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Spoilers: none of significance
Rating: PG-13, I guess
Time frame: Second Season
“A pleasure doing business with you, fine sir,” said the merchant as he placed John’s purchases in a thin, strong plastic bag. John placed the bag in the capacious pocket on the side of his long coat and left to meet his shipmates.
He had accompanied Chiana and Rygel to the surface of the commerce planet earlier in the day. He hoped to find a gift with which to surprise Aeryn. Rygel was looking for marjols or, better yet, a game of Tardek where he could fleece some poor sucker. Then he could buy the marjols with someone else’s money. Chiana, well… Chiana was just out for a good time (and maybe a little petty larceny to spice things up a bit).
In accordance with local regulations, their weapons remained aboard the transport pod. After clearing security, the three of them traveled together as far as the town plaza. In the center was what appeared to be a large well, complete with a bucket and a hand-cranked windlass to raise and lower it. The bucket was resting on the low, stone wall, which ringed the well. It was damp, showing that it had been recently used. It seemed incongruous with the level of technical sophistication of the port and the business district, but John had long since given up trying to gauge things in the Uncharted Territories by the standards of his home world.
They decided to split up, and agreed to meet at the well in six arns. That would allow plenty of time to get back to the shuttle before dark. Ordinarily, they would have remained together, but this world was reputed to have the lowest crime rate in the region. Violent crime was virtually absent. Crichton suspected this was due, in part, to the conspicuous presence of a uniformed constabulary. These individuals were seen everywhere. They seemed affable enough, but the shortest was as tall as D’Argo and visibly more massive.
“Stay out of trouble, you two,” said John, with a smile.
Chiana just laughed, and pranced away. Rygel drew himself up and said, imperiously, “I have been visiting commerce planets since before your great grandparents were born, Crichton.”
“Yeah, Sparky,” John replied, “but back then you had a retinue of body guards. Just because you fart helium when you’re under stress, don’t think you can float away if things get sticky”
“Don’t be silly,” said Rygel, “These are a peaceful people. Besides, I am not without… assets.” He pressed a spot on the armrest of his throne sled, and a small, but lethal, neuronal stinger appeared in his hand, as if by magic. The Hynerian departed, smiling serenely.
“Hmmm,” mused Crichton, “I guess you aren’t, at that.”
_________
John had visited several shops before he found what he wanted. It was a beautiful silver hair clasp inlaid with lustrous black stone in the design of a blazing star. A glorious black sun: it was the perfect gift for the raven haired Aeryn Sun. But the play on words only worked in English… God knows how the translator microbes would render it. Still, it pleased John and he looked forward to explaining it to Aeryn.
“I’ll take that one,” John told the merchant, indicating the clasp.
“Ah yes, lovely”, replied the shopkeeper, “You are clearly a person of great taste. This is a gift for a very special person, yes? Then before you leave, you must look at this.” With a flourish, he produced the most remarkable scarf that John had ever seen. It seemed to float like smoke in the air, flashing colors like the finest Australian opal. “Firesilk,” declared the merchant, “hand knit from the webs of the Morlian Death Spider. Virtually weightless, but you could lift a Leviathan with it.”
“How much?” asked John.
“For you, a thousand credits,” said the shopkeeper, “and worth twice that!”
“Then why sell it for a thousand?” asked Crichton.
“I’m a hopeless romantic,” sighed the merchant. “Just the thought of this fine scarf gracing the neck of a beautiful woman is worth well over a thousand credits to me.”
Sure it is, thought John, and Great-grandma Crichton died a virgin. “Gosh, I just don’t have that much with me,” he explained, “I might be able to come up with…”
A quarter-arn later, John had purchased the scarf AND the hair clasp for five hundred credits. The merchant had packaged his goods and complimented him again on his impeccable taste. They parted “Friends”.
It was getting late, so John hurried back towards the rendezvous. He hoped he hadn’t kept the others waiting. He made good time and, as he entered the plaza, saw a crowd converging on the well. Shouts of, “Put them in the Cooler!” and, “Teach them a lesson!” could be heard. Suddenly, a great shout arose and he saw Rygel arcing through the air and into the center of the well! “Now, the Girl!” someone cried, and Crichton realized that Chiana was being carried towards the well.
He broke into a run, shouting her name. Chiana heard and screamed, “John, help me!”
He hit the edge of the crowd, bowling people over and throwing them out of his way. He had almost reached her when two burly constables grabbed him, pinning his arms behind him. “Do you know this female?” asked the larger of the two, with his face practically touching John’s.
