Episode 12 - Scarran Redux
"Be with me when I go..." -- Leslie Crichton
Aeryn stood at the door to Moya's center chamber, watching John. He was sitting hunched over the table, turning a drinking cup between his hands, staring into space. He seemed oblivious to everything, lost in thought, and she couldn't help but wonder what was running through his mind.
"Penny for them."
She jumped, startled. John hadn't looked up, hadn't stopped rocking that cup back and forth in mechanical repetition, but the words had undoubtedly issued from him. They made too little sense to have been from anyone else.
"What did you say?" she finally asked.
"'Penny for your thoughts', Aeryn," he said with a small half-smile, still not looking at her. "Human phrase. Just wondering what you were thinking."
"Hm." She walked into the room and sat down across the table from him, into his line of sight. He blinked and finally met her eyes. "Actually, I was just about to ask you the same thing," she said.
John's eyes drifted away from her again, and he was quiet for a long moment. The cup stilled and was set down on the table.
"I was thinking..."
She waited.
"I was thinking that I should apologize...but I'm not sure to whom."
"Apologize? What for?"
John looked down at his hands, turning them over and back as if analyzing his very pores for an answer. "I feel...I feel like I've been walking in a fog for the past half cycle. I've been so...wrapped up in myself, in what happened to me...I haven't had anything left for anyone else. I haven't been much of a friend lately." He glanced up, looking over Aeryn's shoulder at the door. "To either of you."
Aeryn turned to see Tauvo standing just where she had been microts before, his hand resting on the archway.
"Hey," he greeted, stepping inside.
She almost laughed--some of John's incomprehensible phrases had infiltrated their vocabulary of late--but just said "Hey" back.
"Crichton," he said, sitting down across from them both. "We do appreciate that your experiences on the Gammak base were... unpleasant."
John shook his head sadly. "That's no excuse. I've had my head up my ass for way too long. And then, back there on the Royal Planet? God, I'm amazed that one of you didn't shoot me."
"Don't think I wasn't tempted," Aeryn teased.
"I've spent this whole trip, ever since the admiral grabbed me on the carrier, doing nothing but react. I was scared. Scared of Scorpy. Scared of the admiral. Scared of my own frelling shadow, seems like, and all I could seem to do was run away. I never even tried to fight back. I can't believe you guys managed to put up with me when I was being such a coward."
Aeryn nodded, somewhat undiplomatically. She had been worried about him. He'd changed after the Gammak base, as if he'd lost something more than just Gilina. Some integral part of the strength and stubbornness that had first drawn Aeryn to him, that had saved her life, and Tauvo's life, on numerous occasions, had been missing. He'd been good at masking it, most of the time, burying the damage under false smiles and jokes, but under stress it had shown through clearly. The Peacekeeper in her had been disgusted, but the rest of her had just hoped it was temporary and that the Crichton she knew would return.
John either didn't see her too-ready agreement or ignored it. "It's like I've been sleepwalking through my life," he groused, "and now I'm finally opening my eyes. Something, maybe that last bout with the Scarran, seems to have snapped me out of it. I'm done wallowing in self-pity."
"Glad to hear it, Crichton," Tauvo said lightly. "You're right, you know. You have been acting like a drannit lately."
"What's a drannit?"
Aeryn and Tauvo met each other's look at that and burst into laughter, while John just looked on, first confused and then dismayed.
"Never mind. I don't think I want to know."
"I still can't believe you did that, Crichton," Aeryn grumbled as she and John approached their table. She handed one of the drinks she was holding to Lt. Crais, who was already seated, and then sat down. John swung a leg carelessly over the third chair and set his own glass on the table.
After a long day of loading supplies onto the transport pod and ferrying them to Moya, the three friends had returned to the planet's surface for a well-earned, if reluctantly awarded, single solar day of shore leave. They had claimed a corner of this disreputable-looking tavern for the evening. The other patrons of the bar were giving their table a wide berth; three armed Peacekeepers on leave was enough to give even the most inebriated troublemaker pause.
"Oh, come on. It worked, didn't it?" John grinned unrepentantly as he took a large mouthful of the local alcoholic brew.
Tauvo was looking at both of them as if they'd grown two heads. "Did what? What did you do, Crichton?"
John sat back and steepled his fingers together, eyes twinkling with amusement. "I dunno.... What do you think, Aeryn? Will the good lieutenant here turn me in if I tell him what a bad boy I've been?"
As she pretended to ponder the question, Aeryn saw Crais come to the realization that he was being teased. "I suppose I could be convinced to look the other way...for a price," he shot back at Crichton.
John sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes. "Extortion. Oh, how the mighty Peacekeeper has fallen--" He broke off with a laughing yelp as Tauvo tossed one of the salty snacks from the bowl in the center of the table at him.
The dark-haired lieutenant held up his hand, holding another of the small nut-like objects as if ready to throw again. "Talk, Crichton," he growled, "or face the consequences!"
John grabbed a handful from the bowl for himself and took up a defensive stance, trying to look fierce but failing miserably.
Aeryn looked on, highly bemused, as the two men's banter quickly devolved into an all-out food fight. Crichton might not be the best shot with a pulse pistol, she thought, but he more than made up for it with the accuracy of his thrown projectiles. She amused herself for a time by picking up stray pellets and tossing them at both combatants.
Eventually the two laughing men ran out of ammunition and returned to their seats. The rest of the patrons were looking at them like they'd completely lost their minds, and the clear space left around them had, if anything, increased. "So, are you going to tell me?" Tauvo asked when he finally caught his breath.
John snorted, looking down at his glass. "Okay, fine. Moya's refrigeration system didn't fail by accident. I rigged it."
"What? Why?"
The human shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Aeryn as if for moral support before replying. "For Tesha."
Crais snorted. "Crichton, what are you concerning yourself with Sub-officer Leyn for? We'll take her back to the carrier's doctors; if she recovers, she'll return to duty. If not, she'll be retired with honors."
Crichton exploded. "'Retired' my redneck ass! She's paralyzed. They'll kill her, or let her kill herself." He glanced at Aeryn, but she kept her face impassive. Her own paralysis and narrowly-averted fate was not a memory she cared to exhume. "Either way, same difference. I am not going to let that happen; that's why I did what I did."
"What do you mean? What exactly did you do?" Crais didn't seem angry, merely puzzled.
Aeryn joined the conversation at that point. "The Delvian prisoner believes that, untreated, Leyn's injuries will cause permanent neural damage by the time we reach the carrier. She knows of a treatment that may help, though."
Now Crais looked interested. "Why did she not simply inform the admiral?"
John barked a harsh laugh. "She did! Frelling bastard blew her off, didn't believe her. He refused to stop anywhere where Zhaan could get the ingredients she needed. 'No need to delay our return for something so insignificant,' is the way he put it. We're talking about a woman's life here, a woman who was injured while saving mine. I can't just stand by and watch the bastard discard her like an empty chakan oil cartridge."
Aeryn spoke up again, this time addressing John. "What I still don't understand, though, is what possessed you to sabotage the refrigeration system," she asked, puzzled by the choice of targets.
