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D'Argo looked back at Chiana.  She was crawling behind him in an access duct. It was a small stroke of luck that this access duct was large enough for him.  And, he would only admit to himself, a stroke of luck that Chiana was with him, her thieving abilities more than necessary in this situation.  He wasn't even really sure where they were anymore.  And he certainly didn't know where to find John and Aeryn.  When he and Chiana entered the fortess through the ventilating duct near the orange exterior door, he had hoped to be able to drop into a corridor or chamber, but the gratings along all the entry points were sealed too well.  And if Chiana grumbled one more time about his lack of foresight on the matter, he would...

"Ouch," D'Argo grumbled, halting as a blast of hot air hit him in the face.

Chiana squirmed out of harm's way as D'Argo reared back.  "What do you think you're doing?" she half barked, half squealed.

"Shhh," D'Argo cautioned, backing up more.  He looked ahead and examined the tunnel.  He was sure they were in a ventilating duct, but the hot air indicated a heating system was ahead.  "Go back," he ordered Chiana.

Voicing her displeasure, Chiana turned around and crawled ahead, now in the lead. They retraced their path, turned left at a four-way junction and halted after coming to another junction.  They heard voices.

"First voices we've heard for a while," Chiana whispered, looking back at D'Argo.

He looked at her.  The voices were close.  He nodded to Chiana to proceed forward.  "Slowly," he said under his breath.

Chiana moved stealthily, her light frame affording the silence so important to a thief.  D'Argo's movements were a bit louder, though not noisy enough to cut through the growing sound of voices and...fighting, in the distance. After a quarter of an arn, a grate appeared ahead in the wall, the path forking to the left and right of it in a t-shaped junction.  Chiana stopped just in front of it and peered outward.

"What do you see?" D'Argo asked impatiently.

"You won't believe me.  See for yourself."

D'Argo moved up and alongside Chiana.  He inhaled sharply.  "Those are Sebaceans."

"Battleprizes," Chiana said coolly.  "Enslaved fighters from the looks of it."

D'Argo nodded and scanned the pit.  They were approximately five meters above the fighting ring.  More grates continued along the path in each direction, curving around the ring.  "This section we're in is a ventilation system cut right into the stone," he remarked.  "It continues around the ring.  Let's-"

The sound of other voices, more muted, cut into D'Argo's train of thought.

Chiana looked in the direction where D'Argo's attention had been drawn. Another grate was sunk into the floor to the left.  Without a word, she headed in that direction.  D'Argo reached out to grab her, but she shook his hand off of her leg and crawled to the grate.  She looked down, a triumphant smile on her face.

*****

John licked his lips to moisten them.  The cool, dry air was chapping his skin.  Or maybe it was just another manifestation of his fried nerves.  For the past arn, he'd been holed up in some sort of waiting room where Svarstaan had taken him.  A door with a barred window led onto the pit and he had watched the fighting for a while.  But it had only jangled his nerves more and there was no sign of Aeryn.  So he had sat at a table in the room, ignoring the new flask of green liquid.  The stuff was lousy, but that was it.  No negative effects as far as he could tell.  Though, an unpleasant thought kept tugging at his brain.  What if the drug had worked and he simply didn't know it?  But then, if he were successfully drugged, would he even be worrying about it now?  Too many unknowns.  John felt his stomach lurch.

Pushing away from the table, John stood up and re-examined his robe to distract himself.  The screwdriver was still in place.  He hadn't been given any weapons yet, but that didn't surprise him.  They would probably arm him when his turn came to enter the pit...when his turn came to fight his friend. No, Aeryn was more than a friend, though they had agreed to never kiss again.  Hell if he knew why he'd agreed to that.  And hell if he wouldn't be tempted to kiss her again if they got out of this alive.  Would she hit him if he tried?  John's mouth quirked up slightly as he remembered the day they were stuck in the Flax.  She had definitely wanted to kiss him.  And he most definitely wanted to kiss her.  So what if they'd been in a life-threatening situation.  In the end, he had called it 'heat of the moment'.  But, he had lied, only adding to the lie when he said that if D'Argo had been there in his stead 'the same thing probably would have happened.'  Then Aeryn had replied, 'or you and Zhaan.'  But that wasn't true.  If Zhaan had been there instead of Aeryn, it wouldn't have happened. Zhaan was his friend.  Only.  Aeryn was his friend...and more.  What more that was he still had to figure out.  Only he had the feeling that he wanted to figure it out more than Aeryn did.  Or he was at least willing to examine his feelings.  Aeryn could be closed off sometimes.  Not that he blamed her, given her breeding.  Being a Peacekeeper was a thankless job.  She was taught to fight and to win and to conceal her emotions.