“Man, haven’t you people ever heard of Tic Tacs?” coughed John, “Of course I know her. She’s from my ship. What’s going on here?”
“He admits it!” cried the crowd, “Accomplice! Put them in! Put them in!” Then, to John’s horror, Chiana’s struggling form was lifted into the air and hurled, shrieking, into the abyss!
A loud splash was followed, almost immediately, by a string of curses remarkable not only for their intensity, but for their graphic originality. Then John found himself being lifted off his feet. A tremendous cheer erupted from the crowd as he, too, was propelled into the darkness.
The water was so cold; it nearly took John’s breath away. He broke the surface sputtering, but uninjured, and looked up at the opening, about two body-lengths above. Officer Halitosis was grinning down at him.
“We’re a hospitable people,” said the officer, “but we don’t take kindly to cheats and thieves. We’ll check on you in a day or two. If you apologize nicely and we’re satisfied you’ve learned your lesson, we’ll let you out.” He nodded towards the rope and bucket, then bade them farewell.
__________
Treading water, John looked around and saw his companions seated on a narrow ledge. Rygel was obviously furious, but appeared otherwise comfortable… he was, after all, an aquatic being. Chiana, however, looked like a drowned rat. She was sitting miserably on the ledge, hair plastered to her head, hugging her knees to her chest.
John paddled over and hauled himself out to sit between them. “Would you please tell me what the Hesmana this is all about? What happened to piss those people off so much?”
The two of them started shouting and pointing at each other with increasing volume and agitation, until John shouted, “Stop! One at a time! Rygel, age before beauty… what happened?”
Rygel cleared his throat, and began, “After spending several arns in a fruitless search for Marjols…”
“Wadaya mean, Slugface?” interrupted Chiana, “I saw you dickering with at least six merchants who…”
“At a reasonable price!” Rygel overrode her, “I made my way to a local eatery…”
“A bar, you mean,” smirked Chiana.
“To partake of some food and libations,” Rygel continued, unperturbed. “During dessert…”
“His fourth,” Chiana added, sarcastically.
“My third, if you please!” said Rygel, before continuing, “I noticed two gentlebeings engrossed in a game of Tardek. Once the game had ended, I approached the winner and inquired about the game. I asked if it was popular, here. He said it was, so I offered to play him.”
“What a load of dren!” snorted Chiana, “You acted like you’d never even heard of the game, and asked if he would teach you.”
“Well, I’d never played the LOCAL variation of the game before,” Rygel replied, coolly.
“Then he suckers the guy into betting everything he’s got,” continued Chiana, “ and, WHAM! He makes a really shady move and tries to claim the pot!”
“It was a legal move,” huffed Rygel, “unconventional, perhaps, but perfectly legal… which he would have realized, if he’d kept his eye on the game. But this bony-assed bitch chose just that moment to get caught picking someone’s pocket. The commotion caused my opponent to look away…”
“And, that’s when you made your fancy move,” finished Crichton. “Convenient, Sparky, very convenient. And they decided you were a team, right?” Rygel’s earbrows drooped. He said nothing.
John turned to Chiana and said “Pip…”
“Hey!” she protested, “I was just havin’ a little fun. You know, teasing. I gave it back. I don’t know why he made such a fuss.”
“Maybe,” Rygel suggested, “it was the three timepieces, the necklace, and the brooch he found on your person.”
“He had no right to search there,” Chiana complained.
“Not to mention the tongue ring,” the Hynerian finished, dryly.
“A tongue ring?” John asked. “How did you…? No! Don’t tell me; I don’t want to know.”
Turning to the Hynerian, John said, “Rygel, nobody likes a hustler. You’re lucky they didn’t break your arms before they pitched you in here. And Pip, I swear to God, one of these days… Oh hell, let’s get out of here!” John signaled Moya on his communicator (Rygel’s and Chiana’s had been confiscated), “Pilot? Aeryn? Anybody, can you read me?” It was no use: something was blocking the transmission. It looked like they were spending the night… and the cold was getting to Chiana. The Nebari was soaked to the skin and was beginning to shiver uncontrollably.
“C-C-Crichton h-how long are th-th-th-the n-n-nights here?” she asked, barely able to speak.
John had no idea, but one thing was clear: Chiana wasn’t likely to last until morning… but how to get out? John took off his coat and draped it over Chiana’s shoulders. Then he told everybody to place their possessions on the ledge. “Basic survival training,” he said, “Once out of immediate danger, inventory your resources.”
