Chez Alien on the Waterfront, where Sikozu is having a big fight with a cordless phone about how she's not having any kind of "biologic examination," acting like an "x-ray" is something unutterably horrible, with a large bruise on her forehead, and telling the person on the phone that if the other aliens are so into getting probed, they can damn well stick their probes up one of them. "You never know," says Chiana, predictably. "You might like it!" Which is funny and whatever, except what we don't know is that Sikozu has some serious fantastic reasons for not wanting anybody getting a look at her works. She finally tosses the phone out into the yard -- "Leave!" which I love -- and Rygel counsels her to eat one of his many hamburgers. "I do not want to eat. I want to go back to Moya!" Chiana says it's good, and gives her a gift for Pilot on which she's been working very hard. Suddenly Noranti bursts into song, accompanied by the Christmas book she's been trying to read. "Hark! The hirald angles sing-a! Glowry to the nude blowed king-a! Peach on Urp and murky millet! Goad and singers reckon sylled!" Chiana sings along, random words in a monotone, as Rygel grins. Sikozu finally snatches the book from Noranti's hands and tosses it out the door, onto the lawn.
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.