This is story is finished but not edited or betaed. So it has still to be considered a work in progress.
Version: Part 1: 20.10.01, Part 2: 07.01.02, Part 3: 07.01.01, Part 4: 07.01.01
PG 13. Warning: Violence, language.
Copyright Disclaimer: The Magnificent Seven belong to MGM/Mirisch, the Andromeda universe belongs to the Tribune Entertainment Group. Both were used without prior permission.
The High Guard AU and this story belong to me.
This AU is OPEN.

The Universe puts us in just the right places at just the right time. But it's we who have to make the right choices.
Saying, source unknown.

�

Prologue
Alarm klaxxons sounded through the corridors of the "Mary of Medici" as the Commonwealth scout vessel was rocked by the impacts of several missiles. Special Agent Captain Chris Larabee swore under his breath and looked at his best friend and fellow Special Agent Commander Buck Wilmington, who fiddled with the environment controls. Black smoke billowed from various terminals as shortcircuits rummaged through the system, crippling the ship with every devastating blow they received.

"Slipstream now!" Larabee snapped at the young crewman who manned the helm.

"Negativ," JD Dunne was drenched in sweat. Ever since the two High Guard agents had saved him from certain death by the hands of the Nietzscheans, they were on the run. Now, the small ship was heading back to Commonwealth territory, limping home after a few critical hits to its drive system. "The Slipstream drive is offline, Sir."

"Mary, can you repair it?"

"Yes," the holographic image of the ship's artificial intelligence flickered slightly as another circuit went out. When another projectile hit the hull, the blond, long haired woman closed her green eyes for a moment. "But I will need several hours at minimum."

Chris sighed. "Do it. And shut off that damned alarm."

"We won't make it," Buck didn't look up from his controls. "This time, our luck ran out."

"My luck ran out a long time ago," the dark blond Captain muttered into the sudden silence that filled the bridge. "How many of the bastards are still on our tail?"

"Three," Wilmington shot him a look and winced when he saw the determination in his friend's face. "You don't really want to do that, pard."

"I have no other choice," Larabee scowled. "Helm, I need full speed on my mark and set a course to Tau Proxima."

"Course Tau Proxima, full speed on your mark," Dunne confirmed, worry edged in his face. "Sir, this will bring us flying on a collision course with them and then directly into the asteroid field. At full speed..."

Chris smiled the smile of a man who knew he had nothing to lose. "Your file said you are an extraordinary pilot, Mr. Dunne. Guess it's time that you live up to your reputation."

"Aye, Sir." A fine sheet of sweat had formed on the teenager's face and he nervously brushed a stubborn strand of dark hair back behind his right ear to keep it from falling into his field of vision.

"Larabee!" Buck growled. "This is insane. It won't work."

"You have a better idea?"

Wilmington just glared at him.

"Thought as much. Watch your back, old friend." Chris squeezed Buck's arm before he left the bridge. He prayed that this wouldn't be a suicide run.

"You, too," Buck heaved a sigh when the doors had closed.

"Yes, son?" He straightened, aware of the fear in the young man's voice.

"We will make it, won't we?"

Huge brown eyes pleaded for a reassuring answer, an answer that Buck didn't have. He studied the juvenile face briefly, saw a hope and innocence in it that he had lost a long time ago. No, they probably wouldn't make it. Buck knew it and Larabee knew it. But the kid clinged to the feeble chance of survival, trusting the two agents to get them out of the situation alive. Wilmington smiled. "Yes, son. And now, fly us out of this mess."

In the cargo section of the "Mary of Medici", Chris had opened one of the heavily armored boxes that were piled safely against the wall. He stared at the softly glowing devices that lay orderly in a row. The point singularity mines were barely the size of a fist, but they were devastating enough to destroy even mid sized fighter ships like the ones that were chasing the "Mary" now. The bigger starships had missiles with antimatter warheads, but a scout ship was too small to host the rocket launchers neccessary for that type of firepower. Instead, they were equipped with various tarnish devices and a few other surprises that would give the Nietzscheans a headache. He hoped. If not, the slim scout vessel would be blown out of space and her crew with her. Larebee felt the ship buck under the impact of another salve. "Damn it."

He didn't have much time.

