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“Aeryn,” Jool said urgently, “I need you to drink this!”
The Sebacean was still unconscious, but Jool had wrestled her inert form up against the side wall of the shed, and was hoping not to have to attempt to pour the concoction she had procured down her throat.
“Aeryn,” she whispered again. “The apothecary said this is good for swelling.”
After thinking about her options, Jool had decided that her best bet, short of finding a real doctor – and she could just imagine what Aeryn would have said about THAT – was to find some kind of pharmacy where she could get a drug to help reduce the pressure she assumed the blood-filled nodule was putting on Aeryn’s brain. She had reluctantly left her unconscious patient behind and marched bravely into the streets.
Fortunately, the apothecary she found had accepted her story about a friend with a sprained ankle, and had sold her a packet of medication intended to reduce inflammation, as well as a cup to mix it in.
Dirty and cluttered as the shed was, Jool had breathed a sigh of relief when she returned unhindered and found Aeryn safe. She might have wished for consciousness, but unchanged would have to do.
“Come ON, Aeryn,” she wheedled once more, hoping to rouse her, but to no avail. She heaved a martyred sigh and whined, “What kind of soldier can’t take a little bump on the head?”
Jool carefully set the cup down so she wouldn’t spill it while she tilted Aeryn’s head back somewhat, and forced her mouth open. “It’s easier to get a pill into a Vorlag puppy,” she complained, but she finally felt she had a chance.
She picked up the cup in one hand and carefully poured a small amount of the liquid into Aeryn’s mouth, leaning her head slightly with the other hand so the thin mixture would trickle down her throat. “I’m sorry this is so nasty,” she said, even though she knew Aeryn couldn’t taste it.
Jool got a couple more mouthfuls into her patient before Aeryn choked and began coughing. Jool almost dropped her while trying to keep from dropping the medicine. She managed to set the cup well out of the way, and leaned Aeryn forward, patting her on the back.
“Aeryn? Aeryn? Are you all right?” she repeated several times, hoping the ex-Peacekeeper would come to and take all this responsibility off her hands. But though her breathing settled down, Aeryn remained dead to the world.
“That’s it, drown her why don’t you,” Jool scolded herself, settling against the wall next to Aeryn so that her shipmate was leaning against her shoulder.
As Jool spoke, Aeryn twitched, and her eyes moved behind closed lids. Belatedly, Jool remembered that Aeryn had actually died by drowning and been brought back to life shortly before Jool had found herself in this unwelcome exile.
“Hezmana!” Supposedly, unconscious people could hear everything you said. Who knew what THAT was going to stir up in Aeryn’s mind?
Jool reached for the cup again, intending to estimate how much of the potion she’d managed to get inside Aeryn, but found she couldn’t reach it with Aeryn’s inert body weighing her down. “How am I supposed to do anything under these conditions?” she whimpered in frustration.
She seriously considered just dumping Aeryn on the floor, injured or not, and having a good cry, but then she remembered that she needed Aeryn to get out of this hideous mess. Well, maybe the best thing to do for now do was to wait and see if the medicine helped. She pulled Aeryn into her lap as if she were only sleeping, and tried to doze herself.
After a fairly short time, Jool was startled to alertness by Aeryn’s voice calling sharply, “Crichton!”
It took only a moment to see that Aeryn wasn’t yet awake, but she seemed to be stirring, and called Crichton’s name several more times with varying degrees of alarm.
“Shhh,” Jool said, encouraged by the fact that Aeryn seemed closer to consciousness. “Shhh, Aeryn, it’s okay. It’s okay. Crichton’s fine, I’m sure of it. We’ll get him out, you’ll see, and you two will have a long, happy life together!”
Aeryn settled down then, perhaps comforted by the soothing words.
It was only then that Jool was struck by the thought that she’d possibly put her foot in her mouth again. “Frell! I hope she wasn’t talking about the other one,” she sighed.
Jool was too wide awake to sit any longer, so she retrieved the make-shift pillow and settled Aeryn down on the floor again. Nervous, Jool paced the shed, wondering how long she should wait before trying something else or actually fetching a physician.
After about a quarter arn, Aeryn abruptly opened her eyes and sat up. “John?” she called quietly, sounding confused.
