See Prologue for Ratings and Disclaimer.

Once again I can't thank my reviewers enough for their encouraging words. Glad to know I'm doing something right! And please, if I'm not, do tell. Any and all mistakes (QE word-squish aside) are mine alone.

PART TWENTY-ONE - Thought Processing

Rhade sat up straight, but his eyes were downcast, focusing on the table. When he had arrived to the meeting room that afternoon, the day after the gala in Obs, he'd subconsciously chosen the seat farthest away from Katoka-Moyae, the Ambassador sent by the Makaei government, and his aide, not realizing at the time that it put the Ambassador directly in his line of vision.

The whole time he'd been half-listening to the negotiations between the two Drift nations and Dylan's independent Commonwealth - what the crew and anyone loyal had taken to calling the true Commonwealth. But in his own head he had been trying to quiet his irrationality.

He knew the Makaei were not bad people, at least not the ones they were currently negotiating with. The evidence had been fairly straightforward - the ones who had initially attacked him, taken him, and sold him to Colis had been glorified bounty-hunters who just happened to be of the same species as the two people on the other side of the table. That was it, they posed no threat - that's what he knew in his mind.

But it was the little voice of his thoughts, the one cultivated through centuries of selective breeding and enhanced by his own beliefs, that told him otherwise. It whispered to him, trying to convince the rational part of him of the adage - once a threat, always a threat. They couldn't be trusted.

If truth be told, Rhade honestly couldn't remember much about the exact moment he had been taken. All he could really recall was that he had been stalking through the streets of the drift, lost in his own thoughts (an error that would constantly taunt him for the rest of his Nietzschean existence). He had wandered into a low traffic area and had promptly met with some sort of stunning weapon, and after that he couldn't really make out any of the details, save for the echoing of pain and the knowledge that he was helpless, unable to fight back. There had been little contact with the Makaei captors after that - hearing them only, never seeing - and then he'd been moved to his next place of captivity.

But it was the voice, the distinctive Makaei way of enunciation, that reminded him now, as he sat in diplomatic relations with them. And it was enough to kick his survival instincts into overdrive. He surreptitiously practiced several breathing exercises as the negotiations carried on around him, calming his nerves just enough to ensure he wasn't fidgeting in an obvious manner. Never let anyone know you were not in complete control, not even friendlies.

They broke for an informal lunch, and in the sudden bustle of delegates and senior crewmembers, Rhade managed to slip through the door and out into the corridor, unnoticed.

Almost.

"Rhade, are you alright?"

He turned quickly and took note of the android's approach, cursing silently. It was precisely the question he had been hoping to avoid, the one he'd heard all too often over the past several weeks. He supposed he should be happy that they were showing concern for his well-being, indicating they were truly his friends, but it didn't negate the fact that he was past the point of annoyance - enough was enough, already.

"Of course, Rommie," he answered, trying his best to sound sincere.

"You know," she continued, ignoring his impatient eye roll, "He wouldn't mind if you excused yourself now. He really just required your initial presence to assure the Vyshiian and in particular the Makaei."

"Well thank you, Rommie, for that endearing insight."

While he sounded serious, the android was able to detect enough of a lit to his voice to determine that he was joking. Or, at least not completely offended.

"Yes, well," she replied, "On several occasions I have seen your overtures of diplomacy." With a small grin to show her comment was in jest, she added, "I'm quite surprised at the prosperity of Tarazed with you as an Admiral."

The corners of his mouth upturned ever so lightly, the reaction she had wanted. "The only thing of value I learned from the fool of a man who had the job before me can be summed up in one word - delegate."

She shot him a conspiratorial smile. "Why do you think I keep twenty-two androids fully functional at all times, even with a sizeable crew?"

He shrugged. "Exactly." His eyes roved the corridor plating for a moment before returning to her. "I'm fine, I just wanted a break from the formalities. Like you said, diplomacy is not my forte. You can tell him I'll make my way back inside in a few minutes. Let the Ambassadors eat in peace without fearing I'll leap across the table and come after them."

Rommie struggled to keep a straight face and nodded. "Enjoy your respite, Commander." She left and re-entered the negotiating room to see to her guests.

Rhade sighed and leaned against the bulkhead. He would enjoy every second of it.

-o-

Dylan Hunt nodded to the group seated around the table in front of him. "So in response to Ambassador Moyae's generous offer of a full restock of munitions for seven of the New Commonwealth's cruisers, the Makaei shall be recognized as official friends of our side, and when the reconciliation of Tarazed comes to fruition," no one needed to mention the implied destruction of the ring of so-called 'impostor' Collectors, "The Andromeda Ascendant and her crew shall ensure the Makaei are recognized as an ally of the Commonwealth."

Ambassador Moyae inclined his head, smiling. "So it is agreed. Sintakaei."

The aide, who stood behind his seated employer and slightly to the left, repeated the ritualistic word. "Sintakaei." It was a rough equivalent to a blessing, said by the Makaei when they were truly pleased and wished for continued success. The meaning had come up shortly after they'd taken to their lunch recess.

Dylan smiled brightly as he heard their coveted word. "Good! Now, Ambassador Nané," he began, turning to the Vyshiian representative, "I believe you had some concerns regarding Makhoiian Drift you wished to discuss?"

Rhade had only been half listening for the last half hour, since the meeting had resumed. His small break had been successful, the little warning voice had been quieted…or at least suppressed. His lack of attention to the diplomatic negotiations now stemmed from sheer boredom, following the conversation just enough to nod or add the odd bit of input at appropriate times to reflect well on his Captain.

