Title: Revelation
Author: MouseBebe
Rating: PG
Summary: Tyr wants Beka to open a door. For some reason.
Spoilers: Music of a Distant Drum, Una Salus Victus, Tunnel at the End of the Light
Pairing: None
Setting: Roughly between "For Whom the Bell Tolls" and "And Your Heart Will Fly Away"
Disclaimer: Tribune owns all rights to Andromeda.
Archive: Do not archive without express permission.
Feedback: Constructive criticism welcome.
Author's Note: Just a one-shot little bit of fun.
Three weeks to the day after lifting from Marduk, Beka heard someone step onto the Maru. She waited to see who it was, curious as to why anyone would be coming aboard at this time of night. It was late enough that she was only up to finish running a routine test on one system before bed, after all, and she was surprised to see Tyr looming at the door to the engine room. He didn't seem surprised to see her. "Tyr?"
"Beka."
She waited, but that was all he provided. It didn't seem like he was just stopping on his way through to another part of her ship, either, as he stood there without moving. After a few seconds she went back to her task, trying to ignore the steady gaze fixed on her back. She wasn't sure what he was up to, but whatever it was could probably be dealt with after she was done.
He must have realized what she was doing, or at least suspected it. As soon as the beep signaling the end of the test went off, he cleared his throat. Not loudly or obnoxiously, but reminding her he was there, as if she'd be likely to forget. She looked back at him once she'd checked the results. "Can I help you?" She may have been a touch sarcastic.
He chose not to acknowledge it. "You can." And nothing more.
After another long moment of silence, she prompted, "With?" She wasn't sure why he was playing with his request like this.
This time the pause seemed less for effect and more out of hesitancy. "I am… inclined to discuss something with you and, for full understanding, I require you to open a door."
"Okay…" She stood slowly, considering. It was remarkably short of actual detail, but she was intrigued now. "Would opening this door be likely to get me hurt or killed?"
"No." The response was reassuringly quick.
"Then why aren't you doing it?"
"Our good captain has ensured that I can't. You, however, may be able to."
She was a little surprised at that. Why would Dylan had cut off access to part of the ship, especially with so few of them aboard? She was also surprised at the depth of anger that made it into Tyr's voice for the short statement. She put the equipment she'd been using back into its case. "Are you trying to break into his quarters or something? Plant a booby trap?"
That seemed to surprise him. He even looked a little amused for a second. The serious expression returned quickly, however. "No. He has made it impossible for me to access something of mine for his own self-interest, something that I have no intention of using against him." Again, anger crept into his voice.
"So you want me to get you access to something of yours, with my main risk being annoying Dylan, in order to tell me something?"
"Essentially."
She considered it, letting him be the one to wait this time. She had been planning to just go to bed, but she didn't have to right that second. Besides, now she was curious. And frankly she was still a little annoyed with Dylan herself after some of his more recent stunts. She set the case down. "Sure, why not? Lead the way."
He didn't respond immediately. If anything, she'd think he was taken aback by her relatively fast agreement. Maybe he was anticipating more pushback or questions? He recovered quickly, though, nodding before turning and leaving the engine room. She paused a moment before following. She may have been curious, but cloak-and-dagger intrigue could get her killed just as easily as it could provide a rush. Still, Tyr had assured her it would not, and he had yet to actually get her killed, and she was reasonably sure that he still viewed her as an advantage to his survival. So she went.
It was a very quiet walk. The ship was already on night mode, and they met no one else. Tyr barely spoke, only to indicate which deck to get off the ladder at. She was surprised to see him stop at the entrance to one of the cargo holds. "Here?" What would Dylan have closed off here? What kind of spare parts were stored here? Then again, there were those months he'd had Harper building the bombs that the rest of them hadn't known about…
With that in mind, at his nod, Beka made sure she was not right in front of the door when she pressed for access. Tyr did likewise, as well as waiting a beat before stepping inside. When she followed him it was actually a letdown to see a normal cargo hold, at least judging by the crates' labels. The item that he led them to, however, was neither Commonwealth standard nor from any of the shipping companies she knew. It was still familiar, though she couldn't immediately place where she'd seen it before.
While she tried to remember, he told her quietly, "I brought it aboard at Midden." And yes, that was why it was familiar, the enormous box that he'd told them at the time was his.
"And Dylan locked it up? Why?" Of all people, she would have thought Dylan would have respected Tyr's desire to have part of his past accessible, especially with all he'd done in relation to his own.
"Control." And that was all he offered. She would have asked more, but Tyr produced a thin wafer of circuitry and slipped it into a the control panel on the box. She wondered at the very Nietzschean vocal code: "retribution" for what? But before she could voice that question, either, he opened the lid in a gush of fog.
