To put words to reality is to create a truth.      
          In ways, we are always in search of it.   
             This is the pursuit of knowledge: 
                       to explain that which we already understand. 
                                      
                                       - Dr. Meriwhether Church during The Gradient Seminars of Boraska XII
 



In the beginning, there was nothing. 
Or, so, Tyr had hoped. Locked in a shallow sleep, he found himself unable to dive deeper than the surface. 
The waking world was accompanied by a harsh tone that chose to sound itself out every few seconds, interrupted
any attempt at solid, cohesive, thought. 
Reaching through the dark towards the source of the sound, Tyr's hand roamed empty air until, finally, it settled 
upon a flat surface, slanted and cold. It's face was foreign to him, lacking in anything he could use to determine 
just what he was feeling. Worse yet, the noise kept stabbing through his senses with a shrill whine, growing more 
frantic by the second. 
"Blood pressure rising. Epinephrine levels skyrocketing." The voice was unfamiliar, quickly switching out a bored 
drawl for a panicked one. "We've got a live one here!" 
Rolling away from the object, Tyr allowed his fingers to travel the path of it's tubing, following it back to himself 
and the line buried in his arm. 
Wrenching his eyes shut, he yanked it out, then forced them to open, drowning his vision in blinding light. The  
corners of the room had bled together, distorting his vision- watercolors across a canvas and turning his
perception of the world on it's head. Kicking off the bed, his feet hit the ground and, almost immediately, he folded. 
The pain had embroidered itself beneath his skin and, with every pull, there was a tug that ached somewhere deep within 
him. 
"Someone page Doctor Petula, we have a-" 
Raising off the ground, he managed to focus his eyes on a woman holding a comm link in her hand. She froze at the
sight of him. Not a threat. Turning, he made a line for the door as she screamed, "A runner!!" slamming it closed
at his back. Quickly, he grabbed the nearest piece of furniture he could find. Trying and failing to lift it off 
the floor, he had to resort to moving it with one, full-bodied, shove.
With his back to the door, he made a quick sweep over his surroundings; a counter, patients, a waiting room and... 
"Tyr!!" Miss Valentine had found her way to his side and had already begun undoing his work, grabbing the chair and 
pulling it out of the way with a loud, frustrated, whine. "What are you doing?! You-" 
"Where are we?" He asked, looking past her to scan the seats arranged along the wall. In one was the Tiny Professor,
nursing a bandaged hand against his knee. With closer examination, he noticed, now, the reception desk and the various 
ills the people in the room carried with them. 
"We're in a clinic. We..." She looked to the boy and back to him. "It doesn't matter. How do you feel?" 
The question struck him as odd. His feelings were irrelevant, his thoughts, however... 
"I would like to leave. Immediately." 
Her relief somehow led him into a state of unease. "I think maybe we should get you checked out, just to make sure-" 
"Make sure of what?" He stared into her eyes, boring into them with the intent to dig through what was hiding 
underneath. She was a liar by profession. He shouldn't be able to read her tells so well. 
Between them, their dear friend intercepted the question at hand, causing the both of them to make way.
"He's probably fine!" He waved, dismissively, "What's a little brain damage here or there, right Tyr?"
Brain damage? "Are you trying to convince me to stay or have you suddenly gained an ounce of sincerity?" 
"Can we say 'neither' and call it a day?"
 








On their descent back towards The Andromeda, Tyr noticed the vessel looked barely capable of travel. The measure
of damage it's stern had received wasn't particularly grave, but the focused attack patterns were so clearly 
burned into it's hull, they were impossible to ignore. They had been running from something. 

"Nice to see you back in good form." Dylan congratulated him with a smile that was just as false as the others'. 
"Just in time too, we've got a few repairs to deal with so we'll need to find our way around the system's map
readout. From there we can head to the nearest sector. Morgana II should have the supplies we need." 
At his side, Beka followed his words with a solemn nod, quickly moving to her place in the pilot's seat as this 
impromptu 'meeting' had dissolved with little resolution. 
Curious(and against his better judgement), Tyr found himself eyeing the back of Dylan's head, mentally urging him to
turn around again. He did not.
"I suppose you want me on the bridge?" The request was pitiable, as was his condition, both reflecting poorly on
those around him. 
"How about..." The Captain swung around with an expression one would use to dismiss a child. "You go rest up."
Insulted, Tyr drew away, stifling his fatigue with a pained sigh, "I'm perfectly capable of performing my duties." 
He wasn't, yet his wellbeing never was never the center of discourse until it affected others. By that, he meant
until it affected Dylan. 
From this, the mask of pleasantry began to slide and, in it's place, was one of annoyance. "I think you'll be fine sitting 
this one out." This was his way of saying 'I gave you a command'. The implications being that he wasn't cooperating in some 
way. 








In the maintenance tunnels, Dylan found himself struggling to keep up with exactly where everything was. Even with
Rommie at his side, each terminal looked exactly identical to the one before it. Sure, there were a set of numbers
indicating it's position and relative function within the ship but, to him, they were practically gibberish.
Still, he followed Rommie until she finally stopped at one labeled L890R where she began her work at getting
the hatch open. "Are you sure you're capable of doing repairs on your own?" If anything, he thought it should be 
something like performing surgery on yourself. "If you want, I can bring Mr. Harper in as a consultant." 
She glanced at him and, immediately, he realized he had said the wrong thing. Slowly, he had been building his 
way back to her good will and still, he was finding the process a long, tedious, battle within itself. 
"It's not complicated if you know what you're doing." She said. He wondered if she thought he was doubting her. 
She then gave the console a look as if, it too, had insulted her and muttered, "Mister Harper..." under her
breath. Maybe he was a bit too clinical? 
Once the panel was open, she slid a hand over the controls deep within her systems, tangling fingers in the wires
with one hand and giving the tunnel a knock with the other. "Tell me if it hurts." She then pinched one wire without
severing it, slowly cutting off it's supply of power like blood from an artery. Holding her hand there, she waited
and, soon, the ship's interface came to life at her side. 
"The weapons' systems?" It incurred and, on cue, Rommie squeezed her thumb through the wire, severing it, entirely. 
"Are you sure that's wise?" Dylan asked only to get a glare from the both of them in a display of what felt fittingly
like double-vision. 
Turning back to her work, Rommie began controlling the relay throughout the ship as the ship reluctantly tried to
explain. "As a war ship, most of our energy resources are relegated to our primary weapons. If anything, we
can be stranded, on the verge of destruction, unshielded and losing our air supply but we can never be without proper
offense and artillery." Well, that certainly explained all their previous issues. If anything ever occurred, The Andromeda
could still shoot a target out of space like no one ever thought possible. This led to further explanation, "If we take out 
some of our residual power from these major weapons- most of which have sustained heavy damage anyway- we can use them to 
keep all my other functions online. At least long enough for us to reach our destination." 
"So in other words, let's hope we don't run into any more trouble along the way?"
"Not unless you're itching for a Viking funeral." She then pointed to a dial on the panel's interface, "Make sure
you keep that one level. We don't need to lose all our weapons." Even if she wasn't technically crouching with the rest
of them, The Andromeda seemed to rest all her weight on her legs, leaning forward on her toes. Overseeing the whole process 
as a visual representation of what she was doing on a conceptual level made it all the more obvious she knew her internal 
makeup well. Determined in making sure everything was operating properly even if she couldn't fix it, herself. 
Together, they made a team. You could almost wonder where one began and the other ended.
As if they had read his mind, they decided to answer that question for him, themselves. 
"Was it worth it?" The Andromeda asked, parsing it as a tried and true question, regardless. 
The worst part was, he had no way of answering her. Not truthfully; as he didn't really have an answer, himself. 
"It was necessary." Rommie answered, completely oblivious to his hesitation, "We'll probably get nothing out of it,
but we did the right thing." She then gently closed the panel, running her fingers over the digits carved into it's
designation. "Despite the mess."








