Dylan looks around at the crewmembers sitting at his conference room table.  Harper is slouching in his chair, blinking sleepily; his acid green shirt striking a discordant note in the wash of gray shades that made up the color scheme in the room.  Rhade is sitting still and straight, next to Harper.  He fits in well with his surroundings in a black sweater and pants.  His dark eyes are alert. Beka sits on the other side of the table, hiding a yawn behind her hand.  Her blond hair is tousled and her black tee shirt wrinkled.

“So?” Dylan asks sharply. “What’s Tyr up to?”

Harper shrugs. “I don’t know Boss.  He was more interested in what you were doing when I talked to him.”

“What do you mean, Harper?”  Dylan narrows his eyes thoughtfully and then nods to himself.  Of course, Tyr would want to know what he is doing.  He knows exactly what Tyr is likely do.  Tyr probably thinks the same about him.  After all, the two of them have closely observed each other for years.

“Just that he wanted to know what you had planned and the modifications we were making to the ship.  He wanted to know if we figured out what to do with the Route of Ages thing.” Harper yawns and slouches deeper in the chair.

“So he doesn’t suspect.”  Dylan smirks and leans back in his chair.  So he is still several steps ahead of Tyr.  He successfully obtained the Route of Ages after Tyr flubbed the job and he knows how to use it now, thanks to Trance.

“I guess not.”  Harper’s eyelids droop lower.

“Beka, what did you find out?”  Dylan turns his gaze on Beka and catches her yawning.

“He wants me to return to the planet.  I think he trusts me.”  Beka shrugs.  “It wasn’t hard gaining his confidence.”

“Excellent work, people.”  Dylan booms.  He sweeps his assembled crew with a bright smile. “Rhade, Harper you’re dismissed.  Beka, I need to go over a few items with you.”

&&&

Harper stares down at the tesseract based device in his hand.  Hohne would have been ecstatic.  It was small, not even filling the palm of his hand.  It looked more like a piece of elegant jewelry, a broach perhaps, rather than a dangerous thing, capable of bending and warping space and time. Tiny gold lights blink amiably from the glossy black metal. All that remained was for the tesseract bomb to be delivered to Tyr; to be armed and dropped where it would do the most good, or harm depending on how you looked at it.

He carefully fits the tiny weapon into a slim protective case and tucks it into a pocket of his cargo pants.  It will not leave his care until he gives it to Tyr’s messenger.  Harper leans against his worktable.  It is odd the way things suddenly seemed sharper, clearer in his mind afterwards…after they had faced off against the Abyss in that odd battlefield of mind and will but whose mind and will?

The door hisses open and Trance leans against the frame.  Her dark eyes flicker curiously over the room and then settle on him. “Harper, you’ve been working late?”

“Yeah.  Had a few repairs I had to finish up.”  Harper pretends to straiten the jumble of tools, refusing to meet those dark eyes.  Those eyes were the only part of her that still reminded him of his former friend.  He had never been able to feel comfortable with the hard gold version of Trance.  He still missed his purple princess.

“I haven’t seen much of you lately.”  Trance smiles, hard and bright.  Her skin glitters briefly under the lights.

Harper shrugs and steps away from the worktable.  Where were some of those Terazed kids when you needed them?  A couple of them would limit the conversation nicely. “Been busy.”

Trance walks over to the worktable and eyes the haphazard array of tools and parts. “What have you been doing?  I don’t see any project.”

“What have I been doing?” Harper stares at her.  What does she think he has been doing?  Does she suspect what he has been working on or is this idle curiosity? Perhaps he can fend it off with a little snarkiness. “What are you doing? Checking to see if I’m working?  I was thinking.”

“About what?”

Harper glances sidelong at Trance.  “That stuff that happened when we faced off against the Living Lava Lamp.”

“You should use a more respectful tone, Harper.”  Trance turns sharply and frowns at him.

“What are you talking about?  I don’t have to show that thing anything but disrespect.” Harper taps his tool belt with nervous fingers.  Several of the tools would serve as a weapon if needed.  The look in those dark eyes reminds him of the time when Trance threatened to kill both him and Gerentex. “What is with you, anyway? It’s the god of the Magog not the Divine.”

“When you’re dealing with a being of such immense power it’s always better to show it a bit of respect.”  Trance gazes intently at Harper.  “It might not like it if you were disrespectful.”

“Yeah, Trance, whatever.”  Harper waves his hand dismissively.  He walks casually around to the other side of the table, keeping one hand on his belt. “Besides, how’s it gonna know if I’m respectful or not?”

“There are ways and there are ways.”

“Great.” Harper snorts. “Is that another of your cosmic non-answers to everything?”

Trance leans against the table and studies him. “Something is bothering you.  Tell me.”

“I just keep thinking about what really happened.  We were popping in and out of whatever, or whenever, that place was.  I mean how did we do all that stuff?”  Harper frowns.  Trance kept saying that they were all in her mind when they had faced off against the Spirit of the Abyss and that she was holding them together.  That begged the question that if Trance was controlling them; who, or what, was controlling her?  Did that mean that nothing had actually happened to Tyr’s simulacrum?  Had anything at all actually happened?

Trance shrugs.  “Some things I can’t explain to you.”

“Can’t or won’t Trance?”  Harper runs a hand through his hair.  He feels different but in ways that he can’t quite define…before, he had been working on the tesseract bomb but there had been data gaps in what Tyr remembered from being possessed by the tunnel alien.  He had been able to figure out and bridge most of the gaps but the last one…he had been almost finished then he had run into another data gap and no matter how hard he tried, he could not make the needed jump then after…after they had gotten back, he had gone down to Machine Shop Eleven and taken one look at the flexi and suddenly the answer was so easy, so blindingly obvious that he couldn’t imagine he could have found it so difficult a problem to solve. “There’s just something…”

Trance leans further across the table, watching him closely. “What Harper…what is different?”

“I just feel…I don’t know. I can’t explain it.  I just feel as if there was a lot more going on than we all realized.”  Harper eases back toward the door.

“Perhaps not.”  Trance’s voice is cold and clipped.

“Okay.  Just asking. No need to bite my head off.”  Harper moves closer to the door.  He feels different in other ways too.  His libido had suddenly gone into overdrive.  When they had been standing together in the corridor after their little visit to the Abyss, he had been so intensely aroused it had been all he could do not to grab Rhade, despite Beka’s presence, and…he knew from the startled look in those black eyes that Rhade noticed the sudden, intense desire.  He had not even been able to wait until they got to his room or Rhade’s room.  He had just shoved the Nietzschean in the nearest access tunnel and…the experience had been overwhelmingly pleasurable.

“You’ve developed an interesting relationship with Rhade.”  Trance tilts her head to one side.  “Trading one Nietzschean for another?”

No way is he taking the bait on that.  Any discussion of Rhade will open the way for a discussion of Tyr.  He is not opening that door to her.  Harper smiles brightly at her. “Nah. I just enjoy spending time with the guy.”

Every encounter since then had been the same way…intense, almost sharp-edged desire followed by a sparkling cascade of pleasure that was almost too much.  He had gone from reluctantly accepting the necessity of Rhade’s attentions to seeking, demanding them with great frequency.  He didn’t remember ever being into discovery fantasies…well, there was that one time but that hadn’t been his fantasy, he had just gone along with it to get up that blonde’s short skirt.  But now…he had taken Rhade in access tunnels, on the Obs Deck, in the mess, in hydroponics…even on Dylan’s glasstop conference room table with its little frosted High Guard emblem.

Trance laughs, soft and arch.  “Oh. ‘Spending time’…is that what it’s called now?”

“Okay.”  Harper flings a bland smile over his shoulder and walks through the doorway.  “Been great but I gotta go.”

“Harper,” Trance calls after him. “I’m here whenever you need to talk.”

“Yeah.  I’ll keep that in mind.”

&&&
 

“I wish I could hit the waves.” Harper strolls through the crowd, listening to the cheerful music flowing across the beachfront shopping arcade.  He breathes in deeply, savoring the sharp salt scent of the ocean.  He pauses to stare longingly out at the green-blue shimmer of water curling in frothy waves over the beach. Maybe later, he will get a chance to try them out.

“Hit the waves?” Rhade lifts a quizzical brow.

“Yeah, you know, surf.”

