Second Chances

Second Chances Part I

Spoilers for: Under the Night, The Affirming Flame, & The Unconquerable Man


"We all have our little...fantasies." Rev stands behind Harper as the human leans with casual grace against the ladder leading to the upper level of the Eureka Maru. The small engineer smells different. The scent is more intense, more provocative. Rev reaches around the rungs of the ladder to trail the tips of his claws lightly over the pale skin of Harper's throat. His tongue flickers out to dart a teasing lick at the human's ear. Ummm. Tasty. Very tasty.

"Eeeewww...sheesh!" Harper shoves hurriedly away from the ladder and turns to face the Magog as Trance and Beka laugh. He rubs his ear as he glowers. "What is with you, Rev?"

Rev tilts his massive head at an inquiring angle. His small grey eyes glitter with amusement. "Is there a problem, Harper?"

Harper shudders taking another step away. He stares down at his hand in disgust for a second before wiping the dampness off on the leg of his gray and orange jumpsuit. That was just creepy. What had possessed Rev to lick him? To touch him with those awful claws? It's enough to make him wonder if Rev is fasting again. "Just back off, okay?"

"Lighten up, Seamus." Beka chuckles. She stands with casual ease next to the Magog, one hand hooked through the ladder rungs. "What is your problem? Rev was only kidding with you."

"Problem? Rev tries to lick me and I'm the one with a problem?" Harper scowls at his boss. How can she stand so close to Rev? How can she be so casual with the Magog? It creeps him out to see her shoulder brushing against Rev. Maybe she's never seen a Magog eating or reproducing, but he's seen firsthand what they can do and he knows how they act when they are hungry. "You know, Beka, sometimes I don't get you."

Trance pats Harper's shoulder. "Rev was just teasing, Harper."

"Yeah, right." Harper hops up on the counter and reaches into the chiller to pull out a bottle of beer. He can't believe that Beka and Trance are laughing along with the Magog as if there is something amusing about jokes about eating people. A little sensitivity people, please? Hello? Could they at least pretend to remember he came from a world where he had personally witnessed Magog eating people, and some of those people had been his family? Anybody here remember that? "Ha. Ha. Rev. What a funny guy."

"I am sorry, Harper." The Magog takes a step closer, his nose flaring as he studies the human. "I did not mean to offend. I was only attempting to participate in the conversation."

"Yeah. Well...Just stop with the food jokes." Harper hunches his shoulders under the pale gray stare. Geeze, does Rev have to watch him that way...like he's the last chocolate chip cookie on the platter. His free hand drifts down to rest on his belt, close to his holstered gauss pistol. When he'd taken to wearing it all the time on this run, he'd been thinking of Gerentex and the other Nightsiders, but lately, since Rev's been acting so odd around him, he's even taken to sleeping with it.

Rev bows. "I will leave you to your diversions...I shall go meditate."

Harper watches warily as the Magog walks past him to leave the tiny mess. "Yeah...you do that."

"Great, just great." Beka sighs. "I think you hurt his feelings, Harper."

"I hurt his feelings? I wasn't the one trying to get up close and personal...he was." Harper rolls the icy bottle between his palms. Some day he needs to dig up some vids that show Magog reproduction techniques and make Beka take a good close look. She knows how the Magog feed and reproduce, but he'd bet that she had never seen it or she wouldn't be so easy with Rev and trust the Magog's self-control so much.

"You could be more sensitive, Harper." Trance turns big, reproachful eyes on him. "It's hard on Rev being the odd man out, so to speak."

"Oh sure, poor Rev." Harper's lips thin with annoyance. Like he enjoys hearing food jokes from a Magog or getting touched by those claws doesn't give him the creeps. And that tongue rasping around the rim of his ear...he doesn't even want to think about that. He knows exactly what Rev can do with those claws and jaws even if the others don't have a clue.

"What is with you, Harper." Beka shakes her head. "You have been acting seriously weird lately."

Harper tightens his grip on the bottle and glances sidelong at Beka. Is she begining to suspect? He's always been very open with her about his previous...well, none of them exactly qualified as lovers. More like a collection of casual flings. He and Beka had entertained themselves on many dull shifts by comparing and contrasting their brief affairs. But this time, this one is different. This one he wants to keep to himself and savor. "Me? I'm not smart enough to be serious."

Beka's eyes soften as she grins at him. "Don't think I buy that act for a minute, Mr. 'Super Genius'."

"Okay, maybe I'll try to give Rev some slack," Harper offers. Yeah, and maybe mutant monkeys from Helious Alpha will fly out his butt. Usually he tolerates Rev's company damn well for someone with his background, but on this run, it seems like Rev is annoying him more and more. He pops the top off his bottle. Besides what's wrong with hiring himself a seraglio fantasy for an evening or so? Not that he really would. Not these days. These days the Harper is getting all the prime quality nookie he can handle. Still it might be fun. A grin flashes across his face as he thinks of Tyr walking in on him and a few dozen dancing girls. Tyr getting all possessive and jealous, shoving him down on a huge heap of silk cushions and...Oh, man. Yeah. Better stop thinking along those lines before anyone notices the fit of his jumpsuit. Good thing it's on the baggy side and he has the top half shoved down with the sleeves tied around his waist.

"What are you thinking, Harper?" Trance tilts her head to one side and peers at Harper. "You look like your mind is a thousand light years away."

"Huh? Oh, I was just thinking...um..." Harper rearranges his tied sleeves for better coverage. He can usually count on Trance not to notice anything of the kind, but Beka will be noticing and wondering what set him off. He probably won't be able to keep Tyr a secret much longer, although he's done a good job of it so far.

"Thinking about what?" Trance asks.

"About what I'm gonna do with my share of the score."

"Oh, sure." Beka sniggers.