Out on the bridge, the titular 'mess' made itself apparent.
"I thought I said we didn't need you on the bridge." He clipped, trying to maintain some form of civility as Tyr ignored
him and kept moving his hands over the panel, designating one checkpoint to the next. 
"And I thought it was a mere suggestion." He knew 'suggestion' translated to 'orders I would ignore if I didn't want to 
follow them' which made the situation even more frustrating. 
He decided the best course of action was to ignore it. "Beka." He addressed his pilot as she sat up in her chair, tense 
and awaiting orders. "You should have complete control with the ship's piloting system now, just..." He winced at the mental 
image of the ship floating through space as vulnerable as a bird's egg. Even with a thick shell and healthy weight, it could 
still be dashed to the floor, below; leaving behind nothing but a puddle. "Stay out of trouble out there. If anything 
rears it's head, keep moving. We won't be making any stops for any reason, understood?" The state of his crew did not 
escape him, but, he couldn't let their emotions affect his. Even if they were at their worst; as Captain, he had to remain 
impartial and unaffected. Any sign of crumbling and they, too, would fall. 
With that said, he couldn't help but to notice the lack of sarcasm on the deck. Even in the worst of times, someone had
something to say. Turning, he watched as Harper peered over Tyr's arm at the console, reading off checkpoint locations. 
Odd, wasn't it? That this level of quiet professionalism only came out when things were at their worst? "Harper." He called 
and noticed his engineer didn't turn his way. Instead, staying focused on the task at hand as if that prevented him from 
hearing anything a good three feet away. Reaching out, he placed a hand on the map, covering it and forcing Harper to look him
square in the eye. "After you're finished with this, you might want to head by med bay so we can get a good assessment of your 
injury. I'd also like to get a statement of the events that transpired."
Regrettably, by saying this, it elicited a cruel smile on Tyr's face, almost pushing him to the verge of laughter. 
"Forgive me, but, I think I'd like to hear of these accounts, myself." The rush of air from his lungs spelled something
something dark, completely devoid of joy. It sent a line of dread down Dylan's spine. 
He then dismissed it, altogether. "I'm sure we can work something out." The smile suddenly dropped from Tyr's face, 
forming into something wide-eyed and hostile. He turned away from it. "Andromeda, give us a readout of our ETA." 
A timer appeared on the viewscreen, plotting out an estimated three hours, twelve minutes, and fifty-four seconds until 
they would reach the nearest outpost. He never liked the sight of a clock ticking down. "Trance, what do you have on
our condition?" 
In the midst of the chaos quietly gravitating around her, stood Trance, her arms folded around her 
body as a way to ease herself from the moment. Given the body language, this either meant she was the most neutral of
the group or she was, at least, certainly doing a good job of pretending to be. She looked to him and frowned. "I haven't
checked." 
"Well would you mind doing that for me then?" The prompt was gentle enough to coax her to her station, her eyes trained 
on him as if she was trying to tell him something. Following suit, he met her at the diagnostics module and watched as
she painstakingly plucked at the screen. 
"You should probably start clearing the systems' files before..." Her eyes darted over to Tyr's station for a brief moment, 
her expression paling.
"Already started. In three hours time, the whole thing will be swept under the rug and no one will have proof that Project 
Prerogative ever happened." 
"Do you think that's wise?" She asked as Dylan felt the warmth of a headache begin to resonate in the back of his 
neck. "Erasing all evidence that seems...wrong. Rewriting history before it's written."
"And you'd prefer the alternative?" 
She sat on that thought and, true to her nature, answered it with a question of her own. "Do you think it'll absolve you?" 
They stood, staring at each other, trying to get a read on who would say what first. Her gaze was unwavering and thoughtful,
trapping him in a spotlight he knew he wouldn't be able to worm his way out from with a mere dismissal. This would follow
him until he gave her what she wanted. 
Balancing on the palms of his hands, Dylan leaned over her console. It was imperative that she could hear just how grave
his tone had become or he knew she wouldn't take his sincerity seriously. "I have nothing to be absolved of." 
A small blip showed on her console and they both looked down just as the ship galloped, sending them both to the floor. 
It was like they hit something with no impact, the ship tipping as if it was pushed up and then failed to coordinate itself,
floating aimlessly with it's head to the sky. The rest of the crew had been luckier. Beka's firm grip on the controls kept 
her in her seat but began to steer the ship off course, causing the ETA to count up instead of down. Harper and Tyr had the 
railing to support them while Rommie needed no assistance at all. 
Quickly running to the main panel, she turned off the auxiliary power and reset it, the ship flicked from dark to light in
a moment and, when the timer returned back on the screen, it had already added twenty minutes to it's countdown. 
"We're not moving." She pointed out. 
In turn, Harper let out a groan that was, fittingly, the first sound he's made all night. "Don't tell me we're stranded..."
"We're not stranded."
"We're marooned, then."
"That's not what being marooned means."
"Okay, you come up with a word!!" 
In a moment, everyone knew what word came to mind. No one said it, but, it was good knowing that everyone still had that 
good, old fashioned, team mentality. "How about 'temporarily delayed'?" Dylan insisted, pulling himself up to the console, 
eyeing the utility bag he had slung over his shoulder. Did they mess up the systems by rerouting power? "Or, better yet, 
'under a minor setback'?" 
"A frozen ship in the middle of nowhere is not a minor setback, alright? That's when people start getting cannibalized!" 
It was here that Tyr slinked into the conversation, leaning over his post in a haze, "If that's the case, my dear, you 
have nothing to worry about." 
"Hey, I'm edible!" 
"Of course you are."
"I bet I could sustain a whole fleet!" 
Before things could divulge into any more bickering, The Andromeda's avatar filled their main viewscreen looking anything 
but pleased. "It's the main engine line. Artillery fire to the left bow of the ship seems to have damaged the base keeping the engine 
stable.
"So, what? We hit a theoretical pothole and bumped it out of place?" Beka asked, trying to remember the last time she'd had that 
happen on a ship. "Usually, the engine was where we put the most effort to keep it locked in place. Any leakage from one of those means 
going supernova."
"Something like that." The ship turned to Rommie, brushing off the rest of the crew as uninformed and, thus, unimportant to the task
at hand. "I can uplink the directory of the outer hull into your program module. From there, you should be able to find the damage and 
reposition the engine back into it's original place." Easier said than done.







The spec suits were large, bulky, almost comically annoying. Dylan had never been first in line to wear one. The material
they were built out of made you feel suffocated, wrapped up in your own body bag. Space suits were less of a problem.
There was something about having your own ventilation unit that kept you from facing down the prospect of death. Probably
because it wasn't half as sweat-inducing to wear one. The cushioning helped too. He wasn't a fan of making gear accessible-
their functions should be the main priority- but he did enjoy that they were less of a nightmare to wear. 
Looking to Rommie, at his left, he watched her snap the seals encircling her helmet. She looked defined, now, wearing
the suit as if she had done it her whole life. Her model was originally a maintenance droid so you had to wonder
what parts still remembered their original function and, from that, which parts were hers, alone. 
Through the comm mic, Dylan heard her voice crackle into his helmet, "You're daydreaming again." She said as
he immediately glanced down to Harper still working on trying to get her boots fastened. "He can't hear us. This is
a private channel." Looking down at him, Rommie seemed to soften for just a brief moment. "I'm only going to say this 
because you can't hear me." She announced, "But I sort of miss your weird little crush." Harper then stood, said a number 
of things that neither of them could hear, even so much as emphasizing his words with hand movements that made watching 
the whole ordeal much more amusing than actually having to hear it. She then gave him a thumbs up and he signaled back 
to her an 'ok', quickly running out of the exit bay with a light stride. "I think he'll be okay." Rommie was speaking quietly 
now, her voice just a subtle hum over his transceiver. "That's just Harper, he always finds a way to bounce back." For a moment, 
they stood in the silence. She then turned to him. In the light of the ship, he couldn't see her face and he was sure she couldn't 
see his. They remained silent, waiting for the other to make the first move. 
"Everyone has their limits." He spoke up over the soft buzz of his transceiver. 
"Do you think Tyr's reached his?" 
"I don't think he can afford to." That man was chaos. He lived in it, he thrived in it, and he made the best decisions
of any Highguard soldier that Dylan had seen with it. That was where he began to grow concerned. It was quiet now, and
the silence allowed him time to ruminate. The worst Tyr had to offer always came in these moments; not in cold, calculated,
cruelty but in the quietness of his own thoughts. The man forged battles before they even came, expected them even. 
Expected the worst of those around him and, often times, was proven right. Dylan felt like it was his duty to prove him
wrong. 
The light indicating that it was now safe to exit had lit up in a brilliant green and Dylan pulled the hatch open into
the night. 









