Andromeda is copyright of Tribune Entertainment. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned (or any other) copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.
Author's Note: I recently wrote a fic called "Professionalism," and some people asked me to finish it. This struck me as unusual, since I had not thought that any ending was necessary (or even proper). I got to thinking about it, though, and realized that the Dylan Hunt that I had written about would not leave things forever as I had left them. Therefore, I decided to write this story. This is not a sequel, per se (so reading "Professionalism" is not necessary), but rather another story that could happen further down the road (about 40+ years down the road). I am well aware that I have interpreted Dylan Hunt in a way that not everyone might like, but it's the way I see him. I hope you like it.
Gone to Meet Charon
by
Nevermore
Dylan Hunt stood outside the door to bridge, just outside range of the motion detectors. He was not ready for the doors to slide open. Not yet. He gathered himself and took a deep breath. He nodded briefly and then took a small step forward. His stride was shorter than it had been so many years before, and lacked much of its strength. He unconsciously shifted his weight onto his front foot and moved his rear foot forward, taking a second step. The back leg slid along the floor and Dylan grunted slightly with the effort. He had not been able to walk properly for years now, ever since being hit by shrapnel from a crude car bomb during a failed assassination attempt on Talius 5. The assassin had succeeded in weakening Dylan physically for the rest of his days, but his strength of will had only been increased. The botched attempt had heightened his resolve to the point where, from a recovery bed in Andromeda's med-lab, he was able to force the leaders of Talius 5 to accept the new Commonwealth Treaty. They had been the forty-seventh planet to sign on. Only two short months later, Rakarra Prime had been number fifty, and the Commonwealth had been reborn.
However, what had seemed like a major victory quickly degenerated into another challenge. The new, stable Commonwealth promised justice and peace. However, anyone with a sense of history also saw its potential for strength. War had come quickly.
Dylan's approach caused the bridge doors to slide open, and he limped in, immediately coming face to face with Rommie.
"Admiral," she said hesitantly. "I was under the impression that no crew members would be aboard for another seventy-two hours. That should include you, as well."
"I know," Dylan said with a tired smile. He took another deep breath, and his smile grew. The smell, he mused silently. The bridge had always had that distinctive scent. No other part of the ship smelled like it, and no other ship's bridge had, either. The bridge of the Andromeda Ascendant had become home in a way no other location had. Like the old saying goes, the admiral thought, there's no place like home. "I had a few things to take of, Rommie."
"Depressurization is scheduled to commence in two hours," the android pointed out. It had been several years since the ship had been slowly drained of its air. The Commonwealth's newest protocol was to 'vacuum' its vessels once every decade, just as a way of making certain that the air on the ships would not become home to new strains of bacteria and viruses. Once the ship was depressurized, it would stay that way for twenty-four hours. Then a fresh atmosphere would be delivered from the planet Damania below. Andromeda was still holding the same air she had three centuries earlier – she was far overdue for her 'spring cleaning.'
"We're not going to depressurize you," Dylan retorted.
"What?" Rommie asked, obviously confused. "Our orders were quite clear."
"It just won't smell right ever again," Dylan said, waving his hand impatiently.
"But the chance of infections-"
"-is minimal," the admiral cut in. "I've been living here for most of my life, Rommie. The only times I've ever gotten sick were down on planets. Your air is perfect for me." Dylan limped slowly to his command chair and sat down, his old, weary bones seeming to settle in place out of force of habit.
"So now what?" Rommie asked, coming over to stand by her commander.
"Power up the engines," Dylan ordered.
"Why?"
"The slipstream drive, too," Dylan added.
"We're going somewhere?" Rommie asked.
A holographic image of Andromeda burst to life on the control board, and looked directly at Dylan and Rommie. "We have not been cleared to leave orbit," it pointed out.
"I've given my orders," Dylan said curtly. "I expect them to be obeyed."
"Yes, sir," Rommie replied. Immediately she sat down and started to work getting the ship prepared for a voyage. "Anything else, sir?" she asked a minute later.
