Self beta'd, and my first Andromeda fic, so please be gentle!
Thanks as always to Chya for her encouragement and feedback.
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THE CHAOS WITHIN
By JillyW
Part 1
Claaang!
The sound of a fist impacting with force against the metallic walls of Andromeda's corridor reverberated back to Captain Dylan Hunt as he watched the tall leather-clad figure storm away from him. Everything about the Nietzschean screamed anger and frustration, from the tensed shoulders, through the bunched deltoids in his muscular arms, to the quivering bone blades. Oh yes, and his vain attempts to punch holes in the warship's superstructure.
Not that, Dylan knew, that was his real intent. True to his genetic engineering, Telemachus Rhade was strong – but he would have no illusions that he was strong enough to do that. No, he just needed somewhere to direct the simmering rage that had built to bursting point in him, and now had no viable target for release.
"Ooops!" As Rhade reached the corner he cannoned into the tall blonde figure of Beka Valentine, Andromeda's erstwhile first officer. "Hey, big guy, where's the fire?" she asked lightly, putting an arm out to stop herself bouncing into the bulkhead.
To her alarm, though, the response was a big hand coming perilously close to grabbing her by the throat, the handsome bearded face thrusting into hers made ugly by the depth of emotion it held. But after a few taut seconds he pulled back and, with a snarl, stalked stiffly away from her in the direction of the shuttle bay.
She stared after him, open-mouthed, before turning back to Dylan with a stunned look. "What the hell was that all about?" But he could only shrug mutely, his expression as bemused as hers.
Beka laughed nervously. "Nietzscheans, huh? Gotta love 'em, even if you have no clue what makes them tick half the time." She glanced over her shoulder as another clang echoed from the distance.
"Must be something in their DNA," Hunt responded with a half smile, though his gaze was still focussed somewhere beyond her.
"Eh?" Her head snapped back round but the Captain had gone, leaving her wondering vaguely whether that had been some kind of crack about her matriarch status.
-o-o-o-
The door to Dylan's quarters slid shut behind him, and he leant wearily back against it. The past months trying to save the citizens of the Seefra system from the approaching sun – and themselves - had been long and arduous. But it was Trance's sun, he reminded himself for the thousandth time, and as Trance was a member of his crew, forced into what she'd had to do by his actions, that made it his responsibility.
Along with what had happened to the rest of his people, the hardships they'd suffered, the struggles they'd been through just to survive the harsh realities of life in this backwater of the universe. The less than honourable temptations they'd succumbed to in the interests of looking after number one.
Not that he could truly blame them. Although it seemed nothing could ever quash the eternal beacon of hope that resided deep within him, without that gleam of light to guide him he might well have gone the same way.
Surprisingly, though, the one who'd seemingly fallen furthest from grace had to be the former Admiral of the Tarazed Home Guard. Even taking into account the potency of the inbuilt Nietzschean instinct for self preservation, and their overly pragmatic 'glass half empty' approach to life, he'd been initially shocked by how Rhade's recent experiences had changed him.
Strength and physique apart – which in his case were natural rather than worked for – his physical appearance had been a clear enough indicator of how much the man had let himself go, a very far cry from the militarily precise turnout of the fugitive High Guard officer Dylan had taken onto his ship and into his trust.
In anyone else he might have put it down to circumstance; given the prevailing conditions on Seefra-1, getting a haircut and a shave wasn't high on anyone's list of priorities, and blending in was after all a proven survival technique. Not normally one employed by Nietzscheans, though. What lifted them above everyone and everything was their pride, their natural arrogance born of the belief they were in every way superior to mere humanity.
It had been Rhade's loss of pride, his descent to a point where he viewed everything through the bottom of a bottle, desperation never more than a short step away for all that he sought to hide it behind a fragile veneer of indifference, which had set him apart from Beka and Harper. With them Dylan had always expected the unexpected, always known that they had their own agendas, and had handled them accordingly. And Seefra hadn't really changed that.
But he'd lived and laughed, toiled and fought with them long enough to know the basic underlying morality that dwelt in all of them, for all their protestations to the contrary. So he'd done his best to give them reasons to call on that morality, to keep it alive and well until such time as he could get them all home. Whatever home might be after all this time.
In doing that, though, in reviving the memories and values of their past lives, it seemed he'd sown the seeds for this current dilemma.
He didn't regret his lie by omission to Beka. He actually had a good idea what was wrong with Rhade, but he didn't feel ready yet to share it. Not until he'd decided how to handle the situation.
Ever since he'd found Telemachus on Seefra-5, cut, battered and bruised, he'd known they had a problem. As expected, the Nietzschean had brushed off concern for his injuries and had kept to himself how they'd been sustained. But the declaration ground out through clenched teeth that Burma had to die had been enough to tell him who was to blame.
And the way he'd stooped to tenderly cover the face of the dead woman huddled on the floor – Ashael, their contact on the planet, Dylan had realised – spoke of some bond, some connection between the two of them that must have been forged in extreme circumstances to become so deep so quickly. All too reminiscent of another place, another time, a similar outcome.
Rhade had barely held himself in check while they went in search of Harper, and to be faced with the Sectarian leader there as well, to be unable to do anything to prevent both him and their engineer disappearing into the void had come close to breaking his barely regained inbred stoicism. And despite keeping him as occupiedas possible on other matters - such asfinding their ownTrance - that amount of anger was never going to be easily dispelled.
"Andromeda," he called, "where's Rhade?"
The ship's hologram shimmered into existence in front of him, hands clasped behind her back in her usual 'at ease' stance. "Lt. Cdr. Rhade has left the ship," she stated formally, and though he knew it should be impossible given what she was, Dylan could have sworn he could feel the disapproval behind the words and the unspoken 'good riddance' that followed them. Not really surprising, given that Andromeda would have heard his little get-together with Rhade in all its raging glory. The ship's AI was programmed to obey and protect her captain, and her holographic version sometimes took any threats to him rather too personally.
With a wave of his hand he dismissed her, moving to lower himself slowly into the nearest seat while he replayed the encounter in his mind, hoping for enlightenment...
-o-