By Cadenza Smith
Acknowledgements/disclaimer: the FS characters aren't mine; they belong to that nice Mr. Henson and his Sci-fi friends. I can safely promise not to make any money out of this so please don't sue me.
This story follows immediately
on from the final scene of Series 3, episode 22: DW2Bs. While I wait
for Season 4 to begin here in the UK, I've made up my own version of how and
why they all meet again. AU after S3.
CH1 Sitting In My Tin Can
CH2 Déjà Vu?
CH3 Escape
CH4 Life Is A Roller Coaster
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SITTING IN MY TIN CAN..."You have got to be kidding me!"
John stared into blank, black, endless space. Hope momentarily nipped outside and he slumped back into his seat. "Frell, and double frell. What the hezmana am I supposed to do now?"
His mind raced as he sized up the situation. Where had that wormhole come from? How the hell was he supposed to get back to Moya now...and, rather more urgently, how was he going to save his backside - with limited oxygen and even less fuel?
"What did I do to deserve this? Don't I have enough crap on my plate already?"
His mind, ever willing to join in, replayed his latest disaster.
Aeryn had left him. She was gone. She was pregnant. She had not told him. But he loved her! Why wasn't that enough? Why did the women in his life always leave him? Why? Why? Why? If he ever again got his hands on that loony creep who'd cloned him...too late. If only. No. Don't go there.
D'Argo. D'Argo had gone off on some foolhardy warrior quest for vengeance, Chiana had skipped away keen to offer her services to the Nebari resistance. God help the resistance. Even self-serving Rygel's squirty little presence had skedaddled off to add to his cousin's woes and reclaim his throne.
And now there was no Moya. No leviathan net to drag him to safety and no Aeryn to guide him! God he missed her already. He was alone. Totally alone – like never before.
For a moment he let the full weight of the situation wash over him causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end and his insides to tie convoluted knots even the navy would be proud of. A restless nest of rattlers settled in for the duration.
They had all gone. All his friends. Like Zhaan. They couldn't help him now. They had places to go, people to see. Reasons for their lives. And he had? He had Aeryn. And she was gone. She didn't want him. She had rejected him. What was he going to do? Where was he going to go? What was the point? What did any of it matter now?
Tears filled his eyes and he angrily wiped them away. He was getting maudlin. He had to stay focused. Concentrate on the situation in hand. This was no time for giving up. He had to get to Aeryn, make her understand – now, more than ever. Nothing else mattered.
"Well", he said to the void pressing against his windscreen, "no use raging or giving in: no one to rage at, no one to surrender to and the oxygen ain't gonna last long. Gotta get me a plan."
He felt a subtle movement behind his shoulder.
"Harvey?"
"Yes John?"
"Any suggestions?"
"We're gonna die."
"Thanks Harv', very helpful."
"You could always cry for help?" Harvey spat back. His eyes flicked to look out of the cockpit. He turned his attention back to Crichton, lent forward and whispered in John's ear, "Or you could create a wormhole."
"I don't know how. Remember."
"Most of it's here John. We just have to work out the last few bits."
"Yeah the bits that mean I don't turn into fruit cup at the other end. And what's all this we crap? You aren't going anywhere with me."
"No John. You're not going anywhere without me."
The idea briefly crossed John's mind that even after death he might not be free from the neural clone. It wasn't a happy thought.
"I'm working on it Harvey, believe me, I'm working on it."
He banished the clone back to one of the old war movies that seemed to keep him occupied. That should shut him up for a while. He needed to think. Could he create a wormhole? Dare he? It was true he was starting to see how various bits of the jigsaw might come together but could he abracadabra the whole shebang? He'd come through safe once; perhaps he could do it again. Where to? Home. Right now he really wanted to go home. Call DK. Go for some beers, lots of beers and then watch a good game on the box with pizza, and drink a few more beers. He sighed. Even if he had a map for home, he couldn't go. Not now. He didn't know where else he should aim for. As usual, he didn't even really know where he was right now. Other than lost in space, again. There was definitely a pattern forming in his life.
He had to think of something to try. What other options did he have? He hit the comms button but it told him that there was nothing in range. The sensors weren't registering any wormhole or even proto-wormhole readings. It was too much to hope that Moya would suddenly come bursting through a wormhole. He peered out of the window. Nothing. He didn't have enough fuel or oxygen to get to the nearest inhabited planet, Xelp Xelp 77. That was where Chiana and Rygel had gone. It was supposed to be a small trading post. They'd hoped to get onward transport from there. It had sounded to Crichton, when Pilot had been describing the place to him, that they'd be lucky if there was one passing bus every half cycle.
He laid his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. Time to make a decision.
He reached towards the back of the module and pulled out his rucksack. He scrabbled around inside for pencil and paper so he could try to calculate a wormhole trajectory. It really could be his only way out. He pulled out his notebook. A message chip fell out with it. He picked it up, wondered why he had it and with a shrug, tossed it back into the bag.
He laid the notebook on his knees and began studying the star charts he'd carefully put together over the past three cycles. He looked at his most recent entries. He turned a few pages further back and saw the charts he knew had been added by the other John. He flicked forward again. This was not going to help him. He looked at the calculations he'd jotted down. He began scribbling numbers onto a clean page and began to work out a plan.
He worked on the complex calculations in silence for over an arn until a brilliant white light suddenly illuminated the cockpit. The darkness was cut by a spreading mass of rippling blue-white light. The light swirled and coalesced. There was a wormhole forming. John dropped his notebook and pencil and stared for a moment at the incredible sight in front of him. He began to prepare FS1. The wormhole formed quickly. A Leviathan shot through. Its fast speed caused John's module to spin out of control.
Harvey appeared in the cockpit, dressed in army combat fatigues. "What are you doing John? Are we under attack?"
The module continued to spin out of control. Then it stopped. The module began slowing moving towards the now resting Leviathan. It was being pulled in. They were using the docking web.
"That's not Moya, Harv'."