from part 5
<< Start at the beginning
Chapter 6 -
Nightmare on Yontur Street
Palimous leaned over the Regent within an office just as opulent
as the Complex Royale. The Regent's desk was located in front of
an all-window wall, boasting a panoramic view of the city and mountainous
landscape. Crystalline furniture with an iridescent plush white
carpet mimicked the plush of the Royale. A hint of melon stretched
in a fine line over the horizon, receding the dark. It was a couple
of arns near dawn.
The Regent was satisfied with him always bringing profits, handling
the city dwellers, or negotiating the residents out of their homes.
The pompous dignitary always flustered and wondered how the homeowners
so willingly surrendered their dwellings for the building of this
beautiful complex. But it was no worry as long as the mines were
kept in high working order and producing the rich CL3.
Soon, thought Palimous, as the Regent took a writing tool and tugged
at his coined cuffs, soon I will be the richest man of all three
planets and moons, too.
Mon-tan-nish-no smiled with jowls flailing as he spoke, "The
papers are ready for my guests' seals. Do you have Commander Crichton's
ready? We must ensure his is first. He is so important."
"My Regent," Palimous said, diffidently. "Oughtn't
we delay this great on taking? As you know, we are under much scrutiny
"Now why, my dear aid, should we prolong this milestone? Pre-adventure,
the longer we stall, the more exposed we are. We must act now."
The old gurgling geyser smiled. "It was wonderful tonight,
wasn't it? The gods of three moons will be very pleased, and angels
even danced. We have celebrated without reservation."
Palimous bowed and saw the business woman, standing aloof in a corner
just as obese as his beloved Regent, dressed in her ice-green waiting
patiently to be paid for the shipment of CL3.
"My Regent, we have responsibilities also. And I have hired
helpers for this gala that, I might add, was quite successful by
your own words," Palimous said, bowing his head again.
"Oh, we'll do it tomorrow." The Regent waved his hand
at Palimous, dismissing him as if he were dirt.
"We will do it tonight if I may insist. She must leave tonight."
Palimous' tone rang with authority.
"Oh bother, Palimous, sometimes you can be a pest. Bring her
over." The Regent slid further in his large crystalline chair.
To Palimous, this was the laziest glutton he had ever served and
too soft-hearted. As if all people had a chance to make their lives
better with education and social graces. No graces would slate clean
a slave's stench. And no education would purify a contaminated alien.
There was no tolerance for racial interbreeding.
It was as much as Palimous could take being near the creature Sikozu.
Palimous shuddered at the thought of her. But he had his duty to
check Moya for weapons and dismantle them. Since there were few
weapons aboard the biomechanoid and he had free access loading and
downloading the food, it was deliciously easy. Just turn on his
molecular disabler tool, one pressure of his hand, and that was
all it took. It facilitated everything. It worked proficiently on
inanimate objects, oils, metals, even the defense satellites. But,
unfortunately, not on corporal beings. Flesh. Somehow the properties
of flesh were too concentrated. Pity. Fools.
There was a disturbance outside the doors. Noise, then the doors
blasted open, and he rushed in like a dark blur. The intruder scanned
the room with ice crystal eyes and aimed two pulse pistols at their
heads, execution form.
"Well, look a here!" He sneered, with mouth contorted.
"Jughead! Oh, we've got Heckle and Jeckle!" The infamous
Crichton snapped his aim toward the Regent, the other pistol at
the hireling in green. "Isn't this rich. Gotcha all in the
Furlow stood in the corner with the threat aimed at her. She squinted
her eyes. This was the first time she feared John Crichton. He was
always her flyboy, cute, harmless, like a round juicy baby to be
sold at an excellent bid, ignorant of danger, deception.
He isn't the same, she thought. He's tighter, meaner, darker. What's
missing from him? Her head shook, slightly, as she mused, Well picture
that. It's gone. Naivety.
