Night Walker
Chapter 5
The next morning dawned gray and cloudy, occasional rain squalls drifting across the fields and hills. John
stared out the puddles, gazing at the hypnotic fall of the drops as they slowly detached themselves from the
eves of the porch roof to spatter onto the railing. He closed the door and turned toward where Aeryn was
reassembling one of the pulse rifles.
“This is going to make it even darker underwater. You still good to go?” He knew better than to even offer his
assistance when she was stripping and inspecting weapons. Anything he did, she would do over, just to make
sure the rifle was in perfect condition.
“As long as you’re still sure.” The second pulse rifle joined the first on the table and she stared intently at
where Winona rode on his thigh.
“She never misfires. She’s very good to me.” Aeryn continued to stare. “Fine, check it.” He relinquished the
pulse pistol into her care. “And, yes, I’m still sure.”
Aeryn pulled the pistol to pieces, inspected and reassembled it in less than five hundred microts. She was just
handing it back to John when there was a loud double rap on the door and Aksal stuck his head into the room.
“May we come in?” he asked eagerly. “We’ve brought the breathers and something else that should help.”
Before either John or Aeryn could answer, he pushed the door wide and four Ashrei piled into the room behind
him, carrying the newly designed equipment.
“I am Niv.” The first one introduced himself, ducking his upper body as he bowed repeatedly toward John and
Aeryn.
“Short for Alsendenivariald,” another offered. “His parents couldn’t settle on a single name.”
“That’s irrelevant,” Niv snapped at his friend, sounding as though the teasing was a very familiar torment.
“Yesterday, it occurred to us that the ambient temperature of the lake water is colder than most sentient bipedal
species can tolerate comfortably. Your internal bodily thermal conditions might decrease to levels which would
impair cognitive processes and physical reactions.”
John stuck a finger in one ear and waggled it. “Are you an engineer by any chance?”
“Perhaps we should introduce him to Jool,” Aeryn laughed quietly from beside him.
Niv ignored both comments, set a large bundle down on the table and rolled it out.
“Wetsuits!” John recognized the garments immediately.
“No, no, no. These will keep you DRY,” another of the group objected. “Dry and warm.”
John held one of the suits up by the shoulders. It had been manufactured out of something that looked
remarkably like black rubber, and was absolutely seamless except for the opening that ran up the front from hip
to shoulder. “You’ve done this before,” he suggested.
Five faces beamed at him. “Never,” Aksal proclaimed. “I told you they were good.”
“You are risking yourselves for us,” one explained. “We could do no less than our best to help you in your
endeavor.” He stepped away from his friends. “Elthan,” he introduced himself concisely. “We wanted to
ensure that the suits performed their function correctly, so we spent the night testing them. They are quite
watertight, and release virtually no body heat into the water.”
“You didn’t risk yourselves by going in the lake,” Aeryn objected.
All five Ashrei looked embarrassed. “You can’t tell anyone,” Aksal said, glancing around the room furtively.
“They tested them in the drinking water cistern.” They all looked inordinately pleased with themselves despite
their unorthodox testing method.
“This looks just like rubber.” John held the suit up to his body, examining the dimensions, and then passed it to
Aeryn. A similar inspection of the second suit revealed that it matched his body almost perfectly. “How did you
size these?”
“Aksal must have done it,” Aeryn theorized. “You took our clothes to have the mud cleaned off.” Heads
nodded.
“What is ‘rub-her’?” Niv asked John.
“The word is ‘rubber’,” John corrected, “although your version is a pretty good idea, too.” Aeryn snorted and
glared at him. “THIS looks and feels like rubber. On my planet it was originally made from the sap of a
particular type of tree, but now it’s produced from chemicals. Hydrocarbons.” He wondered if the term would
translate for the technicians.
“Then this is not rub-burr. This is a fungus.” Elthan fingered the sleeve of John’s suit. “We manufacture many
items out of this life form. It is a by-product of our livestock farming. The fungus feeds on the effluvium of …”
“Stop! Do not tell me anymore if you want me to put this thing on.” John tossed the suit onto the table and
wiped his hands on his pants. “Why do I ever ask? I should know better than to ask by now.”
* * * * *
John shifted his weight nervously from foot to foot, waiting impatiently outside the healing center for Aeryn to
arrive. She had remained behind with the four technicians to learn about the breather units, while he had gone
to collect the sword the metal specialists had produced overnight. Like the breathers and wetsuits, the weapon
was a marvel of hasty engineering -- light, well balanced, and unbelievably sharp. John had left it with the
beaming craftsman, who had begged to be allowed to modify the grip for a better grasp, and had hurried to
meet Aeryn. He was the one who had insisted on visiting Chiana and D’Argo before their assault on the lake
creatures, but the brief wait had given him time to think and he was no longer sure he wanted to go inside.
“To protect and serve.”
“Oh God, no. Not now, Scorpy. Go away.” John examined the police uniform he was wearing, brushing a
piece of lint off the otherwise spotless blouse. “What part of my brain have you been exploring this time? And
what gives you the right to wander through my personal storage?”
The clone stomped on the accelerator of the police cruiser and took the next corner on two wheels. “This is my
existence also, John. The only one left to me. That gives me the right.”
“Fine. Say what’s on your mind, then get out.” John grabbed at the dashboard as they screeched around
another corner, all four wheels drifting sideways. “And who taught you to drive? Mr. Magoo?”
“Bullitt. Steve McQueen. You watched that one eight times,” the clone answered avidly, taking the next two
corners even faster. “To protect Aeryn Sun and serve some sort of penance for your mistake. That’s what you
intend to do now, isn’t it John?”
“Pop psyche. Give it a rest.” John stared out the side window morosely.
Scorpius brought the squad car to a skidding, screeching stop next to the curb and shut off the engine. He
turned to face John. “Putting yourself in harm’s way will serve no purpose, John Crichton. I object to this plan.
It is too hazardous.”
“Not too long ago, you tried to get me to end it all so you wouldn’t have to endure this miserable existence.”
John slammed his fist against the door panel. “I don’t have time for this. Leave me alone, Harvey.”
“One small thing, and then I’ll desist. I am just beginning to learn about living, John, and I will not allow you to
deliberately call retribution down upon yourself just because you can’t live with your own decisions.”
John lunged across the car and grabbed the apparition by his shirt front. “And how do you intend to stop me?
Assuming I want to stand in front of that runaway train, what are you going to do about it?”
The radio crackled and blared, “One Adam Twelve, come in.”
John stared at the transceiver, dumbfounded. He looked at the stripes on the sleeves of Harvey’s uniform, his
own sleeves, the cruiser’s interior, and the cars parked on either side of the street. “Adam Twelve? You’ve got
to be kidding me. Couldn’t you find ANYTHING better than that?” He shoved the glowering figure away from
him and sat back in the passenger seat. “And you don’t look anything like Pete Malloy.”
“Well, you don’t look anything like Jim Reed,” Harvey sulked.
“No? Hunh. Some people said they thought there was a family resemblance.” John got out of the car and
slammed the door, leaning down to talk through the window. “I have no intention of deliberately getting myself
killed, Harv. This isn’t a suicide mission. Now get lost!”
“John?”
“Aeryn!” She’d startled him.
“Talking with Scorpius?”