John grinned at the recollection, all his previous indignation forgotten. "I needed something that wasn't significant enough to arouse suspicions, but was still important enough to get a reaction. Our dear admiral may be a tough bastard in every other way, but he likes to eat, and eat well. Pilot helped me make some inquiries. There's a commerce planet near our course that had the stuff Zhaan needs. Then I killed the cold storage and all of the Admiral's fancy groceries spoiled. I timed it so we'd be in range of this place when he discovered the problem."
"Crichton...." Tauvo growled, looking stern and disgusted.
"Hey, don't get your panties in a bunch, buddy. There's plenty of food cubes, so we weren't in any danger of going hungry if he didn't take the bait. I just didn't figure our fearless leader would want to stoop to eating grot rations for over two monens. And I was right." He indicated the commerce planet they were currently drinking on with a grandiose wave. "Here we are."
Aeryn thought it might be a good idea to change the subject. "Well, I can't say I don't understand the admiral's eagerness to get back home. I'd like to get back to actually doing something useful, and I haven't had my hands on a decent set of flight controls in monens."
John quirked an eyebrow at her. "You flew the pod down here less than two arns ago, Aeryn."
"That doesn't count." Leviathan transport pods were both sturdy and functional, but about as challenging to pilot as a level riser.
Crais slammed back the rest of his drink and waved to the nearest servicer for another round. "We'll be fortunate not to have to undergo retraining when we return, after so long without proper facilities."
Aeryn nodded somberly.
Crichton slouched a little deeper into his chair. "Well, hey, at least you guys have something to look forward to. I have no idea what's going to happen to me when we get back."
Now where had that come from? "Won't you go right back to your wormhole research? I thought that's why you didn't want to stay on the Royal Planet in the first place," Aeryn asked.
John shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. It's not like I was making a whole hell of a lot of progress before the admiral shanghaied my ass out here. Captain Crais might have decided to dump the whole project."
Tauvo smiled slightly. "While it is true that my brother is not known for his patience, you're forgetting one small detail, Crichton: Scorpius will be officially expelled from Peacekeeper ranks as soon as the Admiral gets back to High Command with his report. That means his little wormhole project is going to take a serious hit and might even get shut down completely. You'll be the one and only remaining researcher, and don't think Bialar is going to let an opportunity like that pass him by."
"You think so?"
"After I finish talking to him? You bet your eema."
John smiled a bit wider at that. "You da man," he drawled, holding up a fist. Tauvo met the gesture, striking John's hand with his own. It was one of the many strange rituals Aeryn had observed between the two of them over the past half cycle, all of them equally incomprehensible.
John held his upbeat mood as the next round finally arrived at the table, along with a fresh bowl of snack food to replace the bowl they'd used as ammunition. After the servicer left, though, he sighed. "I just wish I was making better progress. At the rate I'm going I'm gonna be stuck here for cycles."
Aeryn glanced at Tauvo. "He doesn't like our company," she lamented in a mock-serious tone.
The lieutenant smirked. "We should have left him with his princess," he replied.
"Yes, he'd have been much happier spending the next eighty cycles dressed in bronze."
"She was very pretty, you know."
"Think of the power."
"The money." Tauvo's eyes were sparkling as he got into the game.
"The mindless tedium." Aeryn went in for the kill.
John finally burst out laughing. "Fine, fine, I give! You're right, both of you. You're very annoying when you're right."
"Well, I apologize for my strengths," Aeryn quipped back.
"I'm the senior officer present," Tauvo said, very seriously. "That means I'm always right. It's in the regs. Look it up."
The bowl of nuts was soon empty again, as Crais found himself under attack from two sides at once.
Aeryn charted a careful course across the now mostly deserted refreshment house, back to the table where she could hear John loudly expounding on some topic. From this distance, Tauvo appeared to be listening with rapt attention to every word...or maybe he was just concentrating very hard on not getting sick.
Both men had quite clearly consumed more than their fair share of alcohol in the past few arns. After the first few rounds, John had decided he ought to be celebrating his narrow escape from the clutches of, as he put it, 'Empress, Scarrans, and Scorpy, oh my,' and had set to it with a will.
Aeryn's steps faltered slightly as she crossed the room, but she managed not to lose her balance. She was doing somewhat better than her companions.
As she drew closer to the table, she could hear John more clearly. "I's like...freeways. Y' find one, hop on and drive al'ng in y'r '62 T-bird wi' the top down...anyway, y' hafta go where the road goes. But I don' gotta map." John reached for his glass, and found it on the third try.
"Crichton," she interrupted as she reached the table, "what the frell are you prattling on about?"
"Hey beautiful!" The human greeted effusively, raising the glass and sloshing half the remaining liquid onto the table. "Where you been hidin'?"
Aeryn felt her face flush at that intimate greeting. "Playing tadek in the back room," she reminded him. "You boys were having too much fun for me."
"Oh, well, tha's all righ' then. I jus' been tryin' to 'splain somethin' to Dippy the Wonder Grunt here."
For the first time since she'd walked up, Tauvo blinked. He looked at Aeryn, looked at John, then groaned and laid his head on the table. "Crichton," came his muffled voice, "I hardly believed it was possible, but you make even less sense when you're drunk."
John snorted derisively, then looked up at Aeryn. "Really, babe, it's very simple...."
She tried to interrupt. "Crichton, I think you should--"
"See, y' wanna get from poin' A to poin' B. Got three choices."
"Crichton--"
"Y' cud fly normal, but that'd take years. Y' cud make a wormhole--"
"John!" she finally snapped, sharply enough to cut through the alcoholic haze. She also covered his mouth with one hand.
"Wha'?" he queried in a hurt, muffled voice.
Aeryn held up one finger in front of his face; John's eyes nearly crossed trying to look at it. "This is not a good place to be discussing classified projects," she explained quietly.
It took a few microts for the words to penetrate the human's sodden brain cells, but he finally nodded agreeably.
They sat together in silence for a while, as Aeryn ordered herself a fresh drink and the two men nursed what was left of theirs. Suddenly, after about a hundred microts, John frowned and shook his head. Aeryn was about to ask what was wrong when he waved a hand impatiently past his ear, as if brushing away a biting insect. "No!" he snapped. "Go away. You aren't real." His voice was pained, almost frightened.
"John? Who are you talking to?"
"Hmm?" John attempted to look innocent, but his usual ability to dissemble was seriously hampered by inebriation. "Oh, nothin'. Jus' talkin' to myself." The lie was all too obvious, but Aeryn didn't know what to do about it. It might just be the effect of too much alcohol, or it might be something like transit madness--hallucinations were a common symptom. She'd have to remember to keep an eye on him.
"I think it's time to go back to our lodgings so you can sleep it off," she finally suggested. Rest would help, no matter what the source of the problem.
"Aw, do I hafta, Mom?" John whined in a childish voice, the sloppy grin on his face almost erasing the memory of his earlier lapse.
Tauvo levered himself up out of his chair and wavered a moment before finding his balance. "Officer Sun is correct. We should be on our way before we have to carry you out of here."
Aeryn saw Tauvo put a hand on the chair back to steady himself again and smirked. "Before I have to carry both of you," she corrected him.
The two men glanced at each other and leered. "Sounds like fun," Tauvo said. John snickered.
