Title : Save the Child, Part One: The Prophecy
Author : Bluey
Rating : NC-17 - Violence.
SUMMARY : Moya's crew is trying to find Pa'u Shellec and end up on a siren planet where weapon carrying ships are attracted to a crashing end.
Spoilers : Alternate Reality - all first 3 Seasons (before "Eat me") are used to some point - with some characters not used at all.
Author's Notes : It's the fourth installment in Thäa's saga
If you haven't read the first threeThäa stories, you should know that :
Thäa (Zhaan's lover and Chiana's very intimate friend) is 1,5 meter tall (5 feet tall), and a Féerian, a race with golden eyes and blond hair. Féerian skin look like the colours moving on a soap bubble, rippling from emotions. Thäa is also a Féebanchee, a natural-born healer which uses bio-electricity to heal almost anyone without having to make any diagnostic. She was found on a dying Leviathan and was previously tortured for six cycles by Peacekeepers and one devious inmate. Thäa has been given the power of sharing Unity by Pa'u Shellec, but suffers from chronic amnesia.
A commerce planet, a bright sunny day, under a pink sky. Tents all around, with almost no place to move, crowded, noisy. Most of the merchants are dressed in bright colours, mostly yellows and reds, and it makes their olive skin look darker. The intricate markings on their cheeks is more evident on young women, but difficult to notice unless you look under the hood of their thin coat.
Beyond the tents, you can see what looks like big skyscrapers. Those rusty buildings are nothing more than old warships rusting away under the harsh sun. This isn't a war zone. There's never been a war here. This is a Siren Planet, one of those strange entities which attracts everything carrying heavy weaponry and sending them hurling down to the surface, twisting metal, melting plastic, tearing away at the few remaining passengers unlucky enough not to have been pulverised by the hellish descent into atmosphere and the final crash.
In the center of the tent city, a single building stands tall, with its white rock walls, a rectangular anachronism of a forgone era, almost spared by the passing of time, with only a few dents in its pure white form. At one end, a long, thin tower holds a single silvery bell, visible from everywhere in the city, but never heard.
- This is the museum, isn't it? asks D'Argo, pointing to the tower.
Zhaan looks up from a merchant's stall, still holding a brown conical fruit.
- White tower, yes, she answers, putting the fruit down. If Shellec was right, there could be valuable information to gather there.
Aeryn comes closer, pushing her way up to D'Argo.
- I found a guide, she says, out of breath. Give me an arn to retrieve the parts.
- I'll bring Stark along, says D'Argo, not waiting to get the Banik's consent. Are you sure you'll get all the spare parts you need?
- I'll rip them off with my teeth if need be, says Aeryn, smiling.
Stark has a maniacal smile as she says this, but no one cares to ask him why. Behind him, Thäa and Chiana are eager to get away for some exploring on their own. One step at the time, Chiana falls back as the group gets closer to the tower. By the time they're under it, she's gone from their sight.
- Missina akal noma? asks a young boy from under his hood.
- Yes, we are, answers Zhaan before any of the other has the time to ask what he is talking about.
She follows the boy under the curtain, and Stark walking right behind her, follows. D'Argo turns to Thäa but the young Féerian shakes her head no.
- ... smells like death in there, she whispers. Don't count me in.
- Wait here, growls D'Argo under his breath.
- Like I'm a child, mutters Thäa, but he hasn't heard her, for he's already inside the tent.
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+
The tent feels larger once you're inside. A small oil lamp gives more shadows than light, but the warm golden glow can't hide the sparingness of the room, not its scented oil mask the strong smell of decaying flesh. Facing the entrance, a large bed is the sole furniture in the tent. Its occupant, an old woman, lifts a hand. The guests move closer. The woman is very old and wrinkled. The green markings on her face look like a spider's web, but her red-rimmed golden eyes are benevolent.
- What did he say? whispers D'Argo to Zhaan.
