Episode 4 - Outside the Box
"Are you with me...or them?" -- Aeryn Sun
The stars outside the forward window didn't seem to move at all, no matter how long he stared at them. Hetch two sounded pretty impressive when you converted it into miles per hour, but here and now, it was just a slow way to get nowhere. It would take months--monens, John reminded himself--to get back to Peacekeeper space at this speed.
But, considering this Marauder was being held together with spit and chewing gum, and they were all out of chewing gum, John supposed they were lucky to be making any headway at all.
They were also flying nearly blind. The navigational computer was trashed. It had been broken down into three sections for use in repairing one of the command carrier's weapons. One piece had still been aboard the Marauder, and they had recovered and reinstalled the one they'd left back in the frag cannon bay. The third piece, though, they had found on their trek back, still clutched in the arms of Crewman Esk. Weighed down as he'd been by the bulky equipment, Esk hadn't had a chance. Both he and the console were burnt almost beyond recognition, by the Sheyang invaders he'd stumbled across on his return trip.
Saitek and Fala, who had stayed behind in the Marauder to fix the battle damage, had fared no better. Saitek's charred body lay where he'd been working, in the engine room, but Fala had at least managed to put up a good fight. That fight, though, had unfortunately left the Marauder in ten times worse shape than it had been in when they landed.
The dozen blasted and mangled fighter pods littering the airless hangar around the Marauder showed Fala's heroic efforts to keep the invaders at bay with the ship's small cannons. At least one, however, had gotten through and locked onto the hull. When the intruder burst into the command chamber, Fala had apparently drawn his pistol and fired before the Sheyang could spit a single fireball.
Perhaps Fala hadn't listened well enough to his trainers, and hadn't known about Sheyangs and pulse fire. Or perhaps there simply hadn't been time to do anything but react. But whatever the reason, that shot had been Fala's last act, as the explosion blew both him and many systems there in command to pieces.
There was a rustle behind John and he turned to see Gilina trudging listlessly into the room. She looked worn and exhausted, close to physical collapse. Crossing the room to meet her, John took her into a firm embrace and led her to one of the few seats in the room.
"Sit," he ordered, smiling. "Relax for two microts, would you? The ship will probably hold together without you for that long."
Gilina smiled wanly at his attempts to cheer her up. When he handed her a packet of food cubes, she tore into them ravenously.
John watched with amusement as she inhaled the tasteless rations. The fact that they were making any progress at all, or even that they'd escaped the Zelbinion before the Sheyangs returned, was due almost entirely to Gilina's skill and tireless efforts. John had once joked that she and her fellow techs could build a command carrier from the ground up, and she'd just about proven him right with this Marauder. She had taken a vessel with no navigation, damaged engines, and a control center that was all but destroyed in an explosion, cannibalized non-essential components--like the sensors from the wormhole experiments or the Farscape's hetch drive--and produced something that would fly again.
She'd remained just as busy since they escaped, keeping the jerry-rigged systems running when they threatened to fly apart at the seams. John wasn't sure she'd slept in days.
Well, truth to tell, neither had he, much. In addition to helping Gilina with repairs, his task, as the lone, able-bodied pilot among them, had been to learn to fly a Marauder, with no instructor and no manual. Sure, he'd been a test pilot, but this was taking things a bit far. He'd taken Gilina's engineer's-eye view of what each control did and tried to translate that into real flying.
They'd only run into the walls of the hangar bay twice.
Once they'd gotten out into open space, his technique was less of an issue. He set a course as best he could with their lobotomized navigational computer, then went aft to help Gilina most of the time. He was seriously considering suggesting that they shut everything down for a few arns to get some sleep, and keeping their fingers crossed that nothing blew up in the meantime.
Before he could offer the idea for debate, however, Gilina looked up and muttered around her mouthful of food cubes, "Officer Sun is awake."
His breath caught. He'd carried the wounded woman back to the Marauder on a makeshift stretcher, including fitting her unresponsive body back into her pressure suit for the last stretch across the evacuated sections. The Marauder's tiny, automated medical bay had fortunately been undamaged in the fracas, and had been working on her ever since, keeping her in a sedated, stasis-like condition to aid healing. But the readings on the scanners had confirmed John's worst fears: the injury to her spinal cord was beyond its ability to address.
"How is she?" he asked, dreading the answer.
"Physically, other than the paralysis, she's completely healed," Gilina replied, swallowing the last of her meal. "She made me tell her the prognosis. After that, she didn't say anything."