Fortunately, nothing of the sort was required; both men managed to negotiate the narrow streets between the refreshment house and their rented lodgings without assistance. Fortunate because, though she'd certainly consumed less than her companions, Aeryn was not entirely steady on her feet, either. The three of them must have been an amusing spectacle, staggering into one another and laughing hysterically the whole way, while Crichton periodically serenaded the local neighborhoods with raucous drinking songs from his home world.
By the time they lurched into the rooming house and up to their rooms, all three were gasping and breathless with laughter. Aeryn herself was feeling downright giddy, flushed from head to toe with a pleasant warmth. Despite her earlier words, she wasn't really sure she was ready for the evening to be over.
They finally stumbled into the room being shared by Crichton and Crais. Tauvo collapsed dramatically onto one bunk, while Aeryn tossed Crichton, still singing, onto the other. The human silenced on impact, then turned laboriously over to face her.
"Gonna tuck me in, Mom?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
Aeryn just shook her head. "Go to sleep, Crichton," she said.
She could see him losing his battle for consciousness, as his eyelids drooped lower. After a few microts, he muttered a sleepy question that she didn't catch enough of to interpret. "What was that, Crichton?"
"Keep Scorpy away from me?" It was a plaintive, child-like request, from a mind already half asleep.
"Scorpius isn't here, John," she assured him, but he was gone before she finished the sentence and soon snoring quietly.
Aeryn turned to Tauvo, who had rolled up onto one elbow and was watching her with an intense expression. "I suppose you want to be 'tucked in' as well?" she joked.
The response she received was not exactly what she'd been expecting.
It was morning. Generations of humans across the face of their fertile planet, in hundreds of languages and dialects, had cursed mornings throughout the centuries. John was proud, he supposed, to be able to add Sebacean profanity to the legacy.
A thin beam of morning sunlight streamed through the tiny crack in the window shade, providing John with first-hand proof that there were worse tortures than the Aurora chair.
He rolled over, groaning dramatically at the pain in his head and the roiling sea-storm that was his stomach, before braving the agony that followed opening his eyes. The world was blurry, and refused to hold still.
"Hey man," he began, complaining to his roomie. "Why'd you let me--" By that point, though, his eyes had managed to focus, and he realized he was alone. The other bunk across the room, which should have held an equally hung-over and disgruntled lieutenant, was empty.
He narrowed his eyes, looking closer. Empty, yes, and neatly made to boot. "Frelling Peacekeeper poster boy," John grumbled, throwing the covers over his head in disgust. "Even makes his bed in a hotel."
Half an arn later, after a long, cool, soothing shower--firmly rationed aboard spaceships like the carrier and Moya as a precious and limited resource, water was blessedly unrestricted planetside--John was able to stagger down to the common room and collapse into a chair at the table Tauvo and Aeryn had already claimed for first meal.
Without a word, Tauvo passed him a huge, golden-amber pill. It looked for all the world like a giant vitamin capsule, but he took it gratefully and swallowed it without even waiting for water to wash it down. The medics on the carrier had dispensed these Nashtin pills to him a few times when his binges left him unable to report for duty; he recognized it immediately for what it was.
"Thanks, man," he sighed, leaning back and waiting for blessed relief to set in. "Hope you guys didn't have to carry me back to the room or anything last night." John's memory of the previous evening was vague and fragmented at best.
Aeryn shook her head, not looking up from her plate. She hadn't so much as glanced at John since he'd sat down. He figured she was still waiting for her own pill to take effect.
"No, Crichton," Tauvo confirmed. "We all managed to crawl back under our own power, more or less."
By the time the Nashtin finally kicked in a quarter arn later, John was ready to face the concept of breakfast. Aeryn and Tauvo had already finished theirs, but they lingered while he ate. Aeryn was quiet, letting Tauvo do the talking for the most part.
"So, you have some shopping to do today, right Crichton?" Tauvo finally asked as John finished eating.
"Yup. Gotta track down Zhaan's herbs. You guys have big plans for your day?"
The two soldiers glanced at each other, exchanging some silent communication. "We thought we might help you," Aeryn said, finally looking at John.
Tauvo explained. "You haven't had much experience on commerce planets, Crichton. They can be dangerous if you don't know what to watch out for."
John sat back, astonished. "I thought you considered this a waste of time." He'd actually been hoping to convince Aeryn to join him, for the very reasons Crais had given, but he'd never expected her to simply volunteer, much less Tauvo.
Crais shrugged. "It's not like we've got anything better to do on this wastehole of a world. Letting the priest mix her potion won't hurt anything, and might save the life of a fellow Peacekeeper. You were right; that alone is worth a bit of effort."
Saving any life is with a bit of effort, John thought, but didn't say it. Much as he loved Aeryn and Tauvo, he didn't think they were ready for his radical human xeno-philosophy at this hour of the morning, especially not after the night they'd had.
After some discussion, the three of them decided that it would be more efficient to split up. Tauvo would go with John, while Aeryn would head in the opposite direction. It would allow them to cover more of the market area in less time; whichever party found what they were looking for first would then contact the other and they would all meet back at the transport pod.
This wasn't the first new planet John had been on, of course. It was, however, the first time since the day he'd fallen down the rabbit hole that he'd had the leisure to look around without pressing, life-or-death problems on his mind. On Sykar he'd been a prisoner, and there hadn't been much left of their world to look at, anyway. On Litigara, he'd been consumed by his own grief and hadn't been interested in anything. And the Royal Planet? Feh! Spending two weeks trapped in the palace of Barbie-world, with weddings, statues, Scarrans, and acid vats, had not been conducive to any real sight-seeing.
But here.... He thought his head might twist right off his neck as he turned around and about trying to see everything at once. Three-headed trelkez, six-legged fellips from Tarsus, vile-smelling perfumes, and a noxious tub of slime that John thought might have made a good industrial lubricant, but which was actually, Tauvo informed him, a culinary delicacy for some local species John didn't care to meet.
Tauvo watched John as they wandered, looking half amused and half annoyed at his child-like curiosity. "Come on, Crichton," he said at last, dragging him away from yet another fascinating critter on display. "We have an apothecary to find, remember?"
"This is like the ultimate tourist trap," John observed in amused disgust as he followed. "Ten square miles of kitschy knick-knacks and lousy junk food, all of it massively over-priced, but nothing you might actually need."
A few minutes later, as they rounded a corner onto a new street, Tauvo grabbed John's arm and pulled them both up against the wall. He looked wary, glancing back around the corner and fingering his gun, suddenly transformed from relaxed visitor into Peacekeeper soldier.
"What is it?" John whispered, reaching for his own pulse pistol.
"We're being followed."
"You sure?"
Tauvo just gave him a look, and John raised his hands as if to ward it off. "Never mind, forget I asked the stupid question. Of course you're sure. So who is it?" He bent forward to look, but Tauvo pushed him back.
"One of the locals, I think. I spotted him outside the lodging house as we left." The Sebacean looked over at him again, this time with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Feel like playing a bit of vorcha and malik?"
John shook his head. "Afraid that didn't translate, bro."
