A/N: Look, an update within a reasonable amount of time! I'm so proud! I hope a reader or two is out there enjoying this despite my terribly erratic updates :).
-o-
When Beka's alarm blared the next morning, she groaned and rolled over, muffling her ears with the pillow she'd clutched all night. It didn't help, of course; the alarm grew louder and louder as time elapsed, and with a frustrated shout, she stumbled to her feet and ordered it off. She stared morosely at her reflection in the mirror, then trudged to the bathroom. The hot water was off again, and although she could have used a cold shower the night before, the incident only served to heighten her wrath.
In the mess, sitting beside the milk in the fridge was a new pie, covered with mounds of toasted meringue. She glared at it for a moment and returned to her room without eating. When she finished throwing on another outfit she had spent too much time picking out, she asked for the time and discovered that she was running a quarter of an hour late. She could not imagine how that was possible, when she had neither showered nor breakfasted as long as usual.
She clambered into the Maru, having decided to leave the Andromeda in Skarynet's hands for the day, and sped toward Castalia, where a member of the president's cabinet awaited her. He sighed loudly when she left the Maru's airlock, and the noise echoed around the enormous hangar.
The man awaiting her wore a complicated contraption, presumably the device which allowed him to breathe the air. He was very pale, with blue spots like scales marching down his temples. "I am Triton Abadur, undersecretary of State." He extended a stiff hand to her, which proved to be clammy and limp upon shaking.
"The President wanted to be here to welcome you aboard," he whined, "but he was called away by business. He is a very busy man."
Beka barely kept a straight face. "As presidents often are. Well, I'm yours for the day. Convince me that President Chandos did not extirpate the Volsung." Dominque had used that word yesterday, and she had made a mental note of it. Extirpate. It sounded very serious.
"You've obviously met with Mayae already," the man sneered at her. "All I need to do is show you the results of the official investigation. Our people did a thorough job, as you will see." His eyes narrowed, and he started to say something else, but closed his mouth abruptly and appeared to think something over. "You mean President Lee."
"Lee?" Beka asked. "I thought Chandos was your president." This was just getting more and more embarrassing.
"He is, but Sebastian Lee was president when the accident occurred."
"Alleged accident," Beka snapped. "I'll need to see all documentation of the incident, as well as the investigation and any memoirs the president may have left behind."
The device on the man's chest bubbled as he glared at her. "Let us be clear, Captain. You are here as a courtesy to the Volsung survivors, but you have no official standing with the president."
Beka gritted her teeth and sat through a day of video and memos flickering across a viewscreen in an empty conference room. Not only was it all immensely boring, but she could not see a single hole in any of it. The scatter and composition of the debris, what they could find, aligned perfectly with the munitions misfire conjectured to have caused the explosion. What was more, Beka could see little reason for President Lee to sabotage the habitat; the Volsung were already defeated, and from what she had learned of the man, he was a builder, not a destroyer.
The only shady detail Beka noticed during the entire course of her investigation was the death of the former president. Three days before he was to transfer power to Chandos, he died of an assassin's bullet. The accused was a diplomat from a minor planet, who escaped in a shuttle to his very well-defended home, proclaiming his innocence all the while. Beka thought she might as well contact the man, maybe even get some vacation on her meager expense account if he insisted on talking to her in person. She hoped he would.
Just as she was finally making her way back to the Maru, Beka found a figure leaning a little too casually against her ship. Short, slender… Beka caught a gleam of a blond curl and almost screamed with frustration. Dominique Mayae pushed herself off the bulkhead and strode toward Beka, face set with just a touch of tightness around her eyes and mouth.
"What have you found?" she demanded without preamble.
Beka made a disgusted noise and keyed open the Maru's airlock. "I'll see you tomorrow," she promised, "but I am exhausted right now. People are going to think you're threatening me, and I'm not inclined to tell them otherwise."
"I have no mode of transportation back to the asteroid," she said in an oddly defiant tone of voice. "I would be greatly obliged if you would take me home."
Beka hurried through the airlock, hoping it would hiss shut again before Dominique made it through, but no such luck. Her brisk footsteps echoed and clattered on the grille. "It would serve you right if I left you behind. See how the Castalians like you sneaking on their base."
"Captain-" Dominique began, somewhat huffily, but Beka cut her off.
"I'll take you back to your rock, but don't count on winning any points this way." Beka said as she strapped herself into the familiar pilot's seat and started the liftoff sequence. Normally at this point she warned her passengers to hold on, but she was so annoyed with Dominique that she hoped the woman did take a tumble during launch.
After a few silent minutes, Beka spoke up again. "You have to know the case they're making. It's airtight."
Dominique was hanging on tightly to a nearby console. When she replied, Beka was shocked to hear a note of despair in those clipped tones. "I know very well what they have shown you. I mean no insult, but it may be difficult for you to understand the vitriol in those days toward the Volsung. That my people were killed near the end of the War of Unification, just as Castalia was looking toward the future, was simply too convenient to be coincidental."
