Night Walker
Chapter 2
The transport pod settled in a fallow field beyond the cluster of buildings with none of the usual billows of dust.
The heavy struts eased through weeds and sank deeply into the dark, loamy soil underneath, the scraggly
greenery holding the dirt in place despite the dying thrust from the engines. Crichton opened the hatch and led
the way down the steps, followed by D’Argo, Chiana, and finally Aeryn. His hand rested comfortably on the grip
of his pulse pistol as he scanned the fields around him, ensuring that no one other than the local inhabitants
was aware of their arrival. A single figure waited for them at the edge of the field.
“Not much of a reception committee,” John said.
“Kind of a nice change from our usual luck with people waiting for us,” D’Argo offered from behind his shoulder.
“Is that Vossmarr?” Aeryn asked, cutting in before John could respond.
“Looks like him. Bit taller than I expected.” John recognized the Ashrei from his negotiations aboard Moya, but
the video transmissions hadn’t prepared him for the Ashrei’s true appearance. He moved toward the group with
a slow, graceful gait, seeming to flow effortlessly across the weedy ground. His height was accentuated by the
long tunic and loose pants that he wore, the rippling clothes serving to highlight his thin frame rather than
obscure it. He stopped in front of the small group, towering over D’Argo by almost half a head, and forcing
John to step back in order to look up at him without straining his neck.
“Welcome. I am Vossmarr.” Black eyes examined the disparate group, then studied Crichton with sharpening
interest. “You are, perhaps, John Crichton?” He placed both hands against his chest and bowed slightly in
John’s direction.
Aeryn released her pulse pistol with a loud clack, but let it rest in the holster as she moved up to John’s side
with one long stride. D’Argo hissed and drew his Qualta blade.
“Spoke too soon.” Chiana sounded alert but not alarmed.
“Please, please, there is no threat here.” Vossmarr waved slender, seven-fingered hands at them. “We are
Ashrei, there is no threat. I was merely attempting to confirm what we had already deduced.”
“Which is?” Aeryn demanded.
“We had no suspicion that we were dealing with anyone other than Mainart Kreps when you first contacted us,
but when I later observed two Sebaceans and a Luxan,” he gestured at them, “aboard a Leviathan, it became,
perhaps, more evident who had contacted us.” The bony shoulders settled beneath the light cloth of his tunic
as some of the tension eased under the pressure of his careful explanation. “We have heard rumors.” His
voice was a soft, songlike baritone, sapping all force from each statement.
“Is this a problem?” John slid Winona back into her holster, but withheld sliding the grip under the catch. He
watched, fascinated, as the Ashrei’s nervous hands caught at the fabric of his tunic, two opposable thumbs on
each hand resulting in four grips instead of two.
“You are really here to trade for food supplies?” Black eyes bounced from one person to the next, checking on
their reactions as John nodded. “Then this is, perhaps, most providential. We are pleased to have you here.”
He gestured with both hands toward the buildings in the distance. “Come. We will discuss what we ask in
return when we are more comfortable.”
* * * * *
John studied the three Ashrei as they were ushered in the home of Vossmarr’s uncle. He wondered how these
apparently insignificant individuals had been selected to negotiate with them. Vossmarr had been thrust into
the lead position by the others, apparently against his will, but was proving to be a gracious, gentle host.
They’d walked the short distance from the landing site to the house of his uncle, doing no more than
exchanging pleasantries during the brief journey. John had glanced at Aeryn from time to time as she strode
along, watching her impatience grow but remain under control. They’d been joined at the edge of the village by
Vossmarr’s uncle, Sellimarr, and another male Ashrei introduced as Aksal, a work colleague. The easy rapport
between the three men, however, suggested that Aksal was a close friend.
Sellimarr led the group into a large room on the ground floor, and invited them to arrange themselves around a
long table. They milled about for several microts, performing an intricate maneuvering as the two groups
independently determined where they wanted to sit and who they preferred to face.
John tried to ease behind D’Argo in order to sit across from Aeryn and stumbled, clumsy with fatigue. Vossmarr
caught him as he staggered, one large hand coming to rest against his neck, the other catching his arm before
he could tumble to the floor. Crichton was levitated back onto his feet, the slender frame exerting far more
strength than it appeared to possess.
Vossmarr stared at him for several microts with what looked like concern in his expression. “Are you capable of
completing these discussions, John Crichton?” he asked. “You would, perhaps, prefer to do this some other
time?” His hand lingered against John’s neck, one long index finger pressing behind his ear.
“I’m fine,” John returned, sounding more annoyed than he had intended. He pulled away from the odd grasp
impatiently. “Just a little tired.” He crossed the short distance to the seat he’d selected, and slumped into it,
leaning heavily on the table as he waited for the Ashrei to take their places.
“Aksal,” Vossmarr spoke across the room. “Perhaps you could find Mafflelle and bring her here.”
“Mafflelle? You need her?” Aksal seemed confused. Vossmarr nodded languidly, offering no other
explanation, and began a slow saunter around the room. Aksal scratched his head with the three center
fingers of one hand, then disappeared out the door without further comment.
“It will be only a few moments,” Vossmarr offered. “I would prefer that Aksal be present before we continue.”
“Who is Mafflelle? Your negotiator?” asked Aeryn, venting her impatience.
Vossmarr inclined his head to one side, somehow declining to answer her question without making it any sort of
insult. The tall Ashrei continued to wander around the room, ducking and swaying without conscious thought to
avoid low rafters. He rearranged several chairs, pulling some away from the table, placing others against the
wall in what appeared to be a nervous habit. He stopped next to where John had slumped down in the hard
wooden chair, his head resting on the back as he watched the easy, graceful movements. Vossmarr motioned
toward a long, padded alcove in one wall and John moved to the new seating, stretching out and folding his
hands over his stomach as their host moved the vacated chair to a new position.
Aksal returned, carrying a small fuzzy animal, shifting it constantly from one hand to another. “Here she is,” he
announced. The perpetual transference didn’t seem to bother the creature. It was making a low hiccupping
chirp as it slithered from one grasp to the next, an expression of pleasure rather than irritation.
“We were waiting for a pet?” Chiana asked. Her question went unanswered.
“John Crichton. You could, perhaps, hold her for a few moments.” Vossmarr’s tone made his statement both a
question and a command. Aksal poured the relaxed bundle of fur into John’s lap before the startled astronaut
could respond.
“What is this thing?” he asked, holding it up with both hands to look it over. “It looks like a cross between a
kitten and a spider that mated in Chernobyl.” He put the small animal down on his chest and pulled another
pillow behind his head so he could watch more comfortably as it explored his t-shirt, burrowing inside his vest
and then popping back out to check on its surroundings. “Gamma kitty,” he suggested, nudging it gently.
“It is a Kechin feltisk cub. They are indigenous to this planet only, and do not seem to fare well on other worlds,
so most people are not familiar with them. She is a pet and is harmless.” Vossmarr continued his wandering
route around the room, distractedly touching small items on the shelves.
