Chapter 6

Done a lot of things that I'm not so proud of
Took a lot of turns that turned out wrong
That's a worn out song.
Day by day, moment by moment
Taking my chances, trustin' my heart,
It wasn't too smart.

Lonely and lost as I could be
The way, it's up to me.

Lettin' go of my bad habits
Hangin' onto hope for a better time
I'll be fine.
Learnin' to sleep in the bed that I made
Layin' the blame where it belongs,
I've gotta be strong.

Tear drops no one sees but me
I won't stop, I'll always believe.

I will survive, I will endure
When the going's rough you can be sure
I'll tough it out, I won't give in
If I lie down I get up again.
As long as my dream's alive
I will survive.

- Stephanie Bentley, Old Earth

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Dylan and Harper were dragged onto a large Nietzschean ship and roughly shoved into a medium sized room. After the austere emptiness of the drift and the ship's corridors, this room was the picture of wealth and comfort. Tapestries and paintings littered the walls, and elegant chairs and couches were arranged around a mantle where a holographic fire crackled with deceptive cheerfulness. There was no one waiting in the room and to their surprise, Dylan and Harper were left alone, if still bound, standing in the center of the wine-red rug. While Harper seemed almost unaware of his surroundings, Dylan wasted no time in gazing around.

"Harper, when the Commander comes in let me do the talking, all right?"

Harper graced Dylan with an unreadable expression before answering. "Whatever you say, Boss." His voice sounded resigned and Dylan was really starting to get worried. Harper mouthed off to everyone; that was just a given. Even in the face of eminent death, Dylan had never known the boy to stay quiet. For him to willingly agree to keep his mouth shut was just wrong.

Before the captain had time to ponder on that subject more, a side door slid open and three Nietzscheans walked in. As the obvious leader took a seat by the fire, the two guards came up behind Harper and Dylan and abruptly pushed them to their knees in front of him.

Commander Gaius Felix was a typical Nietzschean in that he was large and imposing. He was tall, even taller than Dylan, with a body that screamed health and physical fitness. It was not a surprise that he was adorned in opulent robes that rustled and swished as he moved and several jewels glittered on his well-manicured fingers. The one unusual feature that set Felix apart was the startling shock of curly red hair that topped his head. It looked so innocent and friendly, such an oxymoron on a Nietzschean. Dylan had never seen a Nietzschean with red hair and even in the midst of the current crisis he let his thoughts drift just enough to wonder why.

Felix gazed pompously at the two men forced into submission before him. His eyes flickered quickly over Dylan but they seemed to linger on Harper, and something Dylan couldn't place but found distinctly disturbing flashed through them. For his own part, Harper appeared pale and almost sick, but he stubbornly refused to look down. Dylan got the unsettling feeling he was missing something important, like he'd walked in on a conversation in the middle, but he honestly didn't have time to deal with it right now. He was using all his brain cells to try and think of a way to get the two of them out of this predicament.

After only a few seconds, the spell seemed to be broken and Felix turned back to Dylan, smiling like a crocodile.

"It's not often my officers feel it important enough to bring Kludges before me," he said with interest. "Who are you and to what do I owe this great…pleasure?"

As much as it rankled, Dylan decided that the best way to play this was submission. He bowed his head slightly before speaking.

"We're sorry to disturb you, sir. I'm Harold Brown and this is my cousin Jimmy Cross. We're simply tourists on your wonderful drift and, in trying to find the movie theater, I believe we became a little turned around." Lame he knew, but what else could he do short of blurting out 'hey jerk-face, we're here to rob you blind?'

"Oh, really? What an unfortunate mix-up. And to think my men dragged you all the way here for that," he clucked. "Pray tell, which movie were you planning on viewing?"

Dylan's mouth opened but no sound came out. Almost three years of playing diplomatic charades across the galaxy had not prepared him for a Nietzschean who wanted to make small talk. He had no idea what the current raves in entertainment in the universe were, let alone what might be playing on this sad, backwater drift.

"Well…we…er…hadn't completely dec…"

"The Kalimelon That Ate Kraklow," a quiet voice beside Dylan spoke.

"What?" Felix questioned, his attention momentarily pulled from the captain and Dylan cursed under his breath. He knew Harper agreeing to stay quiet was just too good to be true.

