Thin Blue Line
Never in his life has John Crichton experienced two hours that have passed more fucking slowly. He's lost count of how many times he's twiddled his damn thumbs. They feel numb. He's spent the past thirty minutes watching Aeryn clean her pulse pistol for the twentieth damn time in the past two solar days and listening to his son jabber non-stop about some theory of atmospheric flight that was beyond what his tired, old brain could handle right now. All he can think about is getting this over with. He wants it to be done and he wants his family back together and off of this planet. He sighs as he picks a small pebble and curtly tosses it across the dry ground. It immediately stirs up a tiny whirlwind of yellow dust that gets caught in the slight breeze. Cause and effect. Like a whisper. A tease of dancing comfort that never comes.
The sky is growing a soft shade of orange and he can't help but think of a calm sunset over the Atlantic; cool ocean breeze in his face, evening sand between his toes, and a tune blaring from the open windows of his parked truck.
"You ready to head out?" Jothee pats him on the shoulder, rousing him from his reverie. "It's heading towards night fall; we should be okay to start off in the direction of the camp without being spotted."
John turns his head and glances up at Jothee, who swings his Qualta blade over his shoulder and takes a few long strides over to talk to two of his men, before he looks back at Aeryn as she loads a cartridge into the chamber of her pulse pistol after sweeping it quickly under her nose. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes look tired. The heat is bothering her, he can tell. His only solace is the hope that the night air will bring with it some relief.
He can't read her; she's back to the emotionless Peacekeeper soldier that he met all that time ago. He stands and walks over to her, resting his hand lightly on her shoulder. He's not used to seeing her like this; he hasn't for a hell of a long time. Her hair is pulled into a tight braid, her posture rigid. She stands quickly and kisses him on the cheek, which catches him off guard considering her current mood.
"Let's go get our daughter," She says, her gray eyes burning, thumb rubbing the stubble on his cheek. He palms his holster, making sure Winona is safe, secure, and ready for action and turns to follow Aeryn as she heads off in the direction of the training camp.
"D' buddy, lets get this show on the road. Time to rock and roll." His son glances at him, dark hair blowing with the breeze, a flush of excitement, of nerves, darkening his cheeks and grabs his small sack saying good bye to H'tna. D' follows his parents down the rocky path while Jothee picks up the rear of the small party as they start the short journey in relative silence. Each lost in their own thoughts, focused on the task, on all of the prep they have been filling their heads with for the past two arns.
The hike is slow. There isn't a clear cut path and nerves are on edge, especially John and Aeryn's. The air is thick with tension and John's pretty sure that, if he had a knife, he could cut it.
He whistles a few bars of Freebird.
Nothing like Lynyrd Skynyrd to get a guy in the mood for some action.
Aeryn glances over her shoulder giving him a look that clearly says shut the hell up or else… and he's not arguing with her when she's armed and on a mission so he does just that and they travel the next arn or so in silence.
By the time they get to the far perimeter of the camp, it's completely dark and becoming hard to navigate. Using a light is out of the question if they want to remain invisible.
Aeryn kneels behind a scrawny bush, her hands resting on leather clad knees, trying to scope out the situation from the short distance and the long dark before she pulls out the oculars she has stowed in a small cargo pocket on her pants to get a clearer view.
John grabs them from her after several microts in an effort to quell his curiosity. He peers through the oculars at the green tinted landscape before him. There are two large tents laid out in the middle of the circular camp, both facing different directions towards the outside edge. A small fire and cooking equipment is located in between the living areas where two guards sit lazily playing some kind of card game, pulse rifles resting by their sides. Two guards also man the singular entrance to each tent, one stationed on the right of the large flap and one on the left.
"Just as I thought; the cadets are already in their tents. Six guards total. Four armed guards that double as training instructors, several less than I was expecting, and two other guards sitting around a fire with some frelling Fellip Nectar, obviously on break from duty. The Marauder is out of sight," Aeryn says taking back the oculars and eyeing the relaxing guards, her hand resting firmly on her pistol.
