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FARTSCAPE: A Tale of Flatulence & Food
By Iris Green
Iris Green 2002
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<< Continued from part 4

Zhaan gathered all her various herbs and bottles of medicenes, prepared to analyze the dreaded sample John was to be bringing her.  It wasn't what she wanted to be doing at that very moment, but she wanted to help.  With a cloth tied over her nose and mouth, and thick gloves on her hands, she awaited John's arrival.  And when he stepped through the door with the sample in hand she wanted to kick herself for being so helpful all the time.

"Here you are," John said, holding his nose away from the open container.

He started to hand it to her, but Zhaan put out her palm to stop him.  "Stand right there."  She went behind her worktable and returned with what looked like an extremely large pair of hot dog tongs.  From John's estimation, they had to be at least six feet long.  "Alright, hold it out."

John did as he was told and Zhaan reached with the tongs to grab it.  She carefully took hold of it with the tongs, then gently and quite cautiously maneuvered the tongs and foul sample across the room to the burner at the other end.  She set the glass carefully on top and then put the tongs down.

"You may go wait outside," Zhaan instructed.  "And please ask Pilot to raise the efficiency of Moya's atmospheric scrubbers for the next few arns."

"Sure thing Blue," John said and then rushed out.

Zhaan cleared her throat, tightened her mask, and then went to work.
 

John stood outside Zhaan's lab and patiently waited for her to finish.

"Hey Pilot," John pressed the button on his comm.

"Yes, Commander?" Pilot's voice came back over the comms.

"Zhaan wants you to turn the atmospheric scrubbers up a few notches for the next couple arns."

"I shall Commander."

"Thanks."

And then the crackle of the connection was gone.  John leaned up against the wall and whistled a random tune.  *This is worse than waiting at the doctor's office.*  He really wanted his issue to be gone.  He was sick of smelling bad and sick of the bowel problems he was having.  It wasn't worth it.  *That is the last time I ever eat anything touched by Rygel.*

At the sound of footsteps coming down the hall he straightened up.

It was Aeryn.  With a rag held up to her face, covering her nose and mouth.

"Aeryn," John greeted.

"John," she mumbled through the cloth.  "Has Zhaan found a cure?"

"She's analyzing a sample now."

Aeryn looked at him painfully.  She knew what he meant by sample.  *Poor Zhaan.*

"I sure hope she finds something," John commented, scrunching up his face as he let out a harmless, silent fart.

Aeryn opened her mouth to speak, taking the rag away briefly.  "Yes.  I hope so as well because I can't -- " She breathed in.  "By Cholak that is foul!"

John blushed and dug his foot into the floor.  "Sorry," he mumbled.

"No," Aeryn coughed, "It's quite alright."  She coughed again, nearly gagging.  "It's not so bad."

"Aeryn you're choking on my stench.  Don't tell me it isn't bad."

She was speechless.

"That's what I thought."

Before Aeryn could speak they were both distracted by a loud thud inside Zhaan laboratory.

"What was that?" they both said simultaneously.

Throwing open the doors, they rushed into the laboratory, expecting broken glass and exploding feces.  But instead, they found no broken glass, no exploding feces, and nothing of the kind.  All they saw was Zhaan, lying on the floor, face down, not moving.

John went over to her, pulling his shirt up to protect his nose from the intense stench in the room.  He turned her over and she still didn't move.  Her chest was still and her eyes glassed over.

"Oh my God, I've killed Zhaan!" John shouted.

"You bastard!" Aeryn yelled angrily, cuffing him in the ear.

Then he looked over at the table.  "But hey, she finished the cure."  He picked up the small vial just as Chiana and Rygel came into the room.

"Pilot said he heard a thump and he wanted us to come --"  Chiana saw Zhaan's dead body.  As did Rygel.

"By the Hynerian Gods, you've killed Zhaan," he exclaimed.

Chiana glared at John, "You frelnik!"

John raised his hands in surrender.  He was sorry.  But he was also glad to have the cure in his hands.

D'Argo, Qualta Blade drawn, hurried into the already crowded lab.  The first thing he saw was Zhaan's dead body, and then he smelt John's awful stench on the air.  A DRD followed him in and scanned the room.

Several microts later Pilot's voice came in over the comms.  "Oh my Kayhanu, you've killed Zhaan!"

The Luxan growled at John and then pointed his blade toward him.  "You hezmot!"

"But guys," John pleaded, showing them the vial, "she finished the cure!"

They all looked at the bottle and then at John.  Everyone shrugged.

Well, at least the ship wouldn't stink anymore.

=/\=

END OF PART FIVE

=/\=

Well, at least the grossness factor has gone down a bit.  Still, Zhaan's dead.  Okay, so I can't get through a fic without killing someone.  I'm sorry.  It's a habit.  Someone needs to die at all times.  It's my way of thinking.  I know, it's wrong.  But I can't help it, gosh darnit, it's fun.  Either way, there's only one more part to go.  Then this horrible horrible nightmare will be over.

The more reviews, the faster it comes.  Actually, no, it won't come until the inspiration hits me again.  It's taken me months to get this done.  But still.  I just started like a halfhour ago and this came out.  I figured, what the hell.  I wrote some of FETIAS today already so why not work on Fartscape.  And whaddya know.  Here it is.

So actually, if I get plenty reviews I may just get inspiration again.

And I think I stopped making sense about ten minutes ago.

Cheers,

IRIS GREEN

"Vote for me at the Dominar's Domain in the 'Romances of the Past' contest!"

~ Me.  Because I want you to read my fic
and vote for it if you like it better than the other two there.
You'll be able to guess which one's mine.  I know you will.
(Hint: it's the only one about Aeryn)

Fartscape continues with part 6 >>

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Disclaimer: Farscape is owned by Jim Henson.  Not me.  So no suing!
Rating: PG-13
Archiving:  Go right ahead, yesiree ... all I ask is that you give me credit.
Feedback:  Please R/R ... and to give me further feedback email me at aerynsun01@yahoo.com
Spoilers: Nada ... nopers
Timeline: Before third season I'd say.
Summary: Rygel prepares dinner and John eats like a starving man.  The only problem is ... well, I'll let you figure it out.  I promise tons of laughs and tons of fun and tons of flatulence.
Credit Where Credit's Due:  TOMMY -- you know who you are.  You hate Farscape, you hate science fiction and all you ever do is watch the news and listen to Bluegrass.  But you make fun of my most favorite TV show by calling it "Fartscape" and that was enough to spawn this hopefully mediocre fic.  THANK YOU SO MUCH!
Another Note: I apologize for bringing that lame-o South Park catch phrase into this.  I really am sorry.
 
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