The crowd roared approval as his sickle-knife hooked in and tore through his opponent's triceps muscle, slicing through and rendering his dangerous weapon-wielding arm useless. The masked pit-fighter's own relatively un-bloodied knife dropped from suddenly dead fingers to the now blood-splattered mat. The combatant's free hand automatically clutched at the new wound in an attempt to stanch the flow of blood, knowing he was decisively beaten by the other, the fighter dropped to one knee before the victor.
"Yield!" the wounded man called, as per the match's rules.
Sinn silently snarled at his rival, he couldn't recall the other pitman's stage name, but that didn't matter. What did matter at that instant was the screaming in Sinn's own head, the specter wouldn't be deprived of its kill, rules or no rules… the path to blood called and wouldn't be denied. A far-away part of him knew he had become out of control, the mixture of Pa'Looua herb seem to be failing, its effects no longer anesthetizing the collar pathways left in his brain and nervous system. His microbe augmentation raged unrestrained, burning its way through his body like a plasma fire
Sinn shrieked his fury and viciously seized the other man's pit mask by the decorative tassel on the helmet part, yanking the other's head backward, he slit his throat before he could even attempt to defend himself. A Referee entered the ring to protest the illegal match killing and Sinn turned his blade to gutting the official for his troubles. The new body hit the mat with the sickening sound of wet dead meat
The spectators reacted with displeasure, booing and jeering as he bent to pick up his opponent's fallen blade. The voice told him he didn't have to stop the killing with just those inside the ring. The audience offered a whole new playground of bloodshed and death.
He left the mats and brought new terrible screams from the crowd.
Tessen Korr jerked awake to find himself back in his bivouac. A light sheen of sweat pasted his military undershirt to his lean muscled frame as he sat up and swung his legs over the side of his cot. He rubbed hard at his eyes, feeling the masses of scar tissue on his back and chest pull taunt from the force he exerted in his attempt to banish the drags of visions.
The soldier had various versions of this dream, of similar events that never truly happened to him when he was a pit-fighter. They were growing almost as troublesome as the nightmares he had of things he really had done. He supposed they were based in a fear that the Pa'Looua leaf concoctions would stop working all together to impede his slide into the collar's madness.
"What's wrong?" asked a sleepy voice from the darkness on the other side of his cot.
Korr nearly jumped out of his skin. The dream had disoriented him enough that he hadn't realized she was there. Worse yet, the brief flash of pale skin caught out of the corner of his eye made his mind leap to thoughts of another sallow-skinned woman for just a bare instant, before reality inserted itself again in his consciousness.
"What are you doing here, girl?" he nearly growled. Silently he uttered a harsh Scarran curse that he'd been caught off-guard by his wandering mind. Turning only slightly, he could then see Jaleecee had made herself a bed of blankets on the ground by his cot.
"I thought after your mission, you might need something later tonight," she explained. "So I stayed in case you needed me."
Tessen had arrived back at the main camp late that afternoon from a three-day patrol to find that the girl had chosen to keep their business arrangement intact. However, he noticed a certain increase in intensity in the way the server scrutinized him, which he found mildly annoying.
The fighting on this last tour had been unusually heavy with little time to rest or sleep in the field. He had taken only minor wounds, which his augmentation had rapidly healed while still in the field. Like the rest of the unit, Korr had been more exhausted than usual upon return, especially with having to deal with the microbes' demands on his system. The last thing he remembered was thankfully eating a meal the serving girl had prepared for him and then seeking the welcomed oblivion of his cot.
"Your brother will not be pleased with you remaining here," the scout countered. "And I do not wish to have another 'discussion' with him about you."
The girl frowned at him. "I told Kenrikk that I would be remaining here tonight… and I do not need his permission to do as I see fit," she reminded him. "We have a private employment agreement for care of your quarters and living needs, and I will execute my duties as I deem necessary to fulfill my end of the arrangement," she continued on in a business-like manner.
"Girl… is there anybody you do defer too?" asked the soldier with a hint of despondency about him. "You obviously ignore everyone that I can think of."
The half-Nebari girl rose up further from her makeshift bed to glare at him, Tessen wondered if she were going to bristle about his refusal to call her by her given name again. He'd already decided that he was going to keep the serving girl at arm's length whether she liked it or not. Forming a close bond of any sort with her would only bring pain in the long run. Pain to him and even more pain to her. Killing soldiers at war, or fighters in the pit was one thing. Harming another innocent was a further taint he didn't want to add to his already blackened soul.
She would always just be 'girl' to him if he had anything to say about it.
"I am of age to run my own household, which by tradition on my homeworld is the woman's sole domain… I do not need a male giving me instructions about anything," she told him stonily.
