Not My Father's Hero
(First posted July 11, 2002)
Rating:  G
Disclaimer:  The characters and vision of Farscape are the property of Henson, Co.  I thank you all for your
exceptional creation, and humbly request that you not sue my pants off for the liberty I have taken with your
characters.
Spoilers:  Not this time.

Genesis:  After a frenzied effort to complete “Night Walker” yesterday, I swore upon a stack of Farscape
scripts that I would lock up the laptop, and paint the upstairs hallway.  However … I was playing some music
from a movie that deals with choosing your own path through life, and I had a very strong image of what a very
young John Crichton might have been like, growing up in the shadow of his hero-astronaut father.  

But you need to keep in mind that I tend to treat visions like a Rubik’s Cube.  Once you have it neatly arranged,
grasp it firmly with both hands, and give it a good twist.

Hope you enjoy it.  

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“I’m not my father’s hero.  Nobody can live up to that image.  Who can compete with a legend?  A giant?  
Someone whose adventures will be told and retold with admiration and envy?  He strode across the stars,
reached for a future that few could imagine.  I can’t be like that.  I’m not the same person.”  

“I’m the son, the offspring, the copy, his hope for the future instead of my own promise of what I might become.  
But I can never be his type of hero.  I can’t turn my back on my family, go out into the stars.  I have to stay here,
fight, use guile, deception to achieve my ends.  I can’t blast into space on the thrust of flame, seeking new
visions, new horizons.  I can’t be like him.”  

“I’m the struggler, the underdog, the scrapper.  I can’t be my father’s hero.”  

“I’m … The Mutant Space Musketeer!”  

“IAN!!”  

“Mom?”  

“How many times have I warned you about trying to jump into the neural plexus?”  

“Ah, Mom.  Pilot didn’t say anything.”  

“He didn’t say anything because you snuck in here again after programming the DRDs to distract him.  The
sonic net is down there in case you fall into the plexus.  If I catch you jumping in on purpose one more time, I’m
telling your father, and he can deal with it.”

“Being the son of John Crichton FRELLING BITES!”  

“Watch your language.”  


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