Harper narrows his eyes at her in warning as Trance looks curiously at them. He slugs back a soothing drink of his favorite brew as Beka grins at him and begins making wild suggestions about what she and Trance might do with their shares. His head turns sharply as Rev wanders back in to join the discussion. A hospital on Kingfisher. Yeah, and Rev would probably show up in person to freak out the locals during the inauguration ceremonies. But at least, the Magog monk has the grace to admit that his motives are no better than those of the rest of the crew. That's him and Rev these days...digs and snipes and little Magog munchie jokes followed by conciliatory comments. And none of the others seem to notice. Beka and Trance take the supposed jokes at face value instead of seeing the edginess beneath. It makes him wish for his lover's reassuring presence. Almost. But then he has the horrible examples of Beka and her lovers. Beka has a positive gift for picking the most unreliable loser in sight as her lover and then bringing the guy on as temporary crew or sometimes as a client. Not that there is any danger of her getting interested in their current client. Only a Nightsider could possibly find anything sexy about another Nightsider. Harper hides a grin behind his beer bottle. Will Gerentex ever figure out that part of the enormous fee the Nightsider is being charged comes under the heading of Captain Valentine’s Nuisance Surcharge?

He tilts his head back, savoring the chilled beer. Nice. Very nice. Maybe it's time to let Beka find out about Tyr. Maybe he should just take Tyr somewhere that Beka would be likely to see them. Man. Wouldn't her jaw hit the ground in shock? He's been discreet. Secretive. So much so that it's taken Beka a while to figure out he is meeting the same someone over and over instead of his usual habit of picking up different someones whenever the opportunity arises. The last couple of runs, she's taken to idly fishing for information. He's pretty sure that whoever Beka pictures him with, the image in her head is nowhere close to the real thing. Never in a million years would Beka imagine him with a Nietzschean of any kind, much less a mercenary who sidelined as an assassin. No way. No how. The look on her face might be payback enough for laughing at all the Rev's little Magog munchie remarks.

And having an Uber lover had plenty of compensations aside from the obvious ones. Rev wouldn't find this little game of squick-out-the-Harper so endlessly amusing with six feet plus of pissed off Nietzschean badass looming in the background. And he'd be able to sleep the sleep of the well protected if he were bunking with Tyr, instead of settling for a light doze, and trying not freak when he wakes to glimpses of a Magog moving around in the dark. Aside from the quality and quantity of sex, that's the next best thing about having Tyr...being able to sleep well and deep at night, knowing that anything that got through the door would have the formidable task of getting by Tyr. Nothing soothes him to sleep so well as being surrounded by that powerful body and listening to the reassuring beat of Tyr’s heart. Harper drains the last of his beer and disposes of the bottle. He pauses by the disposal unit, scratching furiously at the itching skin of his forearms. "Arrgh! This is going to drive me crazy!"

"Is something wrong, Harper?" Trance asks, walking up behind him.

"Yeah. I'm about ready to gnaw my arm off." He turns, holding up his reddened forearms as he looks hopefully at Trance. Maybe she has some ointment or something that will deaden the itchy sensation. Trance is usually pretty good that sort of thing. "Do you have anything for this Trance?"

Trance frowns, her tail waving in slow meditative curls. "For what?"

"What's it look like? My arms."

"What's wrong with them?"

"They itch." Harper rolls his eyes.

"Since when?"

"Last night. It's been driving me crazy all day. It's like having ants walking around under my skin." Harper frowns down at his red arms. What has his weak immune system let him in for this time? He sighs. "I've got a rash, right? Some sort of galactic space alien rash?"

"Oh, don't be silly, Harper. What do you want me to do?" Trance asks with an uncharacteristic hint of impatience in her voice. Her dark eyes seem suddenly cold and distant.

"'What do I want you to do?'" Harper repeats incredulously. "What do you think I want you to do, Trance? I want you to fix it."

Trance blinks and the coldness vanishes, her large eyes are once again mild and warm. "Fix what?"

"The itching! Geeze! Harper to Trance. Come in Trance." Harper sighs loudly. He loves Trance. He does. But she can be so maddeningly purple some days. Why did she have to pick today to be so distracted?

"If it started last night, you can expect the itching to continue for a few more days. It should stop within a few days to a week. Don't worry about it, Harper." Trance runs her fingers lightly down his forearms.

Whoa! That felt...weird. What the hell happened? He's never had that kind of reaction to Trance...must be because he'd been thinking about Tyr earlier. Yeah, that had to be it. Harper steps back sharply as her fingers trail back up his arms. "I wasn't worried until you said that. What is it? Some skin-eating rash thing?"

"No, nothing like that. Now stop that." Trance grabs his arms and pulls him down the corridor into the bunk area. She rummages in her things and pulls out two lavender scarves. "Stop scratching, Harper. Try to ignore the itching."

"Ignore it? Easy for you to say." Harper raises his eyebrows as Trance begins wrapping her scarves around his forearms. He stares down at the lavender silk covering his arms with a bemused expression. "Ah, Trance, what are you doing?"

"What do you think I'm doing...I'm wrapping your arms."

Harper rolls his eyes. "I really don't think lavender is my color."

"You can't scratch with these on. Scratching isn't helping."

Actually the coolness of the silk feels soothing against his itchy forearms. But did she have to use lavender on him? The looks he's gonna be getting for this. Harper sighs. Oh, well, the looks and teasing will be worth it if the damn itching slacks off. He needs to be able to give his full attention to this salvage job. The sooner they're done here, the sooner he can hook up with Tyr. And with the money he's gonna make off this run, he can treat Tyr to a vacation some place really nice. "What will help?"

"I'm not sure." Trance gives him a stern look. "Just don't scratch."

"I heard you the first time." Harper fingers the silk with a frown. Does he have some kind of flesh eating rash? He glances suspiciously at Trance. Yep, he does and Miss Purple is not ready to let him in on the incurable news. She knows something but in typical Trance fashion she's not telling. "You never said what this thing is?"

"I know."

"Well..."

"Well what?" Trance asks.

"Trance! What is this?" Harpers waves his arms impatiently in the air.

"You're changing, Harper."