"Get us out of here as quickly as possible," Dylan muttered. "They should know by now that something's up. I don't want them to catch up with us before we can jump." Even as he finished speaking he was pushing his frame, one so much smaller than in his youth, out of his chair. He shuffled his feet over to the navigation station and sat down, readying himself to take the ship into slipstream. "Let me know when I'm clear," he ordered.
"One minute, three seconds," Rommie replied. A beeping caught her eye, and she turned immediately to Dylan. "The Herodotus has left orbit and is pursuing," the android said.
"She's just a research vessel," Dylan responded. "She'll be powerless to do anything. Hold your course."
"I must object," the hologram said sternly. "You are violating several regulations."
"Can it," Rommie shouted. Dylan simply looked from the android avatar to the holographic image with amusement, not bothering to figure out Andromeda's multiple personalities any more than he usually had in the past. He had never gotten himself anything but headaches by trying otherwise.
The minute passed quickly, and Dylan activated the slipstream drive. A short time later Andromeda emerged from slipstream all the way across the Milky Way galaxy. Empty space surrounded the vessel for light years in every direction, and once he knew he was out of the Commonwealth's immediate grasp, Admiral Dylan Hunt leaned back to relax. At first, the sensation seemed unusual, but then he remembered a time long ago when he had been free of stress and worry. It's been a long time, he thought sourly. It's just too bad that I had to wait until now to finally get a moment to myself.
------------------------
"Do you mind telling me what we're doing here?" the hologram asked, shattering the painfully short moment of silence. She finally seemed to have gathered the nerve to speak once again.
"Andromeda, go to privacy mode," Dylan replied evenly. In an instant, the hologram winked out, and Rommie began to walk to the door. "No, you can stay," Dylan said to the android, fixing his gaze on her artificial form. She's never changed, he reflected. Years of struggle, and she looks as young and vibrant as she did that first day she walked onto the bridge and saved my ass.
Dylan knew that he had not survived the ravages of time as well. There were, of course, the myriad injuries, some of them crippling, that had taken a toll on his once-stolid body. Even without considering injury, though, he knew he was, physically at least, only a pale shade of his former self. Dylan Hunt was over ninety years old, and he had the sagging flesh, atrophied musculature, and stooped posture to prove it. He had devoted over fifty years of his life to the Commonwealth – first to defending it, then to recreating it, then on to nurturing it, and finally back where he started, defending it. Admiral Dylan Hunt was not bitter, he was simply sad. He was all too aware of all that he had missed, but in the end he knew he would not trade his life for any other in the galaxy. After it all, he had only one regret. In the course of a lifetime, having but one regret was doing quite well, and he still had time to remedy his one oversight.
"I'll make sure I record a message making clear that I am to blame for our violation of regulations," Dylan said, looking into Rommie's deep brown eyes. "They won't hold you responsible."
"And what about you?" the android asked.
"It doesn't matter," Dylan responded with a shrug. "I'm not going back."
"What?" Rommie asked simply, obviously too stunned to say any more.
"I'm done, Rommie," Dylan said. "I've spoken with the doctors." He saw a quick flash of something – was it concern? – flash across her face. He almost smiled in response, touched by her tenderness, but quickly caught himself when he remembered his condition. "I'm dying," he added meekly, almost unable to speak the words. There, I finally said it, he thought gloomily. He had resisted speaking those words for a week, hoping against hope that the original diagnosis had been wrong. It had not; every subsequent test had proven that much.
"How?" Rommie asked.
"I have Marille Syndrome," Dylan answered.
"How long?" Rommie asked. A new expression was etched into her face, and Dylan could not think of any time he had ever seen it before. She looked as though someone had just punched her in the stomach and knocked the wind out of her. It was not an expression he would ever expected to see on an android.
"I have long enough," Dylan said.
"For what?" the android asked. She started to move her hand toward the admiral's forearm, but pulled back after just the most subtle of motions.
