Chapter 5: Painful Awakenings
"Urggh!" John groaned. "I feel like dren." His brain seemed to have been liquefied, leaving him dizzy, disoriented, nauseous, and in general extremely cranky. He struggled to keep himself conscious. At last his head finally cleared...somewhat. With the sudden abatement of some of his discomfort, he opened his eyes slowly. His gaze took him straight down the barrel of a pulse pistol.
John's body went straight into action. Moving with the speed of a coiled viper, he pushed the gun away from his face and to the side. Then, grabbing the assailant's arm, he pulled forward so the head would connect with his waiting elbow. A sickening thud rewarded his efforts. He grabbed the pulse pistol and jumped on his captor's chest, pinning the arms to the ground. A groan escaped from below.
Crichton's blurred vision finally began to focus. Long raven black hair lay dishevelled above the woman's face. John asked weakly, "Aeryn?" A small bit of blood trailed down a cut from her forehead where his elbow had impacted. "Oh shit, Aeryn, I'm so sorry, really, really, really sorry," he said, surprised, as he jumped up from her body and moved to the other end of the room.
Aeryn slowly got up. This was not John Crichton. John Crichton couldn't have beaten her as easily as if she were a first year trainee. She felt the cut above her brow but ignored the pain. The impostor sat at the corner of the cell. He looked ill; his face was not the normal colour of the human, much more pale. His eyes were sunken and blood shot. The openness on John's face was no longer present; a mask seemed to block his emotions. It felt eerie.
She tapped her comms. "Our guest is awake, but he managed to disarm me. Come prepared." Aeryn whispered. She looked back at John, or at least fake John.
"I'm not deaf Sunshine, I have ears," Crichton said quietly, he pointed at one to make a point. He then looked at the pistol in his hand. Suddenly he shook his head and tossed the gun at her. She caught it in mid-air and started to point it at him, but a warning look in his eye made her change her mind quickly. She holstered it instead. John grinned at her. "Sorry Sunshine, I'm just sick and tired of having a gun pointed at my face all the time," he said with a laugh. It made Aeryn shiver.
Crichton walked over to the golden lattice cell doors. Finally beginning to take in his surroundings, he noticed the whole room was golden and he felt life pulse through the walls. It was too steady and the room too bright to be Elack. What he did know was that he was on a Leviathan. "Aeryn, where the hell am I?" he asked, hearing his own breath quicken.
"You're in a prison cell," she answered coldly. Her stern expression sent chills down his spine. Too many bad memories started with that look.
"No kidding, I'm used to the sight by now. I mean, where the hell am I?"
He didn't seem to know, and that fact worried her. "You're on Moya."
She heard John laugh. "Nice joke."
Looking at him stonily she replied, "I'm not joking."
He suddenly looked at her pulse pistol as if he were starting to regret giving it back. She heard him mutter something. It sounded like, "No more mind games, I am sick of getting frelled with." The obvious distress in his voice confused her. 'He's just a trick, one of Crais' tricks,' she thought, not wanting to think of the alternative.
Footsteps echoed through the corridors. John felt confused; he could tell each member of Moya's crew simply by the footsteps they made, but these were unfamiliar. They were soft, but determined. He looked up questioningly at Aeryn. Her firm gaze burned through him until he had to look away. Her eyes were lasers that burrowed through his skull. It felt really chilly all of a sudden.
The strange footsteps got louder until a Sebacean appeared. He slowly looked upward; right away he noticed a rather large pulse rifle. Swallowing loudly he finally saw her face. She had long blonde hair, pulled into a ponytail. Her generous face now seemed determined and a little angry. "Gilina," he whispered.
Aeryn watched the reaction on John's face as Gilina appeared. He visibly paled, a difficult feat to accomplish due to his already pale face. Then it turned red with anger.
"Frell you Scorpy! Frell you Ancients! Frell you Scarrans! Frell everybody! Frell the damn person who's screwin' with me this time!" he yelled at the ceiling. Laughter, a sickly bitter laughter, escaped from his lips. "I'm sick of playin' games," John hissed as he moved around the room. "How 'bout this game." He lifted his arms. "Look at me, I'm a ballerina," he said with a maniacal laugh as he twirled around. Stopping in front of Aeryn, he grabbed her hands and lead them spiralling across the room.
