BIRTHRIGHT 3 – THE LADY OF THE LAKE
by Soledad
Author's notes:
For disclaimer, rating, etc., see the Foreword.
Some dialogue lines are slightly modified versions of the original dialogue from Music of a Distant Drum. A lot of Nietzschean philosophy is based on The Ancestor's Breath by Keith Hamilton Cobb himself, but there is only one direct quote, which is marked as such. Also, I accepted Tyr's genealogy as given there as semi-canon, and the history of his ancestors as well. The original can be found on KHC's website – I can highly recommend it to anyone interested in Niets.
CHAPTER 1 – THE HOLY GRAIL
Beka Valentine had never visited Tyr's quarters before, although formally they should have gone to her, as they had once belonged to the Andromeda's first officer. But since said first officer had been a Nietzschean, everyone aboard silently accepted Tyr's claim. Tyr's private life was something of a mystery for the rest of the crew. The only one who'd ever been in his quarters was Harper to fix the occasional technical problem. He described Tyr's house as "dark, Spartan and depressing, with creepy plants". Standing in front of the door, Beka wondered how much of that was true and how much was simply Harper's personal taste, which tended towards eye-hurtingly bright colours.
One of the twins – whom Tyr had brought back from wherever he happened to find some Völsung survivors – answered the door. Arjuna, Beka realized at the second look. They were absolutely identical, aside from the fact that one of them was male, the other female. They also tended to wear sensible clothing, unlike the usual show-offish Niet fashion. Save the sleeveless vests, of course, but that was a given, based on the forearm spikes.
"Captain Valentine," the young man said with rather un-Nietzschean politeness; very few Übers bothered with manners. "What can I do for you?"
"I'd like to speak to Freya," Beka replied. "In private. Woman to woman, as they say."
"Which means that you need something from Tyr," Freya, looking absolutely stunning in her sleeveless, deep blue morning robe, waved to Arjuna to step aside. She had just begun to show, a small, barely visible bulge breaking the lean lines of her athletic figure. "Do come in, please, and speak your mind. We're both mature adults, there's no need to play those little conversational games humans seem so fond of."
"You mean small talk?" Beka grinned. Niet-speak could be unintentionally funny at times. Freya grinned back.
"It seems I need to interact with humans more," she judged. "Last time Mr. Harper was here to fix an airduct ventil, I had serious difficulties understanding him. He prefers a rather… colourful language."
"That's an Earth thing," Beka told her. "Half the time I don't understand what Harper is talking about either, and he was my engineer for five years! He either talks technobabble only the chinheads can follow, or makes old Earth cultural references that won't ring a bell by anyone. But he's cute – and very useful."
"That's true," Freya took place on the large couch, folding her long legs under herself and ordering the deep blue and black velvet cushions, so that they would support her back. Then she gestured Beka to have a seat next to her. "So, what do you want from me?"
"I'm here to make Tyr a business proposal of mutual advantage," Beka said, accepting a cup of herbal tea from the young bodyguard. Freya, taking her own cup, raised an eyebrow.
"Should I ask for privacy mode?" her tone revealed that she didn't trust the ship not to eavesdrop anyway.
"No need," Beka replied, "I already have. And for the next twenty minutes or so, we shall have privacy. As I said, Harper is very useful."
"I see," Freya filed away the information with the mental notice of asking the little engineer about the method later. "So, what is this about?"
"Money," Beka said bluntly. "I'm almost broke. I still owe the major part of my Dad's old debts to various loan sharks, and I'm not getting paid for the noble quest of restoring the Commonwealth here. The only reason why I still can keep the Maru is that even Nightsider loan sharks would think twice before provoking the Andromeda. But they won't wait forever."
"Or they can sell your debts to, say, Jaguar lone sharks, who'd not have such concerns," Freya added. "I understand your problem. What's the proposal?"
"I'll show you," Beka placed her untouched teacup onto the table. "May I use your computer?"
