I Don't Like Mondays. a.k.a. Tuesday Fic

Author: Red
Email: spooky@watchfarscape.com
Rating: PG-13 for language
Disclaimer: FARSCAPE and all related characters and elements are trademarks of The Jim 
Henson Company. I do not own it and I am not making any money off of it.
Spoilers: Takes place after season 4.

WARNING - for your safety and mental wellbeing during the reading of this fic, I feel 
obliged to advise that there are many run-on sentences, incomplete sentences, curious 
phraseologies, and very possibly characters saying "ouch". Please prepare yourself 
accordingly.

***

"Ouch. Damn it, D'Argo."

"Shut the frell up, Crichton."

Welcome to my life. "That had better be your freakin' Qualta blade."

"Will you two be quiet?" The sweet, steely hiss made clear that that was not in anyway a 
request and having had way too much experience with that tone of voice, D'Argo and I 
made what was arguably our wisest move in at least a weeken and shut it. 

Of course having made one wise move, we were feeling all kinds of cocky and confident 
and we didn't let it go there, we couldn't. D'Argo gave me another jab in the ribs, I shoved 
him just a little bit, then he lost his balance and made a hell of a lot of noise doing it. It's the 
tentacles, I tell ya. 

The noise went on for a while, sounding a whole lot like he was losing a battle with the Tin 
Man. And because it's us, this attracted the attention of the fugly baddies who hated us on 
this particular floating hunk of rusty parts. I'm pretty sure that if there'd been enough light 
to see by, Aeryn would have shot us both and saved the guys with the bigger guns the 
trouble. We could hear them shouting, thumping, howling, shooting and in general making 
just about as much noise as D'Argo and his war with the spare parts. 

D'Argo finally hit bottom and let out a string of curses that blistered the ears off my 
translator microbes. He fell silent for a second and then I felt a small breeze kiss my cheek 
and heard a sharp whip crack. The son of a bitch tried to tongue me. 

The Luxan obscenities started up again as soon as he had enough of his tongue back in his 
mouth and I made a dive towards him. I'm not real sure what I had in mind, the big guy 
could probably snap me like a dry twig, but damn it, he tried to tongue me and I wasn't in 
the mood to let that pass. It was those long, cool fingers that I loved so much that kept me 
from getting myself messily dismembered. The fact that they were clamped around my 
throat in a very secure sort of way had nothing to do with me stopping dead in my tracks. 
Man, is it wrong that she was a hair away from crushing my windpipe and I was still 
turned on? 

"If you move, I will snap your neck," she growled. Oh god, whispering in my ear. My 
eyes rolled back in my head and I shivered. Her fingers released their hold on my neck and 
a sudden pounding on the wall next to us shook me out of my near-death induced bliss. 

"Don't move," she hissed her orders once more in case the death threat hadn't gotten 
through to me. Truth to tell, it hadn't. She'd purchased some new soap at the last planet we 
hadn't gotten kicked off of and, swear to god, she'd had it specifically formulated to turn 
my brain off.

D'Argo swore again, the Tin Man beat him down, and I felt Aeryn push past me. I couldn't 
hear the words they were saying, but judging by the rumble coming from D'Argo's 
direction curses on me and any of my future offspring for all of eternity were probably 
being seriously discussed. Of course considering how spectacularly lovely and lyrical 
Luxan isn't, he could have been reciting a sonnet for her. The rat bastard. 

I was debating with myself whether or not to brave the Tin Man and make my way over to 
them, when the decision was ripped out of my hands by a really frelling loud roar. I 
ducked instinctively, but as usual, flying dren finds my head like it's a flame and the large 
heavy things are moths. There was a blinding light and then . . .

***

I hate being unconscious. No, wait, I take that back, unconsciousness is good, waking up 
from being unconscious is very, very bad. I barely managed to roll over onto my side 
before I heaved my breakfast across the ground. ABC'd food cubes. Nice. I dropped onto 
my back, took a few deep breaths and wondered why I was humming 'Minnie the 
Moocher'.

"Crichton, why are you singing?"

A deep, deep Luxan voice boomed through my skull -- it was like sitting in the drum kit at 
a Who concert. I held up one weak hand and whispered my reply, "Not singing, humming. 
Best way I know to keep my internal organs where they are. Where's Aeryn?"

"I don't know. How does humming keep your internal --"

"D'Argo, stop," I pleaded. God this was like a hangover squared. "Don't talk. No 
questions. Questions make me queasy. Stop."

I felt a large hand close on my shoulder. "You threw up."

"I did."

"How hard did you hit your head?"

"Very, very hard," I whimpered, it's true, and I'm man enough to admit that I can 
whimper.

"Are you going to open your eyes?"

The Luxan talks too much. Has the Luxan always talked this much? "Not if I can help it. 
They'll fall out."

"No, they won't," he said extraordinarily loudly. However, in spite of his assurances I 
could tell he was thinking about it. "Would they?"

"Not gonna risk it," I groaned and another sharp wave of pain slammed through my head. 
"D, what did I say about asking questions?"

"Don't?"

"Right. Where's Aeryn?"

"I told you I don't know."

"Oh, right. Must have missed that in all the ringing."

"I thought you were humming?"

I finally peeled one eyelid from one eyeball and after a brief pause to make sure it stayed in 
place, I gave D'Argo a queasy glare. "You're doing it on purpose aren't you?"

D'Argo grinned a way too toothy, way too innocent grin. "I don't know what you're 
talking about, John. And look, your eye stayed in place. Congratulations. Get up."

I closed my eye again and moaned pitifully. "No. My head'll fall off."

D'Argo made a sound like a hurricane hitting the side of a house. "Crichton, I am 
reasonably certain that all your limbs, organs and any other important attachments will stay 
attached."

"D'Argo, you don't know anything about human physiology," I argued. "My head could 
fall off and the more you talk to me the more likely it is to happen."

"John, you are behaving like a small, furry . . . something."

"What?" It took my brain a while to process that. What with the humming, the ringing, the 
booming from the babbling Luxan and the big time headache, it was totally understandable 
that my processing speed wasn't up to it's usual snappiness. When I finally got it, I sort of 
laughed. It was a pathetic laugh and ended with an unappetizing burp. "A pussy?"

"Get up," he rumbled, shaking the very foundations of the world. 

I groaned and rolled over onto my other side and pushed myself to my knees. "Crap." I 
opened both my eyes and squinted. "Where the frell are we?" We were sitting in the dirt in 
the middle of a road, right smack dab in the center of what looked an awful lot like the dark 
underbelly of a Stanley Kubrik nightmare. 

"I have no clue."

"Great," I took another deep breath and tried to concentrate on making the spinning stop. 
"It cracks me up when you speak human, but you know, pussy doesn't mean what you thi-
-"

"Get up," he demanded again, this time with a warm and gentle, vice-like iron grip on my 
upper arm to encourage me.

I tried to shrug off his hand but he wouldn't let go. I struggled to my feet, hoping that if I 
got up, he'd let go and I'd be able to use my left arm sometime in the future . . . after 
intense rehabilitation. "D'Argo, chill, I'm getting up."

"We are out in the open and we are being watched. You're pathetic John, but not this 
pathetic. Move."

He propelled me across the road and down a filthy alley between grimy buildings. Placing 
both hands on my shoulders, he navigated me around the piles of trash and the piles of 
trash that were actually beings. I tried my hardest to keep track of where we were, where 
my feet were, who was behind me, what my name was and a dozen other things that were 
nagging at my soggy brain. The best I could do was one stupid question at a time, though. 
"Where are we going?"

"This way."

"Oh good. This way looks fun."

"It does," he said patiently. "Don't step on the Karbiuf."

"What's a Karbiuf?" 

The pile of rags in front of me shifted and something that looked like a cross between a 
poodle and an earthworm reared up. "Arrggaahhhhh."

I stumbled back into D'Argo. "Arrggaahhhhh."

He set me back on my feet and pushed me forward. "I told you not to step on it."

Gingerly stepping around its . . . tail, I offered it a silent apology and tried to ignore the 
bitterness in its gooey eyes. "Thanks for the heads up, D."

"No problem."

We made it to the end of the alley and D'Argo propped me up against a grubby, soot caked 
wall while he looked out into the street. 

"Where's Aeryn?"

"What part of I don't know, do you not understand?" He growled.

"The part where you don't know where she is."

I must have sounded pretty pitiful because instead of yelling or glaring at me, D'Argo gave 
me a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry, John. I was knocked unconscious as well. When I 
woke up I was next to you in the road."

"God. Reminds me of a night I had in St. Louis once. It was my girlfriend's birthday. I 
called her from a bar and told her I was having a great time in her honor," I started to giggle 
and began to wonder just how hard I had hit my head. This was more than just a 
concussion. Damn. "I got hammered. Woke up under some bleachers. I don't remember a 
damn thing. She dumped me when I got back to school."

"Brilliant, John."

"Yeah." Now I was depressed. St. Louis was a lifetime ago, I hadn't thought about it in 
years and it felt like it was just something I'd read in a book, not something I'd actually 
done. Not that I'd mind all the much if it had been something I'd just read about, but it's a 
little depressing when your memories start pretending they don't know you. "D'Argo. 
Something's wrong."

I started to slide down the wall and D'Argo hurried over to catch me. "What?"

"My head. Crap." I reached up and grabbed hold of my skull, trying to keep it from 
bursting like an overripe melon. "This isn't just me getting knocked out. I know what that 
feels like. This isn't it."

D'Argo started getting a little fuzzy and he wouldn't stay still. I squinted and blinked and 
finally gave up. "John? John? Frell it, Crichton," his voice sounded far away, at the other 
end of a really bad cell connection.

"Sorry, D," I felt myself dropping back into unconsciousness, and I welcomed the pain 
free oblivion.

***

" . . . --oison. The head injury aggravated the situation."

I was clawing my way out of the heavy, syrupy insensibility and I'm pretty sure those 
weren't the first words I wanted to hear. At the very least they weren't in the voice I 
wanted to hear. "I've been oisoned?" I muttered.

"John," D'Argo boomed.

"D'Argo, take it down a decibel or two, please, I'm begging now."

"John," he tried in a loud sotto-voice, and I tried not to giggle again. I might whimper but I 
draw the line at giggling. That's Stark's gig anyway. "You're okay. They used some sort 
of gas on us and it made you a little sick."

"A little sick. That's a little understatement, D'Argo." I forced my eyes open and took a 
look around. It was dark and smoky and smelled strongly of socks. I tried to sit up and 
D'Argo pushed me back. "Now you don't want me to get up? Where are we?"

"I found a healer's hut."

A healer's hut? Things just get better and better, don't they? "I knew this HMO would 
screw us. Didn't I say that? I said that. I said this HMO is going to screw us."

"I think he may be delirious," the new voice said.

"No, this is normal," D'Argo assured the voice. 

"Has he been brain damaged before?" 

"I'm almost certain he was born like this." Thanks, D'Argo.

"Where's Aeryn?" I asked again, trying to get them off the subject of the stability of my 
gray matter. Nothing like the UTs to make a man humble. 

"I still don't know, John, but when I do, you'll be the first person I tell."

"Cool. Thanks."

"You're welcome." He patted me roughly on the shoulder. It was comforting in the way 
only a guy uncomfortably comforting another guy can be comforting. 

"Where are we?" I tried again. One of these times I'd ask a question somebody could 
answer.

"A healer's hut, John," D'Argo spoke slowly as if I'd turned into a three-year old instead 
of just having a really frelling big headache.

"I know that, D'Argo," I replied patiently, I was too tired to be irritated. "I mean, where 
are we? We're on a planet. We weren't on a planet the first time I was knocked out."

"You are in the city of Kiel," the new voice materialized into a small, squat, furry thing 
with a pink, fleshy face -- an Ewok meets Miss Piggy in a horrible transporter accident. 

"Kill," I repeated. "Nice."

"Kiel," Mr. Ewiggy corrected.

"Kill."

"Kiel."

"Kill." Something about the little doctor man was setting off my freak-alert. 

The healer turned to D'Argo. "This is normal?"

D'Argo shrugged his massive shoulders. "It is."

"My sympathies." The healer poked me in the side with a long, surprisingly sharp finger. 
"You must rest and drink this," he handed me a small glass with something the color and 
consistency of camel snot that smelled suspiciously like sauerkraut. 

"I drink this?" I asked doubtfully. What would not kill me would probably make me sprout 
a second head, knowing my luck.

"You drink all of it."

"How about just a sip?"

"All of it," the little doctor said loudly, obviously getting irritated with me now. His pink 
face was rapidly turning a pretty amazing shade of blue. "There is poison in your system 
and it must be cleansed or you will collapse again. Do you want to collapse again?"

Mom logic. Gee, doc, I sure do want to collapse again, it was such good fun last time. I 
pinched my nose and tossed back the concoction. "Gahh. That's nasty. What good'll it do 
me if I throw it up?"

"Don't throw it up," he said flatly and poked me in the side one last time.

I didn't even bother to glare, my head still hurt, my stomach was queasy, and now my 
mouth tasted like the back end of a rhinoceros. I dropped back down onto the extra lumpy 
mattress and did my best to ignore D'Argo and the tiny, testy doctor. They were still 
chatting about my health or lack of, as the case seemed to be. I gathered I got my bell rung 
a lot harder than originally thought, because the headache and the double vision just 
weren't enough of a tip off, and then, to make everything so much more fun, the gas they 
used sucker punched my nervous system. Crap. 

I finally managed to tune the doctor out, and my thoughts drifted where they always drift. 
Crap again. Where was Aeryn? Not that I thought she couldn't take care of herself. She 
was nothing if not a terrifyingly capable woman. God, she was probably doing better than 
D'Argo and I. Well me for sure. She'd probably already kicked the asses of whoever did 
this to us and was busy ripping up the other side of this city looking for us. She'd show up 
soon. I hoped.

"John?"

Uh-oh, D'Argo had his gentle but cautious voice on. That wasn't ever very good. Usually 
meant he had bad news to lay on me, 'Aeryn's pregnant', or he knew I was going to freak 
out, 'and she's not sure who the father is'. Or both. "Spit it out, D."

He heaved the Luxan sigh of the put-upon. "The healer is concerned about your head 
injury. I tried to tell him that you were frequently incomprehensible when healthy, but he 
wasn't so sure. He wants to make sure it's normal incomprehensibility and not injury 
related incomprehensibility." 

Great. Am I crazy because I'm crazy? Or am I crazy because my brain's hemorrhaging? 
The eternal question. "D'Argo, how long have you known me?"

"A very, very frelling long time. Cycles and cycles."

"I'm not still that hard to understand, am I?" I'm pretty sure I was almost pleading there. 
My head hurt, I'm pathetic, what else do you want? I thought we'd made pretty good 
advances on the communication front, and, I mean, sure I keep talking sometimes, and I'm 
obscure on purpose, I miss having people around who get my pop-culture spoutings but I 
keep tossing them out because one day somebody will get it and besides, it's damn, damn 
funny when everybody else tries to use them. But I'm not that bad anymore. Am I? Maybe 
I do have an aneurysm.  