The last time he’d seen anyone with that look on their face was the night his sister had stepped out the back
door of their house and found a rabid raccoon sitting on the top of the trash cans. It was that same look of
horrified wariness. “No, I’m just talking to myself. It’s a time-honored tradition among eccentric scientists.”
Aeryn turned away from him immediately. He felt the weight of the flimsy lie settle on top of the existing guilt,
but couldn’t bring himself to call her back and admit the truth. John followed her into the building, Aeryn’s
reaction to his deceit and the clone’s accusations adding to his emotional turmoil. He needed time to think
everything through, but events were pushing him, forcing him to make decisions when he didn’t even know what
he was trying to achieve.
“Focus on the immediate. Kill the critters, solve everything else later,” he mumbled.
“What?”
“Talking to myself again.” He hurried to join Aeryn at the door to one of the rooms.
She stepped aside and let him enter first. It was the first time John had been inside the building, and she
watched his reaction to their surroundings, allowing herself to see the room a second time as
she’d viewed it originally.
The Ashrei believed that a pleasant, natural surrounding enhanced healing, so the long exterior wall consisted
of transparent full-height doors that could be folded back to allow fresh air into the room. The screened
opening let out onto trellis-enclosed garden with an intricate ceramic-tiled flooring that held a large table and an
assortment of chairs and recliners. A fabric sunscreen had been unfurled from the side of the building, putting
a fluttering roof over the enclosed area, and the entire result was cheerful, airy and relaxing.
Chiana’s bed had been pushed up close to the screens so she could enjoy the fresh air and sunshine and be
close to anyone visiting her if they chose to sit in the garden. Aksal was sitting comfortably in one of the large
cushioned chairs inside the room, assisting with the non-stop monitoring the Ashrei were providing the two
patients. John wandered over to look outside briefly, then returned to stand by Chiana’s side.
“Hey, Pip. How you feelin’?” His voice was low and rough. He held her hand in both of his, rubbing her
knuckles with a thumb. The smile he forced into place was fairly convincing, but the underlying sorrow seemed
apparent to Aeryn. She watched Chiana’s reaction to his arrival, concerned that any variety of accusation
might drive John further into the depression he’d been struggling through aboard Moya.
“Hey, Old Man.” The smile and the whisper greeted him enthusiastically, even if they lacked energy. “I hear
you carried D’Argo all the way in by yourself.”
John looked to the Ashrei physician for an explanation.
“It’s a very small building,” Aksal explained, “serving a small population. It is very rare to have even two patients
at the same time, so we were not aware that sound carries rather well from one area to another.” He pointed at
the outer garden area.
“Yeah, Pip,” John answered her. “He said he didn’t like wading through the mud, so I gave him a lift.”
A single weak laugh eased out of Chiana. “Then I probably feel better than you do right now, Crichton.” She
grabbed his hand. “D’Argo’s lucky to have you as a friend. He might have died if you hadn’t carried him back
here.”
The psychological pain caused by her remark was far greater than the discomfort from his stiff, abused
muscles. John blinked hard, willing the tears to recede before they got loose. “Yeah. He’s lucky all right.” If he
were any luckier, he’d be dead. The thought bounced and ricocheted around in his skull, making it difficult to
focus on whatever else Chiana was saying.
Aeryn was watching him with the ‘rabid raccoon’ look again. He forced a smiled back into place. “We gotta go,
Chiana. We’ll be back after we make some sushi.”
“Crichton? How’s D’Argo?” The cheerfulness faded from her expression. “Aeryn wouldn’t tell me earlier.”
“He’s … uhh …” John started to turn to check with Aksal, but the hand tugged at his, pulling his attention back.
“Don’t let him die.” Dark tears streaked down the too-pale gray skin. “Please don’t let him die, okay? Tell him
for me? Tell him he’s got to live. Tell him I’m sorry, and he’s got to live.”
“Chiana, he’s fighting.” Aeryn moved in to assure her. “He’s already lived through more than anyone
expected, and he isn’t getting any worse.” The firm, disciplined tones coming from the ex-soldier seemed to
calm Chiana better than any platitudes or empty assurances. The flood of tears ended as the cautiously
confident voice continued. “They won’t let him die. Vossmarr’s with him right now, and he’ll make sure D’Argo
doesn’t give up.”
“Vossmarr’ll make him better.” A shaky smile was back in place, but she was falling asleep. “He can make
anyone better.” Her voice trailed off into a mumble. “Made Crichton go to sleep, make
D’Argo better … be better.”
John ran his fingers through the disheveled shock of white hair before following the others into the hallway,
softly caressing the back of one unknowing hand before leaving her alone. “Would you care to explain that
‘sleep’ remark?” he asked outside the room.
“Is D’Argo conscious?” Aeryn asked Aksal, pointedly ignoring John’s question.
“Not yet. He is very much improved, however. Luxans are an amazing species. We contacted the Central
Health Authority for advice, and no one there had ever treated a Luxan, but there was an enormous amount of
information in storage at the Institute. Vossmarr is intrigued by your friend’s resilient physiology.” His
enthusiasm echoed off the walls of the corridor as he led them the short distance to D’Argo’s room.
“If he’s not conscious, there’s no purpose in visiting.” John stopped walking.
“You don’t want to see D’Argo,” Aeryn confirmed. “You don’t want to talk to him?” The ‘rabid raccoon’ look was
back in place.
He wanted to see D’Argo. He wanted to see his friend striding down the hallway, voice booming and echoing off
the walls. He wanted to be dragged into the rib-crushing bear hug or have the confident hand clap him on the
shoulder in the manner that always sent him staggering halfway across Command. What he didn’t want to do
was see his friend lying near death because of his own stupidity.
“We’re burning daylight. I’d rather bring D’Argo a seafood surprise with all the trimmings.” John turned his
back on Aksal’s look of dismay and walked out of the building.
* * * * *
“Fungal fit. Measured for mold. Creepy clothes. A fungus among us.” John was chanting quietly as he worked
himself into the black protective suit.
“What are you talking about?” Aeryn finally exploded. She had her back turned as she squirmed into her suit,
but turned to look at him as he broke off his non-stop mumbling.
“I’m trying to come up with a term for what these are made from,” he explained. He wriggled his arms into the
sleeves and shrugged the shoulders up into place. “I tried ‘cryptogamous clothing’, but it just doesn’t have that
special ring to it. You know?”
“You are insane.” She worked the two edges of the long opening together, pressing hard to make them grab
and seal closed. She noticed John’s avid expression as the process neared her chest, and turned her back.
“Party pooper.” He finished sealing his own suit and slid into the breather. “No place for a holster,” he
announced, discovering that the harness got in the way of his belt.
“Try going under the harness.” She watched him unbuckle in order to try again. “I did some math, and we
should get more than two and a half arns of air out of these.” She began shrugging into her backpack style
unit.
“Any more than that, and we’ve probably failed anyway,” John mumbled, snapping his harness closed. “Two
and a half arns, right?” He began setting the timer the Ashrei technicians had given him. He wondered if he
would have time to even look at the chronometer if they managed to locate their prey. “Hunter and the hunted,”
he said quietly, wondering which would be which when they finally got there.
“Niv said we would get about twenty eight hundred microts out of these …”
“Aeryn, that’s only a little more than an arn,” Crichton blurted incredulously, unable to believe she’d made such
an enormous error.
