Chapter 1

Would you be safe, then never dare
 For greater things—
Quit not the beaten thoroughfare,
 Nor try your wings;
But when the path of chance you choose,
Still play the man, although you lose.

- Edgar E. Guest

00000

"You can learn a lot as a slave."

The words echoed round and round in Dylan's brain as he sat staring at nothing. Images of Harper flashed past as well: Harper in his bright clothes, laughing and grinning, extolling his own newest and greatest creation, Harper full of endless energy and countless jokes. Then there was the new image which had been so rudely shoved into his mind along with the others, the image of Harper the slave. It was not one he cared to acknowledge, and yet it wouldn't leave him alone. He found it hard to imagine the lively boy as a pitiful slave; the thought was disturbing. It was an image he wasn't ready for and it shocked him, although it shouldn't have. He'd been prepared for it in the past; he just chose to forget. Suddenly, he was pulled back to a different memory, more than a year old.

00000

"Hey, Beka, wait up," Dylan called to the blonde captain as he walked toward her in the corridor. She turned and stopped, waiting for him to catch up.

Dylan looked her over carefully. It had only been a day since their fateful reunion with one Bobby Jensen but she appeared decidedly better.

"Yeah, Dylan? What did you need?" Beka asked.

"Oh, nothing. Just checking to see if you're all right."

A sly smile spread across Beka's face. "Checking to see if I'm okay? Hum… should I be worried? You want me to do something for you, don't you!" she finished triumphantly with an accusing finger pointed at his chest.

"What? No!" Dylan threw his hands up in mock defense. "Can't a captain be concerned for his crew without having an ulterior motive? What makes you think I'd want something from you?"

"You obviously haven't been around Harper long enough. A 'Hey Boss, how's it goin'?' is usually followed by a 'Boss, can I please…' request. You learn to stay on your toes with the kid around."

"The boy is enthusiastic, I'll give you that," Dylan agreed with a chuckle. "How's he doing, by the way? Yesterday was rather rough on him as well." Dylan watched Beka cautiously, not sure how she'd react to mention of yesterday's events.

"He's fine," Beka shrugged. "Actually, he's probably celebrating. He and Bobby never… Well, you heard him."

"Heard and saw, actually," Dylan smiled.

"Oh yeah, that's right. He did show you that recording he made, didn't he."

"Yes, and it was very enlightening," Dylan laughed, then added with genuine interest, "Is that honestly what Harper looked like when you met him?" He'd found it hard to believe that the scrawny, ragged, bruised kid he'd seen in that recording could really be his engineer.

"Worse, actually," Beka admitted. "He was so thin under those clothes that I swear it was hard to see him when he turned sideways. And I know for a fact he'd never been introduced to the concept of frequent showers. It took me an hour just to convince him it was safe to get in. All the grime that washed off him clogged up my drain for at least two days and his clothes literally fell apart when I tried to wash them. He had to make do with a tank-top and a pair of my pajama bottoms until we could stop at a drift. He thought he was gonna die of embarrassment." She laughed at the memory, then grew serious again, a touch of sadness creeping into her voice. "I'd never seen so many bruises on one kid. It looked like twenty people had used him as a human punching bag. I tried to ask him about them, but you know Harper. He just shrugged it off and asked me what we had to eat."

Dylan frowned slightly at this revelation but chose not to comment. Instead, he retreated to a safer topic. "Well, judging from what I saw, I'd say the pj's were probably an improvement," he whispered conspiratorially. Then, remembering something, he asked curiously, "Was that an earring I saw on him in that recording? I never really thought of Harper as the earring type."

Beka stopped short as though Dylan's question had triggered an unpleasant memory. For a few moments she stared straight ahead with an unreadable expression etched on her face. Finally, she turned to Dylan and spoke in a strained voice, "Dylan, don't ever bring up that earring with Harper, okay?"

"Why not?"

"Just don't. Trust me on this," Beka said more forcefully. Her tone of voice told Dylan to drop it, but he couldn't help but be intrigued. There was a story here, he could smell it, and he was never one to take the easy way out.

"Come on, Beka. What could be so bad about one little earring?" he persisted. "Did he get drunk and wake up with it attached or something?"

Beka glanced at the stubborn captain and spoke more harshly than she intended. "No, the Nietzschean slavers stuck it on him when they dragged him away from his parents' grave and chained him up to be sold."

Dylan's smile froze on his face and his voice momentarily deserted him as he struggled to process her words. Finally, he stuttered out an astonished response. "Harper is a slave?"

Seeing his shock, Beka softened her tone. "Was a slave," she emphasized. "And that earring represents everything he despised and tried to forget about his past. So do us all a favor and don't ever bring it up. It's not something Harper likes to talk about. In fact, he'd probably kill me if he knew we were even having this conversation so I'm just gonna go now and let's forget it ever happened," Beka stated firmly and stalked away, leaving Dylan no doubt that the conversation was over.

00000

Dylan sighed as his thoughts returned from the past. He had never really forgotten about that exchange with Beka…who could? He had, however, shoved it to the dark recesses of his brain and not thought about it for a long time. This was partly because he felt a bit guilty for having corned Beka into revealing something Harper was obviously extremely sensitive about. Dylan felt, foolish or not, that he owed it to the young man to forget he ever heard what he did. But it was also partly because he didn't want to think about it. Oh, he was well aware that the universe could be a cold, uncaring place. He'd seen things, heard things, even done things that made his insides crawl with disgust, but he always liked to hold out hope that those things were the exception, not the rule. He needed to have faith in the universe, in its innate goodness, or his mission had no meaning. And realizing how much suffering said universe had caused one of his friends violently rocked that core faith. It also made him incredibly sad to think what that ever-present grin was used to hide. So he had taken the unsettling revelations and thrust them as far away as he could keep them; until today when that very young man had unintentionally let them lose.

Shaking his head, Dylan looked down at his cup, noticing that his coffee had long since gone stone cold. He reached forward and set his mug down on the low table, stretching stiff limbs. If he didn't pull himself out of this pensive mood soon, Rommie or one of the others was bound to pop in and ask what was bothering him. Brooding in the dark wasn't going to change anything. Nothing he did could erase the pain of Harper's past. The only thing he could do was try his hardest to keep that pain from rearing its ugly head in his friend's future as well. That was something he intended to work very hard at, and right now the best way to do that was to pull himself together and get back to his job.

"Lights," he called to Rommie, standing and hoping she wouldn't notice the cracking of certain joints that didn't appreciate the change of position. With a new determination, he ducked into the bathroom. He quickly splashed a little water on his face to thoroughly ground him back to the present and, after a glance in the mirror, walked back into his main room ready to head for command.

"Dylan."

Rommie's holographic form shimmered into existence in front of him, blocking his path to the door. "I'm receiving a message from Tarazed addressed to you. I thought you might like to view it before you left your quarters."

Dylan smiled. It appeared that the powers-that-be had decided their break was long enough; time to get back on the old risk-life-and-limb wagon.

"Thanks, Rommie," he said as he sat down at his desk. "Let's see what hoops they need us to jump through now. Play the message."