Andromeda: The Lost Exile
Prologue
Deep space was silent but for the distant shimmer of stars. A lone figure drifted amid the void, suspended in an inertial suit scored by micrometeorite impacts. The man's eyes were closed, dark lashes unmoving against pale cheeks. He appeared no older than twenty-five, with a strong, lean build and short dark hair that floated freely in zero gravity. He did not stir – not when a faint green nebula glimmered behind him, nor when the massive warship Andromeda Ascendant emerged from slipstream not far away.
On the Andromeda's Command Deck, Lieutenant Beka Valentine leaned forward in the pilot's seat, scanning her console. "We've dropped out of slipstream," she reported, brushing a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. Her tone was light, but her brow creased with concern. "No sign of the pursuing ships on our immediate sensors. We might've lost the Commonwealth patrol for now."
Beside her, Trance Gemini tilted her golden-hued face toward the starboard viewport. The young woman's violet eyes narrowed as if noticing something unseen by the others. Her prehensile tail swayed in a slow arc behind her. "Something's out there," she said softly. Despite the quiet certainty of her voice, an undercurrent of urgency ran through it.
From her station at tactical, the ship's AI avatar Rommie – appearing as a dark-haired woman in a High Guard uniform – glanced at Trance in mild confusion. "Sensors are clear," Rommie stated. Her tone was crisp, resonating with the precise diction of the Andromeda's artificial intelligence. "No contacts besides interstellar debris." As the living representation of the warship's mind, Rommie trusted her instruments implicitly. Yet Trance's instincts had proven… unique in the past.
Beka frowned and gave Trance a sidelong look. "Are you sure? We've got other problems right now, you know. Dylan and Harper are still off the grid, and we've got half the new Commonwealth fleet chasing us." She tapped nervously at controls, referring to their Captain and engineer who were currently on a secret mission at Fellenhoff Drift. The crew had been forced to flee with the Andromeda to distract pursuers until Captain Hunt could resolve his mysterious errand .
Trance stepped closer to the main viewport. Outside lay an endless sprawl of stars. "I'm sure," she murmured. Her gaze fixed on a seemingly empty patch of darkness. Beka followed her line of sight, seeing nothing but vacuum.
Rommie's holographic counterpart – the AI's face projected into the air – appeared near Trance. "I detect a faint power signature," Andromeda's voice announced. Her hologram flickered, resolving into the serene face of an auburn-haired woman in a shimmering ship emblem. "Approximately two thousand meters off our bow. It's extremely weak… possibly a failing life support system."
Beka's blue eyes widened. "Life support? Out here?" This region of space was remote; no trade routes, no habitable planets – just the route they'd taken to evade pursuit. It would be incredible luck or fate to find anyone adrift in such emptiness.
Trance laid a gentle hand on Beka's arm. "I knew it," she said quietly, a hint of relief in her musical voice. Beka could only shake her head in amazement; after two years with Trance, she still couldn't explain the girl's uncanny intuition.
"Closing in on the contact," Beka declared, engaging the ship's maneuvering thrusters. The massive Glorious Heritage-class cruiser glided forward, guided by Beka's expert piloting. As they approached the coordinates, Andromeda magnified the visual feed on the central holoscreen.
A collective hush fell over the command crew. Floating in the starlight was a human figure in an EVA suit, limbs limp and drifting. The suit's energy readings were nearly depleted – the tiny thruster pack attached to it was dark and dead. The person inside was not moving.
"By the Divine, it's a survivor," Rommie said softly, echoing the astonishment that all felt. It was exceedingly rare to find a castaway in deep space – rarer still for them to survive long. "I'm detecting faint vitals… extremely faint. We need to get him aboard now or he won't last."
Beka was already on it. "Bringing us alongside." She worked the controls, aligning the Andromeda with careful precision. The warship's Ventral Airlock extended a retrieval field.
Trance turned, her expression resolute. "I'll go meet him in the airlock." There was something fervent in her eyes – almost personal. Beka noticed it, but there was no time to question. She simply nodded.
"I'm coming too," Rommie stated. As the ship's android avatar, Rommie could handle a possibly hazardous retrieval and provide immense strength if needed. She dispatched instructions through her neural link to Andromeda's systems: Activate the medical team and prepare a gurney in Decontamination.
Within minutes, the limp figure was drawn gently into the open maw of Andromeda's airlock by the ship's magnetic grapples. The outer door sealed behind him with a clang.
Inside the chamber, emergency lights bathed everything in red. Trance and Rommie hurried through the inner hatch as soon as pressure equalized. The man in the EVA suit lay crumpled on the floor, unmoving. Thin crystals of ice coated parts of his suit – evidence of exposure to hard vacuum and extreme cold.
Trance was at his side in an instant, surprisingly strong arms helping turn him face-up. Rommie assisted, carefully cradling the man's neck. Though an android, Rommie's face showed focused concern, mimicking the human emotions her programming allowed.
The man's helmet visor was frosted and opaque. With practiced urgency, Rommie located the manual release and popped the seal. A hiss of stale air escaped. They lifted off the helmet.
Underneath was a pale human face, eyes closed, jaw slack with unconsciousness. He had a straight nose, high cheekbones, and a dusting of stubble along a sharp jawline. His dark brown hair clung to his forehead in sweat-frozen locks. If not for the pallor of his skin, he might have been merely asleep.
Trance pressed two fingers to his neck, searching for a pulse. For a moment, nothing – then a faint flutter. "He's alive," she breathed. Relief and something like recognition flickered across her features as she peered at him. In the dim light, her golden skin almost seemed to glow faintly. "We need to get him to Med Deck, now."
Rommie easily lifted the man's body as the inner airlock doors opened and two Med tech drones rolled in with a hover-gurney. Together, they placed him on the gurney. The man's arms fell limp at his sides; one hand, freed from the suit's heavy glove, dangled over the edge. Trance noticed an ugly scar across the back of his hand – a silvery line that caught the light. Old wound, she thought, filing it away even as she moved swiftly to keep his head supported.
They rushed through Andromeda's pristine corridors toward Medical. The ship's AI announced via comlink, "Vital signs are extremely weak: core temperature 34°C, blood pressure 80 over 40 and falling."
Trance bit her lip. He was hypothermic and likely suffering anoxia. "Not today," she whispered determinedly, as if bargaining with unseen fates. "You're not dying today."
Upon reaching Med Deck, they were met by Seamus Harper – the ship's chief engineer turned ad-hoc medic in an emergency. He had answered the call for assistance en route from Engineering. Harper, a wiry young man with tousled sandy hair, wore his usual tool belt along with a hastily donned pair of medical gloves.
"Who the heck did you fish out of space?" Harper exclaimed, equal parts incredulous and concerned. He hopped forward to help transfer the patient onto a diagnostic table. "One stray human pops up and suddenly I'm Doctor Harper," he quipped nervously.
"Less commentary, more action, Seamus," Rommie chided gently, though her eyes were on the unconscious stranger. Harper nodded, focus sharpening.
Under bright white lights, the man looked deathly pale, lips blue from oxygen deprivation. Trance immediately grabbed a thermal blanket from a wall compartment and draped it over him, while Harper fixed a breathing mask over the man's nose and mouth. The hiss of warmed, oxygen-rich air began flowing.
