A/N: I know, I know, more ridiculous story lag. Laptop is back at the doctor, which is great for writing time but terrible for posting time.
-o-
Back aboard the Path, standing her shift in Command with the remaining skeleton crew and a couple of Charlemagne's staff, Beka watched the message Darjella had sent. In a crisp charcoal and pale pink pantsuit, the woman looked almost respectable. Onscreen, the gangster tore a frothy little scarf from her neck, balled it in her fist, and threw it to the floor.
"The hardest part about buying FTA votes is blending in with the suits," Darjella complained. "I'd much rather spend some quality time with our genetically superior friends. You've probably seen by now that they have the most interesting sense of style." After pacing for a few moments, she flopped into a long, narrow seat. Beka suspected there was some kind of name for that article of furniture: something vintage Earth in any case, judging by the fabric and dimension.
"I hear you're meeting with Ishtar Nikei. Is she still wearing the straps? I admire that." She paused. "I'm rambling, I apologize. You've become a magnet recently for Nietzschean… well, diplomacy isn't the right word. If it all goes wrong and I end up with the Prides united against me and mine, I'll have to kill you, but if you can develop some lasting relationships with the right people, I'll give you the margarita recipe my kids would kill each other to get."
Darjella had children? It was jarring, somehow, to think of this woman who coordinated criminal activity and spoke so casually of having people murdered teaching toddlers to walk and talk. And like Ishtar, Darjella had recovered an amazing figure, though Beka bet that she could do the same with the best trainers, nutritionists, and surgeons money could buy.
"So I'm taking you off your usual and sending you on a… again, diplomatic isn't the right word, but a sort of friendly mission. I've attached several articles for you to read, but here's the gist of it: during their War of Unification, Volsung pirates were harassing the various and sundry peoples of Castalia. The Castalians wiped out their fleet, and the rest of the Nietzscheans were killed when the civilian habitat exploded, smoothing the path toward official peace on Castalia. Could have been an accident, suicide, or cold-blooded genocide. God knows how, Beka, 'cause I sure as hell don't, but your name came up as a potential mediator between the government of Castalia and the handful of Volsung who were off-world at the time. Since neither party really knows who you are and therefore has nothing against you, you got the job. Someone special either really likes you or really hates you, Beka. Good luck."
The message terminated, leaving Beka staring thoughtfully into the starscape on the viewscreen. It made sense, in a cynical kind of way, for someone to have nominated her for this delicate position. The Castalians, whoever and whatever they were, were unlikely to trust any Nietzschean, and the Volsung would insist on finding a person sympathetic – or at least, minimally hostile – toward Nietzscheans. Most of the fraction of the population of the Known Worlds who fit that description were strictly businesspeople who could not afford prejudices and who the Volsung probably could not, in turn, afford.
Whether she had actually been nominated or whether Darjella had nudged her name into a hat, she could not say. But once her name would have been mentioned, Beka could see all too clearly what had ensued. Beka Valentine? Working for Darjella Milein, con. Currently working in a nebulous business relationship with Arch Duke Bolivar, pro. Survived years working closely with notorious Kodiak assassin, pro. For that matter, survived years working for Darjella was pretty big pro. Scaring off poachers and setting in place poachers of her own… hard to say. At the very least, it spoke to some kind of cunning. But what had shot her to the top of the list was Darjella's assurance, Beka was certain, that Beka would investigate the case for a minor stipend, not a full consulting fee.
"You hear that, people?" Beka called to the assembled crew, "we got a job. I want you to dig up everything on Castalia, the Volsung, this War of Unification… whatever you can find."
One of Charlemagne's staff, a stocky middle-aged man who wore a beret every time Beka saw him, looked back at Beka. "Seventy-five thousand Nietzscheans died that day," he rumbled.
When he did not continue, Beka said slowly, "Um, thank you. Someone write that down." She glanced over at beret guy, who had returned to his usual stony indifference. Lance, she thought his name was. Lance Michelangelo or something. Along with their sense of style, Nietzscheans had the most interesting ideas about naming their children. With his beret, dark red that day and burnt orange the day before, Lance embodied both trends nicely.