“Ah, yes…your hobby.”  Rhade frowns.  The Progenitor’s instructions on that activity were firm. No surfing for the Second Consort. Period.  “I regret we don’t have the time to allow for that activity, Harper.”

“Any idea who this contact could be?”  Harper reluctantly turns away from the ocean to survey the scanty clad, sunburned tourists roaming beneath the welcome shade of the pale blue awnings stretched between the pastel colored shops and restaurants. Most of them were humans but there was a sprinkling of Nietzscheans and other aliens.   Nietzscheans were apparently common enough visitors that Rhade, hovering next to him like a dark shadow, was drawing little attention.

“No idea.” Rhade squints in the bright sunlight as he studies the crowd idling around them.

“Then how are we supposed to know who to trust?”  Harper grouses as he glances at Telemachus.  Rhade’s black tee shirt and black pants make him look like a crow in a parrot convention, Harper thinks with a shake of his head.  His own orange and yellow shirt, patterned with palm trees was much more cheerful and fit nicely with the bright holiday shades the other tourists were sporting. Harper tucks his hands into the deep pockets of his black cargo pants.  Yes, sir, just one more tourist.  Nothing to see here.

“I’m sure the Progenitor selected someone we’ll recognize.” Rhade answers quietly.

“So our contact could be anyone.”  Harper rocks back on his heels as he looks around.  His gaze locks onto a group of Nietzscheans eating at the sidewalk café.  Are they…? He tilts his head thoughtfully. Nothing stands out about them.  Perhaps Tyr would pick a human instead of a Nietzschean? Or a Than?  “Or anything.”

Rhade glances at Harper. “Yes.”

Harper frowns.  The only instructions that he had been sent said that he would immediately recognize the messenger.  He wishes that Tyr had been more specific; given him a sign, a secret handshake, a magic decoder ring, something.  Well, there was a magic word but he would have preferred more concrete evidence.

“What the hell is Beka doing here?”  Harper turns as Beka is heading toward him.  She stands out as much as Rhade does in her slashed black shirt and pants.  Her blond head is tilted at coy angle and her lips are curved in flirtatious smile aimed at the tall, fair man walking beside her.  Oh, shit.  That’s not a man…it’s…it’s, damn it, how could Tyr send him!

Of all people, why this one?  Why? Harper stiffens, his eyes narrowing with annoyance.  He flicks a sidelong glance at Rhade.  If his comforter’s sudden stillness and rigid expression is anything to go by, Rhade is equally thrilled with the new arrival.  Harper shakes his head as he watches the approaching couple. “No.  No, no, no.  Tell me that’s not who I think it is.  Tell me that’s not Charlemagne Bolivar. Tell me it’s not.”

Rhade crosses his arms over his chest.  His bone blades flutter restlessly before settling back down. A soft, displeased growl escapes him as he stares at the lithe blond Nietzschean. “It is the First Consort.”

“I can’t believe Tyr sent him,” Harper grumbles.

“He may not be our contact, Harper. Although it would be a logical choice.”

Harper scowls as his gaze collides with Charlemagne’s assessing stare. “Oh, yeah? In what alternate universe?”

Charlemagne says something to Beka who turns and smiles widely as she spots Harper.  She waves. “Harper!  Hey, Harper!”

Harper forces a smile to his lips and waves back as Charlemagne and Beka stroll closer. Might as well get this over with.  The sooner he verifies that Charlemagne is the contact, the sooner he can ditch Goldie Über.  “Beka.”

“Look who I found vacationing here?” Beka smiles brightly as she stops in front of them. She pats Charlemagne’s arm. “Did you get to meet the Archduke when he was on the Andromeda?”

“Sorta.”  Harper nods coolly as he looks up to meet amused ice blue eyes.  Charlemagne looks annoyingly cool, handsome and sleek in gauzy white shirt over matching pants.

“And you would be that little human engineer, correct?  Hudson, was it?”
Charlemagne tilts his head, openly studying the small human.  What did Tyr see in this kludge to make the Progenitor elevate it to Second Consort?  So the human is some kind of engineering genius and intelligence is always sexy but one doesn’t raise just anyone to that kind of status. He breathes in, sorting Harper’s scent from the others on the salt laden breeze.  Pleasant enough but so is that of the dark Nietzschean looming uneasily next to the human

“Harper.  The name’s Harper.”  The human manages a creditable snarl.

Oh, the little man is ruffled, is he? Good.  Charlemagne deepens the note of dismissive boredom in his voice. “Oh, yes, of course it is.”

Charlemagne turns his attention to the darkly handsome Nietzschean.  An Alpha, of course, Tyr would hardly send anything less.  He hadn’t seen this one around either his court or Tyr’s.  Where had Tyr found him? “And who are you?”

Rhade takes a reluctant step forward and offers his bone blades in greeting. “Lieutenant Commander Telemachus Rhade of the Andromeda Ascendant.”

“Of course you are.”  Charlemagne’s gaze flicks briefly from Rhade to Harper and back as he languidly returns the gesture.  His nostrils flare as he tests the air.  Ah, the Alpha’s scent is edgy with a mix of nervousness, barely repressed aggression and, oh, my, a tinge of reluctant arousal.  How amusing.

Beka’s com unit beeps.  She glances at it and sighs.  “Sorry guys. I’ve got to get back to the Maru. See you back on the ship.”

Good riddance.  Now that the excess baggage is out of the way, they can get down to business.  How will the human take the news?  Charlemagne slants a speculative look at Harper.  Will Harper resist the Progenitor’s orders?

“Why are you here?”  Harper turns and starts walking through the crowd.  He glances at the ocean with open longing.

“I’ve been instructed to transport you and your…companion…to specific coordinates.”  Charlemagne strolls beside the smaller man. He spares a quick look over his shoulder, checking the locations of his men planted in the crowd. Far enough away to be discreet; close enough to come swiftly if he requires it.  His gaze drifts thoughtfully over Rhade trailing closely behind Harper. “And the device, of course.”

“Whose instructions?”  Harper asks quietly, still staring out at the ocean.

Charlemagne looks down his nose at the small human.  Surely the kludge knows better than to think that just anyone can give him orders?  No.  Tyr wouldn’t be interested in even a casual dalliance with a stupid person much select one as his consort.  The kludge is testing him.  And the Second Consort is not as calm as he is trying to appear.  The kludge’s scent is dark with anger and tension. “Tyr sent me.”

“Prove it.”  Harper stops walking.  He turns sharply to face Charlemagne. The vivid eyes glitter with determination. “Now, before I go any further.”

Charlemagne glances at Rhade.  The Alpha is hovering over his charge.  Ummm, the Alpha’s manner is decidedly possessive.  Someone has forgotten his place in the scheme of things.  Tyr will not be pleased.  Charlemagne offers a bland smile over the kludge’s head.  “Is he always so argumentative?”

“Always.”  Rhade nods.  His dark eyes are wary and suspicious.

“Come back to my ship and I’ll show you the message.”  Charlemagne turns to walk away.  He looks over his shoulder as he realizes that neither Harper nor Rhade have moved.  Should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.  He tries a mildly bored tone, “Oh come on.  I’m not going to hurt you.”

Harper trades a long look with Rhade then meets Charlemagne’s gaze.  His pale face is set in obstinate lines.  Charlemagne raises his gaze to the Alpha…Rhade’s scent is so intriguing, the way it dances back and forth between anger, aggression, fear and desire. He might ask Tyr for Rhade…perhaps even drop a hint about the Alpha’s inappropriate possessiveness.

Charlemagne waits, raising an eyebrow as neither one of them moves. He sighs elaborately and slides a hand under his shirt.  He pauses, laughing as Rhade glides protectively in front of Harper.  Charlemagne pulls a flexi from beneath his shirt and reaches around Rhade, offering it to Harper.  “He said you would demand proof.  I had no idea you’d be so distrustful of me.  We want the same thing, after all.”

“Yes.  We do.”  Harper holds Charlemagne’s gaze.

The glint in the vivid blue depths makes Charlemagne remember lying abed with Tyr as the Progenitor casually recounts how Harper had invented the weapon that destroyed the Nietzschean fleet at the Battle of Witch Head.  The point of the story had been a delicate warning that Harper was not one to be trifled with lightly, which, of course, had only made the Second Consort all the more interesting.

Harper studies the flexi for a long moment.  He looks up and nods curtly.  “It appears to be authentic.  Okay, lead on.”