“Twenty eight hundred if you’ve got fourteen fingers is seven thousand for those of us with only ten.” She
chanted each syllable, wiggling her fingers as if he were a small child needing reinforcement. “They did teach
us some rudimentary mathematics in the Peacekeepers, John.”
“Base fourteen, base ten … yeah, I got it,” he muttered in embarrassment. “Sorry. I should have trusted that
you knew the difference and had it right.”
Aeryn’s fingers froze, two halves of a buckle falling away from each other, stunned by the mumbled apology. It
wasn’t in John’s nature to apologize when he made that kind of erroneous assumption, and it meant that he was
less in control of his emotions than she had suspected. His radical mood swings -- from hilarity with the Niv and
the technicians, to near breakdown at Chiana’s bedside, to anguish outside D’Argo’s room, to lighthearted
joking as they got ready -- had been the most obvious signal that something was eating at him. When he had
blatantly lied to her about talking to Scorpius though, she’d known for certain that the catastrophic events in the
swamp were affecting him as badly as she’d feared they would.
She hesitated as he continued his preparations, on the verge of suggesting that he not go after the creature.
John’s ability to fight effectively had to be questioned if he was acting this uncharacteristically. She watched the
confident motions, the fast expert way he checked Winona one last time, and couldn’t make up her mind. John
was in control of himself, but he wasn’t. Aeryn knew she couldn’t complete the job by herself; it would be
suicidal to even attempt it.
He turned to look at her quizzically. “You went quiet all of a sudden. What’s the matter?” His tone made it
more of a demand than a question.
“Maybe we shouldn’t do this,” she ventured carefully. He frowned at her, obviously puzzled by her sudden
change of heart. “Are you sure you can concentrate on what we have to do? Can you set everything aside,
act unemotionally and decisively, and pull the trigger when you have to? We’re not going to get any second
chances down there with these Nessie things.”
“What’s going on, Aeryn?”
“You seem … distracted. As if something’s bothering you.” She tried very hard to tread lightly.
“Something’s bothering me,” he repeated the words. John slammed the pulse pistol violently into its holster,
banging the catch into place with an angry slap. “I’ll tell you what’s bothering me. Those …” he struggled to
find a word, “… things out there are bothering me. Those aren’t some poor misunderstood critters swimming
around looking for photo ops and scaring tourists for fun. One of them deliberately stalked Chiana while the
other damn near killed D’Argo, and they dismembered some poor little kid who just wanted to get home in time
to watch Wagon Train.”
He saw Aeryn’s expression go from concern to annoyance at his terms. “That poor little guy didn’t even look
like an Ashrei of any dimension when I found him, Aeryn. He’d been ripped apart and left to rot. Those things
aren’t the Loch Ness Monster Twins, they’re Grendel and his Momma at the bottom of the lake terrorizing
everyone just because they hate anything that lives.”
John heard his shouted words ringing inside the small room and managed to lower his voice. “I’m going down
there, Aeryn, and I’m not coming back up until those things are a super-sized calamari meal to go. This is
Seahunt meets Rambo and I’ll pull the trigger on those god damned, water-breathing cousins of Godzilla with
the greatest of pleasure.”
He jammed the sword between his suit and the backpack of his breather, checked to make sure the grip was
within easy reach, and then picked up his helmet. “When you blow a hole in those things, see if you can save
at least one head so I can hack it off. I want to mount it on the wall in my quarters. Are you coming?” He
stalked out of the room without waiting for her reaction.
“Humans. Frelling stupid humans!” Aeryn burst out as his footsteps faded. She was trapped now. If she didn’t
go with him, she knew he was angry enough to try it on his own, and probably die in the process. John would
never agree to stay behind, and she wouldn’t try the attack on her own anyway. That left only the option of
going ahead with the plan, and his outburst only served to confirm her suspicions that he was keeping
something bottled up inside.
“Frelling wormholes. If it weren’t for wormholes, there wouldn’t be humans in this universe.” She grabbed her
equipment and went after him, worried for her own safety, but even more concerned about his.
* * * * *
A group of Ashrei from the village walked with them as far as edge of the fields. Sellimarr and the quartet of
technicians ventured into the trees, but turned back fearfully before they reached the rocky shoreline. The
people without war offered encouragement, and voiced their concern and appreciation for their undertaking,
but their dread of the lake creatures was more than they could overcome.
Niv displayed more guilt over his missing capacity for courageous action than any of the others, nervously
fussing over the breathers until Aeryn finally snapped at him. He ducked his head in apology and headed back
toward where the rest of the villagers were waiting.
“Do not think badly of us,” Sellimarr entreated. “It is not that we are cowards. We simply have no way of
contending with these creatures if they should come seeking retribution for your attack. My nephew and Aksal
were forbidden to accompany us today for the same reason. Everyone fears a reprisal should you fail, and an
Aleph cannot be risked.”
“We understand,” Aeryn answered. “It’s not your fault. When a person is born to be a certain thing, sometimes
there’s no way of turning away from that destiny.”
“We would prefer to be able to protect ourselves.” Sellimarr still seemed ashamed. “We would prefer to be
more than what our breeding dictates.” He touched each of them lightly on the shoulder, almost as though to
make sure they were real. “We will wait at the edge of the fields. If you need us, we will do our best to come to
your assistance.”
“Hopefully you won’t have to worry about any of this after today.” John looked up at the shafts of sunlight
breaking through the clouds. “It’s looking better. Let’s get this over with.”
Only Rygel continued with them as they crossed the short distance to the lake. “I shall remember you to your
deities,” he offered facetiously, “provided you tell me who they are.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Guido. Sure you won’t come with us? I thought Hynerians were aquatic.”
“Only when we are at the top of the food chain.”
“Courageous of you, chum.” John turned his back on the Dominar. “Any last thoughts?”
“Be careful.” Aeryn wrapped the sling of the pulse rifle around her shoulder and began sealing her mask.
“If I was being careful, we wouldn’t be doing this at all. I’ll try to be smart instead,” he responded. “Don’t you be
macho. All right?” John copied Aeryn’s quick, assured movements as they sealed their masks and clear
faceplates against the helmets. He gave her a thumbs-up, waved once to Rygel, and they waded into the lake.
“Come back safely,” Rygel urged, speaking to the widening ripples.
* * * * *
Visibility was every bit as poor as they had anticipated. The silt and debris washing out of the marsh hung
suspended in the lake water, absorbing the light and turning the view into a swirling greenish fog. John turned
to glance behind him, looking up at the dimly seen sky for some landmark that would guide them back to the
beach. The outline of a large tree branch struck out into the brighter sky, a distinctive gnarled pattern that he
imprinted on his mind.
When he turned back, Aeryn was gone. He spun around in the water, then looked straight down, searching
frantically in every direction. She might be no more than three motras away, but he’d lost her. The tight feeling
in his chest had nothing to do with the increasing water pressure. He spun around again, uncertain whether
she would come back to the surface once she realized they’d lost contact, or would stop and wait for him to
catch up.
Something touched his foot. He yelped inside the mask and drew his feet up convulsively. Aeryn rose to face
him, eyes wide in exasperation. What he could see of the expression seemed to imply that he needed to pull
himself together. The next motion was unquestionably an impatient ‘Let’s go.’
