Harper was very ill. The hot, dry body in Tyr's arms twitched, pale lips moving ceaselessly. He had stopped fighting in the shuttle and now lay still.

Trance was waiting at the airlock and cried out softly at the sight of him. Tyr pushed past her. "Get us out of here," he said.

"But Harper..."

"I'll take care of him. Where are the other ships?"

"T...the Edge just broke off the attack and went into the portal. OH! What happened to him?"

"TRANCE!"

She looked like she might linger, but he growled and took a menacing step toward her. She squeaked and was gone.

With luck, the Andromeda was within range and on her way. He strode through the Maru's cramped corridors to the crew quarters. Turning into the nearest, he laid Harper on the bed. The human whimpered, turning onto his side, curling tightly into a fetal ball.

"They're coming!" Trance sang over the intercom.

Relieved, Tyr found a blanket, covering Harper. Chills shook the boy. Hypovolemic shock. They needed the Andromeda's medical equipment, and soon.

"Tyr?"

About to leave the cabin, the Nietzschean turned around. Harper's eyes were open. Lucidity gleamed briefly in fever-bright eyes. Bloodless lips moved. Tyr came closer, stooping.

"Sorry -- 'bout -- sorry 'bout pheromones...really..."

"Don't talk, Harper. Save your strength."

"No strength. Just...just a kludge..."

Gently, Tyr took a corner of the bed sheet and wiped the tears from Harper's pale cheeks. Slender fingers suddenly wrapped around his wrist, brought his hand to trembling lips.

"...will please you...don't hurt me...please don't tell Ogo..."

He was back in his nightmares. Disengaging that desperate grip, Tyr brushed sweat-damp hair from Harper's eyes. The gentleness had an unexpected effect. The boy moaned and uncurled, opening his legs under the blanket. Shock was followed by a deep, cold anger. Tyr pushed them gently back together. Harper subsided then, eyes drifting closed.

"Trance?"

"Yes, Tyr?"

"Are they on sensors yet?"

"I see them! They're almost here! Is -- is Seamus all right?"

"No," he said bluntly. "Tell them to set up the med facility. Have Rommie manufacture blood. We'll need it at once."

"Hang on! They're almost here!"

Good, thought Tyr.

"Don't go..."

Harper was reaching for him again, showing signs of becoming agitated. Tyr sighed and sat down on the floor. Without a word, he took Harper's groping hand, let the boy's fingers twine in his. The touch seemed to reassure Harper and he settled, becoming still once more.

For the first time, Tyr realized he was bone-tired. The sudden shudder of the Maru told him they were docking. He should get over to the bridge and help Trance, but it was simply too hard to move.

I'll just rest a bit, he thought, leaning his head against the bed and closing his eyes. Just a few minutes...
 
 
 
 
 

"Harper's hurt!" Trance greeted Dylan, hopping up and down. "Hurry!"

Dylan followed her into the crew's quarters. He touched the door control. It moved aside to reveal a startling tableau.

His Omega was on the floor beside the bed, one arm cradling his own braided head, the other hand in Harper's. For a moment, relief made Dylan weak and he sagged against the doorframe.

"Help Bem get the gurney in here," he said to Trance without turning around. He heard her running off.

"Tyr."

The dark head lifted at once and the Nietzschean stared blankly at him. Then he grinned tiredly.

"Good to see you," he rumbled. "We're going after Glee?"

"Absolutely," Dylan replied. "But first things first."

Tyr nodded and started to rise, but Harper, little more than a lump beneath blankets, made a small sound of distress, fingers tightening convulsively around Tyr's.

"Easy, little one," the Nietzschean said. "We're home."

"Don't go..."

"I'll be right here."

Tyr's eyes lifted to Dylan's and held.

"I'm very pleased," Dylan said softly. "You've served me well, Omega."

Tyr's smile was weary. He got up, ignoring Harper's whimper. Wrapping Harper in the blanket, the big Nietzschean gently scooped the boy into his arms. Harper sighed then and relaxed. Dylan stepped aside to let him pass and followed them both from the Maru.
 
 
 
 
 

Harper opened his eyes. Bright light filled them and the quiet hum told him where he was. The Andromeda? Was it possible?

He was so weak. His head seemed filled with fluff.

"Tyr?" he asked before thinking.

A familiar figure appeared beside his bed. Beautiful eyes smiled down at him.

"Rommie," he whispered. "Am I dreaming?"

"Not according to the monitors."

"Mmmm," he smiled, closing his eyes. "Home. I'm thirsty."

Cool glass touched his lips. A strong hand lifted him gently. He braced for pain, but there was none. Greedily he drank until, with a "tsk," Rommie took it away. For the first time, Harper realized he was hooked up to all manner of wires and tubes.

"What happened?" Everything seemed so fuzzy. When he tried to remember, his thoughts skittered away in a most irritating fashion.

"Never mind that now," Rommie replied. "Rest, Seamus. You were badly hurt."

He remembered something suddenly, lifting a shaking hand to his neural port. It was empty!

"We got the tracer chip, too," Rommie reassured him gently.

A memory came suddenly, bright and sharp as a knife. Benaki! He made a sound and Rommie's eyes narrowed. Left breathless, he nodded.

"Rest," he agreed in a whisper. "Sounds like a plan."

Then, with suspicious suddenness, the fear receded and he was back in a cocoon of warmth and comfort. His eyelids were so heavy...so heavy...
 
 
 
 
 

Part XIII

"We don't have to do this," Beka said anxiously. "We've got Harper."

"Aren't you even curious?" Trance asked.

"No."

"According to Tyr, Glee expects to meet some sort of opposition wherever he is and he's planning to send his followers through to act as a buffer against any attack. We're going to do what we can to stop him." Dylan's fingers tightened around the slipstream controls. "We've got the coordinates. Let's go!"

Beka, scowling, shrugged. Tyr moved quickly to the fire control station. A nod from Dylan and they fell through the portal and into slipstream.

