Chapter 10
Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time; it is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable.
- Sydney J. Harris, Strictly Personal
00000
"Have you picked up any kind of a signal yet?"
Rommie refused to allow the very human sigh to escape as she turned to face the pacing blonde captain.
"I am not detecting any signal yet, just as I was not detecting any signal when you asked me the same question exactly twelve point six minutes ago. I'm just as worried as you that they're two days overdue, but incessant questioning won't make them appear any sooner."
Beka stopped her pacing to face the android, scowling.
"I've waited over two weeks to get my hands on that little runt! He thinks he can just run off and worm his way into any adventure he chooses, without asking! Well, I'll show him who's boss! When they get back here, I'm gonna make that scrawny little rat wish he'd never been born!"
Rommie gazed thoughtfully at the irate woman before speaking. "You know you don't actually mean that. You're actually very worried that something has happened to them and you're expressing it through anger."
"What are you, some kind of counselor?" Beka said, the remark hitting a little too close to the truth.
"Well, technically, I am programmed to function as the ship's counselor in the event it's needed. But honestly, you're my friend. I just know you too well."
Beka softened her harsh stance a little and Rommie walked up and put a hand on her arm. "I'm worried about them, too."
"Well, despite being worried, I am still mad at Harper for running off like that, and I am still gonna make him pay."
"You would have done exactly the same thing if you'd thought of it first…" Rommie started and then trailed off as a look flashed across Beka's face before the blonde could hide it. She smiled.
"That's it, isn't it? You're mad at Harper because he did think of it first, and he didn't let you in on the scam."
Beka sputtered in indignation. She didn't have to put up with this from anyone, let alone a walking, talking bundle of wires.
"No!"
Rommie tilted her head with a piercing stare.
"Okay, maybe. A little! But I'd also like to have my ship back safe and sound where I can see it and know it's okay."
"Understandable," Rommie nodded. "I'll admit the boys do tend to play a little rough with her and it's not her fault she's not a High Guard ship of the line like me-"
She stopped speaking abruptly and Beka leaned forward, noticing the tell-tale signs of an incoming transmission.
"I'm getting a message, only it's not on the usual frequency," she sounded puzzled. "It's from Harper, and it's over three days old."
"Well, what does it say?" Beka prodded impatiently.
"It's addressed to you and it's text only."
Rommie keyed in a few commands on one of the consuls and the message appeared on the view screen.
Beka, we're going to Sommer's Drift. I just thought you should know. Thanks for everything; I love you. –Harper
Rommie eyed the strangely serious message curiously, but Beka paled like a ghost.
"What?" Beka whispered. Harper's message was like a punch in the gut and all anger fled in its wake only to be replaced by horrifying, gnawing fear and guilt.
"It says they've gone to Sommer's Drift," Rommie replied, wondering why the captain needed clarification.
"Sommer's Drift!" Beka cried, totally ignoring the confused android. "Oh, Harper! Of all the stupid things to do!" To think only moments before she'd been planning ways to humiliate the young man as revenge, only to find out he was facing one of his worst fears out of stupid loyalty to a High Guard fossil.
Beka pulled the slipstream controls forward and settled herself in, preparing to open a portal.
"HEY!" Rommie cried, jumping forward and stopping her. "What are you doing? Where are you going?"
"Where do you think I'm going?" Beka snapped. "I'm going to Sommer's Drift!"
"But that message is three days old, Beka. We don't even know they're still there. And Dylan told us to wait here for them. You can't just ignore his orders like that!"
"To heck with Dylan's orders! When I see him again he'll be lucky I don't crack his skull open for dragging Harper to that drift!"
"Beka, what are you talking about?"
"Rommie, if they went to Sommer's Drift, then that is the reason they're late! That's where we start looking for them, and we hope and pray that they're still there, because the alternative isn't pretty."
Rommie still looked confused and Beka sighed, knowing she needed to explain a bit more but hesitant to do so out of respect for Harper's trust in her to keep his secrets.