Rommie had already activated the medical scanner. A holographic display shimmered above the table, showing the patient's anatomy and vital readouts: weak heartbeat, shallow respiration attempting to resume, multiple contusions but no severe injuries. A series of numbers and graphs scrolled – genetic profile, blood chemistry – but the data was flagged with anomalies.
Harper's eyes widened at some readings. "His blood saturation's rising… good… But whoa, is that right? This guy's O2 levels were near zero a minute ago." He tapped the console as if distrusting the sensors. "How is he not brain-dead? He must've been floating out there for hours at least."
"He's a fighter, clearly," Trance murmured, brushing the man's matted hair back from his forehead. Under her breath she added softly, "There's a spark inside him." Something no scanner would show.
Rommie furrowed her brow at the genetic profile scroll. "That's odd…" she muttered. Beka, who had arrived and stood at the doorway catching her breath, stepped forward.
"What's odd?" Beka asked.
Rommie pointed to the holodisplay where a double-helix representation turned slowly. "His genome. It's… well, it's human, but there are atypical sequences. Markers I don't recognize in the database."
Harper let out a low whistle. "So our mystery man is an unregistered mutant or something?" In the Commonwealth's vast records of billions, having unknown markers was uncommon. Most human sub-genotypes were catalogued by High Guard science or known as Nightsider, Nietzschean, etc. This man's genetic code had sequences that matched none of those exactly.
"Mutant's a loaded term," Beka said carefully, eyeing the stranger with renewed curiosity. "Could be Augmentations? Maybe he's from one of those High Guard black-ops breeding programs?" She knew the old Commonwealth dabbled in genetic experiments – after all, the Nietzscheans, like Tyr Anasazi on their crew, were a prime example of genetically enhanced humans. But even Nietzschean DNA was documented.
Trance shook her head, golden curls catching the light. "Whatever he is, he's still a person and he needs our help." She reached for the man's hand through the blanket, giving it a reassuring squeeze. His skin was cold, but as she held his hand, her own body warmth seemed to radiate more intensely. Beka could swear she saw a very faint light around Trance's slender fingers for just a moment. The monitors beeped – the patient's core temperature ticked up by a few tenths of a degree.
None of the others noticed the light, but Rommie noted the subtle change in vitals. "Temperature rising… 34.5… 35°C. That's good. Let's get IV fluids going."
Harper snapped into action, preparing a saline IV. As he worked, he kept glancing at the man's face. "So, anyone recognize him? Maybe he's some VIP who went missing? That'd be our luck, we save a bigwig and get a reward." Typical Harper, making light to mask worry.
Beka peered closely. The man's features were strong, but unfamiliar. "Not anyone I've seen on a wanted poster or newsfeed," she said. "Rommie, run facial recognition through the Commonwealth database."
Andromeda's AI hologram blinked into existence above the table, serene and composed. "Scanning… no immediate match on High Guard or Commonwealth records. I'll broaden to known civilian registries."
As they waited, Trance continued monitoring the man's pulse, silently willing it stronger. Beka noticed how tenderly Trance acted. She's drawn to him, Beka thought. It was as if the mystery man's presence exerted a gravitational pull on their usually whimsical Trance Gemini.
"Facial recognition negative on all standard databases," Andromeda reported after a pause. "He's not registered anywhere I can access out here. Possibly a Wayist pilgrim? They often stay off official nets."
Harper quirked an eyebrow. A Wayist monk floating in deep space? Seemed unlikely. "If he were Wayist, he'd have some ID or personal effects, maybe a prayer stone or something."
Rommie checked the belongings retrieved from the suit. A utility belt with a few survival tools, a depleted beacon (that had never been activated), and a small medallion on a broken chain – perhaps worn around his neck inside the suit. Rommie held it up: a circular pendant with a faded emblem of a double-headed eagle etched into it. She showed it to Beka and the others.
"Recognize this symbol?" Rommie asked. The eagle design was unlike any current Commonwealth insignia. In fact, it looked ancient, more akin to Old Earth heraldry than modern emblems. Time had worn it smooth in places.
Beka shook her head. "Not Commonwealth, not any corporate logo I know."
Trance gazed at it intensely. Her lips parted as if she might say something, but then she stayed silent. She did not recognize it openly, but inside her mind flickered a distant memory – or perhaps a precognitive whisper. Twin eagles… a symbol of an empire long gone… She wasn't sure if it was her own ancient knowledge or something else stirring. For now, she kept this to herself.
The patient suddenly gasped – a weak, ragged breath, but a breath nonetheless. Everyone's attention snapped back to him. The man's eyelids fluttered, and beneath them his eyes moved as if in REM sleep.
"He's coming around!" Harper exclaimed. He adjusted the oxygen flow. The man's chest rose and fell in a more regular rhythm now, and a hint of color returned to his cheeks.
Trance leaned over him, her face entering his slowly sharpening field of vision. "You're safe now," she said softly, intuitively sensing that he might be hearing her. "You're aboard the starship Andromeda. We've got you."
The man's brow creased as consciousness fought its way back. His eyes opened a sliver, revealing irises of a deep storm-gray. For a moment they were unfocused, clouded with confusion and the trauma of near-death. Then those gray eyes fixed on Trance's gentle, smiling face.
He tried to speak, but only a hoarse croak emerged. Harper quickly brought a cup with water and a straw to his lips. "Easy there, buddy. Small sips." The man's cracked lips parted and he managed a couple of swallows. His throat worked, and he coughed weakly.
"Th… thank you," he rasped eventually, voice scarcely above a whisper. It was the voice of someone struggling up from a bottomless abyss of unconsciousness.
Beka released a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. A near-dead man coming back to life on her watch – definitely not an ordinary day, even by Andromeda standards. She stepped forward where he could see her and offered a reassuring grin. "Welcome back to the land of the living. For a while there, we weren't sure you had a round-trip ticket."
The man blinked, processing her lighthearted words. His gaze shifted slowly among the strangers around him: the smiling blonde woman, the young engineer who'd offered water, the dark-uniformed female officer, and finally back to the gentle, golden-skinned girl whose hand still warmly enclosed his. He frowned, an expression of uncertainty crossing his face.
"Wh-who…?" he began, but his voice failed. It was unclear whether he was asking who they were, or perhaps who he was.
Rommie gave a formal nod. "You're on the Systems Commonwealth ship Andromeda Ascendant. I am the ship's artificial intelligence, but you can call me Rommie," she explained, keeping her tone calm and soothing. "This is Beka Valentine, my First Officer. Seamus Harper, our Engineer. And Trance Gemini, our… ah, resident medic of sorts," Rommie added, deciding that describing Trance's multifaceted role on the ship might overwhelm him. "Our Captain, Dylan Hunt, is currently away on a mission, but you're under our protection now."
He listened, but a shadow of frustration flickered in his eyes. He swallowed and tried to speak again. "I… don't…" His voice was raw, but the effort was earnest. "I don't remember…"
Trance squeezed his hand gently. "Shh. It's okay. You've been through an ordeal. Just rest." She could feel the tremor in his fingers. Whether it was from cold or fear or the daunting emptiness of memory loss, she wasn't sure, but she felt compelled to comfort him.
The man closed his eyes briefly, as if reaching into a void inside his mind. When they reopened, a desperate glint showed. "I don't remember who I am," he whispered, confirming their fears.
Harper and Beka exchanged a glance. Amnesia wasn't surprising given his circumstances – anoxia and hypothermia could cause memory loss. It could be temporary… or not.
