Following is an answer to a Yahoo! Assignment of the CraisFanfic-Group. Couldn’t resist it. Crais on leave but will he find the pleasure planet a pleasure?

A Little Relaxation

by GitonCrais

Crais was sitting on his own in the galley on board Moya. Talyn had expressed a wish to see his mother and as usual Crais had complied. He didn’t feel comfortable with the Moya-crew and if truth were known they weren’t very happy with his presence on board either. Necessity broke rules. He was studying a tablet with Talyn’s repairs-report. Their last encounter with a Nelidon ship had left some of Talyn’s systems in need of repairs.

Crichton entered the galley and drew a cup of coffee. He glanced over at Crais, “Working again?”

Crais grunted in the affirmative, the Jhuman was the last person he wanted to have a conversation with.

Crichton did not take the hint. He took a chair, turned it around and straddled it backwards near Crais. The aroma of coffee wafted in Crais’ nose. He had learned to drink it but never got used to the poignant smell. He wrinkled his nose.

Crichton stared at him and Crais ignored him. After a while Crais looked up from his tablet, “Yes,” he asked in an annoyed tone of voice.

“Yes, what,” asked Crichton innocently.

“I am sure you have more important things to do than watch me work,” said Crais in his most superior why-are-you-staring-at-me tone.

“Nope, not really. Just wondering.”

“You are?” Crais’ voice implied that he really didn’t care.

“Yes, I was wondering…”

“You already said that,” Crais’ patience was wearing thin and he put the tablet on the table, knowing that the Jhuman wouldn’t let him work in peace.

“…do you ever relax?”

“I am relaxed,” growled Crais.

“Sure you are,” smiled Crichton.

“Well, I was until a few microts ago,” Crais frowned.

“You should take a break, a holiday…”

“I require no such thing.”

“Everybody does.”

“I’m not everybody!”

“Yeah, we can all agree to that. Don’t Peacekeepers take holidays?”

“I’m not a Peacekeeper anymore!” Crais’ scowl deepened.

“I know that, at least that’s what you keep telling us.” When he saw the dark frown appear and heard the low grumbling, he tried to lighten the mood, “What I’m trying to say is, when you were a Peacekeeper did you ever take time off from work?”

“Hardly.”

“Well, that explains a lot,” thought Crichton. He said aloud, “What you should do is take some time off. Don’t think about work, don’t think about being on the run… (“Frell,” thought Crichton, “wrong argument.”). I mean…”

Crais folded his hands on the table in front of him and stared at Crichton, he was amused that the Jhuman was getting stuck in his arguments. His enjoyment did not show on his face and his unwavering stare unsettled Crichton.

“Shit, Crais…”

“I don’t need the use of the amenities, Crichton.”

Crichton jumped up from his chair, “You arrogant son of… You are so bloody annoying sometimes. Especially when we are trying to help you!”

“Help me? Apart from repairs on Talyn I wasn’t aware that I was in need of help.”

Crichton wasn’t sure whether Crais’ calm voice was more annoying than his growl, “Yes, help you, Crais. You have been on board Talyn on your own for over a Cycle. You haven’t taken a break and when you sit down, all you can think of is more work. That’s not healthy!”

“What do you have in mind, Crichton,” Crais asked calmly.

“You know what’s wrong with you…” The question sank in and he looked at Crais in surprise, “You mean that?”

“I just asked you, didn’t I?”

“Pilot tells us that in a couple of arns we will be reaching Fenrar. It’s supposed to be a pleasure planet. You should come down with us. It would do you the world of good.”

Crais doubted that, “Do I have to stay with you all?”

“Of course not!”

“Good. Will you leave me alone now if I accept?”

“Yes, of course. I…”

“Very well. I accept.” He picked up his tablet again and ignored Crichton’s presence.

Crichton looked at Crais, he could be so annoying! He left the galley in a huff.

