BIRTHRIGHT 2 – THE GATHERING
by Soledad
Author's note:
For disclaimer, rating, warnings, etc., see the Prologue.
This chapter is a direct continuation of the previous one – for reasons of tolerable length. There will be another chapter, based on the same episode, before we can move on with the story. Some lines, as before, are directly quoted from the episode, for the same reason as before.
CHAPTER 5 – INVESTIGATIONS
The Marias carried the unconscious Tyr to the medical deck, followed by a very upset Freya, who made the best impression of a vengeful walkyrie one could imagine. Her hair had come loose during the short but heated encounter with Colonel Yau, her eyes were burning, her bone blades fully erect. She planted herself at the foot end of Tyr's bed while Trance worked, obviously ready to kill anyone who dared to come too close.
That meant a pretty shaken Colonel Yau, mostly, whom Dylan had escorted to the med deck as well, so that Rommie could check her for injuries. She might have been the chief of security of the late President, but she was just a human being; no match for an enraged Nietzschean.
"No broken bones," the avatar said in relief. "There are a few bruises… ugly ones, but they'll heal on their own. Do you need something for the pain?"
"No, thanks," Yau took a few deep breaths, relieved that it didn't cause her any problems. "I'm a breather, I'm used to being slapped around by Nietzscheans. I've suffered worse."
"Good," Freya said snidely. "Then maybe you'll be smart enough to stay away from my husband."
"I don't have to come anywhere near to him," the colonel replied. I'll have a forensics team here by noon and a security team to take the assassin into custody."
Freya turned her bitter look to Dylan. "Is this your 'justice for everyone', Captain Hunt?"
Dylan shook his head. "No need to worry, Freya. This is my ship. I have jurisdiction here, and I won't have a horde of outsiders trampling on a crime scene."
Colonel Yau gave him an unbelieving look. "So what do you propose to do? Incarcerate the killer in your private prison?"
"Of course not," Dylan said. "The Andromeda is not a prison ship. When we identify the killer, I'll turn him over to Castalia for trial."
"When we identify the killer?" Yau repeated, completely bewildered. "What is there to identify? We all saw it! We were there!"
"If I remember correctly, you were standing in the corridor with the rest of us," Freya said coldly. "I entered the Observations deck before you, and all I saw were both men lying on the floor. Or do you have eyes that can penetrate the bulkhead?"
Dylan raised both hands. "Ladies, please. We saw the aftermath, not the crime. I promise you, Colonel, you'll be involved in every step of the investigation. But this will be an investigation, not a witch hunt."
The Castalian woman didn't answer right away. For an endless moment, she watched the two Nietzscheans with cold hatred in her eyes. Finally, she nodded.
"As you wish," and left.
"You better hurry up with your investigation, Captain Hunt" Freya said grimly. "Castalia has the death penalty for murder. And right now, there are twenty billion vengeful people down on that planet, all of them thirsting for Tyr's blood."
"They can't declare him guilty without a proof," Dylan said. Freya shook her head with something akin to pity in her eyes.
"Captain, just how naïve are you? He is Nietzschean. That fact alone would be enough for them to find him guilty. And his dramatic entrée during the banquet certainly didn't help things."
"Why didn't you talk him out of it?" Dylan asked.
"It was not my right to do so," Freya answered simply. "They were his people. His blood. I'm just his wife."
The following half an hour the command crew spent with watching Chancellor Chandos being sworn in as President, wearing the Presidential armour, and listening to his inflammatory speech broadcast from their own Observations deck, no less. It was an interesting example of dealing with the angry masses.
"Reverently do I don this armour, in the knowledge that it represents my duties as Shield of the Republic," Chandos announced. "Citizens of Castalia, I swear by the blood of President Lee, that his murderer will suffer the ultimate justice for his crime."
"Ultimate justice?" Beka asked with a frown.
"According to Freya, Castalia has the death penalty for murder," Dylan explained. "Especially when the suspect is a Nietzschean."
"You can't really blame them, can you?" Harper asked. "I know what it means to be enslaved by Übers – we didn't waste much time 'investigating' the Drago-Kazov jerk-offs back on Earth either, whenever we could get our hands on one of them."
"So, are you suggesting that we turn Tyr over to them and be done with the whole thing?" Dylan asked.
