Back to part four


Aeryn sat up straight.  She could hear footsteps approaching.  Svarstaan was early.  She looked down at herself.  She hadn't changed yet.  All this time she had been debating her options.  If she complied and changed to these clothes, she was signalling her submission.  And that was about as likely as Chiana getting her hair cut or Rygel going on a fast.  She laughed inwardly at her thoughts, her mouth quirking up a bit.  But there was little humor in her situation.  She would not submit.  If she didn't change clothes, she had no doubt Svarstaan would be true to his word and help her change.  Her options were no options, the way she saw it.

Aeryn sighed.  She stood up and quickly removed her clothing and donned the white robe and the belt.  If she gave the illusion of complying, it would at least buy her some time.  She fished the stunning rod out of her boot and held it ready.

Only microts later, the lock on the door was deactivated and Aeryn took a deep breath.  She looked down at her own clothes lying in a heap at her feet. They were mocking her.  A fleeting sense of panic overwhelmed her and she swept them up with her hands.  She had to change back now.  But it was too late.  Instead, she dropped the clothes and stood to the side of the door. She would lock Svarstaan up, take his weapons, backtrack, find John and get the frell out of here.

The heavy door opened and the shadow of Svarstaan darkened the small room. Aeryn traced the movement of the shadow with her eyes.  1 microt.  2 microts. 3-

Aeryn gasped as a large Narjaain hand reached to the side and caught her by the collar.  She choked as Svarstaan dragged her against him.  The rod dropped from her hand.

"Drink, Sebacean," Svarstaan said, tilting her head back.

Aeryn's eyes grew wide as Svarstaan forced her to drink a light green liquid from a metal cup.  She spat it out even as some of the liquid slid down her throat.  < Hezmana > her mind screamed as a numbing coolness permeated her thoughts, her body, her being.

Ten microts later, Svarstaan smiled and released Aeryn.  She swayed before him.  "Would you like more, Officer Sun?"

"Yes...  Please."

*****

Chiana groaned as she tripped over a root concealed by snow.  "How long since Crichton and Aeryn were taken?"

"Exactly six arns," D'Argo answered absently.

"They're probably dead by now," Chiana said flatly.  "We should leave now before we are too."

"Shh," D'Argo replied curtly.  "You did not have to come.  Remember that before you complain again.  And remember that Zhaan only stayed on Moya to watch over you.  She could have accompanied me if not for you."

"Right," Chiana mumbled.  "I'll remember to avoid going down to any planet with you."

"See that you do."

Chiana flashed him a dirty look, like a child annoyed with a teacher, and leaned into the rock they were perched against just outside of the Narjaain fortress.  Her eyes darted around, absorbing their surroundings.  She noted a brazier and a fountain lying between two trees just south of their position. "What do you think that's for?" she asked.

"Nothing good," D'Argo answered impatiently.  "The Narjaain have...strange ceremonies."

"Like what?"

D'Argo began to answer.  A noise alerted him to another's presence and he waved Chiana down.  They crouched and watched a Narjaain male walk to the fountain and submerge his hands then his head in the water.  He came up with leaves matted to his braided hair, then continued up the path, passing the rock.  He disappeared around the bend and D'Argo motioned Chiana forward. Without a backward glance D'Argo took off at a fast walk and left Chiana behind.

Chiana caught sight of D'Argo again just outside orange doors set into stone. Stealthy as an animal after prey, she came up behind D'Argo.  "Where did he go?"

"In here," D'Argo answered.  He turned to her and smiled.  "And I know how to get in."  He pointed to an access tunnel, grated with metal, far to the right of the door, placed at the height of a man's head.  Chiana grinned and crept forward.