Charlemagne turns and walks on.  He glances down at the human pattering along beside him.  The device must be fairly small if it is concealed on the Second Consort’s person, even allowing for the human’s preference for baggy clothing. “Do you have the device with you?”

“Of course, I do.”  Harper’s voice is crisp with annoyance; his quick sidelong look full of suspicion.

He has nothing better to do.  Might as well annoy the Second Consort a little more.  Charlemagne sighs loudly as if the whole matter is simply too tedious for words.  He loads his tone with exaggerated patience. “Where is it?  Is it in some bag you will need to transport to the ship? Is it somewhere safe?”

“It’s safe.”

Good unrevealing answer.  So the human has control enough not to be provoked into showing too much to an opponent.  Harper might manage well enough at Tyr’s court. How will the human respond to intimidation?  Charlemagne pivots, planting himself directly in front of the human.  He infuses his face and manner the icy menace. “Let me see it.”

Harper glares and holds his ground. “Sorry.  Only Tyr sees the device before it’s deployed.”

“Very well.”  Charlemagne grins and spins away, strolling toward his waiting ship.  Harper is becoming more interesting by the moment.  Even the strange spiky hairstyle is beginning to seem weirdly compelling.  Rhade, on the other hand…even conceding that possibility of having to defend one consort from another is sufficient reason for a certain twitchiness on Rhade’s part, Harper’s pet comforter seems delightfully skittish. Oh, yes.  He is definitely going to bring Rhade’s unfortunate possessiveness to Tyr’s attention and ask for Rhade for himself.

“So, where’s your ship?”  Harper demands impatiently as they walk through the landing area.

Charlemagne tilts his head toward a sleek vessel.  “This way.”

&&&
 

“Are you still awake, Harper?”  Rhade cuddles the human close.  The beds on Charlemagne’s ship are very comfortable and very large.  Large enough to provide plenty of room for Harper’s inventive claiming of him in every position that had occurred to the Second Consort.

“Um hmmm.” Harper stirs but doesn’t open his eyes.

Rhade stifles the stirring of irritation at Harper’s disinterested murmur.  Did Harper fall asleep on the Progenitor every time after sex?  Still, sleepy or not, there is something that the Second Consort should know; a custom that he doubted that Harper was aware of. “There’s something I need to tell you about.  If we defeat the Magog…”

Harper opens one eye and glares at Rhade.  “WHEN we defeat them.”

“Of course, when we defeat the Magog, there will be a gathering to celebrate the Progenitor’s victory.”

“Fine, great, a party. What’s the big deal?”  Harper yawns and rolls over onto his stomach, spreading his compact frame across the white sheets.  He claims a pillow and snuggles into it.

“We will have to be present for the Celebration.”  Rhade gazes down at Harper, smugly admiring the limp sprawl that spoke of satiation and relaxation.  He had exhausted the Second Consort. Rhade’s pleased smile fades as his eyes follow the line of Harper’s spine to the Kodiak tattoo hovering just above the human’s cleft.

“Why does it sound like you just said that with a capital ‘c’?” Harper stirs and opens both eyes to stare warily at Rhade.  Now what?  Every time he got comfortable with something, the Nietzscheans sprang another damn weird thing on him.   First Tyr asks him to be a consort and then confesses to being addictive.  He agrees to it and the next thing he finds out is that Tyr is the Progenitor and had to go off and save the universe and by the way, he will have to fuck a strange Nietzschean in order to manage his little addiction problem.  Now, he’s just kinda gotten used to accepting Rhade in his bed and all indications are that some new weirdness is about to be unleashed.

Rhade strokes Harper’s back.  “Because it is one of the most important events before we reach the home world.”

Not good.  Rhade only does the back stroking thing when he is trying to be soothing. Harper rolls over on his back and frowns up at Rhade. “What are you not telling me?”

“It is something that holds…significance for all Nietzscheans.” Rhade leans down and lightly kisses Harper.  “It is considered an honor to receive an invitation to participate.”

“Participate?”  Harper’s frown deepens as Rhade’s warm lips move over his cheek.  A Nietzschean celebration…he could handle the usual party scene…food, drinks, music, maybe some dancing.  Yeah, he wouldn’t mind dancing with some Nietzschean babes.  That might not be so bad, especially if they wear one of those teeny tiny skirts like Elssbet used to twitch around in.  Still, it probably won’t be something that easy.  Not the way his internal Nietzschean weird-o-rama meter is shrieking.

“Yes.”  Rhade murmurs against his throat.

Harper sighs. He absently combs his fingers through Rhade’s thick black hair. “Okay, I know I’m going to regret asking this, but define ‘participate’?”
“All parties take an active role in the celebration.”

Harper rolls his eyes.  That is pretty much inherent in the word ‘participate’.   How exactly is he expected to participate in this celebration thing?  Stand around and smile? Kill something? He tightens his grip and pulls Rhade’s head back so that he can see the Nietzschean’s face. “And that means what? Sparring…what?”

Rhade takes a deep breath but makes no reply.  The dark eyes reflect both amusement and worry.

Harper tugs sharply on the short black hair.  His eyes narrow with irritation. “Okay. Is it me or did you not say anything because I still don’t get the big deal.”

“It’s going to be…intense.”

“What to you mean by ‘intense’?”  Harper slides his hand down to Rhade’s chest and pushes the Nietzschean back down on the bed.

“It is a very…public viewing of a usually very private act.”

“Wait.”  Harper sits up, all sleepiness gone.  His eyes are wide with appalled alarm. “You’re talking sex, right?”

“Correct.”

This doesn’t sound good.  Harper stares down at Rhade. He has to participate…how exactly?  Watch?  Hand out awards? M.C.?  Surely Tyr would not expect him to really put on a floorshow for a crowd of Nietzscheans.  On the other hand, there had been a time when he would never have believed that Tyr would expect him to permit Rhade in his bed.  Look how wrong he had been on that one.  “How public?  Like you and me and Tyr and…ewwww…the Goldie Über?”

“Actually it will be more like the Progenitor, the First Consort, you…and the entire command contingent of Alphas.”  Rhade finishes in a rush.

“What!” Harper flops back down, closing his eyes tight against the images of Tyr and Charlemagne and, oh, shit, him in front of a crowd.  Just when he thought that Nietzschean culture could not get any weirder.  “An orgy?  You’re talking about a full-on, fucking orgy?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, I am so not doing that.”  Harper scoots up on the pillows.  Great.  He’s been longing to be back with Tyr again and now this.  They are certainly going to have plenty to discuss when he reaches Tyr’s flagship. “There is absolutely no way I’m going to do something like that.”

“This is really something you should discuss with the Progenitor.”  Rhade responds quietly.  He leans forward and kisses Harper’s shoulder.

“I will.”  Harper turns over on his side and punches his pillows.  “Just as soon as I get a chance.”
 

&&&

“Impossible!” Dylan touches the reassuring hardness of the force lance holstered at his side.  He stares at Rommie with wide shocked eyes.  He sweeps a glower over the Terazed crew manning the stations as they begin quietly murmuring among themselves. “That’s impossible!”

“You keep saying that but all reports indicate that it’s still true.”  Rommie folds her arms across her chest and stares back at her captain.  Her dark gaze flickers over the stunned faces of the crew.

Dylan paces back and forth in front of the forward screens on the command deck.  His fingers tighten on his force lance.  It’s trick!  It has to be a trick of some kind.  These reports are too ridiculous to be believed.

It’s a trick of the Abyss.  That’s it.  The Abyss is sending out false reports to make him lower his guard. Or…he levels a hard stare at his youthful crew, inciting his crew to turn against him.  At first the crew had watched him with eyes full of hero worship but lately, they had been giving him wary looks. “I want verification. I want to talk to Tri-Lorn.  Hell, I’ll even talk to that traitorous bitch Tri-Gemma!”

“Verifying news reports.”  The screen image of the Andromeda Ascendant appears.  Her gaze slides absently over the command deck as she accesses information.  “Sources verified.”

“Well?” Dylan stops and stares in disbelief.  It can’t be.  The Abyss has even managed to fool the Andromeda’s sensors.  Amazing.  Too bad, Harper isn’t with them any longer but the engineering team should be able to find and fix the problem.

“The information we received earlier is true, Captain.”  Rommie tilts her head as she studies Dylan.  She trades a long look with her onscreen image.

