Please see part one for disclaimers and warnings.

Scission: War

Instinct is a gift we should temper with reason but never ignore. – Drago Museveni, To the Enclave, C.Y. 8440

"Captain Valentine. Beka."

Beka fought a losing battle against the insistent hands and voice.  Her teeth nearly rattled with the final shake. She reached out and grabbed the leather-covered forearm of her tormentor.

"Ah god. What did I drink?" she muttered over the throb at her temples.

"Good. You are awake."  The voice was deep and velvet.

The captain pried an eye open expecting an assault from the Maru's harsh light.  Instead there was a dim flicker of emergency lighting throwing Tyr Anasazi's concerned face into near silhouette. He was kneeling close beside her still holding her shoulders.

"Tyr?" She was hit with memories of screaming, of the Maru being rent apart and of Tyr fighting at her back. She ran her hands through her hair encountering a crusting sticky matt at her temple. The dull throbbing leapt in magnitude. Tyr let go of her as she fought her way into a sitting position. "Where? What happened?"

He stood not looking at her, "I am not sure other than apparently I lost. He stepped over to where a wall panel had been ripped away from beside their cell door and crouched down.

Beka could tell by the unnatural hunch in the Nietzschean's shoulders that he was taking this failure unreasonably hard. 

After a moment he continued. "I believe we were teleported here shortly before the dimensional tunnel was fully closed." He paused then added, "I awoke an hour ago. Our guns are missing, but we have most of our other weapons. So in the end this great enemy that nearly destroyed us is either incompetent or in an emergency of some magnitude."

She pulled her eyes from his large form and examined the room.  It was roughly three by three metres.  Its walls and ceiling were covered in featureless grey metal panels.  The uneven light came from a seam along the perimeter of the ceiling where it met the wall.

The cell door was polished black but seemed like the standard swish to the side' kind.  There was an inset panel that she guessed was some sort of one-way view port. In the dim light Beka could make out her reflection.  Her hair was spiked out wildly in a corona of silver blonde. Her black shirt was ruined; the right sleeve was mostly ripped off. The lacing at her torso was severed and the lower part of her shirt was missing, exposing her stomach and a long ragged gouge. She felt along it.

"It is not deep."

Beka glanced up to see Tyr watching at her. "It seems to be healing fine," she said.

He nodded and turned back to the panel. "I am sorry about your shirt but it was already ruined, so I used it to clean you wounds."

"Thank you."  She tried to smile but it pulled on the skin at her temple, so she ended with a lope-side grin. "Pardon me for saying but you make an unlikely nurse."

Her attempt at humour softened the lines of frustration on his forehead as he turned back to his task.

Beka found the bottom part of her shirt on the floor beside her.  She spat on a corner of it and attempted to gently clean more blood from her temple and hair. After a few dabs she realized it was too painful and useless. She stood unsteadily; the exposed parts of her body glowed unnaturally white in the cold flickering light.

She made her way over to where Tyr was pulling circuitry and wires from the wall.  She watched, frustrated, knowing in the dim light she would be useless.

There was a deafening crush and the whole ship shook.  The floor dropped slightly under Beka's already unsteady feet and sent her into Tyr. They landed on the floor, Beka on his lap. His large hand spread across her bare stomach to steady her as they paused, listening.

We still have forward momentum.  We're colliding with the other ships," she stated. The loudness of the sound indicated that the ship's hull was thin in comparison with the Maru's.  She'd been in fender-benders before in heavily packed drift ports. 

After confirming there was no more immediate danger from the collision, Beka extricated herself from her uncomfortable perch on Tyr's weapon studded thighs. Away from his aura of warmth, she shivered. "Tyr, what temperature do you think it is?"

"About 292 degrees Commonwealth standard."

Only about five degrees below Andromeda's normal deck temperature. She'd live.  Most likely she was still in shock from the large teleport shift and the hit to the head.

All thoughts of cold left as the Nietzschean stood and splayed his fingers along the seam in the door. The muscles in his neck, arms and torso bulged with effort and slowly the door pushed back into its pocket.

Beka stepped up braced her back against the doorframe assisting with both arms and legs.  Soon they were free.

Despite the grunting and angry protest from the door, no one came. They scanned the corridor and the small row of three cells that contained their own.  The ship had an ominous quietness that amplified the sound of their shallow breaths and soft footfalls.

They rounded a corner cautiously and parted to opposite sides of an open doorway.  Tyr, on the right, nodded toward the door and Beka responded.  She pressed herself to the vaulting and quickly peered around the corner as Tyr stepped into the threshold, bonespurs bristled and a shruiken in each hand. 

It was a guard station.  There were simple sleek seats for humanoid forms around grey metal tables. On the one closest to her was Tyr's gauss rifle.

She paused as she noticed that below that table one of their attackers was on the floor where it had apparently fallen from its chair. She slipped into the room and dropped to a crouch to examine the body.

It still had on the dark grey EVA suit and mask.  The only sign that it was alive was the slight rise and fall of its chest.  She touched it.  The suit felt creepily like skin.  It didn't rouse at her tentative exploration.  She picked up its hand then let go; it dropped bonelessly to the ground.

Satisfied that the creature was unconscious she looked around.  From her position she could see under the tables.  Two more of the aliens were laying on the floor on the far side of the room.  She stood.

"Tyr," she said quietly.

He stepped into the room, snapping the throwing stars back onto his belt, turning to where she pointed to the first alien. "They are out cold.  I wonder what happened."

Tyr stalked over and grabbed the alien by the throat.  When it didn't react, he dropped it and turned his attention to his gun. The cartridge was out and the side panel was off.  He checked it over then replaced the parts.  He slung it over his shoulder before joining Beka where, having found her force-lance, she had it levelled at the other unconscious aliens.

She had gathered the two into a heap.  "What are we going to do with them?  Put them in a cell and hope they aren't as strong as you?"

The Nietzschean shrugged. "My first instinct is to kill them."  The rounded arch of his brows may have given his warm brown eyes an inappropriate innocence, but his mouth was set in a firm line. "This is war."

Beka thought for a second.  "Dylan isn't going to like this."

"He's not here." Tyr levelled the rifle and sent a blast into the chest of each body.

Beka took a deep breath, then went to the first alien, a memory of her battered future self clear in her head. "War."  She aimed and fired the force-lance. Bending, she grabbed an arm, and then dragged the cadaver back toward their empty cell. She was joined a moment later by the Nietzschean dragging the other two.

They didn't say anything as they retraced their steps.