Chapters:

1. Ship Made Flesh

He was going to kill Harper. He'd never been particularly homicidal before, so he didn't have much experience with the feeling. But there was no doubt that, right now, a dead Harper would improve Dylan's mood immensely.

What had the boy been thinking? His abilities were without question, but his sense of courtesy--not to mention his timing--was severely lacking. What if Andromeda didn't *want* a body? Had Harper even bothered to ask her? What if she didn't want to be anything other than what she'd always been?

What if *Dylan* didn't want her to be anything other than what she'd always been? No one had asked him, either, and wasn't she supposed to be his ship?

He frowned a little at the thought. It had never been a question before. The Andromeda Ascendant was Dylan Hunt's ship. Period. The female holoimage that she projected--that *it* projected--was just an interface that made command interactions easier.

At least, it had until Harper had locked himself in the Eureka Maru to launch his "secret project". Cutting Andromeda's internal sensors had been extraordinarily bad timing, and if the ship had been a little less resourceful there would be no one left alive to explain to Harper the error of his ways.

With any luck, Beka had taken care of that already. He'd been on his way to find out when Andromeda intercepted him, looking the way she always had, except... more solid. More real. An actual person--and one that, it seemed, he couldn't hold a conversation with to save his life.

He had to wince at the memory. The "uniform" that Andromeda's holoimage always wore was something he had taken for granted... until he saw it in person. For the first time, he wondered who had designed that outfit. Had she chosen it of her own accord? And if so, could she possibly have any idea how distracting it was?

Distracting. That was a good one. Of course she couldn't know. If she could she never would have appeared on the Bridge the way she had, trouble or not. It wasn't *that* hard to find a shirt on this ship, and she of all people would know how to go about it.

No, the reality of it was that it simply hadn't occurred to her. She was a ship, after all. What use did she have for clothes?

Not just *a* ship, he thought with a sigh. *The* ship. "Welcome aboard"... What had he been thinking? Could he have found anything more ridiculous to say to her?

Like Harper, of course, he *hadn't* been thinking. That was the problem. He just didn't know how to talk to someone who had never been more than a computer. He and Andromeda had been to hell and back more times than he could count. They'd been together for years--well, centuries, if one wanted to get technical--but she had always been "the ship".

The ship made flesh, now. It changed everything. Or maybe nothing. And he wasn't really sure which option troubled him more.

He was going to kill Harper.

2. To Say Goodbye

Her angry expression could have been directed at the Nietzschean fighter, at him, or even at herself. Especially at herself, he knew, and he took a hesitant step forward. "Sarah, it wasn't--"

"Don't tell me it wasn't my fault," she snapped. She stormed off the Bridge, leaving him to fill the breach left by Khalid's absence. But all he could think about was how familiar this conversation suddenly seemed...

He sighed. This wasn't going to work. Sarah wasn't going to be able to free the Andromeda Ascendant, no matter how many twelve-hour cycles she waited. She couldn't do it, because she hadn't. The Andromeda had still been inside the event horizon when the Eureka Maru came for it three centuries later.

The truly awful part of it was that, the longer he thought about it, the less sure he was that he *wanted* her to succeed. After all, he was too late... a year too late, now. The damage had already been done. The Nietzschean attack had gone ahead while he was trapped by the time dilation of the black hole, and there had been no one to warn the High Guard.

The war was well under way by now. Earth had fallen. The conflict was almost a year old, and there was no longer anything he could do to turn the tide. He couldn't prevent the coming of a Dark Age that would last for the next three hundred years--he knew it would, because it had. The reasoning was infuriatingly circular.

He had to face the fact that there was nothing he could do. He couldn't go back, not to the life he had left. Even if Sarah was successful, the Commonwealth he had known no more existed now than it did in the future he was broadcasting from.

If only she could come with him, instead of the other way around... Together, they could make a difference to the known galaxies. Together, they could accomplish something that they had no hope of achieving here. Together...

He had to find Harper.

Andromeda was under attack. His precious ship was under bombardment from the Nietzscheans, and his people might die to get him this last minute with Sarah.

*When did they become my people?* he wondered, pulling her closer. When had the dream of a restored Commonwealth become more real than his memories of the old one? And more importantly... when had it become more real than his own fiancee?

Damn it, when had Rommie become *right*?

She should have, he reflected, touching Sarah's hair sadly. But she wouldn't, and he was as certain of that now as he had been then. She wouldn't keep him from doing something he thought was right, no matter how disastrously it turned out.

"The only one you'll make a difference to is me," Sarah told him quietly, her pleading gaze fixed on his.

He didn't doubt that those words would haunt him for a long time. He could already hear them in his mind, imprinting themselves on his memory so that he could never forget. It was true... utterly, inarguably true.

