Part One

PROLOGUE:  Home Free 

John Crichton was floating.  Between the past and the future, between wild excitement and quiet hope, between the long highway and home.  Floating in the primitive zero-g of the international space station, clinging to a stainless steel handrail beneath a basketball-sized porthole, staring down.  Slowly, excruciatingly so, the station spun under his hands.  And finally, after so long, there she was. 

No alien mind-frelling, no dream, no xerox, carbon copy, house of wax or hall of mirrors.  Just Earth.  Big, blue, beautiful, polluted, over-populated, stinking-mess-but-our-stinking-mess Earth. 

He was home.  They were home.  For good. 

And it would be good; the worst was over.  Nearly six weeks stuck here in orbit, under ‘quarantine’.  Pokes, prods, and tests galore.  A certain nightmare from John’s early days in the Uncharted Territories hadn’t quite come true, but close.  The US government, evidently still the leaders of the Free World, had made a valiant effort to be the first to imprison an extraterrestrial.  Or maybe two; for a time, some seemed convinced that John himself was some sort of alien doppleganger. 

Not matter how hard they tried, however, no secret this big could be kept indefinitely.  Within days of the Farscape One’s return to Earth space, word had reached John’s family and friends on the ground.  John’s dad, sisters, and his buddy DK began a campaign.  They called congressmen.  They stormed into offices.  They organized protests at the Senate building and the UN, and they made sure the media knew exactly why.   

At first, the government and the military had played dumb.  It was what they did best, after all.  But official denials of Farscape One’s return only fanned the flames.  The public outcry, their righteous indignation, grew louder even as the opposition grew more stubborn. 

In the end, it was the quietest, gentlest soul of all who probably turned the tide, when the Dalai Lama himself joined the “Crichton Crusade”.  He urged humanity to turn their best face to the stars, and to welcome all their children home…even those children not seen in recorded lifetimes; remembered not in the mind, but only in the heart. 

Less than twenty-four hours after CNN broadcast the speech, John Crichton was finally allowed to phone home.  He assured Earth that he was safe, happy to be back, and being taken good care of aboard the station.  He also introduced the world to his wife, the radiant Aeryn Sun Crichton. 

It still took nearly another ten days for them to be released.  The Powers That Be had remained concerned about the “unpredictable and potentially catastrophic consequences for world security”.  Yet by admitting that they had them there at all, they had opened Pandora’s box.  The Crichtons, their supporters…and most especially their lawyers…assembled a list of “potentially catastrophic consequences” of their own.  And the sort of consequences which accompanied indefinitely holding two American citizens—one by birth, and one by marriage—in an orbital cell for no damn good reason, and against increasingly hostile public opinion, were all too predictable. 

So now, finally, for real, and with Aeryn by his side, John Crichton was going home. 

He knew it wouldn’t be the same, of course; he wasn’t kidding himself that far. Aeryn would have a lot of adjusting to do.  So would he, for that matter; he was hardly the overgrown kid he’d been when he’d fallen down that wormhole.  He’d lived five years in the back of beyond, seen heavens and hells, the best and worst of what life had to offer.  The same extremes as on Earth, he’d realized somewhere along the way, but the sheer scale out there…! 

And what about everyone else?  Earth itself…the place, the people, the governments, the greed and politics and squabbling…hadn’t changed so much, from everything he’d been allowed to read or hear, but his little corner certainly would.  How would his family and friends look at him now, back from the dead?  How would they react to…no, they’d love Aeryn, that was the least of his worries.  The government and the military, though, the UN and IASA…they sure as frell weren’t finished with the Crichtons yet. 

In some ways, that wasn’t so unreasonable.  John had plenty he *wanted* to share with them.  New technologies, theories, information that could solve a lot of humanity’s problems. 

Or just give them new means by which to screw up; he’d have to be careful. 

But later, he could worry about all of that later.  Home was all that mattered now; home, and the people who would be there for him.  Like the one who had so gracefully swum up behind him just now. 

He turned back with a grin, offering Aeryn his hand.  “So…this is it, Sunshine.  Ready for your big debut on Planet Erp?” 

She grinned too, taking his hand, pulling herself up to join him at the bar.  “I’m always ready, Crichton.  At least a hundred microts before you remember where you threw your pants.”   

But her hand squeezed his painfully.

# 

PART ONE: Cabin Fever 

Finishing the last buttons on his mambo shirt (not Hawaiian, but close enough, not to mention infinitely more stylish) and straightening his lei, John Crichton skipped down the steps and skidded into the living room.  He was a little surprised to find Aeryn still dozing on the couch in her running sweats, her hair drifting frizzily around her face.  (He found it rather sexy, actually, only this was hardly the time!) 

