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Rating: G
Summary: John Crichton attempts to introduce Christmas to his friends on Moya, particularly Aeryn. But upon returning from a commerce planet with a gift, a freak accident sends him far across the universe with no way to return, unless miracles really can happen.
Spoilers: Throughout the third season pertaining to the two Crichtons, in the aftermath of the episode Fractures.
Disclaimers: Farscape is the property of Henson Company, Hallmark Entertainment and the Sci-Fi Channel. Story concept is the property of Christopher L. Stine. All characters used here are for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended and no monetary compensation has been received.
Note: Thanks to Maayan for the French translation. Thanks also to Mreen for her beta work.
“Ray-ay-nuh… rain. Rain.”
“Good. Now, try this one.”
“Suh-nuh-oh… snow. Snow?”
“Yep. Snow.”
She smiled only slightly. “I like snow- rain, too.”
“Here, try this one.” He pointed to the longer phrase at the bottom of the page.
“Meh-ruh-ee... Kuh-ris-tah-mass… Meh-ree Kur-ist-mass?”
“Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas.” She stared at the words, expressionless. “Is that the holiday the humans celebrate during their winter solstice?”
John smiled at her and nodded. She remembered him telling her. Images of fallen snow, sleigh rides, colored lights and the family gathering around the tree to open gifts flooded his memory. Christmas still remained so vivid in his mind. He could still picture milk and cookies for Santa, evening mass at the church and staying up late waiting for dad to get back from duty assignment.
“That’s the one. We drank eggnog with too much rum, sang carols and watched ‘A Charlie Brown Christmas.’ Although I liked the one about the Grinch better.”
She did not respond. He made no sense, as usual.
Aeryn gazed at the page filled with the English lesson for a long time. Her mind drifted a lot these days, in and out of the current lesson, and then to something else. A jumbled scribble of words and phrases as incoherent as a leviathan pilot’s native tongue became something familiar, even magical. John had seen fit to begin teaching her. One more step he wanted to take to prepare her for earth, she supposed. No translator microbes there darlin’, you have to learn it the hard way.
She went along with his tutoring, first out of curiosity, then later because she desired it. She had run out of reasons to refuse him- like she even wanted to. It felt so right, so perfect, being beside him and learning his language; yet another opportunity for them to explore their intimacy.
Her heart ached thinking of him. His touch alone gave the feeling to her a whole new definition. He was passionate, intense and creative with her. Her body tingled from his scent, each time he pulled her towards him and locked her in his embrace. She could still taste the softness of his lips as he kissed her, holding her in his strong arms, telling her he would never let her go, kissing her more, his mouth whispering to her promises she had never known.
Intimacy? She smiled wistfully. As if it needed motivation.
And so he filled her whole world, for almost three cycles; the strange, lost, beautiful human. She told him many times about the structured life of a Peacekeeper, and how she had liked it. It had rules. How could someone live without rules? But he showed up and destroyed it all in a microt. Gone, like a Prowler on full hetch, and thrown into a life on the run that was even more dangerous than a Peacekeeper court martial.
Fugitives had no rules, unlike the Peacekeepers. The Uncharted Territories did not make guarantees. No quarter was given or asked. If you died, that was it. You were a nameless statistic. Better to live without hope, she used to say; that way there were no expectations, no broken promises.
You are like a plague, John Crichton, and you have ruined my life…
So he took it upon himself to teach her about compassion, and hope, and love. And why not, he had a wellspring of it. He made life on the run bearable. She would never admit it openly because she was as stubborn as he was, but he rescued her. It was the two of them, standing with D’Argo, Zhaan, Pilot, Chiana, Stark, Jool and even Rygel against an insane universe in Technicolor (his words, not hers) complete with their pistols blazing and him shouting his ridiculous, nonsensical expressions.
But I just keep coming back…
She would not have traded it for anything.
John Crichton: Human. Astronaut. Arrogant. Stubborn. My savior. The only love of my life.
With him, there was no wrong. With him, there was hope. Was.
And now you’re gone.
They buried him in the cold vacuum of space. Somewhere his perfect body floated in nothingness, irradiated beyond repair, the end result of a final sacrifice to ultimately save the universe. So it was with that he went, playing the hero, dying as he had lived, charging in to save the day- goodbye.
But the hero never expects to die. Isn’t that what you said on Valldon?
She shuddered. Recent memories prodded at her, hanging just beyond the fringe of her senses. On Valldon, his image floated in the pools of her eyes. He laid beside her in a decaying room on a dead planet somewhere. His whispers were a soothing balm to the wounds that had opened in her from his death. But he was only a dream. His voice called out to her, and she tried to ignore it. A tormented mind playing tricks with her, and nothing more. After all, it could no longer be him, as she told herself.
Can’t you leave me alone? You died, wasn’t that enough?
She had never been alone, not with the Peacekeepers, or with the others on Moya. But now, she was completely alone. Even if a room were filled with people, they would be no more than ghosts passing through her. It ate at her like a cancer, agitated further by the unwanted sympathies of the others.
Why do you mock me so?
“What?”
She heard his voice, but did not answer. She was no longer on Talyn, but Moya. He was on Moya with her. Her own mother stabbing her in the back would have hurt less. Living or dead, he still haunted her. He was gone, and so was the better half of her life, buried with him. Nothing left but a lingering pain that she tried to hide. She only needed to bury it deep in the back of her mind and force herself to carry on, as before. It was learned behavior, from every assignment, every mission. After all, it was what she was bred to be: tough unfeeling Peacekeeper.
Ha.
Not likely.
Pain is constant, like chaos.
But I just keep coming back…
Aeryn blinked, and came out of her daze. Looking up, he stared back at her, the other one. John but not John. Not for the past half-cycle, anyway. He was a copy. In her mind he could never be the original. The difference was immaterial. Her John was dead.
She sighed, and slowly closed the hand bound journal, the new one the other had made. Thankfully, he never inquired of the old ones whereabouts. Left behind, and interred with the body of the other - her John.
“I’m sure it would have been nice to have experienced Christmas.”
He swallowed hard, better to say anything, if only to brighten the moment. “You know, I’ve been thinking of talking about it to the others. We won’t reach Scorpius’s command carrier for some time yet. We could have a last brouhaha together before we leave. It would be nice to have one Christmas so we could all have known it together just once.”
She pictured him cradling her in his arms, his fingers tracing the contours of her cheek, soft lips touching hers, reeling in her senses. But he was gone.
She began to get up. “I have to go now.”
“Uh, do you want to take a break? We could grab a bite and work on sentences later if-”
“No, I’m tired. I’d like to rest. Maybe later.”
She walked silently out the door and off the terrace. His heart had already sunk before she left. Her coldness was torture. It did not take a healer to see she was inconsolable, and might always be. He waited half a cycle to see her again, after they fled on Talyn. All he had in that time was the hope of seeing her again. On Talyn, the other one had won her, his shadow, the copied John.
