Original subtitles

Why the hezmana don't we just jettison this thing into frelling space?

Crichton. First he wants to question these creatures,

then he wants to bury them.

I mean, why don't we just open the last chamber and ask them where Earth is?

And then he'll die in the first thirty microts like this one did.

Well, death isn't always a bad thing, Aeryn.

Who wants to live when your place in the universe has been suspended?

Jothee and Chiana are just kids, D'Argo.

I don't want to discuss it.

They were rebelling, they weren't trying to...

Rebelling?

Rebelling is smoking some galla root. Rebelling is not sleeping with...

Aghh! Aghh!

Aghh! Trasta jutu das!

Look, D'Argo, if you want to talk...

I'm not ready.

Now that ship, I'd like to jettison.

What if there's some weapon aboard that we could use?

What if the next system we set off destroys us all?

We're already destroyed, Aeryn.

It's just that some of us don't know it yet.

I am as concerned about Zhaan's welfare as you, Commander. However...

Stark says we've got to get her in the ground soon.

How long?

A planet meeting Zhaan's atmospheric requirements is less than an arn away.

So hetch it up, baby. Come on, let's go.

I simply thought you'd like to see this before it went away.

What?

Holy...

Pilot, take readings.

Complete spectrum roll, diffuse electron analysis across the electromagnetic range.

It's only theoretical but look for a dimensional bend in the halo effect.

Commander? - I know, I know. Zhaan.

Look, scan on the parabolic curve.

Give me a chance to dip in for some readings. Prepare to launch my module.

Commander.

Pilot! My call.

There's a ship approaching, I... I think.

Where?

Not sure. These readings can't be.

Pilot, save the golly-gee-whiz for later. Just tell me where it is.

It's traveling too fast.

Too... impossible.

All right, so far I've got "not sure", "can't be" and "impossible".

Where the hell is it?

Up there!

Pilot, Starburst!

My name is John Crichton... I'm lost... an astronaut.

I got shot through a wormhole... In some distant part of the universe...

I'm trying to stay alive...

Aboard this ship... This living ship...

Of escaped prisoners. My friends.

If you can hear me... Beware.

If I make it back... Will they follow?

If I open the door... Are you ready?

Earth is unprepared... Helpless, for the nightmares I've seen.

Or should I stay... Protect my home...

Not show them... You exist...

But then you will never know the wonders I've seen.

Pilot?

Pilot!

That ain't part of Moya. What the hell!

Aeryn! D'Argo! Zhaan! Pilot!

Commander! What did we...

I don't know, some kind of collision. You okay?

Moya and I are...

hard to think.

Aghhh...

Neeyala!

We have extensive damage...

Alien penetration of our vessel!

An impact during phase resolution.

What the hell did you do to Moya?

We must maintain integrity as prescribed.

Crichton, my comms aren't work... What did you do?!

Get down on the ground now! Get down on the ground! - Aeryn! Hey, whoa, whoa! Stop it! Stop it!

I don't think they understand what we're saying.

- Dear goddess, help! - Moya's in agony!

Someone answer!

Tier Three is dark! Ruptures everywhere!

Zhaan, D'Argo, you guys okay?

I am, but Moya is frelled.

Anyone hear from Aeryn?

What about me? No one asks about me.

- Oh.

Listen, Pilot's not in too good a shape.

Is anybody nearby?

I'm on my way.

I'll meet you.

So many different tongues, yet they communicate.

Pip, you still there? - Tier Six is a total loss.

A Consortium.

Sparky, go help her.

Doesn't simply shooting them dead strike you as viable?

Just go!

DRD, Translator Microbes.

They've injected me with something!

Fight while you have strength!

No, no, no, no, no, no! Stop, please!

Just wait!

Wait... just...

My name is John Crichton, can you understand me?

He speaks and I comprehend...

They have altered your mind.

I am Pathfinder Neeyala,

commanding research vessel Rado Slana.

I don't know what's wrong.

I don't know what's happening to us.

All right, just calm down Pilot, and tell us how you feel.

Well, I feel... aghh!

Ohh! Ohh!

I had no idea that he could do that.

I had no idea anyone could do that!

I apologize.

Colors, lights, sensations. This region of space...

I cannot function under the bombardments.

Can we isolate you from the stimuli?

Neural clusters...

containment nexus circuitry...

Reroute it?

Dis...

Buffer the leads?

Dis...

What?!

Disconnect! - Right!

We were regaining dimensionality when our ships collided

and must've been subjected to a massive burst of photonic distortion.

Once the Phaztillon Generator is repaired, we'll dose ourselves

and hope your living ship doesn't interfere with non-thermal dimensional forces.