With a covert glance Crais watched him leave the room. Slowly he lowered the tablet. The Jhuman was right, he had not taken a break for over three Cycles now. At first he didn’t allow himself much rest because of the Leviathan project, then his hunt for Crichton and his friends and then his flight with Talyn. He sat back warily in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. He needed to take a break but he would not admit that to Crichton. He picked up his tablet.

A couple of arns later everyone was ready near Moya’s transport pod. Crais was the last to arrive. Crais had been talked into wearing something different than his Peacekeeper’s uniform and “to let his hair hang down”, to look less like a Peacekeeper. At least they had allowed him to wear black clothes. He had shuddered at some of Chiana’s suggestions and colour schemes. He was aware of Aeryn’s approving look over his attire. Instead of his Captain’s leathers he was wearing tight fitting black clothes and knee length black boots, his hair cascaded in tight curls well past his shoulders. Crichton secretly kicked himself for talking Crais in something other than Peacekeeper clothes, with the clothes he was wearing now and his hair hanging loose he resembled a romantic pirate and he had noticed Aeryn’s eyes roving over her former Commanding Officer in appreciation. Crichton could not suppress a twinge of jealousy.

Crais carried a small carryall with him and he was about to climb on board, when Crichton said, “Okay, hand it over.”

Crais looked at him in confusion, “Hand what over?”

“Your work.”

“I don’t think…”

“Hand it over, Crais. You are supposed to enjoy yourself and not think about work.”

“I… Oh, very well,” said Crais, dug into his carryall and handed the tablet to Crichton.

Crichton left it in the Hangar Bay and held his hand out again, “…and the other one.”

Crais glared at him but rummaged again in his carryall and produced another tablet, which he handed to Crichton with a scowl.

“Nothing else in there you consider light bedtime reading, like The Nuclear Physicist Monthly?”

“No! Satisfied!”

“Well…”

“Don’t push your luck, John,” whispered Aeryn.

Going down to the planet wasn’t a pleasure trip. Zhaan had stayed on board to meditate (Crais was miffed that meditation was accepted) but had given them a list of Medical supplies to be picked up. Chiana and Ka D’Argo had gigglingly and laughingly locked themselves in their quarters (even Recreation was accepted) and left him with Crichton and Aeryn. Crais sat like the proverbial thundercloud in the back of the pod.

Aeryn and Crichton were sharing a joke in the front of the pod and Crais felt left out. Being a man of action, the half an arn the trip took seemed a long time with nothing else to do but stare in the blackness of space or listen to Aeryn’s and Crichton’s inane jokes. Crichton could have at least left him the tablets while he was on the pod.

The general idea was, that once they were on the planet they were to go their separate ways, spend two days on the planet and return with provisions. Aeryn and Crichton already had their days planned. Crais had looked at the options and had found nothing that could attract his attention. He was really going to enjoy shore leave! He folded his arms over his chest and fumed.

He had left Aeryn and Crichton in the small spaceport. Crichton even had the audacity to ask him for his gun, “No weapons, enjoy, remember?” His protestations that he couldn’t be parted with it fell on deaf ears. Reluctantly he had handed his gun over, which was left in the pod. He did not remind Crichton about the other concealed weapons on his person. Curiously, Aeryn stayed silent about them, even though she must have known about them.

Aeryn was afraid that they might have to get the Healers in when Crichton demanded his Transponder. “No work, of any kind,” said Crichton, “And there is no need to use it to calm Talyn, he’s talking to his mother.”

Crais handed it over reluctantly, nearly wrenching it from its seat. His face had grown at least two shades darker than normal

Crichton had kept the keys to the pod and Crais nearly exploded when Crichton told him that he couldn’t be trusted not to sneak in and find a way to do some work after all. He had to enjoy himself. Without a word Crais turned on his heel, leaving the other two to their devices.

Crais considered going to a tavern and getting totally drunk but discarded that idea. It brought back bad memories of Tauvo’s death and his hunt for Crichton and his friends. Going into one of the dens for the use of intoxicants wasn’t on his list either.

