Aeryn's eyes fell on Crichton's still form as she entered the cargo bay that Zhaan had converted to serve as her lab, apothecary, and infirmary. "How is he?"

"The same, I'm afraid," replied the blue-skinned ex-priestess from her workspace on the other side of the room. "Did you bring the samples I requested?"

Aeryn glanced once more at Crichton before striding to Zhaan with her cargo. "Here it is. Everything Crichton ate during dinner," she said, hoisting the container on the table. "I wasn't sure about the tivla grain, but D'Argo thinks he remembers seeing it on Crichton's plate."

"Thank you, dear."

"What do you need the samples for, anyway? I thought the electrical discharge from the module was responsible." Aeryn inquired, watching as Zhaan catalogued the food samples Aeryn had found.

"I am not so sure. I believe he was actually unharmed by the incident. Frankly, I have no idea what is causing his condition, but I've ruled out electrocution. That's why I need the samples. To rule out a toxic or infectious agent."

Zhaan stored the container of samples and called up a holographic image of Crichton's nervous system. "Something is inhibiting a bundle of nerve cells located in the upper regions of his brainstem," she commented, highlighting the specified area on the hologram.

"Is it life-threatening?"

"Not as such. At least, not at present. The inhibition is affecting the part of his brain responsible for waking arousal, but so far his autonomic functions such as respiration, which have nerve centers in close proximity, have been spared," she continued, pointing out a different, larger area just below the affected one.

"Can it spread to those regions?" Aeryn asked, repressing a surge of alarm.

"I don't know," replied Zhaan grimly, looking down. "I know so little about his physiology," she continued, frustration creeping into her tone. "There are parallels to Sebacean neurophysiology, but overlooking the differences between the two may be fatal for him." She pressed a sequence of controls on the top of the scanner, and the image of Crichton's nervous system faded from the holographic field. Zhaan sighed and met Aeryn's eyes again. "The only good news I can offer is that there appears to be no damage to any neural regions. The process that is affecting him is not damaging, at least so far. It has merely changed the dynamic balance of his nerve cells."

Aeryn digested the information. "Is there anything you can do for him?" she asked, biting her lip.

"I have been attempting to modify a Sebacean neural stimulant, which should assist him in regaining consciousness. There are risks, however," Zhaan warned. "It may induce a seizure if I cannot contain its effects. Alternatively, it could overstimulate his heart if the solution infiltrates the lower portion of the brain stem. The injection process should limit the stimulant's exposure, but any margin of error could be fatal or at least very damaging."

"And what will happen if you don't administer the stimulant?"

"He could remain in this state indefinitely, or the process could spread and inhibit his vital functions. Conversely, whatever is causing the inhibition could be neutralized by his immune system, and John could regain consciousness on his own. There is simply no way to know."

Aeryn walked to Crichton's bedside and impulsively touched his face. She was relieved to find that it felt warm and alive. His expression appeared somewhat troubled, with furrowed eyebrows that induced tiny lines on his forehead. His eyes seemed to dance under closed eyelids.

"Do it," she said with a resolve that belied her fears. 'It's what he would want', she reasoned inwardly.

Zhaan nodded. "The preparation is nearly ready."

Aeryn returned her gaze to the human and settled down in a chair next to the bed. It was the same bed where she had recuperated from her injuries following the incident with Larraq. She absently rubbed the healing skin as she remembered. Crichton had been there when she had regained consciousness, and hopefully she would be able to 'return the favor' as he would say. "Back at you baby," she whispered, her lips quirking into a hint of a smile. Why humans would call each other 'baby'?nd not intend it as an insult?as puzzling, but he had said it with warmth. Further translation was unnecessary.

Zhaan approached with a vial and fine gauge tubing that Aeryn recognized as surgical equipment. She set both items on a nearby table and then eased into a sterile gown.

"I must inject the serum into the affected areas directly," Zhaan explained as she turned Crichton to his side and created a sterile field around the vertebrae of his neck. Aeryn helped her ease the human over so that he rested comfortably on his stomach. "Microscopic biomechanoid probes will direct the catheter through the vasculature to the affected areas," she continued, feeding the tubing under his skin. It began moving on its own power.

