A/N: Oh noes! I noticed when I went to upload this chapter that the previous chapter was sitting here, just waiting to be posted! So you get two chapters at once. Yay for my forgetfulness?
-o-
Beka froze inside the airlock, gazing outside. As the Path had docked, she'd had a moment to take in her surroundings. Businesses rarely bothered to decorate their hangar decks with much more than simply painted hull plating, if that. With the constant stress of pressurization and vacuum, any efforts at ornamentation would not be worth the constant need for maintenance.
But Club Kublahn had invested in much more: holographic projectors behind thick glass gave an illusion of a sea port for its arriving and departing guests. She had just enough time to see the Path appear to descend among gently lapping waves before Charlemagne came strolling toward her, stepping carelessly on the sea and ignoring the projected piers.
And she froze, much to her chagrin. Here was the man who had tried to kill her more times than any other individual, smiling beneficently. Dammit if did not truly look happy to see her. The thought came to her in a flash that there must be something deeply wrong with someone who could smile so brightly at a person he had wanted dead for months. Beside her, Tyr said nothing but let his hand come to rest gently on her lower back. She turned her head to give him a wry grin and looked ahead again, back at the Jaguar Arch Duke. He had probably chosen to walk on the holographic sea for effect, a little joke about walking on water.
The airlock opened with a loud hiss, revealing a perfectly composed couple, watching the approaching party wit matching expressions of very mild interest. A huge, stately Umbrite led the way, followed by Charlemagne and a man she took for his bodyguard. The Umbrite gave Beka and Tyr a small, stiff bow. In a voice like breaking rocks, he bade them welcome to his establishment and assured them that their privacy was his utmost concern.
"I have no doubt it is," Beka replied coldly. People like Charlemagne and Darjella could afford to be charming with strangers, but Beka had found that people took her more seriously when she affected this haughty attitude. And if she were completely honest, she would have to admit that she could not help thinking of herself as a plain ol' freighter captain again when she tried to charm people.
"Yes," Charlemagne added in a jovial tone, "now that we're all utterly convinced of your discretion, shall we adjourn to a more pleasant setting? Not that the docks aren't… quaint." Beka glanced down to see that she too was standing on the azure waves, so realistic she almost felt the ground lurch underfoot.
In a gesture she had been fearing for no reason she could quite articulate, the Arch Duke offered her his arm. It occurred to her that perhaps she had not fully appreciated the solid security of Tyr's arm when it was available. She would have much preferred it right now.
As soon as her fingers touched Charlemagne's silk-sheathed wrist, he turned to face Tyr with the innocent, surprised expression of one who had just discovered one's social faux pas. "That is, of course, if Mr. Anasazi does not object." His humble tone fooled nobody, but if she had not known him – and if the very idea of asking a man if he could touch her had not irked her – Beka thought she might have been taken in. Even as he spoke, ostensibly asking Tyr's permission, he covered her hand with his own, warm and soft. And strong underneath that cultivated softness.
She wished she could see Tyr's face as he answered, though she knew it would give away nothing. "I'm sure she's perfectly safe," he rumbled. It could have meant anything.
"I'm so glad we agree." With that, Charlemagne dismissed Tyr to begin a steady stream of small talk with Beka which lasted until they reached their destination, an opulent lounge bathed in a buttery yellow glow by real candles, dimly reflected off leather furniture and polished wood. Also doubtless real.
It came as a bitter disappointment that the touch of Charlemagne's flesh did not make her skin crawl and worse, that he was pretty funny. As Beka was trying to horn in on outlying Jaguar spheres of influence, they knew some of the same people, and Charlemagne did some startlingly accurate impressions of their mutual acquaintances.
"But I'm telling you" he growled, as Ghimphoten, a Nightsider with an unfortunate penchant for leather, "the swamps must be preserved at all costs! I have beautiful memories of eating my brothers and sisters there to rise to the top of this miserable dung heap. It was the only time in my life I was happy!" He grimaced and twitched his eyelid and audibly ground his teeth.
Beka was turning red from the effort of not laughing explosively when the maître d' bowed them to the chairs. She was sure that Charlemagne knew just how hilarious he was, and his knowing smile as he watched her coolly accept the Umbrite's direction confirmed it.
"If you ever tire of plotting murder and abortive weddings, you might try a comedy tour," she commented as casually as she could, trying not to picture Ghimphoten grimacing and twitching just as Charlemagne had. "I'm sure the kludges would love it."
A shadow, dancing fitfully in the candlelight, fell over them. That smug grin never left Charlemagne's lips as he tilted his head up to look at Tyr, arms crossed and legs planted in the hand-woven Makra carpet. He might as well have been carved there for all his apparent intention to move.
"Relieved as I am that you did not visibly attempt assassinate Captain Valentine during your stroll, I'm afraid we've reached the limit of just how far I trust you, as I believe this marks the boundary of how far I could throw you." He must have practiced folding his arms like that in front of a mirror, Beka thought, to achieve maximum bicep exposure.
"Tyr Anasazi, you do yourself too little credit. With the proper persuasion, I'm sure you could heave me fully to that far hull." As if to give an example of such persuasion, he stretched out an arm to rest it on Beka's shoulder. He would just laugh if she shuddered, so she bore it stoically.