One of his wives ducked her head, and Beka thought incredulously that she spotted a soft, fond smile on her face before she hid behind the weapons console. This same woman had nearly fired upon a Jaguar vessel who had strayed to close to the Path, and when Beka had insisted upon opening a channel instead of firing, they had discovered that the woman's half-brother was piloting the ship. She had smiled that smile again and ducked her head in just that way. Skarynet, who was by now Beka's longest-serving crewmember, exchanged a quiet look of amusement with her captain before returning to her sensors.
Later, she was recounting the episode to Charlemagne in the mess, sharing one of the pies which had begun turning up with unaccountable regularity there. She had no idea what the fluffy green mousse atop the crust was, but it was delicious.
"That would be Artesia, Lance's first wife. If the Castalians show any signs of hostility, you'll want her at weapons. If the Castalians threaten to kill everyone on board, you'll want to save her before anyone else… except me, of course." He smiled around his fork and left a smudge of green at the corner of his lips. If it were possible to engineer such a feat, she would swear that he had done that on purpose. Tyr had never stooped to such… never mind.
"Thanks for the advice, but I'm saving myself before any of you. After that, it's a coin toss." She rubbed the corner of her mouth with her thumb, but Charlemagne just smiled a little quizzically at her. "And Skarynet gets a seat in the escape pod before either of you. I've known her longer, and honestly, she's nicer." It was impossible not to smile a little as she teased the Arch Duke.
Charlemagne dropped his fork with a flourish and lay his hand over his heart. "Nicer than I?" His eyes were wide. "Captain Valentine, you wound me. Am I not the personification of nice? Nice made flesh, as it were?" He tried to look beseeching for a moment, then looked down at the pie. "You can have the last slice, if you like," he said magnanimously.
She rolled her eyes. "Even if I do, you'll still have some saved for later." Once again, she rubbed hard at her cheek and this time Charlemagne caught on. The look of surprise on his face was genuine, Beka thought with no little surprise of her own. A very faint flush of embarrassment stained his pale cheeks, but it disappeared quickly under a startled, and then hearty, laugh.
After a brief moment of shock, Beka joined in. His laughter was infectious, and he was much freer with it than… nope, not going there.
"Do you know who bakes these pies?" he asked between bouts of laughter.
Beka shook her head, unable to form an articulate response between gasps.
"Michelangelo!" he cried, and that sent them both into further gales of giggles. Beka knew just enough of Earth history to find that statement incredibly funny, and the image of the be-bereted, chiseled from granite Nietzschean fussing around the kitchen added to the hilarity. Artesia probably perched herself on a countertop and ordered him around, maybe whacked him with a wooden spoon for good measure.
Tears were streaming from her face by the time she quieted herself, still dabbing her cheeks with the back of her hands. "Where do you find them?" she finally asked when she could pronounce words again. "All my engineer ever did was litter the Machine Shops with Sparky Cola cans." She chuckled and shook her head. "No, he was a good kid. Seriously though, not even Trance made pies."
She leaned back in her chair and scraped the last puffs of green from her plate. Sighing happily, she licked the edge of her fork and let her eyes fall half-closed. She idly pulled the fork along her bottom teeth, listening to the whine of metal on her tooth enamel and enjoying the cool line on her lip.
"Beka?"
She reflected that she was glad that Charlemagne had only called her 'Rebecca' one time that she could recall. Everyone who had called her that very much, she thought suddenly, had betrayed or abandoned her in the end. What a depressing idea. She opened her eyes to see him focused wholly on her, posed lazily with his chin resting in his hand above an elbow propped on the table. But like any self-respecting Nietzschean, he used his gaze like a weapon, sparkling blue eyes pinning her to her seat and making her heart pound. Dammit.
"Is there any way I could make you reconsider my offer?" he purred. "You look so delectable like that. It's such a waste that there's no here who properly appreciates you… hasn't been for awhile, I understand."
Oh, that was low, Beka thought resentfully. Hitting below the belt, so to speak. But too many years of experience with handsome jerks had given Beka practice resisting those eyes.
