The Choice

a Farscape story
by Jason Edwards

John Crichton sat in silence as he stared at he numbers. He'd been staring at them for aerns now, but the solution had eluded him. It was frustrating. It was all the more frustrating because he could feel the solution close to him. It was there. He knew it. But still it eluded him.

He began rubbing his temples. He had a slight headache, but it wasn't anything that wouldn't pass in the recesses of time. Still, it was uncomfortable. He shook his head and he returned to his numbers but found himself unable to concent- rate on them. Instead, he was now focused on the silence.

He craned his neck around the room and relished in the quiet. It was the first time in a long while that he had been able to enjoy a moment's respite. The others were off sleeping. He could picture them all in their seperate chambers; Dargo, dreaming of his wife and son; Aeryn, either strangling him or strangling Crais for getting them into this mess; Zhaan, quietly dreaming of the next realm; and Chiana... well, he wasn't sure what Chiana dreamed of. He still had questions about that Nebari female.

As for Rigel, well, Crichton assumed the little alien dreamt of food. He certainly ate enough. Three stomachs or not, Rigel usually ate enough food to feed an entire peace- keeper regiment. Rigel was usually the cause of food shortages, because what he didn't eat, he hid. Well, when he wasn't trying to steal everything else, that is.

And Pilot usually didn't sleep. He guessed being hooked up to a Leviathan can keep a person awake.

Still, Crichton relished the quiet. It was odd for it to be this quiet. Usually the ship was filled with the sounds of people yelling. Most of the time, they were yelling at Rigel. Crichton wondered why they kept that pain-in-the-ass Hinerian around. He certainly caused enough trouble.

Crichton sat there, soaking in the silence. The only sounds present where the hum of Moya, which he referred to as her pulse, and the mechanical whirrs of a DRD motor. Crichton looked across the table and saw one. The tiny maintenance droids were everywhere. Along with repairing the ship, they also served as eyes and ears for Moya. Everything the DRDs heard, Moya heard. Whether or not she understood it was another story.

Crichton smiled at the DRD though, as he recognized it immediately. This particular DRD always seemed to follow Crichton about. Perhaps it was simply Moya, satisfying her curiosity about this human, but he doubted it. Moya was alive, therefore, to some extent the DRDs were alive as well. This one, for some reason or another, had bonded with John Crichton. It had become almost a pet.

Crichton had even gone so far as to name this DRD. Remembering back to his life on Earth, the only name that seemed to fit was R2D2. For like the loyal little droid in the movie, this DRD was almost the same; small, oddly shaped and spoke a language that Crichton couldn't undertsand. Even with the aid of translator microbes. Only Moya seemed to understand their blabber.

Crichton leaned forward in his seat and placed his face on the table, so that his eyes were looking directly into the DRD's eye stalks. "So Artoo, what do you make of it?"

The small droid rotated it's eye stalks downward and considered the numbers. It went through a few computational cycles. After a few moments, it returned it's focus to Crichton, and let out a series of incomprehensible noises.

"Got you stumped too, huh?" Crichton ventured, though it was total speculation on his part. The droid may have found the answer, but Crichton would never know. Besides, something in Artoo's body language, if he could call it body language, suggested otherwise. "Well, just got to keep working on it. It'll come to me."

The DRD let out a series of what Crichton assumed to be blips of encouragement.

"Commander Crichton?"

Crichton was startled by the voice, but only for a moment. It had pierced through the all engulfing silence so thoroughly, that it took him by surprise. However, he knew the voice all too well. Only one person on the ship used the honorific of "Commander" when speaking to him. He immediately glanced up at the nearest monitor and saw Pilot's face.

"Yo, Pilot! What's the haps?"

"I hope I didn't wake you?"

Crichton smiled. Crichton had seen a lot of aliens; both in real life and in the movies and on television; and based on that training, he never expected to come across an alien as thoughtful and polite as Pilot. Hell, he never expected to run into alien at all.

But here he was, aboard this strange living ship with all sorts of them. At least they had the advantage of knowing of one another. Crichton didn't even have that. Sometimes he felt like the third wheel, like the odd man out. And Rigel took great pride in continuously reminding him of it.

"No Pilot, I was already up," Crichton said. "What's on your mind?"

"Could you come to my chamber? Moya has detected an energy signature that is almost identical to the one recorded by Moya's sensors when your pod arrived."

Crichton's face lit up. He was already out the door of his chamber before he said, "On my way, Pilot."

Crichton sprinted down the corridors, navigating his way through the tiers until he sprinted into Pilot's control chamber. Crichton immediately saw the large, big-eyed, grey skinned alien. He was behind the control console as always. His four arms were manipulating controls left and right, his eyes following suit, ensuring that no errors were made.

After all, it was in Pilot's best interests to do so. He was physically bonded to Moya. Every twinge of pain the Leviathan felt, he felt. Crichton knew that Pilot had sacrificed two-thirds of his life by being bonded to Moya, as well as his mobility; he was literally stuck where he was for the rest of his life. What amazed Crichton was that Pilot cheerfully accepted these limitations, pointing out that, although shorter, this life was better than the one he had on his home planet.

Crichton climbed on top of the massive control console and stared at Pilot. "Let's have a look at that data."

Pilot brought one of his arms around and manipulated a control. On the monitor opposite him, a sensor reading showed up. Before Crichton could ask, Pilot placed Moya's sensor readings of his arrival next to the current one.

Crichton studied them for a moment, he then turned to Pilot and said, "You're right. Definitely looks like someone's come through a wormhole. Can you get us closer?"

"Of course, Commander," Pilot said as he effortlessly manipulated Moya's controls. "Should I wake the others?"

Crichton contemplated it for a microt. This was a major happening. If it was another ship through a wormhole, it could mean good news or trouble. However, there was the possibility, which Crichton knew was very high, that it was probably just a sensor glitch or an anomaly. No need waking the others for that. Besides, he didn't feel like dealing with Rigel just now.

"No," Crichton said. "Let them sleep, Pilot." He studied the display more closely. "Bring us closer. If it turns out to be something important, then we'll wake them. It might be nothing. If so, no point in ruining their rest. I mean, how many moments of rest are we going to get?"

