I don't own anything.
Set after AGNO.
Rom-Antics
So yes, the treaty with Castalia had really come to life, they all had signed it, had helped the system to sort out their past and present differences, soothed the wounds, calmed the heated spirits, pacified the planet. It had taken them a lot longer than anticipated, but then again: some weeks to sort out decades of civil war, crimes against humanity and lies was still a comparatively short period of time.
The joining ceremony had been postponed because of this all, but then – after a couple of months – word had reached Sinti that the Perseids and the crew of the Andromeda Ascendant were kindly invited back to Castalia – for the celebration.
Dylan was looking forward to it, Rommie was delighted, Rev Bem thrilled, Trance almost bouncing with happiness. Tyr was surprised that the invitation included him, but willing to give it a go. And Harper was harbouring delusions about how the ensuing parties and balls would provide him with endless opportunities to meet chicks. Of course.
Beka Valentine – the only one not quite so fascinated by the prospect of spending interminable hours at Dylan's side, smiling and bowing and shaking hands, listening to interminable speeches interjected by appalling sounds Castallians liked to refer to as ceremonial music – saw her worst fears confirmed: Rev Bem had indeed quickly found a group of fellow Wayists, who had years ago set up a monastery on Castalia and were now more than willing to share their views on the indigenous civilisation with him. Trance had almost immediately been off exploring the planet's amazing flora and fauna. Harper met some girls and excused himself rather quickly – undoubtedly in order to make a pass at them and get put down just as speedily, while Tyr retreated towards the gardens of the residential building the ceremony was held in. And after the signing ceremony had been repeated three times in front of the cameras of all races populating the system, Rommie went off with a bunch of lawyers and politicians, to determine the exact terms of Castalia's joining the Restored Systems' Commonwealth. Which left, as foreseen, Beka alone at Dylan's side, stuck between him and the newly elected president of the fish-people, to greet an almost interminable row of dignitaries, who seemed to regard the two of them as some sort of royal couple.
Her feet hurt in the high-heels she wasn't used to, her arm was getting heavy, her hand had been crushed time and again by some enthusiastic fish-man or other misjudging his strength, and the corners of her mouth felt as if they had been frozen in place in the largest smile she had available, all of her facial muscles meanwhile in pain, her mouth dry by all the 'Delighted's, 'How do you do's and 'Thank you for coming's.
Then, somewhere behind her back, her ears perceived the clinking of glasses and plates, as well as the sound of music, real music – like in... for dancing. She was almost dying for a break, more than thirsty and almost ravenous with hunger. And so the distant noise behind her made the torture complete.
But then, just when Beka began to feel as if she would start to scream any minute, the row came to an end. The last ones of Castalia's noblest, richest and most beautiful were through – and freedom was there for her to grasp. Castalia's president and the Sinti ambassador were, as protocol required, led to the vast dining rooms together with Beka and Dylan. With that many guests of honour, all possible hierarchic hiccups had been avoided by making the more informal part of the evening begin with buffet, and so – after one last round of bows and reverences – they were all left to go their own way. With a sigh, Beka grabbed for a glass of something a waiter was carrying on a tray and emptied it in one gulp. Not quite lady-like, but she was way past caring.
She heard a soft chuckle and then an arm encircled her waist and turned her around towards the huge window-doors leading to vast terraces and gardens, lit as brightly as if it were day-light and filled with huge crowds of people, but still big enough for all of them to disperse among the flowers, trees and bushes that seemed to go on forever in a gentle slope that ended on a immaculate white beach of Castalia's never too far away ocean. Two fresh glasses were pressed into her hands:
"Why don't you go ahead and find a place to sit down while I organise us some food, hm?" Dylan suggested.
"You'll lose me," she objected, turning around to search for his eyes.
"No, I won't," he replied smilingly and gently pushed her away. A second later he was gone.
With a sigh of relief, Beka made for the doors, stopping at the threshold and letting her gaze wander around the beautiful sight in front of her. And then her eyes lit up as she spotted both Harper and Tyr seated on the low, marble-like balustrade bordering the flights of stairs, both of them busy observing the passing crowds (the female passing crowds, as Beka supposed) and absorbed in what she presumed to be... men-talk. With a mischievous smile she swiftly approached them.
"Heya, boys!"
Yep, men-talk. By the way Tyr seemed to draw back within himself while Harper scrambled to his feet, turning red and hastily making some room for her to sit down between them, it couldn't have been anything else.
"And? Any interesting prey?" Beka wanted to inquire, but by the time she had made up her mind whether or not to tease them any further, Dylan had appeared in their midst, carrying two fully loaded plates, of which he was holding one out to her – while Harper grabbed for the other one...
