Episode 1 - Ships Passing in the Night
"My people might have helped you...." -- Aeryn Sun
"I'm on another planet." He said the words, but the idea, the whole concept, just wasn't sinking in. This was all still so unreal. One minute he was zipping along in Earth orbit, playing the mad scientist, and the next he was sliding down the world's wildest roller coaster, floating in an asteroid field, dodging and nearly colliding with a bunch of mutant X-wing fighters, and getting swallowed by a huge, living space ship. Since then, he'd been choked, injected, spat on, knocked unconscious, stripped naked, and beaten up by a chick.
"Come on," said a voice from behind him. Speak of the devil. He turned and looked at the Peacekeeper woman, who was actually pretty attractive now that she wasn't sitting on his face. "I've relayed our rendezvous point. We can get off this wastehole of a planet." Okay, scratch that--she'd been damn attractive even when she was sitting on his face.
With one last look back at the amazing city, bathed in the light of twin suns--"wastehole", perhaps, but still a pretty awesome sight--he followed after the woman.
Moments later, the distinctive hum of an engine drew their eyes upwards. A boxy-looking vessel lifted gently into the air from the nearby port area and flew over their heads.
"That's the Leviathan's pod," Officer Sun exclaimed. "They're getting away! Come on, we have to report it."
"Hey!" John objected, "aren't we about to be rescued any minute?" He grabbed at her arm to stop her headlong rush away. "I mean, they're no danger to us, right?"
The soldier looked at him like he was nuts. "They are prisoners. Escaped prisoners. They must be recaptured!" She watched him for a moment, waiting for something--perhaps agreement, or just some sign of comprehension--then clucked her tongue in disgust and stalked away.
John watched her for a moment, grumbling inside his head at the woman's one-track mind, but quickly set off after her. He'd made his choice, after the breakout, and he'd chosen her side. Nasty and violent as the situation had seemed from inside the Leviathan, the truth was that Officer Sun's people were the cops, for all intents and purposes, and the escapees were the criminals. So far, Ms. Sun had been nothing but a royal bitch, but at least she looked human. (Right, Johnnny-boy, his subconscious whispered, like your hormones didn't cast the deciding vote in that little debate....)
They reached her ship--called a "Prowler", he'd learned--and he listened while she made her report. Just as she was climbing down to the ground again, a squad of black-clad and helmeted soldiers marched up, led by a swarthy-skinned man with dark curly hair, mustache and close-cropped beard.
Officer Sun immediately sprang to attention. Crichton eased back into the shadow of the fighter, suddenly feeling nervous and slightly intimidated.
"Officer Sun," the man greeted formally, nodding his head sharply.
"Lieutenant Crais."
The lieutenant then stepped past her without another glance and walked up to Crichton. "And you, I am informed, were the pilot of the small white ship I nearly collided with during the battle?"
John just nodded, unable to form a coherent reply.
"What are your rank and regiment? And why are you out of uniform?"
This, John found, he could muster an answer for; he'd heard the question before. But before he could do more than open his mouth, Officer Sun piped up. "Sir, he claims to be a 'human', from a planet called 'Erp'."
John turned to look at her, mouthing 'Erp?', amused in spite of the tension. "And you are?" he asked, turning back to the lieutenant, trying to gain some sort of foothold in this conversation.
"Lieutenant Tauvo Crais, Verstar Regiment. You aren't Sebacean?"
"'Fraid not."
"Interesting." The man paused, and John could almost see him pondering the implications. Finally, he continued. "You'll have to come with us. Captain's orders." With that, he turned and marched away.
John thought about objecting. The brusque, superior attitude of these people, and the scary stormtrooper vibe he was getting from the well-armed soldiers surrounding him, made him wonder if he'd actually be better off on his own. But then reality set in again. He was lost, alone, with no ship, no money, and no way home. Without help, he'd probably eat a bad mushroom or step on the wrong toes and be dead within a week.
