Chapter Twenty-Six:
Trance opens her mouth but closes it again, silent. You see her recalling her promise not to interrupt further. She gives a wry smile, and in the space of a minute shrug, you see stars glint in her eyes. If you knew how to read them, you might see the shape of that perfect possible future. It's not like this one, not in the grand sweeps of lives and planets. You remember what she's said all along-that this one never could have worked.
But you see why she let it play out, don't you? The web of… not unity, perhaps, but converging interests, fascinations, plans and politics. And Beka Valentine at the heart of it all. Why couldn't it have been her, instead of the square-jawed Commonwealth Captain? For a moment, if you squint and hope, it looked like she could have pushed back the edge of the Long Night. A moment only, a spark that flared and guttered, leaving a wisp of smoke, an ashen smudge, and the name. Valentine.
Instead of speaking, Trance holds up three fingers. This close, you notice how strong her hands are. Crimson in this incarnation, and strong enough to sift these worlds and these years.
-o-
To Beka's undying relief, no one asked her how she was doing. Not the day that Dominique had brought the message, and not since then. With the advent of the wedding, Beka could forget about Tyr Anasazi for entire half hours at a time. The list of tasks that needed addressing somehow never decreased but actually manage to grow longer, day by day.
Not for the first time, she wished that Harper or one of Charlemagne's people had managed to activate the Path's AI. It probably had more experience event planning than Beka did. Wasn't the old Systems Commonwealth big on that sort of thing, ship christenings and memorials and medal-endowings? Beka had only ever planned a few surprise birthday parties in her few decades and could never be sure that the honorees's protestations of shock were quite genuine.
And by the end of the day, she was too confused with the emotional turmoil of marrying off her no-longer-fake boyfriend to her not-quite-best-but-startingly-good friend to generate much more emotional turmoil at the arrival of her definitely-fake-ex-boyfriend. Was this why humans and Nietzscheans could never quite get along? Had this in fact been the fall of the great Systems Commonwealth? Thousands of worlds, hundreds of species led by a wise, ancient race-all of it shattered because humans and Nietzscheans always had to have a little emnity in their friendships, and a little friendship in their enmity?
There were only two hints of coddling that Beka could detect, both arising the day before Tyr was due to arrive.
She and Dominique were running through the menu one last time, searching for the perfect Venn diagram of foodstuffs that the Path's autochef could reliably create, that would impress the set who needed to be impressed, and that would not give anybody a rash or undignified digestive episode.
"We have your friend Trance, do we not?" Dominique exclaimed at last. She was as close to losing her cool composure as Beka had ever seen her. "If anybody goes into anaphylactic shock, she'll be present. If anybody who isn't green turns green, or anybody who is green turns pink, we simply wave her over and point."
"But what if she-"
"She'll be ready." Beka blinked at the firmness of Dominique's voice. "I suppose everybody tells you that they have seen no one like her, so I'll spare you the obvious. I couldn't hazard a guess as to her origins, her age, her drive in life, or her attachment to purple velour, but I feel certain that she is… ready. In a way that many people would describe as very lucky."
Maybe it was just the long day, but Beka could not find a single word to say to that. Ready. Huh. There might be something to that.
"And despite the very able way that you have maneuvered people and situations to bring us to this unlikely place, it is with great sorrow that I declare that you are not ready. For tomorrow."
The half-smile that softened Dominique's face in a way that reminded Beka, to a disconcerting degree, of her weapons officer, Aricia, when she looked at her husband. Lance, baker of pie, sporter of berets.
"Tomorrow?" The headache that had loomed at the edges of Beka's vision drew dark and close as she tried to think. "What, there's not a fitting again, is there? I told your tailor, it doesn't need to fit-"
Though shorter than Beka, Dominique set her hands on Beka's shoulders and managed to look motherly. "Not any of that. Anasazi. You former consort, come here almost certainly to assassinate one or more of my wedding guests?"
"Unless he's the seafood course, I don't think his chances are good. Harper has this place locked down, and the security on the ship is so tight I'm surprised when I get ten minutes alone with either of you."
Dominique grinned. She was far too interested in what Beka's alone time with Charlemagne consisted of-but unlike her Matriarch, she had the courtesy of keeping her curiosity confined to significant looks and bitten-down smile.
"My thoughts precisely. And as we are so ably protected, I thought we would be well-served to focus on something much more interesting." As Dominique spoke, she had retreated to a wardrobe that had required half a dozen crewmembers to transport. Each of Charlemagne's dwarfed it, of course. Her voice was muffled as she leaned inside to riffle through fabric.
"How to remind him what a colossal idiot he was for leaving your side."
Two hours later, exhausted, sore, and giggly-drunk at the sight of herself clad in some of the straps and scraps that passed for Dominique's activewear, Beka made her weaving way to the officer's mess.
There, she was confronted then with the second coddling from the crew of the Path. Not just one but three pies had appeared, defying everything Beka thought she knew about how long preparation of a pie required. Trance had brought more of her teas on board, which Beka took as an optimistic sign, and Beka enjoyed the roll of fragrant steam. How was it that the Path's autochef had never perfected tea? "Dirty water," hadn't Bobby called it, contemptuous of any consumable that lacked psychoactive effect.
She thought about the fittings with the Volsung tailor, whose title was probably something like First Wardrobe Technician, and the small bundle beneath her arm-and shrugged. One of each, it was. Anything less than that would be an insult to Lance.
She was halfway through the second piece, sucking caramel out of her molars, when Charlemagne loped in. Before he uttered a word, he had retrieved a plate and a fork and joined her. Vain though he was, she had never seen him abstain from pie. She found it genuinely endearing.
He sat across the narrow table from her and leaned in over his plate. "I recognized that sound half a deck away. Irresistible. Alluring." The Arch Duke of Pride Jaguar did not precisely waggle his eyebrows, but whatever he did was suspiciously close to it.
