Chapter 55

Prison gates won't open up for me
On these hands and knees I'm crawlin'
Oh, I reach for you
Well I'm terrified of these four walls
These iron bars can't hold my soul in
All I need is you
Come please I'm callin'
And oh I scream for you
Hurry I'm fallin', I'm fallin'

Show me what it's like to be the last one standing
And teach me wrong from right
And I'll show you what I can be
Say it for me
Say it for me
And I'll leave this life behind me
Say it if it's worth saving me
Hurry I'm fallin'

- Nickleback

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After days of inactivity, being back in the mines was pure sensory overload, not to mention completely exhausting. Yet, as Dylan lay on the straw next to Harper that night, he found he couldn't sleep. He was too tired, too sore, and unwilling to leave Harper with no one to watch over him. Twig had gone almost three days without real sleep helping his friend, and was completely worn out. Dylan insisted he go to bed, afraid the little guy would make himself sick, too. So that left Dylan to watch the injured engineer.

It might be a rather grim task, but it wasn't a particularly hard one. Other than one very painful trip to the latrines, Harper hadn't moved or changed positions since Dylan had been released. He was still on his stomach, still buried in filthy blankets and still being carefully administered an IV by "Doctor Twig." It was helping; he was gradually getting better, but not fast enough, and he was still in incredible pain with only one more day of rest ahead of him. Even more concerning was the slight cough he'd developed from his exposure to the cold and rain.

Sad and very worried, Dylan glanced over at his friend to find the boy's eyes open.

"You okay, Harper?" Dylan asked gently.

"Stupid question, Boss," Harper replied, his voice soft and weak but without accusation. Still, Dylan winced.

"Twig sleeping?" the engineer continued.

"Right next to you."

"Good. Kid was tired."

Dylan shifted around a bit to see his friend better. "That little boy loves you a lot, you know."

Harper hesitated for a moment before answering. "I know," he said solemnly. "Scares the crap outta me. I mean, I've never exactly been role-model material, but look at me now," he sighed weakly. "A slave – blind, crippled, whipped and in chains… What do I have to offer that kid?" The last of the sentence came out more like a groan as the engineer fought an intense spasm of pain.

Dylan watched his friend morosely, hating the fact that there was nothing he could do to help. "Harper, Twig doesn't care about any of that. In a place filled with uncertainty, fear, and daily horrors, you gave him love, affection, time… You'd be his hero even if you had three heads."

"Ugh," Harper moaned quietly. "Please, please don't give the Ubers any ideas."

Dylan couldn't help smiling at that. "I promise not to breathe a word," he said fervently.

They sat in silence for a while, each simply glad for the presence of the other until Harper spoke up again.

"Boss?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, Harper?"

"Why do you think they haven't come?" His voice was small and lost sounding. "Why haven't they found us?"

Dylan dropped his head, shoulders slumping. "I don't know, Harper. I really don't know."

"I thought they would rescue us. I know I've been cynical and pessimistic this whole time, but a part of me really did hope they would come. Beka would come…"

"I'm sure she's tried," Dylan offered, knowing it wasn't much comfort. "She's probably torn the universe apart looking."

"I know," Harper sighed. He waited for a moment before adding softly, "Do you… Do you think we'll ever leave here?"

As he spoke, the boy's voice caught, whether from emotion or pain Dylan didn't know. The captain looked at his friend lying there, remembered the tortured back that was hidden just beneath the bandages, and found he just couldn't muster up any forced hope.

"At this point, I have no idea. Maybe not."

Harper nodded, closing his blank eyes again. "You know," he whispered weakly, sounding tired, "I was mad at you for a long time and didn't want to forgive you."

"Why? When?" Dylan asked, confused by the abrupt change of topic.

"Earth. The uprising. Brendan…" the engineer replied.

"Oh," Dylan said softly, a sick feeling settling into the pit of his stomach.

"For a while, I really hated you. With a passion. You stood there on your clean, fancy ship – well-fed, freedom intact, the talk of the universe – and told me even though my cousin was dead and my people, me included, were still slaves it was okay because we tried. The pathetic little Kludges had reached up and poked the Ubers in the eye, and even though they responded with torture, starvation, and slaughter it was all good. They did their best. I wanted to scream or punch you, but you were so lost in your own world of causes and nobility you wouldn't have understood anyway."

Shame, hot and strong, burned through Dylan as he listened to Harper's quiet words. He didn't speak, couldn't think of anything to say.

"After a while, though, I just ran out of energy to hate you. There were too many other people on my 'hate-their-guts-list' – I think you've met a few now – to waste brain power keeping you there. Besides, the kiddies in my gut were starting to wake up and Trance still didn't have a cure. I was dying, even if I was the only one who would admit it. I decided I didn't want to die hating you, considering there were too few people in the universe who could stand me as it was."

With a groan, Harper shifted his head to really face the captain, wanting his friend to understand the importance of what he was saying.

"I don't hate you anymore, Dylan. I'm not even mad at you. Sad and disappointed at what could have been but wasn't, heck yeah. I always will be, but it's too late to change that. I guess what I'm trying to say is I understand better now. Back then you had no idea what life on a Nietzschean slave world was like, why warm-fuzzies and we-tried-hard's just don't cut it. Now, you do. I wish with all my heart you still didn't, could still go around with your head in the clouds and be "mister optimism," but…I'm glad you're here. Thank you for giving that all up for me – so I wouldn't be alone."

Dylan found his eyes filling up with tears at the quiet words, and he swallowed harshly. Sadness, guilt, and gratitude filled him at the same time.

"I, uh," he stammered, "don't know what to say."

"Good," Harper replied. "Because I'm too tired to talk more now. Think I'll take this moment to enjoy our comfy accommodations and pass out."

Harper was asleep almost instantly, but Dylan didn't rest. He couldn't. Long after Harper's eyes had drifted shut, he sat there staring at the boy, thoughts and emotions whirling around his head.

00000

"What!" Beka screeched, her face taking on an expression that would have scared the living daylights out of most mere mortals. "How can we be denied access? You assured me we could get in this way!"

Patch held up his hands. "We're not denied, Becky, just delayed," he said hoping to calm the irate captain. "The port control just said our shipment has been pushed back a week."

"A week! I can't wait another week! They can't wait another week!"

"Beka," Patch said sadly, laying a huge hand gently on her shoulder, "we don't have a choice. It's our only way in without open warfare, which we don't have the people, resources, or firepower for."

"I know!" Beka snapped, shrugging him off. "I know, I just… I left them… I…" She shook her head angrily and stormed off, unwilling to say anything else.

Barely in control of her emotions, she turned into the communal crew quarters the Andromeda crew had been sharing and sank down on her bunk. Tears that she'd been holding at bay all week streamed down her face. She understood the reasoning of the others, the soundness of the plan, and the fact that the only way to rescue Harper and Dylan was by stealth and cunning, but all she could think of was the sight of Harper hanging on that cross. She knew he was alive, or had been when that letter from the slave camp had been sent, but in what condition? That image hadn't been faked; Harper had suffered that cruel, cruel punishment. What else had been done to him? How hurt, or sick, or even close to death was he?

She shuddered and the memory of horrible, ugly scars flashed across her mind. Harper tried to always keep them hidden, but she'd seen them. She'd been angry, shocked, and stunned the first time. He was an annoying, little brat half the time, but he was just a kid. No one had the right to do that to him!

Sadly, time dimmed everything, even her horror. She got used to him, scars and all, and after a while, forgot about them…

Until something jumped up and hit her in the face to remind her. Like right now.

Almost eleven months…

Practically a full year they'd been gone. And Harper had been a slave that entire time, helpless and in the clutches of his worst enemies, the ones who had given him his first spectacular collection of scars.

