Farscape fic: Left Behind, chapter 19
Left Behind
Timeline placement: earlyish season 3, spoilers for “Eat Me”
Rating: PG-13
Words: 3,165
Disclaimer: The Farscape universe, and all that is in it, is not mine, but rather belongs to the Jim Henson Company. This is a work of fiction based in that universe. No copyright infringement is intended and no money has been or will be collected. No betas were harmed in the writing of this fic. Previous chapter links at the end of the post.
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Chapter Nineteen
A couple of arns after she and Crichton parted company, a bored Chiana found herself knee-deep in amnexus fluid, washing clothes. There hadn’t been enough amnexus fluid for washing since they had come aboard Rohvu, so this was desperately needed, in spite of - or maybe even because of - the fact that they all had so few items of clothing between them. In addition to her own things, she had collected Crichton’s spare shirt and underwear, purchased on the commerce station, from his room and then checked in with Belima, who had given her a few things as well.
Reyna had reminded her when she’d asked that she and Tokar had no spare clothing to wear while theirs was being washed. Chiana, in turn, had given her some helpful suggestions for later, when Reyna and Tokar could do their own laundry together, that would be much more fun than what Chiana was doing right now. She hadn’t bothered to check with Furlow - she had never seen the woman in anything but her jumpsuit and if she wanted it washed, she could just do it herself.
As she squeezed the excess liquid from Crichton’s spare shirt, his voice sounded over the comms. “Guys, meet me in the center chamber in a quarter arn.”
“What’s up, Crichton?” she commed back, draping the shirt over the edge of the pool and fishing out the next piece.
“Tokar has some news; I’ll let him tell it.” She could hear a slight snick after the last word that sounded like he might have turned off his comms. A quick, unanswered, “Crichton?” confirmed her suspicion. He wouldn’t talk to her when she’d found him in the observatory, either, and for Crichton not to talk, it had to be pretty bad.
Chiana looked down at the liquid rippling just below her knees. Wonderful timing, as always. Leaning down, she fished out the rest of the clothing. There wasn’t much, so it didn’t take long to wring things out and lay them flat to dry. She’d come back for them later, after Crichton’s meeting.
Once she had dried her legs and feet with the towel she had brought for just that purpose, Chiana put her boots back on and headed to the center chamber, curious as to what news Tokar might have that concerned everyone. She arrived in time to hear him say that he and Reyna would be returning to their unit in just a few arns, if they could get one of the transport pods adapted for long-range travel.
“You’re… you’re leaving?” she asked, stopping in the doorway without entering the room. She had started to get used to the group of people assembled on Rohvu and wasn’t ready for them split off so soon, even though she had known that it would happen eventually.
“Yes, Chiana. We’ve made contact with our friends and we’re needed with them in two solar days,” Reyna answered her. “I’m sorry that it’s such short notice.”
“But, transport pods… They’re not… not designed for long distances,” she protested.
“No, they’re not,” Tokar said. “With John’s and Furlow’s help, though, I should be able to fit one out well enough that we can make it to our rendezvous.”
Furlow, seated with her feet propped on the table, chimed in, “You’re gonna need a better power generator than either of those pods has, if you don’t want the hull to tear apart at the seams. Since you don’t have the time for a complete overhaul, that is…”
“Shouldn’t be a problem, Furlow,” Crichton said from where he was leaning, arms crossed, one knee bent as he rested foot and shoulders against the refrigeration unit. “I already talked to Kala’s Pilot about that and he’s pretty sure she has one we can use.”
“How’s a new generator gonna help?” Chiana asked. She knew enough about transport pods to keep one running if she had to, but not enough to be able to change one into a long-range vehicle. She stepped the rest of the way into the room and sat at the table next to Belima, who appeared to be totally lost as to what was going on. Everyone was probably speaking too fast for her to follow the conversation.