John let the cub sit on his stomach and ventured a gentle rubbing behind the floppy ears, waiting to judge its
reaction to the petting. Wide blue eyes were set on opposite sides of its head, so it looked at him first with one
eye and then the other, cocking its head to change views. It seemed to like what it saw because it got up,
tromped in place with six soft paws for a few microts, then flopped back down and made itself comfortable. John
ran his fingers gently down the thick spotted fur along its spine, triggering an increase in the rate of the
hiccupping sounds, until the little body was vibrating with nonstop chirps.
“You’ve finally made a friend in this universe,” Chiana teased, watching the pair.
“Yeah, Chi, I’ve made a great impression,” John agreed sarcastically, prodding at the animal with one finger.
“Look at this, it’s already asleep and nothing will wake it up.”
“Vossmarr,” Aeryn tried to draw the Ashrei’s attention away from the events in the corner. “You asked us to
come down in person to discuss what you wanted in trade for the food. Can we …”
Aeryn broke off, speechless as she stared across the room at Crichton. “What did you do to him?” she
breathed at last.
D’Argo and Chiana spun around, alarmed by the disbelief in Aeryn’s voice, but the only sight out of the ordinary
was that of John asleep with the feltisk still on his stomach.
Vossmarr hurried around the table to stand next to Crichton, looking back at Aeryn in concern. “Perhaps I
misjudged the situation. He is exhausted. Is this not desirable?”
“Yes!” Aeryn struggled with the single word, amazed that John was sleeping through the conversation. “Yes, it
is extremely desirable, but no one has been able to get him to sleep lately. Did you do this?”
“How did you do it? That’s what I want to know,” D’Argo demanded.
“It is Mafflelle,” Vossmarr offered. “She put him to sleep.”
“Fur and chirpy noises made him go to sleep,” Chiana said disparagingly. “I don’t buy it.”
“It is, perhaps, a little more involved than that,” Vossmarr said gently, but not unkindly. “The feltisk has a
sympathetic nervous system that links to anything that touches it.” He pointed to where Crichton’s hand rested
on the cub’s back. “It senses his fatigue, therefore it goes to sleep, and since they are linked, he goes to sleep
as well. It is very convenient whenever someone is suffering from any sort of sleep disturbances.”
“When will he wake up?” Aeryn asked.
“When John Crichton is rested the feltisk will awaken and wander off. He will wake up immediately after it
leaves. If he is needed before then, you must wake the cub up before holding on to it, then simply remove it.
Perhaps this is not the best recourse for John Crichton’s fatigue. Would you like me …”
“NO!” Three voices barked in unison, stopping Vossmarr before he could remove the feltisk.
“Let him sleep for a while,” D’Argo said more calmly. “And in the meantime, you can tell us about your offer to
trade for the food we need.”
“And maybe we can work one of those cubs into the deal as well,” offered Chiana, her attention still centered on
the senseless pair in the alcove. She turned as Aeryn made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat. “Not
for a pet,” Chiana objected. “For the next time Crichton decides he’s going to give up sleeping.”
“Wait a microt,” D’Argo interrupted. “How did you know John was exhausted?”
“Vossmarr is an Aleph,” Aksal replied, making it sound like that was all the explanation that was required. He
seemed to shrink a little as three blank stares turned in his direction, and tried again. “An Aleph is a physician
of the highest rank on our world. They can feel a person’s physical state with a touch.”
“You intuit disease,” suggested Chiana, remembering the Diagnosan.
“Intuition is too unreliable,” Vossmarr answered over his shoulder. He pulled a blanket off a shelf near the
ceiling and flicked it over Crichton and the feltisk, unfolding it and sailing it into place in a single deft move.
Mafflelle yawned once as the cover settled over them, but the larger body beneath her didn’t stir. The healer
touched Crichton’s temple lightly for several microts, nodding in satisfaction, then pulled a chair back to the
table. He folded himself into the wooden seat at an angle so he could face everyone at the table at once.
“My family has a very strong genetic disposition toward the healing sciences,” he explained. “Alephs are born,
not trained, although a great deal of training goes into our profession. My nervous system is, perhaps, more
highly attuned to the impulses in another person than is ordinary.” He smiled benignly. “An Aleph can learn to
feel when an individual’s physiology is out of balance and determine what is causing the disorder. Such as
exhaustion.” He gestured toward the alcove.
“Then you’re an Aleph, too.” Chiana turned toward Aksal.
He shook his head vehemently. “I do not have the genetic capacity. I am only a trained physician. I can
perform the tasks, but I cannot make the more intricate diagnoses.”
Aeryn was still watching the sleeping pair in the alcove. “If you had told me about this, I never would have
believed it. I would have argued that you’d need a bigger animal to put John to sleep.”
“Oh, no. We never use a full grown feltisk,” Vossmarr cautioned, missing Aeryn’s attempt at humor entirely.
“Why not?” Chiana was on her feet, carefully petting the sleeping cub with a gloved hand.
“An adult feltisk eats almost eight times its body weight in food every day. The patient sleeps quite well, but
they tend to make themselves sick from eating once they wake up.” Vossmarr shook his head. “It never works
out very well.”
“Can we get back to the point?” asked D’Argo. “The trade for supplies. What did you want in exchange?”
“We would like you to kill something for us.”
* * * * *
“Let me make sure I’ve got this straight.” Crichton pulled the long tasseled end off a plant and began weaving it
around his fingers. “The Ashrei are incapable of aggressive behavior, not even in the interest of self-defense,
so they want us to kill some ugly, evil critter that lives at the bottom of a lake.” The path narrowed as they left
the last of the fields and he slowed for a moment so Aeryn could step in front of him. Vossmarr, D’Argo and
Chiana were disappearing into the woods ahead of them, the sound of their voices drifting back but too quietly
to make out the words.
Aeryn nodded as she led the way. “Their society is made up of healers, artisans, diplomats, technicians, and
the like. That’s why Pilot couldn’t locate a government. They only have civil servants. Vossmarr said that in
order to want to lead, there must be a desire for power, and they are genetically incapable of that type of
thinking or behavior. They can serve the public as a civil servant, but they can’t assume a leadership role.”
“What do kids play instead of cops and robbers?”
“What?”
“Never mind. I still can’t believe I slept through all of this.” He shook his head, unable to remember even the
sound of their voices although they’d been in the same room. “Tell me more about the critter.”
“They don’t know what it is or what it looks like. It only comes out at night, and no one has ever seen it and
lived to tell about it. They’ve tracked it to the lake so they’re sure it lives in the water, but that seems to be
about all they know. They tried staying away from the lake at night, but it’s traveling further every cycle and
they’re afraid it will begin coming into the town soon.” She was moving faster as the glint of the water showed
through the trees, hurrying to catch up with the trio in front of them.
