“We are
officially down to the last carton of nelvek jerky,” Senna told
him. “And blessedly so.”
“Not so blessedly
if it means we need to stop over at another backwater commerce
planet.” Crais said as he inventoried their remaining supplies.
“More than anything else, we need standard food cubes—if we can
find them.”
“Why can't we go
to a regular commerce planet? I know half a dozen of them in this
sector alone.” She offered, looking at his computer pad. “We
could get fresh food as well as cubes, and perhaps some clothing for
me. If that would be acceptable?”
“I have my
reasons for remaining covert,” he said flatly. “And yes, we will
be getting a number of items, including something more suitable for
you to wear.”
“Well, I don't
understand your reasons. We need more than some place like you found
me has to offer. And no more jerky please. Nelvek or otherwise. Why
can't we go to a large commerce planet? Do a real shopping spree?”
He felt dangerously
close to using the control collar to shut her up, but chose the
better angels of his nature instead.
“You are a
server. You do not need to understand anything.” He said, his tone
like thunder.
“Okay, okay,
geez,” she groused. “You don't have to go all PMS over it.”
“PMS?”
“Peacekeeper
Mental Syndrome,” she chuckled. “It means something else where
I'm from, but in this case, it definitely means that.”
Crais could feel
his blood pressure rising, but decided to let it go. He turned back
to his cataloging of supplies with a grunt, “Huh.”
“Well, what about
Treyan III?” She said, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. “It's
out of the way, but offers substantially more than Luculla Primus
did.”
“Talyn, give me a
map of this sector, notating the Treyan system,” he ordered.
The red holographic
image of the star system coalesced on the console between them, with
Treyan III highlighted. He studied the image, looked at the woman,
then made up his mind.
“Monitor message
traffic, Talyn,” Crais said aloud. “Plot course for Treyan III
and prepare to starburst.”
On Talyn's command
tier, Crais monitored message traffic for more than twelve arns.
Satisfied they were neither being pursued by a command carrier nor
tracked by a bloodhound unit, he had Talyn take up orbit around
Treyan III.
“Continue to
monitor message traffic and alert me should any Peacekeepers enter
orbit, Talyn,” he said, running a gentle hand over the rounded
protuberance above his head. “Remember that you are a warrior. You
are strong and capable. And I am with you, even when I'm on the
planet's surface.”
Talyn issued a
series of bleats and beeps, all of which were positive. Crais sensed
a bit of tension and fear in the ship, but nothing like the first
time he left him alone at Luculla Primus. Talyn was concerned that
the human female was going with him, which surprised Crais. In the
thirty-five solar days since she'd come aboard, she'd been little
more than a pain in the eema and a strictly adequate server. Adequate
because, much like her fellow human, Crichton, she asked far too many
questions and did not like being given no as an answer.
Her withdrawal from
the Hecho red was nearly complete, now requiring only a single
daily dose of the blood cleansing medication. She was looking
healthier and her color was distinctly better than it had been when
she'd first come aboard. She had styled her hair and the effect was
pleasant enough.
He entered his
quarters and foraged through his packed Peacekeeper uniforms. He
found his dress uniform and standard great coat, donning both. He
applied a small dab of pomade to his hands, slicking back his hair
and retying his thong. Pulling open a drawer, he found his small
leather garrison cap, and placed it upon his head. Looking at himself
in the console mirror, he was satisfied he looked the part of the
Peacekeeper captain. He then made his way down to Talyn's docking bay
listening to the various message traffic via their common link.
Nothing out of the ordinary meant they should be safe planetside.
When he entered the
docking bay, he found Senna working with the drds, packing empty
cartons into the transport pod. She was dressed in a long black dress
with a tattered shawl over her shoulders and looked altogether poor
and wretched. He would definitely have to find more appropriate
clothing for her on this shopping excursion.
“Talyn tells me
the temperature on this planet might be quite cold for you. You
should wear the clothing I gave you instead.” He informed her.
“They're falling
off me,” she argued. “In case you haven't noticed, I've lost some
weight.”
“Suit yourself,”
he rebutted, climbing up the steps into the pod.
“Gee thanks,”
she shot after him.
Sitting in the
pilot seat, he waited for her to get situated next to him before
taking off. He aimed the pod planet-ward, following the directions to
the main commerce area that Senna had given him. Of course, he'd run
it all by Talyn's database first. No point in trusting the human just
yet. She could be as duplicitous as Crichton for all he knew. It was
not worth risking their freedom and lives to test her veracity.
