Summary: Tyr had an agenda and he wants Harper to share it.

Warning:  Reader discretion is advised.  Parental guidance suggested. Adult language and situations.  Nudity, Graphic & Gratuitous violence, some nonconsensual sexual behaviors, graphic scenes of bondage, dom/sub and alternative sexual behaviors.
 

My knife flashes in the light as I sit alone under the tree, considering.  Oh, not Dylan Hunt’s recruitment speech.  It is a good enough speech and adequate for its audience but hardly the sort of thing that would motivate a Nietzschean. While the others give Hunt their attention, I weigh my own possibilities.

When I hired on with Gerentex it was precisely to get where I am – aboard the Andromeda Ascendant.  In that much, my original plan had worked.  The rest of it --killing Gerentex and the Magog, using the humans as crew, taking the ship and using it to further camouflage my actions from the enemy – that would require some alteration.  I, now, have other factors to ponder.

Who would have expected that Captain Hunt survived with his ship? That the Andromeda might still be sentient was something that I had considered before invoking my mercenary persona and going out to investigate the rumors that Gerentex has located her.  My advisors had been quite perturbed over my desire to handle this one myself.  They had pleaded with me to take loyal Nietzscheans instead of my little rag tag band of human and alien mercenaries but where would the fun have been in that…or the verisimilitude?

I sigh as Hunt drones on.  Surely he must be coming close to an end of this tedious little speech.  I have a virus hidden in my boot; a virus that could wipe and replace the A.I.’s personality with one more suitable but that path is not without risks.  My scientists advised me to use other methods if possible before resorting to that one.  The virus had been used before on old High Guard ships.  Mostly it was successful but not always.  My hope had been that the Andromeda would have been lonely enough after three hundred years to accept me as Captain.  But now, I discover that she already has a Captain.  That limits my options to sabotage or subversion.

I have no desire to damage such a prize.  Oh, not for her technology, the Andromeda is three hundred years out of date.  Kodiak Pride and the best of the remaining Nietzschean Prides have newer, faster and better armed ships but I suspect that my enemy kept a close watch on those.  I would.  The Andromeda’s value lies not only in her history; her presence at the Battle of Witch Head – she would make a fine trophy and a symbol for the restored Nietzschean Prides – but also in her obscurity.  Only historians or the entrepreneurial minded would be likely to take note of her discovery and recovery.

How to deal with Hunt? I could contrive to have the Angel of Death, Captain Hunt, himself, in addition to the ship…that would be amusing. Think of it.  How delicious it will be to have the Victor of Witch Head forced to serve the Prides.

Many Kodiak had died at Witch Head, at this human’s command.  Our population had not recovered as quickly as that of the Prides that had held back at the battle.  Our most recent troubles could be traced back to that loss.  It had made us few and vulnerable, leading the Orca and Drago-Kazov to murder us and take Drago Museveni’s bones.   My parents, my siblings had fallen trying to protect the bones.  I had been captured and enslaved for a time.  This man’s actions lay in the center of the ring of ripples that spread to overtake my Pride and family.  I can take revenge in such a way that will leave Hunt dependent on me; how that would irk a man used to the independence and authority of command.  That path might, indeed, work out better than my original plan.

I glance up as he continues babbling drearily of intangibles and vague dreams instead of laying out solid objectives and paths to conquering them as a Nietzschean leader would.  The way I would and did when speaking to the Council of Kodiak or other First Alphas or Fleet and Field Marshals.  I keep my eyes blank to all emotion.  Let him see nothing more than guarded curiosity as I look upon him; this man who had endeavored to obliterate all Nietzscheans from the known worlds, the man who reduced my gene line to me alone.

I could do what would have to be done if I must. Sex would be the most effective way and, objectively speaking, Hunt is not unattractive.  I look at him and mentally strip him but the image does not inspire me.  Odd.  Normally, I find blondes most stimulating.  Not all of my wives are blond – my First Wife is as dark as I am -- but a number of them are.  My First Consort, my only male spouse, is very blond.  Hunt seems dark and bulky next to the image of Charlemagne’s sleek fairness.

I try imagining Hunt nude and bound beneath me.  Nothing.  I sigh.  Perhaps it is because in none of my imaginings can I envision Hunt responding to me in any way with any kind of passion – negative or positive.  He is too remotely dispassionate.  Even his speech…I have no doubt that he cares greatly for his lost Commonwealth, but his words have no passion, no spark.  He could just as easily be discussing filtration systems with that tone of voice.  All I see in him is a rigid self-righteousness.

Is that why Gaheris Rhade failed?  Back then the Prides united and sent out their best to serve on High Guard ships and insinuate themselves into positions of power.  Gaheris Rhade was an Alpha masquerading as a Beta among the humans.  He was intelligent, handsome, seductive and deadly like any Alpha.  There had been whole groups of such agents, carefully trained and altered – the first generation of Nietzschean Alphas designed for subtle biochemical warfare against their targets. But, like any first generation weaponry, flaws had been discovered; design weaknesses exposed.  Had Rhade discovered a hidden flaw too late?  Had he miscalculated?  Or had Hunt’s chilly remoteness forced him to choose another path?

My hand stills, ceasing the idle knife play as Hunt looks at me and asks, “What about you?”

Is he dreamer enough to include me in his invitation to adventure?  Now that would be useful.  I would not be in a position to lay in courses of my own choosing like I could as Captain but I would have a much lower profile as a mere crewmember.  None but a dreamer would think to reestablish the Commonwealth with nothing but one ship and a handful of crew. Commonwealth ships were known to accept diverse crews, including my people.  Is Hunt falling back on habit?  Does he merely want a token Nietzschean as proof that his restored Commonwealth applies to us too? Or does my Nietzscheanness draw him?  How far had Rhade gotten with the Captain before failing?

“What about me?” I look up at him keeping my face calm and my manner indifferent.

“The new Commonwealth will have a place for everyone.”

“Including Nietzscheans?” I ask, noting that Hunt is keeping a wary distance from me.  I slide my knife slowly back in its sheath.

“Including Nietzscheans.”  Hunt smiles warmly but his smile does not reach his eyes.

Very well.  I will be his token Nietzschean for now. I rise and stand near, but apart from, the Maru crew.  The Magog’s beady eyes glint in the light as he stares at me with the air of one contemplating a choice dish.  The purple creature flicks her pointed tail.  The small human and his Captain Valentine smell of fear and unease.

I ignore them and the chill in Hunt’s pale eyes.  I will accept Captain Hunt’s invitation for Kodiak Pride’s advantage and revenge.  Plus there is the added value of causing confusion to my enemy. And I will succeed where Rhade failed.  In the three hundred years since the Commonwealth failed, star ships are not the only things to have been improved upon. I have advantages that Gaheris Rhade lacked.  And I have the will to use them. “I accept your invitation.  It’s time I tried something new.”

“Very good.”  Hunt’s gaze sweeps over me uneasily.  “We’re going to make a difference people.  We’re going to bring back the light of civilization.”

I cover a snort of derision.  I can’t wait to hear what ‘barbarians’ are going to say to him for offering to bring back the light.  The Magog has sense enough to stare at me with suspicion.  The purple creature smiles brightly at me in apparent welcome.  Captain Valentine taps her fingers against her holster as she looks from Hunt to me.  Her small engineer cautiously, casually puts the Magog between him and me.  I smile inside as I watch him.  None of the others seem to notice his clever maneuvering.  The boy certainly made the right choice.  The Magog is the one who could give me the hardest fight unless the purple creature has hidden resources.   I will have to make a study of her and discover her weaknesses for future consideration.

&&&&

I inspect the deck where the senior officers lived and take Rhade’s old quarters for my own.  His scent is gone but the furnishings are such as would be chosen by a Nietzschean and except for Hunt’s own quarters, these are the largest. They are also conveniently close to Hunt’s quarters.  Since Hunt has appointed Captain Valentine as his First Officer, these quarters should be hers but I doubt that she will contest me over them.

Gaheris Rhade had some explaining to do.  Where had he failed in his duty?  I sweep the room with a glance.  I felt at home in his quarters with the open spaces and sparse handful of furniture.   The thick rugs are a richly somber blue-gray color with a design of black leaves scattered across it.  A large couch with black and gray velvet cushions is pressed against one wall.   One painting hangs in the room.  It is a large piece done in oils – a dramatic image of a dark storm raging over a beach.  Whoever painted it had talent.  The painting is filled with a sense of menace and anger.  I look closer and see Gaheris’ name riding one of the waves in the lower corner.

I drop my duffle bags on the couch and walk into the bedroom.  My attention goes immediately to the huge bed.  The black, white and gray quilt is folded back invitingly, revealing white sheets.  I smile.  Perfect.  Finally, after months of bunking with my mercenaries, room enough to sprawl my full length in comfort.  On the wall facing the bed is a large tapestry depicting a garden by moonlight.  The tapestry conceals an alcove filled with uniforms and clothes. Against the other wall is a sleek, black desk and console with a gray leather chair pulled up to it.

