~~**~~ Chapter 6 ~~**~~

The rules of the old Systems Commonwealth must be revised to fit the new universe. A new code will be formed.
--Emperor Victous Leone to Captain Dylan Hunt as documented in the History of the New Imperial Commonwealth.

Tyr looked up from the food platters, amazement on his face. The band played a song that sounded distinctly like a Nietzschean mating dance. All dances were essentially foreplay to Nietzscheans, but this one was specific to that purpose. He didn't let it bother him. His gaze came to rest on Beka who stared at him quizzically.

"Been sniffing those wine fumes, Tyr?" she asked.

"On the contrary ... dance with me."

Shock washed over her face. She blinked rapidly and cocked her head. "What? You? Dance?"

"I do many things that would surprise you."

She shook her head fervently, raising her hands before her in self-defense. "No, no. I don't dance. You couldn't pay me enough—" She forgot what she was saying as he leapt the table and grabbed her arm, dragging her onto the crowded dance floor. "Uh, wait, Tyr, I can't—" He whirled her so quickly that her words were stripped away. She clung to him, digging long nails into his arms so that she wouldn't fall and gasped for breath in starving lungs. He pulled her close and held her firmly, yet gently. Their hips and thighs moved as one to the beat. His milk chocolate eyes stared down into hers; a fire lit deep inside them. All she could do was stare up at him, their gazes locked. She allowed him to move her through the deep and pounding beat, the haunting melody stirring up primal emotions inside her.

The music ground to a halt suddenly leaving her feeling bereft. He released her reluctantly, pulling back slowly. When he dropped her hand, it was slick with sweat. She swayed slightly, catching her breath. He glanced around then at the floor, abruptly shy.

"I am ... sorry," he said as if it took all of his will to speak the words. She shrugged, speechless and watched him stride toward the door. Dylan stopped him before he could leave, whispering urgently.

^j^

Rayna slipped through the shadows like sea fog. The message from Luter Valnos, the Regent's Second and security chief, was very specific: find the woman and the child and eliminate them. It included a small vid-picture of her, Saraann Elise, that was visible only to the heightened eyesight of a Soltan native or a Nietzschean. Harper had been clueless.

Regret shot through her. He was a sweet young man, a worthy lover. There was fire, anger and passion buried within his boyish looks. She would miss him.

She took a scanner from the pocket of her tunic, running it over the halls. The ship was enormous. The scanner had a long range. Still, it would take time to find the fugitive. In that time there was no telling what damage she could do. At a four corners, she paused, thinking logically. She tried to get into the mindset of the zealot, to think as she thought, plan as she planned. Rayna could work backwards. The plan was obviously to smuggle the illegal child out of the solar system. But, would the zealot go with him? If not, she would probably not return to the party. Despite the miserable failure of the security net this time, she knew the Regent's Guard had vid- pics of nearly all of the dissidents and foreigners in the entire system. No, she was smarter than that to have come this far. She knew her time was limited. So, where would she go? Rayna frowned thoughtfully. To the hanger deck, to hide onboard the ship returning to Solta. She would try to return to the surface and reunite with any other zealots that escaped execution.

As she jogged toward the hanger deck and the Regent's ship, she couldn't help but wonder why someone would endanger themselves so. All for a child, a tiny infant declared a danger to the state because he carried a genetic anomaly, an alien disease that was contagious and deadly, or so the Regent's office said. Rayna often wondered if it were true. If so many of the populace carried such a disease, why was no treatment in the works? No, she believed it was a ruse, a cover story. Many other male children who also supposedly carried this anomaly had already been eliminated, under orders from the Regent. It was conveniently blamed on the zealots. The public was fearful of them anyway. Rayna shut out the cries of the children she had slaughtered herself. It was her duty ... for the stability of Solta.

She stopped in the open door to the hanger bay, dropped to a crouch and peered inside. It seemed empty. She pulled out her scanner. There were three life signs in the bay: the pilot, copilot inside the ship, and one other, outside. Rayna smiled. Her duty would be a pleasure.

^j^

Morsay stepped around the corner, calling Trance's name softly. The corridor was darkened, like the majority of the ship. The vital centers of operation were all secured, as were the inhabited rooms, but the corridors were open to roam freely. He staggered as he came around the corner, catching his balance with one hand on the wall. He stopped, staring into the shadows, searching.

