FARSCAPE is a production of the Jim Henson Company, Hallmark Entertainment, Nine Films and Television, and A&E. The following is a work of fanfiction, and in no way is an attempt whatsoever to interfere with the rights of the copyright holders. Several cycles after the Peacekeeper Wars...
The fishing lines went off their dock, out a few yards over the dark water, then down into the smooth liquid surface. A small breeze twitched the lines and ripples propagated away from them in ever increasing circles until they met and starting looking all crazy.
Several cycles after the Peacekeeper Wars...
"Daddy? Why does that happen?" I asked, pointing to the watery circles.
Daddy tousled my hair and chuckled. "Wave theory, Little D."
I was named for daddy and mommy's best friend, General Ka D'argo. I smiled at daddy. "Is this gonna be another lecture on wave mechanics? You said we'd just go fishing." Not another lesson, daddy, I thought. Not today of all days.
"Sorry. I guess I lecture too much."
Daddy taught engineering courses on-line at the planetary uni. "Sometimes you do." I nodded. "But… uhm, it's just…you are a teacher."
Daddy sighed. "I apologize."
"It's okay. But lately…," this was embarrassing. "Only…"
"You and mom." I fidgeted. "Well… you been acting fahrbot."
"Hm. Me and your mom, we're grownups and grownups have, uhm, things – things that concern grownups. Nothing to worry about. Are you worried about me and your mom?"
I shrugged then dipped my fishing pole up and down. "No," I answered. But I was worried about stuff. Mommy and daddy had another big fight today and they used the f-blank-blank-double-l word to each other this morning. It was right after first meal. I'd just finished eating and drinking when they started yelling again.
"Little D? Do you think mom and me are," daddy coughed, "having trouble?"
I counted in my head. It musta been, what? Four times? No five times, in the last ten-day they got really mad at one another. And every time they yelled and then the house got really quiet. When that happened daddy or mommy would make some excuse and go out for a walk, or go out to the shed to work on one of our spacecraft, or go sit on the dock and stare at the river.
During this morning's fight, daddy tried to quiet mommy down, saying nice things in a calm low voice, but that only had made her madder, so she pulled dad into their quarters, slamming the door behind them. A lot of loud words filtered through the wall, but even by putting my ear to the door, I could hear only heard a lot of loud blah-blahs. Then it got really quiet, so I high-tailed it back to the dining table, just in time to act like I hadn't been listening.
Mommy came out of their quarters, with daddy hot her heels. Neither of them looked happy. She scooped up her pistol, checked the charge, holstered it, and then she picked up her black coat; the long one she wore when she went out.
"I'm going John," she said.
"Goodbye mommy," I called out to her. I didn't want her to go, not today, and not like this - not with her and daddy all mad and everything.
She stopped at the front portal and came back. I saw how her face was pink; flushed daddy called it, and her movements were quick and jerky.
"D'argo, I'm going into town. Something I need to do. Obey your father."
I stretched my arms up to her. "Sure. Hug?"
She smiled and put her arms around my shoulders, kissing my forehead. "You are growing so fast."
"I love you mommy." He hugged her around the waist and could feel her stiffness soften.
She looked at me closely, staring into my eyes and I saw how her face looked tense, but her eyes looked very wet.
"Son… my little D'argo." He hand then brushed my cheek. "I…"
I wanted to say something; to get her to stay home, but I didn't know what to say.
Daddy cleared his throat.
"Yes?" mommy asked harshly.
"Just… take care," daddy said. "Like always. And later, don't forget…"
I looked over at daddy, who had that look he'd get sometimes. I saw that more often these past few ten-days and I didn't know why. Why was daddy so upset? And why did he and mommy yell so much? I slipped out of my chair, crossed the room to daddy and took his hand. "Don't worry mommy," I said. "I'll take care of daddy. We'll fix dinner - uhm - late meal, so it's ready when you get home." It was confusing about meal names. Daddy called them breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but mommy used first, second, and third to describe mealtimes. Earther talk (I know, it's called English) was a lot different from Peacekeeper, but I do my best to keep it all straight.
That made her smile. "Yes, right. Fine. I'm going now." Her hand rested on his shoulder. "You are always loved my son. Do not ever forget that."
"Taking your Prowler?" daddy asked. "You could take the transport, or my module."
"Prowler's fine," she answered, then she safed the defense shield, opened the front portal, did a visual scan outside the portal, like she always did, and then she was gone, the door auto-closing behind her.
That was this morning and I was worried. Mommy wasn't home yet, and town wasn't that far away, and her Prowler was ever so fast.
"Don't jerk the line too much," daddy reminded me. "You'll scare the fish."
"I get tired of fish."
"Me too, but schrekel cuts are pretty expensive hereabouts. It's not like real beef, but pretty close," daddy grimaced. "Sort of close. Shrekel cuts aren't anything like real beef, but they are a close analogue." Daddy groaned. "Like the fish you're trying to catch isn't a fish; not with four gill slits and eight pectoral fins. Close enough though, but oh boy Steven Spielberg would be shocked to see one - or maybe delighted."
I thought that over. Whoever Spielberg was, but daddy always mentioned him, along with Babe Ruth, Neil Armstrong, Wonder Woman, and Captain Kirk. Beef, he knew was a kind of meat from an animal called a cow on Earth. "Okay. Are we poor?" I watched his eyes fall.
"We're not poor, but no sense to waste credits. The fish are right here and they are free. Schrekel aren't even raised here. They come all the way from the Malon system. That's half a monen away at hetch eight, son. So it costs a lot."
I squinted up at the sun. "Getting late, you know. If I don't catch anything we could have pasgetti."
"Spaghetti. It's not really spaghetti, but kinda - sorta like it."
The spaghetti plant was a vegetable with pods that when roasted broke apart into long fibrous strands. Similar to a zucchini squash, except the strands were bright green and chewier. Daddy had tried to explain it to me. "And we could have it with Grandma's mater sauce. And some of those crunchy rolls."
"Tomato sauce. We could."
Grandma's recipe for tomato sauce was something that daddy cooked up. He made it from what looked and tasted like similar ingredients, or so he said. Whenever daddy made he'd always say, "what I wouldn't give, for a case of good old Hunt's tomato paste."
Daddy squeezed my shoulders. "You rather have spaghetti?"
I looked up at my father and winked. "Unless I catch a fish. Then we'd eat it. Unless I don't."
Daddy laughed again. "Well played little D; well played. Reel in your line."