Author's note: My thanks to Michelle for proof reading and pointing out a few wrinkles that needed ironing out.
Fifteen ~ Flashes of a Future Past (Forward/Back VII)
Harper was drunk that day. There weren't many days, now, that he wasn't, but he didn't care. The universe thought too highly of sobriety. They didn't understand, but Harper did.
He understood that there were some things in this universe better hidden and buried, like his past…and the choices that had been made, both by him and for him. And he also understood that being alive and living were two different things, and although Harper was condemned to the first for all of eternity, he had a choice in the second.
And he chose not to live, but to hide-- in a bar, inside a bottle, or lately something stronger.
A sweet voice broke into his thoughts. "What'll it be?"
He didn't look up at the waitress, but pointed at the empty bottle. "'Nother one o' thossse." He slurred.
"I think you've had enough, sir." She replied with a lilting voice. "How about I get you a Fryta Juice?"
"Jus' gemme 'nother, OK?"
"I can't serve you more alcohol, I'm sorry."
"Sure ya can. Ya go to the bar an' pick up a bottle." He flashed her what he thought was a dashing grin, but was really a drunken leer. "They'll be a 20 in it for ya."
Through the haze of alcohol, he was oblivious to the nervousness of the waitress. She didn't want any trouble. "The bar has a limit, sir, and you've reached it."
"Yeah, well I havva limit too, and I ain't anywhere near it, so bring me 'nother freakin' drink!"
"I'm sorry, I'd lose my job."
"C'mon, jus' one, eh?"
"I can't…"
He dug into his pocket, "I'll make it 40." He grabbed her wrist with one hand to push the notes into her palm with his other, but the waitress cried out in alarm.
A tingle ran across his skin the moment he made contact with hers. He gasped, partly in reaction, but mostly out of horror of the fear on the woman's face.
Fear of him…
He let go immediately, "I...I'm sorry, I…I didn't…" Disgust flooded his entire body. What had he become? He forced himself to his feet, legs shaking badly, barely able to support his body, and ran blindly for the door.
*****
He returned two days later; pulled as much by the Gift as the first flush of life he'd felt in almost a century. The tingle he'd experienced was unmistakable, and yet, he didn't think she was a One. There was no greatness in her future; the Strings did not demand her to shape them. Still, she was special.
He had waited until the headache and nausea passed, until he could think clearly again before heading back. A thrill ran through him as he walked in the door, a feeling he hadn't experienced in a very long time.
He felt….alive.
The waitress was busy collecting glasses when he entered and didn't see him approach. He settled at one of the tables and took the time to study her closely. She was Ilition, he realised, something he had been too drunk to notice before. Like the rest of her race, she looked fairly human. The only noticeable differences were the delicate elf-like ears and the soft orange cat eyes. Her skin was pale, her lips paler still. She was, by human standards, at least, quite attractive. But he also saw the whitish markings curling across her nose and cheeks that spoke otherwise, by Ilition ideals. She was from the Hushla caste, one of the very lowest, menial families. That explained why she was working here.
As she came closer, he repeated the carefully planned apology over again in his head.
"What'll it…oh."
He opened his mouth and the speech he'd prepared vanished from his mind. One too many benders, Seamus, he told himself.
"It's…um….I…"
"Gin, isn't it? Straight, no ice, no slice?"
"No, I…I gave it up."
She snorted in disbelief.
"Yeah, I know ya musta heard that hundred times. But I, er…" He looked down, "I wanna be the one who's tellin' the truth, y'know?" He looked up, forcing a smile, "beside, I gotta try that juice thing, what was it?"
"Fryta juice."
"Yeah, that sounds….actually that sounds disgusting, but, ya gotta try it."
After a moment's consideration, the waitress broke into a grin, "OK."
A few minutes later, she brought him a tall glass filled with a deep red concoction, topped with bits of fruit. He took a sip and discovered it wasn't all that bad. Either that or the last 100-year near continuous pub-crawl had killed just about every taste bud in his mouth.
The waitress turned to go.
"Wait," he called after her, "what's your name?"
Doubt crossed her features a moment before she smiled, "Aalana. And your?"
"Would you believe me if I said you're destiny?"
She laughed. "No."
"Then you'd better let me buy you one of these when you finish work so I can convince you."
Forward…
The moon was a solid disk above them, glowing brightly in the bitter night sky. They lay on the cold grasslands of Ka, one of the most beautiful planets of the Outer Rim worlds. Aalana shivered and moved closer to Harper, pressing against him for warmth. Smiling, she reached out and linked her left hand with his right, lacing their fingers. The bracelet glittered dully in the moonlight, drawing Aalana's eyes. Her fingertips moved to trace along his skin, watching his flesh goose pimple in response, until they touched the delicate script on the silvery metal.
"It's beautiful." She said, propping herself up on one elbow to look at it more closely. "Where did you get it?"
Harper felt his chest tighten. "It…I was given it…by a…" he smiled, "by a friend."
Her fingers followed the curve of the writing. "What does that say?"
"I'm not sure." His voice betrayed some dark emotion she couldn't identify. "Somethin' about the Gift…" He stopped, "I mean, about it bein' a gift, you know, from my friend."