*****

John glanced around warily as Adaair and a guard he hadn't seen before led him through a series of corridors.  There were doors--all of them closed--throughout the labyrinth of the Narjaain fortress.  It seemed to be taking a long time to reach their destination.  And man it was dark.  They didn't seem to believe in light.  Dim amber light emanating from metal sconces suffused the corridors with a warm wash of color against the stone walls, but it was still hard to see.  He could also smell the same cloying scent he had detected at the fountain outside of the fortress.  The place reeked of it.  Pleasant at first, a heavy floral scent much like jasmine, it was now making him nauseous.  Or perhaps his nausea was due to the rattlers suddenly plaguing him.  He was nervous, all right, and definitely scared...for himself...for Aeryn.  Where the hell was she anyway?  He would have tried to escape a long time ago if it weren't for the mystery of her whereabouts.  If his guess was right, they had been apart for the past two arns, give or take.  He had to find her.  He had to.  Bottom line.  Only problem was, if the Narjaain were going to make him and Aeryn fight each other, what could possibly make Aeryn turn on him?  Or him turn on her?

"In here, Commander Crichton," Adaair rumbled.

John halted alongside Adaair in front of a circular doorway with Narjaain lettering on it.  He watched Adaair punch a code into a keypad by the door. The equivalent of 1-1, 4-4, 8-8.  Man, that was just too easy.  Did they want him to try to escape?  Was that part of their game?  Ritual?  Whatever?   He could hear loud sounds and voices coming from beyond the door.  The large entrance swung outward and John was prodded forward.

"Holy smoke, Batman," John murmured as he stepped across the threshold and looked down upon the pit where several Sebaceans were engaged in combat. "Gladiators 'r us."

Adaair quirked a brow.  "What did you say?"

"Never mind," John muttered, realizing too late that he had spoken without bei ng spoken to first.  Fortunately, Adaair didn't seem interested in reprimanding him for the transgression.  He simply mumbled an incoherent reply indicating annoyance then pushed John forward.

John walked slowly around the upper walkway ringing the pit, looking down across the expanse of terraced seats and stairways.  Pairs of Sebaceans and a few other species were fighting hand to hand in the pit under the glare of light, brighter than anywhere else in the fortress.  John stopped, even as he felt the tip of a pulse rifle sticking him in the back.  He scanned the pit quickly for Aeryn, his eyes resting anxiously on every female he could pick out of the crowd.

"She is not there," Adaair said brusquely, reading John's mind.

John glanced up at him.  "Then where is she?"

Adaair frowned.  "You'll know soon enough.  Move forward."

John craned his neck, looking back over his shoulder at the pit even as Adaair ushered him forward.  He didn't believe Adaair was telling him the truth.  He heard Adaair snort with amusement.

"You are strange for a Peacekeeper," Adaair remarked as they reached another circular door and punched numbers into the keypad.  "Different...  You reveal your emotions."

"Yeah, I'm different, all right," John replied.  He stepped through the doorway as it swung outward and emerged into another dark corridor.

"This way," Adaair directed.

John walked into the shadows and heard the door clang shut behind him.

*****

She looked up from the table where she had been told to wait.  The lights in the waiting room were swimming.  Yellow, red, orange, all swimming before her eyes.  < Lights don't swim >  Aeryn mused, resisting the pull of the green liquid coursing throughout her body.  But her mind told her otherwise.  Just as it was telling her that her upcoming fight with John Crichton was necessary.  Valid.  A way to keep living.  A way to keep fighting.  For that was her upbringing.  To fight.  To win.  Aeryn felt herself sway over the table and suddenly the lights coalesced into one source.  Orange.  Dim.  She glanced around the room and sought the eyes of the other two Sebacean women present.  One was blond, small, strongly built.  The other was pale, like herself, with dark hair, her brown eyes  intense, watchful, experienced. Aeryn gazed at her.

"What are you looking at?" the dark-haired woman barked harshly.

"What do you think?" Aeryn barked back.

The woman looked away and resumed her silence.  Aeryn still stared at her.

"That is Melani.  You will fight her first," the blond woman said.  "She is not the talkative type."

"And you are?  Talkative?" Aeryn asked, arching her brow.

"When the time is right, yes," she replied.  "I am Tarenn.  I have earned to the right to talk when I please.  I've won many bouts."

