Voices Of Reason
Chapter 9
The huge mass of rock had been piece of a planet once. Sentient beings had lived on its surface for over
fourteen billion cycles until the star-faring people had fled before the conflagration that was their primary sun
going supernova. They hadn’t been there to observe when the womb of all they had become was first seared
and then fragmented by the expanding wave of raging heat and destruction. The center of their civilization had
been smashed into a cloud of asteroid chunks and vaporized plasma, and thrust into cold dispersal. The
wandering detritus tumbled away, projected at random to travel the galaxies, bearing no sign of the glories of
intellect it had once hosted.
This one piece of the once-planet’s core had survived its migration almost unscathed, heavy with elements not
normally found in solid state. The heat of the searing had locked strange atoms in place, the cold of its long
journey solidifying the matrix. Gravity pulled on it stronger than most objects, beckoning to it, bending its path.
The call came to it now, a gentle tugging, easing its trajectory to meet a new fate.
* * * * *
“Pilot?”
Aeryn’s voice broke into his thoughts. He already knew what the request was going to be, and rapidly reviewed
the input from all seventy-eight drones he had reassigned to the hunt, looking for any change in data.
“Nothing yet … Wait! Treblin side, one tier up, main corridor, moving aft. I have four more DRDs in the
immediate area, I will direct them to maintain surveillance.”
“D’Argo! Jool! He’s above us, get up there! Rygel, he’s moving aft, watch out for him.”
“Don’t tell me how to imprison someone, Aeryn. I’ve locked up more of my subjects than you’ve blown to bits
with your pulse rifle.”
She started to say something, but she heard the high pitch of Rygel’s Throne Sled go up a notch further in the
background of his transmission, and she knew that his instinct for self-preservation had convinced him that he
needed to help locate the threat. For once Aeryn felt she could count on the Hynerian to be of assistance in a
dangerous situation, not a hindrance.
* * * * *
The rock sailed past Moya, accelerating as the almost dead fingers reached out to summon it. Pilot directled
one small portion of his multi-tasking capability to watching as the mass arrived at the energy locus and then it
suddenly disappeared. He switched a greater portion of his attention to the event, puzzled by the sudden loss
of the signal. There was no reason for Moya’s sensors to suddenly lose track of the traveling projectile. He
went through all his researched data again, he suddenly saw the pattern, the one missing link snapping into
place.
“Everyone! Prepare for immediate starburst. Ten microts!” he practically screamed over the comms, claws
wildly touching controls.
“Pilot … Not NOW!!” Aeryn’s response was almost frantic. “We’ve almost got him.”
“Five microts!”
The sleeping blackhole gulped, swallowed, and then belched. Its stomach grumbled and it awakened hungry.
It stretched from its long nap and reached out with ravenous arms.
Something smashed into Moya, knocking five of the searchers off their feet. Rygel’s Throne Sled waltzed
sideways, banging into one of the thick ribs and number six joined his companions on the deck. They were all
together in a junction, having joined up in their pursuit, and they slid across the floor into a tangled heap as the
leviathan was thrown sideways. The turbulence continued, accompanied by an ear-splitting screeching, a
screaming that reverberated through the ship’s metalloid plates.
“What the frell was that?” Chiana was the first to find her voice, shouting a little over the grinding noise that
had grown out of Moya’s previous sounds.
The group untangled themselves, regaining their feet as the noise quieted down. It was replaced by a
shivering, the entire ship seemed to quiver around them, accompanied by a low moaning as if Moya herself
were crying out in pain. Aeryn leapt up a little and captured the hovering Throne Sled where it drifted near the
ceiling. She dragged it down to where Rygel could remount his conveyance.
“Pilot, what just happened?” D’Argo asked.
“Moya is trapped!” His voice was frantic, nearing panic.
“Pilot, calm down. Trapped by what? Have we been captured by Peacekeepers?” The group began drifting as
one in the direction of the Den.
“No, something much worse. I believe it would be best if you all reported to Command.” His voice had more
reason to it as he had time to calm down.
Worse than Peacekeepers? Aeryn tried to imagine what could be worse, but couldn’t come up with any
alternative other than Scarrans. Either one would mean death, but what could be worse than that? She
considered the fugitive who had just gotten away, and realized that if this was something worse than
Peacekeepers outside the ship, then it was worse than one inside the ship.
“Is everyone all right?” she said to the others. She glanced first at Rygel who still looked shook up from his fall,
and then at Jool, who had wound up on the bottom of the heap. Jool opened her mouth, her face arranging
itself into a look of pained self-pity, but she was striding along fine with the rest of the group, so Aeryn cut in,
“Right! Let’s get up to Command.”
“What about Crichton? Do you think he’s all right?” Stark asked. His calm, rational voice was a surprise, as
was the realization that she had forgotten all about John for the moment. Stark always managed to surprise her
by handling the most insane moments coherently, while struggling to maintain balance when life was most
peaceful.
“Frell! I’m not sure Pilot and Moya are in any condition to check on him right now.” She looked at the others,
saw the concern and agreement in their faces before she asked her question. “Can I meet you on Command?
I’ll go make sure he’s all right.”
“Of course, Aeryn. We’ll comm you if this is something that can’t wait a few microts.”
* * * * *
John Crichton was late getting home for dinner, and he knew his parents were going to be angry at him this
time. He ran as fast as his twelve year old legs would carry him, sneakers pounding down the sidewalk,
knowing the look on his mother’s face that was going to greet him. He decided to stay on the street instead of
cutting through backyards. It was further, but it was faster. He could see the street light just beginning to glow
at the corner ahead. He was gonna get it this time.
He tried to run a little faster, pushing himself to his limit. That was when his feet seemed to get out of cadence
and he tripped, hitting the pavement with the dull, sick-making crack of knee and palm against gritty asphalt.
He sat up slowly, seeing the fast spreading stain of red on the torn knees of his jeans, feeling the warm slide
against shin. He looked at the slow drip from his hands, feeling the cold sting of embedded dirt in the cuts.
He pushed himself to his feet and walked unsteadily around the corner and up the walk, the cold shocky sweat
drying on his neck and back. He used the edges of his hands to open the door, careful not to get blood on the
paint. He heard the clink of utensils on plates as he walked quietly toward the bathroom to clean the wounds.
“John?” His father’s voice demanded his presence. He walked deliberately, still shaken by his impact.
“Yes, Dad.” He stood in the doorway to the dining room, noticing with dismay that the table was set with the
good china, the special linen. No one had told him that this was a special dinner night; he’d only been worrying
about being late. He froze, hands in front of him, turned palms up in a vain attempt to keep the blood from
dripping onto the floor.
“Come in and introduce yourself to our guests.”
John Crichton looked at the faces gathered in his home. Gilina, dead. Hassan, dead. Kelsa, dead. Cyntrina,
dead. Zhaan … She looked up at him with red pupil eyes. “I’ll share Unity with you, John,” and her smile was
full of malice. Murderous intent. He heard something strange and looked down at adult feet in heavy leather
boots, legs encased in black leather pants, a puddle of blood at his feet and more dripping from his blood
smeared hands with every passing second. The woman sitting at the end of the table with her back to him
turned around, hair dripping water on the floor around her chair. Aeryn … he backed away, raising his hands
to shield himself from the vision.
His hands were encased in black gloves, strange shiny black leather that led up his arms. He was all in black
now.
“AERYYYYYNNNN!!!!”
“John! Wake up, its all right!” Someone was holding his wrists, forcing his hands down to his sides. “Come on,
wake up, come back to me, wake up.” The steady voice coaxed him away from whatever it was that was still
there chasing him.
He looked up at her with bloodshot eyes. “Aeryn?” quietly the second time.
“Yes, I’m here. It’s all right. You were dreaming.”
“Tha’ WAZN a dream,” he protested, sliding back into the dark.