The deck had become a well-organized mess. Awaiting orders, everyone had been glued to their stations, refusing to
so much as look up or speak out. The last thing they needed was another loss. They'd chalked up way too many in the 
past few weeks that success was staring to feel like a fluke. "Standby." Beka commanded, turning on the communication 
receiver and watching as the signal blipped in and out. In space, there wasn't so much static as there was just
regular interference. You could guess it was brought on by the nearby planets(one bad atmosphere and you run the risk
of experiencing a complete blackout for days on end) but she liked to be optimistic and fall back on an old familiar
favorite. Good old space junk. Pieces from star ships that had been destroyed or space stations that become too old
to stay together were usual fare. They passed, easily, from one place to another, typically following a pattern not
unlike a meteor shower. Space was an infinite dumping ground of possibilities and you never knew what'll wash up
next. After a few moments, the crew heard crackling on the other end, the signal flaring to life all in one go. 
"Attention crew members of the Andromeda Ascendant." Dylan announced and, even through the transmission chatter, you
could hear the smile slapped across his face. "It seems we have found the problem." 
A sigh of relief washed over the deck and Beka couldn't help but to feel a cheeky smile coming on, herself. Talk
about a change of luck. "Loud and clear." She responded which was a lie, of course, his voice was neither loud nor
clear and was backed by this awful buzz that set her teeth on edge. "Is it the engine?" 
"No, no, it's like we hit something. There is clear damage where the engine is located and that's probably the main cause 
of our problems but this...it's a mess." 
Biting her lip, Beka concentrated, trying to recall their trip. Surely, if they had hit something, the sensors would've
picked it up first. 
"Set the auxiliary power to maximum. I wanna see if we can shake it." 







Staring at the mass, Dylan followed the odd patterns in the metallic formation now trapped at the base of the ship.
He'd never seen anything like it, before. The Andromeda had been built with a sleek, rounded, design in order to 
avoid colliding with anything that may come within it's path. To have something caught in it's hull was almost
sacrilege by design.  
Moving along the fire-pattern across the back, Rommie used her support tether to swing to the other side, kicking
off the lower end of the Andromeda's 'feet' to create a wide arc for her to move to the opposite side. Now observing 
it from both ends, they watched as the ship hummed a bit, knocking the sheet of metal gently but refusing to give way. 
It looked like a bad hangnail. "I don't think this is debris." Rommie suggested as the knocking sounded off again and 
in the moment, they realized they were staring at a piece of the ship, itself. 
Setting his receiver back to the ship, he was about to call off the whole thing when the knocking became a loud roar.
"Was that-?" He turned just as The Andromeda flared to life, it's backup engines activating in full-force. 
Still connected to the ship, Dylan felt his support tether give a harsh tug and then another. Grabbing the base of it's 
line, he wrapped his fingers around it, feeling the give in the material around it. It became apparent he was holding 
his own life in his hands, just mere seconds from having it ripped away. "No no no no-" Jamming his thumbs into the connector, he 
tried to disconnect it, manually, only for the safety locks to register it as another pull from the ship and lock it down
futher. Sweat started forming under his arms as he rapidly lost composure and began slamming against the link with 
his palms. An image of being road hauled across the stars captured his mind, the lack of gravity and speed alone would 
reduce his body to a liquid state inside his suit. It would peel back every layer of his skin, muscles, tissue; every building
block that he was made up of would turn to a state of gelatinous meat and broken bones. He was so consumed with the image of
his mangled nervous system wrapped around his brain stem that he hadn't noticed Rommie had leveraged herself towards the ship 
by her tubing. Quickly using it as one does a cable when rock climbing, she held it firmly at the length she wanted to 
keep it at and kicked off the ship, the hydraulics in her legs sending her to- or, in this case, into- him as her body 
collided with his. Snagging the main connector, she grabbed it at two points and pulled, causing it to rupture. Just as 
the engines flared to life, she was scrambling to disconnect herself before the pulse wave of The Andromeda sent them both 
cascading into the dark. 







It was as if the floor had been pulled out from under them. Knocked down, Tyr could feel the pain overtake
him now. Through gritted teeth, he fought against the sound that came pouring from his lungs and tried to reach
his station only to fall when the ship lurched forward once more. Blaring overhead through the speakers, the ship
screamed out every warning it had in a mass of garbled voices before cutting out, leaving them all in silence. 
Having rolled onto his side, Tyr observed that the others were already on their feet, gazing out across the room
in quiet paranoia. 
In this case, as in all cases, the boy was the first one to speak. "Um, what was that?" He questioned, eyeing the
corners of the room with suspicion.  
Kneeling at his side, Beka tried and failed to help him up. He regarded the gesture but brushed her off anyway. He
didn't need her sympathies. "How far?" He demanded of her.
"What?" 
Tyr was gritting his teeth once again, pushing himself off the floor, biting down the pain. "We moved. How far?" 
Stumbling over to the map readout, Trance threaded through them cautiously, "We must've engaged a slip somehow." 
Nervously, she began tapping at the screens, searching for something. "I'm not getting a readout from any star maps." 
She announced, "I can't even tell where we are." 









Grace had never been something gifted to Androids, robots, or any machinery of the sort. There was something so fluid in
the way lifeforms moved that couldn't be replicated without being noticeably off. Despite Harper's best efforts, Rommie
still fit under this category from time to time. Gravity had always been a good measure of how movement worked. Every 
motion was like throwing a ball of different weight and guesstimating how it should land. Without that, she realized 
every movement she now made was far too fast for how strong her body was. She couldn't risk trying to catch Dylan with 
arms made of compacted durasteel without first measuring her own weight against his. Anything too fast, and
she could risk slicing him in half. Trying the comm link, she found it wouldn't connect. Not only were they too far
from the Andromeda Ascendant to carry a signal, but, whatever signal they had was not entirely stable
to begin with. With any luck, they'd pass a satellite and she could give him a piece of her mind. Until then, she supposed
a buzz of static would have to do. Cranking up the volume on her receiver, she set up a link and blasted his ears with
a sound that was enough to get her point across. Immediately, he flinched, twisting around with as much force as he could
muster. For a moment, she expected him to send the same back to her. This would do nothing on her end, but, it would've
conveyed something. Instead, she received silence. It was difficult trying to talk to each other now. They'd never had
anything drive a wedge between them before and Dylan was absolutely nothing like Beka, Trance, or Tyr. You couldn't 
appeal to him. He was far too bullheaded to admit he was wrong because, in his mind, he was right so long as his intentions 
were right. The prospect of losing The Commonwealth was starting to become a reality and, after what they'd just been through, 
she was prepared to lay down a truce. No surrender, no sympathy. They both just needed time to get their heads back on straight. 
She set the volume lower and let out another burst of static so Dylan, in turn, would begin to move his hands, attempting
to signal to her through the thick gloves of his suit. He made a fist and circled it over his head, extending his hand,
and finally pointing to what was left of his support cable. She wasn't entirely sure what any of this meant, but, she
did feel the beginnings of a plan start to form. Grabbing her own cable, she wrapped her fingers around it, letting
the mechanics of her arm center around her shoulder to create a sort of piston-effect. Wringing it around her wrist, 
she held it firmly at her hip until there wasn't an inch left to spare. She then pulled it like a rip-chord, sending 
herself spinning forward in a blur that would make any humanoid lose their lunch. 
The problem here was inertia. There was none in space so she'd have to keep spinning forward until she hit something. That
was where Dylan came in. Trying to cushion the blow, she managed to hit him and, in an instant, latched onto
his chord; pulling the both of them into a nausea-inducing tango that, by the looks of it, put him on the verge of blacking
out. With the added friction between their suits, their spin gradually slowed to a stop and Rommie, making use of her new-found
speed, tied their chords together. 

Now that at least kept him from floating off. Feeling herself ease, Rommie wanted to turn on the comm link, 
to ask him if he was alright, to try to appeal to one of the thousands of stressors that lined his face. Instead, 
she just stared through his visor and watched him smile at her, weary and exhausted. Patting her helmet with a gloved 
hand. Soon, he began to relax and they quietly surrendered to floating among the stars.
His life systems were the only light illuminating them in the dark. The soft green glow across the ribcage of his suit
brought her a sense of ease. She was thankful they had kept the air supply fueled and the suits untampered with. Even 
disconnected from the ship, Dylan should have enough resources to last up to five hours. There was no telling what the
strain of being trapped in a suit for long periods of time like this could have on him. 










