Note: I apologize in advance if the next chapters take their sweet time in coming. I know what's going to happen in the story, I know how I want it to end, I just need to organize it all better and see how I want to get there. I always like ending things with a bit of a bang.
Ch. 9
Kludges and Ubers
A simple game of basketball had always been a benefit when it came to thinking with a clear head. Even when pitted against another, Dylan's brain calculating the strategies and moves needed to make a basket, he was still able to ponder situations that he could not focus on sitting still and alone.
He had been playing against Tyr only a moment ago, and now was contenting himself with simply shooting baskets. Tyr stood off to one side with his arms folded and one shoulder resting against the wall. The Nietzschean tended to wear quiet annoyance on his face like an old glove, and today it was especially potent.
" Tyr," Dylan said as he tossed the ball into the hoop. " I would love nothing more than to toss the Dragans off my ship and let them duke things out on their own. However, and though you may not consider this a high priority, I can't ignore the fact that the Dragans are a salver-happy bunch."
" I would imagine," Tyr said, " that those same slaves are very capable of handling themselves."
Dylan was about to shoot another basket but paused, turning his astonished gaze on Tyr.
" What? Was that a positive statement about humans? Why Tyr, if I didn't know better I would say you actually admired them."
Tyr lifted a dark-skin shoulder in response. " I can relate, that is all. My respect for the Dragans' slave labor is a short step than any respect I might foolishly harbor for the Drago-Kasov. You should know that."
Dylan looked back at the basket and made the shot. " I do." The ball bounced off the rim and Dylan leaned to one side to snatch it up before it could bounce away.
" However," Tyr continued, " Denying aid to the enemy is the logical choice in every respect. Humans will be sacrificed, yes, but this is a war. By letting the Magog weaken the Dragans it will give the humans an advantage. I say wait until the Dragans are at their lowest point, then lend our fire-power to the slaves as the little professor had wanted."
Dylan bounced the ball off the floor from hand to hand, looking thoughtfully at it as he did so.
" I've thought of that. But it's a risk I'd rather not take. The Dragans would use their slaves as a shield, putting them at the front of the heaviest Magog attacks. When Anayla told me that the humans would suffer along with her people, I was given the impression that she meant it as a threat." Dylan took up the ball and tossed it through the hoop in a clean score. It bounced back toward him three times before he caught it back up.
" What is it you hope to gain from all this?" Tyr asked. " Other than helping to keep the oppressed breathing a few days longer."
Dylan shrugged. " Oh, I don't know, whatever I can I suppose." Dylan lifted a single finger off the ball to point it at the Nietzschean. " You see Tyr, there in lies the temptation of this whole offer. By playing my cards right, maybe I'll be able to liberate a few of those slaves, or take a slave world all together, help it become independent, have it join the new Common Wealth. Tyr, the possibilities are endless. This is not something to just pass up."
Tyr opened his mouth, about to speak, when Dylan bounced the ball off the floor, forcing Try to catch it or get thumped in the stomach.
" There in, also, is where the problem lies. You're a Neitzschean Tyr. If you were the leader of the most vast and powerful pride in the galaxy, having a particularly bad day with one too many Magog runs and a few unruly slaves, would you go to your greatest enemy for help? We've heard Harper's Magog stories. It sounds to me as though the Dragans have had to face this kind of crisis before, minus the slave uprising of course."
Tyr began bouncing the ball from hand to hand as Dylan had done. " To begin with, I would not have slaves. But, seeing as how we are speaking metaphorically, then no I would not. That is, unless I could use it against you somehow."
" Exactly," Dylan replied. " No offense Tyr but I haven't met a Nietzschean that didn't have an agenda."
Tyr shrugged indifferently. " There can be no denying it."
Dylan grinned. " So, the real, honest to goodness problem is – how do I keep from playing into their hands. Do they want me to say yes I'll help them, or no get the hll off of my ship? My gut – and logic – tell me they want me to say yes. They know me, know that I would do what I could just to help the slaves. But, then again, they might have a back-up plan in case I say no."
" What to do indeed," Tyr dryly stated. He tossed the ball back to Dylan. Dylan caught it, and rolled the ball back and forth over his hands.
" Play their game is what we do," Dylan said. " See how far we can drag it out. If the Dragans are in as much trouble as Anayla says, then she'll start growing impatient. If not and there's a double meaning to this cry for help, she'll either remain calm or become agitated thinking that we're on to her."
