Author's Note: Last chapter, folks. Hope you've enjoyed the ride.

Chapter 17

Dylan honestly enjoyed most of his duties as captain, but if there was one thing he despised it was tedious paper work. With a good third of his crew dead and buried, he had to sort through the list of newcomers and make sure all were qualified. It was tedious, but he wouldn't have trusted anyone else with it. The new crew members had been assigned by the New Commonwealth, and Dylan was not yet sure if the government was completely free of corruption. The captain looked up at the sound of a knock on his door.
"Enter," he called out.
The door slid open, and a woman came in. Her uniform wasn't of the typical High Guard design but rather that of a medical officer. She was in her mid to late thirtys, about a head shorter than Dylan, with golden blond hair neatly tied into a short braid. In her hands, she carried a folder.
"Captain Hunt," she apologized. "I'm sorry for my late arrival. I'm one of the new medical officers, and I just wanted to give you my portfolio. I hope you don't mind the inturuption."
"It's alright," Dylan recieved the folder. "I needed a break anyway."
The woman nodded and turned to go. Dylan quickly flipped through her information and looked up again. "Three hundred years ago, I prided myself on knowing the name of all my crew," he said before she could leave. "I'd like to say I can still do that."
Her back turned to him, she smiled. Her name was written on the edge of the folder, but the woman thought she would humor the captain. She faced him again. "Susannah. My name is Susan."
Dylan gracesly returned her smile. "Welcome abord the Andromeda Ascendant, Susan."
---
Beka was wandering somewhere between the dream world and reality for a long time, but she didn't want to wake up. Being awake meant duties in command, arguing with Dylan and chastising Harper. Most importantly it meant getting out of the warm and comfortable bed. She smiled and rolled over on her side, but quickly noticed that something was amiss. The other side of the bed was empty.
A string of memories from past experience insisted to her that this was never a good thing, but Beka calmly sat up, wrapping the sheets around herself. She looked around then put her hand on the pillow. The space retained just a hint of Telemachus' warmth. He couldn't have left more than a half an hour ago. Suddenly her hand came on a piece of paper left behind. Leaning against the wall, she unfolded it and read.

Rebecca,

Please excuse my absence, but I didn't wish to wake you. You looked peaceful, and that is such a rare state for you. I hope you don't mind, I took the liberty of telling captain Hunt that you'd be late for your duties. He'll understand. He always does.
Tristan has inquired about you whereabouts. I suspect he's still slightly paranoid after the events with the Magog. I told him you were tired and sleeping, but do go see our son once you're up. Please see him before you begin your duties. Command can wait. Tristan's more important.
I'd like to take this opportunity to thank you for last night. Thank you for trusting me, where I did not trust myself. You drove the demons away, at least for now. I hope that if they return, I could come to you once more and that you'd share those that haunt you. We both have a great deal of demons, but perhaps we are stronger together.
You were amazing.
Telemachus

P.S. There's a fresh cup of coffee for you on the table. Enjoy.

She read over the letter one more time and smiled. Any man who made her coffee in the morning must be a keeper. She placed the letter on the the table, dressed, then looked in the mirror. Her cloths were wrinkled, hair disheveled, and body slightly sore. She hadn't felt that good in ages.
Taking the cup of coffee with her, she headed for her own quarters. On the way the passing crew gave her funny looks. Some snickered, while others just raised eyebrows. Beka didn't care. Let them wonder. She reached her quarters, changed into fresh cloths, and prepared for her duties.
"Andromeda," Beka called to the AI. "Where's Tristan?"
"With all the senior officers in command," the ship replied. "You're late, Beka."
"I know, I know," the first officer muttered as she sat down to pull on her boots. She didn't like being scolded like a child.
"I suggest you hurry. New orders from Tarazed are coming in, and Dylan requested that all senior officers meet in command."
"Some people have a very strange way of saying 'thanks.' They call us traitors, we save their collective asses from the Magog, and they're still barking out orders," she grumbled, fastening the straps of the other boot.
Instantly, Andromeda's hologram appeared in front of her with crossed arms. "Beka, they're the Commonwealth, and I'm a war ship. We have to follow orders."
"Yeah," she finally got up and walked past the hologram to the door, "but I don't have to like them."
Andromeda actually smiled at this. "If liking the government was a requirement to serve in the military, we wouldn't have half the people we do."
---
The feeling of anger didn't last long, not even half way to command. Beka wasn't that angry with the Triumvirs, just annoyed. She didn't understand politics and didn't wish to be involved. Dylan was doing just fine on his own. When the door slid open, Beka walked in on a totally different scene than she'd woken up to for the past year. Everyone was at their stations, talking and performing their duties just like every morning. But there was something missing. Of course, she smiled. The feeling of dread, the uncertainty that they might not all be here the next day, the stress of running had all lifted from the shoulders of the crew. There was no longer a need to fight for survival. They had won that battle and earned the reward of life free of fear. At least for the moment.
Her eyes roamed over command until she spotted Tristan and Telemachus. Rhade was holding the boy and pointing out various items on the control panel. Every now and then, Tristan nodded in understanding and proceeded to question his father about something else. Beka smiled at the pair and moved to her pilot's console not wishing to interrupt. Dylan, who was facing the front screen with his back to her, finally acknowledged her presence.
"Beka, so nice of you to finally join us." His voice oddly cheerful. Dylan turned to face her and his amused gaze bounced from her to Telemachus for a moment. "I trust you had a pleasant rest?"
From the corner of her eye, Beka saw an involuntary smile touch the Nietzschean's lips, but he continued with his lesson as if he hadn't heard anything. She gave the captain her best look of innocence. "Yes, I did," she grinned. "A very pleasant rest."
Dylan shook his head, but it was all in good humor. He'd long ago written Beka off as a lost cause when it came to military discipline. He was happy for her though. The time and energy she bestowed upon her son and Telemachus was unmatched. She was loyal and detected, despite some odd methods. Dylan saw glad to have her on his crew.
"Captain," The AI appeared on screen. "Orders from Tarazed are coming in."
"Good," Dylan nodded. "Let's see what they have for us."

A Note on the Title: I always have trouble coming up with good titles for my stories. Originaly Invictus was a work-in-progress title and I had intended to change it, but as the story went on, I realized that it was the perfect title.
"Invictus" is the title of a poem by William Ernest Heneley, which I posted throughout chapter 1 of this story. It happens to be one of my favorite poems especialy the two last lines.

"I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul."

The poem talks about an unconcorable spirit overcoming great difficulties, and upon using this as a backbone to the story, I first thought of Tristan, who survived against impossible odds before finally finding peace on the Andromeda. However the poem also refers to Beka and Telemachus, both of whom had to escape the shadows of their predecessors in order to come to understand themselves and each other. They came to realize that it was they who were the masters of their own fates, and should not have to be ruled by the past. However for one of them, the battle is not entirely over, as you will see in the sequel to "Invictus" called "A Poison Tree."

Author's End Note: Well that's all folks. At least for Invictus. I have a sequal in the works called "A Poison Tree" for another poem, this one by William Blake. I have the first 2 chapters written and a pretty solid idea on what I want to write but please do throw some ideas my way. Tell me what you want to hear about. Thanks for reading.