“You have got to be kidding me!”  It can’t be.  Tyr is an agent of the Abyss.  He’s probably the one that thought of this trick.  Dylan straightens to his full height and lifts his chin.  He knows how Tyr thinks.  After all, he worked with the Nietzschean for years.  Tyr had never been a proper Nietzschean like Rhade.  Now there was a real Nietzschean.  If only Rhade was here but then Rhade disappeared along with Harper. He suspected that the Abyss got them; that Archduke Bolivar had been working for the Abyss but he had never been able to prove it. This is just another Anasazi trick. “I killed the bastard myself!   I…I watched him fall over that cliff into the Abyss.”

“All news sources confirm the reports.” Rommie’s voice is quiet but firm. “Tyr Anasazi and a combined fleet of Commonwealth and Nietzschean ships destroyed the Magog Worldship.”

Beka walks through the doors to command and stops, staring at Rommie.  “What?  That can’t be true. Tyr’s dead.  He died when he tried to betray me to the Abyss.”

Rommie turns back to her station.  “That information is incorrect.  It seems that only a simulacrum of Tyr was destroyed.  The real Tyr was nowhere near the Route of Ages.”

“Simulacrum? You mean that…that was a…a copy? That wasn’t really Tyr?”  Beka slowly walks over to her station.  Her skin flushes with hot color as she remembers the tireless way that Tyr had...she had thought that it was the famed Nietzschean libido but he really had been a machine.   Her eyes widen in shock then narrow thoughtfully. “That means that I…I…”

“What?  You, what, Beka?”  Dylan snaps, turning to face her.

“Nothing.  Nothing.” Beka licks her lips.  Ummm.  Where had the simulacrum been made?  Had they kept copies of the plans? Her pale blue eyes are full of sudden speculation.  Time to change the subject.  She catches Rommie’s eye. “The Magog are gone?  The Spirit of the Abyss destroyed? And Tyr did it…just like he said he would.”

“Yes.”  Rommie nods.

Beka smiles as thoughts of building a simulacrum lead to thoughts of Harper.  Then Harper and Rhade are really okay.  She’d been so worried about Harper but Dylan wouldn’t let her take the Maru and hunt for her friend. “So Charlemagne didn’t kidnap Harper and Rhade.”

“Apparently not.”  The Andromeda screen image looks at Beka.  “Harper and Rhade are reportedly on Tyr’s flagship headed for the Sabra-Jaguar home world.”

“But…but…Tyr was an agent of the Abyss.  I know he was.  I worked with the man for three years.  I know how he thinks.  This is a…ruse, a mistake.”  Dylan frowns sternly at Beka.

“Dylan…” Beka sighs.  She looks around at the others.  The Terazed crew offers only a round of minute shrugs.  The Nietzschean woman at the environmental station rolls her eyes.  Rommie is completely expressionless.

“Tyr was…is…an agent of the Abyss.  I can prove it.”  Dylan grips his force lance and sweeps the command crew with a grimly determined look.  “Trance told me so.”

“Where is Trance by the way?”  Beka looks around.  That’s the ticket.  If anyone can talk Dylan into accepting an altered reality, it’s Trance.  Her eyes widen as Trance suddenly appears in a shimmering, hazy golden glow.

“Trance!” Dylan looks at her with bewilderment in his pale eyes.  Why is she appearing this way in public?  He thought that it was a secret.  That only the two of them knew about her secret nature.  Maybe it’s time.  Time for her to reveal all; time to tell the crew that he is…The One. Dylan smiles hopefully and reaches out to her. “Trance?”

“Yes, it’s me.”  Trance smiles brightly.  Her dark eyes glow with warmth and happiness.

“Tell them what you told me, Trance.”  Dylan waves his hand at the staring crew.  Now they will see.  They will understand now. “Tell them that Tyr is deceiving everyone the way he always did.  Tell them.”

“I can’t do that, Dylan.”  Trance shakes her head regretfully.

“What are you talking about?  Why can’t you tell them?”  Dylan frowns.  He steps closer and peers down into her lovely, glowing face.

“I’m so sorry that I deceived you, Dylan. I had no choice.  The Abyss had captured me and enslaved many of my brothers and sisters.  I’m so very sorry Dylan.”  Trance pats his chest affectionately.

Beka leans forward on her console.  She stares wide-eyed at Trance. “The agent of the Abyss was you?!”

“Yes.” Trance whispers, her voice small and sad.

Dylan steps back, shocked.  How could this be? “All those times you talked with me…counseled me…you were just setting me up for Tyr?!”

“No! No. Tyr was a mystery to me.  I had hoped that you and he would….but that didn’t happen.” Trance spreads her arms wide and turns in a quick gleeful circle.  “This was as much a surprise to me as it was to you.”

“So…what, Trance.” Dylan lifts his chin.  His wise, little counselor?  His precious golden Trance? An agent of the Abyss? He suddenly feels every one of his three hundred years. “You made a deal with the Spirit of the Abyss so you would go free.”

Trance looks at the floor then back up, boldly meeting his eyes.  “It’s not something I’m proud of…but yes, I did.”

“I can’t believe I trusted you…believed you.” Dylan shakes his head.  He takes another step back.

“I’m truly sorry, Dylan.  But now that Tyr and Harper have defeated the Spirit of the Abyss I’m free. I can go home.”  Trance dances over to Beka and kisses her cheek before spinning away.

“What do you mean you’re free?”  Dylan asks.

Trance leans back against the console, next to Beka. “Remember when I told you I was an avatar of the sun?”

Dylan nods. “Yeah?”

“You never asked which sun.” Trance frowns disapprovingly at him. “I expected you to ask me that and you didn’t.”

“I just assumed…”  Dylan stammers.

Beka fondles a lock of Trance’s long, red hair.  “What are you talking about, Trance?”

“The sun…the star…at the center of the Magog world ship.”  Trance looks over her shoulder at Beka.

“That was you.”  Beka grips Trance’s shoulders with both hands.  Her blue eyes are wide and full of wonder. “Oh. My. God.”

Dylan shakes his head and clutches his force lance.  “So everything you told me was a lie.”

“I didn’t want to do it but I could not see any other way.”

“So I’m not The One.”  Dylan’s shoulders slump.  He stares at Trance. “All that mumbo jumbo about a ‘perfect possible future’…that was all a lie too?”

“There never was a ‘one’, Dylan.”  Trance shrugs.  “There is no such thing as one perfect possible future.”

“Just smoke and mirrors.”  Beka grouses as her hands drop away from Trance’s shoulders.

“Yes.”  Trance looks from Rommie to Beka to Dylan.  “Now I must go.  I am finally free.”

“When Tyr destroyed the world ship you weren’t destroyed…why?” Beka brushes the long hair back from Trance’s face.

Trance smiles at her.  “The power of a sun can be harnessed…captured.  But no one can truly destroy a sun.”

“But I had Nova bombs.”  Dylan frowns.  “I could…and did…destroy a sun.”

“No.” Trance shakes her head.  “You only thought you did.”

“Where will you go?”  Rommie asks.

“My siblings and I have been slaves to the Spirit of the Abyss for millennia.  I want to revel in my freedom for a while.”

“Don’t forget you’re still my ‘lucky charm’.” Beka lightly taps a finger on the curve of Trance’s cheekbone.

“I won’t forget.  I will miss you all.”  Trance smiles and disappears in a blinding flash of golden light.

Dylan whirls to glare at Rommie.  “How could you let this happen?”

“Me?!”  Rommie’s eyes widen.  “I told you from the beginning that I didn’t know what she was.”

&&&

Harper paces in his quarters on Tyr’s flagship.  His bare feet sink into the luxurious depths of the pale aqua carpet covering the floor. There is a very subtle swirl pattern to the carpet that suggests the swirl of waves lapping and eddying on a beach.  Harper looks up from the carpet, pausing in front of the large painting dominating his bedroom.  This one is the ocean at sunrise.  In the outer room, there is another huge painting of ocean and beach.  Both paintings are originals and exquisitely done.  Neither is anything that he could have ever afforded to hang on his walls before.  The paintings, the carpet, are proof that Tyr had the room readied with him in mind. Not a single decoration or thing in the room is generic.  Everything from the ocean-scented soap to the drawer of boxers and closet full of cargo pants and brilliantly colored shirts to the selection of flexis had been chosen with care to please him.  But what he wants most is not in the room.

