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crossoverficTitle: Makes You Stronger
Author: Karen
Fandoms: Highlander/Andromeda
Rating: General, het
Chapter 4 of 5
"Makes You Stronger" by Karen
Disclaimer: Highlander: the Series belongs to Rysher Television. Gaumount/Panzer Davis Productions, and all events, characters, concepts etc belong to them. I am only borrowing for the sake of the story, and as such do not belong to me.
Andromeda is the property of Tribune Entertainment/Fireworks Productions.
Contains spoilers from the Season 1 episode "It Makes a Lovely Light."
Follows "Center Cannot Hold, Things Fall Apart."
Prologue
"Took you long enough," Methos' distinctive raspy voiced came through the ship's intercom heavily laced with the amount of alcohol he consumed over the last hour. "Not that it matters to me how long you were on your little good will mission or what you were doing to accomplish it. Hunt's in a bit of a snit."
"How much of one?" Harper asked as soon as he completed a tricky docking maneuver, the Maru's onboard computer system chiming in synch with his verbal and keyed in commands.
He patted the black box sitting on the floor beside the pilot's chair, like he would have patted a pet dog. Inside the case was the diary that once belonged to the mad Pereseid, Hastauri. Harper figured that if he could find the right market and buyer he stood to make quite a bundle, even factoring in the cut he would give to Trance and Richie for having contributed to finding the diary in the first place.
Once they ship had come to a stop, Harper let out the landing ramp and led the way off the Maru. Richie, following Trance down the ramp of the ship, nearly collided with with her when she came to a dead halt. The fine blond hairs on the back of Trance's neck were standing on end, and Richie instinctively felt the short reddish blond hairs on his nape as when the "Buzz' that signaled the presence of another Immortal. 'Damn inconvenient,' he thought in the silence of his own mind. 'Methos' it has to be. We're the only Immortals around, but it does the damn 'Buzz ' have to go off every time we're in each other's vicinity. Can't be any of the other crew members.' The damn Buzz works better than may alarm clock." Richie thought to himself.
For, Methos stood half in and half out of the open entry to the docking bay. Methos stood with arms folded across his chest, clad in the distinctive black uniform, one that matched Dylan's minus a force lance, and draping in wrinkled creases and fold over his tall but lanky form, where Dylan's was more solidly built.
"Didn't know Dylan sent errand boys to deliver his messages. If he wants to see me, I'll be happy to talk him then." Harper replied, apparently oblivious to the tension in the faces and postures of both Trance and Richie.
"I'm willing to let that slide, boy," Methos replied, a sneer sliding across his lips, "because for one, you're not worth my time, and two, sometimes it's better to serve than be served.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Harper demanded.
"Ryan," Methos called, while the good captain has a little talk with our engineer, you and I need to have a little chat by ourselves."
"Figures," Richie shrugged. "First he declares he doesn't want anything to do with me, sloughs off all responsibility, now, he wants to talk to me. Wish he would make up his mind, for Pete's sake!" Richie shrugged, sharing a knowing glance with Trance as they reached the end of the ramp and followed Methos out of the docking bay into the adjacent corridors.
"I assume you what this is about?" Methos asked, once he was certain no one was within hearing.
"It isn't about how well our 'good-will mission went," Richie replied.
"Don't be obtuse, I don't have time or the patience for it." Methos grabbed Richie by the lapel of black sweatshirt, and darted a glance into his the younger Immortal's ice blue eyes meeting his own intent stare for stare. A lengthy silence followed. Methos was the first to break it. "I don't know what's come over me lately. Maybe it's the alcohol, but it's the worst case of time lapse in history, but we need to talk. Come with me." That said Methos made an abrupt 180 degree turn with Richie forced to walk at a fast trot to keep up.
Interlude
"The others, they're getting suspicious,' Methos began, taking a seat at the rumpled edge of his bed.
"I don't blame them. We haven't exactly been subtle. And please don't blame the young for making that mistake, I got more than enough of that from Macleod when I first was trying to figure out what this Immortal thing was about."
"I appreciate that, Ryan," Methos nodded. "It appears Macleod managed to cram a few lessons into that thick head of yours and make them stick."
"Uh, speaking of heads…."
"Relax, Richie," Methos tried on a smile and decided it didn't want and settled the lines of his mobile face back into a scowl. "If I had been interested in taking your head, I would have done so long ago."
"Why do I not feel at all reassured by that?" Richie griped.
"It shouldn't at least, not to the extent that all your guard to slip. We may not be a danger to each other in that respect, but do you have any idea what danger it would be if anyone found out we were Immortal?"
"I can," Richie swallowed a small bit of moisture in his suddenly dry mouth. "And you're right when you said that they are getting suspicious. " Trance I think she knows, but we've more or less circled around the issue, and she's agreed to keep what she knows just between us for now.
"You told her?" Methos demanded. "You colossal, dunder-headed fool!" Methos yelled, lurching around the room and throwing pillows and loose clothing about in a frenzy.
"Chill," Richie grinned. "No, we just had a little discussion about, what did you call, about the time jet-lag and we reached an understanding. Well, as much as anyone ever
understands Trance Gemini."
Once he had calmed down, Methos looked at Richie. "All right, just so we understand one other. If Trance knows, then I guess it's all right. We have to trust someone on this ship and it might as well be her. Captain Valentine is my affair and is the Nietchzean."
"Sounds fair." Speaking of Trance, you're going have to face the music sooner or later.
"What do you mean?'
"I mean, Trance has been after me to talk you into to coming to the infirmary for a full medical physical, to the best of Captain Hunt's knowledge, you've got a phobia about doctors and needles, and that's why you've be avoiding it. Trance wants you to come because she's 'concerned' about those electro magnetic spikes that showed up when we first arrived."
"Electro-magnetic spikes?"
"Yeah, I guess its what happens inside us when the healing factor kicks in, except only bigger and brighter when a Quickening happens."
"You've thought this through." Methos dobut tinged with a grudging respect softening the raspy tones of his voice.
"Occasionally, I am capable of thinking." Richie grinned.
"Very well. One last thing, I doubt the Game will have much in this century and universe. I've been the Andromeda's massive computer database to scan for any events, no matter how obscure they might be to find any recorded data of events similar to the ones about Immortals in our own timeline," Methos said.
Richie took a deep breath. "And did you find anything?"
"No. Some odd things about genetic engineering and Neitzcheans, but that's about it."
"So, I guess it's just us," Richie sighed. "You sound disappointed.
"Looks that way." Methos sighed. "I've spent the great part of the last 2,000 some years trying avoid participating in the Game, and it was only recently that I had to abandon my day job as research Adam Pierson that forced me back in."
"I'd forgotten about that," Richie replied, leaning back in the chair. "Look I'd better go, after Harper and Trance finish their report to Captain Hunt, they'll be looking for me."
"Go, Richie." Methos waved and closed his eyes. Richie took that as he cue to leave and left without a backward glance. "Sucks to be you sometimes, don't it Old Man?"
Scene 3 Dylan's surprise birthday party
"I don't particularly care for being summoned to a meeting by people who can't even arrive on time…" Dylan shouted to be heard over the white noise of the ship's engines. Forced to stop in mid-sentence in order to clamber over a stack of abandoned deck-plating that Harper and Richie had disassembled in the process of teaching the young man the finer points of taconite versus titanium components. Somewhere that project had been scrapped in favor of is linear rods.
Dylan shook his head in mock fondness, Harper was a mechanical genius of that Dylan had no doubt, but Harper's particular genius seemed to manifest itself in unorthodox and cynical fits and starts. Richie seemed to have a knack for it and showed himself to be a quick learner, but he had a tendency to give up too soon.
Richie made a bee-line to the table of finger-food and loaded up his plate. Harper glanced at Richie and wondered if he could persuade the young man to help in his covert surveillance of Beka. Harper also felt vaguely resentful that the new crew member could put away an amazing amount of food and never gain an ounce, while Harper, while nowhere a health nut like Beka or even Tyr, could try that and his waistline would suffer.
"Man, how do you manage to do that?" Harper demanded.
"Do what?" Richie asked, puzzled.
"You know, put away all that food?"
"I guess I just have a fast metabolism."
"You might want to spare some for the rest of us, Richie," Beka teased, smiling.
"Oh, sorry." Richie blushed as set down the tray of baked and fried calamari shrimp platter, "I don't like seafood anyways."
"He is approaching. I never signed off on this nonsense, so do not expect to hide and jump out when the man of the hour arrives." Tyr interrupted.
"Tyr, lighten up, "Trance sternly demanded. "It's a party. You're supposed to have fun."
At that instant Dylan came storming through the gauzy fabric that Harper had strung in an effort to create atmosphere. Dylan came through the final barrier, a purple velvet curtain that had been strung up in the manner of the ancient sea mariners stringing up hammocks to serve as sleeping quarters in the cramped conditions of a sailing ship. "All right, enough is enough. Some one had better have a damn good explanation for this!"
"There is, " Harper shouted and launched himself forward to grab Dylan's arm and steer him towards. "Gee, there goes the whole surprise part of the celebration." Sorry about keeping you out of the loop, boss, but if we had let you in on the secret it wouldn't have been much of a surprise, right?"
"I suppose," relented Dylan, his irritation with the situation subsiding.
While she tried to smother it, Beka felt much of her careful self control slip away at the expression on Dylan's face and Beka broke out into a fit of the giggles which had the added bonus of Dylan collapse into a chair. His mouth worked, words bubbled to his mouth the way that condensation was forming on the bottles of chardonnay on the banquet tables. She knew the others were staring at her, but she didn't care. And snagged a bottle of bubbly, uncorked the cap, titled the bottle and poured more than was probably healthy into her mouth.
Trance stepped forward relieving Dylan from Harper and politely but forcibly maneuvered Dylan into a chair. "It's time for the gifts." and handed over a velvet covered box with a golden ribbon tied into a flower shape. Dylan took it and hefted in his hands for a few minutes before sliding the index finger of his left hand around the tie in the bow and unraveling the construction. Once he had lifted the lid of the small box, he removed a wafer thin data floppy. "Thank you, Trance."
"You are welcome," Trance smiled. "Play the data, I'm sure we all will find it most illuminating."
Dylan hand the information floppy to Beka who inserted into the slot on computer interface and instantly in a flare of multicolored lights a stellar grid appeared about equidistant off the floor. Dylan sucked in a breath and for a few heart stopping seconds found himself unable to let it out again. It wasn't just because he recognized a slipstream coordinate map when he saw one, it was because he instantly recognized the gift that Trance had given home, his past, a way to connect with a bit of what had been lost in the last 300 plus years: a way home. A way to reach the lost home on the Commonwealth, a way to reach Tarn Vedra.
"Do I want to know how old he is today?" Richie asked and received a sharp nudge from Trance's elbow in his lower ribs. "Shush, time is relative, Dylan is 50, give or take the 300 years he spent in frozen in stasis, so I am not sure we should account for that duration of time."
"Gee, you'd think it was some kind of trade secret, you can't blame a guy for asking, Richie complained.
"Hah, we should all look so good when we're 300 plus years," Harper laughed.
"I knew there was a reason I kept him around," Beka smiled, but the tightness of the skin over the bones of her face made it appear more of a grimace of pain. The icy blue of her eyes gleamed with a feverish luster that Seamus Harper could not recall seen before, not even in the midst of a fierce fire fight in her beloved Eureka Maru. And Beka and he had been together through quite a bit. He knew it would irritate her no end to ask her outright if she was felling well, Beka's pride and her confidence in herself was such that such a question would be taken as an insult, Harper resolved to make polite small talk during the party and then afterwards when he could spare some free time to keep tabs on Beka's movement without letting her catch on to what he was doing.
Scene 4 A few days later
"As ever Mr. Harper, your timing is impeccable," Dylan greeted his engineer with a wry remark that conveyed both frustration and a certain dry humor.
Harper shook like a dog shedding water from its coat, recovered his calm expression and anxiously asked: "Do you want my to give a report on the success of the good-will mission?"
"No just yet," Dylan replied, "To borrow an old expression, we have bigger fish to fry.'"
"You should have warned beforehand, Captain Hunt, I would have brought the cocktail sauce," Tyr remarked.
"Find something humorous in that Tyr?" Dylan said.
"No, Sir," Tyr replied an expression of stoic attentive on his dusky black-skinned face, a twist of lips that could be mistaken for a smile and tilt of his head as he exchanged a glance with Beka. Dylan wondered, not for the first time, if Tyr put on expressions like the actors of the ancient Greek dramas and tragedies exchanged masks to fit the circumstances. On the heels of that thought, Dylan wondered if allowing a Nietchezan to become part of his crew again would come back to burn him after what had befallen himself and his former second in command, Gaheris Rade's betrayal. ('Keep your friends close, keep your friends closer,'" Dylan thought to himself.
"As you may or may not be aware, we've been more successful in acquiring new signatories to the New commonwealth charter than anyone including myself ever anticipated."
Tyr, please, no comments from the peanut gallery," Beka interrupted," Nobody wants to hear the comments of the resident pessimist."
"Thank you, Beka. "As I was saying, we've been assigned escort duty for a commonwealth convoy enroute to Tarn Vedra with its point of origin."
The ship's android avatar arrived and with a gesture brought up a holographic representation of the spatial territory that they would need to cover to complete the journey from Point A to point B.
"Do you have any idea how difficult it will be to navigate through slip-stream. There are any number of ways that something could go wrong," Harper said, referring to the stellar map and the brilliant pinpoints of colored light that indicated routes, planets and individual territory that was either belonged to the Nizetecheans, non-aligned worlds, or where simply unknowns. "I just fix and build things, but I know enough about quantum physics, navigation and piloting through the slipstream that it will take a damn good pilot to get through all of that!"
"I assume you have someone in mind?" Tyr said. "Let us leave aside the valid point of the resident little professor, and the foolishness of trying to find something that no one has been able to find for the last three hundred years, there is a fine line between determination and stubbornness. Let it go, Dylan."
"No, I will not 'let it go," Dylan replied. "And to answer your earlier question, Captain Valentine has been chosen to lead the convoy."
"Me!" Beka exclaimed.
"You're the best pilot we have, and she will be spear-heading the convoy."
"Well, I am good, but the best… I don't know about that."
"I'll be contacting the commanders of the other vessels that will need to be informed to organize the convoy and then finalize with them the rendezvous point. Mr. Harper we'll need you to construct a sub-space communications buoy and then an appropriate means of launching into in space. Everyone, get to work. Rommie, you're with me."
Interlude
Meanwhile Methos sat on the edge of the metal exam table in the infirmary holding the separate halves of a medical gown over his chest. His feet were bare and a cotton tourniquet had been slapped over the vein in his left arm where Trance had extracted a little of his blood. Methos detested doctors of schools, stripes on principle. He always had and suspected he always would. That was one thing that had not changed no matter how bizarre the circumstances in which he found himself in.
Methos darted suspicious glances around the gleaming metal room, glaring at the aperture where the voice of the ship's computer blared out in a mellow famine voice confirmed in a droll monotone the results and inquires that Trance made of it.
"The initial results of the blood work indicates that your genetic material is remarkably similar to that of the original Nietzchean settlers."
"Perhaps we should inform Tyr." Trance whispered, her tail coiling around her body.
"And what then, tell him he has a long-lost distant relative from the 21st century," Methos groaned. I have poked, prodded and probed by you, woman. I have reached the limit of the indignity I will endure."
"It is standard ship protocol that all members of the crew, including senior officers submit to a regular physical checkup. That includes you, Methos." Trance replied, outwardly calm and unmoved by Methos' verbal outpouring.
"Whatever happened to doctor/patient confidentiality," Methos asked when he calmed down enough.
"That is still observed, but you must understand that part of my duties as acting chief medical officer is to inform the captain of all potential security risks or physical anomalies on the part of any member of the crew."
"I really can't talk you out of this can I?"
"Methos, official duty aside, I fail to understand why you seem so over-protective of this regenerative ability of yours, I understand your need to keep a secret and I respect that, but it seems somewhat compulsive from where I stand."
"Why do you begrudge my secrets when you so plainly have secrets of your own."
"Touche," Trance nodded, "Fair enough, but you are evading the question. Rest assured I will get the secret out of you one way or the other."
"That sounds like a threat."
"Does it," Trance tilted her head to one side thinking the matter through. Her violet hued eyes glimmering the lighting from the overhead lamps. "I apologize if it came across as a threat, I merely feel that this is something that Dylan should know about."
"What he doesn't know won't hurt him."
"It would best if it came from you," Trance replied. "As it stands right now, you're free to go."
"Hurry up and wait, time is all we've got," Methos muttered on his way out of the infirmary. "Got any beer?"
"No," Trance replied. "Regenerative abilities or not, I am concerned about the amount alcohol you've been drinking, it could live to health problems such as liver poisoning."
"Let me worry about that," Methos replied and disappeared down the outside corridors while Trance stood in the doorway watching him leave until he turned a corner and disappeared from a view.
Confrontation
Rev Bem strode the empty ship corridors, his head drooping until it almost rested on his chest. His monk's robes draping him from head to foot and the dim lighting turning the dark red to a sepia brown. It was not his own troubles and concerns that caused to leave his quarters in the ship's night time hours, but worry over a crew mate's problems. 'Admit it to yourself, Rev, you are worried about Captain Valentine. You have known her longer than anyone, even Harper, and her behavior is more than mere stress could warrant. You have no proof, you have never had to question her orders, or how she conducts her life. But signs do not bode well. Then what should a good friend do? Tell Dylan, talk to Beka? Say nothing and hope she resolves this situation for herself?'
Rev Bem looked up, distracted out of his gloomy thoughts when he realized that he stood in front of the door that belonged to the object of his thoughts. While he had been preoccupied his feet had guided him to her quarters. Now a choice met, go in and talk to her or go away. "Beka? Rev said, knocking a on her door.
"Go. Away!" Beka shouted.
"That I will certainly not do. Do you require assistance?"
"No. Yes. Rev?" Oh, Hell. Since you're there you might as well come in."
"It is dark in here, should I order the ship to increase the illumination?
"No, I like the dark. It soothing and comforting. It means that I don't have to get headaches from the brightness of the light.
"Beka, talk to me. I am worried about you." Rev stepped across the room the carpet beneath his sandaled feet absorbing the sounds he made. He could sense rather than see where Beka was huddled, sprawled on the floor, his arms bare to the shoulder and her torso covered in loose black and silver mesh shirt.
He knelt down beside her and was felt sadness more than anger when his unspoken fears were confirmed when the eye droplet containing the drug known as Flash. He picked up the eye dropper and the metal syringe that had been thrown into a corner by her rumpled unmade bed. "Tell me the truth,' Rev Bem demanded, his outward calm disappearing in his anger and fear for his friend, "Have you been taking Flash!"
"Yes. What of it! I'm a big girl, Rev. I can take care of myself. It's not like I'm addicted to the stuff. I need the rush, I need the extra adrenaline especially if Dylan expects to guide the convoy through slipstream. I'm the best. I'm the only one who can do it."
"Beka, do you have any idea how dangerous this is to your mind and body?"
"Of course it do. "Beka suddenly sobbed her whole body shaking with a sudden spate of the chills. "You know, Rev. It's funny. I'm always all the one who is expected to have it all together. I'm the strong one. The one everyone looks to have a plan and to know just what to do, and now I fell like I'm falling apart into a thousand pieces."
"What can I do to help?"
"Be my friend, Rev," Beka whispered.
Rev Bem hurled the hated metal tools as far as he could and held her trembling hands in his own. "To death and beyond, Beka."
"Thanks, I mean that. Leave me, now. I'll be okay. "Beka managed a shaky smile and got up to run a comb through her tangled blonde curls.
Rev Bem did not say anything just left her to compose herself and went back out into the hallway with much to think about.
Interlude
Tyr's expression and stance was of a highly suspicious old soldier forced to put up with a boring and unnecessary inspection by the brass. Inspection; 'That's hardly surprising that he would be alert for any and all eventualities and some that I can't even imagine,' Beka thought to herself. Blinking in the harsh light of the command deck, a marked contrast from the dimness of her quarters, Beka took the seat in the pilot's chair once Tyr vacated it. Mentally running through her pre-flight check list helped her focus on what needed to done and stave off attack of the jitters and the uncommonly loud pinging noises in the back of her head. 'I've had and endured hangovers that did not feel anywhere as bad as this, hell, when it's said the high is great but the crash and burn is worse, they weren't kidding. Concentrate, kiddo. Dylan, plus a few thousand ships captains and their crews are counting on you." These thoughts circled around in her head and chased the other darker thoughts of the drug Flash coursing their her blood stream. The fine blonde hairs at the nape of her neck tingling with tension. Beka finished her pre-flight task, double checked the coordinates on her display screen and sent all ships message via sub space that she was ready to go, confirmation was short to follow.
Beka felt both the ship and her entire body leap forward when the ship entered the first window in the slip stream, rocking the ship in a giant cradle of energy. That energy allowed faster than light travel to points almost everywhere in the galaxy no matter how far distant they were from each other. Glancing at the galactic map displayed on navigational computer monitor, Beka kept counting down all the coordinates necessary to reach, hoping that the buoy and the device that Harper had rigged to make sure the other ships of the line were following the trail of breadcrumbs were still following, and all still in one piece.
Distantly, as if he were shouting from across a cavernous room, or from very far away, she could hear Dylan suggesting, then ordering, then pleading with her to take a break, to hit each dot along the slipstream without resting herself and the ship. Beka wanted to punch something, but her hands gripping the helm controls were frozen in place. Beka didn't feel like something about from the ship at this point, just something that existed for the sole purpose of giving the High Guard ship direction, commands, and making sure they all reached their destination.
Aftermath
"You did good, kiddo." Dylan smiled and assisted to get to a sitting position on the exam table.