No, not him, she thought he was the copy now. It was him that she had finally dropped her defenses for and opened her heart to, the man who loved her, but it was not him- not in theory, anyway.
And that lucky man was dead.
If the ancients were still watching him- or even cared at this point, he would ask for their help. Even divine intervention would be welcomed. Could time be changed? If only he could go back, he would never have landed on the leviathan Rohvu. He never would have met Kaarvok. He never would have been twinned. He bit down lightly on his thumb, another bad habit to add to his growing list.
Only one Crichton, as it should be. Single. Unique. Loved by her.
You had no choice, did you?
If he could bid time to return, he never would have fallen through that wormhole, either. But somehow, he would prefer not to go back that far.
D’Argo accused him of leading them to their deaths if he landed on that ship. That cursed ship. He was right, in a way, but not as he would have expected. For better or worse, at least he and Chiana never got to know their twins.
No landing, transport blows up, everyone dies. Land, you’re twinned, and the other half of you dies. The other half gets to live with the suffering of losing the one thing that matters more than finding Earth, and she does matter. Life screwed me with the fine print again, didn’t it?
He wished he could have been the one that died, almost. At least he could have said he had loved her, been loved by her. Bad enough he could not stand to see her sad, but he would have smiled to see her cry if he knew she loved him. They had so little time together, but it would be worth it. Cosmic time had no sympathy to those who were short-lived. Nature was hard on the human life span in that regard.
Why do you do this to yourself? Why do you envy a dead man, even if he was you?
At least the other gave him some optimism.
“Don’t push her. She takes… time,” he said.
Thanks, I needed that. You have no idea how much.
Everything would be different soon. In a few solar days he would be going out to stop Scorpius and the Peacekeepers from creating and fielding a wormhole as a weapon. It was equivalent to insanity at best. At least she would be there. Her moving to stand by his side after announcing his intentions gave him the confidence to carry on. She would be there to fix any of his really bad plans, and they were bad, as she had always told him.
Even Crais standing with them had further reinforced his determination to see it through. But it was with her he felt his chances for success improving. With her he had a reason to keep going. But could she go on?
They still had her reading lessons. After finding out she had learned some English from the other John, he offered to tutor her further. She accepted and he felt his heart soar. He could help her to heal.
No such luck. She sat across from him; her face buried in the journal’s pages, occupying her mind with the language, anything to remove herself from the present. She was a fast learner, and he made it simple for her, reciting humorous examples to inspire her learning, anything to see her smile again. She lost herself in her desire to learn, while he remained content just to be doing something with her, anything to help, if only to bring them back together. At least she talked to him again, which was a welcome relief from the stony silence of days before. So he focused on the positive, trying to picture all the things he would like to show her if… when he made it back home.
There was so much to show her about his home. The lake in Maine he used to visit as a boy, where the sky was so clear you could see every constellation. Or there was the desert in wintertime, where he drove to watch the herds of Mustangs run. There was the sight of her in his father’s backyard catching rain on her tongue, like she had on the false Earth cycles before. There was her first taste of ice cream and chocolate…
But it was Christmas with the Crichton family he really wanted her to see. At home sampling his sisters home baked chocolate chip cookies, checking out the neighbors garishly decorated houses and who had the most insane myriad of lights strung up; the glowing plastic Santas and nativities and the children’s choir singing at the church.
Saving the best for last would be a kiss from her under the mistletoe. It would have been wonderful.
Moya was his home now. Pilot said they had been together on Moya for over two and a half cycles (very long cycles, according to Ebenezer Pilot). He rarely brought up the subject of Earth holidays to the others, since the concept would be- how would he say it to them with a straight face- alien?
He saw no other way. He had to stop Scorpius from mastering wormhole technology.
Don’t let Scorpius shaft the universe with it.
If he were to die tomorrow, he would like to share something as important to him as Christmas with the others- his dysfunctional surrogate family.
Even Washington noted Christmas when he attacked at Valley Forge, right?
He smirked at that thought. That was a comparison for the record books. The British did not have a full command carrier at their disposal, either.
He stood up to walk off the terrace. The others had passed by from time to time, giving them their privacy, but still curious to how they were getting along. He nearly tripped over a DRD. Looking down, it was the one he damaged when he first arrived on Moya. Its eyestalk still bore the blue electrical tape he repaired it with. Since then, it followed him around the ship like a trusty hunting dog waiting to have its back rubbed. One-eye looked up at him. He could swear he saw sympathy.
“Thanks buddy, I appreciate the support. If Pilot lets me use you guys to pull a sleigh, I’ll let you know.”
He walked alone down the tier towards Moya’s dining hall where D’Argo, Chiana, Jool, Rygel and Crais were dining, speaking in hushed tones amongst themselves. The speech he had made days earlier still hung heavy in the air. Flying towards Scorpius, and not away from him, was never high on the priority list.
“Hey guys,” he said, as they all turned to see him enter. “Have I ever told you about Christmas?”
***
“…Glory to God in the highest, and on Earth, peace, good will toward men.” John closed the small copy of The New Testament he had carried with him on Farscape One. “That’s the heart of what Christmas is all about. What do you think?”
“That’s fascinating, John,” D’Argo said, folding his arms. “But what does the birth of a messiah have to do with a fat man in a red suit who drops down a dwelling’s chimney and deliver gifts to- how did you say it? Good little boys and girls?”
Chiana nodded. “Yeah, Satan’s got a weird fashion sense. C’mon, now.”
“It’s Santa, Pip, not Satan. He’s at the other end of the spectrum, along with Hitler… Saddam… the Teletubbies.”
“Whatever. How does Santa deliver them to every one in the world in one night?”
“And why doesn’t he just go through the door?” Jool asked. “And how do these rain-deer fly? I never heard of any four-legged mammal that could do that without wings, and somehow I don’t think earth animals could possibly be that impressive.”
“Honestly, while a holiday feast is always a pleasure, I don’t see why a tree should be bought into a dwelling and decorated,” Rygel added. “It would dry up and die anyway, even if it wasn’t infested with bugs. That is the strangest holiday I’ve ever heard of, Crichton.”
Crais looked on silently, but still intrigued by the story. He showed no signs of the animosity he felt for the human in the past. He was unused to it, even uncomfortable. He forever questioned himself wondering if he was reading the man’s expressions right.
John sighed. “Haven’t you ever heard of suspension of belief?”
“Of course we have,” Rygel responded. “We live in it, don’t we? But you wish us to not only suspend this, but beat it to death with a blunt instrument.”
He shook his head- irony was lost on aliens. “That’s just one aspect of it, Sparky. Christmas means different things to different people. It’s a religious holiday, it’s a chance to give gifts to family and friends, to have a chance to be together and be happy for what they have. It’s a time to be good to each other.”
