fic: Farscape: Left Behind, chapter 8
Left Behind
Timeline placement: earlyish season 3, spoilers for “Eat Me”
Rating: PG-13
Words: 2,269
Disclaimer: The Farscape universe, and all that is in it, is not mine, but rather belongs to the Jim Henson Company. This is a work of fiction based in that universe. No copyright infringement is intended and no money has been or will be collected. No betas were harmed in the writing of this fic. Previous chapter links at the end of the post.
in case you missed it, Left Behind, chapter 7
Chapter Eight
“Aw, now, Johnny. Is that any way to greet an old friend?” Furlow opened her arms wide and took a step toward John, as if to embrace him.
Hoping the movement would cover up any involuntary reactions - Furlow may have had a brilliant mind, but Miss Universe she wasn’t - John sidestepped and laid some cash down on the counter. “Why don’t I buy you lunch?” he said to her, then turned to the guy running the stall. “I’ll have whatever she’s having.”
As the proprietor left to fulfill their food orders, John turned around and leaned back against the counter to take a better look at Furlow. She hadn’t changed at all in the - what? two and a half cycles? - since he had last seen her. She, in turn, made a show of looking him up and down, then looking around to see if anyone else was nearby.
“So… Didja ditch that Peacekeeper girlfriend of yours?”
It made sense that she would be looking for Aeryn, he realized. After all, he and Aeryn had arrived together on DamBaDa in his rather small, cozy module. All Furlow really knew of him was that he knew wormholes and he was with Aeryn. He hadn’t really had the luxury, until Furlow pointed out her absence, to comprehend just how much he missed “that Peacekeeper girlfriend” of his.
Crossing his arms over his chest, he replied, “Aeryn is an ex-Peacekeeper and no, I didn’t ditch her. She just…” He paused, looking for some way to answer her without giving away too much information. He finally settled on, “…isn’t here.”
“Here’s your food, sir.”
John pushed off from the counter and turned to accept the tray. He started to thank the guy, but he had already moved away, heading for what looked to be a grill area. “Okay.” He shook his head at the twitchiness of some people, grabbed the tray of weird-looking but tasty-smelling “burritos” and headed for a table outside the stall. Since he had the food, he was reasonably sure Furlow would follow him. And if she didn’t, he was reasonably sure he could eat both burritos without too much hardship.
The food court area wasn’t crowded, so he had no problem locating a table, although there were no chairs evident. The tables were all waist-high to him - a bit above that for Furlow, who had, indeed, followed him - so the lack of chairs was no problem. Out of a kind of habit, he picked a table with no other diners nearby and deposited the tray there.
“So, what is this stuff?” he asked, picking up a burrito and giving it a sniff. It smelled familiar, but he couldn’t quite place the scent. Corned beef, maybe?
“Shredded keedva, marinated in lirian oil, fried, wrapped in an arkan leaf.” Furlow took a large bite from her own burrito and, when she was finished chewing, said, “If you don’t want it, I’ll be happy to eat it. Never let something of value go to waste, that’s my motto.”
Keedva, that was it. John took a bite, quite pleasantly surprised with the intense flavors. “Not bad.” He took another bite. “I’ve had keedva before, but not like this.”
Before he was even half-finished with his burrito, Furlow took her last bite and wiped her hands on her jumpsuit, not having a napkin handy. She reached for her beverage - John, having taken a swig of his, was happy to learn that it tasted very much like lemonade - and asked, “What brings you to these parts, Johnny? Last I heard, you and your girlfriend were on the run.”
John evaded the question. He really didn’t think Furlow needed to know that it was just him and Chiana - he smiled to himself at the thought of how the two women would react to each other if they ever met - or that they were here under somewhat dire circumstances. “Just a supply run.” He took another bite of burrito. “How ‘bout you? What’re you doing in this neck o’ the woods?”
“Oh, this ‘n’ that.” That was one of the things he liked about Furlow: she never even batted an eyelash when he said things that made his friends roll their eyes at him. She took a long pull from her lemonade. “I’m actually kinda glad I ran into you.” Her tone was coy.
“Oh?” He finished his burrito as she leaned into the table and propped her elbows on its surface, resting her chin on her hands.
