Five - Watching Bridges Burn…
Rommie leapt forward as Harper's body crumpled to the deck, his limp form slipping through her insubstantial arms. In that second, she simultaneously alerted Dylan and the rest of the crew to the situation and erected a field around the room to prevent the future Harper from escaping.
She knelt by Harper, scanning his vital signs. His blood pressure was dropping fast and his heart was racing to keep his blood flowing to his organs. The surgical scalpel had punched his left lung, any higher and it would have been his heart. Blood gurgled in his throat and stained his lips.
"Why?" She demanded over her shoulders, "that's you! If he dies, you die!"
The older Harper contemplated the blood on the knife he held, "that's what I'm hoping for."
Half way to the docking bay, Rommie stopped. Her humanoid face paling a little, or was that just Dylan's imagination?
"Rommie?" He asked, concerned.
"Dylan, its Harper! He's been stabbed."
"Which one?"
"Ours." She frowned, "Dylan, it was the other one who did it."
Dylan turned to Tinn'Marr, "I'm sorry, it's an emergency."
He turned and ran, missing the disdain on the Tellan woman's face. Rommie was close behind him; almost bumping at his heals. As they disappeared down the corridor, Dylan thought he heard the woman mutter something about it being just what she'd expected.
Tyr reached the med deck first, entering the room at full tilt. He saw Harper lying in an ever-increasing pool of blood and wondered vaguely how such a puny boy could have so much in him. Then he saw his attacker and shock registered on his face.
"He's still got the knife!" Warned Rommie.
That awoke Tyr from his shock. Whatever had happened to bring this man back from the dead was nothing compared to the threat that scalpel in his hand held to Tyr's survival.
Rommie lowered the field and let Tyr into the future Harper's space. The older boy looked at the surgical scalpel he had taken from the OR and tossed it into the air. It spun end over end, spilling tiny red droplets into the air. Harper caught it by the blade and held it out.
Tyr's face showed his distrust as he slowly took the knife from him. As soon as he had it in his possession he quickly moved to restrain the man. Harper offered no resistance what so ever.
Dylan raced into the room, immediately saw that Tyr had restrained one Harper and Rommie kneeling at the side of the other, her face creased with worry. Her insubstantial hologrammic hands tried to touch the injured man and offer him comfort. He could read the distress her inability to do so was causing her.
Dylan lent over the bleeding boy and assessed the damage. The main worry was blood loss; it was jetting out of Harper like a flood.
"Arterial damage." He murmured, "his lungs been punctured."
"Dylan, he's going into shock." Rommie warned.
Trance flew into the room with Beka only two paces behind. The alien's little girl-ness evaporated in an instance as she began barking orders.
"Get him into surgery." She snapped, "I'll need an immediate blood substitute hooked up. Beka, get him some oxygen, he can barely breathe..."
Dylan picked Harper up as carefully as he could, wincing at the little moan of pain that came from the stricken boy and carried him after Trance.
"What shall I do with him?" Tyr asked.
Beka stared at the future Harper with disgust. "Put him in the brig."
Tyr pushed him forward and as they passed Beka, her hand flew out, quick as lightening, grabbing Harper by the throat. "If he dies…" She warned.
"Some threat, Boss. So will I." He laughed bitterly, "looking forward to it."
She had him against the wall in a second, so fast that even Tyr didn't have time to react. Surprise registered on the future Harper's face but not the fear she'd been expecting.
"Beka!"
She shot Tyr a 'stay outta this' look, but then she slowly released Harper, "I dunno how, but if he dies, you will pay."
And she threw him towards Tyr and stalked out.
Dylan strode into the brig; his shirt still stained with Seamus's blood. He remembered trying to hold the boy's body still as he writhed in pain, barely conscious, his eyes wide as he drowned in a world of agony. He remembered the slick feel of the blood…and the smell of it. The raspy sound as Harper fought for breathe; the gurgle of blood in the back of his throat. The sight of it dribbling out of his mouth.
In all his years in the High Guard, he'd never seen anyone bleed so much.
Dylan shook the memories away as he stopped in front of the cell. The occupant looked up at him.
The future Harper smiled, "I'm still here so I guess I'm hanging on in there." He said conversationally, as if he were talking about the weather. "My immune system works better than I thought."
Dylan clenched his fist, fighting back his anger. He'd been lax in his duty. He hadn't followed his instincts when he first saw this Harper alive. He should have thrown him in jail right then and there. At least until they had answers. But he hadn't.
And now Seamus was paying the price.
He let down the force grid holding this Harper in the cell and walked slowly…dangerously…up to the man. "I want answers!"
"Don't always get what we want, do we?"
Dylan grabbed him and pushed his back up against the wall in a second. "You will tell me!"
There was no fear in Harper's eyes. No concern what so ever.
"Why did you stab him? He's you!"
No answer.
"Answer me."
Still no reply, no sign that he'd even heard the question.
"Harper, if you don't answer me, I'll see to it that the next time you die, you'll stay dead!"
He roared with laughter. "Boss, if you could…that be a reward, not a punishment."
"Reward?"
Harper smiled bitterly, "I'm immortal."
"What?"
"Want answers? Want it all nice and clear?"
Dylan waited, staring the man down, not wanting him to see just how desperately he needed to hear those answers.
"Get me a couple bottles of scotch, and you can have my spleen."
Beka slipped quietly into the IC bay where Harper lay. The lights were dimmed and the air was warm. The panel over the bed blinked and whirred as it monitored the boy's lifesigns. Trance had assured her he was doing well and that all this equipment was merely precautionary for the next 24 hours. Dylan had asked her to take his place at the President's dinner tonight. The shuttle was due to leave soon, but there was something she needed to do first. Someone's hand she had to hold.