"I'm not suggesting anything like that," Harper shrugged. "I'm just saying that the fish-necks probably won't wait for the results of our investigation."
"When all is known, our action will be swift, certain, and final," Chandos said at the same moment. Harper raised an eyebrow.
"See what I mean, boss?"
"A good thing that the Than are in charge of the med deck," Beka said. "Not only are they tough, it would also be hard to accuse them of Nietzschean sympathies."
"Which was exactly the reason why I asked them to guard Tyr," Dylan nodded. "Any news from Trance?"
"She's just called," Harper waved with his hand-held comm unit. "Tyr is regaining consciousness."
"About time," Dylan said in relief. "Let's go then and see what he has to tell."
They found Tyr still barely aware of his surroundings, while Trance was fussing over him, and Freya was holding his hand. Beka exchanged a quick look with the Nietzschean woman, and Freya shook her head slightly, signalling that Tyr hadn't said a thing so far.
"Tyr," Hunt leaned over the Nietzschean, who, Beka found, was a prime example of gorgeous, bare-chested maleness, even in his weakened status. Not that she wanted to compete with Freya, but a woman could at least look, right? "Tyr, it's Dylan."
Tyr opened an eye with a groan and gave him an exasperated look. "So it is."
"Do you know where you are?" Dylan asked.
Tyr opened his other eye, too. His gaze swept over the room with clinical efficiency, taking in the medical equipment, Trance, the Marias… and the Emerald Than warriors standing right and left from the door.
"I'm in medical," he concluded. "And I'm obviously under guard. What for?"
"What's the last thing you remember?" Dylan asked carefully.
Tyr shrugged – as well as he was able to, while lying on his back. "You have visited me in our quarters. We had a… disagreement about me apologizing to President Lee."
Dylan frowned. "So you don't remember being on Obs Deck with the president?"
"No," Tyr said with narrowing eyes. "But I'm going to assume our meeting didn't go well."
"You can say that," Dylan replied dryly. "While you were alone with President Lee, he was killed with two shots from your force lance."
"I was alone with him?" Tyr repeated in surprise. "Why in the Known Worlds would I do so? Wasn't it meant to be a public apology? Although I still don't know how you managed to talk me into it."
"He gave you an ultimatum," Freya explained. "You chose to give in, in exchange of remaining aboard the Andromeda. You really don't remember anything, do you?"
Tyr shook his head – then winced immediately. The harmless gesture caused him blinding pain. "What happened to me?"
"We don't really know," Trance said. "You were found, unconscious and in the state of shock, next to the president's body. The loss of short-time memory comes from the shock. It might even itself out in time… or not. There's a chance you'll never regain those memories."
Tyr nodded thoughtfully. Then he looked at Dylan. "Have you worked out who did it?"
Before Dylan could have even thought of an answer, the computer chimed in: "Captain, passive sensors are detecting movement on the Castalian moon."
"Their main defensive centre," Tyr supplied helpfully, seeing Dylan's blank look. "Their space fortress, to say so. The very place from where they launched the attack against the Völsung fleet – and the orbital habitat – eighteen years ago."
"And the same place where I'm registering a massive launch from the surface right now," the computer image of Andromeda added.
Dylan swore softly under his breath. "Great. Just great. How many?"
"Over three hundred ships, and they're heading straight towards us."
"They are no match for the Andromeda, Captain," Freya commented cynically, apparently finding nothing wrong with the destruction of three hundred Castalian ships, including their crews, in protection of her husband. Dylan gave her an exasperated look, wondering whether he truly used to understand Nietzscheans, back in his own time, or had been delusional in his assumptions.
"That's not the point, Freya."
"It is – for me," Freya replied coolly. It was the typical attitude of a female alpha wolf, protecting her pack by any means necessary. Something the Nietzscheans had included into their genetic make-up and refined to perfection.
Dylan shook his head. "I don't have time for this. Beka, take over command for me on the bridge. Rommie, call the crew to the command deck. Ask Born to Starfire to join us. We need the support of the Than when dealing with the Castalians."
"No need to worry, Captain," one of the Than warriors, who happened to be Sword of Midnight, cackled. "We have everything under control here."
"I hope so," Dylan murmured, several possible battle scenarios occupying his mind as he jogged out, followed by Beka.
