Title: Written on a Thumbnail
Author: cofax
Email: [email protected]
See Part 1 for complete headers.
*Part 7b*
John finds me on my back poking at Talyn's innards, helping Crais re-wire the electrical systems. Talyn got kinda beat up taking on the Marauder, and we've all pretty much had it with his fragile wiring. So we're laying in some new cabling that we think should last longer than what he's had to date. What this means is that Crais sits on the bridge and I tell him when a system needs to be tested. Pays to be captain, I suppose.
John squats down next to me and peers upward, as I struggle to pull some wiring through a balky conduit. "Need any help?"
"Not really," I respond, and with a final tug, pull myself out from underneath the access panel. I look up at him and frown. He's wearing a loose blue shirt that hangs out over his pants, which are the same battered khakis I wore through the wormhole. I stopped wearing them after the Chair -- I told myself it was because they stained too easily; but I'm not that good at lying to myself anymore.
"New fashion statement?"
He shrugs. "I was tired of black." He's looking healthier. Not as grey, and most of the physical damage is healed, Jool tells me, though the other damage will take longer. But he's dropped some weight, and Aeryn tells me he smells different now. I don't ask for the details.
I nod. Scorpius never wore anything but black. I can't think of anything else to say. We were once the same person; and now we're not. And I got the life he wanted -- well, no. I got the girl he wanted. Everything else is up for negotiation.
But I realize, looking at his face, he's not here to negotiate. "You're leaving." Mama Crichton didn't raise no stupid boys.
He laughs shortly and looks around at Talyn, at the bloody walls and curved halls, just different enough from Moya. "Yes, I'm leaving." There's a bitter tone to everything he says now, but he keeps the rage I saw in the docking bay buried deep. I don't ask about that either.
"I -- I wish --" I stop. I don't know what I wish. I wish I'd never come through the wormhole? Mostly, except for Aeryn. I wish I'd never been stupid enough to be twinned? Maybe, except then I'd have bled out on the table in the medical bay. I wish we'd gotten to him sooner.
"Regret is so -- human an emotion. Let it go, John."
I shudder. The tone is condescending, as if he's not human anymore. I wonder -- and then I stop thinking about it. I'll never have to make that choice.
I won't.
"Where will you go?"
"I'm going to try to go home." He sounds cautiously optimistic.
I look up in surprise.
"I still have Linfer's data, and Scorpius's too, now. With that and the module I think I might be able to --"
The module? Grabbing the console, I wrench myself to my feet. "Oh, no you don't!"
John doesn't get angry, though. Instead he just shakes his head. "Don't you think it's fair? One of us gets this life, one gets a chance at the other."
"What's fair got to do with it? You think this is second grade? It's not my fault you got shafted by Scorpy." I stay the renegade so he gets to go home? No. No fucking way.
He raises an eyebrow. "Oh? You think High Command will think it's a coincidence that a command carrier sent out after Moya came back in tiny pieces? They'll be after her now even more than ever. You just going to abandon her?"
Bastard. He knows I can't. He also knows I won't risk leading the Peacekeepers to Earth. He seems to have no such qualms.
"You've got it all figured out, don't you?" I ask, leaning back against the wall and crossing my arms.
"No, I don't have everything figured out," John exclaims, flinging his arms wide in a gesture that's both strange and familiar. "I'm not *him*, but I'm not -- I'm not you anymore either. I just know I can't stay here. I want to go home."
I get that. After we got back to Moya, and began to put the pieces back together, Aeryn and I stayed on Talyn. It wasn't something we actually talked about. But John had my old quarters on Moya, and it seemed like rubbing his face in it if I were to move into Aeryn's room with her. So we didn't move, and instead every morning we came across in our suits, swinging along the tether between the two ships like Tarzan and Jane. Although I don't think Jane ever mastered a pantak jab.
But now, I don't know what's going to happen. I'm pretty sure Scorpius is dead. Maybe. But John's right. The Peacekeepers will still be after us. We didn't mean to set off an interstellar incident with the Scarrans, but it happened. We're probably numero uno on their most wanted list. Which means more retrieval squads, as soon as we show up in populated territory again.