She fought against him, but his grip was tight and she couldn't break free. Swinging around as wildly as she was, it was hard enough to keep upright.
Crichton looked at her with bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes. "Think I'm crazy yet? I do. I already have one foot through the door in loony-bin city," he whispered in her ear with a twisted grin.
"John?" Gilina said from behind the grate.
John's grin disappeared. Yelping, he jumped into a corner, cradling his knees and burying his head. Rocking back and forth, he kept muttering "Stop doing this to me, stop it, it's not real, it's not real, it's not real." He repeated it over and over again like a mantra.
Aeryn watched the sweat roll off his forehead. In a frightening moment, he started to shake profusely. Then, to her horror, John fell to his side clutching his stomach as he started to cough out blood. With John convulsing, Aeryn quickly went to her comm. "Zhaan! Come down here, we need your immediate assistance."
"I'll be there soon," came the response.
Aeryn looked back down worriedly at Crichton. Gilina palmed open the door and rushed to John's side, trying to steady him. He looked into her eyes and smiled. John's eyes looked faded, a dulled version of his normally sparkling blue, and with a last breath he whispered, "I'm also sick of falling unconscious." Then his eyes lost focus and rolled into the back of his head. He lay there shaking on the floor, blood trickling down the corner of his mouth with a frightened Gilina holding him to her firmly.
John felt like shit. 'Naw, shit don't feel this bad,' he thought wryly. 'When did my live begin to get so screwed, to the point where I always feel miserable? Oh frell it, I feel too much like crap to care where my life went wrong.' Finishing his inner monologue he tried to remember what happened but his head felt like an attic that hadn't been cleaned out in centuries. Cobwebs clouded his mind. Suddenly a small light shone through a crack in the webbing. He remembered everything; a groan escaped his lips.
Something warm and moist was draped over his forehead. 'I don't even wanna know what the hell that is.' Being Crichton, though, he naturally couldn't resist finding out. Big mistake. Pain shot through his arm, making him wince and grunt in pain. He slowly placed his arm down. 'Damn my blasted curiosity, won't try that again,' he thought. The sound of voices registered in his ears, but his brain was to clogged to process any sound.
Curious to find what dangerous and life-threatening predicament he was in -- again -- he cracked open an eyelid. He quickly regretted it; blinding white light attacked his senses. He shut his eye to the painful brightness. Dark was good, dark was familiar.
John creaked his eyes open again. Blinking away tears that blurred his vision but soothed his irritated eyes, he waited for them to adjust. He could make out shapes, but they were out of focus and he was probably seeing in triplicate. Slowly, one by one, each face seemed to swirl into focus.
Blood rushed out of his face and into his toes. The temperature in the room dropped about fifty degrees. He gasped and tried to crawl backwards, but pain coursed through his body. Biting back the agony, he realized he was strapped down like a science experiment in a bad sci-fi movie.
Crichton fought against the restraints with all his will. He attacked them wildly like a caged animal, which in a sense, he was. Feeling hands trying to hold him down he started to thrash around. "Not real, no more, no more!" Tears started to stream down the side of his face. "No more, no frelling more," he whimpered as he stopped struggling.
Three faces looked down at him, two in concern, and one in confusion. One blue and normally serene face with a frown, a blond with fear in her eyes, and a man with shortly cropped brown hair and blue eyes. The faces belonged to Zhaan, Gilina, and the third belonged to himself. With a sigh John thought, 'Oh not that shit again.' But then another thought suddenly occurred to him.
A weak laugh came through with effort. "Oh good, I'm dead, when do I get to meet God? I'd like to cram my foot up his ass for screwin' around with me. Nobody messes with a Crichton," he bellowed, boasting lamely. A sharp stabbing pain shot through his already throbbing arm. Unexpectedly feeling extremely fatigued, John closed his eyes and drifted off into a deep unsatisfying sleep. At least there weren't any dreams.
A few arns later Zhaan stared at the sleeping creature -- or human, she should say. She looked back up at the John that was still conscious.
"Hey Blue, what is this, another of Crais' tricks or something? I mean, if it is, it's damn stupid. Come on, he's still wearing peacekeeper leather. Though if it is Capt'n Crunch, I wouldn't put anything past him." He wondered, confused.