"Be my guest," Freya sipped her tea, and Beka stepped to the console and pulled up some info on the viewscreen."
"Are you familiar with the Katana System? It's only four slipstream transits away, and it has an asteroid belt where eighty-seven per cent of the asteroids have lager deposits of pure platinum. The route is difficult and the ride bumpy, to put it mildly, but I've been there before. All we'd need to do is to take the point defence lasers and carve the platinum out. We could make a small fortune there!"
"Which Captain Hunt refuses to do," Freya nodded, understanding the problem.
"Yeah," Beka sighed, her frustration obvious. "I could finally, for the first time in my life, come out of the red numbers, and he finds it beneath his dignity to carry cargo or to perform a mining operation. Andromeda has a cargo capacity of then million frigging cubic metres, and it's not used for anything! We'd be rid of financial problems for the next years, every single one of us! But Saint Dylan prefers to head straight for Asampa and let Born to Starfire chat with the local bugs in behalf of the New Commonwealth instead."
"I understand why this has to be frustrating for you," Freya said, "but I still don't know what you want from Tyr."
Beka rolled her eyes. "Look, Freya, I'm not a fool. You guys cover your track skilfully, but it's clear that Tyr has good connections. I'm sure he could find some ships of respectable cargo capacity to mine those asteroids – it's not so that we'd need the Andromeda specifically. The most important factors are the cargo capacity and the firepower to keep concurrence away."
"I see," Freya said. "But why would Tyr want to take part of such an operation? What benefit would he have from helping you?"
"One always benefits from making more money," Beka replied bluntly. "Besides, he owes me several favours for me letting him borrow the Maru now and again, after which times my ship is always in a much worse shape than it had been before."
"There is some truth in that," Freya admitted. She thought about the matter for a while. "You understand that I cannot make any promises?" she then asked. "But I'll speak to Tyr on your behalf when he returns."
"That's all I ask," Beka switched off the console and walked over to the other side of the living room, where a strange potted plant stood on a small podest. It had long, elastic ranks with very dark green, waxy leaves, creeping all over the wall behind it, and emitted a scent that was sweet and spicy at the same time. "Is this the 'creepy plant' Harper was talking about? I've never seen anything like this, not even in Trance's little shop of horrors."
"It's called Dragonia Vines," Freya explained. "The plant was thought to be extinct for quite some time… just like Kodiak Pride. The two belong together; they have, since the days of Drago Museveni. They say, before Paul Museveni created out race, he'd made his first attempt on plants. Dragonia Vines were the first hundred per cent genetically engineered plants. His masterpiece, before he turned to higher lifeforms."
"They are beautiful," Beka stepped closer, but jumped back as the ranks began to move towards her, "but disturbingly alive. The scent is near irresistible, though."
"It's a killer," Freya joined her, holding out a hand, and one of the ranks swung over to rest in her palm. "The Vines react to the Progenitor's DNA. Only those who are a close match can touch the ranks unharmed. Right now, I'm protected by my unborn child, who carries the Progenitor's genes. Otherwise, the rank would scratch me with the small, fang-like thorns on the underside of the leaves and release a deadly toxin into my system. A toxin that would kill me within twenty seconds."
Beka shuddered. "And you live with such a horror plant under the same roof? Harper's right; you Niets are a weird bunch."
"Perhaps," Freya patted the rank and guided it back to the wall. "But it's only dangerous when you get too close. That's why it needs to be trimmed regularly," she added, grabbing a pair of scissors and cutting off a rank that had grown too long. "There's beauty in danger and danger in beauty; to appreciate one, you must accept the other."
"I didn't know that Niets cared for beauty," Beka said. "Why should you? Were you not – all of you – engineered for perfection?"
"We were," Freya agreed, "but beauty is so much more than just sterile perfection. That is which many of us – human and Nietzschean alike – fail to understand. Seeing ourselves as something separate from the rest of the Universe is a delusion. A weakness, if you want to call it that. A weakness that can only be conquered by widening the circle of understanding and compassion, until we realize that all living creatures and the whole of nature are only different aspects of the eternal beauty of what we call the Universe."
