Disclaimer: I do not own any of Andromeda's characters; if I did, would I be writing fanfiction? I think not. It all belongs to Tribune…or some sort of tv company thing. Anyway, it's not mine. This is written purely for entertainment. Enjoy.
Filial Piety
Part 1
The woman was not human, but this fact had never bothered her. She looked human; she smelled, felt, and tasted like a human. A human woman.
What she was, exactly, even she did not know. It was enough for her that she enjoyed life; her greatest pleasure and amusement came from tormenting human men, who were drawn to her beauty the way flies were to intoxicating-and, to them, deadly- drinks. She relished the power she had over them, and most of the time they even enjoyed it. Only sometimes, when the mood struck her, she found it much, much, more entertaining to ruin a man's life; to grind him down like so much dirt beneath her feet.
And she felt just such a mood strike her as the young, skinny blonde man –hardly more than a boy, not that it mattered to her- tumbled into her arms, as drunk from her kisses as he was from the many glasses of beer she'd bought for him.
He was exactly the type she loved to destroy; alone and seemingly friendless, he was weak and utterly naïve, as far as she could tell.
They were awakened by a loud knocking on the door. She slid out of the bed, not bothering to cover herself, and upon opening the door found herself face to face with an angry, tall woman, whose red hair seemed to crackle with emotion.
"Looking for him?" she felt a sense of glee as she jerked a finger at the sleeping boy she'd left on the bed. The woman, no doubt his lover, was too angry for words, and as she stormed into the room, the woman slipped out with a malicious smile on her face as she anticipated the fun of making the boy's life as miserable as she could. Her power, that even she did not fully understand, had grasped him; he was, effectively, a spy caught in her web and just as doomed.
What happened instead was something she had anticipated, especially with a weak stripling like him
She became pregnant.
Seefra 1-the Present
Twelve years, in his timeline anyway, after he'd hitched a ride off of Earth, Seamus Harper was busy serving drinks in a run down 'saloon' on a desolate planet. The only company he had, at the moment, was his faithful friend –and AI- Doyle. They chatted as he cleaned glasses; she enjoyed hearing his stories of his days and adventures aboard the Andromeda Ascendant.
"So, Trance turned golden before or after you built the machine to take out the Magog larvae?" She asked with an amused smile. Harper paused, giving a slight frown.
"Well, it was sort of after I built the machine, but before the larvae was taken out. Er, temporal mechanics and all that…" He said vaguely with an apologetic shrug. They were silent for a moment, and Doyle studied him with curious eyes.
"What did you do before you lived on the Andromeda, Harper? You don't talk about that time very often."
"I was with Beka, on the Eureka Maru," He explained, which was, of course, no explanation at all. Doyle frowned and leaned forward.
"I know that Harper, I meant, before then. Where were you born? What was your family like?" Harper set the glass he'd been drying on the counter and was still, as though collecting his thoughts. Finally he shrugged.
"They're dead, Doyle, that's why I left." He said it matter-of-factly, but he did not meet his gaze, and this, she had learned, meant that he was uncomfortable with the subject they were discussing.
"You don't have any family left at all?" She asked incredulously. Harper flashed her a dashing smile.
"Nope, you're the only family I got left Doyle, you and- well, you're all I need." He finished quickly. Turning, he carried a tray of clean glasses and went to put them away. Doyle watched his retreating back with something akin to sadness on her face. She knew what he had been going to say: 'You and Beka and the others.' But he had stopped. Something in his relationship with them had changed and become uncertain.
Three years, she thought, is a long time for a human to believe everyone he knows and loves is dead.
Somewhere in the Andromeda Galaxy…twelve years ago
It took her a long time to find a planet suitable for raising her child. She finally chose a backward, archaic world where technology had just enough influence for people to know and understand it; though as it was a planet largely used for farming, and little technology was needed or wanted.
She did not mind the isolation from the rest of the galaxy; she had a new project, a different game, to play. This one did not require meetings with strange men each night. No; she would live by herself, alone, except for the child. Her child; her son.
A small but comfortable hut became her home; it was just outside a small village, where the people regarded her as something of a witch, and she did nothing to dissuade them of their superstition. The baby was easy enough to care for; she merely had to feed it and clean it once in awhile and it thrived. When she tired of it, she would explore her powers for amusement. Tales of strange lights and beasts added to the villagers' fear of her, which she found entertaining.
