All about D'Argo, Macton Tal and Oricans. Some of it may even count as D'Argo angst!
D'Argo's ship docked undetected on the underside of the Peacekeeper transporter's hull. There was a brief sound of metal scraping against metal and a soft thud as the two ships made contact. Using his qualta blade, D'Argo cut his way into the other ship's hold. The rusty metal cut-out fell forward and landed on the ground with a ringing crash that set his pulse racing. He stood motionless in the dark waiting to hear the sound of boots rushing towards him. All he heard were his hearts thumping in his chest and condensation from overhead pipes splashing onto the metal floor. He stepped into the hold, flicked on his torch and swung it around to see exactly where he was and where the exit might be.
At first glance the storage bay looked empty but as his eyes grew accustomed to the dark he noticed the outline of a lifting machine with several enormous skips near by. He moved slowly forward swinging his torch in a wide arc, his metal tipped boots making a soft clip-clop sound as they hit the ground.
Qualta blade in one hand and torch in the other, he continued walking until an access door appeared at the edge of the light's beam. He pushed against the hatch. It refused to open. He tugged on the lever at its side but it wouldn't budge. D'Argo swore under his breath, swung his qualta blade over his shoulder and put down the torch. Gripping the recalcitrant handle with both hands, he gave it a huge pull and added a satisfied grunt as he felt it twist towards him. He picked up the torch, switched it off and tucked it into his pocket. He retrieved his qualta blade and gave the door an experimental nudge with his foot. It still didn't open so he gave it a solid heave with his shoulder. The hatch flew wide open and D'Argo pitched forwards into the dimly lit corridor on the other side. He regained his balance in an instant and glanced quickly left and right checking he was still undetected.
The passageway was empty and seemed to stretch for metras in both directions. D'Argo didn't have a clue which way he should be going. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a marked silver coin. He tossed the coin in the air and caught it in his hand, pressing it down on top of his other hand as he had so often seen John do. He lifted his hand away and peered at the result. It was the side with the intricate lettering. D'Argo decided that meant he should go right.
Keeping his back to the wall and his qualta blade at the ready, D'Argo crept along the corridor. Alongside the soft tap of his boots on the corridor floor, his ears picked up the low throb of the generators. The tier seemed deserted and D'Argo slunk through the ship unchallenged. He reached the end of the corridor and found himself at a set of steep metal stairs which seemed to rise through the entire ship. He stopped, listened intently and made out the faint echo of footsteps coming from way above him. He decided to risk bumping into the owner coming the other way and tiptoed up the stairs, pausing every so often to check his wasn't about to be discovered. After climbing several flights, the footsteps died away and D'Argo began to move more quickly up the ships' tiers.
Reaching the upper decks, he pushed through a swing door and found himself in a well lit, narrow white corridor with a number of doors leading off it. The smell of sebacean mint stew permeated the air and listening carefully he could just make out the sound of laughter coming from the other end of the hall. As he was about to move off, he heard the unmistakable heavy thud of footsteps coming up the stairway behind him. He dashed to the door closest to him and slipped through the unlocked door into a pitch-black room. He gave the air a cautious sniff but didn't detect anyone else in there with him. A bead of sweat formed on his brow as the solid crunch of metal tipped boots grew louder. He held his breath as the sound reached his door. The footsteps reached his door and continued passed him. D'Argo let out a small sigh of relief and breathing heavily, he slipped out of his hiding place and continued towards the far end of the corridor. He picked up the sound of more laughter floating down the hall. Gripping his blade with both hands, D'Argo marched forward until he was just outside the open door where the noise was coming from. He listened carefully. He heard two male voices, one of which he instantly recognised. It was Macton and he was expounding on the superiority of Sebaceans to any other race.
He pushed back his shoulders, took a deep breath and raised his qualta blade in front of him. D'Argo curled his lip as cycles of rage erupted. Shouting an ancient Luxan battle cry, he flung himself through the open door. The two men inside turned to face him. With one swift arc of his blade he had felled the stranger, who slumped to the floor, a pool of blood seeping from his body. Without pausing, D'Argo spun round and smashed his blade into the back of Macton's skull, splitting it open and spraying blood, bone and brain across the room. D'Argo swung again and again, hacking at his enemy even as the body fell to the ground. Weeping freely, he wiped the gore from his face, reached down and flopped the body onto its back. Through tear-blurred vision he saw Lolann's blood splattered face looking up at him.
D'Argo woke with a cry. His cheeks were wet and his eyes still brimmed with tears. He pushed back the blanket, tugged his wrap around his broad chest and stood up. He wandered up the cabin to the main controls, opening a bottle of raslak on his way. He slumped into the padded seat and took a long swig. The dream had unsettled him. It was the same dream he had had the last time he had tried to rest, and the time before that and the time before that as well.
