Night Walker
Chapter 6
Slow motion replay. Referees get on-the-field replay to review calls, it’s a simple procedure. Stop the tape,
wind it back, take another look at the positions of the players and determine what occurred. Coaches do it,
too. Stop, back up, lecture everyone on what went wrong, what they should have done differently, and what
they would all do correctly in the future. Or else you’re fired. They never say ‘or else you’re dead’.
‘Doesn’t work in real life!’ John Crichton howled inside his own mind. The stray collection of thoughts flickered
and were banished to make room for the bewildering confusion of frantic movements.
He’d had one split-microt to see the slashing movement from one side, grab Aeryn by the harness and spin her
out of the way. Salvador Dali couldn’t have created a more surreal vision than that slow motion ballet involving
two bodies, Thing #2 and water pressure -- sans music. It seemed to take a quarter arn to force his arms
through the water to reach her harness, another half an arn just to start the motion to pull her away from the
attack.
Flick through a cartoon sequence frame by frame in agonizing slow motion, studying each painstakingly
prepared image before moving on to the next. What do you get? John Crichton knew.
Flick. The scything claw, a third again as big as Thing #1’s moves closer.
Flick. He pulls on Aeryn’s harness, desperation lending strength and speed.
Flick. Closer, blacker, sharper, faster.
Flick. She looks at him with surprise and alarm, eyes wide behind the faceplate.
Flick. The articulated wrist bends to align nature’s wicked blade for the gutting action, only she’s got her back
turned and it will rip through her spine.
Her head turns to look behind as he pulls hard.
Closer, trailing moss.
Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.
Green silt drifts away from the back of the claw, swirling vortexes forming in the violence of its passage.
Spinning her out of the way is spinning him … frell, he doesn’t care.
Flick. Closer, tendrils of moss waving almost tenderly as it sweeps lazily toward them.
Flick. Aeryn.
Flick. Thing #2 is so much bigger.
Aeryn … No … He can’t get her out of the way in time.
Impact.
Aeryn.
No.
Aeryn.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Chapter 6
Slow motion replay. Referees get on-the-field replay to review calls, it’s a simple procedure. Stop the tape,
wind it back, take another look at the positions of the players and determine what occurred. Coaches do it,
too. Stop, back up, lecture everyone on what went wrong, what they should have done differently, and what
they would all do correctly in the future. Or else you’re fired. They never say ‘or else you’re dead’.
‘Doesn’t work in real life!’ John Crichton howled inside his own mind. The stray collection of thoughts flickered
and were banished to make room for the bewildering confusion of frantic movements.
He’d had one split-microt to see the slashing movement from one side, grab Aeryn by the harness and spin her
out of the way. Salvador Dali couldn’t have created a more surreal vision than that slow motion ballet involving
two bodies, Thing #2 and water pressure -- sans music. It seemed to take a quarter arn to force his arms
through the water to reach her harness, another half an arn just to start the motion to pull her away from the
attack.
Flick through a cartoon sequence frame by frame in agonizing slow motion, studying each painstakingly
prepared image before moving on to the next. What do you get? John Crichton knew.
Flick. The scything claw, a third again as big as Thing #1’s moves closer.
Flick. He pulls on Aeryn’s harness, desperation lending strength and speed.
Flick. Closer, blacker, sharper, faster.
Flick. She looks at him with surprise and alarm, eyes wide behind the faceplate.
Flick. The articulated wrist bends to align nature’s wicked blade for the gutting action, only she’s got her back
turned and it will rip through her spine.
Her head turns to look behind as he pulls hard.
Closer, trailing moss.
Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.
Green silt drifts away from the back of the claw, swirling vortexes forming in the violence of its passage.
Spinning her out of the way is spinning him … frell, he doesn’t care.
Flick. Closer, tendrils of moss waving almost tenderly as it sweeps lazily toward them.
Flick. Aeryn.
Flick. Thing #2 is so much bigger.
Aeryn … No … He can’t get her out of the way in time.
Impact.
Aeryn.
No.
Aeryn.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