Aeryn watched John as his body went slack again, but could see the remaining tension. She had felt the heat
radiating from him the minute she grabbed his flailing wrists. She knew this was delirium from the fever, but had
never before watched anyone in its grip.
“Aeryn?” D’Argo called her.
“Yes.” She watched the eyes twitching beneath his lids, and knew it was starting again.
“Pilot is right, this is worse. You need to get up here fast.”
“On my way.” She flipped the thermal sheet back over him, giving him a little protection from the drafts in the
cell, and picked up her pulse rifle. She gave him one last concerned glance as the bars swung shut again and
headed to join the others.
“Pilot, lock Crichton’s cell again please.”
“Hey buddy, we’re back here watching movies!” DK called to John as he let himself into the house. “We saved
a seat for you, come join us.” John could hear the voices of DK’s girlfriend and Alex as he grabbed a beer from
the fridge and walked toward the den. He slid the doors open and hopped down the two steps into the room,
smiling at the trio sitting together on the couch. He reached for a piece of pizza from the box in front of them.
“We saved that one for you,” DK pointed to a spot behind John. He turned and saw the Aurora Chair, spinning,
waiting.
* * * * *
Aeryn stood in Command, leaning back against the edge of the Strategy Table, just watching bits of debris
spiral into the singularity. It was mesmerizing in a horrific kind of a way. She found herself repeatedly trying to
make out the actual blackhole, but vision relied on light striking the eye, and one of the few things she knew
was that even light couldn’t escape the gravity source. The full swirling pattern had formed over the last three
arns, as the crew watched helplessly. They had discussed all the information Pilot had given them,
understanding only a fraction of it, and were no closer to an answer than when they had started.
Their chaotic debate had lasted almost two arns, but the hastily formulated suggestions hadn’t yielded a single
productive solution, and they had slowly spun into silence. Depression hung over the chamber now as they
watched what might be their last sight. Aeryn’s reverie was broken by the sound of D’Argo’s footsteps and she
twisted to look at him as he entered. “Jool’s safely back in the lab and locked in?”
“Yes, she’ll let us know if she wants to go somewhere else. She said she wants to run more tests on the blood
sample she took from John.”
“More? You said on the comms that he was cured,” her accusation was also a question.
“It is Jool doing the explaining. Can you understand half of what she says?” He shook his head, braids
swinging. He didn’t need her to actually answer that question. “From what I could get, his fever has broken
and his body is finally killing the virus that made him sick. She thinks he’ll wake up in an arn, two at the most,
and that will be the end of it.” He looked at Chiana and Stark, sitting separately, dejectedly, both staring at the
spatial anomaly. “Anything?”
“No. Pilot is the only one who really understands this, and he is out of ideas.” Aeryn felt another vibration pass
through the floor and run up her legs, Moya’s only indication of the stress she was under as she fought the
intense gravity that was trying to suck her into their doom. “What do you think we should do about the
Peacekeeper?”
D’Argo sighed, trying to collect his thoughts. There were just too many problems to think about all at once. He
tried to focus on her question, but he was suddenly very hungry and very tired.
“Stay armed, be careful, and hope the frelling kjanick fell down a very deep access shaft,” Rygel returned, once
again munching food cubes.
Aeryn had to admit that for once the Hynerian’s assessment was correct, and she turned her thoughts back to
the singularity and their predicament. Another shudder ran through the soles of her feet. Pilot had warned
them of the toll Moya was paying by fighting the unseen battle. Sooner or later she was going to run out of
stamina and slowly lose ground to the forces which ensnared them.
“There is only one thing I can think of that will help.” Aeryn drew her feet up and spun around to sit facing
them, perched on the table. “We need Crichton.”
“I guess we’re worse off than I thought.” D’Argo said dryly, managing to find some minimal humor.
* * * * *
Crichton came to slowly, just listening to his surroundings, getting his bearings. His endless sequence of
nightmares had left him feeling disoriented and confused, but the sense of unreality was finally starting to fade.
Part of him still expected the world around him to start mutating, become a parody of reality, but at long last his
universe seemed to be settling down. He sat up gradually, relieved to find that all the signs of his fever had
disappeared. He was shaky and weak, but the headache and ringing were gone.
He flipped back the covers and swung his legs over the side of his bed, sitting still for a moment while his body
adjusted to the new position. He ran both hands over his skull, trying to convince his whirling brain to settle
down for a bit. He felt his stiff, spiky hair a second time, and became aware of a full-body stickiness, the last
residue of his fever. He stood up slowly, careful in the strangeness of being back on his feet again, soles
tingling under his unaccustomed weight. He wondered if he had been sleeping for more than one day. He
decided a shower was more important than finding out what was going on right now, and carefully negotiated
the short distance to the alcove. He’d check with Pilot afterward and find out then what was happening.
* * * * *
Jool stood in the lab examining the latest of the samples she had taken from Crichton that morning. Her
confidence in her abilities soared as she noted how well her resolution had worked. Peering through the
microscopic enlarger she could find no trace of the virus in his blood. “Not bad for something hastily developed
with no scientific ingredients whatsoever and put together with archaic equipment,” she said to herself, still
pleased with her talents. She took another sample of the viral RNA and dropped it into the living solution,
watching again with pleasure as it was efficiently destroyed.
She smiled and pulled the slide out of the microscope, starting to clean up the lab. She paused as she saw
that the container she had taken the last additive from was not the one holding the viral sample, she had picked
something else up by accident and added it to John’s blood. She looked at the container in shock, motionless
as she saw what she had done. What his blood had done to the added substance.
She activated her comms. “Can someone meet me in Crichton’s quarters?”
“What’s the matter, Jool? Has something happened?” Aeryn’s urgent voice was the first to answer.
“No, I just think …” she tried to think how to phrase her suspicions without alarming anyone. “He should be
awake by now and I think it would be an emotional support if someone he knows … someone he knows better
than me, is there to sort of welcome him back.”
There was a brief silence and then Aeryn replied. “Chiana is on her way down. … And Jool?”
“Yes.”
“Just as soon as he is able to come to Command, we need Crichton up here. And I mean just as soon as he is
able. If Crichton is better, but too weak, D’Argo will come help him.” Aeryn’s voice wasn’t panicked, but the
emphasis in her tone was clear. They were in trouble and they were hoping Crichton could get them out of it.
But it also sounded like there was relief in her voice. Well, Aeryn and John were … well, it was just
understandable that Aeryn would be relieved.
Jool looked again at the sample in her hand and was scared that Aeryn’s reprieve from anxiety was going to be
all too short.
* * * * *
John finished toweling his hair, feeling much better for having made the effort to clean up. He sat on his bed
and began lacing his boots, glancing around his quarters to find his belt and his comms. He had considered
calling Pilot, but had eventually decided that until he found out what the status of the search was, he wouldn’t
bother their central intelligence agent.
What he needed now was something to eat, he was starved. Maybe about twelve buttermilk pancakes and a
quart of coffee. He stretched and felt like he could conquer the world … in another week. He looked up as
Chiana and Jool reached his quarters and the door slid open. He realized at that point that it had still been
locked, which meant the commando remained on the loose. ‘Oh good,’ he thought, ‘more fun and games on
the good ship Lusitania. Just wandering around looking to take a torpedo amidships.’
“Hey Pip!”
“Hey old man! How ya doing this morning. You look great! Well, not great but a whole lot better than you did
last night.” Chiana was bursting with excitement that Crichton was well again, and skipped toward him, but he
was suddenly whirling, vaulting away from her to the other side of the bed. She slowed and looked at him in
dismay, peering at him from under her white bangs. She looked to Jool but the Interon was unreadable, so she
looked back at the suddenly angry figure waiting on the far side of the bunk. “Crichton, what’s the matter?”