He considered Recreation but the concept that he had to pay for dubious pleasures did not appeal to him. As was gambling. Oh, he had gambled in his younger years, it had been another way to climb up in the ranks but it had been a pastime he did not overly enjoy.

By now he had reached the Centre of the town and stood near the square where some acrobats were showing their skills. For a moment he admired their agility and grace, until he felt the telltale movements of a pickpocket on his belt. With lightning speed he had grabbed the searching wrist between his thumb and middle finger while his forefinger applied pressure on the inside of the wrist. He saw a boy of about 14 Cycles old.

“You will not find it here,” whispered Crais menacingly to the squirming youngster. The youth tried to break free, Crais applied more pressure and the lad almost yelped in pain. Suddenly Crais let go of his wrist and the youngster disappeared into the crowd nursing his hand.

Crais moved on. After the relative silence he enjoyed on board Talyn, the hustle and bustle of the town was overwhelming and the crowds were irritating him.

Soon he found that his steps had carried him to the outskirts of the town. He had just wanted to escape the noises and the smells. If this was Crichton’s idea of fun he was welcome to it. It was totally wasted on Crais.

He was near the edge of the town when he heard cries for help. He directed his steps to where he thought he had heard the cries originate from and soon came upon a small courtyard.

The situation was quite clear. A young woman, four thugs.

Crais let out a low growl and stepped closer, “I would unhand her if I was you.”

The men turned to find a single male, dressed in black with curly long hair staring down menacingly at them. One of the men looked at his comrades and back at the lone man, judging the odds and smiled. What was one man going to do against four big, strong men like themselves, he wasn’t even carrying any weapons on him.

He broadly smiled at the newcomer, “Who’s going to stop us? You?”

“If you will not desist, yes.” They should have been warned by his calm, more so when they saw a smile appear on his face when they shifted their attention to him.

The first of the attackers was met by a Panthak-jab to the side of the neck, felling the man instantly. The second could hear the bone in his underarm snap while his feet were swiped from under him and he fell heavily to the ground.

The last two had drawn their knives in their approach. The one at the front saw Crais crouch low and his slash sliced through clean air. When Crais came up he had drawn his short sword from his right boot, his knife from his belt with his left hand and parried the knife attacks from both assailants.

They took a step backwards and decided to attack the man together but Crais was ready for them. A quick flick of the wrist of his sword arm swiped the knife aside of the man on his right. In the same motion he twirled the short sword to the inside of his arm, using it as an effective guard when the man came at him again. Steel met steel.

His knife had parried the thrust of his other attacker to the hilt, a sharp flick of his wrist and the knife of his opponent clattered to the ground. Before the man could recover, Crais had thrust his knife in the man’s shoulder and twisted it. The man had gone down with a howl of pain.

Crais now turned his full attention on the last man. There was fear on his opponent’s face. He contemplated making a stand but one look at Crais’ calm face made him decide against it and he stepped backwards to get away from him but stumbled over one of his fallen comrades. The fear was now plain to see on his face.

Crais stepped forward and sheathed his knife. He still kept his sword drawn when he approached the man. He bent down and lifted him with his left hand clear off the ground, his fingers neatly twisted in the front of the man’s shirt. He showed no signs of extra exertion in his voice, “Next time, pick your victims better, I’ll will not be so lenient when next we meet. Is that understood?”

The man nodded with difficulty, his face turning redder by the micron.

“Good,” said Crais with a smile, “I’m glad we have that little misunderstanding out of the way.” He let go of the man who fell in a heap at his feet, “Now, take your friends with you before I call the militia.” The man scampered to his feet and soon the courtyard was empty apart from Crais and the woman.

He turned his attention towards her and sheathed his sword before approaching her. He gave her a small bow. “I hope they haven’t harmed you,” he asked and gave her a quick glance.

