Good Girls
by robspace54
Farscape is the property of the Jim Henson Company. This story has been penned strictly for personal entertainment purposes and I claim no rights to any of the characters or plot-lines of the TV production.
Time Period: Post Peacekeeper Wars plus a bit…
"The shit was really flying, you know? There were pulsers, explosive bullets, lasers - all this stuff - and all I could do was to just keep my head down."
"Once upon a time we went down to this commerce planet. Rygel was flying the pod because Chiana started out at the controls and she got airsick, so Ryg took over. I was already heaving my guts up, partly from the bumpy air and the horrible breakfast we had that day, for once again rations were short and crappy."
"So anyway, Rygel parked the crate in the middle of the main landing field, but, our comms were fritzed up after we got landing clearance. He put us down on pad three but it was supposed to be pad E, so how were we to know?"
"I got out and found that we were smack in the middle of a parade! That's when a whole lot of people get together, build floats, organize into marching groups, bands and all that, and march down a street. Only found out much later why the frell it all went ka-blooie from a cargo freighter captain. Let me tell you that Moya went nowhere near that place ever again!"
"But I got out of the pod and there were like twenty women with guns drawn on us. On this particular planet all the policemen were women, 'cause in that place all the men had the babies. Don't ask me how that works, I'm just telling the story!"
"The transport pod was sitting smack dab on top of a float and there were smashed flowers, signs, all kinds of stuff. The captain who clued us in said the float we crushed had been built to celebrate the five-hundredth cycle anniversary of a great victory of somebody over someone and we had destroyed the thing in one easy step! No wonder their cops were unhappy!"
"So all these drop dead gorgeous babes, and I mean babes, each one built like a brick starship, blonde and blue-eyed - a teenage dream, and I mean dream - all pulled out their weapons and started blasting away! I said to myself, John old buddy, this is not a good time!"
"I was first down the boarding ladder, because Chiana got into an argument right then with Rygel and damned if they didn't slam the hatch and leave me out there! Worse, the pod lifted off and there I was surrounded by this circle of drop dead gorgeous women who were hell bent on frying me and my tender pink body to a crisp!"
"It was not a good day in Mudville, let me tell you! There was a full count, the pitcher was using laser sights, and Casey was down to his last few pulse pistol rounds!"
"Right about then I started to talk real fast! I was crouched down behind this barricade of some sort, I guess it was to keep ground vehicles off the pad, which gave me a little cover. I was yelling at the top of my lungs, stuff like. Hey! Don't shoot! I'm just walking here! I'm only passing through! Why the heck are you so mad at me?"
"Not that my appeals made much difference because, if anything, they just got madder and madder and started to close in! There is nothing quite like putting the fear of God into you than having a six foot tall Amazon, cleavage down to here, dressed all in white Spandex and looking like Uncle Andy's pin-up poster at the back of his garage, smile at you while trying to drill a hole through your head with a zero point two centimeter laser! Still gives me the shivers just to think about it!"
"But I was thinking fast! Was it better to throw my gun down and yell surrender or just stand up and let them drill me full of holes in the next few microts?"
"The handle in my favorite pulse pistol, Winona, buzzed to let me know I was down to ten shots; ten lousy rotten stinking shots. I was really just trying to buy time, tap dancing, you know, but somehow I still had my comms open. So all that zapping, buzzing, blasting, and screaming (especially on my part) was going out over the radio channel. Thank God that I'd locked the thing open."
"Suddenly there was a giant air blast and something swooped past me several times. The sound made me cringe from the overblast. I got a glimpse of a black ship of some sort but that was it; just a quick flash and it was gone! I figured that now they brought in air support and I was really toast!"
"It was the gunfight at the OK Corral, the wagon train was surrounded, and Custer was gonna get his one more time, when that black craft flew back and crashed down, and I mean CRASHED, onto the pad! I was a bit busy between trying to return fire and save my hide so I didn't really notice what the frell was going on behind me but I felt the thump! So I thought now what?"
"But right then there was a lot more screaming and shooting for just when I fired the last round from Winona, this girl - a really hot one wearing a black skin tight that really showed off her stuff - rushed into the fray and started blowing them away! She carried a frag rifle slung over her shoulder, handling it like she had plenty of experience, and she was absolutely mowing 'em down left, right, and center!"
John paused for breath just as he heard his wife's voice call from down the hall.
"John! Are you scaring the baby with another tall tale?" Aeryn yelled from their bedroom. "I thought you were trying to put little D'Argo to bed! Don't let the little guy get all stirred up! Then you can come in here and put me to bed!"
"In a minute Aeryn," John answered and looked down at their little son. "So little Deke," he whispered tenderly, "it was your momma's Prowler and that's another time she saved my sorry butt!" He bent down and kissed their son gently, whose eyes were closed, now blowing milky bubbles from his pert mouth.
John sighed knowing that no one else in the Uncharted Territories would ever get the punch line but what the hell, he said it anyway. "Because you know: good girls always wear black!"
He turned off the light and waltzed down the hall with a silly grin plastered ear to ear to where Aeryn Sun Crichton waited – the best good girl he would ever know, or love – and she still favored black outfits.
- The End -
Apologies to Bruce Cohn and Mark Medoff, writers of the 1978 Chuck Norris movie Good Guys Always Wear Black