Episode 2 - Goin' Nowhere Fast
"I have no idea what goes on in that tiny little brain of yours...." -- John Crichton
"Man," John groaned, gripping his head in his hands. "I feel like I've been cramming for a physics final for weeks."
Across the table, Gilina gave a small, shy smile. It was an expression that said, 'I have no idea what you just said, human, but I'm sure it was very amusing.' John had been seeing that look a lot recently.
"You've learned a great deal in a short time, John," she tried to reassure him.
"Yep," John sighed. "I can now read the PK equivalent of "Dick and Jane", open doors, and do some simple repairs. I can also convert meters per second into motras per microt at the drop of a hat. I'll have to remember to send Professor Rappaport a thank you note."
"Who?"
John grimaced at the memory. "A teacher I once had, for introductory physics. Liked to make students convert all their test answers into obscure units, like furlongs per fortnight. It was good practice for this." Having to adjust to an entirely new and alien set of measurements, constants, and concepts was the toughest part of the transition, so far. Well, second only to the sheer weirdness of living on a space ship, surrounded by thousands of people who'd just as soon kill him as shake his hand.
He and Gilina were sitting at a table in one of the carrier's many officers' lounges, drinking something called fellip nectar as they wound up another successful day of what John termed his 'elementary school' training. John was tired of feeling like the village idiot, and even more sick of being treated that way by almost everyone aboard the carrier.
Gilina gave him that little smile again. She was just about the only person around here who took him seriously; she'd somehow managed to see past his initial ignorance about the details of their world and recognize his broad knowledge of the underlying science and engineering concepts. "At least we have your module almost completely upgraded now," she said, trying to cheer him up. "We can use it for wormhole experiments, if the Captain approves our proposal."
Now it was John's turn to smile. He and Gilina had had great fun tweaking his primitive little example of 'cutting edge technology'--which, in the beginning, was no better than a Cracker Jack toy by PK standards--into something that was, if not snazzy, at least serviceable. It was still small, underpowered, and underequipped compared to the Prowlers and Marauders it shared the hangar with--a Tin Lizzie parked in a garage alongside a fleet of HumVees and Maseratis--but it was no longer a complete laughingstock.
Modifying the Farscape module had been Gilina's idea, as a way to gradually accustom him to their technology, as well as familiarize her with his. The other techs hadn't been eager to associate with the weird alien, especially outside of the laboratory, but Gilina had gradually learned to accept his quirks and enjoy his company. A friendly camaraderie had developed between them over the weeks ... weekens.
John's main frustration, lately, was his inability to progress the relationship any further. With that blonde hair and an intellect that equaled or surpassed his own, Gilina reminded him quite a bit of his last serious girlfriend, Alex. In all the right ways. But she was either blatantly ignoring his signals, or totally oblivious to them. Given that they were completely different species, he had to accept that the latter was quite possible.
John was about to empty the final drops from his drink when a loud, drunken-sounding voice came from over his shoulder. "Well, if it isn't our little tech Gilina and her pet alien. You have it trained to do tricks, yet?"
Gilina cringed, looking down into her empty glass. John knew from past arguments that she didn't deal well with confrontation, but kept silent. Anything he said would only make it worse. Catching her eye, he nodded towards the door, suggesting a tactical retreat. Gilina nodded, and they got up to leave.
Unfortunately, the drunken PK wasn't in the mood to let Gilina off the hook. He grabbed her by the arm, causing her to cry out in surprise and pain. "Or maybe you keep it around for recreation. Is that it, tralk? You get off on freaks?"
John's higher brain functions left the building at that point, and all thought of retreat went right out the window. Grabbing him by the arm that gripped Gilina, he dug his thumb into the underside of the man's wrist. Different as their species might be, the arrangement of muscles and tendons and nerves was similar enough that the PK let go.
John walked right up into the guy's face. "Listen, you frelling moron," he growled menacingly--he'd picked up a few choice expletives during his time here. "You got a problem with me? Take it up with me. Leave her out of it."
"Ooh," the grunt warbled, feigning fear for the entertainment of his friends. "The insect speaks! I could smear you across this floor with two fingers, 'oo-man'."
