New /old Farscape fic
This is something I posted last summer at Terra Firma. I've edited it a bit, and wanted to post it under my own "name".
Title: Making Ends Meet
Author: officersun524 based on story notes by KNS
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All characters property of The Jim Henson Company
Spoilers: Everything through “Durka Returns.”
Notes: Thanks to KNS for this idea. She had it mapped out and had written the scene with Chiana in the bar. She then bequeathed it to me, having written her last Farscape story and turning to new pursuits. Without her, this never would have seen the light of day.
Many thanks too to sarahjane for her beta services.
This was originally posted as “GuesstheAuthor” on Terra Firma but I wanted to have it archived under my own “name”.
***
They come a runnin' just to get a look,
Just to feel, to touch her long black hair, they don't give a damn
…But I never seen nothing like you.
~~”Do Ya”, Electric Light Orchestra
*
“How many more rock pits, Ryg?”
John squinted in the near pitch black of the cave where he stood knee deep in something that resembled what he assumed was black slush. Not that it mattered much what it looked like. It felt a little like old jello...with points. It wasn’t quite wet-it hadn’t seeped into his boots like a liquid but he could feel where bits had slipped between his pants and the tops of his boots, leaving the little points to nip at the soles of his feet. If it hadn’t been for the continuous growling of his own stomach, not to mention Rygel’s and D’Argo’s, he would have chucked the shovel in Sparky’s face.
He resisted the urge to smell himself, convinced that the odors emanating were definitely his this time, not Rygel’s. Maybe the black had heightened his sense of smell and his own general offensiveness. He supposed if there’d been anything in his stomach, he would have already hurled.
“This is the last.” Even in the shadows, Rygel looked defeated. His ear brows reminded John of a sad dog’s ears, flattened against his head like he’d just gotten a whumpin’. The little pick in the Dominar’s hand rested against the steaming black walls; it looked like Rygel was using it to prop himself up, thronesled or not.
It didn’t seem like such a bad idea. John leaned against the shovel for a breather.
“What is this crap anyway?”
“Corvinian ore.” D’Argo removed the ridiculously large, lighted helmet he wore, their only source of light, and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. This place must have employed a lot of Luxans at some time because the helmets had failed to fit any of them but D’Argo.
“It’s their power source,” he finished.
“So, I can tell my dad all those years of astrophysics and I didn’t even rate high enough to get the cool hat.”
“Hardly that, Crichton. I’m perspiring like a treznot. It’s a hot, heavy and miserable hat. You are hardly deprived.”
“Yeah, big fella. I hear ya.” John clapped him on the arm.
“Let’s just get through this,” Rygel’s said.
“Right.” John picked up his shovel and started piling the slush into the thing that passed for a wheelbarrow. It was a large cart with metal wheels that gave it a sort of medieval “bring out your dead” flair. His attempt at the Monty Python version had failed when the foreman had told them that the body removal squad was otherwise occupied.
“Hey,” he said. “Do you suppose Aeryn’s okay…”
D'Argo turned sharply, the helmet’s light catching John in the eye.
“Aeryn’s a warrior, John. The last thing she needs is you, ‘rescuing’ her.”
Rygel chuckled. “Although…I’d love to see her reaction. Imagine, this one…” He shot a stubby finger in John’s direction. “Rescuing a Peacekeeper!”
D’Argo’s laugh boomed through the cavern. “I think she’d kill you before she admitted to requiring a rescue.”
“Ha, ha.” John rubbed his jaw. “Just so long as she keeps that pantak jab thing to herself. Still…she was pretty steamed…”
"Listen, Crichton. Remember when you said you were sick of everything - Moya, me, D'Argo, all of us? Well, I'm sick of it, too. I'm stuck with a group of escaped prisoners on a pregnant Leviathan where we've run out of food - again. I don't have enough fuel in my prowler to leave. I'm going to engage in manual labor just to get by. And do you know what's worse? Nothing's going to change. I've been banished, and nothing is ever going to change."
“Aeryn…”
“Frell off, John-“
She’d pushed away from him, turning on her heel, back straight, head high, leaving him there at a crowded food stall, his mouth hanging open. He’d watched her snake her way efficiently through the crowded streets of Corvinia, careful not to brush up against the locals.
They were on a planet with a sizeable Peacekeeper presence, here because they had no currency and no food, their faces alive on wanted beacons spread throughout the city.
There were only two places for Aeryn. And she hadn’t returned to Moya, which left one place…that he really did not need to think about that right now.
“Crichton!”
“D’Argo?”
“She’ll be fine. Chiana went to find her, remember? Your idea, as I recall.” D’Argo returned to the digging and scooping, the rhythmic plunking of slush into the cart of no comfort.
“Right. Maybe we should comm-“
“They don’t work.” Rygel slid back as a cascade of ore fell from the wall, black and shinier than the crap on the floor. “You’d better separate that out, Crichton. It’s of higher quality than most of the dren we’ve gathered so far.”
“How do you know? And how the hell am I supposed to ‘separate it out’?”
“Use your shirt,” D’Argo said.
“My shirt? Hell, no. That’s the only thing between me and this crap. Uh-uh.”
“It’s double the value. More currency, less time here, more efficient.” Rygel scooted towards him. “Do you need me to do it?”
If he died today, he really didn’t want his last physical encounter to involve Rygel stripping off the stinking remains of his T-shirt.
“I got it,” he grumbled. He pulled the shirt over his head, scooped ore into it then nestled it as far from the rest of the stuff as possible.
Rygel laughed.
“Now what?”
“I was thinking. This planet prizes entertainment. Certainly there has to be some place where a shirtless male would fetch a few krindars…”
“Um…no. This is the end of the line, Buckwheat. I stink. I’m hungry. I have no shirt-“
“I believe that’s the point, John,” D’Argo said, trying to sound reasonable.
John held up a finger to silence him. “D. No. I’m worried about the girls. I don’t have time for Chippendales.”
“Ah, well.” Rygel gave a shrug of one small shoulder. “Perhaps the other two have been more…enterprising.” He waggled his ear brows at John.
“That. Is exactly what I’m worried about.”
***
“Frell off, John.” She muttered the last words she’d said to Crichton and followed them up with a snort. She sat in the darkened interior of a drinking establishment that looked like it had seen better days. Most of the lights had either been shot out or burned out and never replaced. The metal table where she sat was scarred with the scorching of pulse blasts and the chair across from her listed to her left just slightly, one leg shorter than the other three.
“Frell off, John. D’Argo. Chiana. Rygel. Zhaan.” She held the glass over her mouth, savoring the spicy, lingering scent as she recited their names. Each echoed in the glass’ chamber, mingling with the liquid as she let it burn soothingly down her throat.
At least this frelling waste hole of a planet had decent raslak…
…and Sebaceans, or, more specifically, Peacekeeper grunts. Each and every one of them wore some variation of out of uniform, obviously not on duty. Not that it mattered much to her. She’d been out of uniform for, what, a cycle?--and nowhere near her kind. Wanted beacons, court martials, full pardons that were actually death sentences…didn’t frelling matter much to her.
The fifth raslak certainly helped to numb any lingering concerns she might have had.
What the frell--?
She looked over the rim of her glass and let it rest against her lower lip as she studied the Peacekeeper standing in front of her. In one hand, he fingered credits. What appeared to be many of them. She’d traded the last full chakkan oil cartridge she had for a few bar credits, the remainder of which sat heavily in her pocket. Yes, it had been a foolish, impetuous act. But hadn’t a foolish, impetuous act gotten her netted aboard Moya? Why not continue in that vein?
Nothing would be the same anyway.
Quit the self pity, Sun…Yes, exactly. That was her plan. Tomorrow. For today, it was raslak and maybe a frell, if the mood struck her.
