"Pilot! Where is Crichton?" Aeryn had been working with him on the phase
modulations. He had gone back to a storage bay for a different tool, and
had not yet returned.
"Aeryn, I can not locate Crichton by his com frequency. The fires have
damaged sensors and the DRD's are occupied with battle damage. Moya is
doing all she can to contain the fires."
Aeryn felt a deep unease at the news. She had several stations to check, she had to put the fears out of her mind. She called on a deep training she had once abandoned, shut down her emotions and returned to work.
In the lower aft storage bay, the fires were rapidly burning out of control. Moya was unable to extinguish the flames, the depressurization hatch had been damaged in the original blast. John was pounding the flames and making progress. He did not realizing the flames were advancing around behind him, sealing him in the bay. John was rapidly becoming exhausted, his breathing was difficult. The heat was intense, his clothing was beginning to smolder.
"Always thought I was hot stuff." John quipped to himself. He was going to die in here. He knew it. But he could keep Moya and her crew safe. He reached in his pocket and switched on his voice recorder. He grabbed another tarp sheet and began to beat the flames anew.
"Dad." He spoke as he pounded the flames. "I am in my last fight. I have logged three years with you, and I wanted to thank you for listening." John paused, pounding the flames relentlessly. "But dad, the last of this tape is for Aeryn Sun. You would have loved her Dad." his voice broke. Smoke and pain made his voice rough. "Because I loved her, Dad. So Aeryn, please.know that I loved you. Your strength, your mind, the fearlessness that came from your heart, not the Peacekeeper training." he stopped beating the flames and fell to his knees, "GOD! ARE YOU OUT HERE?"
The flames had burned his hair and brows. His corneas were being seared now. The wasted time he played cat and mouse with Aeryn.he cursed at the frustration. He was beyond pain now.
"Dead man walking!" John cackled to himself. He couldn't feel his hands; he couldn't see the bone where the flesh had gone.
"God, Aeryn.I said I loved you, but I lied. I forget who sang it, but he must have met you. I lied, because there is no way that what I felt for you was love. It was poetry. it was music.it was madness. it was light..why didn't I say this before?"
John's lungs gave out. He made one last weak swing at the crackling flames, and fell into the fire.
The DRD's finally got the depressurization hatch repaired and Moya was able to extinguish the flames. Ashan and Bialar had come to the bay where Crichton was engulfed in flames.
"I will go in and get Crichton. Will you be able to heal burns of this magnitude in a human?" Crais addressed Ashan.
"I will go to him. I can heal him there."
"The flames are gone, Sebacean, but the heat will render you useless before you can heal Crichton. Nobility is a short step away from folly. Think!" He spat the last word.
Ashan was not offended. He had seen the fervor the Captain had shown fighting alongside this crew. Crais was concerned, and concern made him harsh and formal.
"Then we both go. Two will be faster, the heat will have insufficient time to do damage." Ashan suggested. Crais nodded. They picked their way through the smoking debris. Crichton was hardly breathing and he was delirious. The two men lifted him and dragged him toward the passageway.
"He is still alive, barely." Ashan closed his eyes. He wanted to begin even as they were moving him. Ashan felt the now familiar human physiology begin to move, regenerate under his care. Crichton's breathing sounded a bit better. The heat was uncomfortable, and while healing, he couldn't fight off the effects.
Moya suddenly lurched to one side. Ashan, Crais and John were thrown to the floor. Ashan gasped. He had landed on something sharp. Ashan did not remove his hands from John. Crais looked sharply at Ashan.
"Are you injured?"
"A cut, nothing more. Proceed." Ashan locked his jaw. It was more than a cut, he knew, but they had to get out to the passage so Moya could seal off the bay and dissipate the heat. They moved to the passageway and laid John on the floor.
"Crais, I must retrieve his recorder. He requested it." Ashan turned on his heel and went back into the bay. He found the recorder. He slipped it into a pocket and his hand touched the large, wet stain on his jacket. Something had punctured his midsection, clean through, when they fell. He shook his head to clear it. Crichton's injuries surpassed his own. He got up and rushed back out to the passageway. He nearly collided with Aeryn.
