Night Walker
Chapter 8
They’d repaired the muscles, treated the fractured bone, closed the wound and replaced the lost blood. They
were fast, skilled, and compassionate. When she seemed depressed at being sentenced to confinement on a
bed, they’d let her move to one of the couch-like benches in the garden outside her room. They’d made sure
she was comfortable, made sure she knew how to summon them if there was a problem, and they’d left her
alone.
Aeryn sighed, at ease with the solitude. It was simpler this way. She didn’t have to worry about presenting the
correct expression, making the right noises of concern, or mouthing the anxious phrases that were unknown to
her but anticipated by them. She hugged her arms around her ribs and waited for them to come tell her, firmly
directing her thoughts anywhere except toward what she would do with her life if John died.
The bleakness found a toehold, threatening to swallow her, and she fiercely pushed her thoughts in another
direction, unwilling to consider that possibility. She might be able to survive losing John if Zhaan was there to
show her how to live, how to go on without him. But Zhaan was gone as well. She didn’t need to consider the
future without John though, because there would be no life without him.
“Aeryn?” Chiana’s slim frame was lost inside the thickly quilted pants and top that they all wore. D’Argo was
half carrying her as they moved together through the door. He was back in the quilted clothing as well, having
reopened several of his wounds during his desperate race to get John back to the village. “How are you
doing?” Chiana asked as D’Argo helped her get settled. The lithe frame wound itself into one of the chairs,
achieving a position that looked impossible, not to mention uncomfortable.
“Fine.” The single word was all she could force out past the tightness in her throat. She gestured toward
D’Argo, asking in a motion how he was doing.
“They’ll take good care of him, Aeryn. They saved me.” He didn’t actually say they’d be able to save John,
Aeryn noticed. She nodded and looked away. “Would you like us to leave you alone?”
“No.” She looked back at the pair. “You know me too well, D’Argo.” He knew that it was her nature to deal with
trauma in a solitary fashion, but he also knew that she would want their company. “Thank you.”
“May I come in?” Rygel maneuvered his Throne Sled between the arched plantings, floating into their secluded
area.
“Where have you been?” Chiana began an attack.
“Chiana,” D’Argo’s hushed voice rebuked her. “Rygel was waiting in the village with Vossmarr and Aksal. We
set it up when I went down to the lake. He was the one who talked them into meeting me half way. If they hadn’t
come to meet me, John wouldn’t have survived.”
Aeryn spoke into the ensuing stunned silence. “Thank you, Rygel.”
“How is Crichton?” The Dominar finally put everyone’s thoughts into words.
“Still alive.” Vossmarr stepped into their garden area from an adjoining enclosure. He chose a deep cushioned
chair and deposited his slim frame with none of his usual coordinated grace. The tiled surface beneath them
reverberated with the heavy thump generated by his arrival on the furniture. The Aleph frowned at D’Argo.
“You should not be walking,” he chastised. “Your feat was selfless, but it was also, perhaps, foolish.”
“I could not have done anything less for John.” D’Argo responded to the healer’s beckoning motion, crouching
on one knee by Vossmarr’s side to allow the slender fingers an easy reach.
Black eyes stared into the distance for several microts as the Luxan’s physical condition was assessed, then he
bowed his head, thanking D’Argo for his consideration. “Fascinating. You sustain injury well, Ka D’Argo. You
will heal … again.” He put pointed emphasis on the last word. “We would prefer not to have to repair the
damage a third time, however. You will, perhaps, take that into consideration over the next few days?”
Vossmarr finished his kindly lecture, and then turned toward Aeryn, surveying the tense, quivering muscles.
“John Crichton’s legs were badly broken by the creature, and he suffered severe injuries to the internal organs
in his abdominal cavity. We have repaired all of the damage, and the bones in his legs are responding well to
the process that we use to repair such injuries.”
“But,” Aeryn prompted, hearing the unsaid portions hanging in his voice.
“But he has lost a great deal of blood, and unlike Luxans, Nebari, or Sebaceans,” he nodded at each person in
turn, “we have no equivalent for his species.” He sighed. “It would, perhaps, be best if you all come talk to him
now.”
Aeryn put her head down on her knees and let the tears flow, giving in to her grief but still hiding the outpouring
of her emotional attachment to John.
“Then he’s dying,” Chiana wailed as D’Argo kicked a planter over. Rygel spun his Throne Sled around and
disappeared from the garden in a rush.