“Aeryn, hon…don’t you need to get changed?  And do your…you know, make-up and stuff?” 

Aeryn Sun, wearing lipstick and eyeliner.  And he thought he’d seen wonders back in their intergalactic days.  He wouldn’t be seeing many tonight, however… 

“I’m not going,” she said flatly, eyes still closed.  “I told you.” 

“Well, yeah…” John admitted.  “But I thought--” 

“What?  That I’d change my mind?  That I was kidding?” 

“Well, no, but…”

 “You can go if you want, I’m not stopping you.  But I’m staying here.” 

“Right.”  John crossed his arms, glaring down at her over the back of the couch.  “And you’ll be doing…what?” 

“Haven’t decided yet,” she murmured sleepily.  “Something fun.” 

“Well, then,” John replied, unreasonably reasonable.  “Then why don’t you come with me to the party, and have fun there?  And maybe after--” 

“Nice try.”  Aeryn’s eyes remained gently closed, but she was grinning now. 

But as her playfulness increased, John’s vanished altogether.  “Aeryn, get up.  Now.  This isn’t funny.”  He placed a hand too firmly on her shoulder, intending to roll her right off the couch… 

Instead, her palm snapped up against his chest, hard, and he found himself rolling backward on the balls of his feet.  By the time he regained his balance, Aeryn had leapt up to face him.  Her stance was wide, carefully balanced, and her fingers twitched over her right thigh, where her holster had been strapped for so many long cycles. 

“I said I wasn’t kidding.” 

John put up his hands, placating.  “Aeryn, c’mon…this really isn’t that big a deal!  I mean, if it was another press conference I could…” 

“There will still be reporters.” 

“Well, yeah, there are always reporters.  Hell, I caught three of ‘em in the back yard this morning.  But tonight’s really not gonna be that bad, it’s just…” 

“Unimportant?” 

“Pretty much, yeah.” 

“Then why go?” 

"It’s unimportant to us, sure.  But you know how IASA is, everything a big deal to them.  And just by showing up, we…” 

“I know all this, John,” Aeryn cut in.  “I’m still.  Not.  Going.” 

“Aeryn, we have an obligation…” 

“An obligation?”  She was almost laughing now, and visibly frustrated.  Which was not a good thing, particularly where the radiant Aeryn Sun was concerned.  “It’s been two years!  When does this ‘obligation’ ever end?” 

“When…I don’t know!  But can we really complain?  IASA pays all our bills, they keep the roof over our head, the clothes on our back, the food on the table…and all they ask is that we help them out with some publicity, that we--” 

“Live like hamsters in a bowl,” Aeryn snapped back.  “And after you gave them all that precious technology, the ‘secrets of the stars’ they called it. And after we saved their collective asses!  I’ve studied your recent history, John.  That idiot First Command of yours was ready to cut their funding altogether before we--” 

“U.N., Aeryn,” John interrupted.  “They’re called the U.N.  And hamsters don’t…” 

“That is it!”  Aeryn snarled.  “Fine, ignore me!  Do what you think is best for you, just like you always do, and drag me right along behind.  But not tonight, not to your frelling party!”  One hand was twisting the collar of his shirt now, and the other fist jabbing into the small of his back as she shoved him bodily out the front door.  “Just go, and leave me the frell alone!” 

# 

“And you know what the worst part was?  She was right.”  John took a long swig from his beer.  “Not that she wasn’t wrong too.” 

“Umm…John?  You think maybe…?”  DK nodded at the bottle in his friend’s hand.  “Cause you’re not making much sense, bud.” 

“No, no, I’m…” John waved the concern away, with only slight clumsiness.  “It’s just that…she was right, I know that.  What *am* I doing here?  I used to be an astronaut.  An explorer.  And she was…well, she was too, least in the end.  And we gave it up for…well, we both know what we gave it up for…” 

“Do you regret it?” DK interjected quietly. 

“Naw…course not, man.  It was worth it.  Everything’s been so good.  Well, at first it was good.  But now…” 

DK nodded, though in truth he wasn’t so sure.  Even in those first, ecstatic weeks of homecoming, there’d been something different in John Crichton.  Not bodysnatcher-replacement-alien-clone different, just…there was a restlessness there.  John had always had something of a wandering spirit, but never like this.  A caged animal. 