“Buy you a drink, sweetheart?” Not waiting for an answer, he kicked the broken chair away and pulled up another by hooking one foot around its leg. She heard it scrape against the floor, a screeching that ordinarily might have set her teeth on edge, and then he plopped down in front of her without waiting for an answer.
He wore a black t-shirt tucked into high-waisted black uniform britches which were in turn tucked into high, shiny black boots. His suspenders hung off his waist, his jacket unbuttoned and open. Black eyes met hers as he ran a hand through his thick black hair.
Familiar.
She blinked the memory away and downed the last of her raslak.
“Out of uniform, eh?” He reached across the table and fingered the buckles on her black jacket. “Looks like your glass is empty.”
She pulled back slightly. “Astute of you to notice.”
He motioned for the server, holding up two fingers and pointing at the table.
“Better bring a pitcher,” she said.
“Really?” He sat forward.
“I anticipate winning.” She shook her hair back. “I beat you, you’re buying. You beat me, we’ll talk.” She put her elbows on the table, arm up and palm up.
“Arm wrestling?” He laughed. “I think I could take you…”
“Do you?” She searched his jacket for the insignia. “Sub-officer…”
“Ducar. You?”
“Leaving, if you don’t shut the frell up. Are you game or not?” She had once been very good at this competition. Best in class, her mind whispered. Best in class at a lot of things, none of which seemed to have a lot of bearing on her current status.
“My call if I win,” he said.
She nodded. “Your call.”
***
Thirty-two Peacekeepers in a bar.
Apparently, Aeryn Sun was as close to home as she was gonna get.
Chiana found Aeryn more by default than design. It sure hadn’t been her idea to go searching for the one member of Moya’s crew who probably hated her the most. Or, at the very least, probably hadn’t forgiven her for that whole Durka business.
“Come on, Pip,” Crichton had begged. “Sparky’s found us a job. We need it and I can’t go rustle her up myself. Besides, she’s pissed at me.”
So what else was new? Chiana would have already frelled him if she were Aeryn, or frelled Aeryn if she were Crichton. Either way, the frelling would have been done with, and they could have gone back about the business of running for their lives.
She supposed looking for Aeryn was better than digging holes or whatever other manual labor they’d managed to find. Even evading all those Peacekeepers Pilot had warned them about was better than that.
“R&R,” Crichton had said. “Even Peacekeepers need to get their groove on, right, Aeryn?” at which point Aeryn had shot him one of her icier glares and Chiana had felt a little bit of pity for the human who didn’t quite seem to know when to shut it.
Finding this particular Peacekeeper hadn’t proven to be as easy as Chiana would have liked, and avoiding all the others had made it difficult to get much shopping done, credits or no. Still, she’d found some time to pick up one necklace, a midday meal and scented water for her hair.
Sometimes skill was more important than actual currency…
…a fact that Aeryn seemed to take to heart as well.
The sound of laughter and music had drawn her inside the last drinking establishment in the quarter and bingo! Crichton’s word seemed to have particular meaning as Chiana found herself in a tavern full of Peacekeepers.
Thirty-two, if she counted right, almost all male, plus one former Peacekeeper sitting at a table placed at the small room’s center, arm up at an angle. Aeryn’s hair was wild around her face, parts of it plastered to her neck with perspiration. Her jacket hung partially off the back of the chair, one sleeve touching the dusty floor. Her grey tank top, like her hair, looked pasted on her body with sweat; her arms glistened with it and her face was flush. Her smile was wide, almost cheeky.
She suppressed a laugh. The nixa looked like she was having the time of her life while the rest of them were digging or working or, at the least, looking for her.
She leaned against the bar. “Hey.” She motioned to the bartender. “What the frell’s goin’ on?”
“That one.” The bartender pointed one arm in Aeryn’s direction, using a second to serve up a drink and a third to take in credits. “Odds are this last fekkik will beat her but, so far, the odds have been wrong.”
Chiana turned her attention back to the scene. One male put a drink in front of Aeryn, then rubbed her shoulder. She laughed, pushing his hand away, downed the drink then looked at him. He was younger than Aeryn. His face had a freshly scrubbed, rosy look and his friends were pushing him towards the chair.
He didn’t stand a chance.
“Go on.” Aeryn’s voice, lush with raslak and exertion, rose above the din of male laughter.
“You…” The Peacekeeper grabbed the other raslak off the table then grabbed the table’s edge with his free hand. It was just a matter of time. He gulped down the drink, did a half turn, eyes rolled back in his head, and hit the floor to the sound of whooping.
“Pay up.” Aeryn spread her palms; Chiana watched as various forms of currency dropped into her waiting hands.
“So…quite a show, eh?”
Chiana turned to face the man who’d sidled up alongside her. She leaned against the bar, elbows back as she looked out towards the group.
“You been watching long?” she asked.
He nodded with a soft “Mmm. I have. She has a lot of…stamina. And she certainly stands out in a crowd.”
Chiana scanned the bar. “Seems like there aren’t many females here.”
“Of course not.” The man-a Sebacean with dark green eyes and brown wavy hair-ran a finger down her arm. “This is where the males gather to find recreation partners.”
“Rec-“ Chiana suppressed a smile. “What, with each other?”
He laughed. “Of course not. Peacekeepers tend to be quite narrow on the idea of same sex recreating. No, I’ve already rented out my girls for the evening. I would have thrown that one out but she’s attracted more business in raslak than I’ve done all week. My establishment’s already made next week’s profit.” He smiled and gave an excited little shudder. “She’s quite attractive. And…energetic. She’d fetch quite a price.”
It was a bad idea. Crichton would kill her. Frell, Aeryn, would kill her. But, they needed the currency, lots of it, and quick. She was bored and had played this little game before. She hadn’t lost yet, except for those few times she’d wanted to. A couple of drunk Peacekeepers with pockets full of credits would be an easy roll. All she needed was an alluring bait and, for once, it wasn’t gonna be her.
“Interested?” She nodded her head towards Aeryn.
“What?” He straightened up, eyes flicking between her and Aeryn. “You, or…”
“Her. I know Peacekeepers only do Peacekeepers unless their choices are limited. So, how about it? Two at the same time, you get a quarter-“
“Third. I get a third.”
“Uh-uh. Quarter. I’m the broker on this deal. You’re just giving us the place.” She ran a finger over his nose then let it linger over his lip. “You’ve already made a profit. Two arns, double your rate, PK Tralk Girl is yours.”
“I prefer exotics myself.” He snaked his arm around her waist. She leaned in, her lips almost touching his.
“No. Freebies.” She laughed and slipped out of his grasp.
Energetic. She glanced at Aeryn who was still surrounded by male admirers, still smiling. One of them leaned in to smell her hair and she didn’t even seem to notice.
Raslak and arm wrestling: Peacekeeper foreplay. She’d be sure to tell Crichton.
***
“Ok, so we’re done, right?” John scooped his last load of ore into the conveyor where it was measured and priced.
The sound of the mechanism reminded him of those coin machines at grocery stores where you poured in a hundred dollars worth of quarters and walked away with fifty bucks. What percentage of their hard work was going to end up in this guy’s pockets?
And he had a lot of pockets. John eyed the merchant’s jacket. It took cargo pockets to a whole new level. One held some sort of lizard like pet, for lack of a better word. Another held small picks and something that resembled tools. Two more had weapons. The lower ones bulged with currency.
Of course, the three arms were a little distracting too.
“Problem?” The merchant’s voice sounded like it was filtered through a fan.
“Uh, no.” John shook his head.
“He’s tired,” Rygel explained. “Now if we can have our share as discussed.”
“Discussion not with me. Other is gone.” He smiled, revealing sharp, uneven teeth. John guessed his dentics didn’t get out much. “You get twenty.”
“Percent?” Rygel’s thronesled rose up in anticipation.
“Twenty credits.”
“Now, wait a microt.” D’Argo tried to push past John but John put his arm out to stop him as the merchant drew two guns.
“Twenty.”
