Back to part one

*****

"Do you know anything yet?" Aeryn asked, a thin patina of calm covering her fear for Crichton.

Zhaan straightened from where she was bent over the computer terminal in her apothecary.  "Some, but I am afraid that what I have learned is not good."

"What have you found out?"  Aeryn braced herself internally though her outward appearance was one of the stoic Peacekeeper.

"The organism was artificially created and is highly contagious.  It is viral in nature and in harsh conditions produces spores that can survive all but the most extreme environments.  It is air borne but can also infect the host through any break in the skin.  The symptoms begin with respiratory difficulties and fever as it first colonizes the lungs.  It then spreads to the brain causing a progressively delusional state in which the infected person becomes paranoid and prone to violence.  Next comes delirium, seizures and eventually death."  She paused to study how Aeryn was taking the news before continuing.  "The time from infection to death can range from just a few arns to a weeken."

"Yes, that is all very interesting, but how is it treated?"

"My dear," Zhaan said slowly, "the information in their computer indicates that mortality is one hundred percent.  They found no cure.  The creators of this pestilence lost nearly a sixth of their planet's population before they were able to contain it and then only by taking the most severe measures."

"How are we to help Crichton?" Aeryn asked, unwilling to acknowledge Zhaan's words.

"The only help that we can render him is mercy, that we who care for him not permit him to suffer needlessly."  Zhaan reached out a hand to gently touch Aeryn's arm, one tear coursing silently down her cheek.  "One must accept the will of the Goddess and trust that she knows best in all things."

Aeryn's eyes also filled with moisture but she did not cry.  She was first and foremost a soldier, used to loosing friends and comrades into the blackness.  Crichton had agreed to grant her mercy once, when she had feared she would succumb to the Living Death.  Could she do any less for him?  Still, there was one last hope.  "We do not even know for certain that he is infected."

"My child," Zhaan replied with gentle compassion, "the sample which you brought back was contaminated with the agent's spores.  Can there be a doubt that he has been infected?"

*****

"...superstitious man," John said to his deceased companion, "but sometimes I think that this side of the Milky Way, if I'm still actually in the Milky Way, knows that I don't belong here and goes out of its way to get rid of me."  He touched the corpse with his boot, nudging it a few inches. "Of course, I guess I shouldn't complain, even one of my bad days must be better than one of your good ones."

He heard the airlock's relatively silent glide and smiled.  Aeryn was back. "Don't you just hate it when company drops in without calling first," he said glibly to no one in particular. He stood.  "Hey, Aeryn, I'm  glad you're back.  The air in this pressure suit is starting to get a little stale."

"John," Aeryn began.

"Whoops, it's bad news isn't it?"

Aeryn fully enter the compartment.  "How did you know?"

"You called me John.  You almost never call me John."

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't."

"Yes I do!" Aeryn stopped.  She really didn't think it very honorable to argue with Crichton just then, even if he was wrong.  "All right, maybe I don't, but you are correct, the news is bad."

"OK, give me the good news first."

Aeryn shook her head in confusion.  "I said the news was bad, Crichton."

"Yeah, I know but when delivering news like this you're suppose to say: which do you want first, the good news or the bad news."

"But there is no.."

"Work with me here, Aeryn."

Aeryn thought hard and then nodded her head, a condemned man's last request and all that.  "All right, which do you want first, the good news or the bad news?"

Crichton sighed.  "Give me the bad news."

"But I thought you wanted the good news first?"

"Just give me the bad news, Aeryn.  I'll save the good news for last.  I think I'll probably need a little pick- me-upper later."

Aeryn nodded, whatever the human wanted, no matter how strange it seemed, she would try to give him.  "The contaminant is like a virus.  It is highly contagious and the mortality rate is one hundred percent.  It first affects the respiratory system and then moves to the brain causing behavior changes before causing seizures and death."  She paused before adding.  "There were spores of the contagion on the canister that cut you."

John nodded his head as he absorbed the news.  "OK, what's the good news?"

"I am willing to kill you before you begin to suffer."

"That's the good news?  You're really not very good at this are you?"  Crichton shook his head in denial.  "This isn't the way our second date was suppose to end," John said quietly.  "We were suppose to enjoy our picnic, look at the stars, maybe make out.."

"Make out what?" Aeryn interrupted.

John paused and thought about the better part of valor.  "I'll explain later about that."

Aeryn nodded, afraid that there might not be a later but willing to humor the human in this instance.  "How was it, our date, suppose to end?"

"At your place."

"I'm sure it would have been very nice," Aeryn said wistfully.  Then she was back to Peacekeeper mode and all business.  "Now, if you're ready, I'll prepare the shot."

"Just hold on a second, Aeryn.  I need a chance to think," Crichton said, lifting his gloved hands up in front of his chest in the classic human -stop right there- position.

"You may not have much time before your thinking is affected," Aeryn responded. As an afterthought, she added, "And I am not totally clear that I will be able to tell the difference when that starts to happen."

"Funny, Aeryn, but trust me, I got time.  I'll make the time.  Besides don't be in such a hurry to deliver the coup de grace."

"John, I am only offering you a quick death out of concern for you."

Crichton grinned tightly.  "Yep, nothing says I care more than a Peacekeeper kill shot unless it would be the Vulcan death grip."  John took a step closer to her.  "Listen, I really do appreciate the sentiment but I don't think I'm ready to die just yet."