The "Mary of Medici" was a tough ship. Sure, she wasn't one of the noble, weapon starring flying fortresses that were the pride of the Commonwealth's High Guard, but she could pride herself of being very much able to stand her own ground. Though, ever since her new Captain Chris Larabee had assumed command, the ship's life had taken a turn for the more dangerous. For example, their current mission had been an undercover search and rescue for the survivors of a passenger ship that the Nietzscheans had brought up several months ago. Unfortunately, they had been too late. The only survivor was a teenager. With the war raging for over a year now, there were many victims to mourn at both sides, but Mary knew as well as most of her fellow High Guard ships that the Commonwealth had to endure heavy losses from day one. Still, her programming was to protect those aboard with her life and to be loyal to her Captain. With a sigh, Mary returned her attention to access and repair the damage to her systems while supporting the current flight manoeuvres. No one ever said the life of a scout vessel would be easy.

"Now!" Chris Larabee barked and braced himself for the g-force that would hit the moment that Dunne would send the ship into a sharp U-turn and straight into the persuing ships.

"Collision alert!" Mary's navigation system warned. "One minute to impact."

On the bridge, JD stemmed himself into the helm chair controls, fighting gravitation and the growing urge to scream. His throat was tight with fear. Flying directly into their attackers... Larabee was insane!

"Incoming missiles," Mary reported and Buck cursed.

"Set decoys now."

"Setting decoys," the female voice confirmed. Wilmington held his breath without noticing it, hoping that the target searching missiles would be distracted by the highly developed signature faking devices. "Inpact in 20 seconds."

"Chris!" Buck saw the rapidly growing pictures of the Nietzschean ships on the monitor. Then the "Mary of Medici was shaken by explosions all around her. The High Guard Commander grabbed the panel in front of him, glad that the seatbelts held him back.

In the cargo bay, Larabee unsteadily got to his feet. Blood ran from a scalp wound and his head was pounding.

"Impact in 15 seconds."

Chris swore and hastily finished the programming of the mines. The enemy would never know what hit him.

"Chris?!" Wilmington's concerned voice sounded through the speakers.

"I'm fine," Larabee bellowed. It was a lie, but right now, his personal health didn't matter. Survival did. "Are we on course?"

"Flying straight into their hunting pack. I hope that your plan works."

"Only one way to find out."

"Impact in 10 seconds."

"Chris?"

"Yes, Buck?" Chris tossed the mines into the airlock and evaporated them into space.

"Impact in 5 seconds."

The Mary bolted under heavy laser fire.

"It was an honor to ride with you, pard."

"Four seconds."

"Same here, Buck." A smile crept on Chris's face as he ignored the stench of fire that filled the room.

"Three seconds."

"See you on the other side," Wilmington muttered.

"Two seconds."

"Helm, evasive manouvres NOW!" He prayed that Dunne was as good as the file said, otherwise they would become a fly against the Nietzschean fighter's proverbal windscreen. A row of violent explosions slammed Chris into the wall.

"Sarah..." he wispered, then his eyes rolled up and he slumped into a heap, oblivious of the living hell the "Mary of Medici" had become.

300 years later
Four Corners. Ten generations ago, the small outpost on the backwater planet had belonged to a wealthy Commonwealth mining company. People of all races had lived and worked together in a peaceful co-existence, exploiting the planet's resources.

Now, it was the bustling meeting point for scroundrels, mercenaries, traders and whoever else had the misfortune to get stranded here. The two rivalling Nietzschean clans who constantly quarreled over the ownership of the few functioning mines that were left and the slaves that laboured in the belly of the planet added to the tension in the sector.

Chris Larabee looked up from the newsreport he had read for the past two hours and frowned. Ever since he had woken from the stasis sleep a week ago, life as he knew it had changed dramatically. Chris was still not sure why Mary had kept them in sleep for three centuries, but wether it was due to a virus that she claimed the Nitzscheans had somehow infected her with or a plain technical misfunction, the result was the same. They were stuck in a world were the Commonwealth no longer existed, where the values that the High Guard had represented were trampled into the dust and the only thing that counted was the right of the strongest.

He sighed, unsure of his next steps. Chris's priority was the survival of his crew and ship. But what was there beyond that? The High Guard had perished, and with it everything he had sworn to protect had disappeared. They were a living fossile, a leftover of an era that was long gone. He still had problems to accept the facts, wishing that this was just an insane nightmare, but one look into Buck's serious face or JD's desperate eyes told him that this was the only reality he would ever wake up to. Maybe it was the best just to give up.

Angrily, Larabee slammed his fist on the small table that adorned his quarters, sending the foils with the printed reports to the floor. He had at least two reasons why he couldn't, no, wouldn't give up. Three, if he counted in Mary. Everything else would come in time.

Chris, Buck and JD had managed to provisorically repair the Slipstream drive, but Mary insisted that they would need the service of a space port to fully restore the ship's engine. Buck had added that they also had to restock supplies, so Chris had reluctantly agreed to search for the nearest outpost of civilization. They had ended up in Four Corners and while Chris supervised the repairs, Buck and JD were busy gathering information.