He started to agree, but his momentary hesitation had already triggered a response. Two armored soldiers grabbed him, one by each arm, and half-dragged him after their departing lieutenant. He shrugged them off after a few steps and walked on his own, but they remained in close flanking positions all the way to their vessel.
The ride up to the Peacekeeper ship was mostly uneventful. John found himself essentially ignored by everyone, though he was sure that would change instantly if he gave in to his curiosity and tried to touch any of the thousand things that caught his eye. Where the Leviathan corridors had been smooth, spacious, and organic, the Marauder was reminiscent of riding in a submarine, with cramped conditions and minimal attention to aesthetics.
The Vigilante, once they arrived, was a slight improvement; he could walk upright and not feel like he was about to smash into an overhead conduit every ten feet. He continued to be blatantly ignored by everyone, and yet he somehow found himself herded swiftly and efficiently to the command deck.
"Report!" Lt. Crais barked as they entered.
"Sir, the Leviathan has broken out of orbit and is fleeing. We are in pursuit, and will overtake them within five hundred microts."
"Weapons officer, ready the immobilizer pulse cannon. Inform me when we are within optimum range."
John could see the silhouette of the other ship on the display screen, moving away. He couldn't quite decide what outcome he was hoping for. True, the beings on that ship were prisoners. Criminals. The big one, with the tentacles, certainly seemed violent and hostile. But the other two? Well, the little greenish one, the one who called himself "Rygel XVI", had claimed to be a deposed ruler of some type. So he was either a political prisoner, or a delusional nut case with a Napoleon complex. Probably the latter, but certainly not very dangerous. And the blue woman had been civil to him, as much as the situation seemed to allow. She had calmed the other two's tempers when things seemed about to turn nasty, and had given Officer Sun no more than a reproachful look for attempting to conceal a fork in her sleeve. For her sake, at least, he almost hoped they managed to escape.
For purely selfish reasons, of course, he wanted that ship caught. The Farscape module was still aboard, containing just about every possession he now had to his name. It was mostly just some extra clothing, which he'd packed along in case he was stuck in orbit on the shuttle for a while due to weather delays at the landing site or something. But the module herself had some potentially useful items among her instruments. Without that ship, all he had were the clothes on his back and his father's puzzle ring, still hanging from a chain around his neck.
As the minutes passed, the image on the screen grew larger. "Approaching optimum range, sir," called a woman standing at a workstation nearby.
"Prepare to fire on my command," Crais replied.
Suddenly, there was something that looked like a puff of smoke or dust from the rear of the Leviathan. The cloud spread quickly, obscuring the view of their quarry.
"Sir!" called another officer from across the room, "The Leviathan has ejected a great deal of debris into our flight path, blocking our weapons."
"What kind of debris?" asked the lieutenant, marching over to look at the readings himself.
"It appears that the ship allowed an explosive decompression of its landing and maintenance bays. The field includes everything from small tools and spare parts up to entire transport pods. Sir, the prisoners could have concealed explosive devices within the debris; such devices could cause severe damage to this vessel if we don't move to avoid the field."
"How long until the Leviathan will be able to starburst again?"
"I estimate less than a quarter of an arn, sir."
"Frell," the dark man muttered. He paused, gazing at the screen and the rapidly approaching cloud of junk. Finally, he shook his head. "No, it's not worth risking the ship just to catch them now. Helm, evasive maneuvers; take us around the debris field. We'll continue the pursuit and hope your estimate of the Leviathan's recuperative ability was over-generous. If it wasn't, there will be other opportunities to recapture them later."
As the ship swerved to avoid the debris, John caught a flash of white from inside the cloud. It was only for an instant and then gone. He started to open his mouth, but the glare from the soldier at his side made him swallow the words before they were spoken.
Several more minutes of silent pursuit went by, ending only when the flash of bright light announced that the prey had slipped the noose.
There was a tense silence on the bridge, but then the lieutenant simply said, "Set a return course to the carrier, best speed."