Beka could not decide whether to laugh or wince. Instead, she settled on warding off any potential sympathy Charlemagne might have considered offering her by the most trusted means at her disposal. "You want alluring, just wait until I get back to my quarters. There's a piece of something lodged so far in my gums, I'm gonna need a force lance to pop it out."
The revolted face he made sent her into giggles all over again. Divine, but he was fun to tease. "I imagine the Volsung Matriarch would be extremely interested to know the mechanics of that maneuver. A force lance, did you say?"
If possible, the noise that escaped her that time was even more undignified that the teeth-sucking. Charlemagne looked very pleased with himself-that, or the pie was just that good, which it was.
"You do know that Dominique is going to be making weekly reports, don't you? The Volsung Matriarch won't need to ask me anything."
Charlemagne did not reply, just looked at her. Somehow he managed to smirk around the fork in his mouth.
The Path was all great open spaces, shiny chromatic sweeps of ship architecture-but here, with the overhead lights dimmed to give prominence to a view of stars, it felt almost as cozy as the Maru. Beka's heart went tight, as it was inclined to do lately, at the thought of how much was going to change in two days. It was ridiculous, considering how much things seemed to change on a weekly basis around here: jobs, allies, boyfriends and the fakeness thereof. Hadn't she been here before, on the eve of a loss she had known was coming, had even welcomed?
"I'm afraid we can't put it off any longer," Charlemagne said, mock-serious. "It is quite urgent that I know everything."
She raised an eyebrow.
"My bride to be has informed me that she has arranged your wardrobe for tomorrow. She is a brilliant and insightful woman, of course," he raised his hands defensively, "but one does not entirely trust the fashion sensibility of a pirate."
She laughed. "I'll be sure to tell her you said that." Beka still could not pin down how she felt about the shape this three-sided relationship was taking-but it did open up intriguing new avenues of teasing. She started to unwrap the bundle, then paused. "This had better not be an attempt to get me down to my skivvies, Bolivar."
He straightened and brought his hand to his chest, affronted. "Recall whom you are addressing, Valentine." He brushed the crisp fold of his brocade jacket with long fingers. "Do I look like somebody who is more interested in tawdry assignations than daywear?"
Beka widened her eyes pointedly. In fact, she knew quite well his interests in assignations.
"Well, you're not wrong," he conceded, "but we all have our respective images to maintain."
"So Dominique informs me." She pushed herself up and unrolled the bundle, which resolved into a sort of sleeveless tunic, if tunics were sheer at the shoulders and lower back and fit like wet silk. It didn't look like much in the dim light of the mess as she held it up to her body. "It's the most coverage your bride to be would allow me, and I had to bargain hard to be permitted my own pants. What is it with Nietzscheans and straps? It's something in the DNA, isn't it? Paul Museveni must have liked a specific sort of holonovel."
Charlemagne looked approvingly at the garment as he circled her and trailed his fingertips down the smooth material. He wrinkled his nose at her comment about straps. "It certainly becomes repetitive at times. A bit gauche. But this… this will do very well."
His fingers floated up to stroke the line of her collarbone beneath her shirt. "It's not what is exposed that we find alluring. It's what remains suggested." He hooked his finger around the neck of her top and tugged. Her skin grew warm at his breath and the light kiss he dropped on the slender bone of her clavicle. He slipped his hand around to the small of her back and let his fingers dance softly on the curve just above the waist of her pants. "Out of sight, but not beyond our imaginations."
It was a moment before Beka's head cleared and her breath started again. She attempted a laugh. It should have been too much, but dammit, even his breath was sexy. "So… better than straps?"
"Not that you would do them a disservice," he murmured. "Should anybody ever present you with your own, I hope you'll let me show you-" here the hand placed gently on her back pressed firmly, pulling her even closer into him. "-exactly where to put them."
It really, really shouldn't have worked. Rather like Charlemagne himself, from one angle an unlikely power in the Known Worlds. But from this angle, Beka was forced to admit… it worked.
-o-
Trance gives a warm half-smile, laughing through her solemnity, and lowers her lashes for a moment. She bends one of her fingers into her fist. Two.
-o-
"Beka, ouch, wait just a…" Harper's voice trailed off from one corner of the machine shop. His head disappeared behind one of the high metal tables, accompanied by a rattle of machinery-or possibly Sparky Cola cans. "Okay, there we… huh, that's weird. I… oh yeah, no, that's right."
"I'll feel much better once you're stringing together full sentences again." Not that Harper had ever let her down before, not when it came to engineering, but he was cutting it so close this time. "Tell me you're close."
He popped up again, wearing an expression of wounded pride. "Boss, I- Hey, wow." He grinned. "Let me guess. Show him what he's missing out on?"
"Yeah, well, it wasn't my idea. Or my shirt." Self-conscious, she smoothed the tunic over her stomach. At least the parts of the outfit she could see were mostly opaque, except for the shoulders. She shook her head. Focus. "So, like I was saying. Close?"
"Close. Very close. I'm working on a little surprise, actually. A good surprise, I promise. I mean, I'm pretty sure." He furrowed his brow. "Internal defenses are coming online. I mean, more than they usually are."
"They better be. His ship is making its final approach." She rubbed her hands briskly up and down her arms. Dominique had not outright banned her from wearing a jacket, but Beka had to agree that the effect wouldn't be quite right with one. That was all, she told herself, just a quirk in environmental controls giving her goosebumps. "Are you sure it's airtight? He lived here for months, he knows what the Path can do."
"Ah ah ah," Harper said, wagging a finger stained with some dark smudge. "He knows what it could do. He doesn't know what I know it can do. He may think he knows, but I know what he knows, and he-"
"Doesn't know. Right." Beka chewed the inside of her lip. "And your improvements, they'll stop him trying anything more aggressive than a handshake, right? When he's determined, he can be pretty creative, and I-"
"Boss!" Harper yelped. "Too much information!"