"Will the med techs on the carrier be able to repair the rest of the damage?"
"I doubt it, John. I only received basic medical training as a cadet, but I don't remember anything about being able to regenerate damaged spinal tissue. Maybe something could have been done if she'd been on the carrier when it happened, but the older the damage, the more likely it will be permanent."
"Damn. I figured with all your technology you folks would have something better. So what'll they do, assign her to some kind of non-combat duty?"
Gilina shook her head, her expression one of wistful sadness and pity. "If she were of high rank or had powerful connections, then maybe High Command would overlook the disability. But when line soldiers are permanently crippled or become too old to be effective...they're often killed, or discarded on some planet."
"Why the hell would they put up with that?" John demanded, appalled.
"It's accepted doctrine, John. When a soldier becomes a burden to her unit, it's better for the unit to be released of that burden."
"Damn it, there's all sorts of things Aeryn can still do! She doesn't have to be a burden to anyone!"
"They won't see it that way. And neither will Officer Sun."
The words sent a chill of dread up John's spine. With nerveless hands, he fumbled for another container of food cubes.
"I... I'm gonna go see if she's hungry," John stuttered, not waiting for a reply as he walked out to the corridor.
In the darkness of the cramped med chamber, with the familiar sounds of a lifetime of living on space ships surrounding her, Aeryn Sun existed in a bubble of self-imposed mental stillness. She had lost everything she'd ever aspired for: her career, her duty, even her chance to die gloriously in battle. That last, at least, should have been hers, but the privilege had been stolen from her, by chance and the misplaced charity of a lesser species refugee and an ignorant tech.
So focused was she on her own cocoon of misery that she didn't notice her visitor until he cleared his throat from the doorway. Her head snapped around at that and she glared daggers at the human interloper.
Crichton visibly recoiled at the look, but recovered enough to mutter, "Um...I brought...I thought you might be hungry, so I...." He held out a container of food cubes, like he was feeding an animal that might just decide to take his hand off instead.
Aeryn ignored the gesture, and the food, not moving a muscle. "Why did you bring me here?" she finally asked, her voice still slightly rough from disuse and smoke.
Now the human looked puzzled. "What do you mean? Where else would we have taken you?"
"You should have left me there. Expending effort on a dead or disabled soldier is a waste of valuable resources and endangers the mission."
Crichton's expression passed through confusion and ended at anger. "Don't you go quoting the Peacekeeper rule book at me, lady; I'm not one of you. And just at the moment, I've never been happier about that. You aren't dead. I'm sorry about your legs, and I wish I could fix them, but just because you got hurt doesn't mean you aren't still an important part of this crew. We need you. The three of us are all we have left. Now here, take some food cubes, you need to get your strength back."
Officer Sun turned away, ignoring both words and food. The man's sentimentality was sickening, a weakness that should have doomed his race to extinction millennia ago.
She was a warrior, destined--or so she'd believed--to die in battle, honorably. No matter what the human thought, by all rational Peacekeeper definitions, she was already dead. Now it was just a matter of convincing these frelling idiots--and her obtuse, still-breathing corpse--of that reality.
Half a solar day later, John still hadn't managed to make a dent in Aeryn Sun's self-isolating Peacekeeper shell. She wouldn't let him help her.
"John," Gilina finally said, after watching John try yet again to cajole the injured soldier back to the land of the living, "I don't understand why you're so concerned about Officer Sun."
"Damn it, Gilina, she's a hum...she's a sentient person with as much right to live as you or I. She isn't helpless, or useless. On my world, a disability like this isn't a death sentence. Yes, being paralyzed or losing a limb is traumatic and painful, and I'm sorry as hell that I might be partly to blame for her condition. But I am not going to apologize for saving her life, and I'm not going to let her give up on herself just because the damn Peacekeepers think she's not worth keeping."
"But when we get back to the carrier, there will be no place for her as she is. She knows that, even if you don't," she argued.
John was silent, staring at the image of stars on the view screen, for a long moment. Finally, he said in a quiet voice, almost to himself, "Then maybe that's not where we should be going."
"W-w-what!?" Gilina gasped, stepping away from him as if he'd suggested a swim in vacuum without a suit.
John looked down at the console. He'd been thinking about this for a while, and had expected this kind of reaction. "'Lina," he said, looking up into her eyes, expression almost pleading, "I'm not a Peacekeeper. I wouldn't want to be. I've lived among you for half a cycle now, but I've never been welcome. And some of the things I've learned about the way you operate really creep me out sometimes.