Crichton pushed off from the refrigerator and began to pace restlessly. “A heftier generator will put up a heftier magnetic field. That’ll hold the pod together for a longer time at higher speeds than trying to jury-rig modifications to the hull itself. It’s not a perfect solution, but for the distance Tokar and Rey have to go, it should be enough.” It seemed to Chiana that Crichton had spoken at length to the two of them and had already come up with some kind of a plan.
“Maybe,” Furlow responded to Crichton’s generator explanation, “but the pod probably won’t be of much value after they get there.”
“It doesn’t have to be of any value, Furlow.” Tokar looked over to Reyna, seated across the table from him. “We need it to get us to our rendezvous point. Once we get there, we have other transportation arrangements already in place.”
“Can you get this… this generator modified and installed that quickly?” Chiana asked, kind of hoping that someone would say no.
“Yeah, Pip, I think we can.” Crichton flipped a chair around and sat next to Chiana, straddling the chair and resting his arms on the back. “We’ll use the pod that’s in the best shape so there won’t have to be as many adjustments made.”
“We can’t ask for the best of the two, Crichton,” Tokar objected. “Between the three of us,” he nodded in turn at Crichton and Furlow, “we should be able to get the other one ready. The hammond-side landing gear was the worst problem, and Belima and I fixed that earlier today.”
“Nope. I’m not letting you guys take a substandard boat. We’ll fix up the Queen Mary for you and keep the Minnow ourselves. You know damn well more than just the landing gear started to break down on that bad boy.”
“I… I…” Chiana could think of nothing practical to say that might keep Tokar and Reyna from leaving them, so she settled for the truth. “I don’t want you to go.”
“Rohvu and I echo Chiana’s sentiments,” Pilot added. Chiana hadn’t realized that they were listening in, but she supposed she should have - this would affect them at least as much as it would her and Crichton.
“I speak for both Tokar and myself when I say that we don’t wish this to be a permanent parting,” Reyna said, violet eyes traveling from Chiana to Belima to Crichton to Furlow.
“Well, that’s all very touching,” Furlow said, dropping her feet to the floor with a loud thud, “but it doesn’t feed the grolchak. You wanna make it to your rendezvous, we’d better get working on that pod.”
***
The sooner you two are outta here, Furlow thought, grunting with the effort of tightening a bolt on the generator, the better it’ll be for me. She liked Tokar Rhee and Reyna Val well enough - they weren’t bad, for Peacekeepers. Ex-Peacekeepers, she reminded herself. But once a Peacekeeper, always a Peacekeeper, which meant that they would probably try to take her wormhole engine design for themselves or their precious unit if she gave them the chance. Just like dear Johnny-boy would try to stop her in a heartbeat if he knew she planned to sell it all to the highest bidder at the earliest opportunity.
Furlow didn’t give a flitz who bought the wormhole tech - Peacekeepers, Scarrans, Nebari, even Zenetan Pirates - they were all the same to her, so long as they paid cash, up front. Whoever gave her the best offer would get the rights to the tech, so long as they kept her on as a consultant. Royalties could be even more profitable in the long run than the initial sale.
“You done with that spanner yet, Furlow?” Crichton interrupted her thoughts.
With one last wrench on the tool to confirm the bolt was as tight as she could get it, she handed the long-handled spanner to the pretty, blue-eyed man. She liked John Crichton, too, but she sure wasn’t going to let him stand between her and a healthy profit. The way he kept watching her, ever since she had injured her hand, told her that he either wanted her all to himself - not likely, given that skinny ex-Peacekeeper he had been with before or the skinny little Nebari he was with this time - or he didn’t trust her.
She flexed her hand, which still showed signs of bruising but was no longer bandaged, and decided that he probably just plain didn’t trust her. She’d be hurt if it weren’t for the fact that he shouldn’t trust her. Reviewing the steps she had already taken to ensure a quick escape, if needed, Furlow grinned to herself and climbed up the steps into the pod to test the connections she had just completed.
