PART TWO: From Ashes 

“…Janet Rowling live from the runway here at Cape Canaveral, just moments away from the launch of the Farscape Seven.”  The woman paused to brush back her red-gold hair, and grinned.  “Though perhaps ‘launch’ is something of a misnomer.  This new Farscape craft, like nearly all of IASA’s designs in the past three years, is capable of vertical take-off and landing.  Gone are the days of booster rockets and--” 

As Ms. Rowling rambled on about the advances in spacecraft technology for several minutes more, a window appeared on the screen, just over her left shoulder, and a wire-frame model of the new ship began slowly spinning.  The FS-7 was much larger than the first of its line, even a little larger than the very shuttles the Farscape project had made obsolete.  The Seven was a little sleeker, too…and meaner.  A separate scout craft, shaped more or less like a jet fighter, rode inside the belly cargo hold…and although CNN failed to mention it in their report, both the main ship and the scout were armed.  They were also equipped with devices capable of generating wormholes under certain specific conditions, though these would remain password protected and untested until a later flight. 

Rowling wound down her technical poetry as the journalists behind her began to buzz.  The doors of the building on the far side of the runaway had opened, and several figures were approaching the Farscape along the cordoned walkway.  At their center strode a man and a woman in glaring orange IASA flight-suits. 

“And here we have Commander John Crichton, who will be piloting this orbital test flight, along with his wife and copilot, Lieutenant Commander Aeryn Sun Crichton.  This will be Commander Crichton’s first space flight since the very first Farscape mission nearly eight years ago, which resulted in his strange and now famous odyssey across the far side of the universe.  It has been nearly three years since he returned to us, and introduced Earth to our first confirmed extraterrestrial…and his wife…” 

The Crichtons had hopped up to the small podium fronting the crowd; John was raising his arms for silence, and Aeryn smiling and waving shyly at the cameras.  Rowling made a valiant effort to catch their attention, but someone else got in first. 

“Commander, Commander Crichton…how does it feel to be returning to space after three years?” 

“Like I’m going home!”  The astronaut laughed, no more forced than anyone else on TV, and shrugged.  “Naw, seriously, speaking as a pilot, it’ll be good to be up there again, and the mission shouldn’t be a demanding one, just a quick spin around the block…” 

“All that time in space, John,” Aeryn cut in, “And you still haven’t figured out that planets are round?” 

The crowd ate this up, and a barrage of camera flashes caught Aeryn’s smirk. 

“What about you, Mrs. Crichton?” called out a mustached man with a bad toupee.  “How do you see this mission?” 

Aeryn hesitated, exchanging looks and places with her husband.  “I have lived nearly all of my life in space,” she said quietly.  The now silent assembly didn’t miss a word; they loved her grace and dignity just as much as her style, attitude and sense of humor.  “I grew up on spacecraft the size of your cities.  So, as John said, this mission seems like…a return to the familiar, rather than a challenge or an achievement.  Yet for your…for Earth…it is both.  If this craft performs as expected, it will be an important step in humanity’s journey towards deep space exploration, and its future.” 

At last Rowling seized her moment.  “You’ve seen that future,” she pointed out.  “You’ve lived it, both of you.  Do you miss it?” 

Aeryn glanced sideways at John.  “This is my home now,” she said simply. 

“What about you, Commander?  Do you look forward to the day we can all share in these wonders you’ve seen?” 

“The wonders, yes…”  Crichton nodded slowly.  The friendly country boy slipped away from his eyes; he looked far older in that moment, and more like his father.  “I saw so much out there.  Some of it, a lot of it, was like nothing I’d ever experienced, the most beautiful…”  No one noticed him squeezing his wife’s hand behind the podium.  “And some of it was…far from pretty.  I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.  I just wish…that you could all see the Earth the way I do, having come home again.” 

“Like a cage?” Aeryn murmured behind her smile.  Only John heard. 