‘After you,’ he gestured. He had no idea which way the rock pile lay. He would rely on her training to guide
them to the spot where they hoped they would surprise the Things.
Aeryn flipped over and went down, looking back to make sure he was with her this time. They descended
slowly until the lakebed wandered into sight, then leveled off and moved forward. Every small motion sucked up
a cloud of silt, roiling more debris into the water. John placed a hand on Aeryn’s hip so he wouldn’t loose her
again, and looked back. Visibility behind them was less than two motras. If they got into a fight down here, they
wouldn’t be able to see what they were doing. He tugged at her harness, bringing her to a stop, then pointed
behind them.
‘Bad idea,’ he tried to convey by shaking his head. They would never see the lake creatures in time. This was
shaping up into a perfect ambush, but they were going to be the ambushees. He put his hand in front of his
faceplate, moved it closer then moved it further away. ‘No visibility.’
Frustrated motion from Aeryn. She didn’t understand.
“Crap!” his voice echoed loudly inside his helmet. Why hadn’t they worked out hand signals ahead of time?
This was a disaster in the making. He looked at the woman in front of him, and couldn’t take the chance that
she might get hurt. There was too much going wrong before they even got started. He pointed violently
upward.
Aeryn hung in the water studying him. Then she nodded. John sighed with relief. They could work over the
missed details, and try again tomorrow. He inclined his head in thanks, and saw Aeryn smile at him. He could
only see her eyes behind the shield, but he knew with complete certainty that she was letting him have that ‘I’m
proud of you’ smile again. Either that or it was the water pressure, he reflected, turning his cynicism on
himself. But the small, pleased portion of his logic told him that she was smiling because he was displaying
‘smart’ in the pursuit of ‘careful’. Aeryn kicked toward the surface.
A huge scythe trailing moss and weeds swept out of the dark and sliced past John’s chest, spinning the
suspended silt into wild eddies from the force of its passing. John backpedaled furiously, kicking himself away
from the threat, all the while scanning for the second Thing. Shock sent trickles of sweat creeping inside his
suit -- small, cold infiltrations that warmed quickly from his exertion. If he hadn’t insisted that they surface,
Aeryn would have been hanging with her back turned, directly in the way of that unannounced, slashing attack.
The pulse rifle responded in frustrating slow motion as he yanked on the sling, pulling it around in front of him
as he held his ground. John pivoted left and right while he waited, trying to scan the entire field of attack in
front of him. If he tried to surface, following Aeryn, he would leave himself vulnerable to an attack from
beneath. As much as he disliked waiting for the Thing, for the moment he was safer near the bottom.
A gust of water pushed against him, carrying enough silt to drop the visibility to less than a motra. Something
swept toward him from the right -- another claw, but this one a monstrosity of nature, gaping wide and reaching
for him. Crushing claw, he realized, like a lobster. Only this one had an extra, vestigial thumb, which seemed to
beckon to him, politely inviting him into the grasp. He kicked out of its path and fired at the joint, hoping to
damage the articulation or blow the whole thing right off.
The chakan oil blast burped loose from the muzzle of the pulse rifle and wobbled toward where the claw had
been. It expanded as it sailed away from him, heating the water into a fizzing fury of vapor. The heat billowed
over John, accompanied by the shockwave from the expanding ball of heated water.
“Shit!” In the confusion of getting separated, they had forgotten to test the weapons.
He kicked backwards again, praying that Thing #2 wasn’t right behind him. Where the frell was Aeryn? he
wondered. He didn’t really want her in the midst of this nightmare, but his situation was tactically implausible. It
was, in a word, lethal.
The crushing claw swept toward him again, reaching straight toward his midsection instead of the sweeping
movement from one side to the other. He couldn’t backpedal fast enough. There was a looming shadow
behind the reaching limb, swelling as Thing #1 moved toward him, almost five motras from top to bottom but
obscured in the hurricane of silt. The claw snapped at him, missed, reached closer. In desperation, John
shoved the pulse rifle into the interior of the joint, hoping at best to jam the claw so it couldn’t close.
“Clambake,” he yelled, and pulled the trigger for good measure. He envisioned the shell turning bright red in
the superheated water, but it disappeared into a cloud of shell fragments and black smoking critter innards
instead. “Sonofabitch!” The pulse blast worked, but only at point blank range where the water couldn’t warp its
effect.
The truncated wrist swept out of the cloud of its own disintegrated anatomy and smacked John in the shoulder.
He tumbled over and over, disoriented, and felt the pulse rifle sail out of his grip. He paddled furiously, unable
to find which way was up, or sort out the direction where the threat lay. The short battle had kicked up untold
amounts of dirt off the bottom, and visibility was down to less than a motra. He got himself oriented, preparing
for another frantic defense, but when the sharp slashing claw swept by above his head, he realized he was
upside down.
Another shadow flitted past his feet, and Aeryn lunged in close to the dark bulk. Her hand disappeared into the
murk, and there was another expanding ball of heated water and inky innards. Together, they watched the
blade-like claw drift toward the bottom trailing half a motra of arm behind it, Aeryn looking down and John,
inverted, looking above his head. He turned himself right side up and drew Winona, the rifle lost in the gloom.
Thing #1 was retreating, the dark blob growing less distinct. They swam after it eagerly, knowing they’d
deprived it of its weapons. Aeryn started to raise the rifle for a longer shot, but he batted it down in slow
motion, and swam faster.
They caught it together, separating at the last moment and approaching from both sides. John still couldn’t see
any details, but he shot forward, pulse pistol leading until he felt it grate against hard plating, and then pulled
the trigger. Aeryn appeared from his left and copied his strategy with the more powerful rifle. The water fizzed
and surged, the heat becoming uncomfortable as they fired together.
All vision disappeared abruptly in a mushrooming cloud of black oily material, strings of the substance flipping
and squirming as they rushed in all directions. Despite the closed breather system that continuously recycled
his air, there was a rank, oily odor infiltrating its way inside.
“Blech. Brains,” he pronounced inside his mask. John glanced down at the timer to see how much longer the
breather would provide clean air. Less than a quarter of an arn had passed. It had felt more like half a day.
He slid Winona into the holster, and kicked toward where he’d seen Aeryn last. He bumped into her before he
saw her, setting off a frantic, scrambling reaction from both of them. Her eyes creased into the top half of a
smile at the same time that he laughed in relief. She pointed upward, and he nodded. Assuming they could
even find it in the murk, it was too dangerous to go after Thing #2 at this point. The water would settle
overnight, and they could try again tomorrow. Together, John and Aeryn kicked toward the surface.
* * * * *
Another strange place, more confusion. John Crichton wandered through endless hallways coated with thick
layers of ice, ranks of refrigerators stacked against the walls, filling every frozen corridor to overflowing. He
tried peeking into one or two of them, but the door handles were all jammed with ice and refused to budge. His
feet crunched through the frost, the only noise in this dead, chilled place. There was no beacon this time, no
voice summoning him. There was only the cold, the pain that had become a constant in each of his worlds, and
the sense of loss. Something was missing, but he didn’t know what. He frowned, feeling the information at the
edges of his awareness but unable to grab it.