Beka forgot her nerves long enough to roll her eyes. "Oh shut up and go fix something." She didn't bother hiding her answering grin. In spite of everything, it felt good to hear him call her "Boss" again. She missed it. Not even the champion of the Volsung merited the title from the rest of her crew, apparently.
To her boundless relief, he and Lance Michelangelo had come to an understanding about engineering. Lance maintained his supremacy over normal ship operations, and Harper got to devote himself to special projects. He didn't even complain about it too much, and Beka wondered if pie had played some role in the peace.
Harper's final confirmation came through her subvocal communicator while she was traversing the Path with her small but heavily armed escort, debating wiping her sweaty palms on her pants. Charlemagne and Dominique would notice and possibly shoot her sympathetic looks. Not worth it.
"Nothing that's not on the ship now will make it past the hangar," he confirmed. "Defenses are locked up tighter than Nana's-"
"Thank you!" She cut the link before Harper could elaborate.
Skarynet was at the bridge, communicating with Tyr's light fighter to bring the ship in. It was a sleek ship, armed about as thoroughly as the laws of physics permitted for a vessel that size. Beka's curiosity had kept her at the bridge a few minutes longer than she had anticipated, listening to Aricia rattle off its specs.
They arrived at the hangar bay in time to hear thrum of machinery as the airlock unlocked and spun open. Beka remembered when she first boarded the Path, how silent the ship felt. Now she could read the vibrations underfoot and the pressure changes in the ventilation.
As if on cue-which Beka did not put past them-Charlemagne and Dominique stepped forward to stand at her side. Skarynet informed them that the Anthem had docked, and the bay would be fully repressurized within the minute. Charlemagne snorted, whether at the name or its passengers, Beka was not certain.
Dominique tilted her head upward and traced the organic shape of the hangar bay hatch. "I feel we could spend a year aboard this ship and still be surprised by its capabilities."
The repressurization was quite efficient, Beka had to admit, but she doubted that it alone had prompted this sentiment. Still, she could not argue. She wondered if she could have played up that angle to keep Harper around, she thought idly. Give him projects, the cavernous machine shop, remind Trance of the specimens in the hydroponic garden that she wasn't likely to find anywhere else…
The notion distracted her for the thirty seconds remaining on the repressurization cycle. The ship beeped, and the half dozen Nietzscheans encircling her all went still. There was something not entirely human about that snap, that humming tension. She was just glad they were on her side, whatever waited on the other side of the hatch.
The Anthem was still finishing its postflight checks when they reached it. In terms of total crew space, it was probably about double the size of the Maru, but slipstream capability were about the only thing the two vessels had in common. She couldn't have pinpointed its origin, but its purpose was clear enough. Zip around a larger ship, or through a fleet of them, blazing its array of guns and turrets, shoot what it could and deflect what it couldn't.
Beka steadfastly refused to meet anybody's eye. She needed total chilly calm right now. A hatch eased open with a hiss, and the first thing she saw beyond the dark interior of the ship was a metallic glint. No surprise that this was going to be that kind of meeting.
The first person to emerge from the hatch was broader than Tyr, though not as tall, toting a medium-sized cannon. He frowned as his eyes swept the bay, as if disappointed not meet a hail of gunfire. "All clear," he growled. "I-" His frowned deepened at a double beep from his weapon.
Beka tried not to smirk. She rather doubted that Charlemagne had bothered to hide his glee.
The man somewhat ruined the dramatic effect of his entry by half-turning to call back over his shoulder. "Sir, there's a malfunction with the ashaman." He stopped his descent down the short ramp to poke at the control panel. "We should-"
"It's the internal defenses." That familiar voice, tinged with amusement, gave Beka a nervous twist in her stomach. "The little professor must have returned. Agrippa, let Alivia and her people know, we need better intelligence."
Clear as Beka heard him, he must have been standing just inside the hatch. The man with the inoperable gun swung it at menacingly around the hangar bay, and this time Beka did not disguise her skepticism.
"Really?" she asked. "What exactly is your threat here?"
"I do believe he's intending to throw it at me," Charlemagne drawled from her left. She saw him out of the corner of her eye, a crimson blur. "Who knows, I could sprain something ducking out of its path."
Somehow the man managed to flex, even standing still, and looked as though he would have liked nothing better than to bash Charlemagne over the head with his weapon. It was about all it was good for right now.
"Sir, I have to recommend we regroup," he said between gritted teeth. "Let us return to ship and speak with Alivia in person. Whatever's going on here, she should have-" He cut himself off before he could say anything further, no doubt wishing to avoid airing any more of the pride's dirty laundry. Orca pride, Beka reminded herself. Alivia of Orca Pride was not in for a pleasant tomorrow.
"Certainly she should have." Tyr strolled out, as casually as though he were returning from a supply run. Beka immediately noticed the helix armband he wore-a very busy supply run. She didn't recognize the sleeveless black leather duster he wore but had to admit that it made for a very good effect. "But she did not. Nevertheless, we are here now."
"Sir! We must-"
"Agrippa." Tyr did not shout, but he did not need to. The man straightened, and his knuckles whitened on his gun. "We have a message to deliver. Whatever this is does not change that."
Though he was speaking to his officer, Tyr's gaze trained immediately on Beka and did not leave her. "Captain Valentine," he said, quietly enough that she almost took a step forward before catching herself. "Permission to board?"
The request was perfectly proper, and there was nothing in his face saved a slightly raised eyebrow to indicate that he meant it in any way other than the usual. But Beka had known him long enough to hear every nuance in his voice, and he well knew it. Suddenly she was very glad for Dominique's styling, if this was how they were going to play.
"Granted, of course." She gave a short nod. "I should've told you about Harper's little experiment. Not that it makes much of a difference. This is a friendly meeting, isn't it?"
As one, Charlemagne and Dominique took another step forward. Beka wondered how much time they had spent rehearsing. "Perfectly friendly," Dominique said. Half an ounce more excitement in her voice, and she would have chirped. It was a bit unnerving.
Tyr gave Dominique a long, assessing look, and Beka realized it was the first time the two of them had met. It was not long ago that Dominique had believed Tyr dead at Beka's hand, in fact.
"In that case," Beka said dryly, "I suppose introductions are in order. Dominique Mayae, Tyr Anasazi, former first officer of the Path. Tyr Anasazi, Dominique Mayae, my primary contact with Volsung Pride and engaged to be married to Charlemagne Bolivar. Feel free, both of you, to rattle off your genealogies, but remember, some of us do have other business today."
Tyr turned slightly so that he was facing Dominique instead of Beka. It was little more than a movement of his eyes, but the gesture spoke loudly. Even before he descended the rest of the short ramp and stopped in front of Dominique, Beka realized that something else was happening. Tyr was not here to assassinate anybody, or at least, it was not his primary intention.
Agrippa, whom Tyr had failed to introduce, glowered at all of them. Annoyed but unsurprised. Definitely a scheme of some sort.
As Tyr came to a halt in front of Dominique, Beka shot Charlemagne a look. It was challenging, to exchange that silent question while keeping a close eye on Dominique. Charlemagne widened his eyes minutely, echoing his own surprise. He turned his back to Agrippa-deliberately, Beka decided-to approach closer to Dominique.
Though she only came up to Tyr's shoulders, Dominique gave no indication of being intimidated at his proximity. She returned his assessing look with a shade of a sneer.
"Dominique Mayae, out of-"
"Among the Volsung," she interrupted, "we traditionally identify most closely with our clan lineages. I shall take it as a given that you are aware of mine, and I shall also save you the trouble of your recitation." Her gaze flickered at Beka, and a smile flashed across her face. "I'm well informed. Kodiak, Victoria, Barbarossa. Does that about cover it?"
Beka smothered a laugh and felt Charlemagne beside her twitch with one of his own. She remembered her own first meeting with Dominique. Tyr was almost getting off easy. She didn't remember this clan business ever coming up before and wondered to what extent Dominique was being difficult for the joy of it.
Tyr hesitated, and Beka could almost see him reconsider his mode of approach. But he was clearly assured of his charm and proceeded in spite of Dominique's icy retort.
"Dominique Mayae, of Clan Akata. I come with greetings from Marsay Reyne and a message she bade me deliver to you in private."
Dominique's face tightened. Annoyed but, like Agrippa, unsurprised. Beka was getting a little tired of everybody in the room being in on Tyr's scheme except for her.
"You can deliver the message here," Dominique said. "Whatever you have to say, you must know I will relay it at once to my captain and my fiance."
Beka was not actually certain that she was, technically speaking, Dominique's captain-but she appreciated the sentiment. She tried to adopt a lofty, bored look to hide her mounting confusion.
Tyr's charm was wearing off as Dominique persisted in being difficult. Beka was glad to see it. "The Volsung Matriarch was quite specific," he insisted. "You will understand if I hew as close to her order as possible." Though politely phrased, Beka did not miss the imperative.
Dominique tilted her up at him, her first outward acknowledgement of the height difference between them. "You're perfectly correct. I have often witnessed men slavishly following her directives. I suppose that may be why her opinion departs so thoroughly from mine on this matter; I am rather less impressed by the spectacle. So please, proceed with your message."
Beka's head spun. She felt a rush of glee at Dominique's latest insult, but it was quickly swallowed by a sinking epiphany. Charlemagne had warned her that this might happen. She let herself lean, ever so lightly, against Charlemagne, for the reassurance of his warmth and solidity.
Not even Beka could quite read the expression on Tyr's face as he acquiesced. "As you say. I bring formal greetings from Orca Pride and from my first wife and mother of my child, Freya-" At Dominique's sharp gesture, he cut off the lineage. Beka wished she'd known that was an option. "My child is the genetic reincarnation of Drago Museveni. He will lead the Nietzschean prides when he comes of age. I have already begun to ally the Orca with others: Rakshasa, Three Rivers, Condor-"
"Nearly enough to fill the Path, but not quite," Charlemagne murmured beside her.
Tyr overheard, as Charlemagne must have intended, and shot Charlemagne a chill glare.
"And, as of yesterday afternoon, the Volsung. I have the treaty aboard my ship, if you'd like to take a look."
Beka felt as though she'd been slapped. "Well, that's a hell of a wedding present. Beats the antique fondue set I got for you, depending on how you feel about lactose." Her voice was brittle to her ears. Dominique clearly had known about this, about the broad shape of it at least. Had Charlemagne known? Was her entire crew sniggering at her, wrapped up in a cloud of lust and friendship, while all the time her Nietzschean lovers past, present and hypothetical plotted together?
Charlemagne dipped his head to hers. "Beka," he began, but before he could say anything further, Dominique spun away from Tyr to grab Beka's hands.
"She ordered my silence, Beka, on pain of exile. I told her I would respect her confidence and listen to him when he arrived, but I promised no more than that, I swear." Her grip was tight enough that Beka's fingers were already starting to ache. She'd never heard Dominique like this, lightyears away from the icy, self-possessed woman who had just told off Tyr Anasazi. She was pleading with Beka and was utterly indifferent to everyone else present.
"So there," she continued, "I listened. I have done my duty to my Matriarch. And it changes nothing. Tomorrow, I will be your sister." Her dark eyes searched Beka's.
It was the lack of sleep the night before and the emotional whiplash of the last ten minutes that made Beka's eyes tear up, she told herself. Nothing else. Well, maybe the force of Dominique's grip. She blinked and gave a laugh that fooled nobody.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" she asked Dominique. At the other woman's puzzled look, Beka gave a half-nod over her shoulder. "Honestly, he's standing right behind me. You're going to hurt his feelings."
Dominique pressed her lips together but did not hide her smile entirely. She released Beka's hands, and Beka wrung them as unobtrusively as she could.