“But they didn’t ask anyone to kill it before now.” John found himself short of breath as he hurried to keep up
with Aeryn’s long easy stride. “Why us? Why now?”
“They were evasive when we asked that. D’Argo and I discussed it afterward, and we decided that we probably
just showed up right at the moment when they decided something had to be done. We don’t know what other
species have stopped through here lately, but we seem to be the only ones …”
“Pathetic enough?” John interjected.
“… who need to trade for anything badly enough to agree to do this.” She glanced over her shoulder at him,
pleased that the short sleep had restored some color and vitality to his features. They hadn’t told him about
the feltisk yet, assuming he’d be angry if he found out they’d put him to sleep deliberately. “They’re desperate,
John. They’ll give us as many supplies as we want if we kill this creature.”
John moved forward to walk alongside her as the path widened. Their footsteps rang in cadence as they
strode along without talking for a short distance, taking the opportunity to enjoy the mild temperatures and
clean air. The Ashrei had little heavy industry, and the atmosphere here was unspoiled, devoid of the dark
belchings of progress. John watched Aeryn take a long, deep breath just as his own ribs reached their limit,
sucking in a lungful of the mild scent of trees and moist earth. He smiled at her as they exhaled together.
“Nice place. You could set up your own little business here. ‘Aggression For Hire.’” His fingers put the
quotations around the title for her. “No competition, set your own price.”
“And go out of my mind with boredom within a quarter cycle.” She bumped against him gently, shoving him off
the path, then walked more quickly to catch up with the others.
They broke out of the forest onto a narrow band of ledge that sloped gently down to the shoreline. The rock
disappeared under black sand as they approached the water, squat moist looking plants interjecting
occasionally where they had taken hold in muddier, richer soil. John watched Aeryn’s boots sink into the
surface, leaving deep gouges that slowly filled with water as she cut across the shore to join the others. He
shook his head at the nearly liquefied soil and worked his way along the rock until he could take the shortest
route through the sand and mud to join them.
Vossmarr was talking as he approached the others. “The last time it killed any … ” He made an odd choking
noise, and turned away from everyone. The bony shoulders rose and fell once, accompanied by a long but
quiet sigh, then he turned back to face them. “I apologize. The last time the creature killed anyone was three
planetary days ago. It took a small child. Your arrival was, perhaps, most timely. We believe it will venture out
again soon. Perhaps even tonight.”
John looked at the still, dark waters of the lake. “You’re sure it took this kid? Kids get lost. Maybe this one just
wandered off.” He picked up a rock and threw it, watching as it skipped four times and disappeared with a quiet
‘thup’.
“He was traveling a well-known route, and he would not have strayed.” Vossmarr watched another rock skip
across the water. “This seems to trouble you, John Crichton. Perhaps you would prefer not to make the
trade?”
John stared at the widening ripples in the water, rummaging through the clutter of his emotions to extract the
fragment that was bothering him. He rested his hand on Winona, the cold metal fitting naturally into his palm
and warming beneath his touch. He was tired of pulling the trigger. He’d learned how to do it, but it never felt
right, no matter how many times he was shown that it was the appropriate thing to do.
“Are you sure this critter is doing the killing? My planet had a whole slew of misunderstood species that were
simply trying to survive and were hunted to extinction out of ignorance and fear. Maybe this thing is just the
Loch Ness Monster, hangin’ out slurpin’ fish, and getting blamed for what someone or something else is doing.”
“It would not be some-ONE else,” Vossmarr said with more emphasis than he had produced since they had met
him. “Ashreikechin are incapable of this behavior. It must be some-THING that is doing the killing. We have
tracked it repeatedly back to the lake, John Crichton. Whatever it is, it is in there.”
“People without war.” John repeated the phrase that Pilot had mentioned, feeling stupid as the last pieces
clicked into place. “You are the ones without war. You. The people specifically.” The looks around him
implied that he was discussing information they’d already covered.
“Yes. The Ashrei lost the capacity generations ago.” Vossmarr motioned for them to follow him, undisturbed by
John’s skepticism. “Come. I will show you where the creature normally travels when it kills. We have avoided
the area for several cycles, but it continues to find new victims.”
“Is this thing just feeding?” John asked. “Could we lure it out with a sacrificial goat?”
“Goat?” D’Argo asked just before Vossmarr chimed in.
“A goat. About this big, hairy, horns, eats tin cans,” he kidded. “Mba-a-a-a-a-a.” Aeryn stepped ahead of him
before he could be certain, but even from behind it looked like she was laughing. “Any sort of farm animal,”
John relented.
“We tried feeding the creature, but it ignored the animals in favor of taking more Ashrei.” The healer made a
frustrated gesture. “If anything, the killing increased when we left the animals. It touched none of them.”
They hurried along behind Vossmarr’s floating stride, leaving the narrow beach and moving through the trees
almost parallel to the lakeshore. Five sets of footsteps echoed hollowly as he led them onto a boardwalk that
zigzagged into tall marsh grass, cutting across small streams and wide expanses of black mud. He drew to a
stop where the walkway arched to cross a wider waterway, both banks covered with the plump vegetation that
had grown only sparsely in the sandy soil surrounding the lake.
“The creature seems to use the watercourses to travel, making most of its kills near this stream or four of the
smaller ones. The ground in between,” he pointed to the expanses of mud, “is very soft, and difficult to cross
for any being of substantial size.”
“How the hell are we supposed to track and kill the Nessie in the Okefenokee Swamp?” John asked softly,
gazing at the marshland that stretched almost to the village. “How far does this extend side to side?”
“The grass marsh ends at the tree line,” a thin hand pointed to either side, “but the soft ground extends into the
edges of the forest, and two of the streams I mentioned flow through the trees.” Vossmarr stopped to
consider. “It is, perhaps, half a metra from side to side. We have never found tracks outside the area.”
“How deep does that get?” Chiana asked, redirecting everyone’s attention. She was sitting on the edge of the
boardwalk, prodding at the mud with the toe of her boot. The black ooze quivered in response to her nudges,
setting off small slithering waves in all directions.
“The last time I fell in …” Four heads turned simultaneously to look at Vossmarr, whose features assumed a
darker shade of beige. “It is a game for the young. But it is, perhaps, quite enjoyable when you are the one
who pushes instead of the one who gets pushed. Even for an adult.” He recovered his air of quiet dignity.
“The last time I got pushed in, it was slightly less than waist deep. The depth is relatively constant.”
Crichton sidled over to Vossmarr, comparing where the Ashrei’s waist came in comparison to his own body.
“Frell.”
* * * * *
The wooden walkway bounced and echoed under D’Argo’s feet as he paced from one side of the marsh to the
other, surveying the territory they would have to search if they were to catch the ‘Nezzie’. The proposed
operation bothered him. He didn’t mind killing as part of a barter agreement, the Luxans had sold their services
as warriors for generations. Selling one’s strength and courage was a noble profession, provided the
contractors were fighting for a righteous cause, and the Ashrei had shown that they were deserving of his
assistance. It was the terrain that was unacceptable.
