Captive Entanglements 5/?
Disclaimer: Andromeda, Harper, Tyr etc. Don't belong to me, unfortunately. No infringement intended.
Authors Notes: Rated R due to possible slash content and violence. I have been having some formatting problems, so if this comes out crazy bear with me.
In no way related to "Past Reflections." Takes place in Season One.
Shadow
The two of them had been pacing their rooms, shooting nervous looks at the door for the last two hours where they had been waiting for Bolivar to send for them. Just as it looked like they would be there all day, a tall Nietzschean came in and lead them to Bolivar's private meeting room.
"Sit down." The Archduke said from behind them, gesturing them towards the seats in front of them. "It seems we have much to discuss."
They sat across from Bolivar in lush chairs, both looking at the archduke as he sat behind his desk. He was fingering a flexi almost casually, while glaring at the two crewmembers of the Andromeda.
"Does the esteemed Dylan Hunt know he has a terrorist in his employ?" Charlemagne asked shrewdly, although with a bit more respect that he addressed Harper before then.
"It's not something that I advertise." Harper responded thoughtfully. "After all if I maid a point of it, the Drago-Katsov would put a price on my head."
"I hate to be the one to tell you this boy, but there was always a price on your head." Bolivar told the engineer, not sounding the least bit apologetic. He threw the flexi across the desk towards Harper, who caught it on the fly.
On the flexi was a picture of Harper, if you could call the rough sketch a picture, under the picture was the name Shadow. There was a 100,000-throng reward from the Dragans for his death or capture. Although they did not know his true identity, or if he was even still on Earth, they did think he was still alive and had listed all of his 'crimes.'
"100,000 throngs." Harper exclaimed sarcastically, looking unperturbed. "I'm famous, but I figured I'd be worth at least 200,000."
"What is going on here, boy?" Tyr growled under his breath. Harper spared him with a look before handing him the flexi.
Tyr read over the information carefully, surprised despite himself. [An attack on a munitions depot? Guerrilla warfare in the streets of Boston? A founding member of the Black Circle resistance movement? Responsible for over 14 hundred Nietzschean deaths. Who knew that the little mud foot had it in him?]
"Were you responsible for all that this says you were?" Tyr asked skeptically.
"Me and a few others, yeah."
"Why would you give the Archduke here, so much power over you, child?" Tyr asked incredulously.
"True, what's to stop me from turning you in to the Drago-Katsov?" Bolivar asked. "After all it would get you out of the way quite handily, and I am sure that I could find something to do with the throngs."
"Perhaps, but do you really think the Dragans won't be equally interested in where you are located, after you hand me over to them?" Harper asked impassively. "I am sure that they will be interested in capturing the Alpha of the Sabra-Jaguar Pride. After all, we both know what fine specimens of genetic material the Dragans are, don't we? They wouldn't be able to rest getting a leg over another stronger pride."
"Very well, we seem to be at an impasse." Bolivar said, leaning back in his chair looking relaxed. "Shall we discuss the terms of our inclusion in the charter?"
Over the next two hours Tyr and Harper explained the overall concept of the charter to Bolivar and his advisors. The main points of contention were what the Nietzscheans would get out of the deal. As Nietzscheans they pretty much were well equipped to take care of themselves against any opponents. It wasn't until Tyr mentioned the coming threat of the Magog that Charlemagne started to listen more carefully.
"Do you really think anyone of us can stand alone and fight the world ship by ourselves and have any kind of chance at defeating them?" Harper asked, glaring at the stubborn Jagaurs in the room. "With the other members of the alliance we have a better chance of surviving than if we fight alone."
"Perhaps." The Archduke acknowledged. "But you honestly expect us to kowtow to the lesser beings in the galaxy? We are Nietzscheans, boy."
"I am very aware of that." Harper growled angrily. "But you're going to get off your superior butts and work together with us unless you want to be eradicated."
"Are you always this melodramatic, boy?" Bolivar asked in disdain.
"Melodramatic?" Harper sneered. "I have personally seen all of my family, those that weren't slaughtered by Nietzscheans that is, ripped apart or infested by Magog. I know what these bastards can do. If you want to call me melodramatic, fine. I would rather be prepared for the worst eventuality then sit around waiting for the blood suckers to pick me off during an invasion."