"Besides, we both know I would not leave this compartment alive if I laid a hostile finger upon the captain." He squeezed Beka's shoulder lightly, in what would have been a friendly gesture coming from almost anyone else.
Tyr raised a questioning eyebrow at Beka, who answered with a minute shrug. He returned his gaze to Charlemagne. His mouth tightened briefly, but he left to sit in a chair at the opposite end of the lounge from Charlemagne's guard.
"In case you're wondering," he said airily to Beka, "your devoted first officer will not be able to hear us converse. Club Kublahn is equipped with sound dampeners that prevent conversation from being overheard from a distance of more than a meter or so. I'm sure he'd like to lip-read from his position, but our host has also installed… strategic shadow projectors, we might say, to combat that possibility." So that was why the shadows hung so heavy on this place.
Beka glanced at his hand and then up at him with a trace of a sweet smile. "In that case, he doesn't have to hear or see me request that you take your hand off me before I feed it to you in a highly unconventional fashion."
"Charming," he chuckled as he set his hand on the armrest. "If I had ever bothered to take the time to meet you, perhaps I would not have sent those incompetent blunderers after you." He cocked his head thoughtfully. "Or if I had been really determined, I would have spent quite a lot more money. Good assassins are so hard to come by. You took the best out of the field, you know."
He crossed his legs and adjusted himself so that he was facing Beka little more directly. His gaze settled on her, and Beka was shocked to discover how much it felt like Tyr's, never mind the differences between the two men. It must be a Nietzschean thing, either inherent in the gene code or taught from birth, the science of unsettling stares. Fortunately, she was used to Tyr's dark, penetrating eyes and returned the look easily enough.
From personal experience on both sides of the fence, she knew that a common tactic of intimidation was for the intimidator to sit and stare at the intended target until the target became so uncomfortable that they started chattering just to cut the silence. What they said when they chattered could be very interesting, but sometimes it was enough to establish a vaguely menacing atmosphere. She would have wagered money that Charlemagne was attempting to intimidate her in just this way into saying something, thereby setting the mood of the entire meeting. Having successfully applied this tactic in negotiations and meetings of her own, Beka was not about to fall for it.
She gazed steadily back and him and let her mind wander. The Ne'Holland situation was becoming unstable again; if the king and his lackeys could not secure the planet, she might have to consider quietly throwing her support to the five barons. Darjella was insistent about keeping a hand in Ne'Holland politics, and she was right to do so. The planet was located at a major slipstream nexus, used by Darjella's friends and enemies alike. Aristocracy or monarchy, personally she did not care much if one or a handful of people ruled over the people of Ne'Holland.
"In more than one way, rumor would have it," Charlemagne said suddenly. Beka blinked and tried to remember what he had said before this. Oh right, taking Tyr out of the field. Having failed to intimidate her, Charlemagne was probably going to subtly interrogate her now, and gossip was always a good place to start.
"It's a clever idea," he continued, "the sort of long-term image building people don't go in for much anymore." Beka maintained her neutral expression, but inside she was roiling with surprise. A clever idea? Had he seen through their façade after watching the two of them for so little time? It had occurred her more than once that their pretense at a relationship was useless; that it should be so transparent at well worried her.
"If I didn't so much want it to be a ploy, I wouldn't have seen through your charade. You're lucky that most people will want to see it, either because the romanticism of the whole thing secretly delights them or because they want to believe that one or both of you is truly so foolish. Mostly the latter."
He shook his head, wearing a look of open admiration. "Do you have any idea how many people would love to know that you two aren't actually viewing the universe through a rose-colored haze? I promise you, the assassins and negotiators would become much more expensive, and you would become much more interesting to certain parties."
If he was expecting her to say something, either affirming or denying what he was, he was disappointed. Beka kept her mouth shut, aware that he would doubtless read the truth after a few words, no matter what she said. She hoped that he was telling the truth about "most people", at least. Maybe that pretense was not so useless after all.
After a few silent seconds, he continued speaking. "I myself have constantly maintained a particular persona for years now, and I like to think I've been successful. Ask anyone on the proverbial street what he thinks of the Arch Duke Charlemagne Bolivar of Pride Jaguar, and if he has any idea at all who I am, it will be quite unflattering.
"Of course," he sighed, "this business with Elsbett has complicated the matter of my reputation. I can hardly allow her to live to fight another day, but if I'm seen being cruel and clever in this affair, I'll have wasted years of effort perfecting my milquetoast façade. Most of the people who believe me to be one or the either end up dying very quietly, which you refuse to do. You're doubly dangerous to me, Captain, and it's absolutely thrilling. I swear to you, I get chills just thinking about what we could accomplish together."
Ah, this was her cue to actively join in the conversation. "Yes," she replied dryly, "the power of our combined mythomanias could bring the Known Worlds to its knees." She widened her eyes dramatically and waggled wide-spread fingers in a gesture of mock warning. "No one will ever know again if A really is A."
