BIRTHRIGHT 2 – THE GATHERING

by Soledad

Author's note:

For disclaimer, rating, warnings, etc., see the Prologue.

This particular chapter is based on the events of the episode All Great Neptune's Oceans, and tells them from Tyr's POV – with a considerable twist at the end. Some of the dialogue, as before, is directly quoted from the episode, for the same reasons as before. I'm sure you'll recognize the lines.


CHAPTER 4 – STARTLING DISCOVERY

Several weeks after having broken out Dylan and Rommie from prison, Tyr was returning from another supply run with the Maru – another one to which he, again, had taken Freya as the co-pilot – and stumbled straight into eager preparations on he Observations deck. Rommie, once again her old, efficient self, was setting a very elegant dinner table, with the questionable help of Beka and Harper. Quite frankly, the so-called help of those two limited itself to making snarky remarks.

"I'll say this for the old Commonwealth," Harper said, examining the fancy dinner sets. "When it comes to formal dinnerware, you guys rule."

"I do what I can," Rommie replied with a smile. Beka, however, shook her head in mild exasperation.

"It's all a little bit much to me. I mean, bringing forth the good china is nice, but place cards? Come on…"

Rommie shrugged. "Protocol is vital to the Castalians. President Lee and his people forged a republic from a dozen habitats and cultures: water-breathers, air-breathers, beings that have lived their entire lives in space and so on. The least we can do is to give him a proper welcome."

"Which explains why the fish-necks get to hang out with the hot chick with the lungs," Harper commented, laughing; then he noticed the returning Nietzscheans and grinned at them. "Hey Tyr, Freya! You've just arrived on time for the big banquet."

"What's the occasion?" Tyr asked flatly. Freya shot him a slightly alarmed look. After a trip on the Maru, all between the two of them – which both had enjoyed enormously – she didn't expect him to get into such a bad mood, so soon.

"Why, Castalia's signing he Commonwealth Charter, of course," Harper answered cheerfully. "After the disaster on Arazia, Dylan was most eager to get another applicant, and it only took him a week to persuade the fish-necks to join up. In fact, President Lee was positively enthusiastic."

"Was he?" Tyr said, with the same blank face. Rommie glared at him with a frown.

"What's your problem, Tyr? The Castalian Republic is progressive, peaceful, and stable. If they sign the Commonwealth Charter, they provide us with instant credibility."

"Are you sure about that?" Tyr asked, and without waiting for an answer, he turned around and stormed off.

Beka looked after him in stunned disbelief. "What was that? Freya, do you have any idea what his problem is?"

"Not the slightest," Freya shrugged. "He never speaks to me about the Castalians. But again, I never indulged myself in the illusion that he'd tell me everything."

"What?" Beka asked, incredulously. "You are his wife, aren't you? His only wife, as far as we know. Whom would he trust if not you?"

"Himself," Freya replied simply. "He never knew any other way. Besides, not knowing all his secrets is better for my safety." She nodded to Harper. "We got the spare parts you've requested. Your bugs can take them from the Maru's cargo bay. I have to look after my husband."

"Charming woman," Beka commented, glaring at the door that had closed behind Freya. "Do you think she was telling the truth about not knowing all of Tyr's secrets?"

"Most certainly," Rommie answered. "It is common Nietzschean strategy – well, at least it used to be – not to share any personal plots with one's spouse. For their safety, as Freya said. There's no use to kidnap someone and torture them for the secrets they do not know."

"Nice," Harper commented dryly. "Not that I'd have anything against paranoia – it can be very healthy, you know – but this…eeew!"

"It works for Nietzscheans," Rommie replied with a shrug. "Now, let's hear the ceremonial music."

She switched on the music, which sounded, well… interesting, causing Harper to cringle immediately.

"That's their 'Hail to the Chief'?" the engineer asked incredulously. " It's sounds more like a tuna with a toothache! And I thought Tyr playing Wagner in the Officers' Mess was bad… I'll have to apologize by him."

Rommie shrugged again. "It works better underwater," she said, vaguely; in fact, she looked a little unsure about it. "Besides, it's part of the protocol. Remember, the Castalian dignitaries have musical cues for everything. Music for entering a room, for leaving a room, for proposing a toast…"

"… for swimming around, naked, for the mating dance among the seaweed," Harper added sotto voce and with a devious expression. Beka almost fell over from laughing too hard. Rommie, however, was not amused.