***
Chiana more or less kept up with Reyna as she went around the medical facility, giving her a brief overview of what each piece of equipment - whether it worked or not - was for and how to use it. Reyna was certain the girl was only taking in about half of what she said, but that was better than nothing. There were times that Chiana acted like a child, attention wandering from one thing to the next, and others when the Nebari girl was the most mature member of this little crew. She was also the most obvious choice to learn whatever Reyna could teach her in the short time they had available, given her quick mind and natural empathy.
Noting a look of impatience in those big, black eyes, Reyna asked, “Am I going too fast for you, Chiana?”
“No, not too fast.” She blinked twice. “It’s just… it’s just that…” She shifted from one foot to the other and back again. “It’s just that I know how to use the scanner and… and… and the stuff like antiseptics.”
Reyna raised one brow, keeping her face in what she hoped was an encouraging expression. When Chiana didn’t continue, she said, “It’s just that I’m going over things you already know and you’re losing interest.”
“Well, yeah.” She shrugged apologetically.
Reyna laughed. “Don’t worry, Chiana, I’m not offended. I simply don’t want to make any assumptions. What’s obvious to me isn’t always obvious to others, as Tokar frequently points out.” Looking around at the med bay, she offered, “Why don’t I just write down instructions for the most common things you may run into and you can look around and ask me about anything that isn’t clear to you?”
“That’ll work, Rey.” She sounded relieved.
Chiana began to bounce around the room, popping her head into cupboards and closets and drawers as Reyna went over to her desk to write up instructions. About a hundred microts later, Chiana brought over a vial of powder and the first of several question-and-answer sessions began, though they were far fewer than Reyna had anticipated when she made her offer. And, from the questions she asked, the girl seemed to have a good grasp of what was what, which allowed Reyna to relax, no longer feeling as though she were abandoning these people who had become friends in so short a time.
***
“All right, Rhee, that’s it. Cycle ‘er up.” John had completed the final internal connection between the new generator and the transport pod’s engines. “Pilot, please run a check of the power levels on the transport pod.”
He sat back on the floor and leaned his head against the wall, stretching his legs out in front of him and allowing his eyes to close. It had been a long day, all things considered, and if the power levels on the pod checked out, they were finished with the adaptations. Reyna and Rhee would be gone sooner, rather than later. The schedule the two of them had set was so tight they wouldn’t even have time for more than a cursory goodbye.
Someone kicked his foot. He opened his eyes to the sight of Furlow standing over him. “Looks like we’re finished here, flyboy.”
“Looks like, but I’ll hang onto the champagne ‘til after Pilot confirms it.”
As if on queue, Pilot reported, “Power levels are two hundred percent of normal, John, with no signs of strain.”
“They only need to be a hundred sixty percent to keep things together at hetch nine for two solar days. Sounds like they have more than enough power to make their rendezvous.” John watched Furlow as she spoke. Her words were innocent enough and her tone gave no indication of anything other than satisfaction in the work they had done - she was a mechanic, after all - but still, his hackles were up. The diagnostic he had requested earlier from Rohvu’s Pilot had turned up nothing unusual in either Rohvu’s life support or navigation systems. Instinct, pure and simple, told him there was something twitchier than usual about the woman.
“Yep, everything should be peachy.” He reached a hand up. “Help me up, Furlow. I am dead dog tired.”
With a strong grip, she hauled him to his feet. It was only after she released John that she seemed to realize she had used the supposedly injured hand, the one that had been so badly injured that she couldn’t fly her own ship. He looked sharply at the hand in question. “Seems to be about healed up,” he observed.
She made a fist and then relaxed it. “Yep. It’s just about back to normal.” She looked him straight in the eye and said, “I heal fast.”
“That’s a good trait to have.”
“Yep. Sure is.” Furlow turned away to head into the cockpit but then stopped. “Johnny…” She turned back toward him.