"No, John, you're not that bad," D'Argo told me delicately and I tried to roll my eyes at his 
tone. You'd think I had a pulse cannon pointing at a school bus full of nuns and bunnies 
and he was trying to talk me into putting the gun down.

"Thanks, D'Argo. So what does the little Ewok-gone-wrong want me to do?"

D'Argo blinked once, processed the 'incomprehensible', and shook his head slowly; 
tentacles waving almost mesmerizingly as he did. I closed my eyes tightly against the swell 
of dizziness. Stop moving your head, D'Argo. Stop. Please. Urg. "He wants you to rest 
here tonight."

"Only if he takes the rocks out from under this damn mattress first."

"I'll tell him." 

I could feel D'Argo start to move away and I reached out a hand and grabbed him. Then I 
opened my eyes and let go because I really hadn't wanted to grab that. "Sorry. Um, did he 
tell you where we are? I mean aside from," I pitched my voice a half-dozen octaves higher 
and did my best impression of the little, furry medical madman, "the city of Kiel."

D'Argo eyed my hand suspiciously and rumbled thoughtfully. "He says beings show up 
here. He tends them, sends them on their way, and he doesn't ask beyond that."

"Is this the planet we were orbiting or not?" I know for a fact that I'd moved from groggy, 
stupid questions, to questions that I'm pretty sure we needed to know to survive. 

"I don't know. I don't know how we got here and the healer doesn't know either, or, more 
likely, he doesn't care." D'Argo leaned down next to me and tried his hand at whispering 
again. "He doesn't want payment, John. He just said it was his job to tend to us and send 
us along."

"Along where?"

D'Argo shrugged helplessly. "No idea."

"Great. No idea where we are. No idea why we're here. No clue where Aeryn is. Good to 
know lady luck still hates our guts." I want a week, just a single week, seven days, where 
I'm not knocked unconscious, shot, stabbed, mentally cleansed, cloned, or in other ways 
molested and stressed out. 

"We are still alive, John. She must not hate us that much."

I tried to mimic a Luxan sized sigh and ended up doubled over, coughing my right lung up. 
The little doctor sprinted back over and tried to force another glass of something slimy 
down my throat. "No thanks," I gasped. 

"It will stop the cough."

"No thanks."

He raised his Bert-loving mono-brow and bared some gnarly looking teeth. Whoa. 
Doctors, no problem. Dentists? You're SOL. "If you collapse, it is not on my hands."

Yeah, I don't want anything else to do with your hands, buddy. "Fair enough.

He took the opportunity to poke me again and then he turned to glare at D'Argo. "Keep him 
down."

We both watched him waddle back into his little den and then turned to look at each other. 
"Where are my boots?"

The big guy hesitated for a minute. "I think you should rest."

"Fine. Find me a gutter somewhere and lay me down," I was slowly getting myself out of 
bed, "but I've got a bad feeling about this place and that little dude."

D'Argo was undergoing some pretty intense mental processes and staring at me. Come on, 
D'Argo, you know I'm right. Finally he nodded his head sharply and pulled me up 
straight. "Alright. For the record, I don't think he'll hurt us."

"Noted," I groaned and swayed and thought about what it would take to stop the planet's 
spinning. Now that would be cool to see. 

"But I don't like it here, either. The smell is horrendous." D'Argo wrinkled his nose and 
glared over his shoulder in the general direction of our friendly, post-apocalyptic 
neighborhood healer. 

While D'Argo looked for my boots, I looked for my pants. Why did he have to take off my 
pants for a head injury? I grumbled and groused and finally found them. I tugged them on 
quickly and turned around in time to catch my boots. It just about cost me my balance, but I 
stumbled back into the bed and shot a frosty glare in D'Argo's direction. The big guy at 
least had the decency to look contrite. 

I had one boot on when the healer came back into the room, his little furry legs chugging as 
he flew across the floor. "What are you doing? Rest! You need to rest!" He grabbed my 
remaining boot with one long, clawed hand and started to tug. "You will collapse. You will 
not be strong."

I tugged back and frowned. "I thought you didn't care if I collapsed?"

He smiled at me, an ingratiating, placating sort of smile, but kept my boot in an iron grip. 
"But you don't want to collapse, do you? You are my patient. My patients should be strong 
when they leave me. Strong like Arkanthian Ravage Beast. Strong!" 

He tried to rip my boot out of my hand again but I yanked back and pulled the little monster 
off the floor and into my shins. "Ow. Damn it. Let go."

"Strong," he whined. 

I shook him off and eyed him warily while I pulled my boot on and laced it up. "Where are 
we?"

"Kiel."

"Why are we here?"

"I don't know. They come. They go," he mumbled and looked around nervously, licking 
fleshy lips. 

"Why, oh why, don't I believe you?"

"You are a bitter, untrusting soul?" He offered.

"That and the fact that you're lying," D'Argo growled cheerfully.

The healer bent his head and inhaled deeply, driving his tiny shoulders up into his ears. 
"Maybe I'm not saying the truth--"

"Which is the standard definition of lying," I pointed out helpfully.

The little guy gave me an almost murderous glare, but it's hard to be too creeped out by an 
oversized Gremlin. "You want out?" He spat. "You make it to the end. Yes? I don't know 
who makes it to the end. I don't know where the end is. I don't know what's after the end. 
I don't care. My job is to make you strong. Strong like--"

I waved my hand, cutting off the speech. "Yeah, yeah, strong like Arkham Asylum rats, 
got it." I stood up again and gritted my teeth against the world's tendency to heave 
drunkenly under my feet. I snatched my vest from the back of a stool and pulled it on and 
then went for my gun belt. My empty gun belt. "Where's Winona?" I looked up at D'Argo, 
horrified. This was worse than being naked. "Where's your Qualta blade?"

D'Argo frowned sullenly and glared at the sniveling doctor. "I haven't seen it since I woke 
up."

"This sucks," I observed succinctly because, really, what else could I say. It sucked. Not 
only did it suck but it was also very bad. There was nothing about any of this that was, in 
any way, good. Except maybe that I could stand up, remember my own name, and I 
wasn't wearing fishnets.

"It sucks hugely." D'Argo elaborated and we both stood in that small, smoky hut, trying to 
fathom the absolute suckiness we'd once again descended into.

***

I was never a fan of Captain Stubing. Sure he was a nice guy, everybody liked him, stern 
but fair, but, c'mon, you've got to admit he was about as interesting as licking slime off the 
bottom of the boat. 'Course nobody ever said I'd found my way aboard the Love Boat of 
the Uncharted Territories. 

Captain D'Argo, for example, is the anti-Stubing. While I was cooling my heels on a crate, 
he was across the road holding some scrawny, Sebacean-looking guy by the neck and 
doing a pretty good job of scaring the hell out of him. I didn't think we were going to get 
much from him, I doubted anybody here had any better idea about the wheres and whys 
than we did, but it's the kind of thing that makes D'Argo happy. 

After we'd left the healer's hut we did a little looking around. And what did we find? Not a 
whole hell of a lot. Dirty shacks, dirty buildings, dirty critters, and a lot of them. The sky 
was a quaint Industrial Revolution black, with some not so fluffy, sooty gray clouds for 
contrast. I couldn't tell if it was day or night -- there was a sort of cold, diffused light over 
everything. I wasn't able to see what its source was, but given the weather conditions on 
the planet, I didn't think we were anywhere near a sun strong enough to punch through 
those clouds. 

How the frell did we end up here? I tried to back trace the events leading up to our trip to 
the gutter of the UTs in my mind, but things were, understandably, a little scrambled. 
We'd stopped by a commerce station to pick up some parts for Lo'la, duct tape for my 
module, and some food that wasn't green and jiggly. 

For once things were pretty quiet. No wanted beacons screaming our names, no clots of 
drunk Peacekeepers, no evil geniuses or deranged priests. Quiet. Which, of course, turned 
out to be just as bad as any of those other things. For once I think I can safely say I didn't 
do it. Of course, since I didn't know what "it" was, I guess I could have done it. That was 
another depressing thought, in a day full of depressing thoughts. Crap. Whatever "it" was, 
the end result was a swarm of big, furry bugs with big, loud guns chasing us through the 
station. There was our pathetic attempt at hiding, followed by the big boom and my present 
headache. And that's all I had. Damn.

D'Argo finally put down the terrified guy and stomped back over to me. "He doesn't know 
anything," he told me in his gloomiest tone.

I rubbed at my eyes and yawned. "Nah, didn't think he would. We're all transplants."

"He was terrified of being on the street, though. The longer we talked the more anxious he 
became."

I gave D'Argo a considering look. "You sure that didn't have anything to do with the fact 
that you had him by the neck?"

"That's a completely different kind of scared. I can tell the difference, you know," he told 
me haughtily. I managed a small smile at that and rubbed my eyes again. "How's your 
head?"

"Better, I think. There's only one of you now." The headache was still there but the 
dizziness was fading and I didn't feel like my stomach was trying to do a triple lutz 
anymore. All in all, I'd call that better.

"Good. I'd still like to find a place for you to rest."

"Well, pick a direction, Cap'n," I said with as much obnoxious pep as I could muster.

D'Argo gave me a look that said he wasn't buying the jovial act, so I just shrugged my 
shoulders and scratched my ear. "We'll go this way," he said, pointing down the road to 
our left.

"Why that way?" I asked suspiciously.

D'Argo frowned in frustration and hissed softly. "Because I said so." 

D'Argo grabbed my arm, pulled me up, steadying me when I swayed -- damn it, this was 
getting old -- and led me off in a general leftward direction. I didn't pay too much attention 
to where we were going, it wasn't like anything was going to sneak up on D'Argo, and my 
eyes kept being pulled to the sky. It was just so weirdly dark, smoky, thick and the ashy 
clouds that limped pathetically by, seemed more like half-assed versions of clouds -- 
afterthoughts, rather than the real thing. I suddenly felt an almost suffocating surge of 
claustrophobia. I closed my eyes, clenched my teeth and let D'Argo drag me along. 

The closing of my eyes didn't really help as much as I thought it might. We were the only 
people on the street, but I could feel other eyes staring out at us from the black, empty 
windows around us, and itch on my scalp told me those dark bundles of filth that were 
trying so hard not to be noticed as living things were watching us closely, too closely. All 
of it was pressing in on me and making me damned uneasy. And the air, I finally noticed it 
and I wondered why I hadn't all along. It was still and dead. 

"D'Argo, I don't like this place," I mumbled. 

D'Argo nodded and tightened his grip on my arm like I was a small child about to wander 
off. "I don't like it either. It's very quiet."

"Quiet is bad," I told him, sharing my earlier revelation. No, I wasn't at my most brilliant, 
but I had plenty of excuses for that, ultimately though, it came down to pain and the 
distraction of being slightly freaked. I couldn't shake the feeling; it was like having bugs 
crawling around under my skin. Deeply unpleasant.

We walked about another quarter metra when I was suddenly forced to mentally add to the 
'quiet is bad' observation. It now went something along the lines of -- quiet is bad, except 
when it's broken by the lonely howl of a demon forged on Satan's anvil in the fires of hell, 
which is then very, very bad. "D'Argo, tell me you hear that." Maybe it was just my ears 
ringing again. Please just be my ears ringing.

"I hear that." Frell.

The metallic wail was coming from somewhere to the back and right of us. I twisted 
around and tried to get a look at whatever it was but D'Argo pulled me along down the road 
again, and I stumbled back, almost falling. "D'Argo, we've got to get off the street."

"Where do you suggest we go?"

"Pick a damn alley," I whispered harshly. 

D'Argo hissed and started marching me along even more quickly than before. Whatever it 
was, it was coming on us fast though, and I could feel the wail vibrating through my bones 
like a dentist's drill on a sore tooth. 

I darted another quick look over my shoulder and immediately wished I hadn't. Not more 
than a couple of blocks behind us was the sorriest looking collection of beings I had ever 
seen. And coming from a member of the crew of Moya that was really saying something. 
As they got closer to us, I could finally make out their cries above the demonic din. There 
were probably fifty of them, a handful of bizarre critters of all shapes and sizes and every 
single one of them was scared out of its mind. 

I tripped over my feet again and landed heavily against D'Argo. He hissed down at me but 
finally slowed his pace and shoved me back against a wall. 

"We're not going to outrun that," I told him, breathing heavily.

"Frell," he growled. 

"Frell," I agreed. 

I looked back down the street, the mass of panicked beings getting closer and now I could 
see what was driving them. Robots. There were three of them, probably a good three feet 
taller than D'Argo and twice as wide. This was a first. I don't remember ever seeing actual 
robots in the Uncharted Territories. That bioloid nightmare doesn't count. These were real, 
honest to Asimov, gunmetal gray robots. 

Any blind stinking terror I may have been inclined to feel, faded in the face of the extreme 
coolness of seeing these robots. I couldn't help it. Humanoid, fully articulated limbs, 
glowing lights in odd places on their torsos, and angular, art deco man-of-metal faces. 
They definitely weren't Robbie; gigantic, mean ass, mother looking distant cousins maybe, 
but damn it, they were still an awesome site to behold.  

I was so fixated on them it took me a few seconds to notice that D'Argo was cursing my 
name and pulling me down the block toward the next alley. "Robots, D'Argo."

"I am very happy that you find them so fascinating John, but perhaps you didn't notice that 
those people running from them don't look nearly as thrilled. I have the strong suspicion 
they know something we don't."

"Oh, well, sure," I grumbled. I took one last quick look at the robots and followed D'Argo 
to the alley.

"Luxan. One." The cold, empty voice stopped us both cold. "Human. One." And if I 
hadn't already been frozen, that would have done it. Waiting at the mouth of the alley was a 
fourth robot, just as big and gnarly looking as the other three. "Move . . . along.Move . . . 
along.Move . . .along.Move . . .along." It pointed a long arm in our direction and the eerie 
green light coming from the fingertips was more than enough to get us moving along.

"D'Argo," I whispered as we both backed warily into the street, "he said I was human."

"You are human, John."

"How would they know that?" I persisted.

"Everybody knows that," D'Argo snarled.

"No, no, they didn't say 'John Crichton. Human. One.' They said 'Human. One.' They 
don't know me, D'Argo, but they know I'm human." I'd slowed to a halt, my concussion 
fuzzed brain trying to work out if I'd actually just discovered something worth knowing. 

"Along.Move. . .along." 

I looked up straight into a large metal hand, glowing green, like a cheap Flash Gordon 
special effect, and then I was flying through the air and landing with in a painful heap at 
D'Argo's feet. The big guy picked me up quickly, god only knows why, I was more 
trouble than help on this trip so far. I gritted my teeth and shuffled along with him, trying 
to shake off uncomfortable burn of electric shock shooting through every nerve in my 
body.

