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We see Furlow only twice, and yet she leaves a permanent mark in our memory and imagination, thanks to her unforgettable personality, the product of both writerly genius and the outstanding performance of the actress that impersonates her.

The mechanic from Dam-ba-da is a study in contrasts: the unlovely appearance of an overweight, under-cleaned and overall unkempt person, with an unlit cigar stuck between her lips, goes hand in hand with an unsophisticated and often slurred speech typical of the less refined strata of society, and these details bring both viewers and opponents to underestimate her.  Yet, under the coarse exterior lurk both a fine intelligence and a shrewd mind: adding a very flexible morality to the mix, the result is an ambiguous character that sometimes borders on the dangerous.

Furlow's only priority lies with herself, and to that goal she does not hesitate to create allegiances with the worst kind of subjects, which she betrays without qualms when a better opportunity comes over the horizon: in the double episode INFINITE POSSIBILITIES, for example, we learn she made a bargain with the Charrids, yet she kills a good number of them while appearing to side with our heroes, and she justifies it, in the most innocent-looking way, with the need for credibility before the 'good guys'.  She is indeed shameless and bold at the same time.

It's almost impossible not to feel a flash of sympathy for Furlow, despite these premises and the role she plays in the show: once we overlook the instinctive outrage for her actions, we understand she's moved by an excellent drive for survival, the kind that manages to land her always on her feet - not a simple achievement considering the difficult environment where she lives, the shady world at the border between law and anarchy.

The contrast that is Furlow is therefore mirrored in the viewers' mixed reaction, who alternate between loathing and admiration, disapproval and respect:  a further indication of the depth and lack of stereotyped representations that are at the basis of this ground-breaking show.

These are not the only remarkable women to grace Farscape's tapestry, of course, just the ones with longer screen-time and impact, because this great show does not lack notable female figures, like Tech Gilina, sweet and yet possessed of a very special kind of courage, or Empress Novia, shrewd political manipulator, or Jenavian Chatto, ruthless and resourceful spy. And again the evil Natira, collector of eyes, or double-dealing Raxil. The list could go on and on for quite a while...

What these characters share is the freshness of the approach in designing and portraying them, which mirrors the daring attitude of Farscape's creators in picturing peoples and situations that stand well outside the accepted (and sometimes stale) norm of serial tv. And that is part of the magic that draws so many spectators to this awesome story.

The characters I have examined in the first six posts of this "marathon" belong to the Moyan family and can be placed in the "good girls" category, with the caution that in the Farscape universe this kind of definition is never clear-cut. There are however other interesting female roles that can be more easily placed on the other side of the fence, showing us that there is room enough for "bad girls" as well.

Commandant Mele-on Grayza is the quintessential dark lady: cruel, ruthless, darkly alluring and gifted, so to speak, with more than a veneer of perversion. Even Scorpius is hard-put trying to stand up to her, because Grayza pursues her goals with such relentless determination that she quickly becomes a formidable adversary. 

A subtle indication of her standing is given in the Season Four's opening monologue by Crichton, where his voice-over describes Scorpius as just "dangerous", while Grayza is depicted as "powerful", a definition that goes well beyond simple dangerousness.

Sexual exploitation is the Commandant's main weapon: since her first appearance, the most revealing detail for the viewers is the deep cleavage that opens on her non-regulation uniform - a form of appeal and also a statement. There's a substantial difference, however, between the use of sexual attraction by well-known dark ladies and Grayza, because her attitude appears mechanical and utilitarian, a soulless form of exploitation that's quite far from what could be expected from a femme fatale.

Arrogance is Grayza's fatal flaw, the element that compels her to commit critical mistakes and sometimes to pursue hazardous shortcuts, like her choice to have herself implanted with a special gland producing an aphrodisiac substance, with which she ensures her victims' compliance. The only downside of this implant is a drastic reduction in life expectancy: such a radical choice implies both an iron will and a boundless, no-holds-barred ambition, as testified by Grayza's angry fits following defeats and the humiliation that comes with them.

