DOVANNI NOTIA WAS, AS PLANETS GO, UNSPECTACULAR.
One huge continent amidst a vast turquoise planetwide ocean, the interior of that continent an equally huge desert. Only the edges of the continent were green.
As they swung into orbit, Jool informed them that that continent was not where'd they'd be going.
"The Interion settlement is on the other side of the planet on a small island, well, a chain of islands." She told them.
"How are they on visitors?" D'Argo asked.
"Well, they're intellectual fundamentalists – but not particularly freethinkers, if you follow me. So, not particularly inclined, really."
"Hence the middle of nowhere." Rygel muttered.
Crichton jumped off the table he'd been sitting on, strode over to Jool.
"Tough. We won't be here that long. What's this information gonna cost us?"
"I guess that depends on who we ask," Jool replied. "The colony is basically made of expatriates – mostly people who disagreed with certain of my homeworld's policies."
"Which means what, exactly? Are they criminals?" Chiana asked. She was watching Crichton.
Jool looked distinctly uncomfortable.
"Not in the strictest sense. They're more like …rebels. You know my homeworld is a meritocracy, but they think that's rather a bit… much, as it were. They're all descendants of members of clans that prefer the ancient caste system. It's complicated."
Crichton eyed her.
"Would this have anything to do with your leaving here under 'less than pleasant circumstances'?"
Jool cleared her throat.
"Something like that."
Crichton grabbed her arm, tugged her from Command.
"Tough. Whatever it was, you were still here before." He glanced over at D'Argo. "What do you think? Lo'lhaa or a transport pod? My Marauder will stick the hell out."
"A transport pod would be less intimidating – especially if they're touchy."
Crichton nodded, led them all to the hanger. He eyed his Marauder as he passed. It had benefits, but wasn't what he needed. Even as he thought about it, the idea of something more advanced - deadlier -was fermenting in his head.
The trip down in the pod was quiet and uneventful, with Jool appearing more apprehensive the closer they got.
"What's the matter with you, Jool?" Rygel goaded. "Did you snurch something before you left?"
"No – and I resent the implication!" Her voice was higher than normal. Crichton glanced back at her, sighed.
"What did you steal, Jool?"
"Nothing!" Jool's hair was starting to go red.
"Jool…!"
Jool sighed, angry and desperate all at once.
"Look – I was on my Grand Educational Tour when I got robbed. I lost all my finances. I'd managed this far on what I had left. There's a gem mine in the desert on the big continent. I needed an 'in' here, so I arranged a few …things, and then – look, I needed money to get off the planet, so I borrowed a few! Just enough to get out of the system and meet up with my cousins!"
"I'll kick her eema so hard," Chiana grumbled. "It'll take me a whole day to pull my foot back out." D'Argo growled at the young Interion. Rygel just chuckled.
"Save it." Crichton chided. "We'll deal with whatever if it comes up – Jool said it herself – it has been almost twenty-three damn cycles."
They landed the pod without challenge, without incident, just outside the only settlement.
"Let's keep our weapons low-key, kids. We'll be reasonable – depending." Crichton said, adjusting his shoulder piece, standing and fastening his longcoat. Chiana followed suit and D'Argo tucked his Qualta behind him. They were more likely to wonder why a Luxan wasn't armed than otherwise.
They stepped out into the moist air, the smell of brine reminding Crichton of his vacations with his father in Miami – a memory of which he almost immediately quashed.
Those memories belonged to someone else. His 'father' was a dead brain-sucking maniac. He knew he was going to get tired of reminding himself to correct himself but it had to be done. He didn't need the distractions. Make it a habit and problem solved.
They casually made their way toward the settlement edge, Crichton and Jool leading, D'Argo, Rygel and Chiana following. They were almost to a gate when two Interion males, armed, stepped into their path.
"Halt there, Peacekeeper!" the one on the left barked.
Crichton raised his hands, not high – just high enough to show he wasn't carrying.
"Not a Peacekeeper." He continued walking.
"I said, halt! All of you!"
"Jool – you're up," Crichton said, pulling Jool around him and shoving her into the front. The men blinked when they saw her.
