A long curved, cruel path becomes peaceful and kind Chapter 1: Part 3 Depression and Grief, a lost in space fanfic

A/N Can be seen as a interlude to the events that begin to transpire from the first two installments. Takes awhile to catch up to them as a whole.

Thank you for waiting for so long for the last installment of this storyline. Divided into three chapters because why not and I was getting super duper close to the end of the word count on ao3. I hope you enjoy the story and leave a review at the end. If you do have the stomach for reading what Smith goes through. As you are beginning to realize what this means, let me just say it bluntly: this is dark.

REALLY, REALLY, REALLY DARK.

And now the conclusion. . .

Bumps appeared in the cieling and started chasing after the Robinsons, including the Robot. The light seared through the building engulfed it chasing after them. Smith ran ahead the members of the Robinsons through the wide hall appearing to be a black blur. The camera aimed toward the cieling above his head to reveal that there wasn't a bubble on the wall chasing after him. He was the first one out of the temple. Smith tripped over a tree root at the entrance to the temple landing in the grass. The transparent bubble figures tore into the Robinsons straight through their backs. The sound of blasts striking bodies were easily heard but it was a noise that no traveler would want to overhear in their lifetime. His bones felt the blasts rippling down from his head falling down quickly through his skeletal system down to his toes. Maureen was the first to land with a cry before Smith's eyes. The red crimson sparkling light from her back spread around her formulating steam off her body.

Who cares if the lights in a old house go off forever?

"Madame!" Smith called.

Smith watched the woman be burned away before his eyes.

In a cul-de-sac,

His eyes watched the other members of the Robinsons fall the ground in front of him in pain.

Why, I do.

"Danger!" The Robot announced, as he was being reduced to flames that were making him vanish before Smith. "Danger!"

Who cares if it's set to be demolished the next day?

"Booby!" Smith called, watching his friend vanish in the blaze.

Who cares if it's meant to be cleaned up?

Smith looked over toward Will's figure landing close to where John's figure was set.

Who cares if the memories are all that's left?

"William!" Smith shouted, then his eyes darted toward the unconscious man. "Professor!"

Who cares if all that's left of it is the ghost of itself?

His eyes darted toward the blonde woman vanishing before his eyes.

Who cares about a lone house on the street?

"Judith!" Smith called, looking over toward the figures that were leaving not a trace of them behind and the flames flickered up toward the trees. "Penelope!" he reached his hand out for the dark haired young woman watching her become whips of flames to his fingers. His heartbroken eyes watched the unconscious pilot begin to vaporize away from him. His world was crashing around him in the matter of seconds as he crawled over toward the pilot. "Don!"

Whhhhhhhhhhhhhhy

Smith's hand went through the man's figure landing to the grass.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

"No," Smith said, standing frozen where he was. "No. . . No. . No. . . No!"

DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Smith crawled away from the scene and his back hit the sphinx.

In the galley, there are more chairs than you need,

"Please, no, this can't be happening," Smith begin to weep. "No, no, no, no."

Sitting at the table,

Smith was hunched over weeping, covering his face, while his shoulders were moving down and up.

In the dark,

"NoooOOoooo!" Smith wailed.

Smith wailed on and off for a hour then brought himself up to his feet using the sphinx as his support. He screamed in what couldn't be translated. Tears were stinging his eyes making his way to the Jupiter 2. Debbie walked off curiously, tilting her head to the side, at the oncoming man. The monkey ran off into the bush scared off the unexpected noise. He pressed a button that made the door close behind him. Smith slid down to the wall clenching at his tunic squeezing it, his eyes producing a mass of tears as he leaned forward weeping. He opened his mouth letting loose out all the fresh pain. He lifted himself up to his feet making a run for the elevator.

The reminders pull at your feet,

Yet remaining, remaining,

He tripped and fell landing to the ground still screaming intelligible words then forced himself up heading toward the elevator. Smith opened the rail to the elevator and whipped into it. He turned around, slapped on the up button, turning his attention on to the closed doors of the exit. He used his sleeve to wipe off the tears from his eyes. The elevator moved up. He came to the very empty residential deck where he had a clear view of the galley from across that would never be full of laughter. Smith slapped the button again while leaning against the elevator cupping his face

And you're angry, angry, angry,

"No. . . No. . . no. ." Smith sobbed, visibly trembling."They're gone. . they're gone. . ."

And you should be,

"Woe is me," Smith cried. "Woe is Robinsons."

It's not fair,

The elevator went up becoming part of a new scene where the Jupiter 2 was lifting off into the sky.

Just because you can't see it doesn't mean it isn't there.

The Jupiter 2 became a distant figure to the camera.

Cameras were set up at the landing site for the historic event. It had been almost ten years since the Jupiter 2 had gone out of the solar system and one year since the Robinsons had last radio contact with Alpha Control. There were gasps from the assembled crowd as they stared into the sky. The Jupiter 2 didn't look proud and shiny as she had been when flying off into space for the Alpha Centauri flight. A flight that had been boarded by a traitor and a sapient B-9 as they came to find out from the officers. People covered their mouths to see the sight. The once glowing duetronium engines from below were shattered only emitting bright lights with parts of the bars were chipped off. Pieces of space barnacles fell off the bottom landing to the ground with a hard smack. Where there once had been a window beside the hatch was covered by metal that seemed to have been drilled on with massive screws that seemed to wiggle during flight. There were laser burns decorating the Jupiter.

The high pitch wail of the engines were heard giving it their all. The landing gear struggled to come down from below the space craft. The windows were covered by layers of metal that also appeared to have been screwed on sometime before that seemed to be in various stages of rust with barnacles decorating it indicating it didn't get taken care of often. The hulls underneath the Jupiter were loudly groaning in protest for making a landing. The Jupiter came down to a landing with great care and delicacy. The navigation bubble fell apart into hundreds of pieces. The hatch window cracked then fell apart loudly falling down the hulls on the exterior and interior of the Jupiter 2 as though intense pressure had been pressed against it with deep, long jagged scars lining around it. The two support beams fell off from the back leaving on the side that kept the Jupiter 2 standing.

All at once, most of the transplanted metal fell off the Jupiter in a thin cloud of yellow dust and smoke from among space parts to reveal the heavily battle damage decorating the Jupiter. Two MP's ran into the Jupiter side by side. There was silence from the gathering crowd consisting of military officials were part of the crowd. Members from Alpha Control were part of the group in their white shirts with black ties. There were cameras rolling up front aimed toward the Jupiter featuring silent reporters who didn't know what to say. Look of curiosity were on their faces among the tiniest of hope for the crew and bracing themselves visibly. The moment of truth had finally arrived regarding the fate of the Jupiter 2's unexpected space castaways.

There was a slow walk down the steps followed by a long, depressed sigh. Step by step that sounded heavy that echoed through the silent scenery. A lone, well aging old man with his head hung low, defeatedly, came down in Jupiter 2 civilian outfit being black and purple clutching on to a gray bag with two MP's from behind him. He raised his head up taking on a confident, proud persona taking on a brave face in a way that was visibly pained. His eyes seemed to be searching for someone. A certain set of someones, actually. His blue heavy eyes scanned the sea of people only to find the faces that he knew here were no longer there. There were new faces around him. He turned his attention off the stunned group turning his attention on toward the distance. He didn't seem to be present being towed away.

It was as though arriving to Earth was just a haze to Smith. He didn't answer any of the questions posed by the reporters that were coming all at once. The heavy feeling that had been in Smith's stomach had dissipated over the passing months taking care of himself and falling into fits of weeping at random points of the day. The bright intensity of the green around him didn't stand out as it should, the blue sky with popcorn themed clouds above him were gray and heavy to his eyes, everywhere he looked he could see people who reminded him of the Robinsons. What Earth once was to him had became the opposite. A stowaway had gone into space with the assigned crew and only his autopiloted shell had came back.

His last form of happiness was on the Jupiter in tears reaching the planet after hell. What little of happiness there was out there for him on Earth, there was none that he could accept at the time being. The very forms of happiness that he once enjoyed once was with him. And they were gone. Just vanished into flames before his eyes. The Robinsons had fallen before his eyes and burned away in flickering red flames. Flames that had eagerly eaten them alive before his eyes. He had the occasional nightmare of the Robot wheeling toward him engulfed in flames and he tried to put the fire out off the Robot but it kept coming back until his old friend was no more. He woke up crying after those nightmares. It was a mess. A clear, visible mess. He was in the interrogation room where two officers were playing bad cop and good cop. He stared through the window replaying just how it came to be this way. He had ran out of tears to share. The heavy feeling was just a small penny being dissolved by his stomach acid.

"What happened to the Robinsons?"

Smith had a sharp intake of air at the mere mention of them.

"I know you did it. Why did you do it?"

Following after Don's example, what would Don do? Not blow up. He was restricting himself from over acting. At least, not yet.

"Bob, stop it," the female officer said, glaring at her male colleague. "He doesn't need that."

"Yes, he does, Hanstine," Bob said.

"Can't you tell this man is grieving?" Hanstine asked, gesturing toward the silent man.

"He is not grieving," Bob said. "He is being unresponsive!"

"We were on vacation," Smith started.

The officers looked down toward him surprised to hear him speak.

"That lines up with the last entry," came the reply from the cool headed officer. "Professor Robinson wanted a break."

"We went down to a planet," Smith continued. "The children-" he stopped, briefly, closing his eyes then opened them up with a heavy sadness lingering inside. "No," he shook his head raising his head up. "the teenagers, the Robot, and I went out to explore." He looked back, fondly yet sadly. "We went into the temple. William. . . William and Penelope tried on some of the treasure. I took a lot of it," he raised his head up from the table. "Now that I look back at it, it was wrong and very. . . very. . very selfish," he lowered his gaze to the table. "The Professor ran in then told us to run. That is when we saw the bumps from above."

"What bumps?" came Bob while sitting down.

"They were more like lights glowing in the wall," Smith elaborated.

"Uh huh," Bob said.

"Then I out ran them," Smith replied.

"You out ran them?" Hanstine asked, as a certain understanding spread on her face.

"I should never have outran them," Smith said.

"And then?" Bob said.

"I tripped and fell to the ground," he turned his attention on to the men. "I fell instead of-" Smith stopped, sighing, closing his eyes.

"You fell. . ." Hanstine said.

"Yes," Smith said.

"What happened next?" Bob said.

"What happened next. . . what happened next?" Smith asked, his voice dripping in heartbreak. "I watched them fall to the ground burning away before my eyes is what happened next! They were burned alive." he lowered his head. "They were unresponsive when I came to their sides." he looked up from the table with eyes full of grief. "The Robot was destroyed in the flames. Completely destroyed," He became serene leaning against the chair with a distant look. "I didn't get a chance to say say goodbye. I. . I. . ." Smith shook his head. "I was trapped aboard the ship when it was getting ready to lift off. That is why the ship redirected toward the sun. That is why they went lost in space. That is why they died a year ago. I am guilty in their untimely demise."

There was silence from the two officers.

"Please, write your confession," the pen dropped with a heavy thud to Smith's ears.

Smith can see the heated glares coming from the severely burned Robinsons from behind the window.

"I am so sorry, Robinsons," Smith apologized.

The two officers looked over toward the window that showed no figure.

"Do you need to speak with a therapist?" Hanstine asked, concerned.

Smith paused, going through his memory of recent events.

"Yes," Smith said, then picked up the pen. "After my confession," he looked up toward the officers. "I told them my part before the tragedy."

The federal marshal stared at the woman. In all his thirty-three years on the job, this was one of the strangest and out of the blue announcements. He was resting at the desk with one grasped on his sprite lowering the remote as the other men cheered at the tv screen when a running figure made it in front of a fork shaped object. It had been less than a week since the man's return and people were already being irritated with him. It made the federal marshal wonder briefly how and why the man became a colonel in the military. Surely, someone that irritating couldn't have possibly climbed so far-and when the federal marshal heard of the achievements that he gained, it was a even more complexing question.

"What do you mean they don't want to share a holding cell with Doctor Smith?" The federal marshal asked.

"They don't want to," came the shrug.

"Not even be in his orbit?" The federal marshal asked.

"That too," came the nod.

"What did he tell them this time?" the federal marshal asked. "That he blinked his android clone out of existence?"

"The truth," the federal marshal turned from the screen. "If he doesn't get out of there in the next five minutes, I am afraid your prisoner is going to be dead in the next four hours."

"Geeze, getting his own holding cell," the federal marshal said. "That is just royalty."

The federal marshal made his way to the holding cell taking the cuffs along. They were turned away from Smith leaving a perfect circle engaged in light chit chat that was soft and low. He was sitting on the floor with his legs crossed and hands were placed on his cheeks and elbows on his knees. He turned his gaze up toward the marshal then propped himself up to his feet as the jail door squeaked open. He was cuffed and taken out of the cell with a very slow walk. The camera watched the two go down the corridor to a lone single cell that was small and thin for one person only. He was uncuffed then shoved into the cell and the door was closed behind him as he rubbed his shoulder with downcasted eyes. He came over to the bed and turned around where he faced the bars and took a long, sad sigh.