“Well, I for one think the gift part sounds nice,” Jool said. “I can appreciate that. My parents bought me a fire silk wardrobe for the celebration of my sixteenth cycle!”
Everyone groaned all at once, followed by a simultaneous roll of his or her eyes. She frowned and turned away from their disapproval. They considered her a spoiled rich girl and her habits died hard. No one aboard knew enough about Interion females to decide otherwise.
“Well, they did,” she added.
John ignored the exchange. “The point is kids, I’m going off to stop Scorpius in a few solar days, and I may not make it back. I’d like all of you to share this with me, so we can take the opportunity to celebrate what we have. “Granted, I have no copy of ‘Miracle on 34th Street’ to show you, but we can make do.”
Crais stepped forward, finally deigning to speak. “We had similar celebrations to what you described when I was a boy on my home world. It’s a reasonable request before we set off to face Scorpius. What exactly do we need to do?”
He would have fainted dead away had he not been so glad to hear at least one voice of approval. Crais was taking his side. What could be next, he proposes to Jool?
“Perfect!” he said excitedly. “Here’s what we do. We’ll have Pilot take us to the nearest commerce planet. We’ll get a tree and we can find stuff to decorate it with. We’ll also need to get a big bird for the Christmas dinner. There’s probably no space turkeys out here, but I’m sure we can-”
Pilot’s image appeared on the clamshell in front of them, interrupting the conversation. “Excuse me, Commander. Moya and I have been listening to your deliberations. You will be happy to know there is a commerce planet directly on our course, only a quarter of an arn away. If you like, we will set orbit there while you and the others gather provisions for your celebration.”
It was getting to be too good to be true. “Outstanding, Pilot. Glad you’re in with us on this.”
“Frankly Commander, Moya and I are still against your plans to stop Scorpius, as is Talyn. We appreciate any diversion to delay the inevitability of your leaving.”
“Don’t worry, Pilot. You, Moya and Talyn are going to enjoy this little celebration. Let’s get the transport pod warmed up.”
Aeryn walked into the room as he and the others prepared to depart, startled at their sudden exit.
“John, what’s going on?”
“Christmas is going on,” he said with a boyish grin. “You finally get to see what it’s all about. Trust me, you’re going to love it.”
She turned and watched him walk excitedly down the corridor, the look of surprise on her face undiminished. He promptly gained a bounce in his step. He was once again that little boy who lived in Annapolis, waiting for the family to break out the decorations. He was going to have a Human’s Christmas on Moya. Even Dylan Thomas could never have written a story like that.
***
“You want these?”
The alien vendor scooped up a handful of the red crystals that John pointed to- teardrop shaped with a copper-colored loop at the narrow end of each one. Flux crystals, Aeryn called them, used in ships’ communication and navigation devices. One could never have too many spare parts for Moya and Talyn. And besides, they glowed brightly with their own internal power source. With a bit of string looped through one end they would make perfect the Christmas tree lights.
“Yeah, those. I also want two units of the blue, the yellow and the green ones. Oh, and you wouldn’t happen to have some tinsel or little plastic angels, by any chance, would you?”
The vendor looked up; a pair of large black eyes displayed serious confusion.
“How about one of those little birdhouses you plug in that makes a chirping noise, you got any of those?”
The alien continued giving him a vacant stare. Hardly a surprise that it had no idea what he was talking about. John laughed, remembering where he was. In the Uncharted Territories, a cheeseburger would be considered ethnic cuisine.
“Never mind, this’ll do nicely.”
The vendor accepted his brandar tiles, and put the assorted crystals in a pouch. John took the bag and hoisted it over his shoulder with the bundle of other items he purchased. Not only was the commerce planet in a prosperous system, but also the frequency of trade with it had assembled a bounty from over a thousand worlds to choose from. The annual arts and crafts show in Annapolis could not have done better.
His bundle was laden with items for the big party: beads to string around the tree D’Argo was procuring, a pair of dresses made from fire silk; gifts for Chiana and Jool, and an antiquated freedom text for the Luxan. There were also parcels of assorted favorite delicacies they did not get to eat often enough, several bottles of what passed for holiday wine and even a present for Crais. After nearly three cycles of tense relations, the rift between the two of them had finally begun to close. A gift might help further the goodwill between them. They may never be brothers, but the civility would do nicely. He spared no expense, since the money in their possession they procured from the shadow depository they destroyed could last for cycles.
But it was Aeryn’s gift that topped off his list. He put his heart and soul into it, and quite literally, at that. The artisan was paid well for the personal touch he specified for it, writing out the instructions for it as descriptively as he could. Her accepting it was another story. It would be a risky gift to give, coming from a copy of the hopeless romantic southern boy who gave roses to every potential first date, hoping to win their eternal devotion, or at least a chance to lock lips. Risky? Yes, but worth the effort. Better that he go to his happy place every time he had to imagine her reaction.
“Crichton!”
Turning around, he saw D’Argo approaching through the throng of shoppers with a long evergreen bound up and slung over his shoulder like a rifle.
“Heavy D! Good choice on the tree, bro. How much did that set you back?”
The tree resembled any pine from a North American forest, and it was a good ten feet in length. A little thicker in the trunk for its size, but it was perfect for setting up in the dining chamber. All it would need now is an aluminum stand straight from the K-Mart at the other end of the universe.
“It cost me nothing. I walked up to the edge of the spaceport where the forest line stopped and just picked one. For some reason, there’s no business in selling trees out here for home decoration.”
He ignored the cranky Luxan’s sarcasm and ran his hands through the soft needles of its bundled branches as they walked together. The scent of pine filled his nostrils. “You need any help with it?”
D’Argo rolled his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself, you have your hands full already. This is heavier than it looks- the wood is dense. And besides,” he indicated to John’s left limb carrying the sack, far leaner than his. “Small arms, human.”
“Where are the others?”
“Crais is at a meat merchant getting a bird to cook for the dinner. He says he knows some of the tastier species. Chiana and Rygel are getting the other things you requested. They’ll meet us at the transport pod in a quarter arn.”
John could barely stop his grinning. “Great. It’s all coming together, big guy. It’s really beginning to look a lot like Christmas.”
D’Argo said nothing, not wishing to spoil his mood. The commerce planet had plenty to offer, and they had the money, so why not indulge? Everyone else had come down to the planet except Jool, who obligingly remained on Moya to clear the dining chamber for the festivities, and Aeryn, who remained silent and distant in her quarters. She knew what the celebration meant to the other, as she was calling him, but she hesitated to take part.
“Tragedy can do that to a person,” she had said in her best sarcastic tone.
John remained joyful on the ride back to Moya, assailing their ears with Earth songs sung way out of key, about taking a ‘slay ride’ and about some type of nut being roasted on a fire while a man named Jack licked at their noses. D’Argo grimaced with every high note. It was all he could do short of putting him out of his misery; Crichton and his human rituals.