"Uh… hello. He's right – he's not a Peacekeeper. Is… Navria Atrekii Noma Denri Govali still in charge here?"
"What is with those frelling names?" Chiana muttered to D'Argo. He shrugged.
The male on the right eyed Jool suspiciously.
"Yes. How do you know her?"
Jool said nothing, until Crichton poked her in the back.
"I… used to live here."
"That doesn't matter. Answer the question!"
Crichton was about to step forward when another voice intruded on the scene, a woman's voice.
"Oh, for frell's sake! Put the guns down, you fekkiks."
The Sebacean owner of that voice walked up and past them, slapping one of the barrels down as she passed. She stopped just shy of Crichton. Her smile was large and radiant.
"Hello there! Sorry about the Paranoid Brothers. Can I help you?"
She was almost as tall as he was, with long, tied-up-in-a-high-ponytail red-gold hair, striking violet eyes with just a hint of a slant, and an oval face. White teeth flashed behind a set of full lips. She wore a long grey "lab coat" - like affair which hid nothing of a very strong and supple body beneath. She glanced at his companions, gave him a slower going-over, obviously liking what she saw.
"All we want is some information." He said, brazenly returning the favour. This woman was, well… beautiful. She looked, he suddenly thought, like Rita Hayworth – with obvious differences, of course. Another broad smile - one of those smiles that made full-grown intelligent men feel like supra-dumb hormonal boys.
"'Information'? This rock is, quite frankly, the hind-end of nowhere. I'm Miriya Breannados." She somehow managed to sound throaty and sharp at the same time.
Crichton looked her over again for a long moment.
"Yeah, nice to meet you," he replied dryly, pointedly avoiding giving her his name. If she noticed, she said nothing. "It's nothing major, no state secret – as far as I know."
"Well, come on in, then." So saying, she turned, sauntered between the two guards, stopped, fixed the one on the left with a withering glare, said, "Go do something productive." which just caused him to scowl and back away from her. She glanced back at Moya's crew.
"Interions – smarter than all Hezmana, no manners at all." The smile came back. "Follow me."
Miriya led them through the small village, which was remarkably advanced for being the "hind-end of nowhere". They were stared at as they went by and as quickly ignored. At last they came to a house larger than the rest. Miriya unhesitatingly went up the stairs, beckoning them to follow, led them into a large oval foyer.
"Wait here, I'll see if the old girl's awake."
She padded through a door, disappeared. D'Argo stepped up behind Crichton.
"She's uh… well…"
"Unusual," Crichton finished his thought. "For a Peacekeeper."
"That's one way of putting it," Chiana chimed, jealous as all Hezmana. Stupid males. " A tech too, from the looks of her. How often do you meet a Sebacean with a sense of humour?"
Crichton just scoffed, said, "Not often," looked around.
The furnishings were sparse, the air inside flinty. Carvings and statuettes from what appeared to be several different cultures were arranged around the room. Dark, mirror-polished wood covered the walls. The place looked like large sums of money had been spent. The door Miriya had taken banged open and the woman herself strode through, stopped, held it open for a much older Interion woman to follow.
Crichton didn't know how long Interions lived, but this woman looked to be pushing that limit – and hard.
"Thank you, Miriya," She croaked. Navria slowly made her way to the only chair in the room, Miriya behind her.
"Navria – these people are here looking for some information – nothing serious, I'm told." She glanced over at Crichton. "Correct?"
"Yeah."
Navria squinted up at him, beckoned him closer. Crichton stepped closer to be peered up at with sharp squinting eyes. She blinked. It seemed as if she recognized him.
"What do you want?" she wheezed. Before he could answer, the old woman caught sight of Jool, crooked a branch-like finger at her.
"You – come here." Jool pointed to herself, looked confused. "Yes, you. Come here."
Jool reluctantly stepped up, as Crichton stepped out of her way. The old woman squinted up at her. The squint folded the lines of her face so tightly it seemed as if her features would vanish beneath them.
"What's your name – and don't lie." Jool glanced back at Crichton, who shrugged.
"Joolushko Tunai Fenta Hovalis." She said, with a bit of trepidation. Navria squinted again.
