Part VIII

 "Come on, Elle! Move it!" 

Rachel Northway leaned over the railing from the marauder's command loft to the cramped deck below. But Ellie had vanished from view temporarily. 

Her disembodied voice rang against the metal walls. "Don’t wait for me!" 

With a worried expression Rachel returned to watching the ghostly green of the systems check. The crescendo of warnings fell away, but slowly. It would have taken far too long to reroute the cesium fuel lines via the ship's less corroded condensers. Instead the marauder's logistics system had been tricked into thinking the safety protocols were still on line. The whole operation was Mickey Mouse. But time was not their friend. 

In the cramped workspace below, Ellie squinted from the white hot glare of the portable torch as it sealed the last beads of metal between the remaining shielding plates to the hastily constructed by-pass. With a satisfied grunt she shut the welder off and cast it to the floor with a clatter. 

"Done! Go!" 

Rachel triggered the series of controls that Korbyn had coached her through. The marauder gave a disconcerting shudder. She frowned, looking to Korbyn for his reaction. He had wedged his hulking frame into the navigator's seat nearby to watch. But his attention was snagged by a new, more disturbing noise. The girl had established a program to detect the retrieval squadron’s comms traffic. It had found the squad's signal lock almost immediately. It now drew closer at a worrisome pace. 

"How long?" Northway asked, watching him. 

He shrugged, shutting off the incessant alarm. "An arn… maybe more." 

"You sure about that?" 

"No." He looked back at her, his expression deadpan. 

There were no glib comebacks. Northway often had a sharp rebuttal. He had, for the moment, given up the battle of sarcasm with her, bowing to a worthy adversary. Instead, he had spent the past three arns trying to talk the two women out of their noble, but stupid endeavor. The more he pressed, the more resolute they became. 

Nevertheless he hovered nearby, lending the occasional laconic remark as well as actually providing some help. His understanding of "techs smarts" was limited, but not a fact he wished to share. As a result he never bothered to learn more than the rudimentary systems he had become acquainted with in his later career as a privateer that, for the most part, involved liberating vessels from their owners. 

"I'll check on her. Make certain she's not going to blow us up… yet." He muttered. 

Korbyn rose from the nav chair and hopped down from the command loft to the deck below in one smooth motion. Pretending to double check the welded seals, he watched Ellie from the corner of his eye. Even in the past few arns she had seemed to worsen, her motions becoming more sluggish and stiff. When she had thought no one was looking he had seen her rest more and more often, clearly reaching a point of exhaustion. 

"Are you sure about this?" Korbyn said, leaning over her shoulder. He made sure that Northway was not within earshot. As a last resort he had begun to work on them separately. Conquer and divide. 

"There’s no time for this." She shrugged. Her eyes were glued to the particle detector as she moved it over the surface of the wormhole artifact. Apparently satisfied with the readings, she shut it off and made for the command loft.

He moved to cut off her escape. "I've got a better idea, little girl. Come with me--" 

"What?" Ellie said. Frank surprise flitted across her pale features before they collapsed into the signature frown. "No." 

"Do you know what the Scarrans will do to you if they capture you?" 

"I have an idea." She said grimly, keeping her eyes to herself. Ellie shouldered past him. 

"This isn’t going to work, Crichton. We can find someone else that can help you." Asher grabbed her upper arm. He paused, hating the pleading sound in his own voice. "I know people… not far from here--" 

"Asher… I'm going to die." Her voice was softer. He could not tell if it was because her sickness had tapped the last of her energies, or once again he was now glimpsing the vulnerable being who dwelled beneath her sharp edges. 

"Don't do this…” He remained in her path. Hesitant, recounting her anger but honestly not caring, he touched her face. She did not shy away. 

"Asher… there is nothing more." She smiled thinly and folded her hand over his own. “I'm out of time. I can feel it. It's getting harder and harder to even think.” 

"Then I'm coming with you." 

"You don't belong there, Asher." 

"And you do?" He countered, instantly regretting it. 

"I don't want regrets." She returned sharply. She seemed to fold in upon herself, once more hiding.

"Me either, Crichton."

 "I need you to do me a very… very important favor." 

He looked down as she pressed a small bundle covered in mustard colored cloth into his hand. 

"I need you to find someone." She said. "And I want you to make sure you get this to him…"

 #

 "How long?" Scorpius seethed. But he knew the answer. He did not pause in his pacing to wait for the tech to respond. Instead he cut a neat about face and continued the remainder of the path across the command tier. 

"It's been six arns, sir." 

"Still nothing." It was not like Braca. He could be terribly dull-witted one microt and arrogant the next, but never in a combination that Scorpius felt would constitute this. His First lived to serve and had by far been one of his most loyal. 

"No, sir." 

"Your superior is behind this, isn't she?" He demanded, a low growl seeping into his voice. Scorpius whirled on the sallow-faced woman who stood at rigid attention through his rampage. 

Marna Vollis canted her head as she answered. "Sir, I have no idea what you mean." 

The color of her energies told him otherwise. Scorpius lurched toward her, his control nearly spent. "You are lying to me, sub-officer Vollis. I shall --" 

"Incoming comms, sir." The tech's voice lifted in a surprised pitch. "It's Lieutenant Braca." 

"Where have you been?" Scorpius whirled, facing the eye of the holo emitter. He regarded the transparent image of Braca, his dull fury blinding him to the anxious expression on the officer's face. 

"There has been a… complication." Braca gulped. His eyes darted to something beyond the range of the recorder's eye and then back to his superior. 