Crais, Chiana and Rygel said nothing, suffering in silence. After all, if it was a holiday to be nice to each other, they could all make the effort for once. D’Argo shook his head at the sight of them wincing at the badly sung melodies. They did not stand a chance.
***
John stepped back from the tree. “So, what do you think?”
Aeryn paused; moving back from her task of hanging the various ornaments bought from the commerce planet, and examined their handiwork. Despite her hesitation, he had managed to coax her out of her room and help out with the decorating.
“Interesting,” she said, looking over the fruits of two arns labor. “I have to say, I’ve never seen anything like it. Not on any planet or culture I’ve ever encountered.”
The tree stood proudly on a tripod fastened together by D’Argo in the maintenance bay. The flux crystals glowed brightly all around the tree where they were strung up. The beads and various curios Chiana and Rygel purchased along with some flowered garlands helped to complete the look.
“It gets better than this, Aeryn.”
He looked around the room. Evergreen branches decorated the shelves and doorways, luxurious bolts of red cloth covered the tables, topped with candles and bowls of treats, only partially filled now, since Rygel indulged himself while helping to decorate.
The room definitely passed the holiday inspection. Jool and Chiana had developed quite a flair for décor. They decked out the room as if Christmas was as familiar to them on their worlds as it was his. Mom would have been so proud.
“You will be happy to know Chiana has your bird in the heating unit and says it will be ready in a few arns,” Jool said as she walked into the room. “D’Argo and Crais are helping her to make the rest of the food. Rygel is now forbidden to help since he has no willpower to stop-” She froze at the site of the tree. “Oh! That is lovely, even better than I had pictured it. I must say Crichton, I’m really beginning to look forward to this.”
John picked up a garland. “Glad to hear it, princess. I think you’ll like the gift I got you, too. I’m not always up to par with what a lady likes, but I think I had yours pegged down pretty good.” He looked up towards the top of the tree, barely a foot shy of the chamber’s ceiling. “It’s too bad we don’t have an angel or star to put on top.”
“I think Rygel is taking care of that,” Aeryn said. “Being the artist that he is, he is making something for the top of the tree. I guess this is his chance to be useful, for once.”
Jool laughed. “Actually, it takes his mind off of not eating. Why is he such a glutton?”
“You just got to love Sparky, at least he thought about it.” John tied the green branch over the dining chambers doorway. “This ain’t quite mistletoe, but it’ll do.”
Aeryn watched as he attached the green leafy twig with its dark red berries. “John, what exactly is that supposed to represent?”
“It’s hope for the hopelessly romantic. Now that everything’s in place, I have to mosey on down to the planet and pick up something. You all hold down the fort while I’m gone, and keep the eggnog chilled. I’ll be right back.”
“We’ll be here.”
Aeryn watched him as he walked out to the transport pod, listening to the sound of his footsteps. They sounded just like the other John. She would recognize him approaching blindfolded and her back turned away.
She did not want to accept him, and still, her resolve was buckling. Human flaws aside, he was still Crichton, with the same personality, the same drive and the same affections- for her. He was as constant as the stars. It was so typical of him.
He’s such a frelling romantic, she thought to herself.
So much like John, indivisible from the other.
She sat down, watching the flickering of the candles on the table. His energy was present everywhere. He had that effect on her, on all of them really. It was like he never left.
He never did. Don’t you realize that?
“Aeryn,” Jool said, sitting down next to her. “What is eck-nock?”
***
He paused long enough to check the personalized touch he specified for Aeryn’s gift to insure its accuracy. John was in and out of the craftsman’s shop before the man could count the extra change he left him. Christmas time. Time to be charitable, even to the aliens.
He hit the accelerator and Farscape One flew out of the atmosphere above the commerce planet, heading right towards the big bash on Moya. Festivities would be starting soon, and he was dying to see the looks on their faces at their gifts he got them. Santa Crichton was coming to Moya.
Ho, ho, ho.
For a change, he was happy. He did not concern himself with Scorpius or the near future. Whatever happens tomorrow happens. Live for the now, and for her. He adjusted himself in his seat and enjoyed the view. Neil Armstrong never had it this good. The continents moved on below him lazily as he skimmed the upper layer of the atmosphere. Using a planets orbit to increase speed proved to be the theory of a lifetime. Moya remained free from the Peacekeepers thanks to that little maneuver. Not bad for the lower life form Aeryn originally thought he was. No matter, he had his module, his friends, and her back on board. Best of all, Christmas was just microts away.
Blinking, the vibration under his seat woke him out of his adrenalin rush. He was doing what he had been daydreaming about. Farscape One’s velocity was escalating. No problem from his point of view, just let it rip and he would just get to Moya all the faster. He had time- an inconsistent concept in space perhaps, but it worked for him.
“Hey Pilot, tell everybody to get ready for dinner. I’m on my way back, and I got the goodies for their stockings.”
“Of course, Commander. Although I don’t understand what everyone’s footwear would have to do with this celebration?”
He had to smile. Wonderful, naïve Pilot, he would have made Santa a great helper.
He never noticed the star. It looked too much like every other star he encountered. One hundred and fifty million metras away, the gigantic ball of gas fumed, anchor to the system that the commerce planet and its companions orbited, its turbulent surface about to lash out. He had been right; it looked no different than any other star they encountered. It presented no threat to the worlds it warmed, but giant solar flares pulsed and burst outward from it once in a great while, like the one that was about to that very moment.
“Commander! Moya detects a massive radiation wave! You must abort-”
Incomplete transmission.
“What? Moya, repeat again?”
A second voice came through, Crais. “Crichton… Crich… you mus… radiation…. have to…”
He had no time to react. It happened instantly, but it may as well all have been in slow motion. Moya’s sensors detected the star’s umbra flaring; she checked John’s flight path; she told Pilot to warn him to abort his current trajectory; Pilot’s frantic voice came over the comm; interference from the flare disrupting the transmission; his pupils dilated; he knew what was about to happen; he was too late to prevent it.
Visual on the module caught the last look on his face before he disappeared: complete surprise.
As he plummeted violently through the bloom of the wormhole, his world went black. He never heard Pilot’s final warning, he never heard Crais repeating the message from Talyn’s emergency broadcast…
He never saw the expression on Aeryn’s face; her eyes widening in horror as he disappeared.
He never heard her cry out his name.
***
The world ceased spinning around. It was dark. When he finally could open his eyes, there was still more darkness.
“Moya…”
His voice was barely a groan. He had no idea how long he had been unconscious. He could taste saltiness on his lips. He reached up to wipe his mouth. His eyes strained in the dark to see if there was blood. His nose had struck against something. Only a minor injury, but it might be sore later on, yet another scar to add to his collection.
“Moya, are you there?”