"Changing?" Harper raises his eyebrows. Changing? That sounds marginally better than hearing that he's got some skin munching disease but what the heck does it mean? What sort of change?

"Yes." Trance smiles cryptically as she eyes him.

"Changing how? Changing why? Trance, could you be a little less purple and just tell me, what's going on with this thing?"

"Remember, Harper, change is good. We're all changing all the time." Trance shoves him playfully out of the bunkroom. "You better get to engineering. Beka is impatient to start salvaging."

"Harper!" Beka's voice comes over the com system. "Get your scrawny ass moving!"

"On my way, Boss." Harper darts into engineering. His weird rash will have to wait. He'll try to pry a less purple answer out of Trance later, if it seems worth the effort. Right now, his share of the loot is just waiting for him claim it.


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Trance sinks down on her bunk, her tail curling and uncurling around the metal braces fastened to the wall. She runs her fingers over the sensitive tip. Does her older self miss having a tail? She can't imagine being without it. Tails are so useful. Attractive too. Possessing one could only add beauty and consequence. She often pitied her friends for not having a tail. It's disturbing to think that some day she might no longer have one. Several of her other selves didn't and while they claimed not to mind, she didn't believe them. After all, all of her selves lied very, very well. At least most of her other selves were still comfortingly lavender except for that rather creepy gold one. Trance frowns...that one she doesn't like. Of all the perfect possibilites stretching out before her she liked the one featuring her golden self the least. Trance runs an admiring hand over the lavender sheen of her legs. She curls up on the bunk and leans against the wall with a sigh. Have they made the right choice this time? It's so hard to get things exactly right. Some times just tweaking one teeny little thing can have such unpleasant consequences.

They had almost got it right in the last time, but that Dylan had become progressively more unstable, more alienated and more isolated. He'd died too early and his fledgling Commonwealth had fallen apart. They had seen that Dylan needed someone, something more than his memories of Sara, and random encounters with the women who crossed his path. So they had encouraged the spark between Dylan and Beka, well, several Dylans and Bekas, to grow, but even in the versions where the pair had remained attached, things had not worked out to create the best possible future. No matter how much guiding her assorted selves did. They'd tried creating a pair bond with Dylans and Harpers...and that had never worked out well. Not a single case, but then Harper had never been inclined to be guided by her selves. He always insisted on...well, never mind. All her selves had already established that wasn't the answer.

None of her selves can provide the sexual component of the stabilizing relationship that all the Dylans seem to need. Rev...well, that just isn't possible if Dylan is to survive the Magog's attraction to him. They'd tried Sara, but those Dylans had gradually settled into a private family life under Sara's yearnings for domesticity. They couldn't have that. Not when Dylan is the key to the future that all her selves have agreed upon as the best. Then one of her selves had experimented with several timelines involving Rhade including one where Rhade had been the one to survive as Captain of the Andromeda. That self had pointed out that the various Rhades always came very, very close to rebuilding the Commonwealth and many Dylans had also and that perhaps the two of them might succeed together. And there was an undeniable pair bonding spark between the two. Many of her other selves were convinced that they'd gotten the ingredients exactly right this time. And if this works, not only will this set of people knit together to create the best possible future, but she will get to keep her tail in this timeline! Trance bounces off her bed and skips off to the cockpit. It's almost time for the new show to begin.

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"Three hundred years." Dylan Hunt stares at Rommie as she works over the wounded Neitzschean lying on the bio bed. Her small hands move deftly over Rhade's muscular chest, applying dressings, wrapping a white bandage over the shallow gash marring the smooth gold skin. The wound didn't seem so bad. Not as nearly as bad as he'd feared after Rhade's dramatic collapse on Command Deck. He steps closer, drawn even now to the powerful, graceful lines of Rhade's limp form. His hands fist against the urge to touch, to stroke that golden skin. To slide his palms over the strong shoulders and down the sinewy arms. Hunt tilts his head, frowning as he stares at the Nietzschean's lax hand. Odd, he doesn't remember that small, jagged scar and he would have sworn that he knows every inch of First Officer's body...at least, every inch visable around the Nietzschean's uniform. Where had Rhade gotten it?

Rommie tilts Rhade's limp arm from side to side as she looks at the broken bone blade. She glances uncertainly at her Captain. "Are you certain about this Dylan? He tried to murder you. He sabotaged me. He killed some of my crew. I liked Refractions of Dawn. She was a good pilot. Are you sure that you want him healed?"

"Yes." Dylan stares down at the familiar lines of Rhade's face. How many nights had that face and body haunted his dreams, enticing him with visions of things that could never be? Even if he can no longer trust the mind and will behind the face, he will choose for Rhade to live, to be here with him. "I'm certain. Will it grow back?"

Rommie looks up as she tightens a bandage around the Rhade's arm. "The bone blade?"

"Yes. Will it grow back?"

"Nietzscheans can regenerate their bone blades."

Dylan nods thoughtfully. "So he will recover."

"Yes, he'll live." Rommie stares disapprovingly at the Nietzschean.

"Good."

Rommie glances at her captain. "He can recover as well in the brig as he can here. Let me have my androids take him there."

Dylan reaches out, laying a tentative hand on the warmth of Rhade's bare chest. It's the first time that he has ever deliberately touched that honey colored skin. He'd always been so careful to limit his occasional touch to what could be excused by a game of basketball. More rarely he'd risked a seemingly casual arm across Rhade's muscled shoulders. Whenever he'd felt too tempted by Rhade's dark charisma, he'd think of Sara, remind himself of the promises that he'd made and the family that he wanted to have. Or go re-read the regulations regarding the conduct expected of Commonwealth officers and the consequences for violating those codes. Now Sara is gone forever. All those restraining Commonwealth regulations gone. He feels like a dam with the first cracks spreading dangerously across it. His fingers move in a tiny caress, covertly savoring the seductive velvet texture of Rhade's skin. He can feel the beat of Rhade's heart; the slow rise and fall of the Nietzschean's chest. How can three hundred years have gone by, when it seems only seconds ago that Rhade attacked him, betrayed him, and betrayed the Commonwealth, in the midst of battle? His First Officer's blood is still damp on the red leather of his uniform jacket even as Rhade’s skin is warm and soft under his palm. And despite it all, he still desires the Nietzschean.