Everyone on the ship had scattered now, having run to opposite ends of the deck to try to find where they were or
how they got there. That was the issue with ship malfunctions. They required this painstakingly long application of combing
through maps and readouts which were usually bogged down with useless information. Yes, we know it's seventy-three
degrees. Can you tell us why the ship is able to run sometimes but only on accident? 
"Looks like we only moved forward." Harper announced, zooming in on a detailed history of the ship's pathing. "No
jump, no slip, just a good ol' slide." He then aimed his bandaged hand, finger pointed like an arrow, forward. 
"Then how come nothing is registering on our maps?" Beka asked and watched as everyone began looking to one another
for an answer. "Anybody?" She asked and for a moment, she saw something in Harper's expression grow restless and 
frustrated.
"I got it, I got it." He started up, the corners of his eyes narrowing as he abandoned his station and began to 
head towards the main viewscreen. With a few key presses, he watched a log of information roll across his field
of vision. "I say we consult our lovely lady of the stars."
The screen blipped to life and the ship's avatar stared at him with a bold expression. "For once I wished you
wouldn't resort to flattery."
"Who's calling it flattery?" Harper shrugged, squatting down on his haunches to stare up at the computer from his 
comfortable spot on the floor. "So, how's it going?"
Okay, they did not have time for this. Crossing her arms, Beka shot him a glare that could knock him flat on
his ass. "Harper, I don't think this is the time to start flirting with the-" 
"I'm working here!" He yapped, turning his attention back to the computer. "You haven't been changing bath soaps have you?
Been keeping up with your daily routines? What about your engines? How do they feel?" 
For a moment, Beka was pretty sure that if the Andromeda Ascendant were able to, it would've slapped him right then and
there. Instead, the avatar closed her eyes and simply let it wash over her. "We relayed all of our power from weapons to
my other functions. Simple enough, we thought that once we got to our destination, it didn't matter what condition I
was in so long as we achieved our goal." 
For a moment, he perked up, his arms draping off his knees now perched on top of his legs, pushing him towards the viewscreen.
"What goal?"
"Your medical care and my repairs."
Immediately, he deflated, his face pulled into something un-Harper-like and, for a moment, he just didn't say anything.
Intervening before they could say anything else, Beka caught the ship's attention by inserting herself into the conversation.
"So you blew out a gasket." She pointed out, "You know, I don't think I've ever met an A.I. that I'd call an overachiever 
but you? You're cutting it pretty close." Crossing her arms over her chest, she let the little joke waver a bit, just long
enough to spring Harper back into action.
"So-" He began, standing up to his full height, clapping the dirt off his hands, "Where does it hurt?"







'Falling through space' no longer seemed to be an accurate phrase and, now that Rommie had experienced the real 
thing, she was convinced whoever coined the term must've never been up here. Buoying against the cosmic push and pull, 
she had imagined it would've been more like flying instead of floating endlessly on her back while the world 
moved around her. This was always the issue of space flight, everything was always moving. Even a 
large warship still skidded along the waves, across it's depths, through this mass. To say that there was nothing
in the blackness of space was a misunderstanding. There were so many factors at play up here among the stars, they were 
just invisible to the human eye. As a ship, she'd be able to gauge their direction through a simple energy readout. As
an Android, she had no chance of doing so. Now stuck, tapering off any course of action she could've preemptively 
planned, Rommie found herself thinking back to an old strategy Beka had taught her when the gravity field in The 
Maru gave out. To keep from losing your sense of direction, it was best to grab hold of something and see where
it carried you. Sound advice if the object in question was secured to something. Out here, all she had to grab
onto was Dylan and the chord tethering them together. Well, better than nothing, she supposed. Grabbing the support
cable, Rommie felt the tug of gravity on the other end. Seeing as humans were lighter than Androids, he seemed to
float easier than she did. So much so, in fact, that she started feeling like a child holding a balloon. A very
large, man-shaped balloon. Still, it did give her a sense of direction. By following the way gravity tugged him
along, she could easily see which way they were being pulled and how hard. At first it proved to be gentle, sort
of like water running through a stream only, the longer she held on, the more resistance she found between them. 
Whatever gravitational pull he was swept up in was far too weak to have any effect on her, creating an effect
similar to a ship with an anchor deployed. She found herself having to retie their chord. Ironically, the Universe 
was, quite literally, trying to pull them apart. 
As she admired her knot, Rommie caught a glimpse of something floating past her head, small and innocuous, she
watched it float by. Then another, much larger, object. She couldn't quite tell what it was she was looking at,
only that it was weathered and old. Most likely made of artificial material. She then turned to see where they 
were all coming from, immediately regretting her decision. Apparently Beka's call on 'space debris' being in 
this sector wasn't some lazy explanation conjured up to make them stop worrying. On a large warship, objects
like this would be a minor annoyance, something to bounce off the shields; but out here, exposed in the vastness
of space, they were deadly. 
Asteroids and meteorites, even old clusters of metals like permasteel, were usually treated with caution even
though a majority of them burned up in a planet's atmosphere. That was because they remained a threat so
long as they stayed up in space. If you ever wonder why there was always such a stink about asteroid
belts back in the day, no one knew how to pass through them without resorting to suicidal-levels of maneuvering.
In her mind, she was still a ship. Every option that came to her were things that came from that. She could 
pull her shields up, lower minor laser fire to twenty percent, and it would be over in an instant. Now, she 
had to take into account the size and trajectory of their movement. With her weight, she was keeping them from 
being swept up out of their range, instead they would pass through them, bearing the brunt of any collision. 
The tactic here would be not to try to prevent it(maneuvering was now impossible), but to survive it. Turning
towards Dylan, she pulled him close. If anything, she could at least provide him cover, letting the barrage 
of rock and metal take it's toll. With each impact, she was unharmed, unable to know the true brunt of a
nervous system, but the weight pushed her servos in places that made them whine, resisting the damage, as
they were compacted further against each other. In the absence of pain, came the blaring signal to her brain
of what, exactly, what being damaged and how. Her left leg could no longer receive a signal, entirely cut off
from any manual operation. The others were all minor issues- decreased motor function, a minor leak in her
coolant systems- nothing that couldn't be fixed by a tuning up.
Just as she figured they had weathered the worst of it, she turned just in time to see a meteorite smash 
through her visor, cutting everything to black. 










"Due to the heavy damages sustained during our..." The ship's avatar began, suddenly moving it's eyes over to
Tyr and then deciding to replot it's words, "...last encounter, it seems the directional input of my systems 
has been damaged. After that last blast of auxiliary power, it tipped the direction even further off course and
I am now only capable of moving in reverse." 
Supporting his frame against the console, the tiny professor's mind started to concoct a plan of it's own.
"So, how about it, Beka, wanna try going through the slipstream backwards?" He suggested.
"Depends..." She turned to the others with a knowing look, "How cool are you with getting turned inside-out?" 
"Okay, Plan B..." He conceded, eyes darting over mathematics that were only visible to his mind, alone. "What about 
the back-current of an explosion? If we set one off, we might be able to ride out it's momentum."
"We've already sustained enough damage as is. Any more and the nose might crumble off this thing." She then turned
to the machine, "Or, uh-"
"No offense taken." The Andromeda replied, considering the option regardless. "I believe we might be able to do
it if the explosions were contained." 
"Contained how?"
It grimaced, "There are some leftovers from the deactivated mines we gathered from that cleanup mission above
Polaris IV. If we can get someone to place the mines and activate them by reutilizing a slipfighter's launch and 
release system.." 
"We can keep our trajectory on a steady course outta here." The little one finished, regarding the diagram
with enthusiasm.
"It's settled then." Tyr announced, deciding already that he was obviously the one suitable for the position. "I'll 
begin making preparations while my vessel is being refitted." 
By all regards, he had expected light praise for his dedication yet, in return, they all acted as if he had
not only broken some kind of taboo, but, was also the taboo, himself.
Miss Valentine seemed to be the most vocal about her discretions.
"Woah, you're not going anywhere." She exclaimed, hands raised as if to placate him. "You helping out on the deck
was fun for a second but you can't just hop in a slipfighter and fly out there by yourself." 
"Can't I?" Tyr craned his head, slow and steady. "Between you and I there are no others who can pilot one of those 
vessels still aboard this ship. We need your efficiency here." 
Exasperated now, she seemed to have rounded past the point of debate and was now calling for a ceasefire. "Tyr, you 
can barely move as is. Go rest. If we need you, we'll call you."
"Call me?" He scoffed.
"This isn't up for debate."
"Are you giving me orders?" He inclined, "You?" Laughing, he watched as she held her tongue. If he could push her far
enough, she'd say it. "And what of you?" He regarded the snake in their company with enough disdain to stir a response;
quiet and unremarkable as it was. "Do you have anything to say? Any commands to give me? Have I fallen so far that
even you are above me in the chain of command?" 
"Tyr-"
His neck twisted in one quick snap of his now-ignited fury. "What!?" Misaimed as his anger was, he had to watch as 
his Charge froze and recoiled; quickly wrapping his fingers over his bandaged hand to protect it. He was looking 
away now yet still persisted, "Somebody's gotta fix up the slipfighter and, well, I'm out of commission here so, uh..."
He cleared his throat for a brief moment, "Wanna be my right hand man?" 

Tyr stood there, quiet, motionless. Never before had he felt so...