Beka blinked several times, surprised by the philosophical depths suddenly opening before her metaphorical feet.
"That doesn't sound like something Nietzsche would say," she said uncertainly.
"No," Freya admitted. "That is something a physicist named Albert Einstein said, though not with exactly the same words, three thousand years ago. And yet it has become an important cornerstone of Kodiak philosophy during the millennia, as generations upon generations of Tyr's ancestors discussed it, worked on its interpretation and handed down the results to their progeny to build a structure around it. A structure that is unique among Nietzschean teachings."
"There's something I always wanted to know," Beka said. "What's made the Kodiak so special that they were chosen to guard Drago's bones? As far as I know, they've never been a particularly big Pride, so why them?"
"For several reasons," Freya replied. "First and foremost, the ruling family of the Kodiak – Tyr's clan – has always been considered the direct descendants of Drago himself. There's no hard proof for that, of course – at least nothing else but the close genetic match with the Progenitor in many clan members, including Tyr himself. Have you ever heard of the Second Coming?"
"The legend that one day Drago Museveni will be reborn and reunite the Prides? Yeah, everyone who's ever had contact with Niets has, I guess."
"It's more than a legend," Freya corrected. "Genetic twins do exist among Nietzscheans. They are extremely rare, true, but they exist. The Second Coming is a distinct possibility, and Tyr's clan had the best chance for some of their males fathering the Progenitor reborn."
"Was that the true reason why the Dragans massacred them?" Beka asked. "To prevent the Second Coming?"
"No," Freya shook her head, "they wanted to eliminate the concurrence. By controlling Drago's bones, they have the means to verify – or reject – the Progenitor when he returns."
Beka noticed that she'd said 'when he returns,' not if. "That's an awful lot of power," she whispered. She felt like becoming sick from the mere thought of a united Niet empire with a messiah on the throne.
Freya nodded. "The Drago-Kazov were not willing to wait for the Second Coming. They wanted to reunite the Prides on their own, by force. Twenty-two years ago, just like today, the three major players were the Drago-Kazov, the Sabra and the Jaguar. Kodiak Pride was the point of balance between them, the Drago-Kazov changed that balance to their favour."
"And your people helped them," Beka said, "at least according to Tyr."
"Oh, he was telling the truth," Freya shrugged. "At that time, our Pride Alpha was hoping that Orca Pride, closely allied with the Drago-Kazov as we were, would take over the role of the Kodiak. Instead, we were nearly wiped up in that battle. The Kodiak fought like berserkers – if not for the sheer numbers of the Drago-Kazov, they might even have won. What was left of our Pride could no more be of any use for the Drago-Kazov. They dropped us like some useless garbage. That was when Vladimir, the old Alpha, Guderian's father, gathered the survivors around him and led us to the asteroid where you found us."
"So the betrayal didn't pay off," Beka said, regretting her words immediately. It wasn't a wise thing to insult a Nietzschean. Not even a pregnant, female one. To her relief, however, Freya didn't seem insulted.
"Knee-jerk moralizing is a human failing(1), Captain Valentine," she said calmly. "The concept of Nietzschean philosophy is that any way to win is the best way. That doesn't mean that we don't have ethics – we do. And our values differ not so fundamentally from yours as you might think. We are just more honest about them. Our mindframe is strictly, genetically driven towards survival. The survival of the self and the survival of the Pride. Everything else is of secondary importance."
"So, there's nothing a Nietzschean would sacrifice himself?" Beka asked, her curiosity picked. She might learn more about Niet mindset in these minutes than she had in her entire life.
