Bait and Switch
Written for the TF Starburst Challenge 66 (hosted by Vinegardog): Wiles (crossovers welcomed)
Rating: PG
Spoilers/Time Frame: Terra Firma/ Lost City
Word Count: 9,535
Disclaimer: The characters and universe of Farscape are the property of the Henson Co. SG-1 is owned by MGM & Syfy. I have not made any profit off this tale, and I am giving the characters back the way I found them. (Unfortunately that means they are still fiction.)

A/N: I've tried to stay within the episodes as much as possible. This is assuming that Lost City takes place at the end/beginning of 2003/2004. (Grey area, so I'm going with it.) The assumption is also made that Jack Crichton has a sister named Wendy.

I owe a big thanks to Vinegardog for betaing and helping me with all the plot issues as well as the motivation to finish this; and to bblurkinscaper for the encouragement. All mistakes are mine.

John walked into the hangar bay and was greeted by the sight of so many friends and co-workers assembled to meet him and his friends. It was a homecoming he'd prayed for. No one was threatening his friends. There was a general acceptance of them.

Olivia was suddenly hugging him. DK and Laura were there to greet him and he realized just how much everyone else had changed. It was one thing to comprehend that the world continued to revolve without him. It was another to see the differences up close. He was happy for his alien friends, but surprisingly not disappointed to be excluded from his old friends and family.

All too quickly the scientists were pushing in on him. IASA medical technicians were waiting to run tests to see what effect prolonged space exposure had had on him.

After much arguing, he agreed to the basic blood tests, but refused all radiological exams. John didn't want to explain all the land mines that his body had been through.

Embedded deeply in the commander's blood work were two minor anomalies, traces of an unusual metal lingered in his system and there were abnormal protein markers. The lab technician ran the chemical analysis through the computer searching the database for a match. After several minutes the technician got up to get a cup of coffee. He didn't see the flashing alarm warning of spy-ware on the system.

The pilot was wedged under his F-302, checking on one of the relays under the wing. Only his uniform clad knees, ankles and boots stuck out from the edge of the craft. He was humming under his breath.

"Major Mitchell?"

The noise stopped and he moved out from under the plane to look up at the speaker. "Yes, sir?" the pilot said as he jumped up to attention. Colonel Kirkland was standing next to an over decorated soldier in a class A uniform.

"General Hammond, this is Major Cameron Mitchell. Major, the General has temporary orders for you," Colonel Kirkland made the introductions.

"Pleasure to meet you sir," Mitchell saluted.

"Major, walk with me," Hammond gestured to the hangar exit. As they made their way out of earshot, down the corridor toward the transport bay, the General handed him a sealed envelope. "You've been temporarily reassigned to Patrick AFB in Florida. Of course, with Anubis on the move, this couldn't come at a worse time for us."

"Sir, couldn't they send someone else? I'm needed here. The F-302s are our last line of defense if Anubis tries to invade."

"I am aware of that, but this takes priority. Son, I don't know who you know, but you've been requested by T.R. Holt, he's a special adviser to the President, for this assignment. Perhaps the information in the file will help." Hammond gestured for him to open it. The first page on top was a picture. Any questions about why Mitchell was chosen went out the window as he stared down at a face that could be his. "Well, I guess we know why you were chosen."

As he stared down at the picture, so many questions went through his head at a pace that left him dizzy. Mitchell stopped walking. "Commander Crichton? He's been found?"

"You know him?"

"He was... IS my cousin. A few years ago he was piloting an experimental craft, testing an Earth orbit slingshot maneuver when his craft disappeared following an unusual electromagnetic wave. Although it was assumed he was killed, no wreckage was found. Uncle Jack has refused to allow him to be declared dead. He's returned?"

"I'm not sure of the specifics. There is another ship in orbit around Earth. It's not related to Anubis's fleet and isn't being treated as a hostile contact. IASA astronauts made contact with one person on board several days ago. She answered in English."

"So what's my assignment?"

