Voices Of Reason
Chapter 3
“Incoming transmission from the Vigilante, sir.” The sergeant standing at the communications position looked to
where Captain Hasman maintained his unwavering watch over the operation of his ship. A Marauder wasn’t as
plush and prestigious as a Command Carrier or a Vigilante Cruiser, but Hasman understood that if he took
good care of this crew and ship it would lead to a promotion. That meant unwavering attention to its
operation.
“What is it?”
“We’ve been ordered to take up a new directional vector, sir. Primna six, lerg four, and execute search pattern
Decka Eight, four thousand metras beyond the quadrant covered by the Prowlers, sir.”
“What’s over there? What are we looking for in that area?”
The entire crew knew that when a ship was taken out of a search pattern before it was completed, it meant that
there was something of extreme importance that needed to be examined. Three pairs of eyes were on Hasman
as he reached to adjust the navigation console to review the new area of space. Pilot Officer Ekron was again
at the flight controls and did not take his eyes from his display for even a split-microt. Hasman noticed, and felt
a sense of satisfaction that his drilling of this crew had paid off.
The sergeant at communications continued listening to the transmissions in his earpiece and then relayed to
his captain. “A Leviathan with a number of different species on board was reported in that system within the
last solar day. There’s a Class Eight nebula in the new search grid area that might cloak an object the size of
the Leviathan. We are the only ship with the new multi-photonic sensors that can cope with the plasma in the
nebula, sir.”
Hasman was doubtful. A Class Eight nebula was quite small. It would certainly hold a Leviathan, but unless the
creature was careful about moving around within the swirling formation, it would be detectable by standard
sensors anytime it moved near the edges of the disturbance. But Hasman didn’t question his orders at any
moment. He nodded to his subordinate at Navigation, who fed the new coordinates to Officer Ekron. The
Marauder swung away from the rest of the searching ships and headed toward the nebula.
* * * * *
John was aware of Chiana standing off to one side, calling to him, but he couldn’t hear her words. He stood
absolutely still, his mind running at top speed as D’Argo continued to advance toward him, flinging chairs and
tables aside as if they were balsawood stage replicas. He felt like a rabbit trying to hide in plain view by not
moving, his body freezing like a statute while his mind desperately sought a way to get out of this alive and
uninjured. Crockery and glass exploded around the room as the bar’s patrons began scrambling toward the
door.
“John, I suggest you run. I am aware that you are contemplating trying to talk Ka D’Argo out of his current
state, but it is not a wise idea.” Scorpius’ voice rang in his psyche.
The portion of his mind that dealt with the neural clone suddenly found itself inside a smoky boxing gym.
Scorpius was in the ring shadow boxing, incongruous white satin boxing trunks and high white boxing shoes
worn over his usual black leather. “I could hear you considering talking him ‘down’ from his present state,”
Scorpius threw a flurry of jabs and shuffled around the ring, “but Luxans have a reputation of never recovering
from hyper-rage without some form of physical release.”
“Scorpy, this really isn’t a good time for a chat.” John walked to the ring, grabbed the lowest rope, leaned back
and bounced against its elasticity.
“If you try and reason with him John, any other time may be too late -- for both of us.”
The major portion of his mind registered that D’Argo had stopped three motras from him and was bellowing in
Luxan. Since his translator microbes weren’t providing an English context to the words, it was a fair bet that it
was all profanity. John inched to one side of the insane figure, neither advancing nor retreating, but trying to
reach an uncluttered portion of the floor.
“I didn’t call for you Scorpy, and I don’t think you’re right. This time I’m going to help D’Argo work his way out of
hyper-rage instead of letting him sink into violence. He doesn‘t want to hurt anyone, he just can’t always control
what his genetics made him.” John could feel the barely contained anger left over from his confrontation with
Aeryn welling up inside him and turning itself into a stubborn refusal to listen to anyone’s advice, least of all the
Scorpius-clone’s.
“I hope I can come back later to tell you ‘I told you so’, John. But if you really are going to try this …” Scorpius
stopped talking and began climbing out of the boxing ring through the ropes.
“What? Where you going Scorpy?” John danced toward him in a series of boxing shuffles, throwing punches
into the air.
“Well, let’s just say that I don’t want to share your experiences during the outcome. Goodbye for a while John.”
Back in the bar, D’Argo still hadn’t advanced any further, and John decided that he still had a chance to reason
with the huge berserker. Looking up at his friend, who towered six inches taller than him, Crichton made a
start.
“Hey, D’Argo, hang on a microt man …” and that’s all it took to push D’Argo over the edge.
He bellowed “Crich-ton!” and charged forward. John scrambled back toward the door, knocking over chairs as
he tried to retreat while still keeping an eye on D’Argo. He had seen him in full hyper-rage like this only once
before, almost three cycles ago, and that time he had been afforded plenty of time and a head start in order to
run away and hide. This time D’Argo had just reached the pinnacle of hyper-rage, and for a reason John still
didn’t understand, it was once again aimed at him.
He was losing ground quickly so he abandoned the look-but-run strategy, turned his back on his temporarily
psychopathic friend and bolted for the door. ‘What could I have done to deserve this exceptional attention?’
The ridiculous thought skittered through his mind as he vaulted over a table, scattering dishes and glasses.