...Monstrous




When the paint and spackle had all but been torn off, all that remained was something that didn't even appear human,
more or less, alive. She watched Dylan's mouth move from under the visor of his helmet. Visual communication all had been 
but destroyed the moment the meteorite had smashed through her suit, brutalizing her frontal countenance until nothing was left
but the exposed machinery underneath. Against the lack of inertia around them, she forced her joints to move through
the cold, feeling them grind from the strain. She wanted to tell him she was okay. That whatever damage she had 
received was nothing worth worrying about. Her body had been through greater abuse and, by comparison, this was nothing. 

How else could you convey that than with a thumbs up? 


By Dylan's expression, it was clear he wasn't buying it but none of that mattered now. There was no 
guarantee of a timely rescue. Not without a proper S.O.S. plea. Besides, he couldn't hold onto a support cable forever. 
Realizing that she had no other options available to her, Rommie pulled off her helmet, allowing the rest of her head to 
become exposed to the sheer vacuum around them. Since she had already sustained damage, she didn't exactly need the suit 
for anything above the neck. Feasibly, she could still 'hear' and 'see' only through means that were different to the ones
most humanoids had at their disposal. 

She would have to utilize a coded message within a contained frequency. Space wasn't exactly as quiet as people expected
it to be. Quite the opposite. They weren't even within the distance of any heavenly body and yet the natural cosmic 
wails echoed their way through the stars, overpowering her sensors at every turn. As a ship, these sounds were pleasant, they 
were these guiding calls to distant lands, even in the most barren of starscapes. As an android, they overlapped and overwhelmed. 
At the base of her neural network, Rommie gathered the centralized data of local star maps that expanded
through the region they were currently in. She can thank Beka for those modifications, deeming that if Harper
had enough room to fit in a series of biomaterial scanners and a more complex version of his translator, she should probably 
be equipped with something that could help her find a sense of direction. Especially now, seeing as she couldn't exactly use his 
conventional method of covering a finger with spit and seeing which way the wind blew. 
Forgetting that she had an audience, she didn't realize that a few moments of inactivity upon removing her helmet 
could perhaps be cause for concern. Dylan's hand had tugged at hers and she nearly lost her locational ping altogether. 
Placing a hand on his helmet, she hoped the gesture would come across enough to explain that she was fine yet he did
not let go. Curious, as it was, she passed it off as a fear of separation, not concern. If she was anything, she was at
least durable. 








The docking bay had become a pleasant escape from the woes of the upper deck. When working in the presence of
the tiny professor, neither of them felt the need for conversation, just a point and a motion will do. Now that
their assignment was built around being instructed, it had become more of the same. Being accompanied
by someone with actual knowledge made the job somehow more frustrating than when he'd have to make a guess
and learn from there. Even with all the pamphlets he'd been filing through, Tyr still wasn't particularly well 
acquainted with the mechanics of a ship. Easily, he could dismiss it as a skill that didn't appeal to him. He 
could presume he didn't see the appeal in aiding technology in any manner, but, then he would be lying. 
He knew the layout of The Andromeda's main interface. It was the only thing he was able to touch during his time 
in captivity and the boy spent that time observing, not helping. Now, that he was being given orders and over a 
Slipfighter, no less, the experience was less than enjoyable. 
"You know this is easier with gloves." The boy remarked, breaking their silence for a moment, "How about I go
grab you some." Patting his leg, he left Tyr there to stare at the opening in the ship's side. He wasn't sure 
what kept it from falling apart. Every point of the ship seemed vital. One shot and the whole vessel would 
fall apart. He never liked these ships but, knowing how thin the line between life and death was 
made his distaste grow. Moving his hands inside the panel, he couldn't find the conduit beneath this heavy 
curtain of wires. Try as he may, it became difficult to maneuver and, inevitably, he knew he had to move them.
A handful was all he needed, just enough to let him pass. Pulling them out, letting them stretch past their 
limit, he could finally see the way to the other side.
The wires before him began to blur together into one serpentine mess, spilling out of the ship's walls and into 
his hands. He held his palms out, steadily feeling them unwind around his fingers. Nothing in his
mind could process it. He'd held a man's insides in his hands like this before, bursting from his gut. Following
his first instinct, the response was to pull. The fog in his mind built up and his pulling became more frantic.
The wires now burned marks into his fingers and yet he couldn't stop, the world began to twist at his feet. 

"What are you doing?" It suddenly became apparent that the little one was snapping at him. His face
was crass and joyless. Something bubbling just under the surface was now starting to leak out. 
Covering the outlet with his hands, he blocked it off, letting himself quietly seethe. "I get it, you're all screwed
up right now, but you can't lose it all over our hail mary, here." He grievously began to pull the wiring from Tyr's
grip. "I'll take care of it. You..." Rolling his eyes, he let out a sigh of frustration. "Get some sleep, alright?" 
Stilling himself against the bulkhead, Tyr did not move an inch. He just stood there, watching the tiny
engineer pull at a wire and clip it so that he could cinch it to another. The hand he was nursing stayed
pressed to the front of his shirt, splayed over his ribcage. He hadn't even been offered a sling. 
Tyr considered how little time he had expected to spend with this injury and, surely, if the ship was running
effectively, neither of them would have had to deal with these setbacks. He then clasped his hands together, slowly
running his thumb across the top of a dull ache there. It made himself consider the nature of his condition. 
His body had gone through punishment before, but, it was always with something that made itself apparent. One could
see a knife wound and recognize it's cause. This, he'd never experienced before. It was featureless and quiet and 
extended out from inside his body. An illness, he suspected. One he'd never seen before. 
The snap of a wire squeezed between a pair of pilers woke him from his thoughts, leaving him wondering how much
time had passed. 
"Perhaps I will..." He answered, causing the boy to look up at him. For a moment, something had passed between them. 
A word. Not spoken from the mouth but the eyes. He then turned, wandering over to a discarded towel he'd 
laid out. The smell of it wasn't nearly as foul as he expected and the very act of resting upon it was enough 
to make him surrender to the quiet oblivion of sleep. 










At her pilot's seat, Beka was hard at work. Glaring down at the console, she twisted her features against it's
light as she imputed several orders, deleted them, and imputed several more. It seemed eclectic the way she 
was working now; her senses all torn at the fringes, unable to focus. Rusty as she was, Trance figured 
she knew a way to fix it.
"What are you doing?" She asked. Simple questions usually helped rewire someone's brain when they were in the middle 
of work. It gave them a moment to step back and think about their actions enough to explain them. 
"I'm scanning the area for..." Beka paused; then swiveled in her seat, her back now to the console. Leaning against it, she
balanced herself by the pads of her thumbs, her boots creaking with every subtle sway of her body. "Oh, you know, 
planets, asteroids, ships...anything that might try to blast us into a million pieces out here. Better to know the layout 
just in case."
"I never took you for much of a cartographer." 
"Hey, if a map doesn't work, you can always make your own..." Beka then shrugged, swinging back to pour over her work. 
"Besides, I've done this sorta thing before, remember?" The lack of a response caused her to briefly turn and check to 
see if she had heard her. She had. Trance gave her an apologetic smile.  
"When you have to run illegal freight between two star systems with some pretty secure borders, you have to find the 
little holes here and there where you can crawl in. Boring, uneventful spots. The kind of places nobody ever bothered 
to mention." 
"Building something out of nothing?" 
"Exactly." 
Suddenly, the viewscreen beeped at them, displaying the placement of several objects with little to no descriptors.
Two large ones- let's assume they were planets- and a chain of...smaller objects moving in tandem with each other, 
encircling each other into one great spiral. 
"Well that's weird." Said Beka. "Andromeda." She called as the ship's avatar appeared on the screen before her. 
"Yes?" 
"Any idea what that's all about?" Pointing out at the formation, she spun her finger in a circle to emphasize the shape.
"Scanning..." Stiffening, the ship seemed disturbed by what she'd found, her eyes darting between her and Trance in hopes
of a reaction. 
"What? What's up?" 
"I think we should leave immediately." 
"Why?"
"There's a large mass of matter being pulled into one place. It seems to be forming around a magnetic field." 
Heaving a deep sigh, Beka leaned over her console, a hand reaching up from her cheek to her hair and back down again. 
"Not again..."
The ship acknowledged that comment but said nothing. Instead, she pressed her lips into a deep frown, "If we don't get out
of here soon, a black hole will begin to form in it's place. It's best we leave as soon as possible."
"The only way out is always through, isn't it?" Trance observed, turning to Beka with an assuredness she did not share.
"No way, I'm not getting near that thing." 
"Well, you're going to have to come up with something." The ship announced, cutting off their line of thought. "Even if 
I was fully operational, once it forms, it'll become too strong for us to work against."
As usual, the odds didn't seem to sway her. "Well, I guess then it's time to get to work." Chalking up yet another 
immediate danger up in her mind as just another day, she leaned back in her seat. "Unless, of course, you want
to get a good look at what this place'll look like three hundred years from now."
For a moment, Trance wanted to tell her that she once knew exactly what it would look like but she didn't, kindly
smiling to her friend. "I think I'd rather see it for myself." 










