Punch. A rush of pain shot up from Beka's fist, through her wrist, and up into her arm. Blessed emotional release followed. Another punch, on the other side, followed by a kick. The punching bag, dressed up like a tough-guy in black leather and silver chains, recoiled in fear, its links crying out as they bashed against each other. Good. It had better be afraid. She laid into it.

God. Punch.

Damn. Kick.

Nietzscheans. Punch.

Her lungs burned, breaths punctuated with frustrated growls. Her heartbeat played out in staccato, sweat soaking into the back of her shirt and dripping down from her forehead, salty drops threatening her eyes. She would be sore in a few hours, just in time to open diplomatic relations with the Drago Kasov. She heaved forward with force, slamming her first into the bag. A sharp pain jolted up to her shoulder, a guttural shout escaping into the air, reverberating off the bulkheads.

"Whoa, Boss, what did the punching bag ever do to you?" Harper asked through labored breaths. She stopped and turned to face him, shaking out her arm, grimacing as it let her know just what it thought of her antics. In the silence of the room she heard the rhythmic pounding of Harper's feet on the treadmill, continuing on his Sisyphean journey, a wireless biosensor node flashing on his temple, the machine adjusting speed and incline as needed to keep his heart rate in the correct range to build strength and endurance.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Trance asked. Beka stooped down and grabbed a small pewter towel off the ground beside her feet and wiped her forehead, moving her eyes to the side so Trance was in view. She lay back down on a weight bench, arms stretched out like wings, bent at the elbows forming and L, a light dumbbell in each hand. Beka winced, noting that her shoulders pointed towards the ground, extending backwards instead of parallel. With such light weights, it wouldn't matter, but she needed to learn now before she graduated up.

Too bad Tyr isn't here to teach her, Beka thought and then regret washed over her. Tyr was a Pandora's box of memories and emotions that needed to remain locked away. No one needed more Nietzscheans in their life. Especially not her—and definitely not that one. If he were alive today, what would he think of her, knowing she was his matriarch? What would she mean to him?

God damn Nietzscheans.

"Trance, watch your form," she said, ignoring both Trance's question and her wandering mind, taking a step toward her friend. Before she was even halfway across the room, Harper was already off the treadmill and spotting her. He placed his hands under her arms and pulled them up until her shoulders were straight, then guided her in the motion of the exercise. Seamus Harper, personal trainer. Would wonders never cease?

"Do it like Doyle showed you, or you'll need a chiropractor when you're done."

"Okay," Trance replied with a nod. More surprising, this seemed routine. He remained behind her as she did her reps, pulling the weights up above head until they were almost touching and guiding them back down again. Each time her arms strayed, Harper stepped in to correct them, receiving a small smile as reward. Beka watched the ease of their interactions with an eyebrow raised. It had escaped no one's notice over the last week as Trance became more mobile that wherever Harper was in his off-duty hours, so too was Trance, but this was the first time she'd observed them in action.

It seemed new, exceptional, worthy of comment, but only compared to their life on Seefra and the year leading up to the battle with the Abyss. War, trauma, literal separation, these things changed people, drove wedges between them, created emotional distances difficult to traverse. Even she and Dylan were still learning to trust each other again.

What she saw now was something old and familiar returning. Something comforting to experience, like a favorite childhood novel, or a beloved song playing in the background. It was a throwback to the days when Trance and Harper looked for excuses to work on projects together, when they bet non-existent fortunes in late night card games on the Obs Deck, when Harper would tell Trance he missed her after away missions.

Beka's father once said the truest tests of friendship weren't the good times, but the bad, when the Universe hit you hard and everything seemed shattered, torn, and irreparable. These moments tested the glue that held you together. True friends would come together over and over, despite time, despite distance. He'd had few of those when the end came. If he were right, though, the score was now Universe 0, Harper and Trance 2.

The weights clanked as Trance put them down. Harper jumped over to their gym bags and tossed her a towel which she caught as she sat up, dabbing her soaked hairline and the back of her neck. The three of them had been working out together for an hour, Trance going through a list of exercises assigned by Andromeda, not thrilled, but uncomplaining. A model patient doing her duty while Harper and Beka grudgingly did what they must in order to stay in shape—complaining plenty, setting a terrible example for their friend.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Trance asked again. Beka sauntered over to the bench and took a seat, picking up her water bottle along the way. She gulped down half of it before answering.