This is probably the chink in her armor, coupled with an unexpressed but palpable need for revenge that seems to inform her personality: Grayza appears quite sensitive in this respect, as if humiliation had been part of her past life, leaving a permanent mark and depriving her of the detachment she needs to pursue her goals.  Considering that her appearance is not quite Sebacean, the hypothesis that she's a half-breed like Scorpius does not look far-fetched (her extreme pallor is reminiscent of the Nebari): in the xenophobic milieu of Peacekeeper society this could very well be a serious hindrance that Grayza choose to overcome recurring to extraordinary means.

With such premises, the parallel between Grayza and Scorpius is inevitable - both hybrids, working in an environment where racial purity is paramount: yet they are quite different. Scorpius' weapon of choice is his intellect, coupled with the patience he claims to have made his chief virtue; Grayza prefers quicker means, thus exposing herself to every possible trouble and downside they entail. Where Scorpius believes in his mission, the elimination of the Scarran threat, Grayza cares only about power, masking her lust for it under the convenient cloak of the "greater good", a sentence she often uses without the slightest hint of sincerity.  They are both great manipulators and have an uncanny knack of landing on their feet when the tables turn against them, yet Grayza lacks the touch of "humanity" that sometimes we can see in Scorpius, and that brings viewers to empathize with him, even for brief moments.

This makes Grayza a rarity among Farscape's characters: she exhibits none of the dichotomy between 'good' and 'bad' they all possess - she is, in this respect, monochromatic, as far as her definition in the story-arc is concerned, although this does not detract from her impact on the audience.

Like Jool, Sikozu appears only in one season, the fourth and final one of Farscape, and in the conclusive mini-series PEACEKEEPER WARS, but her character is explored in far greater depth, so she quickly becomes one of the key roles in the story-line: shrewd and enigmatic, quite intelligent but disdainful toward those she considers inferiors (which means almost everyone), she soon shows herself as a controversial, multi-layered and intriguing figure.

Sikozu is gifted with a superior intellect: able to quickly learn a language only by listening to it; she possesses an encyclopedic knowledge on many subjects; she's brilliant, clever and displays a cutting sense of humor - or better, sarcasm - which she can use without mercy. Her physical abilities are on the same level as her mental gifts: she can shift her center of gravity, therefore walking as easily on the walls or ceiling as she does on floors, and the loss of a limb is for her a mere inconvenience, since she's able to reattach it without appreciable function loss. The young Kalish holds herself in high value and is firmly assured of her own superiority, which brings her to classify everyone else as irredeemably inferior.

And yet she's somehow incomplete: her vast knowledge on Leviathans is just theoretical, not supported by any hands-on experience, and her people skills are almost non-existent.

These contrasting, and puzzling, details are explained once Sikozu's true nature is revealed: she is a bioloid, an artificial construct created by the Kalish resistance as a secret weapon against Scarran domination. Her inorganic nature, and therefore her growth in an artificial and presumably isolated environment, explain the striking contrast between her psychological immaturity and the high cognitive levels. And of course her difficulties in social relationships.

There's a segment, in the mini-series PEACEKEEPER WARS, where all her contradictions come to the fore: in a short but intense dialogue with Aeryn Sun, Sikozu stresses her convictions of intellectual superiority but at the same time admits her surprise in finding her equal in Scorpius. And not just her equal, but someone who can even outsmart her.  This is the key that reveals her "innocence", so to speak, this simple black-and-white view of the world that does not understand its inherent many shades of gray, an innocence - or lack of properly gained experience - that prevents her from understanding Aeryn's reply about the mutual give-and-take at the basis of every relationship.

It's through her allegiance with Scorpius that Sikozu's personality takes on an interesting ambiguity: if on one side she actively contributes to the Moyan's survival, on the other her fascination with John Crichton's nemesis puts her in a suspicious light and prevents her full integration with the crew, always placing her at the outside of the 'circle' and accentuating her differences in a group that has found its inner strength in reciprocal diversity.

