Part 3
Rhade took a long pull on the glass in front of him, savouring the burn of the neat alcohol, welcoming the increasingly numbing effect it was having on the burning turmoil within him. Not that he deserved any respite from it – only the blameless earn the right to peace of mind, and he was anything but.
The bar was full to bursting, Seefrans of all denominations coming together seeking some form of escape from the inescapable impending conflagration, the subdued drone of voices interspersed by pockets of wild revelry from those intent on going out with a bang rather than a whimper. But there was clear space around the table where he sat alone, as if the growing blackness he felt inside had formed an invisible barrier round him that no one could penetrate.
Probably just as well - given his current frame of mind, if anyone tried he'd probably either punch their lights out or bore them to death with his introspection. There were several unfortunates littering the place, unknowing fools who'd had the bad luck to get in his way when he'd first arrived and his anger was still close to boiling point, who might have preferred the latter fate.
He drained his glass, automatically re-filling it from the bottle he'd appropriated from Harper's personal supply and drinking deeply again, his subconscious intent on delivering him as quickly as possible to a place where failures were absolved and memories dimmed. Somewhere he'd sought out all too many times these past months.
But so far his mind was refusing to play the game; no matter how much or how fast he drank, he couldn't seem to dull the images and sounds that played out behind his unseeing gaze. Which was as it should be, he thought vaguely. For how could he ever forgive himself for making her believe he could take her to safety, and then being too late to protect her from the monster he knew her brother to be?
How could he ever forget her gentle touch as she tended his wounds? The way trust had replaced the fear in her eyes as she let herself accept his promise of freedom as the truth? Her sobs of agony, her desperate pleas to him to stop the pain, make it go away?
Or the soft clicking noise as he gave her the release she begged for...
The vow he'd made to the limp body cradled in his arms had been born of a surge of emotion the like of which he hadn't felt in an age. That complex mix of compassion, anger, frustration, guilt, made all the fiercer by the constant nagging ache of his bruised body, had loudly demanded justice for the innocent life needlessly taken, retribution for what it had cost him. And he'd been more than willing to heed its clarion cry.
But despite his determination, cruel fate had denied him the chance to wreak the vengeance he craved so badly.
Again.
Once more he'd let a woman under his guard. Allowed himself to care, to hope for something more than the perfect isolation he'd devised to shield himself from human frailties, in his quest for survival. To perhaps touch another's soul, however fleetingly.
Once more he'd been unable to save her. Once more he'd failed.
And once more he'd been left with no one to punish, no immediate focus for his inherent need to exact an eye for an eye, tooth for tooth. Except himself...
Another face to haunt his dreams, another fading star in the dark firmament of his despair. Jillian. Louisa. Ashael. How many more would there be before the end? How many more could he bear?
His self-absorption was so complete that it took a while for him to notice the bulky shadow falling across the table before him, and he looked up with a start. So much for his enhanced senses – or maybe it was just that he already knew who it was before he looked, and knew there was no threat.
"Is this seat taken?" Dylan asked, and at Rhade's crooked smile and expansive gesture of consent he dropped into the chair opposite him. Leaning back, he folded his arms across his chest, head tilted to one side as he watched the other man appraisingly.
The Nietzschean seemed unphased by the scrutiny, no outward sign of his recent rampant anger as he said pleasantly – too pleasantly, perhaps, "I'd offer you a drink, but as you can see there's only one glass and right now my need is greater than yours."
Dylan raised a hand. "Oh no, really, please carry on. I wouldn't want to keep you from that gutter you're so set on finding. There are plenty to choose from around here, and I'm sure the rats won't mind the company." But if he'd been harbouring thoughts of needling him enough to get a rise out of him, to provoke him into some kind of cathartic confession, he was disappointed. Instead Rhade just chuckled humourlessly, running both hands through his thick black hair to push it off his forehead as he sat back in his chair.
"Dylan, Dylan, Dylan," he responded, shaking his head. "What are you doing here? Don't you have a sun to stop? A planet to save?"
Hunt shrugged and pulled a face. "Well, we're all out of places to evacuate people to now, and much as I'd like there's not really anything I can do now to influence what's going to happen. And I may be wrong, but it seemed like we might have some unfinished business."
"So, what do you want? An apology? 'Cos, you know, I'm fresh out of them. But don't worry, you're quite safe now. Hating you still takes too much effort, and I have none to spare at the moment."
"Too busy hating yourself?"
Another wry smile, and a glass raised in mock salute. "Who better?"
"Oh, let me see…" Dylan said, counting them off on his fingers. "Try The Abyss. Or Burma. Or the Magog." He leant forward to give emphasis to his point, expression earnest. "You didn't kill her, Telemachus, any more than you killed Louisa. It wasn't your fault."
To his surprise, he thought he saw the dark eyes mist over with what looked suspiciously like unshed tears, distracting him from the whispered words almost lost in the babble of the crowd. "I wish that were true..." But before he could comment Rhade had blinked rapidly, focussing on topping up his drink again with hands that were only marginally unsteady, and when he looked up his gaze was back to its usual unreadable self.
"Whatever you say, Captain," he murmured over the rim of his glass. "You always know best, right?"
