Just One Look

Part 4

D'Argo carried John to the lab, trying not to jostle him too much. The whole way, John drifted in and out of consciousness, mumbling something about wormholes. His skin shone pale and moist with perspiration. He felt hot. And over his usual human muskiness clung a new odor that spoke of illness and disease.

D'Argo tried not to breath in too deeply, and immediately winced at his selfishness. His friend was ill. His bodily odors should be ignored.

Chiana and Jool met him in Zahn's lab. "What did you do to him?" said Chiana, peering into John's face.

D'Argo laid him on a table. "I did not do anything," he said, and pointed a finger at Jool. "It is your medicine that is affecting him."

"My medicine? My medicine helped him." Jool didn't look up from her hand-held scanner, which she passed over John's body. "His temperature is elevated, but I'll have to run some more tests to find out exactly what is wrong. What happened on the planet?"

"He was given a drink called goolaw, which altered his mind so he could not tell a lie."

"Goolaw?"

"Yes," said D'Argo, "I suppose that could be causing his illness, but the Bocreel said the drink was harmless."

Chiana looked at D'Argo. "I thought you didn't trust the Bocreel."

"I do not."

"Well, Goolaw might mess with your mind, but it doesn't make you sick."

"How do you know?" said Jool, glancing up at her.

"Let's just say," said Chiana with her usual head tilt, "that there've been times in my life when it's good to know where your friends stand."

"Hmph," said Jool, turning back to John.

Chiana shrugged. Then she laid a hand against John's cheek and smoothed away a bead of moisture that was trickling past his temple.

D'Argo took up a post near John's shoulder so that he could keep an eye on him while watching Jool work, though he wished he could do more than simply stand at a bedside. D'Argo was not good with sick people. It was more than just the smell, which he could learn to ignore. It was the helplessness in the face of suffering. It was the memory of other times in which D'Argo had ignored injured comrades during battle, ignored their screams because he could do nothing to ease their pain.

Like he'd ignored John's pain, when John had begged for death while being taken over by Scorpius's clone. Like he'd ignored Chiana when she'd grown increasingly unhappy at the prospect of settling down. Like he'd ignored Jothee when he had not known how to fit into D'Argo's world. D'Argo clenched his fists. No, not ignore. He had not ignored them, as you would a sore back after a day of laboring. He had pretended. He'd convinced himself that their problems were not critical and that he did not have the means to help them. He had been wrong.

Jool drew some blood from John's arm and placed it into an instrument in the back of the lab. She frowned and looked up for a microt before resuming her work.

D'Argo felt like he would burst apart at his joints. "What have you found out?" he demanded.

"Nothing yet," said Jool. She waved a hand in his direction as if he were an insect.

D'Argo growled.

Chiana lightly touched his wrist. "You know how Crichton is. He's always getting in trouble one way or another. He'll be fine."

D'Argo nodded. Chiana had matured of late, and D'Argo appreciated her common sense. "I do not enjoy standing around," he said.

Chiana smiled at him. "Neither do I."

"Then both of you, make yourselves useful," said Jool from across the room, her eye pressed against a small viewing screen. "Remove Crichton's clothes so he's more comfortable."

With Chiana's help, D'Argo did as Jool suggested, peeling off John's damp shirt and trousers, untying and removing his boots. Then he laid everything on a bench against the wall while Chiana covered John in a blanket and pressed a moist cloth against his forehead. D'Argo resumed his position next to John's bed. Then he crossed his arms, trying to be patient.

He did not have to wait long. John moved his head to the right and opened his eyes. Immediately, he moaned and squeezed them shut again.

D'Argo quickly turned off the light shining on the bed.

When John opened his eyes once again, D'Argo steppped into his line of vision, resting a hand on his shoulder. "How do you feel?"

"Great. How do I look?" His voice had none of its usual strength.

"Like dren."

John half-smiled and turned, glimpsing Chiana. "Hey, Pip."

"Hey, old man."

"What happened?"

"You lost consciousness on the transport pod," said D'Argo. "I brought you to Zahn's lab." He would've said more but Jool elbowed him out of the way.