"Don't get me wrong, though, I'm not sorry to have spent that time on the carrier. I would never have made it on my own, and I learned a lot while I was there. But most importantly, I got to meet you." John watched Gilina out of the corner of his eyes at that, wondering what reaction he might get. Their brief interlude on the Zelbinion had been interrupted too quickly, and Gilina hadn't brought the subject up since. Admittedly, there hadn't been time for much of anything, but John had found himself wondering if the whole incident had been brought on by Gilina's fears and the stress of waiting. She'd spent her entire life in the safety and regimented existence of a command carrier, so she wasn't used to being in danger.
Once things started happening, though, Gilina had pulled her nerves together and done what was necessary. Perhaps, now that things had calmed, she'd come to her senses and decided her attraction to John had been nothing but hormones.
She showed no expression, so he went on. "I was never really working on wormholes for the Peacekeepers, Gilina, no matter what the captain or anyone else may have thought. I was doing it for me. The only thing I really want--have wanted since the beginning--is to go home. But it's looking like I may have to live out here for a while, and I'd rather do it someplace where I can have friends. That's what I miss most, I think: having people around me who understand, who I can talk to.
"I don't need the Peacekeepers anymore, Gilina; I've learned enough now to survive and study wormholes on my own. I don't want to go back, and Aeryn, as you pointed out, can't go back."
The tech finally found her voice again. "But what about me, John? Peacekeepers is all I've ever known. You talk about being away from your home, but you're talking about taking me away from mine. How would I live?" She was hugging herself, not looking him in the eyes.
John chuckled, his eyes glowing with emotion. "Darlin'," he said, "with skills as good as yours, you could make it anywhere."
"And what if I don't want to make it anywhere? What if I want to go back?"
"I'm not gonna force a decision on you," he assured her. "My people have a saying, though: 'Home is where the heart is'. I could be wrong, but I never got the feeling you had many friends back on the carrier. Is there anyone you'd really miss? You seemed to spend all your free time with me. Do you want to go back because you want to be there, or because you're afraid of what you'll find out here?"
Gilina stared at him, like the concept was foreign to her. "I suppose...Betal and I were in the same creche group, and we talked once in a while...." She trailed off, unable to think of anything else.
"Were you happy there?"
"I don't know."
John nodded. "Once we get Aeryn back on her feet--metaphorically speaking, if not literally--we can talk about what you want to do. Okay?"
She thought for a long moment, then nodded. "But John," she said quietly, "what if Officer Sun won't accept your help?"
He grimaced. "Damn, I wish we had one of those hover-sled things that green toad...critter...alien...whatever, had."
Gilina perked up a bit at that, intrigued. "Hover chair?"
"Yeah, when I first got here, half a cycle ago, Aeryn and I were being held captive on that escaped Leviathan. There was this little green guy, one of the prisoners--don't remember the name, but he farted helium, which I found really bizarre--anyway, he was zipping around all over the place in this levitating chair. Wish we had one in extra large for Aeryn. Be even better than a wheelchair."
"Oh, a Hynerian throne sled. I've heard of them."
As her voice trailed off, John looked at Gilina's face. He could see the gears turning behind her eyes. "You've got that look, baby. The one you get when you're about to demonstrate your superior Peacekeeper brilliance." He smirked. It was an old joke between them; she teased him about his primitive human perspective just as often. He was about to ask what she was pondering when they both heard a loud crash from down the passageway, followed by a string of frustrated profanity.
Gilina smiled mischievously at John's consternation. "I've got an idea. You go help Officer Sun, John. What I have in mind will take some doing, but if it works, it should solve her immediate problems."
"And you're not going to tell me, are you?"
"I want it to be a surprise. You'll understand when I'm done."
"Crichton, get the frell away from me and leave me alone!"
"Damn it, Aeryn, just let me help!"
"I don't want your help. I don't want your pity. I don't want any of your frelling sentimental dren!" What would it take to make this pathetic being go away? He was staying just out of range for a pantak jab.
Suddenly, the human's voice dropped from the yelling register they'd been using down to more normal conversation. "Y'know, I heard all the stories, 'bout the big, bad Peacekeepers and their glorious victories and how they ain't afraid of nuthin'." The inflection in his voice was odd, drawling and slow. "Who would'a figured you'd turn out to be such a chicken?"
Her fingers clenched into the mattress, with visions of digging the nails into a human throat. She didn't know what a 'cheekin' was, but knew it was not complimentary. "I should kill you for that!"
