He stayed completely still in the pitch black. He could hear everyone below him through the comms. Everything seemed to be going well, until the Zogarians reached the living quarters.

He could hear a deep voice ask Aeryn, why, if there were four of them aboard the ship, five rooms appeared to be lived in.

His breathing stopped. Of course. But there was no way he had time to clean up the room...even make the bed. Aeryn's room normally didn't look lived in, but when you hear someone screaming in the middle of the night, you don't stop to straighten anything.

He heard the struggle that ensued. Minutes later, everyone was together in one room, outnumbered and out weaponed. A steady stream of curses ran through his mind, but he didn't dare say them out loud.

'Okay, John, decision time,' he thought. He could get down there and try to help his friends. He'd more than likely get captured, and then he'd be totally screwed, along with countless others who were unfortunate enough to be an enemy of the Zogarians. But could he take the chance over his shipmate's deaths? Would they put themselves in danger for him? He believed they would. Or maybe he hoped they would. Either way, he couldn't let them be hurt. But he'd harm more if he gave in.

So what the hell could he do? He'd wait. Moya was large. Maybe after they finished searching every room, they'd give up.

He honestly didn't think that would happen, but he hoped all the same.

~~~~

As was the case in many parts of his life, he was never actually given the choice after all. He listened to the leader of the search party, heard him instruct someone to check for a crawl space in the ceiling. That they had just guessed there was one frightened him.

If it was just one person in the crawl space, he had a good chance of getting away. All he had to do was figure out where they entered. He moved into a squatting position, leaning his back against one of the sides of the crawl space, ready to attack or to move quickly. He didn't think attacking was a good idea. He had no idea what a Zogarian looked like, let alone how well equipped they were.

He listened, barely even allowing himself to breathe. A faint sound to his left made him turn that way. It could be far away or it could be close. He couldn't tell in the darkness. His eyes were slightly adjusted to the dark, but not enough to do him any good. He wouldn't see anyone until they were right on top of him.

"Where-" A gruff voice came over the comms.

John reached up and shut it off, cursing to himself. Gee that didn't give him away! He backed up silently to the right, keeping his eyes trained on the left. Another sound, louder now. Someone was close, but why the hell couldn't he see them?

Suddenly there were two small blue eyes less then five feet from him. 'Thanks for the warning about their color, guys.' He thought, already pushing back further. The eyes were moving more quickly, their owner obviously able to move better then he could. He was in trouble. Big trouble.

He was right in front of a grate when it attacked. He could see it in the dim light coming up from Moya's deck. The Zogarian hit him hard, knocking him off balance. They landed on the grate, which snapped open under their weight. They fell to the floor bellow, John on the bottom.

He was winded, but the creature on top of him apparently wasn't. He was being punched in the face before he even realized what was happening. He was really getting tired of getting knocked around all the time. He kicked out, throwing the Zogarian off of him.

He got to his feet about the same time the Zogarian did. His earlier headache was pounding in time with his heartbeat. The alien in front of him was bigger, and from the way his face felt already, he was a lot stronger.

He was trying to figure out how to get away when the thing attacked again, but this time Crichton was prepared. Which just meant he was fully facing the alien when it went low, plowing into his stomach and pushing him back until he hit the wall.

The sound was loud enough to make him fear that others were on their way. He couldn't fight one. More than one was out of the question. He had to get away and find another place to hide.

He kicked and punched at the same time. The Zogarian let him go, backing up just enough for him to slip by. He started running. The possibility that the Zogarian carried a weapon didn't occur to him.

He heard the shot a split second before he felt it. Pain seared through the back of his right calf. His leg collapsed under him, and he fell hard. He had no idea what the hell he'd been shot with, but he could feel blood leaking from the wound.

He was struggling to his knees when he was knocked back down by a savage kick to his side. 'Just once, let something work,' he thought to himself. He was debating whether or not he should get up when he was pulled to his feet.

Keeping all his weight on his left leg, he turned to glare at the alien holding him up. The weapon was pointed at his midsection, and it was just as black as the alien holding it. There was no way he could've seen it. The alien's eyes dared him to make a move.

"Sir, I have him," he said into a communicator.

"No ya don't!" John said, going with the hope that they couldn't kill him.

He made a dive for the weapon, and as he guessed, the Zogarian didn't try to shoot him again. Instead, he used the weapon as a club, hitting Crichton on the back of the head, knocking him back down to the ground.

"Wanna play some more?" it asked, smiling.

"Sure." He answered with a groan, standing again.

He mistakenly put some of his weight on his injured leg, almost falling back down. The whole time, the alien smiled. 'Great twenty freakin' Zogarians on the ship and I get the sadistic one chasing me.'

Down the hall he could hear others coming. He was in deep trouble. He relaxed his body, hoping the alien would take the bait. "Fine. I'm screwed." He said quietly.

"Good. This was getting tiring." The alien made a motion for him to move forward, and he did, but faster then the alien expected.

Unfortunately, he had been standing in on spot for too long. The blood from his leg had pooled around his foot, and when he went to make a lunge for the alien, he slipped, falling once again to the floor.

'oh this is getting annoying.' He thought to himself as the alien came closer, pulling back it's foot for another kick. 'Not again!' He kicked with his good leg, hitting the alien in the knee (or what he thought was a knee), effectively knocking it over. It's head hit the ground first, then it was still.

Crichton took his chance. The voices down the corridor were getting closer, so he leaned over the unconscious (he hoped) Zogarian, and took it's weapon. He'd figure out how to use it later, but first he needed to hide again.

He started off in the other direction, moving as fast as his injuries would allow.

