Setting: At the end of Fractures
Disclaimer: Farscape belongs to the Jim Henson Company, Hallmark Entertainment, Nine Network Australia and the Sci-fi Channel.
This story was written in response to a missing scene challenge on the bulletin board in mid January.
DREAMS
As the rest of the crew dispersed, Crichton followed him from the den and called to him. Crais stopped and turned, shoulders squared, hands clasped behind his back.
"Why?" the human asked.
The former Peacekeeper seemed to consider the question a microt, his dark eyes void of reaction. "I now understand who my enemy has always been." He leveled his gaze at the other man, measuring his words. "And I am a soldier."
Crichton waited, yet Crais offered no further explanation. "You do realize the odds will not be in our favor."
Crais dipped his head in agreement. "My knowledge of the command carrier could prove helpful."
It was not necessary to say anything else. The other Crichton had barely trusted him, and this one had no reason to. He knew his words were of no value to the human or the others. The choice was no longer his; it had not been for quite some time.
They stood in silence, eyes locked, neither willing to yield. Eventually, Crichton took a couple of steps backward, turned and walked away. "Good night, Crais," he said without ever looking back.
Crais continued to his quarters and promptly removed the transponder, tossing it on the dressing table. With Moya and Talyn in constant communication it was not necessary for him to be in contact with the hybrid. Pilot would alert them of any problems. He sank onto the bed, the excruciating pressure in his head beginning to ease. The link was becoming almost unbearable as Talyn's thoughts continued to grow increasingly hostile toward him. Disagreement between them was now the standard versus the exception.
The truth, which he could barely admit to himself, much less Crichton, was now clear and inevitable. While he could never go back, he could no longer go forward either. Without the Leviathan's firepower and mobility, the Peacekeepers would capture him within the monen. He knew what they intended for him. They had taught him early in his career how to make death last, a lesson he excelled at.
He sat back up and pulled off his boots, undressed and slid beneath the bedcover. In an effort to sleep, he searched his memory for a more pleasant time. A faint smile lingered on his face as he remembered when his only ambition had been to accompany his father to the village to barter payment for their harvest. He had never realized that dream. The harvest was only weekens away when he and Tauvo were taken.
Dreams did not exist for Peacekeepers. From that day forward he had only goals, the kind measured by misery and body count. In the end, he had achieved nothing, leaving behind a dead brother and disgrace as his legacies. If only they could believe. He *had* changed.
Crais closed his eyes. He forced slow deep breaths and dared to dream again, this time of a quick and honorable death in battle.
Disclaimer: Farscape belongs to the Jim Henson Company, Hallmark Entertainment, Nine Network Australia and the Sci-fi Channel.
This story was written in response to a missing scene challenge on the bulletin board in mid January.
DREAMS
As the rest of the crew dispersed, Crichton followed him from the den and called to him. Crais stopped and turned, shoulders squared, hands clasped behind his back.
"Why?" the human asked.
The former Peacekeeper seemed to consider the question a microt, his dark eyes void of reaction. "I now understand who my enemy has always been." He leveled his gaze at the other man, measuring his words. "And I am a soldier."
Crichton waited, yet Crais offered no further explanation. "You do realize the odds will not be in our favor."
Crais dipped his head in agreement. "My knowledge of the command carrier could prove helpful."
It was not necessary to say anything else. The other Crichton had barely trusted him, and this one had no reason to. He knew his words were of no value to the human or the others. The choice was no longer his; it had not been for quite some time.
They stood in silence, eyes locked, neither willing to yield. Eventually, Crichton took a couple of steps backward, turned and walked away. "Good night, Crais," he said without ever looking back.
Crais continued to his quarters and promptly removed the transponder, tossing it on the dressing table. With Moya and Talyn in constant communication it was not necessary for him to be in contact with the hybrid. Pilot would alert them of any problems. He sank onto the bed, the excruciating pressure in his head beginning to ease. The link was becoming almost unbearable as Talyn's thoughts continued to grow increasingly hostile toward him. Disagreement between them was now the standard versus the exception.
The truth, which he could barely admit to himself, much less Crichton, was now clear and inevitable. While he could never go back, he could no longer go forward either. Without the Leviathan's firepower and mobility, the Peacekeepers would capture him within the monen. He knew what they intended for him. They had taught him early in his career how to make death last, a lesson he excelled at.
He sat back up and pulled off his boots, undressed and slid beneath the bedcover. In an effort to sleep, he searched his memory for a more pleasant time. A faint smile lingered on his face as he remembered when his only ambition had been to accompany his father to the village to barter payment for their harvest. He had never realized that dream. The harvest was only weekens away when he and Tauvo were taken.
Dreams did not exist for Peacekeepers. From that day forward he had only goals, the kind measured by misery and body count. In the end, he had achieved nothing, leaving behind a dead brother and disgrace as his legacies. If only they could believe. He *had* changed.
Crais closed his eyes. He forced slow deep breaths and dared to dream again, this time of a quick and honorable death in battle.