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.
There is an elegant -- even beautiful -- symmetry to the lies he has to tell here. He can't tell Jack or DK about the wormhole knowledge, which means he can't tell them what he's looking for with the Farscape and Lo'La, so he seems to be playing both sides against the middle when in fact he's trying to save everyone by making both the tech and wormholes open source. But the algorithm is progressive: he can't do one step before the one that comes before, which means it's a waiting game, and everybody getting tired of his waffling. And then there's Aeryn. He can't tell Aeryn that he's forgiven her, that he's still in love, because he's afraid of her response, so he covers up with laka. He seems to be playing both sides against the middle when in fact he's trying to save them both, by making space in his heart for Earth and for her, whenever she decides to come home to him again. She's always been intimately tied up with wormholes, and with home: both the abstract concept, which she is, and the concrete, which must -- for the sake of his soul -- include her. Just like in the story, the two bones are just an optical illusion, and he knows it: he wants everything, home and Aeryn, and there's no reason he shouldn't have it, but the complications accrete. The algorithm is progressive: he can't do one step before the one that comes before, which means it's a waiting game, and she's getting tired of his waffling. Wormholes, Earth and Aeryn. Jack. Four different doors to the same thing: that part of John that used to be symbolized by Zhaan and now -- I hate to say it, but there's a strength in admitting, and in taking on the responsibility of saying it aloud -- is symbolized by Scorpius. You heard me. Just like Noranti is a better Zhaan 2.0 -- ugly truth traded for beautiful lies -- Scorpius is the best symbol of all that still lies beneath what John can admit, and what John has to learn to love. Scorpius has always been intimately tied up with wormholes and with home, and with Aeryn. And Grayza fills that space in the credits, flows like vacuum, telling you he's changed location.