"The why don't you find yourself one of these young Officers to bond too, and run his household?" Tessen asked.
"Perhaps I would, if there was one here I thought worthy to take the bond with. One does not plan affairs of the heart like a war game," the young girl lectured, "They happen as they may."
"You watch too many of those romance holos," the scout responded carelessly.
"I do not," Jaleecee defended firmly, and with as much dignity as a young person could muster. "And I will not be having this discussion with you right now. You are exhausted and in a foul mood."
Korr gave a short, dry, humorless chuckle despite his annoyance.
"Girl, haven't you been paying attention?" he said, "I am always in a 'foul mood'."
"That is not always so," the server put in. "At least not as much as you like to pretend to be. But now, that you're awake again, do you wish me to get you anything?" she then asked.
He had not realized it till that moment, but Tessen discovered he was in fact hungry again… and for once it was a true natural hunger and not one driven by microbial cravings.
"Hummm..." he said, stubbornly not liking the idea of giving so easily in to the equally stubborn girl. But a stomach growl overruled his cantankerous nature for the moment. "Do you have anymore of that roast left?" he forced out.
The girl's face suddenly lit up in a smile for him.
Chiana peered at the darken residence through a pair of night-vision occulars, pausing every now and then to jot something down in a special code she had designed into a small notebook strapped to her thigh. She had been perched in the upper limbs of a tree on the property's boarder for over three arns now. Over twenty samat above the ground, the slight swaying of the tree barely register on her mind as she made her careful notes on what she observed.
She used the occulars to save several snapshot holos of the home that she thought might be useful for review later. The Nebari paused to check her chron and discovered it was nearly time to meet one of her connections. The thief closed her notebook, double checking that she had secured its cover firmly, and then leaping from limb to limb like an acrobat, made her way silently to the ground.
Once down, she adjusted her long gray coat around her slim frame and pulled a matching scarf up to cover her head as she moved away from her target and down a maze of dark streets.
It wasn't long before she reached the throbbing business section of town; businesses and refreshment houses were booming even still at this late, or early if you will, arn in the morning. Passing by one tavern that was popular with the younger crowd, a group of male patrons were hanging around outside.
Obviously drunk and looking to stir up a good time, one made the mistake of grabbing Chiana's arm as she walked by, demanding she come have a drink with him, and making it clear he wouldn't be taking 'no' for an answer.
Without breaking her step, she drew the dagger from her boot-top and used it to spear through the palm of his hand. The blade broke his grip on her arm, and a quick flick of her wrist ripped the sharp blade out through the webbing between his middle and ring finger – splitting the offending hand neatly in two.
The unfortunate would-be suitor began shrieking and running around holding onto his maimed hand while his intoxicated friends merely laughed at the spectacle.
Chiana returned the knife to her boot and kept walking on. Another time, in another life, she might have enjoyed a stop into the refreshment house, but she had more important business to take care of that night.
Another time she also might have balked at having committed such a cold and casual maiming to an immature youngster, when she just as easily could have used her wiles to have manipulated him to her will, and turned him away… after cleaning out every credit he and his friends had between them.
But she found she couldn't care much about that either.
The fleeting night called and her mind turned solely again to her concern at hand, her boots clicking lightly on the pavement as she headed to her destination – the unlucky drunken lad already forgotten.
Less than a half arn later she was in a dimly lit backroom with her contact. The Nebari retrieved her small notebook and she deftly tore out the last sheet of scribe-fiber she had written on, and slid it across the scared counter-top to the Palatetian trader waiting on the other side.
"Can you get me everything on this list?" Chiana inquired in a voice that was close to toneless.
The male shop owner took a few microts to scan the handwritten list of items, idly scratching at his over large split chin as he did so. The end of his jaw with it's cleft, like all Palatetians, reminded the gray thief of someone's eema. At one point she would have found the facial feature humorous, now she only found it annoying because of its distraction factor.
The dry skin flaking off the jowl area due to the trader's scratching action next brought a brief look of disgust to Chiana. The man's personal hygiene was poor – even for one of his people.
"Some of these items I have on hand," the Palatetian informed her a moment later. "Some of these items I will have to procure from other of my sources. All of these items – will be expensive."
"I don't give a frell about the price," Chiana told him, "Have the rest of what I want here by tomorrow night or the deal is off."
The shop owner bobbed his head. "I will have all you asked for here by this time tomorrow," he confirmed. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"
The girl thought a moment, and then decided there may be something else to look into while she was there.
"Yes, let me see what you have in the way of weapons," she said.
"Pulse, static energy, plasma, or slug-thrower?" he asked.
The girl shook her head.
"Bladed," she replied. "Something that won't be picked up by energy scanner or magnetometer."