"And while they're on this ship, we have to respect their traditions," she said with a threatening glare. "You will not create a major diplomatic incident by insulting their taste in music, Harper. Have I made myself clear?"

"All right, Rom-doll, no need to tick off," Harper raised his hands defensively; it was never a good idea to piss a warship off. "But I must say, I begin to understand why Tyr hates these guys so much."

"Whatever the reason is, I'm sure it's not their music," Rommie said dryly.


Freya found her husband sitting in their living area, glaring into empty air with a dark expression on his face. She sat down on the sofa next to him and waited patiently. She knew him well enough already to allow him enough time to cool down.

"Talk to me," she finally said. "What's wrong? It's the Castalians, isn't it?"

Tyr nodded glumly but offered no more information. Freya sighed. She loved him, but living with his mood swings wasn't always easy.

"What about them?" she nudged him a little.

"They are mass murderers," Tyr replied grimly. "And Dylan intends to include them in his shiny new alliance. As major players."

"And what if he does?" Freya shrugged. "How is it your concern?"

Tyr glared at her darkly. "Ever heard of Völsung Pride?"

"Not really," Freya admitted. Tyr handed her a flexi. She read through it quickly; then she paled. "Oh no…"

"Oh, yes," Tyr said. "Can you see now what my 'problem' is?"

"Of course," Freya paused. "So; are you doing something about it?"

"I certainly am," Tyr replied. "I want you to go to the dinner. To be my witness when I reveal their crime."

"Freya sighed and shook her head. She seemed to be doing that a lot since she'd lived with Tyr. "I will be there. I only hope you know what you are doing."

"I'll do what I have to do," Tyr said.

"Sure you will," Freya answered. "I just wonder what the price will be."


At the appointed dinner time, Freya indeed made an appearance on the Observations deck, looking absolutely stunning in her black leather costume, bright boots and silver bracers that hid her forearm spikes – until they were needed, of course. She put her golden hair up in the same fashion Rommie was wearing, and enjoyed both the admiring looks of the human males – including Captain Hunt who forgot to close his mouth upon her sight – and the hateful glares of the Castalians, especially of that horse-faced female who had been introduced as Colonel Yau. Women warriors were not an unknown factor among Nietzscheans, but Freya didn't see the reason why a female in the military service would want to look like some genderless creature. Female charms could be a deadly weapon. Why should one leave one's opportunities unused?

She got a seat next to Beka, which was just fine with her. Firstly because she knew that Tyr considered the tough human woman a potential ally, and secondly because without Beka and Harper's snarky remarks she might have killed someone before the round of toasts was completed. At least the two kludges were just as bored as she was – and their comments were fairly amusing. She could see that these two had a long and working alliance. Tyr would either be able to win both of them to his side, or neither. They won't turn against each other.

Not having anything else to do but to stand whenever a new toast was announced and sit down again when it was finished, she got ample time to watch Sebastian Lee. The fish-neck, as Harper called him, didn't look like a mass murderer, but Freya knew how deceiving appearances could be. She'd seen the flexi on which the fate of Völsung Pride was recorded.

"Is Tyr not coming?" Beka asked. She looked very attractive in her black dress… with the very practical boots she still wore. Too bad she was a kludge, with her DNA damaged by the less than perfect shielding of the Maru. She would make a good second wife for an Alpha otherwise. She was courageous, fierce, intelligent and cynical – everything a Nietzschean woman could wish for herself. Such a waste…

"He intends to," Freya answered the question distractedly. She was not looking forward to Tyr's grand entree. They didn't have enough allies on board to create, as Rommie would put it, a 'major diplomatic incident'.

Beka gave her a curious look, clearly feeling that there was more behind Tyr's absence than mere tardiness. But she couldn't ask the question that seemed to be burning on her tongue, because they had to stand up again. This time to honour Rev Bem's toast. Freya began to think that Castalians deserved to be killed just for their inane obsession with protocol.

The Magog, however, seemed to enjoy his own performance enormously. Freya suspected that he practically lived for such occasions. Pompous was something he did very well.

"I offer a toast to President Lee, who united his people by appealing to their highest ideals," Rev said in his scratchy voice. "May he inspire a host of imitators."

