B7 / Farscape crossover, written for a multi-universe challenge.
"I don't see why you're so interested in this stuff." Aeryn stirred it with a contemptuous toe, causing some of the lighter detritus to rise and settle gently in the light breeze. A rusty can rolled away and fetched up against Crichton's boot.
"Because it's from Earth! I could tell soon as I saw these." Crichton held out a ball of crumpled-together foil. "Food wrappers! And the writing's in English!"
"It's still rubbish."
"Yeah, but it's not from the Earth I know, that's the point. See, mine doesn't have wormhole technology."
"Wormholes." Aeryn rolled her eyes. "I might have known."
Baby D'Argo suddenly sat down on his well-diapered bottom. "Mmmf!" He picked up the can.
"Don't touch that." Aeryn snatched it off him. "You don't know where it's been."
"Yeah, space microbes!" Crichton widened his eyes and waggled his fingers at Aeryn, making her grin unwillingly. "And I'd say it's been, well, through—" he deepened his voice "—space and time. Woo-oooooh!" he sang and held up a wrapper. "And look at this." He tapped his finger against a triangle with a piece taken out of it. "Starfleet logo, that is. Future trekkies! Eating—" he pulled a face at the wrapper, "—'Standard Federation Protein Nutrition". Mmm-mmm. Tasty."
"It's from the future?" Aeryn's interest was caught for a fraction of a second. "It's still worthless."
"Yeah, but the point is, the next lot's gotta come down somewhere near here. See?" Crichton pointed back along the spread-out and meandering line of garbage that thinned out as the wind had taken the older pieces.
"Yes," Aeryn said austerely. "More rubbish. And I've got better things to do than watch another lot get dumped. Come on, D'Argo." She took the toddler's hand.
"Suit yourself." Crichton sat down on a sun-warmed rock and watched them go, D'Argo waving a piece of bright foil which had once wrapped a Centauri Bar.
So only Crichton was there an hour later when a transparent iridescent funnel, like a tornado crossed with a soap bubble, formed in the atmosphere to the accompaniment of an approaching, slightly Doppler-shifted, yell.
"Whoa," said Crichton. "That's a big piece." He winced as it hit and got up and ambled over to the spread-eagled figure on the ground. "You OK?"
The guy lifted his head. "What the hell does it look like?"
"Oh man. They don't seem to look after their Stykeras where you come from."
"Yer what?"
"Stykeras. You're a Banik, right? Special kind, hole in your head where the light gets out? Help people over the last road kinda thing?"
"Hole in my... Why, you—" the guy levelled a hand at Crichton, like a Nazi saluting.
Crichton grabbed it and pulled. "OK, buddy, up ya come. Heyyy," he said, his eye caught by the large yellow gem, "cool bling."
"What? That is a lazeron crystal."
"And very nice too. Guess it wouldn't fit in the glove. Oops!" Crichton said as the guy staggered and almost fell. "There ya go." Crichton put the arm with the crystal thingy over his shoulder. "Looks like you've been in the wars, buddy. You come on back to Moya and we'll fix you up. I'm John Crichton by the way,"
"Travis," said the guy in rather a defeated way.
***
Travis decided to take the line of least resistance until he could figure out what was going on. Just over the hill, Crichton had a transport pod: a brown thing with radiating segments at one end, looking like a huge squatting insect. Travis was stumbling with weariness and pain by the time they reached it.
"You took your time. And just what have you dragged home?" A woman wearing black leather and a suspicious look on her hawk-like face stood there, hands on hips and conveniently close to the weapons belt slung around them.
"This is a Travis. Came down in the last shower, or at least wormhole. Travis, this is my wife, the radiant Aeryn Sun."
"Radiant" obviously only went with her surname; Travis and Aeryn regarded each other with mutual suspicion.
Her lip curled. "Down the garbage chute, you mean? Someone threw him away."
"I fell," Travis said coldly, and did so again.
***
He came round as they were approaching what looked like a domed city in orbit, but as they got closer, Travis could see that the dome was flattened at one end and the thing looked mottled and... organic.
"What the hell is that?"
"That there is Moya," Crichton said cheerfully. "She's our spaceship."
Travis had the impression that 'she' had more meaning than when Space Fleet used it. "Looks almost alive."
"Oh, she is." Crichton grinned fondly. "She's a Leviathan."
"That's... not a class, is it?"
"Nope. Species. Only one that can starburst."
Travis decided not to ask about what was probably a body function.
He looked around curiously as they emerged from the transport pod. There seemed to be no straight lines anywhere and everything including the rooms? cabins? cells? they passed looked like something built by insects. He had the sudden disturbing thought that maybe the transport pods were alive too and quickly looked behind him to check. "We're in its guts?"
"Course not. Wouldn't wanna get digested, now, would we? OK, buddy, here we are. Now let's have a look at those wounds."
***
He could only remember bits and pieces of what happened after that, them removing his clothes and tending his wounds, a disapproving comment from the woman about Crichton bringing strays—not a term Travis recognised—home, and Crichton saying, "Hey, I'm not gonna keep him; he'd probably bite."
Travis stirred on his bed. They hadn't locked him in; the door—or what passed for one in here—was partially open. Despite that, he felt claustrophobic in the dimly lit place and had a sudden absurd longing for the clean white walls of Space Fleet and the certainties that went with them.