The trader asked her to wait a moment while he went into his storeroom. The Nebari thief did as he requested knowing it would probably take him several microns to retrieve his illicit stock from wherever he had it concealed. He returned holding a large dusty roll-up case, which he set on the counter and flicked the case open for her. Inside were a number of knives, daggers, stabbing spikes, and other edged weapons – all made out of non-metallic material – and all highly illegal to possess under Peacekeeper law.
She spend several moments inspecting each item, but none she found any better than the current metal dagger she had concealed inside her boot top. She was just about to ask the repulsive trader if he had anything else available when something in the very last pocket of the roll-up case caught her eye.
She pulled the unrecognizable object out to find it was a length of tough duraplastic about eight and a half henta long and a little over one henta wide. There were several adjustable leather straps located along the length of the item as well.
"What's this?" she queried.
The Palatetian waved a dismissing hand at the item in question. "I had forgotten that was in there," he responded. "That is an old swing-blade, very archaic, no one uses them anymore."
"What's it made of?"
"Duraplastic steathing, leather straps with Krillsh bone buckles to fasten it to the bottom of your forearm. Blade is made of Xevllium ceramic, non-metallic, which is why it was in this case, but hard as hull grade steel – which makes it a dominar's bitch to sharpen."
"How's it work?" Chiana then asked.
The shopkeeper showed her how to properly strap the weapon on and the trick to operating the blade. With the sheath securely under her forearm, she found that ceramic blade quickly telescoped out in three sections. The twelve henta long blade snapped open in two and the smaller length handle that slid naturally into the waiting palm of her hand.
The swing-blade reminded her most closely of one thing in particular – the brace blades of a Shrike Enforcer.
"Berret," she found herself breathing out lowly without thinking as she gazed at the weapon.
"Pardon?" the trader asked.
Chiana shook her head to clear it of the unexpected trance. "Nothing…" she replied. He was dead, she affirmed silently, the dead don't matter. "How much to you want for it?" she asked.
The Palatetian twisted his rubbery lower lip with his stubby fingers in thought.
"I will tell you what," he said as he scribbled a credit amount on the back of the slip of fiber that held her list. "Agree to this amount for your other items and I will throw that old swing-blade in for free."
Chiana glanced down at the sheet as he pushed it toward her. The amount written there was toward the higher side of what she expected to pay for her equipment, but still acceptable.
"Done," she said. The trader smiled and drew the paper back toward him. The girl retracted her new blade back into its forearm sheath and slid her gray over coat back on over it. "I will be back to get my other things tomorrow," she said as she moved toward the back door of the shop. "You will get your payment then."
"Perhaps we can negotiate a further price reduction tomorrow evening if you are interested," he said with a meaningful leer just as her hand touched the door latch. "I can close my shop early."
The girl stopped and threw him a glance of soul dead eyes over her shoulder.
"Old man… it would be in your best interest not to push your luck," she warned in a cold tone.
The trader shrugged as if to say, 'I tried', just as the door closed behind the girl. He was use to being threatened by dangerous people in his line of work… but never by one so beautiful as well.
Crichton gazed out the large center chamber port at the world below him. Hyneria wasn't a bad place to visit, if you didn't mind the humidity. The planet was eighty-percent water with four main continents connected by numerous chains of small islands.
It reminded him closely of Earth, and somewhere down below, Rygel was reclaiming his throne.
A quite boot step behind him told him he was no longer alone.
"Is he asleep?" he asked with a smile from his preach on the port's sill without turning.
On the nearly deserted leviathan it could only be one other person.
"He just nodded off," Aeryn confirmed as she came up close behind him. She intimately slipped her arms around his shoulders and neck, no longer self-conscious of showing public affection for the human.
John reveled in the embrace of his new wife, his own hands rising up to meet and hold her hands and arms to him.
"That's good," he murmured.
They both started silently out at the planet below them.
"What are you thinking about?" Aeryn inquired.
"Nothing… everything," he replied a few microts later. Aeryn merely grunted that she understood his mood.
"I'm thinking about how empty Moya has been lately," he continued on a moment later. "Zhaan and Dargo are gone, Jool too. Noranti and Rygel are down below busy putting Sparky back on his throne. God only knows where Stark went. Hell… believe it or not, I'm even missing Scorpy."
"Things change, John," Aeryn said, "They always do. You told me that."
"Yeah… I did, didn't I? I just wish they wouldn't change so much. We lost so many good people getting here."
"Like Talyn and Crais?" his wife asked.
"Yeah, Hon… even them," he confirmed.
"I wonder how Pip's doing?" he added a few microts later.
Aeryn's lips turned downward into a frown, but not one of disapproval, this frown was one of sadness.