Gilina kept staring at the limp body on the table, face impassive. Zhaan looked back down. "He's human, and he's definitely you. The DNA is identical. Many other small marks and codes in his gene structure are also exactly the same. Not even Crais has the ability to do this. He also shares the same identifying features, such as childhood scars and birthmarks." She shook her head in frustration. "I have no idea what has occurred here."
Gilina looked up suddenly. "It couldn't be Crais; we haven't seen him in over a cycle. He's far away, with no way of tracking us."
"I checked out his module. It's an exact duplicate of mine, everything almost the same, though his does seem to have seen a lot more action. There are differences, mostly minor, but did you know he can catch peacekeeper signals on that thing? Hot dog, with that we can track peacekeepers and make sure we keep the hell away!" John exclaimed with his southern drawl.
Suddenly, with renewed interest, he looked back at the almost-mirror image of himself. "Hey Blue, could he be from the future or something? I mean, jeez! I don't look that old, do I?"
Zhaan shook her head. "No, he's your age exactly, but he does seem a lot more haggard. He also has many more scars located throughout his body. From some of the scans I've run, it looks as if he's gone through some past serious trauma."
Gilina walked over to one of the walls and leaned against it. "What caused him to get so violently ill? He seemed to go a little crazy when he saw me; he mumbled something about not being real. Then he started dancing with Aeryn. I mean, he was insane." She looked up, hearing John start laughing. "What?"
"Nothin', honey, but you should know by now I'm crazy when it comes to you, darlin'. And seeing Aeryn dance? Hell, I'd pay to see that!" John spoke with mirth dancing in his gaze.
Gilina gave him an evil smile. "I'll remember to tell her that."
John's face immediately paled. "But now that you mention it," he said, changing the subject, "he also seemed a bit freaked at seeing Zhaan. Me, I'd understand, but he dismissed me right away. I know I would've caused more commotion. Hell, I did when I was told about him."
Walking over to him, Gilina punched him in the shoulder playfully. "Maybe you're just not that interesting." He pouted and gave her a hurt look.
John looked back down at his counterpart. "We still don't know how he got here. For all we know, he might be from an alternate universe or something." Suddenly he shook his head. "Nah, that's impossible he doesn't have a goatee." The other two present stared at him as if he were brain dead.
The body on the table creaked open an eye. "Well, I'm no Mr. Spock if that's what you're getting at," the John on the table slurred. Then his eyes closed again and he started mumbling about something called Star Trek and green women.
The two females present stared at the sleeping Crichton in shock with a tinge of the 'human nonsense' look. Fully conscious Crichton just looked spooked. "Definitely not from Crais," he whispered slowly.
The next day, Crichton woke up. He looked around nervously, nobody in sight. Getting up slowly, he managed to stand. 'I feel a lot better than I did yesterday, but man am I sore.' He rotated his left arm to get rid of any knots and get used to the pain. Realizing he was no longer wearing a shirt, he looked around the med bay. At last he found his black shirt stuffed underneath a workbench of sorts. 'D'Argo was right, green was never my colour.' Placing the shirt on gradually so he wouldn't aggravate anything, he took note of his surroundings. The bay seemed unchanged from when Zhaan was alive; none of Jool's personal touches were present. Curious. Feeling adventurous, John decided to do a little exploring.
Feeling naked with it missing, he started the search for Winona, his ever- trusty pulse pistol. Moving cautiously John slipped into the air ducts, hoping to escape detection from whomever it was that happened to run the show. The claustrophobic crawlspace was dark, cold, and damp, definitely not Club Med. Suppressing a shiver, Crichton moved towards a storage room.
Hearing voices, he cocked his ear in order to hear better.
"What in Hezmana are we going to do with him?" grumbled an annoyed D'Argo.
"Make him tell us what he knows by any means necessary," replied everyone's favourite ex-Peacekeeper.
John rolled his eyes. "Thanks Aeryn, much appreciated," he muttered sarcastically.
"I'm not sure the others would like that. John seems infatuated with this discovery, and Zhaan is convinced that whatever it is, it's not a peacekeeper plot," argued D'Argo.
"How about we pay him a visit to see what he's really doing here?" Aeryn suggested darkly. Turning around, she headed back towards the med bay.
Shrugging, D'Argo followed. "Hope she doesn't kill him before I get there."
Crichton winced. "Oh dren. This is bad, very bad. I guess it's time to drop into Aeryn's quarters."