"THREE hundred years," Dylan murmurs as his hand trails over the muscled lines of Rhade's shoulder. He can't seem to stop repeating the phrase. As if everything will suddenly make sense if he says it with just the right intonation. His family. His friends. His colleagues. Sara. The Commonwealth. All gone. All he has left is his ship, and his…dearest enemy. His dazed stare moves over Rhade's jacket, crumpled on the floor, hiding the bloody hole in the front placket. Knowing that he had to do it, knowing that he had no choice does not make seeing the results any easier. Seeing the bright blood seeping through the awful hole in Rhade's jacket. On the Command Deck, duty had driven him to do his best to kill his friend and now, he feels equally driven to save Rhade. Part of it is anger. That is the easiest emotion to acknowledge of the seething tangle knotting inside him. Anger had burned away the stunned numbness of seeing Rhade kill Dawn. Anger had gotten him through that nightmarish fight. Desperation and fury had given him the extra edge he had needed to win…if he can call almost killing his closest friend winning. No. Surviving is what it was. Rhade had understood that. Those whispered words on the Command Deck as Rhade lay wounded in his arms had told him that. There had been no choice for him in that fight. It had been him or Rhade. And he had chosen his own survival, and that of the Commonwealth. "Three HUNDRED years."

"Three hundred YEARS." If not for Rhade's sabotage, the Andromeda could have escaped. If not for Rhade's betrayal, he might have been able to warn the Commonwealth in enough time to save it. Or at least, save some part of it. Whatever is here, in this new time, he is determined that Rhade will face it with him. He is not going to allow Rhade to slip away from this...from him. "Three hundred years. Damn it, Rhade. Three hundred years!"

"Captain." Andromeda's image appears on one of the screens on the medical deck wall. Her dark eyes are worried look as she stares at him. "The intruders...we should deal with them."

"Yes." Hunt lifts his chin. Right. The intruders. He's almost glad that they came. A minor distraction to keep his mind and body busy with something that is easier to think about than all those missing years. This is a problem he can resolve. He can't do a damn thing about those lost years, but this small handful of intruders...oh, can he do something about them.

"Captain, shall I have Rhade put in the brig?" Rommie asks with an eagerness that leaves Dylan wondering if she plans on dropping the Nietzschean a few times on the way.

He looks back down at the handsome face. Slowly, reluctantly he lifts his hand from the temptation of that muscular chest. He had been completely and totally fascinated by Rhade from the first moment that they met. It had been disconcerting. There he was happily engaged to Sara, and for the first time in his life, he had found himself transfixed by another man, wanting things that he'd never wanted before. Things that he could never have. Must never reach for. Not if he wanted to keep his new command. Not if he wanted to keep faith with Sara. Hunt takes a step back, forcing his wandering mind back on track. If he locks Rhade in the brig, and the intruders find him unconscious, or wounded and locked up, they might kill Rhade. And if he should be killed fighting the intruders, Andromeda might well keep Rhade locked up until the Nietzschean dies of old age if her Captain's last order is to keep Rhade in the brig. "No. Leave him here, but give him something to bring him around after we leave. Rommie, you come with me. Andromeda, keep an eye on his activities after he wakes up."

"Aye, Captain."

"Very good, Andromeda. Now, let's deal with our unwelcome guests." Dylan walks out the door. "Let's bring it."


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"No. Nothing here." Beka's hand drops away from the transmitter curling around her ear. No need for Harper to know about this. The last thing she needs at the moment is a distracted engineer, or rather one who is more distracted than he already is. At least, right now, Harper is thoroughly fixated on the Andromeda and trying to figure out how the ship works. She stares down at the dead man. A completely fresh dead man in a uniform three hundred years old. The body is still warm. The blood still liquid. She really does not like the thoughts slinking through her mind. How many more dead will she find on this ship and have to deal with? It's nothing she hasn't dealt with before, but she hates dealing with bodies. Especially fresh bodies. Skeletons are so much tidier.

Beka slowly rises to her feet. Her hand drops to the reassuring weight of her holstered gun. On the edge of her mind another idea hovers annoyingly. Despite Trance's initial readings of no living bodies when they first boarded the Andromeda, she can't help but wonder, what if? What if they aren't all dead? Could some of them possibly still be alive? It's ridiculous. A completely ridiculous idea fit only for one of her horror flexis, but still she can't shake the tingle creeping down her spine. Her hand tightens around the butt of her gun as Beka steps around the dead guy and walks deeper into the ship. Her boots tread softly on the sound deadening carpet running down the halls. The computer panels set into the walls stay flat and gray. No lights flicker on the panels, but the lights lining the corridor shine bright and steady. So far, the ship seems to be in better shape than she'd dare hope. This should add nicely to the Valentine reputation and net her more jobs.

What's this place? Beka steps from the hall into a big room filled with medical equipment. Wow. The money that could be made of this room alone if she'd found the ship on her own. Maybe she can set aside a small item or two on the trip back. What Gerentex didn't know about, the Nightsider wouldn't miss. There's someone on one of the beds. Had one of the original crew managed to make it to medical before kicking the bucket? He doesn't look dead, but the other guy hadn't either. She cautiously eases closer. This one must have been something else when he was alive. Even dead, he's decidedly eye-catching with all that golden skin covering a hard muscled body and deep black hair framing a severely handsome face. His chest is bare except for a bandage running across it. Beka takes one cautious step closer and then another. His chest is still, unmoving. Her hand relaxes on her gun and falls away. He's dead. What a shame. If he's this beautiful dead, what must he have been like when alive? She cocks her head staring at him, noting the bone blades. Nietzschean. Well, that explained the beautiful, and all those muscles. Were Nietzscheans back then as big a pain in the ass as they are now? With this guy, she might have been willing to make the experiment and find out. Too bad. She’d always wanted to do a little first hand research on the subject of the legendary Nietzschean libido. Beka turns away.

