New York Hope – Yay a new reviewer! And thanks SO much for your comment. I got all wibbly and shippy when I heard him say that precisely because I knew it was the most I would ever get from him on the show. Oh, I knew it all along, but it was nice to hear some sort of confirmation.
B.L.A the Mouse – Oh, she's already sorta regretting it. Some days, you just wish you HAD fired that shot.
-o-
Some days she was glad she had let him go. Angst and guilt on top of the stress of a major life change would have eaten ulcers through her stomach lining. And crying would have ruined her complexion for all the social calls she made, the kinds of visits she had put off a little too long recently and now had to make anyway, to reassure her business associates that the recent upheaval would not affect her relationship with them or her efficiency, et cetera. Her conscious rested easier at night, even if her paranoia was ratcheted up a notch.
And some days, fewer than the first kind, she wished she had killed him. She thought of this mainly when she was around Nietzscheans, who would have done so – and with good reason. She also thought of it when something bumped in the night and made her wonder just what Tyr was planning for his great destiny. When she was feeling pragmatic, she refuted her paranoia with the logic that his destiny had nothing to do with her either way, so she had no reason to hear from him again, and if he did achieve whatever it was, he would probably prefer it that he were alive, thanks to her.
In any case, she had other things to think about. One's head bodyguard slash oldest friend slash fake boyfriend trying to take over one's ship and working up one's nerve to kill one (even if he ultimately failed) was usually the emotional highlight of anyone's week, but when it rained emotional upheaval in the life of Rebecca Valentine, it poured. From figurative dawn to figurative dusk, Beka was on her feet, making plans and meeting people. The life of a lieutenant to a mob general was never dull, but for several days after Tyr… left, Beka functioned at an especially frantic pace.
The worst day started out bad enough. Upon seeing the Path, Charlemagne had liked the ship so much that he decided to stay for a while – the Nietzschean leader and his Nietzschean coterie aboard her ship contributed in large part to Beka's frazzled state of mind. As his new ally and temporary host, Beka was naturally subject to a sudden explosion of publicity, mostly from other important Jaguar officials, and the biggest wig of them all was the Matriarch, who took a personal interest in Beka and insisted on meeting her.
The day Beka awoke to an icy shower was the day before she was supposed to meet with the Jaguar Matriarch, who Charlemagne had described in a suspiciously bland tone of voice as an "interesting" woman who kept in his place. When she relayed a repair request to Harper, she received not the obligatory protest about how mercilessly she worked him but a quiet request that she come to his quarters when she could. His solemnity scared Beka more than terrified screams ever could, so she set off at a jog to see what he wanted.
When the hatch slid open and she saw Trance holding two potted plants, she knew what was coming. Harper's lower half was sticking out of a closet, where he was rooting around and from whence came flying various articles of clothing she recognized.
"Oh, Beka, hi," Trance said tremulously. "Um, we were just… Harper?" She turned away and began riffling through a chest of drawers.
A muffled thump and less muffled curse sounded from the closet, and a moment later, Harper emerged. "Boss, wow, you came over pretty fast. I wasn't… never mind." His eyes darted around the room, settling on Trance for a moment before Beka loudly cleared her throat. He flushed a little and shuffled in place.
"What is going on?" she asked, now more exasperated than worried. "Or are you going to just stand there and make me guess?"
Harper looked royally uncomfortable for a long, silent moment before he burst out, "Me and Trance are leaving, boss. I mean, you don't need us anymore." He scratched his neck and forced a bark of laughter. "I don't think you ever did. I never understood why you kept us on in the first place."
Beka doubted it would help any to admit that she never really understood it either. She had just liked them, that's all. Pragmatically speaking, it probably was best that they leave now. Even before she asked, she thought she knew the reasons behind their departure.
"Listen," she said slowly, "I'd really like you two to stay. The rest of my crew, you know, they're very professional and by-the-book and good at what they do. They're good people to have, but you guys…" She chuckled. "Hell, you remind me of me, in the old days when I was hauling cargo to put food in the mess."
That didn't come out the way she had hoped. Being around Tyr for so long had probably robbed her of her ability to speak clearly about her feelings. She wanted to say that she felt more like one of them than she felt like a member of the larger crew. In another life, she thought they would have made a pretty decent crew, just a handful of scrappy kids making their way through the Known Worlds.
Trance turned back around with a wry smile and held Beka's eye for a long moment. Beka sighed; the girl looked sympathetic but mostly resigned. She knew the feeling.
"Is it Tyr? Is it Charlemagne? What triggered this?"
Harper cut his eyes toward Trance again, but still she kept silent. "It's sorta been coming for a while. Tyr wasn't too bad after awhile… it's weird, but I was kinda warming up to him. But we never fit in, even before what's-his-name ran out on you. You're going to need new people anyway, and your new friend's gonna send in some of his minions…" He laughed weakly, but at least it was genuine laughter this time. "I don't think anyone's gonna want a kludge and a purple pixie mixing with the Übers."