She seemed young, with long reddish hair, styled in the latest fashion, as far as he could judge. Her clothes were of the finest materials

“Thank you, kind Sir. I don’t know what they would have done without your intervention. May I ask for your name?”

“Captain… Xercus,” he answered, not wanting to give his own name in case the wanted beacons were broadcasting on this planet as well.

“Well, thank you again, Captain Xercus. You seem like a stranger here. What brings to Fenrar?”

He was going to say that he was forced in a holiday. “Shore leave,” he answered.

“I see. Are you enjoying yourself?”

“I haven’t… been on the planet long enough yet.”

“Well, I hope you’ll find something to your liking.”

“So do I,” said Crais in contemplation.

There was an awkward silence between them. “Do you have to go far?”

“No,” she answered, “My house is over there.” She pointed to the other side of the courtyard, “The men ambushed me. Thank you again for your intervention.”

Crais gave her a low bow and walked away. What did he expect? Eternal gratitude? Not that he would have wanted it anyway.

His steps found him quickly in the street again. He had finally decided to leave the town and to take a walk in the surrounding area. At least there would be less people to deal with.

Ten microts later he found himself outside the town’s boundary and near the edge of the woods.

For the first time in an arn he felt himself relax. The quiet worked liked a soothing balm and he drank deeply from the clean air. He hadn’t realised how much the town had smelled of sweaty people and refuge. He saw a small path leading into the woods and directed his steps there.

In a very uncharacteristic move he had loosened the top of his shirt and enjoyed the walk.

After about half an arn he came to a clearing in the woods, just a little off from the beaten path. He had seen the glimmer of water through the foliage and decided to investigate. It was a beautiful secluded spot and the silence was even more pronounced.

He crouched down by the water and looked over the small lake, a smile creased his features. Crichton had said no work, doing his exercises near the water’s edge wouldn’t be considered work, it would be a pleasure. He stood up and listened. Other than the wind through the leaves and the breeze over the water he couldn’t detect a sound. He took his shirt off and let the breeze touch his bare chest, his boots were next and the grass tickled his toes. The smile stayed on his face. Staying out of character, he took his weapons off and folded them neatly inside his shirt. He then placed his shirt and boots under a small bush for safekeeping.

He walked to the water’s edge and started his exercises.

The exercises were supposed to start slowly and then speed up until the lightning speed of the Panthak regimen was reached.

At first the movements were extremely slow. The stretching of the arm to imitate the Panthak-jab, while the other arm moved back, fist balled, the gentle placing of one foot in front of the other leg. Switching the movements of the arms to be an echo of the last movement. The arm was raised as if to block, followed by a rolling of the wrist to ward off the next jab. The same arm made as if to grab for an invisible opponent’s arm and the pulling movement to get the opponent close. The downward slash with the other hand to execute a blow to the opponent’s neck or shoulder. He went down to a low crouch slowly and his foot kicked a high arch in the air following from that position. He went back to a half crouch, with knees slightly bend, while the arms moved in a tensing movement, one outstretched to the side with the hand extended to denote a jab to the side, the other one with balled fist protecting the chest area. The movement of the arms reversed while still in half-crouch. Then from the half-crouch to a standing position to go back to the first position. The tension it put on the body to maintain this position and to keep the movements slow brought sweat to his face. Slowly he speeded up the rhythm, enjoying the strains it put on his muscles.

About halfway in his exercise he heard the sound. A low growl. He stood still and let his eyes roam the clearing, the sweat drying slowly on his brow. He looked at the bundle under the bush and wondered if he had time enough to get to it. He took a tentative step towards it when from behind the same bush an animal rose on his hind legs. Crais’ eyes followed it up, it was almost twice as high as himself. Most of its body was covered by long coarse hair, hiding any vantage point where muscles or flesh could be attacked. Its teeth were razor sharp, the claws at the end of his paws were almost as long and as sharp as the throwing knives in the spring-mechanisms, which were normally, except now, attached to his forearms.