# 

Since John Crichton’s return, and the aerospace revolution he’d brought with him, launches had become little more complicated than the departure of a jetliner.  If the boys and girls in mission control had anything to worry about it was the increasing lobby in the U.N. and Washington to privatize space-flight, and that was a battle which could wait.  Today, the atmosphere in the control room was excited, yet relaxed…but for two men.  DK sat stiffly at his computer, head in one hand, the other moving his mouse from left to right and back again, ceaselessly; stationary pacing.  Jack Crichton hovered over his shoulder, arms folded, glaring at the monitor. 

“Okay, we all know how late he stayed out partying last night,” surmised one of their companions, nodding at DK.  “But what’s your excuse, Jack?” 

“It’s just…never easy, watching my son go up,” Jack Crichton admitted softly.  “Or my daughter-in-law for that matter.  I’m proud as hell, but scared shitless, too.” 

“Our boys felt the same, every time,” Terry pointed out; he’d joined the space program shortly after Jack himself, more than thirty years ago, and they’d shared several missions. 

“I know that,” Jack agreed curtly.  “Doesn’t make it any better.” 

“Well, sir, at least the ship is in good shape,” offered DK.  “This might be her first trip into orbit, but the past few Farscapes have all flown like dreams…” 

“Except for the Five,” Rick reminded him.  “The third engine blew out, remember, and we had to…” 

“Well, yeah.  But we got her back down just fine.” 

Jack was still staring worriedly at the monitor image of the Seven.  “She’s the first one of her size, and the first to carry a wormhole device in addition to a hetch drive.  And a scout module, for that matter.” 

“That’s all true, but…I designed most of the modifications myself, with John and Aeryn’s input.  And the crew that built her was the best.  Everything’s gonna go just fine.”

 “I hope you’re right, DK.”  Jack patted the younger man’s shoulder, awkwardly.  “I just can’t help worrying that…history has a way of repeating itself.” 

# 

Rowling stood back a ways, her microphone hanging forgotten at her side.  Several of her peers were still giving running commentaries, but she preferred to leave this part of the show to her cameraman.  She could be Shakespeare reincarnate, and still never find the words to do justice to a space launch.  True, they lacked the fire and fury of the old days, the mythical resonance.  The Farscape Seven was a pretty bird, as she began to float up from the tarmac, but no phoenix. 

And yet, at least in Janet’s eyes, she was no less magnificent.  Grand imagery had been replaced with grander promise.  It was ships like this which would finally make all those silly, wonderful science-fiction serials of her childhood a reality.  Colonies on the moon and Mars, long distance voyagers mapping the galaxy… 

And how many of Earth’s own problems could be solved out there?  Overpopulation could certainly be eased.  The space program had already made vital contributions to medicine and science.  The theories and bits of technology John Crichton had brought home with him three years ago were nothing short of miraculous, and it was no great secret that still more of his discoveries remained under wraps, by government order. 

All these hopes passed through Janet Rowling’s mind in just the few seconds it took the Farscape Seven to pull her nose up towards the sun.  Then she was soaring, pushing hard for the open sky. 

A voice crackled from Janet’s jacket pocket; her palm pilot was receiving CNN’s broadcast, and the network was overlaying her camera’s footage with the radio traffic from mission control.  “This is Farscape Seven, we are free and climbing.” 

As the spacecraft faded from view, Janet stuck her mic under one arm and pulled out the tiny monitor, to watch the rest of the flight. 

It didn’t last long. 

“Frell!  There’s a…”  All of a sudden, John Crichton had panicked.  An audience of five million clearly heard him swallow.  “Aeryn, I love you!” 

“I love you t--” 

There was a brilliant burst of light, high in the clouds; and then silence. 

# 

In mission control, there was anything but. 

“Lord, please…not again…” breathed Jack. 