Overjoyed, Jool ran across the room and knelt down in front of her. “It’s me, Jool. Easy, don’t move too fast, you’ve got a lump on the back of your head the size of a plovek’s egg. It’s all right, though, I think. I’ve been taking care of you.”
Moving sore muscles carefully, Aeryn reached up and felt the lump. “I’ve had worse,” she said vaguely. “Did they get John and Crais?” she asked, and then paled suddenly and leaned to the side, emptying her stomach of whatever small contents it might have had.
Jool was too surprised to even try to help, not that Aeryn would have let her anyway.
When Aeryn sat back up again, her color was better, but she still looked slightly disoriented. She asked, “What did you give me?”
“Tagalog root extract. For the swelling.”
“Does it cause hallucinations?”
“What? No, I don’t think so, the only side effects the apothecary mentioned were dry mouth and possible drowsiness,” Jool said. “Why?”
“No reason. I had some very curious dreams.”
“What kind of dreams?” Jool asked clinically, fully expecting to be rebuffed.
But Aeryn actually answered, in her own way. “Dreams about…dying. And dreams about living to be an old woman. Very old, with a granddaughter, and….” She shook her head as if to clear it. “If it’s not the drug, it must be the injury. How long have I been unconscious?”
“About five arns,” Jool answered promptly.
“Do you know where Crichton and Crais are? Were they captured?” Aeryn asked, carefully moving and stretching, checking herself to see what the damage was.
“I saw them captured,” Jool told her, “but I don’t know where they are.”
“All right,” Aeryn said, “then the first thing we have to do is find them.” She gave her former nurse a hard look and asked, “While you were out buying that poison, I don’t suppose you thought to get some analgesic or raslak, did you?”
* * * * * * * * * *
Crichton and Crais were bored and trying to cope with the boredom and the uncertainty, each in his own way. No one had entered their cell since Trinh had left several arns earlier.
“I’m surprised they haven’t interrogated us,” Crais commented out of the blue.
“Probably think they have us dead to rights,” Crichton said from the corner of the cell where he was shadow boxing. Crais had been steadfastly ignoring his activity.
“You mean they don’t care if they have any evidence,” the Sebacean said.
“Yup,” John grunted, continuing his exercise. “Just like PKs.”
Crais ignored that, too.
“Maybe we should ask about the girls,” Crichton said finally, straightening up and looking at Crais.
“Is it wise to remind these people about them?”
“They scanned us at the spaceport, Cap’n, they already know Aeryn is armed to the teeth, and even Jool’s got that cutesy little pistol of hers. They’ll be looking for them just for that. This way, maybe we can find out something.”
“Perhaps…”
John dropped his hands to his side and walked over to stand in front of Crais. “If Aeryn’s hurt,” he began, “they might need medical help.”
“If Aeryn is injured badly enough to need professional medical help, they’ve been captured already,” Crais said flatly.
When John looked at him without understanding, Crais cocked his head to one side and said, “Jool doesn’t like Aeryn, but do you really believe she would let her die needlessly? If Aeryn needs more help than Joolushko can give, that girl will turn them in to the authorities if she has to in order to get it.”
John’s expression lightened a little despite the implications of the latter for their own situation, and he shook his head. “Point taken. All right, assume for now they’re free, they’re okay, and they’ll be coming to bust us out of here. The question is, what do we do in the meantime?” He made it clear the question was rhetorical by tossing the pillow from his cot back and forth between his hands. “Damn, I wish I had a basketball.”
Any response from Crais was forestalled when the door to their cell creaked open, and the two men turned their full attention to their new visitors.
To their surprise, it turned out to be several guards bringing a hot meal, which they accepted without comment. As the guards started to go, one of them turned and held out something to Crais. “Here,” he said. “We were told to give this to you.”
Startled, Crais set his food down on his cot and took it from him. “Thank you,” he said.
When they were alone again, Crichton looked at him. “Hot damn, is that what I think it is?”
“Yes. My link with Talyn.” Crais put the device into its socket, and stood for a moment, evaluating. “I don’t believe it’s functioning,” he said with disappointment.
Equally disappointed, Crichton said, “Well, Talyn’s out of range, isn’t he?”
“Presumably,” Crais acknowledged. “However, the transponder has its own feedback which I can sense. And right now, I’m getting nothing.” He reached back and fiddled with the device, removing and reseating it several times, obviously without result.