"I hope by the Progenitor that he won't," Freya commented softly, not even touching her glass, while everyone drank out and sat down. Harper shot her a curious look, his quick mind working almost visibly.

"You're not a fan of President Fish-neck, are you?"

"No Nietzschean would ever be," Freya replied coldly. Then they had to stand up again, for Sebastian Lee's toast.

"Thank you, Reverend Bem," the Castalian said with a grin. "I salute you for your wisdom, your wit, and your excellent judge of character."

There were polite laughs all around the table, while everyone drank and sat down again. Beka rolled her eyes.

"Oh, somebody shoot me," she said to Harper. Freya raised an eyebrow.

"If that is your wish… although Rommie probably wouldn't appreciate bloodshed at the dinner table."

"You think you've got problems," Harper said, looking sadly at Dylan, who was chatting quietly with Colonel Yau. I'm never gonna score with Captain Terrific moving in on my turf."

"Why would you want to do that?" Freya asked in surprise. "I know humans usually have lower standards than Nietzscheans do, but surely there is nothing wrong with your eyes? Or are you suffering from a serious case of sexual frustration?"

"Harper is always suffering from sexual frustration," Beka grinned; then she nudged Freya. "Hey, it seems your husband finally decided to grace our unworthy company with an appearance."

Fear and excitement battled in Freya's heart as she saw Tyr stride in like his mythical namesake and grab a champagne flute from a tray.

"I should also like to salute President Lee," the Kodiak announced loudly, and everyone stood automatically, albeit more than a little surprised. Tyr gave them a grim look and continued. "A man possessed of determination and vision," he paused again, eyeing the Castalians like a predator its prey. "A vision to see that Völsung Pride could never be a part of his republic. And the determination to see every Nietzschean on Castalia slaughtered: man, woman, and child."

There was dead silence on the Observations deck, while Tyr and Freya emptied their glasses. Then Tyr crushed the glass in his fist, and let the shards fall onto the floor.

"Freya," he said, "we are leaving."

Freya let her empty champagne flute fall deliberately, gave the gathering a nod and a cold smile, and followed her husband out.


"That was… spectacular," she said, when they were out of human earshot. "But was it also wise? Do you think that Captain Hunt would side with you, against the Castalians' potential membership in his precious new Commonwealth?"

"Of course not," Tyr replied with a derisive snort. "He'd sell his mother, assuming he still had one, for the chance to gain some backwater planet for his club."

"Then what was the whole thing for?" Freya asked.

"To make him realize that he isn't any better than we are," Tyr said. "And to make the true fate of Völsung Pride known to other races."

"Are you certain that your source is reliable?" Freya asked.

"As sure as anyone ever could be," Tyr said. "Ferahr has worked long and hard to find out what happened to Völsung Pride… what really happened, contrary to Castalian propaganda. I have checked the evidence. Yes, I'm quite certain that it's genuine."

Freya nodded. "Very well. But you do realize that Dylan would be furious, don't you?"

"I can live with that," Tyr replied with a shrug. "It's time that he stopped lying to himself and admitted what he'd be willing to ignore, just to get his dream become true."


Freya's estimation that Dylan would be furious proved to be an understatement. The captain was positively fuming as he stormed into the Nietzscheans' quarters – without waiting for an invitation.

"Tyr! What the hell was that supposed to be?" he demanded.

Tyr, sitting on the sofa, with Freya in his arms, gave him an amused look. "I was complimenting our guest."

At that, Hunt positively exploded. "Don't insult my intelligence!"

Tyr denied himself the remark of how hard that would have been.

"I'm not the one playing you for a fool," he replied calmly, handing the human the flexi with the evidence… well, a copy of it anyway. "Sebastian Lee built his republic on the bones of my people. The Völsung were a direct offshoot of Kodiak Pride. Their orbital habitat was blown to pieces during Lee's War of Unification. 75,000 Nietzscheans! My blood!"

He was carefully keeping the rage out of his voice. This was more important than his personal feelings. He needed to remain in control of both his own anger and the situation.

Dylan studied the flexi with a frown. "Like you said, it was a war."

"A war the Völsung had already lost," Tyr replied evenly. "They were attempting to surrender! "

"Surrender?" Dylan repeated doubtfully. "Nietzscheans?"