"What's there to talk about? The Dragons agreed to arrange a meeting and the day before our scheduled tête-à-tête the ship I am supposed to rendezvous with takes part in a slave raid on a human settlement. Exactly how am I supposed to take that?"

She'd had enough problems before learning she was the mother of all Nietzscheans. Staying alive ranked number one on that list. Keeping Dylan and her crew alive number two. Now, she was, in part, responsible for so much suffering in the Universe. All because she fell for the wrong man. Again. He had violated her, stolen her DNA, and used it to create the race destined to destroy civilization.

Harper was running again, faster this time, a break-neck pace, feet pounding out an angry tattoo on the belt. The Dragons took his childhood, took his parents, and took his home world. Hell, according to Harper—she had yet to ask Trance about it—they'd even taken Trance's sister-in-law when they destroyed Earth.

Her DNA did this. Hers.

Now, as she tried to make amends in whatever way possible, the Dragons were testing her boundaries.

Children.

Toddlers, really.

Dangerous, murdering, out-of-control toddlers, with genetically perfect adult bodies. And she was their mother, the one who needed to bring them in tow. She didn't even like children.

But she had to do this. The Universe needed her to. Her friends needed her to. If she brought them together, made sure future generations were safe, kept human children free from chains, and stopped more worlds from turning into Earth, maybe she could find peace in her eventual retirement. Maybe it was the salve to cool the burning guilt inside.

"I think they want to see what you will do," Trance said. "But, I don't like it. It feels… wrong." She stood up and stretched out. Up close, it was clear she was already putting on weight, the hollows of her cheeks rounding out. As she lunged forward the barest outline of muscle showed on her too thin calf. At least something was going right.

"Of course it feels wrong, Trance, they're taking slaves," she spat. The words left a bitterness in her mouth, the taste of rotten kiva fruit lingering on her tongue. She wrinkled her nose and took another gulp of water as if it would help.

Trance stood straight and shook her head. "I don't know. It seems like more than that. This is deliberate. It is simple to confirm the DNA scans you sent them with a sample from you, proving you are the Matriarch, yet they are grandstanding, trying to anger you, or goad you into action. They must know it won't take long before you have the fleets of other prides backing you, including many of their allies. So why do this?"

"I'll tell you why Trance," Harper snapped, voice hoarse from exertion, "the Dragons have no honor, nothing more to it. Those bastards like to torture humans. You think they will let their human matriarch get in the way?"

Beka winced at the venom in his voice. A worried 'v' formed above Trance's nose and Beka's lips pulled downward. Both of them turned to look at Harper. He slammed his fist into the control panel with a loud thwack and the belt cut off abruptly. He stumbled and caught himself on the hand rails. Anger dripped off of him like the sweat on his brow. His heartbeat tracked in sharp, angry peaks on the monitor beside the treadmill.

"It's more than that, I just can't figure it out." Trance said, her voice so soft Beka had to strain to hear it. The other woman's large eyes remained fixed on Harper, standing before them, jaw tight, shoulders rising and falling as he gasped for air, cheeks flaming red, and t-shirt soaked through from the pace he'd been keeping. Beka caught on. Trance didn't want to talk about the Dragons in front of Harper anymore. Anger made him reckless. Anger clouded his judgement and silenced his better angels, forcing him to go against his heart, never mind the cost to his soul. Neither one of them wanted to push him into that dark place on accident. They'd seen the toll it had taken on him enough over the years.

This right here was the reason she was heading over to the Dragon's god forsaken slave ship instead of bringing a delegation to Andromeda where she'd be a hell of a lot more comfortable. The wounds from Earth were too fresh. For all of them, if she were being honest, but Harper most of all. If she had a choice, she would stay far away from the Dragons until these wounds were at least scabbed over, no longer bleeding and weeping. But to get the Nietzscheans to the table, the Dragons, with their massive fleet and even larger chip on their shoulder, had to be dealt with swiftly. For that, she needed to see where they all stood.

It was looking a lot like a battlefield.