Trance held her breath, willing her heart to stop racing. She peeked at him through slitted eyes. He stood almost directly under her, close enough for her to smell the wine and Yanisian spice pastries on his breath. Her arms and legs trembled as she strained to hold herself flat against the ceiling, the crossbeam against her back. She had wrapped her tail around it and pulled herself up, dug her heels and fingertips into the tiny space above the beam. Her fingers were stiff, arms trembling with exertion.

He turned slowly, surveying every nook and cranny. He sniffed, trying to catch her scent with his powerful nose, then frowned.

She shivered. She could envision divergent futures and all of those in which he found her were horrific. She would do better on the Magog Worldship, at least there she knew her enemy and what he would do. She closed her eyes, saying a silent prayer for calm. A sense of peace washed over her and she knew what to do. Her shivering ceased. She concentrated. She had many small psychic gifts she had never divulged. A thin film of sweat broke out on her forehead. This wasn't one of her easy gifts. She concentrated harder.

"Trance?" he called.

Suddenly, a long way down the corridor, a tiny silver coin appeared out of the empty air near the ceiling and fell to the floor with a loud PING!

He jumped, startled. Regaining his composure,he hurried toward the sound.

When he was several yards away, Trance lowered herself silently to the floor using her tail. Shaking her numb arms, she scampered away around the corner and sprinted for her room.

^j^

Tyr scowled after Dylan briefed him. He could feel this diplomatic mission going bad. The Vedren Captain was so blinded by his desire to rebuild the former glory of his Commonwealth that he often overlooked the little things that could add up to disaster. Tyr loved to remind the other man of his shortcomings.

But, damn the man, he'd rather trust in blind faith and optimism than in what his eyes showed him.

"There will be no Commonwealth without self-preservation," the former mercenary cursed to himself. Self-preservation was the current selling point for the new alliance. Dylan tried desperately to woo new systems into a united front against the common Magog enemy. Most of the sheep were still too wary to join up. He suspected they'd swarm to Dylan like moths to a flame after the Magog reached the local area and began their feeding frenzy.

Tyr strode purposely through the corridor, chain mail top glittering in the ambient light, force lance slung low on one hip. He made an imposing figure and the partygoers in the corridors all but jumped out of his way. He scanned their faces, searching easily through the dark for anyone that seemed out of place.

It occurred to him that a terrorist such as the Regent described would plant their devices and hide on the Soltan ship to ensure their escape. Terrorists of this type were seldom martyrs. They craved the fear they gave birth to and had to witness it.

He increased his pace toward the hanger bay, eager for even a mediocre fight.

^j^

Trance squeezed her eyes shut, certain the wild pounding of her heart could be heard on the other side of her door. "Please," she whispered and opened her eyes.

Her gaze fell on her makeshift bathtub full to the brim with homemade bubbles. The delicate scent of soap mingled with the flora in her room and with something else, a scent she couldn't identify. Puzzled, she peered around her quarters searching for anything out of place. Movement behind the tub, beyond the lip, caught her attention. She frowned. A tiny hand snaked over the edge of the tub and dipped into the bubbles, splashing quietly. Another little hand grasped the lip and a small head popped into view from behind the tub. Tow-headed and pink-cheeked, the chubby face turned toward her.

Her brows raised in surprise. Impossibly large hazel eyes blinked at her. She smiled. The baby smiled back and added a delighted gurgle.

Trance lifted the baby gently, estimating his age to be about 10 months. He would be weaned; crawling or walking, possibly able to say a word or two. She cradled him in her arms. "So, there you are," she whispered. "I've been waiting. I'm sorry I wasn't here when you arrived. I didn't know it was time already."

The baby stared into her eyes with an intelligent gaze. His hazel eyes and pink cheeks were a sign of his mixed heritage. A Soltan baby would have nearly translucent skin, showing the blue veins beneath. If not for his overly large eyes, ha could pass for human. One tiny six-fingered hand swatted at her chin.

She smiled, showing perfect white teeth. "Thank you for forgiving me," she told him and swayed gently to and fro. He babbled and rested his head in the hollow between her collarbone and neck, sucking his thumb noisily. She began to croon the same soft lullaby that her mother had sung to her, a hypnotic tune of mauve leaves changing to gold and small furry creatures frolicking in the cool breeze.