D’Argo growled. “This frelling…”
“Twenty’ll do it. And, can I have my shirt back?” John held out his hand.
The merchant pulled out the tattered remains of John’s grey t-shirt. “This what you seek?”
John snorted. “What’s left of it.” He held it up and eyed Sparky through the holes. “I don’t suppose I can buy another one.”
“Fifty credits.” The merchant still held the two guns on him and held out his third hand.
“Never mind.” John drew the remnants over his head.
“Seems rather pointless, Crichton.”
“Yeah, thanks, Sparky. Just get our money and let’s get the hell out of here.”
Rygel finished what was left of their transaction and they turned from the merchant’s stall, stomachs still growling, smelly, tired…
Then he heard the pulse blasts in rapid succession.
***
The remainder of the crowd gave way as Aeryn swept both bare arms across the table, gathering in the rest of her credits. She was done here, that much was evident. For one, she couldn’t remember having drunk that much raslak before. Second…well, second, her head was drumming like a two headed trelkez. Two heads, each pounding in opposition to the other, her stomach lurching between beats.
Wha-is this some kind of PMS, Peacekeeper Military Sh-
Frell you.
She smiled at the recollection, Crichton drowning his disappointments with raslak, fingering his tongue like he was checking to make sure it was still there, offering to take her home with him. Her, on a planet with billions of him. She laughed and felt an arm on her shoulder.
“No more.” She drank the last drop of raslak, leaving the empty cylinder over her mouth and nose, breathing in the remaining vapors one last time.
“Aeryn.” The hand, small and black-gloved, shook her harder. “Hey, nixa.”
“You.” She set the cup down and leaned her head back. “You’re upside down. Didn’t know you could do that.”
Chiana smiled and wavered in her vision, the girl’s black eyes taking in her, then darting to the diminishing group around the table. Aeryn sat up. There weren’t many left standing. Most were at other tables now, heads on their arms, snoring. Others had stumbled out. Didn’t matter. She’d made her share of currency and the only things left on her mind were new chakkan oil cartridges, a meal, and a shower.
What about that frell, Sun?
She smiled and bit her lip but the only Peacekeeper she’d found remotely attractive was already gone. She scanned the group of men in front of her, all of them very young and very drunk. Were any of them worth a frell? With the current pounding of her head? Young, inexperienced, likely clumsy...
It’d been too long to bother with that. Might as well keep to her own resourcefulness than waste her time with a new recruit who’d just as likely pass out as anything else.
“Frell,” she muttered. That word had been on her mind…a lot.
“Aeryn, we got something to do. Upstairs.” Chiana took her by the arm and motioned her head towards the stairs.
Stairs? There were stairs? No one said there’d be any frelling stairs.
“What’re you going to do, Nebari,” one of the recruits slurred. “Each other?”
“Nice,” Chiana said. “Come on, Aeryn.” She pulled on one arm, then the other.
“Wait, wait, wait.” Aeryn shook the girl off, picked up the credits from the table and stuffed them into the pockets of her jacket.
“Hey, wait.” Voices mingled in her head.
“Show’s over, boys,” Chiana said. “You lost your money, why not go home and sleep it off. Find a nice nixa to take care of you.”
“’Night, boys. Glad you haven’t learned how to hold your raslak yet.” She leaned into Chiana, half stumbling against her. “Upstairs sounds…really…nice.”
***
“Oh, you’ll like this.” Chiana dragged Aeryn towards the stairs, wondering how someone who looked so thin could be so heavy.
…or so drunk. She shouldn’t have waited this long but it had taken awhile for the proprietor to find two males. It really shouldn’t have, given the abundance of males, but Chiana had let it buy her some time, watching Aeryn get drunker and drunker, close enough to the brink to not be belligerent, yet still conscious.
It took a lot of raslak to leech the belligerence out of Aeryn Sun.
“Chiana.” Aeryn stood up like she’d gotten a recharge. Was that how Sebaceans metabolized, drunk one minute, sober the next? No wonder they seemed to have an advantage in the universe.
“Hey. What’s up?”
Aeryn patted her jacket pockets then sighed heavily. “Just wanted to make sure I had all the currency.” Chiana watched a smile pull slowly at Aeryn’s mouth like she was laughing at some private joke.
“What?”
“I’d wager my take tonight is more than Crichton, D’Argo or Rygel were able to muster up.”
“Oh…you have no idea.” She stopped on the landing and positioned Aeryn against the wall, moving in close so their faces were just a hand’s breadth away, and tried to rearrange some of Aeryn’s hair which by now was completely out of control. Thankfully, raslak was odorless.
“Listen, Aeryn, there’s something you need to know before we go in there.”
Aeryn pressed her lips together, looking like she was trying not to laugh, and pushed Chiana’s hand away from the tumble of hair. “Chiana, I’ll admit. I’ve been a bit frustrated but you…” She snorted. “Don’t bother.”
“Hezmana, Aeryn, I don’t want to frell you. But there are two males in there who do. They have currency and-“
Aeryn moved fast for someone who could barely make it up the stairs. She put both hands on Chiana’s arms and swung her around so that Chiana was up against the wall, Aeryn standing over her.
“You want me…” She pointed to her chest. “To frell them…” She pointed to the door. “For currency?”
“Not frell, exactly…”
“What, then, exactly?” Aeryn leaned one hand against the wall, pinning Chiana to it with the other.
“Well, I mean, if you’re frustrated and all…”
Aeryn put her arm under Chiana’s chin, just against her throat. “You were saying about the ‘not frell’ part…?”
“Roll ‘em.”
“What?”
“You know…you lure ‘em up, you walk in with a pulse pistol, you rob ‘em, you leave. We could even tie them up for fun. Simple.”
“Oh,” Aeryn groaned. “I knew we should have spaced you the microt we could. No, Chiana, I’m not going to rob them.” She swung her body towards the wall and leaned against it next to Chiana. “Cholok, I can barely stand.”
Chiana turned to look at Aeryn. It was gone. The fun, the laughing…even some of the intoxication. She looked beaten and tired and Chiana saw that little frown line beginning to bloom between Aeryn’s eyes. She almost felt sorry for the Peacekeeper because, really, she’d been having a pretty good time, much better, arguably, than the rest of them had.
The door across the hall creaked open. Standing in front of them was a man, dark haired, dark eyed, with a pulse pistol aimed directly at them.
“Hello, Officer Sun.” He smiled widely.
“Run!” Aeryn grabbed her hand and pulled her down the stairs, reaching for her own pistol as she did so. Heavy footsteps echoed behind them, shots flying over their heads. They ran past the startled recruits. One of them stepped forward with a “hey” just in time to serve as a barrier between them and their pursuer.
“It’s my money, Sun!” the voice called after them.
“You told him my name?” Aeryn breathed, still pulling her along.
“No.” Chiana panted and ran. Her arm felt like it was going to pop out of its socket. “Who is that fekkik anyway?”
“Frelling bounty hunters and beacons. That was the first frelling Peacekeeper I saw when I walked in there.”
They were outside among the crowded streets, dusk falling and the lighting growing dim.
Pulse fire hit the crates beside them as they ran towards food stalls and merchants, then through food stalls and over merchants, and passersby and whomever or whatever else got in their way.
“Five thousand, Sun!” Pulse blasts whirred past their ears; it was a good thing this particular fekkik was a bad shot.
Aeryn did a quick return fire as they rounded a corner. She pulled Chiana behind then under a food stall. “Frell.” She rubbed at her forehead with one hand and fumbled for the comms on her jacket. “Frelling…” She tapped it. “Zhaan? Zhaan!”
Zhaan’s voice of reason floated over the comms with some surprise. “Aeryn? Where are you? What about John and the others?”
“No time. Tell Crichton and D’Argo there are bounty hunters on the planet. I have Chiana. We’ll figure out a way to get back to the transport.”