Crichton held out his hand. “Let me see it,” he said.
Wordlessly, Crais removed the neural link and handed it over.
“Well,” Crichton said, turning the device over and examining it from several angles, “it looks like they might have been trying to take it apart to see what it does. See this wire here?” he asked, showing Crais the damage. “It looks like it’s been broken. Or I suppose it could have happened when they pulled it out.”
“Either way, it doesn’t help us if it doesn’t work.”
“Eat your food while it’s hot,” Crichton said, gesturing to Crais to sit down. “Maybe I can do something with this.”
Crais sat back on his bunk and ate, watching in silence as the human checked his pockets, examined the utensils provided with the meal, and eventually ended up working a few small wires and pieces of wood free from the support structure of the cot to create a set of tools.
“You should eat too,” Crais observed at one point. “You never know when they’re going to feed us again.”
Crichton gave him a sharp look, but from then on occasionally paused in his work to scoop a spoonful of whatever it was into his mouth.
Crais watched him thoughtfully.
Eyes firmly on the work he was doing, John asked casually, “So, what was that back in the transport about Talyn and Dam-ba-da?”
Talyn’s captain narrowed his eyes and considered. Finally, he said, “When we were attacked by the Charrids, Talyn disobeyed my direct order, and Aeryn’s, and came to our aid, rather than staying out of harm’s way, with the result that both he and I were blinded. He believes things would have gone….differently….without that handicap.”
“Dad’s gone, so it must be my fault,” John said, looking up.
Crais shook his head, puzzled.
“Human children, when one of the parents leaves, they tend to think it’s something they did.” Crichton paused, then added, “I don’t mean…I mean, I know you’re the dad, but…”
“I understand, that’s close enough to how it was for Talyn. He learned a lot from observing them.” Crais grimaced, realizing how that sounded.
John waved his hand to show he hadn’t taken it wrong, and went back to his work.
They sat in silence, John working, Crais watching from across the room, until John announced, “Ah-ha! Got the bugger, I think!” He stood up and walked across the small cell and handed the transponder to Crais. “Try that.”
Crais reached back and plugged the device into its socket and stood for a minute, evaluating. “Yes,” he said. “I believe you’ve done it. Thank you.”
John eyed him speculatively and said, “Talyn. He learned about….?”
Crais frowned at the question, but grudgingly accepted the implied debt. “He learned about…. teamwork. And sharing.” He hesitated a moment, then continued more clearly, ”Talyn saw what it is to need, and to love.”
Crichton’s face was blank, waiting.
After another pause Crais added quietly, “And he learned about real happiness. Pure joy.” His expression made it clear he wasn’t going to say anything more.
“That’s good,” John said huskily. “Those are good things for him to know about.”
“Yes,” Crais agreed curtly. “They are.”
But John turned towards his side of the room and knuckled his eyes.
When Crichton took a deep breath and turned back, Crais drawled, “And he ALSO discovered what it means to behave like a drannit.”
“Oh, well, I’m sure he already knew that,” John smirked, grateful that he’d learned that particular insult from D’Argo during their cranky phase. Then he added carelessly, “So, what’s the plan, then? We wait for the girls, or we try to find a way out of here?”
“Both, I think,” said Crais. “If we can retrieve our weapons –“ He cut off abruptly as the overhead lights turned off.
“Looks like the library’s closing,” Crichton said. “I guess we should try to get some sleep and be ready for anything in the morning.”
“Yes,” replied Crais.
John couldn’t resist. “Good night, John-Boy,” he quipped.
“I don’t want to know what you mean by that, do I?”
“No,” Crichton agreed.
“Good night.”
* * * * * * * * * *
As it turned out, Jool HAD purchased a pain killer, and Aeryn popped a couple of pills, more to help her focus her thoughts without distraction than because she was really bothered by the injuries she’d collected on this frelling planet.
The two women dusted off their clothing in preparation for leaving their hiding place. Jool ran her fingers through her hair, removing tangles and incidentally a number of long orange strands. Aeryn quickly re-did her braid with practiced hands. There was no point in LOOKING like they’d been in an accident.