Beka shook her, the buzzing sensation in the back of her head subsiding at last. "Did we make it?" And cursed herself for slurring the words. Her mouth tasted like something had crawled in and died. She spit out a gobbet of saliva and accepted the glass of water that Trance, who stood nearby, handed to over. "Drink it. It will make you feel better."
"I hope so, I can't imagine feeling any worse than I do now."
"Under normal circumstances with your condition, but frankly I'm torn being angry with you and impressed. Right now the anger is taking precedence."
"Okay, okay, I get it."
"You did like to your friends about taking Flash," Trance added.
"And you while under said drug's influence you pulled a gun on your fellow officers and your commanding officer." Dylan said.
"I thought I could control, I never stopped to think it would control me."
"It's a reason, but I'll take what I can get."
"Beka, you had us all scared. Promise me, you will never do anything like that again," Trance asked holding a medical scanner over her patient and inputting the data into Beka's chart. "Promise." Beka replied, turning her head to where Dylan stood at the side of her exam table. "Wait, did you say you were impressed?"
"I did. I didn't think anyone could successfully navigate through as many slip stream jumps as you just did." Dylan shook his head in mingled admiration and awe. "You emerge from that experience nothing worse for wear than a severe head ache and passing out from sheer exhaustion."
"I passed out?"
"Yes," Dylan grinned. "Tyr actually had to cut you out of your belt harness, extract you from the chair and carry you to the infirmary. I certainly did not to get in his way when that happened."
"I think," Beka said, slowly and distinctly, that when Trance releases from this place I shall need to have a chat with our Nietchzean friend. I don't like being treated like a cargo being loaded onto a freight transporter."
"Now I know you're feeling better." Trance laughed. "Give her time to rest and recover, Dylan. I'm make sure that she stays put until she's ready to return to active duty."
"Keep me informed," Dylan replied, "Do want the doctor tells you, Beka. I'll be on the command deck."
Chapter 5: Dead Men Walking
Disclaimer: Andromeda belongs to Tribune Entertainment and Fireworks Productions, as do all related characters, concepts and events. The story takes place around the time of the events show in the 2nd season episode "Lava and Rockets"
Note: The story picks up from where "Makes You Stronger" left off.
"Dead Men Walking" by Karen
Richie Ryan had mixed feelings about his placement in the command structure of the ship. Okay, so going by outward appearances alone he looked to be somewhere in his mid-twenties.
However, by Immortal standards with the additional complication that he was now stuck hundreds of years in the future, did present a few considerable drawbacks. Like now. Except for Harper, everyone else, but mostly Tyr and Beka, seemed to think that he was some wet behind the ears rookie who needed to be watched over and protected. 'Beka Valentine. Now there was a woman!" Richie thought with some exuberance, "Too bad about that 'kid brother' treatment that she has towards Harper and myself.'
Richie felt that he had outgrown that during the time he lived off and on with his old mentor, Duncan Macleod. After months spent aboard the Andromeda Ascendant he certainly no longer needed to be treated in that way.
Centuries ahead of his own time was enough to give anyone a case of time lag, it just made his head hurt to think about it too much.
Yet, here was, flat on his stomach welding deck plates and running maintenance checks. "So I'm aboard this universe's largest, fastest and most sought after starship, and I'm still just a glorified grease monkey. I really need to get a new travel agent. I mean, hell, what was my last travel agent but a glorified grease monkey. Damn you. Mason."
Richie adjusted his weight to relieve the cramp in his legs from being in one position too long, and bumped his head on the overhead archway. 'Damn."
"Did you say something?" Harper yelled from the far side of the engineering bay.
"No, just muttering to myself,' Richie replied, after a moment of thought," Did you say the grid of the ion glide drives was in here?"
"Yeah, just hang on a sec while put the finishing touches on this baby," Harper said.
The shorter man came over as Richie slithered out of the maintenance tube so that Harper could get inside to look at the ion grid. While he was doing that Richie took the chance to get the circulation going by doing some quiet stretching motions. Harper finished his inspection and backed out again. "The grid's in there all right, it's just a teensy bit fried, so what I want you to do is reroute the power from one of the subroutines and reboot it."
"Got it," Richie replied
Inside Machine Shop Three
"I don't trust you. I never have." Tyr greeted Methos, the door sliding shut on its gimbaled hinges, Methos almost missed the effect of old fashioned door slamming to, and it would match the glare that Tyr leveled directly at him.
"Well, bully for you. I warned you that you shouldn't trust me. You'd think it would penetrate that thick head of yours. Funny, isn't it, how I always seem to end up tagging along on the coat heels of the boy-scout types." Methos shook his head, thinking the matter through. "You know what they say, the more things, the more they stay the same. I must be cursed, or something."
"I do hope you are not including me in that category." Tyr allowed a small smile to slip out, amused and annoyed by the smaller man.
"Heaven forbid," Methos sneered. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I've been around you blokes long enough to realize one thing, and that's you are very much like me. Looking out for number one."
"A survivor. I have mentioned this to Dylan on several occasions, but when the universe comes to an end, there will be three survivors, cockroaches, Tyr Anazazi, and Dylan Hunt trying to save the cockroaches."
"I prefer to think of the survival rate a little bit on the higher scale for my species, thanks anyway." Methos sneered. "I am getting the distinct feeling that you are not here to compare notes on survivor outlooks.
"No."
"Then why are you here?"
"I was about to ask you the same thing. This section of the ship is off limits."
"Never stopped me before."
"Are you always this annoying and sardonic?"
"Yeah, it keeps people at arms length."
"What's in here is my personal property, and I am not fond of you getting your hands on it."
"Is that a threat?"
"Yes." Tyr sauntered forward much in the manner of a black panther stalking prey in the jungle, his bone blades embedded into his forearms out end extended, arms folded in such as a way as to provide maximum room for maneuverability.
"The fact that you are here, precludes my asking your knowledge of the contents."
"Curiosity killed the cat." Methos tried for glib response, until he came up with something better to say or a way to get rid of the obstacle in his path. Dealing with Tyr was much akin to dealing with oncoming traffic during rush hour in a large metropolitan city. This particular obstacle, dread-locks and all, possessed a dangerous ability to see through Methos' act. Not to mention he already did some considerable background checking. Methos was in the business of survival, and Tyr could conceivable prove to be a threat.
"I can arrange that." Tyr smoothly replied.
"I bet you could," Methos remarked.
"Speaking of curiosity," Tyr remarked, "Cut the macho bullshit, and let's discuss something else. Like you for example. I've had my eye on you ever since your rather inexplicable arrival."
"What's there to say," Methos shrugged. "What you see is what you get."
"I have observed your interaction with the young man, Ryan, and observed your, let us be realist; aloof, arrogant, and somewhat patronizing ways of dealing with people. "
"Oh, this should be good."
The thing that struck me the most was your ability to camouflage yourself."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, if I did not know any better, I would say you are very much a chameleon, analyzing the parameters of the given environment, situation, and particulars and changing to fit those parameters. It's how you survive."
"Well, I'll be damned. Someone finally figured me out."
"I would not be so flippant if were you," Tyr rumbled. "It's not all I've learned. I took bits and pieces, clues and put them together. Item, you appear out of nowhere; you have no records in any of the computer databases."
"Is that so strange? I mean after 300 years do you really expect to have accurate databases of everyone in the galaxy. It's a big galaxy."
Tyr ignored the deliberate attempt at distraction and continued to list off his findings. "Item 3: Trance's required medical exam showed elevated amounts of electro magnetic activity in the hippo campus region of your brain, as well as Mr. Ryan.'s.
"So?" Methos fidgeted; eager to find a way to get rid of Tyr so that he could get a peek inside the glass enclosed box. From his rifling through the Andromeda's ships' logs had put two and two together and the evidence was coming to one conclusion. Ryan and Pierson were not entirely human.
Tyr had gone to considerable lengths to secure the remains of his pride's biological ancestor, and in fact, would kill to make sure that those remains stayed in his possession. Anything that valuable was worth looking into.
In addition, one could only drink so much alcohol in a stretch of time before needing something else to occupy one's attention. Based on the fragments of the diary that he had been able to download into his personal terminal from the diary of the Mad Peresied, Hastuari, which referenced his name, and the Watchers Chronicles, had prompted Methos to act and seek out the remains of the Nietchzeian progenitor, Drago Kazov.
"So, such concentrated activity is not normal in the brain of a human being."
"Can I look in the box?" Methos interrupted, deliberately ignoring the warning in Tyr's last statement.
"So, I believe that you are capable of putting the pieces together as well as I. That is the true reason that led you here." Tyr walked over, grabbed a handful of the man's loose shirt and thrust him away were the man fetched up against the opposite wall. "No, you may not look in the box. A little focus, please."
"What's in the box?" Methos interrupted, stalling for time, believing that he understood the implied meaning underlying the big man's words. 'Could he really have discovered that he's got not one but two Immortals on board?' This thought flashed through Methos' head like a bolt from a summer lighting storm and on the heels of that thought:
"Okay, let's assume for the sake of argument that he's learned about Immortals, I can't afford to trust him, and he can’t afford to trust me." How can I turn this situation to my advantage?' Aloud he said: "Okay, out with it? What do you want?"
"The truth, or as much as skewed pieces of it as you can manage."
"This is gonna take a while, and talking is such thirsty work," Methos grinned.
"Hey, do you think we could go somewhere and you could buy a few beers or a whole 12 pack?"
Elsewhere
"We've been at this for hours," Richie griped, sifting the black dirt of Trance's garden through his fingers studying how the dirt caked beneath his nails while Trance's were still as smooth and even as when they had begun the project. The shape and design of the planets reminded Richie of the bonzai trees that Tessa used to decorate his old mentor's Duncan Macleod's river barge. Funny how random, somewhat useful memories get dredged up when your body is occupied with other less pressing tasks, Richie muttered.
"While gardening and pruning may not be high on your list of fun things to do, Richie," Trance paused and flashed him a brilliant smile; "I assure you this is a method behind my perceived madness."
"Knowing you, Trance, by the time you come out with it, I probably wouldn’t understand it anyway."
"I think you over estimate me and don't give yourself enough credit, Richie. In the short time you've been a crew member, you've made excellent progress."
"Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, but I don't see how learning to garden is going to help."
"It's more than just a hobby, it's a metaphor."
"Okay, okay, I see it’s useless to argue with you or try to change the subject, so I'll bite. Tell me. Oh wise one."
"Richie, sometimes I feel that you do occasionally display a flash of brilliance beyond your years."
"It's about the Immortal business, isn't it?" Richie grinned. "I don't think it's any of my doing, but I appreciate the compliment anyway."
"Immortals, ah yes, this is more about you than your compatriot, Methos, he worries me. And he name did appear in the writings of the mad Perseid's diary."
"Hey, Trance, don't sweat it, Methos worries everybody. Did you know, that back home there a secret society that had an entire archive dedicated to keep tabs on his life."
"I think you know something about that you are being circumspect about.
"Don’t you ever come right out and say exactly what you mean?"