Vossmarr looked around, jaw dropping at the reactions around him. “NO! No, no, no! I am … Forgive me. I
did not realize that all of your cultures observed the custom of saying goodbye to … Oh, dear.” He got to his
feet, distraught. “John Crichton is very weak. There is nothing more that we can do but wait to see if he can
endure. He is the one who must make the effort now. All of you can help by talking to him, coaxing him back to
this reality. I only meant that it would benefit him if you come and talk to him until he awakens.” The slender
hands flailed in distress.
Chiana was the first to recover, giving in to a shock driven giggle. D’Argo dumped his body into a chair,
creating a greater shockwave than Vossmarr’s uncontrolled descent. “Hezmana, I think you stopped both my
hearts,” he moaned.
Aeryn rubbed her eyes on her sleeve before looking up, willing to reveal red, bleary eyes as long as she could
deny them the sight of actual tears. “John is always trying to get us to talk to him about things,” she laughed
weakly. “Aeryn, we need to talk,” she mimicked. “Now’s our chance, and we don’t have to listen to him while we
do it.” Her shaky laughter was joined by D’Argo and Chiana.
“This is not to say that his condition is not severe, but it is not currently fatal. We are doing our best.”
Vossmarr had recovered most of his usual calm poise. “If I assist, can you walk a short distance, Aeryn Sun?”
She swung her legs off the couch without hesitation, balancing on one leg until he reached her side. It was an
awkward arrangement. Vossmarr was too tall, but he finally got one forearm tucked under her arm, and
together they began the slow, hobbling journey into the building.
“Come,” he beckoned to D’Argo and Chiana. “You have walked quite far today, Ka D’Argo, I don’t suppose a
little further will cause permanent damage, and young Chiana does not weigh as much as John Crichton. You
may support her.” He smiled, putting humor into the implied admonition, all of his gentle reserve firmly back in
place. “Your company will only benefit John Crichton’s recovery. You must convince him to continue fighting.”
“Where’s everyone going?” Rygel descended back into the garden.
“Come on, Rygel,” D’Argo invited. “We’re all going to go talk to John. There’s a chance he’ll even listen to you
this time.”
* * * * *
Aeryn paused outside the room, watching the occupants for a while before entering. D’Argo was stretched out
in a chair alongside the bed, his feet in another, just watching while Chiana perched on the side of the bed
holding John’s hand and talking to him. They’d taken turns staying with the unconscious astronaut; talking,
cajoling, and sometimes yelling at him over the last two planetary days, trying to summon him back from
wherever he’d gone.
The horrific injuries had begun to heal. The same exceptional skills that had saved Chiana and D’Argo had
repaired John’s damaged internal organs, prevented shock, and staved off infection. But they couldn’t replace
the lost blood.
The Ashrei had formulated a blood substitute to replace the lost volume, maintain his organs, and carry
oxygen, but they’d explained that his renal organ would continue to remove the foreign substance, requiring
constant replacement of the synthetic, and eventually his body would begin to reject it. John’s own body would
have to replace enough of the missing blood before that happened, or his organs would fail and he would die.
Meanwhile, he was somewhere else -- someplace that left a furrow in his forehead and an anxious look on his
face.
“Any change?” She’d only been gone four arns this time. The medical staff had insisted that she get some
sleep, and the word ‘feltisk’ had been used as a threat if she didn’t accept the exile from his room voluntarily.
She’d chosen the voluntary method because it meant she wouldn’t stay asleep for as long.
“One long sigh,” Chiana said. That was nothing new. The long sigh usually came as the anxious look reached
its greatest intensity, then everything would relax for an arn or two before starting over. “I wonder where he is
when he sighs like that. Earth, you think?”
“I’ve decided that when he sighs like that, he’s probably some place where they won’t provide him with his pitza
and beir,” D’Argo grumbled from his slumped spot across the two chairs.
Aeryn smiled at the interpretation. “Come on, John. Wake up you frelling lazy human.” Being nice hadn’t
worked so far. It was time to change her approach. “Wake up! We want to go back to Moya. Food’s loaded,
Rygel’s up there eating his way through the supply. If you don’t wake up, there’ll only be dentics left.”
“They said talk to him, not lie to him,” the indignant Hynerian objected from the corner.
* * * * *
The books and stories always had wonderful tales about floating in the dark where it was warm and safe,
hearing and knowing what was going on around the hero as he lay injured or dying. Crichton wanted to find
some of those idiot authors and shake a little sense into them. He was hot, he hurt, the noise around him kept
him from sleeping, the constant clatter bothered his ears, and his legs felt like they were being crushed under
the weight of an entire Leviathan. He had no idea where he was or what had happened, and didn’t have
enough energy to even tell all those inconsiderate bastards out there to shut up and let him sleep. He certainly
wasn’t the dying hero, but it would have been nice to at least be the unconscious Erp-man. He sighed in
disgust.
