The long and winding Road

 

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any portion of Gene Roddenberry's Andromeda. I just like to bring some of these characters out to visit my playground and promise to put them back when we've finished our game. No money has been made as a result of this fan's creation.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: There is little canonical information regarding the past of Telemachus Rhade. If you find inconsistencies, and have a canonical source to which you can refer me, please do it so that I might refine this work and bring it a little closer into alignment with “Andromedaverse.”

REVIEWS/FEEDBACK: Yes, please!

Chapters 50 - 60

Chapter 1

When Dylan Hunt heard the slaver’s introductory auction call and the crowd’s answering cry of anticipation, he knew there would be trouble, just not to what magnitude. He’d even purposely and loudly tried to distract his companion, attempting to divert his interest to some insignificant collection of baubles for sale at a nearby merchant’s tent. It had almost worked, would have worked with anyone else had that person not had the benefit of genetically enhanced hearing.

“Slavers,” the Nietzschean growled, gravel grinding beneath his boots as he did a complete about face toward the direction of the announcements.

“Rhade, we don’t have time for a rescue mission or to wreak havoc on slavers—“Hunt hissed, making a grab for his companion’s arm, catching only air as Telemachus strode beyond his grasp, disappearing into the milling crowd.

Dylan rushed after him, cursing under his breath, hoping some miracle would occur to prevent Rhade from doing anything conspicuous. If that miracle happened to be the ground opening up into a gaping maw beneath the unsuspecting man, then so be it. Dylan didn’t get his miracle, although Rhade did stop his angry march near the front of the crowd, powerful arms crossed over his chest, glaring menacingly at the scene developing before him.

A small, makeshift stage sat in the center of the market; the human-looking auctioneer leaned casually on the makeshift podium, smiling broadly at his growing audience. His silky clothing was gaudy and loud, vaguely reminding Dylan of an explosion at a paint factory, failing to hide the rotund physique beneath. Behind the stage, a small, enclosed cart was wheeled into position.

With a quickly barked order from the auctioneer, two burly men in distressed leather vests and leggings unlocked the doors and dragged a bony old human man into the bright light of twin suns. The old man coughed and squinted at everything. The bidding began slowly and without enthusiasm.

“Rhade, we really can’t—don’t have time for this—not now,” Dylan whispered, trying to sound compassionate, hating the idea of slavers nearly as much as the Nietzschean, but he knew it was a battle he’d already lost. “I understand your stance on slavers, but we have to choose our battles,” he added pointedly.

Telemachus cast the human a withering glance and would not be moved. “Go then. I’m staying.” Dylan could almost hear the other man’s words being engraved in stone on some distant world.

“We can’t really do anything about this—not here, not now—we’re sort of outnumbered, in case you hadn’t noticed,” Dylan pressed.

“Wait,” Rhade insisted, the tension in his voice rising to a dangerous level, his demeanor changing in a way that Dylan could almost touch, but didn’t understand.

“A fine morsel next up,” the auctioneer promised, snapping his fingers at the handlers.

The pair reached inside the cart and drug out a lifeless corpse, a dark-skinned demi-human male. The auctioneer frowned, gesturing quickly. The handlers tossed the body back into the cart amidst protest from the occupants. At a signal from the auctioneer, the handlers drug out another equally limp body.

“Ahh...here is the promised morsel,” he announced excitedly as the pair mounted the stage, their cargo equal as limp as the previous.

Rhade’s reaction wasn’t specifically what Dylan had expected, although he wasn’t certain what his expectations should have been. The other man made some dangerous guttural sound, visceral and deep. Dylan grabbed Rhade’s arm as he began to move forward, not missing the sudden bunched tension or bone blades threatening to explode from some heated instinctual reaction.

Long, dark blond hair matted in blood stuck to a dirty female face that the auctioneer gently raised with his gavel. Her eyes remained closed as he peeled back her lower lip. “Lovely teeth,” he commented, his thumb lingering on her lip for a moment. “Don’t let her current state fool you. This is one healthy young female, a fine addition to any household or harem. Too highly spirited for some of the more delicate members of our audience, we were unfortunately forced to sedate this prize.” He then began an expose of her skills and talents, caressing her pale cheek occasionally.

“You don’t need a personal slave-girl,” Dylan nearly exploded, exasperated, but Rhade would not be deterred.

“...finely ornamented as well, ” the man continued, nodding to one of his workers who unlocked a metallic gauntlet on the girl’s arm. It clanked to the deck of the stage. Gingerly, the man pulled a delicate bone blade from its slumber at the base of her wrist, and its companion blades flared in agreement down her forearm. There were mutters of surprise and the enthusiastic bidding began almost spontaneously.

“How much do we have?” Rhade demanded quickly, dark eyes intense, countenance strangely fevered.

Dylan puffed his cheeks and exhaled, “Probably not enough to buy you that girl and get the supplies for Andromeda’s repairs, if that’s what you’re getting at,” he replied as he listened to the bids grow higher.

“Repairs can wait,” Rhade announced, throwing his hand into the air, barking out a bid of his own.

Chapter 2

Harper pranced around like a squirrel on flash, impatiently awaiting the arrival of the Eureka Maru. His curiosity was killing him, and he was anxious to get his hands on whatever Dylan and Rhade had been able to procure. It only added to the excitement that Hunt had been particularly tight-lipped regarding the Maru’s cargo.

“I sincerely doubt that the—supplies—we acquired today are going to provide much in the way of repairs, at least not for the Andromeda,” Dylan had replied tersely to the engineer’s question about the quality and quantity of the incoming inventory. “Hunt out.”

Beka Valentine was equally as anxious for the Maru’s return, but for entirely different reasons. She scowled at the scanner’s display, drumming her fingers on the lip of the control panel, charting her ship’s progress from the planet to The Andromeda.

She hadn’t been completely happy with the plan for the operation, and was very verbal about it, particularly the bit about her not piloting the Maru. Dylan was easily the most diplomatic negotiator they had, so it was reasonable that he would spearhead the excursion for supplies. She had energetically lobbied to go along, reminding him of her excellent bartering skills, not failing to emphasize to him half a dozen times that it was her ship that was going to be doing the traveling.

Dylan countered that if were going to leave Andromeda, someone reliable had to be in charge. For the moment, Beka had been the most qualified candidate for the position, although she had still tried to argue the point with Dylan. In the end, Dylan won out; he had taken Rhade and the Maru to get supplies. Beka grudgingly agreed and remained behind on The Andromeda, sadly contemplating their present circumstances. Through a series of extended circumstances too bizarre to comprehend, they had been vomited into a twisted existence that precariously perched itself between ludicrous and unfathomable. She had given up trying to understand it, and concentrated instead on trying to survive it.

Trance still floated between lucidity and oblivion, her memories and mental state still fluctuating from moment to moment, making it impossible to leave her alone and unsupervised. Just when it was apparent to all of them that her personal good luck charm was so much more than an enchanting enigma, possessing some godlike ability to reshape reality, the events surrounding Arkology had reduced a brilliant mind into a confused infantile state of gentle curiosity. A gifted healer, Trance had more than once used complex medical techniques to snatch a life from the brink of death. Now, she seemed sincerely doubtful about a plant’s need for water and UV light.

While Beka would have surmised that Harper’s mental state was equally as suspect as their ethereal friend, every additional minute he spent improvising repairs on the Andromeda was one minute less they’d be stranded in this godforsaken nightmare. Of all of them, Seamus’ trip through the confusing Route of Ages had taken a lengthier but less understandable turn—if any of it could be understood at all. Three years of time had passed for him before being reunited with his former crewmates, although the gift of his twisted genius had remained intact and deliberate.

As for Rhade—well, that was another story. She heaved a sigh and considered the Nietzschean. There had been a time in the not-too-distant past that Dylan Hunt’s immediate decision would have been to leave the Weapon’s Officer in command of the ship and crew with complete confidence. That was a different time. Out of all of them, Beka counted the man the most adversely affected by their journey through the fold in time and space. For him, nine months had lapsed, leaving him with a fragmented memory of events prior to the disaster than culminated into their present. Poor Telemachus, Beka thought, in an uncharacteristically kind moment. Previously an insanely competent military strategist, he had been carefully bred through the generations before him to be groomed into a privileged life of sophisticated elegance and logic. There had been a lethal and terrifying grace in his hand-to-hand combat skills. These days, however, he spent one drunken moment to the next either in search of the next drink or the arms of the next woman.

Beka marveled that Dylan hadn’t lost his desire to crusade for a reunited Commonwealth, even given the present situation. She reminded herself to take into consideration that the trip through the fold in time and space had lasted only minutes for him, so he was only slightly taken off stride on his fool’s quest. She, on the other hand, had spent that same moment of eternity that spanned into six months for her. She’d nearly died alone on the Maru—fuel exhausted, food and water consumed days ago, life support failing before she’d had the good fortune to be discovered by pirates. While Dylan remained cautiously optimistic that they would all find some solution to this problem and soon find a way to their proper place in the cosmos, Beka wasn’t convinced that it was even possible, and she was satisfied to simply keep living from day to day.

She was interrupted from her thoughts by Harper’s satisfied yelp of excitement. “Hey, boss! The Maru’s clearing the hangar bay doors in three—two—one—bingo, and she’s back!”

“My baby better not have a scratch on her, Dylan Hunt,” she whispered grimly as she monitored the progress of her beloved cargo hauler’s landing on the hangar deck.

“Race you to the hangar!” Harper cackled, rushing out of Command before Beka could comment.

“Not a scratch,” she repeated as she followed.

Chapter 3

Dylan Hunt cast a side-long glance toward Beka's small cabin beyond the Eureka Maru's cockpit, wondering for the ten thousandth time what was going on in Rhade's head. The man had become eerily quiet, and it was starting to unsettle him.

"You know, if I came to with your ugly mug two inches from my face, I'd probably die of sudden fright," Dylan cautioned, trying to lighten the tense mood.

"I can promise you by whatever you want to me swear it against, that our faces will never be that close, not while I draw breath," Rhade muttered with absent distaste. "Besides, I'm just making sure she's all right," he offered casually, resting his palm lightly on her forehead.

"By watching each and every single breath she takes?" Dylan demanded. "Rhade, you've literally hovered over her for the entire trip—been crouched at the head of that bunk the whole time! I hate to drag you away from your new hobby, but we're on approach to the Andromeda and you might want to get strapped in for arrival."

Rhade reluctantly agreed, murmuring something quietly to the girl before he slung himself into the co-pilot's seat, grudgingly snapping restraints into place. He nodded toward the waiting warship. "Land gently," he admonished with sincerity, glancing back toward Beka's cabin again. "She's had a difficult enough time recently without having to deal with your poor piloting skills, too."

