The Proud and the Prejudiced
By Chya
Between S4 and 5.
He'd come through whole, Flavin had said, so how come he didn't feel like it?
After so long denying that he'd lost Gillian and the children, he'd lost Louisa, and now he lay here with his guts ripped open and exposed to the hot dusty air of what he had been informed was Seefra. Far from whole, ripped apart.
Between the Magog's scythe-like claws and waking up here, he'd had a strange dream where he'd met himself coming the other way. A self he hadn't recognised, a self that had been to hell and come out the other side a person who was somehow more powerful, darker, and more in control of his own destiny than he had ever been. The basic tenets of Neitzchean philosophy dictated that what didn't kill, made you stronger, and the other self he'd met had clearly been through a great deal that might have killed him. He hadn't liked much what he'd seen and put it down to the delusions of sick bed nightmares. But somehow, it stayed with him.
Flavin nursed him to start with, and even though his physical recovery was exceptionally fast by regular human standards, it was still enough time for some local hedge lord by the name of Thomas to scare Flavin into moving them elsewhere.
When they'd moved, a journey that had taxed Rhade's strength to the point of utter exhaustion, Flavin had gone to run an errand and not returned, leaving the ailing Neitzchean in the hands of an odd young girl of around sixteen or seventeen. Rhade didn't notice it first, being caught up in pain and sickness as his body drew upon all its resources to heal ruptured organs and shredded flesh, but she didn't exactly fit the general parameters of what would be considered normal.
Her plain features were a little bloated and her slightly vacant eyes wandered in what seemed to be a random and independent manner about her. As he became more lucid, he realised that what he had at first taken to be bedside ramblings, were in fact nonsense words and sentences loosely strung together. No wonder she and Flavin got along so well.
Flavin himself was very odd, talking in riddles most of the time, yet self assured and knowledgeable about Seefra.
He asked the girl her name and was taken aback by the ferociously intense stare he received from her left eye before it wandered off and the right eye took over the staring. A shrug was his only answer before she launched into inarticulate ramblings.
He started calling her Florence after she changed his bandages with deftly expert fingers and she didn't seem to object, even acknowledging him when he spoke it. The only coherence he ever managed to coax from her was when he was well enough to explore a little. They were living in a shack and he hobbled about the tiny rooms with her help, but she always guided him away from the door. He asked her about what lay beyond many times and eventually she said 'Flavin. Wait.' He guessed she was waiting for the old man. By now, even reckoning without the time he'd spent wavering in and out of consciousness, they'd been cooped up for quite a few days. Rhade didn't think Flavin was going to come back at all.
When he decided he was well enough to face whatever awaited him on the other side of the door, he ignored Florence's protestations and, force lance in hand, opened it.
There was nothing on the other side.
Absolutely nothing but dark yellow ochre sand running flat way into the forever where it met the light yellow ochre sky, with a strong breeze stirring up tiny little dust devils. The metal shack with its little generator was the single blip on the landscape.
From what little he could extract from Florence, Rhade concluded that she had never been left for so long by Flavin. The food was almost out, and there wasn't much water left. Waiting for no one in this little hut was tantamount to allowing oneself to die and Rhade's survival instinct was far too strong for that. He prepared to leave the place, intending to find somewhere else where his continued existence would be more assured.
Florence was a problem and Rhade was well aware that many of his kin would leave her behind without thought. She was obviously defective and should never have been permitted to live by Neitzchean standards, but she was not Neitzchean and she had survived to maturity, a miracle in this place. In her strange way, she was an innocent and his conscience would not permit him leave her behind. And besides, Captain Hunt would want her kept safe.
They headed north because at night, Rhade was certain his enhanced eyesight could make out the slightest discolouration of light in the night sky.
With Florence talking happily to herself, Rhade had plenty of time to think. Flavin had said that they were in a pocket universe without hope of rescue, but how much of what Flavin had said had been lost because of Rhade's own sickness at the time, he could not be certain. Surely Captain Hunt would be looking for him. That silly rule the Captain had when it came to not leaving crew behind made it a certainty that he would come looking. If he were able.
Perhaps he, Rhade, was the only survivor. Perhaps Andromeda and her crew were dead. Possible, though unlikely as the Captain would never permit it as his instinct for the preservation of self and 'family' if one could call Andromeda that, was on par with a Neitzchean.
The hope that the Captain would find him would help give him strength if needed, but until then, he had find his own way. He ran through all the sarcastic comments and retorts he could think of to fire off at Beka when she and the Maru no doubt came to pick him up, and at Harper when the little man would accidentally on purpose be in the shuttle bay when they landed, at Rommie who would be by the Captain's side as always. And the thought of this new surrogate family brought a warm and fuzzy feeling to him, along with the buzzing in his head.
Except the buzzing wasn't in his head. Dropping everything, he pushed Florence to the ground, his force lance out and ready as the two skimmers in the far distance grew bigger.
There was no need to believe they were dangerous, but one didn't survive long without a good reflexes and a better defence. When the buzzing became loud enough for human ears, a squeal brought Rhade's attention to the girl. She was curled up under him, shaking and clearly begging someone not to do something while one terrified eye focussed intensely on the skimmers.
The two skimmers circled them, the two men piloting them laughing raucously, making fun of the metal stick Rhade carried while their itchy fingers played with the triggers on their mounted guns.
Rhade made a token effort at talking, but they clearly weren't interested. His bone blades extended with the anticipation of battle and they stopped laughing. The witch girl had magicked up an alien, they said, agreeing that they both had to die. The two men were clearly terrified, and argued as to whether to warn the settlement or just kill them outright. Rhade took the decision from them.
A few seconds later both men were unconscious on the ground, one skimmer was a useless heap and the other wobbled patiently, waiting for someone to pilot it.
Rhade smiled as he lifted Florence and their few belongings into the skimmer. Their chances of survival had significantly increased. "So, what's this about witches and aliens?" he asked the girl, not really expecting a coherent answer.
"Things that are different are bad," she said, and Rhade looked at her. She was staring at his blades. Reaching out, she stroked one gently. "Different, bad."
That was all she said, but it was enough that Rhade ripped apart one of the men's shirt to wrap his lower arms and hide the blades before setting off towards the settlement.
Cont'd/.