Tyr pushed himself from off the wall, snatching the ball from Dylan's hands.
" Not one of your best plans, Dylan," he said. " Being a race with agendas, we are well practiced in deception." Tyr then tossed the ball casually away. It arched high toward the basket, passing through in a perfect shot. Neither man picked it back up when it bounced toward them like an eager pup wanting to play more.
" I'm aware of that Tyr," Dylan said. " But it's all I can do; wait and watch. Maybe whatever they're up to includes sabotage. Usually comes to that eventually. Nietzscheans may think themselves advanced, Tyr, but even they make mistakes."
Dylan was surprised that Tyr had yet to show offense. Then again, the tall Nietzschean could hide emotions with the best of them.
Tyr moved away from Dylan to retrieve the ball. For Dylan is was like a sign to change the subject, not because of offense, but more as though the Nietzschean were bored with it. Tyr was bent on throwing out the diplomat and her cronies, and Dylan on discovering what their real motive for coming was.
Dylan was also ready for a change of subject. There were other matters to discuss; though he was hesitant to discuss them.
Dylan was keeping Rommie busy with tracking the where-abouts of Anayla and her bodyguards. They were rarely all together, say for the diplomat and the one called Seth. The rest wandered about as though taking their own private tours of the ship, or perhaps in trying to locate something. According to Rommie, they had yet to try and poke through anything they shouldn't or place something suspicious in places that would suffer if damaged. They simply wandered, and this added to the unease that seemed welded to Dylan's being now. He just hoped that whatever they sought, if seeking they were, it wasn't Harper.
" I have a favor to ask, Tyr," Dylan said. Tyr tossed the ball into the basket so precisely that he never had to move to retrieve it. When he next caught the ball, he held it to look at Dylan.
" Depends on whether or not I will like this."
Dylan placed his hands on his hips; his bare arms prickling as the sweat dried and cooled him. " It's important Tyr, very important. And no, you may not like it."
Tyr turned most of his attention back to making shots. " Tell of it. It might prove intriguing."
" I need you to help Harper."
" Help him do what?"
" To stay away from Anayla and her goons."
Tyr smirked. " Is there really such a desperation among the Dragans to have his head?"
Dylan sighed sadly. " It's not that. Anayla didn't even know Harper was the one." Dylan shook his head. " I don't know if I should even be talking to you about this. It's Harper's business. But, I suppose, if anyone had to know, you would be the best choice. You led a slaves life, and your parents were killed."
Tyr caught the ball, tucking it under his arm then turning to face Dylan.
Dylan continued. " Anayla is the one who killed Harper's parents."
Tyr's eyebrow arched in a semblance of surprise, though the rest of his face remained deadpan. " Did she?"
" Killed them right in front of him. Harper told me she was coming to take him away, so his parents hid him, and she killed them."
Tyr lifted his arm enough to allow the ball to drop, then began bouncing it once again from hand to hand. " Sounds to me as though the opposite is in order, and Anayla should be the one protected."
" Tyr, Anayla remembers him."
Tyr caught the ball in one hand to stop it from thumping hollowly on the floor. He tucked it back under his thick-muscled arm.
" Harper asked me to help him stay away from her," Dylan went on. " But Anayla has this… odd interest in Harper. She wants to meet him and she keeps asking about him. I don't want her anywhere near him. Her or any of her soldiers, especially alone. I need you to watch them, and be ready in case one of them finds Harper 'accidentally.' Anayla I especially don't want around him. It's tearing him up enough as it is with her being on this ship. I don't know what would happen if they met face to face. You don't have to be with Harper twenty four-seven, but I would like you to make sure that if one of the Dragans does happen on him that doesn't end up alone with them. Can you do that?"
Tyr remained perfectly still, unreadable as a blank flexi. He then tossed the ball back to Dylan.
" Yes," he stated simply, then walked from the small court. Dylan smiled in relief, then tossed the ball one more time through the hoop.
AAAAAAAAAA
Tyr sighed in weary irritation as he casually traversed the halls. It was somewhat loathing to admit, but he had far too much in common with the little man. It was a strange concept, having similarities with such a small, nervous, skinny, weak, mouthy kludge. If opposites could be manifested in physical form, then Harper was that form for Tyr. And yet to traverse the pages of their past selves one might think they were brothers in fate. Over time, Tyr had come to reluctantly realize that Harper was the only other being on the Andromeda that could possibly understand true suffering.
