Chapter 60

I meant what I said, and I said what I meant. An Elephant's faithful, one hundred percent. But I lost my poor Whos and their whole tiny town. I couldn't protect them. And I let JoJo down.

And now, little egg, you're alone in the universe, too.

Who would have thought you'd be left up to me, a fool of an elephant up in a tree. Well, this time, I swear I'll do better than try. I'll protect you from harm. Yes, I'll do it or die! So rest now, young egg, and I'll sing you a lullaby…

- Horton the Elephant, Seussical

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Trance was in medical when she felt it. Sergeant Stergis had been injured in a training exercise and she was treating the fracture in her arm when she felt the strings and waves of the universe slip quietly into place, just like the fragile bone in her hands. With a carefully constructed smile, she sent the young woman on her way. Then she hurried to the Maru and locked herself in her old room.

Tears came hot and heavy as she gazed around at this place that used to give her comfort. Now it just served to remind her of all that had been lost, including her innocence.

"Are you happy now?" she shouted suddenly, to no one and everyone. "Is your precious universe shaping up nicely? Greater good, fate of the many, and so on and so forth! Good wins one more round over evil, right?"

Her voice died off, shoulders shaking heavily. "Good wins again, and I lose everyone and everything, including the soul I worked so hard to find," she whispered brokenly. She couldn't do it anymore. She couldn't be this cosmic tool of the universe, forced to choose between the billions of unknown masses and the faces of her friends.

Not bothering to wipe away the tears that wouldn't stop now that she'd let them come, Trance pulled out a worn purple suitcase. Then she glanced around the room again. What, she wondered, does a person possibly pack to take with her as she plans to slip quietly between the mortal and immortal worlds into blessed, uncomplicated nothingness?

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Beka got another tremendous shock when Tyr walked back in with Dylan half an hour later and she saw the captain for the first time. Her mouth hung open in horror and surprise.

"Nice to see you too, Beka," Dylan said wearily, sinking onto the deck as she continued to stare open-mouthed. Still, he managed to give a small, grateful smile that took the sting out of his words. She forced her mouth to close.

"Dylan I…I…"

He waved a chained hand at her, letting her know it was okay, and there was no need to say anything.

"Beka," Tyr drew her attention as he entered the pitiful shelter for the third time. She blinked, realizing she hadn't even noticed him leave again. He was setting the many bags and satchels they'd brought with them on the deck of the downed ship. "We're not out of the proverbial woods yet. There's much work to be done if they're to survive the remainder of this journey. I need your assistance and your emotional control. So do they."

His words focused her, grounded her. Carefully, she slid out from behind Harper. "What do you need me to do?"

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Harper leaned back into the bulkhead Tyr had propped him up against and sighed deeply. Already he could feel the effects of the large dose of antibiotics the big man had given him a few minutes earlier. To not be shaking and hazy with fever – it was heaven. Add to that the pleasantly soothing syrup Tyr had helped him swallow that was easing his cough, the shot of calorie boosters, and the steady flow of vitamin and nutrient rich fluid coursing down a jury-rigged IV into his blood stream and Harper was feeling almost human again. He'd even been given a mild pain reliever, but drew the line at accepting the hard stuff. All of this was way too close to the many dreams he'd had over the last few months. He refused to let his head get fuzzy, afraid it would all melt away like the dreams if he did.

That was one of the plusses of having Tyr as a nursemaid. Beka would have argued long and hard, but Tyr merely put the shot away with a noise that might have almost been mild approval.

The big man was being uncommonly gentle, never once commenting on his pathetic state. Harper figured that would come later, but right now he was just deeply grateful for the help. After eleven months of suffering, his pride could shove it in favor of a little caring, no matter who was playing the part of nurse.

Eleven months! He now knew how long it had been. Eleven months, one week, and four days to be exact. Not only was he now past his twenty-fourth birthday, he was well on his way to reaching his twenty-fifth. He sighed a little, unable to stop it from escaping. Another year of his life ripped away from him, spent as some Niet's property…

"Harper-"

Tyr's voice jerked him out of his thoughts.

"I'm going to clean and bandage –" there was a pause, as though Tyr were looking him over with a critical eye, "– everything. It will most likely be painful."

"'K," Harper agreed, gritting his teeth for what he knew was coming. Soon, he felt hands unwrapping the ragged strips of blanket Dylan had tied around his feet at the beginning of this desperate bid for freedom.

"Where are your boots, boy?" Tyr growled as Harper felt a warm, wet cloth gently sliding over his abused feet. He could practically feel the disapproval in the question, as though Tyr expected to hear he'd lost them through carelessness.

"Probably mucking up the works of Felix's garbage disposal on his ship," Harper said with a small shrug.

The cloth cleaning his feet stopped for a moment and there was silence. When Tyr spoke again his voice was light and quiet, hesitant - the way Harper remembered it sounding when he was almost speechless with disbelief.

"Do you mean to tell me," he paused, "you were never given replacements for the boots he took? That you have spent this entire time…barefoot?"

Harper nodded. Tyr growled and uttered something harsh in a language Harper didn't understand, but it sounded very much like an oath. After a moment, the soft washing of his feet continued, but it was even longer before Tyr spoke again. "Professor," his voice was soft but Harper could hear the strained anger that he didn't bother to hide, "should my path someday cross that of those who tortured you... I will kill them slowly and without mercy."

Harper sat for a moment, trying to figure out what exactly to say to that, but before he could open his mouth Dylan's very weary voice floated to them from across the small room.

"Take a number, Tyr, and get in line."

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"Take a number, Tyr, and get in line."

Dylan's soft words pulled Beka's attention away from the scene playing out in front of her between Tyr and Harper, a scene that was breaking her heart. The former captain walked stiffly from the little back room he had used to wash up in, insisting he could manage at least that much on his own, the ugly chains that hung from him clanking as he moved. She watched the man sink slowly to the deck and took a moment to study him. She wasn't sure if he looked better or worse after his sponge bath. The dirt was gone, but that just helped the deathly pale skin and dark bruises stand out stronger, not to mention the sharp angles and shadows of his protruding bones. She turned away. She was supposed to play nurse for him just as Tyr was doing for Harper, but she couldn't face him yet. Couldn't bear to see the friend she'd come to revere looking like a broken, old man.

She turned back to watch Tyr and Harper. Like that was any better. The Nietzschean was slowly working his way up the young engineer's body, cleaning away months worth of dirt and grime and then tenderly treating and wrapping the injuries that he exposed. It made Beka sick to see what emerged, and she wasn't the only one. She could practically feel the rage rolling off of Tyr as he worked. She looked back at Harper, wondering how her best friend was taking all of this, hoping to catch his eye.

Suddenly, her breath caught in her throat as though someone had wrapped a hand around her neck and squeezed. Harper wasn't looking at her – he wasn't looking at anything. Those clear, blue eyes weren't full of the haunted horror she expected to find, they were just dead – empty. They drooped and hung lazily, not matching the motion of his head.

In abject terror, she got to her feet and crossed the room to the bunk her engineer rested on. "Harper?" she asked, feigning normalcy as she nervously ran a hand through her hair. His head swiveled toward her. "You okay, with…um…Tyr here helping you?" she finished lamely, not really thinking about what to say so much as what she had to do. Silently, she raised her hand and waved it slowly in front of her friend's eyes. He didn't even blink. Suppressing a sob, her hand came to her mouth as she glanced in horror at Tyr. The Nietzschean simply gave an angry nod of confirmation.

"Yeah, I'm good, Beka," Harper answered, totally unaware of what was going on before him. "Better than I have been for ages, actually."

Beka clenched her teeth against the howl of rage that threatened to escape. "Okay, Kiddo," she finally managed to whisper and then all but fled. Breathing hard and fast, she snatched up the unused first-aid kit and rushed to where Dylan sat, sinking to the deck beside him. Fighting tears, she finally looked up to find him watching her, his eyes haunted and knowing.