Chagrined, Tauvo explained. "They're predator and prey species on my home colony. In most seasons, the vorcha hunt the malik and take them easily. When the malik have nests, though, they are vicious in the defense of their young. It is not unheard of for a careless vorcha to become food for hungry malik cubs."
John thought he understood. "So we turn the tables on our shadow, become the hunters instead of the prey?"
"Precisely."
"All right, sounds like fun. What do you want me to do?"
Less than two hundred microts later, John was strolling casually through the market. Tauvo had described their shadow sufficiently for the less experienced human to spot him, then had broken off and headed in the direction of the nearest public sanitary facilities.
As Crais had suggested, the man following them seemed to have been waiting for this opportunity to catch one of them alone. He drew closer to Crichton, wandering through the stalls just as nonchalantly as his quarry.
John continued to appear oblivious. Inwardly, of course, he tried to remain hyper-aware of his pursuer's every movement, adrenaline pumping through his veins with each accelerated heartbeat. As the pursuer drew closer, John could see he was downright twitchy, eyes shifting and dancing constantly. He seemed nervous, even frightened, but one thing John had learned during his time out here was not to project human responses onto the aliens he encountered. This might simply be the way this species always acted. At the opposite end of the scale, Pa'u Zhaan was the embodiment of serenity no matter what the situation; to her, everyone probably looked tense.
As instructed, John tried act naturally and continue what they'd been doing all along. He approached one of the shopkeepers and asked for directions to the nearest apothecary or herb shop; this one, like every other one they'd asked, shook his head and claimed no knowledge of such a thing in the area.
Turning away, not so much disappointed as resigned, John nearly jumped out of his skin to find the shadow standing at his elbow. He clamped his teeth together and managed not to yelp like a dog when its tail gets stepped on.
"Herbs, you seek? Medicines? Drugs?"
The man--at least, he assumed it was male--was probably a foot shorter than John was, but may have outweighed him by as much as twenty pounds. His voice was deep and guttural, which made for an almost amusing contrast to his Yoda-like syntax.
"Yes?" John replied cautiously.
The stocky man bobbed and jiggled, eyes dancing left and right. "Help you can, I maybe," he chirped brightly.
The offer might have seemed innocent, a helpful stranger who just happened to overhear, had John not known the man was tracking them.
"You can help me all right, pal," he growled, drawing his pulse pistol. "You can tell me why you've been following us."
The creature's eyes widened and he turned to flee, but Tauvo was already standing behind him, gun in hand, blocking his escape and closing the trap. The stocky man cowered between them as Tauvo and John marched him out to a nearby alley for a more private discussion.
"Talk, alien," Crais growled, tossing him against the wall.
"Apologies, sirs, no offense meant, I."
"Following Peacekeepers is a dangerous hobby. I should simply kill you where you stand."
John placed his hand on Tauvo's arm, as if to restrain him. "Don't be hasty, Lieutenant. Give Yogurt here a chance to explain himself." This was John's contribution to the plan. No one out here had ever heard of the old Earth cliché called 'good cop, bad cop'; it would probably work better on this guy than it would with some hoodlum on Earth who'd watched too much TV.
"Yes, yes! Please, explain can, I!"
Tauvo did his best to look grim and doubtful--John had a sneaking suspicion that he was mimicking his brother Bialar--but nodded reluctantly.
"Contact did, our world, our commerce directors, you, yes? Certain items seeking?"
"Yes," John confirmed. "I was told we could find them here, but we've had no luck."
"Sent me out, my master, to find, to bring to him, you. Not common, not easy, these herbs you seek. Find them by chance, might not, you."
Tauvo growled, still looking suspicious. "And your master, he has these items?"
"Yes, yes! Sent me, he. Purchase wish, you, me follow, you?"
John tugged on Tauvo's arm. "Let us discuss your offer, friend," he said to the small alien.
Tauvo walked with him to the far end of the alley, glaring daggers over his shoulder at the alien still hunched by the wall. "Do you trust him?" he asked John.
John laughed sharply. "Not likely. But he is right about one thing: I did contact the planet over a weeken ago, and I was told Zhaan's list of herbs was available in this city. It's possible he's on the level."
"Or it could be a trap."
John paused thoughtfully, then shook his head. "It's up to you, Lieutenant," he said, stressing their difference in rank. "I'm willing to take the risk, for Leyn's sake. I owe her."
Crais nodded. "All right, we'll go along. But keep your gun handy, just in case."
The alien led them through what seemed like metras of winding streets and narrow alleys, into a part of town that looked dingy and unkempt. The crowds teeming through the market areas were absent here, and the few people they did see skittered along the building perimeters like frightened rats. John was getting a sinking feeling that Yogurt's master dealt in more than just medicinal herbs, and that some of his products might be less than legal.
Their guide finally led them into another dark alley, this one a dead end. He was, if anything, twitchier and more frightened looking that he'd been before, and John was beginning to suspect that it wasn't just a species trait. He paused halfway down the alley and put a hand on Tauvo's shoulder. "I've got a bad feeling about this, bro."
Tauvo glanced at him, then followed his gaze to the alien who was knocking frantically on a door at the far end, looking so jittery that he was going to shake himself out of his own shoes any microt. "I agree. Something is wrong. Let's g--oh, frell!" Tauvo stumbled back, dragging John with him, away from the mouth of the alley.
John snapped around to look, and saw what his friend had seen. A Scarran. Huge, hulking, eclipsing the sunlight from the street outside. Larger than the 'ambassador' back on the Royal Planet, and twice as scary-looking.
Tauvo had his pistol out, firing wildly at the approaching monster. The shots had no effect, though, and the Scarran kept advancing towards them.
"Suggestions?" John shouted over the din.
"Call for reinforcements!"
John reached for his comms, but before he could activate it he staggered under a blow from behind. He turned, dazed, to see their alien guide swinging doubled fists towards his head, and all fell into blackness.
She'd been walking for arns, talking until her voice was hoarse, asking for directions to an apothecary. Aeryn wondered if the boys were having any better luck, and hoped they hadn't just stopped off for a raslak and forgotten her.
It was only toward mid-afternoon that she finally started to make progress. One shop owner admitted to a sketchy knowledge of an herb shop several blocks away, though all he could do was point vaguely and wish her luck. With an indication that her target was close, she conducted a modified cross-hatch search pattern over the next dozen blocks, gleaning clues from passers-by and homing in on a final destination within less than an arn.
The herb shop was tiny, tucked into a narrow space between an arms merchant and a refreshment house. Given the latter neighbor, she was unsurprised to see Nashtin cleansing pills displayed prominently in the front of the shop as she entered. She even purchased one, since her dose from that morning had faded during the long march in the heat of the day, before presenting her list of Zhaan's herbs to the proprietor.
The shopkeeper had all but one, though she warned that a couple were old and might not be as potent as they once were. When Aeryn asked about the last item, the apothecary assured her that she knew another shop where it was available. She even offered to have her apprentice take the order to the other shop, and then deliver all of her purchases to their transport pod for a small fee. Aeryn agreed, more than willing to spend a little money to save herself any more walking.
As the young assistant left at a trot carrying her order and the currency to pay for it, Aeryn sat down on a bench in the shade outside the refreshment house and commed Lt. Crais.