The boy--and she knew instinctively that he was a boy--smiled up at her, dimples on both sides of his upper lip. She returned his smile, her body awash in his pure joy. She had never divulged her transient powers of empathy. It was no one's business. Her empathy was strongest with innocents – animals, young creatures and plants. She could feel what they felt without trying. She closed her eyes briefly and shivered with happiness, sharing his contentment.

After finishing the song, she caressed the smattering of white-blond hair on his head, warm and soft. Pressing her nose to his head, she inhaled deeply. The heady aroma unique to baby skin calmed her instantly. She felt a brief stab of longing, and shook her head sharply to force it away. This wasn't the time or the place for her to have a child, though she knew who she'd like the father to be. There was too much work to be done, too much danger ahead. Later, when peace returned to the triple galaxies, then she could spend the time wooing the man she had already chosen. She carried him to her dresser and removed a tiny outfit including diaper that she had kept years in anticipation of this moment, stripped him of his Soltan clothes, and dressed him. His mixed heritage became even more evident. He almost looked human, with pale pink skin, rosy cheeks and hazel green eyes. She knew little of his heritage. It didn't matter. What mattered was his future. He was a crux in time, a focal point, and she had been waiting for him. Years before, she had planted the seeds of myth that resulted in his birth, his somehow being here in the right place at the right time. Funny how it always seemed to work out.

"Time to start again," she said, hugged him close then held him away so she could look him in the eyes. "Oh, you lucky boy! You're going to have such an interesting life!"

She carried him back to the tree that dominated her quarters and laid her open palm on its trunk, peering up into the leaves. She closed her eyes. Suddenly, an opening appeared in the trunk revealing a small chamber.

"Thank you," she whispered to the tree. She grinned at the baby as she placed him inside tenderly. "My friend will protect you while I get this all sorted out. Take a nap if you like or listen to the pincars blossoms sing. It'll all be okay." She smoothed his hair and backed away. He flailed both chubby arms simultaneously and gurgled, obviously accepting the plan. With a nearly imperceptible whoosh, the opening closed, except for two small air holes.

Taking a deep breath, Trance headed for the door to the corridor. She had work to do. She couldn't let any of her crewmates know what was really happening, but they all had a role to play. If she told them they would figure out her true nature and that would jeopardize her plans ... and the future. As Harper liked to say, "I could tell ya but then I'd have to kill ya." She would have to nudge them all in the proper direction unobtrusively. She gave the tree a long backward glance before turning down the light and leaving the room.

^j^

Rayna crept silently through the enormous hanger bay, lit by only four bulbs. She kept to the deep shadows by the walls. It wasn't difficult to locate her quarry. The woman was an amateur. The security officer paused and ducked down behind a metal pylon.

Yes, the zealot was there, hunched in the darkness fifteen feet from one of the entry portals to the ship.

She almost sighed. She'd been looking forward to a good fight. This would be too easy. The zealot, the woman, was short and obviously not fully Soltan if she were Soltan at all. Spies from other systems abounded, though mimicking the native physiology made it difficult to succeed in espionage. She gritted her teeth then spit on the floor beside her boots. She made a quick symbolic gesture in the air to ward off the stench of those of mixed blood. Damn them diluting the race! Quick as her death would be, the zealot would still despoil her purity. Rayna would need a bath after.

With feline grace she stalked from shadow to shadow, slowly approaching her prey. The zealot's gaze darted fearfully around the cavernous hanger bay, her eyesight weakened by her offworld blood. She seemed to sense the approaching specter of death.

Rayna paused again, close enough to smell the salty sweet sweat of fear on her prey.

Quick as lightening, she pounced.

^j^

Dylan felt reassured when Tyr nodded in agreement and left to search for the bomb and the terrorist. He turned back to the Regent.

"Sorry to cut the party short, Regent Fortnoy but you really will be safer on your own ship. I assure you my people will locate the bomb and get rid of it."

The older man's dark eyes widened in surprise. "Really, Captain, it isn't necessary for me to leave. My people can assist you in a room by room search and we'll make short work of this."

One corner of Dylan's mouth twitched. "Still, I would feel better as I am responsible for your safety while on my ship. And my people are very capable—"

"As are mine," the Regent stressed the word mine. "I am confident they will find the device before any harm can come to me ... or to you."

Beka, standing quietly behind Dylan, tapped him on the arm.