It was a rough ride, the stream bucking and twisting in ways Beka had never seen before. Heart in her mouth, she watched Dylan, the handsome face tight with concentration as he steered them through the mess. Then they popped out and Beka swore.

They hung in an otherwise starless dark -- two great balls of white light burning balefully against the Void. Between them, strung like jewels across the emptiness, were nine pale disks, much smaller, that faded in and out erratically. There was no sign of ships.

"Rommie?"

"Ion trail leads into the third ghost-hole on the left," came Rommie's voice.

A silence fell over the command deck. Beka realized that her heart was racing.

"Well?" their captain asked mildly.

She could not believe he was so calm.

"I say we go," Bem said finally. "We cannot let harm befall those innocents."

"Idiots, you mean," Beka snarled.

"I agree," Trance piped up. "About saving the innocents, I mean!"

"As do I," Tyr added -- not that Beka had expected him to go against Dylan.

"Oh, all right," she muttered, settling back into the helm. "But if this turns out to be a disaster, Dylan, I'm resigning!"
 
 
 
 
 

When Harper awakened again, his head was clearer. He really was home.

The sick bay was empty. Bits and pieces of the recent past returned, bringing with them a sudden, unreasoning rush of terror. He fought it, pushing it back. After Vashon, he'd had panic attacks for years.

Get used to it, buddy. This too shall pass.

"Rommie?"

No answer. Then the silence was broken by the shrill klaxon that signaled combat.

"ROMMIE!"

Damn. They were going after Glee! He was not lying here like a lump of inert matter.

Harper found he could sit up with only a minimal amount of dizziness. Impatiently, he yanked tubing from his arm, ignoring the anxious bleeping of the machine to which he'd been attached. Someone had put pajama bottoms on him. For a moment, he was overcome by the wonderful sensation of being clothed again.

Bare feet hit the floor and more dizziness sent him to his knees, hard. He remained there, the alarm echoing in his head.

"Seamus Harper, get back into bed!" An irate holographic Rommie appeared in front of him.

"I'm fine," he croaked.

"Harper..." It was Madame Aila, dominatrix pirate queen.

Surprised, he laughed. Struggling back to his feet, holding tight to the bed for support, he shook his head.

"Later," he promised cheekily.

Rommie's lifted an eyebrow in a startlingly Dylan-like manner. "Seamus?"

"Please, Rommie?" Then an awful thought rendered him momentarily speechless. "Unless," he said finally, "unless Dylan doesn't -- doesn't want me."

Rommie shook her head. "The captain wants you to remain here. In case you hadn't noticed, Seamus, you were very badly injured."

"Nothing that won't heal, right?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she commented, "This wasn't the first time you've been abused like that, is it, Seamus?"

A hot flush of shame stole over him. He lifted his head, shrugged and said airily, "There have been a few bad patches in my life. So what?"

"Get into bed, Seamus Harper," Rommie replied. "And that's an order."
 
 
 
 
 

Afterwards, Dylan would never be quite sure what happened when the Andromeda shot into the ghost-hole. One minute they were racing into the Spectral Net, the next they were in the midst of a pitched battle.

Two small ships of unfamiliar design were desperately fighting off Glee and his mercenaries. Several of the cult ships had already taken damage. One was completely destroyed, little more than debris floating in space; others were fleeing in all directions. In the background, a bright jewel of a world revolved around a yellow sun. Another was further away, but still had the bright blue and green of a world rich in water. Two in the same system?

"Target the mercenaries," Dylan ordered Tyr, who smiled happily and did just that. Four of the merc ships vaporized in rapid succession. Glee's ship, however, had full shields and took Andromeda's blasts without visible harm.

"The Edge is coming around," announced Trance.

"I'm getting signs of a buildup of considerable power," Rommie said.

"Plasma cannon," muttered Dylan. "Shields on full! Beka! Evasive maneuvers!"

"Shit," was Beka's comment. "Rommie, can you handle it?"

"One blast, maybe," the ship agreed. "After that..."

Dylan said, "They'll have to lower their shields to fire. Tyr!"

"Power buildup complete," Rommie announced. Dylan's hands tightened on the conn.

"Brace for impact!" he said and looked to the Nietzschean.

Tyr was utterly focused on his instruments and the screen, waiting...

But instead of rocking beneath a powerful blast, their instruments red-lined and on the viewscreen in front of them, the Edge became an incandescent ball.

"What the hell happened?" Beka gasped. "I thought we were toast."

At the fire controls, Tyr chuckled.

"What's so damn funny?"

"Harper," the Nietzschean replied, "is beginning to intrigue me."

"Dylan?" Trance's eyes were very big. "One of the two ships they were attacking is hailing us."
 
 
 
 
 

Part XIV

Excitement ran high on the Andromeda, but Harper was on the outside looking in. Dylan was adamant about his remaining in bed until he was healed enough to move around. It was true that things weren't going as well in that department as Harper had hoped, but still -- surely he could help out somehow?

At least his trick with the Edge's surge regulator had worked. Even so, he had the same hollow feeling he'd had at the Witchhead Nebula. He thought about Dr. Mara and his throat tightened. If only they would let him do something -- anything -- to take his mind off the bad memories that crowded so thick around him

"No," had been the captain's hurried reply to his request. "Just stay put, Harper. That trick of yours was inspired, but now getting you healthy is the most important thing."

It was one of the more polite ways of saying "fuck off" that Harper had encountered recently. Even Beka had only stopped by long enough to give him a kiss on the cheek and a "welcome back" before rushing off to the action.

Tyr, on the other hand, had dropped by no less than three times, although only to growl at him to stay in bed. Rommie, at least, kept him updated.

"In spite of what Glee thought, this isn't our future, but an alternate universe," she told him. "Every one of those ghost-holes leads to a different reality. The planets out there correspond exactly to the Sirka system in our own."

"Can't be," he objected. "There's only one earth-like world in Sirka."

"Terraformed," she replied. "All these planets."

