Welcome to the Journal of Now and Forever. This Journal is a collection of my Star Control and Star Control 2 fiction. Note: Some of this material is, by necessity, extrapolation from the slim information provided by canon sources.

New fiction is posted first at My Livejournal before it appears here. This story is in response to 15 Minute Ficlets' Challenge #79.

He murmurs in the fever haze, his eyes open but seeing things she can't. Lynn knows she should feel more about this, but she doesn't know how else to feel.

He needs to get better. Everything should be fine, she made sure to weaken the cultures so they wouldn't kill him outright. He needs to get better, and then he'll carry the detritus of protection with him, back to Skyhook, back to Starbase, back to his ship. And everywhere he goes, everyone he deals with, has contact with, he'll share a little bit of that protection with them. It'll be milder for the rest. Lynn guesses it'll be a pandemic, just because their numbers are so small, but no one will ever be the wiser as to what they're really catching, and developing immunity to.

At least, that's the plan. He has to get better first.

It might've been too much, to give him the cultures all in one go. There was a lot in there, and some of them attack the same structures of the body, while others target more selectively. But Lynn figured there was only one chance to do this – he'd get suspicious if he fell ill repeatedly. It's hard enough on him to be grounded, away from his ship, his life.

She wipes his forehead with a wet cloth, careful not to let anything drip into his eyes as they search for something she can't see. If he moves his head just right, the sweat on his throat is highlighted by the one light in the dim room, and she can see the outline of the scar stretching under his jawbone.

There are other scars, too, on his body. She hopes he isn't reliving the past too much in his fever dreams; she wouldn't wish that on him or anyone else. Now and then she tries to talk to him, but he doesn't hear her.

Lynn stands and leaves the room, only briefly, to get the cup of tea that's gone cold hours ago, get the cup and bring it back and try to force some of it between his lips before he thinks he's back on Earth again and fighting for his life.

He takes some of it, this time. He's going to be thirsty when he finally comes out of this. In the meantime, she puts the blanket back on him. Better to cook the germs out, help him through it, help the fever do its job.

She doesn't think about him dying. It can't happen. He took so much pain on Earth, and it didn't kill him. He's tough. He's too arrogant to die. But most importantly, he can't die because then she'd be alone with nobody else who would understand.

He's changed a bit since they first met. His hair's gone bone-blond and he's tanned now, from the radiation that ticks away at all the spacers. But his eyes are still that same flashing green-brown-gold that makes her think of tortoiseshell combs. She doesn't know why she thinks that, but she does. His eyes haven't changed. That's what's important.

He still wants to kill Earthlings, and that's fine by her – she wants to do the same. He wants to be an ancestor, though, and she can't see that. She can't imagine bringing a life into the world. She can't imagine ever letting someone touch her like that again. Even someone she liked. She'll kill before it happens again. These cultures are her children, and they'd kill and devour her if they had the chance. That's why she had to give him the weakened ones, test them on him, and then, afterwards, he'll become the vector, Patient Zero, and he'll spread the safety around.

He bares his teeth, thrashes against the blankets, his eyes haunted by some terror of the past, and she tries her best to be soothing, though the words and tone fall awkwardly from her tongue. At the same time she notes the hallunicatory side effects, and wonders just how devastating the full-strength cultures will be on any Earthlings unlucky enough to fall afoul of them.

"Sleep," she whispers to him, hoping he will hear her. She's already got her story prepared in case he thinks to ask afterwards, how he came to be so sick. He'd just got back from hunting maras, he'd come back early after a good kill, and had planned to take a few days off before returning to work, to hunt some more. And it seemed that some parasite or bug had gotten into his system when he'd flayed the beast, maybe a blood-borne organism, and so...

She had details all planned out, just in case he asked. Or if anyone else asked.

He quieted at last, and closed his eyes in a fitful sleep.

Lynn stood and stretched. He'd better get well soon; she had to get back to work herself. Because she'd waited for just this sort of chance – that he'd be home for an extended period without any reason for someone to call on him – she'd barely been able to schedule time off for herself. And she was bored here, looking after him; she found herself longing to return to work.

"Try to rest," she said to the gunner's sleeping form, and left the room.

Comments? Email me: laridian at aol dot com