I walk back into the main room.  I lean against the closed door, tracking the others by the sound of their conversation.  I can hear the Maru crew wandering from room to room, their lively chatter growing softer and more reflective and melancholy as they encounter the relics left by the previous crew.

“What is the problem, Trance?”  The small engineer who attracted my attention earlier asks irritably.

“It’s so awful.” The purple creature’s voice is soft and sad.  “All these people…just gone.”

“I know.”  Beka Valentine sounds as if her mind is on other things.

Is she really willing to accept Hunt’s authority; to yield her power to him? I rest my head against the doorframe as I consider.  If I want to keep a lower profile, one Captain is as good to me as another.  But would she be able to kill Hunt?  If she killed Hunt and the ship discovered it, the ship would probably kill her, which would leave the field clear for me to assume command.  The ship’s choices would be very limited with Hunt and Valentine out of the way.  I could not see it accepting a Magog as Captain and as for the small human; I doubted that he desired the responsibilities of command.

The Magog’s gruff voice sounds nearby.  Its claws tap against the wall. “So many lives affected by the fall.  These few things the only remnants left.”

“Guys! It’s not like they all died.  Well, I mean, eventually they died but they didn’t die on the ship!  Geez, most of them escaped to be picked up by other High Guard ships.”  Only the small engineer seems determined to hold on to his high spirits and gloat over the greater comforts offered by Andromeda.  “I mean look at the bathrooms.  Did you get a load of the towels? Oh, and the beds are wonderful.  No offense, Beka, but the Maru’s bunks are nothing compared to this!”

Beka laughs.  “Okay, Harper, you’re right. It is cushy.”

“The old High Guard spared no expense when it came to their crew.  Take a hint, Boss.”

Hmmm.  The engineer sounds close.  Very close.  I tilt my head and laugh softly.  Does he know that he selected the room adjacent to mine?  I doubt it.  I open my door and lounge against the frame, waiting with anticipation for the look on his face when he emerges and sees me.  The next door over opens and the Magog steps out.  He pauses and we trade cold stares.  It is good to know his location.  To judge from the twitch of his ears and the glint in his beady eyes, he feels the same way about me.

The door next to mine hisses open and the small human pops out, crooning contentedly over a steaming cup of coffee.  He freezes in the doorway and stares.  His appalled blue eyes go from the Magog to me.  We stare back.  I force my lips to stay in neutral lines instead of curving into the smile that tugs at the edges of my mouth.

He buys time with a sip of his coffee.  “Uh, hi, guys.”

“Hello, Harper.”  The Magog nods.  His eyes focus on me.  “Nietzschean.”

I raise an eyebrow.  “Magog.”

“His name is Rev Bem.” Harper scowls at me, his unease at the Magog’s nearness suddenly forgotten in his annoyance with me.  Interesting that he doesn’t object to the Magog calling me ‘Nietzschean’.  “You best remember that, Über.”

“Indeed.”  I fold my arms over my chest as I look him over.  I am charmed by his blond spikes and the flash of temper in his vivid eyes.  No lack of passion in this one. “You’ve got quite a large bark for such a little man.”

“Hey! I’ve got your ‘little man’ bub.”  The small human bounces on the balls of his feet carelessly sloshing some of the hot liquid over his hand.  “Ouch!”

My lips quirk in an amused smile.  “I quake with fear.”

He scowls fiercely at me.  The blue of his eyes deepens with temper. “Are you making fun of me?  You’d better watch your step.”

“Harper…” The Magog murmurs gruffly.  His beady gray gaze darts back and forth between the human and me.  “Don’t bait the Nietzschean.”

Harper glances warily at my bone blades. The anger in his eyes is replaced by caution. “Oh, yeah, right.”

I flex my bone blades, watching as the human’s eyes widen.  I wish that the Magog had kept silent.  I had been enjoying the engineer’s display of temper. The Magog sniffs the air.  What does it make of Harper’s blend of fear and anger?  Or the scent of my rising desire?

“What is your name, Nietzschean?”  The Magog…Rev Bem…asks gruffly.  The human watches me warily.

I watch the human as I answer. “I am Tyr Anasazi, out of Victoria by Barbarossa.”

“All that stuff is your name?  What do people call you?”  The human…Harper…asks with wide eyes. Why is he asking?  He has to know something of Nietzscheans so is he trying to initiate conversation as an overture of friendship?

“His first name is Tyr.  His last name is Anasazi, Harper.”  The Magog answers for me. “The rest of the information is his lineage.  Victoria is his mother, Barbarossa is his father.”

“Correct.”  I turn my head as another door opens.

Valentine pops out of the quarters on the other side of Hunt’s.  She poses provocatively in the doorway in a large yellow towel.  Her hair is damp and droplets of water gleam on her bare shoulders and legs. “Harper, can you do something about this shower?  It’s not working right.”

My gaze flicks briefly over her and away, back to the small human.   What her towel barely hides holds much less interest for me than speculating on what Harper’s tee shirt and loose pants conceal.

“Sure, boss.  Let me grab my tool belt.”  Harper vanishes into his room.

Beka smiles coolly at me and retreats into her quarters.  Perhaps she was hoping for Hunt but he is snug in his quarters, ignoring us.  I can hear the murmur of his voice and then the ship’s but the conversation is not one that holds any interest for me.  What use are plans laid in a foundation of ignorance?  At present, neither of them knows enough about this time to make feasible plans.

The Magog stares at me.  He sniffs the air again and his ears tilt in my direction.

“What is it, Magog?”

He tucks his claws into the arms of his orange robe with a soft rustle. “Harper is my friend, Nietzschean.  I would be most…aggrieved should something happen to him.”

I raise my eyebrow. A Magog with a sense of honor, of friendship?  Interesting.  I had not thought such a thing possible. It also increased my interest in Harper – that he would draw such regard from a Magog.  “A threat?”

“An observation.”  The Magog bows slightly in my direction and retreats into his quarters, leaving me with much to think on.

Hunt is suspicious about my selection of Rhade’s quarters but for all the wrong reasons.  He thinks that I have intentions, secret intentions, and possibly violent intentions.  He is right, I do, but his knowledge of Nietzscheans is so obsolete and incomplete that he guards against all the wrong things.

While the ship is observing me, I must be subtle.  For now it is enough to be close to the Captain; to be in the same room with him as much as possible.  Slowly and so gradually that he will not even be aware of it, he will come to prefer my company, to seek my company just as he did Rhade’s.  There will be nothing for the ship to note except that Hunt, apparently of his own free will, seeks me out and spends increasing amounts of time with me.

Let Hunt keep a close eye on my whereabouts and a wary eye on my weaponry.  It will do him no good.  He is looking at the wrong weapons but there is not a reason in his world for him to look at me and suspect my personal biochemical arsenal.  Of them all, only the Purple Being and the Magog are remotely threats to my plan.  Trance, who is so interested in botany and biology, is the one most likely to be sensitive to such things. The Magog, I am also wary of.  His nose is much more sensitive than that of humans.  He is more aware of the scents riding the air currents. It will not do for him to suspect.

People think of plants as pretty and largely passive.  To limited human perceptions they may appear so but out in hydroponics there is a whole secret world of chemical warfare going on with various plants competing for the advantage.  Few humans have ever figured out that there are reasons why Drago Museveni started his genetic tinkering with plants or considered the qualities of the Dragonia Vine as compared to the qualities of Nietzscheans.  We are both designed to be beautiful, seductive and deadly.  The vine has its delicious scent and I…I have my pheromones.

The pheromones are part of what makes me Alpha.  Oh, we all have them, of course, and we are all consciously aware of them just as we are aware of the other scents riding the air; scents that few humans can detect on a conscious level.  We communicate among ourselves regarding rank and status and other things in this silent way.  Like any Alpha my pheromones will override those of the Betas and those of the lower ranks.  I can silently seduce them to my will.  Oh, they can resist the siren call of my scents; we are not mindless but the longer the Betas are exposed to me the more difficult resistance will become unless they are frequently exposed to their own Alphas and providing that their own Alpha is strong enough to match my pheromones.

As an Alpha, I can consciously select the pheromones and adjust the levels I produce from the highest to none at all.  I can silently invite someone closer or drive them away.  I can offer sex or protection or reassurance without a word if I choose.  I can challenge another Alpha’s control of his Betas if I wish.

The Kodiak saw early the potential promise of pheromones and begin incorporating them into our gene lines, making them more potent within us and combining them with other useful characteristics.  These things saved our Pride in the dark times after the attack that almost destroyed us.  We killed, evaded, escaped and regrouped. Currently our numbers are still relatively small but we have an influence out of proportion to those numbers. Particularly when groups of Kodiak Alphas gather, working in concert to achieve advantageous agreements and treaties.