John smiled to himself.  His thoughts had brought him full circle.  Aeryn, his friend, his...protector, his comrade, this person who meant so much to him even if he couldn't figure out what it was yet, would fight him here.  He could only assume that the drug had taken an effect on her, unless, he dimly hoped, she was pretending...like he was, biding her time, waiting for the right time to attempt escape.  But he couldn't rely on hope.  He had to be realistic.

A noise from behind alerted John to a new presence.  The familiar floral scent wafted into the room, unwelcome.  He turned slowly, wiping the expression of fear from his face, expecting to see Svarstaan.  Instead, his gaze met the eyes of a smaller Narjaain, whose uniform was more subdued than the glaring red armor and bright blue tunic and trousers worn by most of the warriors he had seen so far.  But he had seen this uniform once.  He recognized this Narjaain from the prison chamber.  He had accompanied Svarstaan when he brought Aeryn clothes, remaining mute and distant.  John waited for him to speak.

"I am General Taraviaan," the Narjaain said.

John remained silent, staring intently with his blue eyes, wary and alert.

Taraviaan smiled and sat down at the table, gesturing for John to do the same.

In his heart of hearts, John wished to remain standing, but he couldn't risk trouble before seeing Aeryn again.  He nodded and sat down, waiting for his cue to speak.

"I've come here to tell you what will happen," Taraviaan said, his features smoothing into a neutral expression.  John nodded.  "You will fight the woman you came with.  Officer Aeryn Sun."  John nodded.  "You will die."  John nodded.  "Then we will exchange Officer Sun for one of our own being held by the Peacekeepers."  John nodded, resisting the urge to clamp his fingers around the guy's throat.  He had to stay cool, no matter what this guy told him.  "Do you understand?"

John nodded.  He didn't trust himself to speak.  He expected Taraviaan to leave and began to stand up, but the general motioned for him to remain sitting.  John set his jaw and sat down again.

"Entertainment is such a fleeting thing," Taraviaan began, a bland smile curving his lips.  "One must savor it in small and large doses as they come. As warriors, we must appreciate the dance of life and death."

John nodded.  Where the hell was this guy going with this?  He watched with interest as Taraviaan took a miniature version of the flasks off of his belt, no larger than a thimble, and leaned towards him.  He was even more interested--and surprised--when Taraviaan spoke in a low voice, sliding the bottle towards him.

"This is an antidote," the general whispered so low, his voice was barely audible.  "For Officer Sun.  Give it to her if you succeed in escaping.  I know you are unaffected.  It is only a lucky stroke of fate that you are such an accomplished actor; otherwise, I would not be able to help you."

Bells and whistles went off in John's mind.  < What the- >

Taraviaan's eyes suddenly reddened, their intensity startling.  "I-" he raised his voice.

John watched the general battle for self-control.

"I," Taraviaan whispered again, his eyes remaining red and angry,  "will not give Crais the satisfaction of getting what he wants.  Leave our planet and do not return.  You will be on your own in the pit, but if you manage to get out, take the door leading east.  We-"

"But-" John began to interrupt.

Taraviaan's eyes were daggers.  "Do not speak.  This is the northern holding room.  Take the eastern door.  The guard there works under my influence; strike him once and he will go down.  That is all I will say."

