Return to Bermudas
"Gratuitous Sects" - Part I
The Jim Henson Company owns "Farscape" and related characters
concerning Farscape. Channel 9 Australia and the Sci-Fi channel
do whatever, for whatever, but they feel they need mentioning
so here is saying their names. Bask in it.
I certainly do not own the characters, nor am I trying to turn a
profit off someone else's work, as a lawyer would. I am simply
borrowing the characters, as one tries on clothes. When I am finished
enlightening, entertaining, and/or simply droning, I will return
them to the shelves where I found them. They will (more or less)
be returned unbent, unmolested, and unperverted, a condition unlike
a lawyer.
In most cases, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, a
validation of success, or at least an ego boost. Nevertheless,
if this is not the case and one feels they lack sense of the humor,
the heart, or creativity to enjoy mere differences of opinion,
then that individual should have became a lawyer. However, if the
need arises where one feels that litigation is the only answer,
one should have wisdom enough to realize a dren-sucking lawyer
must have asked the question.
Any characters I create are freely distributed as long as I get
credit since I have some dren-sucking lawyers as well.
In addition, any repeated use of the term "panties" is regrettably
unavoidable.
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**Acknowledgement*************************************
SPECIAL THANKS to unohoo for her proofing, Beta reading, patience,
and insight that made this beast a lot better than it deserves to be.
I couldn't have done this without you Joan. Thank You!
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Title : "Gratuitous Sects"
Type : Dunno, First Fic. Ever
Time : Far in the Future
Location : Uncharted Territories
Part I : Time in a Bottle
Prologue :
On a solitary wasteland of rock and dust, Omala stood. Throughout the Scarran and Peacekeeper conflict, Omala stood. As long as Leviathans have soared the heavens, Omala stood. Far before most races had written memory, Omala stood. As the ancients, through peace and war, Omala stood. In its power or in its impotence, despite all legends and myths, Omala, the relic, stood.
Omala, the planet that shared the walled city's name, has always been a place of bloodshed and death. Over the ages, throughout time, creatures beyond measure have experienced their end both on and over this tiny, sandy rock. Over time, the hands of fate have scattered near infinite flesh and bone across its war pitted desert plains. Its believed haunted and cursed as innumerable wayward souls search for their nonexistent graves. Nothing exists to verify the history, other than the small, preserved city called Omala.
The planet, capable now of supporting no native life, is empty except for the singular event of the fortress. Whether it began as a true fortress, or if converted as the need arose, only it and time know. Its walls are only a mere meter think and stand at two meters tall in a large circular pattern. This massive circular wall, interrupted only by seams and the city's gates, continue skyward by beams also the width of a meter. Rising high, spaced and crossed, beams arc in a mesh to make a dome. Preserved and maintained by some unuttered technique, the odd metal fabric of the construction consistently appears brittle, fragile.
Throughout its known history, a holy sect called "The Caretakers" diligently sustain integrity of the covered city. Whether through near martyrdom, or similar great acts of devotion, they receive their calling to Omala. Committing their quiet lives to the task, the few accepted as "The Caretakers" believe ultimately that they will receive a special place in the heart of the Goddess, as they recognize Omala to be the deity's home.
The fickle universe glanced on Omala this era, and found it as a safe haven. The last few centuries have granted this hollow fortress to be a depot of harmony and cooperation, a universal port in any storm. All travel to Omala as "The Caretakers", the only residents, traditionally empty the city and close the gates at nightfall. Whether to sell their wares, find the Goddess or hide in general, all are welcome at Omala. As myth dictates, as long as the sun shined and the city's gates remained opened the Goddess walks in Omala.
Some claimed Omala meant "The Fortress That Could Not Fall" in some long forgotten tongue. Others claimed it was a religious or magical wonder, blessed by the Goddess to endure forever. Some even viewed it as a neutral gathering place, allowing patrons to barter politics, racism, and fascism for understanding and peace. Regardless of interpretation, Omala, the relic, stands.
Chapter 1 : Home on the Range.
Whether it was a sizeable moon, or a small planet, it orbited greater bodies, and it was able to sustain life. There were odd but green plants, fresh water, and some native animal life. The air was clean and untouched. Ignoring the universe, generally hidden in space by some cosmic illusion, the moon became a chance for aliens with optimistic hopes and dreams. There was a living structure, there were paths leading beside the waters, and there was hope. It was not unlike earth, and it was a home.
Singing the song of morning, a music that only birds know, the aviaries called the sun to rise witnessing as a new day was born. Light exploded across the landscape, killing the night, as the bright God consumed the sky, forcing a new day. Impaling the dark, the fiery orb shot radiance into the still sleeping eyes of John Crichton.
Shining brightly through his eyelids, the daylight invaded Crichton's sleep, as he protested and rolled over to find a hollow bed. Bolting upright, Crichton fought to see through half-awake eyes. He was alone. His wife and best friend Aeryn was gone. Searching for reason his sleeping mind bobbled between possibility and probability, desperately trying to explain his solitude.
"Ok, where is she." His mind reeled "She's gone. Gone where? She left. Why did she leave?" Collapsing onto bed Crichton massages his forehead and eyes awake. "The boy," reminding himself aloud as he planned imminent abandonment of his solitary crib. Hopping out and stretching, Crichton dwelled on and marveled at their son, Jack.
In some unwritten rite of passage, as customary on the sixteenth birthday, the boy began a ritualistic transcendence to adulthood. Choosing to be a diagnosan specializing in bio-mechanoids, Jack began researching leviathans in deep space with the Gunship Talyn.
Although comfortable with the safety both within and outside of their home, Crichton still verified the security of his still sleeping daughter, Gilina, before beginning his morning run. While running, Crichton remembered fighting with Aeryn over Jack's quest. "What part of no don't you understand?" his words replaying in his mind.
"John, what is wrong with Jack's request?" tested the voice of Aeryn in the echoing memory.
Crichton shouted. "What's wrong? He's just a kid, and he's going off-"
"He is an adult," Aeryn said.
"He's a boy." corrected Crichton.
"And he will be as long as you treat him like one." Aeryn said.
Crichton pressed "He's our son. There are so many better things to do than sit around in Bum-Frelled-Egypt watching a bunch of horny leviathans bump uglies!"
"John, he is not going out with some crazed lunatic-" reasoned Aeryn.
"It's Crais!" said Crichton as his voice, sore from yelling, cracked in a squeak. As Crichton fought to ignore the stammer, he played the logic card, "Can you think of a better sex-ed teacher?"
"It is Talyn, and I am escorting them," Aeryn said.
"It's a piss-poor idea," stated Crichton guilt-ridden for damning their son with his last name. A last name associated always with death and destruction. A last name the Goddess seemed to hate. A last name Aeryn chose to use, despite the protests of her husband.
Aeryn was defiant; "It is his choice."
"I don't like it!" worried Crichton as he thought of every possible danger.
