BIRTHRIGHT
by Soledad
Author's note:
For disclaimer, rating, warnings, etc., see the Prologue.
A few lines of dialogue are modified versions of what was said in A Rose in the Ashes.
The credit for the different kinds of discourse in Nietzschean culture goes to Kit Mason, in whose story The Recreation of the Warrior true gems such nature can be found – not all canon but almost better than that. The "Rite of Protection", however, is my invention. So are the last name of Guderian, his First Wife, and the names of his parents.
For visuals, Deborah wears the looks of Marjean Holden, aka Dr. Sarah Chambers from Crusade. She impressed the hell out of me when beating up some thugs in one of the episodes, so I thought she'd make a spectacular Nietzschean woman.
CHAPTER 2 – ALLEGIANCES
To say that Dylan Hunt was not happy about Tyr returning with a wife – the same wife he'd very nearly betrayed them and handed over the Andromeda to Guderian for – would have been an understatement. Born to Starfire, leader of the small Than hive that had come aboard right after Andromeda's less-than-friendly encounter with Orca Pride, wasn't exactly thrilled to share living space with one of the pirates who'd harassed their people for fifty years, either. But Tyr wasn't in the mood to quarrel with bugs about his personal matters.
"Captain Hunt," he said in the somewhat lesser version of the formal manner, one that Nietzscheans used while dealing with other races, "have you not said that in your new Commonwealth, there would be room for every race and every culture?"
"I have," Hunt replied, feeling the trap and clearly unhappy about it. But he couldn't go back on his own word now.
"Does it include Nietzscheans, too?" Tyr asked coldly. Dylan rolled his eyes.
"Of course it does, Tyr, you know that! Why else should I have asked you to sign up to Andromeda?"
"I could think of several very good reasons," Tyr replied dryly. "One of them being the fact that you needed someone with actual combat experience. But whatever your reason might have been, I am a member of this crew now. And if you are taking your own recruiting speech seriously, you cannot deny a Nietzschean Alpha to fulfil his genetic imperative: to have a family and to father children."
There was a long, uncomfortable silence, then Rev Bem stirred at his console.
"Dylan," he said slowly in that grating voice of his, "Tyr is right. If you want to convince people about the sincerity of your intentions, you must respect the cultural imperatives of other races. And Nietzschean culture is based on family."
"Among other things," Dylan replied darkly. Tyr shrugged.
"You allowed the Than to bring their entire mating group aboard, and they are just observers on your ship. I'm a member of your crew. All I want is to have my family with me. Is that really such an unreasonable thing to ask?"
It would have been strategically unwise to grin, but it was hard to resist. So he just stared at Dylan with a blank face, while Freya eyed him with proprietary pride. They both knew that the captain couldn't really deny Tyr's request; not without making all his grand promises meaningless. Dylan knew it just as well; therefore he gave in as gracefully as it was possible in a lose-lose situation.
That had been two weeks ago. At the moment, the Andromeda was orbiting Arazia, a former Commonwealth member – a planet settled by humans, whom Dylan Hunt intended to return to the bosom of the intergalactic community. Tyr was preparing the Maru for launch, as he was supposed to drop Dylan and Rommie off in the Arazian capital. He had decided to take Freya as co-pilot (not that he really needed one), with the argument that he wouldn't leave his wife behind with a bunch of hostile bugs aboard and no captain to protect her.
Dylan had wisely abstained from the remark that Freya was very well capable of protecting herself and accepted her presence. Had he known that Beka had also agreed to lend Tyr the Maru for an unscheduled trip to Haukin Tau Drift to collect the rest of his belongings, the good captain probably would have been less forthcoming. But since both Tyr and Beka preferred to keep irrelevant details to themselves, Dylan boarded the Maru in a reasonably good mood, with Rommie in tow.
"We're ready, Tyr, if you are."
"Always," Tyr replied with a smirk that earned him a sultry look from Freya and switched on the comm. "This is the Eureka Maru to Andromeda, asking permission to launch."