"Complication?!" Scorpius stepped closer. On reflex, the Braca image stepped back regardless of the millions of metras of real space that separated them. "Explain--" 

At that moment, a pale disembodied hand shoved Braca from sight. The smug countenance of tertiary regional command advocate, Alejandra D'Soto soon appeared. 

"Scorpius! Ah good." She grinned, her needling voice made tinny by the vox link. "As much as I enjoyed the medical insights to our last… interview, I shall keep this brief." 

A feral sound escaped Scorpius's chest. His voice deepened into his true heritage of a Scarran growl. "What is this! Braca! I demand--" 

"You demand…absolutely nothing!" D'Soto interjected. All semblance of amusement dissolved from her expression. "Your Braca is no longer in command. I am. As of mark twelve point four I have taken command of your retrieval squadron. A mission that … may I remind you… that does not officially exist… or have rights in any region of the policed uncharteds. I, am hereby assuming authority over these vessels according to decca code sub section four…" 

"Frell your decca code!" 

"…being the ranking recognized officer with jurisdiction in this region, I placed myself in command of what was once your squadron." She continued to talk through the indignant flurry of his argument. 

“You think you can do this without ramifications, D'Soto?" 

"You will provide me with all communications logs and materials concerning your wormhole research to date along with the records of the destruction of the Sano… and all information about this… wormhole artifact." D'Soto purred. The smug grin reappeared over the staunch black collar of her uniform. Scorpius regretted fully that she were not there in person, regardless of his earlier desire to turn her away. It would have been bliss to snap her neck personally. 

"I shall see to it that you are--" 

"But first… there are other matters to attend." Out of view something took her attention. "You must forgive me. I have a tracking beacon to pursue." 

The transmission snapped off. His fury was complete. 

#

 "They've found us." Ellie muttered under the din of the proximity alert. A new pitch in the alarm signified the encroaching swarm of marauders were close enough to find a weapons target lock. It was expected. But at the moment Ellie remained thankful that their vessel had survived their departure through the N'Dex atmosphere. 

Ellie turned her attention to the integrity of the bypass. With the safeties off-line, there would be no warning. She frowned at what she saw. "This is going to be close. We can't out run them forever." 

"No. Not forever." Northway granted her a secretive smile that just shy of crazed. "Just long enough to stir up the wasp nest when we hit the Scarran outpost." 

Her long dark fingers hovered over the interface, hesitating when she saw a small curl of smoke waft by. "You… um… trust the little hot-wiring job Korbyn did to this bucket?" 

"You're asking me that… now?" 

#

 The comms tech frowned nervously into the middle distance, one hand going up to the headset perched over her ear. She squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on the sound, preferring to rely on her own senses rather than the ship's systems. It was a dangerous habit, but one of which she was often unconscious. She opened her eyes and looked at her new commander, the one called D'Soto, hating what she was about to say next. Saying it out loud would make it frighteningly real. 

"Advocate D'Soto?" 

"What?" The woman turned cold blue eyes on her. There was a danger to this woman that Lt. Braca seldom demonstrated. She seemed to waver on the verge of explosive rage. 

"We have detected transmissions from the region in the target's projected course." 

"And?" D'Soto prodded impatiently, her attention snared by the ops screen on the small command loft. 

"It's Scarran coms traffic, sir." 

"Can you isolate a source?" 

"The pattern suggests an outpost, sir." 

The already rampant tension in the small command tier build in strength like a thunderhead. 

"Turn back." Braca barked. He stepped toward the comms tech only to have his path blocked by D'Soto. 

"Continue pursuit." D'Soto ordered. She whirled on Braca, shoving him back into the chest of the sizeable commando that had boarded the point marauder with her team. "Not another word from you, Braca!" 

"Follow my orders or you will find yourself in the airlock." D'Soto snapped at the two members of the command crew. The pilot and the comms tech exchanged an anxious glance, uncertain. Neither moved. 

"Do it!" She commanded. "Open coms to our prey. They can't be this desperate." 

# 

"Attention, unregistered marauder. You are entering Scarran occupied space--" 

"No shit." Rachel muttered, snapping at controls until she found the right one to end the unwelcome transmission. 

"They won't pursue us if they know the Scarrans outnumber them." Ellie warned. 

"The Scarrans won't be able to make a dent." 

"What?" The girl regarded her with suspicion. "How do you know that?" 

"Trust me, Elle." Rachel returned. She blundered through reopening all the transmissions hyperlinks, eliciting a wail of feedback that filled the cabin. 

"What are you doing?" Elle demanded. She reached out, trying to shut the links. Rachel swatted her hand away. 

"Just fly this boat. It's a little late to stop trusting me, ok?" 

"But…" 

"Trust. Me." Rachel pried the girl's hand from her wrist. Slowly, grudgingly Ellie obeyed. But the expression on her face indicated that she was far from convinced. 

Rachel drew in a deep breath and started: "This is Commander Rachel Northway of the marauder … um…Enterprise… " 

She paused and looked at the girl, momentarily muting the link. "What do they call those big ass ships?" 

"What!?" Ellie looked up at her incredulously. 

"Just tell me." Rachel made and ushering motion at her. 

"Command Carrier." She said. 

"The Peacekeeper Command Carrier. We're ready to engage the warp drive… um… inviso shielding." 

"What are you doing?" Ellie hissed. 

"Watch." Rachel grinned triumphantly. "I don't care if they heard us… just as long as the Scarrans did." 

#

With mounting fury, Tavik Ruvicam replayed the Peacekeeper transmission for the lazy, bloated Ngortiwan. He did not know what angered him more: the fact that he had to point out the presence of the invading Peacekeeper marauders to his own security minister or that death was certain for them in face of the considerable odds. 