Seated in a cold and bitter holding cell, Smith's hands were clasped together with his head lowered toward the floor. It was dark in the cell and moonlight was pouring in through the small window that had three bars set inside the window. The clear, white light was looming over Smith's figure that made a long shadow in the dark. He wore a grieving expression on his face seemingly patiently waiting for his court martial. The other prisoners were still awake as easily inferred by the sounds of distant whispering. Whispering that sounded like they belonged to ghosts from Smith's side of the holding compound. Smith seemed to be looking forward to the event but when he lowered his head in a shamed manner, it easily said that he didn't.

"You are blaming yourself for a event that you had no part in,"

Smith raised his head up.

"Professor, for all you're concerned I had my hands all over it," Smith said. "Please, show yourself."

John's burned figure came out of the dark.

The professor's dark brown yet curled hair was gone replaced by burns decorating his face leaving only behind his partially burned eyebrows and dark burns littered his face. The burns curled around his neck then down to his shoulders and straight through his chest. The chest was exposed from the halfway torn, burned colorful Jupiter civilian outfit. In fact, it looked like the professor was wearing black shorts that ended above his knees and were in tatters standing out as a fashion style when it wasn't. His boots were the only thing that didn't seem to be harmed from the burning. He had his severely burned hands on his hips. The guilt in Smith's stomach grew worse.

"Your weight sent us off course, Smith," John said.

"As you are very aware," Smith said.

"But you stopped us from being destroyed," John spoke up. "Not once, but twice, before we became lost in space."

"There is the good and the bad in this situation," Smith said. "Had I not been there, death would have been imminent, and had I not awakened the major, you would have died from a crash landing. . ." he grew a considerate expression as his eyes were looking down toward the floor quite sadly. "Now, it seems that death came for your family either way and I could not help."

"Don't beat yourself up over it," John said.

"Why should I when I survived but not your family?" Smith asked, standing up from the bed with his eyes focused on the professor. "Why should I!" his voice grew angry stepping forward toward the burned professor. "Answer me, professor!" His voice grew heartbroken, pained, and desperate. "Why me?"

The camera backed out to reveal that John wasn't there.

"I thought so," Smith said, then turned around where he returned to the bed and stared through the bars.

Depression was a bitch.

It clawed Smith in ways that were personal.

Ways that brought him down to his knees and go to dark corners of his mind.

Laughter was known to help people getting out of depression, their old rituals played a part, and taking care of themselves to get them back on the top. Debbie had ran out of the Jupiter before his departure. Smith's stomach felt full in the first few days. Not a desire to eat with a heavy heart and a full stomach. But he had to eat if he were going to pay for the loss. A loss that could have been prevented, and had to happen that way, according to the time merchant. He had to make himself eat, reminding himself that he used to love eating it and just because his stomach felt numb didn't mean that there was something in it. He knew that there was nothing in his stomach so he had to eat much to the disgust inside. He turned to his memories of his time with the Robinsons to get himself back up on to two feet-but there were no laughs. Only tears. Instead of being happy to finally reach Earth, Smith was terribly sad regarding the matter. It was good to cry.

Smith recalled the trial.

"Is it true you wanted to go to Earth for the last several years, Doctor Smith?" Prosecutor Rights asked.

"Yes," Smith replied.

"Were you relieved when they died?" Rights asked.

"No," Smith said.

"Is it true you hated the monkey?" Rights asked.

"Yes," Smith said.

"So if you had the chance, you would have gotten rid of it," Rights said.

"Yes, but-" Smith was cut off.

"Yes or no," Rights repeated. "Doctor Smith." that was said in a mocking tone that made his eyes grow big.

"You shouldn't give him what he wants, Doctor Smith," Smith heard Judy from beside him.

His blue heavy eyes looked toward where he could visualize the eternally pretty blonde from in front of the seat with her kind, considerate blue eyes staring back at him. The aftermath of being burned to death did little to compromise her beauty now tarnished by tattered clothes and burned cheeks. Her once tidy, curled blonde air was discarded on her shoulders. He stared at her with a heartbroken look on his face. Rights voice called for Smith in the background like static to his ears. Judy vanished in the same moment that she had appeared replaced by a empty spot. He returned his attention on to the prosecutor.

"Yes," Smith replied.

"Were you angry. . " Rights started. "That you couldn't get to Earth when the opportunity arose because the Robinsons had to leave immediately for one reason or another?"

Smith closed his eyes, painfully looking back, turning his gaze toward the counter with a sigh then looked up.

"Yes," Smith replied.

"So wouldn't it be fair to say that dying on you pretty much gave you a path to Earth?" Rights asked.

"No! It wasn't easy!" Smith exploded. "I was attacked mercilessly by space pirates, space hijackers, and other kinds of space evil that you cannot possibly understand. I had to make certain decisions to save myself."

"So you allied with them?" Rights asked.

"Yes," Smith said.

"If the Robinsons were there, would they have done the same?" Rights asked.

"No," Smith said.

"So its true that you would still be lost in space had they not die?" Smith didn't reply. "Your honor, permission to treat the eyewitness as hostile."

"Granted," Judge Maybell said.

"Is it true?" Rights asked.

"That what?" Smith snapped. "They would have died with me because we didn't cooperate with them? Yes!"

"So it's true about the notes that Professor Robinson made regarding your behavior when given power?" Rights asked, leaning against the bar separating him from the jury.

"Yes-" Smith was cut off.

"So it's also true that you could be lying about how the Robinsons died," Rights said. "We don't have evidence of what you said had happened that way. You got power sometime on that planet unknowingly to the Robinsons before they could return to the Jupiter 2. And what does power breed?"

"Greed," Smith replied.

"You once held the younger members of the family as animals for a circus," Rights then added. "Is that true?"

"Yes-" Smith said.

"Were you angry that it ended?" Rights asked.

"Yes-" Smith said.

"So the last adventure before the 'sudden loss' you were angry about something else," Rights said.

"I wasn't myself!" Smith insisted. "I was angry over a very small matter."

"Professor Robinson says you were," Rights said. "And what would you say about that?"

"I was being controlled by a highly intelligent entity who wanted off that planet," Smith said.

"Like Mr Nobody?" Rights said.

"That was different," Smith said. "That could have killed Penelope."

"You hurt the children getting to the space pod," Rights said. "is that true?"

"I didn't like it a bit!" Smith insisted.

"Is that TRUE!" Rights repeated.

"Yes!" Smith said. "I wanted to get away from them. Far as I COULD from THEM. I was fighting against the entity as much as I could-"

"But you were stronger than it?" Rights asked.

"No," Smith said, shamefully lowering his head. "I was weak."

Rights shook his head making a tsk sound.

"If you were so weak, then why did you coax Mrs Robinson while being in character with a lie that you fixed her heart condition using a device that stalled her heart from stop beating after using cryostasis but actually made her heart stop beating thirty minutes after coming out of stasis?" came the fully loaded question that earned Smith raising his head up. "Where this device came from is never elaborated or mentioned. In fact, it's as though you got rid of it after the episode had ended."

Smith looked on toward the prosecutor, staring, blinking repeatedly while leaning forward.

"Pardon me?" Smith's voice came out as a squeak.

"You tried to kill her?" Rights asked. "Don't you remember that?"

"No," Smith said. "I would never do that to the madame."

Rights rolled a eye then turned around and walked back toward the table.

"Then why does this say that you put her into cryostasis?" Rights asked. "You were in control according to Professor Robinson's entry," the prosecutor gestured toward the journal in his hands. Smith's eyes began to sting, his mind running with a thousand thoughts, and he felt trapped. "You were written as apologizing but the professor wisely exiled you from the ship." The light flickered back on in Smith's eyes as his fingers rolled up against his palms.

"I DID NO SUCH THING! That is unnecessary slander to MY name!" Smith argued. "I DID NOT. I DID NOT! I DID NOT!"

"Why should we believe you, Doctor Smith?" Rights asked, staring through the older man into his soul.

Smith broke apart at the seams as pieces of their last adventure came together while covering his face and trembling.

Maureen was laid on the floor not breathing. Don keeping him back as John was attempting to resuscitate her, Penny's hair a mess as though she had been electrocuted, The Robot keeping Will back with his arms, and Judy looking at him unsure as though something had happened. He walked back out of the Jupiter in a fit of shock and confusion and hurt after being exiled verbally by the professor. The same kind of hurt on the children's faces. It hurt even more being told what had happened that day. It had to be repressed memory regarding the act. The journal was paraded in front of the jury as Smith's heart sank even more. He leaned forward feeling a fresh batch of tears heading down his cheeks. He can feel the judging hard, cold stares on him. The prosecutor held up the thick journal that had dark ink spilling through its pages.

The journal was not halfway full.

That simple fact made him weep even more on the stand.

The prosecutor walked away, "I rest my case, your honor," leaving the battered and bruised emotional man on the stand.

Once composed and well together when he took the stand, that he was not anymore. The evidence was clear regarding his character. The prosecutor found a story then went with it basing it off their perception of his prior actions. The story was that this entire emotional breakdown was a charade. A fraud. A fake. Crocodile tears. The train of thought could easily be established in the first few pages from Professor Robinson's journal. They didn't bother to read Will's journals except for Smith's attorney who didn't use it to his advantage. From there, it continued to go downhill. It was all monotone with a thick cloud of grief blocking his vision of all the faces that were there. The testimony of various people regarding his presence at Alpha Control, his suspicious demeanor in his office, escaping to the Jupiter 2 with the Robot, and retired former General Squires.

The faces of everyone in the room were blanketed by the darkness.

To think it all came back from taking the stand.

"What is your verdict?" Maybell asked.

"We, the jury, find the defendant guilty," the foreman replied.

There was a mix of chaos from behind Smith and the sound of the gravel striking the wooden object repeatedly.

"I will have silence in my courtroom!" Maybell said.

Smith had no tears to share as he had shed them all.

"Doctor Smith, I am appalled from what I have heard and read through this trial. The Robinsons took you in, treated you as family, and you had the nerve to stab them in the back just to make it to Earth. That is unacceptable in this courtroom," Maybell said. "This is unacceptable as a free human being and as a space castaway. You intentionally brought them into the realm of danger time and time again. Was it worth killing them? If it was. . . It won't be starting today." Maybell leaned into the chair. "You are stripped of rank. Starting this minute, you are sentenced to life in prison without parole."

Smith flinched as the wooden hammer hit its resting place.

The heavy sound echoed in a way that felt final and hollow to his ears.

"Doctor Smith, how does it feel to be convicted?"

"Doctor Smith, how does it feel to be convicted in Military Court?"

"Doctor Smith, how does it feel to be on Earth again?"

"Doctor Smith-"

"I am innocent," Smith said, through gritted teeth. "INNOCENT!"

There were flashes of lights from the cameras aimed at him.

"Doctor Smith!" came a strikingly familiar voice from behind him.

Smith turned around on his heels out of the two officers grip with a wild look on his face at the sound of the teenager's high pitched voice to see Will from behind him visibly angry and confused. The media turned their attention in the direction that Smith had turned. A loud, confused "William?" came from the doctor feeling his heart shatter into a thousand more pieces. He looked very real, solid before his eyes. He noticed the teenager was shaking his head, in disbelief. Will stood out among the dark clouded faces, bright and distinct, colorful to a point with burned clothing and burns that crawled around his visible skin. Smith grew upset and let out a long pained, distraught scream at the sight.

The hallucination of Will vanished before his eyes.

Smith's blue eyes rolled back then he fell back, unconsciously, into the dark.

The transition from freedom to imprisonment in the form of prison suit wasn't drastic.

It was a simple change of clothes.

But it was a significant change.

Everyone knew it.

The orange jumpsuit had his name written on it. It was even simple to take off. One zipper compared to the two sets of zippers located on the back of the neck for the Jupiter 2 civilian outfits. There were red bands wrapped around his wrists in his skin from the prison transport leading him to the prison that he would spend the rest of his natural life in. It didn't terrify him but the shackles felt heavy against his wrists and ankles during the long ride where parts of his body that shouldn't ache start to ache. It was a long ride going over speed bumps to get there. The ankle cuffs and wrist cuffs dug into his skin rather uncomfortably during the long ride to the military prison set in Arizona.

His eyes had been fixated on the window during the ride that represented freedom. He was never going to have that again, Smith was sure of it. Truth be told, he was relieved to be given a punishment for his part in the loss. A very harsh but justified one. He was given a single cell with a bed then the door was closed on him. The Robinsons couldn't come to his rescue then return to the Jupiter 2 where they had a bellyful of laughter at Smith thinking that they were dead and that he was really on Earth. He was emotionally drained. Unable to feel anything as he sat on the well made bed. He moved himself on to his side placing his head against the prepared pillow and fell to sleep snoring away. His eyes fluttered opened to the dark room hearing his cell door open.

A security officer came in so he placed his back against the warm blanket.

"You asked for a copy," came a stray voice from beside him. "Finding your cell wasn't easy. In fact, this kept getting lost from hand to hand."

Smith felt lethargic and ready to fall apart staring at the gray cieling.

"What copy?" Smith asked.

The name tag to the officer read 'Lieutenant Davis'.

"That thing," Davis said.

"I don't recall asking for this thing," Smith said.