“Harvey get out here!” John strode raging into the kitchen in his parents’ house. “Where the hell are you, you
sick, twisted, disgusting piece of garbage! Did you do this?”
Scorpius appeared from where he was rummaging in the refrigerator, holding a thick sandwich. “No, John I am
not responsible for your current condition. I suggest that you discuss it with that lovely young woman who
treated you for your recent illness. Perhaps it has something to do with that.”
John slapped the sandwich out of the clone’s hands, meat and lettuce flying. “How do I know you aren’t doing
this? I couldn’t speak a coherent word after the chip was removed, maybe this is just your idea of a riff on that
theme. What did you do, just scramble the incoming message this time? Is that even the noise they‘re actually
making? It’s all unintelligible goop now!” He stalked back and forth in front of Scorpius, wanted to hit him, but
knowing that it was meaningless.
“John, you know that my fate hinges on your well-being now, this situation would not be in my best interest.
Your ability to communicate with your crewmates is essential to both your survival and mine. I would not do this.”
“Then prove it, tell me what they are saying.”
Scorpius stared at Crichton for a moment, then shook his head. “I do not have any ability to understand their
language beyond your own, John. I do not exist, therefore I do not have any capacity aside from what your own
mind provides. If someone has done this to you, I am not aware of it, and I cannot help.”
“Then this IS some sort of trick again. The Scarrans, the Ancients, the Delvians, some other twisted bunch of
fruit loops leading me down another yellow brick road to insanity. Tell me the truth!”
Crichton didn’t wait for an answer from the clone. He shoved him forcefully out of his subconscious and turned
his entire attention back to what was going on in the chamber. He could hear Chiana’s high voice babbling,
followed by a deep voiced answer emanating from the comms. He couldn’t understand a word of it, but knew
she had called D’Argo … or whatever twisted version of D’Argo someone was going to present to him.
“I’m not playing this time, folks! I’ve been through this twice before and I’m not biting again,” he yelled at the
walls around him. “Leave me alone! Get out of my head and go torture someone else for a change.” He saw
Chiana coming around the bed toward him, reaching out, and shook his head at her.
“Stay the hell away from me. You aren’t real, this is all an illusion and I’m not letting anyone suck me any
further into this one. Three time’s the charm, this is a no go!” Chiana paused for a minute, then continued to
advance speaking slowly. He remembered the last time delusions had been forced on him and the vivid
nightmares he had endured so recently. “This has ALL been just an invoked dream, hasn’t it? All of the
dreams I’ve been having, right? And now you just want to perform a little test to see if I’ll play along?”
He scrambled across the bed again, moving away from Chiana. He was careful not to get too close to Jool, but
saw her as less of a threat. He looked around for his pulse pistol. He’d show them who was taking stuff laying
down this time. He saw where it had been left under his bed, and dove for it.
Aeryn and D’Argo could hear Crichton’s angry yelling from down the corridor. Chiana had explained concisely
what was going on but they were not ready for his level of anger and hostility when they rounded the corner
through the doorway. Aeryn’s concern was cut short before she could even consider John’s state when she
saw him look rapidly around his quarters and spot his weapon.
Her instincts took over as he dove for Wynona. She had no idea what he planned to do with it, but she wasn’t
going to take a chance of him getting his hands on a weapon in his obvious state of agitation. She kicked the
pistol out of his reach and as he slid belly down across the floor, she straddled his prone figure and dropped
her full weight onto him.
She forced his arms down by his sides and set her knees carefully but firmly on his elbows. Then she pinned
his head down with both hands, eliminating all possibility of resistance. He grunted under her weight and went
quiet. She could feel him trying to work loose, but this was her area of expertise and she was confident that he
wasn’t going to get up until she let him.
She took a deep breath and looked up at the two women, standing speechless and shocked. “All right, does
someone want to explain just what happened down here?”
It was Jool’s voice, slow and dispirited, full of the knowledge of her own participation in what was occurring, that
answered. “His immune system has destroyed his translator microbes. He can’t understand anything we’re
saying to him.”
* * * * *
“Up until now, John’s physiology has tolerated anything that is Sebacean in origin or that a Sebacean would
tolerate. But when I accidentally added the mixture of Sebacean compounds to the mixture containing his blood
sample and saw how quickly it was attacked by the immunological agents, I realized that his system was almost
certainly going to be attacking anything within him that was not completely human in origin … including his
translator microbes.” Jool finished explaining how she had known in advance that Crichton night not be able to
understand them.
The explanation had taken only a few microts, and Aeryn was still sitting on top of the subdued astronaut. He
continued to struggle from time to time, but the efforts were not as vigorous and less frequent. She slowly
released her grip on his head, giving him some relief from his cramped position with one cheek ground into the
floor.
“So he hasn’t lost his mind,” she was thinking about his wild behavior as she had come into the cell. It was too
reminiscent of his loss of control when the neurochip had begun taking over, and she had been shaken to her
core by what she had seen.
“There isn’t any reason to believe that any of this has affected his cognitive abilities,” Jool shook her head as
she answered. “I believe this is just emotional, not psychological in nature.”
“He was yelling something about illusions, invoked dreams and not playing this time,” Chiana offered.
Aeryn nodded in understanding. John had shared more information with her than anyone else after his capture
by a Scarran who had tried to drive him insane by creating a hallucinated reality. “Get ready D’Argo, I’m going
to let him up.” She eased her weight off him cautiously, waiting to see what he was going to do next.
Crichton lay still for a moment. The circulation had been cut off in his arms, leaving him powerless to even roll
over initially. He finally worked his way back onto his knees and then got up and sat on his bed. There were
too many of them still to do anything. Whoever was running the show this time certainly had their facts right.
They looked absolutely convincing this time.
“What now?” D’Argo asked.
“What if we reinject him with new microbes?” Aeryn looked at Jool.
“I doubt that it will work. His immune system has been sensitized to anything foreign now, and it has already
produced the organisms necessary to kill the microbes.” She took another deep breath and delivered the rest
of the bad news. “This is a permanent condition. It’s not going to change.”
“Any chance you’re wrong?” Aeryn asked.
“I suppose there’s a chance.” For once she didn’t find it difficult to admit that she might be fallible, in fact she
found herself fervently wishing to be proven wrong. Her entire scholastic career had been founded on her
ability to understand the lectures and instructional information from dozens of species’ foremost thinkers. She
couldn’t imagine being stripped of that opportunity, let alone the capability to simply understand one’s own
friends.
“Pilot, please send a DRD prepared with translator microbes to Crichton’s quarters,” Aeryn called.
“Already on its way, Officer Sun.” Pilot’s image appeared on the clamshell at that moment. “I have been
monitoring the situation and the DRD should be there in just a few microts.”
“All this is fine, but which one of us is going to be able to get close enough to inject him?” Chiana asked. She
looked at the others, and then, as if to say she wasn’t going to be the one to try, she turned and left the room.
Crichton continued to sit in sullen stubbornness, refusing to attempt any communication with the figures around
him. D’Argo watched him, distressed that no one had the means to break through his confident assertion that
this was all some sort of trick being played on him again. D'Argo understood why John would not allow himself
to be convinced otherwise, but his desire to relieve his friend's distress was beginning to urge him into
incautious action.
“We should do something to convince him that this is truly real,” he finally complained. He took a step forward
and saw John prepare himself to move away.
“Just leave him alone D’Argo,” Aeryn cautioned. “With the state he's in now, we're going to have enough
trouble just getting the DRD close enough to be able to inject him again.” She knew how badly D’Argo wanted
to touch John, to reassure him, because it was taking almost all of her own will power not to approach the
suspicious human, to hold him and explain that this was all going to get better.
“I still don't believe you understand how futile this attempt is going to be … ” Jool began again.
“Shut up, Jool!” both voices barked at the same time and she lapsed back into silence. “We have to try
something,” Aeryn explained more calmly.