"There is," Freya said. "He or she would die protecting the family or the Pride. As Tyr's parents did. As my father did. As I would do without as much as a nanosecond of hesitation to protect my child. But for nothing else." She paused for a moment, then smiled faintly. "I understand that I'm making you uncomfortable. Humans tend to see themselves in the veiled mirror of ideals and self-delusion; looking at oneself in the harsh light of reality can be painful. But remember: aside from the magnitude, we are very much alike. Nietzscheans are like humans, watched in a magnifying mirror… both the good and the bad sides are represented tenfold."
"More often the bad ones, I'm afraid," Beka said snidely.
"I guess from your point of view it must look like that," Freya nodded. "But especially you, Captain Valentine, have a lot of Nietzschean traits in you. You are remarkably self-interested, quite ruthless for a human, you are a survivor, and you'd die for your 'family', even though they are just a bunch of strangers who've joined you for their own reasons. Not many human women would be able to become a respected member of a Nietzschean Pride – you are one of those rare individuals."
Beka shot her a half-amused, half-suspicious glance.
"Are you courting me for Tyr?" she asked. "Is that even legal for Niets?"
"Some Prides, including the Kodiak, allowed human consorts, to add fresh DNA to the gene pool," Freya answered. "Those humans didn't have the status of actual spouses, and the offspring underwent genetic modifications, but they were highly respected nevertheless. And no, I'm not 'courting' you. In fact, I'd never give my consent, should Tyr want to include you in our family."
"Why not?" Beka asked, slightly shocked by the turn their conversation was taking.
"You'd be too dangerous a concurrence," Freya said simply. "I have nothing to fear from the other wives – they are Nietzscheans, who know their own status and place in the family. You'd always remain unpredictable."
Beka shook her head, laughing.
"You are a strange woman," she said. "Quite frankly, you give me the creeps."
"Good," Freya grinned. "I like you, Captain Valentine, I really do. It's a pity you aren't one of us. I'd hate if I had to kill you."
In the meantime, Tyr had already docked the Maru at Haukin Tau Drift. Well, to be more accurate, the ship was now registered as the Klondike Trail and Tyr himself as its owner and operator, someone named Barabas Jericho. This was one of the several aliases he'd used in his days as a mercenary. The persona even had its own bank account, just in case. Unless the dockmaster recognized him as his true self – which was unlikely, since the dockmasters changed all the time – he could move on the Drift without drawing any unwanted attention. Nietzscheans weren't exactly rare here.
Tyr checked his rent apartment, the base of his operations fro years and advised his bank, also located on the Drift, to transfer a certain amount of money to Harper's account for the excellent falsification of ship's papers and his alias' ID. The little professor did nice work when released onto a computer. After that, Tyr prepared several coded messages for the El-Hakim clan in general and for his Second Wife, Mikaelan, in particular. Not having anything else to do, at least for the time being, he then sat down with a selected book to enjoy himself until his pre-scheduled meeting with Ferahr. He didn't need to plan his next step – it was everything carefully worked out already.
Nietzscheans, as a rule, weren't all too fond of romantic literature from Earth's Middle Ages. For this trip, however, Tyr brought with him the printed-out version of Wolfram von Eschenbach's "Parsifal". Few people chose real books anymore in this age of flimsies, but Tyr, as most Nietzscheans, was a traditionalist. And he could afford the luxury of having real books.
Despite the insane and suicidal moral code of medieval knights, which he could only contemplate with utter dismay, Tyr did feel a certain kinship with Parsifal, the young and naïve boy who devoted his entire life to finding the Holy Grail. Although not that young anymore (despite his youthful looks), nor being ever that naïve, not since the massacre on his Pride, he, too, was on his way to retrieve the Holy Grail of his people.
From the beginning, to all the Prides warring with each other, the Progenitor's remains were sacred. Even amidst of the longest and bloodiest civil war known to Nietzschean society, none of them would risk their loss. Thus they had been entrusted to the Kodiak, enshrined on an insignificant world encompassed by an unobtrusive solar system that all warring parties had acknowledged as a demilitarized zone and sworn to protect. There the bones had rested for the duration of the war, and the Kodiak had grown over-confident and careless in their safety - a safety known to no other Pride.