He brought the pod
down a few thousand metras outside the main landing strip to
avoid all chance of being tracked. It wouldn't hurt either one of
them to walk a bit. Of course, to the human, he realized it was
bitterly cold. She shivered and hugged herself. He took off his
standard great coat and put it around her shoulders.
“I can still feel
the heat of your body,” she murmured as she slipped her arms into
the sleeves.
Uncomfortable with
the tone of her voice, he turned on his heel and walked on, leaving
her to catch up. As they neared the city, the sounds of people could
be heard. He tensed, right hand never far from his pulse pistol.
“O
Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done, The ship has weather’d
every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I
hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the
vessel grim and daring;”
she said as they walked.
“What
is that?” He demanded.
“Just
a little poetry to while away the time.”
“Quiet
would be best for you,” He said flatly.
“You
wouldn't like the rest of it anyway,” she told him with a little
chuckle.
“Why?”
“But
O heart! heart! heart!
O
the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen
cold and dead.”
“And
why would you be reciting something like this?” He asked, hand
denching
toward his pistol's grip.
“I told you you
wouldn't like it,” she said softly.
“Answer me,” he
shouted, then caught himself. “Why are you reciting such treasonous
doggerel?”
“I said, just to
pass the time,” she assured him, but he did not feel at all
comforted.
“Cease and
desist.” He ordered.
“It's a sad poem
about the loss of someone the writer cares deeply about.” She tried
to explain, but he was having none of it.
He held up a single
finger to her, “Be silent. Unless spoken to, keep your mouth shut.”
She made a
nonsensical motion of zipping her lips together, then throwing
something away. He would never understand Humans if he spent cycles
with them. And since he did not want that to begin with, he turned on
his heel and kept walking.
In half an arn,
they were at the main crossroads with lodging and dining facilities
to their left and the entrance to the commerce thoroughfare to their
right. He steered them to the right, stopping at the first food court
they came to.
“No, no, not this
one,” she whispered, putting a hand lightly on his arm. “The
prices are ridiculous.”
“Very well,” he
allowed, looking into her eyes for any sign of deception. “What do
you suggest?”
“Let me find
better prices and someone I can haggle with,” she replied.
He took the small
remote control to her prisoner control collar and showed it to her.
“Just so you know, if you do anything untoward, or try to purchase
more Hecho red, I will not hesitate to use this device to
punish you.”
“Aye-aye,
Captain,” she said, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms over her
chest. “I read you loud and clear. No funny business.”
“And no Hecho
red.”
“And no Hecho
red.”
Crais allowed her
to lead the way and as he watched her swaying stride, all he could
think of was his pulse pistol at his side. Pulling it in this heavily
populated area would be a nightmare, and trying to defend her, should
it become necessary, even more treacherous. He picked up his pace,
not letting her get more than a few denches ahead.
He marveled at her
ability to barter and haggle for the things they required. She was
quite good at dealing with both Sebaceans and aliens alike. In a
matter of two arns, they had everything on his list, including more
suitable clothing for her. She handed his great coat back to him and
he donned it, noticing her scent, not unpleasant, lingering at the
collar. She then stepped into a changing cubicle to put on one of the
outfits he'd purchased for her.
When she emerged,
in form-fitting leather from neck to toes, and a thick, fur-trimmed
hooded cloak in the Nebari style, he felt a pang of desire for her.
Shocked by this, he turned and marched them back to the pod as fast
as her legs could go. However, before they could exit the commerce
area's main thoroughfare, Talyn's frightened voice filled Crais'
head.
Peacekeepers. A
ship. Opposite side of the planet. Peacekeepers. On the planet.
Talyn's emotions
were nearly overwhelming to Crais. He fought to maintain control of
his own fear and dread. He grabbed Senna by the arm and steered her
down a side street almost directly into three Peacekeeper officers.
They were Expeditionary Directorate—long-range explorers—by their
insignia, so hopefully they wouldn't be on the lookout for Crais and
Talyn. He spun her hard and she nearly fell as he aimed her down an
alleyway to the next street over and around the corner.
He touched the back
of his neck, the neural
transponder, thinking, “Talyn how many are on the
surface? Any wanted beacons?”
The ship was so
flustered it was hard to get any sense from him.
Twelve
Peacekeepers. Twelve. On the planet. Nearby your location. Setting
wanted beacons.