Slowly Crais backed away, mentally remembering where possible escape routes were. The only thing safe in mind was a tree, several metras behind him to his right. It was tall enough and as long as the creature could not climb it should be safe enough. Crais directed his steps backwards to it, not loosing sight of the creature. He was almost there when the animal decided to charge.

Crais forgot about tentative movements, turned around and made a dash for the tree. The animal took a swipe at his back and the tips of its claw grazed lightly over Crais’ shoulder.

Crais astounded himself by climbing the tree with the agility of an acrobat and the speed of a Sartik. Soon he was out of reach of the claws of the animal and clung for dear life to one of the upper branches.

He looked down and nearly let go of the branch. He had never had a head for heights and he could feel his stomach lurch, while sweat was breaking out. He counted himself lucky that the beast couldn’t climb trees, unfortunately it was tall enough to nearly reach Crais’ feet with its claws.

Crais swallowed deeply. He just had to wait until the animal left before climbing out of the tree. He cursed himself for leaving his weapons out of reach but wondered if (looking at the sheer size of the animal) any of his weapons would have made a difference.

He inched back towards the tree trunk and found that he was precariously balanced against it. He hoped the animal would leave soon. A cursorily examination of his shoulder found four long scratches, which weren’t too deep. Worrying about a possible infection he could do later. He now had to worry that the animal could smell blood on its victim.

Crais’ hopes that the animal would be leaving soon and get tired of waiting for its prey to come down were short-lived. By the time the sun sank behind the trees he had given up hope of climbing down. The animal was still pacing at the bottom of the tree and Crais could feel his body ache from clinging to the branch for so long. Each movement on his part brought the animal up on his hind legs. He could only lie still over the branch and hope for the best.

When darkness set in, the cold crept into his body. The breeze over his exposed upper body and feet, which had been pleasant in the afternoon sun arns ago at the water’s edge, had now turned into a very cold caress and he found it difficult to keep his teeth from chattering.

He had always prided himself for seeing so well in the dark but now thought he could do with a bit less keen eyesight. The shape of the animal pacing under the tree, seeing his eyes reflection, looking up hungrily at his prey was quite disconcerting and Crais prepared himself for a long night.

Only his Peacekeeper’s training kept him awake and alert all during the night. By the time the sun’s rays broke through the trees in the morning, he was tired, sore and cold and was cursing Crichton for talking him into taking a break.

Fortunately by midmorning, the animal grew tired of waiting for his prey to come down and moved off. Crais made sure that he was well away before making his way down. He clung to the tree with his eyes almost closed, letting his limbs find their way down. By the time he was on the forest’s floor he was drenched in sweat. By luck the animal had not touched his bundle of clothes and with shaking hands, whether of cold, tiredness or sheer anxiety, he donned them.

Even with his clothes on he felt cold to the bone, his teeth wouldn’t stop chattering. By the time he got back to the centre of the town, he was extremely tired, hungry and thirsty.

He noticed how people shot him strange glances as he passed and when he stood still to look in one of the shop’s windows he could understand why. There were small twigs and leaves sticking from his hair. His face had small green scrapes where his face had rested against the branch. Not to mention that his face was white with fatigue and had dark circles under his eyes. Not at all the appearance of a collected person. He scowled at his image.

His first stop was at the Healer’s, were he was treated for his shoulder, luckily there was no infection but she put a sharp stinging ointment on, just in case. She washed away at the green scrapes and at least he looked a little bit more respectable.

His next stop was a tavern, where he had two huge meals of eggs, meat and bread, topped with gravy. All washed down with big mugs of hot tea. It couldn’t take the cold out of his bones but at least it had quenched his thirst and stopped his hunger.

With his stomach now full the lack of sleep was now making demands on his body and he went in search of an inn.

“Do you rent rooms with a Refresher,” his social conduct had not improved by a night outdoors.

“For how long?” The man behind the counter looked tired and bored at his customer.

“A whole day.”

“A whole day? Are you with someone?”