"Wow. You're kidding?"

"No, Seamus. The people here are extremely advanced. Like our own universe, this is a very remote part of their space. When Glee came through the first time, he encountered a local police ship. It forced him back through the ghost-hole, but not without taking enough damage to convince Glee that with enough firepower, he could prevail a second time. The time stream here moves more slowly, as well. Ten months have passed in our universe, two days in this one -- enough time for the police's reinforcements to arrive."

"And -- and there were no survivors on the Edge?"

She shook her head.

Of course not. Once again, Seamus Harper had demonstrated how to kill efficiently and creatively. He felt like shit.
 
 
 
 
 

Dylan stood in front of his mirror, pulling his shirt over his head and shaking out his hair. Excitement and apprehension warred for dominance. An alternate universe, different, but the same. It had been a theoretical construct for millennia, but never empirically proved. To say that this was a momentous event was to understate things significantly. If this had still been the Commonwealth there would be ships arriving from all six galaxies, excitement of the highest level, scholars brought from everywhere to study it...

His door alarm chimed.

"Come."

It was Tyr. Dylan met his eyes in the mirror and even now, with all that was going on, could not ignore the powerful attraction that tugged at him.

"I should come with you," the Nietzschean said.

He picked up Dylan's jacket and held it for the commander. When Dylan would button it up, Tyr calmly turned him around and did it for him. Their eyes locked, then Tyr leaned forward, his lips brushing Dylan's.

"Someone has to stay on board -- just in case," Dylan managed.

Another kiss, a little more demanding. Dylan leaned into it before he realized what he was doing.

"Are you trying to seduce your way onto the planet with me?"

"Would I do such a thing?"

More pressure, the whisper of his tongue over Dylan's mouth. The commander shivered, the slacks of his dress uniform suddenly too tight. He picked up the gloves from the dressing table.

"Won't work," he managed in a reasonably steady voice.

"You have some time before you leave," came that throaty purr. "Plenty of time to be persuaded."

"Tyr -- oh, damn it."

An aroused Nietzschean was a powerful force. Even as Dylan told himself it was only one kiss, he knew he was lost. His tongue went deep and he reveled in the now familiar taste and feel of his Omega. White gloves fell unheeded to the floor. One arm pulled Tyr close against him, the other wrapped in the dense, heavy hair. Tyr's tongue met his eagerly, caressing, tantalizing. Heat shot through Dyan's veins. His groin ached.

"No time..." he gasped when they parted, but Tyr simply dropped to his knees, hands going to Dylan's belt.

Opening the white trousers, careful not to wrinkle the fabric, the man put his mouth against Dylan's erection. Through the thin fabric of Dylan's briefs, his breath warmed already overheated skin.

Dylan gritted his teeth and fell back against the mirror. Tyr's long fingers clamped around his hips, holding him helplessly still.

"Damn it, Tyr..."

Easing the trousers over his hips, the magnificent creature teased him, making Dylan squirm against the glass. He tried to find words to stop the torment, but the sensation of Tyr's hands on him, his underwear sliding down around his thighs ...

"Tyr -- god damn it -- stop -- don't -- oh, yes!"

Clasping Dylan's balls loosely in one large hand, Tyr seized his penis with the other. Dylan arched helplessly into that grip. He groaned as his Omega engulfed the head, tongue massaging that exquisitely sensitive flesh.

Dylan trembled, fingers tangling loosely in Tyr's braids, breath coming hard and fast. Now Tyr had all of him, tongue wrapping around his staff, tormenting the leaking slit. In Tyr's graceful fingers, his balls began to tighten. The pressure in his groin made him thrust his hips forward, grip tightening in the Nietzschean's dark hair. Release came abruptly, scattering his thoughts, ripping an exultant cry from him. Tyr's throat worked, suckling until Dylan whimpered and shook. Tyr released him abruptly, breathing hard, eyes aflame.

His own arousal evident, the Nietzschean nevertheless rose and held his captain upright against the mirror. Then, when Dylan had some command over his limbs again, Tyr cleaned him off and restored his clothing, smoothing away the errant wrinkle or two. Neither man spoke. Retrieving his gloves for him, Tyr went to the door. Dylan ran shaking fingers through his hair and stood another minute or two until his heartbeat slowed toward normal. Then, the High Guard officer in control once more, walked out. With Tyr a silent shadow at his back, he headed for the shuttle.
 
 
 
 
 

Harper set down the cutter and leaned against the table. It seemed he was always tired lately. The breaker board was taking twice as long to put together as it should. He returned to his bed and curled up on his side. He was cold.

He heard the door open and sat up. It was Rommie's avatar, his medication in hand. He tilted his head so she could place the instrument against the vein in his neck. The cold sting lasted only a second, but it made him feel better.

"What's going on?"

"Dylan and Beka have gone down to the planet. How are you feeling, Seamus?" Rommie set the injector aside. She looked concerned. They all did nowadays, although they tried not to show it.

"Wenz-Lieber virus," Rommie had told him. It meant nothing to him, but she was clearly worried. If Rommie was worried...

"You can cure it, right?" Harper couldn't believe there was any problem for which the Andromeda's medical database couldn't produce a solution.

"We don't actually know very much about it. There's practically no information available except for what I've acquired since escaping the black hole and what I do have is very sketchy. The virus is connected to a place called Vashon. Have you heard of it?"

Harper's stomach had done a queer little flutter. "Nah."

Rommie had accepted the lie without question. "Too bad. Anyway, at the moment, I'm keeping the virus from reproducing, but I've no idea whether it can be eliminated. In meantime, everything depends on your immune system. If you rest and eat well and take your antivirals, you'll probably be fine!"

Harper said now, "Didn't the people on the planet say a warship is coming? Shouldn't we be getting along home? What if it attacks? I'll bet we're not real popular with these folks."

"The people on the planet know that we were not Glee's allies and communication so far has been cordial. Now, do you need anything? We've got a dozen or so of Glee's surviving followers on board. It's a little busy."