"I see you're awake." Jool smiled and gently placed her hand behind John's head, raising it up. "I need you to drink this, Crichton. It will help with your fever." She held a glass full of pink liquid up to his mouth, tilting it while he drank it down.

John closed his eyes as if that small effort had tired him out. "What's wrong with me?"

"I believe you have an illness called cerbel. It's an infection of your nervous system."

"Is is from that bacteria?"

"No, actually. That bacteria is part of your system. I didn't recognize the cerbel yesterday because it is not unusual to my people. It was in you then, however."

D'Argo could not believe his ears. "You mean you could have been treating John for this yesterday?"

"I didn't know yesterday."

"Children," said Chiana, glaring at D'Argo and Jool and then looking pointedly at John.

"It's all right, Jool," said John. "What's the cure?"

Jool bit her lip and glanced at D'Argo and Chiana. She forced a smile when she turned back to John. "There is no cure, I'm afraid. We just treat the symptoms. It usually goes goes away in several days. Most contract this during our wet season when we spend more time indoors."

John smiled weakly. "You mean I have an alien common cold? Damn, I wondered when I'd catch something out here."

"You should rest, Crichton." Jool tucked his blanket under his chin. "I'll be back in a bit with more medicine."

John nodded. As Chiana removed the cloth from his forehead to moisten it, D'Argo pulled Jool to the far side of the lab.

"What are you not telling us?" he said quietly.

Jool crossed her arms, her forehead creased with worry. "I've never seen anyone this sick before," she said. "I've heard stories of severe cases early in our people's history, before we had the medicines we have today. But D'Argo, those people didn't survive."

"Crichton is human, surely it will not affect him the same way."

"Perhaps," said Jool glancing back at John, "or maybe it will be worse."

Chiana approached them. "He wants to talk to you," she told D'Argo.

D'Argo gave Jool's hand a squeeze. Their eyes met briefly. Then he headed back across the room, grabbing a stool along the way so John would not have to look up at him. He sat down and leaned forward.

"I'm pretty sick," said John.

D'Argo nodded, noting John's pale skin and reddened eyes, the sluggish way he turned his head, and the effort it took to speak. "Are you in any pain?"

"I'm okay."

"You will heal. Jool is preparing the medicine."

John nodded absently. "Who else knows I'm sick? Does Aeryn know?"

D'Argo wasn't sure. "She may have heard me tell Jool that you were ill, but she knows nothing else."

"Good. Do me a favor, okay? Make sure she doesn't find out about this. I don't want her to worry."

With the way Aeryn had shut herself away from everyone since her arrival on Moya, D'Argo couldn't imagine her worrying about anything, especially John. She seemed to have erected a wall that a prowler couldn't blast through. Plus, D'Argo did not believe in deceipt as a solution to a problem among friends. He shook his head. "She will notice your absence."

"Then tell her I'm sick but not that sick." John grabbed D'Argo's arm. "I mean it, man, she can't find out. Not until I'm better."

D'Argo decided that it would only be a small lie. "All right."

"And make sure Chiana and Jool know about this, and don't tell Sparky or Crais anything. The less people who know the less chance of someone slipping up." He stopped, breathing hard.

D'Argo patted John's hand. "I will take care of it."

But John didn't seem to hear him. "You know how she is," he said. "Walking around like a zombie because the other me died. Who knows what'll happen when she finds out how sick I am. She might freak out or something."

D'Argo frowned. "But she barely looks at you now, I can't imagine ..."

John's eyes widened and he stared at the ceiling, breathing hard. "You're right. She may not ask about me. In fact, she probably won't even notice I'm not around, probably'll think I'm off doing something stupid. You know how she much she thinks of my plans. Heck you'll be off the hook, buddy, you-"

"John," said D'Argo. He sighed heavily as an immense sadness for his two friends pressed down on his shoulders. As much as he would like to help them, this was one situation in which he really could do very little. "I understand."

John swallowed hard and pressed his lips together. "Thanks."

"Rest now," said D'Argo as he tucked John's hand back under the blanket.

D'Argo sat back on his stool. He watched John close his eyes and listened as his breathing grew slow and regular.