"John!" Aeryn ran down the passageway, seeing Crais crouching beside the hideously burned Crichton. She stopped a short way from his body, unable to proceed. Ashan stopped her from advancing.
"Aeryn." He shook her out of her reverie.
"Is he..?"
"He is alive Aeryn, I need to get to him. You need to find K'Tahli and Rainne, bring them here. I need their assistance." He pressed the recorder into her hands. She still didn't move.
"Aeryn! Now!" Ashan's tone was pure Crais. Aeryn snapped out of her horrified stupor and ran down the hallway in search of K'Tahli.
While Ashan was talking to Aeryn, Crais had lifted John to ease the difficult respiration.
John searched with sightless eyes for the source of the arms supporting him. He put his hand up to Crais' face. The fingers managed to find the familiar cut pattern of his goatee.
"Aeryn. You need a shave." Crichton gave a small laugh that sent him into painful coughing spasms.
"Crais, Crais bo bais, bonanna banna bo bais."
"Crichton, be still. Save your strength. "
" Oh yeah. I am a weak, pathetic inferior being." He coughed again. "Crais, you promised that I would die in your hands. It looks like you will be getting your wish."
"Be still Human." Crais reverted to what once had been an insult. The extent of injuries was a frightening intrusion of mortality that someday would claim them all.
Crais was shaken, but would not allow John to hear it in his voice. "You will not die this day."
Ashan was approaching.
"Ah, yes, your brother can heal."
"He is NOT my brother." Crais clenched his jaw.
"Crais. Do not piss away this chance. Somebody's God is giving you a big fat box of second chances with a red bow and shiny paper." Crichton had to stop and catch a ragged breath, "You might be a maniac, but don't be stupid too."
Crichton passed out.
Ashan knelt down beside the unconscious man. He began the slow healing process, slower still because of his own injury. Crais watched, powerless to assist, fascinated by the process. He was unwilling to consider John's words, but also unable to ignore them.
K'Tahli came around the passageway with Rainne. Crais was aware that Rainne was on Moya, but the sight of her in the middle of this battle was frightening. He held out his arms and she rushed into the embrace. K'Tahli knelt down by Ashan, to aid in the healing of the human.
"C'thha, where did Aeryn go?" Crais asked Rainne quietly as he held her.
"She could not return. She went to the solar terrace. Moya reported the battle was concluded. She is convinced John is dead or dying." Rainne replied.
"I must go to her." Crais pulled on his gloves. Rainne held him for a moment longer, before he strode from the room.
On the terrace, Aeryn had the recorder in her hands.
"Aeryn?"
She hung her head, the vista of the stars the only light on the terrace.
"Aeryn?" Crais asked again.
"Tell me." She whispered.
"He is alive, Aeryn. Ashan is working on him now." The name felt foreign on Crais' lips.
She gave a silent, wrenching sob and pitched forward. Crais caught her, she stiffened in his arms, tried to pull away. She was fighting her own emotions, to accept even the simplest embrace she might shatter. He turned her so she faced away from him, pulled her back against his chest like a child. He held her silently for a few moments.
"Did you listen to the tape?" Crais asked quietly.
She didn't answer for a long moment.
"No." She stiffened in his supportive embrace, "I will upon the news of his death."
Crais spun her to face him.
"Aeryn," his voice was husky with emotion, "love is for the living. Let go, woman, let go of your training! It is as cold as the space before you! What can this stoic silent vigil give you? Hot rage and a cold heart.I know, I have held them both close to me!"
She looked at him with vacant eyes. She had fallen in love with John, true. She realized now that she never fully opened herself to it, to shield from the potential for hurt.
"Aeryn!" Crais pleaded with her. "Listen, please."
He took the recorder from her hands and set it on the table. He began the playback and turned to leave.
"Crais." Her voice halted him. She grabbed the recorder and stopped it.
"Stay." She whispered.
She sat on the floor under the stars. Talyn hovered overhead, casting a soft glow over the terrace. Crais sat beside her, careful not to touch her, and resumed the playback.
"Dad."
John's voice was distant and the roar of the fire was nothing less than pure evil. "I am in my last fight. I have logged three years with you, and I wanted to thank you for listening." Aeryn silently cried. Her face remained impassive, but finally the tears came.