Do you understand any of those words?

Yeah, I watched all kinds of Star Trek. It's just the order that they're in.

You said you studied wormholes?

More trickery, Neeyala. Of course they would say...

You can shut the frell up, I think.

Because if you're not going to take the Translator Microbes, you don't participate.

Tell him that.

You have seen our research vessel.

If we are to trust each other...

Yes, I'll take him around our ship.

Right.

Come on.

So, keep it simple.

How do we get the ships apart?

Display.

Wormholes always gravitate toward each other in segmented loops.

First jolts mean we've exited one fragment of wormhole...

...and then quickly into another.

Only this gap is large enough to permit escape.

And how often do we pass it?

Every third of an arn.

Right. So we'll activate your phase...

Phaztillon.

...Generator and then we'll separate.

In theory.

However, we're not even sure how far into the turbulence zone this collision threw us.

Say that again?

We've ricocheted into the distorted region that divides a wormhole from normal space time.

What?

We... I mean, we're not even on the fairway?

We're in the rough?

Oh, I didn't mean to startle.

I am to die soon.

The goddess has chosen my harbinger.

A magnificent planet lies just out there to rejuvenate and sustain you.

A serpent lies between.

You're ill. Hallucinations.

Oh, my Stark.

My wonderful Stark.

So afraid to let go.

I have a darkness which frightens lovers away.

Whenever I assist the dying,

I cannot help but absorb a tiny spillet of their existence.

Over the cycles, the endless parade of death,

I have accumulated a vast reservoir of evil.

I cannot bear to lose the one thing that mitigates this twisted core of my existence.

None of what you said makes any sense.

I think he said we're in the wall of the wormhole.

Well, that's kinda what she said. Look, we've got to wake Pilot up.

He has to give a Starburst when we hit this particular gap.

But can we do that while joined to another ship?

I'm not sure, but they're dead in the water, so Moya's gotta pop us free.

How do we get the ships separated?

Save that for later.

Colonel Klink, yo, inspection is over.

Aeryn, I need you to take Neeyala's countdown.

The rest of us are going to seal the breaches before Starburst.

I have the Oxillary conduits.

I'll check the Hamman side hatches on the way to Command.

Move it. Now. Go.

I'll go to Pilot.

I'm close to the Selticore vents.

And I'll take the cargo bays.

Well, I'm going to need someone up here with another pair of hands.

What can I do to help?

Two tiers down, four chambers across.

Moya's external pressure senses.

Yank 'em all.

I mean, what can I do about us?

That relationship does not exist.

We could die. It exists for me.

If you did not want to marry me, you could have found some other way to tell me.

When I'm cornered, I... I don't think clearly.

At least now you're speaking the truth.

External pressure senses?

Yank 'em all.

I'm kind of in the mood to be destructive.

What did you do?!

I was checking the hangar. This started leaking.

It regulates with self-venting!

I tried to close the valve, but it wouldn't turn.

Because it was already sealed!

Mmm. Then I twisted the other way.

Rygel, you opened it, opened it, opened it!

I'll bet 40 mesots she gurgles and dies before she can tell you where Earth is.

Hey, Sleeping Beauty.

Wake up and die.

Who are you?

My name is John. Listen, we don't have much time.

Correct.

Yours is up.

Get...! Don't touch me.

Do you know me? My race?

Sebacean.

Intellectually suited to carry weapons and die marching in formation.

Human.

Your species and mine might be related.

Of course they are.

I have a brother who's a Stenerian lizard.

Have you ever heard of Earth?

On Trintika Major, the predorian fly transmits a fatal rheumatoid disease called Arth.

Uh. Very similar.

The animal speaks?

Whoa.

What's your name?

Joolushko Tunai Fenta Hovalis.

What do they call you for short?

My whole name.

Listen, Jool, what's the last thing you remember?

How long have I been in this chamber?

Manifest says 22 cycles.

Whoa. Whoa. Hey, lady, dial it down!

We're ready, Crichton. Prepare to Starburst in five microts.

Aeryn, I can't hear a thing you're saying.

Three microts.

One...

It is time.

Starburst.

You die later. Starburst now!

Kill Starburst!

Bad?

Is two of you bad?

That so depends.

Well, it's not bad enough.

You should let Zhaan have a look at it.

Zhaan does not have much respect for my head.

You know, it's okay to be in pain, D'Argo.

But since you're all right, I'll get back to work.

It's all r...

We're going to have to separate before we do anything.

Suggestions. Zhaan, you ought to hear this.