So we're back on the run. I suppose we could split up again, but I miss Moya. Moya, and Pilot's snarky attitude, and Chiana's energy, and D'Argo's support. Once, I'd told Crais I missed human male companionship, but after a quarter-cycle on Talyn, I realize I owe D'Argo an apology.
But I still want to go home. I look at John. "I miss Dad, and the beach, and that Ella Fitzgerald collection --"
John shakes his head. "You want to explain to Dad how he got *two* sons? Then we really would end up at Area 51."
I crack a laugh. It's true.
But not to go home, ever? I can't stop him, wouldn't if I could. But I won't give up the hope of going home myself, and taking Aeryn with me. I don't tell him that, though. Let him go, let him try.
Later, when things are more settled, when I know I won't bring a Peacekeeper fleet down on Earth behind me -- then we'll see. He may be in for a surprise one day.
Besides, I don't know that Earth is ready for a man who remembers growing up as two separate people, and who can build an Aurora Chair out of spare parts. How much will he have to hide, and how long before it's just too small a place for him? He should know better, but I recognize the need to lick his wounds in a safe and quiet place. And Moya isn't his home anymore.
"You know enough to just go?" I ask.
He shakes his head. "No. First I need to find some place off the beaten track, away from anyone looking for John Crichton. It will take a while to do the work, to find the right kind of star."
"If you make it, are you gonna tell him about--" I tap my temple.
"Nah. He doesn't need to know. He wouldn't believe it anyway."
Probably true. Dad's going to have a hard enough time believing I'm -- John's -- alive after all this time. Harvey's out of the question, and he's never going to hear about the Chair.
"Crichton!" Crais' voice over the comms. "Are you up to segment four yet?"
"No, not yet! Hang on!" I look up at John, and we both whisper "asshole", and snicker, before I duck back under the console.
I don't think I like this guy much. But it's not like it was before we left. I don't resent his very existence anymore. We're not that much alike now. I wonder what he's gained -- but I won't risk losing what I have to find out.
I nearly pity him; I never really thought I'd go home alone.
"Well?" I ask, and cock a fist from my position on my back.
He grins and makes a fist as well.
"One-- two-- three!"
I throw scissors; he throws rock. But I don't think I lost.
***
There isn't much I want to take, but I do want the chess set. I'm in my quarters, packing it up, when Aeryn comes in.
"Coward," she says from the door. Her voice is toneless, as if she were commenting on the weather.
I had half expected this, but my shoulders hunch anyway. Then I keep wrapping chess pieces into a length of cloth Pip found for me. I'm learning to control the inappropriate responses, picking my way carefully back to John. It takes a lot of effort sometimes, not to lash out, not to release the rage Harvey left me. My phantom with his Pandora's box of hope and spite.
"Maybe," I say after a moment. "I prefer to think of it as cutting my losses." It's weird. When I was Scorpius I wasn't attracted to Sebacean women, but difficult as she was, Officer Sun had impressed Harvey. So now I carry John's tangled helpless longing, and Harvey's frustrated respect. And my own resentments at her choices and failures. Which makes it that much harder to turn and look at her.
She stands in the doorway, one hand hooked through the grating, the other at her side. Her hair is back in a ponytail but wisps fly free around her face. Instead of the black vest I liked so much she's wearing a green zip-front shirt. It's the first time I've seen her in anything but black in nearly two cycles. The expression on her face is an odd combination of relief and anger.
She stares at me for a long time, then finally crosses to the bed and sits down on the rumpled blankets. "You know I never meant -- " She looks unhappy.
I cut her off. "It was luck. He was closer to the door."
She nods, but she's still distressed. After a moment, "What is it like now, for you?"
Three cycles now, and this woman never ceases to amaze me. No one else would have come to me in the medical bay, tested me the only way she could. No one else would have risked everything to rescue a man she already had beside her.