"Not everything in this universe is created around the mighty John Crichton and his likes or dislikes or his good ideas or his bad ideas. Not everything concerns you and your opinions, and you should think about others and what they have to do." Attacking, Aeryn sought to defeat the confrontation, "Maybe the great John Crichton had better get his priorities strait. I will be back in two solar days. I will be alone. Jack will be back in three cycles, and you had best get used to the idea."
Aeryn stormed out and marched to her heavily modified prowler named Xhalax, as Jack waited within the secondary cockpit. Aeryn shattered the sound barrier, shooting toward the massive Gunship known as Talyn. Crichton remembered his son's signal, "Be back before you know it dad." Finding renewed frustration, Crichton ran harder brooding over the possibilities.
Stepping from the shower, Crichton caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Peering into the bedroom John located his four-cycle-old girl, who read quietly on the bed. Smiling John recognized Aeryn in her as he experienced both pride and love. "Hey pumpkin," John called out, " I'll be out in a couple microts."
Nodding, Gilina beamed a smile capable of melting Scorpius' black heart. "Ok Daddy." Gilina was a little girl. She was a very little girl. She loved her parents, and they loved her.
Her hair was long and fine, as dark and pure as deep space. Deep brown, rich and full of life, her two beautiful eyes wasted on a doll. Her skin was soft and unblemished. She was intelligent, schooled in her father's science, her mother's skills, and the ways of independence. She was a mimic and could learn quickly by observation and repetition. Whether through genetics, parental patience, or a distant universal balance, most considered Gilina too intelligent. Regardless, she was a little girl. She was a very little girl, but in her dreams, she wanted to be so much more.
After dressing, John charged out of the bathroom and attacked the defenseless and giggling girl, picking her up and chomping playfully at her neck. Squealing and laughing with delight the girl became paralyzed with the play, begging, "Don't Budong me! Don't Budong!"
"OMP! OMP!" the dad chomped at the now screaming daughter. John lowered his daughter, holding her as a parent holds an infant. Nestled in his arms, she squealed further as he playfully chomped at her stomach and knees. "OMP! OMP!"
As she calmed herself down, she gently pulled on his nose, asking, "Daddy, do Budongs have noses?"
John, jumping in mock surprise, startled the young girl into another giggling fit. As a mighty yet satirical roar erupted from the toy Budong, Gilina squealed as a victim of further chomping. As she calmed down again, John mentioned, "No sweetie, Budongs don't have noses like we to." Not wanting to think on it, John changed the subject to more pressing issues. "Well pumpkin it's just you and me, and I need to know what you'd like to do today."
Sighing and cooing the girl allowed a few more giggles to escape before she stifled them. "Where is Aunt Chi?"
John thought for a moment of the family friend Chiana, and realized he missed her, "She lives on Omala,"
Looking up to her daddy's face, the little girl displayed a look of slight confusion. "What's a Molala?"
John laughed at her translation and correct, "No sweetie its O- Ma- la! It's like 'Vegas without the mob, or the high school prom without chaperones."
The girl wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled her face directly in front of his. The wise daughter searched her father's face, acting as if she had caught him in a lie. "What's an Omala?" she scolded as if he had answered incorrectly.
Laughing at his daughter's confusion, John defined, "Omala is a city where Chiana lives."
Acting as if to ponder, yet still goading her daddy, the girl asked, "Can we go see Aunt Chi?"
Marveling as he recognized Aeryn's persuasion John chuckled, "Sure pumpkin, lets go visit Aunt Chi. Go get ready and I'll pack a lunch."
The Farscape II was Crichton's second invention. It was a similar construction as the Farscape I, but made with metal usually reserved for Scarrans. It was sleek and black and could hold two adult passengers. Its power source was a hybrid fusion and biomechanical combination. Though not a living vessel, such as a Leviathan, it was almost as strong and durable as Aeryn's prowler.
The Farscape II was the prototype for Crichton's invention simply called "The Array". "The Array" was capable of isolating a particle's history, comparing the history with a programmed destination, and then simply expanding the field creating an artificial wormhole. Unlike the Pathfinder's natural variety, the wormhole created had a substantial and tangible wall, at the compromise of a flexible and manipulative type. For these reasons, it was not a true wormhole at all, but more of a vortex that existed between time and space.
A tiny subatomic generator powered the Array's construction. Crichton designed the small generator as non-lethal, knowing too well the dangers involved. Though roughly the size of a pulse pistol in a square block form, the array also could be attached to an external Com, allowing it the same subspace access to contact nearly any part of the universe.
After addressing the necessities, little Gilina and John Crichton boarded the Farscape II and rose into black expanse of space. Verifying the condition of his passenger, as he ran a system's check, the good captain looked back and asked, "You O.K. back there?"
Gilina gave the thumbs up as she embraced a diminutive effigy of a peacekeeper female "Let's rock-sand-bowl, Daddy" giggled the daughter as she closely hugged her doll named Moya.
"You're the boss," agreed Crichton as he activated the Array on his ship. A swirling bubble known simply as the Crichton-vortex formed in front of Farscape II, as John Crichton and Gilina took one small step toward the fortress.
Chapter 2 : Whoops, I Did it Again.
Smiling warmly as the Farscape II landed; the Caretaker once called Chiana stood steady by Dominar Rygel the sixteenth. Crichton climbed out coaxing his daughter to be careful as the few residents of Omala pondered the evening visitation that should call the attention of their spiritual leader.
Crichton carried Gilina as he walked across the sandy lot toward his old friends, as the setting sun glistened on the massive but dirt caked gunmetal dome. Crichton noticed Rygel as his slightly bulkier and older frame floated a meter off the ground. He then recognized the radiant and beautiful face of the robe clad Chiana; dwarfing the scars around her delicate, pale neck.
"Hey fuzzy," Crichton teased Rygel as he carried his daughter closer. Crichton and Chiana looked at each other with mutual admiration, he added, "Heyya Pip."
"Oh yotz," Rygel groaned casting a glance to Chiana, "this is the reason you made such a fuss. For the likes of him?"
"Chi", Gilina squealed as she lunged for her aunt.
Chiana caught the girl as Crichton half-passed, and half fought his daughter's compulsion to lunge. As scantily robed Chiana devoted her dearest attention toward Gilina, listening intently to her wild interpretation of vortex travel, Crichton grabbed Rygel and proceeded to roughly hug him in a headlock.
"Unhand me, you pathetic miscreant", Rygel demanded.
"I missed you too melon-boy" Crichton added as he embraced his eminence then gave him a "noogie".
Restoring Rygel to his levitating throne, Crichton noted Chiana's hand as it embraced his arm. The stabbing guilt cut deeply through him as he recalled how she lost her voice, in the hell that killed her. The guilt, kicking a sleeping dog, reminded him why she first joined the following of the Goddess, effectively creating distance between them and their relationship. As Crichton looked up, he watched Chiana point to Gilina then shrugged for interpretation. Crichton understood this explaining, "Aeryn took the boy to do a science project yesterday, while the giggle princess here demanded to see her Aunt Chi"
Chiana looked at the girl in her arms, searching her face for confirmation. Gilina scrunched her shoulders while putting her doll over her mouth, giggling and nodding in affirmation. Chiana held her niece closely enjoying the life force of the raven-haired girl as the girl that loved her hugged back. Tears of joy came to Chiana's eyes as she poetically found she was at a loss for words.