"This is going way too smoothly. Things never go this well for us." John mutters. "Something is going to screw this up, I can feel it."
"Maybe fate is on our side this time." Aeryn says in a hushed voice, meeting his eyes for a split microt.
"Maybe." he relents, moving his hand up to brush a stray hair from her cheek. "You have the Tranq powder from Grandma?"
She pulls a small black pouch out from one of her pockets and holds it eye level for him to see. One of the old woman's library of many substances that held different purposes, this one solely used as a knock out drug. They're ready. They have calculated the situation forward and backward. Aeryn knew that the cadet's bunks would be marked with name, unit, and rank so as long as they could get in quietly, they could locate her even if they didn't recognize her.
The thought of not recognizing his own kid is enough to make him clench his jaw in anger, determination renewed.
"Okay D', you don't use that pistol unless you HAVE to. Do you understand me?" John whispers harshly to his son, gripping him firmly by the collar. D'Argo is putting on a brave front, but John can see there is a trace of fear skittering across his eyes.
"I won't Dad. Not unless I have to." He replies lowly, the last phrase an afterthought.
"We'll be right here in the underbrush. If anything goes bad these frelling Peacekeepers won't know what the hezmana hit them," Jothee whispers, pulling his blade over his shoulder and opening the pistol shaft.
John scopes the camp, making note of the entry ways. Okay, looks like the tents open on the side facing the outside of the camp," he says as Aeryn looks on. "Let's start with the one furthest to the right."
He turns to Aeryn. "You take the left guard and I'll take the right. We'll have to knock them upside the head as quietly as we can; take them right out so they don't have a chance to make a sound."
"You're not going to tell me that you want to steal their uniforms and try to make a play out of this are you?" She asks in a completely serious tone. "There are six frelling guards John, don't you think they'd recognize their own?"
He looks at her incredulously "Honey, seriously…give me some credit here. I'm all about taking them out and getting our asses out of here as quickly as possible. There's no time for a game of dress up."
As fun as that sounds.
John throws one more look at his son, mussing his hair and patting him roughly on the arm. Aeryn turns to the boy and takes his hand, squeezing it quickly. "Be careful…please," She pleads in a worried tone.
"You be careful, we'll be fine." D'Argo replies with a confident air.
With another quick glance at each other, they un-holster their pistol's in unison. Some couples know each other's every word; they knew each others every move. This is a dance that they've perfected cycles ago.
The pair move stealthily through the bushes and underbrush, making their way over rocks and stopping every few henta's to make sure that they haven't been heard or spotted somehow over the short distance.
When they come to the opposite side of the camp, right behind the first tent, they give each other a knowing glance and part ways at the rear.
John quietly sneaks around to the front around the left side, directly behind the guard. It seems to have been an uneventful detail as the man is lax and completely at ease. John counts his blessings, raises his arm slowly, slamming the butt of his gun into the side of soldiers head as quietly as he can. The guard goes down hard, eyes closed, blood running down his temple. John quietly breathes a sigh of relief and bends down to pick-up the rifle in the guards hand and curses himself as the metal clanks against his own pistol loudly.
He chances a glance around the font of the tent and realizes that Aeryn has already taken out her guard. She kneels over him taking his rifle and the smaller pulse pistol that is holstered on his trousers. Their eyes meet and before there is time for any of the remaining guards to notice their presence they quickly sneak into the tent.
Five bunks line each side with a tactical table set up in the middle. Boots and pistols are set neatly besides the beds and there is a small lantern burning on the ground in the corner which John can only assume is there to keep the guards from killing themselves in the dark. The man upstairs is obviously watching their backs and John makes a mental note to thank God, wherever He is, for that little bit of luck as soon as they get the hell out of this situation safely. Aeryn is covered in sweat; hair matted to her forehead; early signs of heat delirium becoming more than just a fear. John grabs his canteen, uncapping it quietly and encouraging her to take a drink while the cadets are all, thankfully, sleeping heavily.
