Farscape: SOS (PG), Gen.

[laytoncolt]

Scorpius answers a good old-fashioned SOS, and doesn't find what he expects.



takes place right before I Yensch, You Yensch

(note: I'm posting some of my unarchived Farscape fics since I'm so slow on the request fics, but I'm still at it, promise!)

He wasn't familiar with the planet, and if he had not recognized the strange archaic frequency from the information he had retrieved off Crichton's neural-chip, he would have passed it by without a second glance.

He had begun redistributing the wanted beacons for John Crichton only recently, but he had already been growing impatient. The research was stalled. There were pieces missing, and nothing they did have fit together quite right--they had yet to successfully send a Prowler through a wormhole.

Scorpius stared at the small white craft. Only this strange vessel seemed to be unaffected by the phenomenon that was killing his pilots, but it was as much an enigma as the man that flew it.

He glanced half to the side as Braca ran up to him. Braca let out a breath he'd been holding before standing straightly at attention. It meant he had bad news. "Still no sign of Crichton or the others, sir," he reported.

Scorpius shook his head. The vessel was no longer functional, but it had not crashed. The interior of the cockpit remained entirely undamaged, and it was obvious the pilot had walked away. "Crichton would not have left this vessel behind," Scorpius hissed. "He is here. Find him."

Scorpius walked around the craft. What disturbed him the most was that it looked like deliberate sabotage, and what kind of saboteur would destroy everything but the distress beacon?

"But sir," Braca continued, "we have found someone else, and she says that Crichton is not here."

Scorpius glanced up. Two of his commandos were dragging a rather larger than average woman over. She was wearing some kind of bronze EVA suit, and he recognized her instantly from one of John's memories, stolen with his Aurora Chair.

She'd been very closely associated with the memories Crichton had of wormholes. Things were getting more and more interesting.

She looked like some kind of offshoot Sebacean, possibly a half-breed. Her eyes were a strange shade of white, and seemed to stare straight past him. They looked blankly unintelligent, but he knew better than to make assumptions about a species he knew nothing about.

"What is your name?" he demanded.

"Furlow," she said, rather self-importantly. "And if you're looking for Johnny, you're looking in the wrong place. He's dead."

Scorpius let out a hiss, and stepped closer. "You're lying," he said.

John Crichton had a habit of inspiring loyalty in the most unlikely of people. He had not only gained the allegiance of a number of escaped prisoners, but had also been directly responsible for the defection of three Peacekeepers, and those were just the ones they knew about. The tech, Gilina, had caught him off guard. He was still not sure how or when Crichton might have met her and what he could have done to make her so willing to die for him. The reports coming in suggested that even Crais was working with Crichton now, and of course, there was Aeryn Sun.

Crichton had even stolen Stark from him. Stark, who trusted no one, who had known Crichton less than a day before deciding to escape with him.

Whoever this woman was, Crichton had known her since before Scorpius met him, which was more than enough time for them to have become allies. He knew better than to take anything she said as the truth.

"You don't believe me," Furlow said, tilting her head back. She flashed him a wry grin. "Well, then, don't take my word for it, let Johnny show you himself. He left me a little farewell message on that module, go ahead and watch."

Scorpius was guarded. He had already had the module scanned, and been assured it presented no danger, but there was something about this woman that made him wary. He knew he was right not to underestimate her-she was a lot smarter than she looked. Still, the temptation was too strong, and he leaned into the module. There was a small imager sitting on the console. He reached out and pressed it briefly, before stepping back.

A hologram of John appeared in the cockpit. He looked unwell, slightly slumped in the seat, with dark shadows under his eyes that had nothing to do with the flickering image. "Hi, Furlow," he said quietly.

Scorpius noticed that he was looking away from the recorder, out the side of the cockpit. He wondered what John was looking at with such intensity. He wondered if this was recorded when John was still in space, or after he had landed.

"I gutted the engine, so just call this baby Humpty Dumpty, you won't be putting it back together again." John finally turned to face the recorder, and gave a slight laugh.

Scorpius stepped closer, fighting off a sense of dread. He had seen that look in men's eyes before--men sentenced to die. He'd seen it in John's eyes before as well, as he lay on that table, screaming nonsense.

He wondered how it was that John had even regained the ability to speak.

"Aeryn, she ah--she wanted to kill you. I asked her not to."

Scorpius's frown deepened. He had believed Officer Sun dead, killed by the neural clone. Her mysterious resurrection and John's unprecedented recovery only fueled his belief that this strange group of people was not to be underestimated.

"I left the distress beacon running," John continued. "SOS. You're probably wondering why. The thing is--see, the thing." John paused, looking down, glancing back up again with another vacant laugh. "I kind of liked you. You were a fellow scientist, someone I could have--" but John broke off again, shaking his head. "But that doesn't matter now."

Scorpius glanced at Furlow. He noticed she was steadfastly looking at her feet, refusing to meet even this simulation's eyes.

"The truth is, Furlow," John said, speaking slowly and suddenly stronger, "you're just not heroic enough to die."

Then Crichton leaned forward to stop the recording and the hologram flickered out.

Scorpius felt his sense of dread increase. It seemed that Crichton was indeed no longer on this world, but had abandoned his module and this Furlow to be stranded here. He was also beginning to doubt that Furlow would be lying about John's death out of loyalty to him--from the looks of it, the two had not really been friends.

"What do you want us to do with her, sir?" Braca asked.

"Take both her and this ship back to the carrier," Scorpius said, turning to Furlow with a sneer. "I have questions."

-----

Furlow was gripping the chair tightly, and Scorpius followed her with his eyes. She was the most cooperative subject he had ever had in this chair. She promised to show him whatever he wanted with the good sense of a practical soul--she knew he'd get it anyway, and would rather it was painless as possible.

