"...dunno about this, Captain. Remember the LAST pod we opened, and the world of hurt that opened up."
"You're assuming whoever's in this one is even still alive," a different, somewhat more cultured voice countered. "This pod isn't standard Alliance tech. I don't even recognize half the components, and in medical school they had us work on some pretty old cryocapsules. It has to be pre-diaspora."
Ah, a fellow doctor, albeit one with a more benign area of study. Diaspora? It had worked! It may have required doing it the long way, but he'd made it to the future, and mankind was in space! And best of all, that damned hero would be long dead.
"Look, if the fellow inside is alive, you or the Doc will be called upon to apply your special talents, depending on how friendly he is."
His blood chilled, colder than any cryosleep capsule. That voice! It couldn't be! Still, it sounded far too intelligent and...not-egocentrically-inane...to be him. Coincidence, that was all.
Then the capsule door opened, blinding him momentarily. When his vision cleared, he recoiled in horror from what he saw.
"Captain Hammer!" he squeaked, far too much like a little girl for his own liking.
"Nnnnno..." the hated face replied. "Captain Mal Reynolds. Welcome to the year 2521, stranger."