The sky changed from black to blindingly white, and clouded.
Pointlessly, John held the pulse pistol out in front of him, gently squeezing the trigger without firing, and aiming it at the figure ahead. He felt like he just woke up, staggering and slipping on the loose gravel beneath his feet. He aimed his pistol as if it were the anchor that held him to the ground. He didn't even remember drawing it from its holster. Had it happened so fast?
"Where am I?" he slurred. Something about this whole place didn't feel right.
Moving closer, he was careful to mind his step. The edge of the cliff grew larger as he dared to peer over the ledge and into the depths. Something in his memory jogged a family picture at the Grand Canyon; him, his mom, his dad, and his sister, all huddled together in a tight embrace posing for the camera where now the cloaked figure stood, his back turned. The urge to shoot and run grew stronger.
"Come now, Johnny-O. Don't be like that. Although, it does taste nice, thank you. Your fear, I mean. It's so… palpable. Tastes like gravy."
Maldis turned, his hands raised, pretending to be afraid. As John caught his eyes, Maldis played with expressions of shock on his face. His grey cloak, fastened with a black lace around his neck, flailed in the strong winds, showing the suit he wore underneath, covered in black feathers and shiny gold buttons. His gloves were soft and silk, grey to match his travelling cloak. It reminded John of something Chiana used to wear the day she arrived on Moya. John wondered whether Maldis purposely plucked the images out of his mind.
"What's the matter, John? Not gothic enough for you? I could easily adjust it for you. Add in some torches or some painted glass."
A flash of light and fire. John's pulse blast shot straight through Maldis. He shimmered and laughed.
"You disappoint me, John," Maldis said. "Besides, I only gave you the gun so you could feel safe. And to answer your question, yes, I do pluck the images from your mind. Of course I do. That's my M.O.. How else could I know of your cherished family memory or project this image of the Grand Canyon? It's all you, Johnny Boy."
Maldis' eyes were black as coal.
"I've never even tasted gravy. But you have. So maybe you do know what fear tastes like. Maybe we're not so different after all."
"What do you want, Maldis? If you wanted me dead, I wouldn't be here right now."
"True. Very true. I like that about you, John. You're intelligent. You cut straight to the point."
"Why am I getting the feeling you're trying to sell me something?"
"Again! Intelligent! And I know what you're thinking right now, but don't worry. This is my real face. Sebacean heritage, I'm afraid. All these wrinkles. All mine. Why else would I bother with all the disguises?"
"Why am I here, Maldis? Wherever here is? Is this another one of your tricks? I'm getting real tired of the same old crap. All smoke and mirrors."
"So am I, John. That's the point. I'm so very tired."
Maldis turned to look at the canyon again, shuffling nervously to the ledge, but even with the sorcerer's back turned John did not lower his pulse pistol. Even if it couldn't harm Maldis in any way, shape or form.
"I'll be honest, Johnny Boy. I'll tell it to ya straight. No tricks. Nothing up my sleeves. No mirrors. No salespitch. Just one simple truth."
"Yeah? And what's that?"
"I'm dying."
It was late. At least according to Scorpius' internal bio-rhythm.
The cell they kept him in aboard Moya had little to keep him occupied. It was empty, except for a bed, a chamber pot, and a DRD in the corner of the room that constantly spied on him. As if he couldn't see the two little lights glowing in the dark, or hear its constant chirping mechanics every time it made the slightest movement.
Sometimes Chiana would pass cautiously by his cell, to stare at the animal in its cage, and to make sure it was still inside. Then D'Argo would follow shortly, without saying a word, checking the locks on the doors, hoping Chiana hadn't done anything foolish. Dominar Rygel would sometimes come by to ask about news and proceedings on his homeworld, and details on the reign of his cousin Bishaan, but Hynerian politics interested Scorpius little. He gave the Hynerian snippets to keep him happy, but not enough so that he would always come back for more.
It was the mornings and evenings Scorpius looked forward to the most. When the Kalish Sikozu would bring him his food and water, and would always offer to help replacing his coolant rods. As a Kalish, his Scarran features did not scare her as much as it did the others. Of course it wasn't the Scarran features they feared, as much as the Peacekeeper logic that resided in his mind.
