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Le troisieme
Beka
"You certainly were friendly with the total and complete stranger."
"She's after the Dherans." Beka tossed the remark off casually, but the intensity in Tyr's voice when he spoke again told her he hadn't taken it so.
He sat on his heels in front of her as she sat, his finger pointed at her in admonition. "Rebecca, if you said a single word..." He didn't feel the need to continue.
"She said I had a lovely helix," she said in response to his unasked question. "That's all." Well, close enough. "I didn't even get to give her the old 'oh, this old thing?' before you came back." She ran her fingers over the metallic band of delicate, golden arches and short, vertical lines of the same shining shade, all shaped to bring to mind a strand of DNA. The idea behind the unusual piece of jewelry was a compromise between the classic gold wedding band of the human tradition, originating from old Earth and surviving to the present day, and the customary double helix arm band worn by wedded Nietzschean couples. It was popular in this area of space, as it contained one of the highest concentration of human/Nietzschean couples in the known worlds. "I wonder where Harper found these."
"I'm sure the little professor has sources we'd be better not to question." Beka laughed softly. Too true. "So it is your opinion that she suspected nothing?" A question, but she had better answer how he wanted or else.
"If anything, we should be the paranoid ones, about her. Oh wait, we already are. At least one of us." She stood and left to change into something a little less...clingy.
Tyr called after her that her uncharacteristic bout of generosity had obviously left her sense of humor intact.
"Aww, you know you love it, honeybunch." After this he proceeded to mutter about idiotic pet names. "Darling!" she yelled, rummaging through her drawers and the closet they shared. "Remind me never to let Rommie pack for me again!" Helplessly, she gave up searching for something decent and settled for the least revealing. Cursing Dylan and his ship and diplomatic missions, Beka kicked the door shut as she shrugged off the robe. True, she and Tyr were supposed to act married in public, but that didn't entail ogling in private. "Don't flatter yourself, Valentine," she laughed to herself, "you could practice the Dance of the Seven Veils in front of him wearing only the seven veils, and he'd just tell you what you did wrong. And probably show you how it's meant to be done." She tugged on a pair of form-hugging leather pants, Not that Rommie packed any other kind, with silver roses climbing the legs and a sheer top of the same silver with a skimpy black tank top underneath, scooped very low and cut very high. "I might as well go in bra," she confided to the beveled mirror. "Either I'm Kiki, babe cop of the Wild West, or Busty L'amour, smoldering love goddess of temptation."
She felt Tyr's eyes leisurely inspecting her newest outfit and the very obvious figure underneath it when she exited the bedroom. "I'm guessing this is Kiki? Harper will be disappointed to have missed it."
Beka stopped dead in her tracks. "Harper!" Tyr's head turned to regard her impassively. "He was helping Rommie set all this up. They're off on Soral III, drinking their little umbrella drinks...well, except for Rommie.while I'm stuck in one of Harper's late-night holodramas!" She sat in the comfortable chair recently vacated by the security officer and sank at least six inches into it. "Now that's a chair."
"I hope none of those garments have long sleeves," Tyr remarked as he perused a stack of flexis.
"Sleeves?"
He ignored her query. "The robe, of course, is acceptable."
"Gee, thanks, pookiebear. Do I get a jacket too?" Her tone was overly- sweet, irritation readily apparent.
"The winter season on Tiradisen is generally very mild, and besides, we will be aboard the Andromeda long before that." Beka thought it strange that the planets in this sector were merely the sector's name with a few more letters at the end." His concentration on his task was so intent that she wasn't sure he'd even detected the heavy sarcasm in her voice.
"Hey, maybe I'll just go around naked. Would that be sleeveless enough for you?"
Finally, her acting husband looked up. "Perhaps that was Harper's true intention all along." Beka threw her hands up and turned on the holoscreen. A grimace crossed her face when the picture came into focus. "Ugh, sci-fi. It's all forehead aliens with their universal translators and beam-me-ups." She purposely ignored the fact that Harper had designed a teleporting machine that did just that. "And morals. Did I mention I hate morals?" The holoscreen presented dozens of images as Beka clicked through the channels. The best she could find was something she didn't hate. "So why do you want me sleeveless?"
Judging by his expression, one might easily conclude that she'd just asked him why mudfoots hated Nietzscheans. "Your helix. If you insist on wearing that ridiculous...thing, the least you could do is display it properly."
Right. "Ah, so this is about you having a proper little Nietzschean wife?" She didn't know whether it would be wise to pursue this conversation, but since when was Beka Valentine wise, anyway? "Well, in case it's not completely obvious, I'm neither proper, nor terribly Nietzschean. I won't even start on the 'wife' part."
"A blind man could infer that," he rumbled. "And it's not about me having a proper Nietzschean wife, as you put it." He sounded suddenly weary. "It's about what is expected of us." Just as abruptly, his voice was back to its usual lazy accent. "And you are more...properly Nietzschean than you know."
A face flashed in Beka's mind and she rose, pivoting on her heel, ready to storm out. "What, is that supposed to be a compliment?"
Tyr must have heard the heat in her voice, for her craned her neck to watch her closely. "If there is something you wish to discuss..."
"Later," she said quietly. "Just...later."