"Understood, Maru," Beka's voice answered. "Docking bay ready for launch. Good luck, Dylan. And Tyr, remember…"
"Yeah, yeah, 'break my ship and I'll break your neck', I know the obligatory warning, Captain Valentine," Tyr answered, grinning, and initiated launch sequence.
Beka laughed, shook her head, and gave the Maru permission to launch. She and Trance watched the flawless launch – apparently, Nietzscheans were as perfect when it came to piloting as in most other things, as long as one didn't accept them to behave towards races they considered inferior, which meant all non-Nietzscheans – then they relaxed, not even pretending to work. Why should they? Andromeda had everything under control, and with Captain High Guard out of their hair, they didn't need to appear busy when they were not.
Some twenty minutes later, Harper sauntered onto the bridge, waved them with a flimsy he'd picked up somewhere on his way, and dropped into the slipstream chair since it wasn't needed at the moment.
"I, Seamus Zelazny Harper, the…Exalted Love Machine…of the planet Earth do hereby ordain that when fifty planets have agreed to join the Systems Commonwealth…" he read out loudly and shook his head.
Trance gave him a dubious look, as if guessing whether she should fetch her medical scanner or not. "What are you reading?"
"It's, uh, Dylan's fill-in-the-blanks constitution," Harper answered in a distracted manner. "I, state name , the state title of enter name of planet here , do hereby ordain that when fifty planets and blah blah blah blah..."
Trance grinned. "Oh, that…. Do you think the Arazians were big supporters of the Commonwealth in Dylan's day?"
Harper shrugged. "Hell if I know. I've never heard about Arazia before."
Andromeda's hologram flickered to life on their side. "Actually," she said, "Arazians were reliable citizens for the Commonwealth. According to my databanks, the planet had a population of one point two billion. Seventy-one per cent were human, twelve per cent Perseid, seven per cent Umbrite, six per cent Tonkin, and four per cent various other races."
"Then your database really needs an update," Beka said, "because for the last hundred or so years Arazians developed a real dislike for the outside universe. They've had their share of Nietzschean and Magog raids, famine, various interstellar disease epidemics, and who knows what else since the Fall. They've become such isolationists that their upper class won't even speak to outworldlers without hiding under those hideous orange shrouds of theirs."
"So, what do you think?" Trance inquired, her tail twitching in excitement. "Will the Arazians sign on?"
Harper shrugged again. "Your guess is as good as mine. Actually, it's probably better."
That earned him a sweet little smile from Trance, but the purple girl looked at the other expectantly. "What do you think?"
"I still believe they'll be responsive to Dylan's offer," the hologram said. "Arazia's history with the Commonwealth was a long and friendly one. The planet was inducted in 6740, the seventeenth planet in the local cluster to…"
She trailed off because Beka shook her head.
"Do you want to take bets?" the captain of the Eureka Maru, a woman cured from illusions at a very young age, asked.
After having dropped off Dylan and Rommie at Arazia Spaceport – and earning a few nasty 'Über'-remarks from the locals – Tyr programmed the route for the next slip-point, which was about an hour away. Then he switched on the autopilot and turned to his wife.
"Now that we are on our way, would you care telling my why exactly have you wanted to come with me? We've successfully fooled Dylan, but I'd like to know the real reason."
"Do I need a particular reason?" Freya asked with wide-eyed innocence, which was very obviously faked, as she spoke in the casual manner. "Could I not simply want to spend time with my husband – now that I finally have him back? You know as much as I do that there is no true privacy aboard the Andromeda. Even in privacy mode, that damned ship is spying on us all the time."
There was a very serious undertone in her voice that caught Tyr's attention immediately. Now they were approaching the truth.
"So, we have some business that you wanted to discuss with me, without Andromeda – or Dylan – listening?" he asked.
Freya nodded. "I have a message for you. A recorded message, which I haven't been able to deliver so far, because of the lack of privacy."
"Who sends it?" Tyr had a fairly good idea, but he couldn't be sure. Not before he had actually watched the message.
"Guderian," at Tyr's blank stare Freya shrugged. "You didn't really believe that under our current circumstances I could have simply stolen a ship to meet you?"
"So Guderian knew that you were about to meet me?" Tyr asked, just to be sure, although the answer was fairly obvious.