Wilmington stood at the bar of the 'Lion's Den', one of the many entertainment establishments that the main district housed, and downed his drink, shuddering at the flavor. Times had definately changed. The initial desperation he had felt was soon covered by the realization that while he couldn't turn back time, he had a chance to make the best out of the situation. And then there was young JD. With a smile, he watched the teenager who sat at a table, fully engulved in a conversation with two strangers. Dunne would have made a fine High Guard recruit. What he was lacking in skills he made up in enthusiasm and an innocence that seemingly resisted everything. Buck decided to join his crewmate and see what he was up to.

"Hey kid... you want to intruduce me to your friends?"

"Buck," JD smiled. "Meet Nathan Jackson and Josiah. Guys, this is Buck Wilmington."

"Guys," Buck carefully studied JD's new aquaintences. Jackson was a colored man in his late twenties, maybe early thirties. He was dressed in plain, unsuspicious clothes that would make it easy to hide in a crowd. The other guy, Josiah, was older, maybe fifty, he guessed. His shoulder long, grey hair was bound to a loose pony tail and he wore a wide, poncho-like coat.

"Hi Buck," Josiah greeted him with a broad grin and Nathan nodded a welcome. "Pleasure to meet you. JD told us that you are new in the sector?"

"You could say that." Buck returned the grin.

"Nathan says that he knows someone who maybe has the spare parts we are looking for," JD informed him.

"And that someone would be willing to trade with us?" Wilmington wanted to know. He would have to have a serious talk with the young man about disclosing critical data.

"He would," Jackson said casually. "But it won't come cheap."

"Can you get us into contact with him?"

"I think so. Meet me here again tomorrow."

"What got into you?" Chris angrily stared at Buck, but his fellow agent wasn't impressed by the Captain's tirade.

"We won't make it without that part, and this might be our best chance to get it."

"What if it's a trap?" Larabee continued. "Have you seen the eyes of the repair bay personell when they saw the Mary? They'd kill to get her."

"We have to be twice as careful, then," Buck's eyes narrowed. "Chris, I don't like is either, but we don't have much of a choice. These are barbaric times."

The black High Guard uniform gave Larabee an even darker appearance than the mood he was currently in. "You trust them?"

Buck hesitated a moment, then nodded. "Yes, I do."

Chris scrutinized his friend, then his hard features were softened by a smile. "You never give up, do you?"

�

Thirtytwo hours later, Captain Chris Larabee was blowing a fuse. "He wanted what?"

"Our help to scare off some pirates from one of his outposts," Wilmington calmly explained.

"I hope you told him where he can shove his outpost?!" Chris snarled. This wasn't his idea of a trade. Mercenary work in exchange for some spare parts. How much lower could he sink?

"I told him if he added the other things on my 'want' list, we're in."

Larabee opened his mouth a few times to say something, then just shook his head in dismay and settled for an unfriendly glare.

"Hey, if we pull this through successfully, no one will dare to cross us."

"How many of those pirates are we facing?" Chris gave in to the inevitable, swearing that next time, he'd strangle Wilmington before allowing him to get them hip deep into trouble.

"The Chief asked me if twenty men would scare me..." Buck smiled.

"Twenty! They are facing twenty men and they need outside help?" Chris found it hard to belief.

"They have mostly women and children there, it's one of the habitats."

Chris swore under his breath. Wilmington knew what strings to pull. "We two won't make it."

"Well... Nathan and Josiah might join us, and then there's the kid."

"JD?" Larabee snorted. "He's barely out of his diapers. This is a man's job."

"We can't exactly leave him here in Four Corners." As much as Buck hated the idea of dragging Dunne into a fight, he even more disliked the thought to leave him behind.

"He's smart, he'll survive."

"I think, that's his choice."

"His choice! Just as it was my choice to accept this asine mission?" The dark clad High Guard officer sighed deeply. "He'll be a liability and you know it."

"We promised Admiral Travis to protect the boy."

"Admiral Travis is dead, Buck. Dead for 300 years," Chris's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "JD stays here and that's final."

"I don't like this," Buck's voice was low, barely making it over the constant noise of the bar. He slowly gazed around, rolling his glass between his palms and pretended to be nothing than just an ordinary customer enjoying himself. "Josiah and Nathan should have been here an hour ago."

"Yeah. Good thing we left the kid to watch Mary." Chris unobtrusively scrutinized the other customers. Buck was right, something was definately wrong here, but he couldn't put his finger on it. To the ordinary eye, the scene that presented itself to him was that of an ordinary evening in a low-rate bar: drunken men rowdily asked for more liquor, hookers offering their service freely to anyone who could afford them, gamblers and other scum playing cards and other people that Chris wouldn't associate with under normal circumstances filled the establishment. But these weren't normal circumstances.