Falling on Aeryn's bed with a crash, he looked around cautiously. The room was characteristically Spartan except for, to John's delight, a very familiar pulse pistol on a worktable. Kissing it loudly, he disappeared back into the shrouded ducts feeling more at one with himself.
"Where the frell is he!" Aeryn yelled angrily.
D'Argo growled throatily.
"Pilot! Where's Crichton?" the ex-PK hissed into her comm. badge.
"In his quarters, sleeping."
"The other Crichton!" an annoyed D'Argo bellowed.
"Other Crichton? He's missing? Ah, here we go, a DRD has spotted him in Aeryn's room."
"What! I'll rip out his mivonks!"
"What! I'll rip out his mivonks!" was what a very unmoving Crichton heard.
"Dren, can it get any worse?" Groaning loudly he exclaimed, "I did not just say that!" Suddenly, a tiny little yellow bolt of light whizzed by his right shoulder. "Whoa, too close," cried a surprised John.
Blasting the duct bottom out from under him, he hit the ground with a sickening crunch. "That can't be healthy," he muttered to himself. Picking out pieces of metal embedded in his arms, he gathered himself together and started running down the corridor for his life. Lucky for him he had a lot of previous experience in the endeavour.
A very large oval-shaped door shut right in front of Crichton, providing him with a dead end ahead and a large Luxan with an angry Sebacean female behind. "Talk about a rock and a hard place," he muttered to himself. Pulling out a grate, he started to fiddle with a few wires. "Alright, is it the green or the blue?" He rolled his eyes. "Famous last words. Here goes nothing." Sparks showered the deck as he tugged on both wires. The door creaked and opened only a small slit. "You have got to be kidding me," he groaned loudly.
Walking cautiously Aeryn reached the end of the passageway. The exit was open a small crack. "Frell. D'Argo, he passed through to the next tier."
A rumbling voice came through the comms. "I'll go around and try to head him off."
"Right, I'll follow him." Calling Pilot to open the exit, Aeryn soundlessly went on the hunt.
Letting out a huge sigh John dropped from the ceiling. "They never seem to look up," he mumbled. Running in the opposite direction, he stretched out his aching muscles, which had been locked in an unnatural position for a little too long. Somehow, quite stupidly, Crichton ended up outside the terrace.
A faint silhouette was outlined by the miraculous brightness of the white sun shining in through the membrane. It surrounded her like an aura, her blonde hair outlining her face like a halo. Stopping and unable to move, John watched as the figure turned around and gave him a beautiful smile. "Gilina," he said silently.
Rushing over to him, her soft, sweet-tasting lips touched his as she held him in an embrace. It was incredible, but then the memories came.
The vision before him turned lifeless, cold, pale, and dead. Pushing away, he drew out his gun and pointed it at her chest.
"John?" she squeezed out, frightened.
"Stay back. Please!" John pleaded desperately. His hand shook unsteadily. Somehow his senses caught Aeryn's voice. Snapping out of his daze, with tears running freely, he looked at his gun in horror. "What did I almost do?" he asked himself shakily. Dropping it as if it were a snake, he ran away as fast as his tired legs could take him.
How far gone was he? He had almost taken her life. "Who am I?" John asked himself. "Who have I become?" Looking down at his hands, he almost saw the unwashed blood of all the deaths he had caused. So much death.
"I was a scientist, damn it, a scientist!" he shouted. John dropped to his knees. "What am I now?"
Suddenly turning around, he saw Aeryn. Then he saw a very large boot heading for his head. Everything went black, but only for a moment. Visions of his life swirled around in his head; what he'd done, how he'd acted, all visible to him like something on pay-per-view. The pictures ran through, never ending.
The scenes of his life made Crichton realize he had nothing to live for anymore. All his hope, he finally understood, was imaginary. Nothing he had ever wanted would come true. He had no life preserver to hold onto, and nothing to keep him from drowning in the icy pit of despair. He had run on hope for so long, but the last few cycles had chipped away at it, spitting and stomping it to the ground.
Only Aeryn's face was real, pain was the only feeling left. The man he had been, what he had endured, they were gone now. He didn't remember; the last chip of sanity that he had lived on was destroyed. He only knew screams, blood, tears, pain, and Aeryn's face. But sweet release was coming, coming soon, he remembered that much at least. Unable to even remember his own name, John was released into darkness.