- She is... like an Orican, explains Zhaan, bowing in front of the dying woman.
- Leave us, Surumar, says the raspy voice from the bed. You can do nothing more here.
- As you please, Grandmother, says the young boy, with a heavy accent.
- A Delvian, says the woman, smiling. A priestess... nice... and foolish. Leave as soon as you can, Beautiful One or your Goddess might not be able to protect you further.
- I am here to get answers, says Zhaan, bowing again deferentially.
- And you'll get more questions... but you already know that, don't you.
- Yes, answers Zhaan, smiling knowingly.
- A Luxan warrior, says the old lady looking at D'Argo. You might be able to save the child... might... if you're wise.
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+
Outside, Thäa looks inside by a tear in the fabric of the tent. Surumar comes closer, his hands hidden in the folds of his coat.
- She tells the future as she has none left for herself, he says with no accent at all.
 |
Thäa looks at him, then back at the inside of the tent, showing no emotion.
- Don't you want your future told? asks the teenage boy.
- It's enough to live it once, answers Thäa coldly. |
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+
- Who is the child? asks D'Argo in his softest voice.
The old lady puts her hand on his, barely flexing her fingers.
- The secret must be revealed, she says with a stronger voice. This is the only way to save the child. You alone know what to say, how to react. You MUST speak the right words, get the secret out, or the child will die!
Her voice grew stronger as she spoke. Now, her strength is all spent and her hand slips away from D'Argo's. She closes her eyes.
- Who is the child? asks D'Argo.
The woman's eyes flutter. She can barely keep them open.
- No time to spare, she whispers in a raspy voice. The life of the child is in your hands.
- You will not get more out of her, says Zhaan, pulling D'Argo from the bedside. She is dying.
At those words, Stark moves closer.
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+
- Mistakes can be avoided when you know them in advance, says Surumar, defiant.
- And you make new ones, retorts Thäa, still holding on to the fabric of the tent.
- Like being killed by that kind of monster? asks Surumar, pointing to the rip.
- Monster?
Thäa frowns. She sees Stark bending over the bed, a soft golden glow seemingly coming from his head. He holds his hand in front of the woman's face, shining this strange light upon it.
- He's taking her last energy, killing her, says Surumar. Didn't you know? His race was almost eradicated because they can't stop killing people. He'll say you're about to die, and when he's done, sure you're dead.
- NO, he wouldn't...
Thäa sees Zhaan pulling the linen over the woman's head, then joining her hands in a prayers.
- What... she starts, but the boy is gone.
Chiana looks at Thäa quizzically.
- Looks like you've seen a ghost, she says. You need a raslak.
- No, says Thäa, resisting the pull.
- A napple, then?
- They have those fruit here? asks Thäa, all thoughts of death gone from her head.
- An abandoned orchard, beyond those tents, says Chiana, pointing in the opposite direction from the rusty warships.
- Yes, says Thäa, letting Chiana lead her away. Abandoned or not, I'm yours.
- I already know that, laughs the Nebari.
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+
Not seeing Thäa, D'Argo comms Aeryn.
- I've seen her with Chiana, near the orchard, says Aeryn. I've found the right ship to dismantle. When will you be here?
- We're coming, says D'Argo, as Stark nods his consent.
- How long will it take? asks Zhaan, visibly concerned.
- A few arns, answers D'Argo. What did the chart say about the belt?
- The magnetic attraction begins at sunset, says Zhaan. It gives you about three arns, no more.
- We'll be back at the transport pod before that, says D'Argo, already turning his back on her.
- The tower is what's left of the museum, whispers Stark for Zhaan's sole benefit. I've got confirmation from the old woman.
- Stark! growls D'Argo. We haven't got all day, you know!
The Banik runs after him, leaving Zhaan a hundred paces from the tower's entrance. She looks up, and blinks, as the sun's rays hitting the bell blinds her for a microt. When she looks down, Surumar is staring at her. The young boy grabs her arm and pulls her along.
