Disclaimer: I do not own Andromeda. I do not own My Dog, My Hero, from which I got 'the rule of three'. I do not own How to Cope When You Are Surrounded by Idiots, from which I got the definition of idiot.
Note: Well, I have pretty much run out of Rhade fics (or at least ones that aren't rated R) and so here I am, writing this for my own amusement, and hopefully yours.
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"Rhade?" The voice echoed in his mind, the loud, velvety sound nearly driving him to madness.
"What?" he growled in his sleep.
The dream voice laughed. "I am curious about you, Nietzschean. Say you were stranded on an island. Of course, you would find food and water and build a shelter. You would survive this way, correct?"
The question was pointless, as always, but he answered anyway. "Yes, of course."
"But there is only so much the island can provide. You would have no friends, no family, and no love. But you would survive without these things, would you not?"
This part was new to him. It usually ended with the words "no love". "I would, easily," was his typical Nietzschean response.
"What about when your food is gone, and there are no living beasts nor edible substances left on your little prison? Eventually, even you will become hungry. And when you are unable to find food, you will slowly lose strength, becoming weaker day by day. Tell me, Nietzschean, would that hunger make you a failure? What about when you lose the strength to find clean water? Will your thirst make you a failure? When your shelter falls and you feel you can't even move to fix it, would that make you a failure? Would you allow your hunger and thirst and weakness to defeat you? Would you give in? Would you allow yourself to die? Because, after all, what do you have to live for? I bet you are wishing you had some of that love you so boldly claimed you could survive without."
Telemachus Rhade's eyes flew open, his mind snapping to attention and his senses immediately alert. The dream had been assaulting his sleeping mind for weeks now, and when he awoke, his throat would burn and his stomach would beg for food. Usually, the Nietzschean slept dreamlessly, but he just couldn't seem to escape this one. The woman's voice would call his name, though he would never see her, and he would always answer, almost as if he had no choice. As for her chosen topic of conversation, well, it didn't seem all that friendly. She obviously had a good amount of knowledge of Nietzscheans, since she addressed the very thing they could not accept: failure. She also spoke of love as a necessity. Rhade remembered a passage from an ancient human novel. It read, "…the rule of three: You can go three minutes without air. You can go three hours without shelter. You can go three days without water. Three weeks without food. Three months without love." No matter what year, or how much time passed, many races still seemed to believe love was essential to existence. Rhade was far more open to the idea of love existing than most Nietzscheans, but that did not mean he thought he would die without it.
As he got to his feet, he felt immense gratitude toward whoever had invented autopilot. He pulled a container of water from a small pack not too far from the pilot's chair and drank rapidly, trying to ease the extremely unnatural burning. He had never known what it meant to be truly thirsty, and he was angry that a mere dream would bring this upon him. And the hunger! Rhade could not understand it, so he remained silent about his little problem and just kept his pack lying around with whatever he may need. He glanced back at the screen to make sure they were still clear of any danger. Satisfied, he turned back to the pack to find something to eat. As he stood, filling his raging stomach, he thought about where these visions were coming from. The woman seemed to want to prove something to him, especially with this new addition. It disturbed him that he was no longer thinking of the dreams as a natural occurrence, however rare, and had started thinking of the woman as a real person with some odd, mysterious connection to him.
Sighing loudly, Telemachus banished all thoughts of the dream from his mind and tried to focus on other things. The first topic that came to mind was his current mission, transporting the walking insult to his race, Tyr, to Tarazed. This train of thought was even more unwelcome than the last. His thoughts soon traveled to the Andromeda, and Rhade's brief collision with her crew. A short, blonde man had called him an idiot, and, presumably to prove his point, defined the word. "You know, idiot, a feeble-minded person, or in your case, Nietzschean, without the good sense God gave broccoli," he had said.
Rhade had given him a look that clearly said he was not amused and then turned to Dylan and whispered, "What is a Broccoli?" Dylan had shaken his head in an, 'it doesn't matter' sort of way. Despite the fact that for most of Dylan's visit, the two were on opposite sides, they had worked things out, and he regretted to say he missed them once they were gone. It was as if something had finally come into his life promising adventure worthy of a Nietzschean and it had left him behind. But then again, perhaps adventure isn't far off, Rhade thought, quickly walking back to his station when he heard a loud beeping noise, signaling another ship approaching…