This elicited what sounded like a genuine laugh from her companion. "And she's well read! Captain, you are a dream come true. And you're perfectly right." He leaned in close and lowered his voice to a murmur. After what he had claimed about the club's anti-eavesdropping features, Beka was certain this posture was mere theatrics.
"Please indulge me, my good Captain." The idle thought struck Beka that along with unsettling stares, Nietzcheans must also learn from infancy the art of the velvet whisper. "What will the people see? A frilly fop of a Nietzschean and an Uber-mad human, serving her crime lord faithfully and without any apparent chance for promotion. I couldn't keep a proper Nietzschean mate, and you could not keep your dignified Kodiak lover. So we settle. Snickers all around."
Beka could picture what he described and what would follow. While they were universally mocked, Pride Jaguar and Darjella's syndicate would quietly join resources and influence to exert serious control over a good fourth of Triangulum and moderate sway over important events much further. If there was some possible way to retain Tyr's goodwill – or at least extract a promise of neutrality – they could reach a level of power, both soft and hard, enjoyed by very few others: the Matriarch and Alpha of the Drago-Kazov Pride, Darjella herself, the Than Overdiamond.
But alliances between Nietzschean and non-Nietzschean, especially human, collectives were historically unstable and short-lived. The Nietzscheans either became jealous of their allies or contemptuous, while the allies tended toward arrogance or paranoia. It got bloody after that. Even the great Systems Commonwealth had not proved immune to this law of history.
Her lips twisted into something halfway between a smile and a sneer. "Right, and they'll laugh even harder the day of your sudden but inevitable betrayal. Ha ha." She cursed mentally as soon as the words left her mouth. Where she had meant to sound sarcastic, a trace of bitterness had tainted the effect.
Charlemagne raised an eyebrow and glanced to where Tyr sat, a hulking silhouette in the artificial shadows. That infuriating, knowing smile crept across his face. "Oh, I see. Betray you once, shame on me, betray you twice, et cetera. He hasn't, but you both think he will. He isn't looking forward to it any more than you are, is he? Why, I wouldn't be surprised if your Kodiak was actually harboring regret over what he must view as his role as savior of his race." When he chuckled, Beka tightened her hand around the armrest to keep herself from slapping him. "How charmingly star-crossed."
It was a great effort to force a convincing yawn, but Beka managed. "If you wanted to indulge in gossip, you should have warned me. I would have brought ice cream and nail polish and hair brushes, so we could properly dish. Have you heard the rumors out of Mobius? The ruler is supposed to an utterly mad architect, keeping himself alive by growing clones and harvesting the organs. Makes you wonder what all's working, you know?" She waggled her eyebrows and grinned. "Wonder if there's a Mrs. Mad Architect or if he goes for the classic harem."
"Fine," Charlemagne replied. "You win. We'll leave Anasazi out of this."
Beka smiled tightly. "Glad to hear it."
"After one last observation." He took her hand. "Just a minute, please." He turned her hand in his so his thumb rested on the inside of her wrist. As he spoke, his thumb moved in slow, soft circles over the fragile flesh. Bastard.
"I find that the very best lies are rooted in truth, Captain. If you should agree to my proposal, I would by no means fail to show you the affection and passion you both deserve and could so easily inspire in the greatest of men."
Dammit. After Tyr's sincere confession of his mingled certainty that he would betray her and his reluctance to do so, this flattering prose felt so damn good. It was fluff, sweet and lighter than air and worth a lot less, but the only times men had ever spoken to her like that were in the feverish adolescent fantasies fueled by bad holonovels. Irrational anger flared up, and Beka had to work hard to tamp it down before she answered. The last thing she needed was for Charlemagne to know he was getting under her skin.
"Let me get this straight," she said lightly. "In addition to building an alliance which probably won't last the year, I'm supposed to transfer my fictional affections to you? To be honest, I like to think my persona has better taste than that."
Charlemagne disengaged his hand from hers and leaned back into his chair, lean and graceful under his silks. The tender expression was gone, replaced by his habitual smirk. "It wounds me to contradict you, Captain, but I feel I must. Surely you are aware that neither of us suffers from the usual character flaws which make such alliances so fragile." The smirk widened. "As for the matter of your taste, I agree completely, but I flatter myself that your affections will not be entirely false once you've come to know me."
Beka shook her head. It was not a display of disagreement as much as an attempt to clear her head. This was all becoming a little too surreal. She kept silent for a moment, organizing her thoughts, before she replied. "This is all very slick, but I don't see why the sham romance is necessary. If you'd like to try," she emphasized the word, "building some sort of business relationship, I… suppose I might be open to the suggestion. But this whole charade strikes me as a little ridiculous." For now, she added silently, but there was no need to concede that aloud.
The smirk faded almost completely as Charlemagne nodded slowly. "Perhaps a gradual beginning is more appropriate. We shall have ample opportunity to hone our strategy." He sat up straight and held out his hand, somehow appearing smug and questioning at the same time.
Beka heaved a sigh and wrapped her fingers firmly around his outstretched hand. They shook, and to Charlemagne's credit, he did not attempt to squash her fingers in a last effort at intimidation. In fact, he possessed a depressingly excellent handshake. Maybe he would prove more useful as a friend than as an enemy after all.