What Dylan had just told Tyr had deepened that commonality between himself and the boy. Parents killed by Drago-Kasov. It seemed not just stories could contain cliches, but life as well. Both Tyr and Harper were orphans. They had both survived cruelty and pain. They were both survivors.
Now that Tyr could admit. It was what endeared him to the little man, his ability to survive despite his whining, frailty, and the fact that he should be dead by now. The boy also had a way of making Tyr laugh, though never out loud or in front of anyone else. All in all, Tyr had a grudging fondness for the young human. He would protect the boy, and gladly break a Nietzschean neck if so much as a bruise manifested itself on Harper. And if that neck were Dragan, then all the more to be relished.
Tyr made his way toward the machine shop to start this little mission off with a brief checkup on the little man. It was the usual place where he would be, but the moment Tyr walked into the mess of metal scraps and machine parts he stopped dead in his tracks.
Anayla was there, and she had her back to the door. She was looking around, and Tyr caught a brief glimpse of her disgust when she turned her head just right. Thankfully, the little professor was no where in sight.
" Is there something you need?" Tyr asked in his usual dry tone, breaking the strange silence that seemed unnatural for the machine shop.
Anayla slowly turned and scrutinized Tyr at a glance, neither approving nor disapproving at what she saw. Then she smiled, though it seemed a cold smile.
" I was just looking."
Tyr folded his hands behind his back. " Why?"
Anayla looked around again. " I was just curious. Is this where your engineer works? Seems like it would be."
Tyr said nothing, just let her talk so he could listen and learn.
" You know," she continued, " this room vaguely reminds me of earth. The kludges there are always collecting garbage. They like to collect it. They're like rats, scurrying over everything, spreading diseases, stealing. If they didn't have their uses they would have been wiped out long ago. I don't see how you can stand it, being around them, taking orders from them. Although I must admit that your captain Hunt has many tolerable traits for a kludge."
Anayla moved over to one of the many metal shelves cluttered with the odds and ends Harper used in his machinations. She picked up a tangle of frayed wire, then let it drop to wipe her hands off on her pants. " Where did you find your engineer? How did you come upon him?"
" You would have to ask Captain Valentine about that. She was the one who took him in."
Anayla moved to another shelf, looking over Harper's collection of tools.
" Amazing, isn't it?" she said. " How he's managed to live so long. Such sick little things, those earth kludges. Do you find it difficult trying to keep your engineer healthy? Even in a ship such as this?"
Tyr wanted to laugh. Keeping him 'alive' might have been a better choice of words. It did indeed go beyond reasoning that Harper should last so long with his terrible health and the Magog worms resting against his innards.
Tyr continued his silent observations, wondering what Anayla was getting at. Was she baiting him, testing him to see just how deep his loyalty ran for the humans? Or was she spouting the famous Dragan superiority drivel?
Or perhaps she was trying to get Tyr to open up about Harper, maybe even mention places he could be on the ship. After all, if Anayla were in a true condescending state of mind then she would have mentioned something insulting about Rev, Beka and Trance.
" I really would like to meet him," she said.
" To catch up on old times?" Tyr finally said.
Anayla turned to him, her smile permanent as a sculpture. " What old times?"
She then walked by Tyr, brushing lightly passed him, her perfume rising from her like unseen mist to envelope Tyr. Her closeness and her scent were deliberate. Anayla was being coy, playing at seduction.
Unknown to her, it did not work. Rather than leaving Tyr intrigued, she had left him in disgust.
Tyr now knew the woman, what she was like, what she had been, and what she was about. She had been a slaver, and Tyr knew all about slavers. Whether Nietzschean or human, all slavers were the same: all containing an unnatural amount of pride in their job. They always caught those they went after, even if it meant killing them. Death was a setback, a cause for anger. Escape led to madness, especially with the obsessed slaver. Tyr had known a slaver like that. After escaping the collapsed mine and seeking his revenge on his masters, a slaver had sought him out. The human had hunted him like an animal over many long years, only to meet a rather nasty, bloody death when he finally caught up to the more grown-up Tyr.
Anayla was one of the obsessed. The fact that she remembered Harper at all was affirmation to that. The obsessed slavers always remembered faces and names, as though trying to keep a tally of their accomplishments in the business.