‘Last time it was just because I was a male, but I suppose it’s just as well that I still qualify for that criteria.’ He
felt the edge of futility approaching as he tripped over a chair and scrambled up again. ‘I hate it when Scorpy’s
right,’ was the last coherent thought that went through his mind as he felt D’Argo’s hand grasp the back of his
vest and then he was casually tossed back across the room, smashing into a group of chairs that had been
shoved into a tumble when D’Argo first began his rampage.
The next few minutes were a maelstrom of images as Crichton just tried to ride out D’Argo’s fury. He rolled out
of the wreckage of chairs and wrapped his arms around his head, trying to at least protect his skull. He was
momentarily aware that customers were yelling and stampeding in an effort to leave the scene of his impending
murder, and then he was lost to bludgeoning Luxan ferocity.
He could feel as he was plucked up effortlessly and knew there was a hurricane of battering that drove him
back to the floor, but his mind hid from the ordeal, prevented him from feeling the pain. The storm continued
unabated. He was again dragged to his feet and this time flung into the remainder of the crowd that was still
trying to exit. ‘Softer landing that time,’ he thought soggily and tried to curl into a protective ball again. When
nothing else happened he cautiously looked up.
D’Argo was standing only a motra away, the muzzle of Aeryn’s pulse pistol a scant dench away from his face.
He was not in total control of his anger yet, but he had regained enough awareness to know that Aeryn was
serious about stopping any further violence against John. The warrior took one huge breath and stalked out of
the building.
“Are you all right?” Holstering her weapon, Aeryn looked down where he was still partially curled up on the
floor.
“I’m just peachy,” he started and found he was suddenly breathless. He rolled over onto his back, but before
he could thank her, Aeryn stalked out of the building also. “Well I’m certainly continuing to win friends and
influence people today. I wonder what evil star soared into my universe this morning?” He sat up and waited
for his head to stop spinning.
“Hey Crichton, why did you say something like that to D’Argo to set him off?” Chiana crouched down nearby
and peered at him.
“I didn’t say anything, Pip. He tossed me before I got a chance.”
“You must have said something.” She straightened up and offered a hand to pull him to his feet. “I was trying
to tell you to just get the frell out of here.”
“He never gave me a chance … and why’s he mad at me this time?” Crichton didn’t stay on his feet long, but
sank back to a sitting position with his back against a wall and cradled his now aching head in his hands.
“Wow, I haven’t had a ride like that since we went to Disneyworld when I was nine.”
“I haven’t any idea. Listen, I’m going to go after D’Argo and see if he’s calmed down. Is that all right
Crichton?” She crouched near him again and examined his face carefully. “You look pretty good considering
how badly you fought back,” and gave a quick laugh. “That was actually pretty amazing to watch, you should
have charged everyone credits to watch.”
Then she was gone.
‘Should have sold tickets! Some things don’t change no matter what galaxy I call home.’ John got an elbow on
the seat of a chair and levered himself back on to his feet. He tested all the moving parts and was pleased to
find that everything worked fine. His head still ached a bit, just a dull throbbing pain now, and his chest was
sore inside. ‘I probably held my breath through the entire debacle,’ he guessed, but essentially he was
unharmed. Nodding to several of the cautiously returning patrons he walked carefully to the door and headed
back to the landing fields to find Aeryn and get a ride back to Moya.
John’s afternoon did not improve a great deal after leaving the bar. As he approached the gates to what he
termed in his own mind “The Airport”, he saw what was unmistakably Moya’s transport pod taking off. ‘Well,
that’s not all that bad,’ he tried to see the bright side of the situation, ‘since riding in the transport with D’Argo
might start the entire fracas again.’ The module was parked about half a metra further down the field though
and with his chest still feeling as though he wasn’t getting enough oxygen, John didn’t relish the walk. He had
only covered a quarter of the distance though when he saw the module departing as well.
“Well this is a fine situation you’ve gotten us into, Olly!” John intoned, earning himself a peculiar look from a
stranger walking by. He activated his comms. “Aeryn?” No answer. “D’Argo or Chiana can you hear me?” No
answer again, perhaps they were still in the atmosphere where air friction and turbulence would attenuate the
signal too severely to be received. “Pilot?”
“Yes John?”
John had never been able to figure out what Pilot’s ground rules were for determining whether he called him
‘John’, ‘Crichton’ or ‘Commander’, but it seemed that the bigger mess he got himself into, the more informal Pilot’
s address became. He was lucky he wasn’t being called ‘John-Boy’ today.
“The others have left the planet in both the transport and the module, and left me behind. Is this a hint I should
be paying attention to?”
“Hint? I’m not familiar with that concept, but I am sure it is just an oversight. Perhaps each vehicle assumed
you were in the other. I will contact the transport pod and instruct them to return for you.”
“NO!” John got his voice back under control and continued more calmly. “Pilot, the transport is full of supplies
that will need to be unloaded. Why don’t you just ask Aeryn to come back for me?”
“Very well John, I will contact Officer Sun.”
When the module landed again, John was still standing, leaning against the barricade that ran all the way
around the field. He did his best to saunter nonchalantly over to his own craft, waving for Aeryn to remain in
the pilot’s seat when she started to unbuckle and move out of his usual spot. “You’re already strapped in, go
ahead and fly back.” He managed to slide in behind Aeryn without yelping as his sore muscles complained at
the cramped position. He was just happy that he didn’t have to handle the flight back.