"You could try," Crichton said, Southern accent getting thicker by the microt. "And maybe I could rip off your balls and feed 'em to you!" John got right in the guy's face, grinning maniacally. "Did that to a grizzly bear once back home, y'know, and those critters are probably twice your size, with claws and teeth long as your fingers. You really shouldn't try to screw with me!"
No, John's brain was definitely no longer calling the shots here.
The Peacekeeper found himself backed up against the wall, having retreated instinctively from the mad, spitting creature before him. Strangely intimidated, but unwilling to show fear in front of his comrades, the grunt gathered his wits and threw a wild swing at the alien's face. Between the alcohol and the confused emotional state, though, the attempt overbalanced him when Crichton saw it coming and ducked. John, while not an experienced fighter by any standard--bravado and bluff notwithstanding--had survived a few bar brawls in his time. Seeing his opponent's vulnerability, he grabbed him by the neck and drove the man's face into his knee.
The grunt collapsed to the floor, his nose oozing blood, as Crichton stepped back and tried not to look shocked at the unexpected success.
Pressing his advantage, John turned to the crowd of other grunts looking on. "All right, you no-neck cretins--who's next?"
"Anyone get the license plate of that truck?" John muttered softly, raising a hand to his pounding head.
"John? Are you all right?"
He wondered why Gilina sounded so worried. It was just a hangover, right? His last clear memory was of drinking fellip nectar in the officers' lounge. Didn't Sebaceans get hangovers? He tried to sit up, but a stab of pain from his entire ribcage changed his mind. He groaned, as the discomfort finally brought a memory of what happened afterwards to the surface.
John opened his eyes to find Gilina leaning over him, her face revealing more emotion than he'd seen in any Peacekeeper since he arrived. Worry, and gratitude. Maybe something more, but he didn't feel up to thinking about that at the moment. Behind Gilina, standing with arms crossed and looking down, was the impassive face of Tauvo Crais.
"I don't know what a 'lizenss plate' or 'truck' are, Commander, but the man you fought with was Sub-Officer Saro Abljak."
"Gesundheit," John quipped, closing his eyes again.
"From what I heard," Tauvo said suddenly, ignoring the nonsensical riposte, "you were doing fairly well until you turned your back on him."
"Yeah, well, I got lucky on that first shot; he was drunk. Though I suppose I wasn't thinking too clearly myself."
"I'm told you made some interesting claims about your fighting experiences. Something about a 'grisly'?"
"Oh, that," John murmured. "Um, actually, that wasn't really true. Remind me to teach you a human game sometime. We call it 'poker'."
Tauvo didn't have any idea what the human was talking about, so just moved on to his next bit of information. "Captain Crais gave orders that you were not to be harmed. Abljak will be getting punishment duty for violating that directive."
John grunted, not much interested in details when his head was hurting this much. Just meant the guy would be gunning for him even harder next time, anyway.
"In the mean time," Tauvo continued, "I was actually on my way to speak to you on an entirely different matter when I heard about the incident. B-- Captain Crais asked me to come discuss your research proposal with you. It's ... ambitious."
John opened his eyes, professional pride winning out over pain and personal humiliation. Sitting up, he propped himself against the wall before speaking. "Damn right it's ambitious. Your captain is asking me to harness a phenomenon that no one has ever seen, or even proven the existence of, on the basis of my fifteen seconds--sorry, ten microts--of experience with something that may or may not have been a wormhole. We've looked at the carrier's sensor logs for the time I arrived, but between the asteroid field's interference and the chaos of the battle, there's just not enough there to say anything for sure. We need detailed data and measurements and all kinds of information, from multiple observations, before we'll know if what Crais wants is even possible."
"So you want to take a team of techs to this star system you found in the files--way out in the Uncharted Territories, no less--to run these tests?" Tauvo asked.
"That's right. Now that we've got me up to a working level of PK education, and the techs have had some time to study wormhole theories, we need to go out and try to re-create what I did to get myself into this mess in the first place. And to do that, with any reasonable chance of success, we a star with a predictable solar flare cycle. It's the only thing we know that has even a chance of working."
Gilina chimed in. "We tried to find a good candidate in Peacekeeper territory, sir, but there weren't any stars scheduled to begin flare activity sooner than about a cycle and a half from now. The one we chose will peak in less than four monens."
