'God save thee, ancient Mariner!
From the fiends, that plague thee thus!-
Why look'st thou so? - With my cross-bow
I shot the Albatross
Act One
Scene One
"John," D'Argo was trying to be patient. He really was. But some days were easier to deal with the human then others. Today was one of the hard days. Actually, everyday was since Aeryn had left on Talyn with Crais and the other John. "Until we find another commerce planet, you are not going to be able to fix your module. That connector is fused..."
"It's not that bad," John repeated, crouching near the underbelly of his ship. Only his bent legs were visible, his voice coming from the other side of the module "A little elbow grease here and there and everything will loosen up right nice."
The Luxan shook his head, not even bothering to ask if elbow grease was a literal translation or not. "You'll break it."
John's face finally came into view. "I'm not gonna break it," he remarked. "It's been a long time since I've broken anything."
"What about the regulator on the storage freezer?"
"That was different." John began to duck back around to the other side of his module when a great shudder passed across his shoulders. "Whoa. Someone just walked over my grave."
D'Argo's brow rose. "You're not dead."
"No. It's a saying," John started to explain. He shivered once more, shaking his head quickly to make it pass. "My grandmother used to say it all the time whenever she'd get a sudden chill. It means to have the hair on the back of you neck stands up for no reason. The heebee geebees."
"The he be who?" D'Argo was not any more enlightened then he was previously and his expression said so.
John waved a hand. "Forget it. Never mind. Just...hand me that will ya?" He pointed toward a wrench, one of the few tools that remained of those he had on his module.
Before D'Argo had more of an opportunity then to look toward the indicated item, the tool slid across the floor of it's on volition and stopped by John's foot.
"How'd you do that?" John asked, his voice dropping down to a cautious octave.
"I was going to ask you the same thing." D'Argo stood to his full height, hand resting nervously on his Qualta blade.
The silence was broken by Jool's voice over the comm. "Crichton? We have a problem."
John slowly reached for the wrench, half expecting it to explode the moment his fingers touched it. A lopsided grin answered Jool's call. "Nooo," he muttered. "Really?"
Scene Two
"Moya stopped so I came up here to see why." Jool pointed accusing fingers toward the view screen as John and D'Argo entered command.
The infinite reach of space spread out before them, but it was far from being empty. Space craft of varying build and design hung lifeless all around them. Hundreds of ships appeared adrift in a black sea that was devoid of even distant starlight.
As the two males took in the sight, Jool continued speaking, her tone caught between huffy self-importance and barely quelled apprehension. "The controls are giving off erratic readings. None of them make any sense. And I haven't been able to get Pilot to answer me."
"Pilot?" John spoke into his comm. "You there, buddy?"
"What, you didn't believe me?" Jool put her hands on her hips, glaring at the human. "Or do you think it's just me he won't answer to?"
"Be quiet," D'Argo growled. He too tapped his comm. "Pilot!"
When no answer came, Jool smiled, tilting her head to one side. "See?"
"Okay. I'll go check on Pilot. Get Chiana on the horn and have her meet us here. I'll be a lot happier if everyone is in one place." John walked out of command, leaving Jool and D'Argo to stare through the forward view screen.
Scene Three
Chiana had just begun to round a bend in the corridor when a chill swept her from behind. She shivered violently, then stopped to look around. Her dark eyes searched the passageway, her posture capable of turning into a flat out run if necessary. But nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
With a hint of caution in her step, Chiana continued on her way only to come to another complete stop just as the corridor straightened out.
A figure stood several paces away, facing her as if it had been expecting the Nebari.
Chiana's surprise was quickly overshadowed as she examined the child, for surely it was too small to be an adult. Perhaps eight or nine cycles old if judged by her own standards. The young girl had long hair, such a pale yellow as to almost seem translucent, which draped over delicate shoulders. Large, perfectly round eyes of liquid blue dominated the thin face. The other features were muted, as if they had been blurred so that only a ridge marked a nose and a wrinkle denoted a mouth. Four fingered hands held a toy ball that shimmered like white oil.
"Hello," Chiana said. "How'd you get onboard?"
The child stood in the corridor a moment longer, then spun around quickly and ran in the opposite direction.
"Hey! Wait!" Blinking in surprise, Chiana hurried after the girl, losing sight of her as she dashed around a curve in the passageway. By the time she caught up, the strange intruder was gone.