The robots were herding us down the street, their howling drone and the monotonous chant 
'move along' was starting in on my head. I couldn't concentrate beyond the next step and 
the already lousy headache was getting worse. God, I did not want to pass out again. 
Please, please don't let me pass out again. Not that I thought anybody was actually 
listening to me. I licked my lips and concentrated on putting one foot after another. 

I kept one eye on D'Argo's back and the other on the ground beneath my feet and tried to 
ignore the new pain slicing through my skull. I actually got a pretty good rhythm going, 
but wouldn't you know it, just as I was in the groove and I had my headache back at a 
manageable level, I slammed into D'Argo's back and hit the ground again. For what 
seemed like the hundredth time that day, D'Argo reached down and pulled me back to my 
feet. 

"Why'd we stop?" I muttered.

"There's a very big wall in our way," he said simply, as if he'd expected no less. Just a 
little too prosaic, is our Luxan these days.

I looked around D'Argo and noticed that there was, in fact, a very big wall in our way. 
Huh. It was a good thirty feet high, smooth, metallic, with techno looking dohickies all 
along the top. It didn't look friendly. Our four robots had been joined by a couple more and 
they were funneling us toward a small gate in the wall. This was so far down the scale of 
good I was wishing for the feathered chicks again. 

"D'Argo, this is bad," I said softly, a little bit of the earlier fear returning.

"You're extremely observant today, John," he grumbled darkly. "I would never have 
noticed that this was bad."

I ducked my head and mentally kicked myself. "Sorry."

D'Argo either didn't hear me or didn't care or was just on a roll. "Because, you know, I 
thought for sure we were on a Sora pleasure planet. Thank you for pointing out that we 
are, in fact, thoroughly frelled."

"Now you're just being pissy," I groused. "I said I was sorry."

"Move. . .along.Move. . .along."

The glacial synthesized voice boomed through my head and I winced. "Yeah, yeah. 
Moving."

D'Argo, despite his irritation, took me by the shoulder again and we shuffled along to the 
gate like good little pathetic beings. This day continued to suck.

***

If things on the outside of the walls had been gray and depressing, things on the inside 
were almost psychotically joyless. Our robot keepers lined the inside of the walls, watching 
everything with demonic red gazes, while those of us funneled through the tiny gate, 
shuffled nervously around in a thin, barren strip of no-man's land that hugged the wall. 

Beyond our ribbon of dirt was the start of Barnum and Bailey's circus in hell. Lights 
flashed and blinked in eye searing patterns, and screams and discordant music drifted to us 
along with the smells of rotting garbage and sour milk-like substances. At the edge of our 
little patch of nothing were lines of toady looking beings, watching us all with hungry 
eyes. This didn't look like fun.

In that not so warm monotone, the robots at our backs told us to 'along.move' and pushed 
us forward into the ramshackle city. Our fellow captives were rethinking their admission 
into the circus of the damned, but the 'bots weren't letting them back out. The closer we all 
got to the city, the worse the general panic became. 

D'Argo and I were trying to hang back, get a view of things, and what we saw was pretty 
damn unpleasant. As soon as the first captives crossed out of the no-man's land, they were 
grabbed by the natives and pulled into the city. 

"If anybody touches me," D'Argo growled, "they'll be looking for their limbs on the other 
side of that wall."

I wasn't sure it was going to be too big of a problem, at least not for us. The natives were 
picking off the weak and panicky. Anybody who even looked like they'd put up a fight 
was given a relatively wide berth. I know I was still looking a little like dren -- a lot like 
dren -- the poison was still working its way out of my system, but there was nothing about 
D'Argo that said he'd be an easy target. 

D'Argo put his hand on my shoulder, but I shrugged him off. Straightening up as much as 
I could, I tugged at my coat and tried to look a little less like baggage. D'Argo'd had to 
carry me enough already that day. I put on my 'I'm a lunatic' face and he and I pushed our 
way through the ugly throng and into the city.

"Now what?" I asked once we'd made it through the nasty critter gauntlet.

"Answers," D'Argo replied.

"Which we find where?"

"How the frell should I know?"

Winding through the first line of shacks landed us in some sort of market place, where we 
waded through yet another ragged mass of sorry beinghood. I tried not to look at what the 
stalls were selling, I'd had a glimpse and it was more than enough. My stomach still wasn't 
up to that.

"I thought you were the Captain. Captains are supposed to know everything." I swatted 
away a tiny pickpocket and glanced back up at D'Argo. "You're destroying my Captain 
Kirk illusions here, D'Argo."

D'Argo had obviously had a look at the stalls too, because he couldn't quite manage to 
keep the queasiness out of his glare. "I've been some bad places, Crichton, but this . . ." 
He shook his head and I nodded my agreement.

We both swung around at the nearest shriek, and watched, with a colossal amount of 
revulsion, as a pair of Sebaceans were lashed to something that looked way too much like a 
spit. I licked my lips and tried not to throw up. I am never eating a gyros again. 

"Answers," I croaked and tried to pull my eyes away.

"Someplace that's not here." D'Argo was having the same problem not looking that I was 
having. 

The eardrum-shattering scream shook me out of my paralysis and I pushed D'Argo toward 
the opposite side of the market. "Not here," I agreed. "But if this is the welcome we get, I 
don't think things are going to be much better anyplace else."

"Weapons." D'Argo finally pulled his gaze away and turned to clear a path for us through 
the crowd.

"Big weapons."

"Many big weapons."

"We need them."

The unpleasant sights didn't end as we shoved through the crowed. They got worse. And 
the press of beings got worse. And the smells got worse and the screams got louder and all 
in all it made me miss the L.A. riots. 

D'Argo and I pushed, and shoved, and tossed away the beings pressing around us and 
finally made it to a relatively safe area of the market. We had what looked like a way out to 
our right and a good solid wall at our backs. We stopped to take a breather and leaned back 
to admire the chaos. 

I've been around the Uncharted Territories for a while now, I wouldn't say I'm an expert, 
but I've got a pretty good handle on things these days and, hell, I've even got a bit of a rep 
in the seamier parts. All of which meant not a frelling thing just then. And brother, I knew 
it.

The market was a pretty standard layout, I've seen similar on a hundred different planets. 
And you know, it's just one of those things I catch myself thinking every now and again -- 
a hundred different planets. Not cities; planets. Damn. Anyway, the stalls, carts, tables 
with dren pilled on them, lined the edges of a wide square and were clumped together in 
dozens of groups in the square itself. The stalls sold bits -- bits of machinery, bits of cloth, 
bits of things I couldn't identify, and bits I could identify and wished I couldn't. X creature 
at one table would be selling the bits of Y creature and the table next to it would be Y 
creature selling the bits of X creature. It was a pretty impressive display of capitalism at it's 
most gruesome. Go free market.

Like all the other markets I'd been to, this one was crowded. But unlike those happier 
markets, all the beings in this one were trying to keep some personal space and a wary eye 
at their backs. The mass flowed and the creatures danced about each other with surprising 
delicacy; nobody wanting to get too close to anybody else. The mood of the market 
screamed paranoia and sudden violence. 

To make things even more insanely intense, there were scuffles here and there, roving 
gangs of beings battling with other roving gangs of beings for no reason I could see. Off to 
our left we watched a trio of wide cockroach looking things corner a Delvian. The Delvian 
put up one hell of a fight and two of the 'roaches were choking on their own limbs before 
the third one put a pincher through the Delvian's throat. 

I brushed a shaky hand across my eyes and pressed my fingertips into my temples. It 
wasn't the sights -- well, okay it wasn't only the sights. I was still on the dren side of 
wellness and no matter how much I tried to will myself one hundred percent health-wise it 
just wasn't happening fast enough. I needed to be as solid as I could be or we were never 
going to make it out of here.

I dropped my hand and noticed the cockroach, with the skewered Delvian still dangling 
from one long pincher, watching us watch it. It clicked its mandibles in our general 
direction. I got the message and shot a glance at D'Argo. 

Nodding down at me with out looking, D'Argo hissed softly at the creature. "We've 
already been here too long. Head toward the street, I'll watch your back."

"Aye, aye, cap'n." I sketched a half-hearted salute and shoved a scrawny looking Tavloid 
out of my way. Yeah, yeah, Tavlek. No Aeryn around to deck me for it, though. God, I 
missed her.

The market exited onto a narrow street, more ally than street really, where thankfully, the 
crush of beings was considerably less. I took a deep breath and immediately spat it back 
out. Note to self: do not take a deep breath when in fourth level of hell. The air was thick 
with rot and the body odor of a hundred different species. There's that surreal hundred 
again. I cleared the phlegm out of my throat and spat again, trying to get the taste out of my 
mouth. It was no use. I spat uselessly one last time and a thought I never thought I'd think 
flittered through my brain -- what I wouldn't give for a dentic. 

"News. Freshes. Don't likes se way she tastes? Don't likes her . . . sharms?"

I had moved into a defensive position before the soft, reedy voice even finished its first 
word. I mentally thanked the cycles of living with an ex-peacekeeper. It always frelling 
came in handy. 

D'Argo had taken a similarly defensive posture and was hissing again. This time it was at a 
plant. I mean literally a plant and not in the way Delvians are plants. This guy looked . . . 
well he looked like a head of broccoli. Only not. But that was about the best analogy I 
could come up with. 

It was probably as tall as D'Argo, and had a thick, err, trunk, twice as big around as 
D'Argo. His skin was smooth and a weird, shimery gray-green. It was like you could see 
into it, layers deep, but it had an opalescent cast that made my eyes cross. It had leg like 
appendages, three of them, and its arms, if you could call them that, looked like long 
leaves, trailing down to his waist and again, there were three of them. I couldn't really tell 
where its eyes were, or in this case, visual sensory receptors, but I was thinking they might 
be under the sprouts at the top of its head; there was a wide strip that was slightly darker 
than the surrounding skin there. That was my best guess at any rate. 

"What shus gots?" Its mouth? Well its mouth seemed to be more a thinning of the skin just 
below the aforementioned dark patch that vibrated for speech. All in all, low on the creepy 
scale, high on the interesting scale, and probably just as high in essential vitamins and 
minerals. "What shus gots?" It repeated again, this time a little more impatiently.

"We've got nothing, man," I told it, raising my arms and spreading them slightly to show 
just how much nothing I had.

It shook its sprouts at me, which really isn't as dirty as it sounds, and waved a leaf under 
my nose. "Shus gots somesin'. Everytings gots somesin'. If shus gots somesin', is maybe 
us's can help shus."

I looked at D'Argo, who helpfully shrugged and then looked back at our new floral friend. 
Gave the 'animal, vegetable, or mineral' game a whole new spin. "What do you want?"

"What shus gots?" It asked again, waving slightly where it stood.

"I've got the best of Prince. I've got a killer gumbo recipe. I've got a Star Trek joke for 
every occasion. What do you want?"

"Freshes. Shus freshes. Shus know where shus is?"

"Not a frelling clue, buddy."

It twisted the top part of its body to one side, and tapped a claw like foot on the ground. 
"Ecksplaining to shus. Heres is where shus is. Shus at se edge. Shus wants to be at se oser 
edge. Sis se begin. Shus wants se end. See?"

"No."

"To gets to se end shus needs to starts. Heres. Shus gots somesin, sen us's helps you gets 
to end."

"Why would you help?"

"Wants to gets to end, too. Helps. Us's has knows. Shus has somesin, maybe helps us's 
gets closer to end."

I stared at the creature for a long moment. I couldn't tell if it was sincere or not. It wanted 
to help us because it would help itself. I got that. No real altruism there, which was good, I 
wouldn't have trusted that. 

"Sinks maybe shus is strong. Looks strong. Maybe smarts, too." D'Argo barked out a 
sharp laugh at that but under my withering glare he backed off and gave me an apologetic 
look. Well, no, actually he didn't. He shrugged his shoulders at me and kept chuckling. 

The creature twisted itself back and forth on it trunk for a minute while we silently regarded 
each other and D'Argo giggled as only a Luxan can giggle. Are we sure I was the only one 
with a head injury?

"Shus is warriors. Yess?"

I glanced back over at D'Argo who was looking at me with undisguised hilarity. Were 
those tears in his eyes? I ground my teeth and glared venomously at him. Alright, this was 
too much. Five cycles, D, five cycles. I am not inept at the art of ass kickings, I haven't 
been for quite a while. "Yes," I bit out. 

"Yess. Sees? Us's has knows, shus has strongs. Helps us's, helps shus."

"Give me a minute to consult Captain Giggles here." I turned around, and grabbing 
D'Argo's arm pulled him a short distance away from every vegetable-hating kid's 
nightmare. "You done laughing yet, D?" I growled angrily. My pride had been wounded 
enough for one day, thanks.

"I'm sorry, John. It was just . . . it was just the situation. And it's not you." He held up 
his hands in a placating gesture. "It's both of us. Really."

"Fine, whatever," I growled again. I wasn't done being pissed yet. "So? Do we help out 
the Jolly Green Giant or what?"

"Do we have a choice?"

"Yes, but it sucks."

D'Argo sighed. "Don't they always." He shrugged again and looked back over at the 
creature. "We keep a close eye on him and we can ditch him if we have to."

"Fair enough," I agreed and stomped back over to our new pal. "Buddy, you got yourself a 
pair of strongs."

***

"So which one?"

"Both."

"Why both?"

"Because that's the way it is," I snapped, D'Argo frowned, I frowned back. Good times.
What daylight there'd been was fading into a smoky twilight and D and I still didn't have 
much clue about where we were. The day had been pretty unenlightening on that score. To 
sum up -- we'd been chased by bugs with guns, knocked unconscious, tossed in an ugly 
city, herded by big robots, we'd lost Aeryn, and now we were following a walking head of 
broccoli like he was the second coming of the pied piper. It was Monday somewhere, 
wasn't it?

"Yee?"

"Haw."

"Both?"

"Right."

"I don't get it. Why not just Yee?"

Don't ask me how we came to this; I don't know. Quite frankly the train of thought that led 
to our current conversation was a twisty, twisty one that derailed somewhere around 
Newark and past that we were just frelled and better off not remembering the better times, 
back before this train ride of joy began. But, whatever, it kept my mind off just how 
queasy I got trying to watch broccoli lad walk. Things shouldn't move like that. Ever. At 
all. Gaah.

I sighed and looked down, watching the dust swirl around my boots. "Because then it's 
not 'yee-haw'."

"Human is a stupid language," D'Argo huffed with great disgust.

"English."

"Whatever. How about if I just say yee? I like yee."

"How about if you don't say it at all and leave the human speaking to those of us who 
aren't going to say yee-haw all girly like?"

"You don't complain when Aeryn speaks human."

"That's because I like Aeryn and I'm confident in her ability to effectively use both the yee 
and the haw. Why are you bustin' my chops?"

D'Argo gave me a Luxan-Gallic shrug of great indifference. "Because I am bored out of 
my mind." 

