The Prophecy

Author: Keren Ziv
Disclaimer: I don't own Farscape, I wish I did, but I don't.
Rating: G
Category: sort of action adventure/myth/fable
Author's Note: Do you like this one? I dunno how it works, but it flows (to me) better than the last one did, so I'm good, ya know. ;) Think of this as what may have happened after Revenging Angel instead of Fractures. Oh, and am I a John/Aeryn shipper? Let's just say that when I saw my first eppy (EFG) that I immediately said that they should get jiggy. However, I enjoy a good challenge, so I'm almost perfectly happy with the way that everything has worked out so far in the Farscape series. :ducks rotten tomatoes:

.01

There is a fable among the Nebari people. It is a well-known tale, worn by many centuries of use and oral passage. When it is spoken, it is often in hushed tones, with every word carefully chosen. The speaker will often have the Nebari sacred text, the book of Giaun, open in their laps as they speak. With the Giaun open they have protection while their telling of the tale.

It is a forbidden tale. The Giaunas, the holy men of Giaun, call it a blasphemous story of heretics. The conformist party of the Nebari people says it is a wistful and incorrect translation of the Giaun. Both agree that it surface before the official Giaun was written in the new translation, yet both dispute the accuracy of the story.

The people dispute what they are frightened of. They run when the unfamiliar is brought to them and shown to their incredulous faces. They will defend the lies and run against the truth to keep everything as it is.

The Giaun was written with the truth in mind. It was written in ancient Nebari, when the tongue was still widely known and used. For cycles after the sacred text was first completed, the language was used. When the dialect changed, the Nebari people studied in their ancient tongue diligently, so that they would be able to read the Giaun and understand it's meaning.

The practice faltered, however, after the cycles washed away the awe of the old tongue. The people wished for an easier way to read their holy book. They commissioned the government to translate the Giaun into Commonday Nebari. The language had evolved so differently from its first form that the two were not distinguishable as related tongues.

The Giaunas refused to read the newly translated version of the Giaun. They spoke against it, saying that the beauty and wonder could not be carried over from the language of its origin to Commonday Nebari. They argued that those schooled to speak the ancient tongue were schooled to think it, and therefore they were schooled to understand the complex and wonderful meanings and messages imprinted in every word of the Giaun.

After a few cycles, the older Giaunas died off and left in their stead the malleable young holy men. These newer Giaunas read the translated versions of the Giaun and if they saw any differences, they kept their mouths shut. It is widely said that the story of Giaun and the book of Giaun are one and the same.

Of course, there are those who say that the old Giaunas had seen the changes the government made and had been afraid to speak out against it. There are those that say the story of Giaun is the true book of Giaun, not what has been released by the Giaunas and the government. They say that the book of Giaun as it is today is merely a front for the government. They scorn the book and all political messages that it gives, and search for an un-translated version of Giaun to support their claims that the story and book are the same.

And those most vocal about that soon die.

John Crichton stood up slowly from the chair in which he had been seated, stretching to relieve the tension in his back that he felt. His knees pained him when he moved, a telltale sign that he had been sitting too long. Wearily, he tossed his pen down onto his desk and began the process of tidying up his workspace.

The notebook page on which he had been writing was covered with his script. First, it was in the neat, blockish writing from when he had just been starting that session of going over wormhole equations. Somewhere along the middle of the page there seemed to be a decline in the overall health of the handwriting, and by the end of the page everything was in a definite scrawl.

"I do my homework and turn in all my class work, but I still don't understand the material, Miss Crabtree," he murmured absentmindedly to himself as he brushed the lint from his shirt. "Aw, hell, I need to get out of here. I'm talking to myself and Harvey ain't even around."

As if it were some sort of cue, the Sebecean-Scarran hybrid popped up. He was dressed down, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a wife beater tee shirt. John had half-a-microt thought on how Harvey was certainly not as thin and bony as one would think before the neural clone began speaking.

Scorpy flashed out a gloved fist against a large, red punching bag which had appeared in the middle of John's Quarters. "Float like a butterfly " thwap, "sting like a bee " thwap. "How are you doing, John?" Harvey desisted with the bag and walked over to John.