Aeryn let that sink in.  Many bouts.  Fighting.  The reason she was here. She would win too.  And earn the right to talk.  She would follow the rules. < Rules? >  There were rules on Moya too, she remembered.  What were they?

Aeryn shook her head and waved her hand in the air as if shooing away a pesky insect.  The old rules would only get her killed.  Right?...< Right > she answered herself.  She smiled at Tarenn.  "How many bouts have you won?"

"I stopped counting at 20.  That was monens ago."

"Monens," Aeryn repeated.  "Then you have been here awhile."

"Two cycles."

"I'm impressed.  I hope to reach the same..." Aeryn's sentence trailed off. A sudden thought fluttered around in her mind.  Rules...again.  That thought gave way to more thoughts, elusive, yet still tangible.  Family.  < Moya: Mother, Ship, Protector.  Pilot:  Navigator, Friend, Brother.  D'Argo: Ally. Zhaan: Mother too, Friend, Protector.  Rygel: Little royal whiskered Hynerian snot who ate too much.  Chiana:  Thief,  Troublemaker.  And John.  John. John... >

Aeryn swayed in her seat.  The lights swam again, her mind resisting.  John. What about everything he had done for her?  It counted for something. Something.  She stood up and walked to the bars in the door.  She looked out on the pit at ground level.  This was where she was expected to be.  To fight.  To win.  To be...a Peacekeeper.  To be...more?

"John," Aeryn whispered.

"What did you say?"

Aeryn turned around and looked at Tarenn, whose voice she had heard.  "I- I said 'John'.  I'm...supposed to fight him.  But-"

Tarenn stood abruptly and walked to Aeryn.  "You can't think of him.  You will fight Melani first, then John.  You must focus.  And do your job.  Once it is over, it will be easier."

"Over," Aeryn repeated.

"Once John is defeated."

"Defeated," Aeryn parroted.  "Yes.  Defeated."

Aeryn turned back to the door.  Tarenn handed her a cup and she absently reached for it, swallowing its smooth green contents.  It seemed to make her feel better.  "Thank you, Tarenn."

*****

John watched Adaair's back as he left him in a small room and closed the door.  He looked at the white robe nestled in the corner.  The same kind of clothes they'd given Aeryn.  If what Marreill had told him was true, he would have to fight Aeryn.  No way.  NO WAY.  Impulsively, he ran to the door and slammed against it, yelling out, "Get your boney face back here, Adaair!  I want to talk to you!"

John counted to ten then yelled out again.  "Get your boney face-"

The door swung open and John stumbled backwards.  He was suddenly faced by Svarstaan.  He hadn't expected that.  Svarstaan hadn't shown his face for the past two arns.

"What do you think you're doing, Commander?"  Svarstaan asked coolly.  He was calm.  Too damn calm.  It made John even more mad.

"What do I think I'm doing?" John mocked, his voice tempered, its coolness matching Svarstaan's tone.  "I think I'm calling your boney asses back here so I can find out what the hell you're planning.  And where is Aeryn?"

Svarstaan smirked.  "Time will tell."

John stepped forward and got in Svarstaan's face...at least as close as he could get.  He looked up at the tall soldier.  "I've heard that before."

"Yes, Marreill has her uses."

Realization swept across John's features.  "Marreill was wrong.  You can hear what goes on in the chamber."

Svarstaan shrugged.  "Of course."

John stepped back a bit.  He marched to the corner of the room and picked up the robe.  "Why are you doing this?" he asked, holding the robe up for emphasis.  "Capturing people and making them fight.  What purpose does it serve?"

Svarstaan shrugged again.  "Entertainment.  The whimsical desire of our leaders.  It demonstrates our superiority."

John scoffed at that.  "Yeah, you're so superior you had to board a weaponless leviathan and take us without a real fight.  How sporting.  You're a real mighty warrior, Svarstaan."

Svarstaan noted the derision in John's tone.  That was unacceptable.  He moved towards John and ripped the robe from his hands.  "Enough talk.  You will obey us."