"Point taken, Commander," Pilot said. "Altering course."

Crichton felt the ship move ever so slighlty. The ship was turning, heading toward the energy signature. They passed the intervening distance in silence.

As they drew closer to the source, Pilot said, "I'm detecting a craft. Very similar to your pod, Commander."

Crichton gasped. Had Earth mounted a rescue ship. Was he saved. Crichton could barely contain his excitement. "Can we get a look at it, Pilot?"

Pilot remained silent as he worked the controls. The display of the sensor readings was immediately replaced by a visual of the ship. Crichton recognized the design of the ship, he recognized the American flag emblazoned on it side. But most of all, Crichton recognized the IASA logo. His heart nearly lept out of his chest when he saw the lettering on the side of the ship: "FARSCAPE 2".

He smiled at Pilot, planted a big kiss on the alien's cheek and let out a few shouts of joy. Needless to say, Pilot was taken aback. Crichton leaped down off of the console. Before he left the room, he turned and looked at Pilot. "Pilot, deploy the docking web. Bring that ship in, and wake the others."

"Is that a wise decision, Commander," Pilot said, being his usual cautious self. "After all, this might be a peace- keeper trick."

Crichton stared at the alien, a wide smile on his face. "Trust me, Pilot. It's no trick. Bring it in. If it makes you feel any better, send some DRDs down to the pod bay with me. Pilot, man, this is great! I think I'm saved!"

With that, Crichton left the chamber heading toward the pod bay, cheering loudly until he was out of the range of Pilot's hearing. Pilot began following Crichton's orders with three of his arms, while wiping the part of his face that Crichton had kissed with his other.

"Humans!" Pilot remarked, "What odd creatures."

* * *

"What the frell is going on?"

Dominar Rigel the Sixteenth, former ruler of the Hinerian empire, now bottomless food pit and all around neusance, was the first to enter the pod bay. The slight hum of his hoverchair was almost imperceptible. The chair supported the small alien's weight, allowing him to float near Crichton, who was standing near the new pod. A row of DRDs stood at the ready, their pulse guns leveled.

Rigel eyes widened as he beheld the pod, but he let out a disgusted groan. "What the yotz?", he said as he turned his body to face Crichton. "Don't tell me there's another one of your kind in there. If there is, I think I'll..."

Crichton never turned to face Rigel, but he did cut him off rather abruptly. "Relax, Sparky. Everything's under control."

"Somehow I doubt it."

Crichton turned his head and saw K'ah Dargo approaching, his Quaalta blade drawn. The tall Luxon was alert, and he neared the scene cautiously, the cloth of his robes flowing easily around him. Crichton considered Dargo his friend, but Crichton knew that he did not want to get on his bad side.

"I seem to recall," Dargo said calmly as he reached Crichton's side, "that in these situations, whenever we think everything is under control, all Hesmana usually breaks loose."

"All Hesmana doesn't always break loose," Crichton said. Dargo stared hard at him. Crichton lowered his head as he looked away. "Well, not all the time."

"Close enough."

Aeryn Sun was the next to enter, along with Zotah Zhaan. Aeryn had her pulse pistol in her hand, though it was resting on her hip at the moment. Aeryn's hair was disheveled, she obviously had just awaken, but she was still beautiful. She was wearing the black leather outfit that Crichton felt she wore just to drive him insane. He was sure of it, because it really didn't look that comfortable.

Aeryn made her way to Crichton's other side, nudging Rigel out of the way. "I would say that nineteen times out of twenty qualifies as all the time," she said.

"It certainly seems that way," Zhaan agreed.

Crichton glanced over at Zhaan. The blue skinned Delvian never ceased to amaze him. He noticed that her skin was a little dull, due, no doubt, to Crichton's interruption of her rest cycle. She may have been wilting a bit, after all, the Delvians did evolve from plant-life.

"What's going on, John?"

Crichton considered Zhaan again. He had the utmost respect for her. She was the first to accept him. She was the only one who used his first name. She was a ninth level Pa'U, a Delvian priestess. Her spirituality gave her a certain strength and dignity. Although Moya was filled with escaped prisoners and misfits, no one better than the others, she had become the mother of the crew. It was Zhaan who broke up the skirmishes. Rigel owed her his life a dozen times over.

But for Crichton, his bond with Zhaan was deeper. She had shared unity with Crichton. More than sex, it allowed their souls to touch in a profound way. As close as Crichton was with Dargo, his relationship with Zhaan transcended even that. Zhaan was closer than a lover to Crichton, closer than family. They were part of each other for the rest of their lives.

Before Crichton could respond to Zhaan's question, Rigel felt the need to interject. "Crichton brought aboard some more of that human junk." Despite his appearance of disinter- est, Rigel was just as curious as everyone else. "Well, what are you standing around for? Open the frelling thing, all ready!"

"Should we wait for Chiana?", Dargo inquired.

"What the frell for?" Rigel interjected. "She got the same rude awakening we all did. Maybe she just didn't feel like coming down when she could be getting some rest. That Nebari bitch may have some intelligence after all."

"God, you're disgusting!" Crichton said, giving Rigel a look of disapproval. Rigel simply chuckled and smiled.

"Well," Rigel said, "Open the frelling thing or I'm going back to my chamber."

"Okay," said Crichton. "Here goes."

He approached the pod slowly. Even though he knew everything was under control, he unconsciously reached for his pulse pistol. He was less than a metra away from the pod, his finger dancing nervously next to the pulse pistol's handle, when the pod expelled a loud hiss, and the canopy opened.

Smoke seemed to eminate from inside. Crichton allowed himself to draw his weapon as he came next to the pod's side. The smoke was clearing and he was about to peer in, but a voice that came from inside the pod halted him.

"Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn."

Before Crichton could glance in, a man in a very familiar orange jumpsuit stood up. Crichton observed him as the pilot took off his helmet, he face was lean. He eyes were deep set, but friendly. His dark hair was glistening from the sweat that covered his face. His nose was thin and he was breathing hard. Crichton watched as dropped his helmet on the pod's seat and pushed a few buttons, calming himself in the process, before turning his attention to Crichton.