"I see you haven't got yourself killed lately," Rygel sneered at Crichton.
Thinking it was at least two cycles since he had seen the toad, Crichton could not help but recognize the insecurity Rygel held in his eyes. "Well I guess I don't seem to get out enough then," Crichton nodded to Rygel. "So where is Moya and Pilot these days."
"BAH!" scoffed Rygel, "Gone and forgotten. The last I thing I remember, they were heading for deep space with a group of Relgarians. Good riddance to them! This mute tralk has been my only companion since I arrived this morning, and I grow weary of her silent company. I now regret eluding my personal guards as they would have at least have offered some droning," Rygel snubbed casting his small hand in the direction of Chiana. Chiana lowering Gilina on her own feet turned toward Rygel and gave him a large, warm, and loving hug. Rygel screamed as if in pain, "Stop this! Stop this sickening display of affection! Stop this at once! Stop! Stop!"
As Chiana released her gentle hold on the regal dwarf, she cast her gaze back to Crichton and warmly smiled as she nodded. John then held her, as in memory, and they embraced as only old lovers could, as they shared a long moment.
Gilina approached Rygel and curtseyed very low, bowing her head almost to the ground. "Your imperial majesty" she said as solemnly as possible for such a small child.
A disgusted expression swarmed over his face, as he denied recognizing the existence of the girl that addressed him, "I dislike all of you!" Rygel reminded, casting a flippant wave of his hand to the girl before him, turning his head in repulsion, "But I dislike this one the most!"
The four-cycle-old girl giggled as she bounced up and playful attack the slightly shorter opponent with affection. "Stop! This!" demanded Rygel as he fought, gingerly to break the hold of the girl.
"Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh. John. John. John. John!" Crichton turned to see the twisted Banik dancing toward him, Stark continued, "Oh. Oh. Oh. Gilly. Gilly. Gilly."
As John and Chiana left their embrace, Chiana squeezed his arms in thanks, as her eyes betrayed her fragile heart. They turned to watch the maniac lightly gallop in approach.
The little mimic turned slightly, removing only one arm from around the tiny Dominar as she seen the approaching half-masked apparition. She turned back to Rygel and rolled her eyes displeasingly then waved her free arm as if to shoo Stark away. She arrogantly parroted to Rygel, "Does THAT belong to you?"
Rygel, turning his head to ignore Stark completely, grunted, "Of course you realize I have no idea what you are referring too. I would never claim such a beast."
Dismissing the Banik standing before her, Gilina countered with an equally snobbish, "The likes of this one abhors me, Auntie, please keep your pets caged!"
"What Have You DONE?" demanded Stark as he glared at Rygel.
"What have I done? Apparently this young thing is the only one capable of demonstrating good taste!" Rygel remarked, "It's not my fault that is otherwise boorish girl has taken this opportunity to exercise an immaculate perception."
Gilina giggled as only a young girl can, and Stark feigned insult as she hugged his leg. As the reunion stilled, Chiana motioned they all should follow, and led them down the path into Omala. Upon entrance, they witnessed the myriad of believers and tourists who had traveled to the mecca. They flocked and flourished within the dome in joyous revelry. Colors and music, dancing and praying, Omala was at peace as the sun slowly set.
Leading the others toward her small dirt hut, Chiana stopped, then firmly grasped the arm of Crichton. He looked at her, puzzled. Chiana tilted her head in a side direction. As Crichton followed the nod, he witnessed a Scarran standing in the shadows of the wall of the fortress. China and Crichton glanced to each other while Crichton instinctively pulled his slightly dancing daughter closer to him.
Understanding the scene, Rygel scorned into Crichton's ear, "Oh Yotz, I suppose they still have that king's ransom for your head? I mean after all, you simply can't 'accidentally' destroy a highly populated Scarran world and leave it at that, can you?"
The Scarran, recognizing Crichton, laughed as it addressed its Com, then grunted. As it turned to exit, the reptilian demon waltzed toward its transport, actively ignoring Crichton.
"There's probably nothing to worry about," assured Stark. This sent shivers up Crichton's spine.
Crichton picked up his daughter and handed her to Chiana, "Take her and leave, if there's any trouble, I don't want her here." As China stared firmly at Crichton, she saw the panic and concern in his eyes. "Please!" Chiana silently protested as Crichton commanded, "Get in my clunker and just get as far away from here as possible." Chiana pointed around to the rusting walls of Omala and then to herself. Crichton, not understanding, looked around to say, "Well, I'm afraid if I leave with her, they might shoot me down. If she stays, and they send a dren-squad here, then she is in danger. If I leave here alone, and they toast me, then the Scarrans would clean all you folks off the planet to save face. I'll wait here and see what happens, just get her gone!" China shook her head defiantly. Crichton firmly grabbed Chiana's arms an aggressively matched her eyes. "Please, Chiana! Please! Just trust me! I know we are having trouble communicating, but I have a gut feeling you have to get her out of here now!" Crichton shouted, as Chiana became more frustrated. "I know it's been a long time but you have to trust me!"
Reluctantly turning while carrying Gilina, Chiana tromped toward the Farscape II. Hovering quickly behind, desperately trying to catch and match pace with Chiana, Rygel insisted, "I'll escort you!"
The sun fell from the sky and bright torches compensated as a young but horribly scarred Caretaker climbed the meager dirt huts of the residents. As she reached the top, she sounded the large horn, alerting the patrons to depart. Slowly meandering, the cattle shuffled out of the immense cage as the Caretakers silently invited everyone to return.
After squeezing Gilina and Rygel into the rear seat of the Farscape II, Chiana, coached by Gilina, launched into space. Stark looked at Crichton, with ambivalence, and soothed, "I'm sure everything will be just fine." Crichton glared at Stark disparagingly as the city's gates, grinding in metallic protest, slammed with a crash. As the night sky became bright from the exodus, Stark mumbled, "...and so the gate was sealed, with our fate... ". Stark turned and walked across the sand floor of the massive dome, as the screaming dead pleaded to him for release.
Above the planet, Gilina adjusted the Com frequencies for Chiana's reconnaissance. Clearly across the Com came confirmation from two Scarran Dreadnoughts promising to sterilize the planet in less than seventeen arns, with more joining in as they heard the name "Crichton". Rygel gasped at this, then turned to see the arriving squadron of Scarran fighters firing on all that exited the planet.
Wanting to scream, but physically unable, Chiana pounded the controls as her niece remained unable to grasp the situation. As Chiana tapped Gilina and then pointed to the controls, Gilina adjusted them for a random heading. Chiana, with Gilina's help, engaged the Crichton-vortex and fled into the created gap.