He lifted his head. It was colder in the cockpit than before. No engine noise either. He peered out the canopy only to see his reflection shining above the dull glow of a pair of auxiliary lights. Flight control was disabled
“Pilot? Crais? Can anybody read me?”
No commerce planet, no stars, nothing. All around him was complete blackness.
“Wormhole…?”
Memory returned. He had fallen through a wormhole that suddenly formed. It pulled him in and brought him… somewhere. He craned his neck left and right, searching all around him. No reference points anywhere. Nowhere would have been a better description.
“Oh, God.”
***
“Still no sign of him. Pilot, are you checking long range scans?”
Pilot sighed. He sadly reset the controls on his console. The result would be the same as before, and before that. Moya’s equipment was flawless in its performance; she never made errors in her scans. No trace of Crichton’s ship anywhere, but to say it to the woman in the ship outside searching for him would break her.
“Moya and I are checking on all frequency levels, Aeryn. So far we have found no trace.”
“Inform me the microt you find anything. D’Argo, are you there?”
The Luxan stood alone in Moya’s command section watching her ship on the viewscreen. Chiana and Jool had already retreated to their rooms. Rygel sat in the dining chamber, alone with his thoughts. The dominar seemed different lately. The time on Talyn had changed him somewhat, much to his surprise. Crais returned to Talyn to aid in the long-range sweeps that he knew were futile, but would make a half-hearted attempt anyway for Aeryn’s sake. It was much too difficult to criticize anyone’s personal feelings where he was concerned.
D’Argo watched the Prowler that had once belonged to her mother shoot across the screen as she made another sweep of the area. His sorrow ran deep, as much for her as for John. He only lost Lo’Laan once, which was enough, but Aeryn? How to help someone who lost the same love twice?
“I’m here, Aeryn. I think you should come in now.”
“D’Argo, can you use that new ship of yours to sweep the far side of the planet? It’s possible that Crichton’s ship flew over to the other end of the-”
“We searched thoroughly. If Cri… if John were there, he would have been detected.
Why don’t you return to Moya?”
She did not answer. “Crais, has Talyn attempted a deep space visual?”
“Talyn has tried all sweeps, Aeryn,” Crais responded. “There is no sign of him. That wormhole could have taken him out beyond the known reaches of the galaxy. Or even to another galaxy, for all we know.”
“I think we should continue the search. We can take the transport pods and split up with portable scanners if we-”
D’Argo shook his head, now he was fighting back tears. She was stubborn. No wonder he loved her.
“Aeryn…”
“You know he would not give up on us, D’Argo. We owe it to him to-”
“He’s right Aeryn,” Crais added. “The flux variations of wormholes are unstable. Even if Crichton survived the trip through, his oxygen supply was low. He didn’t expect to make any long distance trips, just a short jaunt to the commerce planet. If he can’t find a habitable world to land on…”
Still, she remained determined. “He is out here, Crais! He would never give up on us! We have to try…”
He tried again. “Aeryn, it took him away, you must accept-”
“D’Argo! Please…”
That was all it took. Her voice trailed off. The comms went silent. In the space of two words, tough soldier became lost little girl. He was gone a second time. John, but not her John. The line no longer seemed so distinct. She never really let go of him, but the end result came up the same.
They said nothing. They did not have to be her to know how it felt. Pilot, D’Argo and Crais all closed their eyes. They knew the pain. The reaction was second nature. Words of comfort were pointless.
Her weeping broke the silence. Inside her Prowler, trembling hands clutched over her open mouth, not wanting any of them to hear her cry. But her sobs broke through as hard as the tears that spilled over her fingers. She could no longer stop it. He had taught her that.
Finally, she let herself cry.
***
“Aw, Harvey. You have GOT to be kidding me.”
“And a Bah! Humbug, to you too, John.”
He was completely shameless. The neural clone in his head had appeared in some outrageous costumes before, but dressed up like Santa Claus was not one of them, and in a red leather outfit at that. Harvey Claus sat behind him, jolly as ever, despite their current predicament. It was days like this he really put his sanity to the test.
“Well it could have been worse,” he said to Harvey. “You could have dressed like a Christmas fairy.”
“That would have been my second choice.”
John rolled his eyes and continued to reset the Farscapes controls. No damage from the tumble through the wormhole, but in an arn or less, it would make no difference. Oxygen was low, and there was no trace of any world to fly to. Spinning the ship 360 degrees for visual sightings and adjusting the electronic scan to maximum yielded no results.
“Well, now that you’re here, any advice on how to get out of this snafu?”
“I’m afraid not, John. Even you can see there are no options for us. There is no where we can go before our oxygen is depleted or we starve to death.” Harvey let out a sigh. “Fate, it seems, has conspired to put us in an unwinnable situation.”
He nodded. It was no surprise, but he figured as much. “The timing was really bad on this one, too. This was my first opportunity in almost three cycles. I finally had the chance to do it. Aeryn- the others, they could have seen what Christmas was like.”
“It’s a shame, really. That was a lovely tree you put up. Not quite as lovely as the one your mother decorated when you were ten, but it’s close.”
“I barely remember that. You know, you seem to enjoy hopping around in there, going through my mind, absorbing all the events of my life.”
Harvey smiled. “You have lived quite a life, John. I envy it. Scorpius did not create me to have a life of my own. Even if I did, I do not believe it could ever be as interesting as a life on Earth. Did you know that your dream to make it back to Earth was mine as well?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Oh, yes. There is so much I wanted to see. Summer nights staring at the sky, your fathers annual barbeque, catching fireflies in a mason jar, cool jazz piano, a hot dog and Coke at the Harris drive-in…”
John started to laugh. He almost forgot about the Harris. He saw The Evil Dead and Monty Python and the Holy Grail there when he was in school. “Man, they had the best hot dogs. Pizza was good too.”
“I agree. So much to do on Earth, so many possibilities.” Harvey paused, looking out over the featureless abyss that lay open before them. “I think Aeryn would have fit in well on Earth, John.”
“She would have fit in just fine,” he said.
“Indeed. Tell me John, if you could do it all over again. Would you?”
He thought about it for a moment. If he could, would he do it all over again? He would like to avoid being copied by that madman Kaarvok. He could have avoided the leviathan prison ship entirely. If he could do it all over again, he might not have gone through that wormhole, none of them.
But then, he never would have met her.
“I don’t know, Harv. It’s not really up to me, is it?”
Harvey nodded. “No. But there is a saying on Earth: Everything happens for a reason. Perhaps we are subject to the fates after all, and some great plan for our lives will be laid out later for us to understand and fulfill. I thought it was an interesting theory.”
More wisdom from Harvey, he thought. If he started chanting, he would have to open the canopy.