"Urggh!" John groaned. "I feel like dren." His brain seemed to have been liquefied, leaving him dizzy, disoriented, nauseous, and in general extremely cranky. He struggled to keep himself conscious. At last his head finally cleared...somewhat. With the sudden abatement of some of his discomfort, he opened his eyes slowly. His gaze took him straight down the barrel of a pulse pistol.
John's body went straight into action. Moving with the speed of a coiled viper, he pushed the gun away from his face and to the side. Then, grabbing the assailant's arm, he pulled forward so the head would connect with his waiting elbow. A sickening thud rewarded his efforts. He grabbed the pulse pistol and jumped on his captor's chest, pinning the arms to the ground. A groan escaped from below.
Crichton's blurred vision finally began to focus. Long raven black hair lay dishevelled above the woman's face. John asked weakly, "Aeryn?" A small bit of blood trailed down a cut from her forehead where his elbow had impacted. "Oh shit, Aeryn, I'm so sorry, really, really, really sorry," he said, surprised, as he jumped up from her body and moved to the other end of the room.
Aeryn slowly got up. This was not John Crichton. John Crichton couldn't have beaten her as easily as if she were a first year trainee. She felt the cut above her brow but ignored the pain. The impostor sat at the corner of the cell. He looked ill; his face was not the normal colour of the human, much more pale. His eyes were sunken and blood shot. The openness on John's face was no longer present; a mask seemed to block his emotions. It felt eerie.
She tapped her comms. "Our guest is awake, but he managed to disarm me. Come prepared." Aeryn whispered. She looked back at John, or at least fake John.
"I'm not deaf Sunshine, I have ears," Crichton said quietly, he pointed at one to make a point. He then looked at the pistol in his hand. Suddenly he shook his head and tossed the gun at her. She caught it in mid-air and started to point it at him, but a warning look in his eye made her change her mind quickly. She holstered it instead. John grinned at her. "Sorry Sunshine, I'm just sick and tired of having a gun pointed at my face all the time," he said with a laugh. It made Aeryn shiver.
Crichton walked over to the golden lattice cell doors. Finally beginning to take in his surroundings, he noticed the whole room was golden and he felt life pulse through the walls. It was too steady and the room too bright to be Elack. What he did know was that he was on a Leviathan. "Aeryn, where the hell am I?" he asked, hearing his own breath quicken.
"You're in a prison cell," she answered coldly. Her stern expression sent chills down his spine. Too many bad memories started with that look.
"No kidding, I'm used to the sight by now. I mean, where the hell am I?"
He didn't seem to know, and that fact worried her. "You're on Moya."
She heard John laugh. "Nice joke."
Looking at him stonily she replied, "I'm not joking."
He suddenly looked at her pulse pistol as if he were starting to regret giving it back. She heard him mutter something. It sounded like, "No more mind games, I am sick of getting frelled with." The obvious distress in his voice confused her. 'He's just a trick, one of Crais' tricks,' she thought, not wanting to think of the alternative.
Footsteps echoed through the corridors. John felt confused; he could tell each member of Moya's crew simply by the footsteps they made, but these were unfamiliar. They were soft, but determined. He looked up questioningly at Aeryn. Her firm gaze burned through him until he had to look away. Her eyes were lasers that burrowed through his skull. It felt really chilly all of a sudden.
The strange footsteps got louder until a Sebacean appeared. He slowly looked upward; right away he noticed a rather large pulse rifle. Swallowing loudly he finally saw her face. She had long blonde hair, pulled into a ponytail. Her generous face now seemed determined and a little angry. "Gilina," he whispered.
Aeryn watched the reaction on John's face as Gilina appeared. He visibly paled, a difficult feat to accomplish due to his already pale face. Then it turned red with anger.
"Frell you Scorpy! Frell you Ancients! Frell you Scarrans! Frell everybody! Frell the damn person who's screwin' with me this time!" he yelled at the ceiling. Laughter, a sickly bitter laughter, escaped from his lips. "I'm sick of playin' games," John hissed as he moved around the room. "How 'bout this game." He lifted his arms. "Look at me, I'm a ballerina," he said with a maniacal laugh as he twirled around. Stopping in front of Aeryn, he grabbed her hands and lead them spiralling across the room.
