Return to Kill Furlow Index
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A nauseous Furlow cursed her rotten luck.
She sighted and popped off another shot at the small reptilian scavengers gathering just over the crest of an adjacent dune. Her off-hand aim was lousy, but at least the little beasts scattered. She was pretty sure they wouldn't try to eat her until she was actually dead, more or less, but it didn't hurt to put some fear in the vermin.
The sky of the forsaken desert planet was almost full dark, and the air was starting to cool down quickly. She'd had no intention of napping that long, but the effort of dragging her bulk away from the flames of the small brushfire started by the wrecked escape pod's retro rockets wiped her out.
How in Hezmana she'd managed to land in the only spot of scrub plant life was beyond her. Everywhere else there were only sand and rocks as far as the eye could see, at least from her limited vantage point before she'd given in to sleep. Fortunately the pod waited until she was almost down before it came apart.
A broken leg and arm on the same side, the other leg banged up, a cracked rib, and a significant dose of radiation didn't leave her with many options. Someday, she vowed to herself, she'd track down and get some payback from the frellnicks who'd nearly completely stripped the pod's survival pack medkit of drugs!
Her best hope was that her pursuers think she'd died in the violent destruction of her rustbucket of a vessel. Frell it -- she almost *did*. She'd wait as long as she could before activating the emergency transponder. Furlow was pretty sure they'd only tried to disable her engines based on their targeting, but none of them had anticipated the sold-off shielding and uncalibrated containment fields that caused the damaged drive core to so violently explode. (Not to mention that the strange antique's weapons had a surprisingly strong punch -- perhaps its crew were surprised too).
*She* knew how to properly maintain an old barge like that of course, but it was a borrowed ride. The ship was almost completely destroyed -- and her ejection pod too, launched with far more force than it was designed for. Perhaps it didn't show on their scanners as intact and operational.
Damn them all! She gave her ruined limbs another look, and pulled open the flap of the survival kit to take some more headache tablets. All the good juice was gone, used up by the original owner to get high or traded for something still stronger and illegal.
That's what she got for hiding in such a pesthole of a space station in the first place, home to smugglers, failed traders, and even worse types. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. The Scarrans were on her eema, having put a bounty on her head on suspicion of a double-cross after the loss of the dreadnought. She wanted to lay low while she put out some feelers, trying to safely reestablish contact and let them know the real score. She still had her backup copy of the data, and it should be even more valuable now since its presumed worth as an overwhelming weapon had been so forcefully proven. Fortunately, miracle of miracles, they'd been ready to believe her story about Crichton's involvement. Apparently they'd already had some dealings with him and knew he was a tough customer.
All her schemes were finally falling into place, with a meet with the Scarrans' rep slated for the next weeken, when she saw Aeryn Sun and the big Luxan enter the dive where she was holed up, scanning the crowd. Furlow didn't think they made her, but she didn't wait to be absolutely sure. Instead, she'd immediately scooted for the service entrance at the back of the cramped, filthy kitchen and got out of there.
She figured she'd make herself scarce for the rest of the weeken by renting an inconspicuous tub and heading to one of the outer worlds in the otherwise uninhabited system.
Obviously they HAD seen her. And here she was now, hoping her condition would let her outwait her enemies, that they thought her dead already.
And if they were not fooled then she'd just have to try to negotiate. As long as John Crichton came with the others she just might work something out, at least something short of her demise.
The mechanic nodded off again, her grip on the pulse pistol loosening...
Aeryn was closing rapidly with Furlow, whose partially reclining form was silhouetted by the lingering flames from the brush fire. It wasn't the best tactics but in her impatience she'd pulled ahead of D'Argo as she drew nearer to her quarry.
Just as she was about to pounce, one of the disturbed scavengers uttered a warning cry and Furlow jerked awake, raising the pulse pistol although she had no target. Coming from behind, the PeaceKeeper kicked the pistol flying from her hand, not caring what happened to fingers in the process. Aeryn smashed Furlow in the face with the butt of her pulse rifle, further asserting control over the situation.
Recovering from her initial pain and surprise Furlow cursed briefly then said, "Damned near broke my jaw with that one. I was wondering when you'd show up. Say, you don't have any radiation drugs or serious painkillers in your kit do you?"
Aeryn remained silent, watching Furlow's eyes shift as D'Argo lumbered up behind her back and halted, glowering with the drawn Qualta blade across his chest. He said nothing either, just waiting to back Aeryn's play, whatever it might be. Aeryn thanked her good fortune that the Luxan was with her rather than Crichton when she spotted the treacherous woman back on the station. John just wouldn't understand and would likely interfere.
