BIRTHRIGHT 1 – THE ASSIGNMENT
by Soledad
Title: Birthright 1 – The Assignment
Author: Soledad
Fandom: Andromeda
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, maybe a touch of Romance – take your pick. My stories are rarely limited to any specific genre.
Rating: G.
Disclaimer: Andromeda is the product of Gene Roddenberry's genius. The other rights belong to Tribune Entertainment. I own nothing, except the weird plot idea and a few OCs.
Summary: How came that Rannveig was sent off on that fateful last mission? This is one possible explanation.
Archiving: Please, ask first. I want to know where stuff is going.
Dedication: To the members of the Memory Alpha Yahoo Group. Without their support I'd never have been able to write this story.
Timeframe: the first season of Andromeda, the very beginning of the series. The events described here take place during and shortly after episode 1.03: To Loose the Faithful Lightning.
Location: the planet Sinti IV. Obviously.
Author's notes:
In this story, there will be Perseids, and Perseids only. It is as canonical as possible, using background facts from both the All Systems University official database and Lady Maigrey's excellent Andromeda site. Unfortunately, canon facts about Perseids in general and the characters appearing in this story in particular are rather sparse. So I had to fill the gaps somehow, hoping that I won't contradict canon in any way.
Throughout the story, I refer to Perseids as 'he'. I know they are hermaphrodites, and I tried to work with gender-neutral pronouns, but they just sounded too weird to me. So yes, I know it's not completely accurate, but at least it isn't ridiculous.
And yes, this is not a very Dylan Hunt-friendly story. Personally, I found his actions in To Loose the Fateful Lightning hair-raising, to put it mildly. So, if you are uncomfortable with criticism concerning his person or his actions, this story probably isn't for you.
Beta read by Erinnyes, whom I owe my never-ending gratitude
PART 1
The regularly scheduled meeting of the Sinti Council of Directors – the ruling body of Sinti IV, one of the eldest Perseid colony worlds – was due to start in a few minutes. Most members of the Council had arrived already and were exchanging news in the usual animated manner of their race. Only Nabroth, the Overseer, was still missing, but everyone knew that he wouldn't make one of his dramatic appearances until the exact chime of the bell that signalled the beginning of the meeting. As always.
Most of his colleagues found this custom of his fairly annoying, but even they agreed that the Overseer needed at least some air of importance. Nominally the leader of the whole planet, he couldn't make any important decisions without the Council sanctioning them, and that could be frustrating sometimes. It was only right that he got the chance to feel important.
This system had worked for centuries, and the Perseids saw no reason to change it. Nabroth was a genius when it came to economics – that had been the reason why he got his post in the first place – and being Economic Director was enough responsibility for one person, even if it wasn't a spectacular job. Aside from his formal title of Overseer, Nabroth was simply a member of the Council – a fact he seemed to forget sometimes, to the others' mild dismay.
Technical Director Höhne, the highly respected leader of the Sinti IV Institute of Advanced Technology, stood at one of the large, open windows of the Council Chamber and looked out at the beauty that was Sedrea Beach. As always, he was thankful to his ancestors who had chosen to build the main settlements in the equatorial area. With climates from temperate to sub-arctic, this was the most pleasant zone of the entire planet. Even though the beach lay some two miles away, he could smell the saltiness of the seawater and hear the harsh call of the sea birds, while the sun warmed his face. His home was a wonderful place, and he intended to protect it by any means necessary.
Like many other Perseids born on one of the few remaining colony planets scattered across the Perseid Arm of the Milky Way Galaxy, Höhne had visited Ugroth, the ancestral homeworld of their race a few times. More often than others, in fact, since his position demanded to keep good contacts with his fellow scientists on all Perseid worlds. So, yes, he had seen Ugroth several times – but didn't want to live on Ugroth, or even to return there too often.
Not that Ugroth had been an unpleasant place – far from it. With its diverse climates and varied terrain, it was a virtual paradise. Or it would have been, if its population had remained as low as it used to be during the Commonwealth era. But after the fall of the Long Night, the great majority of Perseids fled from the colonies, triggering a massive reverse exodus to the homeworld. With the questionable result that since the Great Gathering, as it was called, a hundred and fifty billion Perseids lived there – a hundred times as many as during the Commonwealth era – making Ugroth the most densely populated planet in known space.