Now he had an edge, a very jagged edge. Would he have killed her
out there at the complex? Her hand went to her throat and rubbed
"Hold it! No one moves! Don't touch anything. Raise your hands
slowly. Easy now" Furlow took cue upon John's coaxing. Both
her hands raised in surrender. "That's it. Everybody, up, up,
up!" He laughed a frigid, canned laugh, empty and cold as they
all did his bidding. "Yeah, I like that!"
"Why is this happening?" the Regent cried, with arms up,
jowls flapping, and eyes pleading. "Why are you holding us
like this? Why are you doing this, Commander Crichton?"
Secrets, secrets. Don't trust anyone. The words whispered, swam
in his head, separating him from his reality. John shook his head
to shake away the noise, "Hold it, Heckle," his aim remained
on the Regent, "I don't have anymore patience here cause
it's another good night to die."
Palimous slowly lowered his arms. "Yes it is," he said,
"but it will not be us to die."
"Hold it right there, Jughead." John nodded his head toward
the aid, "Keep em up."
Palimous leaned against the Regent's chair, "And why should
I if your pistols are disabled? We are not in danger."
"Well," John kept a sharp focus on any movement. It appeared
his hunch paid off. Now he knew Palimous sabotaged the guns. This
was getting sticky. If Palimous sabotaged the guns, then he could've
done the same to Moya. He had to gain control. "Okay, look
at my holsters." John saw the dweeb's eyes widen, yeah, noticed
both Winona and Ryder in their holsters. "Oh, and check this
out." John aimed above Furlow's head and fired a blast from
the weapon. She ducked from the fiery blaze. "Analyze that
"How?" Palimous asked.
"Idiot, easy. A little Vulcanian nerve pinch mixed with a Pantak
Jab and viola, you've got two pulse pistols. Since we're here in
Holdup Class 102 are there anymore questions?"
Dry throats swallowed and tension thickened like a fog as thick
as stale oatmeal. "Why?" the Regent broke silence, his
voice trembling. "Why did I ever trust you, Palimous?"
"Because you stink in my nostrils, you br-r-r-aggart."
Palimous hissed, rolling his r's. "You think the world of yourself,
your perfect little city, planet. Well, you're proven correct. Anyone
can make the best of themselves. I will be sitting in that chair."
"You will be punished when I get through with you." The
Regent kept his arms up and that was all John wanted.
"Whoa!" John pointed Palimous to keep his arms raised.
"This is not a family meeting. So you'll--"
The air current crept up his back; a swishing noise changed the
pressure in the room. He'd become more sensitive to reactions around
him, even atmospheric changes. Without seeing or turning, John knew
someone had come through a hidden door within the wall and was approaching
from behind. He pivoted fast enough to hold whoever it was at bay.
God help me!
"No. He will not be punished." She said, in an imperial
tone. She came forward, her collar flashing with sequins, her elegant
black gown, revealing her abysmal cleavage. She stealthily crossed
the room toward him, locking eyes. He saw her liquid smooth skin
that could freeze over a cadaver and those eyes of hers, cold, that
made his belly rattle. He was surprised she had an affect on him--fear,
repulsion, attraction all at once.
"The overseer is with me." If quicksilver could talk,
it would sound like her. She never broke eye contact with John.
She came closer, slowly, as if time existed to serve her whims.
"My infamous Crichton." He remembered his hands caressing
her short black hair, intertwining with her. He trembled and wished
he didn't remember.
Yep, she was Betty Boop turned vamp. His lip curled under. A snigger
came from his belly then metamorphosed to a rude, disrespectful
bellow of laughter. He still aimed firm at her forehead. And he
still held the other pistol at the window and corner where Palimous,
the Regent, and Furlow stood.
"Well, if it isn't the audacious, butt-smackin' Alvira! I should've
known you were behind this."
She came closer touching the midsection of her cleavage, delivering
sweat for him.
"Hold it." John shook his head. "Nah-uh, it's not
nice to fool mother nature!" John laughed, jerked his head.