"Truth hurts, don't it, darlin'? You're so afraid of what might happen, it's easier to just curl up and die, that right? Just because some lousy rule somewhere says you should?"
"What the hezmana do you know about it, Crichton? Don't pretend to understand me."
"Oh, I think I might have a clue. See, my best friend, back on Earth? His uncle Greg, back when we were kids, came home from a war with both legs blown off above the knee. But, you see, unlike your Peacekeepers, the military he served in doesn't throw their soldiers away when they get hurt."
"Right. What do they have him doing now, serving drinks in the mess hall?"
"Oh, you think you're so frelling smart, don't you Ms. Sun? Just so happens that dear old Uncle Greg went back to school, courtesy of the U.S. Army, and became an engineer, just like his father, and his brother, and later his nephew. Last I heard, he was designing high-tech weapons and stealth systems for the military."
Aeryn was silent for a moment, thinking about that, but her ruminations were interrupted when the whole ship lurched suddenly sideways. There was a dizzying moment when the gravity wavered, and then it cut out completely, leaving them in free fall.
"John!" Gilina's voice broke in suddenly through the coms. "The whole inertial system just overloaded and blew out. We're spinning off course; get up to the helm and see if you can get us back under control."
"Right. I'll do what I can, Gilina, but I'm still pretty much fumbling my way around up there with guesswork and luck."
Aeryn snorted. "I could fly this ship better than you, human, even without my legs, and with one arm tied behind me."
"Probably, Aeryn," Crichton said off-handedly, "but unfortunately you're too much of a coward to get your ass out of that bed to prove it."
The response was immediate and swift. With just her arms, Aeryn launched herself off the bed and through the air, catching the offending human unprepared with a perfect Pantak jab. Crichton's unconscious form spun lazily across the room away from her, until his head slammed soundly into a wall and he rebounded much more slowly. Aeryn, however, was no longer watching. Taking advantage of the lack of gravity, which gave her back the mobility she'd lost, she was headed directly for the command deck and the helm to wrestle this Marauder back under control.
The cold cloth against his pounding head made John flinch, which of course just made his head hurt more. He groaned loudly.
"I'm sorry, John," Gilina said, still holding the cold cloth against the large lump on his head, "this wasn't part of the plan."
"Wish you'd warned me what you were doing," he griped half-heartedly.
"If you'd known, you wouldn't have been surprised, and it wouldn't have worked if Officer Sun had realized it was deliberate. With the ship in zero G, she'll be able to move around as well as before. That should help her morale, don't you think?"
"Yeah, yeah, you're right. She won't need our help to move around anymore, and her unwillingness to accept help was her biggest obstacle. How long was I out?"
"Less than half an arn. Everything's stabilized now; she got to the control center and got the ship back under control less than a hundred microts after I blew out the grav system."
"Yeah, she was moving pretty fast, I do remember that much. Probably shouldn't have pissed her off like that, but at the time I thought it was the only thing that would get her moving."
"Well, it worked. I don't think you have a concussion."
"I wish this ship weren't so small. I have a feeling I should stay out of Ms. Sun's way for a few days."
Gilina smiled wryly. "You're probably right, John. Just stay off the command deck; I got the impression she intended to be there for a while. I think she missed it."
"It'll be nice to have someone up there who knows what they're doing. And it will be even more nice to be able to spend more time with you, Gilina."
She smiled back at him, eyes bright.
Late in the ship's night, Aeryn slipped free of the tethers that kept her stationary and pushed herself up off her bunk. There was no way she was going to get any sleep for a while.
I suppose they don't realize how small this ship really is, and how thin the internal bulkheads are, she mused, torn between amusement and annoyance. Her initial horror at the relationship between the human and the tech had faded, though she'd tried to maintain it. Recreation with an alien ought to disgust her, but it was hard to remember sometimes that Crichton was an alien. Besides, they were a long way from the command carrier's strict regulations; maybe she was just going soft.
Pulling on a shirt with practiced ease, Aeryn pulled herself out of her quarters and up to the helm. Might as well do something useful until they were finished.
Once in the command chamber, she arrested her trajectory with the expertise of much practice by grabbing the back of the pilot's chair. Once seated, she used the 'seat belt' Crichton had installed for her to secure herself, then glanced over the panels.