And it wasn't enough.

The future needed him. The future needed him more than he needed Sarah, and certainly more than she needed him. He'd seen the way Khalid looked at her. He didn't know why he'd never noticed it before. His best friend would make sure she stayed safe... and, in time, he would make sure she got over him. That was the Nietzschean way. He didn't begrudge them any happiness they could find together.

He took a step back, and she pressed her palm to his as he signaled Harper.

"I love you," he whispered as she faded from his sight.

His path, it seemed, was destined to be a lonelier one.

3. More Than A Machine

Dylan jerked awake, muscles twitching involuntarily as he fought for a breath he hadn't been denied. He could feel his heart pounding... but more importantly, he could feel the sheets against his skin and the blanket clutched in his fingers as he shoved it away.

He laid his hand against the wall, taking comfort in its solidity beneath his fingertips. Being a hologram had its advantages--he could move instantly from one place to another, closed doors were no object, and he certainly didn't have to worry about bumping into anything. But overall the experience had been, quite literally, a nightmare.

"Rommie," he said quietly, glancing over at his worktable.

Her miniature holoimage appeared there the moment he spoke. "Yes, Dylan?"

"I want to apologize," he said with a sigh, running his hand across his eyes. "I shouldn't have said what I did earlier."

"When?" she asked, a politely confused expression on her face.

He mustered a small smile for her effort to spare him this conversation, but he wasn't going to let it go like that. "When I said--or implied, at least--that you couldn't feel. That was totally out of line. I'm sorry."

She shrugged a little, but she looked gratified. "You were under a lot of stress… We both were. I understand."

"Yeah, well," he muttered. "When you've been a hologram, anything you can touch feels real. I realize that now. I shouldn't have expected you to know the difference; you don't have any basis for comparison."

She raised an eyebrow at that, and her warm expression vanished. "Dylan--I didn't correct you before because it didn't seem appropriate. But your statement is no more true now that it was then."

He frowned, surprised at the change in her demeanor. "What statement?"

Rommie's miniature image vanished, replaced by a full size hologram standing beside his table, and she folded her arms. "Twice today you've implied that I don't feel, or that my feeling is somehow inferior to yours."

"I didn't mean--" he began, but she didn't let him finish.

"Your stimulation is purely electrical, the same as mine," she told him. "When you speak, my human avatar hears the same sounds that Beka does, or Trance. When you touch me, I *do* feel you--just because my sensors are more sensitive than yours doesn't mean that the impressions I receive from them are any less valid."

He stared at her for a moment, recognizing the anger in her eyes. She wouldn't take a single wrong word right now; he had already pushed her tolerance much farther than he had realized. He had never seen that look directed at him before.

"You don't think of me as a person, Dylan," she said, when he didn't respond. "That's the difference between you and the others."

"That's not true," he interrupted, and she let him. She had to have, for he had spoken too softly to override anything she might have said.

He hesitated, only now starting to realize how much his attitude might have offended her. "That's not true," he repeated, for lack of anything more convincing to say.

She just looked at him. "Yes, it is," she answered, and there was an unmistakable sadness in her voice. "It's always been true. And it still is."

He sighed, pressing his fingers to his forehead as he looked down at the floor. "Yes, it is," he admitted quietly. "But maybe it's true--because... well, 'that way lies madness', as they say."

She didn't reply right away. He could hear her frowning when at last she said, "I don't understand."

He glanced up at her again, saw the honest confusion on her face, and only barely kept himself from sighing once more. Of course she didn't understand. She didn't have to work to follow protocol; unlike him, she had had it programmed directly into her. It didn't take an effort for her to remember what was and was not appropriate.

"Look, Rommie..." He wasn't sure there was any way he could say this that wouldn't be misinterpreted, but he had to give it a shot. They'd never been anything less than honest with each other. "You're... well, you're incredibly attractive," he admitted, forcing himself to hold her gaze. He couldn't help a rueful smile as he added, "Both as a ship and as a woman."

She didn't answer, and he looked away for a minute. That confession, in the spirit it had been intended, could have gotten him in a lot of trouble three hundred years ago. "So you see why I can't start thinking of you like that," he said quietly. "I *can't* think of you as a person; it's too... it's too easy."

"I guess I'll take that as a compliment," she said at last, and he looked up in surprise. Her expression was not one of censure, but of disappointment. "But I can't *not* think of you as a person."

He frowned a little. "What do you mean?" he asked warily.

She frowned right back. "To you, I'm just the ship. But you've never been just the captain to me; not since the first day you came aboard. I'm sorry if that violates Commonwealth protocol, but caring for my--crew is not something I'll ever report."