"I admire your loyalty," Tyr said. "But your Matriarch was quite clear to me, and I believe she was so to you as well. The treaty will be fulfilled, and the Volsung will ally with the Orca."
As fast as a thunderclap, Dominique's expression shifted from amusement to fury. She bared her teeth at Tyr. "Loyalty?! You are not worthy to say the word." At her rage, Tyr actually took a step backward. She did not move but somehow gave the impression of a stalking predator. "When I'd heard that Beka had killed you, I thought, how refreshing, a human who understands the proper response to betrayal. Ally with you? You and whatever dregs you've convinced of your metaphysical mission? Impossible." She reached for her small, elegant gauss pistol and raised it to Tyr's face. "Captain, permission to-"
Several things happened at once, coalescing into a blur of bodies and voices. Agrippa, who had been seemingly frozen in horror at the disrespect laden upon his leader, launched himself at Dominique. Charlemagne must have heard him coming before Beka, rushed at Agrippa, and did something Beka could not see but heard as a hard whump that left Agrippa wheezing. Tyr reached for Dominique, and Beka instinctively drew her own, rather less impressive, firearm.
From the floor, a voice crackled. "Captain Anasazi! We're picking up a transmission, and sensors are showing-"
At the same time, Beka's own communicator came to life. "Captain Valentine, we have incoming, and I don't believe they're on the guest list." Skarynet was puzzled, but far from panicking. "We need you on the bridge immediately."
"Everybody, shut the hell up for two seconds!" Beka did not let her arm waver. As far as she could see, Tyr was still the greatest threat here, although it sounded like that calculus was about to change. She re-played everything she had just heard. Whatever was happening, Tyr's people weren't expecting it any more than the Path was. She took a step backward from Tyr, putting some distance in between them so he could not just leap forward and overpower her.
"Tyr, tell your people to stay put. That includes Grippy. He's breathing a little funny, he should probably get himself to whatever passes for a med bay on that ship." Without looking, she nodded in the general direction she thought Agrippa had fallen. "Charlemagne, if you're stepping on him, please let him up."
There was a rustle and a grunted curse. Tyr looked behind Beka. "Do it. Find out everything you can and inform me at once. Captain Valentine will not harm you so long as you do not threaten her people. Which, until I say otherwise, you will not do."
Dammit. Not that she had been planning to blast them inside the hangar bay. But Tyr did not need to advertise that fact.
Agrippa, back on his feet and disarrayed, clearly wanted to argue. "I look forward to meeting you again, Jaguar. Perhaps when you're not hiding inside your kludge consort's ship," he hissed.
Naturally, Charlemagne remained impeccable. He brushed his palm along one sleeve to straighten out an invisible wrinkle. "By all means. Shall we endeavor to locate the oldest weapon in the Jaguar armories to match your ashaman or simply leave the firesticks at home and roll in the dust whilst grunting manfully?"
"Agrippa," Tyr barked.
The man's knuckles were white on the weapon. He stiffened at the sound of his name and then stalked back inside the Tyr's ship.
Beka thumbed her communicator to switch modes. "We're headed back to the bridge," she informed her crew. "Tell me what we're looking at."
"Hearing, actually," Skarynet replied. "Transmissions that weren't there a minute ago. If it weren't impossible, I'd say there's a fleet out there, hiding somewhere at the outer edge of the system."
Dominique frowned. "The heliosheath. They need to re-calibrate the sensors to penetrate the clusters of magnetic anomalies."
"Channel's open. I take it you have some experience with ships lurking at the edge of the Castalian system?"
In spite of everything, Dominique grinned. "The Castalians don't call the Volsung pirates for nothing." She rattled off her instructions to the bridge, pistol still trained on Tyr.
Beka rounded on Tyr and considered him for a moment. "I have a feeling that we're about to have bigger things to worry about, and Dominique is going to need that arm free eventually."
She pursed her lips. "Just remember, just because I don't want to blow up your ship doesn't mean I won't. No one would blame me if I shot you right now, and I'm still the closest thing to a friend you have on this ship."
-o-
The light is growing dim around Trance. Shadow cloaks her crimson sheen as grief bows her shoulders and the crown of her head. She holds up one finger.
-o-
Beka had only gotten a few hundred yards away from the hangar when Skarynet's voice broadcast across the shipwide channel. "I don't know how this is possible, but..." She heard Skarynet draw a breath. "They've arrived. They'll be within firing range in minutes. Shields are up, but… Captain, as far as we can tell, there are two enormous fleets out there converging on our position"
Dominique swore. "It's one of the Volsung's tricks, though I've never seen it used on anything like this scale. If we had not adjusted the sensors, we might not have detected them at all before they commenced firing."
It should not have been possible, but nevertheless, here they were. The situation was what it suddenly, inexplicably, was. Beka's mind whirled through possible battle plans, discarding each one as soon as it arose.
"Do we know who these people are?" she asked, directing the question at both the bridge and her little company. "Tyr? Any chance the Orca signed up a few million more followers while you've been gone?"
His mouth tightened. "I have no more idea than you." He gave Dominique a narrow-eyed look, annoyed but also a little thoughtful. "And I should very much like to know more about this Volsung stratagem."
Beka interrupted before Dominique could give a cutting, but at this moment unhelpful, rejoinder. "I'm sure we all would," she said. "Once we're toasting to our victory."
"Unless there's some ruse I'm not seeing, it looks like they're all Nietzschean designs. Drago-Kazov and Jaguar. The Drago-Kazov fleet is significantly larger, perhaps five thousand ships."
Five thousand Drago-Kazov. Beka wanted to strangle Charlemagne for the Jaguar fleet out there as well, but in the face of those numbers, sarcasm deserted it. Even without a single Jaguar vessel, the Drago-Kazov numbers were utterly overwhelming.
Though Beka could not see how it mattered, Charlemagne addressed Skarynet. "The Jaguar ships, are they bearing an insignia? Crossed arrows and stylized flame?" He held his hands up, silently requesting his companions' patience.