John blinked, his mouth agape as he watched Taraviaan hastily exit through the rear door of the room.  He looked at the tiny flask and picked it up. "Trick?  Or treat?" John murmured, grasping the flask and putting it in his boot.  This guy was the big cheese.  If he wanted them to leave alive, why couldn't he just give the order?  Why the secrecy?

John hung his head and rubbed his eyes.  He had a lot to think about with only a little time at his disposal.

Less time than he thought.  The guard outside his door entered and said, "You are next."

John braced himself and walked towards the doorway, murmuring, "Hell, here I come."

*****

"Officer Aeryn Sun."

Aeryn looked up.  A relatively small Narjaain male was standing in the outer doorway.  Behind him lay the fighting pit, it's brown earthen floor beckoning her forward.  Again.  She had already fought Melani...and won.  Her mind pictured the Sebacean woman she had fought and critically injured only half an arn ago.  Only in hand to hand combat.  This next fight would entail the use of weapons.  She stood up from the table and downed the remainder of her cup.  She winced at the taste and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "I am ready," she said.  "Where are my weapons?"

The guard motioned her forward.

Aeryn stepped lightly across the threshold and looked upwards at the surrounding rings of seats.  Not many Narjaain were gathered, but her eyes rested on one: the Narjaain who had accompanied Svarstaan when he brought her the uniform.  He was sitting at the lowest level, approximately the height of two men above the ground.  He met her eyes briefly then looked away.  He looked stern.  Or perhaps bored.  Aeryn shrugged and moved further into the pit, following the guard to another door.  He entered three digits into the keypad next to the door and opened the entrance.  Another guard inside handed him a coil of rope, two daggers and an implement with a curving handle ending in multiple spurs of metal at the tip.  The guard closed the door and began to put the weapons in the rings on Aeryn's belt.  She watched with curiosity. It wasn't much, but since she was facing Crichton, it would be enough.  A quick kill.

The sound of another door opening caught Aeryn's attention and she turned her body.  Her eyes rested on him, standing in the distance.  Crichton...

*****

John felt his knees buckle slightly when her eyes fell on him.  She was far away and three other pairs of fighters were partially blocking his view, but her expression was clear enough.  He hadn't seen her look like that...at him...since their first meeting.  The determination of a soldier.  Hungry for a victory.  Nothing else.  She was here to do a job.  His heart fell.  She had been affected by the drug, after all.  Of course.  How could he have thought otherwise?  The drug was designed for Sebaceans.  Any hopes he had harbored flattened as he watched her.  Battle-ready and alert, her stance showed him that she was here to kill him.  Simple.  It was part of her breeding.

John raised his arms as his guard placed weapons in the holding rings on the belt.  A rope, two daggers, a weird, nasty looking thing with metal prongs. He faught off another wave of nausea, his eyes smarting from the heavy floral scent permeating the pit.  < Every Narjaain must be wearing the stuff > John thought, the cloying scent clinging inside his nostrils and the bright lights stinging his eyes.  His head swam.  And then the sound of a gong rang loudly in his ears.

"Walk to the middle," his guard said, pushing him forward.

John's first impulse was to resist.  But he was supposed to give the impression that he was also under the drug's influence.  If he blew it now, the game would be over, here and now, and he would never get Aeryn back.  He looked slightly upwards and caught sight of Taraviaan, who seemed to be observing two other fighters, two Sebacean males, one of them definitely losing.  John looked away.  He was alone.  Taraviaan would not help him. Hell, he still didn't know if Taraviaan had been telling the truth.

John took a step forward, trying to pull himself together, filtering out the noise of the other fighters, the sounds of the small watchful crowd of Narjaain hungry for blood.  Another step.  He fought down the nausea and pushed the floral scent away.  Only him and Aeryn.  He had to concentrate on himself and Aeryn.  No one else existed now.  Only them.  Only their survival counted in the next few moments.  Only he had the power.

Another step.  Aeryn was closer now.  He could see her eyes clearly.  Cold. Determined.  No recognition of past times spent together on Moya.  He closed his eyes and briefly prayed to whatever gods were out here, then reopened them and glanced to his left, calculating the distance to the eastern door. It seemed like the length of a football field, but that was just his imagination playing tricks on him.  No more than forty yards.  He had to get her there, somehow...