"If I did, it would take away all of the mystery." Trance grinned, came over from her stool placed up against the far wall and came to sit on the floor next to Richie. "Seriously, though, I think my best friends, and I like to count you among that number, Mr. Ryan, is that it's all about recreating oneself. I did take them a long time to be accustomed to the new golden older version of the Trance they knew and were comfortable with."
"A bit of shock, I have to admit." Besides on the recreating oneself, Methos could tell you stories, hell, he could probably spin an epic. That isn’t what you really wanted to talk about it, huh?"
"No, but it does lead into what I do have to say."
"So go for it."
"My race is an old one, and there is still much I do not understand about my people, have I told you that we possess the ability to see into all possible, potential futures.
The problem is that I never can see that one perfect future clearly enough to predict the outcome of our actions."
"You make mistakes, Trance. And besides if everyone could see the future nothing would ever get done to make it happen."
"You and I are the only ones with the exception of Methos who are aware of the existence of Immortals.
"Tyr is getting rather suspicious of late, Richie shrugged figuring that it was only a matter of time before the secret would get out. Even aboard a ship easily ten times the size of his hometown of Seacouver, Seattle, and with a small crew complement, and have dealt with someone as sharp and insightful as Trance, Richie knew that it was the kind of secret he could hide indefinitely. And among the entire crew, if anyone could handle and be trusted with the secret it would have to be Trance.
I doubt that when Dylan, Beka and the others do find out," and I Methos and I agreed,
Well, you know how he is, we're not about to decapitate each other."
"Hey, Trance," Richie paused thinking the matter over, "You know I've been operating under the assumption that we're the only ones around, but how do we know that for sure. I mean, for a while back on my Earth, it seems Immortals kept coming out of the woodwork, and then it started drying up."
"If I understand the set of Rules governing Immortals, it is necessary for one your kind to fight another for some nebulous "Prize', correct?"
"Yeah, but Methos already made it pretty clear he isn't interested in taking my head, and considering he is already pretty much a living legend, I'm grateful. I really, really, do not want to fight the guy."
"How old is he supposed to be again?"
"Give or take a decade, he's 5,000 years old."
Trance let out her in held breath in a soft whistle. "Rather impressive." It's best to leave our Neitzchean friend, Tyr in the dark, he would be very envious if he found out. He prides himself on being genetically bred to be the ultimate survivor."
"Yeah. I noticed that, too." Richie grinned. "Although, I hate to admit this, but I'd like to see the expression on his face when he finds out that Methos beat him to the punch centuries before he was a glimmer in his Ma's eye."
Interlude
The tent walls tremble in the chilly night wind, but neither Tyr nor his chosen mate, Freya, feels it. It might be due to their enhanced systems, or might be the heat of their passion. With the acclaim of the assembled Pride, Tyr will beget himself a son. The woman is everything that he could ever have hoped for. Strong, bright, and fierce. The bracelets that symbolize their union fall from their bindings around their upper forearms and clatter when they hit the floor. Tyr doesn't care and neither does Freya. While Tyr is well aware of the value of a symbol, it is after all, just a material object. It is the deeds that matter.
When its over Freya stands up and holds up the blue and the red vials, the smile on her face both one of triumph and wonder. "We will have a son," she says. "Although I must tell you something, not all within the pride are anxious for you to become the leader. Factions are forming that will oppose you. Also, this is mere rumor, but I heard it whispered that another could well claim to have bloodlines that predate the Progenitor."
"What are you talking about, woman?" Tyr demanded.
"I have already said too much. I must go." Freya left, and Tyr puzzled over her parting words.
Germany WWII era, Nazi meeting hall
The atmosphere of the meeting hall is close and tense and that isn't from the leader's sense of danger all around, danger perhaps exclusively with him as the target. In time of war, it more than common sense to take precautions, it was becoming a matter of survival. The meeting room was packed, the majority of the attendees clad in the brown uniforms, knee high army boots, and caps issued by their individual unit commanders. Only a handful sported brightly clashing medals and buttons on the lapels of their coats, or tight-fitting caps upon their heads.
Facing the neatly lined up rows of metal folding chairs so that all the seats faced towards a carefully constructed wooden platform and it's a recent addition to the meeting hall, one built for a purpose.
Tonight the Leader was scheduled to announce a break through in military science by one of the most brilliant minds their home country had ever produced.
Trying to fade into the background, just another face in the crowd, the man called Adam Pierson raises a hand to the brim of his cap and pulls it down lower so that it shadows his blue eyes. He doesn't know exactly what the science boys had in mind when they said they'd made in breakthrough discovery on just what makes the Ayran race superior to all others. On top of that they had also discovered a way to isolate that particular genome and duplicate it, so he felt compelled to be there for the meeting.
Encounter (present Day)
In the absence of Captain Dylan Hunt, Beka Valentine or even Tyr, they had chosen to give Harper command of the Andromeda. That, in theory, is not a completely far-
fetched concept. It made sense from a command structure standpoint because, Harper, aside from the ship's avatar and Captain Hunt, was the only person aboard who knew the inner workings and systems of the ship inside and out.
The scary part of the idea of Harper being in charge was well, Harper himself. Given who he was and seemingly driven by a need to push the envelope and take chances, Harper tended to fly off the handle when challenged by an opponent.
It could be on an individual basis, or facing the business end of a bunch of very angry Nietchzians warships from Drago Katsov Pride allied with the Jaguar Pride.
"Well, one doesn't need a degree in quantum physics to figure that one out; Bad things will happen."
Richie shrugged and kept his finger pressing down on the firing mechanism, staring at the screen with the little colored blips. 'And here I thought I'd make a great fighter pilot. This is much harder than a 21st century fighter jet. Okay, so they were computer game simulations.'
Trance stood alongside of Richie, scanning the rapidly changing readouts at his control console. Preferably one of the rapidly darting blips on his console without endangering the Andromeda itself.
Riche muttered under his breath, staring dagger puncture holes into Harper's back. "Do something command-like already, would you, Harper, before we all die of suspense or laserfire, whichever comes first."
"Hey, I'm thinking of plan here, okay?"
"No pressure, or anything, but could you think a little faster," Richie muttered.
"You can't outrun Death forever," Harper whispered, "but you can make the bastard work for it. Come on, you gutless wonders!"
Richie sighed,"It's official, we're in the hands of a madman."
Conclusion
"Methos is no longer aboard the ship," Richie stated with the air of someone that has long predicted this event and was not believed. "You know, if you had listened to me earlier when I told you this might happen, we might not be shy one slip fighter now."
"Well, he's never been that reliable a member of the crew," Beka replied. "We can always manage with one less slip fighter. Besides where would he go?"
"I haven't the foggiest, Beka," Richie answered. "But I had Rommie input the course and speed from the flight plan he filed before he left. You know, it might just be the time lag, or the fact that we're not used to be in this time frame, but it's not like him to leave a trail."
"He left a flight plan?" Dylan asked.
"Yeah, but you'd have to ask Rommie about the exact coordinates, because frankly I don't remember the details." Richie scratched the light blond fuzz on his lower jaw, "I always wondered what Methos was up to, and why he ended up here, I mean, the guy's been around for a long time."
"I get the feeling that there's more to this Methos, excuse, what was the other name he went by." Beka said. "Oh right, Adam Pierson, than you're telling us. I think its about time you told us everything, Richie."
"Yeah, but he took that special one that Tyr had his eye on," Richie said.
"Everything," Richie swallowed a sudden dry taste in his mouth. "Well, we all know we're both from an alternate reality timeline, I guess we don't need to go over that again. And we're both from a place called Seacouver, Washington."
"And," Tyr prompted mildly.
"And, look this is difficult enough to explain, even without the additional complication of Adam, damn, Methos, or whatever you want to call him. We discussed this and we both agreed it was best to keep you guys out of it."
"Out of what?" Dylan asked, curious.
"You know what, I've seen my teacher do this most of times when he got backed into a corner and had to 'fess up, so it might just be easier to show you. Trance already knows about the Big Secret, so I guess it's okay to tell them right?"
"It is your call, Richie, but we did agree to tell them when the time was right," Trance replied.
"Yeah, I guess we did." Richie sighed, reaching down to select from a variety of tools that were strapped into his tool belt. "Look, don't get too crazy or freaked out, this is the weird part."
"Weird part?" Beka echoed with the air of someone who could guess what was coming but a part of her wanted to be proved right, and another part wanted to be proved wrong. She liked Richie; he was like the kid brother that Harper or even her owns family could never be.
"Okay, here goes nothing," Richie sighed. He rolled up the sleeve of his work shirt exposing the bare skin of his lower left arm, then unsealed the cutting edge of the tool and cut into the exposed skin. A tiny growing dribble of red very human looking blood seeped from the cut. He grinned, "Okay, watch." Putting the tool back into the belt pouch he held out his arm at full extension, small white electrical sparks playing about the incision in his skin, and in front of the eyes of the watching crew the wound sealed up. It left hardly anything behind except for a tiny white scar. "All gone, see?"
"Yes, I see, how did you manage to do that?" Tyr asked.
"Because Methos are alike. We're what's called Immortals on our world." Richie sighed. "It's a very long story."
"Trance, nothing like this ever came up in their medical diagnostics?
Trance regarded Dylan, "Well, yes, I detected some highly unusual levels of endorphins, white blood cells and electromagnetic activity and enhanced immune system, but nothing out of the ordinary, and I promised Richie I wouldn't say anything until we both agreed the time was right."
"Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather." Dylan shrugged.
"You are not overly concerned that his, how did you put it when Tyr was aboard, Extra-curricular activities might prove dangerous or perhaps counter-productive to our continued well-being?" Rommie asked.
"I hate to admit it, but I don’t count his desertion as drain of the crew's resources. He seemed rather self-absorbed to me and a bit on the arrogant side. When he decided to jump ship, and he probably didn't even stop to consider he'd been leaving Mr. Ryan behind."
"Are you going to do anything about it?" Richie demanded.
"Not unless he causes trouble elsewhere." Dylan grinned.
"You don't know Methos like I do, hell I don't think anybody knows Methos as well as. This would be a really good time to go Joe Dawson and get the full scoop." Look, this is probably not a good idea, and I must be insane for even mentioning this, but you have to understand something about Methos, the guy's been around since the original Dark Ages. All I'm saying is that he's trouble on two legs."
"Are you saying," Tyr interrupted "if you'll pardon my waxing melodramatic,
Tyr asked, "That he's not good enough for heaven, and hell is afraid that he will take over?"
"Yeah, that's about the size of it." Richie muttered. "You'd think it would get easier as you go along, but it never does."
"Relax, Mr. Ryan, your secret is safe with us," Dylan tried to soothed the frayed nerves of the young man. In the back of his mind, Immortals although I wonder where I rank, as how did Tyr put it, an historical anachronism, fate or whatever deity is watching our struggles must be getting a good hard chuckle out of this one. Aloud he said, "Richie, with any luck this desertion of Methos is probably not as bad as you're making it out to be. In the meantime, we'll deal with one crisis at a time. Okay."
"Okay. Okay. I understand, and thank you, sir." Richie grinned.