As it grew, it occurred to her that it, he, needed a name. A name suitable for a human boy with no father. She remembered, vaguely, that the boy –the father- had mumbled something about a planet he was from. It took some hours of meditation to remember that quickly-forgotten fact, but at last she recalled it. Earth. The name had little meaning to her, so she spent a day or two researching the planet, a delicious idea entering her head. She decided she wanted a name that might mean something to the father, when the time came for him to learn of his son. She delved into her power to learn the name of the father, its origin; it's meaning. She was not sure how she was able to know these things, but she finally found the perfect name. It even came from the same language, or close enough, as the father's. By the time she chose it, the child could almost walk and talk. It called her 'Lady Mother', or sometimes just 'Mother' and at last she could call it something in return.
"Keary. You shall be my Keary; and if your father does not know the name or its origin, then you shall explain it to him, before you kill him." The child wriggled in her arms and she held it tighter, knowing that she could easily force the life out of such a small, fragile body. But she let it go; knowing also that the wait would be worth the trouble of holding herself back and keeping it alive. A smile, the first genuine one she'd worn in months, crept over her face. The child, upon seeing it, dissolved into a fit of crying that was soothed when she gently held it in her arms.
"Hush small one, you have nothing to fear from me. Not yet." She promised him.
The years passed by quickly; time was something she rarely kept track of, and her days were spent teaching the child, Keary. Although small, he was strong and she began training him with every manner of weapons. She concentrated mainly on daggers and the sword, for she did not want the boy's father to die from a mere gun shot wound. Nothing that quick or bloodless.
However, she told him nothing of his father or the mission for which she was grooming him, until one day when he came back from the village, bloody and bruised. Too proud to cry, or too afraid to risk her wrath at seeing him cry, the pain of his injuries could only be seen from the pinched look on his pale young face.
"Why did they beat you?" She asked him harshly when he returned.
"They threw stones at me, Mother, and said I was a witch's bastard. They said I had no father and that I was evil." She said nothing, only watching him with a hard look on her face.
"I hate it here! I hate all of them! Why can we not leave, Mother? Can't we go somewhere else? And –and why don't I have a father?" Longing and frustration filled his young eyes, which were blue, the only obvious feature of his that did not belong to her, and she allowed herself to look sympathetic and sad.
"Come here, Keary," She knelt and held out her arms. Nervously, for she rarely embraced him, he stepped closer and allowed her arms to enfold him, one hand stroking his coal black curls.
"Your father is the reason why we must remain. He has cursed us, so that despite all my power we are stuck here, where the both of us are feared and hated." She had sensed the perfect opportunity to introduce the game; and she knew she had to handle this with no mistakes, or risk having all those years of work wasted.
"But why does he hate us? What have we done to him?" Keary pulled himself away so he could look into her face. She gave a dramatic sigh and brushed the curls away from his face.
"Oh my poor boy, I had hoped to spare you, but I suppose you have a right to know. The man whom you call father is a terrible, evil person. He never wanted a child, but I would not let him kill you, so instead he trapped us here. I think he even watches us now, to make sure that we shall never be left in peace."
The boy's eyes were wide and solemn.
"What are you going to do? How can we stop him?" With a feeling of glee, she smothered a smile.
"Not 'we', my darling, but you. You shall one day stop him; I am gathering my power, and one day I will be able to send you to him." She held her breath. Those innocent blue eyes filled with curiosity.
"Why? What am I to do?"
"You must kill him. When you are strong enough, and you kill him, we will be free, and happy. Will you do this for me, my pet?" Her hands were stroking his cheek now, her hypnotic eyes held his.
"Yes Mother; but when will I be strong enough?"
"Soon; soon you shall be ready." She embraced him and kissed his forehead. "But it is late and you are tired; go and wash the blood from your face and know that someday, you will be able to fight them, all of them, and win." Hunger was etched on his face and as he left her arms, she smiled in triumph.
It was some time after that, many years later, that she awoke, screaming in pain. She saw nothing but a red haze; there was a sharp pain in her abdomen, the sound of her voice was harsh and shrill, inhuman as so little else about her seemed to be. There had been a wound in her that had barely been noticeable by the time Keary could walk and talk; as he grew, the pain grew, and she knew not why. Was it because of the father? Her link through the child allowed her to sense when the father was feeling strong, when he was weak, afraid, happy, and something else –she did not think it was the link through the child for that was not strong enough- but something else had enough power that it also shed light on the father's whereabouts.
