John Crichton's Really Bad Day

The gravity kicks back in as the door opens, stuff falling everywhere. Ordinarily, I might be interested in the question of how you go about getting zero gravity from a malfunctioning artificial gravity generator on the surface of a moon, but right now, I really couldn't care less.

I blink in confusion as a figure appears from the ridiculously familiar blue box. "Hey, where's the guy with the mile long scarf and jelly babies, huh?"

Another figure appears."Face it dear," she says wryly. "You're just going to keep getting that question wherever you go." She looks exactly like Sigourney Weaver, except for the big ol' piece of costume jewelry stuck right in the middle of her forehead.

Suddenly, I'm pretty sure I recognize the guy with her, too, from late nights spent watching PBS. "Oh, hey, right, you're the one before the guy with the scarf! How stupid of me! Of course!"

I'm giggling and tears are running down my cheeks, and all I can think is, What did he do to me? What did the bastard do to me with this machine, what did he do to my brain, am I going to be hallucinating for the rest of my life, whatever may be left of it?

The two step out, and two more figures follow them: a man dressed even more fancily than the white-haired British figment of too much PBS-watching, and a tall red-haired woman. "Hi," I say, nodding my head as much as I can within the restraint. "If you guys are from a movie, I'm afraid it's one I haven't seen. But you think one of you figments might be willing to let me out, here?"

Well, I figure it's worth a shot.

Sigourney looks back at the red-head and says, "You're right. He is in bad shape."

Bad shape. Well, yeah, I guess you could say that. I mean, I've had some really bad days since I got sucked into that wormhole and ended up in this weird-ass end of the universe, but I'm pretty sure this one takes the blue ribbon prize. First I found out that my... buddy... Aeryn was going to die if I didn't find her a tissue graft from a compatible doner. So I had to impersonate a military officer and "infiltrate" this top secret military research base run by the people who've been trying to kill me for the last year... Then I got caught, accused of being a spy, and stuck into the Super-Delux Mind-Frell Chair for what felt like about sixteen years. And now my brain is hurting (they say there's no nerve endings in your brain, but that's an obvious crock, because mine is frelling on fire), my heart is pounding so loud they can probably hear it back on Earth, and I've obviously finally and completely lost it.

Man, why did stuff like this never happen to Captain Kirk? Well, OK, actually, maybe it did, but he always managed to walk away from it without so much as getting his hair mussed, which seems to me incredibly unfair.

While I'm pondering this highly profound issue, one of the figments -- the frilly-dressed guy who I'm pretty sure I didn't see on PBS -- comes over and releases the restraints.

I can't believe it. I'm free. This hallucination just let me out of the Aurora Chair.

I stagger to my feet, offer him a feeble "thanks." OK, OK, think John. Gotta get the ol' brain working. Gotta get out of here before that leather-clad freak comes back and wants to start playing tiptoe-through-the-neurons again.

I take two steps towards the exit and fall. Sigourney catches me. I start to say "thanks" again, and then something else suddenly occurs to me...

1. "Hey... What were those explosions about, anyway?"

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