Doubt That the Stars Are Fire
The characters from Andromeda do not belong to me, just Meaghan and a few bit players.
Bekka deftly turned the ship the few degrees necessary to line it up with the drifting object.
"Got it, Rommie?" asked Dylan, barely restraining his curiosity over what it could be.
"Just now in sensor range, sir," the avatar replied. "It appears to be a single person stasis unit. And an antique at that." When Dylan shot a querying look her way, she added, "it predates..., us."
"That old." Bekka whistled, impressed. "Whaddaya, say, Dylan? Whoever is in there can't possibly still be alive." She paused as the AI's digits went dancing over her control panel. "Can they?"
"Sending out drones to retrieve the pod," Andromeda reported.
Dylan looked at Bekka. "Guess we're about to find out."
&&&&&&&
Trance met them in the docking bay as the drones brought the pod in. After the usual procedures, decontam, etc. Harper came running up.
"Nice you could join us, Mr. Harper," Dylan remarked dryly.
Harper had the grace to look a little shamefaced, but nothing could keep the irrepressible Irishman down for long. "You really think there could be someone alive in there, boss?"
"Sensors showed the unit to be functioning normally," Rommie broke in, "but I couldn't penetrate any further into the hull to check for life signs."
"Maybe if you could stop talking about it and open it up, Harper," Dylan sighed. "Then we could find out."
"No need to worry," quipped Seamus, wriggling his fingers. "The Harper is on the job."
For several tense minutes Harper peeked and prodded, pushed buttons and, it must be admitted, swore. Finally he turned to face the rest. "No can do, boss man, not in the docking bay. We need to get this baby up to my workshop. I'm amazed anything is functioning considering how many hits from floating debris that it's taken. Anyway, the controls are frozen solid. I'm gonna need a can opener to get in there."
Dylan exchanged a glance with Bekka. "Why can't it ever be easy?" he queried of no on in particular.
&&&&&&&
Trance hovered over Harper and Rommie while they worked, even though everyone else had gone elsewhere. Something told her there was a living person in the pod, one who would need medical attention.
Rommie finished the adjustments on Harper's jury-rigged back-up control panel. "All set, Harper."
"Okay, Rom doll." Harper paused to wipe the sweat from his brow. "Prepare to be amazed."
Rommie and Trance sighed in perfect unison.
Harper hit a series of buttons on a remote module. "Presto!" he exclaimed, beaming with self-congratulation.
Nothing happened.
Harper set the remote down. "What in the...," he began, leaning over the pod. Then, the lid to the box popped open so abruptly it clipped him on the chin.
Trance found out that her suspicions had been right.
&&&&&&
Six months later:
Meaghan hurried to the docking bay, fearing she was going to be late. If there was anything she didn't want to do, it was let Dylan down. Since she'd woken with no memories at all, not even her name, there was really nothing she could contribute to the running of the ship, and it fretted her, not being able to earn her keep. So, Dylan had created things for her to do, mostly to do with crew morale, and she seemed to be doing all right and was proving to have a knack for the job.
This was something else again, though. A big secret diplomatic meeting, at a classified location, and the Andromeda had been pressed into service as a VIP taxi for dozens of ambassadors. During the trip, however, they had to be wined and dined and entertained. And Dylan had put Meaghan completely in charge of the arrangements.
She arrived in the docking bay simultaneously with the latest shuttle. Good, she had a few moments to compose herself before the guest or guests would be alighting.
The door of the shuttle began to swing open when Bekka joined her.
"Hi, Bekka," Meaghan smiled at her. "I thought you were allergic to high-ranking officials."
"And then there are some that bear watching," replied the XO grimly. Then, as a very dapper-looking blond man emerged from the shuttle, she added, "and he's one of them."
Meaghan looked, her eyes wide. "I'll say he does, he's gorgeous! Who is he, Bekka?"
"Down girl," Bekka cautioned. "He's married, and a Nietzschean."