The gauge read fifteen minutes of oxygen left. Not much time to do anything. He played with the idea of firing up the engines and cruising one last time. It seemed pointless, but it was what he liked to do. Back on Earth, he used to drive down that long stretch of highway on U.S. Route 1 in his old Dodge Charger, windows down with ‘Slow Ride’ by Foghat blaring over the stereo. He would love to do that now. If only the scenery outside was a little better.
“John, can I say something to you that I haven’t said before?”
“What’s that?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Everything,” Harvey said quietly. “Thank you for showing me all the possibilities, for helping me to have a life where none existed. I know you would rather I was not in your mind with you, but I want you to know I have always been on your side.”
Getting a high compliment from Harvey? It really was the season of giving. John smiled again. “Well, for what it’s worth, Harvey, you did save my hide on several occasions. I might not be here if it wasn’t for you. I’m real sorry you don’t have a body of your own, but… you’re welcome.” He paused for a moment. “That’s the best I could ever say to someone like you.”
“A very Merry Christmas, John Crichton. You really have had a wonderful life. I hope we can meet again someday when everything is sweetness and light.”
“Merry Christmas, Harv.”
The neural clone faded away, back into the depths of his subconscious. All was quiet again. John laid his head back on the seat. It was quite peaceful here. As a boy, he had dreamed of space.
***
Aeryn went directly to the terrace, not bothering to inform anyone of her whereabouts. She was not up for company, anyway. She sat up, in much the same position she was in when Crichton- the only Crichton, had left Moya for what he thought was Earth. Ironic, that she felt the same then as she did now.
They always seem to leave her- first Velorek, then Crichton and then Crichton again. And it always felt like her fault. The more she thought about it, the more she believed it. Before, with the Peacekeepers, it was not as hard. She did not have to think about it; she just followed orders and that made it easier.
He just had to be the one to encourage her to think more, to feel more. Then, nothing was easy.
He liked coming to the terrace to clear his mind. He never grew tired of looking at the stars. The trails of comets, the giant gas clouds a trillion metras across, the eye-shaped nebulas… he held them in utter fascination. He would lay back and absorb it all like a bathing sponge. The thrill ran out for her a long time ago. She was born in space; she saw it every single day. They held no surprises, no matter how he tried to get her to take a second look. She saw constellations as military objectives marked by coordinates. He saw dragons, archers and beautiful women. Such a dreamer he was, and she adored it.
Again, all she saw were coordinates. There may have been one moment while on Moya that she actually saw the beauty he did, but it passed. It was nothing but emptiness. It was too far in between worlds, and so easy to get lost.
I would be lost without you, he told her once.
Then you’ll never be lost, she replied. But now I’m lost, John.
D’Argo watched her from the doorway. He tracked her there after she did not answer her comm, figuring where John used to walk, she would follow. He kept his distance; tragedy required time for privacy. He understood that better than anyone on the ship, but that would do her no good.
He barely noticed Crais as he slowly walked up beside him, holding a silver cup half-filled with dark liquid.
How is she?”
D’Argo shook his head. “Not good. She’s been there for two arns now. She hasn’t spoken since leaving her Prowler.” He looked down at the cup. “Is that a sedative?”
“Yes. Jool made it. She says it will help her to sleep, to sooth her nerves… but the rest?”
“I know.”
Crais nodded. “I would give it to her, but considering recent circumstances…”
“I’ll give it to her.” D’Argo took the cup from his hand. “Please tell the others to gather in the dining chamber.”
Crais departed and D’Argo walked up, squatting down beside her. Her eyes were still puffy and her cheeks still damp from tears. She continued to stare straight ahead, not acknowledging his presence. He might be a ghost as well; it was becoming very difficult for her to tell the difference.
“The others are worried sick about you.”
She grunted slightly. “Tell them its Crichton they should be worried about. He’s the one that has little oxygen or fuel on that antique bucket of dren he was so attached to.”
He looked at her hard. “You don’t mean that. You loved him.”
She began to laugh. Not the kind where a person found something funny, but where one realized how pathetic their situation was, so they laughed because there was no more point in being miserable about it, because they did not care anymore. It was the worst kind of laugh.
“Yes. Yes, I did. It didn’t really matter which one, either, does it? Except for six months of accumulated separate experiences, they were the same. One, I loved and mourned for, the other I treated like dren because I resented him for not being the other.” She went silent for a moment. “And now I mourn him, too.”
D’Argo’s gaze softened. “He didn’t want any of this to happen. He never wanted to be twinned. I accused him of leading us to our deaths when we landed on that leviathan where it happened. But, I was wrong. He’s always done what it took to keep us all alive.”
Aeryn nodded. “You know, I told the other if he could make a wormhole to take us to Earth, then I would go with him. I never stopped to consider the other one. I tried to forget there was a second Crichton. And then I had to face him again. How do you give your love to only one when both love you equally?
He hesitated to answer. In his experience, there was no example to compare. There had only been one Lo’Laan for him. “I’m sorry, Aeryn. I don’t know what to say. But I’m sure he knows how you really felt.”
“But now, I can’t tell him, D’Argo. I would really like to tell him.”
He handed her the cup. “Here. Please drink this. It’ll help. I’m having the others gather in the dining chamber. Each of us can take turns and say something in his memory. I know he would want you there.”
She took the cup without argument, and downed it in one swallow. She allowed him to help her up and escort her to the dining chamber where the others waited for them. She doubted words would help anymore than Jool’s potion, but it was he would have wanted, her John, this John; either Johns.
They left the terrace, ignoring the dancing stars that floated past the windows. No reason to look, they held no more surprises for her.
***
“John…”
His head lifted slightly. He felt at peace, for a change. In the cold dark vacuum he floated in, death did not come as a cruel assault to his senses, but rather a quiet, peaceful transition.
Not so bad… death.
He felt like Major Tom. Here, floating in a tin can.
Planet Earth is blue, and there’s nothing I can do.
“John…”
Was someone calling his name?
“Not now, Harvey. I’m about to become one with the universe.”
There was the sound of giggling. “I’m not Harvey, John. Look up.”
He opened his eyes. Outside the canopy in front of him, a woman floated effortlessly. She wore a diaphanous gown that shimmered and moved in a nonexistent breeze. Long golden hair streamed upward, curling and moving in a nebula of strands. Her eyes were a deeper blue than any ocean. His jaw dropped from the sight of her. She was the most beautiful thing he ever saw, and she was smiling at him.
“Hello, John.”
He stuttered a moment, not exactly sure what to say. She was unexpected, from anybody’s point of view. Oxygen levels were decreasing; she could easily be a hallucination. Still, she was not a bad sight to see before the mind packed it in and called it a life.
“Let me guess, you’re the angel of death? I have to say, I’m pleased you aren’t the cloaked skeleton carrying a scythe that I always heard about.”
She laughed. Her voice was the sweetest melody, yet it sounded vaguely familiar.
“No, silly. I’m not the angel of death. But I am a friend, and I’m here to help you.”