I am your Matriarch. You must do what I say, and I order to you stop taking slaves, she thought, trying it on for size. Ha, good one Valentine.

The three of them stood in place, pieces on a game board, unsure of their next move. A flammable energy surrounded them, ready to explode with a single spark. Right, time to change the subject.

"Oookay, that's enough of that. Any big plans for either of you?" Not the smoothest or the least obvious of segues, but it would have to do. At least it didn't involve Nietzscheans.

Trance made the first move, walking over to her gym bag and pulling out an insulated cup. "More exercise, a long nap or two, nothing but excitement on the schedule for me." She didn't sound excited. Harper wasn't the only one with frustration churning beneath the surface. They would need to address it, and soon, but not right now.

Trance unscrewed the lid and took a sip, her nose wrinkling and lips curling in disgust. Harper, picking up on Beka's not-so-subtle cue squeezed his eyes together in a tight line, took a deep breath, and forced himself to relax as he exhaled. His shoulders remained tight, but he put on a surface-level playful smile and turned to Trance.

"How come when you drink three milkshakes a day it's healthy, but when I try to it is a 'poor life choice' and you and Rommie talk about scheduling physicals?" He asked her. A sad attempt at humor, but Beka would take it over raw anger and pain—emotions she felt responsible for—any day.

"Because when you do it, Harper, it is a poor life choice." Beka retorted with an eye roll, earning a smile from Trance. Trance took another reluctant sip.

"You don't want to drink this shake anyway, Seamus. It's a concentrated blend of protein, fat, and nutrients with a tiny amount of sugar attempting to redeem the flavor. Try it." Trance handed the cup to Harper. He took a large drink, all cockiness and swagger, then grimaced, a child discovering that coffee smelled far better than it tasted for the first time. He gagged as he swallowed and Trance laughed out loud. Beka too, relishing the sensation of letting go for a brief moment.

"You drink those three times a day? What did you do to piss off Rommie?" He asked, handing the offending cup back. "Have you considered plugging your nose and gulping them down?"

"And get a… what do you call it? Ice cream headache? No thanks. They are even worse warm. Rommie wants me to keep drinking them until I gain eight kilos."

"It can't be that hard to gain weight. I do it accidentally all the time. If I had to gain eight kilos, I would be living it up with cakes, cookies, and pasta."

"Somehow, I think Trance would like to put on some muscle with that fat and avoid malnutrition," Beka teased.

"And I cannot eat nearly the calories I need. I am trying."

"No kidding," Harper said, making a jab at Trance's rather large appetite.

She had missed this. The friendship. The banter. All three of them working together as a team. She'd even missed Harper and Trance's bickering. Ignore everything that had happened in the last two years and they could almost transplant this moment back into the 'good old days'. But, nothing was the same and a nagging concern pulled at the back of her mind, prompting her to interrupt.

"Hey, should you two be sharing germs right now?" she asked. Harper with his damaged immune system and Trance with one less than two months old, probably shouldn't even be breathing the same air. Trance pursed her lips and tapped her fingers on the side of the cup. She didn't look at Beka, keeping her eyes down. Harper also avoided her gaze. She hadn't missed this. They were hiding something.

"Well, I have been developing immune boosting nanobots for years to help Harper, but I could never get them to work right. I have had a lot of time to think lately and realized what was missing a few days ago. We made the modifications and can use them now. They still aren't ready, not really. I wanted something longer lasting. These will die out in a week in Harper's system, and only 48 hours in mine, so we have to inject them on a schedule, but they should stop Harper from catching most of the illnesses the rest of you avoid and prevent me from becoming as ill next time I catch something."

That sounded reasonable, and wonderful. Every other shore leave resulted in Harper coming down with a cold, and the last time Andromeda had a crew of almost five hundred people, it seemed like Harper was sick every two weeks. Plus, anything that prevented Trance from spending time on Med Deck as a patient was reason to celebrate. Except, Trance was only two weeks out of Med Deck and under orders to take it easy. And they both understood that.

"Trance, that's great news, but you should be resting." Beka said. Trance's stiffened and her eyebrows slanted down towards her nose, lips pressed into an annoyed frown.

