Author's Note: I don't know how PG-13 translates to wacky rating system, but this chapter is a definite PG-13 for some lurvin' behind the scenes (I changed the story's rating to T… I hope that's sufficient). All I do is provide the chocolate evil grin

ON TO

Chapter Twelve:

"Very clever, Captain," the sharp-faced man on screen said by way of greeting.

"You must be the man who sends children to their pointless death."

The man clicked his tongue. "You were always an idealist, Captain. That's why you were always paired with hard-headed realists, like the first officer your admiral so resembles."

Beka thought it odd that the Patriarch, as the head of the Genites ludicrously styled himself, addressed Dylan as if he'd known the captain before the Fall. She noticed with admiration that Dylan, who usually went a bit pale at the mention of an earlier Rhade, remained calm, his gaze steady.

"It's a good system," he replied. "It's a shame you can't see that."

The Patriarch laughed. "A good system, you call it? Tell me, Captain, how is it that the Andromeda fell into the black hole in the first place? Her engines should have been sufficient to break free of the gravitational pull at your distance from the event horizon. Could it be that sabotage was at the heart of your 300 year nap?" He leaned forward, so his face loomed over Command. "Tell me whose fault it really is that Ferrin was never brought to justice."

Beka saw uneasily that Dylan was shocked. He swallowed and suddenly ordered everyone out of the room and asked Andromeda for privacy mode. There was no use arguing, not even for Telemachus who could have pulled rank on Dylan. The latter would keep silent until the other man left, he said when Telemachus suggested that he stay with the captain.

They filed out without a further word. When the hatch closed behind them, Beka turned to face Telemachus. "The hell do you think that was about?"

Telemachus shook his head. "I only have a vague idea. The Patriarch must have been speaking of my ancestor… perhaps Gaheris and Dylan were engaged in a mission that failed, involving a criminal or some such named Ferrin. Judging by the captain's shock, it must have been a highly classified mission."

"But how would that Genite know about it?"

"There I have not a notion. I can't imagine why the record would have been preserved all this time."

"Too weird."

They stood in silence for awhile, then Beka asked Telemachus how he though the Genites were going to respond to Dylan's offer. He replied briskly that he couldn't say, and Beka could see that he was bothered by the possibility of détente with them. Silence re-ensued until Dylan recalled them to Command.

"If you ever doubted it, I can reassure you that the Patriarch is completely insane," he said as they entered.

The man onscreen chuckled. "You know it's true, Captain. Give yourself time but not too much. After the Knight of Genetic Purity defeat the Magog horde, we will return to cleanse the Known Worlds once and for all of the genetically-engineered epidemic. You have one last chance to give up your laughable Commonwealth revival and join the Knights. You would be most welcome among our ranks."

"My mother was a heavy G worlder. Eventually, you'd come after me."

"As you wish. I didn't really expect you to gain common sense during your 300 year sleep. I'm sorry you're on the wrong side this time," he finished and disappeared.

When Beka asked what had happened while they were out of Command, not expecting a direct reply, he surprised her by explaining that the Patriarch claimed to be Admiral Stark, a famous politician and soldier in the first Systems Commonwealth. She had assigned Dylan and Gaheris to the Andromeda, among other missions, and was also Sara's aunt. The Patriarch asserted that his consciousness have been transferred from one body to another over 300 years as s/he'd rebuilt the Knights of Genetic Purity after their initial destruction by the Nietzscheans.

The man did possess knowledge of classified matters Stark would have been privy to, but his explanation must be false. It was ridiculous from a scientific perspective. Andromeda agreed but added that the Commonwealth could have kept secret such technology from all but top scientists and leaders, unlikely as it seemed.

"Yeah, we can debate the validity of his claims till Harper's Terran cows come home, but I think the Genite mentioned something a little more pressing," Beka said before anyone else could argue the possibility of this Stark's transmitting her memories between bodies. "He said he was going after the Magog. Do we think he's capable of succeeding?"

"You're the ones who have seen these people rise to power. From what I've gathered, they have the best technology around, but if the Worldship can't be defeated solely by conventional force, then they're lost."

