Author's Note: Yay new chapter ^_^ Enjoy and tell me how I'm doing please.
Chapter 3
Beka stared at him. "I'm sorry I thought you people were supposed to have perfect vision. You did see those things coming out of his arms."
Telemachus gave a short humorless laugh. "Alright allow me to rephrase that: he's not completely Nietzschean. The boy is half human."
Beka found at the thought. It was possible, of course, but she'd never encountered such children. "How can you tell?"
"The name that he was called, mischling. It's a... a bad word. Calling him that is like calling you kludge or calling me uber. It's an insult which means 'half-bread' or 'one with tainted blood.'"
"Again: how do you know?"
Telemachus sat down in a chair; a gesture that indicated the story was longer than the question. Beka also sat down on a cushion opposite of him. "You must understand, Rebecca, that the general culture of the various Nietzschean prides you're used to seeing is drastically different from the culture of the Nietzscheans on Tarazed. It's a concept I've tried over and over to convey to you, but it never seemed to work. We have been isolated from the rest of the universe for over three hundred years. Than, humans, Nietzscheans, and other species have had to coexist and form a homogeneous culture while sharing a single planet. Naturally, the cultures blended and post-Commonwealth generations of Tarazed-born Nietzscheans traded many Nietzscheans cultural aspects and traded them for much more human ones. For example, Tarazed-born Nietzscheans still believe in self-improvement, survival, and other base teachings of Nietzsche. However, we also posses traits that you could never find on other Nietzscheans, such as openness to other cultures, monogamy, and the ability to... love."
Beka raised an eyebrow at the last one, but didn't comment. "I don't see what this has to do with the kid."
"Children like him are not uncommon on Tarazed," Telemachus replied. "It is perfectly acceptable for a Nietzschean and human to marry and have children without the rest of society labeling those offspring and their parents as inferiors. Several of my cousins happen to be half or quarter human. I knew that most Nietzscheans frowned upon such a union, but I never imagined how far they despised it. Unfortunately I learned this shortly after I became admiral of Tarazed's home guard. Driven by my own curiosity, I invited delegates from several small prides, strategically chosen to pose no threat, to come to Tarazed. I hopped to learn about their world, a world I belong to only by species and little else. It was then that I first discovered of Gaheris Rhade's betrayal, even though at the time I refused to believe it.
"It so happened that one of my closer cousins, Khalia, who happened to be half human, accompanied me. When we met with the delegates, the look on their faces could only be described as one of purest disgust and hatred. I did not understand what the problem was until one of them explained to me that where they came from, 'half-breeds,' or 'mischling,' were considered lower than insects and were to be exterminated at birth."
He paused waiting for all the disturbing information to sink in. Beka wordlessly got up and walked past him to a corner counter with cups and a fresh pot of coffee. She poured two full cups, walked back to the chair, and handed one of them to Telemachus. He thanked her and took a sip of the steaming hot liquid before continuing. Beka could see how unnerved he was by the entire ordeal. His reaction was almost enough for her to take him out of her generalization for all Nietzscheans as plotting, backstabbing, bastards. Almost.
"I later learned," Rhade went on, "that such hybrids only occurred in two cases as far as the Nietzscheans were concerned. Whenever the men... relieved themselves with slaves, in which case the fetus would be immediately aborted. The second possibility was on drifts with prostitutes, which I fear may be the origin of the boy. He said that his mother called him mischling. I assume that she didn't want him either since she didn't bother to give him a real name. In fact, I suspect that she may have been the one who sold him to the slavers."
After a stretch of silence, Beka shook her head in disbelief. "Wow, this woman makes my mother look like a saint."
Rhade looked up, but Beka already lowered her eyes not wanting to see his pity. She would have never admit it, but since the truth of her own mother came out, Beka was partially glad that she no longer had to bite her tongue every time such a subject came up. Not that she was ready to pour her heart out to Rhade anytime soon, but still. To his own credit, Telemachus never once brought up the subject.
"What will happen to him?" she asked as if Rhade knew.
"I don't know," he replied. "Physically, he will heal and get stronger. Children are incredibly resilient, you know. I hope he can heal emotionally as well, but at the moment it's too soon to tell."
* * * * * * * * * *
The child quickly sat up when the doors to the med bay opened and Rhade entered. The boy's dark eyes darted from him back to the doorway, as if he was hopping for someone else to come in. Telemachus had a pretty good idea who that was. He was slow in his approach, not wanting to scare the boy again. He was about a foot away before he stopped, close enough to prevent the child from running yet far enough to appear no threatening. With hands clasped at his back, Rhade addressed the child.
"I am here to apologize," Telemachus said slowly. "I am sorry I frightened you earlier."
"S'okay," the boy shrugged as if it was no big deal.
