Cold. Even through the lightly armored jacket it was cold. As cold as he knew Pluto to be, although that rock was almost 40 times farther away from the sun as he was now. It was still winter, and night, and snow, the coldest things he could think of. They had all that on Pluto. More of it, but the same thing. He hated earth for having winter and night and snow. He hated that it was so cold his blood was freezing before it even had a chance to seep out from that hole in his leg. At least the cold numbed the pain some.
The room was sort of shaped like the letter L, jutting out perpendicularly from the main hall, with a section perpendicular to that sticking off to the right at the far side. Ryan figured he must be in one of the towers at the end of the wing, this sticking out part being farther out into the field below than the rest of the wall. He limped through the darkness, stumbling around forgotten furniture to the row of windows. Skirting puddles made from long-melted snow, he made for the far corner.
He tried sticking his back in that corner, the fierce weather on either side, watching the rectangle of window in the door he'd just come in. No, not safe. Not safe enough. One look in, and he'd be spotted. Quickly he dropped, stealth forfeited by his pained grunt, and he crawled over to the other close corner. He turned achingly, putting his back against the wall that couldn't be seen from the door, facing the corner he'd just abandoned. The wall he leaned on, to the right, was colder than the one behind him, directly exposed to the outside as it was. This way, he could get a shot off at the guy if he came far enough into the room. Which he might not, but probably would. But he could at least get off a shot or two first, which could mean a lot.
Ryan scraped at his eyes with the back of his rough glove, trying to keep the pricks of tears from turning to ice in his eyes. He pulled up his left leg, to get it out of sight, but he could do nothing but leave the right one stretched out in front of him. He bit his lip and pressed back into the wall against the pain of relaxing the muscles around the wound. It took so much to move on it, but now he was sitting, and he wouldn't ever have to move on it again.
That bounty hunter would come and find him and kill him, or the bounty hunter would give up and the cold would kill him. He wouldn't ever need to use that leg again.
He wished that he had something to cover the wound, though, because he needed that blood. He needed it to keep pumping through him, not pumping out of him. He didn't want to loose the feeling in his fingers and toes that he had already lost. He didn't want to be cold like he'd been cold on Pluto. Now that he thought about it, he'd be easy to follow, what with all that blood sloshing out of him. Now he wished that the bounty hunter would hurry it up. It was better to be dead than to be cold.
He tossed the gun to the side, wrapping his arms around the good leg. He should have closed the windows before he got down, he thought, should have tried to keep the cold out. But he had not touched anything on instinct�instinct!�because touching meant upsetting the natural way of things, and a particularly trained individual would easily detect the smudges in the dust, the puddles made from snow come through closed windows. Oh well, oh well, he already had tracked the blood across the room. It only mattered that if he saw the bounty hunter first, as he made his way around the furniture, and was able to shoot him first...no, that wasn't the plan anymore. It didn't matter to shoot the bounty hunter, because the plan was to be shot and have it be over. Finally. That was a much better plan, he thought. And it had nothing to do with moving to close windows or retrieve guns. He didn't want to move. Not anymore.
He tucked his head down between his knee and his shoulder. Some air was caught, and his face was warmed a fraction and instantly cooled each time he took a breath. He held it, and the air became another fraction warmer. He began to shake, so he let it out, and his face froze over with his next intake. He shivered more. Soon his rapidly ebbing strength loosened his grip on his leg, and he slouched back against the wall. The sky through the open windows was cold and black, although it wasn't worth the energy it took to look up out of them. There weren't so many stars when there was a fully functioning atmosphere to block them. Briefly, Ryan wondered how many stars were just far enough away to be seen from earth but not Pluto.
The door handle moved, and his heart stopped. No one had used this building in ages, and the once high-quality door handle bore the embarrassing sign of obsolescence in its slight noise it made when it was turned. Ryan closed his eyes. Maybe the bounty hunter would overreact at seeing the form huddled in the corner, and shoot right away. If not, he would have to make an effort to move threateningly, or else the man might come over and check his pulse. That would be embarrassing. That wouldn't do at all. He let go of his leg, hoping it would slide down on its own when the time came.
Footsteps. Footsteps contorted in his swimming mind, sounding like the vibrations in the ship when the turrets kicked back into their pods. Volley after volley he blasted away into the darkness of space. He had to fix his targeting sensors, he was sure each shot was going far astray. That wouldn't do. There was life on the line. Someone's life. His head rolled against the wall where he had put it, and he sort of remembered that it was his. The footsteps rolled about and then there were hands on him, and he remembered to put his foot down because it was important for some reason that he do so.
"Shit, man, shit, Ryan�" said the solid something that he kicked, "This is bad, we need a doctor, or somebody�hey, Christ, are you listening to me?! You're dying, man, come on, hold on!"
Ryan was fairly certain that that was Con, and not the bounty hunter. "No, that's...." For some reason it was harder to talk than it was to close his eyes and let the lightning bugs go through�although he thought that maybe he didn't want that so much.
Con was pawing at him, making him hurt. He made a whine like an animal when Con poked around his shoulder, and he twisted back against the wall. "I...fell...."
"No, you were fucking shot. Where else? Just your leg and your shoulder? Come on, man, stay with me. Can you get up?"
Had he really been shot in the shoulder? He didn't remember�oh yeah. He'd seen the bounty hunter, and then he'd shot him, and then he fell down, but then he'd gotten back up and found the tower room, and then Con had come and didn't shoot him like he was expecting and didn't Con get shot back on the first floor?
"He's dead, he's dead, you got him when he got you. And I hid down there, instead of running off and getting myself killed on the third floor�what were you thinking leading him all the way up here? I'm not going to be able to get you down there�open your eyes, put your weight on that foot, stay awake until I can drag your pansy ass back to the ship. Yeah, that's right, that's right."
So this was what it felt like to walk. He'd forgotten. He'd forgotten so many things. Con, I forgot to fix the targeters, they need to be fixed�
"No, you need to get fixed, idiot. Here's the door, hold on."
You can read my mind now?
"What? What does that mean? You're better off not talking now."
I'm not talking, I'm thinking about all the things I've forgotten like walking.
"You're right, that's the blood loss talking, not you. Damnit, do I have to carry you? Can't you open your eyes?"
It's really important. I'm cold. It's really important that I....
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