"Out of my league anyway," Meaghan remarked sadly. "Still, no harm in looking. And since you already know him, you can perform the introductions."
The man approached, lithe and graceful as a cat. "I would have thought the captain himself would be here to greet me." Then he smiled charmingly. "But since he saw fit to delegate the honor to such lovely ladies, I'll forgive him the lapse."
Bekka sighed, and rolled her eyes, and Meaghan nudged her.
"What?" Bekka jumped, then realization hit. "Oh. Charlemagne, this is Meaghan, affectionately known as 'mom.' Mom, this is Archduke Charlemagne Bolivar of the Sabra-Jaguar Pride."
"A pleasure, Miss Meaghan," the Nietzschean said suavely, bending to kiss her hand.
Meaghan's face turned nearly as red as her hair. "The pleasure's all mine, your grace," she murmured shyly, dropping a graceful curtsey.
"What exquisite manners," Charlemagne observed, watching the blush go from rose to crimson.
Bekka started to make a rude sound, but the frosty glances aimed at her from both of her companions cut her off.
"May we escort you to your quarters, your grace?" Meaghan suggested.
"I am entirely at your disposal." The archduke made a flourishing bow.
Just as Bekka was starting to wonder exactly how much of this she could take before she got sick, the hologram of Andromeda appeared.
"Bekka, you're needed on the bridge," the AI informed her, then disappeared.
"Well, folks, sorry I can't stay, but duty calls." Bekka made a hasty escape.
Charlemagne watched Bekka's retreat with mixed feelings. He admired Bekka, even liked her, but she did lack a certain.., polish. He turned to his remaining escort. "Shall we?" he suggested, offering her his arm.
"Thank you," Meaghan mumbled, feeling the blush start to burn again. She felt like a complete idiot. But she couldn't think of anything to say.
For himself, Charlemagne was enchanted with the Andromeda's newest crew member. She was totally unlike anyone he'd ever met. And not entirely unattractive, either. Fiery red hair cascaded in waves nearly to her waist. The fairness of her complexion showed off the light dusting of freckles across her nose. Eyes of emerald green. Figure, neat, compact but not quite small enough to be called petite.
"How did you come to be on board the Andromeda?" he inquired.
"They found me floating in space," Meaghan answered. Then seeing the incredulity on his face, she elaborated. "In a stasis pod. Rommie said I was in it for at least seven hundred years."
"Really?" He'd just been making conversation, but now Charlemagne was intrigued. "Why were you in stasis?"
"I don't know," she replied in a small voice. "I come up with all sorts of random facts and sayings like they're all just sitting there in my head waiting for the right moment. But I don't know anything about me. I can't remember one single thing prior to six months ago when they woke me up."
"Maybe it will come back on its own," Charlemagne ventured. "When you least expect it."
"I've been hearing that practically every day for the past few months," Meaghan responded sourly. "I don't think I'm supposed to remember."
"You think someone did this to you on purpose?" he queried.
She shrugged. "Just a fancy of mine, really. I doubt if I'll ever know one way or the other."
"It bothers you though, doesn't it?" Charlemagne probed.
"Some days more than others, your grace." She tried lightening the tone, but failed utterly. "Could you imagine not having any idea who you are, where you're from, or if you have any family anywhere?"
He suppressed a shudder. To a Nietzschean, where he came from and who his family was, was everything. "It must be awful."
"Moderately awful." She turned and suddenly smiled at him. "But the crew of the Andromeda have been simply wonderful to me. As far as I'm concerned, they're my family now."
As they rounded a turn, a tousle-headed figure came into view, then abruptly turned and went the other direction.
"Beg your pardon, your grace," Meaghan apologized. "Seamus! I saw you. Don't make me chase you down."
Harper reluctantly re-appeared, looking a little apprehensive as the foundling approached him, hands clasped behind her back.
Charlemagne lounged against the wall, watching the tableau with amusement.
"Uh, hi Mom, what can I do for you?" Harper didn't seem nearly as confident as usual.