Of course, a population like that could only be supplied with the necessities of life by massive agricultural imports as well as the tapping of the planet's molten core for geothermal energy. And while it seemed to work out nicely enough, and the new architecture that had been developed due to the need to simply give shelter to so many people was truly breath-taking, Höhne very much preferred his own home.
Among other Perseid colonies – such as Hamsa and Sparborth, just to name a few – Sinti IV had always been special: a centre of learning and research, while the Commonwealth still existed. And though the settlements had suffered greatly from plundering Nietzscheans, raiding Magog swarms, and other misfortunes, resilient as Perseids generally were, their inhabitants had managed to preserve and even advance scientific knowledge in the face of overwhelming odds. Instead of running home like so many of their people, they had stood up to whatever the Universe might have thrown at them – and prevailed. In fact, this small planet, which was only three quarters the size of Ugroth, with its two hundred and thirty-seven million inhabitants, became one of the most important scientific centres of the Known Worlds. A fact that always filled Höhne with pride, knowing that he and his colleagues had no small part in that impressive achievement.
"You are in a very thoughtful mood, today, my friend," a soft voice said, and turning away from the window, he saw Cernan, the Diplomatic Director, standing nearby.
Cernan was small and unusually fragile for a Perseid, who tended to have a robust build (even though they couldn't measure themselves to the Nietzscheans, of course), with a round and gentle face, and delicate chin ridges, which seemed to be the reason while humans of all sorts instinctively thought him to be a 'female' Perseid, even though they knew that there was no such thing. For his part, Cernan had great fun with this, even wearing a decidedly feminine-looking shroud when dealing with humans or their Nietzschean cousins. It made them underestimate him, which often served to his advantage.
"I am a little concerned," Höhne admitted.
"About the rumours that the Andromeda Ascendant has been found?" Cernan asked.
"They're more than just rumours, I'm afraid," Höhne said. "My contact on El Dorado Drift has confirmed the fact that the Andromeda has indeed been freed from the accretion disk of the Hephaestus black hole. By a thirty-year-old rustbin of a salvage ship, no less."
"Your contact is a Nietzschean, without a Pride or a family," Cernan pointed out. "Are you sure he hasn't lied to you?"
"As sure as one can be with Nietzscheans," Höhne shrugged. "I've had…dealings with Kaveh Hamayouni for years by now – so far, he's proved himself reliable. And he keeps tabs on his fellow Nietzscheans, especially on the lone wolves like himself. That's a very useful pastime for us…to know where the mercenaries operate."
"Was one of those involved in the salvage?" Cernan asked. Höhne nodded.
"Apparently. One of the best: Tyr Anasazi. I assume you've heard of him?"
"Who hasn't?" Cernan replied with a practiced eye roll. "Wherever chaos and mayhem would happen, Tyr Anasazi can't be very far. Well, I guess, I shouldn't be surprised. A Glorious Heritage-class warship of the High Guard…a professional Nietzschean assassin would never let that slip through his fingers. I must admit, the thought of Tyr Anasazi getting his hands on that kind of weaponry makes me…uncomfortable."
"Then you can relax," Höhne said. "It seems that the Andromeda wasn't completely a relict, dead in space. The ship's AI was still functional, and her captain, a human named Dylan Hunt, was still onboard, alive and well, after three hundred years frozen in time."
"Interesting," Cernan thought about the news for a moment; Höhne could almost see the wheels spinning in his head. "Does this mean that all is well, then?"
"I don't know," Höhne said slowly. "The…data from that time are incomplete, to say the least. There are indications that the Andromeda might have been armed with Nova bombs."
"Nova bombs?" Cernan became ash grey from the shock. "By Ugroth's turquoise seas…how many?"
"The sources say forty," Höhne replied grimly. "Now, reports tell about a quite spectacular explosion that supposedly turned Hephaestus into a white hole – at least for a few minutes, before the procedure would be reversed – which could mean that they used the bombs to free themselves."