Beka, Rev Bem, Harper and Born to Starfire were already waiting for him on the command deck when he arrived. The reason for this was his short visit in Chandos' quarters. A short and fruitless one.
"Apparently, the Castalian military high command has decided that their new president is a hostage on our ship," he told them, and since it's their policy never to bargain with hostage takers, they've simply launched an armada to free him."
"A sound policy," Born to Starfire commented. "A governments shouldn't let itself be blackmailed. But surely, the president would tell them he's safe… unless, of course, they believe that he is under duress."
"Which is exactly what he assumes," Dylan said.
Born to Starfire tilted her head to one side. "Curious that he's allow things to escalate like this. High-ranking politicians usually have a wide variety of signals to tell their co-workers when they are forced to make false statements. Someone who used to be a freedom fighter should be able to find a way. I have the impression that President Chandos is using this whole… situation to achieve some personal goal."
"And what exactly would that be?" Beka asked.
The Diamond Than waggled her antennae – this time the gesture was meant to represent a shrug. "I can't be sure… But the fact is, yesterday Chandos was chancellor. Today he is president. That's quite a promotion. But whatever his true motives are, I would suggest that you deliver the killer to Castalian custody. Unless you want to destroy their entire fleet, that is."
"But if we turn Tyr over to the Castalians, what will they do with him?" Beka asked.
"Put him on trial, I'd say," Dylan replied with a shrug. "Probably a big, showy one."
Beka raised a sceptical eyebrow. "A fair trial?"
"Chandos' personality is abrasive," Dylan admitted, frowning, "but his reputation is spotless. And Lee was... well, he was Sebastian Lee."
"Which is your long-winded way of saying you hope so," Beka commented dryly, clearly not believing it.
"Regardless of President Chandos' reputation, I won't bet your Nietzschean's life on the fairness of a trial held on Castalia," Born to Starfire said. "The judges might be slightly… influenced by the fact that he is a Nietzschean. Now, I personally don't care if he lives or dies, but are you willing to take that risk?"
"If you're asking me, would I betray an innocent man just to get my Commonwealth, the answer is no," Dylan replied stiffly.
"That's very noble of you, Captain," the Diamond Than said. "But it seems to me that there is one question none of you wants to ask."
"Which is?" Beka asked defensively, knowing all too well what the Than wanted to ask. And indeed.
"What if Tyr Anasazi isn't an innocent man?" Born to Starfire asked bluntly.
There was a long, meaningful silence, finally broken by Harper, who shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "Well… it's not like he doesn't kill people. I mean, hell, it used to be his day job."
"Yeah, but nobody hired Tyr to kill Lee," Beka pointed out. Then she remembered Chandos' possible motivation and looked around, suddenly doubtful. "Did they?"
"Unlikely," Rev Bem said. "President Lee was the beloved hero of his people. And the Völsung have been eradicated eighteen years ago. Regardless of the fact if Tyr's accusations are true or not."
"True enough," Born to Starfire said, "but that doesn't mean the Nietzschean wouldn't execute vengeance on his own."
"Under different circumstances, I would agree," the Magog nodded. "But let me ask you something. What's a Nietzschean's highest imperative?"
"Becoming a husband and a father," Dylan said with a shrug. "So what? Tyr is a husband… although he isn't a father."
"Not yet," Rev Bem said. "But soon enough. No Nietzschean would ever take such inane risks while having his pregnant wife with him."
Stunned silence followed his words. Beka was t he first to recover from her surprise, as usual. "Rev… how can you be so sure? I mean, Freya doesn't even show yet."
"The scent," the Magog explained, extremely pleased with himself. "Pregnancy changes the pheromone levels, and as a result, it changes the way a woman smells."
"You mean you can smell the baby in her?" Beka asked in a mild shock. Rev Bem nodded with a satisfaction that seemed positively… creepy. Like someone who was looking forward to a particularly tasty morsel.
"How long have you known?" Dylan asked.
"From the day on Freya came aboard," the Magog answered simply.
"And you never said a word?" There was a positively accusatory tone in Dylan's voice.
Rev Bem shrugged. "It wasn't my place to tell anyone."
"But why would Tyr keep something like that secret?" Harper asked, a little bewildered. "Don't Niets usually brag with their children?"