Night had fallen, and Aeryn was anxious to make use of the cover of darkness to find out where John and Crais were and whether they needed rescuing. “Knowing Crichton,” she muttered, as she opened the door quietly, glancing around the area, “of course he needs rescuing.”
Jool wasn’t sure how to take that, and she said nothing.
She led Aeryn back to the scene of their run-in with the local law. It seemed as good a starting place as any. It was still early in the evening. Some of the shops and eating places were still open, and there were other people on the streets.
While standing in the shadows, examining the site from across the street, Aeryn was amazed to realize how near to the place they had actually been hiding without any apparent pursuit or building-to-building search. “What kind of soldiers let a wounded prey get away so easily?” she asked the universe at large.
“Ones who don’t believe females are a threat,” Jool answered her. When Aeryn looked at her askance, she elaborated, “I took a class once in cultures with a division between the sexes.”
Aeryn snorted.
Jool held her ground. “They weren’t paying any real attention to you and me, just Crichton and Crais.”
Aeryn thought back to the confrontation, and decided perhaps Jool just might be right. “That could help us.”
“How?” Jool asked, more to keep hearing another voice than because she wanted to know the answer.
“I don’t know yet. Come on, we need to find the nearest detention area. And we need to find out why they stopped us in the first place.”
Jool solved the first problem. She shook her head and fluffed up her hair, then screwed up her face to look distressed. Once prepared, she chose the nearest small shop that appeared nearly deserted and rushed in. “Please,” she asked the shopkeeper, lip quivering, “can you tell me where the local law enforcement station is?”
Aeryn followed her in, frowning, but allowing her to take the lead.
“Can I help you? What’s wrong?” the merchant asked with concern, flicking his eyes nervously towards Aeryn.
Green eyes shining, Jool told him her sad story. “We’re on an interplanetary tour” – and here she gestured to include Aeryn – “and we’re here on Cierra on a three-day layover, waiting to catch another ship.” She sniffed. “And while we were walking down the street out there,” she continued, gesturing out the door, “some horrible cutthroats robbed me and took all my currency!”
“That’s terrible,” exclaimed her target. “Let me call the militia for you, they can be here in 50 microts! We can’t be having visitors to our planet assaulted,” he added gallantly.
Aeryn interrupted briskly. “They ran away, they’re long gone, but we need to go to the base to report it anyway.”
“For the trip insurance,” Jool sniffled.
In the end, with some wheedling and a few more tears from Jool, the shopkeeper gave them very precise directions to a facility only a few thousand metras distant, and sent them on their grateful way.
As they walked to it, Aeryn asked out of curiosity, “What made you think of that?”
Jool shrugged. “I WAS robbed once, when I was traveling with my cousins. People were very helpful.”
“It would have been less obvious to just ask someone on the road without all that nonsense,” Aeryn replied, scanning the streets.
“You don’t have much fun, do you?” Jool said, and regretted it instantly, under the circumstances, but Aeryn merely ignored the comment and kept walking.
The station, when they reached it, proved to be a small, sturdy-looking building which appeared to house not only a detention area, but other official services. There seemed to be only two entrances or exits, and no obvious windows, but by Peacekeeper standards, it looked primitive. Aeryn thought they might be able to simply storm it and get Crichton and Crais out, IF they were in there in the first place.
She stationed Jool to observe one door, and took up her own post near the other, waiting for the shift to change. Aeryn had chosen for herself the door she felt was more likely to be used by members of the force, and positioned Jool as back-up.
As it got later, the temperature dropped, and the cold made her injuries ache. She ignored the discomfort, and waited, crouched in the shadows, hoping that Jool would have the sense to stay quiet. And awake.
After several arns, Aeryn’s patience was rewarded. Men dressed in the dark uniform they had seen that morning at the roadblock began arriving in ones and twos, entering the door she was observing. She stood, still keeping to the shadows, and stretched, warming up muscles that had been ill-used almost from the moment they landed on the planet.
Now men began straggling OUT the door. Good. The ones going off-shift wouldn’t be missed as soon as the ones arriving. She chose one and followed him out to a lot filled with ground vehicles much like the one she had been driving when things went pear-shaped. For a soldier of any sort, he was woefully unprepared.
In only a few microts, she had her arm tightly across his throat, and was saying grimly, “Tell me. Do you have two Sebaceans in there? Have they been harmed?”