"One moment please," he told Fortnoy, quickly turning away from his cadaverous stare. He stepped back to lean close to his first officer.

"I smell something fishy," she whispered in his ear.

He met her gaze quickly in agreement before stepping back to the aliens. "Sir, I'm sure your people are excellent. Maybe we can reach a compromise, say, two of your security personnel can remain aboard and search with us."

"Three."

"Deal. Three. The rest need to return to your ship and your capital city. We'll inform you when this is resolved."

The Regent pursed his lips and peered at the shorter man down his hawk-like nose. After a long moment, he nodded sharply. "I tire anyway. The party is over," he announced to the revelers. "We will return to Vernius. My wife awaits in the Castle." He turned on his heel, his long tunic swinging out behind him. Like a flock of birds, the revelers left the room in a flurry of motion and color.

Dylan and Beka fell in step behind them. Over his shoulder, he called out to Rommie, "Run a scan of the entire ship. Find that bomb."

^j^

A tiny mouse squeak escaped Saraann's lips as, at the last moment, she saw a form spring from the darkness like the ancient bogeyman. In that split second, she recognized Rayna Anis-Ni, one of the Regent's bodyguards. Years of training in the Essiivv ways made her raise her hands and one foot defensively without thinking. She knew she was no match for the other woman's larger body and sinewy strength.

Rayna landed on her outstretched foot, grunting in surprise. Saraann fell back. Her head hit the ship with a loud CLANG. She grabbed handfuls of the security officer's clothing and used the larger woman's momentum to toss her sideways. Saraann leapt to her feet, pulling a knife from her belt.

Rayna landed on her feet gracefully in a defensive crouch. She chuckled when she saw the knife. A wide, feral smile split her face. Her large green eyes darkened, glittering in the dim light.

A chill spread over Saraann. She wasn't Soltan by nature, only disguised as a one. She often passed as half-Soltan. Her eyesight was unequal to a fight in the half-light. Her mission was done. She had no more purpose. Abruptly, she flipped the knife so that the tip pointed at her own stomach.

Rayna's eyes widened. As the zealot plunged the knife inward, Rayna saw her coveted promotion vanish before her eyes. She dove forward. With a fluid movement, she grasped the first holding the knife and whirled the lighter woman around so that her back pressed to Rayna's stomach.

"Oh no, you won't cheat me," Rayna spat the words out through gritted teeth.

"Alive, you'll get me a long overdue promotion."

Saraann winced as the other woman squeezed her fingers. Joints popped and pain shot up her arms. The knife fell and clattered on the metal floor.

"Valia and Jemi give me strength," Saraann whispered. "I'll not tell!"

The bodyguard bent her forward and smacked Saraann's head against the side of the ship. Sparkles circled before her vision. She swayed dizzily.

"Your pagan Saints won't protect you," Rayna growled. "They're long dead and buried. Now, where is the boy?"

"No!" Saraann screamed. She twisted her body. Using the hand pinned behind her, against the larger woman, she grabbed soft flesh with her sharp nails and squeezed with all her strength.

Rayna wailed with pain and released her.

Saraann flung out her arm and tossed her opponent into the shadows before diving for the knife.

Rayna tackled her from behind. They fell to the floor. Saraann twisted onto her back and punched her attacker in the face. The larger woman spit out blood and hit her. Dazed, Saraann felt herself pinned, wrists held by one long fingered hand, legs pinned by the larger woman's weight.

"Kill me," Saraann said.

"In time."

"I won't tell you."

"You will," Rayna said in a soft, almost loving tone, then hit her again and again.

Mentally, Saraann began to recite the mantras she had learned for inner peace and detachment. Repeating them over and over gave her the power to separate herself from the world, from the beating as it progressed. She retreated deep into her mind and didn't feel anything, though still aware of what was happening.

Rayna stared into her distant, serene eyes and sat back with a cry of frustration. The security officer growled, shoving stringy grayish hair back off her forehead.

Saraann watched realization come into the larger woman's eyes. She was not going to learn the location of the child. Saraann was beyond her.

With a snarl of sheer frustration, Rayna grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her. Dully, she heard the back of her head thumping against the floor.

^j^

Rev Bem peered with curiosity at Trance as she gave him a tentative grin. Her normally lavender skin was a pasty lilac, like violet chalk spread too thin on a white board. He closed the historical summary of Drexal V that lay in his lap and set it reverently on the floor beside his cushioned seat.

