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Scorpius turned malevolent red rimmed eyes on the Captain, his anger all consuming. Lt Braca stood behind her, watching every minute change in his commander's expression. Scorpius caught his eye and a flicker passed between them. The Captain started to apologise for the losing the gunship but the words forming in her mind never made it through her lips. The mouth opened just as Braca's hands slid around her throat and snapped her neck. She fell like a bolt of silk. No one moved. Scorpius was looking at Braca, pleased with his creation. He gave Braca a brief nod and turned away. The lieutenant half turned and snapped a finger at a couple of guards. Swiftly the body was removed. Scorpius arranged himself in his chair once more, his features calm again, his mind calculating. "You will resume the search for the gunship, Lt."

"Yes, sir."

Braca started to leave when Scorpius's next words halted him. "You did well, Braca."

He turned, trying to hide the smug look from his face but not quite succeeding. "Thank you, sir."

"Continue to please me and there is no limit to the power that I can place in your hands."

The softly spoken words were like seeds dropped into the man and taking root. Braca's face was shining, he nodded and tried not to tremble with anticipation. "Thank you, sir, I will do my best."

Scorpius nodded back. "I know you will, Lt."

* * * * *

He was awake. At least he thought he was. Movement was sluggish, his pain numb and bearable. Memories were not faithful allies but fragmented scraps of information that could be real or not. He did not dare to rely upon them in case they betrayed him. Where the hell was he? What was this place? He remembered the dream. So solid to his senses that he could still feel her perfumed lips on his, her hand on him, her body opening to receive him as she encouraged him to make love to her. What was he thinking? Him and Jena? Here? Wherever the hell here was. Sure, he had trusted her on the royal planet but that had been different. That had been taking advantage of the only way out he could see. This was different. Or was it? Had he been rescued only to become another kind of captive? Maybe things were a lot simpler than that. Less complicated. He could just be going plain old bonkers here. He closed his eyes, weariness accepting the risk and letting him drift off. He was puzzled, confused, and so weary. Where were his friends? What had happened to Scorpius? How the hell was he going to get out of here and back to Moya?

The face watched from the grating. Observed his loss of consciousness and grew bolder. Stealthy and hesitant, the watcher removed the grill. A lean emaciated walking corpse than knew his name. Dead hands drifted to the knife it carried, slowly inching towards him on boney feet held together by paperthin skin and a hint of flesh on bone. The figure paused beside him, watched the rise and fall of the human's chest. Voices echoed inside his head, he shook his head but all that did was jumble the words so he could not tell who was saying what. Nothing ever exorcised the speakers. His eternal tormentors. He extended the knife to kiss Crichton's throat, an almost gentle gesture. A blessing. A benediction. Crichton did not stir. The watcher looked sad, lowered the knife and raised his other hand to drift up to the sleeping face as if to convince himself that this one lived. That he was real.

Crichton shuddered as if someone had just walked over his grave. The movement woke him. The figure recoiled then froze. At first he saw nothing, felt nothing, just the cold seeping through his bones. He shivered then turned his head. His heartbeat jerked into a rapid spiral at the sight of the figure by his bedside. It had looked such a cosy little cell before, now it took on the visage of a dungeon. Something ancient, medieval and permanent. "W...Who are you?"

The figure brandished his knife, more in a protective pose for himself than to threaten Crichton. "You are in danger."

Crichton almost laughed except it was not funny. Not even remotely. "Now tell me something I don't know, pal."

The figure tilted its' scrawny head and looked at him curiously. "All you see are illusions, all you touch are lies."

He sat up slowly, shivered at the chill air. "What about you? Are you a lie?"

"You have to get out of here."

"Hey, I'm with you on that one buddy. Just show me the door and I'm outta here."

The figure shook its' head slowly. "You do not understand."

"Then enlighten me."

A long pause followed. Something dawned on Crichton, something that filled the hollow of his heart with a great sadness. "You can't can you?" He said soflty. "Otherwise you wouldn't be here, you'd be free."