He hasn’t been alone with Tyr since he arrived on board.  At first it had been enough to be on the same ship, to work with Tyr again and to share the excitement of defeating the Magog Worldship.  After that he had waited but Tyr had not come to him. And when he tried to go to Tyr’s quarters…the humiliation of discovering from the frigging guards that Tyr was with Goldie Über and not to be disturbed or interrupted.

Harper scowls.  He can’t believe that Tyr has been holed up with Charlemagne since last night.  Fine.  Tyr’s busy.  Goldie Über is busy.  Well, he can frigging be busy as well.  In fact, he has made certain that he will be good and truly busy, just in case, Tyr gets around to deciding to grab some kludge booty after all.

Harper turns sharply to look at Rhade.  The Nietzschean is perched on the edge of the lavish bed, watching him.  Despite the sumptuous softness of aqua sheets and piles of silk and velvet-covered pillows; despite the light, gauzy hangings framing him and the purely decadently depths of the bed, Rhade sits as gingerly as if there is a cactus under him.  Probably wondering if Tyr is gonna show any time soon.

“What is the matter?” Rhade asks softly with an uneasy glance at the doorway.

Harper hunches his shoulders.  Dark thoughts had come to him late last night amid the images of Tyr and Charlemagne together.  Had what he shared with Tyr been real?  Had Tyr seduced him for the tesseract bomb?  That’s something that Tyr is capable of doing. Hadn’t Tyr told him upfront that for Nietzscheans, sex was never just about sex?  That it was for…how did that list go…power, mastery, desire, reproduction, revenge and alliance.  And when he asked which categories he fit into, Tyr had named, desire, alliance and power.  Harper sighs. “I want to go home.”

“This is your home now.”

Harper stalks up and down in front of the bed.  The thick carpet effectively muffles the aggravated stamp of his feet.  “Is it?  I have been sitting in this stupid room since we blew up the Magog with nothing to do and no one to talk to.”

“The Progenitor…” Rhade begins in a quiet, soothing voice.

Harper spins around to glare at Rhade.  Anger burns through him as he remembers the guards stopping him at Tyr’s door; telling him where Tyr was; who Tyr was with.  “He’s in with Charlemagne…again.  He and Goldie Über have been sucking up adulation since the battle.  In fact, he’s been in there all night and most of the day.”

Rhade shoots another uneasy glance at the open doorway. “And this displeases you?”

“Hell, yes, it ‘displeases’ me.  I’m the one who did all the work.  I’m the one who made the stupid bomb from instructions that looked like a badly designed jigsaw puzzle, by the way. I’m the one who gave the instructions on how to deploy the bomb and all I get is a pat on the head and told to go off to my room like a good little kludge while Goldilocks gets the glory and…AND he gets to spend ‘quality time’ with Tyr.”  Harper scowls balefully.

It had felt good, so good.  Standing on the command deck. Destroying the worldship.  The admiring looks that had come his way.  Tyr’s open pride in him. The giddy atmosphere of joy and triumph then…it had all fallen flat when he looked around discovered that Tyr was gone and so was Charlemagne.  He was the one who created the bomb.  It should have been his bed that Tyr sought out first.  He should have been the one rewarded with Tyr’s time and attention.

“I’m sure the Progenitor did not say that.” Rhade tentatively leans back against the pile of pillows. “He would not hurt you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Harper flexes his toes in the thick carpet.  He traces the subtle, curving pattern with his foot.  It hadn’t even been Tyr telling him where the bastard was; it had been the damned guards.  No doubt, word would get around to Goldie Über, about how the kludge had come looking for Tyr only to discover his lover was bedded down already with Charlie.  He can already see the smirk on Charlemagne’s face. “Well, he might not have said it in so many words but that’s what he meant.”

“The Progenitor has many duties, Harper.  He is the leader who vanquished the Magog.”

“Correction.” Harper jabs a finger in Rhade’s direction. “I vanquished the Magog. Me.  He just gave the order and gets to take the credit.”

His hands curl into fists. He is not going to be taken for granted.  He is not going to be tamely, dutifully waiting for Tyr to decide that it’s time to throw the kludge a treat.  Harper forces a smile to his lips and sits down close to Rhade. “I’m not mad at you, Telemachus. I’m just tired.”

“Then I shall leave you to your rest.”  Rhade stands hurriedly.  He glances sidelong at the doorway.

“No.  Don’t go.”  Harper lowers his voice to a seductive tone as he curls up on the bed.  Can he seduce Rhade into staying despite the Nietzschean’s qualms about being here in his private quarters, in his bedroom?  He’s been with Rhade long enough to know exactly which buttons will get the response that he wants. Harper slides his hand oh, so, slowly up Rhade’s hard thigh.  His fingers caress tightening muscles through the black fabric. “Stay.”

Rhade looks down at the human.  His hand reaches out, brushing over Harper’s hair.  “I really must be going.  There is no longer a need for me to be here.”

“You mean that, now, that I’m back with Tyr, I don’t need comforting?”  Harper asks in a soft, coaxing tone as he curls his hand around to explore Rhade’s inner thigh.  Yeah, that’s the tone to take with Rhade.  Imply that only Rhade can satisfy him.  Whatever it takes to get Rhade down on this bed with him.

“That is true.” Rhade widens his stance, exposing more of himself to Harper’s slow, tantalizing explorations.  His deep voice is taking on a hoarse note. “You are the Second Consort.  Your place is with the Progenitor.”

“Well, I’m not with him, am I?”  Harper smiles knowingly; his eyes dark and wicked as his hand eases higher.  Gotcha.  He’s gonna have Rhade spread all over his bed any second now.  He’s not gonna be the only one to go looking for his lover and find his lover busy with someone else.  If Tyr thinks to find him meekly sitting around while Tyr is off fucking Charlie, Tyr has another think coming.

“I…the Progenitor…” Rhade gasps.

Harper cups his hand around the hard cock thrusting against Rhade’s tight pants.  His fingers tease, dancing provocatively.  He is not going to be rejected and left alone tonight. Rhade can just get his tight ass into bed and start comforting.

Harper’s smile deepens as he imagines the look on Tyr’s face when the Nietzschean finds out about  this little ‘cheer-up Harper’ party.  “I already told you.  Tyr is with Charlemagne.  He’ll probably be there all night.  I’d rather not spend tonight alone.  Stay.”
 

&&&

Tyr stalks softly into Harper’s bedroom.  He can smell sex and Harper and…the scent of another.  One who has no business being here now that Harper is back with him.  His lips curl back in a snarl as he stares coldly down at the lean form curled around Harper, one hand cupped possessively over the human’s shaft and balls.

He has spent the better part of two days finalizing numerous alliances as a result of his triumph over the Magog.  He has spoken to the Commonwealth Triumvirs.  He has been in contact with his First Wife and discussed his intentions for the United Nietzschean Prides with her and Charlemagne.  He had indulged his aggressive need for mastery to the full with Charlemagne in between talks with allies.  He had come here, expecting to find his Harper ready for him; looking forward to soothing himself in Harper’s embrace.

Yet, here, his Second Consort is snuggled in the arms of Telemachus Rhade.  Perhaps he had chosen a little too well when he picked Rhade for the role of comforter.  Better than he had intended.  One of the reasons that he selected Rhade was because all evidence pointed to Rhade preferring women as partners.  He had not wanted any Alpha to become too emotionally involved with his consorts.

He had doubted when Charlemagne first warned him of the situation and suggested that Rhade be reassigned but his shrewd First Consort is right.  Rhade has forgotten his place and presumed far too much.  Relaxed too much as well to continue sleeping peacefully despite his entrance into the bedroom.  Rhade should have wakened the second the outer door opened.  He could have been an assassin.

Tyr growls, low and menacing. The scent of his anger rides the air like the ominous smell of ozone in a thunderstorm.  “You forget yourself, Alpha.”

“Progenitor!”  Rhade starts awake, recoiling from the scent of danger filling the room.  His early morning erection wilts under the Progenitor’s baleful state. Rhade hastily eases away from Harper and rolls off the far side of the bed.  He hesitates; his clothes are on the other side of the bed where Tyr is looming.

“Don’t let me keep you.”  Tyr’s voice is poisonously soft as he moves closer to Harper.  He trails a hand over the human’s smooth shoulder; his fingers glide lightly, possessively over the silken coolness of Harper’s pale skin.