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Le troisieme
Beka
"You certainly were friendly with the total and complete stranger."
"She's after the Dherans." Beka tossed the remark off casually, but the intensity in Tyr's voice when he spoke again told her he hadn't taken it so.
He sat on his heels in front of her as she sat, his finger pointed at her in admonition. "Rebecca, if you said a single word..." He didn't feel the need to continue.
"She said I had a lovely helix," she said in response to his unasked question. "That's all." Well, close enough. "I didn't even get to give her the old 'oh, this old thing?' before you came back." She ran her fingers over the metallic band of delicate, golden arches and short, vertical lines of the same shining shade, all shaped to bring to mind a strand of DNA. The idea behind the unusual piece of jewelry was a compromise between the classic gold wedding band of the human tradition, originating from old Earth and surviving to the present day, and the customary double helix arm band worn by wedded Nietzschean couples. It was popular in this area of space, as it contained one of the highest concentration of human/Nietzschean couples in the known worlds. "I wonder where Harper found these."
"I'm sure the little professor has sources we'd be better not to question." Beka laughed softly. Too true. "So it is your opinion that she suspected nothing?" A question, but she had better answer how he wanted or else.
"If anything, we should be the paranoid ones, about her. Oh wait, we already are. At least one of us." She stood and left to change into something a little less...clingy.
Tyr called after her that her uncharacteristic bout of generosity had obviously left her sense of humor intact.
"Aww, you know you love it, honeybunch." After this he proceeded to mutter about idiotic pet names. "Darling!" she yelled, rummaging through her drawers and the closet they shared. "Remind me never to let Rommie pack for me again!" Helplessly, she gave up searching for something decent and settled for the least revealing. Cursing Dylan and his ship and diplomatic missions, Beka kicked the door shut as she shrugged off the robe. True, she and Tyr were supposed to act married in public, but that didn't entail ogling in private. "Don't flatter yourself, Valentine," she laughed to herself, "you could practice the Dance of the Seven Veils in front of him wearing only the seven veils, and he'd just tell you what you did wrong. And probably show you how it's meant to be done." She tugged on a pair of form-hugging leather pants, Not that Rommie packed any other kind, with silver roses climbing the legs and a sheer top of the same silver with a skimpy black tank top underneath, scooped very low and cut very high. "I might as well go in bra," she confided to the beveled mirror. "Either I'm Kiki, babe cop of the Wild West, or Busty L'amour, smoldering love goddess of temptation."
She felt Tyr's eyes leisurely inspecting her newest outfit and the very obvious figure underneath it when she exited the bedroom. "I'm guessing this is Kiki? Harper will be disappointed to have missed it."
Beka stopped dead in her tracks. "Harper!" Tyr's head turned to regard her impassively. "He was helping Rommie set all this up. They're off on Soral III, drinking their little umbrella drinks...well, except for Rommie.while I'm stuck in one of Harper's late-night holodramas!" She sat in the comfortable chair recently vacated by the security officer and sank at least six inches into it. "Now that's a chair."
"I hope none of those garments have long sleeves," Tyr remarked as he perused a stack of flexis.
"Sleeves?"
He ignored her query. "The robe, of course, is acceptable."
"Gee, thanks, pookiebear. Do I get a jacket too?" Her tone was overly- sweet, irritation readily apparent.
"The winter season on Tiradisen is generally very mild, and besides, we will be aboard the Andromeda long before that." Beka thought it strange that the planets in this sector were merely the sector's name with a few more letters at the end." His concentration on his task was so intent that she wasn't sure he'd even detected the heavy sarcasm in her voice.
"Hey, maybe I'll just go around naked. Would that be sleeveless enough for you?"
Finally, her acting husband looked up. "Perhaps that was Harper's true intention all along." Beka threw her hands up and turned on the holoscreen. A grimace crossed her face when the picture came into focus. "Ugh, sci-fi. It's all forehead aliens with their universal translators and beam-me-ups." She purposely ignored the fact that Harper had designed a teleporting machine that did just that. "And morals. Did I mention I hate morals?" The holoscreen presented dozens of images as Beka clicked through the channels. The best she could find was something she didn't hate. "So why do you want me sleeveless?"
Judging by his expression, one might easily conclude that she'd just asked him why mudfoots hated Nietzscheans. "Your helix. If you insist on wearing that ridiculous...thing, the least you could do is display it properly."
Right. "Ah, so this is about you having a proper little Nietzschean wife?" She didn't know whether it would be wise to pursue this conversation, but since when was Beka Valentine wise, anyway? "Well, in case it's not completely obvious, I'm neither proper, nor terribly Nietzschean. I won't even start on the 'wife' part."
"A blind man could infer that," he rumbled. "And it's not about me having a proper Nietzschean wife, as you put it." He sounded suddenly weary. "It's about what is expected of us." Just as abruptly, his voice was back to its usual lazy accent. "And you are more...properly Nietzschean than you know."
A face flashed in Beka's mind and she rose, pivoting on her heel, ready to storm out. "What, is that supposed to be a compliment?"
Tyr must have heard the heat in her voice, for her craned her neck to watch her closely. "If there is something you wish to discuss..."
"Later," she said quietly. "Just...later."
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