"Sheesh, Boss – you sure know how to keep your crew 'appy!" he mumbled, his mouth already full.
There was only a lightly disconcerted flicker on Dylan's face, at which Beka chuckled, then held out her own plate to him:
"You did a good job on filling it all; there's more than enough here for both of us, I guess" she offered. "Unless, of course, Tyr wants..."
The Nietzschean made a curt, refusing gesture, interrupting her:
"I'll pass, thank you. The thought alone of all the fat in this food makes my cells cringe in horror."
"Oh dear, we wouldn't want that..." Beka murmured with a slightly ironic undertone. With a contended sigh, she began to pick out the things that seemed most tasty. It took her a while before the worst of her hunger was stilled, time in which she kept silent, listening to the three men conversing in low voices about the Castallians, with Tyr, who wasn't eating, and Harper, who didn't care about speaking with his mouth full, mainly responsible for carrying the conversation along. At long last, she shoved the plate with some pitiful rests into Dylan's hand, took a sip from her drink and stood up, turning around and letting her eyes wander below them, to the rose-garden that sprawled out towards the park underneath the stairs.
"Isn't it amazing," she asked with a delicate sniff, "how roses always manage to evoke a romantic atmosphere?"
"Undoubtedly," Tyr answered her rhetorical question. "After all, that's why they emit thousands of pheromone-molecules to hit every single one of the olfactory cells in our noses, no?"
With a lazy turn of her long, white neck Beka moved her head to the side, throwing the splendid man to her left a long, pensive look.
"Undoubtedly," she replied softly, after a fashion. Leaning on her outstretched, bare arms, she then turned back just as lazily to contemplate again the scenery in front of her, the conversation anew perking up around her. She knew that she should probably have paid some more attention to what the men were talking about, but it was such a beautiful night, full of scents and laughter, vibrating with good moods. For a planet... quite pleasant. Although the gardens were bright with lights, one could still see the stars shining far above them, and Castalia's only moon was hanging low and huge just above the horizon, where the sea met the sky.
"This is by far the most enormous moon I've ever seen," Beka murmured.
"Nonsense," Andromeda's engineer, as always alert to everything she was saying, objected. "Castalia and its moon are very similar to Earth and its satellite. Which means that the moon's diameter on the firmament is always of exactly 31 arc minutes, approximately half a degree, evidently."
Just as slowly as before, the captain of the Maru turned her head to the right, fixing Harper.
"Evidently, " she echoed.
It was precisely in that second that the orchestra behind them began a new tune. From the corner of her eye, Beka noticed Dylan bowing forward and placing his empty plate on the broad balustrade. Straightening up again, he held his hand out to her. With an inquiring look, she placed her fingers into his.
"They're playing a slow waltz. Now, before you remark how brightly the stars twinkle tonight and have the two gentlemen explain that a) stars don't twinkle and b) this is just the light passing through the prism of the higher levels of the atmosphere," Andromeda's captain said, with barely suppressed laughter in his tone, "may I ask for this dance?"
"I'd be delighted," Beka answered him, her own voice wavering with amusement. With a royal nod of her head towards Tyr and Harper, she left for the dancing-floor with Dylan. Both men followed them with their eyes, continuing to stare long after the pair had already begun to slowly circle around the softly lit hall beyond the terrace-doors.
"Why is it, do you think," Harper at long last ventured a question, "that even Beka seems from time to time to fall under his spell?"
Next to him, Tyr Anasazi, out of Victoria by Barbarossa, shrugged his powerful shoulders. Indifferently. His lightly grinding jaws though told another tale.
"I have a theory," Harper offered further. Imperceptibly turning his head downwards to the Terran, Tyr raised a perfect brow.
"I think it must be his voice," the small man elaborated. "I noticed how girls always fall for the guy with the deepest voice. I mean, if it were brains, I'd get them all. And if it were just the looks, you would be first in line, right?"
"I have a deep voice..." the Kodiak objected. It sounded a bit irritated.
"Yeah, but his is deeper. Trance says when she's wearing that top of hers that leaves her belly naked, she can sometimes feel vibrations in her navel when Dylan speaks."
"She can?"
"Yep."
"In her navel?"
"Uh-hu."
The Nietzschean moved his dreadlocks once more in a strange gesture, characteristic for him – something in-between a nod and a head-shake, signaling agreement.
"I suppose it's the voice, then..." he finally consented.
"Yeah," Harper sighed. "Can't think of anything else."
Both men looked on at the dancing pairs, annoyed.