"Lieutenant?" John risked speaking at last. The look he got in return was one of surprise. Crais had apparently forgotten about this strange not-alien alien during the chase. He simply raised an eyebrow, inviting the man to speak further.
"When we passed the debris field earlier, I think I saw my module. Would it be possible to retrieve it before we leave?"
"Why?" Crais asked.
John paused. Simply saying 'because I want it' would likely not get him far with this crowd. Crais wanted to know what was in it for him. "Because it may help provide some of the answers to the questions you said your captain wanted to pose." Bullshit, but very plausible bullshit. The module hadn't been set up to take the kinds of readings he'd need to figure out what had happened to him. All the observations and readings were being made by the Collaroy, or by DK in mission control. But this guy didn't need to know that, and if a little white lie would get him the Farscape back, he'd do what it took.
The Peacekeeper seemed to consider that for a moment, then instructed his helmsman to redirect their course back to the debris field.
When he'd first caught sight of the Leviathan, Crichton had been awestruck at the size of the vessel. The command carrier, when they finally arrived, blew his mind. It was a city in space, miles long. The rest of the convoy, which included several other Leviathans, looked like a school of minnows trailing a great white shark. John's Earth-based sense of scale, where whales were big critters and the International Space Station, which would someday be almost 400 feet in length, would be the largest man-made object in space, was going to need some readjustment.
It was a longer march this time, from the landing bay to their destination, and they were joined once again by Officer Sun, who had flown as part of the Prowler squadron flanking the Vigilante during the pursuit. They arrived, after dozens of turns and identical-looking corridors, outside a double door with a circular window cut into the center.
Lieutenant Crais strode through the doors and into the room beyond without knocking or otherwise requesting entry. Officer Sun and the guards hung back, staying in the corridor, so John followed their lead. The doors remained open.
"Lieutenant Tauvo Crais, reporting as ordered, Captain," the man said in a jaunty, almost jovial voice that didn't really fit with the formality of the words.
The man seated at the desk just inside the doors looked up. For just a second, his expression was animated, a mixture of annoyance and affection. Once he spotted the group still standing outside, however, he schooled his face immediately into a picture of stern authority.
"Report, Lieutenant," he said.
"We successfully recovered Officer Sun, the prowler pilot who was pulled along when the Leviathan starburst, and the pilot of the small white pod which appeared during the battle, as you ordered. We also managed to procure his pod for analysis."
"But you failed to recapture the prisoners."
"Yes, sir. The ship went into starburst again before we could achieve optimum firing range for the immobilizer pulse."
"I see," the captain growled, clearly put out by the failure. "Well, then, we will begin posting wanted beacons at nearby commerce planets. Perhaps some bounty hunter will be able to succeed where you failed."
"Will that be all, sir?" Tauvo asked, subdued.
"No. Bring in the prowler pilot and ... the other one."
The lieutenant turned and gestured. Officer Sun walked in first, and John found himself shoved inside the room without so much as a by-your-leave.
"Hey!" he objected. The stress of the day's events was wearing down his patience. "Tell your goons to lay off the rough stuff, Captain. I'm a big boy and I can walk on my own."
The captain barely even glanced in his direction, and certainly did not acknowledge his complaint. "Officer Sun, make your report," he ordered instead.
The woman stood at stiff attention and recounted, in a toneless voice, how she'd been knocked out by the starburst and awoken in a cell aboard the Leviathan. Learned that her cell mate was not Sebacean, as he appeared. Escaped to the planet when the prisoners stopped for supplies. (She neglected to mention that it had been John who had procured the fork that effected their escape.)
As she finished retelling their meeting with Lt. Crais, he waved her silent. "That will be sufficient. Do you have any opinions regarding this ... alien? You have spent time with him."
"Sir, if you are concerned about contamination--" Officer Sun started nervously, only to be cut off.
"No, Officer Sun, I am not invoking contamination protocols. I am asking for your observations."
The woman glanced at John briefly before speaking. "Sir, he is primitive, ignorant, and undisciplined. I do not believe he is any threat to anyone."
