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Alone
by Striker

Well, after my first fic, Crichton's Dreams, I thought I'd give another one a shot, this one more serious than the first.

Spoilers: Up to the end of Season Three, I think it's called A Dog With Two Bones. I'm going off of spoilers I've read up to now so I'm giving you all fair warning now: CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE FINAL 4 EPISODES OF SEASON 3. IF YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED THEN DON'T READ THIS FIC.

That out of the way, I don't own any of the Farscape characters that are portrayed or mentioned in this fic. All are property of the Henson Company and I'm just borrowing them for this fic.

Rating: Let's go with about PG-13

________________________________________________________________________

"What did I ever do to deserve this?" Crichton slurred under his breath as he sat alone in a crowded bar.

Even though he was surrounded by many different beings, he felt completely alone. It had been a weeken since the Farscape 1 module had crashed on the commerce planet and there was no way to get off easily. Moya had been sucked through a wormhole, leaving Crichton alone on this planet and Aeryn...

"I don't want to think about that. How could it have all turned out like this?"

"John, you have to come to the realization that you can't just sit here and drink yourself into stupor and expect all your problems to just go away."

Crichton looks over and sees Harvey sitting on the stool next to him.

"Harv, just go away. I don't need to talk to anyone right now, especially not you. I'm just having a little drink to calm my nerves."

"I'm afraid it's not that simple John, you have a problem and if you have a problem that means I have a problem."

"My only problem is you Harv now beat it."

"Wrong John. You have been sitting here for the better part of two solar days when you should be trying to get us out of here."

"It's not that easy, Moya's gone and with no Moya, that means no currency. It's not easy to get cash when everyone thinks you're a Peacekeeper. I'm just lucky that nobody has tried to jack me yet. Now let me drink in peace."

"Fine, you want to wallow in self-pity, go right ahead. I'm not sure why I'm doing this, but I'd look in front of you if I were you."

Crichton turns away from the neuro-clone and looks in front of him. Before him, the barkeeper stood staring a hole through the middle of Crichton's head. If Crichton wasn't as drunk as he was, he might have been more concerned about the being's rather cold stare. Standing a good two feet taller than Crichton and with tentacles growing out of the back of his head touching the ground and his scaly complexion, he looked like a cross between a Luxan and Scarran. (For all Crichton knew, he could have been. Crichton wasn't up to date on the genetic compatibility of the two races.) One glance at the two and anyone could have concluded that the keeper was obviously hired to make people pay up on their tabs and it looked like Crichton was next.

"Hey man, wassup?" Crichton said as he finished off his latest drink.

"It's time for you to pay for all the Ras'lak you have consumed." The barkeeper replied in a deep, raspy voice.

"Alright...what's your name again?"

"I am called Ken'nold."

"Right. You see the thing is Kenny, I'm kind of light on cash at the time. If you could just send me a bill later, I'll be on my way."

Crichton started to stand up, but as he did, Ken'nold thrust forward one of his powerful arms and grabbed Crichton by the shirt and pulled him in close.

"Listen to me Sebacean scum, you will pay your bill now with currency or I shall collect in your blood." Ken'nold hissed.

"Whoa Kenny, cool down ok!" Crichton quickly said as he tried to think of a way out of this. "I was joking, let go of me and I'll fork over the cash. Believe me, I don't want to kill you Kenny."

Ken'nold loosened his grip and Crichton slid carefully back to his seat. He glanced around the room, hoping for a distraction of some kind so he could get away. Ken'nold began to drum his fingers across the table, waiting for his payment. Suddenly, Crichton's prayers were answered as a fight broke out in one of the corners between two other customers. Ken'nold turned to see what was happening and Crichton made a mad dash for the door. He managed to get out as Ken'nold turned back. He began pursuit of Crichton; Crichton tripped on something and fell to the street. He hurried to get to his feet, but felt Ken'nold's foot force him back down on his stomach. As he braced for some kind of impact, he felt the pressure on his back let up. He looked up and saw the massive being back off and return to the bar. He looked in the other direction and saw only a one person anywhere near him. Crichton got to his feet and got a better look at the other being. Although he wasn't nearly as big as the keeper from the bar, he still stood head and shoulders over Crichton. He was covered from the neck down in a black cloak; only a pulse pistol attached to his belt was visible under it.

"Hey were you the one that chased off Kenny there?" Crichton asked as he dusted himself off.

The man just stood there motionless. Crichton got a better look at his Œsavior' now and he wasn't sure if he should be relieved yet. The mysterious being looked very much like a Sebacean, but somehow, Crichton had a feeling that he wasn't. The man had black hair tied back in a braid that came down over his shoulder and disappeared as it came down in front of the cloak. He looked Crichton up and down with unblinking eyes blue that almost seemed to glow. After a moment, he grunted with a kind of nod.

"I take that as a yes," replied Crichton. "Name's John Crichton, maybe you've heard of me."

