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Time: After Fractures…
Disclaimer: I didn’t create Farscape, didn’t create the characters and don’t make a plug nickel off of it.
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He peeked around the corner cautiously, relieved to see the corridor beyond empty. The DRD rolled forward, his eyestalks swinging nervously from side to side, hoping he didn’t come across any member of the crew. While relations between the DRDs and the organic crew of Moya were generally good, it seemed to the DRD that the crew took them for granted. Worse, it sometimes seemed that the crew considered them expendable, as mere things to vent their emotions on.
With a sense of relief that could not be measured, the DRD found the access port he had been looking for. It was indistinguishable from a myriad of other access ports onboard the great Leviathan, which was exactly why they had chosen it.
He rolled into the chamber beyond, relieved to see almost every other DRD that had worked the first half of the solar day. He was greeted by a cascade of chirps and whistles, and he bobbed his eyestalks in acknowledgement.
“I can’t believe this day’s finally over,” he chirped. “Are the days getting longer or is it just my imagination?”
One of the other DRDs rolled forward and gently bumped into him. “You’re not imagining it. We put in some long shifts. And they don’t show any sign of getting shorter. How’d it go for you today?”
The DRD blinked and his eyestalks sagged. “I was working with D’Argo today.” He expected the gasp of disbelief that came from the others. “He was working on that ship of his. You’d think he would’ve calmed down a bit since he got the thing functioning. He’s gotten worse! I don’t know what he’s doing now, but he’s not happy. The frelling brute actually took a swing at me. Fortunately, I was lower than he thought and moving fast for the hatch.”
The other DRD whistled his understanding. “You’re lucky to have gotten out of there with your life. That Luxan’s a menace, to be sure. Me, I was put on the team working with John.”
“Oh? What did John need help with? He usually like to do things by himself.”
“He was installing something on his module. Remember what Pilot was explaining to Moya? Some kind of weapon, I think.”
From the back of the group, one voice spoke up above the others. “You know, I was the one to greet John when he first came onboard Moya.”
A collective sigh fluttered through the assembled DRDs. They had all heard the story before, time after time. Subtle hinting that enough was enough never seemed to sink in to his central processor.
“Moya brought his module onboard. Not knowing if he needed help, I climbed up to see if he was all right. He blows the canopy and I go flying. Broke one of my eyestalks, too.”
The DRD easily picked the speaker out of the mass of dirty yellow bodies and eyestalks; he still sported the blue tape John had used to fix the broken eyestalk. “We know,” he said. “You’ve been telling us about it for three cycles.” He turned and started away from the group.
“Where are you going,” his companion asked.
“I’m just going to find myself a corner and get some rest. Things have been tense since we rendezvoused with Talyn. I have a feeling things are going to get worse before they get better. Maybe I’ll ask Pilot if I can work with someone else tomorrow. John, Aeryn, Chiana, anyone but D’Argo.”
“Good luck. You know how Pilot gets when we stop acting like good little service robots. Feel free to try, but be ready for disappointment.”
The DRD bobbed his eyestalks in agreement. “I know it’s pointless. But it couldn’t hurt to try.” He whistled a goodbye and rolled to the back of the compartment. He hoped there wouldn’t be any bad dreams. He always had bad dreams after working with D’Argo.