He shivered, disconcerted. He’d grown tired of the voice that had followed him from place to place, irritated by
the constant summons, but now that it was gone, he missed it. There was only one solution, he reasoned. He
would have to find it again.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Chapter 5
The next morning dawned gray and cloudy, occasional rain squalls drifting across the fields and hills. John
stared out the puddles, gazing at the hypnotic fall of the drops as they slowly detached themselves from the
eves of the porch roof to spatter onto the railing. He closed the door and turned toward where Aeryn was
reassembling one of the pulse rifles.
“This is going to make it even darker underwater. You still good to go?” He knew better than to even offer his
assistance when she was stripping and inspecting weapons. Anything he did, she would do over, just to make
sure the rifle was in perfect condition.
“As long as you’re still sure.” The second pulse rifle joined the first on the table and she stared intently at
where Winona rode on his thigh.
“She never misfires. She’s very good to me.” Aeryn continued to stare. “Fine, check it.” He relinquished the
pulse pistol into her care. “And, yes, I’m still sure.”
Aeryn pulled the pistol to pieces, inspected and reassembled it in less than five hundred microts. She was just
handing it back to John when there was a loud double rap on the door and Aksal stuck his head into the room.
“May we come in?” he asked eagerly. “We’ve brought the breathers and something else that should help.”
Before either John or Aeryn could answer, he pushed the door wide and four Ashrei piled into the room behind
him, carrying the newly designed equipment.
“I am Niv.” The first one introduced himself, ducking his upper body as he bowed repeatedly toward John and
Aeryn.
“Short for Alsendenivariald,” another offered. “His parents couldn’t settle on a single name.”
“That’s irrelevant,” Niv snapped at his friend, sounding as though the teasing was a very familiar torment.
“Yesterday, it occurred to us that the ambient temperature of the lake water is colder than most sentient bipedal
species can tolerate comfortably. Your internal bodily thermal conditions might decrease to levels which would
impair cognitive processes and physical reactions.”
John stuck a finger in one ear and waggled it. “Are you an engineer by any chance?”
“Perhaps we should introduce him to Jool,” Aeryn laughed quietly from beside him.
Niv ignored both comments, set a large bundle down on the table and rolled it out.
“Wetsuits!” John recognized the garments immediately.
“No, no, no. These will keep you DRY,” another of the group objected. “Dry and warm.”
John held one of the suits up by the shoulders. It had been manufactured out of something that looked
remarkably like black rubber, and was absolutely seamless except for the opening that ran up the front from hip
to shoulder. “You’ve done this before,” he suggested.
Five faces beamed at him. “Never,” Aksal proclaimed. “I told you they were good.”
“You are risking yourselves for us,” one explained. “We could do no less than our best to help you in your
endeavor.” He stepped away from his friends. “Elthan,” he introduced himself concisely. “We wanted to
ensure that the suits performed their function correctly, so we spent the night testing them. They are quite
watertight, and release virtually no body heat into the water.”
“You didn’t risk yourselves by going in the lake,” Aeryn objected.
All five Ashrei looked embarrassed. “You can’t tell anyone,” Aksal said, glancing around the room furtively.
“They tested them in the drinking water cistern.” They all looked inordinately pleased with themselves despite
their unorthodox testing method.
“This looks just like rubber.” John held the suit up to his body, examining the dimensions, and then passed it to
Aeryn. A similar inspection of the second suit revealed that it matched his body almost perfectly. “How did you
size these?”
“Aksal must have done it,” Aeryn theorized. “You took our clothes to have the mud cleaned off.” Heads
nodded.
“What is ‘rub-her’?” Niv asked John.
“The word is ‘rubber’,” John corrected, “although your version is a pretty good idea, too.” Aeryn snorted and
glared at him. “THIS looks and feels like rubber. On my planet it was originally made from the sap of a
particular type of tree, but now it’s produced from chemicals. Hydrocarbons.” He wondered if the term would
translate for the technicians.
“Then this is not rub-burr. This is a fungus.” Elthan fingered the sleeve of John’s suit. “We manufacture many
items out of this life form. It is a by-product of our livestock farming. The fungus feeds on the effluvium of …”
“Stop! Do not tell me anymore if you want me to put this thing on.” John tossed the suit onto the table and
wiped his hands on his pants. “Why do I ever ask? I should know better than to ask by now.”
* * * * *
John shifted his weight nervously from foot to foot, waiting impatiently outside the healing center for Aeryn to
arrive. She had remained behind with the four technicians to learn about the breather units, while he had gone
to collect the sword the metal specialists had produced overnight. Like the breathers and wetsuits, the weapon
was a marvel of hasty engineering -- light, well balanced, and unbelievably sharp. John had left it with the
beaming craftsman, who had begged to be allowed to modify the grip for a better grasp, and had hurried to
meet Aeryn. He was the one who had insisted on visiting Chiana and D’Argo before their assault on the lake
creatures, but the brief wait had given him time to think and he was no longer sure he wanted to go inside.
“To protect and serve.”
“Oh God, no. Not now, Scorpy. Go away.” John examined the police uniform he was wearing, brushing a
piece of lint off the otherwise spotless blouse. “What part of my brain have you been exploring this time? And
what gives you the right to wander through my personal storage?”
The clone stomped on the accelerator of the police cruiser and took the next corner on two wheels. “This is my
existence also, John. The only one left to me. That gives me the right.”
“Fine. Say what’s on your mind, then get out.” John grabbed at the dashboard as they screeched around
another corner, all four wheels drifting sideways. “And who taught you to drive? Mr. Magoo?”
“Bullitt. Steve McQueen. You watched that one eight times,” the clone answered avidly, taking the next two
corners even faster. “To protect Aeryn Sun and serve some sort of penance for your mistake. That’s what you
intend to do now, isn’t it John?”
“Pop psyche. Give it a rest.” John stared out the side window morosely.
Scorpius brought the squad car to a skidding, screeching stop next to the curb and shut off the engine. He
turned to face John. “Putting yourself in harm’s way will serve no purpose, John Crichton. I object to this plan.
It is too hazardous.”
“Not too long ago, you tried to get me to end it all so you wouldn’t have to endure this miserable existence.”
John slammed his fist against the door panel. “I don’t have time for this. Leave me alone, Harvey.”
“One small thing, and then I’ll desist. I am just beginning to learn about living, John, and I will not allow you to
deliberately call retribution down upon yourself just because you can’t live with your own decisions.”
John lunged across the car and grabbed the apparition by his shirt front. “And how do you intend to stop me?
Assuming I want to stand in front of that runaway train, what are you going to do about it?”
The radio crackled and blared, “One Adam Twelve, come in.”
John stared at the transceiver, dumbfounded. He looked at the stripes on the sleeves of Harvey’s uniform, his
own sleeves, the cruiser’s interior, and the cars parked on either side of the street. “Adam Twelve? You’ve got
to be kidding me. Couldn’t you find ANYTHING better than that?” He shoved the glowering figure away from
him and sat back in the passenger seat. “And you don’t look anything like Pete Malloy.”
“Well, you don’t look anything like Jim Reed,” Harvey sulked.
“No? Hunh. Some people said they thought there was a family resemblance.” John got out of the car and
slammed the door, leaning down to talk through the window. “I have no intention of deliberately getting myself
killed, Harv. This isn’t a suicide mission. Now get lost!”
“John?”
“Aeryn!” She’d startled him.
“Talking with Scorpius?”