Tyr’s cold stare narrows on Rhade. He will have to see that Rhade receives an invitation to the Celebration. Outwardly such a coveted invitation will be a fitting reward but ensuring that Rhade is there to see him take his pleasure with both his consorts…that will be only the beginning of reminding Rhade of a comforter’s real place.  Charlemagne will see to the rest of it.

“I’ll be going.” Rhade hesitantly edges around the end of the bed.  He grabs his pants and quickly yanks them on. “The Second Consort was a bit distressed earlier.”

“What upset him?  Who?”  Tyr frowns.  He glances quickly at the relaxed lines of Harper’s body. His frown eases as he listens to the soft pattern of Harper’s breathing and catches the glint of blue eyes under lashes.  So, Harper is awake and aware.

Does Rhade realize…no. Tyr snorts.  Yet another reason to dismiss Rhade.  From the looks of it, Rhade is more likely to blindly follow Harper into trouble than to keep the human out of it.  More proof of Harper’s cleverness and charms but Rhade should have sufficient intelligence to refrain from doing more than appreciating those charms from a respectful distance.  Tyr breathes in, savoring the scents of fear and appeasement rising from Rhade.

“That is a discussion you should have with the Second Consort, sir.”  Rhade dares to move closer, leaning down to quickly snatch up the rest of his garments.

“No. Telemachus, don’t go,” Harper murmurs sleepily. He rolls over, his hand sliding across the bed where Rhade had lain. His lashes flutter as he peers out beneath them at the two Nietzscheans.

Rhade gives Harper an appalled look as he slowly backs away under the cold amber stare piercing him.  “I must leave, Harper.  The Progenitor is here.”

“Leave us.” Tyr growls ominously.  His fingers comb gently through the human’s spiky blond hair.  Harper is his.  Rhade will find that out in an unmistakable way during the Celebration as the Admiral watches Harper respond, writhe and cry out.  To judge from the recording of what had occurred between them on Charlemagne’s ship, Rhade had never wrung the kind of uncontrolled passionate response from Harper that he had never failed to elicit.  Let Rhade see Harper writhing and crying out his name.

“As you wish, Progenitor.” Rhade hurries out of the room, clutching his clothes.

Tyr gazes down at Harper.  His consort looks delectable, sprawled on his stomach amid the rumpled aqua sheets.  His gaze follows the line of Harper’s spine to his mark then the hard swells of Harper’s ass.  He can’t wait to sink into Harper again and to feel Harper sinking voluptuously into him.  No one else can give him that pleasure.  But first, he will enjoy tasting Harper again and covering the human with his scent.  He will not have Harper smelling of another’s scent. Tyr yanks his leathers off, carelessly tossing them over a chair.  He eases into the wide bed and gathers Harper into his arms.

“Tyr?”  Harper stirs and pretends to blinks sleepily up at Tyr for a moment.  He frowns, making a show of looking over Tyr to search the bedroom. “What are you doing here?  Where’s Rhade?”

Tyr growls at the question.  His eyes darken with annoyance.  There will be no more Rhade.  There will be no more comforters period for Harper. He will never allow Harper to live apart from him again. “I sent him away.”

“Why?”  Harper pushes firmly away, pressing his hands against Tyr’s chest.  “What?  You finally decide to make time for the kludge?  Thank you, no.  Send Rhade back.”

“No.”  Tyr slides his thigh over the human’s side and tightens his arms, pulling Harper back to him.  He buries his face in the curve of neck and shoulder, inhaling Harper’s scent.  He has missed this so much, the way Harper feels in his arms; the delicious scent. “I don’t believe I will.  There is no longer a need for your comforter.”

“Why not?”  Harper asks, breathlessly as Tyr’s hot mouth closes over his dataport.  It’s hard to think, to remember what he is mad about, curled into the wonderful velvety warmth of Tyr’s body with Tyr’s magic mouth on him.  Then he rubs his cheek against Tyr’s wide shoulder and catches a trace of Charlemagne’s tart scent.

“You are my consort. You belong to me.”

No.  No. No. Tyr is getting nothing from him until this gets straightened out. Harper squirms out of the embrace, pushing Tyr back.  “I’m your Second Consort, remember?  So I rank, where…below all your wives and Charlemagne, right?”

“Harper…”  Tyr sighs.  He’s been doing little but endlessly talking, arguing, ordering and negotiating for the last two days.  He doesn’t want to argue or talk or negotiate.  He wants to feel Harper writhing underneath him.  He wants to feel Harper clinging desperately to him.  He wants to hear Harper call out his name.  Then he wants to feel the exquisite thickness of Harper’s shaft pressing inside him.

“Yes or no.” Harper demands coolly.  He yanks the aqua sheet up, tucking it firmly around his waist.

“Yes.”  Tyr leans up on one elbow, staring at the exasperating human.  Harper had never been one to care about titles and rank, so why the sudden interest in knowing the exact scale?  Hmmm.  Perhaps it is an effect of discovering the reality of living among Nietzscheans and knowing how closely they track such things.  Being confronted with the First Consort in person? Could Harper be uneasy about his status and authority…his place among Nietzscheans?  Tyr’s gaze slides longingly over the creamy pale skin of Harper’s chest and the dark peach of his nipples drawn tight. “My First Consort, my First Wife, they outrank you.  You are equal with my Second Wife but outrank my other wives.”

“Why did you even bother?  I mean why did you want me?”  Harper huffs with annoyance.  The next thing he knows, Tyr will be drawing little hierarchy flowcharts on the sheets.  Trust a Nietzschean to think that he is asking about his ranking in the Nietzschean prides when what he really wants to know is where he ranks in Tyr’s heart. The hungry way that Tyr is staring at him has his cock rising and hardening.  It’s been so long since he shared a bed with Tyr. Perhaps sheets aren’t enough of a deterrent.  Harper swings his legs over the side, scoops up his green boxers and scrambles into them.  Does Tyr love him or is this whole damned relationship about the tesseract bomb?

Tyr lies back against the pillows, watching Harper with hot eyes.  His voice is husky, seductive as he holds out his hand. “Come back to bed, Harper.”

“No.  No. Answer the questions.  You’ve got what, thirty wives from the best Nietzschean stock.” Harper stalks around the bed to stand, staring down at Tyr. “You’ve got Charlemagne.  That’s everything anyone could want.  Any Nietzschean anyway.  What do you need with me?”

“I told you, Harper.”

“Told me what?”  Harper crosses his arms over his bare chest to keep from reaching out and running his hands over the long, muscular body being flaunted in front of him.  How will the short hair feel under his palm?  Harper taps his foot impatiently as he waits for an answer.

“I thought you understood.  You knew who I was…what I am.”  Tyr gazes thoughtfully at Harper.  He stretches slowly, setting off a ripple of muscles that draws the human’s hungry eyes to his aroused body. “You understand what that means for my people.”

“What was I supposed to understand?  That I’m the kludge you had to get so that you could have someone to make the bomb you needed to blow up the Magog?  You felt you had to get a little kludge booty to do that.  Hell, Tyr, I would have made the bomb for you anyway.”  Harper hugs himself.  He turns his face away from the temptation sprawled on his bed.

“No.” Tyr sits up.  He strokes Harper’s arm. “It was not like that.  It…is…not like that.”

“Then what?” Harper scowls and takes a step back. “We make the bomb that shows the Spirit of the Abyss the big bang theory up close and personal and what do I get?  I get to watch you celebrate with Charlemagne? Forgive me for being unable to contain my enthusiasm.”

“I wasn’t celebrating with Charlemagne.”

Harper turns a hot glare on his lover.  “Liar.  You smell just like him.”

“He is my consort….” Tyr spread his hands in an exasperated gesture.  Charlemagne is his First Consort with all the rights and privileges to which the position entitles him as being a powerful and high-ranking Nietzschean in his own right.  Harper must learn to accept the presence of his First Wife and First Consort in his life.

“So am I!”  Harper snarls.  “Oh, that’s right.  I’m the KLUDGE consort!”

“Don’t be angry, Harper,” Tyr soothes softly.  He reaches out, wrapping his hand around the human’s wrist.  He can feel the rapid beat of pulse.  The dangerous glint in the vivid blue eyes; the sharp scent of his consort’s simmering rage is intensely arousing. Tyr presses his lips to Harper’s wrist, flicking his tongue over the cool skin.  “I have hidden nothing from you.  I told you everything. Come to bed.”