"We like to win," Tyr said, "but survival is more important. Survival is everything – the ultimate imperative. They would have given up, to save the Pride. But Lee decided to solve his Nietzschean problem once and for all. So, be just a bit more careful who you're shaking hands with, Captain Hunt. Your fingers might come away bloody."

"What do you want from me, Tyr?" Dylan asked in exasperation. "To give up on Castalia, based on your accusations?"

"Of course not," Tyr said. "I realize that while your Commonwealth is of little interest for me, it's all-important for you. I just wanted to help you to get to know your bedfellows, before you fall in love."

Dylan shook his head, still uncertain. "I'll have to discuss this with the Castalian delegation. And to review their records from that time."

"Now, that will be certainly free of any prejudices," Tyr said sarcastically.

"Just like your evidence," Dylan replied and left.


Freya looked up into Tyr's expressionless face.

"You do realize, of course, that they'd have very good arguments," she warned him. "This has been their home for centuries; the Völsung were the invading force. They were little better than the Drago-Kazov, whom you keep in such dismay. They terrorized the air-breathers, captured slaves…"

"That still doesn't justify genocide," Tyr countered. Freya nodded.

"No, it does not. That's not the point."

"What is it, then? Do you want me to forget slaughtering of my own blood?"

"No. I know you cannot do that, especially after the extinction of your Pride. The point is, however, that even if the truth comes out, most Castalians probably wouldn't care. They most likely think that the only good Nietzschean is a dead Nietzschean. And for them, it might even be true."

"So, what do you want me to do?" Tyr asked tiredly. Freya shrugged.

"It depends on the Castalians' next move… and on Captain hunt's. But basically, you have achieved what you wanted. You have revealed the truth. You can afford to give in… just a little."

"Is that wheat you suggest?" Tyr asked. Freya shook her head.

"I don't suggest anything. This is your game, and I'll support you however you decide. But if you want us to remain on this ship, you don't have too many options."

Tyr started to answer, but at the same moment the door buzzer sounded. Freya waited for him to answer it, but then, seeing that Tyr was not willing to move, she stood up and went to open the door. To her surprise, Harper stood in the entrance.

"Hi Freya," he shifted his weight uncomfortable. "Can I', uh, talk to Tyr for a moment? It won't take long."

Freya glanced back over her shoulder. "Tyr?"

"Let him in," Tyr rose reluctantly and stalked to the door, bad mood coming off him in waves. "What do you want, boy?"

"I, uh, want to ask you a question," Harper said. "Just a single one, I swear."

"Ask. But make it short."

"Well… right, short. I can do short. You have a problem with President Fish-neck over there, because he supposedly blew up seventy-five thousand of your people, right?"

"Right."

"Okay, then I don't understand why you, uh, don't seem to have any problems with me," Harper said. "I blew up a hundred thousand of you Niets, well, technically it was Dylan, of course, but he could never have done it without my fusion catalyst device, which, by the way, was the stroke of a genius, if I may say so myself. And I never made a big secret out of the fact that I don't regret it."

"No, you haven't," Tyr agreed.

"Right. So, how come that you aren't stalking me with your biggest knife, or threatening me, or anything?" Harper asked. "Not that I'd want you to do those things, you understand, I'm just wondering."

"Tyr shrugged. "You never lied about it."

"That's all?" Harper stared at him, unbelievingly. Tyr shrugged again.

"Besides, you had every reason to hate Nietzscheans."

"So have the Castalians," Harper pointed out mercilessly. "Do you have any idea what it means being a slave?"

"I used to be one," Tyr said dryly, "after the Drago-Kazov massacred my Pride. So, yes, I know very well what it means."

"And you're still taking sides with he slavers, just because they were your people?" Harper asked.

"The Nietzscheans you blew up were warriors, going to war," Tyr elaborated. "The Völsung who were massacred on their orbital habitat were to seventy per cent women and children, since the majority of the men had already been killed. Does this answer your question?"

"Yeah," Harper nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, it does. I… uh, I'll go then. Bye."

"An interesting little man," Freya commented, looking after him. "I begin to understand why you consider him a potential ally. He has more strength than one would think."

