DISCLAIMER: Farscape and all the characters of Farscape are the property of Jim Henson productions, Nine Network Australia, Hallmark Entertainment and the Sci-Fi Channel and are used without permission for free entertainment only.
SPOILERS: From the Premiere to Nerve.--December 1999
TIMELINE: Sometime near the latter half of Season 1.
A/N: I was playing a little game when I wrote this chapter. Did you note anything unusual about it? And yes, this story does have more chapters.:)
Feedback: Yes, please.
1
It was an unusual day. Unusual because nothing strange or even life threatening had happened. Unusual because day-to-day life aboard Moya the Leviathan, an actual living starship, was the unusual.
In the maintenance bay, John grinned to himself as he walked around Farscape One, fine tuning some of the modifications he had made to the craft. He was feeling rather proud of himself. Hey, he had bodily gone where no human had gone before! And with things being so unusual today, he actually had time to enjoy the thought. I, E.T. If only Dad could see me now! Normally, there was one big crisis after another. If it wasn't space bugs, it was running from Peacekeepers, if it wasn't running from Peacekeepers, it was fighting intelligent viruses or a DNA mad scientist, or becoming unstuck in time, or being 'Jeremiah' Crichton marooned on a paradise planet that wasn't as perfect as it seemed, or outsmarting bounty hunters, or trying to avoid getting beat up by D'argo or Aeryn or verbally whipped by one of his irritated shipmates or any other number of experiences he would never have even thought were possible until he had become lost in this place. Lost in space.
But despite the constant threat of danger, how fun it was to come to the edge of destruction and pull out in the nick of time. What an adrenaline rush! John was still soaring high from the last close encounter and he felt so good he simply had to share it with someone else, "Pilot!" he transmitted through his small gold-colored communicator. "How's it goin'?"
"Exactly the same as when you asked half an arn ago," Pilot replied as his large purple head and placid brown eyes appeared within a clamshell holographic projector. Pilot reminded Crichton somewhat of a hatching dinosaur. The top of his head looked like the smooth eggshell a hatchling might wear. Although, it spread out more like a mushroom umbrella. "All of Moya's systems are functioning smoothly," Pilot informed him. "I am running a system check of the ventilation and environmental systems." Due to Moya's pregnancy, things did not always function as they should and D'argo had been avidly complaining of gel seeping from the walls of his quarters. "Is there something that concerns you?" Pilot asked, clearly busy, but as always anxious to offer assistance, whether it was to assist in a scientific puzzle or a simple chat.
"Nope!" John paused in his work and slapped his knee, chuckling. "That's what's so great about this day!" Unusual because so far absolutely no one aboard Moya was refusing to speak with him because of some idiotic thing he had done or said. Although Chiana might have something to do with that. She had taken away his status of newcomer and now bore the brunt of most of the others' negative attention. He wasn't sure if she could be trusted either, but that was another worry for another day. "Are you doing great, Pilot?"
A clearly puzzled expression crossed the variegated purple face. "I am fine, Commander Crichton. Thank you for asking. Are you certain you are alright?"
"Never better." Unusual because, without begging, he had invited Aeryn to help him work on this project and she had accepted. Well, she wasn't here yet. Maybe she had changed her mind, but with the way things were going today he leaned more towards the optimistic. John went back to work and as he worked he hummed a merry tune. He held a small piece the size of a quarter, the same golden color as Moya. It was warm to the touch and he slid it into place on his craft's engine. It was a biomechanoid component that Moya and Pilot had allowed him to use to juice up his spacecraft.
He was still working thus when Aeryn arrived. She walked up to him and gazed for a moment over his shoulder. Her dark hair was pulled back, but a few dark strands had escaped and fell charmingly around her ears. She wore a grey tank top and black pants. She stood, shoulders squared, hands behind her back, and clicked her tongue. "You're doing it wrong," she informed him as she watched him fiddle with the small component he was adjusting on the shuttle.
"What?" John asked, incredulously. He stopped humming.
"You placed it in backwards," Aeryn explained, briskly.
"Look Aeryn...I'm the scientist here and I think I would know..." His voice trailed off as he looked back at her and saw her expression.
Aeryn raised her eyebrows and shot him the Crichton-you-idiot-look and insisted, slowly, "Simply take a look at it!"
John looked down at the piece and, lo and behold, it was in backwards. Strike one. "Well, burst my bubble, why don't you? This is supposed to be a good day." He picked up a tool and yanked at the piece in an attempt to remove it.
