Intermission and Revelation

Betty

"Crichton?" The Doctor blinks, seeing the man standing next to me at the transporter controls. "What the devil are you doing here?"

"Wait, I swear I've seen you somewhere before...." Crichton mutters to himself, racking his brain to dredge it up. Snapping his fingers, trying to remember just where it had been.

"Uh, try the Timelord called the Doctor. You know, the one prior to the scarf and Jellybabies," I say softly to him, nudging his mind towards the answer.

"Oh, right!" he begins to chuckle before going wide eyed in shock and staring at me.

"You're drenning me, right?" he gags, inadvertently slipping in a UT (Uncharted Territories) term for the more familiar Earth word, beginning to look desperate as he feels like he's finally losing it. "I mean....Dr. Who . . . is an old Brit scifi show I saw on PBS!"

"And Farscape is a scifi show that recently got cancelled back on the Scifi channel," I throw back.

"Frellin' TV executives," I add under my breath before continuing. "And being that we all are on a starship from Star Trek I am not . . . . 'drenning you'. What be the point?"

"Well there's...." he begins, then sighing and throwing up his hands in surrender.

"Never should have fiddled with that communicator," he mutters to himself. "Shit, the techs back at Houston will demand I turn in my Honorary Trekie Club Card...."

I then pick up the conversation thread with the Doctor, answering his question to John (who shows no real inclination at answering). Right now, he seems to be sizing up those others who'd come up with the Timelord, looking worriedly at the Roughnecks (or more like the battle armor they still are wearing).

"God, I don't even think Aeryn's blunderbuss could put a dent in that stuff," he mutters, remembering (I believe) some of what he'd read from Heinlein's book in his childhood.

Yeah, indeed. Point in fact unless you took a phasor set on disintegrate I rather doubt we have anything aboard (science based weapon wise) which could dent that armor, if they were anything like what the Military had in the way of power armor.

Power armor falls under the Military category of "heavy combat machines", while an Avatar unit (like what Inquirer's body is) falls under "light combat", to give you an idea.

Do hope that they behave themselves while in those tincans, because god help us all if they feel like tearing through this place...

And, alas, that's probably why Avon keeps making sniping comments here and there soon under his breath, getting on everyone's nerves. Mind you, he actually is capable of being polite under the right circumstances. Like, with people he doesn't feel threatened by and doesn't actually care about at all. And with that said, I fear that's the root of his problem. Right now, he's surrounded by folk in power armor, with small yeild nuclear bombs (even in his time he can tell what those symbols mean on some of the "Roughneck's" utility belts). And even if they weren't armed, I fear that there is the Doctor. Sigh. The Doctor still hasn't seen him at his best, and probably never will. See, don't hold me to it but I feel after he's seen all of what Timelord's in general (and the Doctor in particular) is capable of... He feels threatened, maybe because . . . he feels so outclassed? Hm, maybe not. Maybe so. And if not because of what the Doctor can do, then because of the company he keeps. Namely, Inquirer (who he rubbed the wrong way) and Sigin (who is still rather cross with him and made no secret of his distain for Avon)....

Sad, but that's what I feel is the problem that won't be solved anytime soon (if ever).

The Doctor

"He and his friends other came along with me, Chiana, and Ragan accidentally," Betty sighs, going onto explain the circumstances surrounding Crichton. How he got up here and how he was an analog of the Crichton we'd just left, earlier.

My, she and the others had been busy whilst separated from me and the others! I'd be more interested, really, if it wasn't for the fact only something like a third of my Companions were up here instead of down . . . below. And last I remember it was my wife (wherever she is) has both the Detector Wand and the Key Components on her person! Meaning that if she should fail to return, (putting aside how frantic

Betty goes onto explain that ship sensors showed that the Defiant was, as far as she could tell, in some kind of limbo intersection with a view! The main viewer showed, as the intersection "sort of orbited" around several Earthlike worlds simultaneously (one of them was Gauda Prime). Betty expands on that explaining that several images of different worlds overlapped. So far, the only person they'd been able to contact had been me but the efforts went on.

"We'll get them," Betty says softly, reassuringly.

My worry must have shown upon my face there. Generally try not to let my Companions see me at a loss (makes them generally nervous themselves), but . . . But by now I know them well enough so that slip doesn't bother me as much as it otherwise would have.