"No, it's not," Rhade shook his head. "It's not alright. A child should never feel afraid, but be protected. I do not know how to convince you of this, but what those people did was very wrong. Just like the name you said you were given."
"My mama didn't..." the boy lowered his face. "She didn't want me 'round. That's why she gave me away to the... the bad men."
"I understand," Telemachus nodded, "but you are not at fault here. What your mother did, it wasn't because you were bad or wrong somehow. It was because she was weak."
The child eyed him wearily. "You won't hurt me?"
"No."
"That's really nice of you. Mama hurt me sometimes. The bad men hurt me worse." Rhade knew that the truth was much more graphic than the child's simple words, but he didn't know how to express his pain any differently.
"How old are you?" he may have looked about six or seven, but Rhade had a hunch that the boy was even younger than that.
"Four," he replied, "but 'lmost five."
So young! Rhade silently winced to himself. "Child, I must explain why I was angry before; what you claimed as your name was nothing more than a bad word, a word I never want you to use again. We need to come up with another name for you, a real name."
The boy looked up at him. "What's yours?"
"Telemachus," the child looked confused and Rhade realized that there was no way he would be able to pronounce it. He sighed: the entire crew called him by his last name, what was one more? "Rhade."
"Then you give me one, Rhade."
Telemachus stared at him. He hadn't expected to find himself in this position until he was married and had children of his own. Not that he minded, but where to begin? The boy was half Nietzschean and all Nietzschean children were usually named after powerful mythological or historical figures from ancient earth. He was named after the son of Odysseus, a war hero and ruler of one of the islands of ancient Greece. His ancestor, Gaheris Rhade, was named after one of the knights of King Aurthor's round table in the legend of Camelot. Telemachus decided to stay within that tradition.
"How about Tristan?" he suggested.
"Tristan," the child repeated. "I like it."
Rhade raised an eyebrow and folded his arms over his chest. "You can pronounce 'Tristan' but not 'Telemachus?'"
For the first time since his rescue, soft musical laughter erupted from the boy's mouth, and Telemachus returned the humor with a smile. If he could laugh, there was hope for the boy yet.
"I'll let you get some rest, Tristan," Rhade was about to leave when the child called after him. "Yes?" he turned back to face him.
"Umm... where's... where's the pretty lady?" Tristan asked shyly. "The one who was here with you."
"Beka?" a slow smile spread over Telemachus' handsome features.
The boy shrugged, but Rhade knew he'd guessed correctly. "I think we just discovered a common language. Would you like to see her?" Tristan nodded vigorously. "Come on then."
Chapter 3
Beka stared at him. "I'm sorry I thought you people were supposed to have perfect vision. You did see those things coming out of his arms."
Telemachus gave a short humorless laugh. "Alright allow me to rephrase that: he's not completely Nietzschean. The boy is half human."
Beka found at the thought. It was possible, of course, but she'd never encountered such children. "How can you tell?"
"The name that he was called, mischling. It's a... a bad word. Calling him that is like calling you kludge or calling me uber. It's an insult which means 'half-bread' or 'one with tainted blood.'"
"Again: how do you know?"
Telemachus sat down in a chair; a gesture that indicated the story was longer than the question. Beka also sat down on a cushion opposite of him. "You must understand, Rebecca, that the general culture of the various Nietzschean prides you're used to seeing is drastically different from the culture of the Nietzscheans on Tarazed. It's a concept I've tried over and over to convey to you, but it never seemed to work. We have been isolated from the rest of the universe for over three hundred years. Than, humans, Nietzscheans, and other species have had to coexist and form a homogeneous culture while sharing a single planet. Naturally, the cultures blended and post-Commonwealth generations of Tarazed-born Nietzscheans traded many Nietzscheans cultural aspects and traded them for much more human ones. For example, Tarazed-born Nietzscheans still believe in self-improvement, survival, and other base teachings of Nietzsche. However, we also posses traits that you could never find on other Nietzscheans, such as openness to other cultures, monogamy, and the ability to... love."
Beka raised an eyebrow at the last one, but didn't comment. "I don't see what this has to do with the kid."
"Children like him are not uncommon on Tarazed," Telemachus replied. "It is perfectly acceptable for a Nietzschean and human to marry and have children without the rest of society labeling those offspring and their parents as inferiors. Several of my cousins happen to be half or quarter human. I knew that most Nietzscheans frowned upon such a union, but I never imagined how far they despised it. Unfortunately I learned this shortly after I became admiral of Tarazed's home guard. Driven by my own curiosity, I invited delegates from several small prides, strategically chosen to pose no threat, to come to Tarazed. I hopped to learn about their world, a world I belong to only by species and little else. It was then that I first discovered of Gaheris Rhade's betrayal, even though at the time I refused to believe it.
"It so happened that one of my closer cousins, Khalia, who happened to be half human, accompanied me. When we met with the delegates, the look on their faces could only be described as one of purest disgust and hatred. I did not understand what the problem was until one of them explained to me that where they came from, 'half-breeds,' or 'mischling,' were considered lower than insects and were to be exterminated at birth."
He paused waiting for all the disturbing information to sink in. Beka wordlessly got up and walked past him to a corner counter with cups and a fresh pot of coffee. She poured two full cups, walked back to the chair, and handed one of them to Telemachus. He thanked her and took a sip of the steaming hot liquid before continuing. Beka could see how unnerved he was by the entire ordeal. His reaction was almost enough for her to take him out of her generalization for all Nietzscheans as plotting, backstabbing, bastards. Almost.
"I later learned," Rhade went on, "that such hybrids only occurred in two cases as far as the Nietzscheans were concerned. Whenever the men... relieved themselves with slaves, in which case the fetus would be immediately aborted. The second possibility was on drifts with prostitutes, which I fear may be the origin of the boy. He said that his mother called him mischling. I assume that she didn't want him either since she didn't bother to give him a real name. In fact, I suspect that she may have been the one who sold him to the slavers."
After a stretch of silence, Beka shook her head in disbelief. "Wow, this woman makes my mother look like a saint."
Rhade looked up, but Beka already lowered her eyes not wanting to see his pity. She would have never admit it, but since the truth of her own mother came out, Beka was partially glad that she no longer had to bite her tongue every time such a subject came up. Not that she was ready to pour her heart out to Rhade anytime soon, but still. To his own credit, Telemachus never once brought up the subject.
"What will happen to him?" she asked as if Rhade knew.
"I don't know," he replied. "Physically, he will heal and get stronger. Children are incredibly resilient, you know. I hope he can heal emotionally as well, but at the moment it's too soon to tell."
* * * * * * * * * *
The child quickly sat up when the doors to the med bay opened and Rhade entered. The boy's dark eyes darted from him back to the doorway, as if he was hopping for someone else to come in. Telemachus had a pretty good idea who that was. He was slow in his approach, not wanting to scare the boy again. He was about a foot away before he stopped, close enough to prevent the child from running yet far enough to appear no threatening. With hands clasped at his back, Rhade addressed the child.
"I am here to apologize," Telemachus said slowly. "I am sorry I frightened you earlier."
"S'okay," the boy shrugged as if it was no big deal.
"No, it's not," Rhade shook his head. "It's not alright. A child should never feel afraid, but be protected. I do not know how to convince you of this, but what those people did was very wrong. Just like the name you said you were given."
"My mama didn't..." the boy lowered his face. "She didn't want me 'round. That's why she gave me away to the... the bad men."
"I understand," Telemachus nodded, "but you are not at fault here. What your mother did, it wasn't because you were bad or wrong somehow. It was because she was weak."
The child eyed him wearily. "You won't hurt me?"
"No."
"That's really nice of you. Mama hurt me sometimes. The bad men hurt me worse." Rhade knew that the truth was much more graphic than the child's simple words, but he didn't know how to express his pain any differently.
"How old are you?" he may have looked about six or seven, but Rhade had a hunch that the boy was even younger than that.
"Four," he replied, "but 'lmost five."
So young! Rhade silently winced to himself. "Child, I must explain why I was angry before; what you claimed as your name was nothing more than a bad word, a word I never want you to use again. We need to come up with another name for you, a real name."
The boy looked up at him. "What's yours?"
"Telemachus," the child looked confused and Rhade realized that there was no way he would be able to pronounce it. He sighed: the entire crew called him by his last name, what was one more? "Rhade."
"Then you give me one, Rhade."
Telemachus stared at him. He hadn't expected to find himself in this position until he was married and had children of his own. Not that he minded, but where to begin? The boy was half Nietzschean and all Nietzschean children were usually named after powerful mythological or historical figures from ancient earth. He was named after the son of Odysseus, a war hero and ruler of one of the islands of ancient Greece. His ancestor, Gaheris Rhade, was named after one of the knights of King Aurthor's round table in the legend of Camelot. Telemachus decided to stay within that tradition.
"How about Tristan?" he suggested.
"Tristan," the child repeated. "I like it."
Rhade raised an eyebrow and folded his arms over his chest. "You can pronounce 'Tristan' but not 'Telemachus?'"
For the first time since his rescue, soft musical laughter erupted from the boy's mouth, and Telemachus returned the humor with a smile. If he could laugh, there was hope for the boy yet.
"I'll let you get some rest, Tristan," Rhade was about to leave when the child called after him. "Yes?" he turned back to face him.
"Umm... where's... where's the pretty lady?" Tristan asked shyly. "The one who was here with you."
"Beka?" a slow smile spread over Telemachus' handsome features.
The boy shrugged, but Rhade knew he'd guessed correctly. "I think we just discovered a common language. Would you like to see her?" Tristan nodded vigorously. "Come on then."