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

She lifted her chin, putting her hands behind her back in the official "at ease" position. "Good night, Dylan."

"Wait," he said, scrambling to stand up. "Rommie... even if there was anyone to report you to--I wouldn't do it."

She gave him a measured look. "No?"

"No," he repeated. "No one said this was going to be easy, and we all knew we might have to break a rule or two along the way." He shook his head once. "We're running a *warship* with a crew of salvageers and mercenaries, after all."

"And one fine High Guard commander," Rommie added softly.

He smiled a little, remembering the last time she'd used those words in an attempt to cheer him up. "Even given that... maybe especially given that--we're lucky the ship knows what she's doing."

She smiled back. "Thank you," she said simply.

So maybe they were the exception that proved the rule. But if it allowed him to be friends with his ship--with Rommie--then it was an exception he could live with.

As he sat back down he heard her say, "Oh, and Dylan?"

He glanced in her direction, raising an eyebrow at the suddenly smug look on her face.

"Apology accepted," she informed him, and her holoimage winked out.

4. What You Need

"The transmission originated from a communications port on Obs deck," Rommie told them, but she was cut off by the sound of the door behind them sliding open.

Dylan turned, irritated by the interruption. They were so close--

"I control that port," Rommie said, stepping onto the Bridge. "Captain, the evidence is clear. I killed President Li."

For a moment he just looked at her, unable to comprehend what she had said. At his side he felt the colonel stiffen, but it was a distant awareness--he couldn't seem to focus on anything other than the woman in front of him.

When her words finally penetrated, he felt as though he'd taken Tyr's force lance in the gut. She would turn herself over to the authorities for the sake of the Commonwealth he was trying to build, and she would no doubt consider it a fair trade. They wouldn't question her confession--she was nothing if not convincing, and these people were out for blood.

There was a whisper of air that his subconscious registered as someone going for a weapon, and in a heartbeat the Castalian beside him went from ally to enemy. She would have to go through him to get to his ship.

Even as the thought entered his mind, though, he knew that it wasn't her he had to convince. Rommie was strong-willed enough to push this through, and it was her life if he couldn't change her mind.

Oddly, he didn't have time to feel helpless--he was too busy being afraid.

"Dylan, I'm a warship." Her voice was calm, much calmer than it had a right to be under the circumstances. "I was created with the knowledge that I might have to be sacrificed for the Commonwealth. I've always been prepared for that."

She must have seen something in his expression, for she added gently, "Haven't you?"

He found himself struggling for the words. "It was always a possibility, yes..." He tried to look away and found he couldn't. "But in battle--going down together. Not like this."

She smiled faintly. "What is it Rev Bem always says?"

He couldn't care less what Rev said right now, but she didn't seem to notice his distraction. "'The universe doesn't always give you what you want,'" she quoted. "'It gives you what you need.'"

In that moment, he made up his mind. Principles or not, they would turn tail and run before he let the colonel get her hands on his ship. "What I need is you," he told her bluntly. "And no falsified data record is going to change that."

She just stared at him for a moment, then blinked and put her hands behind her back. "It wasn't falsified, Dylan. I did this, and I will accept the consequences."

It was funny, he realized, but he had never once considered the possibility that she might be telling the truth. "If you did it," he said slowly, "you were forced to. Did you *mean* to kill the president?"

"No," she replied without hesitation. "But the road to hell--"

"Rommie!" He grabbed her shoulders, just barely keeping himself from shaking some sense into her. "You will *not* turn yourself over to the Castalians. Do you understand?"

She visibly hesitated, and her face looked as though it couldn't decide what expression to wear. "I understand," she said at last, in the tone of voice that added "idiotic though it is" at the end without her having to say it. "But I don't agree."

"No." He stared down at her, relieved to have her word. "You've made that quite clear."

She frowned. "You know I'm right. They aren't going to just let this go."

His grip on her shoulders tightened. "What I know is that we can't do this without you, and I'm not turning you over to some lynch mob just to placate a bloodthirsty population!"

"You wouldn't lose the ship," she reminded him, apparently taken aback by his vehemence. "Only my personality would be gone."

Was that sadness in her eyes? She couldn't be as nonchalant about this idea as she seemed, but she would do what she thought she had to--if he let her. Of that he had no doubt.

"There is no 'only'," he said roughly. He tried to loosen his fingers a little, but the words still came out as a growl. "As long as I live, *you* are Andromeda Ascendant." He almost stopped there, but he found himself adding more quietly, "You're all I have left, Rommie. I'm not losing you."

She gazed at him for a long moment, not protesting his hold on her or arguing his declaration. He hadn't meant to say that, but he knew, in some small selfish corner of his mind, that what she thought was important to him she would make important to her as well. If she knew that she was sometimes the only thing that kept him going, maybe she wouldn't be so quick to make these ridiculous sacrifices.