Within the dark blanket of sleep, Tyr did not find rest. He remembered this feeling before, of having to take
a brief intermission in the midst of an assassination to just rest his eyes. One could never feel safe wrapped
up in the web of violence but, pulled to your limit, you could pretend long enough to recuperate. It wasn't until
recently that he'd been sleeping regularly. Yes, he was usually accompanied by a weapon of sort but his conditioning
had kept him sharp. Even in sleep, his senses were still working, endlessly waiting for the warning signs of
danger. Exhausted still, his pain seemed to have followed him into his dreams, amplifying itself as his mind tried to
replay a memory that had all but deteriorated. Watching these images hasten, too fast to catch before they rotted 
away, entirely. Warped voices came through to him, alien and warbled beyond recognition. A hand clamped down on his side. 
Snapping his eyes open, Tyr swung, holding his aggressor at bay with the firm press of his arm to their throat. As
the sleep dropped from his eyes, he saw that sitting there, at his side, was his companion. Staring at the 
position they were in, Tyr looked over the part of his arm poised to the boy's neck. If he still had his blades...
Retracting his arm, he let it fall, heavily, to his side. They had both been taken aback in the moment. Neither of them 
could scrounge around for any words to say. They looked to each other. In a way, he was trying to ask something no one
would answer and the silent conversation died where it stood. Getting up, Tyr pushed himself towards the exit and left. 










Through her visual scanners, Rommie watched Dylan's eyes grow weary with exhaustion. 
Having stayed in his suit this long, trapped in a neutral position, it was only natural he'd begin to nod 
off. Subtly, at first, she watched him hang upside-down against the backdrop of space. He 
yawned and stared back at her through half-lidded eyes. She wished she could manually switch him off, run him through
a proper system reset, and have him running at full capacity in no more than twenty minutes. She also wished he no longer
had to breathe. His oxygen supply had about three more hours left to it's unit. For someone working just outside the 
ship, this was a generous length of time. For floating aimlessly through space, it was more of a cruel mercy. She looked
to his vital signs. Green, vibrant, safe. When her eyes returned to him, he was already asleep, gently cradled by the 
push and pull of the cosmos. 









"Inaccessible." 
Tyr's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Inaccessible to whom?" 
The ship's avatar appeared unaffected. "To you." It had spoken, flatly, indifferent to his position, exactly as he had expected. 
"Under whose orders?" 
"The Captain's."
Slamming his hands against the outer rim of the keypad, he leaned forward, letting his forehead press against the warmth
radiating off the monitor. At this proximity, the words scrolling across it blurred into various shapes and colors against 
his vision. He closed his eyes to it. 
"I assumed you would empathize." 
"How so?" 
"Do you ever wonder what pieces could be missing from your own memory? Kept under lock and key by the command of those 
around you?" 
The machine had no answer to give. 
"Years ago, our shared companion found one entirely by chance." His voice then dropped, thick as lead. "If I were to 
crack you open, what is it I would find?" 
Of all things, Tyr never thought he would find himself using manipulation tactics against a machine and yet,
they always seemed to be the most vulnerable. Guilt, he found, was a particularly tricky concept for them. 
"Alright." The Andromeda surrendered to his plea. "I have a recording that wouldn't...exactly defy my orders if I 
were to show it to you." His eyes snapped open as he leaned away from the viewscreen, watching the archived footage 
buffer and play across his blurred vision. 

It was a video file, hastily recorded, and barely received. The visual quality was low and the resolution
left something to be desired. From it, was the image of their engineer looking distressed, quietly whispering into
an audio transmitter as if to keep from being heard. "Hey, uh, so I might've stumbled upon something out here."
He swallowed, audibly, his voice seemed dry; hands visibly shaking. "Yeah, I know, I should've suspected something
but I really thought..." He clasped his teeth, visibly, cutting off his remark from the start. "It doesn't matter 
what I thought. Let's just say I'm in the belly of the beast, here so, uh, consider this an S.O.S. Urgent. Like, 
screaming urgent." He made a quick turn to glance at something over his shoulder but the audio was far too condensed 
for him to hear. Turning back to his device, the boy's face looked a shade paler than before. "Whatever you do...don't 
send Tyr."









The exposed circuits in her body were starting to become blanketed in a type of stilled death. Her servos
could no longer move, leaving her frozen as she was. A Type of rigor mortis for machines. The only systems
still functioning were her most basic and essential ones, keeping her aware of her surroundings yet without
the ability to perceive them. She was going to shut down. Not in the way of death but in the way of slumber.
It was to keep her systems safe from running when she remained immobile. Apparently Androids weren't
originally built with this feature until people began to come across age old machines, still conscious, trapped
and forced to perceive every second of every hour of their lives. They had been awake for centuries. The madness 
that overtook them had caused them to become uncontrollable. She thought about what it 
would be like to stay here, floating in the endlessness of space until her power unit finally ran out. She wished 
she could see the color of Dylan's life signs. Green, she hoped. Still green.









To say that Beka wasn't exactly the top expert on black holes would be an understatement. She'd never really had
to deal with them before meeting Dylan and, even then, they only had the one encounter after that. They weren't a
common problem to those whose sole job was to move freight from one end of the galaxy to the next. You saw one
and you knew to avoid it. That was it, end of story. You didn't mess with them, you didn't so much as look at them.
Of all the stories of space's great boogeymen, between stories of old abandoned cargo ships or smuggling deals gone 
wrong, black holes were at the bottom of the list. You were more likely to end up tangled up with bounty
hunters or drug lords and those, admittingly, were her strong suits. This was just gibberish.
The sight of Tyr reflected in her datapad nearly had her leaping out of her skin. "Can you stop doing that!?" She
snapped only to have him smirk at her in return. He was up to something. 
"Are you nervous?" He lulled, trying to get a rise out of her. 
"I'm frustrated." She corrected, pulling her lips back into a smile that met his. If two can play at this game...
"What?" She asked, bending to touch her hand to her side, mimicking his slanted stance. Sure, maybe it was a bit
cruel considering, but, she had more important things to do than to coddle this man's feelings. 
He stared at her for a few moments before breaking eye contact, entirely. Straightening his posture, Tyr moved
in, graciously letting her get a clear look at his face since...well, everything. 
He looked rough. 
"I have come to understand you've been keeping vital information from me." He raised a finger, "Now, there are very 
few reasons as to why one would do this- to preserve one's self..." He then raised another, "...or to aide 
someone else." He then leaned in towards her, like he was trying to read her thoughts from behind her eyes, "Well?
Which is it?" She looked away from him and, immediately, cursed herself for doing so. 
"I see." He observed, pulling away. For a moment, he stood there, deliberating over everything. This was worse 
than being on trial. At least then there were laws and loopholes- with Tyr, anything was free game. 
"Why do you want to know so bad?" She asked, begging for some sense of understanding. "Can't you just be happy
to forget?"
Here, he flipped the question back at her. "Do you want me to forget?" It had been a long time since she'd
seen genuine fear in his eyes. She couldn't imagine being in his place. No one could. But she decided to do for
him what she could. "We all want you to forget." 
Heaving a deep sigh, she turned back to her datapad, scanning every third line of emergency procedures built into
The Andromeda's systems until she felt a warmth at her back. Rolling her eyes, Beka realized she was getting exactly
what she wanted far after she had stopped wanting it, "Look, I think it's a little too late for-" She then noticed
the weight started to become heavier. Turning, she caught Tyr using her body for support. "You can't even stand, 
can you?" Holding out an arm for him to hold onto, she guided him over to a ladder, letting him lean up against it. 
"Why don't you get some shuteye? Let the rest of us worry about this."
"I can't, not while Dylan is-"
Again with this. "You don't think we can take handle this, do you?" This then rerouted to- "No, you don't think I can
do this, is that it?" 
"That is not what I said."
"Look, I've got something out there sucking up everything in this star system just so it can plop a huge black hole
down on our heads. If anyone out here's qualified to deal with this- it's sure not going to be Dylan!"  
"I can't sit idly by while-" He then snapped out of it long enough to go- "You're just sitting here, feeding it?" 
"Well, it's feeding itself but..." It suddenly occurred to her that she had left it to it's own devices, sucking up
matter when she could've been cutting off it's supply right from the start. "Hold that thought."