"No. No, I'm okay. Thanks."

She was gone and the room was quiet again.

I'm in the way, thought Harper dismally. His throat ached. He clenched his jaw and sat up. The least he could do was finish the board, show them he wasn't completely useless. Even so, he found the delicate circuitry blurring as he tried to work and finally had to turn away. He wiped his sleeve over his eyes angrily, sat a moment, then went back to work.
 
 
 
 
 

Part XV

The Andromeda's shuttle landed on a circle of pale stone in the middle of lush, close-cropped grass. Buildings surrounded them, set well away from the landing pad and fronted by towering trees. They were reminiscent of ancient Earth architecture, several stories high with tall windows deeply inset in the stone walls, towers and gables. Beka almost expected to see men in velvet doublets and wide-brimmed hats ride up to the shuttle on horseback. Instead, a young woman in a simple white dress stood at the edge of the stone circle. On either side of her was a man, one older and bearded, the other the same age as Beka.

She came forward when Dylan and Beka stepped down from the shuttle.

"Emer Lee?" Dylan asked, moving to meet her. He took the hand she held out and smiled. "Captain Dylan Hunt of the Andromeda Ascendant, and this is my first officer, Beka Valentine."

"Indeed, Captain Hunt, Commander Valentine. Welcome to Sirka. These are my advisors, Andrew Ffolkes and Sing Chan. This is quite an occasion for us, as you can well imagine."

"And us, as well. I'm only sorry your first impression had to be so unpleasant."

She smiled. "The encounter cost the invaders more than it cost us, Captain. Come. Our Elders are eager to meet representatives from another reality."

They started across the lawn toward one of the buildings, the grandest of them all. It stretched away to the right and left, several stories high, with a massive, pillared entranceway and twin towers on each end. Beka kept close to Dylan. All the open space gave her the willies. She was relieved when they passed through tall doors and into a soaring foyer.

"We are literary scholars and philosophers here on Sirka," the woman was saying. "Had this been a scientific academy, we'd likely have the instruments to detect the anomaly. I'm afraid it simply never occurred to us that we might have anything to fear out here."

"You know of the ghost-holes?" Dylan asked.

She nodded. "Yes, indeed. In fact, ironic as it seems, there is a Captain Dylan Hunt in this universe. His ship, the Confucius IV, discovered the first such gate -- in the Richenbach galaxy. You should speak to Andy about it. We pay him to teach ethics, but his hobby is astrophysics."

"I have a counterpart in this universe?" Dylan didn't sound particularly happy about it and Beka didn't blame him. It meant that somewhere among these stars was another her.

"Why do you call it a gate?" Beka asked.

"Because that's what it is. There is considerable evidence that they are not naturally occurring."

"Someone made them?"

"So our scientists believe."

Lee led them along a vaulted corridor with arched windows running the length of right wall. On the left was wood paneling the color of rich caramel, hung with paintings in heavy, ornate old frames . The Sirkian woman -- Beka was having trouble associating her with the denizens of that world in their own universe -- turned to the left before a set of beautiful carved double doors. They opened silently inward at her approach.

Beka faltered. A large room lined with books was on the other side. In the center of it was an oval table, wood polished to a mirror shine. Small image monitors were inset around the edge, one for each of the twelve high-backed chairs. At one end were six men and women, all in white. They rose as Dylan and Beka came in.

"Welcome to Sirka," said the man in the center. He was old, gray hair tied at the nape of his neck, and a kindly smile. "I am Louis Villareal, president of the Trudeau Institute. Please sit down. Our group is almost complete. Esa? Please bring our guests some tea...unless you prefer coffee?"

"Tea's fine."

"Coffee. Please." Beka settled, wide-eyed, into one of the chairs. Like the door -- indeed, like everything she'd seen so far -- it was a work of art. The arms were carved into dragons' heads, smooth and warm under her tentative fingers. A cup of coffee appeared at her elbow, a smiling boy in black setting cream and sugar beside it. Everything looked and smelled real.

"I have a question," Dylan said. "After Glee came through the first time, why didn't you take steps to guard the gate? Surely you knew those two small cruisers wouldn't be enough to protect your world from Glee?"

"There wasn't enough time," replied Villareal. "We immediately summoned help from the military, but in our universe it has only been a few days since the first invasion. We are quite remote, as Dr. Lee has no doubt told you. Even the fastest starship takes time to reach us."

Dylan accepted his tea with a smile and thanks, but as he set it down, his communicator beeped.

"Excuse me."

Villareal nodded.

"Yes, Tyr?"

"Dylan, an extremely large and heavily armed ship has come out of slipstream... about a hundred kilometers away." Tyr's voice was flat, its very blandness signaling extreme disquiet. The High Guard commander's brows drew together.

"They're hailing," continued the Nietzschean.

"Ah," smiled Villareal. "That would be our the rest of our group."

"Dylan..." Beka elbowed the commander, who straightened abruptly. The university's president rose, turning as, to his left, the air shimmered. Two figures materialized, a man and a woman. Both were uniformed.

Dylan got to his feet, Beka scrambling up after. Villareal embraced the man and woman, both of whom appeared to know him quite well.

"Captain Hunt, Commander Valentine, may I introduce our Starfleet representatives and my dear friends, Captain Jean Luc Picard and Counselor Deanna Troi? Now -- since we are all here, let us sit down and discuss what we're going to do with that pesky anomaly out there."
 
 
 
 
 

Tyr moved through empty, silent corridors heading toward the engine room.

"Harper left sick bay," the ship had warned. "He said something about getting his tools."

He was going to tie that boy to the bed, damn it.

Tyr was tired and still edgy with that behemoth standing off Andromeda's port side. He'd never seen a ship like it, nor the way it simply popped out of nowhere. It hadn't used the slipstreams, but utilized something called warp drive.