"Chiana," D'Argo's voice boomed over the comm. "We need you in Command."
"Yeah," Chiana answered distractedly. "On my way." She looked over her shoulder with a shiver, then started walking in the direction of Command.
Scene Four
"Hey, Pilot." John strolled into Pilot's den as he talked. "We just got snagged in some galactic Bermuda Triangle and your cone of silence is starting to..." His words and his steps faltered as he caught sight of the large creature that directed Moya.
"Just horrible," wailed Pilot. Tears poured from his eyes, dripping onto untended controls. "The tragedy."
John blinked, approaching carefully. "What's with the waterworks? What happened?"
"I can't..." Pilot shook his head, his arms lying despondently upon his panel. "It's too terrible."
Concern wrinkled John's brow. "Is Moya alright? She hurt?"
Turning away as much as his connection to the ship allowed, Pilot did not seem capable of facing John. "Please, Commander. Moya and I...would like to be alone." Fresh tears welled in Pilot's eyes as his head bowed.
"Yeah. Sure." John backed up slowly. "Take your time. If you need to talk..."
But Pilot was no longer paying attention to the human. "Sad," he wept. "How could anyone bare it?"
Ah! Well a-day! What evil looks
Had I from old and young!
Instead of the cross, the Albatross
About my neck was hung.
Act Two
Scene One
"Okay." John flattened his palms on the console, letting his arms support his weight. "So. Pilot and Moya are too upset to fly. The manual controls are not responding. Or...not the way they are supposed to respond at any rate. And we have a stowaway." He looked up, letting his eyes fall on each of the others individually.
"Right," answered Chiana. "But I think she's more frightened of us then we are of her."
John lifted a hand and waved it. "Whatever. Point is, we're dead in the water and it doesn't take a rocket scientist to deduct she's probably the reason. Or at least, knows something about it."
Chiana's lips parted, but she didn't immediately speak. "Well, uh..." she said eventually. "What if she's trapped like the rest of us? She didn't look like she really wanted to talk."
"I'll make her talk," D'Argo growled.
"Nice. Threaten a harmless little girl." Jool turned her head to speak to the Luxan. "It must make you feel like quite the brave warrior to intimidate children."
"We don't know," John said, raising his voice to ward off any developing argument. "If this is a little girl. It could be a..."
"Ghost?" Chiana interrupted.
"There are no such things as ghosts." D'Argo crossed his arms over his chest and squared his shoulders.
"You can't know that. Until a few cycles ago you didn't know there was any such thing as humans either. And they turned out to be real." Chiana seemed proud of her argument, even if her voice was tinged with apprehension.
John put his palm on his forehead, closing his eyes a moment. "We don't know what she is until we find her. Since the DRD's are also malfunctioning, that leaves it up to us to form a search party."
Jool suddenly glanced at the ceiling. "Did you see that?"
"See what?" John looked at the others as they nodded an affirmative to the Interon.
"The lights just dimmed," D'Argo said.
"I don't see a difference," John shrugged.
"Of course not," Jool answered. "That's because you're..."
John's hand shot up, cutting her off. "Deficient. I know. Can we go look for the kid now?"
They filed out of the room, each taking a different direction, but John was the last to leave. It wasn't his intent to go looking for the intruder. Although he hadn't noticed the lights dimming, he had noticed that other ship functions were not being attended too. Once everyone had dispersed, he headed back toward Pilot's den.
Scene Two
Jool jumped out of the way of a DRD spinning completely out of control along the corridor. "Frell," she muttered. "If this ship didn't resemble a mental asylum before..."
Temperature in the hallway dropped suddenly but Jool only had a moment to take note of it before she heard the voices.
They were distant. Garbled. There was nothing in their structure that came across as being a distinct word, but Jool immediately recognized the tones.
"Wait for me," she called out. Her steps quickened into a light jog, propelling her further along the tier. "I can't keep up."
No matter how fast she ran the voices always seemed just around the next corner. Always outdistancing her. If she didn't hurry, they would leave her forever.
"But I never got to say goodbye," she cried, a sob choking her voice. As she came around the last bend, she was thankful to find her quarters ahead of her. Unable to see through the tears that doubled her vision, Jool threw herself upon her bed and wept.