"Well, you're alive, that's a start," Harper said encouragingly, giving a thumbs-up. "Memory's overrated anyway. I forget things all the time." He gave a lopsided grin, trying to lighten the mood. "We'll figure out who you are. For now, you're among friends, okay?"
The man looked at each of them in turn. Vulnerability etched itself on his handsome features, but he nodded faintly. "Thank you," he managed again. His eyes lingered on Trance, perhaps because she was closest, perhaps because something in her presence calmed him in a way he couldn't articulate. Trance responded with a radiant smile that crinkled her eyes and somehow promised that everything would turn out alright.
Beka patted the man's blanketed leg. "We'll let you rest. You're safe here on the Andromeda. We'll have our Captain back soon and then we can sort out what to do next." She stood straight and addressed Rommie quietly, "We should notify Dylan when possible. But given he's undercover, maybe wait until he signals first – unless this guy's condition worsens."
"I agree," Rommie responded. "I'll keep Captain Hunt appraised at the earliest opportunity." She looked down at the stranger. "In the meantime, we'll continue running scans. Perhaps something will jog your memory."
Trance reluctantly let go of the man's hand as Harper stepped forward to adjust the monitors. The man's gaze followed Trance, his one anchor of serenity, as if afraid she might leave. Noticing this, she offered softly, "I'll stay with him a while, if that's okay."
Beka nodded. "Of course." She wasn't about to deny that request; Trance had an undeniable bedside manner. If anyone could help their patient find some comfort amid confusion, it was her.
Harper cleared his throat. "Vitals are stabilizing nicely. Honestly, it's kind of miraculous. You, my friend," – he addressed the man directly now – "must have a guardian angel or two. Not many people survive floating through hard vacuum. And by 'not many' I mean basically none." He realized belatedly that this blunt truth might not be reassuring and winced. "But hey, you did! So you've got some serious willpower or luck." He chuckled nervously.
The man attempted a tiny smile at Harper's babbling encouragement. "Lucky… I guess," he murmured. He closed his eyes again, exhaustion evident as the adrenaline of awakening ebbed.
Trance perched on a stool beside the bed, one hand gently resting on the blanket over the man's arm. "We'll be right here. Rest now," she cooed quietly.
As his consciousness drifted toward sleep, a fragment of something flickered through the man's mind – an image of golden light and a throne of stars, gone as swiftly as it came. His brow knit as if chasing the fleeting vision, but it slipped away, leaving only the darkness of oblivion and the faint comfort of Trance's presence.
The command deck crew dispersed with murmured excuses to give Med Deck some quiet. Beka walked out with Harper, exchanging speculative whispers about who this John Doe might be and how in the worlds he ended up alone in space. Rommie lingered a moment, regarding the slumbering patient and Trance.
Trance gently hummed under her breath – a lilting, soothing tune that resonated with hope. Rommie recognized it as an old lullaby from nowhere in particular, something Trance likely picked up in her travels. The android noted how the man's breathing seemed to ease further at the sound.
"Trance," Rommie said softly. The ship's avatar wasn't prone to intuition beyond logical algorithms, but something about this felt significant even to her. "You seemed to sense him out there, before any of us. How?"
Trance looked up, her violet eyes reflecting the Med Deck's soft lights. She gave a faint shrug and a secretive smile. "Just a feeling," she replied. "I couldn't ignore it." That was true enough, though it didn't capture the depth of what she'd felt – a subtle tug in the cosmos, like a star's gravity drawing her attention. Or a quiet voice across space that only she could hear. Perhaps his soul had called out, and as an empathic being she was attuned to such things.
Rommie studied Trance for a moment longer, then gave a small nod. There was much about Trance Gemini that remained an enigma – her sudden change in appearance and demeanor last year was proof of that mystery – but Rommie trusted her intentions. "Alright. I'll be on Command if you need anything." With that, Rommie quietly exited.
As silence settled in the Med Deck, broken only by the rhythmic beeping of monitors, Trance continued to watch over the lost man. She brushed her fingertips lightly across the medallion they had placed on the bedside tray – the double-headed eagle catching a glint of light.
"Who are you?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. She wasn't expecting an answer, but deep inside she felt that in time, this man's identity would shape itself – and possibly shape the fate of those around him.
In the quiet of that prologue moment, the starship Andromeda sailed onward through the void, harboring a new and enigmatic passenger. Unbeknownst to the crew, the story of the Systems Commonwealth – and their own personal destinies – was about to be profoundly altered by the man they had saved. The strands of fate had begun to intertwine in ways none of them yet understood.
Trance continued her gentle humming, the soft melody carrying on the air. The Andromeda Ascendant glided through starlight towards its next rendezvous, as a once-lost soul dreamed in fitful slumber, caught between a forgotten past and an uncertain future.
(Word Count: 3,210)
Chapter 1: The Shards of Rimni
Excerpt from the log of Captain Dylan Hunt, CY 10091:
"The loyal heart has hidden treasures. In secrets kept, in silence sealed." – Commander Zing Bex, The Art of Secrets, CY 2575
Dylan Hunt, Captain of the Andromeda Ascendant, stood in a dingy room on Fellenhoff Drift, staring down at a corpse. A spider-web pattern drawn in blood spread across the floor, emanating from the body's outstretched hand . The metallic tang of blood mixed with the staleness of recycled station air. Dylan's jaw tightened; Konstantine, the man who had sent him a cryptic package only hours ago, lay dead at his feet – murdered.
Beside Dylan, Engineer Seamus Harper gingerly sidestepped a pool of blood. "This is… not how I pictured our secret mission going, Boss," he quipped nervously, voice low. He adjusted the metal cable he had used moments earlier to hack the door lock. Harper's attempt at humor fell flat in the oppressive silence. Dylan didn't reply; his blue eyes were scanning the walls, noting the drawn spider-web symbol again. A clue left behind?
The Captain's mind raced. Konstantine's package – delivered to Andromeda by courier drone – contained an antique shard of pottery and a map, along with a note implying great importance . Dylan had recognized it immediately and told his crew nothing, asking only for their trust. Now Konstantine, one of Dylan's old contacts, was dead, likely for that very shard.
Harper cleared his throat, uneasy in the silence. "Dylan… I hate to state the obvious, but we're standing over a very dead guy. On a drift where we broke in. This doesn't exactly look good for us."
As if on cue, pounding footsteps echoed in the corridor outside. Dylan heard the clank of armor and the bark of orders – the Commonwealth Security force had arrived, too soon. A voice amplified by a suit speaker shouted, "Freeze! Drop any weapons and put your hands up!"
Dylan and Harper exchanged one grim glance. They were both armed – Dylan with his signature Force Lance holstered at his thigh, Harper with a gauss pistol he carried for engineering hazards (and occasional self-defense). Running wasn't an option; the security team would have the exit covered.
Stepping forward, Dylan raised his empty hands slowly, adopting a calm but authoritative tone. "Officers, this isn't what it looks—"
Before he could finish, half a dozen armored security personnel flooded in, energy rifles trained. A sergeant scowled at the sight: one victim, two suspects. "Captain Dylan Hunt," the sergeant snapped, recognizing him immediately, "you are under arrest for the murder of Maximilian Konstantine." Soldiers swarmed them. Dylan offered no resistance as two guards roughly pulled his arms behind him and clamped restraints on his wrists. Harper sputtered indignantly as he received the same treatment.