"He's annoying," Tyr said, "but very effective in whatever he does. And he survived twenty years on Earth, between Drago-Kazov slaver sweeps and Magog raids. He won't let morale get into his way to do the right thing. I respect that in a mere human."

"And what is the right thing you are going to do now?" Freya asked with a small, ironic smile.

"Waiting for Dylan's next move," Tyr replied calmly.


He didn't have to wait more than an hour until Dylan returned. The human walked in with that superior expression he always had on his face whenever he tried to make someone do things his way.

"I want you to apologize to President Lee," he said without preamble.

Tyr arched an eyebrow. "You do?" The human was really amusing when he tried to play the authority card.

"Not only an apology, but a formal one, as Castalian protocol demands," Dylan continued in the same authoritive tone. "You've insulted their head of state."

"I haven't done any such thing," Tyr replied. "I simply told the truth. The man committed genocide."

"Not according to Castalian public records, or the official investigation into the explosion, which blew up the entire habitat, killing everyone aboard... including ten thousand Castalian slaves. Both sources say the Völsung habitat was taken out by friendly fire."

"And you believe that, of course," Freya commented with a cold smile. "Because it's so hard to manipulate records. No one would even think of doing that."

"It doesn't matter what I believe or not," Dylan said. "Right now, Tyr has one story, the Castalians have another. One that is perfectly plausible."

"Plausible!" Tyr snorted. "I thought you knew us better than that. Nietzscheans don't commit suicide."

"Colonel Yau says, their munitions may have detonated accidentally," Dylan said.

"If they had been idiots, yes," Tyr growled. "Only they were not. They'd never store explosives in close proximity to their families and children. Never."

Dylan shrugged. "Theories."

"Facts," Tyr corrected.

"Whatever," Dylan said. "Think more than a few moves ahead, Tyr, and remember the long game. Re-establish the Commonwealth, and we re-establish open inquiry, accountability, and justice."

"Justice?" Tyr repeated with bitter irony. "For Nietzscheans?"

"For everyone," Dylan said. "Or there's no point."

"Assuming there was one to begin with," Freya said. "This 'long game' you are speaking of, is your game, Captain Hunt, not ours."

"What are you still doing on my ship, then?" Dylan asked.

"It serves our purposes better than any alternative," she answered bluntly. "For the time being, anyway."

"Then you should not interfere with my purposes, at the very least," Dylan said. "If you want to remain on the Andromeda, that is."

"Is that an ultimatum, Captain?" Tyr asked sarcastically. "You can't afford to throw me out, and you know that."

"Try me," Dylan's pale eyes were cold like ice.

"It's a tempting offer," Tyr replied with a smirk.

"Is it?" Dylan asked. "Well, it's your choice. You have exactly twenty minutes to decide. Before President Lee appears to sign the Charter... live, on camera in front of my people, just as we planned."


The twenty minutes were nearly over, and people on the Observations deck had become a little impatient. Harper was clowning around with the annoyingly self-important Castalian cameraman, having great fun practically ruining the man's "most important reportage of the decade". Beka was teasing him about it, and they were taking bets whether or not Dylan had been able to persuade Tyr about the necessity of publicly apologizing to President Lee.

Harper had his doubts, but Beka reminded him of Dylan's ability to blackmail people into doing what he wanted them to do. She still had vivid memories about hiding in the corona of a sun and Dylan threatening her to sacrifice the Maru to save his own ship. Despite superficial impressions, Beka was not the type to easily forgive any threats against her ship or her crew. She also hadn't forgotten that Harper had very nearly died back then, just because Captain Perfect forgot to take the young man's weak immune system into consideration.

Their friendly banter was interrupted by the arrival of the Castalian delegation, accompanied by that noise that Harper had nicknamed "their stupid fish music". Dylan flanked President Lee on the one side, Chancellor Chandos, who had turned out as a less than pleasant negotiating partner, on the other side, talking into his comm.

"Very well, that's a little more convincing," he was saying to someone while his pale, truly fish-like eyes were watching his surroundings in mistrust. "Tell him... tell him maybe." Then he turned to Dylan in the same impatient manner. "Captain, the President's address is in ten minutes. Are you sure your super-man is going to show up?"

"I'm never sure about anything where Tyr's considered," Dylan replied with forced humour. "But again, he does occasionally surprise me," he added, seeing Tyr walk in, with Freya at his side.