“What's going on,
Bialar?” She asked.
He shoved her
against the wall, nearly knocking the breath out of her.
He hissed, “Keep
silent.”
He looked down
either direction of the street they were on, found an alleyway and
shoved her into it.
“No matter what
happens, you must remain silent.” He growled at her, pushing her
backward to the very end where darkness completely overtook them.
“Talyn,”
he thought quickly. “Plot a way for us out of this area.”
The ship was still
in full distress mode and Crais tried to calm his own fear and sense
of panic at being caught, especially with this human captive.
“Talyn, you
must remain calm,” he told him silently. “I will return to
you as soon as possible. Now, give me directions to get us safely
back to the transport pod.”
He could feel Senna
trembling against him, from cold or fear he could not be certain. He
turned his back to her, hiding her with his own body. If he were
captured like this, he'd have to question his own motives for
protecting her thus. He must be utterly frodank. However, in
the scheme of things, throwing away his career to chase after one
human, only to find and protect another seemed the rational thing to
do.
“Bialar,” she
murmured against the skin of his neck, wrapping her arms around him.
“I will not let
anything happen to you,” he whispered. “That is my vow. I will
protect you.”
Talyn flashed
directions to him then and relief flooded Crais. The Peacekeepers
were no more than two streets over at any given point, but if they
moved with the shadows, they would be safe. Once outside the commerce
area, and into the woods, they took off at a flat run to the pod. He
managed to get them back aboard Talyn in five hundred microts.
The
ship was still in a state of panic as they entered the command tier,
greeting them with whines, beeps and bloops. A steady dialogue Crais
readily understood.
“Talyn,
prepare to starburst,” Crais commanded, hand against the neural
transponder.
Talyn refused and as Crais was about to program the jump himself, he
saw why. On the main view screen a Marauder rounded the planet making
good time for their position.
“Talyn, ready
main cannon,” he said.
“What in the
world are you doing?” Senna gasped. “You're not going to fire on
your own people!”
“Get out,” he
shouted at her, having forgotten she'd entered command with him. “Get
to your quarters. I'll deal with you later.”
“What the frell
is going on here?”
That's when he
found the remote control to her collar and depressed the button. She
fell gracelessly to the deck, writhing, with one long, shrill scream.
When the pain subsided, she struggled to her knees.
“Get out of
command!” He ordered her, his arm slashing the air for emphasis.
Once sure she was
gone, he turned to the business at hand.
“Talyn, lock onto
that marauder. Fire!”
As the ship
imploded mere kilometras away from them, Crais could only hope
they'd not had time to get a signal off to their mother ship.
“Talyn,
starburst.”
When he found Senna
an arn later, she was hard at work putting away the food products
he'd purchased, fresh fruit and cubes. She was stripped down to an
undershirt and appeared to be perspiring profusely. It was an
unpleasant smell he did not like.
“You will require
a shower once you're done with unpacking these goods,” he told her.
“No shit
Sherlock,” she muttered.
“Excuse me?”
“Obviously, I
mean.”
He could feel the
anger and suspicion coming off of her in waves. He would have to
explain what had happened, this much was obvious to him. That he
would rather pull his own teeth without anesthetic was beside the
point. He watched as she put several food cubes onto a tray before
sliding it into the reconstitution unit. The unit bleeped and she
removed the steaming food, slamming it down on the table before him.
“Eat before it
gets cold.” She said, her back still turned to him.
When he didn't
immediately sit down to eat, she turned a surly look on him.
“Go ahead,” she
grumbled. “I didn't spit in it or anything.”
He heaved a sign
before sitting down on the stool and digging in.
“You didn't have
to use the pain collar on me, you know,” she grumbled as she put
fresh fruit onto a second plate and put it beside the first. “A
simple please would've done just fine.”
“You have a
distinct proclivity for disobedience.”
“Still,” she
murmured. “Please don't do it again, okay? I'll do what you say,
just don't hurt me like that again.”
She went through
the motions of making a plate up for herself as he ate. She placed it
carefully across from his, sitting down, facing him. She pushed the
food around on her plate, but ate nothing. Finished with his own
meal, he took a piece of the fresh fruit, biting into its succulent
flesh.
Taking a deep
breath, she looked up at him, into his eyes, saying, “Bialar, you
destroyed that Peacekeeper ship didn't you?”
He'd known this
question was coming. He shouldn't have been surprised. He motioned to
the cartons still waiting to be unpacked.