Ruvicam had always known this day would come. His repeated requests for more protection from the Scarran front went unheeded. The research station in the N'Dex-Keurig cluster was deemed too small, too insignificant to merit large armaments. As a result they had few operational armed craft. The weapons on the telemetry pods used to gather reading on the infant, yet unstable, wormholes were rendered virtually useless by the proximity of solar radiation. 

Death, he was certain, would find them today. Their only choice was how they chose to face it: cowering in the hollowed passages of this drifting chunk of rock or in the icy cold grip of space. 

"Launch all of the operational pods." Ruvicam snarled, ushering Ngortiwan out of the control suite. "I shall commence the destruction of our data stores." 

#

 One by one the marauders peeled off their pursuit to engage the swarm of Scarran craft. At the moment the fight looked even. But before long the marauders were obviously routing the smaller Scarran craft. Tiny blue tempests of light indicated the firefight of weapons between ships. Beyond the clashing ships was the slowly tumbling hulk of the Scarran outpost carved into a mammoth asteroid. Somewhere, Rachel knew, deep in side its burrowed tunnels was a tiny dark hot room, the prison cell and possibly the tomb of DK. 

Rachel realized she had been holding her breath and released it in one long shuddering sigh. "I'm so sorry." 

In a rare show of camaraderie Ellie placed a hand on her shoulder. She could hear the battle of compassion and urgency in her tone. "There's nothing you could have done." 

"That doesn't make me feel any better." Rachel answered, forcing herself to turn away from the awesome sight of the battle. 

"Fight now. Mourn later." There was a stilted quality to the girl's voice that suggested the expression was yet another Peacekeeper mantra. 

"Yeah. Yeah. I know." She nodded vehemently. Rachel could see the numbers climbing for the spheroid but realized that now it was completely up to Ellie. "Ready?" 

"Yes." Ellie muttered. She turned a crazed smile up at Rachel. "There is an Earp expression I remember. Here goes nothing."

 #

"Not all heroes come from the Great Houses." She whispered the Sebacean credo under her breath, turning in a slow circle in the gutted hangar of the dead Scarran research outpost. Alejandra D'Soto allowed the smile that had been threatening to form for the past arn. They had lost the marauder in pursuit, but this… this was infinitely more valuable. 

Around her the few techs from her own squadron and those remanded from Braca's fluttered back and forth like excited birds. There was technology here that High Command would kill for. Scarran secrets. Scarran weapons. And more importantly… Scarran bodies. 

She looked down at the scaly skinned monster on the floor and tapped the form with the toe of her boot, a wrinkle of revulsion finding her mouth. The half dozen still in the installation had been the hardest to flush out. Specimens were rare. In their pride a Scarran would kill themselves first before being taken prisoner… often finding a means of taking their assailant with them. She realized surprise had worked for them. It was not a clever tactical endeavor or military might. But it was victory all the same. 

"Sir. There's something you should see." 

She turned to regard the grime-covered commando that had spoken the words. 

"What?" 

"It's just easier to show you." He jerked his chin in the direction of the corridor. 

It lead to through another small labyrinth of passages and corridors before emptying out into a cavernous hangar. He showed her to the end of the room and stopped before the sloped white skeleton of a primitive looking vessel that was most definitely not Scarran. 

"This… relic?" She puzzled, looking from it to him and then back. 

"It closely matches specifications contained in data stores held by Scorpius." 

"Elaborate." She ordered, stepping closer to the vessel. Cautiously she ran a gloved finger along the gaudily decorated side. It was a decal of horizontal red and white lines and jagged shapes in a blue field. Her mind raced. What could this primitive ship mean to Scorpius? To the Scarrans? Was there some connection? 

"The same stores concerning an alien race of wormhole travelers." He continued. 

D'Soto looked up at him. "Sub-officer Hassan… let's keep this our secret, shall we?" 

"There's more, sir." 

"Talk." 

"This vessel's pilot is here… on this station. Remarkably, the Scarrans kept him alive." 

Scarrans were infamous for their brutality. Male prisoners were a rarity. She raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Him?" 

"He appears Sebacean, but the medics say his species is unknown--" 

"I want to see the prisoner. Now." 

#

 Rachel uttered something that was a cross between laughter and a triumphant yell as she sprinted around the pockmarked concrete of the abandoned airfield. If there were grass around she would have gladly rolled in it. Shutting her eyes, she smiled up at the brilliant Florida sun, relishing in its heat on her face, her forearms. 

Home. This was home. 

"Are you certain this is safe?" Ellie said in a strangely quiet voice. She squinted under the ruthless sun and watched as Rachel scanned the horizon. Nothing stirred. There was only the shimmer of heat over the concrete in the distance as it threw back its strange liquid mirage of water. 

She was not certain if they had been detected by the Cape's radar regardless of their flight path. It seemed somehow poetically fitting that they chose the abandoned port. The hunkering shape of the marauder blended into the rusted skeletons of the shed scaffolding. 

"I can't be sure. But they would have been on us like white on rice, if they knew we were here," Rachel said distractedly. She joined Ellie in the shadow of the marauder. "Hey… kiddo… you're gonna be ok." Rachel said, studying her face. 

Ellie blinked up at her. She remained impossibly pale, the sunken hollows beneath her eyes even more prominent. This was not the same girl that she had seen try to take on a commando twice her size. Yet the transformation was beyond physical. She seemed more fragile, unsure. Then the realization struck Rachel. For all of her treatment as a hybrid and an outcast, for the first time in her existence, Elenor Crichton was the alien. 

Rachel felt her joy dissolve. Celebrations would have to wait. First things first. The girl needed help. Soon. 