In meditation, he honed his craft. He had nothing else to do but meditate or sleep. Sleep had become a necessity he'd grown accustomed to aboard the Peacekeeper Command Carrier. No, to be more frank, he'd grown lazy, living a life of luxury. It's been a long time since he had been as alone as he felt now, in this cell aboard Moya. The irony being that it's a living ship, so he was never truly alone.
That night, Sikozu didn't come by. She was at least two arns late for her usual visit. Scorpius didn't think he would be so upset by it, but he felt there was more off about that night than it seemed.
"Pilot, if I might have a word…?"
Scorpius could detect the hesitation in Pilot's voice. "Yes…. Scorpius."
"Si-kozu was supposed to bring me my dinner two arns ago. Is there something the matter? Is she all right?"
"Sikozu is fine. Asleep, in fact."
Scorpius nodded.
"In fact, so is everyone else."
That didn't sound right.
"Ka D'Argo isn't in Command?" he asked. "The Nebari, is she in the Training Room?"
"No. Both are in their respective quarters. Resting comfortably."
But Scorpius had learned their schedules. He'd listened to the internal chatter on the comms and worked out their daily patterns. He'd interrogated Sikozu about the daily activities of the Moyans, and she was quite clear on Chiana's desire to work out late at night.
"Is Officer Sun resting as well?"
Pilot was starting to get annoyed. "Yes, Scorpius," he sighed. "Everyone is fast asleep."
"Yes…"
"Is something wrong?"
"Possibly."
Today hadn't been an eventful day. In fact, nothing at all had happened since they left their last Trading Outpost, here in the depths of Tormented Space. Days had turned to weeks and weeks had turned to months, and there had been no more encounters with Grayza's forces, or Scarran mercenaries, or even carnivorous wormhole flora. It had been all too quiet in fact.
"Pilot, where is Crichton?" Scorpius asked. He could only ever hear Pilot's voice resounding across the ceiling, resonating from the comms device they had left him on the floor by the door.
Pilot sighed again. "Commander Crichton, as well, is sleeping in his quarters."
"Have a DRD sent to scan his quarters. Crichton's safety is paramount."
"I am not obligated to follow any order you put to me…"
"SEND THE DRD, PILOT."
"Congratulations, by the way, John. On making it home. I never thought you'd had it in you. Did you get a warm welcome? A cup of cocoa and a firm handshake from your father? A big banner on the side of the White House celebrating the return of America's most famous dead astronaut?"
The world shifted from light to black. The edge of the cliff still existed, but only in a sort of nighttime, a perpetual starless shadow which covered both sides of the canyon, and as Crichton turned around, the path behind him was illuminated by torches, burning bright with fire.
Robed figures in black masks, their torsos strapped in fat hemp rope, only bared their purple hands and feet to the moonlight. They strode in parallel columns side by side in ceremonial pace. The first and last ones in line carried the torches, and at the heart of it all was a giant wooden box.
Something was banging the insides.
As the parade set down the box in a field of dead grass, the muffled noises inside intensified. One by one the procession lowered their hoods, all except one, wearing a black hood and brandishing a silver sword. John watched as they removed parts from the contrapment. Two parts on the side were removed, revealing two pale white hands. As one giant part on the front was removed, it revealed two legs bound with the same tough hemp rope. Finally, the top part was removed, revealing Maldis, gagged and bound and his face turned red, blustering at the robed party to release him, even though they couldn't understand a word. And the hooded man waited.
The monks started their prayer, their chants turning to one monotonous hum to John's unskilled and uninterested ears. The hooded man gripped his sword as he approached Maldis. Maldis looked silly, like he was wearing a wooden boat for a shirt, several mega sizes too big for him. He tried to wrest his hands free, but to no avail. The sword reflected the light in the fire.
Strike one. His left hand was severed, but instead of blood, black mist poured from the wrist.
Strike two. The right hand was severed. Maldis wriggled, his discomfort increasing and turning to agony. He screamed into the linen gag.
The hooded man measured his next approach as he looked down on the sorcerer's legs. Just as John wondered whether he was going to go through with it, the blade struck a third time right above the kneecaps. The same black mist poured upward into the night.
Maldis saw the blade coming. He watched it move through the air as it sliced its head clean off.
Strike four.