"On it," Skarynet confirmed. "Scanning… that's affirmative, the Jaguar heavy fighters show that insignia. We're… wait a minute, Captain, there's something incoming."
"Sheroky," Charlemagne said with a sneer. "He staked his power and reputation as Alpha on the alliance with Sabra Pride. When we learned of my intended's plans to assassinate most of Jaguar's upper echelon…" He shrugged. "A more intelligent man would have been relieved to have been delivered from such a fate, but Sheroky is not he."
"To attach oneself to the Drago-Kazov Pride in a fit of pique." Tyr's voice was rich with disgust. "I would not have expected such even from a Jaguar."
"Captain!" Beka was grateful for Skarynet's voice again, slicing through the increasingly thick tension between Tyr and Charlemagne. "We've received a message. He says his name is Cuchulain Nez Pierce. He says… he says he can destroy our ship, or we can deliver it to him for his personal inspection." Beka admired the steadiness of her officer's voice. "Our choice."
Beka stopped and turned to face the dozen crew who had followed her to the hangar. They'd come for her protection, and to their immense credit she had not heard a single muttered word from them even now.
"Not my choice," she announced. "Our choice. There's no way we brute force our way out of this. I…" She swallowed. How was this happening? How had this day taken this turn? Why wasn't she fretting with Dominique over silly last-minute shit that nobody else would notice? "I don't see the way out of this. But by all means, I'm open to ideas."
"Boarded by Nez Pierce?" one woman shouted. "Never. I'll blow the engines myself first." Her eyes were wild, and her nearest compatriot grabbed her by the arm when she looked as though she might actually bolt.
"We must speak with the Alpha!" another man cried. "There must be a way to convince him to see reason. Perhaps we offer him the Arch-Duke, ah, as a ploy."
"Traitor!"
"Coward!"
Dominique put one hand to her mouth and emitted an impossibly sharp whistle. Beka winced. "The only thing we must do is hear our captain." She very deliberately turned to Beka. Her posture was impeccable and her voice cool. Beka could have hugged her.
"I say…" She met Tyr's eyes. "Someone once told me something I think applies here. He was a jackass, but he did get this one thing right. Where's there's life, there's hope." She thumbed her communicator to shipwide address. "Skarynet, the bridge is yours. Tell Nez Pierce we'll await his inspection. Direct him to the secondary hangar bay." She paused, thinking of all the crew on the bridge. "We're going to welcome him on board real nice. Everybody who's not actively keeping the ship flying is invited."
For a moment, the ship was silent. "Acknowledged, Captain. It'll be a hell of a party. I wouldn't miss it."
Beka grinned fiercely. After all this time, that was no surprise. "Come on," she said. "We're turning around. Anyone who wants out, there are still escape pods, should be enough for a few dozen if you squeeze in together."
There were two people on board she truly hoped would take her up on the escape pod offer, but… "Escape pods? In front of that crowd? I appreciate the thought and all, but those guys see escape pod, they think clay pigeon." Harper, as usual, invoked an earth metaphor that meant absolutely nothing to her. It was comforting, in its weird and inscrutable way.
"Harper, I'm serious," she persisted. "I don't…" She took a breath. No reason to sugarcoat it. Everybody in their small group knew exactly what the odds were. "There's no obvious way out. We're heading down to the secondary hangar bay now, but-"
"Secondary hangar bay, roger. She'll be waiting for you."
Before Beka could ask who Harper meant-surely not Trance-he cut the connection. She tried Trance's frequency, but all she heard was a quiet humming and the steady snip snip of gardening shears. That was definitely not the way these communicators were supposed to work.
"Clay pigeon," Charlemagne said thoughtfully. "Referring to recreational shooting of ancient projectile weapons. I don't believe they were live avians, but I sometimes find myself impressed by the bloodthirstiness of our common ancestor."
Beka laughed, in spite of everything. "Wait, you know what he's talking about?" Of course he did. Charlemagne, with his vintage Earth pants. "Too bad you two didn't overlap, you could have been my ancient Earth translator."
Her smile faded, remembering Trance and Harper's departure from the ship. They'd left her feeling bereft and alone-a human among all the Nietzscheans to come. But now… now she wished they had refused her offer to return. What could she give them now, facing a combined fleet of two of the biggest Nietzschean Prides?
"Okay people," she heard herself saying. Get a grip, Valentine. This isn't the time to be morose. "Let's talk strategy. What do we know about Nez Pierce?"
A lot, as it turned out. Beka had vaguely heard of him but had never investigated much beyond the surface details: high-ranking Drago-Kazov general, perhaps as much of a strategic genius as he considered himself to be, way more wives than the Volsung Matriarch probably believed he was able to keep happy.
Everybody else in the entourage, it turned out, had very detailed opinions on the man. Tyr had nothing but contempt for him, having eluded his security on Enga's Redoubt. Charlemagne had met him on several occasions, clashed with him at a few remote outposts, and considered himself fortunate not to have lost more ships in so doing. The Volsung Alpha had once contemplated marrying Dominique off to him, and would not be dissuaded from the idea until somebody-Dominique looked demure-had learned of the man's scheme to dissolve the Volsung Pride once the alliance was consummated.
"I get it, we're not about to form a local chapter of the Cuchulain Nez Pierce fan club on board the Path. So what do we do? Wait outside the hangar bay until he comes out and hope our aim is better than his?"
The argument brought them to the secondary hangar bay hatch, with no agreement on anything besides their hatred of the Drago-Kazov general. And even then, it was a matter of contention as to who detested him more.
"Captain, we have a transmission from the Dragan flagship. I'm patching it through." It was Aricia, who no doubt would have loved to join the party making its way from the bridge but had stayed at her post. Beka felt a surge of pride for her crew.