"John, the virus results in a horrible death.  I would not have you suffer if it is within my power to keep it from you.  You do not know how difficult it is for me to do this for you."

Crichton reached out and took her hand.  "Aeryn, remember when you had heat delirium and were afraid you were facing the Living Death?  Remember what you asked me to do?  I do think I know just how difficult this is for you," he whispered.  "But I don't feel that bad!  It's just getting a little hard to breathe because my oxygen supply is getting low.  And, I do have this itchy feeling in my nose like I'm..I'm..AH- CHOO!"

Aeryn startled.  "Crichton, your nose just exploded!"

"It's called a sneeze Aeryn."  He hand came up and rubbed futilly at the outside of his visor.  "Damn, I got snot all over the inside of my helmet and can't even clean it off."

"The contagion has begun affecting your lungs," Aeryn said forlornly.

"Maybe, maybe."  John sounded rather resigned.  "But we don't know how long it will take to progress to the next stage; probably longer than my O2 is going to hold out."  He sighed. "Do you think that you could go back to Moya and bring me back a portable atmospheric generator.  I may only have a few hours left but I want every single one of them."

"I don't need to go back to Moya.  The computer download gave instructions in how to put the environmentals back on line."

"It wouldn't do me any good even if you did."  He gestured minimally toward the corpse.  "Bubba here was most likely a methane breather."

"Why would you say that?"

"The composition of the ice crystals that formed when the atmosphere vented."

Through the green and white speckling on the inside of his visor, Aeryn suddenly saw Crichton's eyes open wide while his body became completely still.  Suddenly his hand came up and hit the front of his face plate with his palm.

"Man, sometimes I can be so slow.  I'll attribute it to lack of oxygen to the brain.  He was a methane breather, Aeryn!  The contagion was designed specifically to affect and colonize the lungs of other methane breathers, of which I am not one!"

Seeing that Aeryn was looking slightly lost, John got more specific.  "This thing isn't likely to do any more than give me a runny nose while my body gets it out of my system."  He coughed and  quickly began to feel very light headed.  "The virus isn't likely to kill me but running out of oxygen is certain to, I have to get back to Moya.  Now!"

*****

D'argo and Rygel both went to meet the Prowler after it landed in Moya's hanger. D'argo to comfort Aeryn, and Rygel to stake his claim to the human's meager belongings.  They watched as Aeryn climbed from the cockpit and remove her helmet.  She leaned back and attempted to manhandle a limp form over the side.

"Why did you bring the body back?" Rygel questioned.  "We won't be able to reuse his pressure suit."

"He's not dead, at least not yet."

Rygel turned his throne-sled around and hurried away while shrieking, "Plague! Plague!"

D'argo pulled his Qualta blade and pointed it at the Sebacean.  He shook his head slightly.  "Aeryn, what have you done?" he asked somberly.

Aeryn gave up the task of attempting to get Crichton from the Prowler single-handedly.  She turned to her Luxan companion.  "The creatures that created that pestilence breathed methane. That virus was made to thrive in a methane atmosphere, not an oxygen-nitrogen one.  Crichton may have been infected but the contagion shouldn't be able to harm him or us."

"Then why is he unconscious?" D'argo said, unconvinced.

"The oxygen levels in the pressure suit are very low.  He's slowly suffocating." She turned and again began pulling at the motionless human.  "D'argo, we need to get him to the infirmary, to the medical scanner, to confirm that the virus hasn't colonized his respiratory system.  I promise you, if it has, I will do what must be done.  I will not take his life until I know.  I will not wonder the rest of my days if I could have done something to save him."

D'argo struggled within himself for a microt and then angrily put up his blade. He rushed forward and took the human into his arms, carrying him as easily as a child.  "We must hurry then.  How much oxygen does he have left?"

"Less than a quarter arn."

*****

It occurred to John that his chest hurt and he felt like he needed to sneeze. He slowly opened his eyes.  There was a bright blur and a dark blur.  He blinked.  The blurs resolved into the face of Aeryn.  "Hey," he said weakly.  He suddenly smiled.  "I'm not dead."

Aeryn returned his smile.  "Not today." 

John tried to sit up but Aeryn placed her hands on his chest.  "Just rest.  You were right about the contagion not being able to survive in an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere since it was created specifically for a methane one.  However, your respiratory system has become quite congested in its attempt to remove the dead pathogen from your lungs."

John turned his head to the side and coughed.  "Congested is right, I feel like I'm drowning in my own skin," he said, his voice stronger but slightly slurred.

"Zhaan gave you something to help but she said it would probably be sedating."

John, noticing his surroundings, turned to Aeryn and raised his eyebrows in an unspoken question.

Aeryn seemed to color slightly.  "She also thought it best if someone watched over you while you slept, as a precaution.  I had D'argo bring you to my quarters."

John smiled drowsily.  "Cool, we made it back to your place."  He yawned.  "That was my plan for our second date.  I don't...suppose...that I might...get..a..good...night...kizzzzzzz."  His eyes closed in obvious sleep.

Aeryn gently stroked John's hair back from his forehead.  Looking at his sleeping face, she noticed, almost as if for the first time, how handsome and how vulnerable he seemed.  She was suddenly filled with a fierce tenderness toward him.  Another emotion which she had seldom felt and could not put a name to also filled her, causing a bright spark of joy.  She leaned over and tenderly brushed her lips against his.  "Good night, John Crichton."

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