They all heard the DRD coming down the corridor just as Pilot’s image reappeared in the clamshell. “The DRD
should be arriving momentarily,” he said. “Has Commander Crichton calmed down yet?”
“Well,” Aeryn stared at John, considering the question, “at least he’s sitting still now, but I don’t think we’ve
gained anything yet, and I definitely don’t think he’s going to let anyone close enough to inject him with
microbes, Pilot. Not even a DRD. Between what happened to him before and the nightmares he was coping
with last night, I don’t think we can expect him to cooperate.” Aeryn tore her eyes away from his suspicious
glare to look at the DRD as it came into the chamber. It was One-Eye. She was about to turn to thank Pilot for
sending the one object on board that John might just trust, but stopped herself.
“DON’T say or do anything,” she hissed at D’Argo. The Luxan froze, a parody of normal behavior. “D’Argo
relax. Don’t do anything to make John suspicious of the DRD too. Pilot might have just given us a small
edge.”
John watched each face in turn as they spoke, finally watching only D’Argo, who represented the greatest
physical threat. He remembered the Luxan’s growling, burbling language from his first brief moments on board
Moya. Whoever was running this show had gotten that part right too. He had been injected almost immediately
that day, forever silencing the strange languages that flowed around him. Now he was inundated in alien
sounds that movie producers in their wildest dreams had never imagined. ‘Boy oh boy, did Kemper EVER have
it wrong,’ he thought. ‘But this is only an induced hallucination, so maybe he was closer than Spielberg after
all.’
He saw the flash of yellow out of the corner of his eye. ‘Now what are they going to pull?’ He had seen the blue
tape as the DRD soared into the chamber and almost looked, but managed to keep his eyes on D’Argo
instead. “Nice try,” he verbally aimed his frustration at them, “but I’m not falling for the Benji routine. The cute
dog isn’t going to win me over this time.” If they were trying One-Eye on him, then they were planning
something. He rose from the bed and stood ready to bolt out the second door. Whatever the Scarrans or the
Ancients or Scorpius wanted to do to him this time, they were going to have to work at it, he was tired of being
their pawn.
“John, there is something that I think you need to be aware of right now,” Scorpius interjected.
He yelled out loud to the figure inside his head. “Get lost, Harvey! There’s no guarantee you’re not part of this
particular House of Horrors. Get out!” And such was the degree of his agitation, that Crichton was able to
force the clone into silence, gagging its protests. Then he shoved the presence off to one side of his mind until
he had time to deal with it. He saw Aeryn go pale, and the look of pained concern on her face broke through
his stubborn defensiveness for a moment. He took a step forward and turned toward her, reaching out with one
hand reflexively, to apologize for causing the distress.
“D’Argo!” she yelled as she saw their moment of opportunity in John’s gesture of compassion, and the Luxan
took one long step and wrapped his arms around Crichton from behind.
“Get off me! Get off me you son-of-a-frelling-bitch!” Crichton squirmed and struggled, but D’Argo lifted the
frantic figure off his feet, denying him any purchase for leverage. With his arms pinned to his side, Crichton
couldn’t even strike back. D’Argo buried his head against Crichton’s spine to avoid being battered by John’s
skull as he tried to lash his head backwards at D’Argo’s face.
Aeryn scooped One-Eye up and brought the DRD within range of John’s shoulder, dancing out of range of his
legs. The punch of the injector seemed to help bring the human back to his senses. He quieted down and
hung passively in D’Argo’s arms, but still glared furiously at Aeryn.
“John, can you understand me?”
“What just happened?” A glimmer of sanity returned to his eyes. D’Argo sighed and set him down, looking
triumphantly at Jool.
The Interion shook her head though and kept her gaze on Crichton. “It won’t last.”
“What isn’t going to last?” John stepped away from his three crewmates and walked to the far side of his
quarters, still not sure if this was all real. He found himself driven to get his back to a wall, standing with his
arms folded defensively in front of him, a clear sign that he wasn’t accepting this yet.
“John your translator microbes were killed by your own immune system. Something happened when Jool gave
you …” Aeryn broke off her rapid explanation, watching the anger come back over his face again.
“Very frelling funny!” he yelled toward the ceiling. “No, you know what? You aren’t going to let me get along
with any other language than English? Well, FINE!! Very FUCKING funny!” He switched his attention to
The-Aeryn figure, sweeping it with a vicious gaze and continued to rage. “You want to jerk me around for ten or
fifteen seconds thinking everything was real and then yank the carpet out from under me? Okay, you got me
with that one. But now I’m really not playing.”
Crichton ran over to his bed and jumped up onto it, standing above the others for a microt. Then he simply
dropped onto the bed in a sitting position and flopped on to his back. “Go screw yourselves, I quit.”
Jool was standing with her face hidden in both hands. Despite everything she had said to Aeryn and D’Argo
she had hoped that the new microbes might not be destroyed, at least not immediately. The speed at which
John’s system had killed them meant that she had done her job of modifying his immune system all too well, and
that it was going to be just that much harder to find a solution. She dropped her hands and looked at the two
stunned figures beside her.
“I’ll be in the lab. I may need blood samples from Crichton at some point in order to find a way to reverse this.”
“All right, Jool.” D’Argo’s response was almost inaudible. He didn’t bother watching her as she left. “So what
do we do now, Aeryn? We need his help and he won’t even let us near him.”
Aeryn was silent so long he wasn’t sure she had heard him. She took a deep breath, and looked at the Luxan.
“Just keep trying to get through to him somehow. Why don’t you go back to Command and see if Pilot has
been able to do anything. I’ll try here a little longer and then we’ll have to start worrying about our other
problems instead.”
D’Argo looked over at the angry figure for a moment, but then yielded to their preexisting crises. “All right,
Aeryn. Good luck.” He walked heavily out of the chamber. “Do you want to lock the door again?” He was
thinking of the potential for disaster if John got loose in his present state and somehow managed to run into the
one person no one else had been able to locate.
Aeryn understood the source of his question immediately, and had to stop to consider. “No, I think if we lock
him in it will just make him more suspicious. We’ll take a chance that I can at least keep him from leaving his
room.”
“If anyone can, you can.”
She started to thank him for his confidence in her ability to reach John, and then heard the laughter in his voice
and realized he was referring to her recent aggressive solution to John’s frenzy. “If you can’t win them over with
diplomacy, bowl them over with force!” she yelled after him, laughing.
John watched with complete disinterest as first The-Jool and then The-D’Argo left the chamber, leaving him
alone with the image that was supposed to be Aeryn. He refused to even think of the room as his quarters.
This was all just another trick on the poor deficient Wyatt Erp. ‘Just call me Why-Not Erp,’ he thought. ‘Why Not
mess with the Erp man?’
Whoever was running this little Salvador Dali Show was going to do whatever they wanted one way or another.
He was going to save his strength for when he needed it, then he’d make a break for it … or whatever. He
wasn’t sure what ‘it’ he’d make a break FOR at this point, but he was determined to be ready.
He watched as The-Aeryn turned and yelled something out the door after The-D’Argo and smiled and laughed.
And in a blinding instant it was Aeryn again. She turned back to him, the smile lingering on her face and it was
still Aeryn, gazing at him steadily, beginning to talk to him in a strange clipped and guttural language.
“John … ”
“GO AWAY!!!”
Not even the clang of a dumpster. The clone was simply banished from his consciousness. He hadn’t known
he was capable of doing that. Aeryn stood, pale and distressed, in front of him. She began to turn and leave
the room, defeat shrieking from every muscle in her body. And it was still Aeryn. This delusion was a skillful
one … or not. Every instinct told him not to trust what he saw, but after watching her rigid, anxious posture, he
decided to take a chance anyway.
