|Over The Top
(First posted January 12, 2002)
Disclaimer: They aren’t mine, I won’t profit from this, and I’ll give most them all back the way I found them. All
bets are off when it comes to Scorpius and Furlow.
Time Frame/Spoilers: No spoilers this time. Set some time after Fractures.
Note to the reader: This was my second response to Aeryncrichton’s “Kill Furlow” challenge, written within
hours after ‘Starved For Attention’. The stories showing up were turning out to be a bit darker than she’d
expected, and my first effort went pretty far in the ‘chilling’ category. Her comment to the responses overall was
that she’d been hoping for something either more humorous, or “over-the-top”. So I tried to write something …
er … Over The Top. In case you haven’t read ‘Starved For Attention’, I’ll point out again that this was written
before the final four episodes of Season 3 aired in the U.S.
* * * * *
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.
“Okay, 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
The others had armed themselves with more refreshments and were lining the course ready to shout their
“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!”
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *