Guderian is in his private quarters looking at a viewing screen. There is a computer-generated image of a hundred double helixes bound together, with a close-up of a single strand enlarged off to the side.
"It's…remarkable; hundreds of perfectly coded DNA strands. With her genetics integrated into our Pride, we would be unstoppable," as he spoke, a woman emerged from the shadows behind his chair.
"It was opportune that Jsalt was able to infiltrate the Andromeda's computer systems so easily." She strolled over to the viewing screen, lifting a hand to trace the images. "Superior strength, quick reflexes, accelerated healing, and from what I've heard, her capabilities far exceed our own genetically enhanced gifts. Your progeny would create the ultimate Neitzschean line," Olga said with a cunning smile. "Tomorrow at the Gathering, you will have the opportunity to win her over, to show her what a real Neitzschean can do. Do not fail us." She said, her skirts trailing after her as she leaves the room.
Guderian turned back to the viewing screen.
The next morning on board the primary Sabra-Jaguar ship…"This-this is amazing my son," Sophia started, pointing to a viewing screen.
Charlemange had gone back to his ship to oversee the preparations for the Gathering. The Matriarch had cornered him as soon as he had gotten on board, to inform him of the results of Sehket's hack.
Traed snuggled deeper into his father's embrace as Charlemange talked with his mother. She smiled lightly at the picture the two made together; he had yet to relinquish Traed back into her keeping.
"Yes, it was quite well of Sehket to obtain the information for us. Somehow, I don't think that Captain Hunt would have seen fit to share. Not that I don't blame him," he said with a quirk of his brow. "His ship is about to be overrun with Neitzscheans, all wanting to have the chance to…acquire his new crew member. It will not be pretty, with the flying hormones and the flying…bodies," he grumbled the last, displeased with the whole situation.
Sophia's eyes gleamed, "Do I detect a note of jealousy?"
"What," he shouted. Traed stirred, Charlemange quieted his voice. "What? Me…jealous…for that upstart. Mother, please, she has the manners and disposition of a pack of charging Magog."
She smirked, "Yes, but she has the genetics that our people need, that our race has been striving for, for generations. In that one human girl is our promise, our guarantee for the future of the Sabra-Jaguar Pride. The Orca are aware of her…and if she does decide to choose a Neitzschean, then it must be one of ours." Sophia walked away a slight distance.
"She…would make you a fitting mate," Sophia added softly, looking to her offspring. "I know that it has not been long since…since they died, but you need to move on. You must rebuild our Pride, and what better way to start then with this girl. She seems to please you," Sophia offered with a small smile.
Charlemange looked down at his son, quiet.
"Perhaps," he said quietly, considering.
On Andromeda's Hydroponics Deck…After an impromptu meeting with his crew, updating them on Buffy and last night's systems infiltration, Dylan left to greet the Neitzscheans coming onboard for the festivities, dragging Tyr along with him. The Neitzschean seemed most reluctant to leave Buffy's side, though the girl in question was oblivious to his attraction.
Earlier that morning, Dylan had confronted Guderian and a Sabra-Jaguar warrior for hacking his systems. Their response, "You should have had better safeguards for your database. If we could penetrate your systems in the first place, then you should thank us for alerting you to your incompetence." Dylan's response? A quick jog around the ship, followed by a vent to Rommie, seemed to alleviate his anger.
Harper decided to go with Dylan and Tyr, to check out the women and to avoid Andromeda. When the AI had taken a closer look at her systems, she had discovered that her firewall protocols had been removed, by Harper. Apparently, he had been updating her systems, but had forgotten to put the safeguards back up because of the Magog attacks. To say she was extremely pissed would be a severe understatement. Harper decided to 'get out of Dodge' until she cooled down, or until he could hack into her database to erase all records of his role in her unlawful systems access.
In the meantime, Rommie, Beka, and Trance stayed behind to warn Buffy about the Neitzscheans. Well, mostly it was Beka doing the warning. Rommie made sure to fill Buffy in on the Neitzscheans, and Trance took care of her plants, occasionally giving her opinion.
"You're in trouble," teased Beka from her relaxed position on a bench.
"What," asked Buffy, helping Trance water some plants, "why?"
"You've been marked for conquest by the Neitzscheans, prepare to be bombarded with tight-ass, arrogant, Neanderthals."