There wasn’t much: John had only some local currency and the bag containing the hair clasp and Firesilk scarf he had bought for Aeryn. Rygel could produce only a half-dozen soggy food cubes and Chiana a tiny, jeweled knife she’d lifted from one of the bar’s wealthier patrons. “They didn’t search me THAT well,” she quipped, her sense of humor returning now that she was less cold.
Things did not look promising. The well was like a big jug. The domed interior flared out from the central opening, which was well out of reach. The inner surface was smooth as glass and the top rim of the well could not be seen from the ledge. Even if he had a rope and grapple, it was too high for John to reach it with a throw while treading water, especially as chilled as he was beginning to feel without his coat.
John looked at Rygel. The Hynerian seemed convinced there was no escape and had resigned himself waiting for the constables to let him out. And only a few arns earlier, the little gas bag had been so confident that his “assets” could get him out of anything!
“That’s it!” shouted the human, suddenly grabbing the Hynerian, “This is all your fault, Buckwheat. If we’re going to buy the farm down here, you’re going to be a full partner in the deal!” Calling on Chiana to help, he thrust the struggling Dominar deep into the icy water.
__________
Two arns later they were safe aboard Moya as the commerce planet receded in their wake. Zahn and Pilot had been overjoyed that they were safe, but Aeryn seemed quite annoyed with John. After the escapees had gotten into dry, warm clothing, they all met in the mess. There, over hot beverages, John explained their escape to the others.
“I knew I had to get his Eminence upset, or angry, or both,” said John.
“You certainly did that!” grumped Rygel from his throne sled.
“So I threatened his life and held him underwater,” continued John, “The result was as I had hoped. After we had filled the plastic bag with helium, I tied it off while Chiana used her knife to start unraveling the end of the scarf. She pulled out enough yarn to make a tether and I fastened it to the bag. Fortunately there was enough helium to lift the hair clasp, so I swam to the center of the well and let the bag float out of the opening overhead. As luck would have it, the breeze was in our favor and I managed to snag the bucket with the clasp and pull it into the well. Then I climbed the rope and hauled the others up. We found Spanky’s sled in the bushes, and beat feet for the Transport Pod.”
“Very resourceful,” said D’Argo.
“Just making use of Rygel’s ass-ets,” replied John, grinning. The others stared at him blankly. “Damn translator microbes!” he muttered, “a punster’s nightmare.”
“You’d have done better to stay out of trouble in the first place,” said Aeryn, sourly.
“Now Aeryn,” said Zahn diplomatically, ”John found himself in a predicament, not of his own making, and managed to get everyone out safely. I’m sure we are all proud of his actions. It’s a shame about the scarf, though… Firesilk is quite lovely. It was very thoughtful of him to buy it for you.”
“There was no need…” Aeryn replied, looking vaguely uneasy, “but thank you for the thought. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m needed in Command.”
__________
Later, John was sitting in his quarters contemplating the hair clasp. He’d retrieved it, along with the rest of the scarf, after pulling the bucket into the well. He had intended to present them to Aeryn, but had been put off by her reaction. He still couldn’t understand why she had been so upset with him, and was feeling glum.
“John,” said a voice from the doorway. He turned to see Zahn, smiling gently. “Aeryn was very worried about you,” she said, “In fact, she was just about to take her prowler to the surface and demand your return, when we got word from Pilot that you were on the way back. She is unused to emotional attachments, John; they make her feel vulnerable, and she abhors vulnerability. She still has much growing to do before she can be at ease with her emotions.”
John thanked the Delvian, and she departed. He carefully folded the scarf, placing it in the bottom of a small box, and laid the clasp upon the shimmering fabric.
The black sun blazed up at him. It was a perfect metaphor for Aeryn. At first glance, it was simple, even austere. But closer inspection revealed a depth and complexity that beguiled the eye and ensnared the imagination.
She had been a soldier: committed to her duty. “You can be more!” John had told her. Just how much more, he could scarcely have imagined. More than a valued shipmate, Aeryn had become his guide-star and his anchor in the midst of chaos. There was no one he would rather have at his side, and no one for whom he was willing to risk more. And, someday… but now was not the time; she was not ready.
John sighed and closed the box. If it was ever to be, he knew, he must use all his assets: his wit, courage, intelligence, and persistence. And patience… above all, he must be patient, or risk losing that which he so earnestly desired.
He lay back upon his bunk and listened to the sounds of Moya, soothed and reassured by the now-familiar rhythms. He would bide his time; everything would work out, he was sure. And, deep within his mind, driving back the mists of uncertainty and loneliness, the image of Aeryn Sun shone through the darkness, like a beacon in the void.