"He was the one to take me to Mietner Drift," Freya replied calmly. "He had some business with the local branch of Mandau Pride and offered me a lift. I accepted. I could have returned to my people with him, had our meeting gone wrong."
"Well, you didn't really have many choices," Tyr admitted, however reluctantly. "But what would Guderian want from me?"
"View the message," Freya handed him a small disc.
"Do you know what it is?" Tyr asked. She nodded.
"Of course. But I'm not authorized to tell you. This business is solely between the two of you."
Tyr hesitated for a moment, then shrugged and inserted the disc into the Maru's decoder. The computer demanded a voice print identification; he gave it, and Guderian's face appeared on the viewscreen.
"This is a recorded message from Guderian Rasmussen, out of Ekaterina by Vladimir, First Alpha of Orca Pride, to Tyr Anasazi, out of Victoria by Barbarossa of Kodiak Pride," the very formal introduction alone suggested the seriousness of Guderian's intentions. The Orca leader looked exhausted, his eyes were haunted. Tyr had the feeling he was looking at a beaten man.
"You have bested me, Anasazi, and caused the downfall of me and my Pride," Guderian continued after a pause. "You've had your vengeance for the so-called betrayal of my people; I hope it makes you happy. But even if it does not, you have beaten me…beaten all of us. Therefore, in order to save my Pride, I see no other choice than to admit my defeat and invoke the Rite of Protection, which I hereby do. According to the ancient laws and customs of our people, the fate of Orca Pride now lies in your hands."
With that, the message ended abruptly. Tyr stared at the empty viewscreen in stunned disbelief. The Rite of Protection hadn't been invoked since the early days of the Nietzschean people, or so they said. Admitting ultimate defeat and handing over one's Pride to the mercy of a winner, just to save them, was too much of a humiliation for a First Alpha.
"Do you have any part of this?" Tyr asked Freya. She shook his head.
"No; it was Guderian's decision alone. I informed him when your message arrived, of course. No…don't give me that look, Kodiak! Guderian is…was the leader of my people for many years, and he had been a good one, before you came. I owe him my allegiance. Especially now that he lost against you and his position has been weakened considerably as a result."
"So much that he saw it necessary to make such a drastic step?" Tyr still couldn't quite believe it. Freya nodded.
"Dimitri thinks his time has finally come. He kept scheming against Guderian; has already tried to assassinate him once, threatened his wives and children. He's failed and gone into hiding, but next time he might succeed. Without a homeworld, without a strong leader to protect them, our people are vulnerable. They are but a small Pride, they need leadership."
"They are not my people," Tyr said dismissively. "Why should I care?"
"They are now," Freya replied, "by the blood of our child and by ancient law. Guderian has made the ultimate sacrifice for our people's sake when he willingly yielded his power and authority to you. This is a responsibility you cannot refuse to accept. Especially not in case our child should turn out to be the Progenitor."
Truth be told, Tyr actually could have refused the responsibility. The Rite of Protection was a custom so ancient that it was largely forgotten. On the other hand, however, Guderian's offer provided him with the chance to extend his influence among his own people. Orca Pride might be small and insignificant, but it had three hundred combatants – which was exactly three hundred more than Tyr could have hoped for only two weeks ago.
Not that they could have been trusted, of course. Not yet, anyway. Not before he had tested their sincerity, their strength, and their abilities. But it would be a beginning.
"I need to speak with Guderian about this," he said carefully.
"He'll be waiting for you on Haukin Tau Drift upon our arrival," Freya replied simply. "Your old contact, Ferahr, agreed to set up a meeting in his office. On neutral ground, so to say."
Tyr raised an eyebrow. "You were awfully certain that I'd agree to meet Guderian, weren't you?"
"Of course," Freya said with a small, cynical smile. "He offers you power and influence, the chance to feel superior, and all that at a time that matches with your future plans nicely. Which Nietzschean would be able to refuse that?"
Several hours later they were walking through the corridors of Haukin Tau Drift like a couple of highly alert predators. With half an eye, Tyr watched Freya, as she took in every detail of her surroundings and ignored them once they proved not to be a threat, approvingly. She had excellent instincts – a very useful trait that she'd hopefully transfer to their child.
They passed a wide variety of shops, food stores, rent rooms, meeting places for business, and other establishment that shared the limited space of the drift and the fleeting attention of its inhabitants. Tyr paid them no attention at all, and even Freya only gave the clothes shops a casual glance. As a rule, Nietzschean women were just as interested in clothes and shopping as the females of any other species, but they also were eminently pragmatic. Today, they were here for more important business, and Freya knew her priorities.
Besides, they still could go shopping later.
Ferahr's 'office', if one could call a large, windowless and hopelessly cluttered room an office, was situated at the centre of the drift. It had an open area in the middle, enough for about half a dozen people, but around it, the walls were covered by shelves, stuffed with an amazing variety of objects that seemed different every time Tyr came by. In fact, even the large desk opposite the entrance was barely visible under the piles of junk that would have been hard to recognize.
People possessing as much as a vague tendency for fastidiousness usually stated that Ferahr Kalinga was a slob, and for a long time, Tyr had agreed with that statement. Until he happened to visit Harper's quarters for the first time. On that day, the word slob had achieved a whole new meaning in his vocabulary, and he came to the conclusion that Ferahr was actually tidiness in person. It was strange, that Harper, precision incarnate in the machine shop, would live in a place that disturbingly reminded of a dung heap. Maybe it was an Earth thing.
Freya, who hadn't had the questionable privilege of seeing Harper's quarters yet, looked around with mild distaste.
"What kind of business exactly is this…associate of yours conducting?" she asked. Tyr shrugged.
"I never cared to ask; besides, it seems to change daily. What counts, is that he's proven himself reliable."
"Has he? Where is he then?"
"Where I'm supposed to be, lady," a rotund man with a pale, unhealthy complexion and short, curly hair of the colour of dirty sand popped up from behind the desk. "And a good day to you, too. Oh, hey, and there's really no need to thank me for setting up this meeting with you in my own office, no less."
Tyr shrugged. "I'm sure you haven't done it out of the goodness of your heart. There is a price included, isn't it?"
Ferahr swallowed whatever he was chewing on. "Yeah. As always."
Tyr grinned. "Then what possible reason do I have to thank you?"
"Right, why start now?" Ferahr shook his head. Before he could launch a lament about the unthankful nature of Übers, however, Freya cut him short.
"Where are my people?" she demanded.
Ferahr shrugged. "How am I supposed to know? This Alpha guy said he'd be here upon your arrival. If he's not, s'not my fault. Oh, and by the way, Tyr, do you think maybe you could…well, reschedule?"
Tyr raised both eyebrows as a sign of his displeasure. "Why would I want to do that?"
Ferahr squirmed a little in his seat, which was a rather…off-putting sight by someone of his impressive girth.
"Well, uh, reschedule is probably not the right word… I was more thinking along the line of relocating. To somewhere, y'know, where's safer."
"Does that mean we won't be safe here?" Freya asked coldly.
Ferahr scratched his stubby chin and gave her a sour look. "I meant safer for me, lady. Look, Tyr, I'm just a simple businessman, a small fish in the pond…"
Tyr rolled his eyes. This fishing for sympathy really didn't work by someone of the human's size. "Ferahr, you are many things, neither of them is simple or small," he replied, listening to the sound of three sets of footsteps approaching the office from down the hall. Apparently, Guderian hadn't come alone. Maybe Ferahr's concerns aren't that unreasonable, after all.
"Whatever," the human growled. "I really can't afford to get in the middle of…uh, whatever you got going with your buddies."
"I don't think I'd call myself the Kodiak's buddy, under these circumstances," the bitter voice of Guderian said from the doorway as the footsteps arrived.
Tyr turned and saw the Orca leader arrive, accompanied by two women. One of them was Olma, the Matriarch of their Pride, the other one a tall, amazon-like woman, olive-skinned, dark-haired, and almond-eyed. Tyr guessed she had to be Guderian's First Wife, although he couldn't remember having seen her on the Orca asteroid. It made sense to bring them along when they were about to discuss important clan business.