It was like the pressure in his head had finally eased. As he was, Dylan had no other thoughts than
to breathe and keep breathing as thick shadows cleared from the edges of his vision. The blur of stars peering in through
his visor was enough to focus his mind. 
Space. The repairs. Something went wrong while they were trying to work on the damage to the ship's hull. As 
if he had been pulled from a dream, he lurched forward to move and found himself staring into the unceasing darkness. 
"Not good." He said, aloud. The anchor at his back weighed him just enough to keep him from floundering as he began
to re-adjust to the lack of gravity. 
With no sign of The Andromeda and no clue as to where it may have gone, his memory began to return back to him in 
full-force. 
"Rommie!" He beckoned to the weight at his back. Unrecognizable by sight, alone, he knew it was still her. "Are you alright?" 
He asked, somehow knowing that underneath the circuitry and wires that made up her body, she was, in fact, still active. 
Dormant but aware. Pulling her closer to buoy himself, he watched the lights blink from inside her head cavity and wondered if
she could still 'see' him like this. Maybe not through visual feedback but a reading, a heat signature, something...
"I have a plan." Admittingly, he didn't like the plan and he also knew she couldn't hear his plan but it wouldn't feel
right to go forward without so much as an apology. "You're not going to like it, but, I've got to cut you open."
Slipping the steel cutter from his belt, he made work of her suit, piercing through it with ease. "I know you're already
mad at me and this isn't going to make things better but, I hope you'll understand." 
Now, here comes the hard part. Using what he had observed of medical practitioners he'd once worked with, he began
cutting a Y-incision into her chest cavity, peeling back her outer layer to the mechanics that lay inside. Like an autopsy in
reverse, he never thought he'd come face to face with what she actually looked like underneath it all. He wondered what
likenesses she had borrowed from to cobble together her appearance. The number of women from her databank's memory she had
used to create it was meant to soothe her inhabitants but, upon seeing what lay beneath, it only managed to do the opposite. 
Sliding a hand through her wiring, he was able to wrap his hand around a node, one primarily installed in these
android units, and turned it. An old trick he learned back in the day when they needed repair. You simply activated it 
and the ship's systems kept track of it's functions to be analyzed for later diagnostics. Made it easy to tell them apart.
Made it easier to tell what was wrong. A part of him wished he could do the same for those around him. Just turn a node
and see all their problems so he could diagnose how to fix them. Who was he kidding? He couldn't even do it for himself.
 








"No good." Beka remarked. Blowing up the debris seemed to be the equivalent of stabbing a knife through jello. If anything,
she just managed to cut up the thing's meal into bite-sized pieces. Sinking into her chair, she swiveled it on her toes to
face the remains of her crew, both of whom seemed at odds with their failure. "Okay, so that was a bust." She admitted, 
watching as Trance and Harper exchanged glances. In one instant, it was like they shared a single, simultaneous thought; 
then dropped it as soon as they looked away. "Any ideas?" She urged, "C'mon I'll take anything at this point!" They shared a 
look again, this time Trance's expression bolstered a 'yes' and Harper's a big, fat, 'no'. 
"We could use the teleporter." She offered and was immediately followed up by a loud, drawn out, "No!" 
"I'm not operating that thing again!" Harper argued, "I still have nightmares about it!" 
"It saved your life." Posited Trance with a hand on her hip. 
"No, you saved my life. The second I put my hands on that thing, it screws up-" He then started pantomiming something large,
extending his wingspan, "Everything! Besides, we don't know where it puts half the stuff it takes! It's still a 
prototype, it can't-"
"But it does send stuff away." Beka prompted, watching him spit out a loud 'yeah' that sounded it had been practically wrung
out of him. 
"That settles it." Turning she whipped up her most cunning smile yet, "Trance, if you'd do me the honors..." 










Trying to balance the teleporter in his hands, the boy turned down the hallway and frowned. Towards the far end, in the
intersection between the upper deck and his workshop was Tyr, leaning against a nearby wall, waiting. For a moment, he 
must have sensed what was to come, hesitating, recalculating his route, before finally meeting him head-on. 
"Couldn't sleep?" He asked, fully aware he was obfuscating his own discomfort. 
"Our last coordinates were to a research facility." Tyr stated, flatly. "Despite all other information being omitted, I
was able to comb through the ship's flight logs." Their methods were rushed. It wasn't a full wipe that had been done
by plotting minds but a desperate bid to sweep something under the rug. They were all hiding something and doing 
a terrible job of it. If not for the ship's sudden malfunction, surely there would've had more time to go through and wipe every
ounce of evidence from it's files, rendering the whole experience nothing but a fog of a memory. All forgotten except-
"You were there." 
The imprint of guilt burdened the boy's face, robbing it of all ease. Silently, he tried to adjust the machine in his hands
as holding it there had become too burdensome. Good. Maybe it will make him answer quickly. "Okay, you caught me, I was there. 
Big deal, I-"
"You sent out an S.O.S. signal. Why? And why was I barred from your rescue?"
His palms were sweating, now, and Tyr knew a bad step could send the teleporter in his hands careening to the floor. Breathing
a sigh of pity, he took the machine from his arms, the transfer of weight made them look at each other momentarily, enough
for him to see something he never thought he would. "You're afraid." He noted only to get nothing but broken eye contact in return.
Putting the machine aside, Tyr rose back to his height, legs unstable and swaying under his own weight. Carrying the
machine took too much out of him. "What is it you have to fear? Me?" 
"No-"
"Then you're afraid of what I found-"
"No I'm-" He reached up and began rubbing a palm against his cheek in an attempt to return the color back to his face. 
Taking his bandaged hand, Tyr began unwrapping it, methodically, until the proof laid there in his hand. This was his work. 
It was a quick technique; by looping the thumb against the middle finger, you could easily catch the other two next to it and, 
with a concentrated snap, could pop them out of place.  
"What have I done?" 
"You didn't do anything!" 
He had it with these lies. "I suppose there are limits to one's truth, then." 
The boy was then overwrought with a sense of unease that made Tyr's blood run cold. "It-it was a weapons facility okay?" 
He choked on his words as if they were being forcibly pulled from his throat, "They came up with some new thing they wanted
to pawn off on the Commonwealth. Something they said would 'win the war'. I didn't know what they were up to, it could've been
remote control attack dogs for all I cared- I didn't know that they were-" He then stopped, changing course from regret to anger.
"Why didn't you just let the others handle it!? For once- why did you have to come running in, guns blazing, when you knew
to stay away!?" 
This, he could not answer. 
His mind swelled, overcome with every interaction that he'd had since awakening and fell ill. The world had become a tidal wave 
and it was pulling him into it's depths. 
A hand on his chest pulled him back into the present. 
"They hurt you back there. It was bad and getting you out of that place was worse." There was a bit of a push, now, to lean
him against a wall, the both of them knowing the little one could not support his weight if he were to collapse again. "By the time
we got you back, you were so out of it, you didn't know where you were. You thought you were still under attack, we had to wrestle 
you back onto the ship, ourselves." Tyr recalled the look on Dylan's face when he had returned back to the ship. Of course no one
wanted him on the deck, if his mind failed him again...
"It was some kind of bomb they were working on. Something that only affected Nietzscheans." The boy continued, "It was supposed to work 
like a nerve gas that could override the nanobots in your body, make them work against you." He stopped for a brief moment and 
looked him over, he wondered how sickly he had become. "Walking into that- Tyr, these guys weren't even genome soldiers and they were 
coming up with this stuff." 
"Why keep this from me?"
"We...didn't want to at first, but, Dylan made his case and well..." A look of regret had now settled upon his brow, "We were 
afraid of what you'd do. That you'd hop the next flight out and run. That you'd risk dying over getting help."
These answers seemed too far-sighted to be his own. "And what was your reason?" He asked, watching the guilt deepen across his face. 
"I didn't want you to hate me." He let out a noise of frustration, pushing his fingers up into his hair, "And now because of me, 
The Andromeda got shot to pieces, Dylan and Rommie are out there floating out in the middle of god knows where, and you're never 
going to trust me again. Great day for Harper, huh?" He was covering his face now, tilting his head up at the ceiling to let out 
another groan. "Not to mention, what Dylan has in store for me when we get him back." He moved one of his hands and, for a brief 
moment, looked at him with a prying eye. "Think I'll get lucky and we find him DOA out there?" 
"With your luck, I would assume he's planning your execution at this very moment." 
With that, both of his hands dropped from his face to his sides and, turning towards him, the Tiny Professor's eyes started
to redden. "Don't joke like that." He smiled, "You can't do that after-" 
"I think I'll be retreating to my quarters." Tyr stated, looking away. "I believe I've done enough for you humans today."
The farce seemed to be enough to dismiss himself with, bracing the wall as he made his way to bed- to sleep. 
"I'll give Trance the okay to bring you something!" The boy called at his back, "By the way this night's been going, you're
gonna need it!" 