I rolled by eyes but was forced to agree with his state of bored. For a place that was as 
mindlessly, chaotically violent as this one, it had been pretty boring so far. Well, aside 
from the skewered Delvian and the roast Seba- I repeat my earlier "gahh".

"Rock, paper, scissors?" I offered, hopefully. Anything to get the memory of toasty 
Sebacean out of my head. 

"No, I'm too bored even for that," D'Argo groaned piteously. "I thought he wanted 
warriors? When do we get to hit something? I wouldn't be bored if I could hit things."

I shrugged and kicked a rock. It rolled lethargically away from me, bounced against a 
larger rock and flopped sadly back into the dust. It was bored, too. 

"Never mind," D'Argo snarled suddenly. I looked up startled and yet stealthily because 
I've learned the hard way that sudden movement can be a bad thing. 

Broccoli boy was scampering back to us in that oddly rolling way that broccoli scampers. 
Really, it's like his -- its, whatever -- legs were joined to his body as a loose afterthought 
and they swung out all crazy-chicken like when he walked. And at a full on scamper it 
made me blink my eyes a whole lot to try and get the world to stop spinning. 

Not far behind him were a pair of Sebacean-like critters and a 'Roach. The first two looked 
Sebacean enough really, except for thing where their faces looked like melted wax. And I 
don't know if this was our 'Roach from before or another 'Roach. They all look alike. 
Seriously. 

"Shus strongs. Shus fightses." Broccoli boy waved his leaves at the critters following him 
and ducked behind D'Argo. Brave one, our Broccoli boy.

"Why are we fighting?"

"Shus's strongs. Shus said shus fightses for us's. Fights."

"Does it really matter, John?" D'Argo asked reasonably.

"Well, no," I shrugged back just as reasonably. "I just wanted to know if we wanted 
something from them or if this was just a regular ol' ass whupin'."

"I vote for ass whupin'," D'Argo said brightly.

"Broccoli boy?"

"Seyses has nosings. Seyses tried to steal from us's."

"Steal what?" I eyed our veggie friend a little skeptically. It's not like he had pockets. 

"Knows."

"Alright, alright," I held up my hands. An ass whupin' it was. You know, once upon a 
time, I was a theoretical physicist. I could wield a mean scientific calculator. Equations 
trembled before me. Now I brawl in the slums on a planet far from my own humble star. I 
miss my lab coat.

I was just squaring up for battle, preparing to make the opening witty remarks designed to 
make our opponents indignant and pissed enough to make that key mistake that would 
allow me to triumph like I do, when the 'Roach took a flying leap at me and slashed me 
across the chest with one long pointy leg. I fell back with a curse but it was one me before I 
could right myself. D'Argo wasn't having much luck with the critters o' wax either. One 
was on his back and the other was wrapped around one leg. Not that I noticed all that much 
at the time, I was trying not to have my face snapped off by black, shiny mandibles. I hate 
bugs. God above, I hate bugs. 

I remember once reading about bugs and how they couldn't actually grow above a certain 
size because the weight of their exoskeleton would crush their internal organs. I wanted 
very much just then to find the writer of that particular piece of brilliance and feed him to 
my new, huge, bug friend. 

There was an upside to fighting the 'Roach, though - bugs don't have eyelids. I grabbed a 
handful of dust and ground it into the 'Roach's eyes, getting a grim sort of satisfaction 
from the mucus that oozed out as I did so. It screamed and pulled itself away from me. I 
scrambled to my feet and put an arm around the neck of the wax guy who was trying to bite 
the back of D'Argo's head and gave him the old heave-ho. After that things went 
considerably better. The 'Roach ran off shrieking and the two Madame Tussaud's rejects 
lay in broken heaps on the dirty street. 

I gave D'Argo a quick look over but he seemed fine, a little put out at being jumped like 
that, but otherwise fine. Broccoli boy seemed particularly thrilled by this turn of events. Or 
at least I think he did. He was twisting on his trunk and waving his arms and sprouts 
around in a way that was probably some sort of tree version of a happy dance. Seems, as 
usual, I came off the worse for wear. I rubbed at my stinging chest and grimaced when my 
hand came away red. 

D'Argo made some concerned noises and pulled my shirt away from the wound. "That 
doesn't look very good."

"Doesn't feel very good," I groused and bunched up the edge of my shirt, pressing it to the 
cut to try and stop the bleeding. Probably needed stitches. Great. Who was going to give 
them to me? Little freaky healer Ewoks? I most emphatically think frelling not.

While D and I were hemming and hawing, but no yeeing, over my battle injury, one of the 
wax dudes tried to get up and run off. His attempt to slip away was thwarted by the his 
sudden realization that his feet didn't work the way he was used to them working and he 
fell on his face. Broccoli boy made a sound like a sick modem and started shaking his 
leaves all over the place. 

"Stopss its," BB shrieked.

"Why?" D'Argo asked, expressing both of our puzzlement here. It was supposed to be an 
ass whupin'. We whuped ass. What else did he need?

"Itss gots knows."

"You said it didn't know anything," I pointed out, even more confused now while my trust 
in Broccoli boy went from tiny bit to none at all in about a microt flat.

"Knows us's has knows."

"So?"

"Kills its," BB hissed furiously.

"That'll be a negative, good buddy," I told him. My trust going from none to 'there's no 
way in hell I'm turning my back on BB'. "You wanted protection, we protected you. 
We're not hired killers." Today, I added silently, with a sort of morose bitterness. Then I 
mentally kicked myself and told myself to get off that moral high horse and focus on the 
crappy facts at hand. We're not hired killers, never had been, and that critter didn't need 
killing. Easy enough.

"Protects bads shus. Now everytings knows, we've gots knows. Nows all harder. 
Stupids. Strongs maybes; smarts no."

I didn't like being called an idiot by something I used to cheerfully bite the heads off of 
when I was a kid. "So tell me something, Broccoli boy, how the hell did they know you 
knew something?"

BB shook his sprouts at me and swiveled around, stomping off, or actually it was more 
like a Ministry of Silly-Walking off. Sort of ruined the effect, you ask me.

I looked over at D'Argo who had a confused frown on his face. "So?"

"Well. I guess we follow him. He still knows more than we do," D'Argo offered weakly. 
He wasn't anymore impressed by Broccoli boy than I was. 

"He says he knows more," I mumbled.

"Do you have a better suggestion?"

"No."

"Fine."

I sighed and rubbed at my chest again. "I hate my life."

"So do I."

***

A half dozen blocks and three brawls later, we stopped while Broccoli boy got his 
bearings. I leaned heavily against a wall and tried to catch my breath. My chest was 
burning like a mother and I had a cut across the back of my right hand now that was 
bleeding down onto my fingers, making them black and sticky. And to cap that all off, so 
to speak, I'd lost a tooth. I ran my tongue along the back of my teeth, probing at a raw, 
bloody hole where an incisor had been. I hate this damn city.

I shot a glare in the direction of our 'guide'. Broccoli boy was twisting around in the 
middle of the street, not the most inconspicuous walking plant there ever was, trying to 
decide which way to go. He wouldn't tell us where we were headed; the most he seemed to 
actually do for us was grumble about our intelligence -- or lack of -- and hide behind 
D'Argo. 

"This deal sucks," D'Argo rumbled near my ear.

"I told you," I grumbled back.

"No you didn't."

"Well I meant to."

He snaked a finger out and pulled down a torn edge of my shirt. "That is still bleeding."
I irritably swatted his hand away. I wasn't in the mood for a Luxan mother hen. "It's 
stopping. Mostly an ooze now." I growled.

D'Argo stared at me for a few microts. I wouldn't look at him, but I could feel his gaze, 
heavy on me. I had to resist the urge to reach my hand up and rub at the side of my face. 
Finally the weight lifted and he looked out at Broccoli boy. "We could pluck his sprouts 
one at a time and get the information from him," he suggested.

I pursed my lips, cursed when I realized I had a split lip and pursing hurt, and thought 
about it. "Or put him through a salad shooter." I laughed to myself. "Kinda like the wood 
chipper scene in 'Fargo'."

D'Argo was looking at me again, but this time questioning not judging. I grinned up at 
him. Grinning also hurt, by the way, not quite as much as pursing though. "Chews him up 
and spits him out."

He smiled at that thought. "Cool."

Broccoli boy ambled back over to us and I swear if he'd had an actual face he would have 
been looking down his nose at us. I frowned while I pondered that; can a vegetable actually 
look down its nose at you? Answer? Figuratively, yes. Literally, he needs a nose first. 
Maybe one of those Mr. Potato-Head jobs.

"Strongs, shus come now."

Crossing his arms and glaring mulishly at BB, D'Argo growled, "Um, no. I think I'd like 
to know exactly where we're going first." 

D'Argo got an angry hiss and a leaf in the gut for that. "Shus wants out? Yes? Sen shus do 
what us's says."

"Where. Are. We. Going?" Woo, doggies, D'Argo was getting testy. I couldn't help but 
grin, even when it meant I had to wipe more damn blood off my chin. 

Broccoli boy threw his leaves up in the air and shook his sprouts like the big cellulose 
drama queen he was turning out to be. 

"Yo buddy," I said, holding up my hands and trying on the unusual role of peacemaker. 
"Just tell us where we're headed. It's no big deal. We said we'd help you, and we will. 
Just give us an idea here." Broccoli boy shook his sprouts again but didn't otherwise reply. 
"Look, we've got a long history of being screwed by people who said they'd help us. You 
gotta admit we've got no reason to trust you here."

"Advantages, shus jus want advantages."

"Well, yeah. You use us, we use you, everybody's happy. I thought we'd already covered 
this."

Broccoli boy seemed to be thinking about this. His visual . . . er, receptor narrowed and 
darkened. Finally he twisted himself and stomped a foot. "Goes to next wall. Levels. 
Srough one to se next. Yes?"

I scratched my chin while I worked that out. More blood flaked off. Did I mention how 
much I hated this city? "Okay. There are levels, great. Like Quentin Tarentino's Super 
Mario Brothers. And you know how to get to the next level and we keep the big bugs from 
making you salad while we try to get there. See? How hard was that? So where's the next 
level?"

I think the green guy was trying to glare at me but it just wasn't coming across. The skin 
around his 'face' contorted and rippled before he twisted around again and scuttled off 
across the street. "Sis ways. Shus comes or shus never gets out."

"I say next time we get jumped, we let the bugs have him," D'Argo snarled darkly. 

As luck would have it we weren't jumped again. The rest of our trip was quiet. And when I 
say quiet, I mean eerie, deserted, one squeaking children's swing on the lonely playground 
of Stephen King's nightmares quiet. No critters, no sound, nothing. Too bad, I was kind 
of looking forward to seeing Broccoli boy being chased down the street by a pack of 
'Roaches. Things just never frelling go my way, do they?

We reached the end of the street and the buildings gave way to a broad open area divided 
by a high, semi-transparent wall. Broccoli boy pushed us back against a building and 
pointed a leafy arm at the robot standing sentinel a hundred yards or so down. I peered at 
the metal monstrosity and took a step in its direction. D'Argo jerked me back against the 
brick.

"Musts have knows to gets by. Us's has knows."

"Well, go do what it is you need to frelling do then," D'Argo hissed at our veggie pal, all 
the while eyeing the robot warily and bunching one fist in the collar of my coat. 

I tried to shrug out of his grasp but he just held on more tightly. "D'Argo, leggo." 

"No."

"Yes."

"I know you like the shiny robot, John, but I'm not in the mood to get dead today."

"I'm not stupid, D'Argo. I just want to get a closer look. If these guys are everywhere 
we're gonna need to know more about them," I explained in my very reasonable, rational 
scientist voice. D'Argo didn't seem to buy it.

"I'm even less in the mood to explain to Aeryn how I let you get killed. How long do you 
think I'd survive after giving her that bit of news? Which goes right back to my earlier not 
in the mood to get dead statement."

I frowned and stopped struggling. "I don't think she'd kill you."

"No?"

"Maybe . . . no, she definitely wouldn't kill you," I said with as much certainty as I could. 
She had been a might moody lately. Hard to tell, really.

"If it's all the same to you, I think I'll avoid finding out just how she'd react to that. Sound 
good to you? Sounds good to me."

I gave a resigned shrug of my shoulders and slumped back against the building, but 
D'Argo refused to let go of my coat. I shot him a surly glare and glanced around to see 
what Broccoli boy was up to. 

The party platter refugee was scuttling across the open area towards a small recessed area in 
the wall. I narrowed my eyes and watched a couple shadowy figures approach from the 
other side of the wall. I couldn't really make them out through the wall but they looked a 
hell of a lot like big walking stalks of broccoli. I started to get a really bad feeling, a 
sneaking suspicion creeping up my scalp that maybe Broccoli boy wasn't all that big on 
following through his end of our little agreement.

Twisting impatiently and fiddling with something in the wall, BB was giving off guilty and 
anxious vibes. I could feel my nostrils flaring in irritation and I turned back to my big 
Luxan watchdog. "D'Argo, Sprouts is gonna rabbit." I took a step away from the building 
but D'Argo still had a grip on me and he pulled me back by the scruff of my neck. 

"You are --"

"Don't say insane. Don't say it." I held up a warning finger.

"I, uh, wasn't going to say it," D'Argo muttered.

I glared at him and jabbed my thumb in Broccoli boy's direction. "That guy? Is gonna run 
on us."

D'Argo looked over my shoulder. "Frell."

"Can I go now, Dad? I think maybe I can manage not to get myself dead."

D'Argo released me, somewhat reluctantly I thought, and with a wary eye on the watchful 
robot, we made our way towards our shifty floral friend. Unfortunately we weren't quite 
fast enough, an opening appeared in the wall and with an arrogant glance over his . . . um, 
shoulder, Broccoli boy slipped through to his waiting sprouty buddies. 

"Damn it!" I spat, skidding to a halt in front of the rapidly closing opening. I pounded a fist 
against it. "Son of a bitch!"

D'Argo added his own massive fist to the ineffectual pounding and we both watched 
Broccoli boy scurry away without another glance our way. "I will find him and I will pluck 
him and then I will give him to Noranti and she can make a soup out of him and then I'll 
feed him to Rygel." D'Argo's muttered threats grew dark and he let loose with a stream of 
Luxan curses.

I ignored the big guy's rant and tried to figure out what Broccoli boy had been fiddling 
with. I found a small panel and pried it open. There was an unfamiliar keypad and a 
something that looked like a scanner but I was damned if I could be sure. I punched a few 
buttons, flinching away in case something blew up, but when nothing happened I leaned 
closer and tried to lift up the keypad with a fingernail. 

D'Argo stopped cursing and came to hover over me. "What are you doing?" 

"Trying to figure out a way through this wall," I muttered absently, focused on the wires in 
front of me and not my looming friend.

"And?"