"God damn flight recorder caught on fire," he said as he climbed out of the pod. He took a small leap over the side, his boots making a small thud as they made contact with the deck. "I couldn't see for the last few minutes."

Crichton was a little taken aback by the pilot's nonchalant attitude. Crichton remembered when he first came aboard Moya, he was shocked to say the least. He had been nowhere near as calm as this person was. Crichton observed him carefully, lest this was some sort of peace-keeper trick. The pilot craned his neck, taking in his surroundings. After a second, he let out a whistle. Crichton couldn't tell if the pilot was impressed or intimidated. "Hell of a place you got here," he said. Clearly he was impressed.

He moved past Crichton, taking note of the DRDs who were inching towards him, their weapons at the ready. Getting the hint, he stopped immediately.

Dargo moved forward. "Who are you, and what do you want here?"

Unfortunately, what the pilot heard was total gibberish. He smiled at Dargo. "Sorry, buddy. Don't have clue one as to what you're saying."

Crichton stepped in front of the pilot. "He asked who you are and what you're doing here." Crichton stepped close to the pilot, getting nose to nose with him. "I'd like an answer."

The pilot stepped back. "The name's Mark Davison." He extended a hand. Crichton grasped it cautiously with his left hand, forcing the pilot to switch hands. Crichton's right hand still held the pulse pistol.

"And you are John Crichton," Mark continued, as he released Crichton's hand. "As for why I'm here? Hell, that's simple. Johnny, I've been sent to bring you home."

* * *

Mark was sitting on a bed in one of the extra guest chambers. A few aerns had passed since he landed. He had been brought here after a brief tour of the ship. 'Amazing,' Mark thought. Crichton had told him that this ship was alive. Absolutely incredible.

Mark considered Crichton. 'He seemed a little wary,' Mark thought. He couldn't blame him though, if things were reversed, he'd probably be wary of Crichton too.

Mark took advantage of the situation to remove his flight suit. He placed it on a small table in the corner of the room, and returned to the bed. He allowed himself to relax as he reclined on the bed. He stared at the cieling, and contemplated.

He noticed a DRD come into his peripheral vision. It was on the wall, both of it's eye stalks trained on him. Mark smirked. Mark hadn't completely understood the conversation, but he guessed that Crichton's alien friends wanted him confined. Crichton had managed to dissuade them of that, but Mark seemed to notice a DRD near him from then on, observing his every action. Mark shrugged. He couldn't blame them. From what Crichton had told him, most of the aliens on board this ship were escaped prisoners. Being on the lam had a way of making anyone a little paranoid.

He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the ever present DRD and it's omnipresent eyes; recording his every move. Not that he was doing much. He let out a long sigh as he shifted his weight, trying to find optimum comfort. He had let out another sigh when he suddenly became very dizzy. A feeling of nausea permeated his being, there was a sharp pain in the pit of his stomach. He was in genuine agony.

The feeling didn't last more than a moment, but it was something Mark knew he'd never forget.

He had just resumed his rest when the chamber door opened. Crichton entered, and Mark rose from the bed.

"Mark," Crichton said, by way of greeting, adding a nod. "How you doing? Accomadations to your liking?"

"It's great," Mark said, adding a smile. "All the comforts of home."

Crichton winced slightly. It was true that he was becoming more accustomed to life on Moya, but he still missed home. It depressed him whenever he thought that this living ship was now his home. It almost made him angry, as he knew that the secret of wormholes had been locked in his brain by the Ancients. They had placed it just out of the reach of his mind; like a rider waving a carrot in front on a starving horse, it made him move, and he sometimes resented the hell out of the Ancients for that.

At least he knew it was there. One of the good things about his encounter with Scorpius and the Aurora chair was that he knew that the wormhole knowledge was there, and that the Ancients had planted it. It gave him something to work on, it gave him some hope. He might've used it to see home again.

But now it was a moot point.

Crichton stared at Mark.

"How's Earth," he said as he sat on the bed next to Mark.

"Earth's good," Mark said almost whistfully. He looked at Crichton. "All the guys at IASA miss you. JT misses you. Your dad misses you."

"I miss them too." Crichton said weakly, while fighting back a well of emotion. He had survived by not thinking too much on the past and the Earth; especially all the friends that were still there. I made him sad, but Crichton maintain- ed his veneer. "So, how'd you manage to copy the pod and my work?"

"We utilized telemetry from your flight recorder," Mark said. "Along with the original design specs, a lot of trial and error, but mostly a lot of luck."

Mark sighed. His expression blanked as he reached into his mind. "We initially thought you were dead. IASA was ready to scrap the Farscape project. JT tried to convince them to keep trying. He told them that there was no body, no wreckage and no proof that you were dead. The suits were being nice to him, but to be honest, he was being ignored.

"The person most responsible for my being here today is your father," Mark said, allowing Crichton to absorb the words. "He seems to have a lot of pull. He had to call in a lot of favors, but he convinced them not only to extend fund- ing on the project, but to also launch a rescue mission. That is why I am sitting here today."

Crichton pondered the gift fate had placed in his hands. A few days ago, the prospect of returning home was grim, but with he'd soon be on his way.

"Can I ask you something?"

Crichton glanced at Mark. "How do you understand those aliens? I mean, you seem to be able to converse freely. Yet they seemed to not understand me without you translating. But when you speak, I hear English. With them, it's complete gibberish."

Crichton patted Mark on the back. "That's the miracle of translator microbes."

"What?"

"Translator microbes," Crichton repeated. "A series of microscopic organisms that colonize on the ganglea in the brain. One of their benefits is that you can understand everyone and everyone can understand you. Around these parts, most folks are injected with them at birth. It makes for a less complicated life."

Crichton motioned to the ever attentful DRD. "Want to give it a try."

Mark considered this for a moment. He'd be allowing an unknown - nay alien - organism into his body. Who knew what the side effects could be? He considered Crichton, he must have them and he seems fine. Mark though about it and decided, what the hell, it might makes things easier.