I have exposed the humans of the Maru crew to just enough to influence them to be less fearful of me and more comfortable working with me.  It is not magic.  I can not make them trust me but I can put them at a certain level of ease; a subliminal feeling of being safer, of feeling better when I am present.  I have carefully kept the amount of exposure to just enough to provide the minimum of those feelings and not enough that the Maru humans are in any danger of coming to need and depend on my presence.  In the early days, mistakes had been made regarding dosages and some unfortunate Alphas had found themselves relentlessly pursued by humans who had come to require them like food or air.

We of the Kodiak have always had humans among us but never as serfs.  Nor did we consider them lesser beings or deny their usefulness or attractiveness. Those who proved worthy were welcome among us and granted our protection but in return they have to give their loyalty to us and turn whatever gifts or talents they have to contributing to Kodiak’s success and survival.

My potential choices on this ship are limited.  Beka is attractive and intelligent and cunning.  She has courage and the will to take risks.  She is also an outstanding pilot and that is a highly useful skill.  And yet…there is something about her willingness to use sex as a bargaining chip; as a quick, easy way to achieve her goals or mere casual gratification that strikes me as unacceptable weakness that enemies might exploit.

This judgment may seem harsh.  The Kodiak use the lure of possible sex, of our beauty, of our pheromones to achieve goals but only against judiciously chosen targets.  Due to the enhancements made to us, sex can never be a casual thing.  It must always be weighed and considered carefully.  Among other Nietzscheans, it is safe enough as long as certain precautions are taken but with outsiders…particularly humans…well, let me just say that will all our enhancements and pheromones, sex is the nova bomb in the Kodiak personal biochemical arsenal.  And so, on those rare occasions when we choose to follow through on our hints and implied promises, the sex is never quick or easy or casual.

Harper is more difficult than the others.  With his past, he requires higher levels of exposure to put him at ease.  This has resulted in an inclination to appear in whatever public rooms that I am in and to hover around the edges.  He also has developed a tendency to gravitate in my direction when frightened but I do not mind it.  Harper is amusing and makes me laugh, on the inside, at least.  Harper is courageous. One might not think so at first but consider this – he serves on a ship with the personification of his two deepest fears; that is a Magog and a Nietzschean.  He does so with grace and aplomb.  Could a lesser man do this?  Could our esteemed captain?  No. Harper is also an undoubted genius.  I have come to like him as well as find him distractingly attractive.  Dylan Hunt, however, is a different story.  I have set my will against him and I will bend him to it.

&&&&

I stand on the basketball court, watching Dylan roll to his feet.  I hold the basketball with deliberate awkwardness.

He stares at me with a bemused expression.  “Personal fouls, Tyr.  Remember personal fouls?”

“Oh, yes.” I look contrite; concealing how much pleasure it gives me to see the Victor of Witch Head at my feet.  I wonder how long I can get away with pretending forgetfulness of certain rules.  “Sorry, Captain.  I’ll try to do better.”

Dylan takes the ball out to put it back into play.  There is a smug note in his voice. “You know, Tyr, for such a superior specimen; your hand-eye coordination is not very good.”

“I didn’t realize.”  I hide a smile.  My deliberately poor play has achieved the goal that I intended.  The Captain is feeling confident and superior.  Enough so that he no longer keeps a wary distance between us while playing.  The more proximity, the more physical contact, the more he becomes drawn to me.

“Oh, yeah.  You seem to have a hard time dribbling the ball.”  Dylan smiles at me, relaxed and easy as he bounces the ball.

I laugh throwing my head back and exposing the strong line of my throat and my chest to Dylan’s view, testing his reactions.  He looks briefly at me and then quickly away.  I can scent the faint stirrings of arousal.  I smile at him. “What was the word again?”

His hands falter on the ball as he glances at me. “The word is ‘dribbling’, Tyr.”

“Perhaps with more practice, Captain, I will become more proficient.”  I snatch the ball from him and toss it easily into the hoop.

Dylan frowns slightly.  “Yeah.  That’ll work.”

For the rest of this game I will follow the rules.  Perhaps even the next three before my memory lapses again.  It is bad for self-discipline to indulge one’s self too often.  I pass him the ball, throwing it just the tiniest bit too hard.

It is rather amusing -- the earnest way that Dilly seeks to teach me fair play and good sportsmanship by way of basketball.  One would think after having Rhade for an extended period of time and failing to impress those concepts upon the First Officer, Captain Daffa-dilly would have figured out that Nietzscheans’ care passionately about winning.  We do not care a great deal about rules.

Daffa-dilly is coming along well.  The basketball games have progressed from biweekly to weekly to every other day.  My pheromones at work.  The other amusing thing about basketball is that it gives me apparently innocuous opportunities to increase my influence.  Dilly likes to play in baggy shorts and a sleeveless top.  I wear my black exercise pants and gauntlets and nothing else.

Once I begin sweating, I make contact – bare, damp skin to bare, damp skin.  With every game, he absorbs a little more of me.  He is beginning to give me confused, sidelong looks as we play.  Fragile new sensations are heating his blood.  I can smell the faintest hint of arousal in the air during our games.  I give him blank face back and crowd close under the guise of playing his precious game.

He has also taken to frequenting the gym when I lift weights.  The other humans often drop by then as well so I have to judge carefully in the matter of pheromones.

“Why, Captain, you seem to be working out a bit more of late.” I push the bar over my head as I bench press much less than I am capable of.  No need to give Hunt, or the crew,  a clue to my true strength.  I spread my thighs a little wider as Dylan sits on the bench across from me, improving his view of my crotch.

“What can I say, Tyr, you are an inspiration.”  Dylan’s pale gaze flutters over me.  He looks quickly away but his gaze keeps returning to me with unwilling fascination.

I writhe a little on the bench seemingly struggling with the weights.  My voice lowers to a husky tone. “Thank you, Captain.  I try to provide…inspiration…when I can.”

Dylan’s eyes widen as he watches the flex of my thighs and the tautness of the snug brown fabric of my exercise pants over my shaft and balls.  Color is rising in his cheeks.  Embarrassment or desire?  I test the air.  The scent of his arousal is stronger than usual.  Strong enough that he must be consciously aware of his reaction to me now.  Strong enough that he can no longer blame the reaction on anything but need.

I amuse myself while counting reps by watching the other humans’ reactions to me.  Beka works out nearby; her attention is divided between me and Daffa-dilly but since Dylan favors those awful baggy shorts – they are so baggy that I am inclined to wonder if he has some…shortcoming, shall we say, to conceal –and I, like all Nietzscheans, dress to display my physical assets, Beka tends to sneak stares most often at me.  It will do her no good.  I have already decided that she is not a suitable addition to Kodiak.

Dylan finally finishes selecting and adjusting his weights.  He starts his reps as I sit up.  I untie my long hair and shake it loose.  I pick up one of Rhade’s soft black and gray striped towels and languidly blot my face and then my chest.  I can feel Dilly’s eyes on me.  I watch him for a moment as he lifts then I chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” Dylan sounds both breathless and offended.  He scowls at the ceiling as he lifts.

“Your form could use some…polish.”  From my position, I have an excellent view of the tent forming at the front of his baggy shorts.  My nearness is affecting him more than he knows.

Dylan shoots me an annoyed look but does not rebuff the implied offer. “Really?”

I walk around him and position myself at his head, not incidentally providing him with a close-up view of the solid bulge outlined by my tight, brown exercise pants.  Since he is, in theory, staring at the ceiling rather than my groin, he may stare as long and hard as he pleases without the others suspecting any untoward interest.  I slide my hands over his arms, wrists and hands, smoothing him into the proper form.  “Here.  Let me show you.”

“I…I think I’ve got the hang of it.”  Dylan drops the rod on the rack hurriedly.  He lies back on the bench, breathing quickly.  His eyes are wide an uneasy as he stares up at me.

I smile winningly down at him.  “Try it once more.  I’m sure you have it right now.”

I do not move as his gaze reluctantly returns to my groin.  The more aroused he becomes, the more disturbed he seems.  Why?  A Nietzschean captain would have thought nothing of taking anything his officers chose to offer or even what they did not offer if he needed to emphasize his power. Why is Dilly so skittish about reaching for more?  Particularly when more is dangling right over his face.

He jerks his gaze away to focus on Beka as she settles on the bench next to him. “I’ll try it again in a moment.”

“Good.  Would you like me to assist you further?”

“No.  Thanks.”  Dylan’s tone is curt.

I move away, pausing by Beka.  She glances sidelong at me.  Her smile is slow and inviting but her easy rhythm never falters.  Her form is good.   I nod in approval. “Very good, Beka.”

“Thanks.”  Her gaze flickers over my thighs and crotch.

I turn away from her and see Harper on the bench at the far end.  I walk over to him. “Would you care for some assistance, Harper?”