“Now…” John said again, softly.  His eyes scanned idly across the other partygoers, loud people in louder shirts, wandering the lawn between potted plastic palms, chattering against the blaring ukulele mood music .  But did he see any of them?  Or did Buddhist blue plants and Muppet monarchs walk in their place?  “Now, it’s like…like I’ve done everything there is to do here.  IASA’s picked my brain more than the Scarrens, Nebari, and good ol’ Scorpy combined.  And they’ve got enough publicity already, more than George Lucas would know what to do with.  Even if they aren’t ready to admit it.” 

“So you keep putting yourself through this?  Maybe it’s time to end the John Crichton World Tour, bud.  Get back to work, be a real scientist again.  Give me some competition!” 

That did earn a laugh, but it still faded too quickly.  “Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I felt like a scientist?” John asked, his voice softer still.  They’d nabbed a table on the edge of the grass…practically in orbit…but even so, his words were nearly lost in the background buzz.  “Using your brain for the two seconds it takes to keep everything from going further to Hell…that’s not science.  Wynona certainly didn’t love me for my brains.  It was more luck than anything.” 

He wasn’t making sense again; DK only wished he could blame the drink this time.  “So you’re out of practice,” he said instead.  “So what?” 

“So…so I just don’t know.  If I could go back.  If I can go forward.  If there is any forward left.  Which way is up…never had to worry about that in space.”  He took another long swig of beer. 

“Well…what do you want to do?” 

John shrugged, listlessly.  “Dunno.” 

“Do you want to get back to work?  Maybe even together again?” 

“Right, like IASA’s ever really gonna let me off the--” 

“Screw IASA!  ‘John Crichton, you’ve just won a billion dollars…”  DK thrust an air-microphone into his friend’s face.  “What are you gonna do next?’  And if you say ‘I’m going to Disneyland’, I’ll kick you in the teeth.” 

“I’d go…”  John looked up, and up, and his eyes seemed to fix, for the briefest of moments, on the stars again.  Then he grimaced.  “I’m going nowhere.  Well, except…” 

“Except?” prompted DK after a silent moment. 

John nodded at the entertainment center that their host had set up on the patio, and shrugged.  “Thought I might go try the karaoke.” 

“You have had obviously waaaaaay too much fun already tonight,” DK surmised.  “C’mon, time to get you home.  And I’ll drive.” 

# 

John must have decided to skip the fight reprise and head straight to the couch when he got home, because that’s where Aeryn found him the next morning, still in his rumpled party clothes.   

He looked so much younger when he slept, so much closer to the innocent (deficient) she’d first known.  In other circumstances, she’d have sat on him… 

But not today.  There was still too much anger.  And such days and fights were coming more often now, and lasting longer.  She knew it wasn’t really John’s fault, but she needed to get out, clear her head. 

So she pulled her hair into a quick braid, shrugged on a jacket—leather, of course--and headed for the garage, and the Harley-Davidson motorcycle John had bought for her, their first anniversary on Earth.  Silver and black, sleek but powerful, controlled but deadly.  “As close as this planet gets to a Prowler”, John had said.  He’d been lying, of course, but he meant well. 

Aeryn pulled on her helmet (black, with a dark visor; brought back memories), walked the bike out of the garage, then settled onto the high seat, revving the engine a few times, grinning wickedly as it growled.  If one of the neighbors complained, didn’t like the noise at this hour…well, that was their problem, and it’d give John a chance to show off those diplomatic skills. 

She coasted free of the suburbs as swiftly as she could.  She’d never really liked the area around their home.  Winding, labyrinthine streets, and assembly-line houses packed too close together.  It felt…claustrophobic.  Odd, for a woman who’d lived nearly all her life on space carriers, but true nonetheless.  The scale aside, suburbia reminded Aeryn of nothing more than Rygel’s old hideaways in Moya’s crawl spaces.  Had it been up to her, she would rather have lived in the country, away from people, and close to all the dirt and plants and animals that she could never have imagined in her first life.  And that she’d secretly come to cherish, since her liberation from the Peacekeepers.  But John had wanted to live closer to his family, to his father’s house, his sisters, and his buddy DK.  And Aeryn had barely bothered to argue.  John always got what he wanted, it seemed.  He’d gotten her.  He’d gotten home.  And Aeryn hardly said a thing.  What would be the point? 

Reaching the relatively empty highway, Aeryn opened the throttle, her braid streaming behind.  Her engine roared, and she nearly roared with it, feeling as close to free as she still knew how these days.  Not as free as once she’d been, but freer than she’d dreamed, before John. 