"Nor would I," Tyr agreed; then he turned back to their horst. "Ferahr, since you don't want to get in the middle of whatever we got going, maybe you would excuse us. This is a matter that concerns Nietzscheans only."
"Now, wait just a minute!" Ferahr protested.
"It would be…safer for you," Freya pointed out with a feral grin.
Ferahr growled something in a lesser Kalderan dialect but left, albeit reluctantly. Truth be told, he actually liked to watch Tyr interact with other Übers, as long as he could be reasonably certain that he won't get hurt.
Guderian waited until the human got out of earshot, then he looked Tyr directly in the eyes.
"Let's get over with it," he said flatly. "Since you'd want to make it official, I've brought witnesses. I assume you remember Olma. And this is my First Wife, Deborah, out of Judith by Ezekial."
Tyr inclined his head in Deborah's direction; she had strong, elegant features, which revealed intelligence and willpower. There couldn't be any doubt where the true sources of Guderian's success lay. But her looks were also strangely familiar…
"You are Sabra, aren't you?" Tyr asked. Deborah nodded.
"From a cadet branch. My father is the Alpha of the Centauris A settlement that you've warned about the insane young kludges on the old GS92196 guard station. So, in a manner, I am in your debt. But were I at home during your…visit, well, let me just say that we probably still would have a home – and you wouldn't have a wife."
Tyr performed a small but polite bow. "I doubt it not, lady mine, that you'd have been a formidable opponent."
"And more than that," Deborah replied coldly. "But what's done is done, and complaining about things past would be a waste of energy. I was told that you preferred blunt speech – so do I, so let's be blunt. My husband has invoked the Rite of Protection, despite the protests of our Matriarch," she added with a look towards Olma; it wasn't a friendly glance. "I supported him in this decision, as it seemed the best way to ensure our survival. So I ask you now, Tyr Anasazi, out of Victoria by Barbarossa: is it your intention to honour ancient custom and accept your responsibility towards a Pride that you have made leaderless and homeless?"
Tyr couldn't help but be impressed. Regardless what other races might believe, among Nietzscheans it was always the Alpha female who made the important decisions and represented Pride or family in matters that could be fateful for the Pride's survival. The men only executed those decisions. In most cases, it was the prerogative of the Matriarch to fill in this role. Among Orca, Tyr had the feeling that it was rather the First Wife of the Pride Alpha.
Deborah had asked her question in the most formal manner possible. That demanded an equally formal answer. One that contained nothing but the absolute truth, one, the words of which could not on their face be lies, though there was always room for prevarication, of course. Nietzschean customs of formal exchange were strict on this matter: a formal question required an answer that was truthful, unless Tyr wanted to besmirch his own honour. Which he couldn't and wouldn't do. Nietzscheans respected their own honour as they respected their will to survive.
At least such had been the old way, although Tyr had to admit that in many Prides, this honour had long become a meaningless phrase. The fate of Kodiak Pride, fallen victim to the betrayal of its own kind, showed this clearly enough. But even after twenty years spent first as a slave then as a mercenary, the old values of the Kodiak were still alive and strong in Tyr – these values were that which had kept him alive.
"I shall not refuse to take the responsibility for what I have done," he answered. "My intention is to show Orca Pride a new path in the future – a better future for all Nietzschean people. A future in which we may, once again, become what we were meant to be, not what we are now. And I intend to leave the Orca under your husband's leadership, lady mine."
Guderian stared at him in utter disbelief. "You are not taking the Pride from me? Why"
Tyr shrugged. "You are a good First Alpha. You know the people and they know you. I wouldn't have the time to settle down and care for domestic matters anyway – my destiny lies elsewhere. I very much intend to use the Orca to fulfil my destiny, but I don't desire to live along them. Instead a takeover, I offer you an alliance – if you prove yourself worthy."
"Worthy in what way? Have you not just said that I'm a good First Alpha?"
"I have, and you are. But you also are a bad tactician. That's why I was able to beat you. I still might want your warriors to fight on my side if necessary, but first and foremost I need you to build. To rebuild your home, and to build up enough strength to be of use for me."