She didn't seem to notice his slip. "Happy Birthday, Seamus?"
"Somethin' like that." He looked at her, feeling again the tingle he'd experienced the first time he'd touched her.
But now he knew the nature of that sensation. She was a One…but she was also the One. The one to whom he would one day give his Gift. His heart had quickened at the revelation; it felt light and unburdened. He had not been this happy in over 350 years.
He kissed her lips. "I'll give it to you one day."
She laughed, "What for? My hand in marriage?"
He kissed her again to hide his sadness. "You'll see," he whispered.
Forward…
The years with Aalana were bright, full of simple joys he'd long forgotten, tinged only by the sadness that she would live under the curse of forever, that her existence would become as painful as his had been. But he also knew that the genetically more advanced Ilition's would make better Eternals than he could ever be. Living for centuries was not new to them. Most could live beyond 200. The Strings would be safe in her hands.
He felt the call of the Eternals four years later, and an elderly One, Stevna, entered his life. A sickly, old man on a quest to bring the Way to the unbelievers of the poverty-stricken Outer Rim. His journey led the three of them to the ravaged people of Niprah. In many respects, his time with Stevna brought him full circle. He had been born amid poverty and violence, helpless in the face of such overwhelming hardship. Now, older than he would ever thought he would be or even than he had a right to be, he could intervene. He could help steer the thin, dispossessed children of Niprah towards something that would give them a sense of hope and courage. It gave him peace and contentment, a feeling he had never really known.
He could face the Night with joy…
******
The Ilition attacked the main encampment at dawn. The scattered human settlers awoke to the sounds of weapon fire and the terrified screams of the Niprah villagers. Harper flung back the covers of his make shift bed and grabbed his Blaster. His heart raced as he ran from the bio-tent and towards the terrible cries. A thousand memories of his childhood rose up and battered his senses. He shook his head violently to rid himself of the images. He didn't need his ghosts cluttering his thinking. He needed to act. He didn't need to feel.
A woman came running towards him, screaming in terror and agonising pain. He saw the flesh of her right arm had been bathed in the super-heated silicon the Ilition weapons fired. He grabbed her and pushed her into the cold dirt, forcing her arm into the earth, telling her over and over that it was going to be OK.
Even though he knew it wasn't.
The silicon burned into his palms, leeching through his skin, tendons and muscles in a matter of moments. His breathing came raggedly from the pain, but he knew that the damage was nothing the Gift couldn't take care of.
The woman's eyes began to glaze over as the poisons in the silicon flooded her organs. She jerked stiffly and began fitting violently. He held her as steadily as he could, watching foam fleck her mouth until she gave a high pitched cry and fainted.
Another villager fell to her side. A Niprah woman named Corinne. Harper looked up at her. No, not a woman, she was just a kid, barely seventeen, but she was the only one.
"Get her inside the tent." He yelled, "but don't touch her wounds!"
The girl nodded and began dragging the woman away. Harper didn't take a moment to watch to see if they were safe, he didn't have the time. Tightening his grip on his weapon, he ran wildly towards the sounds of gunfire. The noise became louder and louder the further into the encampment he got. The Ilition was attacking the water reserves and power generators at the farthest point of the village. As he came closer, he saw a swarm of villagers were using what little weapons they had to defend their homes against the superior might of the Ilition ground troopers. Harper remembered all too well the horror and futility of fighting them. Dylan had never really recovered, inside, from the Andromeda's first loss against them. In truth, the newly restored Commonwealth had died that day. History would record that fateful moment when the sky turned to ashes, and the Andromeda shattered into dust as the end, but Harper knew better. They had lost the war even before it had started.
In the quiet destruction of Dylan's heart and soul…
Harper forced the memories away and scanned the crowds for the grey shape of Stevna. His eyes caught on the Dellen, standing weapon-less at the centre of the fighting, preying for the fallen, and for the fighters. Harper's heart leapt when he saw Aalana at the old man's side, swinging her plasma sword, cutting down anyone who tried to harm Stevna, and deflecting the fire of any snipers who tried to shoot him. His breath caught in his throat at the sight. This, truly, was why the Ilition's had won. She was magnificent, born to fight with lightening reflects. And she was one of the lowest castes.
Their eyes met amid the chaos.
"Harper!" She yelled. She knew it was a mistake two mili-seconds after he did. In calling out, she had shifted her attention if only a fraction of a fraction. But it was enough to lower her defences. The discharge hit her in the stomach, the round eating away at her flesh even before she hit the ground.
"Aalana!" He screamed, barely hearing his own voice over the wild beat of his heart. Harper pushed his way through the masses, taking several blows to his body in his haste. The pain came as something detached from the rest of him.
It was time…
And it was a terrible realisation.
He threw himself beside Aalana, tears falling from his eyes. This was the moment he had been waiting for, for so long. And yet it wasn't the relief he'd once believed it to be. It was bitter, deep and raw. Death had come for her, but it would instead take him.
And she would know the pain of a forever life.
Night must fall, Harper. The words whispered in the back of his mind, but he couldn't tell if they came from his own numbed mind or from the Eternals.