They had paid a terrible price for their arrogance.
During the two decades since the utter annihilation of his Pride, Tyr had had enough time to think about the hows and whys of their fate. The mistakes that had been made and the signs that had been ignored by a self-absorbed Pride that had been slowly changing, moving on to a higher level of culture and civilization, in an era when all but the more primal Nietzschean traits were doomed to fail.
Tyr was not about to repeat those mistakes. Just as his most famous ancestor, Suleiman "the Sultan", who, returning from the lost Battle of Witchhead one arm shorter and handed over leadership to his first son, Temujin, the most relentless and unimpassioned, virile destroyer that their bloodline had ever known, Tyr, last living branch of that once strong tree, had made a conscious step backwards. Back to his ancestors before Suleiman, who'd been hunter-killers first and foremost, undiluted by any newfound tendencies toward compassion and introspection.
Barbarossa Anasazi (out of Isis by Temujin II) had raised his many sons, of whom Tyr was the third-youngest, to become both scholars and warriors. Fate and the hard-won experiences of his life had taught Tyr, now the only Kodiak progeny still alive, to keep his scholarly interests hidden, as they would seem a weakness facing the unadulterated Nietzschean viciousness reborn immediately after the fall of the Commonwealth. He had become a mercenary, a professional killer, driven by the sole urge to rebuild his Pride and retrieve his birthright.
He had made some headway with the rebuilding part already. His four wives and two consorts were all expecting, and, against all hope, he had found what remained from Völsung Pride, the offshot of his own people, after the Castalian War of Independence. It was time now to do something for the retrieving part.
Tyr put his book aside and left the apartment, heading for Ferahr's place.
At about the same time, in the machine shops of the Andromeda Ascendant, four Amber Than workers – called by Harper Brownie #1, Brownie #2, Brownie #3 and Brownie #4 – were busily cooperating with the droids to repair the damage caused by the recent encounter with the Pax Magellanic. The were also having an animated discussion in their own language that sounded like a series of cackling and clicking tones in Amritray's ear. When they spoke fast, it was like the knattering of an automatic projectile weapon.
"They are excited," Harper said with a shrug. "It seems, Brownie Three here has a relative or a hundred on Asampa. They are looking forward to a really big bug party when we arrive."
"You don't seem to share their enthusiasm, though," Amritray tilted her head to the side and looked over the engineer with a displeased frown. Harper had dark circles around his eyes and obviously lacked his usual energy.
"No shit," Harper slid down the bulkhead and leaned against it. "I'd like if Dylan could stop his holy crusade just once for a few days, until I can make the most pressing repairs in peace. A man can only live so long on Sparky and adrenaline alone."
"Interesting," Amritray said. "I thought you klu… you humans would be ecstatic to see order re-established. To be able to feel safe from Nietzschean raiders again."
Harper shot her a dirty look. "I heard that kludge remark, Miss Über. For your information, the only thing that would make me ecstatic would be chasing the Drago-Kazov jerkoffs away from Earth, forever. And we both know how likely that is to happen."
"Nothing is impossible with proper preparation and the right allies," Amritray replied calmly. "It seems to me, that at least in this case, my Alpha happens to have the same enemies."
Harper glared at her in suspicion – then he began to laugh so hard that tears were running down his face. His amusement, although it had a slightly… hysteric quality, seemed genuine.
"Oh, this is strong," he chuckled. "So, Tyr wants something from me again, and he ordered you to make nice with the kludge and warm me up for his propositions?"
"That is correct," Amritray said with a shrug. "Do you have a problem with it? He thought you'd be more comfortable around me, since I'm female and smaller than the average Nietzschean."
"But twice as deadly, right?" Harper riposted, suddenly serious again. "No, I don't have a problem with you. At least you are being honest, instead of faking personal interest in me. I can live with that."
"I do find you interesting," Amritray said. "You have survived under circumstances that would break most people. And you have talents that I lack. It's not your fault that you aren't Nietzschean."