DK was cursing, and pounding furiously on his keyboard.  “There was some kind of…pulse.  A half second before we lost contact.  Satellite tracking’s gone dead, I can’t get it back…” 

A shout from across the room; “Got it!”. 

“Got what?” barked DK.  “I’m not getting anything!” 

“That’s because there’s nothing to get,” Jack replied.  His fingers were still digging hard into the back of DK’s chair, his eyes slightly glazed, but his voice was icy calm.  “They’re gone.” 

# 

Days passed.  Rescue boats and helicopters scoured the waters off the Florida coast, but with no luck; not even wreckage was found.  It seemed increasingly possible that the Farscape Seven’s remnants…and the remains of John and Aeryn Crichton…had slipped quietly beneath the waves.  It was also suggested that, had a malfunction, some sort of chain reaction, occurred in the hetch drive, then both ship and crew could have been atomized.  IASA’s technicians had learned quite a lot about how to adapt the alien technology for their own use, yet still knew so little about how it all actually worked. 

In light of what was quickly becoming known as the ‘Farscape Tragedy’, both the federal government and the UN began to reevaluate IASA’s work.  Perhaps they’d been pushing too hard, too fast, with too little understanding.  Perhaps this radical technology, and the radical aspirations which went along it, needed to be shelved for the time being. 

There were suspicions of sabotage, too.  No one had yet been able to track the mysterious pulse that had knocked out mission control’s satellites in those crucial moments, and the malfunction had occurred just moments before the FS 7’s final transmission.  DK was grilled mercilessly, as head of the Farscape’s design and engineering team.  Never mind that he was also John Crichton’s partner, oldest friend, and brother-in-law.  Words like “professional jealousy” were hurled in his face. 

So he was understandably gruff when Janet Rowling called his office.  “An interview?” 

“Yes.  With you, and the Crichton family, I want…” 

“Don’t you dare drag them into this!” DK snapped, pitching forward in his chair, as if the damn reporter were right on the other side of his desk, to be intimidated.  “My wife, dad…her dad, her sister…do you have *any* idea what they’re, what we’re all going through right now?” 

“I’m sorry…you’ll never know how sorry…for your loss, but you don’t have a monopoly on personal tragedy,” Rowling snapped right back.  “I know as well as anyone, you all should be left the hell alone right now.” 

“Then why *the hell* are you bothering me?”  DK ground back; but his tone had marginally cooled, and he was sitting back in his seat.  She’d bought a measure of respect with her fire, and a few more moments. 

“Because I’m not the only one…but I just might be the only one who’s interested in your side of the story.  Who thinks the way IASA and the UN and the government are handling this is a farce, that this is no way to honor the memories of--” 

DK sighed.  “And if we agree to this?” 

“You won’t regret it,” promised the reporter. 

“Not really what I meant,” DK replied.  “If we do this…” 

“It’ll be taped, not live.  We’ll let you see the final edit before it airs.” 

“We can get this in writing?” 

“Yes.” 

“I’ll have to speak to the family first…but you may just have a deal.” 

They spoke several minutes more, and DK scribbled down her office number, and her cell phone; then he set down the receiver, and swiveled his chair around to face the wide window, and the open sky through the blinds. 

“John, old buddy…I hope we’re doing right by you.” 

# 

Barely a week later, the world tuned in for Janet Rowling’s exclusive interview with the Crichton family.  They sat in a studio dressed as a family room, but too neat, too perfect, just like in any sitcom or soap.  Jack and DK held the center, sharing a brown leather couch, their expressions closed and unreadable.  John’s twin sisters sat in overstuffed armchairs to either side.  Annie was reaching across to DK, her hand resting lightly on her husband’s arm, while Laurie’s gaze flickered protectively between the others and Rowling.  Rowling herself sat back a little, in another armchair, a notepad resting on one knee.  All of them, the reporter included, were dressed in dark, somber suits, the men with ties.  DK reached up to tug unconsciously at his collar, causing both Annie and Jack to quietly grin. 