But I can't answer her, not the way she wants. Instead I shrug, and pick up the black queen. "Different. I feel like I didn't lose anything, and what I gained will keep me alive a little longer."
I'm lying, and she knows it; but what I lost I'd lost before this second round in the Chair. It was too late for me the moment he went with her on Talyn and left me stewing on Moya. She lets it go, and just watches me pack. For a moment, I consider telling her just how well integrated Harvey is into Crichton's psyche, how he would comment on my dreams (and the occasional fantasy) about her. How no matter how private she thinks they are, there is always a third person in the room with them.
She has a right to know. I know how much she hates Harvey.
But it's not worth it. She doesn't need to know, and if she does, Crichton will tell her. Harvey can do no harm.
I slip away without any good-byes. Even Aeryn, though she knew it would happen. I'll miss them all; more than they will miss me, which is not at all.
Of course, I have to talk to Pilot to take the module out. He seems unsurprised. "Moya and I both wish you well, Commander Crichton. We hope you may find your home again."
"Thanks, Pilot. Please tell Moya that her courage and generosity has been far more than I ever deserved." Which doesn't come close to saying what I owe the both of them, but they know what I mean.
"I will do so. Best of luck to you."
The comms channel goes silent for a moment, and I think I'm about to get away with it. But as the docking web sets me free and the module bursts through the bay doors, a voice comes over the channel.
It's a low voice, husky, with a hint of tears in it. A voice I'll hear in my dreams until I die.
"You know -- you know if we could have saved you -- " She stops, starts again. "Come back to us someday, if you can. Be well, John." She is gone, and I close my eyes as if I can see her face. It means a lot that she didn't say good-bye. I didn't think this would hurt so much.
I'm the one who gets to go home, after all.
"Hey, buddy." Crichton always has to have the last word. "If you make it, give my best to DK, wouldya? And have a beer at Jay's for me." His voice is thick; I think he's only now seeing what he's losing by this deal.
But it's too late to back out, and I lay in a vector on the coordinates Pilot gave me, for a star with some regular solar flare activity. There's a lot to be done before I get home, but I can taste the margaritas now.
"I'll tell DK you said he was a needle-nosed moron who couldn't find his ass with a protractor. Take care of yourself, John. And -- look after them." I'm not who I was, but I can't go without a backward glance.
"With my life."
"Right. Crichton out." I'm going to be John Crichton again.
If I had a rear-view mirror, Moya would be dwindling to a tiny speck already.
I've stopped falling. It's time to start climbing again.
***
*Epilogue: That's How Legends Are Made*
Winter in Berkeley is cool and rainy. The sun sets early and rises late, and the high point of the day for many residents is often the first cup of coffee. Many houses are poorly insulated; the damp chill crawls in through the single-paned windows, up from the basements, under the old wooden bungalow doors.
The old brown bungalow in the Berkeley flats is no exception. The two inhabitants, a post-doctoral student and an associate professor, together make barely enough to cover the rent on the three-bedroom house; heat is out of the question. On this February night both housemates are sleeping, bundled deep under piles of blankets. The single cat sleeps next to her owner in one bedroom, and an ancient Labrador lies curled in the hallway outside another room.
It's a weeknight, nearly 3 AM, and even this busy neighborhood is quiet. A motorcycle races past on San Pablo a few blocks away, and then silence descends once more. The dog groans, farts, rolls over. His owner mumbles something and buries himself deeper under the covers. Several minutes pass.
The telephone rings.
"Oh, hell." It's David Kern's telephone; the other line rings only in Jeannine's room.
DK flips back the blankets and shambles to the door, wincing at the cold floor. Milo doesn't stir -- he knows it's not time for his morning walk yet. The phone is on the wall between the living room and the kitchen: DK snags it and brings it to his ear, yawning. Probably a wrong number, they usually are at this hour.
"Yeah?"
It's not a wrong number. The voice on the line is neither hesitant nor apologetic. "Doctor David Kern? Formerly of IASA, now of Lawrence Berkeley Lab?"