The whispered words had an odd effect on the figure. He moved closer to Crichton, looked deeply into his eyes and Crichton felt the world around him shift as if he was entering a portal, a doorway into this man's realm. "Woah, what are you doing here?" He pulled back, eyes wide and staring.

The figure looked immeasurably sad as if Crichton had just failed an important test. He turned and started to walk back to the far wall where the grating was.

"Hey! Buddy! Where you goin'?"

The figure half turned but did not stop moving. "Inflicting pain is not measure of humanity."

Crichton froze a microt. "What was that? What did you say?"

The figure did not reply, he had almost reached the grating. Realising the figure would be gone soon, Crichton swung his legs off the bed and ran over to the figure, a hand on his shoulder halting him. "What did you say? Just now?"

The emaciated face turned and regarded him like a corpse looking out from his shroud. "It doesn't matter, nothing matters any more."

"No, no, no! What you said, something about the measure of humanity."

Understanding flickered in the figure's eyes. "I said, inflicting pain is no measure of humanity."

The words struck Crichton like a blow. He was finding it hard to breathe, his hands shook, he took a couple of deep breaths, forcing them into lungs that seemed to be reluctant to use the air of this fell place to oxygenate his blood. "Are you....are you....human?"

The figure said nothing, but the eyes seemed to grow larger, become liquid pools reflecting a lifetime of suffering. The pool overspilled and tears ran down dirty dusty cheeks that had folds of skin where flesh should have been. Crichton's heart ached with sorrow. Poor bastard

"How did you get here? Through a wormhole?"

The figure shook its' head. "Nothing so grand."

They walked back to the stone bed and sat on it, side by side. Forgotten, the knife slid from the boney hand and rattled on to the floor of the cell. Neither man bent to pick it up. Crichton looked at him for a moment, wondering where to start. "My name's John Crichton."

"I know who you are."

"Who are you?"

The sad eyes regarded him for a moment. "It doesn't matter."

Crichton's voice became very soft. Compassionate. "It matters to me."

Another tear slid down the man's cheek. Gentle words hurting him more than the lash, more than the casual cruelty of a brutal world and unfeeling alien captors. "My name was Paul Carrick, but that was a lifetime ago."

"How long have you been here, Paul?"

The eyes blinked slowly as if to clear the last of the liquid from that expressive pool of misery. "I don't know. Years. Dozens of them. I lost count."

"How did you get here?"

He shook his head slowly. Everything he did or said seemed to add to the burden of pain he carried. "I'm not sure. I was flying my biplane over Rimini." He snorted. "Damn tourists, you could sell 'em anything if you cloaked it in mystery."

Crichton blinked. A biplane? "Um, Paul, what year was that?"

"Year?"

"Yeah, what year were you flying a biplane?"

It took microts for the man to sift through his thoughts and find a memory that fit. At least he hoped it was the *right* memory. "1935. Not that it matters a damn now."

His answer shook Crichton. 1935. This man had not been part of the space programme then. Hell. Not part of *any* space programme. What the hezmana was going on?

* * * * *

Captain Bialar Crais was pacing. His expression one of deep frustration. Talyn tried to calm him down through the neural link. At that moment Moya appeared through a starburst. Immediately they received a transmission from Ka D'Argo. Crais sighed and tried to calm down. He activated his coms. "Crew of Moya, I regret to tell you that you have had a wasted journey."

Crais derived some infantile pleasure from the annoyance in the Luxan's voice as he responded. "What the frell are you talking about, Crais? Where is Crichton?"

"If I knew I would tell you."

"Would you now," Sneered the Luxan.

Then Zhaan's voice interjected. "We do not understand. We received a transmission from Talyn begging Moya to help him."

"Yes, Zhaan, that is correct. It seems that a droid on Scorpius's command carrier sent a transmission requesting help in getting Crichton off that vessel. Talyn picked up the transmission and we went in pursuit, receiving no more transmissions from the droid. When we got to the command carrier we immediately opened fire, then we received a further transmission notifying us that Crichton was no longer on the vessel. So we starburst out of there."