He took Aalana's left forearm in his right hand, using his other hand to curl her fingers about his arm. Their wrists barely touched held apart by the thin metal band around Harper's arm.
Harper screwed up his eyes and willed the Gift to transfer and save her life.
But nothing happened…
Oh God… Oh God… Oh God… Oh God… Oh God…How do you do this?
He didn't know.
He DIDN'T KNOW.
He shook their linked arms frantically, choking on his own sobs. "Go damn you!" He searched the sky desperately. But the Eternals were silent. "She's dying!"
Stevna knelt at Harper's side and cupped his head in his bony hand. He stroked his hair. "Shh…" he murmured, "there is nothing you can do. She's gone."
Harper pushed the old man away and pulled Aalana into his arms, rocking her. He shifted their joined arms, his movements frantic and full of desperation, and squeezing shut his eyes, he called on all his blind abilities to push the Gift into her.
The battle raged around him, villagers forming a circle around them, ready to give their lives to save their beloved Wayist and his disciples. But Harper paid no attention to their bravery. Felt no shame at making them suffer needlessly in his place.
One man tried to pull them out of the fighting to somewhere safer, but he pushed him away and clung tighter to Aalana. He tried over and over to force his Gift into her already cold, stiff flesh, but there was nothing he could do.
A Niprah solider spoke to Stevna, breaking the narrow world that had formed around Harper. "The shuttle's here, Old Man, you'd better get your friend up now, we're not waiting."
Stevna nodded to the solider and took Harper's arm, "I'll help you carry her."
"Sorry," the man shook his head, "shuttle's overloaded as it is, and we ain't takin' the dead."
Stevna nodded, understanding.
"Seamus, we must go!"
Harper pulled away.
"Ah, shit!" The solider swore. "There's always one." And he lifted his gun and cracked it across Harper's head. He slumped down unconscious. "Now you can get him on the shuttle."
When he woke, the world had shattered…
Forward…
He walked in his sleep, dripping blood. His wrists slashed to the bone, oozing sticky red, leaving trails in his wake. Soon he would be empty; death would claim him.
But he would still awaken in the morning. Renewed, reborn, without even a trace of a scar.
Yet he still tried every night, hoping beyond hope, that this time it would be different that this time he would not wake up.
*****
There were two voices, one deep, the other full of gravel. "What is his name?" Deep.
"Just another John Doe." Gravel. "There wasn't any identification on the body. We're running DNA matches at the moment, but judging from the currency in his pockets, he's one of the evacuees from the Outer Rim so I doubt his helix would be on file. One thing I did notice was this."
"Hmm, looks like an old fashioned cerebral jack."
"Yeah, that's what I thought. That thing can't be functional, though. Doubt if there's any equipment it would work with."
"Looks like its been upgraded a thousand times, so its possible. Could be the fashion. Kids'll wear anything these days."
"Yeah, tell me about it. You should see what my daughter wears some days."
Something beeped. "There are no narcotics in his system but I'll take blood samples anyway."
"I wish you luck. There can't be much left in there."
A pause. "I'm reading normal blood capacity."
"Doc, the rate this guy was bleeding, there can't be enough in him to fill a teaspoon."
Another pause this time filled with the sounds of fingers tapping onto a screen. "I'm not reading any glitches."
"Then your 'frame needs an overhaul. This guys been lying in a pool of blood so large you'd think it was the Red Sea." He laughed at his own joke.
A frosty pause and then… "Well, Officer, if you'll come with me I'll get you the papers to sign."
******
Harper opened his eyes to darkness. He reached out. His knuckles hit metal casing, not four inches above his nose. He was cold, almost frozen.
He was in a morgue.
Harper yelled out.
So did the mortician.
As well as the owners of the two voices when they returned.
******
"Here, son, its water." The man held out a glass with a brightly coloured straw sticking out. "Sip it slow, it'll make you feel better."
Sweet flooded his mouth when he drank. The man had added some sugar.
"You were lucky they found you." He said, and watched as the glass empty. Then he put it away. "I'm going to help you, son, whether you want me to or not." He took a breath. "My name is Pierce, Dr Pierce."
The doctor waited a moment, and then touched his patient's chin. "You don't have to tell me you're name right out, but I need to call you something. How about Justin? That's written all over your files. Just in time to stop you dying, just in time to stop you freezing." The doctor chuckled.
And something sparked inside his patient, flickered, responding to something he recognised. Humour in the face of despair and overwhelming odds.
******
Doctor Pierce sipped at his tea and stared at the computer screen that held Justin's slim file, cataloguing only his age which they had gathered from his DNA scan, the location and time he was found and his disorder. "Severe depression." Which was an unctuous umbrella term for just about any and all mental illnesses. Pierce disliked the term 'mental illness'; it was seemingly derogatory, labelling people as crazy when in fact all that was wrong was a little too much, too fast. A lot of understanding, and maybe a little medication and even the severest problem could be tackled given time and effort.
Justin needed a lot of both. He was violent when not sedated, not to others but to himself. He rarely spoke beyond simple replies, usually 'yes' and 'no'. When he spoke more, the words came out so fast, with such manic, desperate speed he would have to be put under again to prevent him from having a seizure.