"The modifications you faithfully promised to make to the observation deck three weeks ago," Meaghan said sweetly. "They are done, I presume?"
"Well, ah, gee Mom," Harper stuttered. "Stuff came up and, well..,"
"I need them done by this evening, Seamus," she purred, placing her hands on his shoulders and looking into his eyes. "If you started right now, could you have it done by then?"
Charlemagne stopped leaning and stood up to get a better view. He could have sworn he saw the blood drain away from the cocky little Irishman's face.
"Well, maybe, yeah," Harper stammered. "If I had a little help."
"Then get it," she cooed. "And get the job done like you told me you would, alright?"
"Okay, sure Mom." Harper actually seemed to have broken out in a sweat.
"Oh, and one last thing, Seamus," Meaghan added.
"What?" Harper asked nervously.
"How fast can you run?"
Harper disappeared like a ship going into slip-stream.
Meaghan turned back to Charlemagne. "I'm terribly sorry, your grace, but that was the first time in the last three days I've been able to lay my hands on Mr. Harper. I suspect that he's been hiding from me."
The Nietzschean smiled down at her as they resumed their progress down the corridor. "No apology necessary," he assured her. "I was quite enjoying the show, actually. Was I imagining things, or is Mr. Harper afraid of you?"
"Maybe a little." Meaghan's face clouded over. "I hope he knows I wouldn't really hurt him, not like..," her voice trailed off and she closed her eyes briefly, as though suppressing an unpleasant memory.
"Who did you hurt?" he inquired. He found it difficult to imagine this gentle creature harming anyone.
"I'd rather not talk about it, your grace, if you don't mind." She closed the subject and opened another. "We're almost there."
They passed a door with a new sign on it that read "Morale Officer."
"That's new," Charlemagne observed.
"My office," Meaghan informed him shyly. "Captain Hunt insisted. My quarters are right behind it, it makes it easier for the crew to get hold of me."
"What exactly does a morale officer do?" It was something you'd never see on a Nietzschean ship.
She smiled and showed him her dimples. "Mostly, I just listen to people. That's all they really need most of the time. Just someone to unload on, then they can get on with things. Here are your quarters, your grace. You'll find an itinerary on the bedside table."
"Thank you, Meaghan," he said softly, and kissed her hand again, then watched the flourish of her long skirt as she hurried away, blushing again.
&&&&&&&
Charlemagne desultorily glanced over the itinerary his charming guide had mentioned. Nothing going on till a reception this evening, hours away.
He glanced around the room itself. Just about adequate which meant it was probably the best Andromeda had to offer. What to do to fill the idle hours. For some reason his mind kept swerving back to Meaghan of the sparkling eyes and flaming tresses. Now stop that, he thought, she's human. Even if she were Nietzschean, with the precarious political balance created by his and Elsbeth's union, a second wife would need to be sanctioned by quite a few sources. Besides, he wasn't really looking for another wife just yet, Elsbeth was handful enough. If only she would stop being the warrior princess and settle down and produce him some more heirs.
Charlemagne found that he'd been pacing the room like a caged animal. He needed something to occupy him. Then, inspiration struck, and he left the room and headed for the observation deck.
Harper sweated and cussed, trying to re-route the lighting in the observation deck. He really did feel kind of bad he'd put it off so long. He started groping around for his soldering iron without looking down. "Now where the hell...," he muttered, when suddenly, the tool was placed in his hand. "Thanks," he said to his unseen benefactor.
"You're quite welcome, Mr. Harper," a cultured voice answered him. "Are you able to talk and work at the same time, or do you find it distracting? I have a few questions I'd like to ask you."
"Go ahead," Seamus muttered somewhat less than graciously. He really didn't like Nietzscheans, but Dylan would get all hot under the collar if he didn't make nice.
"What did you see Meaghan do to put the fear of her up your back like that?" Charlemagne asked bluntly.
"She didn't tell you?" Harper was amazed. "If it was me, I'd be bragging."
"She doesn't strike me as the bragging type," the archduke observed. "What happened?"