“Aeryn…”
“Later.” Aeryn tapped the comm off and leaned against the stall’s supports, scratching the side of her head with the tip of the pulse pistol.
“I guess this is the part where I say ‘bad plan’, huh?”
“After we’re finished with the one.” Aeryn held the pulse pistol, barrel up, between them. “You’re next.”
***
“Yeah, yeah, we heard the pulse blasts.” John held his comm in his hand while he, D’Argo and Rygel ducked into a corner of a dark and smelly alleyway. The smelly part was relative because probably anywhere they went would have smelled.
“They didn’t give me coordinates. Pilot tried to get a fix on the comms but I think she turned them off.” Zhaan’s voice rose with worry.
“Don’t worry, bluey. We’ll rescue ‘em.” John tapped off the comm.
“What is it with your desperate need to rescue Aeryn, Crichton? Are you trying to prove your manhood to a Peacekeeper?” Rygel hovered towards the alleyway entrance then back. “Still clear.”
“I don’t have a ‘desperate need’ for anything, Sparky, except maybe a shower. It’s just they’re under fire and we’re not.”
“We’re also not armed,” D’Argo said.
“Oh, yeah, that whole ‘no weapons at work’ thing kind of screwed us, didn’t it.”
“Well, if they have Aeryn’s name, they certainly have ours,” Rygel said. “And I, for one, am not going to risk my neck for some Peacekeeper grunt and a Nebari tralk.”
“Rygel, my little humanitarian.” John put his arm around Rygel’s neck and pulled him towards him, thronesled and all. “You’re gonna fetch the transport pod, pay the man who held it for us, then wait. Not so hard, is it?”
“But, but…but that’s almost all our credits!”
“Life’s a bitch and then you die, Rygel. If you don’t want it to be today, you’d best get going.”
D’Argo crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Rygel. “Luxans don’t rest easily in death, your lowness.”
“Fine, fine, fine…but you’d better be there in half an arn or I’m leaving and I can’t guarantee Zhaan will come back for you.” He poked his head out of their hiding place then zoomed off through the empty alley.
“So,” they said at the same time.
“You first,” John said.
“We have no weapons. We’re wanted fugitives. I think Rygel’s plan was the best.”
John pursed his lips. “What?”
“Crichton.” He put his hands on John’s shoulder. “I understand your need to help Aeryn. I’d do the same.”
John shook free. “What is this ‘need’ thing everyone seems to think I have. They’re our shipmates, D. Our crew. Our homies.”
“Whatever.” D’Argo waved it away with one big hand. “The point is, sometimes you just have to sit. So, sit. We turn on our comms, we hope she turns on hers, we try to get a fix on them and then we get the transport and go.”
“Not much of a plan.”
“No, but it’s better than walking into a firefight unarmed.”
“Nope. I can’t just sit here and hope it all works out.” His squawking comm broke the stalemate and Aeryn’s voice, husky and breathless and accompanied by pulse fire in the background, came thru the static.
“Transport…get…hurry…” The comm fell silent. He looked at D’Argo and started into a run.
***
He had her cornered. It was the black haired Sebacean who’d first offered to buy her a drink, the one she’d thought was attractive. He wasn’t a Peacekeeper hunter, that much was apparent. He’d been reckless and it was only her bad luck that found them here, in a small dark alleyway at a stand-off, pulse pistol to pulse pistol.
“Give it up, Sun. There’s five thousand on your head, another ten for the male, and five for the other three. By my count…” He looked at his gloved hands, lips moving as he did the math. “Thirty!”
Chiana had disappeared when they’d gotten out from under the stall, running past her like a blast. Maybe the pistol in her face had been a little extreme but, then again, maybe it was no loss. It was the girl’s fault she was here in the first place.
No, Sun, it was yours. Undisciplined, drunk…
She breathed in. The pounding in her head had only gotten worse and if projectile vomiting could have been used as a weapon, she would have already gotten away.
“And to think I found you attractive,” she said. “I had no idea you were a piece of dren bounty hunter.”
“And you’re a piece of dren ex-Peacekeeper. So what the frell’s the difference. You should have let me buy you a drink and frell you before you died.”
“Mmm…” She sucked at her bottom lip in false thought. “As I recall, the bounty’s only worth something if I’m taken alive. I’m to be tried and executed as an example. Or was it I’d be granted a full pardon accompanied by the living death?” She shrugged. “Either way, alive is the order. Peacekeepers like to do their own killing.”
“Why don’t you put the gun down and come along with me? I don’t think I have any orders not to hurt you.” He leveled the gun towards her face and she raised hers in response.
“Grant me this. Your training?”
“What?”
“What training do you have that will convince me that you’re the better here? You say you’ll shoot. What if I shoot first? And I have no orders and no reward, just the credits in my pocket and my freedom on the other side. Tell me. What have I got to lose?” She motioned at him with the pulse pistol.
The empty pulse pistol. She’d used the last of her chakkan oil cartridge on the return fire, hitting a few storage crates, the tent of one very terrified merchant, a pile of rasslus bulbs and not much else.
That seemed to befuddle him. His hand wavered slightly and he scratched his head. “Well…well…listen, Sun, you don’t want to get into a duel with me.”
“No?” She kept her pistol steady and took a step towards him. “You’re sure about that. Because the way I see it, either I kill you here or your superiors kill you for frelling up and killing me. And I’m sure my way will be much more merciful. Quick, even. One blast, straight through your eye.” She kept her voice low and soothing as she took another step forward.
He laughed but it was a nervous twitter more than anything else. “You won’t do it.”
“Officer Aeryn Sun, Special Peacekeeper Commando, Ikarion Company, Pleisar Regiment. Watch me, Ducar.”
Two more steps and her pulse pistol would be resting on his nose. Then he fell to the ground. She looked up to see Chiana standing on the roof above, a second brick in her hands in case the first one hadn’t gotten the job done.
“Bet you thought I’d bailed.” Chiana slithered down the steel staircases and landed in front of Aeryn. She reached over and patted Aeryn’s jacket. “And you still have all your currency, too. Drad.”
Footsteps pounded behind them, pounded in her ears. She turned swiftly, pulse pistol aimed high and straight into John’s face, D’Argo right behind him.
“Whoa!” He held up his hands in surrender.
“Crichton!” She looked at the holes in his shirt, the black smudges on his face then the smell hit her. That was it. She doubled over as he approached gently. She breathed in but it was too late and she vomited all over the last of his shirt.
***
John sidled up to where she sat in the center chamber, a glass of something Zhaan had mixed together on the table in front of her. It had both soothed her stomach and her head. The credits sat on the table in front of her as well, sorted out by value and laid neatly in rows, highest to lowest.
“So, it looks like you made some cash,” he said. “Nice work.”
He was clean and dressed in a new black t-shirt. They hadn’t spent any more time on Corvinia but had managed to find an outpost with inexpensive clothing and at least a monan’s worth of supplies.
“Cash. Yes.” She nodded but just slightly. Her eyeballs hurt.
“You and Pip…quite the team.” He sat down beside her and reached for the bottle on the table. He took it, sniffed it, frowned then pushed it back to its place. “Don’t want to know what that is. So…you gonna take that show on the road again, Aeryn?”
“Which ‘show’ would that be, Crichton? The one that involves me getting shot at or the one that ends with me vomiting on your shirt?”
He laughed. “I’m gonna pretend that’s the last of the raslak talking.” He touched her arm; she didn’t pull away. “Chiana told us everything. Everything.” He pursed his lips, trying not to smile. “It sounds like you really know how to have a good time.”
“Everything, hmm?” She smiled slightly. “You know, I think I feel another bout of nausea coming on.” She swallowed the last of the liquid in her glass and stood up. “Good night.” She swept one row of credits off the table and into her hand. “See that Rygel doesn’t get the rest, will you?”
She had her credits and her freedom.
All in all, it hadn’t been such a bad take.