He hissed in disgust as he watched slow-flowing black water whirl around the pilings of the small arching
bridge. Water and mud. Any effective campaign against this elusive creature would involve getting wet, and he
would certainly have to take a bath afterwards. A growl grumbled loose as he considered their options for
covering the ground during the coming night.
“Something not to your liking, D’Argo?” Aeryn strode rapidly around a bend of the catwalk, scanning the marsh
to both sides.
“What convinced you of that?” he said sarcastically.
“The fact that your growls have scared all small wildlife away for a distance of five metras.” Her quiet smile was
greeted by a larger one from D’Argo.
They were more serious as they looked the soft ground over together. “I don’t like this, Aeryn. It will be too
easy to miss the creature if we stay on the walkway. There are four of us and five streams.”
“And that’s assuming the Ashrei are correct that it only travels in the streambeds,” she agreed. “Some of the
pools interconnect.” She pointed into the watery maze for emphasis. “Anything that can get up the waterways
may be able to cut from one to another.”
“Agreed.” They walked back toward the largest stream together. “Working our way through the marshes is no
better,” he finally admitted. “But we would stand a better chance of finding the creature if we are out there.” He
waved at the grass and water expanse stretching toward the village. “What do you think of the Ashrei claims?
Do you think this Nezzie thing is as fearsome as they claim?”
Aeryn pointed out an area of deeper water, something to be avoided in the dark. He acknowledged with a nod.
“These are a truly non-violent people. They’ve never experienced battle or warfare. I can accept that this
Nessie kills only Ashrei, but I think the only difficult part will be finding it. The pulse rifles should take care of it
easily.”
The pair marched together, noting and memorizing features so they would be able to navigate in the dark.
Their conversation drew to an end as they followed the boardwalk around a series of corners and saw Crichton
leaning his elbows on the railing of the largest bridge.
“We can talk about this later,” Aeryn suggested. “We all need to agree how we’re going to cover the terrain,
and we can discuss what equipment we’ll require from Moya.” D’Argo nodded and turned back toward the
village, following the route taken earlier by Chiana and Vossmarr.
Aeryn remained where she was for several microts, watching John drop bits of twigs and grass into the water to
gradually float away on the current. The day was warm, and the slow breeze crossing the marsh was humid.
He had removed his vest and draped it over the railing next to him, the lean muscles flexing beneath the thin
cover of his t-shirt as he stretched out an arm to drop another twig into the water. There were too few moments
like this when she could just stand back and watch him -- just watch him being himself without the tension of
violence or disaster that seemed to follow them everywhere.
She crossed the distance between them quietly, not saying anything as he looked up. He edged aside to make
room, and she rested her hips against the railing beside his elbows so she could stare toward the afternoon
sun. “What’s bothering you?” she prodded gently. She recognized the pensive stance and distracted
expression. He shook his head. “John, I don’t know how much of a threat this creature really is, but if we’re
going to do this, you need to be sure you can hold up your end.”
“I’ll do my part, Aeryn.” Indignation was foremost in his tone, but she thought she heard depression there as
well. “I set this up initially; I’ll help kill the critter.”
She almost let it drop, but decided that the hazard of their proposed nighttime activity justified a bit more
digging. “What don’t you like about this?” It had been obvious when they were beside the lake that he had
reservations about tracking down the creature.
He was silent so long, she thought he wasn’t going to answer. “Do we believe the Ashrei, Aeryn? Are they the
ones I’m supposed to trust? My judgment has been absolute crap lately. What if there’s something going on
here that we don’t know about.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“I’m just not sure this critter is the creature from the black lagoon that they’re making it out to be. It could be the
misunderstood Frankenstein’s monster, wandering the countryside looking for love, and killing only because
the Ashrei it bumps into go totally freakazoid and scare it into committing Ashrecide.”
Aeryn considered his argument, working her way through the untranslatable parts until she had formulated a
reasonable idea of what he’d been trying to express. “You think the creature is killing the Ashrei because
they’re startling it because it’s scaring them,” she summarized.
“I don’t know what I think at this point. I only know that we’re about to barge off into the dark to hunt down and
kill something when we don’t know the first thing about it.” John reached into his pocket and pulled out a fistful
of pebbles. He began dropping them one by one into the water.
“You don’t have to come with us tonight,” she suggested. “If you’re not sure …”
“I’m NOT letting you head out here without me. I didn’t say I wouldn’t do this.” John dropped the entire
remaining handful into the water; the small hailstorm of pebbles spreading ripples in all directions. “It’s getting
late. Let’s go make up a plan for throwing a Nessie on the barbeque.”
* * * * *
John leaned against the sturdy metal fence, watching the eight man sculls skate along the Charles River,
strange humped waterbugs driven by flickering wooden legs that rocked in cadence to the barely heard cries of
the coxswains. The autumn wind was whipping around the trees, flipping the water into tiny white caps, and
making it difficult for the rowers to maintain their practiced synchronization. He watched until they disappeared
past the bridge, then turned to lean his back against the railing, resting his elbows on the cold metal. It wasn’t
dark enough for the streetlights yet, but the room lights in the buildings across the street were beginning to
come on, highlighting the movements of the students and professors inside.
He’d always liked evening at MIT, when the lights came on to show where the ideas were forming. Sometimes
when a class was going right, when everyone was involved in a discussion and ideas were bouncing and
leaping from one person to the next, he almost thought he could see the mental energy emanating from the
minds in the room. Teamwork like that was so rare these days, he thought. Being able to rely on someone for
their particular skills or knowledge was no longer a given in life.
John suddenly felt unsettled, as if everything in his life had gone wrong at the same instant. He watched the
commuter traffic gradually build until the rush and roar of the vehicles was constant, lights flicking past him in
an unbroken stream. There was nothing unusual here, nothing to alarm him, he assured himself. He turned
away from the view of the campus and began to walk along the river, the cold metal of the railing streaming
away beneath his palm. He was getting cold, and his legs were aching from the pounding on the pavement.
He heard someone calling to him from behind. He turned and started walking back toward where he’d been
standing. When he got there the sidewalk was empty. The cold was sinking into his stomach now, making that
ache as well. He looked over the railing, but he was alone on the riverbank.
The voice was still there, talking to him quietly, all but drowned beneath the constant roar in his ears.
John looked around confusion. He could definitely hear a woman talking to him, her voice sharp with anxiety,
but he was alone. He leaned over the railing to see if he had missed someone down on the dock, but it was too
dark to see anything now. The cold from the metal handrail penetrated through his thin shirt and sank deep
into his stomach, feeding energy into the furious cramping there. He pressed one hand against the discomfort,
bending over to ease the pain. He thought he heard another voice talking to him, but the dark on the riverbank
was complete, and he couldn’t see a thing.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Chapter 2
The transport pod settled in a fallow field beyond the cluster of buildings with none of the usual billows of dust.