Um, am I wrong or is your Phaztillon Generator the key?

Correct pronunciation, and yes.

Can you repair the damage before we're all incapacitated?

The belief is so.

However, circumstances, you will attest, are less than conducive.

Pathfinder Neeyala, if your crew will not accept Translator Microbes

then I cannot communicate.

If I cannot communicate, I cannot heal.

Uh, we have rules against alien exposure.

It is sufficient I have broken them.

I understand, but under these extreme...

Pathfinder!

Pathfinder! Help him, please.

His leg. We need help.

Tell her to follow me.

My lab is the only place I might heal him.

Besides my people healthy,

I need empirical information about our position in the wormhole.

Despite the danger, would you help?

Can you hear me?

Crichton, stopping Starburst midway through took everything out of him.

We need him to get the hangar doors open.

Right now he can't even open his eyes.

There's not much else I can do, Crichton.

Does this negate our plan?

No, it doesn't. I can open the doors from Pilot's console.

Yes.

May we have a moment?

Oh. Mmm.

Insane.

Since birth.

Suicidal.

Test pilot.

Do you trust her?

If we don't do something, we're gonna die.

I'm worried you're a little too excited by all this.

It's wormholes. That's what Scorpius wants.

Scorpius is dead. That's what you want.

Aeryn, it could be a tool or a weapon. Let's get there first.

Let's get there alive, first.

She doesn't like you.

Nah, it's a phase.

It's part of her charm.

I admit to some skepticism myself.

This way.

My module jams in wormholes.

If this is some kind of jest...

Just give me the gizmo and tell me what to do.

Without this data our assumptions would be worse, and...

than guesswork. - Flight times and vectors. That's all I need.

Crichton, is Neeyala with you?

Yes, Blue.

Please tell her I couldn't save Cresto. I'm sorry.

I do appreciate the risk you take for us, and our families.

We shall return that effort in selfless kind.

Use this to record as much positional data inside the wormhole as you can.

Vharishta...

gailin... gailin...

Vharishta.

It's no use.

Even with the isolation D'Argo's providing, we're traveling too fast for Pilot to cope.

It's all right.

I know the hangar door configuration.

Something wrong?

You're very pretty.

But I'm not Zhaan, right?

Never be her.

It's all right, Stark. We're going to get her out of here

and we're going to put her in the soil she needs to heal.

Despite your fears, this must be accomplished.

The generator's leaking phasic reston ions.

Lethal, Kreetago.

I know what they are, Researcher.

Expose yourself briefly as possible.

Accomplish the task Pathfinder has laid out for you.

May I interdict, Kreetago?

No.

The knowledge this ship has amassed must be saved.

Even if we die in the process.

I can't believe my cousins are dead.

They didn't suffer. Much.

Animal, how did they die?

Oh, if you must know, we were at a surgical facility where you were all frozen.

Crichton needed a brain...

...storm on how he could rescue you.

We saved two pods.

One of my cousins survived?

Yeah. For 30 microts.

Then he oozed this... this black gunk.

We don't know how the other one died do we, Ryg?

What is it you're not telling me?

Well that we're in a crisis, hairdo,

so you can either help, shut up, or go back to sleep.

I won't be spoken to like that by some... alley whore.

How could she know that about you?

Did you know she had a fiancé till she slept with his son?

Buckwheat. You still want to get off this boat, man?

More than ever. This creature sheds...

Good, 'cause your Uncle Sam needs you.

We enter conventional space within 30 microts.

Once clear, spiral hard, 71 degrees, vector briko.

- Roger, copy that. - Thanks for the intel.

This is Farscape One.

Y'all leave the light on for us.

What's happening?

It's your basic ass-kicking wormhole, Ryg. How you doing back there?

Lousy!

Excellent.

Turn on that alien gizmo.

Maximum power.

Are we dead?

Oh, no.

Rygel, you know what this is?

No.

The Holy Grail.

The zone. We are in the effin' zone, man.

This is the dirty little secret of the universe. It all works if you know how to use it.

Can these things take us home?

In a heartbeat, if you know where you're going.

D'Argo.

D'Argo!

Pilot has been unconscious for over an arn now.

Well, why didn't you stop me earlier?

Well, somehow I have a feeling this isn't about him anymore.

I'm sorry.

I'm angry with myself because I could almost forgive her.

Why don't you?

How can I trust Chiana with my heart?

Can you trust Crichton again?

He trusts these aliens.

We know nothing about them.

I think wormholes blind him.

Well, at least he has a hobby.

Help me keep an eye on it?

Awww...

What the frell was that?

Zhaan told Stark she saw a serpent.