Author: Karen
Fandoms: Highlander/Andromeda
Rating: General, het
Chapter 4 of 5
"Makes You Stronger" by Karen
Disclaimer: Highlander: the Series belongs to Rysher Television. Gaumount/Panzer Davis Productions, and all events, characters, concepts etc belong to them. I am only borrowing for the sake of the story, and as such do not belong to me.
Andromeda is the property of Tribune Entertainment/Fireworks Productions.
Contains spoilers from the Season 1 episode "It Makes a Lovely Light."
Follows "Center Cannot Hold, Things Fall Apart."
Prologue
"Took you long enough," Methos' distinctive raspy voiced came through the ship's intercom heavily laced with the amount of alcohol he consumed over the last hour. "Not that it matters to me how long you were on your little good will mission or what you were doing to accomplish it. Hunt's in a bit of a snit."
"How much of one?" Harper asked as soon as he completed a tricky docking maneuver, the Maru's onboard computer system chiming in synch with his verbal and keyed in commands.
He patted the black box sitting on the floor beside the pilot's chair, like he would have patted a pet dog. Inside the case was the diary that once belonged to the mad Pereseid, Hastauri. Harper figured that if he could find the right market and buyer he stood to make quite a bundle, even factoring in the cut he would give to Trance and Richie for having contributed to finding the diary in the first place.
Once they ship had come to a stop, Harper let out the landing ramp and led the way off the Maru. Richie, following Trance down the ramp of the ship, nearly collided with with her when she came to a dead halt. The fine blond hairs on the back of Trance's neck were standing on end, and Richie instinctively felt the short reddish blond hairs on his nape as when the "Buzz' that signaled the presence of another Immortal. 'Damn inconvenient,' he thought in the silence of his own mind. 'Methos' it has to be. We're the only Immortals around, but it does the damn 'Buzz ' have to go off every time we're in each other's vicinity. Can't be any of the other crew members.' The damn Buzz works better than may alarm clock." Richie thought to himself.
For, Methos stood half in and half out of the open entry to the docking bay. Methos stood with arms folded across his chest, clad in the distinctive black uniform, one that matched Dylan's minus a force lance, and draping in wrinkled creases and fold over his tall but lanky form, where Dylan's was more solidly built.
"Didn't know Dylan sent errand boys to deliver his messages. If he wants to see me, I'll be happy to talk him then." Harper replied, apparently oblivious to the tension in the faces and postures of both Trance and Richie.
"I'm willing to let that slide, boy," Methos replied, a sneer sliding across his lips, "because for one, you're not worth my time, and two, sometimes it's better to serve than be served.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Harper demanded.
"Ryan," Methos called, while the good captain has a little talk with our engineer, you and I need to have a little chat by ourselves."
"Figures," Richie shrugged. "First he declares he doesn't want anything to do with me, sloughs off all responsibility, now, he wants to talk to me. Wish he would make up his mind, for Pete's sake!" Richie shrugged, sharing a knowing glance with Trance as they reached the end of the ramp and followed Methos out of the docking bay into the adjacent corridors.
"I assume you what this is about?" Methos asked, once he was certain no one was within hearing.
"It isn't about how well our 'good-will mission went," Richie replied.
"Don't be obtuse, I don't have time or the patience for it." Methos grabbed Richie by the lapel of black sweatshirt, and darted a glance into his the younger Immortal's ice blue eyes meeting his own intent stare for stare. A lengthy silence followed. Methos was the first to break it. "I don't know what's come over me lately. Maybe it's the alcohol, but it's the worst case of time lapse in history, but we need to talk. Come with me." That said Methos made an abrupt 180 degree turn with Richie forced to walk at a fast trot to keep up.
Interlude
"The others, they're getting suspicious,' Methos began, taking a seat at the rumpled edge of his bed.
"I don't blame them. We haven't exactly been subtle. And please don't blame the young for making that mistake, I got more than enough of that from Macleod when I first was trying to figure out what this Immortal thing was about."
"I appreciate that, Ryan," Methos nodded. "It appears Macleod managed to cram a few lessons into that thick head of yours and make them stick."
"Uh, speaking of heads…."
"Relax, Richie," Methos tried on a smile and decided it didn't want and settled the lines of his mobile face back into a scowl. "If I had been interested in taking your head, I would have done so long ago."
"Why do I not feel at all reassured by that?" Richie griped.
"It shouldn't at least, not to the extent that all your guard to slip. We may not be a danger to each other in that respect, but do you have any idea what danger it would be if anyone found out we were Immortal?"
"I can," Richie swallowed a small bit of moisture in his suddenly dry mouth. "And you're right when you said that they are getting suspicious. " Trance I think she knows, but we've more or less circled around the issue, and she's agreed to keep what she knows just between us for now.
"You told her?" Methos demanded. "You colossal, dunder-headed fool!" Methos yelled, lurching around the room and throwing pillows and loose clothing about in a frenzy.
"Chill," Richie grinned. "No, we just had a little discussion about, what did you call, about the time jet-lag and we reached an understanding. Well, as much as anyone ever
understands Trance Gemini."
Once he had calmed down, Methos looked at Richie. "All right, just so we understand one other. If Trance knows, then I guess it's all right. We have to trust someone on this ship and it might as well be her. Captain Valentine is my affair and is the Nietchzean."
"Sounds fair." Speaking of Trance, you're going have to face the music sooner or later.
"What do you mean?'
"I mean, Trance has been after me to talk you into to coming to the infirmary for a full medical physical, to the best of Captain Hunt's knowledge, you've got a phobia about doctors and needles, and that's why you've be avoiding it. Trance wants you to come because she's 'concerned' about those electro magnetic spikes that showed up when we first arrived."
"Electro-magnetic spikes?"
"Yeah, I guess its what happens inside us when the healing factor kicks in, except only bigger and brighter when a Quickening happens."
"You've thought this through." Methos dobut tinged with a grudging respect softening the raspy tones of his voice.
"Occasionally, I am capable of thinking." Richie grinned.
"Very well. One last thing, I doubt the Game will have much in this century and universe. I've been the Andromeda's massive computer database to scan for any events, no matter how obscure they might be to find any recorded data of events similar to the ones about Immortals in our own timeline," Methos said.
Richie took a deep breath. "And did you find anything?"
"No. Some odd things about genetic engineering and Neitzcheans, but that's about it."
"So, I guess it's just us," Richie sighed. "You sound disappointed.
"Looks that way." Methos sighed. "I've spent the great part of the last 2,000 some years trying avoid participating in the Game, and it was only recently that I had to abandon my day job as research Adam Pierson that forced me back in."
"I'd forgotten about that," Richie replied, leaning back in the chair. "Look I'd better go, after Harper and Trance finish their report to Captain Hunt, they'll be looking for me."
"Go, Richie." Methos waved and closed his eyes. Richie took that as he cue to leave and left without a backward glance. "Sucks to be you sometimes, don't it Old Man?"
Scene 3 Dylan's surprise birthday party
"I don't particularly care for being summoned to a meeting by people who can't even arrive on time…" Dylan shouted to be heard over the white noise of the ship's engines. Forced to stop in mid-sentence in order to clamber over a stack of abandoned deck-plating that Harper and Richie had disassembled in the process of teaching the young man the finer points of taconite versus titanium components. Somewhere that project had been scrapped in favor of is linear rods.
Dylan shook his head in mock fondness, Harper was a mechanical genius of that Dylan had no doubt, but Harper's particular genius seemed to manifest itself in unorthodox and cynical fits and starts. Richie seemed to have a knack for it and showed himself to be a quick learner, but he had a tendency to give up too soon.
Richie made a bee-line to the table of finger-food and loaded up his plate. Harper glanced at Richie and wondered if he could persuade the young man to help in his covert surveillance of Beka. Harper also felt vaguely resentful that the new crew member could put away an amazing amount of food and never gain an ounce, while Harper, while nowhere a health nut like Beka or even Tyr, could try that and his waistline would suffer.
"Man, how do you manage to do that?" Harper demanded.
"Do what?" Richie asked, puzzled.
"You know, put away all that food?"
"I guess I just have a fast metabolism."
"You might want to spare some for the rest of us, Richie," Beka teased, smiling.
"Oh, sorry." Richie blushed as set down the tray of baked and fried calamari shrimp platter, "I don't like seafood anyways."
"He is approaching. I never signed off on this nonsense, so do not expect to hide and jump out when the man of the hour arrives." Tyr interrupted.
"Tyr, lighten up, "Trance sternly demanded. "It's a party. You're supposed to have fun."
At that instant Dylan came storming through the gauzy fabric that Harper had strung in an effort to create atmosphere. Dylan came through the final barrier, a purple velvet curtain that had been strung up in the manner of the ancient sea mariners stringing up hammocks to serve as sleeping quarters in the cramped conditions of a sailing ship. "All right, enough is enough. Some one had better have a damn good explanation for this!"
"There is, " Harper shouted and launched himself forward to grab Dylan's arm and steer him towards. "Gee, there goes the whole surprise part of the celebration." Sorry about keeping you out of the loop, boss, but if we had let you in on the secret it wouldn't have been much of a surprise, right?"
"I suppose," relented Dylan, his irritation with the situation subsiding.
While she tried to smother it, Beka felt much of her careful self control slip away at the expression on Dylan's face and Beka broke out into a fit of the giggles which had the added bonus of Dylan collapse into a chair. His mouth worked, words bubbled to his mouth the way that condensation was forming on the bottles of chardonnay on the banquet tables. She knew the others were staring at her, but she didn't care. And snagged a bottle of bubbly, uncorked the cap, titled the bottle and poured more than was probably healthy into her mouth.
Trance stepped forward relieving Dylan from Harper and politely but forcibly maneuvered Dylan into a chair. "It's time for the gifts." and handed over a velvet covered box with a golden ribbon tied into a flower shape. Dylan took it and hefted in his hands for a few minutes before sliding the index finger of his left hand around the tie in the bow and unraveling the construction. Once he had lifted the lid of the small box, he removed a wafer thin data floppy. "Thank you, Trance."
"You are welcome," Trance smiled. "Play the data, I'm sure we all will find it most illuminating."
Dylan hand the information floppy to Beka who inserted into the slot on computer interface and instantly in a flare of multicolored lights a stellar grid appeared about equidistant off the floor. Dylan sucked in a breath and for a few heart stopping seconds found himself unable to let it out again. It wasn't just because he recognized a slipstream coordinate map when he saw one, it was because he instantly recognized the gift that Trance had given home, his past, a way to connect with a bit of what had been lost in the last 300 plus years: a way home. A way to reach the lost home on the Commonwealth, a way to reach Tarn Vedra.
"Do I want to know how old he is today?" Richie asked and received a sharp nudge from Trance's elbow in his lower ribs. "Shush, time is relative, Dylan is 50, give or take the 300 years he spent in frozen in stasis, so I am not sure we should account for that duration of time."
"Gee, you'd think it was some kind of trade secret, you can't blame a guy for asking, Richie complained.