She wasn't quite sure what she was seeing for a minute. Sticks? Rags? The the cloud settled and it made more sense. A little more. "A corpse? You're mad about Dylan sealing off a corpse?" She blinked, still sorting through it. "Why do you have a corpse?"
"Not just 'a corpse.' You are looking at Drago Museveni. The first Nietzschean." He sounded in awe just telling her that.
"So… a historically significant Nietzschean corpse."
It was his turn to blink. Was this something she had missed, or was it just a Nietzschean thing to assume Humans knew or cared about Nietzschean history? He explained, slowly, "The Kodiak held the remains until we were betrayed by the Drago-Katsov. Whoever has them has a great deal of the balance of power for all Nietzscheans. Only he can verify the truth of someone claiming to be the reincarnation of Drago himself."
"And… Dylan took that away from you. After you took it from the Dragons. That's why you said it was yours."
"Precisely."
"Huh." Beka sat on the nearest crate, still studying the mummy while she absorbed what Tyr had just said. She had a feeling this was one of those things that was long on legend and short on fact, which she generally found interesting and would definitely have to look into- like whether there were any other valuable Nietzschean artifacts that could be relocated, for example. "So… why me?"
Tyr didn't answer immediately, instead closing the lid of the sarcophagus carefully and reverently before retrieving the key. It took him longer than strictly necessary to tuck it into a pocket and turn to face her, and even then he didn't rush to meet her eyes. "I needed to access this bay to verify the condition of the remains."
When he didn't volunteer any more, she asked again, "Why me? You didn't just bring me here for a history lesson, did you? Because if all you needed was access, then why didn't you ask Harper and what else did you want to 'discuss' with me?"
"I doubt Harper would be interested in the remains."
"No, but he would have been about to get you in and out without Rommie knowing, and I'm still not sure why you think I'd be."
"Outside of your fascination for fenceable antiquities?" The statement was matter of fact and without sting, despite his choice of words. He still rested a hand protectively on the metal lid. "I can check any DNA sample against his, not just a potential reincarnation. Of all the crew, you and I are the most closely related to him."
"So we're what, third cousins?" The flip response came quickly, despite her surprise. "Is there some kind of club or mailing list?"
Again he looked taken aback. "Did you realize you had Nietzschean ancestry?"
"Well, no," she admitted, "but it's not like my family kept a family tree or anything. I have no idea where all of my genes came from." She shrugged. "For all I know, someone served on Dylan's original crew. I have no idea if one of my grandparents was Nietzschean or not."
Tyr opened and closed his mouth at that without saying anything. The lack of knowledge couldn't have been a surprise, but maybe for his people it was rank heresy. After a beat he came to sit next to her, but carefully maintained several centimeters of space. Finally he came up with a response. "While I'm lacking knowledge on the original crew's bloodlines, I can tell you that it was not your grandparents but farther back in your maternal line. I was limited in what information was available, especially from the smaller prides. We are not, however, closely related, and you do not appear to have any obvious links to Kodiak."
"You checked?"
"Wouldn't you?"
"Um. Yeah, I would've." She sat for a moment longer and stared at her umpteen-times-great-grandfather's coffin. That was a strange thought. "So, thanks for the family reunion?" Beka stood. "Unless there's something else?"
He might have hesitated briefly. "You may not want to broadcast your genetics, even among Nietzscheans. The larger prides can be status-driven even within themselves. I doubt it would provide you much advantage."
"That's not exactly news. All that pushing and shoving to be the top of the heap can't be limited to the rest of the universe." She turned to the door before realizing what he hadn't said and turning back. "What about the smaller ones? The prides. You only mentioned the larger ones. Same thing?"
"The smaller prides." Even though he hadn't obviously changed his position, Tyr's whole body suddenly radiated tension. He stood, paused, took one abortive step towards her.
"Yeah. Status-driven too, still not any better than any other Human, keep my mouth shut, etcetera?" But that didn't answer why he was abruptly tongue-tied rather just laconic.
"Smaller prides are… also status-driven. But they also tend to value numbers. Some of them will… perform genetic sleights of hand, including intermarrying with those who are not entirely Nietzschean or even breeding with part-Human slaves."
He was all but wincing at the end. It didn't take much for her to remember his cross-breeding crack of a couple of years before. She felt ever so faintly smug. "Small prides, huh? Like Kodiak?" He actually did flinch at that hit to his pride. She nodded as if she didn't see it and was taking the information at face value. "Good information. Thanks. Glad we talked."
Beka was fairly sure that the sound she heard as the door closed behind her was fists on a large metal box.
The End