"There isn't," she replied, hoping she sounded light but not dismissive. "It's not that you aren't sexy as hell because we both know you are."
He chuckled quietly at this.
"If you had found me before certain other parties, I'd probably be stupid enough to accept," she continued, still smiling to soften her words, "but you see before you a hardened woman of the world."
Usually he gave up gracefully at this point; Beka hoped dearly that he would do so again. Foolish as it might be, she had begun to think of him as a friend, and she did not like hurting the feelings of her friends. He was one of her only constant friends these days, she realized with a disconcerting jolt. The thought made her miss Trance and Harper, who had never asked anything this difficult of her. She'd rather be eating pie with them.
Charlemagne did not stop there. Somehow, he caught hold of Beka's free hand before she could retract it and brought it to his lips. Gently, he turned it so her palm faced up, and he kissed her on the sensitive skin there.
"Before I met you," he murmured in that silky voice, "I assume that you would fall like a ripe apple into my hands." He still held her hand, and his warm breath on her wrist made her shiver. Nietzscheans never played fair. As if he could hear what she was thinking, he lowered her hand back to the table and then began stroking the thin flesh at her wrist. Not fair at all.
"Then I met you, and you were madly infatuated with the Kodiak." This served to beak a little of the spell, and she tried to tug her hand away. His grip remained firm, however, and she desisted.
"You were easy to read, but not him. Not until he tried to seize command of the Path." His lips quirked. "You wondered, didn't you?"
She shook her head. "Not at the end. I'm only human, but I'd bet money I knew him as well as anybody." As much as he let anybody know him. She shrugged as best she would with one hand held captive. "He was honestly unhappy. He thinks he has this great destiny, and he won't let anything stand in his way."
"Not even the woman he loved."
Okay, that was it. How had Charlemagne thought it was a good idea to talk to her about Tyr, anyway? She jerked hand then, and he released her. Who tried to seduce somebody by telling her that someone else had loved her?
"Beka," he called just before she reached the hatch.
Reluctantly, she turned to see him walking toward her. She watched him, expressionless, as he came closer. "What is it?" she demanded when he was a little too close for comfort. "No, don't answer that. How is it I can go from thinking you're a decent guy, as far as people who've tried to kill me go, to hoping never to see you again the next?" To her shame and horror, she felt her face heat up and sensed tears prickling behind her eyes.
"It's because I lose all sense of subtlety and patience around you," he replied. "With you..." he hesitated, "and with him. I'm not offering you a lifetime, but I can make you happy right now."
Part of her believed him. All she had to do was let down her guard for a moment, and he would sweep her off her feet. Sex, attention, power, and a reliable friend for the rest of her life. It could all be hers so easily. But hardened though she proclaimed herself to be, she could not go through all of that again. Not without love, not without a future.
And maybe he could love her, in his way, and probably the Matriarchy would not object if he consorted with her for awhile, but she knew there would be a sell-by date looming, assuming he didn't get bored with her first. That part of her that wanted to say yes reminded her that she had not been in a healthy relationship in ages and that she had come to doubt whether she could belong in one.
"If you want to make me happy," she said after a long pause, "you'll let me get some sleep. I have to slip us to Volsung territory tomorrow and that's when the real fun starts." She halfway managed a wry grin, but it faded quickly when he did not respond. "You said I'm easy to read, right? Why can't you see that I'm not ready for… any of this?" She didn't want to add that she doubted she would ever be ready for the kind of friends-with-benefits relationship he seemed to be offering her. Not with him reminding her so much of Tyr sometimes.
"Wishful thinking," he answered and did eventually produce a small grin. "You're right, you have far too many demands on your attention at the moment."
"That's right, like finding you a wife." This time Beka's smile was genuine.
She returned to her quarters and after a good cold shower, flopped into bed and stared at the overhead for a while. She really did like Charlemagne, liked their easy rapport and liked that she could talk with him without all the baggage that used to accompany her conversations with Tyr. If he truly did believe her this time, that would be one less thing to weigh on her mind. All she had to worry about now was conducting an investigation into genocide with Nietzscheans on one side and public opinion on the other.