"And, I've got a bunch of damn wires I don't know what to do with." I contemplated a red 
one and a green one, paused, wondered if I should do it, paused again, hesitated, chewed 
on my lower lip, tapped a finger on the wall, glanced at the mercifully unmoving robot and 
then looked up at D'Argo. "Uh, you might want to stand back."

He gave me a puzzled looked and took a big step away from me. I closed my eyes and 
brought the two wires together. The good news was it didn't kill me. The bad news was I 
was thrown about ten feet from the wall and landed flat on my back. I stared up at the ashy 
sky and took a few deep breaths, trying to catch my breath. I could feel the electricity still 
coursing through my body, making my teeth itch. 

"John, are you alright?" D'Argo dropped to his knees next to me and helped me sit up, 
dusting me off as he did so. 

I propped my arms on my knees and stared at the wall. This had been one hell of a day. 
Chased, concussed, attacked by a robot, slashed by a bug, led astray by a giant vegetable, 
and now electrocuted. It was enough to make a lesser man weep. Fortunately I wasn't a 
lesser man and I just sat in a stupor for a minute or two. Then I climbed to my feet, patted 
my burly friend on the shoulder and walked through the now open wall. At least I'd done 
something right that day.

***

Alright, so it wasn't that easy. The wall did open and I did attempt to stride through it, chin 
held high. I got about halfway to the wall when the robot turned and took one giant step 
towards us. And then I ran. Fast. D'Argo ran with me, tentacles flying. I am telling you, 
there is nothing funnier than watching D'Argo run. 

Anyway, we got through the wall just as the big metal monster came even with the 
opening. We ran a few dozen feet past the wall, just to be safe and turned around to check 
on the shiny brute. The robot didn't come after us, though. It just stopped there and stared, 
its demonic, mechanical gaze hanging on us. I wondered, briefly, if it could shoot laser 
beams out its eyes, or maybe do the Superman heat ray thing. I took a few more steps 
backwards. The robot never made a move towards us or said anything. What these guys 
did when they weren't herding critters and standing around looking scary as hell remained 
a mystery. And honestly, at that moment in time, I wasn't going to go up and ask it what 
its purpose in life was. I swear. But, D'Argo grabbed me by the scruff of my neck anyway 
and yanked me into the twisting maze of narrow streets and slightly cleaner buildings. 

"What are you doing?" I gasped; he was strangling me.

"There's another one," he growled back.

"What?" The twisting and stumbling and general lack of oxygen running to my brain, were 
making things a little difficult to sort out.

D'Argo stopped, straightening me when I tripped over his massive boot, and thrust an arm 
past my nose. I followed the arm and the long finger at the end of it. Big robot, our side of 
the wall, watching us. I felt an icy knot form in my stomach. The robots were officially no 
longer cool. "Oh."

"Yes. Are you going to move or am I carrying you?"

"I'm moving."

With all the warmth and cheer of fugitives in a police state, D'Argo and I moved out, back 
into the city, looking for the way forward and hopefully not getting ourselves killed as we 
did. I thought about Aeryn. Granted, I always thought about Aeryn, but there was a little 
bit more than just a touch of panic in my thoughts now. While the rational part of me was 
sure she was somewhere ahead of us, perfectly fine and terrorizing anybody who looked at 
her funny, the much larger, much less rational part of me was terrified that we'd somehow 
left her behind. Our best bet was to keep moving forward, get to the end, and then we'd 
have a better idea, but a hundred 'what ifs' dashed wildly through my head. What if she 
was just a street over, hurt or in trouble? What if she was behind us, alone and struggling 
to find us? What if she was being held by one of these gangs? What if she wasn't down 
here at all? What if --?

"It's older here."

The whirling thoughts and worries careening through my skull crashed to an almost painful 
halt at D'Argo's words. "Que?" 

D'Argo waved a hand at the buildings around us. "They're older. See the columns? They 
look almost Luxan. Pre-Durath Empire. The fluting is not quite right, though. And the 
markings, I can't make them out, but see how they're worn? This city has been here for a 
very long time," he pronounced solemnly while I stared at him slack-jawed. 

"Older," I managed.

"Yes. Classical architecture, well constructed." He fingered the stones on the corner of one 
building. "The masonry is remarkable. This was once a beautiful city." 

D'Argo continued to stare at the buildings and I continued to stare at him. You think you 
know a guy. You think all he likes to do is blow dren up and bam, turns out he's an art 
freak. Good for him. It's nice to have hobbies. Unfortunately I didn't think this hobby 
would do us any good. 

"Er. That's really good to know, D'Argo. Luxan?"

"Resembles Luxan, but it's not," he pronounced. "Could be Ilanic."

"Right. Ilanic." I shivered involuntarily at the memory of the last Ilanics we'd seen. Or, 
um, maybe it was just the pseudo-Ilanic. Matala. That chick still gave me nightmares. She 
had the creepiest damn eyes. I shook off that disturbing trip down memory lane and 
followed D'Argo across the street. 

I can't say that I liked this side of the wall any better than the other side, no matter how 
pretty the buildings might be under the grime. This side didn't have quite as many 
menacing critters as the other side, but something about 'here' ratcheted up the sense of 
imminent doom about twenty notches. The beings that were here were bound together in 
tighter packs, well-organized gangs. Lone figures were rare and after watching a few get 
sucked under by a roving pack or two it wasn't hard to see why. Nobody'd made a move 
on D'Argo and me yet, but they were watching us. 

"Hm, we're not anywhere near Ilanic space, though. At least we weren't when we were on 
the space station. I guess they could have transported us. But the distance between the 
space station and Ila-"

"D'Argo, stop looking at the pretty buildings. We have a more immediate problem."

"It could help us find out where we are, John," he told me with a tremendous, and fairly 
irritating, amount of patience. I hate it when he talks to me like I'm five. 

"I hate it when you talk to me like I'm five, D'Argo," I growled. "Right now we're here, 
here is bad and we need to not be here. So stop knock off the house hunting."

D'Argo's already impressive brow lowered dangerously. I swallowed heavily but tried not 
to look like I was swallowing heavily and ended up choking. I think I pulled a muscle in 
my throat. Massaging my neck and coughing slightly, I ignored the glowering Luxan and 
pondered our next move.

"Broccoli boy."

"What?" I asked, mildly annoyed at being distracted from my ponderings yet again. 
D'Argo was suddenly full of random pieces of . . . er, pieces. Words, um, came out of his 
mouth that weren't connected to . . . never mind. I didn't get it and I gave him a wary 
glance, prepared to look away if it was just a ploy to get me to look at him so he could give 
me the hairy eyeball. 

"Right. Over. There," he growled fiercely and stomped away from me. Frell me, and they 
say I'm impulsive.

The never subtle Luxan started to cross out onto a wide and fairly busy avenue, packs of 
critters roaming relatively freely here and there in some sort of uneasy truce. I ran after him 
and caught his arm. "What are you doing?"

"Right over there. Our little green friend. Our little green friend who used us and left us to 
the robots. I hate our little green friend."

Following the direction of D'Argo's stormy scowl, I saw a . . . stand? grove? bunch? . . . 
of broccoli beings. "How can you tell which one's which?"

"I can tell," he proclaimed with deadly certainty. 

"Well there's like twelve of them, D. As much as I'd love to de-sprout the leafy freak . . ."

D'Argo gave me a disgusted look. "Don't tell me you're afraid of the vegetables, John."

I bristled. "I'm not afraid. I'm being reasonable." The dubious expression on D'Argo's 
face nearly set me off on a table hopping rant. I've had a bad day. My head hurt, my chest 
hurt, my hands hurt, I was tired and hungry and I missed Aeryn, damn it. I wasn't in the 
mood for a temperamental Luxan. "Knock it off. I want out of here, I don't give a flying 
frell --"

Grabbing me by the coat, D'Argo pushed me back off the street and slammed me up 
against the nearest wall for roughly the umpteenth time that day. My head bounced off the 
stone with dull thud and bright lights followed immediately by black spots darted through 
my vision. "D'Argo. What the hell?" I croaked out weakly. 

"Shut up," he snarled. Oh god, I needed this. A hyper-rage. Man, I was so dead. 

"D'Argo," I tried again faintly, struggling helplessly against his grip. The black spots in 
front of my eyes were joined by more black spots and they gave birth to even more black 
spots. I was almost out completely when he clapped his supersized paw over my mouth. 

"Peacekeepers," he hissed in my ear. 

My battered brain struggled valiantly to understand what was going on. It was a desperate 
battle but in the end confusion won and my brain whimpered and retreated out my ears. I 
managed to twist my head out of his grasp. "'M not a Peacekeeper, D'Argo," I told him 
weakly, what was left of my muzzy brain had decided that in his rage D'Argo must have 
forgotten who I was. 

"Shut the frell up," he growled dangerously and clapped his hand over my mouth again. I 
pushed at his arm with all the strength of a sleeping day old kitten. D'Argo shifted his grip 
on my vest and dropped his hand from my mouth with a bitter sigh. "Frell."

"Let him go, Luxan."

For my part I was having a little of trouble catching up to exactly what was going on. Still 
stuck in thinking this was all about a hyper-rage that was going to get me messily 
dismembered, I tried again to reason with D'Argo. "Not a Peaceke-"

"You are now," D'Argo whispered and let go of me so suddenly I fell back against the 
wall. As usual, my skull connected violently with the stone, with the stone winning the 
round handily, rattling my tragically abused gray matter one more time. My last thought, as 
blackness swallowed me, was a resigned, weary, and more than a little hazy, "Again? 
Damn i-" 

***

"Oy. Oy, Bond. Wake up." A hand on my shoulder, shaking me firmly, pulled me up out 
of my very comfortable, big, black hole of oblivion. Can't a guy get any sleep around 
here? "He's not responsive." Ya don't say? Couldn't possibly be 'cause I'm trying to 
sleep, could it? "How hard did the Luxan hit him?" Oh, okay maybe it was 
unconsciousness. Not as good as sleep. Plus it hurts to wake up. Which explained why I 
was fighting off waking up. Usually, when strange guys shake me, I wake up. Just one of 
my little quirks.

"Didn't see. He was almost out when we got there." Make that, two strange guys.

"Bond." The hand shaking me again. Wakefulness started poking incessantly at my brain, 
ignoring my attempts at fending it off, and I groaned in protest. "Good. Bond, how ya 
doing?"

"Head hurts," I mumbled. 

"Frelling Luxan," guy number two growled. The venom in his voice surprised me enough 
to pry one reluctant eye open. Sebaceans. Peacekeepers. Frell.

"Drink this." Guy number one pushed a cup into my hand. "Nasty dren but it'll do the job 
for ya."

"Thanks," I mumbled and not even bothering to wonder if it'd do me any good or kill me 
outright, I slammed back the liquid. Nasty dren is right. Definitely not Dr. Ewok's cabbage 
surprise. This stuff burned like liquid nitrogen going down and sent a glacial bolt straight 
through my sinuses. "Damn." I coughed and blinked back tears. 

"Nasty, eh?" Guy number one grinned at my reaction and patted me on the shoulder. I 
nodded and handed him back the cup. "How's the head, than?"

I paused and made a brief internal systems check. My innards were feeling a little frosty, 
and my head was buzzing from the drink, but the skull shattering pain was gone. "Better."

Guy number one thumped me on the shoulder again and sat down on a box across from 
me. "So Bond, how'd you find yourself in this dren hole? Where's the rest of your unit?"
Bond? "Bond."

Guy number two frowned. "S'your name innit? S'what the Luxan told us. Probably lied 
about that, too."

Dimly remembering D'Argo's last words to me, my muddled head finally caught up to the 
situation. "Er, yeah, it's, uh, Bond, " I muttered in my best Peacekeeper Captain voice. 

"My head's a bit worse for wear."

"Understandable," guy number one said. "Never had the bad luck to be on that side of a 
Luxan hyper-rage, myself." 

"It's painful," I confirmed. "Where is D'Argo?"

"The Luxan?" Guy number two? Not very bright.

"Yeah. The Luxan."

"He tried to kill you."

"If he'd actually tried, I'd likely be dead."

"Get off it, Wenz. You know about the treaty," guy number one glared at guy number two 
and guy number two, er, Wenz, glared back.

"Doesn't mean I have to like it. Filthy Luxans."

Guy number one's glare went from dark to furious and he slugged Wenz on the arm. "Oy. 
None of that. High Command says we work with the Luxans, we work with the Luxans. 
You don't question High Command. Understand?" He barked.

"Yes, sir," Wenz replied not all that meekly. 

Guy number one nodded firmly and turned back to me. "The Lux -- uh, D'Argo?" I 
nodded helpfully. "D'Argo is in the next room. Thought it best to secure him."

They tied him up? Oh crap. He was never going to let me forget this. The scars were never 
going to let me forget this. "Probably for the best."

"Yeah. Hyper-rage and all. Didn't put up much of a fight, though. Thought Luxans were 
tougher than that." Guy number one shrugged. "Oh, name's Pirs. Lieutenant, Teyon 
Company, Sorala Regiment. This here's Wenz Alphric Company, Sorala Regiment."

They both stared at me expectantly for a while before a clue finally knocked against my 
frontal lobe like a bird with no sense of direction. Ah, they wanted an introduction. "Bond, 
Captain, uh, Peacekeeper Special Directorate. Licensed to kill. Pretty certain, that's all you 
need to know."

I wasn't sure if that would float with them, or what exactly D'Argo had told them, but Pirs 
actually looked relieved and gave me a big smile. "Yes, sir."

"So, uh, just the two of you?" 

"No, there's seven of us here. The two of us been here longest, though. Five weekens."

"Weekens?" I croaked brilliantly. God I don't want to be here for 5 days let alone five 
weekens.

"Yeah," Wenz spat. "We were grabbed on leave at some frelled up little station. Sentenced 
they said. Frellers."

"Sentenced? Big insect, uh, beings?" I asked.

"Yeah. Said we were trespassing or some dren," Pirs elaborated. "You?

"They didn't tell me what I was being _sentenced_ to this place for. They just knocked me 
out and tossed me down here." I rubbed my hands over my face. "Frelling bugs."

"Yes sir," Wenz growled. "Frelling bugs, sir."

I raised an eyebrow and stared at him. He was a little creepy. Had a psychotic thousand-
yard stare going. Come to think of it, I wondered why, despite the fact that they were 
hostile, xenophobic, lunatics, Peacekeepers managed to be fairly sane. Well relatively sane, 
I guess. Cycles of dealing with them and I'd have expected to run into more deranged 
berserker types. Huh. They must have a fabulous Shrink Corps. Though they probably 
called it something truly disturbing like Mental Reformatting or Neuron Realignment. I'd 
have to ask Aeryn. Providing I ever found Aeryn.

"There was another member of my party," I said. "Another, uh, Peacekeeper. A woman. 
You haven't seen her or heard about her, have you?"

