Part 7

John sat in a lawn chair in the back yard, sipping a beer. It was late and the sky glowed orange with pink tendrils low on the horizon. The air felt humid and smelled of someone's cookout. It made John's mouth water. In the playground directly in front of him, a bunch of kids horsed around on a teeter-totter. Their shrieks rang out against the hum of crickets. It was a perfect August evening.

"Where are we this time?" asked Harvey. He unfolded a lawn chair next to John's, tested its weight and sat down gingerly.

"This is Huntsville. We lived here for a year when I was eight. It was one of my favorite places because we were right in front of that." He pointed out the playground. "We were the envy of the neighborhood."

"Another trip down memory lane, I see." Harvey leaned forward. "John, these senseless excursions are not productive. I have an idea which I believe-"

"They're useful to me." John got up, drained his beer and set it on the ground. Then he cut through the gap in the low hedges that lined the yard. He stopped in front of a swing set, the kind with thick steel chains attached to a flexible rubber seat. After sitting down, he started pumping. Soon he was at the limit of the arc, the chains going slack at the top of each swing.

"Whoo-eee," he screamed, startling the kids on the teeter-totters. God, this felt wonderful, flying through the air with the wind on his face. The last time he'd been on a swing was in college after Phi Psi party and he'd been so drunk he'd fallen off and twisted his wrist, though he hadn't felt it until the next day. This was much more fun, company excluded.

Speaking of company. Harvey sat down on the adjoining swing, a distasteful look on his face. He flipped the tail of his outfit behind him. It dragged on the ground and he began awkwardly pumping his legs.

"You have to lean forward and backward as you do that," said John, smiling. Not even Harvey would spoil this moment.

Harvey glared at him and did as John suggested. Soon he swinging about as high as John.

"Well, John, I must admit that as a children's game, this would be amusing, but I am not a child." Harvey let the swing coast down. "By visiting these old memories, you are resigning yourself to dying. That is unacceptable."

John ignored him. "When we were kids we used to jump off," he said. "We'd swing as high as we could, then let go, seeing who could go the farthest. Tommy Manzo always won. He was this really tiny kid, wiry. And he'd do something to his body in the air, twist it somehow, like one of those flying squirrels or something. Man, he could go about twenty feet. I couldn't come close, but I wanted to beat him more than anything. I thought, if I could beat Tommy, then I'd be flying like my dad." John snorted. "I wanted my dad to see how far I flew. Then he'd take me with him next time he went off somewhere."

"Ah yes, memories of your father again. It always comes down to that with you, doesn't it? My father is a Scarren, but I have no wish to remember him, except to fuel my hatred of that race."

"You're really tugging at my heart strings, Harve."

"Your father left you alone much of your childhood. He always disappointed you, didn't he, John? Yet that would make you work all the harder because you wanted to please him. Not that he noticed." Harvey's swing had come to a complete stop. He twisted it idly from side to side, scrutinizing John. "You're still trying to please him."

"You're way off base," said John. "I told you before that you don't understand what is going on in here. When are you going to accept that?"

"Your brain is a puzzle. And I loathe leaving a puzzle unsolved. However, I do not think I'm far from the truth this time."

"Whatever." John got the swing going as high as it could, pulled his arms inside the chains and jumped. He soared through the air and landed hard, falling to his knees and rolling to the side. "Oomph."

"Did you enjoy that?" said Harvey.

"Yeah, it was a blast." John refused to admit that the fall had hurt his knees and ankles. He stood and brushed grass from his jeans. Then he looked back. The swing set was about twelve feet away. Damn.

"What would your father think of the way you're giving up now?" said Harvey.

"Man, you just don't quit, do you?" John set off across the playground, Harvey close behind.

"Is that why you find it so important to prove yourself to your friends on Moya time after time, even when they don't notice? Is that why you're trying to save the entire universe from wormholes?" Harvey grabbed John's arm, bringing him to an abrupt halt. "Dying won't help anyone. And it certainly won't please your father."

John wrenched his arm free. "Listen, freak, they're my friends, that's why I look out for them and why they look out for me. It has nothing to do with my father."

Harvey gestured to the playground. "Then why are we here?"

"We're here because ... because I don't think I'll ever make it back to Earth. Not because I'm going to do my damnedest to destroy your wormhole research, but because my real body is dying, little by little, from a cold. A stupid common cold." John walked up to fiberglass hippo that rested on a giant spring and wacked it so it bounced crazily. "And it's not something you can talk me out of. It's not a coma. I can't just wake up from this one. I need medicine or a cure or something. So cut the crap about me giving up."

Suddenly, John felt the pull of his body back on Moya, sapping the energy from him. He sank to the grass and crossed his legs. Harvey joined him.

"I just wanted," continued John, "to be where all I had to worry about was whether or not I could fly farther than Tommy Manzo, whether I'd get to play second base in little league or whether my dad would talk to me, really talk, before he left again. Everything is hard now. And back then, it was simple."

