"Zhaan, any updates to report?" D'Argo's gruff voice sounded over the comm without preamble.

Zhaan glanced at the timepiece on the counter, noting that D'Argo must have just started his shift in command. Had three arns passed already? She sighed and lifted her sleeve to her mouth. "I was able to replicate the original reaction successfully once I removed the seeds from the fruit specimen. I'm fairly confident that a substance within the seed will effectively inhibit further toxin production," she replied, happy to have some good news to report for once. What little good news she had.

D'Argo must have detected a note of doubt in her voice. "But?" he prompted.

She smiled in spite of herself. "But it isn't a counter-toxin. Once the antidote halts the toxin production, his own system will have to purge the poison still circulating in his blood."

"How long will it take?"

"I'm not certain. We will just have to, as John would say, cross our fingers." At least, those of the crew who had fingers. Giddily, she imagined Pilot trying to follow the human's imperative. She shook her head, annoyed with her lack of focus. When all this was over, she would require a good night's sleep, intensive meditation, and a long walk on a planet with strong solar radiation in order to regain her balance. Until then, John needed her undivided attention.

"Understood," D'Argo responded, then cut the connection.

Zhaan lowered her arm and braced herself against the counter as she drew a deep breath into her lungs and down through her pores. She released it slowly, feeling her tension melt away. Now she had an immediate goal to pursue, and better yet, a means to attain it. All she had to do was find the resources within her to keep going.

A prickle of guilt gnawed at the edge of her mind. So much time wasted because she had overlooked a simple possibility. Her assumption that the human's unique physiology was responsible had blinded her to equally plausible alternatives. Now John was perched on the edge of deterioration, and she had little time to right her short-sightedness.

'Now is not the time for recriminations,' she reminded herself sternly. No matter how she came to be in her present circumstances, her friend's time was running out quickly.

"Chiana, hand me a borer, please." The Nebari passed her the small drill-like tool and continued stirring the solution in front of her. With a deft motion, Zhaan inserted it at the base of the seed, forming a small hole. She then held the seed against the side of the collection bowl and pressed it with a pestle, her efforts yielding several drops of thick, amber fluid.

Zhaan had been surprised when Chiana had offered her assistance. She was initially wary of the youth's motives, still mistrustful following her involvement in releasing the intellent virus. But in the end Zhaan had accepted, realizing that an extra pair of hands could hasten the process of creating an antidote. Besides, she could not ignore the concern etched in the other woman's face. John was probably the closest thing to a friend that Chiana had onboard Moya, and she looked up to the human unabashedly. Even more surprising—and perhaps somewhat worrisome—was Chiana's facility with chemistry.

"It's no different from cooking," Chiana had remarked with a slight tic of her head after Zhaan had explained what she needed the Nebari to do. Once started, Chiana required minimal supervision to follow through with her appointed task, leaving Zhaan free to concentrate on extracting the active substance from the seeds she had harvested.

Also in attendance was Aeryn, who stalked back and forth between Crichton's bedside and the scanner, monitoring his condition. The Sebacean had erected a mask of disciplined detachment, but she could not camouflage the play of emotion that broadcast from her eyes every time she observed Crichton—fear, anger, helplessness, frustration, guilt, concern, and love. Zhaan didn't need the experience and power of a tenth-level P'au to empathize with the ex-Peacekeeper's struggle to reconcile feelings she barely understood. Zhaan had requested that Aeryn monitor his condition despite the fact that she could have easily preset the scanner to alert her of any suspicious changes in his vital signs. Aeryn needed to contribute in some way, and her vigilance to the human's condition allowed Zhaan to devote her full attention to the task at hand.

Zhaan extracted oil from the final two seeds, then placed the discarded husks in a separate bowl in case she needed them later. Carefully, she collected the viscous fluid and injected it into a small vial. She placed the vial inside the scanner and inspected the holographic images it projected. The extract was pure enough for maximal effectiveness, but it would have to be supplemented with the solution Chiana was concocting to ensure that it activated properly once in the human's bloodstream. Zhaan removed the vial and held it up to the light source. Such an unassuming substance had protected the rest of them from John's fate.

"Chiana, how long until the solution is ready?"

"Almost done, mother," she replied, her smile off-setting her sarcasm.

John's fate. Aeryn had told her that in his continual dream, John had returned to Earth believing that his experiences on Moya were not real. Was it such a bad fate for him to die believing that he was home? Zhaan contemplated her memory of their shared Unity and decided that the human would not find comfort in the illusion of home.