He lay propped up on pillows that looked as if they belonged in the tents of the Goths and wondered what he was going to do once he was back on his feet. Crichton seemed to mean him no harm, though he wasn't sure about Aeryn, who had the look of a soldier.
He also wasn't sure about the toddler now staring at him though the holes in the door. He wasn't used to children, or the disturbing thoughts the sight of the child brought up from the depths, swimming darkly like huge fish only partly seen. Other children on other pla—no! He pushed them ruthlessly down; kids only grew up to be bastards after all.
The child grinned and said something unintelligible.
"Go. Away," Travis said.
"Uh?"
"Oooookay, son, you gotta learn when you're not wanted." Crichton scooped the kid up and ruffled his hair. "Go find your mom." He set D'Argo down and patted him on the bottom. "Hey, Nelson, you're looking better today," he said as he slid the door further open and came in.
"My name is Travis."
"No probs, Long John Silver." Crichton pulled up a chair and sat down. looking amiable. "Though pirates actually wore eyepatches so they could take 'em off when they boarded ships so's they could see below decks." He pointed a finger at Travis. "Bet ya didn't know that."
Travis just looked at him.
"Oh yeah, probably don't even have sailing ships in your time. Lucky they have translator microbes though, or I'd sound like Chaucer to you and you wouldn't've understood Aeryn. Otherwise I'd've had to lick a finger and stick it in one of your wounds or something."
"What?" Travis jerked back.
"C'mon, it's better than being tongued by a huge Luxan."
Travis's lip lifted in disgust.
"So, six-million-dollar man, about where you came from. Like I said earlier, I already figured you're from the future, but I wanna know how much. What was the year where you were. Or will be," Crichton waved a hand. "you know, whatever."
"257." What difference would it make? And if he changed his own future by talking to this lunatic and popped out of existence, he really couldn't care at this point. That'd be a whole new and final way of taking everyone with him, wouldn’t it.
"There any numbers in front of that?"
"257 in the new calendar," Travis said with exaggerated patience.
"Really? When did the old one stop?"
"257 years ago, obviously. Look, I'm not interested in history."
"Ooookay." Crichton changed tactics. "So Earth uses wormholes for power now?"
"I have no idea what a wormhole is, and I don't want to either."
"You know, that thing you fell down?"
Travis shrugged. "Some old alien technology on that planet. It's why we put Star One there. Throw stuff down it, any old rubbish, and you get enough energy to power the whole place."
"Yeah, you would," Crichton said, entranced. "From all that potential released as it goes back in time. Cool!" Travis must have given them one hell of a power surge. "So, what planet, then? Mars? And what's Star One?"
Travis's lip curled. "Mars? Nah, right out on the edge of the galaxy. Past the edge, where Central Control would be safe."
"We spread through the galaxy?" Crichton leapt to his feet, his face lit with joy. "We went boldly, we did it!" he crowed, punching the air as he paced. "Good ol' Federation! It came true, Starfleet and the rest of it! How cool is that?"
Travis failed to see what temperature had to do with it. "Space Fleet."
"Eh, a word here, a word there. Man, Gene Roddenberry would be, well, over the moon! Hell, he's probably a saint. Not that you'd know, nice Jewish boy like you."
Travis picked on the last of a long line of incomprehensible nonsense. "Nice what?"
"That squashed Star of David you got there." Crichton pointed at the overlapping triangles on Travis's tunic.
"That?" Travis shrugged. "New insignia for special assignment to HQ."
Crichton was barely listening. "We get out there. We make it! You can't keep the human race down!"
Travis smiled thinly. "The Andromedans might."
Crichton stopped and turned. "Andromedans? Like in the strain?"
Travis ignored whatever the strain was. It seemed you had to discount most of what this bugger said and sift the little pebbles of meaning out. "That's right. They were invading when I... left."
"They are? Or will. Crap." Crichton sat down, disconcerted. "Oh but hey, the ol' Federation will win. Always do, you know."
Travis shook his head, sardonically amused. "You have a touching faith in it."
"Oh, I do." Crichton nodded, sure once again. "Star Trek made me what I am, you know, astronaut program and all, and look at me—I never gave up."
Travis said nothing. If this bloke wanted to believe in the indomitability of the human race, let him. And who knew, maybe he was right. Or would be.
He doubted it though.
***
The wind ruffled Travis's hair as he paused and gazed towards the city. The place looked alien—all soaring sharp spires instead of the domes or ground-hugging buildings he was used to, and against a slightly too green sky—and it smelled alien too: pungent and spicy, a little like the scent of rain on dry ground.
This planet was a trader hub, a place Crichton and Aeryn said would be a good place for him to find work as a bodyguard. He would pass, they said, as a Sebacean (which Travis had at first thought was a derogatory comment on his complexion until Aeryn pointed out, rather testily, that she was one) as long as he didn't work closely with any Peacekeepers.
"Guy like you, especially with that armed arm," Crichton said encouragingly, "should be snapped up here."
Travis supposed he should say something. "Thanks, mate."
Crichton lifted his hand with his fingers divided. "Live long and prosper."
Travis nodded and set off towards the city. Whatever work he found would probably be dangerous and hard, but it was a hell of a lot better than what he'd expected when he'd fallen down that bloody well. Anything more than sudden death was a bonus.
His spirits rose as he walked. Never know what might happen here, or for that matter back in his own time. He liked that. A bit of uncertainty was a good thing.
So many possibilities.
The end