"Hey, careful!" Harper yelped, wincing as cuffs pinched his skin. "We didn't kill anyone. We just got here—"
"Save it for the tribunal," the sergeant growled. His gaze lingered on Dylan. "Never thought the great Commonwealth hero would stoop to murder. Guess we all have secrets, huh?"
Dylan's eyes flashed anger but he restrained his tongue. Protesting now would do little good. They'd walked right into a setup; he realized that with cold clarity. Konstantine must have known he was a target, left that symbol as a clue—perhaps one only Dylan would understand. And now whoever orchestrated this had achieved two goals: Konstantine silenced and Dylan Hunt framed.
As they were marched out, Dylan glanced back once at the blood-drawn spider web on the floor. I understand, he thought, recalling a distant memory of a children's rhyme about the Vase of Rimni and its fabled power. Konstantine's shard was part of that vase – a legendary artifact said to bestow "the sympathy of the cosmos" upon its owner . The spider-web pattern… Konstantine's way of saying the pieces needed to come together.
Harper followed Dylan's gaze and frowned in confusion; he didn't yet grasp what Dylan did. But the young engineer trusted his Captain. He swallowed hard as they were hustled through Fellenhoff Drift's narrow corridors. "This is bad, isn't it?" he whispered.
"Pretty bad," Dylan murmured back, keeping his face stoic for their captors. "But don't lose hope." His mind was already calculating their way out.
Within half an hour, Dylan and Harper found themselves locked in a small holding cell deep in the bowels of the Drift's security station. The walls were grey plasteel, a single door with an energy field shimmered in place of bars, and a flickering light above gave the cell a sickly illumination.
Harper paced the length of the cell – which took about three steps – then back. "So… when's the daring escape plan kick in, oh fearless leader?" he asked quietly, trying for levity but sounding scared.
Dylan sat on the small bench attached to the wall, hands now free (the guards had removed the restraints once they were locked in). He massaged his wrists and offered Harper a calm look. "Working on it." In truth, he was as concerned as Harper. Commonwealth Security wasn't known for leniency. Given the "evidence" – him literally standing over the body – it was damning. And word would spread fast; his stellar reputation would ensure this scandal traveled at slipstream speeds.
Harper ran a hand through his spiky hair. "We have less than three days before an official team arrives to haul us to trial . And I'm guessing they won't roll out a red carpet. More like roll us into shallow graves."
Dylan shook his head. "They won't execute us without trial. The Commonwealth isn't the old corrupt regime." He realized he was partly assuring himself. The revived Systems Commonwealth was still new and fragile – but it had laws. "We'll get a chance to defend ourselves."
Harper's eyes widened. "Defend ourselves? Dylan, we have no defense! We went off-grid, you didn't tell anyone what this was about, now Konstantine's dead and it looks really bad. I mean, I trust you, but whoever set you up did a fine job."
Dylan couldn't argue. Instead, he rose and examined the door's energy barrier closely. The soft hum indicated a standard forcefield lock – nothing Harper couldn't bypass under normal conditions, but they'd taken Harper's toolkit and datapad.
Harper peered over his shoulder. "If I had literally any of my gear, I could try to short that. But I don't think they'll just hand me a screwdriver if I ask nicely."
Dylan took a slow breath, centering himself. Years of High Guard training instilled discipline even in bleak moments. "We might not need to force it." He stepped to the small wall console that served as an intercom. Pressing the call button, he waited until a crackle indicated a connection. "Sergeant? I know you're monitoring. I'd like to speak with someone in charge – perhaps we can clear this up."
There was no response. Dylan exchanged a look with Harper. Before either could speak, with a zap the energy field door deactivated and the heavy door itself slid open. Dylan tensed, expecting more guards.
Instead, a lone security guard stood there, nervously glancing over his shoulder. "Get out, quick," the young man hissed, waving them out.
Harper's jaw dropped. "Huh?" He wasn't about to refuse, but the sudden reversal was bewildering.
Dylan raised an eyebrow. "Why are you releasing us?" he asked, even as he ushered Harper forward. The guard pressed a finger to his lips urgently – no time for questions.
They slipped out into the corridor. The guard, who couldn't be older than twenty and whose name tag read Jensen, pointed down the dim hall. "Maintenance hatch that way is unsecured. It leads to cargo loading. From there, you can get to your ship."
Harper gave a confused grin, as if Christmas had come early. "What, just like that? Did someone post our bail or something?"
Jensen shook his head, sweating. "I don't know anything. Orders came through to let you go. That's all I know. Some… someone paid a bribe." He swallowed. "Please, just go. If my CO finds out I helped—"
Dylan clapped the guard on the shoulder gently. "We appreciate this. Thank you." He knew better than to waste the opportunity. Yet it was puzzling – who would bribe the guards on their behalf? Dylan's allies were few out here. Perhaps Beka or Rommie had leveraged some underworld contact? But he'd told them explicitly not to get involved .
No time to ponder. Dylan retrieved his Force Lance from the evidence tray just outside the cell – Jensen had even left it out for him. Harper snatched his datapad and multi-tool, kissing them in exaggerated relief.
Moments later, Dylan and Harper were slipping into a maintenance shaft. True to Jensen's word, it bypassed major checkpoints and led them into a cavernous cargo bay lined with shipping containers. The distant clangs and whir of the station indicated life, but this section was deserted at the midnight hour of station cycle.
Harper exhaled once they were safely hidden behind a stack of crates. "That was lucky. Too lucky."
Dylan nodded, on guard. "It stinks of a setup. Someone wanted us out… likely the same someone who framed us. They need something from me – specifically the shard I have." He patted a secure inner pocket of his High Guard jacket where Konstantine's pottery shard was tucked. During the arrest, the security had taken visible weapons, but they hadn't frisked thoroughly enough to find that small item. If an influential party orchestrated their escape, it was probably to get this shard.
Harper frowned. "So… they break us out so they can catch us themselves? Great. Out of the frying pan…"
A soft chime in Dylan's ear caught his attention – his subdermal communicator crackled to life. He tapped behind his ear. "Andromeda, are you there?"
Beka Valentine's voice whispered over the link, taut with worry: "Dylan! Thank the Divine. We heard about the arrest. Are you okay? We've been dodging Commonwealth ships left and right trying to buy you time."
Dylan allowed himself a small smile at the sound of his crew. "I'm fine. We escaped custody, but whoever did this is still on our heels. What's your status?"
On the command deck of the Andromeda, Beka sat in the captain's chair, Tyr Anasazi looming at her side and Trance at the science station. They had been engaged in a tense standoff-cum-chase with pursuing vessels for hours. Beka replied, "We've got a fleet on our tail. We've been delaying them, as ordered. But Dylan, they're getting pushy – and they think you killed someone. We can only stall so long."
Dylan nodded to himself, pressing against the cool metal container at his back. "Understood. Continue to evade. I'll clear my name soon enough. Any update on our… passenger?" Even in this situation, he spared a thought for the unknown man they had picked up earlier. Over the comm, he heard a brief pause.
Trance's voice came on, gentle but carrying. "He's stable, Dylan. Resting. Still no memory. We're watching over him. Focus on getting back safe, okay?" There was an undertone in Trance's plea – a personal investment. Dylan made a mental note to ask more when this crisis passed.
"Copy that. I'll contact you when we have more. Hunt out." Dylan ended the link before the pursuing Commonwealth forces could triangulate the signal. He trusted Beka and the crew to continue their diversion – they were buying him precious time.