- Bell tower not open at night... must hurry, he says, panting like he's been running since he left them.
- Do you know the name of the curator? asks Zhaan as she follows willingly.
- No curator... dead a long time ago, answers the boy, not looking back at her. Dereneks didn't like strangers who know more than they do.
- Dereneks have changed, says Zhaan, calmly.
The boy slows as they get to the door and takes his time to turn back and smiles at her.
- This Derenek knows... no danger from you... none at all.
- This Derenek is wise beyond his years, says Zhaan flattering him.
- She's called A'Es, says the teenager. She'll tell you what you want to hear.
- Thank you, says Zhaan bowing.
- If you want the truth, ask Xiox instead, says the boy as he opens the stone door to let Zhaan in. They look alike but they don't look the same.
The door closes silently on well oiled hinges. Inside, the strong smell of suet is reminiscent of the tent she just left. But this is the only similitude between the two places. The tent was warm, lived in, practical and almost cozy. This huge rectangle of stone is damp and hostile, reeking of decomposed vegetation almost as thick as a jungle in mid-day.
Zhaan takes a quick inventory of the premises. There are seven doors opening on darkness, two more where a draft comes in, signaling an exit to the outside. The staircase seemed to be booby-trapped, but the mechanism is so old, a single rock thrown on the first stair makes the net crumble as it falls to the ground.
- What a shame, such a good souvenir, says a clear young voice coming from upstairs. Haven't you learn never to touch a first step?
- I am Pa'u Zotoh Zhaan, says the Delvian, bowing. You must be...
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+
An overgrown orchard, with half the trees dead or dying. The few remaining ones are heavy with deep red fruits, large as a closed fist. Chiana is sitting on a branch, eating from fruits she's holding in both hands. Juice runs down her chin as she laughs happily.
- Why didn't you go in? asks Chiana, throwing a spent fruit over Thäa's head.
The Féerian looks up to her, barely avoiding the half eaten fruit.
- You know I can't heal. I lost it in the Temple, when they messed me up. I can't fix anything, not even a scratch.
- Here, it might help, says Chiana, throwing a few fruits to the ground at Thäa's feet.
- Chiana! comms D'Argo. Where are you?
- Right over Thäa, why ? laughs the Nebari.
- No details please, says D'Argo, sounding embarrassed. I was just making sure...
His voice trails off. The two girls look at each other then start laughing at the same time.
- He thought... says Thäa.
- Maybe we should... retorts Chiana.
- Eat first, says Thäa, picking up a fruit.
- Who are they? asks Chiana, pointing to the fence they jumped over a quarter of an arn ago.
Thäa shields her eyes from the sun and takes a step back to the shelter of the tree. The colours of her skin ripple from a soft peach to a brighter pink, then a little green appears, especially on her bare arms.
- I don't like it, Chiana says. They look like ragged Peacekeepers.
She jumps down to the ground, startling Thäa to a run. They go in the opposite direction of the half a dozen men she spotted, making a run to the transport pod, half a metra away. When they arrive, panting and sweaty, they find out the men haven't seen them at all. Chiana puts down the few fruits she had kept close to her breasts and looks at the spot of red juice on her outfit.
- They weren't looking for us, says Chiana, laughing at her own fear.
- Sometimes... I wonder why I'm always running away from something, says Thäa dreamily.
- Do you want to go back to your old life? asks Chiana, nibbling on a fruit.
Thäa puts a hand to her tangled long hair and combs it with her fingers.
- I don't remember my life back then, says Thäa, picking up a fruit. Zhaan says to be patient, that something will trigger it all back in place. Unity doesn't seem to work, not with her, not with you, not...
- No, not Stark! laughs Chiana. You didn't ask him, did you?
She became very serious for the last words and seems anxious at getting an answer.
- He said no, then explained it to me, says Thäa, spitting out the seeds on a DRD.
- What was the explanation?
Thäa looks at her, and smiles maliciously.
- It took him half an arn, and by the time he was through, he was so...
- You didn't understand, it that it?
Thäa nods.
- I didn't have the courage to tell him. I'm not sure I would have understood it, anyway.
Thäa puts the half-eaten fruit on the console. Her skin's multicolored markings have gotten a softer hue. Chiana frowns.
- I've got a headache, Thäa says, licking her lips.
- You didn't eat much.
- The sun, maybe, sighs Thäa. I'll take a nap in the cargo area. It's dark in there.
- You're not fun, says Chiana, visibly annoyed. Why can't you get rid of the headache?
- I can't heal myself more than any others, retorts Thäa angrily, picking up the half-eaten fruit to throw it at Chiana. You don't know what it's like being unable to do the only thing you're good at!
Chiana picks up the fruit in silence and bites down on it as Thäa storms out of the room.
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+
- Come on up, says the voice.
Zhaan picks up her dress and takes a few prudent steps on the stone stairs. As she emerges in a brightly lit room, she sighs in relief. The air is fresh up here, with no dust or scent of decaying glue. All around her, three times her height, stands stone shelves upon which are stacked rows upon rows of leather bonded books, rolled papyrus, heaps of data crystals and metal boxes.
- I'm A'Es, and this is the last of our treasure, says the green skinned woman.
Contrary to most of the inhabitants of the city, she has no coat over her linen tunic and apron. Her bare arms are soiled, and her skin's markings are almost lost under all that grime. She dusts her hands away on her apron, and pats her hair, making sure the bun at the nape of her neck hasn't come loose.
- I'm the curator's grand-daughter, explains the woman. Nobody cares much, but I wanted to take care of this place for him, to get closer to his memory.
- A noble cause, says Zhaan.
- A have almost nothing about Delvians, says A'Es, pointing to one of the many shelves.
- I am looking for Féerians. Do you have something about them?
- Maalok would say... mythology has no place in this museum, says A'Es lightly. But he might have been wrong. Mythology is often the only way a nation can protect itself against the enemy. My sister is very fond of all those ancient stories. XIOX, COME HERE!
She yelled the last words, expecting Zhaan to be startled. She seems ill at ease when she doesn't get the reaction she expected, and wrings her hands needlessly over her apron.
 |
An identical woman appears from the direction of the draft, her longer tunic flowing in the wind. She keeps her hair up, but unlike her sister, it's in a pony tail, with as much beads and ribbons as she has hair.
- All unusual queries come by me, she says, bowing in front of Zhaan so quickly, one might expect her to fall on her face. Which race are you seeking?
- Féerians, says Zhaan.
- Physiology or psychology of the race? asks Xiox as A'Es gets back up on a ladder.
- I am curious about... their healing capacities, says Zhaan, choosing her words carefully. |
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+
Among the rusting metal, D'Argo, Aeryn and Stark work their way to the remnants of a Command Carrier. Aeryn needs some spare parts for her Prowler and knows exactly where to get them. They work as fast as possible, since they know the planet could hurl another ship on their heads comes nightfall. D'Argo rips off a few metras of cabling, making nice big rolls of them ready to be carried away. On the other side of the derelict ship, Aeryn unscrews carefully a control panel while Stark tears at insulation. In a crack between two torn pieces of metal, he finds a tube. Thinking it is corvinium tubing, he gently pulls on it, and ends up with a shock stick in his hands. Hoping to repair Zhaan's lamp, he pockets it, hiding it quite easily inside the folds of his coat. Then he goes back to his task, not saying a word of his discovery.
An arn has gone by, then Aeryn looks up, frowning.
- Better get the line conduits in the transport pod, she says, pointing to the cables. We won't have enough arms to carry the frag cannon.
- We could disassemble it, says D'Argo.
- No time for that. Stark, bring the line conduits in the pod then come back here.
- You only need the conducer, growls D'Argo. We could...