"You can take your heppel oil, Commandant Mele-On Grayza, and
stick it up yours where the sun don't shine."
Commandant Grayza continued toward John with her lavender stare.
"Stop! Entiendes Inglés? No Spanish fly for me. I've
got my folks out there with cannon blasters and detonator rounds
enough to blow everything and everyone sky high. Now you better
listen to me and listen good." He sucked in his breath and
exhaled forcefully. "Because if you don't tell me where Aeryn
is..." he paused, he was dead serious, and the whirring in
his head was coming back.
"I'll kill you all."
"Then what makes you suspect we have harmed or even touched
your love, Aeryn?" She smiled, inching toward him.
"You think I'm stupid?" John snapped his pistol at her,
"Stop!" Mele-On obeyed. "You were all in this. That
alliance thing was crap, right?"
Mo-tan-nish-no shook his head, "No, I do not speak for them.
I was sincere, Commander. I never should have trusted my most willing
confidant, Palimous. We will punish him."
"Again, Regent, you won't," she said, turned to Crichton.
"Commander, how long do you expect to hold us hostage with
your weapons?" She slowly, distinctively pronounced each word,
clearly concisely like the sound of ringing crystal.
John twiddled with the triggers, coiled for any movement. Yes, his
arms were tiring, but he was going to find Aeryn, and Commandant
Cleavage was going to pay.
"John," Her eyes actually took on a frigid way of pleading.
"I'm doing this for the good of our existence. Everything done
here in this place is for peace. Peace with our neighbors within
these territorial borders. The Scarrans are complying, and we must
continue negotiations to truce and maintain order. You must see
"Oh? I've seen reasons like yours on my home planet. Yeah,
Mati Hare, Cleopatra. But worse of all, Jezebel. She loved power.
She viciously killed her priests or anyone who got in her way. Sounds
familiar?" No response. But his arms were still steady. "Thought
so. You know what happened? She fell from her tower and the dogs
tore her apart, limb by limb. They licked the flesh from her bones.
And her bones were scattered everywhere." John waved his pistol
at her and laughed his canned laugh. "Someone's gonna find
your bones scattered to the four corners of this universe. And guess
what? There won't be a funeral for you!"
John backed away. He was worried. Where was D'Argo, his backup,
his buddy who hadn't arrived or even contacted him? The whirring
in his head was turning full amp. Frell, his comm didn't work, so
D'Argo wouldn't be able at find him and Aeryn. He was on his own.
Grayza backed up toward the secret door, speaking, "One life
for trillions? Then you are more imbecilic than I thought."
She suddenly thrust her arms down and barked a command. "Access
He didn't see it coming. The whirring worsened, now with his body
paralyzed. It was a shield, something that held him in place. A
milky substance hovered around him, and his vision became ambiguous.
His pistols fell from his grasp when his arms failed him. His head
lolled on his shoulders. Delirium could only explain that darkness
coming to claim him, take him to a bed of torture not knowing where
the frell was Aeryn.
The Commandant allowed Furlow to slip away with little monetary
support and had Palimous render the Regent unconscious. It was exemplary
how Braca and Palimous had a demobilization unit installed. A unique
instrument that discharged neural commands temporarily from the
body. Excellent choice of defensive weaponry and guised right under
the Regent's nostrils.
She and her guards took their prey to the underground science lab.
It was conveniently located near her Command Carrier now hidden
in the outskirts of the city behind a mountain chain. It took only
three quarters of an arn to arrive, and it was time for Commander
Crichton's neural commands to awaken.
She walked into the laboratory where her captive hung, shirtless,
with arms overhead in a restraint braced to the ceiling and his
legs straddled apart. His pink flesh and black leathers contrasted
interestingly against the soft white walls. His whole figure formed
a decussate pattern. Excellent.
Her heart palpated to be near that untouched, untapped barbarism
in the human. Animal. She had experienced him and wanted to know
him again. I will, as she contemplated. The experiment will commence.