Aeryn quickly drinks and hands the canteen back as she begins to look over the sleeping children, testing herself, seeing if she can pick out her child. She suddenly stops, as if realizing the danger of the situation and begins looking at the name plates that line each bunk. She takes the right side and John takes the left. One after another, with no sign of a name that even resembles their daughters.
Shit, if they hadn't come into the wrong tent first. His plans always had a way of flying south way before the winter, why should this be any different?
Aeryn glances at him with hard eyes and he shrugs as they quietly make their way out of the first tent and back to the relative cover of the underbrush surrounding the camp site.
"Well, doesn't that frelling figure?" Aeryn whispers impatiently, the heat of moving around on such a warm planet mixing with her nerves, bringing her to the edge of reason. "Good choice. Start with the right tent. That was good John."
"I'm sorry. It was 50/50 baby and well, you know how my plans usually go." John sighs. "Besides, you were the strategy person here."
Wrong move buddy.
"Strategy?" She hisses. "I didn't have much to work with!"
"No time, hardly any information, I know. I'm sorry," John wipes the sweat from her brow. "How're we holding up?"
"I'm fine. Lets move," Aeryn replies. Though she's not fine. He can tell.
Fifty microts later and they have un-armed and knocked out the guards in front of the other tent, while the two remaining guards laugh next to the fire about 20 metra's away. Their voices carry which is a relief to John, at least this way he can tell what they're doing and where they are, even if it does increase the chance of waking one of the cadets.
Much easier to take out a small, tired kid in this situation than an armed guard, even if he is drunk.
Then again, these are Peacekeepers he's dealing with, so the kid could more than likely kick his ass any day of the week.
- -
"What the frell is taking them so long?" D'Argo whispers impatiently to Jothee as they lie on their bellies, rifles resting in front of them, on the ground facing the camp. The mostly dead underbrush doesn't provide much cover, but under the circumstances it would have to do.
He's been in tense situations before. He's asked a girl out and had to wait solar days for her answer to come across with a data chip. He's had to wait to get grades on lessons and projects. Hell, he's waiting right now on his acceptance into the Quantum Theory of Relative Space Flight School that he wants to attend next cycle on Preekna. But he has never frelling waited through something like this.
His nerves are on edge and he wipes at the sweat trickling down the side of his nose with the back of his hand. It's so frelling hot on this planet and he was still having trouble catching his breath. Where the hell were his parents? It had been at least 300 microts since they had snuck off in the dark headed directly for the camp site and he hasn't seen or heard a sign of them since.
He was familiar with his mother's upbringing. He had heard stories and he had had tactical training, however, that never seemed to prepare him for how intimidating Peacekeeper soldiers looked when you saw them on duty. They're hard and dark and emotionless and they scare the hell out of him. He eyes the guards that are stationed in front of the tent he can see as they hold their position, rifles raised.
"Give them a bit," Jothee whispers reassuringly. "They've got two tents to check there, kid. It could be another hundred or so microts before we hear or see anything."
D'Argo looks over at Jothee, the Luxan's tankas hanging down his back, tattoo's representing his ever changing rank adorning his face. He wonders about Jothee's father, his namesake. He can't help but question if he'll ever be able to do the name justice. He's heard stories from J and from his mom and dad, and he hopes that someday he would be worthy of D'Argo's legacy.
His attention returns to the tent just in time to see his parents sneak around the sides and quickly take out both of the armed guards, grabbing the discarded weapons, and making their way inside.
He takes a deep breath, crossing his fingers behind his back; something he had learned from his father, and offers up a quick prayer that they can find Taly and get the hell out of the tent before the other guards realize that there is something very, very wrong.
- -
Aeryn snakes her way into the remaining tent, which is laid out similarly to the previous one. Tactical table, bunks spread orderly, and boots and weapons arranged neatly. This one is slightly smaller and the cadets appear to be just a little bit younger. Though, it is hard for her to tell.
She lifts her hand up to brush away a drop of sweat with her shaking fingers before it falls into her eyes. Frell it's hot on this planet, and as much as she tries to resist the discomfort, the effects of the heat are still painfully evident. She feels sluggish and jumpy all at the same time, and if they don't get out of the camp soon, she is sure that she is going to end up frelling something up and completely compromising their mission.
