Part 2
...Burma was gone, and with him The Abyss – at least for now. And the real Trance had sent her less noble sister packing – again if only temporarily. They were all congratulating themselves on a successful result, when onto the Command deck came racing Rhade, guns drawn and obviously still looking for a fight.
His eyes narrowed in confusion as he skidded to a halt, and Dylan realised that he'd completely forgotten the vengeful Nietzschean chasing the cult leader's shadow through Andromeda's empty corridors while all the action had been taking place up there.
Beka's crows of delight at having had a major hand in the destruction of the entity that had invaded her mind and held her captive in her own body, and Doyle and Rommie's obvious self-satisfaction over the payback they'd extracted for Harper's injuries drew a single word from Rhade. "Burma?" he grated.
"Gone to hell, along with his nasty alter-ego," Beka confirmed with a broad grin, but the news didn't seem to please the tall, glowering figure before them. Dylan saw the flash of fury in the dark eyes, the lip curling in a snarl of anguished rage before, with a seemingly vast effort, Rhade clamped down on whatever response he might have made, turned on his heel and walked away.
The others had seen enough inexplicable Nietzschean displays of temper during their time in Seefra to dismiss it with a shrug, but a whispered "Oh dear," from Trance standing right next to him was enough for Dylan to know he couldn't leave it at that.
He had to run hard to catch up to his fast-striding friend. "Rhade, wait!" he called as he set off down the corridor in pursuit, but as expected he got no reaction. They were some distance from Command before he finally managed to slap a hand down on a broad shoulder and pull his quarry round to face him. Rhade shook himself free of the grasp, pushing the other man away with open palms that felt like pile drivers against his chest, before doggedly returning to his chosen course without a second glance at his victim reeling back against the bulkhead.
Dylan wasn't to be deterred though, scrambling up and lunging after him again. "Dammit, Rhade, stop!" he demanded, using both hands this time. And the Nietzschean spun round with a growl, arms swinging and bone blades coming to halt less than an inch either side of Hunt's neck.
"What?" Rhade demanded fiercely, voice ragged with emotion. "What do you want? Believe me, I'm in no mood for one of your lectures!"
He was breathing heavily, tremors running through him as he fought to control whatever demons were driving him. The reddened marks of the beating he'd endured still stood out lividly on his face and body, the damage extending beneath his leather vest. Wounds he'd chosen to wear like a badge, refusing to take advantage of Andromeda's med deck to heal the outward signs, as if needing their stinging bite as a constant reminder of what had gone before.
More indications of trouble brewing that Dylan had been forced to ignore in favour of saving what remained of this godforsaken universe. But it was obvious there was no avoiding it now.
"What's the matter with you, Telemachus?" he asked, striving to keep his tone purposefully reasonable despite the weapons still hovering so close to his jugular. "This is all good. The Abyss is gone, we've evacuated almost everyone to Seefra-1, and we have Harper and our own Trance back. Given where we've been the past few months, we should be celebrating. And if Trance is right about her sun, there'll be more to celebrate soon."
For long moments he could see the conflicting imperatives warring in Rhade's expression. The deep-seated sense of duty towards his High Guard captain, still in there somewhere although badly tarnished by their time in Seefra, and the fledgling bonds of rekindled friendship nurtured over the recent months, all fighting tooth and nail with some other unnamed need, one that at the moment was winning.
"You don't understand," he ground out finally, arms dropping to his sides, but the big hands clenching and unclenching gave clear evidence of how close to the edge he was. And, perhaps made just a little reckless by the need for some release of his own from the tensions of the past day, or maybe because he somehow knew it was what was needed, Dylan couldn't resist the urge to push him a bit further.
"No, I don't," he agreed, nonetheless stepping back slightly to put some space between them. "So why don't you explain it to me? What is it this time, Rhade? Pissed off because you couldn't find any heads to bang together? Or has it just been too long since your last drink? Whatever it is, get over it – I have more important things to be worrying about."
With a gut-deep roar, the Nietzschean hurled himself forward, pinning Hunt against the wall with a muscular forearm across his throat, the sharp points of his blades digging through fabric to graze the skin beneath. "You? It's always about you! Always what you want!" he yelled. "Damn you to hell, Dylan Hunt! I made a promise! I promised revenge – Burma was mine, and you didn't even give me the chance to be there at the end! You had to have the victory for yourself, for Beka, Rommie – even for Doyle. But not me!"
Haunted eyes bored into him, black as ebony under the subdued lighting, full of accusation and condemnation, and Dylan could feel the hot breath on his face as Rhade came nose to nose with him. "I should have killed you when I first saw you back on Seefra – at least then I'd be crawling in the gutter of my own choosing, instead of dancing to your tune, playing by your rules. At least then there'd be no anticipation of anything more, no hope to dilute the purity of my despair. You were right, though – you can't hate hope. And now I can't even hate you any more - only myself..."
There might have been more, but something disturbed the big man's focus and with another growl of frustration he stepped abruptly away. Dylan sagged back, struggling to regain his balance, searching for some kind of coherent response to this unexpected outburst – he was more used to seeing him express his anger through violent action than words these days.
But before he could do or say anything more, Telemachus whirled round, lashing out to strike a glancing blow at the wall as he marched furiously away...
-o-
...And no points for guessing where he'd gone, Hunt thought with a sigh. Not that there were that many places left to choose from, but even if all the nine planets were still intact he'd still know exactly where to look.
The question was, should he?
They were rapidly approaching crunch time, and while he ultimately had to have faith in his gut instinct that everything was happening as it should, and that Trance's sun would stop once it reached its rightful position above Tarn Vedra, he nevertheless had to consider the safety of his ship and crew. He'd done everything he could for the citizens of Seefra, but there might yet be time for him to at least try and move Andromeda to a safe position - if such a thing still existed. Just in case.
And all but one of his people were here, where they should be.
So, that left him a choice. He could focus on the majority, or risk them in the hope of redeeming the one, so he could save them all.
Which in the context of what he'd faced in the last four years was a no-brainer.
"Andromeda, prep a slipfighter. I'm going to the surface."
"Captain," the ship's AI said, flashing up on his viewscreen, "Seefra-2 has just been destroyed. You don't have much time."
"Better hope sunset is a little late today, then," he murmured as he left the room.
-o-o-o-