She said that it was an omen for her.

Did it look like that was aiming for Zhaan?

Wormhole.

Normal space.

Wormhole.

Oh, what are we doing here?

Making 17 loops to their one.

Each time we lap 'em, it calibrates their position in the slower wall of the wormhole.

Engrossing.

Who cares?

It's only collecting images, none of which mean anything.

Well, you got to know how deep the doo-doo is, Ryg,

if you're gonna dig your way out.

Next gap is the big one, right?

Yep.

Why don't we just escape?

Does it ever bother you being selfish?

It's self-preservation, and no.

What about our friends?

What friends?

We were thrown together against our will,

and we're all just trying to make the best of it

until we can get the chance to screw the others and get what we want.

I vote out at the next gap.

Pa'u Zotoh...

Hello, Pilot.

Soon you must deploy the docking web to rescue Crichton and Rygel.

You are masterful with him.

I am but a servant.

This you will learn.

I could never replace you.

Stark, you must.

For me, you must remain here, and minister these souls.

I'm relying on it.

But I love you.

If I did not feel the same, and more, could I ask this sacrifice of you?

Zhaan, I need you to meet me in Command.

It must wait, Aeryn.

We're about to deploy the docking web.

No, your omen, the serpent.

Is anyone else meant to see it?

And the big gap.

X clearly marked normal space.

Hey, whoa, whoa!

Get your hands off those controls.

You have no right to make decisions for me.

Aghh!

We're free!

Escape! Save our lives!

Guido, we are going back!

Oh!

Son of a bitch.

You broke my nose.

You ain't got a nose, Guido. You got slits.

Oh!

Farscape One to Moya.

Positive contact with the docking web.

Hey, nice catch, guys.

I won't forget this, Crichton.

I swear you've attacked me for the last time.

You brought it on yourself, Rugrat.

You delay my preparations for Crichton's data.

The serpent is harmless.

Less than convincing. Try again.

I never imagined that you would encounter this beast,

otherwise, I would have issued warning. You must believe me.

How can we, Neeyala? Look at what you've done to our ship.

Oh, what I have done?

It is you who have destroyed my life's endeavor

whilst I have suffered your probing, your confusions and your smell.

Do you not think that my bristles contain enough poison to dispatch you all?

Yet when I fail to overload what are clearly inferior intellects

with a drist of needless information, you bring weapons to bear.

Kill me, if you will. See how you fare on your own.

Do you feel better?

Now, about the serpent.

The creature you have seen exists exclusively inside wormholes.

Corporeal only when the generator shifts our phase presence.

Which one would have to do to repair it.

I doubt it even senses us.

Be less alarmed.

- Shut up! Would you shut up!

What happened?

There's something really weird and...

and I tried to shoot when...

Shut up! - Shut up!

Neeyala said that the serpent doesn't even know we're here.

I thought you were with Pilot.

I thought you were in the Neural Cluster.

Filtration's down on Tier One. You can't even breathe in there.

Junctions are frying everywhere. Pilot can't stop it.

Well, you had better tell that four-armed, bug-eyed,

whiny little slijot to get his dren together.

It's not him. The stresses on Moya are frying junctions everywhere.

She's dying, D'Argo.

The wormhole is killing her.

Do you hope someday to be Dominar, Rygel?

I am is still Dominar.

Always Dominar.

I mean, ruling from a throne instead of a throne sled.

They'll never know if I kill Crichton.

But you will...

Fool the others if you like,

but I see the larger goodness in a small Hynerian.

Separating this alien ship from Moya must be your first priority, Rygel.

Have I ever told you that I appreciate your counsel?

Continuously, by accepting it.

It's amazing the number of species picked up by Neeyala's gizmo.

Thousands of cultures spread out across the galaxy.

I resent you calling me here at a whim.

That's the way it works, Harvey.

You don't like it I could toss you back in the dumpster.

You think Scorpy's still alive?

Do you think Scorpius is still alive?

Without doubt.

What's he doing with the information he stole from my brain?

The knowledge placed there by the ancients is by now

centerpiece of a sprawling new research facility.

If he masters wormhole technology, what will he use it for?

Faster delivery of pizzas.

Neeyala thinks it's possible we can separate the ships.

But only one will survive. We have to pick which one.

Yes, it's a shame about Moya.

She'll be fondly remembered.

It's not a done deal.

Did you call me here to talk you out of your guilt?

No.

It's just the information amassed inside their ship.

No contest.

I sit here inside your feeble brain

listen to the arguments bounce off the hollow spaces.

How could you not chose science over a beast of burden?

You disgust me, John.