Aeryn’s expertise with any form of space craft was still far beyond John’s, even when she was flying his module,
but when she set the small craft down in the hangar bay, it settled with a slight thump that reverberated through
the craft. A quiet grunt of pain was forced out of John despite his best intentions, his already stiffening muscles
objecting to the sudden lurch. He managed to rearrange his expression to his best imitation of normalcy before
Aeryn turned around.
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Abso-frelling-lutely. Takes more than a short waltz with a ragin’ Luxan to take the starch out of an astronaut.”
He could see he had pretty much baffled Aeryn with his answer.
“I believe D’Argo has finally scattered what few wits Crichton had to begin with.” Rygel was floating next to the
cockpit in his chair, his earbrows at full height as he enjoyed a rare opportunity to badger John. “How you can
continue to exceed the capability of translator microbes never ceases to amaze me. And how you can continue
to provoke your own ship mates into violence never ceases to amuse me.”
“Rygel, go away.” Aeryn was already out of the cockpit and striding away, so he now had enough room to hoist
himself up with his arms and swing his legs over the side. He slid down the side of the ship to a fairly graceful
landing. “Just bug off.” Much to his relief Rygel didn’t argue. The Hynerian began to open his mouth for a
retort, looked piercingly at Crichton, and then simply left. John watched, bemused, as the Throne Sled sailed
away across the hanger. He wasn’t going to admit it to anyone but he felt terrible and wanted nothing more
than to go take a shower and then to go to bed. But life was never that easy and D’Argo was heading toward
him now. John waited for him, leaning against the Farscape, and felt tension crawl back into his body.
“John …”
“D’Argo?”
“I don’t know the words for what I need to say.” D’Argo paused, truly at a loss for words.
‘This is one humble Bumble.’ John almost grinned at the vision, but kept his face straight for the sake of his
friend‘s feelings. “D’Argo, it’s a Luxan thing, don’t sweat it. Just tell me one thing … were you mad at me?”
“No John. I don’t even know what I was mad at, I was just angry.”
“Then it’s okay and there’s a way you can make it up to me.”
“Anything.”
“Do my share of unloading the supplies, hunh? I think I’m just going to go get cleaned up.” He clapped his
warrior friend lightly on the shoulder and sauntered out of the hangar bay, heading for his room and a hot
shower.
D’Argo watched the human stroll away, seemingly without any concern about what had happened on the
planet. He almost went after him, because he hadn’t been quite honest with John. When he had tried to
prepare an explanation for John inside his own mind, he’d found that he couldn’t begin to put his feelings into
words or concepts at all. How could he explain that it had been pure jealousy, not of Crichton, but of something
that Crichton had that he might never again experience? How could he explain the sense of loss and loneliness
to John, of all people?
Aeryn overheard the exchange, said nothing, and returned to helping unload supplies. She tried to understand
how Crichton continued to forgive everyone so easily. She wasn’t blind. She knew there were times when John
couldn’t let go of his anger, and would settle into an unyielding stubbornness that could exceed the combined
capacity of the entire crew at times. But in this situation she hadn’t even begun to forgive D’Argo or herself yet,
and John had already moved beyond the incident. Their behavior had been inexcusable. D’Argo had attacked
John without provocation, and she had snapped at him outside the shop for no good reason, which drove him
right into the arms of D'Argo's rage, and John just didn’t seem to care.
She watched his relaxed figure as he disappeared into Moya’s corridor and gave herself a small shake of the
head, still amazed at his attitude. She knew now that she hadn’t gotten mad at Crichton when he made his
comment about being a Peacekeeper, or for what he said about Jocacea. She’d been angry and hurt the
microt he had simply disagreed with her. The whole thing was ridiculous. He hadn’t meant anything by what he
said, so why did it bother her so much? She shook her head, trying to dispel the unaccustomed thoughts.
Perhaps she could talk to John about it in the morning.
* * * * *
John finished his shower and clad in no more than shorts, looked at himself in the mirror. Not all that bad
considering, but the next two or three days might get pretty ugly until his bruises started to fade. Already his
arms and shoulders were stiffening to the point that he couldn’t be bothered taking off two days worth of beard.
He knew it was very likely that he would not be able to do it at all the next morning, and wished he had shaved
before heading to the planet, but he wasn’t going to bother at this point. All of his joints ached, even his legs,
although he didn’t remember getting hit below the waist. D’Argo’s anger had been blind and John had been
pummeled primarily around his arms, shoulders, and mid-body.
‘Must have been one of those flying Walendas D’Argo treated me to,’ he surmised. He slid a T-shirt over his
head, covering the worst of the bruises, and then indulged himself by slithering under the covers into his bed
on his stomach, as he had when he was young.
Reaching into a container standing on a cargo case next to the bed, he scooped a dentic out of its liquid
habitat and popped it into his mouth. He lay on his bed for the few minutes it took for the little creature to
efficiently remove all the bacteria and microscopic food particles from his entire palate, and while he waited he
allowed his thoughts to drift idly through what had happened on the planet today. He had managed to piss
Aeryn off, draw D’Argo’s rage, get dissed by Chiana, and amuse Sparky. Jool was always annoyed with
everyone on board, so he decided he could discount her attitude.