"You are troubled," he stated.

She shrugged and hurried over, tossing nervous glances at the closed door. "Well ... yeah, kinda."

"Sit." He motioned toward a cushion on the floor near the altar.

She sat quickly, pulling her knees up to her chest, a feat he wondered at given her skintight clothing. Ah, he would never completely understand humanoid races, particularly those as unique as Trance's.

"I need your help because I have this problem," she said, the words tumbling over each other in their haste. "I didn't know exactly what to do and I, well, priests are supposed to help people no matter what, right?" She bit her lower lip and stared at him with the wide-eyed gaze of a frightened child. He peered into her eyes and saw something twitch deep inside them, something knowing and wise that flitted away and was gone as fast as he recognized it. He felt a surge of protectiveness for her. She often came across as helpless, though he suspected otherwise. Still, she was buffeted by Evil just as he was.

"Yes, Trance," he said and waited for her to continue.

"Have you ever been in a situation where you know what the right thing to do is but know that doing it might not be the right thing?"

Rev Bem blinked slowly, marveling at her ability to convolute sentences. "Will doing the right thing cause physical harm to others?"

"No. But not doing it might."

"Then you must do it by any means."

A broad smile brightened her face and quickly faded. "Good. But, that's just it. I don't know what to do."

He crossed his lumpy hands in front of him in a gesture of patience, threading the long curving claws on his fingers together. "Tell me the problem. Perhaps, the Most High will inspire me with a solution."

Trance sighed and began her explanation; confident she could get him to help her.

^j^

Tyr entered the hanger bay and instantly knew something was wrong. He heard a soft thump thump that was unmistakable to a warrior. He dropped to a crouch and assessed the area around the ship. He sniffed, blood, sweat, adrenaline filled the air. The noises came from his right. Like a lion, he stalked through the shadows. He paused when he was in sight of the two women; one obviously Soltan, beating the limp form of a woman who didn't smell at all Soltan to him. He scowled in disgust. The Soltan had lost control. Beating another to death purely to satiate anger was a waste of future potential.

He slunk through the shadows until he crouched near them. Satisfied that both were unarmed, he stood, drawing himself up to his full height, force lance extended.

"Cease this useless endeavor," he bellowed.

The woman on top started and leapt up into a half-crouch.

He recognized her. She was the woman who flirted with Harper. He sniffed again and gave an indignant grimace. She reeked of the small engineer. The scents of old Sparky Cola and sweat dripped from her skin. He glared at her, waiting for her first move.

Exertion made her chest heave. Her gaze raked over him, assessing his strengths and weaknesses.

The huge Nietzschean saw the decision in her eyes. A half-second later, she produced a gun and aimed at him. Quick as a viper, he snatched it from her fingers and pistol-whipped her.

Her green eyes widened in surprise and she slumped to the floor unconscious.

"What a waste of time," he muttered. He patted her down, confiscating all of her weapons and impressed by their number. Reaching over, he tugged the black headband from the victim's hair and bound the attacker tightly enough to slow her circulation. Even if she did unbind herself, both of her hands would be asleep, slowing her reaction time.

He squatted beside the victim, a small woman by both Soltan and Nietzschean standards. Her hair and skin smelled to him of dyes. Her sweat smelled unfamiliar. She was neither a Soltan native nor a hybrid as she had disguised herself to be. He studied her in an attempt to understand her motives. Finding no answers and recognizing her trance state, he leaned over her face into her line of sight.

"Wake now. I have disabled the Soltan."

He saw life flicker deep inside her hazel eyes. She blinked rapidly. He sat back on his haunches.

She groaned as the agony of her injuries rushed in on her.

"You are dying. Answer my questions," he demanded.

Her pain-glazed eyes turned to him.

"That fool you call Regent names you Zealot. He may be correct. He says you have planted explosives on board. However, you do not smell of explosives nor are you a Soltan. What was your mission? Your REAL mission."

Her tongue darted out and wet quivering, bloodstained lips. "Destiny," she whispered.

He regarded her for a long moment. "Mine or yours?"

One corner of her mouth twitched in a ghost of a grin. "You ... protector ... peace." Her voice faded on the last word.

He could see her growing weak, hear her pulse slowing. He leaned close.

"Explain, Woman. You have little time."