She glances quickly at John, his back is straight with resolve as he quietly walks over to the left wall of bunks, a PK rifle hanging from each shoulder with Winona clasped in his hand. She has no frelling idea what she would do without him. In fact, she's not sure that she would be at all without him.
Aeryn eyes the small girl lying on the bottom bed of the first bunk she walks over to and knows it's her daughter the second she sees the girl. Her face has hardly changed at all from the time she was a small child. Pale skin, freckles forming a path on her nose, flushed cheeks. She is deep in the throws of sleep and she looks completely peaceful. Aeryn resists every urge she feels swelling within her to take the girl in her arms and make sure she's real, make sure they've really gotten this far, and run like hell. Tears inadvertently well up in her eyes and she quickly reaches an angry fist up to wipe them away. She has frelling missed her child grow up. She didn't even have the chance to see her through childhood. The girl's hair is darker, sandy and golden at the same time. It's long and loose, framing her face as she sleeps, her body scrunched and curled for warmth. It's hot as hezmana here to her weary body, but the girl is small and chilled in sleep. Aeryn glances up at the name plate on the bed, just to verify that what her instincts are telling her is true.
Talyse'un Sun Crichton, Second Level Cadet/Probation, Shyalk Unit.
Probation?
Frell these bastards!
They had not only taken her child, but they were keeping her separated from the others, totally opening her up to more mockery and exclusion than she was most likely already facing.
Aeryn tears her gaze away from the child, quickly looking up and whispering John's name to get his attention. He turns sharply with wide eyes and he is at her side in a microt, staring down at the girl, thumb on his lower lip. She can see the moisture welling up in his eyes and she knows that he is feeling as emotional as she is to finally see this child, their baby, for the first time in over seven cycles. Their eyes meet for just a microt, long enough to transfer emotions and words without actually saying anything and he motions for her to get the powder out and set their plan into action. They have to move quickly now, could be any microt when the guards they have attacked come to.
He kneels down behind the girls bunk, hands out and ready to clasp her mouth as soon as Aeryn has the powder in her palms and ready to use. Quick reflexes, like a flash of light, John covers the girls mouth with one hand, holding down her arms with the other. Without a microt's thought Aeryn blows the substance in her palm down on the girl, who looks up at her with wide, frightened, blue eyes and a muffled cry.
What the frell are you doing to your child?
A microt later, after several deep inhalations, the girl is out. She sleeps soundly like nothing has happened at all. John lifts her limp body easily out of the bed and rests her gently in his arms, Winona holstered safely at his side again and the rifles still in place over his shoulders.
Neither can help but stare at her, just for a microt, regardless of the precarious situation
Aeryn takes the lead, heading to the entrance of the tent quietly. Thankfully, not one of the cadets has roused from sleep besides their daughter. She slowly peaks her head out of the lined entrance making sure that the guards are still sprawled on the ground before them. She looks back to give John the all clear and they are out of the tent and making their way back to the underbrush listening to the break guards chattering and laughing all the way.
John sets Taly down on the hard ground, long enough to reach up and stroke Aeryn's face; to wipe at the sweat beaded on her cheeks, leaving a trail of grime behind.
"You okay baby? I know the heat is bad," he asks concerned.
"I'm fine, though I'm having a hard time believing this is actually happening." she chokes, gently stroking the girls face.
Aeryn glances at John as he stares at their daughter while a stray tear gently rolls down his cheek.
"Me neither," he whispers, fingers feathering a touch to the back of her hand as it rests on their daughters face. "You sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine…let's just get the frell out of here" She replies as John lifts Taly easily back into his arms. "This way, follow me."
Aeryn leads them towards the area where they had parted with Jothee and D'Argo, moving as quickly as she can when she hears a sharp snap behind her. The sound of someone, or something, breaking a small stick. She stops instinctively and spins; her pistol in front of her as she comes face to face with male and female guards from the fire, each pointing a rifle. One at her and one at John and their daughter. They look completely sobered up from the sudden excitement and the impending dren they will face for letting one of their cadets get this far from camp.