Beka nodded. She could understand that. For her part, she wasn't sure how much she wanted to mix with the Üb… the Jaguar Nietzscheans. At least her remaining crewmembers were a motley bunch, able to hold their own against the eternal criticisms of genetic inferiority. She wondered how many of them would follow Harper and Trance in the next couple of days. She hoped at least that Skaerynet would stay; they had had a pretty quiet relationship but it was steady and dependable. After Tyr, Harper, and Trance, that was the closest she felt with a crewmember.
She focused her attention back on the scene in front of her. Damn, it was hard to be supportive of this change, but she would not blandish them into staying. "Well, listen, if you guys change your minds, you're always welcome here or wherever I'm crashing." She paused. "I'll miss you, both of you."
Harper stuck out his hand and smiled. "Yeah, I'll miss you too. Hey, throw around a coupla good words for us, will you? I know this guy, works at a casino, says he has a job that'll be perfect for me, but who knows."
Beka took his hand and outstretched another toward Trance. "Always. Listen, I don't blame you guys. I probably wouldn't want to stay either, if I were in your place. I wish you would, but I get it." There, that had come out pretty well.
Softly, Trance clasped Beka's hand, and then propelled herself forward to embrace Beka. "Oh… okay," Beka murmured.
"Oh, what the hell!" Harper exclaimed and launched himself at the two women. They were a bundle of squeezing arms and slightly breathless laughter until they separated, all feeling quite a bit more cheerful. All things considered, it was the most pleasant farewell she'd been party to in a long time.
-o-
She did not watch them leave. Their new employer… it hurt a little to think that, way down… had sent a ship for them, so they did not need a last ride anywhere. She would have liked to send them off in the Maru, like a friend would do, but it was not to be. It would have given her a few more days with them, and she would have welcomed spending more time with them. They had not been with her long, not nearly long enough to develop inside jokes and knowing looks. That was another thing she would regret with the little time she had to spare to think about it.
And then she had to stop waxing nostalgic – or wishing she could wax nostalgic – because she had to worry about meeting the Jaguar Matriarch. First, she had to take a hot shower; while she had not penetrated the deeper mysteries of Nietzschean custom and etiquette, she was pretty sure that clean hair was up there with cunning and Sun Tzu. She lathered her hair and rinsed (no repeat), but the hot spray of water and spicy-sweet fragrance of her shampoo/conditioner could not relax her as they often did. And there was no Tyr lounging on her bed to proposition for a neck massage.
Relax, relax, she told herself. With a wry little smile, she thought that Charlemagne would be too happy to oblige if she mentioned it. As she scrubbed expensive soap over her body – soap she had purchased on a rare leisure outing with Tyr, who knew bath products as well as he knew munitions – she wondered if her old Nietzschean were right about her new Nietzschean. She believed she had made herself clear, but Tyr was the most perceptive person she had ever met. But it didn't matter, she wanted to tell both of them; no matter what designs Charlemagne did or did not have on her, she was in no mood to deal with amorous Nietzscheans, sincere or otherwise. They were exhausting enough.
She stepped out of the shower, pulling a dressing gown around her waist when the chime at the hatch sounded. Either someone just happened to request entrance to her quarters when she was getting out of the shower, or…
"Who is it?" she called as she reached back into the shower for a towel. She began ostentatiously rubbing her hair dry, sure she would want the towel for covering soon. She had never minded waltzing around in a robe or less before Tyr, but she had always felt a depressing certainty that he would have managed to resist her if she had performed a lap dance wearing a whipped cream bikini. He might not have liked it, but he would do it. Not do it. Beka shook her head.
"Your devoted servant," Charlemagne called, the grin in his voice positively audible through the bulkhead.
She tightened the robe and told him to enter.
"Well, well," he chuckled, "I do seem to have come at the most inappropriate time." As he spoke, his eyes moved over her slowly, though his view was somewhat obstructed by the towel in her hands.
She invited him to make himself at home and hoped he would not take it as an invitation to… But he didn't; with a murmured thank you, he sank into her favorite spot, the wide ledge before the porthole. "Am I to understand that you are going to be in immediate need of a Chief Engineer and Medic?"
Beka's hands froze for a moment on the towel. He would he have found that out already? She resumed drying her hair with vigor after reminding herself that nothing should surprise her anymore, coming from this man. She had thought the same thing about Tyr, but despite all his warnings, she had still been shocked when… never mind.
"You are," she replied. "Know any good replacements?" In her job, she had become quite adept at convincingly feigning nonchalance. Inside, she was recovering from the shock of his offhand revelation.
"Not personally, but I'll talk with my staff. Perhaps they'll have a colleague they'd like to send off-world."
