Beka couldn't believe that her choices were between a Nietzschean army and a High Guard army. Or more specifically, a High Guard captain, a Tarazed (which she still didn't understand… basically a Commonwealth wanna-be) admiral who were searching for a crew to serve under a Triumvir she hadn't met She imagined the latter would be a little easier to get on with—especially for Harper—but the idea of protocol…. ugh. She wasn't going to salute.

"Well, think of it this way, boss. It's between saluting and calling him captain and saluting, calling him captain, and being reminded of your 'genetic inferiority' every ten minutes. Oh yeah, and the Nietzscheans are a lot more likely to kill you if you mess up or, you know, look at them wrong."

Beka nodded. "All true. Other thoughts?"

Rev bowed his head. "I would not wish to judge either party before I meet them, but I am inclined to agree with Harper. The old Commonwealth spanned galaxies and included beings of many races. I believe an officer of such a government would be more likely to accept our crew than Nietzscheans."

It was all true… but Beka really didn't like the idea of saluting. "Trance?"

The girl made a comical face. "Well, I don't want to judge anyone either, but Nietzscheans call me names. I guess a High Guard captain might, too, though."

"All right, all right." Beka smiled. "That settles it. Only I am allowed to call my crew names. The delusional duo it is."

By the delusional duo, she meant, of course, Admiral Telemachus Rhade—a Nietzschean bent on defending the Commonwealth—and Captain Dylan Hunt—a High Guard captain who had been frozen in time at the edge of a black hole, only to leave the black hole's orbit in a fashion none of them understood. Beka didn't think she would come across anyone more unlikely than Telemachus Rhade, but Dylan had proved her wrong. Dylan should have died centuries ago or been squished into extra-chunky salsa by the black hole, and instead, he was attempting to rebuild his lost Commonwealth. Even an idealist like the captain knew that one of the best ways to build an alliance was to share an enemy, and he had chosen the Genites as that enemy. It was a smart move, no doubt about it, but they were the most dangerous force in the Known Worlds.

"It won't work."

"Captain Valentine, if you're so convinced--"

"Admiral?" Dylan entered a scene that was becoming quite common around here, the admiral and the Maru's captain exchanging heated words in Andromeda obs deck, set up as a war room at present. "May I interrupt?"

Telemachus's eyees flashed, but the fire in them subsided quickly. "Of course, Captain."

He chuckled. "Beka, I understand your concern, but the admiral does have a point. Why are you staying here if you believe we're doomed to failure?"

"Because I don't like the taxes they're levying on the little guy cargo runners?" She sighed. "I told you, I'm here because I don't like the Genites, and the feeling is more than mutual. As soon as I dock at the next drift, my name and my crew's goes out, and we're in interrogation chambers before the end of the day."

"Survival, I get that. I'm sure Admiral Rhade understands it even better." There. Establish common ground.

Slowly, Beka turned to the tall Nietzschean. "Right. Where there's life, there's hope, huh?"

Rhade gave her a thin smile. "That's one of Tyr Anasazi's favorites, but yes, that is what I've been trying to say. You think it won't work? Then give us some ideas, Beka, because the two of us are out of touch with the climate out there."

Beka felt her resentment dim and die. They were right. She still didn't think they had a snowball's chance in hell of successfully throwing off the Genites, but they wouldn't have any chance at all if they didn't try. She was stuck here for better or worse, so she might as well make the best of it.

Harper, she thought with a grin, was certainly making the best of their situation. He had fallen in nerdy engineer love with Dylan's ship, the Andromeda Ascendant: her systems advanced beyond anything he'd ever seen, her enormous firepower potential, and her fully sentient (and pouty-lipped) AI. He spent most of his days deep in the bowels of the ship, oblivious to the tension around him.

Trance and Rev were gone for days at a time on goodwill missions for the tiny villages of humans scattered around the area. Trance had her hands full with malnourished and chronically ill humans as well as new flora she picked up on these trips, and she was delirious with joy. Beka had to admit that the girl didn't have nearly as much occupation on the Maru.

The rest of her crew was settling into this new place nicely, but Beka felt caged. She hated planets, and this one was just as limiting as any she'd seen. More, in fact, since their camp had to escape detection from the stray Magog that still wandered the system and bandits who roamed the area.