"This is going to be a real hike. We're gonna have to hoof it… cross through the wetlands just south of here. I need you to keep it together. Can you hold on, Elle?" 

Dazed, the girl slowly nodded. She staggered and ended up leaning against the hull of the marauder. 

"I asked you a question, Crichton." Rachel hated the harshness that entered her own voice. The girl seemed urged on some precognitive level to obey.

"Yes, sir." Ellie said before she doubled over, coughing. She spat bright scarlet onto the sun-bleached concreted, and rested her hands on her knees. 

She turned a worried expression up at Rachel. "I'm afraid." 

"I know, hon. It's ok to be afraid." Rachel said, leading her away from the protective shadow of the vessel. "Come on. Let's go find your grandpa." 

# 

Yellow sunlight found the mid-morning stillness of Jack Crichton's kitchen. Dust motes lazily swam in its thermal drifts, occasionally lighting on the counter and the pitted surface of the ancient Formica table. The house, like the room was still, quiet. An air of waiting had become such a presence here, owned by the master, its essence coated everything like a thin faded patina. The house remembered times when there had not been such quiet. That time was gone now. The house was old, like the man that lived here. All that remained was the waiting. The silence. 

Then something remarkable happened. A brick exploded through the glass of the lower window pane of the back door. A dark skinned armed, snaked carefully through the broken glass, avoiding the jagged shards to flip the tumblers of the deadbolt. The door swung open on this well used hinge and allowed two figures inside. 

Rachel maneuvered Ellie to the battered kitchen table. It wobbled appreciably on its metal legs as the girl flopped down onto its surface, half reclining. 

Leaving her charge momentarily, Rachel rushed to the sink and began throwing open the cupboards perched above it. She found a plastic tumbler and quickly filled it from the tap. She turned to find the girl, reclining fully across the table, her head canted listlessly over the edge. 

"No… no no." Rachel said, pulling Ellie back up to a sitting position. "Sit up. Drink this for me." 

"He nuh-nuh-never said… how.. hot…." Ellie mumbled. Weakly she took the container from Rachel's outstretched hand and drank from it greedily. 

"It tastes like metal." Ellie grimaced, coughing. 

"Old pipes." Rachel explained. "Sorry. Drink it." 

Rachel spared a glance around the room to the rounded edges of the ancient white refrigerator. "Hang on." 

"Ok." Ellie nodded. She grabbed the tumbler of water and clutched it to her narrow chest. 

Rachel threw open the door of the freezer and quickly found the ice trays. She grabbed both of them and flung them onto the counter. After some rummaging she found a ragged, but clean dishtowel and fashioned a cold compress. She talked as she worked, more to keep the girl lucid than anything. 

"I know it's hot, Elle. It's Florida. Even in winter it's hot… but usually not this bad--" Rachel's mouth snapped shut. 

The question that struck her was stunning in its simplicity. How do you know it's winter? How do you know way day it is? 

"I need to know the date." Rachel said. 

"Yes, sir." Ellie returned drowsily. She had returned to reclining fully across the table, her lankly limbs dangling over its sides, her face pressed to the cool surface. The empty tumbler clattered to the floor. Rachel pressed the ice-laden towel to the girl's neck. 

"Stay put." 

Rachel ventured into the stillness of Jack Crichton's den. The blank screen of the TV sat glumly in a corner. The clock above it ticked to itself, giving the useless information that it was ten forty-five. Nothing. She clicked on the TV and flipped through channels of white noise, Spanish language soap operas and advertisements for toilet bowl cleanser before giving up. Click. The room was quiet once more. 

Passing in front of the picture covered walls to the upstairs, Rachel paused. She remembered this foyer. It was a place where a very green Rachel Northway, wrought with anxiety, had once stood, waiting to see the legend of space flight. A small sad smile found her expression as Rachel looked up at the framed photos along the walls. 

Jack and John in front of the Farscape One… A very young DK and John red faced and grinning bundled up in parkas and hugging skis. 

"David." Rachel said quietly. Her hand hovered over the glass of the faded photo. "Don't torture yourself, Rach." 

"It's worse than that. He's dead, Jim."  

The disembodied voice of DeForrest Kelly suddenly thundered out of the living room, making her jump. The punctuating melodramatic music to this terse observation built into a howling crescendo. 

It was replaced by the plaintive whine of Sally Struthers: "Do you want to make more money?" 

Rachel darted back into the living room. Ellie looked up at her, wide-eyed as she sat knelt before the screen of the Zenith. But her attention was soon snagged by the television once more where Oscar the Grouch was singing about his admiration of refuse. 

"I told you to stay put." Rachel chided. 

But the girl was mesmerized, already tapping at the remote control like a professional channel surfer. If the situation were different, she would have been astounded by how quickly Ellie had assumed this piece of Americana. Half the continent no doubt had noon still flashing on their VCRs. 

Rachel knelt beside her. So enraptured in the television, she did not seem to notice as Rachel assessed her vitals. Her pulse was too fast, even for a Sebacean. She did not relish the prospect of dragging her back out into the Florida heat regardless of her considerable stamina against it. 

"Ellie…" Rachel said, trying to wrangle the remote from her grip. "We don't have time for this. We have to find Jack." 

"Old father." Ellie said, eyes glued to the television. 

"Yes…your grandfather." Rachel corrected. 

"No… there." Ellie said, pointing at the screen. Rachel looked up to see video footage of Jack Crichton shaking hands with Vice President Pike in front of a small crowd of photographers. The camera panned back to show the dramatic black angle of the astronaut's memorial at Cape Canaveral. The artificial voice of the local news anchor continued to speak over the footage: 

"…you’re looking at footage from earlier this morning as the vice president was on hand to serve in the dedication to fallen astronaut, John Crichton..." 