She took Harper's cold hand in both of hers, trying to bring some warmth into his fingers. She felt a flash of surprise when she saw his eyes flutter open.
"Hey." She said.
"Man, I had a wild dream," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. "There was this other me."
"He stabbed you."
"Yeah, how d'you…" he trailed off, realising where he was. And what that meant. "Oh. Where is he…er, me?"
"In the brig."
"Why'd he…? I mean, he's me."
"I don't know. But I promise you Seamus, I'll find out."
They looked like a couple of drinking buddies, sitting on the floor of the brig, backs leant against the wall. Dylan held a large glass containing a double measure of scotch. But he'd barely even sipped it. Harper hadn't bothered with the glass Dylan had given him and just drank heavily from the bottle. When he had enough alcohol warming his belly, Harper began to speak.
"Four years from now, they'll be a battle. And I mean a battle, a big battle, historical, bloody, makes the Witch Head look like a day at the beach. Us against them."
Dylan frowned. "Them?"
"You'll find out." He took another swig. "Anyway, the Andromeda falls, and the Maru, Tyr's pride…virtually everyone. I was injured…woulda died too." He shrugged, "got given immortality. I don't die and I don't age. 27 going on 505."
Dylan did a quick calculation, 478 years… that fit with the results of the chrono-spacial scan. But he still spoke the words, "that's…hard to believe."
"Maybe, but I know you too well. That's not your 'oh yeah?' face."
Dylan didn't answer. He was silent for a long while and then asked, "what did you do all those years?
"Most of everythin.' First hundreds a blast, y'know. Do what ya like, drink, drugs…" he smiled, "rock 'n' roll. Your wife grows old and you don't. And pretty soon you're burying her. But that's nothin' ya didn't expect. You talk about it and she tell you its OK if you want someone else…someone younger. Someone when she's dead. Then a few more decades go by and you're first kid dies and you don't. And another child, and another… but you're there for your grandchildren and you take so much comfort from that, you know?…it's…everythin'. But then they die…and you can't. And you're there for you're great-grands…but then they die." He laughed bitterly, "Fulla death that second century and you start your third and you've got so many great-greats running around you never know any of them enough to get close to. Just turn up at the funerals and the weddings. 'Hey there's the guy that created us all, the one who doesn't die.'" He looked away and took another mouthful of scotch. "They hate you for it, in the end. Burying their parents, their wives, husbands…their own kids…" Dylan watched the memories cross Harper's features and he felt tears prick his own eyes in sympathy. "Their stillborn babies that never got a chance to live…And them looking at you and wishing you were under there instead of them, 'cause that's where you shoulda been a long time ago. By the time you get to your fourth century…you can't take it anymore and you walk away…. And then you have nothing. Pretty soon everyone you ever meet is just another walking corpse. And you know somethin'? You envy them for it. For being able to die."
"I'm sorry."
"Yeah…" He murmured. He was silent for a long while, lost in his thoughts. Dylan sat with him, waiting for more. Wanting to ask him how he came to be in the Stream; how he had travelled in time, before time ran out and he had to meet with the Tellan co-ordinator. But the words never came out.
After a long while, Harper put the empty bottle down and spoke again.
"If you care at all about me…about the Harper you know. Pray he dies tonight."
Beka watched the Andromeda through the observation port of the Tellan transport. It grew smaller and smaller the further away they went and every kilometre hurt like hell. She wanted to be back there with Harper. He was a member of her crew. No, more than just her crew, he felt like her little brother. She wanted to get answers. She wanted…
She wanted to be doing anything other than making nice-nice at some presidential dinner.
Rommie lay a hand on her shoulder, but didn't speak. The avatar knew any words she gave right now would be unwelcome. Rev was there too, talking softly with one of the guards, a fellow Wayist. But for what she could hear, his heart wasn't in the conversation.
Quiet had fallen over the crew, heavy with concerns and questions for which there were no answers.
Trance walked quietly into the room. There was nothing but silence. Nothing but the all-enveloping cloak of darkness in the brig. She had watched Dylan leave, knowing he had to meet with the Tellan co-ordinator. He would be gone for a while and this might be her only chance.
Her feet made no sound as she came ever closer to the only occupied cell. She could just make out the sleeping form on the cell's only bed. She watched him for a moment, taking comfort in the even rise and fall of his chest, knowing that meant his younger self was doing well. She had hated leaving her injured friend unattended, but she knew she must.
A whisper broke the peace, filled with warmth.
"'She is older than the rocks among which she sits; like a vampire, she has been dead many times, and learned the secrets of the grave; and has been a diver-'"
And Trance took over, "…'in deep seas, and keeps their fallen day about her.'"
Harper sat up and moved softly to the very edge of the force grid. He stood so close to her that she could feel his breath of her cheeks, a tender smile on his face.
She looked deeply into his eyes, "who taught you that?"
"You did, you said you knew the moment we met I'd say that to you one day."
Tears trickled down her cheeks but she didn't know why. Maybe it was the poem…or the look in his eyes…
"Hey, ya know I hate it when you cry."
"You have the Gift, don't you?"
"Gift, curse…pretty much the same thing."
"Who gave it to you?"
"Don't you know?"
You're alive… the first words he'd spoken to her echoed through her mind, words who's hidden meaning could not be possible. And she knew. She'd always known; she had just tried to deny it.
the first words he'd spoken to her echoed through her mind, words who's hidden meaning be possible. And she knew. She'd always known; she had just tried to deny it."You did…" He confirmed and sadness filled his eyes. "And I hate you for it."