Avon, meanwhile, is not looking too good. That probably is the only reason why several of the Roughnecks haven't gotten in his face over his attitude problem is that he was obviously . . . unwell and only getting worse as time progressed. Repeatedly he had demanded that we cease nattering over trivialities and instead get back down to where the we'd met.

"Look," I finally say, turning. "Right now I'm getting apprised of our situation at hand. Not only do I need to know what kind of sensor readings and recordings the Defiant has, which will perhaps be the only way that we shall be able to not only get back to your precious ship, but it shall also be the way to get our other unexpected guests back home as well!"

"Hm," Crichton mutters, looking thoughtful. "Bet you that Pilot and Moya are getting frantic right now, wondering where we got off too there."

Unnoticed until now, a DRD painted the unlikely colours of red, white, and blue (with a small banner with "1812". The tiny robotic servicer beeps and blinks in agreement.

"And we do rather need to get back to Operation Bughouse," the Sergeant (Brutto by the stenciling on his battlesuit) mutters softly to himself.

More like "Operation Madhouse" if things go like they did in the book, Betty grumps to me telepathically.

Indeed, things had gotten rather dicey for the Earth forces on that mission. However, there are some decided differences here. One is that Rico, the chap who’d escorted us to the crash sight, had been in a different unit. Only after that disastrous operation did he become a Roughneck! And there are other things like....

"Operation Madhouse?" the one known as Jenkins asks, looking over at us, giving me and Betty quiet a start. I’d managed to hide it, but Betty’s shows. But be that as it may, Jenkins had overheard our mental speech! "I. . . .couldn’t help but overhear that, ma’am."

His squadmates and commanding officer look first at him, then at us.

The as of yet unnamed Golem also looks alarmed, looking more at Jenkins than at us. Jenkins, in turn, looks back.

"Yeah, besides me I believe that there was another who knew about you diddling with those others down there," Jenkins says softly. "Someone named Orac also sensed you."

"Oh god," mutters Avon, looking up at the ceiling, "not another telepath ready to pick through my mind. Just want I always wanted."

"Hey," Rico barks. "It doesn’t work like that. He only is able to overhear telepathic projections. He isn’t able to do any ‘prying’, you stupid sh*t."

If looks could kill (or if it wasn’t for the fact that Avon had been stripped of his arms sometime back at the crash sight), then Rico would be dead right now...

"Easy private," the lieutenant sighs, stopping a fight before it could start.

"Can tell he’s an insecure one at that," he continues, looking over at Avon. "And if you don’t want me to know that then do not broadcast so loudly. You are an asshole, but I don‘t need psychic powers for that.

"An insecure one at that but the rest of you’re not to harm him," the lieutenant orders his troops. "None of you are."

All his command say "aye sir", though I can tell that some would just love to take Avon into one of the bathrooms and clean his clock. Avon hadn’t made himself popular, I fear.

Fear I don’t rather like him much myself, but I shan’t indulge in any pettiness.

"I've . . . got to sit down," Avon suddenly says, suddenly turning pale. That and instead of sitting, he faints.

The pilot, looking concerned, comes over and checks Avon’s pulse.

"D*mn," he says, looking alarmed. "He’s starting to go into withdraw again."

He pauses when he sees some of us looking surprised at his show of concern, and looks halfway insult.

"Hey," he protests. "I might not like the blighter but I don’t hate him enough to see him die in nightmares from Shadow withdraw. Woudln’t wish that even on Servalan, even though she . . . "

He pauses, and then continues.

"What she and her cronies in the Fed did to frame Blake doesn’t mean I’d stand by for one of Blake’s associates die in agony," he says softly. "Might still have lingering bad emotions towards them, despite...."

He pauses, turning away from us all as he masters himself.

Good grief, it can’t be.

Note: yet another possible spoiler alert. This one being for some of the preimere episode for Blake's 7. Again, to avoid it, don't read the itallisized text here and next episode).

"Oh my God," Crichton swears softly, who I’ve come to realize watched way too much television whilst a child, knows the beginning of the tale of Blake’s 7.

1. "You’re a father of one of those kid’s who’s minds got frelled with, making them believe that Blake had molested them!"

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