"There. All done," Chiana announced. She inserted her beaker into the scanner as Zhaan had and smiled as the readings scrolled across the projection. "Will that work?"

Zhaan nodded as she studied the figures. "Yes, Chiana. I believe so. Thank you for your assistance."

Chiana's gaze drifted to Crichton. "Just help him, okay?" she said as she handed the beaker to Zhaan and rotated her shoulders back into a posture that was uniquely Chiana's.

Zhaan measured a portion of the grey liquid that Chiana had brewed and added it to the seed extract, shaking the vial to blend the two ingredients. Combined, the mixture took on a slightly green tint. Satisfied, Zhaan fished out the injector left behind by the previous Peacekeeper tenants and calibrated it.

"How is he?" Zhaan asked Aeryn as she approached Crichton's bedside, Chiana following close behind.

"His vitals are steady, but his brain activity is becoming more erratic." The worried ex-Peacekeeper pointed to the readings on the monitor.

Zhaan inspected the readout, careful to keep her expression neutral. Crichton's neural pattern was still consistent with REM—the term Crichton used to describe the human dream state—but the short, tight waveforms were peppered with occasional sharp spikes of activity that were distinct from the patterns she had previously observed. "I don't believe it's anything to be alarmed about," Zhaan replied carefully, attempting to project as much confidence and assurance as possible. Treatment was John's only option, and there was no need to scare Aeryn or Chiana over uncertainties.

"Right, then. Are you ready to proceed?" Aeryn asked.

"Yes. Once I inject the countermeasure, I will monitor his neurological condition from the console." Zhaan tapped the communicator on her wrist as the two other women moved to stand on either side of Crichton's bed. "Pilot, tell the others that we are beginning."

Pilot's image appeared on the curved monitor. "Certainly. Do you require any further assistance, Zhaan?"

"No thank you, Pilot. We're fine."

"Good luck."

"Thank you, Pilot," she replied as his image faded from the viewer.

Mouthing a prayer to the goddess, Zhaan nudged Crichton's chin upward, exposing the large artery on his neck, its faint pulsing barely visible to her underneath the human's translucent skin. She then turned his head away from her and located the vein that ran along side the artery, positioning the injector above it as she completed her prayer. She wondered briefly if she should also send a prayer to the human's god, but she didn't know if it would be appropriate coming from one of her species. Instead she placed the device on its mark and squeezed its trigger. A quick hiss administered the seed extract directly into Crichton's circulatory system. Zhaan turned the scanner's monitor to face her, searching for any change in his status. Aeryn and Chiana watched the human for any indication that the countermeasure was having an effect.

"Any changes?" asked Chiana, her dark eyes wide.

"Nothing yet," Zhaan replied, glancing up from her monitor to look at John. "Vital functions are still steady and strong."

"What now?" Aeryn asked, her words clipped and abrupt.

"We wait and hope that we are in time," Zhaan replied, wishing she felt as calm as her voice sounded. "It may take a while before the toxin is reduced enough for us to see the neurological change," she reasoned.

A hundred microts passed uneventfully. Chiana looked over Zhaan's shoulder and watched the monitor while Aeryn plucked at her vest nervously. Almost two hundred microts after the injection, Crichton moaned and suddenly stiffened. After a moment, his joints slackened and he began shuddering.

"What's happening?" Aeryn demanded, her voice laced with fear.

"Neurological functions are spiking in all areas!" Zhaan reported, willing herself to stay calm as a slight panic rose in her throat. The human's shuddering intensified, his body twitching in disjointed waves. Zhaan inspected the readings on the scanner, trying to discern the cause of the human's reaction. Something in the extract was preventing his brain from controlling neural activity, causing impulses to fire at random. "He's having a seizure," she surmised, snapping to full alert. "Aeryn, make sure he doesn't fall off the table, but don't restrain him otherwise." Zhaan fumbled through her apothecary, locating an herb extract that would neutralize the reaction and efficiently drew the appropriate dosage into the injector. "Help me hold his head," she directed as she approached the bed.

Aeryn complied, careful to avoid the human's jerking arms. Zhaan quickly administered the countermeasure and both women backed away fractionally to allow the human more freedom of motion. Within microts his thrashing subsided and his breathing eased. Zhaan sighed, allowing her body to relax slightly against the bed. "I think that's done it." She checked the scanner's readout. "His neural functions are returning to REM patterns," she confirmed. The curious spike-shaped waveforms Aeryn detected previously were still present, but diminishing somewhat.