The last time he’d seen anyone with that look on their face was the night his sister had stepped out the back
door of their house and found a rabid raccoon sitting on the top of the trash cans. It was that same look of
horrified wariness. “No, I’m just talking to myself. It’s a time-honored tradition among eccentric scientists.”
Aeryn turned away from him immediately. He felt the weight of the flimsy lie settle on top of the existing guilt,
but couldn’t bring himself to call her back and admit the truth. John followed her into the building, Aeryn’s
reaction to his deceit and the clone’s accusations adding to his emotional turmoil. He needed time to think
everything through, but events were pushing him, forcing him to make decisions when he didn’t even know what
he was trying to achieve.
“Focus on the immediate. Kill the critters, solve everything else later,” he mumbled.
“What?”
“Talking to myself again.” He hurried to join Aeryn at the door to one of the rooms.
She stepped aside and let him enter first. It was the first time John had been inside the building, and she
watched his reaction to their surroundings, allowing herself to see the room a second time as
she’d viewed it originally.
The Ashrei believed that a pleasant, natural surrounding enhanced healing, so the long exterior wall consisted
of transparent full-height doors that could be folded back to allow fresh air into the room. The screened
opening let out onto trellis-enclosed garden with an intricate ceramic-tiled flooring that held a large table and an
assortment of chairs and recliners. A fabric sunscreen had been unfurled from the side of the building, putting
a fluttering roof over the enclosed area, and the entire result was cheerful, airy and relaxing.
Chiana’s bed had been pushed up close to the screens so she could enjoy the fresh air and sunshine and be
close to anyone visiting her if they chose to sit in the garden. Aksal was sitting comfortably in one of the large
cushioned chairs inside the room, assisting with the non-stop monitoring the Ashrei were providing the two
patients. John wandered over to look outside briefly, then returned to stand by Chiana’s side.
“Hey, Pip. How you feelin’?” His voice was low and rough. He held her hand in both of his, rubbing her
knuckles with a thumb. The smile he forced into place was fairly convincing, but the underlying sorrow seemed
apparent to Aeryn. She watched Chiana’s reaction to his arrival, concerned that any variety of accusation
might drive John further into the depression he’d been struggling through aboard Moya.
“Hey, Old Man.” The smile and the whisper greeted him enthusiastically, even if they lacked energy. “I hear
you carried D’Argo all the way in by yourself.”
John looked to the Ashrei physician for an explanation.
“It’s a very small building,” Aksal explained, “serving a small population. It is very rare to have even two patients
at the same time, so we were not aware that sound carries rather well from one area to another.” He pointed at
the outer garden area.
“Yeah, Pip,” John answered her. “He said he didn’t like wading through the mud, so I gave him a lift.”
A single weak laugh eased out of Chiana. “Then I probably feel better than you do right now, Crichton.” She
grabbed his hand. “D’Argo’s lucky to have you as a friend. He might have died if you hadn’t carried him back
here.”
The psychological pain caused by her remark was far greater than the discomfort from his stiff, abused
muscles. John blinked hard, willing the tears to recede before they got loose. “Yeah. He’s lucky all right.” If he
were any luckier, he’d be dead. The thought bounced and ricocheted around in his skull, making it difficult to
focus on whatever else Chiana was saying.
Aeryn was watching him with the ‘rabid raccoon’ look again. He forced a smiled back into place. “We gotta go,
Chiana. We’ll be back after we make some sushi.”
“Crichton? How’s D’Argo?” The cheerfulness faded from her expression. “Aeryn wouldn’t tell me earlier.”
“He’s … uhh …” John started to turn to check with Aksal, but the hand tugged at his, pulling his attention back.
“Don’t let him die.” Dark tears streaked down the too-pale gray skin. “Please don’t let him die, okay? Tell him
for me? Tell him he’s got to live. Tell him I’m sorry, and he’s got to live.”
“Chiana, he’s fighting.” Aeryn moved in to assure her. “He’s already lived through more than anyone
expected, and he isn’t getting any worse.” The firm, disciplined tones coming from the ex-soldier seemed to
calm Chiana better than any platitudes or empty assurances. The flood of tears ended as the cautiously
confident voice continued. “They won’t let him die. Vossmarr’s with him right now, and he’ll make sure D’Argo
doesn’t give up.”
“Vossmarr’ll make him better.” A shaky smile was back in place, but she was falling asleep. “He can make
anyone better.” Her voice trailed off into a mumble. “Made Crichton go to sleep, make
D’Argo better … be better.”
John ran his fingers through the disheveled shock of white hair before following the others into the hallway,
softly caressing the back of one unknowing hand before leaving her alone. “Would you care to explain that
‘sleep’ remark?” he asked outside the room.
“Is D’Argo conscious?” Aeryn asked Aksal, pointedly ignoring John’s question.
“Not yet. He is very much improved, however. Luxans are an amazing species. We contacted the Central
Health Authority for advice, and no one there had ever treated a Luxan, but there was an enormous amount of
information in storage at the Institute. Vossmarr is intrigued by your friend’s resilient physiology.” His
enthusiasm echoed off the walls of the corridor as he led them the short distance to D’Argo’s room.
“If he’s not conscious, there’s no purpose in visiting.” John stopped walking.
“You don’t want to see D’Argo,” Aeryn confirmed. “You don’t want to talk to him?” The ‘rabid raccoon’ look was
back in place.
He wanted to see D’Argo. He wanted to see his friend striding down the hallway, voice booming and echoing off
the walls. He wanted to be dragged into the rib-crushing bear hug or have the confident hand clap him on the
shoulder in the manner that always sent him staggering halfway across Command. What he didn’t want to do
was see his friend lying near death because of his own stupidity.
“We’re burning daylight. I’d rather bring D’Argo a seafood surprise with all the trimmings.” John turned his
back on Aksal’s look of dismay and walked out of the building.
* * * * *
“Fungal fit. Measured for mold. Creepy clothes. A fungus among us.” John was chanting quietly as he worked
himself into the black protective suit.
“What are you talking about?” Aeryn finally exploded. She had her back turned as she squirmed into her suit,
but turned to look at him as he broke off his non-stop mumbling.
“I’m trying to come up with a term for what these are made from,” he explained. He wriggled his arms into the
sleeves and shrugged the shoulders up into place. “I tried ‘cryptogamous clothing’, but it just doesn’t have that
special ring to it. You know?”
“You are insane.” She worked the two edges of the long opening together, pressing hard to make them grab
and seal closed. She noticed John’s avid expression as the process neared her chest, and turned her back.
“Party pooper.” He finished sealing his own suit and slid into the breather. “No place for a holster,” he
announced, discovering that the harness got in the way of his belt.
“Try going under the harness.” She watched him unbuckle in order to try again. “I did some math, and we
should get more than two and a half arns of air out of these.” She began shrugging into her backpack style
unit.
“Any more than that, and we’ve probably failed anyway,” John mumbled, snapping his harness closed. “Two
and a half arns, right?” He began setting the timer the Ashrei technicians had given him. He wondered if he
would have time to even look at the chronometer if they managed to locate their prey. “Hunter and the hunted,”
he said quietly, wondering which would be which when they finally got there.
“Niv said we would get about twenty eight hundred microts out of these …”
“Aeryn, that’s only a little more than an arn,” Crichton blurted incredulously, unable to believe she’d made such
an enormous error.