"Alright, what now?" Harper whispered. "We're free, but still on this tin can station with a dead guy's blood on our boots and a target on our backs."
Dylan's mind was already steps ahead. Konstantine's clue – the spider web – indicated multiple shards. Four shards total, if his memory of the Vase of Rimni mission was correct . He had one piece; Konstantine had one (now taken by the killers presumably); that meant two others out there, likely with Konstantine's associates.
As if completing the puzzle in his mind, Dylan recalled the names: Abelard and Peder – teammates from that secret op 300 years ago. If Konstantine was one, Abelard and Peder must hold the remaining shards. They might be targets too.
Weighing options swiftly, Dylan looked at Harper. "We need to find Abelard. He's probably next on the hit list. And he may know more about what we're up against."
Harper blinked. "Abelard? Who's Abelard?"
"One of my former mission comrades… from before the Fall," Dylan answered cryptically, already moving. "I'll explain on the way. Let's get to the Maru." The Eureka Maru, Beka's trusted freighter, was docked at this Drift's hangar – their covert arrival vessel for this mission.
Harper followed, grumbling, "Oh sure, secret missions, ancient vases, it's like storytime but with more imminent death." Still, Harper was nothing if not loyal; he jogged to keep up, clutching his datapad to his chest.
They navigated shadowy corridors, avoiding main thoroughfares. More than once, Dylan halted them in a dark alcove as armed figures ran past – some station guards responding to an "escape," others rough-looking thugs that might be independent contractors. The whole Drift had an underworld vibe at night, a reminder that not every station was thrilled about the resurrected Commonwealth's authority.
Finally, the bay doors to Dock 17 slid open ahead, revealing the silhouette of the Eureka Maru. The Maru – a yellow-and-grey slipstream courier ship – sat quietly in the low light of the hangar. Getting to her without being seen was the next challenge, as two armed mercenaries lurked near the entrance, likely placed there by whomever wanted Dylan.
Dylan motioned Harper behind a stack of coolant barrels just outside the bay. "We need a distraction," he whispered.
Harper grinned; mischief he could do. "One distraction, coming up." He snuck along the wall to a control panel, using a small interface needle from his toolbelt. After a few seconds, an alarm klaxon blared and sprinklers in the far end of the hangar activated, misting everything with water. The mercenaries jumped, startled, and one ran off toward the control room shouting curses about a malfunction.
The remaining guard hesitated, raising his rifle uncertainly as water pattered down. Dylan seized the moment – he darted from cover, closed the distance in a heartbeat, and delivered a precise strike to the man's neck. The merc crumpled silently, caught by Dylan before he hit the ground. Harper scampered back, wiping water from his face.
They dashed to the Maru's hatch. Dylan punched in the access code. With a comforting hiss, the door slid open and they rushed inside. Dylan went straight for the pilot seat, firing up engines in standby, while Harper sealed the hatch and hopped into the co-pilot/navigator spot.
"Pre-flight checks green," Harper confirmed, quickly scanning systems. "The Maru is ready to fly. No one tampered with her."
Dylan took the controls. "Strap in." He keyed the comm to open a channel to the hangar bay doors. "This is Eureka Maru, requesting emergency departure clearance."
No response – likely the mercs had jammed or disabled comm. Dylan cursed under his breath. "Harper, override the bay doors."
Harper was already working on it, fingers dancing on his pad connected to the Maru's console. "Bypassing… and… got it!"
Overhead, the large metal doors of the hangar groaned and began parting, revealing the star-speckled void beyond. The sudden unauthorized opening triggered alarms anew, and distant shouts indicated people noticing.
Dylan engaged the lifting thrusters. The Maru hummed and rose off the deck. "Hang on," he warned as he tilted the nose toward the gap.
A flash of gunfire raked across the hull – the second mercenary, returned and shooting wildly. Sparks flew on the viewscreen's periphery.
"Forget him, go go go!" Harper urged, bracing himself.
The Eureka Maru blasted forward, out of the hangar and into space, leaving the mercenary's gunfire fading in the vacuum. Dylan immediately threw power into the engines. "We need to find Abelard's location," he said, flipping on the Maru's sensor array and nav systems.
Harper pulled up the Andromeda's database that he'd synced to his pad. "There's an Abelard on file? Former High Guard?"
"Check records around CY 9780, special operations," Dylan instructed, keeping one eye on the rear sensors. Several blips – small fighter craft – were launching from the Drift. The chase was on again.
Harper found something. "Abelard – yes, Abelard Pursivale. Service record: ended 9784 CY. No death recorded. Last known address… aha, a planet called Zhina, but that's old info."
Dylan processed. 9784, the year the Commonwealth fell. Abelard must have gone to ground. "We have that map Konstantine sent. It might indicate Abelard's hideout. Let me see." He handed Harper the folded map paper he'd stashed with the shard.
Harper unfolded it carefully. It was a rough starchart with a route drawn to an unremarkable coordinate in what looked like a dense star cluster. Beside it was scribbled a word: "Xanthe's Hoard".
"Xanthe's Hoard…" Harper muttered. "Sounds like a casino or a treasure trove."
Dylan recognized the codename – it was an inside joke their team had used for the vase mission. Abelard must be at the rendezvous they had agreed on long ago if things went south. "Set course for these coordinates," he said firmly.
Harper nodded and fed the nav data. "Coordinates locked. It's a bit of a haul at sublight. We'll need slipstream."
"Then let's hope the Maru's slipstream drive didn't take a beating back there." Dylan cast another glance at the sensors. The pursuers – likely hired thugs or maybe local security craft – were closing. "Engaging slipstream."
The Maru's engines shifted pitch. Dylan focused, feeling the strange intuition required to navigate slipstream – part science, part art. Beka was usually the slipstream pilot, but Dylan had centuries-old experience and a Paradine's touch of fate (though he wasn't fully aware of that yet). With a lurch, the Maru pierced into a shimmering quantum tunnel of green light.
Back on the Andromeda, Beka gripped the armrests of the command chair as another blast rocked the ship. On the viewscreen, two Castalian fighters whizzed by, harrying the Andromeda. The Commonwealth squadron chasing them had grown – a half dozen ships including two frigates and numerous fighters formed an angry cloud behind the sleek starship .
Tyr Anasazi stood at tactical, arms folded, annoyance etched on his Nietzschean features. "How long must we run, Beka?" he growled. "I've counted six 'last warnings' from our esteemed pursuers. They either shoot us or not, but this endless chase is tedious" .
Beka shot him a glare. "Until Dylan calls or until I come up with a better idea, that's how long. And keep those point defense lasers going, big guy, unless you want hull breaches."
Tyr's dark eyes narrowed, but he did as told, targeting a missile and blasting it to sparks before it could hit them.
Nearby, the ship's holographic AI appeared above the console. "Commonwealth Commander signals again demanding we surrender Captain Hunt," Andromeda reported. Her tone carried a mix of frustration and concern.
Beka snorted. "They still think he's on board? Good. That means Dylan's still free." She toggled the comm. "Commander, as I've told you, Captain Hunt is not aboard. And even if he were, we wouldn't hand him over like some criminal. Now kindly back off before someone gets hurt."
The Commonwealth commander's voice crackled through, livid. "Andromeda, you have two hours to comply. If you continue to flee, you'll force us to consider you rogue. Don't make us do that."