Telemachus nodded at Dylan's reply. "They're three hundred years ahead of the rest of the Known Worlds. They didn't lose everything in the Long Night like everyone else did. Tara Zed was able to avoid the worst of the Fall, but we didn't progress as the Genites could. They are extremely dangerous but limited in both membership and originality."

Beka remembered when the Knights of Genetic Purity first declared themselves the saviors of humanity about two years ago. They had the best ships and weapons of anyone – not even the Restors could get to them – and they acted fast enough to crush the main bastions of resistance, namely the large Nietzschean prides, before they could organize.

With all their firepower, they could control large areas of space and the major slipstream nexii, and no one guessed how few of them there really where. Their pool of recruits was necessarily limited; the number of completely unmodified – pure, they said – humans was very small, less than ten percent of the population and as low as three percent according to some estimations; And then they had to find those who combined hatred of Nietzscheans, discipline, and skill in sufficient quantities. Hell, Harper possessed all three to some extent, and he fought against them as passionately as any Nietzschean.

"In any case," Dylan continued, "the Genites rejected our offer of détente, so that's one less thing to worry about. I realize that none of us were thrilled with the idea, and Tyr will be saved the trouble of plotting my unlikely demise. We have three eventualities to plan for now: the Genites will return triumphant and turn their fleet on us; they'll return victorious but weakened; or they won't return at all, and we'll know the Magog are still headed our way."

It wasn't pleasant to hope for a Genite victory; the ideal situation was that the two warring parties would kill each other off. No one had any idea as to how long such a battle would last, for no one knew precisely the level of technology the two had at their disposition. All the allied members could do was wait for news and plan worst-scenario strategies.

The only good news they received was the astounding improvement o their new human allies. Beka tagged along with Telemachus to inspect the troops, citing her key role in arranging the cooperation of the Nietzschean allies, and dying of curiosity to know how "the rabble" was faring under Nietzschean tutelage. Some of the humans wore expressions of relief at seeing the Admiral, others resentment, but Beka had to admit that their training had done them a world of good. It was apparent even in the way they held themselves, straight and strong and quiet. Tyr was occupied elsewhere, so Charlemagne described the methods and exercise they'd employed, tossing sarcastic comments left and right but glowing with pride at the change they had wrought.

The humans performed beautifully in the war games they staged that day. Beka was hard-pressed to keep from being 'shot' – painted with harmless lasers – and managed to clip many less than she'd expected. To top of the surprisingly pleasant day, Telemachus offered to write the entire report for the Triumvirs and dismissed her as soon as they finished the games. Charlemagne took the opportunity to invite her to the dinner they'd been unable to eat earlier, and as she had nothing else to fill her evening, Beka accepted. He apologized that he had not reserved places at a decent restaurant and hoped she would not object to dining in his Spartan quarters.

She doubted the word Spartan could ever be applied to Charlemagne Bolivar, and she was still amazed when she saw how he lived on his flagship. Genuine wood shone, fine fabrics glistened, and even the shadows were velvety.

"Nice digs," she commented upon entering. "Bet your wives love living better on a ship than most queens do at home."

"I'm sure similar thoughts have crossed their minds, but none of them are here with me now. My first wife has recently borne me her second child, and when my wives are not occupied with him and the others, they have their share of excitement aiding me in management of the Sabra-Jaguar Pride. It's quite possible, of course, that they are conspiring to overthrow me and assassinate me before I return, but what would life be without such lively strife?"

"You hardly need the Magog or the Genites to keep life interesting."

He laughed and let her to what she supposed one might call a sitting room were they not aboard a military vessel. A porcelain and silver cutlery set lay on a low table beside a plush divan. A graceful bottle stood near two champagne flutes, and as he went to open it, Charlemagne assured Beka that the beverage would be to her taste, which she correctly assumed to mean it wasn't real champagne but some kind of sparkling fruit juice. The Arch-duke proposed a toast to an enduring alliance, and they clinked glasses.

"Honestly, though, you really think this alliance will last much longer than the defeat of whomever is left after the Genite/Magog confrontation?" Beka inquired once they were seated. She wasn't sure what she was eating, but it was swimming in a garlic butter sauce and tasted absolutely divine.