‘Quite a score for one day, but it doesn’t explain why everyone was on my case.’ He failed to come to any
further conclusions. When the dentic stopped moving around he knew it had completed its symbiotic job and
that his peculiar little pet was fed for the day. He rolled on his back, spat the little beast into his hand and sent
it arcing toward its container. It splashed accurately back into its watery home.
“Yessss! The kid hits from outside the line … three points!” He rolled on to his side and was instantly asleep.
* * * * *
Hasman’s Marauder located the nebula without difficulty, the directional vectors having been precise. They
slowed and began the spherical search pattern that would allow them to detect any mechanical or
biomechanoid ship within the phenomenon. Even with the new adaptive sensors it was going to take several
cycles to ensure that nothing was hiding within the swirling clutter of interstellar material.
* * * * *
The next morning John woke to the reality that maybe he wasn’t really fine, and that he absolutely wasn’t able
to get out of bed. He was so stiff he couldn’t sit up. He finally discovered that he could roll over onto his
stomach, then he hunched up like an inch-worm until he could flop into a sitting position, and finally crawled out
of bed. He thought about staying in bed the entire day, but decided that moving would be better for him. To
that end, he slowly hitched himself into the shower and stayed under the hot water until he could move at a
pace approaching normal. He still had a pounding headache and his chest felt tight. The slightest bit of
exertion left him sweating and short of breath, but he knew that would pass in time. What he needed now was
something to eat.
‘Scratch that idea!’ he thought as the mental vision of food brought on a wave of nausea. ‘What I need is a little
Percodan, maybe some Codeine.’ What did they use in the Uncharted Territories? Then he remembered the
plant Zhaan had given Aeryn. Chewing its leaves provided an analgesic for most discomforts.
“The cure for what ails you … guaranteed to cure liver spots, take the gray out of your hair, and preserve the
wax on your car!” He was going to let himself get on a roll as he strolled through the corridor toward Aeryn’s
chamber, but found he was once again short of breath and sweating. He decided to use his air for breathing
instead.
Stopping outside Aeryn’s chamber he listened for a moment and then called, “Morning, anybody home?” He
was greeted with only silence. “Aeryn?” Getting caught rummaging around in her personal effects sounded
like another quick trip to the hurt factory, so he headed for the center chamber to see if she was eating First
Meal.
When Aeryn looked up from her food to see Crichton strolling in with a smile on his face, the relief was so
strong she had to put her utensils down quickly so no one could see her hands shaking. The feeling gradually
began to pass as he sat down across the table from Rygel and pretended to grab at the Hynerian’s food. It was
an old joke but John hadn’t tired of it yet, especially since Rygel fell for it every time, snapping at the hand that
snatched at his plate but came away empty every time. Even as she watched him laugh, she noticed that the
lines around his eyes were a little deeper than usual and that he had not removed the night’s growth of beard,
but he seemed otherwise normal.
“Aeryn, do you still have that zucchini plant growing? The one Zhaan gave you?”
“Soukeenee?” she struggled with the new sounds -- yet another word from Crichton that seemed to have no
counterpart in Sebacean. “Do you mean the Zeccan plant she gave me for head pains?”
“Zeccan, zucchini, Zhaan-plant, whatever. Is it still growing?”
“Yes, it’s in my chambers. Did you want some?”
“If it’s okay with you.” He got up before she could rise, “No, don’t get up, I can find it if you don’t mind me going
in your quarters.” He barely waited for her nod of assent before he headed out the door.
Aeryn watched him go with a resurgence of annoyance. Now he seemed to be deliberately short with her,
‘brushing her off’ was his phrase for it. She decided that her plan of talking things out with John would have to
wait until she had a better idea of what was going on. As he headed back along the corridor toward Chambers,
though, John was concentrating only on controlling the nausea that had overtaken him when he had looked at
all the food on the table in the central chamber. He would get some zucchini leaves from Aeryn’s quarters and
then take his mind off everything else by working on his module for a while.
* * * * *
Officer Ekron had been relieved from the pilot’s station by one of the other men, and had taken up Hasman’s
post monitoring all operations while the captain got some sleep. Ekron had been promoted to the Marauder
only a half-cycle ago, but he had learned fast and adapted to Hasman’s stringent operating procedures
quickly. He wasn’t as experienced as Hasman, but he spotted the additional target on the sensor readouts
before the Peacekeeper manning the station did, and knew what to do without hesitation.
He stepped quickly to the Navigation Console and typed in a new trajectory for the Marauder, sending it to the
pilot’s console with a firm slap of his palm. “Speed, full slow. Ease us into the center of that nebula.” He
pointed to one of the other commandos and ordered, “Get the captain. Tell him we may have found one of the
Leviathans.”
“Dai, if that ship is the Leviathan, it will see us. We need to get into the shadow of a planet or an asteroid.”
The pilot was already steering the ship where he had been directed despite his objection.
“Idiot! We are the only ones in this entire quadrant with sensors that can see through all that energy plasma.
They’re coming straight at us, the nebula is the one place they can’t see this ship.”
“How will we fire upon it from in the nebula?”