Giving him an almost coquettish look, she said, “I’ve got some questions for you about that module of yours…”
***
“So, how much d’you want for these?” Chiana asked, carefully checking over a set of what appeared to be used cooking utensils that were still in pretty good condition. They were a little worn, but otherwise both clean and serviceable. She and Belima had combed Rohvu’s galley and had found nothing that could be used for cooking. Evidently the Xarai either hadn’t bothered cooking their food at all or hadn’t needed pots and pans.
The stall owner, a green-haired Sebaceanoid of some sort, made her way over to the table of cookware and made a show of examining one of the pots in question. She turned eerie red eyes toward Chiana. “I’d be willing to part with the set for, say, 30 dorvas.”
“That much?” Chiana shrugged. “They’re in pretty good shape, but they’re still used.” Taking the pot from the woman, Chi thumped it on the bottom and listened to the resulting resonant ring. “I’ll give you 20.”
The woman pursed her lips and tapped a finger against her chin. “25 and you have a deal.”
“Done,” Chiana said with a smile. She dug 25 “dorvas” out of her purloined wallet and handed them to the shop owner. In turn, Chiana received a bag that contained three cookpots and two serving utensils. Of course, the most important part of the whole transaction was the bag. Now she had someplace to put anything else that she might…acquire during her shopping expedition.
Leaving the stall behind before she was tempted to slip a few extras into her new bag, which wouldn’t be nice, considering the shop owner had made an honest deal for decent wares, Chiana stepped out into the alleyway. Her next stop was a clothier - Crichton’s clothes weren’t too bad, but both she and Belima definitely needed a little something to supplement their wardrobes. And she wanted to bring back something nice for Belima, kind of as an apology for tying her up. She still felt a little guilty about that.
Keeping an eye out for any of the other things they might need, the Nebari girl made her way slowly up the alley toward a large tent that looked like it probably belonged to a cloth merchant, based on the fact that it was itself cloth and had bolts of cloth arranged just outside the front flap. About halfway there, though, her eye was caught by a small stall that was filled with a wide assortment of weapons. Wondering if Crichton had yet had a chance to purchase any chakan oil cartridges for Winona, she stepped into the stall.
“May I help you?” Another Sebaceanoid - maybe even an actual Sebacean, this time - this one male. Hmm. Very male.
Chiana leaned on the transparent counter top, making a show of inspecting the variety of knives and pistols in the case underneath while at the same time carefully enhancing her cleavage. “Maybe you can…” she purred, looking back up into a pair of dark eyes.
“Are you looking for anything…special?”
Chi decided she liked his voice. Who really cared if Crichton had already bought chakan oil? They could always use a little more, right? Besides, she needed a pistol of her own. Spying a small gun in the corner of the case, she pointed to it and said, “That one looks like it might look good on me…” She looked back up at him, lifting one corner of her mouth in a smile.
The man chuckled and unlocked the case. “I imagine just about anything would look good on you.” He handed her the gun, which fit quite comfortably in the palm of her hand. “Or nothing at all…” One dark brow rose in challenge.
“Not so fast…” Her mobile mouth stretched in a full-blown smile, taking any sting he might have felt out of her words. “Tell me about this little thing. How much of a punch does she pack?”
***
Belima howled. It was an eerie sound, echoing through Rohvu’s corridors, made up of one part hurt, one part fear, and five or six parts anger. Had anyone been aboard to hear it, the sound would’ve raised their hackles.
She had managed to pull one arm free of her bonds, leaving a bit of skin behind, and pulled the gag out of her mouth. Now her wrist hurt, too, where she had torn the skin off. She brought it up to her mouth, licking at the wound. That, of course, only made her stomach growl. She had known others, before John and Chiana had come, who had tried to gnaw on their own flesh for food; she had always considered that foolish, but she thought that now she could understand a little of what they had felt.
After a time of licking and sucking at her arm, the bleeding stopped and she was able to start pulling at the bonds on her other arm. It would take her a while to free herself, but she really had nothing better to do…
***
After spending a grueling half hour answering some of Furlow’s questions, those about his module and wormholes, and avoiding answering others, John was finally back on track in his search for supplies. Actually, Furlow had been helpful in pointing out the best places to obtain tools and various spare parts for all types of mechanical repairs.
He had also confirmed that she had been right about not being able to obtain anything remotely like a transport pod or small shuttle here on the station - at least, not by legitimate means. No one had any ships for sale. The only small ships on the station were those that either belonged to the station, like the automated shuttle that had delivered him and Chi here, or they belonged to customers. Either way, they weren’t for sale. Not that he thought they’d be able to scrounge up enough to buy one, anyway.