And the worst part?

It was all her fault.

A huge sob escaped her throat and she drew her knees up to her chest. Desperate for comfort of any kind, she reached under her pillow and withdrew the object she'd kept carefully hidden there since she smuggled it off of the Maru a little over a week ago, right before this trip began. It was a stuffed cat, worn and mended, obviously having seen better days.

"Oh, Sylvester!" she cried, gripping the mangy, ragged toy tightly. "Why didn't we look there? Why did we skip that planet? Eleven months of suffering and I could have stopped it! How can I ever look him in the eyes after this?"

Tears were coming faster now, released from the very depths of her anguish. She was sobbing like she hadn't since she was a child, her breath hitching and catching, her body shaking.

"Stupid stuffed mess," she whispered to the toy animal that she was hugging in a death grip. "But he said you were worth more than gold to him. And now, what if I never get to give you back to him? And what about Dylan? I condemned the hero of the universe to a year of slavery, too. How could I let them down so badly?"

The sobs were so strong now that she couldn't speak, so she just clutched the toy and sagged down on the bunk, emptying her broken heart as she lay there alone in the dark, quiet room.

00000

"I can't," Harper whispered, pale as death as he sagged forward in the cart harness. A harsh cough crept from his throat to emphasize his words. "I can't go anymore."

It had been three days since Harper returned to the mines, but it felt like a lifetime. Dylan had been sharing cart duty with him that entire time, supposedly to help him, but all it had really done was force him to witness each excruciating hour of pain the young man suffered through, given him ample hours to stare at the horrible wounds on his friend's bare back, and allowed him plenty of time to listen as the almost unnoticeable cough had deepened and lodged firmly in the boy's chest.

"I really can't," Harper groaned again, and Dylan could see it was true. The Nietzscheans might take great pleasure in pushing their slaves to the very limits of their endurance, but they would have to recognize that Harper had reached his.

"Get moving, mules!" came the order Dylan had been expecting since their cart stopped.

"Master," Dylan said quietly, ducking his head. Shame was long forgotten; the only thing that mattered now was helping Harper. "He can't go anymore. He's too sick. Please, let me take him to the doctor, or let him rest for a moment."

"Why would I do that? Why should I care how he feels?" the guard demanded, stepping right in front of them so Dylan could see his hand resting lighting on the ever present whip. "He's just a slave. You both are. Slaves work."

"I know that, Master," Dylan whispered, making sure to keep his eyes down. "But Master Felix wants him alive when he comes in a few weeks. Do you want to explain to him that his favorite slave died on your watch?"

It was a huge risk, speaking so boldly, but he was desperate. The guard raised his fist to backhand him but suddenly changed his mind. Harshly, he released them from the cart.

"Take him to the slave doctor and tell the Kludge to give him something!" he growled. "But you'd better be back here within the hour, and don't you dare breathe a word of this to anyone."

"Yes, Master," Dylan said obediently, gripping the young man tightly to stop him from falling over as the harness fell away. "Come on, Harper," he urged gently. "We're at the very top of the mine. It won't take long to get to Doc Barty's. You can make it."

Slowly, one step at a time, they made their way out of the mine and across the common area toward the hospital barrack. It was strange to see the camp in the daylight and so deserted. It made Dylan feel vulnerable and exposed, and he was grateful when they entered the medical building even if the hospital was dingy and ill-lit.

To say that Doctor Kesler was surprised to see them would have been an understatement, but he wasted no time in giving the engineer everything he could, not sure he would ever get the chance to help him again.

"Feeling better?" he finally asked as Harper sipped a drink of cool, relatively clean water before heading back to work.

"Feel like a pincushion," Harper teased weakly, "but yeah, a little better. Not so weak or lightheaded. Makes it easier to deal with the pain."

"You two had better head back then," Bartholomew said gently. "I don't want all this to have been in vain if you get in trouble for being gone too long."