“Aeryn … I wasn’t yelling at YOU …”
She turned back.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Chapter 9
The huge mass of rock had been piece of a planet once. Sentient beings had lived on its surface for over
fourteen billion cycles until the star-faring people had fled before the conflagration that was their primary sun
going supernova. They hadn’t been there to observe when the womb of all they had become was first seared
and then fragmented by the expanding wave of raging heat and destruction. The center of their civilization had
been smashed into a cloud of asteroid chunks and vaporized plasma, and thrust into cold dispersal. The
wandering detritus tumbled away, projected at random to travel the galaxies, bearing no sign of the glories of
intellect it had once hosted.
This one piece of the once-planet’s core had survived its migration almost unscathed, heavy with elements not
normally found in solid state. The heat of the searing had locked strange atoms in place, the cold of its long
journey solidifying the matrix. Gravity pulled on it stronger than most objects, beckoning to it, bending its path.
The call came to it now, a gentle tugging, easing its trajectory to meet a new fate.
* * * * *
“Pilot?”
Aeryn’s voice broke into his thoughts. He already knew what the request was going to be, and rapidly reviewed
the input from all seventy-eight drones he had reassigned to the hunt, looking for any change in data.
“Nothing yet … Wait! Treblin side, one tier up, main corridor, moving aft. I have four more DRDs in the
immediate area, I will direct them to maintain surveillance.”
“D’Argo! Jool! He’s above us, get up there! Rygel, he’s moving aft, watch out for him.”
“Don’t tell me how to imprison someone, Aeryn. I’ve locked up more of my subjects than you’ve blown to bits
with your pulse rifle.”
She started to say something, but she heard the high pitch of Rygel’s Throne Sled go up a notch further in the
background of his transmission, and she knew that his instinct for self-preservation had convinced him that he
needed to help locate the threat. For once Aeryn felt she could count on the Hynerian to be of assistance in a
dangerous situation, not a hindrance.
* * * * *
The rock sailed past Moya, accelerating as the almost dead fingers reached out to summon it. Pilot directled
one small portion of his multi-tasking capability to watching as the mass arrived at the energy locus and then it
suddenly disappeared. He switched a greater portion of his attention to the event, puzzled by the sudden loss
of the signal. There was no reason for Moya’s sensors to suddenly lose track of the traveling projectile. He
went through all his researched data again, he suddenly saw the pattern, the one missing link snapping into
place.
“Everyone! Prepare for immediate starburst. Ten microts!” he practically screamed over the comms, claws
wildly touching controls.
“Pilot … Not NOW!!” Aeryn’s response was almost frantic. “We’ve almost got him.”
“Five microts!”
The sleeping blackhole gulped, swallowed, and then belched. Its stomach grumbled and it awakened hungry.
It stretched from its long nap and reached out with ravenous arms.
Something smashed into Moya, knocking five of the searchers off their feet. Rygel’s Throne Sled waltzed
sideways, banging into one of the thick ribs and number six joined his companions on the deck. They were all
together in a junction, having joined up in their pursuit, and they slid across the floor into a tangled heap as the
leviathan was thrown sideways. The turbulence continued, accompanied by an ear-splitting screeching, a
screaming that reverberated through the ship’s metalloid plates.
“What the frell was that?” Chiana was the first to find her voice, shouting a little over the grinding noise that
had grown out of Moya’s previous sounds.
The group untangled themselves, regaining their feet as the noise quieted down. It was replaced by a
shivering, the entire ship seemed to quiver around them, accompanied by a low moaning as if Moya herself
were crying out in pain. Aeryn leapt up a little and captured the hovering Throne Sled where it drifted near the
ceiling. She dragged it down to where Rygel could remount his conveyance.
“Pilot, what just happened?” D’Argo asked.
“Moya is trapped!” His voice was frantic, nearing panic.
“Pilot, calm down. Trapped by what? Have we been captured by Peacekeepers?” The group began drifting as
one in the direction of the Den.
“No, something much worse. I believe it would be best if you all reported to Command.” His voice had more
reason to it as he had time to calm down.
Worse than Peacekeepers? Aeryn tried to imagine what could be worse, but couldn’t come up with any
alternative other than Scarrans. Either one would mean death, but what could be worse than that? She
considered the fugitive who had just gotten away, and realized that if this was something worse than
Peacekeepers outside the ship, then it was worse than one inside the ship.
“Is everyone all right?” she said to the others. She glanced first at Rygel who still looked shook up from his fall,
and then at Jool, who had wound up on the bottom of the heap. Jool opened her mouth, her face arranging
itself into a look of pained self-pity, but she was striding along fine with the rest of the group, so Aeryn cut in,
“Right! Let’s get up to Command.”
“What about Crichton? Do you think he’s all right?” Stark asked. His calm, rational voice was a surprise, as
was the realization that she had forgotten all about John for the moment. Stark always managed to surprise her
by handling the most insane moments coherently, while struggling to maintain balance when life was most
peaceful.
“Frell! I’m not sure Pilot and Moya are in any condition to check on him right now.” She looked at the others,
saw the concern and agreement in their faces before she asked her question. “Can I meet you on Command?
I’ll go make sure he’s all right.”
“Of course, Aeryn. We’ll comm you if this is something that can’t wait a few microts.”
* * * * *
John Crichton was late getting home for dinner, and he knew his parents were going to be angry at him this
time. He ran as fast as his twelve year old legs would carry him, sneakers pounding down the sidewalk,
knowing the look on his mother’s face that was going to greet him. He decided to stay on the street instead of
cutting through backyards. It was further, but it was faster. He could see the street light just beginning to glow
at the corner ahead. He was gonna get it this time.
He tried to run a little faster, pushing himself to his limit. That was when his feet seemed to get out of cadence
and he tripped, hitting the pavement with the dull, sick-making crack of knee and palm against gritty asphalt.
He sat up slowly, seeing the fast spreading stain of red on the torn knees of his jeans, feeling the warm slide
against shin. He looked at the slow drip from his hands, feeling the cold sting of embedded dirt in the cuts.
He pushed himself to his feet and walked unsteadily around the corner and up the walk, the cold shocky sweat
drying on his neck and back. He used the edges of his hands to open the door, careful not to get blood on the
paint. He heard the clink of utensils on plates as he walked quietly toward the bathroom to clean the wounds.
“John?” His father’s voice demanded his presence. He walked deliberately, still shaken by his impact.
“Yes, Dad.” He stood in the doorway to the dining room, noticing with dismay that the table was set with the
good china, the special linen. No one had told him that this was a special dinner night; he’d only been worrying
about being late. He froze, hands in front of him, turned palms up in a vain attempt to keep the blood from
dripping onto the floor.
“Come in and introduce yourself to our guests.”
John Crichton looked at the faces gathered in his home. Gilina, dead. Hassan, dead. Kelsa, dead. Cyntrina,
dead. Zhaan … She looked up at him with red pupil eyes. “I’ll share Unity with you, John,” and her smile was
full of malice. Murderous intent. He heard something strange and looked down at adult feet in heavy leather
boots, legs encased in black leather pants, a puddle of blood at his feet and more dripping from his blood
smeared hands with every passing second. The woman sitting at the end of the table with her back to him
turned around, hair dripping water on the floor around her chair. Aeryn … he backed away, raising his hands
to shield himself from the vision.
His hands were encased in black gloves, strange shiny black leather that led up his arms. He was all in black
now.
“AERYYYYYNNNN!!!!”
“John! Wake up, its all right!” Someone was holding his wrists, forcing his hands down to his sides. “Come on,
wake up, come back to me, wake up.” The steady voice coaxed him away from whatever it was that was still
there chasing him.
He looked up at her with bloodshot eyes. “Aeryn?” quietly the second time.
“Yes, I’m here. It’s all right. You were dreaming.”
“Tha’ WAZN a dream,” he protested, sliding back into the dark.