Beka sighed. In a strange reversal of the usual, the Nietzscheans were the underdog here, and she had always had a weakness for that. "There is one lead I have," she said grudgingly. "That's all you're gonna get from me, though. I'm going to contact him as soon as I get to my ship." She hesitated, guessing that this was terrible time to bring up the other item that weighed on her mind. Then again, if she did not find any evidence to support Dominique's claim, there would be no good time anyway.
She glanced sidelong at Dominique, who kept her face carefully blank but nearly vibrated with tension. "There is one other thing," Beka began slowly. "It's um… It's a personal matter. Nothing to do with this investigation." She paused. "At least, not directly."
A slight widening of her eyes belied Dominique's curiosity. "What is it?"
Beka glanced down at her sensors, hoping the trip was almost over. She feared that Dominique's refusal of her proposal would leave them sitting in an awkward silence, not only for the duration of this voyage but for the rest of their time together. But she could not turn back now.
"I was thinking… I'm sorry, I really don't know how to go about this," she admitted with a weak chuckle. "It's not something I've ever had to think about." Dominique watched her patiently, and Beka suspected that she saw the tiniest quirk of amusement around her lips. "It's about Arch Duke Bolivar. I was very, um, impressed by the way you… handled him yesterday, and it made me… wonder…" She trailed off and hoped Dominique would catch her meaning.
They stared at each other for a silent beat, and then a definite grin crossed Dominique's face. "I think I understand. Captain Valentine, are you proposing that I take the Arch Duke as my husband?"
Beka let out a long breath and nodded. At least that part of the conversation was over. "Yes, exactly. I know it's a little forward and probably highly inappropriate, given our working relationship."
Now Dominique was studying her, head tilted to one side, as if she were seeing Beka in a whole new light. "Then it's true," she said wonderingly. "You are his… his consort."
This was another moment Beka had been fearing, ever since she had discussed this with Charlemagne. She thought quickly; technically, she did consort with him, if by 'consort' she meant 'associate'. Beka knew very well what Dominique meant, and while she did not trust herself to outright lie to the woman without being caught, she had no problem making false implications.
"Yes," she replied almost immediately and tried to look modest. "You don't sound surprised."
Dominique looked thoughtful for a moment. "I had heard rumors of your relationship with the Kodiak Anasazi. It was considered quite ridiculous, a slur on both of you. But then Anasazi disappeared, and you emerged with your ship on the arm of the Arch Duke. The rumors began again, and here you are, living on the same ship as Bolivar. No, I cannot say I am surprised."
Beka pretended to study her console very closely as she fought to keep a straight face. So the latest gossip making the rounds was that she had killed Tyr? Oh, that was too precious. And good for her, she thought with a touch of pride. She wondered if that had contributed to the Castalian government's decision to allow her to conduct this investigation; she had supposedly demonstrated her ability to keep one Nietzschean in line.
"Well," she asked when she had composed herself again, "what do you say? You'd be his First Wife, you know." She fidgeted a little during the long pause that followed and rejoiced that they were nearing the rock-hewn hangar of the Volsung asteroid.
"I will speak with the Matriarch," Dominique finally answered. "It is an intriguing proposal." She lapsed into silence for a moment, then turned to look at Beka directly and spoke again. "And will you retain your relationship with Bolivar if he and I should wed?"
Beka opened her mouth, then closed it. For half a minute, all she could do was try not to gape at Dominique. "I… I wouldn't want to step on your toes," she replied carefully. Charlemagne had never mentioned whether a lover was expected to remain a lover after her significant other married.
Dominique's eyebrows rose by a hair. "You must not think me heartless." A touch of affronted dignity colored her voice. "Though you are not a Nietzschean or married to him, as his consort you do have rights. You misunderstand me."
She hesitated, and Beka realized with some shock that the woman was choosing her next words with great care. "I simply hope that you would not deprive me of my husband when you no longer wish to associate with him."
Beka had to bite her lips and clench her fists as hard as she could not to break out in wild laughter. Dominique was afraid that she would dispose of Charlemagne like she was supposed to have disposed of Tyr when she got sick of him. It struck her as very strange that the woman could ask such a question of the person with whom she planned to share her husband. She did not quite know what to make of it but assumed that her good qualities were seen to outweigh her tendency to kill her Nietzschean lovers when they bored her.
"Well," she replied in what he hoped was a casual voice, "as long as he doesn't betray me like… Anasazi did, I'm sure I won't see any reason to treat him the same way."
Dominique gave a small, understanding nod. To her, it apparently sounded completely reasonable that Beka would promise not to kill Charlemagne so long as he was nice to her. "Then I shall be proud to call him husband and you sister."
Sister. Huh. Beka had never had a sister before but doubted that she and Dominique would ever end up painting each other's toenails. She wondered distantly if Nietzschean women ever got pedicures. She sneaked a glance at Dominique's hands, gripping the armrests of a seat she'd slid into, and noticed that they were very well tended. Perhaps the very low-ranking members of the Pride performed such menial tasks as manicures.