"For safety reasons, maybe," Rev Bem looked at the Diamond Than apologetically. "No offence intended, but he might have thought that our guests don't have the warmest feelings for his wife."
"We don't," Born to Starfire said calmly. "She's an Orca, after all, and her people have caused us enough trouble. Nevertheless, the Magog is right. The Nietzschean wouldn't risk his child growing up without a father and a Pride. Not even for his vengeance."
"I tend to agree," Dylan admitted. "But how do we prove it?"
"What about reconstructing the crime?" Beka suggested. "I'm sure Rommie Harper could put something together. Checking out the force lance that killed President Lee might be useful, too."
Dylan looked around. The others nodded in agreement. "All right," he said, "let's do it. We still have time until the Castalian forces arrive."
They couldn't do much in what little time they had, but Rommie and Harper actually managed to come up with a rough reconstruction of the crime, and Dylan took it with him to show it their main suspect on a medical deck computer. He found Freya still there, of course. Tyr might not have told his wife everything, but Nietzschean family ties were very strong.
Sitting on his bed, Tyr watched a 'himself' shooting President Lee, then being shocked by his own force lance dispassionately. He looked positively… insulted.
"That's the most pathetic and ill-planned excuse for an assassination I've ever seen," he judged. "And I speak as one who has had some... slight experience in these matters."
"I'm sure you do," Dylan said. "I assume you would have done things differently?"
Tyr shrugged. "You want suggestions? Very well. Method number one: Slow acting poison in his food."
"That'd be a bit obvious, wouldn't it?" Dylan asked.
"True, but there'd be no sure way to connect it to me," Tyr pointed out reasonably. "Method number two: Nanobots in his shuttle, timed for re-entry. The shuttle burns up and leaves no evidence. Method number three: A dart tipped with stonefish toxin."
"Stonefish toxin?" Freya frowned. "Isn't that a little primitive? I didn't know people still used that one."
"Primitive, yes," Tyr agreed, "but also undetectable. It mimics heart failure – a very useful result. Actually, more people use it than you'd think."
"No evidence being the key word again, right?" Dylan asked sarcastically, but Tyr nodded, all business now.
"Exactly. Now, I could have arranged for his breathing apparatus to fail, or perhaps I might have replaced his..."
Dylan raised both hands. "I get the picture, I get the picture!"
"Good," Tyr shrugged again. "Then there can only be one conclusion. I'm innocent."
"Because you never would have gotten caught?" Dylan asked, not quite convinced yet.
"Precisely," Tyr paused. "Well then, now that that's out of the way, I guess this is the part where you suggest that the greater good requires my surrender, correct?"
"Your surrender?" Dylan repeated, his mouth literally hanging open. Tyr gave him a steady look.
"You are planning to turn me over to the Castalians, regardless whether I am guilty or innocent, aren't you?"
"Is that what you would do?" Dylan asked. Tyr smiled; it was a thin smile and very, very unpleasant.
"If the stakes were high enough… yeah, I would definitely do it."
"Well, then you should be thankful that I'm not about to sacrifice any innocents on the altar of my ambitions," Dylan riposted indignantly.
"For a man determined to cook history's greatest omelette, you're awfully squeamish about cracking your eggs, Captain," Tyr said with a shrug. "That's a weakness that might cost you your dreams, in the end. But I'm surprised that you won't even try to persuade me to 'consider the greater good' – I think that'd be the proper phrase."
Dylan looked at him doubtfully. "Would you be willing to sacrifice yourself for the cause, although you are supposedly innocent?"
"Of course not!" Tyr said with a derisive snort. "You'd have to kill me first, and trust me, Captain Hunt, that wouldn't be an easy task. Not even if I were alone. Which I am not."
"Yeah, but Freya wouldn't be able to fight for you, full force… in her condition," Dylan said smugly. Tyr shot him a sharp look, full of malevolence.
"How… ah. The Magog. I could have counted on it. So, now that you do have an advantage again – what are you doing with it?"
"I'll have to think about it," Dylan said flatly.
At the same time, Beka and Harper were already working on the second task appointed to the engineer: checking out Tyr's force lance.
"Look, boss," Harper fastened the collapsed lance in a small holder atop thevertical slabin the middle of the big, circular scanner, "I don't want Tyr or his family any harm, really. All I'm saying is... and it may sound a little selfish...
