Inner Voices

By robspace54

FARSCAPE is owned by the Jim Henson Company. I claim no ownership of the characters, situations, or stories of the TV series and the tale told here is strictly for personal entertainment.

Pilot

Pilot heard a shout echo along the passageway. He sighed as he could tell it was D'Argo screaming at a DRD.

"You hear that?" Voice asked.

"Of course," he answered calmly, as he monitored Moya's drive system which was recharging, watched the DRD scurry away from D'Argo's booted foot lashing out at it, listened to Rygel mutter in his sleep, while being aware of a thousand and one other things aboard.

"D'Argo is angry."

"He is often angry," Pilot agreed. "He was born angry. All Luxan's are angry or so I have observed."

Voice took on a tone next that Pilot equated with that of John Crichton's chuckle. "The warrior is frustrated with our relative inactivity."

Pilot nodded. "Yes," he said knowing he had acquired the head bobbing habit from both the human and the sebacean. "But the drive system does need rest."

"As do you."

"We all do. This starbursting about hither and yon in the Uncharted Regions is tiring."

"I think it is fun."

Pilot shook his head, another habit. "You do? I am exhausted - quite spent. When that Marauder Escort came out of the ring plane after us…"

"Be calm, Pilot." Voice went on with almost that chuckle tone once more. "That was exhilarating."

Pilot considered that word. Exhilarating? His memory flashed back to the day he had been lifted into orbit and had been joined. "Yes, I remember."

"Yes… it was the feeling of…" Voice paused for just the right word.

"Freedom? D'Argo, Zhaan, and Rygel speak often of this idea."

"Yes… freedom." Voice paused. "No what is John Crichton doing? When he is staring like that I wonder what he is thinking of."

Pilot turned his attention to the crew mess room. He could see Crichton and Aeryn Sun sitting across the table from each other. Aeryn was cleaning her pulse rifle while John slowly masticated a blue food cube. John grimaced as he bit into the item. Rygel had exclaimed that the food cubes reminded him of a Hinerian delicacy.

John sneered down at the plate. "In spite of what Rygel says, this is crap."

"It is food," said the former Peacekeeper. "Nourishment."

"No, it's crap!" John picked up a cube and squeezed it. "This has the consistency of an old baseball."

"Baseball? Oh, another of your Earth words."

"Ty Cobb, Babe Ruth, and Pete Rose."

"Are those three great warriors from the tribe of baseball?" Aeryn asked, brushing a speck of dust from the rifle sight.

"No they were the greatest…" Crichton's voice stopped. "What's the use?" He cocked his arm and threw the food cube across the wall.

Aeryn Sun automatically tracked the food fragment with her rifle. "Must you waste food?"

Crichton stood and angrily stomped from the room, fleeing down the passage.

Aeryn sat there open mouthed watching the human's retreating back. Her rifle came up and took a bead on the man's back. "Pow," she said softly then lowered the rifle and swatted at stray hair strands by her face. "Humans…" she hissed. Frustrating creatures, yet also interesting in an odd way, a way that made her wonder about her actions recently when around John. For some reason she felt both repelled and attracted to him. Bah! She shook her head. She should be executed for just having such impure thoughts - which is exactly what Peacekeeper Command would do if they got ahold of her.

Zhaan glided into Pilot's chamber. "Pilot."

"Zhaan," Pilot answered.

The Delvian crossed her arms and beheld the giant crustacean Pilot. "Are you well?"

Pilot nodded. "Of course."

"You sounded a bit weary the last time we spoke."

"I'm fine."

Zhaan reached out a slim blue hand and touched Pilot's hard upper left manipulator. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"No. Thank you, Zhaan. I am fine."

The Delvian smiled slowly. "Of course you are. You always are. But don't you ever miss being… well, being off duty?"

"I believe I don't understand the concept."

"Pilot, there must be times that you wish to… relax."

"I am always busy, and I never sleep Zhaan." Pilot cleared his upper vocal chamber. "There is always something to do."

Zhaan held the hard manipulator gently. "I thank you then for all that you do."

"Of course. Now if you don't mind, I should re-examine Moya's data files to see if I can determine where we are. Our last starburst was rather hurried."

"But Moya got us away safely, as always. As do you." She dropped his hard claw, brushed at a wrinkle on her dress and inclining her head backed away as she glided from the chamber.