Exasperation flooded through Dylan. "Oh, for God's sake, snap out of it – you've never been shy before about telling me when you think I'm wrong! You know, I think I liked you better when you were having your temper tantrum, instead of sitting down here sulking like this. And yes," he continued firmly before Rhade could interrupt, "I know, it's a Nietzschean thing - sulking is healthy, depression is a survival strategy, yada yada yada."
The other man shrugged. "What do you want me to say?"
"Say what you feel! If you want to blame me, go right ahead. Stop hiding behind that bottle and spit it out!"
Brown eyes locked with blue for what could have been minutes or merely seconds, in some kind of silent war of wills that only ended when Rhade finally spoke, voice rough and deep.
"There you go, making it about you again. It's not. It's not even about me. It's about a leader who could condemn his people to die through wilful stubborn ignorance. A brother who could kill his sister, for the crime of wanting to survive. You've seen liqui-bots stripping metal from a slipfighter? Well, just imagine how well they work on flesh and blood. And you want to know the bitter irony of it? In the end I finished the job for him, become his unpaid executioner. Which makes me worse than him, doesn't it?"
Dylan frowned, struggling to understand what he was being told, but Rhade carried on regardless. "She begged me to make the pain go away." He held his hands up in front of him, surveying them with an expression of deep disgust. "And I did." His hands dropped, his eyes meeting Hunt's again, hard and challenging. "You want me to tell you you're wrong? You are. I did kill her."
And suddenly it all made sense – the simmering rage, the burning need for revenge, the haunted, hunted look the Nietzschean had been wearing since it happened. Hardly surprising, given what he'd just heard. But Dylan was left struggling again, this time for the right words to say to help him.
His lack of response didn't appear to surprise Rhade, though. The tension seemed to drain from him a little as he went on. "So no, I don't blame you. Not now. Only myself." He sighed, staring down into the smoky depths of his drink. "Harper was right – there was a part of me that saw Seefra-5 as another Arkology. As a second chance, a chance to save Ashael as I couldn't save Louisa. But in the end there could be no salvation for any of us. Only more grist for the mill of my nightmares."
Dylan finally found his voice, choosing his words carefully. "You did what you had to do, Telemachus. What she wanted. In the end you did save her. She's free now."
"Are any of us ever really free? Even in death?"
"It's our choices that make us free. She chose her own path, her own way out – you were just the instrument. You gave her what she couldn't give herself, what she needed most right then. You can't let it destroy you. You have to let it go."
For long moments Rhade just sat, shadowed gaze distant as if seeing something other than the bar around them, until Dylan felt compelled to break the silence.
"Come on. This isn't where you need to be." He gestured round their seedy surroundings. "Either something incredible is about to happen, or we're all going to die. Either way, you don't want to be alone down here when the time comes. We've all been through way too much not to be together for this. And if the miracle comes, and we get through it, who knows? Maybe it will give us somewhere new to start looking for a way out of this system again. Find us a way back to our own space and time."
"More adventures?" Rhade asked, raising an eyebrow, his half-smile gently mocking.
"Oh, I was thinking more of survival – after all that is your prime genetic imperative, isn't it?"
"Adventure… and survival?" he mused. "Who could resist that combination?"
"Well, it worked on Beka, so…" Their moment of reminiscence was interrupted by Dylan's comm unit crackling into life, Andromeda's voice informing him that he needed to leave now if he wanted to get back to the ship in time. Acknowledging her call, he looked at his friend again.
"Shall we?" he asked, hope springing eternal in him as always.
With a long suffering sigh that hid the tiny ray of light he could feel beginning to lift the pall that enshrouded his spirits, Rhade pushed his chair back from the table and stood up, scattering the people behind him. "Why not?" he responded, gesturing to the nearly empty bottle. "Looks like the drink's run out anyway."
And with a satisfied smile, Dylan followed him out of the bar.
-o-o-o-
"Nice of you to join us," Beka said with a grin, as they walked onto the Command Deck. "Have fun?" He could see the curiosity in her eyes, knew how much she'd want to find out what had gone on down on the planet. But she wasn't going to hear it from him. It was Rhade's story to tell, not his, and he doubted the Nietzschean would ever do that – and certainly not without making her work long and hard for the information.
"Well, you know," he smirked back, "seemed like you guys had everything under control, so…" He stepped up onto the central platform, and Beka ceded the pilot's position to him, moving to take over the right hand console. "OK, Andromeda," he continued, eyes drawn irresistibly to the vast glowing ball of burning gases filling the viewscreen ahead, "give me a status update."
As the AI appeared and began giving chapter and verse on the ship's position relative to the only remaining celestial bodies in the Seefra system, and theirs to each other, he glanced surreptitiously round at his crew.
Between him and the fidgeting Beka, Rommie and Doyle were standing calmly together, continuing their avatar double act, and Rhade had gone to join Harper at the workstations to his left, the two of them now casting sideways looks at each other as if weighing up the relative extent of their visible injuries. Dylan was pleased to see the little engineer up and functioning, albeit looking a little the worse for wear, and had to stifle a smile at the on-going show of mutual disdain that characterised the unlikely friendship neither would openly admit to.
He looked ahead again as Andromeda finished, to find Trance staring up at him from where she stood before the main screen. He answered the question he saw in her serene gaze with a slight inclination of his head, and saw her acknowledge it with a barely perceptible nod of her own before turning her full attention forward to where her sun was moving inexorably on.
A place for everyone and everyone in their place, he thought. Now, if the same would just hold true for Tarn Vedra...
END