But despite everything Pierce knew about him, he liked the man. Even under the dulling affects of a sedative his eyes were intelligent, and he seemed to appreciate the doctor's jokes.
There were so many questions about the young man, not the least of which was why he wanted to end his own life. This was no mere cry for help, Pierce had long ago realised; this man really and truly wanted to die. Desperately. The doctor had never witnessed such want before. It frightened him and he didn't know why.
Another question burned almost as brightly. Justin had a data port in his neck, technology that was over 400 years old. Why would anyone want such an antiquated and dangerous device installed when there were any number of more efficient and much safer alternatives? His colleagues had concluded that this was simply another facet of his self-destructive nature, but Pierce wasn't so sure.
It wasn't long before he changed his mind.
*****
Pierce looked into the cell and saw red. Red everywhere… slicked across the floor, sprayed in droplets on the pale walls, soaking into the sheets on which Justin lay. The young man was pale and lifeless, crumpled in a boneless heap. In one hand, glinting in the light was a carefully constructed knife. And on the other arm…
Words had been painfully carved into his flesh.
Pierce hit the alarms and fumbled to open the cell. When he reached the man's side, he pulled him upright, elevating his wrists and pressing down on the deep cuts.
And all the while the words mocked him.
One more try…
He felt for a pulse. There was none. This time, he had succeeded.
******
His wife hated it when he bought his work home. And she'd frowned when she had seen the tiredness and pain on his face. But she'd hugged him all the same after he told her Justin was dead.
"I know you really wanted to help him." She whispered, kissing his cheek. But she left it at that, not wanting him to talk more about such depressing things. He understood her feelings and ate his dinner in silence.
It was just as he was finishing that the external comm bleeped. He touched the control and his assistant's face popped up on the holo.
"What is it, John?" He asked.
His colleague looked pale and shocked. "It's…its Justin…"
Pierce nodded sadly, "I know. I was the one who found him. There was nothing anyone could have done."
"No, you don't understand. Justin's alive! He just…just woke up!"
******
He didn't believe it until he saw it, but it was true. Justin WAS alive and sitting up in bed, completely healed, his eyes full of bitter disappointment. Pierce gave him a full psychical, but couldn't find anything to suggest that he'd been dead only hours before.
And he refused to even acknowledge the doctor's presence.
"Doctor Pierce?"
He turned. Three men stood in the doorway. One was obviously an official, the other two medical officers of some kind.
"Yes?"
"I am Professor Belize, from the Gaul Institute."
"I've heard old you."
The man seemed pleased, "I came here to confirm the Justin story."
Pierce felt a chill. "It's true."
"Fascinating! Absolutely fascinating! We have long theorised that Immortality is possible. Think of the benefits to mankind!"
"Justin doesn't feel it's a benefit. You are aware that he has been trying to end his life?"
"Yes, yes. But you have to consider the bigger picture."
"No, I don't. I'm a psychiatrist, the only picture I care about is Justin."
"Perhaps so." He reached into his coat, "however, I have transfer papers for Justin, signed by the Proctor for this entire system, to move him to my Institute."
"I cannot allow this! Justin is suffering from severe depression and prone to self-harming. He needs to be treated, not turned into a lab rat!"
"You cannot refuse."
"I am still head of this-"
"Security!" The man yelled over him.
Two guards entered the cell and grabbed Pierce while the medical officer's knelt beside the bed and forced Justin into a jacket. Then they pulled him roughly to his feet.
The last glimpse Pierce had was of Justin's uncaring eyes.
******
It was hot in the room, the air hot and sweaty. Harper could barely breathe…
Barely move…
Delusions swam before his eyes and he thought he could see his children playing in the sand, alive and beautiful, young and fresh.
And then his heart stopped…
******
Voices… "Incredible! His cells are completely regenerating. Imagine the possibilities!"
"Sir, he's coming to."
"Get the syringe."
"Filled with what?"
"Air."
He opened his eyes and a needle descended. He opened his mouth to scream as he felt it slice into him.
And his heart stopped….
Forward…
It would never end. The pain was constant and he would beg them for release, but they did not hear his pleas. The needles stabbed, fire burned his flesh, and acid ate at his bones. Everything was pain; everything was death.
And he kept coming back…
******
Something shifted in the Strings. Harper's body reacted to the sudden static. His eyes snapped open.
Another One was coming for him.
He licked his lips, trying to concentrate on the illusive sensation.
How? Where?
He needed to go, but he was trapped here.
I can't…
A screaming pain lanced trough his head, an ache that almost split his skull in two in its intensity.
He clutched his temples, curling into a ball.
Would it never end?
******
That was when they gave him the drugs. They thought they were helping him, trying to take the pain away. But all it took was his conscious thought, his ability to think.
He couldn't escape the call of the Eternals. And he couldn't escape the need to follow where his Gift wanted him to go.
It came as a cresting wave of pain, building slowly, throbbing to a peak before receding momentarily to build again.
And again…and again…
There was only one clear thought amid the drug-induced stupor and the sickening ache. It echoed over and over at the back of his mind.
I want to die…. I want to die…. I want to die….
But his pleas went unanswered.