The Marauder was finally approaching a more populated area of space, and they would soon have to pick a course for a planet where they could negotiate for repairs and supplies. In the monen and a half since they'd left the wrecked carrier, Tech Renaez had cobbled together a better set of controls and a makeshift interface with what remained of the navigational computer. Aeryn pulled up what little information was available in the files. There wasn't much on this part of space--they didn't call it the Uncharted Territories for nothing--but there were a few references to non-hostile commerce planets and supply outposts. Some even carried notations of Peacekeeper influence, though that influence was likely to be covert.
The sensor panel by Aeryn's left elbow suddenly started chiming an alarm. Touching a couple of buttons, she brought up an image of the anomalous sensor readings that had set it off. After a moment spent staring at the picture in disbelief, she toggled the coms open.
"Crichton, Renaez, I hate to interrupt, but you'll want to come up to command. There's something here you need to see."
There were a couple of muffled--and faintly frustrated--acknowledgements before the signal was cut off again. A hundred microts later, her two shipmates floated through the door, still furtively adjusting clothing and trying to look innocent.
Before either of them could ask, Aeryn transferred the sensor image to the main screen. Almost instantly, she heard the human gasp.
"I am assuming that is what I think it is, correct?" Aeryn asked.
"That's a wormhole," Crichton breathed, voice hushed with awe.
The electric blue funnel shape dipped and spun on the screen, hanging in space less than a hundred metras from their treblin side. Aeryn continued. "I assumed you would both want to take the opportunity to observe this phenomenon, since you have expended so much time and effort studying them and trying to create one of your own."
Suddenly, the wormhole shifted and they all caught a brief glimpse of something inside. "Can you pull in on that image, Aeryn?" John asked, breathless with excitement.
She increased the magnification until they could all discern the image of a blue and white planet at the other end of the wormhole.
"Oh my God," Crichton said.
Aeryn looked up at him, surprised by the strong emotion in the human's voice.
"That's Earth. That's my home."
It took a few moments, but the dead silence in the room finally dragged John's attention away from the amazing, impossible view. Officer Sun was very pointedly not looking at him, but Gilina's gaze was full of sadness and loss.
In a flash, he realized that both women expected him to jump in his module this very minute and fly away, without a thought for them. He supposed that sort of self-absorbed opportunism was all they'd ever known or been raised to expect, but it was disappointing that Gilina, at least, didn't know him better than that.
"So," he said, ignoring their assumptions, "we have a decision to make."
"What decision?" Gilina asked. "That's your homeworld out there, John. It's what you've been searching for for the last half cycle. It's what you've been working for. You're going home."
"The decision is not about what I am going to do, it's about what we are going to do. I'm not going to just abandon you out here in the middle of nowhere." He looked squarely at Aeryn, finally catching her eye. "Either of you. In fact, I would like to extend an invitation to both of you."
"Are you seriously suggesting that we come with you to that primitive excuse for a planet?" Sun asked incredulously.
"Aeryn, think about it. You can't go back to the Peacekeepers, and you can't just fly around out here with the gravity shut off for the rest of your life."
"What do you mean--" Aeryn began in a dangerous tone.
"And Gilina," John said quickly, bulling his way past that unfortunate revelation, hoping Aeryn would write it off to a poor choice of words or a faulty translation. "I know you think you want to go back, but in Peacekeepers you're just one tech among thousands, and your extraordinary gifts are being wasted there. On Earth, you could be the one to lead a population of billions into a whole new era, to the stars and beyond. But even aside from that, I'd like you to come with me. For more...personal reasons."
Gilina looked panicked, torn in two by fear and desire. Aeryn spoke into the tense silence.
"Whether or not I can go back to the Peacekeepers is irrelevant, Crichton," she insisted. "What possible use could I be on your world? You've said your people have never made contact with alien life before. I'd be an object of curiosity, something for your people to gawk at, nothing more. And on a planet, I'd be stuck in one place again."
"Damn it, Aeryn," John exploded, "in case you don't remember, you thought I was Sebacean when we met. Did it ever occur to you that the reverse would be true? You and Gilina could walk down any street on Earth and never be thought anything but human. And on the other topic, like I tried to tell you before, you aren't helpless. There are millions of people on my planet who live happy, productive, mobile lives without the use of their legs. Hell, one of the greatest leaders we had in the past century--a man who led his country for over a dozen years, through a worldwide economic crisis and a global war--was confined to a wheelchair!"
There was silence from the dark-haired woman.
"Look at it this way, then; what have you really got to lose?"
Aeryn shook her head emphatically. "I cannot abandon my duty. I am a soldier; it's what I was bred for, trained for--"
"Aeryn." John waited until she looked into his eyes, and then spoke with intense sincerity. "You can be more."