A group of drunken Nietzscheans had caught his attention. He couldn't remember ever having seen one of them even slightly intoxicated, but apparently there was an exception to ever rule. Especially one of them, a young, brown haired Nietzschean who was dressed a bit better than his drinking companions caught his attention. The heavy leather boots must've cost the guy a fortune, not to mention the black, tight leather pants and the short leather vest. Larabee had to admit that the man - no, the Nietzschean, he corrected himself - had a good taste. His body language, however, told Chris that the fellow had downed more than what was good for him. It was a miracle that he could still hold the cards. "We'll wait for another ten minutes, then the deal is off."

Chris let his gaze sweep over the room and suddenly caught his breath. Hidden in the far corner sat a man, keeping a sharp eye on the two High Guard agents. Larabee felt the hair on his neck rise. Why hadn't he noticed the guy before? The table that the stranger occupied was in a strategic position, allowing a good overview of the entire bar and, even more important, over the entrance. Just like the one Chris had chosen, maybe even better. The cloths the man wore didn't give any indication to his occupation; from what Chris could tell it was the comfortable dark grey jumpsuit that many of the technicians and flight personell wore. On the other hand the brown haired man was armed heavier than a mercenary. The stranger chose that moment to look at Chris. For a brief moment, their eyes locked, then the other smiled faintly and nodded a greeting. Larabee's curiousity was aroused.

�

Ezra smiled at the Nietschean in front of him and added some more coins to the pot. "Your ten, and I raise by another ten."

He drawled the words, the alcohol making his pronounciation even more slurry that the Southern Cross region's accent was anyway. But his actions were carefully calculated to lure his prey into safety. He had worked on the group of Nietscheans for several days now and his con began to pay off. He dealt Warryl the next card.

"I hold your ten and raise by fifty," the broad grin on the Nietschean's face told Ezra that it was now or never.

"Fifty, and I want to see."

�

Vin Tanner downed the rest of his drink and chastised himself for picking up contact with the dark clad man in the opposite corner of the room. He had no clue who the man was, but his instincts told Vin that he could trust the man. That in itself was odd enough - as a bounty hunter with a bounty on his own head, Tanner generally trusted no one. And still, he and the stranger had come to a silent agreement that very instant, seeing each other as equals and maybe as allies. 'Damn it, Tanner, are you out of your mind?' Under ordinary circumstances, he'd be out of this place in the blink of an eye. The chances that the hunters who were on his trail caught up was too high. But for some reason he couldn't pinpoint, this weren't ordinary circumstances. Maybe he should find out more about the blond stranger and his dark haired pal. But before he could get up, all hell broke loose.

�

"Cheat!" Warryl slammed the cards on the table and the coins scattered on the greasy floor.

"Sir, I resent that statement." Ezra tossed back the chair and drew his weapon in a smooth movement. "I won this game fair and square."

"Hah! You're a dead, Ezra!"

The other Nietzscheans stood, their bodies tense like a puma before it attacked. Ezra's gaze flickered from one to the other and his lungs pumped more oxygen into his body as adrenalin soared through his system. "Who of you wants to die first?"

�

Both Chris and Buck sensed the danger at the same time. Fine tuned instincts kicked in and they had out their weapons under the table, ready to use them if neccessary. Chris exchanged a quick look with the stranger on the other side of the room and received a brief nod.

"We gotta get out of here," Wilmington observed the scene at the gambling table with interest. Nietzscheans were known to bluff and cheat if there was no other way to win, but being caught cheating was considered dishonorable. Paradox people, really. Seemed that the well dressed one was going to be at the receiving end of a painful lection soon.

�

Ezra made a step backwards, then another. "You can pick... C'mon..."

He knew they wouldn't attack, not as long as he had the gun trained on them. He knew the Nietzschean view of the world. Dead males had no chances to produce children and by this their genes would be lost. He took another step back, sure that he'd make it out of the situation unscathed. If he'd only make it to the door in one piece. The gang looked ready to kill. The bar had become deadly silent, most of the customers had already escaped. "I see that you..."

Ezra never finished the sentence but let out a surprised yelp when the left behind bottle on the floor that he had stepped on rolled away under his foot and tipped him off balance. In the vein attempt to keep his stance, he ruddered with his arms, and that was all that the Nietzscheans had waited for.

"Grab him!"

�

Nathan knew he was late but the quick detour he and Josiah had made to the 'Mary of Medici' had kept the two of them busy. Poor JD could call himself lucky that he was still alife after the repair bay crew had decided that they wanted the ship more than their salary.