Dylan flipped a mock salute. "Aye, commander, as you wish," he frowned slightly, smoothly bringing the Maru onto the hangar deck.

Rhade had his prize gently wrapped in a blanket, tucked up against his chest before Dylan had the engines completely shut down.

Dylan considered the pair for a moment. "I'm sure Trance will be able to help her," he offered. "I'll catch up with you later."

If Rhade heard, he made no comment, carefully shifting the girl in his arms before carrying her past the cockpit.

"Mr. Harper, I could use some help with the cargo," Dylan shouted out the hatch, his words accented by the stomping of Rhade's boots carrying him down the ramp.

Dylan didn't bother to glance out the portal, but crossed his arms and began counting from the moment Rhade left to the moment Seamus Harper would discover that Telemachus Rhade wasn't lugging a battered crate down the ramp. He got to three, closed his eyes, and leaned his weary head against the bulkhead.

"Woo-hoo! Now that's my kind of supplies," Harper crowed, followed by his loud protest of being unceremoniously shoved off the ramp. "I'm all right—I only fell a couple of feet, big guy. I'm sure you didn't see me right there in front of you!"

Dylan leaned his head out the hatch to see Harper dusting himself off, hopping back onto the boarding ramp as Rhade disappeared around the hangar exit, Beka waving her arms excitedly around her face as she followed him.

"I really could use some help with the rest of the cargo," Dylan admonished.

Harper glanced up hopefully. "Any more, uh, cargo like Rhade lugged out?"

Dylan shook his head and sighed. "Nope, we're fresh out of unconscious young women, but we've got some greasy mech stuff just waiting for your genius to turn them into some repairs for the Andromeda."

Harper considered the options and shrugged. "Almost as good, boss, almost as good. Besides, that girl needs a chance to clean up and rest up before she meets The Harper," he grinned.
"Now, let's look at those parts the anti-tech league managed to let slip past them," he enthused, rubbing his hands together eagerly.

"...you just bought this girl?" Beka demanded again, still waving her hands around her head, trying to force the words to make sense either to herself or to the strangely silent Nietzschean. "And Dylan let you?"

For a moment, Telemachus Rhade's long purposeful strides halted. "I don't need Dylan Hunt's permission to do as I choose," he snapped.

His dark eyes flashed as he considered the angry human woman at his side, and it seemed that he might speak. During the next heartbeat, Beka was sure she saw a swell of the old Rhade—the reasonable and sane Rhade--lurking in those eyes, and she wanted nothing more desperately than to draw him out further.

At length, he shook his head, and his expression softened. "I will explain it to you later, Beka," he began, in the patient tones of a wizened teacher to a first-day pupil. "But for now, can we please just get to Medical?"

"Okay," Beka conceded, "but you've got some serious explanations to make, buster. And don't get any big ideas about starting a harem or anything like that. It's hard enough to keep Harper's mind on what he's supposed to be doing anyway," she added tersely, following in his wake.

Chapter 4

Trance Gemini sang softly to her lemon tree as she misted its waxy emerald leaves. The fragrant blossoms were just beginning to open, and their light scent was just starting to waft about. Hydroponics was more and more a sanctuary to her these days as she struggled internally with a burden of growing knowledge that she fought to keep under wraps. She found that nurturing the plants in her garden was a blissful distraction from the chaos of converging realities; it was something comforting and non-threatening that she could control with a practiced ease.

She was jarred from her tranquil state by a hiss of static, and Holo-Rommie's unexpected appearance in the garden's fountain. The image was slightly unstable as it shimmered with white noise as water gurgled through it.

"You're needed in Medical, Trance," the hologram announced, lips moving slightly out of sync with the projected voice.

Trance put the misting sprayer down. "I'll be right there," she answered, hurrying toward the corridor.

Before the doors slid open for Medical, Trance could hear Beka barking orders and Rhade replying in equally tense tones. Trance couldn't help smiling. It sounded like a scene from the not-too-distant past replaying itself, the past where she knew what she was supposed to be doing, even when her motives remained a mystery to those around her. The present was a frightening prospect for her, because she was still missing pieces of what Harper referred to as "the big picture," and she lived in fear that something was terribly wrong and it was very important to find those missing pieces before… She wasn't sure what, but she knew it was vital to find those pieces.

With a deep breath, she entered Medical, prepared to face whatever medical emergency awaited.

Rhade and Beka stood on opposite sides of one of the exam tables, waiting for Trance, each with equally grim and expectant expressions. A young woman was bundled loosely in a blanket. Her eyes were closed, and her face was battered.

The bio-scanner view screen was swarming with activity, processing biological information, checking capacities of vital organs, displaying myriad readings. A wave of compassion overwhelmed Trance and she reached out a slender hand to gently touch a darkening bruise on her patient's cheek.

"Who is she?" Trance asked quietly, glancing up at Beka and Rhade. “What happened to her?”

Beka seemed poised to deliver some sharp remark, judging from the unhappy expression on her face, but she crossed her arms instead and looked expectantly to Rhade. "Those seem to be the pertinent questions of the moment, don’t they?" she asked, tapping her boot lightly on the deck.

"Don't be angry, Beka," Trance admonished lightly as she began to undertake an inventory of injuries on a flexi, gently placing the blanket on a nearby counter.

"I'm not," Beka replied, just a little too quickly to be believable.

As Nietzschean bone blades came into view on the bruised arms, both women glanced to Rhade. He'd pulled a silver flask from a pocket and took a slug, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

He met their gazes levelly. "She needs medical attention. Now. Can we please just do that? We can sit around, have a few drinks, and play a jolly round or two of 'Ask Rhade A Thousand Questions' later, all right?"

"It was only two questions," Trance whispered, pouting and offended.

Rhade reached out and lightly touched her golden arm. "Sorry," he said, his voice tight. His eyes were dark and Trance wasn't certain exactly what was brewing in the depths. "Please, Trance, help her."

Trance nodded and smiled. "You know I will, Rhade. Helping people is what we do, remember?"

Rhade tried to return the smile, but only nodded. Trance gently pressed a nano-bot injector against her patient's arm and released a herd of medical-bots into her bloodstream.

"Beka, can you hand me that bio-scanner?" she asked, reaching out absently to her left.

Before Beka could move, the scanner flew to Trance's waiting hand. Beka and Rhade exchanged bewildered looks.

"Thanks," she muttered, losing herself in the preliminary medical exam, slowly waving the device several inches over her patient's body, sending it on an investigative journey from head to toe.

"That's new," Beka mouthed, marking the unexpected flight of the scanner with a finger in the air. Rhade only shrugged indifferently and took another swig from his flask, trying not to hover over Trance's shoulder.

"I, uh, think I'll go find some clean clothes or something for our--guest, Trance, if you don't need me for anything else," Beka announced after a moment. “I’ll help you clean up our new friend when you’re finished.”

"That would be very nice, Beka," Trance agreed, monitoring the scanner's readings.
"Rhade's going to stay here, in case I need some help," Trance added, not looking at either of her companions.

"What she said," Rhade mumbed in agreement, not surprising Beka by remaining rooted where he stood. She doubted there would be much that could cause him to be moved at the moment anyway.

" Fine. I know I'd want a big, ugly uber for a nursemaid," Beka snorted, sauntering out of Medical. "I'll be back later."

Within half a heartbeat's time of the moment that the Medical doors hissed closed following Beka’s exit, Trance turned and looked directly into the dark eyes of the Nietzschean. Her expression was tinged with a desperate sadness.

“Was she in a terrible accident, Rhade?”

“Yeah, an accident called slavers,” he growled.

Trance pointed her scanner to the view screen, highlighting specific areas with a laser pointer. “I won’t lie to you, Rhade, her injuries are very serious. If she were an unmodified human, she wouldn’t have survived, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.

“You see those little green lights, the little flashing ones? Those are the places where the nano-bots indicate that there is serious, potentially life-threatening damage. Several major organs—the liver, a kidney, a lung, and the heart, to name the most important-- have sustained damage,” she explained.

“Awful lot of little green lights up there,” he commented grimly, taking in the display that looked like a neon astro-navigation mapping than a medical scan, peppered with half a dozen flashing green blips in varying degrees of intensity.

Trance nodded, swallowed hard, and continued her macabre demonstration. “The blue lights show where bones are broken or fractured,” she said, indicating the lower half of the left ribcage, lower right leg, several vertebrae, and a nasty line that bisected the back of her skull. “The brighter the light, the more recent the injury. As you can see, some are relatively old, but some are as new as today.”

She chanced a sidelong glance at the man. It wasn’t necessary to have the ability to divine outcomes of probable realities; she knew beyond any question that someone would be paying dearly for the injuries inflicted on the Nietzschean woman. She had no doubt that that someone would be paying with his or her life, if she were any capable judge of the dark anger seething from a dark place deep within Telemachus Rhade’s soul.

Long minutes passed. Ordinarily, the nano-bots would have immediately gone to work, knitting bone fractures together, mending rips in tissue, repairing damage wherever it was encountered. The light patterns and their intensity remained unchanged on the viewer.

“Why aren’t the nano-bots in her system healing her more quickly than this?” he demanded, suddenly breaking the silence that had developed as he and Trance studied the display.

Trance shrugged helplessly. “That I can’t answer right now--I would have expected some improvement already; but you have to remember that these are serious injuries--it may just take longer than we expect. You can tell the nano herds are active, or we wouldn't even see them registered on the viewer."

She scribbled some notes on her flexi, mind awhirl with possibilities. "We’ll have to run some tests, get some blood samples, and see if Harper has any ideas. If anyone can boost their healing capacity, Seamus can,” she said.

Rhade rested his hands on the exam table and wearily watched the viewer. It stubbornly refused to display any alteration in its status, regardless of how hard he glared at it.

Trance gently laid one of her hands on top of his. "What's her name, Rhade?" she asked.

He sighed. "Stasia," he whispered. "Her name is Stasia."

Chapter 5

Harper cocked his head and absently surveyed the contents of the two crates in the Maru’s cargo hold.

“Y’know, boss, you could have just put this stuff in your pockets and dropped it off at the machine shop,” he commented with unveiled sarcasm as he rummaged through the contents.

Dylan sighed, not much happier than the engineer. “I know it’s not much to work with, Harper, but it was the best we could get with the amount of canals we had,” he offered.

Harper glanced up at the captain and nodded. “Well, you still managed to get at least two things that I can use, despite your best efforts to bring back a collection of useless junk. So, what’s the deal with the banged-up babe Rhade carted off to Medical?”

“It’s sort of a long story,” Dylan replied.