"Hah, we should all look so good when we're 300 plus years," Harper laughed.
"I knew there was a reason I kept him around," Beka smiled, but the tightness of the skin over the bones of her face made it appear more of a grimace of pain. The icy blue of her eyes gleamed with a feverish luster that Seamus Harper could not recall seen before, not even in the midst of a fierce fire fight in her beloved Eureka Maru. And Beka and he had been together through quite a bit. He knew it would irritate her no end to ask her outright if she was felling well, Beka's pride and her confidence in herself was such that such a question would be taken as an insult, Harper resolved to make polite small talk during the party and then afterwards when he could spare some free time to keep tabs on Beka's movement without letting her catch on to what he was doing.
Scene 4 A few days later
"As ever Mr. Harper, your timing is impeccable," Dylan greeted his engineer with a wry remark that conveyed both frustration and a certain dry humor.
Harper shook like a dog shedding water from its coat, recovered his calm expression and anxiously asked: "Do you want my to give a report on the success of the good-will mission?"
"No just yet," Dylan replied, "To borrow an old expression, we have bigger fish to fry.'"
"You should have warned beforehand, Captain Hunt, I would have brought the cocktail sauce," Tyr remarked.
"Find something humorous in that Tyr?" Dylan said.
"No, Sir," Tyr replied an expression of stoic attentive on his dusky black-skinned face, a twist of lips that could be mistaken for a smile and tilt of his head as he exchanged a glance with Beka. Dylan wondered, not for the first time, if Tyr put on expressions like the actors of the ancient Greek dramas and tragedies exchanged masks to fit the circumstances. On the heels of that thought, Dylan wondered if allowing a Nietchezan to become part of his crew again would come back to burn him after what had befallen himself and his former second in command, Gaheris Rade's betrayal. ('Keep your friends close, keep your friends closer,'" Dylan thought to himself.
"As you may or may not be aware, we've been more successful in acquiring new signatories to the New commonwealth charter than anyone including myself ever anticipated."
Tyr, please, no comments from the peanut gallery," Beka interrupted," Nobody wants to hear the comments of the resident pessimist."
"Thank you, Beka. "As I was saying, we've been assigned escort duty for a commonwealth convoy enroute to Tarn Vedra with its point of origin."
The ship's android avatar arrived and with a gesture brought up a holographic representation of the spatial territory that they would need to cover to complete the journey from Point A to point B.
"Do you have any idea how difficult it will be to navigate through slip-stream. There are any number of ways that something could go wrong," Harper said, referring to the stellar map and the brilliant pinpoints of colored light that indicated routes, planets and individual territory that was either belonged to the Nizetecheans, non-aligned worlds, or where simply unknowns. "I just fix and build things, but I know enough about quantum physics, navigation and piloting through the slipstream that it will take a damn good pilot to get through all of that!"
"I assume you have someone in mind?" Tyr said. "Let us leave aside the valid point of the resident little professor, and the foolishness of trying to find something that no one has been able to find for the last three hundred years, there is a fine line between determination and stubbornness. Let it go, Dylan."
"No, I will not 'let it go," Dylan replied. "And to answer your earlier question, Captain Valentine has been chosen to lead the convoy."
"Me!" Beka exclaimed.
"You're the best pilot we have, and she will be spear-heading the convoy."
"Well, I am good, but the best… I don't know about that."
"I'll be contacting the commanders of the other vessels that will need to be informed to organize the convoy and then finalize with them the rendezvous point. Mr. Harper we'll need you to construct a sub-space communications buoy and then an appropriate means of launching into in space. Everyone, get to work. Rommie, you're with me."
Interlude
Meanwhile Methos sat on the edge of the metal exam table in the infirmary holding the separate halves of a medical gown over his chest. His feet were bare and a cotton tourniquet had been slapped over the vein in his left arm where Trance had extracted a little of his blood. Methos detested doctors of schools, stripes on principle. He always had and suspected he always would. That was one thing that had not changed no matter how bizarre the circumstances in which he found himself in.
Methos darted suspicious glances around the gleaming metal room, glaring at the aperture where the voice of the ship's computer blared out in a mellow famine voice confirmed in a droll monotone the results and inquires that Trance made of it.
"The initial results of the blood work indicates that your genetic material is remarkably similar to that of the original Nietzchean settlers."
"Perhaps we should inform Tyr." Trance whispered, her tail coiling around her body.
"And what then, tell him he has a long-lost distant relative from the 21st century," Methos groaned. I have poked, prodded and probed by you, woman. I have reached the limit of the indignity I will endure."
"It is standard ship protocol that all members of the crew, including senior officers submit to a regular physical checkup. That includes you, Methos." Trance replied, outwardly calm and unmoved by Methos' verbal outpouring.
"Whatever happened to doctor/patient confidentiality," Methos asked when he calmed down enough.
"That is still observed, but you must understand that part of my duties as acting chief medical officer is to inform the captain of all potential security risks or physical anomalies on the part of any member of the crew."
"I really can't talk you out of this can I?"
"Methos, official duty aside, I fail to understand why you seem so over-protective of this regenerative ability of yours, I understand your need to keep a secret and I respect that, but it seems somewhat compulsive from where I stand."
"Why do you begrudge my secrets when you so plainly have secrets of your own."
"Touche," Trance nodded, "Fair enough, but you are evading the question. Rest assured I will get the secret out of you one way or the other."
"That sounds like a threat."
"Does it," Trance tilted her head to one side thinking the matter through. Her violet hued eyes glimmering the lighting from the overhead lamps. "I apologize if it came across as a threat, I merely feel that this is something that Dylan should know about."
"What he doesn't know won't hurt him."
"It would best if it came from you," Trance replied. "As it stands right now, you're free to go."
"Hurry up and wait, time is all we've got," Methos muttered on his way out of the infirmary. "Got any beer?"
"No," Trance replied. "Regenerative abilities or not, I am concerned about the amount alcohol you've been drinking, it could live to health problems such as liver poisoning."
"Let me worry about that," Methos replied and disappeared down the outside corridors while Trance stood in the doorway watching him leave until he turned a corner and disappeared from a view.
Confrontation
Rev Bem strode the empty ship corridors, his head drooping until it almost rested on his chest. His monk's robes draping him from head to foot and the dim lighting turning the dark red to a sepia brown. It was not his own troubles and concerns that caused to leave his quarters in the ship's night time hours, but worry over a crew mate's problems. 'Admit it to yourself, Rev, you are worried about Captain Valentine. You have known her longer than anyone, even Harper, and her behavior is more than mere stress could warrant. You have no proof, you have never had to question her orders, or how she conducts her life. But signs do not bode well. Then what should a good friend do? Tell Dylan, talk to Beka? Say nothing and hope she resolves this situation for herself?'
Rev Bem looked up, distracted out of his gloomy thoughts when he realized that he stood in front of the door that belonged to the object of his thoughts. While he had been preoccupied his feet had guided him to her quarters. Now a choice met, go in and talk to her or go away. "Beka? Rev said, knocking a on her door.
"Go. Away!" Beka shouted.
"That I will certainly not do. Do you require assistance?"
"No. Yes. Rev?" Oh, Hell. Since you're there you might as well come in."
"It is dark in here, should I order the ship to increase the illumination?
"No, I like the dark. It soothing and comforting. It means that I don't have to get headaches from the brightness of the light.
"Beka, talk to me. I am worried about you." Rev stepped across the room the carpet beneath his sandaled feet absorbing the sounds he made. He could sense rather than see where Beka was huddled, sprawled on the floor, his arms bare to the shoulder and her torso covered in loose black and silver mesh shirt.
He knelt down beside her and was felt sadness more than anger when his unspoken fears were confirmed when the eye droplet containing the drug known as Flash. He picked up the eye dropper and the metal syringe that had been thrown into a corner by her rumpled unmade bed. "Tell me the truth,' Rev Bem demanded, his outward calm disappearing in his anger and fear for his friend, "Have you been taking Flash!"
"Yes. What of it! I'm a big girl, Rev. I can take care of myself. It's not like I'm addicted to the stuff. I need the rush, I need the extra adrenaline especially if Dylan expects to guide the convoy through slipstream. I'm the best. I'm the only one who can do it."
"Beka, do you have any idea how dangerous this is to your mind and body?"
"Of course it do. "Beka suddenly sobbed her whole body shaking with a sudden spate of the chills. "You know, Rev. It's funny. I'm always all the one who is expected to have it all together. I'm the strong one. The one everyone looks to have a plan and to know just what to do, and now I fell like I'm falling apart into a thousand pieces."
"What can I do to help?"
"Be my friend, Rev," Beka whispered.
Rev Bem hurled the hated metal tools as far as he could and held her trembling hands in his own. "To death and beyond, Beka."
"Thanks, I mean that. Leave me, now. I'll be okay. "Beka managed a shaky smile and got up to run a comb through her tangled blonde curls.
Rev Bem did not say anything just left her to compose herself and went back out into the hallway with much to think about.
Interlude
Tyr's expression and stance was of a highly suspicious old soldier forced to put up with a boring and unnecessary inspection by the brass. Inspection; 'That's hardly surprising that he would be alert for any and all eventualities and some that I can't even imagine,' Beka thought to herself. Blinking in the harsh light of the command deck, a marked contrast from the dimness of her quarters, Beka took the seat in the pilot's chair once Tyr vacated it. Mentally running through her pre-flight check list helped her focus on what needed to done and stave off attack of the jitters and the uncommonly loud pinging noises in the back of her head. 'I've had and endured hangovers that did not feel anywhere as bad as this, hell, when it's said the high is great but the crash and burn is worse, they weren't kidding. Concentrate, kiddo. Dylan, plus a few thousand ships captains and their crews are counting on you." These thoughts circled around in her head and chased the other darker thoughts of the drug Flash coursing their her blood stream. The fine blonde hairs at the nape of her neck tingling with tension. Beka finished her pre-flight task, double checked the coordinates on her display screen and sent all ships message via sub space that she was ready to go, confirmation was short to follow.
Beka felt both the ship and her entire body leap forward when the ship entered the first window in the slip stream, rocking the ship in a giant cradle of energy. That energy allowed faster than light travel to points almost everywhere in the galaxy no matter how far distant they were from each other. Glancing at the galactic map displayed on navigational computer monitor, Beka kept counting down all the coordinates necessary to reach, hoping that the buoy and the device that Harper had rigged to make sure the other ships of the line were following the trail of breadcrumbs were still following, and all still in one piece.
Distantly, as if he were shouting from across a cavernous room, or from very far away, she could hear Dylan suggesting, then ordering, then pleading with her to take a break, to hit each dot along the slipstream without resting herself and the ship. Beka wanted to punch something, but her hands gripping the helm controls were frozen in place. Beka didn't feel like something about from the ship at this point, just something that existed for the sole purpose of giving the High Guard ship direction, commands, and making sure they all reached their destination.
Aftermath
"You did good, kiddo." Dylan smiled and assisted to get to a sitting position on the exam table.