"So everyone keeps telling me," she snapped. She turned around picked up her bag and set it on the weight bench next to Beka. Gathering her water bottle and towel, she stuffed them into the bag with more force than necessary, pulling the zipper shut in a quick, sharp motion. Then, she stopped, standing as still and straight as a pillar, neck curved, chin down, lids half shut. She breathed in slowly and let it out again, her expression softening. She looked up, offering an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry, Beka. I didn't sleep well last night and I am hungry right now. It is making me a little cranky," she said after a long pause. Beka wanted to press, to dig into what was bothering her, to offer her help. But, out of sight of Trance, Harper gave a tiny shake of his head.

Guess who was getting grilled as soon as Trance was out of earshot?

Beka reached out to her friend and put a hand on her arm, just above the wrist. "It's all right, Trance. You are entitled bad moods like the rest of us. We'll chat later, okay?"

"Thanks, but a bad mood is still no reason to take things out on you. I am grateful you came to spend time with us this morning." Trance picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder.

"Me too. Sorry I have to kick you off the Maru today."

"It's not a problem. My quarters on Andromeda are nice too." she replied. Harper gathered his things together.

"Want me to walk you to your room?" He asked. She gave him a warm smile and shook her head.

"Thanks for offering, but I have to stop at Med Deck for a check-up. I'll have to check my busy schedule, but I think I can squeeze you in for lunch," she joked, winking.

"Yeah, lunch. See you in the Officer's Mess," he replied.

Was that disappointment on Harper's face? As far as she could tell, they spent upwards of five hours a day together. Surely he wouldn't miss a five minute walk and a lift ride? Beka turned her attention to Harper in case he tried to sneak out.

"I'd like to have a word with you before you leave, Harper." she said. He swallowed and gave her a nod, squirming under her gaze, probably checking off a mental list of everything he was trying to hide and wondering which secret scheme she had unearthed, or wondering if she would quiz him on his role in Trance's nanobots. This time, he wasn't the subject, but let him squirm. He'd likely earned it.

Trance turned to leave, took two steps forward, then turned around, lips parted, worry etched into the skin around her eyes. "Beka, please be careful this afternoon. I don't believe you will like what you find over there," she said in trademark, enigmatic, Trance fashion. Beka tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. Then she shook it off. Trance was speaking from experience, nothing more, and the last thing Beka wanted to do was remind Trance of the powers she'd lost.

"I plan on it," she replied. Trance nodded, lips pursed and turned on heel to leave before Beka could say anything else. Six years and what seemed like a lifetime since meeting her and Trance's sudden pronouncements still surprised her. No matter. There was a different Trance mystery to unravel just now.


What the hell was he in trouble for this time? For once, he had done nothing to draw Beka's ire. Not since they left Seefra. Between battles, complete ship overhauls, trying to find his people, and all the time he had been spending with Trance, there was no time for trouble.

"Hey boss, listen, I swear I've been a space scout since we left Seefra," he said as Beka turned to face him, words tumbling out of his mouth at the speed of light. He stopped speaking, taking in her her raised eyebrow and amused half smile. Not in trouble? That was a relief.

"I'm glad to know for once in your life you aren't trying to make life harder on everyone else, but that isn't what I want to talk to you about." She patted the bench next to her. He took a seat, hands on his legs, eyes on Beka, ready to run if needed. He didn't always know where they stood these days.

"Well then, what do you wanna talk about?" he asked. Beka sighed, her eyes moving to the door Trance had left through a moment before. She motioned towards it.

"I want to know what that was all about. Trance wasn't just hungry." Her tone both held the command of a captain who expected an answer and the concern of a friend. Great. No brushing this one off and he didn't feel comfortable giving Beka a straight answer. How did he keep getting into situations that required empathy and good judgement? Those were not qualities he excelled at. Ask anyone.

"Well, she could have been hangry. We had breakfast almost two hours ago. That is almost a lifetime with as much as Trance eats these days," he joked. Beka's eyebrows spoke for her, their angle saying 'I am not in the mood for your joking.' Or, maybe they were saying 'It isn't polite to talk about a lady's eating habits.' See, he could read body language.

"Harper, that was outright grumpiness. It takes a lot to get Trance to that point and you know exactly what is bothering her. Don't deny it."

