Return to Kill Furlow Index
Disclaimer: They aren’t mine, I won’t profit from this, and I’ll give them all back the way I found them … except Furlow.
Spoilers: Not this time.
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Crichton limped slowly through Moya’s corridors, taking his time, not rushing his first expedition out of the infirmary. The mission against Scorpius’ Command Carrier had been completed almost twelve solar days earlier, and after Aeryn and D’Argo had dragged his bleeding and nearly lifeless body from the burning carcass of that huge ship, he had spent the first four days hanging on the thin edge between life and death. Only two things had dragged him back from that dark place he had gone -- Aeryn and Jool.
He had been told that Jool had taken to sleeping in the maintenance bay those first few bad days, refusing to let the life slip away. And Aeryn had not left his side for more than the few microts her physical needs demanded, not until he had finally opened his eyes, and said, “Hey, baby. What‘s goin‘ on?” Her tears and laughter had flowed in equal amounts.
John slowly negotiated the ramps between tiers, climbing until he reached the level where he had been told their prisoner was being held. He slowed even more as he approached the cell, noting the indicator which showed that the doors were securely locked. He finally stepped in front of the bars and looked at the woman imprisoned within.
“Furlow.” She looked up at the sound of his voice. Her rotund form had been pared down into leanness, her pudgy face now had deep hollows and dark rings showed beneath her eyes. He couldn’t tell how thin she was inside her still voluminous overalls, but the cloth hung in sacks and bags around her.
“Johnny boy! Glad to see you made it! I didn’t think you were going to make it off Dam-Ba-Da, and I hear you almost didn’t make it off the Command Carrier.”
“I didn’t make it off Dam-Ba-Da.” He watched the puzzlement grow on her face, but refused to explain his obscure comment. He found the rage building within him again. Perhaps he had been spending too much time around D’Argo, but he was filled with an overwhelming desire to go get Wynona and just kill this foul excuse for a being. She had set in motion the series of events which led to an excruciating death for his twinned other-self, and he finally found acceptance of that other John imbedded in his hatred for this woman.
“John, what are you doing here? You shouldn’t have come all the way up here so soon.” Aeryn set a tray of food down on the floor outside the cell, and came to stand next to him. He draped an arm over her sturdy shoulders and leaned on her a bit. His left leg ached, the surgically repaired bones only just ready to take his weight.
“I just had to come up and see for myself. To make sure.”
“And are you sure now?”
“Yes. This is the right way to take care of this. You were right all along about this.” He turned, and together, their bodies merged as one, they walked away. Just before they turned the corner in the corridor, he looked back.
Twelve days of food. Trays and trays of food sat on the floor outside the cell … just out of Furlow’s reach.
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Der Kernil
Rating: X - cuz I just don’t know anymore. [I'd say G, unohoo]
Disclaimer: They aren’t mine, I won’t profit from this, and I’ll give them all back the way I found them … or maybe not.
Spoilers: Not this time.
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Moya’s crew had been drinking and were beginning to look a little worse for wear. The battle with Scorpius’ Command Carrier was over, the wormhole technology had been snatched from the hands of the Scarrens at the last minute after Scorpius had defected in an attempt to save his own life, and they had managed to capture several of their most reviled enemies. The time to celebrate had finally arrived, and they had landed on a forested agricultural planet which offered peace, quiet, and fermentation of many types.
D’Argo was perched in the lowest branches of a large deciduous tree. He had been swinging upside down from his knees, tentacles flying as he recited love poetry to Aeryn, but had just given that up in order to guzzle another bottle of the local brew, and besides she had walked off somewhere between the fifteen and sixteenth stanzas. Crais and Jool were sitting back to back, propping each other up but weaving from side to side somewhat, trying to match each other drink for drink. Chiana was wavering along the top of what appeared to be a stone wall, her balance badly affected by inebriation, but managing not to fall off anyway. Periodically Talyn flew low overhead, the trees swaying and whipping in the wind as the young Leviathan experienced the drunken euphoria of his captain through the neural transponder, and reacted in kind.
Crichton led his captive out before the assembled group, dragging Scorpius with one hand, wielding a bottle of blue and green swirling alcohol in the other.
“OK Scorpy … we’re going to give you one chance to live. All you have to do is complete this little obstacle course we’ve set up for you.”
“Obstacle course, John? I’m not familiar with the phrase.”
“I’ll lay it out for you, Scorpy.” John took a hefty belt from the bottle, gasped for breath as it burned, and began pointing. “Just balance across that single tightrope above the snapping crocodiles, then climb up the greased pole which has landmines around the bottom. From the top of the pole, just jump ten feet and grab the tarzan rope to swing across the Pit of Fire … hey, who’s in charge of lighting the Pit of Fire?”
Crais staggered over, tossed in another bottle of alcohol and added a match. Behind him Jool had lost her prop and flopped over on to the grass.
“All right, the Pit of Fire is going. So once you clear that, hop from rock to rock through the Swamp of Bubbling Hot Tar … we cooked some up special for you … and then balance on the skinny little one plank bridge over there to cross over the Pit of Hungry Drannits.”
Scorpius looked over the treacherous course he would have to cross in order to survive, and calculated that with his superior hybrid physiology, he might just be able to make it through. He began to gather himself for the attempt.
The others had armed themselves with more refreshments and were lining the course ready to shout their encouragement.
“Oh, wait, wait, wait … I forgot one itty bitty thing! … AERYN? Bring her out.”
Aeryn, also steering an inebriated, unsteady course, appeared pulling Furlow behind her. John grabbed Scorpius’ shoulder and turned him around to face the second captive.
“You have to carry HER!”
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Der Kernil