Disclaimer: Andromeda, Harper, Tyr etc. Don't belong to me, unfortunately. No infringement intended.
Authors Notes: Rated R due to possible slash content and violence. I have been having some formatting problems, so if this comes out crazy bear with me.
In no way related to "Past Reflections." Takes place in Season One.
Shadow
The two of them had been pacing their rooms, shooting nervous looks at the door for the last two hours where they had been waiting for Bolivar to send for them. Just as it looked like they would be there all day, a tall Nietzschean came in and lead them to Bolivar's private meeting room.
"Sit down." The Archduke said from behind them, gesturing them towards the seats in front of them. "It seems we have much to discuss."
They sat across from Bolivar in lush chairs, both looking at the archduke as he sat behind his desk. He was fingering a flexi almost casually, while glaring at the two crewmembers of the Andromeda.
"Does the esteemed Dylan Hunt know he has a terrorist in his employ?" Charlemagne asked shrewdly, although with a bit more respect that he addressed Harper before then.
"It's not something that I advertise." Harper responded thoughtfully. "After all if I maid a point of it, the Drago-Katsov would put a price on my head."
"I hate to be the one to tell you this boy, but there was always a price on your head." Bolivar told the engineer, not sounding the least bit apologetic. He threw the flexi across the desk towards Harper, who caught it on the fly.
On the flexi was a picture of Harper, if you could call the rough sketch a picture, under the picture was the name Shadow. There was a 100,000-throng reward from the Dragans for his death or capture. Although they did not know his true identity, or if he was even still on Earth, they did think he was still alive and had listed all of his 'crimes.'
"100,000 throngs." Harper exclaimed sarcastically, looking unperturbed. "I'm famous, but I figured I'd be worth at least 200,000."
"What is going on here, boy?" Tyr growled under his breath. Harper spared him with a look before handing him the flexi.
Tyr read over the information carefully, surprised despite himself. [An attack on a munitions depot? Guerrilla warfare in the streets of Boston? A founding member of the Black Circle resistance movement? Responsible for over 14 hundred Nietzschean deaths. Who knew that the little mud foot had it in him?]
"Were you responsible for all that this says you were?" Tyr asked skeptically.
"Me and a few others, yeah."
"Why would you give the Archduke here, so much power over you, child?" Tyr asked incredulously.
"True, what's to stop me from turning you in to the Drago-Katsov?" Bolivar asked. "After all it would get you out of the way quite handily, and I am sure that I could find something to do with the throngs."
"Perhaps, but do you really think the Dragans won't be equally interested in where you are located, after you hand me over to them?" Harper asked impassively. "I am sure that they will be interested in capturing the Alpha of the Sabra-Jaguar Pride. After all, we both know what fine specimens of genetic material the Dragans are, don't we? They wouldn't be able to rest getting a leg over another stronger pride."
"Very well, we seem to be at an impasse." Bolivar said, leaning back in his chair looking relaxed. "Shall we discuss the terms of our inclusion in the charter?"
Over the next two hours Tyr and Harper explained the overall concept of the charter to Bolivar and his advisors. The main points of contention were what the Nietzscheans would get out of the deal. As Nietzscheans they pretty much were well equipped to take care of themselves against any opponents. It wasn't until Tyr mentioned the coming threat of the Magog that Charlemagne started to listen more carefully.
"Do you really think anyone of us can stand alone and fight the world ship by ourselves and have any kind of chance at defeating them?" Harper asked, glaring at the stubborn Jagaurs in the room. "With the other members of the alliance we have a better chance of surviving than if we fight alone."
"Perhaps." The Archduke acknowledged. "But you honestly expect us to kowtow to the lesser beings in the galaxy? We are Nietzscheans, boy."
"I am very aware of that." Harper growled angrily. "But you're going to get off your superior butts and work together with us unless you want to be eradicated."
"Are you always this melodramatic, boy?" Bolivar asked in disdain.
"Melodramatic?" Harper sneered. "I have personally seen all of my family, those that weren't slaughtered by Nietzscheans that is, ripped apart or infested by Magog. I know what these bastards can do. If you want to call me melodramatic, fine. I would rather be prepared for the worst eventuality then sit around waiting for the blood suckers to pick me off during an invasion."