There was no answer. She tried Crichton, with the same result. "If those two are sitting somewhere drinking the day away, Zhaan's going to have a couple of new patients," she growled under her breath. "Pilot?"
There was a microt or two delay, and then the calm voice of Moya's servicer came back. "Yes, Officer Sun?"
"Can you track down Lt. Crais and Crewman Crichton, please? They aren't answering their comms."
Twenty microts passed, then thirty. "Pilot?"
"Officer Sun...." Pilot's voice was somewhat agitated now. "I fear there may be a problem."
"What kind of problem?"
"There is no response from Lt. Crais' comms, not even a carrier signal."
"And Crichton?"
"The signal from his comms is weak and scrambled, as if it is partially shielded or near some source of heavy interference. I cannot localize it."
Aeryn took a deep breath, fighting down a surge of fear. "All right. Please inform the Admiral of the situation. I will begin searching immediately. Can you at least give me an approximate location for Crichton?" She wished, at that moment, that the traitor Scorpius was still with them, to track down Crichton as he'd done twice before using whatever mysterious means he'd had.
The directions Pilot gave were for an area over a metra away on the opposite side of the market. An area several blocks wide, as the signal was too sporadic to trace more specifically. After taking a slight detour to the spaceport to retrieve a heavier pulse rifle, Aeryn marched quickly towards the location Pilot had indicated, ignoring the complaints of her sore feet.
Waking in the hospital room, he has no memory at first of what came before. What happened? He remembers...Tauvo, and Aeryn. Drinking himself senseless. Everything thereafter is fuzzy. Is he still drunk? Hallucinating?
Whoa...Dad.
No, not Dad. Not Earth. Can't be.
Mind-frell. Damn it, been here, done this, got the frelling t-shirt.
Out! Gotta get out! Let me go!
Wait...Aeryn? What's Aeryn doing here? What the frell is going on?
It took less than half an arn to reach the center point of the area Pilot had identified. The admiral had confirmed her decision to search with an order to do just that, and had begun his own efforts with the planetary authorities. She held little hope for any results from that quarter, but as long as he was distracted by that, he was the perfect superior officer, letting her do her job without interference.
This wasn't part of the main market area frequented by visitors. She saw only locals, a stocky race of common laborers, and not many of them. But for all of that, Aeryn felt her heart sinking as she looked around her. The area was a nightmare: too large, too many places to hide. I would take monens to search it on her own. A mission like this called for the deployment of at least a company.
"Pilot," she called up to the ship.
"Yes, Officer Sun?"
"I'm going to need some help. Can you please scan the area for anything...unusual?"
"You will have to be more specific, Officer Sun."
"Frell, I don't know, I'm not a tech. Maybe.... Can Moya resolve biological life signs clearly enough to pick out species differences?"
There was silence for a moment. "I...believe so." Pilot sounded tentative.
"All right, run a scan of this area and look for patterns that don't fit. Everyone I've seen so far belongs to the single native race, so both Crichton and Crais should stand out as different from the rest."
"Very well, Officer Sun. The scans will take approximately five hundred microts."
"Fine." Well, actually, it wasn't fine. Every microt they delayed made it more likely that whatever trouble her friends had encountered would turn fatal, or worse. But berating Pilot would not make the scans run faster.
He finally gives in to the absurdity after his meeting with the blue shrink and joins the crazy astronaut wearing Tauvo's face for a trip to the nearest beer.
After all, if he's going to get his mind frelled with, he might as well enjoy what few perks he can get. They're getting the details right this time, and he's missed the taste of a good brew.
The bar, of course, is just another freak show. He rocks back on his heels at the door when he sees Scorpius on stage. He's playing the drums, and Pilot is there too, with a set of bongos. John blinks, shrugs, and steps across to the bar. The bartender is busy, tossing bottles left and right like a master juggler. He's dressed appropriately in a white shirt and black vest. The only false note in the costume is the metal mask covering half of his face.
"Hey Stark," John says, leaning his elbows on the bar. "How're you doin' man? Haven't seen you since that joint on Litigara, after we blasted out of Scorpy's Gammak base."
The Stark figure looks at John, confused. "Sorry, friend, must have me mixed up with someone else," he drawls in a deep, Texas twang. "Ain't never been to no town called 'Ligitara'."
"Oh. Right, sorry. My mistake. Forgot you weren't real there for a microt. Can I get a couple of beers?"
Aeryn caught and interrogated a couple of the area's inhabitants, questioning them about any Sebaceans they'd seen recently. None of the frightened civilians were willing to admit any knowledge, not even with Aeryn's pulse rifle pointed at their heads. Which meant one of two things. Either they were honestly ignorant, or there was something around scarier than she was.
When Pilot finally called back, the news seemed no better.
"My apologies, Officer Sun. There is only one life sign I can clearly read within a half a metra of your location that does not match the local population, and that is yourself."
Aeryn's stomach clenched tighter. That could mean they were both dead.
"Wait...you said 'clearly read'. Are there life signs in the area that you can't read clearly?"
"Yes..." Pilot replied tentatively. "At least, I think so. There is an area where my readings are distorted; I am unable to identify or pinpoint the location of any of the life signs there."
"Is it possible that this is the same distortion affecting Crichton's comms?"
"Quite possible. It would defy the laws of probability to find two such unusual phenomena in close proximity."
"All right," Aeryn said, determination returning. "Direct me to the location of this distortion. I'll leave my comms channel open, and hopefully you'll be able to tell when I'm approaching the source by its effect on my signal."
"Dekka 2, premna 3, lerg 2. Less than five hundred motras from your current location."
"Thank you, Pilot." Aeryn did a quick, rough directional computation and set off at a jog towards her target.
"It is possible, Officer Sun, that the distortion effect will prevent any communications at all when you are in direct proximity to the source."
Aeryn didn't break stride. "Fine. When I lose your signal, I'll know I'm close."
He runs away from the specter of his dead and disappointed mother in the hospital room, only to encounter a nightmare far worse at the bar where he goes to hide.
"John?"
The weak, agonized voice is all too familiar. It haunts his dreams. John closes his eyes, refusing to look, refusing to let it be real.
It is the cry of the baby that finally forces him to turn around.
"John, help me...."
Gilina. Her tech issue jumpsuit is stained crimson from the fatal wound in her stomach. She staggers across the empty room, eyes glazed, carrying a bundle wrapped in a blanket. The cries emanate from there, increasing in volume.
"No," he pleads, rising and backing away. "You're not real."
"John, why did you do it?" the ghost demands. "Why did you let us die?"
"Stay away from me! You're not real! You're dead!"
The baby's cries hitch and choke for a microt before resuming. The blood-stained mother continues to advance. "If you'd told him what he wanted to know, we'd be alive now."
John turns, tries to escape, though whether from the vision or from his own guilt, he's not sure. He stumbles, falls over a table and sprawls helpless on the floor.
The macabre figure of Gilina and her baby, like a perverted depiction of the Madonna and Child, looms over him. A thin stream of blood is now running down the woman's face. She uncovers the child to show him, and John screams louder. The baby, his son, has a small black hole in the center of his forehead, leaking blood onto the blankets. The small, blue eyes gaze at him accusingly.
"No...please...this is cruel. Please stop...."
