Voices Of Reason
Chapter 2
The solar day they had spent on the commerce planet had seemed like a three day weekend away from the
office to John Crichton, at least until the last arn of their visit. Most of Moya’s inhabitants had eagerly accepted
the opportunity to go down to another small blue-green planet. With the exception of Aeryn, they had all grown
up under open skies and enjoyed every infrequent chance they got to “hit dirt”, a phrase they had adopted
from Crichton’s peculiar vocabulary. Even Aeryn, who preferred the familiar surroundings of a space craft, had
begun to find some pleasure in visiting planets. She continued to mock John’s fascination with each of the
planets they visited, but now it had become just a humorous game that he didn’t seem to mind, as long as she
went with him.
Their need for supplies this time was great enough that they chose to take two vessels down to the planet.
Aeryn rode with John in his module, while D’Argo, Chiana, Jool and Rygel flew in the transport pod. They
expected the pod to be full enough on the return trip that they would not have room for all six of them. Only
Stark chose to stay on board Moya, but he had been spending most of his time wandering around the ship
dejectedly, still intensely grieving for Zhaan. Everyone had tried to draw Stark into their company, tried to ease
his grief with companionship, but each attempt seemed only to drive him further into his own strange world.
The little group had split up into pairs, working their way first purposefully, and then more leisurely through the
shops and pavilions to barter for practical supplies, as well as for personal needs. Chiana and D’Argo had
disappeared toward the Mercantile Sector, and Jool and Rygel had grudgingly agreed to start at the
Agricultural Sector, using Jool’s extensive knowledge of everyone’s nutritional needs and Rygel’s tenacious
bargaining skills to refill Moya’s stocks of food. John and Aeryn had started by heading for the Tech Sector
where they hoped to pick up parts both for his module and for some maintenance needed on the transport pod.
“Walk, run, or ride?” John asked. Aeryn had insisted on setting down near one of the less metropolitan areas
of the planet for a change. Although the larger cities had a vastly greater variety of technological goods to
offer and had more centralized shopping areas, Aeryn found the constant crush of bodies and chaos
bothersome. She still found herself scanning for threats or potential attacks whenever she was in a strange
place, and the cramped confines and bustling streets of the large cities made that a futile effort.
“How far is it to the Tech Sector, have you seen a schematic or display?” she asked.
“Over there,” he pointed. “Looks like we could walk out and back, but it’ll take long enough that we probably
won’t have time to look for anything other than components.” He knew that Aeryn first began to appreciate
planetary landings when she found she that walking from place to place gave her added exercise. In the cycles
since they had met, she had diligently maintained her soldier’s hard, lean physique.
“No, I’d like to at least get back to the Armaments Sector before we break orbit. Let’s see what they have for
ground transport.”
The ground transport system consisted of ground effect trains that were free to all persons, funded entirely by
the retailers and wholesalers in the area. Moving customers from one sector to another free of charge was
considered good business on this planet, and the trains were clean and quiet, three car units moving on
cushions of air above what looked to John like crushed stone roads. They waited barely microts at the nearest
loading area before the next one rushed in with a buffet of air and stopped. John spotted a few seats at the
rear of the last car, outside in the fresh air. He gestured to Aeryn, stepping aside to allow her to lead the way.
Admiring her lithe form as she pulled herself up the two steps onto the seating platform in one bound, he
quickly followed her example. They both adjusted the position of their pulse pistols with an unconscious tug as
they sat down, relaxing and enjoying their view as the landscape began to stream away behind the train.
A quiet chuckle came from John, and Aeryn just waited, knowing that if he found something amusing he was
going to eventually feel that he had to share it with her. But this time he quieted down and said nothing.
“What is so funny?” she finally broke down and asked.
“Having to argue with Rygel to convince him to go buy food for Moya. Having to argue with any Hynerian to go
after food at all!” He continued to smile at the memory and watched as his favorite expression blossomed on
Aeryn’s face. “I am Dominar of over six hundred billion loyal subjects,” John stabbed a finger into the air as he
did a credible imitation of Rygel’s voice, “and I do not BUY food, I consume food which is brought to me on the
finest Alsolian platters being born by dozens of beautiful, adoring women.” Another of Aeryn’s shining smiles
was his reward for the impersonation, and they sat silently but in harmony for the remainder of the short trip.
The Tech Sector consisted of wide, open-fronted structures that looked like warehouses without their front walls
or doors. The wares within each alcove were hidden in the gloom until a customer stepped inside out of the
sunlight. Each owner had dragged displays of material into the open air as a form of advertising. John pointed
to one shop, and then a second, only to be answered with a curt shake of the head each time. Aeryn always
seemed to know exactly which shop had the components and quality they wanted before they ever entered the
building. John tried to see what it was about the displays of used and refurbished parts that alerted her that a
vendor was the one she wanted, but too much of the material still looked the same to him.
“Not this place?” he tested, gesturing toward one shop which patently offered what they were looking for.
“No, look at these control circuit tabs,” she flipped several of the small units over and pointed out pitting in the
substrate. John had long since learned that this indicated that wherever the units had been taken from, they
had been subjected to extreme heat before being scavenged, enough to ensure that the tab wouldn’t be
reliable.