"Why are you trying to save the universe?"

"Because it's the right thing to do." John sighed. "And yes, it would please my father. It's what he would do."

"Are you ready to listen to my ideas now?"

John rested his chin on his hands and closed his eyes. All he wanted to do was sleep. He used to be able to stay in the past like this for hours at a time. Now he barely had the energy for a few minutes. His mind must be weakening along with his body. "Can't I just die in peace?"

Harvey sighed. "And what of Aeryn Sun?"

"What about her?"

"Do you want her to go through the death of another John Crichton?"

"Do you really think she cares if I die?"

"Do not lie to yourself. It is a waste of time and you have so little left."

John opened his eyes, scrubbing a hand over his face. The idea of Aeryn in even more pain was hard to fathom. Last night, he'd seen the weariness in her eyes, the way she'd flinched when he'd touched her, the way she'd practically run from the room.

"Maybe it would be better for her if I died."

Harvey stared at him the way his old chemistry prof used to stare if you hadn't thought out a problem all the way.

"Okay, okay. I know the answer to this one. It would be easier if I died, but not better."

"Are you ready now?"

John rubbed a spot between his eyes. Then he glanced around. In the darkening evening, the teeter-totters and the jungle gym looked menacing, full of shadows where big kids or robbers lurked, where vampires would snatch at your ankles if you got too close. He smiled, glad that he hadn't known then how bad the bad guys really were. He nodded to Harvey.

Harvey smiled and rubbed his hands together. "Yes, yes, that's the spirit. While you have been revisiting these childhood memories, I have been busy thinking through your problem. We will have to work together, if we want to save you."

"All right," said John. "But I don't think I'm going to like this."


***


Aeryn woke feeling like she had never slept. She rose and got dressed as she always did, spending an extra few microts under the shower with her face turned into the water. It didn't help.

As she headed to the center chamber, she realized that she'd dreamed last night. And she almost never dreamed. The details eluded her, though, just a series flashes that included Xhalax plunging to her death, Rygel hovering in front of her talking about loss, and John's pale face beaded with sweat. The last image was particularly disturbing because she wasn't sure which John it was. And she wasn't sure it mattered. But it was the feeling associated the dream that stayed with her. It was a certainty that she'd never experience happiness again, ever, and would end up like her mother. Bitter, scarred, twisted. It was a horrible feeling and it could pin her to her bed if she let it.

As Aeryn entered the center chamber, she pushed the dream and the dark feelings aside. Then she stopped, surprised to see almost everyone here. Normally, she was the first one up and had to eat alone. She must've overslept, she realized. The last time she'd done that had been the day after John had died.

The thought did nothing to lighten her mood. Not that it should be light. Not when John was dying. She sat down next to Rygel and piled food cubes onto her plate, though she did not have much of an appetite this morning.

"So what do we do now?" asked Chiana, sweeping the room with her black eyes.

No one answered. Crais sighed and went back to eating. D'Argo stirred something in a bowl in front of him that smelled spicy. Rygel continued stuffing his face, though with none of his usual enthusiasm. And Aeryn poured herself a glass of relet juice, lost in her thoughts. As she did, she became aware of silence and the absence of movement around her. She glanced up. Everyone was looking at her. "What?" she asked, resisting the urge to duck her head.

"We were talking about what to do about Crichton," said D'Argo.

"Yeah," said Chiana, "Jool says he's getting worse. The healers on the planet aren't helping. I say it's time we looked for a diagnosan."

Crais stabbed his fork into the air as if it would help make his point. "And I say that we could spend a monen looking without success."

"But we all agree that you should be the one to make the final decision," said Rygel. "Though if you want my advice, we should let the healers take apart Jool so we can find out how SHE resists this frelling bacteria. But does anyone ask me? No. And it's a mistake they will all regret some day, let me assure you." He went back to eating, mumbling to himself about injustices.

Aeryn turned to the rest of the room. "Wait. Why should I have the final decision?"

Crais cleared his throat. He had trouble meeting Aeryn's gaze. "On Talyn, you and the other Crichton were ... close ... and this would have been your decision to make. We thought it proper for you to have the same ... opportunity ... here."

Aeryn almost lunged across the table to grab Crais's throat. Of all those present, he was the one who understood the most what she had gone through. He'd been linked to Talyn when she'd shown her feelings for John. He'd seen her with John on his deathbed. He'd seen her afterwards. Aeryn gripped the edge of the table. "It is hardly an opportunity," she said, teeth clenched.

D'Argo and Chiana glared at Crais.

"Perhaps that was not the best choice of words," said Crais.

"The point is," began Chiana, "we just thought you-"

But Jool's voice came over their comms. "D'Argo, Chiana, are you there?"

"What is it, Jool?" said D'Argo.

"You have to come to Zahn's lab right now. Crichton is missing."