SCIFI.COM | Farscape: Journey Logs

Is this thing on? Testing, one, two, three.

Commander John Crichton, checking in, Pilot.

Aeryn said you wanted some fill-in-the-blanks for your journey logs, and since I was the one getting the crap kicked out of him for a good portion of this particular adventure, she thought I should be the one to give you the blow-by-blow — no pun intended.

After the blows that I was a.) gonna have to get married and, b.) gonna have to be a statue for 80 cycles, I didn't really think it could get much worse. Which means I'm a frellin' idiot; you think I'd have learned by now — it can always get worse.

Me, I'm minding my own business, and all of a sudden a flock of Prince Clavor's thugs decide to make Christmas lights out of me. They're zapping me with some really gnarly stun guns, and I'm seriously outnumbered, until Jena, the prince's fiancée, shows up and saves my bacon. Not that I needed to be rescued. I mean, I'd have gotten my ass out of there eventually, but still, I appreciated the gesture. Of course, it turns out she's a Peacekeeper covert operative and she thinks I'm one, too, which is why she bailed me out. And she won't tell me her mission, but that definitely makes it easier on me because she totally buys it when I slip into the PK commando role and tell her my "mission" is top-secret, too. Close call, though.

After she leaves, I go find Clavor and explain to him, gently and maturely, that I'd appreciate it if he'd call off his henchmen and leave me the frell alone. Okay, so I may have slapped him around a little bit. But these guys don't understand the subtle art of diplomacy.

So now Katralla's mad at me for accusing her brother, who in her eyes is a harmless, dumb, hack. At least she's got the dumb hack part right. I try and explain to her that Clavor and his little Scarran buddy aren't as innocent as she wants to believe, but she doesn't buy it until we look up and see this Obi-Wan orb floating in front of us. You know, like the thing Luke practiced his lightsaber on? No, Pilot. Of course you don't know. Sorry. Suffice it to say, it was a big, round, shiny, scary thing that started to hiss toxic gas at us.

The room fills up with the toxic gas, and I'm convinced the princess and I are toast, when ro-NA, a little green servant chick, appears out of nowhere and helps us out the back door.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Sparky — a.k.a. Rygel — has done some sort of Dominar-style verbal kung-fu on Empress Novia and convinced her to help smuggle me off the planet to improve my odds of staying alive at least 'til the wedding. They put me and the green chick on a transport ship which is supposed to take me someplace "safe." Remember what I said earlier about things always getting worse?

"Safe" apparently includes Scorpy's right-hand jerk, Braca, who was in league all along with ro-NA and brought me up here as a little wedding present for Scorpy. I still can't believe that little green chick sold me out. After I promised her a toaster and everything. You can't trust anybody, Pilot. Take it from me.

But at least I didn't need a bail-out this time; Scorpy considers my brain primo merchandise, right? So Braca knew he couldn't off me, not if he wanted whatever it was Scorpy promised him if he brought me in alive. So I held myself hostage and rocked the house. Works every time (when you're dealing with total crackpots, anyway). So bye-bye Braca, bye-bye green chick, and now it's just me on the ship —

— the ship that is now firing on the planetary defense satellites. So the platforms are, of course, firing back. The ship is about an inch from being turned into space dust and I'm pretty sure this is the Alamo for John Crichton. There's nowhere to go, the ship's breaking apart, and I'm about a half a microt from losing my dren. Then I hear Scorpy talking to me, inside my brain. I don't know how, but that guy seems to have really crawled into my skull. It's certainly not his winning personality. Scorpy tells me to save my ass, and I'll tell you, I had half a mind not to do it, just to spite him.

That, and the fact that the only way to save myself was to jump out into space. You know, where it's colder than Minneapolis in February and harder to breathe than a room full of women in Chanel perfume? And here's where — as I've been saying all along — it gets worse: I have to make the jump without a spacesuit.

Clock's ticking, ship's falling apart, and I've either got to jump and save myself for Scorpy, or stay here and get blown to smithereens.

Man, I am so frelling tired of making all the tough decisions....