"How many techs would you need to take with you, Crichton?"
"Well...." John paused, thinking. "Ideally, I'd say send the whole crew. Realistically?" John looked at Gilina, watching for disagreement. "If we had Gilina and one of the others, and a ship with all the sensors and instruments we need, running on automatic, I think we could hack it."
"Why her?" Tauvo asked, nodding at the blonde tech still hovering nearby.
Gilina ducked her head shyly, and John smiled in her direction. "Don't get me wrong, Lieutenant; every one of the people you assigned to this project is a brilliant engineer and technician. Given enough time, the six of them could build this command carrier from the ground up with nothing but baling wire and duct tape. But most of them never had the need to study esoteric theoretical physics before, and are having trouble really understanding it. Gilina, on the other hand, studied on her own and knew at least as much as I did about wormhole theories before we even met."
"I see." Tauvo didn't look at Gilina, but John was used to these soldiers' dismissive attitude towards the techs that kept their ship running. "All right," Crais continued, "I'll recommend that the captain approve your proposal and allocate a Marauder transport and a small crew to the mission."
"Try to find a crew that doesn't want to pound me into pudding, would ya Lieutenant?"
Tauvo almost smiled. "It will be difficult, but I will endeavor to find a few such people. There is time to be selective; according to your report, the star you'll be using won't enter its flare cycle for another four monens. The journey, on a marauder, will take less than two."
John was struck by a sudden thought. "You have any say about what kind of 'punishment' that grunt will get for attacking us?" he asked seriously.
"Yes...." Tauvo confirmed, warily. Bialar would listen to him if he made a suggestion.
"How about making him teach the 'primitive alien' how to defend himself? Make him responsible for my safety, even. Seems to me he'd find that sufficiently degrading to count as punishment, and it might help me survive the next time one of your xenophobic grunts has one too many. Besides, I've been needing a way to get some exercise around here."
Crais was shocked that a tech would be interested in learning self-defense. It wasn't their place to fight. But then, he reminded himself, this 'tech' was also a pilot. And he had managed to knock Abljak down once, even if a lot of luck had been involved. Simply challenging the soldier in the first place showed a warrior spirit of a kind he'd never seen in any tech.
"I'll consider it," Tauvo said grudgingly.
The ship shook, bucking and veering like a rodeo bull, while Crichton fought for control. The white-hot glow of atmospheric friction flickered outside the canopy, blocking any hope of vision. The roar of superheated gases flowing over the hull vied with the crackle of static from the coms.
Man, I've missed this!
For the first time in close to six months--as he still measured time in his own mind--John Crichton was flying again.
The scientist in him had been content, for a time, sitting around tables in the labs of the carrier and tossing around theories on multi-dimensional physics. It was amazing how living on a huge spaceship, surrounded by hostile aliens who just happened to look human, could start to seem normal.
The carrier hadn't been idle during those months. On several occasions the ship had gone on a full alert, and John had been locked in his quarters for the duration. Most of those occasions turned out to be drills, but at least once, if the scuttlebutt amongst the techs could be believed, the carrier squadron had been in an actual skirmish with a small Scarran force. Other incidents, like the time they'd chased down and destroyed a Zenetan pirate vessel that had been raiding nearby trade routes, could occur without the non-combatants among the crew even being aware until it was over.
But now, after months of sitting idle, or occasionally getting the crap kicked out of him during his lessons with Sub-Officer Abljak, John was rediscovering his first love. Flying, in space or in atmosphere--there was nothing to compare to it.
He could hear a voice trying to call to him through the static, but the syllables were garbled. It was actually comforting to realize that, as far advanced as the Peacekeepers were, their technology still had limits. Throw enough ionized plasma at them, and their coms were just as useless as his old, now-discarded IASA radio.
At the proper moment, John pulled back hard on the controls and the Farscape module blasted itself back out of the atmosphere--with nearly ten times the speed he'd begun the maneuver with. "Waaaaahoooooo!" he whooped, exulting in the victory. "DK, my man, we did it! It works!"
"John?" called a tentative voice over the coms, through the rapidly fading static.