The ship sped through space, its dark grey metallic surface barely discernable against the black space surrounding it. Inside D'Argo sat staring at the controls, lost in his thoughts. The ship mostly seemed able to fly itself, which was a good thing, as he still hadn't worked out what half the controls actually did. Not that that had stopped him from charting a course directly out of the Uncharted Territories into Peacekeeper controlled space once he had dropped off Chiana and Rygel at Xelp Xelp 77.
D'Argo took another pull on his drink and thought back a monen to that sweltering sun-bleached dren-hole. The three of them had lingered at the bottom of his ship's steps looking at their hands and not quite knowing how to behave or what to say. Even the Hynerian had been subdued. Chiana had begun crying long before she had flung herself against his body, words of advice and caution bubbling forth between sobs as she squeezed him tightly. Their relationship was over but D'Argo still cared very much for Chiana and his eyes had glistened with tears of his own. She was the first woman he had loved since Lolann and she would always be important to him, even her behaviour with Jothee couldn't change that. D'Argo sighed at the recollection of his son. He had failed him and he didn't know if he could ever put it right. He would have liked to know Jothee was okay or if he needed anything. If he had known where he was, he would have invited him to join his bloodquest. Perhaps once Macton was dead he could try to find him again and they could start over.
His mind drifted onto his parting with John and Aeryn. That had only been slightly less painful than saying goodbye to Chiana but he was also relieved to be away from the pair of them. Their suffering, so clearly visible on both their faces, had been hard to live with and their stilted and awkward behaviour in each other's company had put a strain on everyone. D'Argo was glad to be free of it. He would dearly like to see them happy together or at least happy but there had been nothing he could do to help either of them. He hadn't understood Aeryn's decision to leave but he respected it and hoped she had found some peace on her own. D'Argo raised the raslak to his lips and drained the bottle. He missed the human most of all. In the past half cycle he had come to rely on Crichton. Sure they'd argued but John had always been there for him and was always ready to sit down and open a bottle. "Shooing the cat' he'd called it. D'Argo reached under his seat and pulled out a fresh drink. He opened it, raised it up and wished good fortune to his absent friend. He took a long draw before setting the bottle on the floor.
Rising slowly, he walked back to his make-shift bed. He pulled his qualta blade from underneath the discarded blanket and returned to his seat. He picked a small red cloth lying on the control console and began rubbing his weapon. Tomorrow he would visit the Orican to ask that she perform the Xauen Rites so that his bloodquest would be favoured by the gods. He would ask her about the dream afterwards. Oricans were well known and respected diviners of dreams. It was probably nothing, just too much tension. He chuckled at the idea, settled back in the chair and closed his eyes. He was finally about to embark on the most important journey of his life, a journey he had dreamt about making for cycles. He should savour the moment. He remained motionless for a few microts and then his eyes shot open and he sat forward in his chair.
"If this is so important and so great, why do I feel so frelling miserable," he wondered aloud. The desire to avenge his wife's death and to expose Macton Tal as the real murderer had sustained him through 8 cycles of chained imprisonment. Why did it not satisfy him now. He realized it was because Jothee was not there with him. Somehow, he had always imagined undertaking the Xauen Rites with his son by his side, sharing the ordeal together. "Well I blew that one," he sighed.
----------------------------------------------------
D'Argo set off for the Temple early. He landed on the planet as two golden suns rose in a lavender sky and he began his trek immediately. The air was warm although a cool breeze blew across his face. Marching over the lush green fields surrounding him, he made for the only hill on the horizon. The Orican lived at the top and all visitors were required to arrive on foot.
The walk took several arns and the climb up the steep hill at the end left him hot, sticky and in need of a cool drink. He had begun his journey with hair neatly braided and his qualta blade gleaming. He presented himself to the Orican's attendant at the temple gates in a slightly more dishevelled state. His tunic had acquired grass stains, his boots were caked in mud and a few of his carefully tied braids had come apart. His qualta blade was still immaculate, however, and glinted in the strong morning sunshine.
A red robed Luxan Gate Keeper gave him a slow, deliberate once over before jotting something onto his notepad. D'Argo hoped his tattoos weren't going to cause trouble again. He gave his name and reason for wishing to see the priestess. The attendant waved him through and D'Argo walked under the stone archway into the temple's waiting chamber. The temple was a small, octagonal stone built building with eight narrow windows and a vaulted ceiling. Symbolic carvings of great Luxan oricans and their visions covered the walls. The way to the Orican's inner sanctum was through a small archway opposite the main entrance. Otec lamps burned above both. In the centre of the chamber was a huge chimney with a roaring fire, its flames dancing wildly every time the wind blew. Several Luxans were gathered round it, each silently staring into the flames. D'Argo joined them and stood for a moment basking in the simple pleasure of being with other luxans. No one spoke. D'Argo was desperate to talk to these people and ask them for news about home but no one met his gaze and he didn't like to invade their devotions. One by one the small group was escorted by an attendant into the inner sanctum for their audience with the priestess. He began pacing around the room, impatient for his turn and eager to be on his way.