‘But how the hezmana can she tell from six feet away when the tab was bad side down?’ He gave up and just
let her lead, watching the slender form in black leather wind her way through the junk and past other buyers,
occasionally kicking some piece of debris or merchandise out of their way, until she finally paused and walked
into a stall.
John followed Aeryn in, pausing for only the briefest moment when he saw the merchant standing in front of a
counter. ‘It’s great-Grandpa Crichton’s ice cream maker,’ he thought with a jolt. The being was about two feet
tall, just inches shorter than Rygel, and did have a resemblance to an old fashioned ice cream maker, except
with two cranks. It had the squat, round body covered with brown slick hair, and a flat breathing opening on top
of its … head?
He glanced at Aeryn and jerked his head at the critter, raising his eyebrows in silent enquiry. “Wilket,” was her
one word explanation. John couldn’t see any feet and its arms jutted out at awkward angles. There must have
been feet somewhere though, because when Aeryn moved off to the left, starting to search through racks and
bins, the wilket went after her, talking in a screeching dialect that made no sense at all to John’s translator
microbes. He watched the two disappear down an aisle, fought to take it all in stride and turned to the right,
working through one collection of bins after another while Aeryn searched the other side of the building.
Aeryn found the wiring they needed for the upgrades to the transport pod and took it back to the counter for
purchase. The screeching of the wilket never stopped and finally began to wear on her patience. “Go get your
master!” The screeching only paused and then resumed at a louder volume. “Go on!” she cried over the
noise. “Get out of here and fetch your master. Let him know we wish to purchase.” She moved toward it,
waving her hands in dismissal. The noise didn’t stop, but the creature scuttled off toward the back of the
warehouse.
John had found some of the tabs, circuitry and even some of the mechanoid circuits they required, but was still
searching the far end of the aisles. He had watched Aeryn get rid of the little beast, and now he whistled
sharply to get her attention. As soon as she saw him, he began lobbing each unit across the shop, Aeryn deftly
catching them and adding them to the merchandise on the counter. “Your microbes could understand that
thing?” he raised his voice marginally but enough that she could hear him.
“No, of course not,” the curt tone faded after her initial reaction. “Wilkets aren’t really quite sentient. They
have a few minor reasoning skills, but mostly they are just used in a small business like this to let the servicer
personnel know when someone has come in.”
“A doorbell! That thing was a doorbell?” If Aeryn had trouble with that term she didn’t show it as John arrived
at the counter with another double handful of items. “That ought to do it for the transport and for those
modifications we wanted to try on that clapped out defense screen.”
“What about parts for your ship, John? Anything here that might work?”
“No, and even if I found parts to replace the original seals in the hydraulic cylinders, I still haven’t found
anything that will replace the fluid.” The frustration in his voice was well hidden, but Aeryn recognized the tone
anyway. John was facing the reality that the module’s days might be numbered if he couldn’t find a source of
parts for the craft. If it weren’t for its freakish capability to create wormholes, the white pod simply would have
no value at all on this side of the universe.
“Perhaps one of those junk shops we came by earlier …” she said, raising her eyebrows over eyes that held
devious humor. John’s search for a devastatingly scathing remark was interrupted when the owner of the
business finally appeared, the wilket at his heels.
John stayed close to Aeryn, just listening, as she haggled prices and delivery to the transport pod with the
merchant, who turned out to be an enormous bipedal anthropoid looking vaguely human if one could overlook
the bright yellow skin, ears that could swivel independently all the way around to face behind the creature’s
head, and the fact that he was almost eight feet tall. The vendor coughed and sneezed his way through the
bartering, something that didn’t seem to bother Aeryn, so John assumed it was peculiar to the species rather
than a disease.
It wasn’t until they were walking back the way they had come and were more than two hundred feet from the
shop that Crichton finally put his hands to his ears, and twisting his hands back and forth, asked, “Sonar?
Echo-location?”
Aeryn had to think about his meaning for a minute, then answered, “Yes, Saltaurians can locate objects up to
almost a metra away by sound alone.”
‘Solariums.’ He used one of his twisted mnemonic devices to file the name of the species. “Nice color yellow; it
would brighten up any party.”
“Oh, Saltaurians aren’t usually yellow. Normally they’re a pale orange color. They only turn that color when
they’ve contracted Saltauri-Sebacean flu.”
“Flu? Sebacean flu, Aeryn? That thing was sneezing all over us! Maybe the Peacekeepers inoculated you,
maybe not, but what about …”
“…you? Relax John, that flu strain has mutated so many times it only affects Saltaurians now. Your human
physiology is so close to Sebaceans it would be practically impossible for you to catch it.”
John didn’t argue, but he felt an uneasy feeling crawl over him as he listened to the certainty in Aeryn's voice.
* * * * *
D’Argo and Chiana approached the transport pod, carrying goods that they had purchased in the Mercantile
Sector. D’Argo wore an expression of barely contained annoyance, but he had stopped grumbling, so Chiana
decided she could convince him to make one more excursion before they left the planet. She went ahead of
D’Argo to open the hatch because he was carrying most of their purchases, which was the source of his
displeasure. Although most of the packages were in containers or wrapped up, too many of Chiana’s choices
were hanging out of his arms for everyone to see. Argilavian silks to decorate the walls of her chamber, rough
Meltac hide to throw over his bed, some new leather pants to replace Crichton’s, which were about to wear
through, and some Raltarian furs for Rygel, all hung out of his arms. “I look like some sort of apparelist’s rack,
or a hide dryer’s tree,” he renewed his grumbling.