Scene Three
John entered Pilot's den unsure what to expect. The huge navigator was no longer shedding great tears, but was instead staring off in a random direction. It wouldn't be any great cause for alarm if not for one problem. This was the first time John had ever seen the creature completely still, totally ignoring the pulsing controls and levers.
"Hey, Pilot." John moderated his voice to be calming, speaking just loud enough to be heard. The lighting in the den was more muted then normal, giving the area a somber atmosphere. He couldn't help but feel as if he just walked into a funeral parlor. "How are you and Moya doing?"
"As well...as can be expected." Pilot swung his head around, but stared through John as if he really wasn't there.
John nodded like he understood, then walked slowly so that he could rest his hands on the circular panel surrounding Pilot. "We're all pretty worried about you guys.
Silence stretched out until John was sure he'd get no further response. "Sometimes...talking helps," he prompted. "I should know. I'm kinda an expert on it." His self depreciating smile was weak as the humor of his last phrase failed to have any effect on Pilot.
"Moya is devastated," Pilot said. "There is no amount of talking that will console her."
"No, maybe not," John started cautiously. "But if the rest of us understood, we might be able to help." Whatever the great Leviathan was experiencing, Pilot, through his connection, appeared to share in it. Both of them seemed beyond comfort.
"Moya was very young when her mother was killed." Tears began to well in Pilot's eyes, mimicking the strong emotions that flowed through him from the ship. "She never had the chance to say goodbye. The Peacekeepers never allowed her to mourn."
John lifted his chin, eyes narrowing in thought. "So she picked now to do it?" It sounded crass, and he regretted it the moment it was said. Hoping he could avoid further insulting Pilot and Moya, he reached out to one of the claws lying on the untended panel. "I know how hard it is to lose a parent."
"Moya blames herself." Pilot's head bowed, eyes drooping shut against pained tears. "She feels it should have been her instead."
There were never the right words to say, something John was well familiar with. He could remember all the comforting phrases passed to him when his own mother died, but none of them really helped him. "It's uh, normal to feel guilty when someone dies. Especially when it's unexpected. But they would want us to keep going. Not give up."
Pilot looked toward John, his gaze reflecting true despair and loss. "Moya does not wish to go on. And neither do I."
Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down,
'Twas sad as sad could be;
And we did speak only to break
The silence of the sea!
Act Three
Scene One
"I've been through the entire tier twice. There is no one here." D'Argo stood in the corridor, waiting for a response over the comm. All he got was static. "John," he repeated.
"...nothing....Meet me..."
An annoyed grumble heralded a rather hard tap on the defective comm. "Meet you where?"
"I think he said Command." Chiana had crept up behind D'Argo without a sound. But the Luxan hadn't been surprised. He had smelled her familiar scent getting closer.
"The comms are failing. Illumination has dropped by two degrees and the air is starting to grow stale." D'Argo's mood was gruff, but there were melancholy undertones threaded throughout his statement. He began to walk in the direction of Command, leaving the pale Nebari to trail behind.
"I'm sure Crichton will figure out a way to fix this."
D'Argo rounded on Chiana, but it was less out of anger then it was hopelessness. "Not everything can be fixed, Chiana. There are some things that go wrong no one, especially that crazy human, can make right again."
Chiana just blinked as she watched D'Argo turn and continue on his way. She wasn't sure if she should pursue, try to find out what was really bothering him. It really wasn't her place anymore. He may not ever allow her to get that close again.
But before she was able to finish her internal debate, a thump sounded along the floor behind her. Spinning about, she witnessed a pearly toy ball bouncing along the corridor toward her. Slowing its momentum, the ball rolled until stopping just inches from her feet.
Chiana glanced up away from it, peering through the corridor. But there was no sign of the girl the ball belonged to. "Hello?" she called out.
No answer came in response.
"D'Argo? John? I think I've got something here." She tapped her comm. badge but received nothing more then a distant whine. "Frell," she hissed under her breath. "Okay, little one. If it's hide and seek you want to play, I'm game."
Reaching down, Chiana picked up the ball. It glowed momentarily at her touch. "Just a toy," she muttered, speaking out loud in an effort to steel her nerves. "Right."
Scene Two
D'Argo had his back to the door when John came into the Command chamber. He appeared to be watching the multitude of silent ships hanging in space outside the forward screen.
"Moya's depressed. No, more then depressed." John pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes tight. "She needs serious couch time. And I just found Jool in a bed of Kleenex crying her eyes out over not being there when her cousins needed her the most."