“Well, we’ve got nothing but time, since it doesn’t look like the Andromeda’s going anywhere anytime soon,” Beka answered, stepping from the shadows with a small bundle of clothing in her arms. “So, tell us a story about two guys and a considerable amount of wealth who go shopping on a backwater world. Feel free to take it from there.”

“Beka, that’s not fair,” Dylan huffed.

Beka waved a hand in the air, trying to snuff out his beginning of a feeble excuse. “Life’s not fair, Dylan. Haven’t you picked up on that yet, or do you need an interventional reality check today?”

“Uh, Beka, you okay?” Harper ventured, trying to attach one piece of tubing to something that looked like a power coupler. “You seem sorta—I dunno—mad, or something.”

“Let the man tell his story, Harper,” she snapped. “Oh yeah, and let’s hope he doesn’t leave out the part about how most of the considerable wealth belonged to a hard-working cargo pilot named Beka Valentine. I especially want to hear about how these two guys came back with worthless crap—“

“—and a babe,” Harper tossed in quickly before she was too far into her rant for him to shove in a word edge-wise.

She glared at him and crossed her arms, then turned to Dylan again. “--worthless crap that won’t fix the Andromeda or bring us any closer to getting out of this hell-hole.”

“I know this wasn’t the plan, Beka, and I’m sorry you’re disappointed,” Dylan began, trying to sound very diplomatic. “There wasn’t a lot to choose from, and we were expecting that. We were almost ready to leave, and a slave auction started up. Rhade’s reaction wasn’t what I expected. It was almost like--he was the old Rhade again; shocked, indignant, repulsed that sentient beings were being bought and sold. I was actually afraid he was going to start a riot just to shake things up.

“I kept trying to get him to leave—but he was like a mountain, and those aren’t easy to move, especially the Nietzschean variety. It was like he was there for a specific purpose and the purpose was that girl. There was no way he was leaving without her—it was like a moral imperative that couldn’t be denied.”

Beka snorted. “Moral and Rhade? Not something you hear in the same breath everyday. There’s more to it than that, Dylan. Have you noticed how he’s acting? I mean, I know Rhade and women—but this is something else.”

Dylan nodded, remembering the trip back. “We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

Beka turned and stopped short, glancing back at Dylan with a rare smile. “For what it’s worth, Dylan, you guys did the right thing. Nobody deserves to be a slave, not even a Nietzschean.”

Dylan returned the smile, feeling a weight lifting off his shoulders. “Thanks, Beka.”

“But, you still owe me the money I loaned you,” she added with a capricious laugh as she disappeared from view.

Chapter 6

“Stasia,” Trance repeated, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. “That’s a pretty name.”

From a nearby supply cabinet., she retrieved a blood collection kit containing a variety of needles, transparent vials, several syringes, and an assortment of small bits of gauze and adhesive strips. Swabbing her patient’s inner elbow, she glanced uncertainly at Rhade as she readied the long needle. “Um, can you hold her arm while I get some blood?” she asked.

The fleeting uncomfortable expression on his face wasn’t lost on Trance, nor was the momentary trembling of his hands as he gently held Stasia’s bruised arm. The universe could hold whatever opinion of Nietzscheans it wanted; Trance Gemini knew compassion when she saw it.

“I’m sure she won’t even feel it,” Trance soothed, expertly sliding the needle through skin, quickly collecting three small vials of blood. She pressed a small piece of gauze and adhesive over the tiny wound. “All done—and exactly the right color!” she announced with a quick smile, triumphantly admiring the crimson liquid within the collection tubes.

She busied herself with diagnostic equipment, preparing to analyze the blood, intent on discovering whatever mysteries it held. She snaked a glance back at Rhade and saw that he had resumed a calculated appraisal of the bio-scanner’s display. She also noted that he had absently taken one of Stasia’s hands, gently stroking her wrist with his thumb. Concluding a silent conversation with herself, Trance nodded and began to survey the analysis results with satisfaction.

“Here’s the problem,” she announced after a moment.

Another moment passed, and another. Rhade cleared his throat and waited for yet another long moment. “Trance, I’m not a telepath,” he said levelly, fighting to keep his tone civil.

She looked up sheepishly. “Sorry, sorry. There’s a drug called prollaium, and it’s a really super-duper sedative. Stasia’s got loads of it in her blood.”

He nodded, a moment of remembrance passing through his mind. “The slavers said something about keeping her—under control,” he replied, the words leaving a bitter distaste in the back of his throat.

“Well, the other thing it does it puts nano-bots in a dormant state,” she continued excitedly. “That explains why the nano colonies she already has weren’t really working that great, and why the nano herds I just put in didn’t jump up to the plate and go to bat pronto.”

Rhade raised his eyebrows and waited for the golden-hued woman to return to a lucid enough state that he might actually follow her train of thought. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Harper again, haven’t you?” he asked slowly.

She waved her hands in the air. “Rhade, listen!” she implored.

“I’m certainly trying.”

“I think Trance is trying to say she’s got a fix,” Beka supplied helpfully, as she stepped out of the corridor into Medical. “I am right, aren’t I, Trance?”

“Yes, yes!” Trance replied, on the verge of annoyance at being forced to answer questions when she had work to do. She furrowed her brow and worked quickly at a console, keying in one chemical formula after another, synthesizing variable and equations. “I should be able to produce a counter-agent that will basically render the prollaium inert, allowing the nanoes to reactivate and do their work.”

“And she’ll heal,” Rhade concluded, a smile threatening to break his solemn countenance into something less menacing.

“Hey, if you got any left to spare later, we could all use a little healing,” Beka declared.

Chapter 7

The prollaium counter-agent started doing its job almost instantly, evidenced by the activity displayed on the bio monitors. Trance smiled proudly as her patient’s vital signs began to shift into patterns that were more acceptable and less alarming to the casually trained eye.

“You do good work, Trance,” Beka complimented. She idly wondered if this latest turn of events meant that her Trance was coming back, the Trance she’d always referred to as her personal good luck charm, the one who was as dear to her heart as a little sister.

“I remembered how to do some of this stuff!” Trance announced excitedly. “At first, I was afraid when I walked into Medical—but then I just knew what to do!”

“Um, that’s great, Trance,” Rhade replied, suddenly hoping that Trance had remembered all the right things in the correct sequence. Judging from the satisfactory results thus far, he was going to put his positive thought energy into the hope that a good outcome was still possible. He didn’t believe in luck, but he was learning about faith and hope.

She graced him with a knowing smile. “I remembered everything in the correct order,” she told him with great satisfaction.

Dylan and Harper quietly entered Medical.

“How’s our patient, Trance?” Dylan asked, eying the flickering lights on the bio viewer while Harper wandered over for a better look.

“She’s been treated very badly, and has many injuries. There’s a sedative—a drug called prollaium--in her system that had the nano-bots in a dormant state, but I synthesized a counter-agent for it, and everything seems to be working like it’s supposed to,” she reported quickly. “And, her name is Stasia.”

Dylan smiled. This sounded like the old Trance, confident in her ability to help a patient. It was a nice change of pace from the skittish golden woman-child who’d replaced their cheerful purple pixie.

“Good job, Trance,” he said with satisfaction, crossing his arms. “And you know her name—because…” he gestured emptily. “Because you do?”

“Because I told her,” Rhade replied.

“And a little bird told you her name, right?” Harper asked with interest.

The spilling of state secrets had seldom created this degree of anticipation as the senior staff awaited the answer.

Rhade straightened his shoulders. “She is Anastasia Theros, out of Maria by Nikolaus, Pride Majorum,” he announced formally, and seemed to be very pleased to be doing so.

“And you two are acquainted because you shop at the same market on the first day of the week?” Harper continued, tossing out feelers for information—any information—he could get. It could prove to be useful to his overall life expectancy to understand the intimate specifics of Rhade’s relationship to this young lady.

Rhade tossed him a strained expression. “Harper…” he growled, growing impatient with the engineer’s line of questioning.

“Harper, I think you’re treading on dangerous ground here,” Beka said, trying not to smile over the Nietzschean’s obvious growing discomfort. “Rhade, don’t tell us this is the one that got away!”

“Got away from what?” Trance asked, suddenly perplexed.

A new light of understanding dawned on Dylan Hunt’s face. Some of the pieces began to fall into place. He was a patient man; he could wait until a few more pieces were revealed.

“It’s complicated,” Rhade admitted. “We were considering…um…when my situation on Terazed took some unexpected turns, of which you are aware. Stasia would have come with me had I given the word—but she deserved better than to be the wife of a wanted man. I resolved to make myself again worthy, but again with the unexpected turns…then we’re stuck on Seefra. I’m not going to pretend to try to understand any of it.” Wearily, he ran a hand through his dark hair, examining the deck between his boots.

“Sometimes those unexpected turns aren’t necessarily bad things, depending upon your perspective,” Trance offered cryptically.

“It’s really not that fair,” Harper blurted. “You two get the girl all the time!” he ranted, pointing angrily at Dylan and Rhade. “Here’s a prime example—this girl,” he tapped the side of her bed lightly to emphasize his point. “I haven’t even had a chance to lay any of the Harper charm on her, and she goes to Rhade by default. Why can’t I get the girl for a change?” he demanded, tapping the bedside again.

Before anyone could give him a good explanation for his questions, a pale hand flew up from the bedside and grabbed him by the throat, slender bone blades flaring. Startled, he grabbed at the slender wrist, and was dismayed to realize he couldn’t break the steely grip that began cutting off his airway. With a gasp, Stasia’s eyes flew open, green and wide and panicked.

“She’s conscious!” Trance exclaimed happily, clapping her hands.

“That’s great!” Beka enthused.

“Stasia,” Rhade whispered, leaning forward to touch her face gently.

“Choking here!” Harper wheezed, waving a desperate hand in the air.

Dylan rushed over, trying to pry Stasia’s slim fingers off Harper’s throat, not wanting to hurt her but also astonished at the strength he was fighting. “Rhade—a little help here?” he queried as his engineer’s face began turning an odd shade of strangulation blue.

Rhade reached over and grabbed her wrist, gently peeling her fingers out of Harper’s windpipe. The little man staggered back, rubbing at his already-bruising throat. “Whoa! Marking this hottie under the ‘look but don’t touch’ category!”

“Don’t touch me!” she screamed, as she sat bolt upright, her free arm swinging toward Rhade’s throat, bone blades extended for the blow.

“Don’t hurt her!” Trance exclaimed worriedly, dancing around the edge of the bed. Dylan pulled her back quickly as Stasia’s bone blades sliced the air near Trance’s head.

“Stop this!” Rhade yelled, blocking her arm with his, their blades tangling. He wasn’t prepared for the leg that slammed between his legs, knocking the wind out of him. He twisted his hold, grabbed both her wrists and shoved her back onto the bed, holding her down with his weight. “Stasia! Settle down!”