"But dad, the last of this tape is for Aeryn Sun. You would have loved her Dad." his voice broke. Smoke and pain made his voice rough. "Because I loved her, Dad. So Aeryn, please.know that I loved you. Your strength, your mind, the fearlessness that came from your heart, not the Peacekeeper training." they could hear him stop beating the flames and fall to his knees, "GOD! ARE YOU OUT HERE?"
Aeryn reached forward to grab the recorder, Crais grabbed her hand. All they heard was flame and the frantic pounding..then he cursed at the frustration. He was beyond pain now.
"Dead man walking!" John cackled to himself. The sound wrenched at Aeryn, she squeezed her eyes shut. She wrapped her arms against her midsection and began to rock herself, back and forth.
"God, Aeryn.I said I loved you, but I lied. I forget who sang it, but he must have met you. I lied, because there is no way that what I felt for you was love.. It was poetry.. it was music... It was madness.. it was light..why didn't I say this before?"
John's lungs gave out. He made one last weak swing at the crackling flames, and fell into the fire.
Aeryn collapsed into Crais, an eerie, wrenching wail split the darkness as she finally gave in to the tears.
Ashan and K'Tahli worked on John for several arns. His injuries were extensive. They moved him to a makeshift surgery. K'Tahli knew that Ashan was injured, and more seriously than he was allowing anyone to see. If they worked on him using conventional medical technology and their healing gifts, the process was faster. Healing was not a magical or easy gift. Some injuries, disease and system failures inside the body were beyond their grasp. Human DNA had a wonderfully complex regenerative selection process, and unlocking each system was tiring.
Rather than try to repair the burned corneal tissue, they chose to surgically replace them. Using optical cellular tissues from Moya, they were able to synthesize a bio-elastic polymer that John's body was not rejecting. Ashan rejected the idea of improving John's vision. He had noticed something as he was dealing with these humans, and several of the crossbreed people his work had exposed over the years. They did not have the razor sharp senses that the Peacekeepers had bred, or the Luxans had evolved. But they had adapted by using intuition and instinct. Much of those abilities had atrophied in the so-called "pure" races, the engineered peoples. No, what the Sebaceans may have perceived as impairment might be an impetus to achieve with other means for John.
Ashan's job was to restore Crichton, not impose his own standards upon him.
He glanced over at K'Tahli. He wondered if she ever realized how much medical training she had picked up just by assisting him. He smiled behind his bio-filter mask. He never tired of discovering new things about his wife. He tried to talk her into pursuing medicine, but to no avail. She assisted him because their gifts combined were unique and she would be a fool to deny the benefit it wrought. But she was a student of histories, of peoples. She told him that Crichton told her she dug into what made people "tick." He had gone on to explain that early instruments for measuring time on earth had internal gears that actually made a ticking noise. So to a person, or a race of people, if you studied what they held inside, you found out what it was that made their external manifestations.their "tick." It gave her a deep understanding of what motivated certain peoples, and she could predict behavior, and change it. Healing souls gone down the wrong way was one of the ways she explained herself.
K'Tahli smiled up at him. Her mind was focused on Crichton's, so she was not listening to Ashan's thoughts. They were plain in his eyes though.
John's mind was a jumble of activity, and much of it was focused on the pain. His skin and lungs had been damaged along with his hands and eyes. He had done an unforgettably brave job battling the flames. The storage bay was home to some volatile fluids and oils that if ignited, could have killed the entire crew. If the internal explosion had been great enough, it could have killed Moya as well. Softly she whispered this in John's head. She told John that Aeryn was waiting for him to wake so she could hold him. She told him that his father and his people on earth should have been honored to be counted among his friends. She tried cracking jokes, but she didn't think he got the one about the Hynerian hedgehog.
She gently moved his synaptic relays away from the pain centers as she spoke in his head, she dulled the pain responses where the skin debridement and regeneration was happening. She went into his subconscious and found some old and sweet memories of home, knitting them together for a peaceful dream. This was always her final procedure; to assure the patient alone, in peaceful slumber, did the last phases of healing. Life had a way of being very tenacious, and this human was no different.
