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Onboard Moya, Orbiting Tornaga, in Hynerian Space
Moya had been taking a slow route through the edges of the Hynerian planetary system to reduce the chances of the ship (or any of her occupants) being recognized before they were ready. They were now approaching Tornaga, a planet Rygel said had been a popular port of call when he reigned. There were no other ships within range, which seemed odd for a planet known for tourists but Rygel had been deposed 130 cycles ago and things change. But once they were closer to the planet the reasoning became far too clear. From Moya’s bridge, her occupants could see debris everywhere. The remains of Hynerian ships were everywhere in the planet’s orbit and even from this distance it was clear the planet itself had suffered.
These were not recent deaths. Stark couldn’t feel anything, for which he was dimly grateful as he stood there staring and whispering prayers. It was far too late for him to do anything, for anyone to do anything, and prayers were all he had to offer.
“The Scarrans certainly didn’t frell around,” Jothee said, trying to take in the scale of the destruction laid out in front of them.
“They were at war,” Aeryn pointed out.
“This wasn’t a war,” Chiana protested. “This was-”
“-A massacre,” Rygel finished. He was staring in horror. Most of them were. Stark was still whispering his prayers.
“You okay there, Buckwheat?” Crichton asked.
“No, Crichton, I most certainly am not. Things should never have gotten this far.”
“Yeah well, the Scarrans missed the memo on the Geneva convention.”
“You yotz,” Rygel snapped. “I’m not talking about the Scarrans, I’m talking about my fahrbot cousin! A true Dominar would have protected his people! Not let them die like this. Contact Mmyna, Pilot.”
“That’s your wife?” Aeryn asked.
“She’s one of my wives, yes.”
A few moments later an image of Mmyna appeared over one of the consoles on the bridge.
“Is that you my love,” she asked.
“I’m here, Mmyna. We’ve just arrived at Tornaga.”
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” she said.”
“I’m not,” Rygel said. “It just reminds me of how important it is that I remove Bishan from power. The sooner the better!”
“I’m very glad to hear that,” Mmyna told him. “I have made contact with three generals loyal to you –Turralde, Gighun, and Monlan– and we have gathered an army on the palace planet’s fourth moon.”
“One of the palace planet’s moons?” Crichton interrupted. “Right in Bish-boy’s backyard?”
“I assume,” Rygel said, ignoring the human’s comments, “the fourth moon is still an abandoned mining colony. It’s perfect.”
“Anyway,” Mmyna said, turning her attention to Crichton. “Who are you to question the Dominar?”
“I’m John Crichton. And believe me, I question the Dominar all the time.”
“Crichton? Your reputation precedes you.”
“Yeah, don’t believe everything you read in the National Enquirer,” Crichton said with a snort. “Buckwheat, you sure this is a good idea?”
“Tactically it’s risky,” Jothee offered. He ought to know, having been serving in the Luxan army since the last time he left Moya.
“It’s not any stupider than half the things we’ve done,” Chiana piped up.
“That’s hardly a sterling recommendation,” Aeryn pointed out.
“I’ve spent the past 130 cycles imprisoned, injured, infected, shot, stabbed, and pregnant,” Rygel snapped. “And I endured it all for this moment!”
“All right Pilot,” Crichton agreed. “Set the course.”
“Rygel,” Aeryn began, looking at the image of Mmyna still being projected onto the bridge, “you’ve been away from home for a long time. Are you sure you can trust this female?”
“She’s the only one of my legion of wives I can trust. Mmyna may be the ugliest of my wives and certainly the least interesting in terms of sexual prowess but she was always the one I could trust–” Rygel paused as if suddenly aware that everyone, including the wife in question, could still hear him. “Er, that is to say-”
“I take no offense, my love,” Mmyna said. “Worry not. And I should be the one you trust since I am the only one who hasn’t remarried.”
Rygel gasped. “You mean you’re my only wife? Ah, that is to say, I can’t wait to be alone with you in bed,”
“Who needs a bed?”
“Frell me,” Rygel said quietly.
“That’s the idea.”
Thankfully for everyone witnessing the conversation who was not one of the two Hynerians, it ended shortly thereafter and plans for the meeting at the abandoned mining colony began to take place.
Jothee would be going, of course, as a show of support and to act as something of a bodyguard. His uniform and qualta blade, not to mention his appearance, would probably go far. Chiana didn’t want to be left behind. Neither did Crichton or Aeryn, but they couldn’t agree on who would stay behind with the baby and Jothee convinced them that staying behind to provide support would be beneficial. Stark tried to slip away quietly but Chiana grabbed his arm.
“Nope, you’re coming with us,” she said.
“I’m not posing as his slave,” Stark snapped, pulling away.
“Who the frell said anything about that?” Chiana asked, narrowing her eyes at Rygel.