“Not everything.” Harper yanks his hand back. “You didn’t tell me about this celebratory orgy you and Charlemagne are gonna do.”

Tyr slides his hand slowly over the contours of his chest, trying to get Harper to look, but this time Harper’s smoldering blue stare remains firmly on his face.  He tilts his head, trying to read Harper’s emotions. Is Harper jealous?  The thought brings a smug curve to his lips. “I want you there as well.”

“Are you out of your mind?  You expect me to let you do me in front of a bunch of people…Nietzscheans?”

“Yes.”  Now would probably not be the time to remind Harper about the effects of pheromones. Or mention what it will be like to be in a room full of aroused Alphas, the combined scents of their desire on the air…not to mention the overriding effects of his own powerful pheromones…or that Charlemagne is the only other Nietzschean to even come close to his level of pheromone strength…what the two them could do together to a room full of Alphas.  It’s been a long time since there was an event worthy of a Celebration.  He is looking forward to it; to sharing the event with Charlemagne and Harper; to taking what is his in front of his people.

“You’re crazier than a sun burned Nightsider if you think I’m going to fuck you in front of a crowd.”  Harper snipes.  His vivid eyes are full of disbelief.

Tyr smiles, sliding his hand lower, tracing the hard muscles of his stomach.  He can hardly wait until the time for the Celebration arrives. Already his shaft aches with anticipation. “Only a few Alphas will participate.”

Harper shrugs with pretended indifference.  He waits until Tyr reaches for him again and then asks blandly, “Will Telemachus be there?”

Tyr growls ominously as he pulls Harper down into the bed with him.  He rolls over, tucking the human beneath him. “You have grown too fond of your comforter.  I am not sure I approve of this closeness.”

Harper shrugs.  He lowers his eyes.  He can hide the pleasure in his eyes at Tyr’s nearness and touch but not the swelling hardness of his cock. He likes Rhade well enough but it is Tyr that he has yearned for all this time.  But no need to let Tyr know that. “It’s your own fault.  You are the one who sent him to me and then told me I could do whatever I wanted to with him.”

“You were not supposed to become so…attached.”  Tyr leans down, holding his parted lips just over his lover’s mouth.

“I’m not attached.”  Harper cups his hand over the back of Tyr’s head, pulling the Nietzschean down.  He moans, yielding his mouth to the invading heat of Tyr’s tongue.  Oh. Ummmm.  Tyr tastes so good.  Feels so sumptuous.  Harper moans again, curling his tongue over Tyr’s.  Arching his hips to rub his aching cock against Tyr.  No.  No.  He shouldn’t be doing this.  No being easy. Harper pulls away.  He looks up into the glittering amber eyes. “So answer the question.  Will Rhade be present?  Will he be there?”

Tyr’s narrows his eyes.  His full lips assume a dangerous curve.  “I am beginning to think that you prefer Rhade to me.”

“That’s not an answer.”  Harper stares coolly back, watching thoughts slide across the beautiful amber eyes.  If worry over how he feels about Rhade inspires Tyr to spend more time with him and keep him closer, good.  He is never going to allow Tyr to hand him over to a damn comforter again.

“Yes.  Your precious comforter will be there.”  Tyr lowers his head to nuzzle Harper’s throat.  “But he’ll only get to watch.  He will not be permitted to touch you.”

Harper arches his throat and clasps Tyr’s shoulders as the Nietzschean lavishes a series of kisses, licks and nibbles around the circle of his dataport.  Well, he knows Tyr better than to expect the Nietzschean to fight fair.  That’s okay.  He’ll enjoy the attention for now but Tyr is still not getting any Harper booty tonight. “Why not?”

“Because you will be with me.”

Time to push just a little further.  Make sure that Tyr got the ‘no more comforters, the no more ignoring Harper’ message. “What if I want him to touch me…or I want to touch him?”

Tyr growls and bites Harper’s shoulder in warning. “I will not permit this. You are mine, you will be with me.”

Ummmm.  Harper curves his hands over Tyr’s head as the Nietzschean slides lower to kiss his chest.  He kinda misses filling his hands with the long braids but the short curls feel good, soft and warm against the palms of his hands. “I thought you’d have Charlemagne with you.”

“He will be.”

What!  Harper pulls his lover’s head back and stares into the dark face. “You’re going to do us both!?”

Tyr’s full lips curl into a smile full of sensual promise.  “Oh, yes.”

Harper snorts.  Fine.  He can hold his own against the Goldie Über any day when it comes to claiming his share of Tyr.  Still it sounds like he better set a few ground rules and limits on what he will and will not permit. “I’m not going to let Charlemagne touch me.”

“Harper…”

“No.”  Harper stares directly into the amber gaze.  Let Tyr see that he is completely serious and determined on that point. “Hell, no. I’m not letting him do me.  I’ll just leave.”

“This is an important thing, Harper.” Tyr eases back up and brushes his lips over Harper’s. “I want you there as a participant.  I need you there.”

Harper frowns.  He traces the lines of Tyr’s ears.  With all the hair, he had never noticed before how charming Tyr’s ears are.  He leans up to nibble experimentally. “I don’t understand.  I’m gonna be the only human there, right?”

“Correct.”  Tyr presses closer.  His hands tighten possessively over Harper’s flanks.

Ummm. The nibbling certainly got a positive reaction.  How about…Harper traces the delicate folds with his tongue. “Isn’t this mainly a Nietzschean ‘love fest’?”

Tyr moans and arches, sliding a hard thigh between his lover’s legs. “Correct, Harper.”

Oh, yeah.  The Harper is good. He nips sharply at a shapely earlobe. “So do it without me.  I’ll stay in my room.  Tell everyone I’m sick.”

“I won’t do that, Harper.  It is very important that you attend.  It shows that my consorts are of one accord.”

“So, what, you need my approval?”  Harper shakes his head.  “I don’t believe you. You’re the messiah.  What does it matter what I think?”

Tyr gazes into Harper’s eyes for a moment, weighing what he should say.  Harper has a certain reputation among his people.  More than Harper is aware of.  Harper is a dangerous man, in his way, as dangerous as Charlemagne is.  A casual rivalry over his attentions will only whet the two of his consorts sharper but a real animosity must be avoided.  His people must see the consorts dealing amiably together or at least, seeming to. He wants no uncontrolled factions swirling around rival consorts.

“You are well-known among my people, Harper.” Tyr presses his forehead to the human’s. “It is you who is the Angel of Death, not Hunt.  My people tell stories of the battle of Witch Head and when I learned that it was your skill, your genius that defeated the Nietzscheans, I shared that with my council.  Your fame grew. Now you have again obliterated a people…an entire species…and their god.”

Harper shudders and turns his face away.  “You make me sound like a monster.”

“No.”  Tyr dusts reassuring kisses over Harper’s pale cheek.  “Not a monster.  Someone powerful.  Someone who has proven that he is the ultimate survivor…that his genetic worth is assured.”

“What are you saying?” Harper asks, turning back to look into the amber eyes.

“There will be those Alphas who will want to add your genetic matrix to their own.”

Harper smiles slowly.  His eyes brighten. “So, wait…are you saying that since I blew up the Magog Worldship the chicks are gonna dig me?”

“You are considered desirable as a potential mate and father.” Tyr traces the line of Harper’s smile with his fingertip. “Many females will approach you to offer alliances.”

“Sweet!”  Harper grins broadly.  “Who’d a thought that my ruthless side would get me the babes?”

Tyr smiles.  Not only will it get Harper the attention of Nietzschean women but it will also win his consort, the regard of Alpha females. “You may expect to be approached by alpha females from several prides.”

“Alphas?  No way!”  Harper squirms deliciously with excitement at the idea.  Then he stills and frames Tyr’s face with his hands.  “Whoa.  How will you…how do you feel about that?”

“I am honored.” Tyr turns his head, pressing a kiss in each palm. “It is one more validation that I chose wisely when I chose you as my consort.”

“Good.”  Harper nods.  His eyes sparkle with mischief as he runs his hands over Tyr’s wide back. “So, do I get to do them all?”

Tyr snorts with amusement.  “Hardly.  But consider each offer carefully.”

“What’s to consider?”  Harper chuckles.  “I just pick the cutest babe, right?”