“John, can you hear me? John, wake up.”
Aeryn! It had been Aeryn calling to him in each of his twisted dreams. He wanted time to think about that, but
the pain in his legs and stomach made any kind of concentration nearly impossible. She was shouting at him
now, demanding that he answer her, instead of asking politely. He was getting annoyed. He knew that if she
would just shut up for a few microts he could figure this out, and then he would be willing to respond to her
repeated demands.
She was badgering him again, more crap about talking to her. There was another voice chiming in then, and
he had to decide who else was there to bother him. He finally identified D’Argo, and that made him feel even
more exasperated. The big guy should know enough to leave him alone at a moment like this. He decided that
he would simply have to tell them to shut up, energy or no energy.
“Tryin’ to s’eep,” he complained.
There was a noise like a hiccup next to him, or perhaps it had been a sob. “By the grace of Cholak, at last,”
Aeryn breathed. “John, would you open your eyes and look at me … please?”
He knew this was a ridiculous request, a simple task that deserved none of the anxiety that was distorting her
voice. “Shurr,” he agreed to her appeal.
“John, look at me.” He thought he had done that already. What did she want? He couldn’t remember. “John,
open your eyes.” That was it … now he remembered. She wanted him to open his eyes. Not enough energy.
Everyone had finally gone silent around him. He sighed in relief, letting sleep gather him in to take him away
from the horrible sensations coming from the lower half of his body.
“JOHN!!”
“Jesus Chris’, lemmee ‘lone.” He looked at her, hoping to find out what the huge frelling problem was here.
Must be a major disaster, he decided, because Aeryn appeared to be on the verge of tears … and in public,
too. It looked like they’d sold tickets to the event. He was surrounded by people -- D’Argo, Chiana, the tall
gangly guy he seemed to remember meeting at some point, even Rygel was there. “W’as goin’ on?”
Aeryn began to laugh, but tears were streaking down her cheeks even as he watched, to be surreptitiously
wiped away before anyone else noticed. Everyone around him was smiling all of sudden, leaving John feeling
extremely concerned. If they were all standing around grinning at him like this, he must have screwed up big
time. But no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t remember what the frell had happened or how he had
gotten here -- wherever ‘here’ was.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Chapter 8
They’d repaired the muscles, treated the fractured bone, closed the wound and replaced the lost blood. They
were fast, skilled, and compassionate. When she seemed depressed at being sentenced to confinement on a
bed, they’d let her move to one of the couch-like benches in the garden outside her room. They’d made sure
she was comfortable, made sure she knew how to summon them if there was a problem, and they’d left her
alone.
Aeryn sighed, at ease with the solitude. It was simpler this way. She didn’t have to worry about presenting the
correct expression, making the right noises of concern, or mouthing the anxious phrases that were unknown to
her but anticipated by them. She hugged her arms around her ribs and waited for them to come tell her, firmly
directing her thoughts anywhere except toward what she would do with her life if John died.
The bleakness found a toehold, threatening to swallow her, and she fiercely pushed her thoughts in another
direction, unwilling to consider that possibility. She might be able to survive losing John if Zhaan was there to
show her how to live, how to go on without him. But Zhaan was gone as well. She didn’t need to consider the
future without John though, because there would be no life without him.
“Aeryn?” Chiana’s slim frame was lost inside the thickly quilted pants and top that they all wore. D’Argo was
half carrying her as they moved together through the door. He was back in the quilted clothing as well, having
reopened several of his wounds during his desperate race to get John back to the village. “How are you
doing?” Chiana asked as D’Argo helped her get settled. The lithe frame wound itself into one of the chairs,
achieving a position that looked impossible, not to mention uncomfortable.
“Fine.” The single word was all she could force out past the tightness in her throat. She gestured toward
D’Argo, asking in a motion how he was doing.
“They’ll take good care of him, Aeryn. They saved me.” He didn’t actually say they’d be able to save John,
Aeryn noticed. She nodded and looked away. “Would you like us to leave you alone?”
“No.” She looked back at the pair. “You know me too well, D’Argo.” He knew that it was her nature to deal with
trauma in a solitary fashion, but he also knew that she would want their company. “Thank you.”
“May I come in?” Rygel maneuvered his Throne Sled between the arched plantings, floating into their secluded
area.
“Where have you been?” Chiana began an attack.
“Chiana,” D’Argo’s hushed voice rebuked her. “Rygel was waiting in the village with Vossmarr and Aksal. We
set it up when I went down to the lake. He was the one who talked them into meeting me half way. If they hadn’t
come to meet me, John wouldn’t have survived.”