He sneered when he noticed her standing there, gazing, "There's
Alvira, ready to lend us a taste of her butt-smacking ways. Hey,
how does it feel being the top whore in the district?"
She came before him and lifted her chin. "Unlike your familiar
friend, Scorpius, I have more interesting methods of getting my
way and being compensated. I have this." She reached in her
pocket and pulled out the Laka. "I had it tested to see why
it is valuable to you."
"You freakin' whore," John growled, "Come and get
me then. You want some of me, you'll have to come closer."
His muscles in his neck coiled, tensed ready to strike.
"Shall I?" she drew closer, reaching for her sweat, nigh
to John. He pulled his head back and clobbered her directly on her
skull with a resounding crack, sending her backwards on the floor.
Though a surprise attack, that was all he could do, restrained.
She reeled from the impact, "Imbecile!" she spewed, stood,
and brushed her outfit in place.
"You will wish you hadn't done that. Now, I will not be gentle.
Captain Braca stood a soldier's stance, sporting his fine red and
black officer's uniform. As his Commandant approached him, he bought
his shoulders back, chest out, and lifted his chin. Perfection was
an instrumental swath to her heart. To please her had become a fetish.
In all his boyhood and career there had never been such a turbulent,
challenging, and delectable superior to command within his ranks.
He hated how Crichton had become an obsession with his Commandant.
Not a day passed when she would mention the need to find him. Oh,
it didn't matter what happened to Crichton's band of degenerates,
but all she would proclaim was she must have Crichton now. And it
didn't matter what happened to him who served her wholeheartedly,
either. Braca glowered at the thought of his Commandant pushing
him away when he showed the slightest affection.
But in a little while, she would perceive him differently. Perfection
would win her. For he had discovered this planet a cycle ago, this
world with potential weaponry comparable to the wormholes, or at
the least, a bargaining tool to hold the Scarrans at bay for an
alliance. It was he that orchestrated the alliance between her,
Palimous, and Furlow. It was he that hired the sub-dwelling miners
and plotted the capture of Aeryn Sun and determent of John Crichton.
All these accomplishments summed to perfection. She was the pinnacle
of his desire. Her dark strength, her eloquence, her knowledge on
how to master a Peacekeeper's heart was...was unprecedented.
Mele-On-Grayza took the container of prongs from him, displayed
in the center of the box on a red cushion.
"Captain," Grayza said. Undeniably her voice brought him
a chill of excitement. "Abide here while I begin the first
phase. Afterward, I want you to supervise the compacting of the
Fribium and CL3. And also ensure the spherical is ready. When we
board the Command Carrier with Crichton, I want us to release it.
We must not fail."
His eyes never leveled to hers, but gazed at her forehead. It was
a Peacekeeper's duty not to esteem themselves higher than their
superior. "Yes, Commandant, I assure all will transpire as
She placed one ungloved hand on his cheek. He closed his eyes from
the warm gesture he so missed for monens.
"Watch, Braca, and learn." She withdrew her hand, leaving
his face without that comfort.
Braca smiled with bitter disdain as she walked away. How fortunate
the prongs fell into an acidic-based chemical that could burn through
corporal tissue. What a masterful design that he could dilute the
solution and surreptitiously apply it to the very prongs she was
about to use on the human. It would cause excruciating pain on the
wounds for days hence. He sneered, then smiled as he watched his
Commandant put on her gloves, then the prongs.
When Braca had entered with a hand behind his back and the other
holding a metal container, John wanted to pour anti-freeze fluid
down that lap dog's throat. Braca's smirk made his blood boil. Presently,
Betty Boop took metal fingertip prongs from the container. After
donning her thin black gloves, she popped them on slowly in front
of John, while each prong clasped on each finger, one by one. They
appeared like small glistening daggers an inch long and thick as
the prong of a fork. His chest heaved. His lungs starved for oxygen
as fear gripped him, Stupid, stupid me. I've got to stop clobbering
people on the head. He grit his teeth and closed his eyes when she
went toward his back. Feel the pain. Embrace it.