"Let's just say a little piece of Harper's past could be waiting for him on that drift: a not-so-nice piece of his past. And if you really want to see your captain and your engineer again, you'll stop asking me questions and start letting me fly this ship. As it is, it will take us almost a day and a half to get there!"
00000
The sound of a tray scrapping on the floor jerked Dylan awake. He had been dozing lightly against the wall, and it had been so long since he'd heard any sound besides the hum of the ship's engines that the tiny scrape of metal on the floor was thunderous. He waited hopefully for the door to open but it never did. The cat flap simply fell back down and it was silent again; only him and whatever was on that rusty tray in the room.
With a sigh, Dylan ignored what passed for food in this fine establishment and leaned his head back against the wall, copying Harper's movements of earlier.
Harper.
It had been over a day since they'd last taken the boy away. Dylan's sense of the passage of time was messed up by now, but of that he was sure. Several hours after he'd been taken, Dylan had heard his screams; blood-curdling screams that went right through the captain. Since then, nothing.
Harper had not been returned to the cell as he had all the other times, forcing Dylan's brain to go down roads he didn't want to think about.
But he couldn't help but think about it. Think about Harper and what the Dragans had done to him and were doing to him. Think about it being all his fault that Harper was even in this mess. And think about the possibility that Harper was dead or dying, and there was nothing he could do about it.
00000
Tired.
He was so tired.
All he wanted to do was rest, rest forever, but he couldn't. The exhaustion was great, but the pain was greater.
And so was his stubbornness.
Wearily, Harper closed his eyes. He'd long since given up on trying to raise his head. It took too much energy and he had none to spare. He simply let it hang forward, his chin almost touching his chest as he concentrated on taking one breath at a time.
Honestly, he didn't know why he kept trying.
Harper's whole world was defined by two things now: pain and his persistent fight against it. And everything hurt more than he thought was humanly possible. His back hissed with agony as it rubbed against the rough wood through his shirt. His arms were stretched out tightly and his shoulders burned with weariness and strain, seriously affecting his breathing. The ropes helping support his weight were digging harshly into his forearms and his feet, finally freed of their shackles, had been lashed tightly to the wooden post with wires, wrapped both around and underneath, making it impossible for him to use them to relieve the strain on his upper body. The wires themselves were working into his sore skin mercilessly, leaving behind deep cuts.
And then there were his hands. As much as his fuzzy, pain-crazed mind wished to deny it, he couldn't.
He, Seamus Zelazny Harper, had been crucified.
He was now dangling from a wooden cross in some sick Uber's torture room by the big iron spikes that had been pounded through his hands, waiting to die.
Harper ran a dry tongue over cracked lips and tried to focus his hazy mind. The room was in semi-darkness; Felix had left with his cronies what must have been hours ago, muttering something about "the show taking days and wanting to be well rested for the grand finale…" Harper didn't care why he left; he was just glad to finally be alone.
Not that he wanted to die alone.
He was deeply grateful that Felix had yet to parade Dylan in to see him. Crucifixion was not only one of the most cruel forms of execution, it was also one of the most humiliating, and Harper desperately didn't want the captain to see him like this. And yet, a small part of him wished he would come, if only so he could see a friendly face one last time.
An extra fiery tongue of pain lashed through him and his body jerked involuntarily, sending off even more flashes of pain like ripples after a stone's been tossed in a pond. It was so intense it was all he could do to fight the tightness in his chest and keep drawing breath as spots danced before his eyes.
Once again, a little voice inside asked why he bothered. One way or another, now or five pain filled days later, he was going to die mounted up there like a bug in a collection. Why, he asked himself, did he continue to fight when death would actually be such a sweet release?
Finally, he realized the answer wasn't so much one reason as it was several: Trance, Rommie, Dylan, and Beka. Heck, maybe even Tyr. There was too much he had left undone and unsaid, and even though he knew it was too late now and he would never get the chance to fix that, he owed it to them to go out with a fight.
And so he fought as his body grew weaker and weaker and the minutes dragged on into agony filled hours.