"That's not right." Rachel said, awestruck. She finally won the tug of war with Elle over the remote and raised the volume. 

"Commander John Crichton was survived by his father, Retired Airforce Colonel Jack Crichton…" 

"This was six months before the launch of the Farscape two." 

# 

The two women pushed through the doorway of the crowded tavern, both drenched by the summer rain that had fallen the entire afternoon. Ellie one leaned heavily against Rachel's shoulder. She was tired beyond all comparison and wanted nothing more than to curl into some dark corner and sleep. The noise of the place was nearly deafening. It gnawed at her frayed nerves and made the beast of a headache writhe anxiously in her skull. She realized that Rachel was saying something. Ellie had to lean forward to hear her speak over the clamor of the humans. 

"…like we agreed. I do the talking." 

She looked at the crowd, tension plain on her face. This place was so conspicuous, so public. But, there was little choice. Ellie nodded. 

"Come on." Rachel kept a firm hand on her elbow as they made their way through the crowd. 

They had followed Jack Crichton for most of the afternoon. But they could not approach him. He constantly had someone at his elbow, demanding his attention. Finally he had seemed to shed the well wishers and hand shakers and stolen off to this place. The area of town was less garishly painted than the rest. Ellie guessed it was meant for the local inhabitants more than visitors. Vaguely, she did not think she liked the idea of it. A place of comfort, seclusion, routine. It was like the house. Stuck in a different time that will never return. 

They  paused near a long tall counter set against the wall. Rachel peered through the wash of faces, standing on tip toe trying to see over the crowd of shoulders. 

"You're not hot in that, honey?" Said a fleshy voice behind her. 

Ellie turned to regard a rotund stub of a man at the other side of the counter. A rolled, dried cylinder of ancient vegetation smoldered in the corner of his mouth. A belch of the acrid smoke drifted her way. It's smell made her think of the dank cell in Lucien Ix's compound. 

“Little hot... for the jacket, huh?” He repeated. 

Ellie looked down at her clothes: the battered leather tunic Korbyn had brought her while on N'Dex and the remains of her Peacekeeper utilities. Neither she nor Rachel had thought of their appearances. Self-consciously, she smoothed a hand over her unraveling plait and tugged her clothes into a straighter line. 

"What can I get for you?" He prodded, splaying chubby fingers onto the bar. 

She swallowed and looked at Rachel, who had momentarily wandered further into the crowd. No help there. 

"W-wuh 're... luhking f-for someone." She said, haltingly. Her heart skipped a heat as she awaited his response. The speech was hard to produce, a faded memory of childhood. Elenor had not received translator microbes until she was nearly seven. It was at the staunch declaration of her father. John Crichton wanted his daughter to learn English first. But after her years with the Peacekeepers, did she know it still? 

"Oh.. sure thing, hon." The tavern keeper smiled and gestured to the back of the room. "Go on. We're crowded tonight. It's like old home day with the dedication and all. Hope you find 'em." 

She looked at the tavern-keeper, feeling complete astonishment. It worked! The tension in her shoulders eased. He had understood her. Although much of what he said to her was jargon. Granting him a relieved smile, she nodded, perhaps too enthusiastically. 

"Come on." Rachel had appeared at her elbow again, tugging her away from the bar. "There's another room in the back." 

They weaved through the crowd, in an odd choreography: Rachel plowed forward out of sheer desperation. Ellie was a study in distrust for everyone and everything this new place. Her heart sank. So far a survey of the room did not turn up Jack. 

There was a sudden sharp twinge against her buttocks, followed by an appreciative wake of boisterous laughter. She whirled in rage and surprise, her hands curling into fists. A group of young men gawked up at her from an overcrowded table. None of them seemed a day over twenty cycles. Each was wearing in the colors of some local collective, identical emblems emblazoned across their chests. All of them were well intoxicated. 

"Nice leather, baby." One closest to her jeered. "Gimme some fries with that shake!" 

Ellie studied him as though he were new form of parasite. She estimated that even in her best health she could only disable three of them, before the rest descended upon her. 

However, she reasoned, there was no reason not to try. 

As she made a step closer, Rachel's hand crash down on her shoulder. "Easy. No carnage, ok?" 

Rachel stepped slightly in front of her, arms folded as the glowered down at the young men: "Who the hell do you think you are?" 

This only elicited another gleeful round of jeers from them. "Oooh, baby!" 

"There a problem here?" Said a stern voice at Ellie's back. 

Brow furrowed, Ellie turned to the newcomer. Her jaw dropped. 

Jack Crichton looked at her with sympathetic blue eyes from beneath neatly kept white hair. But there was nothing else in his expression, beyond mild concern. No moment of recognition. 

"Doctor Northway?" He asked squeezing past her to insert himself between Rachel and the table of young men. He cut a scathing glare at them. "These guys bothering' you?" 

"Colonel." Rachel stammered. But she seemed to catch herself, veiling her obvious relief and surprise. "These gentlemen were just about to apologize." 

"Hey, no problem… colonel." The short one with the wandering hands said. He waved in surrender. His voice was etched with instant respect. “Didn’t know she was with ya.” 

"Is that supposed to make a difference?" Jack groused. 

"No…sir." The other men at the table seemed to agree. 

"Doctor Northway. Why don't you and your friend join me?" He gestured to a small decrepit table in a corner of the room. "I’m waiting for DK. Keep me company 'till he gets here?" 

"Actually, Jack. I came here looking for you." Rachel said quickly, granting him a nearly pandering smile that Ellie had never witnessed on the older woman before. 