"His eyes…" she whispered, chewing her lip. "He…he can't…" She took a deep breath. "He's blind?"

"Yes," Dylan answered softly, bitterly. He was too tired to cushion the words.

She clenched her hands. "But he's Harper," she protested. "Our engineer. My engineer! He can't be – blind." She almost choked on the word.

Dylan just looked at her.

With a sigh, she turned away, busied herself in the medical kit. She found a shot of antibiotics and pulled it out, uncapping it. The captain didn't protest as she pushed his ragged sleeve up and slid the needle into his emaciated arm. When it was empty, she drew it back out and set it aside, finally looking at Dylan again.

"What did they do to him?" she asked softly, not wanting their conversation to carry to Harper and Tyr, but unable to stand not knowing any longer.

Dylan closed his eyes, his head falling back against the wall he was leaning on. "What didn't they do to him, Beka." His voice held a world of anguish, hurt, and guilt. "Are you sure you really want to know?"

"I have to know," Beka said firmly, taking out another shot, this one of much needed vitamins and proteins. "I've waited a year, Dylan. A year of wondering every day what you two were going through, if you were even alive. A year of holding out hope when everyone told me it was insane. I have to know."

The captain glanced at her, pierced her with one of the most soul-searching and intense gazes she'd ever experienced. It was a look of sorrow, of gratitude, of empathy. But it was also one of defeat.

"I tried, Beka. I did everything I could. And it just wasn't enough. I just had to stand by and watch them... The things I saw…what they did to him…what they did to Twig…" Again that piercing, hopeless look as he glanced from Harper to Twig then back to her. "Twig's just a baby, Beka. And look what they did to him!"

He broke off, choking on his words. Beka stared at him, shocked by his words and the devastation of the once indomitable captain.

"It isn't worth it…this fight to restore things to the way they were. Beka, I'm not sure my faith in the universe can ever be restored. I'm not sure I even want to try." He closed his eyes again, sagging limply into the wall.

"Dylan, I'm sure you did everything you could," she said quickly, urgently. This new Dylan scared her, almost more than the horribly injured Harper did. Not sure what else to do, she gently injected the second shot.

He didn't even notice; he was staring at Tyr and Harper again, watching the bandages creep up the engineer's body, covering way too much of it – hiding things that could never be forgotten or explained, and maybe never truly fixed. As if the pathetic, white strips could make them better. "I couldn't stop it, Beka," he whispered again, brokenly. "Any of it. I watched them break my friend into pieces one day at a time and couldn't do a thing."

They made quite a pair, her and Dylan; both knowing they'd failed miserably to protect the ones they loved, both wearing the blame like a heavy cloak around their shoulders. Who knew if time could repair that, heal the wounds of failure? Beka followed Dylan's gaze back to Harper as well. She saw the injuries, really saw them for the first time, each one individually, representations of a thousand different and unspeakable events. She swallowed hard, knowing that neither would like this but also that she had no choice.

"His feet?" she asked quietly, glancing at the newly bandaged limbs.

"Eleven months with no shoes," Dylan answered simply, his voice equally soft. He didn't elaborate. Good, that was probably better. Details right now would make her lose it.

And so they went, watching Tyr bathe and tend to some injury while Dylan uttered a one or two sentence explanation of how it came to exist. He spoke softly, brokenly, taking her through the battered shins, ravaged back, ugly, oozing brand on his chest, destroyed dataport, broken eyes… They didn't look at each other, neither one using more words than was absolutely necessary.

Their façade cracked when they got to his hands.

Dylan's face darkened with sudden and unexpected anger. "They crucified him, Beka. Crucified him!" he whispered in a voice so unlike any she'd ever heard from him.

"I know," she answered, eyes haunted by memories. Dylan's head had fallen to his chest, but her response shocked him sufficiently that he met her gaze.