And then a spark ignited: a light in the darkness that would preserve his sanity. It was a sudden, brilliant flame.
His hatred of Trance was borne…
Forward…
The years passed and the Gift never stopped screaming --a cry he could not shut out, or answer.
Whoever 'they' had been, they died a quick mortal death, leaving him to feel bitter envy. Even his tormentors were granted peace. He became just cargo, to be bought and sold as a curiosity, or bequeathed in a Will like so much property.
He doubted he could survive on his own and didn't care to try. The drugs he'd been fed over the years kept the terrible pain to a minimum, but also dulled his spirit. He no longer felt he was Harper. He was Justin, a thing--a problem.
He lost track of the years, and eventually his memories. The past was so faint now it was as if his youth, and his years on the Andromeda, were nothing more than a tantalising dream. He had always been here; he had always been Justin. And he had always been in pain.
******
He called the place he ended up 'The Asylum' for want of anything better. He didn't know quite what this huge clinical house was, and no one had bothered to explain it to him.
But it didn't matter. It was a calm place, with pastel walls and soothing music tinkling in the background. The staff, despite being overworked, was kind and quiet. They left him in peace, which was all he'd ever wanted.
Harper had not known peace in so very long. He should have known it wouldn't last.
"Seamus?"
He opened his eyes, the image before him blurring under the influence of the drugs he'd been given. The haze wove and spun and he squinted, concentrating hard. His vision cleared.
It was Trance…
******
One purple finger reached out and traced across his cheek, over the crest of his nose and came to rest on his lips. She looked as young and as fresh as the day they had met, her eyes full of child like innocence. She was so special…
And, centuries ago, a touch from her like that would have made his chest tighten and his heart race, now it was like dead flesh creeping across his skin. His bitterness and anger collapsed into one lucid emotion, pushing past his lips with shocking speed.
"BITCH!"
She recoiled in horror, and then visibly forced herself to relax. She reached out and gently stroked his forehead. "Shh…" She hushed him; "I've come to take you home."
Her voice sounded…different. But his anger rose up to overtake his curiosity. Home?
"I'm going to get you out of here."
"Out?" He whispered, with a tongue that felt it was made from lead. His head was so muddled, but his emotions… They were clear and untainted, pure of intent. His hate was stronger than his body would ever be.
She avoided his hating eyes and brushed his cheek with a soft purple hand, stroking gently. "Shh…" And she encircled him in her arms, "rest…it's OK. Everything's gonna be OK."
******
His mind wandered sometime afterwards, although he could hear her negotiating, her voice high, and laced with poorly disguised anger. She was bargaining with his keepers, he realised. Buying him like the piece of meat he'd long ago decided he was. Terror shot through him at the thought of leaving. He'd been here how long? Five, maybe six decades living as 'Justin' because no one had thought to ask him his real name and he hadn't cared enough to give it voluntarily. It was an existence, not living, being poked and prodded and examined like a lab rat.
He had no soul anymore, no persona, no life…
No freedom…
But he didn't care.
And now he was being made to care. Being made to leave this safe and colourless existence.
Money changed hands loudly. Someone yelled about being disgusted and a jumble of angry words followed, then harsh, ugly laughter.
Harper jolted like he'd been electrocuted when Trance pulled her Blaster and fired at his keeper's feet. "BACK OFF!" She demanded. He blinked at her in the laughter that followed, he had rarely seen her even hold a gun, let alone fire one. Then she took his arm to pull him away. A shiver ran through him, her touch was ugly to him now. She met his eyes in surprise but made him walk anyway.
******
Her ship was a small, sleek family cruiser, about half the size of the Maru. It was old by this time's standard, but still far and away better than anything the Maru had to offer. The room she led him to was surprisingly spacious, with its own bathing area tucked at the back. The bed was large and comfortable with a pile of new clothes at the centre.
Harper looked about, bewildered. His cell at the Asylum had been so spare that this room seemed overly bright and garish by comparison.
"Take a bath and get some sleep, OK? I've got to go back and get some of your stuff, but I'll be back soon."
He stared at her purple face and allowed himself to feel every ounce of his hatred for her. Her eyes lowered to escape his accusations and she took a step back. He found her fear brought him no satisfaction.
She turned to leave and sealed the door behind her. She might have offered him freedom, but it seemed as if he were no less a prisoner here either. He walked to the bed and sank down, his anger dying away. Sorrow rushed in to fill its absence.
Trance….
He bit down hard on his lip. That was the past. He took a breath and stood, and then he mechanically followed the orders he'd been given. It was what he did, what he'd done for so very long.
He had no freedom; he had no life…
But even now, he didn't care.
******
He awoke terrified. Afraid of the sudden changes Trance had brought him and the uncertainty of that freedom. He had been in his cell for so long; told what to do, knowing what each day would bring. Years and years of subservience... how would he live?
Tears welled up and sobs wracked his chest. He cried himself into exhaustion, and fell into a fitful sleep.
******
He smelt food the next time he awoke. A tray of steaming breakfast sat on the bedside unit. His mouth watered at the glorious smells filling the air. It was real food, not the pale slop they served at the Asylum.
