AND NOW, ON FARSCAPE:

BLIND ICARUS:

ECLIPSE

There you are, my friends! - Alas, so I am not the man,
not the one you're looking for?
You hesitate, surprised! - Ah, your anger would be better!
Am I no more the one? A changed hand, pace, and face?
And what am I - for you, friends am I not the one?

Friedrich Nietzsche,

Out of the High Mountains, AFTERSONG.

MIRIYA BREANNADOS WATCHED TRAFFIC CONTROL DRONES FLIT PAST HER SHIP.

She'd been here before, many times, though she'd apparently forgotten the place was this thick with vehicles.

As they had entered the orbital plane of Davros, her sensors had registered thousands of ships and tens of thousands of drones, the immense bustle of a major commerce hub, though the sheer number of ships always set her teeth on edge.

They managed the inner orbital docks without incident to find Moya still docked, Pilot informing them that he had not heard from D'Argo or the others since being asked to call for Crichton, though he knew their last location, which he dutifully relayed. He'd tried comming them but with little success. Crichton told Pilot that he'd deal with it and for Pilot to ready Moya for her return to Abbanerex – preferably at a moment's notice.

"Let's check the local nets before we go anywhere," Crichton told her before they found a berth of their own.

"Why?" She asked, indicating her comm array. "I can't stay hanging out here for long." He sat, started cycling.

"Just a hunch."

He found a local station, listened. It was mostly just endless advertisements. Davros was, after all, basically a planet-sized shopping mall. She watched him, saw him starting to log into and out of the local bands and was surprised to see him cycling higher – into frequencies he shouldn't have known about. He'd stop on certain ones, listen, then proceed on. Miriya found herself reassessing him as he sat there. This was completely unexpected.

He was tapping into relayed frequencies, higher and more encrypted ones, Peacekeeper Captain-level codes and High Command channels. They were older ones, yet they were valid ones. After a few moments, he flicked the array off, directed her to dock. He had stopped at no one frequency for more than a half-a-dozen microts, and Miriya was completely mystified.

"Why did you do that?" She asked, as The Edge came to a stop.

"Do what?" She indicated her comm array. "Oh, just to see what was available."

"How do you know the encrypted stuff?"

"Don't you?"

"Uh… some of it…"

"Well, I just know more."

Crichton shrugged, got up, did a quick check on himself, nodded slightly, went aft pulling his gloves on.

"Shall we?"

Miriya negotiated for privileges, got them, and locked The Edge down, followed him. He stepped out and into the promenade of the orbital station, acting for all the worlds like he was simply a tourist come for shopping – even though he looked nothing like one, all leather and weapons. He reached over, put his arm around her shoulders, pulled her to him and drew her into the crowd alongside him.

"Remember where we parked." He quipped as they proceeded along. After a few moments she put her arm around his waist. It was less awkward walking that way, but not by much.

"So," he asked, conversationally, by her ear. "How many bounty hunters do you think are in this system?"

Equally conversationally, Miriya replied, tucking her hip next to his trying to match the cadence of his stride.

I think I like this.

"Probably most of them. This is a prime hunting ground. There are millions of people here and it's a good place to hide amongst a crowd – if you need to, I suppose."

Crichton pursed his lips and nodded.

"Neither one of us is gonna blend in all that well. We need to get to the surface."

"There should be transports going every few hundred microts."

"Where?"

She pointed and he led the way. This arms-around thing, she realized, was also advantageous in a crowd like this. Neither of them would lose the other.

They managed the transport tier, were unceremoniously stuffed into a shuttle and crushed face-to-face in the press of bodies. Miriya simply stepped into him, wrapped her arms around his midsection, pulled herself close.

"Not too terribly inconvenient," she smirked up at him.

That dry smile of his came back and he returned to scanning the crowd. She also noticed that there was an ever-so-slight space around Crichton and herself – and thought it was that either Sebaceans weren't liked much here or it was some revulsion for Peacekeepers. She figured it was probably the latter. This was Ashkelon territory, after all. He also, she noted absently, never took a hand far from one of his pistols.

The shuttle finally landed and the gush from the ship was like a relief – only to be quashed by the literal sea of bodies before them. Crichton shook his head and Miriya took his hand this time. He glanced down at her as she did.

"Ten times the bodies, ten times the likelihood of getting lost," was all she said.

He didn't argue, switched her to his left, pulled her to that side. He reached up, hit his comm as they proceed through the crowd.

"D. Jool. Buckwheat." Then waited.

"Crichton?" A pause. "Are you receiving me?"

"Sparky? What's goin' on?"

"We've found Jool's husband. Chiana was 'bought' by the local warlord, as you know and we're trying to get him to cooperate to get us to this Warlord's Fortress."