As for star charts and maps, Furlow had told him she’d be willing to copy hers and that they could work out a price later. That worried him a little, but he was pretty sure he could handle Furlow. He understood her. She simply wanted to make a profit at whatever she did. He supposed he couldn’t really fault her for that.
Furlow had left him with the directions to where her ship was docked and the request to meet her there after his business was transacted. The tentative plan was for Furlow to take him back to Rohvu and drop him off, along with copied charts and maps - he’d spring Chiana on her later, when they met back up. She would then head back to DamBaDa and John and crew would follow her there, where they would stay for a couple of days while John helped her work on some modifications to a prototype she was building and she let him rummage through her spare parts bins. Who knew how that would play out, though?
And now, here he was, on his way to the merchant old Beaker had recommended for the bulk purchase of food. Sure, there might be someone else on the station with a better price or selection or whatever, but John still felt he should check this guy out. Even if it was just food cubes, that sure beat starvation, or worse. And if the guy had a some sort of kickback thing going on with Beaker, so what? If he could still get a good deal on the provisions, that was all that really mattered.
Turning a corner, John saw what looked like a squad of Peacekeepers in the distance. Crap. What’re PKs doing here? he thought. He considered comming Chiana to find out if she had seen them, but decided against it. He didn’t want to be responsible for her getting caught if she was in the middle of something. He’d just get to the food merchant, negotiate the best price he could for the most food cubes or whatever, hook up with her at the clinic, and get the heck outta Dodge. They couldn’t leave here without the food or medical supplies, in any event. Besides, they couldn’t possibly be looking for him and Chiana. No one knew they were here.
John thought about that for a microt. No one knew Chiana was here. Furlow knew he was on the station, but as far as she knew, he was here by himself. And she wanted his help on the prototype she was building. No, he didn’t think Furlow had turned him in. The last reward figure he had heard would more than be outweighed, in her mind, by the help he had agreed to give her in exchange for the charts, maps, and spare parts. She could make a much heftier profit selling her wormhole prototype than by collecting a reward for the capture of John Crichton.
Well, he didn’t have much choice. He’d just have to do his best to stay out of the way of the Peacekeepers.
Left Behind, chapter 9
Timeline placement: earlyish season 3, spoilers for “Eat Me”
Rating: PG-13
Words: 2,269
Disclaimer: The Farscape universe, and all that is in it, is not mine, but rather belongs to the Jim Henson Company. This is a work of fiction based in that universe. No copyright infringement is intended and no money has been or will be collected. No betas were harmed in the writing of this fic. Previous chapter links at the end of the post.
in case you missed it, Left Behind, chapter 7
Chapter Eight
“Aw, now, Johnny. Is that any way to greet an old friend?” Furlow opened her arms wide and took a step toward John, as if to embrace him.
Hoping the movement would cover up any involuntary reactions - Furlow may have had a brilliant mind, but Miss Universe she wasn’t - John sidestepped and laid some cash down on the counter. “Why don’t I buy you lunch?” he said to her, then turned to the guy running the stall. “I’ll have whatever she’s having.”
As the proprietor left to fulfill their food orders, John turned around and leaned back against the counter to take a better look at Furlow. She hadn’t changed at all in the - what? two and a half cycles? - since he had last seen her. She, in turn, made a show of looking him up and down, then looking around to see if anyone else was nearby.
“So… Didja ditch that Peacekeeper girlfriend of yours?”
It made sense that she would be looking for Aeryn, he realized. After all, he and Aeryn had arrived together on DamBaDa in his rather small, cozy module. All Furlow really knew of him was that he knew wormholes and he was with Aeryn. He hadn’t really had the luxury, until Furlow pointed out her absence, to comprehend just how much he missed “that Peacekeeper girlfriend” of his.
Crossing his arms over his chest, he replied, “Aeryn is an ex-Peacekeeper and no, I didn’t ditch her. She just…” He paused, looking for some way to answer her without giving away too much information. He finally settled on, “…isn’t here.”
“Here’s your food, sir.”
John pushed off from the counter and turned to accept the tray. He started to thank the guy, but he had already moved away, heading for what looked to be a grill area. “Okay.” He shook his head at the twitchiness of some people, grabbed the tray of weird-looking but tasty-smelling “burritos” and headed for a table outside the stall. Since he had the food, he was reasonably sure Furlow would follow him. And if she didn’t, he was reasonably sure he could eat both burritos without too much hardship.