“Yes, a whole day and “No” it is none of your business.”

The man shrugged his shoulders and thought it wiser not to ask any further. He handed him the keys, “Up the stairs, second one to your right.”

When he got to his room he found that the Refresher wasn’t working, other than a very small drip nothing came out of the faucet. He wondered whether he should go downstairs and turn the man inside out but decided he was too tired to argue. He fell on his bed, his clothes had been neatly folded before he found out the Refresher wasn’t working. He kept his knife tucked under his pillow.

He couldn’t have slept longer than half an arn when a strange thumping noise at the head of his bed woke him up. Bleary eyed he lifted his head. The thumping came from the room next door and by its rhythm he guessed the cause of the noise. In frustration he put the pillow on top of his head to drown it out. It only dulled it.

Just when he had got used to the rhythmic noise and was drifting off again, the female reached her peak and started screaming and moaning loud enough to wake up the dead. Crais moaned in frustration. “Can’t you keep the noise down,” he shouted at the wall.

“Oh, shut up,” the male on the other side of the wall shouted back and resumed his activity.

Crais sat up and held his pounding head in his hands. He would try to fall asleep again when the couple had finished their “exercises”. No such luck, they must have been on stimulants and had resumed another round. Crais got up and got dressed.

With a face like thunder he went down to the lobby, “I demand another room, preferably with a working Refresher and away from other people’s activities.”

“That might be difficult. The water supply has been down, therefore there is no water for the Refreshers and the rooms are all booked during the day.”

“Then I will leave!”

“That will cost you for an arn.”

With an snarl Crais put the money down and left the establishment. Pleasure planet! He growled at the thought. So far he had not found it pleasurable at all.

By the time he had left the third establishment, where they asked him for how many arns he wanted the room he had fully woken up and his temper had taken on murderous proportions.

He went into a tavern and ordered Raslak. He took it to the back of the room and sat down, it was reasonably quiet and warm, not too warm to be uncomfortable. He could feel his eyes droop.

“Is this seat taken?”

Crais opened his eyes and saw a young woman standing before him, a glance around the bar showed him many empty tables. He focused on her, “If the intention is to coax me into conversation and other… pleasures, I would suggest you find someone else.”

She sat down anyway, “Not your day, today?”

“Madam, I would like to be left alone at this moment.”

“No one likes to be alone here.”

Crais took a deep breath and counted to ten, “I prefer it.”

“Then why come here?”

“I was… coerced to come.”

“It doesn’t sound as if you are enjoying yourself.”

“How astute,” Crais sneered.

The woman was not to be put off, “I can show you pleasures you haven’t even dreamed about.”

Crais drew a tired hand over his face and his voice was deep with menace, “I am sure you can and I am sure you will find more willing… clients whom you want to show what you can give them in pleasure but not for me, thank you.”

“You prefer male company? I can arrange that too.”

The thought was loathsome to Crais, “I prefer to be left alone! I prefer peace and quiet.”

The woman stood up, “Have it your own way. Don’t tell me I didn’t try.”

She moved away from his table and Crais was left alone again. He slumped back into his chair. Two Raslaks later and he was still wide awake while his body screamed for rest.

Two tables away from him, two men had started an argument. The noise was grinding on his frayed nerves and he stood up to leave. In leaving he brushed past another group well in their cups and one of the males rose from his seat, “Watch where you’re going mate!”

Crais glared at the man, “Maybe you shouldn’t sit so far back.”

The man made a grasp for Crais’ shoulders. Crais grasped one of his arms, leaned into the man and threw him over his shoulder. The man landed on one of the tables and his weight broke the legs of the table. Before Crais could whirl around, two others grasped him from behind. His arms were kept in position behind his back, while the man he had just thrown, got up. He walked over to Crais, landed a punch in his midriff and another one on his chin. Crais struggled to get free but he was held well. Another punch hit him in his abdomen. Before it could go any further two militiamen appeared in the doorway, “Desist!”