But she did not think it was either of these that caused her pain. No; she knew, somehow, it was the boy himself. The accursed child that killed her, slowly, without knowing it. No, not kill! I will not die from this! And she sensed the boy in front of her, screaming her name, begging her to answer him and tell him what was wrong. The pain took hold of her and she reached out, nails clawing at his face; he, the source of her agony. She would end it, end this unbearable pain.
When she awoke she was covered in dried blood. It was not her own. Cursing, she stood and looked down on the still, pale form of the boy; he was covered in his own blood. At first she feared he was dead, feared that all those years had been wasted after all. But she sensed a hairsbreadth of life in him and she knelt, hands over his chest, to restore him.
Gentleness did not come to her naturally, and she had no strength with which to dampen her efforts. Ruthlessly she forced her power into him until he awoke, screaming in agonizing pain; and still, she poured power into him, to be sure and leave no mark upon his skin. Someday he would be beautiful and she had no mind to ruin such promising features, at least not until she was finished with him. Heedless of his pleas for her to stop, ignoring his writhing form on the ground, she continued until he was completely whole –physically- once more. And felt, strangely enough, the better for it herself.
When he wept, begging her to explain what had happened; she blamed it on his father, the source of all their troubles.
"When you kill him I promise you neither of us will ever have to feel such pain again."
And she forced herself to take him into her arms and hold him while he cried, holding back her impatience. As he cursed his father she suddenly knew that her work was almost done. Soon, soon the game could commence as she'd planned for all these years…
Seefra 1-the Present
"Good morning Trance, can I get you anything?" Harper greeted his friend with a cheery smile and bright voice. She returned the smile and took a seat at the bar in front of him.
"No thank you Harper, I'm not thirsty. Guess not many people are?" A glance around the empty room answered her question.
"Ah well, just wait til afternoon; when it's hot, the people come in droves." He stated optimistically.
"You know Harper…Andromeda's been asking about you." Trance tried to sound nonchalant but failed despite her effort. A pale red crept up Harper's neck.
"Really? That's –that's interesting. Tell her I said hi."
"The others were asking about you, I told them you were probably busy but…" she raised her eyebrows and gave a small shrug.
"Look Trance I appreciate the reaching-out, let's-all-hug thing, but I'm gonna be here awhile, so you might as well go back." Harper tried to sound carefree but he couldn't meet her eyes, thus ruining his attempt.
"We're just worried about you Harper. You haven't been around much."
"Yes I have," Harper insisted.
"No you haven't." Trance contradicted.
"Yeah, I have."
"No you haven't." Realizing how futile it was to continue with the new childlike Trance in this manner, Harper sighed and said instead,
"Ok, so maybe I haven't been around much lately, but it's not because of you guys. There's nothing wrong, I've just been doing a lot of thinking."
"You're always thinking Harper, and usually your thoughts get you into trouble." For a moment, as she spoke, she sounded like the old Golden Trance Harper had known. He looked up at her, hoping for a split second- but her gaze was wide-eyed and innocent, another person.
"You're probably right. Just tell the others that I'm fine, I'll see you later Trance." Taking the hint, she stood up and then suddenly leaned over to plant a kiss on his cheek. Startled, Harper stared at her. With a playful grin Trance hopped out of the bar and into the sunny morning.
He had to take a minute to shake himself out of his reverie. To be honest, he had lied to Trance. He wasn't fine. Lately he had been having dreams; dreams of when he'd first arrived on Seefra, scared, confused, and ultimately alone. Alone as he hadn't been since before he'd met Beka. These nightmares were unlike any he'd ever experienced before. They frightened him beyond measure.
Unlike some men, he'd always wanted a family. On earth it was the basic unit of society as well as survival. Strength in numbers, and all that. To date his efforts in finding a wife, having a family and basically settling down had pretty much failed. On the Andromeda he hadn't minded too much. After all, he was as safe as one could get, he had good friends and people who were practically family. Then, next thing he knew, he was wandering around in some forsaken planet without even the comfort of technology to give him something to take his mind off things. More importantly he'd been alone.
Reuniting with the others hadn't done much to dull his fears either; they'd become distant, almost strangers, reminding him once again that, in truth, he was alone. What he really wanted was a family; people he had a tie to that could never be broken, no matter what. Such thoughts made him feel guilty, which was why he'd been avoiding the others as of late.
With a sigh he began setting out glasses as customers began to file in.