"Harvey, nice to see you. Wish and delivery is immanent, eh?" John walked passed the Peacekeeper and out into the corridor, pushing the punching bag away when he passed. The bag had turned purple with yelled squares dotted all over.

"If that is the way that you wish to see it, yes." The clone was to his right, matching him stride for stride. He skirted impatiently over a DRD that had zoomed towards him without slowing it's pace. "Do not blame me for this impromptu meeting. You called it."

John shook his head. "Look, Harvey, all I did was comment on the fact that I seem to be even more insane than usual. Then you popped up. I think you were just bored and itching for a chance to talk to me." John stopped and let Jool pass. "Hey, Jool. Howya doin'?"

The Interon flashed him a glance. John cursed the neural clone, who happened to be standing directly behind Jool, making bunny-ears and moose-horns over the crest of her hair. "I'm just off to wash my hair, John."

"Just make sure you pick up all the loose strands and put 'em in the trash when you're done," John told her as Scorpy pulled back his cheeks, imitating the facial features of Jool as closely as possible with full leather on.

"Crichton," Jool chided. John threw his hands up into the air, flashing her a grin, before walking on.

"Well done, John," Scorpy said, now dressed in a 1930s dress and apron ensemble. "I give you an A for effort and an A- for execution. She did get a bit angry, you know."

"Miss Crabtree didn't wear her apron to school," John informed him. "Remember? I think the only time she ever wore the apron was when Chubby tried to hit on her.

'Ah, don't call me Chubby, Miss Crabtree. Call me Chubsey-Ubsey.' Or did she wear the apron? I have to get my tapes out and review that."

"Funny, John." The clone was now dressed in baggy black jeans and a black tee shirt with white lettering on it. The word 'Metallica' was there, along with a picture of the band.

"Yes, I thought so. I mean, here I am, in the middle of nowhere, talking about the Little Rascals with somebody in my head that only I can see. Hell, I'm the only human here and you're the only Scarran-Sebecean hybrid, so we might as well become good friends, right?"

"I prefer Sebecean-Scarran hybrid, John."

"You like to use my name a lot, don't ya, ol' buddy, ol' pal?" John turned to look, but the hybrid was gone. "And you like to leave me in the middle of a passageway, talking to myself, don't you?" There was no answer. "Frell it."

"Commander Crichton." John's comm crinkled to life indignantly, causing him to jump in his skin and swear. "You are a quarter of an arn late for your shift in command."

"Sorry, Pilot," John said. "I got a little hung up in the corridor. I'll be right there. Tell D'argo not to worry." He mentally cursed himself for spending so much time on the wormhole equations and then dawdling when he hadn't the time to spare.

When John reached command, however, he didn't see D'argo there waiting impatiently. He saw Chiana, her face a mixture of amusement and worry. She raised an eyebrow at him as he jogged in.

"Jool comm'd and told me that you'd been having an animated conversation with a DRD, and that you might be a while. I hope that Pilot brought you out of whatever subject you were immersed it."

"Ah, yes," John said. "John Crichton, astro-nut, talking to thin air. It's gotta give the girl a bit to worry about."

"The air isn't thin, John," Pilot's indignant voice came. "The atmosphere is perfectly suited to you." The clamshell image showed Pilot in his Chamber, his many arms going about, doing their various tasks. "The readings from the corridor, and the tier, even, show that the oxygen level their is more than sufficient for your species."

"It's a human expression. You know how thin air makes people dizzy and a little bit crazy? Not enough oxygen to the brain? Well, when people start acting oddly, it's like they are showing symptoms of thin air."

"Nebaris have that expression," Chiana informed him. "Only we say that they are talking to the air of the heights or that they're mountain-headed."

"Both make sense in complements to the human expression." Pilot looked relieved to learn that it was just another of John's crazy Earthisms. "I will, however, keep the atmospheric scrubbers on a higher setting than usual for a few arns, to make certain that the air is of good quality."

"So, Pip, why're you here instead of D'argo?" John sat down next to Chiana, crossing his arms across his chest in a nonchalant fashion.