He felt a line of wet coolness, like tongue licking, down his lower
back. Not a happy place.
"Mmmm. You still have the scratches on your back." He
felt her gloved palm slide slowly, sensually down, lower. John sprang
his eyes open. Too low. She came toward the front of him, sliding
her hands where the sun don't shine. A powerful gash seared his
flesh. John yelled, his feet involuntarily stomped the floor. His
thighs constricted, a reflex from his nerves being severed.
"No Laka to help you, Commander? Is there?" She showed
the prongs tipped in blood. "This shouldn't cause you so much
pain. You should like this. Come, don't whimper or faint on me,
I need you awake."
He quivered, fearing his manliness gone. "Okay," his voice
sounded hallow to his ears, "you got me. What do you want?"
She called for Braca again, gave her Captain a fingernail spike,
and spoke with him then returned.
"Don't fret, your members are in good condition. But you owe
me for the defacement you caused on Arnessk." She pointed to
her forehead where a bruise began to appear. "And for this."
Before he could respond, she circled behind again. He felt a cool
breeze rush up his back. Fire! She had slashed down with the prongs.
The muscles were lacerated and opened a maw of pain that raged through
his veins, like a back draft, rendering him mad. He roared, convulsed
each time she slashed more.
He shook in the restraints, his legs were lead, and his full weight
gave way to gravity. His wrists were chaffed from the cuffs. She
peeled off the spiked fingernails and sanguineous gloves, then cupped
his limp head in her hands. "I will make you feel better. Here,
your exodus." With one hand she stroked John's sable hair and
with the other she gave him a whiff of her gift. His muscles constricted,
coiled, and his eyes rolled back. His mind was no longer lucid,
but far away, shadowed with disgust.
He was submissive to two traitorous parts of him: his thinking,
which revealed the filthy pain, agony, and shame of want and betrayal,
and his body, which exposed the mauling, lust, and visible scars
of abuse. All of him roared with pain. He cried for the Laka to
decrease the infliction of his lacerations, but she never lent it
"Here, take more of this. You'll like it after awhile."
Her voice was distorted as if she were speaking through water. He
could hardly understand her, and gray shadows attacked the edges
of his vision. She made him sniff more of her crap. "It will
help to relieve the pain just like your Laka whilst we wait."
She left him there to dry and surrender his mind to the dark void
Hours probably passed, maybe days, or weeks. John woke to feel stickiness
on his back, then the pain started again. The flow of blood throbbed
sharp pulses through his heart. Where was he? John expected to move
freely but found the cuffs on his wrists and ankles. His T-shirt
was gone. His throat caked with thirst. A noise rushed in his head,
body, Die, die, my darling. What happened?
Anybody here? Hey! Gone...gone, he couldn't speak. He conjured enough
saliva to appease his parched throat by swallowing only to feel
the burn. John moved his arms and felt fire reek through his body
almost paralyzing him. How much more could he bare?
A door slid open, the new air stung his exposed back. Each time
he moved, the cuts flamed on. He knew what happened when he saw
her. His nightmare on Yontur street. He laughed, each motion an
affliction. "Well, here's Alvira. Whassup, princess of darkness."
"Awake so soon? And it has been only two arns. You are resilient.
I have news for you, Commander." Grayza said, motioning Braca
to enter. "Your DNA matches the DNA sample of your loved one,
John froze, motionless. The words wrapped in his mind and strangled
all other noises. John was lucid. Grayza had to have Aeryn in custody
in order to compare DNA. How could he get Aeryn out of this predicament
all tied up? John started rattling the chains, twisting his wrists
to free from the cuffs.
"Captain Braca, turn on the mirror." She gestured with
her hand not moved by John's wrestling.