* * * * * * * * * *
Crichton and Crais slept fitfully, each burdened with his own worries. John would have given anything to know Aeryn was safe, and she haunted his dreams all night, everything from cartoon-like silliness to a wistful vision of the two of them together, gray-haired and happy in old age. Crais, on the other hand, would have been hard-pressed to put his concerns into words. But they both tossed and turned, and woke early.
Though the lights remained out, they could hear movement outside their cell which suggested night had passed.
“Do you suppose they’ll feed us breakfast?” John asked idly in the dark, massaging his eyes with the heels of his hands and wondering if he could get up without groaning.
“A chance to shower would be welcome,” Crais replied, sounding tired himself.
The lights came on, and indeed, they were brought a morning meal.
“I’m going to have to rethink the whole Turkish prison idea,” John remarked, savoring something green and purple that might almost have passed for ham and eggs if he closed his eyes. “They’re feeding us, they’re letting us sleep at night, they haven’t really even roughed us up much.”
“I believe this is a holding facility,” Crais ventured. “We’ll have a better chance of getting out if we can do it before they move us.”
“Mmph,” John said, “or WHILE they’re moving us.”
“Yes,” Crais agreed. “In thinking about our capture yesterday, I do not believe most of these soldiers are experienced with weapons.”
John waved his spoon in the air. “Stands to reason if they don’t allow weapons here. It’s like London Bobbies, they only carried nightsticks, not guns, till too many criminals had guns. These guys probably don’t get much practice.” Without waiting a response, he continued, “If there aren’t too many of them, we could probably take ‘em before they shoot us…”
“Probably,” Crais echoed.
“It would be nice if I could get Winona back, though,” Crichton said, thinking aloud.
“How can you be so attached to a perfectly ordinary pulse pistol?” Crais muttered.
Before Crichton could protest that Winona wasn’t ORDINARY, the door opened again, and Trinh, the public defender from the previous day, appeared.
“Hey, F. Lee,” John said cheerfully. “What’s the word?” A full stomach had helped make up for the lack of sleep, and he was feeling a lot better than he had when he first woke up.
Trinh’s sour expression suggested he took John’s good humor as continued evidence that his clients did not understand the seriousness of their situation. “I’ll be brief,” he said, looking between the two of them.
Crais spread his arms expansively and said, “By all means.”
“I did try yesterday to get the charges dropped, however the six pulse weapons confiscated from you, and the fact that you fought with the special squad sent to apprehend you requires that you be arraigned immediately. In all probability, you will be sent to Burber Prison without trial.”
The prisoners exchanged guarded looks; good, they were being moved. Opportunities abounded.
Trinh looked at them suspiciously, and John said hurriedly, “Isn’t there some way we can appeal? Something?”
Apparently frustrated by his inability to help them, the lawyer was less sympathetic today. “Do you know where your females might be hiding?”
Crichton could see his own stifled laughter mirrored in Crais’ eyes. The ex-Peacekeeper said, with his most innocent expression, “Are they hiding?”
“They may need help,” Trinh said severely. “The reports from your capture indicated at least one of the women was injured.” His manner suggested he didn’t think they could take care of themselves.
This time Crichton answered, trying to stifle his fears and take the fact that Trinh was asking about them in the first place as evidence that Aeryn and Jool were all right. “Well, to be honest, I wouldn’t have thought your fine officers would have had any trouble tracking down a pair of unarmed women.”
“We know they have pulse weapons,” Trinh said in a tone which left no doubt he was extremely disappointed in the lie. “Will they go to your contact for protection?”
“I told you yesterday,” John exclaimed, “we don’t HAVE a contact!” But there was no point in prolonging this discussion. “Look, just leave if you can’t help, okay? We’ll take our chances at the hearing.”
As Trinh turned to summon a guard so he could leave their cell, the sound of running feet echoed outside the door. The unmistakable report of pulse pistols could be heard echoing down the hall, followed by the clamor of alarms ringing out.
John’s face brightened and he said with satisfaction, “Aeryn!”
“Undoubtedly,” agreed Crais, reaching out and putting their erstwhile lawyer on the floor in one quick motion. “Thank you for obtaining my transponder, by the way,” he said, twisting Trinh’s arm behind his back.