“I may have implied something,” Rygel said airily. “Purely accidental, of course.”
Stark made a noise that was something like a growl and stomped off, wishing as he went that Moya had slammable doors.
[NFB for distance still because the saddest alien remains in space. Still has his phone though. Pulled in large part from the first Farscape comic, "The Beginning of the End of the Beginning: Return of the King."]
These were not recent deaths. Stark couldn’t feel anything, for which he was dimly grateful as he stood there staring and whispering prayers. It was far too late for him to do anything, for anyone to do anything, and prayers were all he had to offer.
“The Scarrans certainly didn’t frell around,” Jothee said, trying to take in the scale of the destruction laid out in front of them.
“They were at war,” Aeryn pointed out.
“This wasn’t a war,” Chiana protested. “This was-”
“-A massacre,” Rygel finished. He was staring in horror. Most of them were. Stark was still whispering his prayers.
“You okay there, Buckwheat?” Crichton asked.
“No, Crichton, I most certainly am not. Things should never have gotten this far.”
“Yeah well, the Scarrans missed the memo on the Geneva convention.”
“You yotz,” Rygel snapped. “I’m not talking about the Scarrans, I’m talking about my fahrbot cousin! A true Dominar would have protected his people! Not let them die like this. Contact Mmyna, Pilot.”
“That’s your wife?” Aeryn asked.
“She’s one of my wives, yes.”
A few moments later an image of Mmyna appeared over one of the consoles on the bridge.
“Is that you my love,” she asked.
“I’m here, Mmyna. We’ve just arrived at Tornaga.”
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” she said.”
“I’m not,” Rygel said. “It just reminds me of how important it is that I remove Bishan from power. The sooner the better!”
“I’m very glad to hear that,” Mmyna told him. “I have made contact with three generals loyal to you –Turralde, Gighun, and Monlan– and we have gathered an army on the palace planet’s fourth moon.”
“One of the palace planet’s moons?” Crichton interrupted. “Right in Bish-boy’s backyard?”
“I assume,” Rygel said, ignoring the human’s comments, “the fourth moon is still an abandoned mining colony. It’s perfect.”
“Anyway,” Mmyna said, turning her attention to Crichton. “Who are you to question the Dominar?”
“I’m John Crichton. And believe me, I question the Dominar all the time.”
“Crichton? Your reputation precedes you.”
“Yeah, don’t believe everything you read in the National Enquirer,” Crichton said with a snort. “Buckwheat, you sure this is a good idea?”
“Tactically it’s risky,” Jothee offered. He ought to know, having been serving in the Luxan army since the last time he left Moya.
“It’s not any stupider than half the things we’ve done,” Chiana piped up.
“That’s hardly a sterling recommendation,” Aeryn pointed out.
“I’ve spent the past 130 cycles imprisoned, injured, infected, shot, stabbed, and pregnant,” Rygel snapped. “And I endured it all for this moment!”
“All right Pilot,” Crichton agreed. “Set the course.”
“Rygel,” Aeryn began, looking at the image of Mmyna still being projected onto the bridge, “you’ve been away from home for a long time. Are you sure you can trust this female?”
“She’s the only one of my legion of wives I can trust. Mmyna may be the ugliest of my wives and certainly the least interesting in terms of sexual prowess but she was always the one I could trust–” Rygel paused as if suddenly aware that everyone, including the wife in question, could still hear him. “Er, that is to say-”
“I take no offense, my love,” Mmyna said. “Worry not. And I should be the one you trust since I am the only one who hasn’t remarried.”
Rygel gasped. “You mean you’re my only wife? Ah, that is to say, I can’t wait to be alone with you in bed,”
“Who needs a bed?”
“Frell me,” Rygel said quietly.
“That’s the idea.”
Thankfully for everyone witnessing the conversation who was not one of the two Hynerians, it ended shortly thereafter and plans for the meeting at the abandoned mining colony began to take place.
Jothee would be going, of course, as a show of support and to act as something of a bodyguard. His uniform and qualta blade, not to mention his appearance, would probably go far. Chiana didn’t want to be left behind. Neither did Crichton or Aeryn, but they couldn’t agree on who would stay behind with the baby and Jothee convinced them that staying behind to provide support would be beneficial. Stark tried to slip away quietly but Chiana grabbed his arm.
“Nope, you’re coming with us,” she said.
“I’m not posing as his slave,” Stark snapped, pulling away.
“Who the frell said anything about that?” Chiana asked, narrowing her eyes at Rygel.
“I may have implied something,” Rygel said airily. “Purely accidental, of course.”
Stark made a noise that was something like a growl and stomped off, wishing as he went that Moya had slammable doors.
[NFB for distance still because the saddest alien remains in space. Still has his phone though. Pulled in large part from the first Farscape comic, "The Beginning of the End of the Beginning: Return of the King."]