"Drop your gun Officer Sun." The male guard instructs her coolly.
"She still famous after all this time?" John smirks, unable to keep his frelling mouth shut as usual. "You hear that honey? You're a star."
He bitterly laughs as he focuses his attention back on the guard, "Now you tell me something you arrogant Bastard. Why did you take my kid, my daughter?"
Aeryn never moves her pistol, never takes her eyes off of the guards.
The guard smiles as if he's been waiting for just the right chance to rub salt in this wound.
"We had to learn about your pathetic race somehow Crichton. Learn what would happen when a Sebacean..." he pauses, looking at Aeryn disdainfully, "...decides to contaminate the race. See what kind of problems would come from mixing our genes with the likes of yours. See if she could provide any useful information about evolution or your history; wormholes. And it had to be the girl, no one could be sure that the boy was even yours."
"You self-righteous prick," John seethes.
"Turns out she was worthless, a waste of time, just like you Crichton. Must run in the family." The guard laughs. "An unfortunate half-breed, with no remarkable characteristics to speak of."
That's all it takes to push Aeryn over the edge. Before John can even glance at her she has the rifle cocked and her finger on the pulse trigger.
"I wouldn't move another dench if I were you Officer," The female guard says in a rigid tone, not even attempting to hide the apparent disdain. "Did you really think that you could come in and out of this camp that easily? You were a Peacekeeper, you know how things work around here. Now drop your weapon before I shoot it out of your hands."
Aeryn slowly lowers her pistol with one hand. The male soldier keeps his gun on point and walks towards John, his intentions clear.
"Give me the girl Crichton," he commands.
Her husband has no self control. "Not a snowball's chance in HELL you bastard."
She hears the female guard cock her rifle and braces herself rigidly for an impact of some sort as she hears a shot spray out accompanied by a bright burst of light.
John drops to his knees beside her, Taly still held tightly in his arms. This is all happening so fast…wait, is this happening?
What is going on?
John is her frelling life. She moves to the side, attempting to get to him as another shot rings out. More weapon fire accompanied by blazing light and she hunkers down again knowing that this one must be meant for her, but she doesn't feel anything. She looks over at her stunned husband before she looks back in the direction of the guards, both lying in a pool of blood. They were easy targets for D'Argo's pulse pistol and Jothee's blade as she sees them running towards her.
She drops down on her knees besides John, hands touching his face, hands touching her daughter. She has to feel both of them to make sure they're okay, make sure they are really here; that she's really still here. They're both unharmed, and he appears to be only shocked. John leans forward and kisses her desperately, the girl pressed between them, still completely unconscious.
"Are you okay? Tell me you're okay." he pleads in a panicked voice.
"I'm fine, are you okay? I saw you go down, I thought you were hit," she cries.
"I'm okay baby. It was just instinct. I didn't know who was shooting who, I was just trying to keep her out of the line of fire." He's all breath and nerves and she can't help but kiss him again, just to make sure he's really okay. She's been here before, and no matter how many times she finds herself faced with the possibility of losing him, it never hurts her any frelling less.
They stand up, and she grabs her son by the arms roughly pulling him in.
"How did you know? Where did you come from?" Aeryn says in a tightly wound voice.
"We were right behind you all the way Ma, we had you in view and we saw the soldiers coming, so we moved. Jothee took the flank and I had your side. As soon as she cocked her rifle I knew I had to take her out before it went any further." He's crying, more emotional than she's ever seen him before. She pulls him into a tight hug and kisses his cheek as John walks up besides them and kisses him on the side of the head.
"You obviously get your aim from me." Aeryn says, with a sly look to John who offers no argument on that point.
"We have to get out of here. Those other guards won't be out for long." Jothee says breathlessly as he sheaths his Qualta blade behind his back again, holding on to Aeryn's arm.
She nods with one more look at John, before she leans down to pick up her pulse pistol and they turn to run in the opposite direction back towards the Luxan camp, towards their ship, and towards safety.