Furlow continued speaking, eyeballing the two and calculating her best course. "As you can see I'm not going anywhere. I know what you want. Here's my last data crystal. Damned thing's been too hot to unload anyway." She pulled it out of a pocket with her bleeding hand and tossed it in the dirt at their feet.
"Let's let bygones be bygones. Like I always say 'All's well that ends well'"...
A flash of movement from the PK and she was blinded by the agony of a sharp blow from the butt of a weapon.
Aeryn smiled grimly. She didn't mean to lose control, but Furlow's words struck home, freshly twisting the knife in her still sharp grief for John with their unintentional irony. Furlow didn't know, but that made no difference. The Sebacean felt a bit better, reseating her grip on the stock of her pulse rifle as she watched her prey recover her senses and weakly spit out blood and a tooth. She suppressed her moaning quite well. The crunch of bone and splintering of teeth was most gratifying. Yes, it definitely was broken this time.
Aeryn slung her pulse rifle and instead deliberately drew her pistol to finish it once and for all. The rifle would do the job just as well, better in fact, but the pistol made it somehow more personal.
Once she saw Furlow was coming to and would understand her, Aeryn said coldly, "This is for John, you backstabbing bitch. The radiation killed him you know."
It dawned on Furlow that she was doomed, remembering the love for each other the two fugitives had clearly shown on Dam-ba-da. She knew and cared little about relationships, but the fatal consequences of this one for herself were perfectly, unavoidably clear.
Aeryn sighted between Furlow's eyes and started to squeeze...
"I knew I'd be considered underfoot, but ladies this is one little party I had to crash" the human drawled. D'Argo actually looked a bit chagrined but still said nothing. Aeryn held a bead on Furlow.
"Fortunately we were able to guess what was up when y'all left the station like a bat out of hell. I was fooling around in the Farscape so I was able to get here quick like, apparently just in the nick of time."
He closed with the PeaceKeeper.
"Not like this, Aeryn, not in cold blood. You're not a murderer."
New hope warred with incomprehension in Furlow at the appearance of the dead John Crichton, his hand lowering the PeaceKeeper's still-pointed weapon.
"Back off John, you weren't there," Aeryn insisted.
"I know what he would think, Aeryn", he replied gently.
The human pulled the Sebacean aside for a hushed but heated conversation. Finally it seemed to Furlow that Aeryn was gaving in. Maybe she'd get out of this alive after all...
Crichton turned back toward where she lay and announced their decision for her benefit, ticking off points on his hands:
"We've got an uninhabited planet, you're banged up pretty bad, shocky, there's exposure, hungry critters" he pointed out to the eyes of the small scavengers glittering out beyond the firelight, "and radiation poisoning if I know the signs."
"I'd call that poetic justice. I don't think you'll last 24 arns."
"Bad karma's a bitch, ain't it?"
Crichton shot the emergency transponder twice, took Aeryn by the arm and left into the darkness.
None too gently the Luxan, still never saying a word, searched her, finding her backup piece and hidden tools. He confiscated these plus the pistol lying just out of reach. He looked at the survival kit, picked it up, flung it far out into the night, and followed the others from her sight without looking back.
Forgetting her shattered jaw she screamed curses at their departing backs and passed out again.
Something woke her. She was laying on her side, unable to see into the gloom, the circle of illumination from the last guttering flame having shrunk.
"Whazzat?" she mumbled barely intelligibly.
"I said 'It's about time you woke up you fat greasy bitch.'"
With a whirr the Hynerian from Dam-ba-da came out of the shadows on his thronesled.
Only another grunt escaping her broken jaw, Furlow smelled an opportunity. Why else would the self-serving Hynerian have stayed behind? She went to scratch a currency amount in the sand and realized her sole "good" arm had been restrained.
As if guessing her intent he gloated "Buying out another corrupt Hynerian, eh? Well they weren't the only ones you betrayed. And I've already got all the filthy currency I want from you." He tossed her hidden coin purse in one small hand and gloated for a moment before continuing.
"You know, it's not often anyone asks me for a favor. And if you can believe it I'm indulging this one request gratis. There are some things that just can't be left to chance, and some people who are just too deserving. "
With a flourish Rygel produced from his robes the Charrid ractor pain-inducing knife.
"I have a last message from Crichton. From both of them actually, although I don't think this one knows about the other one."
He chuckled down in his throat.
"This is for Aeryn."
He advanced, the forked blade gleaming orange in the dying light.
The waiting scavengers scattered again, startled by her screams.