I long for the dumpster.

Pilot and Moya are to die, John.

Take the wormhole knowledge that's fallen in your lap and call it a day!

I cannot believe what I am hearing. - Facts, D'Argo, that's all.

How is this even a choice?

Because some of us want to live!

If we use Starburst to...

What, you didn't get slammed against the wall hard enough last time?

So, we recover the data from the precious ship and leave in Moya.

Our craft itself is the knowledge base repository.

The ship is one giant computer chip. It's all or nothing.

Then nothing. We will never abandon Moya while I am still alive.

Frelling martyr.

Why not separate in one of these gaps?

We need the density of the wormhole wall to help pull us apart.

Do you have only one good ear, also?

I'm not dying just because the ship can eat and crap.

Okay. So we separate. What then?

One vessel slides into the wormhole core, maintaining a chance of enduring.

The other tumbles uncontrolled through the wormhole wall into normal space,

to be atomized by differentials in speed and density.

It is still not a choice.

Moya and Pilot are living beings.

They must be afforded every opportunity.

Zhaan, the bio-mechanoid parts on my ship were fried.

Calculations indicate that your Leviathan's design will work against her survival.

Forgive me, Pathfinder Neeyala, but I do not count you as unbiased.

Ha! Like you are.

You know what you and Pilot have in common besides big eyes?

You're both dying.

And now you want to take us with you.

Ow!

Can it, F. Lee.

Zhaan, Pilot is unconscious.

Moya's nexus system is so backed up, the Roto-Rooter man couldn't get it...

I know the litany, John.

How desperate you must be for this wormhole knowledge.

Unfair.

You place your obsession above the lives of your friends.

What?!

What have these strangers done to so earn your trust?

We must check for backup systems.

I need to know that Pilot and Moya are truly beyond hope.

Let's go.

You want to know what really happened to your cousin?

What Crichton won't tell you?

How you feeling?

You missed the debate.

But that's what I wanted to talk to you about.

I feel guilty.

What possibly for?

I... I love Pilot, and I...

and I love Moya, but I don't wanna die here.

There's nothing wrong with a decision of the heart, child.

In the time that is left,

use your mind to satisfy your soul that it is correct.

Hey, how'd you go?

Well, if it wasn't Moya we wouldn't be having this conversation.

Yeah, it's the same everywhere. Total meltdown.

I'm going to make a run through the ion-backwash chambers,

see if there's anything I can do.

Hey. You all right?

No.

What the hell are you doing?

And what happened to your hair?

It's red.

You're not planning to...

Yes.

What the hell are you trying to do?

You lied to me.

You butchered my cousin's brain so you could steal a wellot of his neural fluid?

A member of the intellectual elite.

Sixteen advanced degrees.

Traded for the likes of you?

Cut it out, lady.

If we're to perish, then at least you'll die first.

I thought you were good with women.

I am.

Did you see what happened when she fired at the ship?

Actually, no. I was looking at the pulse rifle.

There's a small gap in the forcefield.

Which, unsurprisingly, is the key to its access.

Now, John, we're trapped in this vawn of a wormhole,

Pilot's unconscious, Moya is dying,

and my son has slept with my betrothed.

Lock this woman up!

Entreaties, Pathfinder.

Mmmm...

I do not enjoy sending you to your death, youngling,

but options are depleted.

I want to live.

More important, do you want your family to live?

You know what happens to ours should this ship fail to return.

Will you tell them...

That you thought of them to the end.

Attention now, Shreena.

Time is limited.

These creatures, I will distract them.

They must not know your true mission.

Frell!

I checked this panel, and it was fine.

But before I had a chance to close it, it shorted out.

There are dozens more just like this on this tier.

Then why are we standing here?

That hatch could blow.

He's right.

Functioning DRDs are overmatched.

There's no way we can repair all the damage.

Let us not forsake our friends until we are undeniably clear that...

Well that settles it then.

We will go with Neeyala and we will abandon Moya.

I have failed my purpose, Stark.

You protect, heal, give hope.

This ship and her pilot are to die.

As do all things.

Once out of the wormhole, you will heal in the soil of the fertile planet,

and one day, your gifts will again help others.

I cannot take you back, Chiana.

But I won't leave you alone in pain.

Have you ever been responsible for another's death, Officer Sun?

Yes, I have.

This is my first time.

Did you know your crew well?

Enough to steel my determination.

On their memory, I will not fail.

Pilot, you should see all these cultures that you can touch with one wormhole.

Man, I wish you were going with us.

Hey, Pilot.

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

Could'a...

Would'a...

Should'a.

Aeryn! Hey!