She squirmed and struggled, until her eyes eventually lost their drug-induced glaze and slowly focused.

“Stasia?” Rhade whispered anxiously.

The tension drained from her body. “Telemachus?” she said incredulously.
“It’s me,” he said, carefully pulling himself up to a sitting position at her bedside, taking one of her hands in his with a squeeze. “You’re safe here, Stasia, I swear it.”

“Telemachus!” she burst out, the edge of disbelief sharp in her voice. “This can’t be happening—it’s not real,” she protested, her voice a raspy whisper. Her fingers trembled as they reached up so brush away the dark hair falling into his eyes. She rested her hands on the sides of his face, staring into those eyes that were sadder and wiser than the last time their gazes had been locked together. “You died! The Matriarch sent me the news herself. They buried you on Terazed, laid you to rest with your ancestors.”

He gently placed his hands over hers, basking in the sensation, and rested his forehead against hers. “Untrue. How many times did you stand at my grave?”

Tears pooled in her eyes. “In my darkest nightmares—a thousand times—and cursed myself every time, waking with a wasted soul, a broken heart and empty arms. I’ve grieved over you, Telemachus, and mourned what I lost and what might have been.” Her voice broke and she closed her eyes against the pain of remembrance.

He brushed a tear away, and then studied it intently as it glistened on his fingertip. “I doubt anyone other than my mother’s ever wasted the effort to shed a tear over me,” he said in amazement.

“There were thousands of others just like it,” she whispered, daring to open her eyes again. Her final measure of composure broke with a jagged sob as she found him, solid and real, still with her. Although twisted and impossible, this was no dream, no delusion of a drugged mind—this was all very real.

“Weep no more, my lady,” he admonished, pressing his lips against hers in a soft and tentative kiss, something not quite chaste but not overly demanding. She returned the kiss with enthusiasm, pulling him closer, feeling his strong arms wrapping her into a solid and comforting embrace.

Moments later, they broke apart, breathless and nearly overcome with deep emotion. “Convinced?” he asked, a devilish gleam in his eye.

Her incredulous smile was radiant, her cheeks flushed, and she nodded. “I’ve dreamed of this moment more times than I can count,” she sighed in contentment, resting against his broad chest. “Only there wasn’t a room full of strangers scrutinizing every move we made,” she added with a small laugh.

Chapter 8

“We’re not strangers, Stasia, just friends you haven’t met yet,” Trance said cheerfully as if that suddenly made everything in the entire universe completely better.

“I know she read that on a greeting mini-flexi in a gift shop on some drift,” Harper hissed at Beka, sidling a little closer for security from his some-time captain and friend.

Beka elbowed him really hard in the side to shush him.

“Oh, I’ve already announced you,” Rhade replied to the quick and questioning glance cast his way by the woman in his arms.

“Yeah, you missed that part—it happened just moments before you tried to rip out my throat with your bare hand,” Harper offered congenially, making sure he was out of arm’s reach of either Nietzschean.

“I’m sure it was purely a reflex action brought on by your annoying presence, Harper,” Rhade countered sourly. “I know I fight the urge on a daily basis.”

“Be nice!” Stasia chastised him in a whisper that human ears could barely register as audible sound. “Please, do finish your introductions,” she implored him in more companionable tones, patting his hand.

“Do you remember Captain Dylan Hunt?” he asked her.

She nodded. “Captain Hunt, you earned my deepest gratitude on the day you refused to give Telemachus over to the Council on Terazed,” she said. “Of course, you also promptly took him away to parts unknown, for which you earned some of the choicest curses I could conjure.”

“Uh, sorry about that,” Dylan offered uncertainly.

“Moving on, the lovely golden lady is Trance Gemini, our Medical Officer, who has today earned my deepest gratitude for her physician’s skills.”

“I owe you much, Officer Gemini, and shall endeavor in some way to repay you for your services,” the Nietzschean woman vowed solemnly.

Trance beamed at the accolades bestowed upon her. “We help people; it’s our mission.”

Rhade glanced at Harper and shook his head, turning his gaze instead to Beka who looked back at him with some expression he couldn’t decipher. “Beka Valentine, captain of the salvage ship Eureka Maru—and sometimes Dylan’s Executive Officer.”

The two women appraised one another momentarily. Beka stepped forward and stuck out her hand. “Nice to meet ya,” she said.

“Likewise,” Stasia replied, shaking the offered hand. “A salvager? Amazing.”

“That’s Harper,” Rhade concluded, clearing his throat, jerking his thumb in Harper’s general direction.

Stasia regarded the small human male for a long moment, remorse clouding her weary features. “I do hope you can come to forgive me for my earlier indiscretion,” she said. “It truly was a survival instinct over which I had no control,” she explained.

“Seamus Zelazny Harper, resident genius, engineer extraordinaire, accepts your gracious apology,” Harper declared with a dazzling smile, gently taking her hand to kiss it.

Rhade growled in annoyance and Stasia laughed. “I’m completely charmed,” she said.

Holo-Rommie phased into view near Dylan, surreptitiously clearing her holographic throat with a loud burst of static.

“Last, and certainly not least—“Dylan began, not missing the indignant tone with which the hologram “cleared her throat.”

“I am the Andromeda Ascendant,” the hologram announced in curt tones, hands clasped behind her back.

“Indeed, so you are,” she agreed, not aware that she was slowly digging her fingernails into his arm until Rhade quickly grabbed her hand away to lace her fingers with his.

“There! Now everybody knows everybody!” Trance piped in cheerfully. “But, you’re making my patient very tired—and you all have to leave. Now,” she added, her demeanor suddenly serious and commanding.

Dylan and Harper left without preamble as Holo-Rommie faded.

Beka turned to leave, but Trance grabbed her arm. “Beka, wait. I still need you,” she said quickly. “A patient always feels better when they are clean and in comfortable clothes, and Anastasia will need us to help her bathe and dress.”

Beka looked down at the small bundle of clothes that she had brought for Stasia from the Maru, and started to reply, only to be cut off by Rhade. “I will help with the bathing and dressing,” he announced calmly in non-negotiable tones. “You can go, Beka,” he said, taking the clothes she carried.

“No!” Trance exclaimed. “Rhade, that’s completely inappropriate! Beka, please, stay!” She grabbed the clothes out of Rhade’s hands, trying without success to pull him to his feet. “Rhade, go!”

Beka tapped her foot and crossed her arms. “Rhade, go! Beka, stay! Beka, go! OK, people, which is it?”

“I’m staying right here,” Rhade announced stubbornly. “You can do what you like, Beka, but I’m going to take care of Stasia.”

Trance stamped a small foot impatiently. “This is my Medical Deck, and you do not have my permission to stay, Telemachus Rhade!”

With a smile, Stasia leaned her face against Rhade’s, whispering something that neither Beka nor Trance could hear. Sudden revelation spread across his face like a bright dawn after a stormy night. He carefully pulled himself away from her, but not without another kiss. The kissing lasted longer than Trance deemed necessary and she began energetically clearing her throat, before repeating to him that it was time for him to leave.

“I’ll be back,” he announced as Trance nearly shoved him out of Medical into the corridor.

“And she’ll be waiting,” Trance replied, sealing the entryway before he could change his mind. She waved at him through the plexi-steel portal. “Bye-bye,” she said with a sweet smile, then turned on her heel and walked away, her strides full of great purpose.

Chapter 9

A torrent of confused contemplation threatened to drown Beka. She needed time and some distance from this intensely unexpected situation, some breathing room to sort things out.

For more than two years she had served aboard Andromeda with Telemachus Rhade. During that time she had: admired his military strategies, fought by his side, been possessed by the spirit of the Abyss and nearly succeeded in killing him with her bare hands, hated him for the fact that he was Nietzschean, been amused by his inability to bend rules she simply refused to acknowledge. She knew she’d be surprised if she could even come close to guessing how many hours she’d logged with him in the Maru on yet another of Dylan’s idealistic pursuits of one nature or another. She was shocked to realize that she couldn’t even list five details regarding his private life, prior to his joining the crew—and it wasn’t for lack of trying.

Rhade’s impressive and extensive military records were immediately available upon request through any of Andromeda’s vast databases. Precious little was recorded with regard to his non-military existence beyond basic facts such as Tarazed was his home world and he fell under the species category of Nietzschean. In two years, Beka had been able to personally glean little more information from Rhade himself. The many “No Admittance, Trespassers Will be Prosecuted” notifications posted on the locked hatches of various drifts had always elicited a rebellious urge in her to storm right inside and see whatever it was that someone had barred from public view. Beka sensed on many occasions the obvious “No Admittance” warnings plastered all over any aspect of Rhade’s past and very private life. Those warnings only served to pique her curiosity, creating a gnawing hunger for the information he wouldn’t share with them.

A lifetime ago, or perhaps only a year ago, aboard the ill-fated ship called Arkology, Beka had been given the tiniest glimpse beyond the barriers she so desperately wanted to breach. Rhade’s involvement with the Nietzschean woman, Louisa Messereau, sparked unexpected feelings deep within Beka that shocked her. She felt betrayed by his attraction to the woman, and felt somehow overlooked when it was apparent that Louisa was likewise attracted to Rhade. Beka could suddenly categorize every positive aspect of Rhade’s character, and was hard-pressed to recall any disagreeable traits that he might have carried. By the time Beka realized that she might have romantic intentions of her own toward the man, and that she had probably been in denial of said intentions for at least six months—she realized the opportunity was lost.

Then came the Magog Worldship and the sudden destruction of Arkology. Trance’s desperate bid to save the Andromeda and her crew by hurled them all through the unexplainable Route of Ages. Granted, she had managed to save all their lives in the process, but something had gone terribly wrong. They each found themselves estranged from one another in an entirely different star system. Lost and alone, various lengths of time passed before they were reunited, if one could call the haphazard way they all reformed into a loose group with semi-common goals. Beka was saddened for a long while to realize that each of her companions was a different person than they were before it all happened, herself included.

However, she’d had a bizarre epiphany only last week while she was returning from a supply run to Seefra-4. She’d been absently considering their situations—which had become a recent hobby of hers—listening to yet another broadcast from the mysterious Virgil Vox, when it happened.

“This next song goes out to a lovely pilot with hair like the sun--the one not threatening to blink out of existence, and take us all with it. These are confusing days for all of us, contemplating our journeys through life and the way time changes us.

“A thought for the day, my friend, perhaps it’s only the journey itself that changes, although the destination remains the same. Remember when you travel that strange road ahead, you sometimes have to be refined by the fires on the wayside before you can realize your true worth.”