"D'argo was busy with his ship, see, and I thought he could use a little bit more time with it. He looked like he was having a really good time . . . " Chiana's voice trailed off. "So I volunteered myself. It's not like I had anything better to do."

John leaned over and ruffled her hair affectionately. "You're a good kid, Chi," he told her. Chiana grinned in response and began rearranging her hair into its original state. "Hey, wait a second . . . did you cut your hair again?"

Chiana laughed. "Took a while for you to notice, John," she told him. "Not that anyone has mentioned it, actually. It's just hair." She tilted her head to one side, grinning at him.

"Well, it looks very pretty," John informed her. "Though I do wonder what you'd look like with hair long enough to actually pull out of your face." His teasing tone was helped along with one of his charming smiles as he pulled one of Chiana's bangs down. "Always in your eyes," he chastised her.

"Well, if I let it grow, it'd be even more in my eyes." Chiana offered this bit of advice with a swat to John's fingers. "Then where would I be?" She threw back her shoulders a bit, waiting. John merely smiled. "Why, then you would complain that I let my hair grow too long to deal with."

"No I wouldn't," John told her. "I'd buy you hairclips. Lots and lots of hairclips. Then I would show you how to clip it back behind your ears and how to braid it in teeny tiny braid like my sisters use to wear."

"You had sisters?" Chiana's voice came out softly curious.

"Uh huh. Two. They were after-thought children, born when I was sixteen. Mom and Dad didn't expect to have one new baby, and when the second one came four years later they most certainly were even more surprised, especially since mom was pretty old to be having kids. Well, thirty-eight, but that's still older than most human women are."

"Your mother was eighteen when you were born?" Chiana seemed truly shocked. "She was nothing more than a child herself. I thought you said that she was a scientist. Did she have schooling to do?"

"Yes, and she did it. She completed all her studies. Of course, my Dad was a huge help. He was older than Mom by about ten years, and he was all ready done with all his stuff and on the pathway to a successful career in the stars. I spent a lot of my time with my grandparents when I was a young child."

"How old are your sisters right now?" Chiana had his hand and was absentmindedly weaving her fingers in and out of his. The cool gray hand felt small in John's own.

"Patti is eighteen years old, now. She was just fourteen when I left. Jaci is thirteen or fourteen, but she was almost ten when I did my Farscape run." John closed his eyes a microt, remember Patti's dark hair that seemed to never decided between brown or blonde and Jaci's blonde locks which she had defiantly died 'cineberry' red when she was alone for the afternoon.

"Pa'tee and Jack'ee. After your father, John?" Chiana lifted a hand and brushed a fingertip across her eyelid to get rid of an irritation there.

John laughed. "Actually, no. My father's name is John, the same as mine, but Jack is a nickname for John. Do you see how that works?" When Chiana nodded, with a small shrug of her petite frame, John continued. "Jacquelyn Diane Crichton was named after my maternal grandmother. Patricia Kay Crichton was named after my paternal grandmother."

"You talk a lot, John." Chiana's statement was quiet. "I said nothing, and you prattled on and on and on and on and on. We can't shut you up, can we?"

"Wait a minute!" John said, laughing. "You said a lot more with body language than I said with my tongue! You asked questions, I answered them! It isn't my fault."

Chiana leaned forward, letting her body graze against John's. "Just what sort of language am I speaking? I was never taught to speak anything except Commonday. Just when was I supposed to learn this new one? I think your translator microbes are on the fritz."

Just at the moment, a high pitched scream reached their ears. Chiana leaned back quickly and adjusted her shirt. "What the frell has gotten into her this time?" she complained. "I swear, I will kill her when I reach her."

"Aw, Pip, c'mon. Don't be so hard on Princess. I'm sure you know how painful breaking a nail really is." John glanced down at Chiana's perfectly trimmed nails and grinned. "Then again, maybe not. Hey, where do you get your manicures?"

"I take care of my nails myself, John Crichton, and you know that. We don't have the extra credits or the need to pay people to do something I can do all by myself." As they were talking, both John and Chiana had been making their way down towards where they had heard the scream. "Pilot, what the frell has happened?"