"You know?"

"The Great and Powerful Felix sent us pictures. And his bloody clothes." The anguish she'd felt on that day welled up inside her again; she knew it would never fully go away. "I thought he was dead."

"He was," Dylan answered wearily, looking sadly back at Harper.

Beka blanched, whipping around to face him sharply, so not prepared to hear those words despite everything they'd already talked about.

"But…how…?"

"I didn't see it; you have one on me there, Beka. I never left our cozy little cell on Felix's ship, but Harper told me about it later. Felix pounded spikes into his hands and pinned him up on that cross, then when he was almost dead, came back three days later and told him it was all a big joke." Dylan's voice was cold now, filled with rage. "The shock of having the nails removed was too much, though, and Harper died. Felix revived him."

Beka didn't know what she felt at hearing that. Anger? Shock? Horror? Gratitude?

"How come you kept looking, if you thought we were dead?" Dylan asked after a moment, truly curious.

"Well, I didn't have proof that you were dead," she answered with a shrug. "And, after a while, I figured out Harper must still be alive, too."

"You did?" He looked confused and amazed. "How?"

"No rabbit's foot," she said simply.

"Huh?"

"I knew there was no way Harper would let that go if he could help it. He hasn't taken it off since the day he boarded the Maru," she explained. "It was on him in that picture, but when it didn't turn up with the clothes we were given and everything else did, I figured…. Well… What would Felix want with a little mudfoot's good luck sign? So Harper must still have it, and only an alive Harper would care."

Dylan gazed at her, mouth hanging open. He stayed that way for so long Beka was afraid maybe he'd really lost it. Finally, he shook his head and she was surprised to see tears glistening in his eyes. Slowly, he reached under the neck of his ragged shirt and pulled something out, holding it up for her to see. There, strung on a necklace made of grubby, plastic wiring, hung Harper's rabbit's foot.

"He asked me to keep it for him," Dylan's voice was far away now. "Said it was special and he didn't want to leave it behind, but that the Nietzscheans would find it on him if he kept it. So I took it for him." He sounded amazed. ."Beka," he turned back to her, voice stronger now, "you have no idea how many times this little good luck charm has saved Harper's life," he said solemnly. Almost reverently, he pulled it over his head, running his fingers over it. "Here," he said after a moment, holding it out to her, "next time you go check on him, which I know you're aching to do, give it back to him. I don't think I need to keep it for him anymore."

Beka took the ragged thing from him, closing her fingers around it tightly, and he turned to look back at Harper. After a moment to clear her eyes, Beka followed his lead. Tyr had finished his doctoring now and the young engineer was swathed in bandages. They wrapped his feet and shins, disappearing up under the decrepit pants, and his whole torso was also covered in them; they even snaked around his shoulders and upper arms. Tyr had gently placed some sort of ball or wadding against the palm and curled fingers of his crushed left hand and then wrapped it all tightly in more clean bandages. Despite the awkward chains around his wrists, the Nietzschean managed to cradle the injured hand in a sling, and then he bound the whole limb against the young man's chest, immobilizing it.

"He looks like a mummy," Beka blurted rather louder than she meant to.

"I heard that," Harper called back in his rough voice, rolling his eyes. "Sensitive ears, remember?"

"Hold still, boy," Tyr growled, turning Harper's face sideways again to get a better look at the sores on his head.

"Touchy," she heard Harper grumble. It brought a sad smile to her lips, both reminding her of old times and re-emphasizing how different everything was now. It also reminded her that she was shirking her duty.

"All right, Dylan, let's get you all doctored up as well. Then you and Harper can compare bandages."

Without protest, Dylan did as he was told. He seemed almost grateful to have someone else be in charge. As she watched him, her mind stuck hopelessly on their conversation, Beka knew they still had a long way to go before they'd all be okay, and she didn't mean just getting off this rotten planet.