"Diplomatically, I should hope so, but we are realists, you and I, so I will acknowledge the truth of your words." He picked up a silver knife and spread a pinkish paste on a thin, golden cracker which he proceeded to hand to Beka. "I was not speaking of the larger alliance in which we find ourselves, but our relationship, the Arch-duke of the Sabra-Jaguar Pride and the twice-over ambassador, if I'm not mistaken."

If possible, the pink stuff was even better than the buttery things. Beka reached for the thick-sliced bread in a basket and discovered it was still hot. She never ate like this and was determined to make the most of it, if that meant eating herself sick. "You're not. Do you keep a private chef in your entourage or just multi-talented bodyguards?"

"de Chamonix thinks of himself as a chef before anything else, even his race. He is incidentally from the same world as your Chief Engineer."

"He's a mudfoot?"

Charlemagne chuckled. "Are you so hard on your Terran brethren, Beka, to think them incapable of creating such culinary delights as we have before us? His family has preserved ancient Earth techniques and recipes since before the Fall, even before Earth's adherence to the Systems Commonwealth."

"So, in a manner of speaking, this pink stuff is older than your species, huh?"

"Beka, you are quite a refreshing fount of good humor in these trying times! But please, the pink stuff is properly called 'foie gras'."

During the main course, Charlemagne asked her too innocently about her dinner with Tyr. An amused glint shone in his eyes as he spoke.

"The food wasn't this good, but I did get some… interesting insights into the Nietzschean psyche."

"Tell me, was he good enough to wait until the entrée to disparage your species?"

She sipped her drink. "I don't remember. Tyr doesn't strike me as the gossipy type, and I know I didn't share that part of the evening with anyone."

"You are wondering if I sat in the decorative shrubs with binoculars, so I might read your lips. No, I merely suspected he might say something of such poor taste, given half an opening. The First Regent takes his duty to his son and the Nietzschean people very seriously, and you attract him more than he likes."

"It's truly a curse," she returned with a put-upon sigh. "Do you spend any time listening to our strategic discussions, or are you too busy determining who is attracted to whom?"

"You sound like the man himself, my dear Captain. I pray you will not blame me if I admit that the interpersonal dynamics are by the far the most fascinating aspect of my time here. I shall be sorry when such an intriguing gathering of personalities must one day disband. Will you excuse me for a moment?"

"Sure."

Charlemagne set their dishes to one side beside the remnants of their appetizer and returned from an adjoining compartment with another silver tray that smelled like dessert. After he had seated himself, the Arch-duke lifted the top off the tray to reveal a tall, silver pot filled with liquid chocolate, surrounded by small bowls of fruit.

"If that's real, I will marry you right here." She reached for a raspberry, but Charlemagne gently deflected her.

"Please, allow me." He ignored the tongs atop the silver fondue pot and dipped the berry directly into the chocolate, then brought it to Beka's mouth. Her lips brushed his fingertips, spotted with dark chocolate. "As for your offer, I do not think that the Jaguar Matriarch would approve the match. But I do wish that we shall continue our acquaintance beyond this alliance."

"What do you mean?"

His long, slender fingers found a strawberry this time, dipped it into the chocolate, and fed it to her. "I mean that you may be reluctant to return to a career running cargo for shifty merchants, and it is uncertain whether those merchants will associate with you after you have been such a public feature. I do not mean this as a threat, you understand, but it is a fact I'm sure has crossed your mind."

Beka picked up a slice of peach, dipped it, and served to it to Charlemagne. When she began to bring her hand down, he caught it in one of this and sucked every trace of chocolate from her fingers. The warmth of his mouth, the softness of his lips, and the texture of his tongue sent a shiver through her. This was far from a lecture on how Nietzscheans didn't carouse with humans and much more pleasant, though also quite a lot more confusing.

"I mean that I would like to offer you employment at the highest levels of the Sabra-Jaguar Pride." The man's actions were strongly at odds with his business-like tone. "You would be far from the only human we employ, and I believe positions could be found for the crew of the Eureka Maru, should you insist upon it." He fed her a chocolate-covered slice of pear.

"What exactly would I be doing under you, Charlemagne?"

He smiled a little at her double-entendre. "What you seem best at, Captain, inter-species diplomacy. You can't imagine the risk I am running now, for instance, yet I can't resist the opportunity to spend a few hours in your charming company."