"That we turn him over to the Castalians and express our condolences to Freya later," Beka finished, disapprovingly.
Harper shrugged. "Well, sometimes you gotta throw a wolf to the wolves to keep the rest of us from getting eaten."
"Oh, please!" Beka rolled her eyes; something she did frequently around Harper. "I could swat that fishing fleet of theirs in the Maru."
Harper grinned at her amiably. "Yeah, and you'd eat them for lunch." He paused as a thought occurred to him. "Hmmm… fishing fleet, you're saying?" Do fish people eat fish? Or is it like humans eating monkeys or apes?"
Beka laughed. "Harper, you are impossible."
"And he's wrong, too," Dylan said, entering in Colonel Yau's company. "The Castalians aren't amphibic. They're genetically engineered to breathe water, but still human."
"Are you sure?" Beta asked. "Have you seen some of the more… advanced subspecies? Because I have… And they sure looked like fish to me."
"I am sure," Dylan said. "Besides, humans do eat monkeys. Humans eat other humans, too, occasionally. As a species, we are really quite unpleasant."
"Speak for yourself," Beka riposted snidely.
"Can we discuss this later?" Dylan's tone revealed that it wasn't really a question. "So, Mr. Harper, you care to update us on the investigation?"
"Gladly," Harper flashed them a goofy grin. "I'm completely at the colonel's disposal. And I mean completely." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, but Colonel Yau ignored his innuendo.
"I'm sure you do," she said flatly, not noticing the curious look with which Beka was staring at her hand.
Neither did Harper, who already launched into a lengthy explanation about force lances. "OK. Weaponry 101. The force lance is the High Guard's favourite toy..."
"Harper," Dylan warned, "we don't have all day to listen to your silly jokes." Then, turning to the colonel, he added. "The force lance is actually a multifunctional tool. It's not only a weapon. Retracted, it can be used as a light source or a scanner, too," he snapped his lance open, showing that it was almost longer than Harper was high, "and deployed, it serves as a kind of quarterstaff. In either configuration, it can fire so-called effectors – these are basically smart bullets."
"As unbelievable as it might sound, Captain Hunt, I'm actually familiar with the workings of a force lance," Yau said dryly. "We might not be at the same technical level the High Guard used to be in the heydays of the old Commonwealth, but we are not idiots. Before I came aboard, I'd consulted the database about High Guard weaponry."
Dylan seemed slightly insulted by the rejection of his helpful comments. "Very well, Colonel. It seems we can skip the introduction, then, and go straight to the point. What have you found, Harper?"
Harper considerably subdued now, gestured towards Tyr's force lance.
"This force lance has recently fired two effectors," he said. "Timestamp matches President Lee's death. However, according to the internal sensors, the effectors were fired at a low velocity straight down toward the deck."
"What?" Dylan asked in surprise. "That can't be. Why would Tyr target the deck when the person he supposedly assassinated was standing practically in front of him?"
"Beats me," Harper replied with a shrug. "Whatever the reason, this was clearly the way of the bullets. As they slowed to zero, they each acquired the target and then attacked on their own power, like a couple of bats out of H-E-double-hockey-sticks."
"Kind of an indirect way to shoot someone," Beka commented thoughtfully.
Harper nodded. "You're telling me. And that's not the weird part. There was a full capacitor discharge that matches Tyr's electric shock."
"That's impossible," Dylan protested with a frown. "Force lances are keyed to the owner's DNA. If it shocked him, it wasn't his force lance."
"Oh, it definitely was his," Yau snarled. She handed Dylan a flexi. Once again, Beka stared at the back of her hand. Or, to be more accurate, at the rather large and ugly, oval tattoo on it. This time Dylan, too, followed Beka's look and raised a questionable eyebrow. Beka shook her head behind Yau's back and mouthed soundlessly, Later!
"These are the weapon ID's that Andromeda downloaded," Yau continued. "Look for yourself: the serial numbers match. The murder was committed with the Nietzschean's force lance. The murder was committed by the Nietzschean.
"Why would he shock himself?" Beka asked with a frown, folding her arms as if in a challenge. This just didn't make any sense.