“We won’t fire from within the nebula,” Hasman said, walking into the operating quarters as he buckled his
uniform jacket. “If they pass it by, we’ll get behind them in their sensor blind, and if they go through the nebula
on their present course …”
For once, all four sets of eyes turned and look at him as a smile began to form on his normally stern face.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Chapter 3
“Incoming transmission from the Vigilante, sir.” The sergeant standing at the communications position looked to
where Captain Hasman maintained his unwavering watch over the operation of his ship. A Marauder wasn’t as
plush and prestigious as a Command Carrier or a Vigilante Cruiser, but Hasman understood that if he took
good care of this crew and ship it would lead to a promotion. That meant unwavering attention to its
operation.
“What is it?”
“We’ve been ordered to take up a new directional vector, sir. Primna six, lerg four, and execute search pattern
Decka Eight, four thousand metras beyond the quadrant covered by the Prowlers, sir.”
“What’s over there? What are we looking for in that area?”
The entire crew knew that when a ship was taken out of a search pattern before it was completed, it meant that
there was something of extreme importance that needed to be examined. Three pairs of eyes were on Hasman
as he reached to adjust the navigation console to review the new area of space. Pilot Officer Ekron was again
at the flight controls and did not take his eyes from his display for even a split-microt. Hasman noticed, and felt
a sense of satisfaction that his drilling of this crew had paid off.
The sergeant at communications continued listening to the transmissions in his earpiece and then relayed to
his captain. “A Leviathan with a number of different species on board was reported in that system within the
last solar day. There’s a Class Eight nebula in the new search grid area that might cloak an object the size of
the Leviathan. We are the only ship with the new multi-photonic sensors that can cope with the plasma in the
nebula, sir.”
Hasman was doubtful. A Class Eight nebula was quite small. It would certainly hold a Leviathan, but unless the
creature was careful about moving around within the swirling formation, it would be detectable by standard
sensors anytime it moved near the edges of the disturbance. But Hasman didn’t question his orders at any
moment. He nodded to his subordinate at Navigation, who fed the new coordinates to Officer Ekron. The
Marauder swung away from the rest of the searching ships and headed toward the nebula.
* * * * *
John was aware of Chiana standing off to one side, calling to him, but he couldn’t hear her words. He stood
absolutely still, his mind running at top speed as D’Argo continued to advance toward him, flinging chairs and
tables aside as if they were balsawood stage replicas. He felt like a rabbit trying to hide in plain view by not
moving, his body freezing like a statute while his mind desperately sought a way to get out of this alive and
uninjured. Crockery and glass exploded around the room as the bar’s patrons began scrambling toward the
door.
“John, I suggest you run. I am aware that you are contemplating trying to talk Ka D’Argo out of his current
state, but it is not a wise idea.” Scorpius’ voice rang in his psyche.
The portion of his mind that dealt with the neural clone suddenly found itself inside a smoky boxing gym.
Scorpius was in the ring shadow boxing, incongruous white satin boxing trunks and high white boxing shoes
worn over his usual black leather. “I could hear you considering talking him ‘down’ from his present state,”
Scorpius threw a flurry of jabs and shuffled around the ring, “but Luxans have a reputation of never recovering
from hyper-rage without some form of physical release.”
“Scorpy, this really isn’t a good time for a chat.” John walked to the ring, grabbed the lowest rope, leaned back
and bounced against its elasticity.
“If you try and reason with him John, any other time may be too late -- for both of us.”
The major portion of his mind registered that D’Argo had stopped three motras from him and was bellowing in
Luxan. Since his translator microbes weren’t providing an English context to the words, it was a fair bet that it
was all profanity. John inched to one side of the insane figure, neither advancing nor retreating, but trying to
reach an uncluttered portion of the floor.
“I didn’t call for you Scorpy, and I don’t think you’re right. This time I’m going to help D’Argo work his way out of
hyper-rage instead of letting him sink into violence. He doesn‘t want to hurt anyone, he just can’t always control
what his genetics made him.” John could feel the barely contained anger left over from his confrontation with
Aeryn welling up inside him and turning itself into a stubborn refusal to listen to anyone’s advice, least of all the
Scorpius-clone’s.
“I hope I can come back later to tell you ‘I told you so’, John. But if you really are going to try this …” Scorpius
stopped talking and began climbing out of the boxing ring through the ropes.
“What? Where you going Scorpy?” John danced toward him in a series of boxing shuffles, throwing punches
into the air.
“Well, let’s just say that I don’t want to share your experiences during the outcome. Goodbye for a while John.”
Back in the bar, D’Argo still hadn’t advanced any further, and John decided that he still had a chance to reason
with the huge berserker. Looking up at his friend, who towered six inches taller than him, Crichton made a
start.
“Hey, D’Argo, hang on a microt man …” and that’s all it took to push D’Argo over the edge.
He bellowed “Crich-ton!” and charged forward. John scrambled back toward the door, knocking over chairs as
he tried to retreat while still keeping an eye on D’Argo. He had seen him in full hyper-rage like this only once
before, almost three cycles ago, and that time he had been afforded plenty of time and a head start in order to
run away and hide. This time D’Argo had just reached the pinnacle of hyper-rage, and for a reason John still
didn’t understand, it was once again aimed at him.
He was losing ground quickly so he abandoned the look-but-run strategy, turned his back on his temporarily
psychopathic friend and bolted for the door. ‘What could I have done to deserve this exceptional attention?’
The ridiculous thought skittered through his mind as he vaulted over a table, scattering dishes and glasses.