The food court area wasn’t crowded, so he had no problem locating a table, although there were no chairs evident. The tables were all waist-high to him - a bit above that for Furlow, who had, indeed, followed him - so the lack of chairs was no problem. Out of a kind of habit, he picked a table with no other diners nearby and deposited the tray there.
“So, what is this stuff?” he asked, picking up a burrito and giving it a sniff. It smelled familiar, but he couldn’t quite place the scent. Corned beef, maybe?
“Shredded keedva, marinated in lirian oil, fried, wrapped in an arkan leaf.” Furlow took a large bite from her own burrito and, when she was finished chewing, said, “If you don’t want it, I’ll be happy to eat it. Never let something of value go to waste, that’s my motto.”
Keedva, that was it. John took a bite, quite pleasantly surprised with the intense flavors. “Not bad.” He took another bite. “I’ve had keedva before, but not like this.”
Before he was even half-finished with his burrito, Furlow took her last bite and wiped her hands on her jumpsuit, not having a napkin handy. She reached for her beverage - John, having taken a swig of his, was happy to learn that it tasted very much like lemonade - and asked, “What brings you to these parts, Johnny? Last I heard, you and your girlfriend were on the run.”
John evaded the question. He really didn’t think Furlow needed to know that it was just him and Chiana - he smiled to himself at the thought of how the two women would react to each other if they ever met - or that they were here under somewhat dire circumstances. “Just a supply run.” He took another bite of burrito. “How ‘bout you? What’re you doing in this neck o’ the woods?”
“Oh, this ‘n’ that.” That was one of the things he liked about Furlow: she never even batted an eyelash when he said things that made his friends roll their eyes at him. She took a long pull from her lemonade. “I’m actually kinda glad I ran into you.” Her tone was coy.
“Oh?” He finished his burrito as she leaned into the table and propped her elbows on its surface, resting her chin on her hands.
Giving him an almost coquettish look, she said, “I’ve got some questions for you about that module of yours…”
***
“So, how much d’you want for these?” Chiana asked, carefully checking over a set of what appeared to be used cooking utensils that were still in pretty good condition. They were a little worn, but otherwise both clean and serviceable. She and Belima had combed Rohvu’s galley and had found nothing that could be used for cooking. Evidently the Xarai either hadn’t bothered cooking their food at all or hadn’t needed pots and pans.
The stall owner, a green-haired Sebaceanoid of some sort, made her way over to the table of cookware and made a show of examining one of the pots in question. She turned eerie red eyes toward Chiana. “I’d be willing to part with the set for, say, 30 dorvas.”
“That much?” Chiana shrugged. “They’re in pretty good shape, but they’re still used.” Taking the pot from the woman, Chi thumped it on the bottom and listened to the resulting resonant ring. “I’ll give you 20.”
The woman pursed her lips and tapped a finger against her chin. “25 and you have a deal.”
“Done,” Chiana said with a smile. She dug 25 “dorvas” out of her purloined wallet and handed them to the shop owner. In turn, Chiana received a bag that contained three cookpots and two serving utensils. Of course, the most important part of the whole transaction was the bag. Now she had someplace to put anything else that she might…acquire during her shopping expedition.
Leaving the stall behind before she was tempted to slip a few extras into her new bag, which wouldn’t be nice, considering the shop owner had made an honest deal for decent wares, Chiana stepped out into the alleyway. Her next stop was a clothier - Crichton’s clothes weren’t too bad, but both she and Belima definitely needed a little something to supplement their wardrobes. And she wanted to bring back something nice for Belima, kind of as an apology for tying her up. She still felt a little guilty about that.
Keeping an eye out for any of the other things they might need, the Nebari girl made her way slowly up the alley toward a large tent that looked like it probably belonged to a cloth merchant, based on the fact that it was itself cloth and had bolts of cloth arranged just outside the front flap. About halfway there, though, her eye was caught by a small stall that was filled with a wide assortment of weapons. Wondering if Crichton had yet had a chance to purchase any chakan oil cartridges for Winona, she stepped into the stall.
“May I help you?” Another Sebaceanoid - maybe even an actual Sebacean, this time - this one male. Hmm. Very male.
Chiana leaned on the transparent counter top, making a show of inspecting the variety of knives and pistols in the case underneath while at the same time carefully enhancing her cleavage. “Maybe you can…” she purred, looking back up into a pair of dark eyes.