“Give me a bottle
of fellip nectar,” he ordered.
She rose and obeyed
him, bringing him the chilled bottle. Their fingers touched briefly
as she handed it to him and he did not flinch from her.
“May I have one
as well?”
“Yes, you may,”
he said before taking a long drag from the bottle, swallowing down
his embarrassment.
She nodded to him,
walking back to the packing cases and retrieving a bottle for
herself. She popped the top and drank deeply, nearly finishing it in
one go.
“A quarter of a
cycle ago,” he began, then realized he needed to start from the
beginning. “No, no. That's not right. From the beginning, then. A
cycle and a half ago, I came to know your fellow Human, John
Crichton. The wormhole that brought him to this part of the galaxy
deposited his pod in such a way that it caused my brother's death.
Tauvo was a prowler pilot on a routine patrol when Crichton's pod
simply appeared. Tauvo's prowler glanced off it, lost control and was
impacted by an asteroid before my brother could regain control.
“Talyn's mother,
Moya, took his pod aboard her and starburst away with a complement of
escaped prisoners. It was my duty as captain of the command carrier
group to hunt down and retrieve Moya and her prisoners, Crichton
included for his culpability in Tauvo's death.
“I suppose I lost
my mind for a time. Did questionable things. All in the name of
finding the man who murdered my brother.”
“But what you
described sounds like an accident.”
“I realize that
now, after a great deal of introspection.”
“So, you hunted
Crichton and the prisoners? That doesn't explain why you destroyed
that marauder.”
“I went against
direct orders to turn my carrier group for home, even killed a loyal
officer so that I could continue my hunt for Crichton and Moya. It
was my obsession. . .and my undoing. I went so far that there was no
turning back, so far that no matter what I did, I had no life beyond
court martial, incarceration and death. I was a mere walking corpse
aboard my own vessel.
“In order to
survive, I deserted my post and asked for asylum aboard Talyn's
mother, the leviathan called Moya. It was not a popular decision, but
they accepted me, putting me in chains for my perceived crimes
against them.
“I had time to
speak alone with Crichton and came to realize that what I thought had
been about my brother—what should have been about my brother—had
been nothing more than my lust for victory at any cost. It was about
my career and the eyes on me back at High Command.
“When it seemed
Moya would be captured or destroyed by my enemy, Scorpius, I secreted
myself aboard Talyn and took him deeper into an asteroid field.
Unfortunately, this meant betraying Moya and her crew. I was
recaptured by Crichton and once more imprisoned aboard Moya, until
Talyn demanded my return as his captain.
“I resigned my
commission, telling Scorpius I'd killed Crichton to buy Moya and the
others time to escape. Then, I took Talyn as far from Peacekeeper
forces as I was able to. We have been successful for the most part.
We had just run out of food stuffs when we came upon Luculla Primus
and happened upon you and your captors.”
Crais downed the
last of the now lukewarm fellip nectar.
“So you see, much
like yourself, I can never return home.” Crais finished his story.
She seemed to
consider his words for a long time before she finally spoke.
“We've both done
questionable things in order to survive,” she said softly.
Their eyes met and
they stared at one another for a long, silent interval.
“Indeed,” he
intoned at last. “Which brings me to a topic I wish to broach with
you. Personal defense. Are you versed in the fighting arts?”
“Hardly, I'm a
computer techie and a musician. Dancing is about as physical as it
ever gets for me.”
“Then we must
address your lack of skills. I will instruct you. Change into
something appropriate for exercise.”
“Why not just
teach me to use a pulse pistol?”
“That I will not
do.”
“It would be a
real time saver and more of a help than teaching me Peacekeeper kung
fu.”
“Must you forever
question everything that comes out of my mouth?”
“Sorry. It's sort
of in my nature.”
“Overcome your
nature,” he warned, tone harsh.
Both dressed in
loose fitting pants, undershirts and with bare feet, Crais and the
Earth woman faced one another in the chamber he had set aside for
fitness. The look on her face was one of pure boredom. This angered
him on some deep level he couldn't explain. Without warning, he
backhanded her; not terribly hard, but enough to get her attention.
She crumpled to the deck with a hand to her cheek.
“What the hell,
man,” she swore, looking up at him.
A tiny trickle of
blood shown at the corner of her mouth.
“And you made me
bite my tongue, too,” she complained as she got her feet under her.
He repeated the
strike and she hit the deck once more.