“Yeah?” he asked. He cocked his head to one side, concentrating on her facial expressions and body-language, still wondering what the hell it was about her that bothered him.
“Whaddya think about a partnership? You and me. Wormholes and engine design. We could go into business together and make a killing.”
“You bet, Furlow. Wormholes ‘R’ Us.” He shook his head and started to laugh, until he saw that she looked serious, so he swallowed the laughter and softened his flippant answer a bit by saying, “Lemme get back to you on that…”
***
It’s been one helluva day, Aeryn.
Who am I kidding? It’s been a helluva few weeks. Months. Whatever.
Reyna and Tokar are gone, now, off to meet up with their unit. Tokar denied that they’re mercenaries, but I don’t know. He says they’re a group of ex-PKs who are trying to be what the PKs are supposed to be, but it sounds a lot like a bunch of mercs to me, albeit mercs with ideals. Funny thing is, I think Tokar was about to ask me to join up with them. Even now, I think of myself more as a scientist than a soldier, but I guess the UTs have changed me more than I thought.
Well, mercs or not, I’m going to miss them both.
So now Pip and I are stuck here on Rohvu in the Sacred Leviathan Burial Space for a few more days, until R has recovered enough to be able to travel. Sure, he could leave right now, if the need arises, but he’d still only be operating at about half efficiency.
I think the poor guy is embarrassed and even more depressed than before, because of the suicide attempt. The failsafe we installed should be enough to keep it from happening again, especially now that Pilot can reach most of his controls. Pip and I talked it over with Pilot a little while ago and decided that we can stop standing a regular “suicide watch,” because of Pilot’s added reach and control. His arms are a little shaky, but their shell is hardening and the muscles are getting stronger every time he uses them.
Furlow’s still hanging out with us, too. From the story her navigational charts tell, the Burial Space here is about two weeks from DamBaDa - too far for that Marauder knock-off of hers to make it without stopping for provisions. Or so she says. Besides, the agreement between us was for me to go with her to DamBaDa and help her finish building the Farscape Two. We’re still working up blueprints for it and I’ve been hammering out wormhole equations that I think are on the right track. I won’t know for sure until we get a chance to test them.
Furlow asked me to go into business with her, Aeryn. I told her I’d get back to her on that, but… No. Just no. The last thing in the world I want to do is go into the wormhole business with Furlow. Well, okay, maybe Scorpy is a step lower on my list, but you get the idea.
Huh, two potential job offers in one day… Am I good, or what? Soldier for hire or snake oil salesman… I’d rather not do anything but be with you, but I guess that’s not an option anymore, is it? You’re with John Crichton and Bialar Crais aboard Talyn and I might not ever know how or why that came about. The important part is, though, that you’re with John Crichton and it ain’t me.
Ah, it’s late, Aeryn, and I don’t even know what I’m writing anymore so I’ll say good night. That powder Reyna gave me has been working out pretty well - I’ve been sleeping like a baby, these last few nights. She asked me to keep track of any “symptoms” I may notice, for when we hook up again, so I’ll have to try to remember to do that. Assuming, of course, that we do meet again.
Done for the time being, John put the stylus and journal into the desk drawer. Rather than closing the drawer and going to bed, though, he stared at his journal, thinking. If Furlow was going to do something stupid, it would probably involve wormholes - she had been pretty rabid about them from the first time they’d met and now was no different.
Scorpius, too, wanted wormholes. He wanted them as a weapon. What if Furlow sold what she knew about wormholes to Scorpy? There certainly weren’t any moral barriers to her doing so. And if she went to the Peacekeepers with what she knew, she would end up with Scorpy, one way or another.
All of John’s wormhole equations were in his journal, but Furlow wouldn’t know that. She wouldn’t expect the bulk of his work to exist anywhere but in Rohvu’s data banks, certainly not as hand-written notes on flimsies. John laughed to himself as he took a data chip, popped it into the slot on the desk, and began to record.