"You kept asking for it during your trial," Davis said.

"No, I didn't," Smith said.

"Well, Officer Hanstine Kirk says you did," the officer placed the small package on the counter across from Smith. "It's been thoroughly checked and repackaged," he faced the doctor. "Nothing dangerous like a sapient B-9 toy, a miniature llama that can talk, a magical gauntlet, a lyre, a flower that copies everything-"

"Sir, please," Smith said, holding his hand up. "I have been ridiculed enough in the last few days regarding the threats I brought to the Robinsons."

"Is it true, though?" Davis asked.

"You do realize. . ." Smith said, his voice shaking as he swept his legs over the edge then placed his hands on his knees as the security officer stepped back. His voice was full of anger and hurt from the last few days. "That you're talking to 'insane delusional' man." he looked toward his hands. "As they. . . bluntly. . . put it at my trial."

"But you're not in a insane asylum," Davis said. "Your act didn't fool the judge."

"It didn't," His blue eyes stared back at the young man. "What makes you think . . that I will tell you the truth?"

"I don't know who to believe," Davis said. "I am still on the fence."

"Stay that way," Smith said. "Go on, Lieutenant," he waved his hand. "Don't want to get drawn into my imaginary alien threat of the week." he finished in a mocking tone to himself then baa-wed at the idea.

Davis walked out of the room then closed the door to the cell. At first, it seemed that Smith was completely alone in the dark room with a hung head lowered down toward his lap that had hands laid in it. The camera gazed up from the scarred, defeated hands to observe a colorful translucent figure lingering in the left corner of the room contrasting against the darkness. The figure was muscular and young with visible presence of severe burns. Don's figure was situated on the corner of the room sitting in a chair slumped with his arms folded once Davis had walked out.

"She may not believe you're insane but I do," Don's familiar voice came from across.

"Major," Smith said, feeling his throat go dry. "How many times must I remind you to stop playing with that announcement."

"The psychologist said you were insane," Don said.

"Just a very inaccurate observation of my mental health," Smith said. "My defense was very weak trying to keep me out of here," he grimaced. "Intentionally."

"And you are here rather than a place that will do better at handling you," Don said.

"Handling me better, indeed," Smith said, gazing up toward the severely burned young man walking past him.

"I don't know how long this is going to last being here," Don said. "would you like to have a drink? Oh!" he snapped his fingers coming to a stop. "I nearly forgot," he stood sideways toward Smith. "You can never do that with me, again."

Smith closed his eyes, painfully, then opened them raising his head up.

"I wish I could," Smith spoke up. "I wish I could. . ." he lowered his gaze toward the floor. "every day."

Don turned away from Smith then walked through the door.

"Well I've heard there was a secret chord, that David played and it pleased the lord. . ." Smith began to sang, softy, yet quietly and broken. "But you really don't care for music, do you?" as the camera backtracked into the dark. "Well it goes like this: the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, and the major lift." the unmistakable sound of his heart falling down the chamber where it was contained could be heard as his voice grew small and smaller until it sounded that he had lost his heart. "The baffled king composing hallelujah. . . Hallelujah."

Until it was replaced by faint whispering that turned into snores in the darkness.

The darkness in the room faded replaced by shades of yellow highlighted by torches scattered around the square long room that had pure white treasure resting on the long extensive counter starting from point A to point B to point C to point D. The treasure was packed into large lumps that varied in size standing out of a late Christmas movie where the lights had grown blurry, the colors behind the decorations becoming soft and kind, sparkling glitter that stood out. The camera's attention was caught by the moving, ever present rounded shapes in the wall being the shade of yellow.

"That was not my fault!" Smith insisted, taking several steps back.

John took Will's hand then fled from the lights.

"Danger!" The Robot announced, his voice echoing through the cave. "Danger!"

The Robinsons fled in the direction of the doorway running for their lives.

"Run!" John shouted.

Bumps appeared in the cieling chasing after the Robinsons, including the Robot.

The light was searing through the building engulfing it in light chasing after them. Smith lagged behind the Robinsons looking over his shoulder noticing the bumps were gaining on him. The Robot wheeled on ahead of Smith leaving a trail of dust behind in the man's way. The Robinsons were the first ones out of the temple leaving Smith and Don from behind. The lights had slowed down considerably from the speed the group were going until they centered on one figure. A sharp feeling entered the man's back sending him falling to the ground with a cry. Don came to a halt feet away from the entrance as the Robinsons looked over in the direction of the cries. Hot, searing pain ripping through him among the red sparkling light tracing over his vanishing figure.

"No!" Smith heard Will's shout.

There was a look of horror on Don's face looking toward Smith's direction.

"Smith!" Don called, as darkness overwhelmed the older man's vision being consumed by flames.

The light in his eyes went out. The feeling of having a full stomach lingered not just the feeling of something restricting his throat threatening to close it and prevent another gulp of air coming down the passageway. To be even more specific, it felt like he was being drowned when he wasn't being held underwater and breathing perfectly. There were times in the day that he can feel this strange feeling slip into his left lung in a rather unique emotional way different from having a injury that resulted from a toothpick being swallowed. Pieces of heaviness falling down into his stomach coming down his intestines had become a old friend. The edges of his right eye leaked the occasional tear after he cried the first five nights in prison. The distinct feeling of sadness dangling in his heart had become acquainted to him. What peace that Smith had before the trial was all but gone replaced by the fresh grief that stung and haunted him. Like band-aids had been peeled away, the old wounds opened, letting out the nastiness of all his grief.

Living in the present featured moments of abrupt crying. The prison food was awful. Low grade, ungentle, and unappealing food staring back at him that was just lumps of color. His stomach felt full. There was no desire to eat the food laid in front of him on the tray. But he had to eat. He had to live out the rest of his life paying for his mistake. How could he eat with with guilt laying in his stomach? Why did he survive? Why couldn't they have survived? It was unfair to him. Space was unfair. Life was unfair. He clung on to the bed sheets pressing his face against the pillow letting go of a fresh dozen of tears and sobbing. The pain of losing family didn't go away after being without them for a year. Smith didn't talk to the therapist in the next few sessions only staring out the window, defeatedly, yearning for freedom and his family. Moving on from such a loss wasn't going to be easy. It was difficult as it was landing back on to Earth purely blind using the radio traffic from Alpha Control as his guide. The therapist had decided to go about it a different way, asking about how he survived after losing them and slowly he was opening up about it.

Things were going to get better. The feelings were going to get easier to bare. That was very certain for Smith. Things are going to get easier as the pain grew softer, eased, and more comfortable to live with from day to day. It wasn't going to be easy to find that peace once more carrying himself for another day. The will to survive was strong for the doctor. It would have been a much better existence that the Robinsons hadn't died so suddenly on him. Able to make his goodbyes. He was sure the Robinsons felt the same regarding the matter but being happy that they were together and safe. Safe from certain danger. The pain would have been easier to deal had the Robot survived the initial event. It was a selfish wish. Pure and simple from someone grieving for the most kind family. A family that had been his family. No matter what everyone had said about his feelings for the Robinsons and motives staying with them, most of them were half right and half wrong. In the beginning, they had been a pest that could be rid of in exchange for a return to Earth. In the beginning, they were nothing more than strangers to him. How he wished they were still strangers to him.

He didn't open the package on the counter from across the bed in the first two weeks. Weeks that felt a eternity by himself. When in reality, he was surrounded by hundreds of people in the same facility. Walking aimlessly, invincible, to people who were just transparent figures who paid no heed to him. It was a on-going hell that he had made for himself. The Jupiter 2 offered no companionship not even her engines, her scanners, or the other parts of her. The automatic pilot to the ship provided a means to a imaginary companion who left him as soon as he was walked out of the ship with his hands cuffed behind his back. He had hoped that the Robinsons never got the chance to see the undignified cuffs on his hands being guided out of the Jupiter 2 upon their return to Earth. But that his wish had been granted at a terrible cost was heartbreaking. It made Smith take back all his wishes in the last few years to reach Earth.

There was a certain calm that echoed through the facility. Knowing what was going to happen next became a calming and reassuring assurance. Different from the unpredictable day to day being tense, lonely, and scary period aboard the Jupiter. The dreams of that day had become few and between. The nightmares were fading in his first two weeks in prison. He had stopped expecting the Robinsons to come to his rescue a long time ago. Too long. If it meant keeping the Robinsons alive in his mind then there it was nothing to talk about. Compared to life aboard the almost empty haunted vessel, doing tasks alongside people felt like a kinder work day. Only these people didn't say a hello or two. That was good. He didn't feel the need to chatter endlessly as he used to be. They had a strict rule regarding talking. Only talk when spoken to outside of the cafeteria. The cafeteria was free range for the convicts to speak with each other freely. Smith was fine with that but some inmates were not.

He was handed a set of papers one morning. He sat down on the bed then gradually opened it in his cell. One by one they read his certificates being revoked for psychology and practicing medicine. The only thing that he had left was his name. He briefly closed his eyes then tossed all the papers away into the trash can. The family name 'Smith' had become forever ruined, linked to his mistake and a mass public assumption. A lie, fake news, and a story without the victims to come and elaborate behind the journal's entries. It was a low point in his life. Surrounded in darkness. He raised his head up high toward the wall across from him. Things were going to get better. Good enough to smile, to laugh, to be happy, to be content, and at a point in his life that was yanked out from underneath him.

He didn't see any hallucinations of the Robinsons anymore when the letters came in and that is when it hit him harder that they were gone. Never going to be standing in front of him speaking. He missed the Robinsons, dearly, but to move on was to cherish them and look forward toward the future. To dwell the present as his Aunt Maude used to encourage him. He was alive in familiar surroundings, familiar species, he wasn't trapped aboard a flying death trap, and he had hit rock bottom. His eyes caught size of the yellow packaging on the counter laid underneath piles of medical books that had fallen sideways landing on to it. Presently, he wasn't a doctor. Presently, he was a convict. Presently, he had to do the thing that he enjoyed the most.

"Court yard hour!" came the loud, alarming shout that made Smith jump.

Smith looked over toward the door then stood up to his feet. His cell door rolled open and he joined the growing line of prisoners. They were guided out to the massive court yard that had various equipment. A group of prisoners began to play basketball, some centered together to a set of chairs and began a reading circle. The convicted officer stopped in the middle of the courtyard. The former doctor saw a familiar field from ahead that consisted of a desert like scenery with few patches of grass, dead trees, cactuses, and sweltering heat. It was golden to his eyes with hints of sparkles that stood out similar to the sand on a beach.

He was tempted to approach the fence. A temptation that he had been resisting since his first court yard time. And yet, he needed to say goodbye to turn the page up into the next chapter. He wanted to say the words but they could not come out. He approached the fence tapping his fingers together then came to it and pressed his fingers against the cold, silver barbs. From his mind's eye, while his body was pressed against the gray fence, he looked on to view the Jupiter 2 on ahead with the Robinsons in attendance at the table glowing golden with optimistic chatter without him. Smith grew a small, sad smile then closed his eyes trapping the treasured imagery into his mind.

Then he turned away, opening his eyes, heading in the direction of the exercise equipment.

He dreamed of nothing.

Purely nothing.

Nothing new that defied logic.

He dreamed of being behind the prison walls moving about but unable to leave the premises watching life grow and expand. In the lonely flight in the Jupiter, Smith had felt like a paper bag drifting through the wind waiting to start again feeling so paper thin like a house of cards ready to collapse from a gust of wind. That feeling had dissipated. More so replaced by a new feeling. He felt like a stray seed from a dandylion that once floated in the wind flying without direction, searching for a landing, and unable to find a fertile landing place so it landed on the hard, rough pavement. He could open the cell doors and find no one was there in the cells, leaving him the only occupant inside the massive military prison. From the courtyard, there a glass wall that separated him from the rest of society somewhat clouded by clouds that shined against the golden, loving metropolis. The glass wall could be broken with ease, but the desire was not there.

He felt a ache that throbbed on his back. The memory of pitch black wings stretching from his back spanning a crowd etched into his memory. The ache belonged to what was once his wings that had been chopped off his shoulder blades leaving behind a vulnerable injury. Smith had to determine how vulnerable it was. A part of his mind screamed 'no' while the scientific curiosity yearned to know how it felt. It screamed over the wary, cautious instinct. Instinct screamed at him to leave it alone. He moved his hand to his shoulder then touched. There was a sharp flash of pain that made him yelp so he reached his hand back. Very vulnerable, apparently. When he looked out toward the sky, he felt a yearning to leap into it and escape this hellscape.

A small, soft set of fingers wrapped around his dangling hand then curled around his palm and squeezed it.

"It will be okay, Doctor Smith," Penny's voice came from beside him.

He turned his head toward the young woman's direction. Her dress was in tatters making it seem that she wore a top and a mini skirt with her lower torso left exposed revealing a dark shirt that wasn't there at all. The sleeves were missing only replaced by dark burns covering her arms trailing down toward her fingers that had visible redness. She wore a forgiving look on her face wearing a familiar smile marred by a terrible black and red burn. He can feel the heat radiating off her fingers burning into his hand. A warm feeling spread throughout his heart similar to how a creek was being refilled with water slipping over dry, smooth rocks washing them anew going over the cracks and holes made by time.