"Okay. Let's do it."

"Artoo," Crichton said to the DRD while looking directly at Mark. "Translator microbes."

The DRD started down the wall, and was soon near Mark's arm. It extended a small injector and pressed it into the human's throbbing skin. There was a slight hiss and Mark winced. The pain subsided quickly and the DRD returned to its former place on the wall.

Mark had just finished rubbing his arm, when a section of the wall lit up. In the center of an obtuse outcropping formed the image of a gray-skinned alien with large eyes. Mark remembered that it was known as Pilot. It began speaking, however Mark didn't understand. Damn microbes, he thought, didn't work. But after a moment, the voice began clearing until he was able to understand the alien as easily as he understood Crichton.

"...the last of the data from when the wormhole appeared," Pilot said. "After full analysis, Moya has noted some differences from this event and the time you appeared. Can you come to my chamber to examine the data, Commander?"

"Sure, Pilot," Crichton said. "Be right there."

With that, the screen blanked out. Crichton turned to Mark. "Sorry, gotta go."

"Can I come along?" Marked asked gently, trying not to sound too eager. He longed to meet these aliens, to talk with them. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity that he was not going to pass up.

Crichton raised his hand. "Not now. You need rest. It's not everyday a person travels through a wormhole." As if sensing Mark's anticipation, Crichton added, "Plenty of time to cavort with the crew later. Get some rest now."

Mark didn't believe Crichton. Mark knew when he wasn't trusted. They still hadn't made up his mind about him. Oh, well. It was to be expected. He simply shrugged, and layed back down.

Crichton made his way to the door, it opened slowly in anticipation. Before exiting, he looked at Mark, lying quietly on the bed. "Don't worry," Crichton said. "I'll be back in a few aerns, and then we start getting me home."

Crichton didn't wait for a response, he stepped out of the chamber and into the corridor. The door closed automatically, and the lights dimmed. Mark didn't feel particularly tired, but the sleep overcame him quickly. The last thing his saw before he lost consciousness was the yellow eyes of the DRD staring at him.

* * *

Crichton entered his chamber, many aerns had past and he was a bit frustrated. After examining Davison's pod and his, Cricthon realized there was no way he could modify his module to match; he had made too many modifications.

His module was no longer to true the original design specs. Over the past cycle and a half, he had added bits of Leviathan technology to it, at Aeryn's insistance. He didn't even have the parts to retrofit the module.

He had considered canibalizing Davison's module for the parts, but that idea quickly evaporated. If he had done that, then Mark would be trapped here. Crichton wasn't going to trade his life for Mark's. Crichton just would not do that.

"Frell!" he yelled, as he slammed his hand against the table. A few aerns ago, he was extatic. He was going home, now he was staring into the future, and sould only see himself as an old man, still on this ship.

Crichton sat in the chair by the table. His eyes glazed over as he stared at the wall. He had never before considered committing suicide, but he had never been this desperate.

The thought quickly left him. It wasn't his way. He would keep on trying to find a way home. It was what kept him going.

"John?"

Crichton turned and saw Mark standing in the doorway. He looked a little disappointed himself. He felt bad. When he had accepted this mission, he knew the odds were low of finding John Crichton alive. The word around IASA was that the project was just a way of mollifying Jack Crichton. No one thought Mark stood a chance of succeeding. In the days leading up to the launch, Mark was treated like a walking dead man.

But he had succeeded! He had found John Crichton. But since no one had expected him to, he was unprepared for the eventuality. Although they could technically both fit in the module seat, it would be very uncomfortable and difficult to control. When Mark had suggested it, Crichton rejected it out of hand; flying through a wormhole required exacting precision, kind of difficult to achieve with someone sitting on your lap.

Without asking, Mark came into the chamber. He approached Crichton slowly, cautiously. "John," he said. "Can I talk to you."

Crichton shook his head, trying to clear the frustration from his mind so he could listen clearly. "Sure, what's on your mind."

Mark stared hard at Crichton. He knew what he wanted to say. He said it.

"John, I want you to know that I've decided that you should return to Earth. I'm going to stay here."

"No!" Crichton said, with a stern look in his face. "I can't let you do that, Mark."

Mark returned Crichton's stern look with an equally stern one. When he spoke, he voice carried a heavy determination. "Frankly, John, that's not your decision. It's mine. I..."

"The Farscape project is my baby," Crichton interrupted. "It is my decision."

"Exactly," Mark said.

A puzzled look came over Crichton's face. "What?"

"The Farscape project is your baby," Mark said. "It is your vision. That pod out there, the one I came in, is based on your designs. I'm just a test pilot, you're the genius. You're the one who needs to be on Earth."

Mark came next to Crichton and kneeled down. He reached over and placed his hand on Crichon shoulder in a reassuring way. "I have faith that when you get back, you'll do your damndest to get me back. And only you CAN get me back."

Mark removed his hand from Crichton's shoulder and stood. "Besides, I want to stay. This is what every little kid dreams about when he lays in the grass and stares at the stars; adventures in space, meeting starnge aliens, seeing the universe. You've had that experience, now I want to have it too.

"There's nothing left for me on Earth. That's the reason I volunteered. I have no family, very few friends and my relationships with women have been spectacular busts. And my life is boring. No body expects me to return. So, no big loss, huh. Frankly, Johnny, the change will do me some good."

Crichton galnced up at Mark. The whole time Mark had been speaking, he had been thinking, pondering Mark's words. They rung true, everyone of them. The one that hit particularly true was what he had said about laying in the grass as a kid, staring at the stars and dreaming. Crichton had done that.

Never in his wildest dreams did he think he'd actually be living one of those fantasies. But here he was. He'd been on board Moya for nearly two cycles, and he still couldn't believe it. He had even adjusted to life here, but seeing Mark had made him miss Earth much more acutely.

Crichton looked hard into Mark's eyes, looking for the slightest indication that Mark had been feeding him a load of dren; that he was telling Crichton what he wanted to hear, but there was no sign of that. Crichton could tell by reading his eyes that Mark meant every word he said.