Pirs shook his head regretfully. "No, sir. Last Peacekeeper we found, excepting yourself 
sir, was three solar days ago. And I don't reckon as I'd ever mistake him for a female, sir."
I gave him a wry, weary smile. "It was worth asking."

A loud roar and the sudden shaking of the wall made the three of us jump and turn as one. 
"Um, that'll be D'Argo. Better let him loose before he hurts, er, all of us."

"Filthy Luxan," Wenz snarled again. I gave him my patented 'I'm a bigger lunatic than you 
are' look and he stood up. "I'll go see to him, sir."

"Yeah, you do that. You might want to make sure and stay out of arms reach, though." 
Wenz gave me a blank look. "Little warning. He can be kind of cranky."

Wenz shrugged indifferently and walked out of the room. Pirs and I sat, staring at each 
other, our heads cocked towards the other room. There was a low growl, a scuffle, a 
chorus of swearing and then the door flew open, crashed against the wall and bounced 
back, slapping against an extremely large hand attached to an extremely large Luxan.

D'Argo took two long strides in, gave Pirs a truly vicious glare that sent the Peacekeeper 
stumbling off his box and fumbling for his pulse pistol, and stopped in front of me. My 
very large, very irritated friend gave me a careful once over and stuck his big tentacly head 
about two inches from my own. 

"How many of me are there?"

Um, "What?"

"How many of me are there?" He repeated, carefully enunciating each word.

Was this a trick question? "One?"

"Good." He brightened considerably and slapped me on the shoulder. "I'm, uh, sorry 
about your head."

I waved him off. "Not like I need it."

D'Argo gave me a toothy grin and spun around to face a nervous looking Pirs, who still 
hadn't decided if he was going to point his pistol or holster it. "So," D'Argo boomed, 
"how the frell do we get off this rock?"

***

"Sheyang or Scarran?"

I grimaced, growled and glared at D'Argo. "Sheyang or Scarran?"

"That's what I said," D'Argo huffed.

"Gah."

"Sorry, sir." Pirs winced.

"S'alright. Um . . ."

D'Argo repeated his question while he examined his filthy nails. "Sheyang or Sca-"

"I heard you," I gritted out.

"So which is it?"

"Ugh. Scarran."

"With a big hat?" My Luxan tormentor smirked. 

I was never going to live down that hat. "One question at a time! You had your question. 
Now it's my turn. Marjoules or fried dentics? Ow, frell."

"Sorry sir," Pirs winced again but kept dabbing at my chest.

"That's disgusting, Jo- uh, James."

I grinned triumphantly and tried to ignore the stinging in my chest. Pirs was patching up 
the gash on my chest and D'Argo was sitting next to me trying to keep my mind off the 
pain with a rousing game of 'death is not an option.' It wasn't working all that well; it felt 
like my chest hairs were being plucked one at a time with white-hot pliers. But it's the 
thought that counts.

"Marjoules," D'Argo finally answered with a groan of disgust. I started to chuckle evilly at 
D'Argo's distaste, unfortunately I was forced to swallow it when he gave me a smug 
smile. "Furlow or Akhna?"

My eyes widened in horror. Granted we both tend to sink pretty low with this game, but 
today had been kinda mild by our usual standards. Up 'till now that is. He must still be 
bitter about the 'Stanz or Noranti' question. "Akhna," I practically spat my answer. "God, 
definitely the Scarran."

D'Argo grinned happily and triumphantly while I tried to shake off the memory of that . . . 
woman. Pirs had finished with me and was sitting back looking at D'Argo and I as if he 
wasn't quite sure if he was amused or confused or resigned to the notion that superior 
officers were by their very nature bizarre. Resignation seemed to be the wisest choice for 
him, so he nodded at us both and stood up.

"Sir, I'll go see if we've got a spare shirt for you."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." I gave him a captainly nod and we watched him disappear out of 
the room.

"So, nobody answered my earlier question," D'Argo rumbled a microt later.

Only half paying attention to D'Argo, I was busy poking at the puckered gash on my chest 
and trying to find it in myself to admire the Lieutenant's handy work. It wasn't pretty. It 
was good of him to stitch me up and I guess all things considered it could have been 
worse, but Florence Nightingale he wasn't. Aeryn would like the scar, though, so it wasn't 
a total loss. "Which one was that?"

"How do we get off this rock?"

I stopped my perusal of my gory wound and raised an eyebrow. "D'Argo, you ever think 
maybe asking advice on that from guys who have been stuck here for weekens is not such 
a great idea?"

D'Argo opened and shut his mouth a few times, like a big, furry guppy, before shrugging 
his shoulders. "Well, they must have some idea."

I snorted and fingered the cut on my lip. I was gonna have all kinds of happy memories 
from this trip. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why would they have some idea? If they had some idea they probably wouldn't be here. 
Frell me, there's seven of them," my exasperated whisper drew a low growl from D'Argo. 
"Unless these guys all flunked PK school, I think we're frelled."

"You know what your problem is, John?" He hissed.

Poking at a knot on my cheekbone, the thing had to be the size of an egg -- one of those 
double A jumbo-sized jobs -- I absently corrected D'Argo's use of my name. Really what's 
the point of using an alias if he wasn't going to remember it? "James and I have just one 
problem?"

"You're a pessimist."

"No, I'm not." I dropped my hand down from the cut above my left eye and stared at him 
incredulously. "If I was a pessimist I'd have thrown myself out an airlock cycles ago."

"You're a lazy pessimist," D'Argo said quickly, amending his earlier stupid statement with 
even more stupidity. "Or a masochist with a pessimistic streak metras wide. Or the other 
way around? Either way, there is pessimism. Lots and lots of pessimism."

"Oh, give me a frelling--"

"You can't deny it, John."

"James and yes I can. Watch me deny it. This is me denying." I stood up quickly, fighting 
off a wave of dizziness and sharp tearing pain as the stitches pulled slightly. "A pessimist 
doesn't sneak onto a Gammak base. A pessimist doesn't march onto a command carrier 
and help blow the frelling thing up. A pessimist doesn't . . . doesn't . . . uh, doesn't do 
other stuff I've done."

"You just keep telling yourself that, John."

"James!" I barked.

"Hey now, settle down. The pain is obviously getting to you," he said patiently and stood 
up, shaking his tentacles. "I'm going to go see if they have any weapons and I think you 
should sit here and think about what I've told you."

I narrowed my eyes and glared at him. "You're Bizarro D'Argo, aren't you?"

The expression on his face quickly went from patience to irritation and he leaned close to 
me. I took a prudent step back and continued to eye him warily. "We are getting out of 
here," he growled fiercely then spun around and stormed out the door, shoving the 
returning Lieutenant Pirs out of his way. Yeah, one of us had issues and it damn sure 
wasn't me. For once.

Pirs stumbled into the room, catching hold of the edge of the door for balance in the wake 
of the Luxan dervish. "Sir?"

"Find me a shirt?"

"Oh, yes, sir." He offered me the bulky, black bundle.

I took the shirt from him and pulled it over my head, trying not to stretch the abused 
muscles in my chest any more than I had to. The fabric fell in long swaths across my torso, 
the sleeves hid my hands completely and the hem dropped to just above my knees. It was a 
little big.

Pirs shifted swallowed heavily and nervously. No doubt waiting for me to go off on him 
like a good, little, unreasonably insane PK officer. "Um, it was the cleanest we had, sir."
I raised an arm and shook my hand, letting the voluminous sleeves drop back, exposing 
my hidden digits again. I felt like a Jawa. "This is fine. It's  . . . roomy."

"Jo. . .ames!" D'Argo's voice thundered through the hovel, shaking the plaster and the 
Lieutenant. I ground my teeth and stalked over to the door.

"What?" I shouted back.

D'Argo glanced over his shoulder at me and waved a mighty paw at the table in front of 
him. "Weapons!" The only way the grin on his face could have been any bigger is if 
Chiana'd been on the table too, wearing one of the guns and not much else. 

"I'm very happy for you, D'Argo." I sighed and pushed my sleeves up to my elbows. 
"Anything good?"

"Pulse rifle?"

"Too big."

"I'll take it then. Pistol?"

"Won't be as good as Winona," I grumbled and caught the pistol he tossed my way. I 
hefted it in my hand, twisted it back and forth, tested the balance and sighed. Nope, not 
Winona.

"Want another one?"

"Sure. Wait. Did you ask our friends here if you could take their weapons?"

D'Argo gave me a puzzled frown. "You're the Captain, aren't you?" I gave him a frosty 
glare and he turned to the half dozen Peacekeepers in the room. "Do you mind if the 
Captain and I arm ourselves?"

A chorus of 'no sir's echoed through the room. "Help yourself, Captain," Pirs grinned at 
me. Pirs grinned too much. I couldn't take much more of the grinning. 

"Thanks," I grumbled again then grunted when D'Argo tossed the second pistol at me. It 
bounced off my chest and got caught in the material of my shirt when I raised a hand to 
catch it. A couple of microts of fumbling, some eye-watering pain, and I managed to secure 
the second pistol. "Thanks," I growled much less cheerily. D'Argo just grinned back with 
the oblivious grin of a kid with a new toy that makes things blow up real good. 

"The Luxan is a little . . . strange," Pirs whispered. 

"More than a little."

"Are all Luxan's like that?"

"Well I haven't met too many but I think D'Argo's probably pretty frelling special."

"Huh."

"Yeah."

"So," boomed D'Argo jovially, like an over-amped cheerleader. "Who wants to get off this 
frelling rock?"

I rolled my eyes and took a deep breath. This day just kept getting longer.

***

Now this is what I'm talking about. A good solid wall at my back, a pair of pistols in my 
hands, and my best friend at my side. What more could I want from life? Well, except to 
find my girl, get off this hellhole of a planet, get back to my ship and to . . . duck.

BAM!

"So you add a pinch of cordia . . ."

I brushed the dust off my face and turned my attention back to D'Argo. "Wait. Is this 
before it comes to a boil?"

"No, no, it has to be after it boils. Just before it's done. If the cordia steeps too long it 
becomes a powerful laxative."

"Oh, yeah, wanna avoid that."

POW!

D'Argo fired off a few quick shots over his shoulder and nodded his head in agreement. 
"Definitely want to avoid that. Ruins the whole batch. But it's tricky, you have to add it at 
just the right time, otherwise it won't ferment properly."

"I'm thinking this is one recipe we don't let granny try her hand at."

KAPOW! KAPOW!

"Sir! Sir!" Pirs scrambled over the pile of boxes to our right and dropped to his knees in 
front of me. "Lathan set the charges, the doors are ready."

"Gro--excellent, Lieutenant. How lo--"

KABOOOOOOM!

"--ng. Never mind."

We pushed ourselves up and over the wall, guns blazing, critters shrieking and the smell of 
burnt chakan oil thick in the air. Running through the clouds of smoke towards the gaping 
hole in the warehouse, I bit my tongue and managed not to make a really lame _Apocalypse 
Now_ comment -- it was too easy, nobody'd get it, and damn it, I can do better than that. 

I fired off a few more shots and dove behind a pallet of goods, ignoring the shower of 
pulverized food cubes. Snaking my head around the corner, I tried to get a lay of the land 
and ended up swearing loudly when Pirs almost found himself eating a little, yellow bolt of 
light. Sure he was a Peacekeeper, but, well, weird as it sounded he was my Peacekeeper 
and I didn't want to watch his skull explode. Fortunately for him, D'Argo's a damn fine 
shot. A sudden movement from a catwalk above me caught my eye and I pulled back 
behind the pallet, wincing at the heat from a blast that passed just a little too close to my 
own skull. Nothing like a gun battle to get the blood pumping on a cold, dreary evening. 

Turns out one of the only ways to get ahead in this part of Murderville was to gain control 
of one or more of the supply shipments. They were dropped off once a weeken at a handful 
of warehouses spread out across the city, and then it was a battle for who'd control them. 
Food, weapons, clothes, meds -- it was money, it was life, worth more than gold or blood 
and every critter on this rock would kill to control the flow. My PK troop had been after 
this warehouse for the past couple of weekens but they hadn't managed to take it. Enter PK 
Captain James Bond. D'Argo started snickering when they all turned to me for a plan. 

My plan was pretty simple, actually. There weren't very many of us, so we'd go in the 
back, use confusion, explosions, smoke and night to cover us and we'd make like an 
army. Easy enough. I sent a couple of the PKs up to sweep the catwalks and whatever else 
was on the second floor, while the rest of us advanced through the main warehouse. It 
wasn't pretty, it wasn't fun, and they were on to us before we even got to the building, but 
it seemed to be working. 

A sharp cry and the thud of a heavy body hitting the floor, drew my head around the pallet 
again. Critter. Good. I glanced up at the catwalk and one of my PKs gave me a quick 
wave. I turned and signaled Lathan and Wenz to move while I gave them some covering 
fire. Things went on like that for about a quarter of an arn, but eventually we cleared the 
warehouse and secured the entrances. 

A couple of arns after we secured the warehouse and spent some time convincing 
everybody else and their uncle with a gun that the warehouse wasn't up for grabs anymore, 
I stood up on one of the catwalks, leaning against the wall and looking out of a small 
window at the street down below. Dim, shadowy figures swarmed near the front entrance 
of our building, some looked a little more hostile than others did, but the battle of the 
evening was won and the nastier gangs appeared to have slipped back into the dark, 
conceding this shipment to us. For now. 

"John."

"James," I corrected absently. He really was never gonna get it, was he?

"Right. James." D'Argo came up next to me and peered over my shoulder, out the 
window. "There are a pair of Delvians down there who want to talk to you."

"About?"

D'Argo shrugged his massive shoulders and almost knocked me off the catwalk. 
"Information for trade. They want something."

"Everybody wants something," I told him wearily then pointed a stern finger at him. "But 
never let them tell you coconuts migrate. Not even with a pair of swallows to carry them."

D'Argo gave me the cool glare of the interminably patient Luxan. "Did you hit your head 
again?"

"Nope."

"Are you sure?" He grabbed my head in one giant paw and tried to look for fresh damage.

I pushed his hand away and backed up carefully, well aware of the twenty foot drop on one 
side. "Gee, I know you like me and all, D'Argo, but won't Chiana get jealous?"

"Oh stop," he huffed, irritated.

I laughed and brushed a hand through my hair, trying to flatten the bits D'Argo messed up. 
"My head's fine." D'Argo gave me a long look, no doubt trying to decide if I was lying or 
not. I decided to interrupt his train of thought before he decided he needed to examine me 
again, "So . . . Delvians huh? Hope we have better luck with the blue plants than we did 
with the green ones."

"I still say we should have plucked him when we had the chance."

"What? And miss out on the fun of knocking me out again?"

"I said I was sorry. How many times do I have to say I'm sorry?" D'Argo demanded 
loudly.

"That's a really good question," I mused, D'Argo scowled and we both crossed the 
catwalk and started down the narrow, metal stairs. 

