Jack bends John's ear about the Prowler trip as they walk towards the Space Center. "Incredible! We flew through the Cassini Division! Beat the Cassini space probe by a year. I told Aeryn it was the best Christmas present I'd ever gotten, except for that tie-rack you made me in Junior High School." John hops up onto a rail. "Speaking of suits and ties, Holt is still fighting me on the tech-sharing plan and the explorer selection process. I could use a little support." Jack equivocates: "I've always supported you as much as I could, son." Which is the problem, if you're John. It was never enough. They argue about who's seeing the biggest picture, and John demands, again, that Earth work together on this. "Well, you're asking the impossible on that one." John throws his father's words in his face: "Impossible is not in our vocabulary. Who said that? You. You did. Four days before you set foot on the moon. You taught me to believe that. That belief kept me alive. Please tell me you still believe it." It's not rhetoric: his face is open and begging. He's ten years old. "I'm not sure what I believe anymore," Jack says, looking into his eyes. John holds his gaze and walks away; Jack bows his head. It's an impossible equation to solve, and John's put him in the middle, but if you can't ask your father for the impossible from time to time I don't know what good he is. And the awful part is that Jack agrees with me.
In the IASA hanger, DK and Laura are inspecting the Farscape 1 with John. "All this crap you've tacked on!" DK laughs. They discuss the hetch drive, the FTL engine, and how it's impossible. "Newton, Einstein, Hawking...we prove them wrong every time we pop out for groceries." But he can't tell them how it works, because he didn't design it -- just installed it. His adaptation to the universe has made him a user, not a tech, about these things, and it's a void he and DK can't talk across. I don't know what a best friend is for if you can't ask him for the impossible sometimes: "Sure, drop it in our laps. Let us scratch our heads and look stupid while you go on Nightline or have lunch with the President." Not the point. Laura compares them to "Neanderthals, trying to understand 747s." John admires the laptops of 2003 and promises Laura he can't tell them what he doesn't know. DK asks why he even bothered. The Skreeth watches as DK continues: "If we're never going to learn anything, why rub our noses in how dumb we are?" John protests that they're not dumb, and Laura agrees: "Neither are you. Taka says you asked for a metallurgic analysis of these ships. You're on the track of something." John tells her it's the same old Command Carrier riddle: "Why do Prowler pilots turn to goo?" Even now, he's hedging not on Earth technology, but the concerns of the Uncharted Territories. He's thinking as an off-world scientist, and the one thing he can't tell them about is the reason why. DK and Laura watch John walk away, frustrated at his inability to hand this stuff over. The Skreeth watches them.