Rowling started out with friendly smiles and simple questions, inevitable ones.  What had John Crichton really been like, away from the public eye?  Who had he been before he left Earth, and who was the man who returned?  

“It was strange…” Laurie said.  “He was…haunted…when he came back.  Yet at the same time more grounded than he’d ever been.  Uh, no pun intended!” 

Of course, this soon led to questions about Aeryn Sun.  What was it like to have a sister-in-law, daughter-in-law from outer space?  Each of them had a story then, or two or three.  Of culture shock, and wit, and loyalty, and strength.  At the climax of each tale, the teller’s eyes would flare with pride, then dull, too quickly, with loss. 

As the hour wore on, they spoke of the first Farscape mission.  The first loss.  Rowling asked DK what he had felt then, watching the work of so many years almost literally washed down the drain.  Had he resented his partner then? 

“Never,” DK answered calmly.  “Never.  I couldn’t have cared less about the work, if I could only get him back.  Or have gone in his place.  He was…the closest thing I ever had to a brother.  Closer than most people have who’re born with ‘em.” 

What about when he returned, bringing Earth unbelievable technologies and their first proof of extraterrestrial life?  When he became famous, and the Farscape Project was seen almost as his triumph alone? 

“I still got a nice raise, and I got to tinker with all those cool toys he’d found, and I had my best friend back again…how could I have a problem with that?  I got to have him there for the birth of my son…his nephew.”  (At this, Annie’s face disappeared into her hands.  DK looked over guiltily, and began rubbing her back as he continued.)  “And the fame, I never wanted it.  I don’t think John really did, either.” 

They talked a little while longer about what it had been like to lose John the second time, and to lose Aeryn. 

“Maybe it’s better this way,” Annie said softly; then her eyes widened, and she shook her head emphatically.  “Oh, God, no…that’s not how it, I didn’t mean…”  DK gently, squeezed her shoulders, and she gathered her breath and her thoughts and tried again.  “When we lost John, the first time, he was alone.  At least this time…”  She trailed off, but everyone nodded. 

And so it went, until at last they turned to the future.  For IASA, for the Crichtons, for the world.  The challenges of integrating alien and Earth technologies.  Mistakes had been made, and seemed to have cost John and Aeryn their lives.  Were the nay-sayers right?  Had the space program’s reach exceeded its grasp? 

“It’s not easy,” said DK.  “It should be easy, it never is.  That’s life.  Yes, we’ve made mistakes.  We thought we understood this technology better than we did.  Or…hell, it doesn’t take much!  We’re still making mistakes, big ones, costly ones…deadly ones…with technology we designed ourselves, stuff we’ve been using here for decades.  That doesn’t mean we should abandon it.  How many people die every year in car accidents, and we’re still driving?” 

Rowling shifted uncomfortably in her seat.  “Some might interpret that as reducing human beings, human lives, to mere statistics…” 

DK shook his head, curls bobbing almost comically.  “No, it’s not like that, it’s…yes, we’re making mistakes.  We’re human.  Even doctors, engineers…even those of us who can’t afford to make mistakes, it’s still gonna happen sometimes.  We have to accept that.  And those we…we lose…they’re exactly why we can’t give up.  If we do, that’s when they become statistics.  My best friend is…gone.  He paid the price for somebody else’s screw up.  Somebody’s ignorance.  But I think…if he had known what was gonna happen, and if he knew it had to happen before we made this work, before we could start finding all the answers waiting for us up there…answers which could save other lives…I think he still would have gone.” 

Silently, uncertainly, Rowling looked to each of her other guests.  Each nodded; not without hesitation, but firmly.  Rowling asked Jack and DK what sort of projects IASA had in the works, what they were trying to achieve.  They spoke for several minutes more about the space program’s promise for Earth.  Everything in danger of being thrown away. 

Finally, Rowling asked if they had any closing thoughts. 