- -
"Forward motion is harder than it sounds, every time I gain some ground I've gotta turn myself around again."
A little over an arn later and the weary crew are making their way back to the seeming shelter of the small Luxan camp.
"Why is it still so fucking hot here? It's the middle of the night, cut us some slack," John mutters through the darkness. He is drenched with sweat. He can taste its saltiness on his upper lip and feel it as it trickles down his forehead. His arms are sore and he's not sure how much longer he can ignore the burning. He's had the girl in practically the same position since the scare with the guards. Something about the exhilaration of having her so close makes the pain slightly more bearable, but the heat is just making him aggravated. Aeryn is stumbling along now, and his son isn't doing much better. Even though the heat doesn't affect him like it does his mother, he isn't immune to it.
"We're almost there, not much further now." Jothee says, turning his head to look at them. He stops suddenly when he catches sight of Aeryn, roughly stumbling to the ground, falling hard on her knees.
John hears the noise and turns instinctively, every nerve on edge. He rushes back to her side, kneeling with the girl still in his arms, his face denches from hers.
"Aeryn, what's wrong?" his voice is thick with concern and exhaustion. "Is it the heat?"
All he gets in return is a half nod.
Of course it's the heat you fucking moron! Genius John. Brilliant.
They have to get back to the camp and get her into a cool tent and they have to do it now.
"D', you got any water left there buddy?" He asks his son, looking up to catch the concern in the boy's eyes. "She's okay, we've just gotta get her back."
D'Argo takes his canteen and opens the cap, kneeling besides his mother and pouring the few remaining drops in her mouth.
"I've got her," Jothee says, easily lifting her sagging body into his strong arms.
"Hang in there baby, we are so close now," John whispers over her face before they pick up their pace and continue the march.
- -
Two hundred microts later and John has settled his daughter on a bed mat, while attempting to poor more water down his half-sleeping wife's throat. He has to get her hydrated, one way or another.
The tents are small, but they're cooler than the outside air. John's not sure how the Luxans have accomplished such a feat, but then he doesn't really give a damn at this point. As long as it helps Aeryn get back on her feet. They can't hang around long, there's no way. Some of the other guards could catch their trail like a pack of well trained hunting dogs and be on their asses in no time flat.
Jothee and the rest of his small squad immediately start packing up the camp site, loading any trace of their presence back into their large ship while D' sits down to catch his breath. John watches his son; wiping his sweat drenched hair and glancing tentatively at his sister with a soft, almost sad, look in his blue eyes. Possibly remembering her as a toddler, playing with her, or holding her hand?
John follows his gaze to the sleeping child. She is so beautiful, still their perfect little girl.
He rubs his thumb up the side of Aeryn's face, trying to softly nudge her out of her sleep like state. Trying to judge how badly the heat has affected her.
"Baby, we've gotta go. We can't hang around much longer." He says with concern, trying to meet her wandering eyes.
"I feel like dren…I don't know if I can stand…" Aeryn slurs, her cheeks flushed.
"Yeah, you can. I know you can." He says with more liveliness than he feels. "Come on, let's blow this joint and get home."
He takes her hand, gently pulling her up to a sitting position and motioning for his son.
"D' how you feeling?" He speaks carefully to keep his voice from shaking.
"I'm fine dad. A little hot, but fine," he assures as he hoists up his pack and several rifles. John leaves Aeryn sitting uncertainly on the mat and walks over to face his son.
He lays his hand on the boy's shoulder. "I'm giving you the keys here D'. I need you to take the Prowler, fly you and your mom back to Moya,"
"Keys?" D'Argo questions, wondering if he had perhaps missed that part of flight training over the years.
"Just, I need you to control the Prowler, fly it home, keeping both of you safe. Can you do that?"
"Yeah dad," John can sense his son's frustration. "I can fly the Prowler back; I've been flying that thing since I was a kid."
John pats him on the shoulder. "I know you can. I know. I have to hop on the other ship with Jothee and the boys there and make sure that, if your sister wakes up, she doesn't lose it too badly."