Aeryn watched the catheter's progress on the holographic projection, unable to quell her growing anxiety. 'No time for second thoughts now,' she admonished. The probe relayed a single tone when it acquired the targeted area. Zhaan uttered something in melodic Delvian that did not translate, probably a prayer, then injected the contents of the vial into the catheter. The probe quickly withdrew and the women rolled Crichton on his back again.

"It's done," Zhaan reported. Aeryn watched Crichton carefully as the other woman reviewed his condition on her monitors.

"Anything?" Aeryn asked anxiously.

"His heart rate and neuroelectrical discharges are within tolerance," Zhaan announced, relief evident. "It may take several microts for the serum to take effect."

Aeryn looked at Crichton again, noting with some alarm that his eyes were no longer moving under their lids as they were previously. "Zhaan, what's wrong?"

"His vital functions are still registering as normal."

Aeryn took a deep breath and continued to watch for further changes. The quality of his breathing slowly changed, becoming more shallow and frequent. Aeryn stood and glanced excitedly at Zhaan. "I think it's working!"

"Yes, I'm starting to see activity in the target area."

"Crichton, can you hear me? You need to wake up." Aeryn spoke softly but urgently. He mumbled something she could not understand and tried to roll over. "Come on, Crichton. Don't go back to sleep. You need to wake up," she repeated, gripping his shoulder.

He seemed to respond to her voice. Slowly, his eyes opened and he blinked. "Aeryn," he said groggily. "What are you doing here?" He smiled for a microt, then his features transformed into a mask of confusion and fear. "What am I doing here?" he asked, trying to sit up. His eyes as they met hers looked almost panicked.

"Easy, John," she said, catching him and helping him into a sitting position. "You're safe. You're in Zhaan's apothecary," Aeryn said as Zhaan joined her.

"On Moya," Crichton added.

"Yes, on Moya," Aeryn replied, worry clenching in her gut. Zhaan had said that whatever was happening to him had not damaged his nervous system, but something was clearly wrong. She looked at the Delvian expectantly.

"John, you've been unconscious for the past two arns," Zhaan said, running her scanner over his body. "Do you remember collapsing in the mess?"

Crichton looked from one to the other, his confused expression deepening. "Yes, I remember being in the mess. Aeryn was giving me a hard time about my module."

A small sigh of relief escaped Aeryn's lips. At least his memory was unaffected.

"But I remember a hell of a lot more after that." He shook his head and cradled it in his hands. "This isn't happening," he muttered. "This can't be happening," he added, raising his voice. "You don't even exist. This is all in my head! Why can't you leave me alone?"

Aeryn was taken aback by the intensity of his words, and his hurt, scared expression gripped her.

"Of course, we're real, John," Zhaan soothed. "You've had a shock to your nervous system. Your memory of the past cycle might have been temporarily affected, but?

"I remember the past nine months, Zhaan," he interrupted. "Moya, Crais, running for our lives every other day. That, I remember." He looked down, his expression transformed when he met Zhaan's eyes again. "Problem is, it never happened." Aeryn recognized his tone of voice. It was the one he used when his back was against the wall. She had heard the same tone shortly before he trained a gun on her when they were on the false Earth. "I never went through that wormhole. Hell, it's still 1999. It wasn't?was?wasn't?"

"John!" Aeryn shouted as Crichton swayed dangerously. She caught him and lowered him back into the bed. He blinked several times, fear crystallizing in the blue depths of his eyes. He met her gaze, struggling to stay conscious.

"Real," he gasped as unconsciousness claimed him.

"Frell," Aeryn whispered. She looked at Zhaan questioningly.

Zhaan checked several displays. "His vitals are within safe limits, but activity in the target area is minimal. We failed," she added, looking down miserably.

Crichton woke to insistent buzzing from his front doorbell. He looked around tentatively, reassuring himself that he was, indeed, on Earth. March 8?o, March 9, 1999. It was just a dream.

The doorbell rang again. "I'm coming," Crichton shouted, his voice slurred with sleep. "Gimme a minute." He removed the covers and reached for his robe, belatedly realizing that he had slept in his clothes. He stood and stretched, straightening his rumpled outfit as he did so.