On the next tier below Crichton flew past her shaking his head and mumbling. "Crichton?"

The man took a few steps past and stopped. "Sorry Zhaan. It's just…"

"I can see that you are having a difficult time," she said.

Pilot eavesdropped on the pair. He could see as well that Crichton was angry, no more frustrated, by recent events as he clenched and unclenched his hands into fists.

"There is nothing I can do, or say, or think…" the man said sadly.

"I know it is difficult for you," Zhaan replied.

"He is sad, I think," Voice piped in.

"I agree." Pilot coughed.

"Are you sad?" Voice's tone was one of wonder.

"No, I'm only… busy. You know that."

"You are always busy, I am sorry."

"No, don't be sorry. Let's listen once more."

Crichton's chest was heaving. "Difficult? Yes! Damn difficult!" He turned and rested his head against a tier rib.

Zhaan reached out in much the same way that she had touched Pilot. "I know, John."

"There's not a thing that I have in common with another… thing or person… on this Leviathan!" Crichton's chest heaved.

"John, that is not true, is it?" Zhaan asked. "We all breathe and eat, and have dreams."

John nodded and Pilot could see how his shoulders weren't so slumped now. "Ah, see how Zhaan's words have calmed him, somewhat.," he told Voice.

"Yes. He tries hard. But… he is a drellnick out of graff, that human." Voice almost laughed, at least what passed for a laugh, if that were possible.

"A drellnick is certain." Pilot nodded.

"Zhaan!" John said, "I try to make connections, but I feel that I might as well go out an airlock and yell into the vacuum for all the good it would do. None of you even know anything about baseball!"

Zhaan looked hard at John Crichton. His moods were strange at times, likely due to his loneliness. She was used to being alone, at least inside her head, since she had been imprisoned by the Peacekeepers. Yet Crichton was far alone that another else. She squared her shoulders and she saw how John's eyes flicked across her expansive mammary glands. Humans must spend entirely too much time thinking of recreational procreation, she mused.

Crichton crossed his arms. "Now you'll tell me to chill out; take it easy, something like that."

"Crichton is dispirited," Voice said. "He is often so."

Zhaan smiled gently. "Something like that. You should chill up."

Crichton laughed. "Out, Zhaan. Chill out."

Voice laughed. "I like Zhaan. She is a herd mother, yes?"

"You had a mother?" Pilot asked Voice.

"Of sorts. There was one… so long ago." Voice stopped. "Another time I will speak of her."

Pilot nodded into the silence of Voice as he had some sense of what was being said.

John was now listening to Zhaan reluctantly. "Alright. I'll try that. Try to chill out."

"You may find that if you take the position that she, that is, we may be actually interested in your stories it my ease your sense of disconnection." The Delvian took his arm once more. "Care to try once more?"

Crichton cocked his head. "Ah what the hell. I can try."

"Good." Zhaan watched Crichton leave her, now whistling a tune which grated on her nerves. She retired to her chamber for moments of reflection on many things, not the least of which was the word baseball.

Pilot watched as Crichton stalked back to the mess room. "Aeryn?"

Voice smiled and Pilot easily sensed it. "Let us watch?" the silent Voice asked Pilot.

"Yes, John?" The former Peacekeeper sighed and she prepared herself for another shouting match with the human.

"When I was a little boy my dad would take me to the see the Astros play. That is when he was home." Crichton sat and looked hard at Aeryn. There must someway, he thought, to get through to her.

"Astros? Oh, another of your Earth tribes," she sighed.

John smiled at her. "Yeah. The tribe of the Houston Astros." He picked up five food cubes and put four at the corners of a square about a mertric apart on the table. The fifth he put in the center.

"What's he doing?" Voice asked.

Pilot shook his head. "Strange diagram. I do not recognize it. But John usually does strange things."

"Baseball Aeryn; baseball," John said. "Home plate, first base, second, third," he said pointing to the food cubes, naming them as his finger moved. "Right here in the center is the pitcher's mound."

Aeryn stared at him. "An Earth ritual?"

John chuckled. "Yes, Aeryn, an Earth ritual." He dropped four more pieces around two sides of the square. "Right field, center field, left field and shortstop."

Aeryn stared at the food cubes. "It reminds me of a Tritanite battle diagram."

John smiled and nodded. "It's more of a symbolic battle."

Maybe he was trying to really communicate with her. "What's this one?" Aeryn pointed to one at random.