Dawn had barely broken, and the reflection of a camera flash caught in Aeryn’s left handlebar mirror.  Glancing down at it, she saw a man ducking his head back inside the window of a station wagon, a bulky camera hanging from his neck.  Amateur.  And little better could be said for the driver of the SUV a little further back, who was mimicking her every turn signal.  Even when she changed her mind, rather than her lane.  The first paparazzi of the day.  And over on the right, in the matte black van, would be the federal agents.  They thought they were being subtle.  Aeryn increased her speed. 

In a way, she felt guilty. She had never expected nor deserved to be happy.  If justice had been more than a theory, she would long have been dead.  Instead, far greater souls had suffered, had died, to keep her alive. 

She remembered a dream, once.  One last chance to speak with an old friend.  Why? she’d asked.  Why you?  It should have been me… she’d insisted.   

And all Zhaan said was, Grace.   

Aeryn still didn’t understand. 

The SUV passed up the station wagon and began to gain, pulling into the outside lane, obviously jockeying for a better shot with the video recorder hidden behind tinted windows.  Aeryn sped up again, and began weaving smoothly in between commuters, momentarily reminded of asteroid training fields.  She still missed that Prowler. 

She had never considered herself a selfish being.  Quite the opposite.  As a pilot, she’d lived only to serve.  Her unit, which served their commanding officer.  That officer served the Peacekeepers as a whole.  And the Peacekeepers existed only to serve the galaxy.  Or so she had told herself at the time.  So why did she want so much, need so much now?  With all she had been given, how could she ask for anything further?  Especially of John, who had given so much for her?  From the day they had met, for no good reason, and asking nothing in return? 

No, that didn’t come until later. 

The bulky SUV had become mired in the increasing traffic behind her.  Surprisingly, so had the Men in Black; the driver obviously wasn’t one of their better agents, though he’d almost certainly have radioed for backup, someone to intercept her further on, or perhaps a helicopter.  For the moment, however, it seemed that only the station wagon remained on her tail. 

Time to have a little fun. 

Leaning around a turn, she pulled into the inside lane, and up behind a towering eighteen-wheeler.  She remained there for several microts, just long enough for her pursuers to wonder if she’d jetted ahead, if they’d lost her on the curve.  Then she dropped back again, changed lanes twice more, and shot back up the truck’s other side…and right up to the driver’s side window of the station wagon. 

“Hello boys!” she called over.  “Miss me?” 

She grinned wickedly as the camera flashed again.  The photographer had panicked…his partner’s ear would make for a fascinating front page…and she was already pulling away again.  Even as three dark knife blades screamed past, high overhead. 

Fighter jets. 

It wasn’t just IASA that had experienced a boost, both in government funds and public support, since John Crichton’s return to Earth.  The planet’s armed forces, particularly here in the United States, were also growing exponentially.  Should John’s horrors ever come looking for him, they meant to be ready.  It was almost sad, in a way; even with all the knowledge and technology her husband had brought home with him, this planet could stand no chance against the Scarrans, the Nebari, the Peacekeepers…hell, even the Hynerians could probably roll right over them.  But at least it gave them something to do. 

Something to do.  Hmmm… 

# 

Jack Crichton watched his son pull up to the gate as, in the distance, two more vehicles pulled off to the side of the gravel road.  The reporters and the men in the black vans stayed well back, here; just about the only place left where they showed any respect for the privacy of others.  John stepped out of the car, straightening his tie and smoothing back his hair, though he was still obviously groggy from that party the night before.  Once, Jack might have commented, made a joke that really wasn’t.  Today, he just half-smiled, and fell in beside his boy.  Together, hands in pockets, they ambled into the cemetery. 

Perhaps it was a little morose, but this was their meeting place, father and son.  They never called ahead, planned days or times, but somehow each always knew when the other needed them there.  And when both of them needed her. 

They would certainly need her today.  It had been nearly a week since Jack had spoken with his son, and at the time John had still been feigning happiness.  (Yeah, dad, everything’s going just fine. )   Yet there was no doubt in Jack’s mind; this was the morning he’d been dreading for a long time now. 

They walked in silence for long minutes, and small talk for several more.  Jack had always liked to think himself a good listener, and feared he was merely a poor talker.  Either way, he had to let John be the one to begin. 

Though a little nudge wouldn’t hurt.  Jack loosened his own tie with one finger, and put on a smile.  “So, how’s my favorite daughter-in-law doing?” 

“She’s…not so good, dad,” John admitted, hands deeper in his pockets, eyes on the dirt.  “Bored.  Unhappy.  I’m beginning to think I should never have brought her back here.” 

“Tell me something; when you left that ship of yours…Moya?  Did you have to do anything crazy to get her to come with you?” 

“Like what?” 

“Hog-tie her, throw her in the module’s trunk, anything like that?” 

