He's not talking about aliens and he never was. It's still about Aeryn, it's always about Aeryn. It's about Aeryn and John. How far can you trust her? If she's not who she seems to be, what's the use in going after her? Who's the daddy? Who's John in love with? Once you find love, what keeps your faith in it? You can't touch it, feel it, smell it. All you have is blind faith that she won't change shape again. The first and last question: where does this wormhole lead? This season is hard to understand; it's hard admitting these ambiguities when the show itself, not to mention all other television shows in the history of television, have held one belief sacrosanct: that love is forever, and unquestionable. Once you fall in love, that's it, that's your happy ending. John and Aeryn, through death and fear and pain and rage, have finally found each other. Even sexier, because they've got to be in secret, they've got to hide from Scorpius, and that keeps it fresh, but in the end, they win. The end. No body doubles, no bioloids, no lying images, no tabloid lies. Just John and Aeryn, together forever and ever, amen. Like marrying your high school sweetheart: safe and self-satisfied, forever and ever, amen.
How likely is that? If Season One was about finding her, and allowing her to find him, across all the galaxies. And if Season Two was about the darkness in him, staving her off, going crazy, eating itself. And if Season Three was about her discovery -- this just in! -- that happy endings don't exist; that endings don't exist. Then Season Four is about the question, old as time, the question the heart that loves has to answer every day, on into history: How can you be sure? What if she's a robot? What if she's an assassin, Harvey's Lovely Daughter, the laughing Pwintheth, the scowling doctor dominatrix? What if she hates you? What if she never loved you? What if she's a spy? What if she's a whore? What if she's been watching you fall in love, and fight it, and cried tears because that's what was required, to bring you home again? What if she's just keeping her eye on you? What if she's a terrorist, sneaking bombs and landmines into your heart at every opportunity, and waiting for the chance to disappear forever? It's unavoidable and ugly: How can the heart that loves ever trust what it holds dearest? The only thing the show ever takes is what you love the most -- how can you be so sure that the next irony isn't just around the bend? How can you have faith in love, when the entire universe has its sights set on destroying love before all else? How can you be so stupid? How can you be so brave?
"I thank you for being with us; there will be more in the days and weeks ahead. But, for now, from New York, this is R. Wilson Monroe saying good night." And the lights go out.