The heavy struts eased through weeds and sank deeply into the dark, loamy soil underneath, the scraggly
greenery holding the dirt in place despite the dying thrust from the engines. Crichton opened the hatch and led
the way down the steps, followed by D’Argo, Chiana, and finally Aeryn. His hand rested comfortably on the grip
of his pulse pistol as he scanned the fields around him, ensuring that no one other than the local inhabitants
was aware of their arrival. A single figure waited for them at the edge of the field.
“Not much of a reception committee,” John said.
“Kind of a nice change from our usual luck with people waiting for us,” D’Argo offered from behind his shoulder.
“Is that Vossmarr?” Aeryn asked, cutting in before John could respond.
“Looks like him. Bit taller than I expected.” John recognized the Ashrei from his negotiations aboard Moya, but
the video transmissions hadn’t prepared him for the Ashrei’s true appearance. He moved toward the group with
a slow, graceful gait, seeming to flow effortlessly across the weedy ground. His height was accentuated by the
long tunic and loose pants that he wore, the rippling clothes serving to highlight his thin frame rather than
obscure it. He stopped in front of the small group, towering over D’Argo by almost half a head, and forcing
John to step back in order to look up at him without straining his neck.
“Welcome. I am Vossmarr.” Black eyes examined the disparate group, then studied Crichton with sharpening
interest. “You are, perhaps, John Crichton?” He placed both hands against his chest and bowed slightly in
John’s direction.
Aeryn released her pulse pistol with a loud clack, but let it rest in the holster as she moved up to John’s side
with one long stride. D’Argo hissed and drew his Qualta blade.
“Spoke too soon.” Chiana sounded alert but not alarmed.
“Please, please, there is no threat here.” Vossmarr waved slender, seven-fingered hands at them. “We are
Ashrei, there is no threat. I was merely attempting to confirm what we had already deduced.”
“Which is?” Aeryn demanded.
“We had no suspicion that we were dealing with anyone other than Mainart Kreps when you first contacted us,
but when I later observed two Sebaceans and a Luxan,” he gestured at them, “aboard a Leviathan, it became,
perhaps, more evident who had contacted us.” The bony shoulders settled beneath the light cloth of his tunic
as some of the tension eased under the pressure of his careful explanation. “We have heard rumors.” His
voice was a soft, songlike baritone, sapping all force from each statement.
“Is this a problem?” John slid Winona back into her holster, but withheld sliding the grip under the catch. He
watched, fascinated, as the Ashrei’s nervous hands caught at the fabric of his tunic, two opposable thumbs on
each hand resulting in four grips instead of two.
“You are really here to trade for food supplies?” Black eyes bounced from one person to the next, checking on
their reactions as John nodded. “Then this is, perhaps, most providential. We are pleased to have you here.”
He gestured with both hands toward the buildings in the distance. “Come. We will discuss what we ask in
return when we are more comfortable.”
* * * * *
John studied the three Ashrei as they were ushered in the home of Vossmarr’s uncle. He wondered how these
apparently insignificant individuals had been selected to negotiate with them. Vossmarr had been thrust into
the lead position by the others, apparently against his will, but was proving to be a gracious, gentle host.
They’d walked the short distance from the landing site to the house of his uncle, doing no more than
exchanging pleasantries during the brief journey. John had glanced at Aeryn from time to time as she strode
along, watching her impatience grow but remain under control. They’d been joined at the edge of the village by
Vossmarr’s uncle, Sellimarr, and another male Ashrei introduced as Aksal, a work colleague. The easy rapport
between the three men, however, suggested that Aksal was a close friend.
Sellimarr led the group into a large room on the ground floor, and invited them to arrange themselves around a
long table. They milled about for several microts, performing an intricate maneuvering as the two groups
independently determined where they wanted to sit and who they preferred to face.
John tried to ease behind D’Argo in order to sit across from Aeryn and stumbled, clumsy with fatigue. Vossmarr
caught him as he staggered, one large hand coming to rest against his neck, the other catching his arm before
he could tumble to the floor. Crichton was levitated back onto his feet, the slender frame exerting far more
strength than it appeared to possess.
Vossmarr stared at him for several microts with what looked like concern in his expression. “Are you capable of
completing these discussions, John Crichton?” he asked. “You would, perhaps, prefer to do this some other
time?” His hand lingered against John’s neck, one long index finger pressing behind his ear.
“I’m fine,” John returned, sounding more annoyed than he had intended. He pulled away from the odd grasp
impatiently. “Just a little tired.” He crossed the short distance to the seat he’d selected, and slumped into it,
leaning heavily on the table as he waited for the Ashrei to take their places.
“Aksal,” Vossmarr spoke across the room. “Perhaps you could find Mafflelle and bring her here.”
“Mafflelle? You need her?” Aksal seemed confused. Vossmarr nodded languidly, offering no other
explanation, and began a slow saunter around the room. Aksal scratched his head with the three center
fingers of one hand, then disappeared out the door without further comment.
“It will be only a few moments,” Vossmarr offered. “I would prefer that Aksal be present before we continue.”
“Who is Mafflelle? Your negotiator?” asked Aeryn, venting her impatience.
Vossmarr inclined his head to one side, somehow declining to answer her question without making it any sort of
insult. The tall Ashrei continued to wander around the room, ducking and swaying without conscious thought to
avoid low rafters. He rearranged several chairs, pulling some away from the table, placing others against the
wall in what appeared to be a nervous habit. He stopped next to where John had slumped down in the hard
wooden chair, his head resting on the back as he watched the easy, graceful movements. Vossmarr motioned
toward a long, padded alcove in one wall and John moved to the new seating, stretching out and folding his
hands over his stomach as their host moved the vacated chair to a new position.
Aksal returned, carrying a small fuzzy animal, shifting it constantly from one hand to another. “Here she is,” he
announced. The perpetual transference didn’t seem to bother the creature. It was making a low hiccupping
chirp as it slithered from one grasp to the next, an expression of pleasure rather than irritation.
“We were waiting for a pet?” Chiana asked. Her question went unanswered.
“John Crichton. You could, perhaps, hold her for a few moments.” Vossmarr’s tone made his statement both a
question and a command. Aksal poured the relaxed bundle of fur into John’s lap before the startled astronaut
could respond.
“What is this thing?” he asked, holding it up with both hands to look it over. “It looks like a cross between a
kitten and a spider that mated in Chernobyl.” He put the small animal down on his chest and pulled another
pillow behind his head so he could watch more comfortably as it explored his t-shirt, burrowing inside his vest
and then popping back out to check on its surroundings. “Gamma kitty,” he suggested, nudging it gently.
“It is a Kechin feltisk cub. They are indigenous to this planet only, and do not seem to fare well on other worlds,
so most people are not familiar with them. She is a pet and is harmless.” Vossmarr continued his wandering
route around the room, distractedly touching small items on the shelves.