"Maybe he wanted it to look like he'd been attacked," Yau said, as if this would have been the most logical answer. If they weren't speaking about a Nietzschean, she might even be right. But they were speaking about a Nietzschean, and this simple fact made her logic faulty.
Which gave Dylan just the right argument.
"Nietzscheans don't deliberately injure themselves," he pointed out. "It's against their survival instinct." Then he added, practically echoing Beka's most recent thought. "You know, none of this makes any sense."
"Assassinating Sebastian Lee doesn't make sense," Yau spat, clearly furious now. "The accusation of the Nietzschean doesn't make sense. So what if he chose an eccentric way to shoot the president? Assassins have been known to be eccentric."
Harper gave her a fairly unbelieving look. "Are you kidding? Eccentric? Tyr? Sorry, not buying that. He is... uh… overbearing, self-righteous, vain, vicious, brutal, way too serious, and a little big, yeah. But eccentric? No."
"Besides, he's a committed professional," Beka added. "He'd never have handled in such an amateurish manner. Less than an hour ago, he counted four different ways how an assassination like this should have been done better, without a hint of suspicion falling towards him."
"Are you sure that wasn't just an evasive maneuver to mislead you?" Yau asked. "Nietzscheans are notoriously untrustworthy. You of all people should know this, Captain. You were the one to fight them in the Battle of Hephaistos, when they betrayed the old Commonwealth."
"Are you sure this isn't less about justice than it is about pinning the murder on Tyr?" Dylan riposted. The woman's almost-obsessive pursuit of Tyr was getting on his nerves,
"Pinning?" Yau repeated in clear outrage. "Pinning? That Nietzschean was alone in a room with someone that he had every reason in three galaxies to want dead. That person is now dead. And with all your hemming and hawing, all you've succeeded in doing is to prove that he was shot with your man's gun. Thank you for the information. I'll make sure it's conveyed to the proper authorities."
Without any further comments, she turned on her heels and marched out. The others looked after her with mixed feelings.
"Well, score another point for informed cooperation," Beka finally said.
Dylan looked at her curiously. "Care to tell me why you were staring at her hand as if she had been wearing the seal ring of the Vedran Empress?"
"No ring," Beka said with a small laugh; the mere idea of Colonel Yau wearing jewellery was just ridiculous. The woman reminded her of a robot, more than Rommie's drones. Even that Prince Ironheart hairdo looked like a particularly bad wig. Why Harper thought she was hot was beyond her comprehension.
But again, Harper tended to find anything on two legs hot, as long as it was female.
"No ring," she repeated, "but I saw something else on her hand that made me... curious. You know, in the old days, I used to do background checks on the people who were hiring me. Better safe than sorry, we always said. I think we should do something like that."
Dylan nodded. "Exactly what I was thinking. I think Tyr might be interested in the results, too."
"Or he might be able to help me find them," Beka replied, already on her way out. She had a suspicion that needed to be confirmed.
"Here," Beka said, only minutes later, handing Tyr a flexi with the vague likeness of Yau's tattoo. "Do you know this mark?"
Tyr gave the image a cursory look. "Of course. It's the Völsung Pride insignia. Where's it from?"
"It's tattooed on Colonel Ironpants' hand," Beka explained.
"Then she was a slave," Freya said.
"Or worked for the Völsung as an employee," Beka said. Freya shook her head.
"Nietzscheans don't brand their employees. We brand our slaves. Well, the ones who keep slaves, anyway."
"But if she was a slave, that would mean that her family…" Beka trailed off.
"… died on the Völsung habitat with the other forces labourers," Freya finished for her. "An excellent motive, if I ever saw one. What if she learned about Lee having ordered the destruction of the Völsung and their human slaves?"
"Her adoration for Lee would have turned into hatred," Beka nodded. "It makes sense. Revenge is always a popular dish. I'm going to speak with Dylan… well, after we're done with our enraged Castalian visitors, who're about to arrive… well, right now."
"As for me, I think I'll have a chat with the lovely colonel," Tyr said.
"Tyr, I don't think that'd be such a good idea."
"Don't worry, Captain Valentine. I don't intend to provoke her… too much."
Beka didn't find Tyr's wolfish grin very reassuring, but there was little she could do about it. Especially with a Castalian ship reaching the Andromeda and its crew trying to force their way into Hangar 3.
TBC