What Tyr could not determine is what Anayla planned to do once she finally met Harper. Would she kill him or take him? It was either one or the other. Anayla would not stop until she finally found Harper.
Tyr let out a frustrated breath. Far too much in common.
AAAAAAAAAAAAA
For the first time since coming aboard the Andromeda, Harper found no joy in the ship's holo-matrix. Even with his body hidden in the access port tunnels and Rommie's continuing surveillance of Anayla and her thugs, Harper could not suppress feelings of vulnerability.
Harper stood within the maze of data rising up around him like glowing buildings of numbers flowing in continuous motion. He accessed information through simple hand gestures, bringing up the info he needed in the blink of an eye.
" Still don't see it, Rommie," he said.
Andromeda appeared beside him, her hands clasped behind her back and her usually stoic face actually betraying a hint of annoyance.
" There is a malfunction Harper. For about three point two seconds I lost my surveillance capabilities."
Harper shivered. " It's not that I don't believe you, Rom-doll, it's just that I'm not seeing it." He winced at his own impatient tone. " Sorry."
" No need to apologize. But I am a ship, Harper, not a human. I am not prone to experiencing phantom readings."
Harper held up one finger pointedly as he continued to sift through the data with his other hand. " Actually, Rommie, you are if someone makes you. If you say there was a malfunction then there was, but I can't find it here."
" Perhaps it is a side effect of your security updates."
Harper shook his head vehemently. " No, no way. I checked those out ten times over. They're perfect." He paused in sudden thought with his hands still raised. Ice seemed to shoot down both his mental and physical spine. He turned his head to look at Rommie nervously.
" Could it be sabotage?"
Rommie tilted her head to one side and gave Harper a narrow-eyed look.
" Harper, that's paranoid thinking. We would know if someone were altering my systems."
Harper restarted the sifting, searching almost frantically now. " No we wouldn't, not they're good. It's happened before. Would you like me to bring up a few accounts to freshen your memory?"
" Harper, calm down or I'll eject you from my systems."
Harper heard her but did not care. He pulled up data at a rate that he could barely read it, but he did not have to. If something was there then he would see it at a glance. He checked everything, including systems that even an amateur hacker would know to ignore.
" Harper, I know you're scared, but this is not the way to go. There is too much to search, and we've already gone through those systems that would most likely receive a threat. There's nothing to find."
Harper finally dropped his hands, but not because he was giving up. There were ways of disrupting systems without it being detected. Harper knew well enough having created a few programs himself to use on enemy ships. In his research to develop such technology he had come upon rumors of programs and nanite technology so advanced they could erase the entire system of even the largest ship and still not be discovered until long after the fact. Other technologies of the same type were so intelligent they knew how to avoid detection by hiding behind the right data code.
If such a ploy was being utilized then Rommie was right, he would not be able to find it. He could not even say if what Rommie had experienced was a simple malfunction or something more. That did not mean Harper could not play it safe. There was no harm in being ready if Anayla and her cohorts had something going on up their sleeves (had they sleeves to begin with.)
Harper turned to the virtual Andromeda, clasping his hands together as though about to pray.
" Rom, doll, I need to ask a really, really, really, really big favor from you."
Rommie folded her arms across her chest. " What?"
" I need to, kind of, sort of, borrow a piece of you."
Rommie's eyes rounded over. " What?"
" Just a small piece to set aside in case something's going on. I promise, swear on my life, to restore it should nothing happen or something happen and we survive. Please Rommie. I know these ubers, I know what they're like. You can't trust them even when all they're doing is blinking and breathing. Trust me in this, Rommie, I know what I'm doing. Please?"
Harper tensed in wait for an answer. Rommie stared at him suspiciously as she drummed her fingers on her arm.
Perhaps it was the look of desperation on his face, the sound of it in his voice, or both, that caused Rommie to finally soften. She lowered her arms to clasp them back behind her.
" If you do anything that would cause me to regret this, then I will make sure that you regret it as well."
Harper nodded in understanding, pushing the threat aside since his intentions were wholly pure.
" Fine," Rommie said. " Do what you need to."
Harper sighed in relief. " Thanks Rom-doll," he said, genuinely affected.
" I may need to explain this to Dylan."
" Fine, but he probably won't understand it. At least not yet."
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
TBC - I promise!