She started out the passageway, feeling his eyes on her back as she went to her quarters.
###END###
Title: Making Ends Meet
Author: officersun524 based on story notes by KNS
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All characters property of The Jim Henson Company
Spoilers: Everything through “Durka Returns.”
Notes: Thanks to KNS for this idea. She had it mapped out and had written the scene with Chiana in the bar. She then bequeathed it to me, having written her last Farscape story and turning to new pursuits. Without her, this never would have seen the light of day.
Many thanks too to sarahjane for her beta services.
This was originally posted as “GuesstheAuthor” on Terra Firma but I wanted to have it archived under my own “name”.
***
They come a runnin' just to get a look,
Just to feel, to touch her long black hair, they don't give a damn
…But I never seen nothing like you.
~~”Do Ya”, Electric Light Orchestra
*
“How many more rock pits, Ryg?”
John squinted in the near pitch black of the cave where he stood knee deep in something that resembled what he assumed was black slush. Not that it mattered much what it looked like. It felt a little like old jello...with points. It wasn’t quite wet-it hadn’t seeped into his boots like a liquid but he could feel where bits had slipped between his pants and the tops of his boots, leaving the little points to nip at the soles of his feet. If it hadn’t been for the continuous growling of his own stomach, not to mention Rygel’s and D’Argo’s, he would have chucked the shovel in Sparky’s face.
He resisted the urge to smell himself, convinced that the odors emanating were definitely his this time, not Rygel’s. Maybe the black had heightened his sense of smell and his own general offensiveness. He supposed if there’d been anything in his stomach, he would have already hurled.
“This is the last.” Even in the shadows, Rygel looked defeated. His ear brows reminded John of a sad dog’s ears, flattened against his head like he’d just gotten a whumpin’. The little pick in the Dominar’s hand rested against the steaming black walls; it looked like Rygel was using it to prop himself up, thronesled or not.
It didn’t seem like such a bad idea. John leaned against the shovel for a breather.
“What is this crap anyway?”
“Corvinian ore.” D’Argo removed the ridiculously large, lighted helmet he wore, their only source of light, and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. This place must have employed a lot of Luxans at some time because the helmets had failed to fit any of them but D’Argo.
“It’s their power source,” he finished.
“So, I can tell my dad all those years of astrophysics and I didn’t even rate high enough to get the cool hat.”
“Hardly that, Crichton. I’m perspiring like a treznot. It’s a hot, heavy and miserable hat. You are hardly deprived.”
“Yeah, big fella. I hear ya.” John clapped him on the arm.
“Let’s just get through this,” Rygel’s said.
“Right.” John picked up his shovel and started piling the slush into the thing that passed for a wheelbarrow. It was a large cart with metal wheels that gave it a sort of medieval “bring out your dead” flair. His attempt at the Monty Python version had failed when the foreman had told them that the body removal squad was otherwise occupied.
“Hey,” he said. “Do you suppose Aeryn’s okay…”
D'Argo turned sharply, the helmet’s light catching John in the eye.
“Aeryn’s a warrior, John. The last thing she needs is you, ‘rescuing’ her.”
Rygel chuckled. “Although…I’d love to see her reaction. Imagine, this one…” He shot a stubby finger in John’s direction. “Rescuing a Peacekeeper!”
D’Argo’s laugh boomed through the cavern. “I think she’d kill you before she admitted to requiring a rescue.”
“Ha, ha.” John rubbed his jaw. “Just so long as she keeps that pantak jab thing to herself. Still…she was pretty steamed…”
"Listen, Crichton. Remember when you said you were sick of everything - Moya, me, D'Argo, all of us? Well, I'm sick of it, too. I'm stuck with a group of escaped prisoners on a pregnant Leviathan where we've run out of food - again. I don't have enough fuel in my prowler to leave. I'm going to engage in manual labor just to get by. And do you know what's worse? Nothing's going to change. I've been banished, and nothing is ever going to change."
“Aeryn…”
“Frell off, John-“
She’d pushed away from him, turning on her heel, back straight, head high, leaving him there at a crowded food stall, his mouth hanging open. He’d watched her snake her way efficiently through the crowded streets of Corvinia, careful not to brush up against the locals.
They were on a planet with a sizeable Peacekeeper presence, here because they had no currency and no food, their faces alive on wanted beacons spread throughout the city.
There were only two places for Aeryn. And she hadn’t returned to Moya, which left one place…that he really did not need to think about that right now.
“Crichton!”
“D’Argo?”
“She’ll be fine. Chiana went to find her, remember? Your idea, as I recall.” D’Argo returned to the digging and scooping, the rhythmic plunking of slush into the cart of no comfort.
“Right. Maybe we should comm-“
“They don’t work.” Rygel slid back as a cascade of ore fell from the wall, black and shinier than the crap on the floor. “You’d better separate that out, Crichton. It’s of higher quality than most of the dren we’ve gathered so far.”
“How do you know? And how the hell am I supposed to ‘separate it out’?”
“Use your shirt,” D’Argo said.
“My shirt? Hell, no. That’s the only thing between me and this crap. Uh-uh.”
“It’s double the value. More currency, less time here, more efficient.” Rygel scooted towards him. “Do you need me to do it?”
If he died today, he really didn’t want his last physical encounter to involve Rygel stripping off the stinking remains of his T-shirt.
“I got it,” he grumbled. He pulled the shirt over his head, scooped ore into it then nestled it as far from the rest of the stuff as possible.
Rygel laughed.
“Now what?”
“I was thinking. This planet prizes entertainment. Certainly there has to be some place where a shirtless male would fetch a few krindars…”
“Um…no. This is the end of the line, Buckwheat. I stink. I’m hungry. I have no shirt-“
“I believe that’s the point, John,” D’Argo said, trying to sound reasonable.
John held up a finger to silence him. “D. No. I’m worried about the girls. I don’t have time for Chippendales.”
“Ah, well.” Rygel gave a shrug of one small shoulder. “Perhaps the other two have been more…enterprising.” He waggled his ear brows at John.
“That. Is exactly what I’m worried about.”
***
“Frell off, John.” She muttered the last words she’d said to Crichton and followed them up with a snort. She sat in the darkened interior of a drinking establishment that looked like it had seen better days. Most of the lights had either been shot out or burned out and never replaced. The metal table where she sat was scarred with the scorching of pulse blasts and the chair across from her listed to her left just slightly, one leg shorter than the other three.
“Frell off, John. D’Argo. Chiana. Rygel. Zhaan.” She held the glass over her mouth, savoring the spicy, lingering scent as she recited their names. Each echoed in the glass’ chamber, mingling with the liquid as she let it burn soothingly down her throat.
At least this frelling waste hole of a planet had decent raslak…
…and Sebaceans, or, more specifically, Peacekeeper grunts. Each and every one of them wore some variation of out of uniform, obviously not on duty. Not that it mattered much to her. She’d been out of uniform for, what, a cycle?--and nowhere near her kind. Wanted beacons, court martials, full pardons that were actually death sentences…didn’t frelling matter much to her.
The fifth raslak certainly helped to numb any lingering concerns she might have had.
What the frell--?
She looked over the rim of her glass and let it rest against her lower lip as she studied the Peacekeeper standing in front of her. In one hand, he fingered credits. What appeared to be many of them. She’d traded the last full chakkan oil cartridge she had for a few bar credits, the remainder of which sat heavily in her pocket. Yes, it had been a foolish, impetuous act. But hadn’t a foolish, impetuous act gotten her netted aboard Moya? Why not continue in that vein?
Nothing would be the same anyway.
Quit the self pity, Sun…Yes, exactly. That was her plan. Tomorrow. For today, it was raslak and maybe a frell, if the mood struck her.
“Buy you a drink, sweetheart?” Not waiting for an answer, he kicked the broken chair away and pulled up another by hooking one foot around its leg. She heard it scrape against the floor, a screeching that ordinarily might have set her teeth on edge, and then he plopped down in front of her without waiting for an answer.