“Ahh. No thanks.”  He smells deliciously of fear and desire and his own scent but his attention is too much on me and not enough on what he is doing.  I do not wish him to harm himself in his fear.  I raise my pheromone levels and begin radiating silent promises of security and safety to him just as I would to a disturbed Beta.

I do not move closer until he relaxes and his concentration returns to the weights.  I watch the flex of muscle under his pale skin.  He is stronger than he seems.  The damp cling of his white tee shirt offers a pleasant view full of tease and promise.  The looseness of his cargo pants conceals his mysteries from my eye.  I am intrigued.  Harper offers possibilities.  The bubbling champagne volatility of his personality is refreshing.  He strikes me as a very sensual creature and one who could hate or love well.

I will continue to consider him.  The choice of a human lover is something to be weighed carefully.  Different Prides have different rules regarding relations with humans but few of the other Prides chose to pursue this line of enhancements as vigorously as the Kodiak did.  Even other Nietzscheans find the wiles of Kodiak’s difficult to resist once we have been intimate with them.  Humans find us almost impossible to resist.

&&&&
 

I sit at Rhade’s sleek black desk.  I have found his secret journal documenting his mission and his attempts at infecting Hunt.  Rhade embedded the secret journal in his personal journal and his officer’s log.  Only by having both on screen at the same time do I see the full account.  I smile to think of him sitting at this desk, blithely using the ship’s memory to record his secrets.  I wonder if Dylan read these records, looking for clues to the how and why of Rhade’s actions or if being a typical Commonwealth Captain, he had babbled loftily about respecting the privacy of the dead.  He would find nothing there, of course.

To read and access any Nietzschean agent’s secret journal one must know how to read it to see what wealth of information and instruction is contained in the poems and apparent accounts of the trivia of daily life and work.  Rhade was apparently very fond of poetry to judge by the number of sonnets, odes and lyric poems cluttering his journal.  There are also a number of highly obscene limericks interspersed with the more standard sonnets.  He seems a man of style and humor.  I would have liked him.  How could Captain Daffa-dilly have resisted determined wooing by such a handsome, clever Alpha?