"Risk? You're afraid your mudfoot might have poisoned the chocolate?"

"No, my dear Beka, the risk of inviting your to my quarters at such an hour and feeding you the most decadent food I have to offer. Some inordinately curious people might, you know, construe from the affair that I harbor impure intentions towards you."

"Mm, I can't imagine why. Watch this." After selecting five large raspberries from the bowl, she firmly pushed one onto each of her fingertips. She wiggled her fingers, each adorned with its own scarlet hat. One by one, she dipped them into the fondue. "One for me," she said after eating the berry on her thumb. "I'll keep your offer in mind, but I have to ask, why me? I'm sure you have people trained for the sort of work you're looking for. And one for you." She wasn't just talking about the employment he spoke of.

"Naturally, but such career workers are so unoriginal. They lack spirit and passion and certain touch. I believe such an association would be mutually beneficial for the two of us, and the risks for you, though not inconsiderable, are mild compared to those I should incur."

"One for me. While no one has made me an offer as complete as this, Tyr has assured me of his gratitude, and Dylan trusts me implicitly. I wouldn't like to lose the friendship of either, especially if this alliance falls apart, and any of the parties turns against any of the others. One for you."

"I admire your pragmatism in this matter, I truly do. You wouldn't be nearly so promising otherwise. Rest assured that the parties you speak have will never have reason to mistrust you on my account."

"In any case, we have a more pressing concern before us, Charlemagne. Who gets the last raspberry?"

The lady, of course. Oh, but you've left a bit of something behind, I'm afraid." He brushed the corner of her mouth with his thumb. "Persistent little spot. I can think of only one way to remove it."

As he leaned forward, she asked if he were lying about the bit of something.

"Clever girl," he murmured before kissing her deeply.

What the hell, she thought. He was rich, handsome, and under no illusions whatsoever about the nature of their… association.

"Thank for the lovely evening," Beka said as she finger-combed her hair into order.

"It was my pleasure," Charlemagne returned. He swept her an elegant bow and kissed her hand. "You'll forgive me if I don't escort you home?"

"I'd hate to excite any inordinate curiosity."

She had nearly reached the door when he lay a hand on her belly and whispered from behind her, "I don't suppose I could persuade you to stay with me and become a permanent fixture in my quarters." Before she replied, she turned around, and he kissed her hard against the locked door.

"I've already done the married man thing," she said when they parted. "And besides, Valentines don't do permanent. We're phobic little kludges that way."

He laughed. "I fear you'll never pardon me for that remark. But I don't believe you. One day, you will stumble upon a man who will shock you into commitment, and you won't know what happened. Until then, however, I hope we can make the occasional space on our respective social dossiers for dinner together."

"Why, Charlemagne, I had no idea you were a romantic at heart."

"Nor did I." He pressed the panel that controlled the hatch, and it slid open. "You had best escape before I begin reciting poetry."

"Divine save us from Nietzschean poetry," she said with a smile as she slipped out.

"Good morning, Beka," Andromeda greeted her when she finally docked the Maru in the larger ship's airlock.

"I know you want to ask, but don't. Business meeting went long, and now I'm going to get some sleep."

"As you like."

Beka expected a barrage of questions or at least snarky looks from Andromeda's crew when she entered Command the next morning – or more accurately, later than same morning. But while she'd slept, a courier had arrived with the latest news from the Genite/Magog combat. Dylan and Telemachus looked grave, and Beka paled a little herself when Andromeda displayed images of the battle's remnants.

The Worldship had sustained heavy damage, and the sun at its center had been reduced to a flickering candle flame. Of the Genite ships there was not a piece larger than a human being left. The smaller, sparkling bits were indistinguishable from the stars in the background. Andromeda projected image after image of this mass graveyard, some up close on the Worldship and others shot wide to show the extent of the battle.

"Did the courier know if any Genite ships survived?" Dylan asked, voice brittle – strong but very near its breaking point.

Rommie answered for her ship's self. "Ships survived, but none of the Genites. When the battle began to turn against them and the Magog swarmed their first ships, the Genites opened fire on their own. A handful of infected ships opened slip-portals before their comrades could fire upon them. They delivered these images and logs to San-Ska-Re," – a powerful but neutral world in the rising conflicts – "before self-destructing. As far as anyone know, none of the Magog from the Worldship remain alive in the Known Worlds."