“D’Argo, we did great.” Chiana’s angular form darted between him and the rows of food containers that were
already stacked in the back of the pod, taking his burdens from him and laying them almost carefully among the
other items. “We got everything we wanted, we found some new garments for John, Rygel will be happy, and
we even found a new outfit to replace that horrible armor that Jool wears!” She laughed. “And we have time to
go back to the Leisure Sector for a raslak,” drawing out the last word in a melodic invitation.
“And what about paying for the raslak? How do you propose to do that?”
“Aeryn was right about using the smaller towns on this planet. These wellnitz’s couldn’t barter their way out of
the sack. We have plenty of credits left still.”
D’Argo looked at her in puzzlement for a moment. “Isn’t Crichton’s saying ‘out of a paper bag’?” He was still
pondering the choice of words.
“Bag, sack, what’s the difference? Doesn’t sound like any difference to me.” She approached D'Argo and
placed a hand on his chest, but was cautious not to impart any sensuality into the gesture. He had been badly
hurt by her behavior too recently for her to use her wiles to talk him into doing what she wanted. “Please
D’Argo, just one raslak. You know it’ll do you good.” She cocked her head, eyes imploring him to agree to her
suggestion.
D’Argo’s tentacles swung about his shoulders as he shook his head. Chiana’s face began to fall, but then he
said, “Just one. Then we come back and wait for the others.” Chiana laughed and bounced toward the hatch
of the transport pod.
* * * * *
The late afternoon sun was lengthening the shadows in the market place and Crichton was feeling tired, thirsty
and annoyed at both Aeryn and himself. When they had completed their transactions in the Tech Sector, he
had proposed taking the trains back to either the Mercantile Sector or to the landing area where they had left
the transport. He needed certain personal clothing items and he didn’t entirely trust D’Argo and Chiana to get
him exactly the items he wanted. ‘No one in the Uncharted Territories offers what I really want, but mail order
takes forever.’
When Aeryn balked and said she wanted to walk back by way of the Armaments Sector, John had given in
easily. He had not lost his fascination for the variety of life forms, noises, and conversations to be found in the
marketplaces of commerce planets. And if he could spend relaxed time with Aeryn it was even more
worthwhile. But the excursion had somehow turned into a marathon of examining weapons and his patience
was wearing thin.
“Aeryn, let’s skip the last couple of shops and go get something to eat and drink.”
“You go ahead if you want John, I just want to look at what this shop over here has for sale.”
Aeryn stalked into one more small shop, which stood at the edge of the Armaments Sector. This last row of
buildings offering weaponry shared an open plaza with the Leisure Sector, which contained refreshment
houses, bars, and restaurants. John watched her as she disappeared into the building, her thick black braid
bouncing lightly between her shoulder blades in time with her athletic stride. He looked across the tree shaded
plaza at what was obviously a bar of some sort, which had a regular stream of customers entering and leaving.
The departing patrons frequently carried metal beverage containers, and despite not knowing what was in
them, John felt his thirst ratchet up a few notches.
As he paused to consider his choices, he noticed D’Argo and Chiana entering the bar. ‘At last, they are finally
doing things together again. It’s about time.’ He was pleased that they had mended their friendship. He
considered the pair for a microt, but then turned and followed Aeryn after all, who had stopped just inside the
shadow being cast by the open front building.
“Oh baby, you’d look so good with one of these,” he lowered his voice into a deep whisper, “I know you just love
to accessorize with black. You’re an accessory kind of a girl.” Moving close behind her, and placing one hand
on her shoulder, he leaned forward around her and pointed to some sort of large hand weapon. Aeryn
responded by giving him a gentle elbow in the solar plexus, and then leaned back against him as she looked
over their heads at weapons hung in the rafters. Her body suddenly tightened.
“How about that?” Aeryn pointed at a strange weapon directly over their heads, speaking in a quiet tone, but
transmitting a frisson of excited interest to John through their body contact.
“What -- ?”
“-- whichss one?”
Crichton and the shop owner spoke at the same time, unsure who she was addressing. John steadied himself
with one hand on a display case, and leaving the other on Aeryn’s shoulder to steady her in turn, looked
straight up. “Which one?”
“The third one from the left in the front.” She looked at the owner inquisitively.
“I hafss only one ofss thoss available,” he spoke through intimidating fangs, but seemed a gentle individual
despite the length of his incisors. “Verry rarre itemsss. Verry expensifess.”
Crichton’s attention was divided between observing the movements of the alien merchant and the warm, full
body contact of Aeryn as she continued to lean against him, looking upwards as the weapon was retrieved. As
a result, he almost missed her next statement, and realizing belatedly what she had said, he overreacted.
“You’ll TAKE it? Just like that, without haggling?”
Aeryn pushed herself away from John and spun to face him. “Yes! Shut up Crichton.”
“Aeryn, we don’t need another god-damned weapon! We are wading through piles of death dealing doodads
on board Moya as it is. Whatever this is, we don’t need it.” He had lowered his voice, but the interest on the
face of the merchant showed that he was still able to hear their discussion.
