Parevian

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Summary: The weakening Commonwealth rescues a student who belongs to a race of natural geniuses. He aids Dylan Hunt and his aging crew in the war against the Nietzcheans, but remains troubled by his loyalties. Future fic.

AN: How's this for a teaser? Takes place about 20 years after the end of season five.

Chapter One

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The moment he heard the door chime, he knew his perfect life at the Parevius Freemind Academy was over.

"Pack your things," the warden told him, tossing over a crudely made bag. He caught it clumsily, trying to look bewildered but succeeding only in looking stupid. She ignored him and crossed the room to shut off his music. "Your transport leaves in exactly one hour. Dock seven. If you have any goodbyes to make, I suggest you use the telepad to make them."

"An hour?" he protested, rolling to his feet. "But that's not enough time."

"Really?" Now she paused, her face stone solid and lined with age. "And here I thought you had no friends." She uncrossed her arms and turned to leave. "One hour, Tribri. I wouldn't make the representative wait. I hear they're desperate for help, and now that they've asked for you, I believe it."

The door hissed closed behind her. Kytin Tribri sat down on the edge of his bed heavily. "At least I can do my job," he growled. "No thanks to you, old witch."

This was the Drago-Kasov style, all right. For months, they had been showing up, uprooting students from their contracted lives on the orbital engineering academy, and dragging them to who-knows-where. It was part of the pact made between the Nietzcheans and the humans of the Galiant system. As long as they had the pick of the human "intellectual litter", they would leave the entire system in peace.

None of the students ever returned. It made that little ball of fear in the pit of his stomach rumble and plunge. His life as he knew it was over.

He tried to pack slowly. He couldn't shake the desolate hope that his Nietzchean escort would get tired of waiting and leave without him. But after a quarter of an hour, he ran out of things to put in his bag. So he decided that he should take a shower. A long one.

By the time he scrubbed the water from his mud-brown hair, and finished dressing, he had a solid twenty minutes left. His usually creative and innovative brain failed to create another scenario that would give him a rock-hard excuse for being late. With a stone in his chest, he slung his half-empty pack over his shoulder and left the room.

He paused in the corridor, and turned around. He tried to imprint the image of his empty quarters inside his mind before the doors slid closed. It was likely this was the last private thing he would have for a long time.

Being one of the laziest and uncoordinated of students at the academy, Kytin had left his room assignment to the last minute before terms started. Consequently, they had arranged his sleeping quarters in the worst of locations—parallel to transport docks. Until today, he could have cared less about where they put him. Noise he could sleep through. But now all he wanted was to get lost, delay his arrival and prolong the inevitable. This was a hard thing to do when he barely had to turn a corner to reach his destination.

The docks were impressive during the day hours. With no walls to divide them, all twelve ports circled the massive, central plate where the general population circulated. During the busiest of times, half or more of the docks were graced with the presence of ships ranging in all sizes—from small slip fighters to industrial grade merchants, cargo freighters and cruise vessels. On any day but today, the sight of just one new ship would have motivated him. Not now, though.

The crowd, he noticed, was thicker than usual. Could a single student get lost in something like this? Trampled? Knocked over the guard railing? If he fell onto the support railings below, he might break a limb, or become paralyzed. The Drago-Kasov tribe didn't take cripples. He'd heard of one girl—she'd shattered every bone in her arm after being struck by a shipping crane. The Nietzcheans passed her over like a broken jar of Bolan jelly.

Kytin slowed to a quick stop. That girl had two Nietzcheans escorting her when that happened. In fact, now that he thought of it, all students who were taken into Dragan 'service' were accompanied to their transport by at least a single Nietzchean. Why not now? The warden had told him to be at the seventh dock within an hour.

An icy feeling washed over him. Was he supposed to wait in his room for someone? What would they do to him if he showed up early? Without an escort?

His panic ebbed. What was the worst they could do? Hurt him? Hurting him would make him less useful. And besides, who didn't appreciate someone with initiative? If he was lucky, they might decide that by not waiting for his escort, he might be too zealous for them to handle. They might even think better of him—having the opportunity to run away, but choosing to obey his warden instead.