"Rebuild our home?" Guderian repeated bitterly. "Where in the Known Worlds am I supposed to do that?"
Tyr handed him a disc. "Here are several choices. Coordinates of worlds too small or too out of the way for bigger Prides to consider for settling. Make the right choice. I've visited them all on my journeys – they are hard places, but capable of supporting life. The rest is up to you."
"But we'll be unprotected, vulnerable, if we settle down again," Guderian protested. "At least on our ships…"
"Ships aren't the right places to raise your children," Tyr interrupted. "Not in the long run, that is. The disc also contains the specifics of your plasma cannon, the one that has been destroyed. Rebuild it, and you'll be sufficiently protected."
"It won't be easy," Guderian murmured, but there was hope in his eyes again. Tyr nodded.
"Of course not. But you do want to prove your genetic value, don't you? You want to fight on the winner side, when the great pattern I'm working on is completed, right?"
Guderian remained silent for a moment. Deborah stood next to him, her face expressionless. This was a decision Guderian had to make for himself: either fight to win back his authority, his Pride, and the loyalty of his warriors, or give up and lose his status, his family and become an outcast. Tyr had no doubt that in that case Deborah would divorce him. That woman would never keep an unworthy husband.
"I shall do as my lord wishes," Guderian finally said, formally. "What else do you want from me?"
Tyr looked at the women. Deborah closed her eyes for a moment in relief, but on Olma's face, there was cold hatred, and Tyr understood that he'd have to watch out for the Matriarch's schemes – and so would have Guderian. "I'll need your contacts to Mandau Pride," the Kodiak answered. "Not now, but probably soon. Work on it, so that I won't have to need mediators when the time comes. And I'll need a few experienced combat pilots who can cause a sufficient distraction."
Guderian nodded. "I do have the right people. When will you need them?"
"I don't know yet," Tyr said with a shrug. "Soon, but I can't tell yet how soon. I'll contact you through Ferahr."
"I shall be ready for your call," Guderian said formally, and with that, the meeting was over. However, after Olma had rushed out, Deborah turned to Tyr one last time.
"Since we are allies now, I'd offer you a piece of information, Kodiak. You have warned my people, so, as I already said, we are in your debt. But doing so, you also caught the attention of Tamerlane Mossadim, the supreme leader of our Pride. He might offer you an alliance – or a deal, whatever would serve his goals best, since he knows that you have access to the most powerful warship of the Known Worlds. He might make you promises that would be hard to refuse. But all he'd really want would be your ship, to use it against Jaguar Pride. Do not trust him."
"I never trust anyone but myself," Tyr replied simply. "That's why I'm still alive."
Deborah nodded approvingly. "A wise decision. I don't trust you, either. I know that my Pride is just a pawn in your game – whatever that game might be. But for the time being, I'm willing to give you the benefit of doubt. As long as your actions serve Orca interests."
Tyr smiled and bowed slightly. "As it should be. I wish you a safer journey, lady mine. Guderian, choose your new home wisely. We'll remain in touch. Should you need me, Ferahr will know how to make contact. Be well."
"You, too," they gave each other the warrior salute, crossing their forearm spikes, then the Orca leader and his wife left. Tyr sighed in relief; things actually went better than he had expected. He looked at his wife.
"I think we should leave, too. Beka is, no doubt, eager to have her ship back. Let me just pay Ferahr, then we can go."
"Do you have the money to pay him?" Freya asked, a little doubtfully.
"I used to be a well-paid mercenary," Tyr grinned, "and my customers were frightened enough to pay in advance. I could buy a ship like the Maru without flinching… I just prefer to keep a low profile. Besides, if Dylan knew about my wealth, he might come to the ridiculous idea that I'd want to finance his insane quest."
"Why do you take your percents from Captain Valentine's half-legal little business actions then?" Freya asked, shaking her head in amusement. Tyr shrugged.
"Why not? I do help her, don't I? Besides, there's nothing wrong with earning more money while Dylan isn't watching."
They both laughed, which made the returning Ferahr look at them suspiciously.
"It's always a dangerous thing when you Niets are in such a good mood," the rotund human declared sourly. "It usually means that somebody will get hurt."
"You are absolutely right," Tyr agreed, "but not this time. We're leaving, Ferahr. Tell me your price for setting up this little meeting, and we'll be out of your hair."
"What, no haggling at all?" Ferahr grinned; this was an old joke between the two of them, as Tyr never haggled. He strode in, told what he wanted, and Ferahr got it for him. One didn't argue with a Nietzschean mercenary of the size of a small planet.
"No time," Tyr replied. "We are late already. So, how much do I owe you?"
"Actually, I need a favour this time," Ferahr said "An old…customer of mine is trying to get back to Makrai VII, after having got stuck on El Dorado Drift. She made it from there to here on some Umbrite freighter but found no ships that could take her home."
"I'm afraid I can't help, either," Tyr said with a shrug. "I can't lose more time, and it's unlikely that Andromeda would get near Makrai VII any time, soon."
"But on a ship I still have a better chance to get home than sitting on a drift," a smoky voice purred from the door.
Tyr whirled around, annoyed that someone had been able to sneak up to him (even if that someone was a Makra who could move practically noiselessly) and saw a sleek, dark figure standing in the doorframe. He'd never met a Makra face-to-face before, as these highly intelligent felinoids seldom left their homeworld, so he looked at this particular representative of that elusive race with interest.
The Makra wasn't very tall, at least not compared to a Nietzschean. She was roughly of Trance's size, and reminded him more of a Terran lynx – according to historic records, that is, as Earth didn't have any remaining wildlife – than a cat, save her colour. For the short, shiny fur covering her body was midnight black, save her face, which was snowy white, as if she wore a mask. Large, amber eyes with diagonal pupils and long, tufted ears completed her appearance. She wore no clothes, save a broad utility belt with many pockets and small bags hanging from it, but due to the fact that she was covered with fur, she didn't look naked.
"I'm Farrendahl," she purred, stretching out both arms, extending and then withdrawing her razor sharp claws in the traditional Makra greeting. "Tyr Anasazi, I presume? Ferahr said you'd have place for an additional passenger."
"I do," Tyr replied with a frown; he had expected to have some more time alone with his wife, before returning to the total surveillance aboard the Andromeda. "But I don't know what Captain Hunt would say if I simply turned up with you in trail."
"O-oh, I'm sure I can persuade him to let me stay," Farrendahl purred. "Makrai VII used to be a valued member of the old Commonwealth; besides, I'm an environmental engineer. I'm sure I could be useful in the hydroponics section of such a big ship."
Tyr hesitated for a moment, then he shrugged. As he owed Ferahr a favour – a rather big one – he couldn't simply deny the Makra's request; and Trance could use help in Hydroponics. Besides, he had the vague hope that the presence of another unexpected passenger would annoy Dylan enough to harass the Makra for a while, and leave him and his wife alone.
"Very well," he said reluctantly, "I'll take you with us. But the last word would be Captain Hunt's. No guarantees."
The Makra nodded. "No guarantees. I understand. When do we start?"
"As soon as you are ready."
"I am ready," the Makra lifted a small carry-all that had been lying at her feet on the floor. "I always travel light."
"That's tactically wise," Tyr said. "Let's go then."
They reached the Andromeda on schedule, and Tyr was happy to be back, for although the Makra proved to be a quiet and discreet passenger, she had something uncanny in her very being that made him… well, uncomfortable. The same way that Trance did – with the not insignificant difference, that he couldn't imagine any malevolent intentions from Trance. Farrendahl, however, was a different matter entirely. He was really, really happy to dock and leave her to Dylan's old-fashioned hospitality.
Beka's voice over comm was unusually terse, though. "It's good to have you back, Tyr – on schedule, and with the Maru in one piece. That's certainly a first. Have you got any new passengers with you, as usual?"
"Actually, I do. But only temporarily. I'm sure Dylan won't mind her. She is…"
"Not important at the moment, sorry," Beka interrupted. "We have bigger problems to face right now. Dylan and Rommie are missing."
TBC