Aeryn brushed her hand against Crichton's forehead and stroked his hair. "Come back to us, John," she murmured. Looking up at Zhaan she asked, "When will we know if this has worked?"

"I'm afraid I cannot answer that question," she admitted. "Even if the countermeasure is effective in stopping the production of additional toxin, his body must flush itself of the existing toxin on its own. We've done everything we can for him, now. The rest is up to him."

Crichton sat on the incline of the beach, nearly out of reach from the tide. Occasionally a renegade wave would wash over his legs, the late June surf almost as warm as bath water. He dug his feet deeper into the sand, enjoying the gritty feel of it between his toes. Leaning back, he stretched his arms wide and inhaled the salt air deeply, memorizing every sensation.

"Thought I'd find you here," sounded a familiar voice from behind him.

Crichton angled his head backwards slightly, making eye contact. "Hey, Dad."

"Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all," he replied, sitting up. He patted the sand next to him. "Take a seat."

The elder Crichton lowered himself to the sand at his son's side. Together they watched sea gulls dive for dinner as the shadows elongated in the golden late-afternoon sun.

"Heard you went out flying today."

"Yeah, just logging some flight time so they don't take away my wings," Crichton drawled nonchalantly.

"There's nothing like screaming across the sky at thirty-five thousand feet with the cockpit all to yourself," Colonel Crichton marveled.

"Yeah," John agreed, feeling his enthusiasm return as he remembered his flight. "There is no comparison." The flight had been exhilarating. There was something about atmospheric flying that made it more thrilling than any maneuver he had ever attempted in space—except possibly his trip through the wormhole. Maybe the struggle against gravity made flying through the sky more visceral. He had always wondered what it would be like to fly Aeryn's Prowler through an atmosphere, but so far the ex-Peacekeeper had never let him pilot her precious fighter near anything he could crash into.

"I used to get my best thinking done up there," Colonel Crichton continued.

John turned and faced his father. He knew a fishing expedition when he heard one. He looked at him expectantly, as if to say 'spit it out'.

"DK told me he had an interesting conversation with you last week."

Crichton groaned. It was bad enough that in this dreamland, his best friend was wigging out on him, but now his father was worried, too. "DK's got a big mouth," he grumbled.

"Now, don't go blaming DK. He was worried about you, and I threatened to court-martial him if he didn't tell me." His father paused for a beat. "What's going on, son?"

The younger Crichton dug his feet deeper into the wet silt, patting a mound of loose sand on top of them. He was suddenly reminded of the times that he and DK had buried each other up to the neck when they played at the beach. He met his father's eyes again. "I can feel myself slipping away, Dad," he admitted, his tone even. "I don't know if I'm dying or just returning to the land of the living, but either way I won't be here much longer."

"You're convinced this isn't real."

It wasn't a question, but Crichton answered it as if it were. "Yeah, Dad. I wish it was real, but it's not." He absently doodled in the sand covering his feet. "God, I can't even begin to describe how weird my life has become. It was such a relief to get my old life back, just for a while. I could wake up in the morning without the weight of knowing that I was dead to you and DK. But I can't just hit the reset button, Dad. This isn't who I am anymore. I miss you and DK more than anything, and I hope someday to find my way home for real. But this isn't it."

The elder Crichton watched the surf impassively. After a long pause he responded, "Sounds like you've made quite a life for yourself out there, son."

John studied his father's expression. "You believe me? Just like that? You don't think I'm crazy?"

"I believe you believe it," he replied. "I also know that you haven't been the same since you went up this spring—not as happy, not as optimistic, not as… innocent. A father can tell." Colonel Crichton scooped up a handful of sand and watched it drift away as he released it into the gentle breeze. "I see you when you look up at the those stars at night, longing, and I wonder what you left behind up there. It doesn't make sense, but I know my son."

Crichton regarded his father, a small part of him wondering if his mind's image reflected the man he knew on Earth or some version of what he wanted to see. It didn't really matter, he mused. Distracting himself from his cynicism, he inspected his sand doodle, noting that it resembled the profile of a DRD. He added eye stalks and a gripper claw. "I really freaked DK out, didn't I?" he asked, changing the subject as he continued drawing in the sand.

Colonel Crichton chuckled. "He mentioned something about heading to the library to prove you wrong."

"I wish I could show you my life on Moya, Dad. Hell, I wish I could somehow let you know that I am still alive."

"You will, son. Some day."

"I hope so," Crichton replied, using the flat blade of his hand to bulldoze sand against his ankles.

"Are you sorry, John? That you're here?"