'God, what a dream,' he mused as he headed for the door. It almost felt real. It tore him up to see Aeryn again. She had looked concerned?fraid, even. 'Just a dream,' he reminded himself. Just a dream. He turned the lock and opened the door.

"Forget our breakfast date?" asked DK from the other side of the threshold.

"I guess I forgot to set my alarm," he replied sheepishly, letting his friend inside. "Just give me a minute to shower and change."

"Please. You look like hell." DK's smile took the sting out of his words.

"Hey, give a man a break. I just woke up," Crichton replied in mock indignation as he padded into the bathroom. He stripped and threw his discarded khakis at DK in retaliation.

A shower and a shave made Crichton feel human again, but his dream lingered in his mind. Usually he couldn't remember more than brief fragments of his dreams, but this latest dream?ust like his Moya 'memories'?ad an odd linear quality about it. He could recall every last detail, from the faint, sweet smell of Aeryn as she leaned over him to the colors reflected in Zhaan's slightly iridescent scrubs. 'John, you've been unconscious for the past two arns. Do you remember collapsing in the mess?' He could even remember the musical sound of Zhaan's dialect prior to translation. His recollection was vivid, as if he really had experienced it a short while ago.

Crichton dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist. He opened his closet and examined his wardrobe, eventually choosing a pale green button-up twill shirt that was soft as chamois and his favorite pair of jeans. DK pointed to a loud Hawaiian shirt that Crichton had bought for a costume party last year as an alternative. Crichton made a face and finished buttoning the shirt he had chosen. He reached for his tool belt to complete the outfit, momentarily forgetting that his terrestrial dress code did not require one. Instead, he collected his wallet and keys, placing them in their appropriate pockets. "You ready to go? I'm starving?" he asked, shaking off his momentary disorientation.

"How can you possibly be hungry after last night?"

"I'm just getting warmed up, Bro," he retorted with a grin, forcibly putting his false past out of his mind. It was March 9, 1999 and John Crichton, astronaut, had plenty of Earthly living to do.

Crichton and DK stopped at the roadside diner they frequented every Thursday morning for breakfast. It was only Tuesday, but DK agreed that Crichton's safe return was call for celebration with greasy diner breakfast food. They sat at their usual table and ordered without looking at the menu.

"You've been awfully quiet, John," said DK after their food had arrived. His expression as he watched Crichton plow his way through scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes, toast, orange juice, and coffee was a mixture of what appeared to be awe and disgust.

Crichton finished chewing and took a swig of orange juice. "My momma taught me not to talk with my mouth full."

"That never stopped you before," DK replied, grinning. "Seriously, though, you look a little out of it. Everything okay?"

"It's just this dream I had last night," Crichton reluctantly admitted. Despite his efforts to dispel thoughts of his false memories, they continued to intrude.

DK sat back against the booth bench. "About Moya."

"Yeah. It was only for a few minutes, but it really shook me up." He paused, trying to put a finger on what was so unsettling. "They seemed, I don't know, alarmed or something. Zhaan told me I'd been unconscious. I woke up in her lab with Aeryn standing over me. For one second, I was so happy to see her. Then I realized it wasn't real and it was like those feelings were snatched away. Like I was a kid who just found out that there's no such thing as Santa Claus." He considered his analogy momentarily, realizing the absurdity of comparing the beautiful ex-Peacekeeper to an elderly gentleman dressed in fuzzy red whose girth was compared to a 'bowl full of jelly'. He smiled at the thought. "Anyway, I guess it kind of wigged me out a little."

"Hey, it's all right, John," DK assured him, his voice warm and understanding. "It's just going to take some time to get used to. I'm just glad you're here with us now." After a brief pause he added, "I don't know what I would have done if you had disappeared through a wormhole. I was scared enough when the Farscape started to dive."

Crichton smiled. "Yeah, me too. God, I missed you, bud."

The waitress cleared away Crichton's plates, whistling in surprise at his appetite. "And he still manages to keep his boyish figure," she teased, placing the check on the table.

Crichton was about to defend himself when something familiar on the waitress's uniform caught his attention. He stood suddenly, leaning towards her to get a better view of it.