“Damn you, don't
hit me,” she shouted, getting to her feet and shoving him.
He barely budged
from her push and realization seemed to dawn in her face. He struck
her a third time and she spat blood onto the deck and scampered
backward before rising.
“I said don't hit
me!”
“Then defend
yourself.” He snapped, tired of her complacency.
He lunged for her
and she sidestepped and tried to flee, but he had her in a choke hold
in an instant. She struggled against him and he tightened his grip.
His free hand caught hers as it made for the obvious target of his
genitals. She soon blacked out and he let her body sag to the deck.
He waited as she came to.
“Get up and
defend yourself, Senna,” he growled, hands open at his sides.
“I don't know
how, obviously,” she blurted.
She stood,
massaging her throat and glaring at him. Before she could react, he
moved with lightning speed, grabbed her arm, spun her and had her in
a second choke hold.
“Now, think.”
He told her, lips pressed against her ear.
“I can't think, I
can't breathe,” she hissed.
He tightened the
hold again. “Think. You cannot overpower me. What would logic
dictate you do?”
She struggled
harder against him and he choked her into unconsciousness once more,
letting her fall bonelessly to the deck. Once more he waited as she
revived and stared up at him.
“Can you give me
a hint at least?” She shouted, eyes red-rimmed, fighting for
breath.
“You choke me,”
Crais advised her.
She was obviously
reticent, but rose from the floor and went around behind him.
“Like this?”
She asked as she hooked an arm around his throat.
She hardly posed a
threat to him, but he humored her. “Yes.”
As she drew her arm
more tightly around his neck, bracing it with her opposite hand, he
relaxed his body and began to slide downward. She released him
immediately, giving him the advantage yet again. He took her by one
arm, tossing her easily over his shoulder and to the deck.
“Damn it!” She
swore, hugging herself and rolling away from him. She panted, looking
up at him. “Obviously I'm not cut out for this dren.”
“Maybe not, but
you will learn.” He vowed. “This is rudimentary knowledge, taught
to Peacekeepers when they're children.”
“I'm not a child.
And, I'm a lover, not a fighter.”
“Again, you will
learn to defend yourself.” He took her up by a handful of her hair
and she yelped in pain.
He forced her to
stand, positioning her with feet shoulder width apart, left slightly
more forward than right, hands in fists on her hips. As slowly as
possible, he extended his hand to hit her midsection. She flailed and
moved from her fighter's stance and he easily punched her solar
plexus. He put little force into the blow but she still chuffed out
air when his fist connected.
“At least try,”
he shouted, losing his temper with her passiveness.
“Look, you
wouldn't be able to play my guitar if I simply handed it to you. This
is the same for me.” She told him. “I have no basis in fighting.
I've never been in a fight in my life. Begin with me as you would
with a Peacekeeper kid.”
“I have, but your
lack of aptitude is making it impossible to get through to you,” he
countered, tone gruff. “You will apply yourself.”
He forced her back
into the fighter's stance.
“Strike my
abdomen,” he ordered her.
“And you'll put
me on the floor again. No thanks.”
“Don't make me
use the collar on you again,” he warned.
She heaved a sigh,
resumed the stance and aimed a punch at his midsection. He easily
wrapped his left arm around her right, locking her elbow and used his
right foot to sweep her legs from beneath her.
“That is the
proper way to defend against such a strike,” he told her as he
helped reposition her again.
He continued to
teach her thus, like he would a mental deficient. He wondered if
Aeryn had similar experiences with Crichton, who seemed little more
than a clumsy buffoon hiding behind a pulse pistol. If only Officer
Sun were here, the two of them together might be able to enlighten
this poor woman. Once she was winded, bruised and obviously
exhausted, he ended the lesson.
“Return to your
quarters. I would advise a hot shower. Let me know if you need a pain
reliever either this night, or tomorrow once the true soreness sets
in.” He advised her.
Once she left him
alone, he began to exercise in earnest. He practiced rolls, flips,
flying kicks and each of the twenty moving forms taught to all
Peacekeepers as children. His body was stiff and responded slowly. It
had been far too long since he'd exercised and had even lagged when
fighting with Officer Sun over control of Talyn. As a result, he now
pushed himself harder than he should, working through all the
movements and acrobatics at a swifter pace. Perhaps he was fighting
with himself and his decision to bring the human female aboard.
Which, the more he considered it, seemed ill-conceived at best.
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