Left Behind, chapter 18
Left Behind, chapter 20
Timeline placement: earlyish season 3, spoilers for “Eat Me”
Rating: PG-13
Words: 3,165
Disclaimer: The Farscape universe, and all that is in it, is not mine, but rather belongs to the Jim Henson Company. This is a work of fiction based in that universe. No copyright infringement is intended and no money has been or will be collected. No betas were harmed in the writing of this fic. Previous chapter links at the end of the post.
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Chapter Nineteen
A couple of arns after she and Crichton parted company, a bored Chiana found herself knee-deep in amnexus fluid, washing clothes. There hadn’t been enough amnexus fluid for washing since they had come aboard Rohvu, so this was desperately needed, in spite of - or maybe even because of - the fact that they all had so few items of clothing between them. In addition to her own things, she had collected Crichton’s spare shirt and underwear, purchased on the commerce station, from his room and then checked in with Belima, who had given her a few things as well.
Reyna had reminded her when she’d asked that she and Tokar had no spare clothing to wear while theirs was being washed. Chiana, in turn, had given her some helpful suggestions for later, when Reyna and Tokar could do their own laundry together, that would be much more fun than what Chiana was doing right now. She hadn’t bothered to check with Furlow - she had never seen the woman in anything but her jumpsuit and if she wanted it washed, she could just do it herself.
As she squeezed the excess liquid from Crichton’s spare shirt, his voice sounded over the comms. “Guys, meet me in the center chamber in a quarter arn.”
“What’s up, Crichton?” she commed back, draping the shirt over the edge of the pool and fishing out the next piece.
“Tokar has some news; I’ll let him tell it.” She could hear a slight snick after the last word that sounded like he might have turned off his comms. A quick, unanswered, “Crichton?” confirmed her suspicion. He wouldn’t talk to her when she’d found him in the observatory, either, and for Crichton not to talk, it had to be pretty bad.
Chiana looked down at the liquid rippling just below her knees. Wonderful timing, as always. Leaning down, she fished out the rest of the clothing. There wasn’t much, so it didn’t take long to wring things out and lay them flat to dry. She’d come back for them later, after Crichton’s meeting.
Once she had dried her legs and feet with the towel she had brought for just that purpose, Chiana put her boots back on and headed to the center chamber, curious as to what news Tokar might have that concerned everyone. She arrived in time to hear him say that he and Reyna would be returning to their unit in just a few arns, if they could get one of the transport pods adapted for long-range travel.
“You’re… you’re leaving?” she asked, stopping in the doorway without entering the room. She had started to get used to the group of people assembled on Rohvu and wasn’t ready for them split off so soon, even though she had known that it would happen eventually.
“Yes, Chiana. We’ve made contact with our friends and we’re needed with them in two solar days,” Reyna answered her. “I’m sorry that it’s such short notice.”
“But, transport pods… They’re not… not designed for long distances,” she protested.
“No, they’re not,” Tokar said. “With John’s and Furlow’s help, though, I should be able to fit one out well enough that we can make it to our rendezvous.”
Furlow, seated with her feet propped on the table, chimed in, “You’re gonna need a better power generator than either of those pods has, if you don’t want the hull to tear apart at the seams. Since you don’t have the time for a complete overhaul, that is…”
“Shouldn’t be a problem, Furlow,” Crichton said from where he was leaning, arms crossed, one knee bent as he rested foot and shoulders against the refrigeration unit. “I already talked to Kala’s Pilot about that and he’s pretty sure she has one we can use.”
“How’s a new generator gonna help?” Chiana asked. She knew enough about transport pods to keep one running if she had to, but not enough to be able to change one into a long-range vehicle. She stepped the rest of the way into the room and sat at the table next to Belima, who appeared to be totally lost as to what was going on. Everyone was probably speaking too fast for her to follow the conversation.