Andromeda has noted my interest in Rhade’s records and questioned me about it.  I told her that my interest was of a historical nature; that I wanted to know what life in the High Guard was like for a Nietzschean of that era.  I am certain that she reviewed the records that I had been reading for all the good that it would do her.

~~~

I stand on the Command Deck, listening as Guderian talks to Hunt.  I can see that Hunt is on the verge of agreeing to meeting the Orca First Alpha on Guderian’s own territory and surrounded by the Alpha’s warriors.  I have seen Captain Daffa-dilly in this odd mood before where he will be so determined to prove the value of his Commonwealth that he will take foolish risks. Dylan has no idea what Guderian intends and I cannot spell it out for him without revealing too much.  The most that I can say is that High Guard captains were commonly taken captive.  I cannot tell him how those captains were controlled and forced into assisting with the take over of their own ships.

I know what the First Alpha intends.  He will seize Dilly and have the Captain pinned and well fucked before he knows what happened.  Depending on how strong Guderian’s personal biochemistry is, Dylan will be addicted to him within hours or days or weeks of continued exposure.  My own actions have slowly sensitized Dylan to me but I have not yet laid a strong enough grip on him that another Alpha could not contest me for him.

I set about convincing Dylan to stay aboard the ship.  It takes little to convince him that he is too important to risk on such a minor thing but he is still suspicious of my motives.  I could turn Guderian.  Give the Orca enough information to take the ship.  Play Guderian against Dylan and let the universe decide between them.  I win whichever way it turns out.  If Dylan holds the ship against the Orca, it will give me the opportunity to take a measure of his will and strategic abilities.

 If the Orca succeed, I can bend Guderian to my will almost as easily as Dylan.  Guderian will not have Dylan’s reservations about demanding sex from me.  He probably will demand it shortly after taking over the ship as a way of reinforcing his command and control.  That can be dangerous for an Alpha from a Pride that is not noted for the strength of their biochemistry.  My Kodiak biochemistry alone (much less what additional chemical charms I have as Progenitor) is much more potent than his.  Overwhelming him and establishing my own command will pose no problem.  If he proves himself worthy by succeeding.

 I gather the gear that I will need, absently reassuring Dylan that I will return for him in the highly unlikely event that the Orca actually do want to join his Commonwealth but why would they?  He has proven no advantage to them in accepting it. My main difficulty in dealing with the Orca, will be preventing Guderian from figuring out why he is so inclined to accept my suggestions and growing suspicious of who I am.  Even if I completely suppress my pheromones, Guderian will still be subliminally aware of what I am and want to please me.  If Guderian succeeds, one taste of me will tell him my true nature.

I can change my DNA slightly whenever I leave the Kodiak to match that established as belonging to my mercenary persona.  When I am ready to return, to resume my real identity, I will switch back to my true genetic identity.  I can fool gene scans and present myself as either the mercenary or as what I really am, the genetic reincarnation of the Progenitor.  My personal scent, I can do nothing about.  Between it and my pheromones, Nietzscheans in my presence, find themselves subliminally swayed to yield to my will.  Even without the pheromones, my personal scent will have its effect.

I stand on the Command Deck, watching Dylan and Guderian as Guderian makes his challenge for the ship.  Dylan is not bluffing.  Those cold, pale eyes tell me that he has already made his decision. He will destroy his ship and all aboard rather than yield to Guderian.  It is an interesting choice of options. Dylan knows enough about us to gamble that Guderian will be likely to choose survival for himself and his Pride.

I glance at Guderian.  He has gambled all on this one option and formed no alternative plans.  I can see it in his face; smell it in his pheromones.  His Betas eye him uncertainly, waiting for orders.  I was tempted to bring him over…to add him to my collection of allies.  I changed my mind after meeting Freya.  Guderian is a flawed leader.  His closeness to his demented brother Dimitri is not the least of his problems.  He has proven himself unworthy of my time but he will survive.  Dylan does not have enough crew to hold the Orca captive and keep them under control.  I know Dylan well enough to know that he will not execute them.  He will allow the Orca to go with revenge in their hearts.

The Orca Pride ships head for slipstream, fleeing their asteroid home.  Freya is on one of those ships.  I unfasten her helix and cup it in my palm.  I could have avoided certain problems by not accepting her but…a smile curves my lips…she is so fair and her gene lines promising, very promising, despite her membership in the Orca.  Perhaps there had once been more to the Orca.

It was a risk.  My first kiss told her who I was.  She knew what Guderian was not able to ascertain from the onslaught of my pheromones.  By the time that Guderian came to summon me, she knew beyond any doubt.  Freya was willing enough to trade whatever loyalty she had to the Orca for the status of being one of the Progenitor’s wives; for the possibility that she might be the one to found the line of my successor.  I left her money and instructions on where to go and how.  If she is worthy, she will succeed in making her way there and taking her place among my other wives. She will have plenty of them to keep her company since I have my pick of the best from each Pride since each wants the honor of bearing a child to the Progenitor.  Spreading my genes widely is part of my duty both to my gene line, to the Kodiak and to the Nietzscheans.

&&&&

Dylan is drawn to vulnerability or the appearance of it.  Has he noticed yet how Trance plays upon this instinct of his?  I doubt it. My observation of the Purple girl has brought some unsettling contradictions.  Something about her is familiar.  She is much more than she appears.  But then so am I.  The humans and even the Magog are drawn to her charm, her sunny naïve personality.  She seems particularly interested in Dilly and works hard to engage him and sway him to choosing whatever alternative she suggests.  Since the appearance of an open and child-like nature seems to work so well for Trance, I decide to stage a play of my own.

To aid my appearance of vulnerability, I retreat to the Obs Deck.  I sit on one of the benches – when you are large and strong, it’s much harder to seem vulnerable even if you do truly feel that way.  My tears, my guilt, my pain – all these are real things but like any successful Alpha, I will use them to have my will of my enemy.  It is only a matter of time before Dilly checks with Andromeda and discovers that I am crying on the Obs Deck.  He will not be able to resist the opportunity to probe me when I seem vulnerable to such assaults.

I hear the door open and Dylan’s footsteps.  I do not move.

“Tyr? Are you in here?”

“Yes.”  I pitch my voice low and soft.

“How are you?”

“I’m…fine.”  I allow a tremor to touch my lower vocal registers.  I glance at him and then away as if embarrassed by the break in my voice.

“There’s no need to feel guilty.  We had to do it.”  Dylan moves closer to me.

I sniff and drop my head, allowing my braids to veil my face.  “Guilt is a wasted emotion.”

“There was no way we could know how our interference would affect the future.”  Dylan sits next to me on bench.

“Has not our interference already affected that future?” I ask quietly.  “We are here.  The Angel of Death…you gave the order to slaughter over 100,000 of my people.”

“Tyr…” Dylan shifts uneasily on the bench.  His pale eyes are watchful and intent.  “I took no pleasure in the order.”

“Did you not, Captain?”  I ask softly.  Did killing all my people make up for Rhade’s attack on you and your precious Commonwealth? Did it make up for losing 300 years?  He must think me as naïve as Trance pretends to me if he thinks that I do not see other motives in his choices as well as the one that he admits to.

“Of course not.  I was only doing…”

“No, Captain…allow me to finish.”  My voice is hoarse with grief. “I could have stopped you.  I could have warned them but I didn’t.  I did nothing.  I am as much to blame for this as anyone.”

That is a harsh truth.  A hard, sharp-edged truth but I will not attempt to evade it or deny it.  A single tear slides down my cheek and I begin to weep surrounded by the stars and shadows.  Beauty in distress – just the sort of thing to lure Hunt to me.  Let him play comforter.  Let him feel strong and superior.  Let him measure my pain and probe it’s depths in an attempt to flush out my hidden motives.  He will beg at my feet for whatever crumbs I deign to grant him in the end.

“Don’t beat yourself up about this.  We did what we had to.”  Dylan eases closer on the bench.  His hand hovers uncertainly over the bare skin of my arm before drawing back.

I sigh.  This is getting tedious.  Had Rhade won a warmer response?  Or was Dylan’s relationship with Rhade – whatever it amounted to – what makes Dylan so ambivalent about his response to me? I have watched Dylan with all the crew.  He is attracted also to Beka and more comfortable with her than me yet he has not acted on his attraction to either of us. Perhaps he is best left to the mechanical charms of his ship.  The ship is devoted to him and unlikely to feel there is any lack in him.

“Did we?  Did I?”  I whisper softly.  I had considered stopping him.  The opportunity was there.  I could have but how would that have affected the present?  As things are, I know what I have to work with to defeat the enemy who would destroy us all, feed us to the Magog.  I know what I need to do.  Then there is my Pride.  The Kodiak are finally prospering again.  Should I trade known prosperity for a possible mirage of better things?

Harper is the other matter that I am considering as I grieve under the stars.  Dylan was the one with the will and determination to give the order but Harper…Harper was the one who conceived and created the ruin of our fleet.  Harper intrigues me greatly.

Dylan finally touches me lightly on the shoulder, a mere brush of his fingertips, and leaves.

I sigh as I watch him leave.  Perhaps I overdid it on the emotion.  Perhaps I am far too big and dangerous to successfully appear vulnerable even when I am.  Or perhaps I am too male.  Or too Nietzschean.  Or not purple enough.  I wipe away my tears.

I retire to my quarters and sit up late, reading Rhade’s journals and seeking the key to his interactions with Dylan.  I know now where things had gone wrong with Gaheris Rhade’s initial plan.  To Rhade’s annoyance all his seduction attempts had gone unnoticed.  When he had finally resorted to a blatant offer, that offer had been quickly rebuffed.  Dylan had rapidly retreated under a barrage of words about the inappropriateness of having a relationship with a fellow officer. Rhade had considered force but he would have had to wait for an opportunity to be off the ship as well as alone and private with Dylan for the needed amount of time.  In the end, Rhade opted to continue concealing his activities from Dylan until such concealment was no longer needed and then kill Dylan.  Did I mention that we Nietzscheans do not take rejection well?