John let the cub sit on his stomach and ventured a gentle rubbing behind the floppy ears, waiting to judge its
reaction to the petting. Wide blue eyes were set on opposite sides of its head, so it looked at him first with one
eye and then the other, cocking its head to change views. It seemed to like what it saw because it got up,
tromped in place with six soft paws for a few microts, then flopped back down and made itself comfortable. John
ran his fingers gently down the thick spotted fur along its spine, triggering an increase in the rate of the
hiccupping sounds, until the little body was vibrating with nonstop chirps.
“You’ve finally made a friend in this universe,” Chiana teased, watching the pair.
“Yeah, Chi, I’ve made a great impression,” John agreed sarcastically, prodding at the animal with one finger.
“Look at this, it’s already asleep and nothing will wake it up.”
“Vossmarr,” Aeryn tried to draw the Ashrei’s attention away from the events in the corner. “You asked us to
come down in person to discuss what you wanted in trade for the food. Can we …”
Aeryn broke off, speechless as she stared across the room at Crichton. “What did you do to him?” she
breathed at last.
D’Argo and Chiana spun around, alarmed by the disbelief in Aeryn’s voice, but the only sight out of the ordinary
was that of John asleep with the feltisk still on his stomach.
Vossmarr hurried around the table to stand next to Crichton, looking back at Aeryn in concern. “Perhaps I
misjudged the situation. He is exhausted. Is this not desirable?”
“Yes!” Aeryn struggled with the single word, amazed that John was sleeping through the conversation. “Yes, it
is extremely desirable, but no one has been able to get him to sleep lately. Did you do this?”
“How did you do it? That’s what I want to know,” D’Argo demanded.
“It is Mafflelle,” Vossmarr offered. “She put him to sleep.”
“Fur and chirpy noises made him go to sleep,” Chiana said disparagingly. “I don’t buy it.”
“It is, perhaps, a little more involved than that,” Vossmarr said gently, but not unkindly. “The feltisk has a
sympathetic nervous system that links to anything that touches it.” He pointed to where Crichton’s hand rested
on the cub’s back. “It senses his fatigue, therefore it goes to sleep, and since they are linked, he goes to sleep
as well. It is very convenient whenever someone is suffering from any sort of sleep disturbances.”
“When will he wake up?” Aeryn asked.
“When John Crichton is rested the feltisk will awaken and wander off. He will wake up immediately after it
leaves. If he is needed before then, you must wake the cub up before holding on to it, then simply remove it.
Perhaps this is not the best recourse for John Crichton’s fatigue. Would you like me …”
“NO!” Three voices barked in unison, stopping Vossmarr before he could remove the feltisk.
“Let him sleep for a while,” D’Argo said more calmly. “And in the meantime, you can tell us about your offer to
trade for the food we need.”
“And maybe we can work one of those cubs into the deal as well,” offered Chiana, her attention still centered on
the senseless pair in the alcove. She turned as Aeryn made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat. “Not
for a pet,” Chiana objected. “For the next time Crichton decides he’s going to give up sleeping.”
“Wait a microt,” D’Argo interrupted. “How did you know John was exhausted?”
“Vossmarr is an Aleph,” Aksal replied, making it sound like that was all the explanation that was required. He
seemed to shrink a little as three blank stares turned in his direction, and tried again. “An Aleph is a physician
of the highest rank on our world. They can feel a person’s physical state with a touch.”
“You intuit disease,” suggested Chiana, remembering the Diagnosan.
“Intuition is too unreliable,” Vossmarr answered over his shoulder. He pulled a blanket off a shelf near the
ceiling and flicked it over Crichton and the feltisk, unfolding it and sailing it into place in a single deft move.
Mafflelle yawned once as the cover settled over them, but the larger body beneath her didn’t stir. The healer
touched Crichton’s temple lightly for several microts, nodding in satisfaction, then pulled a chair back to the
table. He folded himself into the wooden seat at an angle so he could face everyone at the table at once.
“My family has a very strong genetic disposition toward the healing sciences,” he explained. “Alephs are born,
not trained, although a great deal of training goes into our profession. My nervous system is, perhaps, more
highly attuned to the impulses in another person than is ordinary.” He smiled benignly. “An Aleph can learn to
feel when an individual’s physiology is out of balance and determine what is causing the disorder. Such as
exhaustion.” He gestured toward the alcove.
“Then you’re an Aleph, too.” Chiana turned toward Aksal.
He shook his head vehemently. “I do not have the genetic capacity. I am only a trained physician. I can
perform the tasks, but I cannot make the more intricate diagnoses.”
Aeryn was still watching the sleeping pair in the alcove. “If you had told me about this, I never would have
believed it. I would have argued that you’d need a bigger animal to put John to sleep.”
“Oh, no. We never use a full grown feltisk,” Vossmarr cautioned, missing Aeryn’s attempt at humor entirely.
“Why not?” Chiana was on her feet, carefully petting the sleeping cub with a gloved hand.
“An adult feltisk eats almost eight times its body weight in food every day. The patient sleeps quite well, but
they tend to make themselves sick from eating once they wake up.” Vossmarr shook his head. “It never works
out very well.”
“Can we get back to the point?” asked D’Argo. “The trade for supplies. What did you want in exchange?”
“We would like you to kill something for us.”
* * * * *
“Let me make sure I’ve got this straight.” Crichton pulled the long tasseled end off a plant and began weaving it
around his fingers. “The Ashrei are incapable of aggressive behavior, not even in the interest of self-defense,
so they want us to kill some ugly, evil critter that lives at the bottom of a lake.” The path narrowed as they left
the last of the fields and he slowed for a moment so Aeryn could step in front of him. Vossmarr, D’Argo and
Chiana were disappearing into the woods ahead of them, the sound of their voices drifting back but too quietly
to make out the words.
Aeryn nodded as she led the way. “Their society is made up of healers, artisans, diplomats, technicians, and
the like. That’s why Pilot couldn’t locate a government. They only have civil servants. Vossmarr said that in
order to want to lead, there must be a desire for power, and they are genetically incapable of that type of
thinking or behavior. They can serve the public as a civil servant, but they can’t assume a leadership role.”
“What do kids play instead of cops and robbers?”
“What?”
“Never mind. I still can’t believe I slept through all of this.” He shook his head, unable to remember even the
sound of their voices although they’d been in the same room. “Tell me more about the critter.”
“They don’t know what it is or what it looks like. It only comes out at night, and no one has ever seen it and
lived to tell about it. They’ve tracked it to the lake so they’re sure it lives in the water, but that seems to be
about all they know. They tried staying away from the lake at night, but it’s traveling further every cycle and
they’re afraid it will begin coming into the town soon.” She was moving faster as the glint of the water showed
through the trees, hurrying to catch up with the trio in front of them.