He stared at her, drilling the message into her until she finally looked away, and then turned his gaze to Gilina, wordlessly including her in that affirmation.
No one spoke for an interminable time. John saw the wormhole on the screen wavering a bit more and worried that it was losing stability, but didn't want to upset the others' decisions by mentioning it.
Finally, Aeryn turned away from John to look over her shoulder at the blonde tech. Their eyes met, and after a couple of microts of silent conversation, Gilina nodded. Without another word spoken, Aeryn threw the Marauder into a tight left turn and flew it straight into the mouth of the wormhole.
John grinned. Watch out world! John Crichton's coming home!
Aeryn lay on the hard, unpadded bench in the cell the humans had so kindly provided them. It was eerily reminiscent of her brief time on the escaped Leviathan over half a cycle ago, with a bunch of suspicious and downright hostile aliens staring at her from outside.
This time, however, it was Crichton who was the belligerent prisoner. He'd been understanding at first, assuring the two Sebaceans that this was the standard procedure. They'd wanted to confirm that he really was John Crichton. ("They've watched too much sci-fi," John had joked early on, "They think maybe I've been cloned, or I'm an evil robot, or something.") But now, after two days, many hundreds of questions, and a fair number of suggestions about medical exams that John refused vehemently, he was getting, in his own words, 'riled up'.
During the past monen on the Marauder, Aeryn had started learning to accept an cope with her injury. In the free-fall environment, the paralysis of her legs had not hindered her much at all. A tiny part of her had even begun pondering the idea of life away from the Peacekeepers. It had been that small voice inside her that had listened to the human's argument for coming to Earth and made the impulsive decision to change course.
But now, trapped once again by the force of gravity, unable to perform even the most basic necessities without assistance--which she accepted only reluctantly--the feelings of hopelessness and despair were taking over once again.
She didn't blame Crichton. He'd been absolutely correct that she'd had nothing to lose by coming here. But unfortunately, it seemed, she'd also had nothing to gain.
There was a commotion from the chamber outside the cell, and Aeryn turned her head to look. A white-haired man, obviously angry and with an air of command, was talking loudly to the lead interrogator. Inside the cell, John spotted the man at the same moment and ran for the glass wall, shouting, "Dad!"
The sound from outside cut out almost immediately as the man called Wilson ordered the intercom shut off. John yelled a few more times, pointlessly, then subsided. For a few moments, he simply watched the two men argue outside the cell, and then he turned to Aeryn and Gilina with a smirk. "This should be fun to watch. Getting between my dad and any one of his kids is not a smart move. Wilson's about to get his head handed to him...assuming someone can pull it out of his ass first."
Aeryn and Gilina looked at each other and shook their heads. One of the few things they had in common was their mutual, amused incomprehension of some of John's more colorful expressions.
Within microts, the silent battle outside the window was over, and the victor was obvious. Wilson, the paranoid and suspicious 'spook', was standing aside and looking cowed. John's father was entering the cell, the first human to do so since they'd been brought here two days ago.
John moved across the cell to meet him. There was some quiet conversation which Aeryn could only hear bits and pieces of, most of which didn't register with the translator microbes. "Annapolis...fishing...trout...."
Whatever the substance of the discussion, the two men were soon hugging each other and nearly in tears. She'd never seen so much emotion expressed so blatantly. She'd always been taught that emotion was weakness, emotion must be controlled.
John turned around once they broke apart and led his father over to Aeryn and Gilina. "Dad," he said, "there's a couple of people here I'd like you to meet."
The older man nodded at the two women, eyeing them cautiously.
"In the reclining position," John began, eyes twinkling as he gently teased her, "we have Officer Aeryn Sun."
Aeryn nodded, not saying anything since it wouldn't be understood anyway.
"And this," John continued, putting one arm gently around the other woman's shoulders, "is Gilina Renaez. Gilina, Aeryn, this is my father, Colonel Jack Crichton."
Jack's eyes lingered for a moment on his son's familiar gesture with the young blonde woman, and then he smiled kindly. "A pleasure, ladies," he said, bowing ever so slightly. "I apologize for the unpleasant treatment you've been receiving here; not all of us are as rude and unmannered as Wilson over there."
The man in question, listening intently from outside the cell, frowned unpleasantly.
"Dad?" John inquired, "Can we get someone to bring Aeryn a wheelchair? She was injured recently and her legs were paralyzed. We cut the gravity on the ship so she could move around--"
"Frelling slijnots," Aeryn muttered. "I should have known it wasn't an accident."