“John, and Aeryn…wherever you are…I know you’re watching out for us,” Laurie said quietly.  “You’ve never deserted us, you never could.  And I’ve never thanked you for that.” 

“And we’re watching out for you too,” continued Annie; she grinned impishly, as only baby sisters can, and the tears in her eyes sparkled.  “Don’t ask me how, but we are!” 

DK held up a fist, as if making a pact.  “The Farscape Project’s still got a long way to go, buddy…but we’re gonna make it.  We won’t let the team down.” 

Jack stared at nothing for a long moment.  His eyes empty and red, his hands in his lap, his feet flat on the floor, he almost seemed asleep with his eyes open.  Yet when he finally did speak, his voice was, impossibly, at once low and booming.  “My friend, General Glenn, has been asking for a long time now…asking when I’d get off my lazy butt, and back up there.  To honor his namesake, perhaps…perhaps now is the time.  My son had a dream for our world…” 

#

And somewhere on Earth, John Crichton groaned.  “Daaaad…did ya have to lay it on so thick?!” 

Somewhere, specifically, was a tiny, wooded island off the Florida coast.  Even more specifically, the cockpit of the Farscape Seven. 

“I think he did quite well,” countered Aeryn, seated beside her husband.  “They all did.” 

“Yup, sure did,” John agreed.  “Bought us the time we needed…” 

It would be a long time before Earth dared true deep space exploration.  Hopefully not too long, with some of the dangers awaiting them out there, but quite a few years at the very least.  And when that day DID come, it wasn’t John and Aeryn they’d send.  An alien, and a human certainly contaminated by aliens?  There was too much paranoia in the government and the military; even now, there were those who considered them planetary security risks.  It had taken a lot of chicanery, a lot of favors called in by John and his family and friends, just to get them onto the Farscape 7, cleared for a shot into orbit.  But it wasn’t enough. 

So they’d cooked up a plan.  DK had hacked into the mission control computers, programming the local sensors to cut out 30 seconds into the flight.  At the same time, Aeryn would trigger an electromagnetic pulse (an old PK trick) from the Farscape which would confuse the tracking satellites in Earth orbit long enough for John to take the ship to ground.  They’d picked out this island months ago, before they’d even begun mission training, and John’s dad and sisters had been discreetly ferrying supplies out here right up until the week of the launch.  Food, clothing, camping and survival gear; books, CDs, DVDs; a thick photo album.  Everything they’d need for the first few weekens of the voyage, and as much of home as they could afford to carry with them. 

Since the day of their disappearance, John and Aeryn had been bunkered down on this island.  Hoping that none of the search & rescue helicopters would fly too close.  Working almost around the clock to load the ship and to override the lockouts on the wormhole generators.  

They hadn’t seen or heard a helicopter in several days now, though, and the news reports had pronounced the search at an end.  Jack Crichton had refused to give up for the five years his son was lost on the other side of the galaxy; if he’d given up now, how could the world argue?  The packing had been finished two days ago, and the generators unlocked last night. The weather was all that held them up…and not for much longer. 

“You’re sure about this?” Aeryn asked, softly and suddenly. 

“Yeah.  I am,” John replied, with little hesitation; maybe too little.  Then he was leaning forward in his seat, pulling the top of that orange flight-suit back over his black tee.  “Come on, time to get this show on the road…” 

#

Less than a quarter of an hour later, the world realized John and Aeryn Crichton lived, as the Farscape Seven blasted back onto sensors and satellite tracking, and belatedly into orbit. 

“Yee-haw!” cried Aeryn.  John grinned approvingly. 

Ahead of them, on the forward view-screen, a shining tendril uncurled from the sun, as if it were waving at them. 

“We’ve got solar flares, dead ah--”  John was cut off by an insistent beep from the panel to his right.  “Make that, ‘we’ve got trouble, right here in River City’.  Three bogies coming around the moon, fast, and moving to intercept…” 

Part 3