‘Last time it was just because I was a male, but I suppose it’s just as well that I still qualify for that criteria.’ He
felt the edge of futility approaching as he tripped over a chair and scrambled up again. ‘I hate it when Scorpy’s
right,’ was the last coherent thought that went through his mind as he felt D’Argo’s hand grasp the back of his
vest and then he was casually tossed back across the room, smashing into a group of chairs that had been
shoved into a tumble when D’Argo first began his rampage.
The next few minutes were a maelstrom of images as Crichton just tried to ride out D’Argo’s fury. He rolled out
of the wreckage of chairs and wrapped his arms around his head, trying to at least protect his skull. He was
momentarily aware that customers were yelling and stampeding in an effort to leave the scene of his impending
murder, and then he was lost to bludgeoning Luxan ferocity.
He could feel as he was plucked up effortlessly and knew there was a hurricane of battering that drove him
back to the floor, but his mind hid from the ordeal, prevented him from feeling the pain. The storm continued
unabated. He was again dragged to his feet and this time flung into the remainder of the crowd that was still
trying to exit. ‘Softer landing that time,’ he thought soggily and tried to curl into a protective ball again. When
nothing else happened he cautiously looked up.
D’Argo was standing only a motra away, the muzzle of Aeryn’s pulse pistol a scant dench away from his face.
He was not in total control of his anger yet, but he had regained enough awareness to know that Aeryn was
serious about stopping any further violence against John. The warrior took one huge breath and stalked out of
the building.
“Are you all right?” Holstering her weapon, Aeryn looked down where he was still partially curled up on the
floor.
“I’m just peachy,” he started and found he was suddenly breathless. He rolled over onto his back, but before
he could thank her, Aeryn stalked out of the building also. “Well I’m certainly continuing to win friends and
influence people today. I wonder what evil star soared into my universe this morning?” He sat up and waited
for his head to stop spinning.
“Hey Crichton, why did you say something like that to D’Argo to set him off?” Chiana crouched down nearby
and peered at him.
“I didn’t say anything, Pip. He tossed me before I got a chance.”
“You must have said something.” She straightened up and offered a hand to pull him to his feet. “I was trying
to tell you to just get the frell out of here.”
“He never gave me a chance … and why’s he mad at me this time?” Crichton didn’t stay on his feet long, but
sank back to a sitting position with his back against a wall and cradled his now aching head in his hands.
“Wow, I haven’t had a ride like that since we went to Disneyworld when I was nine.”
“I haven’t any idea. Listen, I’m going to go after D’Argo and see if he’s calmed down. Is that all right
Crichton?” She crouched near him again and examined his face carefully. “You look pretty good considering
how badly you fought back,” and gave a quick laugh. “That was actually pretty amazing to watch, you should
have charged everyone credits to watch.”
Then she was gone.
‘Should have sold tickets! Some things don’t change no matter what galaxy I call home.’ John got an elbow on
the seat of a chair and levered himself back on to his feet. He tested all the moving parts and was pleased to
find that everything worked fine. His head still ached a bit, just a dull throbbing pain now, and his chest was
sore inside. ‘I probably held my breath through the entire debacle,’ he guessed, but essentially he was
unharmed. Nodding to several of the cautiously returning patrons he walked carefully to the door and headed
back to the landing fields to find Aeryn and get a ride back to Moya.
John’s afternoon did not improve a great deal after leaving the bar. As he approached the gates to what he
termed in his own mind “The Airport”, he saw what was unmistakably Moya’s transport pod taking off. ‘Well,
that’s not all that bad,’ he tried to see the bright side of the situation, ‘since riding in the transport with D’Argo
might start the entire fracas again.’ The module was parked about half a metra further down the field though
and with his chest still feeling as though he wasn’t getting enough oxygen, John didn’t relish the walk. He had
only covered a quarter of the distance though when he saw the module departing as well.
“Well this is a fine situation you’ve gotten us into, Olly!” John intoned, earning himself a peculiar look from a
stranger walking by. He activated his comms. “Aeryn?” No answer. “D’Argo or Chiana can you hear me?” No
answer again, perhaps they were still in the atmosphere where air friction and turbulence would attenuate the
signal too severely to be received. “Pilot?”
“Yes John?”
John had never been able to figure out what Pilot’s ground rules were for determining whether he called him
‘John’, ‘Crichton’ or ‘Commander’, but it seemed that the bigger mess he got himself into, the more informal Pilot’
s address became. He was lucky he wasn’t being called ‘John-Boy’ today.
“The others have left the planet in both the transport and the module, and left me behind. Is this a hint I should
be paying attention to?”
“Hint? I’m not familiar with that concept, but I am sure it is just an oversight. Perhaps each vehicle assumed
you were in the other. I will contact the transport pod and instruct them to return for you.”
“NO!” John got his voice back under control and continued more calmly. “Pilot, the transport is full of supplies
that will need to be unloaded. Why don’t you just ask Aeryn to come back for me?”
“Very well John, I will contact Officer Sun.”
When the module landed again, John was still standing, leaning against the barricade that ran all the way
around the field. He did his best to saunter nonchalantly over to his own craft, waving for Aeryn to remain in
the pilot’s seat when she started to unbuckle and move out of his usual spot. “You’re already strapped in, go
ahead and fly back.” He managed to slide in behind Aeryn without yelping as his sore muscles complained at
the cramped position. He was just happy that he didn’t have to handle the flight back.