“Oh? Well, I appreciate that, but considering I’m about a gazillion light years from anything resembling a suitable place to breathe, I’m not sure how you can help.”
“There is always hope,” she said. “That is a word you bought to those who live on Moya, is it not?”
“How do you know that?”
“I know many things, such as this; there is a reason you are here. You were needed.”
“How so?”
“Does it matter? You are here, and you are alive. Fate selected you for this.”
He grunted, more than a little disgusted. “That’s great, Tinkerbell. I’m taken from my home, farther than I could probably imagine, and I’m supposed to be George Bailey of the Uncharted Territories, saving people from the forces of darkness? Forget it, I’m not Luke Skywalker, and I don’t have the force at my command.”
The woman waved her hand, and his vision went blurry. Before him, images shifted and appeared, memories of past deeds authored by him. He saw his flight to a Gammak base to obtain a tissue sample to save Aeryn. He saw himself freeing Stark from the charge of Scorpius, and the destruction of the same Gammak base. He witnessed the preserving of the neutrality of the Royal Planet, and giving the Princess Katralla a child. He saw the destruction of a shadow depository and a Scarran Dreadnaught incinerated by a fireball from a wormhole…
Images shifted again; aliens from different worlds watching the events unfolding, broadcast on long range communications, word spreading of his deeds from tribe to tribe, world to world, bringing hope to the hopeless. John Crichton, hero to the universe…
The woman looked at him. “Do you doubt these things?”
“No, I don’t. They happened. Why are you showing me all this now? What’s the point?”
Dear, sweet John, if you had the chance to do it all over again, would you?”
Wormholes. It was the dirty little secret of the universe. It could be a way home or a lethal weapon, laying whole star systems to waste. It had been responsible for most of his hardship. A wormhole brought him to the Uncharted Territories. It brought him to the desolation that now surrounded him. But it also brought adventure. It introduced him to his surrogate family. It brought him to Aeryn.
“Now that I think about it,” he said, “I don’t think I would have changed anything. I want to go home, but I’m glad I got the chance to see the stars. I’m glad I know there is life out here.” He thought for a moment. “And I’m glad I got to meet her.”
“Let me show you something else.”
His vision became blurred again. He blinked a few times and it came into focus on the interior of Moya. He saw the dining chamber decked out in the Christmas decorations he had helped set up. The tree sparkled with its multicolored lights, its top decorated with a paper angel fastened by Rygel. The crew walked in and was gathering around the tree. D’Argo, Chiana, Rygel, Jool, even Crais. Aeryn appeared, off to the side, looking unsure of herself.
“Listen to them, John.”
In the vision, D’Argo stepped forward. “I asked all of you to gather here to pay our final respects to John Crichton. He described this celebration he called Christmas as a time of togetherness where family and friends gave of themselves to each other and reflected on what they had and what they were grateful for. I hope each of us can say something about him that we are grateful for, so we may honor his memory.”
There was silence for a moment, each of them looked at each other, unsure of their words. John stared on, aghast. They were having his eulogy.
Jool cleared her throat, trying not to weep. “I would like to say I’m grateful he saved me from Grunchlk and that horrible Diagnosan. It’s been twenty-two cycles since I’ve last seen home, but it may have been longer if he hadn’t cared enough to take my cousins and me along. I no longer blame him for my cousin’s deaths. I know he didn’t want them, or anyone else, to die.”
Chiana moved to stand with Jool. “I’m grateful he spoke up for me to let me stay on Moya. If not for him, I may be back on my home world being mind cleansed for the next one hundred cycles. He saved my life. He cared when no one else would. Thanks, old man.”
“Rygel?” D’Argo asked.
“Yes, I’ve something to say.”
Rygel came next, floating towards the others. “I know that you think I have been selfish and cold to many of you. As a Dominar, I was always taught to think in terms of my own survival. It is rare that I have encountered a being who forgives me of my shortsightedness, and still watches over me like a friend.” Rygel tilted his head, pausing to find the right words. “Yes, a friend. It’s good to have a friend. And I am grateful to John Crichton for his friendship.”
“I am grateful to John for helping me to complete my quest,” D’Argo said passionately. “Without his sacrifices, I may not have ever been able to see my son again.” Images of his son Jothee lingered briefly. Pain existed there as well as happiness. He did not care to dwell on the infidelities committed between him and Chiana- better to put it behind and concentrate on the present.
“For better or worse, I am grateful for the time I had with him, and I am confident we will meet again. I have John to thank for these things.”
Pilot’s voice came in over the comm. “If I may say something, please. Moya and I wish to express our gratitude for Commander Crichton in helping us to remain free and alive from the Peacekeepers.” His tone became more somber. “His scientific expertise has benefited us all on several occasions, his friendship even more. We owe him a debt of gratitude that I fear we can never repay.”
All eyes turned on Crais. D’Argo and Chiana tensed slightly, unsure of how the man would react. He calmly walked forward, his expression as solemn and frozen as before.
“For a long time, I blamed John Crichton for my brother’s death. I let my obsession for revenge get the better of me. I lost track of my priorities, of what was truly important. In the time I’ve known Crichton, I’ve found a brave and honorable man, one who I came to respect. The Crichton who died told me to find the better part of myself. I can only hope I was worthy of his last respects. And now, I find I make that same promise to this Crichton. I only regret he will not see me on my path to that better part I seek.”
“I think,” he continued, “even though I lost my brother, it may have happened for a greater purpose. I’m grateful for John Crichton for helping me find my purpose. And I think… I think he could’ve made a fine brother.”
John inhaled sharply. He would have been bowled over by the remark, had he not been sitting down. The only one left to say anything was Aeryn. He watched her sadly as she stepped forward to speak.
“I’m grateful to John Crichton for my life, which he saved many times. I’m grateful to him for showing me I have a heart. I’m grateful that he believed I could be so much more than I am. And…”
She stopped. Her lower jaw began to tremble. “I’m grateful for his love.”
She turned and walked away.
D’Argo cleared his throat, wishing to shift the mood to another subject. “I think in his honor, we should try to celebrate this Christmas holiday for him. Let’s bring out the food and be merry. I’m sure he would want us to.”
John sighed deeply. “Yeah, D’Argo, I would.”
The vision faded once again, and he looked up at the woman floating before him, her face suffused with elation.
“Do you see what you mean to them?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I really miss that. I miss them.”
She tilted her head. “It’s amazing how one life can touch so many. In the changing seasons that your life has taken since you were brought here, would you do anything different?”
He nodded. “I just want to get it right next time. I tried to do the right things.” He looked up at her. “Did I do the right things?”
“Of course you tried. You wouldn’t be as loved, otherwise.”
“Well then, if I’m supposed to keep making a difference, I can’t just up and die now.”
“All things in their time, sweet John. A time will come a time when you will be needed desperately. You will know the signs. Until then, you are not allowed to see them. For now though, I can grant you a boon. What is important to you now? What do you desire most?”