"Ka D'Argo?"
"Yes?" D'Argo looked down and found a small luxan woman beside him. She wore the long red robes of an Orican's companion and her tenta were tied with red ribbon.
"Come. Palenthia is ready for you now." The woman inclined her head and gestured for D'Argo to follow her.
D'Argo nodded and followed her through the archway into the inner chamber. It was an exact replica of the waiting area except for the alter against one wall. Hung above, a large otec lamp burned incense filling the air with a heavy perfume. The Orican stood close by, reading from a small purple book. Her tenta were piled up on her head in elaborate curls and she wore an elaborate multi-coloured robe with a crimson cummerbund around the waist. She snapped the book shut and turned to face him, dismissing her attendant with a slight wave of a heavily jewelled hand.
D'Argo walked up to the Orican, bowed deeply, laid his qualta blade at her feet and took two steps backwards. "Hail Palenthia, Ka D'Argo son of Lataar, grandson of Rexaar, great-grandson of Ka D'Argo Trataar, bows before you."
The luxan priestess nodded her head, acknowledging his greeting.
"Oh holy Orican, hear my plea, know that my cause is just and bless my vengeance."
"Ah yes, the warrior. You desire to avenge the murder of your wife. You wish me to perform the Xauen Rites and bless your bloodquest."
D'Argo nodded.
"I have consulted the oracles. I will not do it. Your quest will fail."
"What!" D'Argo spluttered, his eyes flashing. This was not what he had expected to hear.
Palenthia raised her hands to silence him. "You know this. You have dreamt of your failure. No, do not try to deny it." She wagged a finger at him. "You have other duties Ka D'Argo. These must be discharged before the powers will favour your bloodquest. If you wish for success you must aid a friend in need."
D'Argo's shoulders slumped and his face fell. He had pinned so much on getting the Orican's blessing and the refusal cut him to the quick.
Palenthia smiled at him. "Do not grieve warrior. The powers are kind to you. Accept my words and see the truth."
D'Argo shook his head. He couldn't believe that he was being told to abandon his mission. He would not do it. He could not do it.
"Heed me, Ka D'Argo. If you do not follow the path laid out for you, you will surely live to regret it. Come, let me show you." The Orican beckoned him to join her at the alter. She lit a tall blue candle and waited for D'Argo.
He walked across the floor to stand beside her. He turned to face her, fear in his eyes.
Without a word, the Orican plunged her hands into his chest sending his body into spasms. He staggered. Waves of searing pain swept through him until blinding, inconceivable agony gripped his entire body. He felt as if he was on fire. He fell to his knees but Palenthia kept her hands wedged inside his chest. D'Argo gritted his teeth and did not cry out. Beads of sweat formed on his brow as he fought the to remain conscious. The room began to swirl, bright lights flashing in front of him and he closed his eyes, willing the ordeal over. When the Orican finally removed her hands, he sank to the floor panting. The vision she had shown him had gone from his mind and he could not recall any of it but the sense of horror it had generated remained vividly stamped on his consciousness. He looked up at the Priestess in mute supplication.
"The choice is yours warrior," she told him. "Now leave me, I must rest."
D'Argo staggered through the main circular chamber in a daze and emerged blinking into the bright mid day light. He wondered what other duties had she meant? His son? No, she'd said friend. Chiana? Crichton? D'Argo swore loudly and at length.
Feeling only marginally better he considered his options. He could carry on. The gods favour wasn't necessary for him to hunt down and kill Macton but that would be all it would be, a kill. D'Argo didn't want that. It was a question of honour for the deceased. A bloodquest was the highest calling for a Luxan warrior and D'Argo wanted to prove his worth. He wasn't superstitious but he was still a Luxan and he respected his heritage and customs. A bloodquest had to be blessed through the mysterious rites or it wasn't a bloodquest. It was simply vengeance. D'Argo growled. There was nothing else for it he was going to have to retrace his steps and go back to find out who he was supposed to help. "I bet its John, the welnik," he said aloud. "He's a frelling disaster magnet." Inside, he was praying it wasn't Chiana. If she had got herself into trouble it was almost certain to be ugly and he knew he'd end up cross, disappointed and hurt.
He gave a hefty donation to the attendant at the entrance and began the long walk back to his ship. "At least it's downhill this time," he muttered to himself.
-------------------------------------------
It is now time to complete our ensemble and catch up with the real Butch and Sundance (yes, that right, Chiana and Rygel finally enter our story)