Somewhere in the Andromeda Galaxy…the Present
She watched him practice fighting with something akin to pride. She was dressed, as she usually was, in a beautiful flowing gown, her hair tied back in a complicated knot. A queen could not have looked more regal or beautiful, and a prince could not have matched the skills of her son.
"Enough with the sword Keary; show me your daggers."
Without a word he switched smoothly from longsword to a twin pair of daggers, his motions effortless, graceful, and deadly.
"Faster."
She commanded. He obeyed. A satisfied smile was the only acknowledgement she gave to how pleased she felt. He was ready, and the game was about to begin. Soon that strange pain would leave her; soon she would watch as the boy killed his father, and then she would kill him. Of course it would be much more interesting to watch; simply stated it had little appeal, but she near shivered with anticipation of the show that had taken years to put on.
"That is enough for now."
Crossing his arms over his chest he turned and bowed before putting them away.
"Am I ready, my Lady Mother?" He asked softly, only his eyes shining with eagerness betrayed his young age.
"Yes, I think you are." She said the words slowly and a grin spread over his face. As he stood in front of her she studied him carefully; though still young and not yet full grown, he had good looks. His hair was dark and cropped short, a few strands brushing in front of his electric blue eyes. Already his shoulders were broader than most boys, and his frame, although thin, was muscular. Fine dark clothing hid the many scars and bruises he'd accumulated over the years; some from the hands of villagers, others from Her. Only one dark bruise marred his deadly beauty; frowning, she walked over to him and touched it lightly with her fingers, yet it was enough to make him wince.
"How did you get this?" She demanded.
"When I was in the woods." He licked his lips nervously and stared at the ground.
"I don't care where; I asked you how you got it." Her voice was venomous.
"Some of the villagers…they chased me…threw rocks; I dodged most of them…" One of the few skills he lacked was eloquent speech, but she saw no reason why he should need to feel comfortable talking. She preferred silence.
"I see. And did you punish the villagers?" He hung his head.
"Ah…" She smiled cruelly and placed her hands on either side of his face, forcing him to look at her.
"Then I shall punish them for you." He didn't want her to, she could see it in his eyes; he enjoyed fighting the village boys, he enjoyed playing tricks on them and frightening them, revenge for all the years of torment; but as he'd grown stronger, instead of fully indulging his hatred and killing them, he had held back, and that annoyed her.
Staring into his eyes she used her powers to look into his memory; saw the faces of those who had chased him. Closing her own eyes she felt for their spirits…and crushed them. Feeling him stiffen she opened her eyes and smiled once more.
"There now, they shall not bother you again."
"There was no need to kill them." He muttered under his breath. Her eyes narrowed and in a flash she brought her hands away from his face, nails cutting him to draw blood.
"I killed them in order to protect you, since you failed to protect yourself." Keary stared at her, eyes wide, and she felt anger flair inside her. "Perhaps I was wrong. You are not ready yet." She turned abruptly and felt his hand on her arm, his voice pleading.
"No Mother, I am ready! Please forgive me; I don't care what happens to them! I swear I am strong enough!"
Still turned away from him, she said softly.
"If you fail; I will know. And I will finish the job for you, because it will mean you are dead." And she walked into their small house without waiting for an answer.
While he prepared himself she set about finding a way to track his father down. Concentrating on the connection she held on the boy's father, she was startled to realize something had changed. He was not where he was supposed to be; and although she had felt something in the folds of space shift roughly three years ago, she had thought little of it. To her dismay she could not find Him, try as she might. A growing anger filled her; was all her work to be for naught? Ah…but then she felt him. Or rather, not him exactly, but the presence near him that was like a brightly burning torch for her searching power. A link she could grasp and use. A pathway to his destruction.
"The game begins," Her eyes opened and she smiled with deep satisfaction.
End of Part 1
A/N: Thanks to Chica for helping me with this, and; just because I'm so nice, here's a preview of Part 2:
He looked down at his hand and felt dizzy with dismay. The golden-haired man in front of him was staring at him with wide eyes; eyes that, if he had looked closely, were his own. With a sharp jerk he pulled his arm back and the man slowly sank to his knees. He had done It; he had completed his mission. Smiling grimly he twisted to give the last few strikes when the sound of gunfire startled him. His daggers were blown from his grasp and he frowned.
"Get the hell away from him!" A woman hissed. He turned and, to his surprise, saw four weapons pointed at him. Something was wrong. His father was supposed to be unprotected but for his own power. Something was very wrong.