"There is nothing worse anyone can do then to fail those they love."
John opened one eye and glanced sideways at D'Argo.
The Luxan let out a great sigh and bowed his head. "I failed my wife. I was not there to protect her and it resulted in her death." D'Argo pulled his Qualta Blade from his side and placed it on the console before him. "I am unworthy to carry this."
John sucked in a breath of air. "Not you too. Just gonna give up? Lay down and die?"
"She died alone. Afraid. Because of me," D'Argo murmured. His eyes seemed soulless, the fire that burned behind them snuffed out by pain. "I do not deserve anything better then what she had."
"D. There are others that depend on you." John reached out, trying to stop D'Argo from leaving the chamber.
D'Argo looked down at the hand on his arm and gently shrugged it off. "They shouldn't." That said he left the human to stare after him.
Scene Three
John folded his arms across the panel and rested his chin on them. The ships outside the forward view screen varied in size and shape. From craft that appeared barely capable of deep space travel to those that would be considered state of the art. All of them, hundreds of them, hung derelict in space. Not a single sign of life was apparent. Not that John wanted to risk taking the transport pod out to check. He didn't want to take the chance the pod would fail and leave him stranded alone.
"Day after day, day after day. We stuck, nor breath nor motion. As idle as a painted ship, upon a painted ocean."
He didn't need to turn around to see who had spoken to him. That voice was too familiar. It had haunted him throughout the Uncharted Territories. "Rime of the Ancient Mariner. Had to learn it for English class in Junior High school."
The Scorpius Clone stood beside John, gazing out the screen. "Rather fitting in your present circumstance. And there are definitely some parallels to be drawn between you and the doomed sailor himself. Cast out into a strange sea by a freak of nature. Responsible for the doom of his shipmates. Lost."
"Guess that would make you my albatross, huh Harvey?" John pulled himself up straight and turned away from the view screen.
"They are all grieving, John. It must be allowed to run its proper course. Any first year psych student can tell you that."
It was late into the sleep cycle but John hadn't been sleeping much anyway. Although he suddenly felt incredibly weary. "Yeah, yeah. I know. But while they're boo hooing their little hearts out, Moya's system are failing. They don't snap out of this soon, we're gonna wind up just like those guys." He gestured toward the screen and the multitude of dead ships.
"Everyone must deal with grief in their own fashion." The clone returned his cold gaze to John. "At least, you are not affected."
His eyes narrowed in thought. "I suppose I have you to thank for that?"
The clone laughed. "Not at all. Well. Not in the manner that you think anyway."
John hated that smug, all knowing grin on Harvey's pale face. "So tell me. How come I'm not tripping down the road to Prozac hell? And don't tell me it's because Humans are inferior."
"It's simple really, John. When was the last time you were happy?"
He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes looking away. After a moment, he frowned and shook his head. "Not recently."
That self righteous grin returned even as Harvey began to fade away. "Then there is your answer.
"Great," John muttered out loud to no one. "My claim to fame. I do miserable better then anyone I know."
An orphan's curse would drag to hell
A spirit from on high;
But oh! More horrible than that
Is the curse in a dead man's eye!
Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse,
And yet I could not die.
Act Four
Scene One
"Chiana!?" John was past being concerned and was treading through down right worry over the girl. He knew where Jool and D'Argo were. They hadn't left their quarters in arns. Hell, they hadn't even moved to scratch themselves. But the Nebari was a different matter. John couldn't find the sneak. It didn't help matters that most of the tiers were almost completely dark.
"Dammit, Chiana!" he called out again, then coughed with the effort. The air was getting very thin. And cold. John stopped, bracing his hand against a wall as he caught his breath. There were always the environmental suits when the oxygen finally gave out, but that would just prolong the inevitable by a few arns. "This is not fair," he grumbled to himself as he restarted his trek. "I didn't get my ass kicked from one side of the universe to the other just to die like this."
"Crichton?"
John's summons was finally answered, but the voice that came from the far end of the corridor was weak. He broke into a run, tripping over a DRD that had stalled out a few paces ahead of him. "Chi?"
By the time he finally found Chiana, nearly stumbling over her in the gloom, his body screamed for limited oxygen. He bent over, resting his hands on his knees. "Been looking...all over for you," he panted.
"She's dying."