“Are you kidding?  She’d have kicked my ass from one end of this galaxy to the other!”  Then he blinked, glancing guiltily around at the lonely headstones.  “Sorry.  Rectum.” 

“So she volunteered to go with you.” 

“Yeah.  Yeah, she did.  We talked about it, and…we both made the choice.” 

“Then why waste your time regretting that choice, thinking about what you might have done instead?  Just make it right.” 

“I’m trying, dad, it’s just…I don’t even know where to start.” 

“How ‘bout with yourself.  Are you happy where you’re at right now?” 

John shook his head, scuffled his shoes in the grass beside the path.  “Nope, can’t really say I am.  I know IASA's doing a lot of important work.  Hell…heck, I mean heck…I’m the only one who’s really seen what they might be up against!  But at the same time…I feel like I’ve already done all I can here.  And after being out there…it’s like being stuck on training wheels again.” 

“Too old, too popular, too knowing…you reach a certain point, and it doesn’t matter what you’ve still got to offer IASA, or the world.  All they want from you after that is a picture on the Wheeties Box.  But you’ve done all you can, son.  It’s their loss, not your fault.  And it’s time you left them out of the equation, made your own decisions, your own way.” 

“Even if that way takes me back out there?” 

Jack nodded coolly.  “Not a bad place to start. It’s where your friends are, and where your dreams have been since you were about four yours old.” 

“It’s where most of my nightmares are, too,” John pointed out.  “Scorpy, Scarrens, Nebari, Peacekeepers, Plackavoids, Frau Blaucher and her eyeball fetish, Bialar Crais and his red pumps…” 

“And here, you’ve got the government agents, autograph seekers, and the paparazzi,” countered Jack, grinning roguishly.  “At least out there, you can shoot back!” 

They both laughed then, perhaps longer than they should have under the circumstances.  But one of the elder Crichton’s greatest regrets was that he’d given his son far too little laughter. 

“But seriously,”  John said finally. 

“Seriously…we spend our whole lives under attack.  Physical, emotional.  Spiritual.  The best we can really hope for is to choose our own battlegrounds.  And then again…”  Jack glanced down at the simple, elegant marker their laughter had carried them to.  “Your mother would say that we don’t even get that much.” 

“She would have said…” John answered softly, “It’s our battlegrounds that choose us most of the time, huh?” 

“And we can only make the best of them,” Jack nodded.  “She’s proud of you…” 

Another heavy silence; but as leaves, their discomfort drifted slowly to the ground, and finally blew away.  Today’s words had not been easy ones, but they’d been right, and too long in coming. 

Together, they started back to the gate.

 # 

The curtains were drawn, the candles lit, the wine perfectly chilled…and the pizza delivery right on time. 

Sitting Delvian-style on the couch, Star Wars on the TV, eating messily, murmuring, laughing, their argument of the previous evening seemingly forgotten, it was a good night in the Crichton Sun household.  After cycles on the run, and two years attending fancy parties for a living, it was the simple joys that made John and Aeryn’s life worthwhile. 

They were well into the chocolate sundaes before each announced, at the exact same instant, “I’ve got something to tell you.”  Several faintly wine and sugar-buzzed giggles followed, and the inevitable you-go-firsts. 

In the end, it was of course Aeryn who took the lead.  “I talked to Colonel Bartlett today…” 

“Dad’s old Air Force buddy?” 

“Um hmm,” Aeryn nodded, scooping the last of the fudge from the rim of her bowl.  “About joining your military, as a pilot.  He thinks it’s possible.”  John just blinked at her, so she pushed on.  “I’d need to become a citizen, and I’d probably end up flying mostly PR missions.  Diplomatic escorts and the like.  Low risk, high profile…not so different from the ‘work’ IASA gives us now, but at least I’d be flying again.” 

“Well…” John began.  Quickly followed by, “Hey!”, and an involuntary grin, as Aeryn dug out the last of his fudge too. 

“And I know I’d be leaving you home alone quite a bit at first,” she went on, innocently licking her spoon clean.  “But we’ve survived worse…” 

“Oh, I know, it’s just…” 

“And you still owe me for the Prowler I lost on Hoth!” 

John stifled a chuckle.  “Aeryn, I know, and if you’d asked me a few days ago, I’d probably have said ‘go for it!’.  But…” 

“But?” Aeryn echoed, a suspicious edge to her voice. 

When he grinned that infuriating, lopsided, irresistible grin, she nearly decked him. 

“But…they’ve just completed a new prototype module.  The Farscape Seven, designed for long-term deep space exploration.  And when it goes up…what if you and I were to go with it?” 

Part 2