"I am not sure, Chiana. Jool will not answer her comms," Pilot said. "In fact," Pilot continued, "all she seems to be doing at the moment is screaming. However, I do have a DRD tracking her movements. I do believe she is on your tier. Actually, Commander Crichton, if you turn left at the next intersection, you will face her as she's coming down and towards her quarters."

"Hangin' a left, right now," John said, grabbing Chiana's wrist and pulling her along with him. "Thank you, Pilot." John slowed a bit to allow Chiana to jog alongside him before continuing at a swifter pace. "All's okay there, Pip?" he asked, glancing at her.

"Just, eh, what's that word you use? Peech'ee, John." Chiana snaked her hand up his arm. "Though your grip was a little tight. Mind treating me less like a Pulse rifle and more like damageable goods?" Her eyes flickered to his holster, where John had his newest Pulse rifle. He had called it Naomi and explained the relationship between the names as best he could to Chiana. "Or, actually, start treating me more like a Pulse rifle."

"Will do, babe, as soon as you shoot out little balls of light whenever I ask you to," John's spirited reply came. Chiana snorted into John's shoulder. "I don't think it's a skill you can easily learn, Chi, so just be glad you don't have me treatin' you like Katie Shaw treated that ol' pop-gun of hers."

"Katie Shaw?" Chiana asked, bringing her black eyes up from the floor and the DRD she was working around. "Oomph," she said, stumbling.

"Watch it," John told her, catching her fall. "Katie was the younger sister of Karen Shaw. Had the largest collection of popguns I had ever seen. She was pretty neat for a little kid. She had this one favorite, though, that she carried everywhere allowed. It got dented when she fell on it wrong, scratched when she dropped it . . . anything bad could happen to it, you just name it, and it happened."

"Why would a little child be carrying around weapons? I thought you said that your species left weapons solely to criminals, adults, and the military." Chiana moved her neck in a circular motion, left to right. John watched her out of the corner of his eye before replying.

"It was a toy gun. Bright orange metal, red trigged, and all it did was make noise by exploding a very tiny amount of something," John shrugged, "inside of it. Popular among children, especially preadolescent boys."

"You give your children toys that imitate weaponry?" Chiana could hear whimpering, so she figured they were nearing Jool. "Is your species idiotic?" She pulled on an earlobe. "Or are they trying to train their children to be soldiers like Peacekeepers?"

"No, not soldiers," John said absentmindedly, drawing his Pulse rifle and lowering his voice to barely a whisper. "Children want to be their heroes, though, you know? Army men . . . cops . . . action figures, like the Terminator." He put a finger to his lips and said, "I'll be back."

Chiana rolled her eyes, but decided to play along with John's little game. Crossing her arms over chest, she watched as John rounded the corner that they had come upon. "Jool?" she heard him call out quietly. Then, "Holy Mother of . . . what in the world happened to your hair, Princess?" Chiana heard whimpering which she couldn't decipher. "Yeah, Pilot, call off the search and let D'argo get back to his ship. I've got her."

Chiana figured it was safe for her to come around. What she saw made her gasp with suppressed laughter. Jool was in her quarters, dripping wet, and miserable. Her hair was in rows upon rows of tangled curls. The funny part of it, aside from the fact that she looked like a minga who'd been left out in the rain, was that her hair was blue. No, not blue exactly. It looked to be an almost gray shade of blue. Chiana bit her lip, suddenly afraid that she would burst.

"and then, when I turned to dry my hair, I saw . . . . I saw this and I started screaming it was so horrible." Jool gave a huge, shuddering breath.

"Gee, Princess, it's not that bad," John's voice didn't hide his skepticism. "It's a nice color on you. It matches . . . your shoestrings. And, hey, at least you shed like a malamute in the summer. It'll all be gone in an hour."

"Why in the world would my hair turn the color of a corpse's lips?" Jool wailed. She picked up a limp strand of hair and looked at it. "It looks horrible."

"Hey!" Chiana objected. "It's not that bad. And you should have asked before you borrowed my things. I would have told you that my shampoos don't react well with hair that isn't Nebari."