Yeah, right. Some choice. Run away and stand trial with the Parevian court system. Or let some Nietzchean thugs haul him off to some distant planet to play 'loyal smart servant' until he could sponge enough money to buy his way out of service.

This was the way things worked during a war. Kytin didn't know who to hate more—the Nietzcheans for being their oppressors, or the Commonwealth for giving them a reason to oppress.

He started forward again, passing through the crowd like a nano-welder through aluminum. Dock four, dock five, dock six…two of which were empty. A rather rotund Perseid was standing in front of his vessel, laughing, both hands placed on his robed belly. Kytin tried to ignore the general carefree feeling floating around the docks. Usually, when the Nietzcheans were around, people kept their business closed and personal. It figured no one told this Perseid idiot that the Drago-Kasov clan was docked right next to him.

He started to rethink that anomaly, when someone suddenly appeared beside him and grabbed his arm. She—he noted it was a she, his naturally heightened sense of smell informed him—guided him through the crowd by the elbow.

"Keep moving. Don't say anything. Just move, and I won't hurt you," she instructed him. He felt the barrel of a small weapon dig into his ribs. This wasn't the first time he had been 'taken aside' in this manner, so he kept his mouth shut and didn't slow down. He really didn't expect to be led straight to the mouth of the seventh dock—his destination—but he was smart enough to keep his surprise to himself.

The woman herded him up the boarding ramp and towards the gargantuan ship docked at number seven. Kytin noticed two things about this ship immediately. The first was that it was old. In fact, it was ancient. And second, it wasn't Nietzchean. Not even close. The woman holding him hostage didn't smell like a Nietzchean, either. He felt a very small surge of hope, and a much larger portion of confusion Tribri his nauseating ball of fear.

They didn't stop until they were inside the ship and the door was closed. If the exterior of the craft was old, the interior was absolutely prehistoric. The last time he'd been around such tech was when the warden loaned him out to an old Nightsider for a week. It took every sweet charming trick of his to keep the rat from killing him every time something broke. Suddenly, he didn't feel too great about this miraculous abduction.

His captor turned on him, now that they were separate from the prying ears and eyes of the dock's inhabitants. She untied a knot and pulled the cloak from her body. His suspicions validated themselves. She was not Nietzchean.

She was human, as far as he could tell. Probably in her late forties, with short, dark blonde hair and killer eyes. Despite the fact that she was old enough to be his mother, he admitted in a half-conscious, not-so-important-to-know way that she was gorgeous. Right now, however, her figure was the last thing on his mind.

"What's your name?" she demanded.

He hesitated. Oh, crap. What did he tell her? A fake name? Screw it. "Uh…Kytin Tribri," he said slowly. Realizing she was no longer pointing a gauss gun at him, he let himself relax…about an inch. "Why are you kidnapping me?"

Perfect. Why not ask if she's single? Maybe if he kept on asking stupid questions, he'd appeal to her sense of humor.

But she wasn't offended. She reacted as though she expected him to ask that exact question. "I prefer to call it a liberal operation," she said with a cocky twist of the lips. She shifted her weight onto one leg and swept her eyes over him appraisingly. "He said you were skinny, but I wasn't expecting a walking force lance. What do they feed you in these academies?"

She turned around and tossed the ratty cloak into a corner as she spoke. As she started to move off, Kytin could only stumble after her, mouth flapping in an attempt to reconcile his shock.

"Uh…food?" he said stupidly, following her, ducking under a bunch of dangling wires. "Wait a second! Who are you? What happened to the Nietchzeans?"

They arrived in a room that oddly resembled his father's old single deck apartment on Old Parevius. The middle-aged woman stopped to open a refrigerator unit.

"First off, there are no Nietzcheans," she said offhandedly, bringing out two cans of cheap beer. She tossed one to him, which he barely caught. She sat down at the table, flipping up the tab on her can. "There never was. So you can loosen your pants a little, kiddo. I'm a good guy…metaphorically speaking."

He could only stare, unaware of the way the can was numbing his fingers. His pack slipped off his shoulder, jerking him backwards, which shook him out of his stupor.