How did he say this diplomatically without placing blame?

"It couldn't possibly be because everyone on this ship is busy telling her what she can't do when she is trying to show them what she can do? She's bored and Dylan won't give her a straight answer on when she can get back to work."

Yeah. That was diplomatic. Way to go, Seamus. You want her on your side.

"Trance is still sleeping twelve to fourteen hours a day, can barely stand over fifteen minutes, and can't even climb the ladders yet. She's come a long way faster than we dared hope, and thank God for that, but she still has a lot of recovering to do."

Harper stood up, shifting on the balls of his feet, looking at Beka. Her worry showed in the creases around her eyes and lips. She studied him and he fought the urge to pace. He needed to make her see.

Beka didn't see Trance slipping into his machine shop late at night after she'd woken from yet another nightmare, hair hanging loose, tangled from however many hours of sleep she'd managed, eyes heavy, dark circles like bruises beneath them. Some of her dreams escaped her memory, robbing her of her peace of mind like a thief in the night, and some were so real she woke frightened and confused, afraid one of them was in imminent danger.

In the first visit, Trance didn't speak past telling him about her dream. She'd wandered around, studying his projects, sorting his tools into their proper homes, listening to him chat about everything that came to mind. After the first night he'd drawn her into his search for his people, asking her for her insight and advice. Beka hadn't seen how her pain melted away once given a puzzle to take her mind off everything.

A few days ago he'd asked her about her projects. She thought she had a breakthrough on the immune nanos, so he helped her, privacy mode engaged to keep it from Andromeda who would tell Dylan. Rommie probably assumed they were having nightly heart to heart chats in Machine Shop 17.

"Yeah, but her brain is working just fine, and she is alone almost all day while we work. We're her only friends. She doesn't read novels or watch movies—I've made several suggestions—and she can only work on her personal projects so much before Andromeda reminds her to take it easy. Because she is off duty, she isn't even allowed to work in hydroponics," he explained, his words flowing quicker and quicker. "So, she works out, eats, sleeps, meditates, and repeats all day every day. There isn't a lot to occupy her mind and…" He stopped himself before he revealed more of what Trance had confided in him than he wanted to.

"And?" Beka pressed, catching on that he was leaving something major out. This time, he didn't fight the urge to pace. If he framed this the right way he could get Beka to argue with Dylan on Trance's behalf. Better her than him. Dylan might listen to Beka.

"Listen, I can't tell you everything. Trance trusted me enough to tell me what was going through her mind and I won't spill it. She's just going through some stuff emotionally, and who wouldn't be after everything that's happened to her. She doesn't like to be alone with her thoughts and I don't blame her. Have you ever tried to stop your mind from running to the deep dark places when you are alone with nothing to do?" He stopped pacing and locked gazes with Beka, begging her to understand and not demand he give more detail.

"Yeah, it's impossible," Beka said. "Why hasn't she said anything?"

"Because everyone is already making a fuss over her. Because she doesn't like to call attention to herself. Because Trance has never told us anything about herself without being asked a direct question first—and even then she doesn't answer half the time."

He plopped down beside Beka again, hitting the bench harder than he had intended to. He needed to lay off the caffeine, his insides had electricity running through them. He fidgeted and bounced as if his torso were spring loaded.

"And we have all been deciding for her without asking," Beka said. Bingo. Finally. If he had a throne for every time he had gone stir crazy and skipped out on Trance while she was caring for him, he'd be able to buy a lot of chocolate. She reminded him of his limits in her own nagging sort of way, but then backed off and let him go. The least he could do was help her out in a similar situation. "Dylan will not bend easily on this one. He is stubborn, especially when it comes to Trance."

"Well, no offense to Dylan, but she isn't the same Trance who spent the last year trying to get her memory back. She's a lot more like a sweet, less sarcastic, version of our Old Old Trance. She's even got the cute playful side used to have back. I mean, when she isn't worried, depressed, or grumpy." he replied. Beka raised an eyebrow.

"Cute playful side?" Beka asked, crossing her arms over her chest, amused at his expense.

"Did I say that out loud?"