“Crichton, you don’t know what you are talking about,” she ground through clenched teeth and a hair thin smile
as she glanced back at the shop owner. “Now be a good little man and go away and let me finish the purchase
of this ‘gotdamt’ weapon.”
Perhaps it was the ‘good little man’, perhaps it was the clenched teeth that reminded him of a patronizing
teacher he had been forced to endure throughout the fifth grade, John wasn’t sure, but he didn’t just go away.
He turned toward the street and lowered his head to speak directly to Aeryn, but they were still overheard.
“You don’t have to buy every stupid weapon you come across. Stop being a frelling Peacekeeper for just one
minute, would you? Weapons are part of what got us in such a world of hurt on Jocacea.”
The shopkeeper’s eyes widened at the word ‘peacekeeper’ and Aeryn felt her purchase slipping away from her,
but she also felt censure in the way John mentioned her breeding and what had happened on Jocacea, both
being part of her heritage. Aeryn suddenly grabbed him by the front of his leather vest and dragged him out of
the shop. John went abruptly silent because she had never treated him in such a manner in public, not since
the very first time they had met. There had been the occasional altercation between them, but always in the
relative privacy of Moya.
“THAT is a Tarak Silencer, big brother to the Tarak Deployer I was able to trade for on the space station. No
one can get their hands on those anymore … no one but me ... right ... now.” She spaced her last words out
for emphasis. “A Tarak Silencer will give us the greatest amount of firepower possible in a hand held weapon.
Moya does not have any weapons, so we need that firepower.”
John started to open his mouth, but she launched back in again. “If you told me what you were going to do with
General Grines, and had listened to me and let me use WEAPONS, maybe things would have turned out
differently on Jocacea. Now let me go back in there and buy that Silencer.”
“That’s a cheap shot Aeryn, we all screwed up. We’ve talked about this since then and … ”
“Yes, but you screwed up without even discussing it with any of the rest of us.” As angry as Crichton was,
Aeryn was angrier and her voice ran over his, drowning out his arguments. “This is getting to be a very old
discussion, John. You don’t have all the answers, but you think you know how to handle things better than
anyone else on Moya. You make decisions for the rest of us that you shouldn’t be making at all.”
Aeryn was still filled with guilt and pain resulting from their lack of foresight when they left Jocacea, which had
resulted in the slaughter of innocents, and she couldn’t stop the tumble of accusations that flowed out of her
now. She felt a small pang of surprise at some of her words though, because she didn’t really blame John, it
just came out sounding that way.
John stood without answering her, his body crying out with the signs of anger and hurt, but she couldn’t find a
way to back down. She released the grip she still held on his vest and shoved him away. She walked back to
the vendor and repeated, “How much is it?”
John was humiliated by her treatment, by his own behavior, and by the truth of what she had said about their
experience with the Venek Horde. ‘What’s worse,’ he mused, ‘is that if just I had stayed, my presence alone
probably could have stopped the slaughter.’ But it would have also meant sacrificing his life in the place of the
slaughtered nurses. He meandered slowly across the plaza, idly watching the foot traffic while he struggled to
get at least his temper under control, even if his emotions were still inflamed. ‘That conversation was a fiasco
from start to finish,’ he realized. ‘I screwed up the beginning, but Aeryn sure took her pound of flesh out of
me.’ He remembered then that D’Argo and Chiana were probably still in the bar just across the street, and
quickened his pace, hoping to find a sympathetic ear.
* * * * *
D’Argo had initially refrained from any of the drinks offered at the bar, and had stood looking out of one of the
glassless windows in the front of the bar while Chiana ordered a raslak for herself. He had seen John and
Aeryn across the plaza, but hadn’t wanted to interrupt their time together. He enjoyed watching them at
moments like this. When the two of them were together, they moved in a strange choreography, seldom
touching and often a short distance apart, but always linked and in tune. Even when they argued on Moya,
there was a connectivity that their anger never seemed to break. He could see them now, just inside the shop,
John’s hand lightly on her shoulder.
‘I had that for a short time,’ he knew, ‘with Lo-Lann.’ His time with his Sebacean wife had been short, however,
and had ended in death and imprisonment. He glanced across at Chiana who was flirting with some males who
were dressed in the local fashion. ‘My time with Chiana was wonderful, but it wasn’t the same.’
He decided to have a drink to dull the treble sense of loss. He had lost his wife, he had lost his tumultuous
affair with Chiana, and he had lost the richness of the intimate but non-sexual bond Crichton and Aeryn shared
for the moment. ‘Well, three times the loss, three times the drink.’
“Give me two more of these!” he called to the servicer. Pretty soon he was feeling pretty good, and ordered
two more raslaks. As the additional drinks arrived, he looked again across the room at Chiana, about to motion
her to join him, only to spot her sitting in the lap of one of the locals, her hand high up on his thigh. D’Argo felt
something start to build within him -- a deep overwhelming fury rising from the most primeval part of his psyche
moved out of its hiding place and took him over. The drink, the loss, and the sight of Chiana all combined to
feed the rage.
* * * * *
As John’s eyes adjusted to the half-light inside the bar, he spotted D’Argo striding quickly toward him and
began to smile a welcome. Suddenly he recognized the aggression in the figure, and his brain took in the
bellows of fury. ‘Oh hell, he’s on the verge of hyper-rage!’