"Penelope," Smith said, his vision grew blurry and wet between the alarm.

It suddenly occurred to him as he saw red flames float up in his line of vision.

His hand was on fire.

Smith bolted up from his bed with a pained scream then momentarily gazed down toward his still burning hand that had the shapes of fingers firmly imprinted in his palm.

"Smith, come back! SSSSSSSSSMMMMMMMMMMMMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTHHHHHHHHH!"

Smith looked over the source of Don's voice in alarm lowering the newly gifted book.

"Major?" Smith called.

He had left the ghosts of his family behind. Staying behind would have been more harmful to his mental health. That much was certain to the convict. And the pain of living without them remaining lost in space living from a day to day basis. Being alone for over thirty years with the company of the occasional aliens threatening him and the Jupiter 2 including whoever they happened to be chasing on a typical basis would have been a special kind of hell for Smith. One that didn't feel as satisfying as penacing away for his mistake. That way of life was over. He firmly believed that kind of hellish existence had came to a end. A hellish existence that was less worse than the purposeless and directionless life that he lead. Repetitive, familiar, and comforting in the way that it kept him safe and sound. Instead, there was a negative outlook cast on the familiarity that he was becoming adjusted to. Smith was wrong on the fact that the period of hearing the Robinsons voices randomly was over, so could he be wrong now?

Smith shook his head.

"Smith, come back!"

Don's voice sounded angry and demanding.

"Smith!"

Smith can almost hear Penny silently pleading, "Come back, Doctor Smith." while gazing toward the afternoon sky decorated in clouds that resembled popcorn. What was there to come back to? The ghosts of dead people confused and upset over the abrupt departure of their friend. He couldn't go back out there. He had no choice in the matter. He was supposed to feel home. Smith didn't feel at home. He felt trapped, imprisoned, and sad. It was never supposed to be this way on the long, lonely trip to Earth believing that things were going to be alright. Home was just a system away. In fact, he was home all along during the journey and it had taken now to realize that. A part of home was destroyed, beyond retrieval, just a memory that could be lost. Home was so far away in the heavens.

"Doctor Smith, we are right here!"

He wished the Robinsons were here, they would make everything feel over nine thousand times better.

The occasional visits from Will and Penny at the visitors center with the Robot, The Robot filling him in what Alpha Control was deciding to do with him (even determining how much time he had to spare on Earth), being told that Don opted against visiting him to pursue his career, being told that Judy was doing the same and it was eating all her time, John and Maureen figuring out how to adapt to being on Earth again permanently, being told that Debbie was being studied, and being told about the relationship between the major and the singer blossoming than it had before. A fantasy that Smith had started to sink into but jumped out at the sudden sharp pain at seeing them again. The Robinsons doing all they could to have made sure he had a lesser sentence-

No.

It was a selfish wish and it made him angry at himself.

You survived, they didn't, you ninny, Smith reminded himself throwing himself back into the book.

"Mr Smith, you have a visitor."

That was a announcement that the convict had not expected to hear three weeks into his sentence. He was lead into the room that had several windows lining the hall that was lined with people. There was one convict behind the other half of the mirror. On the other half of the mirror were different kinds of people that ranged from spot to spot. He seated down into the chair and faced the people on the other side. There were four people set in front of him. Each of them were set in separate chairs at the premium spot that had a wider window and bigger space than the rest of the others. Richard, Barbara, Alexander, and Jake.

Richard shared a striking resemblance to John more closely than the other three siblings.

"We want to know what happened," Richard said.

"I told my side of the story," Smith replied. "You know what happened."

"We heard it from the prosecutor," Richard said. "Not from you."

"I should warn you," Smith said. "It is nothing what you want to hear."

"We have to hear it," Jake said.

"We wandered off from the Jupiter," Smith started, earning a sob from Barbara.

Smith retraced the chain of events with a heavy heart taking them along gently for the ride. He could see it happening before his eyes that he was narrating as a dramatic retelling. His heart gently ached for the Robinsons. He can feel a fresh batch of tears forcing themselves up to his eyes leaving behind stings that he wiped off with a flick of his finger. He lowered his gaze out of shame from the still living members of the Robinsons as he came to the conclusion when it came to kicking the monkey out and flying off from the planet. Barbara stood up with tears in her eyes then ran off from the other side and was chased by Alexander.

"Sister, wait!" Alexander called, as Richard and Jake stared back at Smith wearing their pain.

Smith lowered the phone back onto the device hooked into the wall watching them join Alexander.

His hands carved the familiar shape belonging to the Robot. The brown, collapseable mass landing on to his fingers was a more placement of his hand in the Robot's destruction than making his artificial intelligence. The Robot's figure was spinning at a low speed on the stool. Smith's trembling hands kept the figure up in place moving along in ease to the speed. From beside him were replicas of the Robinsons. Smith could overhear the Robot's laughter from behind him. The brown form's head was starting to fall so he quickly slid his fingers up keeping the rounded head up then moved along down to the treads. The simple, cold smooth touch of the Robot's treads that were larger than it echoed in his mind.

"Mr Smith, you're doing good so far," came Lieutenant Audrey.

Smith looked up, tiredly, toward the woman.

"It's going to fall, madame," Smith said, then turned his attention down.

"Oh, no it won't," Audrey said. "Not as long as you hold on. I admit, this is very small and easier to lose."

Smith turned his attention back on to the object.

"Yes, it will," Smith said, attempting to keep the form in place with a visible struggle as the object spun out of control the tipped on to its side and fell into a clump splattering him at the face.

"Next time you'll do better," Audrey said, patting on his shoulder stifling back laughter.

"B-9's are really hard to do!" A man with the Robot's voice remarked. "Certainly to form with clay."

Smith placed his hand on his shoulder closing his eyes feeling the hair all over raise.

"Are you alright?" Audrey asked, sounding concerned.

"I am not," Smith said, raising his head up toward the younger woman. His eyes were brimming with tears. "May I use the restroom, madame?"

"Go ahead," Audrey said, with a smile then left him be.

Smith picked up the rag from beside him on the counter, cleaned the clay off his face, and cleaned his hands off then dropped it back where he had picked it up. He moved toward the restroom door with his shoulder sliding it open instead of using his hand feeling more tears ready to come out. He came toward the wall and sobbed. His body trembled between sobs. Hearing the Robot's voice had opened the wound up again. He raised his head up closing his eyes with a shaky breath. He used the sink as his support to get up to his feet then flushed the toilet. Where did all that confidence go when it came to the Robot? Every time he heard the Robot's voice, it was another stab to the heart and his feelings intensified in ways that couldn't be held back. He had to find a way to cope with it, adapt to the reminder, and live.

Depression was nasty and it really hurt.

He looked toward the window, sadly, then turned away and headed out.

It was curious how the man behind the Robot's voice ended up in Arizona's Military Prison. It was a respectable prison that wasn't fit for someone so high esteemed like Burnfield. Someone who had been regarded highly in the robotology department had lost his wings and more than likely the rest of his life. Burnfield's hand was trembling as he picked up a spoonful of rice then swallowed it at a lone table. Smith sympathized with the man-No one wanted to sit with him. Once his plate was covered in food, the man made his way toward the partially empty table then came to a stop. The question was searing in his mind. A desire to have it answer stung his heart. His heart was repeating over and over in different ways it could be delivered. Burnfield turned his attention on to the somewhat younger man.

"Ah, Smith," Burnfield said. "America's greatest spy."

"Not so great after all," Smith said. "I got caught."

"That you did," Burnfield said. "The evidence was so obvious."

"My employers betrayed me," Smith said. "Could have ended better."

"Think that they like to use you again?" Burnfield asked.

"No," Smith said. "And whoever you're referring to. . . I have burned any chances of being trusted by another agency given my very public conviction."

Burnfield looked both ways then turned his attention on to him.

"We got a program up and running," Burnfield said. "It's called the Stargate program. . . and we have been kicking worm ass up there," Burnfield gestured toward the cieling. Hearing the Robot's logical but colorful deep voice coming from someone who's credibility were severely damaged was off putting for Smith that hurt. "It wasn't that long ago I had to be brought in for a simple mission regarding some minor system lord wannabes. You know, they are more terrified of the Robot than SG-1. Maybe that's just the Replicator's reputation proceeding them."

"Stargate," Smith said. "Hmh, what a bunch of hooey," he twirled his spoon. "That is a lot of fantasy."

"You don't know what The United States Airforce has been through," Burnfield said.

"Developing nicely as I can tell," Smith said. "I enjoy slow."

"You really have no clue," Burnfield said.

"Enlighten me," Smith said.

"I got to meet a alien," Burnfield said. "A real honest to god alien."

"I have met hundreds. Bad allies. Every single one of them when it came to reaching Earth," Smith cupped the side of his face with a grimace.

"Yeah, I heard about you," Burnfield said. "You can't blame them for taking advantage of what they had at the time."

"How outrageous!" Smith slid aside from Burnfield.

"And so is inexplicably finding threats, now is it?" Burnfield asked.

"What is your crime?" Smith asked, softly.

"I killed a lieutenant," Burnfield said. "Tortured her while she was awake. Reasons, well, a secret. The prosecutor doesn't even know what she had against me but still made a damn case. A case that happens to be connected to the Stargate program. You should know, they are always willing to take criminal from here and use them for their own gain. Saving a town, saving a planet, or just saving a colony. Sometimes, they never come back. . ." Burnfield looked over toward the empty space beside him. He turned his attention on to the man. "It's those damn ankle shackles that does it. Makes them unable to run from their attacks and those belly chains don't help either."

Smith gulped, feeling along his neck collar.

"Do those with life sentences not get drawn in?" Smith asked.

"They do," Burnfield said. "Must feel awkward to be speaking with the man who sounds like the Robot."

"No," Smith said, shaking his head. He looked up toward the older man. "Painful."

The uncanny laughter that was mechanical like from Burnfield came except it sounded very ill drawing his alarm.

"I am going to be out before you physically on this planet," Burnfield said.

"Out?" Smith replied, raising his brow in a concerning manner.

"In a body bag," Burnfield said, with a wide bitter smile. "My cancer isn't lightening up anytime soon."

True to Burnfield's word, he passed away away in the next month in his bed. Smith felt empty at that point watching the body bag be strolled down the hall heavily guarded by security officers by both sides. Months had passed since the return to Earth. It felt longer than that to Smith. It felt like it had been a hundred years ago instead. He was escorted back into his cell after his daily chores were completed. The counter had more books that were stacked against the yellow unopened packaging. He tried to carry a tune in these walls that were light hearted and happy but they always fell flat without soul. If he were with the Robinsons, they would be capable of putting a soul back into the song and lifting his spirits up simultaneously. A quality about them that he had missed dearly.

He slipped out the medical book from the counter then leaned against the wall and opened up to the last page that he had stopped on. The words didn't carry the same weight or the same mind boggling interest as they had before. He didn't enjoy life as he used to. But he had to carry on and do what he loved the most: reading, learning, and being alive the best that he could. The pain from the drastic loss had grown softer, bearable, the depression had adjusted to the new reality acting as a old friend that tried to help him feel not alone. That was still hard to accept his feelings as companions. He had no companions to help him navigate this life just books and what belongings that he had acquired in his voyage home. Smith lowered the book to his side then walked over toward the packaging. He had perfectly avoided being demeaned by several of the inmates and he can feel his luck was running out. Smith enjoyed the prospect of the beginning. Everything was very fluid and constant for the time being. Something that he never had a year in space alone. He slid aside the book then picked up the package in his hands feeling the crinkly, hard surface that crunched when his fingers pressed on it. He came over to the cot where he tore the packing into pieces until all that was left was a box that had a neatly folded purple fabric over something small.

Smith unwrapped the fabric then stopped once he saw what was inside.

"Where did . . ." Smith picked up the silver watch then flicked it open.

On the side were a photograph of the Robinsons minutes before they had boarded the Jupiter 2 with smiles.

Except it lacked the Robot as part of the group. It looked like the photograph had been resized to fit inside the watch.

"Everyone is capable of doing good, Doctor Smith," Maureen's comment echoed in his mind.

"Yes, madame," Smith said. "What I have done. . . so far is making small statues of your family and what you faced in the last few years."

Smith tossed the wrapping into the trash including the box leaving the photograph behind.

"And even more," Smith said, softly. "my dears."

It was four months since Smith was convicted in military court for the loss of the Jupiter, the Robinsons, and Major West. The debates about what would happen if someone like Smith had ended up in space with a trusting family had ended in disaster that consisted of fist fighting and verbal insults compared to the more civil debates that brought a realm of possibilities that the journals had not introduced during the trial. She had turned the radio off after listening for news regarding the weather because she didn't want to hear of it. Barbara's emotional well being was being held together by bubble gum, sheep wool, and the well panned evidence of her older brother's fate.

Would a killer-without-heart be in so much pain for killing someone? The pain that was displayed outside the court house in the eyes of the press and recorded. That was a question that hadn't been solved by the debates. No one was sure. Not at all. Not even by Barbara's opinion but forgiveness wouldn't come easily for Smith unlike her brother. She had read the journal entries, studied them, after being shown by Richard and getting to see the personal thoughts of his struggle in space broke her heart. The daily reports showed the deterioration in their supplies and the dwindling chances of reaching Earth. It made her angry. Simply because the traitor had screwed them over time and time again when it came to staying on Earth on a permanent basis.