That one was easy. “I want to be back on Moya. I want to be with Aeryn.”
“Much fortune, John. But you must hurry, you are almost out of air.”
He watched as her image began to fade. Before she disappeared, he caught a glimpse of blue tint, followed by a delicate hairless head, and bluer than blue eyes winked at him. The voice had sounded so familiar, maternal and loving.
“Zhaan?”
She was gone. In the distance a single point of light appeared. The glow of a faint star grew brighter in its intensity. His eyes widened. He knew an emergency exit when someone showed it to him. So did Harvey.
Hurry, John! Pedal to the metal! Rudolph’s nose is showing the way! Let’s go!
The Farscape’s engines jumped to life and the ship lurched forward. The point of light looked far off, and he could already feel the burn in his lungs from the disappearing oxygen.
“C’mon…”
The engines noise faded out, replaced by his heartbeat. It synchronized with the rhythm of his breathing. The light grew brighter- and closer?
“C’mon… Please…”
His chest felt like a blast furnace, too much carbon dioxide. The light grew steadily brighter.
Images flashed across his line of sight. People, places and voices all reacting to his thoughts. Helping hands reached out to him, fervent in their intent. He could hear Scorpius mocking him, victorious in playing him like a puppet. It only pressed his resolve further.
“Aeryn-”
He jolted back into his seat. The world went dark again. He permitted himself a smile as he felt the wormhole take hold of the ship, knocking him around. He could take it; a little pain would keep him awake longer.
Oxygen was almost depleted. He felt a calmness settle all around him. Was he dead? He had only the slightest opportunity. He saw indistinct shapes floating in all directions. There was no upside down right side up, not in space, anyway. He felt like puking before passing out.
“Moya…”
“Commander? COMMANDER?”
He never heard it clearly. It may as well have been gibberish.
He went numb. He never felt the docking web take hold and pull him into the hangar. His body was too busy fighting to pull the last remnant of air into him, struggling lungs failing to expand. Before he blacked out, someone had pulled open the canopy. He sensed fresh air running into him even as he lost consciousness. He thought he caught a scent of oil; the same kind Zhaan had given Aeryn to put into her hair. He could almost swear he felt the same hair brushing over his face as everything went dark.
***
It turned out to be a really great party after all.
“Thank you, John. I don’t know what to say.”
Crais looked over the antique dressing kit John gave him as a gift. He had seen such kits as a boy. Even his great-grandfather had owned one. It was intricately ornate: with pearl colored inlay across the top of the lacquered wood. Inside, there were various glass and metal containers filled with tonics and lotions, grooming instruments, even an oil lamp to heat the water for shaving.
“Everything for a well-groomed ex-Peacekeeper renegade,” John said. “I always wondered how you kept that beard trimmed all these cycles.”
“Perseverance and a very sharp knife,” Crais said, smiling.
“Yes, but did perseverance prepare you for this?”
Crais turned only to see Jool jump on him and plant a big kiss right on the mouth, much to everyone’s delight. It was probably the most affection he had in two cycles. Her hair instantly turning red to pink only helped make it funnier.
“Jool,” John said, “you’re supposed to do that under the mistletoe.”
“Who can wait?”
“Good point,” he laughed.
Dinner had been excellent. He had to hand it to Chiana; she really knew how to cook a bird. It was closer to a Christmas dinner than he could have hoped for. The wine had helped loosen a few tongues for a chorus of Christmas songs. He looked over to Aeryn, who smiled back. Who ever knew she had such a great singing voice? She sang ‘O Holy Night’ better than Cher.
Jool and Chiana raced through the hallways looking in every mirror they found, modeling their new dresses. D’Argo sat down somewhere to peruse the antique Luxan Freedom Text John bought him. Rygel had retired to his room to try out the assorted Hynerian bathing oils and incense he received. Crais said his good nights, and retired back to Talyn with his dressing kit. Pilot played with childlike abandon with the hand puppets John gave him for each of his four appendages. Moya lulled herself into relaxation from the music recordings she had received- several of them being Delvian chants, much like the ones Zhaan used to soothe her with.
And that left Aeryn and him, alone.
“So, do you like your gift?”
Aeryn held up the hand that adorned the ring she now wore, a lovely silver-gold combination with a carved design all along the band. “It’s beautiful. But I seem to remember someone telling me the symbolism behind a man giving a woman a ring on Earth.”
“Different kind of ring. I wouldn’t go that far, unless… well, you know.”
Her face broke into a smile. It was nice to see her like that again. “But what is this inscription along the band?” She walked over to him, inspecting the characters. It was Earth language, he assured her, but the sounds were different from what she had previously learned.
“Il est dit, il m’embrasse.” *
“It’s a secret,” he chuckled. “Don’t want to give it all away. I’ll teach it to you as you learn more.”
He tried to stand up, and he felt the room spin. Aeryn caught him as he reached out for something to steady himself with. “I think it’s time you got some rest. Nearly suffocating should not be taken lightly, particularly for such a deficient species as yourself. I’m taking you to your room. Do not argue.”
“Do I look like I would argue with you?”
“Yes.”
“Ouch! You made your point, didn’t you?”
As they walked out of the dining chamber, he heard a slight ring. Looking back, one of the ornaments on the tree with a bell on it chimed delicately. When a bell sounds an angel gets its wings. He pictured Zhaan flying around somewhere with a beautiful diaphanous wingspan- like a butterflies.
“Steady now.”
She held on to him firmly. It felt good to have her talk to him again, to touch him, even if it was just for assistance.
“Aeryn…”
She looked up at him.
“I’m glad you got to experience this. I’m grateful for it.”
His weight shifted, she leaned into him slightly.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen in the next few days. We might finally beat Scorpius, we might-”
“No,” she said. “Let’s not talk about it. Whatever happens happens. We’ll be there, together.”
Reaching his room, she sat him down on his bed. He was starting to feel weary.
“I never wanted to be twinned, Aeryn. Everything that I did…”
“It’s all right.” She kneeled down to pull his boots off.
“I would like us to be new to each other.”
“We will. It will take time, but we will. Get some sleep now.”
“Here.” He handed her his journal. “Take this, I wrote another lesson in the back for you.”
She accepted it with a slight smile. Leaning down, she lightly kissed his forehead and pulled a gold blanket over him. Not quite a smooch under the mistletoe, but to him it was pure heaven.
“Good night.”
Walking back to her room, she opened the book to see the new lesson. Her heart leaped, astonished at what she saw written.
Before the lesson, on the back pages, he had sketched in some of the star charts he mapped for reference. On the page she opened, was his latest entry: a chart with a single star in the center. It was the bright one he had described, the reference point in the void.
She felt her tears forming again.
My John.
That star, his one constant that guided him home, he named Aeryn.
Finis
*It is said, he holds me.