Beka grinned, as much at Dylan's surprise as at the Castalians'. Not to mention that she'd just won the bet against Harper.

"Pay up," she whispered, and the disappointed engineer pulled some money out of his sock and gave it to her. She grinned at the Nietzscheans. "Thanks, Tyr."

Tyr didn't pay her any attention. He strode directly to President Lee, deliberately violating the Castalian's personal space and said flatly, with a blank face. "I'm told I owe you an apology."

Lee nodded. He was a man with good humour and a deceiving friendliness, Freya found. He displayed a much higher intelligence than his co-workers. Under different circumstances, it might have been interesting to make his acquaintance. If he hadn't murdered a whole Pride. Tyr's kinsmen.

"Captain, could we have a moment alone, please?" Lee asked.

"Mr. President, no!" Colonel Yau protested. "That would be too risky!"

"I must agree with the colonel, Mr. President," Chandos said with a strong emphasis. "Besides, the parliament is convened, and your speech begins in eight minutes and thirty-two seconds."

"Thank you," Lee replied. Their eyes met, and it seemed that there was some unspoken communication between the two of them… a warning, perhaps, but definitely no agreement. "This won't take long," Lee added, "but it's something I have to do."

Chandos frowned, and so did Tyr, actually. He had challenged the Castalian publicly, and Dylan had mentioned a public apology. Why would Lee want a private meeting first?

"I have brought a witness," the Nietzschean said, indicating his wife. But Lee shook his head carefully, as if not to dislocate his breathing apparatus.

"No. This is between the two of us. No witnesses. Captain, if you would…"

"Of course, Mr. President. Andromeda, engage privacy mode."

"Yes, sir," came the crisp reply from the computer. "Ladies and gentlemen, please vacate the Observations deck."

Reluctantly, everyone left for the corridor. Most reluctant of all was Freya, of course, suspecting a trap behind the Castalian's request. Aside from her personal feelings for Tyr, his death would have meant for her the loss of her status as the First Wife of a Pride Alpha (even if the Pride in question currently only contained the two of them), and for their unborn child to grow up fatherless and prideless – the worst possible fate for a Nietzschean ever. Of course, Tyr could take care of himself, but underestimating an adversary would have been fatal.

As they were left alone, Sebastian Lee turned to the Nietzschean with a sigh. "You couldn't wait for a few more days with your dramatic performance, could you?"

Tyr glared at him in understandable bewilderment. "What are you talking about?"

"That you should consider the possible consequences before you act, and weigh the ways of action against each other," the Castalian said. "With that little display of self-righteous anger, you might have ruined what I've worked for so long… and your own chances to find what you thought lost. You do understand, of course, that after what today happened, I won't be able to cooperate with you in any way? We can call ourselves lucky when we get the Commonwealth Charter signed at all. Our people don't take kindly being called murderers. Especially not by people who've done much worse to us than we could ever do to them."

"You killed seventy-five thousand Nietzscheans," Tyr replied. "That's hard to top, even by my own kind."

"Is it?" Lee asked grimly. "Well, let me tell you about your kinsmen, Tyr Anasazi. They invaded our home system. They looted. They captured slaves. They owned the sky. We were helpless against them. Still, my people, the water-breathers, went relatively unscathed. We had nothing they really wanted. We built our strength, waiting. Eventually they grew complacent. We managed to destroy their fleet…"

"And you blew up their habitat, with mostly women and children on it," Tyr interrupted. "And ten thousand of your own people. You still want me to believe that my kinsmen were the murderers?"

Lee sighed. "Those deaths were a tragedy, I won't deny that. Exactly the kind of loss Captain Hunt's Commonwealth hopes to prevent. That's why I'm so inclined to sign the charter. Let me tell you something…"


Outside the Observations deck, everyone was standing around the corridor, waiting nervously. Chandos and Yau were looking at their chronos repeatedly, and almost jumped when Rev Bem appeared near them like a nightmare incarnate.

"I apologize for my tardiness," the Magog said. "I hope I'm not too late."

"You missed Tyr's act of contrition," Beka grinned at him broadly. Harper made a sour face.

"Did I?" Rev asked, apparently pleased, although only those who knew him well could tell. Magog facial expressions were somewhat… one-dimensional. All that fur made them hard to read.

