Mousetrap (The Name of the Game Remix) [Farscape; Scorpius, John Crichton]
Title: Mousetrap (The Name of the Game Remix)
Author: kernezelda
Summary: “Hello, John.”
Rating: G
Fandom: Farscape
Spoilers and/or Warnings: AU post-series, indirect spoilers for second and final season.
Title, Author and URL of original story: Déjà vu All Over Again by pdxscaper
Notes: Farscape =/= mine. Thanks to simplystars for fast, helpful and encouraging beta.
It's simple, really.
A woman. A child.
The key to John Crichton, you have discovered and confirmed over countless encounters, is simply this: though the Human will attempt to evade and deny and betray any alliance that doesn't meet his emotionally determined and variable standards, all of that can be pushed aside if you hold Aeryn Sun in your possession. Or to a lesser extent, any of the few beings John has allowed into the guarded fortress of his heart. Even so, to hold one of the Human's friends is certainly to risk one's own life.
John Crichton will always react; that is as reliable a prediction as planetary dawns. How he reacts is what proves unpredictable, and is what leads to destruction, chaos, death and the dissolution of any plans, no matter how meticulously crafted.
This time, however, you have more than enough incentive to ensure John's response, and to direct the violence of it, at least for as long as you need to accomplish your goals. After that... After that, one way or another, John's acquiescence will no longer be required.
Now, though.
Aeryn Sun. Her child - the infant, half-Human daughter.
They are the keys to John Crichton.
You have them.
You have him.
A haggard figure before you, dull-eyed and grieving and inescapably, inexcusably necessary. The Human is paler than you recall, thinner, eyes underscored with weariness, hollow-cheeked and unshaven. The aura that you sense around all beings is in him barely visible - a pale wraith of once-vibrant energy. He’s been immured in the Cadaxian prison for monens, and before that, wasted himself with intoxicants. Irregular as his trail has been, both from purpose and incapacity, it reeks of despair. And when is that not a tool in one’s hand to be turned and twisted at need?
"Hello, John," you say. You wait patiently through the snarls, and are unaffected by the vicious tone of his quips. It is expected, and as familiar now as it was more than a cycle before. Hatred and fear curl his lips, speed his heart, brighten his energy signature until it ripples with the force of his emotions - undiminished and uncontrolled by the revised version of the neural clone.
As it should be. As you intend it to continue. Like you, the Human uses his fury as a goad. You mean to harness that fury, and this time, it is not the Scarrans who will fall prey to your combined efforts, but another foe entirely.
The Nebari smile; they nod their heads and speak soft pleasantries. They are, in some regards, more dangerous than the brutal Scarrans could ever be. Fifty cycles from now, if that, Scarrans will begin to recover their wits, so dependent upon the fragile, inconstant growth of crystherium utilia. If the Nebari succeed in their schemes, which pre-date your own lifetime, that aggressive race might well emerge into a galaxy without any Peacekeeper presence; and they will be greeted by races of puppets and slaves, all bound under the gilded yoke of Nebari rule.
Any force the Scarrans could build would avail them little against the host ships of that deceptively peace-plying race. Even Peacekeeper command carriers are in comparison children’s toys. No, without your efforts here, there will be nothing to stop the spread of contagions, engineered and disseminated through thousands of carriers, which now are coming into fruition across a myriad of worlds.
Disease - requiring aid; catastrophes where governments are falling, war where resources fail proper allocation. And the Nebari sweep in, orbiting planets in ships half as large as moons, soldiers and doctors and administrators to calm the tide of sentient distress; taking control of world after world after world.
A phrase from the Human’s planet comes to mind, at times, drawing a wry smile when your attention wavers: “Better living through chemistry.” Crichton’s species is no stranger to mind-altering substances, nor is he himself, as you have witnessed. Your very body courses with chemicals designed to ease the constant pain of its genetic confusion. The Nebari propose to do far more than ease pain or ensure tranquility between species.
Peace through drugged dependency is no better than that forced by conquerors. You refuse the very possibility. You will not yield. You never have, save in order to gain a greater advantage; and you will not cede control now… to anyone.
The Nebari must be stopped. If the only way to do that is to destroy their power base - Nebari Prime itself, even the whole of their home system - you will see it done, and by whatever means necessary. The weapon you have chosen stands now before you, disheveled, defiant.
Means…and the will to employ means, regardless of Crichton’s protestations and stubborn refusal to see reason.
You have long since acknowledged Crichton’s necessity, and whether he admits it or not, he needs you as well. Alone, John cannot function at full capacity. You will ensure that he does, under your guidance and encouragement, to the benefit of not only your own race, but of every other species that the Scarrans would have and the Nebari now do threaten with death or domination.
You smile at John’s antics as you would at an amusing pet; and when he runs down at last, garrulous words replaced by resentful silence, his eyes sullen and hard, you say what you have come to say. You don’t expect refusal. Even if Crichton chooses to believe he will resist, you have what you need to enforce -- not obedience, not from this intractable creature -- but compliance, for a time. No cage lasts forever, for one determined to escape.
That, John is, has always been. It is a source of irritation, anger, even rage. At times though, you feel something that might be pride. The Human, disadvantaged as he is, nevertheless refuses to surrender his will - as you never have, and never will.
The Human is a fitting tool, if you can wield him.
You can. You will.
You have the keys to John Crichton - the woman he loves, their child.