Beka shook her, the buzzing sensation in the back of her head subsiding at last. "Did we make it?" And cursed herself for slurring the words. Her mouth tasted like something had crawled in and died. She spit out a gobbet of saliva and accepted the glass of water that Trance, who stood nearby, handed to over. "Drink it. It will make you feel better."
"I hope so, I can't imagine feeling any worse than I do now."
"Under normal circumstances with your condition, but frankly I'm torn being angry with you and impressed. Right now the anger is taking precedence."
"Okay, okay, I get it."
"You did like to your friends about taking Flash," Trance added.
"And you while under said drug's influence you pulled a gun on your fellow officers and your commanding officer." Dylan said.
"I thought I could control, I never stopped to think it would control me."
"It's a reason, but I'll take what I can get."
"Beka, you had us all scared. Promise me, you will never do anything like that again," Trance asked holding a medical scanner over her patient and inputting the data into Beka's chart. "Promise." Beka replied, turning her head to where Dylan stood at the side of her exam table. "Wait, did you say you were impressed?"
"I did. I didn't think anyone could successfully navigate through as many slip stream jumps as you just did." Dylan shook his head in mingled admiration and awe. "You emerge from that experience nothing worse for wear than a severe head ache and passing out from sheer exhaustion."
"I passed out?"
"Yes," Dylan grinned. "Tyr actually had to cut you out of your belt harness, extract you from the chair and carry you to the infirmary. I certainly did not to get in his way when that happened."
"I think," Beka said, slowly and distinctly, that when Trance releases from this place I shall need to have a chat with our Nietchzean friend. I don't like being treated like a cargo being loaded onto a freight transporter."
"Now I know you're feeling better." Trance laughed. "Give her time to rest and recover, Dylan. I'm make sure that she stays put until she's ready to return to active duty."
"Keep me informed," Dylan replied, "Do want the doctor tells you, Beka. I'll be on the command deck."
Chapter 5: Dead Men Walking
Disclaimer: Andromeda belongs to Tribune Entertainment and Fireworks Productions, as do all related characters, concepts and events. The story takes place around the time of the events show in the 2nd season episode "Lava and Rockets"
Note: The story picks up from where "Makes You Stronger" left off.
"Dead Men Walking" by Karen
Richie Ryan had mixed feelings about his placement in the command structure of the ship. Okay, so going by outward appearances alone he looked to be somewhere in his mid-twenties.
However, by Immortal standards with the additional complication that he was now stuck hundreds of years in the future, did present a few considerable drawbacks. Like now. Except for Harper, everyone else, but mostly Tyr and Beka, seemed to think that he was some wet behind the ears rookie who needed to be watched over and protected. 'Beka Valentine. Now there was a woman!" Richie thought with some exuberance, "Too bad about that 'kid brother' treatment that she has towards Harper and myself.'
Richie felt that he had outgrown that during the time he lived off and on with his old mentor, Duncan Macleod. After months spent aboard the Andromeda Ascendant he certainly no longer needed to be treated in that way.
Centuries ahead of his own time was enough to give anyone a case of time lag, it just made his head hurt to think about it too much.
Yet, here was, flat on his stomach welding deck plates and running maintenance checks. "So I'm aboard this universe's largest, fastest and most sought after starship, and I'm still just a glorified grease monkey. I really need to get a new travel agent. I mean, hell, what was my last travel agent but a glorified grease monkey. Damn you. Mason."
Richie adjusted his weight to relieve the cramp in his legs from being in one position too long, and bumped his head on the overhead archway. 'Damn."
"Did you say something?" Harper yelled from the far side of the engineering bay.
"No, just muttering to myself,' Richie replied, after a moment of thought," Did you say the grid of the ion glide drives was in here?"
"Yeah, just hang on a sec while put the finishing touches on this baby," Harper said.
The shorter man came over as Richie slithered out of the maintenance tube so that Harper could get inside to look at the ion grid. While he was doing that Richie took the chance to get the circulation going by doing some quiet stretching motions. Harper finished his inspection and backed out again. "The grid's in there all right, it's just a teensy bit fried, so what I want you to do is reroute the power from one of the subroutines and reboot it."
"Got it," Richie replied
Inside Machine Shop Three
"I don't trust you. I never have." Tyr greeted Methos, the door sliding shut on its gimbaled hinges, Methos almost missed the effect of old fashioned door slamming to, and it would match the glare that Tyr leveled directly at him.
"Well, bully for you. I warned you that you shouldn't trust me. You'd think it would penetrate that thick head of yours. Funny, isn't it, how I always seem to end up tagging along on the coat heels of the boy-scout types." Methos shook his head, thinking the matter through. "You know what they say, the more things, the more they stay the same. I must be cursed, or something."
"I do hope you are not including me in that category." Tyr allowed a small smile to slip out, amused and annoyed by the smaller man.
"Heaven forbid," Methos sneered. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I've been around you blokes long enough to realize one thing, and that's you are very much like me. Looking out for number one."
"A survivor. I have mentioned this to Dylan on several occasions, but when the universe comes to an end, there will be three survivors, cockroaches, Tyr Anazazi, and Dylan Hunt trying to save the cockroaches."
"I prefer to think of the survival rate a little bit on the higher scale for my species, thanks anyway." Methos sneered. "I am getting the distinct feeling that you are not here to compare notes on survivor outlooks.
"No."
"Then why are you here?"
"I was about to ask you the same thing. This section of the ship is off limits."
"Never stopped me before."
"Are you always this annoying and sardonic?"
"Yeah, it keeps people at arms length."
"What's in here is my personal property, and I am not fond of you getting your hands on it."
"Is that a threat?"
"Yes." Tyr sauntered forward much in the manner of a black panther stalking prey in the jungle, his bone blades embedded into his forearms out end extended, arms folded in such as a way as to provide maximum room for maneuverability.
"The fact that you are here, precludes my asking your knowledge of the contents."
"Curiosity killed the cat." Methos tried for glib response, until he came up with something better to say or a way to get rid of the obstacle in his path. Dealing with Tyr was much akin to dealing with oncoming traffic during rush hour in a large metropolitan city. This particular obstacle, dread-locks and all, possessed a dangerous ability to see through Methos' act. Not to mention he already did some considerable background checking. Methos was in the business of survival, and Tyr could conceivable prove to be a threat.
"I can arrange that." Tyr smoothly replied.
"I bet you could," Methos remarked.
"Speaking of curiosity," Tyr remarked, "Cut the macho bullshit, and let's discuss something else. Like you for example. I've had my eye on you ever since your rather inexplicable arrival."
"What's there to say," Methos shrugged. "What you see is what you get."
"I have observed your interaction with the young man, Ryan, and observed your, let us be realist; aloof, arrogant, and somewhat patronizing ways of dealing with people. "
"Oh, this should be good."
The thing that struck me the most was your ability to camouflage yourself."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, if I did not know any better, I would say you are very much a chameleon, analyzing the parameters of the given environment, situation, and particulars and changing to fit those parameters. It's how you survive."
"Well, I'll be damned. Someone finally figured me out."
"I would not be so flippant if were you," Tyr rumbled. "It's not all I've learned. I took bits and pieces, clues and put them together. Item, you appear out of nowhere; you have no records in any of the computer databases."
"Is that so strange? I mean after 300 years do you really expect to have accurate databases of everyone in the galaxy. It's a big galaxy."
Tyr ignored the deliberate attempt at distraction and continued to list off his findings. "Item 3: Trance's required medical exam showed elevated amounts of electro magnetic activity in the hippo campus region of your brain, as well as Mr. Ryan.'s.
"So?" Methos fidgeted; eager to find a way to get rid of Tyr so that he could get a peek inside the glass enclosed box. From his rifling through the Andromeda's ships' logs had put two and two together and the evidence was coming to one conclusion. Ryan and Pierson were not entirely human.
Tyr had gone to considerable lengths to secure the remains of his pride's biological ancestor, and in fact, would kill to make sure that those remains stayed in his possession. Anything that valuable was worth looking into.
In addition, one could only drink so much alcohol in a stretch of time before needing something else to occupy one's attention. Based on the fragments of the diary that he had been able to download into his personal terminal from the diary of the Mad Peresied, Hastuari, which referenced his name, and the Watchers Chronicles, had prompted Methos to act and seek out the remains of the Nietchzeian progenitor, Drago Kazov.
"So, such concentrated activity is not normal in the brain of a human being."
"Can I look in the box?" Methos interrupted, deliberately ignoring the warning in Tyr's last statement.
"So, I believe that you are capable of putting the pieces together as well as I. That is the true reason that led you here." Tyr walked over, grabbed a handful of the man's loose shirt and thrust him away were the man fetched up against the opposite wall. "No, you may not look in the box. A little focus, please."
"What's in the box?" Methos interrupted, stalling for time, believing that he understood the implied meaning underlying the big man's words. 'Could he really have discovered that he's got not one but two Immortals on board?' This thought flashed through Methos' head like a bolt from a summer lighting storm and on the heels of that thought:
"Okay, let's assume for the sake of argument that he's learned about Immortals, I can't afford to trust him, and he can’t afford to trust me." How can I turn this situation to my advantage?' Aloud he said: "Okay, out with it? What do you want?"
"The truth, or as much as skewed pieces of it as you can manage."
"This is gonna take a while, and talking is such thirsty work," Methos grinned.
"Hey, do you think we could go somewhere and you could buy a few beers or a whole 12 pack?"
Elsewhere
"We've been at this for hours," Richie griped, sifting the black dirt of Trance's garden through his fingers studying how the dirt caked beneath his nails while Trance's were still as smooth and even as when they had begun the project. The shape and design of the planets reminded Richie of the bonzai trees that Tessa used to decorate his old mentor's Duncan Macleod's river barge. Funny how random, somewhat useful memories get dredged up when your body is occupied with other less pressing tasks, Richie muttered.
"While gardening and pruning may not be high on your list of fun things to do, Richie," Trance paused and flashed him a brilliant smile; "I assure you this is a method behind my perceived madness."
"Knowing you, Trance, by the time you come out with it, I probably wouldn’t understand it anyway."
"I think you over estimate me and don't give yourself enough credit, Richie. In the short time you've been a crew member, you've made excellent progress."
"Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, but I don't see how learning to garden is going to help."
"It's more than just a hobby, it's a metaphor."
"Okay, okay, I see it’s useless to argue with you or try to change the subject, so I'll bite. Tell me. Oh wise one."
"Richie, sometimes I feel that you do occasionally display a flash of brilliance beyond your years."
"It's about the Immortal business, isn't it?" Richie grinned. "I don't think it's any of my doing, but I appreciate the compliment anyway."
"Immortals, ah yes, this is more about you than your compatriot, Methos, he worries me. And he name did appear in the writings of the mad Perseid's diary."
"Hey, Trance, don't sweat it, Methos worries everybody. Did you know, that back home there a secret society that had an entire archive dedicated to keep tabs on his life."
"I think you know something about that you are being circumspect about.
"Don’t you ever come right out and say exactly what you mean?"