DK blinks, takes the phone away from his ear and looks at it, as if there is something written on it that will explain things for him. "Um, yeah, this is he. Him. Me."
"Doctor Kern, This is Captain Jack McFerren from Vandenberg Air Force Base. I think you need to get down here right away."
***
END
Notes:
This story was outlined in December 2001, and the first draft was completed well before I saw the final four episodes of Season 3. As a result, any small similarities a reader may find between certain elements in this story and certain elements of the last few episodes of Season 3 are coincidental. I chose to retain the bulk of the story as it was and not rewrite it to reflect information gained later because it's an alternate universe story anyway. There's a point at which a writer has to stop checking herself against canon and let the story stand on its own. And so I have, and I hope you enjoyed it.
The chapter headings are song titles by John Gorka, from his brilliant 1990 album "Land of the Bottom Line", available from High Street Records. Go buy it now.
Thanks:
Oh, where to start? First, I need to thank Vehemently, for the obsession, and Melymbrosia, for the tapes. Also Huzzlewhat, Maayan, Makiko, and the Ultimates Board gang for some excellent discussions about John, the twinning, and identity issues. Even if I didn't have much to say, I learned a lot reading the arguments. Next I get to thank Vehemently, Melymbrosia, Nestra, and Marasmus, for allowing me to babble at them endlessly about this story for the past three months. Vehemently in particular has nursed this story along from the very beginning, and helped me brainstorm on lots of knotty issues -- but any place where the logic falls apart is definitely *my* fault and not hers.
Extensive and truly helpful beta was provided by Vehemently, Melymbrosia, Fialka, and Marasmus. I can't even begin to thank them adequately. They encouraged me, supported me, offered brilliant suggestions, challenged my logic and my m-dashes, and held my hand when I quailed.
Feedback most gratefully received at [email protected]. If you liked it, if you hated it, if it's the best thing since chopped liver -- let me know.
I am the darkness in your daughter
I'm the spot beneath the skin
I'm the shadow on the pavement
I'm the broken heart within
-- Yes Virginia I Am --
http://cofax.freeservers.com
Author: cofax
Email: [email protected]
See Part 1 for complete headers.
*Part 7b*
John finds me on my back poking at Talyn's innards, helping Crais re-wire the electrical systems. Talyn got kinda beat up taking on the Marauder, and we've all pretty much had it with his fragile wiring. So we're laying in some new cabling that we think should last longer than what he's had to date. What this means is that Crais sits on the bridge and I tell him when a system needs to be tested. Pays to be captain, I suppose.
John squats down next to me and peers upward, as I struggle to pull some wiring through a balky conduit. "Need any help?"
"Not really," I respond, and with a final tug, pull myself out from underneath the access panel. I look up at him and frown. He's wearing a loose blue shirt that hangs out over his pants, which are the same battered khakis I wore through the wormhole. I stopped wearing them after the Chair -- I told myself it was because they stained too easily; but I'm not that good at lying to myself anymore.
"New fashion statement?"
He shrugs. "I was tired of black." He's looking healthier. Not as grey, and most of the physical damage is healed, Jool tells me, though the other damage will take longer. But he's dropped some weight, and Aeryn tells me he smells different now. I don't ask for the details.
I nod. Scorpius never wore anything but black. I can't think of anything else to say. We were once the same person; and now we're not. And I got the life he wanted -- well, no. I got the girl he wanted. Everything else is up for negotiation.
But I realize, looking at his face, he's not here to negotiate. "You're leaving." Mama Crichton didn't raise no stupid boys.
He laughs shortly and looks around at Talyn, at the bloody walls and curved halls, just different enough from Moya. "Yes, I'm leaving." There's a bitter tone to everything he says now, but he keeps the rage I saw in the docking bay buried deep. I don't ask about that either.
"I -- I wish --" I stop. I don't know what I wish. I wish I'd never come through the wormhole? Mostly, except for Aeryn. I wish I'd never been stupid enough to be twinned? Maybe, except then I'd have bled out on the table in the medical bay. I wish we'd gotten to him sooner.