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Chapter 2
The solar day they had spent on the commerce planet had seemed like a three day weekend away from the
office to John Crichton, at least until the last arn of their visit. Most of Moya’s inhabitants had eagerly accepted
the opportunity to go down to another small blue-green planet. With the exception of Aeryn, they had all grown
up under open skies and enjoyed every infrequent chance they got to “hit dirt”, a phrase they had adopted
from Crichton’s peculiar vocabulary. Even Aeryn, who preferred the familiar surroundings of a space craft, had
begun to find some pleasure in visiting planets. She continued to mock John’s fascination with each of the
planets they visited, but now it had become just a humorous game that he didn’t seem to mind, as long as she
went with him.
Their need for supplies this time was great enough that they chose to take two vessels down to the planet.
Aeryn rode with John in his module, while D’Argo, Chiana, Jool and Rygel flew in the transport pod. They
expected the pod to be full enough on the return trip that they would not have room for all six of them. Only
Stark chose to stay on board Moya, but he had been spending most of his time wandering around the ship
dejectedly, still intensely grieving for Zhaan. Everyone had tried to draw Stark into their company, tried to ease
his grief with companionship, but each attempt seemed only to drive him further into his own strange world.
The little group had split up into pairs, working their way first purposefully, and then more leisurely through the
shops and pavilions to barter for practical supplies, as well as for personal needs. Chiana and D’Argo had
disappeared toward the Mercantile Sector, and Jool and Rygel had grudgingly agreed to start at the
Agricultural Sector, using Jool’s extensive knowledge of everyone’s nutritional needs and Rygel’s tenacious
bargaining skills to refill Moya’s stocks of food. John and Aeryn had started by heading for the Tech Sector
where they hoped to pick up parts both for his module and for some maintenance needed on the transport pod.
“Walk, run, or ride?” John asked. Aeryn had insisted on setting down near one of the less metropolitan areas
of the planet for a change. Although the larger cities had a vastly greater variety of technological goods to
offer and had more centralized shopping areas, Aeryn found the constant crush of bodies and chaos
bothersome. She still found herself scanning for threats or potential attacks whenever she was in a strange
place, and the cramped confines and bustling streets of the large cities made that a futile effort.
“How far is it to the Tech Sector, have you seen a schematic or display?” she asked.
“Over there,” he pointed. “Looks like we could walk out and back, but it’ll take long enough that we probably
won’t have time to look for anything other than components.” He knew that Aeryn first began to appreciate
planetary landings when she found she that walking from place to place gave her added exercise. In the cycles
since they had met, she had diligently maintained her soldier’s hard, lean physique.
“No, I’d like to at least get back to the Armaments Sector before we break orbit. Let’s see what they have for
ground transport.”
The ground transport system consisted of ground effect trains that were free to all persons, funded entirely by
the retailers and wholesalers in the area. Moving customers from one sector to another free of charge was
considered good business on this planet, and the trains were clean and quiet, three car units moving on
cushions of air above what looked to John like crushed stone roads. They waited barely microts at the nearest
loading area before the next one rushed in with a buffet of air and stopped. John spotted a few seats at the
rear of the last car, outside in the fresh air. He gestured to Aeryn, stepping aside to allow her to lead the way.
Admiring her lithe form as she pulled herself up the two steps onto the seating platform in one bound, he
quickly followed her example. They both adjusted the position of their pulse pistols with an unconscious tug as
they sat down, relaxing and enjoying their view as the landscape began to stream away behind the train.
A quiet chuckle came from John, and Aeryn just waited, knowing that if he found something amusing he was
going to eventually feel that he had to share it with her. But this time he quieted down and said nothing.
“What is so funny?” she finally broke down and asked.
“Having to argue with Rygel to convince him to go buy food for Moya. Having to argue with any Hynerian to go
after food at all!” He continued to smile at the memory and watched as his favorite expression blossomed on
Aeryn’s face. “I am Dominar of over six hundred billion loyal subjects,” John stabbed a finger into the air as he
did a credible imitation of Rygel’s voice, “and I do not BUY food, I consume food which is brought to me on the
finest Alsolian platters being born by dozens of beautiful, adoring women.” Another of Aeryn’s shining smiles
was his reward for the impersonation, and they sat silently but in harmony for the remainder of the short trip.
The Tech Sector consisted of wide, open-fronted structures that looked like warehouses without their front walls
or doors. The wares within each alcove were hidden in the gloom until a customer stepped inside out of the
sunlight. Each owner had dragged displays of material into the open air as a form of advertising. John pointed
to one shop, and then a second, only to be answered with a curt shake of the head each time. Aeryn always
seemed to know exactly which shop had the components and quality they wanted before they ever entered the
building. John tried to see what it was about the displays of used and refurbished parts that alerted her that a
vendor was the one she wanted, but too much of the material still looked the same to him.
“Not this place?” he tested, gesturing toward one shop which patently offered what they were looking for.
“No, look at these control circuit tabs,” she flipped several of the small units over and pointed out pitting in the
substrate. John had long since learned that this indicated that wherever the units had been taken from, they
had been subjected to extreme heat before being scavenged, enough to ensure that the tab wouldn’t be
reliable.