When she looked back at it, she knew that living in the past rather than in their familiar era was a bittersweet way of staying home. She wanted to break out into tears just from what were in the several pages worth of years and weep for the pain that her brother had been tormented in. The emotional pain in being forced to do things that he necessarily would never have done under his free will. Most of the Robinson relatives refused to read the children's diaries as they were simply biased, over-exaggerated, and not completely stuck to the truth. They didn't need to see it to know that. They knew it in their hearts. She came out of the car closing it behind her then made her way toward the door on the well kept sidewalk trailing alongside the grass from the parking garage to the front door. She came to a stop beside the mailbox set alongside the door then slid out a collection of envelopes sliding in the key into the door while scanning through the names. She turned the knob then came into the house to be greeted by a small circular void in the floor. Barbara smiled, gazing down toward the purring hole.

"Hello, Thomas, would you like your appointment set today?" Barbara said, softly.

Barbara stopped, freezing, momentarily, then laughed.

"You're not a customer," Barbara said, grinning from ear to ear.

She knelt down to the void then stroked it earning a soft mew in return.

"Let's see what we got here," Barbara said, lifting herself up to her feet.

She came over to the counter where she dropped her keys into the small bowl in front of pictures that had a black feline figure in random hijinks. She placed envelope by envelope onto the counter until she came to the last one that made her stop and look at it oddly. She ripped open the top and slid the letter out and laced the envelope onto the counter. Barbara uncurled the letter then her eyes scanned it. She let it fall to the counter following her scream. Barbara picked up the letter covering her mouth as tears were rolling down her cheeks.

Dear Barbara Robinson:

Your application for making a Scholarship entitled 'The Robinsons Scholarship' has been accepted. The Robinsons Scholarship will be listed across the nation next year. Your efforts to help those who do not have the money to attend college is most appreciated. We have reviewed the scholarship and found it to stand at fifty-five trillion dollars. Thank you for taking the time to create this scholarship and start a contest. The details behind the contest were approved. Your writing contest will be held by Richard Castleson, Jake Taffey, and Alexander Robinson.

It was a sudden, abrupt change in Smith's schedule.

He didn't get told why he was being transported but it started to seem likely that the United States decided to use him one last time in the field. The very thought of it made his stomach twist and turn. The restrictive belly chain, the leg shackles, and the cuffs were highly uncomfortable. He thought that he had dealt the last of them on his arrival to the military prison. Turned out he was wrong. The window showed a tunnel to a mountain and it became pitch black in the gray prison transport van. He turned his attention off facing the wall tapping his fingers together. A feeling began to sink further into his gut. Could it be exactly what Burnfield had warned him before his death? Being used once more as a expendable asset? The hatred for his skills and at himself only grew. His head felt hot, heated, and his hands were trembling with sweat coming down his skin. He wanted to rip the shackles off into pieces and forcibly break off his restraints then run fast as he could to freedom.

Far, far, far away from this 'Stargate'.

The very facts to this 'Stargate' had been boiled down to a circular sphere discovered outside a pyramid in Gaza.

He wasn't alone in the prison transport featuring three men who were smoking cigarettes.

It was hard to enjoy the company when the smoke drifted into his face and he couldn't wave the smoke off.

"Mad about being used?" The lieutenant across from him asked.

"So should you," Smith said, turning his attention toward the light brown man.

"I don't know about that," the lieutenant replied, between puffs from his cigarette. "serving my country for good rather than for the bad would be a dream come true."

"I can't serve my country in shackles," Smith said. "I can't ever serve it ever again, and you know that, sir."

The smoke came out of the cigarette then came toward his face so Smith coughed.

"That's what they all say," came the officer. "They are always wrong."

"I heard they die because of these shackles," Smith said.

"Really think so?" The lieutenant asked.

"I heard it from the most reliable source," Smith said.

"Sources lie," came the vague reply.

The van came to a stop in the dark. The doors to the van was then opened by the two men in the back. Smith was guided out of the van then into the cold room. He felt stiff in his knees and below that felt like that they needed to be popped to relax. He was unable to relax as he shuffled toward the doorway leading into the tunnel. He turned around then faced the stationary van. The doors closed on him from Earth then into the bright orange intense room. The elevator rolled down humming as it went. Smith was visibly trembling between the two officers. The door opened to a long gray hall with two officers in camouflage uniforms with subtle differences that stood out to Smith.

Smith's feet firmly planted into the ground as his alarms went up.

They were aliens.

The two officers towed Smith out of the elevator as he cried, "No, no, no, no, no, I don't want to die! Please, take me back! Take me back! TAKE ME BACK!"

He was shoved into the arms of the two officers then they went into the elevator and he was left in their arms. He looked over his shoulder watching the doors to life close behind him much to his horror. He was taken into another elevator while trying to squirm out of their grip to no avail. The doors to the elevator closed behind the three. The elevator rolled down further into the facility humming along as the convict's pleas became distant but gradually becoming more frantic than before. The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened. He was dragged out of the elevator between his pleas falling into the arms of two officers and he was lead away into the next elevator. The cycle repeated itself for the third time. Smith was terrified as the elevator came to the final stop. The hair all over his skin raised as his face twisted and the door opened to a long hall that had two officers standing side by side sharing a striking resemblance to the alien individuals by his side then he was handed off to them. He was gently towed away from the elevator then guided down the hall. The lights went out in the hall that made Smith scream. A minute later the power jerked back on into the facility with a loud hum. He can feel the ground trembling beneath his feet like there was something strong powering up from within the building. The walk to where they wanted to take him was taken going at his speed.

Smith was towed to a large set of doors that opened before him. He came to a abrupt stop in his tracks when he saw a massive, wide circular gate. A familiar shape that wasn't embedded in a cliff drawing a look of horror from him. There were a group assembled huddled in a circle then faced the man. They were more human the other ones that had brought him down except for individuals with unmistakenable pointy ears, green pigments on their cheeks that contrasted against their light brown skin in a green uniform that had a dark vest and baseball hats. His eyes focused on the blue body of water set inside the gate. Two of the officers from the group then approached him and helped him up the ramp at a reasonable pace. The leader and her friend went into the gate vanishing before Smith's eyes. He looked over his shoulder to see a familiar face, Jack O'Niell, but older and gray in a general's uniform. He can see the man's heavily disappointed look focused down on Smith's figure standing while alongside a younger man by his side wearing glasses. Smith turned his attention off the window toward the gate continuing his difficult walk forward. He came face to face with the giant body of water looking at it it in a intimidated manner easily showing his awe and curiosity at once. He closed his eyes taking in a deep breath then dipped in forward.

When Smith came out of the other side, he was soaked. Compared to how he normally arrived on planets on the Jupiter 2, they were normally deserts and the green patches of land sometimes were centered between sand dunes with a trickling body of water that had to be carefully checked then concealed for the rest of the ride and paced being drunk. There were large trees from around the large circular gate set on a platform made of brick that ranged in color. Smith turned toward the gate watching it close before his eyes. He saw a sea of trees from behind him. He looked up to see two planets that were visible in the planet's orbit and one moon toward his left that was very bright and visible with craters that stood out clearly to his eyes. It also seemed to have a series of rings surrounding it separating the planet into two halves

"Welcome to Yutano, Mr Smith," the leader of the group turned toward him. "I am Colonel La Forge."

"Could you have bothered to tell me before what this mission is?" Smith asked.

"You would have refused," La Forge said. "We require your service."

"In cuffs?" Smith asked, shaking his hands furiously making the chains rattle.

"Yes," La Forge said. "standard procedure."

"Standard procedure does not require using a asset with their hands cuffed," Smith said. "This is not a mission. This is kidnapping . . . KIDNAAPPING!"

"This is a mission," La Forge replied. "A mission where the bad guys can't read English or the language that their hostage has on their outfit and you are wearing the exact same outfit that our friend is in," A puzzled expression grew from Smith. "I hate this more than you do."

"A . . . doppleganger?" Smith said, his heart sinking

"Yes," La Forge said, as the pointy eared officers surveyed the scene.

"How important is this hostage to the Stargate program?" Smith asked.

"It's not that simple," La Forge said. "In fact, it's more complicated."

"It is simple if you try to explain it in laymen's terms," Smith replied.

"He is important to Earth and the United System of Stargates," La Forge said.

"United System of Stargates?" Smith asked. "You mean to say this entire time there were ways I could go home in the last several years?"

"No," La Forge said. "You would have died if you tried. The iris is always closed."

"How disappointing," Smith said.

"This is Lieutenant Harvey," La Forge pointed toward his friend. "These two are Commander S'Teef and Lieutenant S'tiif from the Vulcan High Council expedition group. If anything happens to me then S'tiff will take over as the leader of this expedition then you may die, if you insist you're not Kosaga Lutrithia in the first five minutes then you will die at the hands of terrorists, and if you attempt to thwart this mission, you will die. We're in a different galaxy far from any form of help that could come in and act as back up to make sure that we get through the gate in one piece. No matter how hard you try to pull things in your favor, it won't work. It won't work here. It just won't. Do I make myself absolutely clear, Mr Smith?"

"Yes, sir," Smith replied. "But.. . . wouldn't their cuffs look differently?" he gestured toward his hands. "Shackles look different from civilization to civilization."

"Like you've been cuffed," La Forge said, skeptically.

"Shackles made of pure, raw energy that burn your hands if you try to escape. . ." Smith recalled. "Shackles that become part of your skin, your bones, binding your wrists together and make it difficult to get off. Shackles that keep you held up and restrained from escaping floating in mid air left in the aching position for hours on end!" Smith shuddered then dramatically reiterated. "Oooooh, the pain, the paaain."

"Their shackles are not cruel, Mr Smith," S'Tiff said, as Harvey rolled a eye at the former Colonel.

"They have shackles that are like these," S'Teef said. "Based off eyewitness accounts."

"Eyewitnesses?" Smith asked.

"We got people on our side who likes to make sure we have a free Stargate system," La Forge replied.

"Vulcan High Council has only allowed us to help in this very risky mission," S'tiff said. "We are only working on limited time with Stargate Command."

"And we need your silence to get in," La Forge said. "Complete silence if we are going to pull this off."

"You have my word," Smith gestured toward himself with his index finger. "Complete silence." Smith twirled his finger in a circle toward the pavement.

La Forge appeared to be satisfied.

"Good," La Forge said, nodding her head growing a smile. "we will make it to our destination by nightfall."

"Will you come back for me?" Smith inquired.

"We won't need to. They will throw you in the gate and send you back once they realize the switcharoo," La Forge replied, easing the convict. "Move out!"

Smith was guided down the stairs with a slow shuffle. Smith took in a breath then exhaled enjoying the scenery around him gazing around with full attention and curiosity. Compared to the small squad, he was relaxed and calm surrounded by officers with P-90's strapped over their shoulders compared to their tense and serious demeanor's. The veil of grief had lowered from Smith's vision over the passing months allowing him to enjoy the simple pleasures of life. He looked up at the sound of a bird caw then lowered his gaze down seeing something white and liquid falling. His eyes landed on Harvey's head that became splattered in white. Harvey stepped aside then went into the forest as La Forge laughed. Harvey returned to the group then they resumed their travel moving into the forest.

It reminded Smith of his lonely travels in space on planet-side retrieving supplies with the occasional company under the cloak of dark. Sometimes, these company stabbed him in the back then ran off and left him to die, a few times were not as literal but the tranquil and calm scenery didn't make him feel as terrified as he normally would but angry, upset, and hurt. He shook his head straying his mind off the ugly memories. The memories of getting up to his feet using the tree bark as his support then yank the blade out of his back or being dragged on the ground in the arms of two muscular beings telling him to stand on his feet with dignity then with much reluctance doing so. The scene then didn't feel as calm and soothing but intense and intimidating. He didn't need to be afraid or feeling hurt. But the lonely feeling still lingered surrounded by officers wanting nothing more to get rid of him.

There was no doubt that Judy would have love Yutano as would all members of the Robinsons. He could easily see the looks of awe on their faces gazing up at the sky. John offering a theory on how two neighboring planets can be so close to a planet with a ring and the moon being so visible throughout the day. The children listening attentively to their father and cataloguing it in their minds of a truly unique planet. Smith wished they were there to enjoy the scenery. The group came to a stop in their tracks with their gazes fixed at a bat like yet pterodactyl like being flying overhead. Smith gave a scream at the creature. The group paused in their tracks simply unwilling to move where they stood. The grip on Smith's shoulders loosened while the officers eyes were on the creatures heading down toward them.

"Run! Don't just stand there! Save yourselves!"

Smith lowered down out of the flying creature's way then attempted to run on falling to his knees on the grass, abruptly. S'Tiif was yanked up by one of the space bats. The convict fell to his side then rolled on to his back. La Forge fired at the animals as Smith turned on to his side then placed a hand on his knee helping himself up and speed shuffled toward the forest rather successfully blending into the dark where he hid behind a tree. Harvey is yanked out of the group by one of the massive furry creatures. S'teef leaped out landing onto the creature's bag that chirped and squabble and thrashed at him as Harvey untangled herself from the alien's talons bolting toward the forest.