She fought against him, but his grip was tight and she couldn't break free. Swinging around as wildly as she was, it was hard enough to keep upright.
Crichton looked at her with bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes. "Think I'm crazy yet? I do. I already have one foot through the door in loony-bin city," he whispered in her ear with a twisted grin.
"John?" Gilina said from behind the grate.
John's grin disappeared. Yelping, he jumped into a corner, cradling his knees and burying his head. Rocking back and forth, he kept muttering "Stop doing this to me, stop it, it's not real, it's not real, it's not real." He repeated it over and over again like a mantra.
Aeryn watched the sweat roll off his forehead. In a frightening moment, he started to shake profusely. Then, to her horror, John fell to his side clutching his stomach as he started to cough out blood. With John convulsing, Aeryn quickly went to her comm. "Zhaan! Come down here, we need your immediate assistance."
"I'll be there soon," came the response.
Aeryn looked back down worriedly at Crichton. Gilina palmed open the door and rushed to John's side, trying to steady him. He looked into her eyes and smiled. John's eyes looked faded, a dulled version of his normally sparkling blue, and with a last breath he whispered, "I'm also sick of falling unconscious." Then his eyes lost focus and rolled into the back of his head. He lay there shaking on the floor, blood trickling down the corner of his mouth with a frightened Gilina holding him to her firmly.
John felt like shit. 'Naw, shit don't feel this bad,' he thought wryly. 'When did my live begin to get so screwed, to the point where I always feel miserable? Oh frell it, I feel too much like crap to care where my life went wrong.' Finishing his inner monologue he tried to remember what happened but his head felt like an attic that hadn't been cleaned out in centuries. Cobwebs clouded his mind. Suddenly a small light shone through a crack in the webbing. He remembered everything; a groan escaped his lips.
Something warm and moist was draped over his forehead. 'I don't even wanna know what the hell that is.' Being Crichton, though, he naturally couldn't resist finding out. Big mistake. Pain shot through his arm, making him wince and grunt in pain. He slowly placed his arm down. 'Damn my blasted curiosity, won't try that again,' he thought. The sound of voices registered in his ears, but his brain was to clogged to process any sound.
Curious to find what dangerous and life-threatening predicament he was in -- again -- he cracked open an eyelid. He quickly regretted it; blinding white light attacked his senses. He shut his eye to the painful brightness. Dark was good, dark was familiar.
John creaked his eyes open again. Blinking away tears that blurred his vision but soothed his irritated eyes, he waited for them to adjust. He could make out shapes, but they were out of focus and he was probably seeing in triplicate. Slowly, one by one, each face seemed to swirl into focus.
Blood rushed out of his face and into his toes. The temperature in the room dropped about fifty degrees. He gasped and tried to crawl backwards, but pain coursed through his body. Biting back the agony, he realized he was strapped down like a science experiment in a bad sci-fi movie.
Crichton fought against the restraints with all his will. He attacked them wildly like a caged animal, which in a sense, he was. Feeling hands trying to hold him down he started to thrash around. "Not real, no more, no more!" Tears started to stream down the side of his face. "No more, no frelling more," he whimpered as he stopped struggling.
Three faces looked down at him, two in concern, and one in confusion. One blue and normally serene face with a frown, a blond with fear in her eyes, and a man with shortly cropped brown hair and blue eyes. The faces belonged to Zhaan, Gilina, and the third belonged to himself. With a sigh John thought, 'Oh not that shit again.' But then another thought suddenly occurred to him.
A weak laugh came through with effort. "Oh good, I'm dead, when do I get to meet God? I'd like to cram my foot up his ass for screwin' around with me. Nobody messes with a Crichton," he bellowed, boasting lamely. A sharp stabbing pain shot through his already throbbing arm. Unexpectedly feeling extremely fatigued, John closed his eyes and drifted off into a deep unsatisfying sleep. At least there weren't any dreams.
A few arns later Zhaan stared at the sleeping creature -- or human, she should say. She looked back up at the John that was still conscious.
"Hey Blue, what is this, another of Crais' tricks or something? I mean, if it is, it's damn stupid. Come on, he's still wearing peacekeeper leather. Though if it is Capt'n Crunch, I wouldn't put anything past him." He wondered, confused.