John laughed aloud with all the double meaning her choice meant. "First base. Everyone knows that. If a batter hits a ball out of the infield that's the first base he runs to. He uses a baseball bat to strike a ball that the pitcher throws at him where he stands at home plate. Been a while since I been to first base…" his voice trailed off as he thought of Gilina, the Peacekeeper tech they had left behind on the wrecked cruiser. Gilina was nice, soft, warm, and blonde, quite the opposite of the hard brunette that faced him. She was also responsive and his automatic reaction to her closeness was gratifying, if nothing else. At least at that point he felt in charge of the situation. Yet when Aeryn caught him and Gilina kissing, the fire in the Peacekeeper commando's eyes had hurt; far more than he expected it would.

"He is teaching her, I think," Voice smiled.

"Curious," Pilot added. "I thought he would retreat to his quarters and sulk."

"Zhaan is wise," Voice added.

Pilot and Voice watched and listened until Rygel and D'Argo made their way into the mess now shouting at each other. D'Argo was once more lambasting the Hinerian for his excessive food intake. "Rygel for your size, you eat far more than the Zhaan and me combined!"

"Shut up, you Luxan giant!" Rygel growled back. "If I was still emperor, I'd have you thrown into the Pit of Kelvin for saying that!"

"Well, you're not, are you?" D'Argo hissed at the tiny figure. "Not any more."

Rygel moved his hover chair faster, D'Argo almost running after him. He slowed to a stop above the table, where Crichton was explaining something to Aeryn. "What's this? Another of your Earth things, Earthling?"

"Crichton is telling me of an Earth custom. Basebat, Rygel," said Aeryn.

D'Argo peered at the table and sneered. "Another Earth game?"

"Baseball, Aeryn. It's called baseball. Abner Doubleday…" John said.

Pilot's interest was interrupted by Voice. "Pilot. My drive system has been fully recharged."

"Good. I shall tell the crew."

"Crew? I thought they were passengers."

"Passengers? I suppose they are now our crew. They used to be prisoners." Pilot nodded to Voice. "I… Voice?"

"Yes Pilot?"

"I was wondering if you feel free. The crew speaks of freedom often."

Voice sighed happily. "I do. Yes, I feel free."

"Since the Peacekeeper control collar was blown free."

"No, Pilot. Even with the control collar locked in place, I felt free, for even when Peacekeeper Command controlled my every action, they could not control my inmost thoughts."

"I see, Moya. Yes I see. Thank you for telling me that," Pilot replied to her voice.

"And you Pilot?" the voice of the Leviathan named Moya asked timorously. "Do you feel free?"

Pilot accessed vision spots on Moya's dorsal, lateral, and ventral surfaces, getting an all-encompassing view of the glorious starfield about them. He recalled looking at the stars from a shallow tidal pool when he was a youngling, newly hatched, and wondering what it might take to touch them. He sighed then he reached out with his neural links and felt the myriad sensors of Moya, external and internal, all sending him information.

There was a small star system 4.6 arcs off their starboard bow, and there might be supplies for the crew there on the fifth planet. On tier nine a DRD was repairing a leak in a coolant line, while on tier three another was cleaning the mess from a failed experiment of Zhaan's, and down in the mess room… he heard audible voices.

"Baseball. The greatest game every invented on all of Earth. Unless you want to bring up football, and I don't mean what most of the world calls football, I mean American football." Crichton's voice rang down the passageway as Pilot could hear the gurgling in three of Rygel's stomachs, the whisper of meteoric dust against Moya's skin, and the faint ticch as Aeryn parted her lips.

"Another Earth tribe? How many are there, John?" The former Peacekeeper was somehow amazed that John was actually trying to teach her something and not just spout off weird words that made no sense.

"They are a good crew, Pilot," Moya spoke in impulses of thought.

"Yes, they are, Moya," replied Pilot to the Leviathan he was joined with, once and forever. "And since you ask, yes, I believe that I do feel free."

Moya chuckled and executed a complete roll about her long axis. "That is good, Pilot. That is very good."

Pilot nodded to his friend who nurtured him, protected him, and carried him forward. "Now, I believe that we should tell the crew about the star system ahead, don't you?"

Pilot did not 'hear' her words, but felt the drive system swing Moya to a new heading. Free? Yes, Pilot did feel free.

Moya laughed into the linkage between them.