I was almost to the bottom when the lights went out and a massive explosion rocked the 
warehouse. The stairs buckled under my feet and I hit the stone floor with an awkward 
tumble. Fortunately I caught myself and managed a semi-decent roll before my head 
cracked against the floor. Unfortunately it was only a semi-decent roll and I landed hard on 
my left elbow, jamming my arm up into my shoulder. White-hot agony shot through the 
joint and I flopped back onto my back, gritting my teeth against the pain and gasping for a 
desperate breath. 

Shouts, minor explosions, pulse fire and general mayhem drifted from other parts of the 
warehouse, through the ringing in my ears. I groaned and rolled to my knees. I guessed the 
other gangs weren't the gracious losers I'd thought they were. Another shout caught my 
attention, nearer to me, sounded like Wenz and then a vicious round of pulse fire followed 
by heavy silence. I stumbled from my knees to my feet and pushed myself through the 
oppressive darkness towards what I hoped was the shelter of some of the larger pallets. I'd 
lost track of D'Argo, and I was probably more turned around from the fall than I wanted to 
be, but I figured sounding out just then wasn't going to be the wisest move I could make. 
Who said I never learned? 

My knee banged painfully against the edge of something large, heavy, and square and 
hopefully was one of the pallets I was aiming for. Before I could reach out a hand to 
examine the thing, I heard a soft shuffling sound off to my right. I dropped my hand, 
swore silently when the sleeve of my shirt became unrolled and the fabric slipped down 
over my fingers, making it difficult for me to pull my pistol. My other arm was almost 
immobile, moving it feel an awful lot like somebody was shoving flaming spikes through 
the shoulder, and it took me far too many microts of fumbling before I pushed enough 
fabric back off my good arm to actually pull my pistol. The shuffling got closer and I held 
myself perfectly still, straining through the pitch black. Whoever it was, they were moving 
fairly confidently, the warehouse was strewn with pallets, boxes, crates, and general dren, 
it wasn't an easy walk through when there was light. Critter probably had night vision. 
Figures. 

I lowered myself slightly, bracing against the pallet behind me and cocked my head to one 
side, listening. The shuffling came again, softer this time, but closer. I gripped my pistol 
firmly and turned towards the sound. It came one more time and I raised the pistol, feeling 
it come in contact with something solid, just as a cold and unmistakably pistol-like object 
pressed itself to my forehead. 

"Don't move," rasped a hard voice. 

***

Once, a long, long time ago, D'Argo, in one of his weirdly timed moments of insight, told 
me, 'calm shepherds the certainty of death.' Or something like that. This was a whole other 
kind of calm. 

"Lower your pistol," the voice grated.

"I'll lower it on one condition."

There was a brief pause, but I could hear the other person, and swear to god, their 
breathing even sounded irritated. Zero to annoyed in less than five microts. I am good.

"Which is?"

"That you promise to strip search me."

"You'd like that, would you?" 

"It's no fun if you don't find the big gun."

"The temptation to shoot you is unbelievably strong." The cold metal moved away from my 
frontal lobe and I allowed myself a triumphant grin.

"Aw, shoot me and who'll keep you warm at night?"

"Moya's environmental controls?"

"Just like a woman to go for the mechanical option."

"Less hassle. And less mess."

"God, I love you."

"Lower your pistol."

"Whoops. Sorry." I fought with my muumuu -- I mean shirt -- for a few microts and 
managed to holster my gun without shooting myself. 

The warehouse had fallen mostly silent, though I could hear some rustling and cursing and 
a few louder noises that sounded like they were coming from outside. I wondered who was 
winning. Aeryn grabbed my, mercifully uninjured, shoulder and pushed me down next to a 
pallet, hopefully giving us some small bit of cover.

I couldn't see her, it being night and there being no light, but I could smell her -- brain 
numbing soap, chakan oil and leather -- I could feel her and, oh, I could taste her. Aeryn's 
one hell of a lot of things, and kisser's definitely way up there towards the top of the list. I 
don't know where she learned it, I don't want to think about where she learned it, but 
whoever the guy was . . . well, if he was standing here now I'd probably kill him, but after 
I killed him I'd thank him. She has the most flexible ton--

She pushed me away and whispered breathlessly, "Where's D'Argo?"

"Huh?"

"D'Argo? Tall, Luxan, your friend?" Now she sounded amused, relaxed, sort of. I take 
full credit for that and it's because I happen to be one hell of a kisser myself. 

"Oh. Him. He was on the stairs when the explosion went off. What the hell was that 
anyway?"

"Big explosive. Blew off the front doors."

"Nice. We did that earlier. Blew off the back doors."

"Nice. How many of you are there?"

"Me, D'Argo, seven Peacekeep-- oh, frell. Who did you come in here with?"

"Pair of Delvians--"

"I knew they were after something," I spat furiously, Aeryn tried to hush me but by god I 
was not to be shushed.  "God, is every plant on this planet a backstabbing waste of 
cellulose?"

"A pair of Delvians," she hissed again, slightly louder, "four Zenetan pirates and three 
things I can't identify."

"Fun," I groused bitterly, still pissed about the global plant conspiracy. I was off plants, 
strict meat diet for me from now on. My luck with plants and the next veggie goulash 
grandma tried to feed me would contain some toxin only I was allergic to and I'd turn into a 
giant blue ball like that kid in Willie Wonka. "Why hit this place?"

"Same reason you did, I imagine."

"I think maybe we should call off this little party. I wanna find D'Argo and I want to check 
on my guys."

She paused for a moment and I could almost feel her eyes searching my face. "You can't be 
that attached to these Peacekeepers."

"Sorta. I. . ." I coughed, a little embarrassed, it felt a little like the time DK found out I 
liked a certain ABBA tune. I don't know how he found out, I suspect an evil sister, but I 
had to threaten to frell with his math grade to get him to shut up. "Well, they're alright and 
they haven't tried to kill me yet and I'm not doing too bad by ex-Peacekeepers, all things 
considered. And they think I'm one of their captains and I did lead them here --" I stopped 
when she clapped one hand over my mouth.

"You and your compassion." I could hear the smile in her voice and even got a small taste 
of it when she dropped her hand and quickly kissed me again.

"Missed you," I whispered. I may, occasionally be a jackass and I may swagger and rant, 
but comes down to it, nobody can bring me to my knees like she can. 

"Missed you, too," she whispered back. "I can't see you very well, these are a pathetic 
excuse for oculars, but I taste blood and you seem to be missing a tooth." I did mention the 
tongue thing, right? "What the frell have you been up to?"

"D'Argo first, story time later."

"Right." She paused again, and I had to admit I felt more than a little exposed, sitting there, 
knowing she was looking me over and not being able to see in return. Damned 
uncomfortable. "Did you hurt your arm?"

I shrugged and immediately regretted it. Because, yes, I did hurt my arm. Wincing, and 
silently listing for myself all the ways I was a dumbass, I gritted out, "Sprained shoulder. I 
don't think it's dislocated but I've lost some mobility there. Hurts like hell."

"You should have said something earlier," she replied with the impatient tone she only uses 
when I'm being particularly obtuse or incomprehensible. 

"And miss out on the kissing? Frell that," I grumbled. If I'm gonna get blown up, held at 
gunpoint and lectured, I'm not going to miss out on whatever kissing I can score from the 
deal. 

She sighed and I could practically hear her rolling her eyes. "Fine. Stay here, stay out of 
trouble, I'm going to go find D'Argo."

I sat back to wait without argument, which must have surprised her because she didn't 
move away for a handful of microts. I was essentially blind anyway, and more than happy 
to let her go off and be commando chick -- she does it so well. She touched the side of my 
head briefly and then disappeared back into the dark. I pulled a pistol back out and drew 
my knees up to my chest as much as I could, rested my elbow on my knee and waited.

The blackness felt heavy and almost smothering, my eyes were straining to find any source 
of light and my ears twitched at every sound. I didn't like sitting here, I was vulnerable, 
clearly the invaders were prepared -- if Aeryn could find me, so could her cohorts -- and 
the sounds from outside were getting unhappier. All in all a typical John Crichton evening 
on the town. 

I dropped my head back against the pallet and tried to concentrate on the sounds around 
me, unfortunately my concentration was being shot to hell by something I couldn't even 
really identify. Something was rasping at the edge of my senses and I couldn't figure it out. 

I was so caught up trying to identify this new source of puzzlement, I didn't hear Aeryn 
come back right away. Or at all, actually. She had to touch my arm to get my attention. I 
hate it when people sneak up on me, I tend to point guns when that happens.

"It's me," she informed me hastily and I felt her crouch down in front of me.

I relaxed and dropped my gun waving hand. "That was quick."

"D'Argo's unconscious. I'm not dragging him over here."

"Reasonable," I observed quietly. "He's alright?"

"He seems fine. Just out," she reassured me. " I also found one of your Peacekeepers."

"That right?"

"Quite."

"Alive or dead?" I asked almost hesitantly. They hadn't been with me very long but I didn't 
really want to hear that they'd been massacred. 

"Alive. He's behind a crate not far from D'Argo."

"Anybody else?"

She hesitated for a moment and I felt a flood of acid in my stomach. "Nobody else is 
moving around. At least, not in this part of the warehouse."

She was letting me down gently and I almost think that was worse than had she come 
straight out and told me she was tripping over bodies. I swallowed back the bile working 
its way up my throat and tried to focus. "Alright. Plan?"

"Grab your Peacekeeper, grab D'Argo, get the frell out of here."

"Good plan."

"I thought so."

***

I've learned a lot of hard lessons in all my years in the UTs and today's hard lesson was, 
'Never poke a sleeping Luxan with anything shorter than a ten foot pole'. 

I landed on my back with a large hand wrapped around my throat, a massive knee planted 
squarely in my gut and a lungful of Luxan halitosis. Oh, and before I forget to mention it, it 
was still pitch black and there were still all kinds of unpleasant rumblings coming from 
outside, so even for being strangled, the conditions weren't ideal. Not that I was paying 
attention to any of that, I was a little more focused on my rapidly collapsing windpipe. 

Aeryn hissed at us to be quiet, D'Argo ignored her and I was having flashbacks to where 
this all started, of course I was also having flashbacks to my fourth grade saxophone recital 
and that party my freshman year in high school where Sally Ann Murdock and I made it to 
second base in the closet. In other words, lack of blood and oxygen to my brain were 
starting to take their toll. I managed a sort of gurgle in her direction I hoped would convey 
the fact that while I'd love to be quiet, I'd also love to breathe again. 

"D'Argo, let him go," Aeryn stepped up to save me from asphyxiation. 

"Aeryn?" D'Argo always was a swift thinker.

"Gack, urg." And he still hadn't let go of my throat.

"D'Argo," she hissed again and followed up with a loud thump and a yelp from the 
homicidal Luxan. 

The hand around my throat loosened its grip and I pushed him away furiously, rolling to 
my knees, coughing and gasping for that sweet, sweet oxygen. 

"I'm sorry, John," D'Argo muttered somewhat contritely. He sounded like a three-year-old 
who got caught stealing somebody's paste and wasn't at all sorry he'd done it, only sorry 
he'd gotten caught. 

I managed a low, guttural growl but otherwise ignored him. "Aeryn, status?"

"One of your peacekeepers is two pallets to your right. I see another one about thirty paces 
behind you. This one appears to be injured."

"'Kay. Good. We'll get 'em. Uh, Aeryn, they think my name's Bond. Captain Bond."

There was a long pause and when she finally spoke I thought she sounded kind of amused.  
"Bond? Why do they think that?" She asked innocently and I totally wasn't buying it. 
Aeryn's never that innocent and I knew it, I knew it, all those times I heard, 'no John, I 
can't help you clear the blockage in the amnexus chamber. I've got to make a vital repair to 
my prowler,' it was a total load of dren. Nobody's prowler needs that much maintenance. 
God, you'd think they were the Peacekeeper version of an MG. The truth comes out -- she 
was sneaking off to watch movies. If it wasn't so insufferably cute of her, I'd be pissed. 

"I, uh, told them," D'Argo said hesitantly, obviously still feeling he was on shaky ground 
with one or both of us. "James Bond," he added with an odd little giggle at the end.

I threw a glare in his direction, knowing he couldn't see it, but it needed to be done 
anyway. "I'm glad we're all so incredibly amused by this," I snarled quietly. "But, hey, 
here's an idea, let's take a few microts to get the hell out of here and then you two can 
chuckle over Captain Bond as much as you want. Sound good to you? Sounds good to 
me."

I gingerly pushed myself to my feet and ran a quick body part count. "Aeryn, give me your 
oculars."

She made a soft, disbelieving little laugh, "Frell you."

"What? You're gonna walk up to these Peacekeepers, these traumatized and trigger happy 
PKs, and say . . .? 'Howdy? Don't shoot? I come in peace?' Give me your oculars, damn 
it."

She stepped up next to me, radiating icy spikes of irritation -- that could very easily put an 
eye out if she wasn't careful, and probably more likely she'd put my eye out -- and grabbed 
my hand, forcing the oculars into my grasp. "Um, thanks."

"Uh-huh," she grunted flatly.

Oh forget it. You know what? I wasn't in the mood to play 'guess Aeryn's mood swing'. 
"Whatever." I pulled the oculars on and tried to find whatever adjustment would keep me 
from tripping over my own feet. "Stay here," I grumbled and moved off without waiting 
for a reply. If they stayed put, great; if not, whatever. 'Whatever' was going to be my 
philosophy for the rest of the night. 

I spotted the Peacekeeper Aeryn had identified earlier as the injured one and slipped 
through the dark warehouse towards him. "Lathan? That you?"

"Captain Bond?"

"Yep. How're you doing?"

"You sound different."

"No kidding, huh? Hey check it out, you're bleeding. A lot." I dropped down next to him 
and tried to find the source of his bloody gushings. "Where are you hit?"

"Um, my si-side, sir."

"Anyplace else?"

"Leg?"

"Is that a question or an answer? These oculars really are dren."

"Leg. Yes, sir, leg."

"Which one, Lathan?"

"Sorry, sir," he sobbed apologetically at me. As if I didn't already know it, this just 
confirmed how utterly screwed up the Peacekeepers were. Poor guy gets shot up and he's 
more scared of me than his wounds. "Left leg, sir."

"Don't worry about it, let's just try not to make it worse."

"Yes, sir."

I'd found the wound in his side, and actually it was pretty much three-quarters of his belly 
around to his side. However, while it looked pretty ugly it didn't seem to go too deep. Well 
this was just our lucky day, wasn't it? I slipped my good arm under his shoulder. "Alright, 
Lathan, ready to stand?"

"Yes, sir," he said, though he didn't sound all that ready. 

"Up," I grunted and lifted him. D'Argo really should be the one hefting these guys. Why 
didn't I just send him over? Oh, right, because I was pissed at him. Man, I am a dumbass. 