"I want to die in peace," Dylan replied, his lips parting into a reluctant smile. "I think I've deserved it."
"Is there anything I can do for you?"
"Just stay here with me for a little while," Dylan requested. "I just want to sit here for a little bit. Give me a little time, and then drop me off at one of the trading colonies that have sprung up recently. I can get a transport to somewhere isolated, and you can communicate with the High Guard to get someone to come and pick you up."
"Yes, sir," Rommie said. She stood in complete silence at the admiral's side for several minutes as Dylan just looked out into space, allowing his mind to clear completely.
"Take a step closer," he said suddenly, seeming to startle Rommie. She did as he asked, and he took the hand that she had moved toward him minutes earlier. He placed it on his forearm, and she grasped him lightly as he gazed up at her with tired eyes. "Just a little while," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Dylan had always thought about his last command, the final flight he would take through the stars as he approached retirement. He had never been given that chance, though. He, like all of the people he had taken aboard when he had arrived to the time three hundred years after the Old Commonwealth's fall, had never been allowed to live his own life. Once the Commonwealth had been reborn, he had functioned as an ambassador, sent hither and yon on his starship as the Commonwealth's member worlds built a new fleet with the ancient technology that he had shared. When war had broken out, he had switched from diplomat to general. Once victory had been attained, he reverted to the role of emissary. As he grew older, his superiors had retained his services, knowing that he inspired all who saw or heard him. Admiral Dylan Hunt had become the New Commonwealth in human form, and was sent to confront every crisis and catastrophe.
Rev would have laughed, Dylan decided. The thought of his Magog friend brought a shudder of pain to the old man's body, and he tilted his head in misery. I'm the only one left, he reminded himself again. Of all of us, I'm the only one that'll die of natural causes. The thought amused him slightly, as it had always been assumed that Dylan would get himself killed trying to attain his idealistic goals, and someone like Beka, who was always more pragmatic, would live a full life. How wrong they had been.
Tyr, predictably enough, had died in battle. I'll bet as a child he never expected to die in the service of the Commonwealth, Dylan mused. And against his own people, too... In the so-called Second Revolt, Tyr and a large number of Nietzscheans had organized to repel an onslaught by the upstart Kraken clan. Tyr had not been given much chance of winning, but he stopped the Nietzschean rebels' advance at the Zikhor Nebula. Just like Nelson at Trafalgar, the admiral reflected. One of Dylan's childhood heroes had been the ancient English Lord Admiral Nelson, who had stopped Napoleon's French fleet in a pivotal battle at Trafalgar, but had died in the process.
Lucky me, I get to die an old man, but one of my friends dies a hero, and another a martyr. If only Rev had seen... Dylan's thoughts drifted off into the past once again, to Rev's 'mission' twenty-five years earlier. Rev had endeavored to bring Wayism to his people, and was killed for his efforts. His brave attempt had inspired others, however, and more missionaries had followed. Eventually, after ten years, the Wayists had found a Magog leader that had not killed them at once. He had seen the value of gaining alien support in his quest to rise to tyrannical power over his species, and so he embraced Wayism the same way many human Germanic chieftains had embraced Christianity in order to gain the favor of Rome. The Magog had gained a new king, but the universe had gained a measure of peace as Wayism spread like wildfire through the Magog populace.
Almost out of habit, Dylan's thoughts drifted from one of his old friends to the others, almost of their own will. Just as Tyr had reminded him of Rev, so did Rev remind him of Beka. She had found a wonderful life in the reborn Commonwealth. People from one end of the Milky Way galaxy to the other recognized her, and those in the other two galaxies that had once comprised the Old Commonwealth had at least heard of her. She was the perfect choice for an emissary, and she knew it. Beka had accepted her responsibility to the universe with a gusto that had made Rev proud. If Dylan was responsible for creating the new Commonwealth, then Beka was to be given credit for raising it to adolescence. She was, rather directly or indirectly, responsible for the induction of over thirty-five thousand member worlds. She had been respected and admired, but in a transport accident she had died alone, just as everyone else that had been on Dylan's idealistic quest. All, that is, except for Trance and Harper. They had died together.