John didn't know whether to be insulted at her unflattering assessment or grateful for what could have been a subtle effort to protect him. He had a feeling that being judged a threat by this man, this captain, could drastically shorten his life expectancy.
"Did he at any point mention how he happened to appear in the midst of our engagement with the Leviathan?"
She paused, reviewing her memory of the past solar day for the requested information. "Once, perhaps. He spoke of something called a 'rimhold'."
"That's 'wormhole', Ms. Sun, and could you folks please stop talking about me like I'm not here?" John was getting annoyed now.
Everyone else, however, acted as if he had not spoken. The captain's eyes never left the officer standing before him. He sat back, steepling his fingers for a moment in thought. "I did a brief review of your record after your capture, Officer Sun. I see that you just recently requested a transfer into a Marauder squadron."
"Yes, sir."
"Based on your resourcefulness in escaping your captors, and allowing that getting captured in the first place was not through any failure on your part, I am inclined to grant that request. Report to Senior Officer Jelko tomorrow morning for reassignment and training."
"Yes, sir!" Officer Sun's formerly impassive face finally broke into a stunning smile, quickly suppressed. John had no idea what had just happened, but she seemed happy about it. And that smile.... He had a feeling he'd remember that smile for a very long time.
"Dismissed," the captain said sharply, waving her out. Once the officer was gone, he finally turned and let his attention rest on Crichton. At a small gesture, the soldiers that still flanked him shoved him forward.
"Name," the captain ordered.
John felt like a trained poodle, being asked to bark on cue. "It's, um, John Crichton."
"Your vessel appeared on our scans during the battle, out of nowhere. Our readings indicate a low level of technology, no weapons or shields in evidence. Now, normally, something so primitive would be of no interest to us. I am curious, however, about these 'wormholes' you mentioned to Officer Sun. Is that how you were able to penetrate so close to our position without being detected?"
"Captain, to tell you the truth, I have no fricking clue. Where I come from, wormholes are only theoretical, but the theory would explain some of what I remember happening."
"And what would that be?"
"I was in orbit, performing an experiment on gravity-boosted acceleration. There was a radiation wave, a blue flash, and suddenly I'm tumbling through a long tunnel. Next thing I know, I'm floating in open space and getting buzzed by your Prowlers. I don't know where the hell I am or how the hell I got here."
"And you claim you are not Sebacean?"
"Nope, human. Though the resemblance is spooky, I'll admit."
The man behind the desk looked skeptical. He sat back and pressed his fingertips together once again. "I am familiar with this 'wormhole' phenomenon you mentioned; there are rumors of some secret research being done in an effort to harness their power as a weapon. One of my primary missions as commander of this force is to discover and develop new weapons technologies. Some of our recent efforts have been less than fruitful--"
"Hey, Captain Queeg, I don't give a shit about your 'weapons research'. All I want to do is go home."
"My name," the captain said in a dangerous whisper, "is Captain Bialar Crais." John looked over at the lieutenant still standing nearby. Suddenly the family resemblance was obvious. The captain continued, "You would do well to remember that. You should also remember that you are here on my sufferance. At the moment, you aren't worth the air we would waste to flush you out an airlock. You are, however, to my knowledge, the only being to have both created and traveled through a wormhole. Even if it was unintentional. If you could do it once, perhaps you can do it again. It seems probable that, in order to get home, you will have to recreate the feat."
"Yeah, so?" John was starting to feel trapped, his options fading fast as reality closed its jaws around him.
"This technology interests me. In order to further Peacekeeper research, I am considering allowing you to remain aboard, to assist our techs in researching the problem."
"Do I have a choice?"
Captain Crais actually smiled, and the expression was infinitely more disturbing than his previous impassive demeanor. "Yes, as a matter of fact, you do. You can accept my offer of technical and personnel resources towards your research into wormholes, or you can attempt to make your way home on your own, with nothing but a primitive vessel and no means of support."