"Where did you get this?" he demanded, pointing at the waitress's nametag, which identified her as Maria.

Maria backed off, and DK placed a restraining hand on Crichton's wrist. "Take it easy, John. It's just her nametag. It's the same one she wears every Thursday when we have breakfast."

"No, I've seen this somewhere else." He looked at the startled waitress and schooled his own features so he came across less like a deranged lunatic. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," he apologized, his voice much softer and controlled. "Can I see your nameplate for a minute?"

Maria looked at him, then at DK, who nodded slightly as if to say 'my friend wasn't recently released from a mental institution, really.' She, in turn, nodded and unclipped the tag from her uniform.

Crichton held the pin in his closed hand, feeling its mass, then he opened his palm to inspect it. Except for the name embossed in the center section, it was identical to the comm badge he and the others had worn. "We had these on Moya," Crichton commented, handing the badge to DK. "They were keyed to the internal comm system."

DK handed the nameplate back to Maria, who seemed relieved to go. "John, your subconscious is playing tricks with you, that's all. Take the badge out of context and voila, you have a communicator. You probably never consciously noticed her nametag before."

Crichton considered DK's reasoning. It had some merit. Why would he have noticed it before? It was an inconsequential detail. "You're right, DK. Thanks for the reality check."

"Anytime, Bro. You ready to hit the road, or do you need a forklift to get up? Either way, we've got a load of data waiting for us at the Cape."

Aeryn strode purposefully towards Pilot's chamber. She didn't have any pressing need to go there, but she found that Pilot's presence comforted her and learning more about Moya's functions distracted her.

"Good day, Officer Sun," Pilot said in greeting.

"Hello, Pilot," she answered, approaching his station. "Anything to report?" She could have easily retrieved such information from any console in command, and both she and Pilot knew it.

"All systems functioning within acceptable limits." He looked up from his controls and met her eyes, his four limbs instinctively responding as necessary to the ship's needs. "How is Commander Crichton today?" he asked with evident concern.

"Still no change," she replied, propping herself against the edge of his console. From her position she could follow Pilot's intricate movements across Moya's hundreds of controls. At some intuitive level, the pattern of knobs, dials, and disks made sense to her.

Pilot bobbed his head, a gesture Aeryn understood as sorrow. His eyes returned to tracking the console, but Aeryn knew that some part of his multitasking mind was trained on her.

"Has Zhaan learned more about his condition?" he asked as he swiveled his body to allow his outermost limb access to a far control.

"Yes, but I'm not sure how useful the information will be. Apparently something Crichton ate is producing a toxic reaction in his nervous system."

"But how can that be? Food brought aboard for consumption is carefully screened for toxins. Moya and I would never allow any crew member to ingest tainted food," Pilot remarked, alarmed.

"There wasn't a toxin for you or Moya to identify," she responded, her tone as comforting as possible. She hadn't meant to accuse Pilot, even indirectly. "The substance that affected him is normally inert, but Zhaan believes that a protein unique to his physiology catalyzed it and allowed it to transform into a toxic agent," Aeryn continued, a small part of her smiling at the fact that she not only understood the explanation Zhaan had given her, but could also relay it intelligently to another being. Sure, she had had to look up 'catalyze' in Moya's data stores, and some of the more obscure details escaped her, but it was quite a change from her abilities only one cycle ago. Crichton would be pleased by her progress.

"Will Zhaan be able to fashion an antidote to counteract the effects?"

"I don't know. She was working on it when I left, but I don't think she had found much success. The problem is that Crichton's condition will begin deteriorating soon if she can't find an answer. It's already been ninety-two arns since he lost consciousness."

Pilot's clawed hands momentarily paused their swift dance over the controls. "How long does he have before his condition becomes critical?"

"Unknown. Whatever is affecting Crichton is altering his sleep-wake cycles somehow. Zhaan explained it to me, but I'm not a tech," she admitted. Aeryn sighed, trying to remember Zhaan's explanation. "I think she said that the process is inhibiting sleep while artificially maintaining a dream state."

"He is unconscious but unable to engage in sleep?"