Ashan was smoothing the last of the newly pink skin on John's chest. The eyes were covered in a filmy fabric to keep debris from the healing corneal grafts. The lungs were well, and his breathing deep and even. The torn ligaments in his shoulder had re-knit but would need exercise to become flexible and strong again. The burns took the longest, as human skin seemed to have a slow natural regenerative process. Each layer had to be coaxed out of dormancy into a cellular replication sequence that it carried in cellular memory from infancy.
Ashan sat back and slipped off his mask. "He is well." He announced. Rainne had watched the process from its inception, amazed. Crais had come in after spending an arn with Aeryn on the terrace. She had fallen into an exhausted cathartic sleep, so Crais had covered her and left her sleeping. K'Tahli was finishing with the dream to assure that John slept for a full 10 arns. She finally sat back as well.
There was a deep silence in the room for several moments.
"Pilot." Crais addressed pilot, "How is Moya?"
"She is primarily undamaged, minor repairs are underway. She is deeply troubled by the grievous injuries of her crew."
"So are we." From the doorway, Chiana and Jool stood with Stark.
Ashan addressed them and pilot. "John Crichton will survive. He will be his old self in a matter of a day or so."
"D'Argo?" Jool inquired. She was looking hard at Ashan to avoid looking at K'Tahli or Rainne.
Ashan looked over at Rainne and K'Tahli.
"He will also recover." It was Rainne who had spoken. She addressed Jool despite the waves of animosity she felt from the fiery haired Interion. "Perhaps you would care to ask him yourself?" Rainne indicated with a nod that D'Argo had wearily staggered in behind them. Jool ran to embrace him. He was weak, and he looked puzzled. He knew that he had begged Ashan to let him die. He also remembered seeing Ashan walk away.
He remembered the searing pain, flashes of light and sound. Some of it had to be hallucination, because he thought he remembered being back on his home world. D'Argo looked at Rainne. He had seen her as well, or thought he had.
"Thank you, all, for your efforts on my behalf." He indicated to everyone. They understood. K'Tahli had explained to Moya via Pilot essentially what happened, so they knew he'd be disoriented. D'Argo turned and walked from the room. Jool tried to follow; he stopped her with a look. She shot an acid glance at Rainne as if it was her fault in some way and left as well.
Aeryn felt a deep unease at the news. She had several stations to check, she had to put the fears out of her mind. She called on a deep training she had once abandoned, shut down her emotions and returned to work.
In the lower aft storage bay, the fires were rapidly burning out of control. Moya was unable to extinguish the flames, the depressurization hatch had been damaged in the original blast. John was pounding the flames and making progress. He did not realizing the flames were advancing around behind him, sealing him in the bay. John was rapidly becoming exhausted, his breathing was difficult. The heat was intense, his clothing was beginning to smolder.
"Always thought I was hot stuff." John quipped to himself. He was going to die in here. He knew it. But he could keep Moya and her crew safe. He reached in his pocket and switched on his voice recorder. He grabbed another tarp sheet and began to beat the flames anew.
"Dad." He spoke as he pounded the flames. "I am in my last fight. I have logged three years with you, and I wanted to thank you for listening." John paused, pounding the flames relentlessly. "But dad, the last of this tape is for Aeryn Sun. You would have loved her Dad." his voice broke. Smoke and pain made his voice rough. "Because I loved her, Dad. So Aeryn, please.know that I loved you. Your strength, your mind, the fearlessness that came from your heart, not the Peacekeeper training." he stopped beating the flames and fell to his knees, "GOD! ARE YOU OUT HERE?"
The flames had burned his hair and brows. His corneas were being seared now. The wasted time he played cat and mouse with Aeryn.he cursed at the frustration. He was beyond pain now.
"Dead man walking!" John cackled to himself. He couldn't feel his hands; he couldn't see the bone where the flesh had gone.
"God, Aeryn.I said I loved you, but I lied. I forget who sang it, but he must have met you. I lied, because there is no way that what I felt for you was love. It was poetry. it was music.it was madness. it was light..why didn't I say this before?"
John's lungs gave out. He made one last weak swing at the crackling flames, and fell into the fire.
