August, 2002

Title: Agrajag

Category: Challenge response -- to show some collateral damage to minor or unknown characters due to our gang’s adventures in the Uncharted Territories

Summary: John was wrong -- he is very much Arthur Dent

Spoilers: Episodes up to ‘Thanks for Sharing’

Rating: PG

Notes: I blame Douglas Adams for this odd little piece, for creating Agrajag and his sad little story. If you haven't read the Hitchhiker's Guide series, yet, what are you waiting for? Thanks to Deneba for the quick beta.

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Borlik found him sitting at the bar, leaning heavily on the counter over a collection of empty glasses. Sebacean male, dressed in dark clothes and an even darker mood. A Peacekeeper if she ever saw one. On any other day, she would simply escort him off her station. But today was a special day. She had seen it in her dreams. And this strange man was the portent of her triumph.

"So," she started, taking the empty seat next to him, "I hear you're looking for work."

The man lifted his head and faced her, a half-finished glass of deep orange F'lnah in his hand. "Could be."

"Well, then it could be that I'm hiring department around here." She settled against the bar in intentional casualness. "What kind of work can you do?"

"What do you need done?"

"Well," she sat back so as to assess him properly. Big and burly, a long scar running the length of his chin, hard eyes and uncompromising stare. Smart, experienced, the kind of man who could give a petty thief the scare of his miserable little life. "I could use some help in Security. You ever done that before?"

He snorted derisively once, swallowing the rest of his drink in one gulp. "Here and there."

Of course he had. When had she ever sized someone up wrong? "Private? For hire? Military?"

"Yes."

It was her turn to snort derisively. "Look, you're the one looking for work. So give me an idea what you've done or we're through, Peacekeeper."

He looked up, startled. "Ex. Ex-Peacekeeper."

"We don't get many of those."

"Aren't many to be gotten."

There. Now she had him talking. "What did you do in the Peacekeepers?"

"Commando unit."

Commando. Specialized killers. "That's impressive."

He stared into the empty space behind the bar. "Captain didn't think so."

Ah. Now she understood. "Because you failed?" Why else would he be here, drowning his miseries in intoxicants?

"Because we were tricked," he spat. "By some arrogant little nothing fighting with trickery and cowardice. Burning us out. Using holographic technology or something to fool us. Because he couldn't fight like a warrior."

Borlik smiled a tiny bit at the vehemence in the Sebacean's voice. Truly an omen. A man with anger and vengeance in his blood... "Someone took out a Peacekeeper commando unit?" She leaned forward again, closer to the man, sliding herself quietly into his space. "Also impressive."

He grunted once in response. Such barbarians, these Peacekeepers. Ex-Peacekeepers, too. Speaking of which...

"So you deserted?"

He looked sharply up at her as the word came out of her mouth. Surprised at her guess. As though it were a guess. There were only two ways to leave the Peacekeepers: desert or die. And he clearly wasn't dead.

"I didn't desert. I was reassigned as punishment. To a Gammack Base run by some half-breed."

"Then what are you doing here?" she gestured toward the dim, empty bar and its few drunk patrons behind them.

"It was destroyed."

"What happened?"

When he didn't answer, Borlik signaled for another drink for him. Best way to keep them talking was to keep them drinking.

"John Crichton happened," he announced, watching as the glass was filled, liquid splashing out onto the counter.

Borlik waited patiently. She had become very good at being patient.

"This guy infiltrated our base, but he was caught. Took advantage of some naïve little tech to get in good with her and escaped. His gang got past me and my squad. Killed most of my men on their way out." Swirling his drink slightly, he watched the tiny ripples chase themselves around. "Then he torched the whole frelling planet just for sport."

"So how did you survive?"

"Wasn't there. I'd failed when they escaped. You know what they do to you when you fail?" He shook his head slowly. "It was either face Scorpius and his torture device or desert." He looked defiantly up at her. "I wasn't going to be broken by that Scarran monster."

Scorpius. A name she had only heard in hushed tones and dark rumors. A soul of vengeance like herself. "So you hired your services out?"

He nodded. "Worked security for a Shadow Depository some of the Base Command had used. It was a good place. Natira, she rewarded you well for good work," he added with a hint of grinning fondness.

"I heard a Shadow Depository was destroyed recently."

"Yeah, you heard right. Whole thing blasted into billions of tiny pieces. Including everything I had earned."

So, the rumors were true. She would lose a few bets. "What can destroy a Shadow Depository?"

"John Crichton, that's what."

"John Crichton..." she repeated, listening to the name roll around on her tongue. It tasted sweet, for some reason. Like the harkening of good things to come. "I know every thief, every gang, every stolen goods dealer in the Uncharted Territories -- and I've never heard of this guy."

"Consider yourself lucky."

"What does he do? What does he trade in? Weapons? Slaves? Information?"

"I'll tell you what he does. He ruins lives. He appears from nowhere, slaughters and steals and pops out eyes just for the fun of it. And you're lucky to be alive when he leaves."

Borlik licked her lips. A spirit of vengeance wreaking havoc on the devils who terrorized the innocent with their massive weapons and their ships... A dark angel of wrath sweeping down upon those who kidnapped, stole, raped, and pillaged, and then profited from their sins...

"Perhaps some might say he is balancing the scales of justice."

"Then they've never had him steal their life from them." He stood up, tossing a single krepma on the counter. "You listen to me. If you see John Crichton, you shoot him before he kills you too."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Better yet, tell me where I can find him, and I'll shoot him myself. He took my life from me three times over. I'd like nothing better than to take his before I leave this miserable existence."

"I'll keep that in mind," she simply repeated.

He watched her for another long moment, his burst of anger and betrayal quickly fading into a resigned sort of bitter acceptance. Then turned to walk painfully away, favoring one heavy leg.

"Peacekeeper," she called out.

He stopped, not turning back toward her. "Yeah."

She walked three steps toward him, not sure why she was drawn in by his pathetic story. Everyone had one, after all. "I know where you might find some work. It's not easy, but it pays very well."

"Yeah?"

"Kanvia. The head of Security is a man named Rinic Tolven. He also... rewards for good work. And the benefits can be quite impressive."

The man nodded silently and continued his path back toward the door.

Borlik nodded to Moordil for a drink. Yes, it was a special day. A spirit of the vanquished and a portent of annihilation in one day. It would come soon. Perhaps even today. Her triumph over those who desecrated the Sacred Space of Gezma with their commerce.

And if she ever met this John Crichton, her harbinger of destruction, she would not kill him. She would buy him a drink before they died.

~~finis~~

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"What do you have against me, Dent?" snarled the creature, advancing on him in a painful waddle.

"Nothing," insisted Arthur, "honestly, nothing."

Agrajag fixed him with a beady stare. "Seems a strange way to relate to somebody you've got nothing against, killing them all the time."

Life, the Universe, and Everything ~~ Douglas Adams, 1952-2001