"Yeah, Gilina, reading you loud and clear," he said, still giddy with success.
"Did something happen? Our instruments here didn't read any anomalies...."
"Nah, nothing happened on the wormhole front. I don't think I caught any flares that time, but I didn't really expect anything to happen on the first run, anyway. I'm just happy because the Farscape effect really works, exactly like DK's and my theory said it would. It was a wild ride--eat your heart out, Walt Disney--but god damn, it worked!"
A second voice cut into the transmission then. "Crichton," the officer said, "turn around and decelerate immediately or you'll be off our scans."
"Oh, right," he murmured, noticing for the first time how far away from the planet he was getting. As he reached for the attitude thruster controls, a bright light flared through the canopy and he squinted his eyes. "Man, when this star flares it doesn't kid around. If we can catch one of those babies just right, we might actually get something interesting." Using the thrusters, he yawed the module around so he was facing back towards the planet, and then fired the engines backwards to slow himself down.
"Crichton," the officer called again, "return to the Marauder immediately; Techs Saitek and Renaez wish to inspect your module for damage before proceeding with the next test." The officer sounded impatient at the delay.
"Yeah, yeah, hold your horses," John muttered. "What's the hurry, got a hot date back on the carrier?"
There was an extended silence, and then, "A hot what? Crichton ... "
"Nothing, never mind," he called back, grinning with amusement. "Man, changing jobs sure didn't help develop you a sense of humor, did it, Ms. Sun?"
There was only silence from the woman at the other end of the coms. She might tolerate his human quirks better than most of her peers, which was why Crais had assigned her to this mission for her first official deployment as a Marauder commando, but that didn't mean she actually liked him.
Once he made it back, the two techs got busy going over the Farscape with a fine-toothed comb. John had a feeling they didn't really trust his primitive technology to hold together during rough atmospheric maneuvers, even though that was exactly what it had been designed for. While he was waiting for their okay so he could go try the experiment again, John wandered up the short corridor to the Marauder's tiny galley for a drink.
Hearing voices, he paused at the open door into the ship's command center. It was Senior Officer Jelko, speaking to his pilot.
"--suppose you find this mission far beneath your dignity, don't you Officer Sun?"
"I wouldn't say that, sir."
John could almost hear a smile in Jelko's voice, though he was sure no hint of any such thing actually reached his face. "Ah, but is that because it isn't true, or just because you don't think you're allowed to say it to a superior officer?"
There was a long moment of silence; John didn't think the woman was going to answer that, and was about to continue on up the corridor, when she broke the silence. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"
"Granted."
"This is grot work, sir. I did not transfer to a Marauder squadron just to babysit a bunch of techs."
John smirked at that. He'd suspected as much, ever since the day Lt. Crais had informed her she'd been selected for this trip. Her face had gone totally blank, leaving only a slight tightening around the eyes to show her dismay.
"Well," Jelko replied to her complaint, "no one promised that your first mission would be exciting or prestigious. This is your training flight, and it is an exercise more in command skills than in commando skills. If you can succeed in a mission, even one as easy as this, with a crew of dumb grots like Esk and Fala, we figure you can probably survive anything. So far, you're doing an admirable job, and my reports reflect that."
"If you say so, sir."
"I happen to agree with you that a mission like this, going to some backwater planet just to watch some techs run their incomprehensible little tests for these wimmol-things--"
"Wormholes, sir," Sun interrupted. "Shortcuts across space; if they could be harnessed, they could allow a ship to arrive at a remote target and destroy it without warning."
John felt his jaw drop. Last time he'd seen Aeryn Sun, she'd known nothing about wormholes. Clearly she'd done some reading in the intervening months, and, even more impressive to him, she'd actually understood the basic concept and the implications of what she'd read.
"In addition, sir, I think the maneuver the human just demonstrated merits some study. It may have applications to prowler tactics around planetary bodies, particularly when a rapid withdrawal of forces is indicated."
Oh, great, John thought sarcastically, shoving down a surge of selfish, egotistical pride, the Farscape Effect co-opted as a weapon of war. Typical....
Jelko was clearly uninterested, however, which was far more typical among the Peacekeeper commandos John had encountered. "Whatever. While we're waiting for the techs to get back to it, Sun, I'd like you to run a scan...."