He wore a black t-shirt tucked into high-waisted black uniform britches which were in turn tucked into high, shiny black boots. His suspenders hung off his waist, his jacket unbuttoned and open. Black eyes met hers as he ran a hand through his thick black hair.
Familiar.
She blinked the memory away and downed the last of her raslak.
“Out of uniform, eh?” He reached across the table and fingered the buckles on her black jacket. “Looks like your glass is empty.”
She pulled back slightly. “Astute of you to notice.”
He motioned for the server, holding up two fingers and pointing at the table.
“Better bring a pitcher,” she said.
“Really?” He sat forward.
“I anticipate winning.” She shook her hair back. “I beat you, you’re buying. You beat me, we’ll talk.” She put her elbows on the table, arm up and palm up.
“Arm wrestling?” He laughed. “I think I could take you…”
“Do you?” She searched his jacket for the insignia. “Sub-officer…”
“Ducar. You?”
“Leaving, if you don’t shut the frell up. Are you game or not?” She had once been very good at this competition. Best in class, her mind whispered. Best in class at a lot of things, none of which seemed to have a lot of bearing on her current status.
“My call if I win,” he said.
She nodded. “Your call.”
***
Thirty-two Peacekeepers in a bar.
Apparently, Aeryn Sun was as close to home as she was gonna get.
Chiana found Aeryn more by default than design. It sure hadn’t been her idea to go searching for the one member of Moya’s crew who probably hated her the most. Or, at the very least, probably hadn’t forgiven her for that whole Durka business.
“Come on, Pip,” Crichton had begged. “Sparky’s found us a job. We need it and I can’t go rustle her up myself. Besides, she’s pissed at me.”
So what else was new? Chiana would have already frelled him if she were Aeryn, or frelled Aeryn if she were Crichton. Either way, the frelling would have been done with, and they could have gone back about the business of running for their lives.
She supposed looking for Aeryn was better than digging holes or whatever other manual labor they’d managed to find. Even evading all those Peacekeepers Pilot had warned them about was better than that.
“R&R,” Crichton had said. “Even Peacekeepers need to get their groove on, right, Aeryn?” at which point Aeryn had shot him one of her icier glares and Chiana had felt a little bit of pity for the human who didn’t quite seem to know when to shut it.
Finding this particular Peacekeeper hadn’t proven to be as easy as Chiana would have liked, and avoiding all the others had made it difficult to get much shopping done, credits or no. Still, she’d found some time to pick up one necklace, a midday meal and scented water for her hair.
Sometimes skill was more important than actual currency…
…a fact that Aeryn seemed to take to heart as well.
The sound of laughter and music had drawn her inside the last drinking establishment in the quarter and bingo! Crichton’s word seemed to have particular meaning as Chiana found herself in a tavern full of Peacekeepers.
Thirty-two, if she counted right, almost all male, plus one former Peacekeeper sitting at a table placed at the small room’s center, arm up at an angle. Aeryn’s hair was wild around her face, parts of it plastered to her neck with perspiration. Her jacket hung partially off the back of the chair, one sleeve touching the dusty floor. Her grey tank top, like her hair, looked pasted on her body with sweat; her arms glistened with it and her face was flush. Her smile was wide, almost cheeky.
She suppressed a laugh. The nixa looked like she was having the time of her life while the rest of them were digging or working or, at the least, looking for her.
She leaned against the bar. “Hey.” She motioned to the bartender. “What the frell’s goin’ on?”
“That one.” The bartender pointed one arm in Aeryn’s direction, using a second to serve up a drink and a third to take in credits. “Odds are this last fekkik will beat her but, so far, the odds have been wrong.”
Chiana turned her attention back to the scene. One male put a drink in front of Aeryn, then rubbed her shoulder. She laughed, pushing his hand away, downed the drink then looked at him. He was younger than Aeryn. His face had a freshly scrubbed, rosy look and his friends were pushing him towards the chair.
He didn’t stand a chance.
“Go on.” Aeryn’s voice, lush with raslak and exertion, rose above the din of male laughter.
“You…” The Peacekeeper grabbed the other raslak off the table then grabbed the table’s edge with his free hand. It was just a matter of time. He gulped down the drink, did a half turn, eyes rolled back in his head, and hit the floor to the sound of whooping.
“Pay up.” Aeryn spread her palms; Chiana watched as various forms of currency dropped into her waiting hands.
“So…quite a show, eh?”
Chiana turned to face the man who’d sidled up alongside her. She leaned against the bar, elbows back as she looked out towards the group.
“You been watching long?” she asked.
He nodded with a soft “Mmm. I have. She has a lot of…stamina. And she certainly stands out in a crowd.”
Chiana scanned the bar. “Seems like there aren’t many females here.”
“Of course not.” The man-a Sebacean with dark green eyes and brown wavy hair-ran a finger down her arm. “This is where the males gather to find recreation partners.”
“Rec-“ Chiana suppressed a smile. “What, with each other?”
He laughed. “Of course not. Peacekeepers tend to be quite narrow on the idea of same sex recreating. No, I’ve already rented out my girls for the evening. I would have thrown that one out but she’s attracted more business in raslak than I’ve done all week. My establishment’s already made next week’s profit.” He smiled and gave an excited little shudder. “She’s quite attractive. And…energetic. She’d fetch quite a price.”
It was a bad idea. Crichton would kill her. Frell, Aeryn, would kill her. But, they needed the currency, lots of it, and quick. She was bored and had played this little game before. She hadn’t lost yet, except for those few times she’d wanted to. A couple of drunk Peacekeepers with pockets full of credits would be an easy roll. All she needed was an alluring bait and, for once, it wasn’t gonna be her.
“Interested?” She nodded her head towards Aeryn.
“What?” He straightened up, eyes flicking between her and Aeryn. “You, or…”
“Her. I know Peacekeepers only do Peacekeepers unless their choices are limited. So, how about it? Two at the same time, you get a quarter-“
“Third. I get a third.”
“Uh-uh. Quarter. I’m the broker on this deal. You’re just giving us the place.” She ran a finger over his nose then let it linger over his lip. “You’ve already made a profit. Two arns, double your rate, PK Tralk Girl is yours.”
“I prefer exotics myself.” He snaked his arm around her waist. She leaned in, her lips almost touching his.
“No. Freebies.” She laughed and slipped out of his grasp.
Energetic. She glanced at Aeryn who was still surrounded by male admirers, still smiling. One of them leaned in to smell her hair and she didn’t even seem to notice.
Raslak and arm wrestling: Peacekeeper foreplay. She’d be sure to tell Crichton.
***
“Ok, so we’re done, right?” John scooped his last load of ore into the conveyor where it was measured and priced.
The sound of the mechanism reminded him of those coin machines at grocery stores where you poured in a hundred dollars worth of quarters and walked away with fifty bucks. What percentage of their hard work was going to end up in this guy’s pockets?
And he had a lot of pockets. John eyed the merchant’s jacket. It took cargo pockets to a whole new level. One held some sort of lizard like pet, for lack of a better word. Another held small picks and something that resembled tools. Two more had weapons. The lower ones bulged with currency.
Of course, the three arms were a little distracting too.
“Problem?” The merchant’s voice sounded like it was filtered through a fan.
“Uh, no.” John shook his head.
“He’s tired,” Rygel explained. “Now if we can have our share as discussed.”
“Discussion not with me. Other is gone.” He smiled, revealing sharp, uneven teeth. John guessed his dentics didn’t get out much. “You get twenty.”
“Percent?” Rygel’s thronesled rose up in anticipation.
“Twenty credits.”
“Now, wait a microt.” D’Argo tried to push past John but John put his arm out to stop him as the merchant drew two guns.
“Twenty.”
D’Argo growled. “This frelling…”
“Twenty’ll do it. And, can I have my shirt back?” John held out his hand.
