CHIANA PACED AROUND THE ROOM, STILL TINKED.

It wasn't as remotely ostentatious as the room she'd been dumped in arns earlier. It was much smaller, comfortable and decorated with taste.

It also had an irate Luxan, a piqued Interion and a sleeping Hynerian in it. D'Argo had spent the last half-arn picking at the lock on the door. She'd already told him it was impossible to pick. She'd tried.

"Leave it!" she told him, exasperated. "It's a series of magnets in different configurations suspended from one another by a balanced power field. Move one, the field collapses and they all latch together. They're impossible to pick with specialized lockpicks, let alone you poking at it with those big Luxan paws."

D'Argo cursed, stood, slammed his palm against the door. It didn't even rattle.

"This is ridiculous," he growled. "He 'buy's you, kidnaps us, yet treats us like honoured guests and has the money he paid for you sent to Moya." He shook his head. "It makes not one erg of sense."

"What do you want?" Chiana replied. "Dank dungeons and torture?"

"That would make more sense."

"It doesn't have to make sense," Rygel said, rising from a pile of pillows and calling his sled. "He's obscenely rich. He can do what he likes."

"There has to be a reason." D'Argo insisted. "Why do it?"

"He probably wants Crichton!" Chiana had a sudden epiphany. "They always want Crichton!"

"Very likely." Rygel floated to a table stacked with food.

"Why?"

"I can't imagine." Rygel took him time selecting something to eat. "I doubt this D'Strand'm'tah wants him for the bounty. He's easily got more personal wealth than half my empire's yearly tax revenue."

"You see my problem with this," D'Argo crossed his arms. "There's no reason if not for the bounty."

"Doubtless there is, you simpleton." Rygel growled, although he knew enough to stay out of arm's reach. "The obscenely rich don't think like us, D'Argo; their realities are very different and they have very different ways of looking at things. It could be a part in any number of plans or strange negotiations."

"A very interesting way of putting it."

A voice said with a hint of amusement. On the far wall, a large monitor lit up. D'Strand'm'tah smiled at them from it. Astute silver eyes regarded them with confidence and surety.

"Well-reasoned, Dominar." Rygel snorted in pleasure. "You are correct – in summary, if not particulars."

"What do you want?" Chiana snapped. Jool shot her a look of maybe you shouldn't tick this guy off', which was ignored.

"Unfortunately, all of this is tradition. Form. Appearances." A pause. "Tiresome but necessary."

"Ashkelon tradition?" D'Argo asked.

"I'll be happy to explain everything, if we can be calm about it. Can we?"

"We have a choice?" D'Argo asked. Behind them, the door opened.

"Always. Follow my Constables, if you would."

Outside waited two of the large Pacifiers. The Moyans were led to a central room, large, airy and tastefully appointed, golden sunlight streaming through cathedral-like windows, from which fluttered iridescent silken curtains. The air was warm and scented pleasantly.

D'Strand'm'tah sat at a large dark onyx table and rose to gesture for them to sit as they entered. He was tall and well-built, the kind of well-built one acquired in spas and well-appointed gymnasiums. He waved his Constables behind him, where they seemed to meld into the décor and vanish. Servants appeared with food and drink.

Without preamble, D'Strand'm'tah began.

"Traditions. Ashkelon traditions. They can be odd to outsiders."

"I'd agree with that," D'Argo replied.

"Chiana was bought to get your attention. The money was for your trouble and your pain from my Constables. I have to be in control at all times. That is 'good form', as it were, as you are in my domains."

"Ah," Rygel nodded, "you don't ask."

"No, not at all. I am undisputed master here. That is plainly and simply the truth. I do not ask, I do not request. I buy your services and you agree or you do not."

"If we disagree?"

"Why would you?" D'Strand'm'tah smiled faintly. "I'm rather sickeningly generous."

"Would it be rude to ask just what the frelling frell you want?" Chiana barked, getting a sharp look from D'Argo.

"I am Ashkelon," D'Strand'm'tah said as if she hadn't spoken, "I am not the only Ashkelon. I have responsibilities to maintain the Form and Function, to see that the Standards are upheld. To stave off chaos." He looked at each in turn. "For twenty-two thousand cycles, my family have been as they are, we have upheld our traditions and we have ruled where we have with successes unseen by others before or since. These are rules that even I must follow. When we are here, like this - then I may negotiate."

He touched a pad on the table before him. A large screen lit up on the wall.

"The Meticulous Spiral – a system that borders my own. It is controlled by Strad'ail'leevis, my brother. He has a rather well-equipped army at his command, excellent spies and an extensive and modern prison system used by many other powers. Much of his wealth is gained at the expense of these prisoners and slave trading. He is, frankly, scum."

His face darkened and it took a moment for him to seemingly get himself back under control.

"As I said, we don't ask. As Chiana was bought to get your attention, so something of mine - by Strad'ail'leevis, was also 'bought' and I am meant to negotiate if I wish this purchase returned to me."