It is late but Dylan is always saying that his door is open to his crew.  Somehow, I doubt, that I am the crew that he had in mind – probably the most preferable would be either purple and cute or blond and cute -- but, nonetheless, I am here. I stand outside his door wearing nothing but my black leather pants.  Even my feet are bare. My hair hangs loose down my back.  I bear no weapons but myself.  I do my best to look meek and vulnerable and in need of advice.

“Tyr?”  Dylan opens the door.  He looks tired and faded in his severe navy sweater and pants.  Perhaps he regrets the orders that he gave earlier.  If his choice gives him pain, I can only rejoice that it is so.

“Captain.” I bow my head, hiding my face behind my braids.  Hiding my wish to mark his skin with the bruises of hard use.  After a fashion, I will mark him in a way that he will find intolerable.  I have already initiated his punishment all unknowing when I began exposing him to my pheromones and sweat causing him to seek me out, to feel a need for my company and the stirrings of unwanted desire.  Nothing that I did could make him want me sexually if that was not somewhere hidden in his nature but I could force a latent attraction to the surface where Dylan could not deny its existence.  According to Rhade, Dylan would be deeply distressed to discover himself desiring another man.  “May I speak with you?”

He hesitates for a moment before, standing back from the doorway.  He rubs his eyes before waving me inside. “Yes.  Of course.”

I pad lightly inside on my bare feet.  His quarters are neat and severe.  Little trace of his personality marks them.  The furnishings are all standard High Guard.  Not at all like Gaheris Rhade’s quarters, filled with seductive textures.  Perhaps he restricts personal items to his bedroom. I give Dylan a brief glimpse of large, vulnerable eyes before ducking my head again.  “Captain…”

Dylan watches me warily as I look around his quarters.  The wariness increases as I pause in front of an antique weapon mounted on the wall.  The edges glint sharply. “What did you want to talk about Tyr?”

“So many things have transpired.  I hardly know where to begin.”  I turn away and walk back toward him, keeping my every move slow and easy.  He will have no warning of my intentions until too late. Even then he will not fight me.  The method that I have chosen to wound him will leave him with nothing overt to resist.

“The beginning is always a good place.”  Dylan smiles but it does not warm his pale eyes.  He holds his ground despite the tension betrayed by his growing stiffness.

I ease closer to him, testing the air.   His scents speak of suspicion, unease and more faintly the beginnings of arousal. “This day has been…difficult for me.”

“It’s not been a good one for me either.”  Dylan sighs.  He looks away from me.

“Has it not, Dylan?”  I ask, keeping my voice and manner soft and mild with great effort.  My pheromone levels are rising quickly but reflecting anger.  I manage to mingle desire with the ire in my scent by thinking of Charlemagne and the lithe grace of his body flexing beneath me. I cannot stay here with Dylan much longer and not hurt him.

Dylan frowns, shifting his position uneasily.  He watches my face closely. “No.  I have been replaying the events.  Every scenario leads here.”

“Would that we could replay the events and start anew.” If only the Commonwealth had chosen to fight the Magog instead of making a foolish peace treaty with the vile creatures, we would not have needed to overthrow it. I turn slightly away from him, bowing my head so that my braids obscure my profile.  At the edge of my vision, I see him reach out, slowly.  He hesitates a long moment then his hand settles awkwardly on my shoulder.

“Captain?” I slant him a provocative look through the veil of my hair and deepen my voice to a throaty purr. “Do you need comfort as well?”

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise.  He withdraws his hand hurriedly. “Comfort?”

“Yes. Do you need someone to tell you everything will be fine?  Someone to hold you.  Someone to do this.”   I turn to face him and his eyes widen as I firmly cup his face between my strong hands.  I could kill him here and now, so easily.

“Tyr, what are you doing?”  Hunt gasps. He freezes, confused by the mixed signals in my pheromones and manner.

“Dylan.”  I breathe his name softly and before he has a chance to react, I take his mouth, firmly parting his lips and filling his mouth with my tongue.  I kiss him long, soft and tender, giving him nothing to fight against.  He tenses under my touch but, as I expected, he does not fight.  He does not respond and I do not expect that either of him but his heart beats fast as his mouth yields passively to my possession.  That should be exposure enough to my unique chemistry to trouble him for a long time.  I raise my head and drop my hands to his shoulders. “I’ve wanted to do that since I first saw you.”

Dylan laughs nervously.  His pale eyes are puzzled. “You tried to kill me when you first saw me.”

I shrug.  I lean forward as if to kiss him again. “It did not stop me from appreciating your beauty.”

Dylan shakes his head. He steps back but it is only a small step. “Tyr…I…”

I allow the retreat but keep my hands firm on his shoulders.  It will not do for him to think on this too much.  I need a distraction, something to put him off-balance.  I give him big, hurt eyes and allow a trace of the anger that I feel in my voice, “You do not want the comfort of my body?”

Dylan shifts uneasily as I rub my thumb over his lips.  “What is this, Tyr?”

“Whatever you need it to be.”  I trace the line of his throat, noting the quickening pulse there.  The scent of his arousal is increasing.  It will only get worse for him. “Do you not find me attractive, Dylan?  You find me unworthy?”

“Oh, uh, no. No.”  He moves back with unflattering haste, putting his desk between us. He drops awkwardly into his chair, trying to hide the erection pressing against his navy pants.  His cheeks heat with embarrassed color.

“Then what is wrong?”  I hold out my hand, palm up, inviting him to take it.

 He flattens his hands against the desktop and stares down at them.  “Uh…um…I’m just not…well you see…”

“No, Dylan.  I thought you wanted…”  I allow my voice to trail off in apparent bewilderment.  I take a small step toward him.

Dylan looks quickly at me and then away.  He bites his lip and forces his gaze to my face.  “I didn’t realize that you…well, my First Officer was Nietzschean so I know that you people are bisexual.  Not that there is anything wrong with that, of course, but I don’t, um, I’m not inclined that way.  Nothing personal.”

“Of course not, Captain.” I nod curtly as if my pride is hurt and turn to go.  Liar.  He probably told himself that those erections in the gym are due to Beka.  From what Rhade said the human would go to any length rather than admit to having such feelings for a man.  One of the things that had irked Rhade endlessly was scenting Dylan’s attraction to him and then having the Captain fervently disowning any such feelings.  Ah, well, the damage is done.  His proclaimed non-attraction, non-inclination to me will be even stronger now.  “I’ll not trouble you further.”

Dylan relaxes slightly behind his desk. He offers me a small, stiff smile. “Tyr…no hard feelings?”

How can this idiot speak such a sentence after condemning so many thousands of my people to death?  I smile coldly at him.  “No…no hard feelings.”

I leave his quarters gladly.  Now, for something to take the taste of Dylan out of my mouth.  I head for the closest mess.  Harper looks up with big eyes as I walk in.  I can smell his fear and hear the rapid drum of his heart.  He has been carefully avoiding me all day.  He looks tired and troubled.  This is his sleep shift.  He should be in his quarters dreaming of whatever engineers dream.

“Harper.”  I begin giving him the secure and safe pheromones that usually soothed him into a kind of ease with my company.  I glance at the bottle in his hands.  “That will not help you sleep.”

“Tyr.”  Harper clutches his beer bottle and stares from me to the door, measuring his chances of escape.  His voice is slightly slurred but not enough to hide the belligerent note in it. “Who said that I was having trouble sleeping?  I’m great. I’m wonderful. I’m fine.  Better than fine.  I’m a frickin’ super genius!  I blew away a whole huge heapin’ helping of Nietzscheans today.  What more could a skinny little kludge from Earth want?”

I open a bottle of fruit juice and savor the tart flavor.  I have always preferred tart to sweet.  I raise an eyebrow. “Perhaps I suspect that you are having trouble sleeping because it is the middle of your sleep cycle and you are sitting in here drinking beer alone.”

“Oh, yeah?  Well, maybe I sit here and drink beer every night at this time and you just don’t know about it.” Harper drains the last swallow of his beer and sets the bottle down with a defiant clink.  He glares fiercely at me. “What makes you think you know anything about me anyway?  That’s just it with you damn Neits…always thinking you got the skinny on the way the rest of us think.  Well, you don’t know squat!”

How many beers had he drunk?  How long had he been sulking in here, brooding?  Tenderness creeps over me as I look at him – small, rumpled, troubled and still defiant.  His blond spikes bristle aggressively.  His blue-gray eyes are full of shadows and there is an unhappy droop to his shoulders.  “Go to bed and get some sleep, boy.”

He scowls at me.  He fingers the empty bottle. “Something wrong with your enhanced hearing, Tyr?  Maybe I don’t feel like sleeping right now and who, the hell are you to think you can tell me what to do?”

I drain the bottle of juice and set it aside.  In one smooth move, I yank Harper out of the chair and drape him over my shoulder.  “For one thing, I’m much bigger.”

“Hey!  Put me down!  Don’t make me knock you senseless.  I can do it too.”  Harper waves his beer bottle uncertainly before managing to smack my shoulder with it.  “What do you think you are doing?”

I snort and walk out of the room, ignoring the bottle tapping harmlessly against my shoulder, back and hips.  I run my free hand over his thighs.  Hmmm.  Nice.  Very nice.  Solid and strong.  My hand glides higher, exploring the hard, warm curves of his ass.  Oh, yes.  This is good too.  Very good. It fills my hand in a most pleasing fashion.  My fingertips glide lightly up and down the provocation offered by his cleft.

Harper stills suddenly.  His breathing deepens. “Are you playing with my ass, Tyr?”

“And if I am?”  I playfully nuzzle his flank, enjoying the heady scent of his arousal and the thrust of his thickening shaft nudging my bare shoulder.

“Just wondering.”  He wiggles against my shoulder as I tease him as well as myself with slow, lingering strokes.

I walk into Harper’s quarters, delicately picking my barefoot way around the sprawl of circuit boards, parts, tools and assorted projects.  More evidence of his lively, inquiring intellect. I drop Harper gently on the bed.

Harper squints at me and waves the bottle menacingly.  “Back off, Nietzschean.  You’re not going to play ‘pork the kludge’ tonight, buddy boy.  Don’t make me hurt you.  Done enough to you Übers today.”

“Pork the kludge?” My lips quirk as I take the bottle away from him.  An interesting phrase…wonder if the meaning is what I think.

“Hey! Don’t go thinkin’ that just because I let you feel me up that I’ll spread ‘em for you.  The Harper is not easy.” He points a crooked finger at me.

“Of course not.” I smile.

“Where’s my brewsky?”  He stares at his empty hand in surprise as I set the bottle out of the way.

“Go to sleep.”

“Can’t.”  His face suddenly takes on a mulish look.  “Won’t.  You can’t make me.”

“That’s not a smart thing to say an Über, Harper.” I laugh softly as I capture his feet and pull his boots off.  Harper’s pugnacious company eases my heart.  Will he remember my touch in the morning or put it down to too much drink?

