fic (Weeks, Seasons) Andromeda Dylan, Gaheris Rhade

[karrenia]

Title:Weeks, Seasons
Author:karrenia_rune
Fandom:Andromeda
Pairing/Characters: Dylan Hunt and Gaheris Rhade
Rating/Category: (eg, NC17/Gen or R/Slash)General Audiences
Prompt:Dylan, before the fall of the Commonwealth
Spoilers: (if applicable)set mid-way through the run of the Original Commonwealth when both characters served in the Argosy Special Forces Division.
Summary: I remember you not fondly, but I knew you when....


Disclaimer: Andromeda belongs to Tribune Entertainment and Fireworks Productions as do the characters who appear here or are mentioned; they are not mine. Note: this takes place during the time when the original Commonwealth was still very much active and features Dylan Hunt and Gaheris Rhade while they were working for the Argosy Division of the High Guard.



“Weeks, Seasons” by karrenia

They had been ordered to refer to each other as Mr. March and Mr. May for the duration of the mission and never once were they to address each other by their given names or even by rank.

As far as Gaheris Rhade was concerned if it was vital for the success of the mission to do so, he was perfectly willing to go along with those instructions and the others that were included in the flexie dossier.

However, Dylan Hunt would also to like believe, not without a certain amount of truth to it, that it was also a testament to his own talents and accomplishments that he had been selected for this particular mission. With a studied patience that was only occasionally marred by bouts of doubt and second-guessing, Dylan waited.

There followed the regular briefing session and then a period in which both men spent in silence; for Gaheris part because he was not given to idle conversation, because as a Nieztechean it would be a waste of time and breath to indulge in such things; and for the human officer, because he was concerned about what he would be leaving behind.

As far as Rhade was concerned in order to be effective one must separate such concerns to their proper place and time; but he had only just met the young but promising Liutenant Dylan Hunt and despite the fact that he had not only proved capable on the theoretical but also in the field; was indicative of his abilities; the High Guard would not have assigned him to the Argosy division if he had not measured up.


In the back of his mind Rhade thought, "Merits further study, until then, I shall withhold further assessment.' And with that thought percolating through his mind Gaheris Rhade leaned back in the padded leather seat of his seat and the time it took for the shuttle to break orbit and hook up with the waiting space ship was spent in relatively comfortable silence.

**

Dylan had been expecting more than a little resistance to the success of their mission, but the response from the natives of Merta IV went beyond aggressive and into the realm of what he would consider overly so. He had known even before going into and accepting what his superiors had termed 'a strictly volunteer mission' that there would be risks.

He had long ago adopted the philosophy that as long as he knew what the risks were and
found them acceptable; then it would be his choice to place life and limb in danger.

For a non-aligned world whose native population had historically placed any number of factions from both a military and political segment at each others throat for years; Dylan could only think that they were awfully and perhaps suspiciously well-armed with high-tech laser and particle beam cannons.

Dylan did not have time or the opportunity to further speculate on the incongruity for he was forced to duck and dodge coruscating laser fire.

“Cease fire!“ We’re not here to further divide the concerned parties. We’re here to help!“ It was only then that Dylan Hunt realized that he had lost track of his partner. "Rhade! Where the hell are you!"

Appearing out of the gloom, smoke and laser fire with all of the noise and economy of motion that would not have been out of place on a large mountain cat that Dylan had once seen in Cetus VII’s zoological conservatory; Dylan could not refrain from giving a muttered shout and then quickly recovered. “Where the hell did you get to?”

“An additional unit was attempting a rear-guard sneak attack, while their frontal unit kept us occupied; they have since been,” the dark-haired Nietzsche shook his head and paused before adding, “dispatched.”

“Oh, that’s different. But, it would have been nice to have been given some advance warning,” Dylan replied.

“There was no time to do so,” Rhade remarked. “Watch your six,” he added and fired off another volley to his companion’s left.

“Thus far, it does not seem that they which to involve themselves in any sort of restitution talks to resolve the conflict. We should switch tactics accordingly.”

“Have you picked out the leader yet,” Dylan asked while he took advantage of the opportunity during a momentary lull to place his hands on his knees, lean over and take deep several deep breaths. That task accomplished he asked his partner, “Doesn’t it seem strange to you that they would be in possession of such high-tech weaponry?”

“Agreed, either, intelligence on the Mertans and their internecine conflict shows that they do not have the technological capability to construct such weaponry.”

“Which means it was probably stolen?” remarked Dylan.
“Agreed.” Rhade began to scan the faces and positions of the Mertans, who had were preoccupied with arguing amongst themselves and trying to place the blame for several malfunctioning gun emplacements and particle beam cannons.

“After a moment, he indicated with several subtle pre-arranged hand signals and a nod a particular individual. Dylan offered his partner an off-center and conspiratorial grin and then they began to circle around. It was not exactly regulation, but by tacit agreement the Mertans had left them hardly any other options; and if they had to drag the Mertans Prime Minister out kicking and screaming to get him to listen to them; then so be it.

**
To say that the man was startled was an understatement. He was a wiry, swallow-complexioned male who stood just under a meter tall, had hazel eyes and down-turned mouth that made him look as if he had a perpetually sour attitude.

He had managed to get spittle on both of their black and silver uniforms by the time he calmed down long enough to understand they merely wanted to have a discussion with him.

“Commonwealth dogs!” he exclaimed.

Dylan grimaced. While he believed with every fiber of his being what the Commonwealth and by extension the High Guard stood for he did not allow himself the luxury that such a behemoth was wholly good and altruistic. That being said, as insults went, he could take it on the chin if he had to.

“Anton Benjamin, I presume?” Dylan asked.

“Yeah, that’s me.” replied the sour man. “Who wants to know?”

“This is Mr. May and I’m Mr. March. As you’ve already positively identified us representatives of the Commonwealth, we’d like to have a little talk with you.”

“You don’t say?” Benjamin smirked. “What I’d like to you is why the high and mighty Commonwealth would care about a Fringe world like Merta does.” he sighed and seemed to sink into himself his momentary defiance and belligerence suddenly gone. “After all, if we go about killing each other in the name of ideologies and what not; why should they care?”

Dylan sighed and shifting his weight from one booted foot to another, and set down his weapon. “You seem like a level-headed fellow, and you as demonstrated in your little tirade just now; your people have been at each other throats, for what, decades now.
It isn’t usually the policy of the Commonwealth to involve themselves in the internal affairs of other worlds.”

“Especially non-aligned ones,’ added Rhade.

“Well, don’t you think its high-time some type of resolution was reached?

“Through diplomatic channels?” Benjamin inquired and laughed humorlessly,” Pardon me for saying this, but you to don’t strike as convincing diplomats.”

“Fair enough,” Dylan replied. “But you did open fire on us first.”

“Standard operating procedure. We didn’t ask for the High Guard in the first place.” Anton Benjamin rubbed his hand through his matted and disheveled hair, and then in a very quite voice. “It would be nice to go a day, a week without a pitched fist-fight or fire fight erupting somewhere. It’s all I can do to keep up.”

“Then why don’t you declare a cease-fire?” asked Rhade.

Anton looked a put-out at the suggestion so nonchalantly put, and then said. “It’s not that easy. “Gee, why didn’t I think of that?

“Then you would be opening to negotiating a cease-fire? Dylan asked.

“Yeah, but just don’t get your hopes up, and you’ve noted, we’ve at this for some time. There will be several factions that won’t want to give up their bright, shiny new toys.”