‘But how the hezmana can she tell from six feet away when the tab was bad side down?’ He gave up and just
let her lead, watching the slender form in black leather wind her way through the junk and past other buyers,
occasionally kicking some piece of debris or merchandise out of their way, until she finally paused and walked
into a stall.
John followed Aeryn in, pausing for only the briefest moment when he saw the merchant standing in front of a
counter. ‘It’s great-Grandpa Crichton’s ice cream maker,’ he thought with a jolt. The being was about two feet
tall, just inches shorter than Rygel, and did have a resemblance to an old fashioned ice cream maker, except
with two cranks. It had the squat, round body covered with brown slick hair, and a flat breathing opening on top
of its … head?
He glanced at Aeryn and jerked his head at the critter, raising his eyebrows in silent enquiry. “Wilket,” was her
one word explanation. John couldn’t see any feet and its arms jutted out at awkward angles. There must have
been feet somewhere though, because when Aeryn moved off to the left, starting to search through racks and
bins, the wilket went after her, talking in a screeching dialect that made no sense at all to John’s translator
microbes. He watched the two disappear down an aisle, fought to take it all in stride and turned to the right,
working through one collection of bins after another while Aeryn searched the other side of the building.
Aeryn found the wiring they needed for the upgrades to the transport pod and took it back to the counter for
purchase. The screeching of the wilket never stopped and finally began to wear on her patience. “Go get your
master!” The screeching only paused and then resumed at a louder volume. “Go on!” she cried over the
noise. “Get out of here and fetch your master. Let him know we wish to purchase.” She moved toward it,
waving her hands in dismissal. The noise didn’t stop, but the creature scuttled off toward the back of the
warehouse.
John had found some of the tabs, circuitry and even some of the mechanoid circuits they required, but was still
searching the far end of the aisles. He had watched Aeryn get rid of the little beast, and now he whistled
sharply to get her attention. As soon as she saw him, he began lobbing each unit across the shop, Aeryn deftly
catching them and adding them to the merchandise on the counter. “Your microbes could understand that
thing?” he raised his voice marginally but enough that she could hear him.
“No, of course not,” the curt tone faded after her initial reaction. “Wilkets aren’t really quite sentient. They
have a few minor reasoning skills, but mostly they are just used in a small business like this to let the servicer
personnel know when someone has come in.”
“A doorbell! That thing was a doorbell?” If Aeryn had trouble with that term she didn’t show it as John arrived
at the counter with another double handful of items. “That ought to do it for the transport and for those
modifications we wanted to try on that clapped out defense screen.”
“What about parts for your ship, John? Anything here that might work?”
“No, and even if I found parts to replace the original seals in the hydraulic cylinders, I still haven’t found
anything that will replace the fluid.” The frustration in his voice was well hidden, but Aeryn recognized the tone
anyway. John was facing the reality that the module’s days might be numbered if he couldn’t find a source of
parts for the craft. If it weren’t for its freakish capability to create wormholes, the white pod simply would have
no value at all on this side of the universe.
“Perhaps one of those junk shops we came by earlier …” she said, raising her eyebrows over eyes that held
devious humor. John’s search for a devastatingly scathing remark was interrupted when the owner of the
business finally appeared, the wilket at his heels.
John stayed close to Aeryn, just listening, as she haggled prices and delivery to the transport pod with the
merchant, who turned out to be an enormous bipedal anthropoid looking vaguely human if one could overlook
the bright yellow skin, ears that could swivel independently all the way around to face behind the creature’s
head, and the fact that he was almost eight feet tall. The vendor coughed and sneezed his way through the
bartering, something that didn’t seem to bother Aeryn, so John assumed it was peculiar to the species rather
than a disease.
It wasn’t until they were walking back the way they had come and were more than two hundred feet from the
shop that Crichton finally put his hands to his ears, and twisting his hands back and forth, asked, “Sonar?
Echo-location?”
Aeryn had to think about his meaning for a minute, then answered, “Yes, Saltaurians can locate objects up to
almost a metra away by sound alone.”
‘Solariums.’ He used one of his twisted mnemonic devices to file the name of the species. “Nice color yellow; it
would brighten up any party.”
“Oh, Saltaurians aren’t usually yellow. Normally they’re a pale orange color. They only turn that color when
they’ve contracted Saltauri-Sebacean flu.”
“Flu? Sebacean flu, Aeryn? That thing was sneezing all over us! Maybe the Peacekeepers inoculated you,
maybe not, but what about …”
“…you? Relax John, that flu strain has mutated so many times it only affects Saltaurians now. Your human
physiology is so close to Sebaceans it would be practically impossible for you to catch it.”
John didn’t argue, but he felt an uneasy feeling crawl over him as he listened to the certainty in Aeryn's voice.
* * * * *
D’Argo and Chiana approached the transport pod, carrying goods that they had purchased in the Mercantile
Sector. D’Argo wore an expression of barely contained annoyance, but he had stopped grumbling, so Chiana
decided she could convince him to make one more excursion before they left the planet. She went ahead of
D’Argo to open the hatch because he was carrying most of their purchases, which was the source of his
displeasure. Although most of the packages were in containers or wrapped up, too many of Chiana’s choices
were hanging out of his arms for everyone to see. Argilavian silks to decorate the walls of her chamber, rough
Meltac hide to throw over his bed, some new leather pants to replace Crichton’s, which were about to wear
through, and some Raltarian furs for Rygel, all hung out of his arms. “I look like some sort of apparelist’s rack,
or a hide dryer’s tree,” he renewed his grumbling.