"Pip, you do a dye-job on the 'do?" John asked her. Chiana stared at him. She? Color treat her hair? She would have to hurt him, and soon. John mistook her glare of anger for uncertainty and explained. "You change the color of your hair using chemicals?"

"I know exactly what you meant, John Crichton, and no I do not!" Chiana burst out. "My hair is its natural color! What would I need to change it for? That chemical treats my hair and makes sure that the shine does not go away. Nebari have mites in their hair, if you remember, and if we do not keep the proper amount in them, our hair begins to look horrible. Common hair, you'd likely hear from people if I didn't treat my hair. Slum hair, you'd hear."

"Nebari are stuck up with hair?" John asked. He then proceeded to answer his own question. "Well, of course they are. They got it in two colors. Gray or black. Which one ya gonna chose, eh? I guess the luster of your hair would be a big deal."

Chiana threw her hands up into the hair. "Stop sniveling," she ordered Jool. Jool looked up but did not comply. "Honestly, you are acting like a little baby over nothing."

"Nothing?" Jool shrieked, her green eyes flashing, "What if my hair is ruined? It'll take weekens for me to get it back to a normal coloring! And during that time I will have streaks up and down throughout my hair! I will look like some Nebari-Interon half-breed."

"Oh, I doubt they will ever allow an Interon to catch with a Nebari woman." Chiana's comment left John slightly confused, but Jool threw back her head and laughed. Chiana grinned after a microt or two. "Don't laugh, I was serious."

"Yes, that's what makes it so funny. Can you imagine a Nebari-Interon half-breed?" Jool grinned. "It would probably look pretty amazing." Her green eyes flashed as she pushed wet hair out of them. "Of course, since no decent Nebari woman would petition for a catch with an Interon, it'd have to be Interon-Nebari, eh?"

Chiana laughed at Jool's joke on the Nebari and Interon species while Jool chuckles appreciatively. "I don't the joke," John said, his blue eyes darting from one girl to the other.

"Mother's species goes first, John." So that was why Scorpy preferred Sebecean-Scarran. People would all know his mother had been Sebecean. "Everyone knows that. And everybody also remembers when Graind Chiana petitioned for a catch for that Interon, Borinxinley Tashmanta Khalemonchan, and the council took four years deciding it," Jool explained. "Oh, goodness, that was a laugh. The Interons were furious that our species wanted to have children with the Nebari, and the Nebari were equally furious that one of their own would want a half-breed with an Interon."

"I still don't get it. What does Chiana have to do with this? Chi, you wanted a kid?" John tossed Chiana an appraising look. Chiana looked at him with a half smile. "I'm lost, Pip, fill me in."

"Okay, first off, Chiana is a very popular Nebari name. It comes from our sacred text and is as close to a translation of Giaun as we are allowed to name common children," Chi tilted her head to the left.

"Wait, you have the name John in the Nebari book of Names? And it's a girl's name? Why didn't you tell me?" John touched his hair as if waiting for it to sprout into curls or pigtails.

"The Nebari ear picks up tonal differences that the human ear doesn't. Perhaps to you the name Giaun can sound identical to John, but I hear subtle differences. And it's a proud name to have, John." Chiana gave a little flip of her hair. "On to the next . . . let's see . . . Nebari conformist disapprove of interspecies breeding. Oh, the basic frelling doesn't bother them, but the production of a child does. And Nebari religion is against any form of birth control for women."

"Gray Catholics, only the men have that much more power," John muttered to himself. Jool ignored his comment and searched for a towel to dry her hair with.

"So, centuries ago, they genetically altered Nebari females. As soon as a child was born, along with translator microbes it was given, they gave a gene that, when passed on to a female child, would disallow any catching between any species other than Nebari." Chiana pulled on one of her fingers, the dropped her hands to her side.

"Wow. That's one form of birth control that sounds fool proof. So the women in your species can't have children with . . . oh, an Interon? Or a Luxan?" John dropped his hand on the bed next to Jool and drummed his fingers in the damp bedcovers, pinky to index. Chiana watched him and tried to drum index to pinky. However, she found that she too was a pinky to index person. She gave a mental shrug.