Lathan and I started gimping pathetically back towards the sulking D'Argo and Aeryn. 
Unfortunately for me, Lathan couldn't quite manage the walk and passed out about halfway 
there, forcing me to carry/drag him the rest of the way. Dropping him to the ground at 
D'Argo's feet with a relieved sigh, I ignored the grumbles coming from my 'friends' and 
went after my other wandering Peacekeeper. 

By this time I was totally and completely sick of the dark. It felt like some giant, disgusting 
fungus creeping over everything I touched or looked at. Was there anything about this city 
that wasn't twisted, corrupted, or in every way stomach-churning? Just asking.

"Who's there? You have two microts before I start shooting."

I stopped and crouched down a little, just in case the sound of my voice set him off on a 
shooting spree. Hard to tell with Peacekeepers. "Pirs, I'd take it as a huge favor if you 
didn't shoot. I've had a frelling long day but I've managed not to get shot and I'd kinda 
like to keep things that way."

"Captain," he sighed, totally relieved. "Are you well, sir?"

"Don't worry about me, Pirs. I can take a lickin' and keep on tickin'."

There was what could only be described as a confused moment of silence. "Um?"

"I'm fine. You?"

"Fine, sir."

"Good. Okay, I'm about 5 paces from you and I'm gonna --" that strange prickle at the 
edge of my senses, that I picked up when I was waiting on Aeryn, was going off again. I 
closed my eyes and cocked my head to one side, trying to pick out what it was.

"Sir?"

"Do you hear that?"

"No, sir."

Hm, so much for Sebacean superiority. Clearly they've got nothing on a good ol' human 
spider-sense. "Stay quiet for just a microt." I tried to still my own breathing in time to get a 
handle on the feeling, but the prickle was gone and all I had left was a blackness that 
seemed to strangle everything like one of Aunt Ruth's Christmas sweaters. Damn.

"Lieutenant, we're getting out of here now," I informed him brusquely. This place had 
some bad mojo working for it and I wanted gone.

"Yes, sir."

I took the last couple of steps towards him and grabbing his shoulder, steered him in 
D'Argo and Aeryn's direction. We quickly made it back to the still glowering duo and the 
poor battered Peacekeeper forced to bleed silently in their frosty presence. I parked Pirs on 
a crate and made a quick round of introductions for the blind and irritated. 

"Pirs, the cold and bitter presence to your right is my Lieutenant," I stopped myself 
quickly, realizing I'd been about spill Aeryn's name and while these guys may not always 
be the brightest crayons in the box, the crew of Moya was just the wrong side of infamous. 
"Um, my, uh, Lieutenant," trying to think fast my brain seemed to freeze on an entirely 
wrong and entirely too amusing idea but I couldn't get it off. Frell, she was gonna kill me 
and frell I wish I could get a good look at her face, I want to die laughing. "Lieutenant 
Galore."

"Lieutenant Galore," Pirs repeated. "Erm, nice to meet you."

"Quite," Aeryn growled frostily. 

"Lieutenant Galore, meet one of our fellow Peacekeepers, my new friend Lieutenant Pirs, 
he's been invaluable to me here . . ."

"Yes, you've done so well," she snarled. 

"Play nice, Lieutenant." I was going to die, and it was going to be worth it, but it wasn't 
quite as sweet given the completely surreal fact that the conversation was taking place in the 
heart of the deepest, darkest, blackest, nightest night that ever was night.

"A true pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant Pirs," she bit out in a sickening sweet tone I'd 
never heard before. I was torn between laughing and running. 

I gave up my internal struggle and settled for a sigh. Tapping the oculars, trying to get them 
to focus properly, I wished with all my heart and soul upon an unseen star and a funny 
little cricket with a hat that this ever loving night of bleakness and F. Scott Fitzgeraldness 
would frelling either hurry up and suck the marrow from my bones or just end already. 

And end it did -- a whole hell of a lot more suddenly than I expected. A low, howling, and 
yes, demonic wail sent a bolt of ice through my stomach and set every hair on my body 
quivering. Within half a microt the night cracked and shattered under a million watts of 
pure hellfire. I yelped, jumped back a good five feet and knocked the oculars from my 
shockingly abused eyes. Grinding the heels of my hands into my eyes, I tried to stop the 
searing pain and swore under my breath. 

"Combatants. Cease."

Squinting for all I was worth, I pried open one eye and stared balefully across the 
warehouse towards the entrance. Framed by the jagged hole in the wall was one of the 
robot coppers, his shiny metal chest glowing like a laser show at a Satan worshiping 
synthpop concert. A blue robed Delvian dangled limply from one shiny claw. Not only 
were these guys creepy as all hell, they were getting just a little bit annoying. 

"D'Argo, what do you say we pack up the kids and find ourselves a new playground?"
"I say that sounds like a particularly fine idea, Jo--James."

***

I've had dreams like this -- probably not since I was about twelve, but still, just like this. 
Running through a dark city, chased by ten-foot tall mechanical abominations bent on 
crushing the life from my frail human body. Actually, I was a little stumped on why we 
were being chased and just what the robots wanted. I wasn't sure it made a whole lot of 
sense but then nothing seemed to these days and who really cared anyway? If I didn't have 
to figure it out just then and I could get by with my ass intact, I'd live a happy life in 
ignorance.

Rounding a corner, jumping over a pile of . . . something, we took refuge behind a bizarre, 
monumental architectural feature jutting out from side of building number 31,528. I made a 
mental note to ask D'Argo about it later and dropped back against the wall, gasping for 
breath, grabbing my side and trying to ignore the flames ripping through my chest. D'Argo 
propped Lathan up against the monument dealy and Pirs and Aeryn both looked more 
annoyed than winded. 

"How do you like your robots now?" D'Argo braced one hand on the wall and bent over 
slightly, taking in deep, wheezing gulps of stagnant air. 

Well, I wasn't liking them all that much. Though, to be honest, I never actually did like 
them. I was intrigued by them, and really how could I not be? They are big and shiny and 
metal and the stuff of a million childhood dreams and novels. 

I didn't actually say any of that, though, I was too busy trying to breathe, so I settled for a 
glare in his direction.

"Robots?" Aeryn asked, darting a look back around the monument, checking for the Iron 
Man Gestapo.

"That's what J-James calls the metal creatures."

"Robots?"

"Yes," I snarled. "Where I come from, they're called robots. It's not hard. Say it with me 
here, Lieutenant. Ro-bot."

"Frell you," Aeryn gave me a horrifyingly bright smile. Pirs gasped in surprise, his eyes 
widening in terror as he looked back and forth between us. No doubt waiting for the 
Captain to go off. Wasn't gonna happen buddy, if the Captain ever wanted to get off again 
there'd be no going off.

I leaned as close to Aeryn as I dared. "Lieutenant," I said slowly, "Shut. Up."

"Respectfully, sir, bite me." Pirs gasped again and D'Argo snickered. 

"When we get home," I leered and she grinned.

"Combatants. Halt."

"Frell."

Aeryn and I dropped the flirting, D'Argo snatched up Lathan and we took off on a 
zigzagging dead run. 

We made another hundred yard dash through the murky pseudo-dawn, down a filthy street 
or two, over a low wall, up a small hill, ducked into a narrow alley, skirted mounds of 
critters, and stumbled down the other side of the small hill. Another dozen yards further on 
Aeryn spotted a opening in the street next to building number -- ah hell, I lost count -- and 
foregoing our normal caution, she darted over and dropped herself into it. I followed close 
behind her and dropped to my knees by the opening.

"Aeryn?"

In the gloom below me her face appeared, ghostly pale in the blackness. "Tunnels. 
Drainage, possibly. It's clear right here and small enough your robots can't get in."

I pulled away and waved the others in. Pirs obeyed my frantic motion immediately and 
jumped in. D'Argo handed down Lathan and then followed. I took one last look around 
before tucking my coat close around me and slipping down into the darkness.

I stumbled heavily when I hit the ground, catching myself painfully against the rounded, 
metal walls. My shoulder protested its sudden contact with the wall and when I tried to 
brace myself, the rough metal tore at the cuts and blisters on my hands.

"Frell," I hissed and blinked back the tears of pain. Flipping myself around, I let my back 
fall against the wall and I slid to the filth-encrusted floor. 

"Sir?"

"Give me a microt, Pirs," I whispered harshly, still gritting my teeth against the wide and 
colorful assortment of agonizing injuries screaming through my body like a whirlwind of 
fire. There's only so much my body could take at any one time. I rubbed the back of one 
hand across my eyes and took a few deep breaths. I'd done okay, been knocked out a 
couple of times and took a few more nasty blows, but, wouldn't you know it, that last little 
drop, probably only seven or eight feet, was enough to make my body finally cry uncle. 

I felt Aeryn's firm fingers wrap around my wrist, pulling my arm down from my face. 
"I'm okay."

"Liar," she murmured.

I gave her a small smile, almost able to make out her face in the shadows. "Long day."

"Long few days. Have you had any sleep?"

"He's been unconscious at least three times," D'Argo chirped from somewhere to my right.

"That doesn't count," Aeryn whispered, a surly note to her voice. 

Reaching out, I pressed the tips of my fingers to her lips and cocked my head towards the 
opening above us. She stilled immediately and we froze, listening to the approaching 
whine.

"Combatants. Emerge."

I snorted softly. "That'll happen."

Aeryn tugged on my elbow, urging me to my feet. I set my teeth and pushed myself up 
slowly, painfully, and we moved further into the tunnels. 

"They're sure to know all the exits," Pirs muttered unhappily.

"Do you have any suggestions, Lieutenant?" I snapped angrily. I already had a good idea 
how bad this all was and if he didn't have anything to contribute, I didn't need to hear any 
more about it. 

Pirs mumbled a weak, "No, sir," and we kept moving, blindly stumbling down the tunnel 
The deeper we moved the stuffier the air got, and a rancid stench, stronger and more rotten 
than the air in the city above, flowed around us. I gagged and spat and tried to take shallow 
breaths. It was a torturous march through the decaying bowels of the city, and it was all I 
could do to keep moving. 

I called a halt after about a quarter arn. "Damn, it's too hot. How're you guys doing?" I 
asked anxiously. If it was hot for me, how much worse was it for the Sebaceans in our 
little expedition?

"It is warm," Aeryn said slowly. "But it's not uncomfortable yet. Pirs?"

"I'm fine."

"So, just me then? Great." I sighed and straightened up, preparing to shuck my coat. "A -- 
um, Galore," I stopped and smothered an unbelievably inappropriate laugh. I couldn't help 
it, and the sick corner of my brain that had pulled that name up, gave itself a high-five. 
"Um, help me out here, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir," she growled and I sighed in relief at the icy chill she sent my way. We struggled 
to get my coat around my shoulder and it wasn't an entirely painless procedure. I cursed a 
lot, Aeryn cursed some more, and D'Argo was making a strange snuffling noise was I was 
pretty sure was suppressed laughter. 

We finally got the heavy thing off of me and I sighed again, this time with real relief. 
"Thanks."

"Mm-hm." I rolled my eyes and threw the coat over my uninjured shoulder, and stomped 
away from Aeryn, down the tunnel again. The rest of the troop followed me silently. 

Another quarter arn and I was ready to lose my jawa shirt, too. I realized it had to be a 
fever. Not a stunning revelation, no, but one I was hoping not to have to make. Crap

"I have to stop," I panted.

"What's wrong?" Aeryn asked.

"Not feeling too good."

"Is it your head?" D'Argo, who must have set Lathan down again, put a steadying hand on 
my back. 

"No, I think it's the cut on my chest. Burns. Frell me."

"Sir," Pirs cleared his throat nervously. "I noticed some light down a side tunnel a few 
microts back."

"Why the frell didn't you say something?" D'Argo growled fiercely. 

"I, uh . . . ro-robots. I thought, it might be the-the robots," he stuttered.

"Oh for . . ." Aeryn muttered and slipped her arm around my waist. "How far back?"

"It wasn't too far, just a few microts ago," Pirs mumbled.

This stumbling through dark tunnels stuff wasn't something I wanted to make a career out 
of.  Sure it had its Dungeons and Dragons appeal but DK and I gave that game up when we 
were fourteen. Well I gave it up, I think DK still probably plays it. I may have my geek 
aspects but he's King Gnome of the Geeks. Heh. 

Okay, definitely feverish. 

The source of the light turned out to be a small grate out to the street above. Morning light 
dripped sluggishly down through it, along with some kind of gray-green mystery moisture.
Aeryn set me down on the ground and crouched down in front of me, preparing to assess 
the damage. D'Argo put Lathan down a few paces away and prepared to do the same for 
the Peacekeeper.

"You know, you're not being a very good Captain," Aeryn breathed in my ear while she 
tugged off my vest and made a move at the circus tent we were calling a shirt.

"You're not being a very good Lieutenant," I pointed out.

"Well whose fault is that? I didn't choose to be a Lieutenant. You could have made me a 
Captain, too."

"Right," I grunted and ducked my head so she could remove the shirt completely. She put 
my coat behind my back and pushed at my shoulder until I was leaning against it.

"It's not entirely unprecedented. So why do I always have to be your Lieutenant?"

"Always? Try one other time. And that was just because the uniform fit me, and you know-
-"

"It's a male thing, isn't it?" She interrupted with furious suspicion. "I'm not some weak, 
pathetic female who needs her big strong male to tell her what to do. I know how you think 
this works on Earth, but--"

"Oh would you just give it up? When have I ever suggested you were anything other than 
capable? More capable than me? Honey, you are the scariest chick in anybody's universe. 
Next time, you get to wear the Captain pants, no argument from me."

"And you'll be my Lieutenant?"

"Whatever makes you happy."

"Hmmm." She looked me over slowly and I glared at her suspiciously.

"This isn't some weird PK foreplay, is it? I mean, you know I'm good by the--" I cut off 
with a strangled howl when she poked at the gash on my chest.

"It's infected."

"Thank you, Doogie," I snarled. 

"How did this happen?"

"Big bug guy tried to steal my broccoli."

"Are you delirious?"

"I've gotten that question a lot today."

"You get that question a lot every day," she muttered wryly.

"And today the answer is 'not yet'."

"Fine. It doesn't look too bad yet, but, goddess, John," she whispered, "What the frell 
have you been up to? Your shoulder looks like dren. Your hands. Your face." She touched 
the knot on my cheekbone and shook her head. "I can see I can't let the two of you go off 
anywhere alone together ever again."

"Well, you know us. It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye. You're . . . you're 
not gonna tell Pilot are you?" I gulped loudly in mock terror. 

She sucked in her cheeks and pursed her lips in that special way she does when she wants 
to convey just how not amusing she's finding me. I tried to give her a charming grin but 
she didn't seem to fall for it. 

"I love you," I dropped my chin and looked up at her hopefully.

"You are the most absurd man," she sighed and brushed her fingers down my jaw, 
grabbing my chin lightly. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Tie me up and call me dessert?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head, laughing quietly. I grabbed her hand and kissed 
her fingertips, inordinately pleased