Crichton pushed off from the refrigerator and began to pace restlessly. “A heftier generator will put up a heftier magnetic field. That’ll hold the pod together for a longer time at higher speeds than trying to jury-rig modifications to the hull itself. It’s not a perfect solution, but for the distance Tokar and Rey have to go, it should be enough.” It seemed to Chiana that Crichton had spoken at length to the two of them and had already come up with some kind of a plan.
“Maybe,” Furlow responded to Crichton’s generator explanation, “but the pod probably won’t be of much value after they get there.”
“It doesn’t have to be of any value, Furlow.” Tokar looked over to Reyna, seated across the table from him. “We need it to get us to our rendezvous point. Once we get there, we have other transportation arrangements already in place.”
“Can you get this… this generator modified and installed that quickly?” Chiana asked, kind of hoping that someone would say no.
“Yeah, Pip, I think we can.” Crichton flipped a chair around and sat next to Chiana, straddling the chair and resting his arms on the back. “We’ll use the pod that’s in the best shape so there won’t have to be as many adjustments made.”
“We can’t ask for the best of the two, Crichton,” Tokar objected. “Between the three of us,” he nodded in turn at Crichton and Furlow, “we should be able to get the other one ready. The hammond-side landing gear was the worst problem, and Belima and I fixed that earlier today.”
“Nope. I’m not letting you guys take a substandard boat. We’ll fix up the Queen Mary for you and keep the Minnow ourselves. You know damn well more than just the landing gear started to break down on that bad boy.”
“I… I…” Chiana could think of nothing practical to say that might keep Tokar and Reyna from leaving them, so she settled for the truth. “I don’t want you to go.”
“Rohvu and I echo Chiana’s sentiments,” Pilot added. Chiana hadn’t realized that they were listening in, but she supposed she should have - this would affect them at least as much as it would her and Crichton.
“I speak for both Tokar and myself when I say that we don’t wish this to be a permanent parting,” Reyna said, violet eyes traveling from Chiana to Belima to Crichton to Furlow.
“Well, that’s all very touching,” Furlow said, dropping her feet to the floor with a loud thud, “but it doesn’t feed the grolchak. You wanna make it to your rendezvous, we’d better get working on that pod.”
***
The sooner you two are outta here, Furlow thought, grunting with the effort of tightening a bolt on the generator, the better it’ll be for me. She liked Tokar Rhee and Reyna Val well enough - they weren’t bad, for Peacekeepers. Ex-Peacekeepers, she reminded herself. But once a Peacekeeper, always a Peacekeeper, which meant that they would probably try to take her wormhole engine design for themselves or their precious unit if she gave them the chance. Just like dear Johnny-boy would try to stop her in a heartbeat if he knew she planned to sell it all to the highest bidder at the earliest opportunity.
Furlow didn’t give a flitz who bought the wormhole tech - Peacekeepers, Scarrans, Nebari, even Zenetan Pirates - they were all the same to her, so long as they paid cash, up front. Whoever gave her the best offer would get the rights to the tech, so long as they kept her on as a consultant. Royalties could be even more profitable in the long run than the initial sale.
“You done with that spanner yet, Furlow?” Crichton interrupted her thoughts.
With one last wrench on the tool to confirm the bolt was as tight as she could get it, she handed the long-handled spanner to the pretty, blue-eyed man. She liked John Crichton, too, but she sure wasn’t going to let him stand between her and a healthy profit. The way he kept watching her, ever since she had injured her hand, told her that he either wanted her all to himself - not likely, given that skinny ex-Peacekeeper he had been with before or the skinny little Nebari he was with this time - or he didn’t trust her.
She flexed her hand, which still showed signs of bruising but was no longer bandaged, and decided that he probably just plain didn’t trust her. She’d be hurt if it weren’t for the fact that he shouldn’t trust her. Reviewing the steps she had already taken to ensure a quick escape, if needed, Furlow grinned to herself and climbed up the steps into the pod to test the connections she had just completed.