"All of them?" Cernan asked.
Höhne shrugged. "There's no way to tell. Unless I get the chance to go aboard and take a look."
"That's a possibility," Cernan said. "Sooner or later, this Captain Hunt would need help with his ship. It's a three-hundred-year-old relic, after all. And whom could he turn for help than to us? We always had good relations to humans. We were the ones who sponsored them into the Commonwealth, after all. The old High Guard reflexes will lead him to us – and whom else than you could we send him, when it's time?"
Höhne eyed the delightfully devious little diplomat with appreciation.
"Cernan, we should consider procreating together," he proposed. "Any offspring with my scientific talent and your devious mindset would be predestined to a steep career."
Cernan laughed – not in the high-pitched, chirpy tone he used to fool humans and Nietzscheans, but deeply and pleasantly. "I'll think about it. I haven't selected a mating partner for my next cycle yet."
"I'd be honoured," Höhne bowed his head. "I shall send you the particulars to see when our cycles might come in alignment."
"That'd be acceptable," Cernan grinned. "There's no need to rush, we can wait for the best suitable time."
The bell interrupted their conversation. All Council members hurried to their seats to pay proper respect to their Overseer. He did wear the title, after all, regardless of what their personal opinion might have been about him. It was a matter of protocol, and though Perseids weren't as obsessed with protocol as their Castalian associates, proper manners were highly appreciated among them.
The door opened, and Nabroth made his usual appearance. Wearing dark burgundy red as his office demanded, he was as big and masculine as Cernan was petite and delicate, with chiselled features that visiting humans seemed to find quite handsome, and a long, elegantly ridged chin that, on the other hand, every Perseid admired. But even more admiration had he earned among his people through his remarkable mind that helped Sinti IV to a boast of economic success that the colony hadn't known since the fall of the Commonwealth. For all these remarkable traits, the others were willing to overlook his sometimes abrasive personality.
To everyone's honest surprise, Nabroth abstained from his usual long and elaborate opening speech.
"Take your seats, esteemed colleagues," he said. "We have a…situation at hand, concerning GS92196."
All eyes turned to Desabri, the Director of Social Sciences, who was best versed in Commonwealth history.
"An abandoned relic just outside the Dyhedra System," the long-nosed historian said promptly. "A former High Guard starport and repair facility, if I remember correctly. It used to be a true jewel in the Commonwealth's crown. After the Fall, however, it became free prey. Magog swarms and Nietzschean pirates have often raided it for technology and spare parts, it's said. Small wonder, by a station in easy striking distance of a Magog-infested system."
"Not so abandoned as we thought, it seems," Nabroth said grimly. "Apparently, it has been manned all the time, and we didn't even know it."
"Manned by whom?" Cernan asked in surprise.
"By human children," Nabroth answered. "The youthful descendants of High Guard personnel that used to man the station. Somehow, they have managed to survive, handing down knowledge – corrupted knowledge that is – from generation to generation, and carry on many Commonwealth customs and rituals, albeit in severely bastardized form. It seems that they all had a very short lifespan, due to radiation leaking, and formed some sort of bizarre military unit, the only purpose of which was to be prepared and wait for the return of the High Guard."
"As fascinating as it sounds," Desabri shrugged (and he was fascinated by the news, Höhne could see it in the glow of his black eyes), "what do we have to do with this…situation, as you called it?"
"We have been asked to send tutors and administrators to GS92196, to help re-establish these youths into normal society," Nabroth explained.
Sarin, the Director of Planetary Defences, shook his head. "I'd advise against that. The station is practically in Magog space. The risks are too great. We can't send our people to certain death."
"According to the reports, the Magog threat has been eliminated," Nabroth said.
"Eliminated?" Cernan asked sharply. "How? There were three billion Magog in the Dyhedra System!"
"They're gone," Nabroth said, almost tonelessly. Not that he felt sorry for the homicidal monsters, but something of this magnitude had shaken him badly. "According to my sources, those young people managed to get the Argosy code needed to open the sealed hangar of the slipfighters that were stationed at GS92196. Those slipfighters were armed with Nova bombs."