"Me too," Beka replied. Her mouth was dry, and she noticed that her hands were clammy. She fervently hoped Dominique wouldn't take their time alone to ask about Charlemagne's skill in bed. At least give me a day or two, she thought, to make something up.
To her great relief, the Volsung cleared them to land a minute later, and soon Beka had escorted Dominique to the door with a promise to discuss the matter further. She returned to her ship as quickly as she could and hurried to the mess, where she ordered a cup of hot tea from the Path's dicey autochef. It delivered something steaming and fragrant, a different variety than what she'd ordered but close enough.
She slouched in one of the chairs and let the aromatic cloud envelop her. It was too hot to sip just yet, so she closed her eyes and leaned back in the chair, alternately thanking the Divine that Dominique had accepted and panicking about what that acceptance meant for the future. The woman was going to discover, if not sooner then later, that Beka in fact was not Charlemagne's lover and had rejected the offer several times.
"Could've thought that one through a little more," she murmured into her teacup. "Ah, it's for the best."
She sipped her tea and pondered the issue for awhile, savoring the silence that settled around her. For this half hour, at least, no one was asking anything of her. She tried to relax, but her mind insisted on returning to Charlemagne and Dominique. Beka was certain that Dominique would react badly upon learning that she had misrepresented herself, but it was the height of silliness to consider jumping into bed with Charlemagne just to please his future wife.
And that led naturally into Beka re-examining her reasons for not jumping into bed with Charlemagne. The more she thought about it, the more she became convinced that it was not the bed she objected to as much as the jumping. Well, she was wary of the bed and of the whole affair would wreak on her, but it appeared that the sell-by date she had been fearing might not come so soon after all. That assumed she could deal with Charlemagne marrying Dominique, which was far from certain.
The fact remained, though, that there might be a future. And for Charlemagne to be so determined, maybe he could come to love her. Deep down, she knew she was afraid that once again she would fall for a man who could not or would not allow himself to return her feelings, but he had shown no signs of that.
So. Where did this leave her? She was reluctant to jump into something with Charlemagne, but by the time her tea was down to the dregs, she was determined that she would try something. As she thought, she tapped the teacup with her fingernails, and she almost dropped it when the answer occurred to her.
She laughed aloud and dashed out of the mess to the Obs deck, where the Path maintained a lush hydroponics garden. Trance had tended it too, once upon a time, and it was flourishing even in her absence. After several minutes' perusal, Beka grabbed a pair of shears Trance had left and began cutting a few of the blossoms. She forbade herself to stop and worry about what she was doing and instead strode to Charlemagne's quarters so quickly that she was out of breath by the time she arrived.
She juggled the bouquet to her other hand and wiped her sweaty palm on her shirt. After calming her breath, she rang the chime and pasted a bright smile on her face. For a distraction, she wondered how Charlemagne had decorated his quarters; she could hardly believe that she had never seen them.
The door slid open to reveal the Arch Duke, wearing a thin dressing gown over silken trousers. His hair was slicked back to his skull, and droplets of water clung to his chest. "Captain Valentine," he said in a warm, surprised voice. "This is a pleasant surprise." He glanced at the flowers. "Shall I put those somewhere?" His eyes lingered on her, quizzical, as he turned to admit her into his quarters.
"Oh, yeah, good idea." She edged past him and gazed around her. Through another hatch, she could see his bedroom and tried not to blush. Elaborate tapestries decorated his suite, depictions of events she could not begin to depict. Where a tapestry did not cover the bulkhead, simple curtains of violet hung in every shade between red and blue. A low table set with a silver tea service sat near scattered thick cushions. All in all, it looked like the preservation of a historically significant manor or maybe an extremely classy brothel.
Charlemagne returned after a moment with a cut glass vase filled with water and the flowers. "Thank you," he said, "they're lovely." He watched her for a moment and smiled. "Make yourself comfortable. May I ask to what I owe the pleasure of your visit?"
Despite his smile and polite warmth, she could see that he was confused. He was also behaving just a shade more stiffly than usual with her, probably annoyed with her after last night. While she did not exactly feel guilty, she did hope she had not put him through too much… discomfort.
"Oh, you know," she said lightly, easing herself on a pile of cushions. "Just dropped by to… see your quarters. They're very nice. Um, I have news for you."
He sat down near her but not close enough to touch her. She knew by now how he liked to sprawl, and on these cushions he could do so to the full extent of his limbs. "What news is that?"
She looked down at her hands and took a deep breath. "I spoke with Dominique about… about marrying you. I mean, about her marrying you. She seemed to like the idea." She glanced up at him and looked away again to the vase. "But there's another thing." She was being ridiculous, she told herself. This was hardly the first time she'd asked out a guy who was too shy to approach her. The situation wasn't quite the same, but there was no reason for her to be this nervous.
She took another breath and this time kept steady eye contact with him. He raised an eyebrow, and suddenly Beka felt all her tension melt away. She could not imagine why; maybe he just looked too good for her to think about feeling nervous, lounging like that and completely focused on her. A grin spread across her face. "Get a shirt on," she ordered. "We're going on a date."