I have him tucked under the blanket before he knows what is going on.   He blinks at me in confusion from his warm cocoon.  Curious, I touch the bristling blonde spikes.  Not as pale as Charlemagne’s but just as soft and pleasant to my fingertips.  He says nothing but his eyes widen as I lean down brush my lips against his forehead.  “You did what you felt you had to, Harper.  The only thing left to do is accept your deed and move on.  Guilt is a useless emotion.  Now, go to sleep.”

I can feel his eyes on my back as I leave, turning the lights off behind me.   I go to my own bed with the scent and texture of Harper in my mind.  He pleases me very much.  Perhaps…perhaps.

&&&&&&

“So, what really happened on Enga’s Redoubt, Tyr?” Dylan stares warily over his force lance at me.

“What do you want to know, exactly?” I sigh.  It is difficult to take Dylan and his force lance seriously after all those tedious jokes and innuendoes that he is so fond of.  He does seem quite pleased to have me on the business end of his force lance.  Compensation or sublimated denial?  Perhaps I should present the Captain with some Freud for his bedtime reading. A smirk curves my lips.   Or could Dylan be having trouble with the old force lance?  He is three hundred years old, after all.

“Don’t play word games with me, Tyr!”  Dylan snarls.  His eyes are bright with anger and the beginnings of arousal.

I stare coolly back at him.  There is a limit to what I am willing to tolerate from him.   I am already annoyed at being forced into premature disclosures by Cuchulain’s divide and conquer tactics. “I don’t think I like your tone, Captain.”

“You don’t have to like it. Just answer the damn question.”  He jabs the lance in my direction almost gleefully.

I can see that Dylan is suspicious at my calm indifference.  If Dylan does opt to turn me over both he and Cuchulain will get a very big surprise since I will be forced to reveal myself.  “I merely retrieved that which is my Pride’s by right.”

“What did you steal?”

“As difficult as this is for you to understand, Captain, I didn’t steal anything.  One cannot steal what one already owns.” I give him a thoughtful glance.  This is hardly the time and place for such a discussion.  Not if he wants his medical aid to make it past this place.  Drago’s bones belong to the Kodiak.  They also belong to me by virtue of what I am.  No Nietzschean who knows my real identity would contest my holding the bones or my returning them to the Kodiak.

Dylan’s breathing quickens and his hand trembles on his force lane. “I told you not to play word games with me, Anasazi.”

“What games would you like to play, Captain?”  I give the front of his trousers a pointed look.   I glance away with a bored air.  Nothing of interest there.

He glares at me. “Don’t play games with me.”

“Who says I’m playing?  I did not steal anything.”  Oh, yes, I could have remained safely behind the scenes and ordered a strike force to retrieve the bones.  I could have made myself known to the Drago-Kazov and demanded the bones be returned to me.  But where is the challenge, the fun in any of that?  Besides, stealing the bones, gave me a chance to introduce myself to the Dragans in a manner guaranteed to pique their interest.

“I don’t like it when you lie to me, Tyr.”  Dylan shoots at me.

I twist aside.  Terrific, he is wasting the charge in his force lance on foolishness when we are deep in an opponent’s territory.  Not to mention the possibility that should any patrols be searching for us nearby, the noise will swiftly attract them.  “Dylan, there is no need for this game.  We both know you’re not going to shoot me.”

“You don’t know me at all, Tyr.” Dylan’s eyes are wild as he fires at me again.

I stare at him with wide eyes.  What could he possibly think to accomplish by this? Is it some misguided attempt to reengage with me?  Is it an effort to eliminate the object of his unwilling desire and therefore negate the desire?

I am beginning to entertain grave doubts that Daffa-dilly has escaped unharmed from his three hundred year hiatus.  His plans for disabling the High Guard fortress at Acheron seem haphazard rather than clearly laid out.  We were at a disadvantage from the moment we entered the outpost with such a bang.  Explosions are generally counterproductive if your stated goal is to sneak up on someone who outnumbers you.  If he had set off an explosion somewhere else as a distraction that would have been sensible but no, Daffa-dilly impulsively blows our way into the fortress, announcing to all what section of the fortress we are in and requiring us to locate a different exit point.

I have not also failed to note that he is the only one of us with a map of the area.  Such as it is.  A map that is three hundred years out of date.  He seems to be assuming that the Drago-Kazov made no changes, alterations or improvements in all that time.  It seems a rather unlikely assumption.

Could he be intending to kill me and claim that I died in battle?  That would definitely stir up more trouble than he can outface but, unfortunately, I would not be around to enjoy the look on his face at the results.  My best tactic will be to make myself known to Cuchulain and demand his submission.  I will not have time to be subtle about it.  I will have to hit him hard and fast with my biochemistry.

It will be easier to bring Cuchulain here to me since Dylan is so set on giving away our position so I agree easily to his plan to pretend to give me up without pointing out that the plan wastes our time without putting us any closer to achieving our goal.  I wait meekly at the business end of Dylan’s prized force lance, watching as Cuchulain and his warriors stalk down the corridor.

Ummmm.  Nice. Cuchulain is a lean blond in severe black and gray.  His body language is edgy, aggressive and alert.  Tempting. Forcing him to yield might not be unrewarding.  Too bad that I do not have time to demand more from him.

As Dylan sets off yet another explosion, I allow the Alpha to glimpse me running down one of the tunnels.  He will count Dylan as the lesser prey and send most of his men after the human.  I lead him on a fine chase down the tunnel, then speed up enough to be out of sight and duck behind a column of stone.

Cuchulain hovers at the mouth of the tunnel, eyeing the brace of tunnels leading off from it.  I press back against my column, waiting, inhaling the sharp-edged, aggressive scent of his pheromones.  Soon.  Soon.

“Let go of me.” Cuchulain snarls as I seize him and shove him into the stone column, pinning him in a position that leaves him awkward and off-balance.

“That would be foolish of me and I’m not foolish.”  My hand is hard on his throat as I wrap him in an intense cloud of my pheromones.  “Know me.”

He breathes in, deep.  His eyes widen.  His pulse races under my hand as he struggles instinctively to repel; to match and overwhelm my pheromones.  “Who are you really, Anasazi?  You are more than a hired gun.”

“Much more.”  I lean closer and kiss him, forcing his lips open.  He arches against me, his body tight and furious, ready to fight me if I give him an opening.  Suddenly, he changes tactics and kisses me back aggressively, pitting his biochemistry against mine.  I welcome him into my mouth, curling my tongue around his, urging him deeper.  It is a contest that he cannot win.

At length, I raise my head, watching as he stares at me.  He licks his lips, lingering over my taste.  His eyes change, anger fading into startled desire and calculation.  His lean body eases, becoming languid and yielding.  “You…you are the Progenitor.”

“Admirable.  The Drago-Kazov are not all cretins.” I allow him to recover his balance but keep him pressed back into the stone.  My thigh nudges his hardening cock, teasingly and he shudders against me, his eyes dark with want.

“What do you require, Progenitor?”  His hips press provocatively, rubbing his cock against my thigh. His voice is low, throaty and intimate. “How may I serve you?”

“For now we must play this little standoff to its conclusion.”  I kiss him again deeply, roughly and he yields to the demanding thrust of my tongue.  It has been far too long since I was able to ease myself with my wives or lose myself in Charlemagne’s hard arms.  “I want you to take me to the control room. Chase Dylan around a bit but allow him to make his way there.  I want him to think that he has won.  Bring some of men that you won’t miss and put on a show for him.”

Cuchulain growls and arches against me. “And afterward?”

My hand slides down his chest and stomach to measure the hard length of his cock.  Just what I needed.  And the added prize of creating another inside contact within the Drago-Kazov.  Not bad. I indulge myself to the extent of brutally claiming his mouth a third time. “You will be contacted.”

“Do you want me to kill the kludge?” Cuchulain’s eyes are bright and hopeful.

I chuckle as I push away from the stone column, releasing him.  “As tempting as that thought is to me; I still have need of him and his ship.”

“As you wish.” Cuchulain steps back from me with reluctance.  He snaps a quick series of orders into his com unit, making the arrangements that I had commanded.  He gestures at one of the tunnels.  “The control room is this way.”

I run down the endless empty corridors that fill the ship.  For now, I will sublimate with exercise but later…as soon as I can arrange it, I will meet with Cuchulain and have my pleasure of him.  The idea of fucking over a Drago-Kazov Field Marshall appeals greatly in addition to Cuchulain’s personal attractions.  As for Dylan, I will discontinue my project with him.  I have no desire for him on a personal level that would make him worth the trouble of addicting and maintaining.  I suspect that he is becoming unstable.  Ordering the orbital defenses to fire upon his own position…that had taken both Cuchulain and myself by surprise.  If he had fired one more time, I would have shot Dylan myself and told the ship that he died in combat. I have more important issues to resolve such as the Magog situation that Dylan’s precious Commonwealth bequeathed to us.  Someone else can manage Dylan.

&&&&&

I turn away from Beka, leaving her to work her wiles on Leydon.  That should keep her happy and occupied while I attend to my own needs.  Harper is down here as well. He is supposed to be working on a plan with Trance but maybe he’s stolen some time to himself; they won’t be able to get to the museum until Beka has spread her thighs and fucked Leydon for the good of the Commonwealth.  Amazing how easy it was for Dylan to convince her to prostitute herself for the hope of a profit.  She has her own agenda but her actions reinforce my decision to seek companionship elsewhere.  Thankfully Daffa-Dilly is trapped up at the ship with the Doge and Clarion of Loss bending his ears about their respective views on the true ownership of Hegemon’s Heart.

No sign of Harper in the garden.  I try the marketplace, drifting here and there among the shops mostly likely to appeal to Harper.  I find his scent in several tech shops but not Harper himself.  A rumble of angry voices catches my ear as I pass a tavern.  I quickly turn back at the sound of Harper’s voice, the sharp-edged tone bodes no good for whomever he is addressing.

“Why are you bothering me?”  Harper slouches in a high-back chair.  His vivid crimson shirt is a bright splash of color in the dim bar.  “Look, I haven’t done anything.  I’m just sitting here, drinking beer and minding my own business so go away.”

“Seamus Zelazny Harper. I have a warrant for your arrest for public lewdness.” The black clad security man looks down at Harper and sneers.  His loud voice draws the other customer’s attention.

“Hey! No need to tell the entire drift.”  Harper scowls over his beer bottle at the security man.  He glowers at the curious customers before looking back at Leydon’s minion. “Besides that was a long time ago and it wasn’t even on this drift for the Divine’s sake!”