The DRD's finally got the depressurization hatch repaired and Moya was able to extinguish the flames. Ashan and Bialar had come to the bay where Crichton was engulfed in flames.
"I will go in and get Crichton. Will you be able to heal burns of this magnitude in a human?" Crais addressed Ashan.
"I will go to him. I can heal him there."
"The flames are gone, Sebacean, but the heat will render you useless before you can heal Crichton. Nobility is a short step away from folly. Think!" He spat the last word.
Ashan was not offended. He had seen the fervor the Captain had shown fighting alongside this crew. Crais was concerned, and concern made him harsh and formal.
"Then we both go. Two will be faster, the heat will have insufficient time to do damage." Ashan suggested. Crais nodded. They picked their way through the smoking debris. Crichton was hardly breathing and he was delirious. The two men lifted him and dragged him toward the passageway.
"He is still alive, barely." Ashan closed his eyes. He wanted to begin even as they were moving him. Ashan felt the now familiar human physiology begin to move, regenerate under his care. Crichton's breathing sounded a bit better. The heat was uncomfortable, and while healing, he couldn't fight off the effects.
Moya suddenly lurched to one side. Ashan, Crais and John were thrown to the floor. Ashan gasped. He had landed on something sharp. Ashan did not remove his hands from John. Crais looked sharply at Ashan.
"Are you injured?"
"A cut, nothing more. Proceed." Ashan locked his jaw. It was more than a cut, he knew, but they had to get out to the passage so Moya could seal off the bay and dissipate the heat. They moved to the passageway and laid John on the floor.
"Crais, I must retrieve his recorder. He requested it." Ashan turned on his heel and went back into the bay. He found the recorder. He slipped it into a pocket and his hand touched the large, wet stain on his jacket. Something had punctured his midsection, clean through, when they fell. He shook his head to clear it. Crichton's injuries surpassed his own. He got up and rushed back out to the passageway. He nearly collided with Aeryn.
"John!" Aeryn ran down the passageway, seeing Crais crouching beside the hideously burned Crichton. She stopped a short way from his body, unable to proceed. Ashan stopped her from advancing.
"Aeryn." He shook her out of her reverie.
"Is he..?"
"He is alive Aeryn, I need to get to him. You need to find K'Tahli and Rainne, bring them here. I need their assistance." He pressed the recorder into her hands. She still didn't move.
"Aeryn! Now!" Ashan's tone was pure Crais. Aeryn snapped out of her horrified stupor and ran down the hallway in search of K'Tahli.
While Ashan was talking to Aeryn, Crais had lifted John to ease the difficult respiration.
John searched with sightless eyes for the source of the arms supporting him. He put his hand up to Crais' face. The fingers managed to find the familiar cut pattern of his goatee.
"Aeryn. You need a shave." Crichton gave a small laugh that sent him into painful coughing spasms.
"Crais, Crais bo bais, bonanna banna bo bais."
"Crichton, be still. Save your strength. "
" Oh yeah. I am a weak, pathetic inferior being." He coughed again. "Crais, you promised that I would die in your hands. It looks like you will be getting your wish."
"Be still Human." Crais reverted to what once had been an insult. The extent of injuries was a frightening intrusion of mortality that someday would claim them all.
Crais was shaken, but would not allow John to hear it in his voice. "You will not die this day."
Ashan was approaching.
"Ah, yes, your brother can heal."
"He is NOT my brother." Crais clenched his jaw.
"Crais. Do not piss away this chance. Somebody's God is giving you a big fat box of second chances with a red bow and shiny paper." Crichton had to stop and catch a ragged breath, "You might be a maniac, but don't be stupid too."
Crichton passed out.
Ashan knelt down beside the unconscious man. He began the slow healing process, slower still because of his own injury. Crais watched, powerless to assist, fascinated by the process. He was unwilling to consider John's words, but also unable to ignore them.
K'Tahli came around the passageway with Rainne. Crais was aware that Rainne was on Moya, but the sight of her in the middle of this battle was frightening. He held out his arms and she rushed into the embrace. K'Tahli knelt down by Ashan, to aid in the healing of the human.
"C'thha, where did Aeryn go?" Crais asked Rainne quietly as he held her.
