Eulogy
A Farscape short story
Author's Note: This story takes place sometime between the episodes "Wolf In Sheep's Clothing" and "Dog With Two Bones"
He sat alone on the command deck, working on the equations that filled his mind. The silence, while usually a welcome diversion from Sparky and Pip's arguments, seemed oppressive this time. Like a soaked woollen blanket that muffled everything. Noise, sight... even life. Moya seemed like a empty ship. Oh, of course she was never full with just the seven of them on board, but she always seemed to be. The welcome hum beneath the deckplates, the whirring of the air recyclers, the sound of voices carrying through the corridors, they all combined to give Moya a happy atmosphere. He could only think of two other times in which the ship had been so silent. After Aeryn's death, and after Zhaan's. Of course, Aeryn had come back. Zhaan had seen to that, sacrificing her own life for Aeryn's. Now, there were more deaths to add to the list.
A rustling of clothes beside him made him look up, and though he should have been, he wasn't at all surprised to see who had sat down beside him.
"I don't miss you, you know."
No reaction. But then again, why should he expect one?
"That's right. I don't miss you. Why should I? Do you have any idea of the hell you've put me through for the last three cycles?"
Cycles... when exactly did he stop saying "years"? Probably about the same time that he had started thinking of Moya as home.
"The crap you've pulled. That first cycle here, I spent every minute terrified of you, my own personal Ahab. Hunting me down, no matter the cost. I tried, y'know. I really did. I tried to make peace. I tried to talk to you, make you see that it was all an accident. But you didn't want to listen, did you? No, for you, it was all clean cut. Black and white. No grey. Do unto others... eye for an eye..."
He stopped. Where was this really going to get him? No point in yelling or in self pity.
"Yeah, the universe sucks and I got dealt a bad hand. Poor me." A quick chuckle. "At least you got a bad hand, too. That's something. Makes me feel a little better."
He looked over at the figure and saw an expression of deep sadness, mixed with regret and resolve. The last expression that he had seen on that face. He sighed.
"When I got here, you took something from me. You took my belief that everyone has some sort of goodness in them. It was an illusion. A naïve belief born on a primitive little backwoods planet. I wouldn't have survived out here with it. I would have died dozens of times over, without that seed of mistrust that you planted in my mind. So I suppose that in some twisted way, I owe you my life."
A sickening thought. It was like Richard Kimble owing Phillip Gerard his life. Frell. He was comparing life to TV again. He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands, then looked down to see the writing on his arms. Wormhole equations hundreds, maybe thousands, of years beyond him. Written in an alien language, no less.
"Strange how things change, isn't it? I'm hardly the man I was when we met. You know, I once told Aeryn that I could change, that she could change, but you... I never thought that you would change. I didn't think you could. Whether you were on the Command Carrier or stripped of your rank, you would always be the same evil man I first met. When Maldis trapped us both in that... whatever it was... I trusted you to keep your word when you agreed to a truce between us, and then you came after me with that chain. Didn't do much for my opinion of you, by the way. Of course, when I was trapped on the Shadow Depository, and everything went south during the rescue mission, you of all people, came to the rescue. Do you have any idea how surprised I was to hear that? Ahab coming to Moby Dick's rescue. For days after that, you could have had your revenge. It would have been easy. I was in no condition to defend myself, hell, I would've begged you to kill me if I'd been able to form a coherent sentence. But you didn't. The man who swore to kill me protected me. And then, every time that we needed a protector, you were there. You usually had your own motives, but then again, who doesn't?
"I owe you. That's not something that's easy for me to say, but there it is. You gave me another shot at life, made sure that I'd survive one more day.
"The other me, he kept the wormhole technology from the Scarrans. You, you stopped the Peacekeepers from figuring it out. So I guess that it's my responsibility to make sure that neither rebuilds. To make sure that your deaths meant something.
"I said that I didn't miss you, not that I didn't respect what you did in the end. After all that passed between us, I don't think I could ever miss you. I may hate you for what you were, but even I could see what you were becoming. I suppose that's what I'm mourning now. Not you, but the possibility of what you could have been, if things had been different."
Sighing heavily, he stood and turned to face the figure beside him. There was no one there. Nothing but air and memory.
"Rest in peace, Bialar. I guess that you've earned it."
And with those words, John Crichton left the Command deck, leaving only the shadows behind him.