Trance, at an auxiliary station, looked worried. "They sound serious, Beka. Two hours isn't long."
Beka mustered a cocky grin she didn't entirely feel. "Dylan just went into slipstream – I caught the distortion on sensors," she said quietly to Trance and Tyr. "So he's alive and making moves. We keep stalling."
Tyr flicked his wrist blades out then retracted them, an agitated tic. "If Dylan doesn't exonerate himself soon, we'll have an entire fleet to deal with. And despite Andromeda's capabilities, we can't fight the entire Commonwealth."
Rommie's avatar on the bridge looked between them. "Captain Hunt trusted us to buy time. I suggest a diversion tactic. Perhaps a feint deeper into Castalian territory; their bureaucracy should slow the fleet's permission to enter and shoot."
Beka nodded. "Do it. Take us into that dense nebula ahead; it'll scramble their sensors." She raised her voice for the whole bridge, affecting calm command. "Hang tight, everyone. The boss will clear this up, I guarantee."
Back aboard the Eureka Maru, slipstream travel was in progress. The coiled, shifting tunnels of hyperspace flickered across the cockpit displays in hues of emerald and gold. Harper concentrated on calculations at his station, helping Dylan adjust course at each juncture, selecting the next string in the probability path – an exercise of intuition where both men's instincts worked in tandem.
After nearly an hour, they emerged with a jolt into normal space. Before them loomed a lush jungle planet haloed by a crystalline ring.
Harper checked the scopes. "Atmosphere breathable. Minimal tech signals. If Abelard's hiding, this seems a good spot for it."
Dylan guided the Maru into the atmosphere towards the coordinates marked on the map. As they descended over emerald canopies, Harper tapped on a sensor. "I'm picking up a power source below – small, likely a homestead or cave with generator. And… Dylan, I see a slipship landed in a clearing." He cast a concerned look. "We might not be the first ones here."
Dylan's jaw tightened. "Then we proceed with caution." He landed the Maru a kilometer away to avoid announcing their arrival. The jungle air was thick and humid as they disembarked, a cacophony of alien bird calls echoing. Dylan armed his Force Lance, setting it to quarterstaff mode with a press – it extended to a long rod, useful for both melee and non-lethal takedowns. Harper checked his pistol and gulped.
Silently, they trekked through lush ferns and towering, twisted trees whose leaves dripped with condensation. The smell of wet earth and sweet pollen filled the air. Despite the tension, Dylan found a moment to appreciate that after being frozen in time for 300 years, he never tired of feeling real ground under his boots and vibrant life around him.
They soon spotted a cave entrance half-hidden by vines and a rocky overhang. Scorch marks around it and footprints in the mud signaled a recent struggle. Dylan motioned to Harper, and they crept closer.
Within the shallow cave lay a scene of tragedy: an older man, broad-shouldered and grey-bearded, slumped against the wall, clutching at a bandaged stump where his right index finger should be. Blood stained the cloth. He looked up warily, leveling a handgun at them – his hands shaking from blood loss and fear.
"Abelard," Dylan said softly, lowering his lance to show no ill intent. The man squinted through pain and recognition dawned.
"Captain Hunt… you got my message, then," Abelard rasped, voice echoing in the gloom. Harper realized Abelard must have been the one who bribed their way out – via some third party. Perhaps Konstantine had a contingency with Abelard if things went wrong.
"I got Konstantine's package, yes. Wish I'd moved faster," Dylan said, kneeling beside Abelard. "Who did this to you?"
Abelard grimaced. "Zeus," he spat out. "He was one of us, Dylan – on the old mission. Guess time twisted him up. He murdered Konstantine, cut off Peder's finger to force me to give up my shard." He nodded to a bloodied box near his feet. The grisly token presumably inside had been a message.
Harper swallowed at the sight. "Charming friends you had, Captain," he muttered.
Dylan felt sorrow and anger. Zeus – another comrade from that secret op centuries ago – had turned on them. "Where is he now?"
Abelard coughed. "I agreed to meet him on Zempf Drift to trade my shard for Peder's life. But we know how that'll go." He chuckled darkly, then winced at the pain in his hand. "He'll kill us all anyway."
Dylan's eyes steeled. "Not if I stop him. How many with him?"
Abelard's breathing was shallow. "He has hired muscle. But Zeus… he's clever. Studied you, he said." Abelard fixed Dylan with a desperate gaze. "Dylan, he's after all shards – including yours. He thinks reforming the vase will give him power. We couldn't let a tyrant have that, back then… we can't now."
Dylan placed a reassuring hand on Abelard's shoulder. "I won't let him. But you need medical attention."
Harper, already scanning with a portable med-gauss, piped up: "I've got a field kit. He's lost a lot of blood but I can seal the wound better and give him a broad-spectrum coagulant."
As Harper worked, Abelard motioned Dylan closer. "Listen. Zeus… he's unhinged. But if he reassembles the Vase of Rimni, maybe… maybe it does something." Abelard's eyes were fever-bright. "We never could test it. What if it really does grant power?"
Dylan recalled the child's rhyme . "Sympathy of the cosmos" sounded poetic, likely not literal. "It's probably just a legend. But either way, we can't let him have it."
Abelard nodded, exhaustion creeping in. He pulled a small cloth pouch from his vest with his left hand and pressed it into Dylan's palm. "My shard. Take it. That makes two you have now, with Konstantine's. Zeus has Peder's and, presumably, Konstantine's after he killed him."
Dylan accepted the shard. In the dim light, he could see it was a fragment of blue-black ceramic, with half an engraved symbol on one side. He tucked it safely away with Konstantine's piece.
Harper finished injecting Abelard with a coagulant. "That should stabilize you for now. We can move you to our ship and get you to our medical bay—"
Abelard shook his head weakly. "No time… Zeus will kill Peder if I don't show up. You have to go. Use me as bait, whatever it takes, just stop him and save Peder."
Dylan exchanged a look with Harper, who nodded grimly. "We'll stop him. Harper, help me get him to the Maru, then we'll head to Zempf Drift."
Abelard coughed a weak protest but couldn't resist as they gently lifted him. "Dylan… if I don't make it –" he began.
"You will," Dylan cut in firmly, not entertaining that possibility.
"If I don't," Abelard persisted, "you tell the worlds what we did was right. We kept it from madmen then… just as you will now." There was a pleading need for absolution in his voice.
Dylan felt a lump in his throat. He had carried the secret of the Rimni mission alone for three centuries (subjectively). To hear Abelard's guilt and devotion after all this time… "I will," Dylan promised.
They carefully bore Abelard back to the Maru. Soon, the ship was airborne again, leaving the verdant planet behind. Abelard lay on a cot in the back, drifting in and out of consciousness but stable for now.
Setting course for Zempf Drift, Dylan briefed Harper more fully. "310 years ago, High Guard Commander Stark sent my team to retrieve the Vase of Rimni from a tyrant's collection. It broke into pieces during extraction, so each of us took one piece and swore to keep it hidden . We thought it would prevent anyone from abusing its supposed power."
Harper whistled softly. "And now one of your own wants to reassemble it. Figures. Nothing like long life spans for grudges to fester."
Dylan gazed out at the swirling slipstream beyond. "Zeus must have planned this for a while. Framing me, luring me out… He knew I still had my shard after all this time." He felt a pang; Zeus was a friend once, long ago. Time and desperation changed people, often not for the better.