The two men at Crais’ back let go of him and the man in front stepped back. Crais gasped for air and straightened up.

“What’s going on here,” one of the militia wanted to know.

“He started it,” the men said in unison and pointed at Crais.

The militiaman walked over. “So, you are a troublemaker?” He looked at Crais, saw a haggard face and could smell Raslak on his breath, “I know your kind. Come down to our planet, drink too much and then start to raise trouble.” Crais’ protestations fell on deaf ears. “You better come with us.” He took Crais’ arm and took him outside. The other militiaman took his other arm and they marched him off to their local lockup. Crais scowled at the indignity and at the leering faces they passed.

Once inside they asked for his name, which he gave as Captain Xercus.

“A Captain no doubt,” sneered one of the men, “You should know better than to start a fight. We normally get the crews, hardly any Captains.”

“I did not start the…”

“Yes, right. A good night’s sleep in goal might cure this aggressiveness.” Had he seen right or was there really a smile appearing on the Captain’s face? Their captive did not speak nor protest before they marched him off to his cell.

Once in there, Crais savoured the silence and lay down on the hard pallet. He closed his weary eyes and slept.

Two arns later his sleep was interrupted by a commotion outside the cell, he sat up. The sleep had only restored some of his flagging energy. One of the militiamen stood outside with two drunken prisoners, “Hey, Captain, I have two more troublemakers to keep you company,” and shoved the two drunken men inside the cell. He closed the door and left the holding area with a laugh.

Crais looked at the two newcomers. Both were so drunk, they sat down near the wall and nearly passed out. With a last glance, Crais lay back on the pallet and closed his eyes.

If his intentions had been to go back to sleep, they were rudely interrupted when one of the men started to sing off key. A deep rumble welled up in Crais’ throat. He got up from the bed and walked over to the man. His angry scowl would have put off any sane man but the drunk looked up and tried to focus at him, he said in a slurred voice, “If I want to sing, then I sing. There is no law that says I can’t.”

“Oh yes there is. My law! You sing and I will knock you out, is that understood?”

“Really now?”

“Yes!”

The low voice should have warned the man but he started singing anyway, this time the song was sung louder and the sound grated on Crais. He took the man by his shirt front and lifted him off the ground, his face only inches away from the other man’s face, his brow furrowed in an angry scowl, “No singing, I said,” before he punched the man on his nose. The other man, afraid what this madman was going to do to him once he had finished with his friend raised the alarm and started shouting for the guards.

Crais turned on him angrily but before he could knock this one out too, the cell door was opened and two militiamen walked in and pulled him off the drunk. Crais put up a resistance but was hit over the back on the head with one of the truncheons they carried. He went down with a small groan.

“It’s solitary for you tonight, Captain. If you can’t behave then you will have to bear the consequences.” They dragged him out of the cell and to the end of the corridor where they opened a door, threw him into the darkness and slammed the door on him.

Crais sat up and looked around him, nothing but complete darkness met his eyes. He sat up and touched the back of his neck. It was wet with blood. Great! Another headache to look forward to. He stood up and groped in the darkness. The cell was small; there was no pallet and he when he lay down on the hard, cold floor he found he couldn’t stretch to his full length. He closed his eyes wearily, at least it was quiet. He drifted off to sleep as best as he could.

When they woke him up the next morning, he felt stiff, sore and cold but at least he had been able to get some rest. “We don’t want to see you back in here,” said one of the militia.

“Don’t worry, you won’t,” growled Crais and left the guardhouse.

He walked back to the spaceport and sat down near the transport pod to wait for Aeryn and Crichton. He had enough of this planet. He had enough of this enforced break. In other words, he was not in the best of moods.

When the others arrived they found him dozing near the transport pod, his head resting against the side.

Crichton walked over to him and nudged him awake. His grin split from ear to ear, “Had too much fun Crais?”