John eased away from the door and completed his interrupted journey to the galley. He was thirsty, and Gilina and Saitek were efficient, so he might not have much time. Part of his mind, however, lingered with Aeryn Sun; clearly there was more to her than met the eye.
"All right, moving into position for another run," John called out to his audience on the Marauder. "Farscape One: The Search for Wormholes, take twelve ... action!"
Back with IASA, John's running monologue would have earned him either chuckles or groans--more likely both--from the folks down in Canaveral. Here, he had a slightly tougher crowd.
They were nearing the end of their second day of testing, still with no concrete success to speak of. The flares were unpredictable, and he'd only managed to time his run to coincide with one once. Unfortunately, that one had flashed over him near the beginning of the maneuver, before he'd built up much speed, and nothing had happened.
As he drifted towards his starting point, John took a moment to gaze down on the planet he was repeatedly circling. Another alien world, only the second one he'd seen with his own eyes since leaving home, and as different from the first one as that one had been from Earth. Bright yellow-brown, with barely any clouds in the atmosphere, it was a completely desert world. Tatooine, but without the ambience. Even so, the temptation to land, and to plant a human footprint in the surface as his father had done on Earth's moon, was almost irresistible.
"When you're ready, John," Gilina's voice crackled through his coms. He looked down at the instruments and saw he was in the correct position. Taking a deep breath, he reached forward and flipped the main engines to full power. A blast of acceleration threw him back in his seat, and the wild roller coaster ride began all over again. Dive straight into the atmosphere, at a 25 to 35 degree angle, let gravity do the work, and ride the bucking bronco while you wait for the breakout point--he'd done it enough times now that it was second nature.
As he neared apogee, he heard Gilina's static-garbled voice calling out to him. "... ohn, we...tecting ... lar flare ... ear me?"
A bright light, just as he was ready to pull up. When his eyes stopped blinking at the overload, they were drawn upwards, to a blue light. A funnel shape, twisting and spinning, leading down to nowhere. Gorgeous....
"John?" Gilina queried over the coms. "Can you ... me? Jo ... pl ... spond!"
Home. John was mesmerized. This could be my way home. The tunnel seemed to beckon to him, dancing just out of reach. No more hostile aliens. No more playing pet scientist to some power-hungry military commander....
"Jo ... " the techs were still calling to him. "... ot stable!"
Dad
"... ull up ... "
Earth
"... ust abor ... "
Home
"Crichton!" The sharp voice woke him from his reverie. Officer Sun. " ... ormhole ... unstab ... ull OUT!"
"Um, yeah," John muttered, shaking off the fugue. He could see now what they were trying to tell him; this wormhole he'd started was nowhere near stable, and would almost certainly take him nowhere. All it would do, most likely, is kill him, very messily. He yanked up on the controls, pulling up and banking right with full power to every reverse thruster he had. He almost made it clear, but at the last second, the wormhole seemed to reach out for him, and he blasted through the wall of the tunnel.
Several controls shorted out at the overload, but once the smoke cleared, John could see that the damage wasn't crippling. Behind him, the proto-wormhole shrank into itself and vanished, and he felt a pang of loss. And then, a thrill of hope. He'd done it! Unstable or not, he'd just taken one giant step on the yellow brick road back to Kansas.
He wanted to try it again. And again. Right away. Only a stern order from Jelko, along with the fact that his module's systems were still acting wonky from that narrow escape, convinced him to come back to the Marauder for repairs.
He was up all night, helping Gilina and Saitek pull the Farscape apart and analyze the damage. He wanted the ship fixed as fast as possible, so he could get a dozen more flights in before the flares died down in a few days. The techs were almost as stoked as he was, just from seeing the data they'd recorded on that last run.
John couldn't sleep, he was so excited, even when they had the module back in top shape and Gilina told him to go to bed. He tried, knowing it really would be a good idea to be rested for his piloting the next day, but gave up after a couple of arns and went to the galley.
Unlike the carrier where the food was decent--though strange to his provincial tastes--the Marauder's limited storage space reduced their fare to something they called 'food cubes'. John remembered them from his brief stay on that escaped Leviathan back when he'd first arrived, and they were no better-tasting now. But munching on the rubbery concoctions did at least pass the time and fill his neglected stomach.