"The Emperor." She gasped in pain and her breath wheezed, strangled in her throat by approaching death.

He sat back quickly. "Nonsense! We haven't had an Emperor since the fall of the Commonwealth. There is nothing left to rule."

She gave him an enigmatic smile. Realization dawned in his milk chocolate eyes.

"You are certain?" he said.

Laboriously, she nodded. A grimace creased her face as she struggled to speak.

"Essiivv."

Essiivv? He had heard rumors of them. They were supposed to be a cult who divined the future from the past. Superstitious nonsense and rumors devised to earn a profit from the fears of the ignorant. It was said they could predict order in chaos. It was said they were given a map of the future by higher beings. No one had ever seen an Essiivv. They had become part of the mythos they declared truth before the old Commonwealth gasped its final breath. Perhaps, there was truth to the myth after all.

He watched the woman's eyes close, listened to her breathing slow. He should show her mercy. End her suffering. She had told him her mission, even told him what she had secreted on board. If she were truly Essiivv then her destiny was fulfilled. She must die a martyr. To let her persecutors capture her would be to tempt fate and risk the future; if she had indeed hidden the future Emperor of the known universe on the Andromeda Ascendant. He bent close to her and whispered in her ear, "You did well. Rest and I will take care of things."

Saraann smiled and a single tear trickled from the corner of her eye. "I know," she murmured, her voice faint and distant.

He did what he had to. After all, even if she were wrong, a deathbed wish was to be heeded. He had his honor. Destiny was at hand.

^j^

"I've run full scans, both internal and external. There are no explosive or unrecognizable devises onboard."

"I knew it!" Beka stalked around Command. She stopped suddenly, hands on the railing the encircled the pilot's seat. "I knew that weasely Regent was hiding something. His eyes were too shifty. So ... what's he really looking for, Andromeda? What's his game? Where's the angle?"

"I overrode all privacy requests to scan every room," Andromeda told her from the viewscreen. "There are no devices only Soltans."

Beka scowled. "He must want something, not necessarily something brought onboard, maybe something we already had." She plopped into the pilot's seat, tugging her dress to cover her lap. "Just keep an eye on all of them. They're like mice – into everything. Use your internal defenses if you have to. Keep them out of sensitive areas unless Dylan is with them."

"My avatar is accompanying them at the moment."

"Good." Beka settled back into the seat and called up navigational charts for the system and surrounding areas. She had a bad feeling about this.

^j^

"Rayna?" Harper called, his voice hoarse from too much shouting. "I'm serious. This isn't funny anymore. Let me out, it's your last chance." He listened, forehead pressed against the hard door.

The deafening silence told him it was hopeless. She was gone and he was the butt of the joke again, on top of the crap the Magog left in his guts. This scenario was getting tiresome. Seamus Harper, cosmic joke. Universal kicking boy. Maybe he should become a monk. Naw, who was he kidding? He loved women too much, loved everything about them: their smells, the gentle sway of their hips as they walked, even the incomprehensible way their minds worked.

He sighed deeply, humiliated. He had tried to jimmy the door for an interminable time. It didn't work. He couldn't get past the defenses he'd installed to keep his crewmates from playing jokes on him. In the shower, he always had the disturbing sensation that someone was about to open the door and throw icy water on him, or snap his picture to post where everyone could see it. He could almost hear Trance, Rommie and Beka giggling at him.

With Rayna gone, he would have to call Rommie. His face flushed at the thought of facing the beautiful avatar wearing only his socks. The prospect of her sharing the story made tears sting the insides of his lids. He could only hope she'd show him mercy and not announce his predicament to the entire crew. Anger began to churn his stomach into fire. He could try to make her laugh. He always tried humor with women first. If that didn't work, he tried to impress them with tales of his prowess, engineering skills or used outright lies. Normally, some Adonis or Herculean hunk would walk by right on cue and steal the moment, leaving him alone and frustrated. Beauty always won out. True, this time he'd actually won one round, but being used was worse than being ignored. He took a deep breath to combat the depression pulsing inside him.

"Andromeda," he called pensively.

"Yes, Harper?" came the ship's voice through the overhead speakers.

"Please send Rommie to my quarters."

The air behind him sparkled and the Andromeda's holographic self-image appeared. She frowned as she took in his natural state. "I don't have time for your romantic overtures, Harper," she said.