"What bubble?" Aeryn asked, seriously.
The added component stubbornly refused to be removed. John blinked twice, reminding himself not be upset. He was determined this was going to continue to be a GOOD day. "No. Burst my bubble. It's an expression. It means..." He stumbled through the explanation as he tried to correct the mistake he had made. Would the stupid little piece come off?
"Crichton, you shouldn't...." Aeryn's voice warned him. "If you would simply let me..."
"Naah, I can do it," John interrupted, cockily. "Ouch!" John yelped as an electric charge traveled up his tool and shocked his hand and arm. "Why didn't you tell me that?" John shouted in pain, dropping the tool. "It stings. Why doesn't anybody ever tell me stuff like that?"
A crease appeared in Aeryn's brow. "You did ask for my help but far be it from to offer a piece of advice where it is disregarded and obviously not wan--"
Strike two. Never blame a Peacekeeper for anything. Especially if it's your own fault. He rubbed his arm and realized the feeling was starting to come back. He picked up the tool. "Alright, Aeryn. Here. If you think you can do it better." He handed over his tool and stepped to one side to let her try.
Aeryn took the tool with an expression John was unable to read. She stepped over to the work bench and laid it down. She opened a tool box and slipped one hand into a black glove she procured from there, and then returned to John's craft. She leaned over and with one deft twist she pulled off the backwards component. She held it up to him. "It's a biomechanoid component. Sensitive. It resists harsh methods." She flipped it over, and with another twist secured it in place. A DRD moved in with a miniature welding tool to finish the job. Aeryn straightened once more, slipped off the glove and placed it in John's hand. Her deep blue eyes gleamed with amusement. After all, he had challenged her to do it better. "There you are, Crichton. What next?"
"Well, Aeryn. I guess I need another lesson in biomechanoid technology," John said sheepishly.
Chiana's voice piped up behind them suddenly. "You two playing nice?"
They turned to the newest resident of Moya with surprise and a slight undercurrent of irritation. "Aren't you supposed to be pest--helping Zhaan with something?" John asked.
Chiana's dark eyes gleamed with mischief. "I'd much rather....help you," the pale-colored Nebari girl replied with a tilt of her head and a lilt in her voice.
"You can't help, pip. Much too complicated," John said.
"Why? I'm a good....problem solver." Chiana always liked to draw her words out and add strange inflections to them. She tapped her forehead to emphasize her point and smiled. Her amused expression was partly hidden by her shock of white hair.
Aeryn said, "Where is Zhaan, by the way?" She distrusted the girl before them and it was Zhaan's turn to keep an eye on her. She stared pointedly at the mischief maker.
"Rygel said you were....working on....a project." Chiana giggled secretively. She sprang to the work bench with the agility of a feline and began doing a gymnast routine. "Only he didn't tell me....what it was." She pretended to pout, but her smile soon reappeared.
Aeryn glared at Chiana for not answering the question, but Chiana continued as if her story was the most interesting in the universe, "We were in the galley. He was eating and drinking and then all of a sudden--" Chiana paused to leap off of the bench and do a somersault. "He started snoring and his head fell. Plop!" She demonstrated the motion. "Right into a pile of food in the middle of his story. Which reminded me of a time when I was a stowaway..."
"SILENCE!" Aeryn shouted. She wasn't taking anymore of this nonsense. She spoke into her communicator. "Aeryn to Zhaan." No response. A look of worry crept into the lines around her mouth. "Aeryn to Zhaan, please respond." No calm voice of reassurance answered her.
John tried. "Crichton to Zhaan. D'argo? Anybody? Hello-o-o."
Still no response. The sounds of Moya, the constant pulses and rhythms of the living ship, sounded strangled. Stifled. Distressed.
John gave Chiana a questioning look and Chiana returned it by sticking out her tongue. "Keep trying if you like, but--it won't work," Chiana informed them both belatedly, clapping her hands like a jester at some secret joke.
"Why won't it work?" John asked, taking a threatening step towards her.
"I thought you didn't want my help." Chiana smirked, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
"One more smart remark out of you, brat, and I'll--" Aeryn began.
Chiana suddenly became cooperative and momentarily, serious. Apparently, her little Catwoman versus two blind mice game had lost its appeal. "The comms are out and we don't know why. Zhaan sent me to ask you two to come to Command."