"Regret is so -- human an emotion. Let it go, John."
I shudder. The tone is condescending, as if he's not human anymore. I wonder -- and then I stop thinking about it. I'll never have to make that choice.
I won't.
"Where will you go?"
"I'm going to try to go home." He sounds cautiously optimistic.
I look up in surprise.
"I still have Linfer's data, and Scorpius's too, now. With that and the module I think I might be able to --"
The module? Grabbing the console, I wrench myself to my feet. "Oh, no you don't!"
John doesn't get angry, though. Instead he just shakes his head. "Don't you think it's fair? One of us gets this life, one gets a chance at the other."
"What's fair got to do with it? You think this is second grade? It's not my fault you got shafted by Scorpy." I stay the renegade so he gets to go home? No. No fucking way.
He raises an eyebrow. "Oh? You think High Command will think it's a coincidence that a command carrier sent out after Moya came back in tiny pieces? They'll be after her now even more than ever. You just going to abandon her?"
Bastard. He knows I can't. He also knows I won't risk leading the Peacekeepers to Earth. He seems to have no such qualms.
"You've got it all figured out, don't you?" I ask, leaning back against the wall and crossing my arms.
"No, I don't have everything figured out," John exclaims, flinging his arms wide in a gesture that's both strange and familiar. "I'm not *him*, but I'm not -- I'm not you anymore either. I just know I can't stay here. I want to go home."
I get that. After we got back to Moya, and began to put the pieces back together, Aeryn and I stayed on Talyn. It wasn't something we actually talked about. But John had my old quarters on Moya, and it seemed like rubbing his face in it if I were to move into Aeryn's room with her. So we didn't move, and instead every morning we came across in our suits, swinging along the tether between the two ships like Tarzan and Jane. Although I don't think Jane ever mastered a pantak jab.
But now, I don't know what's going to happen. I'm pretty sure Scorpius is dead. Maybe. But John's right. The Peacekeepers will still be after us. We didn't mean to set off an interstellar incident with the Scarrans, but it happened. We're probably numero uno on their most wanted list. Which means more retrieval squads, as soon as we show up in populated territory again.
So we're back on the run. I suppose we could split up again, but I miss Moya. Moya, and Pilot's snarky attitude, and Chiana's energy, and D'Argo's support. Once, I'd told Crais I missed human male companionship, but after a quarter-cycle on Talyn, I realize I owe D'Argo an apology.
But I still want to go home. I look at John. "I miss Dad, and the beach, and that Ella Fitzgerald collection --"
John shakes his head. "You want to explain to Dad how he got *two* sons? Then we really would end up at Area 51."
I crack a laugh. It's true.
But not to go home, ever? I can't stop him, wouldn't if I could. But I won't give up the hope of going home myself, and taking Aeryn with me. I don't tell him that, though. Let him go, let him try.
Later, when things are more settled, when I know I won't bring a Peacekeeper fleet down on Earth behind me -- then we'll see. He may be in for a surprise one day.
Besides, I don't know that Earth is ready for a man who remembers growing up as two separate people, and who can build an Aurora Chair out of spare parts. How much will he have to hide, and how long before it's just too small a place for him? He should know better, but I recognize the need to lick his wounds in a safe and quiet place. And Moya isn't his home anymore.
"You know enough to just go?" I ask.
He shakes his head. "No. First I need to find some place off the beaten track, away from anyone looking for John Crichton. It will take a while to do the work, to find the right kind of star."
"If you make it, are you gonna tell him about--" I tap my temple.
"Nah. He doesn't need to know. He wouldn't believe it anyway."
Probably true. Dad's going to have a hard enough time believing I'm -- John's -- alive after all this time. Harvey's out of the question, and he's never going to hear about the Chair.
"Crichton!" Crais' voice over the comms. "Are you up to segment four yet?"
"No, not yet! Hang on!" I look up at John, and we both whisper "asshole", and snicker, before I duck back under the console.