"Geez, thanks… I think," Harper shook his head in exasperation. "Only you Übers can phrase a compliment that it would sound like an insult. But I appreciate the sentiment all the same. So, what does Tyr want this time?"
"I don't know – not yet," Amritray shrugged. "He only said that you're too valuable to be harmed, so we should keep an eye on you for him, my brother and I."
"The Harper is valuable," the engineer shook his head again. "Well, that's as close as I could ever come to Tyr admitting that I'm not a lower life-form, I guess."
"He also said that you could use some combat training," Amritray added with a grin. Harper grinned back, his foul mood momentarily forgotten. It wasn't every day that he could come bodily close to a pretty Niet babe, even if beating him up was part of the fun.
"Are you volunteering?"
"If you are interested. Arjuna and I can show you some tricks. We had to learn how to beat much stronger adversaries, too."
Harper glanced at her thoughtfully. Sure, she was a Niet – which meant treacherous, untrustworthy and completely ruthless. But she was also frigging hot, with her long, slender limbs, bronze skin, shiny black hair and almond eyes. A killer babe, most certainly, but still a babe. And he'd suffered from the desperate lack of female company for quite some time. Besides, Try was right. He could use the training.
"We can give it a try," he finally said. "But you most promise not to break any bones. I have to be able to crawl in the conduits to keep doing my job."
"I think you're a lot less breakable than you'd like to appear," Amritray laughed. "But I promise we'll be easy on you – in the first time anyway."
When Tyr reached the large, windowless office of Ferahr in the centre of the Drift, he found the owner of said office – a big, heavy-set human with sandy curls and a more ridiculous fashion sense than even Harper – eating something questionable at his desk. Neither of which was really surprising. The main goal of Ferahr's existence seemed to be to find something to eat, and nothing Tyr had ever seen him eating so far – which became a fairly broad scale during the last two years – would be palatable for anyone with the faintest sense for healthy nourishment. Humans had a disturbing tendency to kill themselves slowly with junk food. Or, in Harper's case, with liquefied sugar and caffeine, disguised as a drink called Sparky Cola.
"So," Tyr said as he strode in, "it is midday. Where is my ship?"
Ferahr looked up to him with one baleful eye, keeping the other one firmly at whatever was in his bowl. "And a wonderful day to you, too. I hope you're all right. Why don't we sit down and have a little drink like good…"
"Ferahr," Tyr growled, "I don't have time for this!"
"Right, why should you now – you never do. Social graces are completely lost on you Niets!" With a long-suffering sigh, Ferahr pushed his bowl of soup (or something like that) aside and got to his feet with some difficulty. "Well, come with me then. Your ship is in the impound lot. I've already put a top-level bribe on it, so there'll be no problem with getting it. No problem at all."
They walked over to the impound lot, where the Than officer greeted Ferahr with that particular friendliness reserved for special customers. They were allowed to the freighter immediately, and Tyr eyed the little ship with appreciation. Originally, it must have been the pleasure cruiser of some rich merchant – a Nightsider, most likely – but was modified for cargo transport later. Still, the generous quarters remained, making it eminently practical for a large family. It was about ten per cent bigger than the Maru but would still fit into the hangar of any big ship easily. And it was in a relatively good shape.
"I'll take it," he told Ferahr simply. The human shook his head in amazement.
"I'll never understand you, honestly. What do you want with a freighter? I thought you'd want a Goruda-class fighter, at the very least."
"That would be too obvious," Tyr explained patiently. "Besides, a freighter, if properly upgraded, could pull just as much of a punch, while melding with the background a lot better. Did you know that my most famous ancestor, Suleiman, fought the Battle of Witchhead with a commandeered freighter, refitted for the war and renamed Pride's Provocation?"
"No, I did not," Ferahr watched him with renewed interest. "I assume he made it out, since you are here."