Crichton had a decision to make, and he made it. Just to make sure, however, he asked Mark, "Are you sure about this? When I leave, it may be some time before we can rescue you?"

Crichton stared, looking for some sign of hesitation.

Mark didn't flinch.

"I'm positive."

He said it in a way that left no room for doubt. Crichton looked at this man who was willing to trade places with him. Who was willing to sacrifice his life for the sake of Crichton's.

Crichton had to admit it, he liked Mark Davison.

"Okay Mark," Crichton said as he rose from his chair and extended his hand. "You've convinced me."

Mark took the proferred hand. Crichton's grip was tight and unwielding. "I'll leave tomorrow, 20 aerns from now. It will give me a chance to gather my stuff and say goodbye to my..."

Crichton hesitated. He thought about it for a moment. He was about to use the word "friends". But when he thought about it, it was the only word that made sense. No, actually one word did seem to fit better; family. As much as his father and JT on Earth, Dargo, Aeryn, Pilot, Zhaan, Chiana and Rigel, yes even Rigel, the little pain-in-the-ass Hinerian, were his family, and his friends.

Crichton smiled as he finished his sentence. "...friends." He released Mark's grip. "It will be very difficult to say good-bye to them. Especially Aeryn and Zhaan. I'm very close to both of them."

He looked Mark in the eye. "You've got to promise me that you'll look out for them."

"I promise," said Mark solemly.

It was Crichton's turn to put his hand on Mark's shoulder. "I swear I'll come back for you. I owe you a huge debt; one that can never be repaid. You have my eternal gratitude."

Mark was truly moved. "Thank you," was he could muster, the words coming in a very soft voice.

"Well," Crichton said as he removed his hand from Mark's shoulder. "I guess I should go break the news to the others." Crichton began to move out through the door. He had stepped into the hallway as he looked back at Mark again. "Thanks again, Mark."

Mark just stood there and smiled, listening to Crichton's footsteps echoing down the tier. After the sound had vanished, Mark moved toward the chamber door. Suddenly he felt very ill. He was sweating and the pains had returned. The agony shot through his stomach again. He nearly fell over.

He tried to walk to his chamber, and inched out into the tier. The pain was beginning to subside, he began walking a little faster. But before he went thirty metras, the pain returned with a vengeance. He clenched his teeth and tried to will the pain away, but it paid him no heedence.

He took a step, but he immediately lost his balance and fell to the floor. The pain shot through him until his body could take it no longer. Mark tried to cry out, but could not make any sounds. He lay there, staring at the cieling, mouth agape, for a few moments, and then the darkness took him.

* * *

Crichton decided the best way to handle telling the others was to do it one at a time. That way, he could express himself and his reasonings better. He knew that this was going to be hard, but it was also the right decision.

He decided to start with Rigel, the Hinerian would probably wish him "good riddance" before kicking him out the door. He wanted to get the easy one's out of the way first. Dargo and Pilot were going to be hard. Aeryn and Zhaan... that would be almost impossible.

Crichton entered the mess hall, as he had christened it, and found Rigel sitting in his hoverchair, near a table. Crichton grinned as Rigel was busy pursuing one of his favorite pastimes; eating.

The little alien had his back to Crichton. Rigel was shoveling food into his mouth at a near record rate. His back was to Crichton, but that didn't stop the Hinerian from smelling the human.

"Do you think you can let me alone," Rigel said, never turning to face Crichton. "Your stench is interfereing with the exquisite aromas of my food."

Crichton drew closer and grimaced as "the exquisite aroma" hit him. The smell was foul. He let out a yelp. "Ugh! Geez, Sparky. How in the frell can you eat that? It smells like a dead horse."

"Maybe to undeveloped nasal cavities like yours," Rigel said, as he grinned at the human, while shoveling some more of the food into his mouth. He chuckled. "I assure you it's smell is absolutely divine."

"If you say so!" Crichton was forced to pinch his nose.

"Well," Rigel said, returning his attentions to his food. "What the yotz do you want?"

Crichton paused for a moment. For that instant, Crichton found a genuine affection for the disgusting little alien. This would prove harder than he imagined. The thought occurred to him that he should've picked someone easier, like Chiana, but he was stuck. Crichton turned Rigel so that he was facing him.

"I've come to tell you that I'm leaving," Crichton paused ever so briefly. "I'm returning to Earth."

Crichton thought he knew Rigel well enough to guess his reaction. But Crichton was surprised when a look of astonishment and pain painted the Hinerian's face. For a moment it looked as if Rigel was going to cry, if that was possible.

"Well, good riddance," Rigel said very unconvincingly. "Maybe it will start to smell better around here."

Crichton grabbed the Hinerian's shoulder. "I'm going to miss you, your eminence. I hope that you will one day reclaim your empire."

Rigel couldn't look Crichton in the eye. He knew it would be too painful. Rigel couldn't even bring himself to speak. He glanced up momentarily, hoping to convey deeply hidden thoughts in that look, but he didn't look long enough to guage Crichton's reaction. He simply felt Crichton's hand, patting him on the shoulder.

Crichton began to move off. Rigel was shocked, too shocked to look at him. Crichton was surprised, he never thought Rigel liked him, but that look Rigel gave him said it all. As he entered the doorway, he looked back at Rigel. He still had his head down.

"Mark's going to stay," Crichton said. " Promise me you won't steal any of his stuff."

Crichton didn't wait for a response. He promptly stepped into the hall.

It was only after Crichton had left the room did Rigel look up. He stared at the space Crichton had been, a single tear rolled down his cheek.

"Good-bye. My friend."

* * *

The DRDs had been the ones to find Mark, laying unconsious outside of Crichton's chamber. They had alerted Pilot, and he had alerted Zhaan.

When Mark awakened, he was in the ship's infirmary. His vision was blurry, his face was covered in sweat and the pain was still there. He knew something was wrong. He forced himself to focus. He could clearly see the cieling. He forced himself to turn his head, and he immediately saw Zhaan.

