Andromeda, A Time to Kill Alternate Reality, Gaheris Rhade, #06 murder
Tittle: A Time to Kill
Fandom: Andromeda
Author: Karrenia_rune
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: #06 murder
97/100
Disclaimer: Andromeda belongs to Fireworks Productions and Tribune Entertainment. It is not mine.
References events from the 3rd Season episode the "Unconquerable Man. It could be considered more of an alternate reality-head-canon.
"A Time to Kill" by Karrenia
The ship hovered on the edge of the spatial anomaly that had torn a hole in the fabric of time, given him the opportunity to choose between two branching paths. He felt like a block of ice, but the type of ice that possessed both deadly intelligence and the capacity to utilize that intelligence, if given half a chance.
The thing of it was, even knowing that they were on the verge of staring their own demise in the face, that it could be, quite, beautiful.
Oh, sure it was deadly, there was no doubt at all in his mind that it was, but knowing that should he choose the wrong path would mean his death; and Gaheris Rhade was not yet ready to slough off this mortal coil.
He had faced down the man who had once meant much to him, as both a fellow high-ranking officer in the former, Commonwealth High Guard, a certain Dylan Hunt, reliving that moment when the long awaited moment had come to deliver the killing blow.
Dying would have been easier than helping Dylan rebuild the Commonwealth; a simple and plain statement of fact.
The fact that Dylan had not seen it coming, or if he had, had been much too busy keeping his own body and soul together inside that twisting landscape; was a reason but not the only reason that had allowed him to narrowly escape from certain destruction.
Another niggling item that has been preoccupying him for far longer than he is comfortable with; he had also come face to face with a man who, in another branching of paths could have been his successor of sorts.
Inside that pocket dimension he had been given to know that in another reality indeed had not only been his ancestor of sorts, but had also been one of the few members among the Nietcheans to have been born with that rarest of all traits, the genetic memory of his predecessor, one Telemachus Rhade. The significance, not to mention, the irony of that had not been lost on either of them.
It felt very much as if he’d waken up from a very long dream, and if such comparison could be made; he felt as if he’d been rudely awakened from the dream, without his consent and for as yet unrevealed purpose.
The process of emerging into full consciousness from that dark and hazy void, had been painful, extremely painful; but as a Nietzschean it was only to be expected that he would bear it with his customary stoicism and without complaint.
All the same, Gaheris Rhade vented a bit to the only other person aboard the Andromeda Ascendant who would if listen to what he had to say, understand what he had to offer, in a way that no one else could.
Even now, the memories of what had taken place in that pocket dimension when he’d come face-to-face with his contemporary, Telemachus Rhade haunted him; so much so that there were times, especially late at night when he could have sworn that that other life was much more concrete and lucid than his present reality.
In that other reality, he was a dead man, a footnote in the annals of history, but that his very last act had been one that had branded him as a traitor to the original Commonwealth High Guard; the man who had murdered Captain Dylan Hunt, his commanding officer and perhaps his best friend. What was that old saying, oh, yes, one never knew the value of something until it was gone. ‘
Gaheris shook his head, and shifted his weight, a move that made the leather of the old-fashioned high-backed chair creak in protest. The game board that had sat, half-completed on the table beside the chair was another mute reminder of a past that might have been. The black and white pieces sitting where he both men had left them. He had not moved them since then.
Did he miss that other life? Perhaps he did, a little. Would he have done anything differently than what had come to pass in that shifting, murky corridor of space time that was all the time in the world and yet no time?
‘No, I would not have done so, unequivocally no.’ he thought, his thoughts making circular paths in his mind.
He allowed a fraction of smile to curve the corners of his mouth, and thought:
“I have be given a second chance, and this universe of ours second chances are often few and far between. Would I rather be dead? No, I do not think so. While there is life, there is hope, and I shall make the most of the opportunities presented to me.”
Once, long ago, he recalled discussing varying natures of philosophies, especially concerning nature versus nurture, fate and destiny, and everything in between. Despite the way things had turned out between himself and Dylan Hunt, the man had been his friend, and had been someone he could talk to as an almost equal. He recalled saying about destiny, and Dylan’s by turns irritating, and rather moralist ideals.
Gaheris had told Dylan that only destiny that he believed in was the kind that a man carved out for himself. Did he still believe that?