"You're…the Commonwealth," he said slowly, although he felt absurd for saying it. What the hell would the Commonwealth want with an academy in Nietzchean territory? With him?

"I am a part of the Commonwealth, yes," said the blonde woman, sipping her beverage. "C'mon, sit. We won't bite, will we, Trance?"

"Of course we won't."

He twisted around, successfully dropping his pack onto the floor. Another woman, a much younger one with yellow-and-orange tinged skin and red hair approached him from behind. In contrast to her counterpart, the look on this one's face was calm and serene. Her smile was genuinely warming. Kytin felt the knot in his abdomen twist further.

"Who are you people?" he practically choked, backing away from them.

"Relax," the older woman said, grimacing. She set her beer down, as though his behavior were somehow making it go flat. "Seriously, you're worse than Harper." Then she frowned. "Trance, don't tell him I said that."

"Said what?" said Trance innocently, smoothly gliding towards the table and taking an empty seat. She gently patted the metal chair next to her. "Don't be afraid, Kytin," she assured him. "Beka's really a sweet person once you get to know her."

That name set off a whole new set of alarms he never knew he had. He abruptly remembered why the blonde woman looked so familiar. It was because he had spent at least four years of his career training studying the biographies of the Drago-Kasov's worst enemies. Kytin found himself rooted to the spot. "Beka?" he almost squeaked. "As in the Commander Beka Valentine of the Andromeda Ascendant? You?"

"Wow, Beka," Trance said, grinning happily and patting the older woman's arm. "You really are famous! You're so lucky!"

"No, no, no," Kytin muttered, backing up against the refrigerator. "You have to be kidding around. I mean, you were put up to this, right? I-I'm just…an engineering student, from some backwater planet. This is Dragan territory! Even Commonwealth warships steer clear of the Parevius system!"

"Yes, but you're forgetting something important," said Valentine, leaning forward. "I'm Captain Beka Valentine of the Eureka Maru. And if I want to kidnap some little mudfoot engineer from a Parevian academy, who's gonna stop me?"

There was a moment of hesitation, where Trance looked as though she were struggling with her conscience. "Actually…wasn't it Dylan's idea…?"

"Trance," said Beka curtly. "I think I heard the Maru receive a transmission just now. Why don't you go and check for me?"

The golden-tinged woman slowly got to her feet, still smiling. "Okay…"

When she had left, the 'captain' turned her attention on Kytin. "So, you're Kytin Tribri. If it weren't for you, I'd already be back on the Andromeda, taking a long, relaxing bath in my own quarters."

Though his heart was no longer pounding, Kytin decided that, for now, no one was going to kill him. So he carefully edged towards the table and sat down. The beer in his hand was starting to tempt him. "Um…sorry?"

To his surprise, the older woman grinned. "You're cuter than I expected. Are you sure you grew up in Nietzchean territory?"

"Actually," he said, a little tentatively. "Compared to most systems under Drago-Kasov rule, Parevius is a bit privileged."

"So I heard." Beka took another long swig of her beer. "Apparently, you Parevians have this natural talent for sheer brilliance. If I were Nietzchean, I wouldn't put an entire species of potential geniuses into hard labor camps, either."

The way she spoke about his people held some obvious scorn, but he somehow doubted it was directed at the Parevians as a whole. If this woman really was Commander Beka Valentine of the new Commonwealth, then he could only imagine why she didn't like Nietzcheans. It wouldn't do any good to take offense from someone who had been fighting for the freedom of people like the Parevians for longer than he'd been alive.

"Why are you here?" he asked, after a moment's pause. Now that he had calmed down, the curiosity of his unexpected fate was unbearable.

She waited until she downed the last of her beer before responding. "Because," she said, setting the can down. "I was on my way back home, and Dylan asked me to pick you up along the way. Things aren't going so well back at the farm. We need help. Short on crew, short on allies, short on supplies…basically, we're offering you a job."

Kytin stared at her for a long while after she stopped talking. She stared back at him. And now he felt like wondering if she had lost her mind.

"A job," he said.

She shrugged. "A job."