"I don't know. I haven't been briefed on the particulars of the operation. I was given that file and told to get you to Patrick. If you weren't assigned to the Prometheus, I doubt I would have been involved in this at all. The Air Force can't send just any messenger to get you." Hammond gestured him to start walking again. "I want you to stay in contact with the SGC. I don't like sending one of my men on a top secret mission without back up. Anubis could attack at any moment and Prometheus will need its flight leader on board immediately."

"Yes sir." Mitchell took that as dismissal, and started to walk away.

"And Major?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Enjoy the family reunion."

Mitchell smiled, "Yes, sir."

Dressed carefully in his Class A uniform, Major Mitchell entered Colonel Douglas's office at Patrick AFB. He stood stiffly and saluted the superior officer who lounged back in his chair. Sitting off to the side was a lanky civilian with a really bad toupee.

"At ease Major," he gestured to the chair in front of his desk. "Take a seat." Mitchell carefully sat down as the officer continued, "How was your flight? Any trouble getting here?"

"No, sir." The casual atmosphere was putting him on edge. Who was the stranger Douglas was ignoring?

"Good. You must be wondering what is so important we pulled you across the world with so little notice."

"There seemed to be a lot of secrecy, sir."

The Colonel gestured to the man standing next to him. "This is T.R. Holt, special advisor to the President. The Air Force will be coordinating with IASA in a situation for which you are uniquely capable of assisting with."

At that, the bureaucrat sat forward, jumping into the conversation. "About five weeks ago IASA meteorology picked up an unusual reading just outside the Earth's atmosphere. A wormhole opened up and this ship came through." The man handed him a glossy picture showing a large golden mass in front of a star field. "Patrick AFB's Deep Space Telemetry Office confirmed it was a ship and not an astrological mass."

Mitchell worked very hard at not smiling at the irony of the situation. Many of the officers at the SGC used Deep Space Telemetry as their cover story. "Has it made contact?" he asked.

"Canaveral's communications center was able to make voice contact with one of the crew members. The woman speaks fluent English. She has stated that most of their crew complement was en route to rendezvous with her and they were way overdue."

"She speaks English?"

"Yes. We have since learned from her that the ship's name is Moya. The crew complement is made up of seven people from seven different species, including a human named John Crichton."

"So he is alive?"

"Yes. I made contact with him three days ago. The crew has finally returned and come to Earth."

"So where do I come into all of this?"

"What have you heard about the ship in orbit?"

"Nothing. Until three hours ago, I wasn't stateside. Access to television has been a little limited."

"Since the media broadcast information on the ship in orbit, there has been some mild panic among the people. Some mild threats have been overheard and we are concerned for the safety of Crichton and his shipmates. Religious fanatics will stop at nothing to make their point. The existence of life from other planets is scary. You cannot imagine the possibilities."

Considering he had been transferred from the front line of Earth's defense against Anubis, he could argue the point, if either of these men had high enough clearance. "So the ship poses a threat?"

"So far," Holt qualified the answer, "this ship has presented no threat to us. We have been invited to take a shuttle up a explore her. Once we have more information, we will know what our plan will be. For now, we may need your unique assistance in providing security for Crichton. Depending on how things fall out, you might be enlisted to act as a security decoy. We don't want to create an intergalactic incident that starts a war with Earth."

Mitchell nodded, "I can see that. We certainly don't want to be fighting aliens."

"In the meantime, you will need to stay out of sight until we know what we want to do next. My staff is preparing you a safe location where we can send all the information we currently have on the situation, get you up to speed. Once Crichton has arrived he can fill you in on anything else you will need to know."

"So I will report directly to you?"

"Yes, and to General Hammond. He agreed to loan you to our office, but insisted we keep him in the loop. Major, whatever you do for the Air Force, you must be a credit to the service. It took a direct order from the President and three weeks to get you here." Holt seemed to be fishing for information.

"Right. That's classified, sir. I was out of communication range for much of that time."

"Your car will be waiting outside for you. I will be in contact."