"Unless you petition to your doctor for a formula. They developed formulas for certain species when interspecies marrying became a popular thing. However, if you were marrying a species that hadn't gone into the Nebari society before, your doctor would have to petition the council for permission to make the formula. A very famous example was the one that Jool cited." Chiana gave a half-smile to Jool and shared the private joke with her.

"So Nebaris basically dissed Interons and Interons basically dissed Nebaris?" John said, pulled Chi down to sit next to him. "Don't get wet."

"I wouldn't get wet if you didn't pull me on water," Chiana muttered darkly, scowling at John out her bright black eyes. After a moment, she grinned, and rested her head on John's shoulder.

"Yes, that's exactly what happened. Nobody was satisfied with the match, except Chiana and Borinxinley, and they didn't really have a say in the council." Jool gave a satisfied toss of her head, spraying John and Chiana with a liberal amount of water. "Sorry."

John shook his head to dispel any last drops. "So I'm named after some chick named Giaun?" he said to the top of Chiana's head. She lifted her head off his shoulder and faced him, her expression serious.

"Giaun is the foundation of the Nebari religion. The book of Giaun is our holy text. The story of Giaun is passed down . . . " Chiana gave a laugh, but no explanation. Jool nodded sagely before Chiana continued. "Of course, we call our priests Giaunas. To become a senior Giauna, it takes years of study. Most don't make it until they are thirty or forty cycles old, and they are gathered for study at age twelve."

John shook himself. "It almost sounds like Chiana, but it almost sounds like Johna. That's just weird, Chi." He grabbed a handful of her thick hair and twirled it around his finger. "Hey, look, I'm a religion. I knew that somewhere on this side of the universe, there would be thousands of women who would worship me."

"More like millions. It is the only religion on Nebar," Chiana said, laughing. "The mental picture you just gave me is hilarious. Women and young girls throwing themselves at pictures of you. Shrines set up around the worlds, all dedicated to you. Community discussions held in your honor. Stories, all written for you."

John gave a contented sigh. "Yep," he said, "I just might get a big head." He leaned backwards and stretched out on Jool's bed.

"Too late for that," Jool said morosely.

(asterisk)

Jool's hair took some time to getting back to normal. Three weekens, to be exact. John took to calling her Bride of Frankenstein, and had to explain to her what he meant by it. When she found out, she didn't speak to him for arns, but forgot during dinner and asked him to pass a plate of food. Rather than go back to not talking to him, she ignored his comments earlier and became just as friendly with him as beforehand.

D'argo was quite sympathetic to Jool's plight, and at the first commerce planet the crew visited, he came back with several bottles of herbs and shampoos, guaranteed to make her hair nice smelling, shiny, and anything else that had been advertised. Jool had welcomed the gifts with a smile and washed her hair in one that left it smelling, as John put it, "Like the White House Rose Garden."

Of course, he had to explain to Jool what he meant by that and that the name Rosie wasn't a bad name at all to be called. He also had to solemnly promise never call her Bride of Frankenstein again, or do so at great health to his notebooks.

By the time her hair was nearly back to normal nearly meaning she had about half a dozen bright strands glistening among her copper-toned hair she and Chiana had finished an elaborate doll, woven out of the strands of hair that she had shed. It had been Chiana's idea to do so and, as much to Chi's surprise as anyone else's, Jool had agreed to it.

It was about a foot long and quite elaborate. It had soft, wavy features and a good bit of long hair. Chiana had taken to calling it Stein, a Nebari name, she claimed, that meant Little Daughter. Privately, she confided to John that it was just a nickname for his Bride of Frankenstein comment.

Chi and Jool were showing off their creation to D'argo in his ship, who agreed with Jool that it was quite a good deal nicer than anything he had seen in shops, when Moya experienced what could be called a great bit of turbulence, if one could hit turbulence in vacuum. Jool went flying backwards into her chair, as did D'argo; Stein ended up on what John persisted in calling the dashboard of D'argo's ship; and Chiana landed ungracefully on her butt. She was none-the-worse for her wear and tear, though, and bounced up instantly. Jool let out a short shriek of surprise, then another for good measure.