He sat up and pulled the tray onto his lap and picked up a slice of hot, buttered toast. He chewed furiously on it as if it might disappear. He finished everything, every last grain of rice in the kedgeree. Then he looked for his meds. There was the usual glass of water beside his bed, but no little bowl of pills.
No medication…
He felt suddenly sick and panicked and he clutched his stomach, terrified the breakfast would come back up.
No medication…
He needed it… The headaches would return. He could already feel the pull of the Eternals at the back of his mind, pushing, tugging at him. Pain lanced through his skull, half-real, half remembered. He pressed his hands to his temples and fell back on the bed, writhing in agony.
Harper screamed.
******
Footsteps sounded through the haze of pain. Hands touched him and he whimpered. He knew who it was. He knew it was Trance.
"You bitch!" He spat and wriggled away from her, kicking out. His foot connected with solid flesh and he heard her give a cry as she fell to the floor with a thud.
She climbed jerkily to her feet and went to touch him, her lips dribbling blood. "Seamus?"
He jerked away as if she would burn him.
"BITCH!"
She fell silent for a moment, then murmured, "I wanna help you."
"Help?" He echoed, looking up at her with dead eyes. "No one can…"
"I will… I promise."
"Why?"
She frowned, not understanding.
"Why the promise? You can't keep it. You can't take back the past."
"No, but…" She swallowed down, "but it…could…" She looked away, "…stop."
A wave of despair ran through him and he realised that somewhere in there, he had felt hope at her words. Another reason to hate Trance…
"No…" He whispered, sinking down onto the bed. "No one can. Not even me…"
"I swear to you!"
He looked up; "her name was Aalana… But I couldn't give her the Gift. She died…and now I never will. I'm stuck with it." Anger laced his voice, "I've never hated anyone…" he gave a hollow laugh, "accept myself…until you."
She backed away, wiping the blood from her mouth and the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. The door closed behind her. He watched her leave then curled up tighter.
"I love you, I hate you…" Bitter tears welled up and he let them come.
There was a kind of peace in his sobbing. It washed over him, cocooning him in his misery. Nothingness surrounded him and he was lost to it.
Time passed; how long he would never be sure, and then…
"Shh…it's OK." Someone murmured in his ear, and gentle hands manoeuvred him until his cheek rested against a smooth and lightly scented shoulder. "You're free, Seamus."
He let the comfort flood him but eventually he stirred enough to ask, "who are you?" His vision blurred again, and cleared. He smiled and knew she was right everything was OK.
"Does it matter?" Beka answered him.
He wanted to tell her yes, but he was too tired.
******
He let her tend him, just like he had let them 'tend' him at the Asylum, but her attention was different. He didn't question it and did as she asked. Letting her pull him from the bed and tug his clothes off to bathe, or watch him while he ate, or give him quick, shy hugs when she felt he needed them.
All the while, she was talking with a soft, vaguely accented voice. He couldn't concentrate on her words, but the tone was reassuring. A need was growing, gnawing at his stomach. An empty, hollow craving…
Medication…
It soon caved into desperation and panic filled him. It began as nothing more than a cold sweat, then shivers, then he was possessed with bone-deep trembling and he began to vomit.
He didn't just need…
He was need.
Beka stayed with him, in the room, by the toilet, sometimes in the bed. She was always close, as she had been once before, just after he'd joined the Maru's crew and his first space borne virus had taken hold of him. He found comfort in her presence, coming to know her smell like a baby knows it mothers.
And in his brief, lucid moments, he would wonder how she and Trance could come to rescue him four centuries after their deaths…
Forward…
She was gone. Harper sat up and scanned the room with his eyes, his heart racing. She had taken to sleeping at his side, knowing his night terrors lessened when he wasn't alone. He was so used to her being there that waking to find her missing panicked him.
"B-Beka?" His own voice sounded strange to him, dry and cracked. It had been so long since he'd spoken.
He slipped from the bed, his legs weak and he found he had to hold the wall to keep from falling. The door was open; the first time it had ever been so. He wobbled slowly towards it, using the bed and the wall for balance.
He looked out. He dimly remembered the corridors from when Trance had brought him here, but everything else was a haze. He would never find his way alone.
But he needed to find Beka…
Left or right?
The left corridor ended in a ladder well, and the right was a darkened corridor. He knew he'd never be able to climb like this, but the dark…
…Scared him.
"Be-ka!" He called out and coughed at the effort. A tremble ran through him and he wanted nothing more than to collapse back onto the bed.
The empty bed…
He didn't want to be alone.
He stumbled towards the ladder, silently praying for the grav lifts to have been installed on such a small craft.
"Seamus?"
He turned in surprise and almost fell. Arms immediately caught him around the waist and he collapsed into the familiar smell.
"You…gone…"
She smiled at him. "I had to adjust the course settings. We're almost there."
He met her eyes and saw they were brown. "Where…is there?"
"You'll see." She pulled him back into the room, "c'mon, lets have breakfast."
******
The days passed more quickly after that, and she would often leave his side despite his protests. And she always gave the same excuse. "I have to make some course adjustments." But she never answered his questions about where they were going.