"You have been away a long time, Joolushko Tunai Fenta Hovalis. Were you in prison all this time?" Behind them, Chiana laughed and the question pulled a few smirks across faces.
"No, Navria Atrekii Noma Denri Govali. I was… on my way to make restitution when my ship was attacked by slavers. We got sick, but I recovered, and then we were sold to organ harvesters. I spent 22 cycles in cold storage."
"Indeed," Navria rasped. "Your cousins?"
"They were worse, Navria Atrekii Noma Denri Govali – they didn't survive."
Navria went silent as she appeared to consider it, then looked up again.
"What do you want?"
"Just information. My companions wish to find Abbanerex. Will you help us?"
Miriya looked up when Jool mentioned Abbanerex, looked back at her companions appraisingly.
"I see no reason to help you, Joolushko Tunai Fenta Hovalis. Your name is welcome nowhere."
Jool tossed Crichton another look. He stepped up.
"What did she do?"
Navria looked at Crichton with a skeptical air, her eyes sharp. He suddenly felt like it would be a bad idea to argue with this one.
"She's a thief, a liar, and a whore."
Crichton sent the old woman a dry smile and elicited a sharp look from Jool when he answered,
"Aside from that."
Navria straightened as Chiana laughed again, seemed to reassess him. She barely came up to his chest.
"You obviously know nothing of her."
Navria shambled away to a chair, sat heavily. She eyed the group for what seemed like a long time, then sighed. "You will take Joolushko Tunai Fenta Hovalis to the Ej'djem Reach and the moon Davros - and you will pay her debts." Her voice brooked no debate.
"What? Why should we do that?" Chiana said immediately. "They're her frelling debts!"
"Chiana!" D'Argo growled at her.
"Okay, the debts I understand. Why do you want her to go to this Davros?" Crichton asked the old woman.
"Because," Navria said, rising and hobbling away, her dignity immense. "That's where her husband is now, and he has been dealing with her inequities for the last twenty-four cycles."
"HUSBAND?"
They were all standing in a room ringed with windows of coloured glass, Dovanni Notia's sun casting colours everywhere. Rygel was floating around looking at more statuary, Crichton was lounging in a chair, D'Argo merely standing behind Crichton, arms folded, Chiana perched on another chair, next to the silent Human. Jool was sitting on a wooden bench, looking everywhere but at them, pensive and jumpy.
"You never mentioned a husband, Princess." Chiana chided.
"I don't have a husband." Jool replied petulantly. "Well, uh, not really."
"Oh, for frell's sake!" Chiana threw her hands up.
"Remember those 'less than the best of circumstances?'" Crichton echoed.
Jool nodded reluctantly.
"I needed status to get near the gem mine. I don't really have a husband. They think I do. I never finished the bonding, so I'm not married. They can't hold me to it!"
"Why? Was he ugly? Mean?" Chiana held up two fingers, apart only slightly. "Little?"
Jool shot her a disgusted look.
"No. I suppose he was nice enough." She frowned, sighed. "I… may have kinda frelled him over…?, I guess… as long as we're 'married', he can't have a relationship with anyone else."
"I'd shoot you." Crichton said with a nodding D'Argo behind him.
"So, what's the big deal? On Nebari Prime, marriages are selected by a frelling committee – based on how well you serve the stinking Establishment! You can't even have a narl without a license!"
"That's rather repressive for such a supposedly advanced culture." D'Argo growled. "Even on my homeworld we can choose our own mates."
Chiana shot a glance back at him.
"Don't you have to fight for them or something?"
"Well… It's all just ritual now… no one actually dies anymore…"
Rygel sniffed from where he was fondling a statue.
"On Hyneria the strongest male gets his pick of females. As it should be. I had several thousand." He smiled to himself and reminisced, feeling his age, suddenly.
"What's it like on Earth, Crichton?" Chiana asked, then catching herself, almost immediately regretting she'd asked. Crichton didn't seem to care.
"Depends on where you live. Some cultures have arranged marriages, a hundred stupid taboos. Marriage was originally just a financial contract designed to merge monied, so-called noble families and increase their power. Spouses were picked by the parents. After a while religions started stepping in and it got injected with a lot of idiotic dren about 'love and commitment'. Made them a lot of money, too. At least until prenuptial agreements were invented."