Tyr shakes his head. Always the political and strategic context of a relationship must be considered as a factor.  His human might find that decidedly unromantic but Harper should never lose sight of that aspect of Nietzschean nature. “Allegiances are not something one jumps into unadvisedly.  One must carefully consider the benefits and disadvantages of each offer.”

Harper deflates visibly.  “It’s political.  Even sex is political?”

“Especially sex.”

“Nietzscheans!” Harper sighs in exasperation.  “So this celebration thing is sort of an audition?”

“Exactly.”

Harper frowns at Tyr.  “Then why are you doing it?  You already have dozens of wives.”

Tyr laughs.  He rises up on his knees and deftly slides off Harper’s boxers.  He tosses the boxers over his shoulder and closes a greedy hand over the rosy thickness of Harper’s shaft. “Maybe I just want to sink into your sweet ass in front of all my people.”

“Wrong answer, big guy.”  Harper snorts.  Like that’s gonna happen.  His ass is staying out of this. “Try again.”

“As leader of my people I must sanction the allegiances.” Tyr reverses his position and slides down the bed, placing the swollen darkness of his cock tempting close to Harper’s face.  He nuzzles Harper’s tense thighs. “My biochemistry will overwhelm all others so the chance that there is subterfuge in the…negotiations…is miniscule.”

Harper licks his lips and leans forward, nuzzling the cloud of dark curls, breathing in Tyr’s rich scent.  He feels almost dizzy with arousal now.  He has to have a taste.  He has to. “There’s that whole pheromone thing again.”

“You understand.” Tyr’s hot mouth closes over Harper’s shaft.

“I’m starting to get the hang of it.”  Harper slides his mouth over the thick cock.  Ooooh.  So good.  His hand closes eagerly around the plush length.  His other hand strokes teasingly down the cleft.

Oooh.  Ummmm.  The Nietzschean’s mouth feels so wonderful, so good on him.  The hard pull… the velvet caress of tongue. He can’t hold out much longer.  Harper clutches at Tyr’s hard flanks, working ardently over the delicious thickness filling his own mouth.  He can’t…he can’t…ooooooh, Harper arches, spilling himself into Tyr’s eager mouth.  Harper redoubles his efforts and is rewarded with the heat of Tyr’s climax.

“Good.”  Harper pats a hard flank.  He leans back on the pillows.  “That was so good.”

“You are magnificent, Harper.” Tyr crawls up and gathers Harper in his arms, pulling the human down between his spread thighs.  He takes the human’s mouth in a searing kiss.  He pulls back, regarding Harper’s swollen lips and flushed face with satisfaction. He wants to watch Harper take him again; feel Harper pressing delightfully deep inside him, claiming him in a way that no one else could. “Now, I want you to ride me.  I want to feel you pushing inside me…deeply…the way you did before I left Andromeda.  The way you did that first time.”

“My pleasure, Big Guy.” Harper grin has an edge of malice.  Tyr is so not getting any more from him tonight. Nope. No booty tonight for the Nietzschean who went to ol’ Charlie’s bed first. If Tyr wants it, he better come here first.  “I probably shouldn’t ask this, but I gotta know, okay?”

Tyr closes his eyes, visibly bracing himself.  “You may ask me anything.”

“Okay, this is sort of a sappy question,” Harper warns as he slides an arm over Tyr’s damp chest.  He feels mildly ridiculous, asking this but he has to know where he stands.  “But…what…how do you feel about me, Tyr?”

Tyr frowns in puzzlement.  He opens his eyes to meet Harper’s gaze.  “What are you asking?  You know that I love you…what is this question?”

Harper caresses Tyr’s short hair gently.  His fingertips trail over the graceful arch of ear. “I need to know if you love me as much as the others.”

“Others?”

“Yeah.  Charlemagne…the wives….others.”

Tyr bends down to brush his lips over Harper’s.  How to make the human understand?  Harper isn’t going to like the answer but it is the only real one.  The lesser wives had been carefully selected for character and genes; they were mainly tokens of political alliances with no claims on his heart. Most of his personal time went to his main and most highly valued mates – his First Wife and First Consort…and now, Harper. How to explain that each of them filled a unique need in his life; that each touched his heart and were precious to him? “I wish I could make you understand, Seamus.  I love you all.”

“Sure. I understand.” Harper nods slowly.

For a moment, Tyr hopes that it is so but a chill settles over his heart as he looks into cooling depths of his consort’s eyes.  He sighs.  How can one measure and weigh love? He does not love his First Wife more that he loves Charlemagne or either of them more than he loves Harper.  He loves each and appreciates the unique beauty and traits of each. Would Harper prefer a pretty lie from him instead of the truth?

Harper sits up, jerking himself out of Tyr’s embrace.  His blue eyes narrow with temper.  “A means to an end. That’s all I was.  You’re as bad as Dylan, you know that?  He sacrificed all for the Neo-Commonwealth and you sacrifice all for your precious Prides.  You’re exactly the same.”

Tyr hisses at the insult.  He rises up on his elbow and glowers. “I am not like Dylan Hunt.”

“Yeah.  Yeah, you are.”  Harper turns his back to Tyr and lies down again.  He scowls against his pillow.  He should never have asked.  He can’t believe that Tyr tried to fob him off with that I-love-you-all-the-same crap.  Still…Tyr did admit to loving him…his heart warms.  Tyr valued him enough to ask him to be his consort.  So what if he isn’t the First?

In fact, he has an advantage over ol’ Goldie.  Goldie’s the big, bad Archduke so he can’t stay with Tyr.  Nope.  Ol’ Charlie’s gotta run around doing Archduke things…holding court…running his duchy thing or whatever it was that Goldie was over.  Bet that Third Largest Fleet thing took up a chunk of time too. Yep.  The Harper has a definite time advantage in the Tyr sweepstakes.  His job is one that travels.  He can do the engineering thing wherever. While Charlie’s off playing with his fleet, the Harper can be snuggling up to an armful of Tyr.  Yeah.  He can work with that. A smile edges his lips.

“Harper…Seamus…” Tyr presses a line of kisses across the human’s rigid shoulders, trying to woo his consort back into a more amenable frame of mind.  “Make love with me.”

“Nah. Not in the mood.”  Harper hides a grin.  He hunches his shoulders in mock irritation and moves away from Tyr’s touch.  Nope.  No booty for you, Mister Progenitor.  “I’ll wait ‘til the grand orgy.”

“I won’t be able to give you my full attention at the celebration.”  Tyr warns.  “I must also attend Charlemagne.”

Oh, gonna play it like that is he?  Harper rolls back over to face Tyr. “I know that. And, frankly, right now that doesn’t sound like a bad thing.  So, let’s set a few ground rules shall we?”

“Ground rules?” Tyr gives him a wary look.

“Yeah.”  Harper stares sternly back.  He plumps up the pile of pillows behind him and leans back, crossing his arms over his chest.  “First, of all I’m not going on my knees for you in a crowd of Übers.  You’re so not going to have my ass.  You can fuck ole Charlie until you both pass out but my ass will remain untouched.”

“At least allow me to caress you…touch your ass.”  Tyr curls close, nuzzling Harper’s pale throat.  His tongue dances around the dataport. “Slide my fingers inside you.”

Harper bites back a moan.  Damn, it’s hard to think clear when Tyr does that. “Yeah, okay, fine, but no fucking.”

“Agreed,” Tyr murmurs against the dataport.  His arm slides possessively over Harper’s chest.  “I can bring you with my mouth.”

Harper considers as he strokes the hard muscles of Tyr’s arm.  That doesn’t sound too bad.  If he just has to do something with Charlie, he could live with Charlie doing that to him too although he isn’t enthused about the idea. “I’m fine with that.  Hell, I’ll even let the Goldie Über blow me…but I’m not blowing him.”

“Charlemagne prefers pain to pleasure anyway,” Tyr whispers in his ear.

“What?  He’s into those games?” Harper blinks.  Well. Now. That puts a whole new spin on things.  He wouldn’t mind hurting Goldie.  After all it’s for a good cause and everything.

“Yes.” Tyr settles, pillowing his head on Harper’s chest. “He especially likes his rings tugged.”

“Rings…as in plural?” Harper squints down at the top of Tyr’s head. “How many does he have?”

“You will see tomorrow.”

Harper snorts. “I can hardly wait.”

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