She felt caged, and she felt like she was setting herself up for martyrdom. She wasn't relishing any of these feelings and was feeling bored and a little lonely later that night when Harper was working on a Big Secret Project on the Andromeda, and her other two crewmates were administering to the Deserving Poor. Dylan and Rhade were being diplomatic with the Nietzschean camp, and she had elected to stay behind. Now she was wishing she had tagged along after all, as she would have preferred condescending looks and reminders of her genetic inferiority to the greyness that had descended upon her.

So she thought she'd explore a bit. She realized that she had never visited the Nietzschean camp and only vaguely knew where it might be located. Tyr Anasazi always elected to come to them or a middle ground, and he was the only Nietzschean from that camp she'd met.

She fastened the Commonwealth button Dylan had given her to her collar in case she ran across Nietzscheans who might demand to know who she was and proceed to disbelieve anything she said. They were annoying that way, Nietzscheans.

She set off from the Maru in the direction she thought led to the other camp and soon became lost without any trouble. She knew she wouldn't find a convenient road and sign, but this was a little ridiculous. Stubbornly, she closed her eyes and sketched out a rough mental map of the area. The Maru had landed… here, and the Nietzschean camp should be less than a kilometer north of her present location. She opened her eyes and glared in a northerly direction.

She squinted through the dappled forest shadows. She could have sworn she saw something… but no. The forest was still. She continued on her way, glancing to either side of herself and growing increasingly nervous. She HATED planets. Her eyes were straining for some sign of human—or Nietzschean, rather—civilization when something shifted at the edge of her peripheral vision. She jerked her head towards the sudden movement, and a strong pair of hands descended on her, one across her mouth, the other on her right hand that had jumped to her gun.

"Mmrph!"

"Captain Valentine?"

She recognized that voice. If that hulking Nietzschean thought he could manhandle her… She bit down hard on the soft flesh of his palm. It halfway worked; he removed his hand from her face, but then he spun her around to face him, keeping her gun clamped to her hip. "And you're Tyr Anasazi. Don't tell me you've resorted to brigandry already. I know it seems pretty hopeless, but as the admiral so thoughtfully reminded this afternoon--"

"What are you doing out here?"

Her jaw tightened. The delirious duo might annoy her no end at times, but they did her the courtesy of letting her finish her sentences, which was more than she could say for this man. "Scoping the nightlife. You?"

"I'll be happy to exchange pleasantries, ironies, and insults another time, Captain, but for now, I will have a straight answer from you."

She knew he could take her gun and shoot her with it any time he chose if he didn't use whatever he had concealed on his person. "My crew's out, enthralled with the wonders of this world," she said flatly, "and I was bored. I thought I'd make a diplomatic visit to our Nietzschean allies, though I can't really remember why that seemed like a good idea."

Tyr's eyes flickered around the scenery as he replied. "I'm sure I can't imagine why. Fortunately, I believe you, but unfortunately, I can't allow you to make that visit." He nodded his head in the direction Beka had been headed. "You were half a kilometer to the north. You would have walked past the camp and continued walking until a desperate human bandit heard you several kilometers away and decided to rob you." He returned his gaze to her. "Now you're coming with me."

"Let me guess. You're off to a secret rendez-vous at a secret location with a secret ally, and I can't be allowed to go tattling to the rest of your camp."

He let a small smile quirk at the corners of his mouth, and she laughed in relief that he did seem to posses a sense of humor after all. "I'll thank you in advance for not killing me."

He raised an eyebrow but remained silent. He led her through the trees until the sky was black velvet studded with stars. She lost track of time, and her captor/guide firmly discouraged conversation. After an indeterminable length of minutes or hours, Beka spotted a small cabin by the bright moonlight. The pair approached the cabin, and when they were a few feet from the front door, it swung open.

"Matriarch." Tyr inclined his head to the dignified older woman, demonstrating more respect with this simple gesture than Beka had seen him accord Dylan, Gaheris, or any of his Nietzschean cohorts until now.

The woman returned the salutation with a tiny nod. "And who is this… human, Tyr?"