"In case I don't get the chance to say this later, you know with impending visits and all, just wanted to say thanks for everything, Doc."

"Yes, thank you, Doctor," Dylan added sincerely as he helped Harper to his feet again.

"I was glad to help, especially a friend," the older man replied, his voice thick. "Now go before you regret it."

They made a little better time on the trip back but were still only about halfway across the commons when they were stopped by a familiar cry.

"Harper! Dylan! What are you doing out here?" Twig looked fearfully around before running to their sides, empty bucket swinging in his hands. "You're gonna get in trouble!" he whispered urgently, real concern for his friends filling his eyes.

"On our way back right now, Twig," Dylan assured the child. "Just bringing Harper from a trip to see the Doc. What are you doing out here?"

Wordlessly, Twig held his bucket higher.

"Ah," Dylan nodded. "Getting water. Well, don't let us –"

The ground beneath their feet suddenly buckled and rocked, throwing Twig into Dylan and almost ripping Harper from his grip as their chains clanked and rattled. The sound of the explosion when it reached their ears a few seconds later was deafening. Instinctively, both of his young friends clung to him.

"What was that?" Harper cried, panic filling his face.

"I don't know," Dylan replied, his mind whirling. Before either of them had time to think or pull away, the captain herded them quickly behind the nearest building. Any sort of quick movement sparked agony in Harper's mangled back, but Dylan steeled himself and ignored the small whimpers as he forced the boys to move. He wasn't sure why but his instinct just told him now was not the time to be caught standing alone in the open.

"What are you doing?" Harper whispered through gritted teeth as his friend pushed him down to a crouch. "What just happened?"

"Not sure," Dylan answered distractedly, gazing around with quick, alert eyes. The ground was still trembling slightly beneath their feet. "I think something exploded in the mine." Twig squeaked and clutched him harder, his face pale. Dylan patted him gently on the back, but didn't take the time to speak to him as he continued to look around them.

Parts of the camp looked like an earthquake had struck. A few of the older, shabbier barracks had crumbled and even the newer ones were missing gates or logs. Nietzscheans raced from the main building at an alarming rate. They poured from the opening of the mine and came in from guarding the perimeter and fences. Straining his ears, Dylan tried to listen to what was being said or shouted as they ran past.

"Dynamite cart in section E just went up!"

"…half the mine is caved in…"

"…threatening to go any minute!"

"Pull all the slaves, even the kitchen girls! We need all hands!"

Suddenly, Dylan's roaming eyes saw something that pushed everything else, even the frantic voices of their Nietzschean guards, to the back of his mind. About twenty feet down from them, right where the fence turned to connect with the mountain itself, the blast had torn it completely from its post. It sagged, loose, leaving a gaping hole plenty wide enough for one person to crawl through. His heart thumped madly, so loud in his head that it took him several minutes to realize Harper was calling his name and tugging insistently on his sleeve.

They spoke at the same time.

"Harper, there's a hole in the fence! We can get out!"

"Dylan," Harper said, sounding dazed and shocked. "The explosion was in section E. That's where our barrack was assigned today. That's where we were working…"

The captain's breath caught and thoughts of escaped were swallowed up by that news. "Peter, Dakin…our friends…"

"Wait," the engineer said quickly. "There's a hole? In the fence? We can escape?"

"Yes," Dylan replied, suddenly not so sure. "But I can't leave now. Think of all the injured people I could help. You two should go without me."

"Hello, brainless!" Harper snapped, blinking his eyes and holding up his broken hands. "Do you honestly think we'd last a day out there on our own? We need you! And we need to go now!"

"But those are our friends, Harper! I can't just leave them here!"