"She could not return. She went to the solar terrace. Moya reported the battle was concluded. She is convinced John is dead or dying." Rainne replied.
"I must go to her." Crais pulled on his gloves. Rainne held him for a moment longer, before he strode from the room.
On the terrace, Aeryn had the recorder in her hands.
"Aeryn?"
She hung her head, the vista of the stars the only light on the terrace.
"Aeryn?" Crais asked again.
"Tell me." She whispered.
"He is alive, Aeryn. Ashan is working on him now." The name felt foreign on Crais' lips.
She gave a silent, wrenching sob and pitched forward. Crais caught her, she stiffened in his arms, tried to pull away. She was fighting her own emotions, to accept even the simplest embrace she might shatter. He turned her so she faced away from him, pulled her back against his chest like a child. He held her silently for a few moments.
"Did you listen to the tape?" Crais asked quietly.
She didn't answer for a long moment.
"No." She stiffened in his supportive embrace, "I will upon the news of his death."
Crais spun her to face him.
"Aeryn," his voice was husky with emotion, "love is for the living. Let go, woman, let go of your training! It is as cold as the space before you! What can this stoic silent vigil give you? Hot rage and a cold heart.I know, I have held them both close to me!"
She looked at him with vacant eyes. She had fallen in love with John, true. She realized now that she never fully opened herself to it, to shield from the potential for hurt.
"Aeryn!" Crais pleaded with her. "Listen, please."
He took the recorder from her hands and set it on the table. He began the playback and turned to leave.
"Crais." Her voice halted him. She grabbed the recorder and stopped it.
"Stay." She whispered.
She sat on the floor under the stars. Talyn hovered overhead, casting a soft glow over the terrace. Crais sat beside her, careful not to touch her, and resumed the playback.
"Dad."
John's voice was distant and the roar of the fire was nothing less than pure evil. "I am in my last fight. I have logged three years with you, and I wanted to thank you for listening." Aeryn silently cried. Her face remained impassive, but finally the tears came.
"But dad, the last of this tape is for Aeryn Sun. You would have loved her Dad." his voice broke. Smoke and pain made his voice rough. "Because I loved her, Dad. So Aeryn, please.know that I loved you. Your strength, your mind, the fearlessness that came from your heart, not the Peacekeeper training." they could hear him stop beating the flames and fall to his knees, "GOD! ARE YOU OUT HERE?"
Aeryn reached forward to grab the recorder, Crais grabbed her hand. All they heard was flame and the frantic pounding..then he cursed at the frustration. He was beyond pain now.
"Dead man walking!" John cackled to himself. The sound wrenched at Aeryn, she squeezed her eyes shut. She wrapped her arms against her midsection and began to rock herself, back and forth.
"God, Aeryn.I said I loved you, but I lied. I forget who sang it, but he must have met you. I lied, because there is no way that what I felt for you was love.. It was poetry.. it was music... It was madness.. it was light..why didn't I say this before?"
John's lungs gave out. He made one last weak swing at the crackling flames, and fell into the fire.
Aeryn collapsed into Crais, an eerie, wrenching wail split the darkness as she finally gave in to the tears.
Ashan and K'Tahli worked on John for several arns. His injuries were extensive. They moved him to a makeshift surgery. K'Tahli knew that Ashan was injured, and more seriously than he was allowing anyone to see. If they worked on him using conventional medical technology and their healing gifts, the process was faster. Healing was not a magical or easy gift. Some injuries, disease and system failures inside the body were beyond their grasp. Human DNA had a wonderfully complex regenerative selection process, and unlocking each system was tiring.
Rather than try to repair the burned corneal tissue, they chose to surgically replace them. Using optical cellular tissues from Moya, they were able to synthesize a bio-elastic polymer that John's body was not rejecting. Ashan rejected the idea of improving John's vision. He had noticed something as he was dealing with these humans, and several of the crossbreed people his work had exposed over the years. They did not have the razor sharp senses that the Peacekeepers had bred, or the Luxans had evolved. But they had adapted by using intuition and instinct. Much of those abilities had atrophied in the so-called "pure" races, the engineered peoples. No, what the Sebaceans may have perceived as impairment might be an impetus to achieve with other means for John.