She was standing at a table, going over some readings. She kept her back to her patient for a few microts. When she turned, she saw that he was awake. She moved over to Mark and placed a reassuring hand on his forehead.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

Mark coughed. At first he couldn't find his voice, but after a few more coughs, it came. "Like crap."

"I should think so," Zhaan said, as she moved off. She retrieved something from the table and returned to Mark. "Here, take this." Zhaan tilted Mark's head back and gave him the pill. She watched as he swallowed it with some labor. Zhaan immediately returned to stroking his forehead.

Mark could feel the pain. It seemed to intensify when he swallowed the pill. His breath was shallow. He glanced up at Zhaan. The blue Delvian looked beautiful, despite the lack of hair. She had a look of peace about her that made Mark feel very comfortable.

Still, he had to know. "What's wrong with me?"

Zhaan felt sorrow for this creature. She wanted to find a way to make his pain disappear, but it was hopeless. Zhaan knew that Mark was living on borrowed time. She had to tell him, if for no other reason as to make peace with the goddess before passing into the next plain.

"You're suffering from radiation poisoning," she said as she began stroking his hand. "You were exposed to a very high level of tachyon radiation. It is slow acting and there is no known cure. I gave you a pill to try to counteract the effects, but it's only temporary. I'm afraid you don't have much time left."

Mark gulped hard as the pill began clearing his head. He looked into Zhaan's eyes, if only to find comfort. He coughed harshly. "How long do I have?"

"A day, perhaps a week, no more." Zhaan's soul was crying out to help this creature. Her heart sank as she realized he was beyond hope. But there was more to tell him. "Also, the pain will grow increasingly worse as time passes."

Mark pushed Zhaan's hand away, and used all of his strength to sit up. He found a little more will power to satnd. He began toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Zhaan asked.

"I need to get Crichton ready for the return journey while I can," he said as he took step after unsure step. "I have to get him into that wormhole."

Zhaan shrank when she heard that. Mark had stood before she could tell him. So she told him now, "The wormhole will kill him."

Mark turned in disbelief. He stared hard at Zhaan. "What!?"

"There is only one way you could've been exposed to the tachyon radiation that is killing you; in the wormhole. If John flies through, the same thing will happen to him."

Mark was flabberghasted. "You mean..."

"Yes," Zhaan said. "If he returns to Earth through the wormhole, John Crichton will die."

* * *

Crichton entered Pilot's chamber. He expected to converse alone with the big alien, however, waiting for him was Dargo, Chiana, and Aeryn. Pilot sat behind his console, but when he saw Crichton, his eyes fixed on him.

Dargo approached the human slowly. He stopped after a few steps.

"Rigel told us that you're going to leave," the Luxon said in a soft voice. "Is that true?"

Crichton winced. He didn't want this. Not a mass good- bye. Telling Rigel had been difficult, this was going to be almost impossible. Crichton took a few steps forward. He tried to lighten the mood.

"Yeah," he said. "I figure I've caused enough trouble. Time I got out of your hair."

Dargo stared at John. They all did, and Crichton knew it wasn't the kind of look you give someone you want to leave. They all look shocked and sad, even hurt. A lump formed in Crichton's throat. He glanced at them again and noted that Zhaan wasn't among them. Damn, that meant one more person he had to tell, and she was going to be the hardest.

Dargo met him the rest of the way and did something Crichton never expected; Dargo hugged him. He squeezed the human hard, Crichton could feel his breath escaping. After a moment, though, Dargo released him. The Luxon then left the chamber without saying another word.

Chiana came over and gave him a brief hug. She stared at him hard, she was almost in tears.

"Why do you have to leave?" she asked.

"I've got to, Pip," Crichton said. "It's my home. I want to see it again, see my family again. You know what that's like."

Chaina started crying, the tears rolling down her ashen white face. "I wish you wouldn't."

Before he could comfort her, she ran out of the chamber sobbing. He turned to watch her go. Crichton's heart was aching. He reached out his hand in her direction, but she was gone. There was more to the Nebari than he'd expected.

Aeryn came to him. Crichton looked into her eyes, she was angry and hurt. "So, you're just going to leave us?" she said. "Just like that?"

Crichton tried to fight back the emotion, the tears. Pain shot through his entire face. Even though he told himself that telling Zhaan was going to be the hardest, he knew this moment was the hardest. There was no denying the facts, he loved Aeryn Sun.

And he could tell by the look in her eyes that, no matter what she had said in the past, she loved him as well. He only wished it hadn't taken this for her to express those feelings.

"I'm sorry, Aeryn," he said as he reached his hand out for hers. Aeryn recoiled and turned away. "I have to. I've known ever since I've come here that I don't fit in. I'm out of place. I want to go back to where I belong, where I have a place."

Aeryn turned to him. "You have a place here." She was crying. "You have a place with...," she hesitated, "...with me! Oh, I wish I'd never met you!"

Crichton knew she didn't mean it. He pulled her close and held her tight. She was crying and he began stroking her hair. "I'm sorry, Aeryn," he said. "And I wish I could take you with me. But I have to go."

Aeryn pulled away from Crichton and left the chamber without further comment. Crichton could hear her light sobbing as she entered the corridor. His heart was broken, but he realized his task was incomplete.

Crichton turned his attention to the last person in attendance; Pilot. He walked over to his console and jumped up. He kneeled down on his haunches as to get on an eye level with the big alien.

Pilot studied the human briefly. "Commander," he said as he returned his attentions to the controls.

"Pilot," Crichton began, "I want to say good-bye and to thank you... you and Moya... for having me."

Pilot looked into Crichton's face. Crichton took note once again of the big alien's eyes. Crichton had always found a certain quality, a childlike innocence, in them. Crichton had great respect for Pilot.

"Moya and I can understand your desire to return home," began Pilot after a slight hesitation. "All beings look for a sense of the familiar, a sense of belonging." Pilot ceased his activities and focused on the human.

"As you know, Moya is a living being, and she has great emotions, one could almost call it 'love', for the beings she cares for. She views them almost as her children. You have been here long enough for Moya to develop those same emotions for you."