"Exactly," she replied, relieved that Pilot understood what she was trying to say. "Zhaan says his pattern of brain activity is actually quite similar to waking. If she cannot find a way to induce a sleep state, the process could begin causing localized damage to Crichton's nervous system in as few as twenty more arns. Unfortunately, she can't be certain how his nervous system might react. Crichton may have more time, or he may begin to decline sooner than expected." She bowed her head and sighed in frustration. There was not enough information to formulate an attack?ven one that did not involve pulse rifles. She stood up and began pacing in front of Pilot's console, suddenly feeling suffocated by the lack of options.

"There are times when one's best contribution during a crisis is to place trust in others."

Aeryn glared at Pilot, whose head was cocked gently to the side, a tentative expression on his face. She softened her own features, realizing that Pilot was simply trying to be helpful. Pilot had often put his faith in the crew to help Moya in ways he could not, rooted as he was to the living ship. "I can't sit here idly while Crichton slips away," she explained, frustration welling. "But there's nothing for me to fight. I have nothing to contribute." She slumped against Pilot's console, her anger and frustration transforming to an unaccustomed guilt and fear. She preferred anger and even frustration to either of the latter emotions. They energized her and gave her focus. But there was no immediate goal to focus upon, no action that required her energy. She despised her feeling of helplessness.

She shook her head, trying to physically dislodge her morose thoughts. She stole a quick glance at Pilot, who appeared busy with his controls. She knew better, realizing that the strange purple alien with four arms understood her need to introspect without interruption. How had he come to know her so well?

Crichton would also appreciate her need to reflect, but he would probably bother her to share her thoughts until she did so, just to shut him up. Secretly, she appreciated the effort because he made her think about possibilities she had never considered important. Outwardly, she maintained her annoyed front. Better to keep him at a distance. The very fact that she had emotions to introspect was his fault, she realized, feeling her anger resurface. He was responsible for making her experience all these strange feelings, and if he were to die and leave her with them?lone, with no one to sort through them?he was going to stalk him into the afterlife that humans believed in and torture him in a manner worthy of his crime.

"Torture," she said aloud as an idea interrupted her internal tirade. She turned to Pilot, who looked up in surprise at her non-sequitor. "Pilot, as a prison transport, Moya has a complete supply of interrogation equipment, right?"

"Yes, but?

"Including printeka?"

Pilot's eyes widened fractionally as one hand tapped several controls in rapid succession. "Tier seven, aft section holding quarters," he confirmed.

"Contact Zhaan," Aeryn urged, breaking into a jog. "Let her know I may have something to help," she shouted over her shoulder as she sprinted out of Pilot's chamber towards tier seven.

Zhaan eyed the clear vial critically and sighed. The many arns spent working to find a solution were taking their toll on the 800-cycle-old Delvian, Aeryn noted inwardly. Her spot pattern seemed dull and her normally luminous eyes had a defeated look to them. Everybody seemed to share the same expression, actually, even Rygel, who hovered a foot above Crichton's bedside. D'Argo stood to his side, probably to ensure that the Hynerian stayed out of trouble?nd out of Crichton's possessions. Even Chiana had followed the others to Zhaan's lab, folding herself into a corner to watch the proceedings from a distance. Aeryn idly wondered what the young Nebari's stake in the matter was.

"It could work to counteract the effect of the toxin in the short term, but it will not produce any permanent change to eliminate the toxin. Once the drug wears off, John will return to his current condition. The difficulty is that certain vital cells have been transformed to produce the toxin, and they cannot be removed safely."

"But printeka will allow him to enter the sleep state, right? It was designed to deprive access to the dream state while leaving sleep otherwise unaffected."

"How does an ex-Peacekeeper know so much about medication effects?" asked Chiana from her corner.

"Because it's not medicine," replied Rygel, his eyes downcast on Crichton's still form. "It's used for torture." He spat out the last word with quiet fury. "At first you don't understand the effect, even think that the mighty Peacekeepers may have lost their touch. Within a weeken the madness begins to take hold, and each arn is more agonizing than the one before," he recounted quietly, involuntarily shuddering at the memory.