"Everyone, into the forest!" La Forge shouted. "NOW, NOW!"

S'tiif retreated into the forest covering for La Forge.

"S'Teef!" La Forge shouted.

S'teef leaped off the creature making a run for the forest.

"S'Teef!" S'tiif replied.

The bat creature reached out grabbing onto S'teef's torso with one talon that tore through the man's chest.

"S'Teef!" Harvey screamed, as neon green blood poured out of the corners of Vulcan's mouth then lowered his head. "S'TEEF!"

The bat creature flew off into the blue sky as the team fired at it and each one of them missed.

"Stop," Smith said. "Stop!"

One by one they lowered their P-90's.

"He is gone," Harvey said. "He is gone."

"That's going to be a problem getting his body," La Forge replied.

"That will not be necessary," S'Tiif replied. "That is a shell. A vessel. It is not logical to retrieve a empty object."

"Have you no sympathy for the dead?" La Forge said. "We have to get that body back and bury it properly."

"I do not understand your instance on retrieving what is going to prove a undeniable obstacle to this mission," S'Tiif said. "We have a mission."

"This mission can stand aside for the time being!" La Forge replied. "For all I care, he can wait another day."

"I don't suppose you know where to find the nest," Smith said.

"Concentrated in the mountains," La Forge replied. "It's just a over hour away from the gate. Harvey, S'Tiif and I will go get the body back while you get our rescue operation smoothly done."

"Yes, sir," Harvey said, with a nod.

"Wasting ammunition is not logical, Colonel La Forge," S'Tiif said. "I will decline this side quest."

"You're under my command," La Forge said. "Don't have to like it. . . Or would you like to lose another superior officer on this mission?"

"Negative," S'Tiif replied.

"Just what I thought," La Forge said. "Split up. We'll meet you at the gate in the morning."

The two separated from the small group and a bad feeling sunk into Smith's stomach ready to turn his stomach over and shoot out the contents of his morning meal.

Harvey turned toward Smith then took him by the forearm and guided him through the forest whispering, "Not another word" earning a baffled look from Smith.

What did she expect from him? What did everyone expect from him? To turn back into his old ways and manipulate everyone around him? No one believed him when it came to the truth. Stranded on a planet with restraints and no key to unlock him, he couldn't exactly manipulate himself out of cuffs. It was a ideally terribly situation no matter how it was written. The scenery grew dark around him so Harvey took out a flashlight. There was the sound of birds from around them that seemed very odd. Smith looked around noticing white whips of light floating from above that seemed to be glowing in colors of the rainbow. It was a lovely sight that could remind a average person of a elegant, well done painting made at night. He kept his attention set upwards in to the night enjoying the scenery. He could look up into the night sky to see the bright rings that acted as a natural made light.

Harvey turned the light off coming to a stop then signed, "Stay here."

Smith remained propped against the wooden tree trunk looking on watching the woman go toward a lone heavily armored being. The individual slid their helmet up then leaned forward to listen in carefully. A fist knocked the alien being onto the grass then she dragged the being into the forest. Smith looked on to see what was making the golden glow-and his eyes grew large, his mouth fell, and horror spread on his face. It was a spaceship that resembled a Chinese dragon on a stool. Flames jetted out of the dragon's golden mouth. The flames drifting into the wind brought back the very recent memory into his mind and he shuffled backwards shaking his head, muttering "No" over and over.

A heavily armored figure came toward Smith's side then forcibly grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Complete silence, traitor," came the demeaning reply. "Or you will die on this planet."

Smith looked over in horror and dismay that seemed at home to him while unable to speak a word.

He was yanked forward toward the spaceship and closed his eyes, trying not to whimper as he trembled. Once, he could keep himself together in space but those days were long gone. They went up the golden, warm ramp into the spaceship. Harvey gazed in both ways noticing there were security officers lining at certain parts of the corridor. Smith opened his eyes then gazed around the homely, richly scenery full of strange text on a keypadd set in front of them. She pressed in several buttons and the doors rolled open before her. Smith was shoved in landing to his feet on the floor with a very silent yelp. Once, he would have glared at others for the harsh treatment but none of that came. She went on to another panel then typed it in. She yanked him up to his feet and came to the center of the room. A series of rings surrounded him with a soft, unique hum then in layered flash of bright lights they were transported to another section.

She brought him forward through the open doorway. Harvey gazed about the corridor ever so cautiously then resumed the walk taking abrupt twist and turns. Finally, they came to a door that was small and sphere in shape. Harvey let go of the man's forearm then unexpectedly smacked him at the head with the long spear sending him falling against the corridor. Harvey swept her hand on the panel and the door opened before her revealing a strikingly familiar man with subtle differences here and there but all the same. His dark blue eyes gazed toward the figure as Harvey entered the room then fired off the restraints from the man's wrists. He rubbed his wrists standing up to his feet then walked over the exit sliding off the belly restraint and looked at the man with pity. Harvey slid Smith into the cell propping him against the wall then walked out of it and the door closed behind her.

His blue eyes fluttered open feeling a ache coming from his head then began to reached his hand up for his head only to find the restraint on him prevented him from doing so. He stared at the cieling contemplating his predicament. He could imagine the Robot going on a list of things that had happened so far and end up mechanically laughing. Will telling the Robot that it wasn't something to laugh about so the Robot apologized. Smith closed his eyes with a sigh then reopened them turning his gaze toward the door. Was it necessary to knock him out? He had seen countless variations of himself in different iterations. He got out of his recent messes by sheer will, determination, and limited cooperation. He was truly, utterly alone in the cell. Smith saw a pointy triangle beside him so he picked it up turning to his side then turned toward the wall where he propped himself and carved in to the metal shoving it hard to make the first visible scratch. He stepped back to reveal what had been written on the wall.

I was here.

-Zachary Smith.

He made a carving of the Jupiter 2 from below it with pained detail set below his name. He dropped the sharp object feeling a sting from along his thumb in a curved 'c' shape. Smith clutched into his palm fixing his gaze up toward the cieling. The bleeding from around his thumb stopped dripping down onto his pant leg. He turned toward the opposing wall then slid down to his feet. Smith let out a sigh lifting his head up toward the cieling. He rested his eyes lowering his head and softly snored. Smith was stirred out of his sleep by a pair of arms that grabbed on to his elbows yanking him up forcibly and panic spread through him as he began to struggle against the opposing forces with a yelp. He was lifted out of the cell and dragged through the hall where his boots squeaked sliding against the surface.

His vision adjusted to the lighting in the golden hall as he looked both ways feeling very afraid. They took him into another room, used the set of rings, and were beamed up to the main deck. His shoulders and hands ached from remaining in the same position for hours. His stomach loudly grumbled. Another set of doors opened before him to what was a more sophisticated, but simple bridge that featured a thrown, a large console, a big view screen, and a counter that had a circular receptacle. Smith lifted up to his feet, his mind racing from thoughts that pertained to being transferred from his body to a container or to be judged.

"Complete silence, or you will die," echoed in his mind.

It made his feelings change from terrified to anger easily making him keep his mouth shut.

He looked up to see that it was pushing daybreak. He was visibly trembling on the bridge, hoping against chance that help would come running in unceremoniously and shoot out most of the captors then take Smith to safety. The reality was, he wasn't that much important anymore to the military. It would never happen. He watched a light emit from the circular device. They hadn't made it to the Stargate, quite yet. He had to give the team time. He had to go along, and do as he was told. A bright white light illuminated from the receptacle then a figure draped in a dark cloak came walking alongside the convict.

"This is your leader, people of Carvalaic," the figure had a deep alien voice that boomed and had a slight echo. "A liar, a criminal, and a fake prophet."

The figure turned toward Smith, her eyes glowing yellow briefly then returning to their normal shade, staring into him.

"Your leader will suffer horribly and painfully," the figure added, as Smith's face fell with a shudder. "until he has told you what I have always known and you have not. It will make you suffer worse than my reign on you. I will be your ideal leader and your god as I have always been and always will be unlike him." She turned toward the convict who was moved toward his side by the two heavily armored individuals. She reached a hand out to reveal that it had golden armor wrapped around her hand completed by a gem at the center of it. A yellow glow began to emit from the device aimed at Smith's forehead. "confess."

Smith shook his head.

"Then you give me no choice," the figure said, spreading her finger tips out.

There was agony in his head like someone was tearing through his thin walls, forcing themselves in, leaving a wreck behind. It felt like someone was digging something long, sharp, and hot into his head burning everything inside his brain that traveled from channel to channel. Smith screamed, painfully, his legs giving out causing him to fall down to his knees and his eyes closed. He tried to fight back the invasive procedure that seemed hell bent on damaging his mind rather than what was contained inside of it. What new walls were made to protect certain corners were quickly taken down. He made wall after wall, desperately, hope that was being lost very quickly. He opened his eyes to see the familiar flickering red flame erupting from the device. It was a momentary flash that took him back.

The flames drifting off the backs of the unconscious Robinsons. He squeezed his clasped, trembling hands together them gave it his all to protect one small corner of his mind left untouched by the woman. A treasured vault concealing the memories pertaining to the Robinsons gave him renewed strength sending the energy away fueled by his anger. Hot tears were dripping down his cheeks as his screams turned from agony to anguish brought out by the throbbing reminder. His white eyes turned to red and his face twisted into anger. She yanked her hand back then paced as he lowered his head down with a pant feeling sweat traveling down his skin. He grew a victorious grin on his face raising his head up with a head that was in pain. He looked over toward the receptacle, panting, then turned his attention back onto the well dressed figure very exhausted. She didn't seem to be happy as she approached him and spread her fingers out turning the brightness around Smith into darkness.

His eyes opened once more but it was in a dark room that had a cell gate and his bounds had been removed except his jumpsuit's upper half was tied around his waist, his white shirt was discarded on the floor torn to pieces, and his hands were held above his head. The cuffs were big compared to his small, feminine hands. He attempted to wiggle his hands only to earn a jolt that stung into his wrist. He looked down observing pieces of his belly shackles were on the floor along with the cuffs. It quickly became apparent that the hell he had escaped several months ago had not really ended. He raised his head up with a sigh, annoyed. A figure came into the cell with two other muscular individuals by their side. One of them was equipped with several long poles so it seemed. A light from above turned on to reveal the scars that the last year in space had given him. The female figure lowered her hood stepping forward to show her face painted in white with additional colors that made her green eyes stand out. She reached out grabbing on to a handle that was held for her and she approached him and walked around the man. Was he going to suffer in silence? No. Was he going to speak on the off chance that they had made it? Chances were, it had been just ten minutes since the agonizing torture.

"You are more stubborn then what they say," the figure said. "My compliments on your spirit. "

She raised the stick up then slid it down his left breast making a long scar that traveled down spilling a trail of blood. Smith squeezed his eyes closed, squeezing his hands together. Lord help me stand through this. She stepped back twirling the item in a circle walking around him then traced along the vulnerable scars on his back that made him flinch. Scars that he had earned being backstabbed, ambushed, and captured that ranged in length and shape. He saw the receptacle was placed on the newly stationed stool that was lightly tapped on and a jet of light came out. She was very silent. The silence was unnerving and terrifying at the same time. He felt a overwhelming sense of dread take over him then felt what something sharp pierce into his shoulder that elicited a pained shout.

She whispered, "Confess," into his ear.

Smith turned his head toward her when she withdrew the long blade and shook his head. No. He could see in her eyes that she was very angry at him. She didn't like it when it didn't go her way. She handed the item to one of the newly arrived armored individuals. The man's eyes glowed green when he faced the convict. I am very afraid. I am very, very, very, very afraid. Did it occur to the convict. Outnumbered, lacking laser pistols, or any form of allies, he had made the next best enemy who could cut him down in his prime. A long scar was made down his chest earning a more girly and horrified scream. He squirmed only to be jolted keeping him in place emitting yet another scream. He lowered his head, the stinging fresh from his skin and his mind. Another wound was made into his shoulder sliding leaving a tail of blood behind in a more deliberate shape. It made him wish even more that he had been the one who was burned outside of the cave instead of the Robinsons. The pain was continued on through the hour that gradually led Smith into the darkness.

They left him dangling rather than taking him down. Time did not have any meaning inside a secluded, dark lighted room. His stomach growled loudly demanding to be fed and there was nothing to help. Eventually, he was taken out of the shackles with soiled pants in a humiliated manner then left to lurk in the cell. He slipped the grandfather's watch out of the pocket then scooted away back against the wall. He felt the silver wrist watch slide down from his elbow on to the stinging wrist. His hands and shoulders ached. His wrist felt burned and had clear electrical burns wrapped around them asides to the rounded holes below his thumb set resting on the wrists that had healed over. He was moved into a smaller, thinner cell that lacked light. And he never felt as dirty than he had in his entire life. It quickly became apparent that they were torturing him.