With that, a mellow jazz montage followed, and Beka’s mind began to coalesce around the words that had been broadcast through the illegal communication. She found herself examining herself very closely since that time, scrutinizing her actions and reactions to everyone and everything around her, trying to estimate their value and worth in the scheme of things. She began to see her former crewmates in a fresher, more appreciative light. Then in a very gradual and subtle way, that aggravating desire returned, and she found herself often idly imagining about Rhade and what secrets he was keeping from all of them. It irritated and fascinated her in equal measure.

Trance had raised her eyebrows at Beka more than once recently when she’d caught her friend daydreaming, lost in her thoughts. “Beka, where are you?” she’d ask with a puzzled laugh.

Beka would make some lame excuse about something she was completely NOT thinking about—an AG drive tuning Harper was scheduling for the Maru, what outfit Doyle would wear next—but she always had the nagging impression that Trance knew the directions in which her mind was wandering. She wasn’t sure which embarrassed her more--the realization that she was attracted to Telemachus Rhade, or the fact that she was feebly trying to hide it from a woman who had at one time possessed the ability to traverse multiple realities.

Before the Seefran madness, Beka had been relatively certain that a certain Nietzschean commander might have reciprocated those feelings. Now, in the midst of the Seefran madness, she was only slightly less certain that her expression of romantic intentions might be spurned. Even when he swam in a drunken haze, Beka detected a certain smoldering fire in his dark eyes. Days, ago she’d decided that when the moment was right, she would approach him and hopefully find him in a state approaching sobriety, and spill the beans about the way she felt. If things went badly, she could always blame him for being a stupid drunk and dismiss the entire notion. It was a perfect plan, one that still presented her with a safety net for her fragile emotions and sense of self-worth if it turned out that she was sadly mistaken about his feelings toward her.

Only one thing marred that perfect plan. It was battered and bruised, crusted in grime, and Telemachus Rhade had carefully wrapped it in a blanket and carried it like some priceless broken treasure from her very own Eurka Maru right into Medical. It had a name--Stasia, from the Destroyer of Carefully Plotted Safety Nets, Out of Rhade’s Very Private Life Before Andromeda.

“Your timing really sucks, Valentine,” she thought to herself. “This outranks anything in Harper’s Elevated Scale of Suckitude. Shoulda shared that secret just a couple days earlier, before Rhade went off with Dylan, huh? Coulda, shoulda, woulda…it’s a done deal now.”

“…careful as you stand up,” Trance’s words leaked into Beka’s brain in a strange echo. The golden Avatar looked expectantly at Beka as Stasia’s bare feet tested the deck plating below them. “Are you feeling all right?”

The Nietzschean woman shut her eyes and swallowed hard. Her knees buckled beneath her. With the reflexes that had earned her bragging rights in a variety of barroom games of skill, Beka moved in a heartbeat and grabbed Stasia under the arms before she could fall. Beka was suddenly mortified to realize how light the other woman was, and realized with a start that she probably had been starved among the other abuses she had suffered.

“I’m sorry,” Stasia murmured, trying to regain her footing. “I just got a little dizzy,” she said.

Beka supported her easily, wrapping a spined arm around her neck, wrapping her own arm around the other’s waist. “Just take it easy,” she encouraged. “Just through that entryway, there’s a steamy bath with your name on it.”

“With wonderful medicinal bath oils,” Trance added brightly as the entryway slid open and a fragrant puff of eucalyptus with aloe steam wafted out.

The two women helped her step into the tub of steaming, opaque water, and she wearily sank up to her neck. She let Trance pull the ragged shift off her, not caring that it caught on her bone blades and ripped in two. Trance tossed it in a trash receptacle with a vague look of dismay on her face as she noted the collection of dried blood on it, and then busied herself at a nearby counter.

“…to show such kindness to me,” Stasia murmured sleepily, eyes closing as her chin started to slide under the water’s surface.

“Hold on, sleeping beauty!” Beka yelped, making a grab for her. “Can’t have you drowning in here; it’ll give Trance a bad name in patient care, and the malpractice suits will be hideous.”

Trance returned, gracing Beka with a grateful smile, tossing a couple of handfuls of jet-spraying nanoes into the water. After a moment, the opaque water churned lightly and bubbled, gently devouring dirt, leaving clean and freshly scrubbed skin and hair in its wake.

Despite her weary protests that she wanted to stay in the bath for three years or more, Trance and Beka managed to get her out and dried with fluffy towels. Beka was horrified by the massive amounts of bruising on the other woman’s body, the deep lacerations, and other injuries. Embarrassed when she realized that she was staring, she tried to glance away while Stasia quickly slipped the huge nightshirt over her head and stepped into the sleep pants.

Ever watchful, Trance caught the deep-rooted pain in her friend’s expression and smiled sadly, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “The fires that refine us, Beka, burn hotter for some than others,” she whispered.

Beka wanted to have a long conversation about that odd turn of phrase, but Trance indicated it was time to get her patient into a bed so she could rest. Beka kept her thoughts and questions to herself—for now. Like an obedient child, Stasia climbed into the bed Trance had made ready for her. With a peaceful smile, she was sliding into sleep as Trance pulled warm blankets over her.

“Andromeda, lights to 10%, and alert me of any changes in my patient’s status,” Trance ordered quietly.

Beka paused for a moment and glanced back as she followed Trance out of Medical. The bio monitor cast an ambient glow over the sleeping Nietzschean, and Beka again wondered about the fires of refinement. Trance gently took her by the arm and pulled her along.

Chapter 10

Rhade waited a full minute until his enhanced hearing could no longer hear Beka's and Trance's quiet footfalls and conversation echo down the corridor. With a smug look of satisfaction, he moved silently back into Medical and paused just inside the entryway.

She was asleep, curled onto her side with her back to the corridor. There was a subtle hint of some pleasant botanical fragrance hanging in the air that grew stronger with each careful step toward his objective. His smile was almost paternal as he crouched near the bedside, gazing at the woman lost in deep slumber. He glanced up and was relieved to see that the monitor told a satisfying story of continued rapid healing and recovery, hastened by Nietzschean physiology and medical nanobots.

Some of her hair had fallen over her face. As he cautiously lifted it away, he fought a growl when he saw the fading bruise on her cheek, a harsh reminder of her very recent history. He leaned over and kissed the bruise. She made a small sound and shrugged the blanket off in her sleep. He tucked the blanket back under her chin, his hand lingering for a moment on her shoulder, and time held no further meaning for him. Eventually, he moved soundlessly to a nearby supply cabinet and removed a pillow.

Settling back on the deck, he shoved the pillow between his back and the bulkhead, took a long drink from his hip flask, crossed his arms and watched Stasia sleeping. He contemplated the subtle expressions crossing her face, the faint flickering of closed eyelids, and knew she traveled through the misty world of dreams. He wanted those dreams to be so very gentle and pleasant, a peaceful respite from whatever demons had recently pursued her.

He absently twisted and untwisted the silver flask's cap, his hands as agitated as his thoughts. The questions he had were beyond number. How in the Progenitor's name had she wound up here? What was this insanity about the Matriarch telling her that he was dead? On Terazed, was his name engraved on the marble in his family's crypt? If that were true, did it mean he was dead? If this was death, then Seefra must surely be some variant of hell, but what had Stasia ever done to deserve damnation like this? If this was hell, since when did he start believing in an afterlife? He took a drink, and leaned his head back to consider that last thought, and then took another drink to keep the first one company.

Stasia murmured something in her sleep, bringing Rhade from his philosophical contemplation. Bundled in the blanket, she looked small, very small, almost as small as she was the first time he ever saw her. Remembering a morning years and years ago on a world he'd once called home, he smiled and slid into sleep.

After Rhade had been snoring softly for at least five full minutes, Trance suppressed a giggle and stepped from the shadows. She opened the supply cabinet door and removed a blanket, which she draped over the man sleeping in the floor. She pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead. "Sweet dreams, Rhade," she whispered with a knowing smile.

Quickly checking her patient's vital signs, satisfied with the progress she saw, she stepped into the shadows again and was gone.

Chapter 11

A hideous scream echoed down the long marble hallway. Telemachus Rhade’s eyes flew open and he looked wildly about the bedroom. The other children, his four brothers and a cousin, remained undisturbed and still sleeping, which he considered a miracle in light of the loud screaming.

He hopped out of his bed, small feet making no sound until they padded quickly down the tiled hallway. He bumped into his sister, Saphrona, as he ran around a corner, headed out of the children’s wing. She was eighteen, and he thought she was wise and beautiful, plus lucky enough to have her own suite because she was a grown-up. She was also one of Telemachus’ favorite siblings, the third daughter of his father’s second wife, Marketa. She was a restless sleeper, and Telemachus knew she often wandered the hallways or could be found in the library when everyone else was asleep.

“Telemachus!” she exclaimed, clutching at her chest, pulling her night robe a little closer around her neck. “You gave me a fright, young man! It’s very late--what are you doing out of bed?” she demanded.

“Something’s wrong! I heard a lady screaming—listen, there it is again!” Instinctively, his stubby, newly- emerging little bone blades flared, prepared to protect his sister and the entire household from whatever imminent danger awaited down the corridor.

She covered her mouth to suppress a quick laugh, amused by his reaction. “Oh, that’s only Maria Theros. Remember? The first wife of father’s friend Nikolaus Theros?”

“What’s wrong with her? Is the lady dying?” Telemachus asked his sister, his eyes growing wide as another howling shriek echoed down the long hallway.

“Of course not! Her baby is coming, you silly little man!”

He frowned and considered this information. Two years ago, when his sister Wynetta was born, his own mother had barely made a sound that could be heard anywhere in the house, and certainly not all the way to the children’s wing.. In fact, he couldn’t remember any of his other-mothers making a commotion like this, either. Lady Theros sounded desperate, and she kept pleading for someone to “make it stop!” He eyed his sister in consternation.

Saphrona smiled down at her little brother and wrapped her arm around his shoulders. “Telemachus, the lady is not dying,” she reassured him with a kind smile. “The birth pains are worse for some women than for others. They cry out when the pains come. The harder the pains come, the sooner the baby will be born.”

“The lady is really loud, Saphie. I’ll be glad when that baby is finally here so the lady will be quiet and I can go back to sleep.”

“I’m sure General Theros will be glad when the lady has her baby, too. This will be the very first daughter any of his wives has had, so she will be a very special baby in his household,” Saphrona explained patiently.

Telemachus nodded and yawned. His sister took him by the hand and guided him back to the large bedroom where the other children still slept, unaware of the drama unfolding in the next wing. Saphrona couldn’t help feeling a special measure of pride over her little brother’s keen senses and instincts that had awoken him while the others stayed sound asleep—excellent survival traits. Her parents said he was special, and this was another testament to that fact. She tucked him in, planting a kiss on his forehead.

