A/N: Takes place about a weeken or so after Crichton was rescued by Elack
and his pilot. The muses came to me during my solid state physics class.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Belong to Henson et al. Just borrowing for a little entertainment.
John walks into Pilot's den, "Hey, Pilot. Are there any working DRDs on board?"
"There are some on Tier 3, John. Perhaps you could repair one of those?"
"Thanks, Pilot. I'll have a look." Crichton went to Tier 3 and found the DRDs Pilot had told him about. Some of them were in pretty rough shape. It seems that DRDs aged along with the leviathan. He looked through the group and found on that appeared to be the least damaged. He took the DRD down to the maintenance bay where he could conduct repairs. It took him the better part of three arns and a couple of trips to the DRD graveyard, but he got the little guy operational. He put it down on the deck and it started happily circling around Crichton's feet. "Okay little guy. You're gonna need a name." Crichton started to think about what to call this ancient DRD, when it started chirping at him. Crichton noticed that the chirping was musical. He had taken to singing to himself in the absence of others.
"I've got it!" he jumped up and yelled. The DRD backed away from this emotional outburst. Crichton dropped to the deck to be at eye level with the DRD. "Come here. I'm not going to hurt you," he sounded much calmer now. The DRD came closer. "I'm going to teach you a song," The DRD chirped quizzically at him. "I'm not going to teach you words. In fact this one doesn't have words. It's normally played on a bunch of musical instruments. And a couple of cannons, but we'll ignore the cannons."
Crichton spent the next couple of days teaching the DRD Tchaikovsky's Overture of 1812. Unfortunately Crichton only remembered the crescendo from his days of watching the Boston Pops 4th of July special. When he was done he looked down at the DRD, "Pretty good. I think you've earned your name. I'm gonna call you 1812, like the song." 1812 chirped happily and turned in circles. "I'm glad you like it, but something's missing." Crichton looked around and his eyes alit on the stack of paint in the corner. "Aha!" He ran over to the corner and started rooting through the cans until he found what he was looking for. He emerged carrying three cans of paint. He set them down on the deck next to 1812. He looked at 1812, "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just going to make you look a little more patriotic. I'm gonna paint you red, white and blue like the bunting we decorate with." When he had finished he looked at 1812. "You look great, but let me write your name. There, perfect."
1812 became Crichton's constant companion and helper. Crichton though it was almost like having a dog again. He continued his wormhole research while singing along with 1812.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Belong to Henson et al. Just borrowing for a little entertainment.
John walks into Pilot's den, "Hey, Pilot. Are there any working DRDs on board?"
"There are some on Tier 3, John. Perhaps you could repair one of those?"
"Thanks, Pilot. I'll have a look." Crichton went to Tier 3 and found the DRDs Pilot had told him about. Some of them were in pretty rough shape. It seems that DRDs aged along with the leviathan. He looked through the group and found on that appeared to be the least damaged. He took the DRD down to the maintenance bay where he could conduct repairs. It took him the better part of three arns and a couple of trips to the DRD graveyard, but he got the little guy operational. He put it down on the deck and it started happily circling around Crichton's feet. "Okay little guy. You're gonna need a name." Crichton started to think about what to call this ancient DRD, when it started chirping at him. Crichton noticed that the chirping was musical. He had taken to singing to himself in the absence of others.
"I've got it!" he jumped up and yelled. The DRD backed away from this emotional outburst. Crichton dropped to the deck to be at eye level with the DRD. "Come here. I'm not going to hurt you," he sounded much calmer now. The DRD came closer. "I'm going to teach you a song," The DRD chirped quizzically at him. "I'm not going to teach you words. In fact this one doesn't have words. It's normally played on a bunch of musical instruments. And a couple of cannons, but we'll ignore the cannons."
Crichton spent the next couple of days teaching the DRD Tchaikovsky's Overture of 1812. Unfortunately Crichton only remembered the crescendo from his days of watching the Boston Pops 4th of July special. When he was done he looked down at the DRD, "Pretty good. I think you've earned your name. I'm gonna call you 1812, like the song." 1812 chirped happily and turned in circles. "I'm glad you like it, but something's missing." Crichton looked around and his eyes alit on the stack of paint in the corner. "Aha!" He ran over to the corner and started rooting through the cans until he found what he was looking for. He emerged carrying three cans of paint. He set them down on the deck next to 1812. He looked at 1812, "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just going to make you look a little more patriotic. I'm gonna paint you red, white and blue like the bunting we decorate with." When he had finished he looked at 1812. "You look great, but let me write your name. There, perfect."
1812 became Crichton's constant companion and helper. Crichton though it was almost like having a dog again. He continued his wormhole research while singing along with 1812.