The Universe has gone mad, Höhne thought worriedly. We haven't heard from Nova bombs since…well, since forever, and now everyone seems to have them. Except us. This doesn't bode well for Sinti.
"How could they get the code?" Sarin demanded. "Who could be stupid enough to allow children to get their hands on Nova bombs? And how reliable is the source of this intel?"
"As reliable as any source can be," Nabroth said. "I've been contacted by Ezekial Hakim, the Sabran Alpha of Centauris A. It seems that he'd been warned by some other Nietzschean that the young ones on GS92196 planned to take out their colony next. Fortunately – for them, anyway – they were stopped by the Andromeda Ascendant."
"That's odd," Sarin said. "What was the Andromeda doing there in the first place?"
"Looking for a drydock for repairs, most likely," Höhne said. "But if she was there, then it had to be Captain Hunt who gave the children the code."
"No High Guard captain could be that foolish!" Sarin growled. He had developed quite a military mind during his long years of service – something that was rather seldom among Perseids.
"He probably didn't know what was kept in that hangar," Höhne defended the human. "By the way, who is the one wanting us to help those…children?"
"None other than Captain Hunt personally," Nabroth said. "He seems responsible for them, but doesn't have the means to give them what they need."
"With other worlds, he made an utterly foolish mistake, and now he wants us to iron things out for him?" Cernan asked, unbelievingly. "Why should we ever consider doing that?"
"Because he is a careless idiot with Nova bombs under his arm, perhaps?" Sarin commented with biting irony. "Giving top secret codes to mentally unstable adolescents, without thinking of the possible consequences…" He shook his head in disbelief.
"He says he's sent the slipfighters with the remaining Nova bombs into slipstream by remote control," Nabroth said. As if that would have made anything better. Who knew how many worlds would die a fiery death, should those fighters somehow find a way out of slipstream?
"Do we have any proof for that?" Cernan asked sharply.
"No," Nabroth admitted. "Which is exactly the reason why I believe that we should do as he asks. That would get us into regular contact with him, leading to the result that some of us could get the chance to take a look at that pompous ship of his."
He looked directly at Höhne, who nodded. "I'd certainly like such a chance very much. Not only because of the bombs. Studying intact technology from the Commonwealth era could be valuable for our work. Not to mention that access to the remaining technology on GS92196 could benefit us just as greatly."
"Agreed," Nabroth said. "I'll see that you and your assistants get that chance, as soon as possible. Just keep your eyes open for those Nova bombs, in case there still are a few of them aboard…on either place."
Höhne withstood the urge to tell this self-important fool that he didn't need to be reminded of such basic things. He picked his fights with Nabroth very carefully, as the Overseer could be a nasty opponent. It was counterproductive to fight with him over insignificant things. Bad enough that the important discussions always cost so much time. But there was no way around it. Nabroth's influence was unquestionable, based on his success and not on his personality.
The discussion turned to other topics; topics that held little interest for Höhne, as they didn't fall into his area of expertise or responsibility. Instead, his thoughts circled around the latest intel about the Andromeda Ascendant and her little encounter with the derelict High Guard station.
There were too many holes in that story; information, either untold by Nabroth as insignificant (that fool thought himself capable of judging which technical data might be significant and which might not) or held back consciously by Captain Hunt. That was not acceptable. They needed every bit of data if they wanted to be able to estimate the possible danger these new players might pose for their world. If Nabroth had been idiotic enough not to ask, someone else had to do it.
It was time for their secret society to make a discreet move again.
Höhne raised his head and looked directly at Desabri, rubbing his wrist in a seemingly absent manner. They needed to speak, without the others spying on them. Desabri returned the sign, and then he pressed his fingertips together, forming a tent-like shape with his hands. Then he falted said hands again and nodded in Nabroth's direction.
Which meant: Come to my office after the Council meeting. Höhne signalled his agreement by rubbing the invisible tattoo on his wrist again (one needed a special light spectrum to actually see it) and continued pretending to listen to Nabroth's speech. Considering how the Overseer was droning on about he importance of these new aspects for the balance of power in their sector, it would took them at least two local hours to get together and do something about it.
TBC