"All sentient beings require some amount of time in a dream state," Aeryn explained. "Without it, the mind cannot sustain itself." At times she found Rygel's presence a nuisance, but even he did not deserve the ravages of printeka. She allowed the ex-dominar a sort of grudging respect for his endurance.

"If we use the drug in a low enough dose, we may be able to induce a sleep state. It would remove the immediate danger to his system and perhaps allow us time to find a more suitable solution," Zhaan said, plugging the vial into the scanner. "I am wary about using it on a long-term basis, but it should work to offset the immediate danger. It is a very good idea, Aeryn." Zhaan's eyes charged back to life as she evaluated the drug's concentration and calculated the appropriate dosage.

Aeryn walked back to Crichton's bed, taking a place between D'Argo and Rygel. Crichton's face looked pale, the lines she noticed previously more deeply engrained. "Stay with us a little while longer, John," she whispered, running the side of her thumb over his eyebrow. If either D'Argo or Rygel noticed the gesture, neither was willing to comment on it. Her fingers traced his cheekbone lightly, then she rested her hand loosely on top of his.

Zhaan shook the vial vigorously as she approached the other side of Crichton's bed. No sterile clothes this time, no surgical equipment. Just a simple injector. Aeryn recalled her last experience trying to revive Crichton with an injector. When it broke, she was forced to rely on a 'low tech' human method of resuscitation to revive him. She blushed, remembering how her realization that she did not want to die alone had led to a sweet moment of desperate passion. At least until D'Argo had rescued them. She threw a sidelong glance at the Luxan, who seemed wrapped up in his own thoughts. Part of her regretted the timing of his rescue.

Zhaan inserted the clear vial into the injector, tapping it once to insure its stability. She adjusted the dosage and straightened Crichton's arm so that the inside of his elbow faced her, placing the instrument over the large vein near the surface. A brief hiss and the medicine was forced into his circulation 'for better or worse' as Crichton would say. Aeryn watched Crichton's eyes, looking for their nearly perpetual movement, which apparently reflected the dream state in humans, to slow. After about one hundred microts, it did so, his blue eyes surfacing from beneath their lids for a brief moment.

"Sleep now," Aeryn intoned softly. Crichton's eyes scanned the others before rolling back behind closed?nd thankfully still?ids.

'Oh God, not again.' Crichton didn't need to open his eyes to know where he was. Moya's background hum was distinctive, and he could faintly make out the squeak of a nearby DRD. He sighed.

Somebody up there was having fun at his expense. After three months on Earth, why would his subconscious bring him back to Moya again? Sure, his memories of the time he had spent aboard the giant leviathan stubbornly clung, refusing to fade as others had predicted. But he had moved on, returned to the land of the living once and for all. He and DK had almost finished crunching the data from the failed Farscape mission, and he had repaired the damage his module had incurred during the ill-fated test flight. He was working on a proposal for another Farscape orbital flight, creating precautions against the effects of stray EM pulses and other improbable eventualities. Hell, he'd even worked off the eight pounds he'd gained as a result of his binge-fest following his safe return to Earth. All was right in his universe, and he'd even come to terms with the fact that his otherworldly memories were not real, even if he couldn't shake them.

And now this. Another dream. Not like his usual dreams, which were disjointed and fragmented. No, this was like his previous nightmare, when he woke up in Zhaan's lab. It had that same impossible sense of reality, even though his mind knew it was not.

He opened his eyes slightly, testing the illumination. As expected, he was in Zhaan's lab again, a gold shimmering blanket covering him. He sat up slowly, blinking to adjust his eyes to the dim lighting. Nothing hurt per se, but his body felt weak and stiff. He worked a kink out of his neck carefully, spotting Aeryn curled up in a chair a several meters away. He smiled as he watched her sleep, her lips slightly parted as she breathed softly. No unseemly snoring for the proper Officer Sun.

He slid off the bed, his knees momentarily buckling under his weight. "Woah," he muttered in surprise, steadying himself against the bed. He took a tentative step towards Aeryn, wobbling slightly when he released his grip from the bed, but gaining confidence as he closed the distance between them. He stopped a foot from her position, suddenly uncertain. The normally vibrant ex-Peacekeeper looked pale, as if someone had blanched her skin of the remnants of its pinkness. The clothes she usually wore with military crispness were rumpled, and several strands of hair had escaped her ponytail. Dark shadows circled her eyes, and her forehead was creased in worry. She looked miserable. He wondered briefly what kind of crisis they were running from this time, and what Aeryn Sun was doing snoozing on a chair in Zhaan's lab if the proverbial shit was hitting the fan.