"Huh?"
"Rommie's been hacked by someone on the Orca and Sabra-Jaguar ships…you know, you were there in the Mess when she started to tear Harper a new one." Rommie gave a snort, part of her attention on the conversation, the other on the sensors trained on her captain. "Anyway, they know that you're different, that you've got this like hyped up DNA."
"So, so they know I'm a little different. I'm still human."
"And there in lays the source of your problems," she burst out, sitting up.
"And I say again…huh," Buffy said, pulling a face.
Rommie rolled her eyes and took it upon herself to explain Beka's ramblings, "Neitzscheans are a subspecies of humans, genetically engineered to be stronger, faster. To excel, in the Darwinian term, in the survival of the fittest. They are single-minded in their devotion for self-improvement and propagation of their own genes. Usually, the males compete in acts of physical prowess, for the favor of the females, who choose their mates based on genetic fitness rather than emotional compatibility. In that respect, their society is Matriarchal, because the females choose the mates. Yet, there are stronger tones of a Patriarchal basis, for the females do indeed rely on the males for survival. Often, a high status, genetically superior male can have many consorts at one time. But, in the case where the males find a female of another species with favorable genes and compatible forms, then they do endeavor to recruit that female, and integrate her genetic material with their own."
Buffy's eyes glazed over, freezing her hand mid pour. "I'm sorry for being repetitive, but…huh?"
"What old nuts and bolts there is trying to say is that the Neitzscheans want your body and intend to flex their pecs in front of you until you choose one of them as your mate. Didn't you notice Tyr trying to get all chummy with you at breakfast?"
Crash. Buffy dropped the watering can. "Oh_My_God!"
Same time, same place…
"Oh_My_God!"
"You're kidding me right…please tell me your kidding me," she said, fumbling as she bent down to pick up the watering can.
Trance glanced her way, busying herself with some plants to hide her grin. Beka lay back down on her seat, a self-satisfied smirk on her face. Rommie resumed her attentions to the proceedings down on her Observation Deck.
Buffy turned to Trance, desperation holding her body rigid. "Trance, tell me they're kidding."
Trance went around the table, going to Buffy's side. She placed a companionable hand on her shoulder. "Now, now, there's nothing to upset yourself about. If you don't want to be the mate of a Neitzschean warrior then you don't have to be. I'm sure that Dylan can convince them to leave you alone."
"Are you crazy," Beka exclaimed, "with all of their toughest warriors on board competing for mates, Buffy here is the main attraction. All of them will be fighting to get the chance to show off for her. They think that once she sees what they're made of, she won't be able to resist herself from submitting to their…charms."
Buffy's head hung low.
"This is all I need," she grumbled. She raised her head to look at the ceiling. "Thank you very much," she called, mentally directing her derision to the Powers.
Trance looked up, while Rommie ignored her, she was used to humans' strange behavior. Oddly enough, the AI found that they seemed to derive comfort from speaking to inanimate objects.
Beka grinned, happy that someone else has to deal with overbearing Neitzschean males. "Poor, poor you," she mocked.
Buffy calmed, lowering her head and releasing a breath.
This is not happening, this is not happening. Who do those people think they are, stealing my records, checking up on me so that they can…Do they really think that I'll be so impressed with them that I'll just forget about my home, my mission, and sit around to have babies for the rest of my life…?
"Argh," she fumed.
Buffy started to pace in front of Beka's bench. "Well, I'm not having it. They can just…they can just…piss off," she spit out, unknowingly resorting to one of Spike's idioms.
Everyone looked at her. She stopped and faced them with an unholy glitter in her green eyes.
"They want Slayer strength, well they can have Slayer strength," she began, a smiling illuminating her face. "Oh yes, I'll show them what a Slayer is made of."
Uh oh.
Buffy stormed out of the room, strapping on her sword belt. She determinably made her way to the Observation Deck, where the Neitzscheans had assembled for the Gathering.
"Buffy, Buffy, are you sure about this," asked Trance, hurrying after the Slayer's retreating form.
Right behind her, Beka and Rommie jogged to keep up.