“Twenty eight hundred if you’ve got fourteen fingers is seven thousand for those of us with only ten.” She
chanted each syllable, wiggling her fingers as if he were a small child needing reinforcement. “They did teach
us some rudimentary mathematics in the Peacekeepers, John.”
“Base fourteen, base ten … yeah, I got it,” he muttered in embarrassment. “Sorry. I should have trusted that
you knew the difference and had it right.”
Aeryn’s fingers froze, two halves of a buckle falling away from each other, stunned by the mumbled apology. It
wasn’t in John’s nature to apologize when he made that kind of erroneous assumption, and it meant that he was
less in control of his emotions than she had suspected. His radical mood swings -- from hilarity with the Niv and
the technicians, to near breakdown at Chiana’s bedside, to anguish outside D’Argo’s room, to lighthearted
joking as they got ready -- had been the most obvious signal that something was eating at him. When he had
blatantly lied to her about talking to Scorpius though, she’d known for certain that the catastrophic events in the
swamp were affecting him as badly as she’d feared they would.
She hesitated as he continued his preparations, on the verge of suggesting that he not go after the creature.
John’s ability to fight effectively had to be questioned if he was acting this uncharacteristically. She watched the
confident motions, the fast expert way he checked Winona one last time, and couldn’t make up her mind. John
was in control of himself, but he wasn’t. Aeryn knew she couldn’t complete the job by herself; it would be
suicidal to even attempt it.
He turned to look at her quizzically. “You went quiet all of a sudden. What’s the matter?” His tone made it
more of a demand than a question.
“Maybe we shouldn’t do this,” she ventured carefully. He frowned at her, obviously puzzled by her sudden
change of heart. “Are you sure you can concentrate on what we have to do? Can you set everything aside,
act unemotionally and decisively, and pull the trigger when you have to? We’re not going to get any second
chances down there with these Nessie things.”
“What’s going on, Aeryn?”
“You seem … distracted. As if something’s bothering you.” She tried very hard to tread lightly.
“Something’s bothering me,” he repeated the words. John slammed the pulse pistol violently into its holster,
banging the catch into place with an angry slap. “I’ll tell you what’s bothering me. Those …” he struggled to
find a word, “… things out there are bothering me. Those aren’t some poor misunderstood critters swimming
around looking for photo ops and scaring tourists for fun. One of them deliberately stalked Chiana while the
other damn near killed D’Argo, and they dismembered some poor little kid who just wanted to get home in time
to watch Wagon Train.”
He saw Aeryn’s expression go from concern to annoyance at his terms. “That poor little guy didn’t even look
like an Ashrei of any dimension when I found him, Aeryn. He’d been ripped apart and left to rot. Those things
aren’t the Loch Ness Monster Twins, they’re Grendel and his Momma at the bottom of the lake terrorizing
everyone just because they hate anything that lives.”
John heard his shouted words ringing inside the small room and managed to lower his voice. “I’m going down
there, Aeryn, and I’m not coming back up until those things are a super-sized calamari meal to go. This is
Seahunt meets Rambo and I’ll pull the trigger on those god damned, water-breathing cousins of Godzilla with
the greatest of pleasure.”
He jammed the sword between his suit and the backpack of his breather, checked to make sure the grip was
within easy reach, and then picked up his helmet. “When you blow a hole in those things, see if you can save
at least one head so I can hack it off. I want to mount it on the wall in my quarters. Are you coming?” He
stalked out of the room without waiting for her reaction.
“Humans. Frelling stupid humans!” Aeryn burst out as his footsteps faded. She was trapped now. If she didn’t
go with him, she knew he was angry enough to try it on his own, and probably die in the process. John would
never agree to stay behind, and she wouldn’t try the attack on her own anyway. That left only the option of
going ahead with the plan, and his outburst only served to confirm her suspicions that he was keeping
something bottled up inside.
“Frelling wormholes. If it weren’t for wormholes, there wouldn’t be humans in this universe.” She grabbed her
equipment and went after him, worried for her own safety, but even more concerned about his.
* * * * *
A group of Ashrei from the village walked with them as far as edge of the fields. Sellimarr and the quartet of
technicians ventured into the trees, but turned back fearfully before they reached the rocky shoreline. The
people without war offered encouragement, and voiced their concern and appreciation for their undertaking,
but their dread of the lake creatures was more than they could overcome.
Niv displayed more guilt over his missing capacity for courageous action than any of the others, nervously
fussing over the breathers until Aeryn finally snapped at him. He ducked his head in apology and headed back
toward where the rest of the villagers were waiting.
“Do not think badly of us,” Sellimarr entreated. “It is not that we are cowards. We simply have no way of
contending with these creatures if they should come seeking retribution for your attack. My nephew and Aksal
were forbidden to accompany us today for the same reason. Everyone fears a reprisal should you fail, and an
Aleph cannot be risked.”
“We understand,” Aeryn answered. “It’s not your fault. When a person is born to be a certain thing, sometimes
there’s no way of turning away from that destiny.”
“We would prefer to be able to protect ourselves.” Sellimarr still seemed ashamed. “We would prefer to be
more than what our breeding dictates.” He touched each of them lightly on the shoulder, almost as though to
make sure they were real. “We will wait at the edge of the fields. If you need us, we will do our best to come to
your assistance.”
“Hopefully you won’t have to worry about any of this after today.” John looked up at the shafts of sunlight
breaking through the clouds. “It’s looking better. Let’s get this over with.”
Only Rygel continued with them as they crossed the short distance to the lake. “I shall remember you to your
deities,” he offered facetiously, “provided you tell me who they are.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Guido. Sure you won’t come with us? I thought Hynerians were aquatic.”
“Only when we are at the top of the food chain.”
“Courageous of you, chum.” John turned his back on the Dominar. “Any last thoughts?”
“Be careful.” Aeryn wrapped the sling of the pulse rifle around her shoulder and began sealing her mask.
“If I was being careful, we wouldn’t be doing this at all. I’ll try to be smart instead,” he responded. “Don’t you be
macho. All right?” John copied Aeryn’s quick, assured movements as they sealed their masks and clear
faceplates against the helmets. He gave her a thumbs-up, waved once to Rygel, and they waded into the lake.
“Come back safely,” Rygel urged, speaking to the widening ripples.
* * * * *
Visibility was every bit as poor as they had anticipated. The silt and debris washing out of the marsh hung
suspended in the lake water, absorbing the light and turning the view into a swirling greenish fog. John turned
to glance behind him, looking up at the dimly seen sky for some landmark that would guide them back to the
beach. The outline of a large tree branch struck out into the brighter sky, a distinctive gnarled pattern that he
imprinted on his mind.
When he turned back, Aeryn was gone. He spun around in the water, then looked straight down, searching
frantically in every direction. She might be no more than three motras away, but he’d lost her. The tight feeling
in his chest had nothing to do with the increasing water pressure. He spun around again, uncertain whether
she would come back to the surface once she realized they’d lost contact, or would stop and wait for him to
catch up.
Something touched his foot. He yelped inside the mask and drew his feet up convulsively. Aeryn rose to face
him, eyes wide in exasperation. What he could see of the expression seemed to imply that he needed to pull
himself together. The next motion was unquestionably an impatient ‘Let’s go.’