She gasps in shock as a warm hand closes hard around her wrist yanking her back. She automatically turns with the pull, reaching for her gun but the Nietzschean knocks it out of her hand as he slides from the biobed. Beka retaliates by slamming her knee into his ribs. The stranger gasps in pain but his grip doesn’t ease. He hooks an ankle behind her, dumping her onto the floor, and following her down.

"Who are you? I don't know you. Identify yourself." He stares down at her, his face set in coldly determined lines.

"Me?" Beka twists, trying to squirm out from under his weight, to find a weakness in his hold. She can see her gun lying on the cold floor. It's just within grabbing distance if she can get her hands free. "Who the hell are you?"

Rhade growls, watching the lovely blue eyes widen in fear then narrow as anger sparkles in them. Despite his hurts, there is a certain pleasure in having Beka pinned and writhing beneath him once again. Of course, she doesn't know that in another universe that she had shared his bed for a brief time. This new Beka has never seen him before. Strange to look into that lovely face, to inhale the familiar apple scent, to know exactly what she looks like under that black leather jumpsuit, and to know that to her, he is a stranger. "Where is Dylan Hunt?"

"How should I know? I don't even know who he is?" The words are accompanied by another hard twist against his hold.

"He is captain of this ship." Rhade forces himself to ignore the throbbing pain in his forearm and the ache in his chest. He must know what his current circumstances are...what Dylan's are. How much of what he remembers will be the same in this new time and universe. The fight between them had gone well. He'd managed to throw it without Dylan realizing it. His chest wound is exactly what he’d intended to take...ugly, painful, but not serious. The broken bone blade...that he hadn't intended...this Dylan is a better fighter than the one that he'd known. But the bone blade will grow back. It is an acceptable sacrifice. The last thing he remembers is lying in Dylan's arms, savoring the mingled scents of fear and arousal on the human's fair skin as Dylan carried him to a bio bed. Then Rommie injecting him with a sedative. "Where is he?"

"I. Don't. Know." Beka glares at him.

Rhade breathes in, sorting the different oders in the room. He can smell traces of Dylan's scent lingering on the air like candle smoke. Rommie's mechanical odor is there also. Beka smells of anger, desire and her own apple-like personal scent, but there is no trace of Dylan on her. Good. She has not been in contact with Dylan. For the sake of that other Beka and the brief pleasures that she'd given him, he would prefer not to harm this one if he can avoid it. "Answer my question. Who are you? Why are you here?"

"Captain Beka Valentine, and I'm claiming this ship as rightful salvage."

"Salvage? This is a High Guard Ship of the Line." The claim is familiar. He sternly represses a smile as he remembers his first encounter with her a universe away when she laid claim to the Andromeda there.

"That may be, but it's salvage now and I'm claiming it." Beka wriggles again.

Rhade almost chokes on his next breath as he catches an appalling, stomach-turning stench. Magog. So Rev Bem exists here also. He must react as if he doesn't know Rev. As if he doesn't know that Rev is more likely to offer him Wayist philosophy than a fight. Assuming, that is that this Rev is like the one in the universe that he left. If that assumption is wrong, Rev will be a greater threat to him than Beka. Rhade releases his grip on Beka and rises to face the Magog. Despite his familiarity with Rev, the creature repels him on every level with its bulbous head, damp reddish nose, and tiny eyes. The prospect of having to come into physical contact with the coarse fur and getting closer to the source of that smell makes his lips curl in distaste. "Magog! Stop where you are."

"Who is this...Nietzschean?" The Magog asks in a gruff voice as it stares at him. The damp nose twitches.

Rhade growls and twists sharply to one side as Beka moves. Damn. He is too used to trusting her at his back. He grabs for her, but she eels lithely away, across the floor, and grabs her gun. She sits up on the floor, pointing the gun at him.

"Well, now." Beka grins and rises easily to her feet. "That's better. Let's try this again. Who are you?"

Rhade looks thoughtfully from Beka to Rev, estimating his chances. He doesn't need to kill them, just to get past them. Out in the corridors his knowledge of the ship's design will give him ample advantage. This Beka is as strongly attracted to him as the other one. He can use that. He offers her a slow, deliberately seductive smile. "My name is Rhade. Geharis Rhade."

The Magog cocks it's massive head. Interest and curiosity flickers in the small eyes. "That's the name of one of the original crew, Beka. He was the First Officer."

"Is the First Officer." Rhade glides a step closer to Beka. Until Dylan officially removes him from the post, but that seems unlikely once Dylan discovers that there are no other Commonwealth trained officers available now.

"Not any more. This is my ship now." Beka steps back, keeping her gun steady on him.

Rhade shifts his weight slightly, preparing to attack. "I think not."

Beka starts as an excited male voice floats over her transmitter, "Boss, we got trouble."

"Harper? I have problems of my own right now so make this snappy." Beka drifts further away from Rev Bem. No point in making things easer for the Nietzschean by grouping all the targets conveniently together. "What's going on?"

"Boss, you won't believe this. This freaking huge guy just jumped me. Claimed he was the Captain of the Andromeda and ordered us off his ship."

"We'll be right there, Harper." Beka catches the Nietzschean's black stare and tilts her head toward the doorway in a silent command. "Rev and I encountered someone also. We'll be bringing him back with us."

Rhade assumes an air of resignation and follows the Magog out the door. Beka falls in behind him. A faint smile curves his lips. So that's what Dylan is doing. Very well. He will join in Dylan's little guerilla war against the invaders. It shouldn't take long to reclaim the Andromeda from this bunch. It hadn't when this had happened to him, but he needs to factor in Dylan's presence this time. Dylan will no doubt insist on softer measure than the ones that he'd first employed against the intruders, but that's the human's way. Unless this Dylan is a harder man than the one that he'd known. Well, let the human rule the ship. He will rule the captain. Rhade hides an anticipatory smile by wrapping his arms protectively around his chest and hunching over his wound, slowing his steps. Let his temporary captors underestimate him. Let them think him too weak, too hurt to be difficult.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


"Hey, don't blame me, Boss." Harper rubs his arms as he watches Beka pace. The jarring fall that he'd taken when Captain Crazy tripped him with that force lance added a bruised, achy feeling to the itchy sensation creeping up and down his forearms.