There had been no worry in Dylan's voice when he'd informed Tyr of his intention to visit the new arrival. Even so, Tyr fretted at the thought of the captain going without him. The Enterprise was every bit as big as Andromeda and some of its armaments completely unfamiliar to the Nietzschean. He reached the engine room. At first glance, the place was empty, but as his senses flared, he saw a bare foot peeping around the edge of the work bench.

"Harper!"

The human was sprawled face down on the floor. Idiot. Tyr lifted him and was promptly alarmed at the heat in the body he held. At his urgent shout, Trance abandoned the command deck to the Magog and met him in sick bay. Harper murmured and stirred. Fever-bright eyes opened.

"Shit," he heard. "This virus thing sucks."

"Yes," replied Tyr shortly. "You've overdone it again, Harper. Stay in bed."

"Or what?"

"Or you'll die!"

"So?"

Tyr stared. Trance, on the other side of the room, pretended fascination in the computer screen in front of her. After a moment, angry, frightened eyes dropped.

"Sorry, Tyr," he muttered. "It's just -- I feel so left out. Here we are in an alternate universe, in the presence of technology superior to the old Commonwealth's, and I can't be part of it! They've got working, efficient teleportation, damn it!"

"Dylan is bringing a party over from the Enterprise in a few hours. Their chief engineer is coming, too. If you get some sleep, let the medication work, I'll recommend you be present at the engine room tour."

"You'd do that?"

"Yes. If you do what you're told."

"Yes, sir." The irrepressible grin was back. Tyr resisted the impulse to ruffle the human's pale hair and returned to the command deck.
 
 
 
 
 

"I still can't get over it," Picard said, stepping into the turbolift. "You look exactly like our Dylan Hunt"

"What's he like? Do you know him well?"

"He's a bit of a swashbuckler," grinned the other captain. "And one of the best officers in the Fleet. Hunt found the first gate, you know."

"What's through that one?"

"Nothing, so far, just empty worlds."

"I still can't get used to the idea." Dylan shook his head. "What would happen if we met?"

"Nothing," Commander Data said. "And we aren't sure why, either. Ordinarily, we would expect one or the other counterpart to lose temporal stability after a short period, but experiments suggest that something occurs when you go through the gate that changes you somehow and make you compatible with whatever universe you're in at the time."

The lift stopped. Its doors slid open. Dylan's mouth dropped.

"Engine room," said Picard. Dylan heard the pride and had to agree.

The Enterprise was a ship to take a man's breath away. A neat, industrious crew bustled back and forth, making way for their captain, watching the visitors, curious and not in the least afraid. It was the Commonwealth in different clothes and a few hundred years into the future. For a moment, the contrast was almost more than he could bear.

The warp drive was a wonder. He stood, rapt, listening to Lieutenant LaForge wax eloquent on what was surely his first love -- his engines. There was so much to dazzle Dylan -- transporter, replicators. Most astonishing of all was the android, Commander Data.

Both the Command and his captain were likewise astonished by Rommie.

"I suspect our universes have much to learn from each other," Picard said when LeForge's lecture finally ceased. "I look forward to seeing the Andromeda and the rest of your crew."

"And we're looking forward to entertaining you." Dylan held out a hand.

Picard, shaking his head slightly, shook it. "This will take some getting used to, Captain Hunt."

Dylan smiled at Beka who managed a wobbly smile back. She was clearly intimidated, keeping close to him, her normally caustic humor and devil-may-care attitude completely subdued. The sight of all the spit and polish, that unconscious confidence that comes from a clear sense of purpose -- she was finally seeing what he missed so badly.

"Worf -- prepare to transport Captains Hunt and Valentine back to the Andromeda."

"See you in a few hours," Dylan said.

"We're looking forward to it, " agreed Picard.

Dylan felt the strange tingling that immediately preceded dematerialization. He tried not to panic. There was a moment of vertigo and a sense that somewhere, the cosmos blinked. Then he was standing on the command deck of the Andromeda facing a very worried Tyr.
 
 
 
 
 

Part XVI

"He's dying, Dylan."

In the captain's antechamber just off the command, Rommie's holographic image managed to convey distress. Dylan, shocked to silence, just stared.

"Seamus' immune system was compromised a long time ago, I just didn't know how much. I didn't expect to eliminate the virus, but I had hoped we could halt its proliferation -- manage the disease..."

"What is this Wenz-Lieber virus?"

"It was completely unknown in our time. Harper's earlier physical showed only fragments of it -- as if the virus had already been neutralized by his immune system. Unfortunately, his experience on the Edge so debilitated him it became active again -- a rather unusual property." Rommie hesitated, then, "It looks like it might have been manufactured."

"Harper was on Vashon," Tyr said.

"Vashon?" Dylan was blank.

"A habitat," said Tyr, "ruled by the Hirobi yakuza. It was said that you could get anything you wanted there, anything at all. Slavers made regular calls at the habitat."

Dylan opened and shut his mouth. "And Harper was there?"

"He had to have been," replied Tyr. "You could get more than just pleasure on Vashon. You could get research subjects -- if you were a biotech corporation wanting to cut R & D expenses. That was what destroyed Vashon in the end. There were four brothels and two gladiator stables that were infected. I'd never heard the names of the viruses. In spite of the panic that ensued, none of the diseases proved contagious. That made the experiments unsuccessful in the eyes of the company that designed them."

"Whatever for?" Dylan asked, appalled.

"The object, I believe, was to clear planets -- very slowly -- of their populations for takeover without making it look like an obvious attack."

"What happened to the company?"

"It's still around," Tyr replied. "Although people in charge of the project were arrested."

"And the other victims?"

"Ramses Technologies eliminated the subjects by simply destroying Vashon."

"Harper escaped," pointed out Rommie.

"Yes," agreed Tyr. "He does seem to have a talent for getting out of trouble. Too bad he isn't equally adept at staying out of it." He hesitated, then added soberly, "The Commonwealth would have stopped Ramses, punished them, dissolved them. Our universe needs what this one already has, Dylan."

Dylan caught his breath, wondering if he'd been that obvious. He said evenly, "If we can't help Harper, maybe the Enterprise can."

