by Sarah Wait
Feedback: Comments are appreciated, constructive criticism is fine, but flames will be used to make S'mores.
Summary: Short little bit about those who are left behind...
Rating: Let's say PG, although that's probably harsh.
Timeline/Spoilers: Premiere (well, the first 15 minutes of it)
Archive: If you want it, it's yours - just keep my name and e-mail with it. And if you'd let me know where it's at, I'd love to come visit. :)
Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the TV program "Farscape" belong to the Jim Henson Company, Rockne S. O'Bannon, the Sci-Fi Channel, Hallmark Entertainment, Nine Network Australia, and the actors who bring the characters to life. They have been borrowed with love, but not permission. 'High Flight' isn't mine, either. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: This could be considered a prologue to the 'Seasons' series, or even to another fic I'm working on called 'The Living Years'. (Yes, my
Muse has a short attention span.) But, it can also stand on its own, so I decided to let it.
Thanks to everyone who answered my picky little questions, and to Paulie, again. Of course. :)
Copyright Sarah Wait, December 1999
*****
DK stared unbelieving at the screen, his eyes searching desperately for the 'blip' that his mind logically knew was not there. "Abort," he whispered one last time; desperately, irrationally hoping that his soft command would somehow produce Farscape I.
It couldn't be gone. He couldn't be gone. Impossible. They had worked so hard, taken every precaution... Had they missed something? He shook his
head. No, it was impossible. They had prepared for everything, every known contingency - even some they had invented themselves. Something horrible,
something inconceivable had to have happened. The electromagnetic pulse, or wave, or whatever it had been. That was the only explanation.
But he was still gone.
Dropping slowly into his chair, he unconsciously removed his headset. The room was completely silent, as it had been since the last broken transmission. Had it only been seconds ago? It seemed like a lifetime. It was a lifetime. He turned to meet Jack Crichton's gaze. "Sir..." he murmured, not sure what else he had planned to say. What else he could say.
John's father stared back at him with the same empty expression. Then something flared deep inside Jack's eyes, and the older man turned to the assistant next to him.
"Get me the phone," he commanded softly. The young woman's eyes were huge as she stared at Jack for a moment, then scrambled to grab the nearest outside line.
*****
Two weeks later
It was a beautiful day for a funeral.
Jack hated that saying. A beautiful day for a funeral? There was no such thing. The day he had buried his wife had been cold and rainy. Now that was appropriate for a funeral. But today - the day he buried his son - was "beautiful."
He stood stiffly next to DK under the shade of a large oak tree, not really hearing the minister. There was actually quite a crowd, he noticed absently. John had many friends at IASA, and most of them had been given
the morning off to attend the service. Jack had opted for a short graveside ceremony. He had requested that it be closed to the media, but news helicopters still circled in the clear blue sky.
A man was not meant to outlive his wife and child. And even though he was standing at his son's grave, he couldn't believe he was dead. It wasn't just denial - something inside him told him that John was still alive. He had known when Karen died. They had called him at work, told him to hurry. As he was driving down the road, less than half an hour away, he suddenly
just...knew. She was gone. He had felt her go. John had never said anything, but Jack knew his son resented the fact that he hadn't arrived at the hospital in time. But he had already said his goodbyes.
But not this time. Not with John. No feeling, no warning, no goodbyes.
It was rather ironic, he thought. For the second time in his life, he was attending a funeral without a body. Karen had wanted her body donated to science, hoping that research would someday help another survive the crippling cancer that had eventually taken her life.
And now...there wasn't a body to bury. If John truly was dead, most likely all that remained of him were a billion minute pieces, floating through space. Appropriate, really, Jack realized. If John could have chosen a way to go, that would probably have been it.
Funny, that didn't make him feel any better.
He turned his attention back to the proceedings when DK left his side to approach the podium. As he walked out of the shadows and across the short expanse of grass separating them from the rest of the mourners, Jack closely observed the young man he considered a second son. DK was pale and unusually withdrawn, dark circles shadowing the eyes that usually danced with mischief. Even though he had been staying at the house, Jack hardly ever saw him. For the first week, DK had spent his days - as well as most of his nights - at the IASA labs, working through numbers, reviewing the data again and again, trying to find a reason.
It didn't take a genius - or an IASA-appointed counselor - to figure out that DK was blaming himself for the malfunction. Or whatever it had been. Whatever had caused the loss of Farscape and John. God knows the media was implying it. Throughout the ordeal, Jack had stood firmly by DK's side, reassuring him, as well as the general public, that nothing could have
prevented what had happened. Finally, DK had come to same conclusion and the investigation was declared closed. Yet the dark circles remained as a testament to the anguished cries of "abort, abort!" that carried through the house night after night. Suddenly stifling an exhausted yawn, Jack lifted his gaze to the sky as DK began to speak.
"Ummmm..." DK paused and looked down at the paper clenched in his fist. "I, uh, don't have much to say. John wasn't much for speeches, and I don't think he would have wanted me up here trying to make one. So, uh, I'm just going to read something. A poem. In high school, there was this assignment...and, well, we were never much for poetry, but this is the one John chose. And I think that as we got older, and started working on the Farscape project, we realized that it explained a lot about....why...we did - what we did. And why we wanted to do it." DK cleared his throat and ran a nervous hand through his hair, the sunlight glinting off his earring as he smoothed the paper on the podium. "It's called 'High Flight' -
Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew -
And, while the silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand and touched the face of God."
His voice choking on the last words, DK crumpled the paper in his hand and lifted his gaze to the sky. "'Bye, man. I'll miss you."
Stumbling away from the podium, the young man returned to Jack's side, swiping at the tears that escaped to flow slowly down his cheeks. Jack raised a comforting hand to DK's shoulder, then drew a deep breath as the
mournful sound of 'Amazing Grace' softly carried across the cemetery. After a moment DK started to speak, his voice so low that Jack wasn't sure if he was intended to hear.
"At the end...right before he left, he was so serious. Almost upset. I was trying to lighten him up, shake him out of it, 'cause he was worrying me, you know? I asked him if this experiment was really that important to him. I actually said it that way. And he just looked at me. So now I wonder if he thought I was serious, if I didn't think the project meant as much to me as it did to him. But I was in this thing as deep as he was... It's just that - he was the one taking all the risks. Not me." The guilt in DK's voice was overwhelming, and he took a shuddering breath. "I'm so sorry, sir."
Jack shook his head dismissively. "I don't blame you, DK. Neither should you."
DK's shoulders slumped and Jack had to bend forward slightly to catch his next words. "I can't believe he's dead."
Jack straightened and silently scanned the horizon, thinking the same thing but not entirely sure DK was ready to hear it. After a moment, he simply replied, "I'm sure that wherever he is, he's doing fine." He glanced down at DK and realized that the young man had never even heard him. His thoughts seemed to be a million miles away - or at least back at Mission
Control, going over those fateful moments again and again in his mind.
As "Amazing Grace" ended and the crowd slowly began to disperse, Jack looked around the cemetery once more. "Just fine," he repeated softly to himself. "In fact, I have the feeling John will surprise us all..."
With one last look at John's grave, Jack and DK turned and walked into the sunlight.
*****
Sarah Wait
wait@kca.net
'High Flight' was written by Pilot Officer John Gillespie Magee, Jr. shortly after a test flight in September of 1941. A member of the Royal Canadian
Air Force, he was killed three months later while serving in England. He was 19 years old.
http://prazen.com/cori/highflit.html
http://www.wpafb.af.mil/museum/history/prewwii/jgm.htm
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