John continued, ignoring her gripe. "--but now that we're here, she needs to learn to get around on her own."
"It'll take some doing, son, but I think I can arrange something. We just have to convince Wilson and his cronies that you and your friends aren't any threat."
"The most dangerous one of us is Aeryn; just make sure nobody pisses her off, and everything will be fine." John grinned down at her, and she almost cracked a small smile herself. The bruise on Crichton's head from the pantak jab she'd applied--and the wall he'd hit a moment later--had almost completely faded, but enough remained to remind her that his observation was based on a grain of truth.
John laughed hysterically as Aeryn Sun popped her wheelchair into a wheelie. His dad had pulled a few strings and gotten DK's Uncle Greg to come show the paralyzed Sebacean that John hadn't been lying to her. Greg had assured her, quite seriously, that this maneuver was an advanced wheelchair technique, required for full mastery of the vehicle; she'd greatly impressed him when she managed to do it perfectly on her first try. Aeryn's initial reticence about her future was fading into something that might almost be called enthusiasm.
They'd finally been let out of the isolation cell, after almost two weeks. John and Gilina were now being kept busy giving the base engineers lessons in hetch drives and artificial gravity systems on the modified Farscape module and the wrecked Marauder. Aeryn had struggled with the crippled ship all the way down, but had only managed to achieve a controlled crash. When he could be spared from that, John was called into service to translate for Aeryn as she answered questions about space warfare, weapons, and tactics.
Some of the chief spooks, like Wilson and Cobb, were still looking at their guests like they were strange and dangerous lab animals, but John wasn't worried. After all, no one would actually try to dissect an alien who looked so human.
Using a credit card, John popped open the latch on the door and ushered Gilina inside, out of the rain. He locked the door behind them and then leaned his forehead against the wood surface, eyes closed. The past three hours had left no room for thinking, only action, but now they were safe, and he could no longer deny what he'd seen.
"John?" Gilina had to call his name three times before he could lift his head and look at her. "Can you explain what's going on now? Why did we leave the base? Where's Officer Sun?"
John turned his back to the door and sank down to the ground. "Aeryn's dead."
"Dead? What do you mean? What happened?"
"I should never have agreed to let them try the surgery. I should have known it was a ploy, that they couldn't actually repair her spinal cord. I just never thought they'd actually do it."
"Do what, John?"
"Their 'official' story is that she had a bad reaction to the anaesthetic. But when I got there, they were getting ready to do a real thorough 'autopsy'. They killed her, Gilina, and I should have seen it coming. That's why we had to leave; I was afraid they'd come after you next."
Aeryn opened her eyes and looked around. She was back in the isolation cell, and she was alone. Where were Crichton and Renaez? For that matter, where were the other humans? The whole building seemed strangely deserted all of a sudden.
Footsteps echoed in the empty room beyond the clear cell wall, and a single figure appeared outside, peering in at her. It was Crichton's father, Jack. She'd met him a number of times since they arrived, but hadn't spoken to him much.
"Colonel," she greeted him. "What's going on? Where is--" She stopped herself, realizing with a surge of annoyance that he wouldn't be able to understand her without his son there to translate.
"Have no fear, Aeryn Sun," the man spoke. "The test is almost concluded, and your role in it is already finished. Your companions will return to you soon, once John Crichton realizes what is happening."
Aeryn's brow furrowed. This did not sound like the Jack Crichton she's first met. This was some kind of test? "Then this is not Crichton's Earth?"
"No, it is a simulation, based on his memories."
"But it is accurate? This is what his planet is really like?"
"An approximation only. It lacks much of the complexity of his true home, aspects he either did not experience or only knew of indirectly. We could only create what he knew from personal experience. The people we simulated were essentially accurate, both the kindness and the cruelty, the welcome and the suspicion. Like most worlds, Crichton's is a study in contrasts."
"Who are you?" she asked suddenly.
"Our name would mean nothing to you. You may continue to call me Jack. I apologize for the inconvenience we have caused you, but I hope you will find our restitution adequate to repay."
"Restitution?" Aeryn asked, confused.
"The surgery you agreed to undergo was not merely a ruse for John Crichton's benefit. Our energy is limited, but our technology is advanced. Stand and walk, Aeryn Sun."
Until this moment, the surgery had been forgotten; she'd not held out much hope that the primitive human medical science could really fix anything. Over time, she'd grown to accept her new limitations and revel in the unexpected capabilities she still possessed.