*****

< Crichton > Aeryn's mind spoke to her through a haze-filled filter of confusion, old and new.  Past images of him raced through her mind.  Him Overloading the pulse chamber in her rifle.  Him Kissing the tech girl, Gilina.  Him Yelling at her and disappearing for a quarter of a cycle. Him Accusing her of taking his underwear.  Him Promising to kill her to save her from the living death.  Him Fighting Namtar to save her.  Him Kissing her when they thought they might die.  Him telling her she could be more. Him...everywhere in her life.

Him...here...now.  John.  Friend?  Enemy?

Aeryn took a step forward and faltered.  This wasn't a stranger.  Not Melani. John.  She watched him.  Floreal mist coalesced around her.  Her nostrils flared, drinking in the mist.  Svarstaan had finally told her the purpose of the the mist.  Cleansing ceremony.  To avoid contamination by other species. She could understand that.  She breathed more deeply and watched Crichton approach.  He seemed nervous.  Weak.  Tired.  She felt the same, but she had fought under such conditions before.  He had not.  She drew the rope out of its belt ring and tied a loop as she maintained her watch on Crichton.  He was no longer walking directly towards her.  His eyes kept shifting towards the door far to her right and he seemed to be heading in that direction.  < He's thinking of escape > she mused.   She watched his hands.  One was resting on top of his belt, his fingers curled into his robe, the other was in the process of pulling out his rope.  She smiled, gauged his distance, no further than four meters, and lunged.

John had seen Aeryn fight enough times to know she meant business.  He sidestepped to the left, barely in time, her rope missing his ankles by a nose and sprinted towards the door.  He could hear her quick, sure feet beating against the ground, closing on him.  He didn't dare turn.  He could hear her breathing.  She seemed to be veering to his left.  He cut right and headed for the door again, dimly aware of the jeers of dissatisfied Narjaain unhappy with his display of cowardice.  Well, he could give a rat's ass if they were displeased.  He sped up, catching his foot on a slight rise in the dirt.  He felt himself falling.  Only twenty-five feet to the door.  He hit the dirt, sprawled forward, rolled himself in the right direction and picked himself up at the same time that Aeryn sprung on him.  He fell again, with her on top of him this time.  He reached into his robe and pulled the screwdriver out, two quick flicks of his wrist promptly disengaging Aeryn's belt from her waist, disarming her for the moment.  It was a good thing he had practiced.  As if disarming Aeryn really mattered, he thought fleetingly, bracing himself for the pantak jab even as he thrust his body to the side, rolling Aeryn over as well.  He found himself flung mere inches from her and took the opportunity to run again, feeling her fingers brush against his leg as he sprinted away.  Again, he heard the pounding of her feet gaining on him.  Thirty feet.  Twenty.  Ten.  Five.  The door.  The guard.  Now or never.

John turned in front of the exit and felt for his rope.  < Damn! > his mind yelled.  He had lost it when Aeryn jumped him.  He quickly calculated the risks of using one of the weapons in his belt.  He did not want to use them.  Two daggers and the mean-as-hell thing with the spurs on the end. Aeryn was weaponless now.  She was apparently intent on hand-to-hand combat, he realized as she cornered him, raising her hand to strike.  He was still holding the screwdriver.  It was this, or let Aeryn be taken to Crais. Without further thought, he reached behind, jamming the screwdriver into the keypad.  Sparks rained into Aeryn's face and she retracted her hand to cover her eyes.  The guard flung his hands up as well and John took the opportunity to whirl around and punch him in the face.  The guard went down, as promised, though John could see he wasn't hurt.

No time to lose.

John grabbed Aeryn by the waist with one hand, shielding her from the continuing shower of sparks with his body and rammed the door, hoping he had broken the locking mechanism.  Another gamble.  The metal door shuddered and released suddenly, sliding to the left.  They tumbled forward into a dark passageway.  A small dot of light at the end of the passage beckoned...

Please sir, may I have some more?
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