Habit prevented Dylan's thoughts from going down that road, though. For years he had refused to remember what had happened to Harper and Trance; the memory was simply far too painful. They had been too young and, as a result of being around Dylan for too long, they had been too trusting. Harper's plans for the restoration of Earth had, of course, been more than ambitious, but they were attainable. Unfortunately, the fear born of centuries of invasion and persecution had prevented the Earthers from ever trusting their would-be saviors. The end result was so predictable that Dylan cursed himself several times a day for not having been able to save his friends. At least they both died for something they believed in, he admitted. That was some comfort, at least.
"I don't want to die alone," Dylan muttered, breaking the ghostly stillness on the bridge. Rommie almost jumped at the sound of his voice, and turned her eyes once more on her longtime commander.
"You're not going to die just yet," she assured the admiral.
"I could go anytime," Dylan pointed out. Of all the terminal illnesses that a human could suffer from, Dylan knew that Marille Syndrome was one of the best. His brain would simply start to 'misfire,' as the doctors put it. The effects would be almost completely unnoticeable, with only an occasional loss of short-term memory and the rare bouts of paranoia. The end would be sudden and unpredictable – eventually his brain would generate a massive surge of electricity that would fry most of his synapses. Over ninety percent of Marille Syndrome's sufferers died instantly and fairly painlessly as a result of this charge. Most of the rest were dead within a week. Only the rare few held on indefinitely, existing as little more than vegetables. In the whole scheme of things, I guess I have to like those odds, Dylan decided.
"You won't die anytime soon," Rommie assured her longtime companion. "You're too stubborn for that."
"You know I love you, right?" Dylan asked. As soon as the words escaped his lips he gave a visible shudder. What the hell was that? he asked himself. After decades of thinking and feeling it, but always holding his feelings back because of the demands of his career, the truth had finally slipped out. From what he could tell, Rommie had no idea how to respond. She simply stood staring at him for several minutes, the deafening silence of the bridge ringing in Dylan's ears as he awaited a response, any response, from his ship's alluring avatar.
"I didn't know that," Rommie said evenly, clasping her hands behind her back.
She looks so formal, Dylan realized. I guess that wasn't the right thing to say. "I'm sorry I said that," he replied. "That was inappropriate."
"How long have you felt this way?" Rommie asked.
"I don't even know," Dylan answered, instantly allowing himself to get caught up in the conversation. He had dreamt of this moment countless times over the course of decades, and he knew that he had already deviated from every plan he had ever made. "It's been a long time."
"Why didn't you ever tell me?"
"Duty. Honor You know, the usual stuff," Dylan said, his voice holding a clearly apologetic tone. "It wouldn't have been proper. After stealing you away from the Commonwealth, though, I'm guessing I'll be relieved of my duties as soon as they get a hold of me," he added. "Since I'm a free man, I figure I can say anything I want now."
"They won't get a hold of you," Rommie said confidently. "I won't allow it."
"And how do you think you'll stop them?" the admiral asked.
"I'll do anything it takes," Rommie responded. "I love you, too, Dylan, and I know a place where we can go."
"A place we can go?" he asked, not totally understanding what she was getting at.
"There's a place at the rim of the galaxy," Rommie said. "A small planet around a red giant. No one ever goes there, but it's the perfect place for us to hide. You can stay with me until... until the end."
Dylan sat in silence for several minutes, wondering how he could respond. He almost felt like a teenager again, talking with high school girlfriend, Jenny Tersa, about whether or not they should just run away together. The absurdity of a ninety-year old man acting the same way struck him as so peculiar that it could only be right. "Tell me where," he said finally, reaching for the ship's helm controls. "I know I don't have much time left, but what there is, I'd be honored to spend with you."
Fin