"You killed us, John."
John clenches his eyes shut, tears running down his face. "Please, stop..."
"You may as well have pulled the trigger yourself."
"Noooooo!" A final, desperate shove pushes the nightmare vision away and John runs. He no longer cares where.
"Pilot, how am I doing?" She was approaching the area for the second time, from a different direction, attempting to triangulate the center of the interference.
"Interf... ence increasing, Offic... Sun." Pilot's voice faded in and out through the growing static. "... new information... relay to you."
Aeryn stopped moving. "New information, Pilot? You're breaking up; can you increase signal strength?"
A pause. "Is that better?"
The static was still present, but more of the words were getting through. "Yes, Pilot. You said you had new information?"
"Indeed...ficer Sun. I have run several scans of the area... cluding one for thermal variances. There is... building directly ahead of you which reads...warmer than...surrounding environment.... temperature does not appear immediately dangerous.... could affect your coordination with prolonged exposure. I recommend caution."
"Understood."
She gazed at the building directly ahead. This was where Crais and Crichton had to be, somewhere inside. It appeared to be a factory of some type, probably abandoned for many cycles if the rust and trash littering the area were any indication.
Without further pause for reflection, Aeryn shrugged her pulse rifle into a more comfortable position and set out to find her friends.
Great, he thinks, as the neural clone he just dubbed 'Harvey' vanishes into thin air, leaving him still cuffed to the chair and helpless. Captured by a Scarran, if Harvey is to be believed. He can't remember. Is he alone? Are his friends prisoners as well, caught up in this same insanity?
A chip. In his head.
He remembers now--the pain, stabbing through the shocked numbness he'd been swallowed by after Gilina was shot. He never saw Scorpy coming, his eyes locked on the still form sprawled on the floor, but when the spike slammed into the base of his skull, his vision exploded into a flash of light. And then...darkness. His next clear memory is of the radiant Aeryn Sun.
He needs to get out of here. He needs to get the damn chip out of his head.
A microt later, all leisure for such ponderings vanishes under the final assault on his reason.
Aeryn, Zhaan, and Betal--or at least their psychotic duplicates in this chamber of horrors--hover over him, taunting him with the deepest desires of his subconscious...and a few things he's pretty sure his subconscious has never heard of either. Torn between disgust and desire, he can't muster the will to even struggle.
Until a fourth figure enters his line of sight, and a shudder of black revulsion overwhelms him.
The admiral--or rather, D. Logan--is dressed, if one can call it that, in a leather bikini and a full black hood, reminiscent of Scorpius'. The vast expanse of pasty flesh between is exposed, naked, bouncing and jiggling with every perverted movement.
The fat man shoos the eager women away and stands over him, raising the small whip he holds in one hand, and begins 'punishing' John for all the disrespectful comments he's ever made.
John struggles not to vomit, rips the metal rail off the hospital bed in a fit of panicked strength, and flees.
He wanders through the corridors in a daze, the metal bed rail still dragging from the handcuff on his wrist. Voices assail him, disturbing and grotesque images dance before his eyes, but he no longer has the capacity to react. His mind is reaching a saturation point. Soon, it will spill over and his reason will seep away like water on sand.
He struggles to remember what the neural clone said.
Concentrate.
Focus.
Remember reality.
But what is reality anymore?
Wandering outside, blinking at the simulated sunlight, he doesn't see the car come at him until too late. The impact sends him flying.
Rattled but essentially unhurt--unsurprising, given that he's already walked away from a head-on with the semi today--he looks up to see the cop wearing Captain Crais' face reciting some warped version of the Miranda warning. The words slip through his grasp without leaving any meaning behind.
The cop loses patience, and a sharp kick to the head sends John flying backwards...into the cushioned seat of Gary Ragel's Mustang convertible.
It's dark, the sky now filled with stars, but John feels no surprise. Nothing can shock him at this point.
Or so he thinks.
"John, there's something I really feel I should tell you." The voice is high-pitched and effeminate, but still familiar, so John turns to look.
Tauvo Crais, aka Gary Ragel. But all wrong. Oh, so very wrong.
It's not just the dress--a short-skirted number with spaghetti straps and pink flowers--nor the padded mockeries filling out the ample chest measurement. It's not even the long, platinum-blonde wig, harshly contrasting with the still-present dark eyebrows and beard.
Even in his lightest moments, Lt. Tauvo Crais has never lost the aura of dangerous competence that screams 'Peacekeeper'. And that isn't strictly a male thing; Aeryn Sun exudes the same air of lethal power, tightly controlled.
"I have these urges, you see. Urges I can't often satisfy." Gary's face moves gradually closer, presuming to greater and greater intimacy. Despite the darkness, John can see he's wearing eye shadow and lipstick. "My brother wouldn't understand, you see. Our colonial upbringing left him with some odd provincial prejudices."
This 'Gary Ragel' persona lacks all traces of Tauvo's inner strength. It is entirely subsumed by the extreme cliché of effeminate helplessness. John feels shivers running up his spine, lacking all of his usual aplomb and tolerance. He's been hit on by men a couple of times--didn't much like it, though he wasn't offended either--but he's never reacted with horror like this.
Ragel's face is mere inches from his ear now, and he can feel the man's breath on his neck. "You said Aeryn was just a friend, right?"
John fumbles. "Well, yeah, I suppose, but--"
"Oh good," Ragel breathes. "You see, I've been hoping that you and I could be...more than friends. We could even invite Aeryn to join in, make it a real party!"
"Oh, nonononono," John protests, drawing away, only to be yanked back by a strong hand clasping his arm.
"Oh, yes." Suddenly the danger is back in Tauvo's hijacked face.
It gets worse.
The blue shrink. And his mother....
No! He refuses to think about that. It never happened. Couldn't happen.
And then, suddenly, all of the quiet, insidious subversions of his sanity give way to noise and wild gyrations on the floor of a dance club. John laughs, partly out of relief to have escaped that last nightmare, but mostly an outward sign of an internal shift. The fear and confusion are giving way to anger at last.
How dare these bastards, whoever they are, do this to him?
The tempo of the music increases along with the volume, and the voices taunt him, urging him to let go and dance. But to do so would be to admit defeat, loose his grasp on his own mind and descend into the insanity that beckons.
Rage builds, pushing aside all temptation to surrender. He wants to fight back, blast his way free of this frelling Hotel California and kill something.
Physical violence will accomplish nothing. He's already learned that in spades. Nothing he sees or touches here is real; the attack is on his mind and that is where his battles must be waged.
The disco ball on the ceiling provides focus, something to concentrate on and block out the sounds and images swirling around him. His anger gives him strength, and he embraces it like he's never done before in his life. As they had been in the Aurora chair, powerful emotions are the key to resistance, repelling the invasion of his innermost thoughts.
Pressure builds, threatening to implode his skull. He fights, building his own pressure of rage from within. Something has to give.
Crescendo. Louder, brighter, hotter, stronger. Pulse pounding, muscles straining, eyes bleeding.
And then, everything explodes.
There was pain, then darkness, and for an instant John Crichton thought he was dead.
Then sound filtered back into his abused ears, a reptilian roar blasting through the silence, followed by pulse fire. John fought to wrench his eyes open, wanting to see the danger he faced even if he was powerless for the moment to fight or flee.