Crais woke up with a start and stared up at Crichton for a brief moment, staring at the cause of his torment. He was up like lightning and grabbed Crichton by his throat, nearly lifting him off the ground, “You will not talk to me about fun anymore Crichton!” He let go of him, “Now open this… this… door, so we can leave this planet.”

Crichton looked at Aeryn and shrugged his shoulders. He opened the door of the pod and they all stepped inside. Crais sat in the back and folded his arms over his chest.

“Your temper has not improved with pleasure, my dear Captain,” said Crichton while he started the pod, “As a matter of fact it is worse than before. Care to explain?”

The grunt was the only answer. Crichton shrugged his shoulders. At least he and Aeryn had a good time. Crais just didn’t know how to enjoy himself.

When they returned to Moya, Crais left the transport pod quickly and went to the room he had used while he stayed on Moya. He packed his uniform in his carryall and went back to the Hangar Bay to pick up his work-tablets and his gun. The others were all gathered to sort out the new supplies. Crais picked up his belongings without saying a word.

“Hey, Crais, my man, you haven’t even told us how you’ve enjoyed your break! Have you been able to sample any of the local pleasures and wild life?”

That did it! Had the Jhuman kept quiet, Crais would have gone back to Talyn, maybe stewed a little, gone to sleep, try and forget about the last two Solar days but no, he had to ask. Rubbing it in.

Crais stood still, his back still turned to the others, his carryall slung over his shoulder. They could see his shoulders tense while he tried to regain control. The hand that held the shoulder strap was trembling with suppressed rage. Crais could feel his muscles constrict while he tried to calm himself down.

“Yo, Crais…”

Crais dropped his carryall and whirled around to Crichton, his eyes ablaze. In two quick strides he stood before Crichton, in one easy lift he had lifted him off the floor and slammed him against the side of Moya’s transport pod. His low, enraged voice was almost a snarl, “You will never, ever mention the words fun, break, holiday in one sentence in my presence. Nor will you be making any suggestions to me to that effect in future again. I don’t like fun! Is that understood?”

He slammed Crichton repeatedly into the side of the pod to emphasize his words until Ka D’Argo drew him away from Crichton by grasping him by the arms. Crais’ eyes had not returned to normal yet and he was breathing heavily.

“I take it you didn’t enjoy yourself then,” said Crichton when he had his breath back.

The snarl that issued from Crais’ lips was almost animalistic and he sprung forwards again, this time it was with an effort that Ka D’Argo held him back.

“You better come away, John,” said Aeryn, “I don’t think he wants to talk about his stay on the planet, especially not with you.” She looked at her former Commander and only saw white rage in his dark, smouldering eyes and wondered what had happened on the planet.

With Crichton’s presence gone when Aeryn took him to the other side of the transport pod, Ka D’Argo could feel Crais’ trembling subside even though they could still hear Crichton’s muffled voice, “Hey, it’s not my fault the man can’t relax. I was only doing him a favour.”

Crais shook his arms away from Ka D’Argo, “I’m all right now. Just keep him and his stupid ideas away from me for a while.”

Ka D’Argo let go of Crais and Crais walked over to his carryall, retrieved it off the floor and went to his own transport pod. Without another word he went in and left for Talyn.

When he got back on board, Talyn asked, ~Did you enjoy…~

“No! And don’t ask, I don’t want to talk about it.” He walked briskly to his quarters.

~Did you manage to relax?~

Crais stopped in irritation, “Talyn I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t even want to think about it. The whole experience had been… tiresome.”

Talyn gave his equivalent of shrugging his shoulders.

Crais entered his quarters, dropped his carryall, shed his clothes and stepped into the Refresher. The water cascading on him felt good. For the first time in two Solar days he relaxed. He dried himself quickly and feel asleep on the bed.

Talyn was surprised that his Captain’s dreams were filled with huge animals wearing Crichton’s face. He saw how tense Crais was and helped him relax in a more fitful sleep.

THE END

Back to Cycle One

FanFiction on Captain Bialar Crais