At her seat, Beka watched the large spiral tighten itself into a wall. The gravitational pull from it subsided and, 
for a moment, staring at the image, she thought about the eye of the storm. If they had any clearer chance to jump into 
action, it was now. 
Behind her, sauntering onto the deck, was Harper. Now, in a disturbingly giddy mood that made Beka want to guess what  
it was that made him change his tune. She then quickly decided not to. 'For her health' and all that. "One teleporter, fit, 
fixed, and ready to go." He announced, setting it atop one of the stations. 
Bracing her hands against the machine, Trance smiled at him. "That's quite a bit of confidence you have, there." She
pointed out, holding her palm to the machine. 
"Well, you know, you win some, you lose some. Between you and me, I think this is going to be a win. What do you say?" 
He was looking at Beka now as he pulled out a chord from the machine and walked it across the deck to the weapons station. 
"I'd say someone killed the real Harper and sent us a replacement." She remarked, watching him stop in his tracks to turn
and deliver her a square look. 
"Replaced as in good or bad?" 
"I don't know yet." She leaned over in her seat, hands firmly planted on her knees. "Let's see how this goes and then 
I'll decide." 









There were only so many times you could replay a song in your head before you started to feel a sense of madness
set in. After about the thirteenth time, Dylan wondered why his mind decided to cycle through something catchy.
Why not something more appropriate? He then wondered what would be appropriate. An orchestral rendition of Taps, maybe.
Floating in the abyss of the galaxy, Dylan took a look at his life support. Red. He had maybe twenty minutes tops
before his oxygen supply would run out. He imagined what it would be like to suffocate inside the 'safe' shell of
his suit. He then considered what it would be like to slip free of it all. To let the universe take him. He wondered 
if it would burn or freeze and then dismissed the thought of it, altogether. Maybe that was planning too far ahead.
He still had time before making preparations. 
He then checked Rommie's condition. Other than her face and his own handiwork, she seemed to be fine. Dormant, floating
with her hair brushing over the blinking lights in her cranium. She looked almost angelic.  
A blue light blazed across his vision. Turning, Dylan only caught a glimpse of it before it burned out in the distance.
Another lit up the sky, then another. Soon, he found himself staring into a shower of shapes moving through the atmosphere
as they were swept up in a gravitational rotation, spiraling around each other until they formed a halo. Having created
this tunnel of light, it pulled them through. The blurring of shadows across the stars and the glow they carried with them 
had grown to be too much and Dylan shut his eyes against it. Still, the colors painted images across the insides of his eyelids,
pooling into something that looked almost corporeal. Opening his eyes, he saw something, bright and beautiful, formlessly trying
to gain some sort of shape until a flash of light blinded him, forcing him to close his eyes once again. Quickly, he recovered;
looking through his visor to see it had all but disappeared and, in it's place, was The Andromeda, slowing to a stop before him.  










Weightlessly, Dylan was pulled through the infirmary, the distant sound of gurneys whizzed past him as he was led to a 
small chair. Looking to his left, he watched the numbers on the machine rise- his vitals climbing higher than he had
ever seen- and then looking to Trance who was reading them. Across the infirmary was Rommie, being wheeled out of the room
in a panic. The image of what he had seen still danced at the forefront of his mind. 
"Trance." He called, his ears ringing from the pressure that had built up in his head. "I-I need to get to my room. I need
to-" Moving to rise, she put a hand against his shoulder and guided him back down. 
"You can sleep after we've regulated your heartrate." She didn't understand. She couldn't.
"No I need..." He slouched over, propping his elbows on his knees so he could keep his head held high. He swallowed, dryly. 
"I need my old logs. My records from before I-" His knuckles felt embedded in his forehead now. "There's something I need to see." 
Slowly, she unwrapped his arm. The loud rip of Velcro sent a jolt through his nerves. He had spent so long in complete silence
even the ship's ventilation system felt like it was scratching at the inside of his skull. "Please." He punctuated. 
After a moment's hesitation, a look of genuine concern. "Are you going to tell me why?" 
"Not until I know for sure." He explained and, for that much, she accepted the task. 
"I'll see what I can find."









The gentle knock at Tyr's door came sudden and without warning. It was then opened regardless of a reply. "Hey buddy."
greeted the tiny engineer as he slipped through the door, letting it close at his back. "Thought you might want some 
company." He reasoned, slipping off his shoes at the entrance. "They've got you on some pretty good stuff and I figured, 
hey, what the hell? Might as well keep you from drifting off all by yourself." 
"I barely feel a thing." He lied. If anything, he felt like he was going to fall through the mattress at any moment
and be sent plummeting through the many floors of their ship until he finally breached through space. It also made
him a bit nauseated.   
"Yeah, yeah, well after having to do major surgery with one hand, I was pretty beat. So I figured, why not?" 
His eyes widened at this. "You didn't." 
"Hey, what's the fun of playing doctor if you can't get high off your own supply once in a while? Besides, I didn't
take half as much as you." He then lowered his voice to make an offhanded remark about how it was 'enough to take down 
an elephant'. 
Climbing up next to him, the boy settled at his side, still nursing his wrist like it was a wounded animal. 
Together, they stared up at the soft grey of the bulkhead until it started to float away. "How is he?" Tyr asked, suddenly
sobering up the moment enough for his companion to stir, "Fine. A little shell shocked, but, he'll pull through. You know
how he is."
"And her?"
For a moment, he could feel the twist of confusion at his side, "Uh, you mean Rommie right?" 
He did not respond and, despite this, the boy continued, "I don't think I've ever seen her that messed up before. Next
time, let Dylan do his own repairs." He grimaced. "Had to spend like half an hour just to get all her systems back online 
and her face-" He tensed, making a gagging noise, "I don't really wanna think about it." 

They were quiet again as the last dull ache had released his body, entirely. Here, his mind could stop worrying for
a moment of what needed to be fixed now and focus on what he had to do from here. The world was coming to be too
much and he had to act fast or face the consequences for his inaction. 
"I need you to find someone for me." The request was simple enough. Although, one look at his companion and he realized
it would be best to save the details for later.
Laying with his arms and legs outstretched and flattened out, his friend looked as if he was trying to stay afloat on an 
uneasy surface. He then blinked, staring wide-eyed to the ceiling above them. By the looks of it, he could start speaking in
tongues at any moment. 
Turning on his side, he studied the man's profile, watching the request slowly register on his face. 
"Coordinates." He managed, moving his fingers through the air like he was inputting information into a computer.
One could wonder if this was an affect of spending too many hours hooked to machines. "There's a guy I know 
who's good at tailing people. If there's anybody you could trust to track someone down, it's him." 
There was something too clumsy, too hastily put together about humans that made Tyr feel like he was staring
into a window to the past. They were distant offshoots of the same species. For most animals, this could create
a sense of distrust. A dog might find itself torn to pieces by a coyote while a coyote may happen upon dogs trained
to kill. 
Not once, has he found fear in their shared company. Not even now, as he lay here, sedated, did he ever consider the 
possibility of a threat. 
"So who is she, huh?" The tiny professor bolstered a grin that made his face light up. Already, he was cutting and 
pasting together images of women in his mind. A quick jab of the elbow emphasized his point but, after a moment's 
hesitation, his expression turned from playful to prying. 
It became obvious, now, that this was information gifted to him on the sole basis of trust. 
"My son." 









When her sensors came back online, Rommie opened her eyes to Dylan sitting at her bedside, leg bobbing as he ran
over old documents. Occasionally, he preferred to log certain information by hand since he knew that anything 
imputed into a computer could just as easily be manipulated or altered. He didn't say it but she'd heard 
Harper once refer to it as 'digital frailty'. Corrupted logs, unadvised editing, crashes, the whole mess of things. 
To Rommie, she considered it the same as dropping a book in a pond or letting files rot away untouched for years but, 
to each his own. Looking down at the documents laying across her lap, she reached for one and turned it over. 
"Dark matter?" She asked to which he looked up, held frozen in her gaze for just a moment as if he'd been caught 
doing something wrong. 
"You're awake." He noted, ignoring the question.
"And you're alive." She returned, holding the notebook out to him so she could sit up. "What are you studying this time?"
Setting the journal to balance it on his lap, Dylan knitted his hands together, letting his thumbs curve up to run down 
the length of his nose. For what she could tell, he was considering not telling her anything. "I saw something out there
that I hadn't seen in years." His mouth flattened at the corners. "Not since I was a cadet." 
All things considered, she could have guessed from the handwriting. "And...?"
"The Universe is expanding."