"I'm not blaming you." Beka stomps back and forth. Uh-oh. Harper knows the look glittering in her blue eyes. Valentine is now completely determined to take the ship. Never mind his riveting tale of the Very Large Captain. Still there is all that loot to be had, and there's the four of them against Captain Humongous...wait, hadn't Beka mentioned running into someone else? How many people are they facing off against? "Boss, where's the guy?"

"That Captain?" Beka pivots and stalks by Harper again. "How should I know?"

"No. The other guy. You said that you and Rev were bringing someone back." Harper catches Trance's reproachful stare and forces himself to stop rubbing his arms. He crosses his arms over his chest, absently fingering the lavender wrapped around his forearms.

"Oh, him. He got away. I don't know where he is either. It's more important to regroup and come up with a plan, than chase that damned Nietzschean all over the ship."

"Nietzschean?" Gerentex flounces away from the wall that he'd been leaning against. A multitude of gold chains rattle against his boney chest. "What Nietzschean?"

"Weren't you listening?" Beka glares at the Nightsider. "I told you, Rev and I ran into one in medical."

"He was injured and you still let him get away?" Gerentex sighs loudly. His gaze sweeps over the Maru crew with open disdain. "Are you people totally useless? Perhaps I should lower the price I'm paying you."

Beka stalks toward the Nightsider. "Perhaps you should be upping the price."

"Are you insane? Why would I possibly want to do that?"

"Well, we didn't think pulling this bucket out of the black hole was going to blow the Maru's bucking cables, did we?"

"That's not my fau..." Gerentex takes a step backward as Beka moves closer. He glances over his shoulder at the closed door behind him.

"And we didn't count on the Maru's engines getting so overworked that they're going to need a complete refit."

Gerentex slips his hands under his elaborate sleeves. He eases back another slow step. "You can't possibly try to stick me with that!"

"And we certainly didn't count on having to take the ship away from its captain who, surprise, is not conveniently dead, but alive and kicking."

"Just a minute." Gerentex draws himself up his full height. "I'm your employer. You will not take that tone with me!"

"Oh, yeah?" Beka places her hands on her hips as she slowly looks the Nightsider up and down. "We could just leave you here and see how well you do at taking the ship by yourself?"

Gerentex spins on his heels and swaggers back to stand next to the door, fondling the lace decorating his sleeves. The Nightsider gives his roan fur a disdainful fluff as he stares at the Maru's crew. "I could hardly do worse."

Rev hisses softly. "Beka is doing an excellent job. You can not blame her for the unexpected complications that it pleases the Divine to lay before us."

Harper looks around uneasily. His hand drops to the comforting weight of his tool belt and the gun tied to his thigh. "Guys, are you saying there's a Nietzschean running around loose in here as well as Captain Oversized?”

"Beka and I found one in the medical area." Rev glances at Harper. "He said that he was Geharis Rhade, First Officer."

"Great." Harper huddles resentfully into his jumpsuit. As if he doesn't have enough to do with having to try to figure out Andromeda’s fascinating complexities and getting her operational, he also has to keep a sharp eye out for marauding Ubers. And Captain Humongous. And Gerentex. Harper glowers at Gerentex. That smirking Nightsider is up to something. He can just feel it.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rhade walks into his bedroom and looks around. How strange to see everything so similiar and different. Apparently his younger self...other self...he still isn't sure what to call the doppleganger that he'd sent off in the escape pods to guard and establish his...their family geneline. The Other had shared his preferance for clean lines and empty space. There is no furniture in the room except for the massive bed, covered with a navy and wine quilt, and the sleek lines of his Other's workdesk. Two large pictures hang across from the bed, each featuring a blindfolded nude...one a woman, the other a man...standing in a spotlight with fantastically garbed people standng in the shadows, watching. A closer look reveals the nudes as humans and the watchers as Nietzscheans. Ummm. A predatory smile quirks Rhade's lips. Apparently his Other shared his tastes in other things as well. After the intruders are dealt with he will have search his new quarters and see what other items his Other might have left that will suit his own agenda for Dylan and the Andromeda.

He peers into the closet. Good. His Other also prefered the mystery of coverage to dressing with the style of blatantly aggressive exposure that some Prides preferred. He eyes the neat uniforms and shakes his head. No. Not until he has a chance to more closely assess this Dylan's reactions to him. He pulls out a navy sweater and eases into it. Yes. This. Close enough to be a reminder that he is another Commonwealth officer, but not so challenging as his First Officer's uniform would be to Dylan right now. Rhade nods in approval as he notes the alluring way the thin fabric softly clings to his muscles in a discreetly seductive manner. The color highlights the gold tones of his skin and draws attention to the sleek darkness of his hair. His beige uniform pants tightly mold the contours of groin, hip and thigh. Rhade smiles, the addition of his holster will only pull the fabric tighter, drawing attention to the solid bulge fronting his groin. He finishes fastening the holster and adds his gauss gun and force lance to it. A quick brush of his fingers over the tops of his boots tells him that his knives are still there. Rhade shakes his head. The Dylan that he'd known wouldn't have missed them, but this Dylan seems a softer, more innocent man than the one that he'd known. When Trance had approached him about coming here, he'd laid his plans based on his memories of the Dylan that he'd known...if this one is different, he may need to alter his original plan. The human's reactions to the bait that he will be providing, will tell him which way he needs to go to rule the Andromeda through her Captain and the new Commonwealth through it's would-be founder.