Startled, he whirled around, covering himself with his hands. "What? No! I'm locked in."

She elegantly arched one brow.

"Really," he whined.

"The inimitable genius engineer can't open a door?"

"I'm off my game."

"Obviously," she quipped and her image vanished.

He frowned. "At least hurry before Beka or Tyr find me," he muttered.

After what seemed an eternity he heard the door to his quarters open. He jumped up from his brooding spot on the floor and ran to the door. "Rommie? Rom-doll, in here."

He heard her stop outside the door. "Harper, you can't open this?"

"I don't exactly have my tools on me like I'm sure Andromeda told you," he said quietly.

"All she said was you were locked in the lavatory. This had better not be another ploy to get me alone. I was escorting the Soltan guards on a bomb search."

"Bomb? Yeah, just open the door."

She placed one hand on the door. It popped open.

"Don't look," he said as he came out.

She frowned. "Wh—" She looked. Her chocolate colored eyes widened. She turned away. "Ah."

"Thanks for lettin' me out," he said quietly, trying to gauge her reaction. "Look I didn't do this for you, 'kay? I was just ... well ... I ... look, don't tell anyone, okay?" He pulled on his trousers and zipped them.

She peered at him over her shoulder. He couldn't meet her eyes. He looked pitiful and desperate. Her expression softened. "I won't tell, Harper."

He gave her a lopsided smile.

"Now," she ordered, "get dressed and help me escort the bomb detail. They're waiting outside the door. We need to watch them closely."

He nodded, dropping onto the edge of the bed to pull on his shoes. "Bomb, huh?" his voice cracked. "I thought you were kidding."

"No. However, there is speculation that the Regent was lying. Please, hurry so that they don't finish the search without us. The four of us have already scoured more than a quarter of my interior."

^j^

Dylan matched the Regent's quick steps on the verge of a jog. The Regent's longer stride made it difficult for his human companion to keep up. As he walked, the Regent's neck stuck out so that his head proceeded his body, bobbing up and down. His large nose guided the way like a pointy rudder.

They approached the Soltan ship, now stuffed with partygoers and waiting for their leader to depart.

"Captain Hunt."

Dylan sought out the soft voice that beckoned him. He found Tyr in the deep shadows near the ship. The Regent saw him turn and followed him over, his Second trailing behind.

Dylan stopped short. Tyr sat on his haunches beside the still form of a woman. Her face was battered and bloodied, eyes closed.

"You caught her!" The Second crowed with childish glee, peeking from behind the Regent. "Well done!"

"Is she alive?" The Regent frowned, distraught.

The Nietzschean stared at him for a long moment, his features still and unrevealing. "Quite," he said. "Thanks to your security guard." He motioned to Rayna, twitching as she slowly regained consciousness.

The Second's gasp was audible, echoing from the ship's black metal hull. His expression was so aghast, so exaggerated, that Dylan wondered if the man had a mental problem.

"You've killed her! You've laid hands on a member of the sacred Guard! My lord, the Nietzscheans are infamous for—"

The Regent cut him off with the wave of two fingers and a glare. "Don't tell me history," he snapped, his mercurial gaze locked on Rayna. She was one of his operatives, though not a particularly skilled one. He glanced at the dead woman. He didn't recognize her ... the face of his enemy. He had expected her to look different, to be distinguishable. None of the zealots had been unique. That's what made them so dangerous. "Forgive his blabbering," he told Dylan shooting dagger-like looks at the smaller man. "Valnos, have Rayna taken to my personal physician and take the zealot too."

The Second nodded several times, bowed and scurried off with rapid mincing steps.

The Regent's eyes narrowed as he skewered Tyr with a look. "Did she have a dying request?" His voice sounded casual.

Tyr peered up at him through half-closed lids, the epitome of calm. "No."

The Regent turned to Dylan, dismissing Tyr and Saraann. "Now there is no need for my people to leave. The device will not go off without its operator. I'll have more of my guard disembark and aid us. The others may return to the banquet." He started to call out to his crew.

Dylan threw up his hands; unable to believe the man wanted to continue the party. "Wait, wait. Sir, you don't know that. Many bombs just have timers. I'm going to have to insist you leave."

"Insist?" he stormed indignantly, puffing out his chest, eyes blazing. "No one insists with the Regent of the Seven Kingdoms. God Himself gave my line this position! I go where I please. I DO what ... I ... please."

