Captain Dylan Hunt nervously paced back-and-forth in his quarters. Normally he wasn't such a stickler for details, but after spending the last three-hundred years in a black hole it was difficult for him to ascertain exactly what was "normal" at this time. All he knew was that he had invited one of his new crewmembers to join him for dinner and he wanted everything to be perfect.

"Rommie," he asked with the authority of a Captain, "how do I look?"

The A/I surveyed him with her eyes and smiled. Then she carefully patted down his leather uniform, giving a few extra pats to the front and back of his trousers.

"I never cease to be amazed at the resilience of Tarn Yak leather. Even some of the synthetics did not hold up as well during our little period of -- shall I say -- inactivity. "

"I didn't ask how I felt, Rommie, I asked how I looked."

"I figured you wanted a "total package" report Captain." She reached up, tussled his hair, and leaned to sniff his neck. "Smell good, too. New cologne."

"No, it is actually old brandy; but since it was the only liquid I had in my room with a nice fragrance, I thought I'd give it a try."

"I'd be careful if you also choose to serve it for a beverage, Captain; it might send some subliminal message that you might not want Mr. Anasazi to pick-up."

"You sure about that, Rommie?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Nietzscheans are very good at piecing together even the most obscure clues and forming conclusions."

Dylan smiled. "So be it, I shall consider myself warned."

* * * * * * * *

The two men sat across the table from each other eating in semi-silence. The Nietzschean seemed to have a sense of reserve that Dylan interpreted as a reluctance to move forward unless he was totally sure of the situation. However, Dylan had always considered open discussion the best method of collecting the data necessary for evaluation of situations. His answer to the reluctance was the offering of more wine. As a result three empty bottles sat beside the table, two white and one red.

"More wine, Mr. Anasazi."

"Thank you, Captain Hunt, but you may call me Tyr. Surnames are actually the less formal of the Nietzschean's appellations. True formality comes from the inclusion the a person's genetic lineage, but I don't expect you as a human to follow this protocol."

"I'm sorry, it is just that so much has changed during my . . . absence. . . I would not want to offend you."

"My captain, any man who has just served me three-hundred-year-old foie gras, grilled asparagus and estate bottled wines from Tarn Vedra can hardly be looked upon as offensive. I once worked as a chef, but never did I have access to the ingredients you have seem to have just tucked away in your personal food storage lockers."

"The High Guard had its share of Nietzscheans who knew that food was important when conducting diplomatic negotiations. I hope it would not offend you to know that I also have food packets which can be used for negotiations with Perseids, Than and even Nightsiders."

"As long as you don't have them for Magogs."

"No, Magogs require. . . " Dylan finally caught the glint in the Nietzschean's hazel eyes and realized he had made a joke. He stopped and smiled back.

"I see you are a little rusty on your social banter, Captain Hunt. Perhaps you should consider a refresher course at the High Guard Charm School, except … I forgot … no one has enrolled there in three hundred years." The Nietzschean turned his face toward his plate and stabbed one of the marble sized red-skinned potatoes with his fork. Holding it up in front of him he continued "A small insignificant planet somewhere in the universe. How would an outside species know that it was the center for all High Guard activities? Unless of course, they had a spy."

"Not necessarily, Tyr. The qualities that make a planet inhabitable have been known, even to humans since the dawn of the industrial age. The original space probes from Earth knew exactly which worlds where they were likely to find life, and more specifically, intelligent life."

"Never dreaming of course that the center of the universe would be populated by peoples out of their mythological past."

Dylan stopped and ran the implications of that last statement through his mind. Did Tyr know about him? Then he realized he was talking about the Vedrans. "Ah, yes, one could see how those early explorers mistook the Vedrans for centaurs, much the same way Spanish explorers to the Americas mistook manatees for mermaids."

"The Vedrans possessed an interesting genetic combination of intelligence and strength, useful for certain manual labors, and probably contributing a presence that was useful to the promulgation of the peace process. What they failed to realize is that other species placed a value on quickness and agility. If you can fight sometimes you don't have to work."

"While Vedrans could not fight, they were excellent teachers. I learned well under their guidance at the High Guard Academy."

"Nothing that you wouldn't have learned yourself with access to books and other data records. The whole concept of schools being necessary for the learning process is foreign to Nietzscheans. The inborn sense of urgency to know everything in each of us causes us to seek and learn on our own."

"More wine, Tyr."

"Why not, Captain."

"I can't believe that you learned to fight by reading books, Tyr."