The merchant pulled out the tattered remains of John’s grey t-shirt. “This what you seek?”
John snorted. “What’s left of it.” He held it up and eyed Sparky through the holes. “I don’t suppose I can buy another one.”
“Fifty credits.” The merchant still held the two guns on him and held out his third hand.
“Never mind.” John drew the remnants over his head.
“Seems rather pointless, Crichton.”
“Yeah, thanks, Sparky. Just get our money and let’s get the hell out of here.”
Rygel finished what was left of their transaction and they turned from the merchant’s stall, stomachs still growling, smelly, tired…
Then he heard the pulse blasts in rapid succession.
***
The remainder of the crowd gave way as Aeryn swept both bare arms across the table, gathering in the rest of her credits. She was done here, that much was evident. For one, she couldn’t remember having drunk that much raslak before. Second…well, second, her head was drumming like a two headed trelkez. Two heads, each pounding in opposition to the other, her stomach lurching between beats.
Wha-is this some kind of PMS, Peacekeeper Military Sh-
Frell you.
She smiled at the recollection, Crichton drowning his disappointments with raslak, fingering his tongue like he was checking to make sure it was still there, offering to take her home with him. Her, on a planet with billions of him. She laughed and felt an arm on her shoulder.
“No more.” She drank the last drop of raslak, leaving the empty cylinder over her mouth and nose, breathing in the remaining vapors one last time.
“Aeryn.” The hand, small and black-gloved, shook her harder. “Hey, nixa.”
“You.” She set the cup down and leaned her head back. “You’re upside down. Didn’t know you could do that.”
Chiana smiled and wavered in her vision, the girl’s black eyes taking in her, then darting to the diminishing group around the table. Aeryn sat up. There weren’t many left standing. Most were at other tables now, heads on their arms, snoring. Others had stumbled out. Didn’t matter. She’d made her share of currency and the only things left on her mind were new chakkan oil cartridges, a meal, and a shower.
What about that frell, Sun?
She smiled and bit her lip but the only Peacekeeper she’d found remotely attractive was already gone. She scanned the group of men in front of her, all of them very young and very drunk. Were any of them worth a frell? With the current pounding of her head? Young, inexperienced, likely clumsy...
It’d been too long to bother with that. Might as well keep to her own resourcefulness than waste her time with a new recruit who’d just as likely pass out as anything else.
“Frell,” she muttered. That word had been on her mind…a lot.
“Aeryn, we got something to do. Upstairs.” Chiana took her by the arm and motioned her head towards the stairs.
Stairs? There were stairs? No one said there’d be any frelling stairs.
“What’re you going to do, Nebari,” one of the recruits slurred. “Each other?”
“Nice,” Chiana said. “Come on, Aeryn.” She pulled on one arm, then the other.
“Wait, wait, wait.” Aeryn shook the girl off, picked up the credits from the table and stuffed them into the pockets of her jacket.
“Hey, wait.” Voices mingled in her head.
“Show’s over, boys,” Chiana said. “You lost your money, why not go home and sleep it off. Find a nice nixa to take care of you.”
“’Night, boys. Glad you haven’t learned how to hold your raslak yet.” She leaned into Chiana, half stumbling against her. “Upstairs sounds…really…nice.”
***
“Oh, you’ll like this.” Chiana dragged Aeryn towards the stairs, wondering how someone who looked so thin could be so heavy.
…or so drunk. She shouldn’t have waited this long but it had taken awhile for the proprietor to find two males. It really shouldn’t have, given the abundance of males, but Chiana had let it buy her some time, watching Aeryn get drunker and drunker, close enough to the brink to not be belligerent, yet still conscious.
It took a lot of raslak to leech the belligerence out of Aeryn Sun.
“Chiana.” Aeryn stood up like she’d gotten a recharge. Was that how Sebaceans metabolized, drunk one minute, sober the next? No wonder they seemed to have an advantage in the universe.
“Hey. What’s up?”
Aeryn patted her jacket pockets then sighed heavily. “Just wanted to make sure I had all the currency.” Chiana watched a smile pull slowly at Aeryn’s mouth like she was laughing at some private joke.
“What?”
“I’d wager my take tonight is more than Crichton, D’Argo or Rygel were able to muster up.”
“Oh…you have no idea.” She stopped on the landing and positioned Aeryn against the wall, moving in close so their faces were just a hand’s breadth away, and tried to rearrange some of Aeryn’s hair which by now was completely out of control. Thankfully, raslak was odorless.
“Listen, Aeryn, there’s something you need to know before we go in there.”
Aeryn pressed her lips together, looking like she was trying not to laugh, and pushed Chiana’s hand away from the tumble of hair. “Chiana, I’ll admit. I’ve been a bit frustrated but you…” She snorted. “Don’t bother.”
“Hezmana, Aeryn, I don’t want to frell you. But there are two males in there who do. They have currency and-“
Aeryn moved fast for someone who could barely make it up the stairs. She put both hands on Chiana’s arms and swung her around so that Chiana was up against the wall, Aeryn standing over her.
“You want me…” She pointed to her chest. “To frell them…” She pointed to the door. “For currency?”
“Not frell, exactly…”
“What, then, exactly?” Aeryn leaned one hand against the wall, pinning Chiana to it with the other.
“Well, I mean, if you’re frustrated and all…”
Aeryn put her arm under Chiana’s chin, just against her throat. “You were saying about the ‘not frell’ part…?”
“Roll ‘em.”
“What?”
“You know…you lure ‘em up, you walk in with a pulse pistol, you rob ‘em, you leave. We could even tie them up for fun. Simple.”
“Oh,” Aeryn groaned. “I knew we should have spaced you the microt we could. No, Chiana, I’m not going to rob them.” She swung her body towards the wall and leaned against it next to Chiana. “Cholok, I can barely stand.”
Chiana turned to look at Aeryn. It was gone. The fun, the laughing…even some of the intoxication. She looked beaten and tired and Chiana saw that little frown line beginning to bloom between Aeryn’s eyes. She almost felt sorry for the Peacekeeper because, really, she’d been having a pretty good time, much better, arguably, than the rest of them had.
The door across the hall creaked open. Standing in front of them was a man, dark haired, dark eyed, with a pulse pistol aimed directly at them.
“Hello, Officer Sun.” He smiled widely.
“Run!” Aeryn grabbed her hand and pulled her down the stairs, reaching for her own pistol as she did so. Heavy footsteps echoed behind them, shots flying over their heads. They ran past the startled recruits. One of them stepped forward with a “hey” just in time to serve as a barrier between them and their pursuer.
“It’s my money, Sun!” the voice called after them.
“You told him my name?” Aeryn breathed, still pulling her along.
“No.” Chiana panted and ran. Her arm felt like it was going to pop out of its socket. “Who is that fekkik anyway?”
“Frelling bounty hunters and beacons. That was the first frelling Peacekeeper I saw when I walked in there.”
They were outside among the crowded streets, dusk falling and the lighting growing dim.
Pulse fire hit the crates beside them as they ran towards food stalls and merchants, then through food stalls and over merchants, and passersby and whomever or whatever else got in their way.
“Five thousand, Sun!” Pulse blasts whirred past their ears; it was a good thing this particular fekkik was a bad shot.
Aeryn did a quick return fire as they rounded a corner. She pulled Chiana behind then under a food stall. “Frell.” She rubbed at her forehead with one hand and fumbled for the comms on her jacket. “Frelling…” She tapped it. “Zhaan? Zhaan!”
Zhaan’s voice of reason floated over the comms with some surprise. “Aeryn? Where are you? What about John and the others?”
“No time. Tell Crichton and D’Argo there are bounty hunters on the planet. I have Chiana. We’ll figure out a way to get back to the transport.”
“Aeryn…”
“Later.” Aeryn tapped the comm off and leaned against the stall’s supports, scratching the side of her head with the tip of the pulse pistol.