"Welcome home, Maldis," Maldis spoke sarcastically, behind John. "Quite a show, wasn't it? The mages thought so. I was impressed, I don't deny it. It had taken me quite a lot of time and effort to regain corporeal form and return to my former power, only to find that the mages back home had grown in strength as well and had managed to find a way to contain me. Or so they thought. They shielded themselves from my power, and cut me, amputated me, severed limb from limb and then scattered them across the universe in five tiny coffins. And I was conscious throughout the whole ordeal, yes. It's quite lonely being a head in a box, John. But I suppose you already know that."
John looked at the gun in his hand, shrugged, and turned it to his own chest and fired. The burst of energy passed straight through him, predictably. "Well, it was worth a try."
"You won't get rid of me that easily," Maldis said. "Not while I'm in the middle of my monologue."
"Well, that's the thing," John said. "I prefer dialogue."
Maldis laughed.
"So why not try that? I'm not lying, John. All of this is true, and I can prove it. Just go to Cargo Bay 3 and find out. Go on. Spit spot."
As John woke in his bed, a DRD chirped at him in greeting by the side of his bed.
Groggy, he rubbed his head.
"Cargo Bay, Cargo Bay…" a voice whispered in the air.
The tip of D'Argo's Qualta Blade pierced the unnatural chilly fog emanating from the cooling units in Maintenance Bay 3. Searching crate after crate without answers made D'Argo moody.
He had already voiced his concerns to John, telling him the obvious, that it's a trap and that they shouldn't indulge Maldis. But they couldn't go on and ignore Maldis when most of their food and stuff was stashed in this Cargo Bay.
"Over here," Aeryn said.
Even Rygel cautiously entered the cargo bay, fearing his possessions may be in danger. Chiana had climbed atop one of the cargo crates for a better vantage point.
Aeryn pointed her rifle at a small box tucked in between two larger ones, stashed away in secret.
"You sure?" John said.
Chiana jumped down, drawn to the mysterious box.
"Anything could be in there," Chiana said. "You don't actually think…"
"We're not thinking. We're opening," Rygel declared.
"Should we?" Chiana added.
D'Argo prepared himself and raised his Qualta Blade in defence. "Open it."
John aimed his pulse pistol at the package, feeling just as impotent as when he aimed it at Maldis in the dream.
Strangely enough, the lid was easily removed. As if it wanted to be opened. Aeryn removed the lid and it fell to the ground with a bang. The outsides were made of some kind of steel, but the insides were blackened, scorched wood.
Nothing happened.
John, Aeryn, D'Argo, Chiana and Rygel leaned forward to peer inside. Closer. Closer.
"Hello," the severed head of Maldis said to them, resting comfortably within the box.
"Did you miss me?"
Scorpius rested on his bed. The ceiling was silent and unmoving, like all the shadows Scorpius had counted in the corners. He knew every single weak spot of his cage, and the exact spot where he would have to tear open the door so the lock would break. He could get out at any time, yet he remained on his bed, laying perfectly still. He dared to close his eyes, only to listen.
"You're new."
Scorpius listened as Maldis stepped from the shadows outside his cage.
"No disguises for you. You know who I am and what I am capable of," Maldis said. "There's something Crichton has, that we want. And we both know what it is.
Scorpius barely moved as he drew breath. His lips parted, and it looked like he was about to speak, but then he changed his mind. His eyes were still closed, and a look of contentment chased the shadows from his face.
"You think you know so much," Maldis said. "The world of the metaphysical is still beyond your arrogance, Scorpius. So don't get in my way. Your science is no match for my magic."
"Crichton…" Scorpius said. "Will not help you. He won't even help himself."
"He'll see my way eventually. I can be very persuasive."
"I don't doubt your magic tricks have sway over lesser minds, sorcerer," Scorpius said.
He opened his eyes and sat up from his bed to look into Maldis' black eyes.
"But they won't sway me. Or her."
"What?"
Dust stung his eyes when Noranti threw it into his face. Her third eye shone bright purple. The apparition of Maldis wailed and vanished. As the dust dwindled down to the ground and settled, Noranti nodded at Scorpius and left.
"He won't be a head in a box for long, you know," she said, in passing. "Parasites like him grow strong through avarice and suffering. Much like you."
Scorpius snarled at her for that final remark, but she was gone.
If Maldis was going to be on this ship for the coming time, Scorpius would have to keep an eye on him.
Very closely.