"If I did, it would take away all of the mystery." Trance grinned, came over from her stool placed up against the far wall and came to sit on the floor next to Richie. "Seriously, though, I think my best friends, and I like to count you among that number, Mr. Ryan, is that it's all about recreating oneself. I did take them a long time to be accustomed to the new golden older version of the Trance they knew and were comfortable with."
"A bit of shock, I have to admit." Besides on the recreating oneself, Methos could tell you stories, hell, he could probably spin an epic. That isn’t what you really wanted to talk about it, huh?"
"No, but it does lead into what I do have to say."
"So go for it."
"My race is an old one, and there is still much I do not understand about my people, have I told you that we possess the ability to see into all possible, potential futures.
The problem is that I never can see that one perfect future clearly enough to predict the outcome of our actions."
"You make mistakes, Trance. And besides if everyone could see the future nothing would ever get done to make it happen."
"You and I are the only ones with the exception of Methos who are aware of the existence of Immortals.
"Tyr is getting rather suspicious of late, Richie shrugged figuring that it was only a matter of time before the secret would get out. Even aboard a ship easily ten times the size of his hometown of Seacouver, Seattle, and with a small crew complement, and have dealt with someone as sharp and insightful as Trance, Richie knew that it was the kind of secret he could hide indefinitely. And among the entire crew, if anyone could handle and be trusted with the secret it would have to be Trance.
I doubt that when Dylan, Beka and the others do find out," and I Methos and I agreed,
Well, you know how he is, we're not about to decapitate each other."
"Hey, Trance," Richie paused thinking the matter over, "You know I've been operating under the assumption that we're the only ones around, but how do we know that for sure. I mean, for a while back on my Earth, it seems Immortals kept coming out of the woodwork, and then it started drying up."
"If I understand the set of Rules governing Immortals, it is necessary for one your kind to fight another for some nebulous "Prize', correct?"
"Yeah, but Methos already made it pretty clear he isn't interested in taking my head, and considering he is already pretty much a living legend, I'm grateful. I really, really, do not want to fight the guy."
"How old is he supposed to be again?"
"Give or take a decade, he's 5,000 years old."
Trance let out her in held breath in a soft whistle. "Rather impressive." It's best to leave our Neitzchean friend, Tyr in the dark, he would be very envious if he found out. He prides himself on being genetically bred to be the ultimate survivor."
"Yeah. I noticed that, too." Richie grinned. "Although, I hate to admit this, but I'd like to see the expression on his face when he finds out that Methos beat him to the punch centuries before he was a glimmer in his Ma's eye."
Interlude
The tent walls tremble in the chilly night wind, but neither Tyr nor his chosen mate, Freya, feels it. It might be due to their enhanced systems, or might be the heat of their passion. With the acclaim of the assembled Pride, Tyr will beget himself a son. The woman is everything that he could ever have hoped for. Strong, bright, and fierce. The bracelets that symbolize their union fall from their bindings around their upper forearms and clatter when they hit the floor. Tyr doesn't care and neither does Freya. While Tyr is well aware of the value of a symbol, it is after all, just a material object. It is the deeds that matter.
When its over Freya stands up and holds up the blue and the red vials, the smile on her face both one of triumph and wonder. "We will have a son," she says. "Although I must tell you something, not all within the pride are anxious for you to become the leader. Factions are forming that will oppose you. Also, this is mere rumor, but I heard it whispered that another could well claim to have bloodlines that predate the Progenitor."
"What are you talking about, woman?" Tyr demanded.
"I have already said too much. I must go." Freya left, and Tyr puzzled over her parting words.
Germany WWII era, Nazi meeting hall
The atmosphere of the meeting hall is close and tense and that isn't from the leader's sense of danger all around, danger perhaps exclusively with him as the target. In time of war, it more than common sense to take precautions, it was becoming a matter of survival. The meeting room was packed, the majority of the attendees clad in the brown uniforms, knee high army boots, and caps issued by their individual unit commanders. Only a handful sported brightly clashing medals and buttons on the lapels of their coats, or tight-fitting caps upon their heads.
Facing the neatly lined up rows of metal folding chairs so that all the seats faced towards a carefully constructed wooden platform and it's a recent addition to the meeting hall, one built for a purpose.
Tonight the Leader was scheduled to announce a break through in military science by one of the most brilliant minds their home country had ever produced.
Trying to fade into the background, just another face in the crowd, the man called Adam Pierson raises a hand to the brim of his cap and pulls it down lower so that it shadows his blue eyes. He doesn't know exactly what the science boys had in mind when they said they'd made in breakthrough discovery on just what makes the Ayran race superior to all others. On top of that they had also discovered a way to isolate that particular genome and duplicate it, so he felt compelled to be there for the meeting.
Encounter (present Day)
In the absence of Captain Dylan Hunt, Beka Valentine or even Tyr, they had chosen to give Harper command of the Andromeda. That, in theory, is not a completely far-
fetched concept. It made sense from a command structure standpoint because, Harper, aside from the ship's avatar and Captain Hunt, was the only person aboard who knew the inner workings and systems of the ship inside and out.
The scary part of the idea of Harper being in charge was well, Harper himself. Given who he was and seemingly driven by a need to push the envelope and take chances, Harper tended to fly off the handle when challenged by an opponent.
It could be on an individual basis, or facing the business end of a bunch of very angry Nietchzians warships from Drago Katsov Pride allied with the Jaguar Pride.
"Well, one doesn't need a degree in quantum physics to figure that one out; Bad things will happen."
Richie shrugged and kept his finger pressing down on the firing mechanism, staring at the screen with the little colored blips. 'And here I thought I'd make a great fighter pilot. This is much harder than a 21st century fighter jet. Okay, so they were computer game simulations.'
Trance stood alongside of Richie, scanning the rapidly changing readouts at his control console. Preferably one of the rapidly darting blips on his console without endangering the Andromeda itself.
Riche muttered under his breath, staring dagger puncture holes into Harper's back. "Do something command-like already, would you, Harper, before we all die of suspense or laserfire, whichever comes first."
"Hey, I'm thinking of plan here, okay?"
"No pressure, or anything, but could you think a little faster," Richie muttered.
"You can't outrun Death forever," Harper whispered, "but you can make the bastard work for it. Come on, you gutless wonders!"
Richie sighed,"It's official, we're in the hands of a madman."
Conclusion
"Methos is no longer aboard the ship," Richie stated with the air of someone that has long predicted this event and was not believed. "You know, if you had listened to me earlier when I told you this might happen, we might not be shy one slip fighter now."
"Well, he's never been that reliable a member of the crew," Beka replied. "We can always manage with one less slip fighter. Besides where would he go?"
"I haven't the foggiest, Beka," Richie answered. "But I had Rommie input the course and speed from the flight plan he filed before he left. You know, it might just be the time lag, or the fact that we're not used to be in this time frame, but it's not like him to leave a trail."
"He left a flight plan?" Dylan asked.
"Yeah, but you'd have to ask Rommie about the exact coordinates, because frankly I don't remember the details." Richie scratched the light blond fuzz on his lower jaw, "I always wondered what Methos was up to, and why he ended up here, I mean, the guy's been around for a long time."
"I get the feeling that there's more to this Methos, excuse, what was the other name he went by." Beka said. "Oh right, Adam Pierson, than you're telling us. I think its about time you told us everything, Richie."
"Yeah, but he took that special one that Tyr had his eye on," Richie said.
"Everything," Richie swallowed a sudden dry taste in his mouth. "Well, we all know we're both from an alternate reality timeline, I guess we don't need to go over that again. And we're both from a place called Seacouver, Washington."
"And," Tyr prompted mildly.
"And, look this is difficult enough to explain, even without the additional complication of Adam, damn, Methos, or whatever you want to call him. We discussed this and we both agreed it was best to keep you guys out of it."
"Out of what?" Dylan asked, curious.
"You know what, I've seen my teacher do this most of times when he got backed into a corner and had to 'fess up, so it might just be easier to show you. Trance already knows about the Big Secret, so I guess it's okay to tell them right?"
"It is your call, Richie, but we did agree to tell them when the time was right," Trance replied.
"Yeah, I guess we did." Richie sighed, reaching down to select from a variety of tools that were strapped into his tool belt. "Look, don't get too crazy or freaked out, this is the weird part."
"Weird part?" Beka echoed with the air of someone who could guess what was coming but a part of her wanted to be proved right, and another part wanted to be proved wrong. She liked Richie; he was like the kid brother that Harper or even her owns family could never be.
"Okay, here goes nothing," Richie sighed. He rolled up the sleeve of his work shirt exposing the bare skin of his lower left arm, then unsealed the cutting edge of the tool and cut into the exposed skin. A tiny growing dribble of red very human looking blood seeped from the cut. He grinned, "Okay, watch." Putting the tool back into the belt pouch he held out his arm at full extension, small white electrical sparks playing about the incision in his skin, and in front of the eyes of the watching crew the wound sealed up. It left hardly anything behind except for a tiny white scar. "All gone, see?"
"Yes, I see, how did you manage to do that?" Tyr asked.
"Because Methos are alike. We're what's called Immortals on our world." Richie sighed. "It's a very long story."
"Trance, nothing like this ever came up in their medical diagnostics?
Trance regarded Dylan, "Well, yes, I detected some highly unusual levels of endorphins, white blood cells and electromagnetic activity and enhanced immune system, but nothing out of the ordinary, and I promised Richie I wouldn't say anything until we both agreed the time was right."
"Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather." Dylan shrugged.
"You are not overly concerned that his, how did you put it when Tyr was aboard, Extra-curricular activities might prove dangerous or perhaps counter-productive to our continued well-being?" Rommie asked.
"I hate to admit it, but I don’t count his desertion as drain of the crew's resources. He seemed rather self-absorbed to me and a bit on the arrogant side. When he decided to jump ship, and he probably didn't even stop to consider he'd been leaving Mr. Ryan behind."
"Are you going to do anything about it?" Richie demanded.
"Not unless he causes trouble elsewhere." Dylan grinned.
"You don't know Methos like I do, hell I don't think anybody knows Methos as well as. This would be a really good time to go Joe Dawson and get the full scoop." Look, this is probably not a good idea, and I must be insane for even mentioning this, but you have to understand something about Methos, the guy's been around since the original Dark Ages. All I'm saying is that he's trouble on two legs."
"Are you saying," Tyr interrupted "if you'll pardon my waxing melodramatic,
Tyr asked, "That he's not good enough for heaven, and hell is afraid that he will take over?"
"Yeah, that's about the size of it." Richie muttered. "You'd think it would get easier as you go along, but it never does."
"Relax, Mr. Ryan, your secret is safe with us," Dylan tried to soothed the frayed nerves of the young man. In the back of his mind, Immortals although I wonder where I rank, as how did Tyr put it, an historical anachronism, fate or whatever deity is watching our struggles must be getting a good hard chuckle out of this one. Aloud he said, "Richie, with any luck this desertion of Methos is probably not as bad as you're making it out to be. In the meantime, we'll deal with one crisis at a time. Okay."
"Okay. Okay. I understand, and thank you, sir." Richie grinned.
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