Chapter 14

Well, I guess that you probably know by now,
I was one who wanted to fly.
I wanted to ride on that arrow of fire right up into heaven.
And I wanted to go for every man,
Every child, every mother of children.
I wanted to carry the dreams of all people right up to the stars.

And I prayed that I'd find an answer there,
Or maybe I would find the song,
Giving a voice to all of the hearts that cannot be heard.
For all of the ones who live in fear,
And all of those that stand apart,
My being there would bring us a little step closer together.

And I wanted to wish on the Milky Way
And dance upon a falling star.
I wanted to give myself, and free myself, and join myself with it all.

- John Denver, Old Earth

00000

Harper heard Dylan leave the cell with the guards and the door slam shut, not quite believing or understanding what had just happened. He was too worn out to ponder for long, however, and soon drifted asleep again, curled where he lay.

Quite a bit later, he woke to blackness for a second time. The shock once again caused his heart to race and his breath to catch in his throat. He lay there terrified, not knowing if he was alone, if Dylan was back, or if the cell was now crawling with Niets. Funny, really; five days ago the cell had seemed small and confining, now he felt it yawning around him with never-ending space. Heck, he didn't even know if he was still in the cell; he could be anywhere. All he knew was he was surrounded by dark, impenetrable blackness and silence.

"Dylan?" he finally called timidly.

There was no answer.

"Boss?" he tried again, louder. Still, he got no answer.

"Is anyone there?" he called one last time, even though he was now certain he was alone, or at least they wanted him to think he was alone.

Resigned to the silence, he lay still for a while more, cataloguing his hurts and just thinking. He didn't feel much better, but he also didn't feel any worse. His battered body was doing its best to heal his injuries and the small privileges of a few hours of sleep and a little food and water were finally starting to help. He was immensely grateful Dylan had saved him from another session with Felix, but at the same time he was now very worried that act would cost the captain dearly. Harper couldn't help but wonder if he'd ever see the man again. Would Felix send Dylan away? Would he leave him in prison? Or was Dylan even now being tortured for saving him, maybe even killed?

With nothing else to do, he lay still, listening carefully and trying to figure out if he was still in the same cell. After a moment he realized it wasn't really silent at all. Now that he was listening, the hum of the engines seemed unnaturally loud through the darkness, but it didn't tell him much. Then he remembered something. Carefully, he reached out with a throbbing hand until he felt the cool, smoothness of the toilet base, finally confirming that he was still where he fell asleep.

Roughly ten minutes later, Harper had decided that he was thoroughly tired of lying on the floor and worshiping at the base of the porcelain god. Pain or no pain, it was time to get up.

It took every ounce of will he had left to accomplish that simple act. And it would never have been possible if Dylan hadn't left him lying where he was. Finally, using his elbows, his knees, and the john for leverage, and after having to stop several times to catch his breath, Harper was standing. Well, leaning breathlessly against the wall would be more accurate, he admitted to himself, but at least he was on his feet.

And boy did that hurt!

The deep cuts on his feet flared up violently as he put his weight on them, reminding him of their presence with a vengeance. He couldn't look to be sure, but he guessed from the pain that there must be at least three or four serious lacerations crisscrossing the soles of each foot, a painful reminder of the wires that had helped hold him to the cross.

"Look on the bright side," he muttered to himself, "They could have been nails…" Subconsciously, he drew his hands protectively into his chest as he continued to steady his breathing.

Since he'd made the effort to get to his feet, he figured he might as well keep going. With his arm and elbow against the wall as both an anchor and a guide, he hesitantly slid his foot forward, taking his first solo step into the dark unknown.

Left, right, left…

With teeth gritted against the pain and his elbow touching the wall, he slid each foot forward slowly, forcing himself to breathe after each one. The steps were small and hesitant as he tested his courage, his endurance, and the length of the shackles he couldn't see. After what felt like an eternity, he reached a corner; it somehow felt like a major accomplishment. Turning, he resumed the shuffled exploration of his dark prison, forcefully ignoring the discomfort as shackles rubbed open wounds and pain flared through lacerated feet.

Wall, corner, turn; wall, corner, turn…

Even though it hurt and his fever was still high enough he was pretty sure the room would be spinning if he could see it, he kept going. Dylan would have told him to rest, but Dylan wasn't there – might never be there again – and Harper knew that resting was a luxury snatched away from him, just like his life on the Andromeda. All that was left now was surviving, and if there was anything Harper knew, it was survival.

So he walked, and told himself to get used to the dark and the pain and to being alone. No use moaning over what was past.

But he couldn't stop his thoughts from wandering to the past against his will. As he limped slowly around the walls of his cell, his mind drifted, torturing him with all that he'd lost. Even if the world around him was dark, the faces of his friends still flashed across his mind. Tyr: menacing and growling, but somehow always forcing him to be more than he thought he could be. Rev: a living enigma and an oasis of kindness. Trance: purple and gold, the same and yet not, but still his best friend. Dylan: his captain and a man he looked up to almost like a brother. Rommie: the most beautiful, butt-kicking babe in the known worlds! And Beka… Beka was the first person since he'd lost his own family that he'd let sneak through the thick walls Earth had built around his heart. She was his savior, his friend, his big sister, and it hurt more than he could ever say to know that he would never see her again, never get to say goodbye.

Right, left, right, corner, turn…

He saw Andromeda in her field of stars, beautiful and majestic and powerful. He felt the thrill as he worked with his hands on a project, joining wires here and connecting parts there, making something useful out of nothing, giving life to the notions of his mind. And he remembered his broken hands and eyes and dataport and couldn't stop the small, salty tear that leaked down one cheek.

Left, right, stumble…stop and breathe, go on…

Five years in space…five years. For an Earther, he should feel lucky. For five years he'd known food and shelter on a daily bases; safety. He'd known friends and affection and the freedom and encouragement to test his abilities. Five years…that was more time than half the population born on Earth even managed to survive. In that time he'd had surfing and Sparky Cola and good friends and cool toys. And he'd flown! He'd flown up through the skies and lived among the stars!

And in five days it had all been ripped away, broken beyond fixing.

Spilt milk, Seamus…spilt milk…

One more tear slid down a bruised cheek, and then Harper forced his blank eyes to dry. The past was just that, in the past, and it would stay there. Now…now he would do what he always did: survive.

Wearily, he turned a corner again, in the cell and also in his soul, leaving behind the shattered colors of what was and turning to face the terrifying darkness of what was to come.

Left, right, left, right…shuffled, broken steps in the dark.

END of PART 1