Taking that as a dismissal, Mitchell stood, saluted the Colonel and walked out of the room. The irony of the situation didn't pass him by. If Holt only knew the real threat to the human race was days away…

T. R. Holt was an ambitious man; and today John Crichton was the key to his success. Since Moya's crew's arrival, there had been constant pressure from the Hill to get the information. Holt wasn't sure what changed, but Vice President Kinsey had also become interested in the aliens and he wanted instant results. Unfortunately, Commander Crichton didn't understand his importance and wasn't cooperating.

Right now, Holt wasn't getting results. But he had a plan. And if the commander continued to stonewall him, he was prepared to take action. He was confident that Crichton could be made to see reason, although so far he had refused to do so. The scientific advances that could be made were astounding and dangerous. Holt had promised the President he would get results. He was going to get them, no matter the cost.

Kinsey had offered the assistance of any resources needed and it was time to take advantage of them. Having made his decision, he placed a phone call.

"Please- Tell me you still believe that," John asked with desperation in his voice.

Jack could only answer him honestly. "I'm not sure what I believe anymore."

His son looked like he wanted to say something more but changed his mind. Jack watched him turn and walk away without a backward glance. He didn't recognize his son anymore. John had become sullen and quiet. Jack missed the laughter, the smiles and the quiet joys of a simpler life.

Jack struck out at the railing and looked over the edge of the parking garage. Why wouldn't John understand? Other countries would take his knowledge and use it against the American people. He didn't understand how much the world had changed while he'd been away.

With a shake of his head, Jack followed. As he entered the hangar bay, he heard John arguing with DK and Laura. That was something he never would have predicted; John and DK arguing. He heard John respond, "It's just a riddle. Why do prowler pilots turn to goo? Get back to me on that. I'm gonna get a refill of coffee. You guys want some?" John walked out of the bay while his friends looked on with disgust.

Looking up, Jack noticed two of the aliens were in the corner talking by the ship. They were watching his son's movements with what could only be described as concern. The grey girl gestured in the direction his son had gone and pushed the tentacled guy after him. As the tall alien left the room, Jack realized he'd never talked to his son's shipmates. That was real concern he saw in their eyes. Maybe they could shed some light on the changes he'd noticed in his son.

"Chiana, right?" Jack asked hesitantly, as he walked up to the grey girl.

"Yeah, yeah that's- me." She scanned her eyes up and down him once. "You're Crichton's sire."

The word was an odd description for father. It seemed to say a lot about her culture. "Yes. Do you know where he went?"

"He's probably gone off to zone out," she said.

Her choice of words threw Jack for a loop. "Zone out?"

"He does that sometimes when his thoughts get heavy. He says he has the weight of the world on his shoulders." The girl tilted her head to the side and looked up at Jack. "You know, for as long as I've known Crichton, all he's dreamed of is home. He's fought so hard to get here and no one wants him."

"That's not true. Everyone is happy he's home."

"Are they happy he's home, or excited about the technology he might bring? It's not about him, is it?"

"You don't understand. The government has invested a lot of time and money into the Farscape project. It is not unreasonable to get something back from it."

"You don't get it!" she practically shouted out him. Her voice reminded him of a screeching cat. It was the first time he'd ever seen her show any negative emotion. She lowered her voice as she realized people were starting to stare. "Your world and mine really aren't so very different. They both want what they think John has. Earth is supposed to be his refuge. The one place he can feel safe from everything else. Up there, on the other side of the galaxy, there is a war on. It's nasty, and dangerous. Crichton is trying his hardest to keep Earth out of it."

"That's why we need John to give us all the information he's learned."

"Crichton's always saying that if you don't learn it yourself, you can't use it responsibly. What would your people do with the technology? If only one country had it, what would it be used for?"

"It would be used to create a better defense system, to protect Earth."

"For the whole planet?"

"Of course," he answered succinctly.

"But who decides who controls it? If the technology can protect a planet, can it be used to attack the people? To keep them in fear? Crichton believes this information can be used to control the people. To make them conform to what your government desires."

"I suppose it could be, but it wouldn't. John has nothing to be afraid of. He doesn't know what he's talking about. Holt and the others wouldn't use it that way."