"Pilot, what was that?" Chi asked. Turning to D'argo, she directed her next question at him. "Was it just your ship moving? Should I be worried? Shouldn't you be messing with the controls?"

"Oh, don't be silly Chiana, that was Moya, not just this ship, and even if it were D'argo's ship, we'd be perfectly safe," Jool spoke up, her voice sharp.

Chiana stared at Jool. "Right."

"Moya seems to have hit some sort of microscopic wave of meteors," Pilot said, his voice just as unbelieving as John's, who spoke next.

"Pilot, are you sure that's possible? I mean, if they are microscopic, they shouldn't be a problem to us. And if they're big enough to be a problem to us, we should be able to see them, shouldn't we?"

"Commander Crichton, this has me just as stumped as you," Pilot said testily, using one of Crichton's Earth phrases. "I am still investigating the matter. When I am more fully versed, perhaps my explanation of the events will differ. If you'd kindly wait for an answer before asking the questions, Moya and I would be much obliged."

Chiana climbed out of the ship just as John entered the maintenance bay. "Hey, John, you okay?" She readjusted her bottoms and walked over to him.

"Just fell flat on my rump when Moya decided to go over the gravel instead of the blacktop," he replied in his cheerful tone. "You?"

"Same. Jool and D'argo were lucky. They were seated and the worst harm that came to them was a sudden loss of breath while they were thrown back. Do you have any idea what could be the problem?"

"I'm on my way to command, come on," John said, motioning towards Jool and D'argo. D'argo strode forward and took the leading position. Jool pulled up to John and grabbed his arm.

"It won't happen again, John, will it?" she asked in a worried tone. "I don't want to fall, John."

"Don't know, Rosie," John replied, shifting his weight a bit. "Mind lettin' up, or getting a little more even? I'm about to topple on top of you, and that would constitute as falling down, Jool."

Jool cast him a glance before hurrying ahead to D'argo and posing the same question to him. Chiana laughed and touched his arm. "Mind if I hang a bit? I don't want to fall either," she said, grinning.

John cast her a conspirative look before whispering, "Your weight probably totals as much as that outfit Jool's wearing. Hang all you want, Pip." He wrapped an arm around her head and tousled her hair. "But ya gotta beware of the noogie police."

"John, stop it!" Chiana giggled. "You are ruining my hair." She managed to pry lose of his grip and glare at him. John reached into his back pocket and tossed her a comb, which she raked through her hair. "Thanks," she said in a slightly sulky voice.

"You're parting it all wrong," John said as they entered command. "Here, give it to me." He grabbed the comb out of her hands and proceeded to give her a straight part. "There, that's decent," he commented. Chi gave him a glare. "Oh, right, I'm sorry," he added as an afterthought. Chiana turned her back to his chest and stared at what D'argo was bringing up on the front view screen, which was clear space.

Moya rocked again, though this time not as violently as before. Jool gave yet another shriek before falling sideways into D'argo, who just barely managed not to go tumbling. Chiana, being directly in front of John, ending up flying back into him and causing both him and her to land up on the floor, somewhat tangled but unhurt.

"Next time, I'm standing next to D'argo. He's like a football player there," John commented from somewhere behind Chiana's neck. "Pilot, what the heck was that? Oh, wait "

"All data indicates that we have hit some sort of small craft both times, just above tiers twenty-seven and eighteen." Pilot's face appeared in the clamshell. John was relieved to see that he wasn't frowning. "However, sensors locate nothing anywhere that show any such readings."

"Some sort of cloaking device?" Jool asked, sitting down and drawing her legs up to her chin.

"Not this close in to Moya. It wouldn't work," Chiana said. "What part of Moya, Pilot, and how bad are the damages?" She finally found where her legs would have a decent chance of staying and planted them there, pushing herself up using John, who grunted. "Sorry, John."

"It seems to be on the same line as the view screen," Pilot said, his face anxious. "You all do not see anything that I may have missed, do you?" John glanced out the main view screen from the floor, scanning it.

"Nope, Pilot, we can't see anything abnormal out there. Just space." He stood and grabbed Chiana. "Next time, Pip, watch where you put those elbows of yours. I got it in the hollow of my neck."