"Oh. Really?" Jack returned, visibly impressed. He placed a hand on Rachel's shoulder and pointed out a way through the crowd. 

He regarded at Ellie once more. "You're not hot in that?" he asked. 

She could only blink at him. Before she could formulate a response she felt Rachel grab her wrist and pull her in tow as they followed Jack through the crowd. 

"Be cool, Ellie. Be cool." Rachel whispered. Ellie nodded vacantly in agreement. The expression meant nothing to her except an obvious preoccupation everyone had with her thermal comfort. 

As they finally finished weaving through the crowd, Jack pulled a battered chair with sprung upholstery away from the table and looked expectantly at Ellie. She looked thickly down at the chair and then up at Jack, not certain what he wanted her to do. 

Rachel pinched the back of her arm. "Sit. Down." 

Ellie complied, her back rigid, posture perfect like a recruit at chow. The entire time she watched Jack with blatant fascination as he did the same strange maneuver for Rachel. 

Jack looked at Ellie as finally took a seat between them. "I overhead you at the bar. You've got a different kinda accent... mixed sorta. Not from around here, are you?” 

She nodded mutely and looked at Rachel, the urgency gnawing at her. Why hadn't she said anything? What was she waiting for? 

“My name’s Jack." He extended a hand to her. Hesitantly, she wrapped her hand around his, pumping it up and down mechanically. 

Ellie leaned forward to be heard over the din. Names were easier. "Elenor." 

"That was my mother's name." Jack smiled. 

"Listen, Jack." Rachel blurted, placing a hand on his arm. But his attention remained of Ellie. "Um… Colonel Crichton." 

"Crichton." Ellie continued. There was an opportunistic lull in the room's noise at that same moment. "Elenor Crichton." 

His smile faltered. "What did you just say?" 

She nodded, ignoring Rachel's attempt to wave her off behind Jack's back. "Mah father ez John Crichton." 

Eyebrows pinched together, he swiveled around to confront Rachel. "Is this some kind of joke?" 

"Jack…" Rachel laughed nervously. "I've got a really really… long wild story for you." 

#

 Six Monens Later…

"You cannot keep him here forever." Officer Gelic Hassan muttered. Doing nothing to hide his distaste, he turned a slow circle of the hideous craft. 

Alejandra smiled, coldly. "He has been here this long, hasn't he?" 

"My point exactly." Hassan looked at her over the slanted canopy. "Your fortune is wearing thin, Alejandra." 

"Don't talk to me about fortune." Anger building, she circled around the vessel to confront him.  "It is not by accident that I've received the commendation that I have from Command." 

"There is a simple fact here." He returned, unaffected by her tone. Hassan had seen a great deal in the past  monens, little about her mercurial temper surprised him. "He is not Sebacean. He is not even a recognized species." 

She folded her arms. "David is intelligent, more so than we had first thought him. He's well aware of our purity codes. But remains grateful to the Peacekeepers who in essence delivered him from the Scarran demons. He knows our intentions--" 

Hassan jabbed an accusatory finger at her. "You are making a very dangerous wager. And it is not just your career at stake. You don't know that this simple bastard can give you the answers you want for your frelling wormhole research." 

"Each day we get closer." She slapped his hand away, her dangerous grin reappeared. 

"Yes. I've noticed." 

Her expression turned into a mocking amusement. "You can't possibly be jealous." She laughed. 

Hassan grunted and brushed past her. 

Alejandra pursued him around the ship, ducking under its truncated wing. Her laughter rang in the deserted hangar. "Gelic… honestly." 

His own temper slipping, Hassan whirled on her. But she did not recoil. "I see the way you look at him." 

"Are you insinuating that your superior is recreating with an alien?" She laughed. 

"How would you like your new friend to know that you've lied to him this entire time about the one called Crichton? Or the other?" He challenged. 

"You haven't got the mivonks, Gelic. Don't test me. You'll wake up dead in your bunk." All amusement left her. It more matched the sinister cold of her gaze. Her mouth pressed into a thin line. "As long as we have the advantage of his cooperation, I see no reason to tell him what we know about the other two like him." 

The steel door opened at the end of the hangar. Tiny in the distance she recognized the pronounced limp of the human scientist. Hassan and D'Soto regarded each other with a deadly silence. Her eyes narrowed on him, completing her earlier dare. Hassan may have been infantry, but he was painfully clever at times. Seeming to guess her thoughts, he smiled with an equal iciness. The next time they clashed, she made certain it would not be a draw. 

She broke the stand off and called with a syrupy warmth to the approaching interloper. "David." 

"If you'll excuse me… commander. It reeks of tech in here." Hassan muttered. He paid her a terse nod and strode past DK. 

The hatch to the shuttle bay slid shut. The human released a low whistle. "What's with Mr. Sunshine?" he asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. 

"Don't give him another thought." Alejandra said, drawing closer. She smiled watching him limp closer. The condition in which the curious human had been found was appalling. In addition to malnourishment, he had suffered painful injuries at the hands of his Scarran captors, one of which nearly claimed his leg. His recovery had been astounding to even her own medtechs. "You're gait is improving." 

"Yes. Well I have my career as cornerback to think of." He grinned. 

Brow furrowed, she canted her head. However stalwart he had proven in health, his communication skills were often lacking, falling into a vernacular that was entirely too frustrating at times. She doubted it was the fault of translator microbes. 

"Joke. It's a joke." David waved a dismissive hand. "You see… oh hell. Never mind." 

