Sikozu walks down a corridor on Moya, speaking from the places Dr. Anderson can't see. Tired still: "Pilot? Do you see any value in us continuing?" Pilot admits that, "despite his strong feelings for Officer Sun," he doesn't. Dude, when Pilot gives up? Fuck! Sikozu sets her shoulders back and offers to tell John; of course, she says this just down the hall from his room. "Tell me what?" She stands beyond the door, just like everyone else. He's alone with it and has been all throughout. "We cannot find Aeryn. We cannot locate this Katratzi. No one has even heard the name." He insists, again, that she heard it. "Someone said it on this ship." My friend Will, who hasn't seen most of the series, took this moment to ask, "Is this whole show about this dude going nuts? That's so sad." I didn't answer him except to say, "Fucking wait for the next one, smarty."
Sikozu promises him, again, that she hasn't heard the word on Moya: "No, I heard it on the planet where we left Aeryn." He opens the door, finally, but grabs her arm and drags her inside the room, shoving her roughly. "What are you not telling me?" She does not plead; Sikozu never pleads: "I'm telling you everything," she says, cold as ice. "You're lying! You're not telling me! You know the name Katratzi!" She heads for the door and he shoves her again. It's ugly. "You have been nothing but lying from the moment you got on board this ship..." She finally loses her composure: hours spent looking, asking, speaking that hated tongue. For this? "I do not know!" John pulls his gun on her. "I will not let Aeryn die! Katratzi!" She shakes her head, sickened by him, by seeing him like this in his extremity: "It is not by my providence if she lives or dies. It is not my fault if she lives or dies. And it is not my will if she lives or dies!" Katratzi, he screams. Katratzi, Katratzi, Katratzi, he screams. "Crichton, listen to yourself. Everything lives, and everything dies! Whether you wish it to or not! And you have to deal with it!" It's not him she's convincing. Everything changes.
Sikozu is humming, on the screen. She has a beautiful voice. There's so much about her we'll never get to see. John suddenly turns, on Moya, to stare at Sikozu on the screen. (Images, bioloids -- John has no reason to trust her any more than he does Aeryn; just like with Aeryn in this episode, it's the screen that tells the truth.) Still humming sweetly, Sikozu holds up a silver ashtray, turning it this way and that, her face half cut off from the screen. John looks from Sikozu, still breathing hard and upset, back to her image on the screen: humming, face half-hidden by the steel silver of an ashtray become a mask. The sweet sound and his realization. He lowers his pistol and turns back toward the TV. How many times have we seen him like this? Retreating into his mind and his ugliness and depression, striking out at everything and then bam -- everything goes away, and it's just him. The least awesome John Crichton on the show. He sits down and picks up the remote control; a tear runs down his cheek. He rewinds, fast-forwards, as Sikozu hums again and again, and gazes into the dog's eyes, and forward to the hum again, turning the ashtray over in her hands. Recognizing and admiring its beauty, and her face half cut off from the screen. The tape stops and we flash to "Unrealized Reality," as John abuses the Stark that Sikozu could be.