"Well," Seamus began his narrative, "About a month ago, Dylan took us, me and Mom, on a little planetside r and r trip. No big deal, safe place, Mom's first time off the ship. We were taking a tour of some scenic caverns, when there was a fresh cave-in. It trapped the three of us along with some cocky, punk Nietzschean officer..," He lost the thread as he realized who he was talking to. "Sorry, no offense meant."
"None taken," Charlemagne replied, shedding his suit jacket, folding it neatly and joining in the repair work. "Do go on."
Harper's eyes widened slightly at the sight of the (as far as he was concerned), foppish Nietzschean doing manual labor. Oh well, anything to get the job done.
"Where was I? Oh yeah, there we were, four of us trapped. Dylan was kind of out of commission, a rock hit him on the head and knocked him cold. Now Mom and me figured, well known tourist sight, lots of other people in the tour, help will be coming along soon, so sit tight, right? Not the Nietzschean. He's all set to start digging, and at the bottom of the rock pile yet. I try reasoning with him, no dice. I couldn't think of a way to threaten him, he was at least twice my size. But we had to do something, or this moron is going to get us all killed."
The Nietzschean's voice sounded strained, and slightly embarrassed. "Anyone I could possibly know?"
"Doubt it." Harper's voice was muffled, as he stuck his head under the console, "I think he was from one of those minor league prides from the outer reaches of nowhere, can't recall which one now. Anyway, Mom steps up on a rock, so she's nearly eye-level with him, puts her hands on his shoulders and says, ever so sweetly, that he can either do things our way, or he can lose some teeth and do it our way anyway. She was nice enough to recommend the first way as being a whole lot less painful. Needless to say, he just laughed at her, so she doubles up her fist and takes a swing at the guy. And throws a punch that my dear, departed granny could have blocked. But see, smart-boy here is only watching her hands, bad mistake, I thought Nietzscheans were more suspicious than that. So, no more trouble out of him after that, he just laid there on the ground, moaning and holding himself until help arrived. I understand that he may never father children."
Charlemagne snorted in disgust. "If news of his behavior got out, he wouldn't have fathered any children anyway. No Nietzschean woman would think of mating with so obviously inferior a specimen. But do you honestly think Meaghan would do that to you? She regards the crew of Andromeda as her family."
"I guess not, not really." Seamus sounded a little sheepish. "But if you had seen the look in her eyes.., let's just say I'm a cautious sort of guy and leave it at that."
"Not the sort of injury a man is willing to risk?" suggested the Nietzschean.
"Exactly," Harper agreed.
"Anything else to be done?" Charlemagne inquired. "We seem to be finished here."
"That's everything," the engineer confirmed. "Hey, thanks a lot, you saved me a lot of time just keeping me from having to go back and forth." Harper started to hold out his hand, then realized how dirty it was and hesitated. Then he noticed that Charlemagne's hand was just as dirty as his and reconsidered.
Charlemagne clasped Seamus' hand, gingerly picked up his jacket and went back to his quarters.
&&&&&&&
Seamus was just picking up the last of his tools when Meaghan entered. "Hi Mom, all done and ready to go."
"Already?" She was amazed, she knew Harper was good, but he had given her to understand that it would take considerably longer.
"Yeah, you'll never believe it," Harper said, picking up his tool kit. "Charlemagne gave me a hand with it, cut down on my travel time from panel to panel. The guy's a lot handier than he looks."
"The archduke of the Sabra-Jaguar pride helped you?" Meaghan sounded like she didn't know whether to be impressed or appalled. "I wonder why?"
"Oh, he wanted to hear about how you took out that hot-shot Nietzschean officer about a month ago," Harper mentioned off-handedly. "I guess, he just started working along to fill the time. See ya, Mom. Let me know if you need anything else." And he left.
Meaghan watched Harper's retreating back while she mulled over the revelation. She really wasn't sure how to react to it. Finally, she shrugged and got on with the finishing touches in the decorations.