She laughed a little. What that in mind, she wondered if she could expect to receive glowing recommendations for potential marriage rivals – and then wondered, with less amusement, just how much the rival might resent leaving home. Always a minefield, Nietzschean society, and she was finding herself growing ever more mired in it.
She ducked into the bathroom to toss the used towel out of sight before taking a seat at a safe – but not rude – distance from Charlemagne on the ledge. It was an effort not to glance down and check the fall of the robe, but she was determined to give no sign of how nervous he made her.
"Is it standard procedure" she asked, "that your new friends have to come home to meet the Matriarch?"
Before answering, he stretched his arms wide, then settled them across the low back of the seat. Beka was dismayed to see how close his hand came to touching her shoulder. "When my new friends have such fascinating reputations, it is. Besides, I have no doubt that your employer will soon enough express a wish to know me better. This is not much different." Except, she thought, she was going to flirt with the Ishtar Nikei, Jaguar Matriarch.
"Hm. Is she your boss, then?" The title 'Matriarch' had a sort of motherly ring to it, but it was hard to imagine a Nietzschean materfamilias being very nurturing.
Charlemagne laughed and tilted his head to rest on the back of the seat. "I don't think the word encompasses every subtle shade of our professional relationship, but yes, you could say that Ishtar Nikei is much more my boss than Heinrich Sheroky." She thought his face hardened a little at the mention of the Jaguar Alpha. Oh, she would definitely have to find out what bad blood lay between those two.
Beka did not dare imitate his posture, for fear that her robe would gape, but he looked very comfortable, spread out on her ledge. He obviously had no intention of moving anytime soon.
"And all you're going to tell me is that she's interesting and keeps you in your place?" Well, she might as well try to extract some information out of him for the time being.
He raised his head just enough to grin at her for a moment before flopping back. "I may be saying too much. There's nothing to stop you from looking her up on public records, as I'm sure you've already done, but… I think I'd like you to make as unbiased an impression of her as possible. She's very interesting."
Beka glared at him, and though his eyes were closed, he seemed to feel her disapproval. He smiled up at nothing and changed the subject again back to Trance and Harper.
"I do hope I wasn't the catalyst behind your friends' departure," he commented without even a stab at sincerity.
"Actually, you were," she snapped, half-serious in her annoyance. She had already come to know that Charlemagne was not quite a typical Nietzschean; apparently this extended to a penchant dropping by for gossip. She felt like she should offer to make tea or something and dish. "It's funny, but some people don't like being accused of genetic inferiority."
Charlemagne shrugged. "It's the truth, but nobody's perfect. If it makes you feel better, I give you full license to accuse any of my people of intellectual inferiority. In most cases, you'll be correct." He sounded almost like Tyr for a moment, deploring the sorry state of the Nietzschean race. Ouch. Derail that train of thought immediately.
Despite herself, she had to smile at that. "Right. They may be intellectually inferior, but in most cases, they can kick my ass, and we all know it."
"That's why it behooves you to practice the ancient art of the fast draw." To demonstrate, Charlemagne leapt up from his recumbent position faster than Beka's eyes could follow, drew his gauss pistol, and pointed it, charged, at her forehead.
She crossed her arms and tried to look unimpressed. "I pity the man who challenges you to a duel at high noon." She was sick of men pointing guns in her faces, and before she could weigh the implications of such an action, she had jumped to her feet and wrapped her hand around the muzzle of the gun, aiming it toward the deck.
Now she was much closer to Charlemagne than she had planned, and by the slow smile that spread across his face, he was not entirely surprised at this sudden proximity. Bastard had played her like a fiddle.
"Is this something you learn?" she asked after a silent beat. "Wielding this sort of ominous closeness as a weapon? Because it gets old." Her heart was hammering in her chest, but she was beyond caring. Her physiological reactions proved her point, really.
"It comes up," Charlemagne admitted. "Especially in regards to the fairer sex. You're right." But he made no move to step away.
Beka released her grip on the gun. "Glad we got that out of the way. Next time you stop by, you could leave the gun in your quarters. You don't need it to make your point."
Charlemagne cocked his head to look at her quizzically, with a bewildered smile. "How is that you always end up reprimanding me during our conversations?"
Dammit. If there's one thing he could do, it was make her laugh in the midst of her irritation. It was hard to stay mad at someone like that. "Because no one else does it. I am going to make a resolution right now to find you a wife, Charlemagne, who will reprimand you thoroughly, whether you deserve it or not."
Finally, Charlemagne backed away, and Beka could breathe. She made her way to her dresser, hoping he would read the get-out signal on his own. Apparently he did, for when she turned back, he was standing near the hatch. "Now now," he said chidingly, "be careful what you wish for."
"Get out," she replied but couldn't help smiling as she did so.