There was no doubt in his mind that this was reality. He hurt, weighed down by a physical and mental fatigue that spoke of exertion beyond normal limits.
A Scarran loomed over him, not more than a body length away and backlit by burning control panels. The huge reptiloid seemed little concerned by the flames, and only slightly annoyed by the pulse fire leaving smudge spots on its armored uniform.
Waves of heat rippled through the air from the creature's extended arm towards the concealed assailant. The pulse fire ceased, the attacker presumably ducking for cover.
The temperature was rising, both from the electrical fires rapidly spreading across the walls and the residual heat from the Scarran's retaliatory attacks. John knew that his would-be rescuer--presumably some member of Moya's complement, perhaps even Aeryn or Tauvo--would soon start to feel the effects. Even early stage heat delirium could lead to a fatal hesitation or mistake.
He had to do something.
Unfortunately, given his current physical condition--half a step above dead, if that--the Scarran was quicker. John had managed to turn over and had barely gotten his hand wrapped around the butt of his pistol when his captor noticed the movement. Two strides carried the hulking alien across the distance, and John felt himself flung into the air like a bungee jumper.
"If you value this one," rumbled the deep voice of the Scarran, who was now holding John mostly upright in front of his body as a shield, "you will hold your fire, Peacekeeper."
John's heart sank. He knew the rules. Not for nothing had he spent all those months memorizing the articles and sub-sections of the Peacekeeper codes. Hostages were officially considered casualties, and were to be treated as such, their safety or welfare no longer any consideration. It prevented enemies from using captured soldiers to shield themselves from attack, since such tactics gained them nothing and only made the attacking Peacekeepers angrier.
Apparently, though, this Scarran hadn't read the rulebook. At any microt, pulse fire would rain down upon him once again, regardless of John's presence.
With the flick of a couple of switches and the depression of a button, John set his pulse pistol, still in the holster, to overload. He kept his hand over it to muffle the sound. If he was going to die anyway, he could at least do his best to take the Scarran with him. Pistol fire might be useless against his armored hide, but maybe the explosion would make the bastard sit up and take notice; if it didn't kill him outright, it might give the hidden Peacekeeper an opening to finish him.
The expected pulse fire, however, never materialized. The Scarran's threat hung in the air, and John wondered what the concealed soldier was waiting for.
Slowly, cautiously, a figure separated itself from the shadows and resolved into Aeryn Sun, still holding her pulse rifle at the ready. The expression on her face was strained.
"Release him," she said, her voice low and shaking with emotion.
The Scarran hissed, and John felt a wash of heat scald his left ear. Turning slightly, he saw the horse-like head leaning over his shoulder.
He acted almost without thought. Yanking the pistol out of his holster as the warning whine rose towards critical, he shoved it, muzzle first, into the monster's gaping maw.
The rest seemed to happen in slow motion. John could see Aeryn's eyes widen in surprise as the Scarran reared back. The huge arm across his chest let go, and John fell forward, off balance.
He hit the ground, yelled "Get down!" to Aeryn, and tried to scramble for cover himself. The blast sent him sprawling back to the ground before he'd gone a single step, and stabbing pains shot across his back and legs. Then darkness reigned once more.
When she finally tracked down her quarry after arns of fruitless searching, Aeryn Sun took one look and swore, silently and at length, in every language she had ever heard.
A Scarran. Frelling hezmana.
She gripped the rifle, intensely relieved that she'd taken the time to retrieve it from the transport pod but wishing at the same time that it was something else. Something bigger.
A lot bigger.
Scarran hides were thick, and extremely heat resistant. Pulse pistols were worse than useless. Her pulse rifle was only marginally better; it would take several shots in succession to burn through and do any damage.
John Crichton stood, transfixed, in the center of the room, surrounded by some kind of energy field which the nearby Scarran was manipulating. Though she'd never see it before, Aeryn suspected that this was one of the standard Scarran torture devices she'd once been briefed about. A neural hyper-stimulator, intended to drive the victim insane and completely break down his mental defenses before a telepathic scan.
Standard procedure for a situation such as this would be to retreat and call for reinforcements. Reinforcements, however, were sadly lacking here. And even if they weren't, Aeryn couldn't make herself leave and abandon John to this.
She crept closer, an easy task while the Scarran was so distracted by his victim. "Increasing to kelvo eight," she heard him state for whatever recording device was keeping track of the interrogation.
Crichton's body convulsed under the onslaught, and Aeryn could wait no longer. Breaking cover, she opened fire, not at the Scarran but at his equipment.
Pulse fire ripped efficiently through the delicate circuitry, shorting out panels and setting the entire console aflame. The energy field surrounding Crichton flared once and then winked out, leaving the human to collapse to the floor in a boneless heap.
Now she redirected her fire onto John's captor, raining shots down upon his back as fast as she could depress the trigger.
The Scarran roared, enraged and provoked by the stinging bolts. Spinning, he saw her, and with a growl of menace raised his arm and let fly with a wave of heat from his own body. No Scarran was ever truly unarmed while he still possessed the heat gland.
Aeryn ducked behind a pillar, wincing as the wave brushed by her. Sweat was already breaking out across her back and forehead.
Twice more she broke cover for an instant, holding the Scarran at bay, then ducking back as the next wave of heat flew at her. She could feel the temperature rising all around her, and her shirt was growing damp.
There was a pause. Listening, Aeryn caught the rustle of fabric, a low growl, and then a grunt of surprise issuing from something other than a Scarran throat.
"If you value this one, you will hold your fire, Peacekeeper."
Peeking cautiously around the edge of the pillar, Aeryn saw the Scarran, now standing with Crichton's body held up like a shield in front of his body. She couldn't tell, at that distance, if the human was conscious; he hung limply from the Scarran's grip.
Procedure said to ignore him and continue the attack. Procedure said that hostages were nothing and prisoners were casualties of war.
Procedure could go frell itself.
She stood up and stepped out of her hiding place, keeping her rifle pointed squarely at the Scarran's head. She couldn't just shoot John. Not after all the effort she'd put into finding him.
"Release him," she ordered, though the tightness in her throat turned the command into more of a plea. She heard the Scarran hiss in amusement, and then everything happened too fast.
"Get down!" John called out, but she was already diving for cover, her instincts having identified the wail of a pulse pistol about to go critical. The explosion threw her to the ground, her ears ringing, but she turned quickly with her rifle leading the way, just in case the Scarran had somehow survived.
She was just in time to see the headless corpse topple over.
Crichton was unconscious when she reached him, his clothes smoldering in several places where burning shrapnel had struck him. She smothered the burning spots with her hand, scalding herself in the process and feeling blood well up through the scorched holes. She ignored the wounds for the moment, though, and started dragging him out on his back, away from the flames and heat.
She stopped at last in a corridor that was mercifully cool, though she could still smell the smoke, when Crichton groaned and tried to wrench his arms out of her hands.
"John?" she called out to him, holding his face between her hands and forcing him to look at her. "John, talk to me!"
His mouth gaped open and closed several times with no sound as his eyes wandered, but then he seemed to focus and see her.