Gilina was a little girl. Gilina was a very little girl. Gilina loved her parents, and they loved her. So many things were happening, and Gilina did not understand. All Gilina knew was her daddy was in trouble. She was scared for him. The only way Gilina knew how to get help was to ask for it. Gilina looked at the talking box attached to her daddy's machine. She had seen her parents talk before with the box. Gilina reached over and tapped the Com. She asked, "Can anyone hear me?"
After a long pause came the static of Aeryn. "Gilina, what are you doing? Where is your father?"
"Mommy! I'm scared for Daddy!" Gilina said very sadly.
"Gilina, where's John?" D'Argo aggressively interrupted.
"He's at Aunt Chi's place," Gilina pouted, as small tears threatened to burst from her eyes.
Rygel, rubbing away his migraine clarified, "Aeryn, that stupid half wit husband of yours has two Scarran Dreadnoughts about to obliterate him on Omala."
In both confusion and desperation Aeryn shouted, "WHAT?! Why did he go to Omala?! Does he have a Com?! Why would anyone fight at Omala??"
"If you want to even consider pulling his long-legged, smelly carcass out of this fire I suggest you gather a skilled army. Your brat, the tralk, and I are moving to a safer location until this passes. Consider Crichton dead in seventeen arns." Rygel informed.
Aeryn said, "Thank you Rygel. D'Argo, please get some help. I am surprisingly close to some myself. We will meet at Omala in fifteen arns."
D'Argo confirmed, "I'll get some help, and I'll see you in fifteen arns. We can do this."
The Com became a feed of static as Chiana touched it off; she wondered how she failed to communicate with John, replaying the event over in her mind. As Gilina soothed Moya, Chiana turned her mind to finding a way back to the fortress. Knowing now what to do, but unable to guide the unknown ship, Chiana worried desperately as the automatic pilot led them to an unknown destination.
Chapter 3 : Over the Mountain.
In the beginning there was perfection. The eternal night reigned supreme in its glorious darkness. Written in the book of fire, an insect stole light from God, and tainted God's creation. The thieves infected the universe with chaos, as swarms of these inferiors plagued the cosmos by reproducing. Spreading like a disease, and disrupting God's perfection, the amused God decided he must act.
To restore the order, to defeat the chaos, God spat from his fire the Scarran, the elite of all races. The commanded Scarran was to reproduce and subjugate all that was, restoring order and perfection to the universe. The purpose of the Scarran was simply to grind the animals under its heel, allowing perfection to reign again. The Scarran, as the perfect weapon, received the perfect skin, the perfect mind, the perfect body, and its fire gland, proving it was in the service of God.
Fearing boredom, to provide God with sport, it gave the lower races limited intelligence. God then unleashed the Scarran to do his bidding unto the universe. With perfect devotion, the Scarran has done just this.
Plodding through space aboard the Dreadnought flagship called Fate, the Scarran commander, known as General Kozz sat at the command. Thinking of this hatching lesson, Kozz drooled with anticipation. War torn and battle scarred, the mighty commander savored the easy victory over the Peacekeepers. He remembered how they extinguished the feeble Peacekeepers' vessels. He remembered how the holy chewed the tasteless Peacekeeper's bodies and spat them out. He remembered how they fell, their bodies too fragile, as the perfect Scarrans cleansed millions of their kind from existence.
Remembering the sport, Kozz thought on how the pathetic Sebaceans actually seemed to catch the superior Scarrans unaware. Laughing inwardly he marked the deaths of his race to the laugher of God, and prided himself of the retaliation for the insects' transgression.
Ignoring the thought of Crichton, he preoccupied his mind with the Luxans. He thought how they and the Ilanics simply expired before the blessed Scarran fleet. Chuckling in a hiss, the demon general recalled these foolish braggarts as the repeatedly threw themselves at the fleet without any strategy or planning. As he thought on this, he conceded this annoyance was merely self-destructive fear and such Scarran knowledge of tactics would be beyond their pathetic kind.
Stifling the stray voice that led to Crichton, General Kozz smirked at the Pathfinders, finding their "science" a convoluted fantasy that proved impotent. He remembered how they manipulated illusion to appear as if they traveled wormholes. In his mind, he recalled them merely becoming visible, before the illusion of a wormhole, as they fell quickly under the true race's cannons.
Knowing science, the Scarran leader resolved an event such as wormhole travel could not exist since the master race had not invented it. God certainly wouldn't impart such a thing onto the subordinates since it would compromise the speed of which the Scarrans were gaining, working contrary to God's plan. Thinking on wormholes, he then chose to consider Crichton.
Crichton was an anomaly, an ungodly creature damned to torment God's own Scarrans. Crichton was not unlike Sebaceans, yet he was an enemy to Peacekeepers. Not correctly perceiving him as a threat, allowing him far too deep into Scarran space, Crichton became a test from God for the sole purpose of loyalty.
Manipulated by some form of mind control, the governor of Tazur, a perfect Scarran world, claimed he believed the vile betrayer to be experimenting with some frivolous invention. This proved to be one of Crichton's many lies. As a Dreadnought approached to collect and interrogate this Crichton, the animal insisted he wanted no fighting. Without notice, as the Dreadnought did its godly duties, Crichton turned a device onto the unprepared planet then destroyed by an illusion of a wormhole as he escaped.
Slamming his perfect fist on his command chair's arm, the tactician seethed with righteous indignation. It was not revenge; the plague was unworthy of such a concept. It was not hatred; the bug was beneath such an emotion. It was a reckoning, making things right with God. It was a test, a test Kozz must pass to gain God's grace for all Scarrans again. Since the failing of this test, Scarrans have taken many losses to the insects. The soft skinned abominations have capitalized on God's frowning upon the Scarran race.
The prince of lies, the anti-god Crichton, was a deadly test, and could never be trusted. The inept governor of Tazur taught a valuable lesson to all Scarrans. The unholy hypocrite Crichton had a broken mind, saying one thing then doing another. Scarrans, from that day forward, will never believe the words of the anti-god.
Commanding the flagship of the fleet to march faster, the righteous general called out to navigation. "Ten more long arns", he thought as he shifted nervously in his seat. General Kozz knew the fleet, under penalty of heresy, would wait for his command to sterilize the planet. General Kozz trusted the Dreadnoughts, already reported to be in place, to stay their fiery cannons. General Kozz was a tactician, and vowed by the death of his brood on Tazur, that God would smile on the Scarrans again in ten long arns.
Chapter 4 : One (is the Loneliest Number).
It tasted good. The burning, the wanting, the cravings, all summed up in one inhale of ecstasy. How many cycles was it? How many cycles had it been since she allowed herself a cigarette? As she exhaled, she played with the smoke. Her tongue danced between her timeless, supple lips. Why she denied herself the pleasure was lost to her. The carcinogens did not affect her biology, and her physiology only amplified the endorphins produced. She welcomed the dancing, beautiful smoke as a lost lover into her body.
