our boots as soon as possible."
"And Rygel?" Berret than asked, watching her with amounted to slightly curious interest for the man.
Chiana faltered for moment, she had almost forgotten about the Hynerian and her earlier statement about abandoning him. "I-I didn't mean what I said before... about just leaving him. We'd fight to take him with us, of course," she added.
"Because that is the right thing?" Berret persisted.
Chiana gave in and looked morose as she realized he'd roped her in.
"Yes," she reluctantly admitted. "Because it's the right thing."
Berret nodded in agreement but didn't look a bit elated that he had made his point with her.
"I hate it when you do that," she grumbled as she returned to her former chin-on-hands position on her pillows.
"Do what?" asked the Shrike in small curiosity.
"Flam~nurk me into doing the ethical thing instead of the smart thing... like running," she told him. "Its unhealthy... and I have no idea where you learned that from."
"From you," the ex-assassin supplied. Chiana did a double take. She had expected Berret to place the blame on one of the Crichtons... or even D'argo or Zhaan. Anyone or anything else but on her.
"What? I don't have a death wish! I never have!" she protested as Berret finished pouring a glass of water from the jug he had brought it a few moments before. She absently took the glass from him. "I always do the smart thing!" she continued in minor protest.
"I know," he said as he handed her the glass of cool water. "But you are not as mercenary as you believe yourself to be either."
Crichton and his two companions arrived at the temporary quarters for Moya's crew not too long after. The party glumly reported no success with getting the Sakmahar to make some other arrangement concerning the blood debt the Shrike owed. There wasn't much else for the crewmates to do but make hasty plans that involved little more than playing the situation by ear and taking the first chance they saw to get everybody out - even if it came down to a firefight.
Berret said little and offered no opinion while the discussion took place. The others took his silence to be acquiescing and never asked anything further of the tall man as far as his wishes in the matter. Taking for granted that he would go along with whatever the others decided. Chiana sat somberly by, not contributing much more than the quiet ex-assassin to the plans, and knowing that Berret had already made up his own mind about the blood debt. She hoped against hope that somewhere along the line, her friend would change his mind.
She had little expectation of that happening; Berret could be stubborn to the point of becoming stone if he wished. He didn't slip into that mood often, but when he did, there was little change of even her budging him.
The group sat and waited for the summons from Cassius to come. Each member taking time to eat, drink their fill of water, or simply rest. Even Malika had ceased her dark complaining of the circumstances and settled into what seemed a more relaxed state of being. Her crewmates weren't fooled by the young Delvian's apparent tranquility, each knew that the girl was preparing herself mentally to fight.
The blue female's cool edginess even rubbed off on her closest companion Andar. The Sebacean man allowed himself to slip into his own state of blank-minded readiness, even though he still occasional stole a sideways glance at his partner. The earlier private discussion he had with Malika had left him with more questions than answers - and he wasn't very satisfied with what he did learn, which was next to nothing.
It was just something they would have to pick up another time when they had less pressing business ahead of them. Across the chamber floor from them, Sean lay back on a series of pillows, eyes closed but lightly humming to himself. The occasion frown graced his features as he turned whatever private thoughts he had over in his mind. Whatever the reflections were, he chose to keep them to himself.
Just before dusk fell over the desert plains, the Sakmahar's summons came.
The crewmembers were given half an arn to prepare for the gathering and then were guided by a torch wielding native back into the Sakmahar's presence.
Even though their pavilion was virtually next-door to the desert ruler's, the group had not heard any movement outside from the tribe's people or any other out of the ordinary noise. They as a whole were very surprised to find the chamber they had met Cassius in before filled with silent tribe members. Virtually every member of the clan had assembled inside the large tent hall.
Desert garbed men, women, and children sat in neat rows on the carpeted ground before their leader's dais and low throne seat. Besides Cassius on his slightly raised platform also sat Rygel in the very same place he had occupied that afternoon. The Hynerian looked less then thrilled and more than a little expectant as he saw his friends enter.