He grew stronger every day, until she felt he was well enough to watch some data casts. She also brought him transparencies on current events. It made grim reading. But the access broadcasts were what angered him the most. Much had changed in the 60 or so years he'd been contained. The Ilition had decided some time ago that it was now an Empire.
The Ilition Empire…
This was not the vision Dylan had given Harper all those years ago of a future of peace and prosperity. This…this was wrong.
Dylan's life… His death…had no meaning. This Gift inside of him screamed at the injustice of his wasted potential. And Harper's own long held belief in his commander, which even now wept at his loss, was impotent with rage.
"You're looking better."
He looked up at the sound of her voice. A wave of sadness filled him at the sight of her messy auburn curls and deep brown eyes. She wasn't Beka.
She was a stranger.
"Hey, you OK?"
He shook himself to dispel the disappointment. He'd guessed, long ago, it wasn't possible. Grieving over the loss of a delusion seemed…hollow…
"I…I can't believe it's so…changed."
"I almost didn't show you some of that. It's not pretty reading."
"I'm glad you did." He watched her sit beside him, her movements so familiar to him now. And so like Beka…
She shrugged. "Didn't wanna lie to you, y'know?"
"Thank you." He picked up a transparency, his fingers curling around it fiercely. "Makes me remember who I am. Or what I should be." He looked down at the thin metal band around his wrist and murmured to himself, "what Trance wanted me to be…"
If she heard him, she gave no mention, "I came to tell you that we're here."
He looked up, "here?"
She smiled, "your destiny, Seamus."
******
The Hivari nebula coiled in on itself, like a tangle of undergrowth. Electrical activity crackled along its nebulous clouds, the blue and red flashes playing and dancing in the white milky dust.
"Its beautiful."
She nodded, "but deadly. Makes everything seem…I don't know, pointless. Our lives are just so small compared to that."
He cracked a smile, his first in so very long. "Speak for yourself, Kid."
She laughed, "its good to know you got your sense of humour back."
A touch of surprise flashed through him and he frowned. "How did you…" he looked at her, "who are you?"
"Does it matter?"
His voice was strong. "Yes."
"I'm your friend."
"Yeah?"
"I'm going to do what friends do." She met his eyes; "I'm going to give you your dearest wish."
He laughed, but not unkindly. "And what's that?"
"Your death…." And then she told him how…
******
Harper modified the pod himself, arguing that he knew the technology better than she. He felt alive as he worked, using his natural ability and innate flair to see beyond the simple plans she'd given him. He guessed that was morbid, feeling alive at making preparations for death.
His death…
Her idea was simple. The unique Electro-magnetic fields of the nebula could rip apart molecules from even the densest of matter, therefore his body should be easy. All he had to do was fly deep enough into the clouds that he could be certain nothing was left to reassemble. He had asked how she was going to make sure the pod would stay together for the journey, but all she had said was 'don't worry. That's covered.'
But he did worry. He wanted this to work.
He was at home among the craft's components, with their cold familiarity and crisp logistics. Home…after so long. Sometimes it felt too good to be true.
The days stretched into weeks, a wonderful, beautiful passage of time spent in the company of machinery. He still called her 'Beka' for want of a name. She worked at his side, almost as if she were the real Beka and he was surprised by her aptitude and ability to keep up with him when he was thinking sometimes ten or eleven moves ahead. She would have made one hell of an engineer.
They had been on the edge of the nebula for almost 3 whole months before the pod was satisfactory and, when they both felt it was ready, they stood side-by-side, ready to say goodbye.
'Beka' held a bottle of champagne in one hand and tapped it nervously against her leg. "What are you going to call her?"
"It's a pod."
"She still deserves a name."
He shrugged, "OK, the SS Pod."
"Very original. You want to do the honours?" She asked, feigning smashing the bottle against the pod's hull with her empty hand.
"Don't you christen ships for good journeys?"
"I don't know." She shrugged, "don't you want a good journey?"
"I'm figuring death counts as a bad journey."
"Your probably right. You want to drink it instead?"
"Sure." He took the bottle and fiddled with the foil and wire. A moment later the cork popped off loudly and bounced off the little crafts' hull. Harper took a swig, and gagged. "That's disgusting!"
"I thought you were gonna crack it on the pod. I wasn't going to get the good stuff for you to spill all over your coffin."
He laughed and handed her the bottle. "Baby, I love you!" He pulled out his scoring pen and scribbled something on the pod's hull.
"HMS Coffin? That's sick!"
"I'm a sick kinda guy."
She nodded in agreement and swigged on the bottle. She made a face, "oh God, you're right, that's awful."
Smiling, he scribbled something else; something he knew she wouldn't be able to read. Something only another Eternal, or a certain purple babe would be able to read.
"What does that say?"
He grinned, "its another sick joke."
"Huh?"
He ran his finger along the writing, reading as he went. "May the Light (and Trance) have mercy upon my souls…this time."
"You have a plural soul?"
"I'm guessing I have more than one."
Her smile fell away and the atmosphere changed so dramatically, he could feel it. "Because you've lived so long…or because of the Immortality?"
He felt shock ricochet through him and he drew a breath. He forced himself to be calm, he had known, at least logically, that she had to know all about him.
But how…?