It had to have been more than a day since being roped in to the mission without his consent. His prison outfit laid in the center of the room that stunk to high heavens. His newly given wounds were healing. And perfectly nude awaiting for the next round of torture. Smith slipped out the pocket watch then flipped it open to be faced with the bright gray and golden glowing light brightly landing on his face. Comfort wrapped around his shivering, not cared for figure as he wrapped a hand around his shoulder lowering his head breaking into tears and closed the pocket watch pressing it against his chest, squeezing his eyes closed, leaning forward. The feelings piling on to his pack fell off smoothly leaving him feeling better. A lot better. He lifted his head up wiping off what remained of his tears with the edge of his thumb placing the back of his head against the wall. He wrapped the wrist watch up then shoved it into his ass, painfully. He sighed, closing his eyes.

Abruptly, Smith was lifted to his feet with a pair of hands tightly clinging on to his forearms so he reached forward covering his lower extremities looking around. He was brought into a room that had a table with a counter set across to the right hand side situating a small, rounded receptacle from earlier. He dropped against the floor landing against the flattened bulk of the table. A white light illuminated from the device. The two heavily armored warriors forced him onto the table with a short lived struggle. His body was bound to the table. He struggled to raise his arm up against the table much less his head and upper torso only to feel a strong inclination to remain still. He looked up to see a strange wide object coated in light bulb fixtures that were glowing purple contrasting against the dark gray machine held up by a long support beam. Fear was coursing through him as he grunted and groaned trying to move his joints and turn himself to the side.

"Confess," The figure repeated. "Confess, and you will be freed."

Smith turned his head toward the woman who was clean and dry, beautiful, gorgeous, and healthy compared to his scarred and dirty figure. He was tempted to reply, 'Never', a simple phrase that spoke volumes and likely would have left back him a memorable figure to have been held captive-but the question was posed in a way that hadn't been changed from earlier. Smith stared back, contemplatively, then turned his head in the direction of the receptacle and back in the direction of the woman. The flash of the Robinsons appeared before his eyes inside the pocket watch smiling back at him. Let me be brave. Let me be brave. Let me be brave. He curled his fingers into a fist as he mentally ran through a list of things they put him through.

"F. . . Freedom?" Smith asked.

"Yes, yes, yes," the figure said.

"I will not be signing my execution, madame," Smith said. "But I will be signing my pardoning papers."

The figure hissed then came to his side.

She spread her fingers out delivering a intense burning sensation in his head that made him scream in pain.

Was it worth the come back? It was worth it to him. Smith could hear Don's very alarmed reaction in his ears, "Smith, what are you doing?" among the flash of anger that would be on full display to the figure. Smith squeezed his eyes shut letting out the loudest and pain induced scream that he could bear. He can feel blood trickling down his nose. He lifted his head up toward the direction of the light fixture from above. The figure reached her hand back turning away from him then marched on heading toward the dangling pink, purple, and yellow dangling beads standing in the way of the doorway.

"Who do you think you are?" the figure turned toward the man.

He gave a pained smile turning his head toward the woman.

"Not . . . the right . . . hostage," Smith replied. "safe. . . and sound. . . at Stargate command."

The figure grew a furious expression on her face.

"Liar!" the figure said. "Turn it on."

Smith turned his head toward the light fixture that was overshadowed by the device that slid over him.

"Believe me!" Smith said. "You got the wrong ma-"

The lights on the machine turned on brightly blinding his eyes. There was a funny feeling radiating through his very being as small red circles began to elevate on his chest in the form of a grid and the gravitational pull against his body fell down. His stomach recoiled at the pain circulating through his body. He was weak, unable to move against what the machine was doing to him. The grid extended from his torso to his legs leaving behind orange skin. He turned his head to the side clenching his trembling fingers into a fist. It was a weak fist that fell apart becoming slack indicating the strength inside had fallen down to a level. He had his eyes on the receptacle.

"Help me," Smith plead. "Hel. . . help. . . help me. Please."

His eyes began to close before the still active receptacle and his head turned away from the receptacle losing consciousness. His eyes opened to find himself hidden in the dark with his back against the wall. His torso was gently aching from the inside. He felt tired. Very tired. Things were going to get better. Things were going to lighten up. It couldn't stay this way forever. How long he was there, Smith had no idea. But what he did know, is that he had a lot more torture sessions. The word 'Confess' was repeated at him, over, and over. He had already confessed that he wasn't the person she wanted. The way to end the torture would be to confess that he was someone he was not. This kind of hell wasn't what he deserved. He could stand it to a certain point and bounce back like a spring in defiance. They were trying to crush his spirit. The torture seemed to be designed that way. And they failing as his spirit was crushed over a year and eight months ago. He didn't have much of a spirit left to be crushed.

Instead, he confessed about how horrible the situation was much to the disgust of the figure and insulting her thoroughly. He wasn't sure how many torture sessions that she put him through much to his dismay and hurt. Some sessions featured being dunked into the cold water face first giving him facial burns, being aimed repeatedly by a spear that retracted with a sizzle of electricity after giving a example of what it could do, and being called words that he didn't understand but assumed they had to have some forms of similarities with nasty words in the human vocabulary. Abruptly, during one of the sessions where he was being electrocuted by a stick over and over with his hands held above his head, the ship tilted to the side making him swing sideways. The figure fled taking along two warriors with her out of the room. It is what they deserved for putting him through a degrading hell. He heard the sounds of gun fire, explosions, and screams. So they had came back for him. They had came back for him. They had came back for him! His hopes were raised as the ship shuddered from side to side loudly groaning in protest.

He cleared his throat then cried out, "HELP! OVER HERE! PLEASE! HELP! HELP! HEEELLLPPPP!" over the sounds of disaster.

Smith was trembling lingering in mid-air where he heard the sounds of boots headed his way in the dark lit room.

Out of the shadows came a dark man with a golden emblem on his forehead and a highly muscular build entered the room carrying what was a long AA-12 shotgun in one hand completed by a stoic look. He aimed the shot gun toward Smith. Smith recoiled, closing his eyes, bracing himself for a painful end. Instead, there was a loud sound from above Smith earning a startled yelp. Smith collapsed to his side. There were more firing from across Smith that was exchanged by the dark man. The dark stepped into the cell and delivered more crushing blows. The sound of bodies collapsing to the ground was evident to Smith's ears. The dark man came toward Smith's side then raised a eyebrow tilting his head with intrigue in his eyes. Teal'c took off his black jacket placing it down to his knee.

"I will not hurt you," Teal'c said, holding his hand out.

Smith reached a tentative hand to Teal'c's outreached large hand and took it.

"Thank you," Smith was able to say.

Teal'c placed the jacket on the many scarred shoulders and gently sent him on.

"Teal'c, what is keeping you-" The same man from earlier but younger with longer hair came to a stop. "Jack is not going to like this."

"Get him to the ship, Daniel Jackson," Teal'c said, gently sending Smith to Daniel.

"We're going to get you to Earth, Mr Pavaloia," Daniel said.

"It's Mr Smith, sir," Smith replied, tiredly.

They ran out of the way of firing then made their way into the hangar bay after using several rings. Daniel guided Smith into a standing up right sarcophagus and closed the door on him. The familiar hisses told him that it was a stasis pod sending him into slumber and allowed him to relax only for a little while in the dark. When the door opened, Smith was treated to a young blonde woman with big horrified eyes then turned in the direction of a visibly angry O'Neill. The blonde guided Smith into the next room. She retrieved a set of red generated two piece clothes and handed them to the man. The door closed behind the blonde. Smith dressed up in the center of the room going over the healing scars decorating his skin.

He flinched each time the piece of clothing touched the scars. He carefully yanked out the pocket watch from his butt then cleaned it off using the side of his pants. He placed it onto the edge then bent down and picked up the red shirt sliding it on buttoning it up as he went. He observed a strange set of pod like machines connected to a strange column that had small circular lights glowing numerous colors. He sat down onto the ledge grabbing onto the pocket watch and moved into his pocket. He pressed his head against the wall looking on the station. It had to be a recharge station that was a bit improvised using random parts.

The door opened and in came O'Neill.

"How the hell did you get in this vessel, Doc-Mr Smith?" O'Neill switched mid-sentence.

"You did," Smith said, looking up toward O'Neill. "I had no choice nor no say in it."

"So he used the next best thing to retrieve a hostage," O'Neill said. "He intended to send a team after you."

"No," Smith replied. "They did not."

"What?" O'Neill asked, eyebrows hunched together and his face laced in disbelief.

"They intended for her to drop me off," Smith said. "She didn't realize that . . ."

"She never really knew him," O'Neil said, with a nod. "We will send you back to Earth once we reach a planet with a gate."

"I expected nothing less from you, Colonel," Smith said.

"It's Jack around here," O'Neill said.

"Very ideal compared to being held captive," Smith said.

"Don't need to worry about that wannabe goddess," O'Neill said. "Carter and I killed her."

Smith nodded his head.

"How many times have you been cloned?" Smith asked.

"How many times have you?" O'Neill asked. "We are someone elses androids. Not Harlan's."

Smith tilted his head.

"Harlan?"

"A survivor,"

"Survivor,"

"Last of his kind."

"That must be a lonely existence,"

"Speaking of who, could you do us a favor. . ." O'Neill said, earning a eyebrow raise. "And give Harlan some company?"

"It depends on who this Harlan is," Smith said.

"Safest person to be stuck with," O'Neill said. "And annoying."

"I can do with any form of company other than criminals," Smith said.

"Good," O'Neill said, then stood up to his feet and came toward the door. He stopped then turned toward Smith. "We really appreciate this."

It is only later when he goes through the gate with a slip of paper to Earth coordinates using the DHD and encouraged to explore it a bit does he wonder why they would have appreciated it. It was dark as though it had seen far better days. Smith was trembling looking around the factory like scenery. He took a tentative step forward, gazing around slipping the paper into his pocket. This Harlan fellow had to be around here somewhere. It was a favor that he could gleefully return, he wanted it to last forever, a lifetime if possible rather than going back to Earth and remaining cuffed for the rest of his days. He walked on calling "Hello?" repeatedly. His voice echoing around him. He eventually came over to a large computer that seemed to be deactivated. The colors were dark and cool coming from the large computer, smaller but still as large to the convict, with his intrigue caught.

There was a ominous robotic, alien sound that suddenly came from around him.

That wasn't good.

He took a step back looking both ways visibly trembling, calling out, "Harlan? Harlan?" He looked around. "I come in peace, Colonel O'Neill sent me to give you some company," his voice echoed back. "Harlan!"

Smith gave a girly scream then turned around.

The convict began to flee where he started to run down the corridor.

A bolt of energy from the background that struck him in the back sending him falling to the floor.

Smith regained consciousness strapped on a metal bed and screamed at who was above him.

A strange large man appeared beside him with clasped hands looking over tilting his head, "Comtraya!"

Smith gave out another scream.

The man reached his hand out in a robotic way, "This is your custom, yes?"

Smith screamed.

"Do not be afraid, I am Harlan the sole survivor of Altair, I am friend," Harlan unbound the man with a press of a button and Smith bolted off the bed and made a run for it. Smith whipped around placing his back against the door with his fingers placed against it and he stared at the man. "Why are you afraid?"

"You attacked me!" Smith said, placing his hand on to his chest. "I have every reason to be afraid for my life!"

"Oh," Harlan said. "It did happen that way to your perspective," he looked off regretfully. "Yes." Harlan's eyes shifted toward Smith. "I did that."

"Why would you do that to someone my age?" Smith asked, horrified.

"It could not be helped," Harlan said.

"What do you mean by couldn't be helped?" Smith asked.

"It must scan and retrieve DNA of each individual who comes to my home," Harlan said

Smith looked down to check his garments then relaxed, he wasn't a clone.

"You could have asked," Smith said, bitterly. "Showed up and not given me the scare," he walked forward with his hands in fists. "You do not treat company this way. That is cruel of you!" he poked at the man's chest, repeatedly. "Undeniably cruel!"

"I was recharging," Harlan replied. "I would have been there." Smith narrowed his eyes. "Believe me. I am always at the gate when company arrives," A sole survivor being bold to stand out? Not likely, Smith wagered, Harlan hid. Harlan was a coward. Harlan gestured toward the door. "You can go home now." Home. Home. Home. Smith's first thought was to the Jupiter 2 and his family. No, Earth was home. His family was dead. Earth was home! Smith had to remind himself. "The transfer was completed hours ago."

"And you just woke me up," Smith said, glaring down the man. "Now?"

"The other is a very entertaining individual so I lost track of time," Harlan said. "Comtraya!" he clapped his hands throwing them into the air growing a smile on his face. "Good company, good company!" he came toward one of the panels then typed in a code and the door slid open to the corridor. Smith slid the paper out from his pocket. "Company is sleeping."

Smith folded his arms, shaking his head, taking a sigh very disappointed.

"Does he know?" Smith asked.

"Yes," Harlan said. "It's been a wild twenty-four hours."

"A wild day?" Smith asked. "You drugged me?"

"No, just put you on pause," Harlan said, earning big eyes from Smith. "Company got stuck so my friends had to go rescue him."

"Oh dear," Smith rubbed his forehead. "They should have told me before I came here." Smith shook his head then sighed turned his attention onto Harlan. "Goodbye, Harlan."