Dylan raised his hands defensively. "For your own safety and the future of your rule. I don't want to cause dissension, but if you're killed who will become Regent? Didn't you say your son is still unborn?"

The Regent's posture deflated. "Still months away, yes." His face turned toward the floor, he glared up at Dylan through transparent lashes. "I will go." He smiled through gritted teeth and shook Dylan's extended hand, then turned on his heel and stalked into his ship.

A few moments later, two men in the silver body suits of the ship's crew scurried over and removed the two women wordlessly, tossing them easily over their shoulders.

Dylan watched after them soberly. Tyr stepped up beside him.

"He's lying," came the Nietzschean's brandy-smooth murmur.

Dylan smiled humorlessly, eyes hard. "I know." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw emotions play subtly across the Nietzschean's face: surprise and fleeting respect. Tyr's respect was always fleeting. Dylan would never meet his standards. It was impossible. He wasn't Nietzschean. In unison, they strode out of the hanger bay, through the air lock into the semi-dark corridor. Behind them the Soltan ship's engines sang a rough and protesting tune as it fired up and retreated through space and beyond the dense clouds veiling its homeworld.

"Spit it out, Tyr. You have something to say."

The other man chose his words carefully, as Dylan expected he would. "There is no bomb."

Dylan stopped abruptly, facing the slightly larger man. "I suspected as much. What do you know?"

Tyr shifted uncomfortably. "The woman, she was Essiivv. And yes, she was a zealot, prone to play on superstitious rhetoric."

"But you believe her or else you wouldn't bring it up."

"There are legends, myths. The Essiivv are said to interpret mythology to shape the future. They not only purport myths they make them happen. This one, this prophecy she told me of ... may not be real."

"But it might."

"Yes."

"And it effects us all?"

"Yes."

"Right now I don't care about myths or prophecies, I want to know what she left on my ship and if you know, you need to tell me."

"We'll know when we find it. But for certain it does not belong with them," Tyr said jabbing a finger in the direction of the hanger bay.

Dylan massaged temples that blossomed in pain. "Tyr—"

Trance and Rev Bem jogged around a corner and stopped near them, gasp to catch their breath.

"Dylan," she managed to wheeze.

"Trance, we're really busy," Dylan stated. "I need to join Rommie in the search and-"

"No, you don't," she said.

Dylan put his hands on his hips.

"I found it ... him ... it," Trance stammered. "Oh, please, don't give him back. You just can't. They'll kill him. I'm sure of it."

"I agree," Tyr said.

"As do I," Rev Bem added.

Confused, Dylan massaged his temples. "Fine. Now what, exactly, did you find, Trance?"

Trance glanced at Rev Bem who nodded encouragement. "Come to my room. See for yourself."

^j^

One of the guards, Jonay Vix, stopped Harper in the hallway, asking questions. Harper sighed. The room by room search was dull. They'd gone through half the ship with no trace of a bomb.

Inside the room one of the Soltans, a round-faced man with a blocky nose called Rommie over to look inside a cabinet. "Come, miss, is this normal?" he asked, pointing inside.

"Let me see, Cural," she said and crossed over to him. She knelt to peer into the dark space. Suddenly, Cural pressed a device against her neck. Her body spasmed, sending off a shower of sparks. Her eyes widened and stayed that way as she stiffened and collapsed. The two Soltans exchanged glances then pulled her behind the couch and dropped her limp body.

One hid beside the door, flattened against the wall, as Cural motioned his friend in the corridor to bring Harper in. The man outside smiled and extended a hand, allowing Harper to go first.

The engineer explained to Jonay, "And the power ratio is ten to one. It's really amazing if I do say so my—"

The Soltan behind the door hit Harper in the back of the head, rendering him unconscious. They quickly carried him over to the couch and dropped him unceremoniously on top of Rommie.

They pulled out pulse pistols and checked the power levels.

"Mereth, you go to the upper levels. Jonay take the rest of this floor. I will try to access engineering and some of the less traveled areas," said Cural, his round face beaming with purpose. "Don't let anyone stand in your way. Use your scanners. If you find the child do not hesitate. Kill him for the preservation of our future. Death to the usurper."

The other men murmured, "Death to the usurper." All three slipped from the room and parted ways, intent on their missions.

TBC in ch 7.