- As soon as Stark gets back, we carry what we have left, says Aeryn. If it isn't disassembled yet, too bad. I don't want a ship falling on my head.
D'Argo agrees and Stark gets on his way with half a drashik of rolled cables trailing behind him in the short grass.
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+
- You're a Pa'u, of course, says Xiox, leading the way. Féerians aren't taught how to heal. They have it or they don't.
- Can they loose it? asks Zhaan directly as Xiox comes to a stop in front of a dustier shelf.
Xiox looks over Zhaan shoulder and sighs in obvious relief.
- Can you loose the blue of your skin? asks Xiox gently. It's in them from birth and they loose it at the time of death.
- What does pregnancy have to do with their gift?
Xiox smiles knowingly.
- It's part of the folklore, she says in a lower voice. They aren't interested in healing anyone as long as they are with child, and afterwards, they tend to be so engrossed into their maternity that they say they can't do it. Can I ask a personal question?
- Yes, of course.
- Is she pregnant?
- No, answers Zhaan, taking the leather bound book from the green hand. It was a rhetoric question, nothing more.
Xiox eyes her suspiciously, trying to decipher this calm blue smile. Is the Delvian lying? She doesn't look like it, but some can be very deceptive. On the other hand, most will prefer to withhold truth than lie.
- Féerians are unknown to my world, explains Zhaan. I am doing this research as part of my quest of knowledge.
- The Delvian Seek, I heard about it.
Xiox pushes the shelf and the whole panel moves in. Zhaan follows the green woman inside a smaller room filled with books and data crystals like the other.
- This is my sanctuary, where I keep my... mythology.
She smiled at the last word, referring to her sister's comment. She takes the book back from Zhaan's hands and opens it on a small table. Inside it, a silvery screen pops up, revealing a hidden computer. Data rolls down, fast, as Xiox beckons Zhaan to a wooden chair. Then the data stops on an image, and Xiox points to it.
- This is what a Féerian looks like, she says, showing a very white body, naked under a thin scarf that cover only the midsection.
- She is dead, says Zhaan, flatly.
- Retrieved from a crash site, says Xiox, slowly rolling down the data under the image. A'Es didn't see the body, but I did. It was a Tavlek ship, packed to the door with slaves stolen from convoys. The girl wasn't dead on landing, but she was too badly wounded to heal herself. You imagine it was quite a surprise. We seldom get survivors.
Zhaan nods sadly.
- It was a slave trader's ship, it shouldn't have been brought down, explains Xiox, pointing to the screen. They didn't know their hidden cargo would kill them all.
- What do you specifically know about this Féerian woman? asks Zhaan, not looking that interested.
- She was in a high security container, says Xiox, almost boasting with this information. Only two others were found in those containers, a Tavlek and a mad Samerian. You know what that means?
Zhaan smiles but says nothing.
- Why won't you tell me, she says after a silence.
- That Féerian was considered highly dangerous, says Xiox. Maintaining those containers is expensive. You don't put a slave there unless you have really good reasons.
- Slave? You are mistaken.
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+
Stark reaches the transport pod without a single pause, not that the load wasn't heavy but he wasn't sure he could pick the rolls again if he stopped to catch his breath. It had been a while since he had worked so hard, but he wouldn't dare tell the others this load was about all he could carry. Baniks don't complain.
The control DRD at the door opens it for him, recognizing friend and stepping aside with a little blip. The drone was on Stark's blind side but he had seen it from afar. Why did the DRD blipped? Was he scared to be knocked aside by the heavy rolls? Stark hasn't a ready answer to that when Chiana jumps in his way.
- I have to put these in the cargo area, says Stark, panting.
- Thäa is sleeping there, says Chiana, still blocking his way. You don't go there. She wants to keep it dark and quiet. You are everything... but quiet.
Stark let the rolls fall to the ground, incapable of holding them any longer. Chiana takes a step forward, stepping on the cables and takes Stark's collar in a strong grip.