"You just saved me from a life slavery and potential suffering," he pointed out, stretching his palm flat on the table—a quirk that his people did whenever they were stressing a point. "And you're offering me a job as if I would refuse?"

Beka sighed, the same, time-savvy smile from before returning to her lips. "You don't know a lot about the Commonwealth, do you?"

No, he really didn't. "I know they're…nice people," he offered.

"Kid, you're hopeless." Beka stood up and went to the refrigerator to get another can of beer. "Which is why I haven't killed you yet. The Commonwealth needs people like you. It's no secret. So either I dump you back out on your ass, or you choose to come with us. You're a Parevian. One way or another, you'll end up on one side of this war, and it might as well be the right one."

Kytin considered this carefully, slowly turning the aluminum can around in his fingertips, examining the cold beads of perspiration as they slide down its reflective surface. He'd dodged a smart bullet today, being dragged into this strange ship with one of the most famous Commonwealth pilots known to his generation. If he went back outside, he'd have a normal life to return to. But sooner or later, the Drago-Kasov would come after him. He couldn't keep playing stupid forever and get way with it.

"I think…" He looked up after a minute. "I think I'll do it. I'll become a Commonwealth engineer…on one condition."

Sitting across from him, the older woman seemed less daunting than before. But the tight smile she gave him next was different. It was the smile of someone who had just received something long expected. "You're not only cute," she informed him. "You're ballsy. Let's hear it."

It was his turn to grin. He flipped the tab on top of his beer can. "I want a cerebral port."

-

Leaving the academy was easier than he thought, considering. The second-in-command to the Commonwealth's most legendary captain was apparently not an easy game to catch. She'd snuck into a prominent learning center in the middle of Dragan territory, abducted what was essentially their property, and gotten away with it scot-free.

Well, 'scot-free' might not be exactly true. Before slipstreaming to Parevius, the Maru had apparently run into a Nietzchean patrol. It explained the damage to the ship's systems, and also why Kytin was put to work posthaste. After agreeing to his terms (but not before muttering something grudgingly about a 'Harper'), Commander Beka had obtained dock clearance and piloted the Maru into orbit around the Parevian planet.

"Hey, kid," Beka said from the pilot's seat. "You'd better get one last look at this place before we head into slipstream."

Kytin pulled his head out from underneath the panel he'd been examining. "First of all, my name isn't 'kid'," he said patiently. "It's Kytin. And I stare at that planet every day. I know what it looks like."

"You're not all that attached to your home, are you?" The comment was made more of a question than a statement. The Maru turned away from the pale green-and-blue world as she prepared the slipstream drive.

"It's not that." He leaned against the console he'd been repairing. "I just…don't like goodbyes. And if you want me to work for the Commonwealth, you won't ask me why."

Unseen by him, Beka smiled grimly. "Cute, ballsy and mysterious. Kytin, you surprise me."

"I surprise myself sometimes," he said. "When I packed my things this morning, I wasn't expecting to be kidnapped by the Commonwealth. But here I am," he continued, laughing feebly. "On the Eureka Maru, for Hallowed's sake! I'm talking to you, Commander, pilot of the Andromeda Ascendant, subjugator of the Abyss, slayer of countless Magog—"

"Whoa, whoa," she cut in, reaching for the slipstream prompt controls. "I get it. I'm a legend. I'm not used to the attention, so…let's just stick to Beka for now, all right?"

He pressed his lips together and nodded, looking down at the nano-welder in his hand. "If you want. How long until slipstream?"

"About two minutes," she replied. After a moment of silence, she asked, "I was wondering…is there any particular reason you want a cerebral port? I thought Parevians preferred to learn the hard way."

At this he had to laugh, but it was cheerless. "It don't want it so I can learn," he explained. "I want it so I can teach."

She tilted her head slightly. "Um…okay."

"You really don't know a lot about Parevians, do you?" He smiled and put the nano-welder down.

"I know that they're nice people."

"Maybe we have a lot to learn about each other."

She tapped the final command before securely gripping the pilot's controls. "Maybe we do. Prepare for slipstream."

He barely had time to grab the console before the Maru jumped into slipstream, and shot towards a future he couldn't even fathom.

TBC