The partnership between Sikozu and Scorpius, that for a long time looks only like a meeting of minds, adds a further element of suspense in an already suspenseful story-line and is later played on the subtle edge of a mutual physical attraction reminding us of "Beauty and the Beast": Scorpius is the ultimate villain but is also marked by unappealing looks that are sometimes exasperated by ghastly behavioral patterns. The attraction game played with Sikozu, and the admiration the Kalish expresses toward Scorpius, bring the viewers to hover between fascination and revulsion while they observe, as if hypnotized, the evolution of this "match made in Hell".

The premature end of Farscape has prevented the creators from a deeper exploration of Sikozu's character and unfortunately the final mini-series only managed to worsen the situation, with the introduction of unexplained variables that did little for the development of her personality and could only accentuate the mysterious halo that envelops her.

In the beginning, young Chiana seems destined to the role of the outsider, the off-key note: her arrival aboard Moya happens in the middle of the first season and her presence acts as a ripple passing through the fragile balance that is taking hold among the Leviathan's inhabitants.

Chiana is a rebel, running away from the oppressive Nebari government and its imposition of rigid rules that even contemplate brainwashing of its citizens. Since her escape, she's been living a hand-to-mouth existence and her instincts are tightly focused on survival, while her principles are quite flexible.

More than anything else she is a study in contradictions: her slight, juvenile appearance leads people to underestimate her because it hides the crafty experience she's gained through a life on the edge. These contradictions are also plain in the way she moves, with sudden and almost disarticulate gestures that match her speech pattern, that is breathy, fast and full of stops and repetitions, as the outward expression of a mind riddled by conflicting thoughts and emotions that make her interaction with the outside world quite unpredictable.

So it's hardly surprising that the Moyans have some trouble in trusting her, particularly so when she seems unwilling to contribute to everyone's survival: in THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS we see her trying to escape from the dangerous situation they are in, and we can sympathize with her companions' annoyance, but we also understand that this flight reaction is nothing more than the product of her former life, where Chiana certainly survived by being fast on her feet and not trusting anyone but herself.  It will be only thanks to her life on Moya, and the family that's being slowly created there, that she will learn how to depend on others.

It would be too easy to label Chiana as self-centered and egotist or, worse, as an unrepentant tralk, as some commentators did. Easy and wrong, because she is instead a very complex person, one that is revealed little by little and that always manages to surprise – both the viewers and her traveling companions.   With the latter she creates, with time, a fierce bond of love and loyalty that grows as the ties between them all become stronger. We could say that Chiana is the emblem of the complex synergies aboard Moya: as the group initially works together for simple expediency and only later grows into a real family, so the young Nebari's stay with them morphs from a temporary measure, just a stop along the way while waiting for a better opportunity, to a progressive integration with this group of people, until she becomes an essential part of the family she learns to count on for survival, and love.

This does not mean, however, that Chiana completely changes her attitude or behavior: indeed some her most radical sides keep appearing like glitches in an unstable mechanism, as we can observe in her relationship with D'Argo. Once they become lovers the Luxan sees in Chiana the chance to restore the family that circumstances stole from him and dreams of a quiet and peaceful life. A terrifying prospect for the Nebari, since she resents every limitation – be it true or imagined – to her own personal freedom; and that's why she decides to destroy their relationship in the most devastating way, betraying D'Argo with his own son Jothee.   It's curious that Chiana would consider the dramatic shattering of her love story with D'Argo as the lesser evil, if compared to a conventional, probably boring life, but we must keep in mind that her past – and the oppressive atmosphere of the Nebari worlds – plays a key role in this: Chiana is a free spirit, a creature that does not bear well a cage, no matter how sweet or gilded. 

Her refusal to accept the conventional often places her in the position of offering an unexpected point of view and therefore different and revealing considerations, as she does in THE WAY WE WEREN'T. With the exception of Crichton, the Moyans all agree on condemning Aeryn's past actions and it's only Chiana's voice that brings them down from their moral high ground, reminding them that Aeryn's role as a soldier did entail brutality and violence; she does this with clarity and bitter sarcasm that reveal a maturity well beyond her young age.   