“Go to sleep, little brother,” she encouraged. “In the morning, I’ll come get you and we can welcome our newest guest together, and you can see for yourself that all is well.”

“How am I supposed to sleep with all that noise?” he protested.

“Think about something else and just concentrate on that, and eventually you won’t even notice the sounds and you’ll fall asleep,” she suggested, recognizing a ploy to stay up later that he should. “Track your direct ancestors backward.”

“How far?” he asked.

“Tell me in the morning how far you got,” she challenged.

He agreed, trusting implicitly that everything she told him would come to pass. . Saphrona quietly closed the bedroom door behind her. With another yawn, he rolled over and began counting on his fingers, whispering the names of the Rhades who had come before him. “Galahad, out of Marina by Damon; Damon, out of Felicity by Alexandros; Alexandros, out of Kristobel by Josef; Josef, out of Sif by Ramos; Ramos, out of Velina by Andrew; Andrew, out of Eula by Zavery; Zavery…out of Zola by…..Nathaniel…..”

It seemed only minutes later that she was gently shaking him awake.
“Telemachus, wake up, sleepyhead,” she whispered in his ear, not wanting to wake the others. “Lady Maria’s baby is here. Do you still want to go see?”

Wiping sleep from his brown eyes, he nodded and slid out of bed. His sister raised a finger to her lips, indicating that they should be quiet, and they slipped out of the room without disturbing any of the other sleeping children.

“I got all the way to Zavery, out of Zola by Nathaniel before I fell asleep,” he announced proudly.

She squeezed his hand. “You’re learning your lineage very well. Father will be very impressed with you, and all the many things you’ve learned while he’s been away this time.”

Telemachus hoped so. There was nothing he wanted so badly as to please his father, because Galahad Rhade always seemed to hold him to a higher standard of achievement than that of his brothers. Telemachus had some vague idea that it had something to do with a special connection his genes held with that of his ancestor, Gaheris Rhade, but he was sketchy on the specifics. It only meant to him that sometimes adults watched him closely, seemed to expect great things from him in the future, and whispered the words “genetic reincarnation” when they thought he couldn’t hear them.

None of that mattered now, and he focused his attention on the all-important matter of proving his worth and competing. It would personally be a moment of personal victory for him to beat his brothers and cousin in the race to accurately recite their family line—paternal and maternal—at least as far back as Gaheris Rhade. To complete the recitation by the celebration of one’s sixth birthday was a mark of achievement in his family, and Telemachus knew his brother’s had been gently prompted from the sidelines by their mother’s as they presented the genealogy to their father. He stubbornly intended to be the one to do it without anyone reminding him of this one or that.

Finally the journey ended in the guest wing. Saphrona stopped and gently rapped on the closed double-doors outside one of the guest suites. The doors slid open and Telemachus took in a breath of surprise, the scene not being at all what he had expected, despite his sister’s assurances to the contrary. He fully expected to see the aftermath of some attempted murder. Lady Maria Theros sat up in the large bed, satin pillows propping her up. For all the horrified screaming she’d done the night before, she certainly looked happy enough this morning.

His own mother sat near Lady Theros’ bedside, smiling brightly when she saw Telemachus and Saphrona in the doorway. The Matriarch sat on the other side of the bed, her regal bearing making the chair in which she sat more a throne than a simple piece of furniture. She nodded approvingly at the young people, and motioned them forward with a gnarled hand.

“Come, children, and greet our tiny guest,” she instructed. To the new mother, she nodded to the approaching children, whispering proudly. “These are two of Galahad’s proudest achievements--Telemachus out of Brianna and Saphrona out of Marketa; their genes are simply marvelous. Saphrona is eighteen and Telemachus will soon turn six.”

Maria Theros had a brilliant and proud smile for her visitors as they approached her bedside.

“Telemachus was particularly concerned about your well being last night, Maria,” the Matriarch announced proudly. “Saphrona intercepted him rushing down the hallway to come to your aid, bone blades at the ready; he was certain some ill fate was befalling you.”

Brianna’s pride was evident, resting her hands on her young son’s shoulders, planting a kiss in his dark hair. “Your father will be very pleased when he learns how well you were attending to the security of the household in his absence.”

Telemachus’ chest puffed out, his ego swelling with the praise given to him. “It’s a man’s job to provide for the safety of the ladies within his household,” he said with solemn formality.

“And so it is,” the Matriarch agreed, sharing a secret smile with the two other women, all three having the decency to not make light of the boy’s perceived duty. “I see you’ve heeded your lessons well, my boy, and I’m pleasd.”

“I offer my thanks, young man,” Maria acknowledged him with a nod. “I’ve heard much of you from your mother and grandmother. Come then and meet my daughter, seeing as you’ve assigned yourself our protector.”

Maria gently shoved him forward, seeing that he was fixed to the spot where he stood, but beginning to lean toward the bedside to peer at the bundle in Lady Theros’ arms. Maria tenderly peeled away the light swaddling blankets, and Telemachus rested his hands on his hips as he stood on tiptoe. “This is Anastasia Theros, by Nikolaus out of Maria,” she announced, pressing a kiss to her newborn child’s head.

With that fascination all small children have for things smaller than themselves, Telemachus reached out to touch a tiny hand. He’d seen and touched other babies, of course, but he’d never one that had been the source of such commotion as to disturb his sleep. She was wrinkly and bald, and had that sweet smell that all babies had. Tiny fingers curled around his thumb as tiny eyes opened, seemingly transfixed on his face.

“She’s looking at me,” he whispered in awe, laying his head down on his outstretched arm. He gazed back deeply into her dark eyes, wondering what she was thinking.

“She likes you, ‘Lemachus,” Saphrona whispered encouragingly, crouching beside her brother, enjoying his mesmerized fascination with the newborn.

He nodded and smiled, but when the baby tried to suck on his thumb, he promptly pulled it back to wipe the slobber onto his pajama bottom’s leg. “Yuck, baby goo.”

The women chuckled and his mother announced that it was probably time for Anastasia to be fed by her mother. Lady Maria invited him to come back again later for a visit, and then Saphrona guided her brother toward the door. He paused in the doorway, thoughtfully watching mother and child for a moment. With a formal bow, he stepped out of the room with his sister and the doors slid shut.

“You’re the very first man that Anastasia has beheld, and that’s highly significant,” Saphrona said, ruffling her brother’s hair. “The very old women say that means you’ll play an important part in her life, and that she’ll marry someone in your bloodline now—maybe even you. What do you think about that, little brother?”

He shrugged noncommittally. “I guess that’d be all right, Saphie, but I’m really hungry now. Can we go to the kitchens and something to eat?”

She laughed in delight. “Just like a man to use a search for food to divert a serious discussion regarding matter matters of the heart! Fine, fine! Let’s get you some food and discuss your romantic future later, little man!” Still shaking her head in amusement, she took her sibling toward the kitchens. “Ancestors forbid that you should starve before you have a chance to fulfill your destiny.”

Chapter 12

Telemachus fidgeted as his mother buttoned his collar closed. “Mother, I’m choking,” he protested with a grimace, sliding a finger between his neck and the offending clothing.

She smiled knowingly. “I haven’t strangled a child yet on their sixth birth celebration, and I don’t intend to start today,” she replied. “You do want to look nice during your recital, don’t you?”

“I won’t be able to recite anything because I will have choked to death before Father even asks me to do it,” he complained.

“In that case, you’ll look especially nice for your funeral viewing, my son,” Brianna announced, straightening the seams on his sleeves. “You wanted your remains stored on the western side of the family tomb, didn’t you? I’ll make sure your crypt inscription details the valiant way you died, suffocation while dressing for a sixth birthday recital. Perhaps if a trend develops, your father will discontinue the tradition, and you will be the savior of siblings who have yet to turn six.”

He rolled his large brown eyes. He knew a lost battle when he saw one, and Brianna had never yet lost an argument regarding grooming and personal appearance. It was one of the sacred missions of her life, that the children of her household should at all times be dressed at the height of fashion and style. Telemachus reluctantly accepted that today’s events meant that he would be a living display of his mother’s taste in fashion, and his father’s ability to provide her with the most costly garments available. To him it only meant that his mother had found the most confining, itchy fabric prisons ever created and it was his fate to be trapped there for at least twelve hours or more.

With a final check for lint, Brianna stood and appraised her son with a critical eye. Finding all the seams hanging straight, trouser pleats sharply pressed, boots glistening, hair neatly combed, and face scrubbed pink, she smiled in satisfaction. Telemachus watched her warily until she turned to scrutinize her own reflection in the mirror, she flipped her flowing golden hair over the shoulder left bare by the elegant gown. Telemachus had little idea how much that gown cost, but he liked the subtle way the color seemed to shift from electric to midnight blue, depending upon his mother’s mood and the movement of the various layers of gauzy fabric.

With a smile, she nodded and took her son’s hand. She leaned to kiss his cheek, the used her thumb to wipe the lip coloring off his skin. “Happy birthday, my dear Telemachus. You are everything in a son that a mother could want. Know that I am always proud of you, and that I love you, no matter where go you or what you do in your life.”

He beamed happily, the gap from a missing front upper tooth making the smile all the more charming to his mother. “I love you, too, Mother.”

She squeezed his hand. “Then let’s go greet your guests and celebrate the day of your birth!”

When they arrived, Telemachus gasped in surprise at the number of people packed into the reception room. There had to be more than several hundred people—adults and children, minus toddlers and babies who would be confined to the nursery—waiting for him and his mother. Between his own household—himself, his father, his mother, his seven other-mothers, and fifteen siblings—there were twenty-five people. Even adding in the prerequisite playmates, family friends and house-staff, he had expected perhaps twice that number total to be waiting for him.

“So many people!” he hissed to his mother, his eyes wide.

“It’s a testimony and tribute to your father’s increased status,” she explained in a whisper. “They’ve come to greet you on your birthday, and some hope to curry some measure of favor in your father’s eyes by having done so.”

He considered and nodded. “I wonder if they’ve each brought a gift for me?”

She laughed and the sound was like musical chimes. Seated at the end of a long table that was formally set with slender goblets and gleaming silver and fancy plates, Admiral Galahad Rhade smiled when he realized his first wife had arrived with their son. A tall man with a charismatic personality and a chiseled rugged handsomeness , he stood quickly, light catching the gleam of each military medal that adorned the front of his dark dress uniform. He crossed the room in several long strides, and kissed his first wife on the cheek.

“My son looks very handsome today, Brianna,” he said as he offered her his arm. She took it, and he wrapped his other arm around his son’s shoulders, then his father escorted them to the head of the table.