I don't think I like this guy much. But it's not like it was before we left. I don't resent his very existence anymore. We're not that much alike now. I wonder what he's gained -- but I won't risk losing what I have to find out.
I nearly pity him; I never really thought I'd go home alone.
"Well?" I ask, and cock a fist from my position on my back.
He grins and makes a fist as well.
"One-- two-- three!"
I throw scissors; he throws rock. But I don't think I lost.
***
There isn't much I want to take, but I do want the chess set. I'm in my quarters, packing it up, when Aeryn comes in.
"Coward," she says from the door. Her voice is toneless, as if she were commenting on the weather.
I had half expected this, but my shoulders hunch anyway. Then I keep wrapping chess pieces into a length of cloth Pip found for me. I'm learning to control the inappropriate responses, picking my way carefully back to John. It takes a lot of effort sometimes, not to lash out, not to release the rage Harvey left me. My phantom with his Pandora's box of hope and spite.
"Maybe," I say after a moment. "I prefer to think of it as cutting my losses." It's weird. When I was Scorpius I wasn't attracted to Sebacean women, but difficult as she was, Officer Sun had impressed Harvey. So now I carry John's tangled helpless longing, and Harvey's frustrated respect. And my own resentments at her choices and failures. Which makes it that much harder to turn and look at her.
She stands in the doorway, one hand hooked through the grating, the other at her side. Her hair is back in a ponytail but wisps fly free around her face. Instead of the black vest I liked so much she's wearing a green zip-front shirt. It's the first time I've seen her in anything but black in nearly two cycles. The expression on her face is an odd combination of relief and anger.
She stares at me for a long time, then finally crosses to the bed and sits down on the rumpled blankets. "You know I never meant -- " She looks unhappy.
I cut her off. "It was luck. He was closer to the door."
She nods, but she's still distressed. After a moment, "What is it like now, for you?"
Three cycles now, and this woman never ceases to amaze me. No one else would have come to me in the medical bay, tested me the only way she could. No one else would have risked everything to rescue a man she already had beside her.
But I can't answer her, not the way she wants. Instead I shrug, and pick up the black queen. "Different. I feel like I didn't lose anything, and what I gained will keep me alive a little longer."
I'm lying, and she knows it; but what I lost I'd lost before this second round in the Chair. It was too late for me the moment he went with her on Talyn and left me stewing on Moya. She lets it go, and just watches me pack. For a moment, I consider telling her just how well integrated Harvey is into Crichton's psyche, how he would comment on my dreams (and the occasional fantasy) about her. How no matter how private she thinks they are, there is always a third person in the room with them.
She has a right to know. I know how much she hates Harvey.
But it's not worth it. She doesn't need to know, and if she does, Crichton will tell her. Harvey can do no harm.
I slip away without any good-byes. Even Aeryn, though she knew it would happen. I'll miss them all; more than they will miss me, which is not at all.
Of course, I have to talk to Pilot to take the module out. He seems unsurprised. "Moya and I both wish you well, Commander Crichton. We hope you may find your home again."
"Thanks, Pilot. Please tell Moya that her courage and generosity has been far more than I ever deserved." Which doesn't come close to saying what I owe the both of them, but they know what I mean.
"I will do so. Best of luck to you."
The comms channel goes silent for a moment, and I think I'm about to get away with it. But as the docking web sets me free and the module bursts through the bay doors, a voice comes over the channel.
It's a low voice, husky, with a hint of tears in it. A voice I'll hear in my dreams until I die.
"You know -- you know if we could have saved you -- " She stops, starts again. "Come back to us someday, if you can. Be well, John." She is gone, and I close my eyes as if I can see her face. It means a lot that she didn't say good-bye. I didn't think this would hurt so much.
I'm the one who gets to go home, after all.
"Hey, buddy." Crichton always has to have the last word. "If you make it, give my best to DK, wouldya? And have a beer at Jay's for me." His voice is thick; I think he's only now seeing what he's losing by this deal.
But it's too late to back out, and I lay in a vector on the coordinates Pilot gave me, for a star with some regular solar flare activity. There's a lot to be done before I get home, but I can taste the margaritas now.