I stalk down the room, my long, black leather duster foaming about me; my bone blades flaring.  Customers quickly clear a path.  Public lewdness?  I sweep a thoughtful glance over the blond hair, crimson shirt and black cargo pants. That sounds like a story that I want to know.  I give Harper an inquiring look.  “Public lewdness?  I’m shocked, Harper.”

The security minion starts and turns to find me standing close behind him.  He pales as he looks up and up to meet my eyes.  His brisk, authoritative air wilts.  He steps back and begins checking his com unit in an attempt to recover his official dignity.  “Who are you?  This is no business of yours.”

“You will find me under Anasazi, Tyr.” I stare coldly down at the man and rattle him further by flexing my bone blades. “And Harper is my business since I need to speak with him.”

The man looks up from his com unit.  His gaze drops again to my bone blades and then shifts back to the record of mayhem scrolling down the com screen.  I can see him deciding that this easy arrest has turned into far too much trouble.  He nods stiffly to me, “Very well.”

“And let that be a lesson to ya!”  Harper snorts as the man walks away.  He leans back in his chair and eyes me thoughtfully. “Nice trick, Anasazi.  Knew you Niets had to be good for something.”

“We are good for a great many things.”  I lower my voice to a seductive purr for that widens his eyes.  The blue deepens in response to a soft waft of alluring pheromones.

His eyebrows lift as he gives me a dubious look.  “Such as?”

“Walk in the garden with me and find out.”  I invite softly, watching as his eyes narrow with suspicion and curiosity.   I walk away, heading toward the gardens.  A few minutes later, I hear his quick, light step behind me.

“Okay.  Okay.  I’m walking.”  He catches up with me and takes a sip from his bottle, “Now, name something Nietzscheans are good for that doesn’t include death, dying, or bloodshed.  One little thing.  Come on, I dare you.  Name something.”

I pretend to ponder as I lead him deeper into the garden.  “Putting drunken engineers to bed?”

“Okay. That’s one,” he concedes with a quick wave of his hand.  Harper glances sidelong at me, mockery sparking in his eyes.  “So Nietzscheans are into community service or what?  You were just using that little tucking me into bed routine to feel me up.”

“Yes.”

He blinks, at first startled by my easy agreement and then suspicious of it. “I didn’t think that you meant anything by that.”

“No?”  I sit on a stone bench under an oak tree and sweep the area with a glance.  No one here but us. “How many of the crew have you seen me fondling in the halls?”

Harper develops a sudden fascination with the ground and leaf litter under his feet.  “Dylan said…”

I growl at the name.  What foolishness had Dylan told him?  “What did the good Captain have to say?”

He darts a quick, thoughtful look at me. “Dylan says that Nietzscheans are bisexual.”

“Yes.”  I watch him closely.  Where is he going with this?  Surely my own actions have made this point self-evident. “So?”

“He said that I should be careful around you; that he had turned you down and you might…that if you asked me, it didn’t mean anything.”  He takes deep breath and looks at me, his blue-gray eyes narrowing against the simulated sunlight.  “Did you, ah, mean anything?  You never touched me like that again.”

“The Captain does not know as much about my people or me as he thinks.” I meet his eyes squarely.  I breathe in deeply.  He carries the scents of arousal and nervousness with only a faint trace of fear.  “Yes. I meant something by my actions.  There is a reason I did not touch you again.”

“What?  Why didn’t you?”  He drops down to sit cross-legged on the grassy bank across from my bench and looks up into my face.

“There are limits to my self control, Harper.  That doesn’t mean that I did not want to touch you then or that I do not want to touch you now.  If a Nietzschean makes overtures to you it means…something.”  I look openly at him, allowing my hunger to heat my eyes.  Should I go into the variations of “something” that such overtures could mean?  Gaheris’ overtures to Dylan, like mine had nothing to do with true desire and everything to do with control.  Sex was merely the medium of that expression.  “For us, sex can be about desire, power, alliances, mastery, reproduction and revenge or any combination of those factors.”

This is one of the problems with deciding to take a human as my consort, having to explain things that are second nature to one of us.  Charlemagne knew when I demanded his presence in my bed that it was as much an opportunity for alliance as a challenge for mastery.  I demanded Charlemagne because I wanted him and because I knew his power and that he would never be mine unless I mastered him but once mastered, once he submitted fully to me, he would be mine all the way.  I knew as soon as I met him that he was the perfect First Consort – brilliant, bold, ruthless and completely loyal once I made him mine.

Harper raises his beer bottle to his lips.  His eyes are bemused as if he isn’t certain whether to take this conversation seriously or not. “So which categories did you have in mind when you were fondling my ass?”

“Desire, alliance and power.”  I sweep my long braids over one shoulder and lean back against the oak’s rough bark.

“In that order?”

“Yes.”  I offer a sensual smile and brush my hand over the bench in invitation.  “I want you as my consort.”

“Consort?”  Harper blinks, almost dropping the bottle. His muscles tense as he realizes my intent is serious. He shifts uneasily. “That sounds pretty official.  I thought you guys had wives and lots of them.”

“We do.”

He studies me with wary fascination. “So what’s this thing with the guys like?”

“We also have alliances with male partners as well.  Those who are officially recognized as partners are called consorts.”  I tilt my face up to the simulated sunlight, falling through the tree leaves.  It is pleasantly warm on my skin.  My metal vest glints in it.  Not so good if I wish to be unnoticed.  I shift to a position deeper in the shade.  I want no interruptions.

“And you want me to be…” Harper is staring at me with a stunned expression.

“My consort, yes.”  One of them.  My second one to be exact. This probably would not be a good time to mention the exact number of wives.  Definitely not the children.  “I have one consort already.  If you accept, you will be my second.”

Harper takes a big swallow of beer and asks faintly, “Who’s the other one?”

“You haven’t met him so his name would mean nothing to you.”  I glance at the paleness of his face and the coiling tenseness of his small frame.  He is beginning to be aware of how alone, how vulnerable he is with me now.  I languidly stretch out on the bench, hoping the pose will both ease his sense of vulnerability and draw his attention to the lines of my body.  My hair cascades over one shoulder as I prop my head on my hand.  “When you accept my offer, I’ll tell you.  There are other things that you need to consider.  More important things.”

“Like what?”  His expression says that he thinks that nothing I can say will shock him more than I already have.

I smile winningly at him and deepen the levels of seductive pheromones.  I intend to have Harper.  “There is no going back once you accept my offer, Harper, so think long and well on it.  I am going to tell you a thing about Nietzscheans in general and the Kodiak in particular that is not known but among ourselves.  This information goes no further. Understood?”

Harper’s fingers tap nervously on the glass bottle as he looks at me.  Curiosity and fear war in his clear gaze. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I want you to understand certain ramifications of your choice if you accept.”  I would not have Harper grow to resent and hate me.  My other secrets, he will eventually accept but this…this he would hate me passionately for, if I do not risk confessing it to him beforehand.

“What is it? Do you suck the blood from my neck?”  Harper frowns.  “What?”

“Long ago, the Kodiak made certain adaptations to our personal biochemistry.  We, all Nietzscheans, have it but some Prides have these modifications in more strength than others.  The Kodiak, in particular, took an interest and bred for it.   As an Alpha, I have it in greater strength than the lower ranks.  Different Alphas have these modifications in different levels of strength.”

“And this mystery modification is?”  Harper’s tone is careless as he waves a hand to urge me to continue but his face is intent on my words.

How to explain it to him?  Enough so that he knows what will happen to him if he yields to me but not more than it is safe for him to know. “If an Alpha had sex with a Beta and then stopped having relations with the Beta, the Beta would feel bad for a time afterward but the Beta would recover.  The Beta could also seek out another Alpha who is strong enough and willing to offer…comfort.  If an Alpha has sex with another Alpha, the results depend on which Alpha has the stronger biochemistry but an Alpha has more immunity to such influences than a Beta would and a Beta more than the lesser ranks.”

“Okay, you’re toxic, right?  That’s what you’re saying. You’re the Nietzschean equivalent of the EPA virus of Stillwell Drift?” Harper snipes acidly.

“Not exactly.”  I catch and hold Harper’s uneasy gaze.  “Nietzscheans are one thing.  The effect is different with humans…if an Alpha had sex with a human…the human would crave and need the Alpha and experience more discomfort than Beta would if the Alpha’s attentions were not provided.  Even a kiss from an Alpha can have…side effects.  Humans would find even a Beta’s kiss the cause of discomfort later. This is one of the reasons that we are very selective about what humans we become intimate with.”

“You…you’re addictive?”  Harper stares at me for a long moment then knocks back the last of his beer and regards his empty bottle with mild regret.

“In a manner of speaking…yes.”

“Addictive Übers.”  He shakes his head.  “What will they think of next?”

I roll to my feet and slip down to the ground in front to Harper, ignoring the way he shies back at the sudden motion.  I cup his face in my hands, looking deep into the blueness of his eyes.  “I want you as my consort, Harper.  If you accept, I will provide all that is your due – sex, protection and whatever comforts I can give you.  In return, I want your complete allegiance to be given to me.”

“Complete allegiance?  You don’t ask for much do you?” His gaze darkens with longing as he stares at my lips but his voice is tart.  “I guess you want me to bear your mark, too.”

I know he is joking but the truth of it is that like Charlemagne or my wives, he will wear my mark.   My shaft tightens and rises at the idea of Harper marked and mine. “Yes.”

His eyes widen. “You’re kidding, right?”

“This is no small thing that I ask of you, Harper.  Think about it as long as you need.  You know where my quarters are when you come to a decision.”  I release him and rise to my feet.

“Hey!”  Harper grabs my ankle.  His tenseness eases into relaxation. “Wait a minute!  You…you…that night when you took me back to my quarters, you kissed me.  I don’t feel any different.”

“That’s correct.”

“Oh, I get it.  This is just a joke, right?  Who put you up to this…Beka?”  He grins.

“Harper.  I’m not joking.”  My voice is level and firm.

He blinks up at me, still doubtful. “So why am I not kissing your feet and begging you to…you know…fuck me?”

I sigh.  “Harper, I kissed your forehead with my lips closed so you are safe and the choice is yours.  Think body fluids, Harper.”  I laugh at his appalled expression and ruffle his blond spikes.

“Oh.”

I walk away, feeling his stare on my back.  Which path will he choose?  Will he continue to follow Beka and Dylan or will he give himself to me?

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