"Sorry?" he asked, considering. "I don't know. At first I was so confused, especially after going back to Moya the first time. I didn't know what was real, and I didn't know what I wanted to be real." He pushed more sand against his legs, packing it down.

"Then after I realized that it wasn't real, I was upset—angry, I guess—that I had deceived myself." He chuckled ruefully. "Now I guess I look at it like an extended vacation from Moya. One I might not survive," he added darkly. "Sure, it's not real, but it's pretty close. Besides, when was the last time I got to drink a milkshake?" He smiled, remembering the smooth, cool taste of the shake he had had with lunch this afternoon.

"But then I think of what I'm putting my friends through on Moya," he continued, his smile vanishing. "God, Aeryn looked like hell when I saw her."

"This Aeryn, she's somebody special to you, isn't she?"

"Yeah, she is," he admitted. He remembered Aeryn's encounter with his 'father' on the false Earth. "I wish you could meet her. I think you'd like her, Dad. You'd say she has 'vim and vigor'."

"Sounds like your mother."

"Well, only if Mom could take out Arnold Schwarzenegger without breaking a sweat."

Crichton heard his father's answering laugh just as his body convulsed sharply.

"Son? John?"

A wave of dizziness engulfed him.

"John?" This voice was female and very concerned. Aeryn?

"Is it working?" asked another voice.

The surf roared loudly in his ears. Or was it his heartbeat? He couldn't tell anymore. He opened his eyes, wondering when he had closed them. His father peered anxiously down at him where he lay sprawled in the sand. A warm wave lapped over his now exposed feet.

"I'm okay, Dad," he gasped, sitting up.

"Are you sure, son?" his father asked, reaching an arm out to help steady him.

"Just a little dizzy," he replied, closing his eyes as the world spun around him.

"What just happened?"

Crichton opened his eyes and shook his head, trying to clear it. "I was just about to ask you the same question."

"You zoned out for a moment, then you collapsed into the sand." His father's concern was etched in lines around the corners of his eyes. "I kept calling your name, but you didn't respond."

"I think I was back on Moya for a few seconds," he replied slowly, realization dawning as his dizziness intensified. "I think my time here is almost up, Dad." Crichton's vision darkened around the edges. His father's hand suddenly gripped his arm again, supporting him. Crichton clung to him like a lifeline. "I love you, Dad. I wish I could…"

"I know son. Concentrate on surviving and making a life for yourself out there. We'll be fine back home." His father's voice seemed far away.

"God, I miss you so much." He could feel the blackness threatening to overcome him again. He fought to remain conscious.

"Son, I'm always with you. In your thoughts, in your memory, in your heart. I'm here if you need me."

"Dad?" Crichton shouted as his world darkened like a shade being drawn. A warm tingling spread from the tips of his fingers and toes to the center of his body.

"John, can you hear me?" sounded a voice distinct from the ringing in his ears. A rhythmic hum replaced the sound of surf. He felt a warm hand enclosing his, and he grasped it clumsily.

"That's it, John." A trail of warmth tickled his face.

"Aeryn?" he croaked, his throat raw. He tasted blood from a small gash in his tongue. He opened his eyes to find three pairs of alien eyes—two blue and one black—staring back at him.

"Welcome back," Chiana said, relief spilling from her voice. Next to her, Aeryn smiled broadly. He must have returned from the dead to earn such a brilliant Aeryn Sun smile. Across the bed, Zhaan bowed her head and drew her hands alongside it in a motion Crichton recognized as the Delvian version of crossing oneself.

He managed a weak smile in response. "God, I hurt all over," he complained as sensation flooded him. "What the hell happened to me?"

"Shhh, don't talk, John," Zhaan implored. He tried to sit up, but she restrained him gently. "We've purged the poison from your system, but you need to rest now."

"I'm here to stay this time? For good?" he asked.

Aeryn's lips quirked into a half-smile and she squeezed his hand lightly. "As long as you continue to meet your daily recommended dosage of roughage," she replied cryptically.

"He must sleep now," Zhaan said, steering the other two women away.

He held his grip on Aeryn's hand. "Please stay." He was afraid that if he shut his eyes again, she would be gone.

She looked at Zhaan, who nodded wordlessly. "Don't worry, John. I'll be here when you wake," she assured him, brushing the backs of her fingers against his cheek, her touch soothing. "You need to sleep now."

He met her eyes and fought to keep his own open, but succumbed to his exhaustion after only a few seconds, Aeryn's image chasing him into a dreamless sleep.