John saw Aeryn lay motionless behind the two-way mirror on a slab
with a mechanical arm hanging directly over her ready for its work.
Two attendees were at her side. One attendee operated the machine.
The other unzipped Aeryn's vest and pulled up her shirt tail to
expose her stomach marked with a purple line. Extended from the
apparatus was a robotic arm holding a needle or knife. It pointed
at her stomach and touched her with a paper-thin cut. Then the machine
withdrew. Aeryn's restraints remained clasped.
"What are you doing?" the words came somewhere deep in
his throat, chocking him, raw, almost unrecognizable.
"I need your undivided attention to the matter of wormholes.
Your wholehearted cooperation is key to her survival. Braca, audio
on for the commander's side!" John suddenly could hear the
machine whirring on pause to strike by command from Aeryn's room.
"Commander, this is for Aeryn's benefit and will inspire her
to cooperate also. If you do not comply, then you jeopardize both
her and the child." She gestured again, "Captain Braca,
audio on for his Aeryn."
It was a nightmare hearing Aeryn scream, curse, and begging them
to release her and John. It was just as horrible to have no control
to stop this vampire from sucking the life out of his heart. Another
arn had passed by and he still hadn't found a way to escape. If
he played possum, gave in, maybe Betty Boop would give him some
slack. He'd find a way, make a plan...something. But the whirring
continued and his back felt nastier.
Then came the heppel oil...the caustic smell reeking through his
veins to his brain. She kept making him sniff, making him feel like
silly putty, wanting someone to touch him, mold him with their hands.
In the beginning he could deny her, fight her, but after a couple
of arns that faded, even the knowledge of Aeryn watching.
Aeryn? His heart pleaded for her forgiveness.
"Let her go," he said, weakly, his voice sounding metras
away. "I'll give you anything. Just don't hurt her."
"Who do you want now, Crichton?" she asked.
"You," He weakly, opened his mouth to hers. Ahhh, her
perfume was working after many doses. Her human's wounds had been
tended to decrease the bleeding just a little while before he became
conscious as she entered the room. The five arns spent with him
was well invested. Though he was quite stubborn, more applications
of her perfume seemed to weaken him. Her experiment now was in the
second phase. His love, Aeryn, needed to witness and to react in
this phase for him to completely submit. To break pride and independence
was imperative for creatures like John Crichton. To break his will
would be victorious through dominance.
She backed away and pushed a button on the wall near the mirror.
A gray metal slab vertically rose from the floor near the back of
"Who do you desire more than anyone around you?" She said,
loud enough for John to hear.
"You. Always you." His eyes appeared broken, his will
gone. Excellent, next level. She hit another button and the magnetic
cuffs slid to attach to the slab and the chain restraints released
from the wall and floor, but the cuffs remained on to keep John
adhered to it. Another button was hit and the slab turned from vertical
to horizontal with John's limp, recumbent body.
She came to bend over him, "You would forsake Aeryn Sun and
your child for me?"
He said nothing, but closed his eyes and groaned.
"Would you forsake Aeryn Sun?" Grayza watched the human's
mouth twitch, lips curve under. Subborn beyond comprehension, even
after I have drowned him in my oil, Grayza thought. Her voice edged
with ice, "Commander, I will slice the child from the mother's
womb. Do you want that?" His last pitiful attempt was futile.
The human's arms thrashed against the slab, hands too confined to
hit her. He still negated her. "Med techs, turn on the slicer!"
The ragged noise began, a raw grinding only for hardened ears. The
knife once again came closer to his love's belly.
"No!" The human pleaded. He abruptly stopped his resistance.
She saw the watery urgency well in his eyes, swirling, bright like
the stalactite of Yontur. "Please, don't hurt them. Please."
His plea took on a pitiful whimper, but proved her experiment was
"I ask for the last time before fatal injury is inflicted.
Would you forsake Aeryn Sun and child?"