Chiana's character, while growing in depth and responsibility, does take on an increasingly tragic streak that is tied to a series of traumatic losses: her carefree youth comes to an end when she's forced to part company with her brother Nerri, the only person she has a strong emotional bond with, and until that moment the very center of her world.  Zhaan's death again marks a turning point, because it finally stresses how Chiana has become an integral part of Moya's family and how the loss of this pivotal and irreplaceable figure will affect her. And last but not least, D'Argo: once he breaks their relationship after the fling with Jothee, Chiana understands the importance that the Luxan had in her life, and after they manage to seal the breach - thus revealing the Nebari's further emotional growth – D'Argo dies heroically, leaving her once again adrift. 

The last scenes where we see her, in PEACEKEEPER WARS, show us the extent of her evolution through her decision to carry on D'Argo's dream to live on Hyneria as a farmer: accepting her dead lover's legacy and making it her goal she proves how the past experiences have changed and matured her, although something of the "old" Chiana peeks through the cracks when she ironically comments on these changes. It's a pity that this particular scene is available to us viewers only as deleted footage, because it would have better defined Chiana's character and its progresses, while at the same time stressing the contradictory spirit that still dwells at her core, making her so elusive, mysterious and fascinating.

If what happens aboard Moya is at one point labeled as a "transformative journey", this is particularly true for Aeryn Sun: once she finds herself stranded on the Leviathan, cut off from her past, stranger in a strange land, she begins a long and often painful metamorphosis.  Declared "irreversibly contaminated" by her fellow Peacekeepers, trapped with escaped criminals and facing a very uncertain future, she deals with a series of dramatic choices whose consequence is the radical transformation of her whole being, one she tries at first to resist with stubborn determination.

We see that stubbornness since the pilot episode: faced with the choice between unavoidable execution and escape with the other prisoners, still she clings to her old life ("It's what I am, it's my breeding since birth!") and only when John Crichton tells her that she can "be more" does she snap out of her hesitation.  And only much later will we learn the meaningful importance of that choice of words.

From that moment on she starts the long journey that will reveal her as a person, not just a perfect soldier that lives and breathes discipline and orders; a journey that will open to her a world of feelings and attitudes that had been denied her by Peacekeeper social mores.

In this respect two are the pivotal episodes in Aeryn's story-arc: the first occurs in Season One and is DNA MAD SCIENTIST. When the insanely brilliant NamTar injects her with Pilot's DNA, her physical barriers are breached, her "racial purity" – one of the tenets of PK society – broken forever. By her own admission Aeryn feels that the very core of her being has been changed irrevocably, that she has now truly been irreversibly contaminated as her captain declared some time before. 

In Season Two, with the episode THE WAY WE WEREN'T, her emotional barriers crumble in the face of long supressed memories and a tragic revelation: Aeryn had a passionate relationship with the Leviathan scientist Velorek, who had perceived her great potential and wanted to take her away from the stifling mold of the mindless soldier. Terrified both by the intensity of the feelings she was discovering for the first time and by the prospect of a future so distant from what had been her life-long comfortable routine, she had denounced Velorek for his treason and gone back to her old unit. Not without harboring a deep-seated guilt and fear of emotional commitment. When these circumstances are revealed we understand her reaction to Crichtons' words about "being more", since this was exactly what Velorek had urged her to be.

It's easy to sympathize with Aeryn while she faces these trials that little by little dismantle the barriers she puts between herself and the outside world, and it's just as easy to share her enthusiasm when she breaks unwritten rules and manages to overcome the PK's psychological conditioning. A good example is in THANK GOD IT'S FRIDAY, AGAIN, when she  successfully analyzes the compound that makes Rygel's body fluids explosive, providing the key factor in solving the situation the Moyans find themselves in. Among the Peacekeepers, tasks are strictly compartmentalized: soldiers fight and techs work in supporting roles. Her pride in overcoming this limit is almost childlike and stresses once more her stunted emotional growth, a side of Aeryn that clashes with her outward appearance, that of a fearless and competent soldier.

Interestingly, it's Pilot who urges her toward this kind of discovery: Pilot, whose DNA will mix with hers and who represents the being she is initially more attuned to on Moya.  Her relationship with Pilot – even more than the one with Crichton – will help expose her softer and more feminine side and will be one of the constant links to her better instincts throughout the story arc. Somehow, Pilot is Aeryn's mirror image: he is kind and gentle but is also possessed of a strong mind-set and deep-rooted principles. This must be the main reason they find, almost from the start, a common ground ("We work together well" she tells Pilot at some point) that blossoms into a special and privileged bond.

