The Dangers of Being John Crichton--as told by John Crichton and Daniel Jackson.

Set around the beginning of the second season for Farscape, fourth for Stargate.

Author's Notes: This story starts out as Daniel's POV, but will alternate between Daniel and John narrating. Other characters will play a bigger part later, but this prologue focuses on Daniel. Also, it should be noted that Daniel is snarky to an extreme. I take no blame for this--blame Jack.

As far as bad days go, I've had worse. I've been dead a few times, so ironically enough, those were some of the worst days of my life. But sitting here, in a strange alien vessel, chained to a bulkhead with two smelly thugs leaning over me insisting my name is John Crichton, I've definitely had better.

The day started out routine enough--my alarm woke me at six, I showered, brushed my teeth, headed off to travel across the galaxy and protect Earth from the threats of the universe. Then, as I was sitting at an alien temple, minding my own business and translating the Ancient's text--these two clowns showed up and hit me over the head with a rock.

They actually used a rock. Not to be conceited or anything, but I'm pretty much a wanted figure in this universe. It's a little insulting they thought they could take me with a rock. Never mind that they could, it's insulting all the same. And they don't even have my name right.

The two aliens are still sneering and trying to communicate with me. I'm only half listening, because I don't have any clue what language they're speaking, and that rock hit the back of my head hard enough I don't care. The only part I understand is when they point empathically at me and say, "John Crichton."

I would then point to myself and say, "No, Daniel Jackson."

And then the yelling would start again.

It was getting tiresome.

And much as I didn't want to admit it, a little worrying. Because this ship has already left the planet's atmosphere, and even though I knew Jack and the others would be looking for me, they won't reach me here without the Tok'ra's help. And that takes time.

I looked again at the two aliens. They were watching me curiously, and looked decidedly unimpressed. I was unimpressed as well. They looked like bipedal Mastages, and smelled twice as bad. I'm not usually one to judge on appearances, but from their body language and tones, I was convinced that in this case what you see is what you get.

"Look, would you just shut up already?" I snapped. "I'm not John Crichton, and I don't know any John Crichton, so you can just give it up with all the pointing and ranting."

This makes them both pause, and I realized, as they look back at me with angry comprehension in their eyes, they understood every word I said. I had no clue what they were talking about, but they had no problems understanding me. Well, one way communication was better than no communication. Maybe.

"You understand me?" I said.

They share a look, and even I could get the just of that look. It was a 'is this guy really as stupid as he looks' kind of look. I roll my eyes. I know I used to be more patient with alien cultures than this. I blamed Jack.

"Right. You understand me. Okay. Good. Now, I'm obviously not who you're looking for. So, I think you should just take me back to the planet and--" I stopped talking as one of the aliens made a growling noise that would have put even Teal'c to shame. I got the just of that too. They didn't like that idea.

I opened my mouth to make another suggestion, this one much less diplomatic, but the sound of a sharp female voice cuts me off. The two Mastage-People run over to one of the control consoles, and I'm guessing they're getting a message. I have no idea what the woman is saying, but the language is succinct and clipped, nothing like my captor's guttural and incomprehensible gibberish. But, strangely enough, they seem to understand her perfectly as well.

And I got the impression they didn't like what she was saying.

One of my captors was screaming into some kind of com device, but he was cut off when the entire ship shook. Smoke started pouring out of some kind of vent to my right. I tried to get away from it, but the chains around my wrists kept me from going far.

They were screaming loudly now, harshly, but the female voice coming through the com remained unnaturally cool. I wasn't sure who I should be more wary of. These two, or whoever it was attacking them. I started coughing as more smoke started to rush at me from the vent, but I could still tell that the ship had been stopped. They had surrendered. Now, to just hope this was a good thing, and I wasn't just about to leave the frying pan for the fire.

Which, of course, would be just my luck.

I looked over at my two captors. They were against the wall, their weapons held ready, watching the door at the end of this room. It only took a minute for the door to finally open, but when it did there was no one there. The Mastage-People tensed, and readjusted their grips on their weapons. It didn't help.

A woman, who looked to be human, swung into a view, two pistols held out in front of her. The Mastage-People were dead before they hit the ground.


The woman was looking over at me, and I could see even through all the smoke how worried she looked. So she was after John too, only for better reasons as she was obviously trying to help him. That was good. The downside? What would she do when she realized I wasn't him?

She raced across the room and knelt beside me, I was in the middle of a coughing fit, but I could still see her eyes widen in fear as she looked at me. She snarled something at me in her language, and grabbed my hair to harshly force my head back. Whoever said the enemy of my enemy is my friend, anyway?

"Hey, hey," I said. "Stop!" She only glares at me, but I know she understood me as well. I took a guess at what she was asking me. "Look, I don't know where your friend is. John Crichton, right, you're looking for him?"

She nodded.

"That's who they thought I was," I told her.

She frowned but let go of my head. She said something else to me. This time I can't even make a guess at what it is.

"I can't understand you," I told her. "I don't speak your language, I'm sorry, I've never encountered anything like it."

She looked at me for a moment, made a sound of frustration, then got to her feet and started towards the door--leaving me chained to a damaged ship with two corpses that smelled bad before they were dead. I didn't think so.

"Hey, wait!" I called after her. "Can you at least untie me? Maybe I can help you."

She turned around and looked at me. Maybe language isn't so important after all. I knew exactly what she was thinking. 'You? Help me?'

"Please," I told her. "I have to get back to my friends."

Her gaze seemed to soften somewhat then, and she walked back over to me. I was just about to give a sigh of relief when she pulled out her weapon and aimed it at me. She blasted the chain that attached the cuffs to the bulkhead, and then grabbed it. With a tug, she forced me to my feet.

"Hey," I protested. "This isn't exactly what I had in mind."

She said something to me then, but since I haven't magically learned to comprehend her language since the last time she spoke, I still had no clue what she's telling me. She started walking towards the door again, pulling the chain to drag me behind her.

I get the feeling this is bad. Very bad. I may well have been better off with the Mastage-People.