"Understood," she said at last. She was regarding him with a thoughtful expression that made him look away, suddenly eager to avoid her scrutiny.

"Great," he said. He remembered, belatedly, to let go of her, and he turned around as though there was something pressing to finish. "Let's do this, then."

5. Trance's Tesseract

"We'll never be together like this again," she had told them.

Yet Trance Gemini had given up so much to keep them alive, to bring them all here. Separately. Together again, and not, at the same time.

What is this supposed to show me? What their lives would be like without me? What their loyalty to me has done to them? Are they better off with me or without?

Footsteps on the deck behind him came as no surprise. They only told him in which form she had chosen to approach him. He didn't let anyone else see him like this.

Funny, though... he had expected the hologram.

"You aren't one to brood, Captain."

He smiled a little, elbows braced on his knees as he stared down at the floor. "Yes, I am. You've been an accomplice too many times to deny it."

"Perhaps I should have said that you aren't one to doubt, then."

His smile faded, but he still didn't look up. "No," he admitted. "Maybe that's a failing of mine."

"It is your conviction that keeps this ship and crew together. I don't know how you can question that."

"Trance kept us together," he snapped, more impatient with himself than with her. "All I did was destroy everything I could, as efficiently as I could, as fast as I could."

More softly, he added, "This crew included."

"You asked nothing of us that we didn't willingly give. And if Beka refused, then it only empahsizes the fact that the rest of us didn't. We volunteered. You didn't force anyone to stay."

"Beka." He shook his head, not sure why her betrayal hurt so much more.

"Does it bother you that you have Rhade's loyalty before Beka's?"

He snorted. "Rhade's loyalty is to himself. Like Beka's."

"That's not true. Rhade will stand with you no matter what. You've given him hope."

"You know, that's exactly what he said to me. Or... almost exactly," he said with a wry smile. "Right before he damned me for it."

"You don't damn someone for something you've given up."

"Maybe he would have been better off without it," he said with a sigh. "Maybe they all would have been; I don't know. Where has my hope gotten them? Months of suffering, of cursing my name, cut off from the rest of the universe in a backwater that doesn't know or care that they exist?"

"You're a fighter, Dylan. A fighter and a master strategist."

He closed his eyes, shamed as never before by her implacable belief in him.

"But your true strength lies elsewhere. Alone, you're a cause without force, without effect. Your strength has always lain in leadership. You inspire others, you give them hope, and in so doing you make things happen. And that is why Trance saved us. Because the universe needs you--and you need us."

"Great," he muttered. "You're responsible for the things you tame, you know."

"Antoine de Saint-Exupery," she said calmly. He should have known she would recognize the reference. "We aren't tamed, Dylan. The last few months have proven that your crew can survive just fine without you. They gave their loyalty of their own accord over the last four years, and they will do it again. Because they want to. Not because they want someone else to be responsible for them."

He propped his chin on his hands, still staring at the floor. Could he really convince himself that they had all made their own choices? That they had followed him into this mess because they wanted to?

Was it more presumptuous to think that they had done it because he told them to?

"What about you?" he asked abruptly.

"I'm sorry?"

"You said, 'we' volunteered. That I didn't force any of you to stay... but I did, didn't I. I never asked you what you wanted."

"You didn't have to. I'm a ship of the Commonwealth. I do what my captain decides."

"There is no Commonwealth," he said softly. "Not out here."

"The Commonwealth exists wherever you are."

"What if I was gone?" he insisted. He didn't know why he tried, sometimes, but he hadn't given up yet. He kept pressing, hoping that someday he would get an answer out of her. "If I was somewhere else? What would you do?"

"I would follow whatever orders you had left."

"What if I hadn't left any?"

"Then I would execute what I believed to be your will to the best of my ability."

"What about what you want, Andromeda? You can't tell me that diving into the center of the Magog worldship was your idea of a good time."

There was a pause, the first hesitation he had heard from her. He finally lifted his head, about to turn when he felt the lightest of touches on his shoulder. He froze. She had never touched him first, and now he was afraid to move lest he startle her away.

"I have all I want, Captain."

"Dylan," he corrected automatically.

"I have all I want," she repeated. "Dylan."

He looked up at her then, remembering Trance's words again. She had seemed ineffably sad... a sorrow that was clearly gone from her now, along with most of her memory. And they had all taken her words as the end, as a prophecy that would separate them for good.

It had--and it hadn't.

"We'll never be together like this again."

Now, staring into Rommie's eyes, he wondered if Trance's words had been about beginnings as much as they had been about endings.