"I agree," the Nietzschean said. "Every minute that passes gives the virus more time to replicate. Will you contact them, Captain, or shall I?"
 
 
 
 
 

According to his alarm clock, it was late. Harper couldn't sleep. Fever burned at the edges of his awareness and his thoughts took odd turns in the dark. There was someone at the door.

"Harper?"

For a single, jolting moment Harper was terrified. Then the lights came on. Dylan. It was only Dylan. Harper took several long, deep breaths.

"Hey, boss. What's up?"

Harper hadn't seen much of the High Guard commander since he'd been back. Dylan had been busy dealing with the alternate universe and, according to a faintly envious Andromeda, a starship of amazing capabilities.

"Feel like taking a little trip?" the tall man asked. Trance and Beka appeared in the doorway behind him.

"I -- where?"

"To the Enterprise."

"Really?" He sat up, but the room tilted and his ears filled with a wild rushing sound. When it cleared, he was flat on his back, staring up into their worried faces. "I -- maybe later."

"Maybe now," said Dylan and motioned someone behind him. An attractive middle-aged woman in a white coat came into his line of vision.

"This is Dr. Crusher. We're going to move you to the Enterprise sick bay."

There was a gurney. It floated. Trance appeared, hovering over him anxiously when they lifted him from his bed onto it. There was a long, bewildering period of confusion, then he was in another ship, this one filled with people.

Dylan strode along one side of him, the doctor on the other. She was quietly asking questions. Harper thought he answered, but wasn't sure. Then he was being lifted again. Something covered him, some kind of machine. He looked anxiously for Dylan and found the captain standing nearby with a older, bald man.

"Seamus?"

It was the doctor. Crushing? Crusher? He made an effort to focus.

"I'm going to be administering some drugs that will make you very sleepy."

"Mmm. Already very sleepy."

She smiled and the world blinked out.
 
 
 
 
 

"I don't know what it is," Beverly Crusher said, staring at the object floating on the screen. "I've been through the entire Federation virus database and there's nothing."

"We think it might have been synthesized."

The Enterprises' doctor frowned at the magnified virus.

"I don't know what else we can do. I'm sure we could devise some sort of life-support equipment, even something quite mobile, but he would be confined to it for the rest of his life. I'm sorry I can't be more help."

Dylan's heart sank.

"Dr. Crusher?"

Dylan watched her eyes move at once to Tyr. The Nietzschean was hanging back, away from the others, watching the Enterprise crew -- Dylan's self-appointed bodyguard and completely indifferent to his lord's opinions on the matter.

As with most women confronted with Tyr, there was a subtle shift in Dr. Crusher's posture, a softening, a sudden, pronounced sensuality. Dylan, hardly immune to Tyr himself, kept the corners of his mouth still.

"Is it possible to find a specific person in your Federation?" asked Tyr.

"In most cases, probably."

"Could you find out if there is someone called Wenz-Lieber?"

The computer was prompt.

"Dr. Mara Sydney Wenz-Lieber, fifty-eight years old, virologist, employed by the Candis Foundation..."

A picture flashed onscreen of a small woman with short brown hair and a serious expression. Dylan heard a sharp intake of breath from Tyr.

"Dr. Ely," the Nietzschean murmured. Then: "Can you send this woman a picture of the virus?"

"I certainly can," agreed Dr. Crusher, eyes lighting. "The Candis Foundation is not far from here. It's a Federation think-tank. Very top secret."

The response was almost instantaneous. As the Federation logo appeared on the blue screen, the doors to sick bay hissed open, admitting the captain. He gave Dr. Crusher a sharp look.

Onscreen, the logo vanished and the woman herself appeared. She did not look happy.

"I'm Dr. Wenz-Lieber. Dr. Crusher?"

"Thank you for replying so quickly."

"Where did you get that image?" The woman's lips were pressed tightly together. Her eyes were flinty.

"We took it ourselves," replied the doctor, "from the bloodwork of a young man in the next room who is dying of it. How do I treat this?"

The woman whitened. "Someone is infected? That's impossible! The only samples are here, under the strictest of security. They aren't even active."

"The man is a member of my crew," Dylan said shortly.

She turned. There was someone in the office with her. For a moment, the sound went dead. Then, "How advanced is the disease?"

Dylan looked to Tyr, who said, "Vashon was cleared out six years ago."

"Six years? That's impossible! Captain Picard? What is going on here?"

"It's a long story," Picard said. "I've finished talking to Admiral Barrymore. He's issued clearance."

"I'll need to check that."

The logo appeared again, but it wasn't long before she was back and clearly excited.

"An extremely interesting report. Gate people, eh? Well, as it happens, doctor, I think we can help you. You understand, of course, that this is strictly an experimental treatment. No one here has ever been infected before. It works in the models, but it's never one hundred percent."

"We understand, doctor."

"Very well. I will, of course, need to see the patient as soon as possible. Transmitting treatment data now."
 
 
 
 
 

Part XVII

"You know they're going to ask him."

The crew of the Eureka Maru gathered around Harper's bed in the Enterprise's quiet sick bay. Beka swallowed hard.

"And he'll ask us to stay, too," she said, "but I can't do it. This is all -- everyone's too..."

"Arrogant?" Harper supplied helpfully. "Boring?"

Beka shrugged a bit defiantly. It was true. She felt rough and ungainly around all this discipline, all this power. Everywhere were trim uniforms, glowing health, purposefulness. She and her crew, on the other hand, looked like refugees from some Federation slum planet -- if there was even such a thing. This was what Dylan had known. This was his kind of world.

"Anyway -- if anyone wants to stay, that's okay. I'll understand."

"I'll go back with you," Trance said promptly. "I think everyone here has been very nice, actually, but this isn't my universe. We don't belong here."

"I, too, believe my path lies on the other side," Rev Bem agreed.

"Harper?"

"Hell, yeah. Do you see how these people dress?"

