Farscape White Paper: A fictional interview with John Crichton

My name is John Crichton. An astronaut. Ignore the leather and the big black gun; I'm a scientist. No, really, I am -- but I'm a little lost right now.

I'm just trying to get back home, with the help of thousands of friends.

See, I came up with this theory: a method for increasing the velocity of a spacecraft using the Earth's gravitational pull. It was brilliant, trust me. But when I tested it in orbit, something went wrong. Next thing I know, I'm sucked through a wormhole and spit out...somewhere else.

One fire fight and a few explosions later, I end up on a living ship who answers to the name of Moya. And she's loaded with escaped prisoners -- a warrior with tentacles for dreadlocks, a toad king who farts helium, and a blue priest who's part rhododendron or something.

And then there's Aeryn Sun. She's from a race called Sebaceans, who look and act human, for the most part. She was a fighter pilot for the Peacekeepers (read: the Sebacean military, xenophobic fascists in black leather with twitchy trigger fingers) before she got exiled for coming too close and getting "contaminated" by me. I swear I didn't do it on purpose. At least, not at first.

'Cause Aeryn, well, there's a lot to be said for a girl with a well-oiled gun. Killer instincts, wicked right cross (I oughta know), eyes that will rip your heart right out of your chest -- and a smile that will keep it beating in your hand. She's saved my life over and over, while we've been on the run from dozens of different enemies, and she's stood by me when it seemed like nothing else in the universe would ever come right. Maybe I had to be shot halfway across outer space to find her, but for whatever reason, we're in this together. Sometimes that's just the way the story needs to be told.

It's been four years now, four years of playing chess with the Fates. I've found friends who are like family, and I've lost them. It seems like everyone in the galaxy wants a piece of me. I've dealt with brainwashing, neural clones, alternate realities, time-loops and body-switches. I've been shot, stabbed, burned, and Xeroxed. I've been the chew toy of the universe, but for these friends of mine on Moya, I'd do it all over in a microt.

And I want to go home, so that folks on Earth can share the wonders I've seen. I want everyone to know what awaits us beyond the stars -- but for now, we're all stuck in limbo.

See, we started this ride when the Sci-Fi Channel teamed up with the Jim Henson Company to tell our story. But now Sci-Fi is out of funds and Henson can't do it alone.†

And the story's not done.†Me, Moya, all of us -- we're all caught hanging in space, while the fans, our friends, look for another home for us. I want to see how it ends, and the fans do too.

The fans are fighting for us in amazing ways, through grassroots and nationwide efforts, fighting to find a new home for the show, and to increase the ratings for the next eleven episodes, which begin airing January 10th.†It's called the Save Farscape Campaign, and it's an international effort supported by thousands of smart, demographically valuable fans.†You can find out more about the campaign in this media kit, or by visiting the SaveFarscape.com website, and I guaran-damn-tee you'll be astonished at the intelligence and effort involved in this battle.

Please, check out what these folks are up to, it's well worth it. If there's one thing I've learned out here in the Uncharted Territories, it's that you can't survive without the help of your friends.

John Crichton
Astronaut, 9/02