Alejandra watched him inspect skeletal frame of the propulsion section. He regarded the craft with a look of secretive joy that she had not yet grown accustomed to seeing. David was like no other creature she had ever encountered. It fell beyond the range of Peacekeeper politics; it was not because he was non-Sebacean. For reasons she could not begin to express, Alejandra had actually acquired a genuine liking for him. 

He finished his inspection of the craft and rejoined her at its side. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything new?” 

She shook her head, avoiding his gaze. Not a day had gone past that he did not plague her with questions about his former companion on his ill-fated mission. The truth be told, she had never commissioned serious investigation into the matter. She doubted Rachel Northway lived still and hoped to never find out otherwise. It made little sense to waste resources or run the risk of drawing attention to her operations at the former Scarran outpost. 

“No, David. I’m sorry,” she lied. “The Scarrans destroyed many of the records in the installation.” 

“But she can be alive, right?” 

“I have no answer for you.” She placed a hand on his arm, a gesture she would have never displayed if the hangar were full of techs. 

“Rach’s got guts. Anyone that put up with me could make it out there.” He grinned. Before long he had turned back to the incomplete ship to prod at its components. 

She noticed something new. It must have been David who had done it, for none of the techs assigned to him would ever entertain the notion. Plastered on the dull skin of the experimental vessel's hull was a vaguely familiar pattern of red, white and blue lines and shapes. Near it, clearly done by a non-mechanical hand were the slanted figures of human written language. "Tell me. What does this mean?" 

"It says…" he drew his voice into a booming, officious sounding tone. "Farscape three." 

She showed him a small perplexed smile. "I don't understand the significance." 

"Every ship needs a name." David shrugged. "Bad luck not to." 

"Intriguing. Carriers have names. Sometimes cruisers. But a Peacekeeper would not bother to name a vessel like this." She said, her smile turned mischievous as she leaned against the curved canopy. Alejandra pressed her face against its smooth surface and watched him. 

"You're a curious creature, David Kaiser." 

He spared a glance around the hangar to be certain they had no spectators and drew along side her. His hand slipped around her waist. Smiling, she allowed him to pull her close. 

"Thank you." He grinned, leaning his forehead against hers. "I do try." 

She teased quietly. "And try… and try--" 

The rest was lost in their kiss. 

# 

“Jack… you’re not going to like what I’m going to say.” Rachel paused to sip coffee and watched his reaction over the rim of her mug. She grimaced at the industrial strength taste to it. 

“Rachel… I think I know.” Jack said. He planted his elbows on the table and regarded her with a sly grin. “You’re going back out there. And Elenor is leaving with you.” 

“Yes.” She spared a glance over her shoulder. Down the short hallway from the kitchen, Rachel could see out the screened door that lead to the porch, where Elenor took her station seated on the top step, her back to the house as she stared out in the grove of orange trees across the dirt road. 

"Don't reckon I blame her. Being around a grumpy old fart like me." He said with a depreciative laugh. "I'd hit the bricks too." 

Rachel smiled thinly at the joke. She placed a hand over his. “I think you know the real reason why, Jack.” 

"I tried, Rachel. I really did..." His smile faded. His gaze softened as he trailed off, shrugging. 

Rachel nodded. It hurt to watch them together, for Rachel felt responsible for this odd gathering. Despite all the evidence she had shown him, to prove Elle's identity as his granddaughter, to Jack it was little comfort. In the time following her recovery, the girl had seemed to sense it too and subsequently spent more time on her own in the quiet farmhouse, managing to avoid Jack for days on end. When Ellie spoke to him, it was only out of genuine necessity and even then she was painfully aware of how her English sounded to him. 

“And my son... You're certain he's still alive. Still out there?” 

“And David.” She added quietly. "I just have to know for sure." 

“You really think you stand a chance of finding him on your own, Rachel?" Jack asked. "Big place to start searching.” 

“I can try. I owe David and I owe you that.” She paused, her eyes held his. “Come with us.” 

Jack chuckled. “Rachel… you reach a certain age and you realize why God created gravity. No.” He shook his head, the grin broadening. “I tell you want… I’ll stick around. Keep the light on for you.” 

“Suit yourself," she chided. "You're missing out on all the fun." 

“That place… it changed you, Rachel." He studied her. "But for the better, most probably.” 

She snorted in amusement at the strange comment. “Thanks… I think.” 

#

 Jack stood behind the screen door to the porch of his home, waiting for the courage to step outside. Granddaughter. It didn't feel right to even say out loud. It suggested she was kin. But Jack realized with a tug of sickening guilt that there would always be a portion of him that would doubt and refuse to accept her. 

Elenor's back was to him as she sat were she often did on the top step of the long wooden porch, elbows on her knees, chin propped on her fists as she stared off into some secret realm of musing. Hubble, his son's collie, lay at her side in loyal watch. The dog noticed his presence and began to thump its tail with cautious enthusiasm against the wooden floor. Ellie stirred from her revere and turned to face Jack, but only briefly. Wordlessly she turned away, her shoulders drawing into a stiff line. 

The rusted protest of the door's hinge seemed overly loud as he stepped outside. Hands shoved into his pockets he meandered to a corner and pretended not to watch her out of the corner of his eye. 

There were times when he saw an expression on her pale features, the curl of her smile, or mannerisms she used while speaking that were faint echoes of John. These were the things that made him want to reach out to this lost creature. But each time he stopped. 

For as much as she reminded him of John she was also alien. Her strange jade green eyes, so much like Leslie's, often held a cunning far beyond her years. Things that were commonplace to Jack, captivated Ellie for hours. Each major appliance in the home had been taken apart and examined. Seldom did she bother to put it back together. 

"I talked to Rachel. She's told me what you're planning." He said. 

She looked down at the battered toe of a sneaker. Her voice was quiet, reverent. "Korbyn was right. I don't belong here." 