A crowd of people burst out of the bar just the moment Jackson wanted to enter.

"What's going on in there?" He stopped one of them.

"Nietzschean bar brawl," was the clipped answer.

Nathan sighed and waited for Larabee and Wilmington to appear, but none of them showed up, which either meant that they had escaped through the back entrance or were somehow involved in the fight. He pulled his gun and entered the 'Lion's Den'.

Ezra fought for his dear life but he knew that he was seriously outnumbered. Outnumbered? Damn it, they were about to kill him! He delivered a kick into the stomach of one of his opponents, but the other four were giving him more than a fair share of beats. His ingrained mobility and flexibility was worth nil facing an enemy who were genetically enhanced to fight and win. He knew he had to escape, had to make it out of this hellhole, but no matter what he did, how much he tried to wind himself out of the grip of the Nitzscheans, he didn't stand much of a chance. Warryl slammed his fist into Ezra's face and he felt his knees weaken. With a groan, the gambler collapsed, only held upright by two of his opponents while the others used him as a punching bag.

Chris had seen enough. "Let's go."

"We don't want to help him?" Buck wondered.

"He's a cheat and a Nietzschean. Why should I want to help him?"

Wilmington heard the pain filled moans and winced. "They'll kill him."

"That's not my problem. He should have thought about it earlier."

Chris's voice was cold and it sent a shiver down Wilmington's spine. Buck was about to give a sniding reply to his friend when the entrance door burst open and Nathan Jackson entered the scene.

Five Nietzschean heads turned to the new arrival. One of them recognised Jackson and quietly talked to his pals. Suddenly, the gambler seemed to be of no more interest to the quintet.

"Jackson! You killed my brother with your slave medicine!" One of the Nietzscheans snarled.

Nathan tensed, trying to recall faces and situations. "Your brother was beyond help, Rhen. No doctor in the universe could have saved him."

"You will die, slave doctor," Rhen trained his gun at the black man.

"I'm no doctor," Jackson replied, and then colder. "And I'm no slave no more."

Chris exchanged a quick look with his acquaintance at the other side of the room. The determined expression told him that the stranger wouldn't tolerate that the Nietzscheans lynched Jackson, and neither would Chris or Buck.

"Mister." Though he wasn't yelling, Larabee's voice carried through the room and the mob turned their heads.

"What the hell you want?" Warryl snarled, pulling his own weapon.

"Drop that gun. Now." Chris' tone was deadly serious.

"Let him go," Vin demanded as he cocked his rifle.

"Not a chance, boys," Rhen laughed and aimed at the High Guard Captain. The last thing he saw was the quick flash of a weapon, then the awkward stench of his own, burned flesh soared in his nostrils before the Nietzschean collapsed dead on the floor. It took his comrades a few valuable instants to realise what happened and by then it was too late.

Chris Larabee cautiously looked over the rim of the turned over table that he had used as cover. Three dead Nietzscheans were lying on the floor, another one was injured, still down from the beating he had received and the last of them had escaped as soon as he got a chance.

Next to Chris, Buck heaved a sigh and slowly climbed to his feet. "This wasn't my idea of a business dinner."

"You okay?" Chris took his friend's hand let himself being dragged up.

"Yes," Wilmington's eyes danced over the room. "Nathan?"

"I'm fine. Thanks for the help."

"No sweat," Larabee began to look for their unknown ally and much to his relief, the stranger was very much alive.

"You're a good shoot," he observed casually as the two of them checked the fallen enemies for life signs.

"You're not that bad yourself," blue eyes sparkled with mischief and the soft drawl indicated the man's heritage from one of the Rim-Line farming outposts. "Name's Vin Tanner."

"Captain Chris Larabee. Those are my co-pilot Commander Buck Wilmington and that's Nathan." He pointed over to the others. Chris wasn't sure what it was, but he instinctively trusted Tanner, pretty much the same way he had trusted Buck. "Interested to join a little rescue mission?"

"Depends on what is in it for me," Vin smiled, but quickly sobered when he noticed the barely conscious gambler "That Ezra fellow needs a doctor."

That caught Jackson's attention. "Ain't no doctor, but I can patch him up aboard the Nightingale."

Larabee shot the downed Nietzschean a disgusted stare. "Why would we need a cheat?"

"He might come in handy," Buck slapped his palm on Chris's shoulder.

"Well," Chris hesitated a moment, swallowed the answer that was laying on his tongue and instead just shrugged. "Reckon we better get back to the ship before we have an angry clan at our throats."

Continue to Part 2