***
Chiana more or less kept up with Reyna as she went around the medical facility, giving her a brief overview of what each piece of equipment - whether it worked or not - was for and how to use it. Reyna was certain the girl was only taking in about half of what she said, but that was better than nothing. There were times that Chiana acted like a child, attention wandering from one thing to the next, and others when the Nebari girl was the most mature member of this little crew. She was also the most obvious choice to learn whatever Reyna could teach her in the short time they had available, given her quick mind and natural empathy.
Noting a look of impatience in those big, black eyes, Reyna asked, “Am I going too fast for you, Chiana?”
“No, not too fast.” She blinked twice. “It’s just… it’s just that…” She shifted from one foot to the other and back again. “It’s just that I know how to use the scanner and… and… and the stuff like antiseptics.”
Reyna raised one brow, keeping her face in what she hoped was an encouraging expression. When Chiana didn’t continue, she said, “It’s just that I’m going over things you already know and you’re losing interest.”
“Well, yeah.” She shrugged apologetically.
Reyna laughed. “Don’t worry, Chiana, I’m not offended. I simply don’t want to make any assumptions. What’s obvious to me isn’t always obvious to others, as Tokar frequently points out.” Looking around at the med bay, she offered, “Why don’t I just write down instructions for the most common things you may run into and you can look around and ask me about anything that isn’t clear to you?”
“That’ll work, Rey.” She sounded relieved.
Chiana began to bounce around the room, popping her head into cupboards and closets and drawers as Reyna went over to her desk to write up instructions. About a hundred microts later, Chiana brought over a vial of powder and the first of several question-and-answer sessions began, though they were far fewer than Reyna had anticipated when she made her offer. And, from the questions she asked, the girl seemed to have a good grasp of what was what, which allowed Reyna to relax, no longer feeling as though she were abandoning these people who had become friends in so short a time.
***
“All right, Rhee, that’s it. Cycle ‘er up.” John had completed the final internal connection between the new generator and the transport pod’s engines. “Pilot, please run a check of the power levels on the transport pod.”
He sat back on the floor and leaned his head against the wall, stretching his legs out in front of him and allowing his eyes to close. It had been a long day, all things considered, and if the power levels on the pod checked out, they were finished with the adaptations. Reyna and Rhee would be gone sooner, rather than later. The schedule the two of them had set was so tight they wouldn’t even have time for more than a cursory goodbye.
Someone kicked his foot. He opened his eyes to the sight of Furlow standing over him. “Looks like we’re finished here, flyboy.”
“Looks like, but I’ll hang onto the champagne ‘til after Pilot confirms it.”
As if on queue, Pilot reported, “Power levels are two hundred percent of normal, John, with no signs of strain.”
“They only need to be a hundred sixty percent to keep things together at hetch nine for two solar days. Sounds like they have more than enough power to make their rendezvous.” John watched Furlow as she spoke. Her words were innocent enough and her tone gave no indication of anything other than satisfaction in the work they had done - she was a mechanic, after all - but still, his hackles were up. The diagnostic he had requested earlier from Rohvu’s Pilot had turned up nothing unusual in either Rohvu’s life support or navigation systems. Instinct, pure and simple, told him there was something twitchier than usual about the woman.
“Yep, everything should be peachy.” He reached a hand up. “Help me up, Furlow. I am dead dog tired.”
With a strong grip, she hauled him to his feet. It was only after she released John that she seemed to realize she had used the supposedly injured hand, the one that had been so badly injured that she couldn’t fly her own ship. He looked sharply at the hand in question. “Seems to be about healed up,” he observed.
She made a fist and then relaxed it. “Yep. It’s just about back to normal.” She looked him straight in the eye and said, “I heal fast.”
“That’s a good trait to have.”
“Yep. Sure is.” Furlow turned away to head into the cockpit but then stopped. “Johnny…” She turned back toward him.
“Yeah?” he asked. He cocked his head to one side, concentrating on her facial expressions and body-language, still wondering what the hell it was about her that bothered him.