When they arrived at Zempf Drift – a bustling space station of neon-lit promenades and docking arms – Dylan decided to take a direct approach. Rather than skulk, he walked openly into the café that had been specified in Zeus's message to Abelard. Harper shadowed at a distance, trying to appear inconspicuous (which was difficult given how jumpy he felt). Dylan had instructed Harper: if things went south, Harper was to slip out and find a vantage or hack a comm – essentially play a wildcard.
Inside the Café Ne'erva, alien patrons sipped drinks under strings of colorful lights. The air smelled of spices and simmering broths. At a corner table sat a man in a long coat and wide-brimmed hat, back to the wall. He had an air of coiled readiness. Even without seeing his face fully, Dylan recognized Zeus from memory – older, hardened, but it was him.
Dylan approached calmly, arms loose at his sides. "Mind if I sit?" he asked as if they were old friends meeting for tea.
Zeus looked up, revealing a lined face with piercing dark eyes. A slow, joyless smile crept across his lips. "Dylan Hunt. Right on time." He gestured to the empty seat opposite. "By all means."
Dylan sat, noticing two armed goons subtly positioned at the bar and by the exit – insurance in case he brought backup. He also noticed Zeus had no shard on the table; likely already pocketed or delivered elsewhere.
"Where's Abelard?" Zeus asked, voice silky with pretense. "I expected him, not you. Is our dear comrade still alive?" There was a mocking lilt.
Dylan folded his hands. "He's alive, recovering. I'm here to ensure no one else dies over this foolish quest. Let's end it. I have the shards I presume you lack. You have Abelard's and Peder's. We can talk terms."
Zeus chuckled. "Straight to business – you've only gotten blunter with age, Hunt." He leaned forward. "Terms: you hand over your shards, and perhaps I let you and your crew live. Maybe even poor Peder, though," he shrugged theatrically, "I doubt he's still breathing at this point." He snapped his fingers.
At that cue, a viewscreen on the wall flickered to life, showing a live feed: Peder, bound and bloodied, guarded by a thug, somewhere on the Drift. The man looked barely conscious.
Harper, who was watching secretly from a neighboring table, nearly gasped aloud but clapped a hand over his mouth in time.
Dylan's jaw tightened. Peder's condition looked dire. "You're making it hard to trust your word, Zeus. You've given me no reason to believe you won't kill us all once you have what you want."
Zeus shrugged. "You're right. You have no reason. But you also have no choice. The vase will be mine, and through it, perhaps a taste of godhood." His eyes gleamed fanatically.
Dylan realized then that negotiation was futile. Zeus was too far gone. Plan B then. Under the table, Dylan tapped a silent signal on his comm – the one Harper would be listening for.
Suddenly, the café's server droid rolled up with a cheery hum, carrying a tray with a cream pie, of all things, candle atop it. The droid burst into a programmed celebratory song as it neared their table . Zeus frowned at the interruption, momentarily distracted by the bizarre serenade.
Now. Dylan sprung into action. He grabbed the cream pie off the tray and in one fluid motion smashed it into Zeus's face, blinding him with whipped cream and filling. As Zeus sputtered, Dylan kicked the table up, toppling it onto Zeus to pin him briefly.
Chaos erupted – Zeus's thugs drew weapons. One fired a slug-thrower from the bar, but Harper, anticipating this, had slipped behind the bar and yanked the rug under the thug's feet. The shot went wide, shattering bottles. Patrons screamed and dove for cover.
The second goon by the exit raised a pistol, but a golden blur intercepted him – Trance Gemini appeared as if from nowhere, swinging down from the rafters (having stealthily followed Harper and Dylan unbeknownst to them). With surprising agility, Trance wrapped her tail around the thug's wrist, yanking the gun aside as it fired harmlessly into the ceiling, then delivered a swift kick to his midsection. The thug collapsed, winded and stunned, marveling perhaps at being bested by what appeared to be an unarmed young woman.
Dylan wrestled with Zeus, who despite being half-blinded, was strong and driven by mania. They tumbled across the floor. "You're predictable, Dylan!" Zeus snarled, wiping cream from his eyes. He swung a knife that appeared in his hand. The blade sliced Dylan's upper arm, drawing blood across his High Guard uniform. Dylan hissed but used the momentum to headbutt Zeus hard. The older man staggered back.
From the bar, Harper popped up with a plasma cooking torch he'd scavenged, firing a burst toward the thug there, who yelped and ducked, hair singed. Harper whooped, "Don't mess with the chef, pal!"
Zeus, disoriented, saw his thugs faltering. He bolted for the exit, shoving past civilians. "No!" he screamed into a wrist communicator. "Fallback point! Now!" He fled into the station corridor.
"Harper, get Peder!" Dylan shouted, chasing after Zeus. Harper nodded and scrambled to the back where Peder was held in a storage room (Trance had quietly gleaned the location from overhearing the thugs earlier). Trance followed Harper to assist, concern for Peder in her eyes.
Dylan pursued Zeus through the bustling promenade of Zempf Drift. Bystanders scattered at the sight of two men, one bleeding, one in a cream-splattered coat, sprinting through. Zeus fired blindly behind him with a small pulse gun. Dylan ducked under a shop awning, the blast scorching a wall panel.
At the end of the corridor, Zeus reached a docking bay where a sleek getaway ship awaited, engines hot. He spun to fire at Dylan once more. Dylan anticipated the move and dove forward, sliding across the floor and sweeping Zeus's legs with a spin-kick. Zeus crashed down on the ramp of his ship. His gun clattered away.
Dylan got to his feet, Force Lance trained on Zeus's chest. "It's over, Zeus."
Zeus laughed, a desperate, high-pitched sound. "Is it? Look around, Hunt!"
Dylan became aware of multiple figures emerging from shadows – not thugs this time, but uniformed Commonwealth security officers, weapons drawn. The local authorities, alerted by the commotion, had arrived and now beheld Dylan – a wanted man – apparently attacking someone.
A lieutenant stepped forward. "Captain Hunt, by order of Commonwealth Security, drop your weapon!"
Zeus's eyes glinted. He realized Dylan was now in a bind. "Go on, Captain," he sneered quietly. "Drop it. Let them think you're the villain."
For a heartbeat, Dylan considered the odds. Zeus unarmed at his feet, but armed officers all around with itchy trigger fingers. Slowly, he deactivated the Force Lance and let it roll from his hand.
Before anyone could react further, a commanding female voice rang out: "Belay that arrest!"
Striding into the bay came Beka Valentine with Tyr at her flanks, and Rommie's avatar behind, all armed but not aiming – an act of trust. Beka held up a data disk. "This is a recorded confession from Abelard, one of the conspirators, clearing Captain Hunt of the murder charges." She improvised confidently; in truth, it was an audio Peder gave stating Zeus's plan, but she figured the security here wouldn't know details.
The lieutenant paused. "We have orders from Commonwealth HQ—"
Rommie interjected in her authoritative AI timbre: "And those orders were based on false information. The real murderer is that man," – she pointed at Zeus – "and we have multiple witnesses and evidence to prove it."
As if on cue, Harper arrived panting, supporting a limping Peder, and Trance following with concern. Peder, conscious enough, raised his voice hoarsely: "Zeus… he killed Konstantine! Hunt is innocent!"