"I didn't; I learned to fight by defending myself. But when I did have to fight, I was prepared. I didn't have to wait to learn from my mistakes."

Dylan noticed his hand had grown a little shaky as he poured the last of the wine into the Nietzschean's glass. He tried to remember the last time that he had consumed this much wine. It had been a long time, even if you didn't consider the three-hundred-year hiatus. He didn't want to make a mistake with Tyr, realizing that if he were wrong and acted on an impulse that he had read incorrectly, he could end up dead, with his spacecraft in the hands of a Nietzschean.

"I have a dessert, but personally I am too full to eat it. But if you would like something more, Tyr, I can serve it for you."

"No, I agree, I have not eaten food this rich for a long time, and anything more. . with the possible exception of a little brandy… I am afraid would be…"

'How did he know I had brandy?' Dylan thought and then remembered his scent. Rommie had been right. "Yes, I do have some brandy. It was a hundred years old, well I guess now it is closer to four." He smiled at the Nietzschean and noticed again how the light gleamed off the metal of the chain mail. It was an interesting fashion statement, armor as day-to-day clothing.

"It may be the wine talking, but the brandies of humans have always been far superior to those produced by the Nietzscheans. I think it is primarily because our species puts a premium of both freshness and expediency, two traits which have no value in the production of brandy."

"Yes, without the patience of old monks, moving the aging spirits from barrel to barrel, brandy would be just another intoxicant. Even with the development of aging nanobots, nothing beats the properties of used wood barrels."

"To pleasure, Captain Hunt." Dylan wondered about that toast, but clinked his glass with that of the Nietzschean. "To pleasure, Tyr." They drank the brandy in silence.

* * * * * *

Dylan rose from his chair. He hoped it was the fact that he had been sitting for a long period of time and not the consumption of wine and brandy that made his legs wobble slightly under him. Tyr had been sitting, staring at the swallow of brandy remaining in his glass, with his hands folded around the stem for what seemed like a half-hour. Dylan was unsure exactly how much time had passed, but he knew it had been long enough to make him have to pee.

"Excuse me, Tyr, but I have to use the facilities."

"Do you need any help?"

'What?' Dylan was just about to let go with a 'not since I was two and fully toilet trained', when he realized that his guest might be suggesting help probably related to cleaning up after the dinner and not his urinary function. He stopped and looked back at the large Nietzschean. It was a mistake. Normally urgency and tumescence were mutually exclusive. The large, incredibly attractive man sitting at his table, smiling did not make it any easier. He knew, if he started to laugh, it would be all over. He covered his crotch with his hands, as much to conceal as to confine, and ran to the bathroom.

* * * * *

"Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine."

"Whatever are you doing, Tyr."

"Timing you. You certainly have good bladder capacity, Captain Hunt."

"Fortunately."

"Or slow release."

'Fuck you.' "I haven't engaged in such juvenile games since I was at the High Guard academy."

"Probably the last time you measured your penis, too."

Dylan walked back into the main room and noticed that the Nietzschean had gotten up from the table and was now pacing. He wondered if Tyr was having the same feelings about misinterpreting some of his comments that he was having now. What if he was wrong, what if Tyr was being serious and not flirtatious. It could be a disaster.

"Are you drunk, Tyr Anasazi?"

"If I answered 'yes' to that question, would you send me on my way?"

"It depends."

"Depends on what?"

"On what you might suggest for an alternate option." Dylan was ninety percent certain that the Nietzschean would suggest some sort of board game, but was secretly hoping for something in the other ten percent.

"Do you have any cigars? Captain Hunt."

'Now that was one I didn't see coming?' "Of course, the after dinner cigar was a part of the High Guard. . . but I personally don't smoke. I am surprised that you do. That is why I didn't suggest it earlier, but if you wish."

"I merely asked a question, Captain Hunt. I actually find them an interesting Freudian substitute for the postprandial activity that, I hope I have correctly interpreted, both of us have been considering for the last hour or two. I had been hoping to defer to your leadership as the Captain of this ship…

"You mean you want to . .?"

"A man does not anoint himself with the smell of food, unless he desired to be eaten. You are lucky that I am not a magog."

"I would not expect such after dinner activities with Rev. Bem. But with you on the other hand Tyr…."

Dylan walked over and looked with interest at the slightly taller man. He couldn't remember a time when he had to tilt his head upward to kiss someone, but there was always a first time.

* * * * *

"How do you propose we handle this, Tyr? It has been a long time for me. I'm not sure that something I do might not be offensive, so I will call upon you to take the lead."