It seemed like forever until the rest of the crew woke up and started the day. John was champing at the bit, all fitted out and helmet in hand ready to climb into the module the microt he had the go-ahead.
Finally, it came. He bounced into the cockpit and sealed the canopy, then ran through a complete pre-flight checklist--only sensible when the ship had been taken to pieces and put back together since the last trip--and started warming up the engines.
"Commander Crichton," Senior Officer Jelko called down from the command center. "Stand down and discontinue your preparations. We've received orders from the carrier and will have to postpone further tests until our new mission is completed."
"What?" John exclaimed, stunned. "Nonononono, we can't stop now! The flares will be gone soon, and we won't be able to do anything after that. This could be my way home, damn it!"
"Orders, Commander." As if that made everything right.
Ten microts later, John stormed into the command center. He was still zipped into his flight suit, though he'd at least left the helmet behind. "What the hell could be so fucking important that Crais would pull us out? He wanted this!" While he usually endeavored to be deferential to the Peacekeeper commandos he had to deal with, just to blend in better, John was in no mood to be polite right now.
Jelko was stubbornly silent, deliberately not looking at Crichton. Seeing her commanding officer about ready to explode, Officer Sun endeavored to calm things by explaining. "After those prisoners escaped on the Leviathan half a cycle ago, Captain Crais detailed several Marauder crews to infiltrate the Uncharted Territories and track them down. One such crew has discovered the remains of the one of our command carriers, which was reported missing over one hundred cycles ago. The crew that discovered it, however, had no techs aboard and couldn't perform a full survey. They informed the carrier, and the carrier just signaled us. We are the only ship Captain Crais has in the area that has the resources required."
"So, what, we're going to go raise the Titanic? It's been there a hundred years; it can wait a few more days!"
"We. Have. Our. Orders." Jelko's voice was dangerous.
"Well, to hell with your fucking orders, G.I. Joe! This is my--"
Senior Officer Jelko, apparently losing patience with this insolent probakto, rose to his feet, turned in one smooth motion, and aimed a perfect Pantak jab at Crichton's face.
John blocked the strike and stepped back, his protest left unfinished as he sent silent thanks to his reluctant savior, Abljak. Jelko was obviously quite shocked that a mere tech, and an alien one at that, had thwarted him. A tide of red started rising from under his collar, and Crichton backed away further towards the door.
Suddenly, Officer Sun appeared in the space between them, facing her superior officer. "Sir," she said calmly, "Captain Crais gave explicit orders that Crichton was not to be harmed, no matter what the provocation." She turned then and speared the human with her eyes. "As for you, I suggest you keep your frelling mouth shut and return to the hangar to secure your equipment for travel; we will be leaving this system within a quarter arn."
John looked from her to the still-seething figure behind her. His indignation at the change in plans was undiminished, but he also could see the wisdom of Sun's 'suggestion'. He'd seen examples of Peacekeeper disciplinary methods, which were universally harsh and usually involved bruises or bloodshed. Jelko was pissed, and, orders or no orders, he would probably take John apart if he spoke another word.
This slavish adherence to orders in the absence of logic really set John's teeth on edge, and here it was robbing him of his dreams. Had Officer Sun not been there, he probably would have thrown caution to the winds and tried to fight Jelko for the right to complete his experiments. But the woman was still glaring at him, and her eyes managed to drill past his reptile brain and awaken a small shred of his seldom-used common sense.
He backed out of the command center and stalked back down to the tiny hangar bay, grumbling invectives under his breath and barely noticing that Gilina, who had been lurking outside the command doors listening, was following him.
He picked up the first item that came to hand when he reached the hangar and threw it across the room in a fit of pique. The spanner ricocheted off two walls before falling to the deck again.
Gilina ran a hand up John's back and shoulder, trying to comfort and calm his tension as he stood there staring at his now-grounded module. "There will be other times, John. We got good data on your successful run yesterday, and it's possible we wouldn't have gotten another before the flares were over, even if we'd been allowed to continue. Just be glad we got the time to succeed even once."
John walked over and laid a single hand against the side of his module. "So close...."
TBC ...