“D’Argo, we did great.” Chiana’s angular form darted between him and the rows of food containers that were
already stacked in the back of the pod, taking his burdens from him and laying them almost carefully among the
other items. “We got everything we wanted, we found some new garments for John, Rygel will be happy, and
we even found a new outfit to replace that horrible armor that Jool wears!” She laughed. “And we have time to
go back to the Leisure Sector for a raslak,” drawing out the last word in a melodic invitation.
“And what about paying for the raslak? How do you propose to do that?”
“Aeryn was right about using the smaller towns on this planet. These wellnitz’s couldn’t barter their way out of
the sack. We have plenty of credits left still.”
D’Argo looked at her in puzzlement for a moment. “Isn’t Crichton’s saying ‘out of a paper bag’?” He was still
pondering the choice of words.
“Bag, sack, what’s the difference? Doesn’t sound like any difference to me.” She approached D'Argo and
placed a hand on his chest, but was cautious not to impart any sensuality into the gesture. He had been badly
hurt by her behavior too recently for her to use her wiles to talk him into doing what she wanted. “Please
D’Argo, just one raslak. You know it’ll do you good.” She cocked her head, eyes imploring him to agree to her
suggestion.
D’Argo’s tentacles swung about his shoulders as he shook his head. Chiana’s face began to fall, but then he
said, “Just one. Then we come back and wait for the others.” Chiana laughed and bounced toward the hatch
of the transport pod.
* * * * *
The late afternoon sun was lengthening the shadows in the market place and Crichton was feeling tired, thirsty
and annoyed at both Aeryn and himself. When they had completed their transactions in the Tech Sector, he
had proposed taking the trains back to either the Mercantile Sector or to the landing area where they had left
the transport. He needed certain personal clothing items and he didn’t entirely trust D’Argo and Chiana to get
him exactly the items he wanted. ‘No one in the Uncharted Territories offers what I really want, but mail order
takes forever.’
When Aeryn balked and said she wanted to walk back by way of the Armaments Sector, John had given in
easily. He had not lost his fascination for the variety of life forms, noises, and conversations to be found in the
marketplaces of commerce planets. And if he could spend relaxed time with Aeryn it was even more
worthwhile. But the excursion had somehow turned into a marathon of examining weapons and his patience
was wearing thin.
“Aeryn, let’s skip the last couple of shops and go get something to eat and drink.”
“You go ahead if you want John, I just want to look at what this shop over here has for sale.”
Aeryn stalked into one more small shop, which stood at the edge of the Armaments Sector. This last row of
buildings offering weaponry shared an open plaza with the Leisure Sector, which contained refreshment
houses, bars, and restaurants. John watched her as she disappeared into the building, her thick black braid
bouncing lightly between her shoulder blades in time with her athletic stride. He looked across the tree shaded
plaza at what was obviously a bar of some sort, which had a regular stream of customers entering and leaving.
The departing patrons frequently carried metal beverage containers, and despite not knowing what was in
them, John felt his thirst ratchet up a few notches.
As he paused to consider his choices, he noticed D’Argo and Chiana entering the bar. ‘At last, they are finally
doing things together again. It’s about time.’ He was pleased that they had mended their friendship. He
considered the pair for a microt, but then turned and followed Aeryn after all, who had stopped just inside the
shadow being cast by the open front building.
“Oh baby, you’d look so good with one of these,” he lowered his voice into a deep whisper, “I know you just love
to accessorize with black. You’re an accessory kind of a girl.” Moving close behind her, and placing one hand
on her shoulder, he leaned forward around her and pointed to some sort of large hand weapon. Aeryn
responded by giving him a gentle elbow in the solar plexus, and then leaned back against him as she looked
over their heads at weapons hung in the rafters. Her body suddenly tightened.
“How about that?” Aeryn pointed at a strange weapon directly over their heads, speaking in a quiet tone, but
transmitting a frisson of excited interest to John through their body contact.
“What -- ?”
“-- whichss one?”
Crichton and the shop owner spoke at the same time, unsure who she was addressing. John steadied himself
with one hand on a display case, and leaving the other on Aeryn’s shoulder to steady her in turn, looked
straight up. “Which one?”
“The third one from the left in the front.” She looked at the owner inquisitively.
“I hafss only one ofss thoss available,” he spoke through intimidating fangs, but seemed a gentle individual
despite the length of his incisors. “Verry rarre itemsss. Verry expensifess.”
Crichton’s attention was divided between observing the movements of the alien merchant and the warm, full
body contact of Aeryn as she continued to lean against him, looking upwards as the weapon was retrieved. As
a result, he almost missed her next statement, and realizing belatedly what she had said, he overreacted.
“You’ll TAKE it? Just like that, without haggling?”
Aeryn pushed herself away from John and spun to face him. “Yes! Shut up Crichton.”
“Aeryn, we don’t need another god-damned weapon! We are wading through piles of death dealing doodads
on board Moya as it is. Whatever this is, we don’t need it.” He had lowered his voice, but the interest on the
face of the merchant showed that he was still able to hear their discussion.