"Self deprecation actually is something I usually consider most offensive. Eagerness and hunger, not to mention three hundred years of sexual deprivation, should create a most pleasant . . ."

"Deprivation or depravation?" Dylan quipped.
 

"Love it, Captain Hunt. But I would love it even more if we were naked"

There was little that could inhibit Dylan's need to stop and watch while the Nietzschean removed his clothes. Once, in his youth, he perhaps had a body that approached that of his companion. He remembered the arduous hours in the gym required for the acquisition and maintenance of that body and how he had been glad when he reached an age where High Guard protocol suggested a leaner and less muscular body type for its officers. Unlike most men he had no trouble maintaining a slender body, but secretly missed the imposing physique the Nietzschean exhibited. It had definite erotic potential, both in yourself and in others.

"I'm sorry, I haven't been able to spend much time in the gym…or in the sun."

"Remember what I said about self deprecation, Captain, I meant it. I think you look damn good for a three-hundred year old man." Tyr chuckled. Until then he had not been sure Nietzscheans had that emotion in their genetic make-up.

"I suppose you are a natural top, Captain Hunt."

"Not necessarily."

"That is the best news I have heard in ages, in that case if you would so kindly commence the process of fellatio."

"As you say, Mr. Anasazi, but I'd rather suck your dick."

The Captain dropped to his knees and took the large penis in his hands. He surveyed its length and thickness and then dropped his hands lower and cupped the Nietzschean's testicles.

"I didn't ask for a thorough examination. I can assure you I have no sexually transmitted diseases, if that is what you are worried about."

"Absolutely not, I was just contemplating . . ."

"They are a bit oversized. I'm not usually one to gloat. But even for one of my species."

"Impressive yes, but I've seen comparable . . . but not for a long, long time."

"Continue . . and cease the chatter."

"I have to chatter. I'm drunk."

"And so you are, Captain Hunt, so you are." Tyr pushed Dylan's head into his crotch and the captain was successfully silenced.

* * * * * * *

Despite his denial of his natural status, Dylan was able through a combination of guided motions to direct Tyr into a position on the bed that was equally comfortable for both of them. He hadn't forgotten much and in a few minutes the Nietzschean's cum was running down his chin.

"That was tasty, are you equally curious to see what a three-hundred-year-old man tastes like?"

"I assume he tastes as good as his brandy, or else he would not advertise as such."

"Haven't had any complaints. . . at least not for a while."

"You are a funny one, Captain Hunt?" Dylan had knelt over Tyr's body, with his re-arising cock over his chest. He reached down and grabbed a handful of the Nietzschean's braided hair and ran it through his hands.

"This is truly amazing. How long did it take to get like this?"

"I grew it to celebrate my freedom. My head was shaved as a teenager, when I was a slave. I swore never to cut it again."

"It is most wonderful. But then, you are most wonderful."

"I'm flattered that you think that way, Captain. But you are still most drunk."

"And most delicious."

Dylan scooted higher and carefully pushed the long hair aside so that he would not b kneeling upon it when he proceeded to fuck the Nietzschean in the mouth. He proceeded with an abandon that came from realizing that the genetically altered species had made improvements that did not necessitate his worrying about breathing or gag reflexes and a hopefulness that he would not have to worry about being bitten.

"You fuck as well as you cook, Captain Hunt. I appreciate that."

"You have the experience to make the correct judgment. I appreciate that."

"I fear, however, that you have misled me about your natural propensities."

"I do what it takes. I am more than willing to be fair, if I get what I want."

"That is definitely 'High Guard' of you, Captain Hunt."

"I would love to entertain you with other manifestations of my High Guard training, but I am afraid that my position as Captain requires that I keep a certain profile with other crew members. I do not want to have you spend the night, although that is certainly how long I would like to take, at this early date in our acquaintanceship, for fear of the message it would send to those others on the ship."

"Please, do not insult me that you actually care what that juvenile engineer thinks about your sex life."

"Not Harper, Tyr, Beka Valentine. I have invited her to dinner tomorrow. Just a test, mind you, to see how the scent of brandy affects her."

"Good then, in that case I can continue fucking Harper. He has absolutely no inclination to take the role of a top, sometimes I like that in a person; but I, like you, Captain Hunt, am more flexible."

"I see a future together."

"And you never answered my question about the cigars. I would love to smoke one now, if in fact you have any."

"I thought they were just symbol?"

"But sometimes, Dylan, a cigar is just a cigar."

JJ

April 12, 2002

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