Crichton felt the trap snap shut and its teeth bite deep. Damn it, the man was right. Without help, it would be hopeless. Even if he managed to survive, alone in a society he didn't yet comprehend, he'd have to work just to put food in his mouth. Theoretical physics in the basement in his spare time? It would take years. Decades. And he wanted to go home NOW. Tomorrow morning, at the latest. Dad must be freaking out.
So, feeling like he was making a deal with the devil himself, John nodded acceptance.
"Tauvo," Crais said, turning away from John, "take this Crichton down to medical and have them do a full bioscan. I will contact Chief Gelvis and have some techs assigned to the project."
The medical exam was an interesting, if humiliating, experience. Roddenberry was added to John's list of space theorists who had gotten it grossly wrong; the scans were invasive and often painful, with little evidence of fancy remote scanners or friendly nurses in short skirts.
The med techs had apparently not been told who or what they were examining. Their initial tests were conducted in the bored, perfunctory manner of people who have done the same task a million times. But as the results started to come back, they became puzzled, then concerned. Some of the more uncomfortable tests were performed a second time, and even a third, despite John's protests.
After what seemed like many hours and whole quarts of blood and other bodily fluids removed and examined, the med techs were huddled together around a computer console, muttering to each other. John lay back on the exam bed--though nothing that hard or cold deserved the name 'bed'--with his eyes closed, trying to regain his equilibrium. He wasn't sure if the strange dizzy feeling was the result of the repetitious examinations and multiple samples, or just the events of the past day finally catching up to him. Either way, it felt good to just lie still for a while and let the world flow past him.
"Report!" a voice barked, startling John out of his stupor. Lt. Crais was standing nearby, addressing the med techs. John hadn't even heard him come in again.
The techs looked at each other for a moment, then one stood and approached the officer. "Sir, the subject is not Sebacean, in spite of appearances. His internal structures are quite different, as are his metabolic functions. Our first thought was that he had been modified to appear Sebacean, but we found no evidence of genetic surgery or other modifications. This is apparently his species' natural form."
Tauvo just nodded and turned to Crichton. "It appears you were telling the truth. You'll have to tell me about your homeworld sometime; I'd be interested to hear what it's like. At the moment, however, you'd better come with me."
"Where to?" John asked, struggling to sit up. He was sore, and exhausted, and the dizziness had not completely faded.
"Captain's asked me to introduce you to the techs you've been assigned to before the end of the daywatch, and then show you to your quarters."
"Lieutenant," John said tentatively once they were in the corridor. The hallways were busy without being crowded, but no one paid them any attention. "Would it be all right if I asked you some questions?"
"What about?" Crais asked sharply. "You aren't cleared for any sensitive information--"
"No, no, nothing like that," John assured him. "I'm a bit out of my depth here. I know your species is called 'Sebacean', and you call yourselves 'Peacekeepers', but I don't have any frame of reference. Are you a military force serving as protection of some, well, federation or empire?"
Crais looked surprised; the concept of someone not knowing about the Peacekeepers was apparently foreign to him. "No, we do not serve any single governing body. We are an independent mercenary force, which many cultures hire to keep order, to protect them against aggressive neighbors, and to suppress internal dissention."
"Your captain seems real hot for newer, bigger, and better weapons. Sounds like an arms race to me, so I have to wonder, who're the black hats?"
"'Black hats'?" Tauvo asked, baffled at the untranslatable term.
"The evil empire. The Red Menace. The big bad wolf. You're preparing for a war, so who's the enemy?"
"Ah," Tauvo nodded, frowning. "You mean the Scarrans. They are the Peacekeepers' principal opposition, the biggest threat we face. Most Peacekeepers aren't aware of it, but the Scarrans outnumber us greatly. Our strong interest in weapons research is primarily an effort to counter that disadvantage."
"Hm," John said, noncommittally. The name meant nothing to him, and so failed to conjure up the horrors in his mind that Tauvo obviously saw. "You say most aren't aware of that; I'm assuming you learned of it from the captain?"