Beka's heart lightened.

"What about Tyr?" asked Trance.

"He'll do whatever Dylan tells him," snorted Beka.

"You're gonna tell Dylan, right?" Harper asked a little anxiously. "I mean -- he did drop everything to hunt me down and haul me back home -- to the Andromeda."

"Oops," whispered Trance. "Here he comes."

They melted back, leaving Beka to nervously confront him. He smiled at her and looked at Harper.

"So," he said. "Dr. Crusher says you're cured and in spite of Dr. Wenz-Lieber 's opposition, has discharged you. How do you feel?"

"Great," replied Harper. "Say -- I, um, really appreciate your coming to get me and everything. Really." The young man swallowed hard and made a valiant attempt a nonchalance. "I even forgive you for sending Tyr."

"I'm relieved," Dylan snorted. "Now, if you're done lying around on your ass, we'd better be going."

"Going where?"

Dylan looked at Beka, startled. "Home. To our own universe. Unless..." He faltered and, for just a moment, she saw dismay. "You can stay here if you want. Picard says it's all right with the Federation. Most of Glee's followers have elected to do so."

"You're not? We were sure you would. This is all so -- so Commonwealth." Harper waved vaguely at their surroundings.

"It's tempting," admitted the commander wistfully, "but the Andromeda's not needed here. Back home, we can make a real difference."

It was as if a great weight lifted off Beka's heart. "Good," she said, all brisk business. "Now that we've got that settled, do you think Picard would give us one of those replicators?"
 
 
 
 
 

Harper took his dustrag and ran it along the top of Rommie's main router box. Standing back, he admired the shine. That damn Enterprise had nothing on the Andromeda -- nothing.

Crap, was that a spot?

"Harper?"

"Yeah, Dylan?"

"My office, please."

The other shoe had just dropped. Heart sinking, Harper nevertheless announced cheerfully that he was on his way.

This was it, the big smackeroo. Dylan hadn't said a word about his going AWOL since Harper had returned, not so much as, "Don't ever do that again, asshole." This was not normal human behavior, especially not for an authority figure. Harper was almost relieved to hear the sharp note in Dylan's voice.

He hurried toward the captain's quarters, scrambling up the ladders and along the corridor into the next deck. A familiar figure appeared around a corner. Tyr! Now Harper knew he was in for it -- finally. His stomach churned.

Don't be stupid, he told himself, you're going to get yelled at and nothing more. Words won't hurt you.

"Hey," he greeted the Nietzschean. "Am I getting' court-martialed, or something?"

"Or something," agreed Tyr.

They walked together in silence, but Harper was acutely aware of the Nietzschean. He remembered the little cabin on the Edge, Tyr's tongue in his mouth. Harper swallowed hard and did his best not to look at the other man.

Suddenly the Nietzschean stopped and Harper, apprehensive, followed suit.

"Tell me," Tyr said, brown eyes thoughtful on the human's face. "If we hadn't come -- would you have destroyed the Edge anyway? Would you have suicided?"

Harper smiled tightly. "Maybe."

Tyr nodded and continued down the corridor. The captain's quarters appeared on the right. Chin pugnaciously lifted, heart thumping, Harper braced himself and followed Tyr in.

"SURPRISE!"

Harper stopped dead in the doorway, jaw dropping. Across Dylan's spacious living room hung a large banner with uneven handwritten letters printed upon it -- "WELCOME BACK!" Balloons were everywhere and brightly colored streamers. A long table had been set with food. An ice-filled bucket held dozens of Sparky Colas. There were doritos and pim-chips, a cake gaudy with thick white icing -- in short, everything that could possibly be construed as non-nutritious. His favorites.

The entire gang was here, too, all of them grinning and talking at once. He watched Tyr make a beeline for the captain who was not looking at all pissed off. Harper's spirits lightened.

"Quiet!"

Tyr's voice thundered through the room and there was instant silence.

"Thanks." Dylan nodded to the Nietzschean, who stepped back.

"Seamus Harper?"

"Um, yeah?"

"Welcome back," said Dylan with an affectionate grin, adding, " And don't ever do that again, you hear?"

"Don't worry. I'm not insane anymore," replied Harper, then sobered. "Thanks, guys. I -- I wasn't sure you'd come."

The admission slipped out before he could stop it, but the sudden, noisy denial warmed him to his toes. Cola was brought out and a toast was made. There were even presents, as Trance finally announced, too excited to keep quiet about it any longer.

No one had ever thrown a party just for Harper before, let alone one with gifts. He wasn't quite sure what to do when the brightly wrapped boxes were set in front of him.

Shit. He didn't deserve this. What had he done? Run off and abandoned his friends, that's what. Made them risk everything to come get him. He should be sitting in the fucking brig, getting the silent treatment, not a party.

"Aren't you going to open them?"

He found a smile and did so. There was a beautiful Bonsai tree from Trance, a meditation medallion from Rev with a luscious little nude on it. Beka gave him a very snazzy new shirt and Rommie, bless her, had unearthed several new Lady Aila adventures.

"You guys," he said, looking around, "this is really great, but..."

"Harper, we're all getting used to it," Dylan said quietly. "We all make mistakes. The Andromeda needs you. We need you. You're one of us. That's how it was in the Commonwealth and that's how it is here."

Looking from one of his friends to another, Harper was overwhelmed by an unfamiliar sense of warmth and safety. Then he noticed Tyr was gone. For some reason, that disappointed him.

"This is great!" Trance enthused, looking them all over happily. "Now everything is back to normal!"

"Where are we going next?" asked Harper.

"Lourdes Minor."

"Really?" He looked up, excited. "What part?"

"Chimera."

"Oh, man! That's right on the coast! They've got waves there as good as Hawaii!"

"So I understand," Dylan said smoothly. "So, as my gift, you get three days of shore leave to play in the ocean."

"Yes!" Harper jumped up.

"And here," came a familiar bass purr, "is something to kill yourself on."