"A-Aeryn? Are you...really here?"
She nodded. "Searched half this world for you."
He glanced around at the featureless gray walls. "Where am I?"
"Still on the commerce planet, but underground. You were captured by a Scarran. Do you remember what happened?"
He started to shake his head, then stopped, eyes narrowing. "I remember...he said...trying to break me. Standard method of interrogation."
Aeryn hadn't realized that John had gotten that briefing, too.
John looked away, focusing on some point behind Aeryn's shoulder. She turned, but there was nothing there. He tried to speak further, but it was as if the words were fighting him. "He said...Sc-Sc-Scorpy...."
"Scorpius did something? Did he betray you to the Scarrans?"
"P-p-put...a...neur...neu... a n-n-n-n-n...." The incomprehensible stuttering faded gradually into a confused blankness, as if John had forgotten what he was going to say.
"John? What about Scorpius?"
"Huh? What about him?"
"You were saying he'd done something."
John's forehead crinkled, then he shook his head. "Dunno. Weird trip." He pushed back with his elbows, trying to sit up, but quickly dropped back with a wince and a groan.
"You're hurt," Aeryn pointed out, and John rolled his eyes.
"Thank you, Dr. Fairchild, for that brilliant diagnosis."
She gently turned him over, ignoring the typically incomprehensible retort, and examined his wounds. "You got hit by shrapnel in your shoulder and your left leg, but it doesn't look too serious. I imagine the burns hurt worse."
John's voice was strained. "Probably right."
The smoke was starting to get thicker, rolling down the hall along the ceiling. "Do you think you can walk? We've got to get out of here before the whole place burns down."
John grunted and tried to push himself up; Aeryn helped lever him to his feet and steadied him, then started to lead him away. "Wait," John said, lurching to a stop. "Where's Tauvo?"
Aeryn shook her head. "I don't know. Not here; I searched this whole building before I found you. There was no sign of him."
John grew panicked. "You're sure? He could be back there, in that fire, or chained up nearby...."
"I'm sure." She pulled them forward again, limping awkwardly towards the stairwell back to the surface level. "I only saw you, and there was no place nearby to conceal anyone else. Was Crais with you when you were captured?"
John was silent, lost in the struggle to remember, as they dragged themselves up the stairs and out onto the street. Smoke was already leaking out of some of the first floor windows.
"I...think so," John said, the strain showing on his face as Aeryn lowered him back to the ground. "We were shopping for Zhaan's herbs...someone was tailing us."
"The Scarran?"
"No...no, it was some weaselly little alien, one of the natives, I think. Tauvo and I nabbed him. Son of a bitch spun some line of bull about helping us find the herbs we needed."
"And then?" Aeryn prompted.
"I remember...an alley. Dark, dead end. I think that's where they got us. You think Tauvo got away?" John's eyes were hopeful, pleading with Aeryn to confirm his guess.
She shook her head sadly. "I don't think so. Pilot couldn't find his comms signal--"
John interrupted, fighting to get back to his feet. "His comms were probably damaged in the fight. Bet he's been doing exactly the same as you, trying to find me, or find you. We gotta go find him."
"Crichton--"
"Which way to the market? I think if I can find where we started, I can retrace our steps to the alley. We should start there."
Aeryn saw blind determination in Crichton's face, a refusal to accept any possibility but his own theory. "John," she tried again gently, but he plowed right over her.
"Get me to the market, Aeryn. We gotta go find him."
Two arns later. It was long past nightfall, and Aeryn was exhausted, using the last dregs of trained willpower to keep herself going. John looked at least as bad as she did, and probably felt worse, but he pushed them forward at a desperate pace. Aeryn was amazed; half a solar day of Scarran torture ought to have had him seeking a med bay and heavy painkillers. Something was driving him.
John kept up a running monologue the whole time, arguing with himself about which direction, which landmarks, backtracking and retracing half a dozen times, until he finally found a place that seemed familiar.
"There it is!" John finally cried, his voice breaking with fatigue. He lurched into a limping jog, disappearing through a shadowed opening along the dark and deserted street. Aeryn followed at a more subdued pace.
Rounding the corner some microts later, she paused to let her eyes adjust to the even deeper gloom of the alley. Crichton was easy to spot, bright against the black in his light brown jacket and pants. He was kneeling near the back wall, perfectly still, hunched over something on the ground.
She had to get within five motras before she could see the form of a man dressed in black, lying sprawled in front of Crichton. Another body, this one an alien, lay a few motras away with blackened pulse wounds showing how it died.
She felt a flare of hope at the realization that the first figure, lying with the human's hand resting on his chest, was indeed Lt. Crais, and he was breathing. Then she got close enough to see his face.
Ghastly burns and blisters marred the once-handsome features. One eye was swollen shut, but the other stared sightlessly at the sky overhead. His clothing was charred, and the comms badge clipped to his shoulder was seared to slag. No wonder Pilot hadn't been able to get a signal.
The body did indeed still draw breath. Harsh, shallow, rattling gasps. A mockery of life where none truly existed any longer.
"It's the living death," John murmured without looking up. "Isn't it?"
Aeryn swallowed, unable to find her voice. Finally, she managed to choke out a whispered "Yes."
She cursed herself silently. In her earlier diversion to the transport pod for the pulse rifle, she had neglected to take a medical kit. A tragic oversight, in this case. A kill shot would have been the cleanest and most painless solution.
She didn't have one, though, and she refused to force a man she had called friend to suffer that long before being granted release. He'd waited far too long already.
But first she had to deal with Crichton; she feared he might fight her on this, insist that somehow Tauvo Crais could be saved. Kneeling down next to him, she expected to see grief and tears, the emotions she'd been trained to set aside. She'd seen him in this situation before, after all, when Gilina died.
She turned to look at the human's face and was shocked to see nothing there. Her own stoic mask was reflected back at her from John's usually expressive face. What was wrong? Did he not realize what she had to do?
"John," she said gently, "I need to--"
"Give me your gun."
The voice was quiet, mild, with no more inflection than if he'd asked her to pass a plate of food cubes. "What?" She had to have heard him wrong.
"Give me your damn pistol, Aeryn." There was emotion there now. She could see it just beneath the surface, straining at the seams of John's fragile control, and she knew what he was asking.
"John, I'll do it. You don't have to--"
"Yes," he snapped, turning to face her with burning eyes. "I do."
It wasn't grief he was holding in check, she realized. It was pure rage, deep and powerful enough to burn this planet to a cinder.
"He was my best friend, Aeryn," John explained in a tight, thin voice. "He...died...trying to protect me. That's the only reason he was here; he knew I couldn't take care of myself for shit."
Aeryn drew her pistol from the holster slowly, then paused, uncertain. "John...."
He looked back down at Tauvo's ruined face and closed his eyes. "It's my responsibility, Aeryn. I owe him so much, and this is all I have left to give him." His bloodshot, intense blue gaze turned back to bore into her in wordless supplication.
She handed over her pulse pistol. John sat holding it, frozen in place, for a long time. He said something in a quiet, prayerful voice, perhaps a plea for forgiveness, and raised the weapon.
Aeryn stood back and watched as the once-innocent human prepared to deliberately take a life for the first time.
TBC ...