"I want to know everything that you know," Scorpius said, climbing up on the revolving platform and leaning against the screen, "about John Crichton."

John flashed on the screen, looking surprisingly innocent, wearing light colored clothes. No stolen Peacekeeper uniform back then--he wasn't even wearing a gun. She's not for sale, he was saying, moving around his module.

Oh I see, you do research into unusual spatial phenomena, do you? Furlow was asking, but Officer Sun stepped in, and ended the conversation there.

Another flash and Furlow was back to questioning him, this time when Officer Sun was not there to interfere. What do you know about wormholes? John was asking.

Just that they're theoretically possible. But no one's ever actually found one, Furlow was saying, trying to look casual.

John was frowning. Yeah, he said, that's what I always thought.

Scorpius motioned for the tech to lower the setting and Furlow went slack against the chair, sweating. She let out a gasping breath but she was handling it well. It was always easier when they didn't fight, but somehow never quite as rewarding.

"Continue," Scorpius said after a moment.

I can't pay this, John was saying, trying to give back a bill.

Then we have a problem. Unless of course, there's somethin' else of value you have to offer. And I don't mean your charming smile.

Another flash and Furlow was shaking her head, and saying, exclusive rights or there's no deal.

What? No! No, that--that data may be my only ticket home! John was shouting, but then he was giving it to her, and she was saying, pleasure doing business with ya.

Scorpius hissed and motioned the tech to stop again. "Where is the data now?" he demanded.

"He destroyed it," Furlow said, gasping. "He destroyed it all, himself in the process. It's all gone now."

"He is not dead," Scorpius snapped. "He was alive when you last saw him, what makes you so certain he didn't survive?"

"'Cause he couldn't have," Furlow said. "No one could have. His Ancient friend, some wormhole expert named Jack, he made the weapon. I took it. Johnny got it back, but the casing had come loose. That much radiation? He wouldn't have lasted four arns after he left me that message."

Scorpius stepped away. "Show me," he demanded.

A new image flashed on the screen, Furlow with John pinned down. Furlow, look, he was saying, and he was wearing that familiar black leather now, the device, it's active. You can't shut it off. By the time you get it to the Scarrans it'll be useless. It'll be slag.

Furlow curses, and John continues speaking, I can't deactivate it, but you gotta let me use it to take out the Dreadnought.

Casing's open, John, Furlow was saying, and shaking her head.

I can close it, John was saying, looking back to the device.

Uh-huh, it's too late already, Furlow was saying, pulling away. The reaction's building too fast. I think we both better get outta here.

No, you go, John was saying, and shaking his head. Scorpius knew what he was going to do before he saw him do it.

Furlow looked back only once, and Scorpius froze the image on the screen. John was kneeling in the sand, hands open at his sides, and the casing on the weapon was closed.

"If it's any consolation," Furlow said from the chair, gasping, "he took that Dreadnought with him."

Scorpius growled and moved closer. "You intended to sell that weapon to the Scarrans," he snapped.

"They were the best bidder," Furlow said. "But Johnny blew them up. Didn't take him but a microt to do."

"Show me," Scorpius said.

Furlow was working with a portable comm., yelling at the Scarran on her screen. I know what I said, but I don't have it, she snapped. I'm still your best chance for wormholes, so I suggest you come pick me up.

You promised us wormhole weapons, the Scarran glared, and then broke off as he was knocked off balance. He turned around. What was that? he yelled.

It's a wormhole, one of the Scarrans yelled. We're being pulled in, I can't break away.

It's Crichton! the Captain yelled, and then the transmission went to static. Furlow looked up from the screen to the sky, and quickly away again as the whole world went white.

Scorpius turned from the screen back to Furlow. She was sweating now, gasping a little harder. "How did Crichton do it?" he asked.

"Don't know, was a one time use thing, that Jack built it, not Johnny, Johnny only helped him do it," she said. "Whatever it was, there was one big flash and that Dreadnought was gone like it'd never been there."

"Sir!"

Scorpius glared at Braca. "What is it?" he demanded.

"We're receiving a message--" Braca started.

"I asked not to be disturbed," Scorpius growled.

Braca looked startled. "Yes, but, sir, it's from John Crichton."

Scorpius froze, turning to watch Furlow's reaction. "Route it here immediately," Scorpius said. Braca nodded and left the room.

"No," Furlow said. "That can't be, he can't--"

The screen on the wall lit up and there was John Crichton, looking healthy and wearing a black uniform. His eyes were steady on the screen, and there was none of the regret he had seen in that other message.

"Hey, Scorpy, what's up?" John said. "I don't know if you're getting this message or not, but hey, if you're interested, I'd like to make a deal. I know you're having a little trouble, what with your pilots turning to goo, so I'm thinking you're going to want to talk. I've sent coordinates and a time along with this message. D'Argo and Rygel will be waiting there for a quarter of an arn at the specified time, to negotiate terms on my behalf. That's your window. Don't miss it."

Scorpius smiled as the message ended, freezing the image of John on the screen. "It seems Crichton is still alive and well. Strangely, I find myself unsurprised," he said.

Furlow was shaking her head. "No, that's not--but he won't help you," she said. "He's the hero, you know. He'll die first. I know. I saw it. I know what I saw." She pointed to the screen. "And so do you."

Scorpius turned away from her. "Braca, are we sure it's genuine?" he asked through the comm.

"We traced the frequency to a nearby area of space," Braca said. "A Leviathan was seen on sensors just microts ago, before it Starburst away."

"It seems your usefulness is at an end," Scorpius said. He wondered what John might have meant by 'not heroic enough to die,' but really, it was of no matter. John's strange sense of sentimentality did not extend to him.

"Kill her," he said, and left her to her screams as he went to prepare for Crichton's arrival.