"Where is John now?" That was Aeryn's voice. He noted she sounded strained and anxious.

"We do not know, we are trying to make contact with the droid again."

"And if you cannot make contact?"

Crais fell silent. The answer was obvious just too painful to voice.

* * * * *

Chiana was anxious. The baby would not feed, seemed to be getting more and more distressed though he did not cry. She did not know what to do. Leaving her quarters she started to make her way to command when she heard the unmistakable sound of Rygel's thronesled. She stopped and turned, for once happy to see him. Rygel noticed the look on her face immediately. "What is wrong?"

She held the baby out to him. "He won't eat Rygel, he's upset."

Rygel nodded. It was no less than he had expected. He looked at Chiana for a microt, his expression serious but calm. She felt her panic beginning to ease. "May I hold him for a microt?"

She nodded, dislodging a tear. Rygel ignored it and took the baby, cradling him in his little arms, eyes fixed on Rion's. "I suggest," He said without looking up, "We go back to your room, Chiana, it is closer than mine and for this we will need privacy."

Chiana did not question him, grateful that someone was going to try to do something even if that person was Rygel. Once back in her quarters Chiana closed the door and sat next to Rygel, her anxious eyes darting from the baby to the dominar and abck again. Rygel did not look at her, his entire focus on the baby. When he spoke his voice was gentle, as if he was speaking to someone very special. It surprised Chiana but she did not interrupt.

"Now Rion, we have a problem. We need to find John Crichton. I think you can help us."

The blue eyes regarded him calmly, seeming to expand and fill all of Rygel's vision. Instead of being surprised or backing off he embraced the illusion and let the child draw him into his world. A miniature vortex of thoughts, emotions and knowledge. It was a bit like Unity but unlike the Delvian variety it had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with expanding consciousness. Rion showed him images that at first made little sense until the infant married them up with other images that now painted a story, filling in the blanks on a canvass so vast that it made the dominar's head spin. Who are you? He wondered. The baby echoed back in his thoughts, You know who I am. Rygel nodded to himself. How is that possible? The baby brought Rygel back to the matter at hand, showing him images of Crichton. His breath hitched and Chiana leaned close to him.

"Hey, Ryge, you alright?"

It was hard for him to speak without breaking his focus and he was not inclined to do that so he just gave a nod, praying that the Nebari would not be stupid enough to break his concentration. Mercifully she fell silent again. He was looking into a cell, Crichton was curled up on a stone slab like a makeshift bed. He was shivering and shaking, his clothes blood stained, but he was alive. Where is this, Rion? How do we get to him?

The baby showed him a vessel the like of which Rygel had never seen before. He asked Rion to turn it through 360 degrees so he could commit it to memory for later. Who's vessel is this, Rion?

He saw an image. The woman was beautiful and oddly familiar. He frowned, trying to place her but he could not. Who is she?

An assassin

That startled him so much he almost came out of the trance. Then this is her ship?

No

Who's ship is it?

It is a Scarran vessel

The dominar's heart faltered. He had seen Scarran vessels before but this one looked nothing like it.

It is an experimental craft Rion explained. It can create starbursts and something similar to wormholes but on a much smaller scale. It is a research and attack vessl

Rygel shook his head. No, it cannot be both Rion. It is one or the other

It *is* both, offensive and defensive. A new generation of command carrier and so huge it has become a city in space

And this is where they have John Crichton?

Yes

Why do they want him?

He felt the baby falter, distress filtering through and affecting the dominar. His eyes watered, his heart began to palpitate. Chiana was close to panic not knowing what was going on. Before she could do anything, Rygel came out of it and took a couple of deep breaths. He blinked and slowly looked at Chiana. "We have to go to the others."

"What did he say? Does he know where John is?"

"Yes," Said the Dominar gravely. "He knows where John is and who has him but getting him back may be harder than any of us could have dreamed."