She worked quickly. Dylan had plenty of sores and lash marks, but nothing like the horrible injuries she'd just seen on Harper. The captain's worst injuries seemed to be the nasty wounds around his wrists, ankles, and waist, caused by the metal chains. It didn't take her long to finish giving him the meds and bandage up his hurts, although the blasted chains didn't exactly make it convenient.

"How did you find us?" Dylan broke the silence suddenly as she was tying off the last bandage.

"Long, long story. How did you guys escape?" she threw back at him.

"Long, long story," he repeated. Despite the tired voice, she saw just a flicker of the man she remembered when he threw her own words back at her and it gave her some semblance of hope.

"Once we have you two safely off this planet we'll plan a story swap."

"Three," Dylan said firmly, pulling his arm back now that Beka was done.

"Huh?" she asked as she packed up the med kit.

"Us three off the planet. You forgot Twig."

"Oh, yeah," Beka muttered, looking away and toward the little boy sleeping soundly on the bunk beside Harper, too exhausted to stay awake as he waited for his turn to be fixed up. She wasn't sure how she felt about him being there. It's not that she had anything against the kid, other than the fact that he was a – well – kid. Sure, he looked like he'd had it pretty bad and she felt sorry for him. But he was a kid – little and helpless and fragile. He was bound to slow them down and from the looks of it, Harper didn't have much time to waste. She figured Dylan's hero complex must have kicked in when he saw the little thing stuck in a slave camp and refused to leave him there. Darn the man and his heroic impulses.

"Beka, what's wrong?"

Darn his ability to read her mind as well.

"Nothing," she said evasively. She gathered up what she'd been using to help him and left quickly, avoiding his eyes.

A few minutes later, Beka found herself at the bunk where the little kid was sleeping. She'd tried to stall, but the food was cooking fine on the small fire Tyr had lit earlier, and Tyr himself was still busy with Harper. That left only her to take care of the kid. She wasn't too happy to have him there slowing them down and using up resources they needed for Harper and Dylan, but she wasn't cold-hearted enough to clean and fix her friends up and make the boy stay how he was.

Reluctantly, she reached out and gently touched the kid's shoulder. Instantly, his eyes popped open. He didn't say anything, just looked around with huge eyes for a few seconds, breathing hard in confusion and fear. Beka felt her heart soften just a little. That look reminded her too much of the Harper who had first come on board her ship.

"Hey, kid," she said softly, "It's okay. I'm just gonna clean you up a bit and give you some stuff to make you feel better. Then we get to eat."

He stared at her for a moment more before he nodded and sat up.

Neither one spoke as she scrubbed what felt like years worth of dirt off him. She frowned as a terribly starved little body was revealed, one dotted all over with fading bruises and welts and scars from a whip. It made her mad. She might not want to be saddled with an annoying kid, but that didn't mean she wasn't outraged someone would treat him like this. She could see why Captain Heroic wouldn't leave him behind.

When he was finally as clean as she could get him without actually dunking him in a tub, she retrieved her first-aid kit and started pulling out various needles and creams.

"No, no, no," he suddenly said, voice edged with panic. "No, I don't want those! No please!" He backed away from her until his back hit the bulkhead, then fell to his knees.

She was surprised by the unexpected outburst, but not altogether shocked. Several vivid, never forgotten memories of a six-year-younger Harper flashed through her brain. Sadly, she'd seen this kind of raw fear before.

"Kid!" she said loudly, moving closer and racking her brain for what Harper and Dylan had called him. "Er…Twig! Hey, I'm not gonna hurt you! These are the meds I was talking about. They'll make you feel better!"

She tried to put on her most friendly smile but it didn't matter, he just kept backing farther away, shaking his head and saying "no, no!" over and over again. She ran a hand through her hair. This was ridiculous.

"Twig?" Harper had heard the commotion and was suddenly calling out for the boy. He had to call three more times before the kid stopped moving and wailing long enough to hear him. "Twig, what's going on?"

