Chapter Four: The Lesser Evil
I think that somehow, we learn who we really are and then live with that decision.
-Eleanor Roosevelt
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Beka returned to conciousness very slowly, gradually becoming aware of every ache and pain in her body. Blinking her eyes open, she noticed a throbbing headache, dizziness, and nausea.
"Super," she groaned, "a concussion." She brought her fingers up to her forehead and winced when they came away bloody. She checked herself over, and found mostly bruises, a burn on her arm, and possible broken ribs. Beka carefully stood up, clutching the broken pilot's chair as the world spun around her. After the feeling of vertigo passed, the events of the last day came flooding back to her.
Her and Dylan. A toast -- to the Commonwealth. Optimism and pessimism. Rommie...not the real Rommie. God, Tyr coming to the rescue. Magog ships. Magog. Millions of them. Splitting up. Magog rushing at her and Dylan. Fighting. Trying to reach Command. Dylan getting hurt. Point-Singularity Weapon. Blackness.
"Dylan," she muttered, stumbling over to check on him. Suddenly, she couldn't breathe, and pain lanced through her body. She saw black spots before her eyes before the pain vanished into thin air and her body armor fell in front of her. Beka fell to her knees, gasping for breath and failing.
"Shallow breaths, Beka," a soft voice said, and she felt gentle hands rubbing her back. Trance.
She tried desperately to follow the girl's advice, and found it easier to breathe after a few minutes. It still hurt, but less, and she thanked whoever was listening that Trance had woken up.
"How are you feeling?" Trance asked, coming around so that Beka could see her. The purple girl had purple blood running down the side of her face, and she was cradling one arm, but other than that, she seemed fine.
"Ugh," Beka replied. "Concussion. Maybe broken ribs."
"I'd say definitely, if you're having that much trouble breathing," Trance said, checking on Dylan.
"What about you?" Beka wondered, not letting Trance get away so easily.
"Concussion, same as you. And my arm hurts, but I don't think it's broken," Trance answered, distractedly.
Beka was afraid to ask the next question, but she did it anyway. "How's Dylan?"
Trance was equally afraid to answer. "Not good. He...he'll die without proper medical care."
Beka closed her eyes. Her world was spinning out of control again, and, again, she could do nothing to stop it. As she sunk into despair, she failed to hear Trance calling her name. Her body exploded into pain again as Trance got her attention.
"Ow, Trance, why did you do that?" Beka exclaimed, tears filling her eyes unbidden.
"I had to get your attention, somehow, Beka, I'm sorry!" Trance explained just as tearfully.
Beka shook her head and immediately wished she hadn't. At least it had cleared her mind of self-pity. She took charge. "Okay, so we need to get Dylan to Med Deck. I think there are some antigrav units around here somewhere. Trance, you look for those, and I'll see if I can find the clearest path to where we need to go."
"No," Beka heard someone say softly. She knew it wasn't Trance.
"What? Dylan, you're awake!"
"Don't waste your time," he whispered, and Beka had to lean closer to hear him.
"What do you mean?"
"On me," he explained.
"Dylan, I told you, I don't leave crewmembers behind," she told him fiercely, trying hard not to cry.
"Not...leaving me behind," he gasped out, the pain making it difficult for him to speak. "Triage." "No, Dylan." She knew what he meant. "You're not going to die."
"Help...others."
"No," she whispered, the tears slipping down her face.
"Yes. Save...Rommie. Destroy...Magog. Code..." he faded out.
"What code?" she asked softly.
"Andromeda," he said, and somehow, she heard him.
"Captain."
"Transfer Nova bomb launch authorization to First Officer Beka Valentine. Authorization Code Lexic Dark 997."
"Aye, Nova bomb laucnh authorization transfered, authorization High Guard Captain Dylan Hunt."
She shook her head again, tears streaming down her face. "No."
"Do...what you have to do," Dylan forced out, trying to stay awake for one more moment.
"No, Dylan, you have to do it, I can't," she rambled on, trying to keep him with her.
"Optimism," he said, and then was gone.
"Dylan!" Beka yelled. "Dylan." He wasn't dead, somehow she knew that, but he would be soon if she didn't do something. "Trance, forget the antigrav units."
"But Beka-" Trance started.
"No. We have to destroy the World Ship and save the rest of the crew. Go round up as many guns as you can from the weapons locker. It's two doors down on the left. Here, take my force lance and be careful. I'm going to find the emergency Med Kit so we can function."
Beka waited until Trance had left the room before heading for a pile of rubbish directly across from the Med Kit. Through the pain, a memory had come into her mind, bright and clear. Dylan had never destroyed that bottle of Flash she had thrown at him. He had never found it; it had rolled into some little nook or cranny of the ship and had been forgotten. But she knew where it was; she could get to it. If only it wasn't broken. She dug through the rubble, ignoring the both warning signals of her conscience and the pain from her nervous system telling her to stop. Finally, her efforts were rewarded, and she held the unbroken bottle of white liquid in one hand. Her hand was shaking as she drew out the stopper.
"It's for the crew," she told herself. "I'll be faster, stronger, and then I can save them and destroy the worldship and save Dylan. They'll see."
But then, as in every bad movie and novel she had read, a tiny little voice in the back of her mind said, 'Remember what happened the last time. Think of what Dylan will say. Maybe he'll kick you off this time, if you don't die first.'
"Everyone's going to die if I don't do this," she argued.
'They will if you do. You won't be able to stop, and you'll OD again and this time, Dylan won't be able to save you.'
"Shut up!" she insisted. "I'm not having a conversation with myself." But there was that seed of doubt planted there, and her hand stopped a moment before the liquid would have gone into her eye.
Staring from the bottle of Flash to Dylan and back again, Beka made her decision.
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