Aeryn spoke into the ensuing stunned silence. “Thank you, Rygel.”
“How is Crichton?” The Dominar finally put everyone’s thoughts into words.
“Still alive.” Vossmarr stepped into their garden area from an adjoining enclosure. He chose a deep cushioned
chair and deposited his slim frame with none of his usual coordinated grace. The tiled surface beneath them
reverberated with the heavy thump generated by his arrival on the furniture. The Aleph frowned at D’Argo.
“You should not be walking,” he chastised. “Your feat was selfless, but it was also, perhaps, foolish.”
“I could not have done anything less for John.” D’Argo responded to the healer’s beckoning motion, crouching
on one knee by Vossmarr’s side to allow the slender fingers an easy reach.
Black eyes stared into the distance for several microts as the Luxan’s physical condition was assessed, then he
bowed his head, thanking D’Argo for his consideration. “Fascinating. You sustain injury well, Ka D’Argo. You
will heal … again.” He put pointed emphasis on the last word. “We would prefer not to have to repair the
damage a third time, however. You will, perhaps, take that into consideration over the next few days?”
Vossmarr finished his kindly lecture, and then turned toward Aeryn, surveying the tense, quivering muscles.
“John Crichton’s legs were badly broken by the creature, and he suffered severe injuries to the internal organs
in his abdominal cavity. We have repaired all of the damage, and the bones in his legs are responding well to
the process that we use to repair such injuries.”
“But,” Aeryn prompted, hearing the unsaid portions hanging in his voice.
“But he has lost a great deal of blood, and unlike Luxans, Nebari, or Sebaceans,” he nodded at each person in
turn, “we have no equivalent for his species.” He sighed. “It would, perhaps, be best if you all come talk to him
now.”
Aeryn put her head down on her knees and let the tears flow, giving in to her grief but still hiding the outpouring
of her emotional attachment to John.
“Then he’s dying,” Chiana wailed as D’Argo kicked a planter over. Rygel spun his Throne Sled around and
disappeared from the garden in a rush.
Vossmarr looked around, jaw dropping at the reactions around him. “NO! No, no, no! I am … Forgive me. I
did not realize that all of your cultures observed the custom of saying goodbye to … Oh, dear.” He got to his
feet, distraught. “John Crichton is very weak. There is nothing more that we can do but wait to see if he can
endure. He is the one who must make the effort now. All of you can help by talking to him, coaxing him back to
this reality. I only meant that it would benefit him if you come and talk to him until he awakens.” The slender
hands flailed in distress.
Chiana was the first to recover, giving in to a shock driven giggle. D’Argo dumped his body into a chair,
creating a greater shockwave than Vossmarr’s uncontrolled descent. “Hezmana, I think you stopped both my
hearts,” he moaned.
Aeryn rubbed her eyes on her sleeve before looking up, willing to reveal red, bleary eyes as long as she could
deny them the sight of actual tears. “John is always trying to get us to talk to him about things,” she laughed
weakly. “Aeryn, we need to talk,” she mimicked. “Now’s our chance, and we don’t have to listen to him while we
do it.” Her shaky laughter was joined by D’Argo and Chiana.
“This is not to say that his condition is not severe, but it is not currently fatal. We are doing our best.”
Vossmarr had recovered most of his usual calm poise. “If I assist, can you walk a short distance, Aeryn Sun?”
She swung her legs off the couch without hesitation, balancing on one leg until he reached her side. It was an
awkward arrangement. Vossmarr was too tall, but he finally got one forearm tucked under her arm, and
together they began the slow, hobbling journey into the building.
“Come,” he beckoned to D’Argo and Chiana. “You have walked quite far today, Ka D’Argo, I don’t suppose a
little further will cause permanent damage, and young Chiana does not weigh as much as John Crichton. You
may support her.” He smiled, putting humor into the implied admonition, all of his gentle reserve firmly back in
place. “Your company will only benefit John Crichton’s recovery. You must convince him to continue fighting.”
“Where’s everyone going?” Rygel descended back into the garden.
“Come on, Rygel,” D’Argo invited. “We’re all going to go talk to John. There’s a chance he’ll even listen to you
this time.”
* * * * *
Aeryn paused outside the room, watching the occupants for a while before entering. D’Argo was stretched out
in a chair alongside the bed, his feet in another, just watching while Chiana perched on the side of the bed
holding John’s hand and talking to him. They’d taken turns staying with the unconscious astronaut; talking,
cajoling, and sometimes yelling at him over the last two planetary days, trying to summon him back from
wherever he’d gone.