"A single government having all the information will eventually try to control everyone else. The establishment will control what you do and what you think. It will take everything over until you have no free will."

The grey girl's attention was suddenly caught by movement over his shoulders. Jack turned to see the Luxan coming over. "I wasn't able to catch up with him. He left the compound and the guards at the gate wouldn't let me follow him."

Jack looked at the Luxan. "They wouldn't let you off the base?"

Chiana looked over at Jack with a quizzical look. "Your people fear us and we're on your side. How would they respond to others? Shoot first, ask questions later?"

"Or by dissecting us?" D'Argo added quietly.

"Crichton's always going on and on about this place. It's all he's dreamed of for as long as I've known him, and now that he's here-" she broke off to collect her thoughts. "He- he once told me that the space program only took the best, is that true?"

Jack puffed up with pride. "Yes that's true."

The girl looked puzzled. "So if they only take the best, why don't they listen to him, trust him?"

"Your people can't stop fighting long enough among yourselves to agree on how to use the technology, how can you show a united front against an enemy? "

Mitchell found that the frustrating thing about working for and taking orders from the government was that you worked on someone else's schedule for someone else's agenda. He understood that right now John dictated the schedule, but he would have liked to have seen him.

This secrecy thing was driving him crazy. No one was telling him anything about his mission. He was here in an inconspicuous government safe house cooling his heels drinking coffee while his squadron was preparing for a dangerous mission without him. The Major didn't like being on the sidelines, he preferred to be part of the action.

He was channel surfing in the living room when he heard one of the guards answer the phone. A moment later that soldier came in to announce it was finally show time. Cameron was looking forward to seeing John again.

Frustration laced every nerve of John's being. The fight with his father was normal, but his disagreement with DK bothered him far more than he would let on. He wanted to share the information with his friend, but he knew that anything he shared with him would be shared with the government. Something about Holt rubbed him the wrong way and he didn't trust the man.

Lost in his thoughts, he made his way across the parking garage to the government car waiting for him. The driver jumped out and opened the door for him. He got in and buckled up as the driver slid onto the seat in front of him.

"Where to?"

"My father's house," John replied, not looking up. He had to get ready for the two media interviews he had agreed to. There had been many opportunities to make appearances, but these were the only two he'd accepted to take part in. Both shows had agreed to give him the questions ahead of time and not deviate from the script. He opened the folder to look over the questions and prepare his answers.

As the car pulled to a stop in front of a fancy high fenced house, he realized they weren't anywhere near their destination. "What are we doing here?"

"Someone wants to speak to you," the driver said as he turned to him. In his hand was a small caliber pistol.

John nodded toward the gun. "I take it this means I'm not getting a choice in this?"

"No, sir. My orders are quite clear. I will subdue you if I must."

"I see," he said with a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Well then. Let's get this over with shall we?" He made a jerking motion toward the door.

"Hands up! Slowly reach out to open the door. No sudden moves. Trust me; you don't want to be the hero."

Flashes of Braca aiming a pulse pistol at him with similar useless threats came to mind. "You're not gonna shoot me. Holt wants what I know. He's not about to risk it. So you do what you have to do, I'm leaving."

John pushed open the door and dive rolled out of the line of fire, just in case he was wrong. He crouched down to left of the building entrance making sure to keep sight of any possible threats. He was moving forward to stand and run when a voice behind him spoke up. "Stop right there or I will shoot."

Looking over his shoulder he caught sight of a familiar looking blond woman holding a strange snake like gun. "No, I don't think you will risk killing me either." He stood and turned toward her. "Alex?" he asked in surprise. Was his mind playing tricks on him?

"Hello John," she stepped forward confidently pointing the strange gun at him.

"Now be a good boy and step inside."

"No," he smirked. "I don't think so. You're not gonna risk killing me."

"This won't kill you; it just renders the victim unconscious. Save us all some trouble and come quietly."

Shaking his head, John responded, "You know I've never been quiet. I'm hardly going to start now." Keeping his eyes on her and the gun he backed toward the gate. He was almost through it when she shot him. With a jolt of electricity, darkness overtook him.