“I guess this is the part where I say ‘bad plan’, huh?”
“After we’re finished with the one.” Aeryn held the pulse pistol, barrel up, between them. “You’re next.”
***
“Yeah, yeah, we heard the pulse blasts.” John held his comm in his hand while he, D’Argo and Rygel ducked into a corner of a dark and smelly alleyway. The smelly part was relative because probably anywhere they went would have smelled.
“They didn’t give me coordinates. Pilot tried to get a fix on the comms but I think she turned them off.” Zhaan’s voice rose with worry.
“Don’t worry, bluey. We’ll rescue ‘em.” John tapped off the comm.
“What is it with your desperate need to rescue Aeryn, Crichton? Are you trying to prove your manhood to a Peacekeeper?” Rygel hovered towards the alleyway entrance then back. “Still clear.”
“I don’t have a ‘desperate need’ for anything, Sparky, except maybe a shower. It’s just they’re under fire and we’re not.”
“We’re also not armed,” D’Argo said.
“Oh, yeah, that whole ‘no weapons at work’ thing kind of screwed us, didn’t it.”
“Well, if they have Aeryn’s name, they certainly have ours,” Rygel said. “And I, for one, am not going to risk my neck for some Peacekeeper grunt and a Nebari tralk.”
“Rygel, my little humanitarian.” John put his arm around Rygel’s neck and pulled him towards him, thronesled and all. “You’re gonna fetch the transport pod, pay the man who held it for us, then wait. Not so hard, is it?”
“But, but…but that’s almost all our credits!”
“Life’s a bitch and then you die, Rygel. If you don’t want it to be today, you’d best get going.”
D’Argo crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Rygel. “Luxans don’t rest easily in death, your lowness.”
“Fine, fine, fine…but you’d better be there in half an arn or I’m leaving and I can’t guarantee Zhaan will come back for you.” He poked his head out of their hiding place then zoomed off through the empty alley.
“So,” they said at the same time.
“You first,” John said.
“We have no weapons. We’re wanted fugitives. I think Rygel’s plan was the best.”
John pursed his lips. “What?”
“Crichton.” He put his hands on John’s shoulder. “I understand your need to help Aeryn. I’d do the same.”
John shook free. “What is this ‘need’ thing everyone seems to think I have. They’re our shipmates, D. Our crew. Our homies.”
“Whatever.” D’Argo waved it away with one big hand. “The point is, sometimes you just have to sit. So, sit. We turn on our comms, we hope she turns on hers, we try to get a fix on them and then we get the transport and go.”
“Not much of a plan.”
“No, but it’s better than walking into a firefight unarmed.”
“Nope. I can’t just sit here and hope it all works out.” His squawking comm broke the stalemate and Aeryn’s voice, husky and breathless and accompanied by pulse fire in the background, came thru the static.
“Transport…get…hurry…” The comm fell silent. He looked at D’Argo and started into a run.
***
He had her cornered. It was the black haired Sebacean who’d first offered to buy her a drink, the one she’d thought was attractive. He wasn’t a Peacekeeper hunter, that much was apparent. He’d been reckless and it was only her bad luck that found them here, in a small dark alleyway at a stand-off, pulse pistol to pulse pistol.
“Give it up, Sun. There’s five thousand on your head, another ten for the male, and five for the other three. By my count…” He looked at his gloved hands, lips moving as he did the math. “Thirty!”
Chiana had disappeared when they’d gotten out from under the stall, running past her like a blast. Maybe the pistol in her face had been a little extreme but, then again, maybe it was no loss. It was the girl’s fault she was here in the first place.
No, Sun, it was yours. Undisciplined, drunk…
She breathed in. The pounding in her head had only gotten worse and if projectile vomiting could have been used as a weapon, she would have already gotten away.
“And to think I found you attractive,” she said. “I had no idea you were a piece of dren bounty hunter.”
“And you’re a piece of dren ex-Peacekeeper. So what the frell’s the difference. You should have let me buy you a drink and frell you before you died.”
“Mmm…” She sucked at her bottom lip in false thought. “As I recall, the bounty’s only worth something if I’m taken alive. I’m to be tried and executed as an example. Or was it I’d be granted a full pardon accompanied by the living death?” She shrugged. “Either way, alive is the order. Peacekeepers like to do their own killing.”
“Why don’t you put the gun down and come along with me? I don’t think I have any orders not to hurt you.” He leveled the gun towards her face and she raised hers in response.
“Grant me this. Your training?”
“What?”
“What training do you have that will convince me that you’re the better here? You say you’ll shoot. What if I shoot first? And I have no orders and no reward, just the credits in my pocket and my freedom on the other side. Tell me. What have I got to lose?” She motioned at him with the pulse pistol.
The empty pulse pistol. She’d used the last of her chakkan oil cartridge on the return fire, hitting a few storage crates, the tent of one very terrified merchant, a pile of rasslus bulbs and not much else.
That seemed to befuddle him. His hand wavered slightly and he scratched his head. “Well…well…listen, Sun, you don’t want to get into a duel with me.”
“No?” She kept her pistol steady and took a step towards him. “You’re sure about that. Because the way I see it, either I kill you here or your superiors kill you for frelling up and killing me. And I’m sure my way will be much more merciful. Quick, even. One blast, straight through your eye.” She kept her voice low and soothing as she took another step forward.
He laughed but it was a nervous twitter more than anything else. “You won’t do it.”
“Officer Aeryn Sun, Special Peacekeeper Commando, Ikarion Company, Pleisar Regiment. Watch me, Ducar.”
Two more steps and her pulse pistol would be resting on his nose. Then he fell to the ground. She looked up to see Chiana standing on the roof above, a second brick in her hands in case the first one hadn’t gotten the job done.
“Bet you thought I’d bailed.” Chiana slithered down the steel staircases and landed in front of Aeryn. She reached over and patted Aeryn’s jacket. “And you still have all your currency, too. Drad.”
Footsteps pounded behind them, pounded in her ears. She turned swiftly, pulse pistol aimed high and straight into John’s face, D’Argo right behind him.
“Whoa!” He held up his hands in surrender.
“Crichton!” She looked at the holes in his shirt, the black smudges on his face then the smell hit her. That was it. She doubled over as he approached gently. She breathed in but it was too late and she vomited all over the last of his shirt.
***
John sidled up to where she sat in the center chamber, a glass of something Zhaan had mixed together on the table in front of her. It had both soothed her stomach and her head. The credits sat on the table in front of her as well, sorted out by value and laid neatly in rows, highest to lowest.
“So, it looks like you made some cash,” he said. “Nice work.”
He was clean and dressed in a new black t-shirt. They hadn’t spent any more time on Corvinia but had managed to find an outpost with inexpensive clothing and at least a monan’s worth of supplies.
“Cash. Yes.” She nodded but just slightly. Her eyeballs hurt.
“You and Pip…quite the team.” He sat down beside her and reached for the bottle on the table. He took it, sniffed it, frowned then pushed it back to its place. “Don’t want to know what that is. So…you gonna take that show on the road again, Aeryn?”
“Which ‘show’ would that be, Crichton? The one that involves me getting shot at or the one that ends with me vomiting on your shirt?”
He laughed. “I’m gonna pretend that’s the last of the raslak talking.” He touched her arm; she didn’t pull away. “Chiana told us everything. Everything.” He pursed his lips, trying not to smile. “It sounds like you really know how to have a good time.”
“Everything, hmm?” She smiled slightly. “You know, I think I feel another bout of nausea coming on.” She swallowed the last of the liquid in her glass and stood up. “Good night.” She swept one row of credits off the table and into her hand. “See that Rygel doesn’t get the rest, will you?”
She had her credits and her freedom.
All in all, it hadn’t been such a bad take.
She started out the passageway, feeling his eyes on her back as she went to her quarters.
###END###