“Are you looking for anything…special?”
Chi decided she liked his voice. Who really cared if Crichton had already bought chakan oil? They could always use a little more, right? Besides, she needed a pistol of her own. Spying a small gun in the corner of the case, she pointed to it and said, “That one looks like it might look good on me…” She looked back up at him, lifting one corner of her mouth in a smile.
The man chuckled and unlocked the case. “I imagine just about anything would look good on you.” He handed her the gun, which fit quite comfortably in the palm of her hand. “Or nothing at all…” One dark brow rose in challenge.
“Not so fast…” Her mobile mouth stretched in a full-blown smile, taking any sting he might have felt out of her words. “Tell me about this little thing. How much of a punch does she pack?”
***
Belima howled. It was an eerie sound, echoing through Rohvu’s corridors, made up of one part hurt, one part fear, and five or six parts anger. Had anyone been aboard to hear it, the sound would’ve raised their hackles.
She had managed to pull one arm free of her bonds, leaving a bit of skin behind, and pulled the gag out of her mouth. Now her wrist hurt, too, where she had torn the skin off. She brought it up to her mouth, licking at the wound. That, of course, only made her stomach growl. She had known others, before John and Chiana had come, who had tried to gnaw on their own flesh for food; she had always considered that foolish, but she thought that now she could understand a little of what they had felt.
After a time of licking and sucking at her arm, the bleeding stopped and she was able to start pulling at the bonds on her other arm. It would take her a while to free herself, but she really had nothing better to do…
***
After spending a grueling half hour answering some of Furlow’s questions, those about his module and wormholes, and avoiding answering others, John was finally back on track in his search for supplies. Actually, Furlow had been helpful in pointing out the best places to obtain tools and various spare parts for all types of mechanical repairs.
He had also confirmed that she had been right about not being able to obtain anything remotely like a transport pod or small shuttle here on the station - at least, not by legitimate means. No one had any ships for sale. The only small ships on the station were those that either belonged to the station, like the automated shuttle that had delivered him and Chi here, or they belonged to customers. Either way, they weren’t for sale. Not that he thought they’d be able to scrounge up enough to buy one, anyway.
As for star charts and maps, Furlow had told him she’d be willing to copy hers and that they could work out a price later. That worried him a little, but he was pretty sure he could handle Furlow. He understood her. She simply wanted to make a profit at whatever she did. He supposed he couldn’t really fault her for that.
Furlow had left him with the directions to where her ship was docked and the request to meet her there after his business was transacted. The tentative plan was for Furlow to take him back to Rohvu and drop him off, along with copied charts and maps - he’d spring Chiana on her later, when they met back up. She would then head back to DamBaDa and John and crew would follow her there, where they would stay for a couple of days while John helped her work on some modifications to a prototype she was building and she let him rummage through her spare parts bins. Who knew how that would play out, though?
And now, here he was, on his way to the merchant old Beaker had recommended for the bulk purchase of food. Sure, there might be someone else on the station with a better price or selection or whatever, but John still felt he should check this guy out. Even if it was just food cubes, that sure beat starvation, or worse. And if the guy had a some sort of kickback thing going on with Beaker, so what? If he could still get a good deal on the provisions, that was all that really mattered.
Turning a corner, John saw what looked like a squad of Peacekeepers in the distance. Crap. What’re PKs doing here? he thought. He considered comming Chiana to find out if she had seen them, but decided against it. He didn’t want to be responsible for her getting caught if she was in the middle of something. He’d just get to the food merchant, negotiate the best price he could for the most food cubes or whatever, hook up with her at the clinic, and get the heck outta Dodge. They couldn’t leave here without the food or medical supplies, in any event. Besides, they couldn’t possibly be looking for him and Chiana. No one knew they were here.
John thought about that for a microt. No one knew Chiana was here. Furlow knew he was on the station, but as far as she knew, he was here by himself. And she wanted his help on the prototype she was building. No, he didn’t think Furlow had turned him in. The last reward figure he had heard would more than be outweighed, in her mind, by the help he had agreed to give her in exchange for the charts, maps, and spare parts. She could make a much heftier profit selling her wormhole prototype than by collecting a reward for the capture of John Crichton.
Well, he didn’t have much choice. He’d just have to do his best to stay out of the way of the Peacekeepers.
Left Behind, chapter 9