Spring, 1929

[theotherright]

The NBC building on Fifth Avenue is handsome, modern, and eye-catchingly tall. It boasts no less than eight double-height radio studios, bustling with actors and musicians and technicians, all working in tandem to broadcast a selection of fine programming to the listening public. It was not designed to hold a spaceship.

Comments

[ss_buttcrack]

And yet, today, it will. Whether anyone likes it or not.

In the middle of a wonderfully planned program being hosted in the studio, comes a sudden whoosh, the kind that one imagines would indicate the meeting of the vacuum of space with the decidedly not-a-vacuum-of-space that is the interior of said studio. In a flash of impossible blue light, there appears... a ship. Something smaller and more sophisticated than any aircraft in existence outside of science fiction novels. The light and noise are gone as suddenly as they appeared, leaving only the ship, and the man inside.

Commander John Crichton uses the eject button to jettison the canopy of his Farscape One Module across the room. He stands up and looks around, dazed, blinking at the harsh lights of the studio, and just as bewildered as everyone else in this situation must be.

"Uh... think I might have miscalculated a little..."