There is a room. Dusty, long abandoned even by the vermin. Not even light bothers to come down here any more.
He looked around himself, blinking in confusion. He wondered where he was, how he had gotten here. Recent memories were confused and jumbled, a disturbing thing in a mind that had grown accustomed to absolute clarity.
But this room, contrary to appearances is not abandoned. There is life, of a sort.
He looked up at the blue sky, one horizon smeared with streaks of pink as the sun set. He focused on a jetty a little way into the distance, one lone figure leaning casually on the railing.
In the centre of the room there is a bed, a steel framed Spartan thing with a mattress that looks marginally less comfortable than the floor.
He walked across the beach, leaving dimples in the white sand with every step. He drew to a stop next to the watcher, who was still looking out at the waves lapping lethargically at the beach and the placid ocean.
Around the bed is arranged ancient and dilapidated machinery, battered and rusting. A regular pulse of light flickers across one instrument, betraying continuing purpose.
He leaned on the railing. Without comment his companion passed him a tin without turning. After a moments hesitation, he accepted the offering.
Some of the machinery is connected to the figure that occupies the bed. The figure lies still, eyes shut, face lax. If it wasn't for the mechanical rise and fall of chest, a watcher may have been forgiven for thinking that a statue had decided to go for a bit of a lay down.
He glanced appraisingly out over the waters, then up at the darkening sky where the stars were just becoming visible. There was a abrupt hiss as his companion opened his can and drank from it with every sign of enjoyment.
He turned to him. "What am I doing here, Crichton?"
Crichton didn't look round. He swallowed and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"I dunno Scorpy. Maybe you've always been here."
Scorpius frowned, irritated by the cryptic response.
"Then what are you doing here?" he hazarded.
Crichton took a swig of beer. "Just passing through."
Scorpius sighed futilely. The stars were so bright now that they were reflecting off the still water. There was no wind, and other than the lapping of the waves and the occasional satisfied slurping sound from Crichton. It seemed almost unnaturally still somehow. It was an enchanting sensation, but disquieting somehow.
"Where are we?"
"Hell." Crichton said promptly.
Scorpius rolled his unopened tin between his palms.
"I see. Yours or mine."
Crichton laughed in mid-swig. Beer foam dripped out of his nose.
"Guess."
"Mine then." Scorpius said glumly.
"Check."
Scorpius' eyes kept being drawn back to the surface of the gently rippling sea. The stars shone and danced on it like diamonds.
"Then I am dead?"
Scorpius had never believed in any kind of afterlife, and he had certainly never believed in any divine system of universal judgement. If he had, he would never have pictured it looking like this.
Crichton shrugged. "You got shot in the head, what do you think?"
An image appeared in Scorpius' mind, of a decimated planet, of the dead piled high in the streets. He saw Sikosu, weapon pointed at his face, eyes filled with ancient pain. Scorpius felt no anger at the memory, he could not begrudge her actions he had set in motion.
Scorpius drummed his fingers on the railing. "So what now?"
Crichton gestured grandly, "I was thinking – lakes of fire! Boiling pits of acid! Leering demons trying to stick hot pokers up your backside!" he grinned his slightly disturbing grin, "Honestly Scorp, beats me. This doesn't look like much of a hell to me. But we seem to be alone here. We've got time to kill." he belched expansively, "So, another beer?"
Scorpius waved his hand to decline. Crichton reached down to his dwindling sixpack and slightly clumsily selected a tin. He set it down on the rail, and as he did so he nudged the empty can. It wobbled and spun, then fell with barely a splash into the water. The surface rippled and shimmered, the reflected stars wavered and disappeared. Scorpius watched, entranced.
"Oops." said Crichton, "So easy to destroy it all, isn't it? How many of them do you think there were?"
Scorpius glanced upwards. The sky was black and starless. He looked back down again. He could barely make out the shape of his own hand gripping the rail.
"Millions?" Crichton mused, "Billions maybe? Or far more than that. All gone now, because of me. How does that make you feel, Scorpius?"
Scorpius turned away, feeling anger rising. He suppressed it with practised ease, squeezed it up into a tight little ball he put aside and saved for – for what? he wondered.
"I do not feel the need to justify my actions to you, John." he said.
"Really? Then why am I here?"
Scorpius stopped, motionless. He could feel his chest rising and falling rhythmically, unchanging despite his inner upheaval. A lifetimes supply of rage and hatred with no target any more sloshed around inside him with all the turmoil the sea lacked.
He spun back round angrily then stopped. Crichton stood watching him curiously, elbows propped up against the wooden fence. He seemed to glow in the intensity of the starlight.
"The Scarrans were monsters, John." he snapped, "Any price was acceptable for that end, and nothing short of utter elimination was acceptable."
"And the Nebari?" Crichton said softly, "You don't care that they got to rape the entire galaxy thanks to you?"
Scorpius rejoined Crichton looking out at the ocean. He let out a slow, controlled breath.
"One evil at a time John, that's the best that I can do."
Crichton grunted. "Bullshit. You didn't act to save puppies and christmas from the great big nasty Scarran. You don't care what the Nebari do. You don't care who you hurt, who you kill because they're in your way. You care about one thing only. Revenge."
Scorpius felt his anger flare back up, with a clear target this time. He open his mouth to protest, to defend himself.
He exhaled heavily. He felt tired, like he was struggling to stay afloat in water with chains tied to his limbs. What was the point, here, now?
"Perhaps." he conceded.
Crichton gave him a grudging look, "Well, you got hat you wanted. Was it worth it?"
Scorpius picked up the unopened tin from the wooden railing without seeing it. He pulled the ring and noted the hiss of escaping gas. He took a mouthful and swallowed it thoughtfully.
"I am... unsure."
Crichton swirled the remains of his beer in its can. "Well," he said, "it's a start."
There is a room. Dusty, long abandoned by even the vermin now, but no more. The door swings open and grubby grey light filters down. Bare stone steps lead up into the light, and standing up the bottom step is a slight figure, the light casting her shadow larger than life across the dark room. Through green eyes fringed with coppery red hair she regarded the bed and its motionless occupant.
Then she turns and closes the door, leaving him to the darkness.