- I said... quiet..., she whispers through clenched teeth.
 |
She's so angry! Stark cringes in fear, but he's caught in her grip and can't flee. He stares at her, trying to speak, at least to breathe.
- Why are you back so soon? she asks, barely audible over the crunch of the cables under her feet.
|
She's shaking him up, like she could get the answers out of his clothes. Before he has time to open his mouth, she spots a glint under his flapping coat. Quickly, she reaches in and takes out the shock stick.
- WHY? she yells at him. Why have you brought this dren thing here? ANSWER ME!
He reaches for it and gets a hard tap on his gloved fingers.
- Give it back! he yelps. Give it... give it... give it...
Every time, he gets another knock, harder and harder each time he tries to take it. The last time, he gets hit across the cheek and Chiana lets him go. But not for long. As he reels back, she starts punching him with one hand as she goes on hitting him with the stick.
- ANSWER ME! she yells.
- It's my secret! It's my stick! Give it back! yells Stark, shielding his face with a bend arm as he desperately reaches for the stick. It's mine... It's mine... give it back.
- Why are you... doing that... to Thäa? screams Chiana, hitting harder and harder.
She's now holding the stick in both hands. Stark is caught between the Command chairs and the side bunks, with no place to go but down in the corner, where he ends up in a ball. Chiana keeps hitting as he mumbles weakly : My secret... it's mine... my secret... it's mine...
Chiana keeps on hitting harder and harder. Stark tries to move away from the stick but the Nebari is quicker and she hits him more often than she misses.
- Stop... pleads Stark, holding his bloodied hands across his bruised face.
When Stark stops mumbling, she presses the small button at the side of the stick and a soft hum comes from it.
- Why are you hurting Thäa? yells Chiana, out of control, sounding more maniacal than Stark has ever been.
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+
Xiox is startled as shouts from outside reverberate in the small room.
- Our militia is getting nervous. We got a wanted beacon intact some cycles ago. It started this old craze about getting the reward.
- Who is wanted? asks Zhaan, hiding her concern.
- A Delvian woman, answers Xiox, smiling. No, seriously, that woman could be dead by now. It's been twenty cycles before we saw one single survivor from those ships, and none since.
- She might have come down with an unarmed vessel, suggests Zhaan, almost playfully.
- Like you did?
- I am sure I was not the first one to think about that.
- No, we had Delvian visitors before. Your people were fond of this museum. Some even stayed back to help us built it. When it was destroyed, we got no answer from your home world.
- We have problem of our own, sighs Zhaan.
The almost reptilian face looks curious, but won't go farther.
- You better leave, says A'Es, peeking inside the small alcove. The Militia has heard about a Delvian woman. You know what that means.
- I was explaining it to Zhaan, says Xiox.
She closes the computer book and pockets three data crystals. Loud banging noises comes from afar, getting closer.
- At this moment, the safest person would be a Delvian, as they won't kill what the want to capture alive, says A'Es, staring into her sister's eyes.
- Like last time? asks Xiox, sighing loudly.
- She got away without a scratch, replies A'Es.
- We'll take the tunnels to get to your transport, says Xiox, pushing Zhaan out of the room. A'Es, get the weapons, I'll get the coats.
- I can go by myself, says Zhaan. There is no need for you to risk...
- You won't make it on your own, cuts Xiox with authority. The last one barely made it with us. We know the way, and how those frell Milicians work.
- As you wish, says Zhaan, silently praying for a safe route.
A'Es gives a dark brown coat to her sister and one identical one to Zhaan. She dons the third. When Zhaan has finished snapping it on, she looks up and stares at herself. It's as though she was in front of a double mirror.
- We're not Dereneks, says one of her doubles. We're Morphens.
- I should have known, says Zhaan.
- What made you suspicious, asks the second one, as she gives a pulse pistol to her sister.
- You could have been twins, but Surumar has the exact same markings as you do.
Both sisters laugh.
- You're the first one to notice. Come this way.