~~~~

He needed to stop. His entire leg felt as if it were on fire, making each step total agony. And he was unsure if he was still bleeding. If he was, he was in serious trouble. He'd be losing too much blood.

On top of all that, he had managed to get himself totally lost. For all he knew, he was turned around and heading towards the Zogarians. The thought frightened him.

He needed to hide again. He needed to get off his leg before he couldn't walk at all. He'd find a good hiding place and take care of the wound. After that it wasn't clear, he couldn't think that far in advance.

He'd been traveling through the lesser used corridors (which was probably why he was lost). He ducked into the first room that he could open the door to. It was completely dark inside. He was unsure if he wanted to risk someone seeing a light from the door. But he really couldn't help himself in the dark, could he?

Of course, there was the problem of turning on the light. Opening a door was hard, getting the damn light on was harder. He finally managed it, all the while wishing for a simple light switch.

He was in a small storage room, which had two shelves running along the wall. They were full of clear containers, all displaying their contents, which appeared to be Peacekeeper uniforms.

"Of course you guys couldn't leave any guns." He said softly, pulling out one of the boxes, putting the gun he had taken from the Zogarian on the shelf.

He was surprised to find the box was so heavy. It slipped out of his sweaty hands and fell to the floor, with a crash. The ritual of curses started again. His breathing stopped as he listened for sounds that might mean someone had heard him. After what felt like an eternity, he relaxed. Maybe he had been given one break.

He pulled the top off of the container and looked inside. Definitely uniforms. Might come in handy.

"Now for the fun part," he mumbled, moving so he could get a decent look at his leg.

Blood had soaked through the back of his pants leg from his knee to his ankle. In the middle of it, where the color was darkest, was a neat circle about the size of a dime. Biting his lip, he put his hands on either side of the hole and pulled, making the wound accessible.

Still bleeding. He had to stop it before he passed out. The adrenaline rush from running had faded, and he was finally starting to feel the effects of what he'd just been through. He was frightened to realize that he was already lightheaded.

He needed the others. He had to get them some how. Being separated with the Zogarian's crawling all over the ship was no help at all. He needed D'argo and Aeryn most of all. He had to-

"Woah. One thing at a time, John." He said, his voice below a whisper.

Trying not to move his leg , he reached into the container and pulled out one of the uniforms. He gave an experimental tug, not overly surprised to find that it wouldn't rip.

"There goes that."

The thought of standing up and searching the room for a knife or something similar didn't appeal to him at all. But what the hell could he do? He had to stop the bleeding.

He got up again, not putting his weight on his right leg. Supporting himself on the shelf, he looked into all the boxes, finging uniforms and nothing else.

'Screw it.' He sat back down and checked the wound again. The blood flow was slowing, but not enough.

"What the hell, my pants are already ruined."

He didn't even notice he was talking to himself. He'd always done it, even in high school, when he was trying to figure out something that was really bothering him. Or when he was badly stressed. Ever since he'd gotten into that space shuttle at Canaveral, it had become a frequent habit.

Trying to jar his leg as little as possible, he ripped off the bottom of his pants, and made a make-shift bandage. Now he needed time to think.

Moving to a more comfortable position, he lost himself in his thoughts, all of which were centered around figuring out a way to free his shipmates.

~~~~

'Oh please have the damn comms off.' He thought, turning his back on. He sat in silence for two full minutes before daring to speak.

"Pilot? Can you hear me?" His voice was hardly above a whisper.

"Crichton?"

"Yeah, are you alone?"

"Yes."

"Great. Where are they holding everyone?" 'Why the hell didn't you think of this before, John?!'

"Command."

"Are they alright?"

"For the moment."

"Good. Who's with them?"

"Three Zogarians."

"Thanks Pilot." He searched the room for an entrance to the crawl space and found none. 'Back into the hall.' His leg was still on fire, but he didn't have a choice. He was halfway to the door when he remembered the weapon he'd taken from the Zogarian earlier. Once it was in his hands, he felt a little better.

Moving slowly, he entered the hall, holding his breath. No one was there. He kept walking, looking up occasionally. He'd get into the crawl space and then figure out what the hell he was going to do.

~~~~

"You ready Pilot?" He asked, looking down through the grate. No one was there.

"Are you sure this will work?"

"No. Do you have any ideas?"

"Will this hurt Moya?"

'I knew he was gonna ask that.' "I'm trying not to. But one of those guys is too much. Moya will wind up in a worse situation if we don't."

"I see your point. All you want me to do is close the door when they're out?"

"And keep it locked."

"Alright...Good luck."

He took a deep breath. This would all have to be done quickly. Once he drew some of the Zogarians out of command, he'd have go twenty feet, jump down from the grate, and then manage to defeat the remaining Zogarians in the room.

"Oh this will go great," he mumbled, opening the grate. He lay down on his stomach and fired the weapon straight down, waited, then did it again. Pilot's growl reached him through the comms. 'Sorry pilot.' He fired again.

He changed position, starting to back away from the grate. The gun fell out of his hands to the floor below. "Oh shit," he groaned. There was no way he could get it and get back up into the crawl space before the guards came.

"They're leaving! Stop firing!" Pilot growled.

John closed the grate. He didn't bother telling Pilot that he couldn't fire any more. Not without the damn gun. "How many left?"

"Two."

"Good enough. Close the door."

One more in command...it could be worse.

~~~~