"What has he bought?" D'Argo asked, the shiver of a premonition tingling his tenkas.

On the screen, faces appeared, images of a very attractive woman and three children – all girls, all which bore resemblances to the woman – and D'Strand'm'tah, they saw.

"My wife, my children."

D'Argo looked at the woman in the photos. Her gaze was open, warm and friendly, her eyes a soft turquoise and her face softly round under luminous waves of deep-orange hair.

"He has broken tradition. He has corrupted Form and Function. Not Family. Never Family."

He turned to gaze up at them, his features softening.

"My Rial. Seri'a, Lor'rea, D'sarri. They are my soul, the best of me, my life force itself."

"What do you want from us?" Jool asked. "You have soldiers in the millions. A fleet easily the size of the Influence's."

Rygel snorted behind her.

"'Not Family'," he echoed, "'Never Family.'"

"You can't act against him." D'Argo realized. "What does he want for them?"

"Everything I have, of course." D'Strand'm'tah had not turned from the images of his family.

"If someone else were to, say, sneak in and liberate them…" Rygel began, "that would different, wouldn't it?"

"Dominar," D'Strand'm'tah turned his head to gaze back at the floating Hynerian, "you are wise."

"You want us to sneak into a frelling prison and free your family?" Chiana was incredulous. "We're not commandos!"

"Come now…" It was D'Strand'm'tah's turn to sound incredulous. "John Crichton and his friends – spike in the Peacekeepers' side, destroyers of Nebari battalions, of Gammak bases – and Scorpius' Gammak base no less – the looting and destruction of Natiria's Shadow Depository - and the destruction of a Scarran Dreadnought. Half the systems on the Rim closed down because they thought the Scarrans would launch a pre-emptive strike shortly afterward! It is said that Crichton destroyed it single-handedly – and could do the same to their planets."

"Those were…" D'Argo began, wondering how to ever explain any of it.

"Legendary." D'Strand'm'tah cut him off. "Absolutely so."

"Right." D'Argo shook his head. Chiana had been right. He wanted them and Crichton. He must have been as desperate as all Hezmana.

D'Strand'm'tah indicated the table before him. It lit up. On it was a starchart, an image of several planets. Glowing behind it all was a purple spiral nebula.

"The Meticulous Spiral. The green world is called 'Morning's Bounty'. It is his prison world. The blue world – 'Azure Meanings' - is his fortress. It is an ice world and his palace is several metras beneath its surface." Both worlds were ringed with formidable defences – and ships.

"Interesting names for the place."

"He thinks he's being ironic," D'Strand'm'tah grimaced. "I will equip you with whatever supplies you think you will need to retrieve them. At last reports, they were being kept on Morning's Bounty. They are in his prison in a secure location, I am assured. Failure to acquiesce would find them, he says, at the unfortunate mercy of the inmates."

"Bastard." Jool muttered as she shuddered at the monstrosity of the thought.

"You understand now?" D'Strand'm'tah sighed. "Had I my way, his head would already adorn a prow of one of my ships, my Constables burning his every world." He grit his teeth. "I. Will. Not. Risk. Them." He clenched a fist so tightly they could hear his knuckles crack. "I cannot act. Yet I must."

"You want us to act - for you."

A nod from the Warlord.

"You understand it all, now."

"I don't know if we can help you," D'Argo tried. "Our ship – our Leviathan -is scheduled for an extensive refit at Abbanerex. We're already overdue as it is."

"I have no one else. I do not have the time. I must agree soon, within three solar days - or lose them."

He became very serious.

"I will not negotiate. I will supply you. I will also guarantee that your Leviathans receive any and all care they require at my expense." D'Strand'm'tah sat back down, steepled his fingers. "Succeed, I will make you wealthy beyond your wildest dreams' wildest dreams. I will make you indestructible to your enemies."

He snapped his fingers and a servant appeared from seemingly nowhere, laid something in his hand and then vanished. He held it up several chips.

"These are Ashkelon Wards of Passage. With these you may pass freely through any territory a Warlord controls. Peacekeepers will not follow you through our dominions. Even Strad'ail'leevis would honour this. You will have safe haven - perfect safety - in any territory an Ashkelon controls. You will become as family to me - and thus to all of us. I will care for you all my days."

D'Argo looked at his friends, saw their hesitation, their desire and trepidation. They had done stranger things… more dangerous things… the prize was immense, though and could, if true change absolutely everything about their lives.

"I'd have to contact Crichton. You took our comms."

Even as D'Argo said it, a V'rahn suddenly appeared, hurried to D'Strand'm'tah, began whispering in his ear. A few moments later, D'Strand'm'tah turned with a smile.

"No need. He's already on Davros. He'll be collected soon."

D'Strand'm'tah stood and with calm confidence, waved toward the door.

"Would you care for some supper?"