"Yeah. You did. Tell me, Harper, how many times did you have to clean out the waste reclamation system by hand because of that 'cute playful side'?" A lot. That was the answer Beka was looking for. In the early days he and Trance had bonded over a mutual love of creating havoc and giving Beka gray hairs.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. That's not the point. The point is, she isn't going to just do what Dylan says forever and her temper is already running short."

"And when Trance runs out of patience, she takes matters into her own hands." Beka said with a sigh, shaking her head. She stood up and packed her bag. He rose as well and slung his pack over his shoulder. "I'll see what I can do after I get back from this trip."

"Do you have to go over there, boss?" he asked as they stepped outside into the corridor both, he assumed, heading to the officer's quarters to clean up before they were on duty. He'd be on Command all day supervising diagnostics for the life support systems and calibrating them deck by deck, routine work that Trance would happily do herself as the Environmental Systems officer if they would just let her do it. Beka, on the other hand, would be willingly walking into the Dragon's lair and accepting their hospitality like a weird perversion of a fairytale.

Beka stopped at the foot of a ladder and put a hand on his shoulder, her face the picture of sympathy. "You know I do, Harper." She climbed, and he followed behind.

"Trance is right, you know. Something stinks here. I have a bad feeling about the whole thing." They went up two decks and exited into the deserted halls of the Officers and VIP quarters deck. The only officers in residence were the senior staff, so six people had the entire deck to themselves when they weren't entertaining. It used to be seven on the entire ship. Rumor had it the Commonwealth had plans to to fill Andromeda to a half compliment—2000 people. It was about to get very crowded.

"I have to try. I could find out more about what happened to Earth if everything goes right, maybe even find out if they have any clue where your people are." The magic words. His people. His obsession. But if the Dragons had information about the transmission, it was already too late for the people who'd escaped Earth.

"Let's hope they have no freaking idea anyone got out."

"If they do, it's still good information to have." They reached his door first and stopped outside. She put her hand on his arm again. "Are you okay Seamus? We've been so focused on Trance…"

"I'm fine, Beka," he lied, cutting her off. He didn't want to talk about his feelings right now. He didn't want to talk about them ever. Beka wouldn't believe he was fine. She knew him better than that. But, she would back off and leave him to nurse his pet existential dread on his own.

"If you need to talk, you know where to find me."

"I know," he said, putting his thumb on the keypad to unlock his door. It slid open with a hiss, revealing the chaos inside. "Be careful, okay?" he said and slid into his quarters, dropping his bag on the ground just inside the door, glimpsing Beka's thoughtful expression before the door shut on her. It was time for a nice hot shower and another round of 'Try to Avoid Thinking About Life'.


God. Damn. Nietzscheans.

She would never learn. She should have listened. Trance tried to warn her. Trance was always right.

It had started out well enough. The Dragons had been hospitable. They'd said the right words, offered her a surprising level of deference. They'd taken her blood and analyzed it, confirming she was the matriarch. All expected. Everything happening according to plan. At least until a small blonde-hair-blue-eyed human child tripped while carrying a tray and her host, Captain Augustus—because someone's mother had high ambitions—tried to backhand him.

Now she stood in a well-appointed conference room surrounded by valuable works of art and five Nietzschean men with biceps twice the size of her entire arm, gauss gun drawn, a child who looked like she imagined eleven-year-old Harper must have looked like cowering behind her. And Dylan had told her this morning he had faith in her diplomatic abilities. So much for bringing them to the table. So much for finding out if they knew anything about Harper's people.

"Listen up. This is how this is going to go. I am going to leave, and he is coming with me. You will let me go back to the Andromeda and we will have a serious chat about slavery at a later date."

The most surprising thing about this entire situation wasn't that she had gone to bat for a child, a stranger. That seemed to be her modus operandi. Apparently, Seefra hadn't cured her of Bleeding Heart Syndrome. It was that the men backed off, lowering their weapons.

She didn't wait for an invitation. She grabbed the poor terrified child by his arm and dragged him out the door, finger on the trigger, gun pointed towards her hosts. And they let her walk away.

Oh crap.

They made their way towards the Maru unobstructed with no alarms or Klaxons sounding. Trance and Harper were probably going to have to change their lunch plans because there was no way in hell the Dragons were actually going to let her walk away with one of their slaves and no repercussions.