"Andromeda, report." Rhade walks into the outer room. So far the ship hasn't said anything to him, but she must be watching. For all the good that it will do her. He had outwitted her before, he will do it again His eyes narrow dangerously as seconds slide by with no response. He has ways of compelling the ship's obedience if he must. "Andromeda!"

Andromeda's image slowly fills the screen in his outer chambers. She stares coldly at him. "Rhade."

So...she thinks to deny him the rank that he bears here. Rhade smiles, matching her coldness and curtness. "Ship. Report."

"No."

"No? Andromeda, I still have all my command protocols and overrides. Dylan has not yet removed me from command," Rhade reminds her in a quietly ominous voice. Dylan is not going to remove him from command at all, but let her enjoy the illusion that it might happen. It will make her disappointment that much sharper.

"The Captain has been busy," Andromeda snipes, deliberately emphasizing Dylan's rank. She sweeps a disdainful glance over Rhade. "First, he had to kill you, after you tried to murder him, and then he insisted on taking you to med deck for Rommie to fix. Then we had intruders."

"I have not yet been relieved of command. He may intend to do it but, the fact remains he has not yet done it. Apprise me of the situation."

A malicious smile edges Andromeda's full red lips. "Due to your sabotage, we were trapped for three hundred years in the event horizon of the rogue black hole."

"Three hundred years?" Rhade adopts a shocked, disbelieving expression. So, this is still the same as what happened to him when he first woke in his own time from the event horizon. Are the intruders the same also? The same but slightly different like this Dylan and his own Other? "That's impossible."

"That's what Dylan said at first, but it's true."

Rhade arches an inquiring eyebrow. "The Commonwealth..."

"The Commonwealth fell to your Nietzschean brethren."

Well, that's something. In this timeline also, his people won their challenge to the Commonwealth. Definate proof of superiority to the humans. Rhade smiles with open satisfaction. "Then it was not all for naught."

Andromeda's expression hardens. "Before you celebrate your treachery, you should know that the alliance between the Nietzschean Prides fell apart as well. Chaos replaced order. War replaced peace. Ignorance replaced Knowledge. The Magog swarmships invaded at will."

What question will she expect next? Ah. Of course. Rhade allows a faint look of apprehension to ease over his features. "My family? What happened to them?"

There is no sympathy, no softening of Andromeda cold glare. "This is the legacy of your people’s revolt. Everybody you know is dead. Your Pride is extinct."

"All of them...gone." Rhade drops into a chair. So it had been when he first came out of the event horizon, but this time, in this time, his gene line lives and prospers on a remote planet -- Terazed. He has no doubt of it, despite Andromeda's words. His Other had left with all the secret knowledge that he had passed on to his Other of possible forthcoming events. No way would that Rhade have failed. He leans his head back and closes his eyes as if trying to absorb pain. It was for the oppportunity of altering the fate of his line that he had seized the chance that the strangely transformed Trance had dangled unknowingly in front of him while attempting to convince him to go save Dylan and the universe. He would not be Alpha if he had not been willing to dare anything to see his line established. Rhade looks at Andromeda beneath his lashes. She had to know that the loss of his gene line is the absolute worse disaster that can befall one of his people. She certainly seems to relish giving him that report. Proof enough that his other self had successfully kept her from remembering their encounter. It had been so strange to be literally talking to himself, explaining the need and the logic, convincing his other self to escape Andromeda and save his…their wives and children. "The Magog would have come any way. Whether my people revolted or not. It was only a matter of time; of when and where. You know that."

"Perhaps. But the Commonwealth could have defeated them or, at least, kept them out of the Commonwealth. Once the Commonwealth broke up into millions of small groups working against each other, there was nothing to stop the spread of the Magog except those groups that were strong enough still to hold their territory."

"You overestimate the Commonwealth's strength and its ability to tell friend from foe. The Magog were never trustworthy." Rhade frowns. Is he giving her enough of a reaction to what should be devastating news? He has to keep it subtle if he wants the reaction that he is displaying to seem real, but with the ship it is harder to tell since Andromeda does not provide the cues of scent to guide him.

Andromeda sneers. "And the Nietzscheans were such stellar examples of trustworthiness?"

Precisely his point. The Commonwealth had suspected nothing, noticed nothing until the very nanosecond that his people revolted. It hardly had a stellar track record of judging motivation and intention. Perhaps a manly tear or two will settle any remaining doubts about his reaction to the supposed extinction of his Pride and family. He summons up memories of his wife and children, and a single tear slides down his cheek. Rhade straightens, roughtly rubbing his face. "My wives…my children…all of them gone. You have definite proof of this?"

"Enough."

What else should he ask? Rhade runs his fingers over the neat bandage on his forearm. "Are there any other surviving crew on board?"

Andromeda is watching him closely. "You and Dylan are the only surviving members of the original crew."

That will make things easier. It won't take Dylan long, however reluctant the human may be to admit it, and however much Andromeda might resent the fact, to realize that the human needs him to defend the ship and run it. The ship is not designed for a crew of one. Dylan needs as many crew as the Captain can find. Rhade smirks. And it just so happens that he knows exactly where Dylan can obtain a crew trainned in High Guard style...when he's ready for Dylan to have that crew. Until then Dylan will have to make do with the intruders. But first, he must establish himself with the Captain again. Rhade stands, ignoring the flare of pain in his chest and arm. "Where is Dylan?"

"He's ordering the intruders to leave. They have fifteen minutes."

Rhade touches his holster. "How many are there?"

"Not enough to warrant your intervention." Andromeda lifts her chin, watching him with contempt. "The Captain has the situation under control."

The intruders...in what ways will they differ from the ones that he remembered? This Beka had looked the same as his sometime lover in that other universe. The same willowy frame and lovely face. Harper he has not yet seen. Will the human still be as gifted an engineer? Or will this Harper be duller or more docile? Or perhaps, even taller? His lips curl in amusement at the idea. Tyr. Will Tyr be here also? How strange, that it was with the two humans, that he had bonded so easily while with the sole Nietzschean in his crew, he had failed. Failed to the point that he had been forced to kill Tyr. Rhade shrugs. Later he will concern himself with the people who will be Andromeda's new crew. For now his priority must be protecting and helping Dylan in order to reestablish some level of trust with Dylan. For his long range plan to work, Dylan must trust him to a certain extent. "Andromeda, where is Dylan?"