Gilina kept staring at the limp body on the table, face impassive. Zhaan looked back down. "He's human, and he's definitely you. The DNA is identical. Many other small marks and codes in his gene structure are also exactly the same. Not even Crais has the ability to do this. He also shares the same identifying features, such as childhood scars and birthmarks." She shook her head in frustration. "I have no idea what has occurred here."
Gilina looked up suddenly. "It couldn't be Crais; we haven't seen him in over a cycle. He's far away, with no way of tracking us."
"I checked out his module. It's an exact duplicate of mine, everything almost the same, though his does seem to have seen a lot more action. There are differences, mostly minor, but did you know he can catch peacekeeper signals on that thing? Hot dog, with that we can track peacekeepers and make sure we keep the hell away!" John exclaimed with his southern drawl.
Suddenly, with renewed interest, he looked back at the almost-mirror image of himself. "Hey Blue, could he be from the future or something? I mean, jeez! I don't look that old, do I?"
Zhaan shook her head. "No, he's your age exactly, but he does seem a lot more haggard. He also has many more scars located throughout his body. From some of the scans I've run, it looks as if he's gone through some past serious trauma."
Gilina walked over to one of the walls and leaned against it. "What caused him to get so violently ill? He seemed to go a little crazy when he saw me; he mumbled something about not being real. Then he started dancing with Aeryn. I mean, he was insane." She looked up, hearing John start laughing. "What?"
"Nothin', honey, but you should know by now I'm crazy when it comes to you, darlin'. And seeing Aeryn dance? Hell, I'd pay to see that!" John spoke with mirth dancing in his gaze.
Gilina gave him an evil smile. "I'll remember to tell her that."
John's face immediately paled. "But now that you mention it," he said, changing the subject, "he also seemed a bit freaked at seeing Zhaan. Me, I'd understand, but he dismissed me right away. I know I would've caused more commotion. Hell, I did when I was told about him."
Walking over to him, Gilina punched him in the shoulder playfully. "Maybe you're just not that interesting." He pouted and gave her a hurt look.
John looked back down at his counterpart. "We still don't know how he got here. For all we know, he might be from an alternate universe or something." Suddenly he shook his head. "Nah, that's impossible he doesn't have a goatee." The other two present stared at him as if he were brain dead.
The body on the table creaked open an eye. "Well, I'm no Mr. Spock if that's what you're getting at," the John on the table slurred. Then his eyes closed again and he started mumbling about something called Star Trek and green women.
The two females present stared at the sleeping Crichton in shock with a tinge of the 'human nonsense' look. Fully conscious Crichton just looked spooked. "Definitely not from Crais," he whispered slowly.
The next day, Crichton woke up. He looked around nervously, nobody in sight. Getting up slowly, he managed to stand. 'I feel a lot better than I did yesterday, but man am I sore.' He rotated his left arm to get rid of any knots and get used to the pain. Realizing he was no longer wearing a shirt, he looked around the med bay. At last he found his black shirt stuffed underneath a workbench of sorts. 'D'Argo was right, green was never my colour.' Placing the shirt on gradually so he wouldn't aggravate anything, he took note of his surroundings. The bay seemed unchanged from when Zhaan was alive; none of Jool's personal touches were present. Curious. Feeling adventurous, John decided to do a little exploring.
Feeling naked with it missing, he started the search for Winona, his ever- trusty pulse pistol. Moving cautiously John slipped into the air ducts, hoping to escape detection from whomever it was that happened to run the show. The claustrophobic crawlspace was dark, cold, and damp, definitely not Club Med. Suppressing a shiver, Crichton moved towards a storage room.
Hearing voices, he cocked his ear in order to hear better.
"What in Hezmana are we going to do with him?" grumbled an annoyed D'Argo.
"Make him tell us what he knows by any means necessary," replied everyone's favourite ex-Peacekeeper.
John rolled his eyes. "Thanks Aeryn, much appreciated," he muttered sarcastically.
"I'm not sure the others would like that. John seems infatuated with this discovery, and Zhaan is convinced that whatever it is, it's not a peacekeeper plot," argued D'Argo.
"How about we pay him a visit to see what he's really doing here?" Aeryn suggested darkly. Turning around, she headed back towards the med bay.
Shrugging, D'Argo followed. "Hope she doesn't kill him before I get there."
Crichton winced. "Oh dren. This is bad, very bad. I guess it's time to drop into Aeryn's quarters."