Beka bit her lip to keep from laughing. By the disgusted looks the woman was sending her way, she obviously believed Beka to be some sort of late-night fling in the forest.

"This is Captain Valentine," Tyr said without further explanation. "Is he well?" And with that, he seemed to forget Beka's existence.

The woman smiled, visibly thawed. "He is a wonderful child, very curious. Your guards could hardly keep up with him, but I am more accustomed to children than they. He misses you sorely, but I must admit that your presence is invaluable for him. Perhaps this scheme of yours will prove beneficial after all."

The woman's eyes returned to Beka. "The human knows, then?" Her voice had hardened with this last sentence.

"She knew nothing until now, and I will explain what I must." He favored Beka with a glance that bespoke a clear threat. "She will guard his secret."

"Very well. Shall I wake him?"

Tyr gave her that almost-bow again. "Thank you, Matriarch."

The woman left, and Beka cleared her throat. "Oh-kay. Uh, where to begin?"

He crossed his arms and gazed down at her, dark eyes calculating. "This information you will receive tonight will go no further than the two of us. Captain Hunt and Admiral Rhade will not know, nor will your crew, nor any of my followers whom I have not approved. If you are not one hundred percent clear on this matter, I suggest you find your ship and beg the Genites for mercy. I will show you none."

For once, Beka felt not the least temptation to mock this Nietzschean. "Gotcha." A moment passed. "So what is this secret? A kid?" She attempted a laugh. "The Nietzschean messiah?"

Tyr gave her a long look before answering, and her nervous smile died. "Correct on both accounts. Tamerlane Anasazi is my son out of Freya, and his genetic code is an exact match to that of the Progenitor, Drago Museveni."

He wasn't kidding. As soon as he opened his mouth, she knew he was serious. "Your… son? The prophesied savior of the Nietzschean people?" He nodded. She frowned in thought. "Awfully formal with your wife, aren't you?"

Some of the solemnity dropped from his demeanor. "My wife? No, that woman is the Matriarch of the Orca Pride, my wife's. She is the only of her people who remains alive."

The only… "I'm, uh, sorry for your loss."

Tyr's expression was unreadable. "She died defending her child."

Beka couldn't think of anything to say after that, so they were quiet until the woman returned with a curly-haired boy with the wide eyes all young children have. He looked sleepy until his eyes fell on Tyr, and then his face lit up. He shouted with joy and threw himself into Tyr's waiting embrace. After a full five minutes of laughing and secret conversation did the boy notice Beka's presence. He looked at her curiously. "Who is this lady?"

Beka thought with a smile that this was the only time she could expect to be called 'lady' by a Nietzschean. "Beka Valentine, at your service," she said with an awkward little curtsy. The curtsy wasn't for the 'Nietzschean messiah', she told herself, but he was a really cute kid.

He squirmed in his father's arms. "You're the first human I ever met." His voice held a note of awe, and he scrutinized her closely, as if expected to see a third eye appear in the middle of her forehead.

"She's working with us to get rid of the Genites," Tyr said in his son's ear.

He cocked a curious head at her. "But I thought humans were weaker than us. Why do we need them?"

The question was asked with such innocence that Beka couldn't feel offended. Tyr smiled and answered that the Genites were human, too, and they were very strong. The boy nodded thoughtfully.

"Besides, kid, brawn isn't everything. Take me, for instance. You won't find a better pilot in any species of the Known Worlds." She grinned and was charmed when the boy replied with a shy smile of his own.

"Did you know that the Genites killed my mother?"

Beka nodded. "Yeah and I'm sorry. I don't like them much either. Anyone who commits genocide needs to be straightened up, in my book."

"Ge-no-cide. That means… killing a lot of people," the boy said, a touch of pride in his voice.

"Yeah. Wow, you're the smartest… how old are you?"

"Three."

"Smartest three year-old I've ever met."

He beamed and entered into animated conversation with his father, which Beka didn't try to follow. She was fatigued from her jaunt through the forest and looked longingly around her for a place where she might sit. Tyr noticed and announced that they should go inside. Beka sat in the first chair she saw and spied the Matriarch in an adjoining room, looking strangely domestic with a pair of knitting needles. Her tired mind refused to concentrate on the scene around her and drifted.