"Oh, leave her alone," Beka said, "If she wants to teach them a lesson, I say let her. Serves them right for thinking that any woman would just fall at their feet because the great and perfect Neitzscheans deign to pay the tiniest bit of attention to her. I mean, really."
Dylan is not going to like this, Rommie thought.
Meanwhile, on the Observation Deck…Oooh, she's pretty and she's pretty…wait, no she's drop dead gorgeous…*smack*
Harper turned to find that Tyr was the one to hit him; he rubbed fiercely at his aching head.
"Hey, why do you people feel the need to hit me to get my attention, a simple 'excuse me' works just as well," Harper snarked.
"But then it wouldn't be as entertaining for the rest of us," a voice retorted from behind them. Charlemange Bolivar strolled up to the men, resplendent in bronze leather pants and long coat, a matching vest and dark gray silk shirt with frilly cuffs completing his ensemble.
"Hardy-har-har," Harper replied. "You're one to talk. What's with the outfit," giving a pointed look to the cuffs.
The Alpha let out a resigned breath, adjusting his cuffs. "One is always a slave to the latest fashions, but I find they lend me an air of…"
"Mincing foppishness," interjected Tyr.
"I was going for more indolent opulence, but that works too," a benign smile concealing Charlemange's more ferocious nature. "So Tyr, will you be participating in the games? I know that two of my sisters will be watching, you might find them…pleasing."
"Gladly," Tyr responded.
"Uh, big guy, don't you think that'll be a problem for the Orcas. What with them hating your guts and all," Harper asked.
Guderian and Dylan approached the group, making their way through the mass of Neitzscheans.
"What is he doing here," Guderian questioned imperiously.
"He is a part of this crew, and I'll thank you to be civil to him while onboard my ship," Dylan upbraided.
"Yes," Charlemange inserted, "I've also invited him to participate in the games. My sisters wanted to have a look at the last Kodiak. I trust it won't be a problem," giving Guderian a pointed look.
Guderian snarled, reluctantly nodding his assent. He calmed, giving the room a quick scrutiny. "Where is your girl," he directed to Dylan.
"My girl," he said, playing dumb.
"Yes, the female who was here the other day. It would be an honor if she would attend the festivities," the Orca said commandingly.
Harper snorted, turning away and resuming his study of the Neitzschean women.
Charlemange threw the other Alpha a dark look. "Why, anxious to have her kick your ass," he jeered.
"Excuse me."
"Gentlemen, gentlemen," interrupted Dylan, giving the Alphas his patented smile, casually moving between the two males. "Don't you have some festivities to oversee?"
As the two turned to leave, a commotion at the Observation Deck entrance drew the men's awareness. A path from the door to the Alphas cleared, revealing the determined approach of Buffy, the rest of the Andromeda's crew close behind her.
Harper smiled, this is gonna be good.
Buffy halted inches away from Charlemange's face, her set face rising up the few inches to meet his amused eyes.
"Hello," she said pleasantly, flashing a wide and slightly feral smile to the rest of the men. The Slayer was obviously ready for battle. A sword strapped to the tilt of her hips, riding low over her black leather pants and the white cloth of a tunic, her hair pulled back in a sleek bun. It was an interesting ensemble, the top originally a short and feminine, sleeve-less dress, gathered in a straight line down her front, combined with kick ass boots and her black leather pants.
"Hello," Charlemange responded, quirking that brow at her audacity.
"Hello," Guderian said, subtly nudging Charlemange away and gaining Buffy's attention. "I hope that you will stay for the games, they can be quite…entertaining," he rumbled.
"Oh, I'll be staying all right," she said, her smile growing wider. "Your games, they sound like fun. Thank you ever so much for inviting me to join you. I haven't had a really good work out since I left home," she teased.
Guderian paused, "What, no, that's not what I…"
Charlemange grinned, now this was more like it. She couldn't very well be attracted to a man she could defeat…and I severely doubt that any of them are skilled enough to take her on, he thought. Charlemange may not be as big and hulky as the Orcas or most of his Pride, but he was fast and an expert at several fighting disciplines. His refined mannerisms concealed a true Neitzschean warrior. "But of course, you're free to participate in the games. How absolutely uncouth of me to not ask you if you wanted to join in. Come, let me show you what is involved."
The Alpha whisked her away before Guderian could protest.
Let the games begin, Harper and Beka thought.