Aeryn's character is also defined by her difficult and tormented relationship with John Crichton: their love story, one of Farscape's core themes, is the ground where her inner changes are played more deeply and is also a way to portray the romantic side of the story in a new and unconventional way, while at the same time presenting many interesting angles for discussion on the ever complex relationship between men and women.

Aeryn and John's relationship is fraught with objective difficulties and misunderstandings that come both from the universal differences between the male and female of any species and from the cultural and psychological barriers between two alien races – no matter the striking physical similarities between them.   Peacekeepers are conditioned to avoid any emotional commitment, because it's considered a weakness that can impair a soldier's efficiency: they don't have the concept of family, births are decided by assignment to "fill the ranks", they entertain no stable love relationships and are allowed to "recreate" – the choice of term speaks for itself – only as a form of stress-management. Everything revolves around rules and discipline. At some point we learn that Aeryn's birth was exceptional, because she was conceived out of the clandestine and forbidden love of her parents: once discovered, they were cruelly punished – Aeryn's mother was given the choice between taking the life of her daughter or of her mate.  

With these premises it's hardly surprising that John Crichton's efforts to conquer Aeryn's heart meet with such resistance and fall into the category of  "one step forward, three steps back".  Moreover, she often lays the rules of the "game", which is clear since their first fateful encounter, when she throws him bodily to the ground – without apparent effort – and demands for his "rank and regiment".  From the start it's evident that Aeryn is the "strong" half of the couple, a role that is usually reserved to the male, and that Crichton represents the more "feminine" half, particularly in his desire to mediate and talk before recurring to brute strength.  Role-reversal, in tv shows, is often relegated to the realm of humor, as if to indicate that it's a joking matter. Farscape has no fear of tackling this topic in a more serious manner.

This strong core in Aeryn's personality remains basically unaltered throughout the show, and is evident in the fundamental dignity that informs her character despite the changes effected by experiences: this trait is plain in many circumstances and is brought to the fore in one of the most dramatic moments of the saga. During Aeryn's imprisonment by the Scarrans, in Season Four, she has little or no hope of rescue – not just for herself but for the child she carries in stasis. The surprising, uncharacteristic prayer she addresses to an old Sebacean divinity is of course a sort of last resort against despair, but is also quite emblematic of the person Aeryn is: she does not ask as a supplicant at her wit's end, but as a soldier dictating conditions.  She can be hurt by wayward emotions, because she's had no training or life-long acquaintance with them, but she can physically and mentally withstand almost anything.

This is one of the reasons she is such a fascinating figure, this amalgam of outer strength and inner fragility, this factual representation of a real, flesh and blood woman, with all her realistic contradictions.

Even when the love story with Crichton finally rests on firmer ground and we see them assume the role of parents, Aeryn's basic essence remains unaltered: it's impossible not to smile when we see her determined to be an active part in the defense against the Scarrans despite being racked by labor pains – "Shooting makes me feel better!" she says, and if we know this is a necessary tension-breaking line in the script, we also know it comes out of her deeper nature. As does another sentence uttered at the prospect of an hours-long delivery: "I've killed men for less!"  It's a warning, a statement that shows how this woman will not be constrained into an idealized mold, or weighed down by conventions.

She is transformed by her experiences, yes, but not altered: when we look at her, towards the end of PEACEKEEPER WARS, we see her holding her newborn baby with one hand and shooting enemies with the other, with her  usual, economical efficiency; stroking her child with love and dispensing death at the same time.   

The discovery of feelings, love, motherhood has not changed this extraordinary character but simply added more layers to it, making it more complete. Making it *more*.  This is why she is one of the most original figures of the modern sci-fi scene. And probably the best.

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It would be easy to believe that Farscape has little or no interest in exploring spiritual matters: the frequent focus on scatological images or language, and the abundance of body fluids of any kind, seem to leave no room for higher considerations.