Pilot paused, allowing his words to process.

"Moya feels that you should stay here. She is very grateful to you. If not for your assistance, Moya would've been killed many times over. She definitely would not be free, out here in the Uncharted Territories. She would most likely be dead. Her feelings in this matter are very strong.

"However, I have reminded her that you are a sentient being and free to make your own choices. Moya understands. Moya wishes you luck and happiness."

"That's nice, very eloquent. Thank you, Moya." Crichton looked hard into Pilot's eyes. "But what about you, Pilot?"

"When we first met," began Pilot, "I was unsure of you. You looked Sebashian, I thought you were a peace-keeper. Even after Zhaan determined you weren't, I was still suspicious. But in the last cycle and a half, I have come to trust your insight and expertise as well as value your friendship.

"I wonder, using you as a basis, if all humans are like you. You are undersized, fragile and very limited, but you overcome your limitations through intelligence and insight. You are truly unique, John Crichton.

"I join Moya in her sentiments. I wish you would stay, but your happiness must come first. So, I say that if you are indeed leaving, good-bye Commander. Luck and happiness. And," Pilot paused, extending one of his four arms, "I hope that we shall meet again."

Crichton grasped the appendage, settling both hands around PIlot's. Pilot's hand encompassed Crichton's, but Crichton felt secure. He trusted Pilot completely, he would not be harmed.

Crichton released Pilot's hand and jumped down. He started to exit the chamber, but looked back at Pilot. Pilot was once again fixated on Moya's controls. Crichton was overcome with a sense of awe. He actually felt better after talking to PIlot, but Pilot had that effect on people.

Perhaps it was his nature, or his personality. In ways, Pilot was the one person on Moya he knew the least about, apart from Chiana, but Pilot knew Crichton. Crichton knew he would miss Pilot.

Crichton turned his attentions to Zhaan, the last person he had to talk with. He began the walk to her chamber, but before he left Pilot's chamber, Zhaan's voice resounded over the comm.

"John, could you come to the medlab. It's Mark, I'm afraid that he's dying."

* * *

Zhaan was standing next to a bed as Crichton entered the medlab. He was panting because he ran all the way there. He nodded to the Delvian as he apptoached her and the bed. He looked down to see Mark Davison awake, but looking very haggard.

"What's wrong with him, Zhaan?"

"It's radiation poisoning, John," Zhaan said as she showed Crichton the results of her examine. "He's been exposed to large amounts of tachyons and another partical that I can't indentify."

Crichton glanced at the results. He took in the numbers. Yes, Mark had definitely been exposed to high levels of radiation, there were the tachyon counts. Crichton thought it might have been the wormhole, but there were other phenomenae that produced tachyons. However, when he saw the numbers for the other particle, his heart sank. He knew what it was, a neutrino. And the presence of neutrino exposure combined with tachyons meant one thing: it was the wormhole that caused Mark's condition.

Crichton knew that a trip through the wormhole would do the same to him. If he returned to Earth, he would die.

Mark, who had been awake, but unfocused, locked his eyes on Crichton. He tried to speak, but only a series of coughs emanated. After a moment, Mark's coughing died down, and he was able to speak. "Sorry, John." His voice was shallow and weak. "I guess they were right when they said it was a one way trip. At least I tried."

Crichton told him to save his strength as Zhaan took his hand. Mark looked up at them both, a whispy smile came to his lips. "I'll tell you something. I don't regret coming. It's been one hell of an adventure." He began coughing again, as delerium seemed to come at him. Zhaan took another pill and forced him to swallow it.

Crichton looked at Zhaan. "What did you give him?"

"A pill to counteract the radiation poisoning," she said as she massaged Mark's hand. "It will extend his life but a short while. If not for this pill, he would be dead already."

A few moments passed in silence, the human and the Delvian carefully watching the stranger that had come into their midst only the previous day or so. Eventually, Mark's eyes seemed to clear, and his focus again retruned to Crichton and Zhaan.

"Hey," Crichton said. "Thought we lost you."

Mark tried to laugh, but it was a weak laugh. The laugh of a condemned man. He knew his time was short. "Not me," he said, sounding a little stronger, "I'm ornery. It'll take more than some wormhole to do me in."

Crichton smiled, but it was a smile devoid of hope. Inside, Crichton cursed himself. There was nothing he could do but sit here and watch this man die. For all his cleverness, John Crichton was not a god. A hard look came to Crichton's face.

Zhaan saw this and released Mark's hand and leaned close to Crichton. "John, may I have a word with you."

Before he could answer, she led him a short distance. She was about to begin speaking, but she could see that Crichton's mind was elsewhere. See looked into his eyes and saw something; a terrible purpose. And it frightened her, especially when it dawned on her what Crichton's thoughts were.

"You're still thinking of going," she said. Crichton glanced at her, but said nothing. He didn't need to. Zhaan saw in his eyes and in his body language that she was right. "But, John, you'll die."

"Maybe," Crichton said. "At least I'll be home."

"Yes," Zhaan agreed. "But at such a price?"

"It might be..." Crichton began, but a voice called out "no". Crichton and Zhaan turned and saw Mark sitting upright. He was pulling on a black shirt. Zhaan attempting to rush over and lay him back down, but Mark was up with startling speed.

He stepped past Zhaan and came close to Crichton. "I won't let you."

Crichton looked at Mark. He looked like crap, but some- how he had found the strength to walk over. "It's my call," Crichton said. "Remember, my project."

"John," Mark said, "My mission was to bring you back, yes, but alive. I will not let you commit suicide by going through that wormhole."

"They need me back there," Crichton said, determined.

"Alive," Mark repeated forcefully.

"I will be alive," Crichton asserted.

"For how long? A day? A week? The radiation will kill you, just like it's killing me." Mark took a deep breath. Crichton could tell the exertion was tiring him, but Mark didn't stop. "As long as you're alive, you can think of a way to get yourself home AND in one piece. The Earth will still be there. You have time."

Crichton felt himself wavering, but he was determined. He looked at Mark, allowing that determination to overflow his being. "I'm going," he said, as he started turning away from Mark.