“Whaddya think about a partnership? You and me. Wormholes and engine design. We could go into business together and make a killing.”
“You bet, Furlow. Wormholes ‘R’ Us.” He shook his head and started to laugh, until he saw that she looked serious, so he swallowed the laughter and softened his flippant answer a bit by saying, “Lemme get back to you on that…”
***
It’s been one helluva day, Aeryn.
Who am I kidding? It’s been a helluva few weeks. Months. Whatever.
Reyna and Tokar are gone, now, off to meet up with their unit. Tokar denied that they’re mercenaries, but I don’t know. He says they’re a group of ex-PKs who are trying to be what the PKs are supposed to be, but it sounds a lot like a bunch of mercs to me, albeit mercs with ideals. Funny thing is, I think Tokar was about to ask me to join up with them. Even now, I think of myself more as a scientist than a soldier, but I guess the UTs have changed me more than I thought.
Well, mercs or not, I’m going to miss them both.
So now Pip and I are stuck here on Rohvu in the Sacred Leviathan Burial Space for a few more days, until R has recovered enough to be able to travel. Sure, he could leave right now, if the need arises, but he’d still only be operating at about half efficiency.
I think the poor guy is embarrassed and even more depressed than before, because of the suicide attempt. The failsafe we installed should be enough to keep it from happening again, especially now that Pilot can reach most of his controls. Pip and I talked it over with Pilot a little while ago and decided that we can stop standing a regular “suicide watch,” because of Pilot’s added reach and control. His arms are a little shaky, but their shell is hardening and the muscles are getting stronger every time he uses them.
Furlow’s still hanging out with us, too. From the story her navigational charts tell, the Burial Space here is about two weeks from DamBaDa - too far for that Marauder knock-off of hers to make it without stopping for provisions. Or so she says. Besides, the agreement between us was for me to go with her to DamBaDa and help her finish building the Farscape Two. We’re still working up blueprints for it and I’ve been hammering out wormhole equations that I think are on the right track. I won’t know for sure until we get a chance to test them.
Furlow asked me to go into business with her, Aeryn. I told her I’d get back to her on that, but… No. Just no. The last thing in the world I want to do is go into the wormhole business with Furlow. Well, okay, maybe Scorpy is a step lower on my list, but you get the idea.
Huh, two potential job offers in one day… Am I good, or what? Soldier for hire or snake oil salesman… I’d rather not do anything but be with you, but I guess that’s not an option anymore, is it? You’re with John Crichton and Bialar Crais aboard Talyn and I might not ever know how or why that came about. The important part is, though, that you’re with John Crichton and it ain’t me.
Ah, it’s late, Aeryn, and I don’t even know what I’m writing anymore so I’ll say good night. That powder Reyna gave me has been working out pretty well - I’ve been sleeping like a baby, these last few nights. She asked me to keep track of any “symptoms” I may notice, for when we hook up again, so I’ll have to try to remember to do that. Assuming, of course, that we do meet again.
Done for the time being, John put the stylus and journal into the desk drawer. Rather than closing the drawer and going to bed, though, he stared at his journal, thinking. If Furlow was going to do something stupid, it would probably involve wormholes - she had been pretty rabid about them from the first time they’d met and now was no different.
Scorpius, too, wanted wormholes. He wanted them as a weapon. What if Furlow sold what she knew about wormholes to Scorpy? There certainly weren’t any moral barriers to her doing so. And if she went to the Peacekeepers with what she knew, she would end up with Scorpy, one way or another.
All of John’s wormhole equations were in his journal, but Furlow wouldn’t know that. She wouldn’t expect the bulk of his work to exist anywhere but in Rohvu’s data banks, certainly not as hand-written notes on flimsies. John laughed to himself as he took a data chip, popped it into the slot on the desk, and began to record.
Left Behind, chapter 18
Left Behind, chapter 20