Harper made a sour face and pulled some more money out of his socks, handing it to the Magog. "I know, I know. Pay up."

Rev Bem accepted the money with a reverent nod. "Strictly for charity, of course."

Harper rolled his eyes. "Of course… Tell me, Rev, does it count as charitable to take a poor engineer his last thrones, saved for some beer and caffeine?"

"If you are afraid of losing, you shouldn't take bets," the Magog replied smugly. "Besides, you could have won. Wasn't that which motivated you to betting in the first place?"

"You'd think I've learned enough never to bet against you," Harper said, annoyed, "but nooo, I had to do it again. Tell me Rev, why were you so sure that Tyr would appear? I mean, the guy is unpredictable to the extreme."

The Magog gave Freya a fleeting glance that made her extremely uncomfortable. It was as if Rev Bem had been eyeing the dinner menu. Or did he know something he wasn't meant to know? His sense of smell was almost as acute as that of a Nietzschean, and changing pheromone levels could reveal a lot to those who knew how to interpret them.

"I do believe that Tyr would see as more advantageous for himself – and his family – to remain aboard the Andromeda right now," the Magog said to Harper. "And I have absolutely no doubt that our esteemed Captain isn't above to use some blackmailing, if it serves his purposes. Remember our visit in the sun's corona, not so long ago?"

Harper grimaced, as if in remembered pain. "How could I ever forget that lovely little trip? I'm still surprised that I haven't died on that day… What the hell is that again?" he exclaimed angrily, as the Castalian 'fish music' began to play on the Observations deck.

Colonel Yau shrugged, although her carefully neutral expression indicated that – no matter how loyal she was to the President – the underwater music wasn't her personal choice of artistic enjoyment, either.

"The Presidential March. What else?"

Chancellor Chandos shook his head. "That can't be right. Why should it be played right now? It's not the time for that yet?"

Harper gave him an exasperated look. "You are asking me? I'm not the one who can't even go to the washroom without some strange noise accompanying me."

"Nobody was asking you," riposted Chandos rudely. "I was just wondering…

He was interrupted by the sounds of a force lance firing coming from behind the Observations deck's closed doors. They could hear Sebastian Lee shouting from inside.

"What are you doing?"

Everybody ran back to the door. They found both Tyr and Lee are lying on the ground. Freya shoved the people out of her way and fell to her knees on her husband's side. Chandos hurried to the President to check on his life signs.

"He's been shot," he said, obviously shocked. "The Nietzschean has shot President Lee."

The cameraman who was present for the President's speech came closer to document everything that was happening. As tragic as the events turned out this was the report of the decade, and it would make him famous.

"He's dead," Dylan said, staring at Lee's body in stunned surprise.

Colonel Yau aimed a gun at Tyr, her eyes glittering with cold hatred. "I've got him. I've got the killer."

Freya shot up from her kneeling position like a striking cobra, her bone blades, ivory white and sharp like a shark's teeth, snapping free. Ignoring the gun, she planted herself before the colonel and pressed the blades against her throat. "You as much as look the wrong way at my husband, and I'll kill you on the spot."

"Stove it – both of you," Beka ordered, kneeling down and checking on Tyr, who seemed to be unconscious. "Damn it, he's having convulsions. We've gotta get Tyr to medical or we might lose him, too."

"No!" Freya hurled Colonel Yau against the bulkhead with a force that nearly rendered the Castalian woman unconscious. "He cannot die!"

"He won, if I have anything to say about it," Dylan said. "Rommie! Get security in here, now. Have Tyr taken to medical and place two of the Than warriors to guard him." He only then noticed the cameraman. "Would you close that stupid camera!"

He tore the camera from the hands of the man and threw on the floor, kicking it out of reach viciously. Only seconds later, the Marias, as the medical droids were commonly called, came for Tyr and left with him, followed by Freya. Chandos tried to intervene, but the flexing of Freya's bone blades made him reconsider.

"A wise decision," Rev Bem commented. "Only terminally suicidal people would get in the way of a Nietzschean woman who is protecting her family."

"Well, she won't be able to protect him against proper justice," Chandos replied grimly. Then he looked at Dylan in open accusation. "Or would she?"

"Not at all," Dylan said calmly. "Proper justice being the key word here, Chancellor."

TBC