He snorted to himself, went on.
"In the so-called West, you supposedly were to pick your own mate, based on 'love' and mutual attraction. Not that parents don't have opinions on the matter, of course. It's basically up to you and her or him. The majority don't last very long. Humans are what they call 'serial monogamists'."
"Drad. Better than most."
"Doesn't matter." Jool said, still huffy. "I'm not going."
"Did you not listen to anything we said on the way here? You're going." Crichton snapped at her.
"I am not going! Why do think I tried to get off this planet as fast as I could in the first place?" She crossed her arms and petulantly turned away.
Crichton marched up, grabbed her arm, wrenched her around which made her squeal, forced her to look at him.
"Look – Talyn is a weeken at most from going completely frelling nuts – you understand that? Complete neural collapse! We owe that kid – not to mention what it will do to Moya! Now if you have to go apologize to some guy you frelled over and ran out on cycles ago so that we can get that kid fixed – then you'll do it." He let her go but not without a shake first. "This isn't about you – so you'd better get that straight in your head."
This isn't about Aeryn, either! Jool shouted at him in her head, though she knew better than to say it.
"Trouble?" another voice intruded. Miriya Breannados walked into the room, having changed from her "lab" coat number into what looked like a one-piece soft leather overall, with a fatigue jacket covered in pockets over it. Even with that on, she still looked like she'd be comfortable walking any runway in Paris or Milan.
"No. No trouble." Crichton told her, glaring at Jool. "Will Navria help us or not?"
"If Joolushko goes to Davros and deals with her husband, pays her debts, then yes. Otherwise no."
Five heads turned to the sulking Interion on the bench.
"What exactly are these debts you owe, Jool?" D'Argo asked.
"Inconsequential. Not that much, at all." They continued to glare. She sighed. "I took five slonits of raw gemstones."
"That's how much?" Crichton asked relentlessly. Behind her, he could see Miriya thinking. She shook her head, laughed. Jool just looked more embarrassed.
"Twenty-two cycles ago it was worth more. Now it's about two thousand currency pledge's worth." Miriya told them.
Chiana gaped at her.
"Is that all!?"
"It was apparently enough!" Jool bounced up, stalked away. "I needed it to survive!"
D'Argo sighed, reached into a pocket.
"Will they take krindars?"
"Wait. What's the alternative to Jool having no money?" Crichton asked.
"Work." Miriya answered, the smile still on her face. Jool's face showed that she was less than pleased.
"What kind of work?"
"Depends on Navria. Probably domestic stuff. It'll be drudgery, regardless."
Crichton sat back down.
"Go work." He waved a finger at Jool then at the door.
"Why should I?" Jool seemed outraged by the idea. "It's only two thousand!"
"It'll be two thousand less we'll have for Moya and Talyn. We're not paying for you. Go work." His voice brooked no argument.
Jool's hair was a deep crimson red but she ground her teeth, turned away, turned back, pointed a finger at Crichton. "I'm only doing it to help Moya and Talyn. But that's all I'm doing! It might be the last thing I do for you!"
Crichton just smiled a flat smile at her.
"Jool – if we can get Talyn fixed, I won't care what the fuck you do."
Jool huffed, turned to Miriya.
"Where's Navria?"
"At her house."
Jool's hair was still bright-red and she started to stomp off.
"I'm not spending days here." She growled.
"Don't worry – Navria's a bit of a traditionalist. She's more worried about your husband than the money." Miriya said, amused.
"Traditionalist? What's that mean? Will she have to swallow live frogs or something? French-kiss a Hynerian?" Crichton asked. Rygel harrumphed at that.
Miriya told him, her smile broadening.
"If I know Navria, it'll be something more akin to penance." Miriya's eyes glittered. "It can get pretty ugly."
"Criiii-tonnnnn!" Jool pleaded. He implacably jabbed a finger at the door.
"Just do it. We'll wait for you."
With a lot of muttered cursing, vows of revenge, and various wishes of harm to him and his subsequent generations, Jool went.