Falling on Aeryn's bed with a crash, he looked around cautiously. The room was characteristically Spartan except for, to John's delight, a very familiar pulse pistol on a worktable. Kissing it loudly, he disappeared back into the shrouded ducts feeling more at one with himself.
"Where the frell is he!" Aeryn yelled angrily.
D'Argo growled throatily.
"Pilot! Where's Crichton?" the ex-PK hissed into her comm. badge.
"In his quarters, sleeping."
"The other Crichton!" an annoyed D'Argo bellowed.
"Other Crichton? He's missing? Ah, here we go, a DRD has spotted him in Aeryn's room."
"What! I'll rip out his mivonks!"
"What! I'll rip out his mivonks!" was what a very unmoving Crichton heard.
"Dren, can it get any worse?" Groaning loudly he exclaimed, "I did not just say that!" Suddenly, a tiny little yellow bolt of light whizzed by his right shoulder. "Whoa, too close," cried a surprised John.
Blasting the duct bottom out from under him, he hit the ground with a sickening crunch. "That can't be healthy," he muttered to himself. Picking out pieces of metal embedded in his arms, he gathered himself together and started running down the corridor for his life. Lucky for him he had a lot of previous experience in the endeavour.
A very large oval-shaped door shut right in front of Crichton, providing him with a dead end ahead and a large Luxan with an angry Sebacean female behind. "Talk about a rock and a hard place," he muttered to himself. Pulling out a grate, he started to fiddle with a few wires. "Alright, is it the green or the blue?" He rolled his eyes. "Famous last words. Here goes nothing." Sparks showered the deck as he tugged on both wires. The door creaked and opened only a small slit. "You have got to be kidding me," he groaned loudly.
Walking cautiously Aeryn reached the end of the passageway. The exit was open a small crack. "Frell. D'Argo, he passed through to the next tier."
A rumbling voice came through the comms. "I'll go around and try to head him off."
"Right, I'll follow him." Calling Pilot to open the exit, Aeryn soundlessly went on the hunt.
Letting out a huge sigh John dropped from the ceiling. "They never seem to look up," he mumbled. Running in the opposite direction, he stretched out his aching muscles, which had been locked in an unnatural position for a little too long. Somehow, quite stupidly, Crichton ended up outside the terrace.
A faint silhouette was outlined by the miraculous brightness of the white sun shining in through the membrane. It surrounded her like an aura, her blonde hair outlining her face like a halo. Stopping and unable to move, John watched as the figure turned around and gave him a beautiful smile. "Gilina," he said silently.
Rushing over to him, her soft, sweet-tasting lips touched his as she held him in an embrace. It was incredible, but then the memories came.
The vision before him turned lifeless, cold, pale, and dead. Pushing away, he drew out his gun and pointed it at her chest.
"John?" she squeezed out, frightened.
"Stay back. Please!" John pleaded desperately. His hand shook unsteadily. Somehow his senses caught Aeryn's voice. Snapping out of his daze, with tears running freely, he looked at his gun in horror. "What did I almost do?" he asked himself shakily. Dropping it as if it were a snake, he ran away as fast as his tired legs could take him.
How far gone was he? He had almost taken her life. "Who am I?" John asked himself. "Who have I become?" Looking down at his hands, he almost saw the unwashed blood of all the deaths he had caused. So much death.
"I was a scientist, damn it, a scientist!" he shouted. John dropped to his knees. "What am I now?"
Suddenly turning around, he saw Aeryn. Then he saw a very large boot heading for his head. Everything went black, but only for a moment. Visions of his life swirled around in his head; what he'd done, how he'd acted, all visible to him like something on pay-per-view. The pictures ran through, never ending.
The scenes of his life made Crichton realize he had nothing to live for anymore. All his hope, he finally understood, was imaginary. Nothing he had ever wanted would come true. He had no life preserver to hold onto, and nothing to keep him from drowning in the icy pit of despair. He had run on hope for so long, but the last few cycles had chipped away at it, spitting and stomping it to the ground.
Only Aeryn's face was real, pain was the only feeling left. The man he had been, what he had endured, they were gone now. He didn't remember; the last chip of sanity that he had lived on was destroyed. He only knew screams, blood, tears, pain, and Aeryn's face. But sweet release was coming, coming soon, he remembered that much at least. Unable to even remember his own name, John was released into darkness.