She tried to do as Jack asked, believing, for some reason, in the alien's assertion that it was possible. For several moments, nothing happened, as her nervous system struggled to remember how to signal her legs to move. Then her right foot twitched, and her left knee straightened slightly, triggering a flush of emotion. Within just a few hundred microts, the connections were reactivated and she was standing up, though her legs were weak and her balance unsure.
"Your legs will regain their former strength quickly, Aeryn Sun," the human--alien--said with quiet satisfaction.
"Why...why did you do this for me?" she asked, sitting down once again. The muscles had lost all their endurance, having atrophied significantly over the past two monens of paralysis.
"It was in our power to help; how could we not?"
Aeryn had no response to that, but was saved from the awkwardness of silence by the sudden entrance of John Crichton through the far doors of the building.
"Who are you?!" he shouted, obviously enraged and only barely containing himself.
"You did well, John," the alien said, not looking over his shoulder at the approaching human. "Most species don't do as well."
"What is all this?" Crichton was getting closer, but hadn't spotted the figure sitting inside the cell yet.
"Everything here is a physical recreation from your memory."
"But, you're not real..."
"Well," the alien said, turning around at last. "I'm not your father."
"Crichton," Aeryn spoke at last, pulling the human's attention away from the man who both was and was not his father.
"Aeryn!" he cried, racing over and splaying his hands against the glass. "You're alive! They didn't kill you!"
Aeryn was taken aback by that. They'd made him think she was dead? Was that part of that 'test' they'd referred to? She couldn't find the words at that moment to tell him what had happened, so she did the only thing she could to explain. She stood up.
Crichton was dumbfounded. "You...you're...." he stuttered.
"Of course we didn't kill her. We created her corpse," Jack explained, sounding slightly put out.
"Why would you make me think she was dead?" John cried, turning towards the image of his father.
"We needed a human reaction, John. Your reaction."
Three arns later, the human, the soldier, and the tech were back aboard their Marauder. Part of the Ancients'--as John now termed them--restitution for their experiment had been to repair as many of the damaged systems on their ship as was possible with the materials on hand. The crash had been entirely simulated, so there was really no more damage than before, but much had been repaired anyway. It still wasn't 'like new', but Gilina wouldn't have to spend every waking microt babysitting the engines anymore.
The gravity was back on, as well, currently set at about half-strength to allow Aeryn to move about more easily. They would turn it up gradually as she regained her strength.
Aeryn watched silently as the human gazed out the forward view port. He'd said very little about what had transpired between him and the alien after they'd left the room.
"What is bothering you, Crichton?" she asked suddenly. The question surprised even her; where had that come from?
"Sorry, Aeryn," John said, glancing back at her. "I'm just trying to decide how to feel."
"I did not realize that was a conscious process for humans."
She could see him smile slightly and duck his head. "Usually it isn't. Part of me wants to be angry at them, for invading my mind, stealing my memories, playing games with my sense of reality. But then I look at you, and this ship, and I know they gave us much more than they took."
They were silent for a moment.
"So, how're you doing?" John asked, deflecting her attention away from himself.
Aeryn thought about it. The time they'd spent on 'Earth' had been both enlightening and confusing for her. Crichton had been right, annoyingly so, in his insistence that her injuries did not negate her usefulness. She'd been the Marauder's pilot for over a monen in free-fall, and even back in the gravity of a planet she'd learned to get around. There among the humans, for perhaps the first time, Aeryn had been more valued for her mind than for her physical prowess, and strangely enough, she'd found that immensely satisfying. And now, just when she had been learning to accept her new limitations, she was whole again, with options and decisions to make about her future.
But it wasn't just the Peacekeeper viewpoint on crippling injuries that Aeryn was questioning. Watching John interact with his father--simulation or no, to John it had been real and therefore his responses were genuine--had started her wondering. She found herself thinking, more often than she had in a very long time, about that night so many cycles ago when she'd woken to find a strange woman standing over her bunk. In defiance of all her training, Aeryn had always secretly wished she'd gotten to know that woman who called herself 'mother'. Seeing John with his father, no matter how unreal the situation had turned out to be, had given Aeryn a real sense of what she'd missed. Of what the Peacekeepers had denied her, with their injunctions against emotional ties.
For the first time, Aeryn was questioning the beliefs that had formed the foundation of her entire life, the wisdom and rightness of the Peacekeeper way. This alien--this human--had dropped into her life just half a cycle ago and had turned it upside-down. And now he was asking how she was doing?
"I'm fine, Crichton," she lied.
TBC...