Spoilers: Takes place during season 4, pre-UR. Anything up to and including CBC is fair game.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never were mine, never will be mine, I'm not getting paid for any part of this.
Feedback is appreciated!
Two metras off Moya's hammond side, the wormhole twisted silently into being. It gnawed ravenously at the fabric of reality. Space, and time, and probability flexed and melded at its margins.
John Crichton smiled a little in satisfaction. He was getting better at this. He continued to gaze steadily out the forward portal, into the core of the electric-blue vortex. He felt relaxed, unconcerned, distanced. A part of his mind vaguely wondered how many of those emotions could be attributed to Granny's distillate of laka. He dismissed the thought as irrelevant. Wormholes. That's what mattered. Wormholes.
"Your predictions are becoming more accurate. Have you nearly perfected the equations?"
He was jolted from his reverie by Sikozu's sharp inquiry.
"Huh? Yeah, yeah, almost. Just a few more bugs to work out."
Crichton watched with interest as the Kalish's expression morphed from curious to calculating.
"You know, your research would progress far more quickly if---"
"No. No no no no no, we have been over this. I do not want Scorpy's help."
D'Argo addressed Sikozu from across the room. "You've asked him that question every day for the past monen, and every day he gives you the same answer. Why do you keep asking?"
Crichton wasn't sure why D'Argo stayed on command. Unlike Sikozu, he had no interest in wormholes. He supposed that, as elected captain, D'Argo felt responsible to ensure that Crichton didn't frell anything up in his pursuit of wormholes.
Sikozu replied in her haughtiest tone, with an exasperated glance at Crichton. "I ask, in the obviously ill-founded hope that he will one day recognize logic when it bites him on the eema."
"Pip's right, we have expanded her vocabulary," Crichton muttered to himself.
"I'm sorry, what was that?"
"No idea what you mean. Hey Sparky, what's up?"
Rygel drifted into the room on his throne sled, grumbling quietly to himself. Crichton noted with faint amusement that he looked even more ill tempered than usual.
"Are you nearly finished with this foolishness?" Rygel demanded peevishly of Crichton. "I'm starving."
Sikozu rolled her eyes in annoyance. "You have three stomachs. You are always hungry."
Baiting Rygel was one of the few forms of amusement Crichton still enjoyed. "Better be nice, Buckwheat, one day wormholes will get you home."
"You're completely fahrbot!" Rygel snapped. "How can wormholes get me home when you don't even know where we are?"
Crichton grinned impishly as he retorted. "Aw, come on Ryg, have a little faith. Don't you Dominars believe in---"
Crichton was knocked to the floor by the massive concussion that shuddered through Moya. He clumsily tried to regain his footing. "What the frell was that?"
"I have no idea. Pilot!" D'Argo yelled. "What the frell was that?"
Pilot appeared on the clamshell. His usual polite, collected demeanor seemed somewhat frazzled. "Moya is not certain. We appear to be under attack, but we do not know by whom."
Sikozu gaped at Pilot, arrogant even in the midst of impending panic. "How can you not know, you incompetent---"
"Whoa, Sputnik, cool it!" John interrupted. "Pilot, why don't you know," he rephrased, trying desperately to keep a level tone.
Pilot shot a venomous look at Sikozu. "Radiation from your wormhole is obscuring Moya's sensors," he explained to Crichton. He stressed the 'your' almost imperceptibly.
Crichton's knees buckled as a second explosion reverberated through Moya's hull.
Aeryn and Chiana stumbled onto command, choking on smoke as a nearby power conduit exploded in a shower of sparks.
"Is everyone all right?"
"Who the frell is shooting at us?"
Crichton replied, lapsing into the familiar sarcastic humor he only utilized in periods of stress. "Well, no one knows for sure," he drawled, "but if I hadta guess, I'd put my money on those guys." He jerked a thumb at the forward portal as a sleek, fearsome-looking ship blew past. It loosed a barrage of energy pulses, and tore away for another run. Moya shuddered under the impact. "Looks like we have a winner!"
D'Argo ignored Crichton's slightly hysterical outburst. "Pilot! Get us out of here now!"
For a moment, Moya appeared to be etched in light. She lanced forward into space.
Back onboard, the crew tried to collect their scattered wits, and assess the most obvious damage.
Chiana sidled up to Crichton as he worked at clearing debris from the floor. "Who d'ya think they were?"
Crichton laughed cynically. "Who knows? Peacekeepers, Scarrans, bounty hunters, perfect strangers, who hasn't taken a shot at us lately?"
He paused to watch D'Argo pace the floor impatiently. "Yo! Jean-Luc! What now?"
"I don't know John. Pilot! Where the frell are we?"
"Why bother asking?" Rygel griped, "No one ever knows."
Pilot pointedly ignored the former Dominar. "Though Moya is unsure of our precise location, she is aware that the space in this region is distorted most unusually. Also, a number of other vessels are located in the very near vicinity."
Aeryn swiveled to glance out the forward portal as Moya executed a sweeping turn. "Pilot, what kind of---Oh frell."
The hulking dark mass of a Scarran Dreadnought loomed before her. Large enough to dwarf even a Peacekeeper Command Carrier, it hung menacingly in Moya's path.
"Oh frell," she repeated.