His tears trickled down, leaving hot wet trails. She felt his face,
he was flushed with heat. How strange she had never witnessed this
reaction that only an infant would make. Her life had no room to
cry for others or even herself. She had not signaled to commence
cutting, neither had any harm ensued, and yet, he grieved for his
love as if she were dead.
Perhaps he had been saturated with too many drugs. With mercy, she
asked again, "Would you forsake her?"
"You will explain all the details of the wormhole for my scientists?"
She unclasped the cuffs. He sat up and gasped. His muscles quivered.
His arms and shoulders were round with hills of raw muscular power.
Not bulky or hard, but pliable. She licked his shoulder, that pad
of powerful flesh, flushed, plump and ready for her mouth.
He was prone, vulnerable, quivering from each spot she touched.
Virile. After he reclined on the slab with her above him, she licked
the salty fluid from his heaving chest. Delicious hair brushed on
her tongue. Beads of sweat glistened on each strand. She growled
with light-headed pleasure. Her hand slid down his slender hips,
fine muscles, taunt. He responded lifting his pelvis for her hand
to rest beneath.
He was different from all her pursuits. The Peacekeepers she embraced
were old cantankerous, liquor-swollen bellied men or robotic boot-licking
men like Braca.
Yes, she was weak with attraction toward this human's body and could
have killed him on sight as she had done so many others. But his
mind held empirical, powerful information that enticed her. More
so was her curiosity of his reactions, so emotionally driven, passionate.
She relished his conflictive response, pushing her away, drawing
her in. Delicious. Every concubine's dream. She kissed the drugged
human, and he responded with lips that covered her mouth, lips that
knew just how to tantalize, titillate every female's desire. His
raw scent, appealing, told her it was time for him to take her in.
Could time stop for her, unwind like an engine in reverse? She should
have stayed aboard Moya, stayed with John and faced the future without
fear. But these past arns were a test for any being. The med techs
allowed her to see through the two-way mirror the size of a wall.
She heard Grayza convince John to denounce her and their child.
Those words stung. She placed her hand over her stomach where the
wound hurt. Their child. Before, she had screamed relentlessly for
them to free John, that she would cooperate only if he were let
go. They had not complied.
The two attendees had unclasped her cuffs, departed, and left her
lying on the med table while the assault continued on him. How much
more could a human bear? No pride, resolve, or control protected
him now from Grayza. And she had failed him. She lay there gaining
her equilibrium and strength while looking at the machine now silent.
It was plain as darkness. The white walls screamed of their presence,
a prison as cold as a dead budong. The attendees left her to suffer
his pain. Seeing him melt into the trelk's arms was all she could
bare. Her eyes blurred. And she realized that somewhere, somehow
she had conformed to John's morals. It wasn't her to become invidious
of the person she'd paired with to recreate with another. Spreading
fluids, recreating, being assigned with another partner was nothing
-- no demands, no answering to each others ways, thoughts, or moods
-- only teamwork mattered. When had she become more like John? Thinking,
talking, even acting like him, was she herself anymore? She stood
with shackles freed, then stood behind the mirror to watch him break
into pieces, into nothing.
But now she was stronger.
The impenetrable walls would not keep her helpless. They will fall.
She slammed shoulder first countless times against the two-way mirrored
wall and grunted, then kicked until she almost fractured her ankle.
"No! You won't do this to him. FRELL YOU!" Aeryn reversed
and slung her hair back. Heavy noise...roaring, like firestorms
in her head...crimson blinding her eyes, she saw only carnage. She
sprinted toward the window and slammed full force rupturing her
hands. Pain. This pain she didn't feel. It was Crichton's. She reeled
over from impact and fell to the floor. Darkness flooded her senses,
foolish attempts fueled by anger. Heat, burn, a sticky wetness appeared
on her wrists and washed down her arms. She had broken skin and
only fractured the first layer of glass, but didn't penetrate the
second. Frell. Show no weakness, no stopping now.
Angels part 7 >>
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