“But they didn’t ask anyone to kill it before now.” John found himself short of breath as he hurried to keep up
with Aeryn’s long easy stride. “Why us? Why now?”
“They were evasive when we asked that. D’Argo and I discussed it afterward, and we decided that we probably
just showed up right at the moment when they decided something had to be done. We don’t know what other
species have stopped through here lately, but we seem to be the only ones …”
“Pathetic enough?” John interjected.
“… who need to trade for anything badly enough to agree to do this.” She glanced over her shoulder at him,
pleased that the short sleep had restored some color and vitality to his features. They hadn’t told him about
the feltisk yet, assuming he’d be angry if he found out they’d put him to sleep deliberately. “They’re desperate,
John. They’ll give us as many supplies as we want if we kill this creature.”
John moved forward to walk alongside her as the path widened. Their footsteps rang in cadence as they
strode along without talking for a short distance, taking the opportunity to enjoy the mild temperatures and
clean air. The Ashrei had little heavy industry, and the atmosphere here was unspoiled, devoid of the dark
belchings of progress. John watched Aeryn take a long, deep breath just as his own ribs reached their limit,
sucking in a lungful of the mild scent of trees and moist earth. He smiled at her as they exhaled together.
“Nice place. You could set up your own little business here. ‘Aggression For Hire.’” His fingers put the
quotations around the title for her. “No competition, set your own price.”
“And go out of my mind with boredom within a quarter cycle.” She bumped against him gently, shoving him off
the path, then walked more quickly to catch up with the others.
They broke out of the forest onto a narrow band of ledge that sloped gently down to the shoreline. The rock
disappeared under black sand as they approached the water, squat moist looking plants interjecting
occasionally where they had taken hold in muddier, richer soil. John watched Aeryn’s boots sink into the
surface, leaving deep gouges that slowly filled with water as she cut across the shore to join the others. He
shook his head at the nearly liquefied soil and worked his way along the rock until he could take the shortest
route through the sand and mud to join them.
Vossmarr was talking as he approached the others. “The last time it killed any … ” He made an odd choking
noise, and turned away from everyone. The bony shoulders rose and fell once, accompanied by a long but
quiet sigh, then he turned back to face them. “I apologize. The last time the creature killed anyone was three
planetary days ago. It took a small child. Your arrival was, perhaps, most timely. We believe it will venture out
again soon. Perhaps even tonight.”
John looked at the still, dark waters of the lake. “You’re sure it took this kid? Kids get lost. Maybe this one just
wandered off.” He picked up a rock and threw it, watching as it skipped four times and disappeared with a quiet
‘thup’.
“He was traveling a well-known route, and he would not have strayed.” Vossmarr watched another rock skip
across the water. “This seems to trouble you, John Crichton. Perhaps you would prefer not to make the
trade?”
John stared at the widening ripples in the water, rummaging through the clutter of his emotions to extract the
fragment that was bothering him. He rested his hand on Winona, the cold metal fitting naturally into his palm
and warming beneath his touch. He was tired of pulling the trigger. He’d learned how to do it, but it never felt
right, no matter how many times he was shown that it was the appropriate thing to do.
“Are you sure this critter is doing the killing? My planet had a whole slew of misunderstood species that were
simply trying to survive and were hunted to extinction out of ignorance and fear. Maybe this thing is just the
Loch Ness Monster, hangin’ out slurpin’ fish, and getting blamed for what someone or something else is doing.”
“It would not be some-ONE else,” Vossmarr said with more emphasis than he had produced since they had met
him. “Ashreikechin are incapable of this behavior. It must be some-THING that is doing the killing. We have
tracked it repeatedly back to the lake, John Crichton. Whatever it is, it is in there.”
“People without war.” John repeated the phrase that Pilot had mentioned, feeling stupid as the last pieces
clicked into place. “You are the ones without war. You. The people specifically.” The looks around him
implied that he was discussing information they’d already covered.
“Yes. The Ashrei lost the capacity generations ago.” Vossmarr motioned for them to follow him, undisturbed by
John’s skepticism. “Come. I will show you where the creature normally travels when it kills. We have avoided
the area for several cycles, but it continues to find new victims.”
“Is this thing just feeding?” John asked. “Could we lure it out with a sacrificial goat?”
“Goat?” D’Argo asked just before Vossmarr chimed in.
“A goat. About this big, hairy, horns, eats tin cans,” he kidded. “Mba-a-a-a-a-a.” Aeryn stepped ahead of him
before he could be certain, but even from behind it looked like she was laughing. “Any sort of farm animal,”
John relented.
“We tried feeding the creature, but it ignored the animals in favor of taking more Ashrei.” The healer made a
frustrated gesture. “If anything, the killing increased when we left the animals. It touched none of them.”
They hurried along behind Vossmarr’s floating stride, leaving the narrow beach and moving through the trees
almost parallel to the lakeshore. Five sets of footsteps echoed hollowly as he led them onto a boardwalk that
zigzagged into tall marsh grass, cutting across small streams and wide expanses of black mud. He drew to a
stop where the walkway arched to cross a wider waterway, both banks covered with the plump vegetation that
had grown only sparsely in the sandy soil surrounding the lake.
“The creature seems to use the watercourses to travel, making most of its kills near this stream or four of the
smaller ones. The ground in between,” he pointed to the expanses of mud, “is very soft, and difficult to cross
for any being of substantial size.”
“How the hell are we supposed to track and kill the Nessie in the Okefenokee Swamp?” John asked softly,
gazing at the marshland that stretched almost to the village. “How far does this extend side to side?”
“The grass marsh ends at the tree line,” a thin hand pointed to either side, “but the soft ground extends into the
edges of the forest, and two of the streams I mentioned flow through the trees.” Vossmarr stopped to
consider. “It is, perhaps, half a metra from side to side. We have never found tracks outside the area.”
“How deep does that get?” Chiana asked, redirecting everyone’s attention. She was sitting on the edge of the
boardwalk, prodding at the mud with the toe of her boot. The black ooze quivered in response to her nudges,
setting off small slithering waves in all directions.
“The last time I fell in …” Four heads turned simultaneously to look at Vossmarr, whose features assumed a
darker shade of beige. “It is a game for the young. But it is, perhaps, quite enjoyable when you are the one
who pushes instead of the one who gets pushed. Even for an adult.” He recovered his air of quiet dignity.
“The last time I got pushed in, it was slightly less than waist deep. The depth is relatively constant.”
Crichton sidled over to Vossmarr, comparing where the Ashrei’s waist came in comparison to his own body.
“Frell.”
* * * * *
The wooden walkway bounced and echoed under D’Argo’s feet as he paced from one side of the marsh to the
other, surveying the territory they would have to search if they were to catch the ‘Nezzie’. The proposed
operation bothered him. He didn’t mind killing as part of a barter agreement, the Luxans had sold their services
as warriors for generations. Selling one’s strength and courage was a noble profession, provided the
contractors were fighting for a righteous cause, and the Ashrei had shown that they were deserving of his
assistance. It was the terrain that was unacceptable.
