Disclaimers: Farscape characters and concept are property of . . . well, everyone but me. Same for Ani Difranco and her amazing voice and music. Rating: G.
Author's Note: After hearing the song "Willing to Fight", especially the live version on the CD "Living in Clip," I just found myself thinking of Aeryn and how well it suited her. And, voila!
Song From Another Sea
© 2000, Grace Macy
There had been forests, meals, dancing, flying, fighting. The gift of the telepathic Pri'Lanthi in return for the crew's aid when their ship's propulsion system failed had been a strange one, and yet it had been perfect.
"As you are family, so you should share the experience of family," the group's petite leader had informed the Leviathan's crew. "We grant you this gift: to share with one another what you wish to show of your homes."
So they had, since it would have been rude to say no. And the experience had bonded the group of exiles even closer. Now they knew, with heart and soul as well as an objective mind, what it was that made each of them so desperate to return home. And for Aeryn, Pilot, Moya and Chiana, whose choice had been to leave home forever, it was a bittersweet way to share a little piece of what had made them who they were.
Zhaan had chosen to show them the glowing cities of Delvia. D'Argo had chosen his family's farm, where the sunsets blazed across the sky in a hundred brilliant hues. Rygel, not surprisingly, had chosen to show them his palace. Aeryn had hesitantly chosen to share the exhilaration of her first unaided flight in a Prowler. Chiana had chosen to share the thrill of leaving her constrictive home system for the first time, the comfort of her brother holding tight to her hand.
Pilot had shared a similar experience, his soaring heart as a child, imagining being bonded to a Leviathan. Moya, to the immense surprise of all, had joined in the sharing with the intense experience of unrestrained flight through the space between the stars. And John . . . John had chosen carefully, trying to ensure that his crew saw a far better face of Earth than they had been exposed to once before. He chose music.
The telepaths had been a bit surprised themselves, but had allowed him this freedom, understanding the heartache he felt at so many different things. So he showed his friends, his family, all the sides of Earth's soaring musical talent by sharing with them the concerts he had been to. And he felt the shock -- and appreciation -- of each one as they experienced the sheer mass of different cultures and styles.
Different periods of classical. Jazz. Blues. Pop. Heavy metal. Native and Gregorian chants. Techno. African drums. Celtic. Folk. Bossa Nova. Belly-dance. Samba. Swing. And still the list went on. The sheer number of experiences woven into the sharing astounded them, and John was suddenly intensely glad for the extremes of the tastes of his friends and family, the concerts he had been dragged to or passed on a street corner.
When the sharing finally stopped, his crewmates stared at him, varying expressions of wonder on their faces. Chiana was laughing softly. D'Argo smiled in approval. Rygel shook his head. Pilot cocked his own head almost quizzically. Zhaan had a thin sheen of tears in her eyes. Moya fairly thrummed with appreciation. Aeryn looked vaguely distracted. John's smile was both glad and sorrowful.
"Such a variety," Zhaan said finally, quietly, as the telepaths left without another word. "John . . . I had no idea. How can your people . . . how can you have experienced so many of these things?"
Crichton laughed softly. "Hell, that's nothing. You should see a typical record store." He shook his head. "I just . . . got lucky in my choice of friends." He didn't mean just back on Earth, and they all knew it.
"Very impressive," D'Argo rumbled quietly.
Even Rygel and Chiana seemed subdued. Softly, Pilot said from his holographic screen, "Moya says she wishes that we could take you back to your home, if only so that she could experience some of those . . . songs . . . herself."
Aeryn remained quiet while the others spoke, but managed a smile for John when he looked at her anxiously. Peacekeepers had no music, though she had heard it played on worlds occasionally. But the intensity of the shared experience now . . . it was unlike anything she had ever seen before. It almost seemed as if she could still feel the music in her bones, whispering to her mind. It took a few arns for the sensation to fade a bit.
But only a bit.
One song in particular seemed to remain in her mind's ear, dancing along her memory with words that seemed to have been drawn directly from her own heart. Most songs she had heard before this had been instrumental, or with lyrics that were . . . well, less than perfect for a Peacekeeper. Yet somehow . . . somehow, a singer from a world that she had thought would be far too alien for her had been the one to capture the essence of her most recent struggles.
Aeryn allowed herself to recall the song fully, the memory a part of her now so that she could even remember the name of the singer and the location of the 'concert'. Ani DiFranco. Aeryn spoke the woman's name silently, testing the syllables. And the song itself, its words . . . oh yes, she remembered the words perfectly. She wondered if they would ever leave her heart and mind again. She wondered if she wanted them to.
"The windows of my soul
Are made of one way glass
Don't bother looking into my eyes
If there's something you want to know,
Just ask.
I got a dead bolt stroll,
Where I'm going is clear.
I won't wait for you to wonder
I'll just tell you why I'm here
'Cause I know the biggest crime
Is just to throw up your hands,
Say
This has nothing to do with me,
I just want to live as comfortably as I can.
You got to look outside your eyes,
You got to think outside your brain.
You got to walk outside your life
To where the neighborhood changes.
Tell me who is your boogieman,
That's who I will be.
You don't have to like me for who I am
But we'll see what you're made of
By what you make of me.I think that it's absurd
That you think I
Am the derelict daughter.
I fight fire with words.
Words are hotter than flames,
Words are wetter than water.
I got friends all over this country,
I got friends in other countries too.
I got friends I haven't met yet,
I got friends I never knew.
I got lovers whose eyes
I've only seen at a glance.
I got strangers for great grandchildren,
I got strangers for ancestors.
I was a long time coming,
I'll be a long time gone.
You've got your whole life to do something
And that's not very long.
So why don't you give me a call
When you're willing to fight
For what you think is real,
For what you think is right."
Aeryn sighed and reviewed the song again, especially the last two stanzas. Aeryn Sun had made her choices, and had chosen to fight, as the song said, for what she felt was right. It wasn't an easy path, or a safe one, but it was hers and she wouldn't trade it for anything now. She had a family, albeit a strange and sometimes chaotic one. And the future stretched ahead of her in twisting paths that, for all their strange and sometimes frightening natures, were uniquely and totally her own. She was free, in ways she had never even known existed.
And if an artist of Earth could see so clearly to her wounded soul, Aeryn Sun thought with a trembling smile, then perhaps a planet full of Crichtons might not be such a bad place to live after all . . .
The End
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