The horrific injuries had begun to heal. The same exceptional skills that had saved Chiana and D’Argo had
repaired John’s damaged internal organs, prevented shock, and staved off infection. But they couldn’t replace
the lost blood.
The Ashrei had formulated a blood substitute to replace the lost volume, maintain his organs, and carry
oxygen, but they’d explained that his renal organ would continue to remove the foreign substance, requiring
constant replacement of the synthetic, and eventually his body would begin to reject it. John’s own body would
have to replace enough of the missing blood before that happened, or his organs would fail and he would die.
Meanwhile, he was somewhere else -- someplace that left a furrow in his forehead and an anxious look on his
face.
“Any change?” She’d only been gone four arns this time. The medical staff had insisted that she get some
sleep, and the word ‘feltisk’ had been used as a threat if she didn’t accept the exile from his room voluntarily.
She’d chosen the voluntary method because it meant she wouldn’t stay asleep for as long.
“One long sigh,” Chiana said. That was nothing new. The long sigh usually came as the anxious look reached
its greatest intensity, then everything would relax for an arn or two before starting over. “I wonder where he is
when he sighs like that. Earth, you think?”
“I’ve decided that when he sighs like that, he’s probably some place where they won’t provide him with his pitza
and beir,” D’Argo grumbled from his slumped spot across the two chairs.
Aeryn smiled at the interpretation. “Come on, John. Wake up you frelling lazy human.” Being nice hadn’t
worked so far. It was time to change her approach. “Wake up! We want to go back to Moya. Food’s loaded,
Rygel’s up there eating his way through the supply. If you don’t wake up, there’ll only be dentics left.”
“They said talk to him, not lie to him,” the indignant Hynerian objected from the corner.
* * * * *
The books and stories always had wonderful tales about floating in the dark where it was warm and safe,
hearing and knowing what was going on around the hero as he lay injured or dying. Crichton wanted to find
some of those idiot authors and shake a little sense into them. He was hot, he hurt, the noise around him kept
him from sleeping, the constant clatter bothered his ears, and his legs felt like they were being crushed under
the weight of an entire Leviathan. He had no idea where he was or what had happened, and didn’t have
enough energy to even tell all those inconsiderate bastards out there to shut up and let him sleep. He certainly
wasn’t the dying hero, but it would have been nice to at least be the unconscious Erp-man. He sighed in
disgust.
“John, can you hear me? John, wake up.”
Aeryn! It had been Aeryn calling to him in each of his twisted dreams. He wanted time to think about that, but
the pain in his legs and stomach made any kind of concentration nearly impossible. She was shouting at him
now, demanding that he answer her, instead of asking politely. He was getting annoyed. He knew that if she
would just shut up for a few microts he could figure this out, and then he would be willing to respond to her
repeated demands.
She was badgering him again, more crap about talking to her. There was another voice chiming in then, and
he had to decide who else was there to bother him. He finally identified D’Argo, and that made him feel even
more exasperated. The big guy should know enough to leave him alone at a moment like this. He decided that
he would simply have to tell them to shut up, energy or no energy.
“Tryin’ to s’eep,” he complained.
There was a noise like a hiccup next to him, or perhaps it had been a sob. “By the grace of Cholak, at last,”
Aeryn breathed. “John, would you open your eyes and look at me … please?”
He knew this was a ridiculous request, a simple task that deserved none of the anxiety that was distorting her
voice. “Shurr,” he agreed to her appeal.
“John, look at me.” He thought he had done that already. What did she want? He couldn’t remember. “John,
open your eyes.” That was it … now he remembered. She wanted him to open his eyes. Not enough energy.
Everyone had finally gone silent around him. He sighed in relief, letting sleep gather him in to take him away
from the horrible sensations coming from the lower half of his body.
“JOHN!!”
“Jesus Chris’, lemmee ‘lone.” He looked at her, hoping to find out what the huge frelling problem was here.
Must be a major disaster, he decided, because Aeryn appeared to be on the verge of tears … and in public,
too. It looked like they’d sold tickets to the event. He was surrounded by people -- D’Argo, Chiana, the tall
gangly guy he seemed to remember meeting at some point, even Rygel was there. “W’as goin’ on?”
Aeryn began to laugh, but tears were streaking down her cheeks even as he watched, to be surreptitiously
wiped away before anyone else noticed. Everyone around him was smiling all of sudden, leaving John feeling
extremely concerned. If they were all standing around grinning at him like this, he must have screwed up big
time. But no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t remember what the frell had happened or how he had
gotten here -- wherever ‘here’ was.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