They had fought to the bitter end, but who would ever know why? Each member of the Command crew and the visiting Triumvir was lost in thought until Telemachus spoke up. "Do we know how the Genites were able to damage the Worldship's sun?"

"I can guess that they used a Nova variant, but as powerful as it was from the radiation left behind, it should have completely annihilated the star. The records we received are fragmentary and provided by minor support ships, none likely to possess knowledge of the composition of the modified Nova."

"We must send a scout immediately," the Triumvir said from her place beside Telemachus. Shocked faces turned towards her. "We can mourn for the fallen at hour leisure, but now the Magog are little likely to spare the energy to chase off a small ship which may wander that way. The Genites came near to destroying that abomination, and if we are to try our strength against it, we must know why they failed."

Dylan nodded. "That seems the wisest course of action. Beka, would you do the honors?"

She wanted nothing more than to refuse, but the survival of the Known Worlds might depend on the Commonwealth-Nietzschean alliance now. And the alliance had no pilot better suited for this mission than Beka Valentine. "You can count on me. Just… don't tell any of my crew before I go."

"Of course."

A minute or two before she opened a slip-portal, a clanking noise behind her startled Beka. "Is somebody there?" she shouted, easing her gun from the holster at her hip.

"Hi Beka, it's just me," Trance called out. "Where are we going?"

"I am going to a very nasty place. I think I should turn around and drop you off at the Andromeda."

"No, that's okay. I'll behave, I promise."

Beka regarded Trance, trying to peer past the innocence and soon gave up the effort. "All right. It'll be nice to have someone around when we get there. We're going to see the Worldship." Beka thought Trance should have been surprised, but she just looked sad.

"They killed all the Genites, didn't they?"

"Yeah."

"Evil can never defeat evil, not in the long run."

Beka wanted to cite historical instances when just that had happened, but it suddenly struck her that Trance might not have the same conception of 'the long run' as most people. "So you knew this would happen?"

"I'm not psychic, Beka. The present is so strange that the future is really had to guess."

"I second that."

They traveled in silence for awhile, and then Trance asked without preamble where Beka had been the night before.

"My official answer to that question is a long business meeting, but you're not gonna buy that, are you?" She sighed. "God, I miss the old days sometimes."

"Me too. Be careful, Beka. Charlemagne is a very dangerous man, and if you've touched him, it will only make him more dangerous because he can't allow that.

Beka barked a short laugh. "He'd just as soon kill me as… I know. I'd hate to find myself on his bad side. But dammit, I am sick and tired of moody looks from Tyr, bizarre bouts of protectiveness from Telemachus, and the weirdness between Dylan and Rommie. With Charlemagne, I know where I stand and what he wants from me, and he's willing to ask for it." She smiled. "He said something I think you'd like, Trance."

"Really?"

"He said, in so many words, that one day I'll find my Prince Charming and be barefoot and pregnant before I know it."

Despite the latter's disapproval of the Arch-duke, Beka saw that Trance couldn't help smiling a little at the this. "Well, just because he can see the obvious doesn't make him a nice man."

"Agreed."

It wasn't so bad seeing the Worldship this time, whether because it was her third time in near proximity, because of the damage it had sustained, or because Trance was with her. The ugly chunks of ships weren't as bad as the molecules of human beings Beka knew were floating all around her.

She had been sent in a specialized surveillance ship, something Dylan called an Odin-class vessel, and the amount of information she was able to pick up astounded her. When she looked up from her console to the Worldship, she noticed that the sun at its center looked veiled, even dimmer than it had in the images she saw on the Andromeda.

"Hey Trance, what do you…" Her words died when she saw Trance staring intently at the craft. For the first time she could recall, sweat darkened the purple girl's pixie features. "I think we can leave now. Yes? Okay? Um, brace for slipstream."

Trance was unusually quiet on the journey home until Beka mentioned off-hand that the Genites might have possessed a modified Nova bomb but that no one else had Harper. The girl looked surprised and then burst out laughing. "Thanks, Beka. No wonder he likes you."

Beka didn't want to think about which 'he' she meant.