Aeryn’s expertise with any form of space craft was still far beyond John’s, even when she was flying his module,
but when she set the small craft down in the hangar bay, it settled with a slight thump that reverberated through
the craft. A quiet grunt of pain was forced out of John despite his best intentions, his already stiffening muscles
objecting to the sudden lurch. He managed to rearrange his expression to his best imitation of normalcy before
Aeryn turned around.
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
“Abso-frelling-lutely. Takes more than a short waltz with a ragin’ Luxan to take the starch out of an astronaut.”
He could see he had pretty much baffled Aeryn with his answer.
“I believe D’Argo has finally scattered what few wits Crichton had to begin with.” Rygel was floating next to the
cockpit in his chair, his earbrows at full height as he enjoyed a rare opportunity to badger John. “How you can
continue to exceed the capability of translator microbes never ceases to amaze me. And how you can continue
to provoke your own ship mates into violence never ceases to amuse me.”
“Rygel, go away.” Aeryn was already out of the cockpit and striding away, so he now had enough room to hoist
himself up with his arms and swing his legs over the side. He slid down the side of the ship to a fairly graceful
landing. “Just bug off.” Much to his relief Rygel didn’t argue. The Hynerian began to open his mouth for a
retort, looked piercingly at Crichton, and then simply left. John watched, bemused, as the Throne Sled sailed
away across the hanger. He wasn’t going to admit it to anyone but he felt terrible and wanted nothing more
than to go take a shower and then to go to bed. But life was never that easy and D’Argo was heading toward
him now. John waited for him, leaning against the Farscape, and felt tension crawl back into his body.
“John …”
“D’Argo?”
“I don’t know the words for what I need to say.” D’Argo paused, truly at a loss for words.
‘This is one humble Bumble.’ John almost grinned at the vision, but kept his face straight for the sake of his
friend‘s feelings. “D’Argo, it’s a Luxan thing, don’t sweat it. Just tell me one thing … were you mad at me?”
“No John. I don’t even know what I was mad at, I was just angry.”
“Then it’s okay and there’s a way you can make it up to me.”
“Anything.”
“Do my share of unloading the supplies, hunh? I think I’m just going to go get cleaned up.” He clapped his
warrior friend lightly on the shoulder and sauntered out of the hangar bay, heading for his room and a hot
shower.
D’Argo watched the human stroll away, seemingly without any concern about what had happened on the
planet. He almost went after him, because he hadn’t been quite honest with John. When he had tried to
prepare an explanation for John inside his own mind, he’d found that he couldn’t begin to put his feelings into
words or concepts at all. How could he explain that it had been pure jealousy, not of Crichton, but of something
that Crichton had that he might never again experience? How could he explain the sense of loss and loneliness
to John, of all people?
Aeryn overheard the exchange, said nothing, and returned to helping unload supplies. She tried to understand
how Crichton continued to forgive everyone so easily. She wasn’t blind. She knew there were times when John
couldn’t let go of his anger, and would settle into an unyielding stubbornness that could exceed the combined
capacity of the entire crew at times. But in this situation she hadn’t even begun to forgive D’Argo or herself yet,
and John had already moved beyond the incident. Their behavior had been inexcusable. D’Argo had attacked
John without provocation, and she had snapped at him outside the shop for no good reason, which drove him
right into the arms of D'Argo's rage, and John just didn’t seem to care.
She watched his relaxed figure as he disappeared into Moya’s corridor and gave herself a small shake of the
head, still amazed at his attitude. She knew now that she hadn’t gotten mad at Crichton when he made his
comment about being a Peacekeeper, or for what he said about Jocacea. She’d been angry and hurt the
microt he had simply disagreed with her. The whole thing was ridiculous. He hadn’t meant anything by what he
said, so why did it bother her so much? She shook her head, trying to dispel the unaccustomed thoughts.
Perhaps she could talk to John about it in the morning.
* * * * *
John finished his shower and clad in no more than shorts, looked at himself in the mirror. Not all that bad
considering, but the next two or three days might get pretty ugly until his bruises started to fade. Already his
arms and shoulders were stiffening to the point that he couldn’t be bothered taking off two days worth of beard.
He knew it was very likely that he would not be able to do it at all the next morning, and wished he had shaved
before heading to the planet, but he wasn’t going to bother at this point. All of his joints ached, even his legs,
although he didn’t remember getting hit below the waist. D’Argo’s anger had been blind and John had been
pummeled primarily around his arms, shoulders, and mid-body.
‘Must have been one of those flying Walendas D’Argo treated me to,’ he surmised. He slid a T-shirt over his
head, covering the worst of the bruises, and then indulged himself by slithering under the covers into his bed
on his stomach, as he had when he was young.
Reaching into a container standing on a cargo case next to the bed, he scooped a dentic out of its liquid
habitat and popped it into his mouth. He lay on his bed for the few minutes it took for the little creature to
efficiently remove all the bacteria and microscopic food particles from his entire palate, and while he waited he
allowed his thoughts to drift idly through what had happened on the planet today. He had managed to piss
Aeryn off, draw D’Argo’s rage, get dissed by Chiana, and amuse Sparky. Jool was always annoyed with
everyone on board, so he decided he could discount her attitude.