‘After you,’ he gestured. He had no idea which way the rock pile lay. He would rely on her training to guide
them to the spot where they hoped they would surprise the Things.
Aeryn flipped over and went down, looking back to make sure he was with her this time. They descended
slowly until the lakebed wandered into sight, then leveled off and moved forward. Every small motion sucked up
a cloud of silt, roiling more debris into the water. John placed a hand on Aeryn’s hip so he wouldn’t loose her
again, and looked back. Visibility behind them was less than two motras. If they got into a fight down here, they
wouldn’t be able to see what they were doing. He tugged at her harness, bringing her to a stop, then pointed
behind them.
‘Bad idea,’ he tried to convey by shaking his head. They would never see the lake creatures in time. This was
shaping up into a perfect ambush, but they were going to be the ambushees. He put his hand in front of his
faceplate, moved it closer then moved it further away. ‘No visibility.’
Frustrated motion from Aeryn. She didn’t understand.
“Crap!” his voice echoed loudly inside his helmet. Why hadn’t they worked out hand signals ahead of time?
This was a disaster in the making. He looked at the woman in front of him, and couldn’t take the chance that
she might get hurt. There was too much going wrong before they even got started. He pointed violently
upward.
Aeryn hung in the water studying him. Then she nodded. John sighed with relief. They could work over the
missed details, and try again tomorrow. He inclined his head in thanks, and saw Aeryn smile at him. He could
only see her eyes behind the shield, but he knew with complete certainty that she was letting him have that ‘I’m
proud of you’ smile again. Either that or it was the water pressure, he reflected, turning his cynicism on
himself. But the small, pleased portion of his logic told him that she was smiling because he was displaying
‘smart’ in the pursuit of ‘careful’. Aeryn kicked toward the surface.
A huge scythe trailing moss and weeds swept out of the dark and sliced past John’s chest, spinning the
suspended silt into wild eddies from the force of its passing. John backpedaled furiously, kicking himself away
from the threat, all the while scanning for the second Thing. Shock sent trickles of sweat creeping inside his
suit -- small, cold infiltrations that warmed quickly from his exertion. If he hadn’t insisted that they surface,
Aeryn would have been hanging with her back turned, directly in the way of that unannounced, slashing attack.
The pulse rifle responded in frustrating slow motion as he yanked on the sling, pulling it around in front of him
as he held his ground. John pivoted left and right while he waited, trying to scan the entire field of attack in
front of him. If he tried to surface, following Aeryn, he would leave himself vulnerable to an attack from
beneath. As much as he disliked waiting for the Thing, for the moment he was safer near the bottom.
A gust of water pushed against him, carrying enough silt to drop the visibility to less than a motra. Something
swept toward him from the right -- another claw, but this one a monstrosity of nature, gaping wide and reaching
for him. Crushing claw, he realized, like a lobster. Only this one had an extra, vestigial thumb, which seemed to
beckon to him, politely inviting him into the grasp. He kicked out of its path and fired at the joint, hoping to
damage the articulation or blow the whole thing right off.
The chakan oil blast burped loose from the muzzle of the pulse rifle and wobbled toward where the claw had
been. It expanded as it sailed away from him, heating the water into a fizzing fury of vapor. The heat billowed
over John, accompanied by the shockwave from the expanding ball of heated water.
“Shit!” In the confusion of getting separated, they had forgotten to test the weapons.
He kicked backwards again, praying that Thing #2 wasn’t right behind him. Where the frell was Aeryn? he
wondered. He didn’t really want her in the midst of this nightmare, but his situation was tactically implausible. It
was, in a word, lethal.
The crushing claw swept toward him again, reaching straight toward his midsection instead of the sweeping
movement from one side to the other. He couldn’t backpedal fast enough. There was a looming shadow
behind the reaching limb, swelling as Thing #1 moved toward him, almost five motras from top to bottom but
obscured in the hurricane of silt. The claw snapped at him, missed, reached closer. In desperation, John
shoved the pulse rifle into the interior of the joint, hoping at best to jam the claw so it couldn’t close.
“Clambake,” he yelled, and pulled the trigger for good measure. He envisioned the shell turning bright red in
the superheated water, but it disappeared into a cloud of shell fragments and black smoking critter innards
instead. “Sonofabitch!” The pulse blast worked, but only at point blank range where the water couldn’t warp its
effect.
The truncated wrist swept out of the cloud of its own disintegrated anatomy and smacked John in the shoulder.
He tumbled over and over, disoriented, and felt the pulse rifle sail out of his grip. He paddled furiously, unable
to find which way was up, or sort out the direction where the threat lay. The short battle had kicked up untold
amounts of dirt off the bottom, and visibility was down to less than a motra. He got himself oriented, preparing
for another frantic defense, but when the sharp slashing claw swept by above his head, he realized he was
upside down.
Another shadow flitted past his feet, and Aeryn lunged in close to the dark bulk. Her hand disappeared into the
murk, and there was another expanding ball of heated water and inky innards. Together, they watched the
blade-like claw drift toward the bottom trailing half a motra of arm behind it, Aeryn looking down and John,
inverted, looking above his head. He turned himself right side up and drew Winona, the rifle lost in the gloom.
Thing #1 was retreating, the dark blob growing less distinct. They swam after it eagerly, knowing they’d
deprived it of its weapons. Aeryn started to raise the rifle for a longer shot, but he batted it down in slow
motion, and swam faster.
They caught it together, separating at the last moment and approaching from both sides. John still couldn’t see
any details, but he shot forward, pulse pistol leading until he felt it grate against hard plating, and then pulled
the trigger. Aeryn appeared from his left and copied his strategy with the more powerful rifle. The water fizzed
and surged, the heat becoming uncomfortable as they fired together.
All vision disappeared abruptly in a mushrooming cloud of black oily material, strings of the substance flipping
and squirming as they rushed in all directions. Despite the closed breather system that continuously recycled
his air, there was a rank, oily odor infiltrating its way inside.
“Blech. Brains,” he pronounced inside his mask. John glanced down at the timer to see how much longer the
breather would provide clean air. Less than a quarter of an arn had passed. It had felt more like half a day.
He slid Winona into the holster, and kicked toward where he’d seen Aeryn last. He bumped into her before he
saw her, setting off a frantic, scrambling reaction from both of them. Her eyes creased into the top half of a
smile at the same time that he laughed in relief. She pointed upward, and he nodded. Assuming they could
even find it in the murk, it was too dangerous to go after Thing #2 at this point. The water would settle
overnight, and they could try again tomorrow. Together, John and Aeryn kicked toward the surface.
* * * * *
Another strange place, more confusion. John Crichton wandered through endless hallways coated with thick
layers of ice, ranks of refrigerators stacked against the walls, filling every frozen corridor to overflowing. He
tried peeking into one or two of them, but the door handles were all jammed with ice and refused to budge. His
feet crunched through the frost, the only noise in this dead, chilled place. There was no beacon this time, no
voice summoning him. There was only the cold, the pain that had become a constant in each of his worlds, and
the sense of loss. Something was missing, but he didn’t know what. He frowned, feeling the information at the
edges of his awareness but unable to grab it.
He shivered, disconcerted. He’d grown tired of the voice that had followed him from place to place, irritated by
the constant summons, but now that it was gone, he missed it. There was only one solution, he reasoned. He
would have to find it again.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