The Matriarch was seated directly to the left of his father’s chair. She nodded approvingly as the trio passed by. To the right of his father’s chair stood two empty ones and he realized with a shock that the first chair was for him. He had never sat at the adult table before—on birthdays past he could only remember any of his siblings being assigned to the children’s tables, at least until they were acknowledged as young adults at seventeen!

The second chair was obviously for his mother. His seven other-mothers, his father’s other wives, sat in order of their status down the right-hand side of the table. Beyond his other-mothers, several of his older siblings had been promoted from the children’s table; Saphrona smiled and gave him a little wink when she caught his gaze.

The left-hand side, beyond the Matriarch, was traditionally reserved for honored household guests. Among the people seated there, Telemachus wasn’t surprised to see his father’s very good friend, Nikolaus Theros, with his first wife, and she smiled brightly at him. He suddenly realized that this was the first time he’d ever seen Lady Maria without her new baby, and he wondered where she was.

On down the table, he saw General Brighter Than Two Suns, one of his father’s Than advisors and several other officers whom he knew served in some capacity for his father, but he wasn’t certain exactly what they did. He only knew that he could always count on seeing those familiar faces in his father’s study just before the doors were closed and children ushered away. They seemed relaxed enough, and he hoped they didn’t have some official news to share with his father that might cause him to have to leave again; he’d only just gotten home after being gone for several months.

His father seated his mother and nodded to him to take his seat. His boots swung and dangled over the marbled floors, the elegant straight-backed chair being much taller than the ones he was used to using. His father brought the quiet murmuring to a halt by lightly tapping a goblet with a silver spoon, and then he cleared his throat as he stood.

“Revered guests, my family and I are honored by your presence as we gather to celebrate my son, Telemachus, on the occasion of his sixth year. It is the tradition of my household, that on the advents of a child’s sixth year, we bring honor to our ancestors by calling out their names. In this way, we also recall their noble deeds and the contributions they provided.”

He sat and nodded to his son. Telemachus stood on a small platform that a kitchen staff member brought over to him. His mouth felt like a desert and his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. Petrified, he looked to his mother. His father smiled and handed his son a goblet of water. He gulped it gratefully and handed it back to his father with a small bow.

He cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. He suddenly found Saphrona’s encouraging face in the crowd and looked only at her. “I am Telemachus Rhade, out of Brianna by Galahad; Galahad, out of Marina by Damon; Damon, out of Felicity by Alexandros; Alexandros, out of Kristobel by Josef; Josef, out of Sif by Ramos; Ramos, out of Velina by Andrew; Andrew, out of Eula by Zavery; Zavery…out of Zola by…..Nathaniel…..” He paused and Saphie nodded, waving her hand in a rolling motion. He closed his eyes, then continued in a fresh burst of energy. “And Nathaniel, out of Racheal by Logan; Logan, out of Xavier by Gaheris.”

He father stood so quickly and applauded that it caught Telemachus by surprise. “Well done, my son, well done!”

“But, father, I’m not done yet…” he said in a very quiet voice. Galahad Rhade’s eyes grew wide in unaccustomed surprised. His smile was brilliant and he turned his attention to his guests.

“Honored assemblage, this is the traditional acceptable stopping point for the recital of the Rhade line. It’s been quite a while since any of my children has reached this achievement, and without prompting from a mother. I am very pleased with his performance on this auspicious day, but Telemachus informs me that he can go further. With your indulgence, I ask for your continued attention as my son continues an excellent recital.”

His father was pleased with him, and had made a public announcement of it—in front of very important people, too! For a moment, Telemachus couldn’t remember his own name, let alone the name of an ancestor from more than three hundred years ago.

With his face flushed with pride, Galahad nodded. “Please, do continue at your convenience.”

“Um….Gaheris was out of Guinvere by Gibran; Gibran, out of Kezia by Augustus; Augustus, out of Abigail by Abiathar; Abiathar, out of….out of…uh, out of….Lucinda by Mattias; Mattias…out of Adeline by Zcerise; Zcerise out of….out of….” Panic-stricken, he dared to glance at his father. He couldn’t remember anything after that! He was mortified.

Suddenly Telemachus stopped worrying about his memory and instead worried that gravity was spontaneously failing. His feet weren’t touching the little platform. More wondrous than that, he was being crushed in his father’s strong embrace and his guests were applauding. He thought he was going to burst from happiness when his father told him, “I am so very proud of you, my Telemachus. You have pleased me beyond measure, and have once again surpassed your brothers at this age. I love you, my dear son.”

Galahad stood his son on the platform and removed a medal from his jacket. Carefully he pinned it near Telemachus heart. “A memento of the occasion. May it serve to remind you of my pride and affection.”

There was a wonderful meal, made all the more special because he got to sit at the table with the grown-ups. A large three-layered chocolate cake was brought out after the meal. Six burning candles adorned the top layer. His mother encouraged him to make a wish and blow out the candles. He couldn’t think of anything he could possibly want that he didn’t already have, so he just blew out the candles.

The serving staff distributed the wonderful cake to the guests while his mother announced that he would now receive his gifts. The rest of the celebration passed by in a strange foggy blur. Telemachus found that his attention kept wandering to the medal his father had pinned on him. He wasn’t sure exactly when his father had received the award, but he knew it had been given because of superb action during a combat engagement. His father had saved the life of some high-ranking political official, and Mother said that there had been a parade on the day he received it from the Triumvir. In the vast collection of military decorations and awards he had received, this particular medal held personal worth to Galahad Rhade. And now, his father had given it to him—in front of all these people!

For a little boy who constantly competed with his many siblings for a slice of his very busy father’s attention, particularly one who craved his father’s approval, this was the pinnacle of life. He was certain that if he lived to be a thousand, he would never forget this birthday and no other birthday could ever be better than this one!

After the celebration began to dwindle hours later, Telemachus was slightly disappointed when his father excused himself and disappeared into his study. True to form, General Brighter Than Two Suns, the other officers, and Nikolaus Theros followed in his wake. Telemachus rested his hand on his medal and watched as the doors closed, sealing off the study from the reception area.

Saphrona, the ever-faithful shepherdess of her younger siblings, found him staring at the closed doors and dragged him off to visit with his guests, reminding him to be a gracious host and offer them his thanks for their gifts and their company.

Chapter 13

Telemachus decided that the summer he turned nine was the best and worst year of his life.

The political climate of Terazed was beginning to change in subtle ways almost tangible enough for children to recognize. Telemachus could detect a vague and disturbing tension in his father’s demeanor, although he didn’t know what was causing it. When he questioned Saphrona about it, she would always smile in that gentle way and tell him that it his job to grow big and tall and not to worry about such matters. His father was home with greater frequency, hosting more and more closed-door meetings. It was not uncommon to round a corner and find a variety of highly ranked political figures being escorted throughout his home.

Nikolaus Theros was a very familiar face at such gatherings. Telemachus assumed the man must miss his family because he had to be away from them so often; he certainly looked sad enough lately. A few weeks into the summer, the Theros family relocated to a home not far from his own

To the casual observer, it would have been difficult to identify the defining line between the Rhade and Theros households. The children migrated fluidly between households, creating a virtual nightmare for caregivers whose task it was to keep track of them. It soon became a natural assumption that if a given child couldn’t be found in one household, they would certainly be present at the other. As first wives of the households, Brianna Rhade and Maria Theros also became close friends, often combining their energies to host elegant gatherings for political and military officials.

Of particular importance to Telemachus concerning these new friends and neighbors, was his gaining a new friend, which certainly ranked as the best thing that happened to him that summer. One of Nikolaus’ sons by his first wife was also nine-years-old. His name was Jared and he became fast friends with Telemachus. Saphrona called them “the twins” because they were always together, although Jared’s white-blonde hair was a stark contrast to her little brother’s dark hair.

None of Nikolaus’ wives had produced any additional daughters, thus sealing little Anastasia’s position among her brothers as First Daughter and Reigning Princess of her father’s universe. While her brothers older than fifteen doted on her, her other brothers tolerated her with the tormented grace with which an older sibling must endure a younger one. Telemachus’ own sisters seemed to consider her a living doll to be played with and pampered.

One of Anastasia’s favorite people was Jared, and he endured his little sister with alternating degrees affection and teeth-gritting tolerance. Because of the great amount of time Telemachus spent with Jared, Anastasia quickly added him to her chosen group. Telemachus had several younger brothers and sisters, mentally adding Anastasia Theros to that number, and was generally accepting of the fact that he had acquired a three-year-old shadow.

He didn’t enjoy much success with teaching her to pronounce his name, although he had to admit that she came close than Wynetta or Joshua had when they were three. “What’s my name?” he would ask her.

“Himmycuss!” was always the enthusiastic response.

“No,” he would correct her. “Tell-LIM-a-cuss. What’s my name?”

She would giggle and run around him. “Himmycuss!”

He would roll his eyes and sigh. “Fine. What’s your name, little girl?”

“And I’m a Stasia!”

At length, he became resigned to being called “Himmycuss” by “Stasia.”

During his studies, Telemachus had been learning about an ancient Earth scientist called Sir Isaac Newton. This unmodified human had some sophisticated ideas that were still solid thousands of years after his death. One of his achievements was his defining the Third Law of Motion, which stated that for every action, there was an equal and opposite reaction. The teacher spewed on and on about how that particular law of motion also served to keep things in balance in the universe, something about chaos theory versus order substantiation.

He didn’t need to hear any more definitions; he had his own experiences that provided him with the evidence and meaning of that scientific law. It meant if something really good happened to make you happy, something bad had to happen to make you sad or mad. This way, your life stayed in balance with the universe and then you could strive to overcome it so you had the happy parts in a greater degree than the sad parts.

At the moment, he was miserably contemplating the fact that his beloved sister, Saphrona, would be leaving soon. He didn’t understand why she thought that she needed to propose marriage, but she had done it. Even more infuriating to Telemachus, Jeremiah Simon had the audacity to agree. In a few days, the she and Jeremiah would be leaving to make their new home deeper in the capitol city. It was a small consolation to Telemachus that Saphrona would be within easy walking distance, but he was already feeling the loss and beginning to feel sorry for himself. His older sister held a special place in his heart, and he brooded over the fact that he would have to share him with someone else. His father had only patted him on the shoulder and told him it was perfectly normal to be angry that another male had captured the affections of a female that he held in such high regard.