"I'll tell DK you said he was a needle-nosed moron who couldn't find his ass with a protractor. Take care of yourself, John. And -- look after them." I'm not who I was, but I can't go without a backward glance.
"With my life."
"Right. Crichton out." I'm going to be John Crichton again.
If I had a rear-view mirror, Moya would be dwindling to a tiny speck already.
I've stopped falling. It's time to start climbing again.
***
*Epilogue: That's How Legends Are Made*
Winter in Berkeley is cool and rainy. The sun sets early and rises late, and the high point of the day for many residents is often the first cup of coffee. Many houses are poorly insulated; the damp chill crawls in through the single-paned windows, up from the basements, under the old wooden bungalow doors.
The old brown bungalow in the Berkeley flats is no exception. The two inhabitants, a post-doctoral student and an associate professor, together make barely enough to cover the rent on the three-bedroom house; heat is out of the question. On this February night both housemates are sleeping, bundled deep under piles of blankets. The single cat sleeps next to her owner in one bedroom, and an ancient Labrador lies curled in the hallway outside another room.
It's a weeknight, nearly 3 AM, and even this busy neighborhood is quiet. A motorcycle races past on San Pablo a few blocks away, and then silence descends once more. The dog groans, farts, rolls over. His owner mumbles something and buries himself deeper under the covers. Several minutes pass.
The telephone rings.
"Oh, hell." It's David Kern's telephone; the other line rings only in Jeannine's room.
DK flips back the blankets and shambles to the door, wincing at the cold floor. Milo doesn't stir -- he knows it's not time for his morning walk yet. The phone is on the wall between the living room and the kitchen: DK snags it and brings it to his ear, yawning. Probably a wrong number, they usually are at this hour.
"Yeah?"
It's not a wrong number. The voice on the line is neither hesitant nor apologetic. "Doctor David Kern? Formerly of IASA, now of Lawrence Berkeley Lab?"
DK blinks, takes the phone away from his ear and looks at it, as if there is something written on it that will explain things for him. "Um, yeah, this is he. Him. Me."
"Doctor Kern, This is Captain Jack McFerren from Vandenberg Air Force Base. I think you need to get down here right away."
***
END
Notes:
This story was outlined in December 2001, and the first draft was completed well before I saw the final four episodes of Season 3. As a result, any small similarities a reader may find between certain elements in this story and certain elements of the last few episodes of Season 3 are coincidental. I chose to retain the bulk of the story as it was and not rewrite it to reflect information gained later because it's an alternate universe story anyway. There's a point at which a writer has to stop checking herself against canon and let the story stand on its own. And so I have, and I hope you enjoyed it.
The chapter headings are song titles by John Gorka, from his brilliant 1990 album "Land of the Bottom Line", available from High Street Records. Go buy it now.
Thanks:
Oh, where to start? First, I need to thank Vehemently, for the obsession, and Melymbrosia, for the tapes. Also Huzzlewhat, Maayan, Makiko, and the Ultimates Board gang for some excellent discussions about John, the twinning, and identity issues. Even if I didn't have much to say, I learned a lot reading the arguments. Next I get to thank Vehemently, Melymbrosia, Nestra, and Marasmus, for allowing me to babble at them endlessly about this story for the past three months. Vehemently in particular has nursed this story along from the very beginning, and helped me brainstorm on lots of knotty issues -- but any place where the logic falls apart is definitely *my* fault and not hers.
Extensive and truly helpful beta was provided by Vehemently, Melymbrosia, Fialka, and Marasmus. I can't even begin to thank them adequately. They encouraged me, supported me, offered brilliant suggestions, challenged my logic and my m-dashes, and held my hand when I quailed.
Feedback most gratefully received at [email protected]. If you liked it, if you hated it, if it's the best thing since chopped liver -- let me know.
I am the darkness in your daughter
I'm the spot beneath the skin
I'm the shadow on the pavement
I'm the broken heart within
-- Yes Virginia I Am --
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