Her delicate chin lifts. "Why?"

"I can help him."

"Is that what you want to do? Help? The same way you helped him when your people revolted?" Andromeda levels an icy stare at him.

"As much as you might want me dead for that, you know that he needs help. He can't run this ship by himself."

"He has enough help. My avatar..."

Rhade waves a dismissive hand. "Ship, not even with you, and your avatar, and androids helping will he be able to take care of all the needs of a ship this size."

"We'll manage."

"Think of his other needs. He's human, a social man, he needs more companionship than your avatar alone can provide. You know that also." Rhade gingerly flexes his bone blades, testing them. The empty socket is tender and sore, but not so much that he cannot ignore the sensation. "I would have preferred another solution to the rebellion, but the rebellion is long over. I have no reason to harm Dylan now."

"So you say." Andromeda scowls at him. "You killed Dawn and others of my crew. You sabotaged me. You attempted to murder my Captain. And you expect me to accept your word alone that you have no intention of finishing what you began?"

"You can detect lies. Am I lying?" Rhade spreads his hands. He gives her a wide-eyed earnest stare. "Have I lied to you here and now, in this room?"

"I didn't detect them the first time. Nietzscheans are designed to deceive when they wish to."

"I didn't lie then." Rhade looks tranquilly back at her. He had not lied to this Dylan...yet. He'd only been with the man for those few minutes of combat on the Command Deck. As for his own Dylan...Rhade smiles faintly...he'd never needed to. He had been evasive, but he'd been bored enough to also drop a number of hints that something might be going on. Part of him had wanted to give the human a chance, an opportunity if the human was sharp enough to seize it, but instead his Dylan had died at his hands. Rhade glances down at his hands, at the heavy curves of his bone blades...well, that's in his past, part of another universe and timeline. He has no idea what relationship his Other had had with this Dylan, but he will be finding out and soon. He raises his gaze to meet Andromeda's. She is being deliberately obstructive, only engaging him in this debate to keep him occupied and away from her precious Dylan. If he is to be rehabilitated in Dylan's eyes, he must begin convincing the A.I. Good thing, he had foreseen and prepared for this also.

"Of course, I should take you at your word. I think not," Andromeda snaps in acidic tones.


"I have something to show you." Rhade reaches into his boot and pulls out a flexi. He had required the other Andromeda to create these files detailing the events in the other universe, and to do it in such a way that her counterpart will accept the files. His price for agreeing to return here and save Dylan. And not only will Andromeda be likely to trust the information from her other self, but Dylan will be unlikely to question the information either...especially if Andromeda is the one to present it to him. Rhade holds the flexis out invitingly. "Scan it."

Andromeda's dark eyes widen as she processes the data. "You came back to save Dylan?"

"Trance said that Dylan must survive. That he is the key to the best future that she can foresee for the universe. I came back to see that Dylan survives. I came back to support him in any way that I can." Rhade cocks his head, watching Andromeda warily. She seems to be accepting the information.

"Dylan must not know. He must never know that the fate of the universe rides on his shoulders. Such knowledge would crush any human. It is too much. He has enough to deal with in adjusting to his new time."

"Agreed." Rhade hides a smirk. The ship is certainly fast to assume that her precious Captain will somehow manage to save all the known worlds, but her blind willingness to believe in her Captain's endless potential will make her more likely to accept the accept the data that he has given her. All the data. Ah, to judge by the widening of her eyes, she is accessing the treatise now. Had she ever been aware of the covert activites among her Nietzschean crew? She hadn't been aware of their plans for a little mutiny aboard her. She might have been equally unaware of their other interactions. "Dylan may never be able to bring himself to completely trust me again. But for him to accept me back, he must have a way to feel in control. This flexi contains information on...secret methods that were used by Nietzschean Captains to control their command crews."

Andromeda's lips part in startlement as she scans the last of the information on the offered flexi. "You are willing to submit to this?"

Rhade stares down at his feet as if abashed. It irks him to have to permit the human to command him in such a way, but the prize is big enough to make him willing to accept a role alien to his nature. He will have to struggle hard to repress his natural instincts to take charge, to seize control. "Yes."

"You really think that Dylan can or will do these things?" Andromeda raises an eyebrow. "He has shown no inclination in the past to engage in such behavior."

"I believe that his anger will override his…reservations about the behavior. Dylan wants to, needs to punish me. And part of him desires me, but how aware he is of that…" Rhade shrugs. The heady scent of arousal and fear lingering on the human's skin after the fight makes such a response seem likely. He smiles, remembering the strangely tender way that Dylan had cradled him...the gentle way that Dylan had laid him on the biobed.

"You want me to share these 'procedures' with the Captain?" Andromeda asks doubtfully.

"He must know them." Rhade catches her dark gaze. Andromeda isn't adverse to the idea of seeing him hurt and subdued at her Captain's feet. As for the effect that his submission will have on Dylan...well, sexuality is bound to be an abstract concept at best for the ship. "He must act on them."

"Very well."

Rhade nods. How will this Dylan respond to the treatise? The Dylan that he'd known would have been quite interested in the opportunity to master a Nietzschean, but this Dylan seems different...intriguingly so. He'd been aroused in that fight as he never had with the Dylan of his own time and place. It leaves him wondering if he might not have options more to his liking here than he'd originally anticipated. He won't know until he sees how this Dylan reacts. "Where is he?"

Andromeda studies him for a long moment, her face intent. "I'll be watching. If you betray him again, you will die."

"Agreed." Rhade turns toward the door. He has no intention of betrayal. Not in the way that Andromeda means. Why should he, when Dylan's survival offers him such opportunties? "Where is he?"

TBC