Smith walked through the corridor and wandered off.

The sound of his boots echoed behind him.

"You are going the wrong way," Harlan popped up behind him then gestured toward the direction behind Smith. "The gate is this way."

Smith shifted toward the direction that was pointed in then turned his attention toward the shorter man.

"Thank you, sir," Smith said, appreciatively.

Smith slipped out the pocket watch sparing a glance to his lost family.

"Ah, your family?" Harlan said.

Smith's eyes shifted toward Harlan.

"Once," Smith said, returning his attention on to the sparkling gray and lively colored photograph. "I did."

"I understand," Harlan said. "My family is still out there. They occasionally visit from time to time. Dangerous line of work they do. Dangerous! Dangerous!"

A certain warmth stirred inside Smith as he grew a sad smile.

"I feel for you," Smith said, nodding his head then turned around and walked on.

The pocket watch was returned into his pocket. Smith looked down toward the paper with a strange set of symbols beside Harlan's address. It was another planet, so it read, that had a line of text reading 'Dial home here, home address is on the back, please rip into shreds after dialing home'. He took out the bulky device from his pocket once folding the paper. The home emitter was already set up for him. He made his way toward the path that became more familiar to his eyes making him pause once seeing the computer. He looked around warily then bolted in the direction that he had been going in earlier. It had been a wild and terrifying post-Jupiter 2 adventure Smith would give it that. He hoped it would never, ever, happen again. The thought of being returned to a Earthly prison reassured him that things would return to some form of normalcy. He looked forward to it.

It all depended on ones perception regarding the situation. One Smith was going to be happy and the other was going to be sad for the foreseeable future. Smith came to the large, dark gray protruding item with the gem at the center that stood erect from the ground marked by strange symbols varying in shape just like the one he had seen Daniel press to bring him here. Smith placed the bulky device into his pocket then pressed the symbols as they had been chronologically organized on the paper. The gate opened clasping onto the symbols sending out a cloudy splash out and returned into the center. Smith spared one last glance at the factory feeling the familiar tug to stay behind in freedom and good company. But then he was here, wasn't he? Living as a free man quite happily with company. Harlan came to a stop across from him at the rails giving a small wave. Smith returned with a equally bitter, sad wave.

All he had to expect was being cuffed all over again and being restrained for the return trip to prison. Smith lowered his hand, closing it, letting it fall down to his side. The convict turned his attention on then fled into the gate where he arrived to a beach. Smith set the paper into his pocket strolling toward the beach where he sat on the sand and enjoyed the scenery. He observed the waves loudly crashing against the shore and the sight of birds flying from overhead in the distance making caws. He saw two moons peaking out from behind clouds among the blue sky feeling the wind blow against him. He could spend some time enjoying the scenery before returning to his chaotically long, curved cruel path.

There were officers standing at the gate with their guns drawn and heavily armored officers standing at attention.

Through the blue sea came out a badly sun burned Smith.

"Lower the guns," O'Neill announced, with a bewildered look on his face as Smith seemed. . . A little out of it staring up with a long empty, distant look in his eyes. "and someone get him to the infirmary for that sun burn!"

Two officers came side by side.

"A month in and he got out of it in one piece," Daniel said.

"No," O'Neill said, watching Smith be taken by the arms. "Someone helped him out of it."

Smith screamed, elbow punching the officers at the faces and staggered back with a wild look on his face falling down to the ground. Smith immediately got back up on to his feet getting off the platform toward the gate feeling like he was back there again on that ship with heavy breathing and a thousand terrified thoughts rampaging. No, no, no, not again! He fled to the corner of the room, visibly trembling, and very upset. O'Neill looked on in then turned his attention on to Daniel. Smith lowered his head onto his knees falling into a fit of tears and gibberish words in between that didn't make sense at all as he was overwhelmed in feelings.

"You're being moved to another prison in New York," Davis said, once the door opened to Smith's cell. "And put into general population. That's all they would say."

Smith propped his last book into the box gazing at the lieutenant.

He looked down toward the box.

There was a lot of reluctance to leave the prison the same way he came.

The feel of cuffs, the feel of a square object between his wrists and the familiar ankle bracelet digging into his skin that made it hard to walk properly only to do a slow shuffle. It wasn't a experience that he liked to do a repeat of in the near future. Smith sighed, knowingly, as Davis closed the door. He shook his head. He was yanked out of the opportunity to be left to a much desired existence. He didn't mind this existence but he would object to that one. Being transferred from military to civilian was puzzling. Couldn't he have been transferred to another military prison? It felt like he was being thrown away by the United States into the general population that could as well spell his untimely demise. Smith wasn't going to go down so easily if they thought they could wash their hands of him and never have to be responsible for him. He was going to be brave just as much as he was terrified.

He slipped the pocket watch into his pocket. He looked up toward the window letting in a fresh pool of light that was blinding to the camera then refocused moving out to reveal Smith alongside the window staring out observing the fields. Being moved from a comforting, barren desert to a calming, green scenery didn't stir the typical joy that Smith had felt. Only it bounced more to Smith's eyes that was brighter than how he had viewed it as a dark shade months ago. The sky's bright blue intensity stood out to him in a welcoming way that didn't terrify him but he knew better. He knew better. He knew he was safe. There was no need to yank him out into space for the time being. He could welcome danger that Earth had to throw at him. It wasn't as terrifying as facing aliens who threatened to take him away for their selfish reasons.

The sight of hawks gliding in the air made a small smile appear on his face. The man sighed, watching the hawk disappear into the distance. He could make out shapes among the cloud drawing himself out of a pleasant memory. He spotted the shapes of animals and furniture among the clouds not just the stereotypical perception of cloud spaceships. One of the clouds bore a great resemblance to the flying tin can that he had desperately put together time and time again during the year long flight. Smith gazed down toward his cuffed hands. His hands bore healing scars from all the care that he had done to the bridge and to the external hulls very carefully. Not only the fading burn marks from the visit by dream Penny. Looked like a dent had not been done to the ship. At least, until he had landed into worse attacks nearing the end of the long journey that sent the Jupiter falling down to planet side to perform emergency repairs when so close to home.

The scenery changed before his eyes from the highway to the country road to a paved, well traveled road.

Smith could see up ahead there was a long facility with the shape of fencing on the top of the walls that were being curved and thin. Unexpected dread settled inside the man.

"DANGER, DANGER!" Smith heard the Robot's voice. "Doctor Smith!"

Smith looked over in alarm at the source of the voice to see that he was surrounded by stone faced men and women. He turned his attention off them toward the oncoming facility. He was thankful the Robinsons weren't here to see this. Smith believed that he had heard and seen the last of his hallucinations months ago. The long bus drove through the open gate to the prison and the door loudly closed it with a loud thunk. Most of the prisoners were recent convicts still in the outfits that they had been arrested in after being found guilty. The door to the bus opened then he was lead out in a single filed line. Smith observed the large fence that displayed the large courtyard that didn't look any different from the one at the military prison. All except for there being a gray wall that blocked view of the outside world. It quickly became apparent that Smith may never see the outside world from behind these walls. He didn't pay much attention to the prison warden's speech, the laughs, the sound of men yelping then being dragged away clutching onto their injury crying out of pain.

He was handed a new prison uniform after walking in to the prison. It was a three piece jumpsuit. Black v-neck shirt, black pants, and orange long sleeved shirt set underneath the black uniform that had his prison number with his name set underneath it. His ankle cuffs were released and so were the hand cuffs that made his skin cry out of joy with the momentary freedom. He rubbed his wrist then stepped forward into the gray stall and closed the door behind him where he changed into it. He sneaked in his silver wrist watch and the grandfather's watch. Bitter reminders of what he had lost. The only physical reminder that he had left of his family that he could take with him around the prison. The silver wrist watch was slid into his pocket while changing as was the grandfather's watch. He tossed aside the orange jump suit and the white shirt with it. Truth be told, he was afraid. Very afraid about what laid ahead of him.

Smith was guided down the hall where he heard "BooOOoo!", demeaning shouts to his character, and the clattering of metal in the very first moment that he walked between the long halls of cells.

"You are a piece of shit!"

He held his head up high looking down the long cell block.

"Traitor!"

The small group came to a stop in front of what was presumably his cell.

"You asshole!"

The cell was less larger than the one in military prison and the bars were slid open.

"Perfect," Smith commented.

Smith slid the box on to the counter then the door behind him was closed. He looked over toward the much thinner, less wide window from across with larger bars that seemed thick to him. He could make this place a home. He observed the stale, white wall that had visible signs that there used to be posters hung here. He slipped the wrist watch out of his pocket then slid it onto his right wrist feeling the cold, prickly metal cling on to his skin. He tugged at the other sleeve uncurling it so that the red thin band couldn't be seen on the other side. Smith set up the series of books on the shelf making a quick organization. Smith sat down onto the cot then took out the watch and flipped it open to observe the Robinsons. A blanket of security and safety wrapped around the convict.

Smith sat down into the seat in the cafeteria. The yellow tray contrasted against the sampling of food. It wasn't the kind of food that he was familiar to eating on the Jupiter or in the military prison. Simple yet effective nutrition that wasn't anything fancy but heavily appreciated. There were hundreds if not thousands of prisoners in the cafeteria that seemed to be in the massive room. Smith felt a sense of normalcy and calm among a scenery that had mere background noise to his ears. He had a long, sad sigh with his gaze fixated on the orange plate. He finished off what was left of his dinner.

"The Robinsons were morons," drew his attention up.

Smith fixed his gaze a recent transference nicknamed Eyepatch.

"You meant to say that they were stupid at times," Smith said.

"No, they just were," Eyepatch said.

"I would take that back if I were you," Smith said.

"What are you going to do?" Eyepatch asked.

"Lie to him?" The bearded man beside Eyepatch added.

"Or are you going to blame this on a non-existent fire that consumed the Robinsons?" Eyepatch asked.

Smith was squeezing the eating utensil in his hand as his face was turning red.

"I would take that back if I were you," Smith said, warningly.

"There is no reason to," Eyepatch said.

Smith dropped his fork to the table with a clatter feeling rage traveling through his veins.

"That is ungentlemen like of you to insult the dead," Smith said.

"They were dead as soon as they let you let live with them," Eyepatch said.

"That they were," came the collective agreement.

Smith stood up from the chair wearing a cold, murderous gaze and got up from the seat. The noise from the convicts engaged in discussion muted out the sound of Smith's boots lightly tapping the floor during the slow walk. The men were laughing ignoring the older man. Smith grabbed Eyepatch by the shoulder then made the young man turn toward him. He threw a sucker punch at Eyepatch's face knocking him down to the ground right off his seat. Eyepatch jumped up to his feet and threw one back at Smith who ducked the move then clasped his hands together smacked them against the man's chest knocking him back taking the breath right out of him stumbling back making several other criminals fall to the floor like dominos that had been hit.

Eyepatch's companions got up to their feet then charged at Smith. Smith's elbow jabbed the first man sending him staggering back. There was a blow to Smith's face sending him falling to the ground by the second man. In the next moment, Eyepatch was knocked down to the ground by another prisoner and wiped off a bit of blood from his lip. Eyepatch charged forward toward the man who had punched him. Other prisoners got up to their feet joining into the fight. Smith got up to his feet then threw a punch back and dodged the next one. He twisted the arm of the man roughly his height when he ducked and went underneath the man's arm grabbing onto his hand then delivered a kick in the man's back knocking the prisoner down to the floor with a grunt. Eyepatch appeared in the growing chaos that was circling around Smith. The slightly taller man had a angry look, a throbbing nerve on the side of his head, and he was rolling up his sleeves heading toward Smith. Smith walked back very quickly into the line of security officers breaching through toward the prison brawl unfolding in the cafeteria.

The grasp on his shoulders were unexpected and made him jump looking both ways feeling the increasing alarm raise up all over as his body and his mind shrieked in terror. Smith screamed in alarm, his flailing arms striking the face of the officers with a hard smack. His elbows followed, hitting them square in the face, as they released his shoulders in shock. His heart was racing as he turned around with his gaze on the mass of convicts in a dark blanket that had white and brown figures that contrasted against the uniforms. Smith punched out another officer grabbing onto a long short dark object then used it against the other security officer stepping back.

A hand grabbed onto his shoulder so he whipped around to face the person who grabbed on to him then struck them at the side of the face and lunged forward using his side to knock them down on to their back. He punched them out then looked over to face a flying fist headed his way that crashed against his cheek. Smith staggered back crashing against a prisoner fighting with a security officer. He ducked the next blow and watched the security officer be crashed against his attacker falling to the ground. A punch knocked him on to a empty seat. He faced the attacker reaching out to grab on the next fist and returned the favor with a rapid punch making the other prisoner fall on to the table with a groan. A feeling of triumph took hold on to him that lasted for a single moment. A stray metal object hit the back of his head then sent him falling to the ground. He looked up to see Eyepatch holding a tray. In the next moment, Eyepatch had fallen to his side in a slump beside the chairs replaced by a pissed off security officer.

"You're going into isolation for a week, you little shit,"

The last thing Smith saw was the long rifle headed toward his face then it was darkness.