Chapter 4: Prelude To A Breakdown

The best way to predict the future is to invent it.

Alan Kay

Everything in the wrong place
Kissing the wrong face
Wrong future; No cure
Trapped; Kidnapped
Please you
Not the other
Pursue another

Graham Leese

Trance was humming a cheerful tune when Dylan walked in. He noticed the plant: she was about to put it into a bigger pot. Her golden fingers were slightly covered in dirt.

"Glad to see someone on this ship is in a good mood," he said, sitting next to her.

"I'm sure I'm not the only one," she replied with that soft smile of hers and returned to work. She found it very interesting how Dylan—otherwise very intelligent man—sometimes just didn't notice the most obvious things. He just subconsciously chose not to notice them: that was the case with Gaheris Rhade, who dropped clues about his incoming treason. That was the case with Beka, naïve enough to believe her pregnancy will just go about unnoticed.

And Dylan did not notice, even though everyone else seemed to do so. Well, except for Harper, but that was no surprise.

"Everyone has been acting strange lately," Dylan sighted. Trance eyed him carefully. Perhaps?

"Define 'strange'," she asked. "And help he with the pot."

He held the pot when she was pulling the plant out of it and explained: "Beka, for example. All moody. I though it's because of what Tyr did. But I'm not so sure anymore. And Rommie. Very enigmatic. I think I caught her daydreaming. Do androids do that?"

Trance shrugged, putting the plant into the carefully chosen new pot. "I don't know, Dylan."

"And Rhade. I should get used to sulky Nietzscheans, but what he's been lately is just above average."

"Wouldn't you be sulky if you were reduced from an Admiral to a Lieutenant Commander… To a criminal on the run?" she covered the roots with dirt. "Pass me the water, please."

"Well, yes. I guess. But…"

"You're expecting treachery. Again. From a Nietzschean."

"It has been, wouldn't you agree, some sort of a universal rule. At least in my case."

Trance smiled, watering the plant. "You know what, Dylan? Sometimes things have to get worse, really, really worse, before they get better."

"Always an enigma, aren't you?"

The light shone in her eyes when she took a deep breath. "I really like this version of the future, Dylan. Better than the last one. Trust me on this."

"Do I have a choice?"

She just smiled again, picked up the potted plant and put it on its rightful place.

Beka cleared her throat. "Hey."

Rhade heard her walking a long time before she entered the Obs. Deck. Unbeknownst to her, he was praying (even though'the God was dead' as Nietzsche put it) she would not come. But she did and with an apparent intention to talk. He put down the book he was reading, the borrowed horror story. They used the book borrowing as the reason for the Maru talk and Harper didn't buy it. He was shooting Rhade those 'I-know-what-you-are-up-to-and-I'm-watching-you' glances whenever possible. Not to mention verbal abuse and Nietzschean jokes that weresomehow marginally funny.

"Hey," he replied. She smiled on seeing the book.

"How's it going?" she asked. "Frankly, I thought you won't even open it."

The book had her scent all over it and it was sheer stupidity to read it. Still, he couldn't help himself. The plot was awfully dumb. And predictable. One predictable thing in this crazy universe.

"It's… Different from my usual choices," he found the right phrase.

"Ah," she bit her lip. "Listen, Rhade. I have to ask you something, and…" she gesticulated in hope he'll understand, pointing at the walls.

"She knows," Rhade sighted.

"What! You told her? Who else knows? Harper!"

He smiled. She was quite adorable when panicked.

"She has her sensors. And she is a woman. Don't you think you're overreacting?"

He expected a series of insults, but she suddenly went quiet. That was… unusual.

"Ok," finally she sat in front of him. "So I have this question. About your Nietzschean calculation."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I need to know," she continued, "if it's really always so cold. Your relationships, I mean. The marriages, whatever. You pick a partner with a desirable set of genes… You treat relationships like a well played chess game… Is there a place for… love?"

He looked at her face, puzzled.

"I'm just asking, because…" she took a very deep breath. "I would like to think that… Hell, hearing that some emotions are involved would really make me feel better, understood?"

He was still silent.

"You can just say 'yes'," she added.

"Define 'love'," he answered, finally.

She shrugged. "Why, it's simple. It's when you…" she growled. "Damn you, Rhade! Can't you just say what I want to hear?"

"Do Nietzscheans love? Is that what you're asking?"

"Sort of. Yes."

"I'm not sure, Rebecca."

"How can you not be sure!" she stood up and looked at him from above.

"Are you?" he asked her back. She paused and sat down, again.

"What do you mean?"

"Have you ever been 'in love', as you call it?"

"Yes," she spat out and then hesitated. "I think so." She paused once again. "At least once."

"I believe you're mixing the definitions. 'Love' is purely accidental and plays quite insignificant part in the mating process. A much bigger part is played by passion or desire. But those are not 'love', I presume?"

"So, you're saying that a Nietzschean does not love?"

And you are asking if Tyr Anasazi loved you. At least for a moment.

"I am not in the position to speak for all Nietzscheans, Rebecca."

"Than speak for yourself, damn it!"

Double Helix. Left on Justine's grave. The empty space where the sleeping arm wanders, in the search of the warm curve of her hip. But it's not there. It never will be.

He was silent for too long. Beka stood up, not angry—rather disappointed.

"Don't bother, I got the answer," with that, she left.

His name was Angus and he was a human, a heavy worlder. Most of his employers thought him to be rather dumb, capable of doing only very simple tasks. Like killing someone. Or something like that.

He was good at killing. Always was. That was his trade mark. Perhaps that's why he got so surprised when he heard what was asked from him. He looked carefully at the Perseid standing by the wall—a rather old and shabby looking Perseid, whose hands were shaking almost constantly. His boss called him 'doctor', so Angus guessed the grey man was of some importance.

"You know what you're supposed to do?" the boss asked again. Angus nodded.

"Everything will be arranged soon. It is being arranged as we speak," the boss continued. "Make sure you understand what is your role. Do not fuck things up. Do not."

Angus nodded once again and than he realized where he had seen that empty look in the Perseid's eyes. The grey doctor wanted his Flash doze. A Perseidian junkie!

That was something new.

Author's ramblings: Great thanks to all Reviewers! I'm happy You like the story so far; I hope it won't disappoint You.

prin69, I came up with the exercise routine myself. Pity it wasn't done in the series, I'd love to see Rhade go over the exercises... Shirtless.

Another chapter is in the making;) so it should be ready soon. And finally, something will happen.