"Captain Valentine." Two words in, and she already hated his smug voice. "I commend your good sense in agreeing to my inspection. Of course you'll understand that I will not be present to greet you myself, not until my men have secured the ship to their satisfaction. Rest assured I have no desire to harm your vessel, and I have no quarrel with you. In fact, you can prove yourself a valuable ally to the Drago-Kazov Pride and the Alpha of Jaguar Pride by handing over two of your more… troublesome passengers. Tyr Anasazi and Charlemagne Bolivar. Deliver them to me, Captain, and I will guarantee the security of your ship."
Harper had pinged her while Nez Pierce was still speaking. "No way, boss. If you're even thinking for one minute about handing over anybody to save me 'n Trance, forget about it. Do I like either of your uber boyfriends? No offense, but hell no. If it were anyone else, I would happily let either of them die to save my ass. But you can't trust him, Beka. Not a word he says."
It wasn't a surprise, but Beka still had to be sure that Harper was absolutely certain about this. She started to ask him-not that she knew what she would do if he changed his mind-but he interrupted before she could get three words out. He wasn't going to trust his life to a Nietzschean, especially not that Nietzschean. Once more he assured her that his surprise was almost ready, and that she would take down as many of the Dragans as she could.
She? And why couldn't Beka reach Trance? Her efforts were again met with the quiet sounds of humming and snipping. Wasn't Trance hearing the shipwide announcements? The girl could be oblivious and naive, but not even she could be missing the chaos unfolding around her.
"Bridge," she called, unsure who had remained to conduct ship operations. "Relay the following message to our new friend." She paused to collect her words.
"Captain Nez Pierce." It was petty, but he had not actually provided his preferred designation to her. He clearly expected her to know it, and for once she was quite content to advertise her ignorance. "You know, you could have just asked for an invitation." She sighed. Party crasher. "Even if I were to hand over Tyr and Charlemagne, I'd need better assurances that you won't just blast the Path out of the sky as soon they're out of my hands. If you have any interest in keeping any of us alive, I suggest you extend yourself to meet me aboard my ship. If not… well, you have the numbers on your side. Valentine out."
Tyr arched an eyebrow. "Your sole hope for keeping us alive is his desire for living captives?"
"I think it's the main thing keeping any of us alive right now." She shrugged. "We don't know how long they've been waiting outside the solar system, but clearly they had the jump on us. They could have emerged from the, uh-"
"Heliosheath," Dominique supplied.
"Right, heliosheath." If she survived this, she was going to have look up what the hell a heliosheath was. "Point is, they could have blasted their way to the Path, eliminated any potential opposition, and guaranteed themselves some crispy corpses."
"So we have some leverage." Coming around a corner, Skarynet finished Beka's thought. About two dozen Nietzscheans trailed her, about half grim in readiness and half wearing an expression of savage delight. Goddamned scary people is what they were, but she was glad to have these scary people on her side.
"We have some leverage," Beka agreed. "And we have to assume it's you two."
"I cannot imagine how Sheroky intends to justify this to Ishtar," Charlemagne said. An elegant wave of his hand summarized the 'this' to which he referred. "But he'll find it somewhat easier to make his case if he can present me alive. People who break Ishtar's toys generally don't live to see her wrath. Frankly I'm not sure living would be the preferable option."
"And Tyr is no doubt brimming with intel the Drago-Kazov would love to get their hands on. Intel and some pretty fabulous bones. But I'm open to any other ideas. Really, anything."
Silence and a cool look from Tyr was all the reply she received. "I figure Nez Pierce will believe that I'd hand you two over in an admirable display of enlightened self interest. It's what he'd do in my place. And even if I were prone to an irrational display of sentimentally-motivated violence, I'm surrounded by cooler heads." She grinned at Dominique. "In theory."
Beka became solemn again for a moment. "I was serious about the escape pods, though. Some of you are Jaguar-I'm not gonna blame you if you want to go out there and join Sheroky. It's probably a smarter plan than waiting for Nez Pierce here and hoping to shoot him before we all blow up, because… it's a matter of when, not if, we all blow up."
She thought it would make things worse, saying it aloud. But somehow it helped. Her spine felt straighter and lighter, somehow.
"It's unfortunate that we generally don't believe in ghosts," Charlemagne drawled, "because if I did, I would most certainly haunt anybody who took you up on that offer, Captain Valentine."
Dominique moved to stand in front of Beka. In that moment, she felt as though it were just the two of them once again, laughing about straps and wedding plans.
"My people are with you," she said, loud enough for her voice to carry. "We will not abandon our champion now. I will show my Matriarch and the Fleet Admiral of the Drago-Kazov himself what honor means to the Volsung." Crinkles formed at the corners of her eyes. "Besides, it's a lot better than being nuked by fish people."
Beka could only shake her head and smile. She would not cry. "It's settled, then. Assuming Nez Pierce takes the bait."
It only took a little more back and forth for him to agree. He wanted to agree and, Beka suspected, was only dragging out the argument because he doubted that any human would be ruthless enough to take the deal. Plenty of them would, in fact, but Beka supposed he would at least die with the satisfaction of thinking he'd been right about her.
As soon as Nez Pierce agreed to come personally to her hangar bay, Beka called the bridge. "He's inbound. Aricia, you know what to do?"
Her weapons officer was ready. Engines were ready. Harper was putting the final touches on something, and Trance remained unreachable. Her crew, gathered in the tight space of the corridor, murmured to one another with gleaming eyes. They were ready.
The bridge reported that Ishmael's Lament was incoming.
"Positions! Tyr, Charlemagne, with me. Dominique, you're in charge."
The bay door hissed open. Beka gripped the force lance that one of the crew had fetched from the Path's weapons locker. She had practiced with these antiquated Commonwealth weapons enough not to look completely ridiculous using it, but she was intending to resort to her gauss pistol when the shooting started.
The Path rumbled around her as the outer airlock opened to admit Nez Pierce's ship. Beka extended the force lance with a flick and a spin. "Boys."
Tyr had barely said a word to her since his initial plan had crashed and burned so abruptly. Charlemagne just offered one of his long, lazy smiles before taking his place a few steps ahead of her.