She smiled at the unasked question; "I'm your friend, Seamus. I always will be. Friends know everything about each other."
"You keep saying that, but we're not. We can't be. You said 'each other'; I don't know anything about you. I don't even know your real name."
She looked away, "it doesn't matter."
"The hell it doesn't!"
"Seamus…"
"Why are you even helping me?"
"I'm-"
"And don't say it's because we're friends!"
"You call me 'Beka'. You've even called me 'Trance'… What's in a name, Seamus?"
"I was ill. I thought…I thought I could see them."
"And now?"
"Now I see you." He threw his hands up, "but what the hell, maybe you're a delusion too. Or they were real and you're the hallucination. Maybe this whole set-up is one big illusion and I'll wake up and know I'm never gonna get out!"
She looked down at her feet, obviously fighting some inner war. "Leia…" She whispered finally.
He strained to hear her. "What?"
"Leia…my name is Leia." She tried to smile and failed. "I just liked being Beka, she's…she was quite a legend."
"How can you know that?" His tone was sharp. "And about me?"
"I…I read the history books."
"My immortality isn't in any of them."
"No."
An alarm bleeped maniacally and Leia looked relieved. "The Ions have reached their plateau phase. If you're going…"
He looked out of the airlock to the tumbling skies beyond. Then he turned back to her. "Thank you…. Leia."
She avoided his eyes, "good luck…or bad, I guess."
"Yeah."
He wanted desperately to hug her, but found his arms were immobile.
"You'll need this." She said, and bent down beside her tool bag. She pulled out a dusty ball and stood back up.
Harper felt a shiver of fear run through him at the sight of the orb. "It's a Haal Stone…"
"It'll energise the crafts molecular structure and keep it from disintegrating too early." This was how she intended on keeping the craft together.
He took it from her, feeling tears well up that he didn't understand. His heart raced painfully as he stared into its faint pink-ish depths. "Where did you get this?!" He demanded harshly.
"It's mine."
"It can't be. You stole it!"
"No," she shook her head; "I inherited it."
"You…you can't have…" He grabbed her arm. "WHO ARE YOU?!"
She gave a cry of alarm and he let go. "I-I told you…I'm Leia…" Tears rolled down her cheeks, "Leia…Harper. I'm…I'm your descendent."
His arms tightened around the Stone. Charlotte's Stone… It had to be…
He stared at her, thinking of a thousand questions he had to ask her, but there was no time. She pushed him back into the pod and ripped the stone from his arms. The door sealed him in, locking his past from him forever.
She ignored his pleas to open the hatch and placed the Haal Stone it the niche on the craft's surface. She hadn't wanted to tell him. Hadn't wanted to make this harder than it already was, for either of them.
She blew a kiss at the craft as she stepped out of the airlock. "Adieu, Seamus!"
And she hit the release.
******
The tiny life pod tumbled over and over, out into the pale blue and white ether. The Stone shattered the moment the nebulous clouds touched it. The dust crystals it created trickled and danced across the metal of the pod, coating it, protecting it…
Energising the very Strings of Existence…and Time itself.
Inside he was tossed, a sickly ride that bruised and battered his body. Then his DNA shredded…
Molecules parted… chromosomes shattered….
His life flashed like strobe lighting…
Back… His mother's face…. Forward…Trance bleeding… Back…Siobhon crying, her clothes caked in mud… Back… His father yelling in his face…. Forward… Beka lying dead and decaying… Back…Dylan laughing… Back…Beka screaming in anger, taking a razor to her scalp, tears running like a river down her cheeks… Forward…Charlotte and Lauren arguing over a dress…Forward…baby Kelly crawling at 8 months…. Back…. Trance kissing him, her body moulding to his…
The images came faster and faster. His mother. Siobhon. Declan. Podraig. Beka. Rev. Trance. Tyr. Dylan. Lauren. Charlotte. All his children and grandchildren and their children…
Over and over and over and over and over and over….
And….nothing.
******
The Gift reassembled him, putting the shreds together from the confines of the little pod. It recreated him, breathed life back into him and set his heart beating…
And then the images came again…
And then there was nothing…
Present Day…
The mainframe surged with power, burning him, filling him. The future technology of his port meeting the older circuits of the power grid caused wave after wave of power streams throughout his body. And in its centre, Harper's past collapsed in on itself in mere milliseconds, imploding, thudding through his mind in the barest of instances, crystallised by this moment. And in the background, Trance screamed his name…
*****
The engineers worked frantically to shut the terminal down and break the link. Harper's body sat rigid in the energy streams, his eyes wide and unseeing, fixated on nothing. Dylan had to grab Trance the moment Harper had been consumed, stopping her from touching him. He still held her around the waist, ignoring her pleas to let her go. She was screaming that she would be all right, that she could touch him. The depth of anguish in her voice and the feel of her heart pounding beneath his arms surprised him.
Beside him, Lauren fumbled in her med bag and pulled a scanner out. She rushed over to Harper and began monitoring him.
"I can't get a reading, the electricity is too intense." She said and leaned closer to narrow the scanner's range.
Her leg touched Harper's…
Blue fire arced through the doctor and her body went stiff. She opened her mouth to scream but no sound came out…
To be concluded…