It’s simple, really.
Together, you and he will change the face of the galaxy.
Author: kernezelda
Summary: “Hello, John.”
Rating: G
Fandom: Farscape
Spoilers and/or Warnings: AU post-series, indirect spoilers for second and final season.
Title, Author and URL of original story: Déjà vu All Over Again by pdxscaper
Notes: Farscape =/= mine. Thanks to simplystars for fast, helpful and encouraging beta.
It's simple, really.
A woman. A child.
The key to John Crichton, you have discovered and confirmed over countless encounters, is simply this: though the Human will attempt to evade and deny and betray any alliance that doesn't meet his emotionally determined and variable standards, all of that can be pushed aside if you hold Aeryn Sun in your possession. Or to a lesser extent, any of the few beings John has allowed into the guarded fortress of his heart. Even so, to hold one of the Human's friends is certainly to risk one's own life.
John Crichton will always react; that is as reliable a prediction as planetary dawns. How he reacts is what proves unpredictable, and is what leads to destruction, chaos, death and the dissolution of any plans, no matter how meticulously crafted.
This time, however, you have more than enough incentive to ensure John's response, and to direct the violence of it, at least for as long as you need to accomplish your goals. After that... After that, one way or another, John's acquiescence will no longer be required.
Now, though.
Aeryn Sun. Her child - the infant, half-Human daughter.
They are the keys to John Crichton.
You have them.
You have him.
A haggard figure before you, dull-eyed and grieving and inescapably, inexcusably necessary. The Human is paler than you recall, thinner, eyes underscored with weariness, hollow-cheeked and unshaven. The aura that you sense around all beings is in him barely visible - a pale wraith of once-vibrant energy. He’s been immured in the Cadaxian prison for monens, and before that, wasted himself with intoxicants. Irregular as his trail has been, both from purpose and incapacity, it reeks of despair. And when is that not a tool in one’s hand to be turned and twisted at need?
"Hello, John," you say. You wait patiently through the snarls, and are unaffected by the vicious tone of his quips. It is expected, and as familiar now as it was more than a cycle before. Hatred and fear curl his lips, speed his heart, brighten his energy signature until it ripples with the force of his emotions - undiminished and uncontrolled by the revised version of the neural clone.
As it should be. As you intend it to continue. Like you, the Human uses his fury as a goad. You mean to harness that fury, and this time, it is not the Scarrans who will fall prey to your combined efforts, but another foe entirely.
The Nebari smile; they nod their heads and speak soft pleasantries. They are, in some regards, more dangerous than the brutal Scarrans could ever be. Fifty cycles from now, if that, Scarrans will begin to recover their wits, so dependent upon the fragile, inconstant growth of crystherium utilia. If the Nebari succeed in their schemes, which pre-date your own lifetime, that aggressive race might well emerge into a galaxy without any Peacekeeper presence; and they will be greeted by races of puppets and slaves, all bound under the gilded yoke of Nebari rule.
Any force the Scarrans could build would avail them little against the host ships of that deceptively peace-plying race. Even Peacekeeper command carriers are in comparison children’s toys. No, without your efforts here, there will be nothing to stop the spread of contagions, engineered and disseminated through thousands of carriers, which now are coming into fruition across a myriad of worlds.
Disease - requiring aid; catastrophes where governments are falling, war where resources fail proper allocation. And the Nebari sweep in, orbiting planets in ships half as large as moons, soldiers and doctors and administrators to calm the tide of sentient distress; taking control of world after world after world.
A phrase from the Human’s planet comes to mind, at times, drawing a wry smile when your attention wavers: “Better living through chemistry.” Crichton’s species is no stranger to mind-altering substances, nor is he himself, as you have witnessed. Your very body courses with chemicals designed to ease the constant pain of its genetic confusion. The Nebari propose to do far more than ease pain or ensure tranquility between species.
Peace through drugged dependency is no better than that forced by conquerors. You refuse the very possibility. You will not yield. You never have, save in order to gain a greater advantage; and you will not cede control now… to anyone.
The Nebari must be stopped. If the only way to do that is to destroy their power base - Nebari Prime itself, even the whole of their home system - you will see it done, and by whatever means necessary. The weapon you have chosen stands now before you, disheveled, defiant.
Means…and the will to employ means, regardless of Crichton’s protestations and stubborn refusal to see reason.
You have long since acknowledged Crichton’s necessity, and whether he admits it or not, he needs you as well. Alone, John cannot function at full capacity. You will ensure that he does, under your guidance and encouragement, to the benefit of not only your own race, but of every other species that the Scarrans would have and the Nebari now do threaten with death or domination.
You smile at John’s antics as you would at an amusing pet; and when he runs down at last, garrulous words replaced by resentful silence, his eyes sullen and hard, you say what you have come to say. You don’t expect refusal. Even if Crichton chooses to believe he will resist, you have what you need to enforce -- not obedience, not from this intractable creature -- but compliance, for a time. No cage lasts forever, for one determined to escape.
That, John is, has always been. It is a source of irritation, anger, even rage. At times though, you feel something that might be pride. The Human, disadvantaged as he is, nevertheless refuses to surrender his will - as you never have, and never will.
The Human is a fitting tool, if you can wield him.
You can. You will.
You have the keys to John Crichton - the woman he loves, their child.
It’s simple, really.
Together, you and he will change the face of the galaxy.