Aeryn watched John as his body went slack again, but could see the remaining tension. She had felt the heat
radiating from him the minute she grabbed his flailing wrists. She knew this was delirium from the fever, but had
never before watched anyone in its grip.
“Aeryn?” D’Argo called her.
“Yes.” She watched the eyes twitching beneath his lids, and knew it was starting again.
“Pilot is right, this is worse. You need to get up here fast.”
“On my way.” She flipped the thermal sheet back over him, giving him a little protection from the drafts in the
cell, and picked up her pulse rifle. She gave him one last concerned glance as the bars swung shut again and
headed to join the others.
“Pilot, lock Crichton’s cell again please.”
“Hey buddy, we’re back here watching movies!” DK called to John as he let himself into the house. “We saved
a seat for you, come join us.” John could hear the voices of DK’s girlfriend and Alex as he grabbed a beer from
the fridge and walked toward the den. He slid the doors open and hopped down the two steps into the room,
smiling at the trio sitting together on the couch. He reached for a piece of pizza from the box in front of them.
“We saved that one for you,” DK pointed to a spot behind John. He turned and saw the Aurora Chair, spinning,
waiting.
* * * * *
Aeryn stood in Command, leaning back against the edge of the Strategy Table, just watching bits of debris
spiral into the singularity. It was mesmerizing in a horrific kind of a way. She found herself repeatedly trying to
make out the actual blackhole, but vision relied on light striking the eye, and one of the few things she knew
was that even light couldn’t escape the gravity source. The full swirling pattern had formed over the last three
arns, as the crew watched helplessly. They had discussed all the information Pilot had given them,
understanding only a fraction of it, and were no closer to an answer than when they had started.
Their chaotic debate had lasted almost two arns, but the hastily formulated suggestions hadn’t yielded a single
productive solution, and they had slowly spun into silence. Depression hung over the chamber now as they
watched what might be their last sight. Aeryn’s reverie was broken by the sound of D’Argo’s footsteps and she
twisted to look at him as he entered. “Jool’s safely back in the lab and locked in?”
“Yes, she’ll let us know if she wants to go somewhere else. She said she wants to run more tests on the blood
sample she took from John.”
“More? You said on the comms that he was cured,” her accusation was also a question.
“It is Jool doing the explaining. Can you understand half of what she says?” He shook his head, braids
swinging. He didn’t need her to actually answer that question. “From what I could get, his fever has broken
and his body is finally killing the virus that made him sick. She thinks he’ll wake up in an arn, two at the most,
and that will be the end of it.” He looked at Chiana and Stark, sitting separately, dejectedly, both staring at the
spatial anomaly. “Anything?”
“No. Pilot is the only one who really understands this, and he is out of ideas.” Aeryn felt another vibration pass
through the floor and run up her legs, Moya’s only indication of the stress she was under as she fought the
intense gravity that was trying to suck her into their doom. “What do you think we should do about the
Peacekeeper?”
D’Argo sighed, trying to collect his thoughts. There were just too many problems to think about all at once. He
tried to focus on her question, but he was suddenly very hungry and very tired.
“Stay armed, be careful, and hope the frelling kjanick fell down a very deep access shaft,” Rygel returned, once
again munching food cubes.
Aeryn had to admit that for once the Hynerian’s assessment was correct, and she turned her thoughts back to
the singularity and their predicament. Another shudder ran through the soles of her feet. Pilot had warned
them of the toll Moya was paying by fighting the unseen battle. Sooner or later she was going to run out of
stamina and slowly lose ground to the forces which ensnared them.
“There is only one thing I can think of that will help.” Aeryn drew her feet up and spun around to sit facing
them, perched on the table. “We need Crichton.”
“I guess we’re worse off than I thought.” D’Argo said dryly, managing to find some minimal humor.
* * * * *
Crichton came to slowly, just listening to his surroundings, getting his bearings. His endless sequence of
nightmares had left him feeling disoriented and confused, but the sense of unreality was finally starting to fade.
Part of him still expected the world around him to start mutating, become a parody of reality, but at long last his
universe seemed to be settling down. He sat up gradually, relieved to find that all the signs of his fever had
disappeared. He was shaky and weak, but the headache and ringing were gone.
He flipped back the covers and swung his legs over the side of his bed, sitting still for a moment while his body
adjusted to the new position. He ran both hands over his skull, trying to convince his whirling brain to settle
down for a bit. He felt his stiff, spiky hair a second time, and became aware of a full-body stickiness, the last
residue of his fever. He stood up slowly, careful in the strangeness of being back on his feet again, soles
tingling under his unaccustomed weight. He wondered if he had been sleeping for more than one day. He
decided a shower was more important than finding out what was going on right now, and carefully negotiated
the short distance to the alcove. He’d check with Pilot afterward and find out then what was happening.
* * * * *
Jool stood in the lab examining the latest of the samples she had taken from Crichton that morning. Her
confidence in her abilities soared as she noted how well her resolution had worked. Peering through the
microscopic enlarger she could find no trace of the virus in his blood. “Not bad for something hastily developed
with no scientific ingredients whatsoever and put together with archaic equipment,” she said to herself, still
pleased with her talents. She took another sample of the viral RNA and dropped it into the living solution,
watching again with pleasure as it was efficiently destroyed.
She smiled and pulled the slide out of the microscope, starting to clean up the lab. She paused as she saw
that the container she had taken the last additive from was not the one holding the viral sample, she had picked
something else up by accident and added it to John’s blood. She looked at the container in shock, motionless
as she saw what she had done. What his blood had done to the added substance.
She activated her comms. “Can someone meet me in Crichton’s quarters?”
“What’s the matter, Jool? Has something happened?” Aeryn’s urgent voice was the first to answer.
“No, I just think …” she tried to think how to phrase her suspicions without alarming anyone. “He should be
awake by now and I think it would be an emotional support if someone he knows … someone he knows better
than me, is there to sort of welcome him back.”
There was a brief silence and then Aeryn replied. “Chiana is on her way down. … And Jool?”
“Yes.”
“Just as soon as he is able to come to Command, we need Crichton up here. And I mean just as soon as he is
able. If Crichton is better, but too weak, D’Argo will come help him.” Aeryn’s voice wasn’t panicked, but the
emphasis in her tone was clear. They were in trouble and they were hoping Crichton could get them out of it.
But it also sounded like there was relief in her voice. Well, Aeryn and John were … well, it was just
understandable that Aeryn would be relieved.
Jool looked again at the sample in her hand and was scared that Aeryn’s reprieve from anxiety was going to be
all too short.
* * * * *
John finished toweling his hair, feeling much better for having made the effort to clean up. He sat on his bed
and began lacing his boots, glancing around his quarters to find his belt and his comms. He had considered
calling Pilot, but had eventually decided that until he found out what the status of the search was, he wouldn’t
bother their central intelligence agent.
What he needed now was something to eat, he was starved. Maybe about twelve buttermilk pancakes and a
quart of coffee. He stretched and felt like he could conquer the world … in another week. He looked up as
Chiana and Jool reached his quarters and the door slid open. He realized at that point that it had still been
locked, which meant the commando remained on the loose. ‘Oh good,’ he thought, ‘more fun and games on
the good ship Lusitania. Just wandering around looking to take a torpedo amidships.’
“Hey Pip!”
“Hey old man! How ya doing this morning. You look great! Well, not great but a whole lot better than you did
last night.” Chiana was bursting with excitement that Crichton was well again, and skipped toward him, but he
was suddenly whirling, vaulting away from her to the other side of the bed. She slowed and looked at him in
dismay, peering at him from under her white bangs. She looked to Jool but the Interon was unreadable, so she
looked back at the suddenly angry figure waiting on the far side of the bunk. “Crichton, what’s the matter?”
