Charlemagne was pensive as he headed back to his quarters for a shower and a change. Why was he so attracted to a human woman? He'd certainly met his share of attractive women, and acted on that attraction or not as the mood took him. But never a human. On the other hand, why not? He was aware that it was standard operating procedure on most ships for female crew members to be immunized against pregnancy, and he was pretty sure it was so for Andromeda. So if there was a minimal risk of sharing his genetic code, what could be wrong in acting on the attraction? Elsbeth had her affairs, of that he was aware, perhaps it was his turn now.

Meaghan couldn't figure Charlemagne out, but her growing attraction for a married man troubled her. She finally decided to deal with it by putting it out of her mind. After all, she seriously doubted that the attraction was mutual, and she had work to do.

&&&&&&&

Meaghan arrived nearly half an hour early for the banquet, flitting around and checking this and that two and three times, making sure that everything was going to go all right. She really wished that Dylan hadn't insisted that she attend. At least Charlemagne would be about halfway up the long table, far enough away from her that she could ignore his presence. She checked the seating chart. To her left was a functionary from a mining colony, and to her right was a King Haedmon, of Cygnus V. She wondered what he was like.

When the guests began to arrive, Meaghan was very sorry she hadn't caught her inept dance partner's name of the night before. None other than His Royal Majesty Haedmon IX, an excellent example of the dangers of inbreeding. As she pushed the food around on her plate, she wondered which was his more outstanding quality, his excessive (and undeserved), conceit, or his staggering lack of anything resembling intelligence. With a patently false smile plastered on her face, she murmured polite phrases at the indicated pauses in his monologue. Every once in a while she shot a glance at Dylan in which her plastic smile looked more like a baring of the teeth.

Charlemagne saw a few of the agonized looks that Meaghan was sending Dylan's way. He wondered whose idea it was to seat her next to that brainless, obnoxious bore, Haedmon. As the meal wound down, he rose to his feet, glass in hand.

"Esteemed colleagues." He was careful to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "Might I propose a toast to our gracious host." He gestured at Dylan. "And to the lovely lady who arranged the festivities." He bowed to Meaghan. "To Dylan and Meaghan!" He drained his glass and sat down.

The rest of the guests dutifully followed his lead. Charlemagne glanced down to the foot of the table and saw that Meaghan seemed to be engaged in a spirited debate with Haedmon. He wondered what that was all about.

"Pretentious Nietzschean fop," Haedmon sniffed. "I find it offensive that he should be offering a toast to you, my dear." He smiled, a little blearily, at Meaghan.

Meaghan bit her lip to keep from telling Haedmon that what she found offensive was his attitude, not to mention his presumption of using endearments with her. "I'm sure he was just being polite," she murmured.

Haedmon made a derisive sound. "I doubt if he knows how to be polite. You should be somewhere where you would be given the courtesies due you. As you may or may not know, I have completed my mourning for my first wife and am currently seeking another." He gave Meaghan a pointed look.

She hastily took a sip of her water and it went down the wrong way, and the ensuing coughing fit and pats on her back put a pause into the conversation, but she had a feeling that it was going to be a long night, and that furthermore, it would take little short of a nova bomb to remove Haedmon from her side.

Events proved her right.

&&&&&&

Charlemagne and Dylan were walking down a corridor, chatting desultorily when a running figure caught up to them, glanced at them and stopped.

"Andromeda," Meaghan panted. "Do I have enough lead time to stop a moment?"

"He has fallen behind," the AI assured her. "Do you want me to notify you when he gets close?"

"Yes," Meaghan uttered in heart-felt tones. "You." She turned to Dylan. "This is all your fault."

"My fault?" Dylan looked taken aback. "What did I do?"

"You insisted that I attend that banquet," Meaghan snapped. "And now that royal idiot, Haedmon, who can't tell the difference between simple good manners and overwhelming passion, has decided that I am going to be his next queen. It would seem that he feels that I have no say in the matter and should be grateful that he has deigned to select me to bore till the end of days."

Charlemagne barely managed to turn a chuckle into a cough. He knew Haedmon was congenitally stupid, but to think that he merited such an outstanding woman as Meaghan..,

"He's down the next corridor and getting close," the AI's voice informed them.

"You got me into this." She jabbed a finger at Dylan's chest. "You get me out."

"I have an idea," Charlemagne said quietly.

"If you can head Haedmon off before I have to knock his teeth out," Meaghan vowed, "I'll be your friend for life."

Charlemagne grinned. "Dylan, if you could place yourself up the hall a bit and slowly walk this way, try to reach us around the same time Haedmon does."

"That's all?" Hunt queried.

"You'll know what to do when the time comes," the Nietzschean assured him.

"What do I do?" Meaghan inquired softly.

"Just play along with me and do whatever comes naturally," he said with an impish gleam in his eyes. This was going to be fun.

Andromeda's voice broke in. "Haedmon is just approaching the corner."

Charlemagne took Meaghan in his arms and kissed her.

Dylan saw what was going on and barely refrained from shaking his head as he realized that Haedmon had rounded the corner and was looking like he was about to burst a blood vessel.

"Your majesty," Dylan greeted him, as if the kissing couple did not exist.

Haedmon was turning an interesting shade of purple. "Captain Hunt, would you please inform that.., that.., Nietzschean upstart that his attentions to my future queen are not in the least welcome."

Dylan glanced at Charlemagne and Meaghan. He thought they were acting out their parts extremely well, if they were acting, in which case he wasn't sure he wanted to know. "I never interfere in the private lives of my crew," he informed the livid monarch. "Although I do wish," he added, as if in an aside. "That they would keep it private. But it does seem to me, your majesty, that the lady does not find his grace's attentions at all unwelcome."

"You would expect a mere woman to know her own mind," Haedmon snorted. "She even had the nerve to try to dismiss my suit. You will, of course, order her to marry me."

Dylan sighed. "If she chose to marry you, your majesty, of course I would support her decision, but I do not have the authority to order her to either marry you or not. The decision is hers."

"And you think that she actually would prefer to have that Nietzschean pawing her, than to be my queen?" the petty kinglet demanded, but with a little less bluster.

Dylan spared the ersatz lovers another glance. If Charlemagne held her just a little bit closer, they could practically wear the same clothes. "I'm sure your majesty will have many more opportunities to meet someone more.., suitable," he said soothingly, taking Haedmon by the arm and leading him away. He spared one last look for the duo just before he and the ostensibly heart-broken monarch passed from sight. They were still kissing.