‘Quite a score for one day, but it doesn’t explain why everyone was on my case.’ He failed to come to any
further conclusions. When the dentic stopped moving around he knew it had completed its symbiotic job and
that his peculiar little pet was fed for the day. He rolled on his back, spat the little beast into his hand and sent
it arcing toward its container. It splashed accurately back into its watery home.
“Yessss! The kid hits from outside the line … three points!” He rolled on to his side and was instantly asleep.
* * * * *
Hasman’s Marauder located the nebula without difficulty, the directional vectors having been precise. They
slowed and began the spherical search pattern that would allow them to detect any mechanical or
biomechanoid ship within the phenomenon. Even with the new adaptive sensors it was going to take several
cycles to ensure that nothing was hiding within the swirling clutter of interstellar material.
* * * * *
The next morning John woke to the reality that maybe he wasn’t really fine, and that he absolutely wasn’t able
to get out of bed. He was so stiff he couldn’t sit up. He finally discovered that he could roll over onto his
stomach, then he hunched up like an inch-worm until he could flop into a sitting position, and finally crawled out
of bed. He thought about staying in bed the entire day, but decided that moving would be better for him. To
that end, he slowly hitched himself into the shower and stayed under the hot water until he could move at a
pace approaching normal. He still had a pounding headache and his chest felt tight. The slightest bit of
exertion left him sweating and short of breath, but he knew that would pass in time. What he needed now was
something to eat.
‘Scratch that idea!’ he thought as the mental vision of food brought on a wave of nausea. ‘What I need is a little
Percodan, maybe some Codeine.’ What did they use in the Uncharted Territories? Then he remembered the
plant Zhaan had given Aeryn. Chewing its leaves provided an analgesic for most discomforts.
“The cure for what ails you … guaranteed to cure liver spots, take the gray out of your hair, and preserve the
wax on your car!” He was going to let himself get on a roll as he strolled through the corridor toward Aeryn’s
chamber, but found he was once again short of breath and sweating. He decided to use his air for breathing
instead.
Stopping outside Aeryn’s chamber he listened for a moment and then called, “Morning, anybody home?” He
was greeted with only silence. “Aeryn?” Getting caught rummaging around in her personal effects sounded
like another quick trip to the hurt factory, so he headed for the center chamber to see if she was eating First
Meal.
When Aeryn looked up from her food to see Crichton strolling in with a smile on his face, the relief was so
strong she had to put her utensils down quickly so no one could see her hands shaking. The feeling gradually
began to pass as he sat down across the table from Rygel and pretended to grab at the Hynerian’s food. It was
an old joke but John hadn’t tired of it yet, especially since Rygel fell for it every time, snapping at the hand that
snatched at his plate but came away empty every time. Even as she watched him laugh, she noticed that the
lines around his eyes were a little deeper than usual and that he had not removed the night’s growth of beard,
but he seemed otherwise normal.
“Aeryn, do you still have that zucchini plant growing? The one Zhaan gave you?”
“Soukeenee?” she struggled with the new sounds -- yet another word from Crichton that seemed to have no
counterpart in Sebacean. “Do you mean the Zeccan plant she gave me for head pains?”
“Zeccan, zucchini, Zhaan-plant, whatever. Is it still growing?”
“Yes, it’s in my chambers. Did you want some?”
“If it’s okay with you.” He got up before she could rise, “No, don’t get up, I can find it if you don’t mind me going
in your quarters.” He barely waited for her nod of assent before he headed out the door.
Aeryn watched him go with a resurgence of annoyance. Now he seemed to be deliberately short with her,
‘brushing her off’ was his phrase for it. She decided that her plan of talking things out with John would have to
wait until she had a better idea of what was going on. As he headed back along the corridor toward Chambers,
though, John was concentrating only on controlling the nausea that had overtaken him when he had looked at
all the food on the table in the central chamber. He would get some zucchini leaves from Aeryn’s quarters and
then take his mind off everything else by working on his module for a while.
* * * * *
Officer Ekron had been relieved from the pilot’s station by one of the other men, and had taken up Hasman’s
post monitoring all operations while the captain got some sleep. Ekron had been promoted to the Marauder
only a half-cycle ago, but he had learned fast and adapted to Hasman’s stringent operating procedures
quickly. He wasn’t as experienced as Hasman, but he spotted the additional target on the sensor readouts
before the Peacekeeper manning the station did, and knew what to do without hesitation.
He stepped quickly to the Navigation Console and typed in a new trajectory for the Marauder, sending it to the
pilot’s console with a firm slap of his palm. “Speed, full slow. Ease us into the center of that nebula.” He
pointed to one of the other commandos and ordered, “Get the captain. Tell him we may have found one of the
Leviathans.”
“Dai, if that ship is the Leviathan, it will see us. We need to get into the shadow of a planet or an asteroid.”
The pilot was already steering the ship where he had been directed despite his objection.
“Idiot! We are the only ones in this entire quadrant with sensors that can see through all that energy plasma.
They’re coming straight at us, the nebula is the one place they can’t see this ship.”
“How will we fire upon it from in the nebula?”
“We won’t fire from within the nebula,” Hasman said, walking into the operating quarters as he buckled his
uniform jacket. “If they pass it by, we’ll get behind them in their sensor blind, and if they go through the nebula
on their present course …”
For once, all four sets of eyes turned and look at him as a smile began to form on his normally stern face.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