Tyr was back and in his arms was something that made Harper sit right back down. It was a surfboard, but not just any surfboard. Tyr leaned it against the table next to him and, after a second, he recovered enough to reach reverent fingers to brush the glassy finish.

"It's a Ventura," he said, awed. "Wow! Is it real dakka-wood?"

"I suppose." Tyr was watching him with that rather unnerving intensity. "It was replicated from a design in the Enterprise's database."

That took his breath away.

"T -- thanks," he said finally. "And thanks for everything else." Tyr inclined his head briefly. Harper looked at him and the captain standing shoulder to shoulder and thought that whatever was between them just might be a real good thing.

"And now," Dylan announced, "since the food seems to be gone, I suggest those of you on duty get back to your posts. Lourdes Minor is waiting for us."
 
 
 
 
 

Part XVIII

Dylan sat on a bench alone on the observation deck, staring out into the sky. The ghost-holes were once again a legend. Of the hundred or so of Edge's disciples, five small ships and three dozen people had come back.

"What if one of those people try to return?" Trance had asked as they saw the last of their passengers off on the Perseid Station 016.

"Commander Data and his team made sure the slipstream coordinates for the ghost-holes were deleted from every surviving vessel," he'd replied, "and anyway, Starfleet knows about the gate now. Somehow I think they'll be up to repelling any more uninvited visitors."

"And if they come here?" Tyr had never quite relinquished his suspicions.

"The Federation has something called a Prime Directive. It forbids them from interfering in developing cultures. From their perspective, apparently, that's exactly what we are."

Dylan sighed. The stars looked back at him, coldly beautiful. Familiar stars -- with worlds around them that had changed almost beyond recognition.

Beka and her crew were full of heart and energy and courage. But he was as much a stranger in this universe as in Picard's and, in the end, their final loyalties were to each other. As for Tyr... Dylan's mouth twisted and he lowered his head into his hands.

Sara...oh god, Sara, I miss you so much.

He took a deep breath, then another.

"Captain?"

Harper. Dylan pulled himself together and looked over his shoulder. The man stood by the door and Dylan wondered how long he'd been there.

"Sir..."

"Sir?" Dylan found a chuckle from someplace. "Harper, please."

"Hey. Just tryin' to be professional, ya know?" Harper's levity was as forced his own. They stared at each across the large room. Then Dylan waved him over.

Harper took a seat on the bench. His hands, tense, rested on his thighs. Dylan knew something of what the engineer had endured on the Ripper's Edge and it made his skin crawl almost as much as Tyr's subsequent information about Vashon. Suddenly he felt ashamed that he could sit here whole and free, in command of the most powerful warship in the galaxies, and still feel sorry for himself.

"I, um, wanted to apologize for being an asshole." Harper wouldn't look at him, but stared out the great observation window. "It's none of my damned business what goes on between you and Tyr and -- and I know you wouldn't play favorites."

"Harper, I'm only human. Sometimes I need a wake-up call. What exists between Tyr and me..." He groped desperately for words that wouldn't violate Tyr's confidence. "...it's a..."

"...Nietzschean thing?"

Dylan smiled wryly at the floor. "Yeah, and I think I'm out of my depth."

He looked around. Harper was still looking out into space, jaw tight, as if seeing something he dreaded.

"How -- who knows about me being on Vashon?"

"Rommie. Tyr. Me."

"That's it? No one else?"

Dylan shook his head.

"Could it stay like that?"

"Of course."

"Good. Thanks." The young man's voice trembled and he hastily covered it with a cough. "It might interfere with my busy lovelife, ya know?"

"Right."

"Thanks for the party, by the way. No one's ever done that for me."

"Not at all. We could use a few parties here and there, don't you think?"

"I'm personally in favor of many parties," agreed Harper. "Let's have another one tonight."

"Don't push your luck, Seamus."

Another silence fell between them, this one a little easier. It was almost with regret that Dylan heard the door open again. His unruly heart leapt, recognizing the confident footsteps. Harper stood up, hands in his pockets, looking at the approaching Nietzschean. Suddenly, his wicked grin appeared. He bent down, mouth against Dylan's ear.

"We should talk again soon," he said, eyes flashing to Tyr and back. "I'll let you in on a few tricks I learned on Vashon. They're guaranteed to turn the meanest, most dominant Alpha Nietzschean into a whimpering, pleading love-slut. Swear to God." Straightening, he said cheerfully, "Hey, Tyr. How's it hangin'?"

Tyr watched the chortling Harper lope off and looked down at Dylan. "I already regret retrieving him."

Dylan, not fooled for a minute, refused to rise to the bait. He turned back to his contemplation of the stars. He was due on the command deck in an hour to relieve Beka. "Something up?"

"An Omega is aware at all times of his lord's whereabouts, health, and emotional state. What was Harper whispering?"

Dylan shook his head. "He's glad to be back."

"He damned well better be."

"The business about him and Vashon goes no further."

"Understood."

The Nietzschean's hands settled on his shoulders. Dylan thought about Harper's claim and wondered if it were true. Tyr's kneading began to loosen tense muscles. Dylan felt his eyes drifting closed under the Nietzschean's skilled touch.

"Feel like a little exercise before your shift, captain?"

Strong fingers gently pressed vertebrae into line. Dylan shivered. His head fell back and those hands left his neck to sift through his hair. The tip of a velvet tongue brushed his lips. Braids tumbled around him, brushing his shoulders, making a curtain to shut out the rest of the world.

"An excellent suggestion," he breathed, catching Tyr's full lower lip in a brief, gentle nip.

Tyr leaned away. Dylan stood and regarded his Omega thoughtfully.

He asked, "Can you imagine yourself as a whimpering, pleading love-slut?"

"That's very funny, Dylan."

Dylan chuckled. "Neither can I," he admitted, "but there stranger things in the universe, I suppose."

He met Tyr's startled, slightly apprehensive glance with a glinting one of his own. "Your place or mine, Omega?" he asked.
 

Back to Fanfic