"Yes," Tauvo admitted. "Captain Crais is my brother."
"I kind of guessed that," John admitted, grinning.
Tauvo saw the friendly expression out of the corner of his eye and nearly responded in kind. The shadow of a smile flashed over his expression before he got himself under control again. Just in time, too, as such a lack of discipline would have been a poor example to show the corps of cadets that marched past them a moment later.
Crichton stared at the cadets as they passed, eyes wide. "You have children aboard this ship?" he asked incredulously.
"Children? Those were senior cadets in their final cycle of training. Most will be full Peacekeepers within just a few monens."
"Wait, you start training as soldiers that young? They couldn't have been more than twelve or thirteen years old!"
"Carrier-bred children begin training from the time they can walk. Those of us recruited from planets are usually brought in to begin training before they reach eight cycles, and have to work hard to catch up."
"You were planet-born? How old were you and your brother when you joined up?" Crichton seemed torn between curiosity and horror.
"Bialar was seven cycles, and I was five, when we were recruited for Peacekeeper service."
"'Recruited'? You weren't given a choice?"
"What 'choice'? It was an honor to be selected!" Tauvo insisted.
Crichton just shook his head. "If you say so, pal. Man," he sighed, looking around and changing the subject, "this place is a maze. I am never gonna learn my way around."
This time Tauvo did smile. "I wouldn't worry about that at the moment, human. You aren't going to be allowed to wander around without an escort, at least not anytime soon. It is as much for your protection as it is for ours; aliens are not particularly welcomed by Peacekeepers, particularly the carrier-bred. Most have never even spoken to anyone who wasn't a Peacekeeper, much less to a non-Sebacean."
"You don't seem to have a problem with it," John noted.
"Ah, but I was planet-bred. It makes me, perhaps, a bit more open-minded." Crais stopped walking then, outside a door that looked, for all John could see, exactly like every other door they had passed for the past ten minutes.
Tauvo waved a hand over a sensor pad next to the doorway, and the door slid open. Inside was a group of half a dozen Sebaceans, all in gray jumpsuits.
Tauvo approached the group, with Crichton following half a step behind. "Chief Gelvis," he began, addressing an older-looking man who stood slightly apart from the group. "This is the individual the captain spoke to you about. John Crichton, this is Chief Tech Kiro Gelvis."
John held his hand out, but Gelvis just looked at him blankly. After a moment, John lowered his hand again and nodded. Tauvo continued, "Chief Gelvis has assembled a team which will work with you in pursuing the research. Gelvis, can you introduce them?"
Gelvis nodded. "From left to right, Techs Eklen Albar, Betal Wingro, Noema Maen, Gilina Renaez, Alanee Wolv, and Jolad Saitek."
John nodded at each as they were introduced, quite aware that he'd have to relearn their names later because they were coming too fast to process just now. In general, they appeared to be slighter and smaller than the soldiers he'd encountered; he wondered if selection as a tech might not have more to do with physical size and strength than aptitude for the work.
The group was watching him, waiting. He supposed they were expecting him to say something profound. "I'm not sure how much you've been told, so I'll tell you what little I know. I'm human, not Sebacean, and I arrived here from my homeworld via an unknown phenomenon that could have been a wormhole. Captain Crais wants me to work with you to confirm this and perform research, with a view towards harnessing wormhole technology. Since I'm new to your part of space, we'll have to start small. I know a bit about some theories behind wormholes, but I know nothing about your technology. I'll teach you what I know, if you all will help me learn in return."
He looked across the faces gazing back at him. Most wore blank expressions, with no sign of interest or even comprehension. One pair of eyes, however, was opened wide, blazing with curiosity and enthusiasm. It was a slim, slightly built woman with short blonde hair. What had Gelvis called her? Gilina?
John tagged her in his mind as the most likely candidate to help him cope and learn. He was in a strange new world, but now, for the first time, John began to think it might not be all bad.
TBC ...