A path had been left opened between the seated throng of people for the companions to approach the Sakmahar's position. John steeled himself for one last desperate attempted to reason with the man and stepped forward down the isle. Besides him, Aeryn grunted lowly in concern. She didn't like the idea of having all the tribesmen at their backs, but she strode forward besides Crichton anyway. Still, that didn't stop her from automatically checking the safety on her pulse rifle and resetting her grip on the weapon's handle. Her dark eyes continuously scanned the crowd looking for the smallest hint of threat.
Behind the couple came D'argo and Sean. The Luxan also warily watched the silent people around them, tense and ready in an instant to draw his Qualta blade from over his shoulder. Sean marched along beside the big warrior, seemingly at a degree of ease, but his Peacekeeper duster unbuttoned to aid in speed-drawing his pair of pulse pistols.
Next followed Chiana and Berret. The Shrike had re-donned his black cloak over his gunmetal body armor. With his cloak's hood down, he moved forward to face his accusers expressionlessly. The small Nebari girl traveled besides the tall assassin, her gaze darting about the assembly with nervous and excited energy. She wore her customary silver palm pistol in its low hip holster, while thrown over one slim shoulder like a bandolier; she wore the Shrike's pistol belt and his own pulse gun.
The ex-assassin had asked her to take possession of his sidearm during the final meeting with the desert ruler. Chiana had accepted, hoping that the request meant that Berret decided he would be more effective fighting in such close quarters with armor and brace blades alone, while she with her smaller handgun, could use the extra firepower of the much larger and more powerful weapon he carried.
Bringing up the rear was Andar and Malika. The Sebacean ex-teacher nonchalantly cradled his rifle in his arms just as he had his hunting longarms back on his homeworld. The posture was deceptively relaxed while keeping the weapon ready for immediate deployment.
At the tall man's side, Malika kept her shortened Peacekeeper overcoat open and the flap swept back to clear her pulse gun in its thigh holster. Her more dominated hand hovered just brushing the hilt of the large fighting knife sheathed just offside from her belt buckle. With her Delvian speed and strength, the knife would be drawn and thrown in a split microt. Some unlucky attacker would find the knife hilt protruding from his or her chest around the same instant her gun was in her hand and firing its third pulse bolt.
As the group neared the dais, Cassius watched, sitting on his throne dressed in formal robes. The man sat stiff backed as if tense, but his eyes were relaxed and confident as befitted a ruler.
John Crichton noticed the contradictory body language and instinctively knew that he faced a man who was apprehensively awaiting an important event - an event he was very worried about the outcome of.
The human led his friends to a halt just in front of the raised platform. Not sure what he should do at that point, he waited for the other man to speak. After all, it was his party, Crichton silently told himself.
The Sakmahar nodded in approval.
"Well met, Commander John Crichton," Cassius said a moment later. "The people of the Forth Dymi welcome you and your tribe to our tents. Peace, cool shade, and clear water to you and your descendants."
John faltered for a few microts, not sure of how to reply to what was obviously a formal greeting. Behind him he heard Andar hurriedly whisper the proper response.
"And calm desert, true sands, and honor to your ancestors, people of the Forth Dymi," John said, "My tribe and I travel the dunes in peace to your tents.
The formal reply seemed to go someway in appeasing the tribe people, as a few nodded their heads and murmured approvingly. Cassius himself gave a slightly pleased smile to the group as a whole.
"And so our tribes have met," the Sakmahar finished.
"Good," the elder Crichton said. "Now that we have the formalities out of the way, Sakmahar... I would like to ask you one more time if we could work this out some..."
The Desert ruler raised his hand palm outward to halt the other man's familiar question.
"The time for talk has passed us now, John Crichton," Cassius replied firmly. " The heads of both tribes have assembled to parley in this matter as is custom. Now calls the time for response. The obligation of blood debt has been lawfully avowed; the tribe has been called to bear witness. Does the murderer acknowledge our grievance?" The leader's eyes finally shifted to lie solely on Berret. "What say you, Shrike 457 - slayer of Tohmaus of the royal Zom'Darmarh line? Step forward and answer if there be any honor in your heart."