"I wish things were different... I really do." 

"Irrelevant." She muttered. "I know the way you look at me. I know that's what you think…how I don't belong here." 

"There's something you have to understand, Elenor. We… humans," he stammered. Slowly he wandered closer to her, until finally he stood at her side. "We're just not that flexible. Wormholes. Alternate realities. There are some things we just can't wrap our heads around no matter how hard we want to believe. 

"It's not easy for me. And it never will be." His voice softened. 

"And you think this easy for me? Being here?" She looked up at him, eyes huge and soft. "My entire childhood I was told this was home, this was where I belonged. But my father never realized that it was only ever his home. Not mine. Here… I am the alien. And I always will be." 

"I'm sorry, Elenor." Jack said taking a seat beside her on the step. Stiffly, feeling like an impostor, he placed a comforting arm around her shoulders in a half-hearted embrace. 

She granted him a wan smile. “When I find him again… what do you want me to say?” 

"Come home." He paused, his vision blurring with tears and added as a guilt-ridden afterthought. "Both of you." 

Jack withdrew his arm, hating the relief that came with it. He knew it was the same familiar selfish sense of loss for his son and not the loss of his granddaughter that caused the tears. 

# 

"Your name Crichton?" 

The deep gritty voice interrupted the healthy haze he had slowly acquired from the opaque blue green liquid in the tumbler before him. He had finally begun to relax, assuring himself that the creatures that populated this particular run down tavern were more interested in getting comfortably numb than bothering him. 

Aeryn had elected to avoid the noisy, crowded space. D'Argo was in the nearby marketplace, pretending not to spy on Chiana who in turn was behaving in a more flirtatious and conniving manner than usual. Jool was on Moya pouting over some imagined offense. And he really did not care at the moment where Sparky or Astro were. The universe had collapsed into the container before him, which to him was a perfectly manageable size at the moment. 

He did not look up from his drink as he muttered a response. "Never heard of him." 

The intrusive voice was apparently attached to a heavy hand. It landed on his shoulder.

"If you knew someone named Crichton, I've got something for him. Something he'd be very interested in." 

"Not interested. Wrong guy." Sighing, he stole a quick glance at his new best friend. He was a tall, broad-shouldered Sebacean with biceps roughly the circumference of ten year old maples. His skin tone seemed slightly darker than most. And the man's thick features under the closely shaven head made John think of Thonn, the Peacekeeper commando that had boarded Moya so long ago with Larraq's motley crew. This man could have been a brother to him. And with that came another thought. 

Peacekeeper. A very big Peacekeeper. 

Subtly he shifted in his chair, one hand falling casually to the hilt of Winona. 

"Easy friend. If I were still a Peacekeeper, you'd be dead already." The stranger smirked, seeming to guess John's thoughts. "You don't need your weapon. I'm just here to deliver something to Commander John Crichton. Ellie would have my mivonks in a jar if I didn't try." 

"Who?" The name was like the kiss of a ghost. John struggled to keep the surprise from his voice. He leaned closer to the deserter, but purposefully did not look at him. Instead he pretended to study a piece of graffiti etched into the bar. 

"What did you just say?" 

"You heard me. I have a message from Elenor Crichton." 

The decibel level in the tavern dropped sharply, before picking up to it former strength. Both John and the stranger spared glances at the doorway in time to see two rugged looking Onari enter the establishment. It was apparent the bounty hunters were scanning the crowd. 

Wonderful, thought John. Boba Fet's extended family. 

"What do you want?" John prodded, his attention now divided between the stalking Onari and the brute beside him. 

"Nothing." It was obvious his attention was on the Onari as well. And quite possibly for the similar reason to John's. 

John watched him slide a thick-fingered hand over the pitted metal of the bar. His hand slipped away, as if by some clever magician's trick in its stead sat a small flat package bundled in mustard colored cloth. Cautiously, with a similar stealth, John placed his hand on the strange offering and pocketed it. 

"She's alive?" John shut his eyes. Of all the misery that populated this place, he and hope had become estranged friends, functioning on a nodding acquaintance only. 

"I hope so." The stranger exhaled the answer, like it was some secret wish best not said too loudly. There was a longing quality to his voice that made John regard him once more.  

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? You've seen her, haven't you?" 

"Don't worry about her, Crichton. It's the rest of the universe that needs to fret with her loose upon it." He felt the stranger's eyes on him, measuring. "You know… I can see how she's like you." 

John granted him his full attention, his curiosity winning over his better judgment. "Ok, slick. How'd you find me?" 

But the stranger was gone. John turned in time to see his visitor's silhouette dissolve though the doorway. Hastily John threw a small pile of chits onto the bar to cover his tab and commanded his feet to stumble in pursuit. Stepping out onto the street, John squinted into the bright sunlight. The passage held only bustling pedestrians, none of which resembled the curious messenger. 

Falling back against the rough stucco wall of the alcove he took the package from his pocket, stealing a glance through the crowd from time to time. Sickly he realized why the mustard colored cloth seemed so familiar. It was the heavy canvas of an IASA flight suit. Nestled with the folds of the irregular square of cloth were two objects. 

The first was a data chip. A tiny red light on it indicated that it bore a recording. The second was what made his throat constrict. It was a dark circular patch. The human lettering in blue spelled the words "Farscape". Stitched behind the lettering was a number, "2". As was the custom for the IASA, the names of the flight crew were added to the outer edges of the patch… R. Northway… D. Kaiser. 

"Jesus." John whispered.

The story of Elenor Crichton continues with "Future Shock"

| Home | Fiction in Technicolor | Feedback |