That was, until he'd heard the Makaei ambassador spout the strange word in his own native tongue. His head had shot up in surprise at the familiarity of the saying, but he couldn't place where he'd heard it. He was also mildly surprised that no one else in the room appeared confused by the new language. Dylan almost seemed pleased.

Rhade was quickly set to let the matter drop, but a few seconds after it was first said, the aide behind the ambassador repeated that same sound. That's when it all came flooding back.

-o-0-o-

The Nietzschean was angry. He thought back to the recent conversation on the Maru with his human crewmate. He was angry at Beka's stubbornness, he was angry at her view of his people - partly because, in some respects, it was correct. Sure, some of it was stereotypical propaganda, in part reinforced through some of the dregs of his species, but some words of negativity had been close to actuality. But most of all, he was angry at his anger. That woman had the ability to test his patience and his temper like few people could.

Rhade stalked the dark streets of the Drift, either not realizing or not caring when he passed a notice that he was entering the Makaei sectors. His thoughts were elsewhere so that he didn't acknowledge the sound of footsteps as a possible threat. At least until it was too late.

He felt something small hit him between his shoulder blades, but before he could even think of reacting, a violent current of energy coursed through his body, using his spinal cord as a conduit to his central nervous system, and from there flooding through every inch of him. He dropped heavily to the ground within seconds. After an eternity the jolt stopped and left the Nietzschean male feeling like he was going to be sick.

The first thing that came to him was the sound of those footsteps - ignored before but painfully obvious now. They were louder, closer and more numerous. He heard them stop, and he knew he had been surrounded. He had enough sense to put and arm up to stop the first violent kick, aimed at his stomach, but his sense were incapacitated, overloaded, and his reflexes were shot to hell. He couldn't stop the onslaught of brutal kicks and punches that attacked his dead weight. There were at least three attackers, more likely four, who would not let up.

Rhade attempted to fight back, his survivalist instincts kicking in and giving him more strength than any other might have had. But it was not enough, and he grew weaker with each successive blow.

Teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, his mind, looking to protect itself, reached out to embrace the darkness. Slowly his tensed muscles began to relax. His assailants must have realized he'd reached his breaking point, because the strange words emanating from one of the attackers pierced the foggy haze surrounding his thoughts, and he had enough sense to realized they command had led to the cessation of blows.

Rhade's mind slipped deeper and deeper into itself. Before all sense finally left him, he felt rather than saw the multiple hands grip his battered body and drag him up, carrying him a short distance before tossing him none-to-gently to some kind of metal grating. A few of the attackers remained, hands holding him down just in case, as a slight jolt gave him the sensation that they were moving.

The last thing that entered his mind before completely succumbing to the encroaching shadows was the sound of the attackers, their happy, proud voices. One of them began a toast, which was chorused by the others.

"Sintakaei!"

-o-0-o-

Luckily no one had been paying much attention to the quiet Nietzschean, and so when his eyes went side and his breath stuck in his throat as the memory resurfaced, no one really paid any attention…at least not openly.

After relating her conversation with Rhade at the recess to Dylan, the Captain had told Rommie to keep an eye on the Lieutenant Commander to ensure everything was alright. He doubted the man would appreciate the special attention, but Dylan didn't particularly care. He was responsible for both his officer's well-being and the success of the negotiations, hopefully not having to compromise either in the process.

Rommie's gaze turned on the Nietzschean. She detected a sudden elevation in pulse and respiration rates, and the several millimetres of expanded surface area of his pupils. It was a marked contrast to his previous, relative calmness.

"Sorry to interrupt, Ambassador," Rommie looked to Nané, who paused and nodded politely. She turned to Dylan. "Captain Hunt, Lieutenant Varos needs help dealing with a situation on the bridge."

Dylan looked to his friend and advisor, and noted the slight shake of her head. It took him a few seconds to realize what she was implying. "Right." He turned to look further down the table. "Mr. Rhade, can you see to Command?"

Rhade's head shot back toward the Captain and the Ship's Avatar, and it was obvious he was deciphering the change in conversation only now. He glanced briefly between the two, a hint of suspicion crossing his features, but nonetheless answered in the affirmative, "Of course, Captain."

Dylan was silent as he watched the Nietzschean quickly stand and move briskly from the room, head down - like he couldn't wait to get out of there. From the periphery of his vision he noted the mild confusion on the faces of his guests, but correctly suspected they would refrain from comment.

As an afterthought, the Captain turned to Rommie. "Will Lieutenant Commander Rhade be able to deal with this issue on his own?"

"Possibly," she nodded slowly, "Although I suggest some aid, just in case."

"Thank you, Rommie," he replied, then immediately turned and sought out Trance among those still seated.

He was about to tell her to go help when he caught the small shake of her head. He frowned slightly, a little surprised that she seemed to know what was going on, but even more so at the small inclination of her head, toward the only other Andromeda crewmember remaining at the table. He was skeptical, but not about to go against the recommendation of the closest thing he had to a counsellor on board.

"Beka," he caught her attention, forgetting decorum for a moment.

The pilot in question looked up, clearly unsure about what was going on around her. She gestured to the door questioningly, and he nodded. Beka used the table to push herself up, looking to either ambassador while doing so. "Excuse me," she spoke apologetically, then went for the door.

Dylan waited until the door closed behind her before speaking. "So," he said a little too excitedly, but successfully gaining the attention of the delegates, "Shall we continue?"

To Be Continued...