"The Kalimelon That Ate Kraklow," Harper repeated, staring Felix down. "That's the movie we were gonna see. Harry here just doesn't want to admit he likes those B movies; afraid his wife will find out."

"Ah, well, sounds like quite the thriller," Felix oozed, leaning back and clasping his hands nonchalantly in his lap. "I'm so sorry you had to miss it due to our little misunderstanding."

He paused for almost a full minute, and Dylan suddenly felt very nervous.

"It's too bad there isn't a theater on Sommer's Drift, isn't it?" he finally finished. Just as quickly as it had come the pleasantness drained from the Commander's face and he leaned forward, his eyes glinting dangerously at the two of them.

"Do you take me for a fool, Harold Brown? Or should I say Captain Dylan Hunt?" he seethed, rising to his feet and invading Dylan's personal space.

Dylan tried to look surprised, but in reality he wasn't. He'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop any time; three years of trying to save the universe from scum exactly like the specimen breathing in his face didn't exactly make for easy undercover jobs.

"Did you honestly think I wouldn't know who you are? The mighty Dylan Hunt, captain of the Andromeda, restorer of the Commonwealth, savior of mankind, and friend to all things small and pitiful." With the last words he glanced distastefully at Harper. "I see you really do have a talent for attracting the refuse of the universe."

Harper's eyes flashed but surprisingly he said nothing.

"Captain Dylan Hunt and his faithful dog Seamus Harper," Felix repeated, now standing between them and placing his hands on their shoulders. Dylan saw an involuntary shiver run through his young friend at the man's touch. "Why don't you tell me why you are really here?" The grip tightened as he spoke the next words. "Because one way or another, I will find out. And it would be so much healthier for you, Captain Hunt, if you told me of your own accord."

The games were over; the charade was done; Harper would have said the 'jig was up,' but that was fine with Dylan. They'd been heading for this path since the moment they'd been caught. At least this kind of diplomacy he was used to. His only regret was that he had to drag his friend through it with him.

"See, that's where we have a difference of opinion," Dylan said with a smile. "I don't think changing my story now would have one bit of influence on the state of my health. Why, you ask? Because I know how these things work. We're the good guys so we won't tell. And you? You're the bad guy, so you're gonna beat the crap out of us no matter what we say. Cliché? Yes, I know, but that's how it works. And speaking of clichés, you bad guys really need to learn some new lines. That whole 'tell me for your own health' routine was old centuries ago."

Dylan was ready for the blow, but the force of it still caused him to lurch to the side, three thin trails of blood popping up on his left cheek where the Commander's bone-blades had grazed him. The cool, poised appearance of earlier was completely gone now. Instead, Gaius Felix seethed in barely concealed rage.

"I am Gaius Felix out of Helena by Titus Artorius. I will not be made a fool of! You will tell me what I want to know. I guarantee you will regret it if you don't!"

Stepping away, he gestured harshly to the waiting guards. "Take him to a cell. Let him think on it for a few hours."

Rough hands grasped his arms, and Dylan was jerked to his feet. The other guard moved to do the same with Harper, but Felix stopped him.

"The little one stays here."

"What?" Dylan yelled and in protest. "You want answers to questions, you ask me, not my crew!"

All three Nietzscheans ignored him and despite his struggles, Dylan felt himself being pulled from the room. As he neared the doorway, he glanced back over his shoulder at Harper. Kneeling before the towering bully with his hands still bound behind his back, Harper looked pitifully small and helpless. He looked up at Dylan and the captain saw real terror in the boy's eyes for the first time, along with something else. With a flash of horror, Dylan realized that Harper's eyes almost seemed to be sending him a silent message of farewell. Before he could say anything in return, he was dragged from the room and into another grey metal corridor.

Five minutes and more twists and turns than he could count later, his arms were released from their restraints and he was shoved into a dim metal cell no more than twelve by twelve. As the door clanged shut behind him, Dylan couldn't help but wonder if he'd just unwittingly helped sentence his young engineer to a fate worse than death.

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As Dylan was dragged from the room, Harper felt almost uncontrollable fear well up inside of him, but he took several deep breaths and pushed it back down. He consciously hardened his eyes and placed an impudent expression across his face before looking up to squarely meet Commander Felix's own green orbs. He knew what was coming; there was no reason to pretend he didn't and fear would get him nowhere.

"Well, Seamus," Felix practically purred, stepping forward to cup the young man's face in his hand with mock gentleness. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"