John nodded, thinking initially that Chiana referred to Moya. But when he looked up, his opinion changed.
Chiana sat cross-legged on the floor, cradling a pale wisp of a girl in her lap. Streaks of dark tears made lines against the Nebari's face. She rocked back and forth gently, crooning what sounded like a lullaby to the child in her arms.
"Her family," she said eventually as John knelt before her.
"They...they died out there. Their ship just stopped working."
John didn't want to ask how Chiana got this information. Lately, she had just known things. His eyes moved from her to the strange girl. It didn't look to him as if the child was alive even now.
"She was little, so she lasted longer. She was scared and they left her." Chiana drew the girl tighter against her. "She didn't want to die alone. No child should be left alone."
"No," John agreed in a soft murmur. Then his eyes widened. Without another word, he spun and stood in one motion, sprinting back through the corridor.
Scene Two
By the time he got to Pilot's den, John felt as if he just run ten miles. All up hill. He collapsed to the floor on all fours, trying to draw air into his lungs. It was darker here and the chill already seeped through to his bones. "Pilot?"
He got no answer, nor could see much more then a shadowy outline of the creature he spoke to. "Moya? I know you can hear me. You've got to hear me." His sighed. "Damn, I hope you can hear me."
If the living ship was aware of the human, she gave no sign.
John rolled over onto his back. "Whatever...regrets you might have...whatever guilt you might feel...I'm sure your mother understands."
It was the lightest of hums, a tiny vibration that would have gone unnoticed if John wasn't lying on the floor. It was nothing. But enough for him to know that Moya was listening at least.
"But imagine...what your feeling now...is the same thing Talyn will feel if you let yourself die out here."
The vibration stilled and John worried that he had lost her. "Everyone on this ship. We're your children too. And right now...you are the only one that can save us."
A breeze, and nothing more, passed over John's face. He didn't realize what it was at first. Not until the lights began to brighten. As he craned his head back to look at Pilot, the scent of freshening air hit his nostrils. A grin started to crawl across his face. "That's it, baby," he said. "Get us the hell outta here."
He could feel the ship tilt softly to its side, just enough to herald Moya's flight out of the field that had kept them trapped. "Yeah!" he yelled, breaking into exhausted laughter. He pressed his palms to his eyes and took a deep breath. "That's my girl."
Scene Three
D'Argo watched Chiana from the corner of his eye as he took a bite from the food cube in his fingers. She hadn't said much of anything ever since they had left the ship graveyard. But she was remarkably at ease. Calmer then he ever remembered seeing her.
"Everything seems to be working again," Jool said as she entered the chamber and sat down at the table. "No lasting damage."
Pilot's face shimmered on the holo screen. "Environmentals should be at optimal levels within arns. We should be able to make up the time we lost getting to the rendezvous point."
"Good," D'Argo said. "The more distance we can put between ourselves and..."
Chiana looked his way and smiled. "It wasn't that bad a place. There's always some good that comes out of tragedy."
"What did she mean by that?" Jool asked as she watched the Nebari leave.
D'Argo had no idea. Chiana had been possessed by a sad, yet peaceful, demeanor. She was uncharacteristically quiet and withdrawn. But D'Argo couldn't sense the unnatural melancholy in her that seemed to have overtaken the rest of the crew while the ship had been stilled. The events of the last few days were still hazy in his memory, though. All he knew was that it had taken arns for him to find out where he had left his Qualta Blade.
Scene Four
Aeryn's quarters were exactly as she had left them. What few possessions she kept were in perfect order. A place for everything, and everything in its place. There was not even a sign that she had packed quickly to leave aboard Talyn.
Leaving without saying goodbye.
John leaned against the doorway, just barely outside the room "You know that poem you like so much? About the Mariner?"
"Yes, John."
"He does eventually get home." John pushed away from the wall and took a few cautious steps into Aeryn's quarters. He could still smell her here, a presence so strong he almost expected to see her walk in and demand to know why he was trespassing. He took a seat on the edge of her bed.
Harvey chuckled, chin lowered to his chest as a cruel smile spread over his face. "That he does, John. As a frail old man telling a story that brands him a lunatic."
Leaning back, John laced his fingers over his stomach and stared up at the vaulted ceiling.
Alone, alone, all, all alone
Alone on a wide wide sea!
And never a saint took pity on
My soul in agony.
END
Author's Notes on "My Albatross"