Ashan's job was to restore Crichton, not impose his own standards upon him.
He glanced over at K'Tahli. He wondered if she ever realized how much medical training she had picked up just by assisting him. He smiled behind his bio-filter mask. He never tired of discovering new things about his wife. He tried to talk her into pursuing medicine, but to no avail. She assisted him because their gifts combined were unique and she would be a fool to deny the benefit it wrought. But she was a student of histories, of peoples. She told him that Crichton told her she dug into what made people "tick." He had gone on to explain that early instruments for measuring time on earth had internal gears that actually made a ticking noise. So to a person, or a race of people, if you studied what they held inside, you found out what it was that made their external manifestations.their "tick." It gave her a deep understanding of what motivated certain peoples, and she could predict behavior, and change it. Healing souls gone down the wrong way was one of the ways she explained herself.
K'Tahli smiled up at him. Her mind was focused on Crichton's, so she was not listening to Ashan's thoughts. They were plain in his eyes though.
John's mind was a jumble of activity, and much of it was focused on the pain. His skin and lungs had been damaged along with his hands and eyes. He had done an unforgettably brave job battling the flames. The storage bay was home to some volatile fluids and oils that if ignited, could have killed the entire crew. If the internal explosion had been great enough, it could have killed Moya as well. Softly she whispered this in John's head. She told John that Aeryn was waiting for him to wake so she could hold him. She told him that his father and his people on earth should have been honored to be counted among his friends. She tried cracking jokes, but she didn't think he got the one about the Hynerian hedgehog.
She gently moved his synaptic relays away from the pain centers as she spoke in his head, she dulled the pain responses where the skin debridement and regeneration was happening. She went into his subconscious and found some old and sweet memories of home, knitting them together for a peaceful dream. This was always her final procedure; to assure the patient alone, in peaceful slumber, did the last phases of healing. Life had a way of being very tenacious, and this human was no different.
Ashan was smoothing the last of the newly pink skin on John's chest. The eyes were covered in a filmy fabric to keep debris from the healing corneal grafts. The lungs were well, and his breathing deep and even. The torn ligaments in his shoulder had re-knit but would need exercise to become flexible and strong again. The burns took the longest, as human skin seemed to have a slow natural regenerative process. Each layer had to be coaxed out of dormancy into a cellular replication sequence that it carried in cellular memory from infancy.
Ashan sat back and slipped off his mask. "He is well." He announced. Rainne had watched the process from its inception, amazed. Crais had come in after spending an arn with Aeryn on the terrace. She had fallen into an exhausted cathartic sleep, so Crais had covered her and left her sleeping. K'Tahli was finishing with the dream to assure that John slept for a full 10 arns. She finally sat back as well.
There was a deep silence in the room for several moments.
"Pilot." Crais addressed pilot, "How is Moya?"
"She is primarily undamaged, minor repairs are underway. She is deeply troubled by the grievous injuries of her crew."
"So are we." From the doorway, Chiana and Jool stood with Stark.
Ashan addressed them and pilot. "John Crichton will survive. He will be his old self in a matter of a day or so."
"D'Argo?" Jool inquired. She was looking hard at Ashan to avoid looking at K'Tahli or Rainne.
Ashan looked over at Rainne and K'Tahli.
"He will also recover." It was Rainne who had spoken. She addressed Jool despite the waves of animosity she felt from the fiery haired Interion. "Perhaps you would care to ask him yourself?" Rainne indicated with a nod that D'Argo had wearily staggered in behind them. Jool ran to embrace him. He was weak, and he looked puzzled. He knew that he had begged Ashan to let him die. He also remembered seeing Ashan walk away.
He remembered the searing pain, flashes of light and sound. Some of it had to be hallucination, because he thought he remembered being back on his home world. D'Argo looked at Rainne. He had seen her as well, or thought he had.
"Thank you, all, for your efforts on my behalf." He indicated to everyone. They understood. K'Tahli had explained to Moya via Pilot essentially what happened, so they knew he'd be disoriented. D'Argo turned and walked from the room. Jool tried to follow; he stopped her with a look. She shot an acid glance at Rainne as if it was her fault in some way and left as well.