The security officers looked between Peder's battered form, Harper's earnest nodding, and Zeus's crazed glare. One by one, they lowered weapons from Dylan and turned them on Zeus instead. The lieutenant moved to cuff Zeus, reading him rights.
Zeus thrashed. "No! You fools, I was doing this for the Commonwealth! For power beyond your imagination!" He locked eyes with Dylan as the cuffs snapped on. "It's not over, Hunt. Not for people like us. You'll see… your Commonwealth will crumble under real power." His ravings were cut short as he was dragged off.
A heavy silence followed. Dylan looked around at his crew – each member showing relief and pride. Beka gave him a wink. "Cutting it close as usual, eh Captain?"
Dylan smiled warmly, despite blood seeping down his arm. "Thanks for the save. How did you…?"
Tyr grunted, "Once evidence surfaced in your favor, the fleet stopped chasing us. We rushed here. As for evidence –" he tilted his head toward Trance.
Trance folded her hands innocently. "I simply told them the truth." In reality, when Abelard regained consciousness on the Maru, Trance gently coaxed a recorded statement of events from him and forwarded it to both the pursuing Commonwealth Commander and to Beka. Coming from an eyewitness, it was enough to pause the hounds.
Harper chimed in, "Yeah, plus maybe a little slicer work to broadcast Zeus basically confessing on a hot mic." He held up his pad, showing he had hacked and recorded Zeus's shouting in the cafe earlier.
Dylan's heart swelled with gratitude for his resourceful crew. He turned to Peder, who was being treated by Rommie with a med kit. "Peder… I'm sorry it came to this."
Peder managed a weak smile through missing teeth. "You kept the oath, Dylan. Thank you." His eyes misted.
Later, aboard the Andromeda Ascendant, Captain Hunt formally turned over the four shards of the Vase of Rimni to the Commonwealth authorities, but not before demonstrating that when assembled, the vase was simply a hollow, powerless artifact . It held value only as a symbol – something Dylan understood keenly . The lesson wasn't lost on the crew: sometimes faith and unity meant more than ancient relics or promised power.
In the Command Center after the dust settled, Harper received an unexpected commendation – a medal from Dylan for his courage during the mission . Harper beamed, puffing out his chest.
"I'm gonna need a whole shelf for my awards at this rate," he joked as Trance applauded and Beka ruffled his hair proudly.
Tyr, arms crossed, gave a rare, slight nod of respect to Harper. "Not bad for a kludge," he teased in his Nietzschean way.
All laughed, tension easing at last.
Rommie then turned to Dylan. "Captain, Commonwealth Security has rescinded all charges. You and the crew are fully cleared. It seems you even earned a bit of admiration – causing a fleet mobilization for a false arrest has made certain bureaucrats very embarrassed." A hint of a smirk touched her otherwise stoic face.
Dylan allowed a tired grin. "Not exactly how I wanted to improve our notoriety, but I'll take it." His gaze drifted across his crew with warmth.
Finally, he looked to one side of the command deck where their mysterious new passenger stood quietly, observing. The young man had been brought up from Med Deck now that things were safe. He still looked a bit pale but considerably healthier, wearing simple crew attire instead of the tattered suit. He watched the camaraderie with a faint smile, though a shadow of isolation touched his eyes – the look of someone not yet sure of his place.
Dylan stepped over to him. The others fell respectfully silent. "We haven't properly met," Dylan said, extending a hand. "I'm Dylan Hunt, Captain of this ship. You came into our lives at a… chaotic time, but I hope you're recovering well."
The man clasped Dylan's hand firmly. There was latent strength in his grip that surprised Dylan slightly. "Thank you, Captain. I owe you and your crew my life." His voice was calm, carrying a certain gravitas that seemed beyond his apparent years.
Dylan shook his head. "No debt. We do what we do because it's right. How are you feeling?"
The man took a breath, searching for the words. "Physically, much better. Your doctor – ah, Rommie and Trance – have been very kind." He paused, glancing at Trance who stood nearby with an encouraging nod. "But I still… I don't remember anything. Not even my name." The admission hung in the air.
Beka stepped closer with a sympathetic smile. "It'll come. And until it does, you need something to call you. We've been a bit awkward yelling 'hey you'."
Harper piped up with an impish grin, "I was lobbying for 'Lucky' since you're lucky we found ya." He earned a mild elbow from Beka.
Trance's eyes lit softly. She had clearly considered this. "How about Gabriel?" she suggested. "It means 'God is my strength' in an old Earth tongue. It seems to fit someone who survived against impossible odds." There was a gentle, almost knowing quality to her voice as she proposed the name.
The man – nameless no longer, perhaps – rolled the name on his tongue. "Gabriel…" He gave a slight smile. "I think I can live with that for now."
Dylan clapped Gabriel on the back. "Welcome aboard, Gabriel. You're part of our crew until you find your own path – if you want to stay."
Gabriel's grey eyes flickered with emotion. "I… I would like that. You all barely know me, yet you've treated me like one of your own. I won't make you regret it." There was an intensity behind his words, a quiet promise of loyalty that resonated deeply.
Tyr observed Gabriel with a calculating gaze. "We shall see," the Nietzschean muttered under his breath, ever the cautious one. But he said no more – in truth, even Tyr was curious about this stranger whose presence coincided with such unusual events.
As the crew dispersed to their duties – Harper off to polish his new medal, Beka to set course for their next scheduled mission, Tyr to weight-lift off the stress – Trance lingered beside Gabriel.
She offered him a piece of fruit from the hydroponics garden – a bright star-orange. Gabriel accepted it. "Thank you… for everything," he said softly. There was more in those words – he sensed that she especially had watched over him.
Trance simply smiled. "It's funny, Gabriel. I feel like you're here with us for a reason. Perhaps even the cosmos wanted it so." She glanced out the viewport where stars streaked by as the Andromeda glided into slipstream once more. In her eyes danced reflections of distant suns.
Gabriel followed her gaze. "Maybe. I just wish I knew what that reason was."
Trance tilted her head, her golden curls brushing her shoulders. "In time, you will. Until then, try to enjoy the journey." She took a bite of her own fruit, then teased, "And maybe learn a few jokes. Harper's going to assault you with a lot of them."
Gabriel actually chuckled at that – a warm, genuine sound that made Trance's heart lighter. It was the first laugh they'd heard from him.
Dylan, overhearing as he stepped up to the helm, felt content. The crisis of the shards had passed; his name was cleared and the Commonwealth would continue to trust him. And now, a new chapter began with Gabriel aboard. The young man was an enigma, but one Dylan intended to help – just as he helped any of his crew. Perhaps Gabriel would also help them in ways unseen. Dylan had a hunch (maybe Paradine intuition, or just hope) that Gabriel's arrival in their lives was no accident.
"Setting course for our next adventure," Beka announced from the pilot's seat with an audible grin. "Any preferences, Boss?"
Dylan took his captain's chair, settling in with a satisfied sigh. He glanced at Gabriel, who stood beside Trance, sampling the star-orange and observing everything with bright, curious eyes. The Captain felt optimistic. "Surprise me," he replied to Beka, the weight of recent days lifting.
On the forward display, the swirling colors of slipstream opened into the shimmering starscape of normal space. Andromeda flew on, proud and free.
Together, the crew – old and new – headed toward their next mission, unaware of the trials and triumphs yet to come, but ready to face them united. And among them, Gabriel, the once-lost exile with the soul of an Emperor, began to find his place in the universe once more.