"So sorry, John," Chiana said, grinning. "Want me to kiss it to make it feel better?"

"Very funny, Chia " John's words were cut off and everyone was once again thrown. John and Chiana managed to brace each other until the trembling was over, but Jool had been thrown off of her chair and D'argo had fallen onto his left side. "Well, that was creative, Jool," John said as a deeply unhappy Jool un-plastered her face from Moya's floor. "However, I don't think it'll make America's Funniest Home Videos."

"Look, everybody," Chiana said, pointing towards the view screen. For half a microt, the saw the image of a small ship flicker into view, and then out. "Pilot, is anything interfering with the view screen?"

"Nothing, Chiana, but my sensors did pick up a ship for a few microts. Did you see it, also?" Pilot asked.

"Yeah, Pilot, we, uh, did. Did anybody else notice it looked Nebari?" Chiana said, walking closer to view screen. Her hand lingered near her thigh. Out of habit, John's also went there and grabbed his Pulse rifle.

"I thought so," Jool said in a faint voice. John gave a shrug of his shoulders, though Chiana couldn't tell whether it was because he hadn't noticed the design of the ship or because Jool seemed to be a bit red in the face from hitting the floor so hard.

D'argo glanced around the room before ordering, "Pilot, deploy the docking web at the location that it is most possible the ship is in now." D'argo grabbed his Qalta blade and walked toward the docking bay.

"Moya has found the ship and is pulling it in," Pilot said as they jogged. Reaching the tier they needed, they saw that in the bay was a ship that was, as Chiana had said, of Nebari design. Everyone's weapons drawn, they waited with baited breath for the ship's doors to open.

Nothing happened. They waited for several microts before D'argo said, "Cover me," and walked towards the ship. As he was walking, the door slowly began to open. Chiana, Jool, and Crichton all moved forward several paces to be in line with D'argo.

Finally, a figure emerged. Out of the ship tumbled a small Nebari in long, blue robes. It looked to be even more petite than Chiana, and quite a few cycles younger. When the figure looked up, they surmised that it was a girl, possible six to twelve cycles old, depending on which species John was trying to judge by.

"Who're you?" Chiana asked in her quick speech.

"Giauna Thali," she said, her voice surprisingly strong. She took a tentative step forward. "Please, I have no weapons."

Chiana shook her head at John, who had been walking forward. "Now, see, I don't believe you. See, you are too young to be a Giauna. Much too young. Now, little girl, whose robes did you steal and why are you in the middle of the Uncharted Territories on a ship by yourself?"

"I didn't steal anyone's robes." Chiana snorted derisively. "They are my own," Thali insisted. "And the reason that I am alone is the fact that I fled from Nebar in fear of my life."

"No one would put a hit on a Giauna." Chi said this with a smug smile. "And back to the original factor in this you are too young to be a Giauna. You have to be twenty or thirty years younger than the average Giuana. You look too young to be even recruited yet."

Jool put down her gun and gave Chiana a withering look. "I don't know about you, but a simple Nebari girl claiming to be a priest doesn't seem at all dangerous to me," she said with raised eyebrows. "I think the bigger problem is why we couldn't see her ship. Actually, the question is why she was ramming her ship into Moya."

D'argo glanced at John, then spoke to Jool. "You don't know the Nebari," he told her sternly. "We cannot be certain that this girl isn't a threat to us. I for one am not in a mood to get mind-cleansed." Jool meekly said nothing.

"Well, just to be on the safe side, we're gonna have Pilot send some DRDs into the vehicle to check for any stowaways that you might not be away of. Pilot, think you can do a life forms scan for us?" John put his gun down and motioned to Chiana to do the same. She did, reluctantly.

"I will get on it immediately, Commander Crichton," Pilot said. "I am sending four DRDs to you right now." As he spoke, the crew saw four of Moya's yellow drones zooming into the bay on full speed. They reminded John of racing Matchbox cars when he was younger.

"Thanks, Pilot. Now, Thali, why don't you come on over here and get something to eat and then tell us everything?" John put his arm around the waist of the small Nebari. "We won't hurt you if you won't hurt us."