The Farscape Kidfic?

from the Journey Logs...

Commander Sun simply stared at first, granite-faced, even for a Peacekeeper. And then shuddered.

The Hynerian was apparently elated - "Now who's the shortest on board?" - at least until he found his throne sled missing, and when found much later, covered in soft mushy... something... and dented.

"I demand that you do something!"

We are not sure who he was speaking to, but whichever of his arguing crewmates it was, they chose to ignore him. Unfortunately, ignoring him takes considerable concentration, which meant that they lost sight of the infant. Which crawled into one of Moya's less accessible areas to play what it called "hide'nseek."

Regrettably, it became stuck, and then angry, and finally frightened.

"HHHHEEEELLLPPPP!"

It is truly amazing how much noise it can make when it is frightened, and how well Moya's interior corridors seems to carry that particular noise. I would almost swear Moya's very walls trembled, though that was probably with her distress.

"WWWHAAAAAAAHHHH {gulp} BWLUE! DARGO! AAAEWYN! ANYONE... MAAAMAAA!"

Moya, of course, found this most painful... especially after two hours of the noise. It only took one hour to extract the infant, of course, but it - the infant - has remarkable stamina... rather more than the crew, who are now exhausted, even more fractious than usual, and inclined to throw both blame and responsibility around freely. I will say that the infant's help was neither sought, nor appreciated - but frequently, unhelpfully given - during this discussion.

Chiana has pointed out - rather snappily - that, by his own boasts, Rygel was by far the most experienced parent on board, having at last count 7,253 narls. One more should be easy, even if it wasn't amphibious or emerald.

Rygel replied - equally testily - that a Dominar's sole duty was to produce offspring, not have anything to do with - and he perceptibly quivered - nurturing the little monsters.

The current 'little monster' said something rude about where to stick tadpoles. As none of us knew what these are, we let it pass.

D'Argo frowned and harrumphed and spoke of his own successes at parenting. Of course, his son had been a good infant, certainly not cowed and meek, but obedient nevertheless, and respectful. He tried adopting a dignified paterfamilias aspect with the infant.

Which, it appeared, did not grasp either obedience or respect, but did know how to shriek, and proved it again. "I HHHAAATTTE TTHHHIIISSSS!"

D'Argo retreated with all haste and no dignity, rubbing his ears.

Commander Sun's stare congealed into a glare.

Pa'u Zotoh Zhaan now tries reason, though why she thought that would work is... uncertain. "You must stop, you are behaving irrationally, even for one of your kind."

The baby - human baby - that was, or is, John Crichton glares right back. "Fwellin' right I am," it snarls in a high, unspeakably cute voice. "I am TOO YOUNG for DIS SHI-"

D'Argo moves first - showing again his parental experience - and covers the tiny mouth. "Infants," he rumbles, "should not use such language in front of their elders and - AAARRGGHH!" Luckily Zhaan snatches the small human out of the way of big Luxan feet. D'Argo is examining small teethmarks in his hand, and looming threateningly... then appears to remember what happened when the child last became frightened, and unlooms at once.

"YOU AIN'T MY -" little Crichton stops. "Okay, great, you're my elders. Right now. And it's all your fault, all of you. So ACT fwellin' elder and FIX IIITTTT!"

The crew all try to point out - over the top of each other, which works as well as it always does - that no one knows exactly how or why Crichton left the ship his adult self and came back... immatured, is the only word I can think of. Therefore no one is at all willing to take the blame.

Little Crichton, who appears to have lost what reason and logic - and possibly sanity - he possessed as an adult, does not care who is unwilling. "SSSHHHUUUTTT UUUPPP!"

I have to say, despite having the smallest lungs on board, he now has by far the loudest, highest screech. Moya is now slightly, but quite perceptively, shaking...

Crichton's small, round face goes a rather strange not-quite-Hynerian-green shade. Zhaan is not fast enough to put him down - and the results are predictably unpleasant, but rather more so than any species we have encountered, even Sebacean.

And then the little one is brave - or foolish enough to mention that there were worse things to come out of human babies - "Although you might not think so, being a plant an' all - they usually like -"

"Do all human offspring behave this offensively?" Rygel asks, watching as the Delvian tries to clean herself with Chiana's at-arm's-length assistance and a great deal of offended, if messy, hauteur.

"Hell, no," little Crichton, now gives him a big, beaming, disturbingly childlike smile, "I was a liddle angel!"

We... see.

If this is what angels - which I assume is the correct term for truly objectionable human offspring - are like, I am surprised that the species survives at all...

-the end-