He crouched in front of her, uncertain. She looked exhausted and he hated to wake her, but he was curious about what was going on. Impulsively, he tucked the loose hairs behind her ear, his finger lingering over her smooth skin. She stirred slightly, her eyes opening sleepily. When they met his gaze, she started violently, jerking backwards in her chair.

"Crichton!" Her wide-eyed expression greeted him with astonishment. Some of the color returned to her cheeks.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up. You look like you could use the sleep."

She actually chuckled for an instant in response, then tapped her comm badge. "Zhaan, Crichton's awake. Tell the others."

Zhaan's sleep-thick voice replied, "I'll be there as soon as I can. How is he?"

"Awake and walking, actually," she said, a note of surprise still present in her voice.

"I'm fine, Zhaan. Take your time," Crichton replied into Aeryn's comm link. People talking about him as if he wasn't there made him uncomfortable.

Aeryn glanced at a readout on the console to her left. "Seventeen arns." She looked at him critically. "How long do humans typically sleep?"

"Typically? About eight hours, I guess. Nine arns," he corrected, remembering that an arn was somewhat less than an hour. "I usually get six on a good day, though."

She looked up, as if mentally calculating. "Hopefully it's enough. Zhaan will have a better idea."

"A better idea of what, Aeryn? What the hell is going on? Why is everybody so concerned about my condition?" Dream or no dream, he hated being in the dark.

"Do you remember waking up here four days ago?"

"Four days ago? I remember waking up here, but it was more like twelve weeks?eekens ago."

She pursed her lips in a very human-looking expression of skepticism. "You were disoriented. You probably still are." She paused, as if not entirely convinced, but continued before he could protest. "Your body had a toxic reaction to something you ate four days ago."

Crichton considered her statement for a moment before replying. "Back in the mess, when you were teasing me about nearly frying myself in my module?"

She nodded. If the timing wasn't consistent, at least the order of his memories was.

"The toxin inhibits your sleep, causing you to dream continuously."

He laughed out loud. Everything about his life was suddenly so absurd. "Aeryn, the only dreaming I'm doing is right now."

Aeryn's eyes widened for an instant, then narrowed in confusion. "You're not dreaming, John," she replied, touching his face lightly. "Not anymore." Her cool fingers barely grazed his skin, somehow leaving warm traces in their wake. They were gone an instant later.

"Yes, I am," he asserted. "Moya, you, all of this, I made it up," he continued, sweeping his arms in a gesture to encompass everything. "It was just a dream or a delusion induced by the dive Farscape 1 and I took when we hit the radiation wave. That's all." Explaining a delusion to itself was giving Crichton a headache.

Aeryn blinked and withdrew from his space, leaning back in her chair. "You were home."

"Yeah. Home. I never left it."

Aeryn eyes reflected sadness, something he'd rarely seen in them before. It was directed at him. "Then you will have to learn the truth for yourself," she replied cryptically, more to herself than to him.

Crichton frowned. He had expected her to vehemently deny it. Weren't fantasies self-perpetuating? "You're not going to try to convince me that this is real?" He was almost disappointed.

"And what could I do to prove reality to you?" she flared suddenly, standing. More quietly she added, "This reality cannot compare to the fantasy of being home, of never having left the ones you love, of never having hurt them." She paused, steeling herself with a deep breath. Suddenly, she looked very tired. "Here, you are dying. The dream state will deprive your body of the rest it needs and destroy your nervous system bit by bit, but we don't know how to stop it, at least not permanently. When this 'dream' of yours ends, you will return to your previous state until we can purge the toxin from you, or until the toxin kills you." She shook her head slightly, the movement exaggerated in her thick ponytail. "That is the reality, Crichton, and I don't blame you if you don't want to accept it." With that, she turned and left, her footfalls echoing behind her.

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