Despite what his father considered a pep talk, Telemachus was still sullen and unhappy. He had never considered in his wildest dreams that Saphie would ever leave him, but it would be a reality within days. If Saphie chose to leave with Jeremiah, did that mean she didn’t love Telemachus anymore? If Saphie could just stop loving him, then wasn’t it possible that his mother was also capable of severing her affections for her son? He’d overheard Saphie tell Jeremiah that she would love him forever, and Telemachus suddenly realized he’d never had this verbal assurance from anyone. Of course his mother had told him this for as long as he could remember, but that was the sort of thing mothers did, so that really didn’t count. That thought added itself to his burden of concern about the permanence of his relationships with those he loved.

Still pondering these thoughts, Telemachus was quite as he and Jared completed their lessons for the day. Newly enrolled in the beginning learners’ group, Stasia bounded down the corridor to greet him and Jared. Triumphantly, she waved a wrinkled piece of paper at them, and shoved it into Telemachus’ hand.

“Teacher said to me good job!” she announced proudly, waiting expectantly for his critique.

He smoothed the paper out, crouching to be nearer her level, and appraised her work. Two large stick figures with smiles that outdistanced their misshapen heads flanked a smaller figure with arms where the ears should have been. Smeared hues of green and blue were still drying in the two large circles under the feet of the strange trio. Amused, he glanced at Jared who was also trying not to laugh. “That’s really nice, Stasia. You sure used lots of paint, didn’t you?”

“Tell us about your picture,” Jared encouraged, squatting to get a better look at her masterpiece. He was hard pressed to determine what the work of art represented, wondering what the tiny artist was trying to convey. There had been some famous artists among the names of his ancestors, so perhaps Stasia would follow in that tradition.

“I paint all of us—the best friends!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. She poked a paint-stained finger at each of the three figures. “See? Dared, Stasia, and Himmycuss!”

“Ah, yes, I do see that now,” Telemachus nodded. “Um, and these two big circles are what?”

She rolled her eyes. “Fimmity.”

“Fimmity?” he repeated, his mind working overtime to translate that word. “I don’t think Teacher has told us about that one yet. What is it?”

She carefully traced a figure eight in the air for him. “M. Fimmity. Four evers.”

Suddenly, Jared started laughing and couldn’t stop. Just because her brother was laughing, she laughed also while Telemachus eyed them both as if they’d suddenly been struck mad.

Jared wiped at an eye that had suddenly started leaking when he couldn’t stop laughing. “Infinity!” he howled. “Infinity, ‘Lemachus, forever. That’s what she’s saying.”

“No, Dared, no cry,” Stasia said with alarm, seeing her brother wipe at his eyes. She hugged him and kissed his cheek. “I wuv you now.”

“And what about Telemachus?” Jared asked, giving her a little hug back.

She flung her arms around Telemachus’ neck and kissed him, too. “I wuv him fimmity and four evers!” she announced.

“Well, there’s a serious declaration of eternal love if ever I’ve heard it!” Nikolaus Theros announced as he walked down the corridor.

Stasia abandoned the previous object of her affection to rush into her father’s waiting arms. “You’re not trying to marry some boy already are you, young lady?” he demanded with a chuckle. He winked at Telemachus. “Hmm, Stasia Rhade does have a ring to it.”

“Stasia Wadday,” she nodded. “I wuv Himmycuss four evers, Daddy.”

He swung her into the air with a laugh. “Why don’t you wait and marry Telemachus when you’re a grown up lady? Let’s go find your mother and have a snack.”

She blew the boys kisses over her father’s shoulder until she could no longer see them when he rounded the corner. The boys laughed and shook their heads.

Jared slapped Telemachus on the back. “Well, ‘Lemachus, old friend—since my baby sister loves you forever to infinity, don’t break her heart, or I’ll break your head.”

Telemachus laughed. “I’ll remember that, Jared,” he promised, finding it amazing how much better he suddenly felt to hear someone—even a three-year-old girl—announce to the universe at large that she would love him forever. As the two friends headed toward the playroom, Telemachus suddenly felt a brighter spirit beginning to burn inside.

Chapter 14

Tarazed: CY 10066 Midsummer season

Jared looked over his shoulder and sighed. “We’ve still got a shadow,” he said as he shifted the weight of his backpack. “It’s going to be dark soon. What do you want to do?”

“I’ll go collect her, if you want to set up camp.”

Jared agreed and continued up the steep trail toward the caves. Telemachus shook his head in amusement and stepped off the trail, silently backtracking. He had to give Stasia credit; she’d only made two or three footfalls that had been loud enough to be heard. Had he and Jared not been purposely listening for it, keeping track of her stealthy progress behind them, they might never have noticed their cautious pursuer. Not many eleven-year-old girls could have claimed that achievement, and he had to admit that he was duly impressed, even if Jared was annoyed by her intrusion. Granted, not many eleven-year-old girls were that interested in trying to do everything their older brothers were doing, but nothing about Stasia was ever typical.

Fighting an insane urge to laugh as he watched her halting progress, Telemachus crouched behind some low-lying brush near a fallen log alongside the trail. The contents of her pack must have outweighed her twice or thrice over, and she was bowed over under the weight like an ancient little Matriarch. She stood on tiptoe and tried to shrug the pack into a better position. She lost her balance and toppled over with a grunt of surprised disgust. Telemachus pressed his hands against his mouth, his shoulders shaking with the intense effort of stifling the raucous laughter that was trying to escape.

“Stupid pack!” she hissed, sliding her arms free of the straps. She sat on the log and retied her bootlaces, kicking pebbles at the offending pack. “I should just leave you right there! How would you like that, hmm?” she threatened darkly, dusting off her pants legs.

“Oh, please, no!” Telemachus whispered in a girlishly distressed voice from his hiding place. “Please don’t leave me lying out here alone on this trail!”

Panicked, Stasia leapt off the log and back onto the trail, short bone blades flaring. “Who’s there?” she demanded. “I’ll chop you up into little pieces if you don’t answer me!” she growled, backing away, tripping over her pack.

Telemachus couldn’t stand it any longer and stepped out of hiding, laughing so hard he was certain a rib would crack. “Chop me up into little pieces, huh? I think that pack wins this round, Stasia,” he teased lightly, reaching a hand down to her.

“You are so mean, ‘Lemachus Rhade!” she pouted, crossing her arms, stubbornly refusing to accept the help offered to her. “You scared me!”

“Good—fear provides an adrenaline rush that enhances your survival instincts while increasing your reaction time—particularly when you are battling an overloaded backpack,” he replied patiently, rolling his eyes. “Now, are you going to lay in the dirt until it gets dark? I’d hate to explain to your parents that some roaming hilderbeart gobbled you up because you were too proud to accept a hand up.”

Reluctantly, she took his hand and he pulled her to her feet.

“You’re a mess! Look at you!” he exclaimed in maternal tones, brushing dirt and leaves off her clothing.

“Are there really hilderbearts out here?” she asked quietly, eyes wide as she scanned the trail before and behind them.

He shrugged casually, turning her around to pull the twigs from her tangled braids. “My father said he saw one not far from the caves last year, in these very woods. It had blood dripping from its fangs and had carried off some silly little girl who was foolish enough to be walking the trail at near dusk. Days later, a lancer unit found only her backpack, lying alone and defenseless on the trail. It was very tragic.”

She crossed her arms, stomped her foot impatiently, and tried not to smile. “Very tragic,” she agreed, realizing he was only teasing her.

He slung her heavy pack over his shoulder with a grunt. “What have you got in here, a gravity well generator?” he complained, giving her a little push ahead of him.

“I just packed needful stuff,” she promised, eyes wide and innocent.

“Needful stuff, huh?” he growled, wondering how many baby dolls he was going to lug up the mountain. “Get moving; Jared should be getting camp set up by the time we get there.”

During the remainder of the half-hour hike, Stasia managed to keep up with the brisk pace of Telemachus’ longer legs, despite the steep incline of the trail. They arrived just as the sun dipped below the horizon. True to his word, Jared had a small fire burning near the gaping mouth of the cavern’s entrance and it cast bizarre shadows that faded into the darkness of the cave.

He wasn’t alone, and several sleeping bags were scattered on the ground near the fire. Four other young males, two Nietzschean and two human, hovered near the fire, chatting amiably. Telemachus recognized the Nietzschean boys as Omar and Heinrich Nute, who were twins, out of Alicia by Manfred. The human boys were brothers, Bobby and Chris Riley, sons of a diplomat who provided advice on occasion to his father. He knew that Stasia didn’t like them because they picked on her and pulled her hair when they thought nobody was looking. She didn’t know that he had taken issue with them over it the last time they were in the Rhade household, and after he had blackened one of their eyes, they had sullenly promised him to leave her alone.

Spying Stasia trudging along behind Telemachus, one of the human boys groaned loudly and slapped his forehead. “For cryin’ out loud! Did you have to bring the little wife along, too?”

“Bobby’s right. She’s going to completely ruin this camping trip,” agreed his pudgy, freckle-faced brother. “She has to go home. This is our last trip before we all go to the Academy next week. I don’t want to spend it babysitting a spoiled little princess.”

Omar picked up a stick and poked absently at the fire, glancing at the protesting humans “She managed to make it up the trail by herself, and your two cousins turned tail and ran home crying to their mothers ten minutes into the hike because a bird in the tree scared them,” he smirked. “I’d say she earned the right to stay. Who votes with me?” he announced, raising his hand into the air.

As expected, Jared and Telemachus raised their hands, as did Heinrich. After catching a dark look from Telemachus, Bobby reluctantly raised his hand. Only the whining Chris Riley stubbornly shoved his hands deep into his pockets and looked away angrily, refusing to give ground.

“It’s settled; she stays,” Omar announced, slapping his hands together.

She stuck her tongue out triumphantly at the frowning human boys who could only cast a sullen glance her way as she skipped behind Telemachus. He slung both their packs down in a heap hear Jared’s.

“Just couldn’t stand to stay at home, eh?” Jared asked his sister, obviously more than slightly annoyed with her intrusion.

“Please don’t be mad at me, Jare,” she said quickly, sitting on her pack, looking up at him with adoring eyes. “I just wanted to do one last fun thing with you and ‘Lemachus before you both go off to that stupid Academy. Then you’ll go off and join the Guard and then some bunch dumb girls will want to marry you, and then you’ll start having a million babies, and that’ll be the end of all the fun we’ll ever have.” The more she rambled, the more pleading her tone became.

Telemachus suddenly realized that she was right, and the idea filled him with a strangely exciting energy. His Matriarch had told him recently that he was standing on the cusp of manhood, and that his destiny waited with beckoning arms. It had sounded like diplomatic rhetoric then, but hearing the quiet desperation in Stasia’s voice, he understood now that soon he would leave boyhood behind.

“All right already,” Jared sighed wearily, fond amusement threatening to overrule his righteous indignation. “Just remember, this isn’t a little girl’s pajama par