“Crichton, you don’t know what you are talking about,” she ground through clenched teeth and a hair thin smile
as she glanced back at the shop owner. “Now be a good little man and go away and let me finish the purchase
of this ‘gotdamt’ weapon.”
Perhaps it was the ‘good little man’, perhaps it was the clenched teeth that reminded him of a patronizing
teacher he had been forced to endure throughout the fifth grade, John wasn’t sure, but he didn’t just go away.
He turned toward the street and lowered his head to speak directly to Aeryn, but they were still overheard.
“You don’t have to buy every stupid weapon you come across. Stop being a frelling Peacekeeper for just one
minute, would you? Weapons are part of what got us in such a world of hurt on Jocacea.”
The shopkeeper’s eyes widened at the word ‘peacekeeper’ and Aeryn felt her purchase slipping away from her,
but she also felt censure in the way John mentioned her breeding and what had happened on Jocacea, both
being part of her heritage. Aeryn suddenly grabbed him by the front of his leather vest and dragged him out of
the shop. John went abruptly silent because she had never treated him in such a manner in public, not since
the very first time they had met. There had been the occasional altercation between them, but always in the
relative privacy of Moya.
“THAT is a Tarak Silencer, big brother to the Tarak Deployer I was able to trade for on the space station. No
one can get their hands on those anymore … no one but me ... right ... now.” She spaced her last words out
for emphasis. “A Tarak Silencer will give us the greatest amount of firepower possible in a hand held weapon.
Moya does not have any weapons, so we need that firepower.”
John started to open his mouth, but she launched back in again. “If you told me what you were going to do with
General Grines, and had listened to me and let me use WEAPONS, maybe things would have turned out
differently on Jocacea. Now let me go back in there and buy that Silencer.”
“That’s a cheap shot Aeryn, we all screwed up. We’ve talked about this since then and … ”
“Yes, but you screwed up without even discussing it with any of the rest of us.” As angry as Crichton was,
Aeryn was angrier and her voice ran over his, drowning out his arguments. “This is getting to be a very old
discussion, John. You don’t have all the answers, but you think you know how to handle things better than
anyone else on Moya. You make decisions for the rest of us that you shouldn’t be making at all.”
Aeryn was still filled with guilt and pain resulting from their lack of foresight when they left Jocacea, which had
resulted in the slaughter of innocents, and she couldn’t stop the tumble of accusations that flowed out of her
now. She felt a small pang of surprise at some of her words though, because she didn’t really blame John, it
just came out sounding that way.
John stood without answering her, his body crying out with the signs of anger and hurt, but she couldn’t find a
way to back down. She released the grip she still held on his vest and shoved him away. She walked back to
the vendor and repeated, “How much is it?”
John was humiliated by her treatment, by his own behavior, and by the truth of what she had said about their
experience with the Venek Horde. ‘What’s worse,’ he mused, ‘is that if just I had stayed, my presence alone
probably could have stopped the slaughter.’ But it would have also meant sacrificing his life in the place of the
slaughtered nurses. He meandered slowly across the plaza, idly watching the foot traffic while he struggled to
get at least his temper under control, even if his emotions were still inflamed. ‘That conversation was a fiasco
from start to finish,’ he realized. ‘I screwed up the beginning, but Aeryn sure took her pound of flesh out of
me.’ He remembered then that D’Argo and Chiana were probably still in the bar just across the street, and
quickened his pace, hoping to find a sympathetic ear.
* * * * *
D’Argo had initially refrained from any of the drinks offered at the bar, and had stood looking out of one of the
glassless windows in the front of the bar while Chiana ordered a raslak for herself. He had seen John and
Aeryn across the plaza, but hadn’t wanted to interrupt their time together. He enjoyed watching them at
moments like this. When the two of them were together, they moved in a strange choreography, seldom
touching and often a short distance apart, but always linked and in tune. Even when they argued on Moya,
there was a connectivity that their anger never seemed to break. He could see them now, just inside the shop,
John’s hand lightly on her shoulder.
‘I had that for a short time,’ he knew, ‘with Lo-Lann.’ His time with his Sebacean wife had been short, however,
and had ended in death and imprisonment. He glanced across at Chiana who was flirting with some males who
were dressed in the local fashion. ‘My time with Chiana was wonderful, but it wasn’t the same.’
He decided to have a drink to dull the treble sense of loss. He had lost his wife, he had lost his tumultuous
affair with Chiana, and he had lost the richness of the intimate but non-sexual bond Crichton and Aeryn shared
for the moment. ‘Well, three times the loss, three times the drink.’
“Give me two more of these!” he called to the servicer. Pretty soon he was feeling pretty good, and ordered
two more raslaks. As the additional drinks arrived, he looked again across the room at Chiana, about to motion
her to join him, only to spot her sitting in the lap of one of the locals, her hand high up on his thigh. D’Argo felt
something start to build within him -- a deep overwhelming fury rising from the most primeval part of his psyche
moved out of its hiding place and took him over. The drink, the loss, and the sight of Chiana all combined to
feed the rage.
* * * * *
As John’s eyes adjusted to the half-light inside the bar, he spotted D’Argo striding quickly toward him and
began to smile a welcome. Suddenly he recognized the aggression in the figure, and his brain took in the
bellows of fury. ‘Oh hell, he’s on the verge of hyper-rage!’
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
