Chapter 59

Generally, by the time you become Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But those things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.

- Margery Williams, The Velveteen Rabbit

"Stupid planets," Beka grumbled, pulling her jacket closer against the snow and wind. The snow had been falling off and on since they left the city, which sent her mood spiraling darker and darker, especially since she couldn't help thinking that Harper was out here, somewhere, in this mess, and with the snow, how would they ever find him?

And was he even still alive to find?

She promptly tried to squash the errant thought but found she couldn't. Too many months of uncertainty had passed. The voice inside her was getting stronger as she rode through this barren, winter landscape, building up fear that this desperate rescue was too late.

Cursing her traitorous feelings, Beka glared out at her surroundings, hating everything about this planet from the snow to the horse lumbering beneath her.

"Beka."

Tyr's voice snapped her attention forward. "What?" she bit off.

"Wreckage - over there. A ship that some fool must have crashed long ago."

"So?" she replied sourly.

"There are footprints around it. Someone has taken shelter there recently."

Beka felt her heart quicken with fear, excitement, and apprehension. Tyr turned his horse off the path and emotions raging, Beka followed him. Silently, they made their way to a cluster of trees and dismounted, tying their horses to the trunks.

Tyr moved to the nearest set of tracks and crouched before them, studying them in the waning light. What he saw caused his normally solemn face to darken in a scowl as he drew his weapon. Silently, Beka followed his example. After all, who knew what or who they would find in this wreck? They shared a glance that spoke volumes then crept toward the downed spacecraft.

Inside it was dark and musty – depressing – and scarcely warmer than the frigged air outside. Beka felt a chill creep up her spine as they carefully picked their way through the dead ship. Her nerves were on edge and her emotions strung so tight she knew she would snap if this turned out to be a dead end. Or worse.

Beside her, Tyr wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Someone's here," he whispered. "I can smell them."

In long ago, happier times, Beka would have made a comment about that, but not today – not here.

Up ahead, a weak pool of light spilled out around a corner. It flickered and waved, like a fire's flame. Weapons drawn, Tyr and Beka approached the edge of the light. Locking eyes, a year's worth of desperate hope passed silently between them. Then, with a single nod, they stepped around the corner and into the light.

For a moment, Beka couldn't see anything but shadows barely held back by a lone, sputtering candle, but then something shifted slightly along the wall, drawing her gaze. Raising her weapon higher on instinct, she squinted into the gloom. There, on a bunk that looked ready to collapse at any moment, two creatures lay, vaguely human. The one closest to the front turned his head slightly toward her, and she watched as a small, painful smile cracked his lips.

"Hello, Beka."

She forgot how to breathe. All air left her body and her world tunneled sharply, alarmingly down to one point.

"Harper?" It was a plea, a prayer, and a sob all in one.

The sad, pitiful smile returned. "Yeah."

She'd waited for this moment for almost a year. Pictured it, dreamed of it, relied on it to keep her going from one day to the next. It was here now; she was living it, and she couldn't do a thing. Her feet had grown roots, her tongue fused to her mouth, her heart shattered like falling glass. The wraith-like figure before her couldn't be her Harper. It couldn't be! Her world crashed down around her and Beka Valentine let it go, just let it crumble and fall.

Tyr's eyes traveled swiftly over the young engineer and the unknown child, seeing all without being told and already making and adjusting plans. He was not without compassion, disgust, and even fury at what he saw, but now was not the time to indulge in those emotions. One glance had been enough to tell him that time was not something Harper had left to waste. He pushed past Captain Valentine's frozen form and approached the bed.

Harper coughed roughly and sagged back onto the bunk, eyes closing. "Drew the short straw in the rescue-mission-meeting, Tyr?" he croaked softly.

Tyr briefly wondered how the boy could tell it was them, but pushed the thought aside. It was irrelevant at the moment. "Hush, Little Man. You waste strength you cannot afford to lose on talking."

A soft, sobbing wail suddenly assaulted his ears. Tyr glanced up to find the tiny child beside Harper staring at him with eyes swimming in pure terror and fear, his knees pulled tight to his chest as he unconsciously rocked forward and back.

"Twig… Hey, it's okay, Twig," Harper whispered to the child, ignoring Tyr's warning about speech as he groped weakly for the boy. "He's not gonna hurt us." His voice was little more than a croak.

Tyr didn't question who the child was or what he was doing there. The boy clung to Harper and the engineer, despite being at death's door, tried to help him. It didn't take his superior senses to recognize the bond of a parent and child, no matter how unexpected.

"Child," Tyr said softly, crouching to the level of the crumbling bunk. "I am not here to hurt or harm you. You have no reason to believe me now, but in time you will see that not all Nietzscheans are like the ones you have known. Until then, trust Harper."

"He's okay, Twig," Harper rasped again, fighting frame-shaking coughs. "This is Tyr. Remember I told you about him."

The boy stared at him with huge, frightened eyes for an eternity. Had the circumstances and surroundings been different, Tyr would have been amused by the solemn depth of the child's scrutiny, but not here. This was a serious gaze and he knew better than to make light of it.

"But he's an Uber," the child finally said to his idol, crestfallen.

"Yeah," Harper whispered, his strength spent, "but he came to get us, so I'll forgive him his genetic code. Just do what he says, okay." The last words were so weak Tyr was glad of his enhanced hearing. He rose quickly to his feet, unwilling to waste any more time.

"Where is our intrepid Captain?" He didn't doubt that the man was around. There was no possible way these two were trekking alone.

Harper tried to answer but the words got lost in the hacking coughs. He sagged into the bunk, eyes closed and all energy gone.

"He… he went for wood," the child whispered timidly. "To make a fire. Melt snow for water."

"Then I will go find him. Captain Valentine will remain here with you."

Beka hadn't moved from her place in the doorway. He pierced her with a pointed, knowing look and brushed past her without a word.

The movement pulled Beka from her stupor, but still she didn't move, just stood there staring. She was in shock. She'd known finding Harper, seeing him after all this time would be rough. She'd steadied herself to expect the worst. But this? This was beyond anything she could have imagined or dreamed up. She never would have thought a person could look like this and still be moving, breathing. There was just nothing left of him.

Stick-like arms and legs caught in iron chains, paper-thin skin that was transparent in some places and thick with festering wounds in others… His spiky hair was gone, and dark, dark shadows ringed hollow eyes. This waif creature, this shadow of a human being, how could this be her Harper?

And then he called for her. He reached out with one hand and croaked her name, hesitant and searching. Floods of memories and feelings rushed in: Harper – new to the Maru and the concept of trust but reluctant to let her leave and be alone, Harper caught in the depths of a nightmare and sobbing her name, Harper seeking company in her room after a stressful day of adjusting to a new life on Andromeda, even Harper yelling at her as they engaged in one of their fast and furious fights that were the stuff of legends. This was her Harper, the kid she counted as more of a brother than the one she shared blood with, and he was calling out for her. She rushed to him.

"Sh, Seamus," she sniffed, tears wetting her cheeks. She sat on the edge of the bunk and carefully lifted him, pulling him back into her arms and rocking him like a baby. "I'm here, Seamus. I'm here. I tried so hard to come sooner but I couldn't find you…"

A hand crept up and found her arm, clutching it fiercely. "S'okay, Beka," Harper croaked. "I knew you would come."

Nothing else was said. There was nothing else to say. After several long minutes of watching, the little boy beside them crawled hesitantly over and curled up at Harper's side, laying his head on the battered engineer's chest. And then they just sat there holding each other, clinging to one another with desperation while they waited for the others to return.

Dylan's chain snagged again on some snow covered bramble and the man lurched forward. He managed to keep his footing, but the pile of small sticks and branches he'd been carrying flew from his arms and scattered on the ground. He cursed softly and sank onto a nearby rock. He was tired beyond all understanding, and he felt weary and used up and old, so very old. It had taken all his strength to gather and carry that pitiful pile of kindling, something he would have laughed at a year ago. Then again, a year ago he'd been Dylan Hunt, Captain of the Andromeda Ascendant, heavy-gravity-worlder, last of the old High Guard and poster boy for the new – tall, strong, confidant and cocky. Now he was just Dylan, runaway slave - cold, hungry, worn out and used up, and very much more than three-hundred years old.

A shadow stepped away from the trees, stopped before him. Black leather against white snow filled his sight, coat and hair twitching in the freezing wind.

Dylan blinked, but the image remained. Tyr Anasazi.

"I never thought I would see the day the Universe bested Dylan Hunt." The voice was quiet, strangely void of malice or gloating.

"I never thought I would see a lot of things I have, Tyr," Dylan answered after a long, shocked moment, "including you again."

"Then I guess we're both surprised." The large man stepped forward and gathered the pathetic pile of wood, lifting it without effort.

"Tyr how… when…?"

"It's a long story that can wait," Tyr answered the unarticulated questions.

"Harper and Twig. They're –"

"- with Beka. Now come on." Tyr pulled Dylan to his feet. "You have a ship waiting for you, Captain."

Dylan started walking out of habit, but he paused to really look at Tyr for the first time. "I still have a ship? You mean it's not Captain Anasazi now?"

Tyr gave a small, mirthless laugh. "For the present, the current state of affairs still fits my agenda."

"Ah, but you admit it. You do have an agenda. I always knew it," Dylan said, the surrealism of rescue out of the blue after months of terror and hope and despair making him babble.

Tyr laughed, a real laugh this time. Dylan fancied he saw real pleasure at seeing him again in the dark, usually masked eyes. The Nietzschean prodded Dylan gently forward. "Walk, Captain Hunt. Just walk."