Tyr nodded. He wasn't going to tell Ferahr the entire story of bitter defeat and humiliation.
"He did. Which proves my point. It doesn't matter what a ship was built for, as long as we can modify it for our own purposes."
"And give it a fancy name, eh?" Ferahr said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "What are you gonna name this one?"
"Klondike Trail," Tyr said simply.
"Huh?" Ferahr's small eyes were literally bulging. "I thought it was the name of the rustbin you've come here with."
"It was indeed."
"And you're gonna call your new ship the same?"
"That is correct."
"You know, you've had some crazy ideas since we've known each other, but I think this is the most hare-brained of all."
"That's not your problem," Tyr said bluntly. "Of all the things I have needed from you or will ever need, your thought will most certainly never be counted among them."
"Right, why do I bother," Ferahr shook his head in exasperation. "I'll just sit here, take your mail, get all the stuff you want… after all, am I not your personal secretary?"
"And since you work on percentage, this arrangement has always been of your advantage," Tyr countered.
"My Da always warned me of working for people who see me as a lower life form," Ferahr muttered. "I should have listened to him."
Tyr rolled his eyes. He really, honestly didn't have the time to stroke the human's bruised ego, but he knew he shouldn't risk alienating Ferahr. The human was useful and reliable – a combination none of his other business partners possessed.
"Listen, you foolish human," he said in a low voice. "It is better for your continuing health when you know as little what's going on behind the scenes as possible. I don't want to put your life at more risk than your eating habits would, do you understand? Let no one think that I'd trust you, and no one will try to extract information from you – which could be unpleasant."
Ferahr paled considerably. He knew Tyr had been messing with Nietzschean politics lately, and the last thing he wanted to get caught in some Über clinch. As Tyr said, that would have been rather unpleasant.
"Let me tell you something, Tyr," he said slowly "I liked it a lot better when you still were a lone mercenary and all I had to do was to find you bigger and bigger hand weapons. It was… safer back then."
"Perhaps," Tyr agreed. "But if the signs that I have been watching for some time don't lie, and I cannot see how they would, you are going to need what I'm about to become. You are going to need protection. You and everyone else on this Drift, or on that planet below."
"And you gonna be able to protect me?" Ferahr asked doubtfully. "To protect us all?"
Tyr flashed him a big grin. "I'm working on it. Now, what do I have to do to call this boat mine?"
Two and a half hours later all formalities were taken care of, and Tyr was piloting his newly acquired ship, that now officially wore the name of Klondike Trail, owned and operated by a certain Barabas Jericho, towards the planet Haukin Vora. He couldn't tell Ferahr, but he had deliberately used the falsified papers and his fake ID for both his own ship and the Maru. The idea was to lay a false trail and confuse potential pursuers and Dragan spies. While he was doing what he had to do with his own ship, the Maru, registered under the same name and with the same owner, would lie peacefully in the drydock of Haukin Tau Drift, having its failed plasma regulator repaired.
As an added bonus, it would be hard to find a connection between the sole merc Jericho, flying and upgraded freighter, and Tyr Anasazi, serving as weapons control officer aboard the Andromeda Ascendant, the "flying embassy of the New Commonwealth", as the Perseids liked to call it. Personally, Tyr thought it sounded stupid, but as long as the Andromeda served his purposes, he didn't really care.
One day, soon, he wouldn't need the Andromeda anymore. He would stand on the command deck of the refitted, reprogrammed and renamed Pax Magellanic and fight his enemies from a superior position. Until then, however, the Klondike Trail will serve as a temporary home for his family, in times when Haukin Vora might not be safe enough for them. And it would make him mobile, independently from both the Andromeda and the Maru.
An upgraded freighter was good enough for Suleiman "The Sultan" to go to war. It would be good enough for him, Suleiman's late progeny, to weave his web, until he can appear in his true role openly.
TBC
Notes:
(1) Quoted from The Relativity of Ethics, in The Ancestor's Breath by Keith Hamilton Cobb.