He hissed in disgust as he watched slow-flowing black water whirl around the pilings of the small arching
bridge. Water and mud. Any effective campaign against this elusive creature would involve getting wet, and he
would certainly have to take a bath afterwards. A growl grumbled loose as he considered their options for
covering the ground during the coming night.
“Something not to your liking, D’Argo?” Aeryn strode rapidly around a bend of the catwalk, scanning the marsh
to both sides.
“What convinced you of that?” he said sarcastically.
“The fact that your growls have scared all small wildlife away for a distance of five metras.” Her quiet smile was
greeted by a larger one from D’Argo.
They were more serious as they looked the soft ground over together. “I don’t like this, Aeryn. It will be too
easy to miss the creature if we stay on the walkway. There are four of us and five streams.”
“And that’s assuming the Ashrei are correct that it only travels in the streambeds,” she agreed. “Some of the
pools interconnect.” She pointed into the watery maze for emphasis. “Anything that can get up the waterways
may be able to cut from one to another.”
“Agreed.” They walked back toward the largest stream together. “Working our way through the marshes is no
better,” he finally admitted. “But we would stand a better chance of finding the creature if we are out there.” He
waved at the grass and water expanse stretching toward the village. “What do you think of the Ashrei claims?
Do you think this Nezzie thing is as fearsome as they claim?”
Aeryn pointed out an area of deeper water, something to be avoided in the dark. He acknowledged with a nod.
“These are a truly non-violent people. They’ve never experienced battle or warfare. I can accept that this
Nessie kills only Ashrei, but I think the only difficult part will be finding it. The pulse rifles should take care of it
easily.”
The pair marched together, noting and memorizing features so they would be able to navigate in the dark.
Their conversation drew to an end as they followed the boardwalk around a series of corners and saw Crichton
leaning his elbows on the railing of the largest bridge.
“We can talk about this later,” Aeryn suggested. “We all need to agree how we’re going to cover the terrain,
and we can discuss what equipment we’ll require from Moya.” D’Argo nodded and turned back toward the
village, following the route taken earlier by Chiana and Vossmarr.
Aeryn remained where she was for several microts, watching John drop bits of twigs and grass into the water to
gradually float away on the current. The day was warm, and the slow breeze crossing the marsh was humid.
He had removed his vest and draped it over the railing next to him, the lean muscles flexing beneath the thin
cover of his t-shirt as he stretched out an arm to drop another twig into the water. There were too few moments
like this when she could just stand back and watch him -- just watch him being himself without the tension of
violence or disaster that seemed to follow them everywhere.
She crossed the distance between them quietly, not saying anything as he looked up. He edged aside to make
room, and she rested her hips against the railing beside his elbows so she could stare toward the afternoon
sun. “What’s bothering you?” she prodded gently. She recognized the pensive stance and distracted
expression. He shook his head. “John, I don’t know how much of a threat this creature really is, but if we’re
going to do this, you need to be sure you can hold up your end.”
“I’ll do my part, Aeryn.” Indignation was foremost in his tone, but she thought she heard depression there as
well. “I set this up initially; I’ll help kill the critter.”
She almost let it drop, but decided that the hazard of their proposed nighttime activity justified a bit more
digging. “What don’t you like about this?” It had been obvious when they were beside the lake that he had
reservations about tracking down the creature.
He was silent so long, she thought he wasn’t going to answer. “Do we believe the Ashrei, Aeryn? Are they the
ones I’m supposed to trust? My judgment has been absolute crap lately. What if there’s something going on
here that we don’t know about.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“I’m just not sure this critter is the creature from the black lagoon that they’re making it out to be. It could be the
misunderstood Frankenstein’s monster, wandering the countryside looking for love, and killing only because
the Ashrei it bumps into go totally freakazoid and scare it into committing Ashrecide.”
Aeryn considered his argument, working her way through the untranslatable parts until she had formulated a
reasonable idea of what he’d been trying to express. “You think the creature is killing the Ashrei because
they’re startling it because it’s scaring them,” she summarized.
“I don’t know what I think at this point. I only know that we’re about to barge off into the dark to hunt down and
kill something when we don’t know the first thing about it.” John reached into his pocket and pulled out a fistful
of pebbles. He began dropping them one by one into the water.
“You don’t have to come with us tonight,” she suggested. “If you’re not sure …”
“I’m NOT letting you head out here without me. I didn’t say I wouldn’t do this.” John dropped the entire
remaining handful into the water; the small hailstorm of pebbles spreading ripples in all directions. “It’s getting
late. Let’s go make up a plan for throwing a Nessie on the barbeque.”
* * * * *
John leaned against the sturdy metal fence, watching the eight man sculls skate along the Charles River,
strange humped waterbugs driven by flickering wooden legs that rocked in cadence to the barely heard cries of
the coxswains. The autumn wind was whipping around the trees, flipping the water into tiny white caps, and
making it difficult for the rowers to maintain their practiced synchronization. He watched until they disappeared
past the bridge, then turned to lean his back against the railing, resting his elbows on the cold metal. It wasn’t
dark enough for the streetlights yet, but the room lights in the buildings across the street were beginning to
come on, highlighting the movements of the students and professors inside.
He’d always liked evening at MIT, when the lights came on to show where the ideas were forming. Sometimes
when a class was going right, when everyone was involved in a discussion and ideas were bouncing and
leaping from one person to the next, he almost thought he could see the mental energy emanating from the
minds in the room. Teamwork like that was so rare these days, he thought. Being able to rely on someone for
their particular skills or knowledge was no longer a given in life.
John suddenly felt unsettled, as if everything in his life had gone wrong at the same instant. He watched the
commuter traffic gradually build until the rush and roar of the vehicles was constant, lights flicking past him in
an unbroken stream. There was nothing unusual here, nothing to alarm him, he assured himself. He turned
away from the view of the campus and began to walk along the river, the cold metal of the railing streaming
away beneath his palm. He was getting cold, and his legs were aching from the pounding on the pavement.
He heard someone calling to him from behind. He turned and started walking back toward where he’d been
standing. When he got there the sidewalk was empty. The cold was sinking into his stomach now, making that
ache as well. He looked over the railing, but he was alone on the riverbank.
The voice was still there, talking to him quietly, all but drowned beneath the constant roar in his ears.
John looked around confusion. He could definitely hear a woman talking to him, her voice sharp with anxiety,
but he was alone. He leaned over the railing to see if he had missed someone down on the dock, but it was too
dark to see anything now. The cold from the metal handrail penetrated through his thin shirt and sank deep
into his stomach, feeding energy into the furious cramping there. He pressed one hand against the discomfort,
bending over to ease the pain. He thought he heard another voice talking to him, but the dark on the riverbank
was complete, and he couldn’t see a thing.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