“Harvey get out here!” John strode raging into the kitchen in his parents’ house. “Where the hell are you, you
sick, twisted, disgusting piece of garbage! Did you do this?”
Scorpius appeared from where he was rummaging in the refrigerator, holding a thick sandwich. “No, John I am
not responsible for your current condition. I suggest that you discuss it with that lovely young woman who
treated you for your recent illness. Perhaps it has something to do with that.”
John slapped the sandwich out of the clone’s hands, meat and lettuce flying. “How do I know you aren’t doing
this? I couldn’t speak a coherent word after the chip was removed, maybe this is just your idea of a riff on that
theme. What did you do, just scramble the incoming message this time? Is that even the noise they‘re actually
making? It’s all unintelligible goop now!” He stalked back and forth in front of Scorpius, wanted to hit him, but
knowing that it was meaningless.
“John, you know that my fate hinges on your well-being now, this situation would not be in my best interest.
Your ability to communicate with your crewmates is essential to both your survival and mine. I would not do this.”
“Then prove it, tell me what they are saying.”
Scorpius stared at Crichton for a moment, then shook his head. “I do not have any ability to understand their
language beyond your own, John. I do not exist, therefore I do not have any capacity aside from what your own
mind provides. If someone has done this to you, I am not aware of it, and I cannot help.”
“Then this IS some sort of trick again. The Scarrans, the Ancients, the Delvians, some other twisted bunch of
fruit loops leading me down another yellow brick road to insanity. Tell me the truth!”
Crichton didn’t wait for an answer from the clone. He shoved him forcefully out of his subconscious and turned
his entire attention back to what was going on in the chamber. He could hear Chiana’s high voice babbling,
followed by a deep voiced answer emanating from the comms. He couldn’t understand a word of it, but knew
she had called D’Argo … or whatever twisted version of D’Argo someone was going to present to him.
“I’m not playing this time, folks! I’ve been through this twice before and I’m not biting again,” he yelled at the
walls around him. “Leave me alone! Get out of my head and go torture someone else for a change.” He saw
Chiana coming around the bed toward him, reaching out, and shook his head at her.
“Stay the hell away from me. You aren’t real, this is all an illusion and I’m not letting anyone suck me any
further into this one. Three time’s the charm, this is a no go!” Chiana paused for a minute, then continued to
advance speaking slowly. He remembered the last time delusions had been forced on him and the vivid
nightmares he had endured so recently. “This has ALL been just an invoked dream, hasn’t it? All of the
dreams I’ve been having, right? And now you just want to perform a little test to see if I’ll play along?”
He scrambled across the bed again, moving away from Chiana. He was careful not to get too close to Jool, but
saw her as less of a threat. He looked around for his pulse pistol. He’d show them who was taking stuff laying
down this time. He saw where it had been left under his bed, and dove for it.
Aeryn and D’Argo could hear Crichton’s angry yelling from down the corridor. Chiana had explained concisely
what was going on but they were not ready for his level of anger and hostility when they rounded the corner
through the doorway. Aeryn’s concern was cut short before she could even consider John’s state when she
saw him look rapidly around his quarters and spot his weapon.
Her instincts took over as he dove for Wynona. She had no idea what he planned to do with it, but she wasn’t
going to take a chance of him getting his hands on a weapon in his obvious state of agitation. She kicked the
pistol out of his reach and as he slid belly down across the floor, she straddled his prone figure and dropped
her full weight onto him.
She forced his arms down by his sides and set her knees carefully but firmly on his elbows. Then she pinned
his head down with both hands, eliminating all possibility of resistance. He grunted under her weight and went
quiet. She could feel him trying to work loose, but this was her area of expertise and she was confident that he
wasn’t going to get up until she let him.
She took a deep breath and looked up at the two women, standing speechless and shocked. “All right, does
someone want to explain just what happened down here?”
It was Jool’s voice, slow and dispirited, full of the knowledge of her own participation in what was occurring, that
answered. “His immune system has destroyed his translator microbes. He can’t understand anything we’re
saying to him.”
* * * * *
“Up until now, John’s physiology has tolerated anything that is Sebacean in origin or that a Sebacean would
tolerate. But when I accidentally added the mixture of Sebacean compounds to the mixture containing his blood
sample and saw how quickly it was attacked by the immunological agents, I realized that his system was almost
certainly going to be attacking anything within him that was not completely human in origin … including his
translator microbes.” Jool finished explaining how she had known in advance that Crichton night not be able to
understand them.
The explanation had taken only a few microts, and Aeryn was still sitting on top of the subdued astronaut. He
continued to struggle from time to time, but the efforts were not as vigorous and less frequent. She slowly
released her grip on his head, giving him some relief from his cramped position with one cheek ground into the
floor.
“So he hasn’t lost his mind,” she was thinking about his wild behavior as she had come into the cell. It was too
reminiscent of his loss of control when the neurochip had begun taking over, and she had been shaken to her
core by what she had seen.
“There isn’t any reason to believe that any of this has affected his cognitive abilities,” Jool shook her head as
she answered. “I believe this is just emotional, not psychological in nature.”
“He was yelling something about illusions, invoked dreams and not playing this time,” Chiana offered.
Aeryn nodded in understanding. John had shared more information with her than anyone else after his capture
by a Scarran who had tried to drive him insane by creating a hallucinated reality. “Get ready D’Argo, I’m going
to let him up.” She eased her weight off him cautiously, waiting to see what he was going to do next.
Crichton lay still for a moment. The circulation had been cut off in his arms, leaving him powerless to even roll
over initially. He finally worked his way back onto his knees and then got up and sat on his bed. There were
too many of them still to do anything. Whoever was running the show this time certainly had their facts right.
They looked absolutely convincing this time.
“What now?” D’Argo asked.
“What if we reinject him with new microbes?” Aeryn looked at Jool.
“I doubt that it will work. His immune system has been sensitized to anything foreign now, and it has already
produced the organisms necessary to kill the microbes.” She took another deep breath and delivered the rest
of the bad news. “This is a permanent condition. It’s not going to change.”
“Any chance you’re wrong?” Aeryn asked.
“I suppose there’s a chance.” For once she didn’t find it difficult to admit that she might be fallible, in fact she
found herself fervently wishing to be proven wrong. Her entire scholastic career had been founded on her
ability to understand the lectures and instructional information from dozens of species’ foremost thinkers. She
couldn’t imagine being stripped of that opportunity, let alone the capability to simply understand one’s own
friends.
“Pilot, please send a DRD prepared with translator microbes to Crichton’s quarters,” Aeryn called.
“Already on its way, Officer Sun.” Pilot’s image appeared on the clamshell at that moment. “I have been
monitoring the situation and the DRD should be there in just a few microts.”
“All this is fine, but which one of us is going to be able to get close enough to inject him?” Chiana asked. She
looked at the others, and then, as if to say she wasn’t going to be the one to try, she turned and left the room.
Crichton continued to sit in sullen stubbornness, refusing to attempt any communication with the figures around
him. D’Argo watched him, distressed that no one had the means to break through his confident assertion that
this was all some sort of trick being played on him again. D'Argo understood why John would not allow himself
to be convinced otherwise, but his desire to relieve his friend's distress was beginning to urge him into
incautious action.
“We should do something to convince him that this is truly real,” he finally complained. He took a step forward
and saw John prepare himself to move away.
“Just leave him alone D’Argo,” Aeryn cautioned. “With the state he's in now, we're going to have enough
trouble just getting the DRD close enough to be able to inject him again.” She knew how badly D’Argo wanted
to touch John, to reassure him, because it was taking almost all of her own will power not to approach the
suspicious human, to hold him and explain that this was all going to get better.
“I still don't believe you understand how futile this attempt is going to be … ” Jool began again.
“Shut up, Jool!” both voices barked at the same time and she lapsed back into silence. “We have to try
something,” Aeryn explained more calmly.