He wondered and then with a grim smile curving his lips, he said. “Yes, I do.”
Fandom: Andromeda
Author: Karrenia_rune
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: #06 murder
97/100
Disclaimer: Andromeda belongs to Fireworks Productions and Tribune Entertainment. It is not mine.
References events from the 3rd Season episode the "Unconquerable Man. It could be considered more of an alternate reality-head-canon.
"A Time to Kill" by Karrenia
The ship hovered on the edge of the spatial anomaly that had torn a hole in the fabric of time, given him the opportunity to choose between two branching paths. He felt like a block of ice, but the type of ice that possessed both deadly intelligence and the capacity to utilize that intelligence, if given half a chance.
The thing of it was, even knowing that they were on the verge of staring their own demise in the face, that it could be, quite, beautiful.
Oh, sure it was deadly, there was no doubt at all in his mind that it was, but knowing that should he choose the wrong path would mean his death; and Gaheris Rhade was not yet ready to slough off this mortal coil.
He had faced down the man who had once meant much to him, as both a fellow high-ranking officer in the former, Commonwealth High Guard, a certain Dylan Hunt, reliving that moment when the long awaited moment had come to deliver the killing blow.
Dying would have been easier than helping Dylan rebuild the Commonwealth; a simple and plain statement of fact.
The fact that Dylan had not seen it coming, or if he had, had been much too busy keeping his own body and soul together inside that twisting landscape; was a reason but not the only reason that had allowed him to narrowly escape from certain destruction.
Another niggling item that has been preoccupying him for far longer than he is comfortable with; he had also come face to face with a man who, in another branching of paths could have been his successor of sorts.
Inside that pocket dimension he had been given to know that in another reality indeed had not only been his ancestor of sorts, but had also been one of the few members among the Nietcheans to have been born with that rarest of all traits, the genetic memory of his predecessor, one Telemachus Rhade. The significance, not to mention, the irony of that had not been lost on either of them.
It felt very much as if he’d waken up from a very long dream, and if such comparison could be made; he felt as if he’d been rudely awakened from the dream, without his consent and for as yet unrevealed purpose.
The process of emerging into full consciousness from that dark and hazy void, had been painful, extremely painful; but as a Nietzschean it was only to be expected that he would bear it with his customary stoicism and without complaint.
All the same, Gaheris Rhade vented a bit to the only other person aboard the Andromeda Ascendant who would if listen to what he had to say, understand what he had to offer, in a way that no one else could.
Even now, the memories of what had taken place in that pocket dimension when he’d come face-to-face with his contemporary, Telemachus Rhade haunted him; so much so that there were times, especially late at night when he could have sworn that that other life was much more concrete and lucid than his present reality.
In that other reality, he was a dead man, a footnote in the annals of history, but that his very last act had been one that had branded him as a traitor to the original Commonwealth High Guard; the man who had murdered Captain Dylan Hunt, his commanding officer and perhaps his best friend. What was that old saying, oh, yes, one never knew the value of something until it was gone. ‘
Gaheris shook his head, and shifted his weight, a move that made the leather of the old-fashioned high-backed chair creak in protest. The game board that had sat, half-completed on the table beside the chair was another mute reminder of a past that might have been. The black and white pieces sitting where he both men had left them. He had not moved them since then.
Did he miss that other life? Perhaps he did, a little. Would he have done anything differently than what had come to pass in that shifting, murky corridor of space time that was all the time in the world and yet no time?
‘No, I would not have done so, unequivocally no.’ he thought, his thoughts making circular paths in his mind.
He allowed a fraction of smile to curve the corners of his mouth, and thought:
“I have be given a second chance, and this universe of ours second chances are often few and far between. Would I rather be dead? No, I do not think so. While there is life, there is hope, and I shall make the most of the opportunities presented to me.”
Once, long ago, he recalled discussing varying natures of philosophies, especially concerning nature versus nurture, fate and destiny, and everything in between. Despite the way things had turned out between himself and Dylan Hunt, the man had been his friend, and had been someone he could talk to as an almost equal. He recalled saying about destiny, and Dylan’s by turns irritating, and rather moralist ideals.
Gaheris had told Dylan that only destiny that he believed in was the kind that a man carved out for himself. Did he still believe that?
He wondered and then with a grim smile curving his lips, he said. “Yes, I do.”