Both false Zhaans lead the real one down a flight of stairs at the back of the big room, down, a long corridor and inside a damp and narrow tunnel.
- These are natural, says Xiox, recognisable by her voice alone. The Dereneks fear the underground.
- Is it founded on religious beliefs? asks Zhaan, who had taken a pulse pistol and holds it close to her.
- When the skies fall on your head every night, you might think they would want to live underground, but this is no protection against a hundred thousand drashiks of melting metal and toxic waste.
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+
Aeryn stops working and looks up. The sounds from the busy city have changed. She comms D'Argo, which is at the other end of the ship.
- There's trouble in town, she says, sounding concerned. Is Stark back yet?
- No, he hasn't shown up yet, answers D'Argo. Maybe the girls are in trouble.
- We should get back at once, then, sighs Aeryn. I'm done here.
- Zhaan, where are you? asks D'Argo on his comm badge.
The Sebacean smiles sarcastically, picking up the last pieces she unscrewed.
- Why won't she answer! barks D'Argo, impatient.
- A comm badge is pinned on clothes, says Aeryn. It might be too far from her at this moment.
D'Argo stares at her, not sure if he should feel embarrassed at her commentary, or angry at the silence from the comm badge.
- The young ones first, he ends up saying. Zhaan can take care of herself.
- I'm sure of that, says Aeryn, a bit too coldly considering what she had just said.
As they leave the ship, they see a small group of armed men roughing up merchants and patrons. Many of them are trying hard to look like Peacekeepers, with outfits similar in cut and colours, but their demeanor lacks the control of real soldiers.
- Militia, spits Aeryn.
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+
 |
- You have no right bringing this here, growls Chiana, as she knocks Stark's hand out of her way with a whack of the stick.
He looks at the glowing end of it, coming closer to his valid eye, trembling from pain and terror.
- NO! he screams as the stick comes so close, he can feel, smell, and taste the electric current. |
- STOP! yells a clear voice behind them.
Chiana turns on herself, stick in hand, gleaming rage in her eyes.
- Stop that! yells Thäa, lifting her arm, palm up.
- He had no... begins Chiana, turning back to Stark, which, at this moment, is too weak and hurt to move a muscle.
Chiana screams in pain as the stick becomes red hot in her grip, melting her glove, singing her flesh. She drops it.
D'Argo and Aeryn, hearing the scream, come at a run to the door and see Chiana cradling her arm to her chest, and Thäa, near the cargo area, trembling, in shock.
- What happened? asks D'Argo, going to Chiana's side.
- Are you hurt? Aeryn asks Thäa, as the girl is not responsive.
- Attacked, mumbles Chiana, between two moans of pain.
- Militia? asks D'Argo.
Chiana mouths the word yes, but D'Argo is already frowning, in doubt. The blood on her outfit isn't hers. It's too red to be Thäa's, too red to be Derenek.
- Frell, mutters D'Argo, as he sees Stark, bloody and immobile. He takes another step to come to his side and checks for his pulse.
- Is he dead? asks Aeryn, which is still holding Thäa in her arms.
- Not... yet... but he might as well be.
D'Argo comms Zhaan again but gets no answer.
- He won't last long, says Aeryn, crouching by Stark's side. Where is Zhaan's medical kit?
- Chiana, get it! orders D'Argo, then, turning to Aeryn, he asks : Do you know what to use?
- Dren, I hadn't thought of that. Thäa could...
- She can't heal, says Chiana coldly, as she puts the ornate box into D'Argo's hands.
D'Argo puts the kit down, and stands up. Thäa hasn't moved from the spot where Aeryn had left her. He kneels down to her height, caresses her hair and cheek until he gets her attention.
- Stark is hurt, says D'Argo in the softest voice he can muster. He need a little time until Zhaan can get back.
- I can't... whispers Thäa, her voice trembling.
- You can try, Thäa, he says warmly. That's all I want you to do... try your best.
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