But Mark grabbed Crichton's arm. Crichton was surprised at the amount of strength still there despite his condition. Mark hadn't lied when he said he was ornery, he was going to fight until the bitter end.

"John," he said in a less stern tone. "Let me go. I've already been exposed, and I'm dying. The wormhole can't very well kill me twice. I can take something back. A message to your father, perhaps. You may not be there, but at least they will know that you're alive."

He released his arm. "That's got to be worth something."

Before Crichton could respond, his strength gave way. Iron will or not, he still was a dying man. Crichton caught him before he hit the deck, and, with Zhaan's help, took him back to the bed. They lay him down, and Crichton began to turn away, but once again Mark grabbed his arm.

"Let me go back, John. It's the only choice. Don't let your genius, your talent die."

Crichton grabbed Mark's hand. He was able to remove it from his arm easily, there was no strength left in it. He placed the hand on Mark's chest and gave it a pat. He smiled softly at Mark, but Mark was unconscious.

Crichton stepped away from the bed as Zhaan resumed caringfor Mark. Crichton considered Mark's words. It was a lot to consider. What Mark had said was true, he still could find another way home, but Crichton was feeling especially homesick right now, probably due to spending time with another human for the first time in nearly two cycles.

Crichton could see himself going home, but he could also see himself dead of radiation poisoning. He had a choice to make, but it wasn't much of a choice. On one hand he would go home and see his father and his friends again, but it was certain that he would die. On the other hand he would definitely live if he stayed, but there was no guarantee that he could find another way back.

But Crichton remembered something his father had told him; "There are no guarantees in life. Don't make a foolish choice out of sentiment. The are no guarantees, but there is always hope."

Crichton had been so deep in thought that he didn't hear Zhaan approach. She touched him softly on the arm. Crichton glanced at her.

"What are you going to do, John?"

Crichton considered for a moment and knew he couldn't give her an answer. So he was honest. "I don't know." He shook himself out of his fog and glanced over at Mark's body, prostrate and sickly, lying unconscious on the bed. He turned to Zhaan. "Take care of him. I've got some thinking to do. In the meantime, tell Pilot to have Mark's pod prepped for launch tomorrow morning.

"I've got a choice to make."

* * *

It had been a long night.

That is what Aeryn Sun thought as she stood near a viewport, staring out into the black of space. For a moment she found herself in awe of it's vastness. It seemed to go on forever. She wondered if anyone would ever see it all and live to tell the tale.

The star light twinkled in her eyes. The beauty of the universe always impressed her. She passed the next few moments gazing at that beauty, her eyes fixed in the center of the viewport, taking everything in.

But then her eyes caught what she'd been waiting for. A small pod came arcing out from below the viewport as it streaked ahead at full thrust. The ship was shrinking away into the void, and didn't seem to be going anywhere in particular.

Then the wornhole opened.

The swirling blue vortex appeared out of nowhere. The little ship changed its heading and entered into it. The wormhole swallowed the ship like a hungry bird swallowing food. The vortex lingered for a moment, allowing it's blue light to penetrate the dark, exotic eyes of Aeryn. The light filled the chamber, giving it an eerie blue glow. Then, as abruptly as it appeared, it was gone. Aeryn looked out, but found no trace that it had ever been there. The space looked peaceful and quiet.

She heard the footsteps behind her, but she never turned to see who was in the chamber with her. They got louder and stopped. Aeryn could feel someone behind her, someone close. Then an arm came across her shoulder, she grabbed it with her hand. "He's gone," Aeryn said in her melodic voice. "Do you think he'll make it?"

She looked up. She was staring at a sorrow filled, yet hopeful face. She was looking into the face of John Crichton, awaiting the answer to her question.

"I don't know," he said. "If I had to guess, I'd say probably. It seemed like he would. He's a tough kind of guy."

"What did you give him?"

"My journal tapes," Crichton responded. "I told him to give them to my father. Let him know that I'm okay and trying to get back."

Aeryn returned her attention to the viewport, to the vastness that she knew Crichton was thinking about, the vastness that seperated him from Earth. "Are you sorry you stayed?"

"Not as much as I thought I'd be," Crichton said. He too was staring out of the viewport. "It's strange, but leaving here... leaving everybody... leaving you, was something that I just couldn't do.

"When I found myself thinking of Earth, it was more with a sense of nostalgia than need. Funny, I guess that I consider Moya my home now. And you guys," he paused as he kissed Aeryn on her forehead. He lingered, allowing the fragrant smell of her hair filling his nose. "You guys are my family. I wanted to go back to Earth. I would be lying if I said that I didn't, but I wanted to take you all with me."

"Even Rigel?" Aeryn said, grinning.

"Yeah," Crichton said, chuckling, "Even Rigel."

"I can't decide whether that's admirable or pathetic."

"Let's call it 'pathetically admirable'," Crichton said.

Aeryn laughed, and released her grip of John's arm. He very slowly removed his arm from her shoulder. She turned to face him, and planted a kiss on his cheek. Crichton looked at her, and she smiled. Crichton wanted to grab her, hold her, kiss her, but she moved off.

Before she left the room, Crichton called out to her. "Do you think I'll ever get back?"

"I don't know," Aeryn called back. "I guess that depends on you."

With that she left the room, but Crichton didn't turn to watch her go. Instead, he stared straight out into space. He searched around, trying to find Earth with his eyes, but being just a tiny speck amongst billions, it was going to be almost impossible. He found himself wondering if Mark would make it back, if his father would hear the tapes.

He found himself wondering about his father. If he would ever see him again. He realized that Aeryn was right. It did depend on him, or, rather, the knowledge the Ancients jammed into his brain. Now more than ever, he needed to redouble his efforts. If nothing else, Mark's visit had strengthened his resolve.

He would see Earth again.

He would see his father again.

He promised himself, and it was a promise he swore to keep. Nothing and no one would keep him from his goal. He took one last look out of the viewport, and touched the transparency. He started to return to his chamber. He had a long day ahead of him. The numbers were there, the numbers held the answers and they were waiting.