"No offense, but if I woke up with your face staring down at me; I'd probably be a little scared too," D'Argo jokes. John is always amazed at how his boy never seems to lose his sense of humor.
"You're gonna have to help your mom back to the ship. The heat is bad." He glances at Aeryn as she leans forward, her cheeks bright pink, eyes half open, but not really focusing on anything.
D' is quick to reassure him. "I know. I will."
"Okay, you both get the hell out of here then, got it?" John states lifting his gear.
D' gingerly approaches his mother, kneeling down to get her attention and John watches Aeryn cup his face, a hint of recognition and logic coming back to her tired eyes. He easily goads her into standing up and helps her walk with her arm draped over his wide shoulders, his hands clasping hers on the other side.
"Fly safe," John calls as they slip out of the small tent. His son looks back at him with a knowing glance. He's heard the story, and he understands the meaning behind his father's words.
A slight nod and they are quickly heading back towards the docked Prowler.
With one weight temporarily lifted, John focuses on the second. He has to get his daughter up and on the ship without waking her. He's not sure what will happen when that point comes, but he knows he's not ready to face it yet. And he's definitely not ready to face it without Aeryn by his side. The powder was mixed to keep her out for about 3 arns, enough time to get back to safety aboard Moya. At this point he can only hope that she comes to later rather than sooner.
- -
Aeryn stumbles along, following the pace that her son has set as he practically drags her forward. She feels weak and light-headed. Every bit of activity adds to the discomfort that the heat brings her. Too much heat and too much movement compounded together makes for a nearly unbearable situation.
It's all coming at her in a blur, she can't tell if she's dreaming or if she's awake. The misty haze covering everything in her line of vision is throwing her off.
Did any of this really happen? Did they have their daughter, or was this just another one of her torturous dreams made worse by some kind of sickening heat?
They pass quickly by a stump of a bush and the edge of her boot catches on a root. She begins to careen forward in slow motion, but she doesn't fall far before she feels strong arms gripping her around the waist.
Aeryn sees her son in front of her, what is he doing here? Where is John?
"D'Argo, where's your father?" she asks, confused. Her head is spinning. The world is spinning.
"Come on, we have to go," D'Argo whispers, his voice laden with concern. "I know you're feeling like dren Ma, but we have to hurry."
He is all encouragement and concern, and she feels like her stomach is creeping up in her throat. She can't hold a complete thought and she feels sick.
She is sick.
She needs to be sick.
Before she can even process another thought she pushes away from D'Argo; leaning forward and clutching at her stomach as it lurches violently. She can't catch her breath, and she can't control the spasms.
"Ma, come on. Let it out," her son encourages, brushing some stray hair from her face.
All of a sudden, she is floating unsupported, weightless. She falls the rest of the way to the ground her elbows hitting hard, skin scraping and tearing against the rough surface. She weakly supports her head, barely keeping it from hitting the rocky surface. Where's D'Argo now? What the frell is going on?
She slowly turns her head, moving as far as she can before the pain stops her, where she sees one of the Peacekeeper guards holding a pulse pistol to the side of her son's head, eyes focused intently on her with a look of disgust.
"Where is the girl, Officer Sun?" The guard sneers. Why isn't the heat affecting him like it is her?
"I don't…know…" She sputters between rigid breaths. Every movement is like torture, stretching and pulling muscles and nerves in directions they surely shouldn't go.
"The frell you don't!" the guard says in a mocking tone. "Tell me where she is. Tell me where Crichton is and maybe I'll let your boy here keep one of his eyes."
D'Argo is angry and wrestling in the guard's arms. She wants to yell at him to stop, stop moving and tempting the man to act on his word, but she doesn't have the energy. In fact, she doesn't have the strength to hold herself up any longer. She can feel the darkness encroaching on her mind and no matter how hard she tries to remember where her pulse pistol is, no matter how hard she tries to hold her eyes open, she can't.
The last thing she's aware of before everything goes completely dark is the sound of her head hitting the ground with a sickening thud.