"Chiana made her choice to move on," the ex-Peacekeeper reminded gently.
"I know, Aeryn," Crichton agreed. "But she was in such a bad way when she left."
"She wasn't happy here… not anymore."
"We didn't do much to fix it."
"What could we have done?" Aeryn asked. "You of all people should have learned by now you can't always saved the universe."
John sighed deeply. "That doesn't make it any easier to take."
"No. It doesn't," the Sebacean woman agreed. "But I also think that Chiana did what she had to do. Time away by herself may be what she needs to heal."
"I guess you're right."
"I usually am," she told him with a tiny smile.
Crichton hugged her arms tighter to him. " I just wish that I knew for sure that she was healing. She just lost so much. First her brother, than D'argo."
"We all still feel his loss, John."
"Pip even lost… that other," Crichton added next after some thought. Aeryn stiffened slightly behind him.
"He was insane, Crichton," she reminded. "And he wasn't going to get better. It ended for the best. At least he died somewhat honorably in the end."
"Yeah," the human replied absently, his mind slightly someplace else in thought. "But he still loved her in his own twisted way. That's a hellva thing for the kid to have to lose, despite who or what he was."
Aeryn paused a moment to consider his words. She had come close herself to losing John and the baby so many times and she briefly found herself reliving those moments of fear again. Moments that their young crewmate had been, and was still mostly likely, living over and over again wherever she was.
"I think you're right about that too," she told her husband finally. "Chiana has had more than her fair share of tragedy in her life."
"Guess so," he agreed. He turned around so he could look her in the eyes. "I've been thinking, Ryg and Grandma really don't need us here for anything. Why don't we go talk to Pilot and see if he and Moya are interested in taking a cruise around to see if we can find Chi? Nothing serious… just to check up on her to see if she's okay… then we'll go on and mind our own business."
Aeryn ran her hand through the back of his hair and gave him a genuine warm smile. She had been worried about the young Nebari also for the last several weekens.
"I see no harm in that," she told him.
John returned her smile with a new light of purpose in his eyes.
One Weeken Later…
The dark figure waited until the lone sentry moved passed its hidden position. The guard continued on his lazy way, patrolling the inside of the camp compound on a boring routine duty. As soon as it was clear, the figure scooted across the way to the vehicle storage pool, and continued on deeper into the deserted yard.
Once far enough away to prevent discovery, the figure unpacked several lengths of rod and quickly screwed them together. Attaching a small power pack to the assembly finished the high-gain antenna.
He snapped the cable feed to his personal hand-comp and the signal-detection icon told him of the incoming decoded message.
"This better be good!" he snapped irritably. He'd had a hard enough time finding a way to slip away after receiving the call that a message from his contact required his attention. "This contact is a huge risk to my current cover," he nearly growled out.
"Indeed it is, slave," said a rough scaly voice on the channel.
The operative swallowed hard in shock.
"My lord, forgive me… I did not know it would be you," he replied with growing fear.
"Cease your groveling, I care little for it," spat the voice back. "I have for you another assignment, one much more important than your current one.
The figure blinked in surprise.
"My lord," he said before he could think better of it. "You are aware of who I have discovered here besides the designs of my original task?" He immediately shuddered at realizing he'd interrupted the head of his organization.
"You mean Arckatius's rogue, the rebel leader," the Scarran said matter-of-factly. "I am well aware of his presence and he will keep until later. The task I may require of you makes a rogue Shrike, rebel or not, pale in comparison."
"Yes, lord," he replied, silently thankful that his overlord had chosen to overlook his blunder of just a few microts before. Agents of his house had died for far less.
"Our spies have learned that someone more valuable may come within our reach of our territory in just mere solar days. When we are sure of this person's location, you may be required to leave your current assignment at a microt's notice… no matter what you are doing or what it costs the project. You will get to your ship and go directly to the coordinates that will be supplied to you then. Is that clear?"
"Yes, my lord. Perfectly."
"Excellent," the voice hissed. "You will discuss this with no one, not even your handler. Your directives come from the house consul and myself only on this matter. You will receive this call icon on your hand-comp." The figure glanced down and saw the Scarran script on his comp's screen for a moment before they faded away. "Once at your craft, you will be given further orders and the coordinates. Any questions?"
"No. None, my lord."
"Very fortunate," the Scarran replied icily. "End transmission." And he was gone. The figure sighed in relief and began breaking down his gear, wondering what was going to happen next.
And what could be so important that he'd have to abandon his current task and the possibility of bringing in a rogue Enforcer from a rival High Syndicate House?
He stored his equipment and slipped into the shadows, to make his way back to his unit's bivouac and his cover identity. Ready to continue on with his on-going operation.
Waiting to see if the call from his master to something new would ever come.