A/N: Since ExIsle got two chapters in one day, I guess it's only fair that you all at ff.net get the same. Read and Review, for it lights up my life!
*~*~*~*~*~*
Tyr shoved a couple of outfits in a small, ordinary duffel, though not before carefully folding them. That old Earth maxim… haste makes waste… rang true for a good mercenary. And Tyr had been much more than a good mercenary.
Captain Rhade had reached some sort of epiphany, and Tyr found himself perfectly in sync with his superior (by rank only, of course). Lately, this was becoming more and more rare.
Found out who saw them last. Charlemagne thinks I'm a man of principle, and I intend that he persist in that fiction as long as possible. You, on the other hand… if you should act against my orders and forcefully extract information about the position of Beka and Harper… You wouldn't be under my protection for this mission, as you're well aware.
I am. And might I say how glad I am that this revelation has dawned upon you. I do not relish the idea of an irate Charlemagne Bolivar, especially without a Chief Engineer and superior pilot.
Trance had provided him his first location, with no more reason than any of them but quite a bit more certainty. After witnessing the astonishing success of her "guesses" more than once, Tyr was inclined to follow her direction.
And truth be told, he was feeling impatient. Two weeks since his crewmates vanished, and every day lessened the odds that he would find them and find them well. Once again, Tyr Anasazi was responsible for rescuing these two humans, but they were essential elements of their skeleton crew. Take away Harper, and a single, well-aimed shot could disable their engines, slipstream drive, weapons, or sensors for an indeterminable length of time. Take away Beka, and the Andromeda lost the best pilot Tyr had ever met. She greatly lowered the chances that an enemy would be able to make that critical shot. Tyr was the only true soldier on the ship, aside from its captain, but he knew his weaknesses and the strengths of his crewmates.
Besides all that, Tyr might actually have a chance to enjoy himself on this mission. Space battle was necessary and delivered its own sort of satisfaction, but the sight of enemy ships exploding into golden sparkles just couldn't equal the sight of bright eyes dulling, a living body falling limp, vital blood spilling from mortal wound he had inflicted. He smiled feral grin and briefly flexed his bone blades.
Several hours later, he had arrived at a large drift which catered to larger ships and fleets, as well as generals with delusions of large ships. A merchant informed Tyr that his crewmate had already asked about the two kludges and been told the same thing that he was now telling Tyr; he saw hundreds of people every week and could neither confirm nor deny their presence.
Disappointing to some, perhaps, but Tyr casually reached out and held the merchant's wrist in a crushing grip, bringing the unfortunate to his knees. Not blood and death but still pleasant. The Nietzschean repeated the names and descriptions in question, with much more promising results. They had passed through here but didn't purchase anything. The man remembered dismissing them as cheap cargo runners with big dreams. If they didn't buy from him, they might have checked out a woman named Aliyz Fumatonya. Tyr left without another word, barely concealing a contented grin.
*~*~*~*~*~*
Tyr shoved a couple of outfits in a small, ordinary duffel, though not before carefully folding them. That old Earth maxim… haste makes waste… rang true for a good mercenary. And Tyr had been much more than a good mercenary.
Captain Rhade had reached some sort of epiphany, and Tyr found himself perfectly in sync with his superior (by rank only, of course). Lately, this was becoming more and more rare.
Found out who saw them last. Charlemagne thinks I'm a man of principle, and I intend that he persist in that fiction as long as possible. You, on the other hand… if you should act against my orders and forcefully extract information about the position of Beka and Harper… You wouldn't be under my protection for this mission, as you're well aware.
I am. And might I say how glad I am that this revelation has dawned upon you. I do not relish the idea of an irate Charlemagne Bolivar, especially without a Chief Engineer and superior pilot.
Trance had provided him his first location, with no more reason than any of them but quite a bit more certainty. After witnessing the astonishing success of her "guesses" more than once, Tyr was inclined to follow her direction.
And truth be told, he was feeling impatient. Two weeks since his crewmates vanished, and every day lessened the odds that he would find them and find them well. Once again, Tyr Anasazi was responsible for rescuing these two humans, but they were essential elements of their skeleton crew. Take away Harper, and a single, well-aimed shot could disable their engines, slipstream drive, weapons, or sensors for an indeterminable length of time. Take away Beka, and the Andromeda lost the best pilot Tyr had ever met. She greatly lowered the chances that an enemy would be able to make that critical shot. Tyr was the only true soldier on the ship, aside from its captain, but he knew his weaknesses and the strengths of his crewmates.
Besides all that, Tyr might actually have a chance to enjoy himself on this mission. Space battle was necessary and delivered its own sort of satisfaction, but the sight of enemy ships exploding into golden sparkles just couldn't equal the sight of bright eyes dulling, a living body falling limp, vital blood spilling from mortal wound he had inflicted. He smiled feral grin and briefly flexed his bone blades.
Several hours later, he had arrived at a large drift which catered to larger ships and fleets, as well as generals with delusions of large ships. A merchant informed Tyr that his crewmate had already asked about the two kludges and been told the same thing that he was now telling Tyr; he saw hundreds of people every week and could neither confirm nor deny their presence.
Disappointing to some, perhaps, but Tyr casually reached out and held the merchant's wrist in a crushing grip, bringing the unfortunate to his knees. Not blood and death but still pleasant. The Nietzschean repeated the names and descriptions in question, with much more promising results. They had passed through here but didn't purchase anything. The man remembered dismissing them as cheap cargo runners with big dreams. If they didn't buy from him, they might have checked out a woman named Aliyz Fumatonya. Tyr left without another word, barely concealing a contented grin.