Before the inner airlock opened, a hologram materialized in front of her. Beka stared in shock at a young woman with short, dark hair, and a uniform much like the High Guard get-up she'd once worn. "Who the hell are you?" And what are you doing interrupting my dramatic moment, she added mentally.
"Andromeda Ascendant," the woman responded, frowning. "Who… where's Captain Hunt?"
Beka's mouth hung up. A commotion behind her resolved into… Harper, of course, excusing himself through a crowd of Nietzscheans.
"Long story," he said between gasping breaths. He'd clearly run here. "Re-calibrating… internal defenses. Tyr can…" He made finger guns and waggled them. "Are we…?"
"Barely," Beka said. "You have about ten seconds to explain."
"Easy, boss, this is-"
"Boss? Are you the Captain? Why don't I?-"
"We now have ten seconds until a few dozen Nietzscheans seeking some heads is going to land in this hangar bay, and at the outside, about ten minute before the rest of those hundreds of thousands of Nietzscheans begins raining fire on us."
The woman's eyes narrowed. "Then we're still at war. Is this Situation Manetheren?"
Harper clicked frantically across the pad in his hand. "Uh, affirmative, Andromeda Ascendant. Situation pretty freaking Manetheren."
A dim sense of recognition flitted through Beka's brain, but she couldn't quite place the reference. But she could the gist well enough. Certain doom, but they would go down fighting.
"If we survive this," Andromeda said warningly, "someone will tell me what's going on." She turned a glare on Harper. "Why do I have the suspicion that you have something to do with this?"
He raised his arms in a gesture of surrender, but he was cut off by the inner airlock hatch spiraling open. Ishmael's Lament was as sleek and deadly as she would have expected, no doubt modeled after some awful planet-bound stinging insect.
"Harper, get out of here," Beka hissed. But she couldn't spare a glance to see whether he obeyed. She did not retreat when the ship emitted a cloud of hissing steam and held her ground as it touched down.
The hologram had vanished, but the woman's voice spoke from Beka's communicator. "I'm ready at your command, Captain."
Beka raised the forcelance as the smaller ship's hatch slid open. Two dozen Nietzscheans, clad in the most unimaginative black leather and shiny armor, stomped out. They flanked a Nietzschean with the single most punchable face Beka had ever seen.
She bared her teeth in something he might mistake for a smile. "Cuchulain Nez Pierce," she called out. "My gifts to you. My people… assisted me in convincing them. Now, do we have a deal?"
The bodyguard parted enough for Nez Pierce to walk forward, arms held out like a kindly benefactor. He must have thought humans blind, for he did not attempt to disguise the pity in his smile. "Of course, Captain. Allow me to commend you for your rational approach to this… knotty little situation we find ourselves in. Rest assured, you will be handsomely rewarded."
"Good." She looked to Charlemagne and then Tyr, her face a mask. "Any last words?"
Tyr's smile was genuine and so intimate that, impossibly, Beka's cheeks went warm. "Did I not tell you you would be the death of me?"
With the hand that faced away from Ishmael's Lament, he unhooked the weapon at his side. She really, really hoped this was not some triple feint on his part.
His brow furrowed, and his gaze slid beyond Beka. Somehow, Beka knew who had appeared over her shoulder. There was nothing she could do, she told herself. She'd tried and tried over the past hour to send her away. She wanted to scream, to crumple to the floor, to tackle Trance and shove her purple ass into an escape pod, but she did none of these.
She opened her mouth. "Andromeda!" she shouted. "Now."
Beka tapped the force lance, which had been calibrated to explode fifteen seconds after activation, and flung it to Tyr. His hand closed on it, Beka's heart stopped… and he sent it spinning into the heart of the Drago-Kazov guard. At same moment, Charlemagne rushed toward her, firing the two guns at his hips as he did.
"Leave it to a Kodiak to get in a poetic last word," he said over the din of weapons fire. "All I have is-"
The stink of burned fabric stung her nose. Something landed like the hardest punch she'd ever felt to her right side. The force of it knocked her off her feet. She fell, but not alone.
The world went fuzzy around her. She heard her name, and shrieking weapons fire, and alarms, and underneath in all…
Humming. And snipping. And-
"I'm sorry."
-o-
"That's why I got confused," Trance says, lashes lowered in apology. "Because we were all together, or almost all of us were. But I should have known. That past, that… it was always almost. Almost together, almost in the right place, almost at the right time. But that past was never going to make the perfect possible future."
Her smile is wry. "There aren't any happy endings, but I guess you can see that. It's not really even an ending. There are always seeds that survive, even when we think we're starting over. This wasn't the first, the last, or the perfect. It's just one of many, but it's my gift to you. I hope you found something there. A seed, something that will sprout for you after you leave."
* * * THE END * * *
Author's Note: So... 10 years later...! I don't really expect that anyone who was following this will be interested to read it now, but if you do, um, may I recommend going to back for a re-read?
I dedicate this update to Mary Rose, who notified me that the site where I originally posted these was about to permanently close at the end of year, which reminded me that I had never finished this story. And my first year in nearly twenty of not doing NaNoWriMo seemed like the right time to change that!
What happened all those years ago? When I started writing this fic, I had no inkling that it would be my last. I have no idea why that happened, but my drive to write fanfic just gradually dissipated. It was probably a combination of things, including two devastating family losses over the span of six months, going to law school, and living in NYC. And every time I thought about the ending to this piece, I couldn't put it to paper. I didn't want to, and I couldn't make it work. When I sat down to it this time, though, I realized the very big, very silly mistake I'd made it planning it, and once I did that, I was-ten years later-unblocked.
My fanfic drive has most certainly not returned, but dang, finishing this piece reminded me just how great it was, and how great my readers were. And so I wish you all, old readers and new-really, anyone who's reading this-all the best. I hope you're finding things to love as much as I loved this show and writing in this universe.