They all heard the DRD coming down the corridor just as Pilot’s image reappeared in the clamshell. “The DRD
should be arriving momentarily,” he said. “Has Commander Crichton calmed down yet?”
“Well,” Aeryn stared at John, considering the question, “at least he’s sitting still now, but I don’t think we’ve
gained anything yet, and I definitely don’t think he’s going to let anyone close enough to inject him with
microbes, Pilot. Not even a DRD. Between what happened to him before and the nightmares he was coping
with last night, I don’t think we can expect him to cooperate.” Aeryn tore her eyes away from his suspicious
glare to look at the DRD as it came into the chamber. It was One-Eye. She was about to turn to thank Pilot for
sending the one object on board that John might just trust, but stopped herself.
“DON’T say or do anything,” she hissed at D’Argo. The Luxan froze, a parody of normal behavior. “D’Argo
relax. Don’t do anything to make John suspicious of the DRD too. Pilot might have just given us a small
edge.”
John watched each face in turn as they spoke, finally watching only D’Argo, who represented the greatest
physical threat. He remembered the Luxan’s growling, burbling language from his first brief moments on board
Moya. Whoever was running this show had gotten that part right too. He had been injected almost immediately
that day, forever silencing the strange languages that flowed around him. Now he was inundated in alien
sounds that movie producers in their wildest dreams had never imagined. ‘Boy oh boy, did Kemper EVER have
it wrong,’ he thought. ‘But this is only an induced hallucination, so maybe he was closer than Spielberg after
all.’
He saw the flash of yellow out of the corner of his eye. ‘Now what are they going to pull?’ He had seen the blue
tape as the DRD soared into the chamber and almost looked, but managed to keep his eyes on D’Argo
instead. “Nice try,” he verbally aimed his frustration at them, “but I’m not falling for the Benji routine. The cute
dog isn’t going to win me over this time.” If they were trying One-Eye on him, then they were planning
something. He rose from the bed and stood ready to bolt out the second door. Whatever the Scarrans or the
Ancients or Scorpius wanted to do to him this time, they were going to have to work at it, he was tired of being
their pawn.
“John, there is something that I think you need to be aware of right now,” Scorpius interjected.
He yelled out loud to the figure inside his head. “Get lost, Harvey! There’s no guarantee you’re not part of this
particular House of Horrors. Get out!” And such was the degree of his agitation, that Crichton was able to
force the clone into silence, gagging its protests. Then he shoved the presence off to one side of his mind until
he had time to deal with it. He saw Aeryn go pale, and the look of pained concern on her face broke through
his stubborn defensiveness for a moment. He took a step forward and turned toward her, reaching out with one
hand reflexively, to apologize for causing the distress.
“D’Argo!” she yelled as she saw their moment of opportunity in John’s gesture of compassion, and the Luxan
took one long step and wrapped his arms around Crichton from behind.
“Get off me! Get off me you son-of-a-frelling-bitch!” Crichton squirmed and struggled, but D’Argo lifted the
frantic figure off his feet, denying him any purchase for leverage. With his arms pinned to his side, Crichton
couldn’t even strike back. D’Argo buried his head against Crichton’s spine to avoid being battered by John’s
skull as he tried to lash his head backwards at D’Argo’s face.
Aeryn scooped One-Eye up and brought the DRD within range of John’s shoulder, dancing out of range of his
legs. The punch of the injector seemed to help bring the human back to his senses. He quieted down and
hung passively in D’Argo’s arms, but still glared furiously at Aeryn.
“John, can you understand me?”
“What just happened?” A glimmer of sanity returned to his eyes. D’Argo sighed and set him down, looking
triumphantly at Jool.
The Interion shook her head though and kept her gaze on Crichton. “It won’t last.”
“What isn’t going to last?” John stepped away from his three crewmates and walked to the far side of his
quarters, still not sure if this was all real. He found himself driven to get his back to a wall, standing with his
arms folded defensively in front of him, a clear sign that he wasn’t accepting this yet.
“John your translator microbes were killed by your own immune system. Something happened when Jool gave
you …” Aeryn broke off her rapid explanation, watching the anger come back over his face again.
“Very frelling funny!” he yelled toward the ceiling. “No, you know what? You aren’t going to let me get along
with any other language than English? Well, FINE!! Very FUCKING funny!” He switched his attention to
The-Aeryn figure, sweeping it with a vicious gaze and continued to rage. “You want to jerk me around for ten or
fifteen seconds thinking everything was real and then yank the carpet out from under me? Okay, you got me
with that one. But now I’m really not playing.”
Crichton ran over to his bed and jumped up onto it, standing above the others for a microt. Then he simply
dropped onto the bed in a sitting position and flopped on to his back. “Go screw yourselves, I quit.”
Jool was standing with her face hidden in both hands. Despite everything she had said to Aeryn and D’Argo
she had hoped that the new microbes might not be destroyed, at least not immediately. The speed at which
John’s system had killed them meant that she had done her job of modifying his immune system all too well, and
that it was going to be just that much harder to find a solution. She dropped her hands and looked at the two
stunned figures beside her.
“I’ll be in the lab. I may need blood samples from Crichton at some point in order to find a way to reverse this.”
“All right, Jool.” D’Argo’s response was almost inaudible. He didn’t bother watching her as she left. “So what
do we do now, Aeryn? We need his help and he won’t even let us near him.”
Aeryn was silent so long he wasn’t sure she had heard him. She took a deep breath, and looked at the Luxan.
“Just keep trying to get through to him somehow. Why don’t you go back to Command and see if Pilot has
been able to do anything. I’ll try here a little longer and then we’ll have to start worrying about our other
problems instead.”
D’Argo looked over at the angry figure for a moment, but then yielded to their preexisting crises. “All right,
Aeryn. Good luck.” He walked heavily out of the chamber. “Do you want to lock the door again?” He was
thinking of the potential for disaster if John got loose in his present state and somehow managed to run into the
one person no one else had been able to locate.
Aeryn understood the source of his question immediately, and had to stop to consider. “No, I think if we lock
him in it will just make him more suspicious. We’ll take a chance that I can at least keep him from leaving his
room.”
“If anyone can, you can.”
She started to thank him for his confidence in her ability to reach John, and then heard the laughter in his voice
and realized he was referring to her recent aggressive solution to John’s frenzy. “If you can’t win them over with
diplomacy, bowl them over with force!” she yelled after him, laughing.
John watched with complete disinterest as first The-Jool and then The-D’Argo left the chamber, leaving him
alone with the image that was supposed to be Aeryn. He refused to even think of the room as his quarters.
This was all just another trick on the poor deficient Wyatt Erp. ‘Just call me Why-Not Erp,’ he thought. ‘Why Not
mess with the Erp man?’
Whoever was running this little Salvador Dali Show was going to do whatever they wanted one way or another.
He was going to save his strength for when he needed it, then he’d make a break for it … or whatever. He
wasn’t sure what ‘it’ he’d make a break FOR at this point, but he was determined to be ready.
He watched as The-Aeryn turned and yelled something out the door after The-D’Argo and smiled and laughed.
And in a blinding instant it was Aeryn again. She turned back to him, the smile lingering on her face and it was
still Aeryn, gazing at him steadily, beginning to talk to him in a strange clipped and guttural language.
“John … ”
“GO AWAY!!!”
Not even the clang of a dumpster. The clone was simply banished from his consciousness. He hadn’t known
he was capable of doing that. Aeryn stood, pale and distressed, in front of him. She began to turn and leave
the room, defeat shrieking from every muscle in her body. And it was still Aeryn. This delusion was a skillful
one … or not. Every instinct told him not to trust what he saw, but after watching her rigid, anxious posture, he
decided to take a chance anyway.
“Aeryn … I wasn’t yelling at YOU …”
She turned back.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