Beka glanced at her friend. He looked like he really wanted to slide off the bunk and hobble over there, but Tyr "Florence Nightengale" Anasazi had him pinned down with an iron grip on his arm and a jury-rigged IV in his elbow.

"Harper," the little boy sniffed softly, his eyes darting toward the engineer, calculating if he could slip past Beka and make it to the young man's side. Beka moved in front of him, closing off his escape route.

"Beka, what's wrong with him?" Harper's voice was scared now.

"Nothing's wrong. I'm just trying to give him his meds, like the rest of you, and he freaked out on me."

Harper sighed, nodding his head in understanding. "He's um…had some bad experiences with needles, Beka." His words were sad, angry, purposefully vague. "Just talk to him carefully and move really slow and gentle and he'll be okay. Twig," he added, calling gently to the kid, "it's okay. Beka's my friend and she's not gonna hurt you. The stuff in the needles is medicine, like the stuff Doc Barty gave you, okay? Let her help you."

The boy's eyes darted back and forth between Harper and her for several minutes, his breathing still ragged, but finally he sagged to the deck in exhausted acceptance. Beka slid quietly to his side, wasting no time in getting her shots ready. She was quite sure she wouldn't get another chance.

"Beka?" Harper called again from across the room, his voice rather urgent.

"What, Harper?" she replied, trying to keep the annoyance from showing.

"No stimulants or sedatives, okay? He has a bad heart. Not sure how he'd react."

Great, she thought as she recapped the calorie booster she'd just laid out and put it away, not just a little, freaked out kid to slow us down. A sick, freaked out little kid. This whole thing just got better and better.

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Dylan sat silently, wearily watching his friends. He'd almost called them his crew, but no amount of imagination could make that right anymore. He was so far from being a starship captain it was amusing to even think of it.

Exhausted, dizzy from hunger and in pain, he simply sat and watched.

He watched Tyr help Harper, soothing hurts he'd wished a million times he could fix.

He watched Beka clean and treat Twig, tucking the boy under warm blankets Dylan had prayed for a thousand times over.

What a failure he'd turned out to be. What a fool. Catapulted suddenly into a time and place that wasn't his, he'd run gaily through the universe, spouting nonsensical ideals and assuring people he knew what was best for them. He could protect them.

Lies, all of it lies.

He didn't know anything. He was…what was the word Tyr had used? An anachronism. A blind, out of date fool.

He couldn't protect anyone. Not his ship, not his beloved Commonwealth, not his crew. Especially not his crew. Especially not those two kids over there.

He'd tried so hard and in the end, he'd just let everyone down.

Well, he wasn't going to try anymore. He was going to do something right. He might not be able to save the universe, but in the last year he'd made vows more important than even the ones he gave to the Commonwealth. He would keep those vows, protect his family, or die trying.

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"You should rest now, boy. You might be feeling better, but you're still only inches away from death," Tyr said firmly, wrapping several blankets around the human's shoulders. The drama on the other side of the room was over now, and he'd treated all of Harper's ills that he could. "I'll wake you for the food."

"No wait, Tyr," Harper reached out and caught his arm with his free hand. "Your rather blunt bedside manner aside, can you do one more thing?"

Tyr paused. "What, Harper?"

The small human reached up and scrubbed at the short, scruffy hairs covering his cheeks. "This beard is driving me nuts. Don't you have any way to get rid of it?"

The Nietzschean regarded him for several long moments, then to his annoyance found himself sitting back down. He pulled something from his boot and turned it over in his hands, watching it glint appreciatively.

"Do you trust me?" he finally asked the boy.

"Um, yeah. You're here, aren't you?"

"Good. Then hold still."

Harper froze, letting him cover his cheeks with a soft foam. Tyr positioned the boy's head to one side and started carefully.

"Wait a minute," Harper whispered. "Please don't tell me you're using your dagger for this."

"All right, I won't tell you."

The small human gulped. "Me and my big mouth…" he muttered. Tyr held back a small laugh. Even in the midst of staggering readjustments and loses, some things didn't change.