Chapter 1: From what I've tasted of desire

After all the enemies have been defeated,

There is still but one left to conquer:

The one within.

Admiral Abel Taur-Kosthev, CY 2541

She opened up her eyes and there it was again – that queer sensation. Beka Valentine was absolutely sure she hasn't been drinking the night before. She was as sober as she could ever be. Yet the sensation was still there. And it was getting stronger.

She took a long breath but it still didn't go away. She bit her lip, trying not to think too much. Her shift was about to begin in an hour and she was really not in a good shape. Dylan would probably understand – after all she had been through, after the crazy, stupid things she had done… But she didn't want to show the weakness. Not again. Not with that other Nietzschean aboard.

Slowly, with utmost carefulness, she lifted herself from the bed. Oh, the nausea. A panicked thought run through her mind, one wicked image. She chased it back to the dark corner it came out of. Her legs touched the floor and once she almost stood up, the room whirled around her like some carousel. She sat back, disoriented.

What is wrong with me?

The nausea attacked again and Beka run to the bathroom, holding her lips closed with a hand. How awfully humiliating.

Must be something I've eaten.

In front of the mirror she wiped her mouth and looked into the glass, finding a very, very worn woman staring back at her. Black circles under her eyes. Hair in chaos. A wraith of the old Beka. Someone might think she's taking Flash again.

No weakness. Not again.

Twenty minutes later she was ready for duty, the paleness covered up with a load of makeup. Not too great a way out, but has to do for a little while. Later, she may ask Trance about it.

Or maybe not.

"Beka, are you feeling well?" Trance looked genuinely concerned. Ever since she changed the color, she became more mature and less things could be hidden from her. Beka thought that at times she preferred the purple, happy-go-lucky, tailed version of Trance Gemini.

"Sure," she answered and was trying to walk past the golden girl, but Trance held her arm in a gentle but firm grasp.

"Really?" she asked again, looking deeply into Beka's eyes.

"Are you asking because…" Beka lowered her voice as she saw Rhade walking in the corridor adjacent to the one they were standing in, "I just got my love life screwed by an uber-egoistic Nietzschean son of a very well born bitch? Or am I just looking like something a Nighsider recently spat out?"

Trance knew she was not supposed to smile at that remarks.

"A little bit of both, I guess," she answered. "Just visit me in the Med as soon as your shift is over, ok?"

Beka sighted.

"All right. All right!" as Trance let go of her arm with a radiant smile, Beka waved her hands in the air. "Promise it won't be another one of your famous insightful psychoanalysis. I don't think I can stand anyone messing with my head right now."

"Just a medical check up," Trance shrugged her shoulders, turned around and walked away. Had she still her tail, it would have been waving around with sheer pleasure.

It has been a busy shift.

At the end of it Beka was eyeing the sole reason for the whole trouble and was too tired to even get herself round to hating him. The Nietzschean was not eyeing her back, but she was sure he knew she was watching.

She just stopped for a while with trusting his species, period.

Got much too exposed for her taste. Everything outside, bowels and all, mind and heart. Public vivisection, no sedatives. Her proverbial bad taste in men once again proved itself to be… well, yes. Proverbial.

It has been a busy shift.

Bounty hunters were a real pain in the neck and she had to take Andromeda through five slipstream jumps to finally get rid of them. That is the part of them Rhade didn't shot with the missiles. Still, they were on the run and you just couldn't buy enough decent – repeat, decent – missiles when you are on the run. And the prices are just murderous. That is, you can kill after hearing them uttered by some dirty Nighsider on a stinking drift. Dylan would not like her killing the merchant, probably. As if she cared.

Anyway, they had to save the missiles for worse. Better or worse, Dylan would say, but Beka started to believe only in the latter part of the saying.

Beka stretched out her arms, the bones gave out quiet knocking sounds when they clipped into their right places. The muscles on her back were aching and yes, she could use a nice massage or two. She stepped out of the pilot's chair – and the knees bend underneath her, dragging her down.

Dylan lunged towards her, but it was Rhade with his Nietzschean speed that eventually caught her before she hit the floor. Besides, he was standing closer.

"I'm fine," she muttered. There was that nausea again, the breakfast making it's way outside. "I'm fine, damn it! Let me go!"

If he had, she would land on the deck, she was sure of it. But she didn't want him to touch her. Not again. Not ever.

"Beka," Dylan put his big hand on her shoulder. "Maybe you should see Trance."

"I was just getting there!" she shouted. The anger seemed to calm down the nausea. She saw Dylan smirking, a face she thought he was not capable of. The do-gooder and all that.

"Mr. Rhade, could you please escort Captain Valentine to the Med? I think we are past the worst with the bounty hunters. For now."

Beka grinded her teeth but eventually said nothing.

"Don't you have something better to do?" Beka was walking straight, determined to show Rhade that she was fine.

"Actually? No," he answered. Always a step behind her, keeping an eye on her. It did make her feel a bit awkward, if just for a nano-second.

"Are you always following the orders?" she wanted to tease him, just a tiny bit.

"Aren't you?"

Beka growled.

"Nietzscheans!… Stubborn," she stopped as she realized she can't call him 'selfish'. She bit her lip. He cocked his head to one side and raised left brow, waiting for the rest of the insults with great curiosity.

She growled again, waved her hands above her head and quickened the walking pace.

Trance was waiting for her. And – to Beka's surprise – the golden face lit up with smile on the sight of Rhade.

"Beka! Do come in, please," Trance showed Beka the way with her hand. "Thank you, Telemachus, for bringing her here. I got the feeling she might get a little…"

"Lost on the way?" he finished for her.

"Enough, already!" Beka shouted from the back of the Med. "Came here for chit-chat, Rhade?"

"I'll go now," Rhade bowed his head to Trance and she replied with a smile. "Good luck with her," he added in a whisper.

"I got used to," Trance whispered back, winking.

"So?" asked Beka, after Trance run all the tests on her, which took way too long. Fifteen minutes, but still way too long. "What is it? Am I going to live, die or what?"

Trance smiled. A bit faintly for her usual self.

"Beka. Have you experienced nausea? Usually in the mornings? And general fatigue?"

"Duh. That's why you wanted me here, right? So, what is it?"

Trance touched Beka's hand with hers.

"You are with child, Beka."

And there it was, the queer sensation again. And a thought: Yup, he truly was a warrior, an alpha, you have to handle him that. His seed managed to get through all the defenses you've put. Silly, silly girl.

The fruit of desire.

Come, reap.

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