Aeryn felt the Shrike move behind her and took a step to one side so he could join John and her at the front of the group. The tall ex-assassin took his place before Cassius, his face unreadable. Out of the corner of her eye she saw John's hand inch closer to his pulse pistol in its holster. The ex-Peacekeeper heard the others shifted around behind her as they readied themselves to pull weapons.
Her own pulse rifle seemed to grow heavy in her hand as her heart started to race. Aeryn knew that the feeling was just an illusion and part of what signaled that her body was in battle readiness. Any soldier worth his field rations experienced a feeling of hypersensitivity before combat. The rifle had really not grown any heavier, she has simply grown more aware of it as she prepared to fight. A soldier who grew careless and who wasn't aware of every nuance of his or her weapon - was soon a dead soldier.
Berret stood solid and as poised as stone. The Enforcer armor filling out his midnight cloak, making him appear as massive as a Luxan warrior and just as quietly deadly as one of the war-like race.
"I freely acknowledge that I eradicated Tohmaus and several others at the Syndicate's bidding," Berret announced. "I also acknowledge that I have done far worse in my service to the Scarrans."
The Sakmahar inclined his head a single time at the ex-assassin's statement.
"Your other crimes do not concern us," Cassius continued. "But you show a allusion of honor in freely admitting them. The tribe members who died that day with my brother, died honorable deaths - with weapons in hand and defending their people. You stand accused of slaying my brother, a prince of the Forth Dymi, without honorable combat. You slew an honorable man without allowing him a chance to face you armed. That is our grievance with your crime."
"I have killed many in such a way," Berret said.
"Tohmaus' spirit now walks the sands, unable to face our ancestors," the ruler went on, "By spilling his blood in what we view as a cowardly way, you chained him to this realm, shamed his family, and stolen his rightful place in the halls of the honored dead of our tribe."
Unable to contain herself any longer, Chiana spoke out.
"Even if Berret had a choice, he couldn't have know he was violating your frelling codes!" she exclaimed.
"SILENCE!" Cassius nearly roared out. "Only the accused may speak now!"
D'argo laid a huge hand on the slim Nebari's shoulder and urged her to be quiet in a low voice. The Sakmahar chose to ignore the Luxan's whispered instruction and instead turned his attention back to Berret.
"Assassin," Cassius said, "My brother can rest only if his murderer accepts responsibility... in this way, his honor again achieves balance in the beyond realms. This road can only be traveled by what we, his people and family, ask. Do you recognize your obligation, do you accept this blood debt?"
The crewmates shifted uneasily in place, waiting for Berret to deny he owned anything to these people. Safeties silently slid off weapons, hands rested on pistol grips. Malika's knife blade cleared a henta of gleaming steel from its sheath as the girl unconsciously readied to throw it.
Aeryn and D'argo picked nearby targets as John prepared to rush forward and grab Rygel. Sean and Andar began to turn slightly sideways to cover the group's retreat and blast their way through the crowd that they were sure would try to block them from the tent's doorway. Chiana made ready to charge forward to cover Berret's back as he would be fighting with only brace blades.
The ex-Enforcer stood calmly gazing at the desert leader for what seemed to be an eternity. Chiana found herself silently urging the man to act, wanting desperately to hear the unnerving metal chime of his gauntlet blades deploying for combat. A deep part of her knew she would never hear the sound.
"I accept the blood debt," Berret announced evenly, without emotion.
The others in the crew looked momentarily stunned, not expecting the words.
Cassius surprisingly looked relieved as if a great weight had suddenly lifted from him.
Not surprisingly, Rygel looked as if he might faint from relief and went limp on his pillow-like chair.
Chiana simply slumped her shoulders and let out a low distraught groan.