"Dylan, I know this is going to sound heartless and totally cruel to you, but you need to hear it. Chances are, our friends just died in that explosion. If they didn't, they're going to wish they had considering the medical aid offered in this place. And, if by some miracle they did survive unharmed, when all is said and done they will still be slaves." Harper's voice was urgent now, almost angry, the thought of escape giving him energy he hadn't had moments before. "Which means they'll still be stuck here, in this death trap, and will still die way before their time. They only way to really save them, any of them, is to get them out of here. And the only one who has any chance of that is you, Captain Hunt of the Andromeda Ascendant. You'll never do that from inside this prison. We have to go now, all of us!"

"But Harper…" Dylan protested weakly, the humanitarian in him still screaming at him to go help.

"Boss, they'll understand. And this is the only time we'll have the chance to leave without other's taking the rap for us. With any luck they'll think we've been vaporized in the explosion and won't even bother looking for us, let alone dishing out punishment to anyone else. Heck, the others would want us to go, if only to get Twig out of here!"

Dylan glanced at the little boy who had remained silent through the whole conversation, his eyes wide and scared, not comprehending what was happening.

Twig.

Twig deserved a life outside this camp, the chance to be a child and to grow up healthy and strong. Dylan made up his mind.

"All right," he agreed. "But we aren't going unprepared. Stay here. Stay quiet and don't move. I'll be right back."

Silently, Dylan crept through the camp back toward their barrack, keeping to the shadows to remain invisible. Not that anyone would have noticed if they'd seen him; everyone was too intent on getting to the mine as quickly as possible with as much equipment and supplies as they could carry. Reaching their open, damaged barrack, Dylan ducked inside. Quickly he gathered up four or five blankets, offering silent apologies to his absent friends and hoping Marcus would cover for them if it was discovered. Then he grabbed their three sets of dishes, Simon's glasses, Harper's rabbit's foot, and the knife he'd kept hidden since that day so long ago. He tied it all into a bundle and exited.

The evening meal lay abandoned in the middle of the commons, left by the slave girls pulled suddenly to assist in the crisis. Glancing all around but seeing no one, Dylan risked the open space to gather up as much of the fallen bread as he could, knowing they would desperately need it. He would have liked to go for medical supplies for Harper as well but didn't dare chance it, knowing the hospital would be quickly filling up with wounded.

Stuffing the bread into his makeshift pack, he turned to head back to the others and found himself locking eyes with Marcus.

His heart sank and he stiffened instinctively. Fear gripped him and even as he braced for punishment he tried desperately to think of a way to keep Harper and Twig out of it. The guard held his gaze for a long time, so long Dylan was starting to forget his fear of punishment and wonder what was going on. Then suddenly, almost so faint he wasn't sure if he actually saw it, Marcus nodded once before turning away. The Nietzschean walked calmly back to the mine and disappeared inside, almost as if he'd forgotten all about Dylan.

Not at all sure what had just happened, Dylan kicked himself into motion and raced back to his friends.

"Come on," he whispered, dragging them to their feet before they had time to reply. "We're going now."

"But, Dylan…" Twig whispered. His eyes were huge and he was shaking like a leaf. Dylan realized that he was ripping the boy away from the only home he'd ever known, and even horrible as it was, he was terrified to leave. Unfortunately, the captain didn't have time to deal with that right now.

"Sh, Twig. You have to do exactly what I tell you right now, and you have to be very quiet. Trust me. Now, give me your bucket and then help Harper. Make sure he doesn't fall."

Gulping, the little boy handed the bucket over and grabbed Harper's hand. Dylan stuffed his bundle of supplies inside the pail and then pushed them both forward.

Chains and fences are never a good mix, but throw in a terrified little kid, a blind and crippled crew member, and threat of death or torture if caught, and Dylan was ready for a complete nervous breakdown by the time they made it through the third fence. This one had survived mostly intact and they'd had to go up and over it, the barbed wire cutting into their skin with calculated cruelty.

But, as he hustled his two young charges off into the woods and away from the camp, Dylan knew it was worth every cut and scrape. It was freezing and they were hungry and tired and scared, but they were finally free.