"Right." Crichton sighed. "Naturally."

There was a muttered, "I know it's ridiculous…" then Rygel said, louder, "Jool's husband is apparently this Warlord's Medican, and he's quite uncooperative."

"Not unsurprising." He glanced at Miriya who just shrugged. "What's the problem?"

"We're waiting for the transport that was supposed to pick him up, so that we can hijack it and go get Chiana." Another pause. "We're at the Skreeling Port Visitor Annex."

"'Hijack'…? For frell's sake, Buckwheat! Put D on!"

After a microt, D'Argo cut in.

"John, I should point out that this plan is a last resort and I would rather you were here to help refine it."

"When's the transport supposed to arrive?"

"Don't know. Could be ten microts or an arn. He doesn't know."

Crichton looked at Miriya again, who shrugged again.

"For frell's sake… ! We're gonna need something a little less confrontational, D…"

"Hold on, John… Rygel! I told you to watch him!"

In the background a faint, "He's run off!" from Rygel and Crichton sighed.

"Skreeling Port, John, visitor annex," D'Argo came back, "get here an arn ago, would…"

There was a sudden burst of sharp static and Crichton slapped the comm closed.

"Goddamn it. Skreeling Port?"

Miriya was already pointing the direction to a small information kiosk.

"Are they all …stupid?," She told him as they hurried to it. "They wouldn't last a full five microts trying to storm the Fortress!"

"No, true, but don't underestimate them." Crichton answered her. "Let's just get to this frellin' port."

They skidded to a stop at the kiosk.

"It on here?" He asked. "I don't read the local lingo so well."

Miriya led him to a stand-up map, scanned it briefly, pointed to a large red square.

"That's it, there." She checked it against the green dot with the stylized arrow he assumed was the local equivalent of the 'You are here' indicator. "It's not too far off."

It took half-an-arn and a rather expensive cab ride but they finally arrived at Skreeling Port.

His friends were not in evidence, though the port was busy, people filing in and out of the Visitor Annex. Seated alone at a table one Interion looking rather glum.

On the table, D'Argo's Qualta.

The Interion was gazing into the distance at nothing in particular.

"I'll take that," Crichton told him, tapping the back of his skull with a pistol. "Nice an' easy, now."

The Interion turned his head slowly and put his hands out.

"Are you Crichton?" He asked wearily. "Please, take it, with my compliments."

He kept his hands up and Crichton reached around and plucked the blade from the table.

"I am Evigan Koiban," he said, after a moment.

"You're Jool's husband." Miriya stated. He nodded. "Well, she has some taste, at least."

"Thank you." He said in that same weary voice. "Your friends have been taken by 'Constables' - the local Warlord's Pacifiers."

"Of course they have." Crichton glanced up to where Koiban had been gazing. "Why are you here?"

"I was ordered to stay here, to give you that as proof and inform you of their capture." He slowly lowered his hands. "All part of tradition, you see. Your Nebari friend was bought by D'Strand'm'tah to get your attention and your other friends were then expedited to his Fortress to 'negotiate' for her release. All according to forms."

"Why?" Miriya asked, voice highly doubtful, "Why would D'Strand'm'tah negotiate for anything? He's probably the richest sentient alive. You guys have absolutely nothing he'd want."

Crichton was looking at Koiban.

"Well?"

"I was not taken into his confidence."

"Speculate." Crichton asked him, hard-voiced. Koiban blinked and Miriya sighed.

"I honestly can't imagine. He even took my 'wife'," that said with deep contempt, "…as I said there are certain traditions Ashkelon follow." Koiban said fearlessly. Crichton found himself liking this guy. "I'm afraid I have no idea. Are you important or infamous?"

"Depends on who you ask." Crichton scratched his chin with the barrel of his pistol. "You work for this Warlord asshole?"

"I'm his personal Physiker. His Medican."

"He trust you that much?"

"Yes."

"How do I contact this…"

"D'Strand'm'tah." Miriya provided, and he nodded in thanks.

"…and talk some sense into him?"

"He lives on his own moon, which he calls 'Sanctuary'. No one goes there unless he wants them there. Or you get his attention." Koiban informed him. "The former can be quite profitable and advantageous – on most occasions, but the latter is usually not a very good idea."

Crichton opened his mouth to say something as Miriya stopped him.

"Uhm… we are rather strangely alone here."

Crichton quickly scanned the area. There was indeed a rather odd dearth of people when there had been quite a few only moments ago.

"Okay… what the hell….?"

Koiban pointed past them.

"Excuse me," he pointed over Crichton's shoulder, at three figures in long dark cloaks. "Are they with you?"

Crichton managed a short sharp "frell!", shoved Miriya out of the way and was diving for cover himself when the Annex suddenly exploded into screams and chaos.