&&&&&&&
The alterations in the lighting served to subtly section off the large area into three smaller spaces. One section set with buffet tables and comfortable seating was for (obviously), eating and chatting. Then another area was set up for those who chose to play games, cards, chess and of course, Dylan's beloved go.
The largest section was to serve as a dance floor. It was currently empty. Meaghan looked at it in despair and frustration. She'd done a ton of homework, and most of their delegates had some form of dancing in their cultural background, it had seemed like a really good idea. She even had Andromeda play a wide variety of music, to try to cater to everyone's tastes. She was on the verge of tears when Dylan approached.
"Smile, Mom," he admonished gently, without disturbing the pleasant expression on his own face. "What's the problem?"
"What's the problem?" she repeated incredulously. "Look, no one's dancing. All that research I did I thought it would go over well, but.., what?" Her voice rose an octave on the last word as Dylan swept her onto the dance floor for an energetic waltz.
"Maybe," Dylan suggested, "they just need a little push in the right direction."
It did seem that Dylan was right, slowly but surely the dance floor was filling up. By the time their dance was finished there were over a dozen couples on the floor.
"Of course now that we've broken the ice," the Captain reminded her, "you know what comes next."
"Duty dances." Meaghan grinned at him. "Thank you, Dylan."
The next two hours passed with excruciating slowness. Many of her partners had been enthusiastic enough (although she didn't actually go airborne as she had when a much taller Dylan had swept her through some of the turns), but there seemed to be a distinct lack in the coordination department. Meaghan felt sure that half of her toes must be broken. She had just about decided to make the rounds of the other areas to see how things were going, and spare herself further assaults to her feet when she turned and nearly walked right into Charlemagne Bolivar.
"I thought I'd better hurry and claim my dance before you made your escape." He grinned at her, guiding her back onto the floor.
The music slowed and softened and Meaghan became acutely aware of Charlemagne's hand in the small of her back. "How did you know?" she inquired a little breathlessly.
"Know what?" he teased gently. "That you were leaving? You were beginning to acquire the fight or flight look in your demeanor, and since fighting is out of the question, I assumed that you were about to leave. Feet hurt?" He twirled her away from him, and when he pulled her back into his arms, some of the distance between them seemed to have disappeared.
"Hurt?" Meaghan smiled back at him. "I was seriously considering never dancing again for the rest of my life. I'm glad you caught me before I took my final non-dancing vows, your grace, you're an excellent dancer."
"It helps to have a good partner," Charlemagne countered smoothly. "Has there been anyone since Dylan that hasn't stepped on your feet?"
"The one that knocked me over on my backside," she answered with grim humor. "I hope he's considering taking non-dancing vows."
"I must have missed that one," her partner admitted. "Who was the clumsy oaf?"
"I didn't catch the name," Meaghan mused. "I just remember that he wasn't too bad looking if you like the over-muscled type, and that he seemed terribly impressed with himself."
"The last part could describe over half the males here," Charlemagne responded. "Including yours truly, if the truth were known. Nothing wrong with a little self-confidence, is there?"
"As long as it's not taken to extremes," she replied. "I got the distinct impression that he feels he's never in the wrong. Even me landing on the floor somehow became my fault."
"The man must be an idiot," Charlemagne muttered.
"I got that impression too," she admitted. "But I just have to make nice for a few days, then, with luck, I'll never see him again. It may be a little petty of me, but I'd really rather he be someone else's problem."
The music ended, and the next tune was one of the swing tunes from Seamus' collection. Then Harper himself approached them.
"Hey, Charlemagne, could you give someone else a chance at the best dancer in the room?"
"I wouldn't dream of monopolizing the lady's talents." The Nietzschean gave way to Harper and disappeared into the crowd.
The energetic dancing that went with Harper's music of choice at least left no time or breath for conversation, and when her dance with Seamus was over, Meaghan did leave the dance floor, made a quick round through the rest of the room, then departed to collapse into her bed for a troubled nights sleep.