John watched Svarstaan pull a flask containing green liquid from his belt. Svarstaan grabbed him by the collar and raised him off the floor, pinning him against the wall.  "Now drink."

John kicked out, only striking air with his feet as Svarstaan forced his mouth open with the flask.  Cool liquid raced down his throat and he gagged.  It was like the worst watered down lime cool-aid he'd ever had, with a touch of sour milk.  He tried to spit it out, but Svarstaan was too strong.

"Daa..rrrr mn it," John gurgled.  The liquid sloshed out and dribbled onto his shirt.  But most of it went down his throat.  He thrust his legs forward again, but Svarstaan dropped him to the ground and threw the flask at his feet.

"One arn, Sebacean," Svarstaan spat.  "I will be back in one arn."

John lay splayed on the floor and watched the door slam shut.  "Damn it," he swore again, spitting out the liquid that remained under his tongue.  He reached for the flask and sniffed it.  "Poison," he murmured, then threw the flask at the wall.  Things were getting worse and worse.  And they had probably poisoned Aeryn too.  And if not poison, then it was a drug.  And if it was a drug, what was it's purpose?  He had assumed that the trance that Marreill seemed to be in half the time was due to apathy.  What if she were drugged?  What if all the prisoners--battleprizes--were drugged?  It would explain their willingness to fight each other.  If Aeryn was any indication of the norm, he couldn't imagine Peacekeepers just putting up with a life in a gladiators' ring just to entertain the Narjaain.  He had interpreted the term battleprize incorrectly.  At least he hoped he had.  In any case, he had to think of something.  Fast.

Turning to the corner, John crawled towards the clothes and unfolded them.  A white, knee-length robe like the ones being worn by the people in the fighting ring.  A belt with rings.  Rings for holding weapons, he surmised. He examined the rings on the outer side of the belt, then turned it over to check their attachments.  They appeared strong enough to hold guns and whatever other weaponry the Narjaain desired their enslaved fighters to use, so he was probably right about the rings' purpose.  But the hard leather buckle holding the belt together wasn't made nearly as well.  In fact... John glanced around the room, checking for surveillance equipment.  Satisfied that he was alone for the moment, no one watching, he pulled the screwdriver from his sleeve and fiddled with the belt buckle.  One slash to the top and one to the bottom and he could loosen the belt to the point of falling off. If he could get Aeryn close enough, he might be able to remove her belt and disarm her, assuming she had one.  There was no guarantee.  But there were guards around the pit.  Perhaps...  John suspended his train of thought as he suddenly realized something:  He felt fine, other than the mild nausea. "What's the drug for, then?" John wondered out loud.  He could only wonder as the sound of footsteps prompted him to stick the thin screwdriver into a fold of the robe.

Svarstaan entered ten microts later.  John was already in the process of changing.

"I see you're almost ready," Svarstaan commented with annoyance.  "You should have been dressed by now."

John pulled the belt around himself, carefully noting the fold of the robe where he had concealed the screwdriver and tightened the buckle, holding the screwdriver in place.  He looked up at Svarstaan with a blank expression.  He was going to gamble on his supposition about the drug.  "Sorry," he said, a docile, wide-eyed expression gracing his features.

A satisfied smile grew on Svarstaan's lips.

< Bingo > John thought.  The drug was supposed to make him vulnerable to command and authority.  He thought of Aeryn--how much she would hate this, even more than he did.  His throat contracted as he relived the moment she was taken out of her crate, away from him, to an unknown fate.  And now, he would see her again, and he would have to fight her, fight as long as he could until he could figure out how to get them out of this hellhole.  Fight her and prevent her from killing him.  Man, this day was really sucking. He knew he shouldn't have gotten out of bed this morning.

John regarded Svarstaan with interest and waited for instructions.

Svarstaan pulled another flask from his belt.  "You should be thirsty again."

"Yeah," John replied dully, accepting the flask.  "Real thirsty."

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