"You are John Crichton?" the man asked in a low voice.

"Yeah, and you are?"

"I had envisioned you to be stronger. You're not worth the time."

The man turned around and walked away down an alley. Crichton was just as confused as he was a few seconds earlier. He turned to walk away when he noticed that the street had emptied out.

"Weird, I must have missed something." Crichton said as he began to walk down the street. Before he could get very far, someone grabbed his arm and pulled him into an alley. He stood facing an orangish female alien with a frightened look on her face.

"Is he gone?" she frantically asked.

"Who?" Crichton asked.

"What do you mean who? The Hunter that was just out there."

"Slow down there. The big guy that was out there, yeah he's gone. Now, what's a Hunter?"

"Good, I guess that he didn't have a quarry then. I'm not sure how you could be here and not know about the Hunters of the Schaa? They're freelancers hired by whatever organization or person can afford them. They kill, steal, or do anything else asked of them for the right price. They're renounced for their killing ability, especially that one."

"Well, if you are telling the truth about these Schaa things, I guess that he was just scared off by John Crichton of the Uncharted Territories."

"Scared off? Maybe one of the other ones, but definitely not Sargas there. He backs down from nothing and is even feared by the other Hunters. He usually hangs around here until someone scrapes up the currency to buy him off. Lately, I've heard he's looking for challenging opponents and if you are John Crichton, I guess he thought you'd be a challenge."

"Yeah, I guess so."

Crichton walked out of the alley as people returned to the street. As night began to fall, he fell backwards against a wall. He began to think about the events of the day. As he did Harvey appeared next to him.

"Now you're on the right track. Figure out a way off this planet now before we get into any more trouble. Especially with that Sargas person potentially looking to kill you."

"Harv, I told you, there is no way off this planet. We've got no money and I doubt that we can find anyone to lend us some out of goodwill. Besides, nobody is trying to kill me, if that Sargas guy wanted to kill me, he would have. By now, he might even be gone, remember what that orange chick said, those Schaa guys get paid to do jobs."

"Yes, I remember. The Schaa are relatively well known by the Peacekeepers. They were often brought in as...shall we say third party contractors to do jobs that Peacekeepers wanted to avoid becoming tied to. Assuming that Sargas wasn't hired to kill you, he might be able to help you."

"Yeah, he might if I had money but..."

"Some Schaa have been known to accept payment after a job is completed. Perhaps you can deal with him, if you can find him. I suggest that you return to the bar you encountered him at and see if you can find any information."

"Alright," Crichton said as he got to his feet. "But if Kenny's still there, I'm taking off."

Crichton navigated as best he could the dark streets. After about an arn of searching, Crichton stumbled upon the bar. He looked around and noticed that the room seemed oddly tense. Crichton scanned the room and saw that in a back corner, Sargas was drinking some type of black liquid. Crichton walked across the room and took a seat in front of Sargas.

"Hey, Sargas, what's happening?"

Sargas looks up and stares ahead with the same glowing blue eyes before looking back at his drink.

"Hmm, I guess that you have some of the rumored courage after all. Either that or you are very naļve on who I am. What do you want?"

"I want to hire you for a job."

Sargas looks up once again.

"You want to hire me? What kind of job?"

"I want you to find a Leviathan called Moya and get me to her."

"Tracking and transportation? Tracking, perhaps I'll do that but I am not a shipper, you will find your own way to it when I find it. Answer me something first, what species are you?"

Crichton looks a little surprised at the question and shoots back his own question, "How do you know I'm not a Sebacean?"

"Unlike most Schaa, I am well trained in ancient techniques of my race, techniques which include the ability to track using the energy fields that surround all beings. Yours isn't like a Sebacean's, it's similar, but different. Now what are you?"

"Alright, I'm a Human we're like..."

"I don't care about the details, I just wanted to know. Now why do you want to find this Leviathan?"

"What's with all the questions man? I told you the job, what will it cost?"

"I'm am assessing the value of this mission and what the price will be. If you choose not to answer my questions, then you can look elsewhere for assistance."

"Fine. My friends are on that ship and I want to get back to it."

"That's enough data to determine a price. No conflicts during the tracking and transport, 10 million Branthar. With conflict, 20 million."

"10 million! There is no way that I..." before Crichton can finish, he realizes that he doesn't have much of a choice. "...Can pass up such a great price."

Sargas finishes off his drink and slams it down on the table.

"You're lying. You think it's a bit steep. Well, I suppose that for a little assistance on another job, I can knock it down to 5 million."

"5 million? OK, that's a deal. What's the job?"

"You have already accepted. I will describe the job tomorrow at dawn, meet me at the transport docks at Bay 17. I will be there and we will begin the mission. If you decide to aid me, then it will be 5 million Branthar, if you choose not to aid me, then you will have to find someone else to aid you. No more negotiations."

Crichton stands up slowly and leaves the bar while thinking: 'What the frell have I gotten myself into?'

Alone page 2 >>
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