Nowhere, in all her travels, had she found this "To-Bak-Oe". It was, from her experience, a unique pleasure. She thought for a moment, as she lit another, there must be nothing else like it in her life. It was singular pleasure. It was a yearning and addiction, broken only by the unavailability of the plant god. It was so humbling to succumb to a plant. A bittersweet smile erupted across her face, as she thought of Zhaan, and then paused as she had a small revelation. It was a tiny, obvious fact. The realization was that only Earth birthed such a plant.
The plant was incredible. Incredible like the man she knew. Addictive like the man she knew. Pleasurable like the man she knew. However, unlike her man, she could and would live without this "To-Bak-Oe", as she knew she would abandon the enticing recreation. The plant was a part of her, but a fruitless distraction that consumed her time, her man's time, and their life.
She would not abandon him, she could not abandon him, but then he could already be dead. The sickness coursed through her body, as she felt utterly worthless. Her tormented mind wandering as she rolled the cigarette, making round ash symmetry against the side of the ashtray. She thought of how long she had lived as her beauty spited her age. Each cycle like stone. Cycle after cycle, stone after stone, weighing down her basket heart. She thought of her man and their time together. She thought how he made the basket stronger, the stones lighter, giving her the strength to carry on. She thought of his heart, his mind, his strength, and their children. Suddenly feeling as if she had murdered him, she drank the "teekey-laa" hard.
She welcomed its burn, its acidic taste; its brutality. As the physical pain brought tears to her eyes, her throat began protesting the abuse. Stopping abruptly, she realized she was enjoying herself. In her swimming mind flashed the thought of her, sitting at a bar, for days on end, drinking to the pain, drinking away the pain. She pictured the self-abuse, the self-hatred, and the impotence that awaited her. If life is pain, and if pain were growth, she should cease to grow. She would surrender. She would die. Anger flashed in her betrayed mind, as she refused to give up.
Hardening her resolve, she drunkenly slammed the nearly empty bottle down on the bar, hating herself for her weak thinking. Wiping her teary eyes with her wrist, she noticed the small amount of the gold liquid left, as the pale green worm gently settled to the bottom. She laughed to herself, the irony all too clear. She had endured so much pain, yet the best of it was to remain abandoned, untouched in the bottle. Defiantly, she passionately consumed the rest, catching the worm with her tongue as she toyed with it. Swallowing the conduit around the prize, she gently sucked the small morsel. Savoring it entirely, both the pleasure and the displeasure, she engulfed its potent euphoria. As she finally chewed the treat, mincing it to bits, she gently set the conquered bottle in front of her, as she relished the trophy of her pain. For the first and last time, she vowed never to smoke again, as she took her final drag off her cigarette, sucking the fire down to the filter.
She exhaled as she added her last tenant to the cigarette graveyard, and then focused as she stood with forced balance. As the sickness increased in her head, she realized no amount of drink would be able to soothe it. She knew time was short, and she had a mission to complete.
Aeryn had already failed her primary mission objective, the purpose for her coming to Earth. Her mission was to enlist the help of the retired masterful tactician General Carl Aimes, a close friend of Jack Crichton. General Aimes, although human, had the only tactics recognized as effective against the Scarrans. Though having no inter planetary defenses on earth, General Aimes still understood the combat and taught the residents of the Uncharted Territories how to fight, and defeat the Scarran invasion. General Aimes had proven a mere prowler could defeat a Scarran Dreadnought if piloted properly.
General Aimes' tactics alone were the turning point for the war, since he was able to educate all in breaking the momentum of the Scarran fleet. This man, the only hope capable of providing a victory under such overwhelming odds, was dead. Feeling damned, Aeryn could find no other chance for her lover and best friend, John.
After verifying his woefully meager grave, Aeryn hitched a ride with a small band of bikers, to expedite her return to Xhalax. In desperation and doubt, an arn ago Aeryn decided to have only one drink as she vainly dug through her mind to excavate an effective solution.
The gritty biker known as Dog, noticed Aeryn turning to leave, asking "Hey baby, where you off to? We just got here." He sat attentively, waiting for a reply.
Aeryn knew she had to go, finishing her trek to the mark on her map of "Nee-vaa-daa". Knowing there could be no way for her new acquaintance and chauffeur to understand, she still tried to thank him and say good-bye. "eYdzzG, nE uzY Knzht," she expressed in her untranslated tongue.
Not understanding her words, but rather getting the impression of her facial expression, Dog's understanding left a solid feeling in his chest, as he fought his loneliness. "Yeah honey, I'll catch ya later on then. Via con dios, baby."
Propping herself off Truck's tanned chest, the blonde-flavored Kim cast a sideways glance at Aeryn as she staggered to the bar's exit. Knowing Aeryn would hear, Kim broadcast, "What's with her? She thinks she's too good for you, Dog?"
Truck, noticing Dog wince, corrected, "Hey... Don't be a bitch baby, she's from outta state." As Kim looked back to her man, searching his eyes for intent, he added, "Besides, no one really matters as long we got each other, right?"
As Kim resumed fawning over Truck, Dog ordered another bottle. Aeryn paused at the bar door. She thought for a microt of those words and their truth, fearing for a second time a futile life without John. Aeryn took a deep breath and stepped out into the hot Nevada sun, permitting a tear to run from her eye.
Chapter 5 : Jailbreak.
It was unmercifully hot, and fiery explosion rippled across the compound, shaking the ground under the feet of the confused peacekeepers. Prowlers and bodies alike melted under the blast of the pulse cannons as the low flying reaper collected more souls. The young peacekeepers, feebly trying to fight the onslaught of the attacking ship, fell in numbers. Indifferent to the target, the Angel of Death incinerated both them and their base's protection.
Their defenses drained of energy or destroyed, the base lay in charred ruin as the mysterious craft landed. Armed recruits fired on the war chariot, as a Luxan erupted from the lowering gangplank, swinging his mighty Qualta blade. In a thunderous primal scream, the Luxan charged the remaining external defense; deflecting pulse blasts with his blade, as he dodged the pelting rain of fire.
After gaining ground, he tore them to pieces as the cadets fought, begged, or ineffectively fled. He felt alive. The Luxan, lost in the forgotten joy of his madness, moved as lightning through the cloud of resistance. He impaled the heart of the last soldier, her own blood drowning her scream, as the Luxan hurled a recently liberated grenade at the detainment center's entrance.
Closing the distance as it exploded, the battle mad savage swallowed the flood of counteraction, dancing the to the Luxan beat of war. Welcoming the close quarters of the walls he poured through the hallways as a cloud of extinction, consuming any that opposed him. Cutting, chopping, tearing, and blasting, the slaughter continued for close to an arn.
Alive, aroused, and wounded, the Luxan dispatched the last of the peacekeepers, and opened the cell door with the key-card he acquired from the still quivering corpse at his feet.
Inside the cell, the prisoner watched as the door slowly opened. The convict beheld what bodies he could see, and the blood drenched Luxan savoring the moment. Breathing heavy, the Luxan lowered his blade and choking down his fight-induced euphoria struggled to catch his labored breath.
The prisoner, reputed to have charmed the pride from a Scarran, walked calmly toward the Luxan. The grifter joked, "I thought you would have been fatter by now. It looks like the farm has been good to you."
The hardy Luxan barked, "Get out here, NOW!"
The rascal, stepping from his low security cell, looked at the bio graffiti plastered against the walls. As far as his good eye could see, the haplessly splintered bodies of peacekeepers cluttered the corridors.
His face dropped, as he understood the rules of his release. "I was scheduled for extermination tomorrow. I do not know why you freed me, but my life is yours to take. Do with it what you will", pledged the former inmate known as Jothee.
The snarling Luxan spat blood, locking eyes with the nervous Jothee. There was a tense moment of silence enveloping the two. "Do not tempt me," growled the barbarian Ka D'Argo. "Free everyone who can fight, bring them to me. I will explain everything on my Angel. We leave in a quarter arn!" he growled, then turned and marched toward the exit.
Chapter 6 : Highway to Hell
Time was not absolute in the leagues of space. A very long time ago, to establish continuity for the myriad of races in the galaxy, most agreed to have a single point of reference as a standard chronological template. Unfortunately, some home worlds were ice, some water, some jungle, some dirt, and there was no single type of planet agreed to be more prevalent than the rest. Since some planets rotated once every cycle and some rotated once every few arns, there was no agreeable point to use as a measure.
At that time, Omala was the only true neutral planet, not succumbing to war or politics. Since Omala became a trading despot, neutral grounds, and an agreeable point of commonality, all agreed that Omala's time would set their standard. From sunrise to sunrise the span was marked and recorded, giving time an absolute unit. Due to its precise rotation, this absolute unit was exactly twenty-four arns, becoming a measure of one solar day.
Unfortunately due to Omala's obscure revolutions, the night lasted only seven arns. Crichton and Stark respected the wishes of the silent Caretakers who, not usually accommodating visitors, insisted they stay sealed in Chiana's quarters through the short night.
Crichton heard odd sounds throughout the night, scraping, thumping, and at some points, he thought music. Respecting the Caretakers wishes, as sacred as a good tourist would, Crichton ignored this as he sat, paced, and dwelled thinking of a viable solution.
Crichton had been out of his element before, Crichton had been out of his league before, but in every previous instance, Crichton had resources to pool. Taking a survey of the fort, Crichton counted thirty Caretakers, thirty-one dirt huts lining the far wall of the dome. There were fourteen external torches, a small water cistern, four latrines, a makeshift food cellar, and all enclosed under a 400-metra-diameter dome. Each hut, if they were equal to this one, contained a straw mat, three-square walls and one that followed the dome, a door, and a small hole in the roof above the single torch.
The Banik, wrestling continually as he dreamt of the dead, offered Crichton no advice. Crichton starting his day ten arns ago was fully awake as his mind calculated escape, he laughed in his thoughts as he seen the Labradorean Stark chasing rabbits.
Crichton sat crumbling dirt clods and thought of defending himself from the Scarrans. He imagined their short ranged fighters, more or less an all terrain vehicle, attacking the city. As Caretakers vaporized under the heavy Scarran fusion cannons, Crichton imagined hurling dirt clods at the aggressors. He then chuckled, crumpling another clod, as he thought of them getting dirt in their eyes and running home to their Scarran moms to tattle.
Distracted by the torch, Crichton extinguished it in the dirt, wanting something to break the monotony. In the darkness, he noticed the deep purple hue of sunrise in the vent hole of the ceiling. Hearing the shuffling of over a dozen pair of hurried feet, Crichton forced open the poorly barricaded door to see the Caretakers scurrying about, preparing for a new day.
Observing the comical ballet, Crichton thought of Earth and watching the workers behind the counter of a fast food restaurant during rush hour. They narrowly avoided each other as they scurried, each with their assigned task, bustling in preparation of something. Though watching from a great distance away, he noted they effectively did their tasks, within a short amount of time.
Some swept the sandy floor of the dome with their hands, some collected torches, and some gathered refuse, while others collected tent stakes, tarps, and other forgotten items from yesterday's celebration.
Then, with all in preparation, they gathered. The ones not present immediately on the grounds ran from their huts, some dressing as they did. Curiously watching, Crichton's mind flashed briefly to the "Changing of the Guards" ceremony if it were held at Woodstock. Crichton watched as they, far across the floor of the dome, formed a circle, and then separated in two groups of fifteen. Each group collected at a side of the entrance as they lined up perpendicular to the gate, being parallel to the sunrise.
As they all knelt, semantically they prayed. A flowing of movement and silent chorus as they all matched, making perfect silent music. As suddenly and quickly as it began, they stopped all bending to lower their foreheads to the sand. Unwavering in their position, they stayed for microts. Microts increased into the hundreds and the sky became brighter. Silently, they began one by one, to glance up and look over to each other. As enough eyes met, they began sitting up, silently pondering in confusion and shrugs.
At once, all heads turned toward Chiana's hut, and all eyes met with Crichton in the doorway. After 30 microts, the uneasy Crichton added, "Morning, you guys serving a continental breakfast?"
Kneeling in confusion, they began consoling each other in the understanding of Chiana's absence. Once resolved, a Caretaker farthest from the gate, yet closest to Chiana's hut rose, turned and faced the gate. Assuming she was a second in charge, or a senior vice president in ceremonies, Crichton watched as she knelt facing the gate. All the Caretakers resumed their postulant stance as the woman, the same Caretaker who blew the horn to signal yesterday's end, approached the gates.
Crichton realized then what was transpiring and bolted out of the hut's doorway as he raced to beat the zealot to the gate. Sprinting across the large diameter, Crichton cursed at its true size, deciding to complain about trying out for the cosmic track team another time.
The Caretaker approached the gate, motioning her last silent prayer, as she removed the bolt with a dull thud and began to open both sides; Crichton lunged, slamming the gates with his weight. Half-crushing and half tackling the Caretaker. Crichton resealed the gate, gasping and heaving for air.
Collecting herself from the pile she lay in, the Caretaker rose, dusted herself off and returned to the task of opening the gate.
"NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!" Crichton insisted, as she gently tried to push him away from the opening. As the Caretakers rocked upright, watching in shock, Crichton panted, "Look! For all we know the Scarrans are right outside the gates just waiting to have you folks for breakfast. I respect your rituals here, but these gates will stay closed for now."
The Caretaker, raising her scarred hands in confusion to the other zealots, received a silent ovation of nods.
Nodding in return, Crichton sighed, "Thank you!" Crichton relaxed as he noticed the new leader turn to face him and added, "I appreciate that there are no hard feelings-"
Before he could finish, the Caretaker firmly grabbed Crichton by the arm and effortlessly hurled him 5 meters. Landing hard and skidding in the sand Crichton rolled over spitting the soil that covered him. He looked up to see a complete repeat of the prayer. Skinned and bruised Crichton vaulted himself back to the direction of the gate.
Again, hurling his body against the gate, and latching it, the now prepared Caretaker spun fluidly out of the way. After checking with her group, and again receiving an ovation of nods, she turned back to Crichton only to stare down the barrel of Wynnona.
"Take a step back, and no one will get hurt," warned Crichton as his now scraped and bleeding hand prepared to pull the trigger. "And if you think I wont kill one priestess to save twenty-nine, you are wrong. Dead wrong."
Understanding more than Crichton, the Caretaker turned to the others as they all rose to console each other in silent panic. Noticing the sun, a quarter arn from rising, some wept silently and Crichton questioned the mourning.
"What is up here Stark, am I missing something?" Crichton asked the approaching Banik.
"John you have to open the gates." Stark assured.
"et tu, bright-eye? Are you saying you want me to feed these people to the Scarrans, just so they can repeat a habit?" Crichton rhetorized.
"It's not that simple, John." Stark began.
"No, it is that simple! I have spent too many cycles being responsible for the deaths of hundreds of people. 'Hey there's Crichton who's gonna die today?', 'Look out for that one, he destroyed a planet because he rushed his math!', 'Whoops, here's the nun-killer on Omala just begging for another fix.'
"Well to tell you the truth Stark, I have trouble sleeping at night! If I can keep Chiana's family here alive for one day longer, it's another day they can live and breathe. If they want to come can go, and then they can crawl through the sides of the dome here. This gate may be rickety, and this whole place might be on it's last legs, but it's the only defense we have right now, so I'm going to do what I can to keep us alive."
Stark blinked then stated, "Are you finished?"
Crichton continued, "No. Kung fu here kicked my ass, and I'm bleeding all over the place."
Stark dryly added, "This is the House of the Goddess. To take a life here is a damnable offence. John, you don't understand the Caretakers intentions."
Crichton slid down the gate to a sitting position and crossed his legs. Keeping a trained eye on the silently babbling Caretakers, Crichton told Stark, "So tell me then, what's up?"
Stark knew the dead. Stark spoke with the dead and they with him. The Caretakers, each one destined with a horrible death yet lived, became as the dead. The Caretakers knew, as Stark did, the secrets of the dead, the secrets of the living, and the secrets between the two. The Caretakers, all mute or muted, communicated only in their private way, a language all their own. Most carrying translator microbes, The Caretakers could understand the words spoken to them. Unfortunately, bound to do so, they could respond only in their unknown language. Stark did not know their private tongue. Stark did not know how they communicated at all. However, Stark knew the dead, Stark spoke with the dead and they with him.
Stark approached the Caretaker who now led the zealots. Bowing and briefly motioning she nodded as they approached Crichton. Each one sat, forming a small council, while Crichton sheathed Wynnona. Stark looked at the Caretaker, and nodded. She began a series of nonsensical motions and gyrations, unlike any signing Crichton had seen before. He could only grasp this as a "River Dance" for the hands.
As she finished, Stark translated, "The gates have never remained sealed to the sun in hundreds of thousands of cycles. There have been much greater threats and much more strife than this in the past. The Caretakers have devoted their lives to keep the traditions of this place going, and if the Goddess believes it is their time to die, then they will gladly accept their fate. Many Caretakers died before and many will again. This is simply part of their calling."
The Caretaker nodded at Crichton, with hope in her eyes, confirming Stark's translation. The other Caretakers, now gathered listening, silently sat behind their leader as the negotiations continued.
Crichton regarded the Caretaker then looked to Stark; "Does she have a name?"
Stark, after a brief observation of the Caretaker, replied to Crichton, "Yes, her name is BoWeen."
Crichton turned to BoWeen and said, "OK, You and your people are ready to die then?"
After a series of signs, Stark for BoWeen, replied, "If that is what the Goddess intends then, yes."
Crichton never breaking eye contact with BoWeen, spoke directly to her as he learned it is rude to regard the interpreter rather than the speaker. Crichton reasoned, "And you feel comfortable, if your decision killed Stark and myself, so you can rush off to be with your Goddess?"
After another series of motions, She was saying, "The Goddess does not wish for death, but for life. But, if that is what the Goddess intends, then it was always meant to be."
Crichton noticed BoWeen, regarding her scars. If each scar had its own story, then this woman was a walking library. "What if the Goddess wanted the gates closed today?"
She noticed his sympathy as she mutually realized that not all scars are on the outside. She signed saying, "Impossible, the tradition is for the gates to always be opened at the start of the day."
Crichton nodded, "Well, OK. Chiana's gone, is that tradition?"
Confused, BoWeen began more motions, "The Head Mistress not being present has never happened. I assumed her portion to follow tradition. We have to follow the traditions regardless."
Crichton rubbed his now coagulated forehead and continued, "OK, so you improvised, proving you can break habits. That's good! OK! So the tradition started somewhere?"
She replied, "Yes, long ago."
Crichton asked, "By whom?"
She replied, "I don't know."
Crichton commented, "But you do it anyway."
She replied, "Yes."
Crichton probed, "Why?"
Pausing She stammered, "The Goddess wishes it."
Crichton asked, "And she told you?"
BoWeen replied, "No, its tradition."
Crichton asked, "So why not humor the new guy and lets create a new tradition. As long as John Crichton is here, lets leave the gates closed."
She paused and then turned to her brothers and sisters. They in turn fumbled and she continued, "That is not the tradition."
Crichton nodded, "So you continue your rituals, with no idea why. You do the same thing every day for no other reason than you did it the day before. I hate to break it to you, but that's not tradition. That is traditionalism. At least with tradition you know why you're doing it, and it serves a purpose. It seems all your doing is going through the motions."
She paused for a moment, and then looked at Stark in confusion. After looking back at the Caretakers, they all pondered the concept.
Crichton seized the opportunity, asking, "The Goddess is wise in all things, right? Would she rather see devoted followers needlessly killed in traditionalism, or alive, doing her thing, in tradition."
She reflexively replied, "The Goddess would prefer her chosen are alive to do her good work at Omala."
Crichton sighed, " OK, you have proven you can improvise traditions without getting hit by lightning, or whatever, right? So then the new tradition of, 'Let's humor John Crichton' starts today. If you folks die, you'll still go to heaven...or wherever. If you folks live, then you have another day to do your Goddess' work."
The Caretakers marveled to each other and then to BoWeen. She asked, "So what do we do if we do not have visitors?"
Crichton granted, "Take the day off, play hooky, call in sick. You people probably need a vacation. Just please keep this gate shut and try to stay down off the walls."
As they all happily agreed, Crichton rose to his feet, feeling the dull sting of the scrapes and cuts, he limped off to survey his damage, thankful his little girl was safe.
Chapter 7 : Bitch
Exiting in some unknown part of space, Chiana saw the debris floating, interrupted by the occasional effigy wearing Peacekeeper colors. Recognizing a recent battle, Chiana fought desperately to navigate the Farscape II. Gilina, now too excited over the recent vortex escapade, proved too jittery to contain as Chiana vainly communicated.
As a dark premonition flittered in her mind, Chiana realized they would be safer somewhere else. She silently prayed for a speedy return to Omala, to do what no other Caretaker knew. Regaining her silent composure, she tried further to communicate with Gilina. Chiana finally persuaded the young girl to pull up the navigational HUD, as it quickly tried to identify their current location.
Over the cycles, Chiana had learned patience. While younger, Chiana often prayed for patience. So much of the darkness, pain, and torment Chiana had endured, proved actually beneficial in retrospect. Cycles ago, already in the service of the Goddess, Chiana had become stronger mentally, physically, and spiritually. She still struggled with the life, every solar day trying to be Chiana, and every solar day not understanding exactly what that was.
On that mountainous, rocky world, cycles ago, where the retreat was meant for a spiritual revival, the Scarrans attacked taking no prisoners. Like a sickle, cutting down grain, the harvesters came and reaped the fields. Having no mercy, conscience, or purpose, they butchered the Goddess' own that day, violently sending them on with no explanation.
China, having a preceding vision of the event, explored it wondering, "If it truly is the future, then I can change it in my favor, or if it is destined to be, then it is impossible to change." Chiana sought not just avoidance of the retreat, but wanted to increase her distance from the planet. She hitched a ride with a merchant's vessel, and ironically, while making a routine trade stop, landed on the very same planet microts before the Scarrans attacked.
The Scarrans easily and savagely butcher all on the planet, and all that fled, either by land or space, where exterminated. While trying desperately to collect her friends to flee on the merchant's vessel, the Scarrans destroyed the ship, and then began hunting their prey. As if it were a game, they stalked and killed them one by one.
Collecting the closest of her friends, Chiana hid in the cavernous mountains, praying to wait out the assault. High in the mountains, deep within a cave, they cowered in hiding, waiting for the Scarrans to become bored and move on. They had not anticipated the hunting parties' keen sense of smell.
Trapped, penned in the cave, they were all leisurely murdered. Chiana, being the last, had her throat cut superficially by the Scarran too eager to find a proper hunt. Snapping Chiana's neck as he left, she remained there, a corpse thrown on the pile that was haphazardly stacked.
Was it arns? How many solar days had she laid there while the insects ate at her body? Chiana could not remember as she laid their paralyzed, her life's blood slowly ebbing, from her throat, then eventually clotting. However, Chiana did lay there, intermingled with the rotting bodies of her loved ones, paralyzed and in the dark, well hidden from the constantly returning search parties that doubled as burial detail.
Chiana prayed every microt of every solar day. She prayed and pleaded for the Goddess to grant her mercy. She begged for release, but none came as she lived on. Every prayer from the book of the Goddess made no difference to her position or predicament. She lay on her back, her body twisted in some unnatural jig, as her friends, whom she loved the most, laid dead beneath her. She tried making deals with the Goddess. She tried cursing the Goddess, damning the Goddess, every thing she could think of to free her in death. Unfortunately, death was too busy on a distant Scarran world at the time, having no intentions for the likes of her.
It was quite by accident; seven solar days after the slaughter, two young lovers avoiding burial detail were looking for a secluded area to recreate. As they happened upon the stench filled cave, they quickly called in others do decide what to do. Since the pile of corpses appeared well advanced in decomposition, all agreed to seal the cave, and mark the entrance as the headstone.
Unable to communicate, and tipping on the precipice of death, Chiana ran out of time. Dehydrated, malnourished, infected, infested, and dying, Chiana simply gave up. Praying to the Goddess for her family, the ones she once lived with and forever loved, she prayed they would good lives. She prayed for Aeryn, Jool, D'Argo, Moya, Pilot, Stark, Rygel, and John, individually, that they might have wonderfully long and rich existence. She prayed to the Goddess that her sacrifice of leaving Crichton, was not in vain, but it would free John, so that he and Aeryn might live in the true love they shared.
As the burial detail set the charges, two Velgian moths, the symbol of Chiana's sect, flew into the cave. Fearing sacrilege, all rushed in secure the moths before the cave was sealed. As they entered the cave, they found the moths; one perched on each of Chiana's too pale shoulders, as her eyes blinked in and out of consciousness. Unaware that Chiana's natural pheromones drew in the moths, all recognized this to be a sign from the Goddess.
Saved, healed, and pampered, Chiana lived. In her healing, her emotions tormented her. Once the definition of her life and self, her feelings evolved into the object of her self-destruction, a living nightmare at the hands of guilt, hate, and self-pity. Every mirror rekindling the memory as she looked at her forever-gashed throat, and her now forever flawed, pitted legs.
Alone, in her darkest hour, she resigned that she was simply on borrowed time, and the cosmos owed her nothing. She realized that it was a long road to walk, but it was her journey alone, one that she would never have the opportunity to travel again. Her beauty stolen, her youth was fading, and she reasoned that speeding the inevitable would gain her nothing. This idea granted her a certain peace, opening her eyes as she began understanding more. She now conceded that the new Chiana was better off than the lost child was, that was trying to grow and feign adulthood.
She received, due to her "blessing" by the moths, access to archaic, forbidden texts. Though treated like the queen she always wanted to be, she still found her life somehow fruitless. Upon reading about Omala, she became intrigued, collecting and consuming all information on the relic. Chiana, wanting to fulfill a purpose, yet unable to find any form of lifestyle interesting, decided to serve her place at Omala.
Readily chosen due to her grizzly mishap and torturous experience, she was given the position of "Head Mistress in The Service of the Goddess", on Omala. Working diligently there for ten cycles, knowing every bit if the known history and every step on the planet. She was content, and her wish granted, as she recognized she had learned patience.
Attempting repeatedly to communicate with Gilina, Chiana focused her full attention on the girl. Gilina was a little girl, a very little girl. She loved her parents very much, but there was so much that Gilina had yet to understand.
Sitting in silence and feeling neglected, Rygel invaded, "Well don't look at me I didn't design the frelling thing." Peering out the view port, a distant, shining comet caught Rygel's attention. Glancing over Chiana's seat at the display, Rygel noticed the flashing dot, and then turned his attention back to the growing, glowing anomaly. As his mind made the connection, he glanced back and forth confirming his unease.
"Chiana, what is that?" Rygel asked pointing to the HUD and then to the growing light.
Agreeing with the assessment, Chiana futilely fought the controls. Trying patiently to communicate with Gilina, the small girl became confused, not understanding Chiana's chaotic movements. Chiana, fighting frustration, forced a smiled toward Gilina as the Peacekeeper's Command Carrier captured the Farscape II.
