EXODUS FROM GENESIS
(Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, and please remember that Farscape does not belong to me and most likely never will. Please read, review, and provide suggestions- after all, this is an ongoing series.)
Genesis is complete.
Slowly, the Draks leave Moya, flowing from her cargo bay in an expanding cloud of insects and retreating deep into the coldest void of space.
Within the cloud, the Monarch of the Draks reflects absently on the events of Genesis: much of it remains incomprehensible even now- like the Living Death that the female had spoken of in her final agonies. Was that the madness had driven her to stagger from her bed to the waiting guns of the Peackeeper commandos? Was it what those same commandos had felt, as the heat soared, as they slipped from consciousness forever?
The one called Crichton had attacked them too early; he'd been so enraged at the death of the female that he hadn't been willing to wait until they were half-collapsed from exhaustion and delirium.
That mistake had cost him his life.
Now, amidst the undulating ranks of her children, their corpses drift. According to the Dominar, they felt that space was the best place to commit the bodies: their two comrades had both been pilots, after all. The Monarch had nodded her comprehension, though it had seemed to her that they were just eager to be rid of two unwanted